FLASHBACK
A few years ago – Ten years old
I repeat my age to myself every day to remind myself that I’m a child, even if my life looks nothing like that of one.
A girl who fights, who sleeps on benches, who learns to shoot, who trains with knives, who lives among men and women who see bodies only as things to be used.
“Hit it, Inara! Hit it!” shouts Khalid.
I’ve been in the gym for three hours. My father never tires of demanding that I hit the punching bag.
My body is at its limit. My legs tremble, and my punches weaken.
I can't stay upright. I crouch to catch my breath, but even then, I can’t get up. I can’t breathe. I’m dizzy.
And my father won’t relent.
“Back to training, Inara.”
No compassion. Just disdain in his voice for my weakness.
“I’m so weak…” I whisper.
“I… I can’t…
