Chapter Twenty-Four
Funny, it has been so long since I’ve stepped foot into this room, that I often think of the door as locked.
But the door isn’t locked. It never was. And that morning, the knob, so long untouched, turns easily in my hand.
I lead Zahir into the room. It’s been closed up for so long that there’s a layer of dust over everything, including the four-poster white silk canopy bed. But it still smells faintly of her long-discontinued DKNY fragrance, and it’s still easy to see all the writing on the wall.
Lyrics, written in sharpie. Some neat, some scrawled across in a manic rush. Some of the words are pretty, lines about sunshine in alleys and knowing you’re going to be somebody no matter what anybody else be saying. But some of the words, most of the words, are dark. You t
