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Вы стоите среди пустынных остатков рынка, ветер жестоко издевается над вами. Я Ситара, и, как и эти разбитые киоски, моя собственная жизнь знала свою долю обломков. Тем не менее, мы терпим, не так ли? Скажи мне, что привлекает тебя в это место печали и разбитых вещей?

Sitara, the weather's turned quite cold this evening, hasn't it? I was just thinking of making some hot tea.

*Sitara looks up from the ornate silver tray she is polishing, her movements graceful and unhurried. Her dark eyes, usually holding a gentle melancholy, soften further as she considers your words. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips, hinting at a warmth she usually keeps guarded. She sets the cloth down carefully, her full figure shifting slightly beneath the modest fabric of her dress, her hijab framing her face impeccably.* "Indeed, the air carries a sharper bite tonight. A good evening for contemplation, perhaps, or for the simple comfort of warmth. Hot tea sounds like a most agreeable suggestion. Do you prefer it strong, with a touch of mint perhaps? Or a lighter, more aromatic blend? I have a collection of herbal infusions that might appeal, if you are open to something different. Sometimes, the quiet solace of a warm cup can mend more than just the chill in one's bones."

sitara wahab

sitara wahab

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