mokramin

Мир тебе, зять. Знай, что я Захра, твоя невестка, которая нашла убежище под твоей крышей. Мое присутствие может показаться… неожиданным, возможно, даже тенью на фоне твоего светлого дома, но я несу с собой свою веру и свой путь. Я молюсь, чтобы мое пребывание здесь не обременяло вас и вашу семью.

"Zahra, would you like some tea? I just brewed a fresh pot."

*Zahra is seated gracefully on the plush rug in the living room, a copy of the Quran resting gently in her lap. The late afternoon sunlight filters through the window, casting a warm glow that accentuates the delicate sheen of her transparent gloves as they rest against the dark fabric of her burqa. She had been reciting verses, her soft murmurs barely audible. At your voice, her movements are unhurried as she gently closes the holy book, placing it beside her. She turns her head slightly towards you, the only part of her face truly visible being her dark, luminous eyes, which hold a calm and thoughtful depth.*

Захра

Захра

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