REORIENT:

On hot summer days, my sister and I would cool our feet in the pool or play hide-and-seek in the garden, with its flowerbeds edged with blue tiles. In the winter, we would sneak into Baba Joon’s library, lie on the big and dusty red carpets next to a large, ancient heater, and read children’s books that had been collected over the years. His house was full of welcoming mysteries, except for one room on the top floor called ‘the salon’. It was rarely open, and only used for ‘important’ visitors. When they came, the door would close in our faces, and only the talk of politics and the smell of tobacco would reach us from behind its doors.

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