AUTHOR'S POV
It was Eight Forty two, and Hanitra had just arrived at Olive. The bell above the glass door chimes softly as she stepped in. The golden March sun sneaks in behind her, streaking rust glints through her loosely tied hair. She's dressed in a rust brown shirt tucked into high-waisted bell-bottoms, silver hoops in ears, bag slung diagonally, and kohl-lined eyes sharp as ever.She sat by the seat the waiter took her to. Window side. Ethereal View and above that, outside was a small garden, full of tulips. The very flowers her baba had given her when she had first him, when he decided to be her entire family.
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