Everywhere she goes, she smells the sunflowers.
The plastic chairs on gravel, dilapidated houses with musty books and familiar beds, bright lights and music that make her nauseous, tiny dhabas obscenely lit.
She desperately looks around for escape, but there is none, not even a tiny one, and the truth is, even if there was, she wouldn't take it.
The plastic chairs on gravel, dilapidated houses with musty books and familiar beds, bright lights and music that make her nauseous, tiny dhabas obscenely lit.
She desperately looks around for escape, but there is none, not even a tiny one, and the truth is, even if there was, she wouldn't take it.
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