Huda, she soon discovered, had not exaggerated. Everything was covered in roses. They’d grown nearly everywhere, pink blooms on roofs and doorways gleaming gold in the evening light; massive, blossoming vines reached up the sides of buildings, snaked along sidewalks, circled lampposts and trash bins, beautifying everything. The more she saw, the more her heart hurt. Cyrus had left a mark everywhere. Remnants of him lived in eternal bloom in the outside world and inside her veins. At the thought of him she experienced a relentless ache she didn’t understand, and it scared her.
