Moon, he says. That’s what Amma is named after. Moon, I repeat. Amma takes my hand, points at tiny sparkles strewn like bright pebbles in the darkness. Star, she says. That’s what Reha is named after. Star, I repeat. Which one? Amma holds my arms apart All of them, Reha. and I embrace the field of light.
The metaphor of the mother as the moon and daughter as a star was one I knew I wanted to include when I first started writing this story.
The night sky binds all of us together, no matter where we're from. And Reha's parents want her to know they want the whole world to be open to her — all kinds of possibilities.
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