“Auntie—” Ahmad begins softly, stopping to gasp for breath. “Yes, habibi?” I turn around and clasp his hands back into mine. If you live, I’ll take care of you, I vow. Just live. Please. Just live. “Am I going to die?” he asks, and I see no fear. Do all six-year-olds know what death is? Or is it only children of war? My hands shake.
