Prologue

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There are four cracks in my kitchen ceiling

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There are four cracks in my kitchen ceiling. I've never noticed before.

Nor have I noticed the irritating groove in the linoleum beneath me. My fingers run over it as another tear slides down my cheek.

The window forms a source of light, the net curtains splashing patterns across the ceiling. Every so often a car passes, it's shadow darkening the room. My heart thuds a little harder each time.

The bump in the linoleum is the least of my pains. Body painted purple and blue I don't have to look at it to know.

I can't move,or I don't want to move. I no longer know the difference.

To want something means you know what you want. I only know what I do not want.

I guess it's in this moment I realise I've lost my faith. I've lost my Imaan.

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