The Departure Artist by Ali Nazifpour

I watched her as she packed. She was constantly on the move; packing and unpacking was an art to her. Her hands moved swiftly and confidently as she arranged her books in her black simple suitcase; the way they moved was final and absolute.

She was off to somewhere else again – I have forgotten where. She had already moved twice this week.

“When will I see you?” I asked her again.

“Friday night. I’m here for the weekend.”

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