We were sitting outside, starting at the stars. I couldn't remember ever seeing the stars like that - sharp, clear.
It was late, so late it wasn't night but infant morning, and the view was dizzying. I was freezing. A brave wind stole through a copse nearby, filling the air with steady sound. I was full of cake. Warner smelled like sugar, like decadence.
I felt drunk on joy.
I don't want to wait, he said taking my hand. Squeezing it. Let's not wait.
I blinked up at him. For what ?
N.B : J'ai trouvé cet extrait sur le compte instagram de Tahereh Mafi (le livre sortira le 31 mars aux USA)
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