Saffron | Novel

I took out the white book that contained the dried rose, and I started writing Shahla’s memoirs, from the time my feet landed on this land that I loved, until the edifice of imagination collapsed, with the strands of my black hair falling on the floor of my room, without feeling sad or heartbroken, I began to greet Zafarana, my mother who owned the book, and who recommended it to me, without mentioning that it was a book of memoirs, or a book to return to when the big edifices collapsed. I began to greet my mother as if I was writing a letter, I remembered that I had not written letters to my mother for more than six months, and I do not know if my letters, which I send to the capital in my country, are then transferred by hand, from this to that. I do not know how many letters reached my mother. I started writing Shahla’s diaries, so that they would one day reach my mother.