The freshness of a woman’s distant, white shadow falls in the middle of the dancing sunshine which shivers and contorts amidst the smog like a moving body. For the people of Khuraab who are just familiar with the smell of saline water and the glitter of dead fish scales, a pair of shining green eyes and a mild fragrance from under the Chador means strangeness and danger. Nobody knows about the past-less story which has dragged perfumed Noora here; a place which neither can be called a city nor a village, with no fish to catch and no greeneries. However, one morning some villagers see her wandering around dirt alleys aimlessly with a pair of dusty black shoes and a blue plastic bag.
“The Mermaid” short story
