Chapter 3Butterfly Clips and Broken WingsMehar's POVThe path to work always feels the same, like a prayer whispered into dust. But this morning, the air carries a stillness that brushes against my cheek, and I slow down without meaning to.It’s February—the kind that still clings to winter, but lets spring peek in gently through cracks in the wind.Our house opens directly into a narrow street lined with small homes pressed shoulder to shoulder, like they’ve grown up together. Their slanted roofs are stitched with tarps and old bricks to keep out the winter wind. Walls are painted in sky blue, faded