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A glimpse inside
By the time the first call to prayer echoed over the brown river, Lina had already stepped around three loose boards and one sleeping cat to reach the tiny stove. The floor sighed under her weight, a soft complaint that matched the ache in her knees.
She struck the lighter. Blue flame licked at the bottom of the dented kettle. The air in the wooden house was thick and warm, heavy with fried bananas and river mud. Outside, the river moved in its slow, brown way beneath the stilts, brushing them with a wet, hollow sound.
Lina reached for the tin of tea leaves. The lid scraped as she opened it. She counted the spoonfuls out loud, her voice barely above a whisper.
“One, two, three.”