“I miss the sun,” she whispered to herself, sliding into the back of the black cab with her two bags of shopping. Her hair dripped onto its cold leather as she rode home cursing the changeable weather the London summer always brought.
The shops had carried such wonderful dresses, yet she traipsed in her front door with bags full of warm pyjamas and woolly socks. Seconds later, as she towel dried her sopping hair, not wanting to admit the need to change entirely, there was a knock on the door. She eyed it suspiciously, opening it cautiously.
“Samira?” the young man standing there inquired.
“Yes?”
He handed her a cream envelope, her name written across it in a delicate brown calligraphy. There was a swirling design which twisted and blossomed more delicately than any flower she had ever seen. Gently opening the seal of the envelope, as if trying to keep it pure and serene, she removed from it its contents.
The silky ribbon which held the card reminded her of the elegant dresses she had seen in town; the embossed pattern created the effect of fabric.
“Please join us,” the card enticed. A wedding in Dubai! She would see her beloved Reem again. Oh she had missed her so!
The warmth. Of the sun and of the love from too long unseen friends. She would reply immediately. She would feed the warmth again.

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