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Weekly Contest #72
The ship to Dhaka was set to sail along the roaring Padma River. The ilish fish I sold at the bazaar yesterday was just enough to pay for the fare. Accompanied by officials, I held on to the remaining takas in my bag, bundled inside my salwar kameez, along with the will. I had nothing else. I was leaving my home because of a sister I would never know. “I will look after Firoja,” promised Janisha Ghazi Ratna, a lawyer and a close family friend to my Amu and Abu. They refused to come with me. The raging waters swirled und...
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