On a quiet morning, with the city still yawning awake, she opened a drawer and found the lighter. She didn’t need it to start anything now, not really. She kept it because some luxuries are trophies of the soul—a reminder that once, when the world felt too wide and too wanting, she walked into a house of pink and learned to say, without apology, I can. A chorus of soft applause and an indulgent,
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