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Each letter resurrected a fragment: Arun’s childhood laughter at the ferry, his small rebellion of hitching rides on empty trucks, the promise to return to Mei with a coin for luck. Slowly, Lina realized Arun had not disappeared; he had been living in a string of small kindnesses, leaving behind trinkets and notes at stalls and doorways to stitch strangers into his life so they wouldn’t be alone.

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