Yoost The South African – 7

“You must tell me one secret,” Yoost requests, leaning forward, making the space between us intimate.

“What sort of secret?” I ask, leaning my elbows on my knees, leaning in. “A secret about someone, or something, or about myself?”

“No, no – a secret about yourself,” he says firmly.

So I do.

 

Now he is the only person in Iraq who knows this about me.

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