It wasn't my intention to dwell on Tharmanay Kyaw Sayadaw again tonight, however, that is frequently how memory works.

It is often a minor detail that sets it off. In this instance, it was the noise of pages adhering to one another when I tried to flip through an old book kept on a shelf too close to the window. It's a common result of humidity. I stopped for a duration that felt excessive, separating the pages one by one, and his name emerged once more, silent and

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