She came on the seventh visit not with a question, but with a quiet smile. The AK-47 lay disassembled on the oil-stained table between us—a ritual now, not a threat.

For a long moment, she was silent. Then she reached into her jacket and pulled out a faded photograph—a child with a plastic toy rifle, grinning in a field of sunflowers. ak47 girl 7th visit

"She's still here," she whispered. "But she doesn't speak much anymore." She came on the seventh visit not with

"Tell me about the girl you were before the war," I said. " she said

"You clean it like you're afraid it might wake up," she said, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face.