The light has slowly filtered out of the breezy evening. Against the darkening sky I can see the outline of leaves standing tall from their lofty position several stories high. I sit cross-legged, my laptop balanced in my lap and music playing in the background.
Underneath this same sky is another young girl. Soft brown eyes and a gentle smile adorn the face of Zewan, 12 years old. Her story comes out as we sit together, the pain managed in her serious face. “He doesn’t love me,” she says. We are sitting in a church building within a gypsy suburb, the efforts of a nearby church who have effortlessly given to these often-despised people. The room