Gone Was His Jasmine
As she passed her phone to her colleague, I snatched the phone from her and watched the livestream.
It was Arya. She was in an orchard, basking under the heat of the sun, and standing on her tiptoes to reach the apples on the branches. She, without any makeup on, wore a simple cotton dress and had her hair tied back in a ponytail. Her skin had been tanned into a rich, wheat-gold color.
She smiled at the camera and began her narration, “These Honeycrisp apples are perfect for making pies. My grandfather has grown them for thirty years…”