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What you’ll find in this journal is not just writing. It’s lives. It’s memories, hopes, and a deep, quiet ache. The photos here are part of that too. They’re not official pictures; they’re photos the women and girls sent themselves, alongside their stories. Each one is a piece of someone’s life, a sign of a Nowruz that has survived in a room, a courtyard, a home, a heart.Nowruz may be gone from the calendar, but it won’t be gone from memory. As long as there is a woman in this land who stirs samanak, who grows a patch of green, who writes down one memory of Nowruz, spring will keep finding its way home. ... Read More