Months later, a flood came—a sudden storm that pulled at the city’s seams and rearranged streets. The printing house shut for repairs. Yasin’s small apartment filled with the smell of wet cardboard. He feared his collection—the Fadilah files stored on his laptop—might be lost. He loaded them onto a USB and walked toward higher ground, clutching the drive like a small rescued bird. On the way he found a boy sobbing for a lost wallet and a woman shivering without a coat. He handed the USB to the boy, and the woman took his jacket. They refused to rearrange each other’s burdens.