It is not just a collection of unsent letters — it is a map of sorrow written to a city that never answers. Cairo is not merely a place, but a memory. A living being exhausted by carrying too much longing, too much silence. The letters are fragments of a soul in conversation with absence.
What’s most striking is that she doesn’t offer hope as a resolution. There is no forced optimism. No shallow light at the end of the tunnel. Only truth — raw, graceful, and unguarded. As if to say: if the words are never sent, at least they have been written.