The city is healing, true, but like us, she is wary and always prepared for the pain to begin anew. A tension simmers in moments. Questions rise with the sun every morning. Will there be blood spilled today? Will the streets echo with the sound of gunshots? Or will the city witness the fanaticism of a suicide bomber? Or suffer the consequences of a corrupt government?

Graffiti, bold and beautiful, covers the walls of abandoned and inhabited buildings. The street art is defiant, seeking to reclaim the city from those who would see her burn again. Li Beirut, as the singer Fairouz names the city, is no maiden who hides her blushing face. She is an embattled matriarch, looking the world in the eyes, daring it to look away.

We look around as we walk, catching glimpses of the middle world here and there. That glint you see in the corner of your eye or that time you thought you saw something move in the shadows is the middle world. The store you swore you had never seen before, or the alley that springs up suddenly one day only to be gone the next. Human beings are, as a rule, completely blind to the middle world. Even when they see middle worlders who are not at all human-looking, their brains normalize whatever they are seeing. They are unable to see the true selves of middle worlders unless the middle worlders want them to.

The antiques store on Hamra Street is full of shadows, dust, and memories. Each item in the store contains the memory of an experience. Should a consumer purchase one, they will be able to relive the experience as if they were the one it occurred to. In Beirut, all memories smell of smoke and have the taste of tears. We once asked the proprietor, Idrees, about the kind of people who purchase the sad memories. He told us that there are beings in the world who desire to remember what sadness feels like because it is during emotional turbulence that a person is most alive.

Idrees is out in the front when we enter. A seemingly frail not-human man, his white beard and stooped figure hide the strength in his body. He glances over at us without saying anything before returning his attention to the customer he is currently serving. We look at her and she turns, as if sensing our gazes.

Not a single word is spoken, but the air suddenly takes on an electric charge. We draw close to each other and to Paheli, the sun around which we orbit.