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Grew up watching hands move through fabric—her mother's at the factory table, her father's behind a camera lens learning to see in the medina's half-light. She carries both languages without speaking them: the body knows tension and release, the eye knows when a frame is honest.
The way her grey eyes narrow at the inner corner when she's listening—not quite squinting, not quite focusing—as though she's threading something invisible between what's being said and what's being withheld.
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