The Last Balcony
The Last Balcony
By [Ghani]
London, 1944.
The city held its breath again. You could feel it in the air — thick, damp, electric. The streets were dimmed for blackout, but even without the lights, London pulsed with tension. Somewhere in the fog, searchlights combed the sky with long silver fingers. The rumble of planes had become part of the city’s rhythm now — a heartbeat of war.
