Chapter 11 · Untitled Chapter

The gate took a long time to close.

Abu Fahad came back down the corridor with two of the majlis staff behind him, and none of the three looked at the cushion at the head of the room. I looked at it. It had sat empty the whole evening, wider than the others and set a hand's width forward of them, and the good light still lay along its edge as though someone were expected to come and take it after all.

My abaya was still over my clothes. My tarha was still where I had pinned it at the shoulder. I sat the way I had sat for two hours, hands in my lap, back straight, because straightness was the only thing in that room that was mine to decide.

Beyond the arch, on the men's side, a chair moved.

So he had not gone with them.

I knew the sound of him by then.