Mum was right: we aren’t so different after all. I thought we had to act the same on the outside to be similar, but we don’t. What matters is what we’re like inside. And just because we don’t like the same things doesn’t mean we’re not similar. Mum loves theatre, and I love gaming. They’re worlds apart, but we love them all the same.

If you cut Mum and me open we’d be filled with the very same fire, glowing red and orange and gold.

I now have a method when it comes to figuring out the objects. As soon as I came out of the last memory I wrote down every object I saw while I was there. I even made a note of the trees, and the clothes everyone was wearing. But it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.

Every time I feel like I have the game sussed it throws up another challenge. The last memory didn’t really have any objects in it, nothing Mum might keep. There’s the script, but I checked and Rawan said they don’t have it any more. Mum doesn’t either. The game has levelled up again, and I need to think outside the box. But thinking about it too much hurts my brain.

Eventually I decide to take a break from trying to figure out the next object to play a game of Fairy Hunters. Maybe if I clear my head it’ll help me see things from a new perspective.

My room disappears into dust and is replaced by the ruined palace. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the thoughts of Aminah. The fire fairy I’m protecting in my game morphs into her in my mind, and no matter how many times I blink I see her.

Our wizard opponents throw spell after spell at her and I try with all my might to protect her, to stop her from dying. But there’s too many of them, and too little of me.

Aminah is hit. She falls, but picks herself back up.

I trail behind, my heart thump, thump, thumping because I don’t want her to get hurt.

That’s when the doorbell rings, making me jump.

For a moment I hesitate. I just need a minute, one more minute. But the doorbell rings again and I lose focus entirely.

Aminah is hit, and so am I. We lose the game together.

I try to shake off the weirdness and run down the stairs. At first I think it’s Dad coming back from the weekly food shop without his house keys, but then Lady starts barking aggressively, so I know it can’t be him.

Unlike other dogs, who would run to the door, Lady scarpers off to the living room as soon as I get downstairs.

‘Traitor,’ I mutter, watching her disappear round the corner.