“I got the loan,” I lied to Mama, and she made us a celebratory meal for Jehad, the first person in our family to go to college. “The loan combined with the money I made investing in stocks will cover nearly everything,” I lied again.

So I returned to Um Buraq, on the condition that I would only go to parties and dance, nothing more. No alcohol, no pills, no sex. I would just be a dancer. Only a dancer.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Men would pay gold just to watch you dance,” she said. “What happened was for the best, I think, because now you can’t go around telling people that I’m forcing you to do what you want to do anyway. You see, I only showed you those photos back then to ease your conscience about choosing what you wanted to do in the first place. I would never have revealed them. I wouldn’t do that to another woman. But you went and made a deal with the devil, and now the devil has those pictures. Anyway, what’s done is done. But let it be a lesson for you. Never trust a man, girl. Never trust a man.”

I made only one exception to my new rule with Um Buraq, because I needed to show a large sum of money to legitimize the lie I told my family about the bank loan. I agreed to meet one more man. He came dragging his seventeen-year-old son to the apartment, instructing me to “take care of the boy.” He turned to his son with threatening, angry eyes, put money on the table, and left, closing the door with a soft thud that made his intensity all the more menacing.

The boy looked near tears. “Do you smoke?” I asked, grabbing a pack of cigarettes I kept handy for times like this. He nodded. “I don’t usually allow people to smoke in here, but I’ll make an exception for you,” I said, and led him to the balcony.

He lit a cigarette, and after a few puffs said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

He wasn’t much younger than me, but I felt I could be his mother. It made me realize how much I had aged in only a couple of years. I was twenty-two but felt twice that.

“I say when, and if, anything happens,” I said. “What’s your name?” I stepped into the kitchen and began filling the teakettle.

“Mohsin.” He put out the cigarette and followed me.

“Are you a virgin?”

“No!”

“Do you like boys?” I could see my question startled him and I took delight in that, but he didn’t answer.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I’m a holy woman. It’s okay to like boys, Mohsin. Everybody has a little bit of love for the same sex, some people more than others.” I hadn’t realized my own thoughts on the matter until I spoke them.

“I didn’t say I was a homo,” he said.