“Of course I am.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I am very sorry. I owe you some explanation. And there are things I have needed to tell you for some time. Things I’ve wanted to tell you for some time, but as you know, I sometimes lack bravery.”

“Let’s go home,” I said. “Let’s talk.” I walked past him, leading him back, and as I passed by, I reached out and squeezed his hand. I shouldn’t have, and certainly not right there in front of Parvi’s house, because it spurred gossip, but it felt right to do it. We walked side by side, in perfect rhythm, and in silence. I’d had the night to think on it, and the night to sleep on it, and much of my terrified anger had leaked out. The distance calmed me. I was ready to listen.

When we reached the apartment, Dirva had me sit. He prepared us food and tea. We warmed to each other again while we ate. When we finished, he took the plates, rinsed them, and sat down at the table across from me. “I am sorry,” he said.

“I think I know why you did it.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” I said, “but it makes it make sense. Don’t do it again.”

“There is no danger of that.” Dirva scratched at his beard. He glanced out the window. He was composing himself; when he looked at me again, he was contained and quiet and patient. “There are two things I need to tell you. They are both about me and about you. I have a request of you, and I have an offer for you, and you can do with each of them what you will.” He began to speak and stopped himself. He leaned towards me slightly. “You owe me nothing, Ariah. You know this, yes?”

“Yes.” But the truth was I owed him everything. He had taught me who I was. He was deeply ingrained in me. He had trained me, and he had rescued me more than once, and he found me a job and let me live in his apartment without financial contribution. Without him, I’d be an untrained mess, homeless, trapped at the border.

He sighed and rested his chin in his hand. He drummed his fingers along his jaw. “I will say it again: you owe me nothing. Nothing. I want you to remember that when I tell you what I’m about to tell you.”

“All right. I will.”

He laughed. “It’s true.”

“It isn’t true. I owe you nothing? What does that even mean? It makes no sense. But I’ll remember you said it.”

He laughed again. “Your student has rubbed off on you.”

“What?”

“From what you’ve said, you’ve picked up some of her brashness.”

“I have not. You don’t know her.”