After Moni had left them, Salma and Iman walked in silence, enjoying the challenge of the climb. Without Moni to hold them back, they built up speed. Salma had the longer strides, but Iman could keep up. For considerable stretches of time, they forgot the bad feelings between them. It was almost how things had been in the past, with Salma leading the way and Iman finding it natural to follow. They crossed a running stream, the water transparent over the dark rocks, the clatter of their feet on the rope suspension bridge. They passed other climbers, couples and families, three men who talked among themselves in a European language. Salma was the one who exchanged greetings, slowed down for a few friendly comments. Iman ducked her head and said nothing. She had the ability to stop thinking, to simply feel and exist in the moment. At times she almost forgot that Salma was there, just a little ahead. But Salma was not making the decisions. She was not choosing right over left, it was all about following the blue trail. This put them on equal footing. It made Iman relax and even seemed to point at a new kind of relationship. One in which they could be equals.

They came across a picnic clearing, an array of wooden tables and a large rubbish bin. Without discussing it, they stopped to eat the sandwiches Moni had made. They did not speak while they ate, passing the water bottle in silence, flicking away crumbs from the table. In addition to her own sandwich, Iman ate half of Moni’s and kept the other half to crumble for the fishes and the birds. There were enough bits of leftover food in this picnic area without her needing to add more. She would make sure to carry the half sandwich deeper into the forest, to a place that was less trodden, that was rarely brushed by the debris of humans.

If only Salma hadn’t spoken, but she did. To reproach her yet again, to remind her of their shared past, their sisterhood; the times they prayed together and broke fast together. The times Salma vetted suitors for Iman. The times Iman refereed arguments between Salma and her eldest daughter. And the times I was your sidekick and dogsbody. The times you laughed at my views and treated me like a doll.

If only Salma wasn’t speaking. She was spoiling the day with her voice, all this analysis. She was egging Iman on to talk, to say again what she had said before. How she disliked direct confrontations! And yet to Salma they were the solution. ‘We must talk this through,’ she kept saying. ‘We can discuss this and resolve our differences, Iman.’