Iman continued walking. Without Salma, she found herself slowing down, more in tune with her surroundings, listening and watching. Looking up at a lapwing flicking from side to side, listening to its soft waa-waa sound, she tripped on the protruding root of a tree, stumbled forward and fell. On her knees, the smell of damp earth and vegetation went to her head; the darkness of the forest was womb-like and welcoming. Rest after motion, stillness and laxity. She could give in to this. No more resistance or arguments, no one asking questions, circling her, lassoing her in. She could be what she wanted to be, in a state of existence that was unthreatened, that did not need to be accounted for or earnt. It would be easier that way. No ability to attract or need to repel advances. She would be left alone, to sing if she wanted to sing, a song for the joy of it and not in order to entertain.

The Hoopoe was hovering above her. ‘Stand up, stand up, stand up.’

She started to get up, but then decided not to. He had wasted his time. All that special tuition in her attic room, as if she were a princess. When she took off her hijab, he stopped visiting and she could only find him outside. She could only hear him when others heard him, she could only see him as they did. These were the rules now; she had chosen to become one of the crowd.

So if he was here now especially for her sake, then she must be in great need, maybe even in danger. He too was possessive about her, not losing sight of where she had gone. He too believed she needed protecting and saving. No. No more preciousness. No more responsibility either. The solemnness in which she had been told that her beauty was to be cherished and guarded; hidden and kept from harm. She wanted away from all that. Far away where she could be left alone. Like a sunset was left alone or a flower bed or a butterfly. She would not take any more orders. Stand. Sit. Fetch. Don’t come back. Send us money. Leave that bit of chicken for your brother. Marry him and not him. Make sure you remove every thread of your hair that’s tangled in the shower plug.

‘Stand up, Iman.’

No, she would not.