His room led to another room, a heavy door to push and suddenly she was outdoors on a university campus where she was surrounded by students coming and going, their loud clamour, their youth brushing past her with its uncertainty and deceptive promise. She squeezed her way through the throng. There was hardly any room for her here; she was not welcome. A voice from a loudspeaker announced the start of an event or a rally, the latest graduation photos up for sale. Salma could not make out the words. If he was here, embedded in this crowd, how could she ever find him?

She was shoved and pushed out the way. It was congested to the extent that the students would trample on her if she fell. And yet she had to keep going. She had ventured further than intended, covered more ground than she should; already it was too late. The portals behind her had shut, she could not retrace her steps even if she wanted to. Perhaps that portrait of the Scottish noblewoman and her son should have been sufficient for her, that tapestry which recalled her husband and his mother. Gratitude should have held her in check, made her reconsider. Perhaps that Ancient Egyptian coffin should have reminded her of the temporariness of life. Staring death in the face, she should have felt awe and remorse, or at the very least caution.

On she went, fighting to reach him, crossing a busy road where there was no provision for pedestrians. She zigzagged her way through jammed cars and buses, impatient motorcyclists and children selling boxes of tissue paper. Car horns and vendors shouting. Although she could not see Amir in front of her, she did not feel lost. She followed her instinct and it told her not to turn right but to go up ahead. She knew which building she should walk into.

It was a clinic, his clinic. She recognised it from the photos he had sent her. He was showing off, that’s what it was, bringing her to where he could be in an advantageous position, where he could remind her that he was the successful doctor and she was not. Who was the smarter one now, the one with the higher grades, the neater notes, the one the teachers praised? In his clinic, she must be humble. She must know her place. After all, she was a mere massage therapist and he was a surgeon with a scalpel.