Salma jogged after the man because he cleared a path for her. He was the leader, the one showing her the way. But he himself wasn’t clear. He wasn’t near enough, and this was part of the incentive to keep running, to try and minimise the distance between them so that she could see who he was, maybe even catch a glimpse of his face. Right now, he was a blur of brown hair and red T-shirt, long black running shorts. The only thing about him that was tangible and near was the imprint of his trainers. They were the evidence, the clues she could follow. She brought her feet down on each print and pushed through woodland park and in between trees. Sometimes she heard a twig snap, the thud of his shoes, a gravel swish when he skidded down a slope covered in leaves. Sometimes she heard birds screeching his presence, ruffled, and taking flight because of his advance. He kept running and she kept following. She thought she was catching up with him only to find that he was further away.

It was her own breathing she was hearing, the contrast of cold wind on her face and her hot body breaking into sweat. She was no longer watching the time, measuring how long she had been running. It was as if she had broken through a barrier, leapt over a hurdle and entered another zone where she had extra strength and a longer wind. She opened her mouth and let the air touch her dry tongue. Sweat dropped into her eyes, the salt stinging and blurring her vision. She blinked and nearly tripped over the raised roots of a yew. When she collected herself and again broke into a run, she couldn’t make him out any more. Did he go left towards the water or did he head towards the monastery? She wasn’t sure. The uncertainty made her slow down. And when she slowed down, she came to her senses. It was like surfacing from cloudy water to normal air and breath. What made her do this, run after a total stranger, chasing a man and most likely giving him the wrong impression? Her behaviour embarrassed her. Usually she was reserved, not prone to silliness. Did she think he was Amir? But how would Amir be here. Holiday silliness. Daytime fantasies. She was suddenly conscious of how thirsty she was. She had forgotten to bring her water bottle, but she found a few coins in the zipped-up pocket of her jogging pants. Instead of walking further to look at the boathouse, she took the path that led to the monastery.