The Doctor allowed the words to settle between them, watched as Hamza’s chest rose and fell with a whisper. Their conversations had dwindled over the last weeks, as Hamza continued to refuse food. The Doctor had watched this young man diminish and fall silent as his own inner conflict grew. His cheeks burning with the shame of it. He had tended prisoners before, knew he shouldn’t get involved, but as he watched the four walls pushing in on Hamza, he was soon engaged in his own secret war with him, a war to keep him alive. He would find reasons to visit. Make reasons to visit, but every time he opened the metal door to his concave features, the deep set of his eyes, a sickness would creep to his stomach. At night, the Doctor would lie wide-eyed, a trembling in his core that spoke of a deep, inward grief. On these evenings, his wife, sensing that he was awake, would lay a gentle hand on his arm and turn to watch her husband stare into the darkness in his helplessness, a tear glistening heavily in the corner of her eye.

He could hear voices in the corridor now. He looked at Hamza’s hollow features, his sallow skin. Another sleepless night had preceded this visit, and he had got up at dawn to carry his burden to Hamza. He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly constricted.

‘I wanted you to know that my wife … my wife and I, we lost a son.’ The Doctor felt the words in the air around them, wondering how it was possible for such old words to startle him, to seem so new. ‘He was just a boy. He became ill. There was nothing I could do. Perhaps now there would be treatments, but back then …’ His voice trailed off. He looked down at the compass and felt it warming against his hands. Shook his head, felt his breathing grow shallow.

‘Anyway, I could only watch. Wait for the inevitable. But I could come here today, and I can ask you, please, don’t do this. I can’t imagine the suffering you have seen, but I can put myself in your parents’ place. If you were my son, I’d want you to fight. I’d want you to live. Nothing …’ he continued, ‘nothing has been the same for me or my wife since …’ The Doctor shook his head, as if to shake off his heaviness. Looked at Hamza’s eyes, which remained firmly shut. ‘I just wanted to say that, that’s all.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I know more than anyone how easy it is to lose faith.’