“What were you doing in father’s bed last night?”

“I was afraid so I went there.”

“You just went there?” The expression on his face reflected something like anger or greed.

“I was afraid of the dark.”

He leaned forward and put his hands on the wall behind me. I tried to get out of the circle of his arms but he held me back, pressing his body against mine.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he said, a flirtatious glint coming into his eyes.

“Let me go, let me go. I’m going to scream.” That was a feeble threat—I knew my father was out and Ziba wouldn’t pay attention.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, still smiling.

Then, suddenly, he pulled me to himself.

“Let me go.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice becoming gentle. “I’m not going to do anything to you.”

His grasp became tighter. I struggled.

“Wait just one moment,” he whispered, his mouth near my ear. Then he began to move his body up and down against me as he put one hand under my clothes on my buttocks and the other on my back. He was breathing heavily.

His grasp was so strong that I could not move—my body became frozen.

He stopped abruptly, letting go, and ran down the stairs without looking at me.

I stayed there, leaning against the wall for a few moments, trying to bring blood and motion back into myself.

When I came down into the courtyard, I was struck by how light it still was, with the sun shining high above the trees and reflecting in the doorway, and how menacing the silence was. I went into my room, shut the door and stood in front of the mirror, seeing my face as in a nightmare—yellow and dry and stiff. I took off my dress and examined my body as though aware of it for the first time.

I put my clothes back on and went out of the house, full of an excess of energy which made me want to cry or run, get lost in crowds. I turned to the right, towards a little bazaar. Darius was standing near the entrance with a group of his friends—gruff, frightening boys, the kind who would sometimes block the way of girls on the street.

“Where are you going?” Darius asked as calmly as though nothing had happened.

I walked rapidly past him, into the crowded bazaar.

Soon after that incident I supposed myself in love with a boy who lived nearby. In the afternoon, when everyone went down for a nap, he sat in the hot sun on the roof of his house, letting his pigeons fly and watching them circle in the air and come back. He was lean, dark, and had startling gray eyes. I would sit by the window of my room and watch him. When he noticed me he sat closer to the edge of the roof, glancing towards me frequently. Sometimes we stared into each other’s eyes. When I passed his house I would walk slowly, hoping to catch sight of him.