The final word. He slammed the door. The kettle boiled as if on cue. I laughed until it wasn’t laughter. Until there were tears and snot and I tried to sip the coffee but I couldn’t, because of the aftershocks, the sobs that made me feel like I was five again and made me miss Mum more than I’d ever missed her before. Baba always said I was like her. Quiet and modest. But quietness doesn’t always go with obedience. Quiet people are better at hiding things. I wondered if she would’ve taken my phone calls, come to visit even. Sometimes I dare to imagine she would’ve wished me well. I think of her muttering the only prayer she knew by heart. Calling down protection. Banishing illness. I want to ask her to tell me how she met Baba again. The local council planning section. He asked her to deal with all his applications because she was so efficient. Their wedding was nothing like in the films. A quiet meeting with the imam and a quick service in the registry office. She had no representatives. There was no one to give permission. There’s a blurred photo of them standing outside the town hall. Her hair isn’t covered, she’s wearing a long flowery dress. Her face is side-on because she’s looking at Baba. I wonder if they mocked up something more traditional to send to Dadi, to soften the blow. I wonder if she was ever really converted, which bits of it she actually believed. The way she’s looking at him in that photo, the answer’s not really that complicated. She believed in him.

Sometimes I dream that she’s trying to find me but she can’t, because I’m not on the straight path that leads to Jannah, I’ve sacrificed it all and there’s nothing left but ashes and dust.

So I walk because it’s the only thing left to do. If I walk long enough maybe I can let go of this feeling and be ready to make peace. To stop being so selfish. It’s almost dark. Walk by the old-fashioned lamps. Yellow light making everything feel like history. Under the railway bridge. Always the drips, even if it hasn’t rained for days. Graffiti: Carli W takes it up the arse. A giant penis in white paint. I push on to the houses. Past the pub. Families going in to eat. Lights in the windows. It’s safer here after dark. Safer and lonelier at the same time.