I listen closely. I hear him living. He comes and goes at random times. Nevertheless, the doubt planted by Andrew persists, and I spend my time on the lookout, waiting. It makes me behave as though I were constantly under his watch, as though he were here, even if he is not. Later, I became certain of his presence and his ability. I perceived a thumping on the wall of my room that made me sure he could pass through whatever stands in his way. His voice came clear and distinct from the two neighboring rooms: the one across the hall where Maryam used to live, and the one adjacent, in which Daoud stayed. That suggested that my room and I were not safe for him, and he preferred to stay in rooms that he knew no one would enter so long as they remained unoccupied.

I once whispered to Miss Zahra between two sentences, “I hear voices in the neighboring rooms.” She waved her large ring of keys in my face, of all different shapes and sizes, and said, “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Mr. N. The rooms around you are locked and empty. No one goes in them without my knowledge and permission.” That did not reassure me, and as a result, Andrew came to visit me again. He sat with me and grilled me for a long time, concluding with the necessity of adjusting my treatment, ramping it up, for he observed that his previous adjustment had not produced the effect he was hoping for.

“I don’t understand why your condition is deteriorating, despite all the prescriptions I’ve given you. You have to improve, Mr. N, because raising the dose means an increase in the side effects. Do you understand?” I could hear the disapproval and annoyance in his voice.

I listened silently, even as I thought, “You say that Luqman doesn’t exist, that he’s just in my head. At the same time, even though I don’t see him, I hear him moving around, and I can’t help but be aware of his existence. Is not seeing something proof that it doesn’t exist? What about the existence of God then?”