My masochism has found an excuse and is singing happily. Amir is walking shoulder to shoulder with a woman in the streets of Baku that he says are clean and wide. I wait till the sting of jealousy goes deep through my body like an electric current. I look again at the picture that I have imagined. It is so clear that it almost looks real. Baku’s sun is bright and bountiful, and the trees in the streets are very tall.

I don’t go any further. I freeze the scene right there to get my revenge by holding on to the most familiar shot. I conjure up a man by my side, and I start talking to him about the houses I have seen, about the agencies I have visited. I take out a bunch of colorful business cards from my pocket to show him.

“These are business cards from the rental offices.”

I am not happy at all about the high prices. How expensive. And besides, we have to look for an apartment on the first floor so the kids can run around. I feel like chatting and realize how much you can talk about a trivial subject. I look around. The kids have fallen behind. There is no sign of a man.

Despairingly I tell myself if Amir is having a good time with another woman in that street next to the metro station, nothing in the world could ruin it. My brain is like a sieve with large holes; dreams and hallucination pass through it and attack my mind. I can’t think straight. I am moving and staying put at the same time. Ultimately, one thought is more persistent than others: the image of a man and a woman in love.

But I have learned how to handle my imagination that is gliding around me like a butterfly, showing off its wings that change color every second. I remain still for the butterfly to get close. I wait till it gets closer and even closer. Cross-eyed, I stare at its locust-like body.

The search is successful; we are in a new apartment.

A few days have passed, and I still haven’t found my favorite spot in this new place. This usually takes a day or two. Once I found my special corner right away. But a few days have passed and no corner of this place feels familiar to me yet. It’s not kind. I walk from room to room, moving things around, and it still feels like it is not taking shape.