I limp along until we’ve left the market behind us, the fresh breeze clearing away the smell of orange peels and sliced watermelon.

“In here,” Cyrus says, making another sharp turn toward a pharmacy on the corner of the street. He holds the door open and nods for me to enter.

The cool blast of air-conditioning hits me with full force as I hobble in, the sweat on my bare arms drying within seconds. The entire pharmacy is barely larger than our hotel rooms, but its blue-and-white shelves appear to be stacked with a bit of everything: rows upon rows of facial creams and toners and eye masks promising to reverse all signs of aging; cheap mascaras and lip tints and nail clippers; about twenty different kinds of vitamins sealed in orange jars. A gorgeous celebrity grins down at customers from a massive banner, holding up a new shade of lipstick like he’s proposing with it, his name scribbled at the bottom: Caz Song.

Cyrus is already at the counter, saying something in Chinese to the only retail assistant in here. I pick out the words do you and where before they both turn toward me.

“This for her?” the retail assistant asks in English, stepping around to speak to me. Two minutes, I note to myself with a mental grimace. I’ve been inside for two minutes, and that’s all it took for her to deduce that I can’t speak Chinese. By this point, I doubt I could look any more like a confused foreigner even if I glued my passport to my forehead.

The jade beads on the retail assistant’s bracelet clatter noisily as she reaches for something on the upper shelf to my right. “I have very good shampoo for you,” she declares, brandishing a hot-pink bottle.

“Oh,” I say, confused. I demand an explanation from Cyrus with my eyes—did he drag me over here to ask for shampoo recommendations?—but he looks just as bewildered.

“This smells like oranges,” she continues, every word punctuated by an enthusiastic nod of her head, her high bun bobbing with it. “A favorite for our customers. Many girls say their boyfriends love the scent too—won’t stop following them around just to smell their hair. Very easy to wash out and will make your hair smooth and shiny and healthy, like a mermaid. Once you start using it, I promise you will never be able to pick up another shampoo brand again.”

Cyrus clears his throat. “We’re just looking for Band-Aids,” he says, switching to English too. “Do you have any—”

“Check the back,” the woman says briskly, and waves the shampoo higher in front of my face, her eyes gleaming. “But you will regret it for all your lifetimes to come if you leave without trying this shampoo. We have other types of shampoo too: papaya, mango, cherries, vanilla. There’s one for frizzing—does your hair frizz a lot?”