They’re conversing in low voices. When Tahera comes out of the bathroom, the discussion halts. She’s had a shower and changed her clothes—a dark brown jilbab, a light gray hijab with large indigo flowers, which strikes Nafeesa as pretty and unlike anything she’s seen Tahera wear. Perhaps it’s intended for the guests? Nafeesa notes that Tahera hasn’t dried her hair properly—drops of water drip down her face—but before Nafeesa can say anything, Tahera walks straight through the room toward her belongings, as if there’s no one else in the room. She picks up and unfolds the janamaz with a flick and spreads it out in her usual spot.

“Tahera, you should pray in Seema’s room,” Nafeesa says, a little sharply. “We have guests.”

The walk across the room has required all of Tahera’s resolve. Like with the men in front of the meat shop in the Tenderloin and the shoppers in Safeway, she is the target of stares and whispers, judgment and contempt. She’s sure Seema and her friends, even Ammi, have been discussing her affairs, pretending concern, but in reality, judging her for her beliefs and practices, as Ammi had done that afternoon. Thankfully they don’t know about Arshad, but if they did—the shame burns brighter. They would judge her as negligent, condemn her son as hateful and out of control.

She trembles. She’d unfolded the janamaz out of agitation and habit, but the reprimand in her mother’s voice stings. What is so discomfiting about namaz that it needs to be out of sight, as if Seema’s guests can’t abide it? Perhaps because it reminds them of what they owe Allah. She feels compelled to continue where Seema and her gay friend and her lesbian lover can watch.

She starts her salat with the takbir, but in her haste has forgotten to mentally voice her niyyat—Allah, I intend to pray four rakaat as fard for isha namaz, facing Ka’ba—and must start over.

If she’d been concerned earlier that her namaz may not be accepted for praying while her period isn’t over, she has more reason now, riddled as her namaz is with makruh acts caused by her lack of concentration. For though she’s facing the corner walls, she’s unable to dismiss the presence of the others. She struggles on, feeling none of the peace of mind she’d sought in the namaz.

Fiaz does notice Tahera’s small mistakes: arms not clasped when they should be, an extra sajda instead of sitting up in jalsa. Tahera is clearly becoming frustrated, fumbling even more as she tries to recover.

“Let’s go to the kitchen,” he whispers to Seema, “and let your sister pray in peace.”

He leads the way, and they stand awkwardly around the dining table, until Nafeesa says they may as well set the table while they wait.

They set the place mats, the plates, and the cutlery. Seema is to sit down, since she’s experiencing some pain, as if contractions were resuming. The three work quietly so Tahera isn’t disturbed. And then the food is transferred to serving dishes, except for the biryani, which must wait until Tahera joins them so it doesn’t get cold.