A part of her wants to apologize, to throw herself around her mother’s neck, to knock on Seema’s door and beg for forgiveness. But these actions would constitute an admission of guilt, which she cannot bring herself to do. For to do so would be to accept the enormity of her offense, not only against her sister but against her mother as well, and her own understanding of the teachings of the Prophet. So she tells herself: Allah as her witness, she has done nothing wrong. She stands irresolutely by her suitcase, clutching her handbag to herself.

“I’m going to catch a taxi to the airport,” she says, testing her power to leave.

Does she want Nafeesa or Fiaz to make another effort to persuade her to stay? And if they did, would she give in? But the option is not presented: Nafeesa is still bereft of speech, and Fiaz is ready to take Tahera at her word.

“I’ll drive you,” he says.

He makes his offer without any rancor that she can detect. Is he simply determined to get her out of Seema’s apartment? Does he mean to take her to task on the way? Or is he laying claims to being the nobler Muslim? Her indignation gives her the strength to leave: “There’s no need. I can manage by myself.”

She looks toward her mother for a last sign of protest, then picks up her suitcase and heads to the door. The suitcase is heavy; she cannot make a quick exit like Leigh did: she struggles to hold the door open while hauling her suitcase through. Fiaz appears behind her, and this time she accepts his help. He descends first with her suitcase, and she follows with her bag.

She is halfway down the stairs when she hears her mother cry, “Tahera, wait.”

Nafeesa’s footsteps sound behind her, but she continues down the stairs and out the building entrance—Fiaz holds the door open for her—into the cold San Francisco night.

“Thank you.” She takes her suitcase back from Fiaz. It’s a stroller; she pulls the handle out, then waits for her mother to join her.

Nafeesa shivers as soon as she steps out onto the street—she has on only her thin sweater.

“Go back, Ammi, it’s cold,” Tahera says, but her mother appears too dazed to respond.

The three stand by the entrance to Seema’s building, like actors who have forgotten their lines. Tahera nods to Fiaz—she wants him to leave, she knows her mother will say nothing in his presence. “I’ll be able to find a taxi myself, Allah Hafiz.”

“Good night.” He accepts his dismissal politely.

He extends his hand to Nafeesa, who returns a squeeze. “Aunty, tell Seema to call me.”

He turns and runs lightly down the street, leaving Tahera alone with her mother.