She snatched a newspaper off the table and placed it beneath my foot to catch the blood.

“Be still. What is your name?” she asked as she knelt before me.

I did not answer.

“Come,” she said, motioning for me to rise with her. “Here is the washroom. I’ll bring you clothes.”

Either out of exhaustion or because her posture reminded me of my mother in prayer, I did not try to run from her.

“Please. Let me go,” I said in a low whisper. My father’s brother lived two buildings away, as did my mother’s cousin. If I could just get my bearings, I was sure I could find them. I could even find a few other familiar homes across town if I could just get free.

Tahera’s eyes fell upon the ring on my finger. I folded my arms and hid my hand from view.

“I cannot do that,” she said haltingly.

I followed her to the bathroom, walking on the ball of my foot only. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. I looked like a feral animal, fresh from an alley fight. My hair was greasy and matted with flakes of plaster. My clothes were soiled and stiff. My lips were cracked and scabbed. I bent my knee and saw the split flesh on the sole of my foot. The two edges like a gaping mouth, with bits of dirt and flakes of glass embedded in the wound. No wonder it sent shocks of pain up my leg to walk on it.

I moved mechanically. Tahera used a pitcher to pour tepid water over me. My scraped cheek burned. A collage of bruises appeared on my arms. My foot had started to bleed again. Brown water pooled at my feet before disappearing down the drain.

Tahera dressed me, looking away anytime I looked at her. I followed her back to the living room and sat upright on a cushion on the floor while she retrieved a basket from the closet in the hallway. She stared at its contents and then at my foot.

“Don’t touch my foot,” I hissed, drawing it toward me protectively.

“I don’t want to,” she said, her voice so close to breaking that I almost pitied her. “But it is badly cut. You can barely stand on it.”

Shair had warned Tahera to keep the apartment lights off. She placed a candle so close to my foot that I could feel its warmth on my skin. With a pair of stainless steel tweezers in her trembling hand, she plucked debris from my wound. I buried my face in a cushion, reeling from a pain I hadn’t felt until now.