I had not wanted to disappoint him, but I wasn’t sure I understood Ibn Sina’s philosophical ponderings. I had closed my eyes, playing the part of a girl floating through space. I existed because I was here to say so. Even in suspension, I could think and breathe and be me.

You need no one to confirm you. You are everything you believe yourself to be.

We crossed a bridge, drove down tree-lined streets and past rows of homes. We stopped on a busy street. Though we’d traveled only a couple of hours, the temperature was much warmer than in Kabul. Indigo and his friend left for a few minutes, then returned with a bag of oranges and freshly baked bread. A few minutes later, Tilly had a heap of orange peels on her lap. With fingers and chins sticky with citrus juice, we could breathe a little easier. Indigo’s friend snapped a couple of photographs of the kiosks on the side of the road. Patricia and her friend posed halfheartedly for a picture before we got back into the car.

We circled through a roundabout, crossed the eastern end of the city, and continued along the highway that would take us to Pakistan. Signs of a border checkpoint appeared. Indigo wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

“Border coming up. Everybody got what you need?” Indigo asked, trying to sound casual.

Tilly rifled through her handbag. She pulled out her passport and the birth certificate. She searched some more, muttering to herself.

“Is everything okay?” Patricia asked sweetly, rubbing her shoulder. She’d pulled the neck of her top down earlier and shown us the faint bloom of bruises across her upper arm.

“I can’t seem to find my granddaughter’s passport. This is just terrible,” Tilly lamented. “I could have sworn I put it in my bag. I left it on the kitchen table so I wouldn’t miss it. Sweetheart, did I give it to you?”

She looked at me, a hand to her temple. I shook my head and pretended to look around our feet, as if it might have been dropped.

“What should we do?” the other American woman asked.

“I don’t think they’ll make a big deal. Let’s just tell them we’re Americans,” her boyfriend suggested.

No one wanted to turn back. Getting me across the border without a passport required trying our luck with the border patrol officers or concealing me in the van and trying to slip me through. Indigo, Patricia, and the other overlander couple argued the risks of each option. Tilly stayed out of the debate, wringing her hands and nattering to herself about how she really needed to get to that doctor in Islamabad. I pressed myself close to my forgetful grandmother. It didn’t take much acting for me to look like her anxious grandchild.