“Sweetheart, we didn’t mean to give you a scare. Indigo stopped by, and we had to make a quick decision. You had way too much on your shoulders already. But we can hash all that out later when we’re in the same country. Meanwhile, the folks at the embassy here have an obvious love for formalities. Do you have any friends at the Canadian embassy? Just in case.”

I couldn’t make out Antonia’s response, and Tilly did not reveal any details after she cradled the phone.

“Is your head better?” I asked as we slipped into the twin beds.

“Much better,” Tilly said brightly, so I believed her and fell into a hopeful slumber.

I woke to a sky of dusty rose. Our window looked out on an empty school with a small soccer field and a playground with swings. If Neelab had been with me, we would have found a way to steal a few moments there, pitching our bodies forward and kicking our legs to lift ourselves into the sky.

“Star,” Tilly said. I turned to face her. She was sitting up in bed, a pillow propped behind her. “How did you sleep, dear?”

“Fine,” I replied before my thoughts turned to last night’s conversation. “Will they give me passport here today?”

“Nia thinks they will, but that it might take some time.”

“She is angry with us?” I asked. It did matter to me how Antonia felt.

“No,” Tilly scoffed. “She’s angry with me. That has nothing to do with you. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

Tilly reached for a tissue on the nightstand. She pinched the tip of her nose with it, sniffling.

“I must be allergic to something in the air.”

The air was different here. Islamabad smelled of industry and incense. I’d stared out the window on the short ride to the hotel, watching people move through streets and shops with bags swinging at their sides, some dressed in tunics and some in shirts and slacks. This was a different city, but one that pulsed at Kabul’s pace.

We ate a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and bread at the hotel. Tilly gathered salt crystals on her fingertip then touched the tip of her tongue.

“Antonia wants to join us, but she can’t leave Kabul for another two days. I’d much rather travel with her, but I was also hoping we could be on a plane to the U.S. before then.”

I hated feeling like a burden.

Every Ramadan, my parents paid the local masjid to feed families less fortunate than our own. One day as I walked with Boba to the masjid, our conversation circled around the meaning of the holiday.