“My father won’t listen to anyone,” Deepa said. “He’s determined to keep the clinic open.”

“And you don’t understand the forces I’m talking about.”

Deepa huffed. “I’m not some naïve school girl, Amir. I have eyes. I live here too.”

“But you don’t—"

“Let’s go, Amir,” Laila whined, looping her fingers through Amir’s belt. I want to go home.”

“Laila,” he snapped. “Please!”

Laila’s mouth fell open. Her lower lip quivered.

Deepa bent low, put her hand on Laila’s shoulder, eyed Amir. “Your brother did not mean to talk to you like that. He didn’t meant to talk to me like that, either. He’s just worried. Please give us a little more time, Laila. I’m going to make sure he calms down. Then he’ll be ready to leave with you.”

Laila nodded slowly, sulked to the corner, and draped herself over an upturned crate.

“I’m sorry, Deepa. I didn’t—"

“Amir, I can’t imagine what you and your family are experiencing right now,” she said. “I want to help you. But if my parents decide to stay in Delhi, I can’t change their minds. And I am frightened already. I don’t need you to frighten me any more.”

“I understand,” he said. “I’m sorry, Deepa.”

She stepped back, searched the crowd of shoppers. She spotted Bala inspecting grains of rice, her nose turned up. In her hand, Bala held a paper bag. The parathas, soaked in oil, stained the bottom. Deepa had been born and raised in Delhi, knew this city, this India, intimately. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t believe Amir—it was more that she couldn’t understand how quickly things could change in such a short period of time. Or maybe things had always been changing. Maybe tensions had always been rising like the sea at high tide. People are inherently good, her mother had told her once, they’re just not inherently good all of the time.

Amir had been right to some degree. Deepa had been naïve. She had been callous, even. She had bought into denial to push away the fear. India was on the verge of a war with itself. She could see this now.

“I have to go,” Deepa said.

“Make your father understand things are worse than he thinks,” Amir said. “Please, Deepa. I’m worried about you.”

“And I’m worried about you,” she said. “What will your family do? How will you escape this?”

“My mother found some temporary seamstress work, and together we’re saving for the train tickets. As soon as we’ve saved enough,” he said, “we’re moving to Lahore.”