“It depends on what you want to talk about,” the girl replies. She reaches out a hand and hooks a finger around Valentina’s pinkie. I hold my breath and steal a look at my friend. She is staring at the offending digit with a fascination that makes me afraid for the future of that finger.

I clear my throat noisily and Valentina pulls her hand away. The girl grins.

“Do you remember that boy? The one made of stars?” Talei says.

All lightness drains away from the girl and she leans back, her face suddenly fierce. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, crossing her arms. She needs to work on her poker face.

“You may not remember him, but he remembers you.” I keep my voice casual. “He would like to talk to you. Tomorrow at one at Kultur Cafe in Taksim.”

“He’s here? Are you out of your mind? Why have you brought him here?” She hisses, pitching her voice so only we can hear her.

“He is not for you to worry about,” Valentina replies. “We protect our own.”

“Then why are you talking to me?” the girl demands. She has a point.

“If you are Tabassum Naaz, we have a proposition for you,” Talei says. I observe the girl.

“If I am Tabassum Naaz, talking to you would mean an automatic death sentence for me. My grandfather does not suffer traitors.” Her voice falters.

“Pretty late for you to worry about that, isn’t it? You should have considered it before setting Taraana free all those years ago,” I tell her. “Besides… from what I’ve heard, your grandfather wants to kill you regardless.

“If you do decide to talk to us, we will be at the stated place tomorrow for one hour after the promised time. We will wait.” I get to my feet. Valentina and Talei follow my lead.

“I didn’t say you could go!” The girl stands up too.

“Would you like to try and stop us?” Valentina smiles at her and the girl looks away.

Well then. Things are getting remarkably interesting.

When we return to the apartment, the girls are waiting for us. Taraana is conspicuously absent and I admit it, okay? Not seeing him causes me undue panic as it turns out he just went to take a shower.

My bowl of ice cream and I are the only ones remaining in the living room when he returns. His slightly long hair is curling at the tips, and his soft cotton T-shirt clings to his slender frame. He sits in the chair opposite mine, smelling lemony fresh and utterly irresistible. I have the urge to sniff at him and restrain myself with a heaped spoonful of choconut ice cream.

“You are back,” he says unnecessarily.

There is no reason in the world for him to be as attractive as he is. To me. Absolutely no reason.