The private room is one of the few the café keeps reserved for the most affluent of their customers. Sumptuous rugs, tasteful wall hangings, and intimate light provide the perfect atmosphere for the narghile, or as the West refers to it, hookah. Chairs are set in a semicircle at the back of the room with a wide coffee table set in front of them. The narghile occupies the place of prominence on the table, though none of us, apart from Sevda, have acquired a taste for it.

Paheli is curled up beside Etsuko, fairly humming with nerves. Valentina sits beside Daraja, who is next to Etsuko. Taraana sits on the other side of Paheli, with Ghufran next to him and Widad next to her. Kamboja and Areum are too restless to sit and are playing chess set up in a corner. Sevda and Ligaya are standing over their game, giving them spectacularly unhelpful advice.

Talei shrugged when we asked her how the meeting last night went; we translated that particular shift of her shoulders to mean that no blood was spilled but the situation was tense. Talei’s shrugs are masterfully eloquent.

The designated hour arrives with the chiming of the clock on a wall in the room. We order some seriously sweet milkshakes and a lot of desserts and continue waiting.

Forty minutes pass. The dessert sits a bit too heavily in our stomachs. Will she come, this girl we know nothing about? Will she side with us, or will she bring her grandfather with her? We don’t know. The tension rises and Sevda moves to lean against a wall, her palm pressed to it, ready to call a door into the Between.

“She’s not coming.” Valentina is the first to give up. “Let’s leave.”

“She will be here,” Taraana replies. “I know she will.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ligaya asks. She has dressed up entirely in black today, so we have been careful of her. When one of us wears black, it is a signal to the rest of us that our nightmares are running rampant. That our words will be sharp, maybe draw blood, but that we do not intend to hurt. Not really.

“Wouldn’t you want to know what happened to someone you saved?” Taraana answers, and Ligaya turns away without replying.

“Not if it means meeting him would place him in danger,” Paheli replies instead, and gets to her feet. “Let’s go.”

“Giving up on me so soon?” a voice says from the doorway. We all turn. What had been empty space just one second ago is now filled by a tall girl dressed in black jeans and a black vest. We wonder if she, too, is having a bad day. Her hair is pulled back in a French braid, and her lips are as red as ours. Her expression, however, is far more relaxed.