Every time someone leaves our ranks and returns to the human world, we come here. Because the stars are limited in number, Paheli encourages us to move on when we are ready to face life and the world again. When one of us removes the star from her palm, she is able, once again, to walk beyond the limits of the cities. She becomes wholly human again. She forgets us and the time she spent with us as a Wild One.

She will pass us on the streets sometimes and look at us with a look that says she once was us but is no longer and cannot understand why. We become the color she sees in the corner of her eye and the name on the tip of her tongue that she can’t quite ever fully remember. We are the nostalgia she feels when she sees a group of girls, and we are the lights she thinks she sees on the darkest nights. Every time a Wild One leaves, it feels as though we have healed the wings of a wounded bird we found. There’s sorrow, but there’s happiness, too.

We walk briskly up a narrow street of stairs and reach a store that has its door wide open. Because it is raining, no wares are displayed immediately outside, but tables set right by the doors are laden with lamps in different sizes and shapes. The lamps sold in this store illuminate a person’s truth whether they want it illuminated or not. We stay away from them.

After Talei exchanges Between diamonds for Moroccan currency, we find some restaurants a few streets from our house and place an order that has the manager peeking at us. An hour later, we make our way back with carefully packaged portions of chicken, beef, lamb tagines, couscous, pastillas, meat skewers, a variety of soups, and, especially for Taraana, eggplant with garlic.

When we get back, the living room is empty but for Taraana, who is sitting at the edge of his seat, his eyes turned in the direction of the room Paheli has cloistered herself in. We exchange glances before Talei takes pity on him.

“Could you call Paheli out? Tell her to come and eat,” she says. Taraana beams at her and is gone before she has finished talking.

Paheli: Disharmony in the Attics

I sense his attention before he even takes a step toward the room I have barricaded myself into. It is as though some newly discovered nerve stretches between his mind and mine. I have been able to feel him thinking about me. His concern feels like a balm, perhaps a Band-Aid, not very useful but comforting nonetheless.