“She is being brave,” Daraja replies. “Do you think it was easy for her to speak up right now?”

“When do you leave?” Ligaya asks.

“You don’t have to leave to avoid this conflict, you know. You can just stay with Eulalie in New Orleans,” Talei says.

“No… Though I’m scared and I probably wouldn’t have made this move if we weren’t running from Baarish, it is time. I want a family. I want to fall in love again. I want to stay in one place. In Marrakech,” Sevda says. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Valentina says, getting to her feet. Her face is blank, as is Paheli’s. Neither of them shows how they really feel about Sevda leaving. They must have done this many times before. “Come with me. I will make a call to Eulalie. She’ll send you all the things you need to live in the human world.”

They leave and for a second, we look at the place Sevda was standing in, her absence pulsing painfully for a moment. Then we recalibrate ourselves, change the positions we’re sitting in, take up slightly more space, and we are fine. All right, we’re not fine, but we will be. We’ve learned to let go easily.

“Where do I sleep tonight?” Taraana asks suddenly.

“With the rest of us. Where else would you go?” Areum retorts, raising an eyebrow.

“With all of you?” he repeats, eyes wide.

“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?” Ligaya says with a grin.

“Well…” Taraana peeks at Paheli, flushing. “Not quite?”

“Half of us don’t consider you romantic material, and the other half know where your affections lie.” Talei chucks him under his chin, and he buries his face in his hands.

“Am I that obvious?” he mumbles. The tips of his ears are very red.

“Yes.” Daraja giggles.

“Why doesn’t she seem to get it, then?” he asks, glancing at Paheli.

We pause and consider her. She is lying on the floor of the living room with her eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. We know she is fully aware of the conversation happening around us.

“You should ask her that,” Kamboja suggests with a naughty grin.

“You should not,” Paheli replies, immediately opening her eyes. “You should not ask her that at all.” She sits up.

“Ask Ahlam if the rooftop is free,” she says to us. “Let’s celebrate Sevda tonight before she leaves.”

Paheli: The Atlas Mountains, the Cozy Rooftop, and the Confession, Possibly of Love

Night falls abruptly in Marrakech. We head for the open rooftop of the riad. Someone is playing the oud somewhere, and from a distance we can hear the beat of a darabukka. The air is full of movement, and the night is full of pockets of adventure we would be having if Baarish weren’t after us.