“He is too busy looking for that keeper to bother with Tabassum right now. Call her. Tell her to lie low and not draw attention to herself,” Baarish’s son replies.

“I want to see her! She’s my only child!” The woman sobs.

“It’s better if she stays far away from here, Gulnaaz,” the son replies. “You know that.”

They don’t say anything more, so I pull Widad away. Back in the house, we linger around the empty living room next to the entrance, dusting the stone head of a rather ugly man half-heartedly. We should leave now, but I can’t help feeling there’s more to be learned here.

Ten minutes pass and I am forced to concede. However, before we can take more than two steps, someone comes down the stairs. The back of my neck prickles and I immediately turn, keeping my eyes cast down. I squeeze Widad’s hand. I feel her tremble.

“Girl.” I recognize the voice in the way you recognize things and people you really wish you didn’t. When did Baarish return to the house? Why didn’t we see him earlier? My heart starts dancing in my chest.

“Ji, sarkar?” I reply, even though it isn’t clear which of us he is talking to. Bollywood movies have given me a dialogue for this scene. I delivered the “Yes, sir?” in the perfect tone. Valentina will be proud of me right before she kills me for taking this risk.

“Bring a cup of tea to the study,” he says, and continues on his way down the stairs and into what I assume is the study at the end of the corridor just by the living room. He didn’t even wait to see whether I followed his orders, so confident is he of the obedience of his servants. We sag against each other when he is gone; I remind myself that I am stronger than I was. That I, and not my fear, control this situation.

Then I wipe the cold sweat on my palms and we make our way to the kitchen, which is in the expected state of controlled chaos. Due to the constant demands of the family, there’s a kettle of chai simmering all day on a stovetop. I gesture to Widad to wait on the side and wade into the chaos.

I pick up a cup, saucer, and tray from the sideboard; they become invisible as soon as I touch them; perhaps they become imbued with a fantastic flavor not meant for human eyes. I fill the cup with tea and arrange the items on the tray, making sure not to bump into anyone.

“Are you really doing this?” Widad stops me when I emerge from the kitchen.

“Yes,” I tell her with a smile I don’t really mean.

“What if he recognizes you?” she demands.