“I don’t know,” I say.

When we pass the rows of hothouses filled with perspiring vegetables on our way to view the silver mosque, she offers, “What about Cyprus? It’s so close, I’m sure you’d have no problem finding someone with a boat willing to take you.”

“I’m not doing an island,” I say. “I don’t want to be locked in.”

The muezzins call out for one of the five daily prayers, causing the local dogs to throw back their heads in unison and howl. For a lark, Maddy throws back her head and howls with them. Devout men and women are drawn to the metal domes in order to offer their silent thoughts to God.

“I’ve been trying to learn how to just enjoy myself in the present moment,” she says. “To not worry so much about the future and feel more of what they call ‘childlike wonder,’ I guess. To be happy in the way that an animal is happy.”

“I don’t think I’m a present moment kind of guy,” I say.

I take us to my café. I want to see her and Sofie—even if it isn’t the real Sofie—in the same room. We drink wine and eat stuffed dolma and pita while Maddy keeps suggesting countries.

“Italy,” she says.

“No,” I say.

“Morocco,” she says.

“No,” I say.

“Albania,” she says.

“Now you’re just naming places to name places,” I say.

“Well, where do you want to go?” she asks.

“How about I stay here?” I ask. “I can rent out a room in someone’s house or find another hostel close by and still come see you without you having to worry.”

The owner refills our glasses. I catch her by the wrist. “This is Maddy,” I say.

“Ah, you are his Madeline,” she says.

“I am,” Maddy says. “Who are you?”

“I’m Kubra,” she says. “The owner.”

“Nice to meet you,” Maddy says. They shake hands. That was far less exciting than I thought it would be.

“Where are you both from?” Kubra asks.

“Los Angeles,” I say.

“California!” she cries. “I lived there for twenty years. I still miss it sometimes.”

“What brought you here?” Maddy asks.

“My husband died,” she says, “so I decided to come home.”

“My baby died,” Maddy says.

“Oh, my dear,” Kubra replies, at once embracing Maddy with her full self. “My dear dear dear dear dear.” Maddy receives it stiffly, but at last she gives way from the outside in, like an ancient crumbling façade. She sobs and when the sobbing abates, Kubra smooths away the tears and smeared makeup, neatens her hair back behind her ears as if performing a blessing. These were tears from comfort without motive, from emotional support provided without thought of recompense, and suddenly it’s so mortifyingly clear how selfish and oblivious the rest of us have been. How Maddy must have waited for such a simple gesture, and what it required was for her to encounter another woman at last, a complete stranger.