Rasheed buried his face into her pillow, and Mariam stared, wide eyed, at the ceiling
above his shoulder, shivering, lips pursed, feeling the heat of his quick breaths on her
shoulder. The air between them smelled of tobacco, of the onions and grilled lamb they had
eaten earlier. Now and then, his ear rubbed against her cheek, and she knew from the
scratchy feel that he had shaved it.
When it was done, he rolled off her, panting. He dropped his forearm over his brow. In the
dark, she could see the blue hands of his watch. They lay that way for a while, on their
backs, not looking at each other.
"There is no shame in this, Mariam," he said, slurring a little. "It's what married people do.
It's what the Prophet himself and his wives did There is no shame."
A few moments later, he pushed back the blanket and left the room, leaving her with the
impression of his head on her pillow, leaving her to wait out the pain down below, to look
at the frozen stars in the sky and a cloud that draped the face of the moon like a wedding
veil.