117 46 I have found my favorite place in the house. I am sitting there and flipping through a book. I go back to the beginning of the line and read the same sentence over and again. My eyes, like magnets that have lost their power, only move on the paper without absorbing the words. I rest my head on the book, and when I look up Amir is there. Unexpectedly. It’s difficult to recognize him at first. He looks a little darker, slimmer, and a bit unfamiliar. After kissing the kids, he tells them to go and play in the yard. I say, “No, stay here.” They will make noise in the yard. Being alone together is nothing like what happens in the movies. There is no sound, no music. Like a man and a woman who run into each other in the street, we are supposed to remember that we somehow know each other. But remembering alone is not enough. There is a need for something more, perhaps something that has to do with love. Amir comes close and touches my arm. I say, “I’ll get you some tea.” He follows me to the kitchen but doesn’t let go of my hand. “I won’t go back to Baku any more. I’ll stay right here.” ...