Sarah looked down at her fingers. “I don’t know how to say this. I’m worried you’ll think less of me.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me.” Deya could see hesitation in her aunt’s face as she turned toward the window.
“I had a boyfriend,” Sarah finally said.
“A boyfriend? Is that why you ran away?”
“No, not exactly.”
“Then why?”
Sarah stared out the window.
“Come on, tell me.”
She drew a breath and started again. “The truth is, I wasn’t a virgin.”
Deya stared at her with wide eyes. “In Teta’s house? How . . . how could you?” Sarah’s face grew red, and she looked away. “I’m sorry—I’m not trying to judge you or anything. It’s just, all I can think of is Teta’s face. Seedo beating you. Maybe even a knife at your throat. Our reputation would’ve been ruined if people found out.”
“I know,” Sarah said quietly. “That’s why I ran. I was terrified what would happen when everyone found out. I was scared of what my parents would do.”
Deya said nothing. She couldn’t picture herself in Sarah’s shoes, couldn’t imagine losing her virginity. She would never have the nerve to go that far with a man, to disobey her grandparents so severely, but it wasn’t just that. The act itself seemed far too intimate. She couldn’t imagine letting anyone close enough to touch her skin, much less peel her clothes back, touch her deep inside. She flushed.
“Is that why you don’t think you’re brave?” Deya asked. “Because you didn’t have the courage to face your family after what you’d done? Because you chose to run away instead?”
“Yes.” Sarah looked up to meet Deya’s eyes. “Even though I was afraid for my life, I shouldn’t have run. I should’ve confronted my mother about what I’d done. It’s not that I wasn’t strong enough to face my parents—I was. Books were my armor. Everything I’d ever learned growing up, all my thoughts, dreams, goals, experiences, it all came from the books I read. It was like I went around collecting knowledge, plucking it from pages and storing it up, waiting for a chance to use it. I could’ve stood up to my parents, but I let fear control my decisions, and instead of facing them, I ran. I was a coward.”
Deya didn’t quite agree with her aunt. She would’ve run away too had she been in Sarah’s shoes. Staying after she’d committed such a sin would have been unthinkable, unwise even—she would have risked getting killed. Deya passed her aunt a comforting smile. In an attempt to lighten the conversation, she said, “I never knew you loved to read so much. But I guess it should’ve been obvious, seeing where you work and all.”
“You caught me,” Sarah said with a grin.
“Fareeda didn’t mind your books?”
“Oh, she did!” Sarah laughed. “But I hid them from her. Did you know Isra loved to read, too? We used to read together.”
“Really? I remember she used to read to us all the time.”
Sarah smiled. “You remember that?”
“It’s one of the only good memories I have of her. Sometimes I think that’s why I love to read so much.”
“You like to read, too?”
“There’s nothing else in the world I’d rather do.”
“Well, in that case, you’re more than welcome to any of these.” Sarah gestured at the shelves piled high with books.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” Deya said, feeling her cheeks burn. “You’re so lucky.”
“For what?”
“To have all these books. All these stories all around.”
“I am lucky,” Sarah said. “Books have always kept me company when I felt most alone.”
“You sound like me.”
Sarah laughed. “Well, guess what?”
“What?”
“You’re not alone anymore.”
Deya curled into her seat, unsure of what to say. She knew she should feel excited, connected even. But all she felt was fear, the need to retreat inside herself. Why couldn’t she let her guard down? Why couldn’t she believe that someone could actually care about her? She wasn’t sure of the precise reason, but if her own family was willing to throw her away to the first man who asked, then why should she expect more from anyone else? She shouldn’t. She was only being safe, she reasoned. She was only protecting herself.
“You know what’s strange?” Deya said after a moment.
“What’s that?”
“What are the odds that me, you, and my mother would all love to read?”
“It’s not strange at all,” Sarah said. “It’s the loneliest people who love books the most.”
“Is that why you loved reading? Because you were lonely?”
“Something like that.” Sarah looked toward the window. “Growing