“Back? To Kabul?” he asks. “Only if you want it too.” “Are you unhappy here? You seem happy. The children too.”
Laila sits up. Tariq shifts on the bed, makes room for her. “I am happy,” Laila says.
“Of course I am. But...where do we go from here, Tariq? How long do we stay? This isn't home.”
“Kabul is, and back there so much is happening, a lot of it good. I want to be a part of it all.”
“I want to do something. I want to contribute. Do you understand?”
Tariq nods slowly. “This is what you want, then? You're sure?”
“I want it, yes, I'm sure. But it's more than that. I feel like I have to go back. Staying here, it doesn't feel right anymore.”
Tariq looks at his hands, then back up at her. “But only—only if you want to go too.” Tariq smiles.
The furrows from his brow clear, and for a brief moment he is the old Tariq again,
the Tariq who did not get headaches, who had once said that in Siberia snot turned to ice before it hit the ground.
It may be her imagination, but Laila believes there are more frequent sightings of this old Tariq these days.
“Me?” he says. “I'll follow you to the end of the world, Laila.” She pulls him close and kisses his lips.
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