There was an unpleasant hum in Mariam's head. Her throat burned. She drank some of the water.
Through the wide window behind Jalil, Mariam could see a row of flowering apple trees.
On the wall beside the window stood a dark wooden cabinet. In it was a clock, and a framed photograph of Jalil and three young boys holding a fish.
The sun caught the sparkle in the fish's scales. Jalil and the boys were grinning.
“Well,” Afsoon began. “I—that is, we—have brought you here because we have some very good news to give you.”
Mariam looked up. She caught a quick exchange of glances between the women over Jalil,
who slouched in his chair looking unseeingly at the pitcher on the table.
It was Khadija, the oldest looking of the three, who turned her gaze to Mariam,
and Mariam had the impression that this duty too had been discussed, agreed upon, before they had called for her.
“You have a suitor,” Khadija said. Mariam's stomach fell. “A what?” she said through suddenly numb lips.
“A khastegar. A suitor. His name is Rasheed,” Khadija went on.
“He is a friend of a business acquaintance of your father's.
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