It seemed like her father would never come back to the room. She could hear him faintly. He was whispering things on the phone, so he must have reached the doctor. Her mother had closed her eyes.

The girl looked down. She had been standing barefoot on the tiles and her feet were getting cold. She rubbed them against each other. 'Come on, let's do the twist, like we did last summer ... ' The tune was back in her head. She found herself humming it softly. Then she thought she heard the call to prayer from the mosque she passed when she walked to her aunt's place. But wasn't it too late in the evening for prayer? Then the oddest question crossed her mind: would she still love her mother if her mother showed no signs of remembering her, or loving her? She might not; she might stop loving her.

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Last modified on July 25, 2006  | © Telegram 2005