Where is the merit in telling the truth? He doesn’t want to hear it, he doesn’t want to believe anything that comes out of my mouth. He just wants her.

his onion-stained breath hot against her face.

I whisper the words in case anyone were to pass Muhtar’s door. In case my words were to float through the two inches of wood and tickle the ears of a passerby.

It’s raining, the sort of rain that wrecks umbrellas and renders a raincoat useless.

his conspiratorial manner flung away.

Is there anything more beautiful than a man with a voice like an ocean?

The diamond looks smaller and less impressive without its casing.

It is so quiet at this time of day that one is tempted to speak in whispers.

I try not to inhale the sickly sweet smell and I try not to cry.