The first week after Karim’s departure passed in a feverish blur. Bilal didn’t wait for nightfall anymore. He took Amina whenever the house allowed a sliver of privacy ,mid-morning in the storeroom among sacks of rice while Zainab was at the market, late afternoon in the laundry room with the washing machine drowning out her gasps, even once in the narrow space behind the staircase when Fatima had stepped out to buy textbooks.

Each encounter left Amina more marked, more claimed. Bilal was insatiable, inventive. He discovered how sensitive the undersides of her heavy breasts were when he dragged his teeth along them, how she trembled when he pressed two fingers into her ass while his cock filled her pussy, how her voice broke into soft, broken sobs when he pinned her wrists above her head and fucked her so slowly she begged for mercy.