I suppose I’m a liar too, but after so many years of practice, I’ve mastered the art of prevarication. Zain—if that’s who she is—will never know I love her, and neither will anybody else. Love her? There goes the artist inside me babbling away like a lunatic… How could I be in love with somebody whose name I’m not even sure about? I’m just a crazy old man who needs to learn to keep his feelings in check! How could I be in love with a girl who’s young enough to be my daughter? That’s ridiculous… But whoever said love was rational? On the contrary, it’s the irrational par excellence, or so it appears to be at this moment. My feelings for her are so confused. She’s stirred up all the pain in my heart, and suddenly I’m remembering whole strings of events I thought I’d forgotten all about. It’s
