SUNDAY – MIDNIGHT – UZMA RAFIQEight hours. That's how long I've been trying to get through to Sylvain via Skype. I think for at least four of those hours I've been crying, too. I haven't eaten since breakfast but just the thought of food makes me feel sick. I swear that tomorrow I'm going to try to find him. Once the airport staff have tracked my suitcase, I should be able to use the cash inside to pay someone to help me. A niggling doubt has started to set in, though. I mean, it's odd, but could Sylvain possibly be avoiding me?
The most rational explanation is that he's simply had a busy weekend. Perhaps he's had a student group this weekend, or maybe he's just been out with his friends. Either way, I need to stop overreacting. Even though I told him that I intended to come here to be wi
