‘Do you want me to go inside with you?’ he whispers.
No matter how much I want it, deep inside I still feel that I have to do this alone.
‘No. I think I’d better do this on my own.’
‘Are you sure?’
Hell, no, I’m not.
‘Mhm,’ I nod uncertainly.
‘Amina?’ I hear my name from the stranger’s mouth, and this time I have to turn around.
A tall man stands before me with fair hair greying at the temples, a distinctive profile and a straight nose. His eyes are a cold blue, probably like my mother’s – the thought crosses my mind. He is wearing a white shirt with a brown waistcoat, his neck is covered with a beige scarf. He makes a slightly old-fashioned, stiffly elegant impression, especially when I think that it’s Saturday morning, and this is his home. I study him from head to toe, with the V
