Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Hi! Hi! Don’t be mad at me.” I say nearly three weeks into Ramadan when Zahir steps off the elevator onto our floor shortly after six o’clock to find the twins and me waiting for him outside the Otis doors.
“Prin, girls, what are you—?” he starts to ask, and I can tell he’s in no mood to be derailed from his original destination.
He’s been taking meetings during the daylight hours of his fasting month, but by the end of an entire business day without food, he’s usually through. And with the time until sunset getting later and later as summer creeps in, I’ve learned the “get snapped at” way not to come between him and the nap he takes until one of his staff tells him it’s time for his prayers and sunset dinner.
Slightly behind Zahir, Erick, one of the American guar
