(no subject)

[kayip]

It's small – three rooms, a miniscule kitchen shared with a living room just big enough for the dusty couch and small television set on top of a short, empty bookshelf. There are grocery bags crumpled on the floor, with clothing and plates and a few forks, spoons, and knives, as well as soap and a few other essentials. The rest he can buy in the morning. He drops the plastic bag he brought in and puts these things away immediately, piling the paper bags in a corner.

Then, he goes through the plastic bag. The new license goes in his wallet, birth certificate and other documents into his dresser, along with the cd. The Qur'an goes on top of the dresser rather than in the bookshelf.

The rings go into his pocket.

He pauses a moment as he adds the plastic bag to the others. There's a window that overlooks the street below – on one end, a red neon sign advertises a movie rental store. There's a simple stone building farther down that he identifies by the crescent symbol added to the top – a mosque. A car passes, headlights illuminating the windows of the closed shop below.


They liked you. Normally wouldn't hire out, but they need someone else to work there, and you're an orphan. That helped for some reason.

His eyes turn away – he walks to the simple brown-plastic hung up against the wall in the kitchen, and dials.

An accented voice. "Hello?"

"Mr. Rehmani? It's Orhan."





*


He doesn't sleep well that night, in the bed or the couch. There's a buzzing sound somewhere – it's not that loud, but it bothers him. He wakes easily, not even because of the noise, but just from wondering what it is, why he hadn't noticed it before.

And he wakes up early that morning, because he's given up on sleeping. Pulls on some of the clothes from the paper bags, put in his contacts. It's not until he's looking out the window again, thinking about finding someplace for breakfast before he goes to work after a sleepless night (he doesn't have food yet), that he realizes what day it is. April 22.

Two years.

His eyes go to the tiny plastic bag with the silver rings, placed on his dresser. He meant to put it away, but instead he puts it in his pocket again.

Maybe he'll find a pawnshop nearby. He'd never go through with it, though. Right?

With a yawn, he opens the door out to the hall outside his apartment. It doesn't lead there, though.