Sophie switched off her audio recorder and sat back in her chair. I could see she the tears in her eyes.

“Sara, I had no idea. You’ve never spoken about it in your articles or on social media.”

I took her hand in mine. We’d been meeting up every day over the past week and it almost felt as if we were friends. I supposed that was natural when you were sharing the innermost details of your life with someone.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to say sorry. It’s been nine years since it happened. I’ve decided now is the right time to talk about it, to let the world know what happens when you’re raped in an Arab country. It wouldn’t have been safe for me to tweet about it while I still lived in the Gulf. Here in London I have freedom of speech again. You don’t know how precious that is.”

“You’re so brave. I don’t think I’d have been as brave as you. We’ll be changing all names in the documentary, so you’re safe,” Sophie said, patting the top of my hand. “Shall we wrap up for today? Let’s go get a pizza. It’s on me. I think we deserve one.”

“I can’t say no to pizza!” I chuckled.