Sitting on the rocks watching the ships at sea in front of me, I hadn’t imagined that I’d meet her again. But Farah was standing right there in front of me, inside the workshop. All the day’s worries disappeared. I wasn’t sure right then what was different about her face. That was because I hadn’t looked closely at her, cautious as I was, scared, first and foremost, that it wasn’t her, and then scared that if it was her, she’d become frightened and turn to run away. As I walked slowly toward her, my blood pumped faster as if my heart had been turned up a notch. I could practically hear its thunderous thumps beating violently in my ears. Her shoes were green. Her white legs were bare and she moved her small suitcase from one hand to the other. On her chest was a swallow made of black glass that moved to the rhythm of her chest’s light trembling so that it looked as if it were flying around this small green garden with vibrantly colored butterflies fluttering about. There was a look of worry on her face, or it might have been distress, or the beginning of a question, or a certain pallor. Farah looked more faded than she had before. She shivered because of the cold. I don’t like it when the cold comes unannounced. I didn’t think about whether she was hungry or not. That question didn’t even enter my mind. I extended a hand toward her in an attempt to show her that it was neither nervous nor surprised. It didn’t show the same excitement and agitation that was on my face. I inquired about her health and made a joke about some nonsense that made her laugh and blush. Then I swore that I had thought of her just that morning when I woke up. I swear to God! I had to add that I had seen her in a dream wearing the same green dress, and why not? Perhaps I had seen her and forgotten. I no longer had anything else to think about other than making her laugh and spending the day searching for words that would touch her in some way, that would allow me to forget I had been missing her for at least two months. Now, when I heard her say she was hungry and would love to eat some little sardine balls with olives and lemon, I didn’t say a thing. Would I be able to find conditions favorable to fulfilling such a small desire? What use was speaking? I also wondered whether I should grab her hand, knowing that I wouldn’t, as if I were seeing her for the first time. That’s why I couldn’t find the right thing to say. Should I ask her about her friend Naima? Should I talk to her about the different types of wood I know about? What’s a girl to do with a knowledge of different types of wood? I didn’t have any other way to bring her close to me. I drew some squares on a piece of paper and began to explain what they meant, explaining the meanings of other squares I didn’t draw as well. The square is neither a beginning nor an ending. The dot is the beginning. A hailstone. A drop of water. A bird’s call. A knock on the door. All of them are dots that humans did not come up with. They existed before humans, and they’ll exist after humans are gone. She looked at the piece of paper. She may have been trying to understand. It was a good start. I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out. I was feeling better. There was still plenty of time. I saw her lean toward the drawing as if she were following the corridors I had drawn in my imagination. Should I grab her hand now? On the roof above our heads, seagulls walked around. The female usually walks with heavy steps. The male’s walk is always rushed. Their walk turned into a noisy scamper. The male was chasing the female above our heads. A loud clamor. Like a full tribe of mice. Yet they were nothing more than two seagulls who couldn’t wait. Two seagulls making all of this racket! I told her I knew a shop where they sold this kind of food. I didn’t grab her hand.