Noor and the Basket Across the Courtyard

The moving truck had barely rumbled away when Noor noticed how quiet her new building was. Her bedroom looked out on a narrow courtyard, a stone-paved slot squeezed between two buildings like a slice of cheese between bread. Across the gap, eleven windows stared back at her, and every one of them was shut.

Back in her old town, hello had been the cheapest word in the world, tossed from balcony to balcony like breadcrumbs for pigeons. Here, the curtains hung as still as folded wings.

From Noor’s window, a clothesline ran across the gap to the window opposite, strung on two pulley wheels. A pair of enormous gray wool socks hung from it, and on the opposite sill a ginger cat watched Noor unpack boxes with the expression of a landlord inspecting a flat.