A Thousand Splendid Suns

"I am happy," Laila says. "Of course I am. But…where do we go from
here, Tariq? How long do we stay? This isn't home. Kabul is, and back
there so much is happening, a lot of it good. I want to be a part of it all.
I want to do something. I want to contribute. Do you understand?"
Tariq nods slowly. "This is what you want, then? You're sure?"
"I want it, yes, I'm sure. But it's more than that. I feel like I have to go
back. Staying here, it doesn't feel right anymore."
Tariq looks at his hands, then back up at her.
"But only-only-if you want to go too."
Tariq smiles. The furrows from his brow clear, and for a brief moment
he is the old Tariq again, the Tariq who did not get headaches, who had
once said that in Siberia snot turned to ice before it hit the ground. It
may be her imagination, but Laila believes there are more frequent
sightings of this old Tariq these clays.
"Me?" he says. "I'll follow you to the end of the world, Laila."
She pulls him close and kisses his lips. She believes she has never
loved him more than at this moment. "Thank you," she says, her
forehead resting against his.
"Let's go home."
"But first, I want to go to Herat," she says.
"Herat?"
Laila explains.