I watched the children dart from school for the day, my brain still spinning with news of my mother. It had been a day since I’d spoken to my parents, but even now, the conversation weighed heavily on me.

My fingers twitched, already wanting to head back into my classroom and dial the familiar number again. Maybe I could even call my mother’s doctor, I considered. I could get the lowdown from the direct source, without my father trying to keep things from me, thinking that that way, he might keep me safe.

The last of the children scampered from the inner yard, diving into their parents’ cars. I moved toward the front gate, preparing to lock it. After a moment, I realized that a man was poised to the side of the entrance, peering at me.

The man looked completely different than most of the other parents. Although he wore plain street clothes—a pair of jeans and a button-up—he was clearly one of the more handsome men I’d ever seen in Al-Jarra. With wide-set brown eyes, thick lips, and a chorus of thick, dark hair, his looks alone sent a shiver up my spine. Realizing I was staring, I averted my eyes, knowing I couldn’t be caught checking out the father of one of my students.

“Hello? Can I help you?” I heard myself ask, my voice suddenly high-pitched. “Are you a parent? I don’t think we’ve met…”

I trailed off, noticing his hands, strong and dominant. The hair on his chest snuck out from his shirt, adding to his masculine aura. His eyes were now completely focused on me, inhaling me. I felt, in that moment, like I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. I never felt that way.

“Um. I’m sorry,” he said, chuckling slightly. His voice was warm in my ears, something I wanted to cling to. “I just saw you from the road, and I was so curious about you. Somehow, I felt we’d met before.”

I felt my eyebrows lower on my forehead. This line lacked creativity. I couldn’t link it up in my mind. Why was he spying on me? Why was he walking by—this handsome man, eyeing me like that?

“Well, I don’t think we have,” I said, swiping my hair behind my ears. “I think I would have remembered. And I haven’t lived here that long, so…”

“You just moved to Al-Jarra?” he asked, cocking his head to the left. As if he was actually interested. As if this wasn’t just another line.

“No,” I sighed, my nostrils flared. Why was my heart beating so quickly in my chest? I took a step back, creating more distance between us. “I’ve lived in Al-Jarra almost two years now. But I’ve only just moved to this area. It’s a bit different over here.”

“Oh, you must have been out east?” he asked, as if the country was big enough to warrant an “out east” expression.

I nodded, just wanting to give him something. An answer that would be enough for him.

“So, you live around here?” I asked him, unsure of why I wanted to dig our conversation in deeper. Something about his eyes, sparkling.

“A bit further into the city, actually,” he said, taking a step toward me. He was still so focused on me, making heavy eye contact. “I was just on a walk with a friend, who’s since taken his leave. Just daydreaming. Wandering.”

“The kind of thing you do if you don’t have a job?” I said, chuckling slightly.

“It’s true. I’m playing hooky today,” he told me.

“That’s not the kind of thing I can get away with,” I said, hearing warmth grow in my voice.

“As a teacher, I would think not. A whole classroom of people relying on you. A fearless leader.”

“Something like that,” I said.

“You know, I hate being so forward like this,” the man said, stepping even closer, “but your beauty drew me over here. And now, it’s your smile, your laugh, that’s preventing me from leaving. I must ask. What is your name?”

The color of his words felt suddenly off. This felt far too forward.

I shook my head slightly, feeling wary of giving him any details about my life. I had just moved to the area, and didn’t know it well. Perhaps he was a crook, eager to take me for all I was worth. I shifted my weight, knowing that so long as I remained at the school, I’d be safe. I just had to knock him off the scent.

“Listen, I don’t know you—” I said, chuckling slightly at his good try.

“But we can change that,” he returned. “Almost instantly. If we just give one another our names.”

“I just don’t know what good it would do,” I said, finding my smile stretching wider. “We’re going to be strangers for the rest of our lives.”

“Not if I can help it,” he said, his thick eyebrows rising high on his forehead.

Suddenly, I heard my name from behind—far back at the entrance of the school. Somehow, I had followed this stranger as far as the road. I knocked my foot back, leaping slightly, as if he were a hot oven I’d accidentally touched.

“I’d better be getting back to work,” I told him. “Although it’s been terribly interesting.”

“Terribly interesting. I’ll take that,” he said, bringing his hand to his forehead in a kind of salute. “Lord knows I’ve had worse.”

“Good luck out there,” I told him, twirling back toward the door. My heart hammered with the intrigue of the moment. I felt his eyes still on me, taking in my body—something I almost never considered, since I hadn’t dated in almost two years. I shivered with a sudden burst of longing.

But then, I found myself at the door of the school, face-to-face with Rita Ratchet, another American teacher at the school. She eyed me suspiciously, crossing her arms over her chest. Almost twenty years older than me, she often had opinions about my movements, my decisions. Unsolicited advice poured out of her mouth like a waterfall.

“What were you doing with that young man down there?” she asked me, her voice stern and Midwestern. She was from Minnesota, not far from my South Dakotan home.

“Oh, it was just some creepy guy walking past,” I told her, my stomach feeling squeezed. “He told me I was beautiful, and I told him to keep walking.”

“Then why are you blushing?” she asked me, her left eyebrow twitching.

“It’s hot outside, Rita,” I told her, stepping past her and into the air-conditioned hallway. I felt beads of sweat drip down my back, racing to my waistband. “It has nothing to do with that guy.”

I followed Rita to her office, where we began to lay out the plans for the upcoming school play. But even as we arranged the list of songs, the dialogue, ensuring none of it was too technical or overtly American, my brain still stung with thoughts of the stranger. He had left the strangest impression with me. So much so that minutes later, after Rita asked me a question, I stared at her for several moments, trying to remember what she’d said.

“You’re a space cadet today,” she told me, scoffing slightly. “Maybe we should take it easy the rest of the day. So you can get over your new love.”

“There’s no love to worry about, Rita,” I sighed, frustration brimming. “Trust me. I have enough on my plate to worry about some guy creeping around here. As good as it is to be called beautiful.”

Rita’s lips pressed into a firm line. “You heard from your mother again?”

“Yesterday,” I whispered, watching as Rita’s fingers busied themselves with the papers, the folders. They worked quickly, sliding the papers together in a smooth stack.

“And?”

“It’s not looking good,” I said, my fingers moving to my cheeks and rubbing at the skin. “It’s making me crazy.”

“If you need me to call a substitute in for the next few days…”

“No, no,” I sighed. “If anything, these kids are the reason I get through every day. They give me a purpose and a reason to think about anything else.”

“Maybe you should get out there and date someone, just to get your mind off of it,” Rita said, giving me a shrug.

“I’m not sure anything will help,” I told her.

“Maybe not creepy men from the street,” she said.

“Maybe not anyone,” I said. “Maybe I’m not cut out for dating. Especially when I’m just biding my time until I can go back home. Return to my mom.”

“If you’re not happy here…”

“No, no. I am,” I murmured, realizing I’d misspoken. “I’m able to send money to my mother. I’m willing to do anything for that. Seriously. This is what I want.”

“It doesn’t sound like any kind of life,” Rita murmured. She snapped the light off in the classroom, casting shadows across our faces. Somewhere down the hall, we heard another teacher sharpening pencil after pencil. I could picture the shavings, filtering off to the carpet below.

“It’s just what I have to do right now,” I said, mostly to myself. “It’s just what I have to do.”

The walk back to my apartment that night felt long. My legs and back were aching with fatigue as I dropped my shoulders forward and paced across the sidewalk. I kept my eyes from the passersby, not wanting to see any opinions of me etched into their expressions. Not that I was often seen. Not that I was often acknowledged.

In almost every sense, I was an invisible woman, living an invisible life in the middle of a desert. On the days I was allowed to embark out by myself, darting toward the sea, I felt the ocean winds blast across my face and inhaled the salty air. On those days, I remembered who I was, or who I had been.

And then, I returned to the nothingness of my little life. The life I led, trying to sustain my mother’s. Trying to keep her with us for as long as I could.