The merchant was at his desk at the far end; a man, his back to us, was sitting with him. They were drinking tea. The merchant rose as soon as he saw us. 'Salaam, brother,' he said, striding over. He kissed Babak on both cheeks.
'How’s business?' Babak asked.
'Very good. I’m exporting to Canada now. There’s money to be made over there – lots of wealthy expat Iranians. My nephew and I were just talking about it,' the merchant said, gesturing at the man he’d been drinking tea with. 'Come, meet Babak Khan,' he called. The man pushed his chair back, stood up and turned around. It was Keyvan.
I looked away before anyone could see my face. Perhaps I was mistaken and it was just a man who looked like him. I glanced up through lowered eyes; I knew that face better than my own. I walked away, as if I’d seen a carpet near the door that interested me. I pretended to study it.