Ibrahim's wife died in November. He had two children and a job he had held for nine years.

For three months he did the things that had to be done and nothing else. School, work, the drive, silence. He did not cry in front of anybody and everybody told his mother how well he was coping.

At the end of February he did one thing. He went back to the Thursday circle at the masjid, for one evening, and left at the end without staying for tea.

He came home and cried in the car for twenty minutes, which had not happened since the janazah.

Nothing was fixed. He had simply crossed, in both directions, for the first time in three months.