The circadian pattern of her life was never constant, seeming even more variable in the last few week's time, and so she found herself a keeper of strange hours. The time before dawn often found her on a bridge between sleep and wakefulness, the quiet whirring of the heater by the bed on the outer edges of her consciousness.

In the dull light of the afternoons she would be lost, arrhythmic thoughts, wild and alar musings, keeping her slightly off balance and submerged in an interior world.

A new, singular awareness of her existence overwhelmed her, and each oft-repeated behavior or experience seemed to take on new meaning. Cold water on her parched tongue; the craft of syntax and measure in a well turned phrase; the friction of textured cloth against her skin; the strong features of her mother's countenance -- all were experienced, imbibed, tasted with an intensity as if never once encountered before.

Her life stood before her; an infinite number of paths obscured. In the few short months ahead she would be permanently altered. Days and nights would overlap and merge in constant forward motion, and the moments she looked forward to all her life would be upon her: graduation. marriage. moving away from home.

What lies in wait for her?

Allah knows; and she waits.