اتّصل بابا ليقول إنّه عالقٌ في زحمة السير وسيتأخّر. كان مَجْد قد استحمّ ونظّف أسنانه واختار قصّة، لكنّه لم يكن ينوي النوم قبل وصول بابا. فجثا على الكرسيّ قرب النافذة الأماميّة يراقب الشارع. كانت كلّ أضواءٍ تجعل قلبه يقفز، وفي كلّ مرّةٍ يكون شخصاً آخر. فتذمّر: «هذا يستغرق دهراً. لماذا يبدو الانتظار طويلاً هكذا؟»
Baba had phoned to say he was stuck in traffic and would be late. Majd had already had a bath, brushed his teeth and chosen a story, but there was no way he was going to sleep before Baba got home. He knelt on the armchair by the front window, watching the street. Every set of headlights made his heart jump, and every time it was someone else. "This is taking forever," he complained. "Why does waiting feel so long?"