So he, too, has known loss.

I know nothing about him except for his name and the feel of his body on mine. But I am compelled to learn more. This is not an easy task, because we are not supposed to give away our identity during festivals, and especially during the fertility rituals. This is why we wear masks.

I was surprised that he’d given me his name. I wondered what his face looked like, under the mask. I wondered if he was curious about me, too.

I began taking part in the fertility rituals after my monthly flow began, as was custom.The first time, I was terrified, frozen stiff. The next year was easier, and then by the year after that, I didn’t think much of it – I came to see it as an ordinary physical act, like sleeping or eating.

Now I was in my sixteenth year, married to a man I did not love. I used to think I knew what love was. Seeing the lovesick maids sighing and pining away, I thought I was above them, and hence not privy to those useless emotions.

But now I sit here, sighing just like them.