The sun set an hour ago, which means it’s finally below forty degrees Celsius. Normally I embrace the dry heat in Erbil in exchange for the humidity back home in Toronto, but today it leaves my throat dry and hoarse. I shuffle my feet on the dusty tiles outside my house and peer over the metal gate until Emmita’s black SUV pulls up.

I open the back door and flump into the leather seat. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“No worries!” Emmita’s manicured fingers shift the car into drive. Her mother, Adorina, swivels from the front seat to face me, her thick black hair framing her face. She shows me a wide, toothy grin and I reply with a timid smile.

Emmita and her mom usually accompany me gold shopping since I don’t speak Kurdish, Arabic, or Assyrian. This year is different. Two months ago my relationship with Adorina’s son ended. After three years of living in Erbil, I wanted to return home and move somewhere new, but he decided to stay in Erbil with his family.

I had planned to do my gold shopping alone this year because I felt ashamed to see them after the breakup, but Emmita and Adorina insisted they help me bargain for the jewelry.

Emmita meets my gaze in the rear view mirror. “I’ll have to drop you and my mom off because I have to meet my friend before I leave for Turkey tomorrow,” she says.

My stomach drops. Adorina doesn’t speak English. I know just a few words in Assyrian, her mother tongue, and only a few phrases in Arabic. It will probably be hard to communicate while shopping and I don’t feel comfortable being alone with her after breaking up with her son. For all I know, she blames me for the relationship not working out.

Emmita parks the car beside a restaurant. Sweet scents of fatty shawarma meat wave into my nostrils once we’re out of the car. Outside the shawarma joint, a man stands behind a wooden cart and clanks a metal spoon into a giant aluminum pot full of steaming lablabi (chickpea stew). It dawns on me that this is one of the last times I’ll be bombarded by this familiar array of smells and sights.

It’s also the last time I’ll see Emmita. My lips tighten into a frown. “I guess you won’t be back before I fly home.”

“I know,” she whines and brings me into a hug. “Keep in touch!”

It’s strange saying goodbye, not knowing if I’ll ever see Emmita again, but I’m too preoccupied with being alone with Adorina to think much of it.

Adorina leads me to a street lined with brightly lit, glass-windowed shops that need only their displays of shiny gold necklaces and bracelets as decoration.

I gesture toward my ears to show her I’m looking for earrings. She opens a shop door and greets the owner like they know each other—I’m sure they do because everyone knows everyone in this neighborhood. The owner places a tray of thick gold hoops on the glass counter. Nothing here suits my taste.

“Another store?” I ask, hoping she won’t be annoyed by my request.

Adorina nods, says goodbye to the shop owner, and points at the door gesturing for me to go back outside.

Within a few minutes, we’re inside another air-conditioned shop. The owner offers us a plastic cup of water after Adorina greets him.

I spot a pair of tiny square-shaped studs that glitter under the yellow lights. While I hold the earrings next to my ears I turn to face Adorina.

“Beautiful!” She raises her eyebrows.

The owner places the earrings on a scale and rhymes out a number. Adorina shakes her head making a counteroffer. They repeat this process twice until the owner types a number on a calculator and hands it to me.

“In dollars,” Adorina says to me. “It’s OK?”

“Yes, yes.” I trust she’s gotten me the best deal possible.

In exchange for the crisp American hundreds, he hands us the earrings encased in a velvet box along with the receipt indicating the carat count and weight of the gold. I tuck the box into my purse before we file back onto the street.

“Bsimta,” Thank you, I say. It’s one of the only words I know and can pronounce properly in Assyrian. Adorina’s face glows brighter than the jewelry behind us in the shop window. I feel embarrassed for being nervous to spend time with her alone. The awkwardness of my failed relationship must have existed only in my head.

We walk side by side, eyes focused on the pavement to avoid cracks and potholes. When the traffic clears, Adorina guides me with her palm pressed in the middle of my back to cross the street.

Other groups of women walk along the street, chatting loudly with each other, but Adorina and I stay quiet. She can’t ask me about what happened with her son and me, nor can I answer her in a language she understands.

Yet, there’s no discomfort in the silence that would normally be replaced with gossip or complaints about the Iraqi sun. This is how it’s always been with us, and how it is today, even though our circumstances have changed.

I want to tell her I’m sorry that things between me and her son didn’t work out. Did we disappoint her? Did she hope for me to stay in Erbil longer? Would Adorina and I have had a closer relationship if we could communicate in complete sentences? She probably has a million questions for me too.

Instead of blasting each other with questions, we exchange a smile every few minutes as we weave in between people and street vendors.

A heavy weight pulls at my heart when we reach the gate to my house.

I remember walking with Adorina in the sunshine to the salon and getting our haircut on Christmas day. After the walk to the dentist when I needed to get my wisdom tooth out, she held my hand when I was nauseous from pain, and reclined in the dentist's chair.

Will this be the last time we walk together down these streets?

How was saying goodbye to Emmita so much easier than this?

“I’ll miss you.” I feel my eyebrows drop along with the weight in my chest.

“I miss you, too.” Her words don’t come out perfect but it doesn’t matter. She hugs me and kisses both sides of my cheeks twice.

Tears well in my eyes and she grabs my hand. I squeeze back tightly onto her fingers.

A quiet, “bye,” parts from our mouths simultaneously. She turns around to walk back to her house. While I turn toward the gate to my house, the ache in my chest surges. I wonder if she feels the connection to me in her heart like I do.

Despite how hard it is to say goodbye, I’m grateful that my relationship with Adorina reminds me of why I love traveling so much. Without speaking the same language, our interactions and energy between us are what makes human connections so special.

No matter how it’s made, a gold chain will always have voids between the solid links. Those silent spaces contrast against the bold and shiny metal, and allow us to see through to the skin of the person wearing it. That free space brought me closer to Adorina and made our connection more valuable than the purest gold.

-Danika Smith

Danika is an emerging Canadian travel writer and author. Her initial love for the arts came in the form of ballet and performing arts but her passion shifted to sharing words on the page about the transformative travel experiences she lived through in her early adulthood. Her work has been published in GoWorld Travel Magazine and Intrepid Times, and her upcoming travel memoir will be published with Atmosphere Press. While not writing, traveling, or dancing, she can be found planning her next hiking adventure. You can learn more about Danika on her website at https://danikaduartesmith.com/ or on her Substack https://danikaduartesmith.substack.com/about