But, really, Aisha was only herself. That chicken pox scar on her nose. Or that tiny dot with a tail at the edge of her pupil, a tadpole near a whirlpool of black.

Memory’s the muscle sting of now.

But of course, you can’t ever really flee. You’ll forever run the risk of being spotted, if only for a second.

She's carrying a backpack, not a suitcase, and this really is how she becomes Aisha.