In the dorms.

Maara was swinging the nun-chucks and was hitting two tennis balls against the wall.

Benyamin was in the same room, lying on the bed, with his hands under his head. “When are you going to get married, Maara?”

Maara didn’t say anything.

“You should find someone suitable for you in this city,” Benyamin opined. “Then you won’t have to go back to Sciocidad. That place is pretty boring, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not boring to me,” Marra replied. “It’s where my friends and family are.”

“Tsk,