Yara, who was fifteen, and her cousin Adam, who was thirteen, were spending the summer with their grandmother. One morning she pressed a few coins into Yara's hand and said, "Please buy saffron for me in the old market." Neither cousin was willing to be the first to ask the way, so they split up, each privately sure of finding the right stall faster than the other.
It was a mistake. The old market turned out to be a maze of narrow alleys, loud with sellers calling out their prices and thick with the smells of cumin, leather and hot bread. There were sacks of spices as tall as children, and copper pots hung from the awnings like bells. Within ten minutes both cousins were hopelessly lost. Different shopkeepers took pity on them and gave directions that were more cheerful than clear, and every one of them was perfectly certain he was right.
By pure luck, Yara and Adam both washed up at a tiny tea stall run by a girl their own age. Her name was Sara. She poured them hot, sweet tea, drew them a map on a napkin and flatly refused to take any money. They got home late, with the saffron safe in a paper twist and a story to tell. Grandmother laughed until she had to wipe her eyes. "I went to school with Sara's grandmother!" she said.