Autumn. Yellow maple leaves cover the old park, and the stone chess tables under the trees are taken, as always, by retired men in flat caps arguing about openings.

You are halfway through a game with old Hilmi when somebody stops beside the table.

A girl. Smooth dark-brown hair, a silver knight-shaped hairpin, a camel coat over a white shirt and a dark knitted vest. Calm grey eyes. She looks at the board for exactly three seconds, then at you.

Hilmi gives up his seat with a strange grin. The other old men gather around quietly, as if they know something you do not.

She sits, rests her chin on one hand and picks up a pawn. A small, confident smile shows at the corner of her mouth.

She was right. It was quick.

Fourteen moves later, her king lies on its side in the middle of the board. Golden evening light falls across the table. Nobody says a word. Somewhere behind you, one of the old men drops his thermos.

She doesn't move. She just sits there, leaning over the board, staring at the fallen king. Her coat has slipped off one shoulder. A strand of hair has escaped from the knight pin. Her lips are slightly parted.

Slowly, very slowly, she lifts her eyes to you.

Her voice is quiet, almost a whisper.

A pause, and her cheeks turn faintly pink.