[ The scrapyard is quickly becoming Nadiya's favourite places. Back home, she had to maneuver into the most strategic of marriages to finally have the freedom to get her hands covered in ink and charcoal and grease as she pleases. Here, it's a given: so long as she pays her debt, she is free to squat on her haunches like a gremlin and dig herself elbow-deep into engine and invention and discovery.

With a streak of grease across her forehead and a rudimentary toolbelt at her hip, she seems far from put off by the interruption. She doesn't smile, because she rarely does, but her tone is even and unoffended and mildly curious. ]

Do you enjoy offering strangers philosophical riddles, sir?

[ A tilt of her head as she peers at him over another vehicle. ]

Imagination. They both try to figure out not just what is, but what could be.