“Talk Bosnian to me.” It was the third time I asked Fadila to speak her native tongue into my ears. But she would have none of it as we walked through the quad on an unseasonably warm fall afternoon at our Midwest college. I was about to ask her a fourth time when I noticed her gaze off to the right and above. “Why is there always someone in that window?” she said. I knew why and I couldn’t tell her. The window in question was on the second floor of my dorm. It overlooked the quad, and it was different from other windows in that nobody appeared to ever be in them, and they never appeared to open. And when someone was in…