Sitting on a park bench overlooking Lake Ontario in Toronto on a brilliant summer day in 2015, I was approached by a woman looking for directions.

The woman mentioned that she had emigrated from Iran a couple of months before, and I replied that I knew of only one person who had recently lived in Iran, an American who had played basketball there.

By coincidence, she also knew a basketball player in Iran. He had circulated in her social group, and they had been at many of the same parties.

“You know, the one who died,” she said.

But I did not know whom she meant, and she was embarrassed that she could not pronounce his name. She pulled a phone from her bag, typed in some characters and slowly handed it to me. I could feel her watching my face as I read.