Alai suddenly kissed Ender on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “Salaam.” Then, red-faced, he turned away and walked to his own bed at the back of the barracks. Ender guessed that the kiss and the word were somehow forbidden. A surpressed religion, perhaps. Or maybe the word had some private and powerful meaning for Alai alone. Whatever it meant to Alai, Ender knew that it was sacred; that he had uncovered himself for Ender, as once Ender’s mother had done, when he was very young, before they put the monitor in his neck, and she had put her hands on his head when she thought he was asleep, and prayed over him.
"I taught you everything you know. But I didn’t teach you everything I know."
“I knew all along that you were holding something back, Ender.”
A pause. Ender’s bear was in trouble on the screen. He climbed a tree. “I wasn’t, Alai. Holding anything back.”
“I know.” said Alai. “Neither was I.”
“Alas, it is not to be.”
“Peace. It’s what salaam means. Peace be unto you.”