Fiona observed as her daughter Zara sat alone on the handmade rug, her soft eyes filled with worry. Zara's fingers carelessly untangled the threads, giving away her unease without saying a word.
"Tell me what happened, my daughter?" Fiona spoke with a loving anxiety in her voice.
Zara said, "Mummy, Mrs. D'Souza was outside, shouting loudly in the street," with a quaver in her voice.
An unexpected knock reverberated throughout their modest house as Fiona tended to the stove, a warm yet worried air around her. Their next-door neighbor, Nora, appeared as the door swung open and grinned at them.
Nora smiled and said, "Salam, Fiona," her eyes reflecting those of her companion.
Fiona welcomed them back, but her grin was laced with uncertainty. As sensitive as ever, Nora couldn't help but see the look of worry on Fiona's face.
"Why do you seem so down?" Nora asked, with a sincere sense of worry.
Fiona paused before saying, "It's Mrs. D'Souza, Nora," and her voice was tinged with annoyance.
Another, more frantic knock on the door interrupted their chat in the middle of it. Mrs. D'Souza was visibly furious as she stood in the doorway. When Zara saw her, her heart trembled and she felt anxious.
"For heaven's sake, have you no shame?" Mrs. D'Souza warned them, infusing her remarks with an ominous threat.
"If you don't produce the money by morning, neither you nor your daughter will be able to show your faces around here."
"Fiona, my love, don't be alarmed. With her eyes full of unyielding resolve, Nora remarked in a soothing tone, "I truly believe that God has something excellent in store for us.
In the midst of the unrelenting torture they suffered at the hands of D'Souza, Nora had always been Fiona's rock and been a staunch companion and confidante. Fiona felt her heart heave with worry as she thought about the approaching deadline. The ominous threats D'Souza had made would painfully come true if they couldn't raise the necessary money by tomorrow.
Fiona's heart pounded like a drum as she left their small home, its beat reflecting the turmoil she was feeling inside. She was unable to confront her mother, who was still inside the house sitting down and hoping desperately for a miracle to deliver them from the grasp of their uncompromising homeowner. Their unknown future loomed enormous and hung over them like a dark cloud.
Even though it was a brand-new day, the struggling tenants seemed to be doomed in some way. Because of a strike, the streets were desolate, forcing Fauzia to start her trek on foot. Each stride she took was weighed down by the weight of their situation and the heaviness of her heart.She went slowly as she searched the horizon for a rickshaw, which continued to elude her annoyingly.
Zara carefully proceeded down the soggy street, taking care to keep her feet from slipping on the wet pavement that was left over from the previous day's deluge. When a beautiful black Aston Martin sports vehicle sped by, a wave of murky water splashed against her already soaked garments, her world was reduced to the perilous path in front of her.
"Hey, we humble pedestrians have every right to use this road!" In a fit of rage, Zara cried, her voice barely audible above the blaring horns and thundering engines of oncoming cars. She hurled a stone at the accelerating car out of fury. She was shocked as the stone slammed into the car, sending its tires screeching as it slid to a standstill in the puddles.
With increasing alarm flowing through her veins, Zara gazed in wonder as the automobile abruptly came to a stop.
"Why the hell did that stop? Oh my God, I didn't intend to actually hit it. Zara gingerly walked up to the idling sports automobile when fear overcame her.
The automatic door opened as the sports car neatly reversed and stopped directly next to Zara. A man wearing a smart gray pantsuit emerged. His bloodshot eyes were focused on the female in front of him, whose face was partially hidden by an office file, and his chiseled features were highlighted by a beautifully trimmed beard.
"Why did you throw stones at my precious car?" Zain asked with a question-mark in his voice and a half-smile on his lips
Zara put down her papers as her irate and defiant eyes locked onto Zain.
After a brief period of stillness, Zain noticed that Zara's piercing brown eyes had a distinct familiarity about them that gave off a mystifying atmosphere. Her tightly clenched eyelashes revealed the turmoil inside of her.
Zara responded in a stern voice with a tinge of anger, "You splashed mud all over me. Zain, a man of strong character and unwavering confidence, suddenly felt a strange emotion he had never felt before. He wasn't sure why, but it seemed as though his heart had started to beat to a different beat.
PAST: Shaukat sat back on the comfortable sofa, the velvety material enveloping him like a cozy cocoon. The only source of light in the room came from the screen that was built into the wall, bathing the space in a soft, golden glow. The young woman sitting on his lap shifted uneasily as her worried eyes darted between Shaukat and the terrifying scenes that were unfolding in front of them. The sumptuous room became noticeably more uneasy with her there.
Shaukat was holding a cigar when it began to release fragrant smoke, which coiled and vanished in the poorly lighted room. The oppressive silence that pervaded the space was broken by his voice, which had a sense of expectation.
"Do you like the new shipment, Shiney?" As Shaukat awaited Shiney's response, his query lingered in the air, infused with an unsettling curiosity.
Shiney, Shaukat's confidant and the mastermind behind this gloomy display, pointed at the large screen from a quiet distance. The pictures in it showed young women who were living horrible underground lives in stark contrast to the luxury all around them.
Shiney said in an emotionless voice, "They are right in front of your eyes, sir."
Shaukat's eyes were glued to the TV as the film of the Cambodian girls played out, their features etched with despondency.
He stared at the sights with a penetrating gaze into the screen. He felt a shiver of disgust and shame, but he skillfully masked it with an air of casualness.
Posts
0 Comments