Chapter 1
“A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and man cannot live without love.” – Max
Mahira squints as the sun rises high in the sky, bright and hot. She takes the end of her
dupatta
and wipes the tiny droplets of perspiration from her forehead. The delivery van was going to arrive anytime soon and she didn’t want to delay work. She hated summers and thought there was nothing good about the season, except for ice popsicles that she used to enjoy as a kid, not anymore.
The van was nowhere in the scene, so she pulled out her phone and dialed her mother's number, fanning herself rigorously.
"He hasn't arrived yet, Ma. I think you should call the shop and let them know," she said, still craning her neck to see if the van was anywhere behind the approaching local bus.
Kesar, her mother, had sent her to guide the van towards their workshop. It was carrying exotic flowers that were ordered a week ago for a function the next day. If the flowers arrived on time, they would have enough time to decorate the venue and also prepare small bouquets for the family.
"What?" she shouted from the other side, making Mahira pull away from the phone. "You just wait for another two minutes. Let me call the shop owner. These rascals never do as promised. I think we'll have to cancel dealing with them because if this continues, our business will be doomed before we realize it."
"Ma... please make it fast." Mahira was exhausted and thirsty under the scorching heat of the sun. She disconnected the call and fanning herself with the dupatta, walked to a roadside stall that sold lemonade, eyes still watching out for the van sporadically.
She ordered one glass of lemonade and paid in advance, waiting desperately for the vehicle and the call. Her phone buzzed. It was her mother. "Yes, Ma. What did they say?"
"Beta, why don't you just come over now. These guys found another route to the warehouse and are about to reach. They are taking the Peela Mandir crossroad," she said, with a slight awkwardness in her voice.
"Arghh! Why did they want someone to guide them through if they were taking another route almost 5 kilometers away from here? I'm coming." She hung up. With no hurry to reach the warehouse soon, she drank another glass of lemonade, with leisure this time.
As she relished her drink under the huge tree shade beside the stall, a sophisticated Porsche Cayenne approached it and parked right in front. The tint glasses were up, not letting the outsiders see the posh people sitting inside. Mahira sipped her lemonade and waited for someone to come out of the car. Instead, the glass of the front door lowered and a man in his white uniform asked the stall owner for directions to a warehouse in Gulab Bagh. Now, there were several warehouses in Gulab Bagh, but the address was familiar. It was their warehouse!
"Hey, that's our warehouse!" she yelled from afar. The man in the uniform looked at her and then behind inside the car. An indistinct voice instructed something and the man got off the car and walked towards her. Mahira took the cue and said, "If you need to be there, follow my bike." She trashed the plastic glass in the garbage bin, pulled off her helmet from the handle, and wore it. She started her bike and took a U-turn and gestured for the driver to follow her.
After a few turns and wide lanes, they reached their destination. She got off the bike and walked towards the car. The man, too, comes out of the car and asked for the owner of the warehouse.
"Well, I'm also the owner. You can tell me what you have to say," she said, trying to look inside the back seat of the car from over the driver's shoulder.
"Sorry ma'am, Sir needs to meet the owner of the warehouse." He had only finished his sentence when there was a knock on the glass. The driver went closer and the glass lowered for her to witness a man with an expensive pair of shades on. He didn't quite lower the glass for a full view, but whatever she saw was enough to satisfy her inquisitiveness.
The driver walked back to her and then handed her a thin long envelope along with a paper. "So, I'm supposed to hand this over to Papa?"
Hearing her say 'Papa', the man in the back seat turned to look at her. Mahira looked at him and nodded in agreement, waving the flimsy envelope in the air. "Will hand it over to him, Sir. Won't steal. Thank you." She laughed a hearty one, which apparently seemed quite graceless for the man.
He gestured the driver to move and pulled up the glass. Mahira stood there, holding the envelope and the paper, till the car was no more visible after the first left turn.
