𝕿he burning rays of the late July sun streamed into the rusty kitchen, bathing it in gorgeous golden hues. With the heat of the sun on my face, delicious coffee in my hand, and the fact that the house was silent, I should have been feeling great. It was a Saturday, I was looking forward to a long night of peaceful uninterrupted, guilt-free book reading. A night with just me, alone in my room with only the book in my hand and the thoughts in my head.

Heaven.

Well, it would be as soon as Mama stopped peeking out of the windows and into the street every few seconds. It was getting late and surprisingly, Dad wasn't home yet. Putting off daydreaming and, looking at the hour hand pointing at four, I hoped he'd walk in the door with a bag of takeout and his signature, albeit absent, bright smile.

"You have to stop going in there," Mama called from the living room to where I was standing in the kitchen, staring into the sink like it was magically going to give me a plan for putting food on the table when anything could be happening to my father. "He's not going to appear out of thin air."

I paced back out to the living room and checked the street for signs of an approaching car. Nothing.

"He probably got stuck with his work. You know how he is. Time is an elusive concept to him."

"Probably," I looked at my mother with a raised eyebrow. "I called Natasha. He left the office four hours ago."

"Did he tell her anything?"

"Nothing. She was surprised that he hadn't gotten home yet considering he's been out since eleven."

Out since eleven. Where could he be? And for so long? At this rate, he could have driven himself to Lahore or Peshawer.

"We have to do something."

"There's nothing to do."

Nazia rubbed both of her hands over her hair and sagged back against the couch, neck cushioned by tensed arms. "Not until he comes home. Unless you want to report to the police and that will make everyone wonder about what Dad was doing."

"I'm not saying we report to the police," we did not have a lot of options for doing that, anyway. "I'm saying we do something other than sitting here. Let's call the tracker company and ask them where the car is. Maybe that would help us know about his whereabouts."

"You haven't been sitting," Nazia pointed out. "You've been walking back and forth from here to the kitchen for two hours."

She did not even pretend to look at her laptop. I've been pacing, but Nazia has been holding her empty coffee cup for the better part of forty-five minutes.

"He'll come back," Mama muttered her fingers flying over the home phone, calling the tracker company, answering their questions in a hushed tone.

"I don't think he will. You know how he is," my feet headed for the stairs to his office before I realized what I was doing. Footsteps came along behind me.

"What are you looking for?"

"He had to write down the address. He wouldn't have remembered it otherwise."

Dad's home workshop, or lab as he called it, was a long, wide space, with workbenches along the back wall. This engineering wonder was one of his earliest creations. Something he'd been proud of. Over the years he'd added small modifications to keep the workshop up and running. Sleek and modern. I walked in, ignoring the lingering scent of his Armani perfume in the air, one of the few constants in his routine. Lights attached to moving bits of metal and plastic give the space a dim glow. Years of practice had me flicking the light switch without looking.

In his bid to get the most out of his work, Dad had replaced the fluorescent bulbs with special ones that were meant to mimic sunlight. He claimed that this meant he could work longer hours without missing the benefits of being outside. Rummaging through the mess I concentrated on the stack of notepads placed on the side tables. Yellow legal pads. White scratch pads. One from the grocery store that they gave out last Independence Day. Most of these are piled up near Dad's computer, wedged into a corner of the workbench. Pages on pages of notes. Piles of coding strewn about in a haphazard manner.

And on top of all the notepads—his phone. My shoulders dropped. "What is it?" Nazia asked.

"Dad's phone," I picked it up and held it high so she could see it. "He left it here. There's no way to contact him."

"What if he's stalled somewhere? What if he's stranded on the side of the road?"

I took a deep breath and swiped across the screen.

No passcode, because he'd forget what it was and lock himself out. My dad was the proud owner of this old iPhone for close to four years now. That was the equivalent of a cell phone century and I was seized with panic that it would die in my hands and I'd never find out what happened to him.

It's slow, this phone, the screen taking ages to respond to my touch. The calendar app took forever to load and when it did, I saw that it was blank. I cursed under my breath. Nazia came to look over my shoulder.

"Notes app?"

"Maybe," and she was right because it's right there in the first note. An address in Islamabad. A very familiar street. Panic seeped into every muscle in my body as I glanced over my shoulder towards my sister.

"Why would he go there?"

I stared at the address on the phone, my heart pounding, racing down the stairs, Nazia quick on my heels, towards our mother. "We shouldn't be going there, either."

"The company says that he left the car near Bari Imam and that it's been there for the past two hours. He threw the tracker away. Of course, he would do that."

I rounded on her while I gathered my hair in a quick ponytail over my shoulders.

"I know where he is. I'm going to get him. Stay here just in case he comes back."

"I'm not letting you go by yourself!"

"I'm going. Nazia, you're staying here with Mama in case Dad's already on his way home."

My mother stepped around me and blocked the door. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but what if we called your aunt? He might be in trouble. She could help."

"We're not calling any of them."

Involving the larger Khan family would be a mistake. A fatal error. None of them would care. They would relish the opportunity to make fun of us. To watch our downfall. Maybe even consider wiping us off from the family tree. It would open up things that were best left buried where they belonged. In the past.

My sister's red face was starting to get redder. "You don't know what you're walking into."

Scarf around my neck. Bag. Keys. I shoved my wallet into the pocket of my bag. "Stay here, and wait for Dad to get home. Call me if he does."

Just as I reached for the doorknob, Mama caught me by the elbow, turning me back around and crushing me into a desperate hug. My mother had been the ultimate pillar of strength for the three of us. A force to be reckoned with and the sheer fear and panic in her hug were making me anxious.

What was Dad up to?

For Mama to be worried, someone who'd been the dependable, reliable parent for years, and who was stronger than any of us, it meant that there was something else in play. With an eccentric and absent father, she had to be the point of stability, the voice of reason and for her to be near a breakdown, well, that was scaring me. I squeezed her back, noticing how fragile she felt in my arms, and put my scarf back into place. She looked at me, her eyes strangely vacant.

"If anything happens..." Nazia's eyes burned into mine. "If anything happens-"

"I'll call you," I put a hand on her shoulder. She was trembling. So was I. This was bad. Our family had weathered catastrophes, but something like this with my Dad could quickly spiral out of control into something ugly. "Have something to eat. We'll both be home soon."

Twisting in my seat, I took in a deep breath to settle my nerves and peer through the windscreen. The old Toyota hummed to life in the driveway and released a breath of dust into my face. I cranked the air conditioner and was greeted with the noise of a dying whale. Great. Just great. Panic started to flow through my blood, freezing my veins and forcing me to take huge gulps of air.

Focus. I needed to focus.

I inhaled a shallow breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Rolling down the windows I started the car, my heart in my throat. This could not be an omen. I didn't believe in omens. Omens were for superstitious people. I was not superstitious. I looked at my shaky hands and slammed them on the steering wheel, letting out my frustration on the rough brown leather. I was stronger than this. I had to be stronger than this. Whatever was happening to my body would have to wait. Maybe it would find its courage again, maybe it would not, but I did not have the luxury to second guess this.

Turning the key in the ignition I let the car sputter to life, feeling my mother's eyes on me. She needed me to get him home so I needed to get my head in the right space. I had to save my dad from those greedy vultures, at any cost necessary.

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Lol, I forgot to publish the first chapter 🤦🏻‍♀️ I'm getting old.

But here we go, Mane Ad Vesperum has finally begun. How'd you like it? Thoughts, comments, general feedback, musings, etc

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