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   ' Hard times demand patience. ' The quote that must have passed through my eyes somewhere in life, now pops up in my mind like it is trying to teach me something.

I know that I should be patient and do my best to think straight, but I can't. I think about telling Junaid or Police but refrain myself from doing so 'cause the consequences begin to race like a film in front of me.

Out of an instinct, I hurry towards my wardrobe, take my bag and a black shawl out of it, I close it and run towards the stairs.

I don't race down the stairs for concealing my worried demeanor and act normal as I descend the stairs, seeing my mother waiting to talk to me downstairs.

“Where are you going?” She asks, looking up and down at me.

“ Miss Arfa, my college teacher. She has asked me to meet her at her home. She wants to talk about the date and schedule of the final round of the essay competition.”
I don't look up at her face, fearing that she might catch my lie and shove a hand inside my bag to show that I am finding something important in it.

“ Hmmm. OK. But don't go today, I mean I don't know why, but I am not feeling good about you going outside at this time.” A few lines of worry appear on her delicate wrinkled forehead.

I swallow my saliva to wet my coarse throat and open my lips to say something to her.

“ Oh, my lovely mother. It is just afternoon yet and don't worry I will be back before the dark. “ I hug her to lose the tension that has tensed her shoulders.

“ Evening. Not dark. I want you to be home before the twilight of evening. Dark scares me.” Her expressions become hard, then soft, and finally they show the fear in them.

“ What are you scared of Mom?” I ask her looking at her face.

“ It was the darkest night when the news of your fathers death with his dead body approached the porch of our house.” Her eyes were getting glossy with tears now.

“ Oh, my sweet mother. I am fine and will be fine too. Don't worry. Just pray for me always.”

“ My prayers are always with you.” She kisses my hands and I peck her on the forehead before moving towards the door.

I stop on my step and turn my head to look back at her. She smiles at me and I force out a meek smile.

The moment I leave my house and get inside the Uber, I had called earlier, a warm wind under the sun of winter softly touches me.

I feel like the wind is tugging at my shawl and wants me to stop, but I can't. I have to go, or I will have to live with regrets.

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“ Madam I know it should be none of my concerns but why are you going to this address?” The Uber driver asks me while throwing a glance at me through the back view mirror.

“ Just drop me here at the main road. I will walk towards my destination from here.” Instead of answering his question I pay him the fair and get out of the car.

I wrap my shawl properly to cover my head, upper body and face. I glance at the place which is crowded by people, few of them are vendors, few buyers and few are just standing there for staring aimlessly at women  passing by.

I have never been at this place, what is it called? I have no idea, but the driver seemed to know it well and maybe that's why he questioned my arrival at this place. I clutch my bag and shawl tightly as I walk through the crowd.

“ Hello. Do you know this address?” I ask an old woman sitting on the pavement with a ragged doll on her lap, hoping that she can read.

“ She glances at the texted address on my phone and then looks up at me.” She can read because her expressions change as she looks up  inside my eyes and then drag her eyes up and down my body. I cringe inwardly at this.

“Do you know this address? I am looking for someone.” I speak each and every word clearly so that she can listen, because I think that she has some hearing problems due to old age.

“There. But you should not go there. That place is not suitable for you.” She raises her wrinkled hand in the air and points towards a narrow street before uttering the words which increase my confusion, curiosity and fear.

“ Why?” I ask her in a whisper.

“ That is a hell covered in the sheets of glamour. “ She seethes and ducks down her head uttering words which I can neither hear nor process.

“ What do you mean?” I try to push her to tell me, but she only shakes her head and doesn't utter a word. She swings her head covered in a dirty brown shawl, like she is under some spiritual spell.

“Don't bother her. She is a crazy old woman. Whatever she says does not make a sense.” A man making jaleebi addresses me. I nod at him before turning towards the narrow street.

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TO BE CONTINUED........
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