Heeriye

one.

Shehnaaz

I'm compiling a comprehensive mental list of all the things you shouldn't do when you're on the run from a violent mob boss.

Note that these rules are especially important when you have three kids in tow, including an impatient six-year-old and her very loud five-year-old sister, all while looking like an Egyptian mummy because you're wrapped from head to toe in gauze to cover up the thousand and one bleeding cuts you got when your deadbeat brother-in-law pushed you through a glass coffee table.

Rule number one: don't tell the five-year-old you're leaving city on an adventure. Because she will tell every single person she makes eye contact with.

Rule number two: don't call your best friend and admit to all the secrets you've been keeping from her for the last six months.
Because she will freak the hell out and threaten to call the police.

Rule number three: don't bring all three kids to supermarket to buy the emergency supplies you need to tide you over on this great escape. Kids have no sense of what constitutes an emergency and they will try to buy chocolates and all the pink blue purple junk they find.

So far, I've broken all three rules. This little "adventure" is off to a great start.

"Chaya, Ruhi, for the last time, you can't buy-"

"Excuse me, honey?" someone says. I jerk around, totally rattled by the unfamiliar hand on my shoulder. He flinches off me.

"Whoa there. Just sayin' hello, darling. No need to get scared."

I squint at the man standing next to my loaded cart. I may have gone a little overboard with the supplies. It's stuffed to the brim with toiletries, sleeping bags, canned foods, extra clothes for each of the kids, a flashlight and a backup flashlight...I just wanted to be prepared. Then again, can you ever be prepared to uproot your entire life? Your kids' lives?

"Uh, yeah, hi, hello," I say distractedly. I scan the surrounding area. I'm currently standing in the dried foods aisle, but two of my three wards are nowhere to be found. "Jahan! Where are your sisters?"

My eight-year-old points towards the next aisle. "Over there. I'll get them." Before I can tell him to stay put, he's gone, too.

Great.

Now, I've lost all three.

And apparently, I have an audience. The man who startled me is still there, standing by my cart, looking shamelessly at its contents. "Looks like you've got half the store in there," he chuckles, scratching at his thin brown beard. I force a smile. "If you'll excuse me."

He puts his hand on the handle of my cart. "Miss, do you need some help?"

My heartbeat kicks up a notch. What if this guy works for Sidharth? Does he look like mafia or or whatever the hell Sidharth calls himself? Is he dangerous?
He's certainly large enough to do some damage. And he's got those sharp eyes. Dangerous eyes.

Although, come to think of it, I didn't exactly listen to my better instincts last time I came into contact with a certain pair of dangerous brown eyes. It's kinda how I got in this whole mess to begin with.

"I don't need any help. But thank you for asking." I try to push my cart down the aisle but he doesn't remove his hand and the wheels squeal in protest. I turn to him warily but he gives me only a sympathetic smile. "It's just that I would never forgive myself if I didn't help someone in your position."

"Oh, that's kind of you. But it's really not necessary." He leans in a little closer and the scent of tuna hits me like a truck in the night. Oh, yuck. My eyes start watering.