CLOUD NINE

Chapter 17

"Whoa," Alizeh couldn't help exclaiming in awe at the breathtaking dresses on the mannequins. They all looked gorgeously simple, yet stately with just the right combination of lace and satin, sprinkled with bling.

"These are my cover," Arya chortled, running her hands over a clear glass frame, "And these are my real passion," she pressed a button somewhere and a hatch opened in the wall with a click. She removed the covering and punched in some codes and the wall slid back with a grinding noise. Alizeh followed her into the darkness and the wall closed shut. Suddenly blinding lights flooded the black room and Alizeh could see racks and racks of more dresses. The medley of clothes thrilled her senses. Those dresses were way more bewitching than the ones outside.

"Your father is a businessman if I'm not wrong. You have the eyes to notice objects worthy of display," Arya pondered, picking up one and swaying it outward for her to see, "So are you wondering why I don't keep these for my customers?"

Alizeh inclined her head in affirmation. It was almost scary how Lady A could read her like an open book.

"Don't let your eyes speak your mind. Learn to make your gaze steely. It needs practice but you should learn," Arya laughed quietly.

"I will, lady," Alizeh's voice was almost a whisper. As weird as it all seemed, this organization or whatever it was, gave Alizeh a sense of entitlement, a sense of power.

"Come, see them up close."

Alizeh took the grey fabric in her palm. The softness seemed to be melting into her skin. But something else caught her eyes. The fabric wasn't actually grey. It was white and had little black scribbles running across the breadth of the skirt. The scribbles were closely spaced, giving it the illusion of being grey. Alizeh studied the writings. They weren't just lines, they were words. Tiny words printed with precision.

"And then one day the war started and the mongers sat on their couches and bayed for blood..." The sentences perfectly made sense. Alizeh moved through the fabric reading further. "The blood of their brethren, spilt on the dusty earth in the dark quest for vengeance..."

"It's...It's..." Alizeh spluttered, trying to find the right words.

"I call this masterpiece of mine, W-A-R. Each piece here tells a story."

"But aren't these illegal? We don't talk of the war or anything before it. At least not in public," Alizeh blurted.

Arya's eye turned into dark fire, "Just because the government doesn't allow us to speak, does it mean that we can't or we won't speak? The war had a huge impact on everyone and I want people to relieve their sorrows, overcome their grief and speak about the horrors. Books are banned in this world. How else would we bring relatable verses to the people who need it?"

"So you use your dresses to tell a story."

"That's catharsis for some that have been traumatized by war."

"So there are people that buy this."

"They just have to utter one secret word. Every store has CCTV, the footage of which has to be submitted to the IT cell every week. Do you think it's easy?"

"But we just entered this place," Alizeh wondered aloud.

"The cameras are pointed away from here. Besides we tamper with the footage before handing it over."

"So do you use only dresses as the modes of communication?" Alizeh asked innocently. A full-throated laugh escaped from Arya's lips, "How many of them can afford dresses, bags and shoes as a sign of rebellion? We have many websites allowing people to write out their hearts contents. People like you write and get reviews on their writings. We share and bond over all clouds."

"But don't the IT cell keep a watch on the web?"

"Aaah! We aren't that foolish lady," Arya announced handing her another dress, "This is called Blood. And yes, we work over the dark web. We have agents and channels of our own and we have ways to escape detection."

Alizeh read the words on the other dress which was white on red, camouflaged as innocent pink from a distance.'

"These are damn good!" she admired. "But," Alizeh turned to face Arya, "what do you want from me?"

"Well, what else? You'll write and my printers will type the stories."

"What would I write about?"

"What would you write about if you didn't have any fear?"

Alizeh pondered for a while before replying, "I'd write about how the connection with the moon was severed. I hate that we can't contact our dear ones that are trapped..."

"The connection to the Moon was deliberately severed. We have our spies in the parliament. They gave us the insider information. There were important members from the opposition of various nations that had gone on a vacation to the Moon when the war broke out. So they sealed the space stations and destroyed the satellites and rocket propellors to weed out any chance of the opposition returning."

"The bastards," Alizeh's blood began to boil, "How could they..."

"Vent out the choicest slangs and the feelings in your writings, girl. Channelize your energy to something productive. Give back a befitting reply to this incompetent and amateurish government that makes crummy laws and disgraceful remarks," Arya took her hand, guiding her out of the room into another hall.

"I love those lines," Alizeh considered, "When do I start?"

"From now," Arya announced, ushering her into a small room with exquisite frosted glass walls. There was a sturdy wooden table with an expensive laptop, ivory paper, which had to be damn costly and an assortment of pens and other accessories she had only dreamed of in an office.

"And I didn't want to work here because I thought I'd be a maid," Alizeh sucked in a breath audibly.

"You are my maid of honour," Arya winked, before closing the glass door, leaving Alizeh to admire her workspace. The risks of the work were profound but this was the thrill she had worked for. Alizeh knew it was a test of her resilience and she would prove worthy of it.