MURDER with Abstract Mathematics

Chapter 5

We drifted around the main hall, itching to do something, picking up food every once in two while.
After half an hour, we sat on a table.

"Hey," Bilu proposed, "let's start a fire."

A bold spirited proposition, but I shook my head, "Too many people in the way. Plus, the parlour is in a bad position. Reshma can't get out."

"Well," Bilu pouted, "we could make smoke."

"That'll cause confusion, but it won't stop the engagement."

"Stop it, guys," Shalik said from between her fingers, "It's no use. Reshma is over."

"Baal!" Bilu threw her hand up, "you're giving up too fast! Do something, Rashed!"

"Why do I have to do something?"

"Cause you got a bike! Do some crazy Arnold Schwadinger stunt!"

"I don't know any Arnold Schwadinger stunt!"

"AGH!" Bilu flopped down on the table.

After a second of consideration, I flopped down and hugged the table too.

Table is love. Table is life.

"Excuse me, can I sit on this table?"

My first reaction was to hiss and say No! But I managed to hold back the beast and lifted an eye to look. Bilu grunted a non-binary answer.

The interrogator was a boy almost six inches shorter than me, but with a stocky build to cover for it. He wore a geometrically embroidered orange Punjabi and he wore it well. There was a long, healing scar on the left side of his forehead.

"Hi," he spoke smoothly enough that it gave away his nervousness, "There was an empty seat, so I was wondering if..."

"Sit," said I, not wanting to be disturbed in my wallowing.

Turns out, he had every intention of disturbing my wallowing.

"Ah," he said, sitting down facing me, "I wanted to apologize for something."

For disturbing me? No apology was enough.

"You're forgiven," I answered.

He definitely wasn't expecting that. He hesitated, and then asked, "oh, so you knew?"

"No," I rolled to his opposite side, "But I don't wanna."

He stayed silent for a few seconds, which was apparently his limit.

"So.. I, uh, I meant, um," he awkwardly, and needlessly, and intrusively, fumbled with words, "we bumped into each other the other day. At Shamshir's warehouse."

Oh?

In that case, didn't I owe him an apology too? I did almost get him killed.

I peeked at him over my arm. He looked slightly embarrassed, leaning forward on his seat like a kicked son of a bitch. Uncut hair came down to his forehead. He was fair. Almost as fair as Shalik.

Now, I wouldn't say that he didn't belong in a fight; his folded hands showed some interesting bulges under his Punjabi sleeves. But just... You couldn't make a goon out of this guy. What was he doing in that warehouse?

"Yeah, sorry," I grumbled, "Almost got you killed."

"No!" He snapped, "I mean, you saved my life."

"After almost getting you killed."

"Well, I almost got you killed, not you me."

"I was running while looking backward. I bumped into you."