You call this fate?

Chapter 4

We, along with six other people, crowded into the wood panelled elevator car. Olive green carpets complimented the gold finishing on the wall, the warm glow from the overhead chandelier putting me in mind of tasteful ballrooms.

Tasha pushed me along to the back of the cabin, away from the others. People looked at my abaya and hijab out of the corner of their eyes, trying not to stare and failing miserably. I ignored their glances, leaning against the back of the car and fiddling with my fingers.

Society looking at me askance, some with barely concealed curiosity and others with outright hostility, was nothing new. I was used to their shifting glances, about as much as I was used to whispered words behind raised hands and guarded nods when they thought I wasn’t looking.  

It wasn’t that I was completely impervious to the hidden meaning behind such gestures, or that I was so strong I could navigate the world without considering this hateful air. I did notice, and sometimes all I wanted to do was hide—or change who I was. But I refused to acknowledge the whiny voice in my head. My believes were the only connection I had to my country long lost, and I was damned if a few assholes would deprive me of them.

Not everyone was like that, of course. There were people like Tasha and Granny Tonks. Like Jonah now. Nice people who—

Wait…what? Jonah?

Jonah!

My eyes flew open. Tasha must have felt some subtle change in me—or maybe the fact that I was crushing the bones in her hand with my tightened grip—because she took in my face with raised eyebrows.

"Are you alright?"

There were only two people in the elevator now, more having left than gotten on. A middle-aged woman in a sharp pinstripe suit was leafing through a file in her hands, tapping a beige pump on the floor in impatience. Beside her was a young fidgety clerk leaning against the wall, pulling at his tie with nervous fingers. He looked at us with kind, inquiring eyes upon hearing Tasha's question.

"Jonah," I said, still not able to believe what I knew had happened. You bloody idiot! I screamed at myself. How could you have been so stupid?

"What?" Tasha asked, confused. "Please don't mumble."

"Oh God, Tasha, we have to go back," I said, grabbing her hand and looking wildly for the button pad. "We have to go back now!"

"Hey, get a grip!" Tasha hissed as I squashed her foot under a crutch. The file-lady frowned, not able to comprehend someone daring to disturb her. The young man straightened. "We are not going anywhere! What are you talking about?"

"I forgot all about Jonah!" I said, frantic now. Where was the bloody pad? Who the hell was standing in front of it? "I brought him home last night. He was hungry. And now he is all alone and I completely forgot to give him breakfast!"

"Zara, calm down, will you? For heaven's sake!" She shook me. "Ella and I took care of Jonah while you were in the shower. He is fine."

"What?" I said intelligently, staring at her, ceasing my violent thrashing. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you figured it out, seeing as you didn't say anything. It didn't seem important."

"Not important? How could you possibly think this wasn't important?"

The elevator dinged. I looked at the glowing numbers above the opening doors. Nineteen. Twelve more to go—I had always been a genius that way.

The man and woman got off, but not before the woman threw us a look of disdain. The man glanced at Tasha one last time, but left too when she nodded, as if to say, Don't worry. I got this maniac. The streets and our children are safe.