The Arrangement

Chapter Twelve: What is Best for Us

We all looked outside. A tall building towered over us. A large park sat on one side, and a few shops lined down the other side. Large, bushy trees from the park hugged the building. Kids were playing there, their parents sitting by and watching.

We climbed out of the car and went inside. A small man with thinning hair sat behind the desk, typing away at a computer. We let Farhan approach him. He cleared his throat to alert his presence.

The small man looked up over his glasses. "Haanji?"

"Salaam. Mere chaacha ne shaayad aapko fon kiya tha. Mera naam Farhan hai."

"Oh! Yes, yes!" The man broke into a grin. "The nephew from America. I know much English too, see?"

"Yes, that-that's very good."

"My name is Khan." He burst out laughing. "See? Like the movie 'My name is Khan'. No, but really, my is Khan. Just not Shahrukh Khan!" Khan fell back in his seat with a hearty laugh.

Farhan glanced at us for help. Beside me, Vivaan was shaking with suppressed laughter. I tsked and went up to the desk, smiling politely. "Is the key ready for us?"

"Ah! The wife?" Khan asked. Farhan hesitated, then nodded. Khan leaned forward to shake my hand. "Very beautiful. Very nice hair. Like a cactus, sticking out in all directions." And then he doubled over laughing.

I shifted my hips to one side and folded my arms. Behind us, I could hear Vivaan laughing openly now. Even Farhan's mouth was twisted as he tried to hold back.

"Sorry, sorry." Khan wiped a tear away. "I sit here all day, so I don't get much opportunity to have fun." He stood up to and went to a drawer. "Most of the people here are Muslim too. You won't have any trouble. Your name is on the papers now too. Lucky you, eh? Your uncle pays for the apartment from Ahmadabad. You get to live here for free! You're a- what is that word called? Freeloader, eh?"

I took the key from Khan. "His uncle pays for an apartment he barely lives in. I'd say we're doing him a favor, putting it to use."

"Ah! The cactus girl pokes!" Khan chuckled. "Good for you, good for you. Room number 13F."

We gratefully walked away from that exuberant man and got in the elevator. The ride up was silent, and in our reflection, I saw anticipation mixed with fear on our faces. Were we really going to do this. Were we diving too fast?

The doors slid open. We walked out into the hallway on a red carpet with dark stains on it. The place was eerily quiet, as if we were the only souls there. A few dying plants sat against the wall here and there. Dusty chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a yellow glow on dirty, beige walls.

"I can see why your uncle doesn't mind paying for this place," Vivaan murmured. "He probably doesn't have to pay too much."

We stopped in front of 13F. I glanced at the others, then unlocked the door and pushed it open. It swung back to reveal a dark room. I took a deep breath and stepped inside. My hands felt along the wall until I found the switch.

Light flooded the place. It illuminated a dark, red curtain, shutting out the light. A couple of worn out, light brown sofas sat in the living area, a small glass table between them. A decent sized TV was mounted on the wall across from them. A few Islamic pictures and symbols hung on the walls. Fake, potted flowers in several colors sat on flat surfaces. A black dining table sat between the living room and kitchen, a few old mail scattered across it. The kitchen itself was small, with brown cabinets and marble counters. The place smelt of rotten fruits and vegetables.

"Oh my god," I whispered.

Farhan and Vivaan looked at me worriedly. "We can fix it," Vivaan assured.