'Naari' - Woman
(A collection of short stories to inspire)
"Hey, you fight like a girl!" he said.
"You bet I do!" she smiled, swinging her sword.
Boys are given the universe in which to carve out their identities, the promise of infinite space fo...
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"You lied to me," Afina stared straight at the man sitting in front of her. He had his head between his hands and was nervously smacking his lips. Afina's eyes were boring into him, trying to fathom if he was worth her time.
"Afina look. I can explain. I didn't think you'd have to find out this way. I was going to tell you..."
"Stop rambling, Omar," her voice was hard, devoid of any emotions.
"Please don't leave me. I may not be the honest businessman that I claimed to be, but I'm not a bad person..."
"Shush," Afina bent down and touched a finger to his lips, making him gulp in fear.
"Afina, are you okay?" Omar asked, beads of perspiration forming on his forehead. Afina slowly moved to the large glass wall that enclosed one side of their twentieth floor flat in the heart of Dubai. Her hands dived into the pockets of her silk robes. Without a warning, a cigarette was lit.
"Afina?" her name rather came as a question.
"No, I'm not," Afina whipped around and closed the distance between them in two long strides, her billowing gowns giving her the aura of the empress of the night.
"I'm glad you confessed to being involved in the drug business. Makes it easier for me," Afina's plum lips twisted in a smile.
"Why?" Omar's voice was barely a whisper.
"Cause baby, I am the queen of crime. Doesn't the entire Dubai want to know who leads the 'Black hand'?"
The dull glow of the cigarette made her face look dangerously alluring. Omar had heard of and feared the Black Hand like every other petty criminal in the city. Agile and utterly merciless, the gang was the mastermind of almost all criminal activities in the area. The police were putty in their hands. Omar stared in awe at his beautiful wife. Who would have known those diaphanous eyelids and long lashes hid such dangerous secrets for all these years?
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"Remember what I told you. Mouth shut, no talking. We're entering enemy territory," Afina hissed. Wrapped from head toe in a matted brown burkha, a basket of fruits in her hand, she could've easily passed off as a street peddler. Omar, on the other hand, had transformed himself into an old man and walked with a slight limp. The marketplace was milling with people and the din of the crowd mixed with the obnoxious smell of sweat made Omar nauseated. He was always used to luxury. He did his crimes with style.
"Why are we here?" Omar whispered.
"According to my intel, there's a consignment being handed over in this very marketplace between our rival gangs. My job is to..."
Afina stopped speaking. Her eyes scanned the crowd. The faint smell of gunpowder floated over to where they were standing. Her eye got caught on a man with a starched green kurta, who parked a sleek bike at the crossing between the lanes. Swiftly he got down and began seeing through he crowd with his expert eyes.
