CHAPTER FOUR
The pillow falls from Zoya's nerveless fingers. "This is not what it looks like."
Najma is almost as shocked as Zoya. She stands in the doorway, her mouth open and her eyes wide. "It looks like you're sniffing Rohan's pillow."
Zoya winces. "Well, okay. It is what it looks like." She puts her hands on her hips. "Wait a second. Why are you home? You're supposed to be in college."
"My instructor is sick. The professor who took over just gave us our study assignment so I came home." Najma enters the room and looks around. Rohan's closed suitcase sits in the corner. A comb and hairbrush are on the dressing table. The rest of the room is neat and orderly. "Zoya, why are you in Rohan's room?"
Zoya picks up the pillow and holds it out to her. "Here. Smell this."
Najma's eyes narrow suspiciously but she takes a hesitant sniff.
"What do you smell?" Zoya prompts.
"Laundry soap."
"And?"
Najma sniffs again. "Nothing. Just soap."
"Exactly!"
"What?" Najma shakes her head. "I don't understand."
"Rohan's pillow only smells like soap. Why doesn't it smell like Rohan?"
Najma puckers her lips as she thinks. "Because...Rohan didn't use it?"
"Right." Zoya flips back the blue coverlet to show Najma the beautifully folded bed sheets. "And look at this."
"That's my design." Najma smooths the fan pleats. "Rohan made up the bed with the same pleats?"
"No." Zoya drops the coverlet back. "He didn't have to make the bed. Rohan didn't sleep in it."
"What?" Najma tugs the cover, straightening away the wrinkles. "Why not? Are you saying Rohan stayed up all night? Why?"
Zoya explains her suspicions about Asad's disorganized bookshelf, the messy cabinet, the water jug and Rohan's snooping. Najma listens but seems unconvinced.
"Zoya, Rohan's a world-famous athlete," she points out. "Why would he be searching our house in the dead of the night? What could he possibly want from us?"
"I don't know," Zoya admits. "But look around. Everything here is too neat and perfect. That's not normal."
Najma smiles. "Just because he's neat doesn't mean he's suspicious."
Zoya turns Najma towards the dressing table. "There is only a comb and brush on that table."
Najma shrugs. "So? Maybe he keeps most of his stuff in his suitcase."
"Look at his suitcase," Zoya urges. "Notice anything odd about it?"
Najma moves closer to investigate. "No. It's clean and nice."
"Too clean and too nice. There is no way a suitcase can be that pristine after being thrown around by baggage handlers." Zoya points to the bottom. "Look at the underside. It's not even dirty. How can someone who travels by plane have such pristine luggage?"
"He came by private plane," Najma reminds her. "Maybe the baggage handlers didn't touch his luggage."
"Somebody did," Zoya insists. "His luggage had to get from his house to the Mumbai Airport then to the Bhopal Airport and finally to his hotel. How can his suitcase show almost no sign of use?"
Najma's brows wrinkle as she considers. Her mouth drops open when Zoya crosses the room and kneels in front of the oversized suitcase.
"Zoya!" You're not going to search his suitcase, are you?" Her voice lowers to a horrified whisper.
"He searched our house, didn't he?" Zoya unzips the case and throws back the cover. "He shouldn't have done that if he's such a stickler about privacy."
Najma bites into her lower lip but comes to look over Zoya's shoulder. "What did you find?"
"Everything in here is brand new." Zoya leans back so Najma can see better. "All his things still have tags on them." She looks around. "Where are the clothes he wore yesterday?"
"Perhaps he left them in his bathroom," Najma suggests. "I'll check."
She hurries into the washroom then comes back to the doorway. "Yes, his clothes from yesterday and his kurta are here."
"Anything in or on them?"
Najma's eyes widen but she dutifully goes back to check. "No, there's nothing. No dirt, no wear or tear, no fading in the collar and nothing in the pockets." She appears in the doorway again. "His toothbrush, toothpaste, hair spray, in fact, everything is brand new. All the packages are in the waste bin."
"We're supposed to believe he's been in Bhopal for at least two days now and he hasn't brushed his teeth?" Zoya tidies the contents of his suitcase and zips it shut. "How is that possible with his perfect smile?"
"He was in a hotel the first night," Najma points out. "They probably provided all those things. As for his clothes, his endorsement deals require him to wear certain brands and styles. It's much easier pack in a bunch of new clothes and toiletries than it is to wash, press, fold and prepare existing items."
"Or maybe he has something to hide and doesn't want us to discover any of his secrets."
Najma frowns as she tries to follow Zoya's logic. "Are you saying you think he packed this suitcase knowing he was going to stay with us? That he planned to stay with us? How could he have possibly arranged that?"
"Najma, as you say, he's a world-famous athlete. All of India knows him and he travels all the time. Yet this is the first time he's had to leave a hotel because he can't sleep well?" Zoya holds out her hands. "What does he do the rest of the time? Why hasn't this been a problem for him until now?"
Najma opens and closes her mouth several times but can't come up with a reasonable explanation. Finally she shakes her head. "But how could Rohan know that we'd invite him to stay with us?"
"Tamatar, your mother is Dilshad Ahmed Khan," Zoya points out. "When has Phupee not helped anyone who needed it? Plus, she's the orphanage's patron. All of Bhopal knows she's the one who convinced Rohan to host the charity events."
Najma nods in agreement.
"Rohan came to Bhopal intending to stay with us." Zoya looks around the room again. "He's searching our house and researched us on the internet. What does he want from us?"
"Whatever it is, we're not going to find it in his room," Najma points out. She sits down on the dressing table chair. "He wouldn't leave incriminating evidence here."
"So how do we find out more about him?" Zoya paces as she thinks out loud. "What if we set up webcams and watch him?"
"Here?" Najma's mouth drops open. "In his bedroom? Zoya, are you insane? What if Rohan finds out? Worse, what if Bhaijaan finds out?" She shudders visibly. "I can't imagine what Bhaijaan would do to us if he found out we even discussed setting up a camera in a man's bedroom."
"I can," Zoya snorts. "He'd lock us in the storage room, feed us nothing but cold cereal and his nasty protein shakes and lecture us on tameez and tazeeb until we begged for mercy."
Najma shudders again. "No, Zoya. We are not recording Rohan, no matter what."
"It probably wouldn't have done much good anyway," Zoya sighs. "All we'd record is him sleeping or changing."
Najma sucks in her breath on a sharp gasp.
Zoya puts up her hands. "Not that we'd ever do that!"
Najma jumps up and drags Zoya out of Rohan's room. "Zoya, this is crazy. We have no proof that Rohan has done anything wrong and we've just searched his room. We have to stop this now."
"What about the messed up cabinet drawers?" Zoya counters. "What about Mr. Khan's bookshelf or Rohan searching us on the internet? Isn't that proof?"
Najma chews on her lower lip, looking troubled. "Even if Rohan did do those things, we have no hard proof. We can't accuse him without evidence."
"Fine. Then I'll get evidence."
Zoya crosses her arms and turns away. Najma grabs her arm to stop her.
"What are you going to do, Zoya?"
Zoya stops in midstride to think. "He's not going to say anything to us so we'll have to find out what he's up to by his actions."
"What does that mean?"
"I'm going to follow him."
"How?" Najma demands. "You don't even know where he is."
"Yes, I do." Zoya picks up her cell phone. "His every step is monitored and recorded on the social media sites. I can tell you exactly where he is this very second." She searches on the internet then smiles. "He's still at the orphanage. A car has just arrived to take him to the Bhopal Cricket Club. He's doing a demonstration and practice session at the stadium in one hour."
Najma stares, wide-eyed, at the rapid pop-ups. "Wow, I think we're the only people in Bhopal who aren't recording him."
Zoya laughs. "Does that mean you've changed your mind about the webcams?"
"No!"
Zoya hooks her bag on her shoulder. "Okay. I'll be back soon."
"Wait!" Najma grabs her arm again. "I'm coming with you."
"You can't come with me. You have to study for exams."
"How do you expect me to concentrate when I'm worried about the stranger in our home?" Najma sets her jaw stubbornly. With her mouth set and her eyes flashing, she looks like a tiny, feminine version of Asad. "This is my family, too!"
"You're right." Zoya grins. "Anyway, what sane person would dare go against Najma Ahmed Khan?"
***
"Ohh, this heat is terrible," Zoya moans, fanning herself with her hand.
"It wouldn't have been so bad if we hadn't had to walk the last kilometer." Najma uses her chuni to pat away the sweat rolling down her face.
Zoya studies the scene grimily. "That was as close as the driver could get. All the roads around the stadium have turned into parking lots."
"And all the people are turning into lunatics." Najma winds her arm around Zoya's and holds on tightly. "Is it the heat or Rohan that's making them act like this?"
All around them people are screaming, pushing and shoving, chanting Rohan's name. Many are begging passersby for extra tickets, offering astronomical sums - and more - for the opportunity to see Rohan practice. Some of the women are crying and holding up posters of him, including his sports drink advertisement from the newspaper. Protestors, many dressed in burkas and thobe and kuffiyeh, hold up signs denouncing Rohan.
Adding to the chaos are news vans blocking the street, photographers recoding the action and reporters interviewing pedestrians. Car horns and blasting music drown out much of what they're saying while the oppressive heat saps away people's patience. Police in riot gear are out in force, monitoring the scene.
Zoya laces Najma's fingers with her own. "Don't let go. We don't want to be separated."
Najma nods and surveys the insanity. "How are we supposed to get inside? We don't have tickets."
Zoya doesn't bother to reply. She pulls Najma through the crowd until they are near the gates. Huge security guards, their bodies bulging with intimidating muscles, secure the entrance. All around them fans are crying and pleading to be let in.
"This won't work." Zoya looks around. "We have to find another way in."
"How? Every entrance will be guarded like this one. Only--" Najma breaks off with a sudden gasp. "Zoya, look! There's Mrs. Reddy."
"Who?"
"The police commissioner's wife."
"Oh, yes, the lady who kept complimenting Phupee on her fair-skinned children."
Zoya allows Najma to pull her towards an attractive older woman dressed in a sober sari. The woman stands to the side, trying to control four excited young boys. Several security guards stand close to her, separating her from the crowd.
"Hello, Mrs. Reddy!" Najma calls out.
Mrs. Reddy looks harried and upset but she smiles when she recognizes them. "Dilshad's beautiful daughter and daughter-in-law." She waves them over. "Hurry girls. Come into the shade before this sun darkens your lovely fair complexions."
Zoya and Najma exchange glances but join Mrs. Reddy.
"Why aren't you inside, Mrs. Reddy?" Najma asks. "Wasn't Ammi able to get you tickets to the program?"
"Yes, she was." Mrs. Reddy holds up her tickets. "But I've lost the nursemaid in this crush. We can't go in until we find her."
"That's terrible," Najma sympathizes. "She must be so frightened."
"Yes." Mrs. Reddy looks desperate. "But I don't dare leave my grandsons to look for her."
"We can help, Mrs. Reddy." Zoya deftly takes the tickets from her. "Why don't Najma and I take your grandsons to your seats? That way you can search for your nursemaid while we get them settled. Then Najma will stay with them while I come back for you."
"Really?" Mrs. Reddy sighs with gratitude. "That would be such a help." She cups their faces. "Dilshad is so blessed to have such beautiful and thoughtful girls."
The girls gather up the excited little boys and take them into the stadium. It's almost as crowded inside as it is outside. The people are equally excited and hyperactive but don't have the anxiety and desperation of those left outside. The chaos is calmer with attendants to direct the crowd and more private security guards to keep order.
It doesn't take long to settle in the boys. Zoya dodges the incoming crowd to go back to the gates. Mrs. Reddy is waiting with her nursemaid. The girl is shaken and pale but otherwise fine. Zoya hands them their tickets and takes them to their seats. Najma already has cold drinks waiting for them.
"Thank you, dear." Mrs. Reddy takes the lassi and drinks deeply. She places her hand on Najma's head. "Dilshad has passed her compassion and generosity on to you. May you always be a blessing to your wonderful mother."
"I will," Najma promises.
Mrs. Reddy cups Zoya's cheek. "And you must teach your children to be as patient and as considerate as their Dadi. It's not enough that they inherit Dilshad's beauty. You and Asad must raise them properly. They need to have her nature as well. Understood?"
Zoya's eyes widen and her mouth goes slack. Najma bites into her lower lip to control her grin. Her amusement brings Zoya out of her stupor.
She stiffens but manages to nod. "Alright."
"Thank you both so much for all your help." Mrs. Reddy finally takes her seat.
"We were happy to do it," Najma assures her.
Zoya nods again. She takes a firm grip on Najma's arm and drags her away before Mrs. Reddy can say more. They join the queue of people heading down to the seats closest to the field.
"Whew! Any more of that sweetness and I would have gone into diabetic shock," Zoya mutters.
"True but we're lucky she was here. We wouldn't have gotten into the stadium without her," Najma points out.
"Not only did she get us in, but she also lent us her police security clearance." Zoya holds up the plastic badges.
"Zoya, how could you?" Najma scolds. "She'll miss them when the match is over and she tries to take her grandsons to meet Rohan."
"I'll give them back before we leave." Zoya clips the badge to her shirt. "I want to walk around and having security clearance will mean that no one questions me."
"Should I go with you?"
"No, I need you to get as close to the field as possible." Zoya clips the other badge to Najma's kameez. "Use your digital camera and record anyone Rohan has contact with, even if he only smiles and waves at them, okay?"
"Okay." Najma looks nervous. "What if someone questions me?"
"No one will," Zoya assures her. "The trick is to act like you know what you're doing and where you're going. Only people who wander around aimlessly raise suspicion. Pick a point and walk towards it. No one will question you when they see you have a specific goal. Okay?"
"Okay." Najma takes a deep breath and nods. She holds her head high and shoulders straight, again looking like a miniature, female version of Asad.
Zoya smiles with fond pride as she watches Najma stride down the steps to the railing overlooking the playing field. Then she heads for the exit to the lower level. She walks around the entire stadium. The hallways are quieter now that most people have gone to their seats but many are still milling around. All the paths are filled with fans and reporters, staff attendants rushing around and private security guards keeping them all orderly.
"There's nothing to see here," Zoya murmurs to herself. "It's too insane. Maybe I'll find out more if I go into the cricket club itself."
She walks down the hallway that connects the stadium to the private cricket club. Her security clearance gets her in. The halls are as busy as the stadium with members watching the field from huge projectors, cool and comfortable in the air-conditioned club. Security guards are stationed all around, most heavily at the entrance to the men's locker room. Zoya continues to walk around but finds nothing interesting. Discouraged, she pulls out her cell phone and sends a text to Najma.
A short time later, they meet up at the railing just above the entrance to the field.
"Any luck?" Najma asks hopefully.
"None." Zoya grimaces. "How about you?"
Najma also makes a face. "I filmed the entire stadium, every official and the members of the local teams. No one did anything odd or suspicious."
Zoya looks around. "How many people can this stadium hold, anyway?"
"Thirty thousand."
"Allah miya. There are thirty thousand people in here to see Rohan and the same amount waiting outside, hoping to see Rohan." Zoya shakes her head. "Why would someone this popular need to sneak around our house in the dead of the night?"
Najma also shakes her head, equally baffled. She looks around nervously as the crowd's excitement rises to a fever-pitch. They begin chanting Rohan! Rohan! in near-hysterical frenzy.
"What's going on?" Najma presses closer to Zoya.
Zoya looks down to the field. "The practice just ended. If Rohan stays true to form, he'll take off his shirt and throw it into the crowd. All these fans are encouraging him."
Just then Rohan pulls off his shirt, revealing his perfectly sculpted upper body. The fans go wild, screaming so loudly that Najma covers her ears. Rohan holds his shirt in one hand while he waves with the other. He turns in a slow circle, allowing everyone to see him. The stadium is awash in lights and clicks as fans and reports snap pictures of him in all his glory.
Rohan looks like a Greek god brought to life. His body is absolutely perfect, long and lean, golden and glistening, his muscles fluid and moving with grace and precision. His thick hair is shiny and glossy, his pale blue eyes the focus point for his gorgeous face and his smile is even brighter than the midday sun. He finishes his circle and walks to the heavily guarded field entrance. He looks up and sees Zoya and Najma at the railing.
His perfect, professional smile morphs into a delighted grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He waves to them, not the calm relaxed wave he'd just given his fans but an excited motion, like a little boy seeing his family attending his school play.
"Hey you guys!" he yells up.
He cups his hands to his mouth as though he wants to say more. The officials around him push forward, denying him the opportunity. Rohan's grin dies but he allows the men to move him. He winks and throws his shirt up to them.
Zoya tries to move back but, with so many people crowding against the railing, she has nowhere to go. She forces herself to smile when Rohan's shirt hits her square in the center of her chest. Automatically, she catches it. Instantly, everyone turns to her, cell phones and camera held up, recording the event. She hands his shirt off to the girl standing next to her. The girl squeals with joy and holds up her prize. The cameras and cell phones turn to her.
Zoya uses the distraction to thread her arm though Najma's and lead her towards Mrs. Reddy's seats. "Come on. Let's get out of here before the crowd does."
Najma surveys the overly-excited fans, her face tense. "Yes, please. How can Rohan stand this everywhere he goes?"
"That mystery will have to wait." Zoya's mouth is set in a grim line. "Let's figure out what Rohan's really up to first."
***
"Zoya, I have another mystery for you." Najma holds up her cell phone.
"Another one?" Zoya turns back from paying the taxi driver. "Don't we have enough to worry about, Tamatar?"
"There are no more Rohan sightings," Najma announces.
"What?" Zoya pulls out her own phone. "That's not possible. He's the most famous man in Bhopal. How could he disappear?"
Zoya continues to search as Najma opens the gates to Khan Villa. Zoya follows her, still focused on her cell phone as she absently brushes away the sweat trickling around her hairline.
"I can't wait to get back into our cool house, have a cool drink, take a cool bath and put this whole day behind me." Najma unlocks their front door. "After all the craziness at the stadium, I just want some peace and quiet."
She steps into their house and stops so suddenly that Zoya almost runs into her. She looks up to see what stopped Najma. Asad is waiting in the middle of the living room, arms crossed, jaw locked and eyes very dark.
"The peace and quiet will have to wait," Zoya murmurs, shifting so that she's in front of Najma.
"Explain this." Asad holds up his cell phone.
His voice is low and fiercely controlled. Najma shivers and curls into Zoya's back. Zoya stands very straight, her own jaw lifting.
"Is that a trick question?" she asks coolly. "We both know that's your cell phone, Mr. Khan."
Asad takes a step closer to her, nostrils flaring as he tries to reign in his temper. "Explain why half my staff sent me pictures of you at the cricket stadium, holding Rohan Saxena's shirt."
"He threw it and I caught it," Zoya explains calmly. "Apparently it's a huge prize among his fans."
A shudder passes through Asad, distracting him from his anger. "People want someone else's sweaty, filthy shirt as a prize?"
"I gave it away immediately, Mr. Khan," she soothes. "And I used antiseptic wipes once we left the stadium."
Asad shudders again, his anger retuning in full force. "Why were you at the stadium?"
"I wanted to watch Rohan."
Asad draws breath on a sharp hiss. "And Najma?"
Najma comes out from behind Zoya. She hangs her head and fiddles with her chuni, not looking at him. "I...I, Bhaijaan..." Her voice is barely audible.
Zoya takes her elbow and gently tucks Najma behind her back.
"I made her go with me," she insists. "Her class was cancelled so she came home early. None of the house staff was coming in today. Najma would have been here all alone. You know how she forgets the whole world when she concentrates on her studies. A tornado could hit the house and she wouldn't know it."
"There are no tornadoes in India, Ms. Farooqui," Asad growls.
"Even so, I didn't want to leave her alone."
Asad narrows his eyes. Zoya puts her hands on her hip. Najma peaks out from behind Zoya's back.
"Bhaijaan, don't be angry. Zoya didn't mean to catch Rohan's shirt." Her voice is tiny but determined. "Rohan saw her and threw it directly to her. She tried to move away, to let someone else catch it, but it was too crowded for us to move. She had no choice."
Asad's face turns very red. "Rohan threw it directly to you? He singled you out to receive his...what did you call it...prize?"
"I didn't call it a prize," Zoya corrects him. "I said his fans consider it a prize."
Asad takes another step closer. Najma shivers and ducks behind Zoya again. Zoya stands firm, even though she has to look up now that Asad is less than an arm's length away from her.
"Ms. Farooqui, why didn't you tell me you were planning to go to the cricket stadium?" She opens her mouth but he continues speaking without allowing her a chance to respond. "I'll tell you why. It's because you knew I wouldn't allow you to go."
"Allow?" Zoya repeats, her face flushing deep red. "The last time I checked, India was still a free democracy. I can go where I want, when I want."
"You don't live in the Prime Minister's house, you live in this house. We have rules here. Among them is to keep each other informed of where you are and what you're doing," Asad counters, his voice rising as he looms over her. "Again, why didn't you tell me you were going to the stadium?"
"When did I have an opportunity, Mr. Khan? All morning you were either criticizing me, yelling at me or hiding behind the newspaper. When did you give me a minute of your time other than to accuse me of messing up your bookshelf or to call me an idiot for defending Rohan's support for the orphanage?" Angry tears form in Zoya's eyes.
Asad rubs his forehead. "Ms. Farooqui, I did not call you an idiot and I didn't mean to yell at you. I was upset at the time."
"You're always upset," Zoya snaps. "Well, now I'm upset, too."
She turns and marches towards her room.
"Ms. Farooqui, that's Rohan's room!"
Zoya utters a half-strangled scream of frustration and turns in mid-stride. She rushes up the stairs, hands clenched into fists, dashing away her angry tears. Asad watches her, looking helpless. He turns to Najma, who has her hands pressed together, face strained as she watches their exchange.
"Go." Asad gestures up the staircase. "Talk to her."
Najma nods. "Yes, Bhaijaan."
She hesitates but Asad doesn't say anymore. He shakes his head and goes into his own room, slamming the door behind him. Najma prepares a tray of juice and biscuits and hurries up to Zoya. She knocks on the door and waits for her to open it.
"Najma, it's your room," Zoya reminds her. "You don't have to knock."
Najma enters and puts the tray down by the bed. "I know but I thought you might need some time alone."
"I don't need time alone. I need time away from your Bhaijaan."
Najma winces at Zoya's harsh tone but says nothing. She hands Zoya a glass and offers her the tray of cookies. Zoya's anger drains away as quickly as it arose. She takes the juice and hugs Najma tightly.
"I'm sorry, Tamatar. Please don't mind me. Your brother has a way of getting to me."
"It seems to be the same for him," Najma says gently. "He stormed off to his room after you left. He didn't even try to scold me."
"That's because he doesn't have a problem with you. It's only me. I'm the musibat in his life." Her voice thickens and she hurriedly gulps down her juice.
Najma looks at her sadly. Then her expression brightens. "Let's talk about the case."
Zoya finishes her juice. "Case? What case?"
"Our case. The Nancy Drew books always called her mysteries cases' and now we're solving a mystery." Najma drinks her own juice. "Should I get a notebook and write down our clues?"
Zoya laughs. "I prefer Veronica Mars as a modern detective. She kept her case files on her laptop."
Najma takes out her laptop and settles on her bed. "I'm ready."
Zoya hugs her again. Then she begins pacing. "Okay. We need a better plan than to watch Rohan's public events. It appears that all of Bhopal is at those events so it's unlikely he'll do anything incriminating there. We need to follow him when he's not in public."
"But how? We had to walk over two kilometers to get past the stopped traffic. Even then, it took twenty minutes to find an empty taxi."
"Right. We need something that's fast and light and can get through traffic." Zoya thinks for a moment. "Like a motorcycle or a scooter. Do you have one of those?"
Najma shakes her head. "No. Bhaijaan says it's safer if we travel by car. He used to have a motorcycle but he gave it to Ayaan Bhaijaan. Anyway, even if we did have a scooter, we don't know where Rohan is."
Zoya paces faster. "Okay, let's think this out logically. When and where was the last Rohan sighting?"
Najma checks the social network sites. "He was seen going into the men's locker room at the Cricket Club. Here's an entry that says Rohan signed autographs then everyone was escorted out so he could shower and change in privacy."
"Where did he go after the locker room?"
Najma checks again. "That was it. Security cleared the locker room and the hallway. He hasn't been seen since."
"That doesn't make sense." Zoya leans over her shoulder to study the posts. "Somebody must have seen him. Even if he went into a private room at the club, someone would know, such as an attendant who prepared the room or saw heavy security around a certain door. Rohan can't disappear. Too many people are watching him."
"Zoya, I'm worried." Najma looks troubled. "First Rohan searched our house and now he's disappeared. He's clearly hiding something. Maybe we should tell Bhaijaan about our suspicions?"
"Najma, we can't tell him."
"Why not? I'm sure he'll believe us, especially if we show him the messy drawers and the browser history from your tablet."
"And then what?" Zoya prompts. "What do you think your Bhaijaan will do next?"
Najma frowns. "He'll confront Rohan."
"Yes, he'll confront Rohan just the way he did this morning. And Rohan will be just as angry. You saw the size and insanity of that crowd at the stadium. Imagine what would happened if Rohan became angry enough to leave Bhopal." Zoya's voice becomes grim. "Do you think those fans would take it calmly if Rohan left?"
Najma's eyes widen. "Do you think Bhaijaan could make him that angry?"
"Your Bhaijaan could make a saint angry."
"Zoya, they'd be more than angry. Those people were crazy. They'd riot in the streets. You saw them screaming and crying, begging total strangers, promising to do anything for tickets. Oh, no!" Najma suddenly becomes so pale she begins to sway.
"Najma, are you okay?" Zoya kneels beside her. "What's wrong?"
"Tickets." Najma's voice is barely above a whisper. "Ammi gave Mrs. Reddy tickets. She's the orphanage's patron. Everyone knows she invited Rohan to Bhopal. They'll hold her responsible if Rohan suddenly bolts."
Zoya falls to a sitting position, her face sheet white. "Phupee would be blamed for riots?"
The girls stare at each other in open-mouthed horror. The enormity of the potential catastrophe looming over them bringing tears to both their eyes.
"Zoya, we can't let that happen." Najma's voice is thick and barely aduible. "We can't let Ammi be hurt or blamed. All she wants to do is help the children at the orphanage."
"We won't." Zoya takes Najma's suddenly ice-cold hands and squeezes them. "I promise you, no matter what we have to do, we'll protect Phupee."
Tears spill down Najma's cheeks. "How?"
"I'm not sure but we'll find a way. You know Zoya Farooqui can do anything." Zoya's voice is also heavy but her eyes are dark and determined, flashing fire. "I won't allow anyone to hurt our family."
Her voice rings around the silent room, echoing her vow straight up to the heavens.
Author's Notes: As always, all mistakes are mine and made accidentally. This story is not intended to hurt anyone's feelings, culture or beliefs. Much thanks to my wonderful beta readers for keeping me on the straight and narrow.
Also, thank you to everyone who posted replies, sent me buddy request and wrote private messages. I hope I've added everyone who wants PM's to my buddy list. Please feel free to join if you would like me to let you know when new chapters are posted.
This coming weekend is the Thanksgiving holiday in the United States. I don't think I'll have another update until 9th of December. I will send a PM to everyone on my friends list if I do get a chance to update next week.
I hope you're enjoying my work. Thank you for reading.
Paly
Mangal Lakshmi
124