Bookstore

I heard someone cry last night. It started when I was stacking books in the shelf at the book store. Meena, the store manager, likes when I stack the books. “You pay attention to them.” she would say before asking me to stack them. I don’t know what she really means by it and I don’t know why she has to say it every time she assigns me to do it. I am paid to do the job, you know. She is a good woman and all but she can be very patronising. And I’m only complaining because I can’t make any friends with my co-workers. They think I’m her pet but I’m not. I am my own person. I offered Radha that I would take over her shift when she said she has to take her mother to the hospital but she said, “No, thanks.” I thought I heard her wrong so I said, “What.”

“No, thanks.” she said, slowly.

The ungrateful bitch! I thought to myself. The audacity of her, first of all, she wasn’t taking her mother to the hospital. I knew; everybody knows. She was meeting her baldy boyfriend who covers his head with a handkerchief; when one asks about the hanky he would say, “Helmet, heat.” Two words, no more no less. I’m pretty sure he has never been to school. I’ve always wondered what a girl like Radha is doing with a man like the baldy. Now I feel bad for baldy; sorry, Santhosh. I feel pity for Santhosh. She’s probably harassing him to be with her. I’ve always noticed how Santhosh looks at Banu, I just assumed that he was afraid that Banu would tell Radha’s parents about them. Banu is a smart woman though; she would never fall for the likes of Santhosh. Banu has her eyes set on Ibrahim, the courier boy, who stops to have a cup of tea in the cafe annexed to the store. Banu is very subtle, I could figure out everyone’s story in few days of getting hired but Banu seemed to mind her business until the third day of me joining the store. She literally squealed when the door to the store opened and I dropped a stack of “The adventures of Olaf” on the floor. I thought there was a rat, I hate rats.

Ibrahim is a good looking guy. Super guy. “Not bad for a courier boy, eh” said Meena, when she caught me staring at him. Yeah, Meena is not my favourite woman or anything, she pays me and I need the money so I tolerate. But Ibrahim is super. And I’m pretty much convinced that he’s leading Banu on so he could have free tea. You can’t blame him really. He’s a hardworking man. And these courier boys don’t even have bikes, they have to cycle to all the places. It’s tough out there... for them... for us.

He came in as usual and Banu left me to make him tea, she was helping me stack the books and when she left I thought I would take a break myself. I sat at the stool near the counter and looked out the glass windows. I could see the heat rise up from the tar road and the smoke from the vehicles make a veil eight feet above. Thank god for air conditions. I raised my face up to the AC, the cool air made the hair on my neck stand up. “Hey, I’m leaving.”

I opened my eyes to see Banu wearing her burqua and face mask. “It’s not even seven.” I say looking at the giant clock hung on a wall above the store’s door. “Yes, I know. And Meena’s not here.”

“Exactly. I can’t close the shop on my own. I’ve never done it before.”

“So learn na. This is your chance. Please, understand no.” she said, her face was covered except her eyes and they were basically pleading, desperately pleading.

“So, is this a date then?” I ask, closing in on her, usually I don’t get physically close to anyone, I’m insecure about myself but since we have an extra piece of cloth between us, I bend over the counter, my feet barely touching the ground.

“Insha Allah,” she whispers, “I think so, I hope so, I pray so.”

I wanted to smack her head and yell, ‘He’s using you, you stupid.’ But I don’t, she’s not my friend. Why do I care? Besides, she looked happy. Her eyes conveyed that much. Her eyes were brown. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with brown eyes. Her eyes were brown and big, and her eyelashes were long. Like, naturally long. Of course, I’ve noticed her eyelashes before. I’ve noticed them when she goes to wash her face before Namaaz. I would wait for her until she has done her prayers to drink my tea with her. Everyone else would have had their tea by then and so she always joins me. She doesn’t speak until spoken to so that suited me well. She was my first tea partner. She was my first.

“Okay, I’ll tell your parents.” I say, still close and separated by a cloth which vibrates rhythmically to her breathing. She pushes me away laughing and walks towards the door. Ibrahim follows her. I’ve never noticed how he walks until then. He had a cocky walk: the kind of walk that tells you that the person is well aware of their personality, their beauty.

“Hello, hero. No more free tea, okay.” I say from behind the counter.

“No one asked you, mind your business. Thank you very much.” came the voice. He didn’t even stop to see if I came up with retaliation. I didn’t know you could hate someone so much without even knowing them or for walking a certain way.

It felt lonely all of a sudden. I went back to the shelf to stack the books and that’s when I heard someone cry.