Song of the Firebird

Fifty Six

'Are you sure that you don't want to change before you enter?'

'Nah. I'm fine.'

'I'll get going then. If anyone made a suspicious look or comment over your appearance, let me know.'

Iqbal nodded. 'Thanks for the ride, Danny. I will let you know, in any case.' Danny nodded back and drove past Iqbal, who was standing two blocks away from Lizzie's.

Looking down at his appearance, Iqbal noted few red marks, only the blood splashes that were mixed with the dark blue dye of his varsity jacket. The new colour didn't go well for the one that brought out panic whenever seen in public. He was content that the blood stain would not be taken seriously, until his walk to the café. There were few smears along his sleeves, but they did appear as significant ones as the ones in his chest. Iqbal breathed out a sigh.

It was not even noon and he could not believe that they had wrapped up quite early and successfully. Also, he was eager to know what had happened to Ryder. Being one of the last ones to vacate the property, he felt sad as he watched a painful look settle across Ryder's face. He didn't want to ask Danny more about the strenuous relationship between the duo, that he considered that they might not be comfortable talking about it.

Before taking the turn intended for Lizzie's, Iqbal checked his reflection in one of the Electronics shops. His hands ruffled the blood caked on his hair, disintegrating them between his other locks. During his life as a trainee back in the army camps in his country, he had seen more of the same, often hanging around his jet black hair. It had been a miracle, he thought, of him surviving and escaping the organisation that fed pure hatred and vengeance, around the clock. Their ways of penance were brutal and didn't make sense at all.

Iqbal had always regretted being forced to enrol in such a camp. Now, he could not stop being grateful that he had decided to escape his country in a severely crowded truck, post civil war, rather than join forces with the rebels.

He did not complain about the series of hurdles just so he could gain access to what he loved the most—basketball. Now, he might have to add a living thing to his list. His Jasmine, that's what she called her.

Speaking of the woman in question, Iqbal peeped into his workplace. Ever the exemplar for his colleagues, he had expected a minimal crowd, since they were opening a bit later than the usual hours. What he did not expect was that the café had still the 'Closed' sign hung over the door handles. Taken aback, he looked for the woman who was supposed to take charge.

Leaning closer behind the glass doors, he felt deflated once he was unable to locate Zoya. A part of him screamed at him to go back to his place and get a shower, while the other part pestered him to stay back. Giving in to his own annoyance, he pushed open the doors and was surprised that it moved to his thrust. He scanned the indoors for any sign of human soul. He took slow steps to check a familiar figure lurking behind the counter.

Soon as the bell chimed, Zoya's head popped up, her face showing every sign of bewilderment. She set aside her prayer beads that were making circular prints on her palms. Her eyes widened as they met Iqbal's own puzzled ones. She did not waste a second to look for any possible injuries over his body.

Iqbal smirked, 'Stop ogling, habib.'

His voice pulled her out of her stupor and earned himself a glare. She walked past the counter until she was ensured that there was no barrier between her and her lover. She let her hands roam around his jacket, especially above his stains. Her fingers pried open them, unzipping them in a matter of seconds and searching for any sign of wounds over his beige turtleneck jumper. They rested in his abdomen only after confirming negative scars. Iqbal chuckled at her actions.