Infected

5: ☣An Impromptu Departure☣

THEY were already on their way out of the university when Tamana Minajri realized that she had agreed to follow her uncle.

"You are not safe here, anymore," her uncle repeated after Tamana stopped once they were outside the exit.

"No, wait," she said, "how did you even know I was in trouble?"

"Aah, Tamana, now's not. . ." her uncle sighed impatiently, momentarily turning his head left and right as vehicles passed by the freeway. "We really need to get going!"

"Not until I know the truth!"

"Alright, alright. The only thing I can tell you right now is that your father sent me to get you before he. . ." her uncle's words trailed off, not wanting to state the tragic obvious.

Richard Patel-or as Tamana had always called him all the times he would come to visit her and her father when she was little-Uncle Patel. He was a tall man with short dark hair, dark brown skin and always wore suits. On that fateful day, he was in black satin when he had received specific instructions from his brother to take his daughter somewhere safe.

"So you two talked?" Tamana sobbed, "did he sound like he was in trouble? What else did he-"

"Tam, please! We need to go. Now. I will explain everything later. I promise."

With that earnest response, Tamana reluctantly obliged and followed her uncle down the kerb until they rounded to the right side of the university's perimeter wrought-iron grilled wall where a black BMW was parked.

Richard Patel hurriedly opened the backseat door for Tamana then rushed over to the driver's door, made sure that no one was following them, got in and the BMW was soon reeling into the freeway.

Tamana stared down at the yellow and white stripes that partitioned the freeway lanes, absently watching them flash past her as the car drove on. She was no longer crying but the pain was still there, etched deep within her heart, threatening to tear her apart at any moment. Nothing seemed to make sense to her anymore. At one time, her uncle had asked if she was hungry and she might probably not have heard him but he still pulled over at a local restaurant and returned five minutes later with three plastic bags.

The rest of the one-hour journey was a quiet one, with Patel stealing several quick glances at the rear-view mirror to check how his niece was holding up and no further interaction was prompted between the two.

"We're here," Patel finally said, getting a little bit of Tamana's attention.

He pulled over the BMW in a fairly congested neighborhood in the city of New Delhi, where they were shadowed by tall apartment buildings and a partially cloudy sky up above.

It was a quiet neighborhood. Nobody seemed at all interested by the fact that a sleek black vehicle had been parked outside and a man in a suit had gotten out, followed by a young woman.

Tamana followed her uncle up a flight of stairs and into a large apartment building that stood one floor above a lobby stacked with grocery stores.

Once they were inside, Patel turned on the lights to reveal a spacious living room. Tamana noticed the white walls were filled with various kinds of abstract paintings set at intervals with two large shut windows. There were four sets of purple sofas arranged around a large glass table. A mini library with two five-foot shelves stood in one corner of the living room and a coffee maker in another corner.

"Do you live here, Uncle?"

"No, not really. It's more of a safehouse."

Tamana and her father also used to visit Uncle Patel and his wife, Deepika, who had always been very nice to her. They lived in Mumbai.