When Silver Met Gold

Chapter 1 - My New Life In Pakistan

"If you want something, don't wish for it. Life is too short to wait." -Stephen Hines

Life had become a tape recording, and I, a robot designed to do the same thing every day following the same routine of boredom. Nothing was new, and I was in a rut, and yet I was flowing persistently like a calm river with everything.

Days passed in a blur — snuggling in bed all day or roaming uselessly around bathing in the beauty of the city. The fog, the greenery, and the air of calmness that enveloped it made me love it. I wasn't an anomaly here; the atmosphere was too friendly to let me think that. The nearby parks were always filled with children who played cricket or ate ice cream and women who jogged around in Salwar Kameez with p-caps and sneakers. I talked to them once, and I found nothing but sweetness in their behavior.

I used to dislike children, with their irritating noisiness, but now I enjoyed watching them play — they were happy, at least. They had mothers — mothers who were their shade from the warm sun and stormy rain. I envied those kids. I envied their smiling faces.

Because they have mothers, actual shelters...

It had been more than a month. I was living in my mother's house in Pakistan by myself, as she had- alone.

Maybe someday I'll die like her ...alone ...in that room ...in that kitchen ...or here on this bed...

I learned of Pakistan from a native girl who took chemistry with me in high school. Not even in my wildest nightmares had I thought I would ever come to live here.

I felt numb when I put my feet on this country's soil. It had been a twenty-hour flight from the U.S. to Pakistan - Pakistan, my mother's country.

A tiny smile crept onto my lips as I stared up at the sun, glancing down at me through the thick grey fog. I walked on the runway of the airport hastily as tears welled up in my eyes, wondering if that woman, whose identity I never knew, smiled at the sunrise as I did.

The fact that she was alive all that time, my blood and flesh, and I didn't even know her, made my heart clench tightly. I hissed in pain.

Stupid, stupid! Don't cry! Don't cry! I wiped my wet cheeks harshly, praying that nobody noticed me.

I didn't have to wait much longer as my blurry vision caught sight of a man holding a name tag with my name on it:

Musca Stuart.

I approached the tall, black-haired man with high cheekbones. Stubble and rimless glasses covered brown eyes. He introduced himself with the most charming smile I had ever seen on a man his age.

"Mubashir Ahsan," he said in his deep voice, but elaborated when I stared at him dumbfounded, "Your mother's cousin."

I nodded in response.

"You have your father's eyes," he smiled as he gazed into my silver-grey eyes.

Well, thank you for stating the obvious!

"My driver is coming with the car, chai peogi?" His words went over my head. "I mean chai-- would you like to have some tea?"

I shook my head. But he insisted and bought me a cup anyway.

"How was your flight?"

I nodded again, but I was not in the mood to talk. I brought the crystal chai cup towards my lips to take a small sip of the steaming tea.

"Are you okay?"

I jerked my hand, startled by his question, burning my lips in surprise. I shook my head immediately and then nodded, prompting him to smile.