Mera Hero

4. A Party Favour

"I need you to do something for me."

"Of course."

He grabbed ahold of my shoulders and turned me towards the doors of his office, planting me right in front of them. I tried to shrug off his hold, but it was a feeble attempt, because his large hands remained clinging onto me. My toes curled, the feeling of a man's touch so very foreign. "I need you to keep her occupied. Offer her something to drink or whatever--just stall her. I'll be back." He quickly worded everything then rushed through the floor to find Tessa. My hands started to clam up; who was inside? Why was I tasked with such a thing? If I messed something up, I'd get kicked out of this place. I've already messed up once, and I'm sure that a second time would definitely not be tolerated. Oh Allah. Tessa must've done this on purpose. She's probably trying to get back at me--or him. For yesterday. Maybe. I don't know.

"She can't be that immature can she?" I whispered to myself.

Taking deep breaths, I readied myself for whoever was inside and twisted the doorknob deliberately--pushing the door open so I could quickly slip in. An elderly woman sat flushed against one of the armchairs, with the back of her head facing me. I pursed my lips, clutching each hand with the other as I stalked further inside towards her. Her hand pushed back a strand of hair that eluded from her exquisitely pulled back bun. A wisp of smoke whirled over her, and I realized that she was smoking the lighted cigarette that hung loosely between her two fingers.
The vile smell flew up my nose, stinging the back of my throat, and I coughed in fits while waving my hand in front of me a few times. That seemed to have caught her attention, because her eyes were on me in seconds. I held my breath in hopes of swallowing down the next few fits that were begging to come out, and forced out a smile. "Who on earth are you?" Her voice didn't carry an edge, but her accent was quite similar to Mr. James. A sudden thought crossed my mind--was this his mother?

I shook my head curtly, riding the thought. It probably wasn't true. The lady offered me a smile, and I switched to one as well. I began towards her, halting at an arms length in front of her. "Sorry to barge in. Mr. James will be right with you." My eyes nervously met hers and then glared at the door, hoping that he'd come in any minute. "Would you like anything in the meantime? Could I get you some water or--"

"No. I'm quite well..." she tapped her forefinger against the tip of her flailing cigar, flakes of sizzling paper and ash withering down into a decorated glass bowl. It took so much willpower. to refrain from cringing from the smell. My lungs were starting to burn. You could tell I hated this with a passion. "I'm Claire. And you are...?"

"Isha. Isha Khan."

She made a hum, nodding her head slowly in contemplation. I watched as a frown was made apparent between her eyebrows, and my heart sunk in anxiousness. I didn't say anything wrong--I didn't do anything wrong either! I gulped, sticking a finger under the fabric of the scarf that was sticking to my temple from some of the trickling perspiration. "Everything okay?"

She nodded, taking yet another drag of her cigar. "Forgive me. I just had a random thought." Her peer was intense, where I kept catching it drifting to my head, but I swatted the feeling away. I couldn't think like that about everyone; I'd be just like the people I try desperately to stray from. A puff of smoke exited through her slightly parted lips, and then she pointed the cigar towards me. "Would you like some?"

"Oh. No thank you." I waved a hand in front, gesturing my distaste in the thing, and she stared me down, continuing to consume the disease-filled stick. I guess my burning hatred for the mere sight of it originated with the previous memories of my father. Smoking was something that he indulged in regularly, that is when he still cared enough to stay.