Chapter 1

On the crowded street of Kabul, a woman covered in black burka with only her eyes semi visible behind the netted veil of the matching hood. She kept a few paces behind her male companion as they both walked briskly toward their destination to take shelter from the scorching noon sun.  They entered a small eatery and situated themselves at a small table in the corner and out of sight.  The man whispered something and a soft nod barely visible returned from his companion. 

They sat silently awaiting the food to arrive.  The man glanced at his old Timex and began to get slightly agitated.  Discreetly, the woman’s foot inches forward, pressing hard on his to caution for composure.  The move redirected his poise to what was at risk, he looked up and caught the piercing glare of his companion.  Despite the rising desert temperature, he broke out in cold sweat and lowered his eyes to avert hers. 

They ate quietly for the next half hour.  Toward the end of their meal, a street vendor walked in offering his home made Baqlawa to the disapproval of the owner.  The man bought one for his companion just before the vendor received an unpleasant push out of the diner.  The owner quickly apologized for the disturbance and offered to replace the street made sweet with his store version.  The man spoke up assuring the owner of their tolerant on the intrusion and ordered the house Baqlawa to appeased the unsettle man.  They however, kept the vendor’s treat aside and consumed only the house good to the delight of its maker.

No one was more pleased than the owner receiving a hearty pay by the couple as they thanked him and left the establishment fulfilled.  He smiled gratefully seeing them off as the man lead the way and the woman a few paces behind.  His smile suddenly upturned slightly, recognizing the little package held on the woman’s hand as it peaked out under the black sleeve, the offending pastry still in its paper wrap and on its way home with her.  Another patron walked in, distracting his thought away from her as the ringing of money churned in his opportunist head.

Little did he know that just a safe distance away from his establishment, the pastry exchanged hands and the fortunate new owner was a little girl, who’s up till minutes ago had all but dream of tasting such delicacy in her young life.  The delight and pure joy on her face softened the piercing browns of her benefactor just a fraction as the black burka turned and kept paces with its guide, a few steps behind, emotion in check.