The Indian Roomie

I am a Nigerian daughter of a British father.My mother was a prostitute,and she died when I was 10. As there was very little to live for in Nigeria, I went abroad to study Civil Engineering.I went to India. My dad stayed back though.

I fastened my seat belts and flew across the blue Arabian Sea , through the flakes of cloud . The clouds were camouflaging the land beneath as much as I was during my schooling days about my mother. It pricks!

The plane landed in Hyderabad (India). The cab driver lead us through the dusty roads which eventually met the impressive flyovers and the inner ring and outer ring roads. It was looking like a splash of modernity on the rocky lands of India.

I rented a room. A twin sharing room was easy on pocket.It was dim light but cosy and the people were very friendly there. The skyscrapers overlooked the hustling bustling road while the sun set on the horizon, and i reclined back to my chair, unaware of the miseries that followed.

A subtle knock on the door, woke me . I was nervous at first and called the caretaker but was assured it was a lady he sent to share the room with. Still, I took my paper knife and opened the door.

A tall , fair figure towered upon me, sleeveless shirts and ripped jeans. My roomie was a sexy bitch , i thought. I concealed the paper knife in my pockets while she  entered with a wide smile. Later i felt stupid for that paper knife thing. Not everywhere is Nigeria!

"hi! Ananya" a broad white smile with her jet black hair sticking on her forehead due to sweat.

" Myself , Campher" I reclined back on the chair.

While she opened her bags and i stared , a black metal object protruded from the side chain.Was it a statue or a home decor? It was a gun.

                                                                                                 (To be Continued......)

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