I eased the aging Hajiya car to a gradual stop, resisting the urge to take a swig of wine. The house ahead appeared welcoming, but my heart was pounding, and I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the rearview mirror for the seventh time since I had left home.
The reflection staring back at me did little to boost my confidence. I may not have the largest of eyes, but at least they usually held a sense of resolve. However, right now, my face bore no semblance of assurance. Although I had spent well over an hour and a half meticulously bathing and another thirty-five minutes carefully selecting the right attire for this pivotal visit, my apprehension was mounting.
As I neared the door, my heart raced, and I examined my face in the mirror once more, this time discovering beads of sweat glistening on my forehead. Anxiety had gripped me, causing my hairline to become matted.
“Take it easy,” I told myself, attempting to quell my inner turmoil. “What are you so afraid of? You’ve been here countless times before, haven’t you?” I whispered to myself. “She’s beautiful and radiant, no doubt, but don’t forget, you’re here to see her. She’s not an unapproachable star; she’s just another human being.”
This thought provided some much-needed encouragement. I resolved to grasp the steering wheel of the old car firmly with my left hand and reached for a cloth in my pocket to dab away the sweat from my face. After one final look in the mirror—this time with a smile—I reminded myself to present myself with confidence.
It was hard not to notice the persistent hunger gnawing at my stomach, causing it to emit loud, rumbling sounds. Sadly, the food I had brought along had lost its appeal, tasting as bland as water from a well. Despite my hunger, thoughts of her and the anticipation of our first private encounter consumed me entirely.
As I approached the house, I began to slow the car down. My car, though far from top-notch, had served me well over the years. With some divine assistance, I managed to pull over to the side of the road.
As I exited the car, I couldn’t help but notice how quiet it was. There was no one in sight, and the door to the house remained closed, with no signs of anyone coming to greet me. Impatience began to set in, and I leaned on the car’s horn, causing it to emit a squeaky, balloon-like sound.
Minutes passed, and still, there was no sign of anyone approaching. A sense of despair washed over me, and the fear and anxiety that had haunted me all day began to resurface. My heart felt heavy, and I couldn’t help but think that I was on the verge of being humiliated.
An inner voice seemed to taunt me, saying, “If you don’t act, I’ll take you to a place where H. MAHDI’s wife resides.”
Sweat streamed down my face and neck as I contemplated my next move. Just as I was about to lean on the car’s horn again, movement caught my eye. I paused and watched as a white cat with a black tail and a ginger dog with a bushy red coat made their way toward me, stopping at the door. They both stared at me intently, and I couldn’t help but feel that they were brought here for a reason.
They stood there, silent observers, while I wrestled with my emotions. Then, I heard a creaking sound, and a lanky, wiry caretaker appeared, clad in a loose blue shirt and baggy trousers. His features were sharp, with a lengthy neck, a narrow face, and a prominent, bow-like nose, which gave him a striking resemblance to a baboon.
“Are you planning to enter?” he asked lazily, his eyebrows arched inquisitively, his eyes resembling sleepy worms. I couldn’t help but be irritated by the dual expressions I could clearly discern on his face.
“Are you the gatekeeper?” he inquired again, his voice raised this time, as if prodding me for a response.
I understood that not every visitor received such scrutiny. However, as I looked at my car—marked as HINDU-02—it all became clear.