London, 1920.
Lady Amna Haider started reading the first lines of the poem Requiescat by Oscar Wilde,
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
She stopped reading the following verses after seeing a large hand appear next to the open book in her hands. She looked up to see a middle-aged man.
It took a while for Amna to react, "Oh, pardon me." She apologized handing him the book. "You left it on your seat before you left."
"My dear, it is a book. Not a person's wallet." He said taking the seat next to hers.
But books are of more value, Amna thought.
Amna Haider was a beautiful 20-year old woman. She still looked like a teenager. She had long silky black hair that reached down to the middle of her back. She also had emerald green eyes that outshined the stone itself.
She finally glanced at her traveling partner. The middle-aged man diverted his gaze at that very moment.
"London is a charming city," The man beside her commented. "I was brought up here. It is my life."
Amna grinned, "London is, I would rather say, more different than the other cities. I do not know whether it is charming or not. But it is different."
When it had stopped. The man stood up and extended his hand out to her.
"May I?" He asked politely.
Ah, men. They are always looking for the beautiful and vulnerable, she thought.
"Why of course, Lord James." She took his hand.
They passed the others and got into a line. Amna looked over a passenger's shoulder . The platform was just like she remembered it. Lord James escorted her out of the vehicle. Then he offered her a ride home.
"That would be quite unnecessary Lord James," she remarked. "Please carry on."
The Lord kissed her hand gently goodbye. Then he left her alone at the busy station. The noise of the train stopping blocked out other people's voices. She made her way towards where the cab drivers were waiting.
She took out her make-up kit from her purse. She opened a palm-sized mirror in her hand. Her reflection was of perfect beauty. Untouched. Indefinable.
Something bumped her on the knee. Almost making her drop the glass mirror. She saw a group of little street kids running across the station.
Poor kids. They have an under-consumption of basic needs. And we have an over-consumption of advanced wants, she thought sadly.
She stared up at a 40something year old man in front of her. He had short dark-brown hair greased backwards, and a similarly-colored mustache. He wore a black suit with white gloves.
"Lady Amna. I am sure that you do not recognize me," the man said with a friendly grin.
Amna giggled putting a hand over her mouth. "Mahmood, it hasn't been too long."
He turned around and motioned her to follow him. "Come Lady Amna. Your carriage awaits."
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