Page 6 of Mine before Dawn
Asha pinched her nose and quickly tugged at the flush, grateful that it worked.
She closed the door quickly behind them.
They were in and out as fast as possible, brushing at the speed of light while touching as little as possible. She helped him first, turning her face away as he wrinkled his nose dramatically, then attended to herself with the same hurried efficiency while Tanay turned away. Privacy was not a luxury either could afford. When she pulled the chain, the cistern groaned before releasing a sluggish rush of water.
They washed their hands in cold water that made the boy hiss softly.
“All done,” she said, holding his hands in her icy ones.
They returned to the room in silence, moving just as quickly, just as carefully.
Only once the door was closed again did she let out the breath she had been holding.
For a few minutes, they sat on the bed just absorbing the quiet and stubbornly stuffing the panic of being without a home or a plan back where it came from.
Then, in the no-nonsense manner that was her way, she dragged the suitcase out from where she had shoved it under the bed. From it, she took out her cleanest dress.
It was simple—cotton, pale once but now softened by wear, the edges carefully mended. Both were hand-me-downs that Mrs. Bansal had given her last Christmas… before everything got so much worse. She changed quickly, turning her back to the boy more out of habit than necessity, smoothing the fabric down with both hands when she was done. She ran a comb through her hair, gathering it neatly in a bun, securing it at the nape of her neck with pins.
Then she dressed him.
A clean shirt, though the collar was slightly frayed. The trousers were a little short at the ankle. She smoothed them as though that might magically lengthen them. She combed his hair carefully, pulling it into a small knot that sat properly atop his head.
“Come on,” she said again, ready to face the unknown.
He watched her with solemn patience, taking in her tense shoulders, the determined glint in her light brown eyes. Eyes very much like his own.
“Are we going home?” he asked, readying himself.
She paused only for a second, as if considering the question.
“No,” she said gently. “We are going to find work.”
He nodded, accepting this as he accepted most things, trusting her to find a way like she always did.
Together, they stepped out into the morning.
Wakefield in daylight looked no cleaner than it had the night before.
The sky hung low and burdened with dark clouds, a perfect complement for the rows of soot-darkened buildings. The streets were narrow, lined with terraced houses whose identical fronts seemed to run into one another without end. Shopfronts broke the monotony here and there—glass windows clouded with condensation, painted signs faded by years of weather.
A grocer stood on one corner, crates of potatoes and onions stacked outside, their earthy smell cutting through the cold air. A butcher’s shop farther along displayed cuts of meat behind a fogged window, hooks visible in the dim interior. There were a couple of small hotels—boarding houses more than anything else—their signs promising ‘Vacancies’ in lettering that had seen better days.
A seamstress had a narrow shop tucked between two larger buildings, bolts of fabric visible inside, while a mannequin in a scarlet dress posed beyond the glass display.
And looming on the horizon, like a giant overseeing his kingdom, was the power station.
Its chimneys rose like pipes into the sky, exhaling a steady plume that drifted and spread until it became part of the cloud itself. It was impossible to ignore. A constant presence. A reminder of what the town was built around—and what it would always return to.
She walked, ignoring the curious glances from the people passing by. She stopped at the bakers for a couple of warm sweet rolls. She watched as her son consumed the first one within seconds and then broke off half of hers and offered it to him. The lady at the counter watched them with careful eyes as she wiped her hands on her apron. Her eyes lingered—not unkind, not quite—just… a little suspicious at the strange faces.
Asha swallowed, brushing crumbs from her fingers. “I—I saw the help wanted sign in your window,” she said, her voice softbut steady. “I was wondering if it’s still open. I can bake. Cakes, bread… ”
The woman’s expression changed, the corners of her mouth dipping ever so slightly. For a moment, it seemed she might ask for more information. Might even consider it.
Instead, she gave a small, stiff smile.
“Oh… sorry, dearie,” she said, avoiding Asha’s eyes as she turned to rearrange a tray that didn’t need rearranging. “That position’s been filled.”
