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“I’m fine,” I instinctively say.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I grit. “I can take care of my—”
A spew of vomit surges up my throat, and before I can choke it back down, it sprays out of my mouth. To my horror, it hits Sarfaraz square in the chest, splattering his front. My hand flies to my mouth as if that’s going to stop the puking, but it just leaks out between my fingers.
I expect Sarfaraz to spring away from me, but he just wrinkles his nose before reaching for my shopping bag, which I must’ve dropped at some point. He grabs it blindly and opens it up to catch my flow of vomit. “Don’t—!” I start, but I’m cut off by another wave of bile spewing from my throat. Despair wracks my chest as I watch my own puke ruin the clothes I bought today.
Finally, my gut seems to calm, but pain still plagues my stomach. My body aches all over. Exhaustion overwhelms me all at once, crashing against my skull.
Sarfaraz lowers the bag warily from my face. “Are you okay?”
“For now,” I respond. I wipe my mouth, but all that does is spread the vomit around. A clerk kindly steps forward with a roll of paper towel and a bottle of hand sanitizer. I give her an apologetic look as I accept both gratefully from her. It’s not going to be fun cleaning my puke off the floor. I try my best to clean my face and my hair, but the stink lingers.
The clerk also gives Sarfaraz a paper towel roll and sanitizer so he can clean his shirt. Guilt and mortification spread through my chest as he dabs at the stain on his shirt.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say.
“No...worries,” he replies, though the way he pinches his lips together tells me he’s trying hard to hold back a snarky comment. “It was my fault for pushing you. It set you off.”
Once we’re done, I find a garbage bin to throw the used paper towels away, and I clean my hands with the sanitizer. When I return to the aisle, Sarfaraz holds out a small bottle to me. “Here. This is what you need.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You can read German?”
“No, but the pharmacist can, and he can speak some English,” he explains. “Plus, I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone you need anti-nausea medication.”
“Asking the pharmacist.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “I probably should have thought of that.”
“Well, to be fair, you had other things taking priority,” Sarfaraz points out. “Like trying to hold your stomach acid in.”
I snort, but the action irritates my middle. I take the medicine from Sarfaraz. “Thanks,” I tell him, and I start to head toward the cashier when I remember one crucial detail: I don’t have any money. “Damn it,” I hiss under my breath.
“Something wrong?” Sarfaraz asks, and I jump, whipping my head to look back at him. For some reason, I’d assumed when I started for the cashier that he left.
“Uh, yeah,” I answer. I breathe heavily through my nose. “My credit card got cut off, and I don’t have any Swiss francs, so I can’t pay for this.”
“Didn’t you call your bank and let them know you’d be stranded for a few days so they wouldn’t be alarmed by any charges coming from Switzerland?” he wonders.
“I did—” I feel the remaining color leave my face “—but not for Switzerland. I told them I’d be going to Pakistan but forgot to tell them I was stranded in another country. So much has happened in the last twenty-four hours I could only focus on what needed my immediate attention.” I rub my temples. “This is such a mess.”
Sarfaraz hesitates for a moment before taking the bottle back from me. “I got it.”
“What?” I blurt. “No, I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m offering.” He continues on to the cashier without another word. I can only stare after him for a moment before I brush it off and grab my vomit-filled bag from the floor. I should probably toss it, but those clothes were expensive. If I can find a laundromat or a dry cleaner nearby, maybe I can salvage them.
After Sarfaraz pays, he gives me the medicine and gestures toward the exit. I have no choice but to follow him. I feel slightly better when the cool breeze touches my face and slips down my sweat-laced neck.
“Where’s your hotel?” Sarfaraz asks, bringing my attention back to him. “I’ll take you back there.”
“I don’t have a hotel,” I explain. A small twinge hits my stomach again, and I cross my arms over my abdomen. “I was planning on staying in a hostel tonight.”
“A hostel?” he splutters. “You mean a great spot to get robbed in your sleep? Not to mention they’re incredibly unhygienic.”
I don’t bother pointing out we’re both wearing my vomit as I say, “I’m sure they clean the place up. It’s not like it’s rat-infested. As for the robbing...” I shrug. “I barely sleep. I’m always alert.”
“Hostel guests practically sleep on top of each other,” Sarfaraz retorts. “It’s the perfect place for disease to hop between hosts.”
