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They nod thoughtfully, and we drift back into silence. Something strange churns in my stomach, and it’s not nausea or extreme hunger. It’s something deeper, something more...worrying.
“So, is the company still Uber here, or is it called something else?” I ask.
“It’s still called Uber,” Muhammad Moiz quickly answers. His grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Oh,” I murmur, settling back. I peek at Sarfaraz. One look tells me exactly what he’s thinking: there’s something off here.
Muhammad Moiz’s eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror and spot Sarfaraz and I exchanging a glance. We quickly break our stare. I try to look anywhere else in the car, and I happen to look at Riyad. The moonlight streaming in through the window catches on something metal in his lap. I squint harder, despite the darkness surrounding us. Once the form of the metal contraption registers, my heart leaps into my throat and a tiny gasp escapes me.
Sarfaraz’s breath is in my ear within seconds. “What?” he whispers. “What is it?”
I keep my expression as neutral as possible, but in English, I choke out, “Gun. In Riyad’s lap.”
I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought I was, because the next thing I know, Muhammad Moiz stomps on the brake. Sarfaraz shoots his arm out against my chest, pushing me safely back in the seat.
That feeling of security slips right out of my system as Riyad swings around in his seat and points the gun in our faces.
“What the hell?” Sarfaraz growls. He shifts his body in front of me as much as he possibly can, and I scramble behind him until my back is crushed against the window. I instinctively reach up to clasp his shoulders, and I press my chest as close to him as I can get. He puts on a brave face, but I can feel his heart thumping erratically through his back. “Let’s calm down for a second.”
Muhammad Moiz calmly turns in his seat. “Give us all the money and valuables you have.”
“Okay, wait, hang on,” Sarfaraz starts, but Riyad clicks the safety off the gun, pressing it toward us.
Sarfaraz’s mood instantly shifts from negotiating to peacemaking. “Fine, fine!” he relents. Slowly, he reaches into his pants for his wallet. He takes out all the rupees he has, leans forward, and places the money in Asad’s outstretched palm.
“Do you have a phone?” Muhammad Moiz questions.
Sarfaraz gives that over, too, then repositions himself in front of me.
Riyad dips his head at me. “What about you?”
“She doesn’t have anything,” Sarfaraz interjects. He presses his back to my chest, crushing me against the window. “I carry all the money with me, and I don’t allow her to have a cell phone.”
“Then what’s in the bag she’s carrying?” Asad demands.
Sarfaraz glares at him. “What do you think is in a woman’s purse? It’s her papers and medicines and other...feminine items.”
Riyad sneers and digs the gun into Sarfaraz’s cheek. “Don’t test me, boy.”
Sarfaraz grunts, and a shiver racks his body from the force of not showing that he’s in pain. The feeling sends a worried shock through my body, and I speak up, “I do have something!”
“Maya, shut up,” Sarfaraz hisses in English.
“No. I’m trying to help get us out of here.”
“What are you talking about?” Riyad barks. He presses the gun closer to Sarfaraz’s face. “Does the girl have anything, or not?”
“I do!” I insist. “I... I don’t have anything in my bag...” I continue, hoping they’ll buy Sarfaraz’s feminine items line. I hold up my hand. “But if I give you my ring, you have to let us go.”
Asad greedily reaches for me, but Sarfaraz bats him away. “Don’t touch her,” he warns with a hiss.
“Give us the ring, then,” Muhammad Moiz orders.
“You have to let us out of the car first,” I insist.
Riyad looks over at Muhammad Moiz, who nods. “Alright, get out,” he grumbles.
I blindly reach behind me for the handle, and we tumble out of the car. The whole time, Sarfaraz stays between me and the men. Muhammad Moiz lazily stretches his arm out toward me while Riyad keeps the gun trained on us. “Hurry, now.”
