6. Intuition

It had been almost a week. No company had called her, and she was jobless. She used to work in a cafe as a waitress, but due to her friend's health condition, she had taken a break. During those days off, she received an offer from Syed Enterprises, which led her to believe she would secure the position. Unfortunately, she didn’t. When she returned to the cafe, they had already hired someone else. Stressed and tense, she went to great lengths to find a job, at least to afford groceries. After numerous efforts, she got one, but the pay was low. On the same day, she received another job offer with better pay, but it required working night shifts. Distrusting society and the men around her, she declined it and continued working at the new cafe on a morning shift.

They were making her work 24/7. They were short-staffed, so the workload was heavy, and given the hard work she was putting in, she deserved more pay than what she was getting.

“Sheharzaad, go take the order from table no. 7!” Alina, her co-worker, brought her out of her reverie, and she instantly rushed to take the order.

She was tired. It was already 5 PM. It was a 9 to 6 job, and they were paying her just 7500, which wasn’t enough as Amna’s medicines were expensive, and she also had to get food for the house. She was living hand to mouth.

“Now, I’m thinking of considering that job, Alina,” she said to Alina while giving the order chit to Jameel, who was at the counter as well.

Jameel took the chit and went into the kitchen as Sheharzaad retreated to the stool beside the counter.

“What job?” Alina asked.

“Umm… I don’t know what it is. But it’s a night shift, from 11 PM to 4 in the morning.”

“Where?”

“It’s some hotel. The blue… something, I don’t remember its name.”

“How much do they pay?”

“Unbelievable and too good to be true, literally 30,000 a month. But I was hesitant to go for it since it’s at night.”

“Why not? You should go for it. They are paying well. At least give it a shot,” Alina advised while writing something in the register.

“I feel it’s fishy.”

“It’s Lahore, Sheharzaad. Lahore doesn’t sleep, believe me. If something seems fishy, you can always turn down the offer, but not before checking it out.”

“Hmm… cool. I’ll go tonight and check the job out. If it fits, I’ll join.”

“Yeah. You won’t know until you try. We need to take risks.”

“Got you. I will give it a try.”

…

That night, at the given address, she reached the location the man had told her. He was one of the customers at the new cafe who had given her the job offer.

She could feel her heart racing as fear crept in. The sky was dark, and the area was deserted. The building's exterior was posh and opulent. Not wanting to waste time, she went inside and headed towards the reception.

“Assalam alaikum, I’m here for the… the job,” she informed the receptionist, who was busy applying more makeup on her already caked face. She looked extravagant, too extravagant for her liking. She wasn’t judging, but she knew how receptionists dressed, and this one was too dolled up for the job. Her clothes were tight, revealing every curve, and her shirt had a deep neckline. It was odd to see a receptionist dressed like that and not in a uniform.

Yet she couldn’t care less. It was her life; she could dress as she wanted. She was only here for the job.

“Referral name?” the receptionist asked, applying a highlighter on her cheekbones as she looked into a small mirror.

“Usman,” she said, recalling the person’s name.

“Usman Raheem?” she asked, moving the makeup brush against her collarbones.

“Yes, that’s his name,” Sheharzaad replied, annoyed by her attitude. She was talking to her, and she wasn’t even sparing her a glance. Sheharzaad considered it a disrespect.

As soon as the name left her lips, the receptionist stopped and instantly looked towards her. She eyed Sheharzaad from head to toe, closed the mirror, and put it down along with the brush.

There was this 'wondering' expression on the receptionist's face as she continued observing Sheharzaad.The expression depicted, 'what's so special about her?'

The expression depicted, 'what's so special about her?'

“Oh, so you’re Sheharzaad?” she asked, raising her perfectly shaped brow.

“Yes.” Was Sheharzaad's response.

“Floor 5, Room 24. Your shift will start fifteen minutes later, at 11.” She passed Sheharzaad a glance and announced it in one go.

Curious, Sheharzaad asked, "what kind of job is it?”

“Waitress,” the receptionist nonchalantly answered. “Go to that room. You’ll get your uniform there as well as directions. That way,” the receptionist pointed towards a corridor, showing her the way.

Sheharzaad nodded. Something felt odd about this place, but she considered it overthinking and moved into the corridor. Yet again her heart signalled at something else. As if something wrong was going to happen. There was a certain negative vibe in the surrounding that was seeping in her bones, making the danger bells ring loudly in her ear.

As soon as she was out of the receptionist’s sight, she stopped in her tracks. Something didn't feel right and she didn't want to put down her intuition, her third eye that was constantly signalling at something else. Sheharzaad retraced her steps. Slowly, without making any noise so she won't get noticed by that receptionist. That woman seemed suspicious to her.

She reached the end of the corridor, closer to the reception, and saw the woman still busy with her makeup. The receptionist then stopped and dialed a number.

“Hello,” she said to someone on the other side of the phone, “that girl is here. I’ve sent her to Room 24,” she informed.