I’d woken up the next morning, drunk and pale. The rays of the rising sun from the east had passed through my curtain-windows, and I was returning from the deadman’s world. I was alive and upright to face the new day- I thought it was a fresh start, a new beginning of my life: I heard a knock on my door. I wasn’t expecting anybody except for the vendor who delivered my weekly Investigative stories- from the “Root Times.” The Root Times was a weekly investigative paper. Since I was a journalist working for MarkDauda Times, since I was also an investigative reporter, since I’d written many investigative stories for Sunday Times and Friday Times, I found interest in investigative stories even when I was at my worst.
I rushed to the door, and unbolted it. I was stunned, startled and paralzed all at once. I still couldn’t believe whom I was seeing. Was it a dream or what? I wasn’t dreaming- she was standing right in front of me, Haja, all-dressed in a greasy-darkened shirt, looking seductive and tempting. I refused to look at her. I folded my arms and waited for her. “Can I come in?” she asked. I slided sideway so that she could help herself in. She rose her eyes and looked at me through the eyes. I was fretted to say “get lost, I hate...