In movies, everything happens really fast. Eighty-four scenes, three action sequences, four songs, and it’s all over in two hours. The hero beats up the bad guys, and everyone gets to go home smiling. In a movie, the hero would be on the roof by now, rappelling down to save us, bazooka on his shoulder. But real life isn’t that way. And Salim was right. In real life, heroes end up dead.

We sit and sit, waiting for something to happen. Manu cries himself to sleep, clinging to his mother. The little kid falls into a fretful sleep. So does the angry old man, his head nodding and lolling about on his chest. The rest of us find it impossible to drop off, with every screen in front of us showing the hostage drama and blaring out updates. We follow our situation on the news across twelve different channels.

Two of the terrorists keep an eye on us. Salim comes and goes. He is on the phone a lot. I wonder who he’s talking to, where the real power behind the acts of terror lies. Don’t ever believe that acts of violence are random. Every act of terror is a move in a great game. The one that is played across borders by men who hold the fate of nations in their hands. They use fear to make us do what they want. We are just the stupid pawns. Hostages. And hostages are dispensable.

I’ve been watching the terrorists since I heard the first gunshots. Four of them know what they are doing. Two of them are extremely awkward. Just out of training. Holding the guns like they are too heavy. Holding them all the time. I know. I used to do it too. In time, you learn that a gun is damn heavy. You learn to keep it beside you at all times but try not to heft the weight around. It tires your arm and ruins your aim.

I look at our little crew of ragged morning shoppers. There is no way we are going to be heroes and take on the terrorists. Salim has given the right advice. Don’t be a hero. Sit tight. Keep your head down. And hope like hell that someone is making plans to rescue you. I follow his advice. I wait quietly. Next to me, Harish begins to fall apart again.

‘It’s not fair. It’s not fair that we die now. It is not our time.’

‘Calm down, Harish.’

‘I will not! I don’t want to die.’

‘Nobody does. Nobody. Not the man with a bullet through his gut. Not the soldier facing guns. Not even someone riddled with cancer and screaming in pain. No one wants to die.’

His eyes focus on me. ‘I’m scared.’

‘We all are. But are you going to let these shits see you scream and be terrified? Are you?’

‘Swine. Bastards. No,’ he says.

‘Good,’ I say. ‘Calm down. Breathe.’

His chest heaves, but he struggles to get back in control. I slide down to sit beside him. We sit huddled knee to knee. It comforts us. I try to distract him.

‘If this was an ordinary day, what would you be doing right now?’

‘Playing with my dog. The poor bastard. The doctor said he has to go on a diet as well. He’s just a mongrel I picked up off the road. But he’s smart. I hide this ratty old toy, and he finds it. Every time.’

I keep an eye on Diya as he talks about his day. She just sits blankly in a corner. Not moving, not speaking. Her hair masking her face.

‘He waits for me, you know. Sits at the door and waits until I get back from college. He’ll just keep waiting . . .’ He nearly starts to fall apart again.

‘I don’t know what’s worse,’ moans Harish. ‘Waiting to be killed or being killed. It’s killing me!’

I can’t help laughing at his choice of words. He is very offended. ‘You can laugh. You don’t mind dying. You’ve got a death wish. Telling them you don’t have a religion. You’re mad, you know that?’ He turns his back on me.

He is right. I wished for death because it’s been such a long time since I’ve had something worth living for. And I’ve turned my back on what I’m told is worth dying for. But then I saw her, and I began to have the smallest of dreams again. A tiny flame. A little wish.

After about an hour of us sitting around, taking his advice, Salim comes back into the room. He seems to be charged. He claps his hands and says, ‘Up! Everybody up!’ We all get to our feet as quickly as we can.

Harish has fallen asleep. He lies sprawled in great slack-jawed sleep. I’m not surprised. Terror tires you out so much, you can sleep like the dead. He doesn’t hear a thing. The rest of us get to our feet. He lies there, snoring. I shake him as hard as I can, but he doesn’t move.

Salim stands looking down at him, greatly amused. ‘Time to wake up,’ he says. Then he fires his gun between Harish’s legs. Harish convulses and wakes up, stunned and uncomprehending. I grab his arm and haul him to his feet. He is trembling.

They get us to stand together. I can feel Harish shaking beside me. Everyone is wondering what the hell is going to happen to us now.

‘Smile,’ says Salim. One of the men takes a photo of us on his phone. ‘That’s for the press. You guys are going to be the headlines.’ He grins at us. ‘You can sit down now.’

I’ve been watching Diya from the corner of my eye. At the exact moment that the photo is taken, she turns her head so her hair hides her face.

I can hear Harish behind me. He’s crying, snivelling as softly as he can. He clutches my T-shirt urgently. ‘Stay in front of me, dude,’ he says. ‘Please don’t let anyone see me.’ He has wet his pants.

We all sit down. I try to sit in front of Harish and cover as much of him as I can. I’m so busy doing that, I don’t realize Diya has taken the opportunity to shift closer and sit next to me. I only know it when the smell of lemons suddenly washes over me. I turn my head—and there she is. I can’t stop staring.

‘Oh man,’ whispers Harish urgently. ‘Please don’t let her see me.’

Diya holds my gaze as she asks, ‘Earlier—before all this happened—were you following me?’

‘Yes,’ I say. I can feel my heart thumping.

‘Why?’

What can I say to her? ‘Because you are beautiful.’ It is the truth. Well, at least half the truth.

She frowns.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.’ She looks like she is going to tell me off. Then her face softens.

‘You tried to shield me. I’m not going to be offended. Thank you.’

I can’t think of a thing to say. She’s sitting right there. ‘Sure. Anytime.’ Of all the stupid things to say! But my head and my tongue short-circuit around her.

‘Anytime?’ she says. ‘I wasn’t planning on doing this too often.’ She smiles. I smile back. A girl who can smile when the world is going crazy. My heart beats faster.

‘What do you think is going to happen to us?’ she asks.

Go on. Answer. Heart, calm down. Breath, come back.

‘I like to say we’re heading for a happy ending but I’m not that sure,’ I say.

She indicates Salim, who is strutting around, talking on the phone. ‘He scares me.’

‘He’s a dead man walking,’ I say. ‘He scares me too.’

The television sets are all still on, making a bank of talking heads behind Salim. Suddenly, something changes in the tone of the blaring voices—a ripple of different expressions and tense voices. The same news echoes from one screen to the other, carried on different lips in varying degrees of excitement.

‘We have breaking news. The terrorists have just made their demands.’

Kabir