THE sound of a revving car engine reached Mutya. She was currently doing the dishes.
Without checking out, she knew that it was Basha. There were only a few people in their street who owned a car.
Often, the vehicle that came this way was either a pick-up truck like the one that Basha owned or a small four-wheeled delivery truck that collects the vegetables since most of the residents in the area were small-time farmers.
Mutya was startled when she turned around. The tall woman was already in the kitchen standing beside the dining table. She did not hear her footsteps.
“Hi.” Basha greeted. She was grinning widely. “Sorry, I came in late.”
“What’s that?”
She motioned at the grocery bags on top of the table. It has the name of the biggest grocery store in the market.
Her mate scr
