Manual Labor

Another three years had passed. She was now at six children -- 4 Pakistani, 2 Indian. But she'd worked her way up to picking fruit off the trees. She still wore the niqab. Her present boyfriend was an Indian man, Ajay. They lived in what by American standards was squalor, but in comparison to her past life was a pretty good life. She was on the bottom rung, as far as castes went.

She was picking fruit when a merchant came by. He was chattering in an animated fashion with the owner of the farm at the same time she slipped from the latter, showing off a bare white leg.

"You, pull down your niqab," the merchant said in Indian. Carrie couldn't understand it, and finally he forcefully pulled the niqab up, exposing her American features. Carrie looked at him, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Mr. Kapoor?"