While they belonged to different fields they sort of ended up bumping into each other at a faculty meet and greet and things sort of went on from there. They had dated a few times but they only got serious once Kathy had gotten her Ph. D. After that the dating had gone on to romance and then marriage.There really wasn't much I could say about it. A small bit of me ached knowing that my father had moved on with his life after the divorce. Personally I think all kids in families that break up wish that their parents would see the light and get back together again. As a person entering adulthood I knew that it was only a pipedream but still it was there. I didn't say anything about it to Kathy. That would have been rude but I did think about it. I also thought about my father.I hadn't seen him since I was thirteen years old and my memory of him was sort of clouded. I remember him as being tall and distinguished looking but concepts like handsome or hunky weren't there. Looking at Kathy. Iqra was wearing her standard school uniform of modest black skirt and white blouse, topped off with a black Hijab and matching facemask.Eyes almost closed, listening to her favourite band Little Mix and then the cover of Praise You by Hannah Grace, she barely registered the two Muslim women in full dark blue burqas, wearing dark sunglasses get on the bus.One sat down beside her and the other directly behind on the narrow bus seats.Suddenly two hands gripped her upper arms from behind, stopping her from moving, while something sweet slipped into her mouth, then her facemask was replaced, pinching her nostrils tight shut.Iqra passed out without a struggle, only rousing to the sound of the bus stopping - strong hands lifting her up and off the bus.“Don’t worry Mr Bus Driver” said one of her attackers “our daughter is feeling a bit poorly - we’ll take good care of her”.Iqra vaguely remembers thinking there was something odd about those hands - before she passed out again - had they been.
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