Farid sold pepper from a blue cart with brass wheels. He could describe each sack by sound alone: the dry hush of old pepper, the bright tap of fresh berries, the heavy murmur of a blend ready for winter stews.
When the monsoon arrived early, wind lifted his awning like a sail and pushed the cart down the waterfront. Farid clung to the handles as pepper scent streamed behind him. People ran after him, not to rescue the cart, but because every gust carried a different story: mountain farms, river ports, kitchens at dawn.
By the time the cart stopped, half the city had followed. Farid brewed tea, opened sacks and told them where each pepper had travelled. Sales were excellent, but better than that, customers stopped asking only 'how much?' They began asking 'from where?' and 'with whom?'