Iqbal’s glasses were always a curiosity to Vidvan. They were nothing like the other pairs of spectacles he had seen. The frames were not made of metal, as they tended to be. For a place that prided itself on its steel, avoiding the obvious was more of a curiosity than the actual material that Iqbal used.

“What do you need?” Iqbal asked as if he was trying to get along. While he might not have been scowling, Vidvan could hear it in his voice.

“I wished to ask you a question about your lenses,” Vidvan began.

“What question would that be?”

He had many questions, so he had phrased that incorrectly. Then Vidvan had to ask the least important question first. It just came out. “How difficult was it to find such a pair? It would have been easier to go with a metal frame, no?”

Iqbal shook his head. “Easier to find, perhaps.”

That didn’t answer Vidvan’s question, nor did Iqbal explain himself.

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