The hustle and hunger of Kashgar drove the most meticulous of the merchants, who all were the antithesis to the young mother, Parvaneh. Hailing from the Persian city of Shiraz, Paravaneh al-Tabrizi rejected the societal customs of her time and embraced the career of commerce.  With her husband Pasha leaving her and their two-year old son, Zaleh, to escape his life of debt in Mongolia, Paravaneh had to step in as man of the home. Nothing was as bright nor prosperous as were the Silk Roads, established by the ruthless Mongols. As much as Paravaneh detested the augmented Mongol influence on her native land, she was grateful to have been connected to sellers from Europe, Asia and the other states of the Middle East. When she reached the Silk Road city of Kashgar, the young woman would be able to purchase silk shawls and porcelain, which would be lucrative and earn great profits back in Persia. 
   The ride from Shiraz to the Central Asian city of Kashgar robbed the youth of the woman’s timeless beauty. The month-old rice powder applied to accentuate Paravaneh’s fair complexion now was vulnerable to her instantaneous aging. The surma lining her porpoise-colored irises had long hijacked the eyebags that defined her once alluring features. Central Asian red sand pursued rock debris to paint a feeble picture onto Paravaneh. 
   Paravaneh had been confined to a small seat in a caravan. Behind her sat Zaleh, with flesh so plump and pink that he juxtaposed his mother. The young boy had grown a whole tooth since the duo set out, and was growing increasingly slumberous as the day ceased and the city of Kashgar’s silhouette grew strong in the background. The young girl was accustomed to navigating her camel alone, but with the chaos of Mongol invasion back home, merchants had begun moving in caravans to accommodate many people. The caravans were groups of travellers often sharing resources and animal force while navigating through long routes. Paravaneh envied the privilege of moving solo, and was irked by the carelessness of her peers as they overloaded the camels on board. 
“Azizam, we have reached the city, let’s get you some dry fruit,” the young mother mumbled to her son.
The caravan gates creaked open, producing a cacophony that almost announced the group’s arrival onto the notorious commercial streets. Paravaneh tucked soft strands of the boy’s hair behind his ears before lifting up his chubby frame and walking to check into a caravanserai. 
After an exhausting day on the road, all Paravaneh longed for was the consolation of her bed. In the years prior, Paravaneh had been adjusted to sleeping on the tough, sandy terrain in a tent. Tonight would be the first time Paravaneh could afford to spend the night at a caravanserai with Zaleh, an inn for merchants who mainly accepted paper money. On the arduous journey, near the Yuan border, Paravaneh had met a Chinese woman with what appeared to be a strange thin leaf. She spoke Farsi and explained that she had brought paper money, replacing the heavy coins that Paravaneh was used to. What a steal, Paravaneh would finally get her hands on this new creation. The two traded: forty-five shreds of saffron for twenty of these sheets of paper. The light weight of the currency unnerved Paravaneh and she grew jubilant at the idea of finally being able to treat her son to a night at the inn with these novel profits. 
“Where are you going, already in a hurry to make cash? Why so money-minded my dear? With a young boy too,” an older man in the caravan enquired Paravaneh as she made her way to the building.
“To the caravanserai to rest before a day of trade, sir!”
“And how do you think you’ll get a room tonight? Where is your money?”
Paravaneh earnestly grabbed the twenty bills from her bag, composing a fan-like structure to flaunt her triumph to the detractor in front of her.
“Ay, that is not enough for a night! What were you thinking?”
“What- this is all the cash I have! I brought my Persian coins!” 
“How much do you have in coins?”
“One hundred with me, but nearly two to three thousand back home,”
“Then why shall you fear? Stop by a banking house or bills of exchange, sweetheart!”
The words coming out of the man’s mouth seemed further foreign than the Turkic Paravaneh had encountered earlier on her journey.
“And what are those that you mentioned, sir?”
“If you want to spend the money you have, there are now new banking houses where you can trade your currency, like what you did with the lady on the way here”
“But then how should I purchase silk? I only brought 100!”
“Then pay a visit to the bank where you can write a “check” and promise payment for what you purchase out of your money pack in Shiraz”
The frown on Paravaneh’s face was replaced by a touch of Mithra as a smile illuminated her infirm structure. She slyly thanked the doctor while rushing with her son to write a check at one of these bills of exchange.
Paravaneh’s hurry was assuaged by the faint call to prayer in the city, silencing the clashing camel hooves’ or intense negotiation by merchants hoping to cut off a couple notes from the cost of silk.