“Is your son settled?”
Atharva stilled in front of his chair, then nodded. He divested himself of his own coat and slung it around his chair before taking his seat.
“I do not have the right to ask,” Dev started.
“Then don’t ask,” Atharva cut him off.
“Where was she?”
Atharva felt some stability returning inside him at the knowledge that Iram hadn’t shared that piece of information with him. Not then, not now. He trusted her, of course, he did. But something unreasonable happened to him when Dev Kohli was involved. Even after all these years, the fact that he had been there for her through some of her most vulnerable weeks, and now vulnerable hours, made a deluge rise inside him.
“That is none of your business. As we spoke in June, you should have stalled and come to me when you received that call.”
“I am not here to discuss ifs and buts, Atharva.”
“Then what are you here for?”
He stared at him, silent.
“You pushed her to that point…”
“Enough.”
His eyes fell shut, the lines around them deeper under the bright lights of this office. There was more grey in his temples now, age catching up. Atharva observed him shake his head before slowly opening his eyes — “You are right,” he admitted. “I should not ask. All I know is that I was at my mine in remote Limpopo when her distressed call cracked through network outages. All I know is that I drove twenty minutes to just find enough bars to manage to make the call back. And she asked for help.”
Atharva scoffed. Dev’s defeated expression flared up — “What are you sour about? She married you, she chose you, she became the mother ofyourchildren. I let go of whatever that could have been long ago, Atharva. I don’t know why you could not. In spite of winning her.”
Blood thumped in his ears.
Atharva stared, unmoved. Never had this admission been voiced out loud between them. Iram was the unsaid antagonism between them. Present, screaming, in their faces, but always unsaid.
I let go of whatever that could have been long ago. I don’t know why you could not.
He exhaled. Once, long ago, Dev had been a friend. Not a close one, but a business friend nonetheless. In a world where splitting political ideologies and one-upmanship meant friends were hiding foes, and backs could not be turned without being stabbed, Atharva had prided himself on knowing and respecting Dev Kohli. And trusting him.
“Forgive me for being blunt, but what are you here for today?”
“Blunt?”
Atharva let out a reluctant chuckle, admitting what he had never admitted to anybody but his wife. “You are right. A lot has passed between then and now for me to still hold on to it.”
Dev nodded.
“I thought you had done something, hurt her. That is why she needed help. You would have had to do something abominable for her to leave her infant son behind. And a part of me was enraged at you for doing that. That’s why I did not cooperate.”
Atharva blinked, non-committal, not bothering to correct Dev’s assessment. The less he or anybody knew, the better.
“What’s gone is gone,” Atharva remarked. “But since you are here now, I need to address something with you.”
“Go on.”
“This needs to be kept confidential. And while I do not doubt you, I am obligated to ask you to sign a confidentiality pledge to bury this. An NDA of sorts.”
“I understand. Let me know when and where, and I’ll have my lawyer handle it.”
“The less people know about this, the better. Can you read it yourself and consult with my Press Secretary? I know it is asking a lot, but trust me enough to know that this is only to tie loose ends and nothing more.”
Dev took a moment to think.
