He read the words, but kept a quiet leash on his emotions. He could not feel them, could not let them even bubble to the surface. Or he would lose it again like that last time. And right now, four pairs of eyes were on him.
“Samar.”
“Hmm?” He coughed.
“Samar,” Atharva’s voice had softened. “I asked everybody, and I am asking you. If this is going to be a problem for anybody in this room, speak up now.”
Samar stared at him, and Atharva at least had the decency to look apologetic.
“You know my stance on this.”
Atharva nodded. “I hope, in time you will be able to see what I see. She is not her father, not even close to his ideologies. And her being in my life will not interfere with my work, or our work. Have faith in my judgement.”
Samar kept quiet. Because he no longer held faith in the one judgement he would have trusted with his eyes closed.
“So good news in the morningandgood news in the evening,” Adil slapped the table. “Our boy is growing up.”
At first, Samar thought that Adil had taken a jibe at his tame reaction, but soon realised that he was ribbing Atharva. The room burst into laughter again. Samar did not nod or smile this time. This was the limit of his playacting.
————————————————————
It was late by the time he strode out of the headquarters, calm and composed. Outwardly. Inside, he didn’t know what to do. Panic was loud, as was rage. Atharva had freed Aamir Haider’s house. And lied that Iram had no connection to her father? What was he about to do?
Suddenly, he did not trust Atharva. And that was not a world he wished to live in.
Samar left his car and crossed the road to the bank of Dal. Late shikara rowers were sitting and smoking together, kangris burning close to their chests. The moon was glinting on the waves of the lake, making the dark waters shine with sparks of electric blue. Amaal’s eyes’ blue.
Samar startled. What was he thinking?
“What are you doing here?”
This couldn’t be.
He turned around and found her on the pavement, electric blue eyes of the night, folders tucked under her arm, bundled in a jacket. The wind whipped her hair and again the shards of her hair looked like lashes across her bright face.
“What are you doing here?”
“I asked first.”
Samar gestured to the headquarters behind her with his eyes.
“Use your words.”
He gritted his teeth and felt like laughing all at once.
“The office is right behind you,” he said instead.
“Are you going back home?”
“Why?”
“Can you carry these back?” She held out the bundle of folders, and he found his arms opening to take the load. They were few, but heavy. “What’s in it?”
“Old ad campaigns, originals.”
Samar lifted them under his arm and frowned down at her — “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
