His eyes pointed to the spray in his hand. She did not want to touch it. The snow was falling on her face and hair, her eyelashes now milky. Her vision had also gone hazy. Amaal used the back of her hand to wipe them clean before he grabbed her hand, unfurled her fingers and pressed the bottle. She wrapped her fingers around it loosely, waiting to sanitise or wash her hands.
He bent on his haunches and gathered her mobile and umbrella, the latter with a broken wire now.
He held it out to her — “If you wanted to become the fourth wife of one of these militants, you should have informed us. We wouldn’t have initiated background verification.”
“What?” She scowled.
“Don’t venture this side after sunset if you want to keep yourself out of trouble.”
She stared at him, angry, appalled, shocked.
“Take.” He yelled coldly. She stiffened, eyeing her Blackberry and umbrella in his hand. Amaal reached for them and held the half-broken umbrella up over their heads.
“I have lived alone in London’s most dangerous neighbourhood and fended off three muggings for myself and my friends. I know how to handle some militant. Don’t lecture me. You could have said my name out loud and informed about your arrival.”
He looked at the pain relief spray bottle in her hand. She tightened her grip on it.
“What are you looking at? It does most of the work of a pepper spray.”
“I hope it can fire twelve hundred rounds per minute.”
“Huh?”
“The militant you plan to handle won’t wait to pull out his Glock.” He paused. “That’s a gun.”
Amaal opened her mouth when he stepped back and out of her umbrella. “Muggers don’t go around with knives here to snatch a chain. Terrorists roam with AK47s. Walk away now.”
She turned and began to push the bottle inside her bag when his curt command sounded — “Not until you reach Lal Chowk.”
She gritted her teeth, swallowing her anger in the light of logic. Amaal walked the rest of the way down the alley until the lights and sounds of Lal Chowk hit her full force. The commotion was real. People. Stalls. Mopeds. Cars. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to check.
He was still standing there. A dark silhouette in a leather jacket under the snow. If he wanted to keep an eye on her until she reached Lal Chowk, why make her hold the damned spray?! She pushed it inside a side pocket of her bag and wiped her palm down her pants. More washing today.
That’s when she recalled his words —initiated background verification.
That meant… she was in?
3. His back was hit…
His back was hit, and a football bounced off to his feet. Samar grunted, feeling the sore spot from yesterday throb. He caught the ball under his foot, manoeuvring it.
“What’s wrong with you again?” He stared at Adil at the far end of the estate, in full winter gear, on top of three inches of snow.
“Zorji hasn’t come yet.” Adil hollered back, gesturing for the ball. Samar knocked it over his shoe, dribbling it on his toe. The morning was mild, the snow thick. It had stopped snowing but the cold was withering. He turned the key in his car, and it made a dragging beep.
“You need to repair that thing.” Adil came jogging down towards the porch.
“And you need to stop playing during work hours.”
“Atharva…”
“Will not say anything but we need to get serious. This is a political party now, not time pass.”
Adil puffed his cheeks, red, his glasses skewed as he grinned — “Atharva just went in after a game.”
Samar stalled.
“Huh, nothing to say about Captain Kaul now?” Adil tried to kick under his toe to get the ball. Samar turned, holding the dribble steady, and jumped away. Adil wasn’t far behind, inserting his big foot between his legs. Samar jumped again, catching the ball back on his toe, steady.
