The recordings are missing
Samar paid for the pack of cigarettes and a lighter and stuffed them inside his jacket pocket. He pressed Call and sat inside his car, turning the wheel.
“What do you mean the recordings are missing?”
“They are not there, not in the equipment or in the laptop.”
“Where are they then? You said you heard them being played.”
“But they are not anywhere. Everyone tried. We even called those experts from Jammu.”
“Ask Adil.”
“He refuses to speak. He hasn’t said anything but ask for water, ORS and whistle some strange film songs.”
Samar pulled the gear back to climb up the slope to the house, cursing his luck.One thing, let one thing go right!
“We can get it out of him by our methods.”
“No.”
“Then?”
“Get better experts to retrieve it… reverse engineer…” Even as Samar ordered it, he knew what Adil had done would be nearly impossible for most nerds.
“Won’t work.”
“Give it a try.”
“What to do with Adil till then?”
Samar reached inside his pocket and grabbed the box of cigarettes. He popped the top with his thumb, driving one-handed. His throat was suddenly dry, screaming for a puff. It had been years.Years.
The gate came in sight, and the security pulled it open for him. He drove through, the silence in the car purring.
“Hello?”
“Yes. Keep him where he is.”
“Ok.”
Samar parked the car outside the main house, now gone dim. He got out and pulled out a cigarette. Without guilt, he placed the cigarette between his lips. It would kill him. As a doctor, he knew it. But he had enough wounds to kill him sooner. He was digging a grave with enough sins to make it even sooner. Samar inhaled the tobacco, the scent reminding him of the best and the worst days of his life. Even before it was lit, the cigarette was making him climb down the rails.
He eagerly reached for the lighter, clicked it and lit the cigarette. The puff. That first puff. He inhaled it like he was inhaling all that was alive in the world for him. Very little.Fuck.
Samar exhaled from the corner of his mouth, a cough rising in the back of his throat. It had been years, clearly.
“Ooooooooooooh,” he threw his head back and let it all go. Quietly.
That cigarette got over in a heartbeat and he reached for another when his eyes fell on a figure walking in the garden. Atharva.
His hand froze.
What was Sayyid Butt planning for him?
Samar took a puff, thinking. He had an in to find out. And damn if he wouldn't take it.
The second cigarette got over and Samar slipped the pack back into his jacket pocket. He pushed off the car and walked to the garden. The ice had thawed, the grass beginning to bloom. He glanced at the bushes. Which ones were Amaal’s lilies?
