“I have heard moringa works wonders for the knees.”
Amaal slipped inside and closed the door — “Let’s start.”
————————————————————
SAMAR
No
She stepped out of the car and glanced up at the main house, the outhouse silent in the distance. The morning was chaotic in the porch with cars packing to leave.
“Where?” She asked one of them.
“Hajan. But we are waiting for medical supplies.”
“Did you find doctors ready to go?”
“Only one.”
Amaal glanced down at the open chat box between her fingers.
AMAAL
Where are you?
SAMAR
Outhouse
AMAAL
At this time?
It was 10.30 am, long past his half day mark. Was he unwell?
He did not respond.
Amaal changed course and strode to the outhouse. She opened the door and found the hall empty, as was expected at midday. She walked to the other side of the house, where only one room remained. His.
She had never ventured here before.
Today was different.
He was definitely unwell.
That is why things were quiet in the founders’ circle.
Amaal reached his closed room and knocked.
The door pulled open. But he did not look like he was ill. He did look… different, though. In his old black T-shirt and a pair of cargoes, a day-old stubble, his specs off, he looked like Jammu’s Samar. But his face was… off. Not like the emotionless man she knew. It had some… emotion. Fatigue? Defeat? Fear?
“What happened to you?”
Deja vu struck. She had asked him this exact same thing once, and what that had led to hadn’t let her come back out whole. Amaal sobered.
“What happened?” He asked back instead of shooing her away.
“I am asking you.”
