“I am fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Hmm.”
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
He paused. Then shook his head.
“Water?” She craned her neck to glance at what little she could of his sparse room. There were no water bottles.
“What do you want?”
Amaal grabbed the knob of his door and pulled it shut. She whirled and marched around the hall to her room. Hers was just as flourishing as his was barren. Flowers, scented candles, plush pillows… and her snack cabinet.
She pulled it open, grabbed a bag of potato wafers, selected her favourite Good Day cashew butter biscuits that were the closest to Danish cookies, then remembering he liked spicy rajma, she also grabbed the half-finished pack of spicy bhujiya. She swung by her bedside and plucked her yellow water bottle before leaving the room.
Across the house, she knocked on his door again.
He opened it and stood back, stunned as she pushed through him and walked into his room uninvited. She was beyond insults now. She did not care if he told her off. Because she had taken her investment out of him. As a colleague and friend, yes, she wanted to look after him. Nothing more. She would have done the same for anybody on her team.
“Amaal…” He followed her.
“This is your room?” She looked at the state. Bare. A bag open on a chair with his clothes. The bed was made with military precision but there was nothing to make. A bedsheet and a pillow. Nothing to cover?
The room smelled clean, though.
“What do you want?” He now sounded frustrated. Even their voices echoed in the empty space.
“Eat.” She turned and held out her stash. He glanced from her to her hands full of dry snacks.
“Eat what? This?”
“My brain has been eaten raw this week so I am fresh out of that. Take this for now.” She deposited the packets into his chest and he immediately cradled his arms to hold them. Amaal pulled the bottle out of her armpit and pressed it into his — “Drink.”
“I am not hun…”
“Just eat it.”
She turned her back on him and ventured to the window. It was closed. The light came in frosted through the stained glass but it wasn’t enough. There was no natural air here. Only the fan. Amaal began to open it.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Just don’t.”
She pulled her hands back, walking around the room to give him a minute to decide that he was going to eat after all. A few moments passed, she walked around his room quietly, not looking at him. And Amaal finally felt movement as he sat down on the chair. She observed from the corner of her eye as he set her stash in his lap and opened her water bottle. He hitched the rim of the bottle up and poured water into his mouth. Her eyes trailed to the rapid movement of his throat, the sight so regular and yet doing something inside her.Friend,she told herself.Nothing here,she drilled into herself.Learn to stay away, she reminded herself. And still kept staring.
Her own throat felt dry as he finished her entire bottle in one go and capped it. His eyes raised to hers, and their gazes collided.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low. As if he did not think he deserved water. Amaal walked to him, picked up the packet of potato wafers and tore it open — “You are saying thank you as if I brought you water in some desert. Here,” she offered the open bag to him. His eyebrows drew together.
“Eat, Samar. What was the last meal you had?” She buried her hand inside the packet, grabbed a wafer and stuffed it into her mouth.
“Yesterday.”
“Dinner?”
