“No,” Samar began.
“Fahad?”
“I am Dr. Samar Dixit.”
She frowned, her hand trembling as she leaned back from the door — “Amaal? Dr. Samar Dixit aaye hai. Aap jaanti hai inhe?[26]”
“Samar?” Her small voice reached him. “Ji.[27]”
She stepped back — “Aaiye.[28]”
Samar entered the flat and took in the space like he did any enclosed space. Dark alley leading into the kitchen on one side with a bedroom door in front, the alley itself opening straight into the hall on the other side. A row of windows brought in the evening sunlight into the hall. Glass windows, full-size, without a grille. Easy to get out. He had left the SFF long ago, and yet he eyed escape routes before he eyed anything else in a room.
His eyes came to the sofa set in the middle of the hall. Amaal was slowly sitting up, wrapped in what he assumed was all the winter gear she owned, with a blanket covering her.
“I thought Atharva or Fahad were coming…” She began to rise to her feet.
“It was better if I came and saw you.” He set his bag down and gestured for her to keep sitting. “May I?” He held his hand over her forehead. Her eyes popped fully open then. Blue and bright, pupils dilated. She nodded. Samar cupped her forehead. Burning. She hissed. He used the knuckles of his other hand to check her neck. Even hotter.
“Did you take the temperature?” He asked.
“It was 102 half an hour ago.” The older woman came up behind him. He turned — “Did you administer any paracetamol or cold water cloths? Anything to bring the fever down?”
She shook her head. “Amaal said she had to go for some test when it was at its peak.”
"Headache?” He reached for his bag’s zipper and grabbed his pouch.
“Very bad,” Amaal groaned.
“Has the fever improved at all from yesterday after you started the antibiotics?” He picked out the thermometer and held it to her mouth. She took it under her tongue, then shook her head. He held her head steady, taking her pulse as the thermometer did its job. A silent minute later, he pulled it out. 105.
“Let’s go.” He jerked it and turned. “Where can I wash this?”
“Come.”
“Get ready, Amaal.”
Samar followed the older woman and washed the thermometer in the basin.
“If I had known about her fever, I would have come from day 1,” she told him. “I got to know when I called her to invite for dinner tomorrow. She said it might be malaria and not typhoid?”
“It is malaria.”
“She is unable to keep the antibiotics down. It’s better if she stops taking them completely.”
“She will have to complete the course now.” He wiped the thermometer on his handkerchief. “Which doctor did she go to?”
“There is a local doctor here, Dr. Umar. He said it’s typhoid, as that’s everywhere. He only gave her antibiotics.”
Samar nodded, tracing his way back to the hall where Amaal was already on her feet, shivering but wrapping a muffler around her neck.
“Ready?”
She nodded, reaching for her handbag.
“Leave it. Just come like that.” He stuffed his thermometer back inside his pouch and packed his bag. She did not argue. Just trudged out of the house behind him.
“Jameela aunty, I will come in some time.”
