“I was joking, don’t touch these!” Safiya Begum moved past him, carrying weight he would never have let her carry otherwise. In that, Samar was again reminded of his inability. To do anything.
She walked into his house and navigated it like she owned it, in true Begmjuaan fashion. “Eh, where is Amaal?”
“At work.”
“Leaving you all alone so late?”
Samar entered the hall and found her setting the bags down on the dining table, pulling tiffins and boxes of food out.
“She has a job, Begumjaan.” He held straight, not taking steps too fast. His physio had taken it out of him today, making the recovery even worse. Samar noticed Begumjaan’s eyes touch his throat over the round neck of his T-shirt, then move downwards towards his arms that were bare because he had not pulled on his compression top yet.
“How is it healing?”
“Healing.” Samar nodded, not even a little embarrassed when her eyes touched his scars. He did not care when Atharva, Adil, Qureshi, his doctors, his caregivers, his physiotherapists, complete strangers saw them. But when it came to Amaal…
“It will heal.” Begumjaan went to the sofa and sat down. Then she glanced up and patted the cushion next to hers. Samar huffed, lifting one foot and managing fine, then another and managing again. He went slow, but walked without limping too hard. Then took the support of the sofa’s backrest and lowered himself beside her.
“I wanted to come to you again after the hospital,” Begumjaan said. “But there was nobody for Arth.”
Samar smiled, looking into one of the kindest and strongest pair of eyes he had ever had the honour of seeing. “I am not a child, I understand.”
“Good.” She approved. “Samar miyan is maturing.”
He chuckled, feeling the strain in the grafts of his chest.
“How is he doing?”
“Doing? He is dashing.” Her brows touched her hairline. “All his milestones are before time. His paediatrician is very happy, and surprised, especially after how he was born.”
“Atharva’s son.” Samar mused. “He will cover up for lost time.”
“He will cover up, but,” Begumjaan’s joyful smile softened. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Samar slowly sat back. “I am fine too.”
“Don’t hit me up with thisI am fineline.”
“Hit me up?”
“Don’t start. Atharva has tried and regretted making fun of my lingo.”
Samar laughed silently, mindful of his chest this time.
“Daaxsaab.”
“Yes, Begumjaan?” He preened, hearing that moniker from her after ages. It had always been used in jest in their circle once upon a time. Now, it meant something more.
“It’s high time you grow out of the past.”
He nodded.
“Give a new life a chance.”
He swallowed but kept nodding.
“And stop nodding.”
“Why?”
