A minute later, the stairs rolled open, Altaf standing at the helm. He stepped aside, and Amaal got her first glimpse of Iram.
This couldn’t be Iram. The woman had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, but the gauntness in her face was naked. As if half of her was gone. Her skin was pale, her eyes wide and deep-set. Her hair was whipping across her face and she did nothing to stop it, staring glassily at them.
She slowly descended the four steps, her balance shaky. Everything Amaal had wanted to spit at her was forgotten as Iram’s feet touched ground. Amaal began walking, then sprinting, then running. Their eyes met, and Iram was running too, but not as fast.
“Oh, my god,” Amaal caught her in an embrace. Iram’s body felt small, fragile, like it was disappearing. She did not respond for a second. And then her arms came around Amaal.
“I’m so sorry,” Iram buried her face in her shoulder.
“It’s alright.”
Iram’s breath came heavy, like she was holding herself back from crying.
Amaal rubbed her back. “Come on.”
“Captain.” Altaf’s voice startled them apart. He handed over a pack of documents to Captain Husain and took Yathaarth’s medicines and milk bag in exchange. That was the alibi, the CM’s private plane returning to pick up his infant’s bag because the baby was sick. Not the best one, but the only one they could come up with at such short notice.
“Madam.” Altaf addressed Iram. "I am returning.”
“Come back this afternoon,” Iram said to him, her voice thinned.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come, let’s go.” Amaal pushed the shawl tighter around Iram and led her to the car, an old man, her father’s butler, Rahim, tagging behind.
————————————————————
“Feeling better?” Amaal asked, passing her an extra towel as she patted her face dry. Iram nodded.
“Come, sit.” Amaal led her to the small, round breakfast table in the room. It overlooked the mountains of Kargil, the sheer curtains filtering enough moonlight inside the room to keep their vision clear with just a small lamp.
“I am making kettle coffee, you want hot water? There is no lemon…”
“Amaal?”
“Hmm?” She stopped in the process of tearing open the instant coffee sachet. Iram was looking at her with the blankness of a lost animal.
“I am sorry.” She said again.
Amaal kept staring at her. Iram did not even blink. Something was wrong with her.
Amaal abandoned the coffee and crossed the room, taking a seat on the chair in front of her. She took Iram’s hand in her own and startled. She rubbed it. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I am always cold.”
“But this is not normal cold. The fire is blazing, should I add more wood…”
“Let it be…” Iram muttered. Then her eyes widened. “Samar?” She gasped, horrified. “Samar. How is he?”
“He is fine.”
“Fine? How long… Allah. One day before the babies were born… where is he?”
“He came home a few weeks ago.” Amaal sandwiched her cold hand between her own. “He is recovering.”
Iram went silent. She gazed outside blankly for such a long time that Amaal thought she had gone to sleep with her eyes open. Then she shook her head slowly. “Atharva was right…” she whispered. “We owe him three lifetimes. He saved us all, and I couldn’t even save one…”
“Shhh.”
