Iram’s face turned to her, a bitter smile on her face. “How are you?”
“I am fine.”
“With Samar…?”
Amaal hesitated, then nodded. Iram’s eyes smiled, even though her mouth was wobbling.
“How are you?” Amaal changed the topic. “What has happened to you?”
“I thought they both died…” Iram looked into her eyes. Amaal felt that pierce her. And probably Iram saw it there because the next moment she broke down. “Oh, no…” she began to weep. “How will I do this, Amaal? My son lived.”
“Shhh.” Amaal leaned over and pulled her head into her chest. Iram cried. “I am not ok, Atharva is not ok, the world around us is not ok. Please forgive me, I’m sorry… I thought this was the only way to become ok for him without the kids… I didn’t know, I didn’t…” she hiccuped.
“Shh, shhh…” Amaal rubbed her back.
“What have I done? What a mess I made behind me.”
“Quiet now,” Amaal patted the back of her head. The sun was rising outside and the soft, mild rays were ringing the alarm of their journey back.
“You are not angry.” Iram pulled back. “Why are you not angry? Atharva is angry.”
Amaal smiled. “I was angry. But I also knew you wouldn’t have done this without a reason. I am not angry anymore.”
“You forgave me very easily.”
“Not so easily.” Amaal got to her feet. She padded to the bed and unzipped the tote she had packed. From its depths, she pulled out Iram’s most prized salwar kameez. The orange one that she had gotten stitched out of a fabric Atharva had brought her once like a fool of a man in love who didn’t know what to bring a woman. Amaal shook the top open and flung it to her — “Show me how old Iram looked and maybe I will forgive her.”
————————————————————
Amaal dropped Iram back home and into Atharva’s hands, then took off for Kathua that evening to host a delegation of international journalists who had come to the state to write about ‘J&K’s railway marvel.’ It was a series Amaal had been championing, and had gotten the push from the Home Ministry and Railway Ministry — an unprecedented collaboration between the state and the centre to expand the rail network in Kashmir under Atharva. Janta Party and KDP were running like a well-oiled machine, and the progress was unstoppable, despite the last month of disturbance. The only drawback was, that she had to host the journalists in Jammu instead of Kashmir now.
That had kept her away from home, and Samar, for a long three days.
Amaal twisted the key soundlessly in the lock and opened the door of the flat. It was not late but she knew that if she wasn’t around, Samar slept early. He was on painkillers and sleeping pills, trying to sleep as much as possible in a day to speed up his recovery as well as silence the noise in his head. It didn’t always work that well, she knew. She had often heard him milling around in the middle of the night, but never got up to disturb him.
The light from the crack cued her that he was awake. And then she saw what she shouldn’t have seen. Samar’s naked back. The music was playing on loud as he stretched in the hall, one arm touching the toe of his other leg, the other arm up in the air in a triangle. Amaal stared at his back, though. It was like she was staring at skin that had been melted in a cauldron. White, red rivulets.
She immediately made a rattling sound of the keys and he straightened.
“Hey,” she entered the flat and turned her back on him to pull out the key, giving him the privacy he would naturally need. When she turned around, his T-shirt was back on and he was striding towards her, sweaty.
“You are early.” He came and stood in front of her, looking at her face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because I haven’t seen you for three days and you look tired.”
“Both of those things are exclusive and don’t make sense together…” She deposited her key in the bowl she had set at the entrance.
He held her wrist. “Can you come here for a second?”
Amaal swallowed, but left herself loose in his hand as he pulled her into his chest. He gripped her wrist and pushed her arm up and around his neck, where the sliver of skin was still smooth, leading up into his hairline. She dug her fingers into his hair, letting him lead her other hand there too as her face pressed into his chest.
“You are sweaty.” She complained, but did not press away.
“I was exercising.” He wound his arms around her waist, pushing his mouth into her hair. “You smell of lilies even after three days of running around.”
Amaal chuckled. “I am so tired.”
