A throat cleared. Amaal glanced up from the little girl’s cheek and found Samar’s dark eyes on her. The reprieve of the moment melted away. She schooled her smile, letting the girl go.
“Hi.” She got up, finding herself so small in front of him. She wasn’t even that ill anymore. Amaal held her shoulders up taut, knowing the carnage around her did not warrant the stiff spine she was carrying currently. This was the biting defeat he had been waiting for. She wasn’t narcissistic enough to believe that he had anything against her. But she knew that he and Qureshi were against spending so much on media so soon.
“Lunch break?” He pushed his arms behind his back. The skin under the half sleeves of his black T-shirt bulged slightly. Amaal looked away.
“Mmm.”
He looked around too, taking his eyes across the stalls, the food shops, the locals, the volunteers — all clueless and bored. Two visitors were milling at the very back, thank god.
“I thought Atharva had a speech here.”
Amaal had five more hours of time. She would take the disgrace after that.
“It’s in a little while.”
His shoulders widened, as if he was waiting for more of her bullshit.
“How is your fever?” He thankfully changed the topic.
“Better. It was lower last night.”
His eyes blinked, a slow nod. The only acknowledgment.
“Thank you for coming to see me. I called you to say thank you, but I think you missed it.”
“Hmm.”
“I had to pay you seventeen rupees plus the blood test charges…”
“Pay me later.”
She nodded. “When I come to the office.”
“How long should I wait around for the main event? I have places to be.”
“It’s alright,” she tried to act airy. “If you are busy. We can take a bite from you later and add it to the press jacket.”
“What?”
“Media bite… like a comment.”
Samar’s head panned across the park again, his eyes finally coming and resting on her — “How many have visited so far?”
“A decent number.”
“200?”
Amaal wanted to cry. She managed a chuckle — “Give or take.” She was going to hell. Five hours later, she wassogoing to hell. And if she was unlucky, Dr. Samar Dixit would open the gates with his own hands.
Sudden commotion drew her eyes to the entrance of the park. A herd. Of men. In pherans and topis.Shit.What was happening? They had the permissions. And if some troublemaker started something? Her first instinct was to reach for the little girl and secure her; her second instinct to get her phone out and start recording. If these were troublemakers, they were not stopping by her intervention. But at least she would get it on camera for the record.
Amaal reached for the girl, but she was already skipping to her mother, the stall owners all chirping out happily from their shops. Amaal gasped as the men spread across the park, a horde of women and children behind them, walking down and spreading too, in droves. She could not blink and miss this. Was this… some fairy godmother’s magic? She gaped, as the stalls that had been barren all morning were immediately brimming with cacophony.
And then she saw it. The fairy godmother.
Atharva Singh Kaul was walking down the stone archway entrance, talking to a man who looked like a maulvi, laughing, Adil on his other side. More men came in behind him, looking like they had come directly from their namaz.
The spring wind was chilly, the sun warm. Children were loud, and adult shoppers were bargaining louder. And suddenly the park was in full bloom.
