He turned into a pair of iron gates and somebody came to open them.
He drove up the driveway and stopped outside what looked like a Dak Bungalow. Old-school, colonial, and too big for him. His house here. The one that he wanted to lease long-term.
Amaal got out, and he was faster in getting her overnight bag from the back. A young man in a monkey cap came floundering up, shawl wrapped over his jeans.
“Mehmaan hai, sir?[155]”
“Haan. Guest room ready hai?[156]”
Amaal felt a twinge. Was she just an overnight guest? Technically, she was. Her return flight was tomorrow afternoon.
“Ji, sir.[157]”
He nodded. “Gates lock karke jaao.[158]”
The man grinned, retreating. Samar strode up to the door and opened it. He stood to the side, eyeing her.
“Huh?” She startled. “Hmm.” Amaal walked right through and felt his sharp intake of breath as she passed.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He stepped behind her and closed the door. Then turned the lock. A lamplight came on and she got her first look at the house he had been living in. The hall was grand, with a chandelier. The sofas were long enough to seat his entire MLA troop from Jammu, the hall big enough to host the KDP top cadre. It all looked moody under the mild, orange lamplight right now.
“Ni…” she turned, but found him looking out of the window, not even concerned about her.
Amaal scoffed. “Where’s my room?”
He did not answer, kept staring out, her bag in his hand.
Amaal stormed to him and began to snatch her bag when he snatched her in his arms and turned until his back hit the scrunched up curtains and his mouth was on hers. She didn’t know what happened as his tongue invaded her mouth like a sword and his body turned her into the curtains, pushing her back into a dark corner. She gasped, seeing everything blacked out but feeling every touch of his skin. His nose over hers, his mouth over hers, his tongue on hers, his specs biting into her skin, his hands squeezing her torso to him. She felt tears burst free from her eyes and pulled back, only to see those dark irises on the whites, specs filtering them. Amaal reached up and touched them, then retreated.
“Take them off.”
With shaking fingers, she took them off, and he attacked her mouth, pushing her into the wall, shoving his thigh between her legs, stabbing his hands into her hair, pulling her buckle off. She made a noise in the back of her throat and he pulled back.
“Phew…” he panted, his skin feeling warm, his eyes looking at her with intensity, wonder, joy, fear. So much of what she was feeling. Amaal blinked, her wet mouth tingling. His thumb came to her lip and wiped it clean, his head turning to peep through the curtains again.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure my caretaker went home.”
“What?” She asked.
“Hmm?” He turned back, taking his specs from her fingers and tugging her until she was walking out of the curtains. “He is a gossip.”
Amaal felt laughter bubble up her throat.
“Don’t laugh.” He put his specs back on.
She burst out laughing, and Samar pulled her into his arms, whirling with her — “Stop laughing.” But he was laughing too. They both were laughing. Like lunatics. She held onto his shoulders and the momentum of his twirl kept them going for a few rounds, until he hit the back of the sofas.
They stilled.
Samar stared at her, his laughter dying down. She stared at him, her smile going too.
“Did you miss me?” He asked.
She shrugged. “No upma, it was a good time.”
