“Quiet.” He licked the spot, then pressed his teeth into it again.
She moaned, pushing to kiss him. But he pulled back, snapped off the indicator and got back on the road.
“You are mean!”
He smirked. “Keep repeating these names I don’t like and see how mean I can get.”
————————————————————
“…and that’s how you keep them in control.” Iram and Amaal sat talking in hushed tones to his right, the bonfire warm, close to them. Samar finished the bottle of water in front of him and began to get up to throw it when Atharva’s hand came into his field of vision. He passed it and sat back down. A second later, Atharva returned with his old guitar in hand, and sat down beside him on the thick rug spread over the dewy grass. The women had made some noise and set up chairs, but they had spread the rug in front of a sturdy stub of a banyan tree and leaned their backs.
“What are they talking about so seriously?” Atharva muttered.
“I have no idea and it’s dangerous to ask.”
“What did you say?” Amaal caught his words.
“Nice night.” Samar deadpanned.
“You said something about me being dangerous.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“He did, he did.” Noora’s voice sounded from behind them. Samar turned, only to find him trying to hide his big body behind the halved trunk. “I heard him.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Spying.”
Samar looked at Atharva.
“Ignore him.” Atharva strung his guitar, playing with his puck.
“Since when did you start playing again?”
“Arth likes it, he is a musical kid.”
“Shola jo bhadke.” Iram sputtered.
“What?” Samar looked at her, scandalised. What were they teaching their child?
Iram tipped her chin at Atharva.
“Seriously? He is what? 2? 3?”
“He has eclectic taste.”
“Tell me that when he is singing it to girls in his Nursery.”
“He already is,” Iram rolled her eyes.
“Like father, like son.”
“You sang to girls?” Iram looked at Atharva. “You said you only sang for me…”
“I did.” Atharva glared at him. “Which girls?” Iram asked him.
