“He is going to install a heater between this bathroom and this basin. When?” She finished the last of the water and held the bowl back. “When winter will be over.”
Samar chuckled.
“I’ll get you a napkin, wait. Are your hands better? Put on the hall heater and sit there otherwise…”
“I’m fine.” He fisted and unfisted his hands, feeling the bones tight but working well again. “How did you know I was frozen solid?”
She handed him a napkin and moved towards the kitchen — “Amaal told me your grafts give you strange sensations and winters are the worst. I also have some operation stitches, so I know.” She glanced up at him from the cake she was uncovering.
“From the delivery.”
She nodded, a bitter-sweet smile tugging at her lips. Iram looked down and picked up a knife.
“Are you fine now?”
Her head whirled up, and her eyes met his. Samar didn't have any more words to use to ask what he wanted to ask. There was so much muddied water under the bridge, so many years passed, so much blood, gore, fire erupted, that nothing he could say now would make any difference. He was a man of action, not words. He didn't have any. And yet, he hoped she would see what he was asking for, and from where he was asking it from.
Because…I am sorryseemed so small now. A joke.
She smiled, soft and genuine, the kind that she always smiled at Amaal. Maybe she got the joke. TheI am sorry. Her mouth opened in a small chuckle, and some emotion flitted across her eyes, leaving them shiny. Then, Iram gave him the forgiveness he did not deserve with just a nod as she began to cut the cake.
“I’ll head out…” he stepped back.
Her head rose and the smile was still there — “I’ll get the cake.”
Samar felt his answering smile rise without any effort, and turned to go.
“Arth? Arth? Call Dani Bhai. It’s cake time.”
“Dani Bhai no come…”
Samar kept smiling to himself, stepping out of the warm house and into the fresh, freezing air. He breathed it in, not having expected that a dozen minutes of his life would make such a difference.
“Washed your hands, delicate Daaxsaab?” Amaal joked from behind the fire. Samar stepped off the verandah and strode towards them, looking into her eyes.Laugh it out. There’s a long night to scream.Her laughter slowed down, her throat working a swallow as she continued to make amused sounds for Atharva’s benefit.
Samar had just settled beside Atharva on the rug when Yathaarth came running — “Cake taaaaime!”
He was such a tornado, his balance now even better as he came hurtling straight towards the fire.
“Arth.” Atharva warned. Samar sprang half up with Atharva, thinking he would stop. But he kept coming, arms out, “Fireindmountain, runrunrun…!”
“Arth, stay back!” Atharva yelled and he froze, his body flinging forward in the momentum. Samar caught him and snatched him away before he tipped. And he burst into tears.
“Arth.” Atharva’s voice softened. But he turned in Samar’s chest and began sobbing. Tiny arms came around him. Samar knew it was nothing, but his chest expanded.
“It’s ok.” He patted the tiny head, settling beside his father. “You were running into fire.”
“I wwww…aaasss… notttt…” he hiccuped.
“You were, Arth,” his father said. “You know it burns, no?”
Atharva’s son kept sobbing in his chest and Samar gave Atharva a triumphant look over his head.
“Drop it.” Atharva scoffed, shaking his head, smiling too.
“Adil chose you to cry on but he chose me.” Samar pointed.
“Because I yelled at him.”
