“This was supposed to be one of your three surprises.”
“Be grateful that you got to marry me without a proposal.” She tried to hold her smile back, gaping at the ring on her finger.
“I am grateful I got to marry you. Period.”
“Here.” A piece of qalakand was held between them and Amaal took it, holding it out to him. He plucked it from her hand and fed it into her mouth, accepting the remaining piece into his. They got to their feet and turned to her parents, bending down to touch their feet. Dad pulled her into his chest and Amaal felt a very bad urge to cry even when she was so happy. He pressed his mouth into her temple and tears began to stream down her eyes.
“Alhamdulillah you won what you loved,” he squeezed her. “Now keep it well and be happy.”
She nodded, sniffling, going straight into her mother’s shoulder without letting Dad see her tears. Mom wasn’t as emotionally fragile. She patted her back, laughing softly into her ear. “Now you can come home to London.”
Amaal burst into laughter, feeling her lips on her ear, then her cheek. She glanced up, and Dad was embracing Samar. They separated in a second, but were talking quietly, smiling, hands melded in a shake that neither seemed to want to break. Both their eyes came to her, and smiles widened in unison.
“Let’s go,” Samar told her.
“Where? We aren’t going to lunch?” She pulled back.
“No.”
“Then where are we going?”
“Surprise.” He opened his hand.
She glanced at Mom, then Dad. They both seemed to know something but were mum. Amaal sighed, and put her hand into his.
————————————————————
The party Innova sped through the bright Srinagar roads, empty at this quiet hour of the afternoon. It veered towards the airport.
“Are we flying out somewhere?” She sat up. “But I don’t have anything packed…”
He just held a small smirk, not even opening his mouth. The driver came to a halt outside the gate for private charters. Her eyes bugged. Before she could protest about what was happening, he got out and came around to open her door. Eyes were already turning towards them, Samar’s stature now bigger than it once was. The Himachal elections and the party’s subsequent expansion, not to forget this morning’s news about the founding of the National Development Party, had suddenly put Samar Dixit at the forefront of mainstream politics.
“Samar…”
He took her hand and helped her climb down. He accepted a duffel bag from the driver and walked to the gate, her hand still in his.
“Where are we going?”
The waiting staff took the bag from him and he reached inside his pocket for their ID cards.
“How do you have my ID?”
He still did not answer, quietly showing them to the security at the gate and clearing them.
“Samar…” she pulled at his kurta sleeve, walking with him.
“Quiet.”
“We were supposed to go to the flat! I have not shut the windows. Only the mosquito net…”
“Quiet.”
She harrumphed.
They cleared boarding and he was leading her down the tarmac, the small charter plane in front of them, the sun over their heads. She tugged her hand out of his — “I am not getting on that plane until you tell me what’s going on.”
He stopped, eyes boring into hers — “What’s going on is, I am taking my wife with me.”
