“There was nobody to take care of it, so I had them come and add the garden yesterday. You are free to do anything you want.”
“Of course I will.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Who asked for your permission?”
His laughter was heavy with the songs of stray birds and she stopped in her tracks.
There, hidden behind a tall bush, was a hammock, stringed between two big peru trees. Amaal whirled. Samar was still laughing, pushing a pot of lilies aside as he made his way to her. He stilled. “What happened?”
“You did this?” Her voice broke. His eyes followed behind her and a smile touched them.
“A hammock like this has built an entire house around it in Srinagar, it was only fair we have it here.”
She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, shaking, so overwhelmed that neither tears flowed nor stayed inside.
“Amaal.” His cajoling voice made an endearment out of her name, his arms wrapping around her until her forehead was on his chest. It was so surreal that he could make so much out of her name. “Don’t cry.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She croaked, pushing her head deeper into him. His chest vibrated.
“You want me to take it off?”
“Don’t you dare!” She pulled back, glaring at him.
“So you weren’t crying after all,” he joked, patting his thumb over her dried cheek. She bit it.
“Ow.” He shook his thumb, holding it away from her. She grinned, kissing the edge of his jaw — “Thank you.”
“You want to go inside now?”
“Hmm.” She reached for his thumb but he pulled it to his chest. “No way.”
Amaal sputtered, following him up the verandah and to the main door. “Come on, carry me inside.”
He grunted. “You had your chance on the plane.”
She shook her head, eyeing his back flex in that perfectly moulded kurta and koti as he turned the key in the padded lock. He pulled open the first screen door and went in again for the main door, using the bunch of his keys with such practised ease that she was sure he had spent an ungodly amount of time here in the months they had been apart and working towards earning this day.
“Come.” He stood to the side, the doors open. Amaal looked ahead, the alley flooded with sunlight in front of her. She walked up to the threshold and gasped as her feet left the floor.
62. The timing was against us…
The timing was against us, but what a time that was.
“Samar!” She held his shoulders as he held her up in his arms. “Warn before doing these things.”
“Did you warn before doing this to me?”
“What did I do?”
“I was a man lifting rocks. See now.” He turned with her, making her twine her arms around his neck as he stepped across the main threshold. Amaal did not even look at the house ahead, her eyes only for the face of the man she had loved, chosen, again and again, married. He was not a man a woman would choose at first glance, even in his prime. But what could she do? She had stood no chance. No other man had held appeal once he had begun to hold her. He accused her of throwing a spell on him. She would never tell him that he had tied her first. This was more fun.
“Hey…” she protested as he deposited her on her feet again. Amaal glanced down and found a gleaming brass Kalash filled with rice grains, a plate of red kumkum paste in front of it, lined by a white cloth tamped down on the floor, leading into the main house.
“Whose planning was this?” She asked, even as she knew the culprit.
“Your mom.” His hand trailed down her shoulder and to the sliver of skin between her blouse and waist. “But I asked her for it.”
She gaped at him — “Since when do you believe in all this?”
“Am I not supposed to believe in you walking inside my house for the first time and leaving your imprint?”
