“Keep it down.” He grabbed her arm and took her away from the chaos.
“Why? They will know it soon enough.”
“Let’s not demotivate everyone immediately. And not getting 38 does not mean we don’t make our Mayor.”
She stared at him, just like he did.
“Later.” He began to move away, and Amaal realised she could never win from him in cutting conversations. She grabbed his arm. The bicep wasn’t huge, she knew it. But it was firm. He stopped, and she took her hand off — “Tell me now. Atharva knows?”
“Yes.”
“How many are we getting?”
“Between 28 and 35.”
“That’s so close.”
“Hmm.”
She looked away. Six months of being shredded through this heat, so much hard work, so many people, and it came down to an ‘almost.’ Her mouth pressed together. She wasn’t one to wallow in defeat, but suddenly the fatigue of the last year began to feel heavy. She would have to pretend that she didn’t know the result for the next hour, and the prepping for that began to weigh heavily. Suddenly, she did not want to even do her photos and videos and live Tweets anymore. She would have to, but she did not want to.
“Amaal.”
“Hmm?” She kept staring blindly into the excited crowd.
“Look here.”
She blinked, turning her head and staring up at him. His eyes had softened. A first for her. Her heart skipped a beat.
“You did well. It’s election. Things like these happen.”
She nodded, keeping her mouth shut tight lest he stop speaking whatever good stuff he was speaking to her.
“Our numbers won’t be bad, we will still come out as the majority. Atharva has a Plan B. JMC will still be ours for all major decisions.”
She nodded, swallowing.
“Don’t look like that now. The result will start in 10 minutes.”
She twisted her mouth.
“What will make you ok?”
“I am ok.”
“Lie.”
“I am ok!”
“I shouldn’t have told you. I am never telling you such things again.”
“No! You are always telling me such things first!” She pointed a finger right into his chest. “Me. Always first. I know how to handle it.”
“I am seeing how.” He smirked. Amaal’s eyes widened. Was he smirking at her? Maybe she looked crazy because his usually stiff hands that only hung by his side, rose in a gesture of placating her — “If we cross the 30-mark, you get a prize.”
She saw right through that mollifying tactic, but played along. “What prize?”
“Go and see if we cross 30.”
