“He has to go with Qureshi Bhai for that ribbon-cutting.”
“Right. Can you ask him if we can pick this up tomorrow?”
“Cool.”
Amaal ended the call just as she saw her parents walking out of the airport, trolley in her father’s hands, finishing the final check on the military post outside. Joy burst out of her. She got out of the car and ran towards them, throwing herself into her mother’s arms.
“Hello!” She pressed her face into the soft, salt and pepper hair that she used to clutch to sleep as a child. Her mother’s arms went tight around her, her mouth pressing into her skin. This was the longest they had gone without seeing each other.
“Move, we are blocking the line,” her father grumbled. Amaal peeked at him from her mother’s shoulder — “You are just jealous.”
Her father grinned, scratching his bald head. He had lost all of his hair to male pattern baldness but never stopped accusing her mother of being the reason. With his blue eyes and still dark moustache, he cut a debonair figure for a gentle dental surgeon. Amaal pulled out of her mother’s arms, a matured version of herself, and threw herself on her father, her feet lifting in the air as he hoisted her half up.
“I missed you.”
“Didn’t seem like it.” Her father set her back down, tapping on her nose like he always did. She twisted her mouth, turning to the scenery in front of them. The elusive mountains surrounding Srinagar were snowcapped, the sky grey but beautiful. Chinars were beginning to darken after autumn, framing the airport.
“How does Kashmir look?” Amaal stretched her arm out.
“Just as beautiful.” Her father slung his arm around her, both of them pushing the trolley with each hand. “But the guns never go away.” He eyed the high security around them. Amaal sighed.
“Enough now. Don’t start,” her mother chided. “Let’s go. Everybody is looking.”
“Yes! And you don’t know what we are going to make of Kashmir soon.”
“It’s not a school project, Amaal.”
“Dad, you haven’t met the KDP founders yet. Mom, I sent you Atharva’s last speech video. Did you show it to Dad?”
“Yes.”
They stopped by the car, and her father began to load the bags. Amaal closed the dickey and got into the driving seat.
“This is Atharva’s car?” Her mother asked, sliding into the seat behind hers.
Her heart somersaulted. “It’s Samar’s.”
“The one in Jammu.”
“Yes.” Amaal drove down the parking, payment and security exit.
“Needs maintenance,” her father grumbled, eyeing the dashboard in front of him. It wasn’t torn or broken, just… rugged. Amaal glanced at the stain under her foot. Blood. It was definitely blood that had been scrubbed to a dark stain on the carpet now. She set her foot on it when not accelerating. She hoped her father wouldn’t see it or find anything unpleasant in here. She had checked the car before bringing it, and hoped Samar had too. No Glock business.
“Dad, these guys are investing all the money they make back into their party. They don’t even make much money. Please.”
“Look at her defending her bosses to me.”
Amaal shook her head, taking her parents through the streets of Kashmir. There was heavy military presence and a check post to enter the city, which did not help her case. But she kept the banter up, hoping it would be enough to distract them.
————————————————————
Amaal knocked on Atharva’s office door.
“Come in, come in.”
She pushed the door open, expecting to see him alone as there was no noise. She was surprised to find Samar there, sitting on the visitor’s chair, poring over some papers. Atharva was on his chair, ending a call.
“Hi, I can come later.”
