“Samar, I will go and call Begumjaan now,” she shot to her feet just as his hand clamped around her wrist. “Don’t threaten me.”
“Then tell me what happened.”
“Yes,” he blinked up at her. “Somebody hit my head.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know them.”
“Of course I don’t! How many head-hitters do you think I know in Srinagar?”
He swallowed, clearly uncomfortable with this conversation as well as her raised voice. She sighed, lowering herself to his side. This time, she turned her wrist out of his hold and touched his swelling again. “Should we ice it?”
He remained silent for a minute. Then slowly gave a nod.
“I’ll get it.” She ran to the door.
“Without telling anybody.”
“Yes.”
Amaal ran out to the buffet, hoping to find ice. Then, realising it was winter, she snuck back to the kitchen, hoping Begumjaan had some ice cubes in her freezer. She did. Amaal wrapped them in the kitchen towel she found, her fingers freezing and stiffening. How would he take this cold to his head? She touched it to the corner behind her own ear and hissed.Fuck.
She opened the room and slid back in, holding the pack up — “Are you sure you will be able to take it?”
He held his hand out.
She did not humour him, sitting down and grabbing the side of his neck. His dark eyes met hers, and she held them, pressing the ice pack to his swelling. If she expected a visible reaction, she had not known him at all. Because there was nothing on him. Not even an unconscious flinching of his skin. Not even goosebumps.
“How is this not affecting you?” She tightened her fingers on his neck, feeling intimacy suddenly creep between them.
“I’ve slept on ice.”
“In snow?”
He did not answer.
“In snow? With snow gear and all, right?” She pushed.
“No.”
Her throat dried. Was he hinting at what she was thinking?
“In military training?”
“No.”
Her chest felt tight. Her eyes went to the pack and how white his skin had turned. Amaal began to pull it back to give him some respite, but he caught her hand, pressing it back. Her eyes returned to his, and she couldn’t help it. Her fingers left his neck. They hovered, over his cheek, darkened in heavy stubble. Her fingers shivered. They wouldn’t touch him. But they wouldn’t retreat either. His eyes were impervious, seeing all but saying nothing. Just as his mouth.
Her eyes went there. And his head began to pull out of her hold.
“Samar.” She caught his cheek, belatedly realising what she had done. He froze. Lines had been crossed. Amaal had the option of not going further. But if not now then when again?
“Samar.” She pressed the ice pack deeper into his skin on one side, her warm hand to the other. Amaal gathered words, any words, and began to open her mouth when he broke free from her hold and pushed to his feet.
She gaped.
He was a shadow, a tall shadow, standing with his back to her. She now had the shape of his back memorised. That was how much she had seen it in her one year here.
