Amaal unlocked her mobile — “Let me call Fahad, they can come back for me…”
“Take my driver and car.” Khatriji offered.
“Thank you, Khatriji.”
“It’s late, Samar,” Begumjaan asserted. “You also go with them.”
Amaal pasted a bigger smile on her face and turned to Safiya Begum. “It’s fine, Begumjaan…”
“How is it fine? Do you have a problem if Samar also sits in the car with you and the driver?”
“No… it’s just redundant…”
“The driver is new.” Khatriji’s low voice cut through their argument. “Samar, go.”
————————————————————
The darkness inside the car was rivalled by the darkness outside. The silence inside the car was rivalled by the silence outside. Amaal sat quietly in her seat, staring straight ahead, Samar in the seat beside hers. The third seat was stuffed with bags, as was the passenger seat. Her body did not touch his, she made sure of it. And yet, the air between them crackled with something… electric, and disappointing.
Get used to it, she told herself.It would take some time to get over this and move on.
Amaal turned her head towards the sweeping fields outside, dark and shadowed, lit with bursts of street lights at regular intervals. It reminded her of the man beside her. And she was so angry at that thought. How long before she would stop being angry, sad, thoughtful, wishful, regretful, mindful of him, her feelings and this awkward space?
In one month, she told herself. In one month, she would walk in front of him like nothing was wrong. She would do her work as usual, even with him when needed, lead his rallies, school his communication skills, sit with him for meetings and tours, maybe just like this, and never speak a word out loud of what had happened tonight.
She had discovered enough about Samar Dixit in the last year to understand that he was a shy man, just as embarrassed as her in awkward moments. He would never mention this again, either. It would be easy again. Good again. The insult of this injury would heal. And some day she would realise it was for good that Samar did not say yes to her.
Her eyes began to shut at that thought, the smooth motion of the car lulling her to sleep.
————————————————————
When she woke, the car had stopped.
Amaal swallowed the saliva pooled inside her closed mouth, squinting at the dark interiors of the car now flooded with light from outside. She caught sight of her building through the window. And then the stubbled throat in the foreground.
She realised where she was sleeping. On his shoulder.
Amaal pulled back, eyeing him. He was asleep too.
Phew.
Tears blinded her eyes in that still moment. She trailed her eyes over the contours of his face. He had insulted her, turned his back on her again, not given her feelings the respect they deserved. And yet, in this one moment before she gave up on thinking about him, she couldn’t help but think about him one last time. How would it have been, to be with him, to get to know more of him, to accept him, to make ten jokes and have him reciprocate with one that was as dry and uncalled for? How would it have been to be the girl he watched out for, to have him give her a touch to lift weights not because her dumbbells were falling off but because he could not keep himself from touching her. How would it have been to have him work out beside her when other men were around, not because he was protecting her from their gazes but because he was staking his claim as the only man who would get her eyes? How would it have been to correct his dressing and school his public speaking, not just because she was his media coordinator but because she was his…
Amaal drank the tears and tilted her head to check the swelling behind his head. She touched it, feeling the swell hard but not grown any more. Then quickly pulled her hand back when she realised what she was doing.
She grabbed her purse, opened the door and pushed one foot out.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the driver. He nodded back.
Amaal got out, shut the door quietly and rushed around the car to open her building’s gate.
Samar opened his eyes, cutting them to where she was stepping inside and closing the gate without turning back. He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on that closed gate. The heat of her fingers was still burning the back of his neck.
“Drop me home, I’ll show you the way.”
————————————————————
“What are you doing here?” Samar stopped in his tracks. Atharva stood there, on his doorstep. It was, in truth, Atharva’s doorstep. His outhouse. His mansion. His estate.
