“Is something wrong with you?”
“I feel like cracking my own head open.” He hammered his fist on his forehead, swaying slightly. He had been injected with opioids. The toxicology report had come out mild to heavy, but Adil had handled it like a pro last night, as he had been trained to.
Samar got to his feet and grabbed his hand, checking his fingertips. He then looked at his lips.
“Hey, stop.” Adil pushed him off.
“No blue lips or fingertips, stable breathing,” Samar pronounced. “Only acting weird.”
“That’s normal,” Atharva deadpanned, distracted, and Adil kicked his chair. Samar chuckled, eyeing Adil. He was over-jittery and unlike his usual self. It would take another 12 hours to get back to normal. If it didn’t, then he would worry about him.
“All casualties were adults,” Atharva remarked.
“Huh?”
“You asked if a child from Kupwara died at the rally yesterday. No. No child died. Who said children died?”
Samar turned the pages in his packet, found the report, then held it up. Atharva wasn’t looking at him but out of the wall of windows, his chair turned.
“Atharva?”
He did not move.
Adil kicked his chair — “He is talking to you, traitor… Who is that?” Adil marched up to the glass and stuck himself to it. “See! A girl in Aamir Haider’s house.”
Samar followed his pointer finger. He couldn’t make out much. Only the head was visible over the short wall.
“She is trying to jump over the wall…” Adil poked his finger into the glass. “Oh no, she is leaving… no, she came back. No, again leaving. Is she mad? What is she doing?”
“Must be planning to sneak in and kidnap you.” Atharva picked up his iPad and began to scroll.
“A girl?”
He did not look up again. Samar frowned down at Atharva.
“She is actually trying to climb into our side!” Adil took quick steps back and ran towards the door.
“You are high today,” Samar called after him. “Sit down!”
But he was gone.
Samar turned to Atharva — “Why are you giving him ideas?”
“Here.” Atharva got to his feet and leaned back on his desk facing the windows, showing him the iPad. “Nobody from Kupwara is on the list of casualties.”
“Many of yesterday’s news reports say that there was a child from Kupwara among those dead.”
“Border village, Baramulla, easy to start the spark against us,” Atharva counted, his eyes flickering between the iPad and the windows. “Their games are just as no-brainer as them.”
“But how are they planting these stories so easily and nobody is even protesting or cross-checking? Blatant lies and they get published?! What is Amaal doing?”
Atharva looked at him sharply. “She is doing her best to fight against the tides. Press is just as biased as politics here. The pseudo-liberals hate us, the radicals hate me, and the so-called human rights messiahs are shouting from the rooftops that we are here to massacre Kashmir whenourrallies get bombed.”
“Because they are scared we may shut all their shops.”
A knock sounded behind them.
Atharva’s eyebrow cocked — “May?”
