“Give her these. And some glucose.”
Samar got to his feet and left the office, at some peace.
————————————————————
His day began to ease then.
He sat down with the Logistics Team to discuss the merchandise and stationery for Jammu. And as work took over, his episode receded into the background. It was a cause for concern that after so many years, Aamir Haider’s name had pierced through him like that. But he would solve it later, at night, in the confines of his room and his mind. Alone.
“Samar sahab, aapko kahwa?[81]” Hina Khala inquired. He smiled at her — “Nahi, shukriya.[82]”
“Hina Khala,” Akmal, their nosiest intern, leaned close. “Yeh Atharva Bhai ke office mein kaun madam hai?[83]”
Samar cut his eyes to him. He swallowed — “For information sake, that’s it.”
“Iram madam hai koi.[84]”
Samar froze.
15. A defeated god ceases to be divine…
A defeated god ceases to be divine.Amaal read the transcript as the recorded video of Atharva’s Kashmir University speech went on in the background on her mobile. Chunky, heavy wording for a college crowd. But Atharva had pulled it off. So well, that it was already trending on Twitter. Amaal swiped up the app, copied the hashtag and pasted it in her KDP Viral WhatsApp group.
AMAAL
Seed this
She added fuel to the fire.
The group had techies, Twitteraties and cream journalists who were hardcore KDP supporters. They would take this hashtag and run it into bigger circles, whipping up the video as well as its snippets.
“We are here, Am.”
She looked up from her phone and pulled her earphones off. The car had come to a stop outside the main house. It was dark now, but the lights glowed extra bright with the soft snowfall. The Media Room’s lights glowed the brightest.
Amaal looked at the man beside her. Young, handsome, lean to his bones, and looking like a proper corporate in his wool suit and tie. He had a muscular, bearded face, but his smile was soft. And it never failed to miss its mark. Amaal returned that smile — “Thanks for dropping me, Khalil, but you really didn’t have to.” She opened her door, pushed out her umbrella and got out.
“I know,” he got out from the other side, his own umbrella open.
“I live right behind this mansion,” Amaal pointed, holding her umbrella close. The sudden switch from the car’s warm interiors to this freezer outside was jarring.
“For a novice party, your office is very grand.” He matched her steps, walking close to her, his height not so tall that her umbrella would knock into him. “It’s actually a little ostentatious.”
Amaal chuckled, knowing the truth that he, and most of the world, didn’t. That this was not ostentatious. This was circumstance. Atharva had opened his ancestral home to run a party that did not even have furniture funds at its inception. She had walked into a bare office, with rickety chairs that only Atharva ever sat on.
They turned the corner, and the outhouse rose to view, the lights all on. Of course, this house never slept early. But she had a room to herself, unlike most others who shared or slept in the hall. It was a mess, but she loved messes like that. Chatter all day and night, especially after a long day. And her parents had been at ease, knowing she was living in a safe place that they had seen, with so many people, and under Atharva’s protection. The last one still made her feel like a baby, but that was the price she had paid for staying.
“That’s me,” Amaal slowed. “You don’t have to walk me all the way. This is not London.”
“I can see the tight security, but I’d still walk you. I did pick up a few gentlemanly tricks there.” Khalil smirked.
“All except one.”
“Hey!” His voice rose in jest. “That was one time, and it started the best six months between us.”
“Umm… debatable,” she squinted at him.
“Not at the end, and I could not stop saying sorry…”
