He grabbed her elbow again, this time stopping her as well as holding her in place. She fought it, but he kept his grip firm — “You will. And you can stop me from turning by holding my elbow.”If you can muster the strength,he thought with a dark spark of amusement.
Did it show on his face? Because her lips swelled in rage and she rubbed her weedy, muddy hand all over the back of his until he had let her go. Samar felt his chest stutter, seeing her get away and into the house. He glanced at the dried mud crumbling and falling from the back of his hand. It burned too. Which meant she had scratched him. He could not hold it back. Despite everything, Samar burst out laughing.
————————————————————
He reached The Lalit by 2 that afternoon and discovered that Amaal had sent Fahad. Samar went with the flow. He read the notes Fahad handed over, discussed pointers on Jammu and their stand on the recent Kishtwar riot, compared notes with Atharva’s transcripts and Qureshi’s statement this morning, and sat down for three different interviews from different dailies. He did not keep track of who was who. He wasn’t a communications person anyway. This was an obligation, and he did it.
He left the hotel the moment his last interview was completed, still in the formal button-up and pants. It was late, and night had fallen. He was supposed to go to Old Town and take stock of preparations before their Manifesto Launch, but he did that over call and found himself back in the office.
“Where is Amaal?” He asked the first person he found.
“I don’t know.”
Samar stalked down the alley and ran into Noora, grinning like a fool. “Hello.”
“Where is Amaal?”
“Why?”
He began to walk around him.
“Big Brother and Adil are out.”
“I did not ask about them.”
Noora rolled his eyes — “Then why do you want to find Amaal?”
Samar ignored him and opened the Media Room door just as the cartoon informed — “She went to the outhouse.”
He shut the door, took an about turn and marched out of the house. The outhouse was bustling, the lights glowing in the dark, the door open, people lazing after the workday. It would raise questions if he went to her room now. Knowing Noora, he would have already instigated a snowball rumour.
Resourceful and on his toes, Samar strode to the back of the house, the alcove where only her window fell. The lights were on today. He stepped up and knocked. Then stepped back.
No answer.
He knocked again, standing there.
No answer.
He flattened his palm and banged it on her window, kept banging.
A shadow darkened the light, and she threw the shutters open, making him step back in time before he got knocked in the face.
“What are you doing here again?” She snarled. So, the day had not calmed her down.
“I told you to be there at my interviews.” He snarled back.
“And I told you I will not.”
“I am not sitting for any more interviews tomorrow then.”
“Fine by me. I will put it on email and CC the rest.”
He stepped up and into her face — “Don’t threaten me, Amaal. Don’t make a scene out of nothing.”
“Don’t make me.”
Their gazes held, unyielding. Even now, she did not blink. Samar noted that her blue eyes looked like Dal at night. Almost black, but sparkling where light fell. Her irises sparked. And he found himself taking a step back. He did not yield, nor did he blink, but he found words leaving his mouth — “I have been under pressure lately. Some things have happened.”
