Chapter 13
The year was winding to an end, as was her first year at KDP.
As Amaal stood in the middle of her entire team, and other core teams that had been cultivated through this year, in a vast farm in Budgam, she stared at the evening winter sky to count the number of events.
And realised that it had been such an eventful year that she could not keep track.
“Why is this girl standing without any food?!”
Amaal smiled before turning around. Safiya Begum was waddling towards her, patting at people’s backs, checking if their plates were full, pushing them to the long table of homemade buffet that was laid out on her verandah.
She was Zorji’s wife, as old as him, and so graceful with her glossy silver hair and kind hazel green eyes.
She was just as sassy. A rare combination.
She had been so generous to not only open her farmhouse to host the KDP offsite retreat but also make so much food along with the caterers that Atharva and Adil had hired.
“Huh?” She came to a stop in front of her. “Where is your plate?”
“I am going in a minute.” Amaal held her hands up.
“It will go cold, come on, go,” Safiya Begum took her shoulder and nudged her towards the table, air misting out of her mouth.
“You have never been this insistent with me, Begumjaan.” Adil pushed a big bite of Naan filled with Rogan Josh into his mouth, walking to them as the second host. “Do some khatirdari for me also.”
“Do I need to?” The older woman glanced at his plate, filled to the point of overflowing.
“I am not shy,” he bantered. “But you should make sure that everybody is eating well. I have arranged this offsite with such pains at your house. Amaal knows.”
“Hey,” Amaal interjected. “What?”
“Didn’t you overhear the four of us have our weekly shouting match for this KDP offsite at Zorji and Begumjaan’s house?”
“That was about who would attend Kamaal sahab’s son’s wedding.”
“Aah!” He snapped. “You eavesdrop on your boss’ conversations?”
Her mouth dropped open.
“Adil.” Begumjaan deadpanned.
“What?”
“You are not hosting any party or offsite ever again. You don’t know how to host.”
“My wife will know better.” He stuffed sheer korma into his mouth.
“Whoever that woman is, Allah help her. Do you have someone in mind?”
He shook his head. “This Naan is so soft.”
“Speaking of, where is Atharva?”
“Speaking of soft Naans?” Adil smirked
“Speaking of changing topics.”
Amaal snorted.
“He said he will try but he is still stuck at Kamaal sahab’s son’s wedding.”
“And Qureshi?”
“He also lost our shouting match that night. Sarah, Qureshi and Atharva were chosen to go.”
“The kids?”
Adil shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“And Samar?”
Adil set his spoon down and looked at Begumjaan — “I am thinking…”
“Do it slowly, it’s hazardous to your health.”
Amaal bit her lip to hold her laugh.
“Should I change my name from Adil Hussain to Inquiry Counter Hussain?”
“You will still have no answers to queries…” Begumjaan’s words trailed as her eyes went to the gate.
The farm was sprawling, and the lights around the frosty green field were coming on.
Amaal followed her gaze, and her heart skipped a beat.
Samar was walking inside, black leather jacket on black pants, ready to merge into the night that would fall.
His head turned in an arc across the party slowly, as if searching for someone.
Amaal was not naive enough to hope it was her.
But she was hopeful enough to pray it would fall on her.
It passed her, stuttered for just a moment, before moving on.
And even that made her breath go crazy. She clamped her teeth tighter on her lip, to the point of pain, as he began to walk in her direction.
She held herself steadier, hoping she looked good in this crowd.
She had chosen a pretty emerald pheran over a white turtleneck thermal, paired it with her trusty coffee shawl knotted like a muffler.
She tightened the knot of her shawl when Samar came closer and closer and closer and passed her for somebody else.
“Begumjaan,” he stopped in front of her, just as she pulled him in for a hug. His tall frame bent, and she said something to him that made his shoulders shake. Amaal waited, hoping to catch a happier expression on his face when he pulled back. But his face was just as impervious.
“Started already?” He looked at Adil’s plate.
“Everybody has.” Adil eyed the KDP members around them, enjoying their dinner.
“You aren’t eating?” Samar asked her. And she hoped she controlled whatever glee was springing inside her on her dry, cold face.
“I’ll start in a minute.”
“Ten minutes have gone by since you said that.” Begumjaan chided. “Come on, Amaal, start. Get your plate. You must be hungry too.” She looked up at Samar. “Where are you coming from?”
“Party work. How was the offsite?”
“Fun.” Adil cleaned his plate with his last bite. “It was a good idea to take a break. Let’s make it an annual thing.”
“Hmm.”
“Go get your plates, both of you.” Begumjaan grabbed them each by their shoulders and pushed them towards the table.
Amaal walked, feeling his big body behind hers as she wove through the crowd of standing people.
She grabbed a plate from the stack on the table and turned around to hand it over to him but he was walking around the verandah and towards the main door of the house.
There was something off about how he walked. Did she notice him swaying?
Without giving herself a chance to rethink it, she put the plate down and set off after him.
————————————————————
It was indecent, she knew. But she stood outside the bathroom, hearing retching noises. He was sick. Amaal heard the telltale hiss of water running. And waited. Water kept running.
She crossed her arms across her chest, strolling across the small space outside the bathroom, trying not to look like a stalker when he opened the door.
She passed the door, and that’s when it chose to open.
His face popped, and she stilled, feeling their faces so close to each other.
His hair was wet, in this cold. Like he had run water all over his face and hair.
“Are you sick?”
He closed the door behind him, stepping around her and into the tight alley.
The small hanging light on the wooden ceiling highlighted his face enough to give her a clear view now.
His eyes were smaller than usual. There was something off about his neck; he held it bent.
That is why their faces had come so close!
“Samar?” She craned her neck to check the side of his head. Her hand went to the space without thought. “Are you hurt?”
It was swollen, the skin under his hairline. Hard to the touch. His hand caught hers.
Amaal met his eyes.
He stared.
His eyes let down a blink, two blinks, like he was sleepy.
“Let’s go to the hospital.”
He shook his head, pulling her hand down. “I am fine.”
“But…”
He moved away from her and walked down the alley. She followed him. He went through the small carpeted hall that was warm and cozy with the fireplace burning, crossing it to open a door made of lightwood. Amaal was concerned enough now to keep following him.
“Go, eat.” His order came, but not his eyes, as he stepped inside the bedroom and began to close the door. She held it — “Not before you tell me what’s wrong.”
“I have a head injury. I need to sit down for a while. Now go.”
“I am sitting right here.” She pushed through the door and eyed her surroundings. There was a small single bed and a two-seater settee to the side. She took the settee. He shut the door and walked to the bed, sitting down on its edge, eyes wide open.
Time ticked. In silence.
“I am better. Go now.” His voice scraped.
“How did you get a head injury?”
He did not answer.
Amaal shot to her feet — “Samar, I am so done with this not answering and these Hmms!” He winced — “Don’t raise your voice.”
“Sorry.” She sat down beside him, trying to see if his wound had become worse. It looked red. Had it looked red before? “Did somebody hit you?” She touched it again, and the swell felt harder, bigger. He pulled his head away from her fingers.
“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.”