Chapter 19
A Trojan Horse always came as a harmless gift. Simple, subtle, a gesture of peace. It got doors to open. It made people happy. And then, quietly, the soldiers hiding inside would start spilling out. And before you knew it, they opened the gates from the inside, and your fort was breached.
Iram Haider was doing just that, Samar thought, then found those thoughts arrested as he saw Amaal, hunched over the weeds growing on the threshold of the outhouse.
He ran a hand through his damp hair and walked down the surprisingly empty hall this morning.
If she heard his footsteps, she did not give it away as she kept digging into the soil and pulling dry weeds out.
The snow had left everything a mess. He remembered lilies had grown in this patch before winter.
She had grown them.
In fact, now that he noted, she had grown a whole lot of flowers around. They were all either dead or dried now. But spring was coming. And she was going at it with a single-minded vengeance.
Samar stepped out of the house and closed the door with an audible click. She still did not notice him.
He began to walk around her and get on with his day when she finally rose to her feet.
The sun hit her face in front of him and the wind threw her hair over her face.
Her hands were muddied, both holding bunches of weeds.
But sharp blue eyes scorched at him even through the strands of her lashing hair.
“I apologise for my tone last night,” she said.
“Are you apologising because I am your boss?”
“You are not my boss, Atharva is.”
“Until you are not in Jammu.”
“I am not going to Jammu.”
He couldn’t help it. “Your apology tone could use some work.”
“So could yours.”
He held her stare, waiting her out. She would blink. And move away.
She did not.
“I went too far,” Samar finally relented. He was an asshole, but to very few people. And only those who deserved it. Amaal was the last person to deserve it.
“So then, give me in writing that I am not responsible for your media management and I will put Fahad on to it.”
“Don’t make a mountain out of it, Amaal. It was a bad night. Let’s move on.”
“No.”
“Is this some sort of revenge for what I said?”
“I did not vie for revenge when you did it, why would I vie for revenge when you said it?”
His mouth fell shut. She was right. She was always bloody right. And lately, she had become so cool, calculated, grown up. The years that had touched her here in KDP had hardened her. Or was it just towards him?
“Email me,” she clipped, and began to turn away with her weeds and muddy hands and flying hair, and he couldn’t let it end here.
“Listen.”
She did not stop.
“Amaal!” He grabbed her elbow. She shirked it and turned on him with violent eyes. He recoiled. “If I cannot stop you by grabbing your hand, you cannot either.”
Samar swallowed, seeing a completely different woman.
“You are responsible for my media management as you are for all the founders. Let me know what you need from me and I will provide.”
“A decent attitude,” she bit out. He blinked, looking away.
“You have a line of interviews today and tomorrow at The Lalit, mostly sit-downs. Fahad will accompany you.”
He whirled his eyes to her — “You will accompany me.”
“No.”
“Then I am not turning up.”
“As you wish.”
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.”
“What things?”
“Don’t push it,” he warned.
“Is it related to the party and the election?”
“Yes.”
“Then why can’t I know?”
“Because it does not concern the Media Team.”
“Does Atharva know?”
“You will get nothing more out of me. Don’t push.”
“Then what’s the use? You are still behaving like a weirdo. I saw the rushes today. Why are you regressing in your style? How many times will we go over the same thing? Read your pauses. Read your commas and full stops.”
“Oversee it tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened — “Did you deliberately sabotage my hard-earned interviews?!”
“No.”
“You did.”
“It’s been a while since I sat down for a polished interview like this.”
“You give bites all the time.”
“They are different.”
She stared at him, and understood that he was right.
Media bites were different from interviews.
And he wasn’t above sabotaging parts of them to get her to come for the next round.
He didn’t know why, but he had to have her come.
Her snarling quietened his noise. He was selfish enough to understand and use that to get through this tumultuous time.
“I will drop in before they start,” she relented.
He nodded, stepping back and away from her face.
She used both her hands and tucked her hair behind her ears, pushing it behind her shoulders.
Samar noted the action, finding himself…
wanting to see it again. A lock of her hair stuck out from behind her ear, and she tucked it back, jerking her chin to keep it there. And he kept staring like a creep.
“Anything else?”
He startled. “No.”
“Then don’t yell here. Go.”
He found a snort burst out of his nose. And her face, finally, after what seemed like centuries, relaxed into a smile. There was a single dimple in her left cheek. He had noted it years ago. It was even more apparent now. Or was it so because she was biting the inside of her cheek?
How could an anomaly in the facial structure of human anatomy look like it was the focal point of glow on her face?
“Why are you back here so early tonight?” He asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You are known to work into the night with your team.”
“Why are you back so early?” She countered. “You are known to not come home at all.”
“Careful. Question for a question is not going to work for long.”
“We’ll see when it stops working…” Her words trailed off, eyes rolling back.
He stepped up. “What?”
She held up a finger, tipping her head towards her door — “Everybody has gone silent outside…” She kept her ear out, and her eyes widened. She reached out and began to close the shutters. He held them — “What happened?”
“Iram has come outside asking for me. Don’t knock again!” She pulled the shutters and locked them shut. Samar stood there, the thrill of the last minute drained. And then he heard her voice, chirpy and happy, and his blood boiled again.
Vande… aatram…
Sia Chaturvedi had not been able to even let out that scream. How did Iram Haider get to go around with that happy voice?