Chapter 50 #2
“Like I need to resolve my grief from my mother’s passing, write to her, desensitise myself from attachment to you…
” he gave a bitter laugh. “I told him that anyway I talk to you once a week, sometimes less. And this is the first time I am seeing you after three months, and that too for just a few hours. At this point, I think I am pretty desensitised.”
“And your thoughts about your scars, the blast?”
“Work in progress.” He clipped.
“What do you want to do, Samar?”
He glared at her — “If this is your way of starting the let’s separate conversation…”
She shook her head. “It just seems this was never meant to be. Look how difficult it is already, and we haven’t even started a life together.”
“Fuck this!” He shot to his feet. “I was happily dying there and then you pulled me here.”
Amaal caught his elbow, pulling him back down — “This is not the end.”
“It might as well be.”
“But it is not.”
“Are you sure?”
“You frustrate the hell out of me, but there is nobody I want here but you.”
“This is getting too toxic for you.” He nodded at the garden outside her window. “That’s you. Not this.” He pointed his chin to his chest. “I will burn the world for a while but I’ll be ok if you move on. I swear I will be.”
“Samar.”
He breathed hard, feeling the panic of being without her twist his insides already. How would he cope with it? What would he do after it?
She shook her head. “Let’s give it a chance. One last chance.”
Hope. Right there. He wanted to leap and gather it with both hands but some mature part of him prevailed.
The fear of losing her, forever, had lit up some deep corner of his psyche that wanted to become worthy of her, forever.
Samar nodded, and found words leaving his mouth — “But it can’t be like it’s been so far. ”
“What do you mean?”
He felt a thorn stick in his throat at the words that were about to come out. He hadn’t thought this in his wildest dreams, but here he was, telling her his most instinctive, most impulsive direction about where they would be heading. Towards a future, but not together. At least, not yet.
“Samar.”
“Six months.” He said.
“Six months?”
He nodded. “Give me six months to tell you if I will ever become worthy of you.”
“And after six months?”
“I won’t have the right to stop you from moving on.”
She stilled.
“I hate this, Amaal. I am helpless with all that is happening, all that I am doing, and I am helpless in helping myself or you or anybody. I don’t know when I became such a loser…”
“You saved three lives and an entire house full of people.” Her voice thickened.
“I am paying the price of sins far greater than some random act of redemption.”
“Then take your six months.”
He stared into her eyes.
“I have hope in unlimited stock here, but even I don’t know where we will be at the end of six months,” she said honestly. “I have to let you do it this time. Because my being with you is not helping, my being away is not helping. Do what you have to do. I am here.”
Samar nodded. She rubbed her hands over her face.
“Listen.”
“Hmm?”
“I am seeing you after three months,” he whispered. “Just give me a day of looking at you and not thinking about anything bad.”
She sighed, clawing her fingers through her hair. Blue eyes went away from him, to the glass window bringing the garden into her hall. All greens and sun and bird song. All Amaal. Her eyes came back, and they were calmer.
She smiled. “Did you miss me?”
“Are we teenagers?”
Her smile widened.
“Hmm.” He answered.
“How much?”
“I don’t have anyone to play knife fight with in the morning, otherwise everything is fine.”
Amaal burst out laughing. Samar set his elbow on the back of her sofa and rested his head on it, just looking at her.
“Come here and let me kiss you.”
“Stocking up for six months?” She raised her brows.
“Come here, Amaal.”
Her laughter died, and she instantly crawled across the sofa for his mouth to capture hers.
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“There’s Adil’s convoy.” Amaal pointed as he turned into the lane leading to the CM’s residence.
“These cartoons bring their full convoys to a dinner in Jammu?” Samar squinted. “This is the safest part of the state.”
“Adil used to send his convoy empty and then drive in some random car earlier and Atharva got so angry at him. His logic is that if they give their securities a slip or try to buy them off then what’s stopping the security from taking money from elsewhere next time?”
Samar chuckled. “Atharva is a hypocrite.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He flicked the indicator and turned into the gates leading to the bungalow that was assigned to the CM when he was in Jammu.
He had never been here before. The bungalow was just as massive as the gates, four times the size of Amaal’s.
And Amaal’s was massive in itself, being the assigned accommodation for the Speaker.
“Even Qureshi and family are on time.” Samar parked behind their convoys, surprised that they all fit into the driveway.
Amaal got down — “Get the chocolate barfi boxes from the back.” She ordered him like the old days, and he preened.
Samar smirked, turning off the headlights and the car, slowly getting down.
The dusk was mild but the sounds from the house were loud.
He could already hear Daniyal and Adil. He saw Maha run to the verandah, Amaal behind her.
It was after ages that he would sit down with his founding partners in a place where bad blood would not flow.
There was reticence about the decision he and Amaal had taken this afternoon, but he knew he had to forge his path ahead with tough decisions.
It was not fair to Amaal, and not fair to him.
And this would be his motivation — her, at the end of this battle.
He knew he would fight this battle with three weapons: reclaiming his work, solving the unresolved parts of his past, and bringing his body back to life.
The how, was still not answered. But tomorrow would be a start.
Himachal would be a start. He was looking forward to throwing himself into a party that had been stalled because he had been AWOL for ten months.
It would be an uphill task, but he was up for it.
He was up for it all, to become worthy to belong to this group again. To become worthy of Amaal again.
Samar opened the back door and picked up the boxes of chocolate barfi that Amaal had made him stop for.
He walked through the garden and found that they were all crowding the verandah.
Samar craned his neck, until he saw it. Atharva’s son was walking.
He fell down on his knees and Atharva instantly picked him up and threw him in the air.
The entire gang was cheering so loudly, Samar couldn’t hear what he said before turning and running with his son into the garden behind.
Everybody followed him — Daniyal, Maha, Adil, Sarah. Even Qureshi.
Samar turned to the entrance of the house, seeing bright lights offsetting the dark outside. And there stood Amaal, with Iram, turned away from him. He strode inside.
“…been a while since I thought about her in one of Arth’s milestones. I used to, in the beginning, then consciously gave up, telling myself that I would be unjust to Arth if I drowned myself in sorrow for every happy moment of his life. I just couldn't help it today.”
“It’s alright,” Amaal said to her. “You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”
“Oh, I am not feeling guilty. I am just happy to discover that I could dip into the thought of my daughter and come back to my son without getting lost. That’s a big win for me today.”
Amaal probably felt him in the hall because her eyes turned to him. Iram’s followed.
“Uhh…” Samar held up the boxes. “Amaal, where did you want these?”
“In the kitchen. I’ll take them,” she came to him quickly and took the boxes. “Behave.” She whispered to him. “Iram, I brought chocolate barfi for everyone.”
She was off with the boxes, turning into a door he assumed led to the kitchen.
And he was left alone with Iram for the first time since the blast. They had passed by each other, she had smiled at him with a lot of unsaid things, and he had smiled back.
Never thad they stopped in an impossible stalemate like this, needing words.
“How are you feeling now?” Iram asked.
“What happened to me? You were… unwell.”
She had been struggling with postpartum and PTSD. Her gaze went to his arms. And he followed it. “Right. It’s fine.”
“I asked Amaal for any dietary restrictions…”
“There are none.”
She nodded.
The space fell silent.
“Atharva and everyone are outside,” she said.
“Yes. I saw. I’ll be out.” He began to turn.
“Oh, no, you can sit here. I didn’t mean it like that. If you want to lie down or something, the bedroom downstairs is also open.”
Samar saw her attempt to give him an opening. He smiled — “I am fine. It’s been close to a year.”
“Oh… yes.”
“How are you doing now?” He asked.
“Who, me? Oh, I am doing fine. Really, good.” She smiled back, their interaction civil for the first time since she had set foot inside their office.
“That’s good.” Samar nodded. “I’ll go out.”
He turned on his heels and walked out, limping as he descended the threshold step.
His equation with Iram was a strange one.
He was guilty of things there; his anger was now dead, but he did not know what to make of this relationship.
She was Atharva’s wife and Amaal’s friend.
In time, he would have to come to some semblance of a relationship with her.
He didn’t know what that would be or how that would be.
“Daaxsaab’s in the house!” Adil yelled.
Samar glanced up. The party that was obsessed with Yathaarth’s toddling suddenly focused on him. Samar felt special as well as like a zoo animal. But he laughed it off, holding onto the special.
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