Page 240 of The Circle of Exile
“Stop cursing me, myani zuv,” he came up behind her to deposit the bowls inside the sink. “You ate more than I did.”
Her mouth dropped open. She whirled. “I did not.” Iram poked a finger into his bare chest. He was hard. So hard. Everywhere. The man ran, went to the gym, travelled to remote hilly regions, watched what he ate (mostly), and did other extra curricular activities (the night kinds).
“When I got up to change records?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes narrowed, his chest pushing her finger back. “I saw somebody twirl a fork in my bowl.”
Her finger pushed his chest back — “Wear your T-shirt. Why are you going around like this?”
“It got stained while cooking for you,” he held the bunched white cotton up. A small stain and a few splashes of Maggie sauce.
“Stop learning these things from your son.”
Atharva chuckled. “Seriously, his ick for tiny splotches has rubbed off on me. I can’t stand it nowadays.”
Iram deposited all the dirty vessels in the clean sink and wiped down the platform.
“Let’s go now, Shiva will do it tomorrow…” Atharva grabbed her wrist.
“Where? Time to sleep, Janab.”
Atharva glanced at the wall clock.
“It’s ok. We can sit for ten more minutes.”
“Atharva, you can survive on five hours of sleep, I can’t.”
“Ten minutes. Come on.”
“A…”
A swoop and she was in his arms. More of that thing that made his chest hard.
“You will pull your back. 40 is not an age for these stunts.”
His arms loosened from under her and she shrieked, tightening her arms around him. “Atharvaaa!”
“Shut up,” he laughed. But carried her up the spiral of stairs without breaking sweat, or winding up. Iram looked at her husband’s profile. At 40, he was pretty fit.
“Stop staring at me, my cheek is burning.”
She reached out and bit it. The happy lilts of Taarif Karoon Kya Uski belted from the observatory and he pushed inside with a flourish, kicking the door shut behind them. He didn’t take her to the diwan where they had relaxed and eaten. He didn’t take her to the armchair. He went straight for the mattress, which was now laid out as a daybed. Yathaarth’s old mattress had been replaced by this adult-sized double mattress, always cozied up with pillows, a throw and a duvet in winters. Tonight, the weather outside was warm for October, keeping it neater with just the pillows.
“Only 10 minutes,” Iram warned as he set her in the centre of the daybed and strode away to change the record.
“Set a countdown, why don’t you?”
She scowled. Waited. A slow, haunting song crackled to life. But the volume went low. Very low.
“I have to talk to you about something,” Atharva voiced softly, coming and lowering himself beside her. Iram turned to him, the sky without stars tonight but bright with the full moon.
“You told me all about your silent heroic save today. You told me all about the HDP leaders who will be picked up for ministries. You told me everything about Samar’s decision to stay back from being inside the government,” Iram counted, pushing her face closer to his. “But, Atharva Kaul, you did not tell me what’s next for you.”
Grey eyes smirked.
“You have nine minutes now.”
