Page 65 of The Circle of Exile
“Nothing. I need to find her. Her ring is in the house so she should be here somewhere…” he stepped outside her room, glancing from left to right. Did she go down to the kitchen? His office? But the lights were off downstairs. Atharva began to stride to his gramophone room and stopped. He turned.
Did she go to the attic?
He strode up the corridor, running the last few steps and climbing the stairs two at a time, not caring if it made noise and woke up the entire household. Atharva depressed the handle and threw the door open.
She was passed out cold.
On her old bed. On top of the duvet. Sideways. As if she had lain down like that and fallen asleep.
He glanced at the time. Last night she hadn’t slept until after dawn. Worried, he walked over to her and carefully laid the back of his hand over her forehead. It wasn’t warm. He set two fingers on the pulse under her jaw. He had seen anxiety, recognised it. He had to address it with her but the first initial steps were so difficult to take — how would he reach these evolved ones?
Her skin was cold under his touch but her pulse wasn’t jumping. 80, not unheard of.
He turned the two fingers and caressed the lock of hair stuck to her throat. His heart came to his mouth at the sight of her. So hollow. She had lost weight. There were circles under her eyes. She looked like Iram and had voice like Iram’s and even talked like Iram most of the time but there were moments when he saw she was disappearing. He did not know what to do then because he was angry. So angry. Nothing registered beyond anger when she was in front of him.
He couldn't be there for her and himself all at once while giving himself to their son and their state. He wanted to curl himself over her and protect her from whatever was hounding her. But every time she looked at him with hope, started to take a step, his tightly locked rage would spark. As if in the knowledge that she was back and here to stay, he could let go and cry in her abandonment of him. Fight back. Cut her as badly as she had cut him.
Atharva knew this was poison and there was no distilling it but only spitting it. Or swallowing — whichever happened first. He had been unable to spit it yet. She was too fragile. She wouldn’t be able to take the bullets that his thoughts had become.
For tonight, it was enough that she had been able to feed Yathaarth, hold him, bond with him. He replayed that moment when their son had latched on and even in pain, her eyes had widened. Atharva pushed the lock of hair off her neck and resisted the urge to bury his nose there — for one solace-giving whiff. She smelled different now. His, but also Arth’s. Vanilla and milk. Theirs.
Let this be ok,he prayed under his breath.Let me find my way back to her.
With deep reluctance, he let go of her skin and trudged to the cupboard. He found a thick blanket and draped it over her. She was asleep and didn’t feel it yet, but she always woke up cold. The season wasn’t so chilly as to light a fire, so he just turned the heater to auto and left the attic.
“She is in the attic,” he informed Begumjaan as he passed her room.
“Where are you going?”
“Downstairs. Should I take him?”
“No.”
Atharva pursed his lips. In the mess of his life, he was working up Begumjaan at this age. The guilt was piling up but he couldn't get himself to say anything. So he just nodded and walked down the corridor.
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Atharva held his breath and set the card trans-sectionally, creating the perfect roof. He sat back slowly to check the house. Three floors, starting with cones of four at the base, progressing to three, and now he finished the third floor with two.
A fine current of wind blew from behind him and he pushed his chair back, shutting the window the final notch. The lock clicked and his office was plunged into vacuum. Cool but not windy. The night outside was still not setting. He checked the time. It was 5.31. Still a way to go for sunrise, and 7 am. There was no point in going to sleep now.
He reached for the final two cards to create the last floor and regretted not having built a wider house. A seven-cone base would have been better.
He leaned forward, about to set the final two cards on the final floor when the door to his office was pushed open. Atharva thought the house would fall over with the wind that blew in but it held steady. He scowled at the figure but schooled his face when he saw who it was.
“What are you doing here?” Iram asked, frantic out of sleep.
“What happened?”
She stilled. Then ran her palms up and down her face — “I fell asleep.”
“It was night.”
“Yes, no… I mean… it has been a while since I fell asleep so quickly at night.”
“Was it a good sleep?”
Her hands slipped down her face and those lost brown eyes stared at him. “I don’t remember.”
