Page 107 of The Circle of Exile
Within half a minute, a coal kaangri materialised. He nudged his chin towards Rahim and the watchman handed it over to him, helping him slip it under his pheran the old-school way.
“Go home.”
Atharva began to turn around, not ready to give him the satisfaction. Then thought about his wife.
“Iram is happy in her home.”
————————————————————
Atharva pushed his bedroom door open and burst inside.
Empty.
Yathaarth was quietly asleep in his cot. Even though every logical part of him knew she was here in his house, he began to panic.
“Myani zuv? Myani zuv!”
He took quick steps back to go check the attic when the bathroom door burst a crack — “What? Keep it down,” she peeped with her towel wrapped around her, her hair soaking wet. “Don’t wake him up.”
Atharva let out a quiet sigh of relief. Then crossed the distance between them, pushed the door open and slammed his mouth on hers.
Her body stilled, then immediately went slack. Her lips softened, tasting of sweetness and mint, opening up for him. His tongue pushed inside and hers was ready, welcoming him into its softness like no day had passed between the last time he was here and now. Her shoulders melted into his, the water from her body seeping into his shirt. He held her face and tipped her jaw until she was on her tiptoes, her hands garlanding his neck and pushing into his hair. She gasped and he pulled back, allowing her a moment to breathe.
Her eyes were at half mast, staring up at him. “What happened?” She whispered, catching her breath.
Atharva pushed tangles of wet hair from her cheeks, staring at the face that was the dearest to him in all the world. How had he let rage come in the path of loving it? Why had it taken him eons to understand that this girl, this woman, had seen the worst that the world had to show and her limit had crumbled. He hadn’t been her roof then, nothing had.
“I am sorry.”
“You said it to me, I forgave you.”
“I am still sorry.”
“Atharva.”
“I am sorry, sorry, so sorry,” his forehead dropped on hers, eyes not leaving hers. “I am sorry, myani zuv. I am sorry.”
She pulled his head into the crook of her neck and he banded his arms around her, curling over her until her back hit the basin sink. She smelled of vanilla and strawberries and of all his sleeping desires come to life. She smelled of his life finally come to life.
“You have been my destination, Iram.”
“I know, Atharva.”
“When I do not see my destination, I am a lost man.”
“I know that now.”
He pushed his mouth into her skin and opened it, tasting her presence, pressing into that crevice that held countless memories of his most intense emotions. His hips pressed into hers and pinned her to the basin. She responded in kind, moving across his waist, her hands suddenly turning soft, nails trailing up his neck and into the back of his head.
He pulled back, eyes lowering from her face to the column of her neck, down to the knot of the towel that covered her from him. His hand reached the knot, an inch above the fabric, hovering.
“May I?”
Her chest expanded.
When he glanced up, her brown eyes were stringed into his. Her mouth opened, her sweet breath so close to his. Soft lids fell over those eyes; and when they rose, her gaze was weaving with his again, the tapestry tightening again.
She gave a nod.
