Page 112 of The Circle of Exile
“Whatever you thought wasnothing to tellshowed me a picture I had ignored in my own grief. Iram, there was haze, and my eyes had become accustomed to only finding my own footing. Now it’s cleared, and even though I knew you were struggling, now I see it. Ireallysee it. You have borne it all to come back to me, to bring yourself back to me. My suffering is nothing compared to what you have done on your own. Once again, you had to build yourself back up on your own and you did it. I should have been more understanding… you were out of surgery, thought you’d lost our babies and you fell into a river…” his breath gave away.
“Stop,” her whisper vibrated into his jaw. She held his face and pasted her mouth to his cheek. “Atharva, stop.”
He breathed. “I am sorry.”
“You told me.”
“I can tell you a thousand times.”
“On every one of our honeymoons that are still pending, along with 500 hours.”
He gaped at the woman. A girl again. His.His, his, his.
“Umm mmm, you are circling back, Janab.”
“How do you know?”
“These grey eyes which are a little less prettier than his son’s are screaming sadness right now.”
“My eyes are as pretty as my son’s.”
She grinned. And a chuckle left his mouth. Her index finger pressed down on his downturned mouth — “That’s the smile I like.”
“You like all my smiles.”
“This one’s my favourite.”
Atharva finally let his arms go around her, holding her naked back and buttocks in the palms he knew were only meant for her. Whatever shape or form, she was meant for his arms and his arms for her.
“You are myonly,” he snapped her down on him, pressing the lengths of their bodies together. “In whatever shape or form, you are myonly. Next time, remember that. I will not repeat it then.”
Her mouth dropped on his and her thighs straddled his waist. Atharva surrendered, letting her take him inside her — mouth, body, heart and soul.
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“Dry your hair,” he urged her as he pulled on his pyjama bottoms and climbed back in bed. He used his towel to rub her head gently as she fed their son.
“Don’t jolt me,” she held steady, Yathaarth whimpering.
“Shhh, drink your milk, Dilbaro,” Atharva nuzzled his downy hair, pressing his mouth there. Dark grey eyes stared up at him upside down. Then smiled. Atharva felt his own answering grin break a thousand suns. “How are you so active so late at night, huh?”
“He has his Mama’s genes,” Iram held him closer, now expertly handling him singlehandedly as she changed breasts. Atharva held her wrap open and then instead of pushing it closed, peeled it down to her elbows.
“What are you…”
He dropped his towel and pushed closer to her, wrapping his arms around them. Her skin was as cool as ever. It pebbled when his body touched hers. But after that first jolt, she melted back into him, allowing him to hold and warm their little family up. Atharva glanced down at Yathaarth. He had latched on and accepted his mother’s breast a long time ago. Now, it was Atharva’s own selfish desire to hold his family close like this.
He pushed Iram’s hair over her back and pressed his lips to the shell of her ear — “You haven’t started using your attar again.”
“In the beginning, you were angry, and I didn’t want to start using it and create bad memories with them.”
“And then?”
“I guess I just forgot. Once Arth’s care took over, all else became immaterial.”
“Even me?” He asked.
“Junior Janab over Senior Janab.”
