Page 82 of The Circle of Exile
“Let me read the document first.”
“I will have Amaal contact you tomorrow and set it up.”
“That works fine,” Dev stood to his feet, buttoning his suit coat. “I do not know what happened, where Iram was these last four months. Earlier, when I came, she did not tell me anything but that she is back, and everything is ok. But if my signing something will put you two at ease, I will do it.”
“I appreciate what you did for Iram,” Atharva got up. “I don’t like it, but I appreciate your sentiment to ensure her safety.”
Dev moved to open the door. Atharva walked him down the alley and to the main hall where laughter reverberated. His silent house was alive after months today.
“…see now,” Begumjaan was holding her bright red silk scarf bunched up over Yathaarth lying in Iram’s lap and his son was following the scarf with his eyes. Atharva fell in love with Iram’s fascination of Yathaarth’s eye movement.
“Look at my smart boy!” She bent over him, nuzzling his nose. “Who is my smart boy?”
Begumjaan moved the scarf and draped it over Iram’s head and Yathaarth’s eyes fixated there. She bent over him again and the scarf slid to his face. Iram pulled it off with a flourish and a gasp, and Yathaarth chortled up at her.
“His laughter is very sweet.”
It was then that Atharva remembered that Dev was standing beside him. Iram did too, as her eyes reached them and the bright smile slowly drained, to a polite one. They walked to the sofas and Atharva reached down for their son, giving Iram the chance to rise to her feet.
She did, coming face to face with Dev. He was smiling at her — “He has to be smart, you both are high IQs.”
Iram’s answering smile was half-pride, half-abashment. Atharva glanced at Yathaarth, who was staring wide-eyed at nothing in particular. Dev’s finger touched his cheek and he turned his head to him.
“Very sweet.”
“Thank you,” Iram said to him, taking his attention back to her. “For everything.”
And Atharva did not feel awkward or out of place in that space where his wife was thanking the man who had once dreamed of marrying her. With their son in his arms, Iram returned to him after struggles of her own, he knew that there were forces bigger than Dev Kohli that had tried to keep Iram Haider from him and failed. And Dev Kohli hadn’t even tried to keep her away from him.
“Repeating what I said once,” Dev stared at his wife. “If you ever need anything, I’ll be there.” He glanced at Atharva — “Forgive me for being blunt.”
He chuckled. And as Dev walked out of his house, Atharva stepped closer to Iram, Yathaarth between them.
“I have been unreasonable, but now I am getting over it.’
“You are not being unreasonable,” Iram countered. “I would be like you if the roles were reversed.”
“You would have slit Toru Ray’s throat with your sharp tongue.”
“Why would it be Toru Ray?!” She turned on him. He smirked, hauling his son higher on his shoulder — “Mama is angggry. Let’s go.” He turned and began to walk, Iram on his heels. “Why would it be Toru Ray?! What did she do while I was not here?”
His eyes caught Begumjaan. Lounging back. Cat eyes on them. Mouth curled.
17. Thinking is a self-fulfilling prophecy…
“Thinking is a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Begumjaan told her as her palms ran down Yathaarth’s soft, smooth torso, slick with the baby oil she was using. “What you think, you keep thinking. And what you keep thinking, you do, until you become it.”
“I wish I could stop thinking,” Iram sat beside her, tickling the open palm of her son. He let out a happy bellow with his entire mouth open, enjoying the ticklish massage before his bath time. His eyes met hers and she felt that thrill again because he did not cry. He still did not recognise her like he did Begumjaan or Atharva. At feed times, yes, he did cuddle into her, recognising her milk and her scent. But her face still did not make him smile like Atharva’s did.
Iram did not take it personally. A week of feeding wasn’t long enough to expect the child she had left for months to become completely hers.
“You don’t have to stop thinking, Dilbaro. Pass me that cloth,” Begumjaan held a hand out. Iram passed the rough but clean cloth she had brought with her and saw her scrub it down Yathaarth’s body. Now, after all these days, she had that routine rote learned. But she had never tried.
“If you stop thinking, you will only think harder in the next minute. It doesn’t work that way, does it?”
“No,” Iram chuckled. “But one can try.”
“Don’t try. It doesn’t work.”
