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Kaali Bhakshi wakes to Meera Dev Malik perched on the edge of his bed in the middle of the night, and it is not a nightmare.
A reconciliation he never dreamed of has come and gone, and Kaali can look at himself and think that yes, this life of mine is complete. The old wound will heal.
Meera’s new wound, however, is another story—he can still see the corner of a clean white bandage sticking out from under her shirt. She wasn’t shot in the heart as he was, but a bullet wound to the shoulder is no small matter, and bedrest is absolutely necessary. Kaali feels a momentary spike of concern at her presence, one that is soothed when she reaches out and strokes his hair.
“Hey,” she murmurs. “Relax, Kaali. Nothing is wrong.”
Her surety is soothing him, and provokes an odd sense of nostalgia; how, even when they were young, she was always good about holding herself still, very precise with the placement of her hands and how she sized up a scene.
When he makes to sit up, she shakes her head and motions him to stay where he is.
“You might want to check your hearing,” she teases, tugging lightly at his earlobe before resting her hand back in her lap. “I didn’t think I’d get this far.”
Perhaps he is out of practice, for not immediately waking when she slipped inside, but his bones know that she is no threat to him, and he could never treat her as a danger. Besides, despite his concern, the chief emotion coursing within him is something like anticipation.
“How did you get inside?” he asks, and exhales a small chuckle when she flicks her eyes toward the window.
“There are some good footholds out there,” she says lightly. “It wasn’t hard.”
“With a wounded shoulder? Very determined of you.”
She laughs and the shadows across her face deepen with the movement. He reaches over to turn on the bedside lamp; she reaches out and holds his wrist, pressing it back down into the mattress.
“I told you I wasn’t that injured,” she says slyly, smile crinkling the corners of her eyes, or so he imagines even in this darkness.
“If you want to talk, let me turn on the light. My eyes aren’t as good as they once were.”
“Give yourself a few minutes,” she coaxes. “I don’t want your neighbors to see us.”
“You don’t need to worry about that; I made sure they can’t. Do you think I’ve gone soft in my old age?”
“Oh, I agree. Old age hasn’t made you soft at all,” she teases, squeezing his shoulders as she runs her hands down his arms, and back up, exploring his neck, cupping his face. “You’ve taken good care of yourself.”
Meera shifts, and then she’s slinging her leg over his waist and straddling him. She’s right, his eyes are adjusting, he can see the pleasure in her face.
“Thank you.” He presses one of those hands with his own to keep it there against his cheek, feeling her fingers stroke gently against his beard, and brings his other hand up her leg, resting in the curve between her hip and waist. She’s settled herself on his stomach, her knees squeezing his sides, low enough for the posture to be suggestive. Not that there is anything that isn’t about this visit. Unless she wanted to kill him, he supposes, but that possibility is sealed away with the past, welded shut without any threat of breaking free again.
“I have to ask, then: why send me home if you were just going to follow?”
“You were hovering,” she returns, and it’s such pleasant chatter between them, even when conducted in whispers.
“And seeking me out at such an hour was the more sensible alternative?”
Meera laughs, and tugs again at his ear. “Possibly not. But then I went and thought with my heart and not with my head.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm. I just wanted to see you, Kaali.”
“Meera, you should be resting,” he remonstrates, trying to be stern, even when he’s consciously counting breaths so that his pulse will ease and not pound so heavily in his ears and around the inside of his skull. But it’s a futile endeavor when she’s curled over him like this, her eyes glinting catlike from the scant moonlight. She doesn’t look like a woman who took a bullet mere days ago, but he knows better. His thumb presses against her hipbone, through the softness of her skin and muscle, and she sighs, eyes fluttering. But her smile doesn’t stop.
“I have rested more at home in the last five days than in the last fifteen years,” she says, bending even further forward, her loose curtain of hair obscuring his view of anything else. “I feel revived, Kaali. I’m tired of waiting. The restaurant needs work, Ishu’s wedding needs to be planned, you and I need to do more than just talk at each other…”
Her hands slide away from Kaali’s face, back down to his chest, and he tries not to take too deep a breath—he doesn’t know what she can feel through his shirt, either his hammering heart or the hole she put in his chest, and he doesn’t want to remind her of it.
“None of those things could wait until morning?” he asks lightly.
“This couldn’t,” she returns, sly. Even now, in his bedroom, when her mood is playful rather than calculating, he loves how he can still see how the cogs turn in her mind.
“You should still be careful—wait at least a couple more days before trying anything strenuous.”
“Being with you is strenuous, you say?”
Now he’s grateful for the dark—at least she can’t see how his face is burning.
“Meera, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” The ends of her hair tickles where it brushes his face, as Meera bends to press her forehead to his, and when she speaks, her tone is less teasing than before.
“Kaali, why are you stalling?”
She sounds petulant; he cracks a smile. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m not fragile, Kaali. I never was. Vulnerable, maybe. But not fragile. Never that. Not even the first time. You haven’t forgotten our first night, have you? It was raining, and colder, but the moon was the same.”
“We didn’t sleep together that night,” he is compelled to point out, mindful of the time between what they had and what they did not.
“Well, no,” Meera concedes, her smile turning to a smirk. “We just waited until my tears were done, and the rain cleared. The sun started to rise, your men left the house…”
She finds his pulse with her mouth, just under his ear, and his skin thrums with her laughter when he shudders at the touch. “Then we still didn’t sleep. I wonder what they thought.”
“I never asked, and they never told.”
“They certainly don’t seem to be the type,” she agrees. “I saw what they did with the café; they’re doing well for themselves. And you’ve built a beautiful home for yourself, Kaali. Even if it is too open.”
“Well, not many people trouble me,” he says.
“And not many will, after what you did at Siddhu’s wedding.” Humor creeps into her voice.
“Only because you asked. And they wouldn’t have troubled you, if they had seen what you could do.”
“I would have killed them,” says Meera, matter of fact and devastating. “That’s not what I want for myself anymore.”
There’s something wavering in how she speaks, how, despite the firmness of such a resolution, she worries that she might not be able to keep it.
Touched, Kaali reaches out to cup her cheek. “It took a lot of work for me to become the right kind of man. You’re not alone in that struggle.”
She laughs, the sound a little choked. “Yes, but I still feel like I’m catching up with myself.”
“You’ll get there.”
“Maybe, but I know guns too well. I’ve learned to defend myself in other ways, but I still can’t bring men down the way you do.”
“Well, not the way I do, but you certainly can bring men down,” says Kaali, shifting in her grasp so that his hands are turned palms up toward her, open and defenseless. She clucks her tongue and releases him, straightening herself up.
“Flatterer,” she chides.
“If you want, I could teach you,” says Kaali earnestly. He brushes his thumb over the swell of her cheek, under the new light creases around her eyes.
“I would like that.” She smiles, her eyes flickering down to his lips, tracing her fingertips gently down his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his lips. He can feel the tremble, like she can’t believe he’s here.
“It’s been a long time, Kaali,” she says, not a plea but like a sigh. “Let’s not put it off any longer.”
“Meera, I can’t. Veer—”
“Is out with Ishita. He picked her up a couple of hours ago.”
“What? What are they doing?”
“Who knows? I’m not worried. He won’t hurt her, and he won’t let any harm come to her. He’s a good young man.”
Pride wells up in him at her praise of Veer. He’s done well with his brother—the boy can be a little foolish, but in the right ways.
“He is. Though you have to be careful—once he gets an idea in his head, you can’t get it out. If you don’t correct him soon, You’ll be Pogo forever.”
“I don’t mind. I like your boy, Kaali. You raised him well.”
“And you with Ishu,” Kaali returns, anticipating her smile. “She’s lovely.”
Meera nods and fiddles with the hem of his shirt, but doesn’t speak.
“Was it strange for you, too?” He ventures to ask. “Being both parent and sister?”
She hums her agreement. “I did my best, but I was always worried.”
“Me too,” he takes her hand and kisses it. “But we managed. You can’t find two kinder souls anywhere.”
“Yes. No wonder they fell in love so easily.”
“Ah, what do you expect of young ones in love? They follow their hearts, not their heads.”
“Yes, but you seem to be using yours right now, when you absolutely do not need to.”
Kaali has to laugh; her mood has lifted, if she’s back to teasing again.
“You should see. I don’t take unnecessary risks these days.”
“Except for Veer, you mean.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard about your little stunt with King’s men.” She sounds both impressed and scolding, at once. “From Anwar,” she elaborates when he lifts his eyebrows in an unspoken question.
He sighs; in some ways, it is truly amazing how they have managed to hide the truth from Veer and Sid for this long, given their track record these last few weeks.
“Right. Except for Veer.”
“And except for me.” She taps his nose.
“Except for you,” he says, and that has always been true.
“Take this risk with me, Kaali,” she says, tracing his cheek with her fingers. “You know how I think these things through, hm?”
He knows, how he knows. She gives a little yip of surprise when he turns them over, so her head sinks into his pillows. Their bodies fit together, from thighs to hips to chests, and he feels how her breath catches, not from pain but the same want that has been pulsing through him.
He tugs at the neckline of her shirt, brushing his thumb over her wrapped and taped shoulder. “If it starts to hurt, tell me and we’ll stop.”
Even if his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the dark so well to see the flash of teeth as she smiles, the way her eyes crinkle and glimmer under the new shadow he casts over her would be more than enough.
“It won’t hurt. I don’t think you can hurt me anymore, Kaali.” She reaches between them, pressing her palm right over the old scar she gave, now mirrored by the one she took. “I think…I think we’ll have time now. I’m tired of sitting and waiting. Don’t you agree?”
Kaali does. He’s felt the passing of every day apart between them, etched deeply on the walls of his heart. So he presses his lips to her forehead, to her cheek, her jaw, and when she turns her head to catch him with a kiss, lets himself be caught and pulled into her tide.
~
The sun is just starting to rise when the sound of squealing tires in the street startle them both awake.
“Raj bhai!”
Veer’s panicked cry reverberates in the still morning air. Bleary-eyed and confused, Kaali and Meera separate as the first floor doors bang open.
“Raj bhai!” Veer’s panic precedes him up the stairs. “Raj bhai! Raj bhai! Pogo ji is missing!”
“He won’t come in here, will he?” Meera asks, her shirt bunched up in one hand and drawing up the sheets with the other, trying to determine if she has enough time to dress.
“He will,” says Kaali, reaching for his pajama pants. “You need to hide if you don’t want him to see you here.”
“Shit,” she mutters, and dives under the covers as Veer bursts through the door, his eyes shining with exertion and…possibly tears.
“Raj bhai!” Veer wails, apparently oblivious to the fact that his brother is half naked, “Ishita went home and Pogo wasn’t there! We need to find her!”
“Veer, stay calm—”
“How can I be calm? Raj bhai, this is bad. What if King’s men wanted revenge? He’s an idiot, but what if someone he knows isn’t? What if she got kidnapped—”
“Hey.” Kaali holds up his palm in an empathetic stop, a dull throb behind his forehead portending a headache.
Veer quiets, chastened, though still sniffling. Kaali crosses his arms over his chest, wishing that he had been able to find his shirt—it isn’t that he doesn’t ever sleep without one, but he hasn’t even had time to assess the marks that Meera might have left on him, and he doesn’t want Veer to be his mirror—the boy can occasionally be sharp at inconvenient times.
“Veer, Meera is a smart woman. She might just be tired of staying in one place—maybe she just went out for an early morning drive.”
“At six in the morning?”
“She was always an early riser.” Kaali frowns. “You only brought Ishita home at six? What were you two doing all night?”
Veer blushes bright red and immediately begins stammering some story about a bonfire and a bike race on the beach that Kaali is pretty sure is true, but he lets his little brother stretch it out a bit more before taking pity on him and interrupting.
“Never mind, I’m not scolding you. I appreciate your worry, but Meera is very capable. She probably just got bored sitting in bed all day. Go pick up Ishita and bring her here for breakfast—I’m sure that Meera will be home before we’re done.”
“Right.” Veer bobs his head and wanders out again.
Kaali sighs, dragging his hands over his face as Meera reemerges from the sheets, hair mussed.
“That was close,” says Meera, looking more abashed than he might have expected. She makes to leave the bed, but is forced to dive for cover again as Veer (again) barges in without knocking.
“Hey, bhai?”
“Hm?” Kaali isn’t sure that crossing his arms over his chest is the most casual posture, but he’s committed.
Veer’s eyebrows have snapped together, like pinching foil. “Bhai…you aren’t worried that Pogo isn’t at home? Or that she left her phone?”
There’s a muffled curse beneath the bedspread; Kaali speaks quickly to cover it up.
“I—I know her, Veer. She wouldn’t let herself be put in a bad situation.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Are you sure because Pogo came to see you?”
“Why would you ask such a question at a time like this?”
“Okay, okay! But you and Pogo did have those daily one night stands, so I just thought—”
Veer falters, clearly reacting to whatever he’s seeing in Kaali’s face. Kaali isn’t even sure what expression his features are making, only that they must reflect something of his thoughts. Namely, what were Shakti and Anwar thinking? First Ramlal and Pogo, now this?
“Where did you ever hear that?”
There’s a muffled squeak from under the covers. Veer, squirming under Kaali’s glare, is too distracted to notice.
“You know what, bhai, forget it,” says Veer quickly, inching back toward the door. “That was a silly thought, not worth even bringing up over such a serious matter—forgive your foolish brother. I’ll just—I’ll just go get Ishu.”
“Aa. You do that.”
“Yes, bhai!” Veer scampers out.
This time, Kaali crosses the room and makes sure the door is solidly locked before Meera tumbles out of the spill of blankets, hand clamped firmly over her mouth, trying desperately not to laugh aloud. Kaali just raises his eyebrows at her.
“It’s not funny.”
“It is pretty funny,” she counteracts, only giggling a little now, as she starts to shimmy back into her clothes. “Though if he was going to ask, maybe we should have just stayed in bed.”
“I don’t think Veer could take any more surprises,” says Kaali. “He doesn’t always think before he asks questions.”
Meera laughs, loving and warm, and wraps her arms around his waist; his arms automatically come around her back in response. “All right, for Veer, then. We won’t scandalize him. Let me use your phone; I’ll call Ishu and tell her I went for a walk in the morning and came here for an early visit.”
“And apologize for leaving your phone behind?”
“And apologize for leaving my phone behind.” She taps his nose and smirks at him, pleased. “Happy now?”
“Aa. Sounds like a plan.”
“Hm.” She rests her head against his shoulder, and for a moment the world is calm again. Then, regretfully, she draws away. “Come on—we should get started with breakfast if we want it to be ready by the time those two make it back.”
“Right. Let me get dressed.”
“Oh, don’t bother—you look fine like this.”
Kaali feels his cheeks burn, and snatches up his discarded shirt and aims right at Meera; she dodges, laughing, and ducks back into his space to steal a quick kiss before slipping out, declaring that she’ll get the tea started, at least.
Embarrassed, shy, elated—Kaali hasn’t felt this young in years.
And now years is what they have.