Aarti Raman - Kingdom Come

She quirked a brow and mouthed, “What’s up?”

Sam shook his head and addressed his next comment to Dada Akhtar who’d stopped eating while the saga was being unfolded for him. In full, Technicolor detail. And certain embellishments on the part of one Noor Saiyed.

“I wasn’t there to see Krivi tackle on my Amazonia.” Sam smiled fondly at Ziya who rolled her eyes at the nickname. “But I did see how he did the linebacker routine to stop Ziya and Noor from breaking into the perimeter. And still lives to see daybreak. Strong man, you are, K. And very lucky too.”

Since the last comment was addressed directly to him, Krivi looked up and saw Dada Akhtar’s avid, grateful face. He did the decent thing and smiled modestly.

“It’s nothing, Major. Always glad to help out in an emergency.”

“But this wasn’t an emergency. This was a bomb threat, Krivi. A whole different world from the word emergency, son.”

Noor hugged Krivi’s side who was sitting to her left and announced, “Superheroes are extremely modest, Da. Don’t you know?”

“And what else do you know about superheroes, Kid?” Krivi asked her, his eyes indulgent.

Sam caught Ziya looking at him again and grinned.

“Maybe Ziya has some thoughts on superheroes, huh, Zee?”

Ziya gave him a bland look. “The only superheroes I know are extremely flawed because they feel the need to hide their humanity under tights and outside underwear, which is an extremely tacky fashion choice,” she ended judiciously.

Sam looked a little nonplussed but Krivi’s lips twitched and there was a look of interest sharpening the remoteness in his black eyes.

“Touché, Zee,” Noor said. “But you have to admit, K would look extremely hot in tights and outside underwear.”

Krivi put his fork down and looked interestedly at Ziya, who wrinkled her button nose and said, “I wouldn’t know. My imagination is not that vivid.” And she carefully did not look at the man in question.

Dada Akhtar reached over and squeezed Krivi’s shoulder in a gesture of support and affection.

“Whatever the reason, whatever the circumstance, I am just glad that you were there today to look out for my two girls. I can’t begin to thank you for this debt, beta .” Son. His beetle-black eyes gleamed with emotion under bushy white brows, surprising Krivi. Moving him a little, enough that he covered the wrinkled, still-strong hand with his own and returned the squeeze.

“It’s not a debt, Salman,” Krivi said, formally. Uncomfortable by the sudden somber tone of the conversation. Uncomfortable even more to find that every eye around the small table was finally on him.

“And I don’t think—”

“Krivi?”

Ziya’s low voice made him stop. Mostly because she never called him by his name. Just like he never did hers. Ziya. A small, short name for a very complicated, hard-to-figure-out woman.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and accept the compliment for what it is. Yeah? Da doesn’t shower praise on just anyone. You need to swallow that chip on your shoulder that’s obstructing your throat and say thank you graciously. Yes?”

She smiled pleasantly, although her eyes were roiling like storm clouds. He again had the insane urge to grin at her, the way he had when she had told him off for considering smoking in the car, but wisely kept the impulse and its consequence to himself.

“Yes, ma’am, Miss Maarten,” he murmured.

And, turning back to Dada Akhtar, said in perfect Urdu, “Thank you, for being so kind as to call me a hero. I don’t deserve it but I will try and live up to it, anyway.”

“You’re welcome, beta ,” Dada Akhtar managed.

“I think we can safely say that between Sam and K, we are not going to have a problem if aliens invade Goonj, Da,” Noor said, confidently.

And after a second of disbelieving silence, the whole table burst out laughing. Dada Akhtar laughing so hard, his little pot belly shaking with his mirth. Noor and Sam put down their forks and held onto their stomachs, tears running down their faces. And even Ziya was smiling and chuckling as if the joke had been funnier than it was supposed to.

Krivi smiled because it would have been rude otherwise. But he knew aliens were scary beings because you didn’t know the first damn thing about them. Least of all, how to beat them. Ziya’s silver eyes lit up with laughter and humor as she gave him a passing glance. Yeah, he thought morosely. He didn’t know the first thing about beating this alien woman.

Noor prowled into the kitchen where Ziya was busy scooping out vanilla ice cream into bowls which held gulab jamuns, scrumptious round balls made from flour, saffron and floated in sugar syrup, her favorite.

“I am going to bloat,” she wailed, even as she took a golden jamun out and stuffed it whole in her mouth. An expression of utter bliss crossed her face before she opened her dreamy, satisfied eyes and nailed her best friend with an intuitive expression.

“K is hot.”

“Hmm?”

Ziya didn’t really hear the statement, because she herself was contemplating popping one jamun in herself. As penance for being attracted to someone who was so obviously not good for her.

“I said, K is hot,” Noor said patiently. “Like, hero hot. And that’s a lot of hotness, babe.”

Ziya shook her head in disbelief.

“Stop talking and eat dessert, honey. Your brains are obviously scrambled.”

Noor poked her in the shoulder. Hard enough that Ziya stopped ladling the ice cream and shot her an annoyed look.

“What?”

“You like him. You want to jump his bones because he hauled you around like a sack of potatoes and then, like five seconds later, went and saved the world. All without breaking a sweat. Or even being unduly concerned about you or the world. It’s hot . All that implacable indifference.”

Ziya chuckled.

“Yep. Brains. Scrambled. Definately.”

Noor shook her head.

“You can lie all you want to me, baby. But the truth is there in your eyes when you think no one is looking at you.”

“And what truth would that be?” Ziya’s face was rich with amusement.

“You look at him,” she answered promptly. “You don’t want to, but you look at him.”

All the amusement faded from her eyes and she said, “Shut up, Noor. You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I do. And it scares you, because he really is who he is. And you are intrigued by the indifference and the hero complex.” Noor was so confident in her assessment that Ziya was sure she must have slipped up and said something to her after all.

But, then common sense reasserted itself and she said, “I am not intrigued by a man who has all the manners of a retarded mute and what you call hero complex, I call macho arrogance. And yes, he is indifferent to everything, but mostly to me and I return the favor,” she ended sharply. Sharper than she had intended because it was all so close to what she herself was feeling. She just wasn’t ready to admit it out loud yet. If she ever would be.

Noor’s eyes were rounded in dismay. And Ziya asked her, “What? Now what?”

There was a loud cough from behind her and Ziya whirled around, ladle at the ready. To see the object of her derision standing at the kitchen entrance. Thundercloud face and impassive eyes.

The ice cream dripped onto the floor as he told her with a straight face, “I am not indifferent to your gulab jamuns . If that counts for anything.” Then he nodded at Noor and said, “I’m taking off now, Kid. The … fulsome praise has more than satisfied my appetite.”

Then he turned and left without acknowledging Ziya at all.