“Juliet,” he murmurs.
“What? I can’t hear you I have shampoo in my ears.” She tries to raise her head but Aaman’s hands push her head under the shower.
“Nothing.” He rinses her hair soap free, reaches the towel, wipes his eyes in passing and wraps it around her head. Juliet stands and looks at him enquiringly. She can see his eyes are rimmed red. She steps towards him, puts her hand up toward his face. Aaman swallows, anticipates. She strokes some shampoo bubbles from his hair and shows it to him. Aaman decides it is time to tell her.
“I must start to think about returning to Pakistan.”
Juliet gulps some air and tears well in her eyes. She says nothing. Aaman waits. She looks into his eyes. There are gold flecks in the brown. His pupils dilate as she stares. Juliet responds by putting a hand on his arm as if he were leaving immediately. Aaman puts his hand on top of hers. She can see a tear form, rising from his left tear duct, welling, swelling, spilling and rolling down his smooth skin, hanging on the edge of his jaw. She cannot bear to see it fall.
It falls. It is too much. Her gulp turns to a gasp, which turns to a sob. Aaman pulls her to him like she is a child. Juliet reaches for him. They fall together, his arms encompassing her, her head on his shoulder. She cries, silent and deep. He strokes her hair to comfort himself. He resists touching the wet, tangled mass with his lips. His shirt is soaked, sticking to his chest. His heart pounds, Juliet’s sobs fall to its rhythm, unity. They cling to it.
Aaman turns his body, still holding Juliet in the pain-filled harmony. He walks her to the sofa and sits with her. Replacing their loss for words is an agreed silence. Juliet grows still. Aaman begins to breathe more steadily. Slowly, choreographed like a ballet, a flower uncurling, they begin to pull themselves a little straighter; Juliet takes her head from his right shoulder. Aaman lets his left arm drop from around her shoulders, his hand now resting on hers on her lap. Juliet sits up fully and Aaman lets his other arm fall from her shoulders behind her, sliding it through the gap now between them onto her knee. Their hands seek to intertwine.
Juliet sits unsupported, her face wet, eyelashes clustered together. Finally, she steadies her voice. “Of course.”
Aaman’s tears still flow, well upon well, chasing each other down still wet paths. No noise, just tears.
“I am sorry,” Aaman says. “For so many things but do not know where to start." Juliet nods her head.
“I’m not.” Juliet’s voice is small but sure. “To leave, you have to have been here, and I’m not sorry that you have been here.” Aaman’s lip quivers. He sucks in some air. He seems so young, so vulnerable. She puts her arms around him, his head on her shoulder and he weeps. Juliet kisses his hair, brown and soft. Strokes his back, his hair, his head. She makes a sucking, tutting noise to soothe him. She rocks him ever so gently.
Aaman stills. He pulls from her, slowly. They sit side by side.
“When?”
“Soon. I do not know.”
Of all the things Juliet would like to say, what she actually says is the very last.
“I will help.”
In a clean shirt and with his trousers ironed, Juliet accompanies Aaman to the embassy. She had the foresight to take the direct number of the man she had spoken to previously, and they have arranged an appointment. They arrive at the gates. Hundreds of Pakistanis sit and stand in the road, papers held tightly, hopefully.
Juliet phones to announce her arrival and they wait. The Pakistanis around them beg from Juliet and chat to Aaman. Juliet feels the gulf between them widen a fraction. She releases her grip a little and her heart tears a fraction more.
The guard comes out of the building and walks to the gate. All the waiting Pakistanis thrust their arms through the fence and shake their papers at him. They shout their reasons for consideration, why they are different, how long they have waited. Aaman answering in his mother tongue. Shown through the gates, he enters into the building. Some of the waiting men look at him like he is a traitor to his race.
Juliet does the talking. She charms and flirts with the official. He responds fully, and a blue card is arranged on the spot, a permit to work. Legal. Aaman is happy. Juliet reads his body language and knows he is about to stand. She touches the outside of his legs lightly, an unnoticeable gesture by anyone watching. Aaman understands and complies, settling himself back into his seat.
“Now here is the main thing.” The man listens to her intently.
“I want to visit your country, and when I get there I want to stay for a while. Learn a little about your culture, your country, so I need to rent a house, take on servants, that sort of thing.” Juliet wonders if she had overdone it, but the man is still listening. “So I would like Aaman to go over first and arrange this all for me. He knows my tastes, I trust him with my petty cash, and he could have everything ready when I get there.”
“How can I help you, madam, in this endeavour?”
“I would like to go next month. Well, you can see the problem. How can Aaman arrange everything by next month if he cannot leave the country legally? It will take him months and risk much hardship if he goes by the ‘back door’ across land.”
“Ahh, you would like a passport for him to return so he can fly.”
“Exactly.” Juliet hears Aaman’s heart beat beside her. Or is it her own?
“Madam, this would not be a problem. Passports to go back are easy. They just take a little time and a little money.” He smiles. The thought of money pleases him.
Aaman opens his mouth to speak but Juliet silences him with a raised finger, playing the Colonial Employer.
“Aaman, would you get me some water please? I saw a water fountain outside in the hall.”
Aaman takes his leave, pulling faces behind the official’s back. Juliet ignores him. He returns with a paper cup.
“So I will do that then and it will arrive by post in two weeks?” She puts an official-looking envelope in her bag.
“Exactly, Madam, precisely no trouble at all.” The official beams at her.
“You have been so kind, I thank you.” Juliet holds out her hand and he shakes it smartly, bowing a little as he does so. Juliet takes Aaman by the elbow, which makes her stifle a giggle, and they both leave the embassy.
The men waiting in the street all rise as they leave the building and they rush to thrust papers at the guard. He unlocks the gate, and Juliet and Aaman push through the clamour.
“Are you really coming to Pakistan?” Aaman asks.
“No.” Juliet looks at him, eyebrow raised. He understands.
“What will you do for the passport to arrive by post in two weeks?”
“Have a passport picture of you sent to the embassy.”
“And the money?”
“Well that bit is between me and him.”
“Don’t, Juliet. Give me my pride.”
“How can I not do this for you? If you go by yourself, you have left me. I would always feel abandoned. However, if I make it happen, if I pave the way, then you have not left me, I have sent you, sent you home, where you belong. Besides, you want to go home, and I want for you what you want for you. If going home is your greatest happiness, please allow me to give that to you.”
“Do you want this water?” Aaman is still holding the paper cup.
“No.”
Aaman drinks it. Juliet takes the cup and puts it in a bin they pass.
The two final websites go well and Juliet ‘officially’ translates the references into English.
They are both strangely surprised when the postman parps his horn and Juliet is asked to sign for Aaman’s passport. They had held off buying the plane ticket as neither of them really believed it would ever arrive.