He went still. The last jerk of him inside me faded to nothing, and then there was only the weight — his chest on my back, his breath wet against my neck, his hand still cupped under my jaw where he had held my face turned up to him. The fan turned. The tap dripped. Somewhere below, a door in the building opened and closed, and I counted the seconds until the quiet came back.
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His Proposal
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Chapter 39 of 39
The Leaving
I feel him go still above me, the last pulse of him fading inside me, and then he pulls out and rolls away. The bed lifts as he stands, and I hear the lungi slide off the chair, the clink of his belt, the soft pad of his bare feet on the floor. I do not sit up. I lie with my hand on my belly and watch him dress in the grey light, his back to me, the dark curve of his spine moving under his shirt as he tugs it over his head. He does not turn around. He picks up his slippers from beside the door and walks out, and I hear his feet on the stairs, the front door opening and closing, and then the flat is silent except for the tap and the fan, and I am alone. The act this chapter delivers: Abdul finishes inside Kamala, then pulls out, dresses, and leaves the flat without a word, ending with Kamala alone on the bed, his seed cooling on her thigh.
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