Tum Se Hi

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TW: SUIC!DE

( THERE IS MENTION OF SUICIDE IN THIS CHAPTER. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.)

More than 2 hours had passed. He was looking for her, shouting her name non stop in this deep dark forest, only to find nothing. His heart was afraid, he didn't know why. He had hated that girl since day one, the thought of her made his mouth taste bitter, and yet he was so eager to just know that she was safe.

After another half an hour, murtasim felt like giving up, his throat felt sore after screaming so much, he sat down on a rock, tired.

When he noticed, it was a piece of cloth, similar to the color she was wearing. It was stuck on a bush, as if torn.
"Wo qareeb hi hai.." He stood up once again and eventually found footprints. He followed them and then he saw her.

Meerub had her back towards him, yet he could feel the tension in her body. She looked like she was anticipating something. He stood there, looking at her back breathing heavily.

"Meerub.." He called out in a whisper, and she looked back starled and almost screamd, but before she could he pulled her closer and put a hand on her mouth.

"It's me, Mai hoon murtasim!"

Meerub felt dizzy. He was here and she couldn't decipher her feelimgs. She was relaxed that she wouldn't die, and she was sad that she had to live now.

Meerub slumped into his chest. He tried to put his hand on her shoulder, to tell her it was okay, but the words wouldn't come out. Holding a flashlight in one hand he patted her head lighly with the other.

Her breath was shaky, and she was trembling. Her dupatta was torn and she had multiple scars and dirt on her face. He clenched his jaw. This wasn't the state he wanted to see her in, never.

"Tumhare yahan aane se behtar tha mai marjati, us jahannum mai jane se to bach jati mai murtasim"
He heard her say so quietly, then she passed out in his arms. Mustasim closed his eyes tightly. Picking her up as gently as ever, he returned.

****
4 WEEKS AGO.

"Ammma, maine kaha tha na mughe cheese nai pasand , ap maire snadwhich mai q add krdeti hainn?" Meerub winced as she grumpily got off the table and picked up her bag. "Its healthy naa, khaya karo, acha nashta to krlo, kuch to khalo kahan jarahi ho-" And before she could finish meerub was out and about.

"Ye lrki!"
"Ye lrki kya reaction degi jab ise pata chalega?" Meerub's father walked in the kitchen, picking up the sandwhich merrub had left and biting it.

"Roegi, dharen maregi, laregi, magr hum kiya krskte hain, jo hai so hai. Ye sab aik din hona hi tha na." Aneela wiped a tear from the corner of her eye."
"Your are right, We must let go!" Waqar agreed and got up.

****
That was the last normal day of meerub's life. She returned home and found some people in the drawing room. A handsome hunk, an old lady with a wierdly heavy attire, and a girl that gave her extremely bad vibes.

"Ye tumhare hone wale susrali hain, lrka acha to haina?" Aneela said after they left.
"No, i don't believe this, NO!" And she had spent the next days in her room, secluded. The realization that she was actually adopted had broken her up, and she gave up.

Today was her wedding. Sitting in front of the mirror, She looked at her reflection. It was a girl she did not recognise. Her face was covered with makeup and body adorned with jewellery, yet she felt as if she was dead. A body without a soul.

Then she got married and moved into the biggest mansion she had ever seen in her life.

The second she entered that room, the room where she was supposed to stay for the rest of her life, she felt jolts of electricity in her. Everything in her life had ended, and she had no buissness being alive.

Meerub walked towards the dressing table and opened the drawer, trying to find something sharp. Her eyes set on a nail clipper. She picked it up. It had a little built in knife. Freeing it from the clipper, she settled it on her wrist, and looked at her reflection one last time. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and increasd the pressure, the sharp object slightly penetrating her skin, but before it could cut, she jerked her eyes open because of a feeling.

He was standing behind her, tall and broad. He looked at her with blood shot eyes. Adorning a black sherwani, Murtasim Khan was against his usual self. His hair was messed up and he had a ciggarette in his hand.

"Nahi meerub, tum khudko nahi maar skti."
"Kiyun nahi marskti? Tumhe apne oper kisi bhi qisam ka haq dene se pehle mai mrjaongi."
"Mughe tumhari zaroorat hai. I can't let you die. Yet."
Murstasim said and before she could react he swiftly took the tiny knife away from her hand and put it in his pocket.

Then he took her hand and dragged her towards the terrace, her heavy dress and jewellery clanking as she got dragged, against her will, like a rag doll. In these few minutes, meerub had learned that her new husband was brutal, and swift, and almost as stubborn as her.