Arziyaan

Zan Mureed

"He was contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. I could have looked at him forever."
― E. Lockhart, 

"I don't own you, you just belong to me."
― Pushpa Rana 

Meerab looked at her husband in wonder. So far, he had consumed three plates of golgappas, two bowls of phirni and was currently on his fourth kulfi. She could only manage one and a half plates of golgappas, had skipped phirni, and was still working on her first Kulfi. The guards kept their distance and enjoyed the food like their Khan. Khan Sahab had already discarded his suit jacket in the car along with his tie. The first few buttons of his shirt were open, and he had rolled his sleeves in anticipation when the first plate of golgappas was served. Khan Sahab had insisted on feeding her golgappas. He did not care that they were in a busy bazaar, and people were starting to recognize him. She was hesitant and shy. It was not appropriate behavior for their Khaani.

When she voiced her concerns to him, his response still echoed through her. "You are my begum, and I am your mureed. I did not plan for you. This universe blessed me with you and made me the luckiest man on this planet. I am Khan Murtasim Khan, and the world should know I am my Begum's slave. I am a proud Zanmureed, Begum." How could she refuse him after that? With crimson cheeks and hooded eyes, she let him feed her. His face had brightened as if she had given him the world. He had then dragged her to a bangle vendor. She had complained that he had given her so many bangles that she was running out of space. He simply said, "You can never have enough choodiyan, Begum. The music they create in your wrists is the song of my love."

Khan Sahab was carefree, laughing with vendors and joking with other couples around them. Meerab's heart was content seeing him so relaxed with people. He was accepting the people of this city slowly. Today Hydrebad got a glimpse of Murtasim Khan, the man, and her Khan Sahab made an effort to learn about his people, all while romancing his wife. He seemed more approachable to them, one of them, theirs. As Meerab took another bite of her Kulfi, a little remained on her bottom lip. Before she could clean it with the tissue in her hand, Khan Sahab rubbed it off with his thumb and licked it off.

Bending his head to her, he whispered, "You are so lucky we are in the middle of the bazaar. Otherwise, I would have kissed the kulfi off your lips begum—first hot chocolate and now kulfi. Behkawe mere yaar ke." His cool breath on her neck and amorous words sent shivers through her body. Just then, a vendor offered him tandoori chai, bringing Meerab back to her senses as Khan Sahab agreed. "You just had four Kulfis. You have hot chai on top that you will get sick, Khan Sahab," Meerab reprimanded lovingly as her husband smiled through his eyes at her. "The rumor is that my wife is learning to be a doctor," Murtasim said flirtatiously. "If I get sick, Begum, I will let you practice on me," winking mischievously as her he accepted the tandoori chai.

The following day Murtasim and Meerab Khan were headlining all the morning shows in the country. The picture of Murtasim Khan feeding his beautiful wife was all over traditional and social media. Everyone adored this lovely couple. To ward off the evil eyes, Mashallahs were said every time they admired the love in Murtasim Khan's eyes. Murtasim was more desirable now that he was clearly off the market. As women worldwide were gushing over him, their heartthrob Murtasim Khan was lying sick in his bed, as predicted by his wife.

Murtasim, in his night kurta pajama, looked through the house to look for his wife. His voice hoarse as he called out for his wife with a sore throat. The Haveli was uncharacteristically quiet. Meerab and the twins were off for two weeks after their midterms. He was looking forward to having all of his wife's attention for himself for the next two weeks. One of the staff members told him that Badi Amma, his wife, Junaid, and Heer had gone to Dargah early morning to pray for Heer's safe delivery. His wife, anticipating his condition, had already made him soup and brewed herbal tea when he woke up. When the staff offered to serve it to him, Murtasim refused.