Arziyaan

Moths And A Flame

The wave of desire was unsettling but was overpowered by the urge to let everyone know she was his. It was a man claiming his woman. Even though he recognized the desire he could not understand why this need was not bothering him as much as it should. She has his initials on her hand but he was one who felt branded. So many feelings and he had no idea how to navigate them. His mind and heart were at war with each other, yet he felt some of the knots around his heart loose today. It was wanting, Murtasim realized. Then he thought, haq hai mera.

Before he could think of anything else, there was a knock on the door, and the enchantment was broken. Murtasim took a deep breath, trying to tether back to reality. He touched his forehead to hers and sighed, "You are a trouble partner, but duty first." Murtasim helped her up, wrapped her arm in his, and left the room. As he stepped into the venue, a deck on the marina, all attention was towards them, specifically his wife. Mine, his heart roared. With a sullen face, Murtasim knew the night would be long.

Since Murtasim did not like the idea of her being on display if they threw a traditional Walima, he had decided to make her introduction to Karachi Society through an auction charity dinner. Holding her waist, he took her around all the windows that contained items that needed to be auctioned off while he presented her to everyone. He proudly introduced her as his wife. It was a man claiming his woman. Meerab's gaze lingers over two objects, and Murtasim Khan knows he will take them home.

Like moths to a flame, that is how his wife attracted people. Meerab was like a blaze in her yellow sari. Murtasim had picked the colour yellow because Meerab was his sunshine. Two hours through the night, he lamented his decision. She turned heads, men's with fancy and women's with envy. Murtasim contemplated how regressive he would seem if he told her never to wear yellow again. It was for his eyes only. Given how she had fought him over the college issue, he did not think it would fly with her.

She analyzed the public versus private healthcare system with an MLA. Then, she talked about the importance of pre and post-natal care for mothers with an activist. An entertainment journalist was thoroughly enchanted by her debate of Pakistani versus Turkish dramas. She had discussed fabrics and embroideries with designers and exchanged recipes with Badi Amma's friends. Agha ji and Badi Amma were beaming with pride at their daughter-in-law. His Meerab was graceful, intelligent, and alluring, everyone was battling for her attention. He did not like sharing her one bit.

Standing next to Juniad, his eyes always followed her. He was irked that she had left him to join Badi Amma. Murtasim was the epitome of a green-eyed monster, but appearances needed to be kept. So he stood in the corner nursing a drink while all he wanted to do was steal his wife or break a few bones.

"This is your party, Murtasim; it would help with auction sales if you did not have a permanent scowl on your face," Junaid commented.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Murtasim replied, irritated. The neurosurgeon who was talking to his wife was being too casual for his comfort.

"I mean all the death glares you threw at all the men who dared to speak to Meerab tonight." Junaid laid it out, "You can't keep Meerab in a glass case, Murtasim; her light is too bright for that. It would be unfair to her."

"I have not given any death glares," Murtasim said, his eyes on his wife. He had wanted to do much more than just glare. Meerab gave the doctor one of her genuine smiles, and he burned with rage. He admitted his feelings but was unable to understand where they came from.

"Really!" said Junaid, "What about the doctor speaking to her now?"Murtsatim wanted to break the leg of the stool the doctor was sitting on and run it through his heart.

"Then there was that model." Murtasim had imagined breaking his pretty teeth.

"Then there was Rahim, the prodigal son of Wasti Industries." He had touched his wife's elbow to help her balance due to her heels. It was innocent and honest. Murtasim planned on breaking his fingers one by one, slow and atrocious.

"And the best one, the young actor," If his conversation with his wife would have continued a couple more minutes they'd be writing a broken nose in his next scene.

Murtasim straightened when he saw Meerab's gaze wandering. The night had cooled down and he noticed her shiver. Placing his glass on the table next to him, he made his way to his wife. Meerab being his sole objective, Murtasim approached her and the doctor by taking measured steps. His hands were clenched in his pockets. The coldness in his eyes softened as her gaze met his. Murtasim nodded in acknowledgment at the doctor as he stood behind his wife, towering over her. He raised an eyebrow at the doctor, who said his goodbyes in a fumbled haste.

Satisfied, he turned her towards him, then took off his jacket and enveloped her around. The rage inside him calmed a little seeing her in his coat. Then she smiled at him, and his world brightened. And on cue, the EmCee announced a dance for couples. Lights dimmed, music softened, his wife swaddled in his jacket, and his arm encasing around her waist, he directed them to the dance floor. What better way to let everyone know Meerab Khan was off limits and all his?

Warmth filled Meerab as Khan Sahab cloaked her in his jacket. She knew her husband had been troubled all evening. Khan Sahab smirked at her tremble when his arm wrapped around her waist as he took her to the dance floor. Underneath his jacket, his one hand was on her waist and one on her shoulders. His eyes were hard as his gaze roamed around the room. She rubbed his chest where his heart would be and asked gently, "What is bothering you, Khan Sahab?"

Today, she had seen the Murtasim Khan he had made himself into. These people respected and feared him at the same time. Everyone approached him with extreme caution. Things were done for him before he could even ask. When he walked, people instinctively moved out of his way. Men wanted to be him, and women, it seemed, just wanted him. And her husband did not care about either kind of attention. This was his kingdom, such behavior was expected and routine for him.

Murtasim turned her attention back to his wife when she rubbed his heart to calm him and then she asked him the million-dollar question. They were gently swaying to the music. Her one hand was on his chest and the other on his shoulder. She was looking up at him with her khol-layered whisky eyes. Her eyes are his jannat. He could barely understand his feelings; how could he explain them to her? Communication was the foundation of their relationship. He could be just Murtasim with her, and he did not want to risk that, so he decided to be honest, "You were like a flame today, Meerab, and I wanted to kill every man who looked at you."

"You had your fair share of female attention Khan Sahab, do you see me complaining?"Meerab zestfully responded.

That irritated Murtasim even more, so he asked in a clipped tone, "Why are you not bothered?" He had spent the entire evening seething.

"You are young, successful, and handsome, Khan Sahab. It is natural that you will receive a lot of female attention," A silent growl rumbled from her husband at her response. She rubbed his chest again to settle him and decided to let him off the hook, "I am not bothered because you are mine, Khan Sahab. Angry, irritated, gentle, caring, and all mine."

Murtasim felt a calm wash over him. As usual, she had anchored him. Where did she get so much strength from? Removing his hand from her shoulder, her cupped her face, "There are so many feelings, Meerab, I don't know what to do with them. They are too big and too much." His thumb brushed her cheekbone, and he confessed, "I am terrified, Meerab, and I can't risk hurting you."

Gathering her courage, she placed her hand on her husband's cheek. This troubled man, through all his pain, did not want to hurt her. "You protect me, Khan Sahab, and I will protect you and your heart. Take your time, examine your feelings, and process them. What is the rush? I am not going anywhere, but you have to promise you won't run away either. You will come home to me every night, just like you do now, and talk to me." Meerab felt her husband relax under her hands, and she continued, "Saare Haq aapke hain, Khan Sahab. One step, one feeling at a time, we will sort it out together partner."

Liberated and delighted, Murtasim touched his forehead to hers and wondered what he had done to deserve her. But now that he had her, he was not letting go at any cost. Murtasim Khan was Meerab Khan's willing slave.

A/N- Here goes another one people. I really need feedback on this one please let me know in the comments what worked what did not work. 

And I will keep saying it as it will never be enough but thank you so much for showing so much love to this story. I am grateful for your love. 

Be kind and spread love everyone!