Arziyaan

Taaruf

Karne Gaye The Uss Se Taghaful Ka Hum Gila,
Ki Ek Hi Nigah Ki Bas Khaak Ho Gaye

-Mirza Ghalib

Meri Baahon Mein Behekne Ki Saza Bhi Sun Le,
Ab Bahaut Dair Mein Azad Karunga Tujhko

-Jaun Eliya

As their car sped down the highway alongside the Sindh River, Meerab looked at her husband, who was typing away on his laptop. Just after breakfast, Agah Ji told them to visit their ancestral village. It was the wedding of one of the elder's grandsons. Khan Sahab was wearing a grey kurta pajama with a navy blue blazer as he had insisted on matching her blue suit and grey dupatta. The wedding was more a political affair than a celebration. Her Khan Sahab sometimes was daft when it came to village rituals. He had a thundering expression most of the time. She had to remind him via text to smile and play along with the rituals. Khan Sahab needed to be reintroduced to the interiors of his new world. It was mid-afternoon, and they were now on their way back home.

Murtasim could feel his wife's gaze as he shot quick emails to his Karachi staff. This wedding was their first event, and he was amazed at how natural she was with people. She had been constantly surrounded by the ladies the whole time, but her smile never faltered, and her patience never wore thin. There were endless rituals that he did not understand. Two people were getting married. Why his involvement was so necessary was alien to him. She deflected the personal questions like a pro which he still struggled with. It seemed that his wife was born to be Khani. He had insisted on matching with his wife today. They would be scrutinized for their actions, so he wanted a connection with her to calm himself down. Murtasim nodded at the driver, who changed lanes to fulfill his Khan's commands.

Murtasim shut his laptop and asked the question that had been bugging him since an older woman had asked her, and she had deflected the answer. "Why did you want to be a doctor, Meerab?" He asked, looking at his wife. Her dupatta was still covering her head. Today she had tied her hair in a simple bun, and his hands had been itching the whole day to tug her hair open.

Meerab smiled and remembered how her husband's head had whipped up at her when the old Amma had asked her the same question and his displeased frown when she had chosen to ignore the question. She should have known that he would not give up that easily, "I just happened naturally. Baba and his guards always came home with scratches and wounds. I always tended to them. There isn't a single guard at Haveli who I have not bandaged," Her husband frowned, but she continued, "Thanks to them, I always had basic painkillers, ibuprofen, and cold medicine at hand. Soon, I was the neighborhood, Hakim. I seemed to have a knack for healing people, so when the time came, Agha Ji decided that I should go to medical school."

"Agha Ji, not Bakhtu Chacha?" Murtasim inquired, intrigued. Meerab nodded positively in response. It seemed like Agha Ji was planning long-term, but he had more pressing issues to deal with now: "All of the guards?" he asked his wife.

"Every single one of them, Khan Sahab," Meerab affirmed, "Agha Ji calls me the official doctor of the Haveli."

Murtasim put his laptop aside and hurried to his wife's side. He took one of her hands and tried to sort his thoughts as he played with her bangles. His wife had tended to everyone in the Haveli but him. It did not settle well with him. Then it hit him that he would always have to share his wife with her patients. She was his anchor. He wanted her all to himself. She was his blessing. It seemed unfair to him to have to share her with others. But her dreams were his dreams now. He would simply have to fight to be on her priority list, and he was a damn good fighter.

He felt her other hand cover his even though she was looking out the window. She sensed his restlessness and was trying to settle him. How did he get so fortunate? This beautiful angel, all his, to cherish, and god behold his heart, to love. It seemed like he could not take his eyes off her. He wanted to memorize every speck in her eyes like the lines of his fate. The softness of her midnight hair, when he ran his hands through them, they felt like silk. The curve of her neck when she sneaked at him and the flush of her cheeks when her eyes met his. When they curved in a smile, her tempting lips made his world halt.