Ittefaq Say (MeeraSim FF)

26 - Posheeda

It felt like all the burdens accumulated from the hospital visit, and that's what made the car feel heavy as he revved over the interminable roads of Hyderabad. The path was practically deserted, only street lights studded his path like a runway that led home. The occasional stray dog squirmed past and he saw couple late-night food stalls that remained open for the occasional snacker.

At home, the guard opened the gate for him but the house's lights were off, and a hushed lull of slumber enshrouded the house. There were no smiles to welcome him, and even the musk of the teeming flowers failed to lift his despondent mood. Murtasim returned to his room. His muscles which ached from sitting in cramped hospital chairs, sought the comfort of his own bed.

Laying flat on his back, Murtasim stared at the blank canvas of his ceiling, with only the steady ticks of the watch's second hand to keep him company. In annoyance, he slid off his metallic watch, shoving it in the drawer and pushing it closed- another thing that lured sleep away from him.

He twisted, and on an deep exhale, he let go of the tension knotted into his shoulders and sank into the bed. It felt like feathers caressing him. No, it was like cotton candy when he slipped into a dream that enticed him- a land far away from a law suit that threatened to drag him into the dark, into shredding his family apart.

The entire night passed restfully with the assumption that his Meerab was safely at home, under his room, cocooned in the blanket of threads that sprouted on his ancestral lands.

Which is why he searched for her in the morning. First in the living room, past the foyer, at the kitchen island. All found bereft of the girl that he had began to associate with home and in her absence, it felt hollow. She had become a habit, a habour to dock his heart at. 'Feena, Meerab kahan hai?,' he asked, flicking the newspaper's page over. (Feena, where's Meerab?)

The dining table had been set, yet he was seated alone and the teapot patiently stood full. A row of chairs sat bare at either side of him. Anyone of them for Meerab to take, but he hoped he would invite her into the seat of his Khaani, soon enough.

'Saab, abhi kamre se bahir nahi aaye,' she informed head modestly lowered. 'Main ja kar bula ke lau?,' she offered eagerly, hands folded. (She has not left her room today. Shall I go call her?)

It was late. Murtasim had woken up late because he slept late, truly rinsed from the previous day. Meerab had no such apparent reasoning. Although odd, he let it past. 'Nahi, souney do,' he ordered, figuring that he would have breakfast alone. (No, let her sleep.)

'Par Meerab kehti hai ke jaldi uthne ke aadat hai. Shayad kamre mei masroof hoegi,' Feena suggested, trying to justify her lack of doting. In fact, everyone still felt compelled to care for her. It was as if they knew the stature of a special guest in the Khan house. (But Meerab has a habit of waking up early. She might be busy doing something else.)

Meerab being busy and alone at this early hour was strange, he figured . 'Par nastha nahi kiya?,' he enquired in an assertive tone, questioning whether she had been fed, adequately accommodated to like she deserved. (So she hasent had breakfast?)

Despite his words not being an accusation, Feena felt the need to defend herself. 'Nahi Saab. Humne banaya tha, pr abhi aaye nahi,' she muttered whilst pushing her shawl over her shoulder. (No. We have prepared it, but she hasent come downstairs to eat yet.)

He slid his black kameez's sleeves up, readying for food, and he skim-read the newspaper that had been waiting for him. 'Theek hai, tum ja sakti ho,' he ordered casually. But a corner of his mind continued to fret, pondering is she had been hit with a spell of sickness. Or maybe she opted to behave in a more reserved manner without him and Maa Saab present. (That's fine. You can go.)