The Eclipsed Heart

Chapter 10

Murtasim cautiously turned the brass handle of his mother's room, the door creaking open to reveal an atmosphere laden with unspoken tension, hanging like a dense curtain. Each step he took seemed to amplify the weight of the unsaid words lingering in the air, creating a palpable drama.

"Did you call for me, Maa?" he ventured, a subtle severity already detected in his mother's demeanor. Maa Begum fixed him with a steely gaze, her voice a blend of seriousness and an unmistakable tinge of anger. "What have you been saying to Meerab?" she demanded, the gravity of her words settling heavily in the room.

Murtasim's confusion played out on his face as he tried to recall the events of the day. "Nothing? Why? What happened?" The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for an explanation.

"Murtasim, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Maa Begum retorted, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the vanity's surface. "I went through great lengths to convince Meerab for this marriage, and your behavior is jeopardizing everything. If you don't care about anything else, at least think about your father." The soft glow of the antique lamp cast shadows that danced across her face, accentuating the seriousness of her words.

Exasperation seeped into Murtasim's voice. "Maa, please! Baba is the sole reason I agreed to this marriage when I didn't even want it in the first place. But what more do you want me to do?" The room seemed to tighten around him, familial expectations pressing down once again as Meerab's name lingered in the air.

"Meerab is your wife now, and you have responsibilities towards her. You can't keep ignoring her as if she doesn't exist. I have noticed how you act around her!" Maa Begum's tone held a mix of rebuke and concern, her eyes reflecting the disappointment she felt.

Murtasim's frustration bubbled to the surface, his voice rising like the crescendo of a haunting melody. "What more do you want? I married her because of you all, and now you want me to pretend everything is normal?" The room echoed with the weight of expectations and duties.

"No, Murtasim. What I'm saying is that you need to consider Meerab as your wife. You can't keep ignoring her like this," Maa Begum pressed, her words carrying the weight of maternal concern.

"Maa, I believe that's something between Meerab and I. I don't think anyone else should interfere," Murtasim argued, his stance firm, his voice authoritative as he turned to leave. However, the next words halted him.

"Well then, can you care to explain why you still have her things in your room?" Maa Begum fired back, her eyes probing into her son's soul as Murtasim turned around, his eyes holding a fiery fury. He knew exactly what and who his mother was talking about.

"That's none of your business!" Murtasim snapped, the tension escalating like the gathering storm outside.

"Murtasim, beta, it's been seven years. Why can't you just move on?" Maa Begum's voice took on a desperate plea, the echoes of time and unresolved emotions reverberating in the room.

"No! I can't!" Murtasim declared angrily, storming away and leaving the room enveloped in a heavy silence. The door swung shut with a muffled thud, sealing the unresolved emotions within like a time capsule awaiting resolution.


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Murtasim found himself seated at his customary spot, a refuge by the water's edge where the rhythmic waves usually whispered solace to his troubled soul. But today, even the serene lull of the water failed to pacify the storm raging within him. The notion of moving on seemed absurd, a mockery of the profound wound that festered in his heart – a wound too deep to be healed by the gentle caress of time.

"Move on?" he scoffed bitterly. Could anyone truly grasp the complexity of emotions that anchored him to the past? Her melodious laughter, her blissful smile, the captivating depth of her doe-like eyes – these were not fragments he could casually discard. No one seemed to comprehend the gravity of his struggle and it seemed like they didn't even care.

With a mouthful sip from the whiskey bottle, Murtasim's frustration simmered and surged. The possibilities, the regrets, the cruel interplay of fate – all danced before his mind's eye like haunting specters. A life meticulously envisioned a decade ago now lay in ruins, replaced by an unwanted bond that shackled him to a stranger.

The expectation to feign normalcy grated against his raw nerves. As the amber liquid coursed through him, a volatile cocktail of alcohol and anger, the feeling of helplessness and pain became suffocating. Hot tears, unbidden, spilled from his eyes, mingling with the salt of the lake.

In the haze of alcohol and rage, Murtasim's mind became a tempest. A scream of agony clawed its way out of his throat, a primal howl of despair that resonated with the crashing waves. The whiskey bottle, now a vessel of his torment, was flung away with a force that shattered the glass into a millions of glistening shards – a mirror of the fractured state of his heart.

The air crackled with the aftermath of his outburst, the broken glass mirroring the shattered remnants of his life. As the echoes of his anguish subsided, Murtasim sat amidst the wreckage, a wounded soul in a landscape of broken pieces, yearning for a catharsis that evaded him.


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