| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| The Swiss Alps |

Note:
A hanger is a facility which houses planes and other aircraft.

Ussey faaslon pe yakeen kyun bohat hai? 

humein dur rehna kyun aata nahi hai?

"Stay the night." His words reverberated through his chest and mid-section.

Meerab pressed her eyes shut even tighter, swallowing as her breathing quickened. Murtasim leaned in, his eyes fixated on her lips like they'd disappear.

Would another kiss be okay? Would it be too much? Could they?

These were all questions Meerab would've been mulling over had she retained even iota of rational thought. That, however was not the case here. It was minus four degrees, and she was on fire. Her Cupid's bow was slightly damp with sweat and her fists felt clammy.

"Mur-"

The sounds were like a knife piercing through the still, crisp Swiss air. Their phones; both had started to ring and vibrate loudly. Murtasim swore softly against her lips and Meerab took a deep breath in as his head dipped into her throat with a supressed groan for just a split-second, before he pulled back. They looked at each other for just a moment longer and it was over; reality was calling.

Quite literally, for Meerab. As she stared down at the 'Liza' stated on Murtasim's phone, a frown appeared, but it was nothing compared to the way her heart tripped and frown deepened when her eyes slid to her own phone lying next to his; though this heart tripping had nothing in common with the way he heart had tripped when she'd been in Murtasim's arm's a few seconds ago. What on earth could she be calling for? And that too so late in the night. It was after Fajr time in Pakistan, and this woman had a bad record of dropping bombs on Meerab at Fajr time.

"Ji Maa Begum, asalaam alaikum." she spoke into the phone as she watched Murtasim pinch the bridge of his nose, inside the lounge area, the phone held up to his ear. He looked livid. So, they'd both received unexpected and unwanted phone calls in the middle of what had turned out to be an unexpectedly perfect night.

Fantastic.

Meerab's attention was snatched away from Murtasim as Maa Begum's words registered.

What?

"Ab nikkah ki tareekh teh ho hi gayi hai, to tumhara yahan aana zaroori hai."

Meerab frowned. Mariyam's nikkah had been fixed?

"Ghar ki bahu, aur Mir Murtasim ki biwi honey ke hawaalay se tumharay shaadi mein shirkat thori alag hogi. Kaafi rasmein, riwaaj waghera hain jinhe tumhe hi karna hoga. Khandaan walay bhi kaafi arsay se tumhe dekhna chahtay hain, acha hoga ke tum iss sab ko sahi waqt de sako."

Meerab listened quietly, and though it was plain Urdu and nothing outwardly threatening or even slightly harmful, she felt a strange restlessness come over her. She was suddenly antsy, like being pushed into a corner and she was pushing back, but was running out of ways to stop herself form being backed into a wall. It was only Mariyam's wedding. So what if she had to carry out Khaani duties? Be paraded around as the lucky girl who Khan Murtasim Khan had chosen to be his bride and Khaani, smile endlessly at strangers, distribute pashmina shawls and priceless gifts amongst esteemed guests, and stop at random tables to ask if they were okay and had eaten properly? It was all standard Khan-khandaan special event protocol; she had been to enough weddings on their side to know it all. But this was Mariyam, the only daughter of the late Khan and the only sister to the reigning Khan, her man who's nikkah she was bound in. Everything would be larger, grander and steeped in rasm-o-riwaaj; something Meerab wasn't known to always adhere to.