After they had calmed down and exited the clinic with prescription in hand, they decided that their last stop should be the goats before heading home for the walimah.
Meerab wandered around in the field, the open air was strangely cleansing, rejuvenating their tired lungs from the strangled tears. As usual, Murtasim sat and watched her, as though she was competition for the scenic view, lovelier and kinder to the eyes.
The deep emerald of her frock, and curves of her rubenesque figure made her fit in perfectly amongst nature- a dream like sequence of twirls and sways in the grassy fields. The curls of her hair bouncing superciliously at every step.
A sense of melancholy filled him at the uphill battle of his life, always reaching, always acting on the offensive.
His goats greeted her as if they had been waiting for her cuddles, longing for their owners. Meerab reached down to stroke the goats, smoothing over their matted fur, eliciting a youthful giggle. Her heart full, and when she looked past her shoulder, Murtasim was already looking at her, spectating as though he have occupied prime seats, overlooking onto a beautiful movie scene.
'Tum bhi aao, Meesam tumhein bula rahi hai,' she called out in a playful lilt, suppressing the grief about her father in law- knowing that he needed a distraction too. (Come here, meesam is calling you.)
He didn't need to be told twice, Murtasim stepped over the short fence and make his way closer, instantly attracting an entire crowd of goats which huddled at his ankles, a cacophony of 'baaa's', erupting around him.
They were both kneeling, there hands leisurely brushing past each other. The goats were a mere excuse to approach her, to engrave her radiant visage to memory. His hand showcased a silver ring with a chunky gemstone, and her's was delicately embedded with heirloom diamonds, courtesy of Nano. Another example of their likeness- her delicate gajre, and his hefty watch.
'Tumhein pasand hai?' Murtasim asked, studying the glow to her face in nature, realising that she was in her element. The pains of reality had fractionally dulled. (Do you like it?)
'Tumhari bakriyaan? Zahir hai,' she responded, peering down at their beady eyes, innocently glinting back in return. (Your goats? Ofcourse.)
Murtasim shook his head. 'I meant... Meesam ka naam....' He clarified sheepishly.
'Pyara hai,' she assured, her other hand coming to his knee to stabilise herself in the crouch. (It's lovely.)
Only when she confirmed this, did he confess, 'I named her after us.'
That caused her gaze to meet his gaze, her breath halted at the depth of his affection. 'Kya?' Slipped her mouth. (What?)
'Meerab aur Murtasim,' he reiterated slowly, as if the words were heavy.
Meerab's scanned his face, and found only candor, as if he had been stripped bare, unable to keep up his nonchalant demeanour when the wall disintegrated around him, his father slipping out of reach.
Murtasim's hands came to her shoulder, and they stood up tall, towering above the collection of goats which wandered off after realising that they offered no food.
'Meerab and Murtasim,' she repeated in disbelief. 'Meesam.' It seemed obvious now. She realised that he was being truthful - not that she needed any more confirmation of the love that he silently harnessed for her.
He nodded, engulfing her in an all-encompassing hug- and she supposed that he was extra cuddly when sad.
'Aur shehd?' Meerab quizzed into his chest. 'Who did you name her after?'
'Just honey,' he replied, not everything was meaningful. 'Tumhein nahi pasand tou badal dete hai,' he suggested, as if it was a matter of upmost importance, as if anyone else even knew their names- he loosened the grip. (If you don't like it, we can change it.)
She faintly shook her head, gaze filtering between his tired eyes and lips, and the warm tinge on his cheeks. 'Mujhey pasand hai,' she confessed in a soft exhale. She liked the way he trailed pecks along her collar bone, and the way he carefully slid the gajre past her hand, to her wrists.
'Shehd?' He promoted, not following her vagueness, getting drawn into the abyss of her midnight eyes.
She shook her head. It seemed as though he was all that the universe has encompassed in the moment, his wide protective shoulders, the warmth of chocolate eyes, and diamond sharp mind- which he utilised in equal measure to invoke fear and submerge her troubles.
'Kya pasand hai. Honey?' (What do you like. Honey?)
'Murtasim,' she asked coquettishly, half way between a question and a fact. Remembering his confession in the shower, about his pyar, turned mohabbat, turned ishq. The way he silently persevered in her wait, with the end in sight. Now he wandered pathless, hopeless in the thoughts of his father. Not that the responsibilities would increase, but his absence would make it less bearable.
His eyebrows knotted. 'Kya.... Murtasim?,' he urged, mind too busy to catch on, the sun causing him to squint, her voice muffled in the open breeze.
'Murtasim pasand hai mujhey,' effortlessly rolled off her tongue, as if it was too weighty to remain there a second longer.
His features softened instantly.
A boulder lifted off her chest at sharing it, a lightness filled her from the smile which caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle in glee. Perhaps it even briefly overpowered the news of Shah Nawaz's decline. (I like Murtasim.)
'Acha,' he scoffed happily, as if he already had a inkling. (Oh.)
'Kuch aur kaho,' she urged, feeling as though her revelation was a meager band-aid over a fractured heat, possibly too injured to be mended so simply. (Say something.)
But no, it was entirely healing. 'I really love you,' he replied in a hushed tone, as thought it was clandestine affair- as if it would be taken away if heard.
Her confession was enough, fully soothing- reciprocating his tireless efforts- his eyes welling, but this time, out of happiness.
Her hands looped behind his neck, and his fell to her lower back, dreamily gazing into one another, and for a brief moment, all of life stilled- the birds, the goats, the blades of grass.
They basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun, trickling rays upon them like a curtain when he leaned down to tenderly caress his lips with hers, perfectly conveying the affections which bloomed between them despite their differences and shortcomings.
The winds swirling around them, pushing them closer together, if possible. Their lips danced leisurely meddling into one another, glowing with overdue affection, seeped in his ishq, and her pasand.
Only when he pulled away he see her doe eyes, desperately wanting to lessen the burden. But both had succumbed to the fact they were utterly powerless to change fate, to rescue his father, to halt the cancer.
'Tum to mera dil he marham hou,' he admitted in defeated whisper, almost philosophically. 'Aafaton ke dour mein chein ki ghari hai tu.' (You are the balm to my heart. In the hour of troubles, you are my minutes of peace)
A butterfly fluttered in her heart. 'Tum akele nahi hou. Main tumhare saath hou,' she assured softly, and he nodded with a rueful smile. (You aren't alone. I here with you.)
Her hands glided down to sides of his neck, tickling the roughness of his stubble. They briefly paused to twist the corners of his moustache up again, so that they curled pretentiously- masking the hurt.
They settled onto a bench which partially shaded them from the afternoon sun, as their hearts were heavy. Slowly, they sank until Murtasim practically layed on his side and Meerab sliding down until she was leaning again his folded legs, tessellating like a yin yang sign. The lightness and the darkness, the good and the bad.
After a heavy exhale, Murtasim asked,' Tumhein koi ehtaraaz tou nahi hai, agar Anas aur Mariyam ke shaadi kee jai.' (Would you have any objections if Anas and Mariyam get married?)
Murtasim supposed the question might have caught her off guard, but she only smiled at the idea, as though it was perfect. 'Mujhey kyun ehataraz hoga?' (Why would I object?)
'Tumhein nahi poochrha. Meri Khaani ka rai poocha raha hou,' he corrected pridefully, eyes closing as the rays of the sun illuminated his eyelids into a peachy colour, like faded terracotta. (I am not asking you, I am asking my Khaani.)
Meerab glanced over at him, her heart torn at the burden he had been carrying alone, shielded from the word as though his shoulders could carry an entire mountain range. Then truthfully, she shared, 'Mujhey to pehle hi shak tha kay aik dusre ko pasand karte hai.' (I had my suspicions that they like each other.)
'Kya?,' he said in an sharp exhale, the secretive glances and gratuitous chatting had skipped him entirely. (What?)
'Chup chup ke dekhte hain aik dusre ko. Bahut cute hai,' she narrated, the mood lighter as a more innocent sort of romance came to light. (They secretly look at each other.)
'Acha?' He asked, half ready to rearrange Anas' face for fancying his sister, half glad that his sister was truly happy with the guy. (Really?)
'Par jaldi ki kya zaroorat hai? Baba kay baad, Mariyam ka dekhne waale tum aur Maa Begum ho,' she questioned curiously, slowly as though time as slowed for them. (But what is the hurry, after Baba, you and Maa Begum are Mariyum's guardians?)
Then Murtasim shared, 'Soch rha tha kay agar walimah pe unka nikkah parha diya jaye, tou Baba ko dilli sukoon mil jayega.' Followed by a long sigh, and it seemed to Meerab that he was ready to nod off right then. (I was thinking to get them nikaahfied on our reception. Baba would be happy.)
'Teek hai,' she replied, satisfied, finding that match to be faultless. 'Aur Rohail?' (Okay. And Rohail?)
His eyebrows raised as if he was unbothered. 'Rohail ke maa baap ko patta ho,' he dismissed like he had given up attempting to help him. (His parents would know.)
'Tum unke Khaan ho, poocha nahi?,' she probed, trying to decipher if he knew about Rohail's interest in Saba. (You are thier Khan. Didn't you ask?)
'Poocha tha. Kehta abhi shaadi nahi karni. Patta nahi kaunsi dunya mei phir raha hai,' he countered, informing that he had done his due diligence. (I did. He says he doesn't want to get married right now. I don't know what he is thinking.)
Meerab tensed at the idea that he was still seeing Saba. Both of them foolishly risking a feud, stupidly brushing past the previous incident when Mir trespassed onto the Khan's land and Rohail had fired the first bullet. Meerab didn't want to needlessly stress him out anymore. But she acknowledged that Rohail had his mind settled on Saba if he was rejecting others. 'Mujhey lagta hai kay Rohail kissi doosri larki kay chakkar mai hai,' she hinted, easing him into the idea. (I think Rohail is interested in some other girl.)
'Mujhey pata hai,' he answered simply, unfazed. (I know.)
'Hai?' She blurted, wondering how much he knew if he was that nonchalant. (What?)
'Phone aaney pe utkay chaley jaata hai. Jaisey koy raaz hai. Halan kay hum teeno bhai, aisi cheezein tou nahi chupate,' he explained. (He leaves whenever his phone rings as if he has a secret. But we three brothers have no such secrets.)
When she remained uncharacteristically quiet, he asked, 'Tumhein pata hai? Tumhara tou dost hai...' (Do you know anything? He is your friend....)
'Dost? Mera chotay bhai kay tarah hau. Bonga sa, pyara sa...' (Friend? He is like my little brother, sweet and dopey.)
They both laughed at the truth in the statement, and his hand came over her stomach, as if he actually was holding her from falling off the small bench.
'Haya kay saath kara do,' she suggested again, cautiously. (Get him married to Haya.)
He chuckled in amusement of the idea. 'Humare khaandan mei zabardasti shaadiyan nahi hoti.' (We don't get people married forcefully in our family.)
'Aur Haya fir?,' she enquired- she wasn't going to stay single forever. She needed to redirect her bitchiness onto some poor husband figure, away from her! (Then Haya?)
'Choti hai,' Murtasim replied. (She is young.)
'Itni choti bhi nahi hai jab mujhey ghoor kay dekti hai. Jaise main tumhari biwi nahi ho sakti kyun kay unke tarah Khan nahi hu,' Meerab countered, her voice laced in irritation at Haya's thinly veiled undermining tactics. (She isn't that young when she glares at me. As if I can't be your wife since I am not a khan.)
Without break, he asked, 'Par tum tou maanti ho?.' He couldn't keep up with her pendulum of opinions- he was seeking confirmation. (But you believe?)
What a silly question. 'Main tou Murtasim ki Meerab hou. Uski Biwi,' she replied cheekily, and a flurry of pride filled his heart- it was a victory. It was possible to appreciate most of him, without being blind to his flaws. (I am Murtasim's Meerub)
His hand came to knee, sliding down to her ankles, eliciting a feeling which was undue for an open field. 'Fir woh bhi maanne lag jaye gi,' he assured in a glad sigh. (Then she will start to believe as well.)
Meerab smiled timidly, but Murtasim hadn't missed how this was the second time that she had suggested this proposal. 'Kya baat hai? Kaun hai woh larki jisne aaney se pehle tumhein pareshaan kar diya hai?' (What's the matter?Who is this girl who is bothering you even before coming in our lives?)
Because he was asking so directly, she felt obliged to share. 'Saba.'
It felt like even the breeze halted, his wandering hand became rigid as he was so caught off guard. When he realised that she was serious, Murtasim sat up, pulling her from her forearm until they were both seated.
'Meerab?,' he breathed out heavily, eyes darkening at the seriousness.
She blinked, refocusing- realising that she had infact shared the name with him. She switched on immediately, needing to sort the mess now. 'Mujhey abhi abhi pata chala hai, jab Saba mujhe milne aaye thi,' she spluttered, freeing herself of fault. (I just came to know about it when Saba came to meet me.)
His nostrils flared at Rohail's stupidity, his fist tensing at the implication of Rohail's actions. Not that developing a liking for Malik girls was unheard of, rather it seemed Khan boy's had a thing for the unattainable - but Rohail was not as lucky as him.
'Mujhey nahi pata tha. Nahi tou main kabhi encourage na karti,' she added, in a lower octave. She had never hoped for violence, but even she knew that Mir would rather kill than hand over his sister to Rohail. More than being a Khan, they were established rivals. (I didn't know otherwise I wouldn't have encouraged this.)
'I know,' he said lowly, viciously looking out onto the fields- as if the goats had wronged him.
Saba and Rohail were star crossed lovers of Hyderabad- and suddenly the temperature dropped along with the declining sun. The cogs in his mind turned.
He nodded, hand coming over hers as he plotted to right the wrongs- to give Rohail a swift software update. Her hand was uncannily cool- her body alight with foreboding dreariness.
Emboldened, Murtasim removed his royal indigo jacket and placed it over her shoulder, and she murmured a barely audible, 'thankyou,' in response, despite the deep colours clashing- this wasen't the moment to be fashion conscious.
'Mainey Saba ko samjaya bhi tha,' she trailed, thinking back to that conversation in her bedroom. (I even talked about it to Saba.)
'Kya samjaya?,' he asked, mind clouding about how he would negotiate with Rohail. (What?)
'Kay Rohail ko chorr dey, kyun kay yeh rishta na mumkin hai. Mir ka yaad dilaya.' (To stop thinking about this relationship as it is impossible to happen. I reminded her of Mir.)
He listened silently, hand skimming over the overgrown grass around the bench mindlessly, distracting from the impending tornado. Enjoying the tickling sensation as he processed her words.
'Khaano main guroor hai aur ana hai.' (The Khan's are egoistic and proud.)
That elicited a cold smirk and he pulled her onto his lap. 'Sahi kaha. Aur?' (Correctly said.)
'I said that she will never be accepted,' Meerab explained, unsure if she was talking about herself or Saba at this point.
The air saddened a little, accompanies by a chirp of some camouflaged bird. 'Rohail and Mujhmein farq hai,' he murmured in his own defence. (Rohail and I are different.)
'... That you like to brush over the fact that I am a Malik by blood. It dosent bother baba that I am Malik Waqas' daughter, but it does to you,' she described, feeling a wash of ambivalence flowing over her.
'That's not true. Tumhara Malik hone se mujhey koy farq nahi parta,' he cleared. (It doesn't affect me that you are a Malik.)
'Par phir baar baar kehte hou kay 'tum meri biwi hou,' she retorted in a huff. (You say again and again that I am your wife.)
'Tou?' Nahi ho?' He quipped, childishly- knowing she had accepted this a moment ago- hand snaking around her waist protectively. (So? Aren't you?)
'Hun. But you say that as if I can't be both. Why should I lose my identity?' She asked, her voice hinting at being torn, unashamed of her lineage.
'Kaun tumhara identity churara hai?' He asked in a long exhale, unable to keep up with her internal turmoil. But then again, he wasn't the one that had been kept in the dark, suddenly uprooted, and them relentlessly wooed for almost four months. (Who's stealing your identity from you?)
'Tum,' she deadpanned. (You)
'Maine aisay nahi kiya. Har larki ko aisay adjust karna parta hai,' he explained, but she was so close within his lap- he restrained himself to not kiss her right there. (I didn't do so. Every girl has to adjust.)
'Main kar rahe hou. Par itna zyada adjust nahi, kay insaan khudko he bhool jaaye,' she whined, scooting closer to him. (I am adjusting. But I can't adjust so much that I'll forget myself.)
'Mainey khabi tumhein apne family say baat karna say nahi roka- you only couldn't meet them because of the tension after the shooting,' he explained gently. 'Waise bhi, mainey kaha tha, kay .... Baad main, thora sa kaam kar sakti hou?' He reminded. (I didn't stop you from talking to your family. You just couldn't meet them that is because of that shooting. And I have allowed you to work a little later?)
She only heard one part. 'Thora sa? She asked, a single eyebrows raising in displeasure. 'I thought you were a man of your word. Dont you want to me see me happy? Fulfilled?' (A little?)
'Khaani wale kaam kab karogi fir?,' he countered more in a more assertive tone, there were only so many hours in a day. (When will you fulfill your duties as Khaani then?)
'Maa Begum hai abhi! Unka kaam kyun churaun? Balkay, baba kay wafaat kay baad, she will need it to distract her, to redirect her efforts,' Meerab simply advised, it was a win-win. (Maa begum is there, why will I steal her duties? Also, after Baba she will need distraction and this could help.)
'Dekte hai,' he cut off lowly, wanting her waffling to cease. 'You should consider being a mediator in Family Law matters....' He suggested sneakily, trying to merge the two ideas, his hand snaking around her tiny waist. (We'll see.)
'What about arbitration of feudal issues over land,' she quipped aligning herself closer to him. 'I already have one day of work experience.'
He let out a deep laugh, as though she wasn't dead serious.
'I could help with your contracts in my free time- I studied maritime law.'
He was amused, grazing the softness of his lips against her cheek, and then pressing a singular kiss.
'Murtasim...,' she scolded, her confidence depleting as he failed to take her seriously.
He didn't want to break the peace. 'Aisay kartay hai. Aaj say mera naam 'Meerab ka shohar' hoga. Teek?' It was an obvious ploy at sweetening her, momentarily distracting her- making it seem as though he had a new title. (My name from today onwards is Meerab's husband.)
There was a pause, and then it settled. Her scowl transforming into a curl at the idea, showing her approval. 'Meerab ka shohar... Ghar challein?,' she teased. (Meerab's husband. Shall we go home?)
'Challein,' he played along, leaning in for another peck before standing- knowing their next task- Rohail! (Yes.)
————————————————
As soon as they entered Nano's aangan, they found Rohail cutely sat at her side- snacking on toasted sweetcorn with Sherru peacefully next to him.
Meerab invited herself and took a seat, ready to watch her hubby rewire Rohail- readying her imaginary popcorn.
Murtasim ushered the dog outside, not wanting to incite fear from the scene which was about to unfold. He had a storm brewing inside of him, the ability to tolerate Rohail's recklessness was depleting by the second. 'Ut,' he barked, and Rohail stood like a puppet. (Get uo!)
'Kya hoya yaar? Relax,' Rohail said, his palms out for surrender, knowing better than to provoke Murtasim. (What happened?)
'Relax tou main hou,' Murtasim assured coldly, his arm over Rohails shoulder, stood together like chums, but the coldness of the command suggested otherwise. (I am relaxed, yet.)
Murtasim was close, his head turning to survey his face before dropping the bomb. 'Kyun nahi karta chahta.... Shaadi?' (Why is it that you don't want to get married?)
Rohail's aura instantly gloomed, and his eyes flickered to Meerab. The look exchanged meant that he had been outed. So he gulped before scrambling for an alibi. 'Waisay. Jawaan hou,' he fibbed whilst shrugging, but Murtasim's arm stay put- iron like. 'Ayaashi kay din hai,' he trailed vigilently infront of Nano's hawk like gaze. (Just. I'm young. It's my days to relax, to enjoy luxuries.)
'Uthay kyun dekhda va? Main ithey khlotha va,' Murtasim hissed, patting Rohail's chest to redirect the attention to himself. The half eaten cob fell to the floor- the matter was sensitive. (Don't look over there. I'm stood here.)
Zara and Amir, Rohail's father, wandered out from one of the rooms at the commotion. 'Kya ho raha hai,' she asked on scanning the busy aangan. 'Rohail?' Amir questioned at seeing his son so pale. (What's going on?)
'Iskey ayashi dekhe ja rahe hai,' Murtasim announced, inviting the attention. (We're looking at his luxurious lifestyle.)
'Kya matlab hai?,' Nano enquired more softly, utterly confused at to the volume of his replies. (What are you talking about?)
'Tumhara pota kis larki mei interested hai. Poochein Nano,' Murtasim instructed, obviously knowijg the answer. His eyes were dark and calculating- intending to put a swift end to Rohail's rendezvous. (Ask your grandson about which girl he's interested in.)
They eyed Rohail carefully, forcing his secrets to come to life. With Meerab's backing him, Rohail knew that lying would be futile.
'Rohail... ?' Nano tested, ears piqued at the mention of a girl.
He gulped, the name burning in his throat. He confessed, 'Saba. Saba Malik,' in a bout of intrepidity.
The name hung heavy in the air, all the spectators speechless at his audacity. With a mind if it's own, Murtasim slapped the back of his head, the thud reverberated through the brick walls.
'Yaar,' Rohail shouted rubbing the back of his head, the pain causing him to become light headed. 'Kya?' (Bro. What?)
'Sharam nahi aati tummein?,' Nano screeched at the mention of another Malik girl, her features fallen at the discovery- disappointed. (Arent you ashamed?)
'Kis baat ke sharam? Kissi ne isko sharam yaad dilaye the jab Meerab pasand aaye the?' Rohail said in a undettered lilt, head tilting to Murtasim. (Ashamed of what? Did anyone remind him of shame when he liked Meerab?)
'Tameez,' Amir yelled, the tension rising at the raised voices. (Respect.)
'Mainay khabi Meerab say baat bhe nahi karre the. Sirf rishta behja tha,' Murtasim declared, his word seeped in anger at the insolence. He had played his moves carefully to obtain Meerab, he had been izzat conscious- even if it was to his own detriment. But today, he had accomplished a milestone - he was his wife's pasand. (I never even spoke to Meerab. There only a proposal.)
Meerab felt as though she was drowning in guilt, instigating the entire ordeal by mentioning his marriage in the Anas/Mariyum conservation, but it had to be done.
'Acha,' Rohail asked sarcastically. 'Inna tu shareef. Meerab pehli larki the jo tumne dekhi the?' The attention redirected to Murtasim, highlighting that he wasen't sin free either, and Meerab felt nauseated at the implication. (Right, and you're so innocent. Was Meerab the first girl that you had ever seen?)
'Rohail,' Murtasim warned, alarm bells ringing through his ears. 'Chup,' in a deadly voice, deep. (Quiet.)
'Kya tha uska naam.... Aliya?' Rohail mocked, trying to knock him down, but it stabbed at Meerab instead. (What was her name.. Aliya?)
Aliya- that name echoed in her ears like a cruel taunt. She imagined the jasmines in gajre's on her wrist wilted slightly, bruised from the name which bought the figure to life.
Murtasim's blood ran cold at the comparison and no one missed the way that he didn't deny it. Only his shoulders squared, as if readying for attack.
Undoubtedly, he had only ever loved one. That was Meerab and he had gone about her seriously- patiently, carefully. Aliya was only a University girlfriend- and a tarnish in front of his wife, and he wondered if the cracking noise was his heart, or hers.
Then Amir walked up to his son, a deep creased etched into his forhead when he open-palm slapped Rohail across the face- hard. 'Bakwas band kar.' (Dont talk rubish.)
'Aap lajauge mera rishta baba?,' Rohail scoffed towards his father, clearly aware of his own predicament. There was a blankness behind the eyes- the dream shattering as they learnt about his secret. There had been no point is sharing his sweetheart, because no one could help him. He had no golden ticket like Murtasim. (Will you take my proposal baba?)
'Nahi, teri Maa!' Amir bellowed sarcastically, and Zara rushed forward in a meagre attempt to protect her son. 'Gaddha!' He said in another smack. (No, your mother will. Donkey.)
'Bass karein,' Zara cried in a higher pitch, standing infront of her son like a shield. 'Kissi larki ko pasand karne mei gunnah kahan hai?' (Just stop it. Where's the sin in liking a girl?)
'Larki ke baat nahi hai. Woh larki hai jis ka bhai pe bandook utaye the isne! Beshaq, ab Mir ki baari hogey,' Amir retorted, furious at his son for risking lives when their love is eventually unveiled infront of her family- blood shed would ensure from the scandal. (The issue is not the girl. It's the fact that he has raised a gun on her brother, and he wont hesitate to return the favour.)
Meerab stood up automatically, tongue faltering to prevent the matter escalating. 'Allah na kare,' she murmured to herself. (God forbid.)
There was also some misplaced frustration when Amir rubuked, 'Tumhare laad pyar ne isse bighara hai.' (Your love has spoilt him.)
Zara's pushed her hair back, suddently feeling attacked too. To her- anything was excusable because he was a boy, and Murtasim had only developed a soft spot for Saba on the basis of the relation with his wife. Her neck snapped to Meerab. 'Zaroor tumney batay hoga,' Zara seethed, her voice laced in irritation, as if Meerab had outed her son- orchestrating a ploy which undermimed him. (It was definaltey you that spilled on him.)
Suddenly, Meerab's head shook, hands clammy. 'Haqeekat hai. Saba ne bataya tha. Aap keh rahe hou jaisay ilzaam hai,' Meerab defended, startled at being pulled into the altercation. (This is the truth. Saba told me. You're saying it as though it's a baseless accusation.)
Something snapped inside him- unable to bear the blame game on his innocent wife.
'Mamu, aapki biwi ko sambhalo,' Murtasim scoffed, using a tone that would be unapt for Zara directly. He pulling at Meerab, needing to defend her, 'sit down,' and she did.
Then he harshly added, 'Aur bete ko bhe! Patta nahi kaunsa nasha pe lag gaya hai.'- seeing as though Rohail showed no remorse. (Control you wife, and your son. I don't know what sort of intoxicant's he's taking.)
'Mujhay mere haal pe chordo...' Rohail pleaded, wanting the conversation to cease. (Leave me in my state.)
It was pointless- why pursue something which would never materialise into a nikkah, it was useless to nurture such affections. Murtasim always worked towards a tangible aim- but this would be fruitless endeavour.
In a flash of fury, Murtasim ordered, 'Saba ko chordo. Nahi Mir tumhare jaan lele ga! Main tumhein bacha nahi paunga.' (Leave Saba, or Mir will Murder you. I wont be able to save you. )
Even the leaves of the plants, which were sporadically arranged around the perimeter of the seating area, curled their leaves at the venom of his words.
'Mere jaan ka itna khayal hai bhai. Aur dil?' Rohail asked instead, hopelessly- a clear underlying bitterness to it to his own reality. His face was dull in this realisation. (You care so much about my life, brother, but what about my heart?)
They were face to face- begging the other to give up, obviously heated, high on adrenaline at the confrontation, eyes dilated.
'Koy tumhara madat nahi kar sakta usse haasil karne mein. Mumkin nahi hai!,' Murtasim elaborated, uncaring for his feelings- only anticipating the casualties if Mir would be provoked again. (No one can help you in attaining her. It's not possible.)
It would be a stab on Mir's izzat- this was a mistake that Murtasim was careful not to tred upon with Malik Waqas- not taking any luxuries. Even after the nikkah, he didn't push her by phoning but waited for her to iniciate contact- it was a long wait.
'Main kar lounga,' Rohail said to himself in delusional- the loneliness seeping into his bones- no one to help him in this endeavour. Even Meerab was powerless again the Maliks. (I will manage.)
'Koy raasta nahi hai kay Saba tumhari ho. Hota tou saath deta,' Murtasim advised desperatley, trying to enlighten him, hoping that he would take heed. The only way would be running away, and that would incite violence- it would only be a matter of time till Rohail is linked to her. 'You're going to cause a war.' (There's no way for Saba to be your's. If there was, I would support you.)
'Kushi kushi,' he whispered in return like a daredevil, blinded in his love. (Happily.)
Murtasim's forefinger came upto the bridge of his nose, the words painfully straining his mind- the load was too much.
'Bas,' Nano yelped at his stupidity, and silence fell upon them. 'Rohail. Choro us larki ko,' she instructed calmly, face flushed from the intensity of the moment. Only in that moment did Meerab notice the likeness between Nano and Maa Saab, the lowered pitch when ordering which caused an undeniable coolness, tickling the heart, forcing compliance.
Rohail nodded. 'Acha Nano,' he lied smoothly. Then he walked out the door- choosing heedlessness.
The called out to him but it fell on deaf ears.
'If I see you by her at the walimah....' Murtasim warned, but that was all Rohail heard, too far gone.
All that was clear inside the house was the noise of the car engine revving.
Proofread and translations by HereinNowhere2