When Meerab reached home, Younis welcomed her with a bag full of freshly sewn and pressed dresses. 'Bibi, pehn kar dekh len. Koi alteration chahiye tou abhi bata de jiye,' he curtly instructed. He remained standing in wait at the side as Meerab changed in the washroom. (Miss, try them on. Let me know if you require any alterations.)
Perhaps that's why Murtasim spent a couple extra moments lounging around in the foyer, after all it was his own house- obviously, not to see her adorned in fabrics grown on his ancestral lands- for them to be blessed upon her frame.
Soon enough she emerged with a wide smile gracing her radiant face. She was caught in the reflection of the glass door- they were mirror like, producing crystal clear vision of her hourglass silhouette.
It was a calm baby pink that moulded around the curves of her body like fine silk, expertly taken in at the waist, and the dress flowed outwards like a bloomed tulip at the hem. She approached and stood poised infront of Maa Saab and Mai, and they both hummed in appreciation. 'Theek lagta hai. Comfortable tou hou?' Maa Saab asked, and Meerab nodded in response, entirely fulfilled by the new closet. (Looks good. Are you comfortable?)
'Pyaari lag rahe hai,' Mai commented. Maybe this is why Murtasim walked in, unable to stop himself from taking a clear view of how pyaari she looked, as if anyone asked for his opinion. (You look lovely.)
Maa Saab's eye flickered off to her son, obviously lingering needlessly- it was unlike him to involve himself in such matters. 'Tum yahan kya kar rahe hou? Tumhare mehmaan aaye nahi?,' she asked, already knowing that his guests were waiting in his office. Maa Saab had already offered them coffee until Murtasim arrived. (What are you doing here? Haven't your guests arrived?)
'Aaye hai.....' he trailed, his finger coming trail his forehead as in deep thought- like configuring an excuse for his frivolous presence. (They have.)
'To yahan kya kar rahe hou?' She said, seeking an explanation for becoming Meerab's shadow. (What are you doing here then?)
There was a pause in which his mind whipped together incomprehensible words, then 'Kapre,' slipped out by accident. (Clothes)
His mother's eyebrows quirked, unimpressed by his never-ending tardiness. 'Tumhein iske kapron say kya hai?' (What do you have to do with her clothes?)
They were gifted by him, causing a wash of fulfilment as he turned to Meerab to drink in the sight- Enough of being grilled by his mother, he asked, 'Kapre theek hain?' He was seeking confirmation that his gift was upto par. (Are the dresses good?)
She nodded, not missing his intense gaze as if it was all his, every thread that twisted into fabric and the girl it adorned. The regal hue bounced off her moon-face, somehow amplifying the twinkle in her ebony eyes.
'Bete tum darzi bhi ho?,' Maa Saab quipped sarcastically, and Murtasim eyes narrowed at being called out so bluntly. (Dear, are you a tailor?)
'Kapre ke quality dekhne kay liye aaya tha Maa Saab,' he replied, his voice carrying a hint of irritation for being put on the spot when all he wanted to do was etch the heavenly curve of her smile into his memory, so the rest of his day would be more pleasant. (Maa sahab, I came her just to check the quality of the dresses.)
Mai urged, 'Aur quality kaisi lgi?' A knowing smile graced her face, every wrinkle housing kindness and adoration for the boy she had raised into someone so empathetic, yet so unmoving when he wished. (And how is it?)
Well the quality of the fabric couldn't be evaluated from only looking. He caught onto the edge of her dupatta and rubbed it between his fingers, getting a feel for the thickness of the thread, the weave's density, the texture from the dyes on the fabric- not daring to looking upwards to her. He concluded, 'Achi quality hai,' in a hushed tone after much deliberation. It was worthy of her enigmatic grandeur. (It's good.)
'Doosre bhi pehn ke dekh lou... fitting kay liye,' Murtasim justified in a voice that was an equal mix concern and optimism. She was his.... Mehmaan, and that entirely justified the need to accommodate to her every perceptible need. (You should try the others as well... For fitting)
But Murtasim's irk towards the tailor furthered when he interjected, 'Saare kapre aik he meche ke hai. Yeh dress theek hai tou saare teek honge Saab.' (All the dresses are of same measurements, if this one is fine then all the rest are fine as well.)
Murtasim took a second to scan the dress in a way that hopefully wasn't too obvious, and weighed up if he ought to request for her to try them again.... to double check. But time escaped him and he was then called inwards, and left without another word at the end of the fashion show.
Meerab showered and slipped into her new outfit again, refreshed as she lazed around with Mariyum in the ratten garden chairs - it was a sunny afternoon. The breeze was cleansing and grounding from the hectic day work.
Noori was twirling infront of them on the grass inciting a light perfume of mauled grass, but there was a lack of colourful flowers due to the chilly winter season- this was balanced out by Meerab's presence.
High spirited Noori forced Meerab to catch the ball with her- more like roll the ball as Noori hadn't quite developed depth perception yet.
Unbeknownst to her, Murtasim's office faced out to the garden the lawn. He was ensnared in awe as Meerab followed her like a train, teasing the little girl and graciously handing the ball to her on every occasion. The men infront of him blurred into meaningless nothingness as they negotiated between themselves about rates for produce of the coming season.
There were only two weeks left till delivery and Mariyum had been reduced to waddle, which meant that Noori was extra clingy, and Meerab could already feel her arm muscles beginning to strengthen as she carried the tired girl inside. 'Noori, tum bahut heavy hou!' Meerab whined in a soft giggle, secretly enjoying the way Noori hung to her like a cuddly koala. (Noori you are so heavy.)
'Nahi to. Mere Moomoo tou asaani say utha lete hain,' retorted as her arms curled around Meerab's neck. (No I am not. My moomoo can pick me up easily.)
'Main tumhare Moomoo jitni strong nahi hun,' Meerab explained as she felt a tinge of shyness at his mentioned, every sway of her dress carried his history, an ode his lineage. (I am not as strong as your moomoo.)
'Meri Moomoo jitni lambi bhi nahi,' the little girl responded proudly, far too supportive of her Moomoo. (Not as tall as him as well.)
'Tum bhi itni lambi nahi ho,' Meerab pointed out, eliciting a low grumble from the little girl, her cheeks puffing out as a show of her displeasure at the reminder of her measly height compared to the other residents. (Even you're not as tall as him.)
'Nahi main badi hon Meero,' Noori attempted to correct her, but it was far too squeaky to be taken seriously. (No meero, I am big.)
That only egged Meerab to nuzzle into her, and query, 'Badi hou tou chalna pasand kyun nahi?' (If you are big, then why don't you like to walk?)
Noori was a pro at getting her way, so to ease the soreness of Meerab's arm, she leaned and pecked her Meero's cheek.
Meerab let out a little squeal at the unexpected affection- melted by the sign of fondness. The ghost of the kiss lingered, causing a warm fuzziness to cloud her mind, and she pulled Noori from her hip to hug her extra tight. 'Thankyou Noori.'
It worked, Meerab was buzzing and entirely re-energised, her entire aura twinkling with hapiness at Noori's magical approval.
The three of them settled on the leather sofa's infront of the TV and Noori watched her schedule of cartoons whilst nestling on top of Meerab, cuddling into her comforting warmth that her mother failed to provide due to being heavily pregnant. The volume was low, filling the air with murmurations of conversing characters- mainly Tom and Jerry as they raced around the screen in a never ending chase lulling them into slumber.
Through the trance of the animations, Noori slowly slipped onto her side and lay splayed across Meerab's lap. The arm supporting Noori's head was covered in a splay of messy curls. Rich chocolate brown merging into roasted coffee shades from the way the light caught on it.
After an couple hour, the room was beginning to seep in a warmth from the afternoon sun, and the light snores of the trio disturbed the otherwise still air.
Murtasim walked in to see the three girls dozed off, the cartoons still playing infront of them. Meerab's lap was her nest, an exchange of heat, and their soft inhales and exhales were in sync- blanketing the room in euphony which invited him closer. His heart swelled at the homely vision, his Meero safe and sound with his Noori. What more could a man ask for?
Entering, he switched the cartoons off and gently placed a shawl over Noori which he arranged to meticulously hang from Meerab's shoulder. It was large and covered her legs too. He took a moment to watch in awe at the sight as it erased the tiredness of day's work.
Only a few brief moments passed before Meerab has woken up with the sharp noise of keys falling from his hand as he unconsciously let go of in a trance- the clank of metal on marble was enough to punctuate the room and pull her eyes open.
'Murtasim?' She asked sleepily, croakily, barely above a whisper as she blinked him into focus.
'Hmm?' He asked slowly nearing again, seeing that she was trapped under Noori's dead weight.
'Yahan kya kar rahe hou?,' Meerab asked, attempting to sit up from her slouched position. (What are you doing here?)
'Itne ghante guzar gye hai. Office mei hi soun?' He teased, and she only shook her head, drowsiness stubbornly remaining in her water line. The sunset flooded through the endless windows, basking them in a rays of gold, ethereally illuminating the scene into a tranquil realm. (It is so late, should I sleep in the office?)
The calm was palpable, almost as if she was still dreaming. 'It's your own house,' she replied effortlessly as the space between her and Noori beginning to feel clammy.
'Kitaab padh rhi thi?' He asked in a hushed tone, throwing his blazer off and Meerab smiled at his thoughtfulness to remember. (Were you reading a book?)
'Khatam bhi kar li,' she informed with a lilt of satisfaction. She was a book worm. (Even finished it.)
'Do you need help in getting another book?' he teased , appreciating the way she was succumbed to stillness in an aim to protect precious Noori's delicate sleep- bowing before innocence.
'Nahi. Noori ko uthane mein madat kar lo,' she suggested instead, wondering why he had to bring that up - her cheeks tinged a shade of dusty pink in a bout of embarrassment. (No help me with Noori.)
This was only worsened when Murtasim approached and leaned down to retrieve Noori. His one hand slipped behind Noori's thighs and one beneath her upper back, which briefly skimmed Meerab's stomach as he wedged his hand beneath for support. A spark of electricity passed between them- electricity igniting as the circuit completed.
Her breath hitched at the proximity, but he only focused on the precious baby- well she wasn't a baby at 3 years old, but was the current baby of their house.
The dead weight of Noori's head meant her head flopped back and Meerab brushed the curls out of her eyes so it didn't tickle her. Noori's mouth opened in transit, eliciting a softest rumbly snore which melted their hearts.
In that brief moment, Murtasim and Meerab's gaze flickered to one another to see if the other was as enraptured by the unmarred angelic innocence that was captured in her sleeping face. They wondered about the vivid dreams playing under her eyelids that occasionally caused her to twitch. They carefully studied the luscious eyelashes peacefully resting on the cheekbones and the curve of her button nose- she was quintessentially a doll.
As if she was a sensor activated bomb, he carefully, but weightlessly, lifted her and placed her on the other sofa, and Noori instantly relaxed at the comfier bed.
Meerab stretched her stiff body, yawning as being uncaged and Murtasim sat opposite to her, admiring her post nap dewy face on this balmy evening.
'Sab kahan hai?' Meerab asked, only seeing a sleeping Mariyam and Noori. There was no chatter to disturb them, no footsteps to indicate the presence of another. (Where is everyone?)
Only on that cue did Murtasim place a blanket on his sister too, although she looked significantly less comfortable. 'Maa Saab daawat pe gey hai, issi liye khamoshi si phel gyi hai ghar mei,' he explained, hinting that his mother was often away as a guest, gracing weddings and gatherings as their prestigious Khanum. (Maa saab has gone to attend a gathering, that's why the house seen to be quite.)
Whilst scanning the seated man, Meerab found him to be weathered, the top couple button of his collar was undone to release stress, the styling of his hair had uncast and become faintly fluffy. The cosiness was only exacerbated by the eggshell hue of his shirt, barely creased at his elbows. When she snapped out of her trance, she asked, 'Mulaazim nahi nazar aarahe hai?' (where are all the house help?)
'Koy ghar chaley gye hongey Maa Saab ke na honey par. Jo bachey hain, masroof hongey.' (some would've gone to thier home as maa isn't here and rest would be busy.)
Meerab nodded, and her stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard by all in the vicinity, causing a lightness to fill the air at the comical betrayal of her body.
Rather than asking if she was hungry, Murtasim pushed himself off from his knees and came to his full towering length. 'Challo. Kuch khatey hain Miss Meerab.' (come, let's eat something miss meerub.)
She followed suit without question, deeming it is pointless to deny her hunger. As they tread to the kitchen, she thought to clarify his perception of her employment. Although 'Miss Meerab' was endearing, it was incorrect. 'Main ab kaam pe tou naho hou. Na he kissi bache ko kuch parhaya hai abhi.' (I am not working right now, neither had I taught any student yet.)
He faked a gasp, which coupled with the patter of their soles on the hard flooring. 'What am I paying you for then?,' he joked, knowing that there was another 3 weeks till payday.
'You haven't paid me anything,' she quipped cheekily, far too comfortable with her employer.
'Koy majboori hai jo tumhein tankhwa abhi chahiye Miss Meerab? Yahan say bhaagne ke iraade tou nahi hai,' he asked in a voice that hinted a serious undertone, hoping that the day would never come. (Why do you need your salary so early. Are you thinking to run, Miss meerub?)
Her ears only heard one thing, and her cheeks blazed. 'Fir se Miss Meerab?' It came out like a teacher telling off a naughty student- not that she had any practice in the matter. (Again, Miss Meerub?)
Her annoyance only egged him on. He leaned as which he teased, 'Ya main bhi Meero bulau?' (Or should I call you meero as well?)
Her eyebrows raised in amusement at the idea. 'Bulalo, mujhey kya.' She feigned nonchalance even though her heart had just learnt cartwheels. 'Par Noori jitne cute tou nahi ban sakte,' she challenged, carrying an sense of happiness at the proposition. (You may, as if I care. But you can't be as cute as Noori.)
'Ban bhi sakta hun Meero,' he chaffed as they passed the kitchen doorway- catching that there was somebody inside. (I can be, Meero.)
'Do you know she kissed my cheek. Meri tou best friend-' Meerab was cut off, instantly flustering at realisation of the spectator.
They felt like teenagers being caught red handed when all they did was wander into the kitchen together in search for dinner, but they found Mai watching them as they entered, being giddy in each other's company. 'Kya ban sakte ho Murtasim?,' Mai interjected, involving herself in their conversation. (What can you be Murtasim?)
Murtasim gulped in embarrassment, and Mai saw straight through him.
Because Meerab so sharp, she turned the question on Mai and said, 'Aap yahan?' They were a fraction less giggly, calibrating to a unsuspicious degree. (Mai, why are you here?)
'Kyun bete? Tum dono ko kitchen mei kiyamat machaane deti?' Mai asked sarcastically. (Why my dear? Should I have left you two to wreak havoc in the kitchen?)
There was an awkward giggle before Meerab rephrased, 'Matlab... aap ghar nahi ge apna bachon, shohar kay paas?' (I meant, aren't you going back to your kids and husband?)
Mai stilled slightly, and Murtasim came to stand next to her, placing his arm on Mai's shoulder. 'Mai ke shohar ki bahut arsa pehle forth ho chuki. Shayad 15 saal ho chukhay hain.' (Mai's husband has died around 15 years ago.)
'Maazerat,' Meerab uttered whilst stepping up to her to grasp her hand. 'Mujhey nahi malum tha.' (I am sorry. I didn't know.)
Mai gave a rueful smile. 'Koy baat nahi bete. Yehi zindagi ka nizaam hai. Tum dono betho, main roti banati hou,' she delegated with ease, and they complied without a word as they eagerly sat at the kitchen counter. Their legs dangling off the barstools as they watch the tight bun in Mai's hai from her dupatta slipping- she was facing away, towards the stove. She lit the match to turned the hot one and began rolling her dough into balls for them, more than happy to fill their bellies on a simple dinner. (It's alright love. This is life. You two shall sit, I'll serve you dinner.)
Meerab took the moment to contemplate that all the times that Mai had recalled anecdotes of her husband- realising they were in the past tense. 'Betiyon ke naam kya bataye the ?' There was some recollection of a name mentioned in passing, more nothing clear. (What was the name of your daughters?)
Murtasim leaned in and enlightened on Mai's behalf, 'Sara aur Husna.' Meerab tried hard to embed them into memory, wanting to acclimatise.
Then Mai elaborated whilst rolling, expertly stretching the dough, and cooking. 'Do betiyaan hai. Shadi shuda hai. Aik Lahore shift hogyi, and aik Dubai... mera ghar khali hai, tou main yahan masroof rehti hou.' (I have two daughters, one lives in Lahore and the other one in Dubai. There is no one else in my house so I keep myself busy here.)
'Khaali ghar hai?' Meerab asked in a deflated tone, somehow that seemed more dire than her circumstances. Atleast she wasn't alone, everytime she opened a door in the Khan house, she was met with a welcoming face. (,There is no one in your house?)
In a cadence that was slightly defensive, Mai assured, 'Haan par akeli tou nahi hou. Yeh gharwaale bhe mere apne hai. Aur tum.' (Yes but I am not alone. I have you people.)
Meerab's breath hitched at being her gharwale.
Mai attempted to set the dinner table for them, but they insisted she didn't. Whilst remaining sitting at the kitchen island, they tucked into dinner, it somehow tasted sweeter- motherly.
In the background, Mai made tea at the stove, and Murtasim ordered, 'Isse bhe sikha dou.' (teach her to cook as well.)
'Seek jayegi waqt kay saath.' She dismissed as she vigilantly watched the tea but. At another thought, she added, 'Waise bhe... thodi na koi iske shaadi ke ghar mei issey chai banwayega.' (She'll learn with time. And, it isn't like her in laws will make her to make tea.)
Meerab sighed at the trepidation of a stay built on lies. 'Kya pata meri kismat mei kya hai?' Her words laced in melancholy, aware and prepared for the struggles ahead. (Who knows what lies ahead in my destiny?)
He studied her eating, savoring every morsel, and came to the conclusion that sitting in her company has bought him an undue amount of satisfaction. He hypothesized, 'Nahi bawayengay, par patta hona chahiye.' (they won't, but one should know.)
Not that she was opposed to the idea of learning life skills, but she had come to enjoy butting heads with him. 'Acha? Tumhein patta hai achi chai kaisay banate hai Khaan Saab?,' she posed, already having an inkling of the answer. (Oh really, do you know how to make tea, Khan Saab?)
His shoulders lifted in a shrug. 'Isme kya hai? Main bhe seekh lounga.?' He lied through his teeth in an obvious attempt to charm the girl. (What's big in it? I'll learn as well?)
Both of the women audibly scoffed at the blatant fib. This was broken by the azaan rumbling somewhere deep inside the house, and Mai took that as her cue to attend to prayers.
Again, left in only each others company, after swallowing a mouthful, Murtasim asked, 'Kapre theek hain? Pasand hai tumhein Meerab?' It was seeped in sincerity, as though the answer was change his trajectory. (Do you like the dresses meerub?)
'Of course, bahut pyaare hai,' she shared, instantly soothing his conscience. 'Younis bhe nice the, jaldi silwa diye hai.' (Yes they are good. Younis is nice he sew them fast.)
In an attempt to suppress roll of an eye at his mention, he pivoted, 'Koy cheez tumhein na pasand ho tou batana Mai ko.' (if you don't like anything, tell Mai about it.)
'Mai ko? Aisay kyun keh rahe hou? Fir ja rahe hou?' There was almost a hint of disappointment as she got up to attend to the tea. (To Mai? Why are you saying this? Are you leaving?)
'Je goan mei masrufiyat hai.' But when he met with her dulled face, he added 'Tum bhi aajana.' (Yes, there is some work in the village. You shall come as well.)
It was a tempting offer, but she rejected him with, 'Mujhey kaam hai.' He continued with their dinner, the ceiling lights over the kitchen counter hing low, illuminating the food, making her glow. (I have work.)
'Weekend pe le jaunga gao ka ghar dekhane. Ya kaam ke baad khet dekhane kay liye- woh nazdeek hai.' (I'll take you on the weekend to show you the village house or the field after your work, it's near )
'Kapas aur alsi?,' she stated, unimpressed. She vividly remembered his ramblings from the train, the longest almost 24-hours of her life as her path collided with with, an a moment that felt like divine intervention. (Cotton and flax fields?)
It felt like he had won a challenge when he refuted her statement by adding, 'Ganne bhi hai. Anaar aur maltay bhe hai.' (There are sugarcane and pomegranate and oranges as well.)
That invoked a smile and she was suddenly much more excited as the idea of stuffing her face with tangy fruits, handpicked, fresh off the tree.
They heard a different set up footsteps approaching and swivelled in their seats to see a drowsy Mariyum and a juxtaposing full of life Noori.
'Yeh kya time ki neend thi?' Mariyum said in annoyance at herself- to the calm which had allowed her to slip into sleep. (What was this nap about?)
'Garden mei Noori ne humay thakka diya,' Meerab replied. (Noori has tired is in the garden.)
Mariyum disagreed as she stifled a rouge yawn. 'Noori ne tumhein thakka diya, mei tou behti rahi the.' (Noori had tired you, not me. I was just sitting.)
'Fir tumhare bete ne tumhein thaka deeya,' Meerab teased and Mariyum blushed. She remained standing, not even attempting to balance on the small seat of the stool. (Then your son has tired you.)
Noori automatically walked up to her Moomoo to be placed on the counter and she observed his dinner- wondering if it was now hers. It was a humble meat and potato stew served along side the rotis.
'Moomoo mirchi hai?' Noori asked, slightly saddened by the prospects of the food being out of bounds but the deep spiced opacity of the gravy. (Moomoo is it spicy?)
'Jee Noori. Mai kuch aur bana degi,' he advised, sharing his bread in the meantime. (Yes Noori, Mai will cook something for you.)
'Mai namaz par rahe hai,' Meerab interjected, an idea forming in her mind. (Mai is offering Salah.)
'Main khud bana leti hou. Mitti roti bana deti hou,' Mairyum said whilst approaching the stove. (I'll cook myself. I'll make sweet bread.)
There was a glad cheer from Noori.
'Nahi, main bana deti hou.' Meerab suggested. 'Tum itni pregnant tou, kitchen counter tou bhe nazar nahi aayegi.' (No, I'll cook. You are so heavily pregnant, you can't even look at the kitchen counter.)
'Tumhe bana aata hai?' Mariyam asked suspiciously- she was their guest, and didn't lift a finger. This also led them to believe that she didn't know how to, or would have taken a little initiative in the past week. (Do you know how to cook?)
'Roti hai. Itni mushkil tou nahi ho sakti....' She trailed in a false sense of confidence. (How difficult can it be?)
'Meerab-,' he cut off uncomfortably. 'Mai banalengi.' (Mai will cook something.)
'Main israar kar rahe hou tou itne baat kyun bana rahe hou. Mariyum ne mujhey behn ke tarha rakha, aur tumne bhe-' she stopped her self. '... dost ke makaam deeya hai.' (I am requesting, why are restraining. Marium takes my care as a sister and you... As a friend.)
'Tumhari marzi hai,' he said, not wanting to impose. (Whatever you say.)
'Aur tumne kahan tha ke Meerab ke marzi chaleygi... hai na?' She asked with a wide grin at remembering their negotiation at the dargah. (And you had said that you'll always listen to me.... Didn't you?)
He backed down. 'Aisay he hai,' he proudly confirmed, and Mariyum watched the two of them, not even bothering to include her to the reference. (Yes I did.)
With that, she rolled up the sleeves of her dress - well they gathered on her forearms from being fitted. Mariyum re-lit the stove and located the sugar and butter.
Prepared, Meerab assembled, recalling a memory of her childhood with the snack and she slapping the dough onto the inferno pan- it caused her to visualise her kind mother's face and Meerab's hand instinctively grazed her necklace- well it touched empty skin. Only now did she realise that her necklace was missing, and her heart plummeted at the possible implication. Had there been a theft? The house had rotating guests, endless staff. Her racing mind only momentarily settled when she remembered she took it off and placed it on her bed side a couple days ago- well thats what she last recalled.
Noori was mumbling about something unimportant when Meerab suddenly hissed in pain and Murtasim instantly came to her side to see the injury that she was investigating, woefully cradling one hand in the other as a tempest consumed her mind.
It was a 2 inch red brush stoke just past her wrists. He pulled at her hand to get a good look, and she whined, 'Jal raha hai.' (it's burning)
'Mainey kaha bhi tha,' he chided whilst prying at the injury, the skin was intact, greyed from the contact with the hot metal pan. (I'd told you.)
'Suna kyun rahe ho? Mujhey chot lagi hai, tumhe nahi,' she said in a voice alight with burning, crackling from the pain. (Why are you scolding me? I am the one who's hurt, not you.)
Mariyum and Noori watched their bickering in bewilderment.
Murtasim shook his head at her obliviousness. 'Dikhao,' he ordered in assertive tone, as if that would convince her. (Show me)
In a moment of vulnerability, she recoiled into herself. 'Main khud dekh loungi,' she said, trying to twist away. There was a brief drop in her voice and it stabbed at Murtasim's heart. (I'll tend it myself.)
'Meerab,' he warned deeply, and it almost felt wrong against his previous almost flirty use of 'Meero' and 'Miss Meerab.'
'Bas thodi si chott hai,' she said in a slightly higher pitch, trying to dismiss the weakness, her confidence dwindling.
He bought it closer like he was a doctor and observed, like she was under scrutiny and then his gaze lifted to her. Her eyes were glossy from the stinging of scalded skin, but her tone didn't give it away. Like a mask re-fixed, she blinked and stood up tall.
'Humari mehmaan ho. Dekhne dou,' he reasoned in a much softer tone, reminding her that she wasn't to suffer alone anymore and she nodded stoically, letting him maneuver it closer. Then Murtasim swiveled to the fridge to retrieve some ointment, and then rattled the kitchen cabinets for some medical gauze. Finally, it was Mariyum that came to the rescue by locating the supplies. (You are our guest, let me have a look.)
With the spare breath, Meerab took seat on the barstool to calm her down from the shooting pain up her arm. Murtasim returned his tools in hand, and she asked, 'Yeh kya hai?' (what's this?)
'Marham hai,' he explained sweetly, squeezing a pea sized amount out. (Ointment)
A whimper left Meerab as he precisely applied the cool gel onto her damaged skin and bandaged over with the dressing- slowly winding it around her wrist with a endearing softness.
She watched as reluctantly she gave up control, flustered by allowing him to do another favour. There skin was brushing casually and he held her hand in his own- he felt the dull pain radiating off her in the limpness of it.
It looked like a tennis wristband as the injury was lengthwise. At completion, he lowly mumbled. 'Clumsy,' between them, affirming her earlier slip in the library.
'Bossy,' she retorted with full conviction, as if nothing had happened- and the air thinned as he smiled at reducing her discomfort.
With Murtasim still holding her close and Mairyum busied in watching the circus, Mai stormed in and screeched at the fumes emerging from the pan. 'Yeh kya jal raha hai?' (what's burning over there?)
'Meerab ka bazou,' Murtasim informed, uncaring for the roti which had been abandoned. (Meerab's hand.)
'Roti!' Mai exclaimed, identifying the issue herself and swiftly turning the flame off. She eyed them in disbelief, not catching onto Meerab's injury.
Mariyum looked over to see the grey clouds wafting around the stove. The bitter fume gnawed at her throat. The sugar had oozed out and caramelised, and then burnt onto the hot iron.
At which point, they started coughing, and Murtasim opened the outside door to let the fumes circulate.
Mai hurried in placing the pan into the sink and dousing it in water.'Yahan kya ho raha tha?,' she asked in annoyance- just when she had completed her tasks, a new mess had formed. (What was happening here?)
'Meero roti bana rahe hai,' Noori squeaked, and Meerab had never felt so exposed before. Her shoulders fell in embarrassment at the debacle- she had meant good. It was going well until her hand lowered momentarily to the hot pan. 'Roti banate huay thora sa haath jal gaya.' (meero was making roti. Her hand got burnt while making it.)
Mai tutted at the idea when she had already sorted their dinner, and whipping up a couple extra roti's would be a simple task- if they bothered to call her. 'Tou kis ne kaha tha roti banane ko? Mujhey bula leti?' She replied rhetorically, wondering if they enjoyed stressing her out. (So who told you to make it yourself? You should have called me.)
There was no duress, it was a moment of kindness which meant Meerab wanted to care for them the same way she had been accommodated to. 'Mainey khud bola tha, Noori kay liye. Ghalati say mera haath tave pe lag gaya,' she elaborates, the bandage coning to support the statement. (I was the one who wanted to do it for Noori. I touched the pan by mistake.)
'Tou mujhey bula lete bete,' Mai said, the suggestion arriving far too late. Then Mai turned and found the boy with accusing eyes. 'Tumne isko taana diya tha.' (You should have called me. You taunted her!)
Murtasim's eyebrows furrowed, unable to contemplate how she had jumped to that conclusion. 'Main kyun isse kuch kahunga?' (Why would I do that?)
Mai shook her head when arguing was futile. 'Hato, main safai karti hou.' (Get aside, let me clean this.)
With a murky burntness emanating from the kitchen, Naurez walked in to see them further opening the window, and he picked his baby up from the counter. 'Mariyum ne kuch banaya hai?' He joked, but his wife returned him a challenging gaze. (Was Marium cooking?)
The standoff was broken by Noori saying, 'Baba? Bhook?' (Baba, you hungry?)
Naurez watched at Mai scurried around to manage the issue, and his arm came around Mariyum. 'Hum bahir jaa kay dinner karlein?' Mariyum melted instantly, wondering why the idea haden't stuck her earlier. (Shall we go out for dinner?)
After tending to her, Murtasim's phone rang and he was busied in that conversation. Meerab only heard brief hushed sentences, something about a delivery which made him leave.
Meerab retired for the night after drinking 2 cups of tea which provided no solace to the fact that she found no necklace on the return to her bedroom.
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The following school week, Meerab had been assigned a class of her own. She spent hours stood at the front of class in explaining simple addition and subtraction, and her throat was dry by the end of it.
When Murtasim came to collect her from work, he watched as the children hurriedly exited, but he found no Meerab. The cigarette finished in her wait and Noori grew impatient.
He almost felt compelled to wander in to find her, finding the rooms classrooms empty, and except for a couple of teachers which he greeted in passing. chalkboards were clean, and chairs neatly tucked under their desks- a bouncing Noori trailed him.
It was the classroom towards the end of the corridor that Murtasim found her in, scribbling something whilst sat at her teachers desk in class.
Whilst she was seemingly occupied, the lofty shadow approaching pulled her out of her realm and she smiled at the sight of the Noori-Moomoo duo that brightened the room.
A charcoal shalwar kameez appeared strange against his wardrobe of light shades, somehow more boyish- or maybe that was the influence of the setting. 'Miss Meerab, class khatam ho chuki hai,' he teased, stating the obvious. (Miss Meerub, the class is over )
'Mujhey maloom hai,' she replied, her gaze lifting to the 15 or 20 abandoned desks infront of her- it was home time. (I know )
'Tou yahan kyun ho? Main ghari me intezaar kar raha tha. Saare bachay nikal gaye, par tum nahi aaye.' (So why are you here? I was waiting for you in the car. All the kids have left but you didn't come.)
Noori chubby fingers came to Meerab's knees to further the point. 'Hum gaari mei the.' The mini parrot complained as though she was caged in the car- the use of patience was unbearable. (We were in the car.)
'Maine aakhir pe nikalna hai... baaton mei masroof the, safai khatam kar kay aaungey,' Meerab explained whilst leisurley running her hand through Noori's frazzled mop. Noori's stilled, enjoying the sensation. (I'll leave in the end, after I finish my conversations and tidying.)
She adapted so well, Murtasim reasoned- she easily owned any position. 'Challein fir?' (shall we go then?)
This was coupled with, 'Challein Meero?' Noori asked, her eyes glinting excitedly. 'Ganne kaane?' (Shall we go to eat sugar cane?)
'Jee.' Meerab confirmed in a suddenly such livelier tone at their farm excursion. With everything finished for the day, she tagging her bag onto her shoulder they exited, and Noori took the minutes to run around in open space- she couldn't not take a ride in the play ground.
Maybe it was Noori's chatter that caused Maya to be alerted and approached them in the playground, as they stood starkly contrasting the playground toys.
'Salaam Murtasim, kaisey ho. Yahan aana kaisay hua?' Maya asked as she embraced him as though they had reunited after an eon long separation- it seemed like school finishing had caused her formalities to dissipate. (Hi Murtasim, how are you. You here again?)
'Teek hou,' he said whilst ungluing himself. 'Hum Meero... mera matlab Meerab, ko lene aaye hai.' (I'm fine. We have come to collect Meero... I mean Meerab.)
'Yeh tou luxury pick and drop service ho gaya hai,' Maya jabbed through a insincere giggle, her hands needlessly brushing through her hair and her earrings at the use of Meero. 'Main bhe aajau?' She asked hopefully. (This is a luxury chauffeur service. Can I come too?)
Murtasim winced slightly at rejecting her. 'Hum gaon ja rahe hai. I know you dont like nature.' He attempted to soften the blow. (Were going to the village.)
A look of confusion was thrown- as if his statement was unfounded. 'Nonsense. Bohay maza aaeyga,' Maya predicted, but it was cut short when Noori suddenly began wailing, and all three twisted to see her sat at the bottom on the slide. (We'll have fun.)
Instinctivley, Meerab settled Noori at her hip and Noori buried her face in Meerab's shoulder. 'Kya hua mei guriya ko?,' she asked tenderly, confused at the sudden outbreak. (What happened my doll?)
Slowly, Noori lifted her eyes and glared at Maya, and Meerab ardently attempted to sniffle a chuckle at the mellow drama. 'Maya ne tumhare toffiyaan chori karre hai?'Meerab joked to lighten the mood. 'Kis baat ke narazgi hai tummein?' (Did Mays steal your sweets. Why are you upset with her?)
'Mujhay nahi pasand,' Noori whispered into Meerab's ear, as thought she abhorred the woman. (I don't like her.)
In a wrong decision, Maya stepped up with a thumb of friendship, and that set Noori off again like a inconsolable fire alarm, the tears gushed like a broken dam.
To break the tension, Murtasim interjected, 'Next time Maya. Nahi tou Noori ka rona suna pareyga. Main Shuja ko kaho tummein drop kardei?' (Next time Maya, or else the ride will be filled with Noori's tears. Shall I call Shuja to drop you?)
The smile dropped. 'Nahi... aj mausam acha hai. Mei pedal chale jaunge,' Maya replied though gritted teeth. (No the weather is nice, i'll walk.)
The trio bid her farewell to Maya and got into the car, and even Murtasim let out a chortle at his nieces drama in the playground - at her instinctual dislike. One can't force a friendship. It seemed Meero and Meero had a natural inclination towards each other as Nooru settled in her lap, watching the scenes flicker past the car's window in amazement.
It felt natual as they settled. The rev of the engine surrounded them, and Meerab broke his concentration on the road when said, 'Murtasim.... Tumhein patta hai ke mere class mei kaun hai?' (Murtasim, do you know who my student is?)
'Kaun hai?,' he repeated but with the lilt of a question, wanting to keep hearing more of her voice- forevermore. (Who?)
'Bilaal,' she shared with sparkling eyes but the name only bounced off his head.
'Bilaal kaun? Main tou nahin jaanta,' he asked, unfollowing. (Bilal who?)
Meerab tutted as it was obvious. 'Train station me bacha tha jo dukhaan pe kharra tha? Tumne usse toffees khareedi the jab hum train se utare the?' (the boy at train station? The one from whom you bought toffees?)
The toffees were the flick of the lightbulb. 'Small city,' he remarked, impressed at the coincidence.
Only at that point did she realised that had forgotten her chador at home. Her hair was dancing from the open window. The dupatta which usually lived over her shoulder was promptly draped over her head, but it did little to conceal her identity.
'Yahan goan ja rahe hai, khet dekhne. It'll be fine- no one will recognise you,' he assured. No one would be on the look out for a city girl in the remote countryside half way across the country. (We are going to the village to look at the farms.)
Murtasim continued driving until the people lessened, and the houses turned into trees, endless trees with plump crimson pomegranates hanging- they were bountiful, and labourers weaved throughout them with crates in hand.
Proofread and translated by HereinNowhere2