Warning : contains slightly disturbing content.
In the following days, Shah Nawaz was discharged from hospital and Murtasim returned with Meerab to Karachi. The ride had been silent, the internal stillness of the vehicle forcing them to linger in a space between awkwardness and uncanny peace. A thousand questions and accusations were not uttered to preserve the farce of amicability.
He was a Khan too now and he wondered if she new of the newfound association, the prospect that presented itself. The vision of the kohl eyed women remained in his mind, scratching some corner that whispered how wrong it all was- the den, the beating, someone targeting Meerab - a moutain beckoned to uncovered. Being besides her again was.... strange, pulling his mind away seemed futile when he was perpetually greeted with her honey laden voice and slivers of her flesh caught in the periphery of his gaze.
''Kab se ho rha hai ye sb? Ye shooting pehli baar hui thi?'' He asked, his deep voice cutting through the vibrating background noise of the car. (From how long is this all happening? Did the shooting happened for the first time?)
''Pehli baar tha,'' she replied, her acrylic nails tapping on her phone as she typed. The clicking was a melody that echoed her apparent disinterest. It was a sort of seclusion, a cave formed around as her hair flopped forwards and curtained where whilst she sat in the front passenger seat. (It was the first time.)
''Qareeb aaya tha?'' He asked, causing a bulging breath to catch in the confine of her throat by forcing her to re-live the harrowing trauma - the bullet ricochetting in her ears. ''Dikhne mein kaisa tha? Kuch alfaz kahe the?'' The words were cool, he was simply foraging for clues. (Did he come near you? What did he look like? Did he say anything?)
Gliding eloquently, he drove with a finesse, the thick leather wheel held still as they roamed the motorway back with endless flat land on either side. Other than the passing of occasional cars, it felt like only the two of them remained on this planet, a discernibly barren dessert and hollow of life.
''I don't remember. I was too busy focusing on the gun in his hand,'' she replied in a dull tone, covering the way the imagery erupted in her mind, the sudden boom that eclipsed every thought and acts until all she could do was scream in fear of the impending fate of being shot - she knew the bullet had her name on it, to piece her skin, erupt upon her and inflict with excruciating injury.
Pivoting, another issue sprouted in his mind from his baba's chat in the hospital. ''Tumne bata kyun nahi ke woh party Amar ne arrange ki thi? You let me accuse you in the hospital,'' he remarked, recalling the way he had yelled and blamed her for his father being in a near death state, uncertain as the blood left him by the bucket load. (Why didn't you tell me that Amar organised that party?)
''Meri marzi main bataun ya nahi,'' she replied haughtily, the sun smiling down upon her brilliantly for sticking her ground. (It's my call whether to tell you or not.)
''You were protecting him,'' he scoffed. Around them, the tendrils of their precious lifetime latched, shadowing every gesture and word.
No, Meerab was protecting herself. It was easier to stay away from Murtasim when he hated her, even if the disgust was based on a lie, on a act that was specifically designed to push him away.
So again, she allowed herself to be painted as the villain. ''Of course, mera mangetar hai. Mujhe bardasht nahi hai ke tum usko gaaliya do,'' she fibbed, reasoning that it was a reasonable response if one has even a wisp of attraction for the man. (Of course, he's my fiance. I can't tolerate you badmouthing him.)
''Acha. Itna khaas hai ke tum uski gaadi mein ghar bhi nahi gyi? Ghar walo ko jhooth bola tha mere saath baithne ke liye?'' Murtasim threw back whilst remembering the way she clearly chose him
over Amar - she wasent torn, there was only one obvious and correct answer. (Right. If he's so special to you, then why didn't you go home with him that night? Why did you lie to your family about it?)
''Murtasim, woh mera personal mamla hai. Stay out of it,'' she ordered, trying to usher him away from the irk laced into her words. (Murtasim that's my personal matter, stay out of it.)
''Gaadi nahi pasand ya larka?'' He persisted cockily. His swell biceps caused the white shirt to tense, turning the steering wheel as they turned off the motorway- he knew the route off the back of his hand now. (Do you not like the car or the guy?)
The phone lowered into her lap, and she looked at his pompous side profile again the blurred and moving autumnal backdrop. ''Gaadi tou achi hai,'' she countered, trying to knock him down with the compliment to her fiance. It was a ridiculously expensive car, sleek and new, a status of class. (The car is nice.)
''Then it's the man,'' he decided in an exasperated chuckle- it was a victory, a flurry of accomplishment spread through his chest. It was like being chosen, like his worth had been proven indirectly.
Taking a sip of her Rani float, a wave of sugar cleansed her palette and fuelled her come back, ''Yeh tumhari ghalat fehmi hai. Khair, tumne jaise sochna hai, waise socho.'' (that's your misconception, anyways, one can dream.)
A couple quiet seconds were spent when his mind tried to decipher the reason for like dislike, besides being the one behind the shooting. She had squirmed. ''Why Meerab? Mangetar hai, but you looked uncomfortable infront of the hospital too?''
''No I didn't,'' she replied sharply. She looked ahead onto the road depsite there being nothing of interest.
The atmosphere thickened which Murtasim point blankly asked, ''Haath lagata hai tumhein?'' What else could make her pull away- he was her fiance. A normal person would be wishing for the days to pass faster so they could be wed. The opposite was true in this case. (Did he touch you?)
''No,'' she corrected immediately, gulping. ''Aur tum yeh nahi pooch sakte,'' Meerab replied whilst verbally pushing him away. This road had been taken many times, home on either end, and a mind numbing blankness between that streched for miles on end. (You can't ask me such questions.)
''Kyun nhi pooch sakta?'' He asked in a assertive tone, carrying the right to ask her for any information that his heart desired. It was difficult to tell which one was the employee. (And why can't I do that?)
entered into karachi, surrounded by flashy advertising billboards on all side- it was her territory, everything was hers. ''Tumhara mujhpe koyi haq nahi hai,'' she reminded coldly, each letter was a curse. (You have no right over me.)
''Hai haq,'' echoed through the car, crisp and undeniable. His visage was set, furrowed eyebrows from the rising tension from her arguing- he was on duty. ''It's for your safety. Issi liye mujhe tumhare saath bheja hua hai.'' (I do. It's for your safety that's why I'm here with you.)
''Don't I look safe besides you? Ye khaali sadak pe bhi koyi bandook hai?'' The words were a cry for respite from his interrogative gaze as she stood on the brink of a mask dropping, the grip weakening with every second spent in his company. (Are there any guns on this deserted road?)
''Baat mat badlo. Phir pooch raha hun, woh haath lagata hai tumhein ya nahi?'' His voice rose an octave, reminding her of who was really in charge in the vehicle that soared at 80 mph. Despite the aggression in his tone, there was an underlying concern- he needed to pinpoint the issue, all the issues that festered around her. (Don't change the topic. I'm asking you again, does he touch you?)
Her heart shook from the scrutiny, not accustomed to the ragged edge of his words what used to be polished and pristine for her. Cowering, the understanding settled that he questioned about untoward behaviour from another man, as if her fiance as within the breadth of Murtasim's responsibilities. ''Aisi koyi baat nahi Murtasim. Yeh tum ilzaam laga rahe ho Amar Malik pe,'' she replied, her voice shaky and tinged in make-believe. (There's nothing like that. You are accusing Amar malik like this.)
''Yeh sawaal hai, aur doosri baat, main usse nahi darta. Waise bhe, i'm sure Sarfaraz and Anwar would mind if Amar ever touched you.'' And his conscience would mind, a gun would be required to rectify the wrong, he reasoned - his hand had developed a twitch since that night at the hospital. (That's just a question. And secondly, I'm not afraid of him.)
Shoving her phone into the center console, the plastic rattled against the glass phone as she huffed at his unabashed style. The vexation bubbled in her tummy, rising to her throat at his ability to get under her skin, direct the truths and identify the fragments of lies in the mosaic that was Meerab.
''Tumhein kuch hogaya to mujhe hi bura lagega, nahi?'' He reasoned, justifying the need to involve himself in whichever aspect of her life that he wished. Security from any threat, physical, mental or to her heart. (If something happens to you I'll be hurt meerub.)
Stifling the want to offer the drink to him, she placed the drink between them in the centre console, as it was half full. Her sight was pulled his much larger hand that cast over the gear stick completley, following the unpolished bronze ridges of his knuckles, trailing upon the watch that hung handsomely from his wrist, glinting for attention.
Beyond them, he was relentlessly trained in the army, he had his own status and skill which competed with the feudals. ''Haan, naukri se na nikale jao,'' she reminded, rolling her eyes. It was some residual ego clash, she reasoned, or maybe it was Amar's jab of behind being a 'mard' on their first meeting which continued to sting him. (Yes, you'll be kicked out from your job )
''Nahi, Sarfaraz ne dhamki di thi, hisaab barabar karne ki. Tumhaara saaya banne ka mera shauk nahi hai,'' he clarified bitterly. There was loftly pressure upon to conform. Simply being a 'Khan' wasn't sufficient in dictating one's own life, it seemed. (No Sarfaraz has threatened me to give a fair and equal pain if something happens to you. I dont have any wish to be your shadow.)
The same reminder of a need to prove his 'manliness' rang in his ears, the idea causing his foot on the pedal to press suddenly and then the clutch pedal he lowered the gear - he would take his sweet time.
The sudden jolt made her drink slosh and it flooded the cupholder until her phone was half submerged into the sugary drink. Meerab screeched in a mix of annoyance and shock, ''My phone!''
Orange droplets encased the phone when it was fished out, dripping as she held it in disbelief - he had done this to spite her. ''Gaadi chalani nahi aati tumhein?'' It was a hiss, wondering when be would cool. (Don't you know how to drive?)
''Amar ke saath chali jaati uski 'acchi' gaadi mein,'' he quipped, still pondering on their earlier squabble. (You should have gone in Amar's nice car with him.)
''Bada yaad araha hai tumhein,'' she snapped, the irk compounding and him being the only one in sight to fight back. (You are missing him too much)
''Haan number do, agar phone chalta bhi hai,'' he challenged, unfazed by having wrecked her phone, leaving her without a screen to escape into. (Yes give me his number, if your phone is working that is.)
To test the theory, she clicked the side button, but the screen remained blank and lifeless. ''On nahi ho raha.'' Teeth grinding, her jaw clenched shut from frustration. (It isn't turning on)
Murtasim left her to it, relishing her little tantrum, despite having had no intention to cause the trouble.
Upstairs in the Karachi home, the girls lounged around upstairs for a couple hours until they had a class, skirting around the topic of her shadow, Murtasim, but for different reasons. He stayed in the rear gym for a while to catch up on exercise and then in the cabin, drinking bitter coffee and conversing with the other staff, the gardener, the kitchen girls - but they were ignorant about a motive for being targeted.
For a while, he played around with the security gadgets, toying with the setting to identify the weak spots, confirming that the sides of the house was unguarded by cameras but the high walls were topped with sharp rolls of barbed wire. The coming and goings through the main gate were controlled, there was no other weak point.
The solitude meeting was disturbed when a sharp knock disturbed through the hushed speaking. His mind flittered, realising that no alarm had been sounded, so it was one of the members of the house at his door. Murtasim left the lounge's sofa and taking a couple steps to the front door.
''Kya hai?'' He asked as if moving was unconvenience. Opened, he found Meerab looking at him in an emerald kurta, soft cotton that matched her demeanour- she came with a request.(What is it?)
''Yeh mera new phone set kar doge?'' She requested whilst peering up at him through luscious black eyelashes, a completely different Meerab from the car that now needed a favour from him. (Can you set up my new phone?)
''You bought a new phone?'' He asked in amusement. It was an opened box, the other hand holding a glossy rose gold iPhone.
''Haan, a courier sent it over. Par mujhse chal nahi raha. Can you do it,'' she asked, waiting for his assistance. (I can't operate it.)
''Aur koyi nahi mila jo yahan aayi ho?'' (can you find no one else to do it that you came here?)
''Who else is there?'' She enquired whilst looking at him. Firstly his driving had ruined her phone and now he was looking at her as though the favour was incomprehensible.
Murtasim looked at her blankly, and her palm came to push him back slightly when she saw the other man in the background. ''Khateeb, phone set up karna aata hai?'' (khateeb, do you know how to set a phone up?)
''Nahi Meerab bibi,'' he replied, and Meerab was left with one annoyed option left.
''Please,'' she practically pleaded in needing his assistance.
''Murtasim,'' called out as a reminder behind him- wondering why he was so stoic at the madam of the house asking something of him.
''Chalo charge pe lagao,'' he instructed whilst stepping out. There was no other way- he didn't know how to act properly with her, and it felt like sooner or later, someone would pick up on the uncanny dynamic between the two. (Go charge it first.)
They settled into the white sofas in the lounge, accented in royal gold feet which hoisted them higher. They were deep and comfy, being right next to the wall socket. Shaano joined two with glimmering eyes, watching at the stories came to life, Meerab's childhood lover in the flesh, so tame yet so headstrong that she mistook him for a regal Khan, but rightly so.
Meerab pulled the stool and sat before him, and they waited a couple minutes till the phone lit up. In the meanwhile, he taunted, ''Itna mehanga phone hai aur khud chalana bhi nahi aata?'' (your phone is so expensive and you don't even know how to use it?)
''Bhai karte hain- par yahan sirf tum ho,'' she trailed, her tone giving away that she was reluctantly to ask for help. (Usually Bhai do this for me but now it's only you.)
''Luckily, nahi to koyi phone shop pe jaana padta,'' Shaano added in a smirk- Meerab ka banda was helpful in more ways than one. (That's lucky of her, otherwise we'd have to go to the shop.)
''Main ya tumhare bhai?'' The two options she had, he reasoned with himself, eyes darkening into a cool midnight.
''Bhai tumse zyada acche hai,'' (Bhai is better than you)
''Sarfaraz,'' he asked to check, wondering if she truly believed such a man was better than him.
''Haan. Sarfaraz bhai Itna khayal rakhte hain sabka, is ghar ka bhi,'' Shaano chirped in from the side. (Sarfaraz Bhai takes care of everyone.)
''Yeh, uski mistress bhi acchi hai,'' Murtasim retorted, snatching the air out of their lungs. (Yes, her mistress is good too.)
She was caught off guard, blind sighted ''Kya kahan tumne?'' (what did you just say?)
''Woh ladki jo Sarfaraz ke gaon wale ghar se nikal ke ja rahi thi, tumhari bhabi Gul to nahi thi,'' he shared, the look of inside knowledge emboldened him. (The woman who was exiting sarfarazs village house was not Gul.)
''Ladki,'' she repeated. ''Kaise?'' The idea of her innocent sister in law being cheated broke her heart. Yet her brother doing such was unbelievable, or maybe she way just inclined to believe Murtasim regardless. (Girl. How?)
''Burqa pehna hua tha, kajol, perfume, heels, a necklace,'' he listed, only watching the phone as Meerab wilted from the discovery. (She was wearing a burqa, kajal, perfume, heels, necklace.)
''Was she pretty too? I mean, if she's his mistress then she must be,'' Shaano teased overly.
''Maine aise nahi socha,'' (i didn't look at her that way)
''Par itne details yaad hain...'' Shaano said suggestively, clearly not believing the look of nonchalance that he displayed. (But you remember so many details.)
''Kaam ke waja se gaya tha. It was a new place, new faces, a person remembers easily.'' Murtasim explained, completely sober. It was just business. (I went there for business)
''You're a man,'' Shaano stated in direct contrast to Amar. ''You must have noticed,'' she declared whilst holding his eye contact. There was a bitchiness about him, rising to his level.
''She's not my type,'' he corrected, the phome illuminating as he slid through the setting.
Turing to a more juicy topic, Shaano didnt hesitate to enquire, ''Tumhari biwi, ya fiance hai? Ya kisi ke saath baat cheet?'' She was poised as if not reached for gossip, eyes glinting with curisoity to complete the puzzle of the enigmna that was Meerab Khan's childhood boyfriend. (do you have a wife or fiance? Or do you talk to anyone?)
His head lifted to meet her, not shying away when he returned with a question. ''Biwi hoti tou raatein yahan guzarta?'' (Would I spend my nights here if I had a wife?)
Shaano twisted, locking gazes with Meerab when she candidly asked, ''You never told me that he's so secretive.'' The confidence was only paralleled in Murtasim.
''Personal aur professional life mei faraq hota hai,'' he informed, voice calculated as the two kittens looked at him vigilantly. (There's difference between personal and professional life)
''Acha,'' Shaano streched, her words exuded a playful quality. Her pitch rised as she probed, ''Koy chupke girlfriend hai?'' (do you have a secret girlfriend?)
''No.'' The decline hung in the air between them, he was a lone wolf with no one to hide behind.
The glow of mirthfulness shimmered across her cheeks, Shaano's hypothesis confirmed- he was still stuck on Meerab. Of course, once he has tasted the crème-de-la crème, how would anyone else suffice. ''There's no other Meerab, you mean,'' Shaano countered swiftly, and Murtasim's face fell at being called out about the relation she once held with Meerab.
This phone almost slipped and fell out of his grip, which would have been the second phone he ruined. ''Khamosh,'' he barked lowly, every alarm bell blaring in his mind- he had always played safe, constantly aware of listening walls. (Shut up)
''Shaano stop it. Maine tumhein iss liye nahi bataya. Koyi sun lega,'' Meerab warned in an vexed whisper whilst her hand pulled the arm that acted as scaffolding to hold Shaano up. (I didn't tell it you so that you do this. Someone might hear you.)
''Mujhe to tumhari kahaaniyaan sab jhoothi lag rahi hain. Tum dono? Mumkin bhi nahi lagta?'' The evidence had been collected and thoroughly analysed. (I don't believe your stories. You two together? Impossible?)
A deep guttural growl left his lungs when he ordered, ''Tum isse chup karwaugi ya main karwaun?'' He wished to leave the past in its place, veiling it with time. (Will you shut her up or shall I do it?)
''The maids are out, Nosheen is at University, so relax,'' Shaano countered nonchalantly, her eyes rolling from the excessive response. She stuck her blow dried hair behind her ears, squinting as her gaze oscillated between Murtasim and the new phone, as if she cared. She was here to put Murtasim in his place, for her besties sake.
In contrast, Murtasim exhaled tiredly at the matter being dismissed.
The phone lit up as Murtasim completledthe final few steps, placing her sim card into the side, and Meerab logged onto her iCloud. Watching in disbelief, Shaano again commented, ''Yakeen nahi araha.'' A fist formed, on of of which her pointed chin rest as she watched the show in wonderment about two people in denial. (I can't believe it)
On the other hand, Murtasim saw her as an obstacle, Shaano stick to Meerab, her twin or support beam that blocked his view. ''Kya nahi yakeen araha?'' His trouser clad legs rested wide and shoes firmly planted on the ground, wanting to take up space. The phone rested onto the glass coffee table with a chime as he redirected his efforts to the bombshell that questioned the depths of the feelings that once harboured between them. (What?)
''Ke tumhare beech kuch tha. Mohabbat nafrat mei kaise tabdeel ho sakti hai?'' She pondered in a philosophical lilt, weighing up the worth of love if it so easily turned sour. (that you two were a thing once. How can love change into hate.)
Was nafrat what he felt for her- was that the fuel that pulled him closer ? But everytime they got too close, they repelled like magnets with the same charge, flung far away and propelled through the air.
He had decided that it was her bitchy streak, the relishing of power and wealth that urged to claim the status of her name to shield behind. ''Yeh bhi pooch lena tha Meerab bibi say, jab sab kuch bata hi diya hai,'' he replied bitterly- Meerab couldn't even keep a secret. It felt like the once existing love was tarnished by Shaano knowing and blatantly judging what precious into something tawdry. (Ask your meerub about it. She'll tell you when she had already told you this much )
''Batao fir Meerab,'' she commanded, intrigue encasing her words. The endless fluffy stories didn't match up with the scene infront of her. (Tell meerub)
Like lazer beams, Murtasim's eyes bore into her whilst waiting for the answer to be voiced into daylight, causing her to forget how to simply breathe. Her tongue faltered for a second, voiceless words uttered from her mouth, guilt rendering her to be mute.
''Bataogi nahi to yakeen kaise aayega madam ko,'' Murtasim queried in a mocking candence. He was playings devils advocate, life had pitted them against each other. (How will she believe if you won't tell her the truth )
The moment was cut short when Murtasim's phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out to open the CCTV on his phone, watching upon Sarfaraz's car that waited impatiently at the door- he had been mentioned so often that the devil was beckoned.
''Kaun hai,'' Meerab asked.
''Amar,'' he said, denying any association to her, failing to acknowledge the status as if he had no second name.
The room transformed, air suddenly charged in dread as the imminent future of coming face to face with Amar presented itself again. The dislike was obvious, simply his name made her cringe.
''Koyi bahana bnadi, maine nahi milna,'' Meerab hurled the order towards Murtasim. (Make an excuse to him, I don't want to meet him)
''Tumhare liye jhooth kyun bolu? Jab tum mujhse hi jhooth bolti rehti ho?'' A cunning smile played on his face, he knew and played along. (why shall I lie for you? When you are the one thats always lying to me?)
''Mera hukum hai,'' she iterated, thinking he would conform on the clarification or she was desperate. (that's my order)
''Bhaad mein jaye tumhara hukum. Lo phone,'' he shoved the cold metal phone into her hand whilst coming to bestride over them. The task hadent provided a wash of accomplishment, everything was dull. The millisecond that their fingertips brushed felt like the blinding light of a thunderstorm that came and was instantly gone- gone to an untrained eye. (I don't care about your order. take your Phone.)
Outside the property, he was met with Amar, excessively dark sunglasses covering his face. Besides him, his sister got out from the other side, the duo making their way inside when Amar halted. He gave a standard manly nod to Murtasim, but no greetings or apologies were exchanged.
''Kahan hai,'' Amar asked bluntly, referring to his fiance. (Where is she)
''Andar,'' he dismissed, but stood tall and imposing. It felt like a handover, but Murtasim's grip on her mind had never loosened - but only Meerab knew that. (Inside)
''3 din se mera phone nahi utha rahi,'' Amar sternly relayed, but it felt more like a question or accusation. (She isn't taking my calls from 3 days)
''Her phone broke, yesterday.'' Murtasim said, eye to eye, his ego blooming with gratification the idea that her actions rejected Amar, despite her words speaking otherwise. ''She bought a new phone,'' Murtasim informed in a manner that was loathsome, the distaste between was palpable. This was the man that had somehow invited trouble, upon both Meerab Khan and his father, that now suffered in agony.
Amar nodded, throwing a singular suspicious nod before leaving Murtasim to bask the sun pridefully smiling upon him at the victory.
Khateeb had soon become an acquaintance and a house mate. Entering, Murtasim told him about the unsuccessful interrogation by Sarfaraz, and Khateeb whispered about some finance deal that had soured between Amar and some city banker or maybe some other feudals thrown into the mix too - it would be easier to venture out himself, for that reason, he offered, "Amar ke gaari pe tracker daal dou?'' (shall I put a tracker on Amar's car?)
The details shared were sparse, as the behind to scenes of the Malik's political campaign was hush. The man only showed the tip of the iceberg of information he possessed, being a wall flower that perceived everything.
''Laga lo, pata chalega ke kis ke saath business karta hai,'' Khateeb replied in acceptance, becoming a team. The ends justified the means, in this case. In the younger man, Khateeb respected the blatant skill of vigilance and his sharp nature, liking how he strived to go the extra mile for the Khans, well specifically for Meerab. (Yes, that might be helpful to know he does business with.)
''But i'm always with Meerab, I can't follow the tracker,'' Murtasim thought out loud, he was spread too thin, having too many concern that sought his attention - his family back home had almost been abandoned with him away.
''Meetings ka jagah pata hona bhi bahut badi baat hai,''Khateeb responded, suddenly making the proposal seem valid. Simply knowing of the other players was substancial information, and this was a way to not offend anyone. (Knowing the places of meeting is good enough)
''Do fir,'' Murtasim asked, his hand out stretching, to which a tracker box, roughly half the size of the phone that Meerab had presented. (Give it to me)
''Khair se,'' Khateeb reminded, ''Main dekhta hun ke Amar ghar ke andar he rahe jab tum tracker lagao,'' he explained, swiftly making himself useful as he trod to peer into the entrance way of the house. (I'll make sure amar stays in the house while you place the tracker)
Murtasim complied as the pact was formed and they dispersed, into agent and watchman. It was just 3 metres where Murtasim walked casually as if he was strolling through the shrubbery untill his keys were dropped onto the floor onto the marble flooring. As he reached down to pick them up, the tracker was lodged onto the underside of the car, attatching with an intense manget pull that meant it wouldn't fall away. But whilst he was there, he noticed that the key had been left in the ignition which meant the car was unlocked in the driveway.
Knowing that Khateeb was inside the house to watch his back, Murtasim tugged the passenger side door open and slid into the cream leather to search beneath the car seat and in the glove box, pushing aside an ajrak hat and a extra glock.
Ruffling around, he found the magical clue; scrunched inside was a brochure was a paper. The top corner had an emblem of a lush tree within an archway. Murtasim recognised it from the street signs- the logo was plastered everywhere on the route out of Hyderabad when he drove Meerab to Karachi. It belonged to the Sultan family ; they were tycoons of the Sindh, a family owned business conglomerate that heavily influences the south.
A tide of wonderment crashed upon him as he realised that the paper meant that Amar was liaising with the Sultans of Karachi - there was some link, likely an investor. As if the confirm the suspicion, a paper fell out. On inspection, it was clearly a donation certificate by its cheque-like appearance. By the huge large figure written, Murtasim took it as proof as that the Sultan's were the main source of funding for the Malik's political campaign.
Other than that, he found a political brochure advertising the Malik's their financial input and developments in the land, new rivers invested for wider irrigation, meaning a higher agricultural output, they claimed. If the people were prosperous and made money off the backs of the Maliks's, they were happy and would vote for the Maliks to rule.
Murtasim's heart pattered at the association. Having investors was normal, but this exceeding figure mean that a single invisible hand had influenced the Malik's success.
But caution was roused when he remembered whispers from his army career, knowing of meetings that his seniors had with certain members of the Sultan's shareholders - they had formed an alliance as they were all elite and corrupt, handing out favours for personal benefit. To say that they had wide reach and deep pockets was an understatement.
If Amar has pissed these guys off, the sole reason for their status today, then Murtasim was way out of their depth. His chest shuddered at the degree of the political game that Amar was playing to be financed by the Sultan family.
Having enough of the snooping, he arranged things back, exited and closed the door. The 'archway' imagery from the letter imprinted onto the inside of his eyelids, visible everytime he blinked - his gut told him it was important. That much money must have had strings attached. Fumes of fear smoked within him as he discovered that the Sultans were in the game too, and capable of blowing them all out of the water.
The confirmation, that should have bought comfort, was wholly unnerving - he didn't know how much was left to find out, the links were like a gossamer web, ready to catch a weak fly. The innate need to protect her grew 10 fold.
Meanwhile inside, Nosheen showed off her shopping bags that were full of pretty and sparkly dresses that she had purchased for the end of year ball despite it being months away.
''Pink suits my skin tone,'' Shaano commented whilst holding up the dress against her bodice, walking past them to a reflective door where she drooled at the lavish silhouette.
''But I bought the blue one for you Shaano,'' Nosheen corrected, holding up a pastel blue with two hands as if to advertise the dress. ''Look, gold embroidery,'' she added to sway her into switching.
''Nahi, I like the pink,'' she replied childishly. Her hair draped over it as she admired herself. But the reverie was dismantled...
''Maine yeh wala Meerab ke liye choose kara tha,'' Amar's thick voice carried through the air. ''Just like your birthday dress, that was ruined.'' (I chose this one for meerub)
Instantly, the like for the dress lessened and it was lowered. She removed the stake for claim, not wanted to interfere.
''Shaano rakhle, mujhe pink pasand bhi nahi hai,'' Meerab discerned with a fake smile for camoflage. She didn't need presents, especially ones that would envoke him to look at her like he was owed something. ''Anyways, I like green dresses.'' (Shano can keep it, I don't like pink.)
It was almost an opposite on the colour wheel, it was what Murtasim had instilled in her. His preferences had become hers as they transversed limits of separation, merging until they were two of the same, wanting to only please the other.
''Mujhe gulaabi rang pasand hai tumpe,'' Amar shared whilst leering at her, hating the way her baggy kurta hung loosely from her shoulders. He wanted a wife that lively and youthful, but she preferred the palette of things organic and naturally flourishing, unmanufactured, or maybe just in a desire to clash with him. (But I like pink on you )
Her wishes had been easily over-written. ''Thank you,'' she mumbled as the dress landed in her lap. It was heavy and exceedingly luxurious from the quality of the work of it, and she studied the delicate chiffon that it was painstakingly constructed upon - he intended to but her love but the effort was futile.
''Phehnke nahi dikhaugi?'' He requested, but the lilt suggested that it was a manifest order. (Won't you wear it?)
''Abhi nahi,'' Meerab replied with a look of being busy plastered on her face. She ooh'ed and aah'ed as Nosheen showed off her new shopping ; her weekend trip to Dubai meant she had new handbags to share. (Not now)
Besides them, Nosheen audibly tutted, ''Mainey itne pyar se designer dress khareeda hai aur phenke bhi nahi dikhaugi?'' Her voice was honey, yet her motive was to play along with her brother and facilitate the union. (I got this dress for you with so much love and you don't even want to try it?)
''I have a class soon,'' Meerab reminded, trying to weasel her way out.
''Abhi tou nahi hai na? Please,'' Nosheen pleaded with an exaggerated pout. (It's not now, right?)
''Noshi,'' she whimpered, torn at not wanting to be studied under a microscope by her fiance. Just then, she felt a cool hand onto of hers, sandwiched upon the sofa's arm. Amar's touch intended to coax her to change, for him.
''Tum mere tofa ka ehtaram nahi kar rahi. Agar nahi pehna tou main sochunga ke pasand nahi aaya,'' Nosheen told her, making her pick a side. (You are not respecting my gift. If you don't wear it I'll think you didn't like it )
The ultimatum forced her to stand and a helper lady came to heave the dress upstairs to the dressing room where she changed, but left the jeans on beneath.
Stood infront of a pristine mirror, Meerab pulled down with the burden of the dress that sparkled from the sun that passed the windows. It reflected and refracted light through the beads until the ceiling was covered in a million mini rainbows. Behind her, the door creaked as a signal, and Meerab twisted to see the figure of Amar stood at her bedroom door.
''Yahan nahi aa sakte,'' she spluttered, being unprepared, not having had time to build up the courage to act friendly. (You can't come in here.)
''kyun nahi. Mangetar nahi ho meri?'' He asked huskily while a glossy shoe came forward, his trouser donned legs walking inwards. His eyebrows raised as he was flooded with a sense of fulfilment from seeing her in the pretty dress. It had a scooped neckline and her hair conveniently had a claw clip to hold it in place. (Why not, aren't you my fiance?)
They were alone upstairs, directly contravening the law of the house- it was girls only. ''You're not allowed to be up here. Akele hain hum aur tum mere shohar nahi hou,'' she informed, clearly drawing a red line, a barrier between that he couldnt pass. (we are alone and you aren't my husband)
''Abhi tak,'' he countered in a step closer. Time was a hinderance for Amar, a measly excuse that put her off limits. It was sand that filtered through in a hourglass timer until he could claim his prize. (Yet)
The distance diminished until Meerab's neck had to tilt up to see him, there was glint of desire within his eyes, hinting at the simmering delight within that was ignited at seeing the dress on her, perfectly hugging every curve and highlighting her alluring waist as the focal point.
''Par abhi nahi,'' she said in denial, heat rising to her cheeks at feeling cornered. (But not yet)
''Waqt beet jaane ka pata bhi nahi chalta, Mrs Malik.'' He said, and with every step forward, she took a step back, until her calfs knocked the bench at the end of the bed. (We won't even realise when the time would pass )
''Mrs Malik?,'' she repeated in a question. It sounded strange to be referred like that. She looks away towards the purifying light, the garden the promised a cleansing freshness. In her plight for escape, her iris' caught something to her far right on the driveway- there was movement inside the car in the drive. It was Amar's car.
She spotted that Murtasim was fiddling around inside Amar's car, his hands gliding over the dashboard, searching around - her heart squelched.
Amar was busy fascinated in how she was dewy, lashings of sun-rays catching on her collar bone.
To save Murtasim, and to distract Amar from the treason that her bodyguard was committing in the garden, Meerab's hand raised to tap his bicep to hone all his attention. ''Dress pyara hai,'' she lied, it felt like the fabric was drenched in a vile poison that seeped into her every second she wore. ''I meant the thankyou.'' (The dress is beautiful.)
''Pehnne wali ka kamal hai,'' he flirted from being spurred on, gaze switching between her parted tinted lips or the oversized neckline, barely on her eyes - she was grateful for the detour. (It's all about the one who is wearing it.)
''Woh to kisi bhi aurat pe achi lagti,'' She tried to drag the moment out, to occupy the man in idle talk which beseeching to god that Murtasim would quickly leave Amar's car and be out of view. (It would have looked good on any woman)
''Mujhe sirf tumpe acchi lg rhi hai,'' he replied, somehow getting closer until she could see the pores on his face, the formation of frown lines. His midnight eyes reflected her face, and she decided that it was an unfitting canvas for her imagery. (But I like it on you only.)
She stifled a cry or a scream, she was unsure which- all she knew is that Murtasim would be treated badly if caught - it was trespass, it was being 'unloyal'. ''Itni tareef,'' was mixed into an awkward giggle, hoping the disgust would be camouflaged. (You flatter me)
''Sach bayan kar raha hun,'' he said with conviction, his hand coming around to pull the clip out of her hair so it fell messily and framed her face, beautifying her like a picture frame. (I am stating the truth.)
Her breath was shaky. Amar assumed it was from the new proximity, that she looked away and out the window due to a bout of shyness, not to watch as Murtasim got out of the car.
''Look at me,'' he ordered, his fingertips gliding over her smooth and cool hair that felt like shea butter. He was unavoidable.
Restricted, she felt his minty breath waft upon her face, and it induced vomit to gargle in her throat. She wandered over the advantage of a bodyguard outside if the threat loomed in her room - she cursed him mentally, or longed yelled to be saved.
On his trail downwards, he avidly switched route to following the scoop of her neckline, over the rivets of beads, over a path of sparkles. ''It's a pretty dress,'' he declared with a wandering finger, bravely tracing back along the beckline, but intentionally grazing her skin an centimetre above.
The remnant of the uninvited touch felt a burning train, like her gold necklace had been set on fire whilst upon her skin - she imagined blistered emerged instantly. ''Amar, please,'' she whined to repudiate his advances, it was painful upon her mind
The shock caused her to freeze from panic, her skin erupted in fearful goosebumps. Meerab stepped backwards, almost falling onto the bed if he didn't grab her arm. ''Aise nahi kar sakte,'' she almost screamed from the touch again, she wanted rid of him. (You can't do this.)
From the sudden change, he was taken back. Her need to distract Amar ceased when Murtasim unknowingly walked off. ''Stop.'' Now she was unable to bear a second longer.
''Yeh ghalat hai. Niklo mere kamre se,'' she commanded resolutely. She heaved, conscience ablaze. (This is wrong. Get out of my room.)
''Meerab, tum mere biwi bnogi,'' he attempted to explain, they was an sudden softness where he tried to advise her, to smooth over the friction. (Meerub you'll become my wife.)
''Yeh tofa hai, nikkah nahi.'' She reached down to grab a shawl and cover herself, tightly pulling it over her shoulders, catching the ends of her hair too. (This is just a gift.)
''Tumhein uncomfortable banana mera maqsad nahi tha,'' he replied, open palms displayed for surrender. But he was much larger, and the gesture was meaningless to her. (I didn't want you to be uncomfortable)
''Please jao,'' she implored, rushing back into the closet and locking it to be alone with her racing heart, panic coursing through her viens. She was numb. (Go.)
A dull click of the door reverberated outside. The noise was a sign of solitude, an echo of safety. She was overwhelmed, the guilt and disgust violently colliding within her until she began to sob, wanting to scrub herself clean, to burn the dress and chop the hair off.
He was bearable before, but given the moment, he took his chances. From the bicep touch, she blamed herself, caught up between ardently wanting to protect Murtasim and herself, simultaneously keeping everyone else happy too.
Convulsing, it felt like her throat became tired from spasming so much at the idea of actually being within Amar's reach. He barely touched her skin, but the lust driven gaze was enough for her skin to crawl, for her bones to shiver, her gut giving heed.
The dress was haphazardly pulled off, casuing minuscule scratched from the beading until she sat in just her plain bra and the jeans. Alone, her jaw trembled, her lungs only half functioning from the self induced panic. The tears inundated the flood gates of her eyelids and she slid down the wall from the mess she had invited- her legs to weak to support her, burdened with grief. The world became burry through the tears.
From this view point, she saw the candyfloss coloured teddy bear from the fair, but now was faded and matted with time. Abit of the seam had come undone from being so regularly squeezed and hugged to bed. It wasn't oversized anymore, but it fit in the space between her arms perfectly, burying her face into the wool filled teddy as she cried without a care. It soaked her tears like a sponge, extracting the sadness out of her as she suffocated it within her bare arms.
It wasn't fair to love someone and yet to have to stay away. In a wicked game, Murtasim had been bought back into her life, yet she cowered to protect him whilst he looked for clues to save her life.
She shuddered as her spine collapsed into the bear, she was flushed from the whirlwind of emotions that wrecked her mind, but the 'M' pendant was cool and soothing, working to pacifying the panic.
The rest of her exposed top body was chilly, so she pulled some hoodie on and collected the broken remnants of herself. Cool flowing water was splashed onto her face and a hairbrush was used to erase his touch. Looking into the mirror, the girl reflected a rueful smile.
The moment was used to reflect, the bright overhead light shone onto his words in the living room, about her brother's mistress, about her kohl eyes and pretty necklace, and other details that meant she was more than a guest. That woman was well acquainted with her brother - an extension of her family. Where wondered why all the men around her were like this - opportunistic.
Where as Murtasim, he was the opposite. Rather than taking, he gave. He had given her experiences, kind words, acts of affection. Once upon a lifetime ago, he had egged her on to apply kohl from an ornate silver vessel. Twisted, she pulled out the applicator and gulped on assessing it 'impaling' ability.
''Yeh mere aankon pe paas nahi ja sakta. Lag jayegi aur agar andhi ho gyi to?'' She presented the possibility as though the chances her high, where as there was no one that wished to hurt her for miles on end. (I can't put this on my eyes. What I hurt my eye and go blind?)
''Mere liye andhi bhi theek ho,'' he commented offhandedly, but was completely candid. Nothing could make her less perfect. (I am fine if you are blind too)
''Maine andhi nahi hona,'' she said whilst ironically waving the silver stick around. It was sheathed in a layer of that burnt black powder ; the dancing in the air caused specks to drift off and landed on his white kameez. (I don't want to be blind)
''Nahi hoga. Pyaari lago gi,'' he said resolutely despite never having seen her with lined eyes before. It was a deep desire, a yearning that he nourished by buying her the eyeliner. (You won't. You'll look beautiful.)
''Waise nahi lgti?'' She challenged, she eyebrows raised playfully at the mis step. (Don't I look beautiful as is?)
A playful groan was elicited from her blocking his advances - they both knew the answer. ''I can do it for you then?''
''Nahi,'' she squealed, despite him being less clumsier. She relished control.
He was a sharp shooter, his father taking him for archery, even having a talent for drawing- he had a steady hand.''You don't trust me?'' Murtasim questioned, there was mutual understanding between them, they were accomplices in everything.
''Yeh baat nahi hai, darr hai ke lag jayega,'' she confessed, the words leaving from the pessimistic depths of her worries. The first time is always daunting. (That's not it, I am scared this will hurt me.)
''Tou na karo. Kis majboori se khud ko azma rahi ho?'' He queried, unable to see the need to force herself when she was frightened. What difference did a bit of make up made when her mind fret? (Then don't apply it. Why are you torturing yourself?)
Her nostrils flared at the downplaying. ''Tumne kaha tha ke kajal acha lagta hai,'' she reminded, stressing as though he had requested something from her when that wasn't the case. (You said you like kajal.)
Reaching into a faded memory, his eyebrows squinted at the recollection off the hand remarked. ''Kahan tha, par abb tumhara darna acha nahi lagta,'' he replied sheepishly, almost wanting to take back the comment to clear his conscience. (I did, but I don't like you being scared.)
''Tou mei lgaungi,'' she said resolutely. Her marron kurta was pushed up to her elbows in preparation, she turned serious. (Then I'll apply it)
''Side se pakad ke lagana,'' he guided tenderly, having seen his mother apply it. (Hold it from the side and then apply.)
Meerab braced herself, looking closer to the hand held mirror- it was silver and engraved in flowers.
''Side se,'' she echoed, her lips parted, head tilting up to get a closer view.
''Dhyaan se,'' he warned from the slide as she breathed steady and bought it closer to her eyes. It was for him, so duty beckoned him to advocate for safety of her precious eyes. (Carefully)
''Dhyaan se,'' she repeatedly cutely before chuckling at herself. A giggle erupted inside her ; for the happiness, from capturing his attention, from stealing a moment away together. (Carefully)
On the sidelines, Murtasim winced as the lungs shook at her own apparently comedic parrot-like behaviour which happened on bad timing.
''Pagal,'' he breathed, watching as she pulled the applicator away and blinked as if something irritated her. ''Dikhao,'' he requested, causing Meerab to twist and exaggeratedly blink as her studied her. (Show it to me)
Investigating the damage, he realised that the giggle had caused the tiniest bit of pinkness from rouge particles that swam in her eyes. ''Darh hai?'' He asked in a lilt of guilt. (Does it hurt?)
''It's your fault,'' she accused him with playful abandon, without fear as nothing could harm the warm sentiment that bloomed between them.
''Maine kaha tha haso?'' He asked in disbelief, he could never wish to harm a single eyelash if hers. There wasn't much that could be done about this irritation until her eyes washed it out herself. (Did I tell you to laugh?)
''Hasaya tha,'' she iterated with wide giddy eyes, accentuated by the new makeup. ''Dhyaan se kar rahi thi, tumhare 'dehaan se' kehne se pehle bhi. You distracted me Murtasim.'' She narrated, but accomplishment bloomed in her heart, appreciating the way he looked at her in amazement, as if the was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. (you made me laugh. I was being careful even before you said so.)
The weak alibi elicited a shake of his head. ''Doosri aankh mein kar dun,'' he offered, thinking it would be better done without the mental strain.(Shall I do the other eye?)
A smile blossomed on her face as she handed the stick over in acceptance. They were sitting crossed legged on the sofa anyways, knees brushed occasionally as they sat face to face- too close. The applicator seemed much, much smaller as he balanced it between his index finger and thumb.
One of his hands wove through the hair behind her ear to hold her stoll, his right hand on the wand as she bough the side to her eye. ''Hilna mat Nawabzadi,'' he tenderly whispered into the air between them, infusing it was his sincere endearment. The the stick moved and touched her with a feather lightness, her eyes closed as slid past her waterline with a finesse. It was done in a second. (Don't move)
She was too busy studying the look of concentration on his face to notice the miniscule movement. Pulling away, she was shocked at the ease. ''Hogaya?' There was no pain, no shake of the hand. (Is it done?)
''Hogaya, and I didn't even irritate your eye,'' he told her proudly- it was a successful mission.
Letting go, he admired the work, the deep doe eyes looking back mirrored him as glossy pools of adoration. The creamy skin was contrasted by the black that outlined her eyes in a way that was both, innocent and yet alluring in equal measure. The maroon of her dress made her took grown up, but the bubbly carefree giggles suggested otherwise.
For the gaze he gave, she realised that the squabble was worth it, and the idea that ''kajol acha lagta hai'' met new calibers on her.
He was smitten, enrapted and in love- she did it for him. His heart swelled at the simple gesture.
Then he noticed a black diamond glistening at the corner of her eyes, so his index finger carefully dabbed the watering corner, removing the kohl saturated tear onto his finger. The collected reside was swiped right beneath her ear, just over her sensetive pulse point.
She peaked up, watching the glad curl to his mouth that pulled into a smirk. ''Yeh kya karra,'' Meerab questioned, wondering is the black would stain her clothes, or if he coulnt find a tissue. (Why did you do that?)
''Nazar na lagge,'' he replied whilst their gazes held magically, locked and entranced. (To protect you from the evil eye.)
''Kis ke?'' She giggled, not following the concern. (Whose?)
''Meri,'' he said whilst playfully tugging her chin as they surrendered to the affection that grew bountifully with every smile, every momoment she chose to spend besides him. (Mine.)
''Pyar wale ke bhe nazae lag sakte hai?'' She challenged, knowing now that he was flirting. (Can a person get evil eye from a loved one?)
''I dont want to find out Meerab,'' he chuckled, not taking any chances. His pearly teeth sparkled as he smiled, content and wanting to bask before her kohl lined eyes for the rest of his life
But today, the teary makeup stained into the teady in her lap and it was left smeared in streams of black mascara.
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