They parked outside the hospital, towards the back of the carpark. The large plaque crowned the burnt brick building, which was inscribed with 'Nazia Khan hospital of Hyderabad.'
She was about to get out and go with him, when he looked at her, questioning, ''Tum kahan ja rahi ho?'' Despite being a question, his voice was equally telling her to stay put. (Where are you going?)
It has taken just shy of three hours to drive from Karachi to Hyderabad, so she needed to stretch her legs. Also, she was unable to ignore the feeling of guilt that burdened her heart, knowing that the bullet that hit Nawaz had her name written on it. ''Andar. Tumhare saath,'' she snapped, leaving no room to negociate. (Inside, with you.)
''Tumhara hospital hai. Anwar ko pata chal jayega ke tum University nahi gyi,'' he reminded, pausing to look at her as she grabbed her purse, reading to go regardless of his lecture. (It's your hospital. Anwar will find out that you left University.)
She would go, her own eyes needed to see Nawaz to believe that he was not in a critical state- and she wondered if she trusted anyone to keep the truth from her. ''Nahi, the staff won't say anything if I tell them not to. Nawaz sahab ke kamre ke bahar bhi koyi nahi hai? Haina?'' (There's no one stationed outside his room, right?)
Salaar had confirmed on the phone that there were no armed men. There was just the nurses, and a nice room to himself. But there were many other patients with watchful eyes, probing the girl which caught everyones attention- her name was enough to ring alarm bells.
''Poora Hyderabad us shooting ki baare mein baat kar raha hai. They'll recognise us and tell Anwar that we came back,'' Murtasim explained. More honestly, he didn't want her to witness his weakness, the mask of coldness that would drop in the hospital ward. (All of Hyderabad knows about the shooting.)
There bitchy air returned when she asked, ''Are you scared of my baba?'' She almost enjoyed the idea of his obedience since she didn't receive any from him.
''Are you scared of being alone?'' He shot back, his hand resting on the door handle.
She huffed, flicking the hair back off her shoulder, unable to hold his intense unwavering gaze- he could read through her. ''There's an small entrance at the back. There will be less spectators than the main entrance.''
''Agar Anwar ko pata chal jaye to?'' He asked, getting out the car, and slipping the keys into his trouser pockets. Meerab would be staying close then, and her presence bought more peace than he cared to admit. (And if Anwar finds out.)
''Main keh dungi ke maine Nawaz sahab se fir milna tha,'' she suggested. (I'll say that I wanted to meet Nawaz again.)
He contemplated it for a split-second, and realised that didn't need her to be a scapegoat. ''Nahi, aise mat karna Meerab,'' he warned. ''I don't need your help. I bought you here because I wanted to see my baba.'' (Don't do that Meerab.)
She shrugged, figuring that the odds of getting caught were next to none.
Being inside the hospital almost felt like that eventful night again, but she wore sandals instead of those sparkly herls, so keeping upto his pace was no challenge- and he was close besides her.
The crisp white walls and chemically smell of disinfectant caused a slight bought of nausea, her ears rang with a boom of the gun on her birthday, causing her to halt- her throat consisted until she gasped in panic. She was suddenly fixed put on the spot as the visitors continued in perpetual motion.
So she looked, watched as he walked off with a painfully pattering heart. There was a view of his toned back, of the wide expanse of his shoulders, his neatly trimmed hair at his nape that curved beneath his ears, hinting at a preference for precision and care - then he twisted when he realised that she was lacking besides him.
His eyebrows furrowed at the distance, a sense of coolness engulfing him without her presence. ''Jaldi,'' he ordered, his features firm, a clear purpose in mind- the clock was ticking to meet his baba. (Quickly.)
''Okay,'' she whispered, speeding up until they almost knocked elbows, and she sought refuge in his shadow, slipping behind him if anyone looked too closely.
''Kya hua?'' He whispered astutely into the space between them, almost shoulder to shoulder. ''Did you see someone that you know?'' (What happend.)
''Nahi. Just,'' she tried to dismiss, her heart palpitations slowing again as she tried to bury the anxiety of that eventful night.
When they entered Nawaz's room, Murtasim strode in with a sense of calm that he had been lacking since leaving Hyderabad- and Meerab realised why he had snapped so easily in the lecture hall.
''Salaam. Kaise ho baba?,'' He asked softly in greeting and Meerab watched in awe as he sat next to his father on the bed, in a gentleness that she had not witnessed from him in many years. (How are you baba?)
''Shukr alhamdulillah, theek hun ab. Sab acha khayal rakh rahe hain,'' he replied, despite his sickly pale colour. (Thanks to god, I am fine. They're taking good care of me.)
Meerab physically un-tensed, the guilt which constricted her heart, began to dissipate, leaking out until there was only an equal mix of hope and gratefulness remaining. ''Salaam,'' she said, not wanting to impede.
Shah Nawaz gave a kind nod in return. He wore normal shalwar kameez now, the bandage hiding somewhere beneath, concealed. He almost looked well, if it wasn't from his slow motion blinking and breathy talking- betraying his façade of wellness that he masqueraded infront of his son. ''Par tum kaisey aaye Karachi se?'' He questioned at the sudden unannounced appearance. (But how did you come from Hyderabad?)
''Gaadi se baba,'' Murtasim replied nonchalantly, clearly knowing that the question was entirely different. He wanted to witness his baba in the flesh, to seek some words of reassurance, for his heart's worries to be eased. (On the car, baba.)
''Par Meerab tumhari zimmedaari hai. Tou Karachi mei rehna tha,'' Shah Nawaz disapproved, caring more about duty than his health. ''Main theek hun,'' he stressed, hoping he would be ushered away to his duty. (But Meerab is your responsibility, so you should have stayed in Karachi. I am fine.)
''Issi liye tou Meerab ko saath laya hou,'' he lied, and Meerab nodded in agreement at his side. (That's why I bought Meerab along with me.)
''Ijaazat li thi?'' Nawaz practically scolded. (Did you get permission?)
That wasn't the question that Murtasim was anticipating, but he should have known who his father's priority was.
''Maine di hai ijaazat,'' she interjected in an awkward chuckle. ''Actually, mera mashfara tha ke Murtasim aapko dekhne aaye.'' Her gaze flittered over the room, counting over the signs that it had been lived in for a couple days- the edges of the petals of the bouquet were wilting in surrender. (I gave him permission. It was my suggestion that Murtasim come to see you.)
''Tum dono bache nahi rahe ke jo marzi karte phiro. Itna lamba safar tey krne ki kya zaroorat thi?'' (You two are not kids that you can go and do whatever you like. What was the need for such a long journey?)
Need? What was the need for the Khan's to pick fights and to endager lives, Murtasim wondered. They were the ones that needed to grow up, and they were the reason for his father's hospital stay.
''Uss birthday party ke kya zaroorat thi? Meerab bibi ko nahi pata tha ke uske bhai and mangetar ke kitne dushman hain?'' That was the reason for his father battling pain and injury. (What was the need of the birthday party. Didnt Meerab madam know that her family and fiance have many enemies?)
''Iska kya matlab hai? Main khushiyan nahi bana sakti?'' Meerab asked, obviously annoyed at the finger-pointing-game. A single eyebrow raised at the accusation. (What do you mean. Am I not allowed to celebrate?)
''Woh Amar ke israar pe kee gyi thi,'' Shah Nawaz butt in, exposing Meerab's defence. (Amar had insisted for s birthday party.)
''Kya,'' tore from Murtasim's mouth, turning to face his father for the truth. She had never denied it before. Meerab has let him accuse her when they met in the hospital after the shooting, being the recipient of his hurled insults without shying away. (What?)
Amar was behind the birthday party? It seemed that he was trying to win her over, to kindle a bond- but failing to do so at her rejection of the ride home from the hospital.
Fighting was better than the silent treatment, she found. Besides, she partially felt like she deserved it, when he was naraaz. ''Haan. Amar ne surprise diya tha,'' Meerab added innocently, folding her arms as some semblance to a barrier. (Amar gave me a surprise birthday party.)
Murtasim turned to her again, still standing, leaning against the wall. Suddenly, he saw her in a different light when she hadn't directly invited the bullet into his father's aged chest. ''Amar ki wajah se baba ko goli lagge hai,'' he seethed as his gaze oscillated between the two of them, finding a new person to blame- it was another reason to dislike him. (Then this bullet is because of Amar.)
The dislike he harboured for the Khan's, and Amar, was evident, and everyone could tell by the ragged edge to his voice.
''Murtasim, itna gussa na karo,'' Shah Nawaz advised in a wiser tone. ''Kismat se goli lagi hai. Aur inshallah, jaldi theek ho jaunga. Mariyum aur Daadi ne acha khayal rakha hai mera.'' (Murtasim, control your anger. Being shot was in my destiny, and i will recover soon. Grandma and Mariyum are looking after me well.)
Shah Nawaz's hand came out to Murtasim, tugging on his arm to get him to soften, to remove his armour in front of his father. The gesture was enough to ground him, for the arrogance to dissolve, granting a wash on comfort his his racing mind.
The corners of Meerab's smile lifted at the mention of the girls and she wanted to lighten the mood. ''Mariyum kaisi hai?'' She asked with a mirthful smile, trying to make small talk. Life had pulled them apart too, and Mariyum's mention could only sweeten atmosphere. (How's Mariyum?)
''Theek hai. Aaj zabardasti college bheja hai use, nahi tou usne hospital mei rehna tha. Tumhari tarah ziddi hai,'' he chuckled. The moment was taken to reminisce on her care, of the time spent doting on her father. ''Maa nahi hai, tou uski baat maanni padti hai, jaise Anwar karta hai.'' (She's fine. I sent her to college today, despite her wanting to stay with me. She is stubborn like you. Her mother isn't around, so you have ti listen, just like Anwar listens to you.)
She nodded. ''Main aayi the afsos karne jab Salma aunty forth huyi thi. Daadi se mili thi,'' she uttered as the room quietend, a lul of melancholy settled over then. (I came to give my condolences when Salma Aunty passed, and I met grandma.)
Murtasim looked at her for a second, at the mention of her empathy. He had come back from camp, but life was a blur back then- he couldn't even remember that she came to the funeral.
''4 saal ho chuke hai,'' Shah Nawaz said glumly, and Murtasim's head hung as if a little heavier at the mention. (It's been 4 years.)
''Aunty mujhe phir bhe yaad hai. Main unki baatein nahi bhooli. Jab bhi mai mili thi, tou ache nasehat deti thi,'' Meerab spoke in remembrance, a strange haze of calm encompassing them in memory of a woman that she only met a handful of times. (I still remember aunty. I haven't forgotten the words she said to me. Whenever I spoke to her, she gave me good advice.)
''Allah usko jannat naseeb karre,'' Shah Nawaz said, and the others mutters solemn 'ameen's in response. (May she rest in peace.)
The need for privacy was palpable, so she formed an excuse. ''Main pani peeke aati hun,'' she said, trying to leave the room. (I'm going to have a drink of water.)
''Door nahi jaana,'' Murtasim commanded slightly too loudly and she nodded before leaving them alone, gone through the door. (Don't go far.)
The father and son were next to each other, and Murtasim guided his elbow up at he sat tall. Now there was finally enough privacy to speak candidly.
''Ladki se aise bolte hain? Aur woh bhe Anwar Khan ki beti?'' Shah Nawaz remarked in a displeased tone. (Is that how you talk to a girl? And to a girl is Anwar Khan's daughter?)
''Pata nahi baba, '' he said in a tired exhale, perplexed at how to handle the way she caused him to tilt off balance, altering his centre of gravity. She was a responsibility, yet he didn't feel like he was the one in charge, pulled along by her as she powered through on her own accord. (I dont know baba.)
Shah Nawaz studied him for a brief moment, the shadow of irritation that was cast upon his face, the unkept hair and unbuttoned collar which all betrayed him and hinted at his frustration- everything compounding to push him into a role that he didn't want. For him, it felt like a failure to be at the Khan's mercy, and felt that he deserved more, was more.
''Masla kya hai jo aisey aaye ho? Maine bataya tha ke main theek hou. Salaar khayal rakh raha hai. Shayad kal chutti mil jayegi.'' There was a clear optimism to his words, and it felt like the sun finally superseeded the clouds, radiating through the blinds, making a stipe pattern on the floor. (What's the matter that you rushed over here. I've already told you that i'm fine. Salar and Mariyum are looking after me well. I'll probably be discharged from the hospital tomorrow.)
''Phir ghar pe rehna. Kaam pe nahi jana 4 haftey,'' Murtasim ordered. He was stern, and yet it was a tender instruction to heal and rest like he deserved for his age. (Then stay home. Recover for a month.)
''Main tumhare baba hou. Tum mere baba na banno,'' Nawaz quipped, nudging him playfully- the Khan's had aged his son. (I am your father. You dont be my father.)
There was a light groan that emitted from Murtasim's lungs at the coercison, rendering him into a short tempered man that was unlike him. ''Salaar tou nazar nahi araha, tou khayal kaisa.'' (I can't see Salar here, so how is he taking care of you?.)
''Round lagane gaya hoga,'' his father defended. (He's gone for a walk.)
Murtasim nodded, appreciating the privacy, and he began spilling. ''University mei zyada waqt guzaar liya hai. Karachi se nikalna chahta tha,'' he confessed, he needed an escape. (I've spent too long in University. I just wanted to get out of Karachi.)
The sick man's interest piqued, his ears focusing at the scene that he had missed out on. ''University mei kya hua? Koyi khatra tha?'' (What happened in university. What there some danger?)
''Nahi baba. Waha koyi usko 'zamindaar' hone ka taana maar rha tha, mujhe bura laga... thora zyada ho gaya ... sab ke saamne he....'' he trailed, realising that he might have over reacted at a mere phrase, which only implied her lawless roots. (No. Someone taunted her by calling her 'zamindaar' and I got offended. I over-reacted a little.. infront of everyone.)
''kisi student ne kaha?'' Shah Nawaz asked, unable to comprehend why it would be an insult. ( A student said that?)
''Haan. Mujhey University pasand bhi nahi hai. Lagta hai Anwar ne mujhey bila waja uske peeche lagaya hua hai. Aur mainey sach mei 'zamindaar' wale harkat ke hai gun dekha ke.'' (Yeah. I don't even like University. I think Anwar has forced me to follow her without any need. I ended up really behaving like a zamindaar by showing my gun.)
He thought that his father might laugh at the self-reflection, or tell him off for being over zealous. But there was a brief pause, a breath for contemplation before Shah Nawaz spoke. ''Jo insaan jaisa hai, harkat bhi to waise hi hogi,'' he said in a philosophical lilt. His deep voice hinted a mountain of wisdom, years of observing, and concealing the truth. (A person acts according to their nature.)
Murtasim's gaze narrowed, not appreciating his father's retort. ''Khanon ki zameenon se hun, unka khoon nahi jo aisi fitrat ho,'' he protested. The words came out rather defensive, almost disgusted at the suggestion.(We are from the Khan's lands, but we are not from their blood that I would be predisposed to behaving like that.)
Security was one thing, needlessly exerting force was another matter which he didn't want to associate himself with- nor did he hold any pride for the mis step.
There was a pause as Shah Nawaz wondered if now was the time to spill, to unveil the source of his fierce nature, the true reason why the Khan's had kept them so close. He nodded to himself, realising that Murtasim's life was falling into place, and he had a right to know, and it would help him ease into his assigned role. ''Khoon bhi ho,'' Shah Nawaz informed without an atom of doubt. (You are their blood too.)
His father was wrong. ''Shayad aapne meri baat nahi samjhi baba,'' Murtasim chuckled lightly, unsure how to tackle his answer. (Maybe you misunderstand me baba.)
''Samjhi hai, aur haqeeqat samjha raha hun,'' Shah Nawaz said firmly, wanting him to pay close attention. (I have understood you correctly, and now I am trying to explain something to you.)
The atmosphere suddenly felt thicker, gloomier at the implication of his speech. ''Kaunsi haqeeqat?'' His upper body had turned towards his father, hand coming to rest on the sterile cotton bedding, needing to see the words leave his mouth. (Which reality?)
''Ke tum bhi aik Khan ho, tum bhi zamindaar ho. Shayad issi liye bura laga tha.'' (That you are a Khan and you are zamindaar. Maybe that's the the comment bothered you so much.)
The world stilled, only heavy confused breaths charging the stale hospital air. His eyes locked onto his father's dark wise ones, squinting, trying to configure if the words he uttered were as he heard them to be.
There was not an ounce of humour found on his father's face, rather a weight that had been lifted from uncovering their deep entangled roots.
First, there was outright rejection of the idea. ''Mera aur unka koyi ta'alluk nahi hai. Mulazimat ke rishta hai, sirf,'' he replied firmly in the shake of the head. His voice was hoarse, his perception of reality failing to shift and adapt to his father's words. The idea was preposterous. (I dont have any relation to them, only in that we work for them as staff.)
''Wafadaari ka rishta hai, jo sirf khoon se mazboot hai,'' Shah Nawaz explained simply, relaying their history, the depths of their allegiance. (There is a bond of loyalty, secured by blood.)
Then there was denial as he failed to grapple with the association. ''Yeh nahi ho sakta baba. Hum unke tarha nahi hai. Insaniyat, ehsaas hai hum mein. Aise nahi ho sakta,'' he rambled, tripping over his own words, at the words failed to spilled out, over-flowering in quandary. (That's not possible. We are not like them. He have humanity and compassion within us.)
''Haqeeqat aisi hi hai mere bete. Mere, aur Anwar ke baba, bhai the. Purane Khan, mere taya the,'' Nawaz explained, bracing himself for his reaction. (This is the truth my son. My father and Anwar's father were brothers. The old Khan was my paternal uncle.)
Murtasim was perplexed, faintly shaking his head at the words in disbelief, pondering over how hard that bullet hit his father to come up with such a detestable fable.
He could not recall the brothers, his grandfather and Meerab's grandfather, both having passed in his early childhood- not a single memory remained. ''Baba yeh kya mazaak hai,'' he questioned in a shaky scoff. (Baba, what is this joke?)
''Mazaak nahi hai. Mere baba, tumhare dada ne aam aurat se shaadi ki the. Khan ke hukum ke khilaaf ja ke tumhari dadi se shaadi ki. Iss wajah se unki shohrat aur izzat cheen li gyi thi- aur sirf khoon ki wafadari reh gyi,'' he narrated carefully. (This isn't a joke. My father, your grandfather married an ordinary woman. He went against the Khan's order by marrying my mother. For this reason, he lost his respect and status amongst the Khan's. The only thing that remained by loyalty by blood.)
He had assumed that his family had served the Khans, out of need. That they were ordinary people, and always had been. The conflict of beliefs pulled at his mind, melding his reality into something new- a new history, a more level playing field.
''Iss liye? Ye wafadari khoon ki wajah se hai?'' His voice was strained, internally conflicted at the thought that he shared blood with them - Not that it changed the way that the Khan's ruled over the town with an iron fist. (For this reason? This loyalty is due to blood?)
''Haan. Tum ho, Murtasim Shah Nawaz ... Khan.'' The words hung heavy in the air, floating awkwardly at the uncanny tittle- it felt wrong.
''Sabko tumhara gussa, tumhari akad ka malum hai, Khanon ke jaise. Jab tum aur woh Sarfaraz aur Irtaza ke saath khade hote ho, koy faraq nahi dikhta hai,'' Shah Nawaz announced, altering Murtasim's entire stand point. On that comparison, it almost seemed like it was within the realm of possibility. (Yes, you are Murtasim Shah Nawaz... Khan. Everyone knows about your anger and temper. When you stand besides Sarfaraz and Irtaza, there is no discernable difference.)
''Farq hai. Sirf khoon ke Khan hai, darja nahi hai,'' he insisted whilst he gulped the acrid truth- enlightened to the fact that they had been disowned for the insolence. And he had gone almost 25 years of life without knowing more about his grandfather- the one that rebelled against the Khan's controlling demands. (There is a difference. We are Khan's by blood, not status.)
''Yeh na-farmani ke wajah se mere baba ko Khano ke khazane se paise milne ruk gaye. Zamindari ka haq kho gaya. Par rishta nahi mita, to hifazat ke liye rakh liya.'' They remained at arms length to be utilised, but not favoured like their own anymore. (The disobedience meant that my father was no longer eligable to recieve funds from the Khan treasury. He lost his right of being a land owner. The the blood relation never weakened, so they kept us for their protection.)
His skin crawled at the discovery. ''Tou Anwar Khan aapke cousin hai?'' Murtasim checked, his mind aching from being streched so raggedly. (So Anwar is your cousin?)
Shah Nawaz nodded. Murtasim caught a hint of pride at the mention, and Murtasim restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the upheaval of his very essence.
''Aur kisi ko pata hai?'' Murtasim asked in an formal manner, feeling like a new strange world had been uncovered. (Who else knows?)
Only now Murtasim appreciated how he had been favoured in the Khan house more than the other staff's kids, trusted and invited in- but never shown love like a Khan kid, still like an outsider. He teetered awkwardly between welcome and unwelcome. He had been allowed to wander, fuse a friendship with their sole daughter that was elusive to practically every other outsider. Because of the blood, he was free to play with their sons, but not allowed to stay too long.
''Badhon ko sab pata hai,'' Shah Nawaz said, breaking him out of his reverie. (All the elders know.)
''Issi liye Anwar ne sifarish ki thi meri?'' (Is that why Anwar recommended me for the place at college?)
''Haan. Aur uska khud ka faida tha, kyun ke tumhein bhi security ke liye rakhna hai. Aur usko yakeen tha ke tum yeh wafadaari nibhaoge.'' (Yeah, but he has his own interests at heart too, as he anticipated to use you for security, knowing that you would be loyal.)
''Anwar aaya hai aapko milne? Kisi ne khabar le hai aapki, baba?'' Murtasim asked, the octave of his voice rising at the greedy assumption. (Did Anwar come to meet you? Did he ask of news of youe health?)
''Nahi,'' Shah Nawaz said. (No.)
So it seemed like loyalty was a one way street. ''To mujhey pata hai ke meri wafadaari kahan hai,'' he responded in a lilt of clear understanding, somehow colder, and completely self assured. (Then I know where my loyalties lay.)
Just in that moment, the door swung open and Salaar walked in. His face lit up at the sight of his elder brother, coming to shaking his hand.
But Murtasim glared at him, tutting, ''Baba ka khayal rakhne ka kaha tha. Tum Kahan the?'' There was a look of being displeased, but edged in a caring tenderness that only Salaar and Mariyum received from him. (You were supposed to look after baba. Where were you?)
''Chai biscuit bhi nahi leh sakta yaar,'' he asked rhetorically and playfully, showing off the mug in his other hand. The tea sloshed against the sides of the cup, burgeoned on over spilling at the movement. (Can't I even go for refreshments?)
''Nahi,'' Murtasim chaffed whilst effortlessly retrieving the drink. ''Safar kara hai maine, tou chai meri.'' (No. I travelled, so the tea is mine.)
''Lelo bhai,'' he replied, coming to sit at the sofa. (Have it brother.)
He was tall too, sweeter than Murtasim, unmarred by the Khans. ''Bhai, aapko pata hai ke Sarfaraz ladkon ko utha raha hai, shooting ke sawal karne ke liye?'' It was an apt time for gossip. (Brother, do you know that Sarfaraz is picking people up to interrogate.)
''Koyi mila hai?'' Murtasim asked before slurping the scalding drink. (Have they found anyone yet?)
''Nahi. Bas maar ke chodh deta hai,'' Salaar shared, eyes glimmering in amusement at their futile efforts. They were all barking but with no results. (No. They beat them up, and then release them.)
The tea burned on its trail down his throat. ''Aur Amar?''
Salaar stilled for a second, watching his brother slip out the questions as if the answer held no weight for him- he figured that his older brother was acting unbothered, or that his heart had finally forgotten her- unlikley. ''Nahi. Unka nahi pata. Meerab hai kahan?'' He asked, pivoting instead as she was now the object of his constant attention. (No. I dont know about him. Where is Meerab?)
''Bahar paani pe rahi the,'' Murtasim told him, almost forgetting about the girl after the discovery of his lineage, which was both a bombshell, and was irrelevant in the bigger picture, he supposed.(She went to drink water.)
The tie to the Khan's bought no comfort or calm, rather it felt like an malignant anchor that threatened to pull him under. And she was the opulently glittering moon, causing the tides to rise and thrash mercilessly over him, until all that was left was a man, battered in carrying out his duty, suppressing whatever simmered beneath the surface.
''I didn't see her,'' Salaar replied, and only then did they realise that she had been missing, out of sight for too long. His glance darted to the door where he has last scene her flit outwards, the ghost of her presence beckoning him outwards.
Pressure rushed to his ears as he stood up in panic.
Even Shah Nawaz winced and Murtasim silently cursed at the trouble, storming to push the room's door open. ''Meerab,'' he called out roughly into the corridor, her name carrying a sense of urgency.
There were just a couple steps until he saw her periwinkle hued kurta, and she turned, her hair dancing in the air as she spun. ''Jee,'' she exhaled in a controlled way, a fake smile on her rosy lips.
Next to her was Anwar, stood with displeasure etched into his visage. He saw fire at the impromptu visit of his daughter.
With every step, Murtasim's blood cooled, stammering as he neared the formidable father-daughter duo. They had been caught red-handed.
''Kisi ne mujhey bataya nahi ke meri beti waapis Hyderabad aayi hai,'' Anwar chided sternly, vexed at at being kept out of the loop. His words were sharp, forcing them to scramble for an excuse. (No one told me that my daughter is back in Hyderabad.)
Meerab cleared her throat, holding onto Anwar's arm fractionally tighter, peering up to catch his attention.
In a vow, Murtasim swore that he had to take the blame. ''Maine mere baba ko dekhna tha. Meerab ko chodh nahi sakta tha, tou saath le aaya,'' he said, absorbing all the blame, soaking up all the sins that they had committed together. (I wanted to see my father. I couldn't leave Meerab alone, so I bought her with me.)
''Aur iski parhai? Tumhein Nawaz se milna zyada ehm laga?'' Anwar challenged, his words coarse with disdain. His eyes searched for the source of the courage for a mere boy to defy him, that smuggled his daughter from under his nose. (And her education. Was meeting with Nawaz more important?)
It was more important! 10 fold, but kept his mouth shut, jaw clenched to stop the insults from tumbling out due to the indignation.
Meerab couldn't bear it- her breath stuttered, lips stayed parted, waiting for the word to save him. The taunts hurt her more than him, a swarm of scratches and lashes that irritated the fibres of her heart, rendering her to fall in her own graces.
It was her suggestion, and she had coerced Murtasim, challenged him about the trackers. She had already let him down years ago, and the dislike between them was already surmounting into a painful friction, she couldnt tolerate anymore.
So Meerab tugged at her baba's arm, needing his undiluted attention. ''Baba, maine Murtasim ko majboor kiya tha, ke maine jaana hai Nawaz ko jake dekhna tha.'' (I compelled Murtasim to bring me to Hyderabad, because I wanted to meet Nawaz.)
The words caused Murtasim to cringe from her not playing along. His head wanted to shake at her game, at her going off path, off script from their ploy in the carpark. He had explicitly told her that he would take the blame on himself- his tongue faltered for words to insert himself between them, almost like being her shield was an innate visceral response.
The creases of Anwar's frown lines deepend at her statement. ''Tumhein itni zaroori kyun hai hospital aane ke? Birthday pe aayi thi, aur maine kuch nahi kaha. You can't make the same mistake twice Meerab.'' (What was your need to come to hospital. I didnt say anything to you when tou visited on your birthday.)
His colourful waistcoats was unfitting for his bitter attitude, the superfluous curl of moustache seemingly more pompous than usual.
''Baba,'' she whined, fluttering her eyelashes to tap into her childish self, trying to invoke sympathy. ''Kisi ne mujhe update nahi di. To main khud hi aa gyi dekhne.'' (No one gave me any update so I had to come myself.)
To restrain himself, Murtasims hands clasped behind his back, forearms tensing for any semblance of control, as his fury challenged the flood gates of decorum of his role as her bodyguard.
''To pehle mujhse ijaazat kyun nahi li, ya pehle mujhe bataya?'' Anwar asked angrily. ''Anwar Khan ki beti aise hospital mei nahi phir sakti, jab University ke bahane se baar nikli huyi hai.'' (Did you get my permission, or let me know? Anwar Khan's daughter cannot wander through hospitals like this when she is out of the house under the pretence of attending University.)
''Baba, mai-'' she was cut off. (Dad, i-)
''Yeh jhoot bolne ke barabar tha. Aur woh bhe aik mulazim ke peeche!'' He seethed, his voice weighted from the repeated disrespect that he was not accustomed to. (This is the equivalent of lying, and that for a servant.)
The words burned both Murtasim and Meerab, and she could palpably feel the way they punctured his ego, and solely for his sake did she defend herself.
''Baba, maine kuch galat nahi kiya. Insaan ki khairiyat lene mei koyi burai nahi hai,'' Meerab persisted in arguing, for his sake. There was a vigour to her words, her eyes pleading for respite. (I havent done anything wrong. There is nothing wrong in checking up on a sick person.)
Holding himself back. Murtasim's teeth grinded in frustration, mustering every morsel of self restrain to not step in.
Then something clicked in Anwar's head, and his aura soured at the deception. ''Mujhey khabar nahi mile ke gaari Karachi se nikli hai?'' He spoke out loud, words laced in authority, identifying another piece of missing information. (I was not informed that your car left Karachi.)
Before Murtasim could intervene, she tensed every muscle to brace herself and uttered a lie. ''I disabled the trackers baba,'' she uttered without thinking.
Anwar neared the precipice of what he could tolerate. The girl was choosing Nawaz over him, and speaking against him infront of Murtasim. His hand raised as his body flushed with wrath, readying for a shattering slap, waiting for his patience to snap like a clap of thunder.
A shocked gasp left her at the escalation, she didnt have a habit of being scolded- she froze.
But his raised hand was met with glossy eyes, upset brimming on her waterline as her delicate heart tore at the seams, amidst a battle of trying to please both Murtasim and her baba.
Murtasim's eyes widend at the position she had placed herself in, for him. That was a jolt to take action. ''Ainda nahi hoga,'' Murtasim spluttered whilst stepping forward, wishing that the raised hand remained only a threat. His hand almost went out to block the threat, every cell his body screaming to pull Anwar's hand away- but he couldn't intervene.
The wobble of her bottom like was sobering for Anwar, like being doused in fire retardant, his hand clenched and lowered as he cooled.
The atmosphere was thick with tension, easing as the moment passed, and Meerab let out a breath she had forgotten to let go of, her lungs celebrating for a fresh breath. ''Murtasim didn't know that I did it,'' she mumbled in his defence.
Anwar's gaze darted to Murtasim at his mention. ''Tum mere hukum bhool gaye ho?'' Anwar asked, the vexation was re-directed.
Other than than the posters and empty chairs, the corridor was secluded, no one to overhear the abnormal scene.
''Aapki beti mehfooz hai, aapke nazar ke saamne. Hamesha se ziddi thi, par kisi ka nuksaan nahi kiya yahan aahke,'' he reminded in an expressionless report, resuming his cold stance. (Your daughter is safe and in front of you. She was always stubborn, but she hasent harmed anyone in coming here.)
A low irked rumble grew from Anwar's chest, and he shook his head at his heedless daughter, unable to be harsh enough for her to listen. ''Meerab, yeh zidd nahi chalegi ab. Barrey ho gyi hou, aur khatra hai.'' (Meerab, your obstinance cannot go on. You are a grown woman and there are threats around us.)
Murtasim didn't appreciate the excessive telling off- they had been safe, only visiting his father for an update, to greet him, to appease their hearts worry. ''Meerab, chalein waapis?'' He asked, not wanting to seem like they were over staying at the hospital, or taking liberties. (Shall we go back?)
''Nahi,'' Anwar replied quickly on her behalf. ''Meerab aaj raat ghar pe rahegi. Itne lambe safar ke baad thak gyi hogi. Karachi kal chale jana,'' he informed both of them. There was no point of embarking this late, lessons would be over. (No. Meerab will stay home tonight after her travels. You can go to Karachi tomorrow.)
''Theek hai baba,'' she added sweetly, but still slightly startled from the ordeal. (That's fine baba.)
''So i'm free now?'' Murtasim asked bluntly. His duty was over. He could exit their sphere and return home to normalcy?
An audible tut left Anwar, wanting to fully utilise the boy. ''Ja ke Sarfaraz ki madat karlo. Tafteesh kar raha hai,'' he ordered, his gaze focused on his daughter, not even caring to look over whilst addressing him. And the disrespect seemed even more ironic after Murtasim's discovery- that the disparity between them was as large as origionally accepted. (Go see to Sarfaraz. He is interrogating people.)
No. That wasn't what he has signed up for, his mind conflicted once again as his moral compass was pushed aside. ''Main logo pe zulm nahi kar sakta. I am here to look after Meerab only,'' Murtasim rejected, his voice laced in apparent disapproval for ruffling up peasants for information. His loyalty was to her only. Solely her. (I'm not here to interrogate and oppress.)
Then Anwar looked at him in a demeaning way, studying the arrogance, the stuffiness to conform, realising that Murtasim was not as obedient as his father. ''Tumhara kaam woh hai jo mai kehta hun. Jab tak woh aadmi nahi milta, meri beti mehfooz nahi hogi.'' It was a power play- Murtasim was shown his place, to obey him blindly. (Your job is whatever I say. Until that man is found, my daughter will not be safe.)
With those words, Anwar turned, his protective arm coming around Meerab's shoulder to take her along home with him, leaving Murtasim in seclusion.
His swallowed his ego, bidding his father and Salaar farewell before going to see Sarfaraz.
But it wasn't the first time she had been scolded infront of him, for being someplace where she shouldn't have been.
It was a school day. She should gone inside to class, but she waited for her driver to pull away from the school entrance before she crept back out the gates, funneling her way through the haze of students until she got to the side of the building.
Leaning into the tree, stood a Murtasim that was perhaps 17, and Irtaza besides him, also bunking his class. They grinned when their eyes met glinting devilishly, a pact of mischief forming between the three of them.
Her grey shalwar kameez had a paper thin white dupatta pinned to the shoulder, swaying with every step. It's a good thing that she wore comfy trainers as they intended to do alot of walking on their excapade.
The school was on a busy main road, but behind that was a quieter residential area, and passing that, interminable greenery that promised a fairground of fun.
Flashback will be in the next chapter!
Proofread by HereinNowhere2