Note:
Diazepam is a medication used to treat anxiety.
Bakhour is basically wood chips which are scented by soaking them in perfume/oud oils. They are burned in incense burners and used as room fragrance.
A galley is the kitchen/bar area on a plane. Larger/high end carriers have lounges for First Class, complete with a bar, a chef and a kitchen area for preparation.
Fire on fire, would normally kill us
But this much desire, together we're winners
They say that we're out of control
And some say we're sinners
But don't let them ruin
Our beautiful rhythms...
An abandoned field.
Hyderabad
It was silent; eerily silent. Friable threads of a tentative calm held onto one another as the cold wind whistled across the wide, barren expanse of land on the very edge of the harvest fields and threatened to jar them. Grey dominated the entire scape, both in feeling and in the visual presented to the lone figure walking hurriedly across the wet, cold mud; his face covered with his khaddar shawl and his posture suspiciously sneaky. His black Peshawari chappal thudded across the ground as he covered the foggy distance across the field just as the light streaks of dawn were threatening to break the engulfing cover of the dark, gloomy sky.
The trees surrounding the isolated land swayed to a slow, sinister beat and every noise was a potential danger; twigs snapping underneath his feet, the leaves on the trees around him whispering as they slid across one another and the calls of the stray animals lurking around. Everything was suspicious.
Everything was an ominous sign.
Upon reaching his questionable destination, he slid himself flat behind a gigantic tree and stood under its deceptively protective cover; his frame and intentions shrouded in darkness.
And waited.
It was all that he could do after all. And it was all he did.
And then the wait ended.
The eerie calm which had settled over the abandoned field was slashed across by the bright, invasive beam of headlights which entered the grey and displaced it. It was strange though. Light which should've illuminated the area somehow made it more sinister; the car parked on the small dirt road was surrounded by a sharp blaze and swathed the rest of the landscape in blinding darkness. All the lone figure could do was walk blindingly across the dark field, his chappal leaving imprints on the path he took on the wet mud underneath. Like a moth to a flame, he came to stand in front of the massive SUV with its engine still running. And waited. Again.
But this time the wait was short.
The car door opened and the crunch of shoes on the rocky dirt road sounded, only to be engulfed by the roar of the car's powerful engine. The car's occupant, a tall, broad man in kurta shalwar and an expensive looking silk scarf hanging from his neck, left the door open and rounded to stand in front of the open door, his arms crossed as he stood still. He, of course expected the shorter man in front to come to him. And his expectation was met when the other man walked around the bonnet and came to stand beside the front wheel on the SUV.
"Salaam-a-laykum." He spoke, his voice deep.
"Kamaal ne kaam bata diya hai tumhe?"
The taller, richer man ignored the greeting and slipped a hand into his trouser pocket, extracting a packet of cigarettes. As his hand moved to remove and light a cigarette, the gold lines on the packet caught light and glinted, illuminating the deep red-coloured cardboard next to them. His rings were next to catch the gleam of headlights as the fingers they were on effortlessly moved to his mouth and back down, leaving a billow of white smoke around them.
"Haan ji."
"Agla mauka jab bhi milay, jab bhi woh waapis aaye, to kaam hojana chahiye. Aur poora kaam. Bachnay ki gunjaish na ho."
The rick man's eyes bore into the man in front of him and drove home the command. Then in the very next moment, he pulled put a wad of cash and threw it towards the other man, who caught it effortlessly and pocketed the amount.
An advance payment.
Incentive for a job well done.
With that, the rich man climbed back into the SUV and the car roared back up the dirt road in reverse. It made a U-turn and just as the car was in the middle of turning, its occupant looked back up to where his companion had been standing.
It was empty.
As if he'd vanished into the shadowy cover of the sinister night.
Only to emerge when his prey came into sight.
Somewhere in Liverpool, England
He looked down at the credit card statements precariously held up by his shaking hands and felt his throat close up as a droplet of sweat made its way down his temple. Every card was maxed out; every single one. He looked towards the phone lying beside him on the sofa bed and gulped. Not a single bank was willing to give him a loan of any kind and he'd already lost his last valuable belonging, his flat, during a drunken night at the casino. He had nothing to put up for collateral. Not a single thing. The banker's unspoken words were loud and clear; he was essentially worthless.
Phoenix couldn't help him either. He'd taken out all the financial funds and bursaries he was eligible for, and extra cash on top of that as an advance on many, many salaries to come. They wouldn't give him any more money; at least not enough to settle his astronomical debts and then have enough left over to pay alimony for his ex-wife, the children's schools and extra classes, their upcoming school history class trip to France; all of it gone. He was a failure. He had already been a failed husband but now he'd be a failed father too.
A failed man.
The papers slipped out of his hands as the shaking became uncontrollable and he jerkily turned to the duffle bag beside, opening it and frantically running his hands over its contents.
Where were they?
He hoped he hadn't run out. He was sure he'd picked up a new packet when he'd been back from his previous flight route.
His hands caught onto the soothingly familiar rectangular cardboard box.
Oh thank God.
His clammy hands opened the slightly battered box and snatched a sleeve of pills from it. The foil sleeve trembled and he struggled to gather enough dexterity to pop a pill out. His breath rushed out as he felt his heart race and his blur, and in severe frustration, he hurled the sleeve of pills on the sofa-bed and hurriedly walked to the little kitchenette a few steps away. Filling a glass with water, he returned and leaned down to pick the sleeve up again, his thumb pushing a pill out as he held his breath in an attempt to curb his burgeoning symptoms. The tablet made its way into his throat seconds before the water travelled a soothing path down his scratchy throat.
His body, helpless to do anything for itself, fell onto the sofa-bed in a crumpled head as he let the medicine bring the sweet relief of oblivion.
It was short-lived.
The doorbell rang and he hissed in dismay. No one knew him here.
Who would visit him?
He gingerly got up and made his way to the front door of the flat, holding onto the wall for support. Stiffening his body for the gust of cold wind about to hit him, he swung open the door to his unwanted visitors. Two men he'd never seen in his life.
Both were dressed similarly; white t-shirts and black jeans with black leather jackets on top. The similarities ended there. One was short and thin whilst the other resembled a mountain; both wore sunglasses and had on two of the best poker faces he'd seen in his life, and he'd seen plenty during his day at the casinos.
In his haze, he tried to determine if he'd moved closer to them or if they were just standing strangely close to the doorframe, almost blocking him in. They spoke before he could do anything else.
"Kenny Carter?"
He looked up at the sound of his name and then nodded jerkily. After that, he didn't know if he'd somehow invited them in with that nod or if they'd let themselves in, but he found himself stepping backwards as they made their way into the tiny flat. He looked up from their chests to behind their shoulders as the door was slid shut. And then locked.
And he wished with everything in him that he hadn't just taken that dose of diazepam.
Escala
The Mandarin Oriental, Doha
Escala was abuzz with its breakfast patrons; the deep, romantic glow it took on at night replaced with the fresh cream interior used for daytime. The low lighting was gone and in its place was the warm sunlight which shone through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Candlesticks on the premium linen-covered tables were swapped for fresh floral arrangements and a fresh, rose scent lingered in the air instead of the rich, woody bakhour used for the evening. The open-water stream running throughout the expansive restaurant floor glittered in the sunlight and strangely enough, just seeing the water had a cooling effect.
It was a distinctly difference experience to when she'd last been here.
Meerab sat on a table for two and snorted in the most un-ladylike of ways as her companion relayed an anecdote. She looked up with mirth at the friend she'd made and come to rely on in this city so far away from home. Leena looked up from her plate of foul, a traditional Arabic breakfast delicacy. It was a bean porridge of sorts and the closest thing Meerab could compare it to was haleem; a thick soup-like dish made from broad beans and meat, and seasoned with lemon and an array of exotic spices. It was a popular breakfast item in Qatar and was either drank like a soup or eaten with freshly baked bread.
"So back to the man-date. What are we doing about this?"
Leena spoke before dipping some bread in her foul and lifting it to her mouth, her eyes on Meerab, who had finished her Belgian waffles and leaned over her empty plate to dip some bread into Leena's plate of foul.
"The only way I can see Murtasim going on a man-date is if he's heavily drugged, tied and then whacked unconscious just to be sure."
The topic of sending their men-correction-Leena's man and Murtasim, away for some time had come up when Meerab had confided in Leena the events of the last few days. Murtasim had now almost recovered fully and was back to 95% operational capacity; whilst this made the make-shift nurse in Meerab extremely happy, it had also made her life that much harder. It was much easier to avoid a man who couldn't really come and find you wherever you were. Murtasim's limited movements had been her protective shield; protection from what, she didn't quite know.
But she needed protection, that much she knew. Maybe he did too. But since it didn't seem like he was going to do anything about it, she would have to step up and take one for the non-existent team.
Over the course of the last few weeks and its events, Meerab had realised that she and Murtasim needed physical distance between them like dynamite needed to not be near an open flame; it was highly crucial and if breached, led to uncomfortable explosions of the emotional variety, and Meerab had had enough of those what with falling on top of his bare chest, sleeping in his bed that one time and applying ointment on his body in a way which, had it been filmed, would've only been available on a shady website deep on the dark web.
Since the chambermaid fiasco in the bedroom, Meerab had stuck to her own room at Murtasim's apartment and had only ever been in his vicinity when he needed something or when he was doing his rehabilitation exercises and she watched to ensure he didn't hurt himself. Other than that, she had thrown herself into the deep end of flight training; signing up for any flight she could get her hands on and avoiding his usual territory in the apartment with painstaking effort.
Slowly but surely, Murtasim had come off his medicine and had regained mobility. She doubted any patient had ever worked so ferociously to rehabilitate themselves back into good health the way she's seen Murtasim do in the past few weeks. It had come to the point where she knew she'd find him doing exercise of some sort whenever she saw him. Unfortunately, it was how she had walked in on him doing sit-ups one night. She'd been getting a midnight snack and had stumbled into the informal lounge; and straight into her husband.
Quite literally.
In her sleepy stroll, she'd bumped into him as he lay on the floor, exerting his body in a dedicated bid to get it back to how it once was. Her bare foot had collided with hot flesh and she'd looked down, her eyes and mind heavy with sleep, trying hard to decipher the visual of her berry-painted toes against a toned, lean abdomen. A very naked abdomen. Her eyes had crept up and of course, because she was the universe's current comic fodder, found her shirtless husband looking at her with a raised brow. With his hands placed under his head and his body poised half-way into in a sit-up, he'd stayed suspended in that very position, an action Meerab had found insanely awesome because of the sheer upper-body strength it required.
That had been strike number one that night. The second and most mortifying strike came seconds after when Meerab realised why her foot had been so warm and cosy. Her eyes widening to the point that it was a marvel her eyeballs were still intact, she'd whipped her head back down to where her foot was still resting casually on his toned abs. That, of course had been mortifying in itself but what had Meerab wishing she could whack Murtasim over the head and induce short-term amnesia of some sort was the fact that she'd been wiggling her toes.
On his abs.
The whole time.
The sweet web of sleep shattered, she'd snatched her foot back and had stepped back. In her hurry, her silk eye-mask, pushed up to her head haphazardly, had slipped and fallen from her head and landed exactly where her foot had been seconds ago.
Meerab had closed her eyes in frustrated desperation and opened them to Murtasim settling his body comfortably on his exercise mat, his hands still behind his head as if he were an Emperor enjoying the spectacle the court jester was performing for him. Daring to look towards his face, she had felt exactly what his eyes were emanating; the challenge in them almost palpable.
Pick it up, I dare you.
Suddenly her eye-mask was a gauntlet; a challenge and an invitation all in one. As they'd stared unflinchingly at each other, her standing and him lying on the floor, Meerab realised what people said about the standing advantage when your opponent was sitting didn't apply to Murtasim. The man lay on the floor, half-naked and recovering from a crash which, in all honesty, should've killed him and somehow still exuded a calm, controlled confidence. Where was her standing advantage?
Moving her eyes back to the cream silk setting a stark contrast against his lightly tanned skin, Meerab had mentally restrained herself to not count the number of packs on display and had gulped, her appetite suddenly gone.
Well, even as a child she'd never been one to ask for head start, so standing advantage or not, she was just going to have to what she had to do. With that brave thought in mind, she'd swooped down, her hair cascading around her head and its ends brushing his torso, and had snatched the silky fabric up in a heartbeat. But it had been enough; the fleeting meeting of her cold fingers and his warm abs had left the tips of her fingers tingling as she'd straightened up, cocked her head to the side in a gesture of victory and then walked over to the open bar of sorts.
She'd known he was watching her the entire time; it had been like a laser beam on her back as she'd walked over and then turned around to face him from across the brown, granite counter which separated them. Because she would've looked strange just walking back to the room, she'd filled up a glass of water as he'd watched her, his eyes narrowed and glittering, and then with her nose in the air, had walked back towards her room, but not before stepping daintily over his relaxed body. And even though she never looked back after that, she'd just known he was smirking in that infuriating, lopsided way; she had felt it.
The third strike had been within her room. Though not as mortifying as the second one, it had been the one to jolt her into awakening. She'd sank on the plush bed and looking into the mirror directly opposite her, had had a true 'being shown the mirror' moment. The burgeoning realisation that she seemed to be becoming increasingly aware of this man had warred with the dull ringing of an alarm signifying danger, and it had all been infuriatingly combined with the visual of her sitting in a daze, holding a redundant glass of water in her hands.
She was skirting dangerous, unknown and importantly, unwanted territory. The proximity they had shared in the past weeks seemed to be messing with her mind; it was the only way to describe her elevated awareness and responsiveness to a man she'd known her whole life. And so a retraction was in order. She had needed to regroup; to let this fog in her brain disappear and take with it the bizarre way in which her body was acting in.
And so far she'd been successful in her mission. Since the great 'eye-mask on abs debacle', as Meerab now mentally referred it to as, Meerab and Murtasim had spent a scant few minutes alone. Their time together had been carefully planned by Meerab to ensure Omar or a member of staff was present during most of their time together and even then, Meerab was maintaining a social distancing policy. If Murtasim had felt the shift, he hadn't commented on it and as he'd slipped back into his usual routine outside of the penthouse, Meerab had seen him less and less.
Intel from Leena had let her know that he was catching up on work from businesses all over the globe and was swamped with things needing his attention. Meerab knew that he hadn't flown since the crash, and apparently he had no plans to do so in the near future.
Which meant he was going to be here in Doha indefinitely. Like her.
Unlike him, she'd made a quick visit home this week and was now back to pick up on extra training. It was precisely this which had her sitting in Escala instead of the usual breakfast buffet hall, where she knew her husband would currently be dining.
She looked back at Leena, who was now sipping an Arabic coffee with her brows knitted.
"Well, we wouldn't call it a man-date. We can call it a...what exactly do men do during their free time together?" Leena asked, her head cocked to the side.
"Size each other up?" was Meerab's droll reply.
"Thump their chests and grunt?" Leena was quick with the rebuttal.
"And then talk about horsepower, tyre pressure and mileage?"
The two girls sat back in confused contemplation.
"Don't really think Murtasim should be thumping his chest so soon after breaking those ribs." The words left Meerab's mouth in a disgruntled mutter and had Leena looking up at her with raised brows.
"Well that's okay Nurse, since he has you to rub it better afterwards."
Meerab gave her the dirtiest look she could manage and then leaned forward to rest her cheek on the palm of her hand. Meerab's concern for Murtasim had been evident to both Leena and Omar and had been the hot teasing topic between her and Leena ever since the latter had picked up on the fact that Meerab seemed to be avoiding Murtasim like the plague.
"Football." Meerab said, her voice dry. "Men watch football."
"That's the most boring man-date ever." Leena wasn't impressed.
"We aren't planning their joint tenth birthday party Leena. He just needs to be gone long enough for me to find my stuff in the penthouse, pack it up and leave before he comes back."
Meerab was almost certain that if she asked him for access to the penthouse, accessible only to Murtasim via the executive left and a special key-card, he would make sure he was also present. Whether to infuriate her or help her, she didn't know, but she knew she couldn't do anything with him around. This way, Meerab could ask for Murtasim's key-card just before he left on his man-date, and then she'd have all the time she needed to gather and pack her stuff which had been piling in his apartment during his recovery.
Leena spoke up excitedly just as Meerab declined the Arabic coffee a server had brought their way.
"Golf! Let's send them golfing! What a noble sport. And like watching paint dry but okay, I get you, who cares? As long as they exit the premises."
"Isn't there a golf course here?"
"Yup, but Omar and Murtasim are members at the Gold Acres Club in the West Bay, where they also have a golf course. They never use the facilities here expect when Murtasim uses the gym." Leena's eyes sparkled as they finally settled on a plan.
Meerab also felt a kick of excitement as she leaned forward.
"Okay then, it's a man-date."
"Or a gentleman's outing." Leena wiggled her brows.
"A 'bonding of the bros'?" Meerab snickered.
"Let's just call it Omar and Murtasim's day out."
"Sounds like a nursery storybook, but okay."
The girls fell into laughter as they finished off the breakfast items in front of them and then went their separate ways; Meerab on a flight to London and Leena to her clinic at the hospital.
Freedom. Pure, exhilarating freedom. That's what Murtasim Khan felt when he flew; it was why he flew. That along with the way his body relaxed when he settled into a cockpit; his limbs loosening, his shoulders softening and mind feeling just like his current view; crystal clear. Things usually became tedious when they turned into an unconscious habit, but flying was one habit which had remained blissfully untouched by the monotony of routine. The feeling of sliding into the pilot's seat, feeling the machinery vibrate with restrained power underneath his fingers and the sheer thrill of take-off and landing remained just that; thrilling. Being away from it all for so long had been hard; harder than he'd thought. It was the longest he'd gone without flying since he'd taken it up part-time at twenty-four, and Murtasim had been aching to get himself inside a cockpit again. He'd gotten the green signal from his doctor a few days ago and here he was; back where he felt most at home.
His co-pilot came in and began the pre-flight check-list, reading off the tasks as Murtasim completed them one by one. Next was the list of passengers and cabin crew.
"One hundred passengers and fifteen cabin crew." His First Officer informed.
Murtasim nodded.
"The senior flight attendant in charge is Maala..." Murtasim zoned out as the first officer read the names of the cabin crew.
"...and a trainee too." He finished, but it was this which caught his Captain's attention.
Keeping his eyes on the controls as he adjusted them, Murtasim spoke casually.
"Name?"
"Uh..." He paused as he flicked through the pages in the list.
"A Meerab Waqas Ahmed."
The First Officer would never have been able to fathom exactly what was going on in his Captain's mind then. Outwardly calm, Captain Murtasim Khan gave nothing away, not even a blink, as he got his plane ready to soar into the skies. Exactly where he wanted her.
Meerab shut the tap and took some tissue paper to dry her hands. Looking at herself in the mirror, she smoothed her hair back behind her ears and neatened her side parting before adjusting her uniform. She was going to be in First Class today; perks of having a certified First Class flight attendant as her supervisor, and so had to make slight adjustments to her uniform. Winter had also begun in Qatar and the winter uniform was now in use. It consisted of the same tailored, navy trousers and heels, but the cream silk blouse was now full sleeved with a higher collar, tied together in a bow by two strands of silk. There was also a long, sleeveless blazer on top in the same navy as the trousers. It reached the middle of her thighs, the hem skirting just below the curve of her bottom, and Meerab loved the feel and fit of the tailored fabric.
Grabbing the bespoke oud perfume placed on the shelf above the little sink, she did a quick spritz and before hurriedly reapplying the signature Chanel lipstick. The Captain seemed to have already made his welcome announcement and she'd missed most of it. It wouldn't be long now before they all had to strap up and get ready for take-off.
Joining the rest of the cabin crew, Meerab took her instructions from Maala and sat down in a seat next to an emergency exit. This was her favourite part. The take-off was always power-packed; the plane and its crew vibrating with energy as they took to the blue skies. The plane rolled down the runway as the sun shone down unflinchingly on the metal of its exterior and then it was time. Within seconds, a loud rumbling sounded throughout the plane as the plane shot down the tarmac, and Meerab could just imagine the Captain's hand on the sidestick, pushing it forward to increase speed and fight any friction that came their way as the plane ate up the runway underneath. It continued for a few seconds and then the rumbling noise disappeared.
They had taken flight.
Just like that. With a push of the Captain's wrist, they were now nose-up, piercing the air and getting higher and higher as the plane took speed and shot up until it was at a suitable altitude. The butterflies in Meerab's tummy vanished and she swallowed hard a few times to clear the popping in her ears. And that was all the time you were given as an air hostess. A ting sounded as the seatbelt sign went dark, and almost as in a well synced dance, you heard the click of seat belts opening as the cabin crew slid out of their seats. The stewards removed their blazers and the ladies removed their headwear.
For Phoenix, it wasn't the usual hat attached to a scarf which was common amongst the Gulf countries. Theirs was simply a hair accessory of sorts; navy, made from raw silk and in the shape of a leaf. It had a clip underneath and was meant to be attached to one side of your head. Meerab loved the vintage English look it gave and it had become her favourite part of the uniform.
The next few hours passed in getting the passengers comfortable and serving breakfast. Every Phoenix flight had an in-flight chef who prepared gourmet meals on order and so the process took much longer than usual flights. Meals were served, conversations were struck and the vividly blue sky outside was admired. Sometime after the breakfast clean-up and serving of drinks, Meerab walked over to the First Class cabin, ordered herself a freshly-prepared pasta Alfredo and was heading to the galley kitchen whilst scanning the cabin in front.
Her head skimmed past the passengers who had settled for the flight with their drinks and entertainment systems, over the overhead cabins out of instinct to ensure all were secured shut and then over the small area just before the cockpit door. And her eyes continued past the area until her brain caught up and suddenly, her head was whipping back and a gasp was ripped from her chest.
Mission breach alert...
It was him. Decked in his Captain's uniform sans the hat was her dear husband, speaking to, who Meerab now knew, was a very prominent English aristocrat and politician. The two spoke with the ease and familiarity of old friends and Meerab saw Murtasim lean back on the paneled wall behind him as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his tailored, navy blue trousers. His double-breasted, navy blue blazer set a deep contrast against the polished gold of his Captain's stripes, jacket buttons and the badge pinned just above his heart. He was in profile to her and she could just make out how the front of torso-hugging blazer smoothed around his front; moulding the wide, sturdy planes of his shoulders and the sleeves ending just above the snowy white cuff of his sleeve. A gold cufflink glinted as it caught light from one of the windows and Meerab remembered why she'd come here in the first place.
Maala had instructed her to ask the passengers in the cabin to shut their window shutters as most of the plane was asleep by now. Sucking a sharp breath in, she turned abruptly and banged into the paneled wall behind her. Shutting her eyes in dismay, Meerab looked up in dread and with the hope that he hadn't noticed. But this was Murtasim. More importantly, this was her, and her luck had been running on reserve fuel around him as it was.
Espresso-coloured eyes clashed with one another; one pair intensely dark and the other lighter. He was staring right at her from across the sleeping cabin; his head turned to her and Meerab had a strangely intense bout of feeling. It was like seeing a face you hadn't seen in a long, long time. Her eyes took in the contours of his face just before she jerkily turned her head away and made a beeline for the galley just behind the cabin.
Her heart thudding slightly irregularly, she clutched the counter with both hands and rolled her shoulders back to relieve the tension in them. She had managed to avoid him on the ground and in a stroke of unexpected luck, hadn't had a flight with since that first, fateful one, but now with him at thirty thousand feet in the air, her options were severely limited.
Only if he finds me.
That was true. If he didn't seek her out, the plane was big enough for the both of them. He'd be in the cockpit anyway. She had the rest of the plane to choose from. Settled by that thought, Meerab rolled her shoulders back once more and began unbuttoning the gold buttons on her blazer. Hanging it up, her hand instinctively went to the dimple at her back; it was aching again. Probably the abrupt way she'd turned. Her fingers moved in familiar swirls over the indent as they always did, adding pressure for a few seconds and then taking it away when the ache alleviated. Now she just needed her pasta and that strawberry spritzer they served in the First Class Lounge upstairs.
"A glass of water, please."
The voice rumble of the deep voice filled the galley and had Meerab stiffening as she turned face to face with the Captain of the plane she was on.
Of course he wouldn't just leave her be. Meerab cursed her clumsiness and stared back the man currently leaning his shoulder against the archway of the galley. His body tilted towards the wall, his hands were enveloped in his pockets and he had one leg crossed over the other. This close and seeing his front, Meerab noticed the single, wet strand of hair falling over his forehead and an errant thought entered her mind.
He had a habit of doing that.
Of not waiting long enough for the dryer to dry his hair fully. It always resulted in that water-slicked lock escaping his meticulously made hair and glistening on the skin of his forehead. She blinked softly to dispel the thought and looked at him with as much neutrality as she could muster. He looked back with a poker face; just looking at her intently. Clearing her throat, she nodded and turned to get him what he wanted. When done, she turned with the glass in her extended hands. And waited.
For the longest time, he stood staring; his eyes giving nothing away. Meerab held her nerve. She wouldn't cave. And so they stood across from each other, a couple of meters and an ocean of conflicting emotions between them.
It was egos. It was wilfulness. It was restraint. It was fire.
It was Meerab and Murtasim.
And then the ocean and a half was breached. With panther-like grace, Murtasim was off the wall and standing straight within a heartbeat; his legs uncrossing and his eyes on her the whole time. Meerab felt herself take a deep, long breath and it was as if it was reeling him in, right towards her. He took slow, sure steps which engulfed the distance between them and neither of them broke eye contact until he was mere inches away. The warmth from his body was suddenly surrounding her and Meerab smoothly slid her eyes down to the glass of water in her hands in a signal. One which he ignored.
There was no time to understand what exactly he was going to do. Before anything else could be said or done, Murtasim took a step in, sliding his hand out of his pocket and his hand snaking around her body, making Meerab stiffen in outrage as her blazing eyes shot up to his. Her mouth parted to give him a piece of her mind but all that escaped was a throaty gasp because of where his fingers had landed.
Her dimple emanated a sweet ache as warm, soft flesh dug into it. Murtasim's palm settled on the curve of her right hip as his warm fingers left a trail of fire with every circle they drew on her lower back and Meerab was momentarily helpless to do anything but look up at him with her lips parted on a sigh.
He looked down at her with his eyes smouldering and his body engulfing her little frame, all the while his fingers followed a soothing pattern as he massaged the area he'd seen her touch in discomfort so many times. Meerab came out of her shock and immediately pushed against his body, trying to escape the muscled cage of his arms but was unsuccessful as Murtasim pulled her to him using the arm around her waist. Their fronts touched and the cream silk of her blouse looked sinfully decadent against the navy blue of his blazer.
In that moment, seeing his hooded gaze look down on their chests, Meerab felt herself weaken for a man for the first time in her life.
Was this passion? Desire?
Was this what drove people to murder and madness? Because she suddenly felt empathy awash her, at least towards madness aspect of it.
Why did being so close to him feel so, so good? And how?
Most said passion and desire followed on from true love and a healthy relationship. At this point, she didn't know about true love and this estranged relationship of theirs was anything but healthy, but here she stood; her body ablaze with the maddening urge to put his other arm around her and let him get as close as he wanted. To do whatever he wanted.
Did he feel it too? Was that why he'd done a 180 suddenly? Was it why he seemed to look at her like he could devour her the first chance he got?
Meerab lowered her gaze to their joined fronts and saw hers rise and fall heavily. Her eyes fixated on his gold badge and as if reading the name on it by instruction, she muttered his name lowly and lifted the glass of water up between their chests for him to take. And to end this insanity they seemed to be feeding off.
There were practically glued to each other in the First Class galley where anyone could walk in on them. It was illicit on so many levels. However, it seemed her husband lived for the illicit, because instead of moving back and taking the glass of water, he took a step further in and took his other hand out of his pocket. Meerab kept her gaze downward and followed his hand as it came up to where hers rested on the glass. Her eyes slid shut in a mixture of dismay and awareness, as his large hand curled around hers and with a firm push upwards, brought the glass to his lips. His head bent down and their hands tilted the glass into his mouth. Meerab's eyes were resolutely averted but she could feel his on her face. They were like a heated beam leaving a sizzle wherever they roamed and Meerab now needed relief from their intensity.
The glass was emptied and then put on the counter behind by Murtasim, whose free hand came to lean on the same counter, blocking her in.
"Meerab."
Lord have mercy, that voice.
His chest vibrated with the sound and she felt it deep within her. once again, her curious mind became a curse and her eyes slid up from a random spot on the floor to his face.
So, so close.
She'd never seen his face so closely. That one time whilst driving the yacht had been in darkness and over her shoulder. But this...this was utter paagal-pan. What were they doing? His nose was practically touching the tip of hers and Meerab felt her gaze catch on the way his lips glistened with water as a droplet caressed the corner of his bottom lip. She must've been imagining it, but Meerab felt him move in, even closer than before, and the alarm bells which should've blared in Meerab's conscience only made a dull thud.
And so she didn't move back. She kept her head still and her gaze unfocusedly rested somewhere between his moustache and his stubble as his head moved lower until you couldn't tell where her breath began and where his ended. Meerab looked up one last time and saw his eyes had glazed over as he stared at his lips. As if she'd summoned them, his eyes came up to hers and their breaths rushed out, mingling with each other.
They blinked drunkenly and then as if in perfect harmony, their eyes slid shut as Murtasim's face covered that remaining distance between them and Meerab's neck tilted up against her will, giving him unlimited, unrestricted access to what he wanted. His moustache brushed against her Cupid's bow and Meerab shivered. There was a cool whisper of his lips on hers and that's all either of them could manage before a crash sounded.
Meerab's head snapped back as her body hit the counter behind her. It took her a second to regain her bearings and get a grip. Murtasim's hand had slipped from her waist as swiftly as he'd stepped back and added some distance between their bodies.
"Meerab, how is it going in-"
It was Maala, and the crash had been her closing the waste disposal chute. Meerab shut her eyes tightly and took in a deep breath through her nose to calm herself as Maala rounded the corner and discovered the Captain in the galley.
"Oh, Captain Khan. Can I help you with anything?"
Meerab didn't dare even look in his direction. She was precariously close to jumping out of the damn plane after the stunt they'd just pulled. She couldn't look at him now; not after having his lips-
"No thank you. I've gotten what I needed."
With those coolly delivered words, he was gone. Back into his territory. The rest of flight was blissfully uneventful and Meerab had never been more grateful for a landing. As the plane rolled down the runway at London Heathrow, she was about ready to run out and kiss the tarmac in relief. De-boarding was swift and Meerab hurried out of the plane with the group of cabin crew; the group already discussing the activities for their two-day stay.
As they stood in the separate immigration queue opened especially for them, Meerab eyed Murtasim's broad back as he went up to the immigration officer and gave his passport to be stamped. He was done within seconds and then was gone as soon as he passed through the immigration gates. Meerab wheeled her carry-on and tote bag as her turn arrived and then they were off to the hotel.
London was a blur of colourful lights in the evening as Meerab rested her head on the window of the black Range Rover she was in. Today had been close. Too close for comfort. She could only plead temporary insanity or a momentary, reversible aneurysm for what she'd allowed and done in the galley of that plane and even then, it didn't make sense.
How could she let him kiss her? And how could he think about kissing her?
One didn't just roll up and kiss their estranged wife of two years. That wasn't how it was done. Yet she had turned into a quivering bimbo whilst he'd done it.
Ugh.
She closed her eyes and let her tired mind rest as the city whizzed by. Maybe the change in scenery and atmosphere would be good for her. Maybe it was the combination of Doha and Murtasim which made it harder. With that thought, she let herself doze off.
Turns out, London was exactly what Meerab needed. The British capital was the very definition of vibrant. Central London, Meerab decided, would always have a place in her heart now. Its streets alone were an architectural marvel; one traditionally built building more fascinating than the next. The centre was decked out in lights and Christmas trees and it was only November. With winter being her favourite season, Meerab hadn't been able to sit still ever since she'd woken up the next morning and pulled back the curtains in her room at The Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park. The hotel experience in itself was comparable to royalty but Meerab hadn't spent an extra second inside after the scrumptious breakfast buffet.
Phoenix had, as always, arranged tours and tickets for many of London's finest experiences for the entire staff. The crew had so far privately toured the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square, had a five-star afternoon tea at The Dorchester, been treated to a full spa experience at The Ned, and were now on their way to Annabel's, one of the most prestigious, member's only club in the world, for after dinner drinks and a private showing of a yet-to-release British movie produced by 'one of the Phoenix owner's friends', as the chauffer had told them on the way there.
It was decadent and it was wild. It was the kind of lifestyle which was only accessible to less than 1% of the world's population and even though she'd thoroughly enjoyed herself sans any sighting of a certain Captain, her chest had strangely warmed at the thought that Murtasim was in that exclusive percentage. He'd turned a comfortable inherited dynasty into an undefeatable, untouchable global empire. He all but had a kingdom and he alone was the king and master.
The eye-watering heights he had taken the Khan brand to was so detached from the life of an average person that she wondered if his family back home realised just who he was. To them, the mantle of Khan was the top; there was nowhere to go from there. But he'd done it. He'd gone from being the absolute authority in just Hyderabad to being the almost absolute authority in every single major city in the world; it was Murtasim Khan's reign and people made way at just the thought of him arriving.
It made Meerab's lips whisper a smile as she looked out of the window at the club. They were currently having drinks in a private room and waiting for the movie to be set up. Mayfair, London's most prestigious postcode beckoned from outside the glass; the Christmas lights hanging above the streets cast an amber glow into the dark night and people hurried up and down the street, wrapped up in their cosiest due to the freezing temperature.
The day had been blessedly Murtasim-free and Meerab was genuinely thankful. Not because of him particularly, but because of what she was afraid she'd do given any sort of proximity with him. It was new to her; this feeling of having weakened control over your own body. How could a man make her feel that, if given the opportunity and right moment, she'd give in. She'd let go of restraint and give in to whatever the hell they were playing at. It was the unknown and so was this feeling. For a girl who'd always had immense pride in her will power when it came to interested men in college and university, this was an embarrassing and unwanted kick to the backside.
With her eyes on the dreamy scene outside, her mind drifted to the night of her mayoun. She'd always wanted passion; that red-hot, sizzling burn, which all the females in her romantic novels seemed to be experiencing at the drop of a hat when in the proximity of their heroes. She'd really, really wanted that. When everyone had wanted love, Meerab had wanted passionate love; the kind, which love only intensified to the point where you achieved what Heer-Ranjha, Laila-Majnu and Jack-Rose had. And she'd been willing to go without it; had thought her unrealistic fantasies were, of course going to be unfulfilled because no one had that in real life. No one looked at you with eyes which you knew were flashing with dangerously delicious thoughts; like they thought about you long and hard. No two people could really just look at one another and set each other ablaze. Of course not; it was the stuff of novels and young-adult romance movies.
So then what was this?
Meerab didn't have too much time to contemplate on her question because suddenly the noise coming from outside the private room intensified. The low buzz became a rumble and Meerab brought her focus back to the street outside just in time to see two black Range Rovers and a black Mercedes be driven away by uniform-clad chauffeurs. Her heart skipped a beat.
Not that black Mercedes...
She finally turned to the room full of her jovial crew members and looked around. None of them seemed to find anything out of the ordinary. Maybe she was just being paranoid after the near miss on the plane. He'd had plenty of chances to come in front of her last night and all day today; he hadn't. He'd been noticeably scarce. Even the First Officer had been with them all day but not their elusive Captain. He probably didn't mingle with the crew unless the occasion called for it. Just like he had his own room on a floor much higher than theirs at the hotel; the information had been volunteered by one of the other air hostesses. Apparently her chambermaid at the hotel was quite chatty.
But Meerab couldn't get her body to relax and it infuriated her. The fact that just the sight of his car made her like this made her want to jump off a building; after pushing him first of course.
The noise of the crowd intensified and Meerab could tell the outer door to the private room had been opened; it had happened every time a server had entered since they'd been here. Any second now the door to the room would open too. And Meerab could feel every cell in her body jump up and, poised in agitated anticipation.
It's not him. Stop it.
Oh, but it was. How could you have an exclusive location, a black Mercedes, a suddenly-buzzing crowd, Meerab's questionable luck and not have Murtasim Khan? The door opened and in walked her husband, following closely behind a server and another man.
He looked like sin. Black, dark sin. Sinful. Sinfully dangerous. All of it.
Suddenly the atmosphere inside the room shifted and so did the crew; welcoming their unexpected Captain and all the while Murtasim observed the room with his usual, neutral expression. Meerab knew she didn't have much time; he'd get to her soon. The large, lowly lit room, decorated with traditional cherry wood paneling, now seemed too small with his all-powerful presence. His nodded his greetings at the crew on the other side and then with just a turn of his head, had his eyes smack-bang on her.
No one looked at you with eyes which you knew were flashing with dangerously delicious thoughts; like they thought about you long and hard.
No two people could really just look at one another and set each other ablaze.
Uh oh...
It was gone; her breath. Meerab was sure it had swished out of her body because her chest felt tight and she couldn't breathe. The dark room closed in on them and Meerab felt her body erupt with prickly goose bumps. And she felt hot. He wore a formal ink blue double-breasted jacket with matching trousers and Meerab felt the twangs of admiration rise low in her tummy; along with butterflies. Lots of butterflies. His lifted his chin slowly, his head rising and his eyes becoming hooded.
They stood there, doing all sorts of things with just their eyes and the room stilled for them. Looking away was an option which couldn't be exercised even if they tried and honestly, neither of them seemed to want to.
Murtasim's eyes narrowed and his pupils dilated; now the usual response to the woman in front of him. The contours of his face tensed and his eyes glittered in the dark room; smouldering. She sat daintily on one of the huge, dark sofas and it seemed to engulf her tiny frame. Her body tilted towards him, he could make out the exact shape of her body and whilst his throat dried up, he also felt a streak of searing hot aggression. Aggression towards every pair of male eyes which could see her like this and have the same view he currently had. His jaw visibly clenched, making his jawline even more prominent and his nose flared as he took her in.
The curves on display were thanks to a simple cream, high-neck blouse and a mid-length brown leopard print skirt which law flared around on the sofa. It hid her legs until mid-calf, after which she had on sheer black tights and suede black, heeled boots.
Murtasim's jaw clenched tighter.
There was nothing indecent or inappropriate about her outfit. It was entirely normal and yet it was slowly driving him insane. It was much different to her usual flowy sundresses and casual jeans. Whilst somewhat casual, it had the distinct air of sexiness. The cream high-neck was moulding her chest, waist and hips. Even her arms looked bloody good. The band of the cashmere skirt was snug high around her waist and it just accentuated the nip of it. He'd been able to tell when he'd seen her in that evening dress on their anniversary but this outfit left nothing to the imagination; hourglass it was. And he could tell from the way the skirt flared past her hips just how perfectly hourglass it was.
Debating just how much of a controlling ass he'd look like if he strolled over and draped her discarded scarf over her body, Murtasim abruptly took his eyes off of Meerab and looked at his companion. Blake Smith was a university friend and the producer whose movie the crew would be watching tonight. The two men, along with Henry Goldsmith, the owner of Annabel's and also a friend, met every time Murtasim was in London. It was a ritual of sorts; dinner and then the Annabel's for drinks and a long catch up.
His friend was speaking to a few of the crew members and everyone in the room was listening to the conversation, which had left Murtasim and Meerab to do whatever they'd just done for the past few minutes, undisturbed.
Sending Murtasim a stare, Blake turned and nodded to ask if he was done.
Not really.
Nonetheless, Murtasim nodded slowly. Turning back one last time, his tongue slipped out and licked his lips subconsciously as he gave his wife a parting glance and then, after wreaking havoc with her senses, turned and left.
It was safe to say that Meerab neither watched the movie with any great concentration nor remembered a single detail after she'd left the club that night.
The winter morning sun unexpectedly greeted the residents of the British capital as they rose for the day. Though very much alive at night time, today the city looked vibrant in the day too as the warming streaks of sun shone down on the streets. Meerab had the suede curtains in her room pulled back fully and the view was magnificent.
As she adjusted her flight uniform and focused on her hair, a relaxed sigh escaped her. It was finally time to say goodbye to this enchanting city. Their stay had been absolutely fabulous and had felt more like a billionaire's holiday than a work trip. They had al spend yesterday visiting the famous London Christmas Markets; an open air market with countless stalls displaying everything from handmade soaps to fresh German bread to some of the yummiest finger-food Meerab had sampled in her life. They had also visited several London landmarks and then had retired to bed early, for the early flight schedule this morning.
Done with her hair and makeup, Meerab picked up the hot chocolate she'd ordered and went over to the big window at the side of her room. Looking down at the unparalled view of the iconic Hyde Park, Meerab, not for the first time, wished she was born in another era. She would've been an aristocratic lady of the ton and gone on tours around Hyde Park in a bespoke horse-drawn carriage with a suitor; chaperoned of course. She had read enough Regency romances to know how it all worked and it had always seemed so magical to her; the dramatic dresses, the courtship, anticipation of finding your Prince Charming at a high-society ball and most exciting of all, the thrill of bumping into a rake. It was all so decadent.
A dull knock sounded at the door and she clicked her tongue. She'd skipped the buffet breakfast downstairs because she'd wanted to spend the last few moments here in her room overlooking the view and sipping on her hot chocolate. Walking across, Meerab pulled back the heavy door and stilled.
Speaking of rakes
"Morning." he drawled, his voice rough, as if he hadn't slept much.
Meerab felt the sudden scald of the hot ceramic cup on her fingers and realised her mug had slipped into the wrong position. Always sharp as a tack, her husband's eyes flitted down to her fingers and then back up to her face as he raised his eyebrows in a clearly mocking question.
Meerab sniffed in annoyance and brought the cup to her lips, taking a deliberately slow sip. Only after she'd had a full sip and savoured the creamy goodness of her drink did she haughtily put the cup on the dressing table beside the door. Facing him again, she saw his jaw move as he tried to not grin. He looked at her with eyes which were all too knowing, as if saying he knew of the effect he'd begun having on her.
Astaghfirullah, never. She'd sooner eat a slug than let him get even a whiff of the craziness she was currently afflicted with.
"Good morning." she greeted coolly, keeping her expression as snooty as she could manage.
"That is yet to be seen." there he went, drawling in that gravelly voice.
Meerab frowned as he took his hands out of the pocket of his uniform trousers and clasped them behind his back. Nodding at the room behind her, he made his request.
"May I?"
I would prefer it if you didn't.
Meerab cleared her throat and after a moment of hesitation, stepped back and let him enter. He went straight to the window, his hands still clasped behind his back. It made his Captain's jacket stretch over his broad shoulders and accentuated the sloping 'v' of his abdomen and waist. The light coming in from the window made his still wet gleam a dark, decadent brown and-
Snap out of it Meerab. How embarrassing!
Meerab cleared her throat again to dispel the silence and he finally turned.
"Ready?"
Thrown off by the question, Meerab's head bobbed up and down in a yes as she tried to figure out what the end game here was. What did he want so early in the morning?
"Lag to nahi rahi."
Excuse me?
She crossed her arms and voiced the same thought out loud.
"Tumhe woh nahi pehna?"
"Woh?"
A "Hmm" as his only answer.
"Woh kya?" Meerab cocked her head to the side and asked.
"You really should wear it."
It?
Her brows knitted as she stared at the vexing man in front of her. He stood way too relaxed, his brows raised at her like he couldn't believe she'd had such an oversight.
"Woh kya?"
When he just stood there with his eyebrows raised, Meerab, whose curiosity had once gotten the better of her, walked up to him and unfolded her arms as she looked up at him.
"Batao na, woh kya?"
Murtasim's mouth took the shape of a smirk as he looked at her wide, questioning eyes and impatient stance. Unclasping his hands, he went straight for her upper arms. Before Meerab could protest, he'd turned her around so that his back was facing his chest and they were both facing the massive mirror on top of the dressing table. With his hand still curved around her silk-clad upper arms and his heavily-stubbled chin so close to her ear, he looked at them in the mirror saw her eyes and mouth parted wide at the unexpected move. Deciding he'd better get it over with before her shock wore off and she was not as yielding to his actions, Murtasim dug his right hand into his trouser pocket and brought something out before bringing his hand back to her arm.
Meerab watched in growing confusion as his hand returned and just before she could shake him off and let her indignation at being manhandled be known, she saw something glint between his fingers and frowned.
"Kya hai ye aur tum kar kya rahay ho?" She asked with equal parts of frustration and intrigue.
Murtasim just looked at her in the mirror and then stretched his fingers as he meddled with the mysterious object. Meerab kept her on his fingers in the mirror and squinted to get a better look. It looked a brassy gold metal object with bits of white on it. His fingers were in the way and Meerab clicked her tongue and looked down, only for him to shush her and cover the object. Huffing, she looked back up in the mirror and focused as she felt him sliding his hand over her waistcoat. His hand was splayed across the top of her chest and she could his thumb slide underneath the waistcoat, making her eyes narrow with suspicion.
She looked down and felt him push her waistcoat out with his thumb, and suddenly a pin poked out from back of the cloth. Meerab frowned as comprehension dawned and then looked up just in time to see remove his hand from the object. For a moment she just blinked and stared at her unexpected gift. It was a broach; a pearl-adorned vintage broach in the shape of a strawberry. Her eyes shot to his and found his already on her. His face was totally neutral, like he wasn't expecting any sort of response, and truth be told, Meerab wasn't quite sure how to respond.
It was a strawberry. How random. Strawberries were her thing; always had been, but she hadn't thought anyone would ever notice. This gift had to be a coincidence because when would Murtasim ever have had the time to notice what her favourite fruit or her favourite scent was?
Guided by instinct, Meerab's hand rose to the delicate accessory and she ran her fingers over the pearls on the body of the strawberry almost reverently.
What a pretty, pretty gift.
And so her. That was what had shocked her silence, just how much it was something she'd get for herself. Meerab's eyes rose gently to Murtasim's and she let her eyes ask an uncertain question. With his eyes trained on hers, his left hand slipped down from her to the curve of her waist and moulded it; the warmth from his hand seeping through the two layers of clothing and into her skin. Her other hand slid down from her chest and came to rest on the top of her thigh, and with this one, Meerab could feel the exact imprint on her skin. But she let it happen. What she needed first was an answer.
Murtasim stared back unflinchingly, his eyes never moving from hers and somehow portraying his answer. His gaze was steady and he only allowed himself the softest of blinks as he waited for her to absorb what his eyes were saying, and more importantly, believe it. Her fingers played around with the broach and somehow as they looked into one another, the moment became very unlike them.
For the first time since Meerab and Murtasim had come to be in the chokehold of their desire for one another, the moment became tender. The tension between their bodies was now an undercurrent, overshadowed by the raw tenderness which engulfed them both in a bubble and forced some more uncomfortable revelations in front of them.
Meerab was sunshine and Murtasim rain. She was fire and he was air; he had the dangerous capacity to keep her spark ignited or extinguish her flame. Together, they were the blazing embers of the fire of their restrained attraction and everything between them, since their newfound affinity for one another, had centred around desire. It had driven them both crazy with confusion but when boiled down, it had seemed basic. Physical. Like a deep, latent part of their bodies waking up due to factors still unknown to them.
But this, this was new. Meerab stared back at the man whose lips had touched hers not too long ago, albeit in the most whisper-like touch. And suddenly, everything seemed all too real. She had thought passionate kisses were also yet another phenomenon reserved for the romance novels. Meerab had never been that close to a man in her life, and never had she thought she would allow one to take such liberties with her body. And yet, she hadn't stopped him. She hadn't been able to. It had been as simple as that and she had come to terms with it, after having that one event pass through her mind every second for the past three nights.
She had lain in bed restless, as flashes of them in that galley had tormented her over and over again. She'd lost count of the times she had subconsciously touched her fingers to her lips, only to snatch them back when she'd realised. Those few minutes on the plane had imploded in her mind repeatedly and her only coping mechanism had been to brush them as though nothing much had happened. And now she couldn't.
She, Meerab Waqas Ahmed, reader of almost every romance novel on earth, had been kissed. On the lips.
She'd been kissed.
She had been kissed.
Those few minutes in his arms had constituted to her first kiss; the first time her lips had touched a man's. She now knew what this man's lips felt like. How she was still staring him in the eyes was a marvel to Meerab. Maybe that's what desire did to you; made you dispense with the curtain of restrain and timidity. And that had been okay; Meerab had made somewhat peace with that and she suspected he had too. But this tenderness now, this strange way in which their eyes seemed to talk rather than flash at one another was new. Her heart suddenly felt achy and she could see the change in their faces.
The faces which looked back at them from the mirror were not the faces they had gotten used to; the hooded eyes were gone and in their place were eyes which were loaded with the answer she'd wanted. Her own eyes were wide and earnest; the artifice of annoyance or denial gone. Raw, sexual awareness lingered under surface but the atmosphere was now charged with emotion. The moment seemed almost bittersweet; as if these feelings had been warring with physical desire for the longest of times and had been suppressed mercilessly, only to erupt the first chance they'd gotten.
And they didn't know what to do about it.
The cockpit was bright with the backdrop of the clear, blue sky and the sun shining in. Murtasim unbuttoned his blazer and handed it to Maala whilst he quickly surveyed his cockpit. It was a habit of his; to cast an eye around the place before settling in. His eyes stopped on an unfamiliar object and he nodded at it.
"What's that?"
Maala hurried forward to move the bag to the side of the cockpit, making sure it wasn't in her Captain's path.
"Oh, that's the flight engineer's. He's on board the flight to test out the new tech. This plane still hasn't had its test run."
Murtasim frowned. He was in charge of anything related to avionics and he didn't know about this, but then he'd been away for so long. After his recovery, there had been so many things to tend to that he'd pushed this to the end of the list. It's wasn't like it wouldn't run without him and it was why they employed a legion of expert staff. Nodding at Maala, he turned, dismissing her as he sat down.
He had woken up with a headache and in a mood, and he still hadn't figured out the reason for either. He had been irritable all morning and with all the crew. Well, all except one.
Even now, she had the unexpected ability to make his lips twitch with a hint of a smile even as the lines on his forehead wrinkled in a frown. He hadn't known why he'd finally gone into his safe and taken out the broach he'd bought in Paris months before. Something in him had wanted to do it despite his thundering mood; had wanted to go see her and give her what was meant to be hers all along. And the twenty minutes he'd spent in her room had been the grand total of time he'd been somewhat pleasant during the entire morning. The staff at the hotel had shook with intimidation and he was positive his crew was hiding from him.
Maybe flying would take it away. The cockpit door opened and his First Officer, Adam walked in and Murtasim's frown deepened. He hadn't flown here with Adam but his original First Officer had taken another flight, and Murtasim's luck had clearly been lacking. Adam greeted him and Murtasim nodded; he had a hard time entertaining civility with Adam on a good day, expecting anything from him today would be a stretch. The cockpit opened yet again and both pilots turned around.
Adam frowned at the unfamiliar face and got up from his seat. Murtasim watched the man as he made his way inside the cockpit and stood in front of Adam with a smile. He looked to be in his mid-forties and was a pleasant-looking guy.
"Flight engineer?" Murtasim asked.
The man smiled and nodded, moving towards Murtasim for a hand-shake. Murtasim reciprocated and his eyes drifted to the name on the man's badge just as he spoke.
"Kenny Carter. Nice to finally meet you Captain Khan."
Hello dear readers! Happy MeerAsim reading <3
I missed saying that! HkP is officially off hiatus pals. It took us a while to get here since I suspect my jet lag has become permanent, but here are almost 11,500 words to make up for it. A little intrigue, a little angsty slow burn and a whole lot of romance.
Also, as a British gal, I LOVED writing about London and my fave parts of it. I hope I have made you feel as magically as I feel about the city. That is London in the photo above ♡
And before many of you ask me; no, this is not the MeerAsim first kiss I've spoken about when I say I have something specific in mind for it. This is just a 'whisper' :D
Photo inspo attached in the header. Meerab's uniform has been updated with a long blazer since I saw air-hostesses with this on and it looked so chic. Murtasim's outfit at Annabel's is inspired by the infamous Mushq shoot.
Also, Meerab's outfit is slightly altered from how it is in the photo; the printed scarf is actually the skirt and she's wearing block-heeled boots in the chapter.
Enjoy and please give your feedback. I'm a tad out of practice and seem to have forgotten my own writing style after my own whizz around the Gulf :')
Till next time, D xo