Trigger warning !
After the outburst, Meerab hid within the walls of her locked bedroom for safety, and only ventured out for her classes - using only short sentence with Murtasim, as if he could decipher her from mundane conversation.
But there was no going back when there had been enough friction to reignite a spark between them. In the shadows of which, their childhood silhouette danced and played, both secretly and silently.
In the same way, Murtasim held the lighter up with a thin cigarette balancing between his lips, one hand cupping around the edge, the other thumb flicking the butane lighter in quick succession. His thumb rolled down sharply, until his face was illuminated in the slightest sunset-orange glow. The sky was pitch black.
Other than light, the rest of the Karachi garden was dark, only lit sporadically around the periphery and the veranda- illuminating the bushes into a strange murky shade of green.
Darkness hazed around him, wrapping tendrils of an unknowness around him, squeezing - hence the search for comfort in the tobacco.
The lighter was duly shoved back into his pocket, and Murtasim pulled his phone out. He stood leaning on the wall by the annex, when Mariyum's number was called as she was a compendium of gossip and a possible lead. ''Kya kar rahi ho,'' he asked immediately as she picked up. (What are you doing?)
''Bhai ... parhai,'' she whined. ''Din mein doston ke ghar gyi thi, dessert khaaya, aur ab ghar hun. Koyi kaam hai?'' Her voice was the tiniest bit dry from being so busy, but nothing to awaken concern. She was safe, studying and with friends in Hyderabad - Meerab didn't have the luxury of safety. (Brother, studying. In the day time, I went to my friend's house and had dessert, but i'm home now. Do you need something from me?)
''Sultan family enterprises ko jaanti ho? News se, social media se?'' There was a confidence between them as he practically implored for help. (Do you know of the Sultan family enterprise, the from the news or social media?)
''Those Karachi billionaires? Instagram pe dekha hai - unki beti Alizey Sultan holiday pictures lagati hai.'' (I have seen them on Instagram. Their daughter Alizey Sultan posts pictures of their holiday.)
''Uske baba ki tasveer hai? Politics se koyi link hai? Ya Hyderabad se?'' He pressed, desperate and perplexed as he exhaled the smoke. (Are there any pictures of her father? Do they have any political links? Links to Hyderabad?)
''Mujhe kya pata? Meri personal friend to nahi hai.'' She had just been in awe at the flamboyant excess, now being disturbed from her revision which was already boring. (How would I know, she isn't my personal friend.)
''Aur baba kya kar rahe hai? Daado?'' He missed them dearly, but Meerab had a target on her. (And what is baba doing? Grandmother?)
''Daado so rahi hain aur baba araam kar rahe hain. Shayad news dekh rahe honge,'' she figured, the man was mostly idle as he recovered on bed rest. (Grandmother is sleeping and baba is resting, or maybe watching the news.)
''phone dogi?'' After a minute of waiting and looking over the rustling leafs, he heard his father's warm greetings, when Murtasim asked, ''Zakhm bhar gaya hai baba?'' There was a tenderness, conveying both care and reverence for his simple father. (Can you give the phone.)(Have your wound healed?)
''Haan. Hospital waalon ne accha khayal rakha tha,'' Shah Nawaz said thankfully, and continued to praise unabashedly- but Murtasim blocked it out- he didn't need convincing of their virtues. (The hospital staff has taken good care of me.)
''Good. Aapke israar pe aapko Hyderabad mein rehne diya, nahi to aapko Karachi mein acche se acche hospital le jaata,'' he replied in a tone of relief. (On your insistence I agreed to let you stay in Hyderabad, or else I really wanted to take you to a good hospital in Karachi.)
''Anwar kitna accha insaan h, usne mera ilaaj krane ki zehmat ki jbki main to sirf apna farz ada kar raha tha.'' He spoke as though the association with the Khan wasn't the sole reason behind the injury- it was the least they could do. (Anwar is so generous, he arranged for my treatment when I was solely carrying out my duty.)
Murtasim tried really hard to not roll his eyes. ''Aap News dekhte ho to aapko Sultan family ka kuch pata hai?'' He enquired, hoping ardently for a gram of success in the investigation. (Since you're watching the news, do you know anything about the Sultan family group?)
''Koyi bada karobaari hai jo sab kuch banata hai - stock price ki khabar aati hai TV. Bas itna.'' The sentences were clipped, truly out of his depth. (They're some mega business that dabble in everything - I've seen news about their stock price on the TV.)
Murtasim's chest deflated at a dead end- the smoke burned too. ''Politics se koyi lena dena nahi hai?'' That donation certificate meant something - it had to. (They don't have any links to politics?)
''Nahi. Bete, itni raat ho gayi hai. Sultan business group ka kyun soch rahe ho?'' There was also a drowsiness laced into his words. (No. Son, it's so late. Why are you thinking about some Sultan business group?)
There was no apparent link. ''Waise hi baba.'' (No reason.)
After a calm heartbeat, in which he took a drag of the cigarette, his father pondered and asked, ''Bahar cigarette pee rahe ho?'' Shah Nawaz was certain. (Are you outside smoking.)
''Shehr ki hava itni kharab hai ke cigarette ka asr bhi nahi hota baba.'' There was a melancholic lilt to his voice of being away from home - he was used to it, the feeling of being independent and free-falling never settled. (The city's are is so dirty that the cigarette is not any more polluting than the normal air.)
''Mehfooz raho,'' Shah Nawaz blessed, knowing it was late. (Stay safe.)
''Khuda hafiz baba,'' Murtasim replied feeling dejected, feeling like he was at a blocked tunnel, dark and nowhere to go except follow Meerab's lead.
Just then, the above door of her bedroom opened, and Meerab stepped out in a satiny button down pyjama - blind to the chill. It was difficult to sleep when he always stayed in the periphery of her mind, to the point where she never completely shut her curtains anymore.
Oblivious and with his guard down, Murtasim didn't even look up as she didn't turn the balcony night on, instead falling silent as he smoked. His other hand scrolled on his phone screen in research about the Sultans - through the page of Alizey Shah. Meerab watched over in awe, feeling she was witnessing something forbidden.
Yet he stood tall when he stopped a picture tagged in Hyderabad, on a horse tracing track. She had skin tight pants, and knee high riding boots - and Murtasim wondered whose land the track belonged, and who was betting the horse.
Meerab deflated at discovering a bad habit- smoking. He had evolved for the worse in her absence, that being her fault too.
He took a couple more long puffs, leaning against the door with his phone away, clearly restless. She saw how he didn't wander, just looking out onto the lush grassy area, as if he had no interest in the luxury of the place - unimpressed. There was a wooden bench he could have taken, or a swing attached to a large tree which shaded the garden- he never considered it.
The only link between Sultans and the Maliks was an instagram photo that captured their daughter on Hyderabad's soil amongst horses - that race track would be his next target. He wondered if Amar had a penance for horses.
Rancid fumes spun in the air's current, carried up. As if trying to out her, it caught like a pinch in her throat, forcing Meerab to choke loudly on the bitter smoke.
He suddenly looked up to the balcony- both Meerab and her pyjamas. Gasps tumbling into a cough as it tickled her throat, so her hand traced the wall to flick the light on so she didn't trip. Now Meerab was illuminated, but stood without a hint of guilt. After all, it was her own balcony - the same angle from where she had seen him snooping and Amar had touched her
After gulping to ease the irritation, Meerab called out, ''we're not used to second hand smoke in the house.'' It was a complaint.
He stood for a second weighing up the pollution her, their gazes locked. She looked sleepy and relaxed - her hair loose and face makeup free - yet lightly glistening from her skin care routine.
Watching the way her pyjamas draped, he took in the low V which gave away the secret of her milky skin before pulling away.
''To sarak pe jaake peeyun?'' He asked whilst wishing she would tell him to stop smoking - because of their pact. He wondered if she remembered. Could she send him away again? (Shall I stand on the road and smoke?)
''Maine aise to nhi kaha,'' Meerab said defensively - just because she lied about not loving him didn't mean she wished for him to leave her sight. (I didnt say that.)
He exhaled again just to disregard her.
There was a pact between them-its breaking was evidenced by the tobacco infused smells that attacked her.
''Main andar ja rahi hun. Smoke as much as you like,'' Meerab announced, but voice carried a hint of heart break from the betrayal. She remembered the whispered promise between them, but needed to play along. (I'm going inside.)
''Reh lou, chaand ke saamne bhi yaadein taaza karte hain.'' He was sarcastic, hurt that she had shared their hidden relationship with Shaano- In Murtasim's perspective, it was all precious. (Stay, we will refresh our memories before the watchful moon.)
In the same way, the cresent moon hand hung above on the night of Sarfaraz's bachelor party, his friends has been invited. A far out corner of the house is where a larger private building stood that the men used to conduct business - but tonight it was used for partying and celebration of his bachelor party for him and his esteemed friends - feudals. ''Koyi acha gaana chalao,'' Sarfraz jeered at his friend that had the aux. (Put a good track on.)
The 3 kids perched on the balcony, peering down into a world of adulthood behind the semi sheer veils. Beneath were overflowing glasses of amber hued alcohol, men lounging around amdist a haze of hookah smoke, dirtying the air despite the doors being open.
At their side, Irtaza whispered, ''Nasha kaise hota hoga?'' His hands gripped the railing, gaze cast downwards as his forehead rest forwards. (I wonder what it's like to be intoxicated?)
Grey swirls twirled in an upwards waltz, an elegant dance that contrasted the atmosphere of heavy inebriated chuckles for the woman that draped within them - there was 7 or 8 young men, fuelled on lust and too much money.
''Irtaza, sochna bhi mat. Gunnah hai,'' Meerab warned despite being the youngest of the three. She was 14. Her pointer finger came out as a show of her seriousness. (Don't even think about it. It's a sin.)
''Pee ke khush lag rahe hain,'' Murtasim remarked to himself, never having seen a private house party, alcohol being banned. It was an elusive and secretive gathering, yet the men were loud and bashful. (They look happy whilst drunk.)
''Sharaab peena zaroori nahi hota khush hone ke liye,'' she retorted, turned off by just the yeasty, aged smell- it didn't seem fresh. (You don't need to drink to be happy.)
''Par bhai aur uske dost to hookah pee rahe hain. Anwar chacha ne bhi try karne diya tha aik baar- accha nahi tha,'' Irtaza added in a prideful whisper to Murtasim. (But brother and his friends as smoking the hookah. Anwar uncle even let me try abit, but it wasn't good.)
The women were draped in pricey fine velvets, eye-catching jewels adorning them as they occasionally sipped and flipped cards in a frivolous game of betting. They were freely divulging on libertine desires. There were stacks of orange and blue chips in front of each player that were pushed around between them.
''Hookah accha nahi hai?'' Murtasim asked in genuine curiosity with locked eyes, dazzled at witnessing the worldly luxuries - a drunken languidness to their movement. (Hookah doesn't taste good?)
Sarfaraz stroked the woman's hair with a uncanny tenderness. ''Nooran, baith jao,'' her instructed in a calmness that cut through the mess, patting the leather sofa besides him. (Take a seat Nooran.)
''Haan, par flavour wala sheesha acha hai. Woh wala try karna,'' Irtaza suggested, watching as the guests enjoyed and indulged in the finest of life's pleasures. (Yeah, but the flavoured pipe is good.)
The crystal coffee table in the centre of the room was a podium of contraband. More cards were overturned, and chants of victory and loss clashed in the air. The woman sat with a refined etiquette of crossed legs barely swinging with the beat, but she leaned on him without regard- there was a strange shameless comfortableness between them.
Meerab eyes focused on Murtasim, which in turn was amazed at the splendour, and failing to impugn the virtueless behaviours of the event.
Another of his friends had pretty women by his sides, whispering slightly too close to her face - tipsy. The desire was rampant, all noticing how the man's finger purposefully trailed down the woman's forearm, arousing a shy yet sinful smile to flash across her face at being chosen. ''Andar chalein?,'' he order, clearly losing interest in the game when a different prize was more than willing. (Shall we go inside?)
She nodded faintly as he raked up her fitted dress, and hand in hand, they walked out to a private room with question, to continue in their private game. They all knew of the man's intentions from his shameless gaze, even the teens peering down knew why the exited. It was profligate.
Snooty, her baby soft hands pulled at Murtasim's wrist, until he almost toppled- knocking him out of the trance. ''Kya hai Meerab,'' he complained in a hushed tone, eyes watching the movie scene before them, calculating the victorious move. (What is it Meerab?)
''Tum nahi pee sakte.'' There was no room for negotiation, not even a taste like Irtaza. (You can't smoke it.)
The lifestyle was alluring and almost within reach. There was a beat as he contemplated the request, and the person that the voice belonged to. ''Yeh fatwa hai?'' Murtasim challenged the girl as if she was his equal - imagining the boundary of what would he do to keep her happy? (Is that statute?)
''Aise he samajhlo. Mujhe dhuan nahi pasand.'' Her preference was law. (Think of it like that. I don't like the smoke.)
''Fir sharaab mna nhi hai?'' He wagered audaciously, and Irtaza sniggered to his side. (So alcohol is allowed then.)
Caught off caught, a train of silent words fumbled in her mouth at his unreasonableness- the reason she liked him was because he was different and pure. His suggestion was offensive. ''Main tumse nahi baat kar rahi, Murtasim. Tum dono hi bure ho,'' she whined. It was time for a tantrum. (I'm not talking with you Murtasim. You're both horrible.)
Irtaza had become immune, but there was a part of Murtasim that couldn't fathom her disdain, constantly in pursuit of her approval, innately belonging to one another. ''Naraz na ho,'' he requested his upset girlfriend. (Dont be upset.)
Meerab tilted her head in an annoyed shrug with her shoulders angled away, looking at the stairs to the far end- wondering if the boys would get into trouble for eavesdropping on the adults party to deter them- but she didn't want to risk a scolding herself.
''Meerab,'' he whispered naturally, and yet implored in a single name. His hand came to her upper arm to invite back, to try make eye contact as he knew it always melted her. The booming music blurred the background.
Meerab cautiously allowed herself to twist but her arms were crossed haughtily as a show of her crossness, and she scowled to guilt him.
''Naraz na ho. Nahi piyunga,'' easily slipped out of his mouth to bridge the gap. (Dont be upset, I won't drink.)
''Vaada karo.'' It was a command - the little girl's tone was assertive. Her facial features were set, knowing how to get her way. (Promise me.)
He didn't want to, drawn to the lavish life that was just out of hand. But to appease her, he replied, ''vaada karta hun ke sharaab nahi piyunga.'' There was no going back. (I promise that I won't drink alcohol.)
''Aur hookah?'' She added it to the 'prohibited' list. (And hookah?)
''Hookah bhi nahi piyunga,'' he nonchalantly added, trying to decipher her acceptance or not. (I wont smoke hookah.)
But her eyebrows slowly raised in a challenge- the scene below abandoned, only engrossing Irtaza.
''Pakka yarr, nahi piyunga. Cigarette bhi nahi piyunga,'' he graciously offered as a show of his sincereness. (I'm serious mate, I won't. Not even cigarettes.)
''Khao meri kasam.'' Her soft words, her pitched voice cornered him, checkmated him with her prowess of knowing his weakness. (Take an oath on me.)
No. There was one thing more dear to him. Murtasim leaned down until mere inches seperated him from her ear, secretly whispering, ''Tumhein humare pyar ki qasam, hookah bhi nahi piyunga.'' The music was inundating, vibrating through their bones to muffle it, but they both knew exactly what they were signing up for. (I promise upon our love that I won't smoke hookah.)
From those words, and from Murtasim's perspective since the failed proposal, his cigarette was entirely justified- since she said there was no love, hence no eternally binding promise. Karachi was always otherworldly compared to their Hyderabad, unbound by entrenches of culture and shackles of gender norms - they were modern. Stoically stood outside the annexe now, Murtasim exhale whatever remained in his mouth.
''Ab bhi pyar nahi karti,'' he mentioned of their incomplete lovestory.... ''to pee leta hun,'' he mumbled as she neared the edge to listen - yearning to be closer. (Since there's nothing, I shall continue smoking.)
''Jee bhar ke piyo,'' she scoffed loudly whilst twisting and returning indoors - gulping the trepidation away. After all, she had already decided that denial would be less harmful to him than accepting the truth - that victory was enough for Meerab. (Smoke to your hearts content.)
———————————————————————-
His scornful behaviour continued for a couple more days as she adamantly muted any feelings. Yet somehow the protective streak in Murtasim snowballed knowing that the mountain of secrets grew from her secrecy.
Despite the bubble of safety, Meerab found it hard to concentrate in her classes - because of him. Both the disdain and the longing compounding into an ache that clouded concentration.
As soon as the hour was up and the students got up to leave, Murtasim stood besides her. From deep within him, a natural instict meant his hand came out to hover behind her as he guided her out in a gentleness that contrasted the thick cool gun against his hipbone. The same proximity is what caused her classmates to disperse until the couple walked out towards the library.
The silent stoll was interrupted when Meerab's phone buzzed in her jeans pocket, a foreboding humm against her thigh. ''Salaam baba,'' she spoke into it.
''Parhai kaisi ja rahi hai? Khaana khaya? Murtasim saath hai?,'' were the list of questions she was faced with, fretting with his daughter being away. Of course there was no concern when she had Murtasim besides her. (How's your studying. Have you eaten? Is Murtasim with you?)
They stood just at the top of a bunch of stairs, looking down as if she was on a rostrum, at the ants thay moved on the assigned course. ''Murtasim saath hai,'' she confirmed, heart rate viscerally settling too at the verbalisation . (Murtasim is besides me.)
''Amar ka phone aaya tha. Israar kar raha tha ke tumhein dinner pe lejana chahta hai aaj shaam,'' Anwar conveyed, thinking nothing of the engaged couple wanting to learn about each other. (Amar rang me. He requested that he can take you out for dinner this evening.)
In weak rejection, she asked, ''Mana nahi kara?'' Its like Amar failed to grasp the rejection, taking the long route for permission, from someone that didn't see the leering tactics. (You didn't say 'no'?)
''Tumhara mangetar hai, anjaan to nahi,'' Anwar reminded softly, blind to the inner workings of her heart. (He's your fiance, not some stranger.)
''Maine uske saath akele nahi baithna,'' she confessed to her baba, with Murtasim behind her. Closer, he already knew of the emotions that Amar invoked within, rendering her disgusted. (I don't want to be alone with him.)
''Obviously, akela to nahi bhej raha. Murtasim hoga tumhare saath, security ke liye,'' Anwar explained, assured in his choice of protection. (I'm not send you alone. Murtasim will be with you, for security.)
Meerab wondered how ironic it was that her own fiance couldn't save her from some agile shooter, despite his own wealth and trove of weapons. It was playing out just like as she had taunted Murtasim in the car that he would accompany them on a fancy date- causing the strange dynamic to materialise.
The incident in her bedroom fliterred like film reels in her mind. ''Mere sar mein dard hai,'' she hastily relayed whilst pushing hair out of her temple. It was true- simply from the way Murtasim peered to look at her, as if could read her mind and uncover her thoughts if he focused hard enough - she doubted it too.(My head is hurting.)
Faintly knowing his daughter's tendency to weasel out of it, Anwar suggested, ''To ab ghar chali jao araam krne ke liye - rest kar lena.'' Further outright rejection of Amar would cause questions to rise in front of her baba, and knowing her motives would cause Murtasim to act out on his own wishes- so she swallowed her pride to keep the peace. (Then go home and unwind for a while, rest.)
At home, there was no rest. Not an ounce, knowing that her skin would crawl as Amar mentally undressed her with every glance. To raise the heat, Murtasim would barely be able to contain the rage if Amar continued on his delusional endeavours. It was a recipe for disaster.
Amar, busy with business, said that they would meet up at some fancy hotel restaurant, in a high rise overlooking the glittering city. The walls were glass, transparent, so that the moon saw them and judged.
They were guided in and taken to a semi isolated cubicle. Directly in front, a mere 3 meters away is where Murtasim sat, alone with his phone for company with the grandest chandelier above him, like a magnificent halo.
It was dark, yet with exaggeratedly low hanging ceiling lamp above each round table, coupled with soft ambient music, set the scene of luxury. Upon which, light chattering carried through the air in ripples as other tables sipped and chewed- but Murtasim's view was crystal clear.
Like a punishment, Murtasim cursed his fate, wondering how he had come to babysit the nawabzaadi that just to happened fail to admit that her feelings persisted to this day - hindered by something unknown.
Amar was shown in after couple of minutes and slid into the cubicle next to Meerab, onto the luxe suede seat. ''Kaisi ho Meerab? Feeling better?'' He asked, casual in tone yet in trousers and a button down made it seem like he had put effort in to impress her- it was futile. (How are you Meerab.)
She plastered on a tight lipped smile, and gave a nod.
''You look pretty,'' he said, placing his phone and thick car keys onto the cool marble top.
There was an awkwardness lingering around them from her quietness, forcing herself to pretend that she didn't mind the way he drank from her wide neckline, and she realised such a pretty top might have been a mistake. ''Thankyou Amar.''
''Busy thi aaj?'' He questioned, picking up the menu, and opening it, skimming the cursive. (Where you busy today?)
''University mein thi,'' she replied. ''Baba ka phone aaya, to ghar aake tiyaar hui.'' He had pulled her day off course, demanded her presence. (I spent the day at University. Baba rang, so I went home to grt ready.)
''Already tired? Abhi to raat shuru huyi hai,'' he quipped, smirking at her. (The night has only begun.)
''It's fine,'' she lied, only looking out to Murtasim that camouflaged into the scene - he didn't stand out in such a place despite being alone. The aura of confidence from the wide built shoulders and his eyes were unimpressed, unfettered by the high class.
''Nosheen kehti hai ke tumhein parhna pasand hai,'' he tried to open the conversation, looking for a topic to grasp onto as the menu closed in being decided- he wasnet here for food anyways. (Nosheen says that you like being a student.)
''Bahut,'' she replied as declaration of fact, her hands coming over one another on top of the table, her diamond engagement ring twinkling under the lighting. (Very.)
In gentle appreciation, Murtasim saw that the ruby velvet of her top was regal, and he linked it to a traditional wedding jora, that made her face radiate in innocence like they were young again. It was obvious how her eyes were detached despite being surrounded in opulence, wondering why played along. So he mumbled to himself, ''aik ishara dedo.'' He would take her far away. (Just give me one sign.)
The waiter arrived to take their order, some red pasta dishes and a glass of scotch for himself, a virgin mojito for his fiance. Behind them was small trickling waterfall, a stream of gentle refreshing patter. ''Main bhi padhaunga,'' he assured, and she realised that this was some sort of negotiation. (I'll ensure that you study.)
The drinks were received first, and she saw that Murtasim had a small espresso cup at this late hour, wondering if he ever slept. The woven bread basket was placed down. It's cosy smell perfuming the air was consolation as Amar scooted in to retrieve it.
The jealously roused, together with forced restraint, for Amar to be so close besides her when she looked so hauntingly angelic, his Meerab that loved him once.
''Tum meri biwi banjao, tum mere haq ada karna, mein tumhein khush rakhounga,'' Amar replied between them, tucking her fringe behind her ear, dry finger taking the luxury to skim around the delicate shell of her ear. (You become my wife, fulfill my rights, i'll keep you happy.)
Ahead, Murtasim burned from what he witnessed. Touch was something she had only shared with him. The idea of Amar in the story of her bedroom, was torture enough, so this was enough to drag him over the edge.
''Graduation ke baad main masters karna chahti hun, uske baad shaadi,'' she tried to justify, breath stuck at the sudden proximity. (After graduation, i wish to do my masters. After that we can wed.)
''Shaadi ke baad kar lena apni masters,'' he easily overwrote her request, the icecubes clinking as he swirled the amber drink liquid and took another mouthful. It was strong and perfectly numbing. (You can study your Masters after our wedding.)
''Mushkil hoga Amar,'' she complained hesitantly, wondering where this more dominant side of him had flared up from. (It will be difficult.)
''Drink piyo.'' Amar watched her idle hands, the tall glass before her hands, cool minty green at the base, infusing into cloudy, with a slither of lime on the top. ''Nahi hoga. Mujhe aik biwi chahiye, mangetar nahi. You can do both,'' he explain without pause, his mind set. (Have you drink. It won't be difficult. I need a full wife, not a fiance.)
Her appetite was gone. ''We can still talk.''
Murtasim only watched , unable to hear the words that caused her to cast her gaze lower to escape- she was uncomfortable, perhaps?
''Baat karne ke elawa aur bhi kaam hai,'' he corrected, implying the next step which comprised of privacy and touch. To further the point, Amar's eyes glinted with a lust, hand enclosing over hers. She understood the implied act.
Murtasim stiffened up, his spine straightening like a rod at her freezing at the sight of her hand being eclipsed. His sight locked onto it like prey - he ardently begged her for a hint, for permission to halt the entire circus. ''Aik baar kehdo,'' he whispered, breath slowing to hear a wisp. (Just say it one time.)
The waiter swiftly bought over the pasta bowls with oversized wide protruding rims, and Meerab more than eagerly retrieved her arm to pull her food closer. As the waiter served long shards of parmesan over her bowl, Meerab gazed just slightly to the left to Murtasim, already looking at her- she fractionally shook her head at Murtasim, and told him to stand down.
Contrasting her demand, Murtasim's iris is where she sought solace, determined yet inhibiting his innate predisposition to encircle her, naturally programmed to be her bodyguard.
''Madam, kaafi hai?'' The waiter asked, pulling her out of the trance. There was a mountain of parmesan, and she nod to dismiss him. (Madam is that enough.)
Inebriated, Amar didn't care for detail. Meerab began eating, and listening to Amar rant about his work, and tasks that occupied him in Karachi, none of which concerned her. She gave curt nods to his fables, eating the food despite not craving a morsel.
Her focused switched from the food to his words when he asked, ''Shaadi ka jora dekha hai? Designer se appointment le lena, waqt lagta hai.'' (Have you looked at any bridal dresses? Made any appointment with designers? They have a waiting list.)
There was no wedding for a long time, so why would she waste her time. ''Abhi nahi, University mei masroof rehti hun,'' she lied, never having accepted the idea of being married. (Not yet, i'm busy with University.)
''Tumhari baraat aajayegi tumhein lene aur jora tiyaar bhi nahi hoga. Waise he le jaunga,'' Amar teased whilst chuckling to himself at the idea, unveiling his priorities. (Your wedding procession will come and take you even if your bridal dress isn't ready. I will take you as is.)
Ahead, Murtasim had a flat plate with a chunky streak, the shape suggesting is was a filet mignon. But was occupied on his phone, and her- the look in her eyes that was so detached, mentally elsewhere. ''Aik baar mujhe bulao, usko zameen mei gaad dunga,'' he beseeched in his mind. (Just call me once, i'll bury him alive.)
''Suhaag raat to jode se hi banti hai,'' Amar remarked whilst gesturing for his drink to be refilled. (A wedding dress is crucial for a wedding night.)
Where as inside Murtasim's plotting mind, he visualised his father, half dead from the loss of blood after taking a bullet to the stomach. ''Aaun?'' Mouthed in the downwards motion of his head. (Shall I come?)
Amar was oblivious to the way she stared, heart with Murtasim. She faintly shook her head at the request - it was bearable to keep the peace.
''Tumne socha hai?'' Amar voice was deepened with desire, a whisper between them. The way he spoke made it seem like he longed for that night. His eyes were glazed and dilated, from the dim light, his desires and the alcohol that fuelled his wanton talks. (Have you thought about it?)
The rejection had provoked Amar to look at her in a way that was lewd- almost wanting to prove a point to himself when his hand rest on the top edge of the plush backing of the chairs, slyly scooting closer.
Every single muscle in Murtasim's body blared and deafeningly roared to get up and retrieve her from Amar - like it was his duty.
But a deep part of Murtasim knew that needed to be chosen by her once- Meerab had chosen Amar even after the incident in the bedroom, and now sat besides Amar's rib, clearly selecting a preference - it irked him.
Just 1 signal is all he needed to reclaim his haq that she denied him, to not be nonchalant about the ordeal. Murtasim couldnt see why she chose Amar over him, again and again, despite looking slightly uncomfortable now too.
''Nahi,'' she shakily exhaled, her ears became red from a mix of both shock and disgust at mentioning any future intimate relation. (No.)
To Murtasim, the shooter might as well have been Amar, it made no different if he didn't directly pull the trigger. They were his enemies- Amar's coming to look like a target as Murtasim's hands twitched, clenching into tight firsts- expertly trained in combat.
Amar's languid arm came around to her shoulder, the heat of his unwanted touch emanated around her body, his drunk breath clouding senses with a gag reflex. She stopped chewing in alarm.
Murtasim's hand twitched, blood red anger flooded through him at the touching - wanting to re-arrange Amar's face without delay.
''Khaana kyun nhi kha rahi ? Acha nahi hai? Aur mangwa dun?'' Amar asked in an act of concern, but with a different aim in mind. (Why aren't you eating? Is the food not good? Shall i order something else?)
Out of sheer jealousy, Murtasim's jaw painfully shut tight, eyes wide and nostrils flared.
''Nahi, khaana theek hai,'' she replied, trying to keep her voice controlled as she chartered new territory, not wanting to alarm Murtasim. (The food is fine.)
She had no doubt would turn the table upside down if he got a whiff lf a complaint ; she put on a brave face. She forced the corners of her mouth to rise whilst knowing that Murtasim watched, but it fell suddenly when Amar spoke....
''Khaana nahi khaana, to aur bhi kuch kar saktein hai.'' His words slurred slightly into each other. A drunkenness laced into each word, taking off the edge of refinement. (If you don't want to eat, we can do something else.)
''Nahi. Yahan theek hun,'' she almost whimpered whilst picking her glass of water with a shaky hand, bringing it to her lips. It did little to calm the anxiety as the matter escalated. (No. I'm fine here.)
Her cheeks burned, out of lack of control and a sort of embarrassment as she faced from Amar being deluded enough into thinking she would go along with his fantasy.
It took every morsel of self control to not set the place alight - he only saw Meerab and the sip that was slightly too slow. He needed to be called, to be chosen, to be declared as his.
Into her ear, Amar recklessly whispered, ''yahan hotel mein room le lete hain.'' His hand lowered, dropping from her shoulders, the tip of his finger tracing the delicate velvet down her back and sighed in relief- it was soft like skin. (We can get a room in this hotel.)
The glass was set down in unfitting drop, the clink reverberating through the hall like a cry for help. The fiance was inviting her into a hotel room. Panic coursed through her veins as Amar's planed neared reality, trying to blink the trepidation away from his uncloaked intention.
Murtasim become a lion, watching his izzat, his lioness compromised, yet holding her ground. The possessive streak almost eclipsed everything, his feet dug into the ground to force himself to play along with her.
Amar's mind raced, imagination rocketing when he said, ''Dikhaunga ke jode ke baghair suhaag raat bhi hoti hai.'' His voice was palpably dirty and impure. (I can show you how to have a wedding night without a bridal dress.)
Meerab almost gasped, her perfectly glossed lips remained parted as she looked at Murtasim, the act holding on by a thread.
Murtasim reached the limits of his tolerance when she froze. Blood violently thrusted in his ears as the tension peaked, growling at Amar as if he was mere filth.
At that same point, she was almost teary eyed from being uncomfortable, imploring for Murtasim to help with her eyes - he mentally geared up, fists tightening into iron. ''Kaho,'' he ordered, needing a single proof. (Say it.)
Amar's hand came behind to her waist and pulled her closer. The buzz of alcohol had wiped off a filter, so his voice was relaxed when he whispered, ''Aur agar nahi dikhane dogi, to lena bhi janta hou.'' (And if you don't want to play along, I can help myself.)
Choosing defeat at his carnal talk, and freeing herself from the torture, a barely audible anguished, ''Murtasim'' left her parted lips.
She was begging for him.
But he heard it all the same as if over a speaker phone; That was enough for Murtasim to rise like a might formidable tide. Once beckoning was all it took for him to prowl mid the restaurant, going to save his Meerab.
It barely took a second when Amar's hand tugged at her chin in a haphazard manner from being intoxicated- uncalculated. Meerab at his mercy, was almost half a second away from being kissed. The moment was cut short when Murtasim suddenly gripped Amar from his posh shirt, heaving him to be face to face in one powerful yank.
''Kya,'' barely spluttered from Amar's mouth when Murtasim's fist flew forward with record speed and connected to Amar's jaw, in a single blow that landed him on the floor with a loud thud from the impact. The flooring quaked. (What-)
The entire restaurant erupted in shocked gasps, and then fell silent, freezing.
''Meerab,'' Murtasim asked with sincere concern, honing every letter, the entire girl being his.
Her eyes were wide, flittering, not realising what had happened in a blink - teetering between reality and a dream that provided relief.
Then the restaurant buzzed in alarmed whispered, not a single clink of cutlery on fine china was heard.
On the ground, from pain and shock, Amar rolled. He was unbalanced from the alcohol that dispered throughout his senses, groaning from ignominy. It was public shame and disrespect - On the plus side, they they all knew that Murtasim was a 'mard.'
Amar tried to sit up, but Murtasim kneeled, his arm pulling back before slamming forward to to punch him a couple more times, ''Haath nahi laga sakte isse. Meri hai,'' he barked. Each slam of Amar's skull against the low pile floor was painful, earth shattering as he failed to convince the attack. Amar fought back but was too disorientated to make a dent. (You can't touch her. She's mine.)
''Murtasim, bas,'' she pleaded through the continuous smacks, eliciting agonised grunts from Amar. (That's enough.)
But Murtasim was unfulfilled, his simple heart requested for the man to be pummelled for inviting trouble into Meerab's life, for being the reason behind his father's bullet wound. So his fist beat down onto Amar's cheek, causing him to spluttered dark thick blood.
''Murtasim, please. We need to go,'' she said pulling at his arm. That was enough of a scene. Amar's skin was ruptured, flat round on the floor like a wrestling match.
''Meerab ke khaatir tumhein chodh raha hun,'' Murtasim hissed venom at Amar. Meerab's hand pat at his shoulder, and Murtasim's hand found her's without looking, naturally seeking her out. (I am leaving you for Meerab's sake.)
Every step put of the hotel from charged on adrenaline, his heart pattering crazily inside his chest, and he only focused in the lift when Meerab whimpered. ''Kuch nahi hua,'' Murtasim blurted at her glossy eyes, her shaky hand inside his, his golden skin scattered in evidential blood and bruises. (Nothing happened.)
He led the way, hand in hand without concern of who saw the rescue mission. They sped walked out the revolving doors and down to the carpark where Meerab sat besides him, every breath ragged out of panic.
''Bardasht kyun karti ho? Pehle keh deti, pehle aajata.'' He scolded, but it was a hint at his own guilt at realising the extent of her mental strain. (Why did you you tolerate him that long? If you called for me earlier then I would have come earlier.)
His hands remained on the steering wheel for a second, wondering how he had ended up battering Amar without a care. The atmosphere was thick with tension from; Murtasim so easily attacking for her when she cracked, of Amar's lewd talk that were unwelcome, when he brazenly uttered, ''she's mine.''
She only suppressed the panic, and they swivelled out into the night sky, speeding car away like kids on the run. It felt like the night was endlessly long, and the darkness was suffocating - warm and cool toned lights blurred past, either from the speed or the water welling on her water line. She wanted her teddy.
She was torn. The failure was overwhelming. Meerab believed that if she survived the date with Amar as per Anwar's request, behaving so Murtasim stayed within the boundaries of his role, everything would work out- herself as the noble sacrifice.
But Amar had taken her to the limit of her threshold and cornered her like he intended to carry out his imagination. The advances made the logic her mind shatter. Out of both, mindlessness and desperation, she uttered Murtasim name for respite, needing a time out.
Murtasim drove, eyes on the road, but conscious of the cries that diffused into the air of the car. ''Meerab it's over,'' he assured, looking over for a second. Her bottom lip quivered and she pale.
A couple minutes passed as he sped away, and she she sobbed without inhibition for her own action, everything spiralled out of her control. ''Ghar jaana hai.'' It's noise was unfitting- eating away at Murtasim's ego. She had been saved, but persisted to be in a state of shock. (I want to go home.)
''Ab kyun ro rahi ho? Ab nahi aayega,'' he assured. There was an unwavering firmness to his voice- Anwar wouldn't force her if she voiced her dislike for Amar. ''Main usse aane nahi dunga Meerab.'' It was a new promise, etched into stone by her Muhafiz-e-Khan. (Why are you crying now? Amar isn't going to come back. I won't let him come back.)
''Nahi, sab kuch kharab ho gaya hai.'' Her efforts had gone to waste, her planning washed away because she couldn't control the scene. (Everything is ruined.)
Surely the engagment would be broken off - the uncomfortableness drawing to an end. But she seemed sad at the prospect. ''Ab bhi Amar ka soch rahi ho?'' He was livid. (You're still thinking about Amar?)
Meerab was silent, mulling over the consequence of her own actions. How would be face Nosheen.
''Do chaar aur maarke uski jaan leleta. Phir tum waapis ja bhi nahi sakti thi,'' he groaned to himself, regretting listening to her, and preventing himself from going all the way. It would have felt nice- the earth to be saved from a predator. (If I threw a couple more punches, I could have taken his life. Then you wouldn't even be able to go back to him.)
She shook her head at the idea of Murtasim killing him, as it would be a step worse from what she visualised.
''Meerab,'' he warned, reaching the limit. ''Kya khel khel rahi ho? I stopped him from touching you. If it was upto me, I would have knocked him out the first time I saw him.'' He had imagined it enough times, enacting an apt revenge. But he always held back when she refereed - but she had become overwhelemed. (What game are you playing?)
She shook, hands coming to her face to stiffle the emotions that threatened to inundate her in grief. Tears streamed down her face with abandon.
''Tum uske liye ro rahi ho? Pagal ho?'' He was on his last thread, her empathy was unhinged. According to Murtasim, he deserved worse for touching his girl. Murtasim believed, like a true feudal, Amar should have had his fingers cut for stealing a touch. (Are you crying for him? Are you mad?)
She was compromised and Murtasim had saved her. Murtasim had spilled Amar's blood for her, but now it felt like his time and effort were wasted.
''Uske ke liye nahi ro rahi Murtasim...'' her shoulders shook, hands wet from wiping her face. (I'm not crying for him.)
''Then?''
''Tumhare liye ro rahi hun,'' she sobbed, words raw and without thinking. (I am crying for you.)
''Mujhe kuch nahi hua,'' he confirmed, head shaking. The bruises in his knuckles were minor ; they were a victory. (Nothing happened to me.)
Too distracted to drive, he pulled over to the curb to try calm her.
She sniffled to compose herself and explained when the car was stationary. ''Par jab ghar pe khabar pahunchegi ke tumne Amar ko maara, to bhai tumhara kya karenge.'' Her breath were weak with the idea, breathy shaky and achy. (When news reaches home that you hit and embarrassed Amar, what will Sarfaraz do to you?)
''Kuch nahi hoga mujhe. Stop crying Meerab,'' he ordered whilst unbuckling his seatbelt to direct the scene. Each hand to the side of her head, gently rearing her to be clearer. ''I hit Amar to save you. Yeh mera kaam hai.'' Mera maqsad hai. He tried to rewire her brain, where she was the victim, not the failed puppeteer. (Nothing will happen to me.)
''Par baba aise nahi samajhenge. Amar jhooth bolega. Tumne gustakhi ki hai Amar ke saath. Yeh gaddari hai,'' her voice cracked in hopelessness, a diamond rolled down her cheek. (They won't see it like that, as Amar will lie. You over stepped with Amar. You'll be a traitor.)
Life was so cruel- how could love be traitorous? ''Kisi ki fiqar hai, to sirf tumhari,'' he confessed whilst slamming the beep and hitting the wheel in-front.
She already knew that.
After breathing a couple cleansing breaths, Murtasim got out of the car and walked around to her side - it was the reason he followed her around like a bakri. Then he pulled her out too until they stood face to face, finally not hiding anymore. ''I don't care about anything else.'' He was so close, looking at her in upmost disbelief - his whole entire universe was defeated- he strangely missed her behaving like a nawabzaadi. (If I care for anyone, then that person is only you.)
''I do care!'' Her voice was high pitched, raw from crying. The trembling was unstoppable - his hands came to either shoulder to hold her up, to be her spine and strength. They were on the pavement, streetlights few and far.
It clicked - her concern was his impending punishment. ''Issi liye bardasht kiya? Ke main gaddar na banun?'' He almost shook her for the stupidness - she was stuck in the same mindset. (That's why you tolerated him? So that I am not a traitor?)
''Of course, to keep YOU safe!'' Her eyes were wide whilst she shouted at him for not seeing it sooner. ''You're always extreme! I thought Amar would stop. It was a public place. But he didn't stop. I'm sorry, maine khud usko peeche karna chahiye tha ke tum na involve ho'' she blurted, heart racing from the trauma, hysterically upset. Her hands came to his wrist, trying to pry herself away. (I should have pushed Amar away myself so that you didn't need to get involved.)
He let go, but held her gaze with undiluted attention, seeing the exaggerated udulations of her chest, like she was controllably breathing to calm herself. ''Kyun? I enjoyed the date Meerab!'' His words dripping in sarcasm. It was partially true for the second part of the date when his fist met Amar's face - the activity gave genuine pleasure.
Meerab shook her head- they were on different pages. ''Mera har qadam, har zarra, tumhein protect karne ke kaushish mei hai. Sab kuch tumhare liye hai, because I never stopped loving you'' she cried out, a lilt of unfiltered candour. It felt like a burden lifted, the game simpler. (My every action, my every particle is inclined to protect you. Everything is for you.)
Looking down into the cosmos of her eyes, he felt lost in shock when he asked, ''Ab bhe mujhse pyar karti ho...'' Stepping closer, his eyes searched desperately in her tear welled one, face flushed and overwhelmed. (You still love me?)
Meerab clearly nod in confirmation, the breeze pulling her fair back so that no doubt remained.
Panicking, she spoke out loud and unfilitered, ''Aur ab meri wajah se wohi hoga jiska itne saalon se dar tha. Baba tumhein gaddar samjhenge.'' Every word was strained and weighted in guilt. (Now, the event that I was fearing for many years, will unfold. Baba will consider you a traitor.)
Getting closer, her mind sought him out, needing his comfort when spiralling, and Murtasim needed to distract her- his mind chanted, ''she loves you.''
Her if her mouth stopped talking, her mind would silence too, he figured. Her face was dewy from the fresh salty tears, her moving lips were all that he could see.
She saw the future was a clear precision- it was bleak. ''Tumhein saza milegi, kyun ke mujhe laga tha ke Amar rukega, but his ego was hurt from last time, and he was drunk...'' she had calculated wrong- she should have put a stop to it earlier. Her mind throbbed, knees weak, threatening to call back onto the car or pavement. Her voice was dry and hopeless, exhausted from the years of lying. (You will be punished because I falsely thought that Amar would stop his advances.)
In a moment of clarity, he cut her off by pushing his lips over hers ; to calm her down and take her pain away - they still loved each other. It was all encompassing, drawing a veil over the bad, cleansing for her cageyness and his rashness. Both suckling and pecking into each other, finding a natural rhythm between them, which picked up.
There was nothing else important remaining when he pulled her in. Their innocent love had grown to turn into much more than love - a silent devotion that chose sacrifice and muteness in front of the unforgiving world.
Their first kiss under a starry night was hot and possessive, reassuring, burning and healing at the same time- just what they needed to prop them selves up after all the ache. The earth beneath stopped rotating, engrossed in the simmering energy between them.
With desperate abandon, Meerab's lips searched for more as both of them became lost in each other, needy after years of wait. His hands pushed through her cooling hair after what felt like a lifetime, and her fingers finally quenched the curiosity of his stubbled skin.
The feverous dance was a medicine that took the pain away, while igniting the fire that was subdued years ago. She pulled away gasping in surprise, but without an ounce of regret.
Meerab had never stopped loving him - the notion only spurred him on to open his jaw wider, angling into her with a possessiveness that she gave into without question, letting him take the reign like he deserved.
The moment was fleeting, yet he savoured the warmth of her mouth, owning her plump bottom lip in the way that he had yearned to for his entire life - even her saliva was sweet and heady. She was loved him. He loved her wholeheartedly - it was reciprocated - ounce for ounce.
Engrossed wholeheartedly in one another, they were only interuppted by the ringing of his phone. Gallantly, one hand remained on her head, greedily stealing a last long peck before pulling again to look down. Breathing heavy, he saw Anwar's number calling, knowing that Meerab was right.
He was a tratior being summoned to face his retribution. Knowing the same is what caused her hands to squeeze - they were in this mess together now.
They exhaled, realising that the climb only begun now - the steepness seemed impossible, so he admit, ''Ab to jaan bhi chali jaye to farq nahi parta,'' he made clear as his thumb graced down her cheek, flushed into a rosy red from being kissed so ardently - it was the colour of love. (Now, even if i lose my life, it dosent make a difference to me.)
Proof read by HereinNowhere2