Murtasim cautiously turned the brass handle of his mother's room, the door creaking open to reveal an atmosphere laden with unspoken tension, hanging like a dense curtain. Each step he took seemed to amplify the weight of the unsaid words lingering in the air, creating a palpable drama.
"Did you call for me, Maa?" he ventured, a subtle severity already detected in his mother's demeanor. Maa Begum fixed him with a steely gaze, her voice a blend of seriousness and an unmistakable tinge of anger. "What have you been saying to Meerab?" she demanded, the gravity of her words settling heavily in the room.
Murtasim's confusion played out on his face as he tried to recall the events of the day. "Nothing? Why? What happened?" The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for an explanation.
"Murtasim, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Maa Begum retorted, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the vanity's surface. "I went through great lengths to convince Meerab for this marriage, and your behavior is jeopardizing everything. If you don't care about anything else, at least think about your father." The soft glow of the antique lamp cast shadows that danced across her face, accentuating the seriousness of her words.
Exasperation seeped into Murtasim's voice. "Maa, please! Baba is the sole reason I agreed to this marriage when I didn't even want it in the first place. But what more do you want me to do?" The room seemed to tighten around him, familial expectations pressing down once again as Meerab's name lingered in the air.
"Meerab is your wife now, and you have responsibilities towards her. You can't keep ignoring her as if she doesn't exist. I have noticed how you act around her!" Maa Begum's tone held a mix of rebuke and concern, her eyes reflecting the disappointment she felt.
Murtasim's frustration bubbled to the surface, his voice rising like the crescendo of a haunting melody. "What more do you want? I married her because of you all, and now you want me to pretend everything is normal?" The room echoed with the weight of expectations and duties.
"No, Murtasim. What I'm saying is that you need to consider Meerab as your wife. You can't keep ignoring her like this," Maa Begum pressed, her words carrying the weight of maternal concern.
"Maa, I believe that's something between Meerab and I. I don't think anyone else should interfere," Murtasim argued, his stance firm, his voice authoritative as he turned to leave. However, the next words halted him.
"Well then, can you care to explain why you still have her things in your room?" Maa Begum fired back, her eyes probing into her son's soul as Murtasim turned around, his eyes holding a fiery fury. He knew exactly what and who his mother was talking about.
"That's none of your business!" Murtasim snapped, the tension escalating like the gathering storm outside.
"Murtasim, beta, it's been seven years. Why can't you just move on?" Maa Begum's voice took on a desperate plea, the echoes of time and unresolved emotions reverberating in the room.
"No! I can't!" Murtasim declared angrily, storming away and leaving the room enveloped in a heavy silence. The door swung shut with a muffled thud, sealing the unresolved emotions within like a time capsule awaiting resolution.
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Murtasim found himself seated at his customary spot, a refuge by the water's edge where the rhythmic waves usually whispered solace to his troubled soul. But today, even the serene lull of the water failed to pacify the storm raging within him. The notion of moving on seemed absurd, a mockery of the profound wound that festered in his heart – a wound too deep to be healed by the gentle caress of time.
"Move on?" he scoffed bitterly. Could anyone truly grasp the complexity of emotions that anchored him to the past? Her melodious laughter, her blissful smile, the captivating depth of her doe-like eyes – these were not fragments he could casually discard. No one seemed to comprehend the gravity of his struggle and it seemed like they didn't even care.
With a mouthful sip from the whiskey bottle, Murtasim's frustration simmered and surged. The possibilities, the regrets, the cruel interplay of fate – all danced before his mind's eye like haunting specters. A life meticulously envisioned a decade ago now lay in ruins, replaced by an unwanted bond that shackled him to a stranger.
The expectation to feign normalcy grated against his raw nerves. As the amber liquid coursed through him, a volatile cocktail of alcohol and anger, the feeling of helplessness and pain became suffocating. Hot tears, unbidden, spilled from his eyes, mingling with the salt of the lake.
In the haze of alcohol and rage, Murtasim's mind became a tempest. A scream of agony clawed its way out of his throat, a primal howl of despair that resonated with the crashing waves. The whiskey bottle, now a vessel of his torment, was flung away with a force that shattered the glass into a millions of glistening shards – a mirror of the fractured state of his heart.
The air crackled with the aftermath of his outburst, the broken glass mirroring the shattered remnants of his life. As the echoes of his anguish subsided, Murtasim sat amidst the wreckage, a wounded soul in a landscape of broken pieces, yearning for a catharsis that evaded him.
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Meerab found herself restless in the quiet hours of the night, tossing and turning in the bed as the clock mercilessly ticked away, announcing the ungodly hour of 3 am. Though she claimed not to care about Murtasim's whereabouts, an odd sense of anxiety clawed its way into her thoughts. The distant honking of his car hours earlier hinted at Murtasim's departure.
Rolling her eyes in response to his escapades, Meerab half-heartedly attempted to distract herself with a movie. However, as the night deepened, so did her unease. The puzzle of Murtasim's mysterious past loomed over her, and her mind fixated on the unsettling secrecy surrounding him. Maa Begum and Farukh had been tight-lipped, and the cryptic box she discovered in Murtasim's drawer only fueled her curiosity.
The question of infidelity crossed her mind – was he cheating on her? Yet, the logic escaped her. If he truly loved someone else, then why bind himself to a marriage that he seemingly cared so little about? Meerab's thoughts spiraled, echoing the hints of the past her father had dropped. Could it be that Uncle Shahnawaz had manipulated Murtasim into marrying her to relief his guilt over disowning his brother? The puzzle pieces refused to align, leaving Meerab perplexed and frustrated.
Amidst her confusion, one thing was clear – she grappled with the consequences of a tangled web she hadn't known existed just two months ago. The unfairness of it all pierced her heart. Why was she the one bearing the burdens of others' redemption and mistakes? The weight of her circumstances pressed down on her as she lay in bed, resisting the temptation to retreat into the cocoon of ignorance she had blissfully crafted for herself weeks ago.
It became evident that this marriage meant nothing to Murtasim. He made no efforts to conceal his indifference, a realization that stung Meerab deeply. However, vulnerability was a luxury she couldn't afford. In the solitude of her thoughts, Meerab resolved not to reveal her weaknesses to those who could exploit them. The sudden click of the door snapped her back to reality, notifying her that Murtasim had returned.
Closing her eyes, Meerab feigned sleep, choosing to avoid unnecessary interactions and the potential chaos they might bring. The room held its breath, encapsulating the silent struggles and unanswered questions that lingered like shadows in the darkness.
In the silent hours of the night, Meerab's heightened senses picked up the subtle sounds of Murtasim moving about. The creaking floorboards beneath his feet and the muffled sob that escaped him painted a poignant picture of a man unraveling in solitude. A strange mixture of concern and hesitancy tugged at Meerab as she silently observed from a distance.
Curiosity compelled her to investigate, and she found him struggling with the simplest of tasks – removing his shoes. Meerab's steps were cautious, each footfall echoing in the hushed room. As she neared the sofa, an unwelcome scent hit her nostrils, assaulting her senses with its bitter familiarity. The pungent odor of alcohol clung to Murtasim, casting a shadow on the solemn atmosphere.
There he sat on the sofa, eyes closed, the weight of his drunkenness clearly marked his slouched form. Disgust etched itself on Meerab's face, a silent protest against the stench of self-destruction that enveloped him. Turning to leave, a resounding crash echoed through the room, haltering Meerab. Her gaze returned to Murtasim's helpless state.
She hesitated, torn between leaving him to his misery or extending a hand of assistance. As Meerab pondered, her eyes caught the scene of Murtasim, now sprawled on the floor, a casualty of his drunk state. A moment of contemplation lingered, and in the quiet recesses of her heart, humanity triumphed over resentment.
With measured steps, she approached the fallen figure, her gaze momentarily captivated by the disheveled vulnerability that draped him. "Mr. Khan, get up," she urged, her voice a blend of sternness and concern. Murtasim's tearful gaze met hers, his hand reaching out to grasp hers. The unexpected touch sent a shiver down Meerab's spine, a connection forged in the unlikeliest of circumstances.
"I fell down, and it hurts" Murtasim laughed as a sob escaped his lips. "It hurts so much," Murtasim repeated, his voice like a fragile whisper, as if the admission itself added to the ache he felt. The alcohol-laden breath hung in the air, a testament to the self-inflicted wounds that had brought him to this precipice.
In the dim light, Meerab's gaze met Murtasim's, capturing the profound sadness etched across his features. His words, a heart-wrenching soliloquy, unfolded in the quiet room like a mournful melody, each syllable piercing through the heavy silence.
"I—I feel so alone," Murtasim's voice quivered with vulnerability, as if releasing the pent-up emotions that had long been confined. "I am so tired of keeping up the fake façade of being brave, of making everyone happy. But no one seems to care for me, for my feelings. I am just so tired of carrying the weight of expectations, of pretending as if everything is fine."
The raw honesty in his confession hung in the air, resonating with the unspoken struggles that had haunted him. Meerab, her heart caught between sympathy and self-preservation, felt the gravity of his words. His pain, like an invisible shroud, unfolded before her, revealing the fractured soul beneath the mask he wore.
"I—I want everything to be like how it was before," Murtasim's voice trembled with a longing for a past that seemed to slip further away with each passing day. "I was so happy, so carefree, and full of life. But now, it feels like I'm trapped. Trapped in the maze of expectations, regret, loneliness, and heartache. And it just hurts so much."
The vulnerability in his words pulled Meerab into the depths of his sorrow, her own struggles momentarily fading into the background. Murtasim's plea echoed in the room, a desperate yearning for a time when joy was unburdened, and life was uncomplicated.
As the heaviness of his confession lingered, Meerab found herself grappling with conflicting emotions. The walls between them seemed to crumble in the face of shared vulnerability, leaving an unspoken connection that transcended the complexities of their tumultuous relationship.
In the hushed sanctuary of the room, Meerab's hand moved with an instinctual tenderness, brushing against Murtasim's tear-stained face. The touch was an unintended bridge, a connection forged by the unspoken language of shared vulnerability. As she wiped away the traces of his silent struggle, a soft murmur escaped her lips, carried by a current of empathy that neither fully understood nor resisted.
"You don't need to carry this burden by yourself, Murtasim. I'm here for you" she spoke, her voice a gentle ripple that resonated with the heavy air of confession. The words slipped from her without forethought, an offering of solace to the man whose walls were crumbling under the weight of his own burdens.
In the soft moonlight, Murtasim's hazy eyes met Meerab's, a silent plea lingering in their depths. "You won't leave me, right?" he implored, a touch of desperation coloring his words. Murtasim's hand found hers on his cheek, his grip gentle yet desperate for reassurance. Meerab met his gaze with sincerity, her own turmoil reflected in the depths of her eyes.
"I promise," Meerab vowed, the words carrying a weight that surpassed the confines of their complicated relationship. With a delicate touch, she assisted him in standing up, helping him take off his coat. As Murtasim lay on the bed, closing his eyes, Meerab hovered over him like a guardian angel.
As Meerab tucked the blanket around him, her eyes caught sight of his arm, adorned with cuts that whispered of a darker struggle. As she gently traced his wrist, a pang of sorrow gripped her heart, and with delicate care, she tugged the wounded arm beneath the covers. The scars bore witness to a pain Meerab couldn't fully comprehend, leaving her with a sense of sympathy and curiosity.
As she moved to withdraw, Murtasim's grip on her hand tightened. "Please don't leave me," he pleaded, his words a fragile plea that echoed in the room. Meerab, caught in the intricate dance between empathy and hesitancy, gently attempted to free her hand, but Murtasim's grip held firm. In the hushed stillness, his next words hung in the air, a cruel melody that sank Meerab's heart, as he softly murmured,
"I missed you so much, Mahi,"
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