When he pulled away finally needing to breathe, he used the very last bit of oxygen to utter onto her lips, ''marry me Meerab?''
Then, suddenly there was a hollow silence.
Within, she was inundated with an onslaught of emotions, greed fighting with yearning until she was teary eyes, overflowing with adoration at where they ended up again. Every cell in her body wanted to chant a string of wholehearted yes's.
Istead, she chose reason, and asked a heartbreaking, ''Kaise?'' The question was simple - it weighed up the extent that she was willing to put him in risk. (How?)
''Me and you. Don't think about anything else.'' It was a weak defence when they were back to reality, aware that the threats persisted- the evidence was glaring if one peered down to his exposed menagerie of marks that he had accumulated within a short and fleeting frame of time over a basic lie.
''It's not possible Murtasim,'' she admit in a tone of heartbreak as the surroundings dawned upon them, even this moment was stolen. They were flustered, heaving to accommodate the loss of air.
Time stopped as he looked at her in waiting, for the reply of whether she would become his wife.
''I'll make it possible. Just say yes?'' He asked whilst still blanketed in her phantom touches. (It's possible)
Her tongue halted for another dragging second.
''Meri biwi banjao. Main sab kuch sambhalunga. Trust me - pyaar hai, naam hai, paisa hai... thukrana nahi, pehle se zakhmi hun,'' pleaded, raw before each other again like they once were. His hands covered half of her either shoulder, so close that they shared the same air, now saturated in their unyielding need for one another. (Be my wife. I'll handle everything else. Trust me, theres love, family and and money - dont leave me hanging again, i'm already injured.)
''Murtasim, I didn't mean those things I said when you proposed the first time. Paise ke baath nahi thi, tumhein pata hai ke tumhare saath kheme mein bhi rehlungi. Tumhara Khan na hona zyada pasand tha kyun ke tumhara dil itna saaf hai. Masla bhai ka hai - izzat ka hai,'' she barely got out, tied up in the norms of society. No one would accept them like this, until he rivalled Amar's status. (It was never about the money- you know I would stay in a tent with you. I liked you specifically because you werent a Khan, as you're so clean hearted. The issue is my brother and respect.)
''Nikkah mei izzat hai. Izzat se rakhunga,'' he assured quickly, not even letting her protest. There was not a shadow of hesitancy, she was always close and that only made him realise that he wanted more- for her to be tied to him now they were adults. (There is respect in being wed. I'll keep you with respect.)
It wasn't cute anymore, the relationship as developed into something deeper, mature than requested more than gol gappe and bangles- now he wanted her mind and body too. The need to keep her for himself was unrestrained, wanting to pummel Amar for even looking in her direction. ''Murtasim,'' she hummed velvety, of the precipice of wanting to cave.
''Jab itna pyaar krti ho, to phir se door na bhejo. Ab jab pata hai ke tum mujhse pyaar karti ho, to door reh bhi na paun.'' The simple confession encased her heart in a gentle squeeze, understanding that their efforts to run from each other were futile. (When there's so much love, don't send me away again. Now I know that you love me, I don't think I will even be able to stay away.)
''Saath rehte hai phir,'' she replied in a voice that was equally delicate and resolute, and the full moon watched her take a step towards him. (Let's stay together then.)
His breath was ragged despite being stationary. ''Kaho,'' he gave a single unavoidable commanded, needing to hear it from her mouth, a reply he had yearning for the past 4 years. (Say it.)
''Karungi tumse nikkah,'' she breathed out, a small smile forming on her mouth as she stepped into his realm like she had always wanted. Maybe it was dawn that illuminated the room a couple degrees, or it was an optimism that seeped into the air from her willingness to follow his lead. (I will marry you.)
He still was somehow grateful for an injury that led to her agreeing to marry him - in his mind, it felt like vibrant and exhilarating fireworks went off in a eyecatching display. ''Go get my wallet Meerab,'' he ordered, looking over to that same wardrobe that must have stored his belongings.
Pulling herself up, she put her slippers on and found it empty, except for a few more folded clothes which weren't his. ''Kahan hai?'' (Where is it?)
''Table pe shayad.'' His eyes followed her as her fingertips slid over the polished mahogany dresser, pulling out the heavy draws and then promptly shutting them again with a thud. (Maybe on the table.)
Coming to his bedside time, she pulled to find his wallet, cigarette box and phone. He groggily retrieved it yet his hands moved in a way that was poised and calculated. ''Baitho idhar, mere saamne,'' he instructed, his one leg folding beneath the blanket to allow her to be closer whilst not upon his lap. (Sit here infront if me.)
She acted on his word and sat cross legged in waiting, eagerly watching as he opened the leather flap wallet like a birthday card, and then his index finger and thumb pinched inwards, pulling out the single diamond ring again ; That same one that had dragged him to the other side of the country in a vengeance, fuelled on anger in a need to prove himself. ''Second time lucky?'' It was a plea between them, bearing the last remaining intact piece of him.
She was in awe over how casual the man was - he had been carrying the ring around in his wallet for 4 years. Murtasim had not moved on either.
''Pehle baar bhi 'haan' kehna chahti thi,'' she admit, her left hand hovering in the hair between them, and he didn't miss the slightly tremble. His much larger tanned hands pulled her supple wrist closer, steadying her whilst a tiny butterfly fluttered uncontrollably in her chest whilst a wave of exhilaration. (I wanted to say yeah the first time too.)
''Itne saalon se main yeh haan sunne ke liye taras raha tha,'' he uttered into the secret space between them that now bore the secret of their union. (I was dying to hear you say this for years.)
''I did it because I loved you so much and wanted to keep you safe. You were always enough for me, it was the world that I feared,'' she said, a mere whisper, her words were honey seeped and utterly sincere about the truth she silently carried for years.
She finally gave into her heart in a nod.
Murtasim's fingers balanced around the circumference of the gold ring, sliding onto her nimble finger so that the single pretty diamond stood tall, making her irrevocably his.
And then she finally confessed. ''It's always been you. Aur koyi nahi hai. Tumhare siva kisi se kabhi pyaar kiya bhi nahi- na hi kar paungi. I have been barely living with you gone, the idea that you're safe was my only reason to go on.'' She watched him, the desire deepening in his iris' with her finally being claimed as his, tingling lips, diamond studded hand and as forever, her heart was his. (There's noone else. I have never loved anyone other than you, nor will I be able to.)
''Being close to you is my reason.'' Then his hand glided down to her waist, guiding her to lean unto his chest so both their legs were outstretched and under the single blanket in a restful cuddle.
''Main nahi thi, par mere duaien hamesha tumhare saath thi, jahan bhi the. Tumhare jaane ke baad, I couldn't breathe and I couldn't sleep. Crying myself to sleep, I used every breath to pray for you, your success and your safety.'' Her eyes were teary, but out of a new feeling - adoration and complete trust that he would protect her, by sheer force if needs be. (I wasn't physically with you, but my prayers were always with you, wherever you were.)
''Everything I did in the past 4 years was to prove myself, that your rejection was wrong,'' he shared, the haze clearing as understanding sprouted within him.
''It was wrong. Jhooth tha. Sab jhooth tha taake tum mujhse nafrat karo.'' A desperation to be believed laced through her words. ''Tum waise bhi kaafi the mere liye,'' she confessed, mere inches between them. They were hugged together by the love infused atmosphere, both half inebriated on the high of acceptance and promises of a future together. (It was a lie. All of it was a lie so that you hate me and leave. You were always enough for me, even like that.)
He watched back as the farce of being cold and unbothered dissolved, until not an ounce of brattiness remained.
''My love was selfless, about you and no one else Murtasim. You can't see tears in my eyes and I can't bear to see a scratch on you. Knowing that my love could cause you harm is what kept me away. So that you dont end up like this,'' she explained, cheek resting on his heated skin that wasn't hurt. In the empty room, her words echoed lowly, ringing back that she had succumbed to overpowering fate.
He humm'ed, feeling like the world had calmed slightly, a puzzle piece unlocked. ''Ab jo bhi ho, tum mujhse jhooth nahi bologi.'' It was a new genesis, a pact forming where they would confide in each other. (Now whatever happens, you won't lie to me.)
''Nahi bolungi jhooth,'' she assured wholeheartedly, knowing they would be together and working as a team forever more. (I wont say anymore lies.)
''Good,'' he said, stroking her cheek in a sort of trance. He almost doubted the whole ordeal, whether the confession and the kiss was a hallucination from the heavy drugs.
''Shall I help you with the shirt?''
Murtasim gave a nod and she arranged the fabric in her hands, slipping it over his head of hair and then gently guided his arms through. She fit into the role of his wife with surprising ease, fingertips tenaciously rolling the soft cotton so it didn't pain him.
There was no clock to tick, to mark the seconds slipping past, still time was escaping with every second like a looming reminder that they had amends to make. The world almost seemed empty.
''Main chali jaun?'' She asked, despite not wanting to leave. After years, she greeted him was that tender tone of unfettered love. (Shall I go now?)
''Rehlo,'' he pleaded, wanting to keep her close and within sight for a couple more mere minutes - it felt so different without the pretences. His wide shoulders were supporting beams of solace for her, somehow reliant on the oaths that spun in the hollow room. (Stay.)
''Agar koy ajaye aur main pakadi jaun?'' She reasoned in a silken feather light voice, not wanting to destroy the peace and yet realising that he was audaciously asking her to be courageous like him. They were like kids hiding away in some remote corner of the house with the hope that no one would knock ; it's reverberations would shake them back to reality that would admonish them. (If someone comes and fins me here?)
''Raat ho rhi hai. I won't be given a space to stay in this house tomorrow when i'm better. Stay for a couple more minutes.'' His voice was almost childish in the request; half lucid, holding his soon-to-be wife in his aching arms for a fleeting moment, and yet it felt wholly right. (Its night.)
The couple minutes were filled with a calming melody of their relieved heavy breaths. Each other's intimate company was testament to them laying down the lies that acted as weapons, empty threats that kept the other away. His touch slid through the hair on her scalp, toying with the tiny necklace chain that glinted at the base of her neck, and mindlessly playing with the softness of the shell her ear.
She was indeed softer than a peach, fine velvet was an apt for the way her earlobe felt between his thumb.
''Kya kar rahe ho?'' She asked into a low and drowsy numble. Sleep couldn't reach either of them, not wanting to miss a second in his company. (What are you doing?)
''I always wanted to touch your skin,'' he mindlessly shared the inner workings of his mind from when he was just a simple boy. ''It's so soft Meerab. It's like the sun has never even touched it before,'' he figured, trying to rationalise her being so delicate.
''Because I have such a diligent driver,'' she countered, unknowing where the path would take but knowing that she was along with him was unequivocally enough.
''Shauhar kehlo,'' he ammended, placing a kiss on her hairline. (Call me you husband.)
''2-in-1,'' she lightly scoffed whilst his fingertips grazed the brushed cotton of her pyjamas. It felt like there was no rush, a serenity of candour engulfed them.
The moment was only disturbed by the pinging of his phone which lit up on his bedside. Murtasim swiped up to the message Salaar had sent, clicking on the news article that filled the screen with bold lettering. ''Hyderabad politician beaten until bloody nosed on the floor in a Karachi restaurant.''
Meerab gasped faintly as the clip automatically played, the CCTV footage showed Murtasim's pulling Amar from his lapels and forcefully shoving him on the floor. Then he kneeled down, and repeatedly and relentlessly punched his jaw and nose. As a result, Amar's head rolled almost lifelessly, red spluttered of blood exiting his mouth, marring the pristine creamy marble flooring.
''Shit,'' tore from his lips at seeing the violence he had carried out in a haze of worry for her. Meerab is barely in frame, only noticeable from that regal red peplum blouse which had enraptured him.
From a bird eye view, she was pulling at Murtasim's collar to stop and only now did he realise why she hid the truth of the lewd talk, realising that he truly would have gone to the whole way if she didn't pull him out of the trance of anger.
It was public news.
Amar was a feudal that had been the subject of public ignominy, left half unconscious and completely drunk, yet still able to weave a lie for Sarfaraz.
The tension rose a couple decibels, realising that Murtasim had triggered a big problem. More than the engagement breaking, he had made a new enemy for the Khan's.
The rumble of wheels rolling upon gravel is what made them alert again. ''Anwar is home,'' he spoke out loud in realisation of their tryst coming to an end.
Taking that as her cue to leave, she pressed a wholesome kiss just above the line of his stubble, which she had today learned was prickly and unforgiving. Then she snook out with the ring on her hand, weaving into the silent darkness of the night.
Even more strangely, Murtasim was invited to their breakfast table, from perhaps a few atoms of guilt in Anwar accepting that they had been unnecessarily harsh upon the boy.
Sat at the far side of the table, besides her baba and pouring his morning kahwa, Meerab wore an all back dress, embellished in more black beads along the neckline that glinted when the morning sun danced upon her. She was in ethnic wear, being back home for the weekend and mental rest.
Gul sat besides her cheating husband. Ironically, Sarfaraz's hand rested on the top of his wifes chair, hand curling protectively around shoulder as if they were apparently inseparable. ''So jaate, inti late ghar aaye the,'' Gul doted, hand smoothing over the the crease less collar. (You should have slept more, as you come hone so late from the village.)
''And leave my daughter and wife alone at the table?''
A sardonic chuckle pulled at the corners of Murtasim's mouth at the farce of chivalry when he had seen eye to eye with that amber eyed woman in the farmhouse, Nooran.
Yasmin wore just plain jeans and a sweatshirt for the winter chill. ''Baba, goan gaye the?'' (Daddy, you went to the village.)
''Haan,'' Sarfaraz replied in the same moment as placing a still warm freshly baked croissant on his daughter's plate. (Yes.)
''Kya karne,'' his little girl squeaked. She was perhaps 6 or 7, with natural frizzy ringlets that flowed past her shoulders. (What to do?)
''Kaam ke liye. Tum khaana khao,'' Sarfaraz urged, pulling the rug over how he was the reason behind Murtasim being beaten without reason - the truth hung heavy in the air, meaning that the food was unswallowable for Meerab. (Just for work. You should eat breakfast.)
It was less than two months ago when Murtasim had stood before them as a tool to protect Meerab, under their thumb to be ruled over and now he had upgraded to the table, seeing eye to eye.
The awkwardness was tangible despite only sitting with his long lost family and enjoying breakfast that they served perhaps out of condolence. ''Amar mila tha?'' Murtasim cut to the chase. (Did you find Amar?)
''No,'' Sarfraz replied, clipped and clear. His ego scratched with Murtasim walking around like a reminder of his brashness.
''Kahan dekha?'' Murtasim persisted watching the demanding shine of the ring on her hand. She had spun the ring around so that the diamond face inwards, so it appeared just like a humble gold band. (Where did you search for him?)
''He wasn't in the hospital or at home,'' Sarfaraz elaborated a little whilst chewing on his breakfast, but not bothering to even look at Murtasim.
''Bhaag ke chup raha hai. Dhoondna padeyga,'' Anwar muttered bitterly. (He's on the run away and gone into hiding. We will have to find him.)
''I put trackers on his car,'' Murtasim interrupted in a burst of remembrance.
''Why?'' Sarfaraz eyed his suspiciously. Although helpful, the man's need to elude authority and to act on his own account was unbridled.
''Shak tha uspe,'' Murtasim clearly enunciated, now knowing his instincts had served him well in relation to Amar's dubious character . (I doubted him.)
''Tumko is ghar ke hone wale damad pe shak tha?'' (You doubted this houses son in law?)
''Mangani took gayi hai. Iss ghar ka kuch nahi lagta.'' Murtasim was on edge, the response flew like a targeted bullet ; Meerab donned his ring and was to be his wife. ''Acha hoga agar is baat ka elaan bhi hojaye. If there is a link between Amar and the shooter, your sister might be safer with the world knowing that she has no link to Amar. (The engagment is off. He has no links to this house. It will be beneficial to make an official announcement.)
Then, Murtasim called out 'Meerab' brazenly, needing her name in his mouth like a palette cleanser.
Almost startled, her sight darted to him, breath caught from the unwavering confidence that anyone might be able to decipher is they peered close enough. She was in all her dewy morning glory, hair pinned back and refreshed. ''Yes?''
''Zarmeena aayegi? The painkillers are wearing off.'' It was an update, wanting her to make any idle talk possible, to steal her attention so it rest solely on him. (Will Zarmeena come?)
''Mai keh rahi thi ke kaam se pehle yahan aayegi tumhara checkup krne.'' Meerab curtly replied holding his intense gaze and no one bat an eyelid, unassuming that the tethering emotions that had resurfaced. (Mai said that she will come here for your checkup before going to the hospital for work.)
''Meerab Phuppo, aapke body guard ko kya hua?'' Yasmin's tone was naive and sugary, also from the spoon of nutella she had downed in the croissant - it had melted and smudged onto the corners of his mouth. (Meerab aunty, what happened to your bodyguard?)
''Yasmin aise sawaal nahi poochte,'' Gul scolded lightly, ruffling through her bouncing hair in an effort to redirect her attention to breakfast again. (We don't ask questions like that.)
''Gir gaya tha, haina Murtasim?'' Sarfaraz challenged cockily. In the same breath, he juxtaposed with a gentle action, using a napkin to affectionately swipe his daughter's chin to clean it. (You fell, did you?)
''Haan. I fell on your man's boot... repeatedly, aise hi tha na Sarfaraz?'' Murtasim shot back, smug and unfazed despite the battered state of him. He had won a seat at the table - it was public knowledge that he was a Khan. (That's how it went, isn't it Sarfaraz?)
''Chalo, raat ho rhi thi. You can make mistakes when sleep deprived,'' Sarafaraz responded, blurring the blame. The silver rings on his finger were clearly heirlooms and a charcoal pashmina rest upon his shoulders with a luxurious sheen. (Well, it was late night.)
''I meant every well-deserved punch. CCTV dekha nahi?'' The CCTV footage only worked in Murtasim's favour, as they somewhat impressed by his proactive and rigorous approach in protecting Meerab Anwar Khan.
Murtasim was now mysterious, unidentified in the article, where as Amar's name was posted all over the news. It was a shameful ordeal for the Maliks.
''Amar got away, so you didn't do a great job.''
''Next time, let me know when you want a guy unconscious - Ho jayega. Iss baar bhi kar leta agar Meerab na rokti,'' Murtasim quipped, obviously challenging him again. His espresso eyes met Sarfraz in a tussle that wanted to outbid the other in manliness. (I'll make it happen next time. I would have rendered him unconscious if Meerab hadn't stopped me.)
They were like murky mirrors, but Murtasim was miles more refined with foresight and strategic approach - there was also a defiant streak which gave an sharp edge to make up for any shortcomings.
''So you enjoyed breaking his nose ? Sach mein Khan ho,'' Sarafaraz scoffed, not appreciating the unyielding shrewd nature of the boy, scratching away at his ego.
''Meri betiyon ke saamne kaisi baatein kar rahe ho?'' Anwar's voice was a sharp and harrowing warning which made both the boys sit up straight. (What sort of conversation are you engaging in infront of my daughters?)
Allowing his metal cutlery to clink again his placemat, Murtasim's head craned to Anwar to direct the question. ''Naastha khatam ho gaya ho to, shall we go through the rest of the evidence in a private setting?''
''Come to my office,'' Anwar invited him inwards and showed the way. For a split second, Murtasim sensed a hint of reverence for the hints he had picked up on without anyone asking. He had gone above and beyond, because the girl in question was Meerab.
The two men walked into the room that overlook the main entry gates. The curtains were already tied open to allow the room to be washed in rays of optimism. The room was a classy off-white and accented in rich deep frames of ornate Arabic calligraphy which seemed unfitting - Murtasim stifled the loathe which bubbled up in his throat at the excess built of suffering- he persevered it for Meerab. ''Khateeb helped me. The Karachi house is well stocked with gadgets,'' he began to praise.
''Tracker kaise lagaya?'' Anwar asked point blank. (How did you put the tracker on.)
''It was a metal one that I lodged onto the base of the car when Amar was inside the house.'' There was not wisp of feeling like he overstepped, nor would the Khan's admonish him for knowing his investigative nature. Besides, his daughter has once used the same trick.
''Kahan jaata tha?'' Anwar had intrigued listening ears. (Where does he go.)
The analytics showed up on Murtasim's phone, and he easily scrolled through the list. ''Banks, offices, mostly at the stables or his party members houses in Hyderabad and then Clifton restaurants in the evening.'' There was a nonchalance surrounding the findings, knowing that the past was not of interest.
''Aur ab?'' Anwar leaned forward onto the desk with checked control, wanting to hear the answer in a crystal clarity directly from the source. (And now?)
''A race club in Islamabad,'' Murtasim confirmed, clicking his phone shut. It was that simple because he had been vigilant and prepared.
There was only a second on weighing up their options before Anwar voiced, ''To samaan tiyaar karo, chalte hai.'' His daughter had been wronged by Amar and revenge was overdue. (Then get prepared and we will head out.)
Mustering every last bit if self control, Murtasim tried hard not to roll his eyes at the dramatics. ''There's no point of going after him. Jaan nahi le sakte kyun ke woh aapka mazdoor nahi hai, Malik hai. He is too powerful to be murdered without question - na he main kaatil hun aapke liye.'' (You can't kill him as he is not your own labourer, he is a Malik. Nor am I an assassin for you.)
''Tum nahi, to aur koyi mil jayega yeh kaam karne ke liye,'' Anwar quickly fixed that problem, whilst simultaneously twisting the end of his moustache as he plotted. (If not you then I will find someone else to carry out this task.)
Murtasim realised that Anwar would have to become an ally, seeing as though he intended to marry the man's daughter. ''Mil jayega. Par woh shooter wala masla to nahi hal hoga,'' he reminded that his daughter still had a target on her back. (You will find another man to carry out this task. But killing Amar won't fix the shooter issue.)
Anwar could just tell that there was more than he was letting on. ''Tum Meerab ke saath rahte ho- kya milla ?'' (You stay with Meerab- what have you found?)
Then Murtasim began divulging. ''I found a political donation certificate in Amar's car, given by the Sultan family enterprise.'' He gave breadcrumbs at first, his stance relaxed at he saw a picture of a woman on that wall, who he could only imagine to be her mother. Her hair pinned up elaborately with golden jhumke and a brilliant smile that held the same elegance as his Meerab's.
''Kaunsa business hai jo donations nahi deta,'' Anwar queried, finding himself at a dead end. (Which business doesn't make political donations?)
''Bahut badi donation thi. It seemed like it was one single invoice to fund the entire Malik campaign.'' One thing was for certain, they were allies 2 years ago. (It was a large sum.)
That was too vague. Anwar looked at her boy he was nurtured, sending him to good schools and facilitating his career- today he asked for something back... An answer. ''Malikon ke tarakki ke peeche Sultan ka Khandaan hai?'' Political control was how that Malik's maintained control of their ancestral lands. (The Sultans are behind the political success of the Malik's?)
''I think so, but there's no strong public link that I could find. The certificate was 2 years old - it seemed abandoned in his glove box.''
''Sultan ka kya faida itne zyada paisa dekr?'' Anwar almost huffed, on the edge of believing the boys detective work. (Where do the Sultan's benefit from giving such large amounts of money away.)
''Shayad dost the jab paise diye the.'' Murtasim gave a peak at the answer. (Maybe they were friends when the money was handed over.)
''Par main pehle kabhi Sultan and Malikon se akhatte nahi mila,'' Anwar replied in a burst of frustration, it all made no sense how the entire ordeal went under the radar. (But i have never seen the Sultans and Malik's together.)
''Maine dekha hai,'' Murtasim clarified with a glint of success in his eyes. (I have.)
''Kahan.'' (Where?)
''They used to be the races together.'' The hint was the past tense. ''I have a friend that can investigate the money trail for you.''
————————————————-
The meeting was the genesis point of more question, barely solving anything, other than knowing Amar is far away, and had likely pissed off the Sultans- but they didn't know why. Whatever Amar had done to upset them was a private thing and only an insider could have known.
With her safely at home, Anwar had allowed Murtasim to take the day off after the checkup. He was gifted a plain creamy kurta-pyjama set that was full-sleeved and covered the markings of his body that Sarfaraz has inflicted.
As an excuse to see him, she shadowed Mai as the nurse surveyed his injuries in the living room, taking his temperature and giving another hefty dose of painkillers.
He rest back on the plush sofa, unabashedly looking at the ring on her hand and the coy smile she tried to stifle.
The nurse then pushed herself off the sofa and packed her belongings away. ''Murtasim sahab, yehlo tumhari dawaiyaan,'' she informed, handing over a brown bag of meds. The respect of sahab was a welcome title. ''Main chalti hun. If you have any other medical concerns then you can give me a call. Then she pivoted and became engrossed in chatter with her mother Mai. (Here are your medicines. I will take my leave now.)
Now they were both alone in the living room for a couple extra moments, yet the house was booming with staff that weaved past, so he didn't dare risk a touch. ''You're feeling better? Your colour is back,'' she noted in a tone of relief.
''Much better with you infront of me again,'' he explained in a deep husky voice. ''But I prefer your ring the other way.'' His index finger also twirled, both of them knowing that the diamond was hidden from view.
''I don't want questions,'' Meerab clarified, fingers tracing the proud diamond that was shielded within her palm.
''Kuch dino mei, Karachi mei pahunchke sab kuch ho jayega. I'll arrange everything,'' he explained, obviously alluding to their nikkah. (Everything will happen when we return to Karachi in a couple days.)
His knees were wide, slouched as he skimmed a couple minuted off her day.
''And a dress?'' It was the most important question.
There was not a heartbeat before Murtasim answered, ''White.'' He was certain of his preference. White like the shimmering moon, or like satin that had the lustrous quality of champagne hued pearls. She was a celestial wonder, empathic yet powerful.
''Not red?'' She offered with barely squinted eyebrows, thinking of a simple traditional look. She might have even been able to steal her mother's jora if they didn't want to waste time before the secretly tying the knot.
He tutted as images of her in an immaculate white dress flickered through his mind - they had all been chaste recollections, but now he would have liked something feminine, sleek and royal, like she deserved. ''You've always looked better in white,'' mindlessly slipped out of his mouth in a candid remark.
Her eyebrows lifted in amusement. ''I barely wear white.'' Supporting her statement, the all black made her look sinfully tempting. The contrast of the pale skin with the pretty scooped neckline was a sight to behold.
''You'll look like an angel, my angel,'' the words barely audible from the respectable distance, conscious that they could be overheard if someone stood a while to eve's drop - they wouldn't intentionally try it with Meerab in the equation.
After toying the the imagery in her mind, she found a fitting middle ground, proposing, ''but red lips.''
''Red lips,'' Murtasim echoed in contemplation, promptly gulping as the idea erupted in his mind of her lips stained deeply, like he had never seen before. ''Tum pe chal jayega,'' he confirmed, the anticipation sky rocketing. (That'll work on you.)
Around them, the side tables held large ornate and sophisticated vases that held blooming flowers which perfumed that air in hints of spring, mirroring the love which they harnessed within the confines of their hearts. They were so large ; conveniently blocking the view.
Glancing at her, her lips were still the tiniest bit swollen today from the way he had claimed her. The slight irritation from the clandestine nicks of moustache has been painted over and concealed with foundation.
The peace was interrupted when Meerab's phone rang. It was her new one that he had patiently set up whilst being grilled by Shaano. Sliding, she picked it up with a glad smile. ''Kaise ho? Mujhe kaise yaad kiya?'' (How are you. How have you remembered me today?)
Murtasim's curiosity piqued, watching her transform into a girl that was glad and almost giddy.
On the other side of the line, he asked, ''Do I need a reason to remember you?''
''Usually, yes,'' she jabbed. ''Haftay ho gaye hain.'' She neatly arranged her kameez, unaccustomed to so nice ethnic wear - maybe a part of her had chosen it knowing that she was his fiance. (It's been weeks.)
''Am I so memorable? Who is counting the days Meerab?''
Murtasim focused upon her, unable to piece together who it was that she talked to in such a friendly manner. It felt like there has been no Amar trauma.
''I don't count the days, but I remember how often baba asks about you and I don't have an answer to give him,'' Meerab countered without remorse - it was almost a pedant chide.
''Main theek you yaar. Kya kar rahe ho,'' buzzed in her ear. It filled her with a cosy warmth that made her exhale subconsciously. (I'm fine my friend. What are you doing?)
''Nothing. Ghar pe hun,'' Meerab replied, legs folded over as she leaned on the side of the sofa, getting comfy into the conversation. (Nothing, i'm at home.)
Feeling left out and bemused, Murtasim would have been lying to say that a spark of irk hadn't roused from not being mentioned to the person on the other side of the phone - she had been conversing with him in very important discussions of their wedding planning.
''Actually, mujhe laga ke tum mujhe bhool ke exams ki taiyyaariyon mei masroof ho gaye.'' Meerab figured, her voice dreamy on the faintly exaggerated exhale. (I thought that you had become so engrossed in exams that you had forgotten about me completley.)
The question of 'who had exam's in the winter' spun around Murtasim's mind.
''Actually, I just wanted to ask if you're alright,'' was heard in her ear, causing the smile to drop.
''Kaun hai,'' simply rolled of Murtasim's tongue in a hushed tone, unable to be blind in anything relating to her. (Who is it?)
Her gaze darted to Murtssim and she mouthed a barley audible, 'Irtaza.'
Pulling her phone back, she replied with scrunched eyebrows, ''Mujhe kya hua?'' (What happened to me?)
Itraza spoke more frankly.''Bhai bata rahe the ke Amar ne badtameezi ke hai. Tum theek ho?'' The words were soft from concern that persisted regardless of him being at the other side of the world. (Brother was saying that Amar misbehaved with you. Are you alright?)
Deep within Murtasim, a small fleck of jealousy bloomed at how their conversation had been cut short for Irtaza - between the cousins, years had passed without mountains of misunderstandings, the bond between them was simple and pure.
''Obviously theek hun. Can't you tell by my voice?'' Meerab shot back a challenge she was sure to win. She had Murtasim by her side no matter what was about to happen - the only way was up. (I'm fine.)
''You're a good liar,'' Irtaza reasoned, voice tired from all the late night studying and messed up sleep schedule. ''Udaas ho to holidays mein waapis ajaun?'' It was a humble suggestion, a hand of friendship that was being extended. (If you're upset, do you want me to come back for the holidays?)
''Why? You think I don't have any other friends?''
''Nahi, par itne gehre dosti sab se nahi hai,'' Irtaza quipped, completely confident and assured. (But not everyone is such a good supportive friend.)
''Acha,'' she chortled at his self importance. ''Tum kehte ho to main maan leti hun,'' she countered in a playful scoff. (If you say so then it must be true.)
But there was one question that remained outstanding in Irtaza's mind. ''Aur voh video mei kaun tha jo Amar ko maar raha tha?'' (Who was the guy in the video that beat Amar?)
''Murtasim.'' In her mouth, his name was a natural response ; being her saviour. ''He's been my bodyguard for a while now.'' Meerab elaborated this time from Irtaza being out of the loop.
It sprung on Murtasim like a unexpected surprise that Irtaza hadn't even been informed that he was her assigned bodyguard - somewhere along the line, he was come to take pride in the role. It meant he could be close to her, she was within sight and safe.
On Irtaza asking of his presence post beating, Meerab consciously denied it, citing that Murtasim was well but recovering at home. It was a reminder of the disparity.
After the call ending, Murtasim stood up and towered before her but the space between them cooled a couple degrees. The suddenness caused her eyebrows to quirk.
''Main ghar chalta hun,'' Murtasim informed, patting down the kameez, whilst also planning to discard it when he got home. The bin would been an apt place for the token when he was an entire closet of clothes to chose from. (I should get going home.)
''You remembered so suddenly? What happened?'' She asked like she had every right to question his whereabouts when off duty.
''Ghar pe Daado ko milna hai. Then i'll use the gym and then some office work,'' he conjured up some reasoning. (I want to meet grandmother at home.)
He had disengaged at the slightest hint of adversity.
''Gym kahin nahi ja raha, aur yeh kaunsa office work hai?'' Her spine was tall, her chin just lifted a couple degrees to hold him captive. (The gyms isn't running away, and which office work do you have?)
Still, the mental separation was palpable.
''Kaam... I can't take infinite days off work to follow you around Meerab,'' he explained, but it came out in the lilt of a whine.
''You're working two jobs?'' She stilled.
''No, not even close.'' His aura lightened fractionally, leaning until the radiating infatuation from him fused into her clothes and skin. ''Its just abit of admin. Tumhare saath rehna bhi kaam nahi hai,'' he iterated truthfully to wipe away the unease in her mind. (Staying with you isn't work for me either.)
She instantly knew the reason why, analysing the reminder of lives and jobs to return to - and studying .
Trying to find the words, she fumbled, ''I didn't tell Irtaza about you as you're not friends. I didn't want to force you to talk and make it awkward.''
''Dushman bhi to nahi hai.'' (We're not enemies.)
''You wanted to talk to him?'' She deadpanned at his misplaced offence, holding her ground as she had nothing to apologise for.
''No - would I give him a list of my wounds?'' He shot back, both mocking the idea and, at the same time, vocalising the unjust treatment he had been afforded.
Maybe this was the reason Murtasim had no qualms about the deceit of loving their daughter. It had happened by countless conscious mistakes and now it was unavoidable to move on.
''He's not that serious of a doctor to ask,'' she quipped, trying to lighten the mood yet somehow demonstrating the closeness between the two.
''Tumhara dost hai, mera nahi.'' (He's your friend, not mine.)
''Dost nahi, bhai hai mera,'' she said, watching as there eyes met again in a search for much needed reassurance. (Not my friend, my brother.)
''Tumne aik baar kaha tha... '' he reminded. Years ago, Meerab had explicitly named Irtaza as a likely suitor to knock Murtasim off the pedestal and to push him away. (You once said..)
''Was'nt my attention on you enough? Mujhe tars khaate huye nahi dekha kal ... raat?'' She forced him to remember in broad daylight - the kiss to his bruise, the plaster on his cheek and cleaning of the dried muck. She embraced the possessiveness that he held over her. (Did you not see my suffering to witness you in that state last night?)
''Kaafi tha,'' he replied somewhat soothed. ''Really, Salaar mujhe lene aa raha hai,'' was the excuse to not get comfy again. (It was enough. Salaar is coming to get me.)
''Yeh gaari le jau,'' Meerab hurried to give it away, her knuckles purposefully grazing him, but low and out of sight. The attachment between them was apparent and have never died. (Take this car.)
''The nurse said i'm not supposed to drive. Waise bhi, tumhari gaari ke zaroorat nahi hai jab duty pe na hun. Agar tumne bahir jaana ho to bata do, mai waapis aajaunga,'' he offered, wanting to accompany her, for the sake, and excuse, of her safety. (Besides, I don't need that car whilst not on duty with you. If you want to go out, let me know and i'll cone back to escort you.)
But she liked sharing things, freely offering her belongs until there was almost joint ownership.
''Par jab Shahnawaz sahab hospital mein the, Salaar took the car - I thought you shared it,'' Meerab trailed, thinking he was a humble working class man. (But when Shahnawaz was in the hospital, you shared a car.)
''No, we have a car each. Salaar ke gaari mechanic ke paas thi uss raat,'' he explained nonchalantly, as if she hadn't been enlightened to new information. (Salaar's car was at the mechanics that evening.)
''Mujhe nahi malum tha,'' she said, slightly deflated at the realisation that she didn't really know him that much, being quiet a reserved person. (I didnt know.)
''Tum poocho to main bata dunga.'' After all, she had every right to ask as his soon-to-be wife. ''Abhi ke liye Allah hafiz.'' (If you ask, i'll let you know.)
''Wait, the medicines,'' she reminded, using it as an excuse to place the bag in his hand. A light hue of scarlet coloured over her cheeks in wanting to dote on him.
Stepping closer, the bag was retrieved. It was more of a moment for his hand to deftly touch hers in the exchange, conveying a silent 'thank you'.
Then, the gate outside opened with impeccable timing.
In strolled a suave black Mercedes, one that almost rivalled the Khan's in it's grandeur. They had the perfect view from the living room, Salaar gazing to meet them from the driver seat.
''Yeh hai tumhari gaari?'' She queried, her voice carrying an undertone of disbelief. (That's your car?)
''Pasand hai?'' Murtasim smirked at the look of being impressed that etched into her visage, in the surprised parted lips and wide eyes of wonderment. (You like it?)
''It looks like baba's new car,'' she mumbled, perplexed at how he could afford it. Her head titled, studying it. It could have passed if they stucka Khan number plate on it. It has the same tinted windows and high spec build, yet the alloys were a tell tale sign as the selected pattern was more boyish.
''I swear, I didn't know Anwar sahab bought the same one,'' he chuckled at the same taste. It turned out that there always had been a signs that linked them, so subtle that they could ignore the fleeting colours that overlapped.
Come to think of it, he did look at home driving the Khan's heavy cars too. ''How can you afford it Murtasim?'' The question was candid and simple. The diamond on her finger felt heavier.
''By working, my nawabzaadi,'' he replied softly, restraining from kissing her goodbye.
Proofread by HereinNowhere2