Murtasim's heart and Meerab's weight on him simultaneously dropped as her eyes fluttered shut, tears slipping out and staining her cheeks. Her pale face, though now lax, was etched in pain and all Murtasim could do for the next few seconds was watch the silent tears slide out and onto her cheeks and down onto his hands. With one arm around her waist and the other clutching the back of her head, he held her up as his tangled mind caught up with the situation. and then he didn't stop.
Shouting a raw, throaty "Bakhtu!" he swung his wife up in his sturdy arms, cocooning her prone body safely against his chest, and strode towards the entrance of the haveli he had just come out from. His guards scrambled to the side and Bakhtu ran up ahead of him to open the tall, wooden doors and the phone calling their family doctor already at his ear. Murtasim strode inside, his feet almost breaking into a run as he hurried down to their bedroom.
'Meri beti do din hosh mai hi nahi aayi thi...'
Waqas's words echoed in his ears and the metallic tinge of fear flooded his mouth, his arms tightening around Meerab's little body as he looked down, whispering her name. She felt so weak; lighter than she had when he'd had her in his arms after her kidnapping. Her waist felt so so delicate. Too delicate. Her face, though even more beautiful than before to him, was showing signs of stress when looked at this close. Her eyelids and under eyes tinged with the lightly purple bruising left by sleepless nights. He knew because he had identical bruising on his own face.
Gulping at the terrifying thoughts flooding his brain, he pushed back the doors of his outer lounge and bedroom with his shoulder and finally kneeled over the bed, laying her down with utmost gentleness. Covering her with the mustard-coloured throw and running his hand over her forehead, he bent down over her, whispering her name again and again. His thumb wiped her face clean of tears, his heart squeezing in torment at her state. His head shot to the door just as footsteps approached the lounge, and with a last look at her, he got up and hurried outside to see Bakhtu standing a few steps from the entrance to his lounge, phone in one hand. Behind him, both their families were rushing down, their faces wrinkled in worry.
The next few hours passed by in a blur. Meerab was seen to by a doctor and declared to be suffering from dehydration and weakness; a possible effect of stress and lack of suitable diet. Murtasim had stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes troubled and pinned to her face, and his entire body tense as the doctor had taken her time to ensure Meerab was otherwise fine. The doctor had left and Murtasim had stepped back to let Waqas and Anila gather around Meerab on the bed, their worry evident. His own mother had lingered behind him, her worried eyes flitting from him to Meerab continuously. A banished Haya, who'd tried to enter the room amongst the crowd and had been halted in her tracks by Murtasim, wandered up and down the corridor leading to his lounge area. When she'd tried to reason her way in, Murtasim had stepped forward menacingly, making her step back and further away from the doorframe.
'Tum mujhe uske aas paas nazar nahi aani chahiye ho.'
With that, he had shut the door on her face, leaving her to do what she had always done; linger around his doorstep in wretched waiting. It had taken a good hour and a half for the doctor to leave and all the while, Murtasim had had one question burning a hole in his mind. What the hell had happened? How had the situation gone from her wanting nothing to do with him to her running into his arms in that state? Something didn't add up, and now wasn't the time, but he was sure as hell going to find out eventually.
It was the first thing he did after that hour and a half. Looking at the one person who had been witness to what had happened and wasn't occupied with Meerab, he gave his mother a hard look and walked out to his lounge, knowing she would follow. It had taken five minutes for his mother to relay what had happened, with Murtasim's mind stuttering at the mention of divorce and how Meerab had objected to being taken away, crying.
Murtasim had nodded and turned away, the tangled web in his mind knotting further but his mother had grabbed onto his arm. Dealing with anyone other than Meerab had been the last thing he'd wanted then, but he'd stood there, looking away as she'd apologised for the promise she had taken from and how she had misjudged Meerab.
He had been silent, but she'd continued, saying she didn't want him to hold this against her; the fact that she had contributed in breaking his marriage. She had revealed that Mariyam had already put forth an ultimatum a few days, that if Meerab wasn't brought back, she would refuse to go ahead with the ruksati and also tell Naurez the truth. She'd pleaded with him that she had had doubts about Meerab's role in it all after Mariyam had confessed, but she had been too hurt, too shocked by the events to understand or do anything.
How convinient.
The pharse had entered Murtasim's mind uninvitingly but it had carried a bittersweet effect, because had all the drama of the past few hours not happened, who knew if his mother would 'understand or do anything' when it came to Meerab. Why would she when she had asked him many a time to cut Meerab loose?
Everything had started feeling distasteful, like nothing mattered anymore. He had just needed to be with his wife, but Waqas and Anila hadn't left her side and more truthfully, Murtasim had been scared. He'd been terrified of Meerab waking up, seeing him close to her and it upsetting her again or worsening her health. The thought had sent panic shooting through him and he couldn't have taken that risk, not when she was so fragile.
So he'd left.
The house had been swathed in colourful decorations for his sister's ruksati, his mother and Haya going back into the lounge to ensure everything was being done accordingly, and Murtasim had just left. Not that he had shirked from his responsibilities; never. It was actually his curse, he was beginning to realise. But he'd ensured everything would be set up exactly as needed. All the arrangements had been done for Mariyam's big event; but he just hadn't been able to stay in that house.
The events after waking up had also been a blur for Meerab, who had awoken to the worried faces of her parents. After realising what had happened, she had realised where she was. The navy blue walls, the navy silk and suede mustard on the bed around her, the rich, wood furniture; it felt like home. It had felt so different being there after what had seemed like an eternity, and the sunlight filtering in through the curtains gave a distinctly different effect to when she had been in here last. The night when everything had changed.
Her Mama and Baba had been beside themselves with worry and also fervent in their pleas to depart for Karachi.
Where was he?
Her eyes combed the room and its entrance again and again, only to find Maa Begum enter a few minutes after she'd awoken. Meerab had never seen her haughty mother in law as hesitent as she had then, when she'd stood at the foot of her bed and looked at her with the eyes of a thief; wavering, flitting and guilty. She had come to invite them all for Mariyam's ruksati, which her parents had declined. Meerab had lain still in bed, her entire being exhausted from the entire ordeal and her sole focus on a man who had been glaringly absent since she'd woken up.
"Murtasim kahan hai?" she had asked, her voice tired, carrying just a note of helpless anger.
Maa Begam hadnt known. He had been out apparently, and from Maa Begum's words it seemed like no one knew where he was these days.
"Murtasim ka aaj kal kisi ko pata nahi hota. Kab aata hai, jab jaata hai kisi ko kuch nahi bata ta. Bas apne hi aap mai rehta hai."
Her eyes had lifted to Meerab's as if conveying her worry, but what could Meerab say? This woman had driven her own son away. And now Meerab was more angry than heartbroken. She had cried to him, in his arms and he had left the house not even waiting for her to wake up? Had his heart changed so much practically overnight? The man who said his heart hurt seeing her tears had walked off just like that? Well, he couldn't. She wouldn't let him. She was angry and she needed to let it out. He needed to hear her side of the story and he needed to talk to her. No more 'Bas Meerab.' She would talk and he was going to listen.
"Mein kis haisiyat Mariyam ki shaadi mai aayun, Maa Begum?" she asked, her brows knitting together even as her head hurt at the movement.
Maa Begum frowned, her mouth opening and closing a few times before she sighed.
"Tum Murtasim ki biwi ho, Meerab. Tab bhi thi aur ab bhi ho. Ye kaisa sawaal hai?"
She took a deep breath as Anila inched closer and put a hand over her shoulder.
"To phir ussi se kahein ke aaye aur apni biwi ko shaadi mai le ke jaye. Mein Mariyam ke liye zaroor aayun gi, lekin agar Murtasim mujhe khud aakar le ke jaye ga."
To Salma Begum, that seemed like the perfect solution. It took care of Mariyam's condition and Murtasim would, of course never say no to Meerab. She had been confused about Meerab's request but she wasn't one to turn away a blessing in disguise.
***************
Meerab pinned the sahaaray of her earrings back into her dark curls, waving away the hand of the beautician who was settling her hair's middle parting. She adjusted the little maang-teeka and looked at herself. She looked tired. Even the professional make-up hadn't been able to hide the faint lines of exhaustion under her eyes, but if you ignored those, she liked her look. Maa Begum had presented her with outfit and jewellery choices fit for a Queen, but Meerab had chosen an understated blush angrakha kameez with matching trousers, and had gone for subtle, glowy make-up. Her eyes shifted to the clock in the guest room she was in, far away in Anwar's side of the house. Mama Baba had insisted on staying as far away as possible until she was ready to leave. She hadn't argued.
But she wasn't leaving. Not today. Not if her husband said he loved her as much as he once claimed. The function had started a little while ago and Mariyam was waiting to be escorted down the aisle by her and Maa Begum. And he still hadn't come. She didn't know if he was back in the house yet, but he hadn't come to get her yet. And she was going to stay here until he did. He would have to come sometime. She had been with Mariyam all afternoon and now knew of the condition she had presented to Maa Begum.
Not that that would be the reason he came. No. He would come for her. The one who he could never say no to. The one he had gone against everyone for. The one who he couldn't see in pain. And it was truly a full circle moment that Meerab could understand Murtasim and his emotions so much better when she was in love herself. He had been right.
"Bata kar nahi hoti...bas hojati hai..."
To bas..hogayi.
She reached for the glass of water and stood up from the dressing table, going to sit on the settee and downing the glass. The beautician lingered and Meerab opened her mouth to tell her that her work was done, when the doorway darkened. Her eyes flew to the door and then all she could was look. Pushing the sliding doors open further with both of his hands, he stepped in, frowning but looking so, so handsome. And so, so unhappy. The man who's eyes usually lit up around her now looked like the light had gone from inside him, and it broke her heart. What had they been, what had they tried to be and what had they become? They had come a long way from the Meerab and Murtasim who couldn't stand the thought of one another, let alone each others presence. And now Meerab needed his presence in her life like she needed air; it was non-negotiable and he had made it so. He had made her surrender her heart to him despite all their circumstances screaming for her to run.
Murtasim walked into the room his mother had mentioned and halted just inside the doorstep. He had come home and gone to his room in silence, and just the tiniest part of his still surprisingly alive heart had thought that when he'd enter, she would be there. Like she always had been, standing by the window or the bed, steaming about something someone had done and waiting to vent to him about it. His empty room, like it had done for the past two weeks, had bit at him when he'd realised it was cold and empty. The sheets had been redone and any trace of her wiped. Waqas Chacha's car had been on the patio and Bakhtu had told him that Meerab was fine, so he had known that she was still here, but as he'd plucked a random suit out of their wardribe and seen her clothes hanging on her side and no one to use them, she couldn't have felt further away. He'd solemnly gotten changed, knowing his sister and her event needed his full attention and support. He was the head of this household , after all. The sarbarha; had been for a long, long time and by now he was well acquainted with burying his own emotions deep down for the needs of his family.
Family had come knocking in the form of his mother, and the news accompnying her was as shocking as the fact that his mother was asking him to go to Meerab. She wanted him to come and take her to the wedding? She had asked for it? Why? What was this if not torture? He had tried to leave before she left him and now she wanted him to be face-to-face with her?
That why momentarily lost its position of priority as he entered the room and laid eyes on the love of his life. And what a beautiful love she was. She was glowing; every part of her was radiant as she sat on the settee, looking down at her dupatta and adjusting it. The night of their walima flashed into his mind and he gulped painfully. How long ago did that seem? When he had come into their room to walk her out for their event. Her petulant complaints, him mesmerised by her and their hands sliding into one another's for the first as a husband and wife. She was sitting so similarly, and as she looked up and her eyes widened in that 'Meerab' way; looking him up and down with hints of complaint, petulance, but now mixed with a whole load of relief and a newfound spark.
Why? Why torture him like this by dangling something which was just out of his reach?
His heart wrenched as he took her in and his hands bunched into fists at his sides.
Kyun?
Meerab had frozen on the settee as he watched her, her heart in her throat as he walked in slowly and then looked up to the beautician with that Murtasim Khan look. It was enough to send the woman scrambling out of the room, leaving them alone. As she watched him walk towards her, a sense of deja vu had her gulping. His eyes had been so awed the night of their walima, when he'd walked in and seen her. He had been so gentle in walking her out. It all seemed like a lifetime ago and that made her heart ache painfully. Now, his eyes were just as awed but tinged with anguish, crinkled at the corners in distress and his hands bunched tensely.
He walked into the room and halted in the middle and looked down at her from across the space. His brows knitted into a deep, pained frown as he gulped and then, as she looked up, he cut their gaze and looked away, his arms folding at his back.
"Tumhe lenay aaya hu."
His voice. His deep, velvety voice. Other than the angrily uttered 'Allah Hafiz' in the drawing room that morning, she hadn't heard that voice in two weeks. And even then, the last words she had heard it saying still had the power to squeeze her heart painfully.
"To aao." was her light answer, her brow raised as she nodded to the space in front of her.
He looked back and his eyes dropped to where she was nodding. Then he was still for a moment, looking at her before taking a few steps forward. He stopped as he got to her, his dress shoe clad feet stopping just at the hem of her dupatta which draped from her shoulder and onto the floor. He looked down at her and she looked up, not breaking eye contact.
"Mujhe tadpana tumhara shauk kabse ban gaya?"
Meerab blinked at his pained statement, confused. She had asked him here, had come to the haveli for him, had ran to him with the last vestige of energy left within her at the time and he thought this was 'tadpana'? A slight frown marred her forehead and she tried to decipher his meaning. She shook the confusion away.
His hands were still behind his back and his entire posture that of a soldier ready for death in battle. He was supposed to be happy that she had finally taken a step towards him. What was going on her?
"Aik saath jaana hai." she replied archly, her eyes looked onto his in an intense challenge as she echoed the words he had said to her the night of their walima.
Ab to samajh jao, Murtasim.
His throat convulsed in a gulp and she knew by the look in his eyes that he was back there at that moment with her too. His eyes shone with emotion, and though he looked like he was pained by the entire exchange, Meerab didn't give up. She sat still, looking at him in waiting. And sure enough, her husband, the one man who had never let her down, extended a hand between them, his eyes on her entire time. Meerab slid hers into his and felt a breath of absolute peace leave her at the feeling. His hand tightened on hers and she was pulled up gently, right in front of him.
His chest to hers, his eyes looking down into hers and their hands clasped tightly next to their chests, Meerab looked into his eyes and tried to convey the entire storm of emotions within her. Had his eyes always been this beautiful? This deep and swirling with love? Possibly. She had just been able to see now. Did he used to cherish the sight of like she was cherishing just the sight of him now? Everything looked more beautiful in love. Just looking at his face made her heart well up and her chest feel full.
"Chalo, Meerab."
With that, he turned around abruptly, his hand jerking out of their collective hold and his back fully to her. Meerab's hand was still, in the air where it had been folded in his. He was still upset, that much was evident. But she also had much to be upset about. What she couldn't figure out was why he seemed to be more upset than her. Surely he still didn't believe that nonsense about Malik Zubair and her plotting? Even Maa Begum has seen the truth now and she had been her fiercest critic, and this was Murtasim, after all. Before she even knew it, Meerab's face had changed from shocked, questioning and in thought to one of a woman looking at a man she deeply loved. Her eyes softened and glowed with tenderness, her lips turned up ever so softly at how the tables had turned, that she was now the one thinking about his happiness. Her eyes shone with love, hope and an enlightment that she loved Murtasim.
Murtasim, who she had pushed away at every turn believing him to be just like everyone else. Murtasim, who she made her heart and mind reject even before the ink had dried on their nikkahnama. Murtasim, who now standing even with his back to her had the power to make her heart do a little flip and have her knees feeling weak. Murtasim, who had taken all her resentment, all her anger and hurt, and washed it away with so much dedicated love and affection. Her entire being sang with that knowledge and it showed on her face, and it had her needing to see the face she now adored. Her hand lifted tentatively and made its way towards his shoulder. The movement was hesitant and her hand wavered a thousand time in its journey before her fingers brushed his off-white blazer, soft enough for her know but too soft for him to realise.
"Haya-" Meerab's hand wavered as her entire body jolted at the name and the memory of the poisonous person it belonged to. Her eyes flashed, losing their foggy gleam and her lips quivered a fraction. "ne jo kiya, woh jaanta hu mein. Baaki sab ko nahi pata, lekin mujhe pata hai. Uss raat tumhe bata nahi saka. I'm sorry."
Her hand mid-air, just inches away from his back, Meerab looked at him as he turned around, his face stoic and his forehead in a deep frown. A part of her was relieved that Haya's machinations hadn't been completely hidden. Murtasim knowing was enough for her. But another part of her was jarred at the interruption, at the mention of her between them. Like a bad omen of sorts, she seemed to come and strike them when they least expected it, and though not scared, Meerab now felt cautious. She had more to lose now. She had love to lose, and it was a love she needed in her life. It was also a love Haya wanted, by hook or crook, and that was what had Meerab's stomach doing a nervous twisting at the mention of her name.
Meerab shook her head and pushed away the tangled thoughts. No more Haya. This was their moment. Her eyes shifting back to Murtasim's she looked into his troubled eyes. Dropping her eyes to the crook of his arm, she nodded towards it and raised her eyebrows in expectation. He looked at her for a few seconds and then bent his elbow, extending his arm for her. Meerab slid her hand around the crook of it and came to stand by his side just as their steps fell in line as he led her out of the room.
Her hand in his arm, The Khan and Khaani walked out of the back entrance of the haveli and onto the lush back lawns on which the wedding was taking place. As their footsteps crossed the grand arch into the main area of the lawn, head turned and eyes shone with admiration as the striking couple, so rarely seen together or events, walked arm in arm towards the crowd.
Meerab's hand tightened on Murtasim's arm, realising this was her first foray into his world as his Khaani. His face was regally serious as it always was, and upon reaching the middle of the lawn, he turned towards her, ever the gentleman and covered her little hand with his larger one, sliding it down and breaking their contact. Meerab looked from the crowd to him, and just for a few moments, amidst the ruckus of the wedding celebrations and the calls of their names and the hushed whispers of admiration, all they could do was look at each other. Time seemed to freeze in perfect suspension as they stood facing each other, their hands loosely linked with just the touch of a couple of fingers.
"Mera haath chodna tumhara shauk kab se ban gaya?" she posed the question to him, so similar to what he'd asked her just a few minutes before.
He blinked, a light frown denting his regal composure.
"Jab se mujhe yakeen hogaya hai ke haath chudwaana tumhari khwahish hai." His words were almost hard. It was a tone he had Meerab spoken to her before in and it had Meerab frowning.
He looked away, shaking his head with an angry chuckle.
"Khwahish to tumne shaadi ke pehle din hi zaahir kardi thi. Ghalti meri hai ke meine ussey seriously nahi liya." he continued hardly.
Their moment was jarred as a voice called out to him.
"Murtasim-"
Meerab eyes shifted to beside his shoulder as Haya's dressed up form came up behind him, her mouth mid-sentance and face lax with shock seeing her there. Gulping she turned narrowed eyes from Meerab to Murtasim, who still hadnt tunred around at her call.
"Murtasim, tumhe Maa Begum bula rahin hain. Kaam hain." she uttered hesitently as he angled his head to the side just a fraction, not looking at her at all but dismissively acknowledging her words. With a single nod, Haya was dismissed and Meera watched as she kept her eyes on on them the entire time as she walked off.
She raised her brow.
"Oh. To aaj kal tum har kisi ki khwahishein maan rahay ho?" she taunted, her eyes blazing in challenge.
He remained quiet, his head held high and his arms folded behind his back. His silence and most of all, his seeming defeat concerning them was enflaming Meerab, who after weeks of mental stress and heartache didn't posses much patience.
"Mujhe yahan aana hi nahi chahiye tha." she threw at him impulsively.
"Mujhe tumhe yahan lana hi nahi chahiye tha." he retorted, shaking his head whilst he looked away at the stage.
Fuming, Meerab turned blindly and gasped as her body collided into Haya. Meerab stared in horror as the hem of her kameez began darkening with the drink which had spilt out of Haya's glass and onto her.
"Dehaan se chalo." she heard Murtasim say, and it only annoyed her further.
"Kyun? Tum to yahi chahtay thay na?" she retorted frustratingly and turned from him.
Frowning and in no mood to deal with the poison that was her husband's cousin, Meerab gave her a sharp look and pushed past, heading straight for the haveli in a hurry.
Murtasim watched as his wife stalked off, fuming. His eyes stayed on her until he saw her safely turn the curve to the main portion of the haveli and step into the entrance.
"Murtasim, meri baat to suno. Please." Came a plea from beside him.
His eyes still on the door Meerab had gone into and the frustration in him weighing his chest down and tightening the walls of his heart, he turned away from Haya, needing her gone. She gave up after a few minutes of pestering him and in the face of his cold silence. He stood near the stage, watching over everything like a protective shadow, but his thoughts on how even when something good happened for him, something else went wrong. How had he and Meerab gotten everything so wrong? Maybe because they were always fundamentally wrong together, but didnt that sometimes work out if Allah wanted it to? Didn't love and dua change kismets? Evidently not theirs. His love had gone in vain, burning to ashes and buried in the carnage of their relationship. And he didnt pray often, but if he had ever prayed for something even instinctively, it was the girl who'd just walked away from him in anger.
Not one reprieve. Not a single one had been afforded to them by nature or by Allah. Only their hidden, stolen moments of what he'd thought was love now resided deep within him and would probably keep him alive until his time had been written. Today, even for the greater good of the family, Murtasim Khan couldnt banish the pain and shadows darkening his eyes and the permenant grimace which graced his mouth as he stood in the middle of the wedding festivities. Jarred out of his thoughts, he felt his shirt being pulled and looked down to a little boy. His frown finding a short, fleeting repreive, Murtasim smiled faintly at him and then realised he held a little piece of paper in his hands.
The paper now in his own hands, he looked down and stilled.
Kamray mai aao. Meerab.
His eyes stared unblinkingly at the words on the little piece of paper and just as his mind was trying to make sense of the words, a smile threatened to come out; the first one in so, so long that it almost felt foreign to him. His hand lowered as he looked around the lawn instinctively for her, and as his attention diverted, he felt a jerk on his hand and felt the paper being pulled from it by the same child who had been standing there looking at him. Murtasim looked down at the chit, now in little hands who seemed to be even more interested in the crinkly paper than he was and smiled, shaking his head. He had gotten what he needed anyway. Smiling at the child, he let the paper go as his feet started moving in the same direction his wife had just gone in.
His heart suddenly felt a little alive, and though not fully hopeful because he'd been bitten too many times, just the thought of seeing her, her calling him for any reason was enough to breathe life back into a dead man walking.
Meerab walked angrily back from the en-suite and into the guest room she had been in. Her hands holding up the wet edges of her damp kameez, she huffed out a breath whilst looking around for a hair dryer to dry it with. Finding none, her feet automatically had her walking out and in the dircetion of her own room, where she knew she had a dryer in her dresser drawer.
Ajeeb aadmi. Pehle to itna mohabbat, ishq waghera waghera karta tha, aur ab pata nahi kya hogaya hai. Over insaan.
Her mental tirade was relentless and she was in no mood to make it stop. Why was he behaving this way? He couldnt be angry about the Malik-Zubair and Mariyam fiasco anymore so what was making him behave so distantly with her? Meerab's steps slowed just a fraction before picking up again as the faint thought of Rohail popped into her mind. But it couldn't be that. How would he know she had met Rohail recently? She would tell him that anyway, to put him at ease. She knew he would angry at first because she'd broken her promise, but he would understand when she told him why. It was the one thing which would make him understand that it was just him, no one else.
Koi nahi hai, Murtasim, bas tum ho.
Her heels clacked on the floor and the noise changed as the tiles of the corridors outside gave way to the wooden flooring of their lounge and bedroom. In her hurry, she sped up and turned the corner to the bedroom.
And stilled.
Her entire body jerked and jolted at the way her feet halted abruptly and refused to go any further. Her eyes, previously clouded with thoughts of her husband now widened dramatically to the point Meerab felt pangs of pain slice through her forehead and head. Her heart thundered in her chest and suddenly the room felt too tight, too little for all the anguish which threatenend to burst out from her. Her lips quivered and Meerab, who never cried too easily, didn't even feel her eyes pricking because the pain of a thousand knives being driven into her now ripped out heart was too much to bear.
"Murtasim."
It wasnt even a question. It was just one single word, the only word she could utter at that time, which was drenched with tragedy.
She stood on wobbly legs as her husband, the wonderful husband she had just, just let herself fall in love with, started and turned, his hands then suddenly pushing at the pair of hands wrapped intimatley around his body. A body even she as his wife hadn't touched so intimatley yet and she watched as the woman who had plagued her every insecurity when it came to Murtasim peeled her body off from him, her hands sliding out from around his waist as he turned and pushed her away.
No amount of make up, priceless heirloom jewellery or that particular Khaani glow could've hidden the devastation wrcaking Meerab's body at that moment. Her face was so taut that the damage from the past two weeks of sleepless nights shone through on her papery under eyes and her slightly lined mouth. Her wide, glassy eyes could only look at him, because he was the only one capable of causing that devastation.
And how he had devastated her. It was the stuff of legendary tragedies. On the precipice of love and marital joy, finally after a mental and emotional battle of what seemed like a lifetime, with her fragilely accepted and not even yet voiced mohabbat, Meerab had stood precariously on an edge and instead of being pulled into the safe, enveloping arms of that mohabbat, she had been pushed mercilessly over that edge and into hell.
Black, burning hell.
Hello dear readers.
Firstly, apologies for the delay. I had thought I had the last two parts done and dusted but turns out there was a lot to be written still.
I've ended it here partly due to this much being edited and also because its a good point to start the next part on. Please excuse any typos due to the rush.
We only have one part remaining, after which my version of events will merge into the original TB storyline at a certain point.
I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.
Till next time, D xo