Context: Post Episode 58 - what happens the morning after Meerab & Meesam's return, follows Chapter 1. Originally posted on Twitter on July 7 (https://twitter.com/misskaahaani/status/1677305248119963650?s=20)

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The afternoon light, filtering through the semi-closed curtains, bathed the room in a golden hue. In the center of the sprawling bed, a tiny figure lay sprawled out, engrossed in the innocent world of dreams. Murtasim's whisper, a soft murmur filled with adoration, brushed Meerab's ears. "She's completely knocked out."

"She'll be up soon and full of energy." Meerab whispered back, a knowing smile dancing on her lips as she thought of their little whirlwind who would soon wake and transform their calm oasis into a lively playground.

"She's a deep sleeper, just like you." Murtasim remarked. Meerab simply hummed in response, her mind busy traversing the troves of memories she had collected of their daughter. The pattern of her sleep, the curve of her smile, every little detail etched deeply in her heart.

However, Meesam's slumber was a symphony of its own. Unlike Meerab's serene sleep, Meesam's rest was punctuated with sweet little hums, haws, and soft whimpers. The sounds brought a chuckle to Meerab's lips, and worry to Murtasim's brow. "Is she having a bad dream?" He asked, the concern evident in his deep voice.

"Babies make sound, Murtasim." Meerab reassured him, her eyes softening at his concern. How surprised she had been to discover that her delicate little baby was capable of such a diverse array of sounds - not just crying, but humming, giggling, and even the occasional frustrated grunt.

Yet, his worry persisted. "This is normal? Are you sure she doesn't need something? Maybe she's hungry?" He pressed on, his words painting a charming picture of a doting father.

"No, we just fed her." She replied, her voice a soft murmur as she held back a smile, reminiscing about his surprised face when Meesam had shown interest in actual food, he thought she would only drink milk. But she had picked up little smushed pieces of paratha and stuffed them into her mouth happily while Murtasim watched, as if appeased by her appetite and clear love of food.

Meesam was quite the explorer after their late breakfast, a curious sprite filled with contagious energy. She was intrigued by her new environment, touching, inspecting, even trying to taste everything she could reach now that the house was bereft of the presence of multiple guests.

Her laughter echoed throughout the house as she made a playful chase with Murtasim, she would take a few steps, look back at Murtasim as if inviting him to follow her, and then started scurrying away when he took a step, her squeals loud. Watching them, Meerab's heart swelled with a motherly pride. She marvelled at how swiftly Meesam had warmed up to Murtasim, it was as if she had some innate understanding that he was her father.

Despite only being her second day in their house, Meesam had everybody wrapped around her little finger. Both Maa Begum and her father were eager to spend time with her, to shower her with their love. But, to Murtasim's obvious delight, she clung to him and Meerab, refusing to go to anyone else. It was touching to see her look to Murtasim for protection, hiding behind him from those that were strangers to her.

From reaching out for her mother the previous day, Meesam had grown comfortable enough with Murtasim to nestle her face against his shoulder, her small hands clasping his neck as she let him carry her back to their room. It was a change that filled Murtasim with warmth and ignited a flame of joy in Meerab's heart. Observing them, she felt a surge of love for her little family and a pang of longing for Murtasim – a reminder of how much she had missed him.

In their room, a new crib stood next to their bed, it had shown up first thing in the morning. Yet, Meesam was reluctant to be confined and voiced her protest until she was snugly nestled between her parents on the large bed.

Laying next to them, Meerab traced her fingers alternately through Meesam's soft hair and Murtasim's, taking in the sight of her husband, so transfixed by their daughter. It warmed her heart to see him so deeply invested in Meesam, so enchanted by her every move.

Murtasim's voice, a warm whisper, seeped into the quiet room, shattering the silence but not the peace. "She's so pretty." A statement so simple, yet laden with so much love, it reverberated in the very walls around them.

The comment brought an unexpected giggle out of Meerab. The corners of her eyes crinkled, her lips stretching into a wide smile as Murtasim's eyes darted up to meet hers, echoing a question he hadn't voiced. Her heart fluttered at his bewilderment; the sound of her own laughter felt like music in this space they shared.

"I was going to say she's pretty like you." A soft confession escaped her lips. Her fingers absently traced circles on Murtasim's scalp, lulled by the warmth radiating from him. It was as if her skin sought his, a magnetic pull that was hard to resist. She craved the closeness, the physical reminder of his presence, a balm for the months of his absence.

His response came swift and sure, "No, she's pretty like her mother." His gaze locked onto hers, a warm smile on his face. The tenderness in his voice felt like a caress, enveloping her in a comforting cocoon of love and admiration.

A gentle hush fell over them once more, broken only by Meerab's soft whisper. "Let's go, we should let her sleep, if she is awoken from her nap early, she's cranky...she has your anger." A light tease, a playful jab to lighten their world.

A quiet chuckle rumbled through Murtasim's chest, his mirth bubbling to the surface. "Yours too...she's a Khan after all."

With a soft sigh, Meerab continued. "She's always roaring like a little lion...that's her favourite animal, you know." A tender note of love coloured her voice as she rose from the bed, Murtasim's eyes lighting up at the information.

"Really?" His curiosity was endearing, a thread of excitement weaving through his words as he too got up from the bed. Meerab could only respond with a firm nod, the corners of her mouth turning up into a soft smile.

As she started to move around the bed, a sudden squeal escaped her, quickly silenced by Murtasim's soft 'shhh' as he pulled her into his arms. The swift and firm pull of his arms around her, the strength and warmth of his body against hers, was all-encompassing. It was...home.

Her cheek found rest against the firm plane of his chest, the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in her ear grounding her, her eyes threatening to overflow. The memory of their morning hug lingered in her mind – his hesitant request for permission, the shared minutes of sobbing and comforting, the exquisite feeling of being held. His embrace was an anchor, tethering her in a sea of emotions.

As his arms wound around her, she knew the bliss of this reunion was but a honeymoon period. Challenges lurked beneath the surface, questions and anger waiting their turn. Yet, the thought didn't frighten her; it couldn't, not when the alternative was losing him again, a reality she couldn't even begin to fathom now that she remembered what being around him felt like.

She moved just enough to gaze up at him, her heart thudding in her chest as his eyes roved over her face. "I bought the first stuffed lion for her because it reminded me of you." The whispered words hung in the air, a tether of connection between them. She had been brought to literal tears when she saw the stuffed lion, remembering the man that was called sher beta by her mother, the aspiring wildlife photographer that had pictures of lions up everywhere.

Murtasim's response was a smile, a hand cradling her face. The rough pad of his thumb skimmed over her cheek, a touch so gentle, so tender, it threatened to unhinge the floodgates of her emotions. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, but she blinked them away, content to lose herself in the soft warmth of his gaze.

"May I?" The whisper was a ghost of a sound, an intimate question that hung in the air between them. Meerab found herself nodding, not entirely certain of what he was asking for, yet willing to grant him anything.

Murtasim's fingers began a journey over her face, a slow and tender exploration that caused her breath to hitch. Starting from her forehead, they traced the shape of her eyebrows, the curves of her eyes, the tiny bump of her nose, the apple of her cheeks, and finally, the contours of her lips. Like he was trying to memorize her face again, to figure out what had changed.

Her eyes fluttered closed under his touch. Even after all this time, the contact made her skin tingle, her stomach flutter. Anticipation coiled inside her like a spring, her skin prickling with goosebumps, as if her body remembered him, craved his closeness.

As Murtasim's fingers retreated, they were followed by the softest of sensations - his lips gently pressing against her skin. Her heart skipped a beat as his lips met her forehead, the affectionate contact casting a comforting warmth over her thoughts.

His touch was light as he moved to her eyelids, gently fluttering closed under his attentions. The sensation was tender and intimate, the warmth of his breath washing over her face, grounding her in this moment. Each kiss felt like a cherished memory being etched into her skin, gentle reminders of his love.

Downward he moved, his lips finding the slope of her nose. It was an endearing gesture, one that left a fleeting warmth in its wake. And when his lips finally brushed against her cheeks, a wave of emotion swept over her. His touch was feather-light, yet each kiss ignited a burst of heat that radiated through her body. The stubble lining his jaw gently grazed against her skin, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips.

With each touch, each kiss, Murtasim seemed to be erasing the void his absence had left, filling it with a love that was as palpable as the heat radiating from his body to hers.

His journey paused then, his fingers lingering on her cheeks, his touch a feather-light caress that made her shiver. Opening her eyes, she found his gaze flickering between her lips and her eyes, as if he was trapped in a moment of indecision. Tears welled up in her eyes, the anticipation and the pent-up emotions threatening to spill over.

With a nod, she gave him the silent permission he seemed to seek. This time, their kiss wasn't a clash of lips and teeth, a tumultuous expression of unspoken feelings. It was a gentle meeting of lips, a soft exploration filled with pent-up longing, of love. His lips brushed against hers, almost like a caress, a silent confession of his love.

His hands cradled her face, as if she was the most precious thing in the world. Their breath hitched at the contact of their lips, a silent understanding passing between them. This was no rushed, impassioned display; it was a slow-burning connection.

Murtasim's lips, softened by his own breath, gently coaxed hers to open. His movements were patient and unhurried, full of reverence. The delicate brush of his lower lip against hers sent a thrill coursing through her, her heart pounding in synchrony with the rhythm of their dance.

His lips moved against hers, tracing the curve of her lower lip before retreating, only to return and taste the fullness of her upper lip. The sensation was electrifying, igniting sparks that skittered along her skin. The light scraping of his stubble against her cheek was a grounding reminder.

Her arms found their way around his waist, her fingers curling into the fabric of his black kurta, drawing him closer. The tangible evidence of him, the warmth of his body, the rhythm of his heartbeat – it all seeped into her, filling the void his absence had left.

Her own lips responded with an eagerness born out of her love and loneliness. They moved against his, tentative at first, then with a growing confidence. Each touch, each shared breath, was an affirmation of their shared longing.

Their bodies moved in harmony, the gentle rustling of their clothes the only sound in the room, punctuating the silence that enveloped them. A soft sigh escaped Meerab, the sound drowned in the closeness of their bodies, swallowed by their shared breaths.

Tears began to stream down her face, the saltiness mingling with their kiss. This kiss was nothing like their past encounter – no anger, no possession, just love. It was a slow dance of lips, a languid exploration, a healing balm for the wounds of their past.

The taste of their tears mingled in their kiss, the saltiness a bittersweet testament to their shared history. Their breaths grew ragged, tiny gasps and sighs intermingling in the space between them. The soft sounds punctuated the silence of the room, a symphony of shared longing playing out in whispers.

Murtasim pulled away reluctantly, leaving a trail of cool air that contrasted sharply with the lingering warmth of their shared kiss. Both of them were gasping for air, their chests rising and falling in tandem, their breaths mingling in the close proximity.

"I love you, Meerab." He murmured against her lips, his voice a soft caress echoing in the hushed room.

"I love you too." She whispered in response, her voice barely audible, her words brushing against his lips.

Emboldened by the words, Meerab initiated the kiss this time, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She chased his lips, eager for the contact, her hands cupping his face, bringing him closer. It wasn't just a kiss, it was her heart reaching out for his, trying to convey everything she felt, every emotion she had bottled up.

Murtasim responded immediately, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her to him. There was an urgency to their movements, a shared longing that seeped into their kiss. His grip on her was firm, yet tender, his hold the perfect blend of possession and care.

The rhythm of their kiss changed, growing a bit more sure, a bit more heated. Their lips danced together in a fervent ballet, each movement a symbol of their yearning. The room was filled with soft sighs and whispers of adoration, their bodies swaying gently to the rhythm of their shared heartbeat.

The world had narrowed down to just the two of them, until a loud giggle punctuated the silence, echoing throughout the room like a giddy alarm clock. Meerab was briefly taken aback, having nearly forgotten that their daughter was in the same room, sleeping soundly until this moment.

Both Meerab and Murtasim froze, breaking away from each other with a jolt, like two teenagers caught in the throes of a forbidden act. Their hearts thudded in their chests, eyes wide as they turned to the bed.

On the bed, the source of the interruption was revealed - a giggling Meesam, her small hands rubbing at her eyes, a sleepy smile gracing her cherubic face. The innocence of her laughter stood in stark contrast to the heat of the moment it had interrupted, grounding them back in reality.

Meerab's eyes flicked back to Murtasim, who looked so aghast at being caught that she couldn't suppress a bubble of laughter that rose from her chest. His eyes were wide with surprise, his lips parted slightly in a comically dumbstruck expression. The sight of him, so flustered, was just too endearing for her to resist.

A symphony of laughter filled the room then. The deep timbre of Murtasim's chuckle, so rich and contagious, joined with Meerab's more melodic, bell-like laughter. Their daughter's sweet sounds, now awake and curious, contributed to the harmony, rounding it off with a touch of innocence.