A/N: Hola! Thank you to y'all for all the love for the last chapter! This will be last chapter of them at 21, 24. In the next chapter, we meet them at 22, 25 - and the chapter will be in Meerab's POV! So enjoy the last Murtasim's POV you'll get for a while!

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Sitting in his dimly lit room, Murtasim was engrossed in some paperwork when Areeb walked in, a distressed look on his face. Murtasim sensed something amiss, yet again, from his demeanor.

"You were right," Areeb began, his voice strained. "The Maliks are instigating everyone, telling them you will lead them astray."

"And?" Murtasim inquired, not looking up but feeling the weight of Areeb's words.

"Some listened. They believed you are betraying traditions, that the Maliks wouldn't have done the same." Areeb's eyes were filled with a mix of sadness and rage.

Murtasim leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "And the others?"

A hint of pride crept into Areeb's tone. "Surprisingly stood up for you. They said you've done more for them than anyone in the past. They trust that you won't come after their daughters and wives like Malik and his men have."

Murtasim's heart ached. The bar was set so low, loyalty was based on the simple promise of not harming their women? Yet, some of his own men had still deserted him for Malik, knowing well of Zubair's nature, perhaps a clear stance against him and Meerab.

"It's not looking good," murmured Areeb, "the Maliks are painting a picture where you're the villain, and they're the saviors. They're promising more wages, better facilities, even bonuses."

Murtasim frowned, "And yet, they forget the years when they exploited these very people, underpaying and overworking them. It's just a ploy. They're trying to buy loyalty, and secrets."

The men who had once worked on their fields carried with them vital information, the secrets of their lands, and possibly their strategies, making them more vulnerable than ever. "Secure all the warehouses, double the guards on patrol at night." He instructed, knowing that Zubair would try to take advantage of the situation and cause havoc.

Murtasim mulled over the ramifications of the recent upheaval. The once-vibrant fields and bustling workers, the lifeblood of his estate, were now waning. The departure of seasoned workers, many of whom had served his family for generations, threatened to deplete the labor force significantly. These weren't just any workers; they were skilled, experienced hands that understood the rhythm and cadence of the land. With their exit, the estate's agricultural productivity was in jeopardy.

A reduced harvest would invariably lead to a direct hit on the revenues. It wasn't just about his own luxurious lifestyle; the entire community leaned heavily on the estate's prosperity. Many local initiatives, welfare programs, and community projects were funded by the estate's earnings. A decline in revenue would mean a halt to many of these community-centric projects, unless he injected more of his personal wealth in again, which wasn't sustainable in the long run.

Moreover, the absence of a significant portion of the labor force placed a tremendous strain on the remaining workers. Murtasim dreaded the thought of them being overburdened, something he tried hard to not do, he always ensured that no one worked more than 6-8 hours a day. The land was demanding, the expectations of yield hadn't lessened, but the numbers of workers had.

Adding salt to the wound was the knowledge that Malik would be the direct beneficiary of this labor migration. The Maliks could capitalize on the influx of experienced workers, potentially elevating their estate's productivity and influence. Their gain was his loss, and Murtasim couldn't help but worry about the Maliks challenging his authority and expanding their dominion over the region.

The balance of power within the village and the larger feudal framework was being disrupted. Murtasim's once unquestionable authority now seemed to be on shaky ground. The very foundation of his leadership was being threatened, and the ripples of this could very well alter the dynamics that had held the village together.

A soft tinkling sound made its way through the room, drawing Murtasim out of his grave thoughts.

His mind immediately registered it the sound of Meerab approaching. The delicate sound of her anklets was like a balm to his fraying nerves. He had come to associate that sound with her since she had returned from meeting with Farida a few days ago, having secured anklets on her trip. It had since become a signature tune announcing her presence, especially when it was followed by the louder chiming sound made by the bell secured around their goat's neck.

Meerab entered the room, her gaze fixed on the papers she clutched in her hand. As she looked up and met Murtasim's gaze, time seemed to pause. Every encounter with her was like that at first, intense and charged. He had hoped that seeing her often would numb the sensation, make it familiar. But it only seemed to intensify, chipping away at the walls he kept trying to build around himself.

He looked away as Areeb, his face drawn, cleared his throat. "We need to figure this out," he began earnestly, his voice reflecting his concern. "We can't let the Maliks keep getting away with this." He said, Meerab's eyes flickered between his form and Areeb, as if trying to piece together the puzzle.

"I know, but how?" Murtasim sighed deeply, the weight of responsibility evident in his tone.

Areeb took a moment, casting his mind back, searching for answers from the past. "What would your dad do if he was alive?" he asked, his voice low.

Murtasim looked off into the distance, lost in memories of his father. "Threaten and scare them, he wouldn't have let any of them leave. He wouldn't stand for any of this nonsense." Murtasim muttered.

"We can't resort to threats and intimidation!" Meerab exclaimed, her eyes wide in alarm.

Murtasim, catching her reaction, hastened to clarify, "I wasn't suggesting that we should, Meerab. I was merely answering the question," he said pointedly, hoping she'd understand he had no intention of emulating his father's aggressive methods.

Taking a deep breath, Meerab moved forward, setting the sheaf of papers she had been holding onto the table. The dim light from the lamp cast a glow onto her face, highlighting her determined features. "What if we show the men that left, and the village, that there's more to gain by being with you? Financial stability, protection, respect? We make them see the stark contrast." She said, giving herself away.

Murtasim's eyebrow quirked up in recognition of a pattern. "You were outside eavesdropping, weren't you?" His voice held a teasing lilt, the faint smirk playing on his lips belying his attempt at seriousness. Memories of their shared past came flooding back; how she'd sneak around as a child, her ear perpetually pressed to doors, trying to catch the hushed tones of adult conversations. He had often been the one to admonish her, leading to heated exchanges between the two. On more occasions than he cared to admit, the adults would emerge, chiding them both for their indiscretions—even when he wasn't at fault. A fond smile threatened to overcome his lips. Some things, he mused, truly never change.

Meerab looked down, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and defiance. "Nahi, I was just passing by and I happened to hear."

He leaned back against the back of his chair, crossing his arms. "Passing by so quietly?" He teased, enjoying the rare moments of catching her off guard.

She rolled her eyes, a playful exasperation lining her features. "Is that what you want to focus on right now?"

From a corner of the room, Areeb tried to stifle a chuckle, but his mirth was evident. He quipped under his breath, just loud enough for the him to hear, "He always just wants to focus on you."

Murtasim's playful demeanor shifted instantly as he shot a warning glare towards Areeb. "Did you say something, Areeb?"

Areeb, attempting innocence, flashed a toothy grin before bringing them back on track. "I was just thinking about what Meerab said. We can diversify our trades, establish new connections, maybe even incorporate the women into the mix. Bringing more business to the village is a sure way."

"We can share stories," Meerab suggested, "Of what working under the Maliks' reign is like, contrasted with the prosperity and harmony under your leadership? Remind them of the changes you've brought already."

Murtasim leaned back, taking in their words, mulling over them. "Or," he began slowly, "we continue just continue doing what we're doing, and when they witness the success, they'll realize their mistake. Maybe then, they'll come back, understanding that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. Fighting now is not going to give us anything, we have to wait for the dust to settle."

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His study was drenched in the golden hues of the setting sun, casting long, theatrical shadows across the polished oak table where Murtasim and Meerab sat, deep in conversation about establishing a school for the village, for children and for adults alike. She had brought up a concern that morning, one he hadn't thought about before, although a large school already existed just outside the village, many of the villagers refused to send their children there due to the distance and wariness of others who attended. She hoped having a school within the village's boundaries would help that, and that it would also become a hub for vocational training for adults.

As Meerab scribbled down her ideas with an infectious enthusiasm, Murtasim couldn't help but allow himself a moment of weakness, to get lost in the sight before him. Her hair cascading down her back like a silken river, reflecting the shimmer of the lights. The way the light caught her features, he couldn't help but think how incredibly beautiful she looked. And then there was the incongruity of her messy handwriting, a stark contrast to her poised demeanor.

He knew he shouldn't have done it, but he leaned in slightly, drawn to her by an invisible force. The closeness was intoxicating. The delicate fragrances she wore - roses, the comforting sweetness of vanilla, and another floral scent he couldn't quite place - enveloped him. He was dangerously close, close enough to feel the warmth she radiated. Each inhalation brought with it a yearning he struggled to suppress.

In the tumult of his responsibilities over the past few days, his battles with villagers, confrontations with the Maliks, and the sting of betrayals from his own men, he sought solace. A momentary respite. A chance to drown out the chaos and just be. The urge to pull Meerab close, to lose himself in the comfort of her presence was overwhelming. Yet, he restrained himself, well aware of the boundaries between them, boundaries his mother had stressed prior to sending Meerab to the village, she was his responsibility and he needed to treat her as such.

He was glad he hadn't given in to his urge, for the grand wooden doors of the study opened shortly after to reveal his mother, draped in an intricately designed suit, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Beside her was Anwar, Meerab's father, and his uncle. Murtasim had been preparing himself mentally for the confrontation he knew was imminent considering he didn't go back to Hyderabad, or answer their numerous calls over the past few days.

Somehow, his mother and uncle had gotten wind of what was happening in the village despite his reassurances that everything was fine, and it seemed that they were done waiting.

Murtasim offered his greetings with practiced decorum, his eyes briefly darting to Meerab as she did the same. He couldn't help but notice the subtle change in her demeanor. Where she had previously radiated a natural warmth and vivacity, the sudden appearance of his mother and her father seemed to cast a shadow over her spirit. Her voice, usually confident, held a note of hesitance, and her vibrant eyes dimmed slightly, a hint of sadness replacing their usual spark. It was as if their very caused her to retract into a protective shell.

Servants rushed in, asking if they should prepare tea and snacks but his mother held her hand up and dismissed them all effectively, asking them to close the door behind them, her eyes flickering between Meerab and him.

Murtasim stepped away from Meerab, realizing how close they were standing now that there were others around, it seemed his mother was not pleased by her presence, and he understood that.

"Maa, Chacha-Saab, have a seat, I - "

His mother's voice, sharp as a blade, cut through his words and attempt at pleasantries, getting straight to the point. "Do you two have any idea about what you've done? Do you understand the gravity of your actions?"

Meerab's eyes flickered to his but he shook his head imperceptibly, telling her to not speak for he feared his mother would eat her alive if she could. He knew all too well the tempestuous nature of his mother. For reasons he couldn't quite fathom, his mother had taken an aversion to Meerab ever since her summer stays began, it seemed to worsen every summer, and was one of the reasons she had agreed so easily to let Meerab spend her time in the village away from her. It was as if Meerab had inadvertently offended her. Though unspoken, it was clear to Murtasim that his mother disapproved of Meerab's progressive ideals and the assertive way she presented herself, fearing that it would corrupt both Maryam and Haya.

His uncle, though equally displeased, was more measured as he took a few more steps towards them before launching into a tirade Murtasim knew the two of them had talked about at length on their way to the village. "I have gotten numerous phone calls about what you two are doing. You're walking a dangerous path, Murtasim. As a feudal lord, your responsibilities are not just to the land but to uphold the traditions that have kept this village together for centuries. Our authority, our control over the resources, and the respect we command – all of it is intricately tied to that."

Murtasim met his uncle's gaze, "Traditions should evolve with time."

"You call letting women sell pottery evolving?" Maa Begum scoffed, her eyes glinting with disdain as they flickered over to Meerab. "You're letting her idealistic nonsense cloud your judgment and alienating the villagers. I should have never let her come to the village with you! I thought Maryam was the only impressionable one, but I was wrong."

"Maa Begum, I -" Meerab stopped short as both his mother and her father glared at her.

Anwar's voice grew stern, "You are my daughter, but this is not your place, Meerab. You cannot get caught up in her whims, Murtasim. This village needs stability, not upheaval. Our family's reputation, the respect we've built over generations, our work – it's all at risk."

Murtasim took a deep breath, "The village is thriving, and the women are finally finding their voice. Isn't it our duty to support them?"

Maa Begum's face reddened, "Have you forgotten your role? A feudal lord must provide protection, ensure that resources are distributed, and above all, maintain the social hierarchy. You're eroding the very foundations of our system! That's why they're all switching sides."

Murtasim stood tall, "We need to change with the time, Maa."

The atmosphere in the room grew even tenser. Anwar sighed, "You're playing with fire, Murtasim."

Murtasim nodded, "Sometimes fire is needed to forge a new path."

Anwar sighed, "Your actions challenge the very essence of the social hierarchy we've been bound by. We have established roles – roles that have ensured stability and order for centuries. You're causing disruptions!"

Murtasim inhaled deeply, bracing himself, "Tradition should not be a barrier to progress. Times change, and we must change with them."

Maa Begum's eyes flared with disbelief, "It's not just about tradition! Our family holds power, influence. By doing these things, you attract the wrong kind of attention. The villagers are already picking sides, Murtasim! Our family has worked very hard to have the allegiances we have, you're ruining it all!"

"And the economic implications!" Anwar added, his fingers drumming impatiently on a nearby table. "The men leaving to Malik's lands mean less hands on the field, what are you going to do when it's harvest time? How are wwe going to keep up? On top of that, these women have roles, specific to agriculture and household management. By telling them to pursue different avenues, you are also getting rid of them and disrupting age-old systems that have been profitable. Have you even thought through all of that or did you just decide on a whim to do what Meerab wanted?"

Murtasim countered, "Of course I thought of that, I'll deal with it. We don't need as many people working the fields anymore with the progress of technology, we'll need to diversify in the long-run anyways, so why not start now? If people, especially women, find better economic opportunities, shouldn't we support them?"

Maa Begum waved her hand dismissively, "You clearly didn't think, Murtasim, if you think what you're doing is right."

"And it's not just about us," Anwar remarked, "Every feudal family in our circle thinks the same. Do you want us to become outcasts, shunned for promoting unconventional changes? For ruining our own stronghold?"

The room had become a tumultuous sea of voices, each trying to drown out the other. As Maa Begum and Anwar continued to emphasize the importance of upholding traditions and maintaining the status quo, Meerab tried to interject with reason and facts. But amidst this cacophony, Murtasim stood tall, his frame demanding attention.

He exuded an aura of authority and command that silenced everyone. "Enough!" he boomed, his voice echoing throughout the chamber.

All eyes turned to him. The fierce intensity in Murtasim's eyes conveyed a message clearer than any words could - he was in charge.

Murtasim stood at the center of the room, the heavy wooden beams above echoing the gravity of the moment. The soft flickering light from the sconces on the walls threw his shadow, tall and looming, on the ground. He took a deep breath, his chest rising, as he locked eyes with his mother and uncle. "I understand your concerns, truly I do," he began, voice deep and measured, yet every word infused with conviction. "You fear that our traditions will be lost, that we'll lose the very people we are responsible for, that our legacy will be tainted. But let me remind you – I am the feudal lord of this land. While I value your opinions, the ultimate decision on guiding this village rests with me." The silence that followed was almost palpable, the tension in the room as thick as the heavy drapes covering the windows.

His mother, eyes sharp and unyielding, let out a huff of disbelief, rolling her eyes. "Murtasim, I don't understand what she's done to you. Why are you doing what this girl is –"

Murtasim's nostrils flared, his grip tightening on the backrest of the chair he had been sitting in. With a scoff, he interrupted his mother, his voice tinged with a hint of mockery. "What did you all think? That I'd agree with whatever Meerab said? Do you not know me?"

His mother recoiled slightly, she averted her gaze, choosing to focus on the intricate patterns of the rug beneath their feet.

Gathering himself, Murtasim continued, his tone authoritative, "Let me remind you, I do what I want. And I wanted to do this. She might have started it, but I will end this."

Not one to be easily silenced, his mother shot back, voice trembling with emotion, "You're doing the wrong thing. All the other feudal families will laugh at you, our family will-"

Murtasim took a step towards her, his figure towering. Cutting her off, he declared with fervor, "Mujhe farq nahi padta. Iss gaddi par mein hoon, yeh khaandaan mujhse hai, mein khaandaan sai nahi. I will do what I want."

His mother's voice tinged with desperation, "I am saying it for the last time -"

He took another step forward. Eyes locked, he spoke fiercely, "Don't. I have decided. I'll do what I want, and no one can change my mind. No one." The finality in his voice leaving no room for rebuttal. "Remember when you were against the irrigation reforms? Today, our fields are more fertile than ever, producing surplus harvests," he continued, addressing his audience. "You opposed the health clinics, but now we see fewer deaths and diseases. You were against increasing wages as substantially as I did, or to giving out loans to the families we care for without interest, but all those things have helped this village and its villagers prosper, helping us prosper."

The room was still, each individual absorbing Murtasim's words.

"Every change I've initiated," Murtasim went on, "has been for the prosperity and betterment of our people. You've opposed every single one. I won't let fear of change hinder our progress. I'm not discarding our traditions, but adapting them for a brighter future. It's high time we look forward, not back."

Murtasim felt a persistent gaze on him, its intensity prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. Even without directly acknowledging it, he instinctively knew it was Meerab. There was a certain warmth in the way she looked at him, different from anyone else, a sensation he had grown to recognize. He resisted the urge to meet her gaze directly, but he could see her silhouette from his peripheral vision and thought he detected a gentle curve of her lips into a fond smile.

Taking a steadying breath, curiosity got the better of him and he turned slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. Meerab's eyes sparkled with unmistakable admiration and pride, a light in them that he hadn't seen directed towards him before. It was an expression so genuine, so devoid of the politics and games of their world.

His heart skipped a beat, a mix of exhilaration and dread. He felt seen, truly seen, and it both thrilled and terrified him. But the longer he held her gaze, the more he risked revealing. His mother was observant, and the last thing he wanted was to give her another reason to scrutinize his every move, and to accuse him of not fulfilling his responsibilities.

With a great deal of effort, Murtasim wrenched his gaze away, forcing himself to focus on anything but the magnetic pull of Meerab's eyes.

Somewhere during the intense exchange, unnoticed by them, Murtasimbakri, with her inquisitiveness had ventured into the room. The goat had stood there, still, as if she was gauging the mood and sizing up the humans involved in the conversation.

Everyone seemed too engrossed in their own thoughts and emotions, but the sudden silence was interrupted by the faint, rhythmic tapping of Murtasimbakri's hooves on the floor.

Suddenly, with a burst of energy, Murtasimbakri lunged towards Maa Begum. The swift charge caught Maa Begum off-guard, and she stumbled backward, letting out a startled scream. As she tried to regain her balance, her hands flailed, and she barely missed a nearby vase as she fell to the floor.

"What is this? Why is there a goat here?!" Maa Begum exclaimed, her voice an octave higher due to the shock. She swiped at Murtasimbakri, attempting to shoo the intruder away with her legs. "Get lost!"

"Stop! She's ours!" Murtasim and Meerab responded in unison as she tried to kick their goat away. Meerab, her feet almost flying, rushed to Murtasimbakri, bending down to scoop her up protectively in her arms, protecting her from his mother's kicks.

Murtasimbakri, clearly not done with her mischief, made a playful attempt to snatch Maa Begum's shawl with her teeth, tugging at the delicate fabric even as Meerab tried to redirect her focus and stop her.

Anwar, who had been watching the scene unfold with widened eyes, couldn't suppress a chuckle. He leaned forward, a smirk playing on his lips. "What's her name?" he inquired, genuine curiosity evident in his tone.

Both Murtasim and Meerab exchanged glances, an understanding passing between them. They held back from answering, knowing full well that divulging the goat's name would only further incense Maa Begum. They chose not to speak at all.

Clearly ruffled and red-faced, Maa Begum stormed out of the room, shooting them a warning glare. "Keep that... thing away from me," she spat out, her voice dripping with disdain.

Meanwhile, Murtasimbakri, having had her moment of mischief, settled comfortably against Meerab, nuzzling her affectionately. Meerab gently stroked her head, a soft smile on her face.

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Murtasim was deeply engrossed in reviewing a contract with a new vendor, the dim light from the desk lamp illuminating the room, casting long shadows on the walls of his study. The room was heavy with the musky scent of old books and aged leather.

He was startled by the soft, almost inaudible sound of the door creaking open. Peeking up, he saw and heard Meerab walk in, with Murtasimbakri closely following her, her little hooves clicking against the wooden floor. There was a part of him that wanted to tell Meerab to leave, to maintain the distance and boundaries, ones that were even clearer with his mother just doors away. Yet, the weary side of him, the side that was exhausted with the day's dramas and confrontations, wanted the comfort her presence provided.

Meerab approached his desk, her steps light and confident. She was carrying two steaming cups, no tray in sight. This casual demeanor of hers was always something that irked his mother, but to be fair everything about Meerab seemed to annoy her. To her, it was a sign of disrespect and informality, that drinks were meant to be served with a tray, that etiquette demanded it. But to Murtasim, the casualness of Meerab's actions felt...personal in a way.

With a slight smile, Meerab placed one of the cups before him. The familiar, sweet aroma of hot chocolate wafted up, instantly warming him from the inside out, and surprising him. How had she known it was his guilty pleasure? He hadn't told her. Had she asked someone else? Or did she just happen to guess correctly? He didn't ask though, for he feared it would open a can of worms that he wouldn't know how to deal with.

He took a tentative sip, the warmth and sweetness bringing a fleeting comfort on this cool night.

Meerab settled comfortably on the plush couch near his desk, pulling out a folder, clearly intent on going back to the school project they had been discussing prior to the arrival of their respective parents. Murtasimbakri, ever the curious creature, tried to nibble at the corners of the papers, evoking soft giggles and gentle chiding from Meerab.

As much as Murtasim tried to stay focused on his own work, his attention was constantly diverted by the soft sounds coming from her direction. The delicate curve of her lips as she smiled and giggled, the twinkle in her eyes as she playfully swatted at Murtasimbakri, and the soft hums she made while reading the documents were all distractions he didn't need but deeply craved.

He caught himself stealing glances at her from the corner of his eyes more often than he would have liked, the pull towards her almost magnetic. He felt a pang in his chest, a mix of warmth and a gnawing reminder of the complexities of their relationship. He had to summon all his willpower to turn back to his work, fighting the urge to get lost in the simplicity of the moment.

Murtasim listened as Meerab's patience began to wane. After several attempts to save her papers from Murtasimbakri's eager mouth, with an exaggerated sigh, she finally gave up and shoved all her documents into a drawer. Murtasim's amusement was apparent, the playful antics of their goat reminded him of the earlier days when Meerab had first returned.

Flashbacks to the first few weeks of summer filled his mind. Murtasimbakri had a peculiar habit back then. The cheeky goat seemed to have made it her mission to snatch any paper Murtasim was holding and chew on it. She would bolt away with the paper clamped between her teeth, much to his annoyance. He recalled chasing her around the courtyard, under the blistering sun, while she seemed to take perverse joy in his distress, munching on what often were critical documents.

There had been this one instance where he'd almost lost a contract to the devious creature. Meerab, trying to be helpful, had ended up in a tug of war with Murtasimbakri, each pulling on one end of the paper. By the time they had retrieved it, the document was in no state to be presented, slobbery and torn. He had spent the rest of the day drafting another copy.

Murtasim shook his head, coming back to the present moment. Murtasimbakri, perhaps sensing that the game was over for now, settled comfortably on the plush rug, eyes half-lidded, looking utterly content.

He could feel Meerab's gaze, the intensity of it demanding his attention. As much as he tried to bury himself in his work, it was hard to ignore the prickle of awareness that came with being the subject of someone's intense scrutiny. He stole a quick glance her way and found her looking right at him. Her warm brown eyes held a depth to them that he found unnerving. He returned his focus to his papers, but it was no use; the weight of her gaze persisted.

"What?" he finally surrendered, annoyance and curiosity giving him the courage to face her. And when he did, finally allowing himself to fully look at her, his irritation faded.

The Meerab in front of him was raw and real. Her damp hair, falling freely around her face, had those wisps that looked like they couldn't decide whether to curl or remain straight. Water droplets from her hair rested on her collarbone, glistening faintly. With her makeup washed away, the tiny imperfections on her skin were visible, adding to her authenticity.

The clothes she wore seemed so different from what she usually donned in public - loose, cozy, and clearly chosen for comfort rather than style. It was as if she had shed all the external layers and facades that the outside world often saw. He felt as if only he was privy to a side of Meerab that felt private and intimate, a version of her that was unguarded and unapologetic.

The atmosphere around them felt almost sacred, charged with an unspoken understanding. It was in this moment that he realized how truly comfortable she felt around him. And this realization was both troubling and exhilarating. She trusted him enough to let her guard down, to be vulnerable, and that made the space between them feel even more intimate.

It was dangerous.

She let out a slow breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I wanted to say sorry," she began, her voice soft, every word measured.

His brow furrowed, searching her face for some clue. "For?" he prompted, genuinely perplexed.

The way her fingers tightened around the cup gave away her discomfort. "I remember," she began, eyes not meeting his, "that first summer I stayed in Hyderabad... I made some pretty harsh assumptions about you. About what I thought feudal lords were like...I was wrong. I'm sorry." Her voice shook a bit at the end, but her sincerity was palpable.

A myriad of emotions coursed through him—shock, confusion, relief. He remembered those early days, how her barbed words had often left him feeling defensive and misunderstood.

Meerab pressed on, her tone more resolute now, "You could have chosen any path, Murtasim –" he both hated and loved the way his name rolled off her tongue, "you didn't have to support this idea, obviously that would have been easier, more acceptable in the eyes of the society we live in. Yet, you chose this thing I sprung on you and it's a huge mess. And you've already done a lot. And that..." she paused, her voice thick with emotion, "makes me so incredibly happy. I don't know if it's my place to say this, but I am...proud of you. Now, whenever people spout their misconceptions about feudal lords, I can confidently say that not all of them are like that, that some are wonderful. And I can genuinely mean every word."

The weight of her words pressed on his chest, leaving him almost breathless. No one had ever voiced such sentiments before. No one had ever looked past the title, the expectations, and the prejudiced perceptions. Everyone had been quick to judge, to criticize, and to make assumptions. But Meerab, she saw him. The real him. The man behind the title, the responsibilities, and the immense pressure.

And for that, he was grateful.

A heavy silence enveloped the room, their eyes locked, communicating more than words ever could. Murtasimbakri, probably sensing the charged atmosphere, moved her head back and forth, as if she was trying to read the situation, her beady eyes shifting from him to Meerab and back again.

The logical part of him knew that he was treading on dangerous grounds. Meerab would be leaving soon, as the summer drew to an end, and that was probably for the best. Yet, there was a gnawing sense of impending loss. The fact that she had plans to visit throughout the year, albeit for work, was both a source of comfort and dread.

Every visit would be a test of his self-control because he had a feeling that she too felt the same pull. If it was one-sided, it might have been easier to ignore, but if she looked at him like she was right then, like she had earlier, he didn't know how he'd stop himself from caving.

The pull he felt towards Meerab was undeniable. It was raw, magnetic, and visceral. Her free spirit, her vivacity, the unbridled joy she brought into his life - it was intoxicating. Every stolen glance, every touch, every whispered conversation had only deepened his affection for her.

He envisioned how it would feel to close the distance between them right then, to pull her into a hug, to feel her warmth and her heartbeat against him. Just the thought of wrapping his arms around her, feeling her slender frame against his chest, listening to her laughter and her sighs was overwhelming. The idea of pressing a gentle kiss on her nose, of tasting her lips, had his heart racing.

He had a feeling she would let him.

But he had to be strong. For both of them. He knew that acting on these feelings would only complicate things further. It would be a moment of happiness and then a lifetime of sadness. Taking a deep breath, he focused on regaining his composure.

Because it wasn't just about him or Meerab. It was about the intricate web of responsibilities, expectations, and familial ties that bound him. The Khan Haveli wasn't just a house; it was a symbol of centuries of legacy, one he was expected to carry on. His mother's words, laden with years of tradition and a fierce protectiveness, were the sobering reminders of reality.

Meerab's palpable discomfort around his mother and her father made things even clearer. The change in her demeanor was impossible to miss in just one day - the spark in her eyes dimmed, her laughter a bit more restrained, her steps a tad more cautious. Murtasim could see the strain being around them put on her. While the Khan Haveli was his sanctuary, for Meerab, it was a cage. And he couldn't, in good conscience, let that happen.

The undercurrents of tension, the silent battles of wills, the unspoken judgments - it would be a lot for anyone, let alone Meerab, who wore her heart on her sleeve.

She had that impulsiveness about her, that urge to live in the moment. It was one of the things he adored about her. But where Meerab might act on a whim, Murtasim was always acutely aware of the consequences. The ramifications of their potential relationship weighed heavily on him. The short-lived moments of happiness would be just that - fleeting. And the aftermath? A potential storm of heartbreak and chaos.

So, with a heavy heart, he anchored himself to the ground. The plush carpet under his feet became his tether to reality, pulling him back every time his mind wandered to what could be. He gazed back at Meerab, her beautiful face lit up in a smile, eyes full of longing. It tore at him, knowing that beneath that desire was a possibility of pain.

But he had to be strong, for both of them.

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In the chilling weeks of autumn, following Meerab's exit from the village, whispers and sly looks became rampant among the villagers. False narratives about Meerab and Murtasim were cleverly spun, some alleging that her intentions were impure, others implying Murtasim's complicity in her actions. The whispers seemed to have an insidious reach, tainting even the thoughts of those who had previously supported him.

It was undeniable. Murtasim felt his grip on the village wane. The formidable Malik's influence permeated every nook and cranny, and what was more disturbing was Rahim Baig, the village head, was now openly aligning himself with the Maliks as the tide started to turn. A shift in allegiance that Murtasim hadn't anticipated.

The village's idle chatter focused on the nature of Meerab's relationship with Murtasim, with many insinuating a clandestine affair. Distorted tales about their supposed secret rendezvous surfaced, tarnishing both their reputations. Baseless as these rumors were, they stung Murtasim deeply. Especially when a small part of him, the part that refused to be stomped down, harbored the secret hope that Meerab would one day become his wife. Such scandals, however unfounded, would follow them like a shadow if that would ever to happen. It wasn't just the rumors; he was painfully aware of the potential backlash from most of the village if he ever declared her as the future Khaani.

His internal battle raged. There was the defiant part of him that wanted to stand tall against the naysayers, the part of him that didn't care about what they though. But the thought of thrusting Meerab into this chaos, especially knowing she'd face disdain from both his mother and the villagers, weighed heavily on him. He knew he had to tread carefully, for even if he could look past it, he worried that it would hurt her.

His family's intervention in the matter was swift and resolute. Both his mother and uncle declared that Meerab was no longer welcome in the village. It pained him, but he too, in a moment of pragmatism, asked her to steer clear of the village, emphasizing the tumultuous state of affairs.

For Murtasim, every day was a challenge. Though his initiatives, like the school, were operational, they were met with fierce opposition. Malik's influence was so potent that Murtasim watched as many of his men defected. Some returned after a brief stint, remorse evident in their eyes. However, a significant number did not.

The most significant resistance came from the village elders. They were steadfast in their opposition, creating a rift between them and the enthusiastic younger generation eager for progress. As days turned into weeks, Murtasim witnessed a painful regression. Families that had once been beacons of hope started marrying off their young daughters. The very ideals they had once championed were now the ones they were shunning. With every passing week, the number of their initial supporters dwindled. It felt like watching the pillars of a once-strong fortress crumble, and Murtasim was at its center, trying desperately to hold it all together.

The determination of the women in the village was unmistakable. Every time Murtasim looked into their eyes, he saw a blazing desire for change. A thirst for empowerment, an urge to break free from the chains that held them back. These weren't just physical or economic chains, but societal ones, which ran deep and were far more complex to dismantle. The voices of many of these women were muffled, their desires suppressed under the weight of tradition and expectation.

Yet, the very opposition they faced seemed to strengthen their resolve. Murtasim realized that a significant number of villagers supported their vision for change; their hesitancy stemmed from fear rather than disagreement. The silent majority, as they were, needed just a little push, a sign that change was possible.

With Meerab miles away, they still managed to double their efforts, brainstorming innovative strategies to continue their mission. Meerab, despite the distance, ensured that the village remained a hub of learning. She dispatched colleagues regularly, turning the village into a vibrant learning center. Women, young and old, began mastering skills that had the potential to transform their lives. From stitching beautiful patterns to managing basic finances, they embraced every opportunity that came their way.

Murtasim played his role with dedication. He explored markets beyond the village boundaries, seeking traders and businesses interested in the goods produced by the women. His travels often led him to places he had never been, discussions he had never imagined, but his focus remained unwavering.

Education was paramount. Recognizing its potential to change mindsets, they had already established classrooms. These weren't grand structures but humble spaces filled with eager minds. Meerab's dedication shone brightly here, as she sourced and adapted curriculum from reputed institutions, ensuring quality education was accessible to all.

But Murtasim knew that for lasting change, he needed the elders on his side. Engaging them in intense dialogues, he highlighted the numerous benefits of empowering women. Economic growth, prosperity, and an elevated status for the village were all within reach. Some elders, albeit reluctantly, began to understand. They realized that their rich culture wasn't at risk by empowering women; in fact, it stood to benefit.

As days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, Murtasim could see the village evolving. Markets once dominated by men now showcased a few stalls run by women, displaying beautifully crafted items. The atmosphere was changing, the energy shifting.

However, resistance persisted. The road to complete transformation was long and fraught with challenges. Yet, the foundation had been laid. The initial steps towards a brighter, more equitable future had been taken. Murtasim was well aware of the battles that lay ahead, but with the seeds of change firmly planted, he was hopeful that with persistence and dedication, the village would one day stand as a beacon of progress.

Yet, within those seeds of change, there lurked the roots of his impending heartbreak. The journey had taken its toll, and as an enticing proposition, one that could be the perfect solution, was laid out before him, Murtasim was torn. Even as his family pressed upon the immense benefits of this offer, a part of him resisted. While the path of restitution beckoned promisingly, he struggled with the weight of a decision he didn't want to make, especially when he shied away from acknowledging the singular reason that held him back.

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A/N: Soooooooo, what do you think? What was your favourite part? And whatever shall happen next? We'll FINALLY get Meerab's POV next chapter! Hehehehe.