A/N: Y'all - there were over 1000 - ONE THOUSAND - comments on the last chapter?! I am flabbergasted, but so thankful glad that the last chapter made y'all feel so much. Thank you! Onto the next chapter, see you on the other side!

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The journey back from the Ali House felt like a descent into a cold abyss, every mile widening the gap between Meerab and Murtasim. He sat in the front of the car, Maryam somehow pushing the three of them into the same vehicle despite his obvious attempt to avoid it, while Maa Begum and Haya went in the other.

A chasm of silence existed between them. His gaze was fixed on the passing landscape as he drove, and her gaze was fixed on the back of his head, as if staring at him would give her all the answers to the unresolved emotions lingering between them.

Yussuf and Nabeela Ali had expressed their gratitude for saving Adam, their words warm and sincere. In contrast, Maa Begum's silence had been like a heavy blanket. Maryam's worried glances in her direction only added to the unease. Haya's presence barely registered in Meerab's tumultuous thoughts as they prepared to leave the Ali Farmhouse.

Murtasim's steadfast refusal to meet her eyes was a torment all its own. It gnawed at her, this deliberate neglect, especially after the kiss that had shattered her world. The way he had kissed her, it wasn't just a brush of lips; it was a claim, an unspoken declaration that she was his.

His words, but she's not you, hung in the air between them, an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

But he refused to speak a word.

And she didn't know what she could say in Maryam's presence that wouldn't give her away. So, Meerab remained quiet, observing how he didn't even dare to look into the rearview mirror in his avoidance. A far cry from the man who seemed to sometimes have difficulty looking away from her when he thought she wasn't looking.

In her room that night, the soft sheets and plush pillows offered no comfort. Sleep was a distant dream, as elusive as the answers she sought. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, each one echoing louder than the last.

Why had Murtasim kissed her with such desperate hunger, as if he were a man parched, finding an oasis in her lips?

Why had his touch ignited such a fierce passion, leaving her breathless and dazed, her heart racing in a wild rhythm?

Why had he kissed her in a way that redefined her definition of a kiss?

Why did it feel as if he had been holding back a flood of emotions?

Was there a hidden meaning behind the passion of his kiss, was she wrong in assuming that he too had harbored a secret longing?

Did the kiss mean as much to him as it did to her, or was it really a fleeting moment of lost control? Was it really a mistake?

How could he kiss her with such raw passion and then pull away so abruptly, leaving her in a whirlwind of confusion and unspoken desires?

Did his actions signify an internal battle, a clash between his heart's desires and the expectations placed upon him?

Each question swirled in her mind, a maelstrom of doubt and yearning.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized the complexity of what lay between them. It wasn't just a simple matter of attraction; it was a tangled web of emotions, societal norms, and unspoken truths.

The kiss had opened a door to a realm of possibilities, but it also brought forth a sea of uncertainties that she desperately needed to navigate.

She turned on her bed, restless, the moonlight casting shadows that danced across the walls, mirroring the turmoil in her heart. She needed answers, craved them like a lifeline.

Only Murtasim could quench this burning curiosity, could explain the maelstrom of emotions he had stirred within her. The kiss wasn't just a mere touch of lips; it was a storm that had swept her off her feet, and now she was adrift in a sea of confusion and longing.

In the stillness of the night, her decision was made. She would confront Murtasim. She needed to understand why he had kissed her with such fervor, why his actions contradicted his avoidance, why he had whispered those words that now haunted her every thought. She would seek him out, demand the truth, for she could no longer bear this torturous uncertainty. The need for clarity was a fire in her veins, and she wouldn't rest until it was quenched.

Meerab wrapped a shawl around her, the soft fabric gently caressing her skin. Her gaze drifted to the navy blazer lying on the chair, the one Murtasim had lent her. For a fleeting moment, she considered picking it up, returning it to its owner. But as she inhaled its scent, a mixture of his cologne, and something uniquely Murtasim, she hesitated.

She didn't want to give it back.

Reluctantly, she left the blazer behind, tiptoeing out of her room. The hushed corridors of the Haveli felt alien, yet eerily familiar in the darkness. She was drawn to his room, driven by a need for answers. The kiss they had shared had been a storm of emotions, a whirlwind that had swept her off her feet and left her breathless. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, he had retreated, leaving her in a wake of confusion and longing.

She navigated the familiar yet intimidating path to Murtasim's room. The uncertainty of their relationship weighed heavily on her heart. Before arriving in Hyderabad, she had been certain, or at least hopeful, that Murtasim harbored feelings for her. His actions had suggested as much, or so she had thought. Yet now, his silence about Asma and his sudden withdrawal after their kiss clouded everything with doubt.

Did he feel something for her? Why had he not spoken up when his mother mentioned his marriage to Asma? The questions swirled in her mind, an endless loop seeking closure. She needed to hear his words, to understand the reasons behind his actions, and to find out where they stood.

As she reached his door, a sense of resolve steadied her trembling hands.

Her hand hovered hesitantly before she gathered the courage to knock softly on the door.

The sound seemed to reverberate through the hushed hallway, amplifying her anxiety.

Each second that passed as she waited for a response felt like an eternity.

She questioned whether he would open the door or leave her standing there, once again ignored and unanswered.

The sound of footsteps approaching from inside the room broke the silence. Her breath hitched, a mix of hope and apprehension welling up inside her. As the door slowly opened, Meerab braced herself.

Murtasim's expression shifted from surprise to panic as he opened the door, his eyes widening as if he hadn't anticipated her presence at this late hour. Meerab, driven by a tumult of emotions, wasted no time. "What was that?" she blurted out, her voice a mixture of hurt and confusion.

He sighed, the muscles in his jaw tightening, a coldness creeping into his eyes that had never been targeted at her before. "Meerab, leave, it's late," he said, his tone sharp and unwelcoming. He made a move to close the door, clearly trying to put a physical barrier between them as he had emotionally.

Meerab's frustration, simmering beneath the surface, boiled over.

She wasn't the one sending mixed signals, she was not the one who had kissed with such intensity only to turn away moments later.

She placed her hand firmly against the door, preventing it from closing. "I refuse to leave without an answer," she declared, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "What was that, Murtasim?"

Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the man who carried her so tenderly, who held her with such reverence, who had kissed her with a passion that spoke of hidden depths of longing and desire.

He had been so distant all evening, and yet, for those fleeting moments when their lips met, he had been anything but. It was as if he, too, had been yearning for her touch, as if he had been haunted by the same dreams that kept her awake at night.

Meerab's her heart was pounding in her chest, an amalgam of hope and dread swirling inside her. But the hope shattered like fragile glass as he snapped at her, his words laced with anger. "Nothing, it was nothing. It meant nothing, I got caught up in the moment and made a mistake."

The venom in his voice stung her, each word a piercing arrow into her heart. She could feel the ache, the raw, unbearable pain that radiated through her being. Her mind raced, desperately chanting a mantra of self-preservation, don't cry, be strong, but the words felt hollow against the tide of emotions threatening to break through her defenses.

"You're the last woman I should want to be with but you keep confusing me and –"

Her voice, shaking with a cocktail of hurt and defiance, cut through the tension. "YOU kissed me," she asserted, her eyes locking with his, searching for a semblance of the man she thought she knew. "I didn't kiss you first."

His retort was swift and merciless, "It was a mistake, why would I kiss you when it can never go anywhere?"

The walls she had built to keep her composure were crumbling.

Don't cry, she thought to herself, a silent plea for strength.

But his words were relentless, each one a hammer against her resolve.

"It was nothing more than a mistake, forget about it." His voice was cold, void of the warmth she had once found solace in.

Tears welled in her eyes, betraying her inner turmoil.

She fought them back fiercely, not wanting to give in to her vulnerability, especially not in front of him.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry - she repeated inwardly, but the dam was breaking.

"Stop thinking about it and making it a big deal, and leave me alone," he concluded, his tone dismissive, as if he was discarding something insignificant.

The repeated mantra in her head, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, became a desperate whisper against the storm inside her. But it was in vain. And then, as if to seal the finality of his words, he closed the door in her face, leaving her standing alone in the hallway, engulfed in the deafening silence of rejection, a closure to her hopes.

She stood there, rooted to the spot, whispering to the unyielding wood, "I see." Her voice was a mere breath, a frail acknowledgment of her shattered heart.

Pain engulfed her, an invisible force squeezing her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

It wasn't a physical hurt, but the agony was all-consuming, as if every part of her ached with the reality of his rejection.

The tears, unstoppable and scalding, cascaded down her cheeks.

She raised her hand, wiping them away in a futile attempt to erase the hurt, to regain some semblance of control.

She turned away from the door, her footsteps muted as she wandered through the silent halls of the Haveli. Each step felt heavier than the last. She found herself gravitating towards the roof, a place that had once been a refuge, a silent witness to her earlier heartache – the first time Murtasim had shattered her with his cutting words.

As she emerged into the open air of the rooftop, the cool breeze brushed against her tear-streaked face, but it offered no comfort. She looked out over the expanse, her mind painfully replaying the past, the first time she had found solace here, after Murtasim's harsh words had pierced her soul when all she had been trying to do was clean and give him back the camera he supposedly loved so much.

"I should have known then," she whispered bitterly, a harsh laugh escaping her lips, devoid of any humor.

She should have never allowed him into her life after that first heartbreak.

She should have retaliated, should have shattered his camera, the tool of his art that he cherished so much.

She should have lashed out with words as sharp as his, telling him to fuck off, to leave her alone.

But she hadn't.

Instead, she had let him in, shared with him things she told no one, let him weave his way into her heart, thinking foolishly that maybe, just maybe, he cared.

Now, here she was again, on the same rooftop, her heart in ruins, a second time by the same man.

The irony wasn't lost on her, and it fueled her tears.

Her mind replayed his words, each syllable a hammer to her spirit.

He didn't want her.

She was a mistake.

How could she have been so wrong?

Her legs, weakened by the weight of her sorrow, buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground. Sobs shook her body, each one a release of the pain, the confusion, the longing she had held within.

She cried for her naivety, for the love she had foolishly nurtured, and for the painful realization that she had been nothing more than a mistake to him.

In the darkness, alone with her broken heart, Meerab let the tears flow, each one a testament to the love she had harbored, the dreams she had cherished, and the cruel awakening to a reality where she was unwanted, unloved, a mere mistake in the eyes of the one she had given her heart to.

The sky above Meerab stretched endlessly, a canvas of deep blues and twinkling stars, vast and unchanging. The stars, once a source of wonder, now seemed to mock her with their distant, cold light.

She gazed upwards, her tears tracing warm paths down her cheeks, each one carrying the weight of her broken heart. "It turns out that he doesn't want me either, Maa," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, addressing the heavens as if they held her mother's spirit. Speaking to her deceased mother had become her solace, her way of finding comfort in a world that felt increasingly cold and rejecting, for she believed that the woman who died giving birth to her would never have made her feel like those around her did.

"I am not enough for him either..." The words tumbled out amidst her tears, each syllable laced with pain.

A part of her had always known, a voice in the back of her mind she had tried to silence with hope. But hope had led her to fall, to surrender to a love that was never hers to claim.

"I know we're very different, we don't agree on a lot...but I thought we'd work it out." Her voice was choked, the words interspersed with sobs that shook her entire body.

"So what if his mother doesn't like me, or if I wanted to work as a lawyer," she continued, her voice growing fainter with each word, a desperate plea to the universe, to the mother she had lost.

She had envisioned a life where their love would bridge the gap between their worlds. "I thought we could figure it out, that maybe I couldn't have everything but at least I'd have him and that would be okay." Her dreams had been vivid, a tapestry of 'what ifs' and 'maybes', woven tightly around her heart.

But now, as she sat there, her body wracked with sobs under the indifferent expanse of the sky, she realized her dreams were just that - dreams. The reality was harsher, colder, a truth that left her feeling hollow and unwanted. The myriad dreams she had spun in her head, each 'but' countered with a hopeful solution, all came crashing down around her.

Her heart had wanted him, but her reality, it seemed, would never align with her desires.

Her heart was a cacophony of pain and regret, every beat echoing the sorrow that consumed her. "But I should have listened to my brain, na?" she whispered into the void, her voice breaking.

When he had pushed her away, time and again, she should have understood. But then he would look at her with such warmth, such longing, and she'd foolishly let herself believe in a fantasy.

"I am the idiot," she admitted to the night, her words filled with a bitter realization.

She berated herself for being naive, for allowing her heart to lead her into a dream that was always out of reach. Her thoughts were a whirlpool of self-reproach, every memory with him now tainted with the sting of rejection.

The familiar sound of the bell jingled softly, cutting through her sorrow. It was her, the goat he had given her, somehow finding her amidst her desolation. The animal nudged the door open with its nose, its presence a small beacon of comfort in her world of anguish.

The little goat approached her, bleating softly, its movements erratic, almost as if sensing her distress. She circled around her, then nestled close, its warm body pressing against hers.

Meerab's tears flowed freely, her sobs growing louder as the goat's presence brought Murtasim's memory even closer. This animal, their shared connection, now felt like a reminder of all that she had lost, all that she had hoped for but would never have.

Her fingers buried into the goat's fur, the only tangible link to the man she loved, now the source of her deepest heartache. Meerab clutched her closer, the goat's warm presence offering a small comfort amidst the tidal wave of her heartbreak.

She whispered the name "Rangeeli," a name she had first playfully given but seldom used in preference of teasing him. The familiar name Murtasimbakri was now a painful reminder of him, of what they had shared, and what was now irretrievably lost.

Rangeeli seemed to sense her sorrow, her bleats soft and questioning, her nudges gentle as if trying to coax Meerab out of her despair. But the pain was too deep, the wounds too fresh.

Rangeeli Murtasimbakri Ahmed-Khan, once a symbol of their unique bond, was now just Rangeeli, no longer a shared connection between her and him.

As Meerab stroked the goat, her fingers moving instinctively to scratch behind her ears, a soothing gesture for them both, she realized the finality of her decision. "I'll have to go now, Rangeeli," she said, her voice choked with emotion. The words felt foreign, detached from the name she had once said with such affection.

She spoke softly to the goat, a confession borne of her shattered heart. "I was...wrong. He doesn't love me." The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her realization. "Or if he does, he doesn't want to...so I shouldn't come back." Her voice trembled as she acknowledged the painful truth. "It's high time that I learn to accept that I shouldn't come back to places where I am not wanted." She whispered.

Meerab's tears continued to fall, each drop representing a piece of her heart that seemed lost, unwanted.

The Ahmeds, her so-called parents, had withdrawn their affection, replacing it with indifferent remarks following revealing that they weren't her biological parents. "This isn't your home anymore," they'd say, or, "Ask your father," as if she was a stranger they were looking after rather than their daughter. The warmth she once felt in their presence had evaporated, leaving a cold void.

Her biological father, whom she had approached with a glimmer of hope, had rejected her too, saying she looked too much like her mother. He distanced himself, avoiding her, creating a chasm she couldn't bridge, despite her efforts to connect, despite being the reason she spent summers away from Karachi.

In the Khan household, Maa Begum's disapproval was evident in every interaction. She reminded Meerab constantly that she was merely a guest, critiquing her every move. Meerab could feel the judgment in her eyes, the disdain in her tone, making it clear she would never be accepted as part of their family.

Even Maryam, whom she was close with and adored, seemed more interested in Haya. Haya's presence year-round had cemented her place in Maryam's heart, leaving Meerab on the periphery as the perpetual outsider despite her best efforts.

The villagers hated her, even the ones that were once supportive of her efforts retreated.

Her so-called friends in Karachi had started distancing themselves as the rumors about her parentage swirled - exaggerated and sometimes hurtful rumors spread by those she had once considered friends. Their betrayal stung, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

And now, him. The man she had dared to love, the one she thought might be different because of the way he acted and made her, had turned away from her as well. His kiss, which should have been a symbol of shared affection, was now a painful reminder of what could never be. His words, harsh and final, echoed in her mind, amplifying her feeling of isolation.

His rejection stung the deepest, carving a hollow void where hope once resided.

She had built a unique connection with him, a bond that she believed transcended the usual bounds. Yes, his words could be harsh at times, his anger palpable, but his actions had always spoken of something more, something deeper. And now, his rejection left her questioning everything, doubting the very essence of who she was.

Was there something inherently wrong with her that pushed everyone away?

Meerab hugged her knees closer, trying to contain the pain that seemed to be leaking out of her very pores. She had told herself she didn't need anyone, that she was strong enough on her own. But deep down, she had yearned for him, for his acceptance, his love. And the stark reality that he didn't want her was a crushing blow to her already fragile heart.

"I'm done," she whispered into the night, her voice breaking, as Murt - Rangeeli nuzzled her again. "I am going to stop all of this. No more tears, no more pain. I am not going to care about anyone. I refuse to shed another tear over any of them...especially him." She was determined to build a wall around her heart, to never let anyone close enough to hurt her again.

Her tears continued to fall, betraying her resolve, but she stubbornly wiped them away, each tear a symbol of her newfound resolve.

"I won't let them see me break," she promised herself, her voice gaining strength amidst her tears. She would no longer allow anyone, especially him, to have the power to hurt her. She would guard her heart fiercely, never again leaving it vulnerable to the whims of others.

The cold breeze whipped around her, but it was nothing compared to the icy sting of realization that she couldn't, shouldn't beg for love. The very idea that she had to plead for affection made her feel small and insignificant, as it had over the past few years, a mere shadow in the lives of those she yearned for.

She was exhausted from the emotional toll of constantly seeking approval, of yearning for a love that always seemed just out of reach. He, whom she had thought different, had proved to be the most painful lesson of all. She had read his actions as signs of care and affection, but his words had shattered that illusion, revealing a truth she had been too naive to see.

She chided herself for the foolishness of her expectations. If the very parents who had raised her now kept her at arm's length, and her biological father had remained indifferent to her existence, how could she have hoped for more from someone else? The dreams she had woven around him were just that – dreams, figments of her own wishful thinking.

In the solitude of the night, with the cold stars as her only companions, Meerab vowed to protect herself. Never again would she allow herself to be so vulnerable, to build castles in the air. She would be her own anchor, her own source of strength. As the night wore on, the resolve hardened within her, forming a shield against the world that had so callously disregarded her heart.

She clung to Rangeeli, the only constant in her world of change, her tears soaking the goat's fur. In that moment, on the rooftop, under the indifferent gaze of the stars, Meerab felt utterly alone. The gentle night breeze carried her words away, whispers of a love unrequited, a dream unfulfilled.

In the stillness of the night, with Rangeeli by her side, Meerab braced herself for the inevitable goodbye, a farewell not just to him but to a part of her own heart.

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In the hours that followed, Meerab tried to embrace indifference, to convince herself that she no longer cared. She told herself over and over that she wouldn't yearn for someone who clearly didn't want her. But in the silence of her solitude, her heart betrayed her, clinging to a sliver of hope that he would come to her, offer words of regret, a glance, anything to show that he still cared.

The hours turned into days, and he was nowhere. He was like a ghost, his absence more palpable than his presence had ever been. Maa Begum's incessant chatter about Asma was a constant reminder of what she had lost, driving the knife deeper into her already wounded heart.

Unable to bear it, Meerab left for Karachi.

Even though Meerab would tell herself that she didn't care, she would wait, week after agonizing week, for a sign. A text, a call, a mere acknowledgment of her existence.

But nothing would come. His silence would be deafening, a void that would consume her every waking thought. Her phone would become a reminder of what she yearned for, and yet feared.

His last words to her, a cruel echo that would haunt her every time she tried to reach out in a moment of weakness.

Night after night, as darkness would envelop her, Meerab would find herself breaking her own promises. Tears would stream down her face, her body would shake with sobs that she couldn't control.

Love, she would realize, was the ugliest emotion of them all, a cruel master that left nothing but pain in its wake.

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In the confines of her home in Karachi, Meerab's early return was met with frustration rather than concern. Her parents, the Ahmeds, couldn't mask their irritation, questioning her about the abrupt end to her stay. They seemed more upset about the disruption of their vacation plans than her well-being, even if the words weren't said out loud.

They kept questioning her. But how could she explain to them that her heart was shattered, that she had fallen for a man who had carelessly tossed her feelings aside?

Her home, once a haven, now felt stifling, a place where her pain was invisible. They didn't seem to notice the hollow look in her eyes, the dark circles that had taken residence beneath them, or the way her smile had faded into a mere shadow of its former self. They didn't ask her if she was all right. The accusation in their tone was evident, a subtle blame for ruining their well-crafted plans. In their eyes, she was the disruptor, not a daughter nursing a broken heart.

The invitation that arrived at their doorstep only added salt to her open wounds. His engagement, slated to be celebrated a week before her own birthday, was a cruel reminder of the love she had lost. The card, with its elegant script and formal wording, felt like a final nail in the coffin of her hopes and dreams.

In a desperate attempt to escape the suffocating atmosphere of her home and the haunting memories of him, Meerab seized the opportunity to complete her delayed internship, the one she had put off to spend the summer with him even as her professors advised her against it.

She chose to work with an NGO in the rural parts of Pakistan, convincing herself that the decision was purely professional. But deep down, she knew it was a flight from the pain, from the reminder of his betrayal, and the impending day she did not want to think about.

As she traveled north, the journey felt longer than it was, each mile stretching out like an endless road of torment. The verdant landscapes blurred past her window, but her eyes were clouded with unshed tears. Tears she tried to convince herself weren't because of him. She wiped them away discreetly, refusing to let the driver see her cry.

As she arrived at the NGO's headquarters, a sense of trepidation gripped her. The manager, a woman in her fifties with a keen eye, immediately noted Meerab's tardiness, by weeks. Her words were sharp, a reminder of the seriousness of the internship that Meerab had seemingly shrugged off. But as the manager's gaze lingered on Meerab's exhausted facade, her tone softened. It was a stark contrast to her parents' indifference to her pain, a small gesture of understanding that Meerab silently appreciated.

Determined to distract herself from the heartache, Meerab plunged into work with a fervor.

She lost herself in the plethora of tasks, allowing the busyness to consume every waking thought. The flurry of activities, from village visits to legal research, left little room for her mind to wander back to him.

She pushed herself to the brink of exhaustion, a desperate attempt to avoid the memories that threatened to engulf her in moments of stillness. Those around her teased her, calling her Superwoman for she did weeks of work in just days, they thought she was trying to catch up on the weeks she had missed.

She didn't bother to correct them.

Her days were a blur, merging into each other as she and her colleagues traversed from one rural setting to another. They were building a case against a corporate giant accused of polluting villages with their factories. The gravity of their task gave Meerab a sense of purpose, a much-needed anchor in the storm of her emotions.

She acted as if she had no sense of time, never scribbling a date on any of her paperwork, as if it stopped time itself. Yet, as the days ticked by, Meerab was acutely aware of the impending date - the day he would officially be engaged to someone else. A day that would seal her fate and his, a day that would confirm the end of a chapter her heart never wanted to close despite her brain telling her that the book had been burnt. Yet, she told herself it didn't matter. She clung to the facade of indifference, a shield against the pain that loomed on the horizon.

Meerab's attempt at composure crumbled as she gazed at a baby goat playfully bounding across a farm. The sight unearthed a deluge of emotions she'd been desperately trying to suppress. Memories of them with their goat, a symbol of the bond she shared with him, crashed into her, overwhelming her with a sorrow so profound it manifested as a physical ache. Tears spilled uncontrollably, blurring her vision as she struggled to maintain a facade of normalcy.

An elderly woman, her skin weathered by years and her eyes carrying the wisdom of age, approached Meerab. The woman's presence was comforting, yet intrusive in Meerab's private moment of grief. As she sat down next to Meerab, her voice, soft and laced with empathy, cut through the silence. "Your eyes are too sad for someone so young, my dear," she observed, her tone gentle.

Meerab could only offer a feeble shrug, words failing her. She knew her tear-streaked face and red, swollen eyes betrayed her inner turmoil.

The woman, perceptive and caring, continued, "Who makes you so sad?" Her question was straightforward, yet it seemed to pierce right through Meerab's heart.

Blaming herself seemed easier, less painful. "Myself," Meerab replied, her voice barely above a whisper. It was easier to accept that she was the architect of her own despair.

The elderly woman shook her head, a knowing smile on her lips. "That can't be...it's a boy, isn't it?" she prodded gently.

Meerab let out a sad chuckle, her tears temporarily stemmed by the woman's frankness. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, her voice laced with a resigned humor.

"When you're my age, it is," the woman replied with a sage nod. Her statement held a depth of understanding that only came with years of experiencing life's myriad joys and sorrows.

Meerab exhaled deeply, her voice barely audible as she confided in the elderly stranger, a woman who had unwittingly become the recipient of her pent-up emotions, the first human she uttered the words she wanted to say to him to. "I love someone," she admitted, her voice laced with a lingering sense of longing, hating herself for saying love. The past tense 'loved' seemed too final, too conclusive for the raw, unresolved feelings that still clung to her heart.

Continuing, she poured out the confusion that had been tormenting her soul. "I thought he liked me, if not loved me too...but he doesn't, or doesn't want to," she confessed, her words laden with the weight of unrequited affection and the perplexity surrounding Murtasim's actions.

"And he's getting engaged to someone soon," she added, the mere utterance of this fact sending a fresh wave of anguish through her. The reality of losing Murtasim to someone else, of witnessing him tie his life to another, was a pain so intense it threatened to engulf her whole being.

The old woman, her face etched with lines of empathy and understanding, sighed deeply. Her gaze was gentle yet piercing, as if she could see right through Meerab's facade into the depths of her broken heart. "He must be an idiot," she whispered, her words not just a statement, but a balm, offering a small comfort in Meerab's world of hurt.

Meerab, however, could only muster a desolate shrug in response. "Or maybe I am the idiot for thinking he could ever want me," she said, her voice tinged with self-doubt and a deep-seated feeling of unworthiness. The words echoed her deepest fears – that she was fundamentally lacking, that she was not enough to be chosen, to be loved, like it had been a curse placed on her from birth.

The old woman's question hung in the air, thick and heavy. "You want to marry him?" Her voice was soft, tinged with empathy, yet it cut through Meerab like a sharp blade. It was a question Meerab had skirted around in her own mind, afraid to confront it head-on.

For the first time, Meerab allowed herself to fully embrace the thought, to let it bloom in her mind's eye. Suddenly, she was there - in her imagination - at the numerous functions, draped in beautiful attire, her eyes sparkling with love and happiness. She could almost feel the weight of the bridal dress, the warmth of the celebration around her, and most importantly, the presence of him as her devastatingly handsome groom. She envisioned sitting on the other side of a curtain from him, her heart racing with joy as she said qubool hai, affirming her willingness to be his bride, his partner for life.

Meerab's nod was slow, weighted with the gravity of her realization. Yes, she had wanted to marry him. The thought had been there, unspoken but ever-present, like a silent undercurrent in her dreams and daydreams. She wanted more than just a fleeting summer with him; she yearned for a lifetime.

"But that doesn't matter I guess," Meerab's voice was a mere whisper, a soft surrender to the harsh reality of her situation. The words were a quiet admission of defeat, an acknowledgment of a dream that could never be. 

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A/N: Soooooo, what do you think? I know, I know, it's a lot of dukh-dard. In the next chapter we'll hear from Rangeeli Murtasimbakri Ahmed-Khan and get a peek into why Murtasim is being such an asshole! 

If y'all are on Twitter -- I will be joining a Twitter Space with some other writers - it's at 6pm GMT (UK Time), which is 10am PST, 1pm EST, 11pm in Pakistan, 11:30pm in India)! Drop by if you get the chance! Toodles!