A/N: It was very interesting to watch the U-Turn most of y'all did the last chapter, welcome back to feeling for Murtasim and loving him, I was here the whole time (because I knew the plot). Hehehe. Here's the next chapter!

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Murtasim's skepticism about the suitability of the suitors selected by his family was proving to be well-founded. Despite the impressive profiles on paper, each candidate he and Areeb investigated revealed flaws that disqualified them in Murtasim's eyes. These men, though from wealthy and educated backgrounds, harbored secrets ranging from drug offenses and gambling debts to frequenting disreputable places. Murtasim knew none of them could offer the kind of love and freedom Meerab deserved.

Areeb, assisting in the vetting process, expressed frustration, believing that no one could truly match Meerab's worthiness in Murtasim's eyes. Murtasim realized the truth in Areeb's words. To him, Meerab was perfect, a paragon that no man could match, not even himself. He understood that his standards for her suitors were impossibly high because, in his eyes, no one, including himself, was truly worthy of her. But there had to be someone that was close.

Then, the search for a suitor brought a surprising candidate not listed by either family: Shahmeer Sikander. The son of a man who had worked with Meerab's father, Shahmeer hailed from an influential family of builders, wealthier than the Khans and Ahmeds.

The Ahmeds had decided to ease the formality of suitor meetings with a dinner outside, under the stars, hoping to foster a more relaxed atmosphere conducive to open conversation and genuine connections. That's what they said. But Murtasim wondered how much it had to do with the fact that Murtasimbakri had chewed up Anila's sofa the last time a suitor had visited.

In the softly lit backyard, Murtasim stood to the side, his senses heightened as Shahmeer Sikander walked in with his father. There was something in Shahmeer's gait, a calculated casualness that seemed rehearsed for occasions such as this. His scent was a mix of expensive cologne and underlying confidence. His voice, when he greeted them, was smooth, the sort that Murtasim imagined could easily charm the unsuspecting into believing in its sincerity. Shahmeer's appearance was refined—hair styled to casual perfection, beard groomed to the right degree of stubble. His clothes whispered the subtle luxury of high-thread-count fabric, betraying the wealth of his family.

As Meerab entered, adorned in an elegant pink attire that blended seamlessly with the soft hues of the evening sky, there was an undeniable brightness in her eyes. Her beauty was accentuated by her straight hair, flowing gracefully with each movement. She seemed almost ethereal against the backdrop of the setting sun, drawing everyone's attention effortlessly – the adults were sitting to one side of the table, and Murtasim saw the subtle nod of Shahmeer's father as Meerab arrived.

Yet, his attention did not stay on him for long. Murtasim's eyes narrowed as he observed the way Shahmeer's lips curved into a polite smile upon seeing Meerab. It was a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, eyes that, while acknowledging her beauty, seemed to hold a distance that was incongruous with the moment.

Murtasim's gaze hardened as Shahmeer's reaction unfolded. There was a brief lift of the brow, an acknowledgment of Meerab's attractiveness, but it was fleeting, replaced too quickly by an air of indifference. How could he not show more interest? Meerab, with her vibrant aura, was a woman who demanded attention by her mere presence. The disconnect didn't add up in Murtasim's head. He knew Meerab well—the spark in her eyes, the passion in her speech—and Shahmeer's lack of genuine intrigue was a silent alarm that rang clear in Murtasim's mind.

As the conversations around them swirled with pleasantries and small talk, Murtasim's instincts were on high alert. The subtlest of nuances in Shahmeer's expressions, the timing of his glances, the tone of his responses—all scrutinized under Murtasim's watchful presence. There was an art to reading people, and Murtasim felt certain that something crucial lay beneath the surface of Shahmeer's polished exterior, something crucial that made him an ill-fit for his Meerab.

Murtasim, seated unobtrusively to one side of the table, observed the scene with heightened senses. His focus was entirely on Meerab, whose laughter seemed to fill the space more often than he remembered. Each time she laughed, it struck a chord in him, stirring a mix of emotions. He longed for the days when her laughter was a response to their shared moments, her giggles light and genuine, just for him.

'Why is she laughing so hard? It wasn't that funny,' Murtasim thought, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in his chest with each of Meerab's chuckles. This laughter was different from what he had known; it was louder, more pronounced, and somehow, it didn't seem to fit the Meerab he knew.

Her smile was constant, lighting up her face in a way that seemed to draw in everyone around her—everyone but Murtasim, who watched with a furrowed brow, his mind racing with questions. 'Why is she smiling so much at him? Why is she fluttering her eyelashes like that? Is there something in her eyes?' His thoughts were a tumultuous storm, each one more agitated than the last.

As Shahmeer recounted another tale, supposedly humorous, Meerab's hand reached out, brushing Shahmeer's arm with a feigned nonchalance that didn't escape Murtasim's notice. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the fabric of his trousers taut between his fingers. His jaw was set, muscles working as he fought to maintain a veneer of indifference, though inside, a cauldron of jealousy was bubbling, threatening to spill over.

Murtasim's gaze was fixed on Meerab, the intensity of his scrutiny hidden behind a mask of stoic observation. With each of Meerab's exaggerated reactions, his heart sank a little lower, a silent plea escaping his lips to stop the charade. Yet, he remained a spectator, a silent guardian wrestling with the tempest of his own making.

Murtasim watched, his jaw tensing with each of Meerab's forced giggles. His patience fraying, he decided it was time to intervene. The sound of Meerab's giggles, once music to his ears, now grated on him. There was something unsettling about Shahmeer, and he was determined to uncover it.

Leaning forward, his eyes locked onto Shahmeer with an intensity that cut through the casual atmosphere of the gathering. "Who's in your family, Shahmeer?" he asked, each word deliberate, probing.

Shahmeer, slightly taken aback, answered, "Just me, my dad, and my cousins."

Murtasim hummed, a low, thoughtful sound that filled the brief silence. "And what are their expectations after your marriage?" he continued, his gaze never wavering.

Shahmeer looked momentarily confused, the question seemingly catching him off guard. "To continue our family legacy, of course," he responded, trying to match Murtasim's intensity.

Meerab, sensing the tension, tried to interject, "Murtasim, maybe—" but her words were swiftly overshadowed by Murtasim's relentless pursuit.

Ignoring her, he pressed on. "Do you plan to live with your family post-marriage?"

Shahmeer answered, his voice steady but his eyes revealing a flicker of uncertainty. "Likely, but I travel a lot for work."

Murtasim's scrutiny was unyielding, his mind racing, dissecting Shahmeer's responses, searching for the truth behind the facade.

"Between?" Murtasim prodded, his mind picturing Meerab alone, her independence possibly curtailed in Shahmeer's absence, as he suspected would be the case with him too – Murtasim didn't trust him mother or uncle to give her the freedom she needed if he was locked up in jail away from her, and he needed to make sure she had that elsewhere.

"All over Pakistan, Dubai, and England occasionally," Shahmeer answered, his voice echoing slightly in the open space.

Murtasim hummed thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed. "And what would that mean for your wife?" he asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.

Meerab hissed under her breath, a sound only Murtasim could hear. "Stop interfering in my life!"

Murtasim's attention snapped to her. He was momentarily lost in the sight of her upturned face. The room's soft lighting caught the contours of her visage, casting shadows that only accentuated her features – her dark eyes were alive with a fire that could outshine the stars twinkling outside. Her cheeks, flushed with a rosy hue of annoyance, only added to her allure. It had been long since Murtasim had seen her this close, this fierce, and it struck something deep within him.

"She can come with me if she wants," Shahmeer was saying, his eyes sliding from Meerab's animated expression to Murtasim's fixed gaze, back and forth, over and over again.

Murtasim barely heard him. His focus was solely on Meerab, on the slight tremble of anger in her slender neck, the way her lips pressed together in a firm line, the delicate flare of her nostrils as she breathed. Even in her ire, she was breathtaking, and Murtasim felt a familiar pull, an urge to bridge the gap that had grown between them.

Meerab looked away first. Murtasim's focus sharpened on Shahmeer. "Your cousins, are they a threat to your inheritance?" he asked, skepticism lacing his tone.

"Not at all. We're a united family," Shahmeer replied, but Murtasim sensed an undercurrent of tension in his voice.

"Acha? I read something about a power struggle in the news," Murtasim challenged, his words pointed.

"Comes with the territory... I suspect it's safer than your line of work," Shahmeer retorted, an eyebrow arched defiantly.

Murtasim hummed again, undeterred. "Views on women working?"

"If it aligns with family values," Shahmeer answered, his response a carefully crafted neutrality.

Meerab's voice cut through the tension again, weary this time, "Murtasim, that's enough." Her plea hung in the air, ignored.

"That's a vague answer," Murtasim said sharply, his eyes locked on Shahmeer. "What would your family expect from Meerab?"

The air was charged, Shahmeer's eyes glinting as they moved from Meerab's downcast face to Murtasim's hard stare. "To uphold our family's honor."

Murtasim's voice was edged with frustration. "What does that even mean? Meerab is ambitious, a lawyer in the making. Will you support her?"

A grin flashed across Shahmeer's face, misplaced in the strained conversation. "If it doesn't conflict with family duties."

Murtasim's glare intensified. "That's not an answer."

Shahmeer leaned back, a challenge in his tone. "Why do you need one so badly?"

"I don't want her to be unhappy," Murtasim snapped, his hands clenching at his sides.

Meerab let out a sigh of exasperation. "Murtasim, stop."

"Interesting," Shahmeer muttered under his breath, his gaze sharp as he looked between them again.

"So?" Murtasim pressed, leaning in, a predator eyeing his quarry.

"If she wants to work she can," Shahmeer said, a note of finality in his voice.

"Your father will agree?" Murtasim's question was pointed, a direct challenge. The man in question was on the other side of the garden, speaking with Waqas and Anwar.

Shahmeer's response was cool and collected. "I can convince him," he declared with a confidence that seemed to fill the space between them.

Murtasim's voice was low and steady, "She's also super stubborn—"

Meerab's scoff cut through the air, a sharp and crisp sound that briefly overpowered the murmur of conversation around them.

Undeterred, he continued, "—even though she usually has a point...you don't get angry easily, do you Shahmeer?"

The grin on Shahmeer's face stretched wider, and Murtasim felt a surge of dislike for that all-knowing smirk. It was as if Shahmeer had stumbled upon a secret and was reveling in it.

"I manage my emotions well," Shahmeer replied, his tone smooth as silk but not quite reaching his eyes. Murtasim's gut twisted with a sense of unease; the answer was too polished.

Frustration emanated from Meerab in waves. She turned to Murtasim, her whisper fierce and cutting. "Why don't you become a detective or something? You're interrogating him like a suspect."

Her words were meant to sting, but Murtasim's focus was unshakeable. "Any past relationships?" he pressed on, his gaze never leaving Shahmeer.

For a moment, Shahmeer's polished exterior cracked, his smile faltering, his eyes darting left and right, avoiding Murtasim's penetrating stare.

Murtasim's suspicion grew like a living thing within him.

"I prefer to look to the future," Shahmeer finally said, but his voice lacked its earlier confidence.

"Do you love someone else?" Murtasim asked, each word deliberate, aimed like an arrow.

Shahmeer stumbled over his words for the first time that evening. "Why would I be here then?"

Murtasim leaned back, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. "You tell me," he said, his voice a blend of challenge and curiosity, waiting for a truth only Shahmeer could reveal.

Shahmeer's gaze held Murtasim's for a moment longer before flicking to Meerab. "Why am I here?" He posed the question directly to Murtasim, his voice carrying a note of challenge.

It was then that Murtasim's mother approached, her presence like a soft breeze as she moved from the cluster of adults at the garden's far end. Her eyes, filled with a mother's concern, settled on her son with a sigh brushing past her lips.

Murtasim felt a shift in the atmosphere, his attention drawn away as he caught Meerab's gaze. Her eyes were alight, the kind of bright, intense burn that could start fires. Anger radiated off her in waves, and despite the situation, Murtasim couldn't help but find her absolutely mesmerizing in her fury.

"Can I talk to you?" Meerab's voice was a hiss, barely containing the tempest within.

With a nonchalant shrug, Murtasim acquiesced. Meerab rose from her seat, her movements a march of determination as she headed towards Murtasimbakri's little wooden house in the garden. Each stomp was pointed, a punctuation to her mood, and Murtasim found a reluctant smile tugging at his lips at the sight.

"Excuse me," he murmured to Shahmeer, standing to follow.

The man simply smiled, that infuriatingly complacent smile, and nodded. "Of course."

Murtasim turned, his senses filled with the night's subtle symphony—the distant chatter of the garden party, the rustling of leaves in the gentle night breeze, the soft footfalls on grass as he followed Meerab's retreating figure to where Murtasimbakri's – who she insisted on calling Rangeeli – little wooden house was.

"What is the meaning of all of this?" Meerab's voice was sharp as she spun around, her back against the wooden structure.

"I am trying to make sure he's a good suitor," Murtasim replied, trying to sound casual, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

"You're interrogating him!" Her voice was a hiss, her figure tense.

"Well, someone has to, not everyone can sit and giggle," Murtasim retorted, the memory of her laughter with Shahmeer still stinging.

Her eyes scanned his face, searching, accusing. "What is your problem, Murtasim?" She took a step towards him, closing the distance.

"Nothing, I don't have one," he lied, looking past her shoulder, unable to meet her gaze.

"Clearly you do, you did this with Ali too," she said, taking another step.

"And he proved to be wholly unsuitable for you!" His voice rose, and he stepped forward, almost involuntarily.

"Why do you care so much?" She was closer now, her eyes intense, looking for an answer in his.

Murtasim suddenly became acutely aware of her proximity. The familiar scent of roses and vanilla wafted from her, a fragrance he'd come to associate with moments of closeness now lost to time. Her nearness was a vivid reminder of their intertwined past.

"Why do you care so much?" she asked again, her voice softer, a stark contrast to the sharpness of her earlier words.

His eyes, almost against his will, flickered to her lips—the same lips that had pressed against his in a heated moment following a previous argument, an irony not lost on him. The memory was a tangible thing, and he felt a tightening in his chest, a longing for something he knew he could never have. Their history was etched in such confrontations, leading to explosive moments where the line between anger and passion blurred. Now, standing close enough to feel the warmth of her breath, Murtasim was reminded of all that he had been trying to keep at bay.

He glanced away, the proximity becoming too much. "I don't want someone unsuitable to marry into the family."

"That's all?" She was quieter now, almost at arm's length, the night air around them charged with the tension of their nearness.

He looked back at her, his gaze heavy with words unspoken. Her hopeful eyes searched his, and it pained him. Each glance from her pierced him deeper, her hope a sharp contrast to his despair.

He wanted to confess the storm within: his love for her, overwhelming and consuming, a love so intense that he never thought it possible, it threatened to overwhelm him. It was a love he'd fought against, a force he'd tried to bury, but it surged stronger with each passing day.

He longed to confess how each of Meerab's laughs shared with another was a lash against his heart, each smile she bestowed on someone else a theft from his very soul. Murtasim yearned to be her champion, the guardian of her smiles, the custodian of her dreams. He wanted to claim every right to stand beside her, to fight for her, to envelop her in the love that seethed within him.

Yet they stood in a tangled web of circumstances where such dreams seemed forbidden, a cruel reality that rent his heart into fragments. The shard-like pieces cut into him, a constant reminder of a happiness that seemed just out of reach, an echo of what could have been. His heart lay in ruins, and the rubble was his to bear alone. The truth of their impossible union—or rather, the lack of one—was a specter that haunted his every moment, leaving him cloaked in a shroud of silent agony.

Her scent enveloped him, and the warmth of her breath brushed against his skin. He hadn't been this close to her since the night passion had overtaken them, since he had her against a wall, their breaths mingling, their lips locked in a fervent kiss. The memory was a cruel echo in the void between them.

He wanted to tell her everything—that the thought of her with someone else was unbearable, that his nights were haunted by the ghost of their shared moments, by beautiful dreams where they were together and that each morning dawned with an ache that felt like his heart was being carved from his chest as the realization of his reality hit anew.

Hatred surged through him, not towards her but towards every man who might call her his. His mind raced with escape plans, a future where they could be together, safe, away from the threats that their reality posed. But each scenario faded, shadow-like, leaving him with nothing but the cold truth.

And yet, the words wouldn't come. He couldn't shatter the fragile truce they'd built, couldn't burden her with the weight of his heart. So, he stood there, silent, the truth screaming in his silence.

He nodded, the motion stiff, robotic. "That's all," he said, his voice a mere echo of the turmoil inside.

The words he wanted to say – I want you to be happy, even if it's not with me, I want someone to love you more than I love you - remained locked behind his lips. He didn't voice the desire that someone would cherish her as profoundly as he did, a feat he was sure was impossible.

Meerab glared at him, her eyes flashing with a mix of emotions, and then turned sharply, walking away. Each step she took was like the twisting of a knife in his already wounded heart, leaving him feeling hollow.

As he watched her retreating back, Murtasimbakri approached, her presence a small comfort. He bent down, his fingers brushing through her coarse fur. "What do you think? Will he love her more than I will?" He whispered, the question rhetorical, his voice breaking with a sorrow too deep to bear.

The goat simply bleated, a sound that was both question and answer in the stillness of the night.

"Yeah, I don't think so either... there's something wrong with him, and I am going to figure it out," Murtasim whispered back, a fierce determination setting in. His resolve was a fortress, his mission clear, even as his heart lay in ruins at his feet.

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The heat of a Karachi summer day enveloped the black Mercedes as Murtasim and Areeb drove down from Hyderabad, the sun's rays turning the city into a simmering cauldron. Inside the car, with its tinted windows providing scant relief from the scorching heat, the air conditioner worked overtime.

Murtasimbakri, seated regally in the back, enjoyed the full blast of fans pointed towards her. She had been pacing back and forth between the windows since they picked her up from the Ahmed House, her bleats occasionally punctuating the tense silence.

The car's interior was a strange contrast to the bustling, sun-drenched streets outside, a bubble of coolness and absurdity amidst the relentless heat - they trailed Shahmeer's car through the city.

Areeb sighed, exasperation lacing his tone. "Seriously, are we seriously tailing this man?" He groaned, peering out the window as Murtasim turned down another street, following Shahmeer.

"Yes," Murtasim snapped back, his hands tight on the steering wheel, eyes locked on the taillights ahead.

"Might as well add stalking to your list of crimes," Areeb muttered under his breath.

"It's not my fault you suck at doing background checks," Murtasim retorted, his frustration evident.

"He's clean! You're just in love with Meerab and refuse to accept that all of this is pointless!" Areeb's voice rose in a crescendo of accusation.

"He is not!" Murtasim's denial was fierce, only to be interrupted by Murtasimbakri's timely bleat from the backseat, as if in agreement.

Areeb sighed heavily, turning to glance at the goat. "Did we have to bring her?"

As if sensing Areeb's disapproval, Murtasimbakri snapped her mouth at him and bleated aggressively, her demeanor more queenly than goat-like.

"Be nice to her," Murtasim chided gently. "She's a better judge of character than you are, of course, I had to bring her," Murtasim asserted, glancing in the rearview mirror at his goat who was now peering out the window with apparent interest.

"And Shameer is not going to notice a random GOAT and two men following him? And a whole car with men with guns following us?" Areeb asked, skepticism painted on his face.

The absurdity of the situation was not lost on Murtasim. Yet, in picking up Murtasimbakri, he had gotten an excuse to see Meerab. That day, she had been clad in all white, her hair straight and neatly tied up, projecting an air of simplicity and elegance. When she saw him, her glare was as piercing as it was captivating, sending his heart into a frenzied skip. He chastised himself to stop looking for excuses to see her, but his heart yearned for these moments. He craved the sight of her, longing to etch every detail into his memory, to carry these images into a future where loneliness loomed without her.

Before departing with Murtasimbakri, Murtasim had observed Meerab meticulously brushing the goat, he had stood silently, his gaze fixated on Meerab as she worked. He took in every detail – the way her hair fell neatly, the delicate contours of her face, and the soft, almost whispered words she spoke to the goat. Occasional glares were thrown in his direction, each one piercing through him yet oddly cherished. In another time, he would have been sitting beside her, listening to her talk endlessly, her voice a melody he longed for. The memory ached in his heart, a poignant reminder of what once was and what could no longer be.

He watched, a mix of happiness and heartache, as she handed him a large water bottle and a bowl for Murtasimbakri's water, along with a bag of apples – the sweet kind their goat favored.

As Murtasim loaded the goat into the car, Areeb had commented, eyeing the provisions with a roll of his eyes, that it felt like the goat was Murtasim and Meerab's child and they were sharing custody post-divorce – to which Murtasimbakri had let out a loud bleat.

"Slow down! He's going to catch on if you tailgate him!" Areeb hissed, pulling Murtasim out of his reverie. Glancing ahead, Murtasim realized he had indeed gotten too close to Shahmeer's car.

Murtasim eased off the accelerator, creating a safer distance. The tension in the car was palpable.

"This is so stupid," Areeb muttered, his frustration evident.

"He's up to something! Did you see what he was wearing?!" Murtasim argued, his suspicions clawing at him.

"CLOTHES. HE WAS WEARING CLOTHES," Areeb yelled, exasperated.

"How does he go from Armani suits to that kurta-pajama-vest combination. With that hat? Is he trying to look like a peasant?!" Murtasim couldn't hide his disdain.

Murtasimbakri bleated from the backseat, almost as if in agreement with Murtasim's suspicions.

Areeb hit his head against the dashboard dramatically. "Why did I decide working for you is what I wanted to do?"

"Look!" Murtasim snapped as he observed Shahmeer park his car at a mall plaza and then switch to an autorickshaw. "That man spells trouble."

"Every man that is not you spells trouble when it comes to Meerab," Areeb sighed, steering their vehicle to follow the autorickshaw.

To their surprise, the autorickshaw stopped in an unexpected, modest neighborhood. "What is he doing here?" Murtasim muttered, his curiosity piqued.

"Fine. FINE. Let's follow him," Areeb relented.

Murtasimbakri, sensing the excitement, bleated and jumped about in the backseat.

"Without her!" Areeb protested.

"We can't just leave her in the car alone, she'll be scared," Murtasim countered, a hint of concern in his voice.

Areeb exhaled deeply. "I can't believe you shot a person."

"Shut up," Murtasim said.

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"First, he changes his clothes. Then he parks his car and gets into an auto. Why?" Areeb muttered, his voice laced with confusion.

"He looks like he's done it more than once," Murtasim said, having observed the ease with which Shahmeer had transitioned from the luxury of his car to the simplicity of the rickshaw.

They had lost sight of him in the bustling streets and decided to wait back at the spot where Shahmeer had alighted as darkness enveloped the city.

"The autorickshaw guy is back!" Areeb exclaimed a while later. Murtasimbakri, in the backseat, continued to munch on her apples, oblivious to the tension. The auto driver, clad in a brown kurta with a black vest and hat, similar to Shahmeer's attire, stood by his vehicle, glancing at his watch.

Murtasim and Areeb exited the car, their approach causing the driver to look up, a hint of alarm flashing across his face.

"Waiting for someone?" Areeb asked, his tone casual but probing.

The auto driver nodded, his eyes darting nervously between the men and the surroundings.

"Who's your passenger?" Murtasim inquired, his gaze sharp and assessing.

"A – a man who works here. I came to pick him up," the driver stammered, his response adding to the mystery of Shahmeer's actions.

"The same man you dropped off this morning?" Murtasim pressed, his eyes fixed intently on the driver.

"I drop off so many people in a day, I don't know who you're talking about," the man laughed, trying to feign ignorance.

Murtasim hummed skeptically. "Acha? How many men do you pick up from their cars and drop off?" His tone was laced with suspicion.

The driver glanced around nervously, as if sensing the seriousness of the situation.

"Talk while I am asking nicely," Murtasim's voice hardened. "Who are you waiting for?"

"F-fazal Baksh, Saab," the man stuttered.

"Fazal Baksh?" Murtasim echoed, confusion evident in his voice, while Areeb quickly pulled out his phone.

"This man?" Areeb showed the driver a picture of Shahmeer.

"Yes, him! But... is there something wrong? I thought he was odd but..." the driver's voice trailed off in uncertainty.

"Tell me everything you know," Murtasim commanded, stepping closer to the man, his presence imposing.

"I don't want any trouble, I was just doing my job," the driver pleaded.

"What's your job?" Murtasim probed further.

"I pick him up every day and drop him off at his car."

"He said his name was Fazal Baksh?" Murtasim needed confirmation.

The man nodded affirmatively.

"Where does he go?"

"He works at a government office," the driver revealed.

Murtasim's confusion deepened. "Is there ever anyone else with him?"

"A woman. Sometimes we follow her bus home to make sure she gets home okay," the driver added, offering a new layer to the mystery.

"Who?" Areeb asked, his curiosity piqued.

"I don't know," the rickshaw driver replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Why does Fazal follow her?" Murtasim's question was direct, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"C'mon Saab, obviously because he loves her," the man laughed, as if the answer was the most natural thing in the world.

Murtasim exchanged a knowing glance with Areeb, an 'I told you so' look clearly written on his face.

"What's your name?" Murtasim turned his attention back to the auto driver.

"F-Farukh Khan," the man stammered.

"Farukh, pick him up and then stop to pick me up down the road, I need to have a word with Fazal Baksh," Murtasim muttered, his tone resolute.

"Don't kill him," Areeb half-joked, half-serious.

Farukh's eyes widened in alarm at the statement.

Murtasim rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed. "I won't," he assured, his voice a mix of irritation and determination.

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In the dark, under the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp, Murtasim's silhouette emerged like a shadow, his steps deliberate as he approached the autorickshaw that stopped suddenly as planned. He slid in across from Shahmeer.

Shahmeer's face, illuminated by the sparse light, was a canvas of shock and disbelief. "Murtasim?" he uttered, his voice a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"I didn't change my name after getting into an auto," Murtasim replied, his voice dry and unwavering, cutting through the tension.

"I can explain," Shahmeer quickly interjected, his voice tinged with desperation, his eyes darting in the dim light, seeking an escape that wasn't there.

"You better, I am already out on bail for an attempted murder, I am not afraid to add another," Murtasim stated, his tone menacing, echoing within the confines of the autorickshaw.

Shahmeer exhaled a resigned sigh, his face deflating as if bracing for the inevitable. "It's a long story," he began, his gaze finally settling on Murtasim, resigned to his fate.

The story Shahmeer unraveled was simple yet complicated, his face an open book of emotions as he recounted his love for a girl from a modest background and his elaborate ruse of being a poor man to win her affection.

"I couldn't care less about that," Murtasim cut him off, his irritation evident in the harsh lines of his face and the clipped tone of his voice. "Why did you agree to come to Meerab's house with a rishta?"

"To keep my father off my back," Shahmeer admitted, his shoulders slumping, the weight of his deception heavy in his voice. "If I say no, he'll start tailing me, and find out... I thought I'd go and then make up some excuse...and then I saw you two and thought it wasn't going to happen anyway, so I just played along."

Murtasim arched an eyebrow, a silent question in his gaze. "Saw us?"

Shahmeer rolled his eyes, a wry smile touching his lips. "A blind man can tell you two are in love."

Murtasim's response was lost in his throat, Shahmeer's observation striking a chord too close to his heart. Was it really that obvious?

"Which brings me to why you're looking for rishtas for her anyways?" Shahmeer muttered, his tone curious yet cautious.

"It's a long story," Murtasim replied, a hint of weariness in his voice.

"My favorite restaurant is around the corner," Shahmeer suggested, seemingly trying to lighten the mood.

Murtasim eyed him, wondering about Shahmeer's sudden interest in his affairs.

"Maybe I can help," Shahmeer offered.

"Why?" Murtasim asked, skepticism clear in his tone.

Shahmeer sighed. "Lately, I feel like people need to help people in love more," he said, a note of sincerity in his voice.

Murtasim hummed thoughtfully, considering the proposition.

---------------------------------------------

Under the subdued lighting of Shahmeer's favorite restaurant, Murtasim, Shahmeer, and Areeb sat around a table, while Murtasimbakri weaved between their legs. As they sat, the clatter of cutlery and murmur of other diners created a backdrop to their conversation. Murtasim, normally reserved, couldn't quite fathom why he was divulging so much to Shahmeer. Maybe he sought a fresh perspective, or perhaps it was the need to unburden his heart.

Meanwhile, Murtasimbakri, ever the vigilant companion, weaved around their feet under the table. Her initial hostility towards Shahmeer had subsided, and now she seemed more curious than anything, occasionally poking her head out to sniff at the unfamiliar scents of the restaurant as she chewed on the plate of fruit and vegetable scraps that had been brought out for her.

"So, you shot a man, your rival, and he's almost dead because he said something about Meerab?" Shahmeer asked, piecing together the gravity of Murtasim's situation with a furrowed brow.

Murtasim nodded silently, his gaze distant. The weight of his actions, the fear of losing everything, lay heavy on his shoulders.

"And his family has papers for most of your lands, and the cousins are psychos who will harm your family and villagers if you get arrested," Shahmeer continued, his voice laced with incredulity.

Another nod from Murtasim, his hands clenched under the table. The texture of the tablecloth under his fingers was a stark contrast to the turmoil in his mind.

Shahmeer groaned, disbelief in his tone. "You didn't think to have a proper lock on the safe?"

"I did...the man who stole them is a locksmith," Murtasim replied, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of defensiveness.

Areeb let out a heavy sigh, a testament to the tension that hovered around them.

Shahmeer leaned forward, his eyes locked on Murtasim. "You don't think telling Meerab would help?"

Murtasim shook his head, the thought alone painful. "She's stubborn. She'd make it her problem too...and as much as I want her by my side, I can't be that selfish."

Shahmeer nodded slowly, understanding the complexity of love and duty entangled in Murtasim's words.

"How long is the jail sentence?" Shahmeer asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Depends on the Maliks' influence compared to mine."

"A lot more than you right now," Shahmeer sighed, recognizing the delicate balance of power at play.

Murtasim's response was a silent nod.

"What's your solution to all of this?" Shahmeer inquired, leaning in with evident interest.

"Marrying Yusuf Ali's daughter," Areeb interjected, his tone suggesting his disapproval of the plan.

"Asma Ali?" Shahmeer asked, a note of recognition in his voice.

Murtasim nodded. "You know her?"

"It's hard to not know that family," Shahmeer replied, his expression thoughtful. "So, you marry Asma, her father gets your case thrown out, protects your land, and you inherit everything the Alis are worth?" He whistled softly. "That's a deal if I've ever seen one."

Murtasim rolled his eyes, a gesture conveying his distaste for the situation.

"I thought he said he was going to help," Areeb muttered under his breath, clearly frustrated.

Shahmeer sighed, a look of contemplation crossing his features. "I didn't think it would be this complicated. I can't just say run away, there's a lot at risk. Did you try other sources for support?"

Murtasim nodded, his expression grim. "No one is willing to get involved."

Shahmeer's sigh deepened. "No one wants to touch feudal matters with a ten-foot pole. Ali is not the type to help anyone unless he gets something out of it...so telling him you love someone else would just derail everything."

Murtasim's response was a silent nod, the complexity of his situation weighing heavily in the air.

"But what if..." Shahmeer's voice trailed off, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

At that moment, Murtasimbakri bleated loudly, almost as if urging Shahmeer to continue. The sound echoed in the small space of the restaurant, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables.

"...if Asma turns you down, then what?" Shahmeer finally asked, his gaze fixed on Murtasim.

Murtasim shook his head, a resigned look crossing his features. "Then the offer is off the table, and we're back to where I started before we approached them."

Shahmeer exhaled a deep sigh. "I'll keep my eyes and ears open, maybe there is someone else that can help without you having to sell out to marry their daughter."

Murtasim chuckled, but it was a sound devoid of humor, cynical. "Nothing in this world is free, sadly."

Shahmeer nodded, a grim understanding in his eyes. "My dad is looking to sell me off to the highest bidder, so I get it...of course, he didn't know all of what you just told me."

Murtasim rolled his eyes.

"So basically, you need dirt on Yusuf Ali then? Something that will make him carry out his terms of this contract without you having to marry Asma...but what?" Shahmeer hummed, his mind visibly turning over possibilities.

"That man carries all his cards close to his chest," Areeb interjected. "I've tried to dig up information but nothing has come up."

"You're not exactly good at digging up information, Areeb," Murtasim muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.

"But I am," Shahmeer interjected confidently. "Let me see if I can find anything...and in return, all that you know about me doesn't leave your mouth, and this rishta gets broken off from your end."

Murtasim scoffed. "Depends on if you find anything."

Shahmeer sighed, a plea in his eyes. "Please."

"Just text Meerab and tell her you love someone else, and she'll say no," Areeb suggested. "If you get Murtasim involved in it, she won't do it just to piss him off."

Shahmeer raised an eyebrow at Areeb's suggestion.

"She is definitely trying to rile him up and get a reaction...I heard all about how she laughed and giggled with you...she's not the giggling type," Areeb snorted.

Murtasim let out a heavy sigh.

-------------------------------------------------------

As Murtasim walked back to his car, parked under the shadowy boughs of large tree in Ahmed House two days later, he felt Meerab's presence before he saw her. The intensity of her gaze was like a searing heat on his back, a silent herald of the storm to come.

He reached for the car door, his hand hesitating on the handle, sensing the imminent confrontation. As he opened it, Meerab, like a tempest, stormed up to him. With a forceful motion, echoing anger and frustration, she slammed the door shut. The sound reverberated through the quiet evening, disturbing the tranquility of the evening.

He turned to her, exhaling a weary sigh, to find her glaring at him. Her eyes were ablaze, not just with anger but a fierce determination he had not seen in a long time. It struck him – this was the Meerab he remembered, the one he had fallen for: fiery, unyielding, unafraid to voice her heart.

There was a part of him, deep and often silent, that rejoiced at this sight. He despised the Meerab who was subdued and compliant, her spirit dimmed. Her anger, her candidness, it made him immensely happy, even in the midst of their conflict. It signified her healing, a return to her true self – fierce, brave, unyielding, not even to him. That seemed to be the only good thing that came out of their current situation.

He loved her in all her fiery glory, even though he stood there, a man bereft of answers.

"What is your problem, Murtasim?" she demanded. Her voice, laced with a barely controlled rage, cut through the still air.

She was a vision in yellow, the same kurta she had worn to the cricket game, her hair falling straight around her shoulders, framing her face. She smelled of roses and vanilla, a scent that had haunted his dreams since she had been close enough for him to smell it again the evening Shahmeer and his father had visited. He wondered, fleetingly, how it would feel to hold her close, to know how much more intense the smell of roses would be if he buried his face into her hair like he did in his dreams.

Murtasim looked at her, forcing himself out of the storm of his own emotions. "I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, his voice struggling to maintain a semblance of calm.

"Don't play dumb with me! Shahmeer, he said things... things that only you would say. You told him to reject the rishta, didn't you?" Her accusation was sharp, a knife slicing through the tension between them. With each word, she stepped closer to him, her proximity a challenge he felt in every fiber of his being.

Murtasim hesitated, his heart a tempest of emotions. "Meerab, it's not that simple," he began, but she cut him off sharply.

"It is simple! You're trying to control my life, make decisions for me!" Her voice, a crescendo of frustration, vibrated in the air between them.

"I'm trying to protect you," Murtasim countered, his voice tinged with mounting frustration.

"Protect me? By deciding who I should and shouldn't marry?" Meerab retorted, her voice dripping with bitterness. She stepped closer, her finger coming up to jab at his chest. "You have no right!"

Murtasim's jaw clenched tightly. "I have every right when it comes to your safety," he asserted, his voice firm yet strained.

"My safety? Or your ego?" Meerab shot back, her eyes searching his face for the truth.

Murtasim averted his gaze, unable to meet her piercing look. "It's not about my ego," he muttered under his breath, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts about keeping her away from the dangers entangling his life.

Meerab stepped closer, her voice softer yet firm, resonating with a demand for the truth. "Then what is it about, Murtasim? Tell me." The plea in her voice tugged at Murtasim's heart, stirring a turmoil within him.

Whenever Meerab spoke to Murtasim with her eyes wide and pleading, he found himself nearly powerless against her. There was something in her gaze, a combination of vulnerability and determination, that always seemed to penetrate his defenses. Despite his best efforts to maintain a stoic front, Murtasim's resolve would waver in those moments, the barriers he painstakingly built crumbling under the weight of her earnest appeal. It was as if her eyes held a key to a part of him that he struggled to keep locked away.

Murtasim's heart was again a battlefield of emotions. He yearned to pour out his fears, his love, his sacrifices, but he remained silent, knowing nothing good with come out of speaking.

Her eyes searched his, flickering with a desperate need to understand, to unravel the mystery of his actions. Murtasim looked away, a defensive reflex, fearing his eyes would betray his deepest secrets.

"Tell me!" Meerab's yell broke the tense silence.

"I don't owe you any answers," Murtasim's reply was defensive, a shield against his own vulnerability.

Meerab laughed bitterly, her frustration evident. She stepped closer, so close that Murtasim's back hit his car. Her proximity overwhelmed him – her scent, the warmth emanating from her, it all made his heart race. He forced himself to focus on her words, not the intoxicating closeness of her.

"You do. Either you back off completely and stop doing this shit, or you explain to me what you're doing and why," she demanded, her voice cracking with emotion.

"Go back inside, Meerab," Murtasim sighed, his voice heavy with unspoken longing. His mind raced, 'before I do something stupid and tell you everything', he thought. His eyes flickered to her lips, the urge to kiss her again overwhelming, 'or before I kiss you again'.

"You're hiding something from me," she accused, her voice a blend of hurt and determination.

Murtasim's response was firm, his frustration evident. "You don't need to know everything, Meerab. Shahmeer broke it off himself, not because of me."

Meerab stepped forward, her anger surging. "Really? From the moment he showed up, you did nothing but interrogate him! You scared him off! Why would he call me to tell me he liked someone else? Why did he say you already knew?" Her words were like arrows, sharp and accusatory.

Murtasim internally cursed Shahmeer, vowing to confront him later.

He stood his ground, his voice rising with emotion. "I just don't want you marrying someone who's not right for you!"

"Why does it matter to you? Why do you care so much?" Meerab's scream was close, too close, her face only inches from his.

Murtasim, cornered and overwhelmed, defensively blurted out, "I don't care!" in the face of the question she kept asking him, again and again.

Meerab's eyes searched his, her expression morphing from anger to insight. "Liar," she whispered, her voice slicing through their tense standoff. "Why did you kiss me then?" Her softer inquiry hung in the air, laden with unspoken truths.

Silence enveloped them, a tense pause where words were unnecessary. Murtasim's eyes were drawn to her lips, the memory of their kiss flooding his senses again, as it did every time she was close. He remembered the softness, the warmth, the fleeting moment of surrender. Meerab's gaze flickered to his lips, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken desire that lingered between them.

Murtasim, his heart heavy, replied with a vague, pained expression, "Some things... are better left unanswered."

Meerab's frustration crescendoed into a shout, "You're a coward, the worst kind of man!" The intensity in her eyes was piercing. She paused, catching her breath, on the verge of revealing more. "But maybe I'm the stupid one because I still lo-" but she stopped abruptly, not finishing the word.

But they both heard the word despite it not being uttered.

Murtasim felt his heart break at her restraint. He yearned to hear her say she loved him. He wanted to cup her face, to confess his own love, so overwhelming that she occupied his every thought, every day. He longed to tell her how much it hurt to push her away, but he remained silent, knowing that her safety and happiness were paramount. Being with him meant neither – he was facing jail, and he couldn't trust his or her family to protect her.

Images of Zoravar and Badar Malik, with their ruthless, conniving faces, flashed in his mind again, reminding him of the danger that loomed. He visualized the walls of the jail that might soon confine him, leaving Meerab vulnerable to the likes of the Maliks and to his family's cruelty. He remembered how the life seemed to drain from Meerab whenever she moved through the haveli, her spirit dimming. He couldn't bear the thought of her enduring that kind of life permanently in his absence, especially because of him.

His love for her was a tormenting paradox; it demanded both his presence and his absence. In silence, he stood, a man torn between love and duty, his heart breaking with every passing second as he looked into her eyes, brimming with tears he despised himself for causing.

Meerab's anger flared up again. "Stop whatever it is that you're doing!" she snapped, her frustration boiling over. "I will decide who I want to marry. Mere maamlat mein tang na araya karo." With that final, fiery declaration, she turned and stomped off, leaving Murtasim alone with the weight of their unsaid words and unacknowledged feelings hanging heavy in the air.

Murtasim's descent into despair was a slow, torturous journey. As he got into the car and drove away, the streets around him lost their meaning, becoming nothing more than a blur of indistinct shapes and colors. He found himself on a secluded road, the silence enveloping him like a shroud. Gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles whitened, a physical manifestation of his internal struggle to keep the rising storm of emotions at bay.

The struggle to hold back his emotions was futile; the dam broke and tears flooded down his face.

You're a coward, the worst kind of man. But maybe I'm the stupid one because I still lo-

He wept uncontrollably, his body shaking with each sob that tore through him. The sound filled the car, a symphony of heartache and loss. It was as if months of suppressed pain and longing were being released in this solitary moment.

Each tear was a silent scream, echoing his deep love for Meerab. His sobs were the physical manifestation of his inner agony, the raw intensity of his emotions laid bare in the confines of his car. It was a private hell, a space where he could unleash the pain he had hidden from the world.

He was overwhelmed by a sense of yearning for a time before, a time when life was simpler, and the possibility of being with Meerab was within reach. Those memories, once a source of warmth and comfort, now taunted him like the memory of sunlight in a never-ending night.

He yearned for the days before everything fell apart, a time when hope seemed tangible, and a future with Meerab was possible. He wished he could turn back time to that moment, and run away with her. The memories of being with her, once a source of joy, now tormented him like a cruel joke. Her laughter, her smile, the way she looked at him – all were now distant echoes in the cold, unending night of his existence.

Without Meerab, Murtasim felt an emptiness that consumed him from within. He was like a lost star, torn from its place in the sky, aimlessly wandering through an empty universe. The pain of her absence was a relentless ache, a void that nothing could fill.

His heart, once full of love and hope, was now a gaping wound, bleeding with the loss of what could have been.

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A/N: Sooooo, what do we think? Whatever shall happen next? There is one LAST rishta that is heading Meerab's way, so we'll see how that unfolds. Will Murtasim crack? Will Meerab force him to speak?