A/N: Happy New Year! I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you for all the love you shower on Meri Musibat. It's so heartwarming (and hilarious) to read through your reactions to the chapters, and how in love (and angry) you are with this version of MeeraSim. And of course, your love for Murtasimbakri. Anyways, before I turn this into a sappy thing, here's the next update (over 10K word!), the tides are changing! 

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Murtasim sat in his study in the village, the weight of the night pressing in around him. The room, once a sanctuary, now felt hollow, echoing with the absence of Meerab. Shadows clung to the corners, and the moonlight streaming through the window cast a ghostly pallor over the furniture. He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry all of his burdens, and shook his head as if to dispel the thoughts swirling like a storm inside him.

"Did you find anything?" he asked Areeb as the man walked in, his voice holding a faint trace of hope, yet heavy with resignation. The night seemed to lean in, listening.

The third proposal that came for Meerab was unexpected, neither from the list of eligible suitors her parents and his mother had painstakingly compiled, nor from the network of her father's friends. It was from a man Meerab already knew, a doctor she had worked alongside at the NGO during the summer. He provided check-ups and treatments to villagers suffering from the intense pollution caused by the factories, the very ones Meerab was building a case against. The man had apparently developed a liking to Meerab in that short amount of time.

"Dr. Zaki Baig is perfect, I think I have a crush on him," Areeb said, his voice breaking through Murtasim's reverie. He plopped down into the chair across from him, a gesture that grated on Murtasim's already frayed nerves.

Murtasim glared at him, the intensity of his gaze sharp enough to cut. "Get to the point, Areeb."

Areeb seemed undeterred, or perhaps too engrossed in his recounting. "Graduated at the top of his medical school cohort, no criminal record, no shady activities, has had the same group of three friends since grade school, his idea of fun is staying home and reading. Everyone speaks highly of him. And the only thing this man has done in his life is study, play sports, and volunteer his time... at hospitals and animal shelters." Areeb practically sang the praises, painting a picture of a man who seemed to embody virtue and accomplishment.

"What about his family?" Murtasim asked. He knew the man's personal merits were only part of the equation; the family would play a crucial role in Meerab's life.

"His family is perfect too, I want them to adopt me," Areeb sighed, a wistful tone creeping into his voice.

"Marry him then," Murtasim snapped, the words sharp and bitter, reflecting the turmoil churning within him.

"It's still illegal," Areeb quipped, a lightness in his tone that contrasted starkly with Murtasim's mood.

Murtasim rolled his eyes, a gesture that carried all the weight of his frustration and concern.

Areeb continued, oblivious to Murtasim's growing distress. "The Baigs own a total of ten hospitals around all of Sindh. Both of his parents are doctors themselves, still working. He has an older brother, Shahzain; he's the Managing Director of their corporation that manages the hospitals."

"Any evidence of hostility between the brothers?" Murtasim asked, grasping at any detail that might serve as a flaw in this seemingly flawless family.

"Not that I could tell," Areeb shook his head, his eyes earnest. "Shahzain is married to a woman named Rani. The two of them live separate from his parents and Zaki," Areeb added, offering another piece of the puzzle.

"Family problems?" Murtasim's voice was sharp, like he was both dreading and longing for an imperfection.

"Could be, but they seem to go to the Baig house or the Baigs visit their house a couple of times a week."

Murtasim hummed.

"Get this, this is where it gets even more perfect – Rani also works; she's a teacher at an elementary school...and they have a three-year-old daughter." Areeb's voice rose with enthusiasm. "The mother works, the sister-in-law works, clearly Meerab will fit right in."

Each word from Areeb was like a stone adding weight to the sinking feeling in Murtasim's chest. With each detail of this seemingly ideal match, his heart sank further. He sat there, staring at nothing, the room around him blurring as the reality of Meerab's potential future without him came into sharp, agonizing focus.

They did sound perfect, and Murtasim should have been happy. That's what he told himself he was looking for — a man who appreciated Meerab for who she was, a family that would cherish her and afford her the freedom she yearned for. Yet, as he sat in the dimly lit study, with the night pressing in around him and the silence a loud echo of his solitary turmoil, he couldn't muster a shred of happiness. Instead, there was a leaden weight in his chest, a growing realization that no matter how ideal the suitor appeared, the very notion of Meerab being part of another man's life was unbearable.

He felt her slipping away, but that had been the point all along, hadn't it? To ensure her happiness, her safety, her future — free from the constraints and dangers that shadowed his own life. Yet as he sat there, an ache settled deep within his heart, making it hard to breathe. He had always known they were looking for suitors for her, yet a foolish, hidden part of him had clung to the thought that no one would ever be good enough for Meerab. He knew she couldn't be his, he knew the reality of their situation, but acknowledging the depth of his feelings now, as her departure became imminent, felt like acknowledging a gaping, bleeding wound.

But she would be happy, he reminded himself. Away from the family drama, out of sight from the Malik cousins, safe in case he went to jail, distant from the oppressive demands of his mother and uncle. She would be safe and happy. That was the end goal. Yet, this knowledge did little to ease the sharp sting of impending loss.

"When are you meeting them?" Areeb's voice cut through his thoughts, tentative and tinged with an understanding sadness.

"They've invited us over to their house on Saturday," Murtasim muttered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

"Not at the Ahmed house?" Areeb asked, sounding a little taken aback.

"Apparently, Murtasimbakri has been throwing tantrums and charging at anyone who enters the house." Murtasim muttered.

Areeb snorted. "I guess the toddler years have started." He teased.

Murtasim shrugged, his mind on the meeting ahead of him. He dreaded it, dreaded the moment he would have to sit and discuss Meerab's future as if he were merely an observer again and not a man whose entire world was about to shift on its axis. He then asked the question that had been haunting the edges of his mind. "Any news about Zubair?" His voice was a low rumble, resigned and heavy.

"Still in a coma," Areeb muttered, his voice equally heavy.

Murtasim sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of weariness and apprehension. He felt as though he was perched on the precipice of an abyss, waiting for a ball to drop, or waiting for something to give.

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

When Murtasim met the Baigs, any lingering apprehensions he had harbored about the family melted away almost immediately. As he observed them, a tight-knit, affectionate unit laughing and conversing easily, he found himself reluctantly impressed. The Baigs' home was a place of warmth and inclusion despite its lavishness, the air rich with the sense of unity and respect. Shahzain and Rani, living away from the main house, were a testament to the family's understanding and respect for individual space. Murtasim couldn't help but admire the way Shahzain's mother said that couples needed to build their own home together and joked about eagerly waiting for Zaki to get married and find his own space too. Observing their older daughter-in-law, Rani, Murtasim noted her genuine happiness and comfort within the family. She moved with an ease and contentment that spoke volumes about the family's dynamics.

As the conversation unfolded, Murtasim noticed how intently the Baigs all listened to Meerab. They asked her questions, showed genuine interest in her ambitions, and offered support rather than the dismissive judgement he was so accustomed to seeing in his own family. Murtasim saw his mother roll her eyes as Meerab spoke about how she was starting work as a lawyer the next week, for an NGO focused on women's rights, where the Baigs smiled and congratulated her. The stark contrast between the Baigs' encouragement and his mother's disdain was a painful reminder of the stifling environment he was trying to extricate Meerab from.

If he had gone looking himself, Murtasim doubted he could have found a family more suitable than the Baigs. They were what he had told himself he wanted for Meerab — kind, open-hearted, and supportive. Zaki, the potential suitor, was unlike any they had met before. There was no hint of arrogance in his demeanor; instead, he radiated a kind-heartedness and an effort to engage everyone that won them over almost immediately. He was good-looking too, handsome with a well-built frame, and a pleasant disposition. Anila commented on how well Zaki and Meerab looked together, and for all his inner turmoil, Murtasim couldn't deny the bitter truth of it.

As he sat there, part of the lively gathering yet feeling utterly isolated, Murtasim watched Meerab interact with the Baigs. She was animated, her eyes alight with enthusiasm, and he could see the subtle way Zaki's attention never really left her. Yet, his attention was respectful and focused as he looked at Meerab, asking more about her than he spoke about himself, he was truly smitten, and he couldn't blame the man.

Meerab looked like a vision, she always did, she was the embodiment of all that was beautiful in the world. She wore a vibrant mustard kurta adorned with delicate silver embroidery, the color complementing the warm undertones of her skin. Her hair cascaded in loose waves, catching the golden sunbeams that seemed to play hide and seek within the tresses. Her hands, expressive as they moved while she spoke, were adorned with rings that glinted, capturing flickers of light.

As she spoke, her entire being radiated a warmth and energy that drew people to her. To Murtasim, she was the epitome of life itself—vibrant, alluring, and utterly captivating. The way she tucked a stray lock behind her ear, the gentle arch of her brow when she was making a point, or the softness in her eyes when she smiled—every gesture was etched into Murtasim's mind, collecting memories of the sun for the dark days ahead.

Murtasim, half-listening from his spot on the sofa, caught snippets of her conversation with Zaki.

"It's quite amusing, really," Zaki was saying, a smile in his voice. "In that third village we visited, people would come up with the most creative self-diagnoses. One gentleman insisted he had 'twisted intestines' and another was sure there was a plant growing inside him."

Meerab's laughter filled the room, clear and genuine, so different from the fake chuckles she had offered Ali and Shahmeer. It was a sound Murtasim was intimately familiar with, a sound that now sent a sharp pang through him. He clenched his hands on the sofa, looking away and reminding himself this was what he wanted for her — happiness, even if it was with someone else, he couldn't make a scene.

Murtasim's attention was suddenly diverted by small hands tugging at his legs. Looking down, he found Shahzain and Rani's daughter, Alaya, peering up at him with big brown eyes full of curiosity. "What youw name?" she asked innocently.

A smile broke through his stoic exterior. "Murtasim," he replied.

"Muwtaim Unca," she attempted to pronounce, holding her arms up, clearly asking to be lifted.

Murtasim glanced back at Rani for permission, which she readily gave with a nod and a laugh. "You're lucky, she usually doesn't like strangers."

"I am sure Alaya likes good-looking men only," Zaki quipped from across the room, earning a playful whack on the head from Shahzain as Murtasim picked her up.

Perched standing on his legs, Alaya tilted her head, studying him. "You sad? You sad Muwtaim unca?" She asked, her childish innocence piercing through his defenses.

Murtasim wondered if his sadness was that apparent, but he shook his head, offering her a gentle smile.

She patted his cheek reassuringly. "No be sad...you know Meewab chachi?" The word 'chachi' twisted something inside him, but he nodded.

"She pwetty," Alaya whispered with a giggle, trying to keep it a secret.

"The prettiest," Murtasim agreed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You pwetty too," Alaya declared seriously, tugging at his moustache.

"Thank you," he laughed, her innocence bringing a brief respite from his inner turmoil. "You're very pretty yourself, Alaya."

She beamed at the compliment. "You wike my dwess?" she asked, twirling slightly.

"Of course I do. Is purple your favorite color?" he asked, already knowing the answer as the little girl was decked in various shades of purple.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How you know?!" she gasped, delight written all over her face while the adults chuckled around them.

"Magic," Murtasim whispered, a smile tugging at his lips at her infectious giggles.

But then his gaze drifted, landing on Meerab. Her eyes were glistening, lips quivering as if she were holding back a tide of emotions. It was a look he recognized all too well — it mirrored his own longing, the unspoken dreams and what-ifs that haunted him. He wondered if she too harbored the same silent yearnings, imagining a different life where they were together, imagining children with his smile and her laughter.

"Alaya, you want to go on a walk in the gardens with chachu and Meerab?" Rani asked, her voice carrying a teasing tone as she appointed the little girl as an unofficial chaperone between the two of them.

Alaya nodded enthusiastically, her energy infectious. "You come too?" She tugged at Murtasim's hand, her small fingers wrapped around his as she slid off his lap, ready to lead the way.

"Someone has a crush," Zaki whispered, eliciting a round of soft laughter from his family and Maryam.

With those big, pleading eyes looking up at him, Murtasim found it impossible to refuse even though the last thing he wanted was to follow Meerab and Zaki around. He got up, led by the tiny force of nature that was Alaya, as she chattered nonstop about the beauty of her dada-ji's garden, which she proclaimed to be the best in the world.

As they walked through the lush greenery, Murtasim found himself slightly trailing behind Meerab and Zaki, carrying Alaya in his arms because she insisted it gave her a better view of the garden and she was tired of walking. She pointed out various flowers, mispronouncing their names in the most adorable way, and he couldn't help but be charmed. Her innocent chatter was a welcome distraction from the heavy thoughts weighing on him.

She told him about the squirrels and the birds that visited the garden, and also the rat snakes. "They wook scawy, but they not, dada-ji say they hawmless and our fweinds," she explained with the seriousness of a child imparting great wisdom.

"So you're not scared of them?" he asked her, amused.

She shook her head vehemently. "I no scawed of anything, I bwave." Her fearless declaration reminded him so much of Meerab.

Glancing ahead, he saw Meerab engaged in conversation with Zaki. Turning his attention back to Alaya, he asked, "Did chachu ever bring another chachi home?" It was a clumsy way to glean insights, but it was all he could think of.

Alaya shook her head, her curls bouncing.

"Oh, what kind of things does chachu like to do?" he probed further.

Her face lit up. "I know that! He wikes me the most, he wikes to wead books, he wead me lots, he wike pwaying footbaw, cwicket, t-t – the one with the gween baw!"

"Tennis?" He tried to confirm.

She nodded enthusiastically. "You a smawtie pants Muwtaim unca!" she giggled, her laughter infectious.

Murtasim's laughter mingled with Alaya's giggles, a rare moment of light-heartedness amidst the continuous tension. Suddenly, the atmosphere cracked — a sharp, piercing scream sliced through the air, freezing him in place. It was Meerab's voice, laden with unmistakable panic, calling out his name — a sound that catapulted him into action without thought.

"Murtasim!" Her voice echoed, reverberating against the trees and sky, cutting through him with a visceral urgency. He turned just in time to see her figure, blurring with speed, as she jumped towards him. Her eyes were wide, filled with an unspoken terror.

In a fluid, almost reflexive motion, he extended his free arm, ready to catch her. As she collided into him, the impact jolted through his body, a shock of connection that was as comforting as it was startling. His arm wrapped around her instinctively, pulling her close, a protective embrace that sought to shield her from whatever had frightened her so. Alaya, secure in his other arm, looked on with wide-eyed innocence, unaware of the sudden shift in atmosphere.

Meerab buried her face in his chest, her breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. Her body trembled against him, a testament to the fear that had driven her into his arms. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart against his own, the heat of her body. For a moment, the world around them faded, reduced to just the two of them, locked in an embrace that spoke of a thousand words and emotions left unsaid.

"It's okay, it's just a grey rat snake, they're not venomous," Zaki's voice finally cut through the tension, his tone calm and reassuring. Murtasim's eyes found Zaki, who was gently nudging the snake away with his foot, his demeanor controlled and composed.

At Zaki's words, Meerab stiffened, and then, as if suddenly aware of their closeness, she stepped back, putting space between them. Her eyes avoided his, her expression a mix of embarrassment and lingering fear. "Tum theek ho?" Murtasim's voice was rough with concern, his hand lingering in the air between them, hesitant to break the connection completely.

She nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but she didn't meet his gaze.

Alaya giggled from his arms, breaking the tension with the innocence of a child. "It just a wat snake!"

"Not everyone knows that at first, Alaya, it wrapped around her foot," Zaki replied, his smile gentle as he glanced at his niece. His eyes, however, flitted between Meerab and Murtasim for a brief moment.

In that moment, as they all stood there, the significance of what had happened hung heavily around them. Murtasim understood that Zaki had noticed the instinctive, visceral way Meerab had sought him out in her moment of fear. That brief, unguarded reaction, that desperate jump into his arms, had spoken volumes, and as they all resumed their semblance of normalcy, the memory of her voice calling his name, the feel of her in his arms, lingered, a silent testament to the complex bond that neither of them could fully deny.

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

When Murtasim had pushed her out of his room, Meerab had promised herself that she would let Murtasim go. Yet, weeks later, his presence loomed large in her mind, an incessant whisper that refused to be silenced, even as she said yes to marrying another man.

She didn't know why she had agreed. Part of her wondered if she was trying to prove a point, or perhaps she was still attempting to make Murtasim jealous enough to finally act. Or maybe, just maybe, she was listening to the small voice inside her that whispered of Zaki's virtues, suggesting he would make a wonderful life partner. It was confusing, this tangle of motives and emotions. She knew deep down she loved Murtasim, despite the constant internal chant telling her she shouldn't, that it was futile, that their worlds and paths were too divergent.

The ambiguity of her feelings left her restless. Each thought of Murtasim was countered by a rational argument to move on, to embrace the possibility of happiness. Yet, the emotional undercurrent was undeniable, a current too strong to simply swim away from. She was caught in a riptide of what-ifs and maybes, each wave crashing against her resolve, leaving her more adrift in a sea of confusion and longing.

She felt a pressing need to talk to someone about him, about them, about her swirling thoughts.

For the first time in her life, Meerab felt like she had friends whom she could ask for advice rather than always being the one to dispense it. Khirad Ahsaan, a psychologist working for the same NGO, had become a fast friend over the time she had volunteered with them before starting work that week. There was an aura about Khirad, an ease that encouraged openness, perhaps because of her profession, or maybe because of the rapport they'd built.

They had just finished a meeting. The room had emptied, leaving only Khirad, who tended to linger behind to consolidate her notes and action items. Khirad seemed to feel Meerab's gaze, she spoke without once looking away from her notes. "What's on your mind, Meerab?" she asked, her voice carrying both concern and a readiness to listen.

Meerab stuttered over her words as she replied, "I was wondering, and I hope you don't mind me asking, if it's triggering...we can just not - "

"Just ask, Meerab," Khirad encouraged, her attention still on her notes.

"Why did you never get married?" Meerab finally let out the question that had been plaguing her.

Khirad hummed, her pen not ceasing its movement across the page. "The man I wanted to marry didn't want to marry me. And the ones who wanted to marry me, I didn't want," she said with a casualness that belied the depth of experience behind the words.

"Why didn't you want them? Were they not good men?" Meerab asked, her mind going to Zaki.

"No, some of them were great, they were everything I should have wanted...but my heart didn't agree to them and I didn't force myself to let go of the love I had in my heart for a man who didn't love me back."

"Does it ever stop?" Meerab asked, her voice almost a whisper. "Do you ever fall out of love with the love that never wanted you?" As she spoke, Murtasim's face haunted her thoughts, his image a constant, painful echo in her mind.

Khirad stopped writing then, her gaze lifting to meet Meerab's. "So, it's a man, the reason behind those sad eyes?" she probed gently.

Meerab nodded, the admission heavy in the air between them.

Khirad sighed, her voice turning soft, imbued with a sense of understanding. "If you loved them with all your heart, it never really leaves you, but it...dims. Sometimes a lot of time passes and you don't think of them and everything seems okay, but then one little thing reminds you of them, and it's hard to breathe again for a little while because the love you could never give away surges up inside you and it's hard to push it back into a box. But it goes back easier each time," she said, her words resonating with the weight of personal truth.

Meerab felt tears fill her eyes, a mixture of sorrow and comfort blending together. There was solace in knowing she wasn't alone in her feelings, that the journey of untangling oneself from unrequited love was a shared one, even if each path was deeply personal.

"How long have you loved him?" Meerab found herself asking.

"I was 15 when I fell for him. I turn 35 in a month," Khirad replied with a small, almost nostalgic smile on her face.

"When did you know that he didn't love you?" Meerab's voice trembled slightly, the question feeling too close to her own reality.

"At 20. Fifteen years later and it still makes me shed a tear on some days, wondering what if." The honesty in Khirad's voice, the acceptance of a long-held sorrow, struck a chord within Meerab.

"Did you tell him?" she asked, the curiosity mingling with a sense of dread at the answer.

She shook her head. "I should have, but I think he knew and pretended like he didn't." Khirad's words were tinged with regret, a faint shadow of pain lingering in her eyes.

Meerab chuckled, a sound more sad than amused. "Men," she sighed, the word a shared understanding between them.

"Does he know that you love him?" Khirad asked.

Meerab shrugged, her emotions a tangled mess.

"Tell him," Khirad urged. "Or you'll be sitting right here, wondering what if, just like me."

"I think he knows. I think he even likes me, if not loves me... but he doesn't want to love me," Meerab confessed, her words heavy with the thoughts she'd been turning over in her mind.

"Why?" Khirad pressed gently, her gaze intent on Meerab's face.

"He's a feudal lord, a young one, just about three years older than me, and he's one who actually cares and wants better for his people. But a lot of them don't want to trust him because he's young and he talks of change. He needs a wife by his side taking care of it all, a woman the village...and his mother will accept, not one that hates and wants to change everything about the feudal system...and wants to be a lawyer. He chose a woman from a family with strong political influence and a feudal stronghold themselves," Meerab explained, the words spilling out.

"Maybe if you tell him about your feelings, he'll pick you," Khirad suggested.

Meerab shook her head, her eyes sad. "He's not someone who's used to picking his desire over his duty," she thought of how he gave up photography, a passion turned memory. "He cares too much, about his family, about his people, and I thought...about me too. But I – I don't fit into his world," Meerab sighed, her voice a blend of resignation and faint hope.

"Did he tell you that?" Khirad asked.

Meerab shook her head. "Not in those words...but he called me a mistake, implied that I don't fit in with his life, and he's right. I will want to work, to do things in a way that don't align with his way of doing things, his mother hates me and I don't like her either...and I am not going to beg him to love me or choose me," she declared, her resolve firm. She had promised herself that she would not beg for love from anyone, least of all Murtasim, no matter how much her heart might yearn for it.

Khirad nodded, her gaze piercing as if seeing right into Meerab's soul. "But you want to beg, don't you?" she asked, her words sharp yet not without empathy.

Meerab felt the sting of unshed tears and nodded. The admission was painful, a raw truth she hated confronting. "And I hate myself for it because I keep thinking why he can't just...love me like I am. I keep thinking of all the things I could change about myself so he would want me...to be less stubborn, less opinionated, more confirmative...but then I realize I wouldn't be me without them, and it would drive me to hate myself." She sighed.

The words wouldn't stop now that she had started, along with the tears. "And I shouldn't want to be with a man that has to convince himself to love me, to convince himself that I am enough, right? Because he'll inevitably make me feel like I am not enough and that he made a mistake. There's a reason he doesn't want to love me, and that reason will always be there... and I know all of that but I can't seem to give him up." Her voice cracked as she spoke, the words tumbling out in a rush of emotion. "Even when there's a perfect option in front of me, someone who likes me for me... I want him. And I don't – I don't know what to do."

"Have you tried talking to him?" Khirad's question was gentle, an offering of understanding rather than a challenge.

Meerab shrugged. "I've tried but he doesn't really give me any answers."

Khirad sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of many unspoken stories. "The only thing you can do is talk to him, but if he won't talk, you have to just let it be, Meerab. And trust in God, if you two are meant to be together, it'll work out somehow, and if you don't end up together then it means you're better off without him."

Meerab sighed, her heart heavy with the reality of Khirad's words. She nodded, a silent acquiescence to the truth she'd been trying to avoid. "But is it wrong then to choose someone else? Knowing that I don't love them? Knowing that I might never love them?" Meerab asked.

Khirad shook her head, her expression softening. "No, people often marry those they don't love, because it's often about companionship than love, and if you feel you have that need and someone can fulfill it, then there's nothing wrong with it...as long as they're aware. But you have to know that once you commit, you can't stray."

Meerab sighed, she had been hoping for a no from Khirad, she needed someone to tell her to let Zaki go, because she was too scared of loneliness to let go herself of someone who was so perfect for her, but someone her heart didn't love.

Khirad closed her notebook and got up. "Let's go, we're going out for coffee and some cake, and you can tell me all about these men that have your head spinning. We can even take Rumi, and she'll curse the man that broke your heart out so good," she said, a small smile playing on her lips, an attempt to lift the heavy mood.

Meerab nodded, a small spark of gratitude igniting within her for the comfort of friends who she could talk to.

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

Murtasim stayed away from Karachi after his visit to the Baig House, a self-imposed exile that kept him from Meerab and all the heartache she represented. Distance became his shield, a feeble attempt to mute the sharpness of his emotions, yet whispers of her life continued to seep through the walls he built, each update a fresh wound to a heart that missed her.

He heard about the things he wished to remain ignorant of, as if the universe itself conspired to keep him tethered to her world. He learned of the Baigs' frequent visits, of Murtasimbakri's constant attempts to bite Zaki, of the beginning of Meerab's new job at the NGO, and of the irksome complaints from her parents about her supposed rudeness and dismissiveness — a direct result, he knew, of their own failings in understanding her.

Hearing of her supposed rudeness and dismissiveness brought an unexpected solace. It meant that Meerab was standing up for herself again, putting her foot down against the unfair treatment. Gone was the despondent and agreeable girl he hated, replaced by the fierce Meerab who was unwilling to accept less than she deserved. While they complained, he silently cheered her on.

Then came the news that shattered him — Meerab had agreed to marry Zaki. He knew it would happen, but the words were a jagged pill, lodging in his throat and refusing to go down. His mother was ecstatic, her joy a loud, jarring contrast to the silent agony that gripped him. Meerab's parents expressed their satisfaction, and Anwar, ever indifferent, seemed pleased that she was settling down.

But amidst all the celebrations and relieved sighs of the adults, no one mentioned if Meerab herself was happy. That crucial piece of information, the one detail he yearned to know above all else, remained elusive. He couldn't see her, couldn't gauge the truth in her eyes or the set of her shoulders. The not knowing was a torment all its own.

He thought about calling her, a dozen drafted conversations running through his mind. He wanted to ask if she was truly content with her decision, if this was what she wanted or merely what she accepted under pressure. The words burned on his tongue, a desperate plea to ensure her happiness. But each time he hovered over the call button, two harsh truths stopped him — he had no right and a part of him knew she was settling because of him. He had no right to question her choices, to intrude upon her life, to pretend that his feelings had any place in her future.

So, he remained silent, a spectator to her life as it started moving on without him, yet she seemed to remain a part of his. Everywhere he went, Meerab's presence lingered like a shadow, her laughter echoing off the walls, her determined stride almost visible as he turned corners. It was as if she was still there, a ghostly imprint on every path, every room, every whisper of wind through the trees. He held back tears more times than he could count, the weight of her absence pressing down on him.

His heart felt like it was brimming with unsaid words and stifled emotions, threatening to burst at any moment from the pain of having to hold back so much for so long. It was a relentless pressure, an ache that pulsed with every beat of his heart, an undercurrent of grief that tainted every aspect of his life.

Murtasim went through the motions, his days a blur of responsibilities and conflicts. The fights with the Malik cousins had become almost a daily occurrence, their greed and aggression a never-ending source of tension as they tried to claim land with the stolen papers, threatening the workers with violence, despite the pending case against them for stealing and wrongful possession. He wanted desperately to avoid deaths, but it seemed nearly impossible to steer clear of shootouts with Badar and Zoravar Malik. Without him, there was no one to reign them in, and the hospital was perpetually filled with men from both sides, injured from the relentless conflicts. It was the very scenario he had feared, the one he had tried so hard to prevent.

Slowly, the tide was, thankfully, starting to turn again as the villagers and the council realized the true nature of life under the Maliks' influence. Yet every time the Maliks were arrested, they were let go on bail, thanks to Zoravar's father-in-law, a high-ranking police officer who presided over all of Murtasim's connections. It was a cycle of frustration and futility, one that seemed to have no end.

Meanwhile, Yusuf Ali held back his support, refusing to step in until Murtasim honored his end of the bargain. He knew he should proceed with his engagement to Asma; there was no logical reason to delay...especially now. Yet, deep down, he found that he couldn't bring himself to move forward. Despite all the reasons pushing him towards marriage, a stronger force held him back — the simple, undeniable truth that he didn't want to marry her.

His phone ringing brought him out of his thoughts, tearing him away from the bleak landscape of his mind. As he pulled it out of his pocket, his heart stuttered to a stop. Meerab's name illuminated the screen, alongside a picture he had taken of her covertly, her unaware smile capturing his heart. It had felt like eons since he last saw her name flash across his phone screen, reminding him of those never-ending video calls where he would use Murtasimbakri as an excuse to just stare at her and listen to her voice.

But as soon as he picked up, his heart sank, the call nothing like the calls he loved. Her voice came through, laced with tears and trembling with vulnerability. "Murtasim," she cried out, her voice a piercing arrow to his already fragile heart.

"Meerab, what's wrong?" He asked immediately, his voice firm yet laced with an undercurrent of fear.

"I – we – Baba and I were driving and we – we got into an accident." Her sobs cut through the phone, each one echoing in the hollow space of his chest.

"Are you okay?" He asked, urgency propelling him to his feet, his body moving out of the gaon's haveli towards his car even as his mind raced with worry.

"I– I am okay but Ba- Baba is hurt and Mama is in Lahore and I didn't know who to – " Her voice was a cacophony of panic and pain as he got in the car and turned it on.

"Meerab, I am coming, everything will be okay, take a deep breath for me," he said, his voice a steady command amidst the chaos. He could hear her breathing, a shaky inhale followed by a trembling exhale. "Which hospital?" He pressed down on the accelerator, the car roaring to life as he headed towards Karachi, his men scrambling into jeeps to follow him.

"Aga Khan," she managed to say, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'll be there soon, Meerab, everything will be fine, stay calm for me, okay?"

She didn't respond, but he knew her well enough to understand that she was nodding.

He raced towards Karachi, the roads nearly empty in the dead of night, his car cutting through the darkness at speeds that would have been reckless at any other time. His mind was a whirlwind of worry and fear, her voice replaying in his head, the anxiety palpable. Even though she said she was okay, was she really? The possibility of her being hurt clawed at him, a relentless fear that spurred him faster.

Upon reaching the hospital, he parked his car with disregard, ignoring the security guards who told him he couldn't park there. He trusted his men to handle it as he sprinted towards the emergency department. His eyes scanned the area desperately for a sign of her, his heart pounding in his chest with a ferocity that threatened to overwhelm him.

He approached the nursing station with a hurried intensity. "Waqas Ahmed and Meerab Ahmed, they had a car accident," he said, his voice hoarse with worry, the words tumbling out.

"He's in the operation theatre, follow the green dots on the floor, it's just down the hall and to the left," the nurse answered promptly.

He was already moving in that direction before she even finished speaking, his body on autopilot as he navigated the hospital corridors.

Murtasim's steps, urgent and swift, only slowed when his eyes fell upon Meerab. She was a lone figure, a small, almost fragile presence on the plastic chair bench outside the operation theatre. There was a stark white bandage adorned her forehead, but apart from that sign of injury, she appeared unharmed. She sat motionless, a statue of stoicism amidst the bustle of the hospital.

As he approached, his footsteps quiet but determined, she seemed to sense his presence. Her head whipped around, her eyes wide and vulnerable, locking onto him as if he were a lifeline in a tumultuous sea. In that instant, the distance between them vanished, both physically and emotionally.

Before he could fully comprehend the moment, Meerab was on her feet, tears streaming down her face, her movements towards him driven by an instinctive need for comfort. Murtasim's arms opened instinctively, creating a haven for her as she crashed into him. She buried her face in his chest, her body wracked with sobs, her tears soaking through his shirt. He felt her pain, her fear, her relief, each emotion pulsing through him as he wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

Murtasim's senses heightened, attuned to every tremor that ran through her body. Her hands clutched at his kurta, her fingers gripping the fabric with a desperation that mirrored the fear in her voice. She buried her face in his chest, her sobs muffled against the cloth, each cry sending a pang through his heart. The dampness spreading across his kurta was a testament to her tears, each drop a story of the terror she'd felt.

He didn't know what to say, words seeming trivial against the rawness of her fear. Instead, he simply held her, his hands moving soothingly down her back, his own body a shield against the world. His murmured "shhh" was a gentle sound amidst the chaos, a whispered plea for her to find some semblance of peace in his embrace.

He felt her body slowly begin to relax, her breaths becoming less erratic, more rhythmic. Her grip loosened, but she remained close. After what felt like an eternity but was only a few moments, she pulled away, her eyes still swimming with tears. The sight of her so vulnerable, so visibly shaken, broke something inside him, even as he felt a surge of relief that she was physically unharmed.

Murtasim cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that continued to fall. His eyes searched hers, seeking to understand, to provide whatever reassurance he could. "Tum theek ho?" he asked, his voice laced with deep concern and an undercurrent of relief.

She nodded, a fragile gesture. "Baba..." her voice broke, the single word heavy with unspoken fear and guilt.

"He'll be okay," he reassured her, his words a steady anchor in the tumult of their emotions.

"It's all my fault," she sobbed, her voice a reflection of her tormented soul.

He shook his head firmly. "I am sure it isn't," he countered, his conviction unwavering.

Noticing her shivering, he removed his shawl and wrapped it around her snugly. The fabric enveloped her, a temporary shield against the cold and the world outside their immediate cocoon. But as soon as the shawl settled around her shoulders, it seemed to bring her back to reality. She froze, her eyes widening as the proximity of their embrace registered fully.

Suddenly, she moved away, stepping back as if his touch burned her. The space between them expanded, filled with a tension and unspoken words, leaving Murtasim staring after her, his arms still half-extended, the warmth of her presence already missed. The shawl remained around her, a soft, tangible reminder of their momentary closeness, while the empty air between them spoke volumes of the complicated connection they shared.

She returned to her seat, her movements slow and mechanical, and Murtasim followed, sitting beside her but ensuring there was enough space between them to avoid any inadvertent contact. The air was heavy with unspoken emotions, and he felt a pressing need to bridge the gap with words, any words that could provide some comfort.

"What happened?" he asked gently, turning to face her, his expression open and concerned.

"We were arguing and I guess he didn't notice the truck coming towards us... but he purposely moved the car so he got the brunt of the hit..." Her voice trailed off, laden with guilt and confusion.

Murtasim understood immediately why she was blaming herself, but before he could offer words of comfort, she continued, her voice a fragile whisper.

"W-why would he do that...after everything and the way he's treated me..." Her confusion was evident, the question hanging between them like a delicate thread about to snap.

He remembered her words, the ones she had shared during their unexpected stay at a roadside motel when they were handcuffed together. She told him that she had felt neglected and distanced by her parents, the pain had evidently burrowed deep within her heart.

He spoke quietly, his voice heavy with understanding. "I know your parents have disappointed you a lot, that they haven't been there when you needed them and in the way you needed them... but I am sure they still love you...it's hard to not love you, Meerab," he told her, his voice soft yet firm, trying to instill a sliver of hope into the bleakness of her thoughts.

Murtasim sighed, the weight of what he wanted to convey pressing down on him. "Sometimes...we believe something, and then we only see the world through that belief, refusing to consider other reasons. So, when he wakes up, you should ask him why and maybe tell him how he's made you feel over the past few years." His words were an encouragement, a nudge for her to seek the answers that would either heal or further expose the wounds between her and her father.

She turned to look at him, her eyes scanning his face as if trying to decipher the enigma he presented. He knew his words might seem hypocritical, considering the secrets and burdens he carried, the truths he hid from her. Unlike her parents, his reasons weren't selfish; they were born from a desperate desire to protect everyone he loved, including her. Yet, as she studied him, Murtasim couldn't help but recognize the irony of his own actions, the realization unfolding silently within him.

He too had pushed her away and then come running when she needed him. His actions were likely as confusing, or perhaps even more so, than her father's. The admission was bitter, a reflection of his own flawed attempts to protect her, to shield her from harm while inadvertently causing more pain.

He knew he had caused her distress, and that it wasn't right, but in his mind it had been an attempt at a clean break, he hoped that she would move on from it, because the momentary distress would be nothing to the lifelong distress of being with him with all that was going on.

"I'll go check on what's happening with Waqas Uncle." He said, trying to put some space between them. She nodded, still shivering a little, and he made a note in his mind to bring her a cup of tea as well.

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

Meerab stirred gently, the first threads of consciousness weaving through her mind as she found herself instinctively curled against Murtasim's side. In the dim light of the hospital hallway, she slowly became aware of their proximity. She had drifted off after drinking the tea he had brought, the warmth and the exhaustion pulling her into sleep shortly after the doctors provided an update on her father's condition.

The medical team had explained the extent of the injuries in a flurry of medical terms — compound fractures with bones breaking and piercing skin, internal bleeding, and other injuries. It was a lot to take in, the words heavy with implications, yet they assured her nothing was life-threatening. As they spoke, she had felt adrift in a sea of jargon and uncertainty, but Murtasim had been her anchor, asking the critical questions, his focus sharp, a clear contrast to the haze that clouded her own thoughts.

Now, as she woke, she noticed the even rise and fall of his chest, the quiet assurance of his presence. He was still asleep, his breathing deep and steady, a testament to his own exhaustion. The hallway outside whispered with the occasional footfall of staff, a distant, intermittent reminder of the world beyond their cocoon.

In the half-light, Meerab allowed her gaze to linger on Murtasim, observing him in a way she seldom could when he was awake. His face, usually so guarded and composed, was relaxed in sleep, the lines of constant vigilance smoothed away.

The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. They had been a constant presence since that summer, darkening each time she saw him. He looked tired, not just physically but emotionally drained, as if each day took a piece of him that he couldn't quite get back. His hair was longer than she remembered, falling haphazardly over his forehead, and his beard was a little unkempt, a sign of his neglect towards himself in his preoccupation with everything else.

In sleep, his features relaxed, the constant guard he held up against the world slipping slightly. His face, usually so controlled and impassive, was peaceful, the lines of stress and responsibility smoothed away, leaving behind just the man she knew, the one she couldn't help but love. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, one that tugged at her heartstrings, filling her with an aching tenderness.

Meerab wondered if she was one of the reasons for him losing his sleep. She remembered the turmoil she had tried to incite, hoping to provoke some reaction, any indication of his feelings. She had hoped her actions would make him declare his feelings, break through the barriers he had erected. But he never did, always the stoic, always in control, always the man who didn't want to acknowledge or admit the feelings he made so obvious, leaving her frustrated and confused.

She sighed, letting her eyes flicker over his face.

Despite knowing she shouldn't, that he hadn't given her the right to invade his space, Meerab found herself unable to resist the pull. Her fingers gently pushed his hair away from his forehead, trailing down his face, a touch filled with aching tenderness. Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered the dreams that haunted her — dreams of them sitting together, smiling, content, her fingers trailing over his face just like they were right then, a stark contrast to their reality.

Since Murtasim had left Karachi after meeting the Baigs, she had tried to convince herself that she was getting over him, that his absence wouldn't affect her, that she wasn't waiting for him to come back and...react. To act like he had with Ali and Shahmeer. But as her fingers lingered on his skin, she realized how futile it all was. The feelings she had tried to bury deep were still there, refusing to be ignored, and he was intent on ignoring and burying his, for how could he love someone like her?

But then she thought back to his words about her father, the advice he had given her. It made her wonder - was there a reason he was pushing her away? Was it not just a denial of his feelings, a refusal to love someone he perceived as entirely unsuitable for him like she thought it was? He had made it clear how much of a misfit she was for his family — too liberal, too loud, too opinionated, too much of everything he said he didn't want.

His words echoed in her mind, a cruel reminder of the distance he maintained: "You're the last woman I should want to be with. It was a mistake, why would I kiss you when it can never go anywhere?" Yet, earlier, while talking about her father, he had also said, "It's hard to not love you." The contradiction of his words left her heart in a constant state of confusion.

Why had he come running today? His arrival had been so swift, so urgent, as if nothing else mattered but getting to her side. The realization that he had, perhaps recklessly, rushed to be with her stirred something deep within her. Her fingers stilled on his face, her eyes tracing the contours of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, memorizing every detail as if trying to find answers in the planes and angles of his face.

Suddenly, he murmured her name in his sleep, a soft utterance that made her heart leap. She quickly pulled her hand back, but seeing that he was still deep in sleep, she let her fingers linger once more, a silent caress filled with all the words she couldn't say. Why was he pushing her away?

Meerab pulled her hand away completely minutes later when she noticed his eyes fluttering open, meeting hers with a clarity that startled her. And before she could stop herself, the words were tumbling out, "Yeh jo sab tum kar rahe ho, koi wajah sai kar rahe ho na?" Her voice betrayed her, sounding almost pleading, a note of desperation weaving through the words.

She could see the struggle in his eyes, the internal conflict playing out right before her. She half-expected him to remain silent, to shut down as he had so many times before, or to deny it. But then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. The simple gesture brought tears to her eyes, a mix of relief and renewed frustration.

"Mujhe bata nahi sakte?" she pushed further, needing to understand, to know the reasons behind his actions.

He looked at her, his expression conflicted, but then he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Nothing good is going to come out of it, Meerab, just misery," he said, his voice defeated, as if he'd traversed every possible path in his mind and found them all leading to the same dead end.

"Why did you come today then?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You called," he whispered back, his voice so quiet it was almost as if he wished the words unsaid, as if his presence was a compulsion he couldn't resist, as if he had to come running when she called.

"Why?" she pressed, desperate for something, anything to make sense of the turmoil within her. The battle in her mind was relentless — one side convinced of his love, the other adamant that he would never choose someone like her.

He didn't answer, his silence a heavy shroud between them.

"You could have ignored me." Her words were a mix of accusation and bewilderment. He had ignored her before, during those summer visits, at Yusuf Ali's house, even after he had kissed her. But then his actions had contradicted his distance. He had involved himself in finding a suitor for her as if he couldn't trust anyone else, screening them with an intensity that felt possessive, almost jealous. It had given her hope, made her think that maybe he was just fighting his feelings. But then he had disappeared, leaving her with nothing but questions and a heartache that refused to fade.

He said nothing, turning his gaze away, his profile etched with the same turmoil that filled her.

"Why did you come when I got into an accident last time?" she continued, her voice gaining strength. He had missed his engagement for her, an engagement that had since remained unfulfilled. If she was a mistake and he didn't want her, then why had he come running then, just as he had now?

Again, he remained silent, his silence a wall she couldn't penetrate. She watched him, every line of his face, every slight movement, searching for some clue, some hint of the feelings she was sure were there. But all she was met with was the impenetrable facade of Murtasim.

"Why did no one else come?" Meerab finally asked, the silence between them stretching thin. She remembered the stark emptiness of her hospital room, the notable absence of her parents, especially her father, who had now seemingly risked his life for her.

Murtasim sighed before he spoke. "Your father, he's been having heart problems. He had chest pain, a minor heart attack, likely from the stress of the news, and your mom stayed back to care for him. He told me to not tell you, he didn't want to worry you."

Oh. She hadn't known that. They hadn't told her that. The revelation made her stomach churn with guilt and confusion.

Murtasim continued, his voice steady but filled with a hint of something she couldn't quite place. "Plus, it was hard to get up where you were — travel was severely restricted due to the weather and circumstances. Getting there was impossible by road. Chacha-Saab wanted to come, but both of us couldn't leave the village at the same time." His eyes flickered across her face, assessing, maybe trying to gauge her reaction.

"Oh," she whispered, the word barely escaping her lips. Maybe she should have listened to them when they tried to talk to her.

"So, you came because they sent you?" She asked, still seeking confirmation.

Murtasim shook his head.

"Why did you then?" She asked again, her voice a soft demand for the truth, for anything that might explain his presence.

He didn't answer, his silence a vast expanse between them.

She was about to press further when Zaki appeared, his arrival cutting through the tense atmosphere. "Meerab! I saw your and your father's name on the charts. Why didn't you call me? I work here," he said, his voice laced with worry and confusion, his eyes flickering to Murtasim, who he acknowledged with a nod.

It was then that Meerab realized then that she should have called Zaki.

Her first thought had been of Murtasim, needing him, believing he would fix everything if he was there. But as she looked at Zaki in front of her right then, she knew that he would have come running sooner, he worked there, and that he would have been more help – he was a doctor.

So why hadn't she thought of him? Of perfect Zaki, who was kind, who liked her for who she was, who celebrated the things that Murtasim only tolerated? Why did she need the man who broke her heart, who made her cry, who hid things from her by her side over someone like Zaki, the man she was betrothed to now? What was wrong with her?

"I wasn't thinking," Meerab said to Zaki, her voice small, not knowing how to explain herself.

But Zaki just smiled and shrugged it off. "I know, it's stressful to be in a situation like this. I'll go find out what's happening with your dad, and see what I can do to help," he said, understanding and kindness in his voice.

Meerab nodded as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving her alone with Murtasim once more.

Murtasim got up from his seat. "I'll be going since he's here now," he said quietly, his voice betraying nothing of what he might be feeling, refusing to look at her. "I've called your mother and let her know, she's heading down on the next flight over, and Chacha-Saab should be here soon too."

"Koi jawab nahi dohge?" she asked again, her voice a mix of hope and despair.

He sighed, a sound heavy with resignation. "I am sorry," was all he said, the words hanging in the air between them.

"Meri sagai hojaygi...agle hafte," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper. She noticed how he tensed at her words, his hands calling up into fists. She hoped it would push him enough to act.

"Woh khush rakhe ga tumhe," Murtasim said, his voice devoid of any warmth.

Tears filled her eyes, her voice trembling as she replied, "Tumhe kaisa pata, shayad meri khushi kahin aur hai..." Her words were a challenge, a plea, a resignation all at once.

He sighed deeply. "Kuch log khushi nahi, sirf dukh hi dai sakte hai," he said, his words echoing in the empty hallway.

It seemed like he wouldn't budge. He wouldn't pick her. She was a mistake.

Meerab sniffled, her voice breaking as she whispered, "Shayad theek hi keh rahe ho, kuch logon ko sirf dukh hi dena aata hai."

He didn't look back as he walked away, his figure retreating into the distance, leaving Meerab alone with her tears and the painful realization that maybe he was right. Some people could only bring pain, no matter how much she wished it were otherwise.

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Murtasim glanced at his phone as it rang a few days later, the late hour casting a ghostly glow on the screen. Shahmeer's number flashing across it was unexpected, jarring in the stillness of the night. A frown creased his brow as he wondered why the man would be calling at such an ungodly hour.

"Hello?" he said, his voice groggy from sleep that never came, sleep that had only come to him with her curled up into his side at the hospital.

"Murtasim, if you and Meerab have a baby boy, you have to name it after me," Shahmeer's voice came through, light and teasing.

"Have you called me to annoy me?" Murtasim sighed, not in the mood for Shahmeer's antics, especially not at this hour.

"No, I have good news for you, something that will make you want to name your firstborn with Meerab after me..." Shahmeer's tone shifted, a note of seriousness underlying the jest.

The sudden change caught Murtasim off guard. He sat up, the previous fog of sleep rapidly clearing as Shahmeer's words registered. His stomach knotted with anticipation, curiosity flooding through him.

"What?" He asked, his voice tense, every muscle in his body suddenly alert. 

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A/N: Again, if you're throwing shoes, I only accepts Blahniks and Louboutins! Soooo, what do you think? What do you think Shahmeer found out? And how will that affect what Murtasim will do?!