Author's Note: Thank you to all of you for showing Meri Musibat so much love! I am glad you all enjoyed the first chapter. 

Reminders/Notes:

-This story will follow Meerab and Murtasim every summer during her visit to the Haveli - so a whole year has passed since they fought in the last chapter.  Obviously, these interactions and things are not the only things that happen between them, but these are the "highlights". 

-In the show, we're first told that Meerab learns the truth at 22, so this story starts a couple of years before that, so they're both younger in these initial chapters!

Hope you enjoy this chapter! 

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Sunlight streamed down on the Khan Haveli, painting its facade in a golden hue as Murtasim's Mercedes drove up the driveway. Birds chirped, trees swayed, and summer was once again in full swing. But for Murtasim, summer had become synonymous with only one thing: chaos.

Meerab had arrived just as the weather turned warmer, and he often found himself wondering how one person, a mere young woman, could bring such turbulence into his orderly life. Her return to the Haveli was like a cyclone that disrupted the peace he so carefully maintained throughout the year.

Murtasim had always been a man of control. Every facet of his life was carefully orchestrated, every contingency planned for. But Meerab? She was the wild card, the unpredictable element that refused to bow down to his will.

"I can't believe I am doing this." He muttered as he pulled the three tickets out of his wallet and walked up the pathway towards the house. He had left an important meeting and given in to Meerab's stubbornness, a part of him screamed at him for doing so, told him to take the tickets back and rip them apart, to not give her what she wanted. It felt like he was letting her win. But then he remembered how much both she and Maryam had begged to go and that part gave away.

The house was suspiciously quiet as he stepped in.

Before he could even call out to Maryam or Meerab, his phone buzzed.

"Hello?" He asked picking up.

"Khan, Meerab Bibi took a car earlier today and disappeared with Maryam Bibi." One of his security personnel spoke on the line.

"When?" He seethed.

"A couple of hours ago."

"And you're telling me now?" He asked, his voice filled with anger.

"I – I only realized the car was missing now and checked the cameras."

"YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE AT THE GATES!" He yelled.

"I stepped away for just a moment, I - "

"Tell all of the men to get ready." He said before he hung up, he'd have fired the man on the spot but he had a feeling that Meerab would find a way to outsmart anyone.

Murtasim sighed heavily, pinching his nose as he felt the Meerab-induced headache impending.

He knew where they had gone.

The last couple of days had been filled with their persistent chatter about attending the Pakistan vs. India cricket match in Karachi. Murtasim had, of course, refused. The stadium was too crowded, the audience was usually very rowdy, the city was a hubbub of activity, and he was unable to accompany them. The fact that Chacha-Saab and Maa Begum were away, dropping Haya off at her grandmother's house, didn't help either.

He had expected disappointment, perhaps a cold shoulder until he presented the tickets he had secured, and told them he would take them, having rescheduled a couple of important meetings.

What he hadn't expected was rebellion.

But he should have expected it, of course he should have, it was Meerab.

Whenever he said "No," she heard it as a challenge, not a command.

He found himself baffled, trying to decipher the workings of her mind. Why did he ever assume that Meerab would comply? She was the storm that refused to be tamed, the fire that wouldn't be doused. The very essence of her spirit was to challenge, to question, and to defy. It was both her strength and her downfall. And as much as it infuriated him, he couldn't help but begrudgingly respect her tenacity – she had defied him, found a way to sneak out, went undetected for hours, and got what she wanted in the end.

Meerab always got what she wanted.

The empty parking spot where the car once stood was proof of that.

He was still shocked by the audacity of her actions though. Not only had Meerab decided to defy him, but she had also managed to drag Maryam into her shenanigans.

Rage bubbled up inside Murtasim as he drove speeded off towards the outskirts of Karachi, his men following the racing Mercedes in their jeeps.

Every beep, every honk of the horn felt like an added insult.

How could she just take off? She didn't understand the intricacies, the dangers of being out alone, and the added dangers of being from a feudal family. And dragging Maryam with her? That was crossing a line.

When he finally reached the stadium, the cacophony of the crowd was deafening. He parked near one of the exits, by the car that he recognized, his sharp eyes scanning the sea of faces for any sign of Meerab or Maryam. With every passing minute, his anger grew. He had adjusted his day, canceled meetings, made arrangements so he could accompany them to the match – they would have missed half of it but he had thought something would be better than nothing - and this was the thanks he got.

Waiting outside in the heat to catch them.

The sweltering heat of summer always had a way of testing Murtasim's patience, and that afternoon was far worse than most. The heat, the sweat dripping down his brow, everything was somehow more irritable during these months. But there was one particular factor that took his irritation to a whole new level: Meerab.

Each time she stepped into the Haveli with her defiant eyes and challenging spirit, it felt like a spark igniting his temper. He found himself reflecting upon the odd sensation, wondering if someone, anyone, could explain why the mere presence of this one individual felt like a furnace heating his blood, making him want to lash out.

While he never acted upon these feelings, the intensity of his emotions left him unsettled. And more often than not, he found himself wanting to direct this bubbling rage at her, wanting to scream at her, to make her understand his viewpoint which she so readily ignored.

He could picture their confrontation already, Meerab's defiant face, her arms crossed, ready for a fight. But he was ready too. She may have won battles before, but this was war. The safety of his family was at stake, and no amount of stubbornness from her end could justify her actions.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm that was about to come.

Summer at the Khan Haveli had truly begun.

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Murtasim's gaze pierced through the mass of cricket enthusiasts, zeroing in on the distinct hue of Meerab's yellow top amidst the chaotic crowd exiting the stadium after the game. The color was a stark contrast to the sea of green and white, making her easily identifiable.

As he walked closer, each step weighed down by the weight of his own emotions, a peculiar sensation settled in his chest as she came into clear view. Was it concern? Or maybe something else? But Murtasim was in no mood to dwell upon such feelings. Instead, he chose to focus on the rage that bubbled inside him, so fiercely that it surprised even him.

Why, he pondered, did her presence always amplify his reactions? Was it the constant game of tug-of-war they played with each other? Or did her fiery spirit simply act as a mirror, reflecting his own flaws back at him?

The closer he got, the more he was able to observe. It was an odd scene. Instead of the exuberant laughter he had anticipated, he found an agitated Meerab, her usually sparkling eyes ablaze with fury. Maryam, typically the more timid one, looked downright terrified. Every nerve in Murtasim's body tightened as he followed their line of sight and spotted the group of men tailing the duo.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his protective instincts taking over. The sheer audacity of those men to trail two young women infuriated him. This was exactly the scenario he had worried about, the very reason he had opposed their outing without a guardian, he knew that the attendees at such an event were always a mixed bag. But before he could take a step, Meerab, ever the defiant one, spun around and confronted the men head-on.

"Stop following us, you creeps! Ghar mein maa-behen nahi hai kya?!"

The unexpected confrontation caught him off guard. Meerab's voice, loud to catch the attention of everyone around her, filled with righteous anger, echoed in the warm evening air.

Her words acted as an unmissable beacon, drawing attention to the three predators. And it worked. The very public rebuke led the men to retreat, embarrassment painted clear on their faces as all those around turned to them.

Relief washed over Murtasim, but it was short-lived, replaced swiftly by a fresh wave of anger. While she had managed to handle the situation, he couldn't shake off the nagging thought of 'What if?' What if they had been in a more secluded spot? What if the crowd hadn't been there?

He admired her courage, but reckless bravery had its limits, and one day she would get herself into a lot of trouble.

Meerab halted so abruptly when she caught sight of him leaning against the car that her momentum jolted Maryam, who, distracted and still recovering from the altercation, collided into her back.

Maryam's confused voice rang out, filled with disbelief and apprehension as she noticed Murtasim's presence. "B-b-bhai, aap yahan?" The stutter, a rarity for her, betrayed her anxiety. He could picture it now, Meerab insisting they go, Maryam expressing her fears, but Meerab convincing her that they'd be back before anyone noticed.

With a firmness that allowed no room for discussion, Murtasim spoke. "Sit in the car, Maryam." His dark eyes never leaving Meerab's, challenging her, questioning her every decision from that evening.

The sharpness of his gaze met the equally defiant stare of Meerab's eyes. Even in the most heated moments, there was an undeniable spark between them - a raw intensity, magnetic and palpable – one that made him unable to look away.

Interrupting the charged silence, Maryam's hesitant voice tried to reason, "Bhai, listen -"

But before she could plead her case, Murtasim's voice cut through, clear and firm. "NOW, Maryam." The authority in his tone left no room for arguments. With a reluctant sigh, Maryam obliged, the weight of guilt and fear evident in her footsteps as she walked to his car parked a bit further away.

Murtasim's fingers clenched as he looked at Meerab's defiant posture. Every fiber of his being was tensed, the anger evident in the narrowing of his eyes. He wondered how she managed to drive him to such lengths of frustration every single time. It had to be a hidden talent for no one could anger him like she did.

"What's with the surprise party?" Meerab's voice dripped with sarcasm as she broke the silence.

"You thought you could just sneak away like that?" Murtasim's voice was cold and clipped.

She stepped closer. "Why? Is the Haveli a prison we're not allowed to leave?"

He scoffed, stepping closer. "Not this again."

"You won't let us go anywhere!" She snapped.

"Because it's dangerous and you never think of the consequences!" He retorted, his anger palpable. "I moved an important meeting to bring you two but by the time I got back, you had already left!"

His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. Without thinking, he swung his arm out, striking the side of the car with a loud thud. The metallic echo reverberated in the quiet surrounding them, startling a nearby bird into the air.

His hand stung from the impact, a red imprint forming on his palm. But it wasn't the pain that caught his attention. It was Meerab's unwavering gaze, her eyes sharp and challenging, not an ounce of fear visible. "Aise aggressive darane wale actions kisi aur par try karna, Murtasim. Yeh mujh par kaam nahi karenge." She stood her ground, her voice cold and firm. She tilted her chin up defiantly. "And what was I supposed to do? Just sit there and wait for you? Like a good, obedient girl?"

He inched even closer, the proximity almost suffocating. The air grew thick with tension. "Jee karta hai tumhari jaan leloon." He whispered, his gaze lingering just a little too long on her lips, gleaming from the sheen of her lip gloss.

A stray lock of her long hair fell into her eyes, and without thinking, his hand moved up, wanting to brush it away, but he stopped himself.

She boldly stepped closer, the defiance in her eyes making him pause. Their faces were mere inches apart, their breaths intermingling. "So, we came to the game alone, what's the big deal?" She challenged, her voice barely a whisper, yet laden with unspoken emotions.

"It's dangerous!" He growled back, feeling the heat rise in him.

"I can handle myself." She retorted, stepping even closer, challenging him.

Murtasim's face contorted with anger. "Women from our households don't go out alone like this. Maybe you don't care about your own honor, but spare Maryam and our family some consideration!" His voice rose with each word, the weight of family honor heavy on his shoulders.

She leaned in, eyes flashing. "Tum logo ki izzat itni fragile hai ki har cheez se toot jayegi?" She seethed, her breath hot on his face. "Every step, every word, every glance is viewed through this warped lens of honor and pride. If I speak too loudly, your family's respect is threatened. If I laugh too openly, it's a stain on your so-called prestige. If I want to dress comfortably, it's suddenly an affront to your lineage and legacy. Why? Why is your honor so intricately linked with suppressing me? With suppressing Maryam? With controlling every aspect of our lives? It's suffocating. It's exhausting. My existence, my identity isn't just a reflection or extension of your family's honor. I am my own person, with my own dreams, desires, and determinations. So, tell me, when will your fragile ego stop measuring its worth by how silent or submissive women in your family are?"

Murtasim's eyes darkened, he knew his mother took it too far sometimes, criticizing her for things that didn't need to be criticized, but this, what she had done this day was more than a small misstep.

"I know I shouldn't expect you to understand, Meerab." He began, his voice dripping with disappointment, "but you roped Maryam into this too. You've always been the defiant one. Ever since you were young, challenging every rule, questioning every suggestion. But have you ever stopped to consider why people tell you certain things? This isn't some game. It's not about control. It's about protection. This is beyond stupid. Leaving the house alone, without telling anyone, to such a crowded place -"

Brushing off his concerns, Meerab retorted, "It's just a cricket match, we're not children." She tried to downplay the situation, her chin tilted up in defiance.

He moved closer, wanting to make her see reason. "You're not, but you are women. Look around, Meerab." His voice still biting even though he knew a softer tone would be more effective. "Do you see many women here? And the ones you do see, do you see them here alone?"

"So?"

Murtasim's voice tightened, and the words formed a sharp edge. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it was? How thoughtless your decision was?"

Meerab met his gaze, her anger evident. "Dangerous? Thoughtless? We came to see a cricket match, Murtasim. It's not like we ventured into a war zone!"

His deep-set eyes burned with anger, exasperation evident in every line of his face as he stepped even closer. "Do you not understand the world we live in? The reality of our society? Do you not watch the news? Do you not realize that you're now part of a feudal family? You could have been hurt, or worse!"

She stepped forward defiantly, her voice rising with every word. "We're not children! We're adults. And we did nothing wrong. We wanted to see the match, so we went!"

"And took the car without telling anyone! What if something had happened to you two? How would I have known where to find you?" He retorted, his anger escalating with each step he took toward her.

"You don't get to dictate our every move." Meerab's voice cracked with raw emotion. "You don't control us. We're two grown women who can make our own decisions. You said you couldn't take us, we wanted to go, so we found a way."

Murtasim's nostrils flared, his voice edged with desperation. "I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to protect you!"

"From what?" She spat out. "From a cricket match? From life? We did what we wanted, and guess what? We're fine! We saw the match, it was fun, and we were about to drive home."

As the distance between them grew shorter, the intensity of their emotions heightened. They stood toe to toe, their anger and frustration palpable, the space between them charged with tension.

Murtasim took a deep breath, his voice struggling to find calm. "Did you not see those men that were following you?"

Meerab paused, the memory flashing before her eyes. "They were just a few creeps."

"It only takes one to cause harm, Meerab." He replied, the urgency evident in his tone. "You may think you're invincible, that you can handle any situation. But what if you can't? What if something happens?"

"We handled it," she retorted, her defiance unwavering.

He stepped even closer, their faces inches apart. "You were lucky. Those men backed off today, but there could be a day when they don't. There's a reason why most women don't usually go out alone in these spaces. It's not about control, Meerab, it's about protection and knowing where you are."

She scoffed, her anger refusing to diminish. "Oh, so now you're suddenly the protector of women?"

Murtasim's brows furrowed in frustration. He could feel the vein on his temple throbbing, but he couldn't tell if it was from anger or the electric charge that seemed to crackle in the air every time they got this close. It was hard for him to focus, his thoughts swirling, trying to process her words and the dizzying scent of her perfume – she used too much.

"It's not just any women; it's you, Maryam, the women of my family. The ones I am responsible for. There's a difference between controlling someone because they're women and wanting to protect the women you care about. Can't you see that?" He seethed, his eyes flickering over hers, searching for understanding.

Meerab took a moment, her defiant posture not softening a bit. "I understand that, but you all take it too far, you have everyone on a leash without even a little give, and that's why people rebel. It just feels like you're always trying to limit us, box us in."

Murtasim sighed, "I'm trying to keep you safe. I've seen the world, Meerab, the good and the bad. And sometimes, it's my responsibility to shield you from the dangers I know exist. So would it kill you to listen for once?" He snapped.

Meerab met his gaze steadily, her voice still resolute. "If you explained and provided solutions rather than commands, maybe I would listen. I don't want to live in fear, always looking over my shoulder. I refuse to let fear dictate every choice I make. I get it, most men are trash, but I am not dumb." She said as she pulled her purse open.

She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a small can of pepper spray, a portable alarm with a pull ring that emitted a loud noise, and a whistle. "See? I came prepared. I carry these with me all the time. I've even taken self-defence classes. I know the dangers out there and I know how to protect myself. And in the case I can't, there is a text programmed to send out to you and my baba with my current and last location that would send out if I didn't disable it after I get home. I go out alone in Karachi all the time, and you can't say my parents don't want to protect me – there's a fine line between protecting and suffocating someone, and you suffocate."

Murtasim stared at the items she had laid out. "Pepper spray? An alarm? Is this how you intend to protect yourself?" He asked, his tone one of incredulity.

She nodded, defiantly holding her head high.

He shook his head, "Look, these," he pointed at the items, "are not always enough. Why can't you just...listen, and do things normally? Avoid situations where you might need to use them?"

She crossed her arms, "And by 'normally', you mean hiding away, protected by men?"

He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, "No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just trying to make you understand that there are dangers out there, real threats that can't always be thwarted with pepper spray or a loud alarm. It's great in theory, but when faced with real danger, things might not always go as planned, Meerab."

"You're so ANNOYING!" She groaned. "There's a risk in everything, so I should just stop living? There's really no reasoning with you."

He scoffed. "That's hilarious coming from you."

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Ugh, why do you always have to have the last word?"

He smirked. "Because I always have the right word."

Her gaze narrowed. "Oh, so now you're the self-proclaimed voice of wisdom?"

He raised an eyebrow, "Self-proclaimed? More like universally acknowledged."

She crossed her arms, "Universally? By who? Your mirror?"

He chuckled. "At least my mirror doesn't lie to me."

"Mine doesn't need to. It has nothing but good things to say," she shot back with a smug smile.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper, "Maybe you should get your mirror checked."

Her jaw clenched, "Maybe you should get your head checked. Clearly, all this 'wisdom' has inflated it."

He laughed, "And yet here you are, constantly butting heads with me. Can't get enough of this 'inflated' head?"

She huffed, "Dream on. I'd rather have a peaceful day without you and your constant lectures."

"Then why do you keep doing things that make me lecture you?" He shot back.

"You think me breathing warrants a lecture." She retorted sarcastically. "But if you spent half as much time lecturing men who are a supposed danger to women, then the world would be a better place."

"If I thought they'd listen I would."

She stood her ground, her face just inches from his, breathing heavily. "You wouldn't," she challenged, her voice dripping with defiance. "All you know is how to suppress and control the vulnerable, not to confront those who wield power."

Murtasim's eyes darkened, feeling the weight of her words. A part of him wanted to argue, to defend himself, but deep down he knew there was a sliver of truth in what she said. His chest felt tight as he grappled with the realization.

The quiet tension of their argument shattered as a bullet sliced through the stillness, narrowly missing Meerab and lodging itself in the car behind them. The sharpness of the gunshot resonated in Murtasim's ears, causing his instincts to snap into action.

Meerab's body stiffened momentarily, her eyes wide with shock. Her scream pierced the chaos, "Murtasim!" Her voice wobbled with fear, but there was no time for that.

His eyes darted around the parking lot, quickly spotting a gun leveled in their direction. Another shot. He felt a sharp sting in his arm, but the surge of adrenaline coursing through him didn't allow for pain to settle in.

Without hesitation, he pulled Meerab behind the cover of the car, looking to make sure that Maryam was in the safety of the car far behind them, even as his men spread out, weapons drawn and ready to return fire.

"Muratsim!" Meerab gasped, causing him to look at her, her gaze was fixed on the blood oozing from his arm, voice trembling, she uttered his name again, more softly this time. There were tears glistening in her eyes, a stark contrast to the fierce defiance from mere moments ago.

He tried to sound reassuring, even with the chaos around them. "It's okay, it's just a graze, stay down." Yet his focus was on retrieving his gun from the holster, preparing for the threat that loomed.

Her fingers brushed against his wounded arm, sending a jolt of pain through him. "It's bleeding." The weight of the situation seemed to be pressing on her voice. "You have to apply pressure." She repeated, voice shaky but firm.

He felt her pressing down on the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. Her touch sent sharp jabs of pain up his arm, and he couldn't stifle the hiss that escaped his lips. "Sorry!" She whispered, even as she pressed harder.

Through the dim light, he saw her tears, falling fast.

Her breaths came in shallow, quick gasps.

Clearly, she didn't deal well with bullets or blood.

Trying to remain calm for both of them, he whispered, "Meerab, shhh, it's okay. We'll be fine." Yet, in the pit of his stomach, uncertainty churned. He could only hope they'd get out of this unscathed. He hadn't been involved in such a showdown since his father had passed away, his father had been shot at on many occasions and Murtasim had been at his side a couple of times, so he knew it happened. But it had never happened to him thus far.

Bullets continued to rain around them, each echoing bang jolting Murtasim's heart rate further. The smell of nitroglycerin from the bullets mingled with the earlier tension, making the atmosphere heady and thick. The glint of each bullet casings reflecting the dim light reminded him of his feudal ties and the world he belonged to.

One of his men quickly approached, keeping himself low to the ground, taking care to not expose himself to the rain of bullets. "Khan! It's the Malik's men!" He whispered fiercely.

Murtasim felt a burning rage boil in him. He started to push himself up, ready to confront the ambush. But he was immediately yanked back down by Meerab, her fingers digging into his arm.

"No!" She hissed with a ferocity that took him aback. Her eyes were wide with fear and determination, glistening in the setting sun.

"Meerab, let go!" His voice had a sharp edge, commanding her to release him.

He was used to being obeyed instantly.

But Meerab held firm.

Her grip remained unyielding as she shook her head. "Mat jao, please, you'll get hurt."

Suddenly, another one of Murtasim's men approached, his face coated with sweat and smudges of dirt. "It's okay, Khan, they're gone, most of them were shot, only Karim has been shot on our side." He said, his voice heavy with exhaustion and relief.

Murtasim's heart rate began to slow down, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He stared deep into Meerab's eyes, trying to convey his frustration and the hint of gratitude blossoming within him all at once.

She blinked back at him, her eyes still filled with fear, but there was something else there, too – a kind of understanding.

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The sterile smell of the hospital, combined with the hum of fluorescent lights, seemed deafeningly loud in Murtasim's ears. He sat in the dimly lit room, the pale blue sheets of the hospital bed crinkling beneath him. Each tug of the nurse's hand on his bandage sent prickles of pain shooting up his arm. The very same arm that had been bleeding profusely for the past hour.

Meerab sat in a plastic chair beside his bed, her posture stiff but her eyes filled with unmistakable worry, her hands were no longer covered in his blood but her yellow kurta was stained with blood. Every now and then, she'd look up ensuring he was alright, but she looked away just as quickly because his shirt was half off as his arm was bandaged. Murtasim's eyes kept flickering to her, drinking in the sight of her concern. It was foreign. She had never looked at him the way she was right then, he had also never seen her so...quiet.

"You realize," he began, his voice low as the nurse left, "this is also a reason why women in our house don't go out alone. I'm a target, which by extension makes you a target."

She met his gaze with fiery eyes, her voice equally passionate. "You're a target because you're a feudal lord... so tell me again why that isn't a problem?"

He sighed deeply, weary from the events of the night. "There's no winning with you, is there?"

She leaned forward, a spark in her eye. "Reason with me, Murtasim, and there is winning."

He looked at her, exasperated. "You don't want to listen. You'll only take in and internalize things that align with what you want to hear."

"You have to admit that we were fine until you showed up, that if you hadn't come, no one would have singled us out and shot at us..." She sighed. "And you wouldn't have gotten hurt." She whispered the last bit, sounding worried.

He guessed she was right in a way, if he had just let them be, they would have gotten in the car and driven home. He, with his men, had likely caught the attention of Malik's men, and he had been standing outside in the parking lot, making himself and them a target.

Her lips were pressed together in a thin line and she said no more, but Murtasim noticed the glint of worry in her eyes.

Suddenly, as he tried to adjust himself, a sharp sting made him wince. She was on her feet immediately, her warm hand enveloping his. "Bahut dard ho raha hai?" Her voice was soft, the fight from earlier seemed miles away.

He shot her an irritated look, the pain making him snappy. "Nahi bahut maza aaraha hai."

Meerab rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, but her fingers tightened around his. She looked away, biting her lip, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. "Who were they?" She pressed, her voice echoing slightly off the walls.

Murtasim turned to face her, his eyes shadowed with fatigue and frustration. "You don't need to worry about it."

"That's rich." Meerab shot back, her tone laced with sarcasm. Her eyes burned with a mix of anger and concern. "If they're a danger, shouldn't I know about them so I know what to look out for? Shouldn't Maryam as well?"

The mention of Maryam made Murtasim's heart clench. He recalled the look of pure terror on her face when she got out of the car that she had been hiding in. She had been shaken, and went home crying. He paused, drawing a deep breath before he continued. "The Malik Family and ours have been fighting over disputed land for generations. They're...different."

Meerab's brow furrowed, her curiosity piqued. "How so?"

Murtasim hesitated, clearly grappling with his thoughts. He took a moment, composing himself before he answered. "They better fit that feudal stereotype you believe in. They exploit people, hurt others without a thought. The father... he's more or less alright. But his son..." Murtasim's face darkened. "He is a nightmare. Always intoxicated, always stirring up trouble. And he recently..."

Murtasim hesitated, looking away. His jaw clenched, the memory of recent events causing a ripple of anger to pass over his face. Meerab, noticing the change, leaned closer, worry evident in her eyes.

"Murtasim?" She prodded softly. "What did he do?"

Murtasim took a deep breath, trying to control the emotions threatening to overflow. "He recently kidnapped and assaulted one of our workers' daughters...because the man wouldn't give up his land to him."

Meerab's eyes widened, her face draining of color. "That's...horrible." She whispered.

Murtasim nodded. "He wasn't pleased that he got into trouble for it because of me, so this happened."

"The police doesn't step in?" Meerab's voice quivered slightly, her eyes searching Murtasim's face for some assurance.

Murtasim let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. His eyes remained intense, piercing into hers. "You say you understand it all..." His voice trailed off for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "But feudalism exists because the government fails." He continued with a tone of bitterness.

Meerab's eyes widened slightly, as if expecting him to say more.

Seeing the anticipation in her eyes, he sighed deeply, "The police? They're useless when it comes to things like this." Things had changed immensely after his father's death, the Maliks had used it as an opportunity to pull over the people that had traditionally supported his father, he was slowly trying to bring them back, but it was a difficult process when they saw him as someone too young to hold the power he did.

"He got arrested and was released not a day later because they currently have a stronger relationship with the police than I do right now." He paused, his jaw tensing. "They're corrupt. They turn a blind eye. The government doesn't care."

Murtasim couldn't help but notice the change in Meerab's demeanor. Gone was the fire of defiance, replaced with a genuine curiosity. Her eyes, wide and shimmering, captured every word he said, and her face, usually so guarded, now displayed an openness that took him aback.

The harsh, hospital lighting seemed to have a softening effect on her features, highlighting the curves of her cheeks, the arch of her brow, the slight quiver in her lips as she listened intently. He'd always known she was strong, resilient, and intelligent, but in this moment, he was hit with the realization of how truly...pretty she was.

"Then?" She asked, her voice almost child-like rather than challenging or defiant for once.

Murtasim took a deep breath, his gaze steady on Meerab's expectant face. "Feudalism," he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "was the answer to the government's failure to provide basic amenities or rights to its people, someone else steps in to fill that void. Here, it's the feudal lords. They provide jobs, shelter, and security, and in return, they gain loyalty and power. It's a cycle, Meerab. The people become dependent on the feudal lords because the state doesn't offer them any alternatives. And the lords become more powerful because of this dependence. It's a deeply entrenched system, one that's hard to break away from, especially when corruption runs so rampant in the institutions that are supposed to keep it in check."

Murtasim leaned forward, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the room's lighting, emphasizing the intensity of his eyes. "Some get intoxicated by the power they hold, letting it corrupt them to the point where they forget their responsibility to the very people who granted them that power. They exploit, control, and dictate without any thought for the consequences," he paused, letting his words sink in. "But then there are those who try to remain true to their roots, who understand the weight of their responsibility and work towards the betterment of their people. They know they owe everything to their land and its people, and they strive to give back. Even if you find it hard to believe," he said, his voice softening, "I like to think that I fall into that second category. Every decision I make, every step I take, it's with the thought of how it'll affect my people, our legacy."

As Murtasim concluded his explanation, he waited for the customary challenge from Meerab. Their interactions were always peppered with spirited debates and disagreements.

To his surprise, she merely nodded, processing his words thoughtfully. The familiar glint of defiance in her eyes was absent. Instead, there was a depth of understanding that he had never seen before.

The weight of her gaze, heavy with newfound comprehension, made his heart race unexpectedly. For once, she wasn't challenging him or brushing off his words. She was genuinely listening and, it seemed, accepting what he said.

This shift in dynamics left Murtasim feeling astrange blend of relief and bewilderment.

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A/N: Soooooooo, what do you think? What was your favourite part? Hehe.