A/N: Thank you to all of you for the love for the last chapter, onto the next one, it's super long :)

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As Murtasim pulled up in front of the café, Meerab's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the elegant, yet clearly empty, establishment before her. The surprise must have been evident on her face, for Murtasim turned to her with an explanation. "Shahmeer is a major investor, so he closed it down for a couple of hours. Areeb is here too," he said.

The mention of Areeb brought a smile to Meerab's face, and she couldn't resist teasing Murtasim, turning to him with a playful glint in her eye, remembering his reaction when she had thanked Areeb for the shoes that Murtasim had asked him to buy for her once. "Should I be thanking Areeb for picking out the flowers and anklets then?" she asked, a mischievous tone lacing her words.

Murtasim's response was almost immediate, his annoyance palpable yet endearing in a way that only he could manage. "I picked them, he had nothing to do with it," he muttered, a touch of defensiveness in his tone that made Meerab want to laugh. "So, you should be saying thank you to me."

Suppressing the giggles that threatened to break free, Meerab offered him a sincere, "Thank you, Murtasim," her gratitude mingling with amusement at his childishly cute demeanor.

He nodded, though he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like there are better ways to thank me as he exited the car, moving around to open her door with a chivalry that seemed ingrained in his very being.

Meerab, not wanting to leave the beautiful flowers he had brought her behind to succumb to the heat of the car, decided to take them with her, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Murtasim. "The car will get too hot, they'll wilt," she explained, to which he silently agreed, closing the door behind her.

As he opened the back door, Murtasimbakri made an enthusiastic jump out of the car, prompting a gasp from Meerab. "Careful!" she exclaimed, her protective instinct kicking in.

Murtasim's laughter filled the air, a sudden sound that made Meerab's heart flutter. "She does a lot worse than that successfully," he said, picking up the bag filled with her water and snacks.

"Were you not watching her?!" Meerab couldn't help but ask, her worry for their goat evident in her tone as she looked up at him, her gaze meeting his.

The smile that graced Murtasim's lips then was enough to quicken Meerab's heartbeat, a warmth spreading through her as he reassured her. "She's a goat, Meerab. They grow up on farms doing whatever they want. I don't baby her... too much," he added, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Meerab found herself nodding, he was right.

Her smile grew wider as Murtasim held out his hand to her, "let's go?" he asked, an inviting warmth in his voice.

She nodded, her hand slipping into his larger, warmer one, a perfect fit. Together, they entered the café, Murtasimbakri trotting in ahead of them.

"Of course, they brought the goat," Shahmeer's voice reached her first, amusement lacing his tone.

Areeb's quip followed, causing her cheeks to color, "It's their love child out of wedlock, she goes with them everywhere." He waved at Meerab, sitting relaxed at a table in the center of the café.

Meerab waved back, before turning to Shahmeer, who leaned casually against the front counter. His next words, accompanied by a grin, were directed at the flowers in her hand, "Are those flowers for me?"

Choosing to sidestep his jest, she eyed his attire, a far cry from the formal wear she last saw him in. "What are you wearing?" she asked, genuinely puzzled at his transformation into someone who looked like they had wandered in from another, simpler world.

Areeb snickered from his place, "It's a long story," implying a tale too elaborate for the moment.

Her curiosity piqued, Meerab looked to Murtasim, her eyebrow arching for an explanation. Murtasim, catching her unspoken question, clarified, "He's a poor office worker named Fazal Baksh part-time," his voice holding a hint of jest.

Meerab was even more bewildered, and it seemed that Murtasim caught on because he continued to explain. "To woo a woman who hates rich men, but somehow caught his heart," he said.

"You're lying to her?" Meerab turned to Shahmeer, disbelief and a touch of disapproval in her voice.

"No...just not telling her the whole truth," Shahmeer defended, his grin unfazed by the ethical quagmire.

"And then what? She falls in love with you and you tell her?" Meerab pressed on, her tone laced with skepticism over such a precarious foundation for love.

He nodded with a confidence that Meerab found both astonishing and foolish. "Acha, and you think she'll just forgive you?" The incredulity in Meerab's voice was palpable, highlighting the naiveté of Shahmeer's plan.

Again, he nodded, his optimism undeterred, "She'll love me by then."

Meerab couldn't help but snort at the simplicity of his conviction. "No, she'll love Fazal Baksh, a lie, not Shahmeer Sikander," she pointed out, her words cutting to the heart of the matter.

Areeb was the first sigh. "I've been telling him that. But we'll deal with his problem later, let's talk about the problem at hand first before I die of second-hand depression," he said, addressing the elephant in the room.

"Second-hand depression?" Meerab echoed, confusion lacing her words as she sought clarification on Areeb's unique diagnosis.

Areeb nodded affirmatively, elaborating with a smirk, "Khan has been roaming around like the halal version of Devdas for months now." His comparison drew a loud guffaw from Shahmeer, who seemed to find the description particularly amusing.

Amidst the laughter, Murtasimbakri, the ever-observant goat, added her own commentary with a bleat, jumping a little as if to join in on the conversation.

Meerab's gaze drifted to Murtasim, catching him looking at her sheepishly, it was quite the description, but it made sense in light of his revelations.

"Sit," Shahmeer directed, pointing to the table where Meerab had placed her bouquet of flowers. Murtasim, ever the gentleman, pulled out her chair and carefully tucked her in once she was seated. Shahmeer then placed a couple of bottles of cold coffee on the table along with some snacks, playing the part of a host.

"Part-time barista too, Sikander?" Murtasim quipped, taking the seat beside Meerab and pulling his chair exceptionally close to hers. She held back a smile, her heart dancing at even the subtle action.

"Shut up, Khan," Shahmeer sighed, his voice carrying a mix of exasperation and affection. "I kicked them all out so this didn't get out. At this rate, you should name all of your kids after me rather than just your firstborn."

"Huh?" Meerab interjected, her confusion evident as she tried to follow their conversation.

"You didn't tell her?!" Shahmeer gasped, turning his astonishment towards Murtasim.

"So self-obsessed, the world doesn't revolve around you," Areeb muttered under his breath, his comment directed at Shahmeer but loud enough for others to hear.

"Your future husband promised to name your first born after me!" Shahmeer exclaimed, ignoring Areeb, and looking at Meerab. "Murtasim, tell her!"

Meerab felt a wave of fluster wash over her at the mention of "future husband" and the thought of a child she and Murtasim might share, her heart fluttering at the implications. It was no longer just a dream but a solid possibility, and that thought made her heart sing.

"I didn't promise anything...you just said what you were going to tell me would make me want to name my firstborn after you," Murtasim countered with a nonchalant shrug, attempting to clarify the situation without adding fuel to the fire.

"After all I've done for you," Shahmeer sighed, his tone filled with feigned hurt.

"Since when are you two friends?" Meerab asked, her gaze shifting between Murtasim and Shahmeer, signaling her surprise at their newfound camaraderie. Murtasim seemed ready to murder Shahmeer the last time she had seen them together, and Shahmeer had clearly enjoyed giving him grief, but their dynamic was suddenly different.

Areeb exhaled deeply before he could explain, only to be interrupted by Murtasimbakri's timely bleat, "Since Khan and I -" he tried again, but the goat's interjection led him to conclude with a humorous, "-and your love child tailed him and caught his double identity."

"What?" Meerab's confusion was palpable.

"One day I'll tell you all the things I was subjected to," Areeb sighed, as if he had gone through hell and back.

"All that apart, you need to name your son after me," Shahmeer declared, directing his gaze at Meerab with a semblance of seriousness.

"I don't love your name," Meerab responded honestly.

Shahmeer scoffed at her admission, retorting, "It's better than Murtasim."

"No, Murtasim sounds better," Meerab countered teasingly, her words coaxing a chuckle from Murtasim, which she found endearing. She rather liked his name. Murtasim. Murtasim. Murtasim. It rolled off her tongue so nicely, without any effort.

Shahmeer let out a sigh, conceding, "It does when you say it," his words barely above a whisper.

"So, what's the big secret?" Meerab probed, eager to unravel the mystery that seemed to bond the men.

"Some version of my name," Shahmeer negotiated, trying to salvage some part of his initial request.

Meerab simply shrugged, non-committal with her, "We'll see," leaving the matter open-ended.

"You two are so similarly stubborn, it's uncanny," Shahmeer observed, his gaze ping-ponging between Meerab and Murtasim. "Their kids are going to be stubborn too," he predicted, a smile tugging at his lips despite the jab.

Meerab felt an undeniable flutter in her heart and a swarm of butterflies in her stomach every time at the mention of having children with Murtasim. The mere mention ignited a deep-seated yearning within her, a longing for a future she had secretly cherished. The thought of them, married and truly together, sent a warm flush across her cheeks, her mind wandering to visions of intimacy shared in the quiet of the night—visions that mirrored the dreams that often visited her in sleep.

Areeb's laughter broke through then, shifting the conversation's direction, "Before you decide on kids and their names, maybe we should figure out how to deal with Asma."

"How much do you know?" Shahmeer inquired, his tone suddenly serious.

"Just that there's a way out..." Meerab admitted, her knowledge limited to what Murtasim had mentioned in the passing, but she had been more concerned about them than Asma to ask much more.

Shahmeer opened the discussion with a playful critique, "So, since Murtasim and Areeb are both incompetent – " only to be quickly interrupted by Areeb's defensive retort, "Shut up, you just got lucky." Shahmeer attempted to defend his efforts, "I worked diligently – " but Areeb cut him off, reducing his efforts to mere chance, "You overheard a phone conversation."

Frustrated by their banter, Murtasim interjected loudly, "Can you two stop bickering and get on with it? I swear I can't leave you two alone." Meerab, intrigued by the evident closeness between Shahmeer and Areeb, raised an eyebrow at Murtasim, who simply mouthed "Later" in response, prompting her to refocus on the conversation at hand.

Shahmeer then shared his accidental discovery, "I was in a business meeting and I ran across Aslam Gilani." He paused, expecting Meerab to react to the name. Upon elaborating, "He's the son of the Asif Gilani, prominent industrialist, Yusuf Ali's enemy in a way," Meerab nodded, recognizing the significance of the connection.

"And?" Meerab prompted, urging Shahmeer to continue.

"We went to the same university, so we're friendly, and we ended up talking. He has been dating Asma Ali for the past two years, they're in love-love, and want to run away together but she keeps chickening out because her father is rather scary and she is sure he'll kill them both," Shahmeer explained, his excitement palpable.

"So Asma doesn't want to marry Murtasim either," Meerab muttered, her perspective on Asma shifting with this revelation, maybe she wasn't so bad.

"Let's be real, no one but you wants to marry Murtasim," Shahmeer quipped, a teasing edge to his voice.

"You'd be surprised, there is a line in the village," Areeb said, his comment drawing a sharp look from Meerab, prompting him to quickly avert his gaze.

"If Asma tells her father she doesn't want to marry Murtasim, then the deal is off?" Meerab sought clarification, her question cutting through the humor to the serious issue at hand.

Murtasim sighed, nodding. "Yes, the only way is if they run away together and get married. Then I'd be off the hook, and Yusuf Ali will still help because he'd feel sorry and wouldn't want to make it a big deal."

Meerab mulled over his words, her strategic mind racing ahead to possible outcomes. "But what if he doesn't care?" she posed, challenging the group's assumptions.

Their confused expressions made her question their planning capabilities, prompting her to lay out her thoughts more clearly. "His daughter runs away. Marries the son of his supposed enemy. But this enemy is a rich industrialist. Is it that bad of a deal? It's bound to get out any way, even walls have ears, and it might get out from the Gilani side. So why does it matter if Murtasim stays quiet or not? There's a chance he would just brush his hands off and turn the other way."

Murtasim, contemplating Meerab's perspective, spoke slowly. "He's a man that cares about reputation. So, it would be easy to say that it didn't work out with us in some way, and that we parted ways amicably rather than creating an animosity where I would mention everywhere that his daughter ran away from home."

Meerab nodded, understanding the delicate balance they hoped to maintain, yet she remained skeptical. "Yes but that's under the assumption that he'll want it all handled quietly and that it won't get out otherwise, you might agree to not tell anyone but others will know too."

Shahmeer interjected. "He'll want it kept quiet, and he can if he tries, he's going to be made party leader going into the next election, he'll be running for Prime Minister if all goes well."

"But Meerab is right, that's an assumption, what if that's not enough?" Murtasim sighed, echoing Meerab's concerns.

Meerab pondered Yusuf Ali's character, "Is he a man that would honour a commitment even if the basis of the deal falls through?"

Shahmeer, with a hint of resignation, replied, "If it benefits him then yes, but he's fickle."

In the quiet of the cafe, Murtasimbakri settled beneath Meerab's chair, seeking comfort in her presence, the silence around them heavy.

Curious, Meerab asked again, "Why does Asif Gilani's name sound so familiar to me? What does he do?"

Shahmeer chuckled before answering, "a little bit of everything. He has his hands everywhere, they manage a number of companies, ranging from building to restaurants to pharmaceuticals to textile mills and energy."

"What's the name of their group of companies?"

"Zephyr Enterprises," Areeb chimed in, providing the piece of information that seemed to click something into place for Meerab.

"What?" Murtasim inquired, noticing the sudden shift in Meerab's demeanor.

"Our NGO is investigating a number of companies for environmental violations affecting rural villages...Zephyr Enterprises is a name that keeps coming up, they have significant stakes in the companies responsible," Meerab revealed.

Shahmeer was skeptical, "They wouldn't dare, that would kill their image," he argued.

Meerab, however, was firm, "I know it seems far-fetched, but we've done extensive digging, and we're still building the case so this doesn't leave this room," her gaze pointedly settling on Shahmeer.

"Why are you staring at me?" Shahmeer muttered defensively.

"Murtasim won't say anything, and Areeb won't if Murtasim won't...which leaves you," Meerab reasoned, identifying Shahmeer as the potential leak.

"Make me the outsider why don't you?" he sighed, feeling singled out.

"That's not what I -," Meerab started to explain, only for Shahmeer to cut her off with a jest, "To make it up to me, you have to name your child after me," clinging to his earlier request in light of the tension.

"Name your own child after you," Murtasim groaned, unamused by Shahmeer's persistence.

"The ungratefulness is hurting my heart, Khan," Shahmeer sighed dramatically.

"If he says anything, I'll shoot him, tell us what you found." Areeb said, his tone cutting through the lightheartedness to bring focus back to the matter at hand.

Shahmeer nodded, prompting Meerab to delve into the complexities of their findings. "It wasn't straightforward to find the link- their ownership is hidden behind layers of subsidiaries. We had to analyze financial transactions, follow the trails of corporate records, and even rely on information from whistleblowers."

Shahmeer still didn't seem to buy it, "Why would they risk such a scandal though?"

Meerab shrugged. "Doing things illegally means profit margins are huge, and money makes the world go round. But their diversification makes it easier to mask their involvement. It took us ages, but patterns emerged, linking back to Zephyr through indirect ownerships and shared management structures. It's cleverly hidden unless you really dig, but the evidence is irrefutable."

Murtasim sat back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. He couldn't help but chuckle softly, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "So, if it gets out that his daughter married into such a family, Yusuf Ali can kiss his chance of being Prime Minister goodbye... but this doesn't help us right now," he muttered, shaking his head. "Nothing is going to change if he knows this now... if anything, it'll push my problems down his list of things he cares about."

Shahmeer let out a deep sigh and nodded his head in agreement. "He'll make his own daughter disappear..."

Meerab leaned forward in her chair, her brow furrowing in thought. "We can't tell him, it's not general knowledge just yet," she explained. "I was just thinking out loud... but maybe if he doesn't hold up his end of the bargain to help deal with the Maliks, then we can threaten to expose it. Because timing is key, right? If it gets exposed suddenly, he can't deal with it, but if he knows months before it goes public, he can work something out to distance himself from the Gilanis in some way. So, you can threaten him with the information?"

Murtasim nodded slowly, considering the idea. "If it comes to that, I guess," he replied. "But will it work?"

Shahmeer, who had been listening intently, suddenly spoke up with determination. "If Yusuf Ali doesn't help you... my father will."

Murtasim and Meerab turned to Shahmeer, their expressions a mix of confusion and surprise.

Areeb, who had been silently observing the conversation, scoffed. "You said he couldn't help!"

Shahmeer's tone turned serious as he addressed Areeb. "And he won't unless there is something for him in it, and now there is," he said before turning his gaze back to Meerab. "I don't have influence over what my father does and does not do, but if you bring him this information about a future political rival in exchange for helping you deal with all that's going on in the village, my dad will help. So, if something goes wrong with Asma running away and Yusuf Ali not holding up his end of the bargain, you have a backup because in our world, information is key." Shahmeer looked at Meerab with a confident glint in his eye. "And you have that key right now."

Shahmeer's words hung in the air as they all mulled over the weight of their backup plan. The thought of having an alternative brought some solace to Meerab's heart. If things didn't work out with Asma – if she didn't run away or if her father refused to help Murtasim – they had an option at least.

Meerab turned her gaze towards Murtasim, catching him already watching her with an intensity that seemed to reach into her very soul. "Are you okay if the information gets out?"

She sighed, her gaze never leaving his. "It won't be the best-case scenario," Meerab admitted, "but if it is needed, it is needed."

Murtasim nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Shahmeer, it seemed, couldn't resist bringing up the naming of their children again. "In that case, if my father ends up helping, I think Shameer for a boy and Shameera for a girl... two children named after me for all I am doing for your love story," he grinned, clearly amused by the thought.

Meerab rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore his comment. "So, when is Asma running away?" she asked, getting back to the matter at hand.

Areeb leaned forward, his expression sheepish. "She's too scared to... a little persuasion is needed," he explained.

Meerab arched an eyebrow, a hint of skepticism in her voice. "What?"

"You need to tell her how horrible he is and convince her to run away," Areeb revealed, casting a meaningful glance at Murtasim.

Meerab turned to Murtasim with a groan, "Seriously?" The absurdity of the situation, of convincing another to flee from the man she herself loved, was not lost on her.

"I've been aloof, so she hasn't had pressure to act," Murtasim explained. "So, we starting talking about an engagement again, and then you and I convince her to run away."

"So, you mean to tell me this whole plan hinges on the woman that was too scared to jump into a river to save a child," Meerab groaned, remembering a past incident that showcased Asma's timidity.

They all nodded, even Murtasimbakri bleated.

"She has no spine," Meerab complained.

"Then you offer to help her run away," Shahmeer suggested, his tone matter-of-fact. "She'll be allowed to leave the house with you – the groom's cousin. We need a person on the inside, and that person has to be you, I'll handle Aslam."

Meerab sighed dramatically, realizing the weight of her role in the plan. "I have to do everything, don't I?" she quipped.

They all shrugged.

"Men." Meerab sighed.

Murtasimbakri bleated as if in agreement, but while she nuzzled Shahmeer's leg.

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As Murtasim spoke with Shahmeer, the two of them arguing about little details, Meerab found herself sitting at the table with Areeb. The quiet between them was filled with unspoken questions and retrospections, as Areeb busied himself with playing with Murtasimbakri. Meerab observed him, his demeanor gentle and distracted, yet she couldn't help but wonder about the extent of his knowledge about all that had happened, he had likely had a front-row seat to it all.

"You knew about it all, didn't you?" she ventured quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper, betraying her curiosity.

Areeb paused, his attention shifting from the goat to meet Meerab's gaze, a silent acknowledgment in his eyes. "It's hard not to being Khan's right-hand man," he admitted, the weight of his position evident in his brief words.

The revelation prompted Meerab to probe further, seeking some semblance of understanding or perhaps solace. "You didn't think of telling me?" she asked. Despite Areeb's closer ties with Murtasim, her time in the village had fostered a bond with Areeb, a friendship that she had come to value.

He sighed. "I told him to tell you multiple times...but telling you was like throwing you into the same river that Khan was drowning in." His analogy painted a stark picture, highlighting the gravity of the situation.

Meerab's thoughts drifted to Areeb's earlier comments, laced with humor yet underscored by a palpable sense of sorrow, second-hand depression and Devdas. "He suffered a lot, didn't he?" she asked, her voice soft, seeking confirmation of the pain she sensed had been endured in her absence.

Areeb's nod was filled with a solemnity that spoke volumes. "He...he loves you. I saw him fall for you over the summers you spent at the village, he was always different around you despite his best attempts to show that he wasn't. With you gone...it was like the sun ceased to shine again." His words, simple yet profound, cut through Meerab, eliciting a visceral response as her eyes brimmed with tears.

She knew he had been suffering, he had told her as much, but hearing it from Areeb somehow made it more real.

"It's all my fault, isn't it? If I hadn't tried to change everything so quickly, the chain of events wouldn't have happened." The guilt that Meerab harbored found voice in a whisper.

Areeb, ever the voice of reason, spoke softly. "Maybe, but then the women who benefitted from all you've done wouldn't have. And the thing with horrible people is that they're always looking for an opportunity, they would have tried another way."

"But they wouldn't have been as successful," Meerab countered.

Areeb, in his wisdom, did not argue the point. "Maybe, but what happened can't be changed, so there's no point on dwelling on it now."

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she ventured to ask the question that she knew Murtasim wouldn't answer. "Why did he shoot Malik?"

Areeb's reaction was immediate and telling. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze, his jaw clenching in a manner eerily reminiscent of Murtasim's own expressions of contained fury.

"He said something about you," Areeb finally forced the words out.

"What?" Meerab pressed, her heart racing, dreading the answer yet needing to hear it.

"I don't want to repeat it, Meerab," Areeb muttered, his discomfort palpable, his gaze still averted as if the words themselves were a contamination he wished to spare her from.

"Please." The plea was a whisper.

Areeb's resignation was almost tangible as he relented, his words coming out in a rush. "You know he's vile, he insinuated that he'd...violate you...and hurt you. And we both know what those words would do to someone like Khan, especially when they're about you, his first reaction was to shoot him. Just like he shot his man last summer for touching you. He had promised Malik the day he stormed the Malik Haveli, that he would kill him if he looked at you again...and he did."

The memories of the summer past came crashing back with Areeb's words, vivid and unbidden. Meerab remembered Murtasim's fierce reaction after her run-in with the man, and how he had stormed into his enemy's stronghold. She remembered confronting Murtasim, her words fueled by worry and disbelief at his recklessness.

You walked into their house, Murtasim! You could have been hurt! Do you know how worried I was?

And then his words, each one etched into her memory with startling clarity, memories that were a testament to his feelings at one point.

Do you have any idea what could have happened to you if Zubair took you?

But I am not fine.

I have made it clear that anyone who touches you or any woman of this house will die

YOU could have been hurt, Meerab.

He had told her then that he only cared because she was his responsibility, and she had believed it. Yet, sitting there with Areeb, Meerab knew she had been right in thinking that it had always been more than that.

Areeb's next words seemed to hang in the silence that enveloped them, a confession that laid bare the depths of Murtasim's despair, perhaps one that had been just as great as hers. "I - I haven't seen him smile in months," Areeb admitted, his voice laced with sorrow.

Meerab's gaze instinctively sought out Murtasim, finding him in conversation with Shahmeer, a rare smile gracing his features. It was the smile that she had fallen in love, one that rarely crossed over his face but one that had the power to light up the darkest corners of her heart.

"Was it that bad?" Her whisper barely reached Areeb.

Areeb's response was grave, his words deliberate and heavy with implication. "He was so...resigned to his fate, he just wanted to make sure you were happy and away from it all...I don't think he would have gone through with the wedding to Asma, he would have just wasted away his whole life."

The imagery conjured by Areeb's words was stark, painting a picture of a man so engulfed in despair that he could see no way out, no future beyond the sacrifice of his own happiness for the sake of the well-being of his family, his people, and her. The thought of Murtasim resigning himself to a fate devoid of happiness, just for others, was more than Meerab could bear. His words had implied it, but he had glossed over them in a matter-of-fact way, but hearing them from Areeb made her heart ache.

Her eyes were inexorably drawn back to Murtasim, as if pulled by a force beyond her control, her heart aching with fierce desire to alleviate the pain he had gone through too.

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"Roh kyun rahi thi?" Murtasim's voice broke through the quiet, laced with concern as he opened the car door for her a while later, his question gentle yet probing.

Meerab looked up at him as she navigated the small space between the door and the car frame. She shook her head in response, her thoughts and emotions too complex, too raw to distill into words.

In a move that diminished the distance between them even further, Murtasim stepped into the open space of the door, coming much too close, his presence overwhelming in its intensity.

"M-Murtasim - " Meerab's voice faltered, her heart racing at the sudden proximity.

"Meerab." He repeated her name, his gaze locked onto hers, inquisitive and searching, yet his expression was softened by that same crooked smile that had taken her by surprise earlier that day. The smile that had unexpectedly stirred her heart, causing her stomach to flutter in a way she hadn't been prepared for. This Murtasim, who flirted openly and invaded her personal space, was a revelation, stirring feelings in her that she hadn't known she could feel.

Despite the recent conversations and the heavy cloud of Areeb's words that lingered in her mind, Murtasim looked genuinely happy. This happiness, so starkly contrasting the image of him painted by Areeb's accounts, filled her with a sense of joy.

Murtasim's hand reached up to cup her face, a gesture so tender and full of affection that it seemed to momentarily stop the world around them. His thumb trailed across her cheek, a touch so light yet laden with emotion, "Did Areeb say something?"

"No," she responded, shaking her head once more, her denial soft but firm.

He looked at her, his expression one of skepticism, not fully convinced by her words. "Meerab," he sighed, his voice a mixture of resignation and tenderness, the sound of the way it rolled off his tongue causing her eyes to stray, lost in the myriad emotions that his nearness evoked. Meerab, caught in a moment of silent observation, couldn't help but notice how exceptionally handsome Murtasim looked, the sunlight playing off his features in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

He sighed, breaking the spell of the moment with a simple, "Let's go."

"Where?" she asked, her confusion evident in her voice.

"I told your parents I'll have you back by 8, so I still have five and a half whole hours with you," he said matter-of-factly, his words imbued with a sense of purpose.

"Areeb isn't coming with us?" Meerab questioned, Murtasim had entrusted Areeb with Murtasimbakri, along with her flowers before they left the café, she thought they were just a step behind them.

He shook his head, his response succinct. "He's taking Murtasimbakri home."

"Oh," she said, a realization dawning on her that this had all been meticulously arranged by him, "where are we going then?"

"It's a surprise," he told her, his eyes scanning her face with a playful glint that hinted at the pleasure he found in keeping the secret.

A whine escaped her, a playful protest that carried her frustration and curiosity in equal measure. "Murtasimmmmm."

His smile widened, transforming his face into something even more endearing, if that was possible. He leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, a gesture that automatically brought a smile to her lips, before gently guiding her to sit in the car.

"I don't like surprises," she declared, a touch of defiance in her tone as she settled into the car.

"You'll like this one, I promise," he assured her, his confidence soothing her trepidation.

"How do you know I'll like it?" she prodded.

"I know you," he grinned.

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The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the city as Murtasim drove towards their destination. The atmosphere in the car was charged with an infectious excitement, palpable in the air between them. As they neared the outskirts of the city, Meerab's anticipation bubbled over into an excited laugh, the sound bright and full of joy, when she realized their destination.

The amusement park they ventured towards was a recent addition to the city, yet it stood apart from the modern array of entertainment options with its unique theme. She remembered the advertisements she had seen, it was created to mirror the charm and simplicity of olden day fairs and amusement parks, it shunned the adrenaline-pumping extreme rides typical of contemporary parks. Instead, it offered an array of games, stalls, and attractions. The park was a nostalgic recreation, a space where the joys of simple pleasures—ring tosses, shooting galleries, and skill-based games—reigned supreme.

"I wanted to go here!" she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with the giddiness of a child in a candy store.

Murtasim's laughter mingled with hers, a sound that was both comforting and exhilarating. "See, I told you that you'd like it," he said, his voice filled with the satisfaction of having chosen well for what she guessed was their first date.

Meerab's smile deepened as memories of past trips that the Khans had made to Karachi flooded her mind, characterized by picnics, random trips to amusement parks, moments of pure, unadulterated joy. Yet, this visit felt different, special in a way that those childhood excursions never had.

"You're tall enough to go on all the rides now," Murtasim teased, a playful lilt in his voice.

"I was taller than you!" Meerab whined in mock indignation. "That man was blind!"

"You were not, I have pictures," Murtasim laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

"You were so mean to me," she sighed, though the softness in her voice betrayed the fondness with which she viewed those memories. Back then, Murtasim had taken every opportunity to tease her about being too short for the grown-up rides, a point of contention that had been a source of much screaming between them.

"You were meaner to me," he pointed out, the banter between them as natural as breathing.

"I've always been better than you at everything," she teased.

His chuckle filled the car, a sound that Meerab found she loved more with each passing moment. "We'll see," he said, his confidence unshaken.

"Bowling, you're on," she declared, remembering the signs she had seen about the bowling alley, the competitive streak that had defined much of their childhood interactions making a triumphant return.

Murtasim snickered, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "I only play if there is something on the line," he said as he parked the car and turned towards her, his gaze holding hers.

She arched her eyebrow, curious and slightly amused. "We're too old for candy. You want money?"

He shook his head, his expression unreadable for a moment before softening.

"Then?" she asked, her curiosity piqued as she noticed the brief flicker of his gaze to her lips and then back to her eyes, a move that sent a wave of butterflies through her stomach. A sudden heat washed over her, flooding her senses, as she recalled the kiss that had stolen her breath away. Just the thought of it left her breathless, her heart pounding against her chest like a frantic bird trapped within a cage.

"I'll tell you when I win," he said, his voice low and teasing, a promise of something more. His eyes held a potent promise, igniting an insatiable desire that made her body feel like a dry forest set aflame.

Clearing her throat, Meerab nodded, her voice steady despite the tumult of thoughts and emotions she felt. "Fine."

Murtasim got out of the car and her breath left her in a whoosh, "stop thinking about that," she reprimanded herself quietly as Murtasim walked around the car to her side. He opened the door with a gesture that was both courteous and now rather familiar. "Thank you," Meerab said, her voice light, as he held out his hand to help her out of the car.

To her utter surprise, Murtasim didn't release her hand after closing the door. Instead, he grasped it tighter, an action that seemed bold despite the bustling crowd around them. Meerab glanced around, half-expecting aghast stares, but found that they blended into the surroundings seamlessly. She wondered if they appeared to be a married couple, given the lack of attention their intertwined hands attracted from those around them—a thought that brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks.

The park was a hive of activity, crowded not with the children Meerab had expected but with adolescents and young couples, creating an atmosphere that was vibrant and infectious. "Where to first?" Murtasim asked, his voice cutting through the din of laughter and chatter surrounding them.

Just then, a group of adolescent girls ran past them, their excitement palpable. "He won you all of that?" one of them asked to her friend who was holding a stuffed animal and other trinkets in her hand.

"Marry him!" another squealed. "If you don't, I will!"

"Is he going to win you more?" a third chimed in, their voices fading as they moved away, leaving behind a trail of laughter and teasing comments.

Meerab looked up to find Murtasim's eyebrows knitted together in contemplation. Then, turning towards her, he made a decision. "Let's go win you some prizes."

"But bowling?" Meerab prompted, remembering their little bet.

He shook his head, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "We can do that next."

"Hmmm, why the sudden interest in winning me prizes?" she teased, her curiosity piqued, though she suspected it had something to do with the comments they had overheard.

"Just because," he shrugged, his response nonchalant yet tinged with a hint of determination.

Meerab couldn't help but giggle at his casual demeanor, teasing him further. "I am not the type to get impressed by prizes," she said, challenging him playfully.

Murtasim sighed, a mock expression of exasperation on his face. "But you still need to have bigger prizes in your hand than those little girls did," he insisted, his competitive spirit shining through.

She bit her lip to suppress a smile, her heart light with the playful banter. "Are you sure? They had a lot," she remarked, playing along.

He nodded confidently, "Most of the games here are shooting games." The implication was clear: he was confident in his ability to win her something.

"We'll see." She teased as they wove their way through the throngs of people, they found themselves at a stall where a crowd had gathered to watch competitors try their luck at a classic challenge.

"Shoot down ten cans with 12 bullets and win a stuffed animal!" The man running the stall announced with a booming voice, his eyes landing on Murtasim with an expression that was part challenge, part invitation. "How many bullets, sir? Two rounds? 24?" he asked, clearly used to players opting for more chances to beat the notoriously difficult game.

Murtasim shook his head confidently. "12 is enough," he replied, his voice steady, betraying no doubt in his ability to succeed where so many others had failed.

The stall operator's grin widened, reminiscent of a Cheshire cat, as he nodded in mock agreement. "Of course, a man like you only needs 12," he said.

Meerab couldn't help but bite down on her lip to stifle a laugh as Murtasim released her hand momentarily to take hold of the replica rifle. She watched as the man loaded the gun, preparing it for Murtasim's attempt.

"What if I hit all 12?" Murtasim inquired, his hand running along the barrel of the gun with an ease and familiarity that hinted at experience. His fingers paused at one spot, as if checking for something only he was aware of.

"You win that," the stall operator replied, gesturing towards a massive stuffed lion that hung prominently at the top of the prize display, untouched, its golden mane catching the sunlight.

Murtasim hummed in acknowledgment, lifting the rifle and assuming a stance that spoke of confidence and skill. Meerab watched him, her attention momentarily caught not just by his actions but by his appearance. In that moment, as he focused on his target, he looked exceptionally attractive—his biceps visibly straining against the fabric of his cream kurta, outlined perfectly by the snug fit of his waistcoat. The way the clothing accentuated his form, from the broadness of his shoulders to the narrowness of his waist, made Meerab's heart race.

Where her face flushed, the stall operator's face paled as he observed Murtasim's posture, the realization dawning on him that Murtasim was no amateur. This realization seemed to echo in the sudden silence that fell around the stall, all eyes on Murtasim as he prepared to take his shot. Meerab found herself holding her breath, caught up in the moment, her earlier amusement giving way to a sense of anticipation.

The sound of the bullet leaving the rifle echoed through the air, and when it successfully knocked down a can, Meerab couldn't contain her delight, her hands coming together in applause. There was a certain smirk on Murtasim's face—a look she once found infuriating but now it struck her as undeniably attractive.

As Murtasim continued, his precision unerring, the crowd around them grew silent with anticipation, only to erupt into cheers and applause every time he hit a can, until he hit all the cans, one after the other. Meerab found herself not just clapping but jumping with excitement, completely caught up in the moment. "Murtasim!" she squealed, her voice blending with the clamor of the crowd, her eyes shining with admiration.

"The lion, please," Murtasim requested, his voice calm but firm, as he handed the rifle back to the disgruntled operator. With a reluctant air, the man got on a chair and retrieved the massive stuffed lion, wrapped in a plastic cover, a prize that seemed almost comically large as he handed it over.

Murtasim passed the giant toy to Meerab, who hugged it tightly, her face breaking into a beaming smile. The lion was so large that it almost enveloped her as they walked away from the stall, the cheers of the crowd still ringing in her ears.

"How'd you get all of them?" Meerab asked, curiosity lacing her tone, her eyes still on the prize that was now hers.

"The game is rigged. The barrel is slightly bent so the bullet wouldn't go where you aim but above it," Murtasim explained, his revelation shedding light on his earlier inspection of the rifle.

"Wow," she admitted.

"I thought you didn't get impressed," he teased, a playful note in his voice as they continued to navigate through the park.

She shrugged, her grip on the lion tightening. "I didn't say I was impressed," she teased.

"What are you going to name it?" Murtasim asked, sliding his arm around her waist, an act that felt as natural as it was intimate, given her hands were occupied with the large stuffed animal. His hand, warm and large, rested against her side.

"I-uh," Meerab found herself at a loss for words as Murtasim's thumb gently moved, caressing a spot on the side of her stomach. The sensation of his touch, even atop her clothing, sent shivers cascading through her, the warmth from his hand seeming to penetrate straight to her skin, igniting a series of tingles that danced along her nerves.

"You're going to name it uh?" he murmured, pulling her even closer to him, his voice low and teasing.

"Murtasim," she hissed back, a mixture of admonishment and embarrassment coloring her tone.

He chuckled, a sound rich and warm, adding to the electric tension between them. "Murtasimsher this time?" he continued to tease.

"No!" she snapped back, her response sharp but not without a hint of playfulness.

"Waise, what kind of name is Rangeeli?" he shifted the topic, his curiosity genuine.

"I thought you hated Murtasimbakri," she countered, looking up at him, only to find him smiling down at her, the affection in his gaze undeniable.

"I did at first," he conceded, his admission softening the space between them.

She couldn't help but giggle at the confession, the sound light and carefree.

"Was her name always Rangeeli?" he inquired further.

Meerab nodded, her smile bright. "Yes, I named her Rangeeli. Murtasimbakri was just to tease you, but it stuck," she admitted, her voice laced with fondness for the memories tied to the name.

"I can't believe I call her that too," he chuckled, the amusement clear in his tone, echoing Meerab's own laughter. It was always funny whenever he referred to her by that name.

"What's he named then?" Murtasim asked again, this time poking the stuffed lion she held.

"Sher," Meerab declared, deciding on the spot.

Murtasim snorted at her choice, "You're quite creative...Rangeeli for a calico goat, and now Sher for a lion, wah," he teased her.

She elbowed him gently in response, eliciting an "oof" from him.

"There's beauty in simplicity," she defended her choices, her voice firm yet gentle.

He hummed in agreement, his gaze on her intense and full of something more. "There sure is," he said, that familiar crooked, flirty smile playing on his lips, a smile that had the power to make her heart race uncontrollably.

Meerab looked away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the emotions it stirred within her, trying to hide the effect he had on her.

"Want to go put this in the car?" he offered a practical suggestion.

She shook her head, her resolve clear. "No, half the fun is carrying these around and showing off what we won."

He chuckled, "Let me hold it then." He offered, taking the lion from her and tucking it under one arm, while keeping his other arm securely wrapped around her waist. "Where to next?" he asked.

Just as Meerab was about to suggest they head to the bumper cars which were shaped like carriages, a group of boys burst past them, their hands clutching kites and their voices filled with excitement about the competition they were headed to. Her attention momentarily diverted, Meerab followed their path with her eyes, only to find Murtasim already watching the sky, where a number of kites danced and weaved, one soaring significantly higher than the others.

"Kites?" she suggested, noting the spark of interest that lit up Murtasim's eyes—a remnant of his childhood obsession.

"We don't have to," he offered, his willingness to forgo his interest for her sake evident in his tone.

"No, I want to," she smiled.

He nodded, and they made their way closer to the heart of the kite-flying action. The air was filled with the vibrant colors of the kites and the sounds of laughter and challenge. "Whoever can fly their kite higher than the white one gets a prize!" a man announced, exchanging kites for cash with eager participants.

"Pick one," Murtasim encouraged Meerab as she surveyed the array of kites before her. Drawn to a bright red one, she pointed it out, and Murtasim exchanged cash with the vendor for their kite of choice.

Moving towards the open ground, Murtasim set the stuffed lion aside with care and took the kite from Meerab, leaving her holding the spindle. "Unravel as I move further away, when I let go yank and loosen," he instructed, his voice carrying over the wind.

"Wh - " Meerab started to ask for clarification, but Murtasim was already moving backward, the kite in hand, pulling her into the activity with a suddenness that left her scrambling to unravel the spindle as he had instructed. He seemed to time his release with a gust of wind, a tactic born of experience.

She watched, heart in her throat, as the kite caught the breeze, climbing momentarily before it began to falter, descending back towards the ground. "Yank and release!" Murtasim called out to her, his voice a mix of encouragement and urgency.

Despite her efforts, Meerab's attempt to save the kite's flight ended in failure, the kite plummeting towards the earth. Murtasim was there to catch it, his reflexes quick, preventing their kite from meeting the ground.

Undeterred, he prepared for another attempt, this time waiting for the perfect gust of wind before releasing the kite into the sky. The moment the kite caught the breeze, he turned and ran towards her, closing the distance between them.

"What do I do?" Meerab's voice was a mix of curiosity and uncertainty as Murtasim came to stand closely behind her. His arms encircled her in a seamless motion, one hand holding the spindle while the other took charge of the string, pulling and unraveling with a practiced ease. The kite responded, soaring higher effortlessly, but Meerab's attention was ensnared not by the flight of the kite but by the proximity of Murtasim. His warmth enveloped her, the scent of his cologne emanating from him filled her senses, overwhelming in its intensity.

"You're distracting me," he murmured, his voice a low vibration against her ear.

"I didn't do anything!" Her protest was instinctive, a reflexive response to his accusation.

"You're thinking something," he whispered back, the words barely above a breath as the kite climbed higher in the sky, a testament to his skill.

Attempting to steer the conversation away from the palpable tension between them, Meerab cleared her throat. "How did you do that?"

"Figure out that you're thinking something? Your breath hitched and you're breathing faster," he muttered into her ear, causing her to flush as her stomach fluttered.

"The kite!" She clarified, her voice sharp.

He chuckled, "You just need to let the line out once it catches the wind," he explained, his focus on the task at hand, guiding what she had erroneously called thread. "The line can't be slack, it has to be taut with a little give. If you perfect that, the kite soars."

And soar it did, drawing her gaze upward momentarily before his next movement brought her focus sharply back to him. He rested his chin atop her head, his arms moving with a fluid grace around her as he adjusted the line, his proximity sending her heart into a frenzied beat. She wanted to ask him why they were standing like they were, but she knew he'd reply with something that would either make her gasp or flush, or both.

"Your dad taught you, right?" she managed to say, recalling faint memories, even as she struggled with the rapid beating of her heart.

"He did, he loved flying kites," Murtasim muttered, his voice soft with reminiscence. "Want to try?"

"It'll fall," she voiced her doubt, the fear of failure momentarily cutting through the haze of their closeness.

"I'll help you. Grab the line above where my hand is," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, sparking a trail of shivers down her spine.

With a nod, she complied, her movements tentative. His hand shifted, guiding hers, wrapping around her fingers to position them correctly on the line. "It's just a little pull and give," he continued, his breath caressing her ear with each word, raising goosebumps over her skin.

The sensation of him so close, his body pressed against hers, his arms encircling her, and his hands directing hers, was overwhelming. The whispered instructions, the warmth of his breath against her ear—all of it made focusing on anything but him impossible. She was acutely aware of every point of contact, the solid strength of him surrounding her, and the gentle yet firm guidance of his hands on hers.

She had once fantasized about the closeness of Murtasim, but reality surpassed her dreams in intensity and emotion. The innocent touches between them, meant merely to guide and support in the task of flying a kite, ignited a fire within her, sending waves of heat coursing through her veins in a way she had never anticipated.

Around them, the world seemed oblivious. No one spared them a second glance, absorbed in their own attempts to conquer the sky. Yet, to Meerab, their proximity felt conspicuously intimate; Murtasim's presence wrapped around her was both comforting and electric. His chin now rested on her shoulder as if it belonged there, suggesting a familiarity and ease that belied the fact this was a first for them both.

"We're almost higher than the white kite!" Murtasim's voice buzzed with excitement right by her ear, drawing her attention upwards to their kite, now rivaling the previously unmatched white one. His happiness, palpable in his tone, filled her with a warmth that radiated from her heart.

Allowing herself to melt back into him, Meerab embraced the sensation of being cocooned in his arms. Suddenly, Murtasim's movements became more urgent as their red kite contested fiercely with the white one for supremacy in the sky. The competitive edge of the moment, coupled with the closeness of their bodies, sent a thrill through her.

As Murtasim maneuvered the kite with expertise, pulling and releasing the line with a precise rhythm, Meerab couldn't contain her excitement.

"The red kite! The red kite is higher than the white one!" echoed a voice from the crowd, confirming their ascent over their rival.

"That's us!" she couldn't help but squeal, her eyes alight with joy as she watched their kite soar triumphantly higher, the applause of the onlookers providing a soundtrack to their victory.

In the aftermath of their success, Murtasim ceased his frenetic activity, allowing the kite to glide gracefully in the air.

"We won! We won!" Meerab exclaimed, turning within the circle of his arms, her face alight with joy as she looked up at him.

"We?" Murtasim teased, an eyebrow arched, feigning ignorance of her contribution to their win.

She pouted in mock indignation. "I helped," she insisted, a playful defiance in her tone.

He couldn't help but laugh, the sound rich and genuine. "We won," he conceded, acknowledging their teamwork with a nod.

Caught up in the moment, Meerab found herself acting on impulse. She placed her hands on his chest for balance as she rose on her tippy toes and planted a kiss on his cheek—an act of spontaneous affection. It was only the laughter and hollers from those around them that snapped her back to reality, a blush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks at the public display of affection.

As she stepped back, Murtasim's reaction was one of amusement rather than the disapproval a part of her had expected from. He leaned in, prompting her to pull away with a gasp, mistakenly thinking he was aiming for a kiss. "We've done a lot worse," he whispered, a statement loaded with innuendo before he straightened up, leaving her heart racing in her chest as she remembered herself pressed up against a wall as his lips plundered hers.

Despite her embarrassment, Meerab couldn't resist playfully whacking his arm as he smirked, a silent reprimand for his teasing. He simply continued to smile, picking up Sher as they made their way to claim their prize.

At the stall, they did not have stuffed animals, her eyes lit up at the sight of what they did have, "Choodiyan!" She exclaimed, her excitement palpable.

"Picking choodiyan for your wife, sir?" the stall man inquired, a common assumption given the context.

"I am not – " Meerab started to protest, but Murtasim swiftly interjected, playing along with the assumption. "Yes, I am picking choodiyan for my wife," he declared confidently, turning to Meerab, "show my wife all the red ones."

My wife.

The words, spoken by Murtasim with a casual assurance sent a wave of warmth cascading through Meerab's heart, making it flutter uncontrollably. The possibility of being his wife, once seemingly impossible, now unfolded before her in the most beautiful way. Murtasim's bold declarations of their future together, from buying land for their house to speaking to her father about marriage, and now calling her his wife with such ease, filled her with an indescribable giddy excitement that painted her cheeks a rosy hue.

As Meerab's gaze danced over the array of red bangles, each set prettier than the last, a smile played on her lips. The simple act of choosing bangles, under his watchful and discerning eyes, became an intimate exchange. Each time she pointed to a set, seeking his approval, he would assess them, his gaze shifting from the bangles to her face, before shaking his head. It wasn't until the fifth attempt, when she selected ones adorned with stones, that he nodded in agreement. "These ones, please," she announced, a decision made.

The stall owner moved to assist her, but Murtasim was quicker, his actions possessive yet tender as he took the bangles and Meerab's hand in his own. As he prepared to slide the bangles onto her wrist, his thumb caressed her skin, a touch that was both electrifying and gentle. The sensation of his skin against hers, the warmth of his touch, sent a shiver through her, heightening her awareness of him and the charged atmosphere around them.

The bangles themselves felt cool against her skin, their weight tangible. But it was Murtasim's touch that lingered, his thumb brushing her wrist in a way that felt intimate and deliberate. As he slid the bangles onto her right hand and then her left, his actions were unhurried, each movement designed to draw out the moment, to fluster her, and it worked. His face bore a smirk, one that spoke volumes of his awareness of the effect he had on her, and of his enjoyment in it. The way he looked at her, with a mixture of affection and mischief, made her heart race even faster, if that was possible.

As Meerab experimented with the sound of the bangles now adorning her wrists, Murtasim watched her with an affectionate smile. Without warning, he captured her hand, echoing the tenderness of the previous night by pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, before guiding her further into the park with a gentle firmness.

"I want to try that!" Meerab exclaimed, her attention caught by a stall where participants were challenged to toss rings onto a peg.

Without a word, Murtasim shifted their path towards the stall, his agreement silent but clear. "Come play! Get all four rings on the peg in a row to win a prize!" the stall attendant called out, trying to entice more players.

"She'll play," Murtasim announced, offering cash to the man who quickly accepted it, handing over four metal rings in return.

Murtasim extended one of the rings towards Meerab.

"I thought you would play," she murmured, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"No..." He pressed the ring into her hand, his voice laced with a playful challenge. "You should win me something too," he teased, sparking a light in her eyes.

Doubtful of her own skill in such games, Meerab was taken aback when her first attempt successfully ensnared the peg. The ring wavered on the brink of failure before decisively circling the target. She turned to Murtasim, joy bubbling over. "I got it!"

With a smile, he handed her another ring, encouraging her to continue. As she focused on her next throw, bending slightly to aim, his voice came as a whisper, guiding her. "A little to the right."

She followed his advice, releasing the ring to watch it perfectly encircle the peg. The unexpected success drew laughter from her and cheers from the onlookers.

Encouraged, Murtasim handed her the next ring. Miraculously, she repeated her success, the applause from the crowd growing louder with each successful toss.

"Last one," she whispered, accepting the final ring from Murtasim. With careful aim and a calculated throw, the ring teetered on the edge of the peg before securing its place.

"I won!" Meerab's victory squeal was filled with disbelief and delight.

"You can pick a prize," the stall attendant grumbled, his tone begrudging but bound by the rules of the game.

"You pick," Meerab urged Murtasim, her voice a mixture of anticipation and curiosity as his gaze roamed the stall, surveying the assortment of prizes.

"The kitten," he declared after a moment, his finger pointing towards a large black and white plush kitten. The choice seemed to amuse him, a smile playing on his lips as the stall attendant handed over the prize.

"Why that?" Meerab inquired, her curiosity piqued by his selection.

"It looks like an angry little kitten, like someone I know," he shrugged, his comparison drawing a direct line to her with a teasing glint in his eye.

She gasped in mock offense, her hand lightly whacking his arm. "I am not an angry little kitten!"

"I didn't say it was you, did I?" he laughed, the sound rich and teasing.

Rolling her eyes, she retorted, "Kyun, is it Asma?" Her tone was snappy.

He chuckled, shaking his head in denial. "This is Meerabilli," he announced, holding the plush kitten up as he burst into laughter.

"You can't name it that!" she protested.

"Acha?" he laughed, clearly enjoying the exchange, "Kyun? You can name our pet goat after me, and I can't name a stuffed animal after you?"

"Murtasimmmm," she whined, her protest elongated.

"I won't name it that if you beat me in bowling," he challenged, his proposal dangling before her like a carrot on a stick.

Her glare was immediate, a spark of competitive fire lighting her eyes. "You're on!" she declared.

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

The atmosphere of the bowling alley was indeed charged with palpable tension, not just from the competition between the pins and the balls but from the electric interplay between Meerab and Murtasim. Their plush companions, Sher and Meerabilli, were perched on plastic chairs, side-by-side, silent witnesses to the unfolding drama.

The rhythmic clatter of pins falling and the fluorescent glow of the overhead lights set an almost theatrical stage for their duel. Murtasim selected his bowling ball with a discerning eye that spoke of familiarity and skill – yet she somehow knew that he hadn't likely bowled since the last time they had butted heads over it years ago.

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he flashed Meerab a smirk, brimming with confidence and a hint of challenge. "Prepare to be impressed," he declared, his voice laced with a playful arrogance that, Meerab noted with some irritation and a surprising flush of attraction, she now found endearingly attractive rather than annoying.

Meerab, never one to back down, crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her posture radiating skepticism. "We'll see about that. Remember, pride comes before a fall."

His response was a chuckle, low and enticing, a sound that seemed to resonate within her, stirring an array of sensations that were best left unexplored in such a public setting. "Then watch closely, because I don't plan on doing any falling today." The assurance in his voice was palpable as he approached the lane, his movements exuding a smooth confidence that held Meerab's gaze captive.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Murtasim sent the ball hurtling down the lane, its trajectory ending in a satisfying crash of pins, all but one succumbing to his strike.

"Almost perfect," Meerab found herself admitting, her hands coming together in a light clap. Despite her desire to maintain a competitive edge, she couldn't deny his skill. "But almost doesn't win you the game."

Murtasim turned to face her, his expression one of mock humility that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's a warm-up," he countered, stepping aside. "Your turn, my angry little kitten."

The endearment, delivered with a teasing lilt, managed to irk and endear her simultaneously. Rolling her eyes, Meerab positioned herself at the head of the lane, her focus narrowing on the pins standing mockingly at the end. She gripped her selected ball firmly, the weight familiar and reassuring in her hands. With a determined look, she glanced back at Murtasim, her challenge clear. "Watch and learn, Murtasim."

Her initial roll, however, fell short of her confidence, managing to knock down only half of the pins. A flicker of frustration crossed her face, her lips pressing together as she lined up for her second attempt. This time, her release was smoother, the ball rolling with purpose and clearing the lane of the remaining pins.

Murtasim's applause, though seemingly encouraging, carried an undercurrent of teasing. "Not bad, but I'm still ahead," he remarked.

As the game unfolded, Murtasim seized every opportunity to close the distance between them, his pretext being guidance on her technique. Yet, his intentions were far from purely instructional. Whenever Meerab stood ready to bowl, he positioned himself just behind her, close enough for her to be hyper-aware of his presence. His nearness was a distraction she found increasingly difficult to ignore.

"Keep your wrist firm," he advised during one of her turns, his voice a soft, deep timbre that resonated within her. The warmth of his breath against her ear sent shivers cascading down her spine, his proximity turning the air charged with an unspoken longing.

Attempting to concentrate on the game proved a challenge with him so close. As she leaned forward to aim, the sensation of his gaze caressing her back was unsettling yet thrilling, a heat blossoming across her skin that had little to do with the physical exertion of bowling. When she released the ball and it successfully knocked down several pins, her sense of achievement was overshadowed by the intoxicating presence of Murtasim behind her.

"See, you're getting better," he complimented after her successful throw, his hands briefly settling on her shoulders in what seemed like a casual gesture of approval. However, the touch lingered, sparking a fire between them, a connection that both electrified and unnerved her.

Murtasim's competitive streak was as sharp as his flair for flirtatious banter, each word carefully chosen to unsettle as much as it enticed. "I might let you win if you keep impressing me like this," he teased, his voice carrying an undercurrent of suggestion that sent a ripple of excitement through Meerab's veins.

"Let me?" Meerab shot back, her voice tinged with defiance. She turned to face him, closing the distance until only inches separated them. "I don't need you to let me do anything." Despite the strength in her words, her breath hitched involuntarily as she locked eyes with him, his gaze heavy with silent promises and a depth of emotion that made her heart flutter uncontrollably.

He chuckled in response, low and utterly captivating. As if to offer genuine assistance, he reached out under the guise of correcting her grip. However, his fingers brushed against hers in a caress that was anything but casual, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"Stop distracting me!" she snapped, the words coming out sharper than intended, a reaction to the turmoil he stirred within her.

"I am distracting you?" He feigned innocence, his question hanging between them, charged with implication.

"Haan!" she affirmed, her frustration mounting.

"Acha, how exactly am I distracting you, Meerab?" He advanced a step closer, his voice deeper, softer, wrapping around her like a velvet caress that threatened to undo her.

"Stop it," she muttered, her resolve wavering under the weight of his proximity, her pulse quickening with every breath.

"Why? Do I fluster you?" he teased further, the glint in his eye and the curve of his smile weaving a spell she found increasingly difficult to resist.

"No!" The denial came out forcefully, more a plea to herself than a convincing rebuttal.

"Prove it, then." The challenge was clear in his gaze, dark, intense, and inviting.

For a fleeting moment, her eyes dropped to his lips as his tongue darted out to lick them, the desire to erase his smirk with a kiss surging to the forefront of her mind. The impulse was strong, a testament to the magnetic pull between them.

But instead of yielding to the temptation, Meerab pushed him away, a physical attempt to regain some semblance of control. She rolled her eyes, a gesture meant to convey indifference, even as every fiber of her being screamed in protest, yearning for the closeness she'd just rejected.

As Meerab stepped away, she heard him chuckle softly. Determination set Meerab's jaw as she approached the lane once more, the resolve to win igniting a fire in her eyes. Each roll of the ball, every strike and spare they achieved, intensified the atmosphere. The competitive edge between them sharpened.

As the final frame loomed, Murtasim held a narrow lead, his confidence unshaken. He glanced over at Meerab, a playful yet provocative question on his lips. "Feeling the pressure?" His tone was a seductive mix of challenge and warmth, designed to tease and provoke.

Meerab met his gaze head-on, her spirit undeterred, her shoulders squared in defiance. "The only pressure I'm feeling is what I'm about to put on you."

His response was a low laugh, sending involuntary shivers cascading down her spine. "Then by all means, Meerab, impress me."

Inhaling deeply, Meerab centered herself, her focus narrowing to the pins that stood mocking at the lane's end. With a fluid grace born of determination, she released the ball, watching as it rolled true and struck its target with a decisive crash. Strike.

Turning to face Murtasim, her smile was triumphant, a gleam of victory in her eyes. "Impressed yet?" she challenged, her satisfaction clear.

He regarded her for a moment, allowing his eyes to openly appraise her, an acknowledgment of her skill and perhaps something more. "Very," he conceded with a nod, the word heavy with implication as he prepared for his final turn.

Murtasim's approach to the lane was measured, each movement precise and calculated. When he released the ball, it was with a skill that spoke of experience, the pins falling away until none remained. Strike. As he faced Meerab again, his smile was triumphant. "Looks like I win, Meerabilli it is."

As Murtasim made his way back to her, Meerab couldn't hide the frustration. She sighed, her lips curving into a playful pout. "You cheated."

"I did not," he countered, his denial immediate and firm.

"You did," she insisted, her tone accusing.

"You said I didn't fluster you," he teased, leaning in closer.

Meerab rolled her eyes in response and looked away, an attempt to hide the effect his proximity had on her. Yet, his next words caught her attention, pulling her gaze back to him. "And I win the other challenge too."

Confusion flickered across her face for a moment before realization dawned, recalling his earlier statements – "I only play if there is something on the line" and "I'll tell you when I win." The memory of their agreement, made amidst playful banter, came rushing back.

"Best two out of three," she bargained, hoping to sway the outcome in her favor.

He shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're a lawyer, you should have specified that before," he teased, his refusal was wrapped in a playful admonition.

Frustration mingled with affection, prompting her to whack his arm lightly. "I hate you," she whined, her words belied by the warmth in her eyes, a clear indication that her sentiment was anything but serious.

His response was immediate, his grin widening. "But I love you," he declared, the words slipping out with a sincerity that caused her heart to flutter uncontrollably, despite her outward show of exasperation.

Yet, she managed to maintain her composure, outwardly rolling her eyes at his declaration.

He laughed at her reaction, the sound rich and warm. "Let's go get something to eat so you don't kill me," he suggested, the laughter still lingering in his voice. 

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A/N: Soooooooo, what was your favourite part? And what do you think is going to happen next? Hehehe.