A/N: Helllllo! Thank you for all the love for the last chapter, we're onto the next, with lots of fluff, and some plot as we start moving towards wrapping things up! This chapter is over 12K words and 20 pages. See you on the other side!

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In Murtasim's mind, the ticking of the clock had become the enemy. Each passing moment was a cruel reminder that he had to get Meerab home by 8pm. It had been too long since he'd allowed himself the luxury of her presence, and now that he had it, he wished for nothing more than to stop time itself. The thought of spending time away from her was suddenly unbearable, the joy and lightness that filled his soul with her by his side was an addiction.

As he carefully placed their prizes—Sher, the stuffed lion he had won her and Meerabilli, the angry kitten he had picked for himself—into the backseat of his car, her laughter filled the air. He couldn't help but secure the stuffed animals with the seatbelt, knowing that the action would amuse her even more. Her giggles were music to his ears, transporting him back to days spent in the echoing hallways of the village haveli, where her laughter was a delightful distraction that he secretly cherished.

Closing the car door after ensuring their fluffy companions were snugly buckled in, Murtasim turned to find Meerab's gaze fixed on him. There was something about the way she looked at him, with a smile that seemed to light up the darkening evening, that stole his breath away every single time. Her beauty, her grace, everything about her captivated him in ways he struggled to articulate with her so close.

As he caught her eye, he knew she felt the same. Because he saw the familiar signs of her reaction to his closeness—a blush spreading across her cheeks, her breath coming a bit faster, a delicate shiver running through her despite the warmth of the evening. It was a dance that been playing between them since the moment they reconnected, each step bringing them closer, each glance laden with unspoken desires and the promise of what could be.

It drove him absolutely mad, this dance of proximity and the reactions it elicited from both of them. In those moments, Murtasim felt a connection so intense it threatened to consume him, a yearning not just for her body but for her soul, for the laughter and light she brought into his life.

As Murtasim opened the car door for Meerab, a quick glance around confirmed that the parking lot was mostly empty, ensuring a semblance of privacy. The location of her door, hidden from any casual observer's view, seemed to offer a fleeting opportunity he hadn't anticipated but now desperately wanted to seize.

As she stepped in between the door, without a second thought, he reached out, his fingers wrapping gently around her hand. With a soft tug, he guided her to turn towards him, following close behind until she was effectively trapped between the car door, the car itself, and the imposing frame of his body.

"M-murtasim," she uttered, her voice laced with shock, her wide eyes meeting his. There was an unmistakable note of surprise in her tone, as if his approach had caught her off guard.

"Meerab," he responded, his voice low, noting the flustered expression on her face. Her eyes flitted between his, a rosy blush spreading across her cheeks, possibly accentuated by the hue of her kameez, rendering her even more enchanting under the dim parking lot lights.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, her voice pitched slightly higher.

"You owe me something," he whispered back, the proximity of their bodies amplifying the tension between them.

Confusion flickered across her face, prompting a low chuckle from him. "I won at bowling, didn't I?" he teased.

Her reaction was immediate; her eyes widened, possibly even more than he thought possible, lending her an innocence and vulnerability that was utterly captivating.

Gazing into Meerab's eyes was akin to witnessing the first bloom of spring, vibrant and full of life. The way the light caught in them, a myriad of unspoken emotions danced within those warm, brown pools. They weren't just eyes; they were stargates to her soul, so expressive and captivating that every time he looked into them, he found himself momentarily lost, adrift in their beauty and the silent words they whispered. Each flutter of her lashes seemed to beckon him closer, promising the sweet allure of secrets only he could unearth, secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface of those beguiling, doe-like eyes.

Focus. He told himself, lest he spend the whole night just gazing at her.

"I am telling you what I want now," he stated, the words hanging between them, charged with an unspoken promise.

"Here?" she echoed, her voice tinged with disbelief, her lashes fluttering in a manner so endearing it nearly undid him.

Murtasim's heart was a tumultuous sea of emotion as he cupped Meerab's face in his hands, the pads of his thumbs gently tracing the softness of her cheeks. He wondered if, perhaps, his heart might one day burst from his chest in its desperate quest to be closer to her. "Haan, here," he affirmed, his voice a low rumble of certainty.

Meerab's gaze locked onto his, her eyes alight with a sudden determination that sent a thrill of anticipation through him. "What do you want?" she questioned, her voice a blend of challenge and curiosity.

He allowed his gaze to drift, ever so slowly, to the plush curve of her lips—those lips that had once been his undoing. The memory of their taste, the soft pressure against his own, was an ache within him. It was the thought of never being able to be with the woman his heart desired that had driven him to act that day, to kiss her with such abandon, fueled by the sight of her in that moment, her beauty magnified by the water droplets that raced down her face and her hair a disarray. Her lips had been so inviting, moving as they always did when they fought, they were the lips he wanted to spend his whole life kissing but told himself he could not.

But the way she had looked at him then, eyes wide and vulnerable, her form so close he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, he had given in. The memory of their kiss was vivid—a tempest of longing and forbidden desire. Her lips had been perfection against his, a promise of everything he yearned for but feared he could never truly have.

Their breaths had mingled, and her fingers had gripped his shirt with a desperation that mirrored his own as he pressed her against the wall. The world had narrowed to the space between them, to the heat of her body against his. He had been unable to resist the pull to kiss her once more even when they had pulled away, and would have surrendered to a third if not for the whisper of his name that brought him back to reality.

That kiss lingered in his dreams, a ghostly specter, both a punishment and a reminder of a passion he was forbidden to indulge. Yet here he stood, the possibility of recapturing that bliss dangling before him like the most tantalizing of fruits. He could taste the kiss he yearned for if only she would permit it—permit him to cross the line, to kiss the perfect lips that her little tongue darted out to lick.

Murtasim felt the world narrow down to the space of Meerab's breath, to the slight tremble of her body. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words and the echo of heartbeats syncing in a rhythm older than time.

"What do you want?" she whispered again, a delicate challenge that sent a shiver down his spine.

In the quiet space of the near-empty parking lot, his voice dropped to a murmur, a secret shared in the fading light. "a kiss," he whispered, his gaze never leaving the depths of her eyes.

Her breath caught, a soft gasp that brushed against his senses. He saw the flicker of her eyes, an upward glance that was both question and answer, vulnerability and desire.

"I've thought of kissing you every day since then," he confessed in a hushed tone, his heart laid bare, trusting she'd recall the moment their souls had first collided in a storm of lips and longing.

The pink of her cheeks deepened, painting a portrait of the arousal they both felt, her eyes becoming pools of emotion, dark and fathomless. It was a look that beckoned him, that spoke of memories and unquenched thirst.

"May I kiss you, Meerab?" he asked, his voice a tender caress as his thumb continued its gentle dance across her cheek, as if to soothe the pulse of anticipation that raced beneath her skin.

The moment stretched, a taut string in the symphony of their encounter, and then, she nodded. It was the simplest of gestures, but it held the weight of a thousand confessions, a silent surrender to the craving that had been haunting them both.

The world seemed to slow down as Murtasim closed the distance between them, his hands cradling Meerab's face with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the chaos of his racing heart. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then his lips found hers, a touch as light as a petal falling on the surface of a pond, stirring ripples through his very soul. The soft sigh that she released was captured by his mouth, a sound that he swallowed, holding it inside him like a precious secret.

He had been haunted by the ghost of her lips, their softness a specter in his dreams. To taste her again was a balm to the raw ache that had settled in his chest since their last kiss. The sweet pressure of her mouth against his was a salve to the years of yearning, a beacon guiding him home. He savored her, the kiss a gentle exploration, a silent conversation of lips that spoke of the depth of his longing.

As he pulled back, a whisper of a distance between them, he was overwhelmed by the enormity of what this moment meant. The stark realization that he could have navigated the entirety of his existence without this—without feeling the warmth of her lips or the gentle cadence of her breath—clawed at him, leaving him feeling raw and exposed.

When Meerab opened her eyes, their gaze met, and Murtasim felt something break free within him. A tear, a silent sentinel of his inner turmoil, betrayed him, trailing down his cheek. She seemed startled, her own eyes reflecting a sky filled with questions. With a hesitant grace, she reached out, the glass bangles he had slid on her wrists clinking together, her touch ghosting over where his tear had wet her skin before her fingers tenderly caressed his cheek, capturing the drop of moisture.

"What's wrong," she whispered, her voice a gentle breeze in the stillness.

He could only shake his head, words failing him for a moment. "Nothing, I just...I thought I'd never be able to kiss you again," he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. It was the truth laid bare, the raw fear that had gripped him—of a life devoid of her, of kisses that would remain dreams, never to be felt again.

The moment her words, soft as the twilight breeze, brushed against his ears, "you can kiss me now," Murtasim felt a current surge through him, igniting every nerve with a blaze. "Whenever you want," she added, her hands finding his waistcoat and clutching the fabric, the sound of her bangles and her hold grounding him in the now, anchoring him to her.

It was as if she had whispered a sacred incantation, and he was powerless to resist its call. With a hunger that raged like a storm within him, he closed the gap between them once more, pressing his lips to hers with a passion that had been simmering beneath his skin for years.

Her confession hadn't been wrapped in the three little words he craved, but the meaning was there, burning bright in her eyes, and it was enough to unravel him. His kiss was eager, a flurry of pent-up desire and longing. He plundered the sweetness of her lips, savoring the lingering taste of strawberry ice-cream that teased his senses, driving him further into a whirlwind of need.

His hand, a gentle yet insistent presence, glided from the softness of her cheek to the silken tresses of her curled hair. Fingers woven through her locks, he angled her head back, deepening the kiss. Her hands roamed, tracing the ascent from his chest to the slope of his shoulder, her grip tightening, a silent plea for more.

Murtasim's breath was ragged, a witness to the storm that raged within him. As he reluctantly pulled back, the sound of Meerab moaning his name cascaded through him like an inferno, threatening to burn him from the inside out. They were forehead to forehead, a shared breath between them, his fingers woven into the sanctuary of her hair.

But then, she leaned in, a subtle plea for more, her lips seeking his. The resistance crumbled like ancient ruins in the wake of her actions, his lips crashing against hers again with a fire that spoke of raw desire. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her into the haven of his embrace, her body a perfect complement to his.

The memory of that first kiss, the one that had pressed her against the wall, flooded back with every touch, every sigh. Her softness against the hard lines of his body still felt like coming home, a fit so perfect it could only be fate. Her fingers wandered, exploring the terrain of his hair, each movement of her wrist sent the bangles she wore into a gentle chorus, the sound rising and falling like a whisper against the crescendo of their kiss. Her fingers tugged his hair gently sending shivers down his spine as he deepened their kiss, his tongue tracing her bottom lip with a silent petition for entry.

A gasp escaped her, but it was followed by surrender, their tongues meeting, a passionate exchange that left them both breathless. Time ceased to exist as they lost themselves in the kiss, an eternity passing in the span of moments.

When at last he managed to pull away, the tingling sensation of her lips against his lingered, a sweet torment. Her lips were swollen with the intensity of their kiss, she looked like she had been thoroughly kissed. Murtasim realized he couldn't take her home like this; he needed to stop, to allow the evidence to subside. Yet he couldn't help but steal one last kiss before he surrendered.

Murtasim's heart was an unruly captive to her lips, but with every ounce of restraint he possessed, he pulled away, the contact leaving a haunting warmth on his lips. Gently cupping her face, his thumb traced the soft swell of her bottom lip, the delicate gesture contradicting his longing.

She was a vision, her lips swollen, her face flushed, her eyes asking for more, but with a whisper that carried the weight of the world, he said, "We have to stop now." His voice was a husky shadow of itself, the reluctance that surged through him clear.

A bloom of blush painted her cheeks as she averted her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the line they dared not cross. Murtasim couldn't suppress the smile that curved his lips; it was as involuntary as the beating of his heart. Tenderly, he guided her face back to meet his gaze, and with a reverence reserved for the sacred, he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Meerab," he whispered, the words imbued with a softness that resonated in the space between them, before he finally, reluctantly, stepped back.

Breathless and adrift in the aftermath, he assisted her into the car, securing her with a gentle touch before closing the door. Circling the vehicle to reach his own door, he drew in a deep breath, the cool air doing little to quell the fire within. He knew, with a certainty that rumbled through his bones, that they needed to hasten their marriage; the fire between them was abundant, and line they danced upon was too fine, the risk of succumbing to their desires too great.

As he slid into the driver's seat, he caught Meerab touching her lips, like her fingers were tracing the memory of their kiss. The moment he caught her eye, she ceased, a flutter of embarrassment or perhaps a silent plea for self-control. His chuckle at the innocent action drew a playful whack to his arm, a delightful spark in the quiet of the car.

Starting the engine, he extended his hand to her. When she placed her hand in his, the fit was as natural as the tide meeting the shore. He lifted her hand to his lips, a soft kiss gracing her skin, before their fingers entwined, tethered together as he placed their joined hands on the gear shift.

A glance at the dashboard clock reminded him of reality. With a quiet determination, he shifted the car into drive, the engine humming a prelude to the race against time to get Meerab home by 8 pm, as he had promised.

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Murtasim pulled the car to a gentle stop outside Meerab's house, the dashboard clock glaring 7:55pm—a silent victory for punctuality.

Meerab broke the silence, her voice slicing through the thickness of the moment, "I'll take Sher with me, you keep the cat," her tone playful yet decisive.

He couldn't resist the playful jab, "The cat has a name, it's Meerabilli," he teased, watching with delight as she turned to him and glared.

His laughter was genuine and light, a sound that seemed to temporarily lift the gravity of parting with her. He sprung from his seat in a swift motion, opening the door and moving to her side, he flung her door open, offering his hand to help her out.

She took it immediately but her gaze—those deep, enigmatic pools—darted to his lips, a silent echo of the craving he too felt as she stood between the car door, the car, and his body again.

But restraint was a cruel yet necessary companion, her lips no longer looked like she had been thoroughly kissed, and he had a feeling that he would lose the privilege of taking her out whenever if they did, so he stepped back and pulled her with him.

As he closed the door behind her, the click was a soft full stop to the chapter of their evening. He then reached into the back seat, retrieving the huge stuffed lion, which she accepted from his hands. The clinking of her glass bangles as they took the toy was a chime of normalcy, yet it tugged at a smile from him—a sound he realized he'd come to cherish.

Her question floated in the air, laden with hope, "Am I going to see you tomorrow?"

He exhaled, a sigh heavy with considerations and consequences. Being caught spending the night in Meerab's room combined with the boldness of spending most of the following day with her meant that he had already pushed too much. To push for more might risk the delicate balance they had achieved, but the thought of not seeing her was an ache he wasn't willing to endure.

Murtasim's gaze drifted, landing on the small purse resting beside Meerab, an idea sparking in his mind like a match to kindling. "May I?" He asked, pointing to her purse.

Meerab's expression twisted into confusion, yet she gave a slight nod. He reached out, fingers brushing against the fabric of her purse as he opened it and took out her wallet.

"What are you doing?" Meerab's voice was a mix of amusement and mock indignation as she watched him pocket her wallet.

His lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Looking for an excuse to come back tomorrow," he told her, his voice a soft murmur of a promise. Her face broke into a dawn of realization and delight, a silent acknowledgement of his intent. "Let's go," he said.

As she moved, the sound of her glass bangles and anklets filled the air, the chime a reminder of how she had run around the haveli chasing after their goat over the summers.

They approached the door together, the stuffed lion in her arms receiving little squeezes from her. He rang the doorbell, a herald to the closing of their time together that evening. Meerab stood close, her grip on Sher tightening, perhaps a silent bid to savor the lingering warmth of their proximity.

The door swung open, and Meerab's mother appeared, her gaze sweeping over them, a silent inquisition in the arch of her brow. Anila's voice was light and questioning, "Yeh kya hai?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she gestured towards the oversized stuffed lion cradled in Meerab's arms.

Meerab's grin was infectious, her pride unmistakable as she replied, "Murtasim won it for me." Her eyes shone with delight, making him smile as well.

"You went to a fair?" Anila's interest was piqued, her curiosity evident in her tone.

"That new amusement park," Meerab clarified.

Her mother nodded as her gaze shifted to Murtasim, her smile warm and welcoming. "Come in, Murtasim."

The invitation was tempting, a chance to linger in Meerab's presence, but Murtasim decided to not push it. He shook his head, his voice carrying a hint of regret. "The drive back to the village is pretty long, I should get going," he explained.

Anila nodded, understanding the necessity of his departure, as Meerab waved goodbye, the sound of her choodiyan clinking a melodic farewell. Murtasim felt a tug at his heart, a desire to stay, to hold onto the moment a little longer, but he forced himself to turn away, the action more difficult than he cared to admit.

As he settled into his car, a groan escaped him. The interior was infused with the scent of Meerab—roses and vanilla, with an undercurrent of something new, perhaps a hint of her latest perfume. The fragrances mingled, a sweet torment reminding him of the day's closeness, which would retreat with every mile he put between them.

He drove off, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror one last time. The image of Meerab's house faded into the distance, the physical separation mirroring the emotional distance he felt, as odd as it seemed, he missed her already.

He sighed, "I could go back and say I forgot to say goodnight," he muttered, "to Murtasimbakri."

Murtasim shook his head, "it's not the end of the world, Murtasim Khan, you'll see her again tomorrow." He said as he pressed down on the accelerator, a smile on his face at the thought of seeing her again.

The display in Murtasim's car flickered to life, Meerab's name illuminating the dark interior, as the familiar sound of an incoming call filled the car. Without hesitation, he picked up, a smile already playing on his lips.

"Miss me already?" he teased, the lightness in his voice masking the earnest hope behind the words.

"Maybe," came Meerab's reply, her voice a soft melody over the line that filled the car around him, sending his heart into a joyful flutter, skipping beats as if dancing to the rhythm of her words.

"Should I turn back around and sneak into your room again?" he half-joked, half-hoped, the thought more appealing with each passing second.

Her giggle washed over him, a sound so warm that it seemed to envelop him in a cocoon of happiness. "I called to say thank you," she said.

He hummed, prompting her to continue, his curiosity piqued.

"For the flowers, the anklets, the bangles, Sher, and for the most fun I've had in a really long time," she listed, gratitude evident in her tone. In the background, the unmistakable sound of Murtasimbakri bleating added a layer of warmth to their conversation.

"You're welcome," he responded, his grin so wide he felt it could split his face. Her happiness was his, her gratitude a gift greater than any he had given her.

"Drive safe, don't go too fast, and call me when you get home," she instructed, concern lacing her words.

"I will," he assured her.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, it felt like she wanted to say something but didn'ts. Finally, she broke the quiet, "I'll go get ready for bed...talk to you later," her voice soft, reluctant to end the call.

"I'll call when I get home," he promised, a pledge he intended to keep.

As the silence enveloped him following the end of their call, Murtasim found himself ensnared by the lingering warmth of Meerab's voice, echoing in the confines of his car. "Getting ready for bed," he muttered under his breath, repeating her words, they sparked a vivid stream of images in his mind.

He saw her as he often did during those late nights when she curled up on the couch in his study, her hair damp from a shower, her face stripped of makeup, revealing her natural beauty. She'd wear those pastel-coloured kurtas, so thin, so delicate, that he couldn't help but imagine...

"Stop," he chided himself, trying to break the spell of his runaway thoughts. Yet, the idea crept back unbidden, the tantalizing suspicion he always had that beneath the soft fabric of her kurta, there might be nothing else, setting his imagination ablaze with what it would feel like to have her pressed against him in such a state.

Despite his efforts to clear his mind, memories flooded him, unrelenting. He recalled waking up with Meerab curled into him after the night they spent at a motel – her presence a comforting weight against him, her breath a steady rhythm at his neck, and her fingers softly clutching at his kurta. Her scent enveloped him, utterly intoxicating, her face hidden in the crook of his neck, her breath tickling his skin.

The mere recollection stirred an undeniable arousal within him, blood rushing downwards, a physical testament to his deep-seated desires. He remembered the innocence of their past closeness, yet now, the thought of waking up beside her carried a new weight, a new meaning, tinged with the promise of something far more.

"Stop it, Murtasim Khan," he admonished himself once more, a desperate attempt to rein in the surge of hormones that had seemingly blindsided him. Yet, deep down, he understood the source of this tumultuous desire – it was the proximity they had shared that day, the kisses that had ignited a fire within him, and the fact that he no longer had to hold back.

He could almost hear her, "you can kiss me now...whenever you want."

As Murtasim drove through the darkening roads, he attempted to distract himself from the overwhelming thoughts of Meerab by reciting pi in his head, a technique he had resorted to last time. "3.1415926535897932384626433832795," he mentally intoned, each digit pronounced with clarity in his mind's eye, a desperate plea for calm amid the storm of his desires.

However, the images of Meerab refused to be banished so easily. They paraded through his consciousness unbidden – the sensuous curve of her lips that had so recently been pressed to his, the vibrant red of her suit that seemed to make her skin glow under the sun, the depth of her eyes that seemed to hold entire galaxies, brimming with allure, and the memory of her body pressed into his, fitting perfectly as if they were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle meant to be joined.

The drive back to the village felt like a blur, his mind a battleground where he fought valiantly to steer his thoughts away from Meerab. It was as though his heart and body were conspiring against him, rebelling after being kept in check for too long under the guise of restraint, propriety, and sadness.

Upon entering the village, the reality of his life outside of his moments with Meerab came crashing back. A car filled with his men began to tail him, a stark reminder of the other facets of his life that demanded his attention, the responsibilities and dangers that never seemed to wane. Despite the complexities of his life and the weight of the duties that lay on his shoulders, there was an undeniable lightness to his step, a whistle escaping his lips as he walked into the haveli, holding Meerabilli close.

As Murtasim pushed open the heavy front door of the haveli, the stillness of the night was abruptly pierced by Areeb's voice, rich with amusement and a hint of mischief. "Must have been some date, Khan," he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the spacious entrance hall.

Looking up, Murtasim caught the younger man's grin, wide and knowing, as if Areeb had been eagerly awaiting his return, just to catch a glimpse of the aftermath of his evening. The sight of Murtasim, holding onto a stuffed animal, seemed to be all the ammunition Areeb needed as he burst into laughter, the sound filling the room. "Aren't you too old for stuffed animals, Khan?"

"Shut up, Areeb," Murtasim retorted, a mix of annoyance and amusement in his voice, unable to completely hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite his best efforts.

"Seriously, what is that?" Areeb prodded further, his curiosity piqued even as he continued to tease.

"Meerab won it for me," Murtasim muttered.

"How cute," Areeb teased, the laughter in his voice evident.

"Shut up and go home," Murtasim sighed, the smile now impossible to erase from his face, a testament to the joy that lingered from his time spent with Meerab.

"It's nice to see you happy for once," Areeb said, his voice softening.

Murtasim rolled his eyes, a gesture that carried a mix of affection and exasperation. "Good night," he dismissed, ready to end the conversation and retreat to the solitude of his room.

"Wait, what are we doing tomorrow?" Areeb quickly added, shifting the topic to their plans, his tone now serious and focused.

"I am calling Yusuf Ali to confirm when Asma can go out shopping with Meerab and Maryam, and going back to Karachi," Murtasim stated.

"Again?" Areeb's voice carried a note of surprise.

"Meerab forgot her wallet in the car," Murtasim explained, a valid reason for his planned return, yet his voice carried a hint of joy at the excuse it provided to see her again.

Areeb snickered, the sound rich with amusement. "Sound more convincing when you tell her parents...maybe don't smile like that," he advised, his words teasing.

"Bye, Areeb," Murtasim sighed, the conversation drawing to a close as he turned, Meerabilli still in his grasp, and made his way towards his room.

The moment Murtasim entered the sanctuary of his room, he was quick to draw out his phone, the anticipation of hearing Meerab's voice again setting his heart racing. Without hesitation, he dialed her number.

She picked up almost instantly.

"Waiting for my call?" he teased, unable to keep the smile from his voice.

"Should I not be?" she retorted, her words soft.

His laughter filled the room, a sound free of the shadows that lingered in the corners of his life. And then, time ceased to exist as they talked, the conversation flowing freely, effortlessly – as if making up for lost time.

As the hours slipped by, unnoticed and uncounted, Murtasim felt a peace settle over him, a contentment so profound it was almost foreign. He fell asleep with the phone still cradled close, her laughter echoing in his dreams, marking the second night in a row that he drifted off with a smile on his lips, a heart full of happiness, and a spirit buoyed by the simple yet profound joy that Meerab brought into his life.

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The dawn had barely broken, casting a soft, ethereal light over the landscape, when Murtasim found himself wide awake. Despite the ungodly hour, a surge of excitement electrified every fiber of his being, an energy so potent that not even his morning prayers or the most strenuous of workouts could dampen it. The source of this boundless enthusiasm was none other than Meerab, with whom he had spent the entire previous day and talked for hours into the night. Yet, as dawn broke, the desire to see her again was so overwhelming that he found himself eagerly tackling the day's work, all in anticipation of rushing off to Karachi at the earliest opportunity...to return her wallet.

His morning was a flurry of activity. He made his rounds of the land, where the air was tense with the recent threats from the Malik cousins to burn down the crops. He checked in with the laborers and their supervisors, ensuring that everyone was vigilant and on high alert. He then met with the additional security personnel, making sure they were patrolling the right areas to safeguard their land from any potential threats.

A lengthy phone call with Shahmeer followed, then one with Yusuf Ali, as he put a crucial plan into action. Throughout these interactions, Areeb wore a knowing smile, as if he could see right through Murtasim's veneer of professionalism to the giddy anticipation beneath. So, when he delegated the task of handling complaints from the villagers and laborers to Areeb—a chore he knew Areeb loathed—he didn't feel the slightest bit guilty.

While getting ready, Murtasim acknowledged the need to visit the Khan Haveli in Hyderabad soon. Most of the attire in his village closet consisted of various shalwar-kameez, which, while comfortable and appropriate for his daily activities in the village, but perhaps not for Karachi. For that day, however, he chose a plain green shalwar-kameez that accentuated his physique, a departure from his usual simplistic style. He took extra care in his appearance, adding cufflinks—a detail he often overlooked—and strapping on a watch, the final touches to an ensemble that was meticulously put together.

By the time Murtasim pulled up in front of Meerab's house, the day felt like it had stretched into an eternity. His anticipation to see her again was palpable, a mix of eagerness and a sense of longing that seemed to fill the space in his car. However, his initial excitement experienced a momentary setback when, instead of Meerab, her mother was the one who greeted him at the door. He had sent Meerab a text earlier, hoping for a quick, private exchange, but her responses had been absent throughout the day.

Then, the sound of rushing footsteps signaled Meerab's approach, the soft chiming of her anklets heralding her presence before he even saw her. Dressed in a green suit that complemented her in ways words couldn't capture, her curly hair bouncing with each step, she was breathtaking. Murtasim found himself caught in the moment, his heart skipping a beat as he took her in. Despite having stood at this very door only hours before, the sight of her struck him with the same force as if it had been years.

"Murtasim?" Anila's voice, laced with confusion, pulled him from his reverie. He turned to find her eyebrow arched in a silent question, and he realized he had been so captivated by Meerab that he had forgotten to speak.

"I – Meerab forgot her wallet in my car so I came back to return it," he stumbled over his words, hastily pulling the wallet from his pocket as evidence of his impromptu visit.

Anila's expression softened into understanding, and with a nod, she invited him inside, "Come in," she said, her voice warm.

As he stepped into the house, Murtasim's gaze inevitably found Meerab again. She was smiling, a hint of mischief in her eyes as she bit her bottom lip, her gaze locked on his. The interaction, brief as it was, felt charged with an unspoken connection, a shared secret that danced in the space between them.

Before Murtasim could speak, the sound of a wheelchair navigating the space above captured his attention. His gaze instinctively drifted towards the landing at the top of the stairs, where Meerab's father positioned himself, observing the scene with an air of scrutiny that seemed to suggest he missed little that went on in his household.

"You found my wallet!" Meerab interjected, swiftly shifting the focus before her father could articulate his skepticism. She reached out, her hand open for the wallet which Murtasim passed over to her, noting the presence of a bag in her other hand.

"Were you going somewhere?" he inquired, curiosity piqued by her uncharacteristic silence on her phone.

Meerab nodded, her explanation quick and laced with a hint of amusement, "Murtasimbakri dropped my phone in the bathtub while I was bathing her...so I was going to go pick up a new one but I couldn't find my wallet."

That clarified the silence on her end, a small mystery solved in the span of a few sentences.

"Should I drive you?" Murtasim offered, the prospect of spending more time with her igniting a spark of excitement within him.

She seemed to consider his proposal for a moment, her gaze shifting upwards towards her father, her eyebrows arching slightly as if seeking his silent approval.

Waqas, after a moment's pause, sighed but offered a nod, a silent concession as he retreated with his wheelchair back towards his room.

"Have some tea first, beta," Anila suggested, drawing Murtasim's attention with her gentle insistence.

"He likes coffee more," Meerab chimed in, a small smile playing on her lips.

Anila's response was warm and accommodating, "Coffee then."

"We can get iced-coffee," Meerab proposed.

Anila's amusement was palpable, "I see...if I didn't know that your phone had fallen into the tub, I would have thought you two planned this," she remarked, her gaze darting between them, a playful suspicion in her tone.

Murtasim found himself looking away, a subtle attempt to hide his reaction, while Meerab scoffed, a playful defense in her voice, "I didn't leave my wallet in his car on purpose!"

Anila's grin broadened, her teasing nature surfacing with a light-hearted jest, "I was only referring to the matching outfits," she teased, an observation that brought a sudden flush to Meerab's cheeks.

Meerab cleared her throat, her earlier confidence momentarily faltering, "We'll be back soon," she announced, sending Murtasim a look that screamed let's go.

"I'll have her back soon," Murtasim assured, his voice steady.

Meerab marched towards the door, her determination palpable. Murtasim, caught in the whirlwind of how good she smelled when she walked past him, nearly jogged to keep up, eager to perform the simple courtesy of opening the car door for her. She paused, a moment of vulnerability flashing across her face as she looked up at him. "I gave us away, didn't I?" she muttered, her voice tinged with apprehension.

He couldn't help but snicker. "Maybe," he teased, the word light between them.

Meerab pouted as she settled into the car, a gesture so endearing that Murtasim felt a wave of affection wash over him. He closed the door gently behind her and made his way to the driver's side, his steps quickened by his excitement.

"I thought you wouldn't come since I couldn't text or call," she mused, her voice carrying a hint of surprise as he slid into the car beside her.

"I told you I would," he responded, starting the engine with a sense of purpose. "Where to? Another iPhone?" he inquired.

She nodded, her practicality surfacing amidst their giddiness. "There's a shop in the market three blocks down, and a café," she informed him, a plan already formed in her mind.

He hummed in response, reaching for her hand with a familiarity that still felt new. The little giggle she let out as he placed their joined hands atop the gear-shift filled the space between them with warmth.

"Did you talk to Yusuf Ali?" Meerab's question pulled him back to the reality of their situation.

"Hm, I did. He was rather happy to hear from me finally and is adamant that the engagement happen on Saturday," Murtasim shared.

She stiffened beside him, the panic clear in her voice as she realized the gravity of their timeline. "Today's Sunday, that gives us six days," she stated.

"I know...but it'll be enough," he assured her, his confidence not entirely masking his own concerns.

"Murtasim," she began, her voice laced with a mix of fear and hope.

"It's okay, there's a lot of us – you, me, Areeb, Shahmeer, Maryam, and even Aslam is on our side in a way, it's just Asma," he reminded her, trying to bolster her spirits as he brought her hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it.

She nodded, a silent agreement sealed with a tight squeeze of his hand. Then, with a newfound focus, she began instructing him on the turns to make. Within minutes, they were parked in front of a phone store.

As they approached the store, Murtasim's hand found Meerab's, an instinctual need to hold her pushing back the little concerns about propriety, but he knew that people would just assume she was his wife if he didn't act like it was a big deal. Despite her playful protests, her hand remained in his, a soft testament to the comfort they found in each other's presence. The door swung open, and he led her inside, the chime of the entrance bell marking their entrance.

Meerab moved with a purpose, her decisiveness shining through as she navigated straight to the counter. She had everything planned out—down to the phone she wanted, a call placed ahead ensuring that her new device was ready and waiting. The man behind the counter worked efficiently, activating the phone with a new SIM card and transferring her old number while Meerab turned her attention to selecting a new case for her now larger phone.

"This one or this one?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine curiosity as she held up two options: one clear with a delicate floral print and the other a solid, opaque black. Murtasim, though personally inclined towards the simplicity of the black, knew instinctively that it was too mundane for someone as vibrant as Meerab. He pointed towards the floral case, a choice that seemed to light up her face in agreement.

As the man finished setting up her phone, it immediately came to life with a flurry of notifications. "It seems like you're very popular, ma'am. You have 17 missed calls," he commented with a chuckle, handing the device to Meerab.

Murtasim couldn't help but look away, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he knew, without a doubt, that most of those missed calls were his own frantic attempts to reach her. He could feel her gaze on him, a playful accusation in her eyes, but he chose to feign ignorance, focusing instead on the world outside the store.

"Miss me that much?" Meerab teased, her voice dancing with mirth as they stepped back into the sunlight, echoing the words he had playfully thrown at her just the night before.

"Maybe," he replied, her own word bounced back to her.

Looking down at her, the sunlight framing her face in a glow, he found that he momentarily forgot to breathe. Murtasim's gaze lingered on Meerab, she was breathtaking. Her complexion held the soft warmth of a sun-kissed morning, complemented by the deep, rich green of her attire. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a cascade of soft curls, each strand catching the light and adding to the halo effect that seemed to surround her. Her eyes, dark and expressive, were pools that reflected a myriad of emotions. They were the kind that could speak volumes without a word. The subtle hue of her lips, a natural blush of rose, appeared tender and inviting, hinting at her warmth. It was her lips that often broke into a smile that could light up the darkest of rooms. In her, he found a timeless beauty that needed no adornment, a simplicity that outshone the most intricate of designs. She was not just pretty; she was captivating in every sense, ensnaring his senses and holding them willingly captive.

"That color looks amazing on you," he found himself saying, the words slipping out in a whisper of awe, caught up in the magic of the light and the feelings swirling between them.

She giggled, a sound as light and captivating as the breeze around them. "You too," she responded, noting the lighter variation of the color he wore.

As they wandered through the bustling market, Murtasim's attention was drawn to a flower stall nestled between the throngs of people and the cacophony of city sounds on a busy Sunday afternoon. Without hesitation, he grasped Meerab's hand, guiding her toward the vibrant array of blossoms.

"The coffee shop is the other way," Meerab remarked, her confusion mingling with curiosity.

"I know," he replied with a knowing smile. "But we're going there," he said, nodding towards the flower stall that stood like an oasis of color amidst the concrete.

Meerab looked up at him, her smile blooming like the flowers that awaited them. "Shouldn't you have bought them before?" she teased, her eyes sparkling with the mischief that he found irresistibly charming.

"You weren't picking up the phone, I was coming to return a wallet, and didn't know I'd get to spend time with you," he explained.

She laughed, the sound clear and delightful to his ears. "I was just joking, Murtasim," she said, her laughter washing over him like a refreshing wave.

"I know," he responded, his heart light with giddiness as he led her to the stall, where an old lady tended to the flowers, misting them with water and care.

As they approached, the woman looked up, her expression softening into a smile as she looked between Murtasim and Meerab. "Newly married?" she inquired, her voice rich with the warmth of assumption.

He glanced down at Meerab, whose gaze was lowered, a tender smile gracing her lips.

"Yes," he found himself saying, the word slipping out more as a promise than a falsehood, causing Meerab to lift her gaze to his, delight dancing in her eyes.

"We are still trying to figure out what her favourite flower is," he continued, playing along with the old lady's assumption, his tone light yet filled with an undercurrent of sincerity.

The woman chuckled, a knowing look in her eyes. "You're a lucky one," she told Meerab.

Meerab nodded, her agreement silent but emphatic.

The old lady's eyes danced with wisdom as she surveyed the couple before her, her hands moving deftly among the flowers. "Take your time," she said, gesturing to the bounty of blooms.

Murtasim stood beside Meerab at the flower stall, the air around them filled with the scent of fresh blooms. "You pick," Meerab urged, placing the decision in his hands.

His eyes scanned the colorful array of bouquets, finally settling on one that stood out to him. It was a cluster of pink flowers, their lush fullness forming a striking bouquet. "This one please," he said with confidence, handing over the payment to the old woman who tended the stall.

As he passed the bouquet to Meerab, her smile illuminated the space between them. She brought the flowers to her nose, inhaling deeply, her fingers delicately tracing the petals. "What are these called?" she asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Hydrangeas," the old woman replied, her voice carrying the wisdom of years spent amidst nature's beauty. "Not a typical bouquet flower, but that's what makes them so beautiful."

Meerab hummed in agreement, her appreciation evident. "Thank you, they're gorgeous," she said, her gaze lingering on the bouquet.

"Tell your husband thank you," the woman added.

Meerab's laughter was light and airy, a sound that seemed to make the world brighter. She turned to Murtasim, her eyes sparkling with joy. "Thank you, Murtasim," she said, gratitude mixing with affection in her voice.

His heart swelled at the sight of her happiness. Anything for that smile, he thought, though he simply nodded in response, not trusting his voice to convey the depth of his emotions.

They walked together to the coffee shop, the hum of conversation greeting them as they entered. The place was alive with people, but it was Meerab who drew the eyes, perhaps due to the flowers in her hands as much as her obvious beauty.

Meerab's giggle reached him again, a secret shared in the quiet space between them. "You're going to get some husbands in trouble today," she whispered, nodding towards a woman who playfully chided her husband, pointing to the flowers in Meerab's hands.

Murtasim could only shrug. "The stall is right outside," he replied, as if the solution was simple.

Meerab just smiled at him, a fond look on her face.

Murtasim noticed the flicker of indecision on Meerab's face as they stood at the counter of the bustling coffee shop. Her eyes darted between the decadent chocolate tuxedo cake and the rich cheesecake, her lips murmuring a silent debate. "Chocolate tuxedo or the cheesecake," she mused, seemingly unaware that her soft voice had reached his ears.

Turning to the server, Murtasim made the decision for both of them. "An iced-Frappuccino for her, iced-coffee for me, no sugar, and a slice of the chocolate tuxedo and the cheesecake," he said with a confident nod.

Meerab's expression shifted from contemplation to surprise as she turned towards him. "Have half of both," he said simply, as if it was the most natural solution in the world.

The smile that blossomed on Meerab's face was so radiant, so full of life, that Murtasim felt it resonate within him.

As they settled at a table and their order arrived, Meerab couldn't resist capturing the moment. She brought out her new phone, snapping photos of the cake slices before turning her attention to Murtasim, clicking photos of him. Her giggles filled the space between them, a melody that he was quickly growing fond of.

He raised an eyebrow in playful curiosity, prompting her to share the cause of her amusement.

When Meerab turned the phone to Murtasim, showing him the candid photo she had captured, he was taken aback, he almost didn't recognize himself. Staring at the image, he saw a man transformed by the simple joy of love—a smile that seemed to light up his eyes, a softness around the edges that was rarely permitted in his everyday life. It was him, but it was a version of him that only Meerab's presence could invoke, not something his mirror had ever witnessed.

And his eyes, they held a fondness that he hadn't realized was visible to the world. They were eyes that said more than words ever could. It was as if the man in the photo knew a secret joy that the rest of the world was oblivious to.

"I guess that's what I look like when I look at you," Murtasim said, his voice almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell of the moment captured in the photograph. "Happy," he concluded, the word hanging in the air between them.

Murtasim couldn't help but notice the blush that adorned Meerab's cheeks, a soft smile playing on her lips, an echo of the joy that he felt within. It was his turn to reveal a secret, a piece of his heart that he had kept hidden until now. Casually, he pulled his phone from the depths of his pocket and slid it across the table towards her.

Meerab's eyes widened in question, her hands gently picking up the device as if it were something precious. She gasped, her breath catching at the sight that greeted her—the lockscreen was a candid photo of her, clutching Sher, the stuffed lion, from just the day before. The light had caught her so perfectly, casting an ethereal glow that he, in that moment, had found irresistible to capture her as he stood in line to buy them ice-cream.

"You beat me to it," she muttered, amusement in her voice.

He let out a chuckle, the sound rich and warm, "I beat you to it summers ago."

Meerab's eyebrow arched, a silent question forming. In response, he simply uttered, "0497. Photos."

She entered his passcode with a gentle tap, her confusion apparent, brows knit in concentration as she navigated his phone. And then, the air seemed to leave her lungs in a single, trembling whoosh. He knew she found it. The album labeled 'Meerab' held a collection of seven images, some as old as the summers gone by. It was a small trove of memories, candid captures of her existence in his life that he had hoarded like priceless treasures.

"Murtasim," she whispered, her voice barely audible, laden with a torrent of emotions as she gazed up at him. Her eyes shimmered with tears.

"I looked at them when I missed you," he confessed, his voice soft, "but it always just made me miss you more." The photos were snippets of her life, her laughter, her uninhibited moments around the village haveli, some even with Murtasimbakri. These were images he had chastised himself for taking, yet couldn't bring himself to delete, images he had found solace in during moments of solitude.

In her eyes, he saw a reflection of the sentiment that had captured his own gaze in the photo she had taken—a depth of affection she had yet to admit to him directly.

"I have so many questions," she muttered quietly before sighing.

"We have a life ahead of us," he told her, loving the smile that bloomed on her face.

Their time in the coffee shop wasn't too long. They conversed in hushed tones, their voices a soft murmur amidst the clinking of cutlery and the subdued hum of other patrons. As they left, he was acutely aware of the passing time, the watchful eyes of her parents ticking in the back of his mind.

The engine of the car hummed softly as Murtasim parked in front of Meerab's house. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the scene. Meerab rummaged through her purse for a moment before pulling out a lipstick and handing it to him.

He couldn't resist the playful urge that bubbled up inside him. "I don't know if this is my shade," he teased, holding the lipstick up and examining it with mock seriousness. The sound of her chuckle was like music to his ears.

"This lipstick is my favorite, you can't find it in Pakistan so I order it from England, and it takes two weeks to arrive. I'd be distraught if I lost it, and my parents know that," she explained, the corners of her eyes crinkling with a smile that suggested the importance of the small tube in his hand.

He grinned at her, understanding her intention. "You have to stop forgetting things in my car, Meerab," he teased.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" There was a hint of hope, a whisper of longing in her voice.

He nodded, the words coming out more sincere than he intended, "If I can stay away that long."

Her giggle was a sound that held a special place in his heart. As she unbuckled her seatbelt, she gave him a small, playful command, "Stay right there."

His heart did a somersault, dancing to a rhythm only it knew, as she leaned in close, her presence filling his senses. Then, with the softness of a petal falling onto the calm surface of a pond, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Bye Murtasim," she whispered, the words lingering in the air like a tender caress as she hurriedly gathered her flowers and stepped out of the car.

Stunned, joyfully anchored to the spot by the weight of her affection, he didn't move to get out and walk her to the door. Instead, he watched, his gaze following her every step as she skipped to the entrance, a dance of pure delight in her movements. She turned before opening the door, sending him a wave goodbye that he felt all the way to his toes.

The door closed gently behind her. "I miss her already," he whispered to the empty car, to the lingering warmth of her presence.

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

Murtasim stood in the familiar confines of Meerab's house the next day. He had come under the pretense of returning Meerab's favorite lipstick, a small yet significant token she had "forgotten" in his car yesterday.

Murtasim had also come with a request for Waqas. The air was thick with anticipation as his request lingered in the air between the three of them.

"You want me to let you take my daughter with you to Hyderabad with you alone?" Waqas asked, his tone a blend of disbelief and challenge, embodying the protective instincts of a father.

Murtasim's gaze shifted to Meerab, who stood slightly to the side of her father. Her eyes rolled in exasperation, a silent commentary on the absurdity of the situation. It was as if their previous summers spent together, alone for the most part, had evaporated in the face of this new proposition.

"I need her help in dealing with the Asma situation," Murtasim explained. "Maryam will be with us as well," he added, hoping the inclusion of his sister would ease the concern.

Waqas hummed, his gaze piercing, as if he could unravel the layers of Murtasim's soul with a mere look. The weight of his scrutiny was palpable, a silent demand for sincerity and honor in intentions.

"And what about your work?" Waqas directed his question to Meerab, seeking reassurance that his daughter's responsibilities would not be sidelined.

"I spoke with Khirad and Rumi over the phone," Meerab chimed in, her voice steady and confident. "I can work remotely. We only have a couple of meetings that I can join via phone."

The tension in the room was palpable as Meerab's father deliberated over the proposition Murtasim had laid before him. It was a tad ridiculous really, for no one had batted an eye when Meerab spent summers in the village, where Maryam, his mother, and Anwar rarely visited, leaving Meerab alone with him under the same roof.

Waqas turned his gaze back to Murtasim, his eyes searching for a semblance of certainty in an uncertain request. "Can I trust you, Murtasim?" he asked, the weight of his question hanging heavily in the air.

Would he want to press Meerab up against the nearest wall and kiss her until they both couldn't breathe? Yes.

Would he act on that impulse? Yes.

But would he also protect her, even from himself? Definitely, yes.

Murtasim nodded, a gesture of solemn promise.

Waqas's sigh cut through the silent tension, a sound of resignation mixed with hope. "Don't make me regret this," he said, his eyes then shifting to Meerab, seeking her silent acquiescence. She nodded.

"Your mother?" Waqas inquired, turning his attention back to Murtasim.

"I am keeping her out of the loop on purpose," Murtasim admitted, his voice steady. "She's visiting Haya and her family in Lahore this week." It was a strategic omission, designed to avoid unnecessary complications.

Waqas sighed again, his concerns still lingering. "And Anwar is away too, that doesn't make me feel any better about sending her off with you alone, Murtasim."

"I've been alone with him plenty of times," Meerab muttered under her breath, her words barely audible.

Murtasim shot her a warning glance, a silent plea to tread carefully, lest they awaken more doubts in her father's mind.

"Hm?" Her father's attention was piqued, though he hadn't caught her words clearly.

"Maryam will be there too," Meerab said instead.

Her father sighed, a sound of resignation. "I don't know what you all think you're doing, but I'll trust you on this. But if you need help, let me know."

Murtasim and Meerab both nodded.

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

The tension in the car was almost palpable as Murtasim pulled up in front of Yusuf Ali's mansion, the weight of their high-stakes plan pressing down on them. Meerab, sitting in the passenger seat, broke the heavy silence that had enveloped them. "Is this really going to work?" Her voice was tinged with doubt and guilt, a stark contrast to the determination that had propelled them this far.

Maryam, who had eagerly agreed to help before Murtasim could even articulate his request, offered silent support from the back seat. Out of the trio, it was Meerab who harbored the deepest reservations about their scheme to scare Asma into running away, a plan that felt increasingly like deception with each passing moment.

But Shahmeer had spoken to Aslam who had told him that Asma was pushing him away and agreeing to marry Murtasim because she did not want to disappoint her father. She thought that she would learn to love Murtasim with time, that he would eventually fall for her, and they could lead a happy life together. It was the fear of her father's disapproval and her belief that Murtasim could be a good husband that kept her obedient, but if she knew she wouldn't be happy with Murtasim, Aslam was sure she'd run.

Murtasim exhaled deeply. "It'll have to work, or we'll have to go to Shahmeer's father." His voice carried a blend of resignation and resolve, aware of the slim margin for error and the monumental consequences of their failure.

The car was a bubble of tension. Meerab and Murtasim's hands were intertwined, a gesture not missed by Maryam in the back. "It won't work if Asma walks up to the car to find Meerab in the passenger seat and you holding her hand, Bhai," Maryam teased, a light-hearted jab in a moment fraught with seriousness. Her words echoed the playful support she had offered when Murtasim confessed that he had feelings for Meerab – to which she had replied finally.

Feeling the weight of Maryam's words, Meerab reluctantly withdrew her hand from Murtasim's, a silent acknowledgment of the role they had to play. "I should sit in the back," she muttered, her voice low.

Murtasim's sigh was heavy with reluctance. "You don't have to." The thought of anyone else, especially Asma, taking the seat that, in his mind, was reserved for Meerab, didn't sit right with him.

"I do," Meerab insisted, her decision firm. Without another word, she exited the vehicle, the door closing softly behind her as she made her way around to the back seat. Climbing in beside Maryam, the space in the car shifted, a physical rearrangement that mirrored the emotional adjustments they were all forced to make.

Murtasim sighed as he unbuckled his seatbelt, preparing to exit the vehicle. "I'll go get her," he announced.

"No!" Meerab's voice was sharp, her command immediate. "You're supposed to play the role of a horrible future husband, just call her and say come outside, and then honk the horn when she doesn't come right away."

Murtasim turned to look at her, doubt etching his features. "Isn't that too rude?" he questioned, the concern evident in his tone.

Her eyes narrowed in response. "Go to the door and walk her all the way to your nikaah, then," Meerab snapped back, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Suppressing a smile, Murtasim couldn't help but tease, sensing an opportunity to lighten the mood. "That could work, you'd murder her and we could both go to jail together." His words were playful, aimed at provoking a reaction.

Maryam's snicker from the backseat added to the moment, while Meerab rolled her eyes, a clear sign of her exasperation. "You had no problem being rude to me our whole lives," she muttered under her breath. "Just call her and remember be an asshole..." Her voice trailed off as Murtasim pulled out his phone, executing the plan with a facade of indifference.

"I am outside with Maryam and Meerab," he stated plainly into the phone as soon as Asma picked up, then promptly hung up, following Meerab's directive to the letter.

Meerab still huffed.

"What?" Murtasim asked, adjusting the rearview mirror to catch her reflection, seeking to understand her reaction.

"Nothing," she muttered, her gaze fixed outside the window, embodying petulance and a touch of jealousy she couldn't quite hide.

"Meerab," he called out, attempting to draw her attention back to him.

She remained unmoved.

"Meerab," he tried again, his voice softer this time, laced with a hint of concern and a plea for her to look at him.

Maryam's laughter filled the car, but Meerab's focus didn't waver from the window, her stubbornness palpable.

"You really look like Meerabilli right about now," Murtasim ventured, invoking the nickname tied to a stuffed cat that now sat in his room in the village, aiming to break through her facade.

The comparison did its job. Meerab's head whipped around, her glare potent and adorable in equal measure. "That's the exact facial expression on her face," he teased further.

Her response was immediate; Meerab reached up, her hand connecting with his arm in a mock whack. Seizing the moment, Murtasim turned, capturing her hand in his.

"Let me go," Meerab whined.

Murtasim met her gaze, the depth of his feelings for her clear in his eyes. "I love you," he told her firmly, his voice imbued with sincerity. "Remember that." He understood the discomfort and jealousy Meerab felt; he couldn't imagine being in her position, dealing with a similar scenario – he'd have punched Zaki before he even showed up.

Maryam, who had been quietly observing the exchange, smiled softly at the interaction. She moved closer to Meerab, offering words meant to reassure and comfort. "I've never seen him smile like that for anyone but you," she said, her tone gentle and knowing. "Or seen him mope for anyone like he did for you. He's pretty much obsessed with you, has been for years."

"Shut up, Maryam," Murtasim sighed, a mix of embarrassment and affection in his voice, even as Meerab giggled at Maryam's words.

Regaining a semblance of her earlier determination, Meerab then said, still not breaking eye contact with Murtasim, "Let me go and honk the horn like you're very impatient."

He nodded, a silent acknowledgment of her request, and then did the exact opposite of what he did when he had picked Meerab up. Instead of approaching the door with courtesy and patience, he honked the horn, signaling Asma in a manner that was deliberately impatient and impersonal. And when Asma finally appeared, he stayed seated in the car, making no move to get out and open her door as he would have for Meerab.

The moment Asma opened the car door and stepped in, the tension within the vehicle spiked, an electric charge of anticipation and underlying schemes. Murtasim, sitting stoically behind the wheel, watched through the rearview mirror as Meerab launched into her role with commendable zeal.

"You could have opened the door for her at least, Murtasim!" Meerab chided, her voice a mix of reprimand and performance. She then quickly switched gears, her tone brightening as she greeted Asma, "Hi Asma!"

"Hi Asma!" Maryam echoed, her voice a mirror of Meerab's welcoming cheer.

"Hi," Asma responded, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty, especially as her gaze lingered on Meerab. The last time they had met, Meerab hadn't been shy about voicing her opinions, calling Asma a coward, which undoubtedly added layers of awkwardness to their current meeting.

"Forgive this asshole, we told him to get you at the door," Meerab continued, the ease with which she labeled Murtasim an asshole causing his eyes to narrow slightly at her reflection in the mirror. The act was convincing, perhaps too much so.

"It's okay," Asma replied, turning towards Murtasim with a subdued "hi," which he pointedly chose not to return. Instead, his response was curt, a single word, "Seatbelt," that he tossed out as he started driving, deliberately ignoring Asma's struggle to buckle up.

"Bhai! Let her put her seatbelt on at least!" Maryam interjected, playing her part well, the concern in her voice evident.

"It's okay, I have it," Asma assured, finally securing her seatbelt amidst the awkward tension.

"Thank you for coming shopping with us," Meerab said, smoothly transitioning the conversation towards their supposed reason for the outing. "It's the first wedding in the family so we're excited," she added, injecting a note of enthusiasm into her voice.

Asma only nodded.

Meerab, seizing a moment of quiet, turned the conversation towards reconciliation. "And I am sorry for last time...I wasn't thinking straight," she offered sincerely to Asma, her voice carrying the weight of genuine regret even though she said she would apologize so Asma felt that she could talk to her.

Asma, with a grace that surprised Murtasim, smiled and accepted the olive branch. "It's okay, I am not exactly brave," she admitted, her humility disarming.

Meerab, ever the one to wear her heart on her sleeve, continued, "I am a little impulsive, but I know it's hard to think when you find yourself in a situation like that, I really am sorry." The admission was a rare glimpse into Meerab's self-reflection, she had admitted to him on one of their long phone calls that perhaps she had judged Asma too harshly.

"Thank you," Asma responded, her gratitude resonating in the small space of the car.

"No hard feelings?" Meerab probed, seeking absolution.

"No, not at all, thank you for that day, if you weren't there..." Asma's voice trailed off, leaving an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity of Meerab's actions.

Murtasim's gaze drifted to Meerab in the rear-view mirror, a silent observer to the exchange. A part of him swelled with pride for Meerab's bravery, her impulsiveness that day having saved a life. Suppressing a smile, he redirected his attention as the conversation took a turn towards the upcoming engagement they were all trying to thwart.

"What are you wearing for the engagement? I am sure you have it all picked out," Meerab inquired, tactfully steering the topic towards his part, where he had to disapprove of anything Asma said.

"It's a red lehenga," Asma shared, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Murtasim inhaled sharply, steeling himself for the role he was about to play. "Women in our house don't wear lehengas," he interjected, his tone firm, "and I don't like red." The words felt foreign on his tongue; the first part was a semi-truth in their traditional household depending on how modest the garment was, but the latter was a blatant lie. Red was a color he adored, especially when worn by the woman he could see in his rear-view mirror.

"I – I see," Asma stuttered, the confidence in her voice faltering. "For the wedding, we can—"

"Change your engagement outfit," Murtasim cut in, the words tasting bitter as he spoke them.

The car fell into a heavy silence, Asma retreating into herself.

Murtasim grappled with the discomfort of his own rudeness, contrasting Asma's passive acceptance with Meerab's fiery spirit. If Meerab had been in Asma's place, a storm would have erupted then and there, leading to a heated debate right on the side of the road. But Asma's quiet acquiescence only served to amplify the awkwardness of the situation, leaving Murtasim to question the morality of their plan, even as they pushed forward.

Suddenly, Asma's hand landed softly on his arm, causing him to nearly leap from his seat in surprise. His first instinct was to glance at Meerab through the rear-view mirror, where he was met with a glare sharp enough to cut through the awkwardness. "It's too late to change the outfit now, please," Asma pleaded, her voice dripping with sweetness that didn't quite mask the manipulation underneath.

"Okay," Murtasim agreed hastily, eager to remove the unwanted contact. As Asma withdrew her hand, he expected a sense of relief but instead found Meerab's glare intensifying, her lips moving as she muttered something under her breath.

He sighed, regretting his decision to be their chauffeur for the day as he stopped at a red light, it felt as if the car was inching slowly to a mall that kept moving further.

Without warning, Asma's excitement shattered the tense silence. "Gajre!" she exclaimed, spotting a flower vendor approaching. Before Murtasim could process the situation, she had rolled down her window and was already engaging with the vendor, a middle-aged boy who rushed over with a pair of fragrant garlands.

As Asma beamed at her impromptu purchase, she rummaged through her purse, only to turn towards him with a slight frown. "I don't have cash, just my cards, can you..." she trailed off, assuming his assistance.

"Of course," Murtasim responded automatically, reaching for his wallet and handing her the cash without a second thought.

It was only when the cash left his hand, and he caught Meerab's audible huff of disapproval, that he realized his mistake. His eyes met Meerab's reflection in the mirror again, but she was already looking away, a clear sign of her annoyance.

He was about to say something when a honk from behind snapped him out of the moment. The traffic light had turned green, signaling it was time to move on, both literally and metaphorically.

The tension in the car escalated to a palpable silence as Asma, completely oblivious to the undercurrents, delicately slid the gajre onto her wrist. She brought them close to her nose, inhaling deeply, a gesture of simple pleasure that seemed to deepen the complexity of the moment for Murtasim. He couldn't help but regret not buying Meerab gajre as well; however, the traffic light had shifted to green too swiftly, leaving no room for thoughtful gestures.

His gaze lingered on Meerab's reflection in the rear-view mirror, noting her muttering under her breath. The occasional glare she shot him through the mirror was piercing, even as he mouthed a silent apology, hoping to convey his regret. But the tension remained, an unspoken conversation hanging heavily between them.

As he pulled up in front of the mall, Meerab lingered in the car, her body language broadcasting her frustration. Asma and Maryam exited first, stepping into the hustle of the mall without a backward glance. Murtasim turned to Meerab, attempting to breach the silence, "Meerab, I – "

But Meerab cut him off, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she mimicked his earlier acquiescence to Asma, "Of course." Her words were sharp. "I wasn't going to go through with it, I would rather go to jail than marry her my foot, go buy her more gajre, buy the whole store for all I care and I'll pick out an outfit to wear to your engagement for real!" The jealousy in her voice was unmistakable, each word a pointed barb aimed directly at him.

With a finality that left no room for response, she opened the door and slammed it shut with a force that echoed her emotional turmoil, storming off after Asma and Maryam in a display of defiance.

Left alone in the car, Murtasim let out a loud groan, a sound of utter frustration and realization of the impending doom. The next few days promised nothing but suffering for him.

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A/N: Sooooooooooo, what do you think? What was your favourite part? And whatever shall happen next?