A/N: Reading your comments from the last chapter made me giggle so much, I am so glad y'all liked the chapter and how cute Meerab and Murtasim are being! Thank you for all the love and support, I truly appreciate it! Here's the last chapter at 22, 25 (it's almost 30 pages), the next chapter will be in MBK's POV and then we'll see them at 23, 26! See you on the other side!

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Meerab's green monster reared its ugly head, watching the gajre on Asma's hand. She felt it coil around her insides, tightening with each flutter of the white jasmine against Asma's skin. Despite knowing deep down that Murtasim hadn't bought them specifically for Asma, the petty voice in her head argued that since he had paid for them, in a way, they were indeed from him. Her heart twisted with the unfamiliar sting that had first come about because of Asma —jealousy was an ugly feeling.

Maryam sent a knowing glance Meerab's way, as if she could see right through the façade of calmness Meerab was desperately trying to maintain. Meerab walked behind her and Asma, feeling petulant but determined to set her feelings aside to deal with the current situation.

Even though she was miffed with Murtasim, she still had to muster up a lot of strength to utter the bitter words that left her. "I am surprised anyone is marrying Murtasim," Meerab sighed.

Asma turned to her, a look of confusion etching her features.

Sorry Murtasim.

"He's an absolute tyrant and so controlling," Meerab continued, the words spilling out with a venom that surprised even her.

"I see," was all Asma managed to reply, her voice tinged with a hint of doubt.

Meerab, fueled by a mix of jealousy and the need to protect what was hers, pressed on. "I can't believe he told you to find something else to wear!" she exclaimed, her voice rising with feigned indignation. "I would have whacked him!" That was the truth, she would have whacked him.

Asma just shrugged, a casual gesture that made Meerab's insides coil tighter. "He gave in after," she said simply.

The response made Meerab want to groan out loud. Why did he have to give in? She masked her frustration with a forced chuckle. "For now, watch—he'll make a big deal out of it. You don't know him like I do," she warned, the guilt gnawing at her for painting Murtasim in such a false light.

"He's not that bad," Maryam chimed in, playing the good cop to her bad.

"Please, he's the exact type of man a woman shouldn't want," Meerab retorted, the bitterness in her voice a stark contrast to the irony of her own situation - he was the only man she had ever wanted, and the only one she needed.

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of relief that Murtasim was nowhere near to hear her disparage him like this. Her heart ached with the guilt of her deception, even as she continued to spin her web of lies.

"How so?" Asma inquired, her brows knitting together in curiosity.

Meerab took a breath, steadying the emotional whirlwind inside her before she spoke more lies. "He's not capable of love, you know how these feudal lords are. I could never marry someone who couldn't fall in love with me," she said with emphasis, her heart clenching at the irony.

She was referring to a man who epitomized the very essence of love she had once thought was just a fairytale, a man who had put her happiness above his own, even though he had been a right idiot.

Asma retorted with a simple belief, "Everyone is capable of love."

Meerab's response was quick. "Sadly, you'll learn the hard way," she muttered, the guilt creeping into her conscience for misleading Asma, who was innocent in all this.

The conversation lulled into a brief silence before Asma's voice cut through again, "Has he ever fallen in love with anyone?"

It was Maryam who answered this time. "No, but the women in the village love him," she said, casting a sympathetic glance Meerab's way, mouthing an apology behind Asma's back. The women in the village did fawn over Murtasim, but he ignored them all, she knew that, but the words still made jealousy flare up.

Meerab let out a heavy sigh. "I am sure he's been with half of them," she lied blatantly, feeling the weight of her words like a physical blow. This was a man who had shown nothing but respect for her, even to the extent of choosing the floor over sharing her bed when she would have let him, and here she was, painting him with a tarnished brush.

"Oh," was all Asma managed, a simple utterance filled with a mixture of disappointment and realization.

Meerab continued, feeling the lie stick to her tongue like bitter honey, "You know how the feudal lord type are. I wouldn't expect fidelity from them." She paused, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "You'll likely spend more time with your mother-in-law than him." The last part wasn't a lie—Meerab knew all too well that if their paths were bound in matrimony, Murtasim would do anything to keep his distance from Asma.

The store's air was thick with tension as Asma's silence grew after Meerab's stinging words. Rows of glittering outfits around them seemed to lose a bit of their shine under the weight of the conversation. Meerab's reflection in the mirror was accompanied by the turmoil in her chest, her heart tugging in a direction she couldn't quite understand.

"He seemed nice when we first met," Asma finally said, her voice barely above a whisper as they continued to peruse outfits for her impending engagement.

Meerab glanced at her own reflection, her movements robotic as she twirled in a pink sharara that hugged her form gracefully. "Everyone can be nice once in a while," she replied, her words sounding hollow to her own ears. "Do you like this one?" she asked Asma, trying to divert the conversation for a moment.

Asma simply nodded, her mind obviously elsewhere, entrenched in thoughts Meerab had stirred.

The conversation drifted to her ears as she slipped into the change room. Asma's inquiring voice asked Maryam, "Your brother is nice...right?"

Maryam's answer was noncommittal at best. "When he wants to be, yes," she said, her tone carrying a note of caution.

"Capable of love?" Asma's voice held a hint of hope, perhaps a plea for some reassurance.

Meerab held her breath, her hands stilling on the fabric of the dress she was trying on. Maryam's response seemed to float over to her, laced with uncertainty. "I don't know, I don't think he'd ever let himself fall in love...but who knows, I barely see him, he spends most of his time in the village."

"But he's kind..." Asma persisted, searching for something to hold onto.

Maryam's reply was tinged with a lie only Meerab could hear. "For the most part...but he's not very forgiving if we overstep."

"Overstep?" Asma's confusion was palpable.

"I am sure you were afforded more freedom than I was growing up...but you know how feudal families are. What he says goes, even if you don't agree with it. If you mess up, he's not very kind." Maryam shared.

Meerab's fingers tightened on the fabric of her outfit. She might have echoed those sentiments once, might have believed them wholeheartedly, but now they sounded wrong to her ears. Murtasim wasn't the tyrant she painted him to be in her younger years. He had his reasons, his beliefs—sometimes archaic, sometimes infuriatingly senseless—but he listened and changed if he saw reason, and that meant something. It meant everything.

Meerab emerged from the fitting room, the fabric of her new outfit flowing around her like a cascade of spring water. She paused, catching her reflection in the mirror, and with a twirl, she asked, "Do you like this one more?"

Maryam's eyes brightened as she nodded. "It's better than the last one," she affirmed with a smile.

Lingering near the racks of vibrant clothes, Meerab was a picture of a woman preparing for Asma's engagement, but her heart was enacting a different scene. The truth was a silent scream inside her: Murtasim was hers. There was no space in her future where she would let him slip through her fingers, not again.

Asma, absorbed in her own world of thoughts, approached Meerab after a while. "Meerab..." she began hesitantly, her voice laced with a timidity that seemed to hang between them.

"Hmmm?" Meerab hummed, her anticipation palpable, her heart beating a rhythm of impending victory.

"I – if you loved someone, would you run away with them?" Asma's question hung in the air, vulnerable and raw.

Suppressing the grin that threatened to surface, Meerab's response was swift and sure. "In a heartbeat," she declared, feeling the swarm of butterflies in her stomach. "Why?" she probed, feigning nonchalance.

"Just asking," Asma shrugged, a shadow of doubt crossing her features.

Meerab laughed, though it was a performance perfected for Asma's benefit. "If I was marrying Murtasim, I'd run away with any man," she lied, her heart disagreeing vehemently with her words. "But you're braver than I am." In truth, she knew she would only run away if it was with Murtasim himself.

"But your family would hate you for it," Asma pointed out, her voice a soft tremor of concern.

A sigh escaped Meerab. She knew that Asma wasn't the type to leap without looking, she had learnt that during their first meeting when she hadn't leaped after her cousin who could have drowned. Hesitation was evident in her every move, every word – it was a hesitance that seemed to stem from a deep-seated fear and indecision. Shahmeer had mentioned it, but only now did Meerab understand the profound depth of Asma's reluctance.

Asma, a vision of vulnerability, stood amidst the silks and satins, her fate dangling like a precarious thread. Meerab felt a kinship with her, for she had been in a similar place once. When Murtasim had rejected her, she had been willing to accept a life without love, much like Asma was now – where she had been looking for companionship, it seemed that Asma was looking for peace.

Her fear was palpable, her life a sacrifice on the altar of familial peace or her father's anger. It pained Meerab to see such resignation. Her heart ached to confess everything, to spill the secrets that weighed so heavily on her conscience. But the truth remained imprisoned behind her lips, she couldn't take that risk, for if she did, she could lose Murtasim.

Instead, Meerab chose her words with the delicacy of someone disarming a bomb. "If I did run away... my family might not like my decisions, but if they loved me, they'd come around to it," she began, her voice a soothing balm. "Because at the end of the day, it's my life, I have to live it, and I'd rather live it with someone I choose and love rather than someone who was chosen for me and I couldn't love. Life's too short to live with regrets. Plus, I know that if I loved a man, there would be something worthwhile in him that would make me choose him, I would trust my judgement, and hope that my family would see it eventually when the initial anger wore off."

Asma absorbed her words, the wheels turning in her head. "But what if you got caught running away?" The question made sense, for Shahmeer had mentioned that she was closely watched at all times.

Meerab let out a thoughtful sigh. "I'd ask my friends for help, for instance if I was to slip away right now, no one would know until I was far." The idea dangled between them, a subtle invitation to consider the possibilities.

Asma's gaze was thoughtful, her nod slow, as if with each dip of her chin, she was considering and discarding a myriad of futures.

At that moment, Maryam emerged from the dressing room, her presence a disruption to their quiet conspiracy. "I think this one is it," she declared, a decision settling around her like the fit of a perfect dress.

"That's perfect," Meerab agreed, her voice a bright note of normalcy. Her eyes flicked to Maryam, silently communicating through a lifted eyebrow and the silent question on her lips: "Should I say more?"

Maryam's response was a slight shake of the head, a silent counsel to let the seed grow without further cultivation. Meerab understood. Sometimes the most potent moves were the ones left unspoken.

"Do you guys want to get our nails done?" Meerab broke the silence, her voice slicing through the quiet that had settled over the trio.

Asma's response was a simple nod, her demeanor still shadowed by the weight of the conversations that had taken place amidst the embroidered fabrics and reflective mirrors of the boutique. The boutique's vibrant hubbub gave way to a more subdued atmosphere as Meerab, Asma, and Maryam made their way to the nail salon. The chatter that usually accompanied such outings seemed to have deserted them, leaving each wrapped in their own thoughts.

Meerab watched Asma discreetly, noting the distant look in her eyes even as they were seated at the nail salon, each with a technician attending to them.

"Ooooh, who's getting married?" the nail technician attending to Asma broke into a sing-song inquiry, a practiced smile playing on her lips as she glanced between the three women.

"She is," Meerab replied, gesturing towards Asma. Her heart added silently, and hopefully not to Murtasim.

"Love marriage?" The technician's voice was light, teasing as she waggled her eyebrows in a playful gesture.

Asma's head movement was almost mechanical, a shake that belied the traditional route her life was taking. "Arranged," she admitted, her voice small.

The technician's observant eyes lingered on Asma's somber expression for a moment longer than necessary. "You love someone else?" she ventured a guess, her tone gentle yet probing.

Asma's reaction was immediate, her eyes widening as she hastily let out a "nahi!" that rang with too much protest to be convincing.

The hum from the technician was noncommittal, but her eyes were sharp, catching more than what was said aloud.

"He's my brother," Maryam interjected, perhaps in an attempt to deflect further probing.

"Oh, acha," the technician responded, her curiosity now a touch flustered, realizing she might have put Asma in a tough spot. She turned to Maryam, seeking safer conversation territory. "Are you married yet?" she asked, her tone now carefully neutral.

Maryam's head movement was a mirror of Asma's earlier one, a shake signifying her single status.

"What kind of man do you want to marry?" The question was casual, a standard topic in such settings.

Maryam's laughter was a pleasant sound, lightening the mood. "Uh, someone kind and understanding, who would prioritize me and our happiness," she stated, her ideals clear in her voice.

Seizing the moment, Meerab turned towards Asma with a question that had been delicately dancing on the edges of their conversation. "What about you, Asma, what kind of man did you want to marry?" she inquired, her voice carrying a blend of curiosity and an unspoken encouragement, remembering how Shahmeer had described Aslam as someone who embodied kindness, was inherently friendly, and harbored a genuine love for Asma. The description had offered Meerab a fleeting comfort in their deceit, a silver lining in the cloud of their crafted lies.

"Someone kind and friendly, soft-spoken," Asma responded, her voice low but filled with a certain wistfulness, echoing the traits of a man who she was giving up.

Meerab couldn't help but snort at the comparison that formed so readily in her mind, the words slipping out before she could weigh them, "The exact opposite of Murtasim." It wasn't entirely a falsehood—for to those on the outside, Murtasim often appeared unkind and unfriendly, a facade that hid the complexity of his true nature, his gentleness and warmth reserved for those he held dear, a warmth Meerab was intimately familiar with.

Asma's response was a noncommittal hum, while Maryam's eyes sparkled with an excitement.

After a moment, Asma's curiosity turned towards Meerab, her voice tentative, "Meerab, are you getting married any time soon?"

With a nod that carried more excitement than Meerab felt, she dove into the lie with an enthusiasm she hoped was convincing. "Yes, his name is Zaki, he's a doctor, and he's so romantic, so sweet and kind." The words were all false, each one weaving an image of a future that would never exist.

"Oh." Asma's reaction was laced with surprise, her single word carrying a multitude of unasked questions. "When?"

"Probably around your wedding, maybe a week or two later," Meerab replied, sticking to the narrative they had meticulously planned.

Shahmeer had wisely pointed out that Asma might have sensed the undercurrents of tension between Meerab and Murtasim, their connection too palpable to mask completely. They had agreed it was crucial Asma didn't perceive their encouragement as a selfish ploy, if she did, then they would all be in a lockout, each waiting for the other to act.

Meerab had to strike the delicate balance of pushing Asma towards her happiness without revealing the depth of her entanglement with Murtasim. Each lie and half-truth was a brushstroke in a portrait of deception, painted with a heavy heart and a hopeful gaze towards a resolution that would free them all.

Asma's question pierced the air, "Do you love him?"

Meerab's thoughts instinctively flew to Murtasim, the man who was the center of this intricate web of lies she was telling now, the man she loved.

Nodding, Meerab's voice carried a depth of sincerity that was convincing. "I love him more than I thought I could love anyone," she confessed, the image of Murtasim's smile warming her from within, casting a glow on her face that Asma would attribute to her fictitious love story with Zaki.

Maryam's giggle cut through Meerab's bittersweet reverie, "They can't keep their eyes off each other," she said, waggling her eyebrows, it was clear to the two of them that she spoke of Murtasim.

Curiosity sparked in Asma's eyes as she ventured further, "How'd you meet?"

Meerab, caught in the momentum of their concocted tale, smoothly transitioned back to the narrative at hand. "Zaki and I worked for the same NGO, we hit it off instantly," she fabricated, weaving the lie with a hint of romanticism that she hoped was convincing.

"So it's not an arranged marriage?" Asma's surprise was evident.

Shaking her head, Meerab allowed a coy giggle to escape her lips, "No, it's not," she affirmed, the lie tasting bittersweet on her tongue.

Asma's curiosity deepened, "Your family agreed?"

Nodding once more, Meerab boldly stated, "And if they didn't, I'd have run away with him." The declaration, though part of their carefully constructed narrative, resonated with a defiant truth within her own heart. If Murtasim had given her an inclination of his feelings after her engagement to Zaki, she would have run away with him in a heartbeat.

Maryam's laughter mingled with Asma's slow nod of understanding.

As the nail technician finished inspecting Meerab's nails, ensuring perfection, Meerab turned to Asma, setting up the last piece. "Do you have my number, by the way?" she asked Asma, who shook her head in response.

"Oh, give me yours, I'll send you a text. We're friends now, after all. You'll have to come to my wedding too. Maybe you can meet Zaki soon," Meerab offered, her heart sinking slightly with each word.

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As the day drew to a close, the shadow of Murtasim's absence loomed over them, made tangible by Areeb's arrival to drive them back home. Meerab couldn't help but scoff as she took her place in the front seat beside Areeb, her eyebrow arching in silent question at his presence instead of Murtasim's.

"Khan was busy," Areeb offered by way of explanation, though Meerab's response was a dismissive roll of her eyes. She knew better than to take his words at face value, especially after the incident with the gajre, he was clearly trying to avoid a similar incident.

"Wooing women?" she muttered under her breath, the words laced with a jealousy she couldn't quite quell, even though she knew her words were a lie, he was likely just waiting for them at home.

Areeb's laughter, nervous and forced, made it seem like she hit the nail on the head. He glanced back at Asma, asserting a very unconvincing "noooooo" that seemed to amuse Meerab despite herself. She had to admit, Areeb's acting was commendable, catching Asma's reflection in the side mirror as she played along with the ruse.

It struck her then, the gravity of the deception they were weaving around Murtasim. They painted him as a man far removed from the person she knew and loved; her sweet, respectful Murtasim was being portrayed as nothing short of a manwhore.

Seeking to deepen the facade, Meerab turned to Asma, curiosity lacing her tone. "Have you met Areeb yet, Asma?"

Asma's negative response was the opening Meerab needed to further their narrative. "He's Murtasim's right-hand-man, so any gift you ever get, anything nice that's ever done will be because of him," she declared, the lie rolling off her tongue. The memory of Murtasim's thoughtful gifts to her flashed through her mind - the shoes, Murtasimbakri, the anklets, the flowers, the choodiyan - each one a stark contrast to the image they were crafting.

Areeb's contribution to the charade came with a laugh. "Khan is not very romantic, so feel free to tell me if you ever need anything."

Asma's response, a nod filled with a sadness that touched Meerab. The guilt of lying about Murtasim weighed heavily on Meerab. Yet, it was the guilt of deceiving Asma, of manipulating her perception and feelings, that cut the deepest.

As soon as Asma stepped out of the car and they watched her disappear into her home, the weight of their deception pressed heavily on Meerab. She let out a long, deep breath, an attempt to rid herself of the discomfort that had settled in her chest.

Maryam, catching onto Meerab's mood, couldn't help but add her own commentary, "Bhai probably bit his tongue a million times with all the bad things you said about him, Meerab." Her words, meant in jest, only served to deepen Meerab's sense of guilt.

"Don't remind me," Meerab responded with a heavy sigh, her voice tinged with regret. "I feel so bad...and she's nice...maybe I should have just told her the truth." The words spilled out.

Areeb, who had remained silent up until then, finally spoke, his voice carrying a note of understanding, "That's a risk we can't really take, and technically, you're helping her in the long run. Even though Khan is not horrible, he wouldn't ever be able to give her love, so you're doing something good for her."

His words, meant to reassure, did little to alleviate the guilt that clung to Meerab. Yet, she found herself nodding in agreement, clinging to any justification for their actions. "Thank you, I needed to hear that," she murmured, a semblance of gratitude laced with lingering doubt.

"Do you think she bought it?" Areeb questioned.

"I think so," Meerab replied, her voice low as she reached for her phone. She typed out a message to Shahmeer, instructing him to act now, to tell Aslam to persuade Asma to run away while she was vulnerable and confused.

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As the car made its way up the driveway of the Khan Haveli, Meerab could feel a knot of anticipation building in her stomach. The sight that greeted her as they pulled up did nothing to alleviate her nerves; instead, it sent them skyrocketing. Murtasim was there, waiting, and the moment his eyes met hers, everything else seemed inconsequential.

The smile he wore as he saw her was nothing short of radiant, instantly making her heart flutter uncontrollably. This was the man she had misleadingly described to Asma as incapable of love, yet here he stood, his eyes alight with affection and warmth solely for her. Witnessing the depth of his feelings reflected in his gaze, the guilt and turmoil that had been gnawing at her conscience all day began to dissipate. In that moment, she was reminded that every decision she had made, every small deception, was for this — for him, for the chance to be the recipient of that unguarded, loving smile for the rest of her life.

"Hi," he said softly as she stepped out of the car, his voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

Maryam giggled. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to it, pretend I am not here," she sang out, darting past them, disappearing into the vastness of the house.

Areeb, following suit, stepped out of the car, a snort escaping him as he caught the tail end of their exchange. "It's a good thing you didn't go to pick them up, Khan. Even Asma would have noticed how lovesick you look," he teased, his words drawing a rare, bashful look from Murtasim.

"Shut up, Areeb," Murtasim shot back, though the softness in his eyes never wavered as he turned his attention back to Meerab, taking her hand gently in his and leading her towards the house.

Despite the warmth of his welcome, Meerab couldn't help but bring up a recent point of contention between them. "I am still mad," she told him, her tone carrying a whiny edge as she recalled the incident with the gajre. Yet, even as she voiced her mock indignation, the underlying current of affection was undeniable.

The moment Murtasim's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against his side, Meerab's heart skipped a beat. His hand was strong and warm against her, sending a wave of butterflies fluttering through her stomach. The proximity, the touch of him, stirred something deep within her, eliciting a reaction that was both exhilarating and unnerving.

"Murtasim! The maids are still at the Haveli!" she hissed, a mix of delight and apprehension in her voice, mindful of the household's ever-watchful eyes.

"I gave them the day off," he replied, his voice low and infused with a hint of mischief that caught her completely off guard.

She couldn't help but whack his arm, her actions belying the rapid beating of her heart. "That's even more suspicious!" she exclaimed, both scandalized and touched by his boldness.

"But then how was I going to do this?" he countered, his words piquing her curiosity and setting her heart aflutter.

"What?" she turned towards him, her expression one of confusion.

In response, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a quick, tender peck that left her momentarily stunned.

It took her a second to recover, to process the brief, electrifying contact, before she managed to whack his arm again, though her heart sang with a joy she couldn't quite suppress.

His chuckle, deep and resonant, filled the space between them, wrapping her in a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"I have something to show you," he said, his voice laced with a promise that sent another shiver down her spine as he led them into the house.

"I don't trust your intentions," she muttered under her breath, a playful defiance in her tone as they stepped through the front door. But before she could take another step, she found herself pinned against the wall by the entrance, Murtasim's towering presence engulfing her.

He grinned down at her, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes making her heart race. "Why, what do you think I am going to show you?" he teased, his eyebrow arching in a challenge that sent waves of anticipation coursing through her.

Her eyes flickered to his lips momentarily. Flustered, she averted her gaze, only for him to gently but firmly hold her chin to turn her face back towards his.

"You really make me wonder what's going on inside your head, Meerab," he teased, his voice a soft caress that seemed to reach right into her very soul.

She cleared her throat, attempting to regain some semblance of control over the situation. "My brain has a lot of other things to think about other than you," she said, her voice betraying the lie even as the words left her lips.

"Hmmm, acha? Like?" he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin.

His thumb traced her bottom lip, sending a jolt of electricity through her, rendering her speechless. In that moment, with Murtasim so close, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only him, the heat of his body, the intensity of his gaze, and the undeniable, overwhelming love she felt for him.

As Murtasim's thumb pressed down gently on her bottom lip, Meerab felt a shiver ripple through her, a wave of longing and desire that she scarcely understood herself. It was a silent plea, one she dared not voice aloud yet screamed within her mind—I want you to kiss me. Her gaze flitted across his face, tracing the lines and contours that she had come to memorize, marveling at how the sight of him could so thoroughly discompose her.

"Like?" He prompted again, the word barely more than a whisper.

She had forgotten the question.

Her internal admonishment to focus seemed to fall on deaf ears, her own body betraying her with its reaction to his nearness. In a move that felt both daring and desperate, she placed her hand over his chest, right over his heart. The rapid beat of his heart against her palm mirrored her own.

His breath hitched at the contact, and she watched, fascinated, as he swallowed, his Adam's apple moving noticeably. The moment was charged with an intensity that wrapped around them, a tangible force that drew them ever closer even as they stood still.

She smiled up at him then, a soft, knowing smile. His breath left him in a whoosh, a sound that spoke volumes, revealing perhaps for the first time the extent to which he was affected by her, that she, Meerab, had the power to leave Murtasim, the unflappable Khan, breathless.

Seizing the moment, she used her hand on his chest to gently push him away, her laughter ringing out clear and bright in the spacious hall of the Khan Haveli as she turned and fled towards the room she always stayed in when she visited. The shocked look on his face as she pushed him away, the wide eyes and parted lips, only fueled her laughter, as she ran.

The sound of Murtasim's footsteps echoed hers, a playful pursuit up the stairs of the Khan Haveli that had her heart racing for reasons beyond the physical exertion. Her laughter, light and unguarded, mingled with the sound of their chase, until she burst into her room, only to come to a stunned halt.

The air was thick with the fragrance of blooms, a potent, sweet smell that enveloped her senses immediately. Before her eyes, the room had transformed into a veritable garden of flowers. Bouquets of every conceivable kind adorned every surface, their colors vibrant and varied. The beauty of it took her breath away.

Her heart, already aflutter from their playful chase, swelled within her chest, a bubble of joy that found its escape in a happy laugh.

Murtasim had done all of this for her.

She turned, finding Murtasim leaning against the door, his presence grounding, his smile a beacon. He was the very picture of casual elegance, arms crossed, an eyebrow arched.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he turned on the ceiling fan, and Meerab gasped anew as rose petals began to rain down around her. The petals, soft and fragrant, danced in the air, caught in the gentle breeze of the fan, swirling around her in a whirlwind of color and scent. Her laughter, light and infectious, filled the room, a sound of pure delight as she lifted her face to the shower of petals, letting them brush against her skin like tender caresses.

Overwhelmed by the grandeur of the surprise before her, Meerab felt a surge of emotions so intense it nearly took her breath away. How had she gotten so lucky? Her life, once devoid of such tender gestures, now overflowed with the kind of love she had only dared to dream about.

Never before had she been the recipient of even a single bouquet, and yet here she stood, surrounded by a myriad of them, each petal and bloom a testament to Murtasim's deep affection for her. It was as if he had taken it upon himself to repaint her world, to fill every corner of her existence with color and happiness that had been missing for too long.

The realization that she was now the focus of such unwavering attention, of a care so profound and dedicated to her happiness, filled her eyes with tears. Murtasim, with every thoughtful gesture and loving surprise, was teaching her what it felt like to be cherished, to be truly loved. And in that room, amidst the fragrant cascade of rose petals, Meerab felt her heart swell with a gratitude and love so profound, it anchored her to him in ways she had never imagined possible.

As Murtasim approached, the look on his face was one of unabashed love, an emotion so raw and palpable that it sent her heart into a frenetic dance. His steps were measured, each one closing the distance between them with a purpose that was clear in his intent gaze.

He picked up gajre that had been laying on the bed on his way over, Meerab's heart seemed to skip a beat in anticipation. His presence alone was enough to stir a whirlwind of emotions within her, but the tenderness in his actions amplified those feelings tenfold.

"May I?" he asked softly, his eyes locking with hers as he gently grasped her hand, waiting for her consent rather than assuming it.

She offered him a smile, a silent nod granting him permission. The moment he slid a gajra onto her wrist, a rush of warmth spread through her.

"There's a huge difference between being forced into buying something for someone and a gift for someone you love," he whispered, his voice a soft caress that seemed to resonate deep within her soul.

His thumb gently rubbed the inside of her wrist just beneath the gajra, sending shivers up her spine. Then, with a reverence that made her heart flutter, he brought her hand up to his lips, placing a tender kiss upon it before moving to adorn her other wrist with the second gajra.

"How?" The word barely escaped her lips, a whisper lost in the gravity of their closeness.

"I am only ever going to do this for the woman I love," he declared, his gaze unwavering, as he slid the other gajra onto her wrist. Grasping both her hands, he gently pulled her closer, erasing any remaining distance between them.

Caught in his gaze, Meerab felt an inexplicable pull, a connection that seemed to tether her soul to his. "For you, as long as I live," he whispered, his voice so low it was almost lost amidst the rustle of the petals that surrounded them. His hand then trailed up to her face, his thumb caressing her cheek tenderly before his fingers reached up to delicately remove rose petals entangled in her hair.

In that moment, Meerab realized the depth of the poetry she had once read but never fully understood. The love that poets spoke of. She felt it, a love so intense and all-consuming for the man before her, that she thought she might burst if she didn't declare it aloud. It was a revelation, a feeling so powerful that it seemed to fill her entire being, leaving no room for anything else but the love she held for Murtasim.

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

Murtasim's gaze was fixed on Meerab, on the woman he loved more than he ever thought he could love someone, her love had become the most essential element of his existence. Observing the tears that glazed her eyes, reflecting an intense emotion that mirrored his own, stirred something within him. Her gaze, laden with unspoken affection, roved over his features, as if memorizing every detail, every contour.

In a move that caught him completely off guard, Meerab reached out, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt with a gentle yet desperate grip. She rose on her tiptoes, her action bridging the distance between them, and placed a delicate kiss upon his cheek. The warmth of her lips against his skin sent his heart into a tumultuous dance, a blend of surprise, joy, and an overwhelming sense of closeness.

Before he could process the moment fully, she attempted to retreat, her face awash with a rosy flush of boldness and shyness mingled together. However, Murtasim wasn't ready to part with the warmth of her embrace just yet. His arm instinctively encircled her waist, drawing her body flush against his, a silent vow to never let her go echoing in the gesture.

"Murtasim," she whispered, her voice a soft melody that held no desire for distance.

Gently, he cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs tenderly caressing her cheeks. The sight of her, so radiantly beautiful, with lips tinted a beguiling shade of pinkish-red and eyes that shone with a clarity and vivacity he hadn't seen before, captivated him entirely. Those eyes, especially, held his attention—they were no longer shrouded in sadness or accusation but sparkled with life and something more, something deeper.

"Aise kyun dekh rahe ho?" Meerab's breathless inquiry pulled him from his reverie, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of vulnerability.

In response, he found himself confessing, "I love you. I love these big eyes, and how they look at me." It was a truth that flowed from his heart, unfiltered and raw.

She responded by nuzzling his hand, an action so tender and trusting it made his heart swell. "How?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"With love," he whispered back. It was a gamble, a leap of faith, acknowledging the love he saw reflected in her eyes—love she had yet to articulate in words.

Murtasim's heart was a drumbeat of anticipation as Meerab, emboldened, rose on her tiptoes, her face beautiful flushed. She planted a soft, tentative peck on his lips, a gesture so sweet and innocent it made his grin widen when she pulled away.

"Bas itna hi? Tumhe kiss nahi karna aata?" he teased, a playful spark in his eyes, knowing the intensity she kissed him with always stole his breath away. He couldn't resist teasing her though; her reactions were too endearing, and he loved to see the spectrum of emotions she displayed, especially the little frown of determination that now creased her brow.

Proving him delightfully wrong, Meerab got on her tippy toes again, this time with more intent. She cupped his face in her hands, and with a resolve that took his breath away, pressed her lips firmly against his. The taste of chocolate and coffee from her lips was intoxicating, and he found himself completely lost in the moment, in her.

A groan escaped him as he wrapped his arms around her tighter, drawing her body closer against his. Their lips moved in a dance of newfound intimacy, Meerab taking the lead with a surprising tenderness that belied her initial hesitation. Her lips caressed his, exploring with a gentle yet insistent curiosity, her tongue fleetingly tracing his bottom lip.

Yielding to her silent request, he opened his mouth, allowing her the space to explore further. Their tongues met in a slow, languid dance, sending a jolt of heat through him as his hips instinctively pressed tightly against her.

Meerab's response was eager; her hands slid up his chest, fingers weaving around his shoulders, pulling him even closer if that were possible. A gasp escaped her, vibrating against his mouth, her grip on his shirt tightening as if she was holding on for dear life.

The intensity of the kiss deepened, driven by a raw, primal need. Murtasim was overwhelmed by the desire to merge even closer, to dissolve any remaining distance between them. It was as if he sought to absorb her very essence, a yearning so potent it bordered on ache.

How had he allowed himself to exist so long without this? Without her? The thought propelled him to kiss her back harder, one hand tangling in her hair to gently tilt her head back, deepening the kiss. His tongue explored her mouth with a passionate curiosity, mapping every contour, every sweet nuance of her taste and response.

Murtasim felt Meerab's moan vibrate against his lips, a sound so intimate and raw that he couldn't help but swallow it, absorbing the essence of her desire. He pulled back slightly, the need to see her face, to ground himself in the reality of her love overwhelming him. "Meerab," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur as he pressed his forehead against hers, a silent plea to the universe to make this moment last forever.

Her hands, once gripping his shoulders with need, now softened, two fingers moving up to trace the outline of his lips with a tenderness that made his heart swell. His eyes fluttered open, and there she was—his Meerab, looking at him with an intensity that spoke volumes of the storm of emotions swirling within her.

"I love you," he found himself whispering, the words spilling from him like a sacred vow. He loved her so profoundly, so completely, that keeping the words inside seemed an impossible feat. They needed to be free, to be heard, to be felt.

Her eyes, those beautiful mirrors to her soul, flickered between his, searching, seeking. Then, with a breath that seemed to carry the weight of the world, she said the words he had been yearning to hear, "I love you, Murtasim." The whisper was soft, yet it landed with the force of a tempest, sweeping away all his fears, his doubts, his reservations.

His heart stopped, then restarted with a ferocity that threatened to break free from his chest. His hand, tangled in the softness of her hair, pulled her closer, an action born of a need to feel her, to meld into her, to become one. His lips crashed onto hers with a desperation that bordered on frantic, a kiss that stole her words, her breath, her very essence.

With his other hand firmly around her waist, he eliminated any space between them, pressing her against him with a possessiveness that left no room for doubt. His tongue sought hers, a conqueror claiming his territory, caressing the inside of her mouth with strokes that marked her as his.

"Say it again," he whispered against her lips as he pulled away, a plea, a command, a lover's request.

"I love you," she said breathlessly.

His response was a groan, deep and primal, as he pressed his lips to hers once more. His heart hammered against his chest, a triumphant rhythm that echoed her words, her love, her acceptance.

The fear that she might never admit her feelings out loud, that the chasm between them might never be bridged, dissipated like mist under the morning sun. She loved him. She was here, in his arms, kissing him back with a passion that matched his own. Her nails dug into his skin over his shirt, a sweet pain that he welcomed, a tangible proof of her presence, her passion, her love.

Their tongues danced a dance as old as time, sliding against each other in a rhythm that spoke of future promises, of whispered confessions in the dead of night, of love that would withstand the trials of life. The air around them felt charged, heavy with emotion.

As Murtasim gently pulled away from their intense embrace, their shared breaths were heavy, laden with unspoken promises and the weight of emotions long held back. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice barely audible, a plea wrapped in vulnerability. His eyes sought hers, craving the confirmation of her love.

"I love you, Murtasim," Meerab said, her conviction so powerful it seemed to echo around them. The sincerity in her voice, the open honesty in her gaze, it was overwhelming, sending a surge of emotion through him so intense it brought tears to his eyes.

As she cupped his face, her own eyes shimmering with tears, she whispered, "And I was going to tell you at the beginning of the summer. I spent all this time practicing in front of the mirror... and I thought I'd never get to tell you that I love you after everything and—" Her voice broke, tears spilling over, and Murtasim's heart clenched at the sight. His fingers, gentle and soothing, reached up to wipe away her tears, each touch a whisper of apology.

"I am sorry. I am so, so sorry," he murmured, each word infused with regret for the pain he had caused, for the heartache they had endured. "I love you," he told her again, a vow, a promise to never hurt her again.

In response, she kissed him again, a slow, tender merging of lips that spoke volumes more than words ever could. He savored her, caressed her lips with his own, coaxing them apart to deepen their connection. Their tongues met again, this time with a leisurely exploration, a lazy dance that allowed them to bask in the warmth and love enveloping them.

The heat between them built slowly, a simmering pressure that was as much about emotional connection as physical desire. When he finally pulled away, leaving them both panting, he gave a light nip to her bottom lip, eliciting a giggle from her that filled him with an indescribable lightness.

He kissed her again, soft and chaste.

The moment was perfect, filled with the kind of love and understanding that Murtasim had only ever dreamed of, until the serene bubble they were in burst with the loud, insistent bleating of their goat, Murtasimbakri.

Murtasim groaned, his annoyance fleeting as he caught sight of the goat jumping around the room, the absurdity of the situation drawing him back from the brink of frustration.

As they both burst into laughter, falling to the ground in a heap, their previous intimate moment was replaced with the warm, joyful task of calming down the overly excited goat. Murtasimbakri, who had been rather hyper since the car ride from Karachi to Hyderabad, seemed determined to make her presence known, her antics a stark contrast to the romantic setting Murtasim had meticulously prepared, flowers and all, which he had had to protect from her curious appetite by kicking her out of the room earlier.

Meerab's giggles filled the room, a sound more delightful to Murtasim than any music. "Why is she so happy?" she asked, her laughter mixing with the goat's bleats.

"Maybe she's happy that you finally said 'I love you' to me too," Murtasim teased, his heart still soaring from the words he had longed to hear.

As Meerab continued to pet Murtasimbakri, Murtasim spoke. "Waise, there are fourteen different types of flowers in this room..." he started, an attempt to find her favorite among them.

She smiled, her response sending waves of warmth through him. "So eager to find my favorite...we have a lifetime," she said, her words wrapping around him like a comforting embrace.

"I know...but I want to know...for our house," he replied, his voice laden with hope.

Her smile widened. "On the outskirts of Karachi?" she asked, already aware of his plans.

He nodded, trying to appear casual as he spoke, "I hired a construction company and an architect...if you want to meet them."

Her playful "I see" and the sparkle in her eyes told him she was fully on board, but she teased him with her feigned ignorance. "Why would I need to meet them?"

He sighed.

She giggled.

When he finally admitted, "It's your house too, so you should have a say in what it looks like," her face lit up in a way that filled him with an indescribable joy.

As they shared another kiss, Murtasimbakri's wailing once again interrupted them, sending them into another fit of laughter.

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

The atmosphere in Murtasim's living room was unusually relaxed and filled with the kind of warmth that had always seemed missing in the Khan Haveli. Dinner was a casual affair, the coffee table ladened with an assortment of Meerab's favorite foods. Maryam and Areeb didn't miss the opportunity to tease him about the evident display of affection, their laughter creating a light-hearted ambiance as they all sat around the table.

"I like this no rules life," Maryam declared with a grin, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, unabashedly eating pizza straight from the box.

Meerab snickered. "Your mother would blame me for ruining you if she saw you right now," she joked, glancing at Maryam with a playful eye.

Murtasim couldn't help but sigh, fully aware of the truth in Meerab's words. The thought of his mother's reaction to what had happened in her absence — bringing Meerab to the haveli, dismissing the staff, plotting to make Asma run away — loomed over him. Yet, as he caught sight of Meerab, the gajre still adorning her wrist, all his worries seemed inconsequential. Her occasional gesture of bringing the flowers to her nose, inhaling their fragrance with a content smile, filled him with a sense of peace.

The sound of his phone ringing shattered the momentary tranquility. As Murtasim fished the device out of his pocket, the room fell into a tense silence, every pair of eyes fixed on him with anticipation. "Shahmeer," he announced, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

"Put it on speakerphone!" Meerab urged, he complied and placed the call on speakerphone.

"Hello," Murtasim greeted, trying to keep his voice steady.

The response from the other end was immediate, "Shahmeer and Shahmeera Khan can come into this world now," causing Areeb and Maryam to burst into laughter at the absurdity.

"Shahmeer, be serious for once," Meerab groaned, her tone exasperated, waiting for the moment Shahmeer would switch from his playful demeanor to the serious, purposeful, and somewhat villainous, man they all knew he could be.

"Aslam just called, Asma was in tears and practically begged him to save her from the marriage..." Shahmeer's voice trailed off, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Meerab must have really told her how horrible you are, Murtasim," he snickered, the implication hanging heavy in the air.

Murtasim's gaze shifted to Meerab, searching her face for clues, wondering what exactly she had said to Asma after leaving the car. Meerab's reaction was telling; she looked away, clearing her throat with a guilty expression that spoke volumes.

The tension in the room escalated palpably as Shahmeer's voice continued to flow from Murtasim's phone, delivering news that held the potential to alter the course of several lives. "Asma should call Meerab soon for help, she told Aslam she'd go out and then they could run away from there."

No sooner had Shahmeer finished his sentence than Meerab's phone erupted into a jarring ring. Her eyes widened with surprise. "It's Asma," she squealed, her voice tinged with excitement and a hint of nervousness that only those close to her could decipher.

"Put her on speakerphone!" Maryam demanded, leaning in with a curiosity that matched the intensity of the moment.

"Shhhhh, not a word," Meerab admonished them, her voice a cautious as she prepared to take the call.

Meerab cleared her throat, putting the phone on speakerphone, "Hello?" She adopted a slightly deeper tone that Murtasim found both amusing and endearing. He couldn't help but snicker silently, marveling at how even in such tense moments, Meerab's quirks endeared her to him even more.

"Meerab?" Asma's voice was hesitant, laced with a vulnerability that instantly grabbed everyone's attention.

"Haan, what's up, Asma?" Meerab responded, trying to project nonchalance. Yet, Murtasim couldn't help but notice the nervous tapping of her feet, a telltale sign of her underlying anxiety.

"Can you talk right now?" Asma inquired, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course," Meerab assured her.

"Are you alone?" Asma's question came, loaded with apprehension.

Meerab's glance flitted around the room, meeting the eyes of her co-conspirators, before she hummed a response. "Yes, why?"

The pause that followed felt interminable. "I – I don't know where to start," Asma confessed, her voice panicked.

Murtasim sensed the tide turning in their favor, a wave of silent anticipation washing over him and the others.

"Is something wrong, Asma?" Meerab probed, her expression hopeful.

Asma's next words came as a sigh, heavy with apprehension. "You have to promise me you won't say a word of what I am about to tell you to anyone...I debated calling someone else but they wouldn't – promise me you won't say a word." She begged.

"Of course," Meerab responded, her voice steady yet betraying a hint of nervousness as she bit her lip.

"I...don't want to marry Murtasim," Asma finally admitted, her confession slicing through the tension like a knife.

Maryam couldn't contain her glee, sharing a silent, triumphant high-five with Areeb, their excitement barely contained within the confines of the hushed room.

"I can understand that...but what changed your mind?" Meerab pressed, her voice calm yet insistent, even as she cast a warning glare at Areeb and Maryam, her finger pressed firmly to her lips, signaling them to maintain silence.

The tension in the room was palpable as Asma's voice filled the space. "You know before...you asked what kind of man I wanted to marry..." she trailed off.

"Yes," Meerab replied, her voice steady.

"Well...I – I love someone else, and my father doesn't like his family much and even if he did, love marriages are not allowed in our family...so I thought I'd give him up because it wouldn't work out – and I tried, I really did, I thought I could marry Murtasim but...you're right, I don't know him and from what I've heard, there is no way I can spend a happy life with him," Asma blurted out in a rush, her voice cracking with emotion, the tears unmistakably present.

Murtasim couldn't help but arch an eyebrow at Meerab, hid curiosity about what exactly she had said about him to Asma growing even more. Meerab, however, seemed to shrink under his gaze, her eyes darting away as she bit her lip, a clear sign of her discomfort with the topic, which made him even more curious.

"You can't force yourself to love someone, Asma. Your happiness should come first," Meerab said, her voice imbued with conviction. "What do you want to do now?" she inquired, leaning into the role of a confidante with ease.

"Run away," Asma declared, her voice full of fear and a hint of determination. "I talked to Aslam and there's no other way, our fathers won't agree, but he said what you said, that they'd eventually give in and even if they don't, we can be together."

"He sounds like a nice person," Meerab commented.

"He is," Asma confirmed, her voice softening.

"Do you need my help?" Meerab asked.

"Do you think you can convince Murtasim to call off the wedding maybe?" Asma ventured, hope threading through her words.

Meerab's eyes widened in response, a look of disbelief flashing across her face. "No, he won't, not with his reputation on the line, much like your father," she explained, shooting him a panicked look for they weren't expecting that.

Asma sighed, a sound of resignation. "I thought so...can you keep this from him?"

"Of course," Meerab assured her.

"And can you help me please? My friends would be too scared to help...and you're much braver than I am so I thought..."

"I'd be happy to help," Meerab said, her voice firm and resolute.

Areeb couldn't contain a snicker at her enthusiasm, earning him a swift kick to the leg from Meerab, her glare sharp and reprimanding. The room, once filled with tension, now buzzed with the energy of a plan in motion.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Asma's plan began to unfold. "The guards trail me all the time, so I was wondering if I could tell them that I was spending time with you and Aslam can get me from there?"

"Of course," Meerab responded, her voice bright and encouraging, a huge grin spreading across her face. "Tomorrow?" she probed, eager to move things along.

Asma sighed, a sound filled with nerves. "I am going to chicken out if we wait any longer, Aslam is making arrangements today so bright and early tomorrow...but where can we meet? And how do I escape the guards?" she asked, the question hanging heavily in the air.

Meerab's eyes immediately sought his, wide with the weight of Asma's question.

Without missing a beat, Murtasim mouthed, "here."

She shook her head in response, her hand moving to mute the phone, a silent debate flickering across her face.

Murtasim broke the silence with a solution, "Tell her I am in the village, her guards won't stay if she's here, and then you can sneak out with her."

"Meerab?" Asma's voice filtered through the phone, tinged with uncertainty.

Unmuting herself, Meerab relayed the plan, her voice steady and convincing. "I was just thinking, Murtasim is in the village, his mother is in Lahore, so it's just Maryam and I at the haveli. So, if you were to get dropped off here, your guards wouldn't stay, and then I can sneak you out to Aslam."

"But wouldn't Maryam..." Asma's voice trailed off, the unsaid concerns about Maryam's reaction hanging between them.

Meerab shot him a pointed look.

"No, Maryam...sleeps in late, and even if she knew she would understand, I promise," Meerab reassured her, her confidence unwavering.

"Thank you, Meerab, if it weren't for you...I would have signed up for a life of unhappiness," she sighed.

Meerab, ever the beacon of encouragement, replied with a genuine warmth that seemed to light up the room, "I am glad you're being brave, Asma."

Asma sighed, "I won't be able to come to your wedding with Zaki, I am guessing."

Murtasim couldn't help but scoff at the mention, his gaze flickering towards Meerab who offered him a sheepish smile in return.

Allowing the gravity of their actions to sink in, Murtasim watched silently as Meerab coordinated plans for the next day, the enormity of their scheme laying out before them. As the call ended, a hush fell over the room, a brief pause in the storm that was about to break.

The silence, however, was short-lived.

From Murtasim's phone, Shahmeer's voice suddenly filled the space, a light-hearted jest cutting through the tension, "Shahmeer and Shahmeera Khan will be the cutest."

Meerab's sigh was a mix of exasperation and amusement as she responded, her giggles piercing the heavy atmosphere, "We'll see, Shahmeer."

Shahmeer's next words were a reminder of the role they all played in this elaborate plan, "I'll see you tomorrow, I'll be with Aslam, pretend you don't know me. I have to run now, meri wali ghoor rahi hai mujhe." A beep marked the end of the call, and suddenly, the room erupted into a cacophony of screams and laughter, a release of the tension that had built up.

In the midst of the chaos, Meerab made her way across the room, her movements filled with a purpose. As she wrapped her hands around Murtasim's neck, he pulled her into a tight embrace, the world seemed to stand still for a moment.

"We did it," she whispered, her voice a mixture of disbelief and triumph.

"We did," he echoed, his arms tightening around her.

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

The Khan Haveli was alive with an undercurrent of tension and activity as dawn broke. Murtasim, standing at a distance, could barely make out Meerab's figure, a silhouette of determination and anxiety against the early morning light. Despite her sleepless night, evidenced by her restless pacing and the worry that etched her features in the quiet hours, she appeared remarkably composed now.

As he watched through the lens of the surveillance cameras, Asma's car approached, a black Range Rover that stood out in the early morning. Meerab stood stoically in the driveway, her posture rigid with anticipation as Asma got out of the car, the two of them greeting each other and Meerab pulling Asma towards the house as the Range Rover that carried Asma backed out of the driveway and well out of sight of the cameras surrounding the Haveli.

Then, with a fluidity born of necessity, the two women quickly returned and slipped into the Mercedes parked discreetly by the side, Meerab at the helm, and disappeared down the driveway.

Without missing a beat, Murtasim turned on his heel, striding with purpose towards the car where Areeb was already waiting, engines humming softly in the quiet of the dawn. "Let's go," he commanded, the urgency in his voice brooking no argument.

Areeb, ever the source of levity in even the most tense situations, couldn't help but comment, "This tailing people thing has become too common."

Murtasim's response was terse, his patience thinning. "Shut up and drive, or we'll lose them."

"We know where they're heading," Areeb pointed out, a smirk in his voice, unable to resist adding, "unless you're scared of Meerab crashing your Mercedes."

The mention of his prized vehicle under Meerab's control only elicited an eye roll from Murtasim. "She can drive," he defended.

Areeb's laughter filled the car, "I am still surprised you let her touch it...but then again I shouldn't be, you once crashed it staring at her." He said, the memory of his own mishap with the car—a moment of distraction caused by Meerab—flashing through his mind.

The jab hit a nerve, Murtasim's stress making him more susceptible to irritation. "Do you really want to be jobless, Areeb?" he retorted, the threat half-hearted at best.

"You wouldn't fire me, I know too much," Areeb shot back, grinning widely, secure in his indispensable role in Murtasim's life.

Rolling his eyes, Murtasim conceded silently as the car sped off, following the route they knew Meerab and Asma would take, Murtasim couldn't shake off the nagging worry that shadowed his thoughts. If anything went wrong today, all their carefully laid plans would unravel, sending them spiraling back to square one – or worse, because then Yusuf Ali would catch onto their plans.

Areeb drove through the winding streets until they caught sight of the Mercedes, discreet and inconspicuous, save for the occupants it carried. Meerab and Asma were headed towards the café where they had arranged to meet Shahmeer. The familiarity of the destination did little to ease Murtasim's growing concern, a concern that only intensified with Areeb's next words.

"Not to burst your bubble...but I think there is another car tailing them," Areeb said, his tone unusually serious.

Murtasim's heart sank as he peered ahead, his gaze locking onto a black Range Rover that was unmistakably trailing the Mercedes. The vehicle's license plate confirmed his worst fears; it belonged to Yusuf Ali's men. The very same Range Rover that had dropped Asma off earlier.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath.

"Now what?" Areeb's question hung in the air, heavy with the implication of the danger they were in.

Murtasim saw only one solution, desperate though it was. "Catch up and ram into them like you were trying to change lanes. We have to block them though, our car in front of them," he instructed, his voice laced with a grim determination.

Areeb sighed. "I am going to die unmarried because of you all."

"I'll find a corpse to marry you to before I bury you, don't worry," Murtasim snapped back, his attention riveted on the Mercedes ahead as Areeb sped up their car, preparing for the maneuver.

"But aren't they going to recognize you?" Areeb questioned, the potential complication evident in his voice.

"That's fine. If they do, it'll be easier to stall them," Murtasim reasoned, his mind racing through the possible outcomes. "Now!" he hissed, seizing the moment when the Range Rover drifted into Areeb's blind spot.

With a heavy sigh that carried a blend of dread and determination, Areeb jerked the car to the right, accelerating suddenly. The collision was inevitable; the back end of their car struck the Range Rover with a resounding crash, the sound echoing loudly as both vehicles came to an abrupt stop.

The impact jolted them, a harsh reminder of the risk they took, yet, by some stroke of luck, they were unharmed. "Start a fight if they don't recognize me, there's only two of them," Murtasim commanded as he was the first to jump out of the car, his body running on adrenaline.

"You're going to get us killed, I swear," Areeb muttered, though he too followed suit, his loyalty to Murtasim overriding his apprehensions.

The two men from the Range Rover were already out, their faces twisted in anger, shouting about the recklessness of other drivers. They hadn't recognized Murtasim, and he, in turn, found their faces unfamiliar, which played to his advantage.

"Watch where you're going, idiot!" one of the men barked, his voice laced with venom as he approached Murtasim and Areeb.

Murtasim's response was calm, yet edged with a deliberate provocation. "Maybe if you kept your speed in check, we wouldn't be in this situation," he retorted, stepping closer to the man, ensuring his stance was both defensive and challenging.

The second man joined in, jabbing a finger towards Areeb. "You completely wrecked the side of our car! Do you have any idea how much this is going to cost?"

Areeb, never one to back down, shot back with a sneer, "Maybe you should've thought of that before tailing us so closely. Ever heard of safe driving distance?"

The verbal exchange was a fuse lit on a powder keg, the air charged with the imminent explosion of fists and fury. It didn't take long for the situation to escalate as one of the men, fueled by rage and perhaps a bruised ego, shoved Murtasim hard in the chest.

That was all the invitation Murtasim needed. His hand shot out, grabbing the man's wrist, twisting it back as he landed a solid punch to the man's jaw, the crack of bone meeting bone echoing in the quiet street.

Areeb wasn't far behind, engaging with the second man with a swift move, a quick jab to the gut followed by an uppercut that sent the man staggering back.

The fight was on, a chaotic dance of punches, grunts, and the occasional curse. Murtasim was acutely aware of every movement, every strike he delivered, his body moving with precision. Yet, amidst the physical exertion, his mind was racing, calculating the time they needed to delay these men to ensure Meerab and Asma's escape went undisrupted.

"Is that all you've got?" Murtasim taunted, dodging a clumsy punch with ease, his counterstrike sending his opponent to the ground with a thud.

Areeb, meanwhile, had his hands full but was managing to hold his own, his opponent's nose bleeding, a clear sign of the struggle's intensity.

The tension in the air was palpable as Murtasim waited, his attention glued to the phone in his pocket for any sign of the message that would signal it was time to wrap up the confrontation. The brawl had served its purpose, stalling for time, but every second they remained entangled in this fight was a second too long for his liking. Finally, the vibration in his hand brought a wave of relief—Shahmeer's text confirming Meerab's safe arrival.

Without hesitation, Murtasim reached into his wallet, yanking out a wad of cash with a brisk movement that matched his curt tone. "Get your car fixed," he snapped, throwing the money at the men they had been scuffling with moments before. His voice carried a finality, a clear sign that the encounter was over as far as he was concerned.

The men, perhaps sensing that prolonging this confrontation would not be in their best interest, scrambled to collect the money, their retreat hasty and devoid of any further protest. Murtasim and Areeb didn't immediately follow. Instead, they waited, ensuring the men disappeared first into the bustling streets of the city. They thankfully went in the wrong direction, away from the Mercedes, ensuring Meerab's plan remained uncompromised.

Once the coast was clear, Areeb maneuvered their vehicle towards the café, selecting a parking spot that was strategically chosen for its vantage point. It allowed them an unobstructed view of the café's entrance, and there, parked outside, was the black Mercedes. Relief washed over Murtasim in waves—they had made it.

Minutes ticked by, stretching long and thin until finally, Asma emerged, flanked by Shahmeer and the man Murtasim assumed was Aslam. True to their plan, Asma's face was covered, a precaution that seemed almost redundant given the swift execution of their strategy.

Areeb's whistle cut through Murtasim's observations, his comment tinged with humor. "He's attractive; it makes sense that she left you for him," he teased, his tone light, a stark contrast to the tension that had enveloped them moments before.

"Shut up," Murtasim muttered, his focus not on Areeb's jest but on the trio making their way to the car. Meerab was notably absent from the scene, a detail that didn't escape his notice.

He watched Shahmeer, Aslam, and Asma disappear into the vehicle and drive away, a sense of accomplishment mixed with an inexplicable sense of urgency settled over him. "Pull up in front of the café," he instructed Areeb, his voice firm.

As Murtasim and Areeb pulled up in front of the café, the door swung open, and Meerab stepped out, her presence immediately drawing Murtasim's attention. The worry etched on her face was evident even from a distance, and as he exited the car, her concern morphed into a blend of relief and new worry.

"You scared me when you disappeared!" she hissed, closing the distance between them with quick, purposeful steps. "What happened?" Her gaze dropped to his face, her fingers instinctively reaching out, lightly touching the edge of his lip. Murtasim hadn't even realized he was cut until her touch sent a sharp sting through him, making him hiss in pain.

"Ali's men were tailing your car. We distracted them," he explained.

"Are you okay?" Meerab's voice softened with concern, her eyes scanning his face for more injuries. The warmth in her gaze, the gentle caress of her thumb across his beard, soothed him more than he would admit.

"It hurts right here," he half-joked, pointing to the side of his lip, the sting from the cut lingering. He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper, "You should kiss it better."

Her response was a mix of exasperation and affection as she sighed and gently whacked him on the arm.

"How'd it go?" he shifted the conversation back to their plan, eager to hear the update.

"They're flying out to Islamabad since their parents don't have strong ties there; they'll get married today," Meerab couldn't contain her grin, the success of their plan apparent in her excitement.

"Should we tail them?" Areeb chimed in, rounding the car to join the conversation.

"No," Murtasim responded, his voice firm with decision. "Ali's men will be looking for the Mercedes or waiting at the house for Asma's return...so we leave the Mercedes here for the rest of the day to buy time. If they find it, they'll think Asma is around here somewhere with Meerab. If they're waiting at the house, they'll think the two of them are just out. Either way, it'll give Asma enough time to get away."

Areeb let out a disbelief-laden mutter, "I can't believe this worked."

Murtasim, however, remained focused, the gravity of their situation still pressing down on him. "It's not over yet," he cautioned, turning his gaze to Meerab. "You'll need to call Yusuf Ali after Shahmeer confirms they got married. Tell him Asma disappeared after saying she's going to the bathroom, so you just wanted to make sure she got home safe." Meerab nodded, understanding the importance of the next step, though her eyes lingered on the cut on his lip with concern.

"We can't go home, can we?" she asked, already knowing the answer but perhaps hoping for a different one.

He shook his head, the motion firm. "It might raise suspicions."

Meerab hummed thoughtfully, her practical side quickly coming to the forefront. "Let's go to a pharmacy first. We can disinfect that cut and get you some ice."

"I was hurt too," Areeb interjected, a hint of mock indignation in his voice.

Meerab laughed, her amusement breaking through the tension that had cocooned them. "For you too, Areeb," she promised.

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Murtasim, standing beside Meerab and Maryam in the opulent drawing room of the Ali House, could barely contain the mix of tension and triumph coursing through him. The room was thick with an anxious energy, the kind that precedes a storm. Yusuf Ali's frantic phone calls echoed off the walls, a symphony of desperation and disbelief that Murtasim found oddly satisfying.

When Meerab had dialed Yusuf Ali to feign concern over Asma's whereabouts, her voice had trembled just enough to sell the lie. "Uncle, has Asma reached home?" she had asked, her tone laced with worry. The response had been immediate and chaotic, setting in motion a citywide search that skirted the edges of legality, careful not to draw media attention or police involvement.

Murtasim watched as Yusuf Ali paced, phone pressed to his ear, barking orders and demanding updates. The older man's posture, usually so commanding, had taken on the bent shape of defeat. His face, when the call ended, was a picture of bewilderment.

"We've checked everywhere," Yusuf Ali announced, his voice betraying his agitation. "She's vanished!"

Meerab stepped forward, her expression a perfect mask of concern. "Uncle, we're here to help in any way we can," she said, her gaze flitting to Murtasim and Maryam for a brief second. Murtasim's heart swelled with pride at her performance; she was playing her part flawlessly.

The revelation of Asma's elopement came when Yusuf Ali, upon checking her room, found her passport missing. His reaction was something Murtasim thought he might never forget. The man, always so controlled and authoritative, seemed to crumble right before their eyes as he made the right calls with the new information and found out the truth.

"She's... she's gone?" Yusuf Ali stammered, sinking into a chair as if his legs could no longer bear his weight. "Married? To that boy?"

Murtasim exchanged a look with Meerab, a silent communication that spoke volumes. The tension in the room was palpable, a tightrope they all walked carefully. But beneath that tension was a thrill, the exhilaration of a plan coming to fruition.

Yusuf Ali looked up, his eyes hollow with shock and betrayal. "How did it come to this?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. His gaze flickered with desperation, his hands clasping and unclasping in a rare show of uncertainty. The room, once filled with the echoes of a powerful man's commands, now held the tension of a carefully laid trap snapping shut.

Murtasim stood before the man, his posture rigid, the anger in his voice meticulously measured to convey the depth of his feigned betrayal, complemented by the scared looks on Meerab and Maryam's faces. The room, heavy with tension, seemed to close in on them, every word echoing with the weight of unspoken threats and desperate promises.

"How dare she bring this disgrace upon my family? The cards have gone out, the world knows this engagement was happening, but she ran away. What will I say to everyone now?" Murtasim demanded, his gaze fixed intently on Yusuf, who appeared diminished, his usual air of authority replaced by a palpable sense of defeat.

Yusuf, caught in the storm of Murtasim's rage, remained silent, his eyes averted, unable to meet the accusing stare.

"If you knew she loved someone else, why did you push for this? That insolent woman!" Murtasim continued, his voice rising with every word, though inside, he was cold, detached, playing the part he knew was expected of him in this charade.

Still, Yusuf said nothing, his silence a testament to the gravity of the situation they found themselves in.

"Everyone will be talking about this, about our families by tomorrow, you can kiss your political career goodbye once this gets out." This time, Murtasim's words struck a chord, and he saw the flicker of fear in the man's eyes, the realization of the consequences that lay before him.

"We can keep it quiet, say the relationship was broken off mutually," Yusuf Ali finally spoke, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice.

Murtasim scoffed, the sound sharp in the charged atmosphere. "No one will believe that."

"They will if we both repeat it," Yusuf Ali countered, a sliver of hope threading through his words.

"Why would I implicate myself in something when I am not at fault?" Murtasim challenged, laying out the bait, watching as Yusuf Ali struggled to find a way out of the mess that had unfolded.

"I'll hold up my end of the bargain, whatever you want," Yusuf Ali said, his voice tinged with a plea, the once-powerful man reduced to bargaining for his family's reputation.

Murtasim paused, letting the silence stretch between them, each second ticking by amplifying the tension. He had rehearsed this moment in his mind, played out every possible response. Now, as he stood on the precipice of achieving what he had set out to do, he found a calm resolve settling over him.

He laid out his conditions with the precision of a strategist at the peak of his game. The tension was palpable, a silent battle of wills played out in the space between nods and demands.

"The case against me from the Maliks is dropped as self-defense," Murtasim stated, his voice steady and authoritative. This was not just a request; it was the first piece in a series of calculated moves designed to secure his position and protect his interests.

Yusuf Ali, a man more accustomed to wielding power than bending to the will of others, could only nod in agreement. The stakes were too high, the potential fallout from the scandal too damaging to his political aspirations and family honor.

"Zoravar and Badar Malik arrested for their crimes, their families relocated outside of Sindh," Murtasim continued, his demands slicing through the room's tension like a knife.

"I will get the Police Commissioner, their uncle, transferred out and replaced with my man. He'll deal with both of those." The words were a testament to the depth of the crisis, the lengths to which he was willing to go to salvage what remained of his family's dignity.

"The district that my land falls into is expedited for proper land registration," Murtasim demanded, ensuring that his assets were protected and that his authority in his own territory was unchallenged. This was about laying the groundwork for future security, not just for him, but for his children as well.

Again, Yusuf Ali nodded.

Murtasim nodded in return, a gesture of finality as he laid down his last condition. "I will say nothing of this broken engagement or your daughter's actions to anyone. I'll say it was mutual as long as you hold up your end of the bargain."

The sigh that escaped Yusuf Ali was one of defeat, of a man cornered with no option but to agree to the terms set before him. He nodded, a gesture that sealed their agreement.

The tension in the room dissipated, leaving behind the sense that a new order had been established, one in which Murtasim Khan held the reins, his victory sealed with a nod.

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A/N: a LOT happened in this chapter! What was your favourite part? After this chapter, we'll see a short interlude in Murtasimbakri's POV, and then their wedding, and a few chapters delving into their life, kids, etc!