The oppressive heat bore down on Murtasim and Meerab as they began their journey towards the village, driving through winding roads that narrowed the further they got from the city. The sun blazed with an intensity that seemed unnatural, casting shimmering waves of heat over the cracked asphalt.

Sweat beaded on Murtasim's brow as he drove, with the air conditioner working in overdrive, doing its best to battle the stifling atmosphere inside the car. It was the kind of heat that signaled a tempestuous change, a stillness in the air that almost begged for a storm to break it.

Inside the car, a similar kind of storm brewed. The stillness echoed the quietude of nature before a storm, a deceptive calm that hid the turmoil lurking beneath the surface. Murtasim found unable to tear his eyes away from Meerab, who sat in the passenger seat of his black Mercedes. His gaze lingered, taking in the delicate curve of her nose, and the softness of her lips, and the vulnerability of being alone with her when he knew she was going through emotional turmoil.

In the creeping silence, Murtasim's mind began to drift back to the village, a place where tensions had been simmering, threatening to boil over at any moment. The village was a tapestry of complex relationships, intricately woven over generations, bearing witness to allegiances formed and betrayals suffered. In this intricate web, rival factions saw the marriage as an opportunity to renegotiate their standing in the community, to settle old scores, and to assert their dominance. Disagreements over land boundaries, water resources, and other ancestral disputes were common, often escalating to a point where violent confrontations became inevitable.

It had been a delicate dance, navigating the fractured relationships and the underlying current of hostility that permeated the atmosphere. A wedding, a symbol of joy and unity, had instead turned into a battleground of old grudges and unsettled scores. Murtasim had tried to ensure safety by sending a fleet of guards ahead, men who were trained to handle such volatile situations. But even that hadn't been enough.

His trusted aide, Bakhtu, a pillar of strength and loyalty, had been caught in the crossfire between his and Malik's men, sustaining injuries that rendered him incapable of offering his usual support. Murtasim felt a void, a strange emptiness that gnawed at him as he realized he was truly alone for the first time in a while, without the comforting presence of his men who usually followed them or waited ahead. Their presence would have offered a buffer from the silence in the car, but he had no one to call upon right then, no one to pretend to be occupied with, leaving him ensnared in the thick, almost suffocating silence, where his only company was his whirlpool of thoughts and the enigmatic woman beside him, a situation that seemed to exacerbate the tension building up inside him.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he tried to push away the thoughts, but being unable to in the unsettling silence, a far cry from the spirited debates and occasional heated arguments that usually characterized his car rides with Meerab, ones that always took his mind off of everything else.

Murtasim decided to test the waters and sped up, taking a sharp turn a bit more recklessly than necessary. Normally, she would've snapped at him for his erratic driving. But today, she did none of that. Instead, her hands clenched tightly around the sides of her seat, her knuckles turning white.

Troubled, he slowed back down. Making Meerab talk had never been a problem. In fact, it was usually the opposite.

"What's wrong?" He finally asked, breaking the silence, his voice tinged with a worry he didn't want to admit.

"Nothing." She muttered, looking out the window.

"You're too quiet." He noted.

"That's a problem too?" She replied, still not meeting his eyes.

"Meerab, yaar." He sighed again, his words weighted with a mix of concern and exasperation.

She said nothing.

He drove on, the silence now taking a shape of its own, almost suffocating him. Just when he thought he would explode from the quietude and the thoughts in his mind, the rumble of her stomach cut through the silence like a clap of thunder.

His eyes flicked to her instantly, catching her face flushing a shade of pink that reminded him of the first blossom of spring, a time of the year he never saw her. She looked away quickly, almost as if she was ashamed.

"You didn't eat?" He asked, half incredulous, half concerned, he hadn't seen her at the table for breakfast or lunch.

She shook her head, confirming his suspicion.

He nodded, a strange amalgamation of feelings settling in him—worry, frustration, and an emotion he couldn't quite place. He drove just a bit faster, intent on getting to the one dhaba he knew was suitable between Hyderabad and the village.

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The old roadside dhaba still stood, just as Murtasim remembered from his childhood journeys with his father. The same rustic charm greeted him, though the years had brought some modern touches. Worn wooden tables, once a deep brown, now sported layers of paint, each layer telling tales of years gone by.

The familiar sound of sizzling pans and the comforting aroma of traditional spices still wafted in the air, now from a slightly renovated open kitchen. Ceiling fans, some probably as old as the establishment itself, spun with a comforting creak, battling the oppressive heat outside. The clay pots, looking newer but still traditional, lined the counter, filled with cool refreshing drinks.

The soul of the dhaba remained unchanged, its history intertwined with the memories of countless travelers like Murtasim and his family. And now Meerab was joining the count. She had looked around enchanted as they entered the dhaba, warming his heart. As Murtasim watched her, the cacophony around seemed to fade, replaced by a gentle hum, where every rustle of the trees and laughter from a nearby table only added to the allure of the moment.

Meerab's face literally lit up with every bite. Could it be that she had just been hungry this whole time? His eyes narrowed slightly, taking her in. Was it just his imagination, or did she look skinnier than before?

His eyes continued their journey down her frame, noting how her clothes fit her just right, accentuating her curves, hugging her chest so perfectly. He found himself inexplicably drawn to the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The delicate red fabric of her clothing teased a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. The soft lighting accentuating the velvety texture of her skin, inviting him into a temptation that was hard to resist. He could almost feel the warmth and the softness.

Just as he realized where his eyes and thoughts had strayed, a sudden jolt of awareness snapped through him.

He looked away immediately, as if burned.

He shouldn't be looking at her like that.

What was wrong with him?

He shook his head, as if to clear away the intoxicating images that threatened to cloud his judgement. His face flushed with a mix of desire and guilt, a turmoil of emotions warring within him.

Meerab had curves. Why had he never noticed that before? Or was it a more recent development?

Murtasim sat back, forcing himself to look around the dhaba, it wasn't too crowded, just a couple of families were having what he guessed was a very early dinner. Within seconds, his eyes strayed back to Meerab, despite not wanting to.

The golden glow of the hanging bulbs overhead cast a soft light on her, accentuating the faint traces of a rosy hue on her cheeks brought on by the heat and the spices. As she savored each bite, her eyes sparkled with a vivacity he hadn't seen in a while. The rhythmic movement of her fingers as they picked at the roti, the way her lips curled into a subtle smile with each taste, it was hypnotic. Murtasim knew he should shift his gaze, but he felt anchored, entranced by the sight before him.

She had a habit, an...endearing one. She closed her eyes momentarily as she savored the flavors, her lips curved into a smile as she chewed when she liked what she was eating. She seemed to prefer milk-based curries over everything else, and seemed to have a fondness for chicken.

Meerab paused, as if sensing his gaze, and lifted her eyes to meet his.

For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to blur around them. The noise of the bustling dhaba, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversation all faded into the background. All that remained was the intensity of their shared gaze, an unspoken discomfort that lingered.

As suddenly as it began, she averted her gaze, and the ambient noise rushed back. That brief connection, however, left Murtasim with a myriad of emotions, swirling and tumbling over each other. What was wrong with him? Why hadn't he looked away immediately?

He wrote it off as a moment of weakness, a slip in the armor of restraint he had carefully built around him. Somewhere between her stepping down the stairs in the red suit and her sitting down across from him on the table, a breach had occurred in the sanctuary of trust and respect that should exist between them. He had crossed a boundary he knew he shouldn't have crossed, even in the sanctity of his mind, and now that he was aware, he wouldn't cross it again.

Yet, Murtasim found himself watching as Meerab suddenly got up, mumbling something unintelligible as she excused herself to go to the bathroom. His eyes followed her retreating figure, lingering on her a moment too long, making sure that no one followed her into the space. He had noticed eyes lifting in her direction when she walked into the dhaba, and he had felt a sudden surge of protective energy coursing through him, realizing that he wasn't the only one who noticed that Meerab was...beautiful.

When she returned, she somehow managed to pick up a small admirer on her way back to their table. A little boy, no older than five, had seemingly fallen in love with Meerab-Aapa at first sight. His father, dressed in a police uniform, and his mother were sitting a few tables away, watching their son run back and forth between them and Meerab.

Murtasim couldn't understand what magic Meerab possessed, but the little guy was clearly smitten. Within moments, he was running over to where his parents were sitting, fetching a toy, and running back to show it to Meerab, carefully explaining its features before scampering off to get another one. She was smiling and talking again, not as animatedly as she usually did but a far cry from the eerie silence that haunted the hallways of the Haveli.

Finishing his lassi, Murtasim got up and headed to the washroom, taking the opportunity to settle the bill on his way back. He knew they should have been leaving if they were to make it to the village before it got dark, it already seemed much too dark for the time of the evening.

Casting his gaze towards the sky, Murtasim saw massive dark clouds rolling in, obscuring the sun prematurely. The once clear horizon was now blanketed in an ominous shade of gray, casting an eerie twilight over the landscape. The approaching storm promised relief from the stifling heat, but the rapidity of the encroaching darkness gave Murtasim an uneasy feeling. The trees swayed more violently, their leaves rustling in the growing wind, as the storm drew nearer.

He knew it was a good idea to leave sooner rather than later, but a glance over at Meerab stopped him. The way she was smiling at the little boy, the light in her eyes, the sheer warmth of the scene – it caught him off guard. It reminded him of his own childhood, of running around this same space with Maryam while their parents ate, there were plenty of kind strangers around then too, but none of them had quite been like Meerab.

He found himself smiling, watching her for another moment, settling in his decision. The darkness could wait. It was a welcome change to see her genuinely smile, and for now, he was willing to let her linger in that happiness. They could afford to be a little late; what they couldn't afford was to lose moments that brought her back to life.

Faizal – the five-year old - ran back to their table again, this time holding a pair of handcuffs to show Meerab.

"Those aren't yours!" Meerab laughed, and the sound seemed to make everything else fade away. It was as though all the ambient sounds and conversations stopped, leaving only the resonance of her laughter.

Meerab's laughter was a sound he had not heard in a while, and it hit him differently now. It was rich and melodious, reverberating through the air and landing softly on his ears like a long-forgotten tune. Faizal was absolutely captivated by her, giggling as she laughed, and he wasn't the only one.

"Baba gave them to me to play with, I'll show you a trick!" Faizal exclaimed, his eyes shining with youthful excitement.

Meerab chuckled and nodded, holding out her hand at the little boy's command. Murtasim couldn't help but snicker as the boy handcuffed her right hand.

"He sees the criminal in you." Murtasim remarked as he walked back towards the table, enjoying the sight a little too much.

The glare Meerab shot him should have been intimidating; instead, he found himself becoming more entranced by her eyes - dark and expressive, showcasing her fierce spirit.

It was Faizal who broke the spell. "Uncle—give me your hand!" The boy was still full of energy, turning to Murtasim with an expectant look.

The word "uncle" triggered another laugh from Meerab, and Murtasim glanced her way before looking at Faizal. "She's aapa and I'm uncle?" He asked, incredulous yet amused.

The little boy nodded earnestly, and Meerab chimed in. "He recognizes the ancient regressive man that lives inside you."

An eyebrow quirked in amusement, Murtasim retorted, "I thought I was just a boy?" Recalling her words from two years ago, he studied Meerab's reaction closely as he said, "Something about the birdhouse being controlled by a 21-year-old boy? One that can't even grow a proper beard?"

Meerab looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Her eyes roamed over his face, pausing at the beard he had grown. The years had been good to him, and he seemed to have finally found a look that worked on him. He worked hard to keep his beard well-trimmed yet full, a far cry from the stubble that once adorned his face.

Meerab seemed to notice too, her gaze lingering on his face a second too long. The moment hung in the air, suspended in time. And as he looked at her, her laughter still ringing in his ears, her eyes almost glowing, he felt a tugging in his chest.

He still didn't quite understand what it was that he was feeling, but he did know that it was new and surprising.

The tension of the moment was broken by Faizal's insistent whine, "Your hand, uncle!"

With an amused glance at Meerab, Murtasim extended his left hand, watching as Faizal excitedly snapped the handcuff into place. "It's closed!" The boy announced, his eyes twinkling with delight, evidently pleased with his 'magic trick'.

A laugh bubbled up from Meerab's lips, filling the air with its melody. "It is, now what's the trick?" She asked, her eyes shining with amusement as he held up a scarf.

With the confidence of a magician revealing his greatest illusion, Faizal declared. "It's easy!" He then moved closer, whispering very loudly. "When I cover your hand with this cloth, you can just slide your hand out!"

Meerab's eyes widened in disbelief. "That's the trick?" She repeated, incredulity coloring her voice.

With a giddy laugh, Faizal explained, "Yes, baba cuffs me all the time, but I just slide my hands out." He giggled.

Murtasim couldn't help but groan inwardly as he remembered that the limitless imagination of children along with their naivety was the reason he tended to keep his distance from them.

"Because you're a kid, grownups can't do that," Meerab gently pointed out to Faizal, her face turning serious as she showed him that her small hand was stuck.

"No, you have to do it under the cloth!" He said, covering their hands with the scarf.

"It's still not working, Faizal." Meerab said, a hint of panic in her voice.

The boy's face fell as the reality of the situation sunk in. "Oh," he said, looking like he had just discovered that magic wasn't real.

With a sigh, Murtasim spoke up, "Go get the key from your baba."

The moment Faizal's father's face whipped around to their table and he quickly approached them, Murtasim felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The man's panicked expression spelled trouble. "Faizal! I told you not to try it on grownups!" He chided his son.

"You have the key?" Murtasim asked, a glimmer of hope flashing through his eyes.

"They were lost." The man responded, sending Murtasim's hope crashing down like a house of cards.

"Then why on earth would you keep cuffs that didn't have keys?" Murtasim snapped, irritation bubbling over.

"The kids just play with them because they can slide their hands out." The man reasoned.

Exasperated, Murtasim lifted their handcuffed hands, "Well, shoot it open then."

"They're bulletproof," came the unbelievable reply.

"You gave your child bulletproof handcuffs to play with?" Murtasim sighed, struggling to make sense of the absurdity of the situation.

"I know a locksmith that should be able to uncuff you, but he lives quite far," the man suggested.

"I'll find one," Murtasim cut him off, not willing to be led on another wild goose chase.

"Those are not easy to pick," the man said sheepishly. "Give me your phone number."

Murtasim sighed in resignation and did as he was told, exchanging contact information with the apologetic father.

As he did, Murtasim overheard Faizal apologize to Meerab. "Sorry, Meerab-aapa," he said, his lips quivering.

"Hey, it's okay, Faizial, you didn't know this would happen." Meerab reassured the boy, hugging him gently. Murtasim couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy; she was always kind to everyone except him, it seemed.

Faizal turned towards Murtasim, his eyes still wet, prompting Meerab to hiss, "Be nice!"

Murtasim glanced at Meerab, annoyance dancing in his eyes. "I am going to eat him alive like the monster I am." He muttered, earning himself a - much appreciated - glare from Meerab.

"Sorry, bhai." Faizal pouted, his tiny eyes filled with remorse.

Murtasim found himself smiling at the sudden change from uncle to bhai, melting away the icy annoyance that had built up. "We'll find a way out of this, don't cry. Just don't go around showing people tricks anymore, okay?" He said, ruffling Faizal's hair affectionately.

Faizal nodded, his eyes finally shining with relief.

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The light was rapidly fading, swallowed by the churning and the dark clouds overhead threatening a torrential downpour as Murtasim and Meerab walked towards the car. Murtasim felt an unsettling closeness with Meerab, their bodies tethered together by the handcuffs that now seemed like shackles binding them in an intimate struggle.

Their arms and hands brushed as they walked beside each other, unable to keep their usual distance – it bothered him more than it should have. He didn't understand why the clinking of the chains, which seemed louder than before, was still quieter than the echo of his heartbeat that thudded erratically in his chest.

As Meerab instinctively started towards her side of the car, Murtasim's grip tightened on her, pulling her back with a gentle but firm yank, sending her body flying into his side, her softness pressed up against him. She was so warm.

"Murtasim!" She snapped, her voice laced with frustration as she stepped away a little.

"Where are you going?" He queried, his voice steady, but thick with the tension that seemed to engulf them as their reality started setting in – he was bound to her, at least for the night if not longer depending on how reliable Faizal's irresponsible father was.

Meerab's eyes shot daggers at him as she spat, "The car, duh." Her irritation was palpable.

With a sigh that held a mingled note of exasperation and amusement, Murtasim held up their handcuffed hands, the metal glistening ominously in the dwindling light.

"And how were you planning to get in?" The unspoken challenge hung heavily in the air, igniting a fire in Meerab's eyes.

The realization seemed to dawn on her, replaced swiftly by a groan of frustration, "I forgot."

Murtasim couldn't help himself as he prodded her further, his words laced with a teasing undertone. "You have a tendency to forget things that are your fault, Meerab." A dangerous gamble, provoking her further when the atmosphere was already charged. But he couldn't bear the thought of her retreating into herself again, to lose the vibrant energy that defined her dampen again.

Meerab's reaction was immediate and fierce. "My fault?! YOU HELD YOUR HAND OUT TOO!" The air around them crackled as she took the bait, her voice a raging storm in itself, echoing the turmoil that was brewing in the skies above them.

Murtasim couldn't suppress a smirk as he fueled the fire further. "But it's you that attracts all the musibats in this world, like attracts like I guess."

Her rebuttal came swift and sharp, an enraged torrent of words. "You're the one that suggested this trip! Not me! So, it's just as much your fault as it is mine." The escalating argument seemed to reverberate, the sound of their raised voices mingling with the distant rumble of thunder.

With a nonchalant "Whatever", Murtasim navigated her with a gentle but firm grasp on her waist towards his side of the car, his fingers feeling the heat of her skin even through the fabric of her kameez. The tension that crackled in the air seemed to snap as he opened the door, his heartbeat loud in his ears, a rhythmic counterpart to the distant thunder that rolled ominously. Before she could react, he started sitting in the car, pulling her swiftly into his lap.

Her body collided with his with an unexpected grace, her momentum causing her to tumble forward, her face ending up mere inches from his as she landed in his lap sideways. Her gasp pierced through the charged atmosphere, a sharp, startled sound that resonated with the sudden vulnerability of their position.

As she fell into his lap, her lush hair cascaded forward, brushing against his face and neck in a soft, fragrant waterfall. The overwhelming scent of roses enveloped him, the aroma of her shampoo mixing with her natural scent, creating a heady mixture that had his senses spinning. It was intoxicating, and for a moment, Murtasim could do nothing but immerse himself in the sensory overload, losing himself in the feel and fragrance of her.

It was her shampoo that smelled like roses, not her perfume.

Their eyes locked, and the world seemed to contract to just the small space that encompassed them both. The swirling patterns of her irises held galaxies of emotions, a cosmic dance of vulnerability, surprise, and an unspoken connection that buzzed between them. Murtasim could feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed the pitter-patter of raindrops that had started a gentle drumming on the car roof.

In that suspended moment in time, as their breaths mingled and hearts raced, Murtasim couldn't help but admit to himself that her eyes were the prettiest he had ever seen, windows to a soul that was far more complex and beautiful than he had ever given her credit for. They were a storm in themselves, a whirlpool of emotions that sucked him in, leaving him breathless.

As time resumed its steady march, the awareness of their intimate proximity came crashing down on them. Meerab pulled away, breaking the magnetic pull that had drawn them into each other's orbit. Murtasim found his voice stuck in his throat, a thick knot of emotions preventing speech.

With a shaky exhale, he cleared his throat, desperately attempting to regain some semblance of control. His hands, slightly trembling, assisted her in swinging over the gear shift, the movement fluid yet charged with a newfound awareness of her softness and warmth, a juxtaposition to the cold metal that bound them.

He couldn't suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips when he noticed the flushed hue of her cheeks, a beautiful shade of pink that lent her a luminous glow, making her seem ethereal in the subdued lighting of the car.

Why are you still looking at her? A voice inside his head snapped.

He didn't have an answer for it. The storm brewing outside seemed to mirror the tumultuous feelings stirring within him, a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to overwhelm his carefully constructed barriers.

"Seatbelt." He managed to mutter, his voice sounding strangely hoarse to his own ears. The simple word hung in the air between them.

She gave a nod of acquiescence, her fingers grappling with the seatbelt, her movements slightly clumsy considering her dominant hand was cuffed to his left.

As she struggled with the belt, halfway to securing it but failing, he leaned over instinctively to assist her. The close proximity brought a renewed awareness of her, the subtle fragrance that surrounded her, the softness of her breaths that seemed to falter as he neared. His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage in a rhythm that echoed the chaos within him.

With a firm but gentle grasp, he secured the seatbelt for her, their breaths mingling in the small space that separated them. The action, simple yet intimate, brought a rush of feelings that had him wondering why his heart felt like it was trying to break free from its confines.

"Stop pulling." He found himself saying as he felt another tug on his hand, the sensation pulling him from his reverie. The handcuffs, a metallic reminder of their connected fates, seemed to echo the tangled web of emotions that bound them together in that moment.

She responded with a snap, the fire in her evident in her retort. "What, I can't even move now?" The defiance in her voice was like a spark in the dark.

With a firm resolve, he met her fiery gaze, his voice steady yet tinged with a hint of softness. "Not while I am driving."

She sighed, a sound of surrender that resonated with the subtle shift in the atmosphere within the car. The silent acceptance hung heavily between them, it was so unlike her to not fight longer.

With a heavy sigh, he put the car in drive, pulling away from the dhaba towards the village, he realized that the vibrant chatter that had filled the space between them in the dhaba threatened to dissolve into silence once more. He tried to think of a reason to fight with her, of something he could say that would make her eyes light up and make her snap at him, but nothing came to mind.

The silence that enveloped them lasted exactly fourteen minutes, a stretch of time where the only sounds that filled the car were the rhythmic patter of raindrops hitting the roof and the low hum of the engine. But then, like the gentle whisper of wind rustling through leaves, he heard Meerab humming, a soft melody that seemed to intertwine with the symphony of the storm outside.

He couldn't resist glancing her way, and was met with the sight of her entranced gaze fixed on the wet world outside the window, a small yet profoundly beautiful smile graced her lips, adding an ethereal touch to her radiant visage.

He wondered if she had a deep affinity for the rain, it seemed fitting for Meerab – whose presence felt like a storm that disrupted his otherwise mundane life – to like the rain. The turbulent, chaotic yet undeniably magnificent presence she held in his life seemed to mirror the sublime beauty of a tempest.

She even looked like a storm right then - her curls, once meticulously styled, had now relinquished their restraint, cascading in a wild yet beguiling disarray around her. An inexplicable urge to run his fingers through them, to experience the silkiness and the untamed spirit that they represented, surged within him.

But just as he was losing himself in the poetic canvas, a shrill honk pierced through the tranquil ambiance, jolting him back to the harsh realities of the road. His eyes darted forward, widening in horror at the ominous sight of a large truck barreling down their path. Panic knotted his stomach as he realized that one lane was closed off for repairs, a fact the truck driver seemed oblivious to given their relentless advance, and something he had missed in his distraction.

Time seemed to slow down, each second stretching into an eternity as the imminent danger lurked closer and closer. Meerab's sharp intake of breath mirrored his own heart hammering in his chest, a frantic beat that threatened to drown out the sound of the roaring rain.

"Murtasim!" Her voice pierced through the cacophony of the storm, mingled with the sound of the raging rain and the heart-stopping honks. In a move that displayed her quick thinking and sheer presence of mind, she grasped the wheel firmly, her knuckles white with the effort. With a swift, decisive action, she swerved the car violently to the side.

The world outside became a blur, a swirling mass of greens and grays as they narrowly missed a catastrophic collision with the truck, the car skidding uncontrolled onto the wet grass at the roadside. Murtasim's breath caught in his throat, a visceral fear gripping him as he slammed hard on the brakes, his every effort focused on averting another looming disaster - a massive tree trunk that seemed to rush towards them with an unyielding force.

Despite his desperate attempts to swerve away, the slippery terrain betrayed them, putting the car on course towards a head-on collision with the formidable tree.

In the heart-stopping seconds that ensued, Murtasim's every instinct screamed at him to protect Meerab, to shield her from the brutal reality they were barreling towards with the inexorable force of a speeding train. Without a second thought, his arm shot out, throwing itself across her in a desperate bid to absorb the brunt of the impending crash.

A deafening crunch echoed in their ears, the sound of metal meeting wood resonated ominously, drowning out the storm that raged outside. But the sickening crunch was followed by an eerie silence, Murtasim realized with a surge of relief that they were unharmed, the vehicle having borne the lion's share of the damage. The car had now settled at an awkward angle, nestled within the ditch, its previous glory marred by the vicious kiss of the tree trunk.

He could feel the hot surge of adrenaline slowly ebbing away, leaving a churning pot of anger and frustration in its wake. "Shit." Murtasim couldn't hold back the groan that escaped him, as the extent of their predicament dawned on him; the ditch that imprisoned them seemed too steep to reverse the car out of, and the car bore scars that hinted that it wouldn't work even if they ditch wasn't steep.

Before he could fully digest their situation, Meerab's voice sliced through the tense silence that had settled in the car. "Are you blind?" The sharpness of her words was a stinging slap, pulling him from his growing despair. "The truck was heading right towards us! We could have died, Murtasim!"

The words struck a nerve, and he could feel the anger bubbling inside him, threatening to spill over. "I had it! You grabbed the wheel and got us stuck here!" He snapped back while trying to start the car that had automatically shut off, his hands moved frantically, the desperation evident in his every move.

"HA! I saved us! You weren't doing anything, I don't know where you were looking, but it clearly wasn't at the road!" Her words felt like daggers, each one landing with precision, exposing the raw, vulnerable truth he was trying to avoid.

The knowledge that she was right twisted like a knife in his gut, fanning the flames of his anger further. He had been staring at her and he didn't understand why. It was like there was something wrong with him, she had done something to him on the rooftop that night for he hadn't been able to look away from her from that moment.

In a desperate attempt to salvage his pride, Murtasim let his defensive walls rise, brick by resentful brick. "I shouldn't have brought you with me, first you got us handcuffed together and now this, you're such a musibat!" He spat out, the words a venomous cascade that masked the shame and guilt bubbling within him.

In that heated exchange, he could feel the widening chasm between them, the storm outside echoing the tempest that raged in the confined space of the car. As the rain pounded relentlessly on the roof, the harsh words hung heavily in the air, a testament to the bubbling cauldron of complex emotions that threatened to boil over, leaving them both scorched in its wake. He knew, deep down, that his misplaced anger was just a facade, a shield against the unbearable weight of his own guilt and a defence against whatever was brewing within him. But in that moment, pride and stubbornness held him captive, forcing him to fight.

The swirling storm of anger and resentment that had taken over him faded as quickly as it had appeared when he noticed the unsettling quiet that had settled over her. Murtasim's heart sank as he turned to look at her, his face losing color at the sight that met him. There she was, with tears pooling in her eyes, a tangible representation of the havoc that their spat had wreaked.

"I am sorry, I didn't– " He began, his voice cracking, but stopped dead when he saw her wince, a sharp intake of breath betraying the pain she was trying to conceal. Panic surged within him as he flicked on the car light, his eyes flickering over her form. The harsh illumination revealing a distressing sight - her wrist was bleeding profusely, staining the vibrant fabric of her red salwar kameez.

An icy knot of dread formed in his stomach as he realized that his frantic maneuvers to avoid the tree must have been too violent, the handcuff morphing into a cruel instrument that marred her soft, delicate skin. The cold metal had been unforgiving, cutting into her flesh with an unyielding grip.

"I am sorry." His voice was barely above a whisper, heavy with regret as he carefully pushed the sleeve of her suit and the handcuff upwards, revealing the extent of the gash. His heart ached at the sight, the reality of the situation settling in, leaving him with a bitter taste of guilt. He had hurt her and then he had yelled at her.

"It's okay." She muttered, her voice so low it was almost lost in the sound of the rain drumming against the car roof. But her words rang hollow, a feeble attempt to mask her pain. It was clear to both of them that it was far from okay.

With a newfound determination, he leaned over her to open the compartment in front of the passenger seat, his movements careful and deliberate as he retrieved the first aid kit, his hands brushing against her legs. The usually simple task was made considerably difficult with only one hand available, but he managed to pop the box open. He found the alcohol wipes, bringing up the packet to his mouth, his teeth tearing through the packet. He disregarded the strange taste it left in his mouth as he began to clean her wound with gentle, yet firm strokes, his focus entirely on her.

The gash, though not too deep, stretched wide across her wrist, a grim testament to the violence of their crash. He could feel her gaze on him as he worked, her eyes tracking his every movement. The only sound that permeated the tense silence was the rattling of the handcuff, a jarring reminder of their predicament.

Next, he retrieved the largest band-aid he could find, his brows furrowing in concentration as he attempted to secure it on her delicate wrist with one hand. The task was proving to be more difficult than he had anticipated, his fingers fumbling awkwardly.

Just when he was about to succumb to frustration, he felt her hand reach out to assist him, her fingers holding one end of the band-aid as they worked in harmony to secure it in place, their fingers brushing against each other's as they worked, something he was much too aware of.

The uncomfortable silence seemed to stretch on endlessly, his heart beating in sync with the relentless downpour that engulfed them. Murtasim's attempt to pierce through the quietude ended in frustration as he pulled out his cellphone, his face falling when he realized he had no signal. The storm seemed to mock his helplessness, its roaring crescendo mirroring his growing unease.

Turning to her with hope clinging to his voice, he asked, "does your phone have signal?"

Meerab's graceful fingers, now marred by the handcuff's brutality, hurriedly rummaged through her purse. She pulled out her phone, her face a canvas of hope and fear intertwined, but it seemed that the sight that met her eyes quickly extinguished any flicker of hope. She shook her head, the despondent motion seeming to echo in the confined space of the car, magnifying their predicament.

As if on cue, the sky roared again, a blatant display of nature's might that sent shivers down their spines. The rain intensified, the relentless droplets pounding against the car roof with a force that seemed to mirror the turmoil within them.

What were they going to do now?

"Now what?" Meerab's voice cut through the dark silence, her words tinged with a growing sense of desperation. It was a simple question, yet one that seemed to encapsulate the gravity of their situation, leaving them teetering on the edge of despair.

Gathering his thoughts, Murtasim's mind raced to find a solution, any beacon of hope in the face of the adversity that enveloped them. "We have to walk until we get signal or find a landline to call for help." He said, his voice carrying a determination that seemed at odds with their grim reality.

A flicker of hope sparked in Meerab's eyes as she offered an alternative, her gaze drifting back towards the road that they had fallen from, one that was barely visible through the heavy rain. "Or we can wait for a car?" She asked.

Murtasim shook his head, a hard lump forming in his throat as he brought her back to the harsh truth that surrounded them. "It's not a busy road, especially not at this time, and I don't think anyone will see us down here." He said, his voice carrying a weight that settled heavily between them. "We'll have to get out and see."

As Meerab unbuckled her seatbelt, a practical concern voiced itself, pulling them back to the mundane yet significant details of their situation. "Do you have an umbrella?" She asked, her eyes scanning the car interior for any semblance of protection against the relentless storm outside.

Murtasim could only shake his head, his heart sinking further at their lack of preparation.

Meerab sighed, her shoulders sagging as she accepted their fate, a resilient nod conveying her readiness to face the storm, both literal and metaphorical, that awaited them. Her eyes roamed around, assessing their surroundings as a new concern etched itself across her delicate features. "How are we going to get out..." She trailed off, her voice carrying a note of trepidation that tugged at Murtasim's heart.

"The same way we got in." He muttered, a sense of responsibility enveloped him, a need to protect her from the elements, from the chaos that lay outside the car.

With a newfound determination, he steeled himself for the task at hand. His heart hammered fiercely against his ribcage, a persistent reminder that her proximity affected him in ways that he didn't understand. As he pulled Meerab into his lap, the intimacy of the moment wasn't lost on him; her fragrance enveloped him, a heady mix of floral notes that threatened to engulf his senses. But this was not the time for distractions, he reminded himself sternly as he felt her shift uncomfortably in his lap.

Opening the car door, he braced himself for the onslaught of the rain, a barrage of cold droplets that seemed to mirror the turmoil within him.

As they maneuvered their exit, the rain showed no mercy, instantly drenching them.

Meerab gasped in pain, and a shiver of regret jolted through Murtasim. He had accidentally pulled his cuffed hand away from her hand again, the cuff likely digging into her now bandaged cut. He could feel the raw edges of the cuffs against his own wrist, could almost feel them digging into his flesh anew with each inadvertent tug, he could only imagine how bad it was for her delicate and now bandaged skin.

He didn't think, he just acted, reaching out to take her hand in his, to ease the burden of the metal biting into her skin. The moment his palm met hers, an electric charge seemed to travel up his arm, tingling at the nape of his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The warmth of her hand felt like a burning torch in the icy rain, a beacon of hope and comfort amidst the darkening skies and crashing thunder.

The sudden jerk of her hand trying to break free startled him, but he only tightened his grip, a silent vow to keep her safe, to shield her from further harm. His voice held a note of determination as he spoke. "So I don't pull it accidentally and hurt you more." It was a necessary precaution.

She turned to look up at him as they stood in a ditch in the pouring rain, soaked to the bone, yet he couldn't help but be captivated by the sight before him. The rain had transformed her, the wet fabric of her suit clinging to her, accentuating her feminine form in a way that was both innocent and sensual. Her hair lay plastered to her skin, a wild cascade of curls that seemed to have a life of their own.

But it was her face that held him captive, the raindrops tracing a tantalizing path down her face, converging at her full, red lips. A moment of vulnerability, a glimpse into the raw, unguarded beauty that lay beneath the fiery exterior. In that moment, Murtasim felt an undeniable pull towards her, a magnetic force that threatened to draw him in, to explore the depths of the woman who stood before him, a beacon of strength and beauty in the face of adversity.

"Let's go." He sighed, pulling her along gently up the gentle incline towards the road that had landed them in the ditch.

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A/N: Sooooooo, what do you think? I laughed when people just thought they would make it to the wedding easily, nope. Never. What do you think will happen next? And what do you think is going on in Meerab's mind?