The dawn light streamed softly through the gaps in the moth-eaten curtains of the motel room, casting a muted amber hue on the floor. Murtasim stirred, a sensation of warmth enveloping him, dispelling the chill that had seemingly embedded itself deep within his core the previous night. As consciousness gradually trickled in, replacing the fuzzy boundaries of sleep, he noticed an unfamiliar comfort.

When was the last time he'd felt this rested? This at peace?

His eyes fluttered open to the dim light of the room, and it took a moment for his senses to adjust, for the fog of sleep to lift. He felt a gentle weight pressed against him, a rhythmic breathing against the side of his neck, and the soft clutch of fingers on his kurta. Confusion initially clouded his mind, but as the sensation of cold metal from the handcuffs brushed against his wrist, the previous day's events crashed back into his consciousness.

Meerab.

The realization hit him with a gentle pang of surprise. The warmth, the intoxicating scent that had seeped into his dreams, the sensation of softness — all of it was Meerab.

She was nestled against him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, her every contour perfectly aligning with his own. The soft undulations of her breath against his neck were like whispered secrets, stirring an emotional landscape within him that brimmed with vulnerability and awe.

It was Meerab, a presence so comforting and endearing, her essence weaving around him, ensnaring his senses with a fragrance that seemed to meld with his very skin.

Their hands, still bound, lay clasped between them, a physical representation of their unexpected closeness. Their legs, a tangled mess beneath the quilt, spoke volumes of the night's shared warmth. His hand was wrapped around her waist, and each of her breaths sent a soft tickling sensation dancing down his spine.

His mind briefly flickered back to the night before—when they'd fallen asleep in front of the flickering fireplace. The flames seemed to have eventually died down, and yet he'd never felt so warm, so content. It was as though their bodies, attuned to each other's rhythms, had instinctively sought each other out for warmth as the air turned cold. Oddly enough, he realized he had never slept so well, not waking up even once through the night. The troubling part? He couldn't dismiss how right it felt.

But then a sudden, more pressing realization made his heart race. He was aroused, and undeniably pressed against her warmth. The phenomenon of waking up this way wasn't new to him, but the context, the proximity, was unprecedented. He was aroused then, in a way that morning wood could never fully account for. This was different; he was harder, more urgent, and he was certain it had everything to do with the feel of her warm body pressed against him. Panic began to rise like a tide within him. What if she woke up and felt it? How could he possibly explain it.

He attempted to shift subtly, aiming to put some space between them, but their intertwined state made it a tricky endeavor. Every small movement seemed to pull her closer, further entangling them in their shared warmth.

Desperation set in as he tried to divert his mind, to think of anything that might dampen the feelings coursing through him. The cold, the village's issues, the discomfort of the handcuffs – he summoned all these thoughts, hoping they'd act as a cold shower. But beneath it all, the undeniable fact remained: she felt wonderful against him, and every fiber of his being was attuned to her. He couldn't ignore the beating of his own heart, loud and clear, resonating with a rhythm that echoed his breath.

Caught between the potent cocktail of anxiety, embarrassment, and an unfamiliar desire, Murtasim lay there, praying for a reprieve, for the strength to untangle from the situation without waking her.

Grasping for any semblance of control, he resorted to reciting pi in his head, a desperate attempt to focus on the logical, the rational - 3.1415926535897932384626433832795 - each number enunciated clearly in his mind, willing for it to calm his body down.

But even in his most desperate attempts at mental discipline, the slightest movement from Meerab shattered his fragile concentration. Each shift, each breath she took, sent ripples of awareness cascading through him, undoing the fragile weave of numbers he had spun in his mind. His brain seemed to be mocking him, questioning his integrity, challenging the very foundations of the bond they had.

"It's Meerab," he internally wailed, a part of him outraged, another bewitched by the unexpected allure she possessed.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Not with her.

Images began to assail him mercilessly, an unsolicited montage of her captivating attributes - the sensuous curve of her lips that promised whispered secrets and soft smiles, the deep pools of her eyes holding galaxies of mystery and allure, the wet contours of her clothes clinging to her, outlining a silhouette that spoke to ancient instincts.

Why did she have to be so...alluring?

The cacophony in his head crescendoed into a symphony of torment, his consciousness embroiled in a battle of honour and burgeoning desire. In a moment of utter helplessness, a groan escaped him, a raw sound that bore the weight of his internal conflict.

Panic surged through him as he realized that the sound managed to stir her from the slumber that had protected his dignity until now. Fearing her reaction, he swiftly closed his eyes, feigning the tranquility of sleep, a pitiful shield against the storm raging within him.

The world contracted to the bubble of warmth they shared, every sound amplified in the charged atmosphere. Her waking noises were like the soft purrs and stretches of a kitten, utterly endearing and inadvertently sensual, pulling at strings he didn't know existed within him.

He could almost visualize her fluttering eyelashes as she woke, the soft little hums escaping her, the unconscious movements of stretching that exhibited a feline grace. Every tiny sound beckoned him further into forbidden territories, drawing a map of temptation that threatened to dismantle the respectful distance he had always maintained.

Then, a shift in the air, a pause that stretched time thin as she suddenly became aware of their position, her body tensing in his arms. The morning birds seemed to hold their breath with him, the world hanging in a delicate balance.

Every nerve, every sense was hyper-focused on Meerab, bracing for the inevitable recoil, the severing of the connection that had blossomed unintentionally during the night.

But against all expectations, her body softened, melting back into his embrace with a surprising, tender acquiescence before gradually rolling away, the separation gentle yet achingly profound. The diminishing warmth of her proximity left a void, a strange, hungry emptiness that clawed at his insides. He could still feel the electric charge between them, an invisible thread that hummed with energy and longing, weaving them closer in ways words could scarcely define.

Every fibre of his being yearned to bring her back, to feel her nestled safely in the curve of his body. But he could feel her scrutiny, the perceptible weight of her gaze dissecting the truths that lay bare in this room. His heart was a wild beast in his chest, beating a frenetic rhythm.

Why was she looking at him?

And then, he felt it – the faintest touch tracing lines across his beard. A tentative exploration that held an element of wonder, of discovery. The sensation was electric, sending rivulets of fire coursing through his veins, lighting up regions of his mind that had been dormant for too long. When her fingers danced over his moustache, it was as if a switch had been flicked, and his eyes flew open involuntarily, ensnared by the depths of her own, so wide and filled with a world he hadn't yet ventured into.

Meerab jerked her hand back, as if realizing the boundary that had been crossed, the forbidden line that had been tentatively stepped over. A potent mix of embarrassment and curiosity lingered in the air, creating a heady atmosphere that buzzed with silent conversations and unspoken desires.

With flustered innocence, she broke the magnetic connection, her voice dancing nervously, "There was something in your moustache!"

His throat felt as dry as a desert, each word requiring immense effort to materialize, a rugged landscape where emotions collided and tumbled over each other in their haste to escape. "We must have moved during the night," he managed to utter, his voice bearing an acknowledgment of the shift that she had not addressed yet.

Her nod echoed agreement and understanding, but he had expected yelling and accusations. She looked away, breaking the tangible connection, yet leaving behind an invisible thread that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of the new dawn.

He wanted to say something, anything to fill up the awkward silence that settled between them. But just as he teetered on the edge of articulating the complex turmoil brewing within him, a shrill ringtone cleaved through the hushed atmosphere, startling them both.

His eyes widened in realization as the distant humming of a world reconnecting filtered through the room. A furtive glance outside the window confirmed his suspicions - the sun hung high, showering the world with an indifferent brightness that seemed almost mocking in its normalcy after the previous night. The clock had not halted, even though it felt as if time had stood still in their little haven of tangled limbs and heated glances.

He grabbed the phone that lay on the bedside table, his heart beating a rhythm that echoed the frantic pace of the outside world now coming back to life. The number flashing on the screen was unfamiliar, yet the voice on the other end brought a rush of relief. It was the locksmith Faizal's father had promised could uncuff them. The man lived not far from the motel, promising an end to their ordeal in the span of an hour.

The news was a bittersweet melody playing in the background as he turned to face Meerab, who seemed caught in a dance of discomfort, her movements oddly jerky, her face slightly contorted. There was a strange energy about her, an unease that mirrored the chaotic swirl of emotions within him.

"What's wrong?" he found himself asking, his voice betraying a hint of concern that threaded deeper than he had anticipated.

"Nothing," she muttered, her face an orchestra of conflicting emotions.

The use of her name came naturally, a tender note in his tone. "Meerab."

She looked at him, her eyes a tempest of frustration and vulnerability. "I need to pee!" she finally blurted out.

He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the stark reminder of their current predicament. The mundane, yet urgent, need brought a dose of reality crashing down on him. "Oh... can you hold it for an hour?" he asked, the words sounding absurd even to his own ears.

Her response was a snappy retort, a flash of irritation that sliced through the simmering tension, leaving behind an air of palpable frustration. "I don't have another choice, do I?"

In the cramped confines of the room, the atmosphere grew thick with frustration and embarrassment, as the awkward reality of their predicament became glaringly evident. Murtasim, with a mind that naturally gravitated towards finding solutions, couldn't help but venture into territory that Meerab clearly wished to avoid.

"Well, we could... I mean, I can maybe turn around, give you privacy or something," Murtasim ventured hesitantly, a blush creeping up his neck at the absurdity of the situation.

Meerab shot him a look that could wither plants, her annoyance and humiliation bubbling over in a potent mix. "Oh, great, because that makes everything normal, doesn't it?" she snapped, the sarcasm dripping heavily from her words.

Murtasim ventured further, his words tumbling over themselves in a rush of nervous energy. "Or, perhaps, I can find something to cover myself with... a curtain or a blanket, maybe?" he suggested, his voice growing more desperate as he grasped at straws.

Her response was a harsh laugh, a sound that echoed with bitterness and frustration. "A blanket? Really? You think a blanket is going to solve this?" she retorted, her voice rising in pitch with her mounting irritation. The space between them seemed to crackle with an electric charge, a tangible manifestation of the storm brewing between them. "You're a genius, really, getting us cuffed together!" Meerab accused, her hands gesturing wildly, only restricted by the cuffs that bound them together.

"I got us cuffed together?" Murtasim retorted, holding up their handcuffed wrists for emphasis. "It was your fault, you were the only playing with Faizal, who gives a child their hand to cuff?"

"HA! You went one step ahead, who gives a child their hand to cuff when the other side is cuffed to another person?!"

"If I didn't, you'd force me to anyways!" He shot back.

"HA, since when can I force you into anything?" She shot back.

She'd be surprised to learn that she could.

"What are we even talking about?" He sighed.

Meerab narrowed her eyes at him. "I just wanted to pee, Murtasim. You turned it into a debate on logistics!"

"Just sit and wait then!"

"Oh, and what was I doing until now?" She snapped.

"You're SO annoying."

"Funny coming from you!"

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The jingle of the locksmith's tools reverberated one last time before the handcuffs clicked open, releasing Murtasim and Meerab from their reluctant closeness. Murtasim felt an abrupt emptiness, a strange void where her warmth had been against his skin as she got up and ran to the bathroom. The feeling was unsettling, almost jarring, but there was no time to analyze it now. Not when there was so much to take care of.

With a polite nod, he thanked and paid the man, his fingers lingering a fraction of a second longer on the paper notes as if he was reluctantly letting go of something precious. The locksmith seemed to not notice, nodding his head as he left the motel room he had been invited into.

With Meerab having run to the restroom, Murtasim hurriedly pulled out his phone, busying himself with making calls. His mind raced, trying to itemize the slew of tasks that lay ahead of them – towing his Mercedes, retrieving their luggage, getting to the village... and the niggling detail of Meerab's ill-fated shoes. As he spoke in hurried tones to his men, coordinating their pickup and the retrieval of their belongings, he couldn't shake the image of Meerab in that vibrant red suit, her feet encased in those ridiculous plastic chappals the motel owner had secured for her.

Before he knew it, he had arranged everything, a logistical triumph in the chaotic aftermath of their accident. Murtasim ended the last call just as Meerab emerged from the restroom, a renewed freshness emanating from her. The red suit she wore seemed to have acquired a new lease of life, clinging to her in a way that accentuated her curves and drew attention to her grace. Her face had a radiant glow, she had washed it, her skin sparkling with a subtle sheen, her hair glistening with moisture as strands clung to her face, seemingly reluctant to let go of her beautiful visage.

He could almost smell the fresh scent of her skin, a fragrance that was mildly floral, mixed with the undeniable scent of Meerab herself. It was intoxicating, pulling at him with a force he found difficult to resist. He found himself transfixed, lost in the waves of her hair, the depth of her eyes, and the rich hue of her lips that seemed to beckon him with a silent promise of softness and warmth.

He shook his head, jarring himself from the trance. He couldn't allow himself to dwell on those thoughts, not when the reality of their situation demanded pragmatism and responsibility. It seemed that being freed from the cuffs had also freed the torrent of suppressed feelings and desires that he had kept at bay, barricaded behind walls of denial and restraint. Now they threatened to flood him, pulling at his resolve with a force that threatened to sweep him away in its current.

But he couldn't, he shouldn't. He was Murtasim, responsible, sensible. He was not meant to be swayed by the swirl of emotions that Meerab seemed to evoke in him with her mere presence.

He cleared his throat and walked past her to the bathroom, intent on not thinking about her any longer.

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The sun was suddenly a benevolent entity, chasing away the evidence of the storm, showering the area with a warm and golden embrace. Its rays played a gentle game with the wind, as if trying to catch the particles of light that gleamed and danced on the surfaces it touched.

Two cars rolled into the motel's gravelled parking area, disturbing the tranquillity of the early afternoon. Murtasim felt a fleeting sense of relief as he recognized Areeb, Bakhtu's nephew. Areeb was a couple of years younger than him but had matured into a reliable young man, someone who could be counted upon in times of need.

The cars came to a halt and Areeb stepped out, a mix of concern and bemusement on his face. "I can't believe you totaled the Mercedes, Khan." Areeb sighed, extending the keys of the large Toyota towards Murtasim.

The metal keys felt cold and impersonal in Murtasim's grasp, a stark contrast to what the handcuffs had started to feel like, and from the warmth that had seeped from Meerab into him, just a little while ago.

"You're such a good driver, what happened?" Areeb asked.

Murtasim shrugged, his face a canvas of nonchalance but his mind a swirling vortex of conflicting emotions. Before he could speak further, Meerab appeared from the motel, the vision of her pulling at strings he didn't know existed within him.

She stepped gracefully yet awkwardly because of the plastic chappals adorning her feet, a paradox in red and blue. The wind seemed to court her, lifting tendrils of her hair and playing with them, like a lover unable to keep his hands to himself. The sun too seemed smitten, lavishing her with golden hues that kissed her skin, making her look ethereal, as if she was glowing from within.

Murtasim caught himself losing the battle, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, the arch of her neck, and the gentle sway of her hips as she moved. A realization dawned upon him - she had happened to him, she had infiltrated his defences and now resided, uninvited, in the corners of his mind. She was the reason he had totalled his beloved black Mercedes, because he hadn't been able to look away from her.

Areeb's voice cut through his reverie, echoing his thoughts eerily. "Oh...she happened." Murtasim's eyes snapped to Areeb, narrowing instinctively as he caught the unmistakable hint of fascination in the younger man's gaze. It seemed Meerab had the innate ability to ensnare the admiration of men.

Clearing his throat conspicuously, a sound that reverberated through the still air, snapping Areeb out of his trance. Murtasim could feel the palpable awkwardness that now hung between them, a veil that clouded their earlier camaraderie.

With a tone that carried more authority and sternness than intended, he asked. "Did you bring what I asked you to bring?"

A quick nod was Areeb's response, as he moved to the back of the Toyota, a hint of flustered embarrassment in his movements.

The backdoor of the car opened with a soft creak, and a bag was retrieved and handed to him.

A subtle hint of aggression lingering in his stance, as if he was fighting to maintain control over the spiralling events - and perhaps, his own tumultuous feelings. "Get the stuff out of the Mercedes and get it towed to a repair shop," he instructed Areeb, his voice bearing the weight of authority, a command that demanded immediate attention. It was a plea for normalcy amidst the whirlwind of confusion that seemed to be swirling around him, tightening its grip on him with every passing second.

Before Areeb could respond, a lilting voice echoed in the space, weaving its way into the very fabric of the afternoon sun, adding a layer of softness to the otherwise hard edges of the scene. "Please and thank you," Meerab said, as she gracefully moved to stand by Murtasim. Her proximity seemed to add a fragrance to the air, a mix of florals and something uniquely her that tugged at his senses, urging him to step closer.

Areeb was caught in the enchantment too, his face lighting up with a grin that seemed to span from ear to ear. It was as if Meerab had cast a spell, leaving him starstruck and stumbling over his words. "Aap...?" he trailed off, his voice carrying a curiosity that set Murtasim's nerves on edge.

"Meerab," she replied with a smile that seemed to hold the warmth of a thousand suns, a smile that seemed to promise laughter and light.

Murtasim felt a twinge of irritation prickling at him, a nagging voice that questioned why she had to smile at everyone like that. Hadn't that smile led to their current predicament? It was the reason Faizal had left them handcuffed together.

Areeb's response was a beam of a smile, a 100-watt radiance that seemed to mirror the warmth that Meerab was exuding. It was a smile that grated on Murtasim, an irksome display of awe.

Before Areeb could introduce himself fully, Murtasim intervened, his voice carrying a hint of possessiveness that surprised even him. "Meerab Anwar Khan," he said, his words laced with a pointed reminder of her identity, an unspoken claim that left Areeb's eyes widening in realization.

"Aapki behen?" Areeb asked, the confusion clear on his face as he attempted to piece together the complex dynamics unfolding before him.

"NAHI!" The simultaneous exclamation from Murtasim and Meerab carried a vehemence that seemed to reverberate in the air, leaving a silence that was laden with unsaid words. "Cousin." Murtasim added, a feeble attempt to clarify.

A flicker of understanding passed across Areeb's face, a dawning realization that seemed to amuse him. His eyes danced between Murtasim and Meerab, as if he was privy to a secret that was yet to unveil itself fully.

Murtasim could feel the pressure building, a growing irritation that threatened to erupt if Areeb's probing gaze lingered a second longer. With a motion that carried an unspoken warning, he urged Areeb to proceed with the tasks at hand, to distance himself before Murtasim lost the battle against his mounting frustration.

"I hope you like the shoes I picked, Meerab," Areeb said, his smile a lingering presence as he moved to fulfil the assigned duties, leaving a trail of words that seemed to hang in the air.

"Shoes?" Meerab queried, her voice carrying a hint of surprise as her gaze flickered to the bag that Murtasim held.

He didn't answer, not knowing how to.

A slight breeze whisked through, lifting loose strands of Meerab's hair, as if even the wind itself couldn't resist touching her.

Murtasim, feeling as though he was caught in a torrent of emotions that refused to settle, moved with a grace that belied the storm raging within him. He opened the car door with a careful hand, his actions an odd blend of assertiveness and hesitation.

Meerab walked over to sit in the elevated passenger seat of the high car, with a graceful pivot, she lowered herself into the seat. Before she could swing her legs into the car, he spoke. "Ruko," he said.

The world paused as she did, Meerab granting him that moment of stillness, her face coloured with confusion. He could feel the tension hanging between them. His fingers worked skillfully, deftly pulling out a pair of flat gold sandals from the bag, the gentle afternoon sun casting a soft glow on the delicate craftsmanship. The leather of the straps felt soft to the touch, unlike the heels she had been wearing the previous day, like he had explicitly instructed.

Murtasim knelt before her, his tall frame folding gracefully, bringing him closer to her, close enough to catch the fresh, earthy scent that seemed to cling to her skin. He gently took her chappal off and slid the sandals on, his fingers lingering on her bandaged feet, a tactile reminder of the journey they had undertaken.

He fastened the buckle, each touch of his fingers against her soft skin quickening his heartbeat. As he repeated the process with the other foot, he dared to glance up, only to find himself ensnared in the depths of her eyes, which were reflecting a kaleidoscope of emotions that seemed to mirror his own tumultuous feelings.

In her gaze, he saw a peculiar look that seemed to hold a world of unspoken words, of unexplored territories, and of possibilities that teased at the edges of his consciousness. It was a look that shattered his defenses, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed in the most exquisite way.

He realized, as he met her gaze, that his gesture was more than unnecessary. It was intimate, a silent admission of the care and affection that he shouldn't have shown her, he could have just handed her the bag. The realization threatened to overwhelm him with its intensity.

With a quiet vulnerability that belied his usual stoic demeanor, he handed her the bag, his voice barely more than a whisper as he muttered, "there are flat shoes in there too." It was a futile attempt to rebuild the walls that she had so effortlessly dismantled, an attempt to retreat into the safety of distance and indifference.

She nodded. As she took the bag from him, her fingers brushing against his in a fleeting touch that left a trail of warmth in its wake, that he tried to ignore.

He closed the door as she pulled her legs into the car, the soft thud echoing like a punctuation mark, a brief respite from Meerab.

With a sigh, he walked to his side of the car, a conflicted figure grappling with emotions that refused to settle. He couldn't comprehend why he had needed to indulge in that moment of vulnerability, why he had allowed himself to be drawn into the magnetic pull of her presence, why he thought she couldn't put the sandals on herself.

The car hummed as they started their journey back to the village, the noise of the road barely intruding upon the tense silence that began to settle between them. The sunlight was weaving through the leaves, dappling the interior of the car with patches of light and shadow. It should have been a peaceful scene, yet the atmosphere within the car was palpable.

"These are comfy, I should thank Areeb." Meerab's voice broke the tenuous silence, her words floating in the space between them, almost tangible, like a piece of delicate porcelain that had shattered on the floor, the shards digging into Murtasim's already frayed nerves.

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, the skin around his knuckles growing taut and white. A surge of anger began to pool within him, bubbling hot and fast, stoked by her casual praise of Areeb. It wormed its way into his chest, an insidious feeling that gnawed at his calm exterior.

Murtasim detested the words that had spilled from Meerab's lips, an irrational resentment burning in his veins.

Why should Areeb receive the praise for his thoughtful gesture? The bitterness bloomed within him, clawing at his insides, urging him to stake his claim, to snatch the credit from Areeb's undeserving hands, he was the one who had instructed Areeb to purchase the shoes, with clear instructions on ensuring that they were comfortable.

But he tried to restrain his urge, to lock it away within the corners of his mind, it shouldn't matter to him. It was a futile effort though, a losing battle against his own...anger that threatened to consume him whole. His grip on the wheel became a lifeline, a feeble anchor in the storm that was rapidly gaining strength inside of him.

He lasted a mere two minutes, a pathetic display of restraint, before the dam burst, the floodgates thrown wide open as his words burst forth, unable to be contained any longer. "I told him to buy the shoes." His voice was tight, the jealousy that he refused to name giving his words a sharp, biting edge.

"He picked them though." Meerab countered calmly, adding fuel to the fire that was quickly becoming an uncontrollable blaze within him.

"I told him exactly what to buy." Murtasim's words were clipped, his sentence a defensive shield, a barricade against the frustrating, infuriating allure of Meerab and her knack for igniting such tumultuous feelings within him.

It was him that had thought of getting her shoes.

"Haan, but he went and bought it, and picked nice shoes." She insisted, seemingly unaware of the storm she was whipping up within him.

Murtasim felt his jaw clench, his teeth grinding together as he struggled to keep his composure. A low growl of frustration vibrated within him, a sound that was equal parts anger and defeat.

Where was his thank you? His acknowledgment? The recognition of his efforts to ensure her comfort?

As the landscape whizzed by, a blur of greens and browns, Murtasim felt an unexplained irritation take hold of him, a bitterness that marred the beauty of the world outside. The drive to the village, which should have been a peaceful journey, became a turbulent voyage, a test of his patience and the unexplained, unnamed, yet deeply felt feeling that Meerab seemed to ignite with a mere flick of her wrist, a flutter of her lashes, or a casual mention of another man's name.

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Amidst the vibrant hues of the marigold garlands and the euphony of joyful laughter that echoed through the village, a quiet unease nested in Murtasim's heart. He caught glimpses of Meerab, an isolated figure amidst the swirl of colorful outfits and the bustling energy of wedding festivities. He didn't understand why she chose to sit alone, when it was clear that the young women of the village wanted her to partake in all the carefree activities they indulged in. They tried their best to pull her into their fun. Yet, she resisted.

Her once radiant face was tinged with melancholy again, her lively spirit seemingly subdued, as she moved like a silent observer in a vibrant painting. The laughter of the village girls, fluttering around her like butterflies to a blossoming flower, failed to evoke her usual vibrant smiles and laughter.

Murtasim felt an undeniable tug at his heartstrings, a concern that seemed to gnaw at him amidst the chaos of preparations and obligations. He chastised himself mentally, attempting to focus on the looming issues at hand, the discord brewing in the panchayat, and the stubborn demands Malik was imposing as conditions for the wedding.

But try as he might, his mind wandered incessantly back to Meerab, her quiet demeanor, and the words that echoed through his mind, words she had whispered into the tranquil night as she succumbed to sleep's embrace. I thought I didn't want to exist anymore. A part of him fought against the escalating worry, labeling it as unnecessary concern, a fleeting emotion that should not stake a claim in his already burdened mind. After all, Meerab was just a family member that was around for the summer.

Yet, he found himself reluctantly searching through the depths of the internet, his fingers typing queries faster than his mind could formulate them. A nagging voice in the back of his head was persistently pointing out that he had more pressing issues to address. But he was knee-deep in articles about depression, desperately trying to gather information that could possibly uplift Meerab's spirits.

In Murtasim's deeply entrenched feudal milieu, where traditions held an iron grip and perceptions of mental health were severely backward, even the slightest whisper of therapy could ignite prejudice and scorn. Within his conservative family, broaching the topic was akin to treading on a minefield - one misstep could unleash vicious rumors, tarnishing Meerab's reputation irrevocably. The Ahmeds, with their marginally progressive views, might be open to a discussion on the matter but he didn't want to overstep and involve them. The pervasive stigma hovered like a dark cloud, threatening to label Meerab as possessed or to saddle her with an even graver, slanderous designation. In these precarious circumstances, Murtasim knew he would have to tread with extreme caution, shielding Meerab from the potentially devastating fallout.

In a moment of desperation, an article caught his attention, a suggestion that seemed bizarre yet oddly fitting for the situation. It advocated for the therapeutic qualities of pets, claiming they could provide comfort and a sense of routine, potentially alleviating symptoms of depression. Murtasim pondered on the idea, battling an internal war between his rational mind, which screamed at him to focus on the pressing matters at hand, and the growing part of him that seemed to be invested in Meerab's happiness a tad bit more than he would admit.

He imagined the scene unfolding before him - Meerab, with a cute little baby animal, her face lighting up with genuine joy as she indulged in the simple yet fulfilling act of caring for them. It was a ludicrous image, one that should not bring a smile to his face, but it did.

As he racked his brain for options, he recalled the spark in Meerab's eyes when she was around little Faisal. But kidnapping a kid as a mood enhancer was absurd, even by his wildest standards. His thoughts then wandered to the possibility of a cat or a dog, but immediately discarded them, thinking them to be too pedestrian for someone as vibrant as Meerab.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, the image of Khushbakri Khan, the infamous goat that had an uncanny knack for chaos and a love for charging at him, flashed in his mind. An involuntary "No!" escaped his lips as he vividly remembered the goat's loud bleating as it charged towards him, the bah somehow echoing around him.

Startled, Bhaktu, who was sitting in the hospital bed, shot him a look of concern mingled with confusion. "Khan, is everything okay?" he inquired, the lines on his forehead deepening.

Caught in the whirlwind of his thoughts, Murtasim realized he had drifted far away from the reason he was here: to visit the injured man, not to brainstorm ways to cheer Meerab up.

Trying to camouflage his internal turmoil, he turned towards Bakhtu, who was now wearing a look of utter bewilderment, and without thinking, blurted out, "Would having a bakri help you feel better, Bakhtu?"

Bakhtu's face morphed into a canvas of confusion, his brows furrowing deeper as he tried to grasp the sudden shift in conversation. "Huh?" was all he managed as his face turned various shades of confusion, the village noises fading into the background.

Realizing the absurdity of his question, Murtasim waved his hand dismissively, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "Never mind," he muttered, his mind still a buzzing hive of Meerab-centric thoughts, tinged with the budding realization that perhaps, his concern for her was slowly crossing the boundaries of mere familial affection.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the thoughts that were getting dangerously mushy and irrationally creative. But somewhere deep down, the image of Meerab's joyful laughter while chasing Khushbakri Khan teased at his heart, igniting a warm glow that seemed to stubbornly resist fading away.

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In the heart of the bustling gardens of his haveli where the wedding was being held, Murtasim found himself drifting through the chaos, his mind still churning and humming with thoughts of Meerab and that possible solution—a goat, a cure wrapped in fluff and stubbornness. The absurdity of the idea didn't escape him, yet here he was, standing with a determined stance in front of Areeb just an hour later, his nerves tingling with a bizarre blend of excitement and panic.

"Mujhe ek bakri chahiye." He blurted out, with a level of gravity that might have been more suited to a declaration of war than a request for a goat.

Areeb blinked, tilting his head slightly, visibly thrown off by the request. "For dinner?" He asked, his eyes flickering with a hint of bewilderment.

Murtasim's heart pounded in his chest, a peculiar blend of irritation and desperation flooding him. "Nahi, a baby goat," he clarified.

Areeb's expression turned even more puzzled, if possible. "You want to raise it and then sacrifice it?" He ventured, his eyes scanning Murtasim's face for signs of jest.

"Nahi!" Murtasim almost shouted, his patience fraying at the edges. The vision of Meerab's sunny smile seemed to be urging him on, giving him a strange form of courage that made him throw all reason to the wind.

Areeb's eyes reflected his confusion. "Why then?" He asked, as if the word itself would uncover the mystery unfolding before him.

A hint of sheepishness crept over Murtasim, his sturdy shoulders drooping slightly. "As a pet," he confessed, the absurdity of the statement hanging in the air between them.

Areeb stared at him, aghast, as if he had just announced plans to fly to the moon. "You want a pet?" He echoed, disbelief colouring every syllable.

Murtasim felt a surge of defensiveness under Areeb's scrutinizing gaze. "Not for me!" He snapped, his voice reverberating through the garden, drawing curious glances from passersby.

The teasing glint returned to Areeb's eyes, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Acha...for Meerab?" He ventured, the grin blossoming into a full-blown smile that seemed to poke fun at Murtasim's dilemma.

Murtasim froze, suddenly hyper-aware of the burgeoning realization that had sprouted within him. His mind raced back to the earlier incident, where his efforts had been overshadowed by Areeb's delivery of the shoes. The sudden longing for a thank you enveloped in Meerab's soft, appreciative smile pricked at him.

His eyes darted to Areeb, then flickered away, a torrent of conflicting emotions swirling within him. If Areeb was the messenger again, bringing the bakri to Meerab, he would undoubtedly steal away the credit, eclipsing Murtasim's thoughtful gesture with his charismatic delivery.

And then, Murtasim would be robbed of the warm, gentle thank you that he liked and found himself unexpectedly craving, a craving that twisted his stomach into knots of anticipation and denial.

He halted, his heart thudding wildly against his ribs.

No, he chastised himself, he didn't like or crave that appreciative smile, not in the way his heart seemed to be insinuating.

He just wished for acknowledgment, a simple recognition for his efforts, nothing more.

Yes, that was it, he reasoned, desperately clinging to the thin veil of denial that shielded him from a truth too overwhelming to accept at the moment.

Areeb couldn't go buy the bakri, he had to do it himself.

"Never mind, where can I buy a baby goat?" Murtasim asked, his voice suddenly laced with a determined undercurrent that brooked no argument.

Areeb's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with unabashed amusement at the sight of the mighty Murtasim Khan, embarking on a quest for a baby goat. "Suleman Bhai's farm...you're going to go yourself?" He asked, his voice lilting teasingly, echoing the incredulity that seemed to hang in the air around them.

Murtasim's eyes narrowed, his stern persona resurfacing as he wrestled his flustered self back into the familiar, stoic shell he usually adorned. "Go back to work, Areeb," he commanded, his voice regaining its firm, authoritative timbre, leaving no room for further banter or teasing.

Areeb chuckled softly, the sound mixing with the buzzing noises around them. With a mock salute and a playful wink, he responded, "Ji, Khan." His voice held a note of fondness, a testament to the subtle shifts in the dynamics between them, where the lines of hierarchy blurred, if only for a fleeting moment, giving way to camaraderie and a shared secret that hung between them, a secret that danced in Murtasim's conflicted eyes, wrapped in layers of denial.

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At Suleman's farm, Murtasim found himself amidst a plethora of bleats and the musky aroma that pervaded the place. As he approached the pen where Suleman kept the goats, he noticed the litter of four kids stumbling around on unsteady legs. They were a motley crew of young goats - scruffy yet, against his better judgement, incredibly adorable in their awkward gambols and playful nudges.

Suleman, with his seasoned eyes, wasn't looking to part with any of his new additions, yet he could not deny Murtasim. He allowed him to choose one, although the confusion clearly reflected on his creased face, no doubt wondering why a man like him was suddenly interested in acquiring a baby goat.

As Murtasim surveyed the options, one particular baby goat seemed to glare at him with a sense of entitlement and superiority that was irksome, paired with its white fur and haughty smirk, the kid seemed like a reincarnation of Khushbakri Khan, it was quickly disregarded.

Its sister, however, caught his attention - a captivating mix of white, grey, and brown fur and a demure disposition that seemed to beckon him closer. Murtasim found himself gravitating towards her, ignoring Suleman's penetrating gaze and the flurry of questions that hung in the air, unanswered.

The journey back to the car was an unusual sight - the mighty Murtasim Khan delicately holding a baby goat in his arms. A sight so peculiar, it drew a cacophony of snickers and teasing remarks from Areeb, who seemed to have developed a penchant for poking fun at him.

"I should send a picture to Zubair Malik," Areeb suggested with a teasing grin.

Murtasim's glare could have melted steel, his voice holding a fierce edge as he retorted sharply, "I can fire you as quickly as I hired you, Areeb."

But Areeb was undeterred, his grin widening even more as he challenged, "You like me too much." His voice held a playful note, clearly enjoying this unusual, softer side of Murtasim.

"Shut up and drive," Murtasim snapped, his patience hanging by a fragile thread. Yet as he settled into the back seat, the baby goat nestled comfortably in his lap, a sense of pride swelled within him.

Areeb couldn't resist poking fun one more time, "You're going to hold the goat?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and sending Murtasim a knowing glance through the rearview mirror.

Murtasim met his gaze, his face stoic yet his eyes held a defiant gleam. No verbal response was needed, his actions spoke volumes.

He was not about to let Areeb steal his thunder this time. His grip on the baby goat tightened protectively, a silent vow that this time, he was determined to receive the sweet acknowledgement and radiant smile that he yearned for – NO!

A smile that he deserved from Meerab for his efforts.

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Murtasim couldn't help but pause at the entrance of the courtyard, captivated by the sight before him. Meerab was seated on the intricately designed wooden swing secured to the large oak tree, lost in animated conversation with a cluster of young housemaids and village girls.

Clad in a yellow suit that seemed to absorb the warmth of the afternoon sun, her curly hair framing her face like a halo, she resembled a regal princess holding court. A thought he immediately tried to shush flashed through his mind: how did she manage to look even more radiant every passing day?

As he took a step into the courtyard, the cluster of girls around Meerab scattered like leaves in the wind. Heads bowed, they moved away with an odd mix of reverence and perhaps, slight intimidation, not daring to ask what he was holding in his hand.

Ignoring the departing crowd, Murtasim walked straight towards Meerab, who looked up at him with questioning eyes. Awkwardly, he thrust the small bundle of fur and fluff into her arms, the baby goat making a feeble attempt to nuzzle her immediately.

"What?" Meerab's brows furrowed in confusion, looking from him to the small creature in her arms.

"You like goats," he stated, matter-of-factly, trying to still the sudden nervous beating of his heart.

"Haan...but?" Meerab still seemed puzzled, yet her eyes softened as she looked down at the tiny goat.

"It's yours now," he added, willing her to understand the unspoken sentiment behind the gift.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked at the baby goat, who chose that precise moment to let out an adorable, plaintive bleat. "Oh, she looks like Khushbakri Khan! Oh, you're so cuteeeee," Meerab cooed, as the little goat seemed to try to lick her in return, perhaps in gratitude or simple goat curiosity. Or maybe because the goat was smart and recognized that Meerab was meant to be kissed.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Murtasim heard Meerab laugh—a genuine, hearty laugh that reverberated through the courtyard and filled him with an inexplicable warmth and satisfaction. He had succeeded, he realized; succeeded in drawing that elusive happiness back to her face, even if for a fleeting moment.

"Did you come back to me? Should I name you Khushbakri too?" Meerab was already whispering sweet nothings to her new companion, completely enamored.

"NAHI!" Murtasim blurted out, louder than he intended. The last thing he needed was Khushbakri charging at him in his nightmares. He felt he'd surely go mad if he had to hear that name echoing in his thoughts day and night. "You can't name it that," he said, a bit more calmly this time.

"I can name her whatever I want. It's either Khushbakri or... Murtasimbakri Khan," Meerab declared, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she held the baby goat up to his face. "She kind of looks like you too, Murtasim."

Murtasim's mind raced back to her earlier words about the goat—oh, you're so cuteeee. "Are you calling me cute, Meerab?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral but failing as an incredulous edge crept in.

She hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second. "Nahi, I am saying you look like a bakri, Murtasim."

His brows descended into a glare that could have withered a lesser mortal. But Meerab simply chuckled. "Murtasimbakri Khan it is!" she declared triumphantly.

"You cannot name it that! I got it for you!" The words escaped his lips before he could contain them. This was his grand gesture, his thoughtful gift, where was his well-deserved thank you?

"That's exactly why; you got her, so she should be named after you." Meerab's smile was so radiant, so undeniably happy, it nearly defused his annoyance. Nearly.

For a split second, Murtasim thought he should tell her that Areeb picked out the goat, just to avoid having an animal named after him in such a ridiculous manner. But then again, Areeb ending up with all the credit irked him even more.

Oblivious to his internal dilemma, Meerab cradled the baby goat in her arms, cooing at it. "Do you like that name? Murtasimbakri Khan? Badi respect hain is gaon mein iss naam ki," she muttered to the tiny creature, who responded with a heartfelt bleat, triggering another of Meerab's contagious giggles.

"You can't name my goat that," Murtasim declared, each word heavy with authority. Or at least, that was the intent.

"You said it was mine!" Meerab's eyes widened in feigned innocence, yet her voice was tinged with playful defiance.

"I bought it!" Murtasim snapped, feeling an odd mixture of frustration and amusement—emotions he didn't quite know how to reconcile.

"And then gave it to me, so I get to name her!" she retorted.

"Anything but that!" he yelled, his voice echoing across the courtyard. He'd be the laughingstock of the village with a goat named after him.

"No! She likes it, you like it, don't you, Murtasimbakri?" Meerab cooed, leaning down to place a soft kiss between the goat's ears. As if on cue, the baby goat let out a delighted baah, which only added fuel to the fire. In Murtasim's mind, anyone or anything would react like that if Meerab kissed them.

"She's a goat!" he snapped, as if that should settle the matter. Goats shouldn't have opinions, certainly not about names.

"Haan, but she likes it, so that's the name now," Meerab affirmed, her eyes twinkling. How could someone be so maddening and yet so... captivating at the same time?

"Name it something normal," he pleaded, surprising himself with the desperation that tinged his voice.

"Nahi," she responded, as simple as that, and he felt his last thread of hope snap.

He huffed, a mix of exasperation and resignation settling over him. This was a battle he clearly wasn't going to win.

"Don't you have things to do?" Meerab finally said, breaking into his thoughts.

He did. Important, pressing matters that had nothing to do with goats or their ridiculously conceived names. Yet a part of him couldn't help but feel that in the grander scheme of things, making Meerab laugh, seeing her genuinely happy, might just be the most important task he'd accomplish that day.

"As a thanks, name it something else," Murtasim suggested, almost hopefully. He locked eyes with her, silently pleading for some form of concession.

"Nahi, I like Murtasimbakri Khan, thank you for bringing her, Murtasim," she beamed, her eyes radiating genuine joy. For a moment, a skipped heartbeat or two, he was almost willing to let the name go. Almost.

"If Areeb got her, would you name her Areebbakri?" His voice held a note of curiosity laced with apprehension. Should he have let Areeb play the hero?

"Nahi, you would still pay for it, no?" she replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"I PAID FOR THE SHOES TOO!" he bellowed, his voice filling the courtyard. Finally, it was out.

"Acha acha, thanks for the shoes and for Murtasimbakri Khan," Meerab's eyes twinkled as she spoke, her voice tinged with mischief.

Frustrated beyond belief, Murtasim extended his hand toward the baby goat. "Give it back!"

"Nahi! It's not an IT! You'll kill her too!" Meerab's eyes flashed as she clutched the goat closer to her chest.

"I didn't kill Khushbakri!" Murtasim found himself defending his actions of the past.

"Ordered her killed, same thing!" Meerab's words came out in a snap, a burst of heat in her voice.

"You're so annoying!" Murtasim shot back, feeling both vexed and inexplicably alive.

"Likewise!" she retorted, her voice matching his irritation note for note.

With that, Murtasim stomped off, his steps heavy but his heart strangely light. She was maddening, infuriating, and utterly confusing. Yet, as he walked away, he couldn't shake off the odd sense of satisfaction from seeing her so happy, even if it was at the expense of his own pride and the integrity of his name.

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A/N: Sooooooo, what do we think? What was your favourite part? And what do you think will happen next, hehehe?