The nikkah was held in a grand hall, adorned with garlands of marigolds and strands of fairy lights that twinkled like stars in the night sky. Murtasim, dressed in a pristine white sherwani, felt the fabric weigh heavily on his shoulders, a tangible symbol of the commitment he was about to make. Meerab looked stunning in a gold lehnga that shimmered with every movement, the intricate embroidery telling a story of love and sacrifice. Her honey brown eyes held a quiet strength that he hadn't noticed before, a strength that filled him with a newfound respect for the woman he was about to marry.

The imam's voice resonated through the hall, reciting verses from the Quran that seemed to hang in the air like a solemn promise. As Murtasim repeated the vows, his heart felt like a stone in his chest, cold and unyielding. Yet, as he looked into Meerab's eyes, the warmth of her smile reached out to him, a lifeline in the storm of his emotions.

The wedding festivities were a blur of color and sound, a whirlwind of tradition and celebration that seemed to go on forever. Yet, in the midst of it all, Murtasim couldn't shake the feeling that he was living someone else's life. The joy and laughter around him felt forced, a facade to hide the underlying sadness that lurked just beneath the surface.

After the final farewells and the tossing of rose petals, Murtasim and Meerab were left alone in the bridal suite of the mansion. The opulence of their surroundings felt almost obscene in the face of their unspoken agreement. The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Meerab looked up at him, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "We will make this work," she said firmly. "For our families, for ourselves."

Murtasim nodded, feeling the gravity of her words. He knew that she was right; they had no other choice but to forge ahead and create a life together. With a deep sigh, he reached for her hand, feeling the softness of her skin against his own. It was a gesture of friendship, of partnership, but not of love.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Their wedding night was a study in restraint, both of them acutely aware of the chasm that lay between them. The grand four-poster bed loomed large in the room, a silent testament to the intimacy they were expected to share. Yet, as they lay side by side, the space between them felt like a chasm that could not be bridged.

Meerab's stomach rumbled, a quiet protest against the nerves that had robbed her of her appetite earlier in the day. She had picked at her food during lunch, her thoughts a whirlwind of doubt and fear. Now, as the moon cast shadows on the silk sheets, hunger gnawed at her, a stark reminder of the basic human needs that could not be ignored.

Carefully, she slid out of bed, her bare feet whispering against the plush carpet. She padded to the adjoining room, where a spread of fruits and sweets had been laid out. The sight of the ripe mangoes made her mouth water, and she sliced one open, the sweet scent filling the air.

The juice of the mango trickled down her chin as she took a tentative bite, the sweetness a balm to her jittery nerves. As she ate, her thoughts drifted to the man in their bedroom. Would they ever find love in this marriage of convenience? Or would they be forever bound by duty and expectation?

Murtasim, meanwhile, lay awake, his mind racing. He knew she was struggling too, and the weight of his own reservations bore down on him like a mountain.

The sound of her footsteps returning brought him back to the present. He watched as she slipped back into bed, the moonlight caressing her features, making her look almost ethereal.

For a brief moment, their eyes met, and in that silent exchange, a flicker of understanding passed between them. This was their new reality, a dance of duty and desire, of friendship and familial expectations.

They lay there in the quiet darkness, the echoes of their shared past a poignant reminder of what might have been. Yet, in the stillness of the night, a tentative bond began to form, one that was born not of love but of mutual respect and a shared burden.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The next morning, as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Murtasim awoke to the sensation of warmth and softness beside him. His eyes flew open and he realised that meerab was beside him. He slipped out of bed, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth he had just left behind.

In the home gym, he threw himself into his workout with renewed vigor. As he bench-pressed weights that usually felt like feathers, his mind raced with thoughts of what their future might hold. Was it possible to find happiness in a marriage that had begun with such a heavy burden of duty? The barbell clanked against the rack, a metallic crescendo to his tumultuous thoughts.

As he punched the heavy bag, images of Meerab's determined expression from the night before played in his mind. Her words had been a declaration of war against the fate that had been thrust upon them, and he found himself wanting to join her in that battle. For the first time in years, he felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could forge something real from the ashes of his broken heart.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Meerab woke up to the sound of the gym's distant echoes. The bed beside her was empty, the space cold and untouched. She felt a strange mix of relief and sadness. Relief that she didn't have to face the awkwardness of their first morning together, and sadness that he hadn't chosen to stay.

With a deep breath, she slid out of bed, the luxurious silk sheets whispering against her skin. The scent of jasmine still lingered in the room, a lingering reminder of her wedding day. She walked to the bathroom, the cool marble tiles a stark contrast to the heat of her embarrassment. As the water cascaded over her, she tried to scrub away the feeling of vulnerability that had settled into her bones.

Memories of her childhood flooded her mind as she showered, the warm water a balm to her weary soul. She remembered her father, Anwar Khan, his stern face and booming voice that had so often silenced the house. His expectations had been clear: she would marry well and have children. The dreams she had once harbored of becoming a lawyer, of fighting for justice in the courts, had been quickly squashed under the weight of his disapproval.

The day she had dared to voice her aspirations to him, his face had darkened like a thundercloud. "Meerab," he had said, his voice low and dangerous. "The women of this family do not work. They are the backbone of the home, not the ones who go out and taint their hands with the world's filth." His words had stung, but she had learned to keep her desires buried deep, only letting them breathe in the quiet corners of her mind.

Now, as she toweled off, she wondered if those long-buried dreams could ever see the light of day. Married to Murtasim, a man who didn't love her, she was bound by the same strictures that had governed her life thus far. Yet, as she slipped into her clothes, she felt a spark of rebellion flicker within her. Perhaps, in this new chapter, she could find a way to honor her father's wishes while still carving out a place for herself in the world beyond the mansion's walls.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

Dressed in a simple yet elegant maroon salwar kameez, she descended the grand staircase, the sound of her sandals a solitary melody in the otherwise silent mansion. The echoes of her footsteps seemed to mock her, a reminder that she was now a part of a life she had never truly chosen. Yet, as she made her way to the breakfast table, she felt a newfound resolve.

Murtasim was already seated, his eyes distant as he stared into his coffee. She took a seat opposite him, her heart racing. "Good morning," she said, her voice a tentative offering.

He looked up, the shadows under his eyes a stark contrast to the crispness of his attire. "Morning," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion.

The silence between them grew heavier, each second a poignant reminder of the unspoken words that lay between them. Then, with a quiet determination, Meerab spoke. "I know our marriage wasn't our choice," she began, her voice steady despite the tremble in her chest. "But I want to make it work. For our families, and for ourselves."

Murtasim's gaze sharpened, something akin to surprise flickering in his eyes. "Meerab," he said, his tone measured. "We both know the score. This isn't a love match."

Her chin lifted, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "I know that," she said firmly. "But it doesn't mean we can't find happiness together. I won't be a burden to you, Murtasim. I will support you in your endeavors. "

The room seemed to hold its breath as they stared at each other, the air thick with the unspoken promise of a new beginning. Finally, Murtasim nodded, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Alright," he said. "Let's see what we can make of this."

It was a small victory, but it was a start. As they broke their fast together, Meerab felt a weight begin to lift from her shoulders. Perhaps, in the unlikeliest of places, she could find a way to honor both her duty and her dreams. And maybe, just maybe, she could teach Murtasim to love again.

Murtasim's mother, Salma Shahnawaz, and his sister, Mariam, joined them in the dining room, their arrival breaking the delicate silence that had settled between the newlyweds. Meerab's stomach fluttered as she greeted them, her smile forced but earnest. She knew that their acceptance was crucial to her finding any semblance of happiness in this new life.

Mariam's eyes danced with mischief as she slid into the chair beside Meerab. "So, Meerab," she began, her voice lilting with the sweetness of a songbird. "How was your first night as a wife?"

Meerab felt her cheeks flush, the heat creeping up her neck like a wildfire. She glanced at Murtasim, who remained stoic, his eyes focused on his plate. "It was... fine," she managed to murmur, her voice barely audible.

Mariam's giggle filled the room, light and airy, like the first notes of a symphony. "Fine?" she echoed, her eyebrows arching in mock surprise. "Surely, there's more to tell than just 'fine'!"

Salma chuckled, her eyes warm with affection. "Leave the poor girl alone, Mariam," she chided gently. "Let them find their footing."

The conversation turned to lighter topics, the tension easing slightly as they discussed the wedding festivities. Mariam regaled them with tales of the cousins' antics, her laughter infectious. Meerab found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since the wedding, the teasing banter a welcome distraction from the heaviness that had settled in her heart.

As breakfast drew to a close, Murtasim rose from the table, his expression unreadable. "I have to go to the office," he said, his voice a low rumble. Meerab nodded, her throat tight with a mix of relief and disappointment. At least she wouldn't have to navigate the minefield of their new relationship just yet.

Mariam kissed them both on the cheek before leaving for college, her backpack slung over one shoulder. "See you guys later," she called over her shoulder, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

With the house now eerily quiet, Meerab felt the weight of her solitude pressing down on her. She knew she couldn't sit around and mope, so she decided to busy herself with a task that always brought her comfort: baking. Brownies, she decided, the rich, chocolatey scent filling her mind with nostalgic comfort.

The kitchen was a gleaming bastion of marble and chrome, the pantry stocked with ingredients. She rummaged through the shelves, her eyes scanning the labels with a practiced ease. As she gathered the sugar, eggs, and chocolate, she couldn't help but think back to her last conversation with her father.

The memory was as vivid as if it had occurred only moments ago. The disappointment in his eyes had been like a knife to her soul. "But Baba," she had pleaded, her voice trembling. "I don't love Murtasim. How can I marry him?"

Anwar's expression had hardened. "You will marry him," he had said, his tone brooking no argument. "It was your uncle's last wish, and it is your duty to uphold the honor of our family."

The words had stung, leaving a bruise on her spirit that hadn't fully healed. Yet, as she cracked eggs into the mixing bowl, she found a strange comfort in the rhythm of the task. Perhaps this marriage wasn't about love, but it was about family, about the legacy that had been built over generations.

With the batter ready, she slid the tray into the oven, the warmth enveloping her as the sweet scent of baking chocolate began to fill the room. As she waited for the brownies to bake, her thoughts drifted back to her own mother, who had always told her that love grew from friendship and respect.

Maybe, she thought, as she set the timer and leaned against the cool counter, that was what she could build with Murtasim. A partnership of mutual understanding and care, one that could fill the void left by the love she had never received.

The timer dinged, jolting her out of her musings. She pulled the brownies out of the oven, the warmth radiating from the pan like a cozy embrace. As she allowed them to cool, she felt a determination settle in her chest. This was her home now, and she would find a way to make it her own.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activities, Meerab throwing herself into learning the intricacies of managing the mansion. The house was a sprawling maze of corridors and rooms, each filled with history and stories she hadn't yet heard. As she explored, she couldn't help but feel the ghosts of past loves and laughter haunting the walls.

••••••••••••••••••••••••

When evening fell, she found Murtasim in his study, the room a sanctuary of leather-bound books and dark mahogany. He looked up as she entered, his eyes weary but his smile genuine. "How was your first day as the khani of the house?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Meerab shrugged, her hands clutching the plate of still-warm brownies. "It was...different," she admitted. "But I managed to bake these."

Murtasim's eyes lit up at the sight of the chocolatey treats. "Let me guess," he said with a smirk. "You bake when you're stressed?"

"Or happy," she countered, a small smile playing on her lips. "But today was more about finding comfort."

He took a bite, his eyes closing in appreciation. "They're amazing."

The tension between them eased, and they shared a quiet moment, the only sound the crunch of the crispy edges and the soft sighs of contentment.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••