Dhaagey: The Ties that Bind Us

12. in your arms

Trigger Warning: Trafficking-related concepts discussed (not detailed) in the first section of this chapter (much like previous chapters); although it might be triggering to some especially in light of the current happenings in the show.

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Murtasim sat restlessly on the sofa in his room, the afternoon sun lighting up the room, in stark contrast to how he felt inside.

His body slouched forward, his face buried in his hands. His mind was a swirling chaos, replaying the horrifying scenes he had witnessed hours ago.

The images haunted him—the photographs of countless women, their faces etched with despair, their bodies reduced to mere commodities, cruelly labeled and priced like objects for sale.

A warehouse filled with women and young girls, the pungent stench of sweat and tears lingering in the air, yet even the cramped confined quarters were grim reminder that the women and girls in that space would endure a lot worse.

It was the piercing cries that pierced through Murtasim's soul, the anguished wails of young girls seeking solace in the embrace of their elder counterparts. Some of them mere children, robbed of their innocence and thrust into a sinister world they never deserved.

He couldn't stop thinking about it, even hours later.

Murtasim felt Meerab's watchful gaze upon him, sensing her gentle approach, she had been walking on eggshells around him since his return, likely realizing from his demeanour and that of Armaan and Hamza, that they needed some time to process things.

As she stood before him, her voice carried a soft tremor, whispering his name with boundless concern.

Murtasim lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers, revealing the weight of his torment. Her presence was a balm to his wounded spirit, and he could feel the warmth of her love enveloping him as she glanced down at him, eyes clouded with worry.

She could have been one of them, he thought, his heart constricting with the realization. If those monsters had succeeded in their sinister plot, if she hadn't fought for herself, if he hadn't found her when he did, she would have been thrown into their dark clutches.

Murtasim knew his Meerab well enough to recognize the fire that burned within her, the fierce determination that would have made her a beacon of resistance amidst the darkness. She would have become a leader, a target for the malevolence of the men who ran the ring, just like the older girls with their bruised faces and tattered clothes, their haunted eyes silently conveying tales of unspeakable horrors they had faced.

A single tear escaped Murtasim's eye, tracing a path down his cheek. Sensing his anguish, Meerab positioned herself between his legs as she stood in front of him while he sat on the sofa, her delicate hands cradling his face, gently urging him to meet her gaze. Her touch was soothing, her fingers caressing his cheeks with tenderness.

The bruise on her face was suddenly insignificant in comparison to the nightmare that could have consumed her.

That was the thought that had made it much harder for him, that Meerab could be one of them, as they extracted information from one man after another, each link of the chain leading them closer to the truth. Each piece of intelligence led them to a makeshift ledger, devoid of names but marked by age and cryptic descriptions—a chilling auction catalog of human lives.

The weight of their purpose bore heavily upon their shoulders throughout the hours that passed, the weight of lives hanging in the balance.

Meerab's voice broke through the silence, her voice carrying a gentle undertone of understanding. "That bad, huh?" She asked, her words a lifeline in the darkness that consumed him.