Qubool Hai (MeeraSim FF)

39 - Vaada

Contains smut half way through

Murtasim remained standing with his hands tightly clasped behind his back as wisps of dust settled in Rohail's wake from hurriedly leaving, driving away from Nano's house to clear his mind. A tornado stormed within him, swirling his love, loyalty, norms, expectations and desires into smithereens, ushering him into a state of oblivion. His father was close behind.

The name 'Aliya' blared in Meerab's head and it felt like a tight slap, causing her to grit her teeth and stomp off upstairs.

He let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding, and was magnetically pulled behind her, wanting to settle atleast one whirlwind.

She slammed the bedroom door shut, but he entered anyways.

At the sound of the click, she asked, 'Ghar chalein?' Cold, distant. Her blood boiled inside her veins, causing her to wish she never spoke about her feelings- admitting her surrender to him. (Shall we go home?)

'Kya hua?,' Murtasim asked gently, trying to gauge her reaction, needing to evaluate the damage done by Rohail's loose tongue. In a haphazard attempt to strike Murtasim, Rohail had hurt his wife as collateral damage in their brief war. (What happened?)

'Kuch nahi,' she replied whilst busying herself in retrieving her suitcase and purse, picking up her scattered makeup and accessories. (Nothing.)

'Rohail ki baat dil pe na lou,' he advised cautiously, knowing she was wounded - and it was his fault. (Don't mind what Rohail said.)

At hearing that, she stood straight as a bamboo cane. 'Mujhey kya farak parega tumhari Aliya se?,' she replied as it was meant nothing to her, but the woe in her tone hinted otherwise. (Why would I be affected by your Aliya?)

That name felt wrong coming from her mouth, sinking him in his own ranks.

'Meri biwi ka naam Meerab hai,' he replied innocently, but it only pissed her off, scratched at her already inflamed heart. (My wife's name is Meerab.)

Her eyebrows raised, and he stepped in further, enjoying the way her arms folded haughtily. It was a defence mechanism against the irritation at the discovery of the girl's name, a sort of rigid armour to protect herself.

As a raise of white flag, he spoke candidly, 'I've always been open with you. I don't hide my sins from you Meerab. Mainey kabhi shareef banney ke kaushish nahi ke.' (I had never tried to act innocent.)

She scoffed, the room dulling as she played her cards. 'Shareef tou tum ho nahi,' she agreed in a jeer. (You are not innocent.)

Aptly, he pulled out the gun from his waistband, setting it on the bedside table with a clank, and then did the same with a cigarette packet from his blazer.

She looked him up and down at his act of nonchalance, and her hand twitched to slap him. 'Shayad aur bhi thi?,' she tested, her voice laced in disgust at the possibility - she wouldn't put it past him, the selfish, cunning man. (Maybe there were more of them?)

He winced mentally, heart contracting at the perception of him. No one else had the audacity to question his comings and goings, especially not during his student days in Karachi- alone in his house. He kept his deeds concealed from his the elders, or maybe they turned a blind eye.

'Ya sa sirf aik thi?,' she reasoned in a lilt of intrigue, her mind racing in wait of the answer, the vision of him with another nauseating her. (Or was it only one?)

He gulped, looking off to the side for the storm to pass. 'Aik,' he admitted as if it was painful. (One.)

She glared at him with contempt. 'Kitne gande hou,' she seethed. In a single step forward, the distance lessened and her hands came to push him backwards, making contact on his chest, but doing nothing to shift his mass. 'University mein?' (You are disgusting. In University?)