Unveiling Meerab [Tere Bin FF]

6. the gift of giving

As the sun rose in the morning sky, Meerab found herself observing Murtasim from the corner of their bedroom, her back resting against the cool teak of the headboard. He stood in front of the mirror, clad in a crisp white dress-shirt, meticulously brushing his hair with an attention to detail that was both surprising and endearing. His deep-set, brown eyes, always thoughtful and brooding, were now softened in the daylight and the relative peace they found themselves in after the tumult of the past days.

His face, carved in perfect angles and lines, was too handsome for his own good, Meerab thought. And that thought, so simple in its admittance, caught her off guard. She had worked hard to push down these unwelcome stirrings, to banish any notion of physical attraction towards him. But there was no denying it now. The thought, once born in he early teenage years, had been impossible to put down even when she tried her hardest, it was a useless endeavour now.

He reached for his perfume bottle, its silver cap glinting in the waning light. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he sprayed the familiar scent. A scent that Meerab knew only too well. The scent that lingered on his shirts and wafted into the room whenever he walked in. It was a scent she had breathed in when she had hugged him the previous night, the one she had savoured as he lay in bed beside her, a little closer every day, it was a scent she found comfort in. Even now, she could almost taste the woody fragrance in the air, wrapping itself around her like a memory.

Memories and emotions tangled in her mind, pulling at her resolve. Meerab remembered the tears she had seen in Murtasim's eyes the previous night, a sight that had shaken her to her core. She had always seen him as stoic, unflappable. To see him vulnerable had cracked her heart open, making her realize that perhaps they were not so different after all. Perhaps, Murtasim understood her loss, her fear of rejection, her yearning for acceptance. He too carried a similar burden, the pain of crushed dreams, the weight of unfulfilled desires.

But he dealt with things differently, saw the world through a different lens. Where she saw walls closing in, he saw traditions to uphold. Where she saw stifling obedience, he saw familial duty. Yet, beneath the surface, they shared the same struggle, the same yearning for freedom they hadn't been granted. He seemed to have made peace with it, trying to find happiness in the life he had been dealt rather than the life he wanted, perhaps she too needed to do that.

She watched as Murtasim's eyes finally flickered down towards the dressing table, his hand stopping midway as he brushed his dark, well-kept beard. His brow furrowed, his gaze locking onto a dark box that sat undisturbed amidst his orderly grooming essentials, one she had placed there, hoping he'd notice.

His eyes flickered up to hers through the mirror. A quick flash of his dark pupils that made her breath hitch. But she swiftly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in her phone, as though she hadn't been watching him for the past few minutes, her heart thudding, waiting for him to notice the box.

She watched from the corner of her eye as his large hand hesitantly extended to pick up the dark box. His fingers gingerly grazed the edges, his eyes still reflecting a question he wasn't voicing out loud.

"Is this for me?" He asked finally, his voice carrying a hint of awe and surprise. It softened her, made her stomach flutter.

"It has your name on it doesn't it?" She replied, a tinge of coyness evident in her voice. A part of her chastised herself for not simply handing him the gift, yet she couldn't shake off the embarrassment of just how often she found herself thinking about him, the fact that she had bought him a gift and the kebabs she had given him.

The small tag on the box had his name scrawled across it, written in her own hand. She remembered how peculiar it felt writing his name for the first time, marvelling at the intimacy of the act.