Qubool Hai (MeeraSim FF)

37 - Kaushish

They made use of the taps outside the warehouse to wash their hands clean, splashing some water onto their faces too. Luckily, there were some towels near by, which they ringed out and used to clean themselves up a little before walking to the car- hand in hand.

The atmosphere felt thick in the enclosed vehicle as Murtasim teetered between guilt and bliss. There was a part of him that hoped that he had claimed his wife in the softness of their bed, not fuelled by anger, fizzling into desire. With that idea, the words of, 'I'm sorry,' escaped him.

Meerab's head snapped towards him. 'Kyun?' She asked in amusement, the radiance of fulfilment emanated from her face. (What for?)

'Aisay nahi hona chahiye tha,' he admitted, his words were sober now, looking out onto the darkening road ahead- illuminated soley by the car's headlights. (This shouldn't have happened this way.)

'In my husband's arms, and with cuddles afterwards....' she trailed. It seemed like he had unlocked a new Meerab -caring about the end, more than the means.

'And the words before?,' he deadpanned, his voice subtly carrying the heaviness of remorse.

She winced, barely remembering the words which had been uttered in the heat of the moment. There was a string of insults, gheen aarhi hai, zulm karta ho? Jahil? 'Gussa aya hua tha tumpe kyun kay tumne awaaz uthayi thi,' she admitted in a more reserved tone. 'Tumhari harkatein dekh kar shock mei the.' (I was angry at you for your actions.)

'Kyun? Tumhein nahi patta kay tumhare khaandan ke mard bhe aisay hai?,' he asked with genuine intrigue. He had always assumed that she had heard whispers at-least, gossip about the way men treated their traitors. They were forced to enforce authority- or retire to anarchy. (Why? Don't you know the men in your family are the same?)

'Nahi tou,' she rejected without pause. She had never seen such a thing. She had been in London for the past 4 years, and coddled inside their family home before that, with a silver spoon in her mouth since birth. News of such barbarous activities had never reached her pure ears- only of Mir's roughness within their family home. (No)

'Mere baba tou aisay nahi te,' she corrected as her head leaned into into the cool leather head rest, tilting towards him with a gravitation pull. Her Murtasim seemed quite 'manly' now, as though she had a new found respect for him for delivering that sexual gratification. After entrusting herself to him, he didn't let her down- the softness of his lap and encircling arms had smoothed over any initial roughness. (My father wasn't like that.)

'Aisay he hai- the ... tumhare baba,' he corrected nonchalantly, enlightening her to her own reality. (He is like this- was like this.)

The vision of her father was tarnished slightly- she had never seen Malik Waqas' knuckles to be bruised, nor had he even raised his voice at her. She was his little princess, guarded within the 4 walls of their house. After all, that's why she entered the marriage.... On her loving father's recommendation.

With that idea, Murtasim entertained himself when he remarked that, 'Wahan bhi kabhi spying karti, tou samaj ja ti kay gaddaron, choron, jhoot bolne walon ka yahi sila hota hai.' He relayed as if it was the most mundane, natural outcome for such an crime in his world. (Had you spyed on them, then you would've known that they treat the traitors, thieves and liars the same way.)

She had heard stories of Mir though- and could appreciate that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree- so she believed Malik Mukhtar had a harsh streak in him. But she came to accept the fact that there would always be a corner of doubt in her heart that her father could do such a thing though- he was too lovely for such an act, she told herself in denial.

'Kaash, wahan bhi aik Haider hota mujhey rasta dikhane kay liye,' she replied sarcastically, but Murtasim was unamused at the idea. (I wish I had someone like Haider there to guide my way back then too.)