Muhafiz-E-Khan (Tere Bin MeeraSim FF)

4 - Zafran

Swiftly, Murtasim was shown to the smaller outbuilding, which was still generous. Inside, he met Khateeb- the guard that Anwar had mentioned. He could tell that Khateeb had already been debriefed on his role and the birthday party fiasco, from the nod of fellowship.

''Salaam,'' he welcomed, voice deep and matured. He was perhaps 35, but appeared older from the texture of his skin, homage to hours wasted away under the sun. (Welcome.)

The annex had an open planing living area, and 3 bedrooms above. It provided more than enough space for his non-existent belongings. It was modern and practical, with cloudy walls and large windows facing the internal garden.

Just over small talk, Murtasim found the man to be short in height but with a fox like sharpness, from both his demeanour and words- the meaning of every letter found in it's shadow. He was to the point and professional, and Murtasim liked the idea of him being the house's guard.

No time was wasted before he was provided with a brief tour around the hefty premise, shown the doors, access points and security system. The camera's were sensor activated, he learnt, providing an alert on human movement. The cars had trackers embedded to the base, identified on their system.

On walking around, he found an internal gym to the rear, fully equipped with weights and machinery for their use. The external of the building was studded with cameras, but not the side corridor, he silently noted. To the front was a large balcony with overspilling invy vines that over looked the grassy area, and be supposed that it was only fitting for Meerab to be the owner of that adjoining room.

It was just as they passed the stairs when Khateeb paused to inform, ''Humein upar jaane ki ijaazat nahi hai.'' He drew a thick red line. (We are not permitted to go upstairs.)

Murtasim nodded solemnly and neither did he have any intention to pass the threshold. ''Of course, zaroorat koyi nahi hai,'' he added in agreement. Still, even at the bottom of the stairs, he could feel the heat emanating from her, as if there was a single stud wall to veil her fiery gaze. (There isn't any need to go upstairs either.)

''3 betiyan hai iss ghar me, tou is havale se dhyaan rakhna hai,'' Khateeb explained with a seriousness, and Murtasim humm'ed in understanding. There was recognition that he had been given a position of responsibility. Despite how much he despised them, he had been entrusted with a duty over her. Besides, there was a buried corner of his heart that knew that she was not like her father. (There are 3 girls in this house, so we must be conscious of their privacy.)

After that, Murtasim drank scorching tea in the cosy annexe, and she remain hiding away in the safe confines of her room, away from his interrogating glances. Then they delved deeper, and Khateeb introduced him to a trove of guns, several long snipers lay in neat cases for him to survey. There was a couple smaller guns too, glossy steel - polished to perfection on the table.

His tired hand languidly dragged over the sleek, thick barrel of the gun that was placed on the coffee table before him. He hate to admit how the novelty was lost on him, not galvanised by the sight of the treasure anymore. ''Mashallah, Anwar tou jang-e-azeem ke liye taiyaar hai,'' he said as an expression-less compliment, still eliciting a prideful chuckle from Khateeb. (Wow, Anwar is prepared for world war 3.)

Whether they had need for such a selection of weapons was unknown, or if it was just for show, to boost their ego. ''Haan, Khanon ke beti hai, tou intezamat tou laazmi hai,'' Khateeb added, as if it was an ordinary ordeal. (Yes. She's Khan's daughter, so we ought to be prepared.)

Khan ki nawabzadi, his mind whispered. Meerab...Within sight but barely out of touch, the ghost of her presence had always lingered. It felt like her eyebrows unremittingly knotted at him, a bitterness festering from an eon ago that encircled them whenever they remained in the same enclosed space for too long.