Kaabil

15. The decision

Meerab

The following day, I woke up to an empty bed. Murtasim's lingering scent engulfed my nostrils as I sniffed his pillow. My grin maxed, remembering our night. It was so unique and serene to lie half-naked beside my husband.

Sitting up, I could see my reflection in the mirror nailed to the wall across from the bed. Murtasim marked me a lot today. Besides the obvious, I felt satisfied and content.

I am not sure what's between us.

Is it pure attraction or pity?

His eyes show his guilt and efforts to move past his horrific memories. I wish the same for him. Yet, my own emotions betray me. I feel like I am cheating on Murastim by using him as an excuse to ignore my problem.

I'm choosing to ignore my issues with my family. And Murtasim is the sole reason for that.

In this past month, he has been there for me. Even before we were legally tied, he made efforts. Maybe I am not doing enough. I sincerely want our relationship to work. I want us to be able to express our insecurities. But I am wishing for something that is not possible.

Yet.

***

I was walking to the dining room when someone stopped in my tracks. I grimaced. "Haya, I was wondering when you would show another tactic. Did Murtasim not eat the breakfast you made?"

She rolled her eyes. "Meerab, you are being too ignorant for no apparent reason."

I snorted, "I am his wife. I have all the reasons to be ignorant or prideful for all that matter."

Haya took a step closer, chin up, trying to match my height. It was a good show. Brownie points to her.

"Meerab, I know there is nothing physical between you and Murtasim. He still loves me. Okay. Back off."

I sighed, annoyed, and moved my shawl and dupatta away, exposing my neck. I am glad I didn't choose to conceal the marks. I planned to tease Murtasim later with them. However, letting a third person know about our bedroom activities felt different. "Do I explain what these are?"

I warned her yesterday as well. But she is one heck of a stubborn person.

Haya's eyes flashed from my purple-tinted neck to my face. She shook her head violently—the denial mood.

Seeing Haya shaking on the verge of crying should've brought a satisfactory response. Instead, my heart ached for her. I reached out for her, but she slammed my hand away.

"Stay away. You took Murtasim away from me. He was mine. No. He is mine. He loves me." She rambled on.

Her steps waivered, and she fell back. I immediately scooped my arm under her head. She had trouble breathing, longing, and gasping for air.

Of course, I was familiar with these feelings. Like all the doors are closing down on me. There is always a massive lump in my throat begging for me to swallow it. I choke on my saliva. My vision gets blurry, and my body starts shaking.

For once, I saw what my parents saw every time it happened. Witnessing Haya going through the same misery I often find myself in caused tears to form in my eyes.

"Murtasim," I yelled as loud as I could.

Within a few seconds, he came running inside. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"His eyes darted from me to Haya, trembling in my lap.

"Bakhtu, get the car," he yelled as well. Murtasim picked Haya from my lap and ran outside. I followed him and grabbed a shawl for her.

I sat in the back with a very unconscious Haya, covering her with a shawl. Murtasim sat beside Bakhtu, who was behind the steering wheel.