Unveiling Meerab [Tere Bin FF]

26. the price of obsession

A/N: Merry Christmas y'all! Thank you y'all for all the love for the last chapter as we wrapped up the Rumi-Qalandar-Mansoor dialogue! On to the next one (over 10K words!), where hopefully your worries about the honeymoon will be assuaged!

----------------------------------------------------

As Murtasim lunged towards Meerab, time seemed to fracture, each second stretching into an eternity. His world shrank to the sight of her crumpled form on the cold ground, the vibrant woman he loved looking too still, too vulnerable. The raw terror that gripped him was a force more potent than any he had ever known, a visceral panic that clawed at his insides and threatened to overwhelm him. But even in the throes of his fear, Murtasim's instincts remained sharp, honed by years of facing danger but never like this, never so personal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zubair, wounded but not yet defeated, clutching the gun that had skidded across the floor during the earlier scuffle. The realization hit Murtasim like a physical blow - Zubair had shot Meerab. The man's face twisted in pain and rage, his finger trembling on the trigger, ready to cause more destruction.

Without a moment's hesitation, Murtasim's hand flew to his own weapon. In a swift, reflexive motion borne of countless hours of training and too many battles, he picked up his gun and aimed. His arm was steady, his focus absolute. The sound of gunfire echoed once more through the warehouse, a final, resolute note that resonated in the vast space. The bullet found its mark with lethal precision in Zubair's chest. The man's eyes widened in shock, his body jerking once before going limp, the threat he posed extinguished in an instant.

Silence fell, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the ragged breaths of the living and the soft groans of the wounded. Murtasim barely registered it; his entire being was focused on Meerab.

He rushed to her side, his movements a blur of speed and desperation. Falling to his knees beside her, he gently lifted her head, cradling it in his trembling hands. "Meerab!" he yelled, his voice a raw mix of fear and desperation, the sound tearing from his throat. "Meerab, look at me!" His plea echoed off the walls, a haunting refrain filled with unspeakable dread.

Her eyes remained closed, her face pale and still, and for a heart-stopping moment, Murtasim felt the cold touch of despair. He shook her gently, his voice breaking as he called her name again and again, willing her to respond, to give him any sign that the light he loved hadn't been extinguished.

As Murtasim hovered over Meerab, the stark reality of her bloodied arm and the unnatural pallor of her skin struck him with the force of a physical blow. The visceral fear of losing her, of a future suddenly darkened by her absence, caused a sharp pain to ripple through his chest. Tears, a rare occurrence for a man so accustomed to control and strength, welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision and spilling over, trailing down his dirt-streaked face. Each droplet mirrored the chaos of emotions within him — fear, desperation, love, all intertwined in a tumultuous storm.

"Please, open your eyes," he whispered, the plea soft and broken, a stark contrast to the man who had just exacted vengeance on her assailant. His fingers trembled as they brushed her cheek, smeared with the dust and grime of their ordeal, yet so achingly familiar.

Then, as if in answer to his silent prayers, her eyelids fluttered, a weak but determined movement. Slowly, painstakingly, her eyes opened, meeting his gaze. They shone with pain, a clear testament to her ordeal, but beneath that, there was an undeniable strength, a resilience that had always been a part of her. "I'm fine," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, yet each word was a balm to Murtasim's frayed nerves. "It's just my arm."

Saim's voice, steady and reassuring, cut through the tense air, grounding Murtasim back to the present. "It just grazed her, the bullet is lodged in the wall." Murtasim's gaze darted to her arm, taking in the torn fabric, the blood that seemed too bright against her skin, and then to the wall where Saim pointed. There it was, the bullet, its path altered by mere inches — inches that had made all the difference.