Qubool Hai (MeeraSim FF)

57 - Kirchee

The darkness gathered outside made the entire scene more scary, like she had been taken to the place that Murtasim would least likely search for her in - his own vast and endless land, amongst a hidden distillery that was abandoned for the night.

It felt like time ticked slowly, her entire body buzzed in fear, and yet every beat of her heart called out for him as if he could hear the inaudible thumps, singing Murtasim, Murtasim, Murtasim like a mantra for salvation. It was like a prayer, wanting to resonate in his unconsciousness despite however far away.

Mir simply lifted a single eyebrow, sending his men to survey the outside of the building, the long snipers strapped to their bodies, ready for action.

''Rohail acha tharra banata hai,'' Mir remarked whilst taking a swig of the freshly brewed drink to take the edge off as he watched her struggle against the ropes on her wrist, slightly too tight. (Rohail makes good beer.)

They were alone and he was leisurely leaned back onto the chair, the sleeves of his kameez folded back neatly uptil his elbows - out of the way for business.

The pulling had made the skin agitated and sore, glowing in a shade of hot red and stinging, it dug into her skin which has never been accustomed to such harshness, the rough and scratchy fibres wearing away at het skin without a care for her being Khaani, such to leave a mark, evidence of her stay at the brewery.

''Pata nahi, maine kabhi nahi pee,'' Meerab countered, trying to keep her breathing even and calm, pushing aside the trepidation which began to impale her heart. (I don't know, I've never had it.)

Although she hadn't tasted it, the smell was a haunting reminder of what went on beneath the surface. The yellowish light made her skin crawl, it was dusty, punching her pristine skin.

''I heard Murtasim takes you to the fields often, so why not here,'' Mir mocked her, looking at the paleness on her skin from being so out of place, the way her defined jaw clenches from being so overpowered and agitated. It caused the confidence in him to flair, part one of his plan had been accomplished and was on track to luring Rohail back out of hiding.

''Aurat ko izzat se rakhna tumhe kahan aata hoga,'' she replied, looking her at her hand- they looked dry from the dirty air. It was degrading and her barefoot on concrete felt rough, cold and unforgiving. A part of her wanted to cry from being so helpless, but it wouldn't help the cause - it wasn't what Murtasim would do. (I wouldn't expect you to know about allowing a woman to live respectably.)

''Bakwas band karo Meerab,'' he cut off he warned- it felt like they were young again where he didn't appreciate her mouth running against his behaviour, always haughty and self righteous. (Shut up.)

From as long as he knew her in their childhood, she had always had an overactive mouth, prying into the personal life of their staff, over listening to her father's meetings with an relentless need to know and intervene, as if the moral compass of the world had been divinely bestowed into lay her hand. And now, when Rohail had been running circles around the Malik's, she had been silent - she was a hypocrite.

''My khusse fell off on the way here,'' she informed, hinting that she wanted them back. She was looking down past the long sunflower dyed dress, but down it was marred in streaks of mud and creased from being squashed between the unknown men - men he trusted to commit treason against the Maliks. Peaking out beneath were her pale feet, naked against the stoic backdrop of pebbly grey.

''You're not going to run, so you don't need them,'' Mir swiftly replied without an ounce of empathy, causing her to pull her feet back to find solace under the lengths of fabric. Recoiling on herself felt safer, knowing that both Rohail and Murtasim were on their way, when he would realise- the issue is that concern would take a while from Mariyum aiding their short excursion, which got dragged out longer than necessary.