How differently could things have turned out after Waqas Ahmed had stormed into Khan Haveli and shown each and every member of the Khan's the mirror whilst clearing the smears of shame on Meerab's character?
How differently could things have been fo...
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And how he had devastated her. It was the stuff of legendary tragedies. On the precipice of love and marital joy, finally after a mental and emotional battle of what seemed like a lifetime, with her fragilely accepted and not even yet voiced mohabbat, Meerab had stood precariously on an edge and instead of being pulled into the safe, enveloping arms of that mohabbat, she had been pushed mercilessly over that edge and into hell.
Black, burning hell.
She was burning. Her entire being was in flames. It was the only she could describe herself at that moment. Breathing was hard, watching was death and shedding a tragic tear was involuntary.
Her mouth was shaking involuntary, like the little muscle couldnt stop the convulsions and her eyes got darker and draker with anguish as she watched them spring apart and Murtasim started speaking.
"Meerab..." A sputtering silence. "Mujhe laga tum..."
His words went in but seemed to bounce around the carnage in her head.
She had done it. Haya had finally taken Murtasim away from her. She had done what she had said she would do. She had gotten her Murtasim. What a poetic tragedy. There had been a when Meerab had taunted Haya to gladly take Murtasim off her hands whenever she herself was free of him. Now, when that same Murtasim had built an entire empire of love over her unsuspecting heart, and she had tentatively stepped foot inside that empire willingly, the empire had been torched with one single moment and was now burning wildly. A hallow, charred version of its former majesty.
Haya and Murtasim.
Murtasim and Haya.
Murtasim turned to Haya and growled out a menaching "Tumne kiya hai ye sab?" and Meerab watched numbly.
She was sure she would die. Right there on the threshold of the bedroom she had shared with Murtasim and the same room where she had just found him in the arms of another woman who claimed to be madly in love with him. She would die because there was no way she could fight the pain this time. It had come too quickly and too potently and from a blind spot and it had burned devastation across her entire existence. That blind spot had been Murtasim; the one part of her life she had actually never questioned or measured. Despite all her fleeting anger and petulance at Haya's antics, Meerab had never, ever questioned Murtasim's intentions. He was hers. It had been surprising and had taken a while to accept and she still, to this day didn't know how he had fallen in love with her so spectacularly despite her attitude towards him, but he said he had and it had become a cornerstone of Meerab's shaky life. An undeniable fact, a non tangible but real entity to measure everything else by, a safe place to retreat and a knowledge so emboldening that she had walked around this house and every haveli belonging to him with her head held high and an unshakeble authority in her step. It had been her armour. And the thing about one's armour being taken away mid battle was that suddenly, death was eminent as your previously shielded self was now ripped to shreds by the blows raining down from the enemy.
