Qubool Hai (MeeraSim FF)

59 - Dugna

Meerab pulled the trigger of no return, causing a bullet to exit the nozzle and fly at the speed of light.

But she was barley beaten to the finish line as the thunderous crack of another bullet rippled through the air milliseconds before hers.

The bleak midnight darkened.

She heard the thud of someone falling, and her eyelids shut lightly so that not a wisp of light was received. In the despair of failure, Meerab began weeping with hopeless abandon. The acceptance settled within, that she had aimed for a human being, wanting to inflict pain. Nothing made coherent sense.

With Mir collapsing, Rohail blinked life into focus, pushing aside the rush of a near miss of death. He panted, thanking god above for allowing him to be spared by a fleeting moment.

With the earth shattering realisation that he was alive, Rohail reached down for the gun that he had previously tossed and his aim rapidly locked onto Mir.

Behind him, Murtasim pried the heavy door open further and rushed in, shouting with every gram of his being, ''Meeraabbbb?'' She had to be close, the other bullet shot was the giveaway.

Hidden, and still illusioned that she had failed, Meerab sobbed harder with the the euphonic voice in her imagination, thinking it was another desperate effort of her mind trying to console her through the trauma. A fearful sadness gripped her lungs, making every breath painful and shallow.

''Meerab baahar aao, it's me,'' Murtasim called out blindly again, taking tentative strides through the building, half running through the stale atmosphere in a quest to find her. (Meerab, come out.)

This time, it felt slightly more real, resonating deep within her conscience. ''Murtasim,'' she gasped lighly with the last remaining sparks of energy within, pulling her eyelids open to see the raw brick wall and the endless barrels. Meerab pushed herself up of the gritty concrete, barely balancing from the pain coursing through her body, all blurred by uncertainty.

''Come out Meerab,'' his voice blared out from his tight throat, searching the rows in which she could hide. His sight had never been so sharp before, like a hawk, hunting like his life depended on it. Despite how much they stung from the dryness. He could palpably feel her presence in the air, he went on, guided by the pulsing warmth. His messy steps sped up as he repeatedly chanted her name to prowl her closer.

He had really come to rescue her, she realised, causing the earth to slow.

''Main yahan hun,'' she bemoaned through a gush of free falling tears, an unstoppably wobbling chin winning over her. Barefoot, she ventured a couple heavy steps, that felt like a mountain hike, until she was out in the open, unveiling herself from hiding within the rows of barrels. (I am here.)

The sight before Murtasim knocked the air out of his lungs, as if he had been stampeded upon by an endless herd. His wife was dishevelled, her hair was messy, cheeks streaked with dried tears. Her chest visibly sank on every pained exasperation. The yellow dress she wore was shadowed into a mucky khaki from the trauma, from the dirt she had been encased in.

''Meerab,'' he breathed out in agony, eyes glinting in heartbreak as he ran to her with an unprecedented desperation.

He ran when he saw her ; not like a child in the fields. Like a man trying to salvage his home- to put out the blazing inferno, to mend the part of his heart which existed outside the cavity of his chest.

Awe-stricken, her skin paled in the realisation that Murtasim wasn't just a product of her fickle imagination but he was there in the flesh, holding her up right, not letting her posture slip.