Ittefaq Say (MeeraSim FF)

38 - Waapis

Sat in the eden of Meerab's mausoleum of a home in Islamabad, Murtasim ruefully smiled at his wife that seemed so uncharacteristically sullen, giving away the turmoil within. Her orbs, usual portals of hope, seemed like the light source had been snatched away from her. The lunch selection was barley considered, failing to entice as Meerab grappled with a new future, one lacking his inherited treasure, the status forming his very essence; staying with him would be depriving him of luxury, Meerab thought.

Between them, admist the secrecy of the air that lingered, he mumbled in stubborn boyish claim, ''Ab tum meri amanat ho and I love you more.'' (Now you are mine for safe keeping.)

Meerab's entire body was blanketed in phantom sparkles of alchemy as if they remained in their own protected bubble, the knocks of reality threatening to shake life off it's anticipated course.

Contrary to his efforts to pacify the scene, Meerab's hands came to cup his jaw. Her sensetive palms grazed the expanse of his prickly stubble, lace teasing his chin as she tried to soften the blow. She too was adamant and could see the ironic unjustice playing out. ''Mujhe aise manzoor nahi hai. Dono he, zameen aur main, tumhari hai. I won't let this happen to you.'' She sniffed, her breaths tempting upon his face. ''Baba ke saamne haath jor lounge, vaada karlounge.'' Meerab sought other feasable options, digging for hope; he deserved unerring blind support after everything he had done for her, taking in a stray girl from a train. Murtasim had strived to raise her the Khaani of his home. (I don't accept this. Both, me and the lands, are yours. I will beg before baba, I will promise him.)

Disagreeing, Murtasim's nose scrunched as if to tell her that beseching for kindness would be futile. ''He thinks i'm not serious about you. Dikhate hai ke main kitna serious hun.'' Murtasim challenged with a zest persiting to his spirit. The empty tea cup clinked upon it's saucer and the sun rose to it's grand apex in preparation for the final showdown. (Let's show him how serious I am.)

''Murtasim, I know you're serious. I trust you with everything, poora ka poora yakeen hai tumpar.'' Her voice cracked. The soft breeze slid down the helter-skelter slide of her whimsical hair. So close, his iris' seemed to be painted in shades of matured and roasted espresso, each word swirling into her mind and sinking like a sugar cubes from the weight of their own sincerity; now she understood. The vacant space between them saturated with heaps of unadulterated yearning. (I have complete faith in you.)

''Don't be sad, Meero. Ghar chalte hai ab?'' His hands came to her elbows, lowering them as if the brief stay in the palatial Islamabad home was over, for good.

The endless blue sky watched above at the tension rose, the sheer scale of it testament to fate and destiny conspiring to pave their path — but they couldn't see it in that moment. ''Main tumhare Khaani hou. I can't let you do this.'' (I am your Khaani.)

''Meerab, no.'' The idea of her giving sacrifice was rejected so suddenly, ambushed without pause.

They were at opposite ends of the spectrum.

''Murtasim, I love you, tou aise kaise karne dou?'' Meerab was torn straight down the middle. (How shall I let you do this?)

She wanted him wholehearedly, to continue with their sweet morning routine of cuddling whilst still in each other's arms, throwing sly love-filled gazes at each other on the breakfast table before going about their day. Then, counting the minutes to reuniting and finally basking in the other's proximity, uttering fables about their day in an excuse to linger before getting lost in each other again throughout the night.

Murtasim gulped, being at ends with her and yet unmoved from her state of pity. ''It was my decision, my land and i've chosen you, no matter what.''

Her bottom lip wobbled. They were still newly married, yet facing the deep end of pitiless trials.