Muhafiz-E-Khan (Tere Bin MeeraSim FF)

25 - Inkaar

Meerab stilled, at a loss for words to the fact that Irtaza had suspected them. The way he acted, carefree and unrestricted between the two never gave away that he knew. Irtaza behaved more like a bridge between them, an excuse for young Meerab and Murtasim to knock shoulders. The idea made Meerab short for breath, asking, ''You knew?'' She squinted, the tension in her face an equal mix of apprehension and disbelief.

Irtaza's head tilted as he mulled over the dynamic change, finding a new version of both of them that he barely recognised. Murtasim had filled out his frame, stubble darkened and so had his pupils with maturity. The once boy he played with was now a sentiniel for Meerab; brooding, astute and serious. Beyond that, Murtasim's crafty nature, that once aided their mischief, had been redirected and funnelled into innovating groundbreaking hardware and software. They had both changed and yet, at the breakfast table, they sat beside each other with the same calmness, with the same quietness that spoke of deep familiarity.

''I mean that was years ago and it was innocent, caring even. Now you're both grown. You're a student and he's your bodyguard.'' It seemed insignificant back then, but the potential for danger had transpired. Especially when Irtaza understood that Meerab played up, the same way she intrude upon the Sarfaraz' party and upstage the suitor was not baseless.

It wasn't innocent anymore.

Irtaza's one hand grabbed onto the mucky railing as they hit a rocky current, watching the tip of her nose tinge peachy — it was a visceral reaction to her double life threatening to unravel. ''So tell me — the brother that you used to share everything with— how is he with you?''

Meerab watched the glint of warmth in his eyes as he searched to read the girl he once knew but only penetrating rippling, shallow waters. Irtaza's had a slight shadow of mauve beneath his eyes, testament to being overworked and yet he smiled with brotherly affection, waiting to be indulged.

But Meerab recoiled vigilantly, feigning surprise as his concerned probing, ''Aise kyun pooch raho ho? Do you think I can't handle him?'' (Why are you asking me like this?)

Her defensive stance elicited a tut. ''I don't doubt your abilities to get your way, Meerab,'' Irtaza assured. ''He's cold with me, so I thought he is like that with you too. Maybe his baba coerced him into the role — he obviously has no need to follow you around,'' he trailed, unable to pinpoint Murtasim's presence and the emotions it evoked in him.

''His baba hasn't forced him, nor can he. Murtasim is amicable and professional and there's nothing to share,'' she rambled as if triggered and then stopped abruptly, trying not to be obvious. Meerab glanced at Irtaza again, trying to understand his perspective that deemed Murtasim as a childhood friend and then as a man that returned despite having no need, following her around like a puppy. She was puzzled. ''You think he seems cold towards me?''

''No, he's cold to me. That's why i'm asking how he is with you — you should be comfortable and feel safe, mera matlab tha,'' Irtaza explained between them, his tone caring and insightful. (That's what I meant.)

With a firm nod, Meerab exhaled the worry away. ''Koi shikayet nahi hai,'' Meerab confirmed, blocking him out. (I have no complaints.)

Irtaza nodded, satisfied. And then they both returned to look outwards, the cool open air cleansing. The waters were not turquoise but the still scenic, modern skyscrapers were mesmerising and grand. The moment was sweet but short and interrupted when Irtaza candidly remarked, ''Murtasim looked stressed when he walked away for that phone call.''