I was in the process of writing pmht, and they dropped the workout reel😭 don't blame me. Blame wahaj.
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Meerab Waqas Ahmed had always hated Murtasim Khan, but there was something about him she couldn't ignore. His eyes were always on her, and after she rejected the proposal, she felt the tension escalate. The way he would walk, the huskiness of his voice, and his eyes on her. Her eyes would involuntarily fall on him, and when he would realise, she would turn it into a glare. She didn't say much, although they were enemies, Meerab was living in his house because her biological father, Anwar, suddenly wanted her back. Her parents refused to take her in. She had no choice but to live in Maa Begum's house before she would ignore Murtasim Khan. Now she couldn't help but steal glances of him, and their eyes would always meet.
She had no interest in him. He was a male chavunist, but at the dinner table, their hands would touch when they reached for the kettle, and she would want to keep the hands there.
Meerab couldn't deny the confusing mix of emotions stirring within her. She prided herself on being independent and strong-willed, yet there was something about Murtasim that unnerved her. It wasn't just his presence; it was the way he carried himself with an unspoken authority that both irritated and intrigued her.
At night, when the house was quiet and everyone had retired to their rooms, Meerab found herself replaying their interactions in her mind. She would berate herself for even giving him a second thought.
"Murtasim Khan of all people, really Meerab?"
He was everything she stood against-traditional, controlling, and maddeningly self-assured.
One evening, after another tense dinner where their hands had brushed yet again, Meerab found herself wandering the grounds of the estate, hoping the fresh air would clear her head. She walked aimlessly until she reached the old gazebo, a place she had started to frequent when she needed to think.
To her surprise, Murtasim was already there, leaning against one of the wooden pillars. He looked up as she approached, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Meerab hesitated, then shook her head. "Needed some air."
Murtasim nodded, not pressing further. They stood in silence for a while, the tension between them palpable. Finally, Meerab couldn't take it anymore.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she demanded, her frustration bubbling over.
Murtasim's eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something-vulnerability, perhaps?-before his usual mask of indifference slipped back into place.
"Maybe because I see something in you that you refuse to see in yourself," he said quietly.
Meerab felt her breath catch. She wasn't sure what to say to that, so she turned on her heel and walked away, her heart pounding in her chest.
As she lay in bed that night, her thoughts a tangled mess, Meerab realized that her life had become infinitely more complicated since Murtasim Khan had walked into it. And despite her best efforts to deny it, she couldn't help but wonder what it would take to unravel the enigma that was Murtasim.
Living under the same roof made it impossible to avoid him. She would hear his voice in the hallway, deep and commanding, issuing orders to the servants or talking in low tones with Maa Begum. Each time their paths crossed, her pulse quickened despite her efforts to remain indifferent.
One evening, after an especially tense dinner where their hands had brushed more than once, Meerab found herself alone in the garden. She needed the fresh air to clear her head and escape the suffocating proximity to Murtasim. The cool breeze did little to calm her nerves, though, and she was startled when she heard footsteps behind her.
