The tension in the large bedroom was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. It had been just a few days since Meerab and Murtasim's ill-fated marriage, a union that neither of them had wanted. Forced into it by their families, their relationship was the very definition of awkward. Childhood rivals turned spouses, their dynamic was a minefield of old grudges and new, uncomfortable realities.
The marriage had taken an even stranger turn when, just before the wedding, Meerab discovered that she wasn't Waqas Ahmed's daughter, but the daughter of Anwar Khan, making her Murtasim's first cousin. The revelation had left her reeling, and in a desperate bid to reclaim some control over her life, she had made Murtasim sign a contract forbidding him from consummating the marriage without her explicit consent. Murtasim had been equal parts furious and incredulous but had agreed, knowing he had little choice if the marriage was to go forward.
From the very first night, Meerab had made her stance clear. "You're sleeping on the couch," she had declared, pointing to the small, uncomfortable piece of furniture in the corner of the room. Murtasim had stared at her in disbelief, as if she'd just announced that she was moving to Mars. "Excuse me?" he'd asked, half expecting her to burst out laughing and tell him it was all a joke. But the joke, it turned out, was on him. After a few minutes of bickering that left him with no option, he had grudgingly made the couch his new bed, while she comfortably sprawled across the enormous bed, oblivious to his discomfort.
Days passed, and Murtasim found himself in an increasingly absurd situation. His irritation with his new wife was slowly morphing into something else, something much more complicated and frustrating. He found himself noticing things-how her hair glistened in the sunlight, the way her eyes sparkled when she was angry, and most annoyingly, how her presence seemed to mess with his usually well-controlled composure.
But Meerab? She was as indifferent as ever, completely oblivious to the effect she was having on him. And that made things even worse.
One particularly disastrous day, they found themselves in a heated argument about Haya, their overly meddlesome cousin who seemed to have taken it upon herself to disrupt their already fragile marriage. Haya's obsession with Murtasim was no secret, and Meerab had had enough. As they argued, Meerab grew more and more animated, her voice rising, her face flushing, her chest heaving as she tried to make her point. Murtasim, initially irritated, suddenly found himself in a very precarious situation. His eyes dropped, just for a second, to the way her kameez clung to her body, the hint of her cleavage visible in the low neckline.
His mind betrayed him before he could even try to stop it. He felt the flush of heat spread through his body, and before he knew it, he was standing there, horribly aware of the very physical reaction that was growing more difficult to ignore. He shifted, trying to hide it, but Meerab, sharp-eyed as ever, noticed his sudden change in demeanor.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion. She crossed her arms, inadvertently pushing her chest up further, making Murtasim's predicament even worse.
"Nothing!" he blurted out, but in his haste to escape her scrutiny, he miscalculated his step and stubbed his toe hard against the bedpost. "Ow, dammit!" he yelped, hopping on one foot.
Meerab's irritation momentarily shifted to concern as she moved closer, her anger forgotten in her rush to check if he was okay. "Let me see," she said, kneeling to inspect his foot. But her proximity was the last thing Murtasim needed at that moment. The smell of her hair, the way her hands gently touched his foot-everything was a perfect storm for his already strained composure.
His predicament reached a peak as she continued to lean in closer, her concern unflagging. He let out a low, involuntary moan-a sound that should have been reserved for a much more private moment.
Meerab froze. For a second, it seemed like time itself had stopped. Then, as if in slow motion, her gaze traveled down to where his hand was awkwardly placed, attempting to cover the very obvious problem. Her eyes widened in shock. Her mouth fell open. And then, as if the universe had decided to kick him while he was down, her eyes met his, filled with equal parts disbelief and horror.
"Are you...?" She didn't even finish the sentence, her mind too busy processing the situation.
Murtasim's face burned with the heat of a thousand suns as he tried to salvage what was left of his dignity. He grabbed a pillow from the bed, desperately trying to cover himself, mumbling something about how this wasn't what it looked like, but his voice betrayed him.
Just then, as if things couldn't possibly get worse, Maa Begum and Haya burst into the room. "Murtasim! Beta, tum theek ho? Tumhare chillane ki awaz aayi," Maa Begum called out, her face a mix of motherly concern and stern authority. Haya, of course, was right behind her, her face glowing with concern, or maybe anticipation.
Murtasim nearly died on the spot as the pillow he had hastily grabbed slipped from his grasp, landing on the floor. There, standing at the door, was his mother and Haya, both staring at the exact thing he had been trying to hide.
Maa Begum's expression turned to one of utter mortification, her eyes widening before she turned her gaze sharply away. "Tum dono yeh sab kaam kamra band karke kiya karo...aise darwaza khol kar... Tauba tauba," she muttered, her voice a mix of shock and reproach. She turned on her heel, hurrying out of the room as if the very air was tainted.
Haya, on the other hand, stood frozen, her face draining of color as her eyes darted between Meerab and Murtasim. Her expression was a combination of betrayal, anger, and heartbreak-her tears welled up, and then, without another word, she turned and bolted from the room, her sobs echoing through the hallway.
The door clicked shut, leaving Meerab and Murtasim alone in the aftermath of the most embarrassing moment of his life. Meerab's face was a study in disbelief, her earlier concern completely vanished as she stared at him as if he had sprouted a second head.
"Is this... are you serious?" she asked, her voice somewhere between incredulity and fury.
Murtasim opened his mouth to respond, to explain, to say anything that might make this less humiliating, but no words came out. Instead, he just stood there, his face flaming, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
In a fit of exasperation, Meerab grabbed the nearest pillow-the very same one that had betrayed him-and threw it at him with surprising accuracy. "Tum couch par sone ke hi layak ho....ayinda mere kareeb aaye toh main tumhe chhodungi nahi...bagairat insaan!" she spat, her words laced with venom.
The pillow smacked him right in the face, leaving him with the twin sensations of embarrassment and physical discomfort. She flipped her hair with a dramatic flourish and stormed out of the room, her anger practically crackling in the air around her.
"Meerab, ruko... please meri baat toh suno... Meerab!" Murtasim called after her, his voice tinged with desperation. But she was gone, leaving him alone in the room to nurse his wounded pride.
He sank down on the bed, burying his face in his hands. The humiliation of it all was too much to bear. He could only imagine the looks he'd get at dinner, the awkwardness that would fill every silent moment. It was going to be the most painfully mortifying meal of his life, and he was already dreading every second of it.
I hope you enjoyed this one-shot! Please leave a comment to let me know what you think. I'm open to requests for future stories.
