Dinner at the Khan household was always a formal affair, but tonight was anything but ordinary. Murtasim sat at the table, his mind replaying the earlier disaster in their bedroom, where his body had betrayed him in front of Meerab—and worse, his mother and Haya. He couldn’t look anyone in the eye, especially not Meerab, who had been avoiding him like the plague since that embarrassing incident. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, acutely aware of the awkwardness that hung in the air like a bad smell.
Maa Begum, seated at the head of the table, was oblivious to the charged atmosphere. Or rather, she was very much aware but decided to address it in her own blunt way. On her right were Meerab and Murtasim, sitting as far apart as possible without it being too obvious. On her left was Haya, who looked like she was about to either cry or throw up—or maybe both. Haya’s eyes burned holes into Meerab, her jealousy palpable as she seethed in silence.
Trying to break the tense silence, Maa Begum cleared her throat and said, “Dekho beta… Jo hua woh ek shaadi shuda zindagi ka ek ahem hissa hai… Aur mujhe khushi hai ki tum aur Meerab ek dusre ke saath khush ho…” She paused, her tone shifting to one of awkward disapproval. “Mujhe bhi apne pote ka muh dekhna hai.”
Murtasim, who had been pushing around the food on his plate to avoid any eye contact, felt his fork slip from his fingers and clatter onto the plate. Beside him, Meerab stiffened, her eyes widening in horror as Maa Begum’s words sank in. They exchanged a panicked glance, both too mortified to even think of correcting her.
Across the table, Haya looked like she was about to implode. Her face was a twisted mix of jealousy and misery as Maa Begum continued, blissfully unaware of the effect her words were having. “Bas ayinda dhyan rahe ki tum apne kamre ka darwaza band karke yeh sab karo.”
Meerab’s head whipped around to stare at Murtasim, who had suddenly developed an intense interest in the ceiling. She clenched her fists under the table, seething in silence. Murtasim, sensing the rising danger, tried to send her a pleading look, but it only earned him a sharper glare.
Haya, on the other hand, looked like she was going to lose it. Her eyes were practically shooting daggers at Meerab, and the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Finally, as if sensing the atmosphere had become too stifling even for her, Maa Begum said, “Haan, khana to khatam karo.” The awkwardness lingered, but everyone dutifully returned to their plates, though no one seemed particularly hungry.
When the torturous dinner finally ended, Meerab was the first to bolt from the table, marching back to the bedroom with Murtasim trailing helplessly behind her. The moment they were inside, she whirled around, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and embarrassment.
“Aise kaam darwaze band karke karo!” she mimicked Maa Begum’s voice, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Koi unko bhi samjhao ki bina knock kare kisi ke kamre mein aise hi ghuste nahi aate! Aur tumhari woh pyari si cousin… woh mujhe aise dekh rahi thi jaise mano khaa jayegi!” She huffed, crossing her arms as she glared at Murtasim.
“Meerab yaar… Tum shant ho jao,” Murtasim began, trying to soothe her. “Main Maa Begum se baat karunga… Woh aage se iss baare mein kuch baat nahi karengi. Tum apna mood to theek karo, please?”
But Meerab wasn’t having it. Her eyes narrowed, clearly still judging him for the earlier “erection incident.” Seeing no softening in her stance, Murtasim sighed, feeling the weight of his earlier mortification settle even heavier on his shoulders. He desperately wanted to make things right, to make up for the embarrassment, but every attempt seemed to dig him deeper into a hole.
Deciding to try a different approach, Murtasim slowly moved toward Meerab, his steps measured and shy. His fingers traced the edge of the bedsheet as he reached the headboard where she sat, but before he could say anything, Meerab shoved a pillow into his hands.
“Couch wahan hai,” she said in a mocking tone, jerking her head toward the dreaded couch.
Murtasim looked at her, his face falling into a perfect picture of dejection, like a kid who’d just been told Christmas was canceled. His puppy-dog eyes searched hers for any sign of mercy, but Meerab was unyielding. With a resigned sigh, he trudged over to the couch, pillow in hand, and flopped down with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man.
As he settled into the lumpy cushions, feeling both dejected and mischievous, an idea struck him. He glanced over at Meerab, who was still sitting rigidly on the bed, and with a smirk creeping onto his face, he said in a flirty tone, “You know, Meerab… if you ever need help with this whole ‘darwaza band karna’ thing, I’m more than happy to give you a hands-on lesson.”
The pillow Meerab hurled at him this time was faster and more accurate, hitting him squarely in the face. “Shut up, Murtasim!” she snapped, though there was a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Murtasim chuckled, catching the pillow and leaning back on the couch. “Goodnight, Meerab,” he said, still smiling despite everything.
Meerab rolled her eyes, but as she turned off the bedside lamp and settled down under the covers, she couldn’t help the small smile that played on her lips. She would never admit it, but despite all the awkwardness, Murtasim’s persistence—and his ability to laugh at himself—was beginning to chip away at her defenses. Little by little, the lines they had drawn between themselves were starting to blur. But for now, the couch was where he’d stay.
