The day had been long and exhausting, and as the sun dipped below the horizon, the golden light filtering through the windows cast a serene glow over the grand haveli. But the peaceful ambiance did nothing to soothe the turmoil in Meerab's heart. She had known for days that she needed to tell Murtasim about Mariyam's secret love, but she also knew the storm it would unleash. Finally, unable to bear the weight of the secret any longer, she decided to confront him.
Murtasim was sitting in his study, his expression focused as he went through some important papers. The quiet authority he exuded was palpable, and as Meerab approached him, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that Murtasim was a man of tradition, fiercely protective of his family's honor, and the conversation she was about to initiate would challenge his deepest convictions.
"Murtasim," she began, her voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up from his work, his eyes immediately locking onto hers. There was a flicker of concern in his gaze, sensing the seriousness of her tone. "Haan, Meerab? Kya baat hai?" he asked, his voice gentle but tinged with curiosity.
She took a deep breath, steadying herself for what was to come. "Murtasim... Mariyam kisi ko pasand karti hai."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, the atmosphere in the room shifted as Murtasim’s expression darkened. His posture straightened, his eyes narrowing as the weight of her words sank in. "Kya?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, the calm before the storm.
"She loves a boy named Anas," Meerab continued, forcing herself to meet his intense gaze. "He's a good man, Murtasim. I’ve met him—"
But before she could finish, Murtasim's temper snapped like a tightly wound spring. "Hoga woh accha ladka," he interrupted sharply, his tone cold and unyielding. "Magar yeh shaadi nahi ho sakti. That’s it."
His words were like a door slammed shut, leaving no room for discussion or debate. But Meerab wasn’t one to back down easily, especially when it came to matters of the heart. She knew Murtasim loved his sister, and she was convinced that if he gave Anas a chance, he might see things differently.
"Murtasim, tum ek baar Anas se mil toh lo… Mariyam usse mohabbat karti hai—"
Murtasim’s barely contained rage exploded, his voice booming through the room like thunder. "Chup kar jao, Meerab!" he roared, his eyes flashing with a fury she had rarely seen. "Mujhe iss baare mein aur koi baat nahi chahiye... ek bhi nahi! Mariyam meri behen hai... uski zindagi mein dakhal dena band karo!"
Meerab flinched, the sheer force of his anger crashing over her like a tidal wave. She had expected resistance, but this… this was beyond what she had anticipated. Her heart ached for Mariyam, who had fallen in love so deeply, and for Murtasim, who seemed unable to see beyond his rigid beliefs.
Murtasim paused, his chest heaving as he tried to rein in his temper. The room was thick with tension, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, more controlled, but still brimming with anger. "Mariyam abhi bacchi hai… usse sahi galat ki samajh nahi hai. Usse samjhao ki woh bhool jaaye ki koi Anas bhi hai."
With those words, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Meerab standing there, struggling to hold back her tears. She felt as if a chasm had opened between them, one that she wasn’t sure could be bridged. Murtasim’s unwavering stance on the matter was like a wall between them, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see a way around it.
---
The hours passed slowly, the weight of their argument hanging heavy in the air. By the time Murtasim returned to their bedroom that evening, his anger had cooled, replaced by a gnawing sense of guilt. He replayed the confrontation in his mind, each harsh word echoing in his thoughts, making him wince. He knew he had overreacted, had let his emotions get the better of him, and now he had to face the consequences.
As he entered the room, the sight of Meerab sitting at her dressing table stopped him in his tracks. She was brushing her long, dark hair, the strands falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror showed a sad pout on her lips, and Murtasim felt a pang of regret in his chest. He had put that sadness there, and it tore at him to see her like this.
"Meerab," he began softly, walking up behind her, his voice thick with remorse.
Meerab’s eyes flicked to his reflection in the mirror, but she didn’t acknowledge him, her silence speaking volumes. She put down her brush and stood up, moving towards the bed with a cold detachment that made Murtasim’s heart sink. She threw her dupatta onto a nearby chair and sat down, picking up her phone and scrolling through it as if he wasn’t even there.
He followed her, his tone pleading now. "Meerab, aaj dopehar mein maine tumse jo bhi kaha, mujhe woh nahi kehna chahiye tha," he admitted, his voice filled with guilt. He waited for her to respond, to show some sign that she heard him, but she continued to ignore him, her eyes fixed on the screen of her phone.
"I’m sorry," he added softly, hoping to break through the wall she had put up between them.
Meerab finally looked at him, her expression blank, her eyes devoid of the warmth he was so used to seeing. She studied him for a moment before turning her attention back to her phone, her silence cutting him deeper than any words could.
"Kya waaqai baat nahi karogi?" Murtasim asked, his voice tinged with desperation. The thought of her shutting him out completely was unbearable.
Meerab looked at him again, and in a monotonous tone, she asked, "Tum Anas se miloge?"
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Murtasim sighed, his answer clear even without words. "Meerab…" he began, his tone weary and incredulous, conveying that his stance hadn’t changed. He couldn’t simply disregard everything he believed in, even for her.
Meerab’s expression hardened, her eyes turning cold as she set her phone aside. "Theek hai," she said, her voice icy and detached. "Toh phir tum bhi bhool jaao ki tumhari koi biwi bhi hai."
Murtasim’s heart skipped a beat as her words registered. He stared at her in shock, trying to comprehend the full meaning of what she was saying. “Meerab, yeh tum kya keh rahi ho?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion and hurt.
Ignoring his question, Meerab moved to the bed, her movements sharp and deliberate. She lay down, her back to him, and as he stood there, frozen, she spoke again, her tone cold and final. “Couch.”
It took a moment for her command to sink in. Murtasim blinked, looking from her to the couch across the room, where his pillow and blanket had already been placed. Realization hit him like a punch to the gut—she was banishing him to the couch. His first instinct was to protest, to explain, to try and make her understand, but one look at her resolute expression was enough to tell him that it was futile.
With a heavy sigh, Murtasim sighed, dragging his feet towards the couch. The space between them felt like a chasm, and as he settled into the uncomfortable seat, he couldn’t help but cast a longing look at Meerab. She lay on the bed, her back to him, her hair spread out like a dark halo on the pillow. All he wanted was to be beside her, to hold her, to make things right again.
But for now, the couch was his fate, a silent reminder of the rift that had grown between them. Murtasim sighed deeply, knowing that this was the price he had to pay for his stubbornness, and silently vowed to find a way to mend the gap between them—no matter what it took.
