The evening air was cool as Meerab and Murtasim returned to the haveli, but the tension between them was anything but. Murtasim could still feel the weight of his earlier embarrassment hanging over him like a dark cloud. He had been silent for most of the walk back, trying to shake off the unsettling memory of what had happened in the fields. But Meerab, ever the mischievous spirit, seemed to be plotting something.
As they entered the haveli, Meerab’s eyes gleamed with mischief. She had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last stretch of their journey, and that could only mean one thing: she was up to no good.
Murtasim, feeling the growing unease in the pit of his stomach, finally turned to her as they reached the courtyard. “Meerab, tumhare dimaag mein ab kya chal raha hai? Tum itni chup kyun ho?”
Meerab shot him a sly grin, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more sinister. “Main bas soch rahi thi, Murtasim… aaj jo kuch hua uske baare mein agar sabko pata chal gaya toh kya hoga?”
Murtasim’s eyes widened in alarm, and he stiffened, instantly on high alert. “Meerab, tumhe aisa kuch karne ki zaroorat nahi hai. Woh sab toh ek galti thi, aur uspar baat karke kya fayda?”
Meerab’s grin widened as she sauntered closer to him, her gaze never leaving his. She placed a finger on his chest, tapping it playfully as she spoke, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Haan, galti thi… lekin agar yeh galti poore gaon mein fail gayi toh? Tumhare mureedon ne sun liya toh? Tumhari izzat ka kya hoga, Murtasim?”
Murtasim could hardly believe what he was hearing. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he studied her, trying to gauge how serious she was. “Meerab, tum itni shaitaan kyun ho rahi ho? Tumhe pata hai ke tum yeh sab kya keh rahi ho, right?”
Meerab simply shrugged, her expression innocent in a way that only made her intentions more ominous. “Main toh bas mazak kar rahi hoon. Lekin agar tumne meri baat nahi maani… toh main kuch bhi kar sakti hoon.”
Murtasim swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. Meerab was unpredictable, and when she had a mischievous plan, there was no telling what she might do. He could already imagine the scandal if she spread the story of him and Malik Zubair. It would haunt him for years.
“Tumhe kya chahiye, Meerab?” Murtasim asked, his voice tinged with resignation. He knew he was about to be blackmailed, and there was no escape.
Meerab clapped her hands together gleefully, her eyes shining with delight. “Oh, I’m so glad you asked! Itni choti si baat hai, Murtasim. Tumhe sirf meri chhoti chhoti baatein maan ni padegi. Aur agar tumne meri baat nahi maani… well, sabko toh pata chal hi jayega.”
Murtasim sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face as if to wipe away the absurdity of the situation. “Meerab, yeh sab karne ki kya zaroorat hai? Waise bhi mujh par sirf tumhari marzi chalti hai.Tum itni paagal kyun ho?”
Meerab leaned in, her face close to his, and whispered, “Main paagal hoon, Murtasim. Aur tumhe yeh paagalpan sehna padega.”
The next morning, Murtasim awoke to the sound of Meerab’s voice ringing through their bedroom. “Murtasim, utho! Aaj ka pehla kaam tumhara intezaar kar raha hai.”
Murtasim groaned, pulling the blanket over his head in a futile attempt to ignore her. But Meerab, relentless as always, yanked the blanket away, leaving him no choice but to sit up and face his fate. “Meerab, ab kya?”
Meerab smiled sweetly, holding out a bright pink kurta. “Yeh peheno. Hum bazaar ja rahe hain.”
Murtasim stared at the kurta in horror. The color was a garish shade of pink, something he would never be caught dead wearing. “Yeh kya hai? Main yeh nahi pehenunga!”
