In the dimly lit room of Khan Haveli, the night had settled into a deep silence. Murtasim lay on the couch, his form sprawled across the cushions, hands resting beneath his head. His brows were furrowed in sleep, muscles tense, as if his mind was lost in some battle. The soft rustling of the wind outside carried with it the scent of earth, while inside, the room bore the quiet tension between the two figures who occupied it—Murtasim and Meerab.
Though they shared a space, they were miles apart. Their relationship, bound by a contract, remained frozen in ambiguity. Murtasim was a man used to having control, but when it came to Meerab, he was rendered powerless. He could feel her presence in the room, like a soft hum in the background, her quiet defiance a constant reminder of their unspoken distance. She slept in the bed, draped in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the curtains, oblivious to the storm brewing within Murtasim’s heart.
But tonight, the lines between dream and reality blurred.
---
In his dream, Murtasim found himself standing in the courtyard of Khan Haveli. The sun was warm, golden, casting long shadows over the marble floor. The place seemed empty, eerily quiet, yet he felt a presence. His heart beat faster, anticipation prickling under his skin. He turned, and there she was—Meerab.
She stood near the water fountain, her long hair cascading over her back, the soft breeze playing with the strands. She was dressed in a simple white saree, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin, highlighting her delicate frame. Her back was to him, and he could hear the faint sound of water splashing against the stone.
His chest tightened. There was something different about her, something inviting. Murtasim took a step forward, his eyes tracing the curve of her spine, the way her saree hung just low enough to reveal the bare skin of her back. He swallowed hard, desire curling through him like smoke.
"Meerab," he called out softly, his voice low and rough.
She turned, slowly, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that made his heart pound in his chest. Without saying a word, she began walking toward him, her movements slow, deliberate. Her gaze never wavered from his, as if she were reading the very desire he tried to hide.
Murtasim stood frozen, rooted to the spot. He felt helpless under her gaze, his body reacting to her in ways he could no longer control. She stopped just inches away from him, her eyes dark with something he had never seen before. Her hand lifted, fingertips lightly grazing his chest, sending shockwaves through his body.
"Meerab," he whispered again, this time with a hint of desperation.
Her hand slid upward, over his shoulder, up his neck, and finally, her fingers rested on his jawline, tipping his head slightly down so that their faces were just inches apart. Murtasim’s breath hitched.
“You think you can control everything, Murtasim?” she whispered, her voice soft yet commanding.
He couldn’t respond, couldn’t find the words. Her proximity was intoxicating, the scent of her jasmine perfume wrapping around him like a spell. He felt his body tense with anticipation, his mind reeling as her lips hovered dangerously close to his.
Without warning, she pressed her body against his, and Murtasim’s control shattered. His hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer, his fingers gripping the fabric of her saree. The feel of her softness against him made him dizzy with desire. He leaned down, his lips barely brushing against hers, and just as he was about to close the distance, a sharp voice pierced the dream.
“Murtasim!”
---
He jerked awake, breathless, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. For a split second, he was disoriented, his dream and reality tangled in his mind. He blinked, his gaze darting around the room until his eyes landed on Meerab, standing at the edge of the couch, arms crossed over her chest, a look of irritation etched onto her face.
