It was a quiet evening in Khan Haveli, but tonight the stillness carried with it a weight of tension. The haveli’s grand hallways seemed darker, as if reflecting the storm that had hit earlier in the day. The tension wasn’t just in the air—it had infiltrated the very walls, the souls of its inhabitants, and most notably, the strained relationship between Murtasim and Meerab.
Murtasim lay on the sofa in their room, as he had for months now, gritting his teeth in pain. Earlier in the day, he'd been involved in an accident while on his way to the village. His horse had thrown him off during a chaotic moment, resulting in a nasty fall. His body ached all over, especially his back and legs. It was a miracle he’d even made it back to the haveli.
Meerab had been in the room when the servants had brought him in, his clothes torn, and blood seeping from his forehead. Despite her stubborn nature, she had rushed over, fussing over him—something that Murtasim found both surprising and endearing. Her worry was masked with a forced indifference, but he noticed the way her hands shook slightly as she told the servants to call the doctor.
Now, the doctor had come and gone, bandaging Murtasim’s wounds and prescribing rest. But despite the doctor’s reassurances, Meerab’s unease was palpable. She tried to distract herself by sitting on the bed, reading a book, but her gaze kept flickering toward Murtasim, who was wincing on the sofa.
“You’re going to strain your injuries further if you keep sleeping there,” she muttered, almost to herself. She had been watching him for the past ten minutes, noticing how he winced every time he tried to shift into a more comfortable position.
Murtasim’s ears perked up at her words, though he tried to play it cool. He grunted in response, rolling his shoulder awkwardly, “I’m fine. This is where I’ve been sleeping, haven’t I?”
Meerab closed her book with a snap, startling him slightly. “You’re injured, Murtasim. You can’t sleep on the sofa tonight.” Her voice was stern, but there was a softness to her tone, a kind of reluctant concern that she couldn’t quite hide.
Murtasim raised an eyebrow at her. “Where do you suggest I sleep, then? On the floor?”
Meerab pursed her lips, her face betraying a hint of frustration. She stood up abruptly, crossing her arms as if bracing herself for what she was about to say. “You can sleep… here. On the bed. Just for tonight,” she added hastily, as if to clarify that this was strictly a one-time offer.
Murtasim blinked, genuinely taken aback. The last time he had slept on the bed with Meerab had been… well, he couldn’t even remember. Since their marriage, their relationship had been a series of misunderstandings, silent battles, and, of course, that damned contract she had made him sign. The very contract that forbade him from touching her without her consent.
Meerab, sensing his hesitation, sighed dramatically. “Look, I don’t want you to get any ideas. You’re hurt. That’s the only reason I’m allowing this. But,” she jabbed a finger in his direction, “you are not allowed to touch me. Remember the contract. If you so much as brush against me, I will make you regret it.”
Murtasim’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic way to be invited into bed with his wife, but still, the fact that she cared enough to offer made his chest swell with warmth. He fought back a smile, hiding his excitement under a mask of indifference.
“Are you sure?” he asked, feigning nonchalance, though inside, he was already over the moon. After months of tension, this felt like progress. Even if she wasn’t admitting it, Meerab was clearly concerned about him. That alone was enough to make him giddy.
Meerab avoided his eyes, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I’m sure,” she muttered, waving him off. “You’re in no condition to sleep on the couch.”
