It was late afternoon in Khan Haveli, and the tension between Murtasim and Meerab could be felt in every corner of the grand, ornate home. The argument they’d had earlier had left Murtasim fuming. His brooding expression, clenched jaw, and darkened eyes were enough to make even the most loyal of servants scatter whenever he entered a room.
But Meerab? She wasn’t fazed at all.
She had been on the receiving end of his temper before, and honestly, it no longer unnerved her. In fact, this time, she was determined not to entertain him. If he wanted to stew in his anger, fine. She had other things to do. Like reading a book in their bedroom and enjoying her peace. If he thought she would come running to make amends, he was sorely mistaken.
Sitting on the edge of their bed, Meerab flipped the page of her novel, pretending to be completely absorbed in the fictional world. In truth, her ears were perked up, waiting for the inevitable sound of Murtasim storming into the room, demanding her attention.
And right on cue, she heard the door creak open, followed by heavy footsteps.
Murtasim walked into the room with all the grace of a storm cloud—dark and thundering. His sharp gaze immediately landed on Meerab, who, much to his frustration, didn’t even look up from her book. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her expression completely relaxed as if she hadn’t noticed him at all.
His anger flared.
How could she be so... so indifferent to him?
He cleared his throat—loudly.
Meerab, ever the stubborn one, didn’t flinch. She just turned the page of her book, keeping her face expressionless. Inside, though, she was laughing. Drama king, she thought with a hint of amusement.
Murtasim’s jaw clenched. Fine. If she wasn’t going to give him her attention, he’d make her. He stalked across the room and “accidentally” knocked a vase off the nearby table. It landed on the floor with a loud thud, but it didn’t break.
Still, Meerab didn’t so much as glance in his direction.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Meerab,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“Hmmm?” she replied nonchalantly, flipping another page of her book.
“I dropped something,” he said, his voice filled with indignation.
“I can see that,” she murmured without looking up.
Murtasim’s patience was wearing thin. He stomped over to the window, dramatically throwing the curtains open with such force that the fabric nearly tore. Sunlight flooded the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Meerab blinked but still didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, she shifted slightly to get more comfortable and continued reading.
Murtasim Khan, ignored by his own wife!
The injustice of it all! He could feel his blood boiling. How dare she treat him like this? He was her husband! She was supposed to be the one trying to fix things, not sitting there, pretending he didn’t exist.
With a huff, Murtasim sat down on the armchair in the corner of the room, crossing his arms over his chest and staring pointedly at her. His expression was a mix of fury and frustration, but Meerab just kept reading.
“Meerab,” he said again, this time louder.
“Yes, Murtasim?” she replied in the same bored tone, finally glancing up from her book but only for a second before returning to her page.
