The night sky hung over Khan Haveli like a velvet blanket, speckled with stars that twinkled faintly above the quiet estate. A soft breeze whispered through the trees, and the gentle hum of crickets filled the air, creating a peaceful atmosphere. Inside the haveli, however, Murtasim Khan was far from peaceful.
He stood in front of the large mirror in his bedroom, his hands gripping the edge of the wooden dresser, his reflection staring back at him with an expression of sheer panic. His usual confident demeanor was nowhere to be found. Instead, his heart was racing, his palms were sweaty, and his mind was a chaotic mess of jumbled thoughts and words.
*What is wrong with me?* Murtasim thought, staring at his reflection as if it held the answers to his current predicament. *I can face down rival clans, manage the estate, and handle business negotiations without breaking a sweat, but telling Meerab I love her? Impossible.*
He had been trying to gather the courage for days—no, *weeks*—to confess his feelings to her. Ever since she had entered his life as his unexpected bride, she had turned his world upside down. Her fierce independence, her quick wit, her stubbornness, and that infuriating way she always seemed to challenge him—it had all drawn him in, slowly but surely. And now, here he was, head over heels in love with her.
But how on earth was he supposed to tell her that?
Meerab wasn’t the type of woman who swooned at romantic gestures or sweet words. In fact, she would probably laugh in his face if he confessed his feelings too dramatically. And yet, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. He *needed* to tell her how he felt. He needed her to know that he loved her, that she had become the center of his universe, even if it scared the hell out of him to admit it.
But every time he opened his mouth to say the words, something else came out. Something *absurd*.
And tonight, it was going to be no different.
With a deep breath, Murtasim straightened his shoulders and took a step back from the mirror. He had spent the last hour psyching himself up, going over possible ways to confess his feelings in his head, each one more awkward than the last. But he couldn’t put it off any longer. Meerab was downstairs in the living room, probably reading a book or watching TV, and this was his chance.
He wasn’t going to let his nerves get the better of him this time. He was going to march down there, look her in the eyes, and *tell* her how he felt. Simple, right?
Murtasim snorted to himself. *Yeah, right. Simple. Just like walking into a lion’s den is simple.*
He quickly ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back in place, and took a deep breath to steady himself. *Okay. You can do this, Murtasim Khan. You’ve faced worse than this.*
With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the bedroom, his heart pounding with each step he took toward the living room.
---
Meerab was indeed in the living room, sitting comfortably on the couch with a book in her lap. Her legs were tucked beneath her, and she was lost in the world of her novel, completely unaware of the emotional storm brewing inside her husband as he approached.
Murtasim stopped in the doorway, his eyes landing on her. She looked so peaceful, so content, completely oblivious to the inner turmoil he was experiencing. For a moment, he hesitated. Should he really do this? What if she laughed at him? Or worse, what if she didn’t feel the same way?
But then she looked up from her book, her eyes meeting his, and all of his doubts vanished. He *had* to do this.
“Murtasim,” she said, raising an eyebrow as she noticed his tense stance in the doorway. “Why are you standing there like you’re about to walk into battle?”
