The office space buzzed with its usual hum of clicking keyboards, ringing phones, and low chatter. Meerab sat at her desk, trying to focus on the report she had been working on for the past hour. But her mind was far away, swirling with thoughts that wouldn’t settle. Every now and then, she’d glance at her phone, contemplating whether or not to send the message she had typed out. Her thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button, but she hesitated.
I should be able to handle this myself, she told herself, biting her lip. But the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach remained, gnawing at her, making her feel vulnerable in a way she hated.
It had been a week since that new manager had joined. At first, it was just an offhand comment, a lingering glance that made her feel uncomfortable. She brushed it off, chalking it up to him being awkward or socially inept. But soon, the comments grew bolder, the glances more invasive. Yesterday, he had “accidentally” brushed up against her in the corridor, and the look in his eyes left her with a cold shiver.
Meerab took a deep breath, erasing the unsent message. She wouldn’t tell Murtasim. Not yet. He had enough on his plate, and she didn’t want to add to it.
That evening, she found herself sitting at the dining table, absently picking at her food. Across from her, Murtasim, with his usual air of quiet intensity, was watching her closely. His eyes, sharp as ever, caught on to the shift in her demeanor immediately.
"You’re quiet," he remarked, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her face.
"I'm just tired," Meerab replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Tired or bothered?" His voice was soft, yet commanding, as if he knew there was more to her answer. She could never hide anything from him for long.
Her fork clinked against her plate as she set it down, her shoulders tense. She avoided his gaze, not wanting to see the concern that would inevitably flash in his eyes.
Murtasim wasn’t one to push—at least not when he knew the other person wasn’t ready to speak. But the air between them grew heavy, laden with unspoken words, until it became too much for her to bear.
She exhaled slowly. "There’s this... guy at work. A new manager. He’s been making me uncomfortable."
The air in the room changed instantly. Murtasim’s expression darkened, his posture shifting ever so slightly. The quiet storm brewing inside him was unmistakable, even though he hadn’t said a word.
Meerab swallowed, knowing the effect her confession would have. "He hasn’t done anything too serious," she added quickly, "just... comments, looks. Yesterday, he—"
"What did he do?" Murtasim’s voice was low, dangerously controlled, the calm before the storm.
"He brushed up against me on purpose," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but she knew he heard every word.
The silence that followed was deafening. Murtasim’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white as his hand gripped the edge of the table. For a moment, she thought he might explode right then and there. But he didn’t. He stood up slowly, methodically, and without a word, left the room.
"Murtasim," she called after him, but he was already gone, his footsteps heavy as they echoed down the hallway.
---
The next day at work was like any other. The office buzzed with the usual energy, and Meerab found herself tensing as the clock neared lunch break—the time when that manager often found excuses to pass by her desk. She was mentally preparing herself when a commotion at the entrance caught her attention.
It was him—Murtasim.
He strode into the office like he owned the place, his presence alone enough to draw eyes from all corners. He was dressed in his signature all-black, a storm in human form. Meerab’s heart sank. What is he doing here?
Before she could get up and stop him, he had already reached the manager’s office. Murtasim knocked once, then entered without waiting for a reply. The door shut behind him with a resounding click.
Inside, the manager looked up, clearly startled by the intruder.
"Who are you?" he asked, his voice wavering slightly as he stood up from behind his desk.
Murtasim stepped forward, his expression cold, his eyes filled with a quiet fury. "I’m someone you should’ve never crossed."
The manager’s face paled, and he took a small step back. "I don’t know what you’re talking about—"
"Meerab Khan," Murtasim cut in, his voice a low growl. "That name ring a bell?"
The man swallowed hard, his eyes flickering with recognition.
"You thought you could harass her and get away with it?" Murtasim’s fists clenched at his sides, the rage barely contained. "You think your position makes you untouchable?"
The manager stammered, trying to find words, but none came.
Murtasim stepped closer, his voice dropping even lower, more menacing. "Listen carefully because I won’t repeat myself. If you so much as look in her direction again, if I hear even a whisper of you bothering her or anyone else, I will ruin you. I’ll make sure you never work another day in your life. Do you understand?"
The manager nodded quickly, his face ghostly white. "I-I won’t. I swear. It won’t happen again."
Murtasim gave a sharp nod. "Good. Remember that." He turned to leave, but paused at the door. "And if you think about retaliation... I’ll be watching."
With that, he walked out, leaving the manager trembling in his office.
---
Later that evening, Meerab sat in the living room, anxiously waiting for Murtasim to return. When he finally did, there was no dramatic entrance, no gloating over what he had done. He simply walked over to where she sat, gently took her hand, and pulled her to her feet.
"You don’t have to worry about him anymore," Murtasim said quietly, his voice soft yet firm.
Meerab searched his eyes, seeing the fire that still simmered beneath the surface. "What did you do?"
"I dealt with it," he replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "No one will ever hurt you again."
She felt a mixture of relief and guilt wash over her. "You didn’t have to—"
"Yes, I did," he interrupted, his voice firm. "You’re my wife. No one gets to make you feel unsafe. Ever."
Her eyes softened, and she leaned into him, resting her forehead against his chest. His arms wrapped around her protectively, as if shielding her from the world.
In that moment, Meerab realized something: Murtasim wasn’t just her husband; he was her shield, her storm. He might be a force of nature, but that force was hers, and she would never face the world alone as long as he was by her side.
