The air of the evening was thick with the scent of blooming jasmines. The breeze that drifted through the open windows of the haveli carried with it a sense of serenity, wrapping everything in a soft calmness. Yet inside Murtasim’s heart, a restlessness stirred—a quiet yearning that he couldn't quite place. He leaned against the balcony railing, eyes distant, watching the world outside but lost in thoughts of his wife, Meerab.
She had been quieter than usual lately, immersed in her own world. Murtasim often caught her sitting by the window, a book in hand but her mind far away. He had tried asking her once or twice if something was wrong, but Meerab, in her usual stubbornness, dismissed his concerns with a small smile and an even smaller nod. But Murtasim could feel it—the distance, the quiet unease.
Tonight, he wanted to change that. He wanted to see her smile the way she used to, the kind that reached her eyes and filled his chest with warmth. As he thought of ways to bring that smile back, the soft scent of jasmines reminded him of something his mother used to say: *"If you want to make a woman feel cherished, bring her flowers that speak to her soul."*
He knew exactly what to do.
---
Meerab sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through the pages of her book absentmindedly. The words blurred together, her thoughts too tangled to focus. There was a slight pang in her chest, a feeling she didn’t quite understand. Maybe it was everything—the newness of her life, the weight of expectations, the distance she sometimes felt with Murtasim. She sighed, closing the book and resting it on her lap.
She heard the door creak open but didn’t turn around, assuming it was just one of the servants. The soft click of footsteps told her otherwise.
Murtasim stood in the doorway, watching her for a moment. He saw the way her shoulders slumped, the tiredness etched in her features. His heart squeezed, a feeling of protectiveness surging through him. But instead of speaking, he silently walked over to her, the delicate gift hidden behind his back.
Meerab looked up, surprised to see him standing so close. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to be searching hers for something. She opened her mouth to ask him what he was doing, but before she could speak, Murtasim slowly brought his hand from behind his back, revealing a small bundle of gajras—fragrant jasmine flowers strung together in a simple yet beautiful garland.
Meerab blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. “Murtasim, what—?”
He didn’t let her finish. Kneeling down in front of her, he gently took her hand, pressing the soft gajra into her palm. “I saw these and thought of you,” he said quietly, his voice warm yet uncertain. “I know you love jasmine.”
The simplicity of the moment—the quiet sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world—caught Meerab off guard. Her heart fluttered as she stared at the gajras in her hand, their delicate petals soft against her skin, their fragrance intoxicating.
Murtasim shifted, a flicker of doubt crossing his face as he studied her silence. “I just... I wanted to see you smile,” he added softly, his gaze dropping for a second before meeting hers again. “Have I succeeded, Meerab?”
Her breath hitched at the question, her heart swelling with emotion she hadn’t anticipated. Slowly, she lifted the gajras to her nose, inhaling the sweet scent before meeting his eyes again. The vulnerability in his expression—the hope, the uncertainty—it was so unlike the strong, unwavering Murtasim she was used to.
She smiled then, a real smile, one that made her eyes sparkle. “Yes, you have,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.
Relief flooded Murtasim’s features, and he allowed a small smile of his own to tug at his lips. He stood up, brushing a hand through his hair in that casual, endearing way that always made her heart skip. “Turn around,” he said softly, his voice low.
Meerab raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Just turn around,” he insisted, his tone playful yet firm.
Rolling her eyes but unable to hide her smile, Meerab turned, her back to him, her long hair cascading down in waves. Murtasim reached out, gently gathering her hair in his hands. He placed the gajras delicately in her hair, carefully threading them through her dark locks.
His fingers brushed against her neck as he worked, and she shivered at the gentle touch, her heart racing in a way that surprised her. Murtasim’s closeness, the tenderness in his actions—it was different tonight. It wasn’t the usual banter or teasing. It was... intimate.
When he was done, he stepped back, admiring his work. “There,” he murmured. “Now you look perfect.”
Meerab turned to face him, her fingers lightly touching the flowers in her hair. She could still smell their sweet fragrance, and something about the gesture, about *him*, made her feel cherished, seen in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.
“Murtasim,” she began, her voice soft, “why did you—”
“Because I love you,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle, his gaze unwavering. “I may not always say it, but I do. And I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion. Meerab’s throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She hadn’t expected this—this openness, this vulnerability. But hearing those words from him, in the quiet of their room, with the scent of jasmine wrapping around them, made her realize something.
She had fallen for him too.
Without a word, she closed the small distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. Murtasim stiffened for a moment, surprised by the sudden affection, but then his arms circled around her, holding her close.
For a long time, they stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the world outside fading away. And as the night deepened, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air, Meerab realized that this was what love felt like—quiet, simple, and utterly beautiful.
