Murtasim carried Meerab into the hut with gentle care, his arms holding her close as though she was the most fragile thing in the world. Her clothes were soaked, clinging to her shivering body, her face pale and tear-streaked, her wet hair plastered across her cheeks and forehead. She was trembling uncontrollably, her breath coming out in shallow, panicked gasps, and he could feel the depth of her fear radiating from her small frame.
As they entered the hut, the cool air brushed against her wet skin, and Meerab flinched, curling further into Murtasim’s embrace as if seeking warmth and protection. He kicked the door shut behind him with his boot, then walked over to the makeshift bed in the corner, gently lowering her onto it. The straw beneath the fabric rustled as he placed her down with utmost care, his arms lingering around her for just a second longer before he straightened.
Her trembling didn’t subside. Her wide, terrified eyes stared up at him, still lost in the trauma of what had just happened. Murtasim’s heart ached at the sight of her—this strong, defiant woman who had never shown fear, now so vulnerable and broken. He knelt beside her, not wanting to startle her with any sudden movements.
“Meerab…” he whispered softly, his voice gentle, coaxing, as if afraid she might shatter. He reached out, brushing the wet strands of hair from her face. His touch was light, almost reverent, as his thumb wiped away the tear stains on her cheeks. Her skin was cold to the touch, her cheeks flushed, likely from the combination of fear and the cold water that had drenched her.
She blinked up at him, her chest heaving as her breaths came faster. The rise and fall of her chest drew his eyes to her blouse, where the fabric clung to her damp skin. The pallu of her saree had fallen, baring her chest to him. The thin fabric of her blouse did little to hide her form, and Murtasim averted his gaze quickly, his heart hammering in his chest.
Without a word, he reached for her saree, gently taking the fallen pallu and draping it over her, covering her exposed skin with careful attention. His fingers brushed lightly against her as he tucked the fabric securely, trying his best to preserve her dignity and avoid making her feel more vulnerable than she already was.
“I’ll get you some water,” he murmured softly, standing up and turning toward the corner of the room where they had stored a clay pot filled with water. But just as he took his first step, a small, trembling hand grabbed his wrist.
“Don’t…” Meerab’s voice was barely a whisper, broken and terrified. Her fingers clutched him with surprising strength, holding on for dear life. She tugged on his arm, her wide, panicked eyes looking up at him as if she feared he would disappear if she let go.
Murtasim’s heart clenched painfully at the sight of her. He knelt back down immediately, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking the damp skin in a soothing motion. “Meerab, I’m just getting you some water. I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, his voice calm and reassuring.
But Meerab shook her head, her fingers tightening around his arm as if she didn’t believe him. “No… please… don’t leave me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “They’ll kill me… they’ll kill me like they killed Baba… I’m so scared… please, don’t leave me…”
Her words came out in a rushed, panicked frenzy, her eyes wild with fear. Murtasim’s heart shattered at her words. He had never seen her like this—so broken, so afraid. It felt like someone had plunged a knife into his chest, twisting it cruelly.
“I won’t let them,” he promised, his voice firm yet gentle. “I swear to you, Meerab, I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe now. No one will hurt you.”
But she didn’t seem to hear him, her mind too lost in the fear that gripped her. Her breathing quickened, her chest heaving as she shook her head frantically. “No… please don’t go… they’ll find me… they’ll come for me… like they came for Baba…” Her voice cracked, tears spilling from her eyes again.
Murtasim’s hand moved to cradle her face more firmly, his thumb brushing away the fresh tears. “Shh…” he whispered softly, trying to calm her. “I’m right here. I won’t leave you. No one’s going to hurt you. I promise.”
But still, she wouldn’t release his arm, her grip desperate, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to the present. Murtasim sighed softly, realizing she wouldn’t let him go. She was too scared, too shaken to be left alone for even a second.
He shifted on the edge of the bed, then slowly leaned down, gently guiding her to lie back on the makeshift mattress. “Alright… I won’t leave,” he said softly, his hand resting on her shoulder as he gently pushed her down. Her body was tense, her fingers still gripping his wrist as she stared up at him, wide-eyed and frightened.
Murtasim pulled a thin sheet over her, covering her trembling form. His hand rested on her arm, offering comfort through his touch. “I’m right here, Meerab. You’re safe now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she nodded weakly, her grip on his arm loosening just slightly. Still, she held on, refusing to let go completely. Murtasim stayed by her side, sitting on the edge of the bed as she clung to him, her breathing still uneven, but slowly calming as the moments passed.
For what felt like hours, he remained there, his hand resting on her arm, his presence the only thing anchoring her to the safety of the present. Gradually, her breathing evened out, and the tension in her body slowly began to dissipate. Her eyes fluttered closed, the exhaustion from the day’s events finally overtaking her.
Murtasim watched her as she drifted off into a fitful sleep, her face still marred with tear stains. His chest ached as he looked at her, so beautiful yet so fragile in this moment. She had always been a force of nature, strong-willed and defiant, but today… today she had broken, and it hurt him more than anything to see her like this.
He gently brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, his touch light and delicate, as if afraid she might wake and be consumed by her fears again. He tucked a stray strand of her wet hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering near her face for just a moment longer.
As her breathing deepened and became more even, Murtasim carefully, ever so carefully, slipped his hand out of her grasp. He stood up, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb her now that she was finally at peace. He gazed down at her sleeping form for a long moment, his heart heavy with the weight of his emotions.
He wanted to protect her from the world—from the dangers that lurked outside, from the men who had tried to take her, from the trauma that had scarred her. But more than that, he wanted to protect her from the fear that had taken hold of her heart. He wished he could take it all away, make her feel safe again, make her feel like herself again.
With a heavy sigh, Murtasim turned away, walking toward the corner of the room where the water jug was. He poured some water into a small cup, placing it beside the bed for when she woke. He glanced back at her one last time before moving to sit in the corner of the hut, keeping watch over her as she slept.
No one would hurt her again. Not while he was here. He would make sure of that.
