As the night crept in, the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant sound of a river were the only sounds that filled the room where Meerab had finally awoken. Her body ached from the rough treatment she had endured earlier, and her limbs felt heavy as she stirred in the makeshift bed. The memories of the afternoon flooded back with each slow breath she took. The terror of being dragged, the cold water surrounding her, and the strong arms that had pulled her to safety.
Murtasim.
Her heart thudded with the realization, and she rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the lingering fatigue. She glanced down at herself, noticing the soft fabric of a red saree clinging to her skin, its silky texture foreign to her touch. Confusion settled in as she processed that she was no longer in the clothes she had been wearing when she had fallen asleep.
These aren’t my clothes.
A wave of embarrassment and shame crashed over her. Her hands instinctively clutched the sheet to her chest, pulling it tightly as if it could shield her from the humiliation that now filled her every thought.
Murtasim must have changed me.
Her mind raced, the idea of him seeing her, not just in her vulnerable state but bare, exposed—her cheeks flushed with the burning heat of humiliation. The thought that another man, even her husband, had seen her like that felt unbearable. Tears stung her eyes, and she shut them tightly, trying to fight back the overwhelming feelings of shame. She buried her face into the sheets, as if hiding from the truth of what had happened.
How could she face him now? How could she live with the knowledge that he had seen her at her most defenseless, stripped of all dignity? She swallowed hard, her throat tight with the weight of her emotions. The ache in her chest felt worse than the physical pain that lingered in her body.
Just as her mind was spiraling deeper into the pit of her despair, the quiet creak of the door caught her attention. Her head snapped up, her tear-filled eyes locking onto the figure of the elderly woman who had offered them shelter earlier—Sakeena Bibi. The gentle smile on her face contrasted with the storm of emotions swirling inside Meerab.
"You're awake, beti," Sakeena Bibi’s voice was soft, kind, as she approached with a glass in her hand. "I brought you some medicine. Murtasim sahib told me what happened, that you fell into the river." She set the glass down on the small wooden table beside the bed and reached out, pressing her palm gently against Meerab’s forehead.
“The fever has come down, alhamdulillah, but I brought the medicine just in case,” Sakeena Bibi said, her tone comforting as she offered the glass to Meerab, who hesitantly accepted it, bringing it to her lips.
Meerab drank slowly, her throat dry, her mind still stuck in a haze of shame. As she finished the glass, Sakeena Bibi carefully took it back and sat it down, her expression still kind and warm. "You’re very lucky, you know," she said, her voice filled with a fondness that made Meerab’s heart tighten. "Murtasim sahib loves you so much."
Meerab’s fingers trembled slightly as she clutched the sheet tighter around her. She wasn’t ready to hear this—not now. How could she listen to someone tell her how lucky she was, when all she could feel was the shame of what had happened? The humiliation of being seen so exposed.
“He was so worried about you, beti,” Sakeena continued, oblivious to the turmoil that was raging inside Meerab. "He didn’t leave your side, not for a moment. After you fell in the river, he rushed to me to help check your condition. I changed your clothes, don’t worry. But after that he was there the whole time, tending to you, putting cold strips on your forehead, rubbing your hands and feet to bring your fever down. He was frantic with worry.”
