The moonlight streamed through the thin curtains of the room, casting a pale silver hue across the modest space. The gentle rustle of the night breeze whispered against the window panes, mingling with the distant chirping of crickets. It was a tranquil night, but inside the small room, unrest was brewing. Meerab lay wide awake on the makeshift bed, her mind a tumultuous storm of thoughts and emotions.
The river incident earlier in the day replayed vividly in her mind. The terror of being captured, the strong arms that had pulled her out from the enemy's clutches, and the feeling of helplessness haunted her. But more than the physical ordeal, it was the emotional turmoil that gnawed at her. She had been saved by Murtasim, a man she barely knew, but whose actions had left a profound impact on her. She turned her head to glance at him, lying peacefully on the floor near her bed, a figure of serene calm amidst the chaos of her thoughts.
Murtasim had chosen to sleep on the floor to remain close to her, ensuring that if she needed anything, he would be the first to know. His chest rose and fell with the rhythm of his steady breathing, his face relaxed in sleep. The flickering light of the lantern cast gentle shadows on his face, highlighting the chiseled features that had, until now, been the object of her conflicted emotions. Seeing him like this, so innocent and vulnerable, made the decision she had already made seem even more painful.
A knot tightened in Meerab’s stomach as she thought of leaving him. The man who had shown her nothing but kindness, who had risked his own safety to pull her from the river, and who had cared for her in her time of need. She had to leave, though—she couldn’t risk his life by staying. Her enemies were ruthless and would not hesitate to kill anyone who stood in their way. Murtasim was innocent in all this; she couldn’t allow her presence to endanger him further.
Meerab steeled herself, her resolve firm despite the turmoil within. She had decided that what she was doing was for the best. She needed to protect him, even if it meant hurting him in the process. She slowly and carefully rose from the bed, each movement deliberate and silent to avoid waking Murtasim.
With a heavy heart, she approached the small cupboard in the corner of the room. The wood creaked softly as she opened it, and she sifted through its contents to find what she needed. She selected a few essential items: a couple of extra sarees, some blouses, and a small bundle of fruits. These would be useful for the journey she was about to undertake. She wrapped these items in one of her sarees to form a makeshift bundle bag.
Her eyes then fell on her dagger, hidden beneath her pillow. She had kept it there for protection, but now it would serve a different purpose. She retrieved the dagger and, with practiced ease, tucked it into the folds of her saree, hiding it under her pallu. The cold metal felt oddly comforting against her skin, a reminder of the harsh realities she was about to face.
With the bundle securely tied and the dagger discreetly hidden, Meerab moved towards the door. Her steps were light, and she moved with a cautious grace, determined not to disturb Murtasim’s rest. Just as she reached the door, she heard a faint rustle behind her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she froze, holding her breath.
Murtasim stirred slightly in his sleep, shifting his position as if sensing a disturbance. Meerab's heart pounded in her chest as she waited, her entire body tensed. The seconds felt like hours, but he didn’t wake. Relieved yet distressed, she continued with her plan. She placed her hand on the door handle, her resolve wavering as she glanced back at Murtasim’s peaceful form.
The sight of him lying there, so serene and untroubled, made her heart ache. A profound sense of guilt washed over her as she realized the depth of her feelings. She gently lowered herself beside him, her movements tender and deliberate. Her fingers traced the contours of his face—his strong jawline, his high cheekbones, the soft curve of his lips. Each touch was a silent farewell, a farewell she wished she didn’t have to give.
