In the dimly lit room of Khan Haveli, the air was thick with intimacy and unspoken desire. Murtasim sat on the edge of the bed, his breath uneven as Meerab kneeled before him, her hands on his thighs, lips pressed against his skin. Every time she moved, he felt his control slip further, his need for her overwhelming his senses. His fingers gripped the bed sheet tightly, trying to ground himself, his eyes half-closed in bliss.
Suddenly, a loud knock echoed through the room.
Meerab froze immediately, her eyes wide in panic. Without a second thought, she pulled away, her face flushed, and began hastily wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“No, no, no…” Murtasim groaned softly, his body still aching for her touch. Desperate, he reached out to pull her back. “Meerab… please… don’t stop now.” His voice was hoarse, laden with frustration and need.
But Meerab was already up, quickly adjusting her hair and straightening her clothes. “Someone’s at the door, Murtasim!” she whispered fiercely, her eyes flicking toward the entrance.
His eyes burned with disappointment, desire still coursing through his veins. “I don’t care,” he muttered, his hand falling to his lap, the pressure in his body unbearable. “Just—just come back for a minute. They’ll go away.”
Before he could reach for her again, the knock sounded once more, this time more insistent. Meerab threw him a sharp look and hurried to the door. “Pull up your pants,” she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper.
With an annoyed grunt, Murtasim reluctantly tucked himself back into his pants, hastily zipping them up, still burning with unfulfilled desire. His jaw clenched in frustration, his heart racing. The world had never felt so cruel.
Meerab opened the door to find none other than Maa Begum standing in the hallway, her eyes as sharp and commanding as ever. The older woman’s gaze flickered briefly over Meerab, noticing her slightly flustered appearance but saying nothing of it.
“Meerab, come downstairs,” Maa Begum ordered, her tone brooking no argument. “I need your help looking over the household accounts. It won’t take long.”
Meerab glanced back at Murtasim, who was sitting on the bed, still visibly frustrated. His eyes were dark with unresolved tension, his lips drawn into a thin line as he watched the scene unfold. He looked like a predator denied its prey.
“I’ll be right there,” Meerab replied softly, giving Murtasim an apologetic glance. With a reluctant nod, she stepped into the hallway, walking beside Maa Begum as they headed toward the staircase.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Murtasim fell back onto the bed with an irritated groan, his hand rubbing his face as if trying to erase the throbbing ache that coursed through him.
Of all the moments for Maa Begum to need household accounts checked.
He sat up again, running a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. His body still hummed with tension, and he clenched his fists as he muttered to himself.
“If only I could divorce my entire family,” he growled under his breath, pacing the floor in annoyance. The constant interruptions, the expectations, the endless need for his attention. He couldn’t even spend a quiet, intimate moment with his own wife without someone knocking, calling, needing something from him.
His jaw clenched tighter as his thoughts spiraled. Maybe it was the unresolved tension talking, but right now, Murtasim was seriously considering the merits of living on a deserted island — just him and Meerab. Away from the noise, away from the family, away from interruptions.
He threw himself back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in a mixture of longing and irritation. His mind wandered back to those few moments of bliss before everything was disrupted. If only he could have her back in his arms right now.
Murtasim groaned, his frustration reaching a boiling point. "Next time," he swore to himself, "next time, I’m locking the damn door."
