The evening sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm glow across the vast Khan Haveli. The sky outside the large windows was painted in hues of orange and pink, but Meerab barely noticed as she hobbled down the hallway, clutching her arm in pain.
She’d managed to slip on the marble floor in the courtyard—stupid sandals, she cursed them—and landed awkwardly on her wrist. At first, she thought it was just a sprain, but as the hours passed, the sharp, throbbing pain in her arm only worsened, and she could barely move it without wincing.
Of course, Meerab hadn’t told anyone about it. The last thing she wanted was Murtasim fussing over her like some fragile doll. Ever since their marriage, he had taken every little opportunity to show her how "concerned" he was for her well-being, and frankly, it annoyed her. She didn’t want to be coddled. She could handle herself.
Except… this time, she wasn’t so sure.
Just as she reached the threshold of her room, Murtasim appeared, stepping out of his study. His eyes immediately zeroed in on her, and it didn’t take long for him to notice the way she was cradling her arm against her chest. His brows furrowed, and in a heartbeat, he was by her side.
“Meerab?” he said, his voice thick with concern. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she replied quickly, trying to sidestep him. “Just a small slip.”
Murtasim wasn’t buying it. His gaze flicked to her arm, noticing the unnatural way she was holding it, and his frown deepened. Before she could protest, he reached out gently and took her injured arm in his hands, his touch surprisingly tender.
She winced, sucking in a sharp breath, and he instantly released her, his eyes widening with alarm.
“Meerab, this isn’t just a slip,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Your wrist looks swollen. You’re in pain. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Meerab bit her lip, avoiding his gaze. “It’s fine. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
Murtasim looked at her incredulously. “Not a big deal? Meerab, you could have fractured your wrist, and you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”
“I didn’t want you to overreact,” she muttered, but the words sounded weak even to her.
Murtasim’s expression softened, the worry in his eyes unmistakable. “Overreact?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Meerab, I care about you. Of course I’m going to worry when you’re hurt.”
Before she could argue, Murtasim gently took her uninjured hand and led her towards the bed. “Sit down. I’m going to call the doctor.”
Meerab opened her mouth to protest, but Murtasim gave her a look that silenced her immediately. His usual teasing demeanor was gone, replaced by a seriousness that she wasn’t used to seeing.
He quickly pulled out his phone and called for the family doctor, pacing the room as he spoke, his voice firm and urgent. Meerab sat there, watching him, a strange warmth blooming in her chest. She didn’t want to admit it, but seeing him so worried about her was… nice.
Within minutes, Murtasim had arranged for the doctor to come to the haveli. He returned to her side, kneeling in front of her and examining her wrist again, more gently this time.
“How bad is the pain?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing lightly against the skin just above the swollen area.
Meerab hesitated. “It hurts… a lot.”
Murtasim’s jaw tightened, and he let out a small sigh. “You should’ve told me earlier. I could’ve taken care of you sooner.”
She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his words, though there was no bite in her tone when she responded, “I didn’t need to be taken care of.”
Murtasim chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yes, you do. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
---
An hour later, the doctor arrived and confirmed what Murtasim had feared: Meerab had indeed fractured her wrist. A cast was applied, and the doctor instructed her to rest and avoid using her injured arm for the next few weeks.
Murtasim had stayed by her side the entire time, holding her good hand and murmuring reassurances, even when she had glared at him for fussing too much.
Once the doctor left, Murtasim helped Meerab get comfortable on the bed, propping her up with pillows and wrapping a blanket around her. His every movement was careful and deliberate, as if he were afraid she’d break even more if he wasn’t gentle enough.
Meerab watched him, her heart feeling oddly light despite the pain in her wrist. She had never seen this side of him before—so attentive, so patient. It was almost endearing. Almost.
“You don’t have to do all this, you know,” she mumbled as he fluffed one of the pillows behind her back. “I can manage.”
Murtasim raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “You? Manage with one hand? I don’t think so.”
Meerab narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much.”
He chuckled, but his expression softened as he sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. “I know you are, Meerab. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to take care of you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her by gently taking her injured hand and placing a kiss on her fingers, careful not to touch the cast.
“You’re my wife,” he said softly, his voice sincere. “It’s my job to look after you, whether you like it or not.”
Meerab’s breath caught in her throat at the tenderness in his words. She had expected him to be teasing or sarcastic, but there was nothing but genuine care in his eyes as he looked at her.
For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t used to this—to being cared for in this way. It made her feel vulnerable, and Meerab hated feeling vulnerable. But at the same time, it also made her feel… safe.
“I’ll be fine,” she finally said, her voice much softer than before. “You don’t have to hover over me.”
Murtasim smiled, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “Oh, I’m definitely going to hover. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Meerab sighed dramatically, but there was no real annoyance in her expression. “Great. Now I’m stuck with a hovering husband.”
Murtasim laughed, the sound deep and warm, and it sent an unfamiliar flutter through Meerab’s chest. She glanced away, trying to ignore the way her heart was suddenly racing.
“You know,” he said, leaning closer, “you could just admit that you like the attention.”
Meerab scoffed, though the corner of her lips twitched upwards. “In your dreams.”
Murtasim smirked, his hand resting on her good one, his thumb gently tracing circles on her skin. “Maybe,” he said, his voice teasing, “but I think you secretly enjoy it when I take care of you.”
She shot him a look, but her heart betrayed her with a soft thump. “Don’t push your luck.”
He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, but his tone became serious once again as he squeezed her hand gently. “Just let me take care of you, Meerab. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”
Meerab stared at him for a moment, his words sinking in. She had always been fiercely independent, always insisting that she didn’t need anyone’s help. But right now, with her arm throbbing in pain and Murtasim sitting beside her, looking at her with so much care… she realized that maybe, just this once, she didn’t mind having someone to rely on.
“Fine,” she muttered, trying to sound reluctant. “But only because my arm hurts.”
Murtasim’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Of course. Only because of that.”
Meerab couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Maybe being taken care of wasn’t so bad after all.
---
