Murtasim Khan adjusted his sherwani collar, looking at himself in the mirror of his ancestral home in the village. It was rare for him to return to the gaon, but today was special. His childhood friend was getting married, and the entire village had gathered to celebrate the grand event. The air was filled with excitement, laughter, and the aroma of delicious food being prepared for the festivities.
But there was something even more special about this visit: Meerab was with him.
He glanced at the door, where Meerab had been getting ready for the wedding. Since their marriage, the two had shared a rollercoaster of emotions, misunderstandings, and silent confessions that neither was quite ready to admit out loud. Yet, despite the initial awkwardness between them, there was something undeniable—an unspoken bond that drew them closer.
As Murtasim waited for Meerab, he couldn't help but feel a nervous anticipation. She had been reluctant to join him for this trip. The village wasn’t exactly Meerab’s comfort zone. She, the city girl, the firebrand who believed in her independence and questioned everything, was now thrust into the heart of rural traditions that Murtasim had grown up with.
"Meerab," he called, his deep voice echoing in the quiet room. "Are you ready?"
A soft rustling sound from behind the door caught his attention. "Almost!" she replied, her voice slightly strained. Murtasim chuckled under his breath. He could imagine her struggling with the intricacies of the traditional outfit his mother had sent for her to wear.
After a few more minutes, the door finally creaked open, and Murtasim turned to face her.
And then, everything stopped.
Meerab stood there, framed by the door, in a traditional red and gold lehenga. Her dupatta was draped gracefully over her shoulder, a few loose tendrils of hair framing her face, while the rest was elegantly pinned back. Her usually defiant eyes were softened by the flicker of uncertainty, as if she wasn't sure how she'd be received in this attire. Her bangles clinked softly as she adjusted her dupatta, and her lips, painted in a soft red, were slightly pursed in concentration.
For the first time in his life, Murtasim Khan, the man who could command a room with just his presence, found himself speechless.
She was… breathtaking.
He had always found Meerab beautiful—there was no denying that. But tonight, in the traditional outfit that belonged to his world, she looked ethereal, like she had stepped out of a dream and into his reality.
Meerab, still adjusting her earrings, noticed the way he was staring at her. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Murtasim blinked, snapping out of his daze. He cleared his throat, trying to mask the effect she had on him. "You're... uh, you look..." He struggled to find the right words.
"What?" she pressed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"Stunning," he finally admitted, his voice lower than usual, as if he had no control over the confession. His eyes softened as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving her face. "Absolutely mesmerizing."
Meerab's cheeks flushed at his unexpected compliment, and she quickly looked away, pretending to adjust her dupatta again. "You're exaggerating," she mumbled, trying to downplay the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
Murtasim tilted his head, a slow smile forming on his lips. "Am I?" he asked, his voice teasing but filled with sincerity.
He moved closer, and Meerab felt her breath hitch. For a moment, the sounds of the wedding preparations outside seemed distant, as if the world had faded away, leaving just the two of them in this moment. Murtasim reached out, gently lifting a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face and tucking it behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a brief second, and Meerab’s heartbeat quickened.
