It was a typical warm evening at Khan Haveli, where the air was thick with the scent of jasmine, the sky painted in hues of orange and purple as the sun began to set. But inside, the mood was anything but calm. Murtasim Khan paced restlessly around the grand living room, his dark brows furrowed as he muttered to himself, his frustration barely contained.
"How did I get myself into this mess?" he grumbled, running a hand through his already tousled hair. His fingers dug deeper into his scalp as he stopped in front of a large mirror, glaring at his reflection as if it were somehow responsible for his predicament.
Of all the women in the world, why *her*? Meerab. His nemesis. The one woman who seemed to derive pure joy from driving him insane. And now, thanks to family tradition and Maa Begum’s stubbornness, he was supposed to marry her.
"*No way,*" he muttered firmly, his reflection glowering back at him. "I have to stop this wedding. There’s no way I’m marrying that—" He paused, trying to think of the most appropriate insult. "*—she-devil.*"
As if on cue, the grand wooden doors of the haveli creaked open, and in walked the very subject of his ire. Meerab, dressed in a simple pastel-colored shalwar kameez, her long, silky hair cascading down her back, looked every bit as infuriatingly composed as ever. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the room before settling on Murtasim, who was still standing in front of the mirror, glaring at her through the reflection.
"Oh, great," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. "Just the person I was hoping to avoid."
Murtasim scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Trust me, Meerab, the feeling’s mutual."
Meerab sighed dramatically, tossing her bag onto the couch. "What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have better things to do than stand around and glare at yourself?"
"Actually, I was just thinking about ways to avoid this marriage," Murtasim replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But apparently, you beat me to it."
Meerab smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, it’s not like I want to marry *you* either, Khan Sahab. Believe me, I’ve been trying to come up with a plan to call this whole thing off."
Murtasim arched an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "Oh? And how’s that going for you?"
Meerab shrugged, sinking into the plush couch. "Not great, if I’m being honest. Our families are practically obsessed with this wedding. It’s like they’ve already started printing invitations."
Murtasim groaned, collapsing onto the opposite couch, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Tell me about it. Maa Begum is acting like this wedding is the solution to all the world’s problems. It’s like she won’t rest until we’re chained together forever."
Meerab let out a huff, folding her arms across her chest. "It’s ridiculous! We don’t even *like* each other. We can’t stand to be in the same room, let alone be married."
Murtasim leaned forward, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. "You know, if we worked together, we could probably figure out a way to stop this whole thing."
Meerab’s eyes widened, the same thought flashing in her mind. "You mean... team up?"
Murtasim nodded, his expression serious. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
Meerab tilted her head, her gaze skeptical. "And why exactly should I trust you?"
Murtasim smirked, his eyes gleaming with challenge. "Because as much as you hate me, I hate this marriage more."
Meerab thought for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. The idea of teaming up with Murtasim sounded absurd, but the alternative — marrying him — was even worse. She exhaled sharply.
