It was a rare morning in Khan Haveli when three-year-old Meesam was in a sour mood. She wasn’t just upset—she was furious. The little girl sat on the floor next to her mother, Meerab, glaring silently, arms crossed over her chest like a pint-sized queen making her displeasure known. And her displeasure was entirely directed at her father, Murtasim.
As Murtasim walked into the living room, he spotted his daughter sitting unusually close to Meerab. Normally, she would run to him for a hug or demand to be lifted in his strong arms. Today, however, she sat motionless, her lower lip jutting out in a classic pout.
“Good morning, meri jaan,” Murtasim said, his voice tender and full of love as he walked toward her with open arms.
Meesam, usually a bundle of energy and affection, turned her face away from him pointedly and stayed glued to her mother's side. Murtasim stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
Meerab glanced at him with an amused smile, clearly aware of the situation. She nudged Meesam gently. “Meesam, your Baba’s talking to you.”
But Meesam wasn’t having any of it. She remained stone-faced and silent, her eyes fixed on a random spot on the floor.
Murtasim crouched down to her level, his heart sinking a little. “Princess, what’s wrong? Why won’t you talk to me?”
Meesam simply turned her head the other way, making sure her silence spoke volumes. Murtasim was baffled. He couldn't think of anything he had done to upset her, but whatever it was, it was serious in her tiny, three-year-old world.
Maa Begum, Mariyam, and Anwar had already caught wind of Meesam’s unusual behavior, watching from the doorway with barely concealed amusement. Murtasim, however, was not amused. His little princess was mad at him, and it tugged at his heart.
The entire day passed with Murtasim attempting, in vain, to win back his daughter’s favor. He tried toys, sweets, and even games, but nothing worked. Meesam refused to speak to him, refused to acknowledge his presence, and worse, wouldn’t even let him come near Meerab. The little girl stood guard by her mother, as if protecting her from the man she had now deemed an intruder. Every time Murtasim even attempted to approach Meerab, the little girl would scowl, step in front of her mother, and glare at him with all the fiery indignation a three-year-old could muster.
Meerab, of course, was thoroughly amused. She sat on the couch, barely able to contain her laughter, watching as her tiny daughter took on the formidable Murtasim Khan, who usually had no trouble commanding the respect of an entire household. Today, though, he was at the mercy of his little girl, and it was clear that Meesam was in no mood for peace negotiations.
"Meesam," Murtasim tried again, his voice soft and coaxing, "Princess, what did Baba do? Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. You know Baba can’t bear it when you’re upset with me."
But Meesam merely hugged Meerab's leg tighter, as if her mother needed protection from Murtasim's nefarious plots. "No Baba! No talk!" she declared, her tiny voice firm with determination.
Meerab, biting her lip to stifle a chuckle, leaned down and whispered to their daughter, "Are you sure you don’t want to tell Baba what he did wrong?"
Meesam’s face scrunched up, considering the question, but her anger seemed too great to offer forgiveness just yet. "No! Baba bad!" she huffed, stomping her foot.
Murtasim looked utterly defeated, sighing as he sat back on his heels. His mind raced through the past few days, trying to figure out what could have caused this sudden cold war. He glanced at Meerab, hoping for a hint, but she only shrugged and continued to suppress her laughter.
