Murtasim paced around his bedroom, his mind clouded with thoughts of Meerab. She had been ignoring him for days, refusing to answer his calls or texts. He knew why. A small misunderstanding had turned into a full-blown argument, and Meerab, stubborn as ever, refused to back down. He had tried everything—flowers, apologies, and even sending her a heartfelt message. But she remained silent.
In his frustration, Murtasim decided to send something bolder, something to break the ice and make her react. With a smirk, he pulled out his phone, opened the camera, and hesitated for a moment before shaking his head.
This will get her attention, he thought with a mischievous grin.
He quickly snapped a picture and attached it to a text message, typing a cheeky line below.
"Still think you're going to ignore me after this?"
With a quick press, he sent the message and leaned back on the sofa, satisfied with himself. He imagined Meerab's face when she saw it—shocked, flustered, maybe even a little amused.
A few moments passed, and his phone buzzed. Expecting a scandalized reply from his wife, he eagerly opened the message. Instead, he froze.
The message wasn’t from Meerab.
It was from Anwar.
His heart sank.
Anwar:
"Murtasim beta, is this some sort of mistake?"
Murtasim stared at the screen, his eyes wide in horror. His fingers fumbled as he opened the chat, only to see the message he had sent. The attachment—the picture—was there, mocking him. He felt a cold sweat run down his back.
"No... no no no no! he muttered, grabbing his phone in disbelief.
He had accidentally sent the picture to his father-in-law.
Panic set in as he stared at the message. What had he done? He couldn't breathe. Anwar—the man who had given him his beloved Meerab's hand in marriage—had just received a picture that no father-in-law should ever see.
Before he could figure out what to do, his phone buzzed again. Another message from Anwar.
Anwar:
"I understand you're young, but this is a bit much, don't you think? I think you should come over so we can talk about... boundaries."
Murtasim's face drained of color. He could almost hear Anwar's stern voice in his head, the disappointment, the awkwardness.
"What have I done?" he whispered, rubbing his temples.
He dialed Anwar’s number, his hands trembling. He needed to fix this before things got any worse.
Anwar answered almost immediately.
"Murtasim?" he said in a calm, but deeply unsettling tone.
"Chacha Sahab, I... I don't even know where to start. I... it was a mistake. A huge, massive mistake. I didn't mean—"
Anwar cut him off.
"Clearly, son. Clearly, this was not meant for me. But I think we need to discuss how these kinds of things are handled. In our family, we talk things out. We don't... send... inappropriate images."
Murtasim wanted to disappear into the floor.
"I know, I know. Chacha Sahab, I’m mortified. Please believe me, this will never happen again."
There was a long pause on the other end before Anwar spoke again.
"Come to the haveli tomorrow morning. We'll have tea. And we'll... never speak of this again."
"Yes, yes, of course, thank you, Chacha Sahab," Murtasim stammered, wishing for this nightmare to end.
After the call, Murtasim collapsed on the bed, groaning. He couldn’t even imagine facing Anwar tomorrow. The shame would haunt him forever.
Just then, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was Meerab.
Meerab:
"Why is Baba asking me if we’re having ‘communication issues’? What did you do?"
Murtasim sighed heavily, dreading the explanation he would have to give her next.
But at least, for now, his mortifying blunder was confined to family... sort of.
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