Murtasim sat at the head of the dining table in Khan Haveli, flipping through the morning’s newspaper, while the household bustled around him. It was one of those peaceful mornings that made him feel content. The rays of sunlight streaming through the large windows cast a soft golden hue on the room. There was a calmness in the air, a rare moment of quiet amidst the usually eventful atmosphere of their home.
And then she walked in.
Meerab, his wife, appeared at the doorway, her long hair tied up messily into a bun, her white cotton kurti slightly crumpled from her lazy morning. Her face—ah, that face—looked impossibly soft and fresh, her cheeks rosy and plump from a good night’s sleep. Murtasim paused mid-flip, his eyes zoning in on her like a hawk. His heart did a little flip when his gaze rested on her cheeks, which looked almost impossibly... fluffy.
There was no other word for it.
She was like a walking, talking marshmallow with those white, puffy cheeks. He had seen her a thousand times, but today, something about the way the light hit her made her look especially adorable. The sight of her brought out an unexpected surge of affection, and he couldn’t stop the smile that slowly spread across his face.
Meerab, oblivious to her husband’s stares, strolled casually into the room, yawning and stretching as she poured herself some tea. She mumbled something under her breath, probably a complaint about the early hour or how he had woken up before her again, but Murtasim didn’t hear a word of it.
His eyes were glued to those cheeks.
They were so round, so soft-looking, and so... *squishable*. He watched, almost in a trance, as her lips pursed slightly while sipping her tea, making her cheeks puff out even more.
And that was it. He was done for.
The rational part of Murtasim knew that he was a grown man, a serious man who managed businesses, estates, and family responsibilities. But another part of him, the irrational part—the part currently losing his mind over how cute his wife looked—couldn’t resist the urge to pull those cheeks.
*"Meerab,"* he called out, his voice a mix of amusement and adoration. She looked up from her cup, her eyebrows raised slightly as she met his gaze.
*"Hmm?"* She blinked, sipping her tea again, completely unaware of what was about to happen.
Without another word, Murtasim pushed his chair back and stood up, crossing the room in a few long strides. Before Meerab could even process what was going on, he bent down to her level, his fingers reaching out instinctively. He cupped her face in his large hands, thumbs pressing gently into her impossibly soft cheeks, giving them a playful squeeze.
Meerab froze, eyes wide in surprise, the cup of tea still mid-air as she tried to comprehend what her husband was doing.
*"Murtasim!"* she squeaked, her voice muffled slightly by the way he was squishing her cheeks. She slapped at his hands half-heartedly, though it was more out of confusion than genuine resistance. *"What are you doing?! Have you lost your mind?"*
Murtasim chuckled, his deep voice rumbling through the room. He didn’t answer right away, just kept squishing and releasing her cheeks, watching them puff up adorably each time. It was like playing with a baby’s face, and he couldn’t help but grin.
*"You’re too cute, Meerab,"* he said, finally releasing her face but keeping his hands on either side of her head, gently caressing her jawline with his thumbs. *"I couldn’t help myself."*
Meerab blinked again, flustered and completely taken aback. Her face felt warm from both his touch and the embarrassment of being treated like a child. She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to reclaim some dignity. *"I am *not* a child, Murtasim,"* she protested, her tone indignant. *"Stop treating me like one!"*
