Meerab stood under the shady archway of the haveli courtyard, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she observed Haya with a mix of irritation and amusement. The woman was animated, hands flying around dramatically, her voice dripping with fake confidence and a sweetness that was about as genuine as her stories.
"You know, Meerab," Haya began, her lips curling into a sly smile, "Murtasim only married you because of family pressure. He didn't want to. He had no choice, but trust me, he still loves me." She paused, as if waiting for a reaction.
Meerab raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She had heard enough of Haya’s fantasies over the months to know that responding would only fuel her delusions. Instead, she leaned back against the stone pillar, a faint, incredulous smile playing at her lips. Haya clearly had no idea who she was dealing with. If she thought for one second that Meerab believed a word coming out of her mouth, she was more deluded than Meerab initially thought.
But Haya, blissfully unaware of the rising disbelief in Meerab’s expression, pressed on, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she leaned in, lowering her voice as though she was sharing a juicy secret. "Before you came into the picture, he used to take me for Eid shopping every single year. We’d go to all the best markets, and he’d pick out the most beautiful clothes for me. He has such good taste, you know?" Haya’s eyes sparkled as she continued her imaginary trip down memory lane. "He used to say that I deserved nothing but the best. And oh, the jewelry! He would spend hours helping me choose the perfect earrings to match my outfits."
Meerab blinked slowly, fighting the urge to laugh. Hours? Murtasim barely lasted five minutes in a clothing store without grumbling like a five-year-old. The thought of him happily picking out bangles and scarves for Haya was beyond ridiculous. She stayed silent, though, letting Haya dig her own grave. The best part? Meerab could feel the heavy presence behind Haya—Murtasim himself had quietly entered the scene, and Haya, oblivious, continued to spew her lies.
"And then there was this one Eid," Haya continued, her eyes wide as though she was recalling something deeply personal, "when he bought me this gorgeous red and gold lehenga. Oh, Meerab, it was stunning. I wore it just for him, and you should have seen the way he looked at me. He couldn’t take his eyes off me! I still remember how he complimented me, saying I looked like the moon on a clear night."
Meerab bit her lip, struggling to contain her laughter. She could only imagine what Murtasim’s face looked like right now. Behind Haya, his footsteps were soft, measured, as he crossed his arms and listened, his jaw set in a stern line, though Meerab could see the spark of amusement in his eyes. This was going to be good.
"He even took me to dinner afterward," Haya continued with a flourish, "just the two of us. It was so romantic. We went to that fancy restaurant near the bazaar—you know the one—and he reserved the entire top floor just for us. Oh, Meerab, I felt like the queen of the world!"
Meerab was barely holding it together at this point. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, pretending to cough, though it was more to stifle the laugh that was threatening to escape. A private dinner? Murtasim couldn't even stand fancy dinners without rolling his eyes.
"And you think he's interested in you?" Haya pressed on, her voice dripping with smugness. "You don't know the real Murtasim. He may be playing the dutiful husband with you, but deep down, he’ll always be mine."
Meerab glanced at Murtasim behind Haya, her eyes gleaming with silent humor as he finally stepped closer, his face calm, though his eyes betrayed his exasperation. He cleared his throat loudly, and Haya froze, mid-sentence, her face draining of color as if she had just been caught robbing a bank.
"Really?" Murtasim's voice was smooth, deceptively calm. "Do tell, Haya. I’m intrigued. I had no idea I’ve been that romantic with you."
Haya spun around so quickly that Meerab wondered if she’d gotten whiplash. Her face paled, eyes wide with shock, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. She stared at Murtasim, caught red-handed, her confidence crumbling like a poorly built house of cards.
"I-I—" she stammered, backing up slightly. "Murtasim, I—"
Murtasim crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow, waiting. His silence was deafening, a perfect counter to Haya’s frantic scrambling for words.
"You… you were just… being nice!" Haya stammered, her voice shaking now. "I didn’t mean… I just thought…"
"Oh, I see," Murtasim drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So that romantic dinner on the top floor of a restaurant? The lehenga I supposedly bought you? When exactly did all this happen? I must’ve forgotten."
Meerab, biting her lip to contain her laughter, leaned in slightly. "Yes, Haya. Do remind us. Maybe I’d like to hear about this secret life of my husband."
Haya swallowed hard, her face flushed with embarrassment. She glanced desperately between Murtasim and Meerab, trying to find a way out of the disaster she had just created. "It wasn’t like that! I mean… you know how it is… you were just… being kind to me! That’s all!"
"Being kind?" Murtasim repeated, his eyes narrowing, his tone hardening just slightly. "By taking you Eid shopping, buying you jewelry, and booking private dinners?"
Haya looked as though she might melt into the floor. "No, no, I didn’t mean it like that—"
"And here I thought I spent all those Eids with my family," Murtasim interrupted, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Must’ve slipped my mind that I was apparently shopping for you while I was with my wife."
Meerab finally let out a soft snort of laughter, unable to hold it in anymore. She placed her hand over her mouth, trying to compose herself, but the sight of Haya’s mortified expression was too much.
"Oh Haya, you poor thing," Meerab said, feigning sympathy as she wiped away a non-existent tear. "It must be so hard living in your little fantasy world."
Murtasim stepped closer to Meerab, his hand resting lightly on her lower back, his eyes never leaving Haya. "You see, Haya," he began, his voice quiet but firm, "there’s a difference between reality and whatever delusion you’ve created in your head. I love my wife. Not you. Never you."
Haya’s face flushed a deep crimson, her lips trembling as she took a step back. "I… I didn’t mean…"
"You meant every word," Murtasim said coldly. "But I’ll say this once, and only once: Stay away from me. Stay away from us."
The finality in his tone sent a shiver through the air, and Haya stood there for a moment, frozen, before she mumbled something unintelligible and scurried off, her dignity left in shreds behind her.
Once Haya was out of sight, Meerab let out a long, satisfied sigh. "Well, that was… entertaining."
Murtasim chuckled softly, pulling her closer. "Entertaining, huh? You seemed like you were about to lose it there."
Meerab grinned up at him, her eyes twinkling. "I mean, the jewelry? The lehenga? I was waiting for her to say you serenaded her under the stars."
Murtasim groaned, shaking his head. "Don’t give her ideas."
Meerab laughed, leaning into his side as they walked away together, leaving behind the absurdity of Haya’s lies. Whatever world Haya lived in, it was clear that reality had no place in it. And in their reality, there was no room for anyone else but the two of them.
