Karachi, a Day After Her Departure
Murtasim had never known fear like this. It gripped him, clawing at his insides, making every breath feel like a battle. It had been over twenty-four hours since Meerab had left the haveli, and with every passing moment, the hollow pit inside him grew deeper. He had sent his men to Hyderabad, Karachi, and every town in between. He had scoured every street, every alley, every possible place where she could be, but she was gone.
Meerab had disappeared without a trace, leaving behind nothing but the ache of her absence and the guilt that suffocated him.
How could I have done this? The question pounded in his mind, over and over. The night of Mariyam's rukhsati was supposed to be a happy occasion. It was supposed to be a moment of joy, of celebration. But his jealousy, his anger-no, his weakness-had consumed him.
The memory of that night replayed in his head in agonizing detail. Her tearful eyes, the way she had struggled against him, her soft cries that he had ignored in his blind rage. He had forced himself on her, taken her in the cruelest way possible, thinking only of his pride, his anger, and not the woman he loved.
Now, she was gone, and he feared he would never see her again.
---
Months Later
Time had a cruel way of stretching itself when you were trapped in a whirlwind of guilt and regret. For months, Murtasim had woken up every day with a sinking feeling in his chest, his eyes searching the empty spaces in the haveli that she once filled. He tried to go about his duties, to manage his land and people, but nothing felt right without her.
Each passing day without Meerab was another day he questioned himself, his worth, and the love he claimed to have for her. He had no right to call it love, not after what he had done.
Murtasim barely slept. His dreams were haunted by her voice, her cries for him to stop, the look of betrayal on her face. He had lost her, and deep down, he knew that even if she returned, nothing would ever be the same again.
---
Hyderabad, Early Morning
The haveli's servants were in the courtyard when they saw her. Meerab stood at the gate, her posture stiff and hesitant. She looked different-thinner, more fragile, as if the world had drained her of her spark. Her dupatta was pulled tightly around her, and there was a weariness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. But it wasn't just fatigue; it was fear.
Word spread quickly through the haveli. Murtasim was in his study when one of the servants rushed in, breathless. "Sahib, Meerab bibi... she's back."
His heart stopped. For a moment, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. She's back? He had imagined this moment for so long, but now that it was happening, he felt paralyzed. His guilt, his shame-they held him back from rushing to her like he wanted to.
But he couldn't let her stand there, waiting. He rose from his chair, his legs trembling beneath him as he made his way to the courtyard. With every step, his heart pounded louder in his chest.
And then, there she was.
Meerab stood at the threshold of the haveli, her eyes cast downward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Murtasim stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. She looked more vulnerable than he had ever seen her, and for a moment, all he wanted to do was rush to her, to hold her, to apologize until his voice gave out.
But he couldn't.
"Meerab," he breathed, his voice low, barely more than a whisper.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence between them. The tension was thick, the air heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of their shared past.
