The air inside Khan Haveli was thick with tension—an unspoken heaviness that hung over every interaction, every moment of silence. Meerab’s return had not brought the sense of relief or joy anyone had hoped for. Instead, it had shattered the fragile peace that remained after her sudden departure. The walls that had once echoed with laughter and life now felt stifling, burdened by guilt, anger, and regret.
Meerab had returned, but not as Murtasim’s wife. She was here solely for the child growing inside her, a child that was as much a part of her as it was a product of the night she wished she could forget.
Murtasim watched her from a distance, always too far to reach, yet always too close to ignore. His heart ached with every step she took away from him, with every glance she threw his way that was filled with anger, distrust, and—worst of all—fear. He knew he deserved it. He had betrayed her in the most unforgivable way, and there was no redemption for what he had done. But he couldn’t stop himself from looking, from longing for a connection he feared would never come.
---
Khan Haveli – Late Afternoon
Meerab sat by the window of the guest room she had chosen for herself. It was far from Murtasim’s room—their room. She could never go back there. The very thought of entering that space made her skin crawl. This room, however, offered a different kind of solace. It faced the courtyard, a place where she could watch the sky without feeling trapped.
She rested a hand on her stomach, her expression unreadable. The baby was growing, a constant reminder of the night everything had gone wrong. She didn’t hate the child. How could she? The baby was innocent, untouched by the cruelty of the world. But every flutter she felt, every kick, brought her back to that night, to the force, the pain, the helplessness.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She tensed, instinctively pulling her dupatta tighter around her. “Come in,” she said, her voice low and guarded.
The door creaked open, and Maa Begum stepped inside. Her usual regal demeanor was absent, replaced by a hesitance that Meerab had never seen before. There was no pride in her posture, no sternness in her gaze. Instead, she looked almost… apologetic.
“Meerab,” Maa Begum began, her voice soft, cautious. “I brought you some fruit. You should eat something.”
Meerab’s eyes flicked to the tray in Maa Begum’s hands before returning to the window. “I’m not hungry,” she replied, her tone distant.
Maa Begum placed the tray on the table by the bed, her movements slow, deliberate. She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, of how to bridge the growing chasm between them. Finally, she spoke, her voice trembling slightly. “I know you’re angry… and you have every right to be. I—I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re feeling. But… I want you to know that I’m here. For you, for the baby.”
Meerab’s jaw clenched at the mention of the baby. She looked away, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re only here because of the baby,” she said coldly. “Not because of me.”
Maa Begum’s heart ached at the words. She had always been a woman of pride, of strength. But now, standing before the daughter-in-law she had failed so utterly, she felt small, helpless. “That’s not true, Meerab,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re my daughter. I’ve always seen you as my own. I’m ashamed of what happened. Of what my son did. And if I could take back everything—”
“But you can’t,” Meerab interrupted, her voice sharp, cutting. She turned to face Maa Begum, her eyes hard, filled with a fury that had been simmering beneath the surface since the moment she had returned. “You can’t take it back. None of you can.”
