Murtasim leaned back on the hospital bed, trying hard not to break into a grin. His plan was going perfectly. After the accident, when Meerab had rushed to his side, her face pale with fear and concern, he’d been hit with an idea—one that, to be honest, he couldn’t resist.
The moment he woke up and saw the panic in her eyes, the guilt evident in the way she clung to his hand, the notion hit him like a stroke of genius.
What if he pretended to lose his memory?
Meerab, usually so cold and distant, had been fussing over him, hovering by his side, smoothing his hair, and holding his hand as if she was terrified he would slip away. He could feel the care and worry emanating from her in waves, and he wasn’t ready to give that up so soon.
“Meerab?” he called softly, his voice intentionally weak.
She was by his side in an instant. “Murtasim, are you okay? Do you need anything?” Her voice was soft, her eyes filled with concern.
“Who…who are you?” he asked, letting his eyes widen slightly, as though he were truly lost, feigning confusion with an expert precision he didn’t even know he had.
Meerab’s face drained of color. Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, her lips parted, as if she didn’t know whether to breathe or speak first. She stared at him, her body frozen in place.
“Murtasim… what are you saying?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Murtasim fought back the urge to smirk. This was going better than he had anticipated. He stared back at her, his brow furrowed, and then tilted his head slightly, like a confused child. “I... I don’t recognize you. Who are you?” he said, his voice low and unsure.
Meerab’s hand flew to her mouth, and she took a shaky step back, her eyes filling with tears. “No… this can’t be happening,” she muttered, more to herself than him. “Murtasim, it’s me… Meerab.”
“Meerab?” He repeated her name as if trying to grasp at the faintest memory. He blinked several times, as though trying to force a memory that wouldn’t come. “I don’t… I don’t remember you.”
She stood there, stunned. For a few seconds, she didn’t move, and Murtasim could practically hear her heart pounding. Then, suddenly, she sprang into action, moving towards him in a rush.
“Murtasim, listen to me. You’re going to be fine. I’m your wife, Meerab,” she said urgently, grasping his hand tightly as if holding him could bring his memories back. “We’re married, and… you had an accident, but you’re going to remember everything, I promise.”
Murtasim gazed at her, forcing a blank expression while internally, he was trying not to burst out laughing at how serious she looked. It wasn’t every day Meerab willingly acknowledged their marriage, much less with such conviction. He was loving every second of this.
His hand twitched in hers. “We’re… married?” he asked, feigning a deep confusion. He gazed down at their joined hands as though seeing them for the first time.
“Yes,” she nodded eagerly. “Yes, we’re married. You don’t remember? It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’ll remember soon.”
Murtasim tilted his head, giving her a boyish, innocent look. “I married you?” he asked softly. “But why… why would I do that?” He could see the panic starting to form behind her eyes and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning.
Meerab blinked, taken aback by his question. “W-what do you mean, why?” she stammered, her cheeks flushing with discomfort. “We were... it was an arranged marriage. Our families wanted it.”
