It was well past midnight, and the grand haveli was enveloped in a quiet stillness. The night air was cool, and the only sounds that could be heard were the distant hooting of an owl and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. Murtasim Khan lay sprawled on his side of the bed, fast asleep, his breathing even and steady. He had long since slipped into a deep slumber, exhausted from the day’s work, while the room remained dimly lit by a faint bedside lamp.
On the other side of the bed, Meerab lay wide awake, staring up at the ceiling with a furrowed brow and restless energy coursing through her. She shifted again for what felt like the hundredth time, her hand rubbing her rounded belly gently. At six months pregnant, she had begun to experience a series of odd and unpredictable cravings, but tonight, she had been hit with one so bizarre, it made her question her own sanity.
She could ignore it. She had been trying to ignore it for the last half an hour. But the more she tried, the stronger the craving became. It gnawed at her, refusing to let her sleep. And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was only one person who could make this ridiculous craving go away.
Her eyes darted to Murtasim, still sleeping soundly, his strong features relaxed and peaceful. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she watched him. He looked so calm, so unaware of the storm brewing inside her mind.
But there was no way around it. She needed that food.
Taking a deep breath, Meerab nudged him softly with her elbow. “Murtasim…” she whispered, her voice low and hesitant at first.
There was no response.
She nudged him a bit harder this time, her patience wearing thin. “Murtasim!”
A groggy grunt escaped his lips as he stirred, rolling over onto his back. His eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, as he squinted up at her in confusion.
“Huh? Kya hua?” he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion.
Meerab sat up, her hands clutching her belly, her face the perfect picture of seriousness. “Murtasim, I need something,” she said, her tone urgent, as though the matter at hand was one of life and death.
Murtasim blinked a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep clouding his brain. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, sitting up slowly. “Abhi? Is waqt?” He glanced at the clock on the nightstand—it read 2:13 AM. He looked back at Meerab, bewildered. “Meerab, it’s the middle of the night. Kya zaroorat hai abhi?”
Meerab frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have a craving.”
Murtasim blinked again, trying to process her words. “A craving? Raat ke do baj rahe hain, aur tumhein craving ho rahi hai?” He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “Meerab, kal subah kar lo, abhi so jao. You need rest.”
But Meerab was having none of it. Her frown deepened as she fixed him with a determined stare. “Murtasim, I’m pregnant, and I need to eat what I’m craving *right now*.”
He groaned, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. “Fine, fine,” he muttered, still half-asleep. “Kya chahiye tumhein? I’ll tell the cook to make it.”
Meerab hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to say it without sounding ridiculous. She glanced down at her hands, suddenly feeling a little shy. “Mujhe… mujhe jalebi chahiye,” she whispered, almost embarrassed by her request.
Murtasim’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Jalebi? Raat ke do baje jalebi?”
Meerab nodded, her expression earnest. “Haan, jalebi. I really, really want jalebi right now. Please.”
