The night had been unusually calm in Khan Haveli, with the crescent moon casting a soft glow over the courtyard. Inside the grand mansion, everything was as serene as it could be, except in the room where Murtasim Khan, the feared and respected head of the household, was lying on the bed with a fluffy pillow behind his head, cradling his little princess, Meesam, in his arms.
Meesam, the apple of his eye, was barely three years old but already held the Haveli in the palm of her tiny hand. The maids, the servants, even Maa Begum – no one could say no to her. And why would they, when her big hazel eyes could melt the iciest hearts?
Meerab, on the other hand, had been eying the scene from across the room, hands on her hips, her brows furrowed in frustration.
“Baba ki jaan, ab so jao. It’s late,” Murtasim murmured, his voice gentle as a breeze as he stroked his daughter's soft curls. Meesam, who was nestled against his chest, yawned widely but refused to close her eyes. She was still in no mood to sleep, and to make matters worse, she caught sight of Meerab approaching the bed.
“Ammi, no!” Meesam sat up suddenly, her tiny hands outstretched like a little warrior on the verge of battle. “No touch Baba!”
Meerab blinked, stunned. “Meesam, he’s my husband. I can touch him.”
“Meesam’s Baba!” Meesam declared, her chubby cheeks puffing out as she threw herself over Murtasim’s chest protectively, her arms wrapping around him as though she was shielding him from the greatest threat in her world—her mother.
Murtasim bit back a chuckle, his lips twitching as he glanced at Meerab, who was now looking slightly offended. He tried to smooth things over, “Meesam, Baba needs to sleep with Ammi too, okay?”
“No!” Meesam declared again, her tiny voice brimming with determination. She glanced at Meerab and, with the kind of possessiveness one would expect from a toddler, placed both her small hands on Murtasim’s face as if marking her territory. “Baba is mine. You go!”
Meerab’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Excuse me?”
“Murtasim,” she said, her voice filled with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Can you say something to your *daughter*?”
Murtasim raised a brow, clearly enjoying the scene a little too much. “What do you want me to say? She’s just being protective.” He was trying so hard not to laugh that it almost hurt.
Meerab narrowed her eyes, arms crossed as she glared at him. “She’s being possessive. There’s a difference.”
Before she could say anything more, Meesam, sensing her mother’s rising frustration, scrambled onto Murtasim’s chest and puffed up like a little peacock, daring her mother to come closer. “My Baba!”
Meerab sighed deeply and leaned down toward Meesam. “Beta, I’m your *Ammi*. Baba is my husband. We share him, okay?”
Meesam’s eyes squinted suspiciously at Meerab as though she had said something completely absurd. “No share! Mine.”
Murtasim finally gave in and laughed, shaking his head. “She’s not wrong, you know. Technically, she was here first tonight.”
Meerab shot him a glare that could burn through steel. “Murtasim!”
He raised both his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Alright, alright, let me handle this.” He turned to his little princess and tapped her gently on the nose. “Meesam, Baba loves you so much. But Baba also loves Ammi, and Ammi loves Baba too. So Baba has to be with Ammi sometimes too. Understand?”
Meesam stared at him, her brows furrowed in concentration as if she was seriously contemplating the arrangement. After a moment, she shook her head with conviction. “No.”
