Love Rewritten

Brushstrokes of Fate-2

Hey, everyone! This chapter is a bit long and goes into a flashback (hence the italics), diving into Meerab and Murtasim's backstories. It'll help you understand why Meerab reacted the way she did in the last chapter. Hope you enjoy it! Can't wait to hear what you think!

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5   Y E A R S   A G O

The memories washed over Meerab like a tide, each wave bringing a bittersweet mix of joy and heartache. She sat on the wooden floor of her cozy bedroom, the late afternoon sun filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the space. The light danced on the walls, illuminating the vibrant swaths of paint splattered across her canvases, each stroke a fragment of her soul. Her cross-legged position offered a sense of comfort amidst the chaos, as if she were grounding herself in the familiar sanctuary of her art.

The air was thick with the pungent scent of turpentine and linseed oil, a sensory reminder of her creative pursuits. Paint tubes and brushes lay scattered around her, remnants of a long day spent in a whirlwind of inspiration. She could still hear the faint echoes of laughter reverberating in her mind, the joyous sound of Murtasim's voice lifting her spirits. It was a sound she had come to cherish, each laugh a note in their shared melody, harmonizing perfectly with the rhythm of their friendship.

Just hours ago, they had been lost in conversation, their words flowing as freely as the paint from her brush. Murtasim had leaned against the wall, an easy smile on his face, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he watched her work. They had exchanged playful banter, teasing each other about their artistic choices, but beneath the surface lay a deeper connection—a bond that had grown in the quiet moments spent together.

She remembered the way his presence filled the room, how the air seemed to shimmer with unspoken words. Each glance shared between them held a weight of meaning, an intimacy that neither dared to define. They moved in a world of their own, a bubble of creativity where time ceased to exist, and the outside world faded away.

But now, with the sunlight dimming and shadows stretching across the floor, a profound emptiness began to seep into her heart. She felt a longing that twisted her insides, the realization of his absence settling heavily on her shoulders. Murtasim had left, but his energy still lingered in the air, palpable and intoxicating. It was as if he had taken a part of her with him, leaving her surrounded by colors yet feeling devoid of vibrancy.

As she reached for a paintbrush, her fingers trembled slightly, the weight of their last moments together flooding her thoughts. She closed her eyes, recalling the warmth of his smile and the softness of his gaze, both so familiar yet hauntingly out of reach. It was during those fleeting seconds—filled with laughter, friendship, and an underlying tension—that she had wished she could confess her feelings. But words had failed her, buried beneath the fear of ruining what they had.

The canvas before her remained blank, a stark contrast to the chaos of emotions swirling within. She longed to translate her heartache into art, to express the depths of her longing, but the brush hesitated above the surface, caught in the struggle between creation and despair.

With a sigh, Meerab opened her eyes, the light of the setting sun casting elongated shadows in the room, mirroring the shadows of her thoughts. It was a moment suspended in time, a pause before the inevitable rush of reality returned, reminding her of the distance that now lay between them. The weight of unspoken confessions hung in the air like an unfinished canvas, waiting for the courage to fill it with color, longing for the day when she could finally let her heart speak its truth.