It was one of those peaceful evenings in Khan Haveli, where everything seemed to have returned to normal—or at least as normal as things could be in a household where misunderstandings, drama, and intense emotions constantly lurked around every corner.
Murtasim sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, clearly brooding about something. His fingers tapped impatiently against the wooden headboard, and his eyebrows furrowed more with each passing minute. On the other side of the room, Meerab was lying on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, blissfully unaware—or perhaps pretending to be unaware—of the storm brewing inside her husband’s head.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Murtasim couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“Meerab,” he began, his voice sharp but with an undertone of something she couldn’t quite place. Was it frustration? Annoyance?
Meerab didn’t even look up from her magazine. “Hmm?”
Murtasim threw his phone onto the bed with a huff, folding his arms across his chest. “You know, this is getting ridiculous.”
That caught her attention. She sat up slightly, raising an eyebrow. “What is?”
“This. Us. Our... uh... physical relationship,” he stammered slightly, trying to find the right words without sounding too direct. He wasn’t exactly a man to beat around the bush, but this was Meerab, and he knew she had a tendency to misinterpret things.
Meerab blinked, finally closing her magazine. “What are you talking about?”
Murtasim took a deep breath, as if preparing for battle. “I’m always the one initiating things between us! You never—” he gestured vaguely with his hands “—make the first move.”
Meerab stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “Wait... What?”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You heard me. I’m the one who always... you know... starts things.” His voice lowered as if he were afraid someone outside the room might overhear. “You never do.”
Meerab’s confusion quickly turned into amusement. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she stood up and walked towards the bed, leaning against the bedpost. “Oh, so that’s what’s been bothering you, huh?”
Murtasim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not funny, Meerab.”
She chuckled, crossing her arms. “Well, it kind of is.”
“No, it’s not!” he insisted, his voice rising slightly. “I’m serious! Every time it’s me who... who has to initiate everything! You never take the lead!”
Meerab couldn’t help but burst out laughing now. “So, let me get this straight. You’re upset because I don’t... initiate intimacy?”
Murtasim glared at her, clearly not finding any humor in the situation. “Yes! That’s exactly it!”
Meerab, still giggling, shook her head. “Wow. I didn’t realize this was such a big deal to you.”
“It is a big deal!” Murtasim said, now fully standing up, his arms gesticulating wildly. “A man likes to feel wanted, Meerab. Appreciated. Sometimes, I want to come home and feel like you can’t resist me. But no! It’s always me making the first move. You never... you never—”
“Okay, okay!” Meerab interrupted, raising her hands in surrender. “I get it. You’re feeling underappreciated.”
Murtasim crossed his arms, nodding firmly. “Exactly.”
She smiled sweetly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Well, Murtasim Khan, if it’s initiation you want, it’s initiation you’ll get.”
Murtasim blinked, suddenly unsure about the mischievous glint in her eyes. “What do you mean?”
