Murtasim leaned back on the old, creaky sofa in their bedroom, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched as Meerab arranged her pillows, making herself comfortable on the large bed she had monopolized for weeks. Every night was the same—him on the sofa, her on the bed, with that irritating contract hanging between them like an invisible wall. The flicker of the lamp made shadows dance on the walls, and a slow smirk crept onto his face as a mischievous idea formed in his mind.
He stretched, making a loud groan for effect, "Meerab, you know, this sofa is killing my back. I don’t know how much longer I can take it. Don’t you think it's about time we shared the bed?"
Meerab, half-distracted by the book in her hands, barely looked up. "Not a chance, Murtasim. The contract clearly states no touching. And I don’t trust you enough to follow that, so the sofa is where you belong."
He raised an eyebrow, walking closer to the bed. "Are you seriously going to keep hiding behind that piece of paper forever? I haven’t touched you once without your permission."
She huffed, turning the page with exaggerated indifference. "It’s not just about touching. I don’t trust you, Murtasim. I’m not stupid."
He tilted his head, suppressing a chuckle. "Not stupid, huh? Well, you’re brave. I’ll give you that."
Meerab frowned, glancing up at him now, a little intrigued. "What are you talking about?"
Murtasim turned away, giving a casual shrug as he walked towards the door. "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how you sleep here alone on that big bed, totally unaware."
"Unaware of what?"
He glanced back, his eyes glinting with feigned concern. "You haven’t heard the stories? This haveli is... old. There are rumors, you know."
Meerab’s grip on the book tightened. "What kind of rumors?"
Murtasim leaned against the doorframe, playing it up now, lowering his voice for dramatic effect. "They say people have seen things. Ghosts. Spirits that roam around at night. I mean, it’s just a story, of course, but the servants whisper about it. Especially since... well, never mind, you don’t need to worry."
Her eyes widened. "Since what? What are you talking about?"
"Oh, Meerab," he sighed, shaking his head as though reluctant to continue. "I don’t want to scare you. You’re already so... strong. But they say, late at night, some people have seen a figure, dressed in white, floating through these very hallways. Sometimes, the lights flicker, and there’s a cold draft, even when the windows are closed."
Meerab sat up straighter, glancing nervously around the room. "You’re just messing with me. That’s not true."
Murtasim shrugged again, fighting back a grin. "Believe what you want. But you know the old story, don’t you? About the woman who disappeared? Some say she was never really gone... that her spirit still looks for someone... a soul to take with her."
"Murtasim!" Meerab’s voice shook slightly. "Stop it. You’re trying to scare me."
He sauntered over to the window, dramatically pulling it open just an inch. The wind howled softly outside, and he looked back at her with a serious expression. "I’m just saying, it gets lonely in here... at night... with only the wind howling and the shadows shifting. But don’t worry, I’m here—on the sofa. Far away. If anything happens, you’ll be fine."
Meerab gulped, clutching her blanket a little tighter now. Her eyes darted around the room as if expecting something to leap out from the shadows. "What do you mean by ‘anything happens’? What would happen?"
Murtasim rubbed his jaw, pretending to think. "Well, I’ve never actually seen anything myself... but I did hear someone say they felt something brush past them while they were sleeping. Like a cold hand, right on their arm."
That did it. Meerab shot up, her eyes wide. "Murtasim, this isn’t funny!"
He stepped closer to the sofa, looking like he was about to lie down. "You’re right. I’ll stop. I’ll just sleep here—alone—on this very uncomfortable couch. Good luck with... whatever’s out there."
Meerab stared at him for a long moment, biting her lip. Finally, unable to stand the creeping fear any longer, she spoke up. "Wait. Maybe... maybe you should just sleep here."
Murtasim blinked, feigning innocence. "What was that?"
She rolled her eyes, though her nervousness was clear. "I said, maybe you should sleep here. But don’t get any ideas! Just... just because I don’t want to be alone with... with whatever’s out there doesn’t mean you can touch me. The contract still stands!"
He smirked, barely holding back his laughter as he approached the bed. "Of course, Meerab. I would never. After all, the contract is very important."
She scooted over, making space for him, and as he climbed into bed, he couldn’t resist one last jab. "You know, they say the spirits are more likely to show up when someone’s feeling scared. It’s like they can sense it."
Meerab’s eyes widened again, and she quickly pulled the blanket up to her chin. "Murtasim, if you say one more word about ghosts, I swear I’ll make you sleep outside!"
Murtasim bit his lip, barely able to contain his grin. "Of course, darling. Sleep well." He turned on his side, hiding his face in the pillow, silently shaking with laughter.
As Meerab lay stiff beside him, clutching the blanket and glancing around the room nervously, Murtasim’s smile only grew wider. Finally, after weeks of exile on that cursed sofa, he had won.
Maybe the sofa wasn’t so bad after all... but the bed was definitely better.
