Murtasim paced across the length of his lavish bedroom, the dim light casting long shadows across the walls, accentuating the grand yet old feel of Khan Haveli. His eyes flicked between the bed and the couch, his jaw tightening with frustration. For the past several nights, that lumpy, uncomfortable couch had been his place of rest, and he was done with it. He wasn't going to spend another sleepless night listening to Meerab's steady breathing while he suffered in silence.
Meerab sat comfortably on the massive bed, propped up by several pillows, engrossed in a book. She looked up as Murtasim made another frustrated lap across the room, raising an eyebrow at his obvious agitation.
"Why do you keep pacing like a tiger?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Go to sleep if you’re so tired."
Murtasim stopped, glaring at the innocent-looking couch. “How can anyone sleep on that thing? My back feels like it’s been broken into two!”
“Well, you can’t sleep on the bed,” Meerab said casually, flipping a page in her book, not even sparing him a glance. “Remember the contract?”
Murtasim’s lips tightened as he resisted the urge to rip the contract into pieces in his mind. That wretched contract! How had he agreed to that ridiculous thing in the first place? But of course, Meerab was as stubborn as a mountain and as sharp as a blade when it came to reminding him of it.
“I don’t need reminding,” he muttered. “But I’m your husband, Meerab. We can’t keep living like strangers in our own house.”
She finally looked at him, her eyes hard. “I don’t trust you, Murtasim. I’ve told you this before. I don’t want you to touch me.”
Her words stung, and Murtasim clenched his fists, taking a deep breath. How had it come to this? Here he was, hopelessly in love with his wife, and yet she held him at arm’s length. He wasn’t about to beg her to let him sleep on the bed, though. No, if there was one thing Murtasim Khan was good at, it was getting what he wanted—one way or another.
Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind, and a mischievous smirk curled his lips. If reason wouldn’t work with Meerab, maybe a little fun would. After all, he knew her well enough to know she had one significant weakness.
He turned to her, his expression serious, his voice dropping an octave. “Meerab, there’s something I need to tell you about this haveli.”
Meerab’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she didn’t look away from her book. “What now, Murtasim?”
“This haveli is… old,” he began, walking slowly towards the window and staring out dramatically into the night. “Very old. And people around here say strange things happen sometimes.”
She finally looked up at him, her brow furrowed. “What strange things?”
Murtasim didn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch until the tension in the room thickened. Then, in a low, eerie voice, he said, “They say… they’ve seen things. Heard things. Spirits. Ghosts.”
Meerab blinked, her body stiffening. “What nonsense are you talking about?”
Murtasim turned to face her, his expression deadly serious now, as though this was a grave matter. “I’ve heard the servants talking. Late at night, when the wind howls through the corridors, some say they’ve seen shadows moving. Voices whispering their names when no one is around.”
Meerab swallowed, a flicker of unease crossing her face. She was trying to remain calm, but Murtasim knew her well enough to notice the way her fingers tightened around her book. She wasn’t entirely unaffected.
“Stop trying to scare me, Murtasim. I’m not a child,” she said, her voice a little shakier than usual.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he replied solemnly, sitting down on the edge of the couch. “I’m just telling you what I’ve heard. In fact… I’ve experienced it myself.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Last night, when I was lying here on this couch, I heard footsteps outside the door. I thought it was one of the servants, but when I got up to check… no one was there. Just… empty shadows.”
Meerab’s eyes widened slightly, and Murtasim had to fight the urge to laugh. She was buying it.
“And then,” he continued, spinning his tale with growing confidence, “I heard a voice. Soft at first, but then louder. It called my name—Murtasim—like it was right next to me. But when I turned around, the room was empty.”
Meerab’s book fell to her lap as she sat up straighter. “You’re making this up.”
“Why would I make something like this up?” he asked, keeping his expression sincere. “All I’m saying is… this haveli has a history. It’s been around for centuries. Who knows what might be lingering in the shadows?”
Meerab was visibly unsettled now, her eyes darting to the dark corners of the room. Murtasim could almost hear the wheels turning in her head, imagining all sorts of ghostly apparitions lurking in the darkness. She hated the idea of ghosts—he knew that much.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke, her voice a whisper. “So… do you think… the ghosts…?”
“They don’t usually bother people who stay on the bed,” Murtasim said quickly, jumping at the opportunity. “They seem to prefer people who sleep on the couch. I don’t know why, but that’s what I’ve heard.”
Meerab’s eyes flicked between him and the couch, and then, finally, she broke. “Fine!” she blurted out, flustered. “Just—just sleep on the bed tonight. But only tonight!”
Murtasim bit back a triumphant grin, making his way toward the bed as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Are you sure?” he asked, feigning concern. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Meerab pulled the blanket tighter around her, glaring at him. “Yes, I’m sure. Just don’t come near me.”
Murtasim lay down beside her, settling into the soft mattress with a contented sigh. “I’ll stay on my side. You have nothing to worry about.”
Meerab turned away from him, muttering under her breath. “You’re unbelievable.”
He smiled in the darkness, amused by how easily she had fallen for his trick. But as he closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the bed beneath him, he couldn’t help but whisper, “Sleep well, Meerab. And don’t worry about the ghosts. I’ll protect you.”
From the other side of the bed, Meerab groaned. "Shut up, Murtasim."
