The next morning, the sunlight filtered into the room, casting a soft glow on the intricate patterns of the curtains. Murtasim stirred on the couch, his back aching from a night of restless sleep. His eyes immediately darted toward the bed, only to find it empty. Meerab had already left.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. Last night’s events played over and over in his mind, each time more mortifying than the last. He needed to talk to her, explain, apologize—something. But how could he even begin to explain such an embarrassing situation? The thought made his stomach churn.
He quickly freshened up and made his way downstairs, his eyes scanning the house for any sign of her. He found her sitting at the breakfast table, pointedly ignoring him as she sipped her tea, her eyes trained on a newspaper. She didn’t even glance his way when he entered the room, and that only made his nerves tighten.
"Meerab," he started softly, approaching her cautiously. "Can we talk?"
She didn't respond. Didn't even flinch. It was as though he didn't exist. Her eyes were glued to the paper, though he was certain she wasn’t reading a single word. The way her lips pressed together and her brows furrowed slightly told him she was still fuming.
"Meerab..." Murtasim tried again, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. "Please, listen to me. I’m sorry about last night."
Silence.
He reached for her hand, but she yanked it away before he could touch her, her jaw tightening. “You’re disgusting,” she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.
Murtasim winced but kept his voice soft. “I’m not disgusting. I’m your husband. Can’t we just talk about this?”
Meerab slammed the newspaper down on the table, her eyes finally meeting his. The fury blazing in them made Murtasim want to crawl under the table. “There is nothing to talk about, Murtasim,” she said coldly. “You have officially proved to me that I was right to make you sleep on the couch. Pervert.”
He flinched again at the word. “I’m not a pervert!” he protested, but his voice wavered, and he wasn’t sure he even believed himself at this point.
Meerab stood up abruptly, pushing her chair back with a screech. “I don’t have time for this,” she muttered, turning on her heel to leave the room.
Murtasim jumped up after her. “Meerab, wait! I just want to apologize—”
She spun around, her eyes flashing. “Apologize for what? For moaning my name in the middle of the night while doing God knows what on the couch?!” Her voice had risen, and Murtasim’s cheeks flushed with heat as he glanced around to make sure no servants were within earshot.
He swallowed hard, feeling cornered. “I—Look, I’m sorry you walked in on that. It was... embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing? That’s your excuse? Embarrassing?” she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You were touching yourself and fantasizing about me, Murtasim! How is that normal behavior?”
He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well... we’re married, Meerab. It’s not like I’m fantasizing about some stranger. You’re my wife, and... it’s only natural for me to be attracted to you.”
Meerab’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Natural? Natural?” she repeated, as if he had spoken in a foreign language. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and Murtasim could see her patience thinning.
He was losing ground fast, but he wasn’t ready to give up. “Yes, natural! You’re beautiful, and... well, I’m a man. I have feelings, desires... it’s not something I can just turn off!”