Murtasim Khan had always been the picture of control. Calm, composed, and decisive—the perfect blend of charm and authority. But there was one person in the world who could unravel him with a single word: Meerab.
More specifically, the way she called him Bhai.
From the day they were children, Meerab had latched onto the term with a stubbornness that rivaled Murtasim’s patience. She was the girl who rode around on a bicycle, dressed in mismatched clothes, and called him Bhai while simultaneously stealing his heart. The problem? She never seemed to notice the way his eye twitched every time the word escaped her lips.
Every time she said, "Murtasim Bhai, look at my drawing!" or "Murtasim Bhai, help me with my homework!"—he felt like tearing his hair out. Because the last thing he wanted was to be her brother. He wanted to be so much more, and yet, Meerab remained blissfully ignorant of the storm raging inside him.
Now, years later, as they both stood on the brink of adulthood, Meerab still called him that.
Bhai.
It grated on his nerves, gnawed at his patience, and each time she used that word, a part of Murtasim’s heart shriveled up like a raisin in the desert sun.
Today, however, would be different.
____
The Fateful Gathering
Meerab had decided to invite her university friends over to their farmhouse for a get-together. Murtasim had tried to remain cool about it, but when she specifically asked him to help with the preparations—and then introduced him as her brother—in front of everyone, his patience stretched dangerously thin.
The setting was perfect: the group of friends gathered around the large dining table on the lawn, chatting, laughing, and swapping stories. Murtasim stood a little away, arms crossed, watching from afar with the usual scowl etched on his face. He had managed to avoid direct contact with the group for most of the evening, choosing to remain aloof, but his brooding presence had not gone unnoticed.
Especially by Rohail, one of Meerab’s friends who seemed a little too interested in her for Murtasim’s liking.
As Murtasim observed, his eyes narrowed on the way Rohail leaned in toward Meerab, whispering something that made her giggle. Giggle. Murtasim’s jaw clenched.
Giggle?! Since when did Meerab giggle like that?
The final straw came when Rohail casually placed his hand on Meerab’s shoulder, his fingers lingering a little too long for Murtasim’s comfort.
"Yeah, Meerab’s so sweet," Rohail said with a sly grin, his eyes glinting with interest. "I was thinking maybe we could grab coffee sometime?"
Murtasim’s nostrils flared. Coffee?! Oh, no, this was not happening. Not on his watch.
Meerab, still oblivious to the molten rage simmering in Murtasim, simply smiled and said, "Yeah, Rohail’s been helping me with some of my assignments. He’s such a good friend."
Friend? If looks could kill, Rohail would have been six feet under.
Before Murtasim could react, Meerab turned toward the group and, with that same innocent smile, made the mistake of a lifetime.
"This is my older brother, Murtasim Bhai! Isn’t he great? He’s always looking out for me!"
The words hit Murtasim like a sledgehammer to the gut.
Older brother? He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to maintain his composure, but his eye twitched uncontrollably.
"Oh really?" Rohail asked, his smile widening. "You’re her brother, huh?"
