It was late at night, and the air in the room was heavy with the sound of crickets chirping outside. The dim yellow light cast a soft glow over the bedroom, which was now their sanctuary—a place where once they had argued, loved, and teased one another. Yet tonight, something was different. Meerab sat on the edge of the bed, wearing one of Murtasim’s shirts, oversized on her frame, which had changed after her pregnancy. The shirt hung loosely, but her body no longer felt like her own. Her fingers traced the edges of the cotton fabric nervously, her mind swirling in a storm of thoughts she could no longer hold back.
Murtasim was lying on the sofa, flipping through a file, his brows furrowed in concentration. He looked up, catching a glimpse of her face, her eyes distant, filled with doubt, which immediately made him sit up.
“Meri jaan, what's wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle, yet carrying that protective edge he always had for her.
Meerab startled slightly, her gaze shifting to him. She swallowed hard, trying to mask the discomfort that had been brewing inside her for weeks, maybe even months.
“Kuch nahi,” she whispered, but her voice betrayed her.
Murtasim narrowed his eyes, setting the file down. He knew her too well to believe that simple lie. Her hands gripped the shirt tighter, and her eyes darted to the side as if trying to hide something.
“Meerab,” he said, his tone firm now as he approached her, standing at the edge of the bed. “What is it? Tell me. Don’t hide from me.”
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The vulnerability she felt in that moment was suffocating, yet the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Do you… do you still find me… attractive?”
Murtasim froze, a mix of confusion and disbelief flashing across his face. “What?” His voice was low, laced with concern, and he knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “Of course I do. Why would you even ask that?”
Meerab shifted her gaze to the floor, her fingers playing with the hem of the shirt nervously. “I’m not the same anymore, Murtasim. My body… after the pregnancy, everything has changed. I have bigger breasts now, wider hips… I don’t feel like myself. I don’t feel beautiful.”
Her words came out in a rush, and she dared not look up at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. She had felt these insecurities creeping up on her for a long time—each time she looked in the mirror, each time she caught a glimpse of her body that didn’t feel like it belonged to her anymore. The once confident, proud woman she used to be seemed to have been replaced by someone she didn’t recognize, someone uncertain and lost.
Murtasim’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t realized just how deeply her insecurities had rooted themselves. He moved closer, his hands gently lifting her chin so she would look at him. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, her vulnerability laid bare in a way that shattered him.
“Meerab, meri jaan,” he whispered, his thumb softly brushing against her cheek, “you’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been. You carried our child… You gave us a miracle.”
Meerab shook her head slightly, the tears now slipping down her cheeks. “But my body… it’s not the same. I feel so… big. And I thought maybe you don’t… you don’t see me the way you used to.”
Murtasim’s heart clenched, but not in the way she feared. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Do you really think that, Meerab? That I see you any less now?” His voice was hushed, filled with a tenderness that made her chest tighten.
“Sometimes… I wonder,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Murtasim stood up then, towering over her, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and disbelief, but mostly love. “Meerab, tumhein kya lagta hai? Do you really think I’m that shallow? That my love for you is based on your body?”
