The festive air of Mariyam's rukhsati lingered in the haveli, filled with the sounds of celebration and farewells. Murtasim, though smiling outwardly, had been distracted the entire evening. His mind kept drifting to Meerab. It had been weeks since their last argument, and the distance between them had grown more noticeable, gnawing at him from the inside.
As the wedding festivities drew to a close, Murtasim found himself surrounded by well-wishers and family members, but his thoughts were elsewhere-his eyes constantly searching the crowd for any glimpse of Meerab. She had been there, of course, fulfilling her duties, but she hadn't so much as glanced in his direction.
"Meerab..." he muttered under his breath, longing for some sort of resolution. He missed her presence, her fiery nature that kept him on his toes, and even the constant arguments that somehow always brought them closer.
Just as he was thinking about how to approach her, a small boy tugged on his sleeve.
"Bhai, someone gave me this for you," the boy said, holding up a folded chit of paper.
Murtasim furrowed his brow and took the note. The handwriting was unmistakable. His heart skipped a beat as he read the message:
"Meet me in your room. I'm Meerab."
His heart raced. Could this be the moment he had been waiting for? Did Meerab finally want to talk to him-maybe even reconcile? The thought of her confessing her love made his chest swell with hope. He could barely contain his excitement. Without a second thought, he handed the boy a few rupees as a tip and hurried off toward their bedroom.
His mind raced with a thousand thoughts as he climbed the stairs. Was this it? Had Meerab finally decided to forgive him for their last argument? Or maybe, just maybe, she was ready to confess her feelings. He dared not hope too much, but the anticipation was unbearable.
When he reached the door of their bedroom, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. With a small, nervous smile, he opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, and before he could even take a step forward, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind in a tight hug.
"Meerab..." he whispered, his voice filled with hope. His heart swelled with joy, and he instinctively smiled, thinking she had finally come to him.
But before he could even turn around and savor the moment, he heard a voice-a shocked gasp from the doorway.
"Murtasim..."
His heart dropped. The tone of that voice wasn't filled with love or reconciliation. It was filled with hurt, betrayal, and shock. He quickly turned his head to see Meerab standing at the door, her eyes wide with disbelief, her expression frozen in pain.
His heart sank into his stomach.
"Meerab-" he began, his voice laced with confusion.
But then he realized the arms still around him didn't belong to Meerab. He glanced down and saw the unmistakable fabric of Haya's clothes. His blood ran cold. Haya had been hugging him this whole time, not Meerab. And Meerab had just seen the whole thing.
"What... What are you doing here?" Meerab's voice trembled, and the hurt in her eyes cut him like a blade. She looked at him as if the ground had been pulled from beneath her feet.
Murtasim immediately pulled away from Haya, stepping back as if her very touch had burned him. He raised his hands defensively, his mind scrambling for an explanation.
"This isn't what it looks like!" Murtasim stammered, taking a step toward Meerab, but her expression only hardened.
Haya, ever the cunning serpent, wore a look of feigned regret as she stepped forward, casting a sly glance at Murtasim before turning her gaze toward Meerab.
