Dhaagey: The Ties that Bind Us

57. at last

Author's Note: I can't believe y'all (read: I) made it to this chapter. But at last, here we are. HEHEHEHE. I deleted this chapter 3 times and re-wrote it, and I was like "I might do it again, so let me just post", so tadaaaa! It is 16.5K words. Heheh. See you on the other side. 

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Murtasim didn't quite understand the point of it all: the baraat, the rukhsati, the elaborate string of ceremonies crafted to symbolize a transition that, in their case, had already happened long ago. For most, the rituals marked a turning point, a shift from one life to another – a woman leaves her family home, a man takes her to his. But Meerab had always belonged right beside him.

There was no distance left to bridge between them, no icy silences that needed melting, no unfamiliarity that required the gentle cushioning of games. That ice had melted years ago. They were already standing knee-deep in the warm ocean of each other, and yet, here they were, drenched in tradition, playing parts in a ceremony whose edges didn't quite fit the contours of their story.

Still, Murtasim played along.

He played along because it made Meerab smile. Not politely. Not with the restrained grace of a bride tiptoeing through expectations. She smiled like she meant it, full, bright, and dangerously disarming, every time the crowd swelled around them with their chaotic cheer.

He had lost his shoes, not once but twice, to a cunning scheme orchestrated by Maryam and Rumi, aided by half the cousins and backed by a chant so loud he had momentarily wondered if it was part of some kind of coordinated attack. She had just laughed, head thrown back, her nose scrunching just a little, like it always did when she couldn't contain her amusement.

He paid the ransom, of course. Twice what they asked for, just to see Meerab giggle.

And then came the bowl of milk and the hidden ring. Their hands had submerged into the cool mix at the same time. Her fingers brushed his, retreated, then returned again, playfully, as they both searched blindly for a ring hidden beneath rose petals. It was ridiculous, really, but it made her smile, and that alone made him linger longer than he should have. His fingers caught hers instead of the ring and he didn't let go right away. He traced the length of one knuckle with the pad of his thumb, slow, deliberate.

She didn't pull away, until Maryam squealed, "You're supposed to find the ring, not play with her fingers!" and Murtasim had to pretend like he hadn't just been caught touching his own wife like a man starved.

He slipped the ring onto her finger discreetly once he found it, his eyes locked onto hers, the weight of the crowd fading in the background as the corner of her lip lifted into a soft curve as she pulled it out and everyone cheered, telling her she would rule the household...as if there was ever a doubt.

And then, the rukhsati came. Finally.

The ceremony that was supposed to mark the sorrowful goodbye of a daughter leaving her childhood behind. He had tried to take it seriously, really, he had. But Meerab, his beautiful, maddening, endlessly cheeky Meerab, made it impossible.

She stood there in that heavy red jora, a gleaming, resplendent vision that had every man and woman around them stunned to silence.

Except for Arslan and Hamza.

Those two had no respect for solemnity. They had each grabbed a tissue box and started wailing as soon as the photographer asked Meerab to take her place by the car. Loud, theatrical sobs that echoed across the courtyard like some tragic soap opera scene.

"Haye!" Hamza clutched his chest, practically staggering into a chair like he'd lost a limb. "Hum par ab kaun chillayega?"

Arslan chimed in without missing a beat, dabbing his eyes with the corner of his kurta, "Hamari laadli ja rahi hai... ab hume thappad kaun marega jab hum bewakoofi karein?"