Murtasim's gaze was fixated on Meerab, his eyes tracing every contour of her face with an intensity that bordered on obsession. The walls he had meticulously built around his heart, the barriers that once held his desires at bay, had crumbled into oblivion when Meerab had awoken in his room.

In the wake of their conversation earlier that morning, he found himself unable to think of anything else but her, going in circles with his thoughts about her and about them.

It was why he had tried to stay away and forced himself to not think of her, because if his thoughts had been this consumed by her presence, her essence permeating every corner of his mind, then he would have not been able to keep her out of his sight for even a day, much less the time she needed to spend in Karachi to finish school.

The mere prospect of her returning after five long years and being in her company had ignited a fire within him, an all-encompassing longing that refused to be extinguished because he no longer had to force himself to stay away. No one had been happier about her finishing her LLB than he had.

Since the moment he had learned that Meerab was making her way back home, anticipation had mounted, his heart had raced with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The thought of finally being able to gaze into her eyes, to feel the warmth of her touch, and to bask in the radiance of her presence had stirred a whirlwind of emotions within him.

It was as if the world around him had faded into the background, and all that mattered was Meerab.

To his utter displeasure, it had also been a time of disarray, with the Maliks wreaking havoc on the village, unusual disappearances, and ten other pressing problems calling his name just around the time of her arrival back in Hyderabad. Everything required his utmost attention at the worst time.

Despite knowing he'd only see Meerab briefly, he had made the trip back home from the village just to catch a glimpse of the woman he was in love with. It had derailed his whole day but it didn't matter when it came to her.

Murtasim's heart had pounded in his chest as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Meerab to descend, for the house staff had told him she had been called down for lunch. Every nerve in his body had tingled with anticipation, and his eyes had not left the staircase for even a moment, yearning to catch the first glimpse of her.

It had been too long since he had last seen her, and the void her absence had created in his life was immeasurable.

When Meerab had finally appeared, Murtasim's breath had hitched in his throat, and his gaze had locked onto her figure. She was a vision of ethereal beauty, her steps cautious yet graceful.

The sight of her had taken his breath away, and for a moment, time had stood still.

Her eyes had met his, and a rush of emotions had flooded through him. It was as if the world around them had faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them in that suspended moment. Murtasim had admired the way she looked at him, her gaze filled with a mixture of affection and longing.

It was a gaze that he had missed, a gaze that stirred something deep within his soul.

As his eyes had roamed over Meerab's features, he had noticed subtle changes in her since they had last been together. Her beauty had only intensified with time, something pictures did not do justice, and it had felt like a bittersweet torture to take in every detail of her face that he had deprived himself of —the curve of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes, and the way her silky hair framed her delicate features.

She was a masterpiece that had been etched in his heart, and the mere sight of her stirred a familiar ache within him.

He had understood the surge of desire that coursed through his veins then, watching the love of his life clad in a pink suit that made her glow, reminiscent of when he had last seen her up close. He had always fought against his own yearnings, striving to be respectful and honorable. But then, as he stood before her, it had been difficult to not bridge the distance between them, and to not take her in his arms.

In that moment in time, with Meerab's eyes on his, Murtasim had wondered if she could sense the turmoil within him, if she could see the struggle he had endured and the battles he had fought to suppress his desires. His heart had ached with the weight of the unspoken words, the longing he had kept hidden for so long.

Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, Murtasim's voice had broken the silence that enveloped them. His words, filled with a mix of tenderness and sincerity, had spilled forth, carrying the weight of his emotions. "Welcome home, Meerab." He had whispered, his voice laced with a depth of feeling that had grown in the years of their separation.

And when Meerab's face had blossomed into a radiant smile, Murtasim's heart had swelled with a mixture of relief and joy.

In that moment, he thought that his love had been understood, that his longing had found a home in her heart.

He had never wanted to kill Zubair Malik more than he had during the days after Meerab's return, for the vile man was the reason he had to stay in the village, the panchayat assembling almost daily to deal with one thing or another. All of this atop his regular responsibilities meant that he left the house before Meerab awoke, and returned – if at all – in the dead of the night when she was asleep.

He hadn't been able to stop himself from gently opening the door to her room every night he returned, hoping that she might have been awake, wishing that he got to see the smile that overcame her face when she saw him.

She had always been asleep though, and he had lingered by the door, breathing in the scent of roses and jasmine that filled her room, as his eyes lingered on her. She still slept like a child, on her side with her cheek smashed against her pillow, her lips pulled in a pout, her hands clutching the blanket that covered her, a look of absolute serenity on her face.

Walking out of her room and to his had been the hardest part of his day.

He had yearned to be with Meerab, to immerse himself in the magnetism of her presence, and to lose himself in the depths of her eyes. The anticipation of finally being able to spend time with her and then having it snatched away due to the demands of his work gnawed at his soul, fueling his longing and amplifying his yearning.

Murtasim's world had narrowed down to a single focal point—Meerab, so much so that it took him twice as long to get things done. In the rare quiet moments of solitude, Murtasim allowed himself to indulge in vivid fantasies, his imagination painting vibrant scenes of an embrace that transcended time and space. He reveled in the intoxicating vision of their hearts intertwining, their souls merging, and their desires finally finding solace in one another's arms.

And yet, she had no idea of his plight.

He felt like an idiot when she had told him as such.

But with the words they had shared in the cocoon of his - and someday their – room at their village house, the walls he had erected to shield him from acknowledging the depth of his desire had crumbled.

Murtasim was suddenly overcome by the force of his emotions, and he couldn't look away from her.

For how was he supposed to hold back now, when he knew exactly what she felt like in his arms again, when her smell – of roses and jasmine – filled his senses, and when she sought him out.

He couldn't stay away, not when she looked at him and blushed so prettily after he told her of his love. She no longer looked away, not after she had cried in his arms earlier that day. He had always thought she looked away because she was shy, and not because she thought he didn't reciprocate her feelings.

Murtasim felt like an utter idiot for hurting her like he had, with what she saw as indifference, and he saw as restraint.

He thought she knew that she was his every exception, that his heart couldn't belong to anyone but her, that she had stolen it before he even knew hearts could be stolen.

When he realized his heart had been stolen by Meerab, he had accepted it wholeheartedly because it meant that he got to live with her forever, and he wanted nothing more.

Meerab occupied a sacred space within his heart, for she had been the catalyst for all his "firsts" in life. She was not merely a chapter in his story but the very essence that permeated every aspect of his existence.

She had been his first true friend.

She had been his first, and would forever remain his last, crush.

She was his first love and would eternally be his last.

She was the first and last object of his desires.

Loving her was accepted, but desiring her hadn't been allowed.

When he had shot up in height suddenly and realized his body had desires, the religious teachings chosen for him were suddenly all about self-restraint and virtue. He had been told, relentlessly on every occasion, to keep his gaze lowered. To avert his eyes from any object of desire that could lead to temptation or compromise his commitment to modesty and righteousness.

He knew without being told that they meant he needed to not look at Meerab the way he did.

Because at the same time, he had been practically banned from being alone with Meerab, it wasn't said in those words, of course it wasn't. But rather he had been told to maintain a respectful distance, ensuring his actions aligned with the teachings of their faith, and that he remained mindful of boundaries.

It had been harder said than done.

He had immersed himself in almost begging for strength from the Almighty, beseeching guidance in navigating the turbulent waters of his heart's desires.

Yet, despite his best efforts, the allure of Meerab's presence had tested his resolve like nothing else could.

The magnetic pull of her radiant smile, her captivating presence, and the depth of their shared connection had often presented formidable challenges to his commitment to self-restraint.

Temptation had whispered enticingly, seducing him with the illusion of fleeting pleasures that threatened to compromise them both. He had found himself staring at her lips for what seemed like hours, wondering what it would feel like to kiss her, to taste her, to swallow her sounds.

Meerab hadn't made it easy, with her doe-like eyes that shone so happily when he was with her, and the way she constantly bit her bottom lip. He knew she would have welcomed his advances, and that made everything harder.

His father had helped with that, seemingly – and very embarrassingly – understanding his struggle.

The man he respected above all had told him that Meerab was not only a woman that Murtasim should yearn for, but a person deserving of utmost dignity and honor. He had instilled in him a deep regard for Meerab, his future wife, emphasizing the importance of treating her with respect, kindness, and consideration.

Recognizing the potential consequences of his unchecked desire, Murtasim had become acutely aware of the dangers of objectifying Meerab or reducing her to a mere object of his affection.

He had always been taught to believe that love encompassed more than just physical attraction, his love was in the genuine appreciation for her intellect, her character, and the beauty of her soul.

So, he had tried to exercise self-control, making conscious efforts to temper his desires and ensure that his actions caused no harm.

It was the most difficult task he had ever faced.

Meerab was...both the bane and joy of his existence.

He understood that it was his duty to guard her honor and dignity as he would his own, and that required restraint and self-discipline – something that gave away completely when she looked his way.

As they got older, it got more and more difficult. For Meerab's allure grew stronger, intensifying the inner turmoil that raged within him.

Her beauty, grace, and hypnotic presence seemed to captivate everyone around her, including him.

The urge to just...touch her, to hold her, to breathe her in, to feel the softness of the lips she bit so much drove him insane. Each time he saw her, the force of his desire clashed with his commitment to respect and honor her. His subconscious didn't even agree with his decisions, for he often woke up from dreams that left him reeling.

Murtasim found himself caught in a constant battle against his own desires. He would steal glances at Meerab, only to quickly lower his gaze, as if afraid that his longing gaze would betray his inner turmoil and desires.

Meerab's presence was irresistible, casting a spell on his heart and mind. Her infectious laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with intelligence, and the gentleness of her touch were like a balm to his restless soul. The more he avoided her to resist temptation, the deeper the temptation became, and the more agonizing his struggle became.

The only strategy that worked was to force himself to not think of her at all and to stay away from her.

He kept a measured distance, careful not to engage in unnecessary intimacy or prolonged interactions that could lead them astray.

It was a painful sacrifice, denying himself the joy of being close to her, but he believed it was the right thing to do.

Amidst his turmoil, Murtasim found strength in his love for Meerab. He reminded himself that true love demanded sacrifice and selflessness. He wanted more than just a fleeting moment of pleasure; he yearned for a love built on respect, trust, and a foundation of righteousness. A love that would last a lifetime.

Yet every cell in his body responded to her, and it was impossible to stay away.

He had given in a handful of times, the last when he found himself face-to-face with Meerab in Karachi for her birthday, a surge of emotions had coursed through his veins when he saw her. She, as always, took his breath away. The longing that he had suppressed for so long suddenly resurfaced with an intensity that made it impossible to ignore.

Sitting across from her at the dinner table, Meerab's eyes locked with his, had filled him with a fire that ignited the desires he tried to bury. Her gaze, flickering with obvious desire, had sent a jolt of electricity through his body, weakening his resolve and clouding his judgment.

In that moment, he had wanted nothing more than to give in to the overpowering magnetism between them, to forget the struggles, and to succumb to the alluring pull. The large dining room of the Ahmed House had faded into the background as Murtasim had become lost in the depths of Meerab's gaze.

His mind had raced, battling with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

He had even questioned the very foundation of his self-control, wondering if it was worth it to deny himself, and her, the happiness that beckoned to them so fiercely.

He had felt the weight of desire settling on his shoulders, both his and hers, tempting him to abandon his principles and indulge in the passion that lay just within reach. The struggle to keep his composure had been excruciating, as each passing second amplified the intensity of his yearning.

As he had watched the flames of desire flicker in Meerab's eyes, it had been increasingly challenging for Murtasim to maintain his composure. The need he had seen in her eyes was the need that looked back at him when he looked into the mirror, lost in thoughts of her.

Every fiber of his being had craved to bridge the distance that separated them, to surrender to the undeniable chemistry that had always simmered beneath the surface.

Murtasim knew that if he had been left alone with her for even a moment that he would have given in – that he would have pushed her up against the closest wall and kissed her way he wanted to kiss her, with abandon. He would have let his nose trail down her alluring neck where he knew she sprayed her perfume. He would let his hands run over her perfect body, barely hidden from his eyes with the pretty pink suit she had been wearing then, while he let his mouth taste her sweetness. He would have begged her to marry him right then, against her lips, so he could have her all to himself.

It seemed that Rumi's parents had picked up on the tension too, for the two of them weren't left alone for even a moment. He had barely escaped Karachi without acting on those urges, the trip leaving him knowing that he couldn't give in to his need to see her again. He had driven down to Karachi despite his better judgement because he had missed her so much, but the swirling storm of desire and longing, had reminded him of why he stayed away.

He thought it had all been obvious to Meerab, that she knew of his feelings, just like he knew of hers without her having to say a word. He was sure that Meerab loved him. That she too desired him like he desired her. That the two of them were meant to be. She had always been his every exception, his comfort, his solace, his happiness – it was her over everything, he had even angered his own mother for her.

Murtasim thought she knew of the pictures Maryam supplied him in exchange for cash, and the conversations she let him listen in on when he particularly missed her for rides. He would only look at the pictures when he could not bear how much he missed her, sometimes it drove him to the brink of tears, seeing her provided him both solace and killed him inside.

For he always longed to drive down to Karachi and bring her back.

But he couldn't, for Meerab loved law school, the way she spoke about her classes and cases with Maryam reflected a joy so pure that he couldn't possibly even suggest that they get married then, for it would put a pause, if not a full stop, to her dream. She would have resented him if she had to give it up, and that's the last thing he wanted for her, or for them.

Murtasim couldn't fathom how Meerab could perceive his distance as a lack of love. He had always thought that his affection for her was evident, transparent even, in every word, gesture, and stolen glance. He had worn his heart on his sleeve, his love for her radiating from his very being. How could she doubt his feelings for her, especially when she knew him better than anyone else, yet everyone else saw his love?

The surprise he felt was unmistakable as Meerab had voiced her doubts, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness and confusion just earlier that day.

Meerab's tear-filled eyes had caused a wave of anguish to wash over him, for he had been the reason for them. He had believed that their connection ran so deep, that their unspoken love was a language they both understood without needing words. But then, in that vulnerable moment, he had realized that his assumptions had been misguided.

Her tears, like fragile crystals glistening on her cheeks, had mirrored the pain that echoed within him. He had felt a deep ache in his chest, a heaviness that threatened to shatter the delicate balance of hope he had built. The revelation that she didn't know the depths of his love had struck him with an unexpected force.

In that moment, Murtasim had questioned everything he had thought he knew.

How could he have failed to convey the intensity of his affection?

Had they been blind to the subtleties of their interactions, to the way he had bared his soul through every glance and touch?

Doubt had crept into his mind, weaving its insidious web, making him question if he had been too guarded, too restrained in expressing his love.

As he had gazed at Meerab, his voice had been caught in his throat, the words he had longed to say struggling to find their way out. He had felt a surge of regret, a deep longing to turn back time and ensure that she had always known how cherished she was.

The sight of her tears had torn his heart, as it always did, along with an overwhelming desire to wipe the tears away, to provide solace and reassurance. He longed to gather her in his arms, to hold her tightly and convey through his touch what words could not express.

And for the first time, he hadn't hesitated, not caring about overstepping boundaries, of further complicating the fragile dance of their emotions.

In that moment, his love for Meerab had intensified, fueled by an unwavering determination to make amends for his shortcomings. He had resolved to lay bare his heart, to articulate his feelings with unwavering clarity, and to demonstrate his love in every action. The tears that fell from her eyes became a catalyst for his commitment, a reminder that he must never again assume that their connection was understood without explicit declaration.

He vowed to bridge the gap that had unintentionally grown between them. He would not let their love be marred by misunderstandings or unspoken sentiments. Instead, he would shower her with affection, unwavering in his devotion, and make sure that she never doubted the depth of his love again.

He didn't understand how she could see things so differently.

It had been agony to stay away, especially since she had returned, every waking moment was consumed by thoughts of her, and he always yearned to go back home to her. A constant ache in his heart that longed for the solace of being by her side.

He was keenly aware of her yearning as well, for she displayed it through small gestures that tugged at his heartstrings. She left out his favorite dishes for him, a reminder of her love and consideration, along with the multivitamins he often neglected but she insisted he take. The mere thought of her care filled him with joy, a warmth that radiated through his entire being.

It was as if her nurturing presence enveloped him, nourishing not only his body but also his soul.

Murtasim couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the care he received from others and the nurturing that emanated from Meerab. While those around him were attentive to his physical needs, ensuring he was well-fed, well-rested, and tended to, their efforts only scratched the surface of his being.

But with Meerab, it was different. Her caring presence went beyond the realm of the tangible. It was as if she possessed an innate ability to see into the depths of his soul and tend to the vulnerabilities that resided there. Her nurturing embrace reached far beyond the confines of his physical body, extending into the recesses of his spirit, letting him be just Murtasim rather than Murtasim Khan.

It was through her nurturing presence that Murtasim found solace and sustenance for his soul. He knew that his body could be cared for by many, but it was Meerab who had the extraordinary gift of tending to his soul. Her presence enveloped him, drawing him into a realm of tranquility. It always had, and without it, he could see that he had forgotten to care for his soul.

In Murtasim's eyes, Meerab had been the one person who understood him like no other. She had always seen through his facade, witnessed the raw vulnerability that lay beneath his stoic demeanor.

And yet, despite this intimate knowledge of his heart, she seemed to question the authenticity of his love.

But perhaps that too was his fault, he hadn't understood that love needed to be spoken of.

She had never said anything either but her own heart had revealed its secrets through her actions. He had witnessed the way her eyes sparkled with delight when they met, the subtle blush that graced her cheeks whenever he was near. He had seen her guard lower, her true self exposed in the sanctuary of their shared moments.

He thought he had done the same.

He recalled the countless times he had stolen glances at her, his eyes lingering just a fraction longer than necessary, hoping she would notice the depth of his admiration. He had held her hand in times of need, his touch gentle yet deliberate, conveying a sense of care and devotion. His words, though carefully chosen, had carried a weight that only a heart brimming with love could bear.

The perplexity that clouded Murtasim's mind stemmed from the disconnect between his intentions and Meerab's perception, he knew he was going around in circles, his thoughts a jumbled mess. But he had thought his love for her was palpable, an undeniable force that could never be mistaken for anything else.

And yet, there was a chasm between his expression of love and her interpretation of his actions.

Murtasim grappled with his own self-doubt, questioning whether he had failed to communicate his love effectively or if there were barriers that prevented Meerab from fully embracing the depth of his affection. He wondered if his own struggles with expressing his desires had inadvertently cast a shadow of doubt on their love, causing Meerab to question the authenticity of his feelings.

He wouldn't shy away anymore, he would tell her at every turn, hoping to bridge the gap that seemed to somehow worked its way between them. He would convey the truth that pulsed through his veins, that his love for her was boundless and unwavering.

But as he vowed to openly express his love and bridge the gap between them, Murtasim couldn't help but wonder what this newfound vulnerability would mean for his self-restraint. Would his declarations of love ignite a fire within him that would be challenging to suppress? Would the floodgates of desire, once opened, be difficult to close again?

Did he even need to close them? He had no doubt that his mother would start speaking of their wedding soon, that they would be married within the year.

Did that allow them to take liberties like the ones he had already taken even if those were borne out of concern for her?

She had stayed in his room. Alone with him.

He had caught glances of her skin as the doctor tended to her - cuts from falls, bruises from falling, and marks of fingerprints on her upper arms, like someone had held her too tight. And then there was the bruise on her cheek, someone had slapped her and that filled him with rage.

He let his fingers trail over the bruise gently so as to not wake her.

Meerab had fallen asleep on the plush sofa in the living room of their village home after venturing out of the room to reassure everyone that she was all right. His heart had filled up with warmth as he watched her hum while settling into the sofa, one she had spent curled up on, book in hand, for the numerous summers they spent at the village. It felt right to see her there, where she belonged.

He had been hovering around her, standing behind the sofa, marvelling at the way she seemed to have difficulty keeping her eyes off him too, even as they were surrounded by others. He knew his constant hovering both pleased and agitated her. He hadn't left her side for a moment, she practically had to beg him to stay away from the bathroom door when Maryam came to help her shower after they both spent too long sitting in the bed, wrapped up in each other's arms.

"You two have gotten bold." Hamza's teasing words disrupted the sanctuary of his thoughts. He looked up towards the man, finding him grinning, his eyes flickering between his face and Meerab.

It was true, their current position was rather intimate, but his sole intention had been to ensure her comfort.

Meerab had fallen asleep, her body moving to rest against his shoulder, she looked wholly uncomfortable so he had moved her to rest on a pillow on his lap, helping her lay out on the sofa, and covering her with his shawl – which she happily clutched in her painkiller-induced sleep.

His fingers absentmindedly played with strands of her hair, relishing the silky texture between his fingertips. In this quiet moment, he had allowed himself to indulge in the depths of his emotions, his mind drifting to thoughts of their connection, their future together, and the overwhelming love he harbored for her.

"And?" Murtasim shrugged as he glanced back at Meerab's serene countenance. The warm hues of the setting sun bathed the room, creating a gentle, ethereal glow that illuminated her face. Entranced by her beauty, he found himself drawn to caress her cheek, his touch feather-light, infused with a tenderness that spoke volumes of his affection.

Hamza's presence, although momentarily forgotten, served as a subtle reminder of the world outside their private cocoon.

A subtle shift in the room caught Murtasim's attention, drawing his gaze to the entrance where Armaan stood. Murtasim's eyes locked with Armaan's, recognizing the familiarity of unspoken words between them. The once-turbulent rivalry that simmered beneath the surface had mellowed with the passage of time and the wisdom that accompanied maturity.

As Murtasim met Armaan's gaze, he sensed a gentler, deeper emotion emanating from his friend than the envy and anger from their earlier years. It was a poignant blend of longing, acceptance, and a trace of the pain that had marked their journey. Murtasim's heart softened, appreciating the depth of Armaan's unrequited love and the inner battles he must have fought to preserve their friendship.

Years ago, Murtasim had doubted their ability to remain friends, fearing that the turbulent undercurrents of their emotions would irreparably fracture their bond. After all, Armaan occupied a unique place in Murtasim's life, someone who understood him on a level that others couldn't comprehend. They were kindred spirits, bound together not just by shared experiences but also by a deep understanding of the complexities that shaped their lives, and their roles in it.

But that wasn't where the similarities ended, it had become evident to Murtasim during their teenage years that Armaan held an unspoken affection for Meerab, a truth that unsettled him to the core. For in Murtasim's heart, Meerab had always belonged to him, just as he belonged to her. The thought of someone even entertaining the notion of taking her away from him was unfathomable, igniting a fierce protectiveness within him that brooked no compromise.

Their clash had been epic, a clash born out of wounded pride and an ardent assertion from Armaan that he could love Meerab as passionately as Murtasim did. He had claimed that his mother would send a rishta for Meerab, and her father, Anwar, would likely relent just to send her away.

Harsh words had been exchanged, each vying for the upper hand, until their unbridled fury manifested in physical blows. Murtasim's clenched fist had found its mark, leaving Armaan's nose broken then, and slightly crooked years later. While Armaan's retaliatory strike had dislocated Murtasim's jaw, a lingering pain sometimes reminding of their tumultuous altercation.

Amidst the pain and bloodshed, Meerab remained unaware of the depths of their conflict, only perceiving the surface of their tumultuous relationship. She knew they had fought over her, and something that Armaan had said about her relationship with her father but the intricacies of their rivalry remained concealed from her understanding.

It had seemed, in those heated moments, that their friendship would never recover, that the scars would forever mar their connection.

Yet, as the passage of time layered their experiences with maturity and wisdom, their egos softened, yielding to the lessons of life and love. The understanding that Meerab had already chosen Murtasim as her partner in life began to overshadow the lingering wounds of their past. Now, standing united in their unwavering devotion to the woman who lay sleeping in Murtasim's lap, they found solace in the shared understanding that their love for Meerab surpassed their petty rivalries and personal desires.

Murtasim's possessiveness, once fueled by youthful insecurity, had transformed into a understanding of love's complexities. He now recognized that love was not a finite resource to be measured, compared, or guarded with jealous ferocity. He even felt gratitude for Armaan's trustworthiness, for the respect he had shown as they aged. For Murtasim knew that he wouldn't have given up if he was in Armaan's shoes, not when it came to Meerab.

The lingering tension of the past gave way to a shared understanding, a recognition of the growth and wisdom that had shaped them both. And as Armaan quietly entered the room, sitting on the couch beside Hamza, his eyes only lingered for a moment as Murtasim tenderly brushed a stray lock of hair from Meerab's face, before he looked up at him.

Murtasim's curiosity was piqued by the exchanged look between Armaan and Hamza, their silent communication causing his eyebrow to arch inquisitively. They had been unusually tight-lipped about the specifics of Meerab's kidnapping, merely assuring him that the situation had been dealt with. However, Murtasim's sharp mind had deduced that the men responsible were not directly associated with Malik, but rather connected to him in some way. After all, they had no apparent motive to target Meerab and the young girl accompanying her.

With a series of pointed looks directed at Maryam and a series of probing questions, Murtasim had managed to extract the missing pieces of the puzzle. The dots were now connected, painting a clearer picture of the events that had unfolded during Meerab's ordeal. The realization settled heavily in his chest, a mix of anger and determination stirring within him.

Murtasim's gaze turned back to Meerab, her peaceful form a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within him. He found solace in the sight of her, a renewed determination taking hold.

As he pondered the sinister intentions behind Meerab's abduction, a seething rage ignited within him, scorching through his veins. The depths of his fury knew no bounds, fueled by the unimaginable harm that had been intended for the woman he loved. Every fiber of his being pulsed with an unyielding determination to seek justice and avenge the heinous act that had been plotted against her.

And the acts that had been carried out towards women of his village and those around them. He had been in the village so often particularly due to random disappearances of young women, in an unsettling pattern that seemed to defy any explanation. He had known something sinister was abreast.

Yet, despite his tireless efforts, he hadn't been able to figure it out. The realization that he had failed to prevent the malevolence from reaching Meerab, the woman he cherished above all, intensified his anger. He loathed the fact that he hadn't been able to shield her from the horrors that had befallen so many others.

Murtasim plotted his revenge meticulously, his mind calculating the steps needed to dismantle the network that had orchestrated such cruelty. Every detail was etched with precision, from identifying the culprits to uncovering their web of deceit, until he stood on the precipice of delivering justice with his own hands.

His emotions waged war within him—a tempest of righteous indignation battling against the weight of his love for Meerab. The thought of confronting those responsible for her anguish both thrilled and tormented him. The depths of his rage threatened to consume him, but he clung to the flickering ember of reason, determined to harness his anger as a tool for liberation rather than allowing it to consume his soul.

In the pursuit of justice, a chilling calm settled over Murtasim. He became a predator, methodical in his actions, honing his instincts and preparing for the confrontation that lay ahead. His anger, though potent, was channeled into a focused energy, an unyielding resolve to dismantle the very foundation of the despicable trade that had threatened to shatter their lives.

The flame of vengeance burned bright within him, fueled by the memories of Meerab's pain, the bruises that littered her body, and the knowledge that his actions could prevent the suffering of countless others.

"Are they all dead?" Murtasim asked, like there was no other choice, he would have found out himself in any other case, but he hadn't been able to bear leaving Meerab's side.

The Shah Brothers remained quiet, their eyes flickering between Meerab and him.

Armaan seemed to understand that he wouldn't give it up because he sighed before he spoke. "One of them died, the other two survived."

Murtasim's grip tightened around the armrest of the sofa, his knuckles turning white as he absorbed the words that hung in the air. A mix of relief and fury surged through his veins, knowing that at least one of the perpetrators had met a fitting end. But the fact that two still lingered, breathing the same air as Meerab, fueled his anger to a boiling point.

A surge of possessiveness and protectiveness surged through Murtasim's veins as he traced the bruise on Meerab's delicate cheek. His jaw clenched with restrained fury, his eyes narrowing into intense slits. Those men had dared to do something he didn't even allow himself to do, to look at Meerab in a way that was disrespectful. Each bruise and cut that marred her beautiful body felt like a personal affront, an unforgivable transgression, for no one was allowed to hurt her.

Yet, they had hurt her.

Her body was littered with bruises and cuts.

Seventeen, the number reverberated in his mind, fueling his resolve.

He had counted seventeen marks on her, including the bruise on her cheek where she had clearly been slapped.

He couldn't let them go.

They had dared to touch his Meerab.

"If you kill them, there's a chance you'll go to jail." Hamza's voice cut through the simmering intensity of the room, his words laced with a mix of concern and caution. His eyes pleaded for Murtasim to consider the consequences of the actions they all knew he was plotting.

Murtasim's gaze hardened, his jaw clenched in unwavering determination. "They hurt Meerab." He uttered, his voice thick with a potent blend of anguish and fury. The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, an undeniable truth that resonated deep within his being.

Hamza let out a weary sigh, likely understanding the depths of Murtasim's anguish. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily upon both of them, but their paths diverged when it came to seeking justice. Hamza's pragmatic nature urged caution, while Murtasim's unwavering love propelled him towards vengeance.

"I can't just let them go. They took her, they made her fear for her safety, they are the reason she is covered with bruises and if – " He had to stop and take a breath, the thought crushing him. " – I hadn't found her, then they would have - "

Armaan's weary sigh echoed through the room as the unsaid words lingered in the air, his gaze dropping to Meerab's sleeping form. "She won't be happy about it." He finally spoke.

Murtasim understood Meerab well enough to know that she wouldn't approve of his chosen path. Her compassionate heart would urge them to rely on the legal system, to believe in its ability to bring the perpetrators to justice. But Murtasim knew all too well the flaws that lurked within that system, the potential for corruption that often allowed these nefarious rings to flourish unchecked.

"And I won't be able to live as long as they are alive. She cried and screamed last night. You know her well enough to know how big of a deal that is. And if I don't do anything, I wouldn't be able to forget it." She had been so shaken when the doctor touched her, thrashing and begging, screaming don't touch me.

As long as the men lived, he would remember that panic they had caused her.

Hamza seemed wary but nodded with a sigh.

Armaan's nod confirmed his unwavering commitment protecting Meerab. The same fire that flickered within Murtasim's eyes blazed within his own. They were united, bound by a shared determination to right the wrongs inflicted upon Meerab...and countless others.

"Are you going to tell her?" Hamza asked, his eyes flickering to Meerab.

Murtasim knew she would put up a fight if she knew but he still found himself nodding, answering Hamza's question. "I refuse to lie to her or hide anything from her, if she asks, I'll tell her the truth."

He would just try to avoid giving her an opportunity to ask until he had done what he needed to do.

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A/N: First of all, thank you for all the love for the last chapter, I was blown away by the response and I am so glad it resonated with so many of you!

With this chapter, we finally got to a peek inside Murtasim's head,  what do y'all think? Does he make sense or does he just fit the "men are idiots" thought Meerab had! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts here too, hehe.