Murtasim insisted on going through with the muh dikhai, even though his mother insisted it could happen after the rukhsati, but his voice was steady and convincing, leaving no room for argument. Maa Begum glared at her son, her eyes carrying an ancient wisdom and a certain fondness. He quoted her own words back to her, reminding her of the importance of following traditions.

Meerab bit on her lips to hold back the laughter that threatened to escape her at the irony of the moment, Murtasim using his mother's words against her

As Meerab had expected, Maa Begum slid on the ancestral kangans onto her wrist - delicate, ornate bracelets that held symbolic importance. The clink of the diamond kangans as they slid onto Meerab's wrists was almost like music to her ears, each chime resonating with her newfound joy. Then, she felt the cool metal of Maa Begum's ring slipped onto her finger. It was followed by a motherly touch that warmed her to the core, Maa Begum's hands cupping her face, her eyes twinkling with love and affection.

She planted a soft kiss on Meerab's forehead, making the moment all the more special. "I know it's a little silly, but welcome to the family...in your new role." Maa Begum whispered as she pulled away.

Meerab grinned at her, appreciating the sentiment.

Turning to Murtasim, Maa Begum spoke in a firm voice. "Thirty minutes."

Murtasim was quick to counter, his voice laced with charm. "One hour."

Maa Begum's lips pursed into a stern line. "Murtasim." It was a warning, an assertion of her authority, and yet, a silent acknowledgement of his plea.

"45 minutes." He negotiated, his eyes holding a silent promise of adherence.

"Not a minute more." Maa Begum affirmed, a reluctant surrender that was both a testament to her trust in her son and a reflection of her love for Meerab who too had nodded along with Murtasim's suggestions. Maa Begum, Murtasim, and Meerab all nodded, a silent agreement passing between them.

Meerab didn't fail to notice that the door to the room was left ajar on purpose.

Exhausted from the day's festivities, Meerab sank onto Murtasim's bed, a sigh escaping her lips as she eased into the comfort of the soft mattress. The fabric of her bridal dress rustled beneath her, like a whispered promise of the new life awaiting her. She folded her legs beneath her, positioning herself comfortably, all the while trying to catch her breath. Reaching up, she released the veil from her head, the fine material slipping through her fingers, catching the light.

It had been an eventful day, but the anticipation that was threading itself into every inch of her being, had pushed any signs of exhaustion away. Her heart was thrumming with a rhythm that sounded a lot like Murtasim's name, making her acutely aware that she was in his room, on his bed. She was his wife!

Lifting her gaze, Meerab met Murtasim's eyes, which were wide and dark, his expression one of slack-jawed awe. It was an expression that was simultaneously full of surprise, appreciation, and something else... something that sent a shiver down her spine and left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It was clear; the sight of her on his bed had stunned him, eliciting a response that neither of them had been prepared for. She couldn't help but giggle at the flustered look on his face.

"Maybe you should move off the bed, that's distracting." Murtasim murmured, his voice low and shaky, his gaze never leaving her. The desire in his voice made her flush.

Meerab playfully pouted, her eyebrows knitting together in faux defiance. "Help me take it off." She murmured, batting her eyelashes at him in a way she knew would make his heart flutter. The corner of her lips quirked upwards when he faltered, his gaze flickering with uncertainty and yearning. "Just my jewelry, Murtasim." She clarified, her words prompting a relieved sigh from him.

Laughter bubbled up in Meerab, a delightful sense of playful mischief warming her, as she watched him. The weight of the jewelry and the heavy garments she was wearing felt suffocating, and she longed for the relief that removing them would bring.

With a nod, Murtasim stepped closer. As Meerab arched up to give him better access, she could smell the faint scent of his cologne, mingling with the aroma of the fresh flowers and burning candles. She leaned towards him so he could get the clasps at the back of her neck, her eyelashes grazing his stubbled cheek, his breath hitched.

His fingers traced a careful path to the clasp of her necklace, the cold metal against her skin contrasting with the warmth radiating from his fingers. As the jewelry fell away, the tension in her neck dissipated, replaced by a tingling sensation that made her shiver.

She sighed in relief as the weight of the jewelry fell off her, a sensation of lightness enveloping her. While she took care of her earrings, he gently removed the maang tika she wore on her head, his touch careful and soft against her hair. Their quiet interaction, the intimacy of the moment, and the shared smiles, only deepened Meerab's feeling of being Murtasim's.

Meerab's heart thumped loudly in her chest as she looked up at him, feeling a wave of emotions crash over her. He was no longer just her best-friend, he was her husband. And she, his wife. The thought of him being utterly hers, in the most profound sense of the word, sent a delicious shiver down her spine.

"Thank you, my husband." She said, her voice laced with warmth and affection. His eyes softened at her words, and he returned her smile with one of his own – a genuine, heart-stopping one that had her heart fluttering in response.

"Hair, my wife?" He asked, running his fingers over her elaborately done updo, squeezing the bun, a quizzical expression on his face. Meerab could feel the weight of the pins securing her hair.

"Yes please." She responded.

As they began the laborious process of freeing her hair from the countless hairpins that held it in place, Meerab couldn't help but sigh, it was awfully annoying.

"Honestly, how many of these did they use?" She mused, plucking out another pin.

Murtasim made a mock grimace, a pin held between his fingers. "It's like they had a personal vendetta against your scalp, or the stylist was paid per pin used. Why do wedding hairstyles have to be so complicated?"

"Hey, this isn't for my enjoyment," Meerab playfully retorted, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "This, jaan, was all for you - every bobby pin, every curl, and every hair-sprayed strand."

His eyes rolled good-naturedly at her words, his grin never leaving his face. "Oh, right, because nothing says 'I love you' quite like potential scalp injuries." His sarcastic tone only made her laugh harder.

"That's exactly it." She teased.

"For the record." Murtasim interjected, his tone layered with concern. "I much prefer your hair down and free. So next time, spare yourself the pain, please?"

Meerab looked at him, her gaze softening. It was such a Murtasim thing to say – caring, considerate, and utterly endearing. She laughed lightly. "I'll make sure to remember that."

His hands were patient and careful, a stark contrast to her hasty yanks at the remaining pins. "Easy." He murmured, as she tugged a bit too hard at a stubborn pin. "We're not in a race, you know."

Once the last pin was removed, he gently ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp. The sensation was so soothing that a contented sigh escaped her lips. Her eyelids fluttered close as she leaned into his touch, relishing the intimacy of the moment.

"Hmmmm, I love you." The words came out in a blissful whisper, carried by the quietness of the room.

In response, he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. His lips were warm against her skin, causing her heart to flutter. She looked up to find him taking off his sherwani jacket, revealing his white kurta underneath. His slightly disheveled state, the intimacy of the moment, and the knowledge of their newly cemented relationship filled her with a sense of warmth and longing. She wished for time to stand still, for them to remain in this bubble where it was just the two of them. But she knew they only had a few stolen moments before the world would come knocking at their door again.

"Time's ticking, Murtasim, where's my present?" Meerab prodded, her eyes darting around the room, eager anticipation clear on her face. She extended her hand, a clear demand.

"You go first." He gestured towards the large box that Arslan had helped her carry into the room earlier.

She shook her head defiantly. "You first."

Her eyes watched him excitedly as he moved towards his dresser, opened a drawer and retrieved a neatly packaged box. He returned to the bed, sitting cross-legged across from her, mirroring her position. He handed the box to her with a grin, his eyes shimmering with excitement and a hint of nervousness.

With an almost childlike enthusiasm, she tore into the wrapping, the sound of crinkling paper filling the room. Murtasim chuckled at her impatience, his eyes warm as he watched her.

Inside the box lay two watches, each a masterpiece of design. The sleek and elegant frames were made from polished steel, one larger and one daintier. The daintier one was a pale gold, matching her jewelry beautifully. The mother-of-pearl dials of both watches were adorned with a diamond at the twelve, three, six, and nine o'clock marks.

"I love it." She confessed, her eyes twinkling. The idea of wearing matching watches with Murtasim thrilled her; it was intimate and adorable in a way that warmed her heart.

He laughed, shaking his head. "I haven't even told you what's special about them."

Murtasim took the daintier watch and gently clasped it onto her wrist. Meerab watched him with puzzled eyes as he did the same with his own watch. Then he pressed something on his watch, and she felt a gentle buzz against her wrist. Her surprised eyes snapped up to meet his.

"These watches are a pair, there is a little satellite in them, so that no matter how far apart they are, they stay connected." Hw explained, his voice soft with affection. "You just press this button," He paused to demonstrate on her watch, "and the other will buzz gently. So, no matter how far we are, we can send a little message."

Understanding dawned on her, her heart swelled with warmth and love. She pressed the button on his watch, her eyes brimming with tears as the watch he held emitted a gentle vibration. "As if sending a loving touch?"

He nodded, his eyes reflecting the same love and affection that flooded her. "Exactly."

Meerab's eyes sparkled with delight as she felt the vibration from her watch. She looked at Murtasim, his eyes twinkling with joy mirrored hers.

"How?" She asked, still entranced by the magic of the watches.

"I had them made." He confessed.

"Hmmm?" She asked, puzzled, her eyebrows furrowing cutely.

"I just..." He sighed, seeming to collect his thoughts. "...while you were in Karachi and I missed you a whole lot, I thought it'd be nice to be able to feel your presence, to send a little 'I miss you' or 'I love you' your way."

"You didn't think to call me?" She pouted, remembering the longing that had clung to her during their time apart.

He looked at her earnestly. "I didn't have enough self-control to speak with you and not show up at your doorstep in Karachi begging for you to come back. Plus, this is just for you and me." His eyes twinkled with mischief and love, his admission warmed her heart even more.

Overwhelmed by the love bubbling up inside her, she got on her knees on his bed, flinging her arms around him. They both burst into laughter as he toppled back, pulling her along with him. She tucked herself into the crook of his neck, the scent of his cologne mixed with the musky smell of his skin making her dizzy. Placing soft kisses against his skin, she murmured. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you too." He replied, his voice filled with warmth and affection. His strong arms wrapped around her, his hands moving in soothing circles on her back.

"Did you have these made here?" Meerab asked, curiously inspecting the beautiful watch, her heart filled with affection at his thoughtfulness.

"In Lahore." Murtasim confirmed, a touch of pride in his voice. "I found a really skilled watchmaker, he was intrigued by the idea and helped me design them."

She turned to look at him, her eyes shining with admiration. "If you set the standard so high with gifts so early, you're going to suffer after." She teased, making him chuckle, the sound reverberating through her body with how she was laying on him. "This is the most thoughtful gift I've ever received...between this and the haq mehr..." She trailed off, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love it, and I love you."

"Anything for my wife." He replied, a pleased grin spreading across his face. "And I love you too, Meerab."

For a while, they sat there in comfortable silence, their fingers entwined and their hearts beating in a shared rhythm.

"Can I press the button again?" She asked suddenly, her eyes sparkling with childlike excitement.

"Of course." Murtasim chuckled. "As much as you want."

With a wide grin, she pressed the button, the vibration from his watch tickling her palm.

"The signal will reach me no matter where I am, right?" She asked.

"Anywhere in the world, Meerab." He confirmed, cupping her face with one hand, thumb rubbing her cheek, his eyes shifted then, as if he remembered something. "You said you were four earlier." He muttered, reminding her of her answer to Rumi's question as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"I remember that day." She admitted, a wistful quality to her voice. "You gave me your favourite stuffed animal when my father told me he hated me." Her voice broke. "And you sat by me for hours, comforting me. And that was my only source of comfort. You were only a child yourself, but you understood me and my pain. And I know that four is young, but I knew in that moment that I always needed you by my side." She whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was smiling. He was her sanctuary, the one constant in her life, her source of love, comfort, and strength.

Looking deeply into her eyes, Murtasim spoke softly. " I will always be there for you, no matter what. Physically or just a touch away. Just a buzz, a call, or a thought away."

A giggle escaped her as she glanced at her watch again, her fingers lightly tracing the cool metal. "I'll probably be sending you a million buzzes a day." She warned him playfully. "Hmmmmm, one buzz means 'I love you', two means 'I miss you', and three means 'Come see me right away'. We'll figure the rest out as we go."

His laughter echoed in the room, the sound like music to her ears. "I wouldn't want it any other way, Meerab." He said, his eyes sparkling with joy and love.

"My turn." She said, scrambling up off him as she remembered she too had presents for him. She pushed the box she had placed on the bed towards him.

Meerab watched with bated breath as Murtasim lifted the lid of the box, the soft rustle of wrapping paper filling the silent room. Inside the box, nestled among tissue paper, was a cherished piece of their shared history - Sher, ironically named for he was the stuffed lion that had been his favorite toy as a child, and his gift to her when she was only four. She had told Rumi about it, so she guessed that was the reason behind her question for them that she needed to get to.

Murtasim's dark eyes widened with shock as he pulled out the toy lion, cradling it in his hands like a priceless treasure. The plush fabric was faded with age, its once vibrant colors now softened by years of love and care, but Sher's goofy smile was still intact, a touch of whimsy in their emotionally charged moment.

"It's been years." Murtasim murmured, his voice barely a whisper as he gently stroked Sher's worn fur. "You... you kept it all this time?"

She nodded, a smile playing on her lips as she watched him handle Sher with such reverence. "Of course, I did." She confirmed, her voice warm. "It was your favourite thing, after all. I even took it with me to Karachi. If Sher could talk, he would have a lot to tell you." Her smile widened at his shocked look. She had often found comfort in conversing with the stuffed animal, especially during the times when she had missed Murtasim deeply.

Her smile softened as she reached out to wipe away a tear that had escaped from Murtasim's eye, her heart swelling with love for him. "Now that I have you by my side, I thought it was time Sher returned home. Perhaps... perhaps one day our kids could play with him."

His response was immediate. He nodded, his gaze never leaving her face. Cupping her cheeks with his free hand, he leaned in to seal their promise with a kiss, their lips meeting in a sweet, lingering contact that spoke volumes about their love for each other.

Murtasim's hands moved from her cheeks to her hair, threading his fingers through the silky strands as he tilted her head for a better angle, deepening their kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, and she found herself losing track of everything else around them. The room, the noise - all of it disappeared. All that existed was them.

They kissed slowly, languidly. Their lips moved together in perfect harmony, exploring and teasing, as if they needed to learn the contours and tastes of each other's mouth, like they already didn't know it. Murtasim pulled back a little, only to rain soft, feather-like kisses along her jawline, causing her to giggle.

"Meri Meerab." He whispered against her lips, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Yours." She murmured back, the affection in her voice was unmistakable.

With a soft sigh, Meerab leaned back from their kiss, her fingers trailing a feather-light path down his cheek. "I'm not done yet, look in the box." she whispered against his lips, a sparkle in her eyes as she gestured towards the still open box. "That's the real present."

With a reluctant murmur and a trio of pecks on her lips that made her heart flutter, Murtasim pulled away, his attention turning back to the box. He reached in to find a smaller box nestled within, a gasp slipping past his lips as he opened it.

Inside lay a sleek, brand-new camera, its body a gleaming black. Alongside it were a variety of lenses, all packed meticulously within the box, their surfaces shimmering under the soft light. It was a camera meant for a professional photographer, its complexity, and versatility surpassing the everyday variety. Murtasim's wide, shocked eyes moved from the camera to Meerab, his lips parting in disbelief.

Tears welled up in Meerab's eyes as she watched his stunned expression. She could remember his joy, his enthusiasm, and his talent for photography as if it was yesterday. How he would lose himself in the world he saw through the lens, how he would meticulously set up a shot, and the pride and excitement on his face as he showed her his finished pictures.

"I know you said you gave up your dream." Meerab began softly, her voice choked with emotion. "But you used to enjoy taking pictures, Murtasim." She cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs tracing the edges of his beard, the warmth and roughness of his skin grounding her.

"Even though it's not your career, it can still be your hobby." She swallowed the lump in her throat, her gaze locked onto his. "Take all the pictures you want, and maybe they won't be published in any magazines, but they'll be in our photo albums."

Her voice wavered, tears blurring her vision as she continued. "And I promise I'll love them a whole lot - that we'll look through them constantly - and our kids will too, and they'll want to learn to take pictures with their Baba." She took a deep breath, her heart full of love and hope for his happiness. "I want the walls of this house filled with pictures you take, albums upon albums filled of them so we're constantly deciding what to put up where."

As the weight of her words sunk in, tears filled Murtasim's eyes, reflecting the emotion in Meerab's. With a whispered 'thank you', he leant forward, pressing his forehead against hers, their shared tears wetting their cheeks. He was overwhelmed, she could see it in the watery smile he gave her, in the soft, awed tone of his voice as he spoke.

"You're perfect, you know that right, Mrs. Khan?" He murmured, his fingers gently brushing away her tears.

A tearful chuckle left Meerab's lips as she nodded, her hands reaching up to mirror his actions, wiping away his tears. "Right back at you, Mr. Khan."

Meerab shot Murtasim a mischievous grin, a spark of mirth lighting up her eyes as she began to climb onto his lap. "This lehenga." She whined, trying to rearrange the mass of her ornate dress around her. "It's like climbing a mountain."

Murtasim chuckled, his own eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, you were always adventurous."

She paused to playfully swat his arm, causing him to laugh even more. "Oh, very funny, shaitaan. Help me, instead of making fun of me."

His chuckles still ringing in the air, Murtasim dutifully adjusted the folds of her lehenga, creating a makeshift spot for her. "There you go, Mrs. Khan. Any more adventures you wish to embark on tonight?"

She rolled her eyes at his playful remark, a wide smile on her face as she finally settled into his lap. "Just one." She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning in and kissing his Adam's apple. "But you won't let me...or your mother won't let us." She pouted.

His laughter melted into a warm smile, his arms wrapping around her in response. "Don't tempt me, Meerab."

Her hands, adorned with henna and with her ring, came up to cup his face, thumbs tracing the arch of his cheekbones, the curve of his eyebrows. His skin was warm, rough with the stubble, yet soft, a contrast that sent shivers down her spine.

Leaning in, she captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. It was sweet, chaste yet filled with the promise of a lifetime of shared kisses. Her heart fluttered as he reciprocated, his lips moving softly, tenderly against hers.

Between their shared kisses, Murtasim pulled away slightly, his hands coming up to cup her face, mirroring her. He began peppering her face with tiny pecks, his lips ghosting over her skin, warming her to her core. Each touch of his lips was a proclamation, an affirmation. Each whisper of 'my wife' against her skin made her heart swell with affection.

The sound of his chuckles, deep, resonant, and full of joy sent vibrations through her, a comforting hum that made her feel loved, cherished. He was happy, as was she. The knowledge brought a smile to her face, a bubbling joy that she couldn't contain.

Following his lead, she started to return the favor, pressing her lips against his eyes, his forehead, his cheeks. Each kiss she placed on his face was accompanied by the soft whisper of 'my husband'. Their laughter filled the room, a delightful harmony that spoke volumes of their love and happiness. The moment was perfect, intimate, and sacred – and over way too soon.

The sudden knock on the door jarred the lovers from their intimate moment. With a mutual sigh, they acknowledged the inevitability of the interruption.

"Less than four months more." Meerab murmured, a silent promise hanging in the air between them. "And then no one can force me to leave this room." Her words carried a longing and a sweet anticipation that melted his heart.

Their lips met again in a soft peck, a momentary farewell before the real world intruded once more. They sat side by side on the edge of the bed, their legs hanging off as Murtasim called out a gruff "come in".

Maa Begum entered, her stern eyes softening as they flickered between the pair. Her gaze caught on their tear-streaked faces and lingered.

"Let's go, Meerab, it's been a long day." She finally said, her tone gentle and filled with a hint of regret, as if she didn't want to separate them.

Meerab could only nod in response, her heart aching at the thought of leaving the room, of leaving Murtasim. She yearned to stay longer, to bask in his love and presence, to stay forever.

"Maa." Murtasim intervened just as Meerab was about to rise. "Can we sit together in the living room?"

Maa Begum's eyes darted between them, a flicker of surprise lighting up her features before she nodded her approval. "Change and freshen up, I'll have the pakoras warmed up for you, meri bahu kai favourite." She said with a tender smile, her hand reaching out to cup Meerab's face before planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

A wave of warmth washed over Meerab at the unexpected affection, her heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you." They said in unison, their voices intermingling and filling the room with an echo of their shared happiness.

-------

If someone had told Murtasim that his wedding night would involve standing in front of the kitchen counter scarfing down pakoras, he would have given them a bewildered look. Weddings nights were supposed to be about silk sheets and candlelit rooms, not about munching on deep-fried snacks in the wee hours of the morning. But reality had a knack for outdoing even the wildest of fictions, and there he was, grinning like a loon at the sight of his wife stuffing her face with pakoras.

Murtasim studied Meerab, taking in the sight of her in this easy, unguarded moment. Gone was the regal bride, replaced by this endearing woman, clad in oversized pajamas, her face bare and radiant, glowing from within. Her hair, damp from a recent shower, fell loosely behind her, soft tendrils brushing against her neck and shoulders. To him, she looked stunningly beautiful, just as she had in her extravagant wedding attire. This was Meerab in her purest form—comfortable, relaxed, and real. The image struck a chord within him, something that made his heart flutter with intensity. He had always admired her, found her captivating in her many forms, but this...this was his Meerab. Unadorned, unpretentious, and breathtakingly, naturally beautiful. This was the woman he had married, the woman he would spend his life loving, and he found himself adoring this intimate, casual version of her even more.

He was standing between her knees, half-leaning against the counter as he watched her with an affectionate gaze. Meerab's eyes were sparkling with delight as she bit into the crunchy pakora, her laughter filling the room.

With every bite, she insisted on feeding him, her hands reaching out to his lips with a piece of the delicious snack. He couldn't help but chuckle as she squealed in protest every time he pretended to bite down on her fingers. The giggle that escaped her lips was pure music to his ears, an alluring melody that made his heart flutter in delight.

"Mrs. Khan." He teased, wiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth. "I never took you for such a messy eater."

She shot him a faux affronted look. "I'll have you know, Mr. Khan, that these pakoras..." She held one up for effect, "are the culprit."

A soft chuckle escaped him. He reached out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Is that so?" He teased, his thumb gently brushing against her lower lip, dislodging another crumb.

She mock-glared at him before biting down on the pakora she was holding, the cheeky glint in her eyes softened by a contented sigh as she savored the flavor. Her nose crinkled just a little bit, a sight that made him chuckle with delight.

"There's that adorable nose scrunch." He grinned, his finger lightly brushing the tip of her nose. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamed about this moment."

"Eating pakoras in the kitchen on the night of our nikaah ?" She teased, her voice filled with amusement.

He rolled his eyes. "Not that necessarily, but just being able to be here, with you, seeing all these cute expressions you make when you eat."

Meerab blushed at his words, her gaze turning shy as she reached out to poke his chest lightly. "You've thought about my eating expressions? Really, Murtasim?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he took another bite of the pakora she held out to him. "I've thought about every single expression that crosses your face, Meerab. I'm your husband now, it's part of the job description."

She laughed at his response, her head tilting back slightly, the sound of her laughter ringing through the kitchen. There was something infectious about it, and he found himself laughing along with her. It was a simple moment, but it was a moment he had longed for, dreamed about. And now that it was here, he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Meerab scooted closer to the edge of the counter, her arms circling around his neck as she locked her legs around his waist. The movement pulled him towards her, their bodies now only mere inches apart. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, and the sound of her soft laughter sent a wave of contentment washing over him.

"What else did you miss?" She asked him, her voice soft and sweet. Her fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck, sending pleasant chills down his spine.

Murtasim leaned forward, his nose brushing against hers in an eskimo kiss before he started to trail soft pecks from her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, to her cheeks. He stopped at her lips, the sight of them so close making his heart flutter in his chest.

"I missed this." He began, his thumb gently brushing over her lower lip.

"You never kissed me before I left." She reminded him, sounding almost accusing.

"But I still missed them, I've dreamt about their softness, the sweet words they utter, the way they curl into the most beautiful smile." He whispered.

Moving his hand up, he traced the curve of her cheek, his fingers marvelling at its softness. "I missed your cheeks. When you smile, they become rounder, and they're absolutely adorable when you pout."

His fingers trailed up, brushing against her closed eyelids gently. "Your eyes. They're so expressive, filled with kindness, strength, love. They say eyes are the window to the soul, and your soul is the most beautiful I've ever known."

He tangled his fingers in her hair, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Your hair. So soft, so fragrant. I've longed to run my fingers through it, to see it spread on our pillow as you wake up next to me in the morning."

Her giggle had him grinning. "And that...your laughter. It's like music to my ears, Meerab."

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing a tear that had slipped down her cheek. "I've missed all of you, Meerab. Your voice, your touch, your scent...everything."

Meerab pulled him in close, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Her scent enveloped her, and he felt a pang in his heart, reminding him of all those times he had yearned for this very moment. As his arms wrapped around her tightly, she hummed happily.

"You always know the right thing to say, shaitaan." She whispered against his neck, making a shiver run through him.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her. "Just for you, Mrs. Khan."

She giggled at that, pulling away, her face shining with happiness. "I love it when you say that."

"Noted, Mrs. Khan." He grinned.

"Carry me to the living room, Mr. Khan, your bride demands it." She teased.

The corners of Murtasim's mouth lifted into a warm smile as Meerab made her demand. He had missed her playful nature, a side of her that made his heart flutter each time. And now, as she sat there, smiling up at him, a playful glint in her eyes, he felt an overwhelming surge of love and gratitude. He was finally married to her – his Meerab.

"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Khan." He replied, mirroring her teasing tone. He bent down, sliding one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her with an ease that only highlighted his physical strength.

Meerab laughed, a joyful sound that echoed around the room and made his heart beat faster. Her arms went around his neck, her body curling into his as she held on. The intimacy of the moment was heartwarming, and he felt a warmth spread through him.

"Wow, Murtasim." She teased, her voice a whisper against his ear. "You've gotten quite strong. Have you been hitting the gym just to impress me?"

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "Maybe." He replied, his tone coy. "Is it working?"

She simply giggled, snuggling closer to him. "When do you go to the gym?" She asked.

"I don't, there are weights upstairs."

She hummed. "When do you work out?"

"First thing in the morning." He carried her to the living room, never once faltering in his steps.

"I should start waking up early...to supervise." She teased with a giggle.

"That'll be trouble." He laughed as he placed her gently on the couch, he leaned down to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

Her gaze met his, sparkling with amusement. "I'll behave." She replied, her voice filled with too much glee for her to mean her words.

"I have a very hard time believing that, Mrs. Khan." He said as he sat by her, pulling her into his side, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her body into his side, head resting on his chest.

He wrapped his arm around her and placed a kiss on her forehead before letting himself play with her damp hair, she had washed it before returning downstairs. Maa had given them both a pointed look and a promise of checking in frequently before retiring to her room.

Murtasim wondered if his mother would have anything to say when she found them cuddled up on the couch, his fingers soothingly through Meerab's hair as she leaned into his chest. The soft texture of Meerab's hair flowing through Murtasim's fingers brought an inexplicable peace to his heart. Their legs were tangled together in comfortable intimacy, but he no longer felt like he had to hide it from anyone. She was his wife, which meant he was allowed to touch her and be close to her, he wondered if his mother felt the same, in a way she clearly hadn't before. He had been always told to manage a respectable distance from Meerab growing up, something no one could tell him anymore.

As he held her close, the sweet scent of her hair - a mix of jasmine from her shampoo and something unique to her - filled his nostrils, grounding him in the moment.

"Did you know?" She began, her voice soft, infused with the intimate serenity of the moment. The sound of his heartbeat thrumming steadily in his ear provided a gentle backdrop to her words. "I used to dream about moments like this with you. Sitting and talking without the fear of interruption, without the thought of time slipping away from us."

She lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. Her eyes twinkled with the familiar playful mirth he so loved, rendering him breathless every time.

"And how does the reality compare?" He asked, a light teasing note in his voice.

A smile spread on her face, and warmth seeped deep into his chest, making his heart flutter. "It surpasses every dream, Murtasim."

Her giggles, sweet and melodic, rang in the air, echoing in the corners of the room, filling the space around them with pure joy. As she grabbed his hand, their fingers intertwined, he was acutely aware of the softness of her skin against his, the firm yet delicate grip of her hand holding his. "Soon, it will be even better." A cute little yawn punctuated her sentence, tugging a chuckle out of him. "I am tired, but I want to stay right here."

He could only nod in response, feeling her cuddle into him further, her body fitting perfectly into the contours of his. "I do too."

She declared her intention to close her eyes for just two minutes, seeking his assurance to wake her up if she fell asleep. Her words hung in the air for a moment, and then he felt her relax against him.

He nodded in response, even though he knew she couldn't see him, intending to do as she asked. But her warmth against him, the rhythm of her breathing, and the fatigue of the long day tugged him down into the depths of sleep as well.

He was vaguely aware of his mother's voice, a comforting, familiar sound, and the feeling of a blanket being draped over them both. But he was too far gone to fully register it. As sleep claimed him, the thought crossed his mind that if his mother had been there, she would have made a big deal of them sleeping together. It was all too surreal. It was a thought to ponder on later. For now, he drifted into sleep, content and at peace, with Meerab's comforting presence in his arms.

---------------------------------

Murtasim was stirred from his peaceful slumber by a voice filled with anger and disbelief, calling his name. His sleep-dulled senses quickly sharpened as he recognized the voice, laced with a biting fury that jarred him fully awake. Anwar stood over them, his face contorted with rage. The meaning of his words and the situation they were in crashed down on Murtasim.

As he groggily opened his eyes, he became aware of the position he and Meerab were in. He had shifted during the night, ending up on his back on the couch with Meerab sprawled on top of him, her body fitted into his in a way that was far too intimate to be misconstrued. To Anwar, it must have seemed like they had crossed a line that wasn't meant to be crossed. The fact that he didn't know they were already married would only add to the fire.

Murtasim's first instinct was to shield Meerab from the brunt of Anwar's wrath. He felt her stir against him, her soft voice, husky with sleep, calling his name in a confused tone. His heart clenched at the sound, knowing the confrontation that was about to unfold. Before he could find his voice, Anwar exploded.

"I asked what is the meaning of this?" Anwar bellowed, the rage in his voice reverberating through the room. "How dare you touch my daughter?"

His words sent a jolt of protective anger through Murtasim, he hated it when the man acted like he had any right to Meerab after treating her the way he did. His every instinct screamed at him to put himself between Anwar and Meerab. The thought of Meerab waking up to such an unpleasant confrontation filled him with a sense of regret, Anwar had stolen a peaceful morning from them. He wished he could have protected Meerab from it, he should have carried her to bed after she fell asleep.

He wanted Anwar to find out about their marriage under better circumstances. Yet, here they were, and now it was a matter of handling the situation in the best way possible. Feeling a strange mix of fear, anger, and protective love, Murtasim gently woke Meerab, his fingers brushing against her cheek. As he looked into her wide, confused eyes, he whispered. "Time to wake up Meerab, Chacha-Saab is here." He whispered as the man scoffed.

Then, steeling himself, he sat up, pulling her with him.

Anwar's voice boomed through the room, his words slicing through the peaceful morning air like a razor. "You've crossed every line there is to cross! And look at you two, all curled up for anyone to see! It doesn't seem like this your first time either."

The words left Anwar's mouth with a force that made the air in the room turn sharp and cold. Accusations of impropriety and insults to their character were flung around recklessly as he continued to speak, his face turning red with anger. Each word was a dagger that seemed to slash at the protective bubble Murtasim had tried to create around his wife.

As Anwar continued to rail, Murtasim felt his own anger rising, the part of him that hold him to stay calm and let him finish gave away. He could handle accusations against himself, but watching Meerab be unjustly berated was more than he could bear. His heart pounded in his chest, his protective instincts flaring as he watched Meerab's wide-eyed shock turn to hurt and then to defiance.

And then Anwar turned to Meerab, a cruel sneer pulling at his lips. "I didn't raise you to be characterless!"

It was the final straw. Murtasim snapped, his blood roaring in his ears. "Stop!" He bellowed, his voice reverberating in the room. The vehemence in his tone had Anwar pause mid-tirade, an element of surprise flashing in his eyes.

He breathed, his gaze never leaving Anwar's face. "I have said this to you before, Chacha-saab, but don't you dare talk to my wife that way!" His voice was low and harsh, his words coated with protective ferocity.

Anwar's face paled as he uttered the words.

He stood up tall, Meerab's hand clenching in his. "I have every right to be with her, to touch her, just as she does me." He stated, his voice steady but thrumming with suppressed anger.

There was a moment of stunned silence before he continued. "Biwi hai meri, mere nikaah mein hai. Mithai fridge mein hai, aapko apni beti ki shaadi mubarak ho." His voice rang with a challenge, daring Anwar to refute his claim. "Let's go, Meerab." He said as he turned to her, finding her wide-eyed.

She nodded and let him pull her up.

Anwar, however, was far from defeated. "This marriage is not valid! I wasn't there to give you away." He protested, pointing an accusing finger towards Meerab. His words hung heavy in the air, an ugly challenge.

But to Murtasim's surprise, it was Meerab who responded. He watched her stand tall, her eyes blazing with determination and a touch of defiance.

"I was never yours to give away." She retorted, her voice filled with a strength that made Murtasim's heart swell with admiration. "You're not my father, in any way, you never have been, so you don't get to give me away."

"But you can't have a valid nikaah without a wali." Anwar insisted, his face flushing with frustration.

Meerab didn't miss a beat. "Waqas uncle stood for me, he's been more of a father than you ever have been." She responded, her voice unwavering.

Murtasim watched the hope drain from Anwar's face, replaced with a look of utter devastation. Yet, he couldn't find an ounce of sympathy for the man. Not when he had made Meerab cry as much as he did, and tried to stand in the way of her happiness.

With a sense of resolution, Murtasim wrapped his arm around Meerab's waist, guiding her away from the scene of their confrontation, but knowing that it wasn't the end of it. He anticipated a long day ahead of them, for he knew the man would march off to his mother's room next, demanding answers and proof of their nikaah.