A/N: Dhaagey has hit 100K reads, thank to all of you for your support and for loving this fic as you do! 

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The moment Meerab closed the door behind her after Murtasim walked her to her room, she heard the roar. It sounded like a wounded animal, a kind of primal, visceral rage that she had never heard from the man who called himself her father. Murtasim had warned her that her father would create a scene, but the echoing shouts from downstairs stirred a different kind of fear in her heart.

Pushing down the surge of anxiety, she hastily tidied up, her hands shaking as she splashed cool water on her face. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale and worried, a far cry from the blushing bride she had been just hours ago. Pulling herself together, she rushed out of the room, the sound of her father's irate voice growing louder with each step she took down the stairs. As she rounded the corner to the landing, she saw Murtasim waiting for her, his face an unreadable mask. Despite the chaos that unfolded around them, his mere presence grounded her, casting a calming shadow over the fear threatening to overtake her.

His eyes met hers, and he sighed heavily, extending a hand to her. Her heart clenched at the silent understanding in his gaze. Without a moment's hesitation, she placed her hand in his, letting the familiar warmth seep into her skin, and drawing strength from it.

Murtasim pulled her close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. It was a simple gesture, a quiet reassurance amid the brewing storm, but to Meerab, it meant the world. It chased away some of the anxiety that had taken root in the pit of her stomach, replaced by an unexpected tranquility.

She implicitly trusted Murtasim, trusted in the strength of their bond, and in their ability to weather whatever storm was brewing. Even in the face of her father's explosive anger, her faith in Murtasim did not waver.

"He's just angry, he can't do anything." Murtasim's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. His grip on her hand tightened slightly, a silent promise that he wouldn't let go. She could see the concern etched on his face, mirrored only by the firm resolve in his eyes.

Feeling a warm wave of gratitude wash over her, Meerab gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and pulled her towards the living room.

The space was a cauldron of tension, with Anwar at its heart. He was pacing like a caged tiger, fury radiating off him in waves. He was hurling accusations at Maa Begum, who was reclining on the couch, seemingly unbothered by the heated tirade. She was meticulously inspecting her nails, her nonchalance in stark contrast to the storm around her.

To the side, Armaan and Maryam stood like statues, a blend of discomfort and unease etched on their faces. It was as if the room had been bisected into two halves - one consumed by anger and the other stoically enduring it.

As Meerab and Murtasim entered the room, Anwar's enraged voice bounced off the walls, making her involuntarily flinch. Yet, the moment she recoiled, Murtasim was there. His grip on her hand tightened, anchoring her. He subtly maneuvered her so she was slightly behind him, his body acting as a shield, protecting her from the verbal onslaught.

"How dare you get my daughter married without me?" Anwar's voice thundered through the room, his accusatory eyes locked onto Maa Begum. "I told you I didn't want her married into this house."

The words sliced through the tense silence, hitting Meerab like a physical blow. A surge of emotions flooded her - annoyance, anger, a strange sadness, and a heavy sense of betrayal.

All these years, her father had been a stranger to her, an indifferent spectator to her life. He hadn't shared her joys, hadn't wiped her tears, hadn't even smiled at her with genuine warmth. He hadn't been there for her birthdays, her school recitals, her graduations, and countless other milestones that defined her journey to womanhood.

Yet, now, he suddenly seemed to remember that she was his daughter, his to dictate, his to control. The audacity of his claim, the hypocrisy of his outrage, made something within her churn with indignation. The father she yearned for during all her life's precious moments was now standing before her, demanding rights he had long forsaken. The irony was as bitter as the truth.

Anwar's words hung heavy in the air, a toxic cloud that stung Meerab's senses. "I don't believe in this marriage, I want proof!" He demanded, his voice a raw, jagged edge. It was a challenge, a defiance thrown at their face, a futile attempt to reverse what had already been done.

As if drawn by a magnetic pull, Anwar's gaze swiveled towards Murtasim and Meerab, narrowing on their entwined hands. "LET HER GO!" He roared, his command ricocheting off the walls.

Yet, Murtasim remained unyielding. "Never." He stated, his voice an unwavering fortress against the storm.

Murtasim's hand tightened around hers, a subtle reassurance that seeped into her skin, calming the chaos within her.

"Here's your proof." Maa Begum chimed, her voice slicing through the tension. She slid a document towards him, its official seal gleaming under the room's harsh lights. "Armaan stood as witness, along with Hamza. You can even call Waqas."

Anwar whirled towards the document, snatching it up with an abruptness that startled her. Then, in a dramatic display of futile rage, he tore the paper into shreds, the pieces fluttering down like pieces of his misplaced anger.

A gasp escaped Meerab's lips, her heart pounding. But Maa Begum only rolled her eyes, her nonchalance unbroken. "You're still a child, Anwar, that was just a copy."

A soft snicker escaped Maryam from the corner of the room. As Anwar's glare turned to her, Armaan looked over at her, a look that said don't shared between them as he moved protectively in front of her.

The tension in the room thickened as Murtasim cleared his throat, drawing Anwar's fevered attention back to him. "Murtasim." Anwar spat the name out like it was a bitter pill, his venomous gaze resting on her husband. "Let her go."

But Murtasim's voice was a calm sea amid the tempest, steady and unwavering. "Meerab is my wife. Your acceptance or denial doesn't change that fact." The certainty in his words held a soothing cadence, a balm to the turmoil that churned inside her.

Maa Begum, a silent observer until now, finally found her voice. "It's not us you should be accusing, Anwar. It's yourself you should question. Why would I not let them marry? You don't even know your own daughter, or that fact that she has been in love with Murtasim for ages, that she wouldn't marry anyone else? Or do you just not care?"

Anwar turned a deaf ear to Maa Begum, his focus narrowing on Meerab. "Divorce him." He demanded, his words coming out like a whip. "Right this instance."

Meerab felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. Anwar's words echoed in her mind, drowning out all other sounds. It was as if her world had come to a standstill, leaving behind only the frantic pounding of her own heartbeat. Here was a man, her father, who had never played any role in her life, demanding that she leave the only man she had ever loved, the one man who had been her rock, her solace, her home.

"Why would I listen to you of all people?" She scoffed, as her body reeled with confusion.

The intensity of her father's vitriol left her bewildered. His livid face would be etched into her memory, the veins in his forehead popping out starkly, a picture of unadulterated fury. But what puzzled her more was the reason behind this sudden animosity. What was triggering this sudden desperate need to separate her from Murtasim? The question loomed ominously in her mind, an unsolved mystery that made her stomach churn with unease. It had to be more than just a concern for her wellbeing as he put it previously, he had never cared before.

Murtasim stood beside her like a steadfast mountain, a beacon of calm amid the raging storm that was her father.

"Chacha-Saab..." Murtasim began, his voice level and filled with a respect that made her chest constrict. "...while you've avoided Meerab for most of your life, you've always seemed to have a soft spot for me...dare I say, you even like me. And I have respected you despite the pain you put the woman I love through because our relationship warranted it. So, what has changed that makes you so adamant that Meerab and I not be together?"

Murtasim's question seemed to catch her father off guard.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, the sharp words he'd been spouting now a mere echo in the silence that followed. Meerab watched as her father struggled to formulate a response, something twisting in her chest at the sight. For the first time, her father, who had always stood tall and scary in her memories, seemed smaller, weaker.

She looked between her husband and her father, her heart pounding with an undefined fear. Her hand tightened around Murtasim's, gripping him tighter, as if anchoring herself to his unyielding presence. She didn't know what was going to happen, but one thing was becoming increasingly clear - Murtasim knew something.

Anwar, after what felt like an eternity, finally broke the silence. "I don't have to explain myself to you." Her father spat out, his voice seething with a defiance that poorly masked the fear that was beginning to flicker in his eyes.

Murtasim's expression hardened, the set of his jaw a clear indication that his patience was wearing thin. "Explain it to your daughter then, who you claim to be so worried about now. Why did you say you didn't want her marrying me again?"

Her breath hitched as Murtasim's words cut through the tension, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions. She remembered her father's last tirade, the memory of his words still sharp, still fresh - how Maa Begum and Murtasim would lead to her end just like her mother's.

Those words had wounded her more deeply than she'd ever admit. Her father's silence now was confusing, almost as if he had forgotten his own accusations. A pit formed in her stomach as Murtasim continued, his tone ice-cold.

"Tell me Chacha-Saab, what's the reason? Are you really worried that I of all people would hurt the woman I love more than my own life? Or is there something else?" Murtasim's voice filled the room, echoing his suspicions and her own fears. Something was definitely amiss.

A chill slithered down Meerab's spine, causing her to shiver involuntarily. There was something in Murtasim's voice that set her nerves on edge, an insinuation that hinted at a narrative she wasn't privy to. Her gaze strayed to her father, and she was shocked to see the once imposing figure deflating under Murtasim's relentless scrutiny.

"What are you hiding, Chacha-Saab?" The words fell from Murtasim's lips like a hammer, shattering the tension-laden silence.

Her father's face went ashen, his eyes darting around the room as if desperately seeking an escape route. Meerab's stomach churned uncomfortably. Was there more to her father's vehemence than she had initially comprehended?

"What do you think I'll find if I suddenly have access to everything that Meerab is set to inherit?" Murtasim's voice sliced through the room, his eyes never straying from Anwar. His words hung in the air, echoing ominously in the dreadful silence.

Inheritance? The word echoed around Meerab's mind, unsettling her. She knew about the assets under her father's name, with her as the beneficiary, but they had been conspicuously absent from the files she reviewed with Murtasim. Murtasim had mentioned that her father looked after his own assets, that he didn't seem to want to burden Murtasim with everything.

The pieces started to slot together in her mind, forming an unsightly picture that had her blood running cold. A bitter taste filled her mouth, as if she'd swallowed a mouthful of bile. The realisation was akin to being doused in ice-cold water; her father's refusal to let her marry Murtasim had nothing to do with her, with her happiness. He was hiding something, something he'd done, something he didn't want Murtasim to unearth.

The revelation struck her like a blow to the chest, leaving her breathless. Her own father was using her as a human shield, a means to conceal his own transgressions. The knowledge felt like a betrayal, a sharp, devastating wound that went deeper than any physical pain.

The tension in the room was palpable, like a charged current, arcing from person to person, bouncing off the walls. Anwar looked as though he were facing a firing squad, the blood draining from his face, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Murtasim stepped forward, his shoulders square, his gaze level. His voice, when he spoke, was eerily calm. It was the tranquillity of a seasoned warrior, a man who had battled his way through life's storms and emerged the stronger for it.

"Chacha-Saab, you have been gambling, haven't you?" His words weren't a question but a statement of fact. His piercing gaze never left Anwar's face. "Not just money, but our ancestral lands too. The lands our elders fought and died for, lands that have been in our family for generations."

Anwar stiffened, his gaze skittering away from Murtasim's, but it was too late. The accusation was out, hanging in the air like a dark cloud, punctuated by Maa Begum's gasp.

"Over the past years..." Murtasim continued, his voice steady. "...you've gambled away crores, piece by piece. Lost businesses due to reckless decisions, got entangled in fruitless ventures, and piled up debt. The wealth our family has built, it's dwindling, all from one side, and if it weren't divided as it was, I fear we'd all be in trouble."

There was a silence in the room. Even the soft ticking of the ornate wall clock seemed to hold its breath.

"And then the lands, Chacha-Saab." Murtasim's tone grew heavier. "You almost lost them to the Malik family, our lifelong rivals. The very people our family has competed against for generations."

Anwar's face was a mask of shock and horror, his eyes wide and staring. It was as if Murtasim had physically slapped him. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, but no sound came out. "How..." He trailed off.

"You thought I wouldn't hear about the Maliks trying to claim our family's land, that I didn't have connections looking out for such things, that I wouldn't step in?" Murtasim seethed. "Is that why you were against my marriage to Meerab, Chacha-Saab?" Murtasim's voice was soft, but it was a devastating blow. "Were you afraid that I would find out about all your deeds? Or worse, that Meerab would? You wanted to use her as a shield to hide your wrongdoings, didn't you?"

"Why didn't you say something before?" Anwar's voice was weak, almost a whisper. He looked up at Murtasim, the defiance that had once been so characteristic of him now replaced by desperation.

"I didn't know most of it." Murtasim admitted, his voice surprisingly gentle. "When the land deal with the Maliks came to my attention, I thought you had just made a few bad decisions. I thought you were too proud or embarrassed to ask for help, so I dealt with it."

His gaze drifted towards Meerab, a shadow of sadness clouding his eyes. "But your vehement protest to our marriage... it made me dig deeper. I never thought I'd find such deceit, Chacha-Saab."

As he said this, he turned his gaze back towards Anwar. The older man's face was a tableau of defeat. His eyes, once full of fire and determination, were empty. His body slumped, a man who looked as if he'd lost everything.

Murtasim's gaze was unwavering, his voice as cold as steel as he continued. "And then you continued, you thought you had the perfect solution, didn't you? You heard that Armaan had feelings for Meerab once, and you saw an opportunity, a scapegoat."

Anwar's eyes widened, a spark of fear igniting in their depths. Murtasim continued, his words like a dagger, each one cutting deeper than the last.

"You thought you could manipulate the situation, push Meerab towards Armaan, and this would all stay hidden, right?" Murtasim's tone was heavy with disgust. "After all, how would Armaan, living his own life and managing his own world, keep track of what Meerab was supposed to inherit? He wouldn't notice the missing money and assets... unlike me."

The silence in the room was deafening. The weight of Murtasim's words hung in the air, exposing the depth of her father's betrayal. Murtasim stood tall, righteous in his anger, while Anwar appeared smaller, shrinking under the truth of his actions.

"You thought you could sweep it all under the rug." Murtasim's voice was almost a whisper, but his words carried through the room, echoing off the high ceiling and the ornate walls. "But you underestimated me, Chacha-Saab. And you underestimated what I could do for your daughter."

Just as Murtasim finished speaking, Maa Begum stood up abruptly from the plush couch she had been sitting on. Her face was distorted with anger, her eyes blazing like embers. Meerab felt a shiver run down her spine. She had never seen Maa Begum that angry before.

"Anwar." She spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "Have you no shame?" Her gaze swept over Anwar, the disappointment clear in her eyes. "This is what you were doing behind all of our backs, Anwar? Your brother would have been devastated." She yelled as she shook her head. "You don't deserve to be a part of this family. You claim to be a father, yet you used your own daughter, your own flesh and blood, as a shield to hide your misdeeds, willing to go as far as trying to sabotage her happiness for it."

Her voice echoed through the room, each word laced with venom. Her father seemed to shrink under her fury, his eyes downcast, his lips pressed into a tight line.

"You knew, didn't you?" Maa Begum continued, her words laced with scorn. "You had to have known how much Meerab loves Murtasim. You had to have known that they've both been waiting and yearning for each other. And still, you tried to separate them, to use your own daughter as a pawn in your pathetic game?"

Her voice rang out, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.

Her father didn't utter a single word in his defense.

The room was silent except for Maa Begum's harsh breathing.

She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts before continuing.

"If you want to do anything for your daughter now..." She said, her voice deadly quiet. "Leave this house, get out, there is no room for you here."

"Maa..." Murtasim straightened, squaring his shoulders and shaking his head. There was no triumph in his voice, no mockery or disdain. Instead, there was a gravitas, a severity that held the room in thrall as he turned to Anwar. "I hope, Chacha-Saab, for the sake of your own daughter, you make better decisions from now on. You owe Meerab that much." Murtasim said, his words echoing in the tense silence.

Murtasim's gaze softened as it moved towards Meerab, a hint of tender protectiveness replacing the hardness from before.

"He should be kicked out!" Maa Begum intervened even as Murtasim shook his head.

"This house..." Murtasim continued, his voice taking on an edge of steel. "It belongs to all of us. I can't and won't kick you out, Chacha-saab, I don't have the right. But I hope you choose to stay here only if you truly wish to support your daughter's happiness. Only if you genuinely want to be a part of her life, in a supportive manner."

He paused, letting his words sink in. The living room was thick with tension, a heavy quiet only broken by the soft tick-tock of the antique clock that hung on the wall.

Anwar nodded.

"And I'd rather you relinquish all you hold to Meerab...so she has something left to inherit, not that she needs it, I have more than enough for us and our children, but I am sure you don't want to make this any worse than it already is." Murtasim added.

Anwar nodded.

The room felt as if it were spinning as Meerab stood rooted to the spot, a tempest of thoughts whirling through her mind. She watched as the man who was her father crumbled under the weight of accusations, his transgressions laid bare for everyone to see. Her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum, the stinging betrayal intensifying with every moment that passed.

He should have been apologizing to her. But he said nothing.

How could a father do this? How could her father do this? The questions rang in her mind, the echo of disbelief reverberating through her. She had always hoped that their relationship would improve, that he would somehow metamorphose into the father she had always wished for. But now, that hope seemed as distant as a mirage, a fleeting dream she had clung onto in desperation.

As the truth of her father's actions seeped into her consciousness, the flame of hope she had nurtured for so long was doused, replaced by a chilling wave of despair. He would never change, and she was left grappling with the shards of their shattered relationship, a bitter reminder of her naïve expectations.

Suddenly, Murtasim's voice cut through the deafening silence, pulling her back from the precipice of her thoughts. He was looking at her, his eyes filled with concern, asking her if she had anything to add.

Meerab was still for a moment, her eyes moving from Murtasim to her father. A stranger. That's what he was. Despite the blood they shared, despite the bond they were supposed to have, he was a stranger to her. His actions, his selfishness, his betrayal had all but severed the tenuous tie that bound them together.

"I don't have anything to say to a stranger." The words slipped from her lips, her voice holding a cold resolve. She was done. Done with the hurt, the betrayal, the false hopes. Her eyes locked with her father's for a brief moment, her words hanging heavy in the air, a stark declaration of the end of what little relationship they had.

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The moon was a pale sliver in the midnight sky as Murtasim moved silently through the house, his footsteps echoing off the marble floor. An uneasy silence hung heavily in the wake of Anwar's departure, an empty echo of the storm that had swept through their lives just hours ago. Murtasim's heart ached at the memory of it, the sight of Anwar walking out the door without a word of apology to his own daughter.

Meerab. His beautiful, brave, resilient Meerab. She had donned a mask, projecting an air of nonchalance for the sake of those around her. But Murtasim saw through it. He saw the spark of hurt in her eyes, the slight tremor in her voice. He knew how much this betrayal wounded her, how deeply it cut into her gentle heart, the heart that had always yearned for her father to acknowledge her existence and love her.

Murtasim couldn't fathom how anyone could not love Meerab. How her own father could turn his back on her, forsake her love, was beyond his comprehension. Her love was a radiant sun, full of warmth and light, given freely to those who cherished it, filling up their lives with happiness. It was a rare and precious gift, one that Anwar had been blind to, one that he had rejected and squandered.

Perhaps Anwar deserved this outcome, for he had proven unworthy of Meerab's love. The love she still harbored for her father, despite his consistent rejection.

Knowing where she would retreat to in moments like this, Murtasim quietly made his way to the terrace. He found her there as expected, staring out at the moonlit landscape, her shoulders stiff with tension. Her silhouette against the soft glow of the moonlight was a heartbreaking sight, a vision of silent resilience and enduring pain.

Slowly, Murtasim approached her, his heart heavy with the weight of her pain. His arms snaked around her from behind, pulling her rigid form into his warmth. She didn't resist, her body melting against him, surrendering to the comfort he offered.

Her soft sigh whispered through the still night, a small sign of relief that eased his troubled heart. His lips found the crown of her head, planting a gentle kiss there, an unspoken promise of his unwavering support. Her hands came up to cover his own where they lay wrapped around her, her fingers entwining with his in a silent plea for reassurance.

In the quiet intimacy of the moment, Murtasim felt a fierce wave of protectiveness wash over him. His arms tightened around her as he made a silent vow to never let Anwar hurt her again, he was done giving the man chances, and finished waiting on the sidelines hoping the relationship between Meerab and her father mended like she wished.

The hush of the night was only disturbed by the faint whispers of the wind, the serenity of the terrace offering them a world of their own, as they both stood there in silence for a bit.

"Tum theek ho?" Murtasim's voice, soft and tender, shattered the silence. A simple question carrying the weight of his concern.

Meerab shook her head, the truth of her feelings spilling out, she had just nodded whenever anyone asked her that all day. She turned within his arms, burying herself into his chest, seeking refuge in his embrace. The sobs that wracked her body tore through him, each one a testament to her deep-seated pain, of losing a father she had never had.

He let her cry, providing her a sanctuary where she was allowed to unravel, a place where she didn't have to pretend to be okay. His hand soothingly stroked her back, his voice a soft murmur in her ear, hoping each "I love you" acted like a balm to her wounded heart.

After a while, he slightly pulled back, his hands cupping her face. His thumb wiped away her tears, he hated it when she cried, when her pretty brown eyes looked sad and tears clung to her lashes and trailed down her face. "He doesn't deserve your tears, Meerab." His words were stern, resolute, as if trying to imprint the truth onto her soul.

Murtasim watched in heartbreak as the tears welled up in Meerab's eyes, spilling over and streaming down her face in unchecked rivulets. Her every sniffle felt like a stab to his heart; her sorrow was his sorrow. He hated seeing her like this, brought to tears by a man who should have been her protector, not the source of her pain.

Her confession was a raw, open wound. She wore her emotions plainly with him, never shying away from expressing what she felt. She was honest and open, and it was one of the many things he loved about her. But now, that honesty only magnified the pain he felt on her behalf.

"I..." She whispered through her tears, her voice shaky. "I don't know why I let myself hope every time...he always disappoints me."

The sight of her, broken and weeping over the actions of her father, was something he would never get used to. It was heart-wrenching every time,

"I thought – I thought that maybe in his own weird way he cared about me you know...that when he spoke up, it was because he cared, even though his words made no sense. But he really doesn't care at all. He just wanted to use me to save himself." She continued, her words laced with bitterness. "He lived in this house, he had to have known that I love you."

Murtasim took a moment to collect his thoughts, his heart aching as he tried to find the right words. His arms tightened around her, holding her closer. He wished he could absorb her pain, take it away, and leave her with only happiness.

"You hope because that's who you are as a person, Meerab." He told her, his voice a soft murmur in the silent room. "You want to believe the best of everyone, and he's your father."

She looked up at him then, her tear-streaked face a testament to her pain. Her next words were barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of her sorrow. "W-why doesn't he love me?"

The question hung heavy in the air, a potent reminder of the depth of her pain. Murtasim felt a surge of protectiveness towards her, his heart aching as he tried to find a way to comfort her, as it always did when she cried over her father. His hand lifted to cup her face, his thumb gently brushing away her tears. He wished he had an answer for her, a reason that would make the hurt less potent. But the truth was, he didn't.

"I don't know, Meerab, you're so easy to love. It's not your fault, his actions have nothing to do with you, he's a man who filled himself with hate and then refused to give it up despite having all the reason to."

"I should let him go now, shouldn't I?" Meerab's voice floated through the tranquillity, a mere whisper lost in the gentle rustle of the night. Her question was met with the silence of the night, the words sinking into the quiet expanse around them.

"If you want." Murtasim responded, his voice mirroring the serene calm of the night. His words were a quiet affirmation, a gentle push towards a decision he knew was her own to make.

She nodded, the decision made silently within her, yet its weight seemed to echo in the air around them. "Promise me something." She implored, her gaze searching his, the moonlight reflecting in her tear-filled eyes.

"Anything." Murtasim replied instantly. The word, a vow in itself, hung in the air between them, solid and unwavering, much like his resolve.

"If anything ever happens to me, you'll be there for our children." Her request carried an undercurrent of dread, of a fear that dared not speak its name.

He nodded even as he spoke, his response immediate. "Nothing will happen to you though." His voice was steady, filled with an assurance that felt almost tangible in the cool night air.

Meerab gave a shaky laugh, her next words holding a bittersweet blend of amusement and realism. "I know you're Murtasim Khan, but even you can't say that for sure."

There was silence as his gaze met hers, an earnest intensity illuminating his eyes, his grip tightening around her, as if trying to physically ward off the mere possibility of her words. "I can't ensure the future, Meerab, but I can assure you of one thing." He said with a fierce conviction. "The universe itself would feel my wrath if something happened to you. And even my God knows that, Meerab." His words lingered in the cool night air, echoing the fierce promise of a love that would move mountains and set the world ablaze if need be.

Meerab reached up, her hands cupping his face, her eyes filled with an affection that warmed him from within. "I know." She murmured, the words a tender acknowledgement of his unwavering devotion.

Closing the distance between them, Murtasim rested his forehead against hers. The intimate proximity allowed him to inhale the familiar scent of roses and jasmine that clung to her, a fragrance that had become synonymous with her presence in his life.

"I love you, meri Meerab." He confessed, his voice a mere whisper in the tranquil quiet of the night.

Her response was immediate. "I love you too."

Leaning in close, Murtasim couldn't resist the magnetic pull that drew him to her lips. It felt like an intimate confession, his heart yearning to connect with hers. The soft press of his lips against hers was a gentle peck, a promise sealed in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Pulling back ever so slightly, he breathed out the words against her still parted lips. "My wife." He whispered, each syllable carrying reverence.

Her reaction was instant, her eyes sparkling with happiness, her lips curving into a smile that radiated pure bliss despite the track of tears still on her face. He loved the way her face transformed, the way the corners of her eyes crinkled, the way her nose scrunched up adorably, and how her cheeks flushed with delight at the simple words.

Her happiness was his mission, her joy his achievement, her laughter his melody.

"Let's go." He suggested suddenly, an idea brewing in his mind.

A spark of curiosity ignited in her eyes. "Where?"

"To cheer you up." He answered cryptically, delighting in the way her eyes sparkled at his words. She knew him well enough to decipher what he was planning.

She began to protest. "But your mother..." Her words trailing off, hinting at their likely disapproval.

A chuckle escaped him. "The lakhs I paid to Maryam and Rumi have to pay off somehow." His words carried an underlying mischief that elicited a giggle from her.

Nodding in agreement, she followed as he led the way. They made a quick detour to Maryam's room, where he found Rumi too.

He quickly issued his instructions, "Cover for us if Maa looks," not giving them a chance to raise any questions or laughter. Ignoring the curious questions and giggles that followed, he closed the door behind him, focusing solely on the woman who held his heart.

Walking hand-in-hand, they made their way to the garage, the soft patter of their feet against the stone pathway the only sound breaking the silence. Murtasim held the door open for her, casting a glance over his shoulder, ensuring that no one was watching.

Once inside, he let his fingers trace over the polished chrome of his motorcycle, a cherished possession that had shared many memories with them. He felt a shiver of excitement run through him as he pulled off the tarp completely, the familiar leather and metal feeling like an old friend beneath his fingertips.

The motorcycle was more than a mere vehicle, it was a symbol of their shared past, of late-night adventures as he learned how to drive. Each ride was a cherished memory, a time capsule of a moment spent in sheer joy and companionship.

As they stood in the quiet expanse of the garage, the echo of their breaths the only sound, Murtasim turned to her, his eyes shimmering with nostalgia under the dimly lit glow. "Do you remember our first trip like this?" His voice bounced off the walls, carrying a hint of mischief.

Her response was an effervescent bubble of laughter that filled the silence, warming his heart and bringing a smile to his face. "Oh, how could I ever forget! You almost crashed into the gate!" Her tone was light, teasing, yet her eyes held a softness, a fond remembrance of that time when he was still mastering the art of driving.

His mock indignation couldn't be concealed. "I was distracted!" He stated in his defense, a playful spark in his eyes.

"And what could possibly have distracted you?" She returned his jest, a mischievous twinkle dancing in her eyes that he absolutely adored, especially when it replaced tears.

"You, meri jaan. Who else?" He shot back, the glint in his eyes mirroring the playfulness in his tone. "Your arms snaked around me because you were scared, and my brain went into overdrive."

He could still recall the intoxicating sensation of having her body pressed against his, her arms wrapped around his torso, her scent surrounding him like a heavenly aura, and her body heat radiating through him. It was a blissful torment, a pleasure so intense that he was surprised he hadn't actually crashed, given how maddeningly her proximity affected him.

Her giggles rang out at his confession, her eyes filled with amusement. "So that's why you never declined when I suggested a ride? You were just plotting to have me pressed against you?"

He could not help but confirm her suspicion with a nod. It was a tradition born out of their shared adventures, whenever she felt stressed or overwhelmed, a ride and a snack were her remedy, and he was more than willing to comply.

Her face lit up, brimming with delight that he found irresistibly charming. To shake her out of her triumph, he closed the distance between them, pulling her flush against him. His voice dipped lower, a seductive edge to his tone. "I would often find myself reciting random statistics to distract myself, your closeness was maddening, and my body... reacted accordingly."

There was no denying the intoxicating allure of having her so close, her body heat seeping into him as they roared down the road on his motorcycle. More often than not, his body's reaction was undeniable, an urgent hardness that was difficult to ignore, spurred on by the exquisite torment of having her so near, yet so far.

His mind often ventured into realms where restraint held no reign, her presence igniting a fire within him. And in the solitude of his room, he would seek release, his hands becoming a poor substitute for the real warmth of her body. The vivid image of her, her touch, her scent, consumed his thoughts, driving him to seek solace in the memory of their stolen moments.

Yet the sweet agony was short-lived. Not long after he had learnt to ride and they'd started their covert adventures, life, with its cruel sense of humor, thrust a wedge between them. Everyone had started pushing him to maintain a distance from her.

His confession ignited a soft blush on Meerab's cheeks, the rosy hue further enhancing her beauty. He reveled in her shyness, a striking contrast to her usual boldness. However, her eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief, her body inching closer, the shyness giving away.

"If your body reacts today..." Her voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "...I could help."

His laughter rumbled through the garage, he knew it was coming.

"That's not the response I was hoping for." She whined, her pout adorable.

"Be good, Meerab." With a wide grin, he swung a leg over the bike, holding it steady as he beckoned her. As she nestled herself behind him, her arms winding around his waist, her body pressing against his back, he released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The years may have changed them, yet the intoxicating feelings remained the same. Her laugh filled the air when she teasingly attempted to move her hands lower while pressing up against his. back. "Meerab." His stern warning couldn't conceal the playful undercurrent.

With a cautious precision, they guided the bike down the driveway, their giggles dying down to hushed whispers, lest they wake anyone. It was a thrill that reminded them of their younger selves - partners in crime, sneaking around under the veil of night, seeking the thrill of stolen moments.

Underneath the canopy of the twinkling stars that were only visible on rare nights, the streets lay almost deserted, the world around them appearing like a dreamy watercolor painting, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights. The thrum of the motorcycle beneath them was the only disruption in the otherwise peaceful night, the cool breeze whispering tales of solitude and longing.

Murtasim felt her nestled against his back, her arms wound securely around his waist. Her body molded to his like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, perfect and complete. The sound of her laughter danced through the wind, filling his ears and lifting his spirits. It was a melody that washed over him, a soothing balm that could mend the wounds of the world, perhaps it would mend even her own.

Her laughter was his favorite song, and her tears - they were a storm that threatened to ravage his heart. He hated to see her cry, the sight tearing him apart, wanting to always turn her tears into smiles, to replace her pain with the echoes of her laughter. Every tear shed was always a challenge he accepted, a promise to ensure she'd smile twice as much the next day.

Feeling the warmth of her body against his, and hearing her uninhibited laughter was a gratifying emotion he relished, one that told him he was on his way to fulfill that promise.

They pulled up to a humble, almost hidden stall, lit only by the dim flicker of a lone, worn-out bulb, adding a mysterious allure to the otherwise unassuming place. The elderly stall owner, a man whose face bore the creases of time and countless stories, greeted them with a toothless grin.

"Two kulfis, please." Murtasim requested, patting his pockets in search of his wallet.

"One rose and one pistachio." Meerab quickly added, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Settling down on the bike parked in front of a wall, their backs comfortably against the coarse, aged bricks, they enjoyed their treats. As Meerab took her first lick of the kulfi, her face lit up in sheer pleasure, making his heart flutter.

"God, I've missed this." Meerab murmured, her first bite eliciting a sigh of satisfaction. The words hung in the air between them, whispering tales of a time when these midnight escapades were a common affair, a secret shared only by the two of them.

His own kulfi was momentarily forgotten, his attention entirely stolen by Meerab's delightful indulgence. Her lips, glossed by the melting rose kulfi, were nothing less than enticing, drawing him into forbidden territories in his mind. Like they always had. Each pass of her tongue over the icy treat was an unspoken promise, an innocent act filled with hidden whispers of temptation. His heartbeat echoed his deep desires, throbbing in tune with the intimate spectacle before him.

A low groan slipped past his lips, betraying his mind's wanderings. But Meerab, ever so observant, didn't miss a beat.

A mischievous glint lit her eyes, and a smirk played at the corners of her mouth. "Murtasim, are you enjoying the kulfi or the view?"

He felt a tad embarrassed at being caught, but he shot back. "Can't a man enjoy both?"

Her laughter echoed around them, a beautiful melody that brought a grin to his face. "Do you need some help?" She teased, her voice laced with innuendo as she took another tantalizing lick of her kulfi.

"Meerab." He warned half-heartedly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Stop tempting me, it's not fair." His words only seemed to spur her on, her laughter ringing out, pure and infectious, bouncing off the empty street and into the night air.

"Is that a challenge, Mr. Khan?" Her eyes danced with unspoken promises, the teasing glint in them enough to make his heart race. His response was a mock scowl, failing to hide the amusement in his own eyes.

"Do you fancy being shipped off to Lahore, Mrs. Khan?" He arched his eyebrow at her.

She whined as she moved, leaning her head against his shoulder, her body relaxing into his. "This is a literal form of torture." She muttered as their hands found each other naturally, fingers intertwining in a warm, intimate connection that radiated more heat than the sultry summer night.

He hummed.

"Remember when we snuck out the night before chaand raat?" She asked a couple of seconds later.

He laughed. "When you needed green choodiyan?"

She hummed. "We got lost and ended up circling the same block three times." Meerab recalled, her voice sounding nostalgic.

"Ah, yes, and when we finally found our way, everyone was already packed up for the night...so you had me driving all over Hyderabad to find you choodiyan." His smile was soft, reminiscing about the simpler days of their youth, he had been so annoyed with her at one point but then she had whined cutely and held him tighter and he hadn't been able to say no.

"Hmmm, I think that Meerab would be overjoyed to see us today." Meerab said before a soft sigh escaped her lips.

"That Murtasim would be over the moon." He confessed as he turned to look at her, her face illuminated by the soft glow of the city. She was beautiful in a way that went beyond the physical, her soul glowing with a radiance that could outshine the brightest star.

"That Meerab would be over the moon too if this Murtasim took this Meerab for a long drive."

He chuckled but nodded. "Your wish is my command."

Once they had discarded the remnants of their indulgent treat, they returned to their trusted motorcycle. Murtasim slid onto the leather seat, the familiar vibrations of the engine thrumming against his fingers and awakening a sense of anticipation within him. Meerab followed suit, her figure fitting against his back like the final piece of a cherished puzzle.

Her arms wrapped around his midsection, her hands clasping at his front, her fingers barely grazing his stomach through the fabric of his shirt. His heart pounded in his chest, a maddening rhythm that only amplified when her chest pressed against his back, the curve of her breasts pressing into him, reminding him of the feminine allure he was fortunate to call his now.

The world began to fade away as they ventured onto the open road, the purr of the engine merging with the soft whooshing of the wind and the distant hum of the city nightlife. Streetlights whizzed past them, illuminating their path in fleeting moments of brilliance, yet it was Meerab's closeness, her warmth, that felt like a constant beacon guiding him home.

Her laughter, a melodious sound swept away by the wind, echoed in his ears, filling him with a sense of contentment that was far more potent than any spoken word. Each ripple of her laughter, each hushed whisper she breathed into his ear over the wind, was a symphony he craved to get lost in. His world was their motorcycle, the open road, the twinkling city lights, and Meerab - his Meerab.

He reveled in the sensation of her hands subtly tightening around him whenever he accelerated, the soft gasp she let out when he took a sharp turn. These little reactions made him smile, a genuine happiness that spread warmth throughout his being.

After hours of chasing the wind, they eventually found themselves pulling into their garage, the quiet house offering them privacy. As Murtasim killed the engine, the residual vibrations coursing through the motorcycle gradually receded into silence. The thrill of their ride still lingered in the air, a tangible energy that pulsed between them.

In the dim light, Murtasim turned to find Meerab already looking at him, her eyes gleaming with an irresistible mix of affection and mischief. Her hands reached up, nimble fingers diving into his disheveled hair, setting them right with soft, tender motions that sent shivers down his spine. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing momentarily, savoring the feel of her fingers tracing soothing patterns on his scalp.

Opening his eyes, he returned the favor, his own fingers gently caressing her hair, removing the knots their ride had created. His gaze dropped to her lips, a magnetic pull he couldn't resist, and he leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender kiss. His hands cradled her face, his thumbs stroking her soft cheeks, as their bodies moved closer, craving the warmth and contact.

His fingers threaded through her hair, gently untangling the wind-kissed tresses, his touch a soothing whisper against her scalp. His other hand drifted down her body, tracing the small of her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The feel of her body pressed against his own set his heart pounding in his chest, a steady drumming that echoed his mounting desire.

Their lips moved in rhythm, a dance as old as time yet as fresh and intoxicating as their first kiss. The taste of her was like honeyed nectar, a sweet indulgence that left him craving for more. The flavor of the kulfi they had shared, a blend of fragrant roses and nutty pistachios, tingled on their tongues.

The world around them ceased to exist, swallowed by the intensity of their kiss. The distant rumbling of a motorcycle, the muted sounds of the city's nightlife, all faded into a blissful oblivion, leaving only the sound of their shared breaths and the faint whispers of their desires.

When they finally pulled away, it was a slow drift, their lips clinging to each other, reluctant to part. They stared at each other, their eyes holding a universe of love and adoration. The dim light in the garage reflected off her eyes, adding a sparkle that made his breath hitch.

Then they were drawn back together, their bodies acting on a magnetic pull they couldn't resist. Meerab's arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. Murtasim felt his body responding, an instinctive, primal urge stoked by their closeness and the intoxicating taste of her.

His breath hitched as her hands slid down his body, boldly exploring, until one reached the bulge in his pants, making him groan into their kiss.

"Is this how you reacted then too?" Meerab murmured against his lips, her tone teasing, but the glint in her eyes told him she was far from just teasing.

He could only respond with a choked laugh, his body betraying his composed facade. "Meerab." He groaned, his voice carrying a plea and a warning.

"Biwi hoon tumhari, haq hai mera." She teased, her hand firmly pressing against his arousal, making his world spin. A low groan escaped him, his grip on her waist tightening.

"Behave."

She giggled but pulled her hand away. "If you say so."

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A/N: Soooooooooo, what do y'all think? What was your favourite part? Now that we've worked through this Anwar thing, expect more cuteness...and perhaps finally a change in rating to this story, hehehehe.