Author's Note: Hi everyone! Surprise? I know it seems like I've forgotten about Dhaagey, but I've just been focusing on finishing up my other fics. With Meri Musibat done and Unveiling Meerab coming close to conclusion, I'll switch over to Dhaagey. For now, here's a quick outtake - a lot of you always requested that I write about Meerab's birthday in Karachi (where Murtasim visited and it was very obvious the two of them wanted to kiss). Hehehe. Enjoy! We start off with Meerab's POV but also get Murtasim's POV at the end. This would be set much before the start of Dhaagey! 

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Meerab sat in front of the mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she applied a final coat of deep red lipstick. The rich, bold color was a stark departure from her usual subtle choices, making her heart race with a mix of excitement and nervousness. She pressed her lips together, spreading the color evenly, then leaned back to examine her reflection.

The lipstick had transformed her appearance, making her lips look plumper, shiny, and inviting. The deep red hue matched her suit perfectly, a shade she had chosen with deliberate intent. Her eyes flickered over her outfit, double-checking every detail, hoping it would make the impression she desired.

Turning her attention to her hair, Meerab's hands moved to her curls, fidgeting with them in an attempt to set them just right. The soft waves cascaded down her back, a marked difference from her usual straight and simple style. She twirled a lock around her finger, then let it fall, watching it bounce into place.

The clock above her dresser reminded her of the passing time, each tick amplifying the butterflies in her stomach. Meerab had spent more time getting ready tonight than she ever had before. Every movement, every choice in her preparation was laden with an unspoken anticipation that made her pulse quicken.

Her eyes drifted to the stuffed lion on the dresser, the fabric faded, but the smile on the lion's face was as comforting as ever. It reminded her of Murtasim, the man who had given her his favorite toy to comfort her during a difficult time. The memory made her smile, a bittersweet pang of longing tugging at her heart.

"How do I look?" Meerab muttered to Sher, seeking reassurance from the inanimate confidant. She reached out, gently picking up the stuffed toy and holding it up in front of her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper, betraying her vulnerability. "Do you think he'll like it?"

She hugged the stuffed toy tight, her arms encircling it as if it were Murtasim himself. The soft fabric pressed against her cheek, a poor substitute for the warmth she longed for. "Do you think he's missed me as much as I missed him?" she muttered.

Reluctantly, she placed Sher back on the dresser, but couldn't bring herself to fully let go. She rested her chin on the soft toy, looking into its glassy eyes as if they held all the answers she sought. "Do you think he's missed me as much as I missed him?" she muttered, her voice barely audible.

She missed him – a lot. The days had felt endless without his presence, each one marked by a growing ache in her chest. But tonight was different. He was coming today, for her birthday. The thought made her heart race with joy. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the hours ticking by so slowly.

Meerab looked up in the mirror, registering the smile on her face. Before she could fully react her own expression, she caught sight of Rumi leaning against her doorframe, grinning mischievously.

"Mere piya ghar aaya oh ram ji, mere piya ghar aaya..." Rumi sang teasingly, dancing into the room with exaggerated movements.

"Stop it, Rumi," Meerab whined, though her heart was somersaulting in her chest, betraying her true feelings.

Rumi's eyes sparkled with amusement as she approached. "You know, he's going to die when he sees you," she teased, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Meerab turned, trying to muster a casual shrug, but the flush creeping up her neck betrayed her. "Why?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

Rumi laughed, the sound light and knowing. "You're all dressed up for him. Don't even try to deny it."

"It's my birthday," Meerab shrugged, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Rumi snickered, moving to stand next to the dresser. She picked up Sher, waving the stuffed lion playfully. "And you want to be his present?" she sang.

"Give him back!" Meerab protested, reaching for the toy.

"You act like it's actually Murtasim bhai," Rumi teased, holding the lion as if she was dancing with it.

"Kaate nahi katate ye din ye raat, kehni thi tumse jo dil ki baat, lo aaj mein kehti hooooooonnnnnn – say it with me Meerab!" Rumi sang, her voice filled with laughter.

"Shut up!" Meerab said, grabbing Sher and putting him back on the dresser, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Tell him – I love youuuuuuuu!" Rumi persisted, her eyes twinkling with mirth.

Before Meerab could respond, the faint sound of a car engine reached her ears, making her heart skip a beat. Her body tensed, nervousness coursing through her veins.

"Saajan ji ghar aaye, saajan ji ghar aayeeeee," Rumi sang, her voice lilting with amusement.

Meerab rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide the anticipation in her movements as she rushed to the balcony, her steps quickening with each passing second.

Peering over the edge, she saw Murtasim stepping out of his car. His presence was commanding even from a distance, and Meerab's breath caught in her throat as she noticed how different he looked – more muscular, more mature, tall, confident, and devastatingly handsome in a tailored white shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders.

As Meerab stepped back into the room, Rumi was grinning at her, continuing her teasing song. "Saajaan ji ghar aaye, saajan ji ghar aaye, Dulhan kyon sharmaaye hay – "

"Shut up!" Meerab said.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Meerab dashed downstairs, her excitement barely contained. Her heart raced with each step, the anticipation of seeing Murtasim up close after so long making her feel lightheaded and giddy.

Meerab came to a sudden halt just as Murtasim walked in, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it. Time seemed to slow, the world around her fading into a blur as her eyes locked onto his.

Her Murtasim – so different yet still the same.

The years had changed him, sculpting his features into something more mature, more striking, but the essence of the boy she knew still lingered in the depths of his gaze.

His eyes... they were different, darker almost. They rested on her with an intensity that made her stomach flutter, a whirlwind of butterflies taking flight beneath her ribs. There was something in that look, something new and thrilling that made her skin tingle with awareness.

"Hi," she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible, caught somewhere between her racing heart and her suddenly dry throat. The word felt inadequate, failing to convey the storm of emotions surging through her.

"Happy birthday, Meerab," he replied, his voice a rich, warm timbre that sent shivers cascading down her spine. The depth of his voice startled her – it hadn't been that deep before. The sound of it wrapped around her like velvet, making her knees weak.

"Thank you," was all that left her lips, though her mind was a whirlwind of things she wanted to say, confessions and questions that danced on the tip of her tongue. But before she could find the courage to voice any of them, Anila's voice cut through the moment.

"Murtasim! You're here, come in, come in!" Anila called out, emerging from the kitchen.

Murtasim's eyes lingered on Meerab for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he turned to greet Anila. In that brief instant, Meerab felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs. She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until it left her in a whoosh, her chest heaving slightly with the sudden release.

As if in a trance, she followed him to the dining area, her eyes never leaving his form, how had he become so built? The table was elegantly set, but Meerab barely noticed the decorations. As they took their seats, she found herself directly across from him, a placement that felt both torturous and exhilarating.

The room buzzed with activity. Rumi's cheerful chatter filled the air, her parents engaged in animated conversation, but it all faded into white noise for Meerab. Even when Arslan arrived, she could barely muster more than a distracted thank you for his birthday wishes. Her entire world had narrowed down to the man sitting across from her.

She couldn't tear her gaze away from Murtasim – and to her mingled delight and nervousness, he looked right back. The changes in him were even more apparent up close. The white shirt he wore stretched perfectly across his broad chest and arms, hinting at a newly sculpted physique. Clearly, he had started working out, and the results were... distracting.

His hair was longer now, neatly styled in a way that made her fingers itch to run through it. The full beard covering his perfect jaw gave him an air of rugged maturity that made her heart race. But it was his lips that truly captivated her. She found herself fixating on them, noticing every curve, every movement as he spoke. The way they parted slightly when he was deep in thought, or the way they quirked up into a smile – it was all she could think about.

The conversation flowed around them, a river of words that Meerab was only half-listening to. Her responses, when required, were automatic and distracted. Every time she looked up, Murtasim's eyes were on her, and she found herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze. The heat of it seemed to seep into her skin, spreading a warmth through her body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

He was so handsome. So exceptionally, breathtakingly handsome. The realization hit her anew with each glance, each shared look across the table. The room felt much too warm, the air thick with an unspoken tension that seemed to stretch between them like an invisible thread.

Meerab shifted in her seat, hyperaware of every movement, every breath. The brush of the tablecloth against her legs, the weight of her new outfit, the lingering taste of her bold lipstick – everything felt amplified under Murtasim's gaze. She was drowning in sensation, in unspoken desire, and the night had only just begun.

Meerab watched intently as Murtasim engaged in conversation with Waqas, Arslan, and Rumi. His words flowed smoothly, his voice a deep, mesmerizing rumble that sent shivers down her spine. Yet, despite his active participation in the discussion, his eyes kept returning to her, each glance igniting a spark of electricity that coursed through her body.

Her gaze, as if magnetized, kept drifting to his lips. They had never looked so inviting before. Was it the beard and mustache that now framed them, creating a tantalizing contrast? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever the reason, Meerab found herself utterly captivated.

She had read about kisses in books - first kisses, passionate kisses, tender kisses - and had always giggled at the thought of kissing Murtasim. But now, as she watched his lips wrap around the fork, those girlish giggles were replaced by a deep, aching desire. She imagined what those lips would feel like against her own, how they might taste, how they might move.

All Meerab wanted for her birthday was to be kissed. The cake, the singing, her favorite foods, the presents - none of it mattered anymore. All she craved was the press of Murtasim's lips against hers, to be consumed by his touch.

She watched, mesmerized, as his lips moved with each word he spoke. The way they curved and shaped around each syllable was hypnotic. The thought of what it would feel like to have those lips on hers, to be kissed and possessed by him, consumed her entirely. Her breathing became shallow, and she felt a flush creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks.

Her eyes flickered up from his lips to meet his gaze, and she almost whimpered at the intensity she found there. There was something in his look that she didn't fully understand, but it stirred something primal within her. She knew she liked it - more than liked it. It made her feel desired, wanted.

Her body felt like it was on fire, heat coursing through her veins and settling low in her belly, between her legs. The sensation was new and overwhelming, making her flush deeper. She shifted in her seat, suddenly hyper-aware of every part of her body, worried that someone might notice the effect Murtasim was having on her.

Meerab's pulse quickened with every passing second, the tension building to an almost unbearable level. She felt like she might combust if she didn't do something, anything, to break this spell.

"I - I am going to go get water!" she suddenly blurted out, rising abruptly from her chair. She vaguely registered Anila's confused reminder about water being on the table, but she was already moving, desperate for an escape.

She fled to the kitchen, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. Reaching the fridge, she pulled out a pitcher of ice-cold water with trembling hands. She poured it into a glass, the sound of ice cubes clinking against the sides seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen. Without hesitation, she brought the glass to her lips and began to chug the water, hoping desperately that it would cool the fire raging inside her.

As the icy liquid slid down her throat, Meerab leaned against the counter, her mind reeling. What was wrong with her? She had never felt this way before, never experienced such intense, all-consuming desire. It both thrilled and terrified her, leaving her breathless and aching for more.

Meerab walked back towards the dining room, her mind still reeling from the intensity of her feelings, she suddenly crashed right into a solid form. Strong hands grabbed her, steadying her and keeping her from tumbling. The moment their bodies connected, a jolt of electricity shot through her entire being.

Meerab's breath caught in her throat as she realized it was Murtasim who held her. Was a touch supposed to feel like that? Like fire coursing through her veins, igniting every nerve ending?

His arm wrapped around her waist, his hand splayed on her side. The heat of his palm seeped through the fabric of her kameez, branding her skin. He was so close, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. His scent enveloped her – a intoxicating mixture of sandalwood, citrus, and something uniquely him. It made her head spin, clouding her thoughts with desire.

Her eyes flickered down to his lips, full and tempting, before darting back up to meet his gaze. Those dark eyes that had been watching her all evening now looked at her with an intensity that made her knees weak. There was something different in his gaze, something heated and primal that made her heart race.

He wasn't letting her go, and Meerab found herself hoping he never would. The feeling of being in his arms, pressed against his strong chest, was intoxicating. She wanted to stay there forever, lost in his embrace.

"Murtasim," she whispered, her voice barely audible, filled with a longing she couldn't disguise.

"Your hair is curly," he muttered, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine.

She nodded, suddenly self-conscious. She always straightened it – did he not like it?

Murtasim's eyes softened, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Slowly, almost reverently, he reached out with his free hand. Meerab held her breath as his fingers gently grasped one of her curls. He tugged on it softly, stretching it out before releasing it. The curl bounced back into place, springing against her cheek.

The simple action sent a wave of warmth through Meerab's body. His touch made her skin tingle. She watched his face, mesmerized by the fascination in his eyes as he observed the resilience of her curl. The moment felt charged, electric, as if this small interaction held far more meaning than just an appreciation for her hairstyle.

Her heart thudded in her chest, each beat a thunderous rhythm that she was sure he could hear.

His eyes flickered to her lips, lingering there. She saw him mutter something under his breath, and she swore she heard the word "lipstick". The thought that he might be noticing her lips, might be thinking about kissing her, made her breath hitch.

Suddenly, he held her tighter, and they were moving. Meerab felt her back press against the wall behind her, Murtasim's body a solid warmth in front of her. They had never been this close before - not in reality, only in her most secret dreams. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, seeping through her clothes and into her very core.

His chest was pressed against hers, firm and broad. She could feel every contour of his muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt, the strength of him both thrilling and intimidating. The rapid rise and fall of his chest matched her own quickened breathing, their hearts seeming to beat in tandem.

The world narrowed down to just the two of them, everything else fading away into a hazy blur. All of Meerab's senses were overwhelmed by Murtasim's presence. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face, coming in short, quick puffs that mirrored her own.

Their bodies were aligned from chest to thigh, and Meerab was acutely aware of every point of contact. The pressure of his hips against hers sent a jolt of electricity through her body, awakening sensations she had never experienced before. Her hands, trapped between them, could feel the rapid beating of his heart, matching the frantic rhythm of her own.

Unbidden, images flashed through Meerab's mind - images that were far from innocent. She imagined his hands roaming her body, his lips claiming hers in a passionate kiss. She thought of what it would feel like to run her fingers through his hair, to feel his beard scrape against her skin as he trailed kisses down her neck. These thoughts, so new and thrilling, made her face flush and her body tremble with desire.

The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear. Meerab felt dizzy with want, her body humming with an energy she didn't fully understand but desperately wanted to explore.

"Murtasim, Meerab." Anila's voice cut through the moment like a knife, shattering the bubble of tension that had enveloped them.

Murtasim let her go, stepping back, but his eyes remained fixed on her. The loss of his touch left Meerab feeling bereft, her body aching for his warmth again.

Come back, she wanted to whisper. Kiss me, she wanted to scream.

The words burned on the tip of her tongue, held back only by a lifetime of propriety and the last vestiges of her self-control.

Meerab stood there, her back still against the wall, her chest heaving slightly as she tried to catch her breath.

He walked away, leaving Meerab breathless and confused against the wall. The sudden loss of his warmth left her feeling bereft, her body still tingling from their closeness.

For the rest of the night, Murtasim didn't look at her, intensifying her confusion. The stark contrast between their heated moment and his current aloofness left Meerab's head spinning. She found herself stealing glances at him, trying to catch his eye, desperate to understand the change in his demeanor. But his gaze remained steadfastly averted, leaving her to wonder if she had imagined the intensity of their earlier encounter.

As quickly as the cake had been cut and the plates emptied, Murtasim announced his departure, citing a long ride back to Hyderabad. The abruptness of his exit sent a pang through Meerab's heart. She wasn't ready for him to leave, not when so much remained unspoken between them. But she couldn't seem to catch his attention or him alone, someone always standing between them.

Just before he left, his eyes finally met hers. His gaze trailed over her face, drinking in every detail as if committing it to memory. Meerab's breath caught in her throat at the intensity in his eyes, his hot and cold behaviour confusing her. She noticed his fists clenched at his sides and wondered if she had angered him somehow – did he not like the hair? The lipstick? Or maybe the way she had acted?

In a final gesture that left Meerab more perplexed than ever, Murtasim took a small box out of his pocket. Without a word, he slid it across the table to her. Their fingers brushed for the briefest moment as she reached for it, sending a jolt of electricity through her. Before she could say anything, he was gone, disappearing into the night without another word.

She retreated to her room as soon as he left.

With trembling hands, Meerab opened the box. Inside lay a delicate necklace with a pendant in the shape of the letter 'M'. Her heart raced as she stared at it, a whirlwind of questions swirling in her mind. Was it M for Meerab or M for Murtasim? The ambiguity of the gift mirrored the uncertainty of their relationship, leaving her both thrilled and frustrated.

Meerab touched the pendant gently, feeling the cool metal against her skin. It was a tangible reminder of Murtasim, of the tension between them, of the unspoken feelings that hung in the air. As she clasped the necklace around her neck, she couldn't help but wonder what it truly meant. Was it a promise? A declaration? Or simply a birthday gift with no deeper meaning?

With a soft sigh, she reached for Sher, her constant companion and silent confidant for so long. She picked him up, cradling him close to her chest, seeking comfort in his familiar presence.

"Why is he so confusing?" she asked Sher, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lower lip jutted out in a slight pout, a mixture of frustration and longing evident in her expression.

She gazed into Sher's glassy eyes, as if hoping to find answers there.

Meerab's fingers traced the 'M' pendant again as she hugged Sher tighter. "One moment he's looking at me like... like I'm everything, and the next he can't get away fast enough," she murmured, her brow furrowed in thought.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked Sher, her voice muffled against his fur. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Meerab grappled with the complexity of her emotions and the uncertainty of Murtasim's intentions.

With Sher clutched to her chest and the 'M' pendant resting against her skin, Meerab felt caught between childhood and adulthood, between the comfort of their long friendship and the thrilling, terrifying possibility of where they were supposed to be headed.

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Murtasim knew following her was a bad idea. It was inviting trouble with open arms, beckoning chaos into the order he had so carefully maintained. Every rule, every boundary he had set for himself, was teetering on the edge of collapse. Yet, as Meerab excused herself from the table to get some water, he found himself rising, his feet moving almost on their own. An invisible force, an undeniable pull, connected him to her, drawing him into the storm.

She had transformed into a seductress, a vision so starkly different from the innocent Meerab he had been expecting. Her lips were painted a tantalizing red, a shade so captivating that all he could think about was capturing them with his own. The desire in her eyes was palpable, a burning intensity that threatened to consume him. He found himself reciting numbers and odd facts in his head, a desperate, futile attempt to quell the stirring in his groin that seemed to have a life of its own.

She was beyond gorgeous. In red, she was like sin personified, temptation wrapped in the prettiest package he had ever seen. Every inch of her beckoned to be touched, to be devoured. His gaze traced the curves of her body, the way the dress clung to her, accentuating her every movement. He couldn't look away, couldn't think of anything but how badly he wanted to close the distance between them.

As she walked out of the kitchen, frazzled and unaware, she collided with him. He didn't step aside; instead, he allowed his hands to wrap around her, seizing the excuse to hold her close. Her warmth seeped into him, her scent enveloping him in a haze of longing and need. She smelled like jasmine and something uniquely her, a combination that made his head spin and his heart race.

She felt incredible against him, all soft curves and inviting warmth. His body reacted instinctively, muscles tightening, heart pounding in his chest like a drum. The depraved thoughts he had buried so deeply began to resurface, each one more vivid and intense than the last. He wanted her, needed her in ways that defied the boundaries of self-control he prided himself on. Just the sight of her had him crumbling, reduced to a state of raw, unfiltered desire.

His eyes traveled down to her lips, that tantalizing red calling to him like a siren's song. He wanted to kiss her, to claim those lips, to feel their softness and taste their sweetness. But he knew he wouldn't be able to stop at a kiss. He had been taught to respect her, to not see her through the lens of his desire, to keep their interactions pure. But right now, his thoughts were anything but respectful. They were primal, driven by a need that clawed at him from the inside.

His breath hitched, his hands tightening around her waist, pulling her even closer. Every inch of her softness against him was driving him wild. He fought to control himself, to reign in the animalistic urge to take her right there, to show her just how deep his desire ran. But her proximity, her scent, her warmth—they were overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensations that threatened to drown him.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with that same burning desire he felt. It was a dangerous game they were playing, one that he wasn't sure he could win.

His thoughts raced, chaotic and heated. He imagined his lips trailing down her neck, his hands exploring every inch of her, the way she would respond to his touch. The fantasies were vivid, almost painfully so. He envisioned pulling her even closer, letting his hands wander over the curves of her body, feeling the heat of her skin through the fabric of her dress.

Her breath mingled with his, a tantalizing prelude to what he desperately wanted. The air between them crackled with tension, a palpable electricity that set every nerve on edge. He knew he should step back, should respect the boundaries they had set, but he couldn't bring himself to let go.

Murtasim wished they were married. The thought consumed him, creating an ache deep within that felt almost unbearable. If they were married, he could kiss her like he wanted, his lips claiming hers with an intensity that would smear that perfect red lipstick, making her look deliciously ravished. He could nuzzle the long, elegant neck that her deep kameez put on display, trailing his lips down the soft, warm skin, savoring the taste of her. He could take her, claim her, make love to her until she was breathless, fuck her until they were both exhausted, hear her moan his name in that sweet, desperate way he fantasized about.

He could see her naked, every inch of her body exposed to his hungry gaze, watching the flush on her face spread down her neck, her chest, her entire body, making her even more beautiful. He could pull on her hair, those luscious curls that framed her face so perfectly, tangling his fingers in them as he thrust into her, feeling her tighten around him. The thought of her writhing beneath him, her eyes filled with desire and need, drove him to the edge. He wanted to see her completely lost in pleasure, her body arching, her lips parting in breathless moans as he took her to new heights of ecstasy. The desire to make her his, in every possible way, consumed him, leaving him breathless and aching with need.

"Murtasim," she whispered, her voice soft and filled with an unspoken plea. The sound of his name on her lips, so soft and inviting, made him ache to hear her scream it with him buried inside her.

"Your hair is curly," he muttered, his voice thick with desire. He really wanted to pull on it as he fucked her, to feel those curls wrapped around his fingers.

She nodded, looking so innocent and trusting, making guilt creep up within him.

He shouldn't be thinking about her like that, but he was. His thoughts were consumed with her, with the overwhelming desire to have her, to claim her in every way possible.

His gorgeous, perfect Meerab—who looked at him with so much love, with eyes that trusted him implicitly. He smiled, his fingers trailing up to her hair, gently pulling on a curl, watching it bounce back into place. The simplicity of the act, the playful innocence, contrasted sharply with the heated desires coursing through him.

She smiled back, the sight of it sending a jolt of warmth through him. His eyes went to her perfect lips again, lingering on the temptation they presented. Maybe just a kiss, a peck. Her lipstick was too perfect; he wanted to mess it up, to mark her as his.

Her breath hitched, and he knew she was asking for a kiss, had been begging for it with her eyes all night. He held her tighter, pushing her back gently against the wall behind her. Just a kiss—one kiss. He'd somehow find it in himself to stop.

He groaned as his chest pressed against hers, feeling her breasts rise and fall with her heavy breathing. His Meerab, so close, so tantalizingly close. Her eyes were half-lidded with desire, her lips slightly parted, inviting him in.

Every inch of her was a temptation he was struggling to resist. The thought of her lips, soft and yielding against his, made his heart race. He imagined how she would feel under him, her body arching with pleasure as he explored every curve, every inch of her skin. He wanted to hear her whisper his name in the throes of passion, to feel her nails dig into his back as he drove her over the edge.

The innocence in her eyes made him feel a pang of guilt, but the desire was too strong. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about her like this, but he couldn't help it. She was everything he had ever wanted, and more.

He moved closer, his breath hitching with every inch that closed between them. His gaze was fixed on her lips, that perfect red tempting him beyond reason. He was going to kiss her. The thought alone sent a shiver of anticipation through his body, making his heart race and his hands tremble slightly.

But then he heard their names being called out, a sharp intrusion that snapped him back to reality. The sound was like a cold splash of water, dousing the fire that had been building inside him. He couldn't. Not yet. As much as he wanted to, as much as every fiber of his being screamed for him to claim her in that moment, he couldn't do that to her.

With a pained groan, he pulled away, forcing his hands to release their hold on her, feeling the loss of her warmth like a physical ache.

He took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a reminder of the restraint he had to maintain. His eyes darted away from her, unable to bear the sight of her longing gaze, knowing it mirrored his own desperate need. It took every ounce of willpower to turn around and walk away, his steps heavy with the weight of unfulfilled desire.

She was looking at him, he could feel the intensity of her gaze burning into his back. It took all his strength to not turn around, to not give in to the magnetic pull that drew him towards her. He could still feel the warmth of her body, the softness of her curves pressed against him, the memory of it tormenting him with every step.

As he reached the table, he forced himself to keep his eyes forward, his jaw clenched tight. He couldn't trust himself to stay close, to look into her eyes, to see the desire reflected there. He feared that if he did, he would give in, forget everyone else around the table, and kiss her right there, consequences be damned.

He looked at her only when he slid his present across the table towards her, a silent declaration of his intentions, a promise wrapped in the guise of a gift. His fingers lingered on the edge of the gift for a moment before he pulled away. Their eyes met, and the intensity of her gaze sent a jolt of electricity through him. He could see the same longing in her eyes, the same unspoken need.

Meerab had asked for time, to finish law school, and he had promised her that. But every moment spent waiting felt like a test of his resolve, each day a challenge to his patience and self-control. The desire to be with her, to claim her as his own, was a constant, burning ache, one that he had to endure in silence. He should have stayed away, the temptation as too great.

As he turned to leave, he carried the memory of her gaze with him, a bittersweet reminder of their shared desire and the promise of a future where they could finally be together without restraint. For now, he had to wait.

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Author's Note: Hehehe, so, what do we think?!