A/N: Hi everyone! I know this chapter is a bit late but I have been a bit under the weather lately and have managed to now catch some respiratory ailment. Thank you for all the funny and thoughtful comments on the last chapter. I know a lot of you had questions about what was happening with Murtasim and the mention of jail, etc, but we shall find that out in due time. For now, here's the next chapter, I hope you all enjoy it, see you on the other side. Also, I am dozed on painkillers so this chapter is not edited as heavily as I usually edit, so excuse that :)

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Black. The world was black.

Meerab knew something was wrong. Deeply, unsettlingly wrong. A sensation that nudged at the edges of her consciousness, whispering of danger and despair.

She needed to open her eyes.

But her eyelids felt heavy, weighted down by an unseen force. Resisting her every attempt to lift them, to break free from the engulfing blackness.

A part of her longed to escape the darkness, yet another part craved the comfort it brought, a refuge from a reality she wasn't ready to face.

Cold. She was cold.

A bone-chilling cold that seeped into her skin, numbing her senses, stealing her warmth. It enveloped her, a frigid embrace that left her shivering in its grasp.

And wet.

She felt drenched, her clothes clinging to her body. A sense of dampness surrounded her, a moist earthiness that filled her nostrils with the scent of rain-soaked soil.

Heavy stuff.

Something was pressing down on her, a weight that pinned her down, unyielding and oppressive. It bore down on her chest, making each breath a struggle, a fight against the crushing pressure.

She needed to open her eyes.

The thought echoed in her mind, a mantra repeated over and over.

But she didn't.

Instead, she let herself slip away, retreating into the comforting arms of unconsciousness.

Colder. It got colder.

The chill deepened, spreading through her, a creeping frost that threatened to consume her whole.

Hours.

It seemed as if hours passed as she teetered on the edge of consciousness, the allure of slipping back into the comforting void tugging at her senses.

And yet, amidst the cold and the darkness, there was a flicker of warmth. A distant call cutting through the fog.

Murtasim.

She heard him, yelling her name, his deep voice a beacon in the dark. "Meerab! Meerab!" The sound resonated, reverberating through the void.

His voice echoed through the murky haze that clouded her mind.

Thirty-four times he called her name, each utterance more laden with emotion than the last. Thirty-four distinct echoes of desperation and concern that seemed to penetrate the veil of darkness enveloping her.

She tried to respond, to acknowledge his calls, to let him know she could hear him, that her wouldn't open, that she was cold and drenched, that there was something pressing down on her chest, making it hard to speak. But her lips felt sealed, unyielding, refusing to part despite her best efforts. It was as if they were bound by an invisible force, rendering her mute and helpless.

Loud sounds pierced the suffocating blackness, jarring in their intensity. The noise was chaotic, a cacophony that seemed both distant and alarmingly close. Amidst the noise, she sensed movement, a shifting of the oppressive weight that had been crushing her.

Gradually, the heavy stuff on top of her began to move. It was as if invisible hands were lifting the burdens, piece by piece, freeing her from their relentless pressure. With each shift, each removal, she felt a tiny bit lighter, a bit less confined.

Then, amidst the tumult and the sensation of being unburied, she felt him. Or at least, she thought she did.

Arms encircled her, an embodiment of strength and security. His presence was a stark contrast to the icy cold that had been her constant companion in the darkness.

His warmth seeped through her chilled skin, a comforting balm to the relentless cold. It was like the first rays of sun after a long, harsh winter, breaking through the frost to bring life and hope.

His large hands, gentle yet firm, cupped her face, grounding her in the newfound warmth. The touch of his lips on her forehead was like a promise, a vow of safety and care. It was a tenderness that seemed too real to be a figment of her imagination, yet it felt like a mere dream.

She felt herself being moved, lifted from the cold, wet, heavy prison that had held her captive. No longer static, no longer oppressed by the weight, she was being carried away, enveloped in warmth.

Warm.

She was warm now. The cold receded, pushed back by the comforting embrace of his presence.

In this hazy state between consciousness and oblivion, she clung to the sensation of his arms, his warmth, his presence, to the sound of his voice, to the imagined feel of his touch. It was a lifeline in a world that was black.

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In the realm between consciousness and oblivion, Meerab's mind wove a tapestry of dreams, each thread a fragment of her deepest desires and unspoken yearnings. It was a world where reality blurred with fantasy, a haven where her heart found solace in the midst of chaos.

Scene after scene unfolded, a montage of pure, unadulterated happiness that she clung to fiercely. The world around her was a cacophony of shouts and screams, distant and muffled, but she was adrift in her own sanctuary of bliss.

And there, at the center of each dream, was Murtasim.

The verdant fields of the village stretched around them, a sea of green that swayed with the tender caress of the wind. Murtasim's hand was warm in hers, his fingers entwined with her own. He walked backward, his eyes never leaving hers, a smile so genuine and bright it rivaled the sun hanging high above them. The laughter that bubbled up from his throat and his smile was infectious, and she found herself laughing along, the sound mingling with the symphony of the countryside as they walked through the fields.

In another dream, they were nestled together on the plush couch in his study, a cocoon of comfort and intimacy. Her head rested in the crook of his lap, a soft blanket of serenity covering her. The steady rhythmic cadence of his breathing soothing her. He sifted through papers with one hand while the other tenderly stroked her hair, each gentle touch a whisper of affection.

The dreams shifted, and they were in his car, they drove along winding roads, the stereo blaring Punjabi songs that Murtasim adored. They sang with abandon, their voices harmonious and carefree, laughter spilling over like a melody that needed no music to exist. The joy in Murtasim's eyes was infectious, and in that confined space, they were everything to each other.

As night draped the world in a blanket of stars, they lay in the cocoon of his bed. Her face was hidden in the crook of his neck, a space that seemed made just for her. His arms were a fortress around her, the warmth of his skin a promise of forever. Their breathing synchronized, they drifted in a shared dream, safe in the knowledge that they belonged together.

On his terrace, where the sky was a canvas of midnight blue, their lips met in a kiss that was a revelation. His hands cupped her face with a reverence that sent shivers down her spine, his lips speaking a language only hearts understand. The kiss was a universe of emotions, a silent conversation between two souls that had found their counterpart. Whispers of "I love you" echoed in the still air, a sacred vow exchanged in hushed tones between kisses.

In her mind's eye, they sat on a stage, separated by a thin curtain - their nikaah. The air was thick with anticipation, their smiles wide and true as they uttered "qubool hai," sealing their bond for eternity, their eyes shimmering with the promise of a lifetime together.

Laughter and kisses filled as they playfully undressed each other in the seclusion of their bedroom, their love a tangible force that pulled them closer, skin against skin, soul against soul. Playful banter accompanied the rustle of clothing as it fell away, piece by piece, each garment shed like a petal from a blooming flower. Their kisses were deep and exploratory, speaking of a hunger and a tenderness that only the touch of a beloved could satisfy. Murtasim's hands were gentle yet deliberate as they traced the contours of her body, mapping the landscape of her skin with the reverence of a pilgrim reaching a long-sought holy site. Her own fingers danced across his skin, feeling the ripple of muscles and the beat of his heart against her palms. They moved together in a rhythm that was as natural as the tide pulled by the moon, each caress building a bridge between their hearts.

She saw them on endless dates, each date with Murtasim was a chapter from a fairy tale. They dined under the canopy of stars, a table set for two in the midst of nature's splendor, where the only light came from the flickering candles and the luminescence of the moon. The bazaars they visited were a riot of colors, the air filled with the clamor of vendors. Murtasim led her through the maze of stalls, his hand a steady presence in the small of her back. He delighted in buying her little trinkets, each a token of his affection—a set of bangles that chimed melodiously on her wrists, a scarf that matched the color of her lips, a delicate pendant that lay against her skin like a secret. In each of these moments, there were kisses—tender and sweet, fierce and passionate. Murtasim would slip bangles onto her wrists, each one sliding into place with a soft click, a symbol of their unspoken bond. He would kiss her forehead with reverence, and she would respond with gentle kisses to his cheek, a silent exchange of love and promise.

Exhausted after a long day of legal work, Meerab dreamt of curling into Murtasim's lap, her head resting against his chest as she discussed some intricate legality she was trying to solve. His hands gently stroked her hair, his presence a comforting balm to her tired spirit. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a mix of serious legal talk and light-hearted banter between kisses.

Her mind conjured up images of them in the village, working side by side to bring progress and change. They walked through the fields, talking to villagers, planning new initiatives, and seeing the fruits of their labor come to life. It was a dream of partnership in every sense, of two souls united in a common goal, working tirelessly to make a difference in the lives of others.

And then her dreams took a tender turn. Murtasim with his lips pressed against her round, swollen belly, showered her with kisses, his love extending to the life they had created together. His attentiveness and affection grew with each passing day, his hands often resting on her growing belly, a look of awe and tenderness in his eyes. He was always there, ensuring she was comfortable, pampering her with her favorite foods, and attending to her every need. Their playful bickering over what to name their child became a common, endearing theme. They tossed names back and forth, each suggestion sparking a debate filled with laughter and mock exasperation. "What about Ayaan for a boy?" Murtasim would suggest, only for Meerab to counter with, "Or maybe Sara for a girl?" Each night, Murtasim would speak to her belly, his voice a soothing melody filled with promises and dreams. He told their unborn child about the world awaiting them, about the love that surrounded them even before their arrival. He shared his excitement and eagerness to meet them, his words painting a picture of the beautiful life they would have together as a family.

Their arms cradled a newborn, a little girl with bright eyes and the cutest button nose, a perfect blend of them both. The image of Murtasim holding their newborn daughter was a vision of pure love and tenderness. He cradled the tiny bundle gently in his strong arms, his large hands providing a secure and loving embrace. She lay peacefully against her father's chest, her tiny fingers wrapped around one of his. The softness in his eyes, the gentle curve of his smile, everything about him radiated warmth and affection. He whispered sweet nothings to the baby, his voice a soothing lullaby that seemed to calm and comfort her. Meerab watched as Murtasim turned towards her, his eyes still filled with the same love and care. He approached her slowly, and enveloped her in a gentle hug. Holding both his girls close, he showered them with kisses, his lips tenderly brushing against the baby's forehead and then finding Meerab's.

As time passed in her dreams, their bedroom transformed into a playground of laughter and joy with their toddler. The little one, full of energy and delight, bounced on the bed, her giggles echoing through the room. Murtasim and Meerab joined in the fun, tickling her and making silly faces, eliciting squeals of happiness from their child. The air was filled with the sounds of their laughter, creating a symphony of familial bliss. As the evening wore on, their energetic toddler's movements gradually slowed, her eyelids heavy with sleep. Eventually, she settled down, finding comfort in the warmth of her parents. She sprawled across them, her small body nestled between Murtasim and Meerab, her breathing even and peaceful in sleep. Meerab and Murtasim lay there, their gazes locked, sharing a moment of serene contentment.

Their family grew, laughter and joy multiplying with the addition of a little boy and girl, joining their older sister in a life filled with happiness. The games they played were simple yet filled with love. Peek-a-boo behind the pillows, pretend tea parties with stuffed animals, and gentle pillow fights that always ended with all five of them in a heap, laughing and out of breath. Murtasim would sometimes lift their children high above his head, making airplane noises as they spread their arms wide, pretending to fly. They ran through fields, a vision of bliss, with Murtasimbakri and a parade of baby goats in tow, a perfect, harmonious chaos.

In a heartwarming vision, Meerab stood in a kitchen, her three children bustling around her, laughter and chatter filling the air as they baked a birthday cake for Murtasim. The smell of vanilla and chocolate wafted through the air, mixing with the sound of giggles and the warmth of familial love. It was a scene of pure joy, a celebration of the man who was their anchor, their hero.

Tears streamed down Meerab's cheeks, even as her eyes remained closed, lost in a world where every dream was a reality, every hope a tangible truth. Her heart ached with the beauty of it all, the life she wanted so desperately, a life with Murtasim and their children, a life filled with love, laughter, and the promise of forever.

In these dreams, Meerab found what her heart had always sought - a sense of belonging, of being cherished and loved. It was a world where the pain and uncertainty of reality had no hold, a world where her soul was intertwined with Murtasim's.

In the liminal space between consciousness and dreams, Meerab found herself resisting the pull of reality. She clung to the realm of her dreams, a sanctuary where happiness was still within her grasp.

Her eyelids felt heavy, like leaden weights refusing to lift. If she opened them, the dreams, those beautiful illusions, would evaporate like morning dew under the harsh sun.

A persistent voice in her mind, the voice of reason, nagged at her, urging her to face what lay beyond the comfort of her dreams.

Memories began to seep through the cracks of her subconscious. Rain, relentless and pounding, filled her senses. The sound of it, the smell of damp earth, the chill in the air.

Visions of landslides, the earth itself betraying them. Accidents, twisted metal and shattered glass, the air punctuated with cries of fear and pain.

She recalled the bus, its journey ending in chaos. She had been there, amidst the wreckage, trying to help, to save a child trapped in a mangled car.

Then, the roar of the earth as it cascaded down upon them, a torrent of mud and debris. She had shielded the child, her body instinctively curling around the small, vulnerable form.

Darkness had claimed her then, a merciful oblivion that swallowed the fear and the chaos.

Fleeting moments of consciousness had pierced the darkness, bringing with them the sounds of sorrow and despair, the cries of the injured and the scared. But each time, she had slipped away again, seeking refuge in the void.

Yet, reality refused to be ignored.

The real world was persistent, drawing her back, whispering that it was time to wake up, time to face whatever lay ahead. She listened but resisted, torn between the desire to remain in her dream world and the knowledge that she couldn't stay there forever.

The world around Meerab was a hazy blend of sounds and sensations, a muffled backdrop to her fragmented consciousness. She hovered at the edge of awareness, catching snippets of conversation that floated through the air like leaves on a breeze.

"Do you think he's her husband?" a woman's voice asked, tinged with curiosity. The words were soft, almost hesitant, as if spoken in awe.

"No, too young," another voice countered, dismissive yet thoughtful. The tones were gentle, almost a whisper, as if respecting the sanctity of the room.

"Family?" the first voice probed further, searching for an answer. The room was silent apart from their hushed dialogue, a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony of cries.

A different voice, warmer and richer, joined the conversation. "Have you seen the way he looks at her?" It carried a note of knowing. "I heard he came all the way here looking for her, scoured every single place she could be. He's the reason so many were saved, all the resources poured in because he was looking for her."

"And you can just tell by the way he held her, his eyes were red from the tears, that man is in love with her," another voice added, filled with a mix of awe and scandal.

"He has to be to get her such a nice room," one of them snorted. "Saima said she saw him kiss her forehead! How scandalous, they're not married!"

"They have to be. He flew in doctors from Karachi for her," someone else argued, their voice carrying a hint of admiration.

A deeper, authoritative voice intervened. "For a lot of people, and we're very grateful to him because we needed the support." The tone was firm, cutting through the gossip with a note of gratitude.

Sheepish mutters followed.

Footsteps moved away, their sound a steady rhythm in the otherwise quiet room. "She's pretty, makes sense that a man like that would be crazy about her," a voice observed softly.

"Brave too, apparently she only got out of the bus to help people," another whispered.

The sudden sound of footsteps, hurried and urgent, broke the stillness of the room. A door creaked open and then snapped shut, heralding the arrival of someone new.

"I have news!" a younger voice exclaimed, brimming with excitement. It was a squeal that cut through the air, a sharp contrast to the previous whispers.

"What?" came a response, curious and eager. The tone was expectant, the air thick with anticipation.

"He's not her husband!" the new voice revealed with a dramatic flair. "He was supposed to get engaged two days ago...to another woman! But he left to look for her!" The words tumbled out in a rush, each syllable dripping with scandal and disbelief.

Gasps filled the room, a chorus of shock and awe. "How'd you find out?" someone inquired, their voice a blend of skepticism and intrigue.

"He was on the phone with his mother and then his to-be father-in-law! Oh, why is he marrying someone else?! He loves her!" the voice lamented.

"Saima, are you sure?" another voice asked, seeking confirmation, the skepticism palpable in the air.

"Haan! Why else would he do all of this? He rarely leaves her side, he hasn't slept in days, he looks like he's going to die if she doesn't wake up, he kissed her forehead, and he sits by and holds her hand all the time! I know what a man in love looks like and that's him! So why?" The voice rose in a whine, her confusion and frustration apparent.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing, authoritative and commanding. The door opened again. "There's work to do, ladies, let's go," the same voice that had left earlier commanded, a reminder of the world outside these walls.

Footsteps receded, the room emptying as the voices and their stories drifted away, leaving Meerab alone once more.

And then, just as she was trying to grasp the threads of their conversation, to understand the meaning behind the words, the world dipped into blackness again. She was drawn back into the depths of her unconsciousness, the whispers and revelations fading into silence.

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Meerab's world slowly shifted from the void of blackness to a haze of light and shadow. Her eyelids fluttered, struggling against the brightness that invaded her senses.

The room felt different, not engulfed in darkness anymore. She braced herself and opened her eyes, only to be met with a piercing light that made her wince and shut them tight once more.

A profound silence enveloped the space, a stark contrast to the cacophony of voices and murmurs she had been hearing in her subconscious state.

Then, cutting through the quiet, she heard it. A familiar voice. "Meerab?" It was gentle, filled with a mix of hope and apprehension.

At the sound of his voice, her eyes snapped open, defying the discomfort of the light. There he was, Murtasim, looming over her with an expression that tugged at her heart. Murtasim, with his beard grown out more than she remembered, his hair disheveled, his eyes reflecting a concoction of worry and relief. He was a picture of weary concern, yet undeniably handsome in his disarray.

Her heart did a little dance of joy as a smile instinctively spread across her lips at the sight of him. His gaze scanned her face, as if memorizing every feature, every change.

For a fleeting second, she almost asked him about where their children were, if they were okay.

But then, reality crashed over her like a cold wave.

It had only been a dream.

The memories of their last encounter flooded back – the kiss that he had labeled a mistake, the way he had pushed her away, creating an insurmountable distance between them.

Confusion clouded her mind. What was he doing here, by her bedside, looking at her as if she was the only thing that mattered? Why was he here after everything that had happened, after every word that had been said?

Meerab's gaze shifted away from Murtasim, a silent refusal to engage with him. She wouldn't let the sound of his voice, filled with concern, reach her heart. "Are you okay?" he asked, his words hanging in the air, unanswered.

She sat up, wincing slightly as a dull ache coursed through her body. Yet, it was the pain in her heart that overwhelmed her most – his mere presence a sharp reminder of what could never be.

"Meerab, tum theek ho?" Murtasim's voice was tinged with anxiety. "I'll call the doctor," he added, moving to hit a button on the wall.

Confusion swirled within her. Why was he here? Where were the others? His concern, his attentiveness – it all seemed misplaced, belonging to a different reality, perhaps the one in her dreams, not in this world where he had pushed her away.

Meerab yearned to look at him, to lose herself in the warmth of his gaze. But she resisted, painfully aware that the man she dreamed of, the man who looked at her as if she was his everything, existed only in her mind.

"Meerab, can you tell me how you're feeling?" Murtasim asked gently, his eyes searching her face for any sign of response. But she remained silent, her gaze fixed on a distant point in the room.

"Does anything hurt?" he continued, his voice laced with worry. The questions hung in the air, unanswered.

Meerab felt his frustration growing with each query. She could sense his desperation for some form of communication, any acknowledgment from her. But she couldn't bring herself to break the silence.

"Meerab, please, talk to me," Murtasim implored, the edge in his voice sharpening with concern. "Tum theek ho? Can you hear me?"

She could hear the underlying plea in his voice, a silent begging for her to engage with him. But she had made a promise to herself – a vow of emotional self-preservation – and she intended to keep it.

Murtasim's questions continued, each one layered with his growing frustration and her steadfast refusal to respond. The room became a battleground of silent wills, his attempts to communicate clashing with her determined silence.

Finally, Murtasim let out a sigh, the weight of her silence too heavy to bear. "If you need anything, just... let me know," he said, his voice a mix of resignation and lingering concern.

Meerab remained still, her resolve unbroken. She had decided not to let herself be swayed by his presence, by his words. Her heart might have yearned for him, but her mind was set. She would not break her promise, not even for him.

The doctor arrived then, a blur of professionalism as she explained Meerab's condition, her voice sounded familiar but she couldn't place it. She walked her through everything that had happened, the pile up, the landslide, days lost in unconsciousness, the hypothermia, the concussion, and her broken foot – a litany of physical ailments that paled in comparison to the turmoil within her.

As the doctor mentioned the date, Meerab's eyes involuntarily drifted to Murtasim's left hand. It was bare, devoid of the ring that should have signified his engagement. The realization hit her – he was supposed to have been engaged days ago, yet here he was. He had been here, by her side, for days, from the sounds of it.

Something prickled at the back of her mind, female voices, many of them engaged in a conversation. She knew she needed but remember it, to figure out what they had been saying because a part of her said it was important, but she couldn't make out what they were saying, it was all a jumble.

The doctor left as soon as she came in, promising to return shortly and telling her to call the nurses if she needed anything. Meerab lay in the stark white hospital room, each beep from the machines a reminder of her fragile state. The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, a stark contrast to the darkness she had been enveloped in for what seemed like an eternity.

Murtasim's presence in the room was like a silent storm. His gaze lingering on her with an intensity that confused her. Why was he looking at her like that, with such depth and emotion, if she was just a mistake? His body, usually so full of command, now held a softness that made her heart ache.

She wanted to ask him to leave, to demand it even. She had promised herself she wouldn't let him close again, not after the heartbreak he'd caused. Yet, each time she resolved to speak, her voice faltered, her words lost in the maze of her turbulent emotions.

His care for her was evident in the small actions. He brought her food with such gentle insistence, as if nourishing her body could somehow mend the broken lines between them. He moved around her with a quiet grace, his presence a soothing balm to the chaos in her mind.

And then there were the moments of silence, heavy and laden with unspoken words. He would sit, his gaze fixed on some distant point, lost in thoughts she could only guess at. His presence was a constant, a silent guardian watching over her in her vulnerable state.

The uncomfortable bench at the side of the room became his vigil. Why did he choose to stay in discomfort when he had no obligation to be there? Was it out of guilt, concern, or something deeper, something he himself couldn't fathom? Meerab lay awake, pondering over these questions, the answers always just out of reach.

The irony of it all wasn't lost on her. He had been the one to find her, to rescue her from the clutches of death, yet he was also the one she couldn't have. The Meerab who had once journeyed to Hyderabad with dreams in her eyes would have interpreted his actions as proof of his love. But the Meerab now, the one who had tasted the bitterness of rejection, couldn't overlook the tears and the pain his words had caused.

She remembered his words, the way they had torn through her, leaving a trail of pain in their wake. Every hour, his silent figure in the room stood as a testament to a painful truth – he wasn't hers, he never would be.

His impending marriage to Asma hung in the air like a silent specter, a future that loomed large and undeniable. The engagement hadn't happened yet, but it wasn't called off either from the sounds of it. It was a matter of when, not if.

And yet, there he was, in her hospital room, his presence an enigma she couldn't unravel, like it was his right.

Why wouldn't he leave?

She had sent messages through the nurse, each word a fragment of her shattered heart, telling him he could go. But he stayed, his confusion mirrored in the nurse's eyes as she relayed the messages.

Meerab longed to reach out to him, to seek solace in his arms as she did in her dreams. But reality was a harsh mistress.

Outside, rain pattered against the window, a soothing, rhythmic sound that contrasted sharply with the turmoil within her. In a moment of weakness, she allowed herself to gaze at him, her eyes drinking in his form. He was asleep, his features relaxed yet marked with exhaustion. Tears welled up in her eyes as she studied him.

His form was curled awkwardly on a small bench, a testament to the countless hours he had spent there, in the space between vigilance and rest. The blue of his clothing was a stark contrast to the pale surroundings, a vivid reminder of the life and vibrancy he normally exuded.

His face, usually animated with a commanding presence, now lay in repose, softened in slumber. The lines of worry that had etched themselves into his forehead were smoothed away, giving him a peace that seemed so out of reach in his waking hours. His beard, usually so well-groomed, now betrayed a few days of neglect, a shadow that spoke of his preoccupation and concern.

His hand dangled off the edge of the bench, fingers relaxed, the very hand that had once held hers with a strength that promised safety and comfort. Now, it just hung there, lifeless in sleep.

The sight of him, so vulnerable and so close, brought tears to her eyes. They streamed silently down her cheeks as she grappled with the ache in her chest. He was there, physically present, but the gulf between them felt wider than ever. She wanted to reach out, to stroke his hair, to feel the warmth of his skin, to assure herself that this was real. To pull him into bed and curl up in his arms, like she did her dreams. Yet, she remained still, the distance unbreachable.

Why had he called her a mistake? The question haunted her, echoing in the silence of the room.

The nurse had commented on his relentless search for her, his advocacy for her care, suggesting a depth of affection that Meerab dared not believe. "He must love you a lot," the nurse had said, but Meerab couldn't reconcile those words with the rejection she had faced.

When Murtasim awoke a mere hour later and found her struggling to get up, his instinct was to help. He moved towards her, his hands reaching out, but she recoiled, her voice strained as she uttered the first words she had spoken to him since he had called her a mistake. "Don't touch me."

The words were a barrier, a line drawn in the sand. She knew that if he touched her, she would crumble, would seek the comfort she craved in his embrace, she would beg and cry. But she couldn't allow herself that weakness. His hands clenched at her refusal, a physical manifestation of the tension between them, but she refused to meet his gaze.

The room was filled with an unspeakable tension. As the rain continued its steady beat against the glass, Meerab lay back down, pressing the button on the side of her bed to call for the nurse.

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Meerab sat rigid in the wheelchair, her body protesting with a dull throb that matched the pulsing of her heart. Murtasim's hands on the handles of the chair felt like a weight, his presence behind her a silent pressure that she couldn't escape. The cool touch of the metal bars beneath her fingers was a stark contrast to the warmth of his proximity. She could hear the soft roll of the wheels against the polished hospital floor, a soft whisper against the backdrop of the hospital's murmurs.

As they approached the car, Murtasim's shadow fell over her, enveloping her in a care she wished she could still believe in. "Don't touch me," she repeated, her voice a low hiss, as she recoiled from his outstretched hands. His sigh was a soft gust of exasperation, brushing against the shell of her ear, causing her to stiffen further.

"I'm just trying to help," Murtasim murmured.

She fought through the pain, her movements stilted and slow, as she tried to get up. A hiss left her as she put weight on her foot.

Murtasim's hands were outstretched, an offer of assistance she was determined to refuse. "Meerab, please, let me help," Murtasim urged, his voice laced with frustration and concern as he tried to help her again.

"I said don't touch me," Meerab snapped back, her voice sharp. She tried to maneuver into the car seat, her movements awkward due to the cast on her foot.

"You're going to hurt yourself," Murtasim warned, his voice rising slightly as he watched her struggle.

"I don't need your help," she retorted, gritting her teeth as she attempted to lift herself into the car.

Murtasim's frustration was evident. "Why are you being so stubborn?"

"I can manage," she insisted, pushing his hands away when he tried to steady her. Her body ached with the effort, and she almost stumbled.

"Damn it, Meerab!" Murtasim exclaimed, his voice a mix of anger and worry. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Leave me alone," she countered, finally managing to slide into the car seat, her face flushed with exertion and anger.

Murtasim stood there for a moment, his jaw clenched, a storm brewing in his eyes. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Fine," he said quietly, his voice strained.

He closed the car door with a soft click, the sound resonating with the finality of her rejection.

The car ride to the airport was a silent journey, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. As the car came to a halt, Murtasim swiftly exited and opened Meerab's door. Before she could protest, he scooped her up into his arms, carrying her with ease.

"Put me down! Don't touch me!" Meerab's voice was a mix of anger and panic, her words a sharp contrast to the stillness of the moment.

"Just put up with my repulsive touch for another minute," Murtasim retorted, his voice low and tense, as he navigated through the airport towards a wheelchair with her in his arms.

Meerab squirmed in his hold, her emotions a whirlwind of confusion and hurt. "Put me down!" she demanded again, her voice rising.

"Stop making a scene," he hissed back, his grip firm but gentle.

"You're making a scene! I didn't give you the right to touch me!" Meerab's voice was laced with indignation and a hint of despair.

"It has never been a problem before," Murtasim muttered under his breath, a note of sadness in his tone.

Inside, Meerab was torn. Part of her yearned to surrender to the warmth and safety of his embrace. She remembered the previous times he had carried her like this, how she had nestled into him, feeling cherished and protected. Her heart ached with the desire to just lean against him, to let her head rest on his shoulder, to breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne. She longed to clutch his shirt, to feel the solid strength of his body beneath her fingers, to let herself be enveloped by the comfort and assurance he always seemed to exude.

But the hurt and confusion inside her held her back. Meerab ceased struggling, her body going still in his arms. Her voice broke as she whispered, "Things aren't like they were before." The words hung in the air between them.

He silently placed her in a wheelchair, his movements efficient yet suddenly devoid of the warmth. The journey through the airport was a silent procession, punctuated only by the occasional murmur of instructions and the soft whirr of the wheelchair's wheels against the polished floor.

As they boarded the plane, Meerab was acutely aware of Murtasim's proximity. His presence, once a source of comfort, now felt like an oppressive shadow looming over her. When they reached their seats, right beside each other, a knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach.

Summoning the air hostess with a hesitant gesture, Meerab asked, "Can I switch seats, please?" The air hostess looked taken aback but managed to reply, "I can look into it for you."

Before the air hostess could walk away, Murtasim's sigh cut through the air. "Ignore her," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "She's just throwing a tantrum."

"I am not throwing a tantrum," Meerab snapped back, her voice sharp with indignation. "I don't want to sit next to you."

"Then pretend I'm not here," Murtasim retorted, his words laced with bitterness. "You've gotten good at that."

Their exchange seemed to both amuse the air hostess and make her uncomfortable, she giggled and said, "Ah, lover's tiffs," before walking away, leaving a trail of light laughter behind her.

Meerab scoffed at the comment, feeling a surge of irritation at the misconception. Turning her head, she stared out the airplane window, her gaze fixed on the busy tarmac. The thought of them looking like 'lovers' felt like a cruel joke, a stark reminder of what they could never be. Her heart ached as she watched the world outside, trying to lose herself in the mundane details of the airport operations, anything to escape the turbulent emotions that Murtasim's nearness stirred within her.

He didn't seem to get the memo though, perhaps he had hit his head somewhere between the previous summer and this one. Murtasim's voice was a constant murmur, a stream of questions and offers that fell on deliberately deaf ears. "Do you need anything?" he asked, the concern in his voice grating against her resolve.

She remained silent, her gaze fixed on the tarmac airplane window. The world was a blur, much like the turmoil inside her. Each word he spoke was a drop of water on the hardened soil of her heart, not enough to soften it, only enough to remind her of the drought.

"Are you okay?" His voice was closer now, his breath a warm draft against her cheek.

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. Okay? How could she be okay when her heart was a tangled mess of longing and hurt, when his every action was a contradiction that she couldn't unravel?

She turned her head away even further, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. The air between them was charged with the unsaid, with the weight of his nearness and the chasm of his distance. If he wanted to talk so much why didn't explain what had possessed him to kiss her like that and then push her away. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, to understand why he had torn her world apart and then held her together, why he had searched for her with such desperation, why he had left an engagement for her, and why she was the only one he had come for.

But she said nothing, her silence a fortress she clung to, even as it kept her isolated in her confusion.

The drone of the airplane's engines filled the cabin, a constant hum that matched the buzz of questions whirling in Meerab's mind. She was acutely aware of Murtasim's presence beside her, an unwanted comfort she yearned to embrace. The fabric of the airplane seat felt scratchy against her skin, a minor irritation that paled in comparison to the turmoil within her.

She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could sense the rhythm of his breathing, and it made her ache to rest her head against his shoulder, to seek solace in his nearness. Her hand twitched with the desire to intertwine her fingers with his, to feel the steadying pressure of his grip as the plane ascended, leaving the solid earth behind.

Her eyes, however, refused to meet his. She was caught in a limbo of fear and longing, afraid to find in his gaze the same tenderness that had once made her feel cherished, or worse, a detachment that would confirm her worst fears—that she was inconsequential, a mere blip in his life.

In her heart, she whispered a silent plea for him to profess his love, to confess that his rejection had been a mistake, that he couldn't live without her. She knew that such words would shatter the fragile defenses she had built around her heart, that she would forgive him in a heartbeat, despite knowing it could lead to her undoing.

But the words never came. The silence stretched on, punctuated only by the occasional query from Murtasim or the soft offers of refreshments from the flight attendants. Each silent moment was a brick in the wall she built to protect herself, even as part of her wished he would tear it down.

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The air was thick with tension as Meerab limped into the familiar yet distant confines of the Ahmed family home. The walls seemed to hold whispers of worry and tension, but she felt a dissonance in the concern that wrapped around her. It was like being wrapped in a blanket that scratched against her skin, comforting in theory but uncomfortable in reality.

Murtasim's silence was a heavy presence, an unspoken tension that filled the room as her family fluttered around her. Her parents, with their furrowed brows, hovered like concerned birds, their words a clucking cacophony that did little to mask their true feelings. They spoke of her safety, of the 'what-ifs' and 'should-haves,' laying the blame for the accident at her feet with a gentle force that felt like a betrayal.

"Meerab, we told you," her father's voice was soft yet laced with an I-told-you-so tone that grated on her nerves. "You should've chosen somewhere safer, closer to home."

"You're not a child anymore," her mother scolded, her eyes soft but her tone unyielding. "You can't keep taking these unnecessary risks. What if something worse had happened?"

Her father chimed in again, "It's one thing to pursue your education, quite another to be so... careless. We were worried sick."

Then why had none of them come to see her? Why had she woken up to just Murtasim's presence?

Anwar, the man who was her father in name more than in deed, joined the chorus with a deep voice that resonated with a false wisdom. "You never listen, do you? Always chasing after these... fantasies. I forbid you from going, we all did, but you ran away."

She didn't answer.

The conversation took a sudden, jarring turn. Maa Begum, her voice sharp and cutting like a knife through soft fruit, proclaimed, "It's high time we found a suitable match for her. It'll keep her grounded."

Anwar nodded in agreement, "Yes, it only makes sense. The oldest daughter of the house should marry first, even before Murtasim. It's time we put an end to this... recklessness."

Meerab's heart clenched at their words, at the ease with which they discussed trading her freedom for the chains of matrimony. The room, once a place of refuge, felt like a court passing judgment on her life.

She waited for the parents that had raised her and encouraged her to dream to shut it all down but they did the opposite of what she expected.

Her mother's eyes darted to her. "Your dreams of being a lawyer... they're noble, but you must think of your future. A family, children..."

Her father was nodding along, his expression one of stern agreement. "We've given you enough freedom. Look where it has led us. A husband and family will give you direction."

Meerab's mind was a whirlwind of conflict and emotion. The very thought of marriage made her stomach churn with unease in the moment, in a way it hadn't in her dreams. She didn't want marriage—this traditional path laid out before her like a sentence. Yet, part of her wondered if perhaps it was what she needed—a partner, a companion, someone who would look at her and see more than just a mistake.

Or perhaps she could just play along, agree to their plans with a nod, while inside her mind raced with schemes and strategies to regain control of her own destiny.

Or she could give in. She craved someone who could offer her the love that didn't come with conditions, that didn't waver at the first sign of imperfection. She yearned for the kind of love that would make her feel as though she truly belonged, as though she were the center of someone's universe. Perhaps this person would be her escape, her salvation from the web of expectations and disappointments that had ensnared her...like the Murtasim she had fallen in love with.

She couldn't help but cast a surreptitious glance at Murtasim then.

There it was—the moment of truth etched on his face. The despair that clouded his eyes was a balm to her wounded heart. It was perverse, this satisfaction she felt at witnessing his silent agony. She saw pain his eyes, a reflection of her own. His hands clenched into fists, his jaw set firm, his eyes - those deep pools that had once held her with such tenderness - now darkened with a storm of emotions she couldn't read.

She wanted to see the impact of her capitulation, to confirm that he felt something, anything. The despair that twisted his features was a silent acknowledgment of what she meant to him, and yet, it was a hollow victory.

For even as she took in the sight of his torment, she knew she was playing a dangerous game. To invoke such a reaction from him was to dance with fire, and Meerab was all too aware that she was not yet immune to his flames.

"Fine," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the room like a knife.

The reaction was immediate. Her parents exhaled in relief, Anwar's lips twitched into a semblance of a smile, and Maa Begum's eyes gleamed with triumph.

But it was Murtasim's response that held her attention. The despair that flashed across his face was raw and unguarded. His fists tightened further, his body tensed, and his eyes... they blazed with a silent scream of anger and loss.

He had called her a mistake, but every line of his body now spoke of regret and conflict.

Her words had unleashed something in him, a turmoil that twisted his features into a visage of barely contained fury. His silence, once a comforting companion, now rang with the loudness of a gong in the tense atmosphere of the room.

The set of his jaw was a clear testament to the inner battle he waged, a war that seemed to be between what was expected of him and what he desired deep within. His eyes, those windows to his soul were a stormy sea, swirling with a maelstrom of emotions that Meerab found both frightening and intoxicating.

There was an intensity in his gaze, a possessiveness that both confused and thrilled her. It was as if with that single word of acquiescence to marriage, she had challenged him, provoked the beast of jealousy and possession to rear its head. Murtasim's entire stance was rigid, the lines of his body taut, as if he was ready to spring into action, to claim what he believed was his.

Yet, Meerab saw more than anger in those darkened eyes; there was a raw, aching need that mirrored her own unspoken desires. In that moment, the room seemed to shrink, the voices of her family fading into the background, leaving only the silent conversation between their eyes.

His reaction, so visceral and profound, sent a jolt through her, igniting a spark of hope that perhaps she wasn't alone in her feelings. Perhaps Murtasim too struggled against the tide of expectations, perhaps he too dreamed of a life where they could be together.

But as quickly as the hope flared, it was doused by the cold reality of their situation. Meerab's heart ached with the knowledge that despite Murtasim's silent protest, despite the anger and possessiveness that flared in his gaze, he wouldn't speak out...or would he?

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A/N: Dun dun dunnnnnnn. Whatever shall happen next? Would love to hear your thoughts about this chapter!