A/N: Hello, I know it's been a while! Wattpad went crazy and deleted all my stuff, but I am super grateful it's back. Thank you to all of you for all your love for the last chapter, just read through the comments and they made my heart happy. On to the next chapter, which really got away from me, but it was so much fun to write. Hope y'all like it, see you on the other side!

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Murtasim was convinced that his current state of misery was a collective effort, spearheaded by every acquaintance he had the misfortune of knowing. The most egregious act of betrayal, however, came courtesy of his soon-to-be wife, Meerab. Well, not directly her fault, but he felt her absence as acutely as a physical ache. She had been spirited away from him, placed beyond his reach by an invisible barrier of tradition and familial decree that insisted he could not see her until the mehendi, and then the nikaah ceremony.

The mastermind behind this torture?

His mother.

She had laid down just one condition for their wedding: it had to take place at their ancestral haveli on the outskirts of Hyderabad. A grand, sprawling estate that, despite its grandeur, was hardly practical for day-to-day living. It was large and felt more like a museum than a home. Yet, as the wedding date approached, what had seemed an insurmountable challenge turned into a venue of remarkable beauty. Weeks of relentless cleaning, repairing, and decorating had transformed the haveli into a scene right out of a fairytale.

The only hitch in his plans to see Meerab was the inconvenient fact that her room was situated in the opposite wing of the haveli that had become a temporary home for a week. To reach her, he had to stealthily navigate past three critical checkpoints: his mother's room, his uncle's quarters, and the Ahmed's lodgings.

The thought of scaling three levels of the ancient structure seemed both foolhardy and akin to a suicide mission, he couldn't risk it, especially with the wedding so close. But he missed falling asleep next to her, having snuck into her room on more nights than he could count, despite the fact that it was always a test of his restraint.

Fueled by desperation and a yearning to see his bride, Murtasim resorted to drastic measures. He donned the most nondescript white shalwar kameez he owned and navigated through the chaos to find his wife-to-be before the guests arrived for the mayoun.

The plan was simple yet fraught with the risk of discovery.

But the risk was worth it, because the sight that greeted him as he slipped through the wooden door into the courtyard, had robbed him of his breath. Meerab, clad in a white and gold outfit, shone with a celestial light. Her attire shimmered, catching every fleck of light as she moved gracefully. Her hair, parted in the middle, fell in loose waves over her shoulders, accentuated with delicate yellow and white flowers. Daisies, to be precise—the very ones he had chosen with painstaking care, now adorned her hair, matched the earrings dangling softly by her cheeks, and encircled her wrists as bracelets.

For a moment that felt suspended in time, Murtasim had basked in her presence and the way she smiled at him, drinking in the sight of her beauty and the radiant smile that never failed to warm his heart. But the magic of the moment was shattered all too soon when the wooden door he had snuck in through creaked open.

Just as he was about to congratulate himself on his ingenuity, Anwar and Waqas caught him red-handed. Waqas just glared, but his uncle seemed amused.

"Caught you, didn't I? Sneaking around like a thief!" his uncle chuckled, the amusement clear in his voice.

Murtasim, momentarily frozen, recovered his wits. "I was just... checking if everything was in order for the ceremony," he lied, poorly.

"And since when did you become so interested in flower arrangements and color schemes?" his uncle teased, clearly not buying the hastily constructed excuse as he looked towards Meerab who had stepped away and was looking at the flowers hanging off the wall.

"Just trying to be a helpful groom," Murtasim replied, mustering as much innocence as he could project.

"Well, if you're looking to be helpful, how about you assist in explaining to your mother why the groom is wandering around before the ceremony? I'm sure she'd find that fascinating." Waqas said pointedly.

Murtasim's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his mother. "No, thank you. I believe I've suddenly remembered an urgent... errand I need to run. Outside."

His uncle laughed heartily, clapping him on the back. "Go on, then. But remember, the most important thing today is to not be seen. Especially not by Meerab."

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Exiled to his room, Murtasim could feel the weight of frustration settling in. The walls of the haveli seemed to close in on him, echoing his sighs back at him. "This is utterly ridiculous," he muttered. "We're getting married in three days, it's my wedding too." Murtasim sighed.

Shahmeer, lounging on a chair with an ease that irked Murtasim even further, snorted in response. "I can't believe you got caught so quickly."

Areeb, who had been leaning against the door frame, joined in with a chuckle. "When he sees Meerab, the world around him ceases to exist...he fell flat on his face once because he was staring at her. And I told you already how he crashed the Mercedes staring at her too."

The room was soon filled with Shahmeer's laughter, loud and echoing off the ancient walls, providing a stark contrast to Murtasim's growing irritation. "Get out," Murtasim sighed deeply, his patience thinning. If they weren't going to help, they might as well leave.

"We're just keeping you company in your loneliness," Shahmeer grinned, clearly finding the situation more amusing than he should.

"Don't you have a woman to lie to?" Murtasim snapped back, his frustration peaking.

Shahmeer let out a long sigh, "You're the worst," he declared, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"He really is," Areeb agreed, earning another sigh from Murtasim. This time, Murtasim pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache beginning to form.

"Go crash the celebrations again," Areeb prodded him, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Just then, a distinct bleat sounded, drawing Murtasim's gaze towards Murtasimbakri, she seemed to be motioning towards the door with her head.

"Even your goat says you should," Shahmeer teased, barely containing his laughter.

"She has a name," Murtasim corrected him, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier irritation, as Murtasimbakri bleated again, this time seemingly in anger at Shahmeer's lack of respect.

Areeb snickered, "I knew it was game over when he walked up to me and said he needed a goat...for Meerab."

Shahmeer, unable to contain his amusement, grinned widely. "You wouldn't understand, Areeb, you've never been in love," he said to Areeb before turning his attention back to Murtasim. "Be a man, go to your girl, she's your wife in three days, who's going to stop you?"

Murtasim arched an eyebrow at Shahmeer's challenge. "Be a man, go tell Shibra and her father the truth," he retorted, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"Why do I always get friends like this?" Shahmeer lamented, directing his gaze heavenward as if seeking divine intervention.

"Meerab said I shouldn't anyway," Murtasim muttered under his breath, recalling the cute little glare Meerab had given him. She had told him he should behave because, although no one would dare to tease him, she was on the receiving end of plenty of teasing.

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen," Areeb couldn't resist teasing. "Khan Murtasim Khan, scared of his wife-to-be, and mother."

In response, Murtasim picked up a pillow and hurled it towards Areeb. "Shut up," he grumbled.

"Just go, I can't listen to you whine all day," Areeb sighed, his tone suggesting he was half-joking, half-serious.

"We'll cover for you, go," Shahmeer chimed in, encouragingly.

"I don't trust you two," Murtasim shot back, skepticism clear in his tone.

"We've done SO much for you," Areeb protested, his voice laden with exaggerated indignation.

"SO much," Shahmeer echoed, nodding vigorously in agreement. "Enough for you to name three whole kids after me."

"You're also assholes," Murtasim muttered under his breath, just as a knock sounded on the door.

They all snickered as Murtasim rose to answer it, revealing Zaki standing on the other side.

Murtasim's expression of surprise must have been evident because Zaki looked momentarily uncertain. "Meerab invited me," he explained.

"Of course, come in," Murtasim said, managing to regain his composure. He shook Zaki's hand and opened the door wider to welcome him inside.

Areeb couldn't help but snicker at the unfolding scene. "We're just missing DJ Ali, and then we'll have all of Meerab's suitors in the room," he joked, unable to resist the opportunity to tease.

"He's the DJ you hired for the walima, no?" Shahmeer added, joining in the banter, his comment sparking another round of laughter between the two of them.

"Zaki, this is Shahmeer Sikandar, and Areeb Azhar. This is Dr. Zaki Baig," he introduced them all, hoping to ease the tension with formalities.

"I ran a background check on you," Areeb said as he shook Zaki's hand, his tone light but his words unexpected.

"I know," Zaki grinned, unfazed by the admission, his response drawing a snort from Shahmeer.

"I am surprised he found anything; he's not very good at it," Shahmeer chimed in.

"Areeb was halfway in love with you," Murtasim told Zaki, prompting laughter from the man in question.

"He's so nice, he came even though you punched him for no reason the last time you saw him," Areeb pointed out, giving Murtasim a pointed look.

"He was hugging my wife," Murtasim muttered defensively.

"Wife-to-be," Areeb corrected, emphasizing the technicality.

"She was technically my fiancée then," Zaki interjected, his words precise, drawing a glare from Murtasim.

"In name," Murtasim conceded after a moment.

"I know," Zaki said.

"Well, this is not awkward at all," Shahmeer remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he observed the exchange between the two men. "Bro, if you have feelings for Meerab, better leave now, he has a whole collection of guns, and you won't be the first man he's killed, or tried to, for her," he warned Zaki half-jokingly.

Zaki simply arched an eyebrow, prompting Areeb to add, "Indefinite coma," as if to clarify the severity of Murtasim's protective instincts.

"I wouldn't be here if I did," Zaki stated plainly, his assurance cutting through the tension.

Murtasim nodded, a silent agreement passing between the two men.

"Now, convince Murtasim to be a man and go to Meerab," Shahmeer suggested, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand.

Zaki arched his eyebrow again.

"He got caught in a minute earlier and is whiny about not being able to see her," Areeb added, painting a picture of Murtasim's earlier attempt to sneak a glance at Meerab.

"I see...she looked really pretty, Alaya and Rani are downstairs," Zaki informed them, sharing a glimpse of the ongoing celebrations.

"Pretty is an insult, she's gorgeous," Murtasim muttered under his breath, his feelings for Meerab apparent in his defensiveness over the description.

Shahmeer snorted, "He's so whipped."

"Says the man pretending to be a poor man to woo a woman," Murtasim shot back.

Zaki looked between them all, clearly intrigued by the dynamics at play. "I have so many questions," he admitted, his curiosity piqued.

"Trust me, don't ask," Areeb advised.

Shahmeer got a grin on his face that Murtasim immediately knew he did not like. "I was shot down earlier when I offered pointers, but you're a doctor," Shahmeer began, nodding towards Zaki with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Surely, you have some...scientific advice for Murtasim on his wedding night?"

Zaki simply raised an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, the most important advice I can give is to ensure adequate hydration and perhaps a thorough review of the human anatomy. It's crucial for...optimal performance."

Murtasim groaned, rubbing his temples as if that could ward off the impending embarrassment. "Guys, shut up. I don't need pointers, especially not that kind," he protested, though their laughter only grew louder.

Shahmeer, undeterred, clapped him on the back. "Come on, Murtasim, we're just trying to ensure you're prepared. Theory and practice are two very different things...unless you're..." He waggled his eyebrows.

Areeb, who had been chuckling quietly until then, finally lost it, laughing so hard he had to lean against the wall for support. "Women in the village have been throwing themselves at him for years but he's been too preoccupied with Meerab to even care about anyone else."

Murtasim rolled his eyes, "I don't need any of your...pointers. I've got everything I need."

"What is that you have?" Shahmeer jumped in, seizing the opportunity to stir the pot further. Before Murtasim could respond, Shahmeer launched into an anecdote. "You know, my best friend's wedding night was an absolute disaster. The poor guy, let's just say, it did not go well."

Murtasim couldn't help but smirk. "Because you gave him pointers," he shot back, his tone laced with amusement and a hint of triumph at turning the tables.

The group erupted into laughter, the tension easing momentarily before Areeb decided it was time to cut him some slack. "Leave him alone," he said, his voice rich with mirth yet carrying an underlying sincerity. "He's been in love with her for years. I don't think he needs help figuring anything out."

Grateful for the intervention, Murtasim nodded at Areeb, his usual retorts giving way to genuine appreciation. "Thank you," he said, a rare note of sincerity in his voice.

Areeb, seizing the moment, shot back with a grin, "A long vacation and a pay raise would be a better thank you."

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"Rumi, can you help me—" Meerab began, turning towards the door of her room, expecting her friend. Her words trailed off when she saw Murtasim sneaking in instead, the surprise evident on her face. There was a playful yet determined look in his eyes, a stark contrast to the person she was expecting.

"Rumi has been sufficiently distracted by Zaki, did you know she has a crush on him?" Murtasim remarked casually from the doorway, his tone laced with mischief. It was clear he had orchestrated this moment, ensuring no interruptions.

"What are you doing here?" Meerab asked, apprehension in her voice.

Murtasim didn't reply with words; instead, he stepped into the room, his gaze fixed intensely on her. Meerab's stomach knotted as Murtasim closed the door behind him, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing in the room.

The finality of that click sent a shiver down her spine, her mind going places it always did when he was in a room with her alone, as hard as she tried not to.

His eyes found hers again, and she swallowed hard, her heart hammering under his intense gaze. Shaking her head slightly, as if to clear it, she took a step towards him, intent on unlocking the door. "Murtasim, you can't be here, you already got caught once," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

Before she could reach the lock, Murtasim's hand shot out, gripping her arm firmly. He pulled gently, yet with undeniable strength, causing her to stumble into him. Her body was pressed tightly against his, her arm held behind her by his grip, his other arm grazing her back. The sudden closeness, the warmth of his body against hers, made her heart race.

"I can be wherever I want," he said with a grin on his stupidly gorgeous face.

"You really can't. Let me go," she responded, trying to maintain a semblance of resistance.

However, her request went unheeded.

As she stepped back, attempting to create some distance between them, Murtasim advanced, eliminating any space she tried to reclaim. Soon, her back was against the door, his body pressing firmly against hers, leaving no room for escape.

Meerab's breath hitched, her mind clouded with the intensity of the moment. Rational thought escaped her, leaving only the awareness of his hard body and the heat it radiated.

"You're supposed to be on my side," he murmured, his voice deep, husky, and raspy, sending shivers down her spine. His gaze, intense and almost accusing, never left hers as he maintained a gentle, yet firm grip on her wrist behind her back. With a slight tug, he pulled her closer still, eliminating any remaining space between them.

Meerab closed her eyes momentarily, attempting to regain some semblance of control over her racing heart and erratic breathing. But his proximity only heightened her senses; the scent of his cologne enveloped her, intoxicating and familiar, making her acutely aware of every inch of him clad in his white kurta.

"I am on your side, but you're not supposed to see me, everyone kept teasing me about it already," she managed to say, her voice filled with frustration and affection. She looked up at him with a pout, her heart fluttering as his expression softened at her words.

"So what? You're mine," he whispered, his voice low and filled with conviction.

"Murtasim," she sighed.

"You didn't miss me?" he asked, his tone husky. The thumb of his hand on her wrist started drawing circles on her skin, sending waves of electricity through her body, threatening to weaken her knees.

She shook her head in a feigned defiance, "I didn't, now leave." She struggled to maintain a serious face, barely holding back a giggle at his expression of shock.

A gasp escaped her as he released her wrist, his hand moving to splay across her back, pulling her even closer. The softness of her body melded against his solidity in a perfect embrace. "Acha?" he teased, his voice laced with humor and warmth. "I missed you, a whole lot."

The sensation of his body against hers, the warmth of his breath, made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, her heart racing in anticipation. "You saw me earlier," she managed to say, trying to anchor herself to something, anything that might lessen the overwhelming pull she felt towards him.

His gaze lingered on hers before slowly, deliberately, drifting down to her lips and back up, igniting a fire within her. "That's why I missed you even more, you looked like this, and I didn't get to kiss you," he whispered, his voice so soft, so full of longing that it broke through the last of her resolve.

His hand moved with a purpose that sent shivers down her spine. The letters he traced above her shirt, on the soft skin of her back and the sides of her stomach, spelled out his name, a claim that left her breathless.

Meerab was acutely aware of the power he wielded over her senses. Every time his fingers brushed her stomach, even through the fabric, her muscles tensed, a soft gasp betraying her reaction. His gaze, intense and unyielding, seemed to pierce through her, reading her unspoken thoughts and desires.

"Murtasim," she gasped out his name as his hand ventured beneath the hem of her kurta, the fabric bunching up to reveal the warmth of her skin. Her eyes fluttered shut, surrendering to the sensation of his fingers tracing delicate patterns across her stomach. The rough texture of his hands contrasted with the gentleness of his touch, igniting a fire within her that threatened to consume her whole – he didn't let himself do this before.

The heat spread from the point of his touch, radiating through her body with an intensity that left her breathless. A moan escaped her lips as he circled her belly button with a tenderness that was almost reverent, his other hand sweeping her hair aside to cradle her face. His thumb caressed her cheek, the simple act laden with affection and desire.

"How are you so gorgeous." He whispered, more a statement whispered to himself than a question.

Overwhelmed by his touch, Meerab found herself unable to open her eyes, the sensitivity of her skin magnified under his fingers. The trail he left burned into her, a craving for his touch engulfing her senses. Her hands gripped the fabric of his kurta, the material bunched within her fists as she sought something to anchor her to reality.

"You sure you didn't miss me?" Murtasim's voice, low and teasing, vibrated through her as he leaned in, their foreheads touching, their noses brushing against each other. His breath mingled with hers.

"Meerab, answer me," he insisted, his voice husky with a hint of playfulness, knowing full well the turmoil he stirred within her.

"No," she gasped out, a lie so transparent it was almost tangible, as his finger traced a path just under the curve of her breast. The touch was feather-light, yet it sent waves of desire crashing through her, leaving her yearning, wanting.

"Acha?" Murtasim's breath was warm against her lips, eliciting another involuntary gasp from Meerab as his fingers traced circles around her belly button once more. "Because I've been thinking of kissing you all day."

"Noooo." The word barely escaped her lips as he pulled back slightly, creating a space she felt keenly. Her eyes, reluctantly opening, sought his. The brown eyes that always seemed to capture the very essence of her soul looked back at her now, filled with a desire that sent her heart racing.

His lips were slightly parted, a mirror to her own rapid breaths, his chest rising and falling in sync with hers. He looked much too handsome, having trimmed his beard and moustache to perfection. The hand on her back remained steady, grounding, while the hand that had been cradling her face began a delicate exploration of her features. Starting at her forehead, he traced her eyebrows gently, then moved down the bridge of her nose so slowly it was torture, but the kind she never wanted to end.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice so low it vibrated within her. "I wanted to tell you that earlier," he whispered as his palm grazed her lips lightly as his fingers continued their journey, drawing a moan from her depths as her eyes fluttered shut once more.

Expecting his fingers to trace her lips next, she was instead surprised as they caressed her cheekbones, moving towards her ears to flick her flower earrings lightly. "We should get you more of these," he muttered, his attention momentarily shifting to caress the gajre around her wrists.

"Why?" she managed to ask, her voice laced with curiosity, her eyebrow arching in question.

He simply smirked, a playful arch in his own brow in response. Meerab's confusion must have been evident, for he chuckled softly before speaking in a tone that was both teasing and earnest. "From the moment I saw you earlier, all I wanted was to see you wearing just these - clothed in the soft whispers of petals like you are in my dreams." He said, his words poetic, but the smirk on his face anything but.

Her cheeks warmed with a flush as his words sunk in. "You dream about that?" she asked.

He snorted, his amusement clear. "I think it'd be worrying if I didn't," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of playfulness.

In a mock gesture of indignation, she whacked him softly on the chest. Though she had to admit, her own dreams often ventured into similar territories, albeit without the poetic imagery of flowers – but he would not hear of that.

He hummed in response, his thumb pausing to trace her bottom lip back and forth, a touch so light yet charged with unspoken promises. "Meri biwi." He whispered, then, leaning in closer, he captured her lips with his in a gentle peck, leaving her yearning for more as he pulled away.

Meerab felt the warmth of Murtasim's breath against her forehead before his lips tenderly pressed against it, a kiss so full of reverence that it made her heart swell. Her fingers clenched the fabric of his kurta tighter, a silent plea, as he then bestowed gentle kisses on each of her eyelids. The brush of his stubble against her face sent shivers through her, a tingling sensation that seemed to echo through her entire body.

"Your beard is prickly," she whispered, it always was when he freshly trimmed it, which was why she preferred it a bit longer.

He laughed, rubbing his cheek against hers, "it'll be soft again in a day or two." He whispered.

"So perfect," he murmured against her skin, his breath warm as he kissed her cheeks, then her chin.

Meerab's heart raced, anticipating the kiss she craved most, but instead, he traced a path of kisses down her jawline towards her neck. A gasp escaped her as he placed an open-mouthed kiss at the base of her neck, the sensation of his lips and the slight pull of suction on the soft skin above her collarbone sending waves of pleasure through her.

"Murtasimmmm," his name fell from her lips in a moan as he continued his attentions on her neck, his lips, teeth, and tongue drawing out sensations she hadn't known she was capable of feeling. The roughness of his beard added another layer to the sensations, intensifying every touch. Her hands, previously gripping the sides of his kurta, released the fabric to find his hair, her fingers weaving through his locks, pulling him closer, securing his mouth against the pulse beating wildly at her neck.

She was acutely aware of the mark he was likely leaving. A part of her knew it was forbidden, that the mark would raise questions, but the larger, overpowering part of her didn't care, couldn't care. She couldn't bring herself to ask him to stop, not when every cell in her body was alive with the electric thrill of his touch.

Her head tilted back, offering him more access, her eyes closed tightly against the flood of sensations. Her grip in his hair tightened, a silent message of her surrender to the moment, to him.

He laughed then, a sound that vibrated through the air between them, stepping back just a bit. "Weren't you getting undressed?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone as his hand traced the path up her back until it encountered the hooks of her kurta – indeed, she had been in the process of doing just that and finding it rather difficult.

She nodded.

"Do you need help?" His voice was teasing.

Yes.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Murtasim," she teased back, her voice light.

"I wish," he sighed, a note of longing in his voice that mirrored her own desires.

"I do need help with the hooks...and taking these off without damaging them," she admitted, fingers lightly touching her earrings, indicating the delicate task at hand.

He seemed momentarily taken aback by her request but quickly recovered, nodding. "Turn around," he whispered, guiding her so she was facing her dresser, positioning them with him standing close behind her.

The sensation of his touch was inexplicable; the mere graze of his fingers against the back of her neck as he swept her hair over her shoulder sent her breath hitching. People had been touching her hair all day, but she hadn't even batted an eye, but his touch sent shivers through her.

Watching his reflection in the mirror, she felt his fingers at her back, slowly and deliberately unhooking her kurta. Each hook released sent a wave of anticipation through her, the fabric loosening and revealing more skin to his gaze and touch.

His finger traced a line down her spine from her neck to where the hooks ended, each movement sending shivers cascading down her body. Then, his hand rested on her stomach over the fabric of the kurta, the warmth of his palm through the cloth sending another shiver through her, his smile reflecting in the mirror before them.

"My wife is so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a soft caress against her ear as he pulled her closer, her back pressing into his front, her body molding to his form. His thumb moved in gentle strokes over her kurta, just below her breasts, each touch a promise of more, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

"You're lucky then," she teased, allowing herself to relax into his embrace, the heat of his body seeping into hers.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and intimate. "The luckiest," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear, his nose tracing the curve of it in a way that always made her shudder.

He leaned forward, his lips finding the sensitive skin at the back of her neck, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Meerab as his touch sent waves of heat through her.

His fingers traced a path up to her ear, delicately unscrewing the back of her earring, allowing it to fall gently into his waiting hand. He placed it carefully on the dresser.

Meerab's entire body shuddered as he bestowed a kiss upon her earlobe, the gentle bite sending sparks of pleasure radiating down her spine. Then, meticulously, he moved all her hair off one shoulder to the other, his fingers lingering, moving to remove the second earring, repeating the process.

After placing the second earring beside the first, his lips found her neck again, tracing open-mouthed kisses down her neck. She could feel the roughness of his beard against her skin, but it was juxtaposed with the softness of his lips, and the duality ignited a fire within her that she didn't understand.

As he carefully pushed the neckline of her kurta down, exposing the soft skin of her collarbones and shoulders to his gaze, he looked directly at her through the mirror. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, a plea laced with desire, giving her the power to end the moment they both knew they shouldn't be indulging in.

But the words to halt him refused to form, her mind clouded with the need for him, he'd be her husband in mere days, so did it matter?

His hand, previously resting on her stomach, pulled her more firmly against him. His breath warmed her shoulder as he traced kisses and nuzzles across it, each touch sending shivers of anticipation through her. When his hand moved up, cupping her breast over the fabric of her kurta, a soft moan escaped her lips, their eyes locking in the mirror—a silent conversation of desire.

"Tell me to stop, Meerab," he whispered again into her ear, his voice a soft echo of restraint and longing.

"More," she found herself whispering back, her voice barely audible, a confession of her need for him to continue.

He groaned in response, the sound resonating deep in his chest as his hands continued their exploration, squeezing her breasts over the fabric of her kurta. Meerab couldn't help but moan, the sensation of his touch igniting something within her, a wildfire that couldn't be tamed.

As his lips continued their assault on her neck and shoulders, marking her with kisses and gentle bites, his fingers danced over the fabric covering her nipples, circling, squeezing. Every touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through her, leaving her wondering — was it supposed to feel this overwhelming, this intoxicating?

Her breathing turned heavy, almost echoing in the room, her skin flushed with desire, her entire being set ablaze by his proximity. The unbearable pulsing between her legs had her whimpering, instinctively rubbing her thighs together in a futile attempt to alleviate the growing need within her.

Unable to stand the distance any longer, she turned in his arms, her gaze locking with his. His eyes were dark with desire, reflecting the storm raging inside both of them. "Tell me to stop," He whispered again.

She shook her head, and rose on her tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck, and brought her lips to his in a kiss that spoke volumes, a kiss that sought to bridge the gap between want and fulfillment.

Surrounded by his scent, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palm, she was completely enveloped by him — his presence invaded all her senses, leaving room for nothing else.

His lips moved against hers with an intensity that stole her breath away. The kiss wasn't just a meeting of lips; it was a declaration, a plundering that left her weak in the knees. She trembled as his fingers resumed their tender exploration of her stomach, moving in soft caresses that contrasted with the demanding nature of his kiss.

It was a paradox of emotions for Meerab; she felt an overwhelming tranquility, akin to finding a haven after enduring the chaos of the world, yet simultaneously, her body was a tempest of sensation, every nerve ending alight with an acute awareness of him.

A gasp escaped her when she felt his tongue trace her bottom lip, a delicate inquiry that turned urgent when she opened to him. Their kiss transformed, a dance of tongues in a passionate exploration of each other. The world outside faded into obscurity, leaving only the heat of their connection.

Meerab's moan vibrated between them, a sound borne of pure desire, as she pressed closer to Murtasim, her body seeking his with an intensity that mirrored the tumultuous emotions coursing through her. The kiss consumd all rational thought, leaving only the need to be closer.

"Meri biwi," he whispered against her lips, his voice a husky rasp that sent shivers down her spine. The words were a claim, she found herself backed against the wall, his body a solid presence against hers. His lips moved against hers with a renewed fervor.

The fabric of Meerab's kurta began to glide down her arms, a whisper of movement that sent a thrill through her. Murtasim's hands, with a gentleness that belied the intensity of his desire, traced a path upwards along her stomach, each touch igniting sparks along her skin. As the material slipped further, exposing more skin the cool air of the room, she felt an acute sense of vulnerability paired with an exhilarating rush of anticipation.

His lips, ever seeking, found the delicate skin of her neck once more, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Each kiss enveloped her, drawing a deep, involuntary shudder from her core. The heat of his breath against her skin contrasted with the slight chill in the air, the softness of his lips with the roughness of his beard, amplifying every sensation.

Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, the rhythm erratic under the onslaught of emotions and physical reactions Murtasim's actions evoked.

The sudden knock on the door jolted them apart, their breaths coming in heavy, rapid bursts. Meerab's heart raced, her eyes wide with panic as she looked up at Murtasim, feeling disheveled and exposed.

Just as Murtasim leaned in, seemingly unable to resist another kiss, her father's voice filtered through the door, grounding her back to reality. "Meerab, Bhabhi Begum sent you some jewellery."

"Tell them you're changing," Murtasim whispered, pulling back with an intensity in his eyes that belied the simplicity of his suggestion.

"I – I am changing, I'll be right out!" she called out, her voice betraying her breathless, chaotic state.

"Do you need help, beta?" her mother's voice added to the chorus of concern from beyond the door.

"She has all the help she needs," Murtasim muttered under his breath, a comment that earned him a swift whack from Meerab, annoyance and panic flooding her.

"N-nahi! I'll be out soon," she managed to say, her voice a pitch higher than she intended.

"Have you seen Murtasim? Anwar is looking for him but can't seem to find him," her mother inquired, adding another layer of complication to their already precarious situation.

"Nahi!" Meerab quickly responded, her glare at Murtasim sharp enough to cut through steel, silently blaming him for their predicament.

"He in thewe!" a small, innocent voice proclaimed suddenly.

Meerab's gaze snapped to Murtasim, her expression one of sheer disbelief. "Alaya," she whispered, her voice filled with dread.

"I swear these Baigs are trying to get revenge," Murtasim groaned, his frustration palpable.

Meerab silently pleaded with the universe for Alaya, the smallest and most adorable of the Baigs, to somehow keep their secret.

"No, he's not!" Meerab shot back quickly, her stomach churning with anxiety.

"I SAWED Muwtaim Unca!" Alaya's voice sang out, her voice full of glee as if she was playing a game of hide-and-seek. "He went in thewe!"

"Alaya, shhhh," came Rani's voice, tinged with amusement, doing little to hide the laughter threatening to break through.

The moment Anila's voice pierced through the tension in the room, a warning shot filled with maternal authority, "Meerab, he better not be in there," the atmosphere turned palpably thicker, edged with the imminent threat of discovery.

Murtasim's groan of resignation was almost comical as it echoed off the walls, his forehead meeting the wall in a gesture of self-reproach before he sprang into action, grabbing Meerab's dupatta in a desperate attempt to restore some semblance of order.

"The window?" She suggested.

"I'd rather make it our wedding alive." He said, as he swiftly helped her fix her kurta, resecuring a couple of hooks on her suit with hurried, clumsy fingers as she frantically wiped at both their lips, erasing the evidence of their stolen kisses before draping herself in the dupatta.

"I told you not to come!" Meerab sighed, her voice panicked, already dreading the endless teasing she knew would follow.

"You weren't stopping me. I told you to ask me to stop," he muttered, his voice a grumble of playful defiance, sparking a quick whack to his arm from Meerab in response.

With a heavy sigh, Murtasim approached the door, his movements resigned yet somehow maintaining a regal demeanor as he unlocked and swung it open to face the inquiring party head-on, his head held high.

The scene that greeted him was akin to a tribunal: her parents, his mother, Maryam, Rumi, Khirad, Rani and the youngest witness, Alaya, all stood outside.

"See! Hi Muwtaim Unca!" Alaya's grin was infectious, her small wave diffusing the tension with the innocence of her greeting, earning her a smile and wave from Murtasim who managed to nod at the adults with a nonchalance that was baffling under the circumstances.

"I – uh – I –" Meerab stuttered, finding herself at a loss for words, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment as Murtasim stood by her, unyielding and seemingly unbothered.

"There was a cockroach in her room that she needed help with," Murtasim declared with a straight face, the absurdity of the excuse sending Rumi, Maryam, Rani, and Khirad into peals of laughter.

"If you're going to be stupid, at least don't get caught for the exact same thing twice," her father's admonishment was directed at Murtasim, who met his gaze and nodded with an air of dignity, as if he had merely performed a civic duty rather than being caught in a compromising situation.

Left in the wake of his departure, Meerab faced the collective amusement of her family and friends, their knowing looks, barely suppressed giggles, and teasing comments washing over her. In that moment, as Murtasim retreated, leaving her to navigate the aftermath, she couldn't help but think, Traitor!

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

As Murtasim made his way into the mehendi ceremony—an occasion he was actually permitted to attend—he was immediately met with Meerab's searing glare from across the courtyard decorated with a plethora of flowers and lanterns. It was a look that spelled trouble, a silent warning that he was treading on thin ice.

"She looks like she's going to stab you with a mehendi cone," Areeb remarked, not helping the situation as he observed Meerab's expression with amusement.

"Shut up, Areeb," Murtasim sighed, feeling the weight of Meerab's stare intensifying with every step he took towards her.

Shahmeer's snickering in the background only added to his apprehension. "If looks could kill, you'd be dead," Shahmeer chimed in, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was in.

"Go find someone else to bother," Murtasim shot back, his focus solely on Meerab as he navigated around the pool, determined to confront the storm brewing in her eyes.

Meerab's anger was palpable, almost a physical barrier he had to mentally prepare himself to breach. He had received a barrage of angry messages from her, detailing how incessantly she had been teased about his inability to stay away, even under the watchful eye of his mother, who had not been pleased either.

Despite the anger, Meerab looked nothing short of ethereal in her opulent mustard-yellow lehenga, adorned with intricate gold thread work, sequins, and stones. Her hair was styled in an elegant braid, with loose strands curled gently over her shoulders, a look that he found mesmerizing. He longed to pull her hair down, cascading around her like a waterfall, but he knew better than to voice this thought. The glare she shot him was a clear indication that any attempts at physical affection or even the slightest suggestion would earn him an elbow to the stomach.

As Murtasim made his way toward Meerab, he found his path obstructed by Rumi, her stance firm and her glare unwavering. "She doesn't want to see you," she stated, her voice laced with an authority she probably thought she had over him.

Murtasim couldn't help but roll his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "Go be annoying somewhere else."

Rumi's scoff was almost theatrical. "She should have left you when she had the chance."

"You were dancing and singing awfully loud at the dholki from what I heard...so put that attitude to rest," Murtasim retorted, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

"I don't like you," Rumi declared, as if her feigned disapproval would deter him.

"And I don't care," he shrugged off her words with an ease that only further irked her.

Their glaring match could have lasted ages, but Rumi had more to say. "I still want to stab you like I did when she cried in front of me."

"If I make her cry again, I'll let you stab me," Murtasim offered, the memory of Meerab's tears a sore spot he didn't like being reminded of.

Rumi hummed thoughtfully, as if she was actually considering the proposition. "Deal. If you touch Zaki again, I'll shoot you."

Murtasim couldn't help but snicker at the threat. "If you spent as much time harassing him as you do me, then maybe it'd actually go somewhere, and I might be attending your wedding."

Rumi rolled her eyes at the suggestion. "I wouldn't invite you."

"If my wife goes, I go," Murtasim pointed out, knowing well that Meerab would drag him along regardless.

Rumi sighed, her anger slipping just enough to reveal the hint of a smile. "Fine."

"I see right through this façade of yours, by the way," Murtasim noted as he finally sidestepped her, his voice tinged with amusement. It was clear to him that Rumi's words and actions were just for show, a protective layer for the friend she so fiercely loved, he was glad that Meerab had found her.

Murtasim approached Meerab, each step bringing into focus the little details that always seemed to catch his attention and hold it captive. The maang tikka adorning her forehead sparkled under the lights, complementing the matching earrings that dangled, adding a touch of elegance to her already striking features. She was, as always, a breathtaking vision.

Noticing the bangles on her wrists, bangles that usually graced his mother's wrists, Murtasim felt a surge of warmth. His mother was indeed warming up to Meerab, the gesture that spoke of her acceptance, which he hoped was now genuine.

"Hi," he whispered, settling beside Meerab on the swing, his voice filled with affection and a hint of trepidation. "You look beautiful, meri jaan."

Meerab's response was to roll her eyes, a clear sign that the storm clouds hadn't yet passed. She remained silent, her posture stiff with lingering anger.

"Still angry?" he ventured, hoping for some verbal clue on how to navigate her mood.

She merely shrugged, an eloquent gesture that told him everything and nothing all at once.

"Meerab," he sighed, a note of pleading in his voice, hoping to coax her into conversation.

Turning to him, her glare was pointed, sharp enough to cut through his defenses. He bit back the Meerabilli' that danced on his tongue, knowing it would only fan the flames of her ire.

"Why are you mad?" he asked, genuinely seeking to understand.

Her eyes narrowed, her voice a hiss of frustration. "You always get to leave, and I have to bear all the teasing because no one says anything to you!" The words spilled from her in a bitter torrent.

"I am sorry, I'll tell them to – " he began.

"No! Don't do anything." She snapped, cutting him off before turning away once more, a clear signal that his attempts at fixing things were not welcome.

"Meerab," he prodded again, unwilling to let the matter drop.

Ignoring his plea, she remained silent, her gaze fixed on some distant point, a clear wall erected between them.

"Meerab, yaar," he sighed, his voice laden with frustration, but she only responded with another glare, a silent rebuke, before she stood and walked away from the swing, making her way towards the pool to sit by its edge.

He followed, determined not to let this be the end of their conversation. Sitting beside her at the pool's edge, he searched for the right words, the key to unlock her forgiveness, to bring back the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him.

Murtasim tried a different tactic. "How do I look?" he asked, injecting a hint of playfulness into his voice, hoping to coax her into looking at him.

Meerab spared him a brief glance, her gaze indifferent before she turned away with a dismissive shrug. "Like a clown," she retorted, her words unexpected.

"Acha?" he couldn't help but snicker at her attempt to insult him, finding even her disdain endearing.

"Hm." She remained noncommittal, focusing her attention on tossing more flowers into the pool, a clear sign she wasn't going to make this easy for him.

"I should go ask someone else then...maybe one of the many women..." He trailed off, watching her reaction closely. True to form, she looked up, her glare sharp enough to cut through his amusement.

"You're cute when you're mad," he whispered, leaning closer, hoping to draw her out of her shell.

Her response was to glare harder and look away.

"I love you, meri Meerab," he declared, sincerity woven through his words.

She seemed to struggle against a smile at his declaration but remained silent, pulling her lips into a pout instead.

"How long are you going to be mad at me?" He ventured further, seeking any sign of forgiveness.

Without a word, she stood and returned to the swing.

He followed suit, standing up to join her, but before he could attempt another reconciliation, they were interrupted by the others.

"Should have married this one," Shahmeer quipped, gesturing towards Zaki. "He wouldn't dare sneak into your room like that."

"Shut up, Sikandar," Murtasim groaned, his frustration mounting with his teasing.

"She very much likes him sneaking into her room," Areeb added, earning himself a whack from Murtasim even as Murtasimbakri nipped at his feet.

Meerab, finally cracking a smile, picked up Murtasimbakri, who was also adorned in a yellow kurta and ribbons that matched their outfits.

"This is cute," Murtasim remarked, pulling gently at one of the ribbons, hoping the gesture would thaw Meerab's frosty demeanor. However, she only responded with a glare, a clear indication that while his efforts were noted, he was far from being forgiven.

"Did you do that?" Zaki inquired, eyeing the ribbons in Murtasimbakri's hair.

"No, Rumi did, she and Murtasimbakri are best friends, which is ironic considering she gives a lot of grief to her human namesake." Meerab's response was directed at Zaki, her smile bright, a bit too bright for Murtasim's liking.

That was HIS smile, reserved for him, and seeing it bestowed on another stirred a possessive irritation within him. It always had.

He should have shot Zaki when he had the chance.

Along with Rumi.

Indeed, Rumi had been a constant source of grief for him, never missing an opportunity to remind him of the tears Meerab had shed because of him, her eyes often shadowed with a pointed "I am watching you" glare. Even now, amidst the chatter with her friends and Maryam, Rumi's gaze occasionally flicked towards him, sharp and warning.

Murtasim's attention was momentarily drawn away as his mother signaled for him to greet their guests, a duty that momentarily distracted him from his mission to win back Meerab's affections. However, his resolve was quickly reignited upon spotting bowls of ubtan.

An idea sparked in his mind, and he couldn't resist the impulsive urge to act on it – knowing how he'd get her to talk to him. He picked up a bowl, dipping his fingers into the creamy substance, he made his way back to Meerab.

"Meerab," he called out gently, drawing her attention. Her instinctive reaction was to gift him with her radiant smile as she turned towards him, but she seemed to remember her resolve to stay mad at him, her expression quickly morphing into a glare that was more adorable than intimidating.

Unable to hold back his amusement, Murtasim grinned and, in a motion that was too swift for her to process, applied a generous smear of ubtan across her cheek. The act drew surprised gasps from those around them, quickly followed by laughter, with Rumi's cackle cutting through the mirth distinctly.

"It matches your outfit," he teased, unable to resist the urge to add more ubtan to her other cheek, marking her in a playful attempt at appeasement.

For a moment, Meerab seemed stunned, her eyes wide with shock. But as the initial surprise faded, Murtasim noticed the familiar spark of fire lighting her gaze—a clear sign that he had perhaps overstepped. He instinctively took a step back, bracing himself for the repercussions of his move.

The moment Meerab's fingers grabbed the bowl of ubtan, Murtasim knew he had ignited a fire he wasn't entirely prepared to handle. Her attempt to retaliate by smearing the paste on his face turned into a comedic dance of evasion, as he expertly dodged her every move.

"Get him!" Rumi and Khirad's encouragement rang out across the courtyard, their voices laced with laughter and mischief, egging Meerab on.

Murtasim couldn't help but revel in the chase, darting around the courtyard with Meerab in hot pursuit. Her voice, filled with determination, echoed behind him. "MURTASIM, YOU BETTER COME RIGHT BACK!" she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

"Catch me if you can!" he yelled back, the grin evident in his voice as he glanced back to see her narrowing the distance between them. It was a delightful turn of events from her previous coldness – she was now chasing him rather than ignoring him - a development he found amusing.

His laughter filled the air as he executed a series of strategic dodges around the pool, each move calculated to keep her just out of reach. "It's just ubtan," he called over to her.

"You know I hate it!" Meerab whined. She had expressed her disdain for the ubtan ritual just hours before, lamenting its necessity in the lead-up to their wedding.

"It's tradition," Murtasim shot back, the words barely leaving his lips as he darted past the pool, employing a swift sidestep to evade her grasp once more.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" The threat, as fierce as it was, only spurred him on, laughter bubbling up within him as he made a beeline for the stairs, Meerab's footsteps thundering behind him.

"You have to catch me first," he taunted, the sound of the anklets, ones he had given her, jingling in rapid succession a clear indicator of her relentless pursuit.

Meerab finally caught up to Murtasim at the top of the stairs, her frustration with her attire audible in her whine. "THIS STUPID LEHENGA!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with exhaustion, having navigated the obstacle course of the haveli in pursuit of him.

Murtasim, leaning casually against the railing, offered a whistle of feigned innocence. His act, so perfectly executed, suggested he had been waiting there for hours, a picture of patience. He glanced at his watch, adding to the charade.

"Oh, you're here," he remarked, the tease in his voice unmistakable. "Careful!" His laughter rang out as Meerab, caught up in her momentum, nearly tripped over her lehenga's hem in her haste to reach him. The sight was endearing and hilarious all at once.

"Murtasim Shahnawaz Khan!" Her shout was full of outrage and undeniable affection as chased him towards a cot placed in the middle of the terrace.

"I know my name," he quipped, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

"Maa Begum! Aap yahan?" Meerab's sudden exclamation, feigned to distract him, indeed halted him in his tracks. His head whipped around, scanning for his mother, but the terrace behind them was empty, a fact he realized a moment too late.

In that brief second of distraction, Meerab struck, smacking the side of his face with a handful of ubtan, her laughter pealing through the air as she stood victorious on the cot. "Idiot," she called him affectionately, smearing more of the paste on his other cheek while he stood frozen in shock.

The triumphant moment was short-lived as Meerab, in her excitement, attempted to dismount from her perch on the cot, seemingly forgetting the cumbersome lehenga encircling her legs. Her eyes snapped shut, bracing for the impact with the ground as the bowl clattered beside them. However, the expected fall never came. Instead, Murtasim's arms encircled her, his hands steadying her against his chest, preventing the tumble she had anticipated.

"Karma," he whispered, a gentle reprimand in his tone as her eyes fluttered open to meet his gaze. Though he righted her, his arms remained wrapped around her.

"You started it!" Meerab protested, her glare adorable.

"Meerabilli," he teased, the affectionate nickname slipping out as he flicked her nose lightly, a playful gesture that marked a ceasefire.

"The ubtan suits you, Murtasim," Meerab snickered, a playful glint in her eyes as she took in his appearance, the paste seemed to be adorning his beard in a manner she found amusing yet endearing. "It's clinging to your beard."

"Acha?" He murmured, his voice a low rumble as he pulled her closer with the hand resting on her back. The action mirrored one from the day before, invoking a sense of déjà vu that sent a thrill through him.

"M-Murtasim," she stammered, her voice betraying her rising emotions as the distance between them diminished.

"I know my name," he mumbled, his breath tickling her skin as he leaned in, their faces mere inches apart. He could see the surprise in her eyes widen, mirroring the depth of her emotions as his hand came up to his cheek, casually patting the ubtan smeared there.

Her gaze danced over his features, wide with something that looked like admiration and wonder.

"How do I look? Still like a clown?" he teased.

She nodded. "A total clown."

He drew her even closer, if possible, the warmth between them palpable. "Why are you breathing so hard then?" he whispered, noting the way her eyes darted to his lips, a clear sign of her growing awareness, reminding him of the previous night.

"Clowns are scary," she managed to say, her voice raspy.

He couldn't help but snicker at her response, he always found her mix of nervousness and attraction utterly captivating. "I see, and your voice?" he prodded, eager to hear her explanation.

"What?" she asked, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain some composure.

"I don't look good at all?" He couldn't resist teasing her further, enjoying the blush that tinged her cheeks.

"N-nahi," she whispered back, her eyes locked with his, a silent admission of her true feelings.

"Hmmm, bilkul acha nahi lag raha?" His voice dipped lower, huskier, as he inched even closer, their breath mingling, his hold on her firm yet gentle.

"N-n-nahi," she whispered back, her flustered state a clear sign of the effect he had on her.

Murtasim couldn't help but smile at Meerab's feigned annoyance, leaning closer so only she could hear his whisper. The world around them seemed to pause, her eyes fluttered shut, and her hands clenched the fabric of her lehenga as if anchoring herself.

"Jhoot," he whispered, his voice a soft murmur against the shell of her ear before he placed a kiss against it.

The deliberate brush of his stubbled cheek against hers was playful again, but this time his intent was transferring the ubtan from his face to her, a tender gesture that was intimate and provoking all at once.

She gasped, the sensation of his beard against her skin a startling contrast to the softness of hers. He couldn't resist a glance at her face, finding her eyes still closed, her breathing shallow, her skin flushed beneath the smear of ubtan.

Leaning in once more, he whispered into her other ear, "Do you react this way to clowns too?" The mischief in his voice was palpable as he dragged his cheek across her other cheek, eliciting another, louder gasp from her.

His hand shifted, moving from the small of her back to encircle her waist, his fingers spreading over the right side of her stomach. He felt her muscles tense under his touch, a reaction that only deepened his grin.

"I hate you," she muttered, her eyes snapping open with a mixture of feigned anger and undeniable affection. Pushing him away, she turned and fled down the stairs, her laughter trailing behind her as he chuckled at her retreat.

In the midst of the playful chase, Murtasim noticed something glinting on the floor—her anklet. He picked it up and ran after her, calling her name. Her laughter echoed back to him, a sound filled with joy.

Despite her words, when he knelt to fasten the anklet back onto her foot, her smile was radiant, her happiness evident in the way she looked at him, her earlier protests forgotten. For someone who claimed to hate him, she spent the remainder of the evening by his side, her laughter and smiles a contradiction to her words as Maryam wrote Meerab on his hand. The only moment she sent him away was when his name was being intricately hidden within the designs of her mehendi.

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

As the night deepened and the haveli fell into silence, Meerab found herself lying awake, the plastic bags wrapped around her mehendi-clad hands crinkling softly with every restless movement. Despite the stillness that enveloped the house, her mind raced, replaying moments that refused to be quieted.

She could still see Murtasim's eyes, hauntingly vivid in the darkness of her room. Every time her gaze wandered to the dresser or the wall, echoes of the previous night surged forward, the intensity of his stare as palpable as if he were there before her. Those brown eyes, usually so full of laughter and warmth, held a different kind of emotion these days —desire, unspoken promises that lingered in the air between them, promises that tomorrow could fulfill.

She found heat rushing through her at the thought, her cheeks warming as she turned in bed. Closing her eyes did little to banish the sensations that flooded her—the memory of his body pressed against hers, the warmth, the undeniable strength, and the gentle yet firm hold of his hand on her back. It was a touch that pulled her closer, erasing any distance that remained, melding heat and heartbeats.

His scent still enveloped her, a mix of cologne and something undeniably him, a musk that seemed to seep into her very pores, marking her invisibly as his. The memory of their bodies pressed together left her breathless, her heart racing in a rhythm that echoed the pounding of her thoughts.

The ghost of his breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine, the memory vivid enough to elicit goosebumps upon her skin. The slight abrasion of his beard, a contrast to the softness of his lips as they brushed the top of her ear, whispered promises and desires that words could never fully capture.

Her heart fluttered at the mere thought of him, each heartbeat a drum echoing the depth of her longing. The pit of her stomach clenched, a visceral reaction to the remembered touch, the press of his body against hers, a longing that was both exquisite and excruciating.

She turned in her bed once more, the sheets whispering against her skin, a pale imitation of his touch. She sat up in bed, sighing loudly. Her stomach chose that moment to voice its displeasure, a loud growl breaking the silence of the room.

Her gaze drifted towards the foot of her bed, where Murtasimbakri, her companion in sleeplessness, seemed to share her restlessness. "You can't sleep either?" She addressed their goat, seeking solace in the soft bleating response that came.

"Me too...I guess I'm nervous about tomorrow, and excited, and...so many other things," Meerab confided in her unlikely confidante, her words a soft mutter in the quiet room. Her stomach growled again, a reminder of the meal she had skimped on earlier. The mehendi application had left her hands ornately decorated but impractical for eating, and it had been awkward having others try to feed her. Despite Murtasim's offer to help, she had declined, too self-conscious under the watchful eyes of their guests.

The sudden alertness of Murtasimbakri, her attention snapping to the door, was the first sign that someone was approaching. Then, a soft knock confirmed Meerab's suspicions. "Come in," she called out softly, a smile touching her lips in anticipation. The door opened quietly to reveal Murtasim, once again braving the risk of discovery for a nocturnal visit.

"You're trying to make getting caught a habit, aren't you?" she teased as he stepped into the room.

Murtasimbakri, ever the welcoming host, bleated happily at Murtasim's arrival, nuzzling against his leg in a gesture of affection. Murtasim, for his part, bore a tray which he carefully placed down before locking the door behind him. The smell of cheese and sauce wafted towards her, immediately seizing Meerab's attention and drawing another growl from her stomach.

"Pizza?" she asked, her spirits lifting at the prospect of a late-night feast.

He laughed, the sound warm in the hushed quiet of her room. "I see you love pizza more than you love me."

"But of course," she played along, her teasing light and affectionate.

As Murtasim approached the bed with the tray in hand, Meerab couldn't help but feel a swell of emotion at the sight. The pizza box, accompanied by drinks and another container, signaled a thoughtful gesture that struck a chord within her.

"I thought you'd be hungry, you didn't eat much," he said, his voice carrying a note of concern.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, not just from hunger but from the overwhelming sense of being cared for. "My stomach was growling," she pouted, her attempt at levity masking the gratitude she felt.

"You should have called me," he chided gently.

She held up her hands, wrapped in plastic bags, a visual reminder of the mehendi that rendered her incapable of fending for herself in even the simplest of tasks.

"Right," he laughed, understanding the predicament without needing further explanation.

Curiosity piqued, she asked, "Where'd you find a place near here?" The haveli's remote location made late-night food runs a logistical puzzle.

"I have my ways," he said with a mysterious smile, setting the tray aside. "Let me go wash my hands really quickly, and then I'll feed you."

He dashed quickly to the bathroom. The sound of running water was brief, and soon he was back, seating himself across from her on the bed.

"Did you drive around to find it?" she inquired, the jingle of his keys in his pocket giving him away.

He nodded as he opened the pizza box, revealing her favorite toppings: mushrooms, chicken, peppers, and an abundance of cheese—yet, notably, no olives. "No olives?" she teased.

"I am not going to forget that you hate them," he replied, lifting a slice to her lips with a chuckle that warmed her heart.

Taking a bite, the flavors melded perfectly, her taste buds rejoicing at the familiar and beloved combination. "Yet you forgot I hated ubtan," she remarked between bites, a light-hearted critique of the earlier antics that had led to their playful chase.

"That was just to get you to talk to me," he admitted with a grin, his strategy laid bare yet endearing in its intent.

As she took another bite, a drop of sauce escaped, trailing down the side of her mouth.

Before she could react, his thumb was there, wiping it away in a gesture so tender it made her breath hitch, a reaction that didn't go unnoticed by either of them.

He cleared his throat, breaking the tension that had settled between them. "Good?" he asked, his eyes searching hers for approval.

She nodded, her mouth already parting in anticipation of another bite. "You should eat too," she managed to say, her words muffled by the deliciousness of the pizza.

A smile spread across his face as he took a bite, mirroring her action. Laughter bubbled up from her throat, a sound of pure joy in the quiet room.

"What?" he inquired, genuinely curious about the source of her amusement.

"I never thought I'd be sitting in this room, in this haveli, with plastic-wrapped mehendi hands, while you feed me pizza the night before our wedding," she admitted, the strangeness and wonder of the moment hitting her all at once.

He chuckled, reaching for another slice and expertly discarding the crust—she never ate those—towards a delighted Murtasimbakri before offering her another piece. "It'd be weird if you had that very specific thought," he joked.

"It still feels like a dream," she whispered after a moment.

"Hmm?" he prompted, encouraging her to elaborate.

"This, you and me...getting married," she said, a smile spreading across her face, "it seemed like a dream for so long."

In response, he pinched her leg gently, a gesture that made her squeal. "Murtasim!"

"See, it's not a dream. We're getting married tomorrow," he assured her, his voice steady and sure.

"You're not going to change after we get married, are you?" she asked, a hint of vulnerability in her question.

He shook his head without hesitation.

"You'll still find me pizza in the middle of nowhere because you noticed I didn't eat enough?" she asked.

"Always," he affirmed, his single word a promise she knew he intended to keep.

Her heart swelled at the confirmation, a smile curving her lips. "And chocolate cake," he added, opening the second container on the tray to reveal just that.

Her squeal of happiness was met with his laughter, a sound that warmed her from the inside out. He opened a can of soda, holding it to her lips for a sip.

"I love you," she told him, the words slipping out easily, naturally.

"I see that the key to a happy life is to always feed you," he teased, his eyes sparkling with humor.

She rolled her eyes at his joke but couldn't hide the affection in her gaze.

"I love you too, meri Meerab," he said, his voice soft, filled with emotion.

The night before her wedding, Meerab found herself wide awake, sharing pizza and chocolate cake with the man who, by all rules, wasn't supposed to be there. Yet, as they talked and laughed, the world outside their bubble ceased to matter. It was perfect, the kind of perfection she hadn't dared to dream of but was now living.

"Stop," Meerab laughed, trying to squirm away as Murtasim buried his face in her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

"No, I don't want to," he muttered against her neck, his lips pressing a soft kiss there, sending a shiver down her spine.

"Murtasim," she sighed, the sound mingling with contentment and a feigned exasperation.

He groaned softly as he pulled away, his eyes meeting hers. "One more day," he whispered, the anticipation clear in his voice.

She couldn't resist teasing him, a sparkle in her eyes. "Until?" she prompted.

"Our wedding night," he grinned back.

"I am so excited to just sleep for 12 hours straight," she sighed dramatically, watching his reaction closely. His face fell for a moment, and she couldn't hold back a giggle, despite her best efforts.

"Let's be clear, we're not sleeping," he stated seriously, his gaze intense.

"Whatever else would we do?" Meerab asked innocently, her eyelashes fluttering in feigned curiosity.

"I can show you now...continue from where we left off..." he trailed off, his voice a soft whisper that brought back vivid memories of the previous day—her kurta slipping from her shoulders, his lips warm against her neck, his hands cupping her breasts.

She turned her face away, her cheeks flushing with a blush that betrayed her outward calm.

He chuckled at her reaction, the sound deep and comforting.

"You're so..." she began, struggling to find the words.

"In love with you?" he teased, finishing her sentence with a knowing look.

"You better be," she retorted, the words soft but firm.

"I am...I think I've also wanted you since you pranced about the garden in shorts," he admitted, his honesty catching her off guard.

Oh.

"I didn't prance," she corrected him, her voice laced with mock indignation.

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Okay, walked," he conceded.

"Better," she agreed, satisfied with his correction.

"I love how that's what you chose to focus on," he teased.

"Shut up, Murtasim," she sighed, though the affection in her voice was unmistakable.

"There are ways to shut me up, you know," he whispered, his tone suggestive.

She squealed as he leaned over her, his actions swift and tender. Then his lips pressed against hers.

"You-" Kiss. "can't-" Kiss. "me-" Kiss. "in-" Kiss. "bed". She reminded him of his rule between his kisses, laughing.

"That's a stupid rule, revoked." He muttered against her lips between kisses.

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A/N: Tadaaaaa! So, what do you think? What was your favourite part?! I was like "I'll wrap up the pre-wedding, wedding, and first night in one chapter". And then I started writing the chapter and that clearly did not happen. So, wedding and first night in the next chapter, hehehehe.