Murtasim found himself ensnared in trouble, a magnetic kind that halted his feet and riveted his gaze upon the courtyard. The veils of sheer curtains and cascading flowers, adorned for the wedding, granted him both concealment and a view of the scene unfolding before him. Though responsibilities beckoned — a council meeting, agitated farmers, myriad problems demanding resolution — he remained anchored, transfixed by the sight of Meerab.

There she was, sitting in the middle of the courtyard, clad in a simple pink suit that rendered her an elegant silhouette against the vibrant backdrop. Her hair, usually flowing in unruly, tempting curls, was now restrained, revealing the graceful line of her neck as she bent over a small bathtub. Originally designed for children's whimsical baths, the tub now accommodated Murtasimbakri Khan, Meerab's pet goat, who had quickly become her shadow.

The air around seemed to dance, suffused with Meerab's laughter, a symphony of joy that reverberated through the haveli's stone corridors, a siren song that had drawn him inexorably toward her. And as he observed, the reason behind her glee unveiled itself. Each attempt Meerab made to cleanse the goat's coat resulted in playful, wet reprisals, the baby goat shook and moved around, droplets of water gleaming like diamonds as they flew through the air, hitting Meerab.

Between the droplets and the laughter, Meerab conversed with the goat, words and giggles. Murtasim couldn't help but drink in the sight with a sense of awe intertwined with an emotion he refused to acknowledge.

"You should stay away from Murtasim," Meerab cautioned her ward, her voice a gentle lilt as fingers massaged shampoo into the baby goat's fur.

At the mention of his name, Murtasimbakri offered a responsive bleat, almost as if understanding the gravity of the advice being bestowed upon her.

"He likes slaughtering your kind." Meerab sighed, a wistful sound tinged with mirth. "But then again, maybe it was just Khushbakri, she hated him because I complained about him to her a lot." A giggle escaped her, light and infectious, and he found himself smiling despite the context.

Memories flickered, vignettes of the past wherein Khushbakri would charge at him, a determined glint in her eyes, and suddenly the puzzle pieces fell into place, the little goat was trying to avenge its owner.

"But, you know," Meerab's voice drifted towards him again, pulling him from the recesses of memory, "Murtasim isn't all that terrible... not usually. He's different now." Her hands worked diligently, fingers creating rivulets of foam in the goat's coat while venturing behind the ears, eliciting a snuggle from the goat.

A twinge of something akin to jealousy flickered within Murtasim's chest, an unfamiliar and disconcerting sensation that he swiftly suppressed. The sight before him — Meerab, confiding in and caring for the creature like he had meant for her to do — elicited a complex set of emotions in him.

Murtasim found himself wishing he was the entity she confided in, the one she sought comfort with, shared laughter and whispered secrets. As these thoughts swam in his mind, images from their close proximity during their handcuffed predicament flashed before his eyes. The memory of her, pressed up against him, her warmth seeping through the layers of fabric to kiss his skin, infiltrated his senses.

With an ineffable lightness coloring her features, Meerab began to tenderly rub around the goat's face. Her eyes crinkled at the corners with a smile of genuine delight. "You know, Murtasim..."

Each syllable of his name, as it rolled off her tongue, sounded like music to Murtasim's ears. There was a melody in the way Meerab articulated "Murtasim", rendering the name sweeter and more significant than it ever seemed before. It was as if she wove affection and warmth into the very letters, wrapping them in a tenderness that settled deep within his chest.

She continued speaking. "...had a tough time growing a beard once. But look at him now..." she murmured softly, "it's quite nice."

Indeed, her words brought back to his consciousness the fleeting memory of her delicate fingers brushing against the coarse grain of his moustache and beard with a gentleness that was almost reverential. A warmth, subtle and intoxicating, radiated through his veins at the recollection.

In her world, absorbed in her task and ensconced within the moment, Meerab continued to engage in her monologue, giggling softly as water and shampoo conspired to create iridescent bubbles around Murtasimbakri Khan. "The moustache is an interesting choice, isn't it? But it rather suits him, wouldn't you agree?" Her voice, light and teasing, hummed through the air, igniting an unwitting smile on Murtasim's lips.

Almost reflexively, his fingers drifted upwards, ghosting over the expanse of his moustache. She liked it. This simple acknowledgment, unspoken yet understood, caused an inexplicable elation to stir within him.

With a playful huff, Meerab redirected her focus, picking up the garden hose with an air of finality. "Anyways," she declared, aligning the nozzle and preparing to rinse off the lather from the goat's fur. "I'd advise keeping a safe distance from him. He's somewhat unpredictable, a bit bipolar at times. On his own, Murtasim isn't half bad, but every so often it's as though the spirit of some feudal lord possesses him."

From his concealed vantage point, Murtasim couldn't help but roll his eyes at her description. Yet, despite the exaggeration and the dramatic flair, her words were devoid of malice, painted instead with the strokes of understanding and, perhaps, a hint of...fondness?

In the crevices of Murtasim's mind, amidst the swirling storm of confusion and denial, a whisper emerged, suggesting with delicate trepidation that perhaps, just perhaps, the unnamed, inexplicable torrent of emotions he found himself immersed in mirrored within Meerab's spirit as well.

This dawning realization, fragile and dangerous like a smoldering ember, cast a shadow of apprehension over his conscience. It was a bad idea, a perilous dance on the edge of precipices they shouldn't approach. These feelings, nebulous and undefined, were not supposed to exist, not in the carefully delineated boundaries of their world, not under the silent watch of tradition and responsibility that cloaked his shoulders.

It was a treacherous path, laden with the thorns of impracticality and the abyss of unknown consequences. Yet, Murtasim found himself ensnared, caught in the magnetic pull of something beautiful and forbidden.

The abrupt sound of a throat clearing resounded behind Murtasim, effectively punctuating the moment. "Enjoying the view, are we?" inquired Areeb, his tone laden with barely concealed amusement. Murtasim suppressed a groan of annoyance. The interruption grated on his nerves, pulling him away from his observations.

"I was just walking by," Murtasim countered with feigned nonchalance, attempting to mask the magnetic pull that kept his feet and gaze anchored.

"Oh, just walking by, is that so?" Areeb replied, an incredulous eyebrow arching skywards. "Walking by and conveniently stopping behind this pillar for like ten minutes?" He gestured dramatically towards the ornate pillar that Murtasim had inadvertently used as a shield.

Murtasim cast a glare at Areeb, "You are imagining things."

"Am I?" Areeb challenged, a smug grin playing on his lips. "You've been acting strange around her, Khan. Brought her with you to the village, crashed your prized car because of her, made me hunt for pairs of shoes for her, got her a pet goat — which I must say is highly unusual - and now, you're standing here, lurking behind pillars like some Bollywood hero, staring at her."

"I did not crash the car because of her," Murtasim defended weakly, aware that it was a half-truth at best. "The shoes were a necessity; she needed them. And the goat..." He trailed off, finding no suitable excuse for the goat.

"And the goat?" Areeb prompted with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Was the goat a necessity too?"

Murtasim grumbled, "It makes her happy."

"Aha! So you admit it. You do all these things because you want to see her happy!" Areeb pointed at him accusingly but with a triumphant smile plastered on his face. "You're smitten!"

"Don't be absurd," Murtasim snapped, feeling cornered. "She's my cousin. It's my responsibility to look after her happiness."

"Oh, of course, of course," Areeb agreed, nodding his head vigorously, though his eyes sparkled with unabated mischief. "We should all crash our cars, buy goats for our cousins, and look at her like she hung the stars in the sky. It's familial duty, after all."

"Stop twisting my words," Murtasim grumbled.

"I'm not twisting anything," Areeb said, shrugging nonchalantly but unable to wipe the grin off his face. "I'm just stating the facts."

"I wonder why I hired you," Murtasim muttered under his breath, "I should fire you right now."

Choosing to ignore him, Murtasim attempted to leave, however, Areeb wasn't finished. Raising his voice intentionally, he called, "Perhaps you should write a manual, Khan! How to Woo Your Lady: The Murtasim Way!'" Areeb's voice was loud, shredding through the silence and secrecy he had maintained.

"Shhh!" Murtasim hissed through clenched teeth, casting a glare sharp enough to etch glass towards Areeb.

However, the damage was done.

"Is anyone there?" Meerab's voice, tinged with curiosity, fluttered through the air, causing Murtasim's heart to skip a beat.

Areeb merely offered a grin, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "Just me!" he announced, stepping forward into the courtyard with a casualness that made Murtasim's hands itch with frustration. He remained hidden behind the column and curtain, out of sight.

If glares possessed the power to inflict harm, Areeb would have been smote where he stood under the weight of Murtasim's gaze. But, alas, the universe didn't comply with his silent wish. Instead, Areeb closed the distance between him and Meerab, positioning himself uncomfortably close to her side. Each step made Murtasim's eyes narrow incrementally, a coil of something undefined and intense winding tight within his chest.

"I see you like your new pet," commented Areeb, eyes twinkling with mirth as he observed the water-soaked spectacle before him.

"I love her," replied Meerab with unabashed affection, her finger reaching out to affectionately boop the goat's nose. The small action, innocent and tender, seemed to brighten her face with an intangible glow.

"And what did you name her?" inquired Areeb, his gaze flicking between the goat and Meerab.

The air seemed to still around Murtasim in anticipation, his muscles tensing involuntarily. As Meerab's giggles cascaded through the space, she introduced, "Meet Murtasimbakri Khan. Murtasimbakri, meet Areeb."

A burst of laughter erupted from Areeb, resonating through the courtyard, his eyes swiveling back to pin Murtasim with a knowing look. Murtasim could only offer a silent groan in return, caught in the crossfire of emotions and names that seemed to dance and weave through the sun-dappled space. And through it all, Meerab remained blissfully unaware of his presence, not noticing that Areeb had looked behind her again, her focus steadfast on the creature now cradled in her arms, in a towel.

"Why would you name her that?" Areeb chortled, his eyes twinkling with unabashed amusement. The sound of his laughter reverberated through the air, light and teasing. "Unless you need a reason to think about Khan all the time?" The words, wrapped in the gentle cadence of teasing, landed in the space between them.

Meerab looked away from him, as if she was unable to maintain contact under the weight of his implication. "I – n – no!" she stuttered, the words tumbling out disjointed and unsteady, much like the fluttering sensation spreading through Murtasim's chest.

Did she?

Did she really name the goat after him as an excuse to let thoughts of him linger in her mind? The mere thought sent his heart into an erratic dance, its beats quickening, pulsating through his veins with heightened intensity. His brain seemed to whirl, the thought that she might harbor sentiments akin to his twisted his insides with a strange, intoxicating blend of joy and apprehension. It was a dangerous precipice they stood upon, the ground fragile and the drop infinite, yet in that moment, with her words hanging in the air, it felt perilously, irresistibly inviting.

His gaze scrutinized her face from afar, searching, probing. There, beneath the delicate sweep of her lashes, was she blushing? The faintest tinge of rose painted her cheeks, casting a glow of vulnerability and something more elusive.

Without conscious thought, Murtasim found himself emerging from the shadowy refuge of the column, stepping into the canvas of the courtyard, drawn by an invisible force. "Areeb, let's go, we'll be late," he announced, voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Though the words were directed at Areeb, his eyes, those intense orbs, sought and found Meerab. Their gazes collided, a silent clash of unspoken words and emotions, before she averted her eyes. Her gaze fled from his, retreating, as her teeth caught her lower lip in a gesture that was both nervous and endearing.

Droplets of water trailed down the canvas of her skin, mimicking the path they had taken during the rain, drawing his eyes along the rivulets that trailed down her flushed cheeks and neck.

"Acha, so now we're going to be late?" Areeb's voice, imbued with a note of amusement, cut through his contemplation. The smirk in his voice was almost palpable, necessitating a swift and sharp glare from Murtasim as he hoisted him up with urgency.

"Chalo!" Murtasim commanded, the word crisp and decisive.

"Bye Meerab!" Areeb offered his farewell, the words light and casual as they floated across the courtyard.

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

With the moon casting a soft, elusive glow through the narrow slits of the window, Murtasim paced the expanse of his room with a restlessness that gripped him like a vice. The austere space, usually a haven of solitude and contemplation, pulsated with the silent energy of his turmoil. The walls bore silent witness to his internal struggle, echoing the quiet, rhythmic tap of his footsteps against the cold stone floor.

The council meeting earlier, usually a stage of intense focus and resolution, had seen his mind waver and drift like a ship unmoored, lost in the tantalizing, treacherous seas of Meerab's eyes, her voice, the whisper of her laughter. Thoughts of her had spun a delicate, entrancing web around his consciousness, ensnaring him in a labyrinth of emotions he couldn't decipher, couldn't control.

The inkling, the dangerous suspicion that she might mirror his feelings added fuel to the fire, igniting a blaze that threatened to consume his disciplined resolve. Responsibilities, duties that demanded his unyielding attention, found themselves relegated to the backdrop, overshadowed by the essence of Meerab painted across his mind's canvas. It was a perilous game, a dance on the razor's edge, and Murtasim, with the weight of legacy and expectation on his shoulders, felt the ground slipping beneath him. This magnetic, insidious distraction, embodied in the form of a woman who seemed to infiltrate his defenses, could not, must not continue. For in the precarious balance of duty and desire, the scales tipped dangerously.

"I don't... I can't like her," he muttered under his breath, attempting to weave a latticework of reason around the chaos of his feelings.

It was frustration, a simple, irksome frustration bubbling within him. That had to be it.

Each time he glimpsed her, each time his gaze stumbled upon her visage, his heart would stutter, embarking on a frenetic dance that sent ripples of sensation through his chest.

But it was nothing, he insisted to himself, clamping down on the flicker of emotion with an iron resolve.

Just a transient attraction, a mere by-product of their proximity.

"She's attractive. That's all," he whispered like a silent prayer, a mantra meant to douse the flame of longing with the cold water of rationality. That was it. Meerab was just attractive, it was normal to react to her like that, it would be odd if he didn't notice that she was attractive.

Meerab was undeniably gorgeous, a vision that seemed to glide through life with a grace that was captivating. Her legs, oh those legs, sculpted and toned, whispered secrets of strength and allure as they carried her with an ethereal elegance. And perhaps it wasn't just her legs, perhaps it was the symphony of her entire form, a composition of curves and lines that sang a song of temptation.

Dangerously, his mind veered, careening down a path lined with images and fantasies he dared not acknowledge. Images from that night, the intimacy of shared warmth and waking up beside her, went a step further and flooded his consciousness, coloring his vision with hues of desire and need.

"No!" The word echoed sharply within the cavern of his mind, a shout in the silent battlefield of his consciousness. "Stop thinking about her like that!" The command was stern, frantic, as he sought to erect walls around the fortress of his self-control, warding off the invasion of images that threatened to overthrow his defenses.

Numbers, cold and impersonal, began to scroll through his mind, a litany of digits meant to distract and disengage. Songs, notes floating and twirling, joined the parade, creating a cacophony of sound and mathematics designed to drown out the siren call of Meerab's allure.

But perhaps it was too late. Perhaps the seed had been planted, taking root within the soil of his soul, sprouting tendrils of affection and longing that sought the sunlight of her smile, the nourishment of her laughter.

Murtasim released a slow sigh, a gentle exhalation of air that seemed to carry with it the shadows of his internal tumult. Each breath seemed like an effort to distill his feelings, refining them down to the bare essence of simple, uncomplicated attraction.

It was a recognition, he reasoned, nothing more than an acknowledgment of Meerab's attractiveness, a tip of the hat to the aesthetic appeal she undoubtedly possessed. And it was likely the same for her, an acknowledgement of his attractiveness.

Meerab was attractive.

This was an objective truth, a fact as undeniable as the sky being blue or the grass being green.

Her features were well-proportioned, her eyes were bright and lively, and her smile—her smile was a radiant burst of sunshine, lighting up her face and making her irresistibly pretty.

In recognizing this attractiveness, Murtasim told himself that he was merely being observant. Acknowledging beauty wasn't a crime; it was a function of having eyes and an aesthetic sense.

And that smile? Who wouldn't be drawn to it? It was infectious, warming the space around her, casting a subtle glow that beckoned people closer.

It was, in his careful calculation, devoid of any deeper emotion, a sterile, clinical observation that bore no impact on the fabric of their hearts.

She was attractive, he was attractive, that was it.

"It would be worrisome if I didn't react," he whispered, bolstering his argument with the rationality of normalcy.

Murtasim was a young man, brimming with vitality and vigor. In the presence of a female whose physical appeal was evident, his reactions were normal, textbook even. It was the typical physiological response a male of his age would experience when facing someone of Meerab's charm. The acceleration of his heartbeat, the heightened awareness — these were responses hardwired into him by biology, not the stirrings of deeper, unspoken feelings.

It was natural, expected, a biological imperative.

"All normal," he muttered, attempting to cement the idea within the recesses of his consciousness

"This...this will stop if I ignore her, and once she leaves," he murmured with conviction, staring into the horizon as if seeking affirmation from the universe itself. The ebb and flow of attraction would naturally dissipate with distance, fading into the ether like mist under the caress of the morning sun.

With determination steeling his gaze, Murtasim resolved to erect boundaries, invisible yet impregnable walls that would safeguard his peace of mind.

No more stolen glances.

No more inquiries about her day.

No more subconscious efforts to paint a smile on her face.

He would revert to the earlier dynamics, treating her as nothing more than a minor inconvenience, a pebble in the shoe of his life that elicited nothing more than a mild irritation.

Meerab would, in his renewed perspective, be the annoying musibat he didn't ask for, an addition to his plate already brimming with responsibilities.

Yet, even as he fortified his resolution, images of Meerab in the pink suit, water droplets running down her skin, from that morning, pushed at the periphery of his vision, a mirage of charm that seemed to beckon him.

With a shake of his head, Murtasim sought to dispel the vision, reaffirming his vow to see her as nothing more, nothing less than what he had decided she should be.

Murtasim nodded.

"This is normal," he whispered to himself, a mantra meant to anchor him in the stormy seas of his emotional turmoil. There was nothing extraordinary about this, nothing that warranted deeper introspection or, heaven forbid, a reevaluation of his feelings.

Yes, Meerab was attractive, and yes, she possessed a smile that could probably stop traffic. But these were mere facts, components of a reality he acknowledged but refused to explore further. Murtasim was determined to keep these admissions surface-level, ensuring they skimmed across the pond of his consciousness without creating ripples that disturbed the depths below.

"This is it," he reiterated with steely determination, trying to convince the unruly part of his heart to align with his rational mind. Meerab was attractive, she had a pretty smile, and his reactions were perfectly, utterly, indisputably normal.

Nothing more to see, nothing more to feel.

And even if there was more, it would never work.

Despite the magnetic pull between them, their worlds were different, almost diametrically opposed at times. How could he reconcile his steadfast, conservative outlook with her vibrant, liberal spirit in the long life ahead of him? The path seemed fraught with challenges, with the looming mountains of compromise, understanding, and acceptance casting long, insurmountable shadows.

He bore responsibilities, heavy, immutable responsibilities that necessitated a partner cast from the same stern, unyielding mold as him. A Khaani, a woman who would stand beside him, unfazed by the burdens of feudal dominion, seamlessly slipping into the rigorous demands of their life. Someone who would not only understand but also respect and uphold the unspoken codes and traditions that governed their existence, navigating through their complexities with grace and poise, without attempting to dismantle or challenge the foundations of their heritage at every turn.

Meerab, with her luminous spirit and indomitable will, was a whirlwind of change, a breath of fresh, invigorating air that stirred the stagnant waters of his world. Her dreams were tinted with shades so distinctly different from his; she was a seeker of justice, aspiring to wield the sword of law to carve a niche for herself, to champion the cause of the voiceless and oppressed. Her ambitions were noble, intoxicating even, but they danced to a rhythm far removed from the symphony of his life.

The shadows lengthened in the room, casting a pall of melancholy over the stone walls as Murtasim wrestled with the dawning realization. Meerab wouldn't want to be tethered by the chains of his world, wouldn't desire to be his Khaani.

Not that he wanted her to be.

It was just an if.

Her spirit sought the boundless sky, yearned to soar unfettered. Their dreams, while mesmerizing, lay on divergent paths, and Murtasim felt a twinge of sorrow lacing through his veins at the thought.

In the grand journey of life, where duty and desire often clashed in a silent, eternal battle, he couldn't envisage Meerab standing by his side, echoing his sentiments, bolstering his endeavors without losing pieces of herself along the way.

No, it would never work out.

Which is why he was glad there was nothing more to it.

He just recognized she was attractive, nothing more, nothing less.

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

Within Murtasim's chest, he felt the slow, turbulent swirl of confusion settling, tethering him to a strain of madness that he couldn't quite understand or explain. It felt as if this internal chaos was infiltrating his immune system, perhaps exacerbated by the night spent under the unforgiving, cold caress of the rain.

Every few minutes, a sneeze would escape him, echoing through the silent corridors of his consciousness, while a general ache held his body hostage. Sleep seemed like the only refuge, a blissful escape he was denied due to the towering pile of responsibilities that awaited his attention.

But there was a more pressing task at hand: evading Meerab, the source of his unending distraction. His mind was adamant that the turmoil she made him feel was nothing more than a "recognition of attraction", as though dressing his emotions in more palatable terms would make them easier to handle.

However, the endeavor was proving to be futile. Each time he entered a room, his gaze would unwittingly seek her out, drawn to her as if pulled by the invisible strings of magnetism. Thankfully, with Maryam's arrival, Meerab's magnetic pull seemed to weaken, offering him a much-needed respite. The two women spent their hours engrossed in each other's company, with Murtasimbakri Khan - adorned with the tinkling bells Meerab had affectionately attached - trailing behind them.

The goat had also been an amusing presence at the nikaah that afternoon, snuggled warmly against Meerab's side, who stood by him as did Maryam. Murtasim could feel the weight of Meerab's gaze on him throughout the nikaah ceremony, a gentle, searching look that seemed to sift through the veils of his exterior.

He allowed himself a mere glimpse, a fleeting moment where he drank in the sight of her in the light green floral sharara, a vision of effortless, captivating beauty. She wore simplicity like a garment sewn from the fabric of the moonlight, outshining even the bride with her radiant glow.

Anger flared within him each time he noticed others transfixed by her charm, their gazes lingering a tad too long, a tad too intently. His eyes, cold and hard, would flash a silent warning, protecting her from unwanted attention. Areeb had mentioned that word had spread throughout the village of the pretty young women of his family, he was sure half the people at the wedding came to catch a glimpse of them rather than the actual bride.

Ironically, even though his eyes were on the couple being wed, his attention was on Meerab. For how could it not be when each sneeze that shook his frame throughout the nikaah was acknowledged by her soft, tender bless you. He didn't acknowledge the words even as she sat just to his side, trying to drown out the whisperings of his heart.

However, as the day's shadows grew longer, retreating into the silent sanctity of his room, Murtasim found his mind drifting back to her yet again, his heart still whispering despite his resolution. It was like a soft, incessant humming in the back of his consciousness, a song whose lyrics he couldn't understand but felt deep within his bones.

Dinner had been delivered to his personal space, a silent acknowledgment of the distance he had imposed, deliberately erecting walls that cocooned him from her inadvertent pull. It had been days since they shared a meal, days since he allowed himself the luxury of basking in her warmth, for each time she brought a spoon to her lips, an unbidden memory would surface, caressing his consciousness with a featherlight touch — the intimate gesture of feeding her with his own hands.

He had been avoiding her, consciously evading the spaces she inhabited, steering clear of the magnetic field she unwittingly exerted. Yet, despite the physical distance, her presence seemed to weave through the fabric of his day, subtle, persistent, like a melody that played in the background, soft enough to be ignored, yet poignant enough to tug at the strings of his heart.

As the night unfurled its inky canvas, stippled with the silvery brilliance of the stars, Murtasim found solace in the warmth that cascaded down his throat with each gulp of the soup and the soothing joshanda that followed suit. With a semblance of comfort enveloping him, he voiced his gratitude when the maid arrived to collect the empty dishes, "Thank you for making me soup, Mai. It helped."

However, the elderly woman shook her head gently, a tender smile playing on her lips, eyes twinkling with a secret understanding. "I didn't make it, Meerab Bibi did, Khan," she corrected him softly.

The revelation landed softly, yet its ripples spread through the depths of his consciousness, stirring a pot of emotions he couldn't quite place or define. It was a gentle warmth, a flicker of something tender and unknowable, kindling within the recesses of his chest at the realization that Meerab had noticed and without being asked, without any prompt, she had stepped forward to care for him.

His eyes then flitted towards the portable heater humming softly in the corner, casting a warm glow and radiating heat that seemed to melt away the icy tendrils clutching at his bones. "The heater?" he inquired, curiosity tinting his words.

"Meerab Bibi," Mai responded once again, attributing the thoughtful addition to Meerab. The words reverberated through the room, settling within the walls, echoing within the silent cavern of his heart, causing it to stutter and falter, embarking on a rhythm as ancient and as bewildering as the emotion itself.

With a nod, he dismissed Mai, watching as her figure retreated, leaving him enshrouded within the invisible cloak of the night. Yet, as the sound of her footsteps faded into the distance, a strange, inexplicable weight descended upon his heart, anchoring him to a sensation so foreign, so delicate, it left him breathless.

His eyes, windows to the soul's unfathomable depths, welled up with tears unbidden. For within the silent confines of his room, amidst the shadows and the faint glow of the heater, he acknowledged a truth he hadn't known existed. It was the realization of being cared for, of being noticed and tended to without any prompt, without any expectation of reciprocity.

And as the tears threatened to spill, reflecting the dim light, he couldn't recall the last time someone had extended such simple, unadulterated care his way. It was a gesture so small, yet so monumental, that it bore through his defenses, etching itself onto the canvas of his heart, leaving him with a sensation as bewitching as the moonlit night itself. For in that bowl of soup, in the warmth of the heater, he found not just physical comfort, but a balm for the soul, a silent whisper of care that echoed through the caverns of his loneliness, lighting up the darkness with its quiet, persistent glow.

Murtasim's voice broke the quietude, a whispered confession to the emptiness. "What is she doing to me?" His voice was barely audible, a murmur blending with the subtle cadence of the night, as he pondered the enigma that Meerab represented in his life.

In that moment, a thought flickered, tentative and fragile, through the recesses of his mind. What if he allowed himself to genuinely, irreversibly fall for Meerab? Would the descent be as catastrophic as he envisioned?

Yet, with each faltering step towards acceptance, reality bore its fangs, stark and unyielding. Meerab, with her fiery spirit and unwavering conviction, was a torrent of dissent, a cascade of disagreement with the very foundations that structured his life. Every whispered protest, every frown of discontent, bore testimony to a clash of worlds, a symphony discordant and jarring in its intensity.

Moreover, the shadow of his mother's disapproval loomed large, casting its long, ominous silhouette over the fragile bud of affection attempting to blossom within the crevices of his heart. His mother's eyes, seasoned with the wisdom and pragmatism born out of years, reflected a measured evaluation and subsequent rejection of Meerab as the woman beside him, the Khaani who would not only share his life but also shoulder the burden of his responsibilities.

Murtasim sighed, a sound heavy and laden with the weight of silent compromise and sacrifice. For in the grand canvas of life, Meerab, with all her brilliance, was a burst of color too vibrant, too indomitable to be contained within the structured, monochromatic lines of his existence.

The sound of a gentle bahhh interrupted his silent contemplation, drawing his gaze towards the door, inadvertently left ajar. And there, entering with a symphony of tiny, tinkling bells, was Murtasimbakri Khan, approaching him with innocent eyes and a demeanor that mirrored its owner's quiet strength. With unerring precision, the little goat navigated the space, closing the distance until it nuzzled against his leg, seeking the comfort of contact.

Murtasim's eyes watched, the edges of his lips twitching involuntarily as he surrendered to the moment, his hand descending to stroke the soft fur. "Does Meerab know you're here?" The inquiry slipped from his lips, directed at the animal who offered a baah in response before settling at his feet, a companionable silence enveloping them.

"Go, she'll come looking for you." His sigh whispered through the room, fingers gently working behind the goat's ears in a mimicry of Meerab's tender actions. Yet, the baby goat seemed content, unmoving under his touch, steadfast in its presence beside him.

"Is she happy?" The question was soft, hesitant, a whisper brushed with the fragile hope that the specter of sadness no longer lingered over Meerab's days, that the walls no longer bore witness to her silent struggle. A baah echoed back, bringing with it a semblance of assurance.

"Good, take care of her like she takes care of you." His voice was softer now, threaded with a warmth and concern he didn't voice. The goat's eyes, curious and bright, flickered up to meet his, and for a moment, the world paused, held within their silent exchange.

"Not that I care... just saying." The addendum was swift, a reflexive defense against the tendrils of emotion that sought to entangle him further. Yet, the goat seemed unimpressed, a huff of breath and a nudge against his leg communicating more than words could.

"You better be nice to me; I can take you back to the smelly farm." His threat, empty and without malice, hung in the air, met with another derisive huff from the goat, as if she understood and dismissed his words simultaneously.

"You're fun to talk to...I guess that's why she does it, huh?" Murtasim sighed as he lifted the goat off the floor, placing her into his lap. "You should go back to Meerab." At the mention of her name, the goat stirred, lifting its head in recognition, but not moving or making a sound.

Murtasim found the ensuing quietude oddly comforting, prompting him to continue the one-sided dialogue. "Your owner confuses me." His voice carried a blend of bewilderment and frustration, the words spilling out without a filter. "Yes, Meerab is... attractive." Acknowledging it aloud made it real, tangible, something he couldn't ignore or brush aside. "But why can't I get her out of my mind?"

His gaze flitted around the room, seeking answers in the very air. "I've seen attractive women before, it's not as if she's the only one." And yet, none had left such an indelible impression, none had woven themselves into the fabric of his consciousness like she had. As he grappled with his confusion, the goat let out a BAAH, almost as if protesting his point.

His eyes, drawn back to the animal, found something in its expression — a sort of knowing wisdom, perhaps the innocent clarity animals possessed. With a reluctant chuckle, he capitulated. "You're right. Your owner... she's unparalleled. Prettier, brighter than all the women I know." The confession hung in the room, suspended in the silence, echoing back to him with the weight of truth.

"Her eyes, the way she smiles, the way she moves..." Murtasim found himself continuing, words spilling forth unbidden, painting a portrait of the woman who lived in the spaces between his thoughts, who had unknowingly claimed territories of his heart he wasn't aware were up for grabs. "It's like she's got this... light, and it draws people in. Draws me in."

Another baaaahhhhh punctuated his monologue, and he looked down, meeting the goat's gaze. "And the worst part is, I don't even know why. Why her? Why now?" The questions tumbled out, a cascade of confusion and yearning he couldn't comprehend.

In the goat's eyes, he sought answers, clarity to the storm within.

"She's just Meerab. Just your owner. But to me..." He trailed off, a sigh lifting from his chest, carrying with it the whisperings of emotions unnamed, unacknowledged. In the quietude that followed, Murtasim found no answers, only more questions, and a growing awareness of the depth of his entanglement with Meerab.

Murtasim's eyes fixed on the doorway as Meerab's voice, soft and melodic, filled the corridor, a gentle call in search of the wayward goat. "Murtasimbakri, where are youuuu?" Her words were accompanied by the tap-tap of her feet, a rhythm that seemed to weave through the air, drawing nearer with each passing second.

The goat, ever loyal to its owner, responded with an enthusiastic baaaaah, broadcasting its location. Murtasim could almost envision Meerab's face lighting up with delight as she heard the sound. She approached the door, and the dim glow of the hallway cast a halo around her, painting her in shades of ethereal beauty. She appeared like an angel, bathed in soft white light, clad in a white kurti paired with loose pajamas, her hair cascading freely.

When she stepped into the doorframe, it was as though the universe itself held its breath. "Murtasim...bakri!" The name fell from her lips like a cherished secret, and there was a palpable tenderness in the way she enunciated each syllable, a warmth that seemed to imbue the very air. "I thought you got lost."

His lips parted, perhaps to speak, to offer some form of retort or another, but the words lodged in his throat, caught and held captive by the hesitancy in her voice when she posed the question. "Can I come in?" There was vulnerability there, a quiet request for permission, and without conscious thought, he found himself nodding, granting her access.

A smile blossomed on her face, subtle and sweet, and it struck him with the force of a tidal wave, a swell of emotion that left him reeling. With grace inherent and effortless, she crossed the distance, moving closer until she was but a breath away. In his hands, Murtasimbakri stirred, and he lifted the goat, offering the animal to its owner.

The goat's tongue darted out, licking Meerab's hands, eliciting peals of laughter from her. "Stop it, Murtasimbakri!" she chided gently, amusement dancing in her eyes as she took the goat from him.

"You really have to stop calling it that." His words were a sigh, an exhalation steeped in resignation and something akin to endearment.

She shrugged, dismissing his protest with a tilt of her head. "She responds to it now, and besides, no one calls you Murtasim." Her eyes met his, locking onto his gaze with an intensity that left him breathless.

In the silence that stretched between them, he became acutely aware of the truth in her statement. Nobody said his name quite like she did, with that inflection, that tone that seemed to weave through the syllables, lending them a weight, a significance they lacked otherwise.

The lingering resonance of his name in her voice, spoken in a cadence uniquely hers, hovered in the space between them. In that still, suspended moment, the atmosphere in the room seemed to subtly shift, charged with an undercurrent of something elusive, unspoken.

Then, disrupting the delicate balance of their quiet, Meerab tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she studied him, as if seeing beyond the surface, glimpsing the myriad complexities and contradictions housed within his soul.

"What happened during the wedding?" Her voice broke the silence gently but insistently, drawing him back from the precipice of introspection. The question, straightforward yet laden with implications, caught him slightly off-guard, unprepared as he was for the sharp perceptiveness reflected in her gaze.

"Why are you asking about things that don't concern you?" Murtasim's response was more defensive than he intended, a reflexive shield erected against her penetrating intuition.

"What happened during the wedding?" Meerab persisted, refusing to be deflected. There was a knowing in her eyes, a deep understanding that seemed to pierce through the fog of unspoken words and tacit understandings, zeroing in with unsettling accuracy on the crux of the matter.

And as she continued to look at him, her gaze unwavering, intuition sharp and discerning. "Nothing for you to worry about," he found himself responding, voice a low murmur grating against the thick silence enveloping them.

However, Meerab was astute, far more than he gave her credit for, her intuition honed sharp and precise. "The groom's side asked for more dowry, didn't they?" The words, spoken softly yet with unerring accuracy, took him aback, leaving him momentarily disarmed by the acuteness of her insight. Was that why she had been staring at him throughout the wedding?

"That's not your concern." The retort was automatic, reflexive.

"It is my concern," she fired back, chin tilting defiantly. "It's everyone's concern. Dowry is an outdated, unjust practice and you know it."

"I was supporting the bride's family," Murtasim said defensively. "I offered to pay the remaining dowry to save their face."

"Save face?" The words left Meerab's mouth edged with incredulity, her eyes, those deep, expressive orbs, flashing with a fiery indignation that seemed to illuminate the space around her. "By supporting such a reprehensible demand, you're endorsing it!" Her voice, usually soft, rose with her temper, the timbre echoing faintly off the walls.

With a grace that bespoke of his status, Murtasim pushed himself up to a standing position, his towering frame casting a long, daunting shadow in the dimly-lit room. "I'm endorsing stability and peace during a moment that should be joyous," he replied, voice steady yet threaded with an undercurrent of iron.

"And perpetuating a cycle of greed and oppression," Meerab retorted sharply, putting the goat down gently before standing up tall herself, her eyes locked steadfastly with his. Her voice, though sharp, vibrated with a conviction that reverberated through the room. "How can a marriage built on extortion and coercion be joyous?"

"It's the way things are done here." Murtasim's voice, though low, bore an unmistakable finality, a subtle warning underlying the seemingly casual words.

He couldn't help but realize, in the silent recesses of his mind, that this was why she couldn't be a Khaani. Meerab, with her enlightened views and progressive outlook, wouldn't comprehend the intricacies and silent compromises embedded within the fabric of the life here, within the walls of tradition and obligation that structured his existence. She wouldn't, couldn't understand that the people here, under these age-old roofs and within these timeworn walls, were unlike her, bound and molded by different expectations and silent promises.

"Well, maybe it's time for change." Meerab's counter was immediate, her stance defiant as she took a step forward, subtly closing the distance between them.

"Change doesn't happen overnight, Meerab." Murtasim mirrored her movement unconsciously, the space between them shrinking incrementally, charged with the intensity of their exchange.

"It never will with that attitude." Her eyes, brimming with the light of challenge, never left his, holding his gaze with a magnetic pull.

In the midst of their heated exchange, Murtasimbakri, perhaps sensing the escalating tension, made a soft 'baah' sound, inserting herself physically between the two sparring humans. The goat nuzzled against Murtasim's leg first, then Meerab's, its actions seemingly pleading for a return to calm, an end to the verbal battle unfolding above her head. However, Meerab and Murtasim paid no heed to the creature, their attention wholly consumed by the other.

"And what was I supposed to do?" Murtasim suddenly spat out, his tone laced with exasperation and his face tightening with the stress of the words he expelled. "The wedding would have stopped, the family disgraced. No one would have married the girl afterward!"

Meerab, steadfast and unyielding, stepped towards him, her lips forming a thin, determined line. "So you would sacrifice her happiness and dignity to save face? To adhere to these toxic norms?"

"If I hadn't stepped in, her life would have been ruined!" His voice, though strong, carried an undertone of quiet desperation, and he was close now, close enough that the breath of their heated words filled the space between them.

"And instead, you've encouraged the groom's family and all the other families in the village to believe that their greed is justified! That it's acceptable to make such demands! They'll continue to make those demands because they know YOU will give in." The force of Meerab's conviction caused her voice to shake, and in her fire, she moved closer still, until the air between them was charged with the proximity of their bodies as well as their words.

"Sometimes, Meerab, you have to pick the lesser of two evils for the greater good," he retorted, voice dropping to a solemn, quiet intensity. He could feel her breath, warm and hurried against his skin, mingling with the subtle fragrance of her presence – of vanilla, roses, and something new, something minty. It was intoxicating.

As Murtasim took in a deep breath, he realized the proximity between them was dangerous, electrically charged with the undercurrent of something tender yet potent. With an involuntary, almost reflexive response to the thrumming energy, his eyes flickered down to her lips, a brief descent but long enough to acknowledge their allure.

He attempted to step back, create a buffer of space, a breath of air to cool the heated atmosphere. Yet as he moved, Meerab's hand shot up, gripping his kurta's collar with a surprising firmness. Her action forced him to halt, to look back into her eyes, and they were ablaze, flickering with an inner fire that mirrored the passion of her words and conviction.

It was in that moment, under the scrutinizing gaze of her fiery eyes, that he was struck by the sheer ethereal beauty before him. Meerab was radiant, her spirit and resilience casting a glow that seemed to light her from within, rendering her visage into something mesmerizing, hauntingly beautiful.

She hadn't been angry with him in what felt like forever, and he had almost forgotten how entrancing she was in her anger.

"Your 'greater good' only perpetuates a system of oppression," she whispered fiercely, she was much too close. "When will someone take a stand? When will someone say enough is enough?"

"Your idealism is naive," he murmured back, his voice heavy with weariness. His gaze, dark and unfathomable, locked onto hers, and in that moment, the space between them was nonexistent.

"And your cynicism is suffocating," Meerab shot back, her eyes alight with the undying fire of conviction, the flame of belief that refused to be extinguished. "We can't keep bending to unjust demands. When does it stop, Murtasim?"

"When reality catches up with your dreams," he responded, voice low and intimate in the charged silence enveloping them. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the whisper of her breath against his skin.

"Or when your reality finally shifts to accommodate justice, fairness, and equity," she whispered back, so close now that her words were more felt than heard, echoing in the cavernous space of his chest. He was acutely aware that with another step, another breath, they would be pressed up together, and a simple tilt of his head would bring their lips crashing together in a storm as tempestuous and fiery as the words they had just exchanged.

He should have moved away, but he didn't, his voice a whisper likely grazing against the softness of her lips, brushing them with his breath, as he spoke. "If the wedding didn't happen, Meerab," he whispered, each syllable soaked in a silent intensity, "would you promise to get her married to someone who wouldn't ask for a dowry? Who would marry her despite knowing she claimed to love the man that left her at the altar? Who wouldn't question her relation with the man whose name was printed along with hers in those invites? No one in this village or the next ten over would. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack."

The air around them was tense. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her response. But she didn't answer at first, her eyes searching his, as if trying to read the depth of the question he laid before her.

"I would try," she finally whispered, breaking the silence with a voice so soft it could've been the rustle of the wind, yet carrying a weight, a promise, and a myriad of hopes within those three words.

Murtasim shook his head, a motion barely there, a shadow of disbelief crossing the chiseled lines of his face. "You know that wouldn't work, Meerab. That's why you waited until now to say something, I know you, you would have spoken up then if you thought it would work out."

"I know," she admitted, her voice laced with a sadness, an understanding of the harsh truths they were skirting around. "I know those people won't agree with me. I just want YOU to admit that it was wrong." Her whisper was almost pleading, the words curling between them, a fragile hope tethered to the syllables she uttered.

"Why?" He whispered back, eyes flickering between hers, searching, questioning, a silent inquiry hanging in the space that seemed to shrink with each passing second.

Silence unfolded around them once more, her eyes never leaving his, holding a plea, an unspoken request that he couldn't quite decipher. Time seemed to stretch and compress, bending around their silent exchange until she sighed, a soft exhalation of breath, and his eyes dropped to her lips again. Her lips, perfect and tantalizingly close, were pulling him in without even uttering a word, drawing his focus, ensnaring him completely.

"Why?" He asked again, his voice a gentle murmur, an attempt to anchor himself, to distract from the magnetic pull of her lips, from the desire to close the distance that whispered through his veins.

"I don't know," she finally said, her voice a breath, her eyes rising to meet his, holding his gaze with a quiet intensity. "I just do."

In that delicate moment, teetering on the brink of something undefined and electrifying, Murtasimbakri nudged between them, breaking the spell, dispelling the tension with her innocent presence. Meerab bent down to pick up the goat, cradling the small creature in her arms, and with one last glance at Murtasim, she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there with the echoes of their conversation.

And as she walked away, Murtasim couldn't help but feel a twinge of something unnamable, a sensation both bitter and sweet, twisting within the confines of his chest.

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

The waning light of the summer afternoon cast a warm glow over the courtyard, bathing it in golden hues as the day started its gentle descent into evening. Murtasim found himself inadvertently suspended in the silent ballet of shadows and sunlight, unintentionally eavesdropping on Meerab who was engaged in a phone conversation. Though he had been consciously avoiding her, there was a passive but persistent part of him that couldn't stop listening, couldn't stop absorbing the lilt and fall of her voice.

Days had rolled into weeks since their heated conversation in his room, marking the gradual farewell of summer with subtle shifts in the air, a certain coolness to the breeze that whispered promises of the season to come. Meerab seemed to have flourished in the transient beauty, appearing better, more grounded, as if the village had indeed cast its serene spell over her restless spirit. He was glad that he had resisted when his mother called for their return to Hyderabad. Murtasim had quietly suggested an extended stay for Meerab and Maryam in the village, under the pretext of them being out of her hair.

He should have done the exact opposite though, he should have sent Meerab back because he was trying desperately to distance himself from the magnetic pull of her presence. Because of his decision to not send them back, he had signed up for another full-time job. For avoiding Meerab, he found, was not merely a fleeting impulse but a strenuous, full-time endeavor that demanded his constant vigilance.

Areeb, with an uncanny perceptiveness that Murtasim found irksomely inconvenient at times, seemed to weave a subtle dance of sabotage to his plans to avoid Meerab. With an air of nonchalance, he led them through spaces, down corridors, across rooms where Meerab happened to be — as if orchestrating these incidental crossings, claiming, with a smirk playing upon his lips, that Murtasim was "less snappy" post seeing her.

In that moment, yet again, as if drawn by the strings of fate, or perhaps Areeb's subtle machinations, Murtasim found himself in the courtyard. Meerab was pacing with a restless energy that mirrored the nervous flutter in his chest, her voice a melody of desperation and pleading that tugged at something within him. Her goat, Murtasimbakri, trailed behind her with an endearing earnestness, occasionally reaching out to nibble at the fluttering end of her dupatta.

"Mama, please, she's so cute, and well-behaved!" Meerab's voice, tinted with whining, reverberated through the open space, wrapping around him with an invisible tether. Her feet halted their dance of anxiety as she paused to listen to the voice on the other end, the silent receiver of her pleas.

"But Mamaaaaa, please, Murtasimbakri will be sad and alone here," she continued after a beat, her voice a symphony of exasperation and pleading.

Another sigh escaped her, a breath of resignation, followed by a snap of defiance. "He's okay with it! He got me the goat, so I named her after him!" Her voice rose, a spark of frustration igniting the words.

Unseen to her, Murtasim rolled his eyes. He wasn't okay with it, not in the slightest, but then again, many things seemed out of his control when it came to Meerab.

"Mama, pleaseeeee," the whine in her voice elongated the plea, drawing it out into a thread of desperation.

The conversation seemed to reach its crescendo and then fall into a silent abyss as she ended the call, her scream of frustration slicing through the tension of the late afternoon, startling the air itself into a shocked stillness. The echo reverberated around them before dissipating into nothingness, leaving behind a residue of her palpable frustration.

Then she turned, and her eyes, wide and surprised, found his, freezing her in place like a deer caught in the headlights.

"How much of that did you hear?" Meerab inquired, her tone slightly guarded, her eyes searching his face for hints of his reactions.

"Just a bit before your lie," Murtasim retorted, words finding passage after an immeasurable chasm of silence that spanned five days and twenty-one hours — but who was counting?

"They said I can't bring her back," she sighed, a hint of defeat lacing the exhalation of breath, casting a shadow over the glow of her visage.

Acknowledging the inevitability of it, Murtasim nodded. "Houses in Karachi are not good for goats," he remarked dryly, stating the obvious, while his gaze inadvertently registered the changes in her. The pout forming on her lips mirrored her disappointment but to him, it was oddly endearing. Her hair, usually a cascade of unruly waves, was partially tamed today, with front and side strands meticulously twisted away from her face, revealing the expanse of her expressive eyes. Had they always been that large, that luminous?

"Can she stay here?" Meerab's voice, tinged with a subtle plea, pulled him back from the precipice of his observations, her eyes reflecting the hope flickering in her heart.

With a nod that seemed automatic, he conceded. There was something inherently captivating about her voice when it took on that pleading, whining quality, something that inexplicably tugged at the fibers of his resolve.

"Can you make sure someone takes her to see her siblings and mother periodically?" She probed further.

He nodded.

Her smile lit up her face in response to his silent acquiescence, adding another layer to her allure. Had she always been this magnetic?

"I'll ask Areeb to video call me - "

"I'll do it," Murtasim grumbled, interrupting her, before he could think better of it, his voice gruff, textured with a resolve he didn't know he possessed. There was no way he was allowing Areeb access to her number, not on his watch.

"You'll be busy," Meerab pointed out, practical as ever, her eyes bearing into his with an unspoken understanding.

"It's not a big deal - just don't talk a lot," he muttered almost beneath his breath.

His mind, a battleground of conflicting emotions and thoughts, buzzed with a silent cacophony. 'I thought you just found her attractive, what are you doing right now?' whispered a voice, rational, questioning, echoing his internal turmoil. Yet, another voice, softer, more insistent, murmured in response, 'This is all normal, we're just looking after our cousin's pet while she's away...and giving her updates. It's not like she's suddenly not who she is, we know it won't work out, ever.'

Once she left, the geographic distance would surely dismantle the intangible bridge of attraction that seemed to have stealthily constructed itself between them. It would crumble, fall away into the abyss of routine and distance. So, sending a picture occasionally was harmless. Engaging in sporadic phone conversations was inconsequential.

It was no big deal.

Once the proximity - the catalyst of this unnamed, unacknowledged attraction was eliminated - normalcy would resume its throne, reigning over the silent corridors and sunlit courtyards with the benign indifference that characterized their lives before her arrival that summer.

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A/N: Soooooo, what do you think? This is the last time we'll see them at the ages of 20 and 23, the next chapter will be the next summer. What do you think will happen in between? And how will they act when they see each other the next summer?