Hunaid was like an invasive weed-unwanted, relentless, and everywhere.

In the past few days, that snake had slithered into her life and completely messed it up.

She had already fought off two groups of bandits to protect him, throwing her life into the fire. And what did he do in return? Nothing. He thought she was suicidal; she knew she was. But she definitely didn't want to die for him. If she ever went down, it should be for something grand, like saving an entire village or taking down a terrorist group, not for a brat who couldn't stop stuffing his face with food or crying for his mutton kabab.

She glanced at his arms, which were somehow bulky, like he spent every waking hour lifting boulders or something. It was almost... suspicious.

She sighed, her forehead resting against the cool window, staring at him like he was the world's most annoying piece of furniture. He had his head on her shoulder, snoring like a man who had just won the lottery and was dreaming about it. His mouth slightly open, and contented look on his face.

She couldn't sleep. She couldn't move. She couldn't even breathe without inhaling his ridiculously masculine scent.

He was so annoying.

She hated him so much that just looking at him felt like running a marathon without any water. Her chest tightened, and her heart was on an express elevator to panic town. She could feel the heat of his body through the sleeve of her shirt, and it made her blood boil. Why did this always happen? She'd be perfectly calm, all zen, like a meditating monk, and then Hunaid would do something so innocent, like breathing, and it would send her into a spiral of confusion and irritation.

She shifted, pulling her hand away from his arm like it had been dipped in lava. But he didn't notice. He just kept snoring, oblivious to the emotional storm raging inside her.

Enemy, she reminded herself. A pest. A thorn in my side. He was like the emotional equivalent of a paper cut-small but annoyingly persistent.

Suddenly, the bus jerked to a halt, throwing her forward, and without thinking, she reached out to steady herself. But no, of course, Hunaid, still in his deep sleep, lurched too, his head flying forward like a missile aimed directly at the hard headboard.

She gasped, her reflexes kicking in, and she quickly shoved her hand against his forehead to guide him back, like some ridiculous hero saving a sleeping giant from certain doom. His skin was warm under her hand, and it felt like she had just touched a heated iron. She couldn't let him slam into the seat-he was her enemy, but even enemies didn't deserve a concussion.

His head settled back on her shoulder, and now he was practically snuggling into her neck. He was like a giant, sweaty, male koala. No! You don't protect the enemy! But her body was clearly not on the same page. It was like when you tell yourself you won't eat that last piece of cake, but your hand is already reaching for it before you can stop.

Enemy, she thought again, this time with more force. Stay strong.

But the way his body relaxed against hers, the way his breath warmed her neck, made her feel like she was the one losing a fight she hadn't even agreed to.

He never kissed her. Never groped her. But there was this... look. This look that he gave her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. It was like a slow burn of desire that had nothing to do with any of the gross, creepy ways men looked at women. No, his was different-like he was silently daring her to notice him. And she always did.

It made her want to scream and throw things. But mostly, it made her want to kiss him.

Dangerous. Dangerous. She repeated in her mind like a broken record.

So, for a moment, she let herself enjoy the strange, confusing weight of his head on her shoulder. She hummed to herself to distract herself.

"Put your head on my shoulders... wrap me in your arms, baby".

What the hell! He was no baby.

She quickly shook her head, as though trying to physically shake off the mental image of Hunaid in a love song fantasy. The very thought of him wrapped in her arms made her want to cringe and laugh all at once.

But there he was, head still nestled against her shoulder, and for some ridiculous reason, it felt almost... comforting. She cursed under her breath. Stop it. He's your enemy. You don't cuddle with the enemy.

But then again, when had anything about Hunaid been normal?

How was it even possible for someone to make her so angry and so... flustered at the same time?

He shifted slightly, his face turning so that it brushed her skin, and she felt a burst of heat shoot up her spine. She could hear him mumbling something in his sleep, words indistinguishable, but the softness of his voice caught her off guard. It was like a gentle whisper that tugged at something deep inside her.

No. No, no, no. She was not going down this path. She couldn't.

And then, reality hit her like a ton of bricks. She shoved his head off her shoulder, and his face collided with the seat.

"Ouch!" he groaned, rubbing his forehead like a cartoon character who had just hit a wall.

She froze, her heart pounding as she glanced down at him. Hunaid slowly opened his eyes, squinting up at her as if trying to piece together where he was. His hair was all messed up, sticking up in all directions, and his gaze was hazy, as if he had just been woken from a deep, complicated dream.

He looked... kind of cute. Ugh, no. That wasn't the point.

"Did you just push me off your shoulder?" he asked in a sleepy, slightly offended tone, rubbing his forehead with a frown. "You could've at least given me a warning."

Her jaw tightened. "I didn't push you." She crossed her arms, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You just... fell."

His eyes narrowed, as though he could see right through her act. "Uh-huh. Sure, sure. I'll believe that."

He sat up fully, finally looking more awake, his messy hair giving him a ridiculous, but strangely endearing, look. She tried to suppress the giggle that bubbled up from within.

Hunaid caught her eye. "Don't even," he warned, lifting a hand as if to stop her. "I know what you're thinking."

Her lips twitched, but she bit them to keep the laughter in check.

A giggle bubbled up in her chest before she could stop it, and she quickly slapped her hand over her mouth, hoping he hadn't heard.

Hunaid blinked up at her, disoriented.

And just like that, she had a moment of weakness-again. Because no matter how much she hated him, his innocent little puppy dog expression made her feel like she was the one in the wrong.

But no. Enemy.

He placed his head on the headboard, and Meerab acted like she was looking outside when she was looking at him through the tinted window. Her heart fluttered as his eyes met hers through the glass.

When he looked at her, it was like tasting honey again-rich, overwhelming, intoxicating. It clung to her senses, drowning her in sweetness so potent it felt like a trap she willingly walked into. The Sidr honey her father used to bring back from his trips had been exquisite, but Hunaid's eyes? They were a poison of temptation, dark brown with fleeting specks of amber that shimmered like stolen sunlight. They seeped into her very soul, awakening a hunger she couldn't name, a longing she couldn't tame.

Her hand drifted to her stomach unconsciously, her mind betraying her with images she could hardly control-children with his eyes, with that same unruly hair, and a smile that could undo her. A flush of warmth spread through her. Was she in heat? Ovulating, perhaps? Her body felt traitorous, almost primal, as though her very core was aching, salivating at the thought of carrying a piece of him within her.

She bit her lip, shaking her head. What madness was this?

"Bhook lagi hai kya tumhe?" Murtasim asked softly, his voice husky as he looked at her innocently with sleepy eyes.

She was hungry... but ...not for food. She swallowed hard, feeling her cheeks heat as Murtasim's question hung in the air, innocent and yet so maddeningly intimate in her current state of mind. His sleepy eyes, softened by the warmth of the evening, held none of the storm she felt raging within her.

"Haan... lag rahi hai," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper, unsure if she was answering him or confessing to the ache in her soul.

Murtasim stretched, his tousled hair falling messily over his forehead. "Toh chalo, kuch khate hain," he said casually, unaware of the chaos in her chest. His hand brushed against hers as he rose, and it felt like a spark shot straight through her.

She blinked, startled by her own reaction. Was she truly losing her mind? Her gaze followed him as he moved toward the door, his stride confident yet unhurried. How could he be so oblivious to what he was doing to her?

"Tumhe kya khane ka mann hai?" he asked, turning back with a slight smirk as though he had read her thoughts. The teasing edge in his voice made her stomach tighten.

She wanted to kiss him, cuddle him...

She crossed her arms, attempting to steady herself. "Tum." she muttered under her breath before she could stop herself.

"Kya?"

Unfortunately for him and fortunately for her he missed it.

She needed to cure this... sudden horniness.

"Nothing."

She closed her eyes, biting her lip, to stop the wanton thoughts.

There was a slight blush on her cheek, "Meerab, are you sick?" He asked, placing his hand on her forehead. She shivered involuntary.

His touch was warm, and yet it sent a chill down her spine. Meerab's breath hitched as Murtasim's fingers lingered against her skin, his concern etched across his face.

"Thoda garam lag rahi ho," he said softly, his brows furrowing as he studied her. His proximity, the way his scent enveloped her-it was too much.

"I'm fine," she managed to say, stepping back quickly, her pulse racing. She couldn't let him see how undone she was, how his smallest actions were unraveling her completely. "Bas... thodi thakan hai."

Murtasim's eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. "Thakan?" he repeated, crossing his arms and leaning closer. "Lagta toh nahi hai."

Her heart skipped. Did he know? Could he feel the turmoil she was in?

"Zyada socho mat," she shot back, trying to sound casual, but her voice betrayed her. "Mujhe bas akela chhod do."

"Akela chhod doon?" he repeated, tilting his head, his smirk returning. "Ajeeb insaan ho. Tum khud boli ke tumhe bhook lagi hai, aur ab..."

"Shut up, Hunaid!" she barked, but it only made him laugh-a sound that sent shivers through her, maddening and addictive all at once.

"Chalo," he said finally, his tone softer. "Kuch kha lo, phir argue kar lena."

She exhaled sharply, following him reluctantly, her mind still clouded by his touch, his words, and the anger awakened within her.

They entered a luxury restaurant- maybe he was going to use the money he stole from the gang. The hotel had a separate section, the seats were too close to each other, they were for a couple, Meerab stood at one end, if she sat on it, it would be her basically sitting on him, her arms and legs would touch his constantly and how sensitive her body was currently it would be a torture.

She called the waiter, "Suney ek aur chair laadey".

Murtasim looked at her disapprovingly, "Mere baazu nahi baith sakti?"

She shook her head, her hair bouncing as she did so, "Nahi."

"Kyun?"

She inhaled getting the willpower to deny this sinfully delicious man, "Kyuki..." she gulped her eyes going to his kashmiri pink lips...she turned to the door, "Mai nahi chahti tumhe ya kisi aur ko koi galatfehmi ho, tumhare zakham par patti jo ki aur tumpar taras khaakar apne baazu par sar rakhne diya kahi ye na socho ke mai koi signal derahi hu."

He chuckled closing his eyes, as the waiter brought the chair, he glared at the chair as if it was his greatest enemy.

Meerab slumped onto the sofa, her body sinking into its softness as her mind spiraled into a world of unwelcome thoughts. Her gaze wandered toward Murtasim, who stood across the room, casually reading the menu. His buff arms flexed subtly, the veins prominent as they disappeared into his sleeves. The polo shirt he wore clung to his muscles like a second skin, every contour accentuated, every movement commanding her attention.

Her eyes trailed to his face, where his shimmering, dark eyes carried a certain kind of depth-calm yet devastating. They caught the light just right, a reflection of something she couldn't name but couldn't look away from. And his pointy mustache? God help her, it shouldn't have been attractive, but it was. It framed his lips with an authority that sent her mind into dangerous territories.

She bit her lip, her thoughts slipping audaciously out of her control. What would it feel like to trace the sharp line of his jaw with her fingertips? Or run her hands over those strong, broad shoulders she had no business admiring?

She shook her head, willing herself to focus on something else, anything else. But her stomach churned-an unfamiliar mixture of longing and irritation. She was hungry again, but not for the food he'd suggested earlier. Her uterus seemed to scream at her, a biological betrayal she wasn't ready to face.

He turned his head toward her suddenly, catching her mid-stare. Her eyes widened as she tried to compose herself, heat flooding her cheeks.

"Meerab tum mujhe kis tarah ka aadmi samajhti ho? Zaalim? Do you think I am a bloody r@pist?"

She sighed... "You are a politician... I don't know your truth. The image you built can't be the truth... who knows, you could be faking everything."

"So you think Murtasim Khan is any better? I work for him. He is my boss, he could be worse than me..."

It felt as though someone had told a little kid Santa wasn't real-that sinking, gut-wrenching kind of disappointment.

Because for her, Murtasim Khan wasn't just a man. He was her savior. He was the one she dreamed of every day, the one whose image she clung to in the darkest moments of her life. The thought of him, the hope of him, had kept her alive when everything else seemed impossible.

Meerab inhaled sharply, steadying herself. "Mujhe farq nahi padta Murtasim Khan kaisa hai aur kon hai. I will happily spend my life as his fiance as long he is alive," she replied, her tone clipped but her gaze faltering under his scrutiny.

"Alive..." he asked, leaning forward slightly, his voice almost a whisper.

His expression shifted, a quiet pain settling behind his eyes. A flash of guilt, regret, and something else she couldn't quite place. Then, he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "You are so stupid..." His words stung, but not the way they should have. It wasn't anger or disdain she heard, but something softer-something filled with hurt.

"You-" He stopped himself, shaking his head as though he couldn't quite process his own thoughts. "Have no idea who the fuck he is... then why did you wait for him?" His voice cracked slightly, and it felt as though the ground beneath her feet had shifted.

"Because I had no one else except him. I have waited for him my entire life..."

He was an asshole...

His heart was beating too loudly as he heard her words. Something inside him broke, this woman had waited for him her entire life and he was using her.

He was breaking her heart.

He could barely breathe, her gaze piercing through the walls he'd spent years building around himself. She had believed in him.

He wasn't the man she thought he was, and it broke him to his core. He leaned back, a bitter laugh almost escaping his lips, but it never came. Instead, he looked at her-not with the detachment he usually wore, but with something else. Something raw, almost reverent.

In her, he saw more strength than he had ever imagined. More courage than he'd ever known he could respect.

He wasn't the man she wanted him to be. He wasn't worthy of her. And it was the first time he felt small, not because of the power he lacked, but because of the weight of the person sitting across from him, someone who deserved so much more.

Murtasim Khan for the first time felt insignificant in someone's presence.

___