A/N: In an ideal world, the rising action of the Rohail/Karachi track should have culminated in a climax in that rooftop scene, where to any storyteller, the logical next step was a confrontation that brought to light Meerab's turmoil after her prolonged silence,  and highlighted the fragile nature of Meerab x Murtasim's relationship - after which they would either crumble or learn to love. It didn't happen in the show, and I couldn't stop myself from writing it here! Please note that this story IS NOT related to the "Mohabbat Nahi, Ishq" universe, but is a different take on Tere Bin.

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The aroma of the food she had lovingly prepared filled the air, the dishes sitting untouched on the dining table behind them. Murtasim's grip on her hand was firm as he pulled her up the stairs, his urgency palpable. But Meerab had reached her breaking point. She couldn't bear his assumptions and insinuations any longer, the accusations that she had something going on with Rohail. Pushing him away, her frustration spilled over, fueled by a mix of emotions and confusion that had been building up over the past few months.

His eyes blazed with anger, and in that moment, he resembled the man she had never wanted to marry, the Murtasim Khan who embodied control and possessiveness. The one she didn't understand because her life had been so different from his, even when her baba tried to explain to her that his life centered around respect and honour, implying that his possessive reaction was warranted, that him controlling his anger meant that she meant more to him that his life and respect, she didn't quite understand how to reconcile the Murtasim Khan with Murtasim.

To her they differed, the Murtasim she was slowly falling for, the one who looked at her like she held the universe within her, who cared for her with unwavering devotion, the one who shielded her from the world's harshness was not the same as the Murtasim Khan. Because her heart didn't recognize him when his softer side gave way to a man who doubted her, and who refused to listen.

Her own anger flared, the culmination of months of conflicting emotions and her bewildering connection to the man standing before her, her husband. She oscillated between convincing herself that she shouldn't care for him and spending entire days cooking for him because she despised the idea of him being angry with her. His anger physically hurt her, and made her feel like it was something that she needed to urgently fix. It was a maddening paradox that left her constantly wrestling with her feelings.

Remembering the sight of tears that had welled up in his eyes had only intensified her inner turmoil. She hated that she was the cause of his pain, his pain pierced her heart like a thousand needles. The memory of that fateful moment when she thought he had taken his own life, the brief gap between the gunshot and the relief of feeling his breath against her skin as she cradled his face, haunted her like an eternity compressed into a few seconds. Her feet had moved by themselves, his name had left her mouth in screams, and her whole world had felt like it had stilled when she saw his hand hanging limp at his side, a gun in hand.

The only thing that had gone in her mind in that moment was no, not him, not Murtasim. But when he had spoken, the tears that had filled her eyes were no longer just for the thought of him dying, but the words he had uttered. Did you think of Rohail dying? He had thought the worst of her even in that moment as her heart raced and her whole being screamed for his wellbeing.

They all believed it. They all believed the worst of her, the father that had abandoned her at birth, the parents who had raised her as their own for years before abandoning her, and the man that was her husband too believed that the reason she had come to Karachi was because she wanted to see a man she hadn't even thought of meeting. They all believed that Rohail was something more than a friend, that she had no right to see anyone outside of those they approved of.

Murtasim Khan would have left her behind with the people that hadn't wanted her, abandoning her again, but a part of her knew that Murtasim, the man that had dragged her through his house and fought for her would come back for her.

A part of her had begged for her to follow him, to skip that step, fighting with the part that felt wronged and told her that she had no need to explain herself to him, that she had done nothing wrong. The part that begged to follow him won, she had run after him and had told him that she didn't come to Karachi to meet Rohail, but he hadn't believed her, she had seen it in his eyes then, and she could see it right then too.

He had refused to listen to her, not on their way back, not upon their return. He had avoided her, refusing to give her a chance to even explain herself, disappearing before she awoke, and returning after she fell asleep. It bothered her, for everyone else seemed to be asking the questions she only wanted to hear from him, the ones she would only answer if he asked.

She had thought that making his favourite dishes for dinner, and talking to him over dinner was the way to fix it. For that's what he had done once and it had filled her heart with warmth. So, she had slaved away all day, just for an opportunity to speak with him, but her efforts were met with Murtasim Khan again, rather than Murtasim, his eyes and words cold, let it be the way it has been.

It was in that moment that she felt the very fragile bond between them begin to slip away completely. A part of her recognized that something needed to change, that they couldn't continue down this path of mistrust and misunderstandings. She had tried to tell him again, that she hadn't gone to Karachi for Rohail, but for Saba, that he made her sit in his car forcefully and took her to his flat. He told her the same thing when it came to Haya, that she sat in his car forcefully, that she took the gajre he had bought for her.

But all of a sudden that didn't seem like enough because he had pulled her up the stairs with an anger that pissed her off. Frustration mingled within her, pushing her to the edge. She couldn't hold back any longer. The floodgates of suppressed emotions burst open, and she found herself screaming and yelling, a cathartic release she had long abandoned in their turbulent journey.

She yanked her hand out of his grasp as they reached the terrace, her frustration boiling over as she pushed him away, her eyes fixed on his as they stood under the night sky. The intensity in her voice matched the thunderous storm brewing inside her. "Listen to me, Murtasim Khan! You're so used to talking at people rather than with them—SO STAND THERE AND LISTEN until I'm done!" Each word sliced through the air like lightning, charged with emotion.

To her surprise, he didn't retaliate with anger. Instead, a hint of bewilderment flickered in his eyes, and she seized the opportunity to continue, needing him to understand, to believe her. "You won't believe me when it comes to Rohail, but I'm expected to believe you about Haya? Tell me, how is it different, Murtasim?"

His voice came out quiet, almost muted. "She's my cousin..."

"And that makes it worse!" Her voice crackled with frustration. "I made a mistake by trusting Rohail, following him because he was a friend. I left home saying I was going to Saba's, and you spoke to Saba yourself, knowing I was on my way. So why would I willingly go with Rohail?"

He remained silent, and her agitation grew.

"You found me in his house. You claim he confessed his love for me, and I said nothing. Were you there the entire time? How can you just assume that I didn't speak up before? I told him that YOU were my husband, that I needed to leave. I didn't say a thing when you were there because I was shocked and scared. But look at that—and then look at you." Her finger jabbed his chest over the black turtleneck and blazer he wore.

Her voice burned with anger at the hypocrisy. "Haya obsesses over you every single day. Not a day goes by when she doesn't express her love for you. Not a week has passed without her attempting to sabotage me in some way. I've walked in on her touching you or you touching her more times than I can count. I've caught her in our room, sitting on the bed. You claim she's your cousin, but if she makes your wife uncomfortable, don't you think something needs to change? She waltzes in there with things for you as if she has a right, she holds up a spoon to feed you without a second thought, and you lean in, seeing nothing wrong with it until I show up!" She yelled, letting out every little thing that had bothered her, things she had refused to admit to him when he asked her if she was jealous.

"You said it didn't bother you." He interjected, his voice tinged with defensiveness, she hated that he chose to focus on that instead of everything. But she didn't expect anything better of Murtasim Khan, from Murtasim, yes, but not from the angry man that stood in front of her.

Meerab's eyes flickered between his, searching for understanding, searching for the man who held her hand and told her he wouldn't be able to live without her, the one who said she was important to him, the man she had started to trust and rely on, the one that disappeared completely at times.

Her voice lowered as she spoke. "Don't pretend that you don't know how much it bothers me, that you don't revel in my jealousy, Murtasim. Don't act like I haven't questioned how I'm supposed to take steps towards you when you keep proving me wrong..." Her voice trailed off, a mix of frustration, hurt, and a desperate plea for him to see things from her perspective.

She hated that she was crying, tears flowing down her face, she hadn't wanted to cry, not then.

"I always tell her to leave me alone." His voice trembled with frustration.

"AND SHE KEEPS COMING BACK BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT FIRM ENOUGH. Because you enjoy using her to make me jealous. You and your mother both know that Haya is obsessed with you, yet you both thought it was a good idea for her to go to the village with you alone without even telling me? And you thought it was okay to have her in your room alone, wearing my clothes, while you stood so close to her? What if you found me like that, Murtasim? You would have killed me and you would have killed Rohail. Even if he too told you nothing had happened, like you made her tell me." Her words poured out, fueled by a mix of anger and hurt, one that had filled her when she had gone down to see him, as if she had a right to him. "You wouldn't have believed him."

Murtasim's jaw clenched tightly, anger flashing in his eyes. Meerab knew she had struck a nerve.

"She tries to hurt me. She got me kicked out of this house. She didn't let me see you, instigated your mother against me, and lied to you. You remember that, don't you? I almost left, and I would have if Maryam hadn't said something to you. But nothing came out of it, just a slap on the hand that means nothing to her, that won't stop her from trying again. All of your anger, your mother's anger, your uncle's anger, all your words and actions are just meant for me, aren't they? Haya can do no wrong because she was raised in this house. But since I was raised differently, I must be characterless just because I talk to a man, but her doing all the things she does doesn't matter at all." She continued, her voice filled with bitterness and resentment.

He remained silent, his inability to respond adding to her torment.

"Why didn't you just marry her? It could have been so easy because she claims to love you, you would have been obedient - your mother loves her. And you believe her every word, even when she lies and when she does something wrong. You all just ignore it. But I...I can't even breathe in this house without being judged, without someone pointing a finger at my character. Why?" Tears streamed down her face, her suppressed emotions finally breaking free, the thoughts that had lingered under the surface for months leaving her.

"And yet when you say that she means nothing to you, I'm supposed to believe it? Tell me how? You can hit and threaten to kill Rohail, but I can't say a word against Haya. So, tell me, Murtasim, why should I believe you despite all of that? When you can't believe me when I say that I didn't go there to see Rohail, that he dragged me into his car and took me to his house? How come you can say you bought gajre for me and that Haya took them? Or that she got in the car with you without you wanting her to be there? But when I say something similar happened to me, I must be lying?" Her voice wavered with a mix of sorrow and frustration.

He still remained silent, his eyes still devoid of warmth.

"You said that you love me..." Meerab muttered, her voice filled disbelief at how easily he had said the words, as if they meant nothing.

"I do." He finally responded.

She shook her head, her eyes brimming with tears. "You don't. How can someone who claims to love be so untrusting? Trust is the foundation of love, it demands belief at every step, it seeks respect...and you don't trust me. Every time...every single time I start to trust you, something proves me wrong or reminds me of how I got here in the first place. So, tell me, how can you love me, and how can you expect me to love you when we don't even trust each other? We don't even know how to talk properly. And that's not the kind of love I want." Her words trembled with a mix of vulnerability and conviction.

His face softened, the coldness in his eyes melting away, showing her a glimpse of the man that she wanted to trust when told her that he loved her. "You think I don't love you? I..." He started.

"You don't. You care for me, you might like me, maybe a part of you even respects me, but love..." Her voice trailed off, her gaze searching his eyes for a sign of understanding.

Meerab couldn't bring herself to believe that he truly loved her. Love wasn't that easy, it required effort, patience, and most importantly, trust. In the moments of doubt and turmoil they faced, Meerab had yearned for Murtasim's trust, and she had found it sometimes in the moments where he stood up for her. Yet, time and again, Murtasim's mistrust and quick judgments, or reminders of all she had lost to end up where she was, eroded the trust that she had started developing for him.

She had witnessed his anger at her, and his ignoring Haya's misbehaviours, even in the face of overwhelming evidence that should have rung alarms. It was as if Haya held a special place in his heart, immune to scrutiny, while Meerab was subjected to constant judgment and skepticism. How could she believe in his love when he doubted her every word, refusing to see the truth in her eyes?

Love, in Meerab's eyes, was patient. It allowed for open communication, understanding, and a willingness to listen. Meerab yearned for a love that would heal wounds, that would bridge the gap between their differences and forge a bond stronger than any external force.

She longed for a love that would fight for her, and she acknowledged that he did that. He stood up for her countless times, and the walls around her heart melted each time.

But she also wished that he would choose her unconditionally, even in the face of doubt and misunderstanding, he didn't, she was his wife, his to protect in his eyes, but his feelings for her weren't unconditional.

And most of all, she wanted someone who would never abandon her like those in her life had, when he said he wouldn't leave her, she wanted to believe it so badly. But a part of her knew that given the wrong mix of circumstances and the involvement of his mother and Haya, he would let her go.

In the absence of those qualities, she found it difficult to believe that Murtasim's feelings ran as deep as he suspected they did. Or if they did, then their idea of love was vastly different.

"Oh, and you trust me? You love me?" Murtasim challenged, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of desperation.

Meerab met his gaze, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before responding. "I never said I loved you, Murtasim." She stated firmly, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "Because love means something different to me. But in this house, despite everything, I trust you the most. Whenever you stand up for me, it's as if the walls crumble, and for a fleeting moment, I believe that things can be different. But then reality sets in, and I'm reminded of why I'm here. It's almost as if I have Stockholm syndrome, trapped in a cycle of hope and disappointment."

Her words hung in the air, a heavy silence enveloping them. She continued, her voice laden with the weight of her emotions, she had held onto the words for too long, letting them fester. "I want to believe your words over everyone else's, but you don't want the same thing...and maybe that's my fault too, but you're always ready to believe the worst of me. All of you are. And you can't deny that. If Haya or Maa Begum come and say something about me even now, you won't even bother asking me if it's true. You would just believe them, without question. Just like you did when you thought me capable of leaving you after you were hurt, even after – what was it that you said, ah, yes after everything we've been through. Even when you almost died, you thought I'd - you always think the worst of me, just like you're doing now."

Her voice cracked slightly as she struggled to contain her emotions. "So, how am I supposed to trust you when you don't trust me? How can I believe that you love me when your actions only align with your words half the time? Love is not just about affectionate declarations, Murtasim. It's about trust, respect, and the unwavering belief in each other. It's about standing by each other's side through thick and thin. So, no, I don't claim to love you because love is difficult, but I - " She stopped short, not knowing how to tell him that sometimes she felt close to falling for him.

Murtasim attempted to interject, to defend his feelings, but Meerab continued, her voice gaining strength. "Love alone is not enough. I need trust, I need respect, and above all, I want to reclaim all the things I've lost. My parents, my independence, my dreams... I long to feel like I belong somewhere, like I have a place in this world again."

"You belong here." He muttered, his voice soft, his eyes no longer angry, the Murtasim Khan giving away to the man that had once run around the house looking for her before finding her on the terrace and talking to her with such softness that it had shaken her for the first time.

He had told her she belonged in the house then too, but it felt no different to her then than it had months ago. She shook her head, her voice filled with sadness and resignation. "I don't, and we both know it. I have no right to this house - it feels like a cage, like someone is trying to trap me at every corner." Meerab's tears continued to flow as she shook her head, unable to accept his sentiment.

Murtasim's hurt was palpable as he responded, his voice tinged with pain. "Am I a trap?" He asked, searching her eyes for some reassurance.

Tears streamed down Meerab's face, her voice choked with sorrow. She shook her head. "But this marriage... it was a way to trap me, and you can't deny that."

His gaze averted, Murtasim seemed to struggle with his own conflicting emotions.

"And this house..." Meerab's voice trembled with a mixture of frustration and despair. "It has always been a trap, a place where I feel like an outsider. No matter how hard you try, this house will never truly be mine, nor will it ever be kind to me."

Her tears intensified as she poured out her fears, her voice quivering with vulnerability. "What if I were actually pregnant, Murtasim? You won't believe me even though you heard your mother, but Haya purposely hurt me, your mother who claimed to be on my side is dying to kick me out again and welcome Haya back - so tell me how I am supposed to feel at home here?"

The weight of injustice hung heavily in the air as Meerab's voice cracked with anguish. "I know I've made mistakes, but what about everyone else? What about Haya? She would have willingly harmed my child, and me. But because I wasn't pregnant – and I admit I shouldn't have lied about it – but in Haya's eyes I was pregnant and yet it's all deemed acceptable? No one batted an eyelash at the fact that she tried to harm me. Despite it all, your mother despises me, and she'll bring Haya back, forcing me to endure her presence day after day."

"Meerab - "

She shook her head, her tears still flowing unabated. "It's not my house, I don't have a house." She whispered, her voice filled with a deep ache.

"It's your wife's house, it's your future child's house, but it will never be mine."

"Meerab - "

"Do you understand how much it hurt when everyone who hurt me suddenly showered me with love? Not because of me, but because I'm supposedly carrying a child, the future heir. That's my worth here, Murtasim. I'm just your wife and an incubator. The moment I was supposedly with child, implying that I had accepted you too, everything changed. Your mother, who made her dislike of me clear, started to dote on me. My father, who never wanted me in his life, acted like he had every right to my child. And the parents who abandoned me suddenly showed up, begging me to come back to the same house they had once kicked me out of. And everything felt nice...and maybe that's why I – maybe that's why I didn't want to tell them the truth because I wanted to believe that it was my reality, for just a second."

Her voice cracked, and her tears streamed down her cheeks, mirroring the pain in her heart. She struggled to express the depth of her anguish. "But the truth had to come out some time right, and now – they're all back to normal." She sobbed. "I have nowhere to go that's not this prison." She cried. "That's why I went to Karachi, to find a moment of reprieve, to remind myself that I am my own person with dreams and friends. I wanted to be just Meerab, just for a little while, to convince myself that she exists. But even that..."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her longing for freedom and independence. The rooftop felt suffocating, engulfed in the gravity of their crumbling relationship. Meerab looked at Murtasim, her tear-stained face filled with a desperate plea for him to understand, to trust her, and to convince her that he was different from everyone else who had abandoned her without a second thought.

"If you accept me - " Murtasim began, his voice filled with frustration.

"You still don't get it." Meerab interrupted, her voice trembling with emotion. "How am I supposed to accept anyone, Murtasim? All I have ever known is that everyone leaves, that love is conditional. You'll love me as long as I stay trapped in this cage, within certain boundaries. But the moment I dare to cross a line you've drawn, one that will likely make no sense to me, you'll leave me."

His voice strained, Murtasim accused. "You're the one who is dying to leave."

Her eyes filled with tears, Meerab pleaded. "Have you ever put yourself in my shoes and wondered why, Murtasim?"

Angrily, he shot back, "Have you ever put yourself in mine? You agreed to marry me. I didn't force you. You made a joke out of our marriage, but I understood, I thought that you needed the time. But now it seems like you married me just to punish me for what happened to you."

"Can you deny that you had no hand in this?" She questioned, her voice wavering.

"Why, are you angry you didn't get to marry Rohail?" Murtasim's words were laced with accusation.

Tears streamed down her face as she responded, it was still about Rohail. "I have never seen him like that." She yelled.

"Yet you let him arrange a birthday party for you." Murtasim accused.

Defensively, she retorted. "I did it because he was a friend. People have friends, just because he's a man doesn't automatically mean he's more than that. I'm not responsible for the fact that he has feelings for me, just like you claim to not be responsible for Haya's feelings for you. I saw him as a friend, just like I saw Saba. I missed my friends, Murtasim. This new life I suddenly have is not what I wanted."

Her voice quivered with pain and frustration as she poured out her feelings. "You won't understand what it feels like to have everything you've ever wanted taken away from you—your parents, your house, your dreams—all gone in the blink of an eye. You won't understand how easy it is to grasp at straws when your whole life and identity are reduced to being someone's wife, to being this house's honour rather than a person. I try to forget it, but I can't. Sometimes, I think of letting you in..."

She trailed off, sniffling and taking a deep breath before continuing. "But then someone always reminds me of why I am here. So, fine, let's do what you suggested, let's just let things be the way they are. Eventually, either you or your mother will kick me out of this house for one reason or another, maybe I'll do something that pushes your strict boundaries, or Haya will make it impossible for me to live here. And I'll find a place somewhere in this world where I can just be Meerab."

Meerab's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of her shattered dreams and the deep yearning for acceptance and freedom. She looked at Murtasim, her being filled with a mix of pain, hope, and the fear of being abandoned once again.

Her heart remained torn between the bitterness of past betrayals and the lingering hope that Murtasim would rise above the disappointments she had endured. Deep within her, a part of her despised herself for still clinging onto hope, for yearning for him to prove himself different from the others who had hurt and abandoned her. Because, despite it all, he remained the closest thing she had to a home. Because the Murtasim that looked at her like she hung the stars had started becoming her anchor, but it seemed that perhaps she had hoped for too much especially when her heart was too broken to give anyone anything. 

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A/N: I would love to hear your thoughts on this! I have wanted to write this one scene since I watched the rooftop scene, it annoyed me so much because it went nowhere, and in the next episode the Maryam track started and Meerab was teasing Murtasim with "coffee banane chale, mein or tum". 

 Also, remember that this is what Meerab thinks and feels (and thinks Murtasim feels). In the next chapter, we'll get Murtasim's side of things!