Murtasim stepped into their bedroom at an ungodly hour, expecting to be greeted by the peaceful darkness of a late night. Instead, the soft glow of the bedside lamps filled the room, casting a warm, inviting light. It was as though he was being welcomed back. His heart ached, feeling something stir deep within him. The sight that greeted him only added fuel to the fire.

There, on her side of the bed, lay Meerab, looking every bit like an angel lost in slumber. She was still dressed in the beautiful pink suit she had been wearing earlier that day, a stark contrast to the more comfortable clothes she usually slept in. Her dupatta lay askew, barely covering her. Her phone was nestled on her stomach, and her head was positioned awkwardly, like she hadn't quite meant to fall asleep.

There were no signs of her usual bedtime routine. The pillows were still propped up against the headboard, the covers were not turned down, it was just her in an unexpected slumber. A warmth spread through him as he considered the possibility that she had been waiting up for him, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought. Her questions before he left, the unexpected kiss on his cheek, all came flooding back, igniting a sense of joy that he hadn't felt in a long time.

His wife, who seemed to have finally accepted that she was in fact his wife, was falling for him hard, like he had.

His gaze fell back on Meerab, he was held captive by her exquisite beauty. She embodied an allure that he found himself unable to resist, he always had if he were to be honest with himself. He had seen countless beautiful women throughout his life, but none had ever captivated him like Meerab.

Her flawless complexion, the color of warm honey, seemed to absorb the soft light from the bedside lamp, giving her an almost ethereal glow. Her striking eyes, currently hidden under the shadow of her long, dark eyelashes, were a testament to her intense expressiveness, mirroring the profound depths of the sea. When they flickered open, they were akin to a fawn's, wide, bright, and brimming with life. Her high cheekbones, which added an edge of sophistication to her otherwise soft features, led down to a beautifully sculpted yet soft jawline, revealing an underlying strength.

Her lips, naturally rosy and delicately carved, were a work of art themselves. There was a subtle softness in the curve of her mouth, hinting at an unspoken tenderness. Her lips were pursed her, as if lost in a dream, her adorable nose twitching slightly with each breath she took. And her hair, dark as the night sky and just as endless, tumbled around her in a wild cascade, silken locks framing her face.

Her beauty was a combination of innocence, elegance, and a fire that spoke of resilience. Looking at her now, he felt as though he was staring at a masterpiece. He was truly awed, lost in the spell that was Meerab. It wasn't just her physical beauty; it was her spirit, the essence of who she was that made her the most beautiful woman in his eyes.

He shed his jacket, dropping it carelessly onto a chair, his eyes never leaving her. Approaching her side of the bed, he gingerly removed the phone from under her delicate fingers, careful not to disturb her. Her fingers, now freed from their hold, curled slightly into her palm, making him smile at her innocence. He placed the phone on the bedside table, gently covering her with the silk sheet that had fallen to the wayside.

With utmost care, he eased the pillow from behind her back, ensuring her sleeping position wouldn't leave her in discomfort when she woke. But her head still lay at an awkward angle, sans pillow. Worry lines furrowed his brows. He didn't want her waking up with a sore neck.

Taking a moment to brace himself, he gently cupped her head, his fingers sinking into the silky mass of her hair. His heart pounded against his ribcage, his breath hitching as he gently moved her head back onto the pillow. His touch was feather-light, fearing any sudden movement would disturb her peaceful slumber.

As Murtasim gazed down at the sleeping figure of his wife, he found himself completely entranced again, forgetting what he had wanted to do for a second. Her skin was soft under his hands, almost silky. She was the epitome of beauty and grace. If he was granted a single wish, he would choose to witness this sight for the rest of his life — Meerab, serene and beautiful in her slumber.

She stirred slightly, a soft snuffle escaping her as she turned towards him. His hand instinctively cradled her head, her delicate fingers wrapped themselves around his forearm as if seeking comfort even in sleep. Her cheeks, usually so defined, appeared endearingly chubby in her peaceful state, adding to her innocent charm.

He was well and truly trapped — not by any physical constraints but by the enchanting sight of her. Her peaceful slumber was a sight too precious to disrupt, and he found himself resisting the urge to move, lest he wake her.

Stray strands of her hair were draped across her face, and he let his fingers glide over them, pushing them away to reveal her perfect features. Each contact of his skin with hers sent an electric jolt through him, but he let his hand linger, mesmerized by the softness of her skin.

The beauty that Meerab possessed was something out of this world, a kind of beauty that stirred something deep within him, something that made his heart flutter wildly in his chest. The sound of his own heart was loud in his ears, a rhythmic symphony that matched the enchanting scene before him.

With a sigh, he moved to sit on the stool next to the bed, his gaze never leaving her. His Meerab. His beautiful wife who, even in her sleep, clung to him as if he were her anchor. He couldn't help but lean in closer, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched her move in her sleep. As her hand slipped from his forearm, he grasped it gently, interlacing their fingers together. Her soft sigh was the only acknowledgment of his actions, but it was enough. It was enough to know that even in sleep, she sought his touch, his comfort.

Murtasim lay his head on the bed, inching closer to Meerab, his eyes fighting the urge to shut. He wanted to watch her sleep, take in her peaceful visage as much as he could.

But to his utter surprise, her eyes fluttered open. There was a sleepy haze clouding her eyes, making them look softer and more endearing.

A smile blossomed on her face as she noticed him. "You're back." She whispered, her fingers reaching up to caress his cheek, causing a shiver to run down his spine, her touch was so soft, so reverent.

"Why are you there?" She mumbled, her heavy-lidded eyes opening and closing as she fought the tug of sleep. "That's uncomfortable." With surprising clarity, despite her drowsy state, she scuffled back, over to his usual side of the bed, leaving just enough space for him. She yanked him along, patting the empty space beside her before succumbing to a wide yawn.

Her drowsy insistence was too compelling to resist, and Murtasim found himself sliding his shoes off and climbing into the bed. As he sank into the soft mattress, on her side of the bed, her scent washed over him, an intoxicating blend of her perfume and the floral notes of her shampoo. He groaned inwardly as the scent teased his senses, driving him to the brink of insanity.

"Good night, Murtasim." She murmured, her eyelids drooping, her fingers loosely entwining with his.

As she moved closer, her body lightly pressing against his, a surge of emotions overwhelmed Murtasim. His heart pounded, the rhythm thunderous in his ears as if echoing the deafening silence around them. Every ounce of sleepiness fled from his system, replaced by a heightened awareness of her proximity.

Her face was nestled against his chest, her warm breath seeping through the fabric of his shirt, sending ripples of goosebumps cascading across his skin. A soft sigh left her lips, vibrating against his chest, her body pressing even closer as she sought more warmth. He drew in a sharp breath, his fingers digging into the sheets as he tried to control his racing heart and the heat coursing through his veins.

It was a tantalizing torture, this exquisite dance of intimacy that left him teetering on the edge of sanity. His heart swelled at the tender way she sought him out, her body instinctively trusting him to provide her warmth and security. But her closeness also stirred a torrent of desire, setting his body aflame and his senses spiraling into a vortex of yearning.

His fingers instinctively brushed through her hair, tracing the soft tendrils that fanned out over his chest. His lips found their way to her forehead, pressing a feather-light kiss that held a promise of undying affection. His eyes slid shut as he inhaled her scent, a blend of roses and sleep, committing the moment to memory.

Under normal circumstances, the electrifying proximity and the mounting desire would have been too stimulating, making sleep an elusive entity. But tonight, the weariness from the day's events combined with the comforting warmth of Meerab nestled against him created an unexpected lullaby. His heart gradually matched its rhythm with hers, the constant thrum serving as a comforting mantra that lulled him into a deep, dreamless slumber.

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As the first ray of dawn light filtered through the heavy drapes, Murtasim stirred awake. A sense of tranquility engulfed him, the likes of which he'd never felt before. His muscles, usually taut with the weight of his responsibilities, felt as if they were luxuriating in a warm bath of peace. The reason for this novel sensation was the woman nestled against him, their bodies entwined in a comfortable tangle of limbs that felt as natural as breathing.

Meerab was curled into him, her lithe form fitting against his like they were two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Her arm was draped around his waist, her fingers splayed across his chest as if claiming her rightful territory. Her legs were entangled with his in a familiar dance of intimacy, her foot idly rubbing against his calf. Her face was tucked into the crook of his neck, her warm breath fanning his skin, sending an electrifying shiver down his spine with each inhalation and exhalation.

A surge of euphoria washed over him as he acknowledged the profound intimacy of their current state, something unexpected and novel, because even without the wall of pillows between them, they always remained on their side of the bed. They often turned towards each other and spoke, their hands entwined between them, but their current state was new.

Meerab was curled into him then as if it was her safe haven, her sanctuary. She had sought him out in her slumber, and stayed there, her body subconsciously conveying trust and dependence. Or perhaps he had been the one the refused to let go even in his slumber.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, he slipped his fingers through her dark, silky tresses, drawing her even closer into the cradle of his body. Her response was immediate, a soft sigh of contentment slipping from her lips, her body melting further into his. He stilled for a moment, but when she didn't stir, he resumed his tender exploration.

Her hair was a soft, fragrant curtain in his hands, the silky strands slipping through his fingers like fine threads of obsidian. His fingertips traced the curve of her skull, appreciating the way her locks tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. He pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead, his heart yearning for the sight of her serene, sleeping face.

Murtasim found himself wishing for time to stand still, for the world to remain quiet a little longer, to preserve the blissful intimacy of their shared slumber. He held her closer, his heart beating a symphony of affection and desire, the rhythm of which matched the sleeping beauty curled against him.

He felt a small shift in the woman curled against him then. A tiny whimper, as delicate as a feather, slipped from her lips, interrupting the peaceful silence. Instantly, he froze, feigning sleep, his heart pounding against his ribs in anticipation. Memories from the past resurfaced, painting a vivid image of a shocked Meerab pulling away from him, creating a chasm of discomfort between them as they both yelled. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he braced for a repeat of the incident shortly after their accident.

Time stretched on, every passing second feeling like an hour. His breath hitched in his throat, his senses hyperaware of the smallest movement, the slightest sound. A nerve-wracking game of waiting played out, with him hoping for a different end this time.

But the expected never came.

Instead of pulling away in surprise or discomfort, she made a soft sound, almost like a purr, and burrowed deeper into his chest, whispering his name, "Murtasim," so quietly that he wasn't sure if he heard right. The sudden action released a tension within him he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart swelled as her warm breath fanned over his skin, and her arm curled tighter around him, securing their connection.

After a moment, she moved again, but not to distance herself. Rather, she merely adjusted her position, withdrawing her face a fraction from his chest. His heart throbbed against his ribs, sending a cascade of warmth throughout his body. The wall of discomfort that he had feared would go up between them remained a ghost of the past.

Instead, her fingers began a tender exploration, skimming over the contours of his face with such a soft touch that it felt like a whisper against his skin. The leisurely movement traced the grain of his beard, the rugged plane of his jaw, gliding to the expanse of his forehead, tracing his eyebrows and the bridge of his nose. Each featherlight touch sent tiny sparks of pleasure coursing through his veins. He lay utterly still, barely daring to breathe, lest he disturbed the delicate moment they were sharing.

However, when her fingers moved over his lips, tracing their outline with an unexpected intimacy, his control wavered. An unintentional hitch in his breath betrayed his pretense of sleep, and his eyelids fluttered open. His gaze met hers, wide-eyed and suddenly alert, a mirror of surprise reflecting the moment his façade had crumbled.

Like a startled deer, Meerab sprang up from the bed, her beautiful eyes filled with a flurry of unspoken emotions and panic. In her haste, her movements were frantic, the silk sheet pooling around her feet as she bolted away from the bed. A moment later, the bathroom door closed with a resonating thud, echoing in the ensuing silence.

The laughter bubbled up from Murtasim's chest before he could stop it. The sounds filled the room, a testament to his overwhelming joy and contentment. He lay back, a wide grin etched onto his face, relishing in the delightful chaos of the moment.

In the wake of Meerab's abrupt exit, a slow, warm sensation began to swell in his chest. He found himself replaying the events that just unfolded, savoring each detail. The way she had touched him, traced his features, as though imprinting him into her memory; the startled look in her eyes when he had opened his own, and the hurried retreat that followed.

Each moment, each action felt like a precious confirmation of something he had dared to hope for – Meerab had feelings for him...and those feelings made her feel flustered. Her actions, her touch, her lingering closeness in the morning...all these weren't merely habitual, but rather an expression of a deepening affection. As realization dawned on him, his heart throbbed with a profound sense of elation.

Minutes turned into what felt like an eternity as he waited for her to return. When she finally did, peeking around the wall, her eyes darted away as they met his.

Suppressing his urge to chuckle, he offered a playful greeting. "Good morning?"

"I had to empty my bladder." She said, a clear lie, for she had been fine until he had opened his eyes and found her fingers hovering over and touching his lips.

"Of course." His voice betrayed his amusement because her eyes narrowed.

"You were on my side of the bed!" Her accusatory tone pierced the silence, but all it did was stoke the embers of his amusement.

He nodded, barely holding back a chuckle. "You pulled me there last night."

She frowned, her lips forming a cute pout. "I know...but that's why I was so close."

His heart throbbed in response to her confession. "Not because you wanted to be close?"

She remained silent, and his grin grew wider at her embarrassment.

"And that..." He motioned towards his face, recalling her earlier exploration. "I must have looked like an angel descended from the heavens, huh?"

She rolled her eyes, but he could see the flush creeping up her cheeks. "More like a shaitaan."

His laughter filled the room, the sound mingling with the morning light. "Acha?"

She nodded, and for the first time that morning, their eyes met. There, in her gaze, he saw a spark – a hint of something more, a silent confession that she wasn't opposed to waking up the way she did.

A tranquil silence hovered between them as Murtasim patted the empty space beside him on the bed, a silent invitation. Meerab's eyes locked with his, her eyebrow arching in question.

He took a deep breath, letting his honest feelings tumble out. "It's too early to be up, and I find that I can't sleep if you're not in bed with me, tumhari aadat pad gayi hai." His voice was soft, his words a whisper floating between them. He watched her reaction, his heart fluttering with anticipation.

A shy smile replaced Meerab's earlier hesitance. Murtasim's heart pounded in his chest as he took in the sight. She was a complex puzzle he yearned to decipher - fiery and bold when riled, yet tender and blushingly shy when he flirted. The last thing he had expected her to do was make a run for the bathroom as she did, in his head, the likelihood of her slapping him and saying there was something on his face had seemed higher. His heart ached at the beautiful contrast she presented, a maze of emotions that drew him in, an enigma he wanted to unravel.

Hesitation melted into acquiescence as she crawled back into the bed, on his side. Murtasim watched in awe, his heart pounding in his chest as a triumphant smile spread across his face. This was a victory - a small one, yet significant. The fact that she was warming up to him, was comfortable enough to return to the bed, painted a picture he had been yearning to see. As he watched her settle in, he couldn't help but wonder what this new dawn held for them. The possibilities excited him, the uncertainty thrilled him, and the promise of their blossoming bond filled his heart with an indescribable joy.

The serenity of the moment was abruptly shattered when Murtasim decided to take a risk. His heart pounded in anticipation as he wrapped his arms around Meerab, abruptly pulling her towards him. A peal of surprised laughter filled the room, a joyful echo reverberating in the intimate space as he playfully rolled them over. The world seemed to spin for a moment, and then they were back on her side of the bed, her soft form cuddled against him, but laying on her side of the bed.

"Murtasim!" Meerab's exclamation was part surprise, part protest, her voice breathy as she lightly smacked his arm. Her feigned anger was betrayed by the twinkle in her eyes and the smile she couldn't hide.

"Just returning you to your side before I get accused of something again." He shot back, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Meerab tried halfheartedly to pull away, her protest faint and unconvincing. "Chodo mujhe!"

"Kabhi nahi." He responded, his voice dropping to a whisper, his words carrying the weight of his emotions. He pulled her closer, his arms enveloping her in a warm embrace. It was an indescribable feeling - the way she relaxed in his arms, surrendering herself to his hold.

Her hands came to rest on his chest, their warmth seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He could feel her breath on his skin, her face burrowed into his shoulder. Her presence was a soothing balm to his racing heart, the rhythm of his heartbeat, a testament to his feelings for her. Murtasim was sure she could feel it - the fervent beating of his heart, a rhythm that sang only for her.

He thought back to the times when her warmth had seeped into him - the innocent hugs that had sparked an intense connection between them, the soft kisses she had placed on his cheek in moments of heartfelt gratitude and more recently worry. Each touch was a memory etched into his mind, moments he held close to his heart.

Yet, as he lay there with her now, the quiet rhythm of her breath against his skin, the faint tickle of her hair on his chest, and the gentle weight of her body pressed against his felt like an entirely different realm of intimacy. This was a closeness that neither of them had ventured into before. It wasn't about the physical contact, but the silent sharing of their personal spaces, the slow bridging of their separate worlds into one. This was the delicate dance of trust and acceptance, every breath they shared, every heartbeat that echoed the other, it was an affirmation of their silent agreement to let their guards down.

It felt surreal to him, as if he was walking on an untouched path, both exciting and terrifying. Exciting because he could finally experience the feeling of being so close to her without any pretenses, terrifying because he was opening up the door to a world of emotions he had never experienced before. This was a level of intimacy that stirred feelings deeper than he had anticipated, resonating in parts of his heart he hadn't realized existed.

And yet, he reveled in it. Laying there with Meerab, feeling the rise and fall of her breath against his chest, the warm cocoon they created under the covers, was more personal, more intimate, and more stirring than any hug or kiss had ever been. It was the quiet surrender to vulnerability, the unspoken acceptance of each other in their most personal spaces, and Murtasim found himself hopelessly lost in the beautiful complexity of this newfound intimacy.

The silence of the room was broken when Meerab asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "What happened yesterday?" Her question lingered in the air, a fragile echo of concern.

"The police were wildly inefficient, so nothing," Murtasim replied, his voice resonating with a slight undertone of frustration. "But I have a guess as to who was behind it."

"The Maliks?" Meerab guessed, her voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

He nodded in affirmation. "Yes, Zubair Malik." He confirmed.

"Why are you and the Maliks so antagonistic towards each other?" Meerab asked, her curiosity evident in her voice as she pulled away a little, allowing him to see her beautiful face.

His face assumed a somber expression as he explained. "It's been years of fighting. You know what they say, there can only be one King in the forest."

Meerab giggled at his words, a melodious sound that felt like the soothing caress of a gentle breeze. "Of course, you would use that analogy." She murmured between fits of laughter.

"You got me lion cufflinks, now I have to." He replied with a smile, the corners of his lips curving up in amusement. Her laughter was so enchanting, so pure and beautiful, that it was nearly unbearable. Her giggle rang through the room again, the sound akin to the tinkling of delicate bells, bringing a sense of warmth and intimacy to their space.

"I don't know how it started." Murtasim mused aloud, his voice taking on a contemplative tone. "Probably land disputes. Zubair's grandfather stabbed mine twice, my grandfather shot him thrice. His uncle kidnapped my father's cousin, it was bloodshed. My father got shot rescuing her."

Meerab let out a little gasp, her grip on his shirt tightening. Her reaction prompted him to continue, his voice somber as he shared with her something that no one else knew. "It's my earliest memory of my father, actually, him coming home with wounds. But he was filled with pride because of how many of Malik's men he had killed and how valiantly he had fought. I thought he was a superhero."

"You loved him." She whispered quietly.

He nodded. "He was good to me, perhaps not to everyone else, but to our little family, he was perfect. And I wanted to be just like him for a while, so I started hating the Maliks when I was merely a child."

"So, you hate them because it's expected?" Meerab whispered. The weight of his previous revelation was evident in her voice, a soft, inquisitive murmur that held a universe of questions.

Murtasim let out a sigh, an uncharacteristic sound of resignation. "They really are horrible. Malik himself isn't bad, but Zubair... he's heinous, worse than his father and uncles combined."

Meerab's eyebrows knitted together in curiosity. "How?" She asked, her tone earnest.

Murtasim's gaze turned colder, a ghost of anger flickering in the depths of his eyes as he replied. "He fits into that feudal lord stereotype for all the worst reasons." The words were heavy, laden with implications of violence and terror - of rape, murder, and exploiting people. It was why he had been so scared when she had gone missing in the village, he really had expected the worse.

Meerab pulled back, her eyes wide. "So, not like you at all?" She asked, her question more like a statement.

The corners of Murtasim's lips curved into a small smile, a soft light in the midst of the grim topic. "I don't fit into the stereotype?" He questioned, his tone light.

Meerab shrugged nonchalantly, her hands playing with the fabric of his shirt. "Your anger and propensity to want to control everyone aside, no."

He arched an eyebrow at her, an amused glint in his eyes. "Is that a compliment?" He asked, his tone teasing.

"Maybe." She shrugged again, the corners of her mouth tilting upwards into a half-smile. "You were saying..."

"He's just a horrible human being, honestly. And I don't see it ending until one of us gives up."

She was quiet then, as if she was mulling over something. "I am sorry." Meerab's voice was a mere whisper, soft and hesitant in the quiet room when she spoke.

"Hmmm?" Murtasim's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, thrown off by the sudden, unexpected apology.

When she looked at him, her eyes were filled with remorse and her lips downturned into a pained frown. "I am sorry for not listening to you when we went to the village last time...you must have expected the worst." She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you never told me why I needed to stay in the car and away from the fields. Just - tell me why when you ask me to do things, because my mind doesn't comply with things that don't make sense to me."

Murtasim nodded, his initial surprise giving way to an unexpected warmth that spread through his chest. He hadn't expected an apology or an explanation, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

She pressed on, her eyes never leaving his. "I didn't take the bullets out of the gun out of spite...I really thought you were going to kill someone and end up in jail. Because that's what happens in my world, people don't carry around guns, they don't shoot people, they don't get to kidnap women, or shoot and stab others without ending up in jail...or dead."

Understanding bloomed within him, replacing the anger and confusion that had initially clouded his judgement that day. To her, none of it had made sense, her world was governed by rules and order, and the world he found himself in sometimes wasn't. His gaze softened, and he found himself asking, "You didn't want me to get arrested?"

"Or hurt." She admitted, her voice so soft he almost missed it.

It was a small thing, that whisper, but it echoed in the quiet room, a testament to the bridge of understanding they were building between their two very different worlds.

"Why? I thought you didn't like me then." Murtasim teased, an amused quirk at the corner of his mouth. Honestly, at that time, he had been convinced that she harbored some form of antagonism towards him.

"Who said that?" Meerab countered, her eyes steady on his.

His surprise was palpable as he questioned, "You liked me?" The idea seemed foreign, even laughable considering the circumstances they found themselves in.

With a nonchalant shrug, Meerab conceded. "I cared... maybe much before then. But I guess I am not good at showing that."

"When?" Murtasim's interest was piqued, curiosity swirling in his dark eyes. "When did you realize that you cared?" He scrutinized her face, his gaze absorbing every minute detail.

There was something in her eyes then, a flicker of something potent and intense that left him breathless. Her voice dropped to a mere whisper as she finally replied. "The night you got sick after eating the fish... I should have been happy, right? You were suffering, it was supposed to be payback...but I hated it...I hated seeing you in pain." The confession hung heavy in the air between them, a truth said too softly, as if a louder tone might alter its reality.

A smile found its way to his lips as he remembered the panic in her voice, the desperate way she had called out his name, pleading with him to open his eyes.

"Don't you dare!" Meerab's voice cut through his memories, a stern warning lacing her words. Somehow, she knew he was about to mimic the way she had called his name, her eyes narrowing in anticipation.

Murtasim laughed, his sound echoed around the room as he pushed her hair behind her ear. She softly nuzzled into his hand as his thumb caressed her cheek.

"Was it hard, growing up in a house with the expectation that you'd be a feudal lord too? You said you wanted to be just like your father...but the other day you said that you didn't want it." Meerab's voice sliced through the comfortable silence, her gaze skimming over his face, brimming with curiosity, as she repeated the words he had told her only days ago.

Murtasim found himself contemplating the question, a wave of nostalgia washing over him as he harked back to his childhood. He could still hear the whispers of adulation from the village folk, the heroic tales spun by his father and uncle around their evening fires, and the idolized picture of feudalism imprinted in his mind. "It seemed interesting at times as a child, cool even because of the way they all talked about it. But the older I got, the more the charm gave away." He confessed, his tone a stark contrast to the younger, more enthralled version of himself.

Meerab, ever so inquisitive, probed further. "Why did it give away?" Her question hung heavy in the air.

He took a moment, letting his gaze drift over her face as he gathered his thoughts. As he watched Meerab's face attentively absorb his words, Murtasim felt an understanding dawn upon him. Her questions, probing at the intricacies of his life, were more than just mere curiosity. They were a search, a quest for connection. She was sifting through the complexities of his world, his experiences, not with the intent of exposing their disparities but rather to find the similarities, the commonalities that stitched their divergent lives together.

She sought to understand him, to bridge the gaping chasm that had once existed between them. And her determination to uncover these shared points of resonance, to discover their shared humanity despite their wildly disparate lives, was telling. They weren't mismatched, as the world would have them believe; they were simply two puzzle pieces fitting together in ways they never had before.

He found himself wanting to answer her questions, to confront the complexities of his past that had shaped his perspective towards the feudal system. He hadn't been lying when he told her that he didn't care for it, that he'd rather have chosen to be a wildlife photographer.

"The more I understood, the more I saw the injustice of it all." He began, his voice tinged with a sobering reality. His father, as much as he loved him, wasn't the fairest of men, seeing no wrong in some of the things he did, but pointing fingers at the Maliks for doing the same. "The system is inherently exploitative. The power we held... it wasn't right. I saw how it was misused, how people were treated, and I didn't like it."

He sighed then, hoping his eyes reflected the sincerity of his words. "But there were responsibilities, expectations I had to fulfill as the heir of my family. But I also saw how those same expectations were used to justify actions that were...unforgivable."

His hand unconsciously tightened around hers as he spoke. "I didn't want to be a part of that. I have tried to be different, to use the influence I have to change things, not perpetuate them. But it's an uphill battle against generations of ingrained beliefs and practices. And I don't make all the right decisions all the time...and to some, like the Maliks, I make all the wrong decisions."

He gave a rueful smile then, looking at Meerab as he added. "It's a heavy mantle to carry, and not one I wanted. But it's mine, nonetheless. And I'm determined to do better, for myself and for the people under my care."

Murtasim watched as Meerab nodded, a quiet comprehension reflecting in her deep, brown eyes. This understanding was an unspoken bond between them, and in that moment, he felt an inexplicable connection.

Emboldened, he voiced the one wish he'd been harboring since the time she had agreed to marry him. "And I hope that my Khaani will stand by me as I figure out how to navigate this?" The uncertainty of his world, once a solitary burden, now seemed less daunting with the prospect of sharing it with her. His heart buoyed with hope at her presence in his complex life, in a way it had for a long time.

In the quiet recesses of Murtasim's mind, there was an ever-glowing beacon of admiration for Meerab's courage. Her audacity was like a breath of fresh air in his often constricted world, her bravery was a vibrant hue that he often wished to borrow. Her fortitude was startlingly raw, even childlike at times, spontaneous and impulsive, often leaping without looking, which was both a strength and a weakness. Yet, even in her reckless courage, there was an unmistakable honesty that was hard to ignore. Her heart, it seemed, was always in the right place.

He knew people murmured about how Meerab might not fit the traditional mold of a feudal wife when they first announced their wedding. The whispers were frequent then, even loud at times, painting her as an outlier. But Murtasim had begun to wonder, with increasing conviction, if she was what they needed to break free from the shackles of antiquated expectations. Instead of a woman hiding in his shadow, he found himself drawn to the image of Meerab standing beside him, her fiery spirit matching his own in a battle for their people and their shared dreams.

Murtasim had shouldered responsibilities from a tender age, becoming a wall for those around him. But underneath the firm façade, there was a longing – a subtle, unspoken desire to be cared for, to feel the protective warmth that he'd so readily offered others. This longing was especially pronounced when he thought of Meerab, who was a whirlwind of support and protection for those she held dear.

One particular summer day was etched into the canvas of his memories, she had been visiting from Karachi with her parents, something she abhorred. He had been ill, yet the demands of the day weighed heavily upon him. His mother had seemed ready to push him out the door because of an impending critical meeting.

Her comment was seemingly offhand, casual even, yet it was a clear rebuke – she had said that work wasn't more important than his health. And then she had told him to just shut up and sit down. The familiar words were a sharp reminder, a mirror to a similar admonition he had given her just days prior. But the words were softened by her actions, her hands deftly pushing a cup of steaming tea towards him. There was an undeniable firmness in her motion, a silent insistence that he heed her words.

That was Meerab in his head, biting, sarcastic, rude at times, but her heart was always in the right place as much as he had hated to admit it. The sentiment was likely lost on her, an insignificant moment in the grand scheme of their interactions. Yet, for Murtasim, it was a monument of care and concern that touched him profoundly. That cup of tea, that firm command, was a declaration of caring, the very essence of what he had craved – someone standing up for him, someone caring for him.

She looked up at him, interrupting his train of thoughts. "I thought you had it all figured out?" She murmured, her tone laced with both inquiry and a sliver of admiration.

He chuckled at her words, a warm, melodic sound that filled the room. "Far from it, I just pretend to." His candid confession held a raw honesty, one he could only share with Meerab.

Her eyes widened at his admission. "You could have fooled me." She whispered, her voice a soft caress against the harsh truth of his reality.

However, her next action, tentative yet certain, set his heart ablaze. She nodded firmly.

A hum of contentment escaped him at her declaration. She had just willingly agreed to stand by him. It filled him with an elation that eclipsed all his fears and insecurities. The bond between them, once brittle and new, was now strengthening with each passing moment, and in the quiet comfort of their shared morning, Murtasim found solace.

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A/N: Sooooo, what do you think? What was your favourite part? What do you think will happen next? hehehehehehe.