Meerab stood in the garden adjacent to the driveway, her eyes peeled for the familiar gleam of the black Mercedes that always heralded Murtasim's return. A thrill of excitement had been bubbling within her every time he pulled into the driveway recently, but today, she had a special reason for this heightened anticipation. His text — an understated, "I'm on my way home" — had sent her heart racing, and not merely from the joy of his impending presence.

In her hand, she clutched a small photograph, one that she had serendipitously stumbled upon during her afternoon with her father. The picture seemed to hold secrets; its discovery felt no less than unearthing hidden treasure. She found herself giggling aloud at the image captured in the frame, thinking about Murtasim's reaction when he would see it. This photograph had been craftily tucked behind another, as though someone had wanted it hidden away from prying eyes.

Her father's old photo albums had turned into an escape for Meerab lately. Nestled amidst the worn-out pages were snippets of her past, her mother's legacy, and fragments of stories that painted a vivid image of times gone by. Time with her father was turning into a cherished ritual much to her surprise. Every evening, over cups of tea and plates of snacks, he'd weave tales of her mother, each story a piece of the puzzle that painted a picture of her mother in her heart. The price for these stories? Just a listening ear, and tea made by her. It was a price Meerab happily paid.

The sound of gravel crunching under tires drew her attention back to the present, her heart skipping a beat. Murtasim's Mercedes glided into view, its familiar silhouette sending a surge of warmth through her. As soon as the car came to a halt, Meerab nearly sprinted towards it, her excitement palpable. She barely gave him time to step out, her bright eyes and broad smile conveying an urgency.

Murtasim looked puzzled, but his deep-set eyes twinkled with amusement. "What's got you so excited?" He queried, his voice laced with laughter.

"I found something!" She teased, brandishing the photograph for him to see, her eyes dancing mischievously.

His normally tan face turned a shade redder, an immediate reaction to whatever memory the photograph evoked. "Give it back." He said, trying to sound stern but the flush on his face betrayed him.

Meerab shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. As he reached out to retrieve the photograph, she swiftly pulled it away, her laughter echoing in the driveway.

"Meerab!" Murtasim's voice, usually so measured and calm, now carried a hint of desperation, almost whiny, as he made another unsuccessful grab for the picture.

Her heart raced, not just from the chase but from the thrill of the playful exchange. She giggled louder, making a dash for the garden path with the incriminating photograph held high. Risking a glance back, she saw him swiftly closing the car door and setting off after her. His determination was evident in the determined set of his jaw and the playful glare in his eyes.

"Give it back!" He called out, the chase leading them towards the pool area, his voice echoing amidst the splashes of the water fountains.

"Nope! I've decided it'll look perfect framed in our bedroom." She countered, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. As he lunged for her, she sidestepped, dodging his grasp with an agility she didn't know she possessed.

"Meerab, yaar, stop being so childish." He panted, both from the chase and from trying to suppress his own laughter.

She spun around, her dupatta flowing behind her, a playful challenge in her eyes. "I am being childish?" She retorted, squealing in delight as he lunged at her again, the edges of the photograph crinkling in her tightening grip.

As Murtasim lunged one more time in his attempts to retrieve the photograph, Meerab tried to jump out of the way. But the slippery edge of the pool, combined with her swift sidestep, made her lose her balance. Time seemed to slow down for Meerab as she felt herself teetering on the brink. In a desperate attempt to regain her equilibrium, her hand instinctively shot out, grabbing onto the front of Murtasim's shirt.

He, completely taken by surprise, lost his footing as well. Both of them, in a chaotic tangle of limbs, splashed heavily into the pool. The water, previously calm and clear, now roiled and churned with their unexpected entrance.

Bubbles and ripples surrounded Meerab as she floundered for a moment before her head broke the surface. Wet hair clung to her face, and she spluttered, wiping the water from her eyes. Murtasim, a few feet away, pushed his drenched hair back, blinking as droplets ran down his face. Their soaked clothes weighed them down, but the initial shock of the cold water was quickly replaced by the warmth of the realization of their shared predicament.

They locked eyes, and for a second, the world paused. Then, like a dam breaking, both of them burst into uproarious laughter. It echoed around the garden, a carefree and joyous sound that spoke of shared mischief and unexpected adventures.

Still giggling, Meerab triumphantly held the now wet photograph above her head. "Look!" she exclaimed with a mix of relief and glee, "Still intact!" She sent a silent prayer of gratitude, thanking the universe for the small miracle of waterproof photos.

"Meerab, just give it back."

The glint in Meerab's eyes was undeniably mischievous as she kicked away, propelling herself to the other side of the pool. "Nope!" She teased, sending water splashing behind her. Her laughter echoed off the water, causing ripples that danced with the reflection of the setting sun.

Murtasim, undeterred, dove underwater, his movements graceful and reminiscent of a predator chasing its prey. He was a good swimmer, and he seemed to know the pool like the back of his hand, likely having spent countless hours playing in it.

Emerging with a gasp for air right in front of her, Murtasim grinned cheekily. "Surprise!"

She squealed in surprised, pushing him and increasing the distance between them. Her fingers skimmed the surface of the water, leaving a trail of ripples. "You have an unfair advantage." She said as she swam away.

Every time she thought he was gaining on her, she'd push herself, the water providing a resistance that made her breathless.

Just as she was starting to feel the burn in her muscles, strong hands grabbed her waist from behind, halting her escape. She shrieked in surprise, feeling the warmth of his chest against her back. "Gotcha!" Murtasim declared triumphantly.

She giggled, playfully wriggling in his grasp. "Only because I let you."

Murtasim chuckled, pulling her into him tighter. "Of course, Meerab, whatever lets you sleep at night."

The atmosphere shifted as Murtasim turned her around to face him, his fingers gently pushing the wet strands of hair from her face. The world seemed to go quiet around them, replaced only by the heightened beat of Meerab's heart and the soft echo of their breaths.

Looking at him, her memories rushed back to the night in the village where they had ended up in a pool under different circumstances. It was a brief, fleeting memory where she had momentarily lost herself in the sheer attractiveness of the man that was her husband. She had pushed the thought down then, burying it under layers of denial. But the feelings couldn't stay hidden anymore. Not now when things were different and they were inches apart, surrounded by the magnetic pull of the moment.

Water droplets traced a path down his chiseled face, clinging to his beard. The urge to lean in and taste the droplets was overwhelming, each one a testament to the charged space between them. His damp, white dress shirt, which had once been crisp and immaculate, now clung to him like a second skin, accentuating the muscles of his chest and abdomen. It was almost sinful, the way the wet fabric highlighted every contour of his perfect physique – she wondered how his muscles would feel under her touch and the thought sent fire coursing through her.

Murtasim's words, a husky whisper, were a jolt to her senses. "Looking at me like that is going to get you into trouble, Meerab."

She blinked, her lashes heavy with water, her eyes traveling upwards to meet his. The intensity she found there, the molten heat, made her swallow hard. She was all too aware of her mint suit, which when wet, probably left little to the imagination. The realization was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating.

She leaned in, her lips mere millimeters from his, the air between them charged with an electric energy, as if she was asking for trouble but couldn't voice the words.

Murtasim's fingers darted towards the picture, pulling Meerab abruptly from the haze of intense emotions they'd been sharing. She tightened her grip on the photograph, keeping it just out of his reach.

"Why are you dressed as a fairy?" She asked, a cheeky grin playing on her lips. She flashed the picture towards him, trying to divert her own thoughts as much as she was attempting to tease him.

He groaned audibly, his face betraying a mix of embarrassment and fond nostalgia. "Of all the pictures you could've found." He murmured.

"You made a cute fairy..." She began, her eyes twinkling mischievously, he wore a white tutu-dress, a halo, and wings. She reached up, playfully tweaking the sides of his now-prominent mustache, "...at least you didn't have this." She demonstrated by pushing the sides of his moustache upwards, making him look comically stern.

Murtasim chuckled, the sound deep and hearty, filling the space between them. "Maryam wouldn't stop crying that day. That was the only way to calm her down." He admitted with a sheepish smile.

"Awwwwwww," Meerab cooed exaggeratedly, her eyes alight with mischief, "such a good brother."

Her teasing elicited a playful glint in Murtasim's eyes. Without warning, he pulled back and sent a big splash of water her way. Meerab squealed in surprise, shielding herself too late from the oncoming water assault, her laughter joining his in the serene ambiance of the pool.

Murtasim lunged toward Meerab with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, trying to get the upper hand and dunk her. She let out a scream, giggling as she pushed against his broad chest, attempting to fend him off. "Murtasim, stop!"

Their playful struggle for dominance meant their hands slid over each other, the friction of skin on wet skin creating an electric charge in the water around them.

Meerab, in her playful determination, used her palms to press against his shoulders, aiming to push him away and perhaps even dunk him instead. The unexpected strength in her push took him slightly off balance, and for a brief second, they were locked in a precarious dance of trying to best one another, their laughter ringing out around them.

Their hands, which had been frantically trying to outdo the other, started to linger. Fingers brushed over forearms, the touch light but sending waves of awareness. His hands found the small of her back, drawing her closer. The intimate proximity meant their faces were inches apart, and the breaths they took mingled in the humid air between them.

All traces of laughter faded as the weight of the moment settled on them. The splashes around them became distant, and their surroundings blurred. All that mattered was the intense gaze they shared, the electrifying touch of skin on skin, and the unspoken promises lingering in the space between them.

Meerab's heart raced, the playful mood from before now a distant memory. It was replaced by a powerful longing, an urge to bridge the gap between them and let the burning tension explode into something more passionate. The way his hands gripped her, not with force but with a promise, made her stomach flutter with anticipation.

The silence between them was thick, each heartbeat echoing loudly in their ears, waiting to see who would make the first move. The world around them seemed to hold its breath, waiting, watching, and hoping.

Under the shimmering reflection of water and with droplets tracing paths down their faces, the gap between them started to close. Meerab wasn't certain who had moved first. Maybe it was her? Or perhaps him? It was like two magnets being inevitably drawn to each other.

The space between their lips grew scant, with Meerab feeling the warmth of his exhales against her mouth. Every breath she took was heavy, mirroring his. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, echoing the rhythm of his own. His scent, mingled with the freshness of pool water, intoxicated her, drawing her in deeper.

Those eyes of his which were once filled with playfulness now held an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. It was as if they conversed without words, sharing unspoken desires and promises. The world seemed to grow quiet, and all Meerab could hear was the sound of their synchronized breathing.

She noticed the tiny droplets of water on his lashes, the way his hand had now settled at the nape of her neck, fingers gently entangled in her wet locks. The other hand rested at her waist, fingers pressing just slightly to remind her of his presence, as if she could ever forget.

The temptation was immense, the need to press her lips to his and lose herself in the sensation of being so close. The atmosphere around them seemed thick with desire, the tension almost tangible. Each moment felt stretched, and the anticipation was maddening.

The two of them were inches away from a sweet collision of lips when the sharp sound of someone clearing their throat made them jump. Startled, their eyes darted toward the sound, realizing that they had been so caught up in each other that they had forgotten the world around them.

Standing at the edge of the pool with an amused smile, hands on her hips and towels draped over one arm, was Maryam. The mischievous glint in her eyes and the smirk on her face told them that she had witnessed more than enough.

"As much as I hate to interrupt," Maryam began, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm, "the maids are over there giggling," she motioned with her chin towards a group of maids who quickly pretended to be busy, "and Maa Begum told me to tell you two to stop acting like children." Maryam paused for dramatic effect, her eyes dancing with mischief. "I suppose if I had stayed inside a bit longer, she might've suggested you remember you have a room..."

Before Maryam could react, Murtasim, seizing the opportunity and without missing a beat, grabbed the towel she was holding, pulling her into the water. The surprise evident on her face, a mix of shock and amusement as the cool water enveloped her.

The atmosphere, which had been thick with tension moments ago, was now filled with laughter. Meerab's giggles echoed in the quiet evening, the sound melodious and infectious. She gave Murtasim a high-five, their faces glowing with mirth.

Splashing and sputtering, Maryam tried to regain her composure, even as she playfully chided. "Bhai! That was not fair!" But the grin that tugged at her lips betrayed her true feelings.

"You seemed just a tad jealous, rondhu...and technically this is all your fault." Murtasim quipped.

"My fault?" Maryam asked confused.

Meerab grinned, showing her the picture she still clutched in her hand.

"AH! I thought we lost that picture!" Maryam squealed happily as Murtasim groaned.

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The room felt suffocated with emotion, the usually vibrant colors and furnishings now subdued under the weight of the tears Meerab tried to hide. She hastily wiped them away with the back of her hand when the door opened and Murtasim stepped in. Their gazes met, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with more tears, while his filled with immediate concern.

"You're back early today." Meerab remarked, turning her face away in a weak attempt to mask her vulnerability.

But Murtasim's attention to detail, especially when it came to her, was unwavering. The distance between them was closed in mere seconds, his tall frame looming over her, worry evident in the depth of his gaze. His fingers reached out, tenderly tracing the path of the tears on her cheeks, wiping them away gently.

"Meerab, what's wrong?" His voice, so full of care and concern, made her heart throb. "Did someone say something? Are you feeling okay?"

She inhaled sharply, the weight in her chest making it hard to breathe. "I - we're going to go to ammi's grave." She admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. The confession was raw, filled with pain. The afternoon's conversation with her father had opened a door to the past, a door she was hesitant but desperate to step through. A journey to connect with the mother she never knew.

Murtasim's eyes darkened with empathy, understanding the magnitude of what she was about to do. "Do you want me to come with you?" He asked, his voice tender, tiptoeing around the delicate shards of her emotions. "I don't want to impose but if you want me - "

She couldn't let him finish. She nodded, her eyes beseeching him to be there, trusting his presence to help.

His thumb brushed across her cheek, catching another tear. "All right." He whispered, his promise simple yet full of unspoken commitment.

"I'll go clean up and change." She whispered, trying to bring some normalcy to the moment.

She needed a moment of solitude, to recompose herself, to find the strength she needed.

The bathroom mirror reflected a face with tear-streaked makeup, a stark reminder of the emotional turmoil she had undergone. The vibrant red shalwar-kameez she wore felt inappropriate for the solemn visit so she had picked out a duller grey set from her wardrobe earlier, leaving it in the bathroom. As she changed, the soft fabric enveloping her felt like a shield against the world, a semblance of protection.

Wiping away the remnants of her makeup, she stared at her reflection, seeking the Meerab she knew. She tied her hair into a ponytail, feeling an odd sense of confinement in the act. The array of jewelry she usually adorned herself with had seemed out of place so she had taken it off earlier, leaving it on the dresser, leaving only her wedding ring in place.

Stepping out of the sanctuary of the bathroom, she found that Murtasim awaited her, his presence filling the room with a silent strength she had come to rely on. "I've never been to a grave...is this..." She trailed off, self-consciously smoothing her outfit.

His gaze softened as he took in her appearance, the vulnerability in her eyes striking a chord deep within him. Without a word, he closed the distance between them, pulling her to stand in front of the dresser, gently taking out the hairband, releasing her hair to cascade down her back in waves, running his fingers through the strands.

Her heart fluttered as his fingers brushed her wrist, sliding on the bangles she had discarded on the dresser earlier - the very ones his mother had gifted her. The weight of them felt like a whispered affirmation, grounding her.

"You can still be you, Meerab." He whispered, the depth of his voice anchoring her frayed emotions. Drawing her closer, he planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, the touch a soothing balm.

The weight of the impending visit and the rush of emotions it invoked left Meerab yearning for solace. The sturdiness of Murtasim's form, the anchoring strength he always provided, beckoned her closer. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself into his embrace. The cool fabric of his shirt pressed against her cheek, his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, offering her an island of tranquility in the emotional tempest she found herself in.

"It's weird." She whispered against his chest, her voice slightly muffled by the fabric. "I - the more I learn about her, the more it hurts...but I never knew her." Her words carried the weight of the confusion, the raw pain of a new wound that seemed to never truly heal.

Murtasim tightened his embrace, trying to shield her from the pain with the strength of his arms. "That makes it worse in a way," he responded, his voice soft but firm. "You have no memories to hold onto, you have to miss what could have been."

The truth in his words hit her hard. The absence of her mother wasn't just about missing someone she had never met, it was about grieving the bond, the moments, the memories that she never had a chance to form. Every story she heard, every photograph she saw, intensified the sense of loss.

Tears blurring her vision, she lifted her gaze to meet his. "Do you go to your father's grave?" The question was sudden, prompted by a curiosity born out of a shared understanding of loss.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flash of pain evident in his eyes. "Not often," he admitted, his voice betraying the hurt he rarely showed.

The vulnerability in his response made her heart clench. "Why?" She probed, needing to understand.

"I don't know..." he began, searching for the right words. "I respected him greatly, but visiting his grave brought with it what ifs and regrets I always tried to bury. Maybe a part of me resents him for what life ended up being like."

She could sense his pain, one he had shared with her, and although he implied that he had worked through it, it seemed that he still harbored some unresolved feelings.

She hummed softly, a quiet acknowledgment the complexity that shadowed his words. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring her further to him.

The warmth of his body, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the texture of his shirt beneath her fingers—all of it became her sanctuary and she hoped it meant the same to him. The embrace was her way of communicating all the words she couldn't form, of saying 'I understand,' 'I'm here for you,' and 'Thank you.' If she could, she'd envelop him in all the love and gratitude she felt, offering a haven just as he always provided for her. Even if she could return just a fraction of the solace he consistently bestowed upon her, she would consider it a small victory.

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The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, mournful shadows across the expanse of the graveyard. Birds chirped their evening songs, a melodic contrast to the weightiness of the moment. Murtasim watched as Meerab slowly approached the gravestone, her every step echoing the hesitance in her heart. He could sense the storm of emotions playing across her face – sorrow, regret, a longing for a connection she had never had the chance to forge.

Every tear that escaped from her eyes felt like a stab to his heart. Murtasim had always been affected by her tears, but this raw vulnerability was different. It was a reminder that even though they shared their lives now, there were parts of her past he could never truly heal. Her grief was a deep well, filled with the shadows of a lifetime of moments she had missed with her mother.

Murtasim pulled Meerab closer into his embrace. Her body trembled, waves of sorrow coursing through her. He took a deep breath and used his free hand to brush away the stray hairs on her face, tucking them behind her ear. The world around them seemed to slow, but Murtasim was hyper-aware of every little detail: the trembling of Meerab's lips as she tried to contain her tears, and the deep, sorrowful lines on Anwar's face that came to the fore as he began to speak.

"Nazia," Anwar began, his voice breaking as he addressed his departed wife. He gently caressed the gravestone as if trying to reach out to her. "This is our Meerab, our little miracle."

Murtasim observed his uncle, noting the lines of age and grief on his face for the first time, the quiver in his voice as he spoke to the resting place of his lost love, introducing their daughter to her. Anwar's eyes shone with tears, and Murtasim felt a pang of sympathy for him, realizing the magnitude of his loss.

Murtasim watched as Meerab's eyes too welled up, her grip on his hand tightening. He wished he could shield her from the pain, but all he could offer was a shoulder to lean on.

Anwar's voice cracked as he continued. "I'm so sorry, Nazia. I should've brought her sooner. I failed as a father, let years slip by without letting her connect to her roots, to you. But despite my failings, she's grown... she's blossomed into this incredible woman. You'd be so proud."

Meerab's breath caught in her throat. Murtasim, sensing her overwhelming emotion rubbed circles on her back, trying to give her strength.

"Look at her now," Anwar's voice was full of mixed emotions—pride, sadness, regret. "She's no longer the little girl I told you stories about. She's old enough to be married. And you remember Murtasim, don't you? He was just a toddler, playing around with toy cars the last time you saw him. Now, he's the man by her side, her husband."

He sighed heavily then, the wind somehow making it sound louder.

"The way she smiles, the way her nose crinkles when she's confused, even the way she challenges authority—it's all you, Nazia. Every day, I see you in her. It's a blessing and a painful reminder, all at once," Anwar whispered, tears flowing freely now.

The atmosphere was thick with memories, longing, and a bittersweet melancholy. Murtasim could feel Meerab's heartbreak as if it were his own. He wished he could utter words to alleviate her pain, but he knew no words would suffice. Instead, he let his presence, the gentle brush of his fingers against her arm, the comforting weight of his embrace, speak louder than any words ever could.

Anwar pulled him away minutes later, wanting to give Meerab some privacy to speak with her mother, and even though he was reluctant to leave her side, he did when she didn't protest. The two of them stood under the shade of the oak, its large branches reaching out protectively over them, as if understanding the weight of the moment. The distant chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze filled the silence between the two men.

Every few moments, Murtasim's eyes would flit towards Meerab, ensuring she was okay, even though he had left her side for mere minutes. Her silhouette against the setting sun was fragile and yet held so much strength, reminding him of how resilient she was.

"Thank you." Anwar began, pulling Murtasim from his thoughts.

He glanced at the older man, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, waiting for an explanation.

Anwar, taking a deep breath, continued, "She's happier these days...because of you. She talked animatedly of the changes to your room, and more recently the law school papers. And although she doesn't say it, it's clear she feels loved and loves you."

Murtasim's gaze lowered, cheeks slightly flushed at the praises and hope filled his chest at the insinuation that Meerab too loved him. The fact that Anwar noticed these small moments of happiness in Meerab warmed him. He could picture her excitement, her beaming smile while speaking of their shared life, and it moved him. "I just want her to be happy," he admitted softly.

With a paternal smile, Anwar said, "It's a far cry from your insistence that we keep her away from you. It seems like you're not the prison-keeper you thought you were. You've changed too...which is a feat in itself and something only Meerab could do."

His words struck a chord. Murtasim blinked, taken aback by the truth in them. How he behaved now was a stark contrast to the stoic, detached yet angry man he had become somewhere between the loss of his father and Meerab's presence in his life. She was the ray of sunlight that found its way through his tightly shut windows, illuminating the parts of him that were not doing him any good and making way for parts he thought he had lost. Meerab's arrival into his life was forcing him to live rather than go through the motions.

"You're both good for each other...I knew you would be," Anwar said with certainty, breaking the weight of the moment.

Murtasim scoffed. "Did you all or did you just find the easy way out?"

Anwar chuckled softly. "You two are more similar than you think – it's that famous Khan stubbornness and anger, that kind of fire can only be handled with a fire that burns just as bright. You'd burn too bright and hurt yourselves with anyone weaker. You both needed someone that could see past the anger and love, someone who would stand up to you and show you a mirror...like Nazia did for me."

Taking a moment to digest that, Murtasim gazed at the horizon, watching the crimson sun dip lower. Anwar's comparison was bittersweet—highlighting the parallels between their relationships. It was a comfort and a mystery, understanding yet not understanding, all at once.

"I am surprised she wasn't angry for longer after learning that getting her married off was your suggestion." Anwar said after a few moments. "I was sure I would have to prevent her from murdering you."

Every ounce of color drained from Murtasim's face. The world around him grew a shade dimmer. The playfulness in Anwar's tone didn't do anything to ease the dread gnawing at him. The weight of the secret had always been heavy, but hearing it uttered by someone else, especially Anwar, made it feel like a boulder pressing against Murtasim's chest. The breeze that had previously felt cooling now seemed cold and biting.

Anwar, catching onto the unease radiating from Murtasim, stopped chuckling. He looked intently at the young man's face, reading the clear surprise and fear etched across it. "You didn't tell her?" Anwar's voice was softer now, laced with a hint of concern.

Murtasim's voice faltered as he replied, "She doesn't need to know..." Memories of their recent closeness flashed before his eyes. The newfound trust, the late-night talks, the shared laughter, and those quiet moments of understanding. Telling her now would be like toppling a house of cards.

Anwar leaned in, his seasoned eyes searching Murtasim's. "She'll find out one day, the longer you wait, the more it'll hurt, Murtasim. Hiding something never works, trust me." The elder man's voice held years of wisdom, a lifetime of mistakes and learning.

The raw vulnerability in Murtasim's eyes became evident. "She'll hate me again." He murmured, almost to himself. Taking a deep breath, he spoke louder, "She's been through enough. Why add more to her plate?"

Anwar let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of years of regret. "Murtasim, when you marry someone, you don't just share the joyous moments; you share the burdens too. And sometimes, those burdens are the mistakes and secrets of the past."

Murtasim's eyes flitted back to Meerab, watching her kneel and gently trace the engravings on the tombstone.

Murtasim frowned, perplexed. "She's – she's only starting to accept things now. Bringing it up again would just bring her pain, and I don't want her to feel any pain. Especially not because of me."

"I understand that," Anwar said softly, looking towards Meerab, who was still at the grave. "But pain is inevitable in relationships, Murtasim. It's the overcoming of it, the mending of hurt, that truly strengthens bonds. Keeping this from her might spare her immediate pain, but it'll hurt more the longer you wait."

Murtasim's face paled, imagining Meerab's heartbreak. But Anwar's words held weight. It was a precarious balance – the truth and its implications.

"When she looks at me, I want her to see someone she can trust, someone who loves her unconditionally. Not a reminder of why she was forced into this." Murtasim muttered.

"And she will," Anwar reassured, patting Murtasim's shoulder gently, "but she also needs to see someone who's flawed. Someone who's made mistakes and is willing to make amends for them. You're not perfect, Murtasim, and neither is she. But together, you both can be. It starts with honesty."

"But..." Murtasim's voice faltered. "She'll hate me for it."

"Or," Anwar countered, "she'll look at you and see a man, flawed but willing to be better for her. A man willing to own up to his mistakes, to make amends. She'll be disappointed, perhaps a bit angry, but she'll come around. She loves you now...love is hard to let go of."

Murtasim's fingers clenched involuntarily, feeling the edges of the bitter truth in Anwar's words. But the weight of the betrayal bore down even more. He remembered Meerab's fiery spirit, the indomitable will that sought to break free and chase dreams. And he was the cage, or at least, he had given others the idea to build it.

The irony wasn't lost on him. At first, he had suggested marrying her off as a means to clip her wings, to prevent her from soaring to law school and the dreams she held so dear. Yet, as the universe played its cards, he had unknowingly become the groom in this orchestrated play.

He could now admit that the early resentment of the idea of marrying her had been a farce, a part of him had liked the idea even then. He knew now that he would have given grief to anyone else who had been made her groom back then...he just hadn't known it.

Caught in his thoughts, a movement at the periphery of his vision made him look up. Meerab had finished paying her respects, turning away from the resting place of her mother. The sun caught her face at just the right angle, illuminating her silhouette and causing her tear-streaked face to glow. Her eyes, deep reservoirs of emotions, met his. A slight, tired smile graced her lips as she motioned towards the car with a nod, suggesting it was time to go.

The love and trust evident in that gaze seemed like a cruel juxtaposition against the storm raging within him. His heart felt as though it was being pressed between two heavy stones, the pain palpable. While she was showing a growing fondness and trust towards him, he feared the revelation of his past intentions would irrevocably scar their relationship.

Yet, the gnawing realization persisted: he had to be the one to tell her. For if the truth emanated from another, the wound would be deeper, perhaps even fatal to their budding relationship.

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A/N: Sooooo, what do you think? What was your favourite part? Do you think Murtasim will tell Meerab or not? And how will Meerab react?