Murtasim found himself immersed in a world of longing and confusion after the rooftop confrontation with Meerab.

He hadn't understood the depth of pain his avoidance must have inflicted upon her until he experienced it himself, the overwhelming yearning for just a glimpse of her over the days that followed their first real fight, a fight about them, rather than the things around them.

The absence of Meerab's presence became an ache that consumed his thoughts and filled his days with a sense of loss. He missed her greatly—her radiant smile, her bickering, the adorable faces she made as she scrolled through her phone, and the warmth of her presence by his side. He had become so used to her that his life felt empty without all of it, as if a vital part of his being was missing.

It pained him to realize that she had started to avoid him, to retreat into a space where he couldn't reach her, because despite everything, she had never done that before. She had fought with him at every turn, followed him, yelled at him, and driven him absolutely mad, but she had never pretended that he didn't exist.

Each morning, he would wake up, only to find that she had already left the room, the smell of her lingering body wash and perfume barely lingering in the room. The woman who detested waking up early had willingly left their shared space at an ungodly hour to avoid him.

Throughout the day, regardless of his attempts to search for her, she remained elusive, like the ghosts he teased her about. It was as if she had vanished into thin air, leaving him to wonder where she hid herself away. Meerab's presence was one that was hard to hide, for as small as she was, her aura was magnificent, yet she had found a place to disappear to.

Murtasim tried working from home, hoping to catch sight of her as he moved his office around the house to be close to wherever he suspected her to be. Yet, she remained hidden, intentionally avoiding any contact with him. He yearned to catch a glimpse of her, to have a moment of connection amidst the growing distance between them as he felt her slip away.

In the vast expanse of their home, he saw her only three times a day if he was fortunate—at breakfast, at dinner, and when she slept. Even then, she maintained a certain aloofness, never allowing their gazes to meet for more than a fleeting moment. Murtasim found himself longing for the sight of Meerab's mesmerizing eyes, the captivating windows to her soul.

He loved her eyes. They were deep brown in color, brimming with emotions that could speak volumes even in her moments of silence. Those eyes had always been a source of fascination for him, revealing the depth of her thoughts and desires with an effortless grace even when she refused to voice it, they had given him hope many times.

However, she deliberately avoided meeting his gaze, denying him the chance to delve into the depths of her being as he so yearned to. It pained him to see those beautiful eyes turned away from him, for they had once held an unspoken reassurance, telling him that things would be okay one day. The absence of that connection left him feeling adrift, unable to decipher the unspoken messages that had once flowed effortlessly between them.

The silence between them became deafening, and he yearned for the sound of her voice. The absence of Meerab's melodic voice weighed heavily on Murtasim's heart. Her words had once been like a symphony, resonating within him and soothing his soul, even when her words were sharp. He longed for the sound of her voice, even if it meant enduring her anger and accusations. Her voice had held a certain enchantment, drawing him in and making him feel alive. But now, the silence between them only intensified his longing. He missed the way her voice would rise and fall, the gentle cadence that carried her emotions and thoughts. The echoes of their past conversations haunted him, and he yearned to hear her voice once more, even if she yelled and hurled accusations at him, most of them, he admitted, were warranted.

But she did no such thing, and it was so unlike her that it broke his heart.

Meerab no longer entered their room until he was already asleep, leaving him to wake himself up in the middle of the night just to get his fill of her. In the stillness of the night, Murtasim's gaze rested upon Meerab's serene face, was the only time when she couldn't escape from him, a moment he cherished amidst the turbulence of their relationship. The soft moonlight always bathed her delicate features, casting a gentle glow upon her flawless skin.

It was only when he watched her breathe calmly that a sense of tranquility enveloped his restless heart. He traced the contours of her face with his eyes, committing every curve, every line to memory. The furrows of worry that etched her brow during the day were smoothed out, revealing the peaceful innocence that resided within her. In this quiet solitude, he found solace, losing himself in the delicate beauty of her sleeping form. It was in these stolen moments, when the world stood still, that he could truly appreciate the captivating allure of Meerab's face, unencumbered by the complexities of their troubled waking relationship.

As he stared at her, he remembered the raw vulnerability in her eyes as she had cried and shouted at him on that rooftop. Her words had shattered him because he realized they came from the depths of her heart, representing all the unspoken anguish she had endured over the past months.

He had been oblivious to the magnitude of her struggles, her silent battles, and the weight of her emotions. Murtasim replayed their rooftop conversation in his mind, examining every word, every emotion shared between them. He had witnessed the raw vulnerability in her eyes, the sincerity of her pleas, and the depth of her longing for understanding and...acceptance, and the depth of her mistrust in him.

Now, he questioned whether he would ever have the chance to regain her trust, to prove to her that he was capable of being the partner she wanted.

Her jealousy, which he once found endearing, now appeared as a destructive force that threatened to engulf them both, just like his jealousy. He understood the fire that burned within her, a fire fueled by her fears and insecurities, a fire similar to the one that burned in him.

Murtasim's mind spun with conflicting emotions as he grappled with the realization that his actions, or lack thereof, had contributed to Meerab's resentment. While he had convinced himself that he had been firm with Haya, a part of him recognized the truth in Meerab's words - he hadn't done enough.

His mother's decision to take Haya in and offer her a home had tied his hands, leaving him in a difficult position. He felt obliged to respect his mother's choice and maintain a semblance of harmony within the family. But now he understood that his efforts to appease everyone had come at the cost of his own wife's distrust in him.

The flames of anger flickered within Murtasim's heart as he realized the disparity between how he reacted to someone pursuing Meerab and his leniency towards Haya's actions. The thought of Rohail, or anyone else, following Meerab around in the same manner Haya did to him filled him with a seething jealousy and protective instinct. He couldn't fathom allowing such a situation to persist, Meerab was right, he would have killed Rohail if he lingered around her like Haya did him.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, the weight of his mistakes bearing down on him. How had he let things escalate to this point? How had he allowed Meerab's concerns to go unnoticed for so long? The truth was that he had reveled in her jealousy, taking it as a sign of her love and possessiveness. In those moments, he had felt desired and cherished as her husband.

But now he understood the fallacy of his thinking. He had failed to realize that Meerab's jealousy stemmed from a place of insecurity and fear, a fear of losing him to someone else...the same fear he had. It wasn't a sign of her love; it was a cry for reassurance and validation. It was so similar to his own plight that he felt almost stupid for ignoring hers and expecting her to understand his.

He hadn't made things easier for her with his actions.

Her confession of seeking solace in Karachi after their confrontation crushed him. It was a stark realization of the pain she had endured, he hadn't realized why she wanted to hold on to the lie of being pregnant as she did, but looking back, he remembered the way everyone doted on her...in a way they didn't otherwise. The thought of her being so starved for love broke him, and the fact that she needed to seek respite from a life that had confined her also broke him. But what hurt him even more was her subsequent silence, the way she ignored his presence as if he had become a stranger to her, as if she didn't believe him capable of love either.

Murtasim had initially believed that Meerab's withdrawal would only last a day or two, a natural response to their heated exchange. However, the days stretched into a week, and he found himself trapped in a limbo of uncertainty. Her absence gnawed at his heart, as did the words he remembered.

The weight of his mistakes pressed heavily upon him, and he began to understand where he had gone wrong. The pang of regret tightened his chest, and he wished he had listened to her when it came to Rohail, that he had given her a chance to explain. He acknowledged his shortcomings in the art of listening. Ever since he had taken over his father's seat, the responsibility of leading their family, Murtasim had become accustomed to asserting his own will, drowning out the voices of others. The mantle of power whispered in his ear that he need not listen, that his opinions and decisions were paramount.

It was a position he had fully accepted despite the fact that he had never sought it. His mind traced back to a time when he was young, when the world was full of possibilities and his dreams were boundless. But as fate would have it, he had been thrust into a role that demanded sacrifice and denied him the luxury of dreaming. He had accepted his lot, burying the essence of Murtasim deep within himself, transforming into the person he needed to be—Khan Murtasim Khan, the protector of his family's honor and the custodian of their traditions.

The seat of power, inherited from his father, dictated the path he was to tread, and the values he was to consider important. The burden of responsibility overshadowed his personal desires, and he convinced himself that dreams were luxuries he could no longer afford. With each passing day, Murtasim had locked away his aspirations, and in them a piece of himself, surrendering them to the expectations of his role. The only thing his father had asked of him before departing this world was to safeguard the respect of the Khans—a request he had embraced with fervor.

His father's teachings often echoed in his mind, reminding him of the importance of tradition and upholding the family's legacy. In his pursuit of respect, the fire of passion had been extinguished, and he had accepted his destiny, that despite the power he held, there were decisions he could not make. He had believed that his wife too would be chosen for him, just as everything else in his life had been preordained, and she had been in the form of Meerab, the one woman who annoyed him above all else.

As Murtasim delved deeper into his introspection, he confronted the complex emotions that resided within him. While he had made peace with his lack of agency, accepting the predetermined path set before him, there was a part of him that yearned for the freedom and spirit he had seen in Meerab. She was like a bird soaring through the skies, unburdened by the constraints of societal expectations. In her presence, he caught a glimpse of the life he had once dreamt of, a life filled with freedom.

He couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between Meerab's assertiveness and his own passivity whenever their paths had crossed. She possessed an unwavering determination to get what she desired, and it both fascinated and angered him, everyone gave into her and her wants. The fact that Meerab refused to conform to the same expectations irked him, yet it compelled him to pay closer attention to her than he had to anyone else. There was an undeniable spark in their interactions, a dynamic that ignited a fire within him.

At first, Murtasim believed that his fascination with Meerab stemmed from a desire to witness her surrender, to see her confined within the boundaries he had grown accustomed to. It was a twisted sense of satisfaction he sought, as if validating his own compromised existence. But as he witnessed her journey, the hardships she endured and the losses she suffered, his perspective shifted, he got no satisfaction out of seeing her crumble. The walls around his heart crumbled, and he realized that his intentions had been misguided.

The pedestal upon which he had placed Meerab shattered, revealing a vulnerable soul that mirrored his own. Her profound sadness and the depth of her eyes touched him in ways he had never experienced before. The empathy he felt for her was profound, resonating within him as a haunting reminder of his own past struggles. Rather that revelling in her misfortune, he had been saddened by his involvement in it.

As Murtasim reflected on his relationship with Meerab, he remembered grappling with conflicting emotions and the realization that their connection went beyond mere familial ties. When she expressed her desire to marry him, he couldn't refuse, not only because she was a daughter of their house, but also because he sensed a growing importance she held in his heart. Yet, he deceived himself by convincing his mind that his care for her was solely based on their relation, dismissing the deeper feelings that stirred within him then.

However, he couldn't deny the impact she had on him. It pierced his heart to witness her tears, as if they were his own for reasons he could not explain then. He had seen women cry countless times, even women in his family, yet he had never felt the urge to comfort them the way he did her. He hadn't understood why his heart ached for her then, but he had slowly come to realize why over time.

It was shortly after those moment that his breath caught whenever he glimpsed her captivating beauty, suddenly untainted by animosity. In a moment of vulnerability, he admitted to himself that she had always been stunning, but then, he had been given the right to openly appreciate her.

Yet, she had swiftly taken that privilege away with the contract she had made him sign, leaving him wounded, not only in his heart but also in his ego. As he endeavored to make Meerab fall for him, he found himself falling irrevocably for her instead. It made him question whether there had always been something deeper between them, whether her ability to provoke and unsettle him was a result of an underlying cause that he had denied.

He hated that she made him feel so much, so he set out to make her feel the same way, he revelled in the way he flustered her. But to his utter surprise, she managed to fluster him even more despite him being the instigator. The turning point came when her life was endangered, and he realized the extent of his emotions. In that moment, he was willing to defy the world, disregard consequences, and protect her at any cost. The mere thought of her absence pained him profoundly.

She claimed it wasn't love, but Murtasim was certain that it was. In his world, respect held paramount importance, but suddenly, she had become more significant than even that. He forgave her for things he wouldn't forgive anyone else for. This realization initially evoked anger within him, challenging the very foundation of his beliefs.

Meerab had reawakened a dormant dream within him, a dream that had ignited when she expressed her desire to marry him and raged within him after their trip to the village. He yearned for her love not her submission, he wanted her to care for him in the same way he cared for her, without reason.

She had illuminated his life, giving him a reason to stay in the Haveli, giving him a reason to smile. She had become his home, his source of happiness—a sensation he hadn't experienced in years. But with each passing day, the flickering hope of reciprocated love diminished, as he became increasingly aware that she didn't love him in the same way.

It made him insecure.

He longed for her love, not out of duty or necessity, but as a genuine expression of her heart. He yearned for the headstrong Meerab to love him, because he knew that her love meant that she would truly embrace him for who he was, not for what he represented or what he could offer her, not in the way everyone else looked at him.

But in that moment, he knew he would settle for anything, even her anger. He hated her silence. He yearned for her presence, his longing so profound that after a couple of days of her avoidance, he purposely stayed away until he knew she had retired to their room, returning home much later than he usually did.

The room was filled with a hushed silence as he entered. The dimmed lights cast a soft glow, highlighting the emptiness that seemed to pervade the space. Meerab was still awake, her expression a mixture of shock and disbelief at his unexpected arrival. It seemed she had resigned herself to the notion that he wouldn't come home that night.

Their eyes met fleetingly, and Meerab quickly averted her gaze, her features contorted with a trace of sadness. Murtasim took a deep breath, his heart aching at the sight of her. It felt as though an eternity had passed since he last laid eyes on her when she was awake. His wife, so breathtaking in her beauty, appeared weighed down, her lips downturned and her eyes void of any emotion, not even a glimmer of anger shone within them.

Desperate for a connection, he attempted to engage her in conversation. "You're not going to say anything?" His voice trembled with a mix of hope and apprehension. He yearned for her to open up, to share her thoughts and feelings with him.

But Meerab remained silent, refusing to respond to his plea. Her silence hung heavy in the air, intensifying the tension between them. Murtasim felt his heart sinking, the weight of her unspoken words pressing upon him.

"Meerab, please." He implored, his voice filled with a combination of longing and desperation.

Still, she remained unyielding, her silence unbroken. Murtasim's expectations of her usual resistance crumbled as he cautiously curled up on the bed beside her. He anticipated her protests, expecting her to push him away, banishing him to the couch in their customary battle for personal space.

But to his surprise, she offered no resistance. She uttered not a single word, her silence deafening. Instead, she placed pillows between them, creating a physical barrier, and turned her back towards him.

His heart shattered at the gesture, the weight of her withdrawal crushing him. He despised the distance that had grown between them, it gnawed at him, and he desperately sought a way to reconcile the fracture in their relationship.

In that moment, as they lay in the dimly lit room, separated by an invisible chasm, Murtasim grappled with his own vulnerabilities. He yearned to bridge the divide, to unravel the complexities of their emotions and find a way to her. But it seemed an insurmountable task, as he wrestled with the truth that she seemed so out of reach.

As Murtasim lay beside Meerab, an overwhelming sense of doubt and self-reflection consumed him. The haunting question echoed in his mind: was his idea of love truly that far removed from her understanding of it? He grappled with his own perception of love, and hers. He trusted her...or he thought he did.

Her words echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but recall how he had acted after he found her missing after the accident. She had come to him, her eyes brimming with tears, but he had failed to see her tears for what they were, he hadn't even thought to ask why she was there, he had just blamed her for abandoning him because he was so sure she did.

He pondered the nature of his trust in her. It wasn't that he wanted to doubt her intentions or loyalty, but rather that he had grappled with the insecurity that tethered their connection, the belief that she would leave at any given moment, that she had married him for the wrong reasons.

A pang of unease washed over him as he sensed her truly slipping away in a way he hadn't before. It dawned on him that now it wasn't merely a fear of losing her; it was the certainty that she had given up on their relationship. The signs were becoming unmistakable, her withdrawal and silence speaking volumes. It seemed as though she had lost faith in their ability to bridge the gaps between them, and he felt helpless in the face of this realization.

A sense of regret flooded his heart.

He knew he needed to do something, something that would make her speak, something that would show her that he had listened.

But he just didn't know where to start.

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

Amidst the weight of his confusion and the lingering thoughts of losing Meerab, Murtasim found solace in seeking guidance within the walls of the same mosque that had borne witness to the last time he had truly cried for himself, it had been shortly after the death of his father and him burying his own dreams.

The scent of incense and the hushed whispers of prayers enveloped him as he stepped into the sacred space. As he sat against a pillar, his thoughts swirling with questions and uncertainties, an old man approached him with a gentle smile. The lines etched on his face spoke of a life filled with wisdom and contemplation. With a kind voice, he broke the silence. "You look lost, my son. What are you thinking so hard about?"

Murtasim looked up, momentarily startled by the presence of the man, wondering why he had approached him. On any other day he would have just shaken his head and said nothing, but in the absence of having anyone to talk to about his inner turmoil, he found himself replying. "Love."

The old man nodded understandingly, his gaze warm and compassionate. "Ah, love. It is both the easiest and hardest thing in the world." He said, his voice carrying the weight of experience.

Intrigued by his response, Murtasim leaned in, wanting to hear more. "What do you mean?"

The old man paused for a moment, his eyes reflecting the wisdom of years lived and lessons learned. He spoke with a gentle certainty, his words laden with profound meaning. "Love, my son, is a divine gift bestowed upon us. It is the purest form of connection, the essence of our humanity. It is easy in its essence, for it is rooted in kindness, compassion, and selflessness. Love asks for nothing in return, but it fills the heart with immeasurable joy and deepens our understanding of the world."

Murtasim listened intently, captivated by the old man's words. He found himself hanging onto each syllable, hoping to unlock the secrets of love that Meerab thought eluded him.

The old man continued, his voice soothing and gentle, "Yet, love can also be the hardest thing because it demands vulnerability, understanding, and acceptance. It requires us to let go of our ego, our expectations, and our desires. Love is not possession or control, but rather a profound connection that flourishes in freedom and mutual respect."

Murtasim's eyes widened, as he realized that the man's words resonated with those that Meerab had uttered.

Seeking further enlightenment, Murtasim asked with genuine curiosity. "But how do I know if I truly love someone?"

The old man smiled, a gentle wisdom emanating from his being. "True love, my son, is a feeling that transcends the physical realm. It is a connection that nourishes the soul, where the happiness and well-being of the other person become as important as your own. Love is not about owning or possessing someone, but rather about supporting, cherishing, and uplifting them."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle, his eyes flickering over Murtasim's face.

Then, he continued. "To truly love someone, you must also love yourself...confess your wrongdoings, and forgive yourself. Find the balance within, for only when you embrace your own worth and inner peace can you offer genuine love to another."

The old man, with a serene smile, patted Murtasim's shoulder gently before leaving him to contemplate the profound wisdom he had received.

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

When Murtasim returned home, his eyes fell upon Feena, the maid he recognized as being close to Haya, someone who would likely have knowledge of her every move and intimate details. He remembered Meerab's concerns about Haya, and also realized that Meerab might not have disclosed everything, especially if he hadn't specifically asked. And if he were to go ask her now, she wouldn't answer him, he knew that.

Feena, upon seeing Murtasim, attempted to quickly retreat, perhaps sensing that she was about to be caught in the crossfire of his inquiries. However, Murtasim was determined to unravel the mystery and called out to her, his voice carrying both authority and urgency. "Feena." His call stopped her right in her tracks, she turned around, her eyes wide as she looked at him. "I need to know everything you've witnessed or heard about Haya's treatment towards Meerab. Everything. And don't you dare lie to me."

As Feena stood before him, her hesitation palpable, Murtasim could feel the weight of the unspoken words hanging in the air. He knew that this conversation could potentially lead to revelations that might change his perception of the people he thought he knew. With anticipation and a tinge of anxiety, he awaited Feena's response, hoping that she would open up and provide the missing pieces of the puzzle he so desperately sought.

---------

A/N: I would love to hear your thoughts! You'll find that I have a soft spot for both Meerab and Murtasim, they're both so nuanced in their imperfections that I can't help but love them.