A/N: Hello! I know, I know, "finally"! I've been a bit under the weather lately so I haven't been writing much, but hopefully it's all up from here. This is a long chapter again, with tons of fluff, so I hope y'all like it.

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The sun was high in the sky as Murtasim steered the car towards the village. As they journeyed, the landscape gradually transformed. The tightly packed cityscape and constant hum of activity gave way to a more serene, open environment.

Fields stretched out on either side of the road, a patchwork quilt of greenery that seemed to go on forever. The lush, vibrant fields, some dotted with farmers tending to their crops, painted a picture of rural simplicity and hard work. The occasional sight of tractors and oxen ploughing the land offered a glimpse into the lives of those who cultivated these lands. The air was fresher here, filled with the earthy scent of soil and growing things, a stark contrast to the city's concrete and exhaust fumes.

Murtasim's gaze kept drifting to Meerab, who was curled up in the passenger seat. He watched her as her eyes took in the changing landscape, a soft, thoughtful expression on her face. There was something about the way the fading sunlight played across her features, casting gentle shadows and highlighting the contours of her face, that captivated him. Her hair fluttered slightly with the breeze coming from the airconditioner vents, strands dancing lightly around her face.

Yet he could sense her discomfort. She was curled up in the passenger seat, a small bundle of apprehension and discomfort. The closer they got, the more apparent her unease became. He could almost feel the weight of her thoughts, heavy in the air between them.

He let out a gentle sigh, breaking the silence. "What's wrong, Meerab?" His voice was soft, laced with concern.

Meerab turned towards him, her expression hesitant. She shook her head, trying to dismiss his worries, but Murtasim wasn't convinced. He knew her well enough to see past her brave front.

His mind briefly flickered to the colorful plastic wrap he'd noticed in the trash earlier that day. Her period was always punctual, a monthly visitor that brought discomfort and mood swings. He wondered if that was part of her unease now.

"The heated seat might help," he suggested casually, pressing the button to activate the passenger side seat warmer.

"But then I'll be warm," she whined softly, a frown creasing her brow.

Adjusting the air conditioning, he increased the flow of cool air. "There," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

Meerab let out a light giggle, her mood lifting slightly. "Thank you, Murtasim. Whatever did I do all those years I had my period without you?" She quipped.

He shook his head, half amused, half exasperated. "I don't understand why you don't take painkillers," he muttered, his gaze returning to the road.

She shrugged, a small gesture that conveyed a world of discomfort. "They make me feel bleh."

"And you don't feel bleh right now?" he pointed out, his voice tinged with a playful challenge.

"I'm used to this kind of bleh," she replied, a hint of laughter in her voice, making him laugh too.

As the car hummed along the road, Murtasim reached over to clasp Meerab's hand. Bringing it to his lips, he gently kissed the back of it, marvelling at how soft her skin was. "What else is bothering you?" he asked, his voice soft yet probing.

Meerab looked at him. "How'd you know?" she inquired, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

"You're only quiet when you have a lot on your mind these days," Murtasim observed. He could always tell when something was weighing on her.

She let out a deep sigh, her gaze drifting away momentarily. "Nothing has ever gone well every time I've come to the village, just nerves I guess." Her voice carried a hint of vulnerability.

Murtasim exhaled slowly, understanding her concern. "It'll be fine, just stay by my side," he reassured her.

Meerab smiled, though it was tinged with a hint of sarcasm as she rolled her eyes.

Murtasim persisted, his tone serious. "Seriously, I know you hate hearing things like this, but it's my job to protect you, so stay by my side and don't put yourself into danger." His words were a blend of concern and a plea.

Meerab opened her mouth as if to argue, but paused, seeming to reconsider. Murtasim hastened to clarify, "I am not trying to control you because you're a woman, I am trying to keep you safe because you're MY woman, Meerab. Let me take care of you." He wanted her to understand his intentions were out of love, not dominance.

She nodded, her lips curling into a slight smile. "All right, all right," she conceded, her tone lightening.

Murtasim again kissed her hand, a gesture of affection and reassurance. "It'll be fun, weddings are enjoyable in the village, everyone is involved, it's a big deal."

"No work, no school?" Meerab asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

"No school, but there is still some work," he replied honestly.

"What about the kids then?" her curiosity piqued.

Murtasim's smile broadened. "They flood the village, mostly the haveli grounds, playing cricket and a whole lot of other things." His words painted a lively picture of village life.

Meerab's face lit up with a new idea. "Do you think they'd like some sort of organized activity?" she suggested.

"Depends on what it is," Murtasim replied, intrigued.

"Painting? Crafts?" Meerab offered, her eyes shining with enthusiasm.

He nodded, imagining the scene. "Likely." Murtasim felt a swell of pride for Meerab. Her desire to engage with the villagers, made him feel that she would gradually find her place in that world.

She hummed and nodded, "And if I need things, who do I tell?" she asked.

"Bhaktu, Mai, Raila, and Bhaktu's nephew, Saim," Murtasim responded, listing the names of those who were knowledgeable and trusted.

"Bhaktu has a nephew?" Meerab asked, her surprise evident. Her expression was a mix of curiosity and amusement, as if the idea of Bhaktu having a family was a novel revelation to her.

Murtasim couldn't help but snort at her reaction. "Kyun, you think he just came into existence and has no family?" he teased, finding her surprise both endearing and amusing.

She blushed lightly, a delicate pink hue coloring her cheeks. "Seems like it," she admitted, her voice tinged with a playful embarrassment.

"He just didn't get married," Murtasim explained, thinking about Bhaktu's solitary life that was so intertwined with his family's.

"Because he's holding a candle out for you?" Meerab teased, her giggles echoing in the confines of their car, filling the space with her light-heartedness.

Murtasim rolled his eyes, wondering if she was ever going to let it go. "No, I think he's actually holding a candle out for Mai," he corrected her, his voice carrying a hint of laughter.

"No!" Meerab gasped, her face a picture of genuine shock. The revelation seemed to have caught her completely off guard.

Murtasim couldn't help but laugh at her adorable reaction. "Yes," he confirmed, amused by her astonishment.

"Since when?" Meerab pressed, turning in her seat, her interest clearly piqued by this unexpected piece of village gossip.

"He liked her when they were younger. She got married to someone else. It's why he left the village and followed my dad, and then me, to Hyderabad," Murtasim shared, his voice tinged with a respect for Bhaktu's long-held, unspoken feelings.

"That's so sad, oh poor Bhaktu!" Meerab exclaimed, her pout expressing the depth of her empathy for Bhaktu's unrequited love. "Where's Mai's husband?"

"Died two years ago," Murtasim replied.

"Ooooh, so there's a chance?" Meerab asked, her voice laced with excitement.

He snorted, amused by her sudden interest in playing cupid. "Please don't try to play matchmaker," he warned half-jokingly.

"Murtasimmmm," she whined playfully, her tone light yet persistent. "You're no fun. What if she likes him too?"

"I don't even know if he still likes her," Murtasim admitted, considering the complexities of human emotions and the passage of time.

"Don't worry, I'll figure it out," she sang happily, her determination evident in her tone.

He couldn't help but snort again, amused and slightly bewildered by her sudden enthusiasm for matchmaking. "I didn't peg you for a matchmaker, Meerab."

"Why?" she inquired, her voice laced with curiosity.

"You've always seemed very anti-love and marriage," he pointed out, remembering their initial interactions that were far from romantic.

She sighed playfully. "I was just very anti-you."

"And now?" he teased, a smile tugging at his lips as he drove.

"It depends on the day," she replied, her voice light yet laced with a newfound affection.

He feigned a heartbroken expression. "Ah, my heart breaks."

Her giggle was music to his ears.

As she leaned in to kiss his cheek, Murtasim felt a warm rush of affection. The simple act, so tender and caring, resonated deeply within him. There was something profoundly intimate and wifely about her kisses, a subtle reminder of their bond and her love for him. Her lips were soft against his skin, a gentle pressure that sent a ripple of contentment through him.

He loved these moments of unguarded affection from her. Each kiss, whether playful or heartfelt, made his heart warm.

"Better?" her voice was light, tinged with laughter and love.

"It still hurts, a couple more kisses might help," he replied, his heart swelling in his chest

"You're so cheesy, I hope you know that."

"You always tell me, how can I forget?" he responded.

"As long as you know, shaitaan."

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Meerab couldn't help but notice how her presence in the village had created a stir, a sort of innocent fascination that she found both flattering and overwhelming. The teens and young women seemed drawn to her, their curiosity piqued by her somewhat enigmatic presence and the tales they had heard of her last visit. They followed her around with an eagerness that was both endearing and slightly daunting, bombarding her with questions and teasing her about "Khan", as they called Murtasim.

Zubi, in particular, stood out among them. She was a breath of fresh air, her youthful exuberance infectious. Meerab found herself drawn to her energy, her laughter, and the way she spoke with such animation. There was something about Zubi's zest for life that was captivating, a reminder of the joy and simplicity that had once painted her life.

As they spent time together, Zubi had let slip that many of the unmarried women and teenage girls harbored crushes on Murtasim. This revelation was amusing yet stirred a hint of jealousy in Meerab. She watched, sometimes with a wry smile, as the girls' behavior changed dramatically in Murtasim's presence. They would become statuesque, their giggles and whispers trailing after him as he left the room, their eyes following him.

It was harmless, Meerab knew, but a part of her bristled at the thought. Murtasim was hers, and even though the notion was a little amusing, she couldn't shake off the feeling of possessiveness that crept up on her. There was something about the way the girls looked at him, the adoration and awe in their eyes, that made her want to wrap her arms around him and declare him off-limits.

"Khan," as they called him, was her husband. And though she knew these crushes were just fleeting fancies of the young, she couldn't help but feel a touch territorial. Each giggle, each stolen glance they cast his way, was a reminder that she wasn't the only one who saw how handsome he was.

Meerab listened as Zubi casually dismissed her jealousy with a laugh. "While everyone crushes on Khan, the real heart-throb around here is Saim," she declared, her tone light but firm.

However, as Meerab watched the ongoing cricket game, she couldn't help but question Zubi's assertion. Both Murtasim and Saim were actively engaged in the match, their movements fluid and energetic, captivating the children and teenagers around them. Yet, Meerab's keen observation told her a different story; it seemed like more eyes, including her own, were invariably drawn to Murtasim. Her heart fluttered at the sight of Murtasim in his simple, yet striking white kurta pajama. He moved with such an effortless grace, his athleticism on full display. Every strike of the ball, every dash across the field was a sight to behold.

As Murtasim hit the ball once again and dashed across the field again, a chorus of giggles and squeals erupted from the group of village girls seated behind her. Meerab couldn't help but turn around, facing the group of young admirers, only to catch them abruptly falling silent, their expressions a blend of awe and embarrassment as they looked away.

Zubi nudged her playfully, "Possessive much?" she teased, her eyes dancing with mirth.

"He's my husband," Meerab replied with a soft smile, feeling a gentle surge of possessiveness. She couldn't deny the charm her husband possessed, nor the attention he garnered.

"And they all know that, but he's eye candy," Zubi whispered, leaning closer. Meerab rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. Zubi was right; Murtasim was indeed eye candy, but he was her eye candy.

Zubi's voice dropped to a whisper, filled with excitement. "Besides, they all know he's madly in love with you."

Meerab must have looked surprised to her because Zubi continued. "When Malik's men took you, he was frantic. Everyone here still talks about how he ran around with your dupatta wrapped around his wrist, screaming your name. It's become a legend."

Meerab's heart fluttered at the thought, she hadn't known...but she could see it, she remembered that crazed look on his face when he had found her. The realization that Murtasim's love for her was so evident, so talked about, filled her with a sense of giddiness.

"Is that so?" Meerab murmured, her eyes drifting back to the cricket field, where Murtasim now stood, his stature commanding, his presence undeniable.

Meerab's attention was momentarily drawn back to Zubi's infectious enthusiasm. "You don't get it," Zubi sighed, a playful sparkle in her eyes. "Khan is never like that. The way he was during that time... it was something else! He's always been seen as stoic, angry, intimidating, but that day - his desperation for you, it was like a storm breaking loose. It was all anyone could talk about. People swore he was almost crying! And that is what they've all been talking about you two since you arrived! Khan...he seems happier, softer. He rarely plays with the children, but look at him now, some of them were shocked he could smile and laugh as easily as he does."

Meerab couldn't help but smile, her heart fluttering at the thought of how much Murtasim cared for her. "What was he usually like before?" she found herself asking, her curiosity piqued.

"He wasn't mean, just... imposing. And he visibly seemed stressed, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Now, he's visibly lighter, more approachable. Love really does change people," Zubi said with a knowing smile.

Their conversation was interrupted by the excited screams of children. "OUT OUT OUT!" they yelled, their voices ringing with glee.

Meerab turned her attention back to the ongoing cricket match. Murtasim had missed the ball, and the kids around him were in a state of ecstatic uproar. Murtasim, surprisingly, just laughed along, admitting his defeat and passing the bat to Saim. He exchanged a few words with him before making his way over to where Meerab was seated.

As Murtasim approached, the atmosphere around them seemed to shift. The women nearby started to whisper and giggle among themselves. Meerab couldn't help but overhear snippets of their conversation – comments on how handsome Khan looked and the way his eyes softened when they landed on her. It was a strange feeling, being the center of such attention, but the way Murtasim looked at her, with so much love and tenderness, made everything else fade into insignificance.

Meerab grasped the water bottle, feeling the coolness of it against her palm as she stood up, and handed it to Murtasim with a playful remark. "I didn't think you'd strike out so quickly," she teased, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

He chuckled, his deep voice resonating in the warm air. "Bowled out," he corrected her gently, unscrewing the cap with ease.

As Meerab watched him drink, her gaze lingered on the movement of his Adam's apple. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration mixed with desire. The memory of him emerging from the bathroom the that morning, clad only in a towel, flashed in her mind, making her heart race. She cursed her untimely monthly visitor again.

He handed back the empty bottle, breaking her reverie. "I was doing well while your eyes were on me," he whispered close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "Then you looked away, and I got distracted, wondering why you weren't staring at me like you had been the whole time."

"I wasn't staring!" she protested, her cheeks warming under his gaze.

He pulled back slightly, a playful grin on his face. "Hmmm, acha? I swear I felt like someone was undressing me with their eyes. Was it not you?"

She met his teasing with a glare. "You have quite the fan following, Murtasim."

"They have good taste," he retorted, his smile widening.

Meerab's glare deepened, but it was without real heat. His laughter was quiet, a sound that always managed to stir something deep within her.

"Chalo," he said, his voice gentle.

"Where?" she asked, curiosity piqued.

"Your face is red; you weren't made to sit out in the sun for so long, meri jaan," he whispered, concern lacing his tone.

Zubi snickered from nearby, but Meerab barely noticed. As Murtasim took her hand and led her away, she didn't resist. Instead, she leaned into him, grasping his arm and resting her head against his bicep. He was her husband, after all.

The murmurs and giggles of the onlookers followed them, but Meerab found she didn't mind.

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Meerab sat on the edge of their bed, her gaze fixed on the television screen across the room. The room, spacious yet imbued with a sense of coziness, was bathed in the soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table. The sturdy bed beneath her offered a comforting solidity, while the gentle whir of the air conditioner and the distant melody from the TV provided a soothing backdrop.

She winced slightly, feeling the persistent ache in her abdomen and back. The cramps, usually a mere discomfort, seemed particularly insistent tonight, tightening their grip around her in waves of pain that she tried to ignore.

Wrapped in silence, Meerab had curled into Murtasim's side as they settled in for the night, seeking solace in his warmth and presence. But then, he had abruptly gotten up, leaving her side. The sudden absence of his warmth left her feeling unexpectedly bereft.

The sound of his returning footsteps brought a small, relieved smile to her face. He entered the room, a hot water bottle clasped in his hands, his expression a mixture of concern and mild frustration.

"I don't understand why you must make yourself suffer," Murtasim said, his voice tinged with worry. She had brushed off his concerns earlier, insisting she was okay and used to the discomfort, despite feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"I can't just act like a baby four days a month, Murtasim," she sighed, trying to downplay her discomfort.

"You can also not run around like you have been," he countered gently, settling onto the bed beside her. His presence was a balm, his concern for her wellbeing touching her deeply.

As Murtasim's arms enveloped her, pulling her into his lap, Meerab couldn't suppress a surprised squeal. His touch was gentle yet firm, and she felt an immediate comfort as he pressed the hot water bottle against her abdomen. "A little lower," she instructed, adjusting the bottle slightly, and she let herself relax into the warmth of his body.

He leaned in, placing a soft kiss near her ear. "Is it worse this time?" His voice was tinged with concern.

Meerab nodded, feeling the heavier flow and sharper cramps than usual. "Because of having sex?" Murtasim asked, a hint of confusion in his tone.

"Maybe," she sighed, not entirely sure herself, but suspecting that the recent change in their physical relationship might have influenced her hormonal balance...but who really knew?

As he draped a blanket over them, creating a cozy cocoon, she felt a sense of peace envelop her. Nestled against him, with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear, she found a comforting solace.

"Is the heat helping?" Murtasim's voice was gentle, a soothing balm to her discomfort.

"A bit," she managed to say, smiling faintly. The warmth from the bottle provided physical relief, but it was his care, his presence, that truly eased her pain. In these moments, wrapped in his arms, the discomfort became a distant concern, overshadowed by the feeling of being loved and cared for.

As she leaned back against him, feeling his steady heartbeat and the gentle caress of his hands, Meerab couldn't help but feel a wave of affection for Murtasim.

"Thank you, Murtasim." She whispered.

He responded with a tender kiss atop her head. "Do you want to watch something else?" His fingers were lightly caressing her hair, a calming motion that helped her relax.

"This is fine," she said softly, her gaze returning to the TV. They were watching a comedy series Murtasim had chosen, something light and humorous to distract her. Each laugh track seemed to echo in the room, mingling with the comforting rhythm of Murtasim's heartbeat against her back.

Murtasim's hand left the comforting warmth of the hot water bottle, moving to Meerab's shoulder to rub it gently. "Do you need anything else? Some tea, maybe? Or painkillers?" His voice was imbued with a deep concern that resonated through her, warming her heart just as much as the bottle warmed her stomach.

Meerab shifted slightly to face him, their eyes locking. There was something irresistibly endearing about the way he looked at her, like a worried puppy with those big, expressive eyes. She couldn't help but lean in and place a soft kiss on his cheek. "I am okay, I promise."

"Sure?" He wasn't easily convinced.

She nodded, a smile dancing on her lips. "You have to stop acting so cute," she teased, "no wonder those women in the village seemed quite smitten with you today."

His chuckle vibrated through her, the sound as comforting as his embrace. "Really?"

She hummed in response, a playful glint in her eyes. "I am sure many of them tried to catch your attention, didn't they?" The question was a gentle prod, fueled by a hint of playful jealousy.

"Jealous?" He asked, amusement coloring his voice.

"Haan," she admitted, not bothering to hide it. She felt his smile widen against the side of her head as he kissed her temple. "I think they were too scared of me to try anything," he said, his voice a mixture of amusement and modesty.

She rolled her eyes, her tone playful and light. "Oh, please. I'm sure at least a few brave souls have tried their luck with the dashing feudal lord."

His laughter was soft, acknowledging the truth in her words. "Well, maybe a few did, but it always left a bad taste in my mouth."

Her heart fluttered at his admission. She turned slightly within his arms, their faces now inches apart. "Good answer," she whispered, pressing her lips briefly against his in a tender, affirming kiss.

Murtasim's laughter, deep and resonant, filled the room once more, echoing against the walls and warming Meerab's heart. "What, if I'd said something else, would you have hit me?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Meerab, unable to contain her laughter, playfully swatted his arm. "Maybe," she teased back, her eyes dancing with the same playful light.

"You're very jealous as a person, you know," Murtasim continued, his tone teasing, yet there was an underlying note of affection that made her heart flutter.

Raising an eyebrow, Meerab adopted a mock-serious expression, challenging his statement. "Acha? Tumhari baat karein, Murtasim?" Her words were light, but they carried a hint of playful accusation.

Murtasim paused, feigning deep thought before responding with a wide grin. "Well, that's different," he claimed. "That's not jealousy, that's... protective instinct."

Meerab couldn't help but chuckle at his explanation. "Uh-huh, sure," she said, her laughter soft and melodic. "Protective instinct. Sounds like a fancy term for jealousy to me."

He responded by wrapping his arms tighter around her, his embrace conveying a sense of safety and warmth. He nuzzled her neck gently, his breath warm against her skin. "In my defense, you are quite irresistible."

The warmth that spread across Meerab's cheeks at his words was not just from the blush that painted them. Why did he always know exactly what to say to make her heart race?

As the hot water bottle gradually lost its heat, Murtasim shifted, gently maneuvering Meerab to lay down beside him. His arms wrapped around her in a comforting embrace, holding her close. The heat from the water bottle might have faded, but the warmth of Murtasim's hand on her skin was soothing, a steady presence that eased her discomfort.

"What else do women do to feel better?" Murtasim's voice was soft, a gentle whisper that tickled Meerab's ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

Meerab shrugged slightly, her movements restrained by the persistent cramps. "When I was younger, and the cramps were really bad, mama used to rub my back and abdomen. It helped a lot." Her voice was wistful, recalling the comfort of her mother's care. There was a part of her that missed that nurturing touch, now more than ever.

Murtasim stood up swiftly, a determined look on his face. "I'll be right back," he said, striding towards the bathroom. Meerab lay there, gazing at the ceiling, a smile playing on her lips despite the ache in her abdomen. When he returned, he had a bottle of oil in his hand.

"Are you always going to do this?" Meerab asked, her voice a soft murmur, laced with a hint of awe and an underlying current of apprehension. The consistent care and attention Murtasim showed her was both comforting and terrifying. Comforting, because in these moments, she felt cherished, protected, and immensely loved. Terrifying, because with every act of kindness, every tender touch, and every shared laugh, she found herself becoming more dependent on him, on his presence, his affection.

A part of her, a guarded, cautious part that had been hurt once, whispered warnings of becoming too reliant, too attached. There was a fear, unspoken yet palpable, that nestled in the corners of her heart – the fear of what it would mean, how it would feel, if it all stopped. The vulnerability that came with this dependence was new to her, stirring a quiet anxiety about the future, about the permanence of this bliss.

Her heart, now so intricately entwined with his, feared the pain of detachment, the void that would be left behind if ever his care ceased. It was a silent acknowledgment of how deeply he had become a part of her world, how his simple gestures had become something she looked forward to, relied upon.

Yet, in his eyes, in his actions, she found a reassurance that soothed these fears. He nodded, his expression earnest. "Of course," he replied, his voice carrying a promise that went beyond just this moment.

A warmth spread through Meerab's heart, her smile broadening.

"Any reason to get you to take clothes off," he added with a cheeky grin, lightening the mood.

She let out a groan of mock exasperation, grabbing a pillow and tossing it playfully at him. He caught it with a chuckle, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"This needs to come off," he said, gently tugging at the button-up pajama shirt she wore.

"I can just roll it up," she protested, trying to suppress her laughter at his theatrically disappointed expression.

"No, no, off is better," he insisted, a mischievous glint in his eye. Meerab suspected he knew she wasn't wearing anything beneath the shirt.

She shook her head in feigned exasperation, a teasing smile on her lips.

"Fine, lay down please," he sighed, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

Meerab lay on her stomach, the soft sheets beneath her offering a comforting embrace. She felt Murtasim's gentle hands on her back, pulling up her shirt delicately. The sensation of his warm fingers against her skin sent an involuntary shiver through her body, and tiny goosebumps appeared on her skin, a silent testament to the tingling sensation his touch evoked.

The sound of the oil bottle being uncapped filled the room, followed by the calming aroma of lavender. Meerab closed her eyes, taking in the soothing scent. She felt Murtasim's hands, now slick with the oil, beginning their work on her back. His large hands spanned the width of her back with ease, his long fingers kneading into her muscles, easing away the tight knots of pain that had accumulated there.

Every now and then, a soft sound of relief escaped Meerab's lips, and each time, she noticed Murtasim's fingers would falter ever so slightly. She could hear him whisper under his breath, words she couldn't quite catch, before he resumed his gentle massage.

"Turn," Murtasim's voice was gentle but firm. Meerab complied, rolling onto her back and looking up into his dark eyes. They held a look of intense focus and care. As he moved his hands to her abdomen, his touch was careful yet profoundly soothing. His warm hands moved with a rhythm that seemed to resonate perfectly with her body, easing the cramps that had been her constant companion.

The room was now filled with the soft sounds of Meerab's contented sighs, each one a signal of the pain subsiding under Murtasim's skillful touch.

Meerab's eyes fluttered closed, a blissful sigh escaping her lips as Murtasim's skilled hands continued their gentle ministrations on her skin. "You have magic hands," she murmured, her voice a whisper of contentment as she looked up at him. The pain that had been her unwelcome companion was now fading into the background, replaced by the soothing warmth of his touch.

Murtasim's response was a soft chuckle. His chuckle soon morphed into a playful grin, one that Meerab knew all too well. Without warning, he began to tickle her sides lightly, sending her into a fit of giggles. Her body squirmed and wriggled under his teasing touch, a mix of delight and mock protest.

"Murtasim, stop it!" she gasped out between her laughs, the sound filling the room with its melody. He ceased his playful assault, still snickering, his eyes shining with affection as he looked at her.

"Your skin is so soft," he commented, his touch becoming more gentle, tracing delicate patterns on her skin. His hands moved in a soothing rhythm, massaging her entire stomach.

"It doesn't hurt there," Meerab teased.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "I know," he replied, the cheekiness in his voice unmistakable. Then, in a bold, yet gentle move, his hands shifted further up, cupping her bare breasts with a delicate touch.

Meerab's response was a mix of surprise and pleasure, a squeal morphing into a soft moan as he explored her body with a curiosity and reverence that made her heart flutter. "Behave," she admonished him playfully, although her tone was more amused than serious.

Murtasim let out an exaggerated sigh, his expression one of mock exasperation mixed with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "You can't blame a man; these are fascinating," he said, his voice laced with a playful curiosity, as if he were a boy discovering the wonders of the female form for the first time. His words, teasing yet filled with an underlying sense of awe, brought a blush to Meerab's cheeks.

She looked away for a moment, trying to hide the bashfulness that his words and actions had stirred in her.

Murtasim watched her with an amused expression, a hint of laughter dancing in his eyes. "I didn't know you could be so shy," he teased gently, his voice a soft caress in the quiet room.

She shot him a playful glare, her eyes meeting his with feigned indignation. "I am not shy," she asserted, her tone a mix of mock annoyance and underlying amusement.

He chuckled again, the sound rich and warm in the tranquility of their room. "It's endearing, miss-mein-kisi-se-nahi-darti," he teased, playfully referencing her usual confident demeanor.

Returning to his gentle task, Murtasim resumed massaging her abdomen, his hands moving in rhythmic circles that eased her discomfort. She let out a sigh of contentment, feeling the remnants of her pain melt away under his tender touch.

"Better?" he asked after a moment, his eyes searching hers for confirmation.

She nodded, her smile genuine and warm. Extending her arms, she invited him to join her. Murtasim obliged, lying down beside her and pulling her close into his embrace. He kissed her forehead softly, a gesture filled with affection and care.

Meerab responded by cupping his face in her hands, her fingers gently playing with his beard. She let her gaze linger on his, a soft smile adorning her lips, basking in the warmth of their closeness.

Leaning in, she pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, a whisper of gratitude escaping her. "Thank you," she murmured, her words barely audible yet heavy with meaning.

He hummed in response, a sound that vibrated through their embrace. "I need more of a thank you," he teased, his voice playful yet sincere.

She obliged, kissing him tenderly, repeatedly, their lips meeting in a dance that was both sweet and intimate. He whispered for more after each kiss, and she happily complied. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, filled with their soft laughter, loving kisses, and shared smiles. They lost track of the hours, drifting into a peaceful sleep, with swollen lips and happy hearts.

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

The village tradition of holding all weddings at the feudal lord's residence, turned out to be more hectic than Meerab had anticipated. She found herself in a whirlwind of activities, her presence requested at every turn. There were endless questions, decisions to be made, and problems to be solved. With each step, she darted from one corner of the sprawling haveli to another, ensuring that everything was unfolding as planned.

In the midst of her rush to locate Mai and inform her about the caterers' delay, as Zubi had breathlessly reported, Meerab felt a sudden, firm grip on her arm. She was swiftly pulled behind a large, ornately carved pillar. Her heart leapt into her throat, a scream building up inside her, only to be muffled by a hand swiftly covering her mouth. Her wide eyes met Murtasim's gaze, instantly recognizing him.

Her racing heart skipped a beat, not from fear now but from the sudden closeness, as she found herself staring into Murtasim's eyes. They sparkled with a roguish smirk that was both alarming and endearing in equal measure.

"Dara diya tumne," Meerab chided, her voice a mix of reprimand and relief, as she swatted his arm once his hand left her mouth. The intimacy of their hidden spot, away from the bustling preparations, made her words softer than intended.

Murtasim's voice, smooth and dripping with a playful sweetness, only heightened her awareness of him. "Aap kahan jaa rahi hai?" he inquired, his tone teasing.

Meerab found herself momentarily lost in his expression. His adorableness, at a time like this, was almost unfair. How was she supposed to concentrate on her tasks when he had this uncanny ability to make her want to abandon everything and just melt into his embrace?

"Chodo Murtasim, bahot kaam hai mujhe," she responded, her voice a mix of affection and urgency. There was so much to do, yet in his arms, even the pressing weight of her responsibilities seemed to lift momentarily.

He shook his head, not willing to release her so soon. Leaning in, he kissed her gently, his lips whispering against hers, "Mujhe akele uthne ki aadat nahi rahi, Meerab." His words, tender and loving, brought a smile to her face. She had left him asleep, his slumber undisturbed as she prepared for the hectic day ahead.

Meerab placed her hand on his chest, lightly pushing away, her heart fluttering with the fear of being caught in this sweet escape. "Aap ke paas bhi bahot kaam hai," she reminded him, mirroring his formal address.

Murtasim's response came with a gentle firmness as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "Kaam hi toh kar raha hoon," he said, his voice low and intimate.

"Really?" She arched an eyebrow, a playful challenge in her gaze.

"Aapko yaad karna, aap se pyaar karna bhi kaam hai, sabse important kaam," he confessed, his words sincere and heartfelt.

Her giggle was light, a sound that danced through the air between them. She leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek. "Shaitaan," she whispered affectionately.

Murtasim's response was immediate, a playful pout as he tapped his lips expectantly.

"Murtasim," she warned, her tone a mix of amusement and reprimand.

He sighed softly, his eyes searching hers. "Tum theek ho?" he asked, concern lacing his voice.

She nodded. "Much better... I had painkillers too," she admitted.

"Did you eat?" The simple question, imbued with care, made her smile softly.

She nodded in response, her heart swelling with a mix of love and gratitude. His reminders to not overexert herself only deepened the feeling of being cherished.

"I have to go do rounds of the fields, I'll see you later," Murtasim announced, bringing a tinge of reluctance into Meerab's heart. She nodded again, understanding the responsibilities that weighed on his shoulders.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice a tender murmur that resonated deeply within her.

In response, she rose to her tippy toes and pecked his lips, savoring the way his smile widened in reaction.

"I don't feel like going now," he confessed in a soft whisper, revealing a vulnerability that was reserved just for her. Her giggle echoed in the air, light and filled with love, only to be interrupted by a throat clearing nearby.

Meerab turned to find Zubi standing there, her hand comically covering her eyes. "Meine kuch nahi dekha! Lekin Bhaktu uncle aur Saim aapko dhoond rahe hai Khan," she said, barely containing her giggles.

As Murtasim cleared his throat and stepped away, Meerab watched the transformation. The lovesick puppy she had just kissed morphed back into the commanding presence of Murtasim Khan. He nodded at Zubi, a brief acknowledgment, before disappearing to attend to his duties.

"Not a word," Meerab warned Zubi, who gave her a knowing look that spoke volumes.

"That was so cute!" Zubi couldn't help but squeal, her youthful exuberance shining through.

"Kaam karo Zubi, let's go," Meerab directed, steering the conversation back to the tasks at hand. But even as she spoke, her heart remained warmed by the fleeting moment of tenderness shared with Murtasim.

As they walked together, Zubi's lively chatter filled the air, her curiosity and excitement almost palpable. "You two are so romantic!" she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with admiration. "Aapko chupkar dekh rahe the, jaise aap kal dekh rahi thi."

Meerab couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed. "Zubi!" she protested gently, trying to steer her young friend away from such personal topics.

"Waise, hum sab ka Khan ko chup-chup-kar dekhe toh samajh aata hai, lekin aap kyun? Aapka toh haq hai na," Zubi mused thoughtfully, then her words took a turn that struck a chord in Meerab's heart. "Aur aapne I love you bhi nahi kaha! Unhone kaha, itni sweetly!"

The words lingered in the air, echoing Meerab's own inner turmoil. "Muh se nikalta hi nahi," she muttered softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and longing. Why was it so hard for her to say those three little words out loud?

"Wait!" Zubi stopped abruptly, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Apne I love you nahi kaha? Khan sai?"

Meerab sighed, realizing she had inadvertently revealed more than she intended. She shook her head in confirmation.

"Kaise, unhe toh gaon ki har ladki I love you keh sakti hai," Zubi observed, her tone a mix of surprise and concern.

"Pata nahi, muh se nikalta nahi," Meerab repeated, feeling a sense of helplessness.

"Aap pyaar karti hai na Khan se?" Zubi asked, her gaze piercing.

Meerab nodded, her voice soft but certain. "I do."

"Kabhi bataya hai unhe?"

Again, Meerab shook her head. "But he said he knows," she added, recalling Murtasim's understanding and acceptance of her unspoken feelings.

Zubi sighed, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Ya Allah, of course he says that! But trust me, woh mar rahe hai aapse I love you sunne ke liye."

Meerab's heart felt heavy with the realization of her own inability to express her feelings verbally. She tried to change the subject, but Zubi was persistent.

"Keh nahi sakti, par likh toh sakti hai na?" Zubi suggested with a hopeful smile.

Meerab paused, considering the idea. Writing down her feelings might be the perfect compromise. Meerab found herself smiling at Zubi's earnestness and creativity.

"Maine bhi Saim ko I love you likh kar bola tha," Zubi continued with a giggle. "Woh alag baat hai ki meine apna naam nahi likha aur usne phenk diya."

The image of Zubi's unrequited declaration of love being discarded brought a snicker from Meerab. "Bechari Zubi," she said, her tone lighthearted yet sympathetic.

Zubi's expression grew serious, her eyes imploring. "Mujhse zyada bechari toh aap hai, Baaji. Likh kar hi boldo, please." Her words, though teasing, carried a weight of truth that Meerab couldn't ignore.

Meerab sighed, the idea of writing her feelings down becoming more appealing by the minute. She nodded slowly, acknowledging the possibility. "Acha meri maa. Chalo, jaakar Mai sai poocho ki mehendi tyaar hai ki nahi." The change of subject was Meerab's way of accepting Zubi's suggestion without making it too obvious.

As Zubi bounded off to follow her instructions, Meerab's thoughts lingered on the idea of expressing her love through written words. It was a step outside her comfort zone, but for Murtasim, she felt it might just be worth it. The thought of seeing his reaction to her written declaration filled her with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. The wheels in her mind began to turn, pondering over the perfect words to convey the depth of her feelings.

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

The courtyard of the haveli was transformed into a magical scene, bathed in the glow of twinkling lights and adorned with a myriad of flowers. The sweet, heady fragrance of marigold and roses mingled with the distinct scent of mehendi, creating an atmosphere that was both enchanting and festive. Women, their laughter and chatter adding to the lively ambiance, were scattered throughout on charpais, each one a splash of woven color.

Meerab found herself amidst this vibrant scene, seated gracefully on a charpai, her left hand extended as intricate mehendi designs were being etched onto her skin. She was clad in a resplendent mustard yellow outfit, the fabric adorned with intricate silver floral patterns that shimmered subtly in the light. The dress, with its traditional design, draped elegantly around her figure, enhancing her natural grace. Her dark hair was styled in a simple yet elegant braid, adorned with small flowers that matched the color of her outfit, and her eyes, lined with kohl, shone with a warmth that reflected the joyous occasion.

Around her, other women of the village were similarly engaged, their hands and arms becoming canvases for exquisite patterns. Zubi and her friends, ever the mischievous lot, took this opportunity to tease Meerab, their voices bubbling with excitement. "Write Khan's name in your mehendi!" they giggled, nudging each other as they watched the artist at work.

As fate would have it, Murtasim, dressed in the pristine white of his kurta-pajama, strode by just then. The light fabric of his attire moved with a gentle grace, complimenting the soft rustle of the trees that framed the courtyard. His presence was like a calm current, drawing eyes and quieting some of the laughter as he passed. His gaze, usually so commanding, softened as it met Meerab's, holding it in a moment suspended in time.

The world around them seemed to slow, the chatter of the women becoming a distant murmur, the music a faraway echo. In that brief exchange of looks, there was an unspoken conversation, one that held the weight of emotions more profound than words could convey.

His eyebrow arched, a silent challenge in his gaze, almost daring her to respond to the playful suggestion.

Meerab, holding his gaze, felt a surge of boldness. "Write Meerab," she instructed Tamana, the girl applying the mehendi, to write her own name rather than Murtasim's not breaking eye contact with Murtasim.

Murtasim rolled his eyes and mouthed of course but there was a smile on his face that was rather warm and almost approving, as if he expected nothing less from her.

"Baaji," Zubi whined, "aap itni unromantic kaise ho sakti ho, woh bhi Khan ki biwi hokar?"

Meerab rolled her eyes but felt a grin tugging at her lips. She whispered to the henna artist, "Murtasim likhna," prompting Zubi's giggles to fill the air around her.

Tamana, a young girl with a talent for turning skin into art, nodded with a giggle, beginning to etch his name with delicate swirls and intricate patterns.

Turning to Zubi, Meerab said, "I need your help."

"For?" Zubi asked, her eyes still shining with mirth.

"I finally thought of something... I need a piece of paper while my right hand is free," Meerab murmured.

Zubi's eyes widened with excitement. "Finally! I thought you were going to stay stuck at mere dil mein," she exclaimed, her enthusiasm palpable.

Meerab gasped, realization dawning on her, the words sounding familiar. "You read them?!" she gasped, realizing Zubi must have picked up the crumpled pieces of paper she had tossed away in frustration. Those papers were filled with her attempts to articulate her feelings for Murtasim, a task that had seemed daunting until now.

"Of course, I read them. You should know me by now," Zubi teased playfully.

"Zubi," Meerab let out a groan, a mixture of exasperation and fondness for Zubi's unapologetic curiosity. Despite the slight invasion of privacy, she couldn't be truly mad at Zubi; her heart was too full of the task at hand, the task of finally expressing her love for Murtasim in words.

"I'll go get you a paper and a pen." Zubi giggled before running off.

Meerab shifted her focus back to Tamana, who was working on her left hand, watching as Murtasim's name took shape amidst the beautiful patterns.

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

Meerab sat amidst the throng of giggling women, her heart racing with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Tamana now worked diligently on her right hand, intricately tracing patterns that mirrored traditional designs and Meerab's own modern sensibilities. Despite her efforts to keep her writing secret, the small words she penned had become the center of playful gossip among the women, who were now teasing her about composing a love letter to Khan.

As Tamana's skilled hands moved over her skin, Meerab tried to focus on anything but the folded piece of paper hidden under her dupatta in her lap. That paper contained her heart's words, an abstract confession of love for Murtasim, words she had struggled to say out loud. The mixture of the mehendi's earthy scent and the soft chatter around her couldn't distract her from the weight of her written confession.

With both hands covered in drying mehendi, Meerab realized she was trapped in her decision. She couldn't second-guess herself, rewrite the letter, or discard it like the many crumpled drafts before it. The paper felt like it was burning through the fabric of her yellow suit, a tangible reminder of her vulnerability.

As she watched the mehendi slowly start staining her skin, Meerab wrestled with her thoughts. She could just keep the letter hidden, tucked away like a secret never to be revealed. The idea of giving it to Murtasim seemed too daunting, too revealing. It was both too much and not enough, exposing yet concealing the depth of her emotions.

The evening air, warm with laughter and the sweet sound of folk songs, soothed her nerves a little, providing a vibrant distraction. The festivity of the village, with its genuine joy and communal celebration, was infectious. In the midst of this revelry, the bride, adorned in traditional attire, sat amidst a circle of women. She was the center of gentle teasing which seemed to make her rather uncomfortable. Meerab raised her voice in a mock-serious tone, asking the women to give the bride some respite, but her words were drowned in laughter and more teasing, which only stopped as the festivities picked up.

Women of all ages, dressed in vibrant colors, gathered around, their voices joining in folk songs that spoke of love, life, and the timeless beauty of their culture. These songs weren't amplified through speakers but carried through the air by the natural acoustics of the courtyard. Their melodies were harmonious and heartfelt, compelling many to dance and sway to the rhythm.

As the night progressed, the young women around Meerab, one by one, joined the dance, their movements a mix of grace and exuberance. The courtyard was now a whirl of colors, as swirling ghagras mirrored the joy of the occasion. It was then, in a moment that felt like it was carved out of time, that Murtasim appeared.

It was as if he was waiting for the last of her companions to leave her sitting alone on a charpai, momentarily secluded from the festivities. With a practiced ease, he seated himself beside her. His proximity was sudden yet entirely welcome. "You look more like a bride than the bride herself," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through her.

Meerab turned to face him, caught off guard by the nearness of him. His presence was like an anchor in the sea of festivities. The smell of his cologne was distinct, a familiar and comforting scent that overpowered even the heady aroma of the mehendi on her hands. His comment, though spoken in jest, was laced with an affection that resonated deeply within her.

"Acha?" she responded, her voice light yet laced with a warmth that only he could evoke. Her attire, a beautiful ensemble of yellow, seemed to glow under the night sky, she knew it looked good on her.

"Hmmm, just as pretty as you did at your own ceremony," he continued, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile that reached his eyes.

"Acha?" she repeated, this time her tone teasing, playing along with his flirtatious banter.

"You look happier now," he observed, his gaze softening.

"I am," she whispered back, her heart echoing the truth of her words. There was a sense of completeness that filled her, a contrast to the unhappy bride she had been.

"You looked gorgeous then too... I couldn't look away that day as well," he added, a note of sincerity in his voice that made her cheeks warm with a blush.

Her mind flickered back to the day in question, to the moment she caught him standing at the doorframe, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that had been unsettling and confusing to that Meerab. Perhaps he had been smitten then too, she thought, feeling a surge of affection for the man beside her.

Murtasim's eyes gently traced the lines of the intricate mehendi on Meerab's hands. The designs were elaborate, weaving and winding around her fingers and palms in an artistic display.

"Let me find your name," he teased, his eyes scanning her hands. Meerab watched him, a mix of anticipation and nervousness swirling inside her. His face, usually so composed, shifted through expressions of confusion and then surprise as he found his name artfully hidden within the design instead.

"Murtasim," he whispered, lifting his gaze to meet hers, a question in his eyes. "Kyun?" he asked softly, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of wonder.

Meerab felt a surge of bravery, fueled by the encouragement she had received from Zubi and her own contemplations throughout the day. She cautiously moved her dupatta, revealing the carefully folded paper in her lap. The action was subtle, yet it held a weight of significance.

Murtasim arched an eyebrow, a look of bemusement crossing his features.

"It's for you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Another contract?" he joked lightly, but his eyes were soft, indicating he knew this was something different.

She shook her head slightly, a small smile playing on her lips as he reached for the paper. His fingers were gentle as he unfolded it, revealing the words she had penned – words that had taken her all day to muster the courage to write.

As Murtasim read, Meerab watched him closely. Each word on that paper was a piece of her heart, a silent confession of her feelings, her fears, and her hopes. The vulnerability of the moment made her heart race, yet there was a sense of rightness in it, a feeling that this was exactly what needed to happen.

Meerab watched as Murtasim's eyes moved across the page. Initially, his expression was one of confusion, but it soon morphed into surprise. She saw his eyes move over the words, saw the way his expression softened, the way the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly.

His eyes, normally so clear and steady, looked watery, and he lifted his gaze to meet hers. For a moment, everything else faded away — the music, the laughter, the chatter around them — all seemed to cease. It was just them, locked in this bubble of silent communication.

A smile, slow and unsure at first, began to spread across Murtasim's face. "Rumi ki tarah sher," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The recognition in his tone, the understanding of the depth behind her words, sent a ripple of warmth through Meerab.

She nodded gently, her own smile growing in response to his. He understood the essence of her words, the feelings poured into them.

"Poets recite their poetry rather than just writing it," he said softly, encouraging her to voice the words she had penned.

Taking a deep breath, Meerab found her voice. The words felt both intimately hers and as though they belonged to someone else. She recited, her voice a mere whisper, yet laden with emotion,

"Haathon mein us naam ko kiya naksh,

Dil mein chapa hain jiska aks,

Aks jo hoo-ba-hoo tujhse hain milta,

Ek Humsaaya tarsha hua tujhsa khaas,

Is Khamosh dil ki dhadakti dhakan ka saaz,

Har lafz ka pehla aakhar,

har tehrik ka aagaz,

Rooh ka sukoon or mohabbat ki aawaz,

Sahifa-e-zindagi mein likha 'humsafar' tu khaas.

Ishq ke dhoondhle aaine mein jo saaf nazar aaye tu hain woh shaksh,

Iss Dil mein chapa hain tera hi aks, Haathon mein tere hi naam ko kiya naksh."

As she finished, the intensity in Murtasim's eyes deepened. They held a look that was a mix of admiration, love, and something that resembled awe. It was as if he was seeing her anew, understanding a part of her soul that had been hidden until this moment. There was a palpable shift in the air between them, a connection that transcended words, even the poetic ones she had just recited.

This was more than just a declaration of love. It was an unveiling of her innermost thoughts and feelings, laid bare for him to see, to feel. In that moment, Meerab knew she had crossed a threshold, allowing herself to be vulnerable, to be seen in a way she had never been before. And the look in Murtasim's eyes told her that he cherished every word, every sentiment she had shared.

However, her moment of introspection was abruptly paused by the arrival of Zubi and her friends, their approach heralded by the light jingle of bangles and the whisper of fabric. They carried with them the vibrancy of youth, their eyes gleaming with playful intentions.

"Aapko apna naam mil gaya Khan?" Zubi's voice, teasing yet warm, cut through the hum of ongoing conversations, drawing a collective attention to the interaction unfolding.

Murtasim, his gaze still lingering on Meerab, lifted his eyes to meet Zubi's, his expression unreadable for a fleeting second. Meerab held her breath, half-expecting the stern retort that often followed such jests. But to her surprise and relief, his lips curved into an understanding smile, a silent acknowledgment of the light-hearted mood and he nodded.

"Waise...aapko bhi apni hatheli par baaji ka naam likhna chahiye naa?" Zubi continued, her voice laced with a mirth that resonated amongst her companions, drawing a chorus of giggles from them. "Shayad humari Khaani ki jealously bhi kuch kam hojaye isse."

"Zubi," Meerab's warning was a gentle reprimand, a soft breeze attempting to quell the playful storm that Zubi embodied.

Yet, Murtasim's chuckle broke through, a sound that seemed to resonate with the underlying joy of the occasion. "Phir inhe khaana kaun khilayega," he quipped, his words light, teasing, yet filled with affection, his voice a soft baritone that seemed to vibrate directly into Meerab's heart.

The crowd of women around them, young and old, erupted into a chorus of giggles and squeals, their delight in the romantic gesture as clear as the bright stars beginning to twinkle overhead.

Meerab's gaze found Murtasim's, and she felt the warmth of a blush creeping up her cheeks as she realized his intent. She raised an eyebrow, a silent question, while a knowing wink from him sent a cascade of heat rushing to her face.

Tamana, the artist with henna-stained fingers, seized the moment with an impish grin. "Kahin aur likhwa lijiye...yahan?" She suggested, tracing a path along the inside of her own arm, from elbow to wrist, her voice tinged with mischief and anticipation.

A collective gasp filled the space as Murtasim, without a moment's hesitation, gave a subtle nod of agreement. The gesture was simple, but the meaning behind it was profound, a public declaration of a private bond. Meerab's heart skipped a beat, the significance of the moment settling in with the softness of a petal landing on calm waters.

"You don't have to," Meerab found herself whispering, a futile attempt to maintain some semblance of the decorum her mother-in-law would have insisted on. Her words were a whisper lost in the rustle of fabric and the quiet hum of the evening breeze.

"I want to," Murtasim's reply was firm, resolute, spoken with a depth of feeling that left no room for doubt.

The women around them were now a blur, their presence fading into the background as Murtasim's focus remained solely on Meerab. The world seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds were the soft murmur of voices and the distant melody of folk songs carried on the wind.

Tamana, her hands skilled and swift, wasted no time in seizing the mehendi cone. She carefully began to etch Meerab's name onto the inside of Murtasim's forearm. The young women, their eyes sparkling with excitement and mischief, watched as Tamana's artistry brought their teasing to life. They tittered and giggled, their joy infectious, and as they hatched plans to mirror the act on the groom, the crowd around them began to dissipate, moving off to spread the playful mischief further.

Left in a rare moment of quiet, Meerab leaned against Murtasim's shoulder, feeling the steadiness of his presence. Her gaze was drawn to his arm, where her name stood out boldly, a symbol of their connection that felt so deeply personal, yet was now shared with the entire gathering. It was a moment of public acknowledgement that sent a delightful shiver through her.

There was something magical in the air, a feeling of shared celebration that this night was about more than just the bride and groom—it was about love in all its forms. Meerab exhaled softly, a wistful sigh escaping her as she contemplated the what-ifs.

Murtasim's intuition, as always, was attuned to her every shift in mood. "What?" he inquired, his voice a comforting rumble that seemed to resonate just for her.

"This is nice," Meerab allowed herself to admit, her whisper barely audible above the distant sounds of celebration. "It makes me think if our wedding would have been different under different circumstances."

He echoed her sigh, a sound that carried a hint of contemplation. "Likely," he agreed, his single word laden with understanding and a gentle acknowledgment of their unique journey.

She hummed in response, a sound filled with both contentment and a curious longing. In her mind's eye, Meerab envisioned the many paths not taken, the countless stories untold. She pondered the existence of other versions of themselves across the vast universe—versions that may have met, fallen in love, and celebrated their union surrounded by joy and laughter from the start.

For a moment, as they sat together, the rest of the world fell away. There was only Meerab and Murtasim, the weight of his name on her hand, and the echo of her name on his skin—a silent promise that no matter what may have been, they were here now, their hearts intertwined in the most beautiful of ways.

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

A/N: A special thanks to Akriti (@BeingAkriti_ on Twitter) for helping me with the poetry piece – I sent her something very basic and she came back with what you read!

So, what do you think? What was your favourite part? And whatever shall happen next? Hehehehehe.