Murtasim found himself constantly mulling over the weight of Meerab's words, she had barely spoken to him over months, and suddenly she said so much that his mind had a hard time processing it all. Her words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the divide that existed between their perceptions of the world, and in that moment their perceptions of what home meant.

He wracked his brain, searching for a solution, desperately wanting to make the place that felt like home to him also feel that way to Meerab. In his mind, being his wife meant that their house was automatically her home. He had always assumed that she understood and accepted that. But her words revealed a deeper truth—that she yearned for a sense of belonging, a place that embraced her unconditionally, most women found that in their own home if not their husband's home. And perhaps the crux of the problem was the fact that she didn't have a home if it wasn't with him.

He had believed that only he feared the possibility of her leaving him, but now he realized that she harbored the same fear—that he would one day cast her aside, leaving her with nowhere to go. It was a realization that shook him to his core, igniting a newfound empathy, and also a spark of hope.

Because if she was afraid of losing him, it meant that she cared.

Murtasim admitted to himself that he didn't fully comprehend Meerab's plight, their worlds were different. His home had become wherever she was. It wasn't that the Khan Haveli hadn't felt like home before her, but he had no reason to stay when staying at the village house was more practical. But since his marriage, he had started to stay at home more, and it was due to Meerab's presence. While his home had seamlessly transformed into wherever she was, he acknowledged that it wasn't the same for her.

She had the only place she knew as home robbed from her, it was a wound that they all failed to fully acknowledge. He had underestimated the depth of her pain because Meerab to him was the face of strength and resilience, but he guessed she too struggled like everyone else, she just hid it under layers of stubbornness and anger.

He had made attempts to rectify the situation, repeatedly asserting to his mother that Meerab had the right to live there. But the fact that he had to constantly defend her position spoke volumes. In his confusion, he yearned to find a solution, to ease her burden and make amends. He longed for her to feel the sense of choice and agency she craved, but he feared his own limitations.

Meerab yearned for the freedom to choose, to have agency in shaping her own destiny – something even he hadn't been allowed. For those born into the Khan House had their life pre-determined in a way, he had tried to stray but it had only hurt him in the long run. In his life, everyone had a role, and Meerab's role was one where she was his wife, and the Khaani. But that wasn't what she wanted. He understood, to some extent, what she was asking for—to be set free, but he didn't know if that meant she wanted to be free from him or only from the suffocating constraints she felt.

"Home is the place you choose when you have a choice," her words echoed in his mind. She needed to choose him, his home, their life together. But in granting her that choice, he had to confront the possibility of her not choosing him. He feared that if he let go, she would run the other way so fast that he would never see her again.

The mere thought of letting go, of loosening his grip, filled him with an indescribable fear, one that rivalled the fear that had filled his being when she had been taken in the village. He had realized that he truly cherished her then, and he loved her now even though she didn't see it that way...so the fear of losing her gripped his heart.

Yet, for the first time since they had married, he felt that perhaps she didn't want to leave him. Because for the first time, it felt like that she too was fighting for them. A part of him recognized that her words were not an ultimatum but an invitation for understanding.

But he was still scared. Because even though she said more to him than she ever had and allowed herself to be vulnerable, even though she didn't resist his touch or his affection, even though she suddenly seemed to care for his wellbeing and happiness, he didn't know if that was enough. She claimed that she didn't love him, then was care enough for her to stay with him?

"Murtasim! Are you listening?" His mother snapped, quite loudly at that, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"I am, sorry, just a little tired." He muttered sheepishly as he looked back at his mother.

"Did your wife do something again to - "

"Stop Maa, please." He sighed.

His mother's eyes narrowed. "I didn't even say anything."

"You have to stop taunting her at every turn, she is trying her best in a situation that has been set up against her since the beginning. Just –" He leaned forward in the sofa. "I love her Maa." He admitted out loud. "I really love her. And I don't want to lose her because it will kill me. But she won't stay unless this place starts feeling like her home, unless she feels that she is happy here. But you constantly - " Murtasim's voice quivered with a mix of frustration and desperation as he tried to make his mother understand the impact of her actions. The weight of their conversation pressed heavily upon him, and he struggled to find the right words to convey his deepest fears and concerns.

"I didn't do anything!" His mother snapped.

His mother's denial only fueled his determination. "You keep taunting her about the pregnancy."

"She lied."

"And did she tell you herself that she was pregnant, Maa?" Murtasim implored.

"She didn't correct me!" She yelled.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing the difficult conversation.

"I know she didn't correct you." He said softly, his voice laced with a hint of sadness. "And I didn't understand why either. But when you thought she was pregnant, you started being nice to her. Everyone did." He sighed. "Do you realize that you've never called her beta, or given her even a fraction of the love and attention as you did then? You and everyone else in this house did...so she didn't correct you, because that was a far cry from how you and everyone usually is with her. How we have been since she got here...she was forced, she hated us, and in some way we keep telling her that her hate is warranted with the way we act."

He watched as his mother's expression wavered, a flicker of realization crossing her features. The weight of her actions, or lack thereof, resonating somewhere. Murtasim pressed on, his voice unwavering.

"She's sometimes rude, and sometimes what she does makes no sense to us...but she went through a lot Maa. She's young, she just found out the people who she has thought were her parents her whole life aren't, we got married under the worst of circumstances." He continued, his words flowing with a mix of compassion and firmness. "She has faced rejection and indifference, not just now, but she knows she was given away as a child, that she has a father who didn't want her and a mother who died giving birth to her. It's a lot to lose at once."

"She has gained a lot too, Murtasim, she can't just always - "

"I know, I know she focuses on the wrong things sometimes. But it takes time, Maa. Remember when Maryam even lost a toy, she acted like a total brat for days on end. And when you...when I lost what I wanted, I wasn't myself for months either. Meerab has lost a lot more than that, Maa. You said she's a daughter of this household...so treat her like one, please."

Silence hung in the air, the weight of their words lingering between them. Murtasim's heart ached with a mixture of hope and trepidation, unsure of how his mother would respond. She spoke after taking a deep breath. "She told you all of that?"

He nodded. "Some of it."

His mother's face softened, a glimmer of remorse shining in her eyes. She took a moment to collect her thoughts, and when she spoke again, her voice held a newfound tenderness. "I didn't realize she was struggling that much."

"Meerab...she's like me in a lot of ways, she won't show how she feels, she pretends that she's strong, that she has everything figured out, she's defensive and rude because of it...but she's scared, like a lost child." One who was scared of ghosts and the dark, but also scared of being left again.

His mother nodded slowly but didn't say more about the topic. "Haya keeps calling." She sighed.

"She can't come back, Maa." He asserted firmly, his voice tinged with protectiveness. He couldn't bear the thought of Haya's presence potentially adding to the turmoil Meerab was already experiencing. He wanted to shield her from any further distress, and honestly, he wanted to shield their relationship, it was too fragile for the constant presence of someone like Haya.

His mother sighed, rolling her eyes. "I know." She conceded. "If you had been paying attention, you would have known that I was only talking about a rishta for her."

He nodded, a sheepish smile forming on his lips.

"I was speaking to Sabira, Naurez's mother, I think he's a good match for Haya. Sabira brought up her nephew while we spoke, Rehan Ali, for Maryam."

As his mother mentioned the prospective groom, Rehan Ali, a prominent figure in the political landscape, Murtasim's curiosity was piqued. The name resonated with him immediately, a testament to the Ali family's influence and power.

"The Ali family?" He repeated, his voice infused with a mix of surprise and intrigue. "Rehan Ali, the politician?"

His mother nodded, a hint of pride gleaming in her eyes. "Yes, that's the one." She confirmed. "It's an opportunity we can't afford to turn down. Rehan is one of the most influential men in the country, and a union between our families would bring great prestige and connections."

Murtasim found himself agreeing with his mother's assessment. The prospect of an alliance with the Ali family carried significant weight and potential benefits, Maryam would live a lavish life, even more so than the life she lived now. She would want for nothing.

"And Maryam is older than Haya." His mother continued, her voice steady and pragmatic. "It only makes sense for her to find a suitable match as well...or people will start talking."

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Unlike Murtasim and his mother, Maryam held a different perspective regarding a marriage into the Ali Family. She firmly believed it was a terrible idea as it would inevitably bring an end to her education, something she held dear and was deeply passionate about. She refused, implored their mother to reconsider, but Maa Begum remained steadfast in her stance because from her perspective, how could she arrange Haya's marriage if Maryam, the older sister, was not yet married?

In the midst of the escalating tension, Meerab stood at the side of the room, her eyes flickering between Maryam and Murtasim, silently pleading for him to step in and ease the situation. Murtasim arched an eyebrow at Meerab, his heart swelling with affection as he observed the adorable way her eyes narrowed, a subtle indication of her expectation for him to intervene.

"Maa." Murtasim finally broke the silence, his voice calm but tinged with determination. "Let's put it to rest for today. Maryam, go study for your exam. We'll talk later, okay?"

Maryam nodded, her frustration evident as she turned and stomped off towards her room. Their mother, on the other hand, glared at Murtasim, her disappointment and disapproval evident, before she too stormed off towards her own quarters. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, and Meerab mirrored the displeasure, her gaze filled with reproach as she also left for their room. He felt awfully outnumbered in the house at times.

Sighing, Murtasim followed his wife, his footsteps echoing alongside the soft tinkling sounds of her anklets. He caught up to her, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon him. "Meerab yaar, now what did I do?" He asked, a mix of confusion and concern lacing his words as he entered their private space.

Meerab was visibly agitated, muttering under her breath, and as they reached the confines of their room, she turned to face him, her frustration palpable as she poked his chest in annoyance. Her voice trembled with the weight of her emotions. "You will never change!" She exclaimed.

Caught off guard by her statement, Murtasim furrowed his brows, trying to decipher the root of her frustration. "What is that supposed to mean?" He sighed, his tone a mixture of exhaustion and a genuine desire to understand her point of view.

"You're doing the same thing to Maryam that you did to me." Meerab accused, her words laden with resentment. "Marrying her off without her will, when she wants to study!"

Murtasim sighed again, his gaze softening with understanding. He could see the validity in Meerab's concerns, recognizing the parallels between Maryam's predicament and their own past. He attempted to explain, to bridge the gap between duty and personal desires. "Maryam is older than Haya, she has to get married first or..."

But Meerab interjected, her frustration escalating as she passionately expressed her viewpoint. "Your sister doesn't WANT that!" She exclaimed, her voice filled with exasperation and disappointment. "But I guess it doesn't matter to you because she, too, is just the house's honor, a pawn to be given away!"

He attempted to speak, to offer an explanation and convey his understanding, but Meerab's torrent of words continued, fueled by her righteous anger. Her accusations struck a chord within him, stirring feelings of guilt and regret.

"Meerab, I..." He started to say, the words catching in his throat as he grappled with his conflicting emotions. He understood her concern for Maryam's dreams, yet he also knew that the pressure to uphold the family's reputation and status loomed over him.

Meerab's voice quivered with emotion as she continued, her words laced with frustration. "And it makes no difference to you! Just like it made no difference to you when they all said we should marry. She'll lose everything she wants too. You think that she'll just adjust wherever you marry her, that her dreams can go to hell. The respect of your family should remain high, the Khans being connected to the political powerhouse makes more sense to you. But I don't know why I even expected anything different from you! What would you know of the sorrow of something getting snatched from you?"

Her words resonated deeply within Murtasim, stirring up the dormant emotions he had long suppressed. They reminded him of the desires he had buried deep inside, the dreams he had relinquished in the name of upholding tradition and fulfilling his responsibilities.

"You're right." Murtasim admitted, his voice tinged with a mixture of resignation and sadness. "Nothing ever got snatched from me..." He trailed off. He had given it up himself because he knew his duty and accepted it, but Meerab wouldn't understand that. If she did, then they'd maybe see eye-to-eye about more.

Meerab's eyes widened. Her voice trembled as she responded, likely confused by his words. "Yes, you don't know."

Murtasim realized that he had never shared the depths of his sacrifices with anyone, that perhaps sharing it with Meerab would be a step in the right direction. In that moment, he felt a profound need for her to understand the sacrifices he had made, to glimpse the pain he had endured, and the reasons behind his struggles. His world revolved around selflessness and adherence to tradition, always prioritizing the greater good over personal desires, hers didn't.

Taking a deep breath, Murtasim extended his hand towards Meerab, determination and vulnerability filling him. "Come with me." He said, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. "I'll show you what has been snatched from me."

Meerab's expression shifted from confusion to curiosity, her tear-filled eyes flickering over his face. She hesitated for a moment, likely unsure of what to expect, but ultimately, she reached out and placed her hand in his, trusting him to lead her to a place where his buried dreams lay.

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Meerab looked around curiously as Murtasim laid out the camera and lenses, relics of a passion he had set aside for years. Her fingers delicately traced the contours of the equipment, her eyes studying the intricate details that he still couldn't forget.

As he meticulously cleaned a lens, Murtasim's voice held a touch of nostalgia and longing. "Even I had dreams." He confessed, his gaze fixed on the lens in his hand. He walked towards her, holding it up as if presenting a piece of his past. A sigh escaped his lips as he reminisced. "I wanted to become a photographer."

Meerab remained silent, her eyes never leaving him, her expression somber and attentive.

"An international wildlife photographer." He continued, his voice carrying a tinge of wistfulness. The words echoed with the weight of the aspirations he had relinquished in favor of the life that had been predetermined for him.

"I wanted something of my own." Murtasim confessed, hoping she would understand that it likened to her pursuit of her own dreams. "I had no interest in feudalism, in this environment, just like you. I did what was expected of me, not because I wanted to, but because I had to..." He took a deep breath in and exhaled sharply before speaking again. "So, when people say they can't adjust to the circumstances life gives them, it makes no sense to me. Every day, I wake up to live a life that I never wanted, and yet I try to make the best of it because what else can I do?"

Meerab listened attentively, her eyes reflecting an empathy he rarely saw in them. She seemed to understand the enduring strength it took to carry out responsibilities that didn't align with his true passions.

Murtasim's voice trembled with vulnerability as he recounted the moment where he had planned to confront his father with his dreams. The memory transported him back to a time of shattered hopes and profound sadness. Tears welled up in his eyes, a testament to the pain he had buried deep within. "I wanted the world back then." He confessed, his voice laden with emotion. "But when I mustered the courage to share my dream with my ailing father, he placed this turban of responsibilities on my head, and suddenly my dreams seemed insignificant compared to his illness."

The weight of his past decisions hung heavy on his shoulders as he shrugged, turning away. "I agreed." He murmured, the bitter resignation palpable in his words. "I let go of everything... my dreams, my love, and I took on the mantle of fulfilling all the duties that befell the son of this house. Because that's what was required of me."

He paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on a distant memory, before continuing. "So, that sorrow of having something you love ripped away from you, that pain... I understand it. My life changed irreversibly when my father passed away, and I had to sacrifice what I wanted in order to fulfill what I had to. Because life isn't always filled with sunshine and rainbows; sometimes, unforeseen circumstances alter our paths, dreams wither away... but that doesn't mean we have to remain trapped in the past. It doesn't mean we cannot find happiness and embrace a new life." He hoped she could see that the words were meant for her too.

He thought she would argue but to his utter surprise, Meerab stepped towards him, her gentle touch cupping his face as she wiped away the tears that cascaded down his cheeks. Her eyes conveyed a profound understanding, a shared sorrow that seemed to bridge the gap between their individual struggles for the first time. In that tender moment, it was as if she absorbed his pain, offering solace and support with her mere presence.

Murtasim's attempt to stifle his tears with a chuckle revealed the societal expectations that weighed upon him as a man. "Sorry." He whispered, his voice tinged with both sadness and resignation. "I am a man, I can't cry, nor can I say anything. I can only tolerate it."

But Meerab vehemently shook her head, tears continuing to flow down her own cheeks. "You can cry." She insisted, her voice laced with understanding. "You don't have to hold it back."

Her words washed over him like a gentle wave, breaking down the walls he had built around his emotions. He inhaled deeply, gathering his courage to confront the suppressed pain that resided within him. "This responsibility..." He murmured, his voice quivering slightly. "...it took away everything from me... I tolerated it because I had to."

As Murtasim reached out to wipe away the tears that travelled down Meerab's cheek, he found himself captivated by the glimmer in her eyes, it was something he hadn't seen before and couldn't place. There was a profound depth to her gaze, something he didn't understand but knew he liked. In that moment, he realized that perhaps Meerab saw beyond the facade he had constructed, connecting with the vulnerability and anguish that lay beneath.

Murtasim's voice quivered as he continued to pour his heart out to Meerab. "So... when you say you feel a loss, I felt it too. I get it." He confessed, his gaze fixed on her. "It took me a long time to make peace with it, but I think I forgot for a bit how it felt..."

Meerab's voice was soft, barely a whisper, as she asked. "How old were you?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia. "Seventeen." He replied, his eyes filled with distant memories.

Her thumb gently caressed his cheek, wiping away the tears that cascaded down. "It gets better then?" She inquired, her eyes searching his for reassurance.

Murtasim nodded, a flicker of hope shining in his gaze. "It did... but the fear lingers at times, like an echo of the past." He admitted, his voice tinged with vulnerability. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, needing to address the words she had spoken to him on the rooftop, ones that kept haunting him. "I - you say that I don't love you, but to me, I do. Maybe my love is not the type they write about in novels, maybe it's possessive and afraid of loss, but I know that the heartbreak I felt when my dreams were snatched away will pale in comparison to what losing you will feel like. And that, to me, means something. So, please, Meerab, don't... don't take my second love away from me."

She gazed at him intently, her eyes searching his, as if she was trying to delve into the depths of his soul. Silence enveloped them as they stood there.

Murtasim's voice trembled with raw emotion, his tears mingling with his words as he continued to speak. "I tolerated everything last time, but I won't be able to tolerate it this time. I won't be able to hold myself together." He confessed, his voice filled with desperation, he didn't know when it happened, but he knew that life without her wouldn't make sense, and that's why he held on so tight. "I really love you. Take care of yourself and me, please." His attempts to brush away the tears were futile as they continued to stream down his face.

To his surprise, Meerab's tears mirrored his own, falling freely from her eyes. She nodded, her face cupped in his gentle hand as he wiped away her tears. And then, in a moment that felt both surreal and profound, she moved closer, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face against his chest. His heart stopped beating for a second before it started again, a warmth filling him.

It had been a long time since he had held her in his embrace, not since the haunting experience of finding her after she had been kidnapped. The memory of that night was still etched vividly in his mind, but in this moment, as he held her, it felt like a healing balm for his wounded soul. She fit so perfectly in his arms, as if she was meant to be there, her head nestled snugly under his chin.

With a tenderness he hadn't known he possessed before her, Murtasim wrapped his arms around her, embracing her tightly. Their tears mingled, their hearts beat in unison, and in that intimate embrace, he found solace.

"Why does it always have to be loss?" Meerab whispered a while later, pulling away slight to look up at him, her eyes searching his for answers.

Caught off guard by the depth of her inquiry, and lost in thoughts of how she felt in his arms, Murtasim struggled to find the right response. "Hmmm?" He managed to utter.

Meerab pressed on, her voice growing stronger. "This family, the way it is, it steals everything from the next generation. You didn't get what you wanted, and you didn't want to marry me either. My hand was forced as well. You say it was all expected, warranted even, but now Maryam will face the same loss. It's a cycle of misery, don't you think something needs to change?"

Her words resonated deeply within him. She wasn't wrong. The pattern of sacrifice and unfulfilled desires seemed to be ingrained in their family's traditions.

"Maryam wants something else, don't you think if you supported her things would be better? That there would be a new precedent?" She implored.

He sighed, grappling with his conflicting emotions, but he told her what he had been thinking earlier. "I'll talk to the Ali Family, see if they would be willing to let Maryam continue her education."

Meerab groaned in response, her frustration evident. "But did you ask Maryam if she WANTS to marry him even if they say yes?" She countered, her eyes searching his for a spark of understanding.

Murtasim hesitated. "Marriages are arranged by families, they always have been, ours was too, Meerab." He pointed out, his voice tinged with the weight of tradition.

She shook her head, her disappointment evident. "And look at where we are, Murtasim. Months in and we're still struggling to find common ground." She implored, her words piercing his heart. "Maryam will be the same. It might work out, it might not, but she deserves to make her own decision. Women have the right to choose their husband in Islam. Her faith allows her that privilege, so who are you to take it away from her?"

Murtasim's heart sank as he heard the anguish in Meerab's voice. The weight of her words bore heavily upon him, forcing him to confront the potential consequences of perpetuating the cycle of sacrifice and unfulfilled dreams within their family. Something they had both been a victim to.

"We're not forcing her, Meerab." Murtasim asserted, his voice tinged with both frustration and a hint of defensiveness.

"If she's not completely on board, and doesn't give explicit willing consent, then it's forcing her." She snapped, her eyes blazing with determination.

Murtasim felt a knot tighten in his chest, knowing deep down that she was right, and that a part of her was reacting so strongly to save Maryam from what she had gone through. He had been so focused on the idea of the Ali family being a suitable match and a respectable alliance that he had failed to see how Meerab would react.

"They're a good family." He tried to reason, hoping to find some middle ground.

But Meerab's response was swift and resolute. "Do you want Maryam to feel the pain you describe? The pain that I feel?" Her voice trembled with emotion. "It won't stop at her, Murtasim. The same thing will happen to your children..."

The weight of her words hit him like a tidal wave, piercing through his defenses, the your in her words resonated, it inadvertently excluded Meerab from his future.

"Just my children?" He questioned, his voice filled with pain. The use of the possessive pronoun "your" in her sentence pierced through him, reminding him of the distance between them.

Her eyes widened in response, a mixture of surprise and realization flickering within them.

Murtasim nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of course, the contract." He muttered, a hint of resignation tainting his words. He had fooled himself into thinking there was a possibility of a future with her, but it seemed that she still didn't see it.

He attempted to pull away, to release himself from the grip of their entangled emotions, but Meerab's arms tightened around him, refusing to let go. Her fingers clung to his blazer, anchoring him in place.

Her eyes softened as she whispered, her voice barely audible. "The contract was to buy me time."

"To find a way out." He finished her sentence, he understood now that the contract had served as a lifeline, a temporary solution to navigate their complex circumstances, but months later it still stood between them.

She didn't deny his observation, her admission hanging in the air. "At first." She added quietly.

His heart swelled with a glimmer of hope at her words. "And now?" He asked, his voice filled with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.

A look of confusion crossed her face, reflecting the inner turmoil she was experiencing. "Now I am confused." She confessed, her words laden with vulnerability.

Murtasim nodded, understanding the complexity of her emotions. Yet, he despised the uncertainty that lingered between them, yearning for a definitive answer.

Once again, he attempted to distance himself, to pull away from. But she clung to him, her grip firm and unwavering. He looked at her, his eyebrow arching inquisitively, silently questioning her actions, hope blooming in his heart.

Her voice, soft and delicate, filled the space between them. "I...I don't want to let go of you." She confessed, her eyes filled with an emotion he couldn't quite comprehend.

His heart stuttered in his chest, his breath catching at her words. The realization that she, too, desired their connection sent a surge of elation through his veins. Yet, he remained silent, his astonishment rendering him momentarily speechless.

No further words were exchanged as she nestled her cheek against his chest, right over his heart, as if she sought solace in the rhythm of his rapidly beating heart. Murtasim held her close, his own heart mirroring the fervent pace, knowing that in that shared moment, something profound had shifted between them.

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A/N: Would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter :)