Author's Note: Hello everyone! This chapter is a whole 31 pages (16.7k words)  -- and I decided to not break it up. So tadaaaaa! I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, see you on the other side! Please note we had a small time jump in this chapter (from the end of July to mid-November).

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Meerab was darting from corner to corner of the garden, checking on all the last-minute details, her thoughts moving faster than her feet. She was checking on the last-minute details with Maa Begum for Maryam's combined dholki, mayoun, and mehendi.

Strings of twinkling fairy lights and flowers hung from the clear large canopy, illuminating the garden with a soft, golden glow as the sun began to set, the vibrant floral arrangements catching the light, making the colors pop against the deep green of the lawns. The weather was perfect for the mid-November evening, cool but not cold, just enough of a breeze to make it comfortable for everyone to wear their lavish outfits without worrying about feeling too warm or too chilly. Meerab briefly thought of her own ensemble, still hanging in her room, waiting for her to slip into it.

But there was still too much to do.

With some pleading and relentless persuasion, they had managed to get Maa Begum to bend her ironclad rule of no men at these types of events, combining the events for Maryam and Shahryar. It was only fair—he was Maryam's groom, after all.

Meerab looked up again, checking the flower arrangements, marigold flowers in white, yellow and orange lined the entrance and covered the canopy where the guests would gather. Rich fabrics draped over tables and couches that seemed to belong in an architecture magazine rather than a garden, each piece carefully chosen to reflect the elegance and festivity of the evening. Lanterns hung around the edges of the canopy, adding a soft glow that would only intensify as night fell.

At the far end of the garden, a raised stage had been set up for Maryam and Shahryar, a beautifully decorated flower-covered jhoola waiting for the bride and groom. It was picture-perfect, with petals and vines trailing down, and soft cushions arranged on either side of the swing to add to its charm. Just a few steps away, the side stage held the dholkis, the traditional drums ready for the women to play, surrounded by plush cushions where guests could sit and sing traditional songs, adding to the festive energy.

Across from the dholki stage, the mayoun and mehendi items were neatly arranged—turmeric bowls, intricate platters, and henna cones were laid out, waiting to be used. It was all set, and Meerab had to admit, it looked perfect.

Just as she was about to take another round of the garden, checking for anything she might have missed, Maa Begum zoomed past her, her face showing no signs of stress despite the grand scale of the event.

"Meerab, you should finish getting ready too," Maa Begum called over her shoulder, not stopping for even a second as she moved toward a group of women giving instructions about the mehendi.

Meerab tugged at the rollers in her hair, her makeup already done but her outfit still waiting upstairs. "I'm going, I just need to tell Mai to—" she began, looking toward one of the servers by the drinks table.

"You don't need to do anything," Maa Begum interrupted, her voice firm but affectionate, turning just enough to give her a look that brooked no argument. "Go get ready."

"But—" Meerab started to protest, but Maa Begum was already heading towards the stage area, her mind clearly on the final touches.

"Go make yourself look perfect as you always do," Maa Begum called out as she walked closer, and then, as she passed Meerab, gently pushed her off towards the house.

Meerab blinked, momentarily flustered, before she rushed out of the garden, making her way through the bustling halls of the Khan Mansion, her thoughts still buzzing with the details she needed to double-check.

As she hurried past rooms filled with guests, staff, and family, she stopped by Maryam's room to check on her. The door was slightly ajar, and the sound of laughter and light conversation spilled out. Inside, Maryam sat in front of the large vanity, her friends and some family members surrounding her, while the makeup artist and hair stylist worked their magic.

"Do you need anything?" Meerab asked as she stepped inside, her voice soft but filled with concern.

Maryam glanced at her through the mirror, her usual calm expression tinged with a hint of exhaustion. "Anxiety pills," she sighed dramatically, though there was a small smile on her lips.

Meerab couldn't help but snicker. Maryam was always the composed one, never showing signs of being rattled, so seeing her like this was a little amusing. "Cold feet?" she teased, stepping closer.

"Just exhausted," Maryam sighed again, sinking a bit in her chair as her hair was being pinned up. "There's so much to think about. I didn't know weddings could be this draining."

Meerab's heart softened. She reached out, resting a hand on Maryam's shoulder. "You'll have a day of rest tomorrow before the nikaah. Deep breaths, okay? I'll get you something to help you relax."

Maryam looked up at her with grateful eyes, a smile returning to her face. "You're the best bhabhi," she grinned, but before Meerab could respond, a chorus of "oooohs" filled the room. Everyone had turned their attention to Maryam's phone, which had just dinged with a notification.

Meerab knew immediately. Shahryar. She watched as Maryam picked up her phone, her expression softening further as she read whatever message he had sent.

Maryam's face, however, fell slightly after a few seconds, and she sighed dramatically, "Bhabhi, please get bhai to stop scaring Shahryar."

Meerab stifled a laugh. She knew exactly what she meant. Murtasim, though fully on board with the wedding, had taken it upon himself to "test" Shahryar's nerves by glaring at him and making unnecessary aggressive comments whenever they were in the same room. It had become a game for him, though Shahryar was less entertained. Only the other day, Murtasim had been cleaning his gun on the front porch when Shahryar came by, and without missing a beat, he had said, "I'll shoot you if you even think of holding my sister's hand before the wedding."

Shahzain and Saad had nearly fallen laughing, but poor Shahryar had gone pale.

She imagined he was likely pulling a similar antic at the moment.

"On it," Meerab sighed with a knowing smile. "He needs to stop this."

Maryam smiled gratefully before turning back to her phone, no doubt sending Shahryar some reassuring message.

Meerab stepped out of the room and continued toward her own suite, stopping for a moment to instruct a maid to send some anxiety medication to Maryam, along with a warm cup of tea. She knew it would help soothe her nerves, at least for a little while. As she resumed her walk down the hall, her lips curved into a smile when she heard the gentle sound of humming reached her ears, and she quickly saw why.

Anila was gently rocking Meesam in her arms.

Except, it wasn't the tiny, sleepy newborn that Meerab had grown accustomed to carrying just a few months ago. At six and a half months, Meesam had grown significantly, her cheeks chubbier, her little legs always moving, kicking restlessly even in her sleep. She was starting to look less like a newborn and more like a curious, playful little girl—so full of life.

Even now, half-asleep, Meesam was a bundle of energy. Her fingers, which had gotten much more coordinated over the last few months, were now lazily tugging on her grandmother's dupatta as she dozed. The tiny bracelet on her wrist – the one she and Murtasim had bought for her on Chaand Raat before her birth - jingled lightly every time she moved, and her lips smacked together in that adorable way she did when she was dreaming, possibly about the milk that had fed her not long ago.

"She fell asleep?" Meerab whispered softly, tiptoeing closer so she wouldn't disturb them.

Anila smiled, her eyes twinkling with affection. "After Murtasim stood outside the door and yelled at everyone to shut up so she could sleep," she chuckled softly, clearly amused by her son-in-law's protective antics.

Meerab rolled her eyes, shaking her head fondly. That sounded exactly like something Murtasim would do. "I'll need to wake her soon to get her ready for tonight," she said, her hand gently brushing Meesam's soft hair. "She has to match her mama, after all."

"I'll get her ready," her mother offered kindly. "You focus on getting yourself ready—you've been running around all day with rollers in your hair," she teased gently, her eyes sparkling.

"There's so much to do," Meerab sighed, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on her again.

"I know, beta. But I'm here now," her mother said warmly, reaching out to pat her hand. "Go on, I'll handle Meesam. Everything else is under control."

Meerab smiled gratefully, leaning down to press a kiss to Meesam's chubby cheek. She felt her daughter stir slightly, her tiny body snuggling deeper into her grandmother's arms. For a moment, Meerab stood there, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her baby's chest, feeling a swell of love and calm in her own.

"Thank you, Mama," she whispered, pulling herself away and giving her mother a quick hug. With one last look at her peacefully sleeping daughter, Meerab turned and hurried into her room to finally get ready.

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Meerab stood in front of the dresser, taking in her appearance—she almost didn't recognize herself. The pale olive-green Anarkali clung to her in all the right places, with the delicate shimmer of the fabric catching the light with every soft movement she made. The flow was graceful, its long pleats twirling ever so slightly as she adjusted her posture.

The intricate embroidery along the bodice and sleeves glistened in gold threadwork, forming beautiful floral and paisley patterns that were accentuated by tiny beads and sequins, sparkling like stars on the soft olive fabric. She twirled a little, watching as the layers of fabric swirled with her. The gown spread slightly from the waist down, revealing soft layers of sheer fabric that added to its charm. She carried a matching net dupatta draped over her shoulder, trailing elegantly behind her, embroidered with golden motifs and adorned with a delicate, scalloped border.

Sitting in front of the mirror, she carefully placed the heavy gold choker necklace around her neck, feeling its weight settle on her skin—a gift from Murtasim, one of the numerous pieces of jewelry he had given her in the past few months. The intricate design sparkled with diamonds embedded within the gold, reflecting the soft lighting in the room. It sat snug around her throat due to the string closure, and she adjusted it just so, ensuring it was perfectly centered.

Her maang tikka was next. The delicate piece of jewelry sat elegantly on her forehead, the chain disappearing into the waves of her dark hair. She reached up to adjust her earrings—long, dangling drops of gold, embedded with diamonds that framed her face, completing the look.

She rather liked how she looked tonight—the soft kohl around her eyes made them appear more defined, while the rosy tint on her lips brought out the warmth of her complexion. She had gone for soft, romantic waves in her hair, loose yet refined, the perfect combination of effortlessness and grace.

"Meerab, Anila aunty was asking—" Murtasim's voice broke through her thoughts as he stepped into their room, but he stopped short, his eyes widening slightly when he saw her.

Her heart skipped a beat when she turned to face him.

"What?" she asked softly, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

His eyes trailed over her slowly, from the top of her maang tikka down to the trailing hem of her outfit. "Uh—" He blinked, his smile widening as he moved towards her. "I forgot what I was going to say."

She couldn't help but laugh softly, her cheeks warming under his gaze.

His reaction was exactly what she had hoped for.

"You look breathtaking..." he muttered, his voice low and reverent. "As in, I really can't breathe right now." He tugged at the collar of his kurta under his sherwani, unbuttoning the top two buttons as he took a step closer.

She smiled as he came to a stop directly in front of her, his presence overwhelming her senses as his eyes devoured her. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the intensity in his gaze as his hand wrapped possessively around her waist, pulling her closer. His other hand reached up, brushing her hair gently behind her shoulder, before his lips pressed a lingering kiss to the delicate skin beneath her jawline.

"Nice necklace," he teased, his voice sending shivers down her spine as his lips hovered just above the choker.

She grinned, her hands resting on his chest as she glanced up at her handsome husband in his cream clothing. "Hmmm, my husband gave it to me," she replied, tilting her head to the side as his lips hovered dangerously close to her skin again.

"He has good taste," he murmured against her neck, his breath warm against her skin.

She laughed softly, nodding, "He does."

His fingers trailed down from her necklace, grazing lightly over the neckline of her gown, his touch setting her skin on fire. He stopped at the small buttons that lined the v-shaped neckline, his thumb brushing over them as his eyes darkened. "Tell me these open," he muttered, his voice rough with desire.

She laughed, shaking her head. "They don't."

"Stupid designers with their fake buttons," he grumbled, tugging at the neckline in mock frustration. His fingers slipped inside, pulling the fabric away from her body, peeking inside. His eyes gleamed with mischief as he looked back up at her. "New lingerie too, in the same color," he teased.

"Behave," she whispered, her laughter bubbling up again as she playfully swatted his hand away.

He shook his head, clearly not planning to give up just yet. "How about this? You keep the lingerie and the jewelry on, and we make sure this anarkali comes off easily... and goes back on just as easily," he whispered, his hands wandering to her back, searching for a zipper or anything that would allow him to undress her.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a giggle. "We can't be late. We're the hosts, remember?"

"I think we should be late." Murtasim's lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You look way too good to share with everyone just yet. How can we leave without a quality check?"

She snickered, "Nice try." But then she gasped as his fingers found the hidden zipper on the side of her gown and began pulling it down slowly.

"Murtasim!" she squealed softly, pushing at his chest as he grinned mischievously.

"A quickie?" he suggested, his grin widening.

She shook her head, laughing as she tried to push him away, but he was relentless. He tugged lightly at the dupatta draped over her shoulder, watching it slide off with a teasing smirk. "Please?" he asked, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against hers, his voice filled with playful desperation.

Her heart raced at his touch, the temptation gnawing at her resolve. "My mama is outside," she reminded him, breathless, "and it took me way too long to look presentable, so you can't mess it up."

He pouted, his lips just inches from hers. "I'll be quick... you won't even notice," he whispered, his hand still playing with the zipper.

She giggled, pushing him away again, knowing full well that if she gave in now, they'd definitely be late. And there was no way her carefully styled hair would survive a session of Murtasim's so-called "quickie" – it was never really quick and she looked like a mess after.

"I said no," she laughed, though her breath was shallow, her resolve weakening ever so slightly as his lips trailed dangerously close to her neck once again.

He sighed, finally relenting, though not without one last playful pout. "Fine, but you're sticking to my side all night," he warned, his tone teasing but his eyes filled with that familiar heat as he zipped her back up.

"No," Meerab patted his cheek gently, her fingers brushing against the slight stubble on his jaw. "Now, what was my mama asking?" she said, distractedly buttoning up the two buttons he had undone from his kurta earlier.

"Meesam's dupatta," Murtasim reminded her, leaning in slightly to steal another glance at her, a soft smirk playing on his lips. "Do you want to pin it or skip it all together?"

Meerab's face immediately lit up at the mention of their daughter. "Oh, she probably looks so cute!" she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over.

"Of course she does," Murtasim grinned, that playful glint returning to his eyes. "Humari beti hai," he added proudly.

Unable to resist, Meerab leaned in and kissed his cheek, but she should have known better. As soon as she pulled back, Murtasim turned his face to the other side, offering his unkissed cheek with a teasing grin. She rolled her eyes but gave in, leaning in again. Just as her lips were about to meet his cheek, he moved again—this time pressing his lips against hers in one smooth motion.

"Murtasimmm!" she half-laughed, half-whined as she pulled away, giving his chest a playful whack.

He just grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself, before grabbing her hand and tugging her playfully towards the nursery. "Come on, you have to see her."

Meerab stepped into the room first, her heart immediately melting at the sight before her. There, sitting propped up against a stack of plush pillows on the armchair, was their choti shehzaadi dressed in a mini version of Meerab's olive-green anarkali. The fabric shimmered softly under the room's warm lights, and the tiny dupatta barely stayed on her chubby shoulder, slipping down constantly as though it had a mind of its own.

Her mom was crouched next to her, snapping pictures with her phone, gently tickling Meesam's belly. Meesam giggled with the pure, unfiltered joy of a baby, her soft, bubbly laugh filling the room. She squirmed happily, her little legs kicking out excitedly, causing the tiny anklets around her feet to jingle softly. Her round face lit up with happiness, her toothless, gummy smile stretching wide.

"Mama, look at her! She's so cute!" Meerab gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in sheer delight as her eyes sparkled. The sight of her baby dressed like a miniature version of herself was enough to make her heart swell.

Murtasim, who had been leaning against the doorway with a wide grin on his face, chuckled softly. "She looks like the choti shehzaadi she is," he said, his tone filled with complete adoration for their little daughter.

At that moment, as if on cue, Meesam turned her big, round eyes towards her parents, and her face lit up even more. She babbled something incoherent but full of excitement, her chubby hands reaching out in their direction, her fingers curling and uncurling as though beckoning them closer.

"Ba-ba-ba-ba!" she squealed in her tiny voice, her babbling filled with joy as she kicked her legs, still fascinated by the jingling anklets on her feet.

Murtasim's grin widened, a soft laugh escaping him. "See? She already knows who to call first," he said proudly, his chest puffing out slightly.

"Not a chance, they are just babbles," Meerab shot back, her tone playful as she walked over and gently lifted Meesam into her arms. "You're going to say 'mama' first, aren't you, meri Meesam?" she cooed, brushing her nose against Meesam's soft cheek.

"Ba-ba-ba-ba!" Meesam responded gleefully, her hands patting Meerab's cheeks gently as her wide, adoring eyes stayed fixed on her mother's face.

Murtasim smirked, exchanging a knowing look with Anila, who was watching the entire scene with a soft smile, thoroughly amused. "I told you," Murtasim said smugly. "She's a baba's girl."

"You said 'baba' first too, Meerab," her mother chimed in from where she stood.

"Mamaaaa," Meerab whined, shooting her mother an exasperated look. "Not now!"

"I should be the one whining," her mother teased, laughing lightly. "Anyway, I'll go check on things. You should all come down soon; the guests will start arriving any minute."

Meerab nodded, her gaze dropping to Meesam who was now busy grabbing at the fabric of her own tiny anarkali, fascinated by the shimmering material. "Thank you, Mama, I know it must not have been easy to get her into this," she laughed, picturing her daughter squirming during the process.

Her mother smiled warmly, brushing a hand over Meesam's head. "She's definitely your daughter. Stubborn as they come," she said with a playful smile before turning and leaving the room.

Left alone with Murtasim and their choti shehzaadi, Meerab couldn't help but snuggle Meesam closer, planting soft kisses on her daughter's chubby cheeks. Meesam responded with delighted squeals, her little hands grabbing onto her mother's hair, pulling slightly as she leaned in, planting a wet, clumsy baby "kiss" on Meerab's nose. The tiny affection made both parents burst into laughter.

Murtasim stepped closer, his fingers brushing through Meesam's soft, silky hair. "Aren't you the prettiest choti shehzaadi?" His voice was a low murmur, filled with affection, as he leaned in to kiss his daughter's cheek.

Meesam's tiny hands reached out again, this time grasping the edge of Murtasim's shawl, her little fingers curling around the fabric before she tugged it toward her mouth.

"Uh-oh, you can't eat that," Meerab laughed, gently prying the shawl from Meesam's grip. "We'll never make it to the function if you start chewing on Murtasim's shawl."

Murtasim grinned, his eyes never leaving their daughter. "Look at her in this outfit." He was still in awe, his gaze glued to Meesam as if he couldn't quite believe how adorable she looked. "She's going to steal the show. How is anyone supposed to focus on Maryam when Meesam looks like this?"

He shifted Meesam from Meerab's arms to his, pressing a soft kiss to her chubby cheek.

Meesam wriggled in her father's arms, babbling away as if she had her own important things to say. "Da-da-da-da!" she squealed, this time blowing a raspberry and kicking her legs, the anklets around her tiny feet jingling with the movement.

Murtasim chuckled, bouncing her gently in his arms. "What are you trying to say, meri Meesam?" he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he rocked her, eliciting even more giggles and happy squeals from their little one.

"She's always chatting, like she has so much to tell us," Meerab said, resting her head on Murtasim's shoulder for a moment, her hand reaching out to smooth down the tiny dupatta that refused to stay on Meesam's chubby little shoulder.

Meesam's chubby fingers reached up, poking at Murtasim's nose, her face scrunched up in concentration. She then found his beard, tugging at it with both hands in her growing curiosity.

"Easy there, little one," Murtasim chuckled, pretending to wince as Meesam's tiny fingers pulled at his slightly longer beard hard. "Is this payback for all the times I've teased your mama?"

Meerab laughed softly, shaking her head. "I think the whacks are for that," she teased, watching as Meesam gave her usual playful whack with her little hand. It had become a habit of Meesam's, this gentle but persistent hitting, always done with the biggest grin on her face.

Murtasim glanced back at Meerab, a twinkle in his eye as he leaned in just slightly. "I'm pretty sure that's all your fault," he quipped, his voice full of playful accusation. "But maybe that's why I'm so in love with her."

His words sent a soft flutter through Meerab's heart, a familiar warmth spreading through her chest. Rolling her eyes at him, she nonetheless moved closer, slipping her arms around his waist and leaning against his arm, watching their daughter who was nestled happily against her father's chest.

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Meerab stood at the entrance to the garden as the guests arrived. The evening sky above was a deep, velvety blue, the perfect backdrop to the glowing lanterns and twinkling fairy lights. The dhol players had already started, their rhythmic beats blending with the hum of laughter and chatter from the arriving guests. The air was alive with energy, the excitement of the evening already building.

But as beautiful as the preparations were, what truly captured her heart was the sight of Murtasim standing a few feet away, holding Meesam.

Meesam was busy babbling happily in her father's arms, her tiny hands reaching out toward the string of lights and flowers that hung from the roof of the clear canopy tent, trying to reach for them.

"Ba-ba-ba-ba," she chattered, her chubby fingers curling as she pointed at the twinkling lights above, her wide eyes filled with wonder.

Murtasim, his smile soft and indulgent, lifted her higher in his arms. "You want Baba to show you the lights?" he asked, his voice gentle as he held her up until her tiny fingers brushed against one of the glowing bulbs. The moment her hand touched it, Meesam let out a high-pitched giggle, her whole body wriggling in delight.

Meerab smiled, watching them with such fondness. "She loves lights," she murmured, stepping closer to them. Meesam's eyes always gravitated toward anything that sparkled or glowed. "She's our little explorer," Meerab added, gently brushing her fingers through the soft, silky curls of Meesam's hair.

Almost as if she was proving her mother's point, Meesam's attention abruptly shifted. Her bright eyes fixated on the floral canopy nearby, captivated by the vibrant marigolds swaying gently in the evening breeze.

"Oooh! Aa-aa!" She squealed excitedly, her little body wriggling in Murtasim's hold as she stretched her arm toward the flowers. "Da-da-da-da!" she babbled insistently, her voice rising with excitement as she kicked her tiny legs, trying to reach the bright blooms. "Da-da-da!" she babbled insistently, her voice growing more urgent, her tiny fingers opening and closing as if she was already trying to grab the flowers from afar.

Murtasim laughed, his deep voice filled with warmth and amusement. "She wants the flowers now," he said, lifting her even higher so she could get a better view of the floral arrangement. "Is that what you wanted, meri choti shehzaadi?"

"It's hard to believe she's growing up so fast," Meerab said softly, her voice tinged with awe as she ran her fingers along her daughter's tiny arm.

Every day, their little girl seemed to be discovering more, growing in both size and personality. The little baby who could only sleep and eat just a few months ago now had a world of interests—lights, flowers, sounds. It was all fascinating to her.

Murtasim nodded, his expression soft as he watched their daughter with so much love in his eyes. "She's becoming more and more like you every day," he said quietly, his gaze shifting to Meerab. "Always curious, always wanting to know everything."

As if she were agreeing, Meesam let out another series of babbles. "Ba-ba-da-da!" she exclaimed, her tiny hands reaching out to pat Murtasim's cheek, her eyes twinkling with delight.

He laughed softly, turning his head slightly to kiss her tiny fingers. "Is this your way of telling me I'm doing a good job, hmm? Baba listened well?"

A a familiar voice rang out, cutting through the soft laughter between them.

"Meerab!" Rani's bright voice echoed from behind them.

Meerab turned toward her friend, a wide smile breaking across her face. She saw Rani approaching with Shahzain, both dressed impeccably for the evening's festivities. Shahzain had a playful grin on his face as he bounced Zeeshan in his arms, while Rani, as always, looked confident and stunning. Behind them, a little girl's high-pitched giggles caught her attention.

"Aaminah!" Meerab laughed as the adorable three-and-a half-year-old ran right into her legs, hugging them tightly. She was dressed in a pastel multi-coloured lehenga, her tiny form nearly glowing in the evening light. "Oh, mashallah, you look so, so pretty!" Meerab gushed, bending down to compliment the girl.

"Wike a pwincess?" Aaminah asked, her wide eyes full of innocent curiosity as she blinked up at Meerab.

Meerab nodded, her heart swelling. "Yes, like a princess!"

Aaminah's little face lit up in response, and without a word, she twirled, showing off her outfit with so much enthusiasm that it nearly made Meerab's heart burst. She was absolutely adorable.

Just then, Aaminah's gaze shifted toward Murtasim and Meesam. Her eyes grew wide, the way they always did when she spotted the baby. "Hi Meetaim!" she squealed, running towards them.

"Tho cute!" she gasped in awe as Murtasim bent down to bring Meesam closer to Aaminah's face level.

"Hi Princess Aaminah," Murtasim greeted with a playful smile, his tone full of charm as he entertained the little girl's excitement.

Aaminah beamed, giggling as she leaned in close, wrapping her tiny arms around Meesam in the sweetest hug. Meesam let out a series of baby babbles—"aaah-oooh"—her chubby hands gently patting Aaminah's arms as if trying to return the hug.

Meerab watched, her heart swelling with affection for both girls. It was always so cute how Aaminah doted on Meesam. A small part of her could already imagine how Meesam might grow up, surrounded by love and the constant company of their friends' kids.

"You look so gorgeous," Meerab said, pulling her gaze from the kids to hug Rani.

"I know," Rani grinned, winking as she pulled away. "And you look hot. I'm surprised you made it here on time, though." Her eyebrows waggled suggestively, teasing as always.

Meerab laughed, shaking her head. "Rani, behave."

"Please. You should be used to it by now. I've been here for days," Rani winked again, clearly enjoying the teasing. "And your man is so close to attacking you any minute," she whispered.

Meerab couldn't help but sigh, turning her attention to Shahzain, who was holding their nearly one-year-old son, Zeeshan, in his arms. "Hi Zee!" she cooed, stepping closer to admire his tiny sherwani. "Look at your sherwani! You look so handsome!"

Zeeshan, with his bright little eyes and chubby cheeks, blinked up at Meerab and smiled, babbling in response. Meerab's heart melted instantly. Babies grew up too fast, Meesam would too.

"You need to stop growing up, Zee," she said, poking his cute little cheek, the soft skin giving way under her finger.

"I'm trying, but they just keep getting older," Shahzain whined dramatically, causing Murtasim to laugh as he stood up, greeting his friend with a handshake and a side hug.

"Ohhhh, look at Meesam!" Rani suddenly cried out. "She's the cutest thing I've ever seen!"

Murtasim chuckled proudly, bouncing Meesam gently in his arms. "Of course she is."

"It's because she looks exactly like Meerab," Shahzain added, playfully ruffling Meesam's soft hair.

At the sudden attention, Meesam cooed loudly, her little hand reaching out toward Zeeshan, who was babbling back at her from his father's arms. A soft whining sound left her lips, her body squirming slightly in Murtasim's hold as she clearly wanted to interact with him.

"Oh no, here we go again," Meerab laughed. "She wants to play."

"Not happening," Rani said, glaring at Zeeshan. "You two pulled each other's hair yesterday, and poor Salar had to step in and rescue Meesam."

Playtime with the kids always started out great, or so it seemed. Aaminah, as the eldest, would take charge like the little leader she was, directing the other children with her bossy but adorable commands. Salar, being two now, followed along happily, eager to play whatever game Aaminah concocted. And then there were the two babies—Zeeshan and Meesam. For some reason, Zeeshan always ended up pulling Meesam's hair. It happened every time without fail. Meerab couldn't quite figure it out—maybe he thought her soft curls were a toy or just too irresistible—but it always led to the same result: Meesam's big, round eyes would fill with tears, and she'd let out the loudest wail that echoed through the room. Poor Salar, being the sweet boy he was, always ended up as the hero, rushing to rescue her like a mini knight in shining armor, trying to soothe her with pats on her back and offering his toys.

As if on cue, Zeeshan reached out toward Meesam, his little fingers curling as he grabbed a bit of the fabric from her outfit. Meesam squealed happily, delighted by the interaction, and the two of them started babbling away in their own baby language, completely engrossed in each other's company – for now.

"They're planning something," Saad joked as he approached, eyeing the two babies suspiciously. "I can see it already."

Murtasim laughed, shaking his head. "I wouldn't be surprised," he said, greeting Saad with a grin.

Meerab's attention turned as she spotted Dua walking up. "Duaaaa!" she squealed, rushing to pull her friend into a tight hug. "You look amazing!"

Salar, who was trailing behind his mother, shyly waved at Meesam from behind Saad's legs. Meesam, naturally, cooed back, babbling her usual "ba-ba-ba" in response.

As more guests began to gather, the atmosphere growing louder with laughter and music, Meerab turned back to her friends, her mind shifting to her duties as the host. "I'll go check on Maryam—can you guys check on Shahryar?" she asked, her eyes scanning the group.

Everyone nodded in agreement, and Meerab bent down to kiss Meesam's soft little cheek before running off to find her sister-in-law.

"You forgot mine!" Murtasim called out after her, his voice teasing.

Everyone else snickered.

Meerab just rolled her eyes, though a small, affectionate smile tugged at her lips as she continued toward the house, her heart full.

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

Murtasim's grip tightened on the glass of juice in his hand, the condensation sliding down his fingers as Saad's laughter echoed around him. His gaze had been locked, unwavering, on Shahryar for the last fifteen minutes, and his jaw clenched each time the man smiled, he was sitting beside Maryam, grinning as woman after woman put ubtan on them.

"You know looks really can't kill, stop glaring at him," Saad snickered, throwing him a sideways glance.

Murtasim sighed, dragging his eyes away from the smug, grinning idiot beside Maryam.

It was all his fault.

"How long is this going to go on?" Shahzain's voice broke through his thoughts, his tone amused.

Murtasim rolled his eyes, pushing back the tide of irritation that had been simmering all night. If only they knew the whole picture. It wasn't just about Shahryar marrying his sister—he had come to terms with that a while ago, though it still rubbed him the wrong way. What really gnawed at him was the fact that, thanks to this wedding, he barely got to spend any time with his own wife.

Between wedding preparations, family duties, and balancing parenthood, the two of them were constantly running around. He couldn't even hold Meerab properly, let alone kiss her like he wanted to. He couldn't even grab five uninterrupted minutes with her without someone barging in.

The few times they managed to steal a moment, like when she ducked into their room to grab something forgotten, he would catch her wrist, tug her toward him, and she would laugh. The sound always danced over his skin, light as air, but when he leaned in, just when he thought he'd kiss her—someone would knock. Or worse, she'd remember some task or errand. She'd press a quick kiss to his lips and dash out, saying "Be patient," leaving him standing there.

Now, as he stood among the throng of relatives and friends in the garden, his eyes found her through the crowd—again. She flitted from group to group, her bright smile lighting up her face as she spoke with Maryam or some relative. Occasionally, his mother would pull her aside to discuss something or introduce her to someone. Far away from him. She looked absolutely gorgeous, glowing like the sun, and he couldn't even steal a kiss from her. It was torture.

When he had Meesam in his arms, it was easier to distract himself from the ache in his chest. His daughter was a welcome distraction, and there was a certain peace that came with holding her. He could channel all his attention into her giggles, her baby-soft cheeks, and forget—momentarily—that his wife was too busy to spare more than a glance for him. But for the moment, Meesam had been kidnapped by her naana and naani, enjoying the freedom with her doting grandparents.

His eyes snapped back to Meerab just in time to catch her brushing past his mother and rushing toward the house, her Anarkali and dupatta billowing around her in the wind. His chest tightened, and he muttered a quick, "I'll be back," to Shahzain and Saad, who exchanged knowing looks as he peeled away.

He followed her, threading through the groups of people, not making eye-contact with anyone lest they try to stop him.

Meerab didn't notice him trailing behind, too wrapped up in giving instructions to the staff. The delicate embroidery on her clothes shimmered under the soft glow of the fairy lights strung up for the festivities, her hair cascading down in soft, loose waves, wild and beautiful. She was always beautiful, but tonight, she was stunning.

And she was always much too far from him.

She moved quickly, half-running inside, her dupatta slipping a bit despite being pinned, hanging precariously off her shoulder. He couldn't help but smile again at the sight—her absent, almost frustrated flick to return it in place only for it to fall again a moment later. It made him want to walk up behind her, steady her, hold that dupatta in place himself—and maybe push her against the wall in the process.

Murtasim couldn't resist any longer. He stood silently in the doorway of the empty living room as she headed towards the kitchen, he waited for her to walk past again. Just as she was about to rush out the door, he reached for her wrist, his grip gentle but firm, pulling her toward him and into the living room.

"Murtasim!" she gasped, her eyes wide as she spun around to face him, the surprise clear in her expression as her back met the wall beside the door. "What are you doing?"

He leaned in, the teasing grin playing on his lips as he lowered his head just enough so his lips brushed hers, the touch fleeting, teasing. "Hi," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rasp that always seemed to frazzle her just a little.

Meerab blinked up at him, her cheeks blooming with that perfect flush of pink that always drove him wild. "Hi?" she repeated, incredulous. "I'm busy! You know that, right?"

"I know." His grin deepened, his gaze flickering over her face, taking in the soft curve of her lips, the way her lashes fluttered when she looked away. She was mesmerizing.

"Murtasim," she sighed, exasperated.

"Hmmm?" he hummed, dipping his head lower, his breath brushing the curve of her jaw. His hand slid down to her waist, fingers trailing over the delicate fabric of her dress, pulling her closer until she was flush against him.

"Chodo mujhe, I have to go," she breathed out, though there was no conviction in her tone.

It was as if she were reminding herself more than him.

Murtasim chuckled, his deep, throaty laugh vibrating against her skin. He shook his head slowly, his eyes gleaming with mischief as his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her even closer. "No," he whispered, his lips grazing hers once more before capturing them in a deeper kiss.

This time, it wasn't brief. This time, he kissed her like he'd been waiting for this all night, all week, maybe longer. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that made her melt into the kiss. Her fingers curled into his kurta, gripping the fabric as his mouth worked over hers, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips until she sighed softly, parting them for him. He took that as his invitation, his tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her as her soft moan vibrated between them.

But then, she pulled back, breathless. "Murtasim," she chided softly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Maryam's outfit reminds me of yours," he said, his voice low and teasing as he remembered the orange outfit she had worn the last time they were in this same room with similar decorations up in the Khan Haveli.

Meerab raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "The one that took your breath away when you walked in?" she teased. He always wondered why he told her everything, especially when she used it against him like this.

He nodded, his eyes drifting to her lips again. Her hands, soft and warm, trailed up his chest, her touch light as a feather. They lingered on his shoulder for a second before moving up to his face, cupping his cheek as her thumb brushed against his stubble. "And?" she asked, her voice dropping into that soft, teasing tone that always undid him.

"I just missed it...and I stuck by your side then... so you should stick by my side tonight," he replied, his tone playful, but there was a heat in his gaze that told her exactly what kind of sticking by his side he meant right then. His eyes flickered down to her lips, his grin widening.

Meerab rolled her eyes. "Stick by your side? Murtasim, I have a whole event to run. This isn't exactly the time to be glued to you."

"Why not?" he teased, his lips brushing her jaw, his breath hot against her skin as he leaned in closer. "I'd much rather have you all to myself."

A shiver ran through her, and he knew her resolve was weakening. His lips brushed lower, trailing down to the sensitive spot just below her ear, where he knew she was most vulnerable. He pressed a kiss there, slow and deliberate, feeling the way her body trembled against him.

"Murtasim..." she whispered, her voice soft, pleading, but her hands were still gripping his kurta as if to keep herself steady. "Not now..."

But he wasn't listening. He kissed the soft curve of her neck, feeling the slight tremble that ran through her as she tried—and failed—to hide her desire.

His fingers found the strings holding up her choker to her neck, toying with them as his lips continued their journey down her throat. In one swift, practiced motion, he loosened the string, letting the necklace fall slightly to expose more of her skin to his hungry kisses.

"Now," he murmured against her neck, his lips pressing harder, his stubble grazing her sensitive skin, sending another shiver down her spine. "I want you now."

Meerab's breath hitched, her heart racing as his kisses grew more insistent, his lips hot and demanding against her throat. Despite the protests still lingering on the edge of her tongue, her body betrayed her. Her hands clung to him, fingers fisting in the fabric of his kurta as if anchoring herself to him.

"Murtasim..." His name slipped from her lips in a soft, helpless whisper, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

His hands slid up her back, one pulling her even closer while the other tangled in her hair, tilting her head back slightly. His lips captured hers again, but this time, the kiss was wild, desperate, undeniable.

He devoured her, his mouth claiming hers with a raw intensity. His tongue slid against hers in a heated dance, the wet sounds of their kiss filling the small room. Her lips parted wider under his insistence, a small gasp escaping her as he deepened the kiss, his teeth grazing her lower lip before he bit down gently, drawing a soft whimper from her.

His breathing was heavy, ragged, matching hers as their mouths moved together. Every stroke of his tongue, every pull of her lips, sent heat pooling low in his stomach. He could hear the small, needy sounds she made in the back of her throat, could feel the way her body melted into him, and it drove him wild.

"Maa Begum is going to come looking for me," she muttered between kisses, her fingers now tangled in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

He growled softly, his breath hot against her skin as he pressed his lips to her collarbone, his teeth grazing her there just enough to make her gasp. "Don't talk about my mother right now."

"Murtasim..." Her voice was a breathless plea, half a whisper, half a moan, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

He smiled against her skin at the feel of her shuddering against him. "You know you can't resist me," he murmured, his lips brushing her neck, enjoying the way her pulse quickened under his touch.

"Shut up," she managed to say, her words half a laugh, half a sigh, her voice trembling with the effort of pretending she wasn't completely undone by him. But her actions betrayed her; her hands fisted in the front of his kurta, pulling him back to her, refusing to let him go.

He kissed her again, this time harder, deeper, his body pressing hers against the living room wall. The kiss was hot, electric, and his heart pounded as he felt her resistance slip away entirely, her body melting against his like it was meant to be there, like she belonged in his arms.

"People will notice we're missing," she whispered, her breath catching as he kissed the hollow of her throat, her fingers trailing up to his collar, pulling him closer, despite her words.

"I don't care," he muttered against her skin, his lips grazing her collarbone again before capturing her lips in another kiss. He could feel her breath hitch, her resolve crumbling completely.

But just as he lost himself in the heat of her mouth, something familiar cut through the haze.

A throat cleared—loudly—from behind them.

Murtasim froze, his lips still pressed against hers, the kiss interrupted mid-motion. His muscles tensed, every nerve in his body on high alert. He didn't need to look to know who it was. He recognized that sound all too well.

He sighed against Meerab's lips – her very swollen lips - his frustration palpable as he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes squeezed shut. Of course, it had to be now.

"Maa," he whispered under his breath, already knowing what was coming next.

Reluctantly, he turned, keeping Meerab tucked close to his side, as if somehow that would shield him from the storm he knew was brewing. Sure enough, there stood Maa Begum, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression as sharp as the edge of a sword. One eyebrow arched high, her glare aimed directly at him, like he was a schoolboy caught doing something inappropriate.

Not at them. No. Maa Begum's scowl was reserved solely for him, as if being caught kissing his wife was a grave offense. As if Meesam had dropped from the sky and landed in their arms by divine miracle.

"Kuch sharam karo, ek bache ke baap ho," she scolded, her voice sharp and unyielding.

Murtasim swallowed hard, fighting back the sheepish grin that threatened to break through. "Maa, I—"

But before he could even attempt to explain himself, he felt Meerab shift beside him. She nudged him lightly with her elbow before slipping out of his hold, a smirk dancing on her lips as she sauntered away, completely unbothered by the scolding he was receiving. Her nonchalance made him want to laugh out loud, but he held it in—barely.

As if to make matters worse, Meerab glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She waggled her eyebrows at him playfully from behind his mother's back, sticking her tongue out like a mischievous child who had just gotten away with something.

It was infuriatingly adorable.

Murtasim bit back a groan, watching as she disappeared down the hallway without a second glance, leaving him to face his mother's wrath on his own.

"Maa," he tried again, keeping his tone light, as if that could somehow soften the blow.

But she shook her head, silencing him with one stern look. "Sharam karo, Murtasim," she repeated, her voice firmer now, each word delivered like a punishment. "Ghar mein kitne mehmaan hai, kahin bhi shuru ho jate ho, tumhari behen ka mayoun hai."

Murtasim cleared his throat, nodding in quiet agreement. Arguing would only prolong his suffering.

"Ji, Maa," he said, his tone as repentant as he could manage, he was not at all repentant – he was ready to take Meerab against the wall.

Maa Begum turned away, still muttering under her breath about responsibility, timing, and the fact that he had no control whatsoever, especially in the middle of his sister's mayoun. Murtasim watched her go, resisting the urge to laugh out loud.

But just as she disappeared around the corner, he caught a glimpse of Meerab peeking back around the doorframe, flashing him a triumphant grin before slipping out of sight again.

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

Murtasim's eyes scanned the courtyard, finally spotting Meerab sitting among a group of women, her posture relaxed but elegant as the mehendi-wali meticulously worked on her hands.

Meesam was cradled securely in his arms, her chubby fingers clutching the soft fabric of his kurta with a tiny fist, her wide eyes absorbing the flurry of color and movement around them. Murtasim made his way over to where Meerab sat, his steps purposeful but light. The crowd of women noticed his approach, some of them offering soft smiles and polite nods as they shifted to give him space beside his wife.

As he sat down, careful not to jostle Meesam, he leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a grand secret with their choti shehzaadi. "Look at your mama, meri choti shehzaadi," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of Meesam's head. "She abandoned me when I needed her most." His tone held a mock seriousness, though his lips twitched, betraying the smile he was trying to suppress.

Meesam let out a gurgle, her little hands waving in the air as she squirmed in his lap, reaching out for her mother. Her gaze had locked onto the intricate henna designs covering Meerab's palms, her chubby arms stretching toward the mesmerizing swirls.

The mehendi-wali, a young woman with her own fingers stained from the day's work, giggled at the sight of the eager baby.

Meerab's attention, previously fixed on the detailed work being done on her hands, lifted, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She grinned as she leaned forward to kiss the tip of Meesam's nose, her lips brushing against her daughter's soft skin.

"Abandoned?" she teased, glancing at Murtasim with a playful glint in her eye. "Do you know what Murtasim did, meri Meesam? He deserved every bit of scolding he got from your daadi." Her voice was light, full of mischief as she addressed their daughter, but her gaze flicked to Murtasim, sparkling with teasing affection.

Murtasim raised an eyebrow, feigning a look of deep offense. "Like your mama was innocent in all of that?" he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Meerab to hear, but low enough to keep it between them. His lips curled into a smirk as he adjusted Meesam in his arms, her little body wriggling excitedly as she tried to lean closer to her mother.

Meerab's smile only widened, and she opened her mouth to respond when suddenly, Meesam's little body moved forward in Mutasim's arms, her hands finding her target. With surprising precision for a six-and-a-half-month-old, Meesam reached up and grabbed hold of Meerab's cheeks, her chubby fingers squeezing them with a fierce determination. Before either of them could react, Meesam leaned forward, her toothless gums closing over Meerab's nose in what could only be described as a sloppy, enthusiastic bite.

Meerab gasped, her eyes going wide with shock as a burst of startled laughter escaped her. Her hands, now covered in wet mehendi, remained frozen mid-air, unable to help as she exclaimed, "Murtasim!" Her words were muffled by her daughter's grip on her nose, but her laughter was clear and contagious.

Around them, the women watching the scene unfold giggled, amused by the sight of the little girl gnawing on her mother's nose as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Murtasim couldn't contain his own laughter, the sound deep and warm as it rumbled from his chest. "See, that's your punishment," he teased, making no move to pull Meesam away.

Meerab shook her head lightly, her laughter continuing even as she tried to wriggle free from her daughter's hold. "Help me!" she managed to say between giggles, her cheeks puffed up from Meesam's firm grip, though the affection in her voice was unmistakable.

Murtasim grinned wider, prying Meesam away from her mother, though not without earning more playful protests from their daughter. She squirmed in his arms, but he held her gently, bouncing her slightly until she settled, her babyish giggles still bubbling up as she glanced between her parents.

The mehendi-wali smiled as she resumed her work on Meerab's now-safe hands.

"Bilkul apne baba jaisi," Meerab muttered under her breath, shaking her head as she glanced fondly at Meesam in Murtasim's arms.

Murtasim raised an amused eyebrow. "Acha?" he chuckled, giving Meesam a gentle bounce. "Just like her baba, huh?" he murmured softly, nuzzling his daughter's soft curls.

Murtasim adjusted Meesam in his arms, feeling her small weight shift as she wiggled.

"Ba-ba-ba-brrrrrraaa!" she declared, her tiny voice bubbling with excitement, her eyes shining as her tiny finger curiously point toward the swirling mehendi patterns on Meerab's hands. He followed the direction of her pointed finger, his voice warm and teasing. "Oh? You want mehendi too, meri choti shehzaadi?"

Meesam's babbling grew louder, more insistent. "Ba-ba-ba! Brrraaa!" Her hand flapped wildly, as if commanding him to act now, now! She wriggled in his arms, her determination evident in the way her whole body leaned forward, aiming herself at the intricate designs on her mother's hands.

Meerab glanced up from her mehendi, a soft smile tugging at her lips as she looked at their daughter. "We shouldn't, Murtasim," she said, amusement lacing her voice. "She's too little for this. Besides, her little hands will make a mess!"

But Meesam wasn't swayed by her mother's logic. Her big eyes remained fixed on the patterns, and she stretched her arms toward Meerab, squirming with all her might, her frustration growing as she couldn't get closer due to Murtasim's hold.

Another round of babbling spilled from her lips, louder this time. "Aaaahhh! Da-da-da!" Her fingers wiggled in the air, desperate to touch the henna.

Murtasim laughed, shifting Meesam in his arms as she kicked her tiny legs in protest, her feet brushing against his side. "She's determined," he said with a grin, glancing at Meerab, whose own laughter mixed with his. "She gets that from you, you know."

Meerab giggled, shaking her head softly. "Look at her! She's going to get mehendi all over herself if you're not careful."

Murtasim glanced down at Meesam, her body leaning out of his hold, her tiny hand opening and closing as if practicing grabbing the delicate designs. Her fascination was undeniable. "But look how much she wants it," he said, his smile widening. Then, turning to the mehendi-wali, he asked, "Are there any chemicals in this?"

The young woman smiled. "This one, yes, but I have another mix I use for kids," she said, holding up a different cone. "This is mehendi mixed only with water. Completely safe."

Murtasim turned to Meerab. "Maybe just a tiny little bit on her hand, hmm? Like a mini design."

Meesam, hearing her father's voice, tilted her head up with wide eyes, her mouth forming a tiny 'O' of excitement. She gurgled eagerly, her little body vibrating with anticipation as her gaze darted between her parents. It was as if she were saying, Yes, exactly that!

Meerab bit her lip, pretending to consider it, though Murtasim could already see the surrender in her eyes. With a dramatic sigh, she gave in. "Fine, but only a little. And you, Murtasim, are cleaning up the mess if she gets it all over herself."

Murtasim's grin widened. "Deal," he said, nodding confidently. He leaned down to whisper to Meesam. "Hear that, meri choti shehzaadi? Just a little, okay? You're going to look so pretty, just like Mama."

The mehendi-wali giggled, charmed by the scene unfolding before her. "It's her first mehendi. How cute!" she said, her voice soft as she prepared the cone. "Let's do a tiny flower on her palm."

Murtasim held Meesam's small hand steady, her chubby fingers twitching with excitement. As the mehendi-wali brought the cone to Meesam's palm, the cool touch of the mehendi seemed to fascinate her. Her wide eyes followed the movements intently, and her mouth fell open in awe. She let out a soft, delighted coo as the tiny flower began to form on her skin.

"Look at that," Murtasim whispered, his voice filled with wonder, as if he were seeing the world through Meesam's eyes. "You have your very own mehendi, meri choti shehzaadi."

Meesam gurgled with joy, her fingers twitching as if she could feel the magic of the design settling on her palm. Her little face lit up, her toothless grin beaming up at her parents as she wiggled happily in Murtasim's arms. She kicked her legs again, this time out of sheer excitement, her tiny hand outstretched as if to show off her new flower to the world.

"She's so happy," Meerab said softly, her eyes warm as she watched their daughter's delight. There was a glow in her voice, the kind only a mother could have, filled with love.

As soon as the tiny flower was complete, Meesam stared at her palm in wide-eyed wonder, her lips parting with an awe-filled, "Ooo." The little flower rested perfectly in her chubby hand, a small but intricate design that she seemed entirely mesmerized by.

But the fascination quickly turned into curiosity, and without warning, she did what any baby would do—she tried to bring her hand to her mouth.

"Uh-oh," Meerab laughed, watching as their daughter's mouth opened wide, ready to taste her new decoration.

Murtasim, anticipating her next move, quickly intercepted, grabbing Meesam's tiny wrist just in time. "No, no, meri choti shehzaadi," he said with a gentle chuckle, pulling her hand away from her lips. "You can't eat the mehendi." He grinned at the tiny pout forming on her face, her brow furrowing in a way that was unmistakably Meerab's.

Meesam's little face scrunched up, her brows furrowing in frustration as her big, round eyes filled with indignation. The moment Murtasim stopped her from bringing her mehendi-covered hand to her mouth, she wriggled harder, her tiny body twisting in his arms as she stretched toward her hand. She was more determined this time, her baby mind set on tasting the strange new thing smeared on her palm.

Murtasim couldn't help but chuckle softly, though he kept her hand firmly away from her face. But when he gently held her back again, her bottom lip quivered.

"No, Meesam," he said softly, his voice calm but firm, the tone he used whenever he had to tell her no – he hated it. "It's not for eating, meri choti shehzaadi."

But Meesam didn't like that answer at all. Her lip trembled again, her innocent, wide eyes beginning to fill with tears, the betrayal clear on her little face. A small whimper escaped her, which quickly turned into a full-on wail. Her tiny fists flailed in the air as she let out a series of heart-wrenching cries, making her displeasure known to everyone within earshot.

She leaned her head back against Murtasim's chest, her face scrunched up into the most pitiful expression, her sobs escalating as her whole body wriggled in protest.

Meerab, watching the tiny tears rolling down their daughter's cheeks looked to Murtasim. "Oh no, Murtasim, you made her cry," she said, biting back laughter.

"I didn't do anything!" Murtasim protested, bouncing Meesam gently in his arms in an attempt to soothe her. He was slightly flustered now, torn between feeling bad for making her cry and being amused at how dramatic she was being. "She's the one trying to eat her mehendi!"

"You gave in and let her get it first," Meerab sang teasingly.

Meesam wasn't interested in their banter.

Her cries grew louder, the tiny fists flailing even more as if pleading for her father to stop holding her back. Murtasim sighed, rubbing soothing circles on her back, his voice gentle as he whispered, "It's okay, meri Meesam. I know you're upset, but you can't eat it."

Meerab leaned closer. She planted a soft kiss on Meesam's cheek. "Oh, don't cry, meri jaan," she cooed softly, her voice dripping with motherly affection. "Baba's just being mean, isn't he?"

"Hey!" Murtasim shot her a look. "I'm just protecting her from licking mehendi, not being mean."

But Meesam clearly didn't agree. Her cries continued, and tiny tears spilled down her flushed cheeks as she squirmed in his arms, trying to reach her hand. Each hiccup she made tugged at his heartstrings.

"I think you broke her heart," Meerab teased, her lips curling into a smile as she bit back her laughter.

Murtasim sighed dramatically, giving Meesam a soft bounce in his arms. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the top of her head. Meesam sniffled, little hiccups escaping her every now and then between the wails. She looked up at Murtasim with those big, watery eyes, blinking slowly, as if asking him, But why, Baba? Her tear-filled gaze was so full of innocence and confusion that it nearly made him cave – maybe she could just lick the mehendi, a little.

Meerab turned to the mehendi-wali. "Could you please wipe it off while I distract her? She won't notice."

Murtasim scoffed softly, shaking his head. "My baby's too smart to be fooled by that," he muttered.

Meerab shot him a playful glare before turning to Razia, one of the maids nearby. "Can you bring her a bottle? Make sure it's the packet I pumped last night," she instructed. Razia nodded and rushed off.

Murtasim carefully lifted Meesam so she was at eye level with Meerab, adjusting her gently in his arms. Their little girl was still sniffling and crying still, her big, curious eyes were now focused on her mother's face.

Before Meesam could even think about her mehendi-covered hand, Meerab leaned in, her lips curling into a playful grin. "Hi, meri jaan," she cooed sweetly, her voice soft and soothing as she planted a kiss on Meesam's pudgy cheek.

Meesam blinked, momentarily distracted by her mother's closeness, a soft gurgle escaped her lips.

Meerab's smile grew wider, and she leaned in to kiss the other cheek, her voice rising in that sing-song tone that always made their daughter light up. "Who's the cutest girl in the world, hmm? Is it you? It is meri Meesam?"

Murtasim watched the scene unfold with raised brows, struggling to hide his disbelief. "There's no way she's not noticing," he muttered under his breath as he held Meesam steady in his arms, ensuring she didn't squirm too much. The mehendi-wali moved carefully, wiping away the tiny flower from Meesam's hand with a damp cloth, her movements slow and deliberate.

Murtasim braced himself, waiting for the inevitable burst of protest from his daughter.

But to his astonishment, Meesam didn't even glance at her hand.

Her wide, sparkling eyes were entirely focused on Meerab, completely absorbed by her mother's attention.

Meerab leaned in closer, her soft lips brushing against the tip of Meesam's nose. "You love Mama's kisses, don't you, meri jaan?" she whispered, her voice tender as she pressed her lips just under Meesam's chin, tickling her with feather-light touches. Meesam let out a gurgling giggle, her little body wiggling with delight, the sound like music that filled Murtasim's heart with warmth.

"Of course, she does," Murtasim muttered quietly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. I do too, he thought, though he didn't say it aloud.

Meesam wiggled more in delight. Her babbling grew more animated, little nonsensical sounds spilling from her lips, as if she was saying, More kisses, Mama!

"You're so spoiled with kisses, hmm?" Meerab cooed, unable to resist planting another series of quick, affectionate kisses on Meesam's forehead, cheeks, and chin.

Each kiss was met with more giggles and delighted squeals from their baby girl, her body squirming with happiness. " Mama loves you so much," she added, her voice a soft caress, filled with affection that seemed to spill over into every word.

Murtasim's heart swelled as he watched them. There was something deeply fulfilling about watching Meerab and Meesam together, like he was witnessing the purest form of love. He couldn't stop smiling, the soft curve of his lips a reflection of the joy swirling in his chest.

His gaze drifted momentarily to the mehendi-wali, who had wiped away the last of the mehendi from Meesam's hand, leaving behind a faint orange stain. But Meesam, completely blissed out from the attention, didn't even notice.

Meerab grinned, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she leaned in and kissed the tip of Meesam's little nose once again. "Mama's too good at this, isn't she?" she teased playfully, her voice light as she rubbed her nose against Meesam's in a sweet Eskimo kiss. "You didn't even notice, did you, meri choti shehzaadi?"

Meesam babbled in response as Murtasim adjusted her, her – now clean and free - tiny hands stretching out to grab her mother's cheeks. Her little hands pressed firmly against Meerab's face, and in one swift, clumsy move, she leaned forward, her toothless gums closing over Meerab's nose again. It was her attempt at mimicking the affection she'd been showered with.

"Are you hungry?" Meerab asked softly, her voice filled with that gentle, motherly warmth as she eased her head back from Meesam's grasp without help this time, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

As if on cue, Razia appeared at the perfect moment, holding a bottle of breastmilk that Meerab had pumped earlier.

Murtasim grinned, turning to Razia with a nod. "Perfect timing," he muttered, reaching for the bottle. He carefully adjusted Meesam in his lap, positioning her so that she was cradled comfortably against his chest.

He tested the temperature of the milk against the back of his hand, nodding when he found it acceptable. He brought the bottle to Meesam's lips, she latched on instantly, her little mouth eagerly sucking as she relaxed into the feeding. He looked down at her, watching the way her tiny hand instinctively gripped onto the bottle as well.

Her eyelids grew heavy almost immediately, the comfort of being nestled against her father combined with the soothing motion of feeding already pulling her toward sleep. Her soft, sleepy sounds became quieter, more spaced out, until she was completely relaxed, her little body snuggling deeper into his chest.

As Meesam fed, Murtasim's gaze drifted over to Meerab. The mehendi-wali was busy again, her hands moving with practiced precision as she drew delicate floral and paisley patterns on Meerab's palms. Murtasim's curiosity stirred, and he couldn't help but lean in, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Where's my name?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the intricate designs, his face only inches from hers.

Meerab's lips curled into a smile, but she kept her gaze steady on the artist's work. "Why would I get your name written?" she replied, her tone light and just as teasing.

Murtasim blinked in mock surprise, straightening up dramatically, as if her words had wounded him. "Excuse me?" His expression was a perfect picture of exaggerated disbelief as he shifted in his seat, leaning closer to her hands and making an obvious show of searching for hidden letters. "Shohar hoon tumhara, mera naam toh likhna chahiye."

The mehendi-wali giggled, clearly entertained by their banter.

Meerab raised a brow, her lips twitching as she fought to keep a straight face. "I think I've done enough by giving you a daughter, Murtasim," she said with a playful challenge in her tone. "Why do you need your name hidden in my mehendi again? I did it twice already."

Murtasim pouted, his gaze dropping to Meesam, who was still suckling happily but kicking her legs at the sound of his voice. "Even our daughter knows I deserve to have my name on there," he mumbled, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Meerab to hear.

She finally glanced at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're so whiny," she teased, her voice dripping with affection.

Leaning in even closer, Murtasim grinned. "Well, you married this whiny man," he whispered, his lips brushing just shy of her ear, a teasing edge in his tone.

Meerab tried to keep her smile at bay, but it was useless. She broke into a soft laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I don't know what I was thinking," she muttered, shaking her head as if truly bewildered by her own decisions.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, his voice softening, his playful demeanor slipping into concern as he looked at his wife, he hadn't seen her eating.

Meerab pouted, her eyes dropping to her mehendi-covered hands, and nodded.

"You never learn," Murtasim teased, the memory of her choosing to get mehendi done in the village before feeding herself playing in his mind.

Without missing a beat, he turned toward Razia, who was hovering nearby, waiting for the next instruction. "Razia, could you bring us some food?" he asked kindly, his tone gentle but authoritative.

Razia nodded quickly and disappeared, returning just a few minutes later with a plate full of snacks—pakoras, kebabs, and other delicacies, each freshly prepared for the wedding guests. Murtasim carefully took the plate from her, placing it beside him as he adjusted Meesam, who was nearly done with her bottle, her tiny legs still kicking softly in contentment.

Balancing Meesam on his lap, Murtasim picked up a crispy pakora and turned toward Meerab, holding it up to her mouth with a grin. "Here," he said, offering the bite to her.

Meerab smiled, her eyes twinkling as she opened her mouth and took the bite. "You're really going to feed me?" she asked, her tone half-teasing, half-grateful, as she chewed, clearly enjoying it. "With everyone watching?"

"Of course," Murtasim replied, his grin widening as he held the bottle for Meesam in one hand and balanced the pakora in the other. "Feeding both my girls is my job."

Meerab rolled her eyes but smiled wider. "Chutney," she said, her voice still soft, and Murtasim nodded immediately, dipping the next pakora into the chutney before holding it up to her lips again.

Nearby, a few women from the gathering couldn't help but giggle softly, whispering to one another as they watched the scene unfold.

But Murtasim ignored their whispers, too focused on his girls.

Maybe at another time, he wouldn't have done this. Perhaps he would have been too proud, too concerned with appearances, especially in a place like this—Maryam's wedding, surrounded by their families and guests. Public displays of affection weren't part of their world, not in this feudal family where pride and image were everything. Yet, here he was, holding a bottle for Meesam in one hand and feeding his wife with the other, oblivious to the curious eyes around them. Love had changed him, softened him in ways he hadn't anticipated. Before Meerab, before Meesam, he never would've imagined himself like this—so openly devoted, so unconcerned with what others thought. But with Meerab and their daughter, it wasn't about pride or appearances anymore. It was about them, about making sure they were taken care of, no matter where they were or who was watching.

Just as he was about to offer Meerab another bite, Shahzain strolled past, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he took in the scene. "Do you want me to feed you, Murtasim?" Shahzain quipped, his voice dripping with mischief.

Before Murtasim could respond, Rani rolled her eyes and gave her husband a gentle smack on the arm. "Why don't you be helpful for once, Shahzain?" she teased, effortlessly taking the now-empty bottle from Murtasim's hand and scooping little Meesam into her arms.

"I'll burp her," Rani said, adjusting Meesam against her shoulder with practiced ease, gently patting her back. "I just put Zeeshan down for a nap, Dua is putting Salar and Aaminah down, so I'll handle Meesam," she added, her tone softening as she smiled at Meesam's tiny frame.

Murtasim shot her a grateful look. "Thank you, Rani."

Rani smiled warmly, the type of smile that showed how much she adored their little girl. "No problem. You two, romance jaari rakho." She winked, a playful glint in her eyes.

Laughter bubbled up around them, the women nearby giggling at her comment. Murtasim turned back to Meerab, who was blushing under the attention, her cheeks tinged with that soft pink color that always made his heart race.

Without a word, Murtasim picked up another spoonful of food and brought it to her lips with the same tenderness he'd shown before. There was something about these quiet moments with her that he cherished—where he could care for her in these small ways.

After a few bites, Meerab shook her head gently. "No more," she murmured, her voice soft. "You eat."

"You barely ate," he countered, concern threading through his words. His eyes searched her face, hoping she'd change her mind.

But she just smiled, a quiet, knowing smile that melted him every time.

Murtasim sighed, setting the plate aside after he had finished eating what remained. As he wiped his hands with a napkin, something caught his eye—the small lone mehendi cone sitting nearby, forgotten after the mehendi-wali had finished her work. He picked it up, turning it over in his hand, an idea sparking in his mind.

Meerab raised an eyebrow at him, her lips quirking up in amusement. "Are you planning on changing professions?" she asked, a playful glint in her eye.

"Not quite," he replied with a sly smile, uncapping the cone. His fingers were steady as he began carefully drawing on his own hand.

Meerab leaned in, curious about what he was up to, her eyes following his every movement. He took his time, tracing each letter slowly, deliberately. When he finished, he held up his hand with a proud grin, showing her his creation like a child eager to show off a freshly finished art project.

There, written in delicate Urdu script on his palm, was her name—Meerab.

She burst out laughing, the sound light and warm, spilling into the air between them. "Are you serious?" she giggled, her eyes sparkling with pure amusement.

Murtasim's grin widened, feeling quite pleased with himself. "Of course. Shouldn't everyone know who I belong to?" His voice was teasing, but the affection in his words was unmistakable.

Meerab shook her head, her smile softening as she watched him, warmth filling her gaze. "You're ridiculous."

Without missing a beat, Murtasim continued drawing, this time beneath Meerab's name. He added another word, carefully writing Meesam in smaller letters, his fingers moving with precision. When he finished, he looked up at Meerab with a sense of satisfaction. "Now it's perfect. My two girls."

Meerab's expression softened even more as she gazed at his hand. "You're such a sap," she teased, though the fondness in her voice betrayed her.

Before he could respond, she leaned closer, her playful tone returning. "Draw hearts!" she suddenly demanded, pointing to the empty space around the names.

Murtasim raised an eyebrow, giving her a look of mock exasperation but complying all the same. He drew two simple hearts, one beside each name, before holding up his hand again, presenting it to her like a masterpiece.

Meerab giggled, leaning in to inspect his handiwork. "Only two hearts? You only love us that much?" she teased, her voice filled with playful accusation. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Come on, draw more hearts. Where's the overwhelming love?"

Murtasim chuckled, shaking his head as he set the cone down, unwilling to indulge her further. "Nice try, but two hearts are just fine. One for you, and one for Meesam. That's more than enough."

Meerab playfully pouted, an exaggerated show of disappointment. "I expected at least a hundred hearts."

He leaned in close, his face hovering inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin as his lips tugged up into a teasing smile. "If I draw more hearts, you'd just say I was overcompensating," he whispered, his voice laced with humor.

Meerab rolled her eyes dramatically but couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her lips. "Fine," she said, laughing softly as she gave in.

Murtasim grinned triumphantly, admiring the names and hearts on his palm for a moment longer.

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

"I am so tired, I'm going to pass out," Meerab muttered, her breathless voice muffled as their lips tangled together, the heat between them palpable.

Murtasim hummed softly in response, pressing her back against the cool wall of their room, his body flush with hers. It was almost 3 a.m., the last of the guests had long since left, and the soft hum of the night hung in the air. The house was finally quiet, no more interruptions, no more stolen moments cut short. For the first time in what felt like ages, they had each other, and nothing could break the spell.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, pulling away slightly, his forehead brushing hers, his breath warm against her face. His eyes searched hers, making sure she was okay, that he wasn't pushing her too far despite how badly he needed her.

She didn't answer with words, just a soft hum and a look that set him on fire.

A grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

Without hesitation, he leaned back in, his lips crashing against hers, the kiss deeper now, more demanding. His teeth grazed her bottom lip before he bit down gently, pulling on it with a teasing tug that had her gasping into his mouth. His hands roamed her body, finding the delicate fabric of her dupatta, pushing it aside—but it barely moved.

"Pin," she muttered against his lips.

He groaned, his lips leaving hers for only a second as his fingers deftly unpinned the fabric, letting it fall away. Immediately, his lips were back on hers, urgent, hot kisses leaving her breathless. He began guiding her backward toward the bed, their movements clumsy. His fingers slipped down to find the zipper of her anarkali, the one he'd found earlier that evening, the one he couldn't take his eyes off her during the wedding events. Slowly, deliberately, he finally pulled it down, the fabric giving way and exposing the smooth, delicate skin of her shoulders as it loosened.

Meerab let out a soft, pleased hum as she felt the cool air hit her skin, her body already responding to his touch. Her knees buckled slightly as he guided her to the bed, pushing her onto the mattress.

"Take the necklace off... my neck hurts," she whined, sitting up slightly.

Murtasim climbed onto the bed beside her, his fingers finding the string that held her necklace together – the one he had loosened earlier and she had fixed after running out on him. He undid it quickly, letting the heavy piece fall into her lap.

She sighed in relief with the weight gone, and whined, "why is jewelry so heavy?"

He chuckled as his lips found her neck, brushing soft, hot kisses down the column of her throat, "I'll kiss it better."

She let out a little giggle, and then stopped as he gently bit down on the side of her neck, shivers running through her body.

"Biting is not kissing," she muttered even though she tilted her head, exposing the curve of her neck further.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered, before biting down on the juncture between her neck and shoulder, loving the moan she let out.

"No," she whispered.

He unhooked her maang tikka next, letting the delicate piece slip through his fingers and fall onto the bed.

Next were her earrings, which he removed carefully, one by one, his lips never leaving her skin. He kissed along the curve of her jaw, then down her neck, before finally reaching her bare shoulders. He pressed his lips to the tops of her exposed shoulders, the warmth of his mouth against her skin leaving her trembling beneath him.

She slipped off her bangles, the metallic chime filling the quiet room before they landed softly on the side table. She placed the last of her jewelry aside just as his lips pressed lower, kissing the soft curves of her shoulders, biting and sucking on her delicate skin.

With a sudden burst of energy, Meerab pushed herself up, surprising Murtasim. He paused, watching her as she smiled at him, her face glowing despite the exhaustion etched into her features. His heart warmed at the sight—his wife was so gorgeous, always, but right now, as she sat there with that soft smile teasing her lips, she looked otherworldly.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, his voice low and full of affection.

She smiled wider, her fingers working to peel the anarkali from her body. Slowly, she pushed it off her shoulders, the fabric falling in a soft heap on the floor. Her bottoms followed, leaving her in nothing but lace lingerie that perfectly matched the outfit she had just taken off.

Murtasim's breath caught in his throat as he took her in. The delicate lace framed her breasts perfectly, pressing them together just enough to show off the smooth curve of her cleavage. The soft dip of her stomach was exposed, leading down to those flimsy, barely-there panties that hugged her hips. Her skin glowed in the dim light, her curves on full display, and the sight of her like this—his wife, looking so effortlessly sexy—made a groan escape from him.

"You have five minutes before I pass out," she teased.

Murtasim let out a low laugh, the kind that rumbled deep in his chest, as he quickly stood, discarding his clothes with an urgency that made her giggle, the sound light and full of affection.

As soon as his clothes hit the floor, he pulled her toward him, his hands gripping her waist as he sat back down on the bed. She tumbled into his lap with ease, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as she straddled him.

A soft laugh left her lips, that light, carefree sound he loved so much. It always did something to him, hearing her like this, her guard down, her happiness radiating off her. Her body was soft and warm against him, her bare skin pressed to his, making every nerve in his body light up.

Their lips crashed together again, the kiss messy, heated, filled with the pent-up desire that had been simmering between them for days. He kissed her with everything he had, his hands sliding up and down the curve of her waist, pulling her as close as possible, until there wasn't a single inch of space left between them.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips, the words spilling out between heated kisses.

"I love you too," she muttered back, her voice soft, the smile evident in her words. She kissed him harder, her lips hungry and desperate, as if she wanted to take in every bit of him.

Murtasim's fingers traced the line of her back, her hips, pulling her closer. Her bare skin against his was intoxicating, sending jolts of heat coursing through him, her warmth driving him insane. He wanted more—needed more, just like he had all night.

Between heated kisses, his voice dropped, dark with desire, as he whispered against her lips. "If we hadn't been interrupted earlier... I would've fucked you right against that wall." The words slipped out raw, filled with frustration, with how badly he had wanted her.

Meerab, always quick on her feet, smirked against his lips, her voice soft and teasing. "And get caught by Maa Begum?" she quipped.

He groaned immediately, dropping his forehead against hers, the mere mention of his mother sending a surge of frustration through him. "Don't talk about her right now," he growled, his voice rough, filled with need.

Before she could say anything more, his mouth crushed down onto hers, the kiss turning fierce, more insistent, the intensity between them building as he let his desire take control. His hands slid up to her bare shoulders, gripping them tightly as he pushed her back onto the bed, his body hovering over hers. The rough, commanding movement drew a loud moan from her, the sound pushing him further into the haze of lust.

His fingers found the delicate lace of her bra, pulling the cups down slowly, exposing her breasts to the cool air. Her nipples hardened instantly, the sight of her laid bare beneath him making his blood rush faster, his heart pounding. He didn't hesitate.

His lips left hers, trailing hot, wet kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and lower, until his mouth found her breasts.

He paused for just a second, his lips hovering over her hard nipple, before he bit down gently, pulling the sensitive bud between his teeth and giving it a firm tug. She was no longer as sensitive as she had been months ago.

Meerab's moan filled the room, loud and unrestrained, her head falling back against the bed as she arched her back.

His tongue flicked over her nipple, soothing the bite before he repeated the motion again, his lips alternating between teasing nips and hot, open-mouthed kisses. Her hips bucked up in response, seeking more of him.

His hand trailed lower, between her legs, finding her through the thin fabric of her panties.

Without warning, his fingers pressed hard against her clit, rubbing fast, his touch rough and unrelenting.

The sudden intensity made her gasp, her body jerking against his, her legs trembling as his fingers played with her in quick, deliberate strokes.

"Murtasim..." Her voice came out in a breathless moan, her hips moving of their own accord, grinding against his hand as pleasure surged through her. She writhed beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets, pulling them tight as he continued his ruthless teasing.

"Ten minutes," he whispered against her lips, his voice low and filled with heat, she wasn't wet enough and he didn't want to hurt her. He kissed her again, swallowing the soft sound of her humming response as she melted into him.

Without breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down her body, kissing over her breasts, down her stomach, before pulling her hips closer to the edge of the bed. He sank to his knees on the floor, his fingers hooking around the sides of her panties. In one smooth motion, he pulled them down, baring her to him.

He didn't waste any time. His mouth found her clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub before sucking it into his mouth, hard. The shock of pleasure hit her instantly, her back arching off the bed as she moaned loudly, her hand flying to his hair, gripping tight.

He groaned against her, the sound vibrating against her clit as he continued, his tongue alternating between flicking and sucking – the things that got her soaking wet for him. His fingers joined in, sliding inside her with practiced ease, curling upward to hit that sweet spot inside her.

Her reaction was immediate. She moaned louder, her body trembling as he worked her with his mouth and fingers, his pace relentless. Every flick of his tongue and thrust of his fingers drove her higher, closer to the edge.

Murtasim knew exactly how to push her, how to make her come undone quickly, and he wasn't holding back. Her wetness coated his fingers, and he could feel her getting wetter with every movement, her hips bucking against his face as she rode the wave of pleasure.

But just as she was teetering on the edge, her body wound tight and ready to explode, he pulled his mouth away, his fingers still inside her, but the pace slowing.

Meerab gasped, her breath ragged as she looked down at him, her lips parted in frustration, her body aching for release. She whimpered, her hips pressing forward, desperate for him to continue.

But Murtasim just grinned up at her, his fingers teasingly still.

Murtasim got up from between her legs, his chest rising and falling, each breath heavy and ragged as the need coiled tighter inside him. His eyes stayed locked on Meerab's flushed body, the way her chest heaved, her skin glistening with a sheen of sweat under the dim light. Her breasts, rising and falling with every breath, her lips swollen from his kisses, her body laid out before him—all of it made him burn.

Where Meerab months ago would have shyly closed her legs, tried to cover herself from his gaze, his Meerab now opened them wider, adjusting herself on the edge of the bed. She made room for him, and her eyes flickered down to his cock, dark with desire, lips parted as she watched him.

His heart pounded against his ribs as he grabbed a condom from the drawer, ripping it open with a sharp tear. The foil crinkled in his hands, but all he could focus on was the way she was looking at him—her eyes clouded with lust, her body so ready for him. He rolled the condom onto himself, his breath coming out heavy, full of need that had been building inside him for weeks.

Without a word, he grabbed her ankles, pulling her legs apart even further as he positioned himself at the edge of the bed. His fingers gripped her skin tightly, the smooth warmth of her thighs under his hands driving him wild. He looked down at her, holding her gaze, her eyes locked onto his.

And then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he slid into her, the tight heat of her body wrapping around him instantly, swallowing him whole. A low groan escaped him, the sound vibrating deep in his chest as his fingers dug into her thighs, pushing in deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried fully inside her – all while watching the way her mouth opened in a O as he did.

"Fuck, Meerab..." he muttered, his voice low, thick with raw, unfiltered longing. "I've missed being inside you like this."

Meerab whimpered, the sound soft but full of need, her body arching up to meet his. She nodded, her legs adjusting, her feet finding their way onto his shoulders, opening her up even more for him. She moaned softly, her hands gripping the sheets, already bracing for what she knew was coming.

He leaned over her, shifting his weight as he drew his hips back, the head of his cock just barely leaving her body before he slammed forward again, hard and deep. Her moan broke free instantly, the sound loud and unrestrained.

"Ohhhhh, Murtasimmmm," she gasped, her back arching off the bed as he filled her completely.

Every thrust was deep, hard, deliberate. He pushed further into her, their bodies locked together, each movement of his hips drawing more of those delicious sounds from her lips. His eyes stayed glued to her face, to the way her lips parted in a soft ahhhh with every deep thrust.

Her tits bounced with every thrust, her chest rising and falling rapidly as her breath hitched in rhythm with his pounding. Her makeup was smudged and it made her look even more irresistible, undone, raw. He watched her, utterly captivated by the way her body responded to him, the way his cock slid in and out of her, glistening with her wetness as he thrust deeper, harder, making her gasp and moan louder with every movement.

"Ahh—ahhh—ah—ahhh!" The sounds left her constantly, a rhythmic pulse of moans that filled the room, her voice rising higher with every slam of his hips.

She writhed beneath him, her body moving in sync with his, her legs trembling on his shoulders as she surrendered completely to the pleasure he was giving her. Her hands clutched the sheets tight, twisting them into her fists as her head fell back, her hair fanned out across the pillow, her lips red and swollen from the force of their earlier kisses.

"Ahh—ah—ahhh! Murtasim! Ahhh!" Her voice broke, each thrust dragging more breathless gasps from her as her body tensed and trembled beneath his.

Her nails scraped the sheets, her thighs quivering as he pounded into her harder, each movement sending ripples of pleasure through her body. He could feel her getting tighter, her body clenching around him, pulling him deeper with every thrust.

He groaned, his fingers digging into her thighs as he sped up, driving into her faster, harder. The bed creaked beneath them, the sounds of their bodies moving together filling the room alongside the sweet, desperate sounds of her voice.

"Touch yourself," he growled, his voice hoarse with need as he slowed his pace slightly, just enough to make her crave more.

Meerab's eyes shot to his, wide and filled with lust, and for a moment she hesitated, but the raw hunger in his gaze pushed her over the edge. Her hand slid down her body, her fingers finding her clit as she moaned softly, her hips bucking up toward him, desperate for more of him inside her.

Her fingers moved in slow, teasing circles at first, pressing against the swollen nub as she kept her eyes locked on his. She gasped, her voice breaking as she touched herself, the pleasure doubling as Murtasim's thrusts picked up speed again.

"Just like that," he muttered, his eyes dark and heavy with lust as he watched her, the sight of her touching herself while he fucked her sending a wave of heat coursing through him. "Keep going, Meerab."

Her fingers moved faster, rubbing tight circles over her clit, her body trembling as she felt herself build higher and higher, her moans growing louder with each thrust. Every time he pushed into her, her fingers slipped, her body jerking from the intensity of it all, but she didn't stop—couldn't stop—her fingers working hard against her clit as he drove into her with relentless, punishing thrusts.

Her body writhed beneath him, her back arching as her breath came in broken gasps, her hips lifting off the bed as she chased her release. And Murtasim watched every second of it, the sight of her falling apart under his touch pushing him closer to his own edge.

This was all he wanted—her, completely lost in the pleasure he gave her, the sounds of her moans filling the room as he fucked her hard and deep.

Murtasim's thrusts grew harder, more urgent, every stroke pushing them both closer to the edge. Meerab's fingers moved faster on her clit, her body trembling with each movement, her breath coming out in sharp, desperate gasps. The tightness building inside her was unbearable, her muscles tensing as she felt the pleasure mounting, her entire body thrumming with need.

"Murtasim..." she gasped, her voice breaking as her legs trembled around him, her fingers rubbing hard and fast against her clit. She could barely keep up with the pace he set, the way he pounded into her so relentlessly, his cock driving deep inside her, filling her completely with every thrust.

He groaned, feeling her body tighten around him, the way her pussy clenched harder with each stroke. "Fuck... you feel so good," he muttered, his voice low and guttural, his hands gripping her hips as he angled deeper, harder, hitting that perfect spot inside her that made her cry out loud, her body arching off the bed.

"Murtasimmmm – ahhh – ah – ahhh." Her cries grew louder, uncontrollable, her moans breaking into breathless gasps as her body gave in to the waves of pleasure crashing through her.

"Murtasim, I'm... I'm gonna—" Her voice trailed off into a strangled moan, her head falling back as her body shook violently, her orgasm tearing through her, wave after wave of pleasure that made her legs tremble uncontrollably.

At that moment, Murtasim couldn't hold back any longer. He thrust deep one last time, his cock buried inside her as his own release surged through him. He groaned her name, his body stiffening as he orgasmed, the sensation so intense it made his breath hitch.

They finished together, their bodies perfectly in sync, the air around them thick with the sound of her cries and his rough gasps. Her fingers slowed, trembling against her clit as the aftershocks of her orgasm pulsed through her.

For a few long seconds, neither of them moved, lost in the heady aftermath, their bodies still pressed together, breath mingling as they both came down from the high.

For a few long seconds, neither of them moved, still locked together in the heady aftermath. Murtasim's body stayed pressed against hers, their breathing slowly syncing, both of them coming down from the incredible high. His chest rose and fell heavily, as he stood at the edge of the bed, his legs shaking a little. Their breaths mingled, the room filled with the quiet hum of their exhaustion.

He rubbed her thighs gently, massaging the soft skin as he pulled her legs off his shoulders, letting them fall to the bed. His hands lingered, sliding down her legs, savoring the warmth of her skin against his fingertips. The way she felt—warm, soft, completely relaxed—made his heart happy.

When he finally pulled out of her, she whimpered softly, the sound weak and sleepy, and it made him smile.

Meerab's eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion, and she looked up at him with a soft smile that made his heart swell.

"Shower?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, running his fingers over her thigh as he spoke.

"Too tired," she whined, her voice barely a murmur as she stretched lazily, clearly unwilling to move just yet.

He chuckled softly, leaning over her, pressing a quick peck to her lips. "Come on, let's go clean up a little," he murmured, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. "I'll take your makeup off for you."

She smiled up at him, that tired, satisfied smile that made him feel like he was floating. "Hmm, you're the best," she whispered, her eyes slipping shut again.

"I know," he laughed softly, his hand sliding around her back as he gently pulled her up to sit. The bed creaked softly as she shifted, her body pliant in his arms, trusting him to guide her.

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

Author's Note: Oh my god, congratulations! You made it to the other end! Soooo, what do you think? What was your favourite part? We'll be in the Maldives in the next chapter - OKAY BYE!