Author's Note: Hello everyone! We jump in time a little bit in this chapter, so Meesam is now as old as/older than when we met her in the show! I haven't obsessively edited this chapter, so excuse any mistakes - if I started doing that, this chapter wouldn't be up until next Sunday (*cries*). I hope y'all enjoy the chapter! Just three more after this one and then we're done!

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If Murtasim Khan had to pick his favorite sounds in the world, the joyous chaos created by his choti shehzaadi running, squealing, and laughing would easily top the list. Her laughter was something magical—a bright, musical giggle that bubbled up from her tiny belly and spilled into the air, sometimes breaking into little hiccups when she got too excited. It was the kind of sound that made everything in the world feel right, as though all his worries had been washed away in the pure, infectious joy of her giggles.

"Baba is going to get youuuuuuuuuuu! RAWRRRR!" Murtasim called out, pretending to be a ferocious lion. He made sure to stomp his feet dramatically as he moved, his hands curved into mock claws, eyes wide as he roared again. The lion act never failed to thrill Meesam, who loved "wions", as she called them.

"WION! Daadi, bhaago!" Meesam screamed, her little legs pumping as she ran full speed towards Maa Begum, who was just exiting the kitchen. Her chubby toddler feet made soft thuds against the marble floor, and she wobbled slightly with each hurried step, her arms flailing to keep balance. At 19 months, Meesam had just perfected the art of running, but she still had that adorable toddler gait, where her entire body seemed to follow the momentum of her legs.

Maa Begum laughed, bending slightly to watch as her diaper-clad granddaughter circled around her legs, seeking refuge from the "lion" chasing her. "Tum dono late nahi ho rahe?" she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes as she looked from her giggling granddaughter to her overly playful son.

"Nahi," Murtasim replied with a grin, his focus still on his target, the little lion-loving whirlwind.

"NAANU! WION!" Meesam shouted, running straight into Chacha-Saab, who was holding a few files in his hand, heading towards the door. Her breath came in little gasps, cheeks flushed, hair bouncing with each step. Her chubby hands grabbed onto his pant leg as if he were her last line of defense.

Instead of helping her, Chacha-Saab put the files down and joined in, letting out his own playful roar. "Hum bhi lion hai!" he declared, making his voice deep and gravelly.

Meesam's eyes widened, and she let out an ear-piercing scream of laughter, throwing her head back and nearly tipping over from the force of it. She then spun around, wobbling slightly before running off again, her laughter echoing through the haveli, pure and unfiltered. It made Murtasim's chest ache with happiness.

Chacha-Saab chuckled, picking up the files again and heading out towards the door to his meeting, shooting Murtsaim a smile as he walked by.

Murtasim picked up his pace and finally scooped his daughter up in his arms, lifting her off the ground as she shrieked louder, her squeals nearly deafening but so, so sweet. He immediately started tickling her sides, earning more of those heart-melting giggles that made his chest feel like it might burst from sheer joy.

"THOP! THOP!" she squealed, her little hands flailing as she tried to wriggle free from his tickle attack.

He relented, chuckling as he pressed a soft kiss to her chubby, flushed cheek. Her laughter slowly turned into breathless giggles, and she squirmed around to get comfortable in his arms. He looked at her, marveling at how much she looked like Meerab. The wide, curious brown eyes, the little button nose, the way her cheeks turned rosy from laughing too hard. It was like holding a tiny version of his wife, and it filled him with a sense of wonder every time.

Meesam, still recovering from all the excitement, reached out and grabbed his beard with both her little hands, tugging it gently. "Ba-Ba?" she said, her voice lilting at the end like a question, her wide eyes studying his face with the most adorable seriousness.

Murtasim nodded, his heart melting all over again. "Baba," he confirmed, smiling. "Lion gaya," he added, kissing her cheek again, inhaling the sweet powdery baby smell that always seemed to cling to her.

She sighed dramatically, just like Meerab did when she was tired, and let her whole body collapse against his chest. "I thak gayi," she announced, her tiny voice sounding so serious for someone so small. Her little body went limp, and she nestled against his shoulder, her head tucked under his chin. She even made a little "hmph" sound, the way Meerab did when she was exhausted and said "main toh thak gayi", and it made Murtasim snicker.

"Just like your mama," he murmured, his voice full of affection.

Meesam stayed quiet for a moment, her little fingers clutching at his shirt. But as soon as he whispered, "Mama ko milne nahi jaana?" her head popped up, and her energy returned as if she hadn't just declared herself tired.

She nodded vigorously, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Jaana!" she said with enthusiasm, her little hands clapping together.

"Phir Mee-Mee ko kapde pehan ne padenge, aur baal bhi theek karne padenge," Murtasim said, his voice lilting playfully as he carried his mischievous daughter back towards their wing of the house. She had escaped from the nursery after her bath, she was slippery as a fish, always wriggling out of his grasp to cause trouble.

Meesam, her cheeks still rosy from all the laughing and running, nodded with all the solemnity a 19-month-old could muster. "Pwetty," she declared, her voice tiny and sweet.

Murtasim grinned. "Thank you, baba pretty hai," he teased, knowing full well she wouldn't let that slide.

She erupted into giggles, the sound bright and infectious. Then, she patted her own chest with a determined expression. "Mee-Mee pwetty!"

He couldn't hold back a laugh, pressing a kiss to her warm, chubby cheek. "Mee-Mee toh sabse pretty hai," he agreed as he walked into the nursery and approached her little closet, a world of tiny, colorful outfits hanging neatly inside. He bounced her slightly in his arms as he asked, "Aaj Mee-Mee kya pehne gi?"

Meesam's eyes lit up, her whole face animated with excitement as she leaned precariously out of his arms, determined to make her choice. Her tiny hands reached eagerly, grabbing at her current favorite: a pale-yellow sweater with little embroidered daisies on the sleeves, paired with matching yellow pants. To complete her signature look, she then grabbed a pink fur vest that had been a gift from Maryam—a vest she was so obsessed with that they had to buy it in a bigger size when she grew out of the original.

Her little fingers clutched at the soft pink fur of the vest, her face all scrunched up with determination, as if to say, This one, Baba. Only this one.

Murtasim chuckled. "Yeh wali? Perfect choice," he said.

Meesam clapped her hands, thoroughly pleased with herself as he put her down on the changing table.

As he dressed her, he made sure to blow loud raspberries on her tummy, the kind that always made her burst into giggles. Her laughter rang out, clear and infectious, her chubby little hands pushing at his face as she squirmed.

"THOP, Ba-Ba! THOP!" she squealed, her small voice breaking with laughter as she tried to wriggle away from his tickles.

"Okay, okay, baba will stop," he said, mock-sighing as he slipped the yellow sweater over her head and helped her into the matching pants. He carefully zipped up the faux-fur vest, feeling her wiggle with excitement, and couldn't resist giving her another loud kiss on her forehead.

Next came the struggle of doing her hair. Meesam's silky locks never seemed to cooperate. He gathered her hair as best as he could, trying to secure it into her favorite coconut-tree ponytail. The hair tie kept slipping, and he groaned dramatically, making Meesam giggle even more as he finally managed to tame her too-silky hair. A few strands still escaped, framing her face with an angelic softness.

"Oh wow, Mee-Mee kitni pretty lag rahi hai!" he gasped, stepping back, look at her as if he were in awe.

Meesam clapped her hands, her face beaming with delight. "Chawo!" she said, her little voice filled with anticipation, bouncing slightly in place.

"Ji, meri choti shehzaadi, chalo," Murtasim replied with a grin. "Mee-Mee ko baba carry kare ya Mee-Mee khud walk karegi?"

"Wawk!" she announced, her voice full of determination.

He kissed her cheek and set her down on the floor, watching with pride as she toddled through the hallways towards the front door. Her little feet, now clad in her favourite pink shoes, stomped with enthusiasm, and she bounced slightly with each step, her arms flapping for balance. She reached the door and started jumping up and down, waiting for him impatiently.

"Mee-Mee kahan jaa rahi hai?" came his mother's voice, sweet and amused, as she stepped into the foyer.

"Mee-Mee mama ke paaw," Meesam declared, her words strung together adorably.

"Mama ke paas?" Maa Begum teased. "Lekin Daadi ne toh Mee-Mee aur Mama ke liye khaana hi nahi banaya."

Meesam narrowed her eyes, suspicion written all over her little face. "Nooooooo," she protested, a small pout forming. She knew her grandmother's tricks all too well by now.

Murtasim laughed, approaching them and picking Meesam up. "Maa, kuch naya try kijiye," he teased, smirking as his mother rolled her eyes.

Maa Begum rolled her eyes, waving them off. "Khana rakhwa diya hai," she said to him, leaning in to kiss Meesam's cheek. "Bye, meri Meesam," she cooed before walking away.

Murtasim pouted. "Main bhi hoon," he muttered, pretending to be hurt.

Meesam giggled, her chubby hands grabbing at his beard. She leaned in and pressed a slobbery kiss to his cheek, pulling back with a loud "Mwah!" sound that made him laugh – something she had learnt from Meerab.

"Thank you, Mee-Mee," he said, his voice warm as he carried her out toward the car. He carefully buckled her into her car seat, making sure the straps were snug but comfortable.

As soon as he got into the driver's seat, Meesam stretched her little hand out towards him. He laughed, reaching back so she could grab his finger. Her tiny grip was surprisingly strong, and she held onto him tightly, her little fingers curling around one of his as she pointed out things through the window.

This was their ritual on the way to see Meerab for lunch. Meesam would point out everything she recognized, babbling excitedly about the "doggie" or the "twuck" they passed, her voice full of wonder and joy.

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"MAMA!" Meesam squealed, her little voice echoing through the Range Rover the moment Meerab opened the passenger door. Her excitement was palpable, her body buzzing as she stood wobbly on Murtasim's lap, the strands of hair that refused to be held by the hair tie moving with each joyful movement.

Murtasim felt his heart stumble, as if caught off guard, when Meerab leaned into the car. For a moment, everything else blurred—the chatter of the bustling street, the laughter of their daughter, even the gentle rustle of the afternoon breeze. It was as if the whole world paused, drawing a spotlight onto the woman he loved.

Meerab looked radiant, absolutely stunning in her black suit, her hair cascading in glossy curls over her shoulders. The golden afternoon sunlight bathed her face, making her skin glow in that breathtaking way that never failed to captivate him. He marveled, not for the first time, at just how beautiful his wife was.

"Mee-Mee!" Meerab sang in delight, sliding into the car and turning to face their daughter. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the sight of Meesam, who was now bouncing excitedly. "Wow, what a pretty outfit!" Meerab gasped.

Meesam giggled, a bubbly, high-pitched laugh that filled the car with pure joy. Meerab's gaze met his, and she gave him a radiant smile that made his insides feel warm and light.

"Baba ne pick kiya?" Meerab asked, raising an eyebrow at him, her tone teasing.

But Meesam, ever the little independent spirit like her mother, shook her head. She patted her own chest proudly. "Mee-Mee ne!" she declared, emphasizing that she had picked out her clothes herself.

"Wow," Meerab said, eyes wide with awe as she reached out for her daughter. Meesam immediately flung herself into her mother's arms, snuggling close and giggling as Meerab showered her little face with kisses. "Mee-Mee ko Mama ki yaad aayi?" Meerab asked, her voice soft and sweet.

Meesam nodded eagerly, her eyes shining with happiness.

"Kitni?" Meerab teased, indicating that she wanted to know just how much.

Meesam's little arms stretched as far as they could go, her chubby fingers spreading wide.

"Wow, itni yaad aayi?" Meerab pouted dramatically, her lips pushing out in a way that made Murtasim chuckle.

Meesam nodded, and then, as if to prove her point, she leaned forward and pressed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to her mother's nose. Meerab laughed, a delighted sound that made Murtasim's heart melt all over again.

"Aaj kya kiya meri Mee-Mee ne?" Meerab asked, holding her daughter close, her fingers gently combing through Meesam's hair.

"Muw-taim wion!" Meesam shared excitedly, her big brown eyes lighting up.

Murtasim couldn't help but laugh. It always amused him how their daughter called him "Baba" when she was with him, but whenever she talked about him to Meerab, she used "Muw-taim," mimicking how Meerab said his name.

"Oh, Murtasim ne meri Mee-Mee ko tang kiya?" Meerab asked, her voice full of mock concern.

Meesam shook her head, curls bouncing. "Pway!" she declared, her little mouth forming a perfect "O", her hands coming up like claws as she explained how they'd played.

"Play?" she repeated, her voice lilting with affection.

Meesam nodded eagerly, leaning into her mother's embrace as Meerab pulled her close and inhaled deeply.

Watching them, Murtasim's chest tightened with overwhelming love. But he couldn't help feeling just a tad neglected. "Main bhi hoon yahan," he whined, his voice carrying a note of playful longing.

Meerab turned her attention to him, rolling her eyes dramatically but unable to hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Yahan aao," she said, her voice softening as she beckoned him closer.

Murtasim leaned forward, his grin widening as she pecked his lips. Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, her lips soft against his stubbled skin.

"Hi, Muw-taim," she murmured, her voice teasing and playful, making his heart do that stupid, happy flutter it always did when she smiled at him like that. He couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly she still managed to make him feel like a love-struck fool.

"Aaj mere liye lunch mein kya hai?" she asked, tilting her head to peer towards the back where their lunch awaited, her curiosity piqued.

Murtasim sighed, playing up his pout. "Mujhse toh koi pyaar nahi karta," he lamented, knowing full well that his dramatics would earn a laugh.

Right on cue, Meesam lifted her head from Meerab's chest. She wiggled around and reached out towards him. "Mee-Mee wove you, Muw-taim!" she declared, her little voice high-pitched and filled with so much love that Murtasim's heart melted on the spot.

He grinned. "I love you too, Mee-Mee," he replied, his voice soft as he reached over to brush a stray strand from her forehead.

Meerab joined in on the teasing, flashing him that impish smile of hers. "I love you too, Muwtaim," she teased.

He gave her a mock glare, his eyes narrowing. "Baad mein dekhenge," he said, pretending to be stern, but his lips quirked up in amusement.

Meerab rolled her eyes.

He adjusted the seats, moving and reclining them as far back as they would go to create a cozy lunch space. Then he grabbed the lunch box his mother had packed, taking a moment to savor the anticipation of what was about to come.

This was one of his favorite parts—whenever he opened the container, both mother and daughter would make a show of "oooh"-ing and "aaah"-ing, wiggling with excitement. Sure enough, as he popped the lid off, both Meerab and mini-Meerab leaned forward, their eyes lighting up as they admired the food.

He started feeding them, taking turns giving Meesam tiny bites of soft roti and bits of mashed vegetables and chicken. Meesam, as animated as ever, babbled between bites when her mother ate, trying her best to share all the important details of her morning adventures with her mother. Her little words tumbled out in an adorable jumble, her wide brown eyes bright and expressive. She gestured with her hands, adding emphasis to her baby stories, and her enthusiasm made both her parents chuckle.

But as the minutes ticked by and her belly grew full, Meesam's eyes began to grow heavy. Her long lashes fluttered, and her head started to bob, the energy from her earlier escapades slowly draining away.

Meerab giggled, wiping a tiny smudge of food from Meesam's cheek. "Kitna bhagaate ho meri beti ko?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling with affection as she watched their daughter struggle to stay awake.

Murtasim couldn't help but grin, shaking his head. "Main nahi bhagata, woh khud bhagti hai," he defended, even though he knew it was only half true.

Gently, he lifted Meesam from Meerab's arms and cradled her close, carefully turning his body so he could place her in the car seat in the back, which was now closer consider he had moved the front seats back as far as they would go. Her little head lolled to the side, and she let out a tiny sigh, curling into herself as she settled into sleep.

Once she was buckled in, Meerab reached for the biryani, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of enjoying her meal without tiny hands trying to grab at it. She dug in eagerly, savoring every flavorful bite. "Yeh chod kar cafeteria ka khana kaise khaon main," she murmured, her voice filled with pure bliss as she polished off the food.

Murtasim chuckled, leaning back to watch her. "Aap ka din kaise jaa raha hai?" he asked.

She pouted adorably, her cheeks puffing out as she whined, "Bore ho gayi hoon. 65 ke baad professors ko retire ho jana chahiye, itna pakate hai."

He tilted his head, his smirk widening into a grin. "Retire karwa doon?" he offered smoothly as he leaned closer to her, his tone all teasing nonchalance, though he could easily accomplish that.

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Kaise?"

His grin turned devilish, the kind of smile that made her roll her eyes every time. "Tumhare liye kisi ko bhi maar sakta hoon, meri jaan," he declared, his voice dangerously low and mockingly serious, as though he were ready to carry out such a deed right then and there.

She rolled her eyes and pushed his face to the side, her hand warm against his jaw. "Main law padh rahi hoon, Murtasim!" she reminded him, her tone filled with disbelief at his theatrics.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Darra toh sakta hoon," he said, his grin only growing wider. "Unko pata chale ke Murtasim Khan ki biwi bore ho rahi hai, saare professors seedha bhaag jaayenge."

"Murtasimmmm," she whined, drawing out his name with that adorable exasperation, there was always that hint of affection in that whine that he loved.

He leaned closer again, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Main sach keh raha hoon, meri jaan," he murmured. "Tumhare liye main professors ko dara sakta hoon... aur zaroorat pade toh maar bhi sakta hoon," he teased.

She laughed, swatting his chest lightly, "shut up," she scolded.

He snickered, reaching over to flick her nose, switching up his approach. "Bas thode mahine reh gaye," he reminded her gently.

"Bas thode mahine?" she echoed, her eyes widening in exasperation. "November hi hai, 6 aur mahine," she whined again, her shoulders slumping.

"Chod doh," he teased, as he always did, knowing it would earn him one of her signature glares.

And it did. She turned to him, her eyes narrowed, but with her cheeks full of biryani, she looked more like a grumpy chipmunk than anything else. He couldn't help but laugh. She looked so cute.

When she finished the biryani, she turned to him with another demand. "Chai," she ordered, her voice commanding but her expression still soft.

"Ji, Mrs. Khan," he said, dutifully grabbing the thermos and pouring her a few sips, she usually took the thermos back with her to class after lunch. She took the cup with a satisfied hum, sipping on it happily and sneaking glances at their sleeping daughter.

Murtasim couldn't help but feel his heart fill with a simple, perfect happiness as he watched Meerab put the empty chai cup away. She then did the thing he looked forward to the most. She climbed into his lap sideways, graceful and familiar, like she belonged there - which she did. Her back leaned against the car door, her legs draped over the center console, resting in his lap. She turned to face him, her eyes soft, full of that warmth she reserved just for him.

He hummed in contentment, feeling her small, gentle hand come up to cup his face, her nails grazing his beard in a way that sent shivers of comfort and pleasure down his spine.

"Hi," he whispered, his voice low, filled with affection and awe, like he was greeting her for the first time.

She giggled, that light, musical sound that always made his chest feel too full. "Hi," she replied, mirroring his tone, teasing yet sweet.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, his lips brushing her skin with the familiarity of a thousand shared moments. His hand found its way to her stomach, out of habit, instinct.

She laughed, a teasing lilt to her voice. "Humari beti ab wahan hai," she pointed out, nodding toward the back seat where Meesam slept soundly, her tiny head leaning slightly to one side in her car seat.

He hummed, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of their sleeping daughter. "Pata hai," he murmured, "bas yaad aagayi." He remembered those early days, back when Meerab had just started her master's program and found out she was pregnant. They'd had lunch in cars back then too, using the space as a sanctuary from the smells and sounds that made her queasy. Now, it had become a ritual of sorts.

Meerab's gaze softened as she followed his eyes. "Kitni badi hogayi hai," she sighed, looking back at their little girl, so much love and wonder in her voice.

He held her closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. Her hair smelled like a mix of her floral shampoo and baby powder. He loved it.

She turned back to him, her face illuminated with that smile that always made his pulse quicken. "Mujhe aaj lena aao gai?" she asked, her voice carrying the tiniest hint of hope as she played with his collar.

Murtasim sighed, feeling a pang of regret as he shook his head. "Meeting hai, Saim aayega," he said, his voice apologetic.

Meerab arched her eyebrow at that. "Agle hafte shaadi hai uski, gaon kab jayega?" she questioned.

Murtasim snickered. "Jab Zubi ghasit ke le jayegi," he replied, laughter rumbling in his chest. It was easy to imagine Zubi storming the Khan Mansion, determined and fierce, dragging her soon-to-be husband to their wedding preparations.

Meerab's laughter joined his. "Zubi aur Saim ka toh ho gaya," she said, but then her tone turned teasingly serious. "Bhaktu aur Mai ka kya kare?" she asked.

Murtasim groaned, tilting his head back against the headrest. "Not again," he muttered, sounding exasperated, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him.

"Murtasimmmm," Meerab whined, her voice lilting and playful, making his heart squeeze with affection.

He tried to change the subject. "Maryam aur Shahryar aaj shaam ko aa jayenge," he informed her, "subah baat hui meri."

She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed. "Haan, subject hi change karlo," she muttered, folding her arms across her chest.

He couldn't help but smile, admiring the way her nose scrunched when she was pretending to be annoyed. It was adorable.

She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Shahryar ko tang mat karna," she warned him. "Samjhe?" she asked pointedly, her expression serious.

Murtasim's lips curved into a mischievous grin. "Nahi," he replied, much too quickly.

She whacked his arm, exasperated. "Murtasimmmmm!" she scolded.

"Maryam ke hone wale bache ka baap hai woh," he said petulantly. He still wasn't over the fact that his sister was going to be a mother so soon...and that the father was Shahryar. It had only been a year since her wedding.

Meerab rolled her eyes again, clearly used to his antics. "Maryam ka husband hai... obviously uske bache ka baap hi banega naa?" she pointed out, giving his arm another playful smack.

He sighed.

"Tumhara kya karoon main," Meerab sighed, her voice filled with mock exasperation as she cupped his face, her palms warm against his cheeks. But then, she leaned in and pecked his lips, her affection breaking through her pretend frustration.

"Yeh theek hai," he muttered against her lips, savoring the softness of her kiss.

She laughed, that beautiful sound that made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. "Shut up," she whispered, her voice warm and full of love.

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Murtasim sat on his side of their plush bed, with Meesam perched happily in his lap, a bright pink jungle animal book clutched in her tiny hands. The room was warm, lit by the soft glow of ratan lamps. It smelled faintly of baby powder and the calming lavender scent Meerab always used to help Meesam wind down before bed. The December chill pressed lightly against the windows, but inside, it felt like a cozy little world made just for the three of them.

"Boo," Meesam said, holding the book up for emphasis. Her pajama top had tiny cartoon elephants on it, and she wore matching bottoms that scrunched up adorably around her ankles. Her hair fell messily around her chubby cheeks, her big brown eyes—so much like Meerab's—shining with delight as she pointed to the pile of hefty law textbooks sprawled across the middle of the bed.

Meerab glanced up from her textbook, her pen paused mid-note. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her glowing, focused face. She looked tired, but she also looked like the most beautiful person in the world to Murtasim. "Mee-Mee ne Mama wali book padni hai?" Meerab asked, her voice tinged with gentle amusement.

Meesam nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. "Boo!" she repeated, her little voice insistent.

Murtasim grinned, unable to resist the charm of his daughter's determination. "Okay," he said, leaning forward and grabbing the first textbook his hand touched.

He opened it randomly to a page and started reading in his most animated voice, like he was narrating the most exciting adventure story ever. "In Pakistan, contract law is primarily governed by the Contract Act of 1872, which outlines the requirements for creating enforceable agreements between parties. For a contract to be legally binding, it must meet several essential conditions..."

He paused, his voice deadpan, and made a face. "Yeh book boring hai, Mee-Mee," he announced, his eyebrows raising dramatically.

Meesam's head tilted up to him, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Mama kyun?" she asked, her little lips forming a pout. Her voice was soft but full of curiosity – why was her mother reading boring books?

He chuckled, glancing at Meerab, who was back to reading and taking notes, pretending not to notice them. "Mama kyun aisi boring books padti hai?" he clarified for Meesam, leaning in close like they were sharing a big secret.

Meesam nodded, her little hands playing with the buttons on his kurta as she waited for his explanation.

"Mama ko yeh sab nahi aata," he whispered conspiratorially – but also loudly so Meerab would hear, "toh Mama padh kar sab sikhne ki koshish kar rahi hai."

Meesam's eyes widened as if this was groundbreaking news. "Ba-Ba?" she asked, her little finger tapping his chest.

"Baba ko already sab kuch pata hai," he said confidently, stealing a glance at Meerab, who promptly turned her head and shot him a death glare.

"Wab?" Meesam repeated, her head tilting adorably.

He couldn't help but squeeze her cheeks as he nodded, "Haan, baba ko sab aata hai. Mama ko nahi aata." He leaned in to kiss Meesam's cheek, and she giggled, her laughter filling the room.

Meerab scoffed loudly, "Murtasim ko yeh sab nahi aata," she retorted, her eyes narrowing at him.

Meesam turned to her mother, her little mouth forming a perfect "O" of disagreement. "Noooo, Muw-taim aata hai!" she said, defending her father with the kind of fierce loyalty only a daddy's girl could muster.

Murtasim burst into laughter, feeling his heart practically melt. "See?" he said to Meerab, grinning. "Mee-Mee ko bhi pata hai ki uske baba ko sab aata hai."

Meerab rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Acha? Contract law ke kya requirements hai phir?" she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

He leaned back, feigning deep contemplation. "Contract likhna toh tumhe pehle se hi aata tha," he teased, remembering the contract she had drawn up before their nikaah.

She rolled her eyes even harder.

"Koi bebas insaan ko corner kar ke kuch bhi sign karwa lo," he joked, unable to hide the smirk on his lips.

Meerab folded her arms. "Bebas main thi," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "Haan haan, lekin woh contract toh legally binding tha hi nahi... kya tha..." He looked back at the textbook, pretending to skim through it. "Haan, there must be unequivocal acceptance by the other party... without consideration the contract is not valid," he read aloud, adding with a teasing lilt, "Isiliye school jaana pad raha hai tumhe."

Meesam giggled uncontrollably, clapping her little hands. Her laughter was infectious, and Murtasim couldn't help but chuckle.

"Mee-Mee ko kuch samajh aaya?" he asked, tickling her belly lightly.

Meesam shook her head, giggling even louder, clutching his shirt in her tiny fists, her eyes crinkling at the corners. The way she threw her head back, laughter bubbling out of her in the most carefree way, made his heart swell with love. Her innocence, her pure happiness—it was magic.

"Hass lo, ab sach mein binding contract likhti hoon," Meerab muttered, not looking up from her textbook but clearly listening in on their antics. "No touching."

Murtasim's eyes widened dramatically. "Nooooo!" he gasped in mock horror, clutching his chest as if he'd been struck.

"Nooooooo!" Meesam echoed, her little voice a perfect mimicry of his, eyes wide with faux distress.

He pouted exaggeratedly at Meerab, sticking out his bottom lip.

Meesam, sitting on his lap, immediately copied him, her own little lip jutting out in the most adorable way.

"Pease," Meesam said, turning her big pleading eyes to her mother, helping her baba's case.

Murtasim felt his heart melt into a puddle. "Yeah, please," he joined in, his voice pitiful. "Main m-a-r jaunga," he whined, spelling out the word.

Meerab looked unimpressed, narrowing her eyes at him. "Pehle sochna tha, Murtasim," she said pointedly, though her lips twitched, fighting a smile.

Meesam looked between her parents, her little brow furrowing as if trying to figure out the serious discussion. But then, with all the seriousness she could muster, she wriggled out of Murtasim's lap and toddled over to Meerab. Standing firm, she turned towards her father, tiny hands on her hips, and said in an exasperated voice, "MUW-TAIM!"

It was the exact same tone Meerab used when she scolded him.

Murtasim burst out laughing, unable to hold it in, and Meerab couldn't stop herself either, doubling over as laughter spilled from her lips.

Meesam, realizing she was being funny, doubled down.

She scrunched up her face, furrowing her tiny eyebrows even more, and glared at him (well, as much as a 20-month-old could), shouting, "MUWTAIMMM!" over and over, even as she giggled between her attempts.

Meerab put her textbook aside, reaching out to scoop Meesam into her arms. She peppered her daughter's face with kisses, her voice warm and full of love. "Koi itna cute kaise ho sakta hai?" she asked, completely enamored.

Meesam giggled, squirming happily, and patted her own chest. "Mee-Mee cuwt!" she declared, her face glowing with joy.

Meerab nodded solemnly. "Sabse zyada cute. Aur ab, cute Mee-Mee ke sone ka time ho gaya hai," she said, tapping Meesam's little nose.

"Nooooooo," Meesam whined, her voice full of toddler defiance.

"Yessssssssss," Meerab insisted, her voice lilting, playful.

"Mee-Mee pway!" she argued, shaking her head and bouncing in her mother's lap, eyes wide with hope.

Meerab tapped her nose again. "Mee-Mee kal subah khel sakti hai," she promised.

Murtasim hummed, "Haan... aur ab Mama Baba ke saath khel sakti hai." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his wife.

Meerab shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing. "Nahi," she said, her voice firm.

"Mujhse toh koi pyaar hi nahi karta," Murtasim sighed dramatically.

Meerab tried to keep a straight face. "Main tumhari baaton mein nahi aane wali," she said, shaking her head.

He leaned closer. "Toh baahon mein aa jao," he muttered suggestively.

Meerab rolled her eyes. "Kuch sharam karo, Murtasim," she managed to say before she burst out into giggles. "Tum ek bachi ke baap ho!"

Meesam didn't understand the joke but joined in the laughter anyway, giggling along just because her parents were.

Murtasim sighed theatrically. "Mee-Mee ke sone ka time ho gaya," he sang, this time with more conviction.

"Noooooo," Meesam protested, shaking her head and pouting.

"Yessssssss," he insisted, standing up and lifting her into the air. He tossed her gently, catching her securely, and she squealed in delight, her laughter echoing through the room. "Chalo, Baba aur Mee-Mee sone chale," he said, nuzzling his nose against her cheek.

"Meesam pway!" she whined, sticking out her lip.

He softened, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Agar saara kuch aaj hi kar liya, toh phir kal kaise play karenge?" he reasoned.

Meesam let out a tiny whine, clearly not ready to give up yet.

"Chalo, Mama ko goodnight karo," he said, adjusting her in his arms so she could lean towards Meerab.

Meerab kissed her cheek, her eyes warm with love. "Goodnight, meri Mee-Mee," she whispered, cupping Meesam's little face and pressing kisses all over her cheeks and forehead.

"Ni-ni," Meesam murmured, her version of goodnight, as she gave her mama a final kiss.

Murtasim carried her out of the room and toward the nursery, already prepared for the nightly ritual: two more "boos" (books), a "loey" (lullaby), the rocking chair, and endless hugs until his choti shehzaadi finally drifted off to sleep.

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"Murtasimmm, padne doh!" Meerab complained, her voice both exasperated and soft, honey-drenched and irresistible.

Meerab lay on her stomach, the curve of her body lit perfectly in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. She lay sprawled across their wide bed, her elbows propped up on a pillow, her face buried in her palms.

"Nahi," he replied, his voice a lazy drawl, low and deliberate. He let his fingers ghost up her bare back, reveling in the way her body shivered under his touch. When he returned from putting their daughter to bed, he suspected she hadn't meant to focus on her books at all—she had shed her robe, after all. What lay beneath had his blood humming, his body coming alive with desire.

The small silk shorts she wore barely covered her, sliding deliciously up her thighs, and her camisole matched in a sinful shade of deep blue. Her hair, normally a wild curtain, was tied up, baring her nape, her shoulders, her delicate, kissable spine. The thin straps of her top teased him, whispering over her skin, accentuating the creamy expanse of her back.

She was perfect—every inch of her calling to him. Her defiance, her stubbornness, even her attempts to brush him off, only made him want her more. The idea of her spread out like this, a delicious temptation dressed up as a diligent student, had him aching.

"Main tumhe iss waqt ignore karna chahti hoon," Meerab grumbled, trying to sound resolute, but Murtasim caught the flicker of a smile in her voice.

He leaned in, running his fingers up her back, feeling her body react beneath his touch. Goosebumps danced over her skin, a whisper of a reaction she probably wished she could hide.

The mattress dipped under his weight, and he leaned over, pressing a feather-light kiss to her spine. "Phir toh mujhe aur bhi paas aana chahiye... door se ignore nahi ho sakta," he teased, his hands gently wrapping around her waist, his thumbs starting to knead small circles into her lower back.

He pressed a kiss to her back, right between her shoulder blades, his lips lingering to feel the faint pulse of her heartbeat. She sighed, a breathy little sound, and he didn't miss how her body melted into his touch, even as she tried to keep her attention on her notes.

"Tumhe shaadi ke baad bhi flirt karna band nahi karna aata?" she scolded, her voice trembling despite the attempt at scorn. Her accusation made him grin. "Aur sab toh apparently nahi karte," she added, her tone tinged with wry amusement, recalling her classmates' complaints about their indifferent husbands.

He shifted closer, his chest pressing against her back, the heat of his skin sinking through the thin silk of her camisole. "Shaadi ke baad toh aur bhi haq se flirt kar sakta hoon," he murmured, lowering his mouth to her shoulder. He caught one thin strap between his fingers, sliding it aside with deliberate slowness, exposing more of her skin. "Aise bhi kar sakta hoon..." he continued, his lips finding the spot where her neck met her shoulder. He kissed her there, then dragged his lips lower, his hands trailing to cup her ass, his palms firm as he kneaded her curves.

Her breath hitched, and he felt her surrender inch by inch. She moved her head slightly, giving him more room, a silent invitation he didn't need twice. He kissed his way up her neck, savoring the salty-sweet taste of her skin, the slight tremor that ran through her as he explored.

"Tum kabhi thak nahi jaate yeh sab karte hue?" she asked, voice strained and breathy. She tried to sound disinterested, but her words carried an undercurrent of desire. As if he could ever tire of her. Every inch of her captivated him.

"Yeh toh mera cardio hai... healthy rehna zaroori hai," he teased, his grin widening as he straddled her thighs, shifting his weight over her. The nearness made his chest brush her back, the heat of his body spreading through hers, making her squirm deliciously. The feel of her soft warmth beneath him made his heart pound, desire pooling hot and heavy in his gut.

She groaned, an exasperated sound. "Murtasim, seriously... tumhe koi aur kaam nahi hai?" she whined, her voice cracking slightly.

His lips brushed against the shell of her ear. "Mera kaam toh tumhe distract karna hai... aur dekh lo, usmein top class kaam kar raha hoon," he whispered, his hands sliding up her sides, relishing the way her body shivered under his touch. She was caught, ensnared, but still tried to resist.

Meerab shivered, her stubbornness crumbling, but she shot back, "Top class toh nahi hai."

He smirked, tracing a single finger up her arm, watching her skin pebble with goosebumps. "Acha? Phir yeh kis liye aaye?" His tone was mock-innocent, his finger trailing to the back of her neck, reveling in the little shiver she couldn't suppress.

Her throat worked, and he saw her swallow, trying to concentrate on her notes. Her voice trembled with frustration. "Tumhare paas hamesha jawab kyun hota hai?"

His grin widened, his voice a playful rumble. "Kyunki main Murtasim Khan hoon." He leaned in, pressing gentle, teasing kisses to her bare shoulder, then trailed his lips slowly up to her neck. Each kiss lingered, his desire only intensifying at the little sounds escaping her.

She sighed again, but this time, it was a sound of surrender.

"Murtasim..." she whispered, a quiet plea wrapped in a warning, her resolve crumbling but not quite gone.

He kissed the spot just below her ear, whispering, "Kabhi pyaar se bhi bula liya karo... Murtasim, Murtasim, Murtasimmm," his voice a deep, seductive whisper, drawing out her name like a promise, a vow.

Meerab sighed again, a breathy sound that made his blood rush south. "Padne doh," she tried, but the willpower in her voice was slipping.

He hummed in mock consideration, then bit down gently at the curve of her neck. She let out a helpless little moan, and he felt it reverberate through her body.

"Ab lagta hai tumhe padhai se zyada kuch aur pasand aa raha hai," he said, dragging his tongue over the spot he had bitten, the taste of her filling his senses. He gently sucked at her skin, savoring her soft, involuntary gasp.

Meerab huffed, her struggle melting as he continued to worship her neck.

"Tum pado... mujhe ignore karo," he teased, his lips leaving a trail of kisses down her back. He reached for the other strap of her camisole, sliding it off her shoulder. The silk whispered down her skin, and he reveled in the way her breathing quickened.

"Kaise ignore karoon?" she whined, her voice high and needy, her back arching slightly as she tried—and failed—to keep her focus.

"Mujhe kya pata," he teased, his voice full of wicked delight. "Tum socho." His mouth followed the line of her spine, each kiss a brand of his affection. He listened, captivated, as her breath hitched, each exhale a little more desperate. Her body was betraying her with every tremor, every delicious little sound she made, though she kept her eyes on her notes, still pretending...

Murtasim shifted, the mattress shifting with him as he leaned back, trailing his hands deliberately down her back. His touch was firm, fingertips pressing into her skin, dragging a shiver from her body that he savored. He let his thumbs knead gently at the base of her spine before curving his palms over her ass. The silk of her tiny shorts clung to her curves, the smooth fabric slipping under his grip as he squeezed her. He relished how it felt beneath his fingers, the softness of the silk contrasting sharply with the firm, perfect shape of her. The way the shorts hugged her curves made his mouth water, his breath growing heavier with desire. Meerab's breath hitched, and he didn't miss how her body subtly arched, despite the stubborn way she clung to her notes.

With a wicked grin, he slipped a hand between her thighs, tugging the crotch of her shorts aside. The glimpse of her bare, glistening heat was a sight that made his blood roar.

He dragged a single finger up her slick heat, watching how her body tensed and then melted in response. Her hips shifted, a reflex she probably couldn't control, her thighs parting ever so slightly beneath him. He traced her slowly, teasingly, and then pressed in, sliding a finger deep into her wetness. Her heat clamped down around him, and a groan escaped him, low and possessive.

"Murtasim," she whimpered, her voice muffled by the pillow, her protest so weak it felt more like an invitation.

He paused, finger still buried in her, and leaned forward, his lips at her ear. "Ruk jaon?" he asked, his voice rough, thick with lust and affection.

He waited, and she didn't answer.

The silence spoke volumes, the only sounds her shallow, shivering breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. She didn't say another word. His smile widened, and he resumed, his finger curling and stroking her inner walls. Her head fell forward, her elbows giving out as she collapsed onto the pillow, her face half-buried as she surrendered completely.

"So wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So warm." His fingers moved inside her with practiced ease, feeling the way she clenched around him, her hips slowly beginning to rock back against his hand, seeking more of the friction she pretended not to want. His thumb grazed her clit, and her entire body shuddered, her breath coming in short, desperate pants.

Her hips began to move instinctively, rolling back into his touch, searching for more.

The sight of her, spread out beneath him, unraveling from his touch, made him throb with need. He shifted his angle, sliding his fingers downward, pressing them against her G-spot. Her response was immediate—a high-pitched whimper, her body jerking, her back arching as he coaxed more moans from her lips. He worked her, fingers stroking, pushing her closer and closer, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

Her hands clenched the sheets, knuckles white as she twisted them in her fists. He lowered himself over her, pressing kisses up her back. His lips brushed along her spine, following each delicate curve, up her shoulder, and then to the soft, sensitive spot where her neck met her jaw. He kissed her there, slow and tender, his fingers never pausing their rhythm.

When he finally reached her ear, he whispered, "I love you." His voice was rough, almost reverent, and he heard her whimper in response, a helpless sound of both pleasure and emotion.

Her body began to tense under him, every muscle tightening as the heat he was building inside her finally broke free. Her hands clutched at the sheets, twisting them as her orgasm overtook her. Her head turned, teeth sinking into the pillow to muffle the wild, shattering moan that escaped her as she came around his fingers. Her walls clenched, pulsing, and he felt every ripple, every wave of her climax, his name a breathless cry tangled in her release.

Meerab lay there, still shivering, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Her back lifted and fell in a mesmerizing rhythm, and Murtasim couldn't tear his gaze away from the way she trembled, her body twitching with the last waves of her orgasm. Her face was buried in the pillow, one arm outstretched, her fingers tangled in the sheets like a silent confession of her surrender.

With deliberate slowness, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her damp, silky shorts. He slid them down her legs, revealing the soft skin beneath, his knuckles brushing the delicate flesh of her thighs. Every inch he uncovered made his mouth dry, the sight of her bare, still trembling, making his cock throb harder in anticipation. Tossing the shorts aside, he shifted back, his hands trailing over her now-exposed legs, his palms drinking in the heat that radiated from her.

With a rough exhale, he sat back and yanked off his own kurta, tossing it aside without care. The cool air kissed his bare skin, but it did nothing to temper the heat coursing through his veins. His pajama pants followed, pooling around his ankles before he kicked them off, leaving him just as exposed, his cock straining and ready.

He pushed her legs together, gently but firmly, savoring how her thighs pressed tight, creating a narrow channel between them. The position was exquisite, making her feel tighter, the friction promising a kind of ecstasy that he craved. He guided his cock between her legs, the head teasing her slick folds, and pressed forward, the heat of her enveloping him inch by inch. She was impossibly tight like this, her walls clinging to him, and he groaned, the sound ripped from deep in his chest.

Meerab let out a little satisfied hum, the sound vibrating through her, and he felt the echo of it in his own chest. The slick, snug heat of her wrapped around him felt perfect, exquisite, and he couldn't help the groan that rumbled low in his throat. The way she yielded to him, even as her body gripped him so tightly in this intimate position, was almost too much.

"Fuck," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. He started to move, thrusting slowly, savoring every inch of the sensation. This position was one he knew she loved, where she could lie there and feel every deep, deliberate push. With her legs pressed together beneath him, he could feel the way her body hugged him, the tightness maddeningly perfect. Her hips began to move back, meeting his rhythm, and his hands caressed up her sides, feeling the delicate lines of her ribs and the camisole bunched up around her waist.

He knew she loved this position. Her nipples brushed against the mattress with every thrust, the sensitive peaks dragging against the fabric in a way that made her moan, the sound muffled but unmistakably desperate. She didn't have to do anything but lay there, her body pliant, taking everything he gave her. The thought made him harder, made him thrust deeper.

Her hips instinctively pushed back against him, trying to match his rhythm even though she couldn't move much. Her head turned to the side, her mouth parted, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. The bed creaked beneath them, the slow, measured pace creating a hypnotic symphony of sound: his hips meeting her ass, the rustle of the sheets, their mingled moans.

Murtasim leaned over her, his lips finding the nape of her neck, pressing soft kisses, tasting the salt of her sweat. He kissed her shoulder, his lips lingering, then trailed kisses up her neck, his thrusts never faltering, every movement measured and full of intent. He wanted to draw out every bit of pleasure, to make her fall apart over and over.

His cock dragged in and out of her, the tightness almost unbearable, and he watched her fingers flex and clutch the sheets, her body helplessly arching for him.

Murtasim couldn't stand not seeing her face. It felt wrong, incomplete, when he knew just how beautiful she looked, flushed with desire, her lips parted in those perfect, breathy moans. His need to witness her undone was too strong to ignore. With a low groan, he reluctantly pulled out of her warmth, earning a soft, frustrated whimper from Meerab. His hands slid around her waist, and with a practiced, gentle strength, he rolled her onto her back.

The movement made her hair shift and fall even more out of the already loose, messy bun. Stray strands curled around her flushed face, sticking to her damp forehead and framing her wide, dazed eyes. Her skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, her cheeks tinged pink, lips swollen from biting down on them.

Her camisole was bunched up just beneath her breasts, baring her to him, her nipples hard and begging for attention. The sight of her like this—completely wrecked yet still so beautiful, so vulnerable, so his—made his cock twitch with renewed urgency.

He didn't waste a second. Leaning down, he captured her mouth in a searing kiss, their lips colliding with an intensity that left them both breathless. She moaned into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer. He devoured her, his tongue sliding against hers, tasting the sweetness of her surrender. She kissed him back fiercely, her desperation matching his own, making every inch of his body ache for her.

His hand slipped between them, guiding himself back to her entrance. He slid into her in one slow, deep thrust, and they both gasped against each other's mouths. The sensation of being surrounded by her again was electric, her wet heat pulling him in, squeezing him so perfectly he thought he might lose control right then and there. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding his hips into hers, and the feeling was exquisite, sending a shudder down his spine.

Meerab's head fell back against the pillow, her eyes locking onto his. They stared at each other, mouths open, breaths mingling, both of them lost in the moment. He began to move, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, his body pressing into hers with every roll of his hips. Her body welcomed him back, tight and slick, stretching around him in a way that made him groan deep in his chest. Meerab's lips parted in a silent gasp, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief second before opening again, staring up at him. Her gaze was heavy-lidded, her pupils wide, and he was drowning in the sheer want reflected there.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles digging into his lower back, urging him deeper, closer. His hand slid up her thigh, then around to her hip, gripping her tight, loving how her body responded to his every touch. The way her breasts bounced slightly with every thrust, the little sighs and whimpers that escaped her lips—it was driving him mad. He kept his eyes on hers, refusing to look away, wanting to witness every flicker of pleasure that crossed her face.

"Meerab," he groaned, the sound raw, full of everything he felt for her—lust, love, desperation.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she arched her back, pressing herself into him, her body clenching around him. "Murtasim," she gasped, her voice cracking as he picked up the pace. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, trailing his lips back up to capture her mouth, never letting the connection break. Their kisses were messy, their lips sliding together, both of them too breathless to care.

Murtasim shifted his weight onto one elbow, his other hand trailing between their bodies. His fingers found her clit, rubbing gentle, teasing circles that made Meerab shudder beneath him. Her moans grew louder, her hips bucking up to meet his, and he knew she was close. Her walls started to tighten around him, her body pulsing in time with the rhythm he had set.

"Close, meri jaan?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and thick. He could feel it, the way she pulsed around him, the way her legs tightened around his waist.

She nodded frantically, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted in ecstasy. Her body tensed, her muscles tightening as she hurtled towards her climax. He kept moving, thrusting into her as his fingers played with her, not stopping until he felt her shatter around him. Her orgasm crashed over her, her body clamping down on him, her moans echoing in his ears. The sight of her coming undone, the feeling of her pulsing around him, was too much.

He couldn't hold back. With a strangled groan, he followed her over the edge, his hips snapping forward one last time as he spilled into her, filling her completely. The pleasure washed over him in a wave, leaving him breathless and shaking, his body pressed against hers as they rode out the last tremors together.

They lay there, tangled up in each other, their bodies slick with sweat, chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Murtasim brushed the hair from her face, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips.

Murtasim's mouth found hers again, unable to resist the taste of her lips, still swollen from their desperate kisses. His fingers threaded into her hair, loosening the already messy bun until it unraveled completely, her dark waves spilling around her face like a halo of silk. Their kiss was deep, slow, a sensual dance of lips and tongues, every shared breath feeding the fire between them. Her hands caressed his jaw, fingers soft but sure as she held his face, pulling him even closer.

Her touch made him shiver, and when she pulled back just slightly, her eyes dark with desire, her gaze stole every coherent thought from his mind. "Again," she whispered, her voice a breathy plea, her fingers tracing the lines of his cheekbones as if trying to memorize him, as if she needed him more than air.

He couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Acha," he teased, his voice hoarse, still thick with need, "aap ko padna nahi tha?" His eyes searched hers, loving the way they sparkled, a mix of mischief and longing, the flush in her cheeks deepening.

She shook her head, her smile breaking into a laugh that sent warmth spreading through his veins. It was a beautiful, carefree sound, and he couldn't help but be enchanted by how easily she made him feel like the luckiest man alive. She kissed him again, and he lost himself in the way her lips molded to his, the way she bit at his lower lip, playful and teasing.

"Kaise?" he murmured against her mouth, his breath mingling with hers. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, wanting—no, needing—to know what she desired, to give her everything she asked for.

Her fingers slid down to his chest, nails raking over his skin, leaving trails of heat that made his body burn for her all over again. She met his gaze with a boldness that made his heart slam against his ribs. "Harder," she muttered.

Murtasim groaned, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. The way she wanted him, the way she wasn't afraid to ask, made his heart feel like it might burst. How had he gotten so lucky? How had he ended up here, with her, the only person who could undo him so completely?

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"Banky," Meesam demanded, her small voice carrying that familiar sleepy tone, her little hand opening and closing in that unmistakable "give me" gesture she'd perfected.

Murtasim sighed, a smile pulling at his lips. He knew this routine all too well. His daughter had a peculiar attachment to his shawls, and whenever she spotted one, she insisted on having it, as if draped in it gave her some magical comfort.

Meerab, who was sitting beside them, laughed softly as she watched Meesam's adorable insistence.

"Jaisi maa waisi beti," Murtasim teased, shaking his head. "Tum dono ki aadat hai meri cheezen churaane ki," he added, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. Both his girls had a knack for stealing his clothes, and he never really stood a chance against either of them.

Meesam whined, as if to remind him she was serious, and she repeated, "Bankyyyy," her little pout forming, though she was already on the brink of sleep.

"Acha, meri choti shehzaadi," he conceded, unwinding the warm, woolen shawl from his shoulders. As he draped the shawl around her, Meesam's eyelids drooped even more, her tiny body sinking into the soft embrace of the fabric. She hugged it to her chest and curled back up on the couch, sighing deeply.

"I thak gayi," she mumbled, her voice trailing off in that familiar sleepy declaration, a phrase she had clearly picked up from her mother. The sight of her little form bundled up, cuddling the shawl with so much contentment, made Murtasim's heart ache.

Meerab's laughter softened, and she reached out to brush a stray strand from Meesam's forehead. Murtasim couldn't help but smile at the tender exchange.

But then, he rubbed his arms exaggeratedly. "Ab mujhe thand lag rahi hai," he complained, raising an eyebrow at Meerab, who was still smiling at their daughter.

Meerab rolled her eyes at his theatrics. "Acha?"

Without warning, Murtasim grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. She let out a surprised squeal, her hands instinctively landing on his chest. Her eyes widened, but laughter bubbled out of her at the sudden closeness.

Murtasim wrapped his arms around her snugly, pressing her back against him. "Behter," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. The scent of her hair—fresh, sweet, familiar—washed over him, and he couldn't help but close his eyes for a moment, savoring it.

Meerab relaxed into his embrace, resting her head against his shoulder. "Dramaebaaz," she murmured, but her voice held nothing but affection.

"Shh," he teased, nuzzling into her neck.

Meerab laughed, her fingers playing with the fabric of his kurta. "Tumhe hamesha koi na koi bahaana chahiye hota hai."

He hummed contentedly. "Kya karoon? Aap ko dekh kar dil hi nahi maanta."

Meerab snickered, "so cheesy."

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

"Mee-mee bunny!" Meesam declared with all the excitement her little voice could muster. She sat in her high chair at the dining table, her chubby legs swinging back and forth, while her tiny hands thumped the tray in front of her. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she jumped a little in her seat, imitating a bunny's hop.

Murtasim tried to hold back his laughter, but the sight of his daughter "bouncing" in her high chair, her curls bouncing along with her, made it difficult. She had a vivid imagination, and right now, she was fully committed to the role of a bunny.

Meerab played along immediately, her expression one of delighted surprise. "Oh, Mee-mee bunny hai?" she gasped, her eyes wide with mock astonishment.

Meesam nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing with her. "Bunny! Bunny!" she giggled, clearly enjoying the game.

Meerab leaned forward, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, as if she were sharing a great secret. "Lekin bunny toh sab vegetables khaate hai," she said, her tone full of playful seriousness. She picked up the plate of mini cucumbers and carrots that they'd strategically placed to entice their vegetable-averse daughter. "Bunnies toh cucumber, carrots, aur lettuce bhi khaate hai," she added, lifting a bright orange carrot stick to make her point.

Murtasim had to hide a smirk. Getting Meesam to eat vegetables was a Herculean task. If she were offered any whole veggies, she'd usually stare at them with great suspicion. And then, with the sweetest smile, she'd hold the offensive piece of vegetable to Meerab's or his mouth, as if offering them a grand treat. The way she'd beam at them made it almost impossible to refuse, and more often than not, he and Meerab would end up eating the veggies themselves, just to make her happy.

But today was different.

Murtasim watched in awe as Meesam picked up a small carrot stick between her little fingers. She studied it for a moment, then chomped down on it, her tiny teeth crunching into the carrot with an exaggerated "nom" sound. "Mee-mee bunny!" she announced, chewing with all the seriousness of a dedicated bunny.

Murtasim's eyes widened, and he glanced at Meerab, who had a triumphant grin on her face. She leaned in, her voice smug but full of joy. "Am I amazing or am I amazing?" she whispered, her eyes dancing with victory.

He couldn't help but laugh, the sound full and rich. "Incredible," he whispered back.

Meesam, still chewing, wiggled her nose in an attempt to be more bunny-like, and Murtsaim couldn't help but lean over to kiss her soft cheek.

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The kitchen buzzed with late-night energy. The world outside was quiet and still, but within the Khan household, a pocket of warmth and laughter was unfolding.

"Hot chokkit!" Meesam squealed asshe sat perched on the marble counter, her chubby legs swinging happily. At 23 months old, she was a bundle of energy wrapped up in tiny pajamas with little bunnies on them, her dark hair held back with a pink bow that was already slipping to the side.

Murtasim stood in front of her, a protective hand placed gently on her back to make sure she didn't teeter off the edge, though he couldn't stop grinning at how animated she was. Meerab was by his side, sleeves rolled up as she gathered ingredients: milk, cocoa powder, sugar, and a bag of marshmallows that Meesam kept eyeing with an intensity that made Murtasim chuckle.

"Okay," Meerab said, her voice full of that playful, motherly warmth, "Mee-Mee Mama aur Baba ke saath sabse acchi hot chocolate banane ke liye tayyar hai?"

"Yeth!" Meesam replied, clapping her little hands together.

Murtasim's heart melted at the sound of her enthusiastic "yes," which always came out as "yeth." He leaned in, his lips brushing Meesam's forehead. "Chef Mee-Mee tayyar hai," he announced, looking at Meerab with a grin.

Meerab handed Meesam a tiny spoon, which she clutched with both hands like it was the most important tool in the world. "Okay, first, we add the cocoa powder," Meerab instructed, her eyes sparkling. She measured out a spoonful, and with Murtasim's hand guiding Meesam's, they dumped the rich brown powder into a saucepan.

Meesam giggled, her laughter bubbling over as some of the cocoa powder poofed into the air, dusting her small nose.

Meerab leaned in, pretending to inspect Meesam's face. "Oh no, Mee-Mee toh chocolate bunny ban rahi hai!" she joked, making Meesam giggle even louder.

Meesam giggled even louder, shaking her head, but Murtasim decided to play along. "Chocolate bunny Mee-Mee toh bahot tasty hogi, naa?" he teased, his voice playful and full of mischief. He pretended to nibble at her cheeks, making "nom-nom" sounds.

"Muw-taim! Noooo!" Meesam squealed, squirming in his hold and turning towards her mother for help. "Mama! Hewp!" she giggled, her laugh so pure and infectious that it filled the room with even more warmth.

"Murtasim! Mee-Mee ko na khao!" Meerab laughed, gently pushing him away as she tried to rescue their daughter.

Murtasim pulled back, gasping dramatically. "Oh! Yeh toh Mee-Mee hai! Mujhe laga ki yeh choco bunny hai!"

Meesam's giggles turned into loud, delighted squeals. She patted her chest, trying to assert herself. "Nooooo! Main Mee-Mee!" she declared, her voice filled with that adorable toddler determination.

Murtasim's laughter echoed through the kitchen. "Acha, phir theek hai," he agreed, making Meerab snicker beside him.

"Mama ko help nahi karni?" Meerab teased

"Yeth!" Meesam squealed.

Next, they poured the milk into the saucepan. Meesam's big eyes widened as the milk splashed and swirled, and she squealed with delight. Murtasim adjusted his grip on her waist, his chest aching with the sheer love he felt for this tiny human. Her curiosity and wonder never ceased to amaze him.

"Gol gol!" Meesam sang, waving her spoon around in little circles.

Murtasim and Meerab exchanged a look, trying and failing to suppress their smiles. "Mee-Mee aur Baba isko gol gol ghumate hai," he said, guiding her hand to stir the milk and cocoa. She looked so proud, her little face beaming with joy.

Once the hot chocolate was ready, Meerab lifted Meesam off the counter and placed her in Murtasim's arms. Meesam snuggled into her father's chest, her thumb briefly finding its way into her mouth as her eyes grew sleepy. "Muwtaim," she murmured, melting his heart.

"Hmm?" he hummed, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I thak gayi," she whispered, making him chuckle softly. The way she mimicked Meerab's tired sighs never failed to amuse him.

Meerab brought over three mugs, two full-sized ones for the adults and a tiny, toddler-friendly one for Meesam, with just a little bit of warm hot chocolate. "Okay, who's ready?" Meerab asked, holding up the mugs.

"Mee-Mee!" Meesam's energy returned, and she wiggled excitedly in Murtasim's hold. He set her back on the counter, and they carefully handed her the tiny mug, which she held with both hands like it was a precious treasure.

"Careful, garam hai," Murtasim reminded, his voice gentle but firm.

Meesam nodded, though she mostly seemed interested in the marshmallow that was bobbing on the surface of her hot chocolate. She blew on the hot chocolate with all the strength her little lungs could muster, making both her parents laugh. The marshmallow bobbed on the surface, and she licked her lips, eager for a taste.

They all took a sip together, and Murtasim couldn't help but laugh at the way Meesam's eyes lit up. She had a small chocolate mustache now, and she licked her lips happily, making a satisfied "Mmmm!" sound.

Meerab leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. "Itni pyaari hai," she whispered, her voice soft and full of awe.

Murtasim turned his head to kiss her temple. "Bilkul tumhare jaisi," he murmured, his heart full as Meesam took another sip happily.

They both leaned on the counter, their faces propped up on their palms, elbows resting as they watched Meesam. "Mee-Mee, kitthet doh," Murtasim asked, playfully pointing to his nose, asking for kisses – which his daughter called kitthet.

Meesam giggled, leaning in to give her father a sloppy, adorable kiss on the nose, and then turned to do the same for her mother. "Kitthet!" she announced proudly.

"Ow!" he pretended to complain when she playfully bit his nose, making Meerab burst into laughter. "Shaitaan hai," Murtsaim laughed.

"Bilkul tumhare jaisi," Meerab teased, sticking her tongue out at him. "Haina Mee-Mee?" She sang to Meesam who just nodded, making Murtasim sigh.

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In the soft warmth of their bathroom, the low hum of the hair dryer filled the air, accompanied by bursts of giggles from their little daughter. Murtasim held the dryer in one hand, gently running his fingers through Meerab's long, freshly washed hair with the other, his touch tender and careful. The air smelled faintly of her floral shampoo, a familiar scent that always made him smile.

Meerab sat in front of him, wrapped in a fluffy robe, her head tilted slightly forward as he worked. She kept sneaking glances back at him, her lips curved into a small, amused smile. "Tum bohot seriously le rahe ho," she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Murtasim huffed dramatically, pretending to be offended. "Main sirf perfect kaam karta hoon," he replied, giving her hair a gentle shake before aiming the warm air a little closer. She giggled, making his heart warm in that special way only she could.

On the marble counter beside them sat Meesam, also in a tiny bathrobe with bunnies printed all over it. Her own hair was still damp, little droplets trickling down her rosy cheeks. She clapped her hands, clearly entertained by her parents, and then she pointed to herself. "Mee-Mee tuwn!" she demanded, eyes wide with excitement.

Murtasim couldn't help but chuckle. "Pehle Mama," he teased, and Meesam pouted, her lips forming the cutest little frown.

"Ab Mee-Mee!" Meerab said, laughing as she nodded at Murtasim, who finally directed the dryer at their daughter. The warm air hit Meesam's hair, making it flutter, and she let out a loud, delighted laugh. "Tickow!" she squealed, wiggling her little shoulders and clapping her hands again.

Murtasim's heart swelled as he watched his daughter. The pure, innocent joy she radiated was contagious, and he couldn't help but join in her laughter. "Tickly, hai?" he said, running his fingers through her wet hair to dry it evenly.

Meesam nodded vigorously, her laughter echoing in the room. As he moved the dryer around, she kept giggling, loving the sensation.

"Ab Mee-Mee ki buwday kab hai?" she asked suddenly, her big eyes looking between her parents with hopeful anticipation, wondering if her birthday party would magically come faster.

Meerab smiled, leaning in to tap Meesam's little nose. "Three more sleeps, phir birthday party!"

Meesam's face scrunched up, her bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic pout. "Too much!" she whined, crossing her tiny arms over her chest.

Murtasim and Meerab burst into laughter. "Bohot zyada hai?" Murtasim teased, leaning closer to his daughter. "Par jaldi hi aayega, promise," he said, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

Meesam sighed as if the weight of waiting was just too much to bear. "Whyyyy?" she asked, her voice laced with toddler impatience.

Meerab leaned in, wrapping her arms around Meesam. "Sab ache cheezein time leti hain," she explained softly.

Meesam looked up at her mother with big, questioning eyes. "Like hot chokkit?" she asked, remembering the warm treat she loved so much.

"Exactly," Meerab replied, grinning.

Murtasim hummed as he went back to blow-drying Meerab's hair. "Aur Mee-Mee ke birthday pe bohot saari surprises hongi," he whispered, making her eyes light up again.

"Surpwise?" she echoed, her curiosity piqued, and the waiting didn't seem quite as bad anymore.

Murtasim and Meerab exchanged a smile – she was getting a whole petting zoo in the garden for her birthday party –with lots of bunnies.

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Murtasim knelt in front of a riot of flowers, the scent of fresh blooms hanging in the air around them. The little flower shop was bright and cheerful, petals in every color spilling from every direction. Meesam, dressed in a delicate cream dress that billowed around her like a tiny princess gown, was in his arms, her wide brown eyes darting from flower to flower, her little nose scrunching in distaste at each option he presented.

Murtasim was dressed just as sharply, a tailored cream suit that Meerab had once joked made him look like a prince from a fairytale. Yet, at the moment, he was entirely at the mercy of his little daughter.

"Yeh dekho," he suggested, holding a bundle of yellow roses close to her, their bright petals glowing in the sunlight – she loved yellow so he took the chance. He leaned forward so she could take a good look, his hand gently supporting her back to make sure she didn't lose her balance. "Yeh theek hai, meri choti shehzaadi?"

Meesam shook her head, curls bouncing around her round face. "Noooo!" she insisted, her little mouth set in a stubborn pout. "Mama got woses for birfday!" Her tiny hands fisted at her sides, as if she were standing firm in the most important decision of her life.

Murtasim chuckled, charmed and exasperated all at once. He held her close to another bunch, this time fragrant white lilies. "Smell, Mee-Mee," he coaxed, lifting her up so she could sniff them. She wrinkled her nose, pulling back and shaking her head again.

"No, Baba!" she declared, folding her arms with all the sass a two-year-old could muster. "Not wike dat."

He sighed theatrically, pretending to be defeated, and tickled her sides until she giggled. "Toh phir Mama ke liye kaunse flower lene hai?" he teased, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Finally, Meesam's eyes caught on something—a bunch of soft pink peonies, their lush petals full and dreamy. She let out an excited squeal, pointing with her chubby finger. "Baba! Pink! Mama like pink!" Her face lit up, and Murtasim couldn't help but grin, the joy on her face contagious.

"Pink peonies, huh?" he asked, and she nodded vigorously, her curls bobbing. "Acha, theek hai." He was glad she had picked something – or they would be very late to Meerab's graduation and she would kill him.

With the two flower bouquets tucked safely in the back seat – one huge one for Meerab and a small one for Meesam - and Meesam strapped into her car seat, they made their way to Meerab's graduation ceremony. The car ride was filled with Meesam's chatter, her little voice filling the air with questions about when they would see Mama, whether there would be balloons, and cake.

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The ceremony hall was buzzing with energy. Murtasim sat with Meesam in his lap, her little cream dress spread over his legs. Every few minutes, she squirmed, full of energy she didn't quite know how to contain. Sometimes she clambered into Waqas Naanu's lap, where her grandfather would point things out in the program to keep her entertained. Other times, she made her way to Anwar Naanu, who indulged her curiosity as well, whispering answers to the million questions she had.

But when Meerab's name was finally called, Meesam shot up, her small body straightening with excitement. She scrambled to stand in Murtasim's lap, her tiny hands clutching his shoulders for balance. Her face lit up with sheer joy as she took a deep breath and yelled, "MAMA!" at the top of her little lungs, waving her hands enthusiastically.

Laughter rippled through the audience, and Meerab, standing on stage in her graduation cap and gown, turned to see them, her own face breaking into a huge smile. She waved back at her daughter, and Murtasim's chest tightened with so much love he thought he might burst.

He stood up, holding Meesam higher so she could see better, and Meerab's smile seemed to shine even brighter when she saw them standing there.

Murtasim's heart was full as he watched his wife, her dream finally coming true. He marveled at how far they had come, how the twists and turns of their story had led them to this moment. He couldn't help but think back to the beginning, to the version of himself who had once, in a fit of arrogance and stubbornness, proposed getting her married off just to stop her from going to law school.

He remembered the clash of their wills, the way he had struggled to give her back the freedom she craved, terrified that once she had it, she wouldn't choose him. He had feared that letting her go would mean losing her, that she would slip through his fingers like a dream he had no right to hold onto. Yet, somehow, he had found the courage to give her those law school papers. He had stood there, heart pounding, silently begging that she wouldn't take that choice and leave him behind.

But everything had changed after that.

She hadn't just chosen her dreams; she had chosen him too. And if he had known back then that it would all work out like this—that he would love Meerab the way he did, that she would love him just as fiercely, that they would build a life together so full of love— and that he would be standing at her graduation ceremony, holding their daughter, he would have given her those papers without a moment of hesitation.

Meerab had taught him a lot—lessons he would carry with him forever. She had shown him that things didn't have to be either-or, that traditions were meant to evolve as the world did. She had shown him that love wasn't about owning a person or dictating their life; it was about walking beside them, especially when things got tough. It was about cheering at the top of their lungs for each other's successes, just like he was right then, for his Meerab. For a Meerab he was so glad he had gotten to know, to grow with, and to love.

And as he stood there, holding their daughter, pride and joy radiating from every part of him, he knew he would cheer for her forever.

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Author's Note: Sooooooo, what do we think? What was your favourite part? I know a lot of you are probably wondering if Meesam said "baba" or "mama" first, but I am saving that for later. Hehehe. See you in the next chapter!