Author's Note: Y'all should have seen my shocked face when I opened the last chapter and saw there were 1.1K comments - it honestly surprises me how much this story is loved. Thank you for loving MA&MM so much, y'all. I am not sure how long it's going to be, I just write it on whim and start typing whatever nonsense comes into my mind...so I hope y'all enjoy this chapter too. The next chapter is almost done so I'll post that next weekend too. See you on the other side!

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Murtasim had never been the kind of man to dwell on things. He made decisions quickly, acted decisively, and kept his emotions locked away behind walls built over years of discipline. But tonight, with Meerab curled up beside him, her breathing slow and even, he allowed himself the indulgence of just... looking.

For months, he had stolen glances. Always fleeting, always restrained, never more than a few seconds before he forced himself to look away. It had always been too dangerous, staring at her for too long—because whenever he did, something in his chest tightened painfully, something he didn't have the words for.

But now, he didn't have to look away.

She was asleep beside him, her hair fanned out over the pillow, her cheek resting against her folded hands. The soft glow of the lantern cast golden shadows over her face, highlighting the delicate slope of her nose, the gentle curve of her lips. She looked peaceful, completely at ease.

Meerab Ahmed, the girl who teased him at every turn, who challenged him like it was her life's purpose, who spoke a mile a minute and filled every space she was in with her presence—was silent. Still. And somehow, even now, she was stealing the breath from his lungs. She was so...perfect.

His fingers twitched at his side before he gave in, reaching out and brushing his knuckles gently over her cheek. Her skin was warm, impossibly soft beneath his touch.

A tiny, kitten-like noise left her lips, followed by a sleepy smile. "Major Moochasim..." she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

Murtasim barely managed to suppress a chuckle.

Of course.

He knew she talked in her sleep. He had known for a while now. Sometimes, when he walked past her room late at night, he'd hear muffled mutters through the door. The first few times, he had been worried enough to check, only to find her deep in sleep, blissfully unaware of his presence, lost in some odd conversation in her dreams.

It made sense—her brain never seemed to quiet down, even in sleep.

"Major Moochasim," she whispered again, her brow furrowing slightly before she muttered something incoherent.

Murtasim leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a breath. "Kya, Miss Ahmed?"

She let out a soft sigh. "Sorry bolo."

He bit his lip to keep from laughing, shaking his head fondly. "I am sorry, Miss Ahmed," he whispered, playing along.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across her face, and she muttered something else before sighing. "Ab shaadi toh karni hi padegi..."

His entire body went still.

His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath catching as he stared at her. She was completely unaware of what she had just said.

Shaadi toh karni hi padegi.

The words echoed in his head, making something warm and dangerous coil in his chest.

Before he could process it, she sighed again, her brows furrowing. "Phool chahiye obviously...Sheru! Phool mat khao," she whined softly.

Murtasim shook his head fondly, watching as Meerab burrowed deeper into the pillow, a contented little sigh leaving her lips. He had seen her in so many different states - angry, defiant, victorious, smug, occasionally (rarely) soft - but this... this unguarded, sleepy version of her was something else entirely.

He had never thought it was possible for a person to be this... adorable.

"Kaunse phool?" he asked, his voice low, just to see if she would respond.

Meerab hummed, a soft, delighted little noise. "Dahlias," she mumbled, her lips curving slightly.

Murtasim let out a breath, his chest aching in the way that it had when she had sighed and wondered if he would ever buy her flowers again. He wasn't sure if she even realized it, but she had looked so wistful that day in the car—the day he had bought flowers for her mother's grave. He remembered the way her fingers had brushed against the petals when she thought he wasn't looking, the way she had stared at them with a quiet sadness in her eyes. He had wanted to give her all the flowers in the world in that moment. And now he could.

"Aur?" he prompted, his fingers still lightly tracing her cheek.

She let out a tiny huff. "Chrymam-mamaums... mujhe kehna nahi aata," she whined, her voice trailing off adorably even in her sleep.

Murtasim's lips twitched, his heart squeezing at the way she struggled with the word. He leaned in slightly, brushing his nose against her temple as he whispered, almost to himself, "Koi itna cute kaise ho sakta hai?"

And then—because she was Meerab—she started giggling in her sleep. A breathy, sleepy giggle, and he had never heard anything so ridiculous and endearing in his life.

"Cockscomb..." she murmured, still giggling. "Cock."

Murtasim groaned softly, closing his eyes as he bit back a laugh. Of course, she would mention that flower.

"Aur?" he asked again, just because he wanted to keep hearing her voice.

Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, breathing her in as she mumbled, "Hydrangeas."

"Aur?"

"Peonies..."

"Aur?"

"Camelias..."

"Aur?"

"Roses..."

His chest ached at the way she whispered roses—soft, delicate, like she was holding onto something precious.

"Aur?" he asked again, though this time, he knew he was pushing his luck.

She whined softly, shifting against the pillow, muttering something incoherent before pressing her face further into his chest.

Murtasim took the hint, stopping his questioning.

For a long moment, Murtasim simply held her - silent, steady, certain. His arms wrapped around her with an ease that felt instinctive, like she had always been meant to fit against him this way. Like she had always belonged here.

And somehow, that didn't scare him.

His mind, so used to building walls, didn't urge him to step back. Didn't tell him to guard his heart.

For the first time, it didn't whisper that she would leave.

Because somehow, somewhere deep in his bones, he knew she wouldn't.

His lips brushed over her hair again, lingering.

He should sleep.

But how could he? When she was right here, curled up against him? When her scent—warm, soft, undeniably her—was filling his senses? When every breath she took seemed to sync with his?

Murtasim closed his eyes briefly, taking it all in, branding the moment into his memory.

And then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"Aise baat karna itna asaan kyun hai?" he murmured against her temple, barely above a whisper.

He wouldn't have said much if she was awake. He wouldn't have been able to. He wasn't good with words. And words always felt insufficient when it came to her—like no sentence could truly capture what he felt, what she made him feel. But right now, in this quiet, in the safety of her sleep, he could say anything.

He let his eyes trace the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes fluttered slightly when she dreamed. His heart ached, too full of something he still wasn't sure he had the vocabulary for.

He shifted slightly, just enough to look at her better. "Murtasim kaisa lagta hai?" he whispered, watching as her lips curled into a slow, lazy smile.

"Murtasim..." she hummed sleepily, her voice a dreamy sigh.

Something inside him clenched, and before he could think better of it, the next words left him.

"Shaadi karogi Murtasim se?"

He wasn't sure where it had come from. But the moment he said it, the idea latched onto him, fitting so perfectly in his mind that he couldn't imagine not saying it.

Meerab made a soft sound, shifting closer, her fingers curling slightly against his chest. "Shaadi... bahot saare phool..." she murmured.

His lips twitched. Of course.

"Aur?" he asked, teasing now, his voice softer than the rain outside.

"Murtasim," she whispered.

His breath caught, warmth spreading through his chest like wildfire.

"Murtasim tumhari shaadi par kya kar raha hai?" he asked, because he couldn't stop himself, because he wanted to hear it again.

She made a small, irritated noise, scrunching her nose before muttering, "Dulha."

His heart clenched.

It was ridiculous.

She was asleep.

She didn't know what she was saying.

But still, something deep inside him settled at that one word.

"Dulha," he repeated softly, his lips brushing against her forehead. "Murtasim itna acha lagta hai, hmm?" he whispered, just to see if she'd answer.

"Murtasim..." she sighed, content.

He swallowed, his throat tightening, feeling like he could listen to her say his name for the rest of his life.

"Murtasim ko Meerab bohot achi lagti hai." He whispered, the words tumbling out so easily now in a way he wished they did when she was awake.

She smiled at that, letting out a little hum, and he thought maybe she wouldn't say anything else.

Her breathing slowed, her body stilling even more against him, and just when he was sure she had drifted off completely, she mumbled, "Bas achi lagti hai, pyaar nahi hai," before burying her face into the pillow.

Murtasim stilled.

For a long moment, Murtasim just stared at her, letting her words settle over him like the rain outside—soft, quiet, inevitable.

Bas achi lagti hai, pyaar nahi hai.

Pyaar. Love.

The word felt too small for something that took up this much space inside him. How did anyone confine everything they felt into something so simple? How could one word possibly encompass the way his chest tightened every time she smiled? Or the way his world seemed to orbit around her, even when he wasn't looking?

If love meant that he wanted nothing more than to make her happy, to give her all the joy she deserved - then yes.

If love meant that, in this moment, with her right next to him, he felt completely at peace - more at peace than he ever had -- then yes.

If love meant that he wanted this forever -- her voice filling the quiet, her laughter slipping into the cracks of his silence, her presence turning every ordinary moment into something worth remembering -- then yes.

Murtasim exhaled, his fingers brushing against her cheek, tracing the warmth of her skin.

Before her, his heart had been land that bore nothing but dust and stone, barren, untouched. There were only two trees in the distance, standing firm against the emptiness: Barlas and Dai Maa. They had always been there, his constants, the only two roots that had ever taken hold in the hardened ground of his existence and stayed.

But now. Now it felt different.

Like the land was no longer rock, but fertile soil. As if something had changed, softened, shifted. As if the ground had cracked open and flowers could bloom - her favorite kinds, in all her favorite colors, their petals floating in the wind like the words that never left him, words meant only for her ears.

And what surprised him the most, what caught him entirely off guard, was how much he wanted to talk to her, to give her the petals swirling around in the wind in his heart.

He had never been the kind of man who spoke just to speak, never one to fill silences with unnecessary words. He didn't need to.

But with her, he wanted to say things, even if he didn't know how. Even if the words never came out right. Even if all he could do was listen until he learned.

And maybe that was love too.

Because no one had ever made him feel even a fraction of this before. No one had made him want to change.

His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead, his touch feather-light. "Meerab," he whispered.

She had stilled completely now, her breath deep and even. He thought she wouldn't answer.

But then he heard a tiny hum. Soft. Content.

His chest tightened.

His lips parted. And before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, before he could convince himself that he shouldn't say it, he did.

"Pyaar hai."

Meerab let out another small, sleepy hum. "Good." The word was barely above a whisper.

Murtasim smiled.

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Meerab woke up feeling dangerously comfortable.

Like too comfortable. Like, this-is-suspicious-where-am-I comfortable.

The sheets were warm, the air smelled like him, and—oh. Oh.

Her face was firmly pressed against a very broad, very solid chest. Her arm was wrapped around his waist, her leg thrown over his thighs like she had staked a territorial claim in the middle of the night.

Mine.

Her lips curled into a sleepy smile as she nuzzled deeper into the warmth, inhaling the faint scent of him - soap, something earthy, and something distinctly Murtasim. She hummed, tightening her grip around his waist like a sleepy koala.

"Mine," she murmured, half-asleep, her lips brushing against the fabric of his kurta.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest, and her eyes fluttered open, looking up.

Mistake.

Big. Fat. Mistake.

Because how -- how was he so ridiculously handsome first thing in the morning too?

Her brain, still booting up for the day, short-circuited at the sight. His thick lashes cast soft shadows over his cheekbones, his beard looked even more perfectly rugged than usual, and his mussed-up hair? Absolutely illegal.

The man looked like a damn prince who had just rolled out of bed and decided to ruin lives with his existence.

His lips twitched, amusement dancing in his still-sleepy eyes. "Pehlay toh kabhi tumhe aise sote nahi dekha." He motioned to her position.

She blinked at him, her brain still foggy. "Ghar par mere bed mein furnace nahi hoti," she muttered, shifting slightly but refusing to move away from him. Then, with another hum, she sighed dreamily, "So warm."

Meerab was in absolute heaven.

If someone had told her a few months ago that she would wake up wrapped around Murtasim Khan, she would have died. But now, now, she was absolutely basking in the glow of it.

Like a lizard soaking up the sun.

Like a cat who had found the warmest spot in the house and would never be moving again.

Like a queen who had claimed her throne.

She was never getting out of this bed. They would have to drag her out.

A tiny giggle escaped her before she could stop it, and Murtasim chuckled softly before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Oh, God, she was going to combust from happiness.

She buried her face deeper into his chest, her giggle muffled against his heartbeat – still racing because of her. "Main sapna toh nahi dekh rahi..."

He chuckled, running his fingers lazily through her hair.

She sighed happily as she stretched a little, and then - oh. Oh.

The pleasant soreness between her legs itself known.

Definitely not a dream.

Her entire body still felt like it had been worshipped, ruined, and rebuilt in the best way possible. Every muscle ached deliciously, a reminder of just how thoroughly Murtasim had taken her apart last night.

Meerab hid her face in his chest. "Actually, pata chal raha hai," she mumbled, her voice slightly muffled.

His chest vibrated with laughter before he murmured, "Sorry."

She gasped dramatically, lifting her head to glare at him. "Ab sorry nahi kehna tha!"

Sorry?! SORRY?!

There was nothing to be sorry about. Absolutely nothing. If anything, she wanted a repeat performance.

Especially that thing - that absolutely insane thing he had done where he supported her entire weight and...

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

She could not let her brain spiral this early in the morning.

Murtasim let out a happy sigh, his arms tightening around her as he shifted, pulling her closer and pressing another slow, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Meerab hummed happily, a stupid, ridiculous grin taking over her face as she curled deeper into his warmth, pressing her nose into the crook of his neck and breathing him in.

This was it.

This was home.

Meerab hummed contentedly, snuggling even closer into Murtasim's chest, her fingers lazily tracing over the fabric of his kurta.

"Neend aayi?" she murmured, her words slightly muffled against his warmth.

He hummed in response, his fingers stroking slow, soothing circles against her back.

She frowned instantly. "Bol ke jawab dena padega!" she whined, lifting her head just enough to glare at him.

Murtasim chuckled, his deep, sleep-rough voice vibrating through his chest. "Ji, Miss Ahmed."

Meerab's brain started short-circuiting.

Not just a little flicker of static—a full-blown power outage.

Because Murtasim's voice saying Miss Ahmed like that.

His deep, gravelly, sleep-rough voice, vibrating right through his chest and into her very soul.

This was the same voice he had groaned in last night.

The same low, throaty moans he had made against her skin, in her ear, when—

SQUEAK.

She let out an actual squeak before she could stop herself, replaying every sinful detail in her head at high speed.

Abort, abort, abort!

But it was too late.

Her entire body was already on fire, her face burning, her brain screaming.

FOCUS, MEERAB. FOCUS.

She was about to say something—probably flirty, probably vaguely inappropriate, probably something she would regret immediately—

And then.

The door creaked open.

Meerab froze.

The next thing she heard was Barlas' voice.

Loud. Too loud.

"Bhabhi, mela kaisa tha? Bhai apne kamre mein nahi hai, kahin mar-war toh nahi—"

And then, abrupt silence.

Meerab knew what had happened before she even turned to look.

She felt the moment Barlas registered that he caught his brother and Meerab in bed together.

Sure enough, she heard the slight hitch in his breath before he drawled out a very amused, "Ohhhh, toh Bhai yahan hai."

Meerab's entire life flashed before her eyes- because she knew Barlas Shahnawaz Khan, he would never let her forget this moment.

She scrambled to sit up, her brain screaming MURDER, ESCAPE, FLEE!

But before she could even move an inch,

Murtasim's arm tightened around her waist, keeping her in place.

What the—?!

Her head snapped up, wide-eyed, staring at Murtasim like he had personally betrayed her.

WHY WAS HE NOT PANICKING?

This was a Code Red Situation!

If it had just been her getting caught in a compromising position? No big deal. She had the confidence (and audacity) to talk her way out of anything.

But she had been caught by Barlas - the family equivalent to a mohale-wali-aunty. This moment would be immortalized forever in Barlas' mind, etched into history as the greatest blackmail material of all time.

He would threaten to tell Dai Maa.

She could already hear the dramatic monologue about sharam and haya and "khandan ka naam mitti mein mila diya!" And she had a feeling the brunt of that anger would fall on Murtasim. The same Murtasim who, for all his brooding and arrogance, was still the Khan of this haveli. The one who carried the weight of respect and tradition on his shoulders.

Murtasim, the infuriating man, looked completely unbothered though. He didn't even flinch. His gaze remained calm, sleep-warmed, and entirely too cool as he looked lazily at Barlas.

"Kamre mein knock karke aate hain," Murtasim said pointedly, his tone cool and authoritative, as if they weren't just caught in bed together like a scene straight out of a scandalous drama.

Barlas, of course, was utterly unfazed. These damn Khans! If anything, his grin widened.

Oh, no. He was thriving.

"Toh yeh sab kaise dikhta?" he said, waggling his eyebrows in the most insufferable manner known to mankind.

And then, as if the universe hadn't tortured Meerab enough, he smiled dramatically, like some over-the-top theatre actor. "Main chacha banne wala hoon?"

Meerab died. Absolutely, positively perished on the spot.

"Isko koi chup karao!" she groaned, dying a thousand deaths, her face burning hotter than the sun as she buried herself in Murtasim's chest.

But why?!

Why was she embarrassed? Meerab Ahmed did not get embarrassed!

This was natural. She was a grown woman, fully capable of making her own (incredibly good, if she did say so herself) life choices.

She wasn't the kind of girl who giggled behind dupattas and blushed at the mention of romance. She was the menace who had planned a whole seduction strategy! Barlas already knew far too much about her questionable choices - the saree plan, the kebab plan, the disastrous results of it.

So, technically speaking, this should not be a big deal.

And yet.

The sheer act of being caught in bed with Murtasim, barely awake, wrapped up in his arms like some lovesick heroine did something to her.

Maybe it was because Barlas was the world's most annoying witness. Maybe it was because there was actual, undeniable, physical evidence that her seduction plan had worked a little too well.

She wanted to vanish into the floor and never return.

To make matters infinitely worse, Meerab suddenly heard more footsteps—tiny, scampering ones accompanied by the unmistakable sound of claws skidding against the floor.

Oh no.

Of course, Sheru had arrived. Because why wouldn't he decide this exact moment to make his grand entrance?

"Sheru! Mat dekho, tumhari innocent eyes!" Barlas exclaimed, sounding more scandalized than anyone had the right to be. They were fully clothed, and on clean sheets!

Meerab's head snapped up just in time to see the drama king himself crouching down, hands clamped dramatically over Sheru's eyes, as if the poor dog had wandered into some forbidden land of indecency.

Sheru let out an offended little huff, clearly trying to wiggle out of Barlas' grasp.

Murtasim let out a quiet chuckle against her hair, the deep sound rumbling through her, because of course he was enjoying this. She was basically trapped in a live sitcom, and he was the brooding, sarcastic hero who just couldn't help himself.

Meerab, meanwhile, debated every life choice she had ever made.

Why hadn't she locked the door? Why hadn't she installed an electrified fence around it? WHY HAD SHE CALLED Barlas FOR HELP WITH HER SEDUCTION PLAN IN THE FIRST PLACE?!

Barlas wasn't done. Not even close.

"Waise, main kal raat soch hi raha tha ki yeh baar-baar door kyun scratch kar raha hai aur bhonk kyun raha hai... bechare ko puri raat ky- kya suna hoga," he teased, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

Without thinking—because honestly, what else could she do—Meerab grabbed the closest pillow and hurled it at Barlas with all the force her dignity (or what was left of it) could muster. She didn't even care that she was still in bed, all wrapped up like a human burrito in Murtasim's arms.

"GET OUT!"

But, of course, the menace dodged it effortlessly, grinning like he'd just won a gold medal in ruining her life.

"Subah subah itna violence, Bhabh?i! Lagta hai bhai ne theek se—"

Oh no. No, no, NO.

She could feel her face turning crimson, her heart rate climbing dangerously into the "emergency" zone.

Murtasim, who had thus far been calmly enjoying the spectacle, suddenly tensed beside her, his head tilting slightly. "Bhabhi?"

Meerab froze.

Oh. No.

Oh no no no no no no no.

"KUCH MAT KEHNA!" she screeched, her voice reaching a pitch she didn't even know was possible.

Barlas' grin widened to the point that it could've powered all of Karachi's streetlights.

"Main thodi kuch bataonga..." he trailed off, his tone dripping with the kind of evil that could only be born from years of younger-sibling mischief.

Meerab panicked. She knew exactly where this was going. This was going straight into the deepest pit of embarrassment. She did not need Barlas to divulge her attempts at seduction!

She could see it, smell it, taste the disaster in the air. The walls of her dignity were crumbling like a poorly built sandcastle, and Barlas was standing over it with a bucket of salt water, ready to finish the job.

And he was going to enjoy every single second of it.

Why did the universe hate her so much?

Sheru let out another bark, tail thumping excitedly against the floor like this was the greatest morning of his golden retriever life. Traitor.

Meerab turned to him with wild eyes. "Sheru, STOP ENCOURAGING HIM!"

Sheru wagged his tail even harder. Oh, he was loving this. The cute, fluffy idiot. Not even the dog respected her anymore.

She was moving to Antarctica. Immediately.

Before she could fully spiral into planning her escape to a life of solitude with penguins, Murtasim spoke.

"Barlas."

The voice was low. Stern. Authoritative.

Why was he using his serious voice? That voice usually meant someone was about to get their soul removed from their body.

Barlas, the absolute traitor, turned to his brother immediately and folded like a cheap lawn chair. "Bhabhi ne mujhe call ki thi—hafton pehle... aap ko seduce karne ke liye!"

Meerab died.

Just dropped dead on the spot.

WHY?!

Why was Barlas so SCARED of Murtasim?! All it took was one serious utterance of his name and the man spilled state secrets like a leaky faucet! But when she had threatened to kill him, he had just grinned in her face?!

Meerab had never wanted to strangle someone more in her life.

Not even Murtasim.

Not even when he had rejected her.

Not even when he had emotionally traumatized her.

Barlas was a different breed of menace.

"TUMHE MAAR DALUNGI!" she shrieked, bolting upright in bed like she was about to physically launch herself at Barlas.

To her utter horror, Murtasim reached out and yanked her back against him.

His grip was unyielding, his stupidly strong, unfairly sexy arms locking around her waist like she was some misbehaving kitten he needed to keep in check.

She whipped her head toward him, gaping. "Murtasim, CHODO!"

She wiggled furiously, trying to break free, but the man was built like a damn mountain.

Why was he so sexy but also needlessly strong at the worst times?!

Murtasim didn't let go. Of course, he didn't.

He was completely unbothered, warm and solid behind her, while she spiraled into oblivion. Instead of helping her preserve even a shred of dignity, he turned to Barlas, his expression cool, smug, and infuriatingly entertained.

"Acha," he said smoothly, like he wasn't currently restraining a flailing, feral Meerab. "Aur kya kiya tha Meerab ne?"

Meerab gasped in betrayal. "Murtasim, chodo!"

Why was he enjoying this?! Why was he encouraging this?!

Barlas, meanwhile, was glowing. Absolutely thriving.

This was his Super Bowl.

His Met Gala.

His Oscar-winning moment.

Meerab could practically see the speech forming in his head.

"Kal tak toh pakdo tha—ab chhodo?" he asked innocently.

Meerab hissed. "SHUT UP, YOU TRAITOR!"

Barlas shrugged dramatically. "Jab main sarees aur kebabs ke baare mein bata raha tha tab toh main 'The Best Khan' tha."

Meerab gasped again. Murtasim knew.

The Saree Plan™. The Kebab Plan™.

She was exposed.

Trying to recover, she sniffed dramatically and said, "Tab bhi Murtasim hi 'Best Khan' tha!"

Sheru barked again, like he was calling bullshit.

Meerab turned her betrayed, exhausted eyes to the dog.

"SHERU, TUM CHUP RAHO!"

But Sheru just wagged his tail.

Murtasim hummed in amusement against her hair. "Acha?" His voice was low, teasing, smug.

I will deal with him later.

Barlas barked out a laugh. A full, evil cackle. The cackle of a man with no shame, no mercy, and absolutely zero fear of divine retribution – a kick to his balls.

"Kal tak toh bhai ke baare mein kuch aur hi keh rahi thi aap, bhabi... kya tha woh—haan!" He grinned, drawing out the words like a villain about to deliver a final blow. "Emotionally constipated!"

Meerab let out an actual scream and smacked Murtasim's chest. "TUM KYUN PAKAD KE BAITHE HO MUJHE, LET ME GO, MAIN ISKO ZINDA GAARH DUNGI!"

Murtasim was laughing now, actually laughing, while she spiraled into oblivion.

Barlas, meanwhile, just stood there gloating.

She let out a dramatic groan and dropped back into Murtasim's arms in defeat.

"Tum muh band rakhne ka kya loge?!" she cried.

Barlas grinned wider. "Mujhe toh kuch nahi chahiye, magar bhai ko shayad saree mein aap ka ek aur private fashion show chahiye ho!"

Meerab let out another high-pitched shriek and tried to throw herself out of bed—only for Murtasim to once again hold her back.

WHY was he doing this?!

"Pehle toh badi bold thi aap... ab kya ho gaya, bhabhi?" Barlas said, crossing his arms and smirking like he had just been handed the greatest entertainment of his life.

Sheru barked in agreement.

Meerab's eyes snapped to the little traitor. "Sheru! Tumhe bhi mujhe tang karne ka shauq charha hai?"

Sheru tilted his head. Then, wagged his tail.

Barlas gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "Dekha?! Ab innocent dogs ko bhi daant rahi hai! Kitna badal diya bhai ne aapko!"

Meerab let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a scream. "Murtasim, isko kuch bolo!"

But, of course, Murtasim was absolutely no help. He was watching the exchange with barely restrained amusement, his fingers lazily tracing circles on her back like this wasn't the most humiliating moment of her life.

Barlas continued, undeterred. "Aur waise—yeh jo blanket ke neeche haath le ja rahe ho, bhai—!"

Meerab let out a gasp so loud she was surprised the walls didn't shake. "CHULLU BHAR PANI BHAR KE—"

"Apni bhabhi ko tang karna band karo," Murtasim interrupted smoothly.

Silence.

Meerab blinked.

Barlas blinked.

Sheru huffed.

Murtasim froze.

There was a brief, stunned pause.

Meerab turned her head slowly, her mouth slightly open as she stared at him in complete, abject disbelief.

Did he—?

Did he just—?

Her brain short-circuited.

Murtasim looked just as shocked at his own words as she was, like his own mouth had betrayed him. And then—Barlas cackled.

Not a laugh, not a chuckle, a full-blown, villainous, hands-on-his-hips, throwing-his-head-back cackle.

"Ohhooo, suna Sheru?" He nudged Sheru, who was still wagging his tail excitedly, the little cutie. "Bhabhi!"

Meerab almost ascended to another realm.

Murtasim cleared his throat, looking away.

Meerab arched an eyebrow at him, demanding an explanation.

He just smiled.

Looked at the ceiling.

Like he hadn't just set her entire existence on fire.

Like he hadn't just accidentally told the world that Meerab Ahmed, certified menace, was officially his wife in all but paperwork!

HOW WAS SHE ALIVE?!

Barlas, meanwhile, was having the time of his life.

"Chalo Sheru, shaadi ke baare mein sochna hi padega... nahi toh hum chache kaise banege?" He sighed, stroking Sheru's head. "Maine suna hai ladkiyon ko babies bohot cute lagte hai..."

Meerab let out a strangled sound.

"Hum walks par jayenge baby ke saath—"

"Tumse toh koi gaddhi hi shaadi karegi!" she yelled after him, reaching for another pillow to throw at his retreating figure.

Barlas stopped at the doorway, turned, and smirked. "Main jaake Dai Maa ko bataunga—gadhi wali baat bhi... aur yeh bhi ki aap dono shaadi se pehle ek saath soh rahe hain!"

Meerab's soul left her body.

She physically felt it detach.

Dai Maa?!

NO. NOT DAI MAA.

She had spent days carefully cultivating her ideal bahu persona in front of that woman—pretending that she didn't throw hands on a regular basis.

And now?

Ruined. Shattered. Gone.

Dai Maa didn't need to know this.

She didn't need even need to suspect that Meerab had spent the entire night being fucked to within an inch of her life by Murtasim.

Dai Maa did not need to look at her face and know things.

Her eyes darted to the wall first.

The same wall Murtasim had pressed her against, holding her whole weight like she was nothing, absolutely nothing.

Her thighs clenched instinctively.

Then her gaze drifted to the balcony.

She swallowed.

Oh. Oh.

That had been a moment.

The cool night air, the rain, the feeling of his hands gripping her hips as he—

No. Stop it.

She inhaled sharply.

This was not the time to relive Murtasim-related activities.

She was supposed to be panicking.

But God, she kind of wanted to do it again.

Focus, Meerab.

Dai Maa. Scandal. Barlas running his big mouth.

This was a disaster.

"BARLAS SHAHNAWAZ KHAN—" she bellowed, gripping the sheets so hard she nearly tore them.

But the little menace was already sprinting down the hallway, his cackles echoing like thunder, Sheru happily trotting behind him, absolutely no loyalty in his bones.

Meerab collapsed against Murtasim's chest with a dramatic groan, mourning her dignity.

This was it.

She needed to move to another country.

Maybe a different planet.

Or maybe she could jump...

She peeked at the balcony again.

Her thoughts shifted.

Or maybe she just needed to wait for Barlas and Dai Maa to go out on a little excursion.

Because honestly...she wanted a repeat.

Murtasim sighed, like this was all so normal for him, like getting caught in bed with his...what? With her. She decided. Like getting caught in bed with her by his nosy sibling and his traitor dog was just another Tuesday.

She turned on him instantly, her hand flying out to smack his arm repeatedly.

"Kuch kaha kyun nahi?!" she demanded, her voice high-pitched with pure, undiluted betrayal.

Murtasim barely flinched at her weak attempts at violence, his smirk still intact. "Barlas ke saath silence hi effective hota hai," he said simply, like he was imparting ancient wisdom.

Meerab groaned, dramatically flopping against him like she had just been personally victimized by Murtasim Khan and his 'let's be silent while Meerab dies of embarrassment' agenda.

"Tum aur tumhara silence!" She poked his chest, glaring up at him.

His smirk widened, his fingers brushing through her messy hair like he had all the time in the world to annoy her.

And then - he had the audacity.

"Aur kaunse ideas pakai the Barlas ke saath?" he mused, his tone far too amused for her liking. "Saree... kebabs... I hope lingerie wala idea private tha?"

Meerab let out a mortified squeak.

Her soul fled her body.

She immediately buried her face in his chest. "Shut up! Iske baare mein aur baat nahi hogi!" She clutched onto his kurta as if that would erase the last five seconds.

Murtasim laughed. A deep, rich chuckle that rumbled through his chest, making her squeeze her eyes shut – why was he so cute?

"Meerab, tumhe sharm bhi aati hai?" he teased, pulling her even closer, his arms wrapping around her securely.

"Nahi!" she whined, trying to wiggle away, but of course, he was too strong, too smug, too --

"Waise, Barlas se ideas lene ki kya zaroorat thi?" he murmured against her hair, deliberately lowering his voice.

Oh. No.

She knew that voice.

That was his 'I'm about to ruin your life' voice.

"Mujhse directly pooch leti."

She gasped and slapped his chest. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

His laughter only grew, ugh, he was enjoying this.

"Meerab?" he hummed.

"Nahi sun rahi!" she yelled, shoving her hands over her ears.

"Meerab," he said again, his voice unbearably soft now.

Against her will, she peeked up at him, only to find him watching her with that infuriating, fond smile.

She hated him.

(That was a lie.)

"Bathroom mein lingerie pehan kar girne ki acting karne ke baad kya karne waali thi?" he whispered.

"MURTASIM!" she screamed, grabbing another pillow and whacking him with it as he laughed and pulled her back into his arms.

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

Meerab rocked lazily on the swing, the soft creak of the chains blending with the warm afternoon air. She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a slow, sinister smile as she locked eyes with Barlas, who was glowering at her from across the veranda.

He muttered something under his breath, shooting daggers at her with his eyes, but she only grinned wider.

Because today, revenge had been served.

She had tampered with his shower so that it only sprayed ice-cold water—he had come running out of the bathroom shrieking like a banshee, yelling something about hypothermia and suing her for emotional damages.

Then, in a stroke of absolute genius, she had plastered wax strips all over his arm while he was dead asleep on the living room couch after stuffing himself with halwa-puri. And as the sun rose higher in the sky, so did his screams - because the first thing she had done was rip one off.

Barlas had woken up in pure agony, flailing like a man who had just been electrocuted.

And the best part?

She hadn't even needed to finish the job.

Murtasim, ever the problem-solver, had walked in halfway through Barlas' wailing, taken one look at the situation, sighed, and then ripped off the remaining strips himself.

One. By. One.

While telling his brother to be a man.

Barlas' screams had been ungodly.

She had nearly felt bad.

Nearly.

Because this was war.

The man had humiliated her, ruined her morning, and most importantly—robbed her of morning sex.

For that alone, he had to suffer.She wasn't just getting even. She was sending a message - Mess with Meerab Ahmed, and you will suffer.

Because yes, she was fabulous. Yes, she was hilarious. Yes, she could be Barlas' greatest friend.

But she could also be his worst nightmare.

A real-life John Wick. But hotter. And pettier.

Barlas suddenly threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Mujhe chudail ki tarah kyun ghoor rahi ho?!" he shouted, glaring at her.

Meerab cackled internally.

Oh, this was satisfying.

And then - as if the universe itself wanted to bless her day - Murtasim strolled in, casually crossing the veranda, his movements slow and effortless.

Meerab felt her heart stutter and then take off at an unreasonable speed. Because why did this man always look like he had walked straight out of a fever dream?

Dressed in a crisp white kurta-pajama, the fabric light and soft against his tall, broad frame, the open collar revealing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone, he was a sight to behold. His sleeves were folded up just enough to expose the strong, tan forearms she may or may not have developed an obsession with.

His hair was slightly damp from his walk, strands curling at the edges, falling over his forehead in a way that was frankly illegal. And in his hand was a bouquet of colourful dahlias.

Meerab blinked.

Murtasim Khan. Her emotionally constipated, annoyingly stoic, broody soldier-bodyguard-turned-feudal-lord was walking across the courtyard, in a white kurta, holding flowers, like some hero out of an old-school romance novel.

What was she supposed to do with this information?

Die? That seemed like a valid option.

She was still processing the unfair beauty and audacity of him when - without even breaking his stride, he casually smacked Barlas on the head.

A quick, effortless thwack.

The kind that spoke volumes without a single word.

Meerab lost it. She burst out laughing.

Barlas let out a high-pitched yelp, his hands flying to his abused scalp as he stumbled back in dramatic agony. "BHAI! Main victim hoon yahaan!" he cried, looking truly betrayed.

Murtasim, utterly unfazed, shrugged.

Barlas, clutching his bare, waxed arms like a woman protecting her izzat in a 90s Bollywood movie, scowled. "Dekho inko! Kya haal bana diya hai! Haath aise chamak rahe hain jaise main Lakme ka ad karne wala hoon! Log samjhein ge ki main ladki hoon!"

Meerab choked on air.

Murtasim, completely unimpressed, tilted his head slightly, giving Barlas a slow, considering once-over before muttering, "Bohot hi ugly ladki."

Her laughter turned unhinged, echoing through the veranda as she clutched her stomach, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Barlas, offended beyond words, gasped dramatically. "Matlab insult bhi meri hi karni hai?!"

But Murtasim didn't even stop to acknowledge his misery. He simply kept walking, calm, effortless, like the agent of justice that he was.

Barlas threw his hands up dramatically, looking between them like a man deeply wronged by the universe. "Ajeeb ho tum dono, so ungrateful! Aaj ek dusre ke saath sirf iss liye ho kyunki maine Meerab ko ideas diye the! Bhai ko woo karne ke liye! Aur kyunki Meerab mujhe use kiya Bhai ko jealous karne ke liye! Matlab main toh matchmaker hoon—mujhe toh gifts milne chahiye, na ke yeh sab torture!"

Meerab snickered, wiping the last of her happy tears as she watched him rant. This was kind of true. But she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction.

Murtasim came to a slow stop in front of her, his dark eyes warm with something dangerously soft, and before she could even ask, he held out the bouquet of dahlias.

Meerab blinked. Once. Twice.

And then, she swooned.

Like, actually swooned.

Her brain short-circuited because he was giving her flowers. Pretty ones. Her favorite ones. Just like that.

She took them, fingers brushing against his for a fleeting moment, and she might have hallucinated the way his grip lingered—just a second too long—before he pulled away.

"Dahlias mere favorite hain," she said, unable to stop the giddy grin that stretched across her face as she looked down at them.

Murtasim just smiled.

A small, knowing, utterly smug little smile.

"Tumhe kaise pata laga?" she asked, tilting her head, eyebrows raised.

He simply shrugged, like he hadn't just handed her her favorite flowers like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And then, as if completely oblivious to the absolute chaos he had unleashed in her heart, he lowered himself onto the swing beside her, his weight making the wood creak slightly.

He sat there, casual and effortless, resting an arm lazily along the backrest, fingers just grazing her shoulder, as if he had all the time in the world to sit beside her and pretend like he hadn't just single-handedly ruined her ability to function.

Meerab bit her lip, a helpless giggle escaping her as she lifted the bouquet to her nose, inhaling the soft, sweet scent of the dahlias.

She felt giddy.

She felt like she was floating.

And she felt way too obvious about all of it.

"Flowers bhi Meerab ke liye?" Barlas sighed, interrupting her lovesick spiral.

Murtasim sighed as he leaned back and looked at both of them like a father who was so done with his chaotic children. "Tum dono ka main kya karoon?" he muttered, shaking his head.

"Agar muh band rakho ge toh gifts bhi mil sakte hain," she called out, smirking at Barlas while she played with the petals of her pretty flowers...that Murtasim had gotten her.

Barlas perked up instantly. "Sach?" Then, as if remembering who she was, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Tum toh lingerie hi gift kar do gi."

Meerab's smirk widened. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, before tilting her head at him.

"Barlas, tumhe lingerie mein kuch zyada hi interest nahi?" she teased, watching as his face immediately twisted in horror.

Murtasim let out a low chuckle beside her, while Barlas looked deeply, personally offended. "Hadh hoti hai!" he muttered.

And then—disaster struck.

From the corner of her eye, Meerab spotted movement, and her head snapped towards it just in time to see Dai Maa entering the veranda. Holding her little purse.

Oh. No.

Meerab's eyes went wide with panic, while Barlas, the absolute menace, grinned like the devil himself.

"Phir se kehna, Meerab—kis mein interest hai?" he said loudly, just as Dai Maa walked closer.

Meerab's head spun towards him so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. If looks could kill, Barlas would've been buried ten feet under.

"Bhabhi hi bola karo," Dai Maa scolded him mildly, shaking her head as she adjusted her dupatta.

Meerab saw the opportunity and took it. She immediately shot Barlas a smug look and he groaned, dramatically throwing himself onto a chair.

Before she could bask in her victory, Dai Maa turned to her with a kind smile.

"Kahan ja rahi hain, Dai Maa?" Meerab asked, noticing the purse in her hand.

"Bas yahan kuch ghar door, chai pe." She patted her bag, then paused and grinned. "Chalo, tum bhi chalo."

Meerab blinked. "Main?"

Dai Maa laughed at her confusion. "Itne dino se keh rahi hoon ki apni hone-wali bahu se milaongi... aaj mila hi deti hoon."

Oh. Oh.

Meerab's brain short-circuited.

Hone-wali BAHU?!

Hone. Wali. Bahu.

Was this a proposal? Was she getting engaged right now? Were wedding cards being printed? Were their future children already enrolled in school?!

Meerab's heart did an Olympic-level gymnastics routine in her chest as she turned to Murtasim, eyes shining with barely contained excitement.

"Main jaon?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

Murtasim nodded, not protesting the fact that she was being introduced as his to-be-wife to Dai Maa's friends.

Meerab was floating.

But, because she was Meerab Ahmed, she had to be dramatic about it. She tilted her head, mimicking innocence.

"Toh kya kahoon? Ki main tumhari dost hoon?" she asked sweetly, repeating his exact words from before – the ones he had said to Fari.

Murtasim's eyes flickered with something dangerous. He held her gaze and dropped the bomb. "Jo bhi Dai Maa kahe."

Meerab. Died.

She was a puddle. An actual, real-life puddle.

Had he really just—did he just—was this confirmation?!

She was giddy, she was on cloud nine.

"Mere phoolon ka khayal rakhna." She said, putting them on the swing as she got up.

With zero hesitation, she practically skipped over to Dai Maa, grinning ear to ear.

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

Meerab stirred the kheer lazily, the soft clinking of the spoon against the pot filling the warm kitchen. The scent of cardamom and saffron swirled in the air, wrapping around her like a warm embrace. Sweet, cozy, and entirely too sentimental—much like the old woman standing beside her, watching her every move like a hawk.

"Bas bas, zyada mat ghumao," Dai Maa tutted, reaching over to turn off the stove, like the fate of the world depended on the precise temperature of the milk. "Kheer patience se banti hai, jhatpat kaam nahi."

Meerab bit back a grin. Patience? In this economy?

"Agar aur dair lag gayi toh meri jaan nikal jayegi," she muttered dramatically.

Dai Maa's response was immediate—a light swat on the arm, the universal signal for 'stop being dramatic'—but her lips twitched in amusement.

"Aaj cake chodh kar kheer banane ka mann kaise kargeya?" she asked, eyes twinkling knowingly.

Meerab almost dropped the spoon.

Busted.

Because of course Dai Maa knew.

Of course she had seen right through her, because why else would Meerab voluntarily be making kheer—a dessert she personally ranked below cake, brownies, jalebis, and literally anything that involved chocolate?

The answer was glaring, embarrassing, and currently roaming around the haveli in an off-white kurta-pajama looking like a whole damn snack.

Murtasim.

The menace. The man. The absolute fool who had Meerab wrapped around his ridiculously strong, broad, veined, tanned—focus, Meerab!

She shrugged, pretending to be utterly indifferent. "Aise hi," she said, forcing casualness into her tone.

Dai Maa let out a laugh—the kind of laugh that said she was not fooled in the slightest.

Meerab pointedly ignored it and continued stirring.

Dai Maa hummed, watching the creamy mixture thicken before she spoke again, her voice turning wistful.

"Murtasim ki maa bohot acchi kheer banati thi," she said. "Aur Murtasim... woh toh billi ki tarah chupke raat ko kitchen mein ghus jata tha kheer khaane."

Meerab giggled at the mental image.

Murtasim. Mr. Serious, Mr. Stoic, Mr. "I Do Not Have the Time for Nonsense" sneaking into the kitchen like a guilty cat just for kheer?

"How cute," she murmured, still grinning.

Dai Maa sighed, shaking her head fondly.

"Bohot pyaara bacha tha," she said softly. "Par zindagi ne usse bohot jaldi bara kardiya. Ab tumhare saath phir se haste dekh rahi hoon... acha lagta hai."

Meerab froze.

The spoon in her hand stilled.

Her heart screeched.

She could feel actual, physical heat crawling up her neck, spreading across her face, warming her down to her toes.

What was she supposed to say to that?!

She wanted to say something clever, something dismissive, something that would stop her from dissolving into a lovesick puddle on the kitchen floor.

But all that came out was a feeble, "Maine toh kuch nahi kiya."

Dai Maa smiled knowingly. "Tumhari wajah se khush hai."

And just like that, Meerab was gone.

Like, bury-me-in-a-field-of-dahlias level gone.

Murtasim was happy. Because of her.

Meerab was about to respond - something witty, something to cover up the fact that Dai Maa had just obliterated her entire existence by acknowledging how happy Murtasim was because of her - when she heard a noise.

Her head turned instinctively toward the doorway, and her heart promptly forgot how to function.

Murtasim stood there, framed in the soft golden glow of the kitchen light, looking...

Unfairly. Unnecessarily. Devastatingly good.

Oh, she was being tested.

The sleeves of his off-white kurta were still rolled up to his forearms, much like they had been at breakfast, showing off the tanned, veined skin of his arms - the ones that had lifted her up like she weighed absolutely nothing. She had been thinking of that all through breakfast and it seemed like she would be thinking about it again.

In one of his hands, he held a small bouquet of chrysanthemums—purple and white.

The exact colors of her shalwar-kameez today. He had seen her at breakfast, made note of what she was wearing, and then somehow found flowers that matched.

Meerab was melting.

This was the second day in a row that he had brought her flowers. One of her favorites again.

Her heart dripped into a pathetic little puddle on the floor.

And then - the final blow. In his other hand, he held a rectangular box. A gift? For her?

Murtasim Khan, her emotionally constipated, grumpy, brooding bodyguard and feudal lord of a man, was bringing her flowers and gifts.

She was starting to understand.

Murtasim didn't say things—not with words. He said them with everything else.

It was in the way his eyes always found her, lingering like he was committing her to memory. It was in the way his hand always found hers, his touch casual, instinctive, like she belonged there. It was in the way he just sat beside her, even when there was no need to, even when he had nothing to say—just because he wanted to be near her.

And it was in the little things.

Hot chocolate because she said she was cold. Flowers that matched her clothes. Pakodas because she had said she could smell them from the halwai's shop at the end of the street.

It was in the way he noticed.

And it was too much.

Meerab's system was on constant, uncontrollable haywire.

She had no defenses against this Murtasim Khan.

Her wit and her snark—once her greatest shields—were now completely useless.

And then, as if the universe wanted to personally deliver her an extra dose of serotonin, Murtasim's eyes landed on Dai Maa.

And he froze.

Like, actually froze.

Meerab bit her lip hard to keep the delighted cackle from escaping.

Murtasim Khan - Mr. Unbothered, Mr. Stoic, Mr. "I Have a Resting Serious Face," Mr. "I Do Not Get Flustered" - was acting like a shy, lovesick boy who had just been caught sneaking into enemy territory.

She watched, thrilled, as he cleared his throat, his grip tightening slightly around the bouquet, as if he was actually contemplating pretending it didn't exist.

Oh my God, he's so cute.

Dai Maa turned to glance at him, and Meerab swore she saw amusement in her eyes.

"Main namaz padhne ja rahi hoon," Dai Maa said smoothly, not even trying to hide the smile in her voice.

Meerab watched, absolutely entertained, as her 6-foot, ex-army, highly trained, intimidatingly stoic, annoyingly smug...what?

Her brain came to a stop. What was he?

He...she decided for now. He lowered his gaze, blushing like a schoolboy under the knowing look.

Meerab suddenly had a very serious question. Would their son be like this? A miniature Murtasim, all serious and broody with those big, soulful eyes but also shy and awkward when caught doing something sweet?

The thought almost made her combust on the spot.

Dai Maa, still highly amused, gave Murtasim a final look before gracefully making her exit, leaving them alone.

Murtasim sighed, clearly trying to compose himself, before walking into the kitchen, straight toward her.

Wordlessly, he extended the bouquet to her.

Meerab grinned, taking it immediately, because duh.

The petals were soft against her fingertips, the faint floral scent mixing with the warm aroma of kheer and spices lingering in the kitchen.

She lifted the flowers to her nose, inhaling deeply, and oh, her heart was doomed.

But then her brain caught up.

Meerab narrowed her eyes, inspecting him like a detective about to crack a case.

"Kaise pata chala ke yeh bhi mere favorites hain?" she asked, holding up the bouquet of chrysanthemums.

Murtasim just shrugged, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Meerab squinted harder. Suspicious.

Yesterday, it had been dahlias—which, okay, enough people were obsessed with. But chrysanthemums? Those weren't exactly common flowers for bouquets! Most men brought roses, not niche flowers.

Her brain worked at rapid speed. Had he asked Shibra?

"Shibra se poocha?" she demanded, tilting her head.

Murtasim shook his head.

Meerab narrowed her eyes even further. She didn't trust this.

Or rather, she wanted to trust it because it was disgustingly romantic, but how did he know?

She stared at him for another few seconds before sighing and letting it go—for now.

Instead, she placed the bouquet carefully on the counter and turned back to see him holding up a rectangular box.

Her heart did an embarrassing little somersault.

"Mere liye?" she asked, pointing at herself, even though obviously, it was for her.

Murtasim nodded.

Meerab crossed her arms, playing along. "Kyuuun?"

Murtasim's lips twitched, his voice smooth and unbothered as he answered, "Aise hi. Dil kiya."

She had to bite down on her lower lip to stop the utterly pathetic squeal threatening to escape.

Instead, she masked her overwhelming giddiness with teasing. "Mujhe impress karne ki koshish kar rahe ho?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Murtasim did not hesitate. He nodded.

Meerab blinked, not expecting him to just admit it like that.

"Kyun?" she pressed.

But instead of answering, his smirk deepened. "Na karoon?" he countered, tilting his head slightly, watching her in that infuriatingly intense way that made her knees weak.

He's too smooth! Gah.

Meerab felt her entire body combusting.

She cleared her throat. "Maine aisa toh nahi kaha," she shrugged, pretending to be indifferent even though her heart was slamming against her ribs.

Murtasim, looking far too pleased with himself, opened the box.

And Meerab squealed.

Like, actual, high-pitched, borderline embarrassing squeal.

Inside, nestled between soft velvet, was a set of the prettiest white and lavender choodiyan, inlaid with delicate silver detailing.

They were perfect.

"Yeh kitni sundar hain," she whispered, her fingers hovering over them but not quite touching.

Murtasim, still silent, just held the box out toward her, clearly expecting her to take them.

But Meerab had other ideas.

She shook her head, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Pehnaoge nahi?" she teased.

Murtasim's lips twitched into a full grin now. He set the box down beside her, rolling his sleeves up just slightly before carefully taking one of the bangles in his hand.

Meerab had to remind herself how to breathe as he slid the first bangle onto her wrist. His fingers brushed against her skin—warm, deliberate, sending tiny little sparks racing up her arm.

Meerab was two seconds away from fainting.

She giggled, shaking her wrist slightly to admire the bangles as he put them on, the bangles jingling softly.

As Murtasim slid another bangle onto her wrist, his fingers brushing against her skin, Meerab couldn't help it. The question just slipped out. "Apni random flings ke liye bhi phool aur choodiyan laate the?" she muttered, not even sure why she was asking, but deeply committed to knowing the answer.

Murtasim's hands didn't pause. He just shook his head, a small amused smile playing at his lips as he slid another bangle on, the delicate clinking of glass filling the air.

"Iss se pehle bas ek baar hi phool aur choodiyan khareedi thi," he said simply.

Her entire system short-circuited.

What.

Her brain immediately sounded the alarms.

She narrowed her eyes, suspicion flaring, jealousy clawing its way into her chest like an unwanted guest.

"Kis ke liye?" she asked, her tone sharp, her glare even sharper.

Murtasim glanced up at her, unimpressed. Pointedly. "Tumhe kya lagta hai?" he countered.

And it hit her.

The mela. The first time he bought her choodiyan.

And the flowers?

He had already given her dahlias. Now chrysanthemums.

Meerab.exe stopped working – the file failed to execute.

Her insides were screaming. She was screaming.

But externally?

She sniffed. Flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Phir theek hai," she said, like she wasn't currently one second away from combusting.

Murtasim chuckled. "Agar kisi aur ko diye hote toh?" he asked, voice teasing, eyes twinkling with challenge.

Meerab did not hesitate. "Tumhara aur uska dono ka khoon kar deti."

Murtasim laughed outright, his deep, rich chuckle sending a pleasant warmth curling in her stomach.

And then, before she could overthink it, his hands came up, cupping her face.

Thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

Eyes flickering over her face, taking her in, looking at her like she was his favorite sight in the entire world.

Meerab stopped breathing.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

She swallowed, her voice coming out much softer than she intended. "Thank you," she murmured.

Murtasim's lips quirked, his grip gentle but sure, his eyes still so achingly soft.

"You're welcome," he said simply.

Was she okay? No. Absolutely not.

Murtasim, meanwhile, had the audacity to act like he wasn't the cause of her scattered brain and pounding heart.

He peered into the pot on the stove, looking every bit like a man who had no idea the effect he had on her.

"Kya bana rahi ho?"

She swallowed, attempting to act normal - which was hard when she was literally cooking his favorite dessert - and shrugged. "Kheer."

A slow, smitten, absolutely deadly smile spread across his face. "Mere liye?"

She shrugged again, feigning indifference, even though her soul was levitating.

His hands were still cupping her face from before, and before she could react, he squeezed her cheeks together.

Meerab squealed, swatting at his hands. "Murtasim! Stop!" she whined, voice muffled from the way he was squishing her face like she was some stress ball.

"Toh batao, mere liye?" he repeated, voice teasing, knowing full well that she had made it for him.

Meerab huffed dramatically but nodded.

Satisfied, he finally let go, his hands dropping away slowly, like he wasn't fully ready to stop touching her.

"Khilaao," he said smoothly.

She blinked. "Abhi garam hai," she muttered.

"Mujhe garam kheer bhi achi lagti hai."

Achi lagti hai. Meerab pouted. Itna bhi mushkil nahi hai, Murtasim. If you like kheer, you say it. If you like me, you—

Her thoughts screeched to a halt as she looked at him, the weight of his gaze settling on her.

His brows were furrowed. "Kya hua?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "Kuch nahi."

"Kuch nahi ka matlab kuch hua hai hota hai, haina?" he pressed, his tone far too knowing.

Meerab narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Yeh kisi fling ne sikhaya?"

He shook his head instantly, amused. "Maa ne."

Meerab melted on the spot.

"Tumhare baba bhi tumhare jaise the?" she asked, voice softer now. "Chup-chaap rehne waale."

He nodded, looking fond for a moment, like he had gone somewhere far away.

She studied him, heart suddenly feeling too big for her chest.

"Ab kya kehna chahiye tha jo maine nahi kaha?" he asked, his tone so innocent, so genuine, that she almost caved right there.

But she wanted him to say it. Not to force him to say the words.

So, she exhaled and muttered, "Kuch nahi."

"Meerab," he said, that deep, steady way that always made her stomach flip.

And before she could stop herself, she blurted it out. "Hum exactly kya hain?"

Murtasim stilled, blinking at her, caught off guard.

She, however, was spiraling. "Mujhe samajh hi nahi aata ki main kya sochu... Dai Maa ne bahu bana diya, Barlas ne bhabhi... par tumne kuch nahi kaha," she rushed out, words tumbling over themselves, hands gesturing wildly. "Bas ki main tumhe achi lagti hoon, par uska matlab kya hai? Baar baar sochti hoon ki tum kya ho aur phir—" she sighed, frustrated.

Murtasim exhaled slowly, like he was holding something in his chest, something heavy, something that needed to be let out.

"Hone wali biwi," he said, voice steady.

Her heart stopped.

She barely resisted the urge to scream.

But she wasn't about to get her hopes up just yet.

"Barlas aur Dai Maa ke kehne se—" she started, but then he was stepping closer.

Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, close enough that her breath hitched as he cupped her face again, tilting it up, making her look at him.

Her eyes searched his, trying to find some sort of hesitation, some doubt.

But all she found was certainty.

And then he was leaning in.

His lips brushed over hers—soft, so very soft, like a whispered promise.

And then, he took her hand, her bangles clinking, and pressed it against his chest.

"Yahan se keh raha hoon," he murmured.

Meerab was going to pass out.

Or combust.

Or something equally dramatic.

She smiled, her heart racing, but because she was Meerab, she had to be annoying about it.

"I see," she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Toh girlfriend final kar doon? Abhi tak ring nahi hai."

Murtasim smiled, nodding.

Before she could process what was happening, Murtasim's hands were on her waist, lifting her up with ridiculous ease and setting her onto the kitchen counter.

Yes, just treat me like a doll.

Her eyes widened, a surprised giggle escaping her lips. "Kya kar rahe ho?" she asked, her legs instinctively parting as he stepped between them, his palms settling firm and warm on her waist.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed her.

Soft at first—just a press of lips, warm and deliberate. But then she hummed against his mouth, tilting her head to deepen it, and something shifted.

His fingers dug into her waist, pulling her closer, pressing her against him as his lips moved against hers, coaxing, demanding, utterly devastating.

Her arms wound around his neck, bangles clinking as her fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just slightly. He groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her, sending little shivers down her spine.

Oh.

This was dangerous.

She loved this.

The weight of him between her legs.

The warmth of his hands gripping her waist.

The way he kissed—deep, slow, teasing.

She sighed, melting, completely and utterly lost in the way he kissed her—like she was something to be cherished, something to be devoured.

His hands trailed up, sliding under the fabric of her kameez, warm palms pressing against her back. She gasped into his mouth, her legs tightening around his waist in response.

More.

She wanted more.

BARK!

She yelped, breaking away from Murtasim instantly, her head snapping toward the door where Sheru stood staring at them, tongue hanging out in amusement.

"Sheru, mat dekho!" she scolded, covering her face in pure, mortified horror.

Murtasim chuckled, stepping back just slightly, his hands still on her waist, eyes full of amusement.

And then, as if the universe had decided she hadn't suffered enough - "Kitchen mein yeh sab allowed nahi hai," Barlas drawled from the doorway, arms crossed, a thoroughly entertained smirk plastered on his stupid face.

Meerab groaned, pressing her forehead against Murtasim's shoulder.

Kill me. Just kill me now. Now he's going to go tell Dai Maa that he saw something in the kitchen.

Tilting her head just slightly, she whispered against Murtasim's ear, "Iski legs bhi wax kar doongi."

Murtasim blinked—then burst out laughing.

The deep, throaty, gorgeous sound of it.

She forgot her embarrassment. Forgot Barlas, forgot Sheru, forgot the entire world.

All she could do was stare at him. Smitten. Completely, utterly, devastatingly smitten.

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Author's Note: Tadaaaa! So what do you think? This was a softer, cuter chapter because we've gotten a lot of Meerab's ramblings about Murtasim, but not much the other way - not that Murtasim rambles. Hehe. Anyways, see y'all next weekend! :)