"Are you sure That we are awake? It seems to me That yet we sleep, we dream."

-William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

♡

That morning, she had a dream.

It was a peculiar dream.

She was walking through a field, yellowish green as far as she could see. The sky was serene; a canopy of white clouds over her. It was heaven.

Her yellow dupatta caress the tall blades of grass with each step, giddy eyes searching for something.

Or someone.

There was an excited desperation brewing within her beating heart; unfamiliar yet warm. The search goes on.

A hand, rough and gentle, hold hers and she walks forward. A flower blooms inside her chest; an euphoric happiness takes over every inch of her body as she follows him.

He was a stranger. Yet she could somehow tell that he was the one she had been looking for.

Meerab could tell he was a man by the broad shoulders that ripples under the airy white kurta and the coarseness of his gentle hand. She could feel the calluses that cover his hands; patches of harshness sorround his index finger.

He holds onto her. Like a puppet on a string, she walks behind the stranger in white.

He was the sun and she was the boy with wax wings.

She should be afraid, shouldn't she? She should be cautious. Her body didn't feel like hers. It was on autopilot; the delirious happiness was stubborn in her heart.

And the stranger? Meerab thinks she recognises him. The cropped hair, the strong back, the shining watch- there was a sense of familiarity.

A name was on the tip of her tongue.

Her heart thumps louder and louder, a mad dance between fear and excitement. Everytime the man squeezes her hand, she soars to the High skys. He was so gentle, as if she might break. An endearing hesitancy in his touch.

She squeezes back, unsurity evident in her too. Whatever it is that scared him, was scaring her too.

Meerab feels like she was smiling, the happiness inside her was outside her too.

Without even looking, she knew there was a smile etched onto his face too.

As their feet moved in synchrony, Meerab's eyes eagerly took in the stranger. The March sun had cast a gentle halo around him. He was like an angel taking her to the path of light.

Meerab didn't know how but her dream-drenched mind tells her that she loved this man. How could that be?!

She doesn't know how. It was futile to find logic in this lucid dream of hers.

At the back of her mind, she ponders on why every touch, every smile, every feeling was so overwhelming, so painfully real in this dream.

It was indeed a peculiar dream.

"Meerab?" Someone calls for her and she stops walking.

But the man in white continues, never once looking back. Meerab wants to scream, she desperately wants to call for him.

But the name doesn't come to her. The beautiful mystery remains.

Tears fill her eyes as sharp pain stabs her heart. She was loosing him, and he was leaving her behind.

She wants to call him back, wants him to look back. Once. Just once. She wishes to see his face. She wishes to memorize the face of the stranger she loves.

She was like Orpheus, dying for a glance as eternity of separation looms over.

She would say she was loosing him. Then again, how do you lose someone you never had in the first place?

As she watches him walk into the eternity of green and blue, her eyes open to the blurry figure of her father. He smiles down at her, gentle eyes holding all the world's love for her. Groggily, she sits up, sleep still etched onto her lids.

She wonders if that man's eyes had held love for her too. In that peculiar dream, had he loved her like she loved him?

As the ambulence themed alarm on her bedside table starts to ring, and her baba's laughter echoes through the room, Meerab realises she doesn’t have time to think about it. She shoves it in one corner of her mind to focus on more important things in hand. Like getting ready for a day of nagging.

Maa Begum and Uncle Anwar were dropping by today. She had to wear "proper clothes" as her mother puts it.

Those two nosy elders were the true villains of her life just after that Murtasim.

In Meerab's childhood list of worst to best Khan, Murtasim was always at the top. It was his life's mission to antagonise Meerab at every turn. Maa Begum was a close second.

Even now that nosy family was dictating her life all the way from Hyderabad, still hiding their blatant misogyny by disguising it as tradition. To Meerab, Maryam was literally the only tolerable one among that overbearing bunch.

She cannot believe she needed permission from them to continue her studies. What could her studies possibly have to do with them was beyond her understanding.

After another round of argument with her father about why he should not care about their opinion, Meerab was starting to wonder if she was ever going to go to university.

It was a depressing thought. Her childhood dream might just remain a dream in her life.

Speaking of dreams, the man came to her mind again.

Who was he?

She had read somewhere that dreams only feature faces we have seen. So she must've seen him too. Maybe in passing.

A man with whom she was in love with in her dream- who could it be?

As she does her morning skincare, lost in her thoughts of the odd man of her dream, she hears the familiar sound of cars rushing through the gates.

Looks like Satan and his minions came early today.

From her window, she had a clear view of the parking. The armada of cars pull through one by one, speeding like there was a fire somewhere. The first one comes to a halt and the aging Bhaktu rushes out to hold the door open.

She sees her father walk out to greet the Khans. It never sat right with her. Were they really deserving of this sort of devotion?

Murtasim was the first one out, as usual. His figure as imposing as ever, shades in place and hair back-brushed impeccably. He was wearing a white shirt today, tucked into dark pants.

Murtasim Khan was many things, but unsightly he was not. Unfortunately, his face didn't match his personality in the slightest.

Every year, Meerab wishes Murtasim starts to look like Ebenezer Scrooge, and to her great dissapointment, every year he comes out looking even more infuriatingly handsome.

This is why the saying goes "Never Judge a book by its cover". The cover might be a dashing man, but hey, even Satan was said to be the most beautiful of all angels.

Murtasim greets her baba with a hug and a small smile. Meerab scoffs; he really knew how to butter up the elders. Laughing at something that baba says, Murtasim turns around to open the back door of the car.

And as Meerab stares down at his back, a sense of anticipitation courses through her vain. A wait for what exactly, that she didn't know.

With deliberate steps, she walks close to the window. An urgency working through her. She needed to see something; ensure something for her own sanity.

As his hands work the handle of the car door, his shirt clad shoulders move rhythmically underneath it's tightening grasp. March sun hits the golden dial of his watch as he pulls the door open for his mother and Uncle.

And Meerab stands there in silence. The familiarity builds up. But the climax never arrives.

As the unwanted guests march inside, Murtasim falls behind. He walks at a leisurely pace, checking something on his phone.

Then he stops. Bites his bottom lip, frown marring his face.

To Meerab's horror, he looks up.

Their eyes meet and for a second, just a second, they stay.

Then, she ducks inside. Embarrassment colors her face. Horror takes over her as she thinks back to the bafflement on Murtasim's face.

Great, just great. Now he'll think she was watching him like a pervert.

Well, she was technically watching him. But definitely, not like a pervert.

She sighs. This day was quickly going from bad to worse. It was all Murtasim's fault.

If he hadn't showed up, she would still be in her bed, dreaming happily of her mystery man. A man who was undoubtedly handsome, has broad shoulders and rough hands, wears vintage watches.

"Meerab Bibi?" Zainab, the house help, peeks into her room. "Your mother is calling you."

"Give me a moment!" She hurries around, ruffling through her messy closet. "Help me look for the white Salwar!"

Zainab rushes inside to help her, already knowing it would be hard task given the state of her closet. "Meerab bibi, if you can't clean your closet, can you atleast let me do it?"

"You don't start too." Meerab tries on some of the dupatta she thinks would match. "My mom and Maa Begum nags me enough!"

"For good reasons, bibi."

Meerab rolls her eyes at that. Looks like the day wasn't going to get any better.

"Accha, Zainab Apa." Meerab looks at the age old helper who was with them since she was a child. She thinks how to phase the question without raising any alam bells. "My friends were saying they saw a man in front of the house. Do you know who it was?"

"What man?" Zainab narrowed her eyes.

"I don't know." Meerab shrugs her shoulders, feigning nonchalance. She continued to try on the dupatta in front of the mirror. "They just told me how he looked like, that's all."

"How did he look like?" Zainab went back to looking for her salwar.

"Hmm, let me see." Meerab peeked back at the help to see her engrossed in her task. "I think he had broad shoulders and cropped hair. Wears Kurtas."

"This is Karachi, bibi. If you go out to the main road, you'll find a dozen of those." Zainab huffs and lets out a laugh.

"Oh, there's more!" Meerab pretends to remember. "I think he had calluses on his hands, around his index finger."

"Your friends saw it?" Now, she was looking at Meerab with suspicion clear in her wrinkled eyes.

"I'm just the messenger." Meerab avoids meeting Zainab's eyes. If she gets even a whiff of doubt that Meerab was seeing someone, the Khans would have her married within a week.

"And what else?" Zainab had a thoughtful expression, like she was remembering something.

"He was appearently wearing an exlensive looking vintage watch. With leather straps, I think."

"Meerab bibi?" Zainab crosses her arms over chest. "Are you playing a prank on me?"

"No!" Meerab whirled around, with a look of offense mirroring Zainab. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you are clearly desrcibing the Khan."

Huh?

"No, I'm not!" Now, it was Meerab's turn to cross her arms. "Murtasim is nothing like that!"

"Yes, you are!" Zainab rolls her eyes.

No, she wasn't! Why would the man in her dream heaven be that demon spawn from hell?

It was an infuriating accusation. The man in her dream was kind and gentle and the only time Murtasim ever shows kindness is probably when he picks out his outfit for the day!

The heart racing romance, the sweet feeling of his hands, the loving breeze in that field- all the aspects of that perfect dream was now marred by Murtasim's name.

"It's not Murtasim, I'm telling you!" She grits out through her teeth, almost shouting too loud.

"What's not me?"

Great, just great!

She whirls around fast enough to break her neck. "You!" Finger points to the man standing on her door. "Out of my room, now."

"Good morning to you too." The idiot rolls his eyes at her. It just raises her already rising temper. "Nice pajama. Appropriate for your age."

Meerab looks down at her Finding Nemo pajamas, blood quickly rushing to her cheeks. Embarrassment floods her as she realizes the state she is in. "I cannot deal with you this early in the morning."

She stops towards the door as he backs away, both glaring. "Morning was four hours ago, this is noon."

There was no way Murtasim was even close to her dream man, he wasn't even a man in her mind, period. So what if he shares an uncomfortable amount of similarities with the stranger in her dream?

"What are you, a news channel?" She pushes the door close. But he holds it open.

"Learn to be more polite to guests."

"But you are not a guest."

"Really?" He raises an eyebrow. "Then, what am I?"

"A blood sucking Ghoul, mostly."

"Then you must be a dayan. Specifically the ones that haunt trees."

"You can take a look at my feet, they are perfectly forward facing." She shows him her feet, wiggling her very forward facing toes, just in case.

"Fine, then you are just a common Dayan. That's a downgrade."

"Still better than a blood sucker!"

"If I'm a blood-sucker, then why were you spying on me like a pervert?"

"You have an extremely high opinion of yourself." Meerab pushes him to the hallway. "Now, shoo, move along."

He scoffs. She gives him a sugary smile. He removes his hand from the door handle, turning around to walk away.

"Wait!" She calls him before she could stop herself. He turns around, confusion clear by the frown he was wearing.

Before he could react, she pulls his right hand up, holding it in between her palms. A look of utter bafflement crosses his face and he tries to pull it away.

She ignores his half-hearted efforts and focused on the thing she was looking for. The calluses. Around his ring finger. From pulling triggers.

She runs a hand over it, trying to get a feel. To her dissapointment, It felt acheingly familiar.

Sighing, Meerab looks up, only to see Murtasim staring down at her with an unreadable expression. He was observing her like she had grown two heads.

She sees it then. As the sunrays hit the hallway windows, and a gentle halo sorrounds him.

Again, without giving him time to react, she runs back inside and closes the door behind her.

As her mind works up to Deny everything, her heart leaps. Both dussapointment and excitement rushes through her. The watch, the back, the hands- they all come back to her. So clear yet so murky.

She was done for.

♡

Gosh! I never realised, just how many Meerasim fanfics were in just sitting in draft, collecting dust. So, I'll just publish all the random one shots I wrote back in the days after some tweakng. Hope you look over the mistakes and enjoy reading these. And do tell me how you liked them.