Qubool Hai (MeeraSim FF)

38 - Ehtaraaz

After they had calmed down and exited the clinic with prescription in hand, they decided that their last stop should be the goats before heading home for the walimah.

Meerab wandered around in the field, the open air was strangely cleansing, rejuvenating their tired lungs from the strangled tears. As usual, Murtasim sat and watched her, as though she was competition for the scenic view, lovelier and kinder to the eyes.

The deep emerald of her frock, and curves of her rubenesque figure made her fit in perfectly amongst nature- a dream like sequence of twirls and sways in the grassy fields. The curls of her hair bouncing superciliously at every step.

A sense of melancholy filled him at the uphill battle of his life, always reaching, always acting on the offensive.

His goats greeted her as if they had been waiting for her cuddles, longing for their owners. Meerab reached down to stroke the goats, smoothing over their matted fur, eliciting a youthful giggle. Her heart full, and when she looked past her shoulder, Murtasim was already looking at her, spectating as though he have occupied prime seats, overlooking onto a beautiful movie scene.

'Tum bhi aao, Meesam tumhein bula rahi hai,' she called out in a playful lilt, suppressing the grief about her father in law- knowing that he needed a distraction too. (Come here, meesam is calling you.)

He didn't need to be told twice, Murtasim stepped over the short fence and make his way closer, instantly attracting an entire crowd of goats which huddled at his ankles, a cacophony of 'baaa's', erupting around him.

They were both kneeling, there hands leisurely brushing past each other. The goats were a mere excuse to approach her, to engrave her radiant visage to memory. His hand showcased a silver ring with a chunky gemstone, and her's was delicately embedded with heirloom diamonds, courtesy of Nano. Another example of their likeness- her delicate gajre, and his hefty watch.

'Tumhein pasand hai?' Murtasim asked, studying the glow to her face in nature, realising that she was in her element. The pains of reality had fractionally dulled. (Do you like it?)

'Tumhari bakriyaan? Zahir hai,' she responded, peering down at their beady eyes, innocently glinting  back in return. (Your goats? Ofcourse.)

Murtasim shook his head. 'I meant... Meesam ka naam....' He clarified sheepishly.

'Pyara hai,' she assured, her other hand coming to his knee to stabilise herself in the crouch. (It's lovely.)

Only when she confirmed this, did he confess, 'I named her after us.'

That caused her gaze to meet his gaze, her breath halted at the depth of his affection. 'Kya?' Slipped her mouth. (What?)

'Meerab aur Murtasim,' he reiterated slowly, as if the words were heavy.

Meerab's scanned his face, and found only candor, as if he had been stripped bare, unable to keep up his nonchalant demeanour when the wall disintegrated around him, his father slipping out of reach.

Murtasim's hands came to her shoulder, and they stood up tall, towering above the collection of goats which wandered off after realising that they offered no food.

'Meerab and Murtasim,' she repeated in disbelief. 'Meesam.' It seemed obvious now. She realised that he was being truthful - not that she needed any more confirmation of the love that he silently harnessed for her.

He nodded, engulfing her in an all-encompassing hug- and she supposed that he was extra cuddly when sad.

'Aur shehd?' Meerab quizzed into his chest. 'Who did you name her after?'