| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| The Police Station |

Na manda ae mera kehna,

tere naina ch hi rehna,

if I tell you if I tell you,

tabah hi ho jaana...

slowed & reverb

Note: Corniche is a road/path on the waterfront of any city. It's usually found in Gulf countries and is a popular spot for locals and tourists . Yalla means come on/lets go in Arabic.

Dinner had brought with it the great freeze out; Meerab mingled with just about everyone, tried nearly every dish from the buffet, downed three cups of qehwa and managed to look at Murtasim a grand total of zero times. Any time she felt him in her periphery, she'd turn swiftly on her heels and head straight for the food to pick up an appetiser; it had resulted in an embarrassing number of trips to the buffet table but she would've taken social embarrassment over losing to him any day.

The senior training coordinator had droned on about just how fortunate they were that Captain Murtasim had stayed back after his speech and was giving them his valuable time. Meerab was positive that her eye-roll could be felt in the room next door.

Having her last gulp of qehwa, she put down the delicate glass cup on its matching saucer, bid everyone good night and walked out of the hall, her head held high. She'd succeeded in her mission so far but a girl could only eat so many spring rolls before the sickly feeling of nausea crept up. Better to quit whilst at the top.

By the time she got to her room, Meerab was already regretting the last eight rolls. Haphazardly shimmying out of her dress, she let out a sigh of relief as the cool water from the shower hit her body. She reached back to press the dimple at the bottom of spine; the heels and the hectic schedule had triggered the usual ache that crept up sometimes. Making quick work of removing her makeup and lathering lotion onto her body, she'd just snuggled into a soft white robe when a knock sounded at the door. There really was no rest for the weary when Saba was around, she thought shaking her head. Trying to tighten the towel on her head as she walked, Meerab threw the door open and stepped back to let her in.

Murtasim Khan couldn't really understand why the universe was out to shame him today. He'd just about made peace with the fact that his sudden heightened awareness of her had been the clothes and makeup but it seemed like the universe wasn't done laughing at him. Standing mere inches away from him in only a loosely-tied bath robe, bare feet and a rosy, cleansed face, his wife looked sinfully innocent and he was now out of excuses for the way his throat dried and his neck suddenly warmed up and felt prickly. The damned robe was dipped at her throat, revealing a deep v of creamy skin which had taken on a healthy, rosy hue. Looking her up and down, his eyes narrowed.

"Tum sab ke liye aise darwaza kholti ho?"

His wry voice startled her, the hand with which she was holding onto the white towel on her hand slipping momentarily. It was enough to let the towel fall to her feet and for her wet, shiny curls to cascade all over back and right shoulder. There they were; her chaotic waves, back after the effects of straightening had been washed away. The dark of her hair made her smooth, rosy complexion glow, her plump, pink lips making a little 'o', and her cheeks turning pinker by the second.

Meerab's eyes widened as her husband took one step closer, her feet taking a step back of their own accord. What was going on? With his hands clasped behind his back, he raised an eyebrow and took another step towards her, so close that his chest grazed the lapels of her robe and suddenly all air around her was engulfed with the almost dizzying combination of lemon, patchouli and cedar. Him. Her breath came out in whoosh as she took a shaky step back, crinkling her brows up at him and then looking behind his shoulder; his broad chest had completely blocked the doorway, shielding her from the corridor outside. Her eyes shot to his and she stuck her chin out.