Tere bin shots

Tangled threads pt2

There were moments when Murtasim yearned to turn back the clock to his carefree teenage years—a time devoid of responsibilities, free from feudal duties, and unburdened by complex relationships. The time before the weight of love had taken hold, a love that had him deeply, irrevocably, and hopelessly entangled with Meerab.

Murtasim found himself perplexed, unable to pinpoint when and how he had fallen for Meerab. But what he knew without a doubt was that there was no retreat from the feelings that had consumed him. He discovered an unexpected reservoir of forgiveness within himself for any of Meerab's mistakes, whether it was fearlessly walking in a panchayat full of men, taking the bullets from his gun, or being in the company of Rohail despite knowing the latter's affections for her.

In his self-awareness, Murtasim acknowledged the depth of his love for Meerab. However, he was equally aware of the fact that she did not reciprocate his feelings. Though selfish enough to not being able to let her go, he had made a vow not to obstruct her path and not to burden her with the weight of his emotions any longer. The internal struggle between his yearning to hold on and his commitment to release her for the sake of her own happiness created a poignant tension in Murtasim's heart. As he made his way back home, the morning rays casting a warm glow around him, he couldn't escape the heaviness that lingered within.

Murtasim, desiring solitude, navigated the haveli's corridors at a deliberate pace. However, as always, tension clung to him like a persistent shadow, refusing to be shaken off. As he passed through the dining room, his mother's voice cut through the air. "Did you drop Meerab off to Karachi?"

Murtasim, weariness coating his words, retorted, "Why would I?"

Haya, with her customary screechy tone, interjected, "Murtasim, have you forgotten? She aided Malik Zubair in kidnapping Mariam! How can you let her stay in this house after all that?"

Murtasim's gaze fixed on Haya, irritation evident. "Firstly, Mariam went willingly with Malik Zubair. Secondly, neither of them knew he was Anas. And I am capable enough handle my problems, so stay out of my personal life."

"Murtasim! Haya's right! Meerab shouldn't be allowed to stay here after what she's done," Maa Begum asserted.

Frustration etched on his face, Murtasim countered, "If we can forgive Mariam and let her stay, then Meerab deserves the same. She's my wife, my responsibility; I can't just kick her out. And you and chacha sahab were the ones who declared this haveli as her home right? By what right should she go back to Karachi now?"

Turning the heat up, he directed his anger at Haya. "And the one person who should leave after all that happened is Haya. She knew about Malik Zubair, saw them running away, and yet she sealed her lips. Instead of informing us, she exploited the situation. She had ill intentions not just for Meerab but for Mariam too. So, Maa, you tell me, who should be the one to be kicked out now?"

Haya, grappling with the fear of being banished from the haveli, stammered, "No, Murtasim, I didn't mean to hurt Mariam. I—"

"Enough, Maa! Send her to her Dadi's house. I won't entertain her anymore," Murtasim's voice echoed through the room with unwavering authority. Even Maa Begum recognized the futility of opposing his decree. It wasn't Murtasim speaking; it was the commanding jaanashi of their gaddi, whose word was law.

With a decisive tone, he added, "And I don't want to hear anyone talking about Malik Zubair in this house ever again. Not to Mariam, not to Meerab!" As he walked away, Murtasim left in his wake a whimpering Haya and a contemplative Maa Begum.

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As Murtasim approached the threshold of his room, a hesitation gripped him, delaying his entry. The prospect of facing Meerab after everything that had unfolded was uneasy. The room, once a sanctuary, now seemed to hold the weight of betrayal and hurt, and he hesitated to even gaze upon her form.