Tere bin shots

Murtasim, The Eye Specialist

My take on the sexy angsty scene of episode 25 that was absolutely butchered by "naila bewa hogi"
I hope you all enjoy it✨✨✨

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Ninety minutes dragged on, each passing second echoing louder in Meerab's mind as the car navigated its way through the bumpy road. The agony she endured was pure, a relentless assault on her senses. Haya, the mere thought of her with Murtasim in that forsaken gaon haunted Meerab. How could everyone conveniently overlook Haya's mad obsession over Murtasim? It was as if they had collectively chosen to turn blind eye to the looming threat she posed.

Meerab couldn't understand how Maa Begum, the same woman who slapped Meerab for dancing in front of everyone, herself had sanctioned this arrangement, sending Haya off with him, "to take care of him." Where the hell were all those traditions and norms that Maa begum always used to brag about, now? Meerab huffed.

What confused her more was the glaring double standard. While it was scandalous for her to meet Rohail, even in a restaurant, it seemed perfectly acceptable for Haya to spend days alone with Murtasim. The injustice gnawed at her, a bitter taste of hypocrisy staining her perception of familial expectations. The memory of her so-called biological father's doubts about her character still stung. Why was she subjected to incessant scolding and slaps for merely asserting her autonomy while Haya was allowed to do as she pleased?

A wave of hopelessness washed over her as she contemplated the depth of deception of the people around her. Her identity, her whole life, had been nothing but a bed of lies. Her freedom of choice had been ruthlessly snatched, leaving her with no option but to agree to a marriage she never desired in the first place. She had no home, no one to call her own.

Even the people she once called her parents were nothing but imposters, who didn't even took a minute to abandon her. And the fact that they all acted as if nothing happened, as if they hadn't ripped a part of her and stripped her identity, as if she was nothing but a mere lifeless object to be passed on where ever those people desired.

And despite the stormy sea of disparity and shattered trust, there stood Murtasim. He, who had once professed to be her guardian, who claimed to care for her, her supposed husband. Yet, in his silence and indifference to her desires, he failed to fulfill even the simplest of her wishes.

Meerab couldn't shake the discomfort that settled in her bones whenever Haya was near, which is why she had told Murtasim about her, yet he had brushed it off, paying no heed to it. The memory of her slitting her wrist on their wedding night loomed large, a poignant testament to her unrequited love for Murtasim, an obsession that went unnoticed by everyone else.

There was a time when Meerab used to pity Haya, seeing her as a victim of imposed constraints that surrounded the orthodox traditions of the Khan Haveli. But now, after her marriage to Murtasim, Meerab realized that Haya thrived in this prison that was of her own making. It was the life she craved, one that had been forced upon Meerab against her will.

Despite the constant reprimand from Maa Begum and Murtasim, dismissing Haya's actions as mere childishness, Meerab realized their words held little weight. They had never truly intervened or reined in Haya's problematic behavior, granting her a freedom that bordered on recklessness. This unhinged attitude had encouraged Haya to the point where she now found herself with her husband, in a house, all alone. To hell with "beheno jaisi Haya!" That vile woman had nothing but evil intentions for Murtasim.

Yet, as Meerab grappled with her emotions, she couldn't pinpoint the exact source of her turmoil. Was it the blatant disrespect of her position as Murtasim's wife, or the gnawing unease that twisted her stomach upon hearing Fena's revelation of Haya being with Murtasim? The answer eluded her, lost in the whirlwind of emotions raging within. The thought of him being with another woman ignited a fire within her, a primal urge to assert her dominance over what was rightfully hers.