Kafiraana sa hai...
Ishq hai ya, kya hai?...

There was something so decadent about waking up in a pristine white hotel bed in a plush white hotel robe, the scrumptiously soft pillows seductively calling you back to sleep whilst the subdued rays of sunshine peeked from behind the heavy curtains. Meerab decided this was now her favourite way to sleep, at least in Doha. Sleeping in just a robe back home wouldn't really achieve the same relaxing effect. For one, the maid would enter her room like she did every morning with hot chocolate, and get the shock of her life seeing a half-naked 'Meerab Bibi'.

Standing in front of the vanity mirror in her bathroom, Meerab twisted her hair up into a bun and got on with her morning routine whilst going over the itinerary for the day; a training flight to Dubai, a short stay there for a joint training activity with a Dubai-based airline, followed by a training flight back to Doha. Saba was heading to Oman for the same, so it was just going to be Meerab and a few other trainees on the Dubai flight.

Dusting the setting powder off her face, Meerab picked up the signature Chanel lip colour provided to every Phoenix air-hostess and delicately lined her lips a deep tea pink. As always, Phoenix Air did things differently; the deep pink was in perfect harmony with the cream silk blouse and navy trousers, projecting a vibe of understated elegance. Lastly, her hair was smoothed back from her face and subtly pinned behind her ears, the ends falling down her back in loose waves; it was either this or the option of a sleek bun. 

Liking the finished look, Meerab slipped on the navy Chanel kitten heels, grabbed her cream carry-on and tote bag , also Chanel and courtesy of Phoenix, and headed out of the door feeling like a million bucks.

The lobby of the Mandarin Oriental was pulsating with purpose, energy and Chanel Coco Mademoiselle, the signature perfume of every Phoenix air-hostess. It was the strangest of atmospheres; everyone seemed to be going somewhere, but there was an air of relaxation which seemed to be the case everywhere in Doha. It was like work was carried out with expertise and ease but with as much luxury as one could manage.

Breakfast was over with quickly and Meerab hugged Saba a quick goodbye before hurrying out of the buffet hall, eager to meet her cabin crew at the designated point. The smell of the familiar Qatari bakhour coming from the concierge hit her nose as she walked past it, her heels making subtle click-clacks on the gleaming cream marbled floor.

In the next five seconds, things happened which Meerab couldn't have rationally explained even if her life depended on it. The click-clack of her heels came to a sudden halt, her feet pausing mid-step, and her mid-section tightened, causing her to loosen her grip on the handle of her cabin bag and turn around slightly, her body stationary, feeling without purpose for a split second. Brows crinkled, Meerab scanned the length of the lobby in front of her; just the sofas and loungers for guests, the complementary drinks table and the East-Side lifts, nothing to note. Angling her body, she turned her head around, looking behind her, and it took her eyes just a second to hone into their target.

Only by what could be described as sheer magnetism, her entire being seemed to sway towards the dark head which was visible from the group of people seated in one of the glass lounges in the lobby; his face was hidden, only a strip of tan forehead, his dark hair, styled the way it usually was for business, and his left hand with the familiar matte silver chain of his watch resting on a white sleeve cuff, clasped with matte silver cufflinks visible to Meerab. Even whilst sitting, he seemed to be a head above everyone else, and without any conscious effort, Meerab's body turned fully around and took a few steps ahead, bringing into view her husband, in all his corporate glory.

He was sat in what were known as the Billionaires Bay Lounges; a strip of cabins along the front of the hotel, overlooking the coast which the Mandarin was built upon. Around fifteen lounges in total, each one was either fully glass or brick depending on the nature of use, which ranged from business meetings to private use. Each lounge was tastefully decorated with both a lounge area and a working area, with glass lounges having a gorgeous view of the beach and glittering sea.

Her husband currently occupied Lounge One and seemed to be knee-deep in a business meeting; papers were spread across the glass table in front of him and his body was angled forward, elbow resting on the arm of his chair with his forearm held up in the air. Meerab thought about turning around and leaving, but something about the way he looked kept her rooted to the spot. She'd seen him as both Khan Murtasim and Murtasim Khan the businessman countless times, and had thought the difference in his appearance was all there was to it; on days when he visited the crops and the panchayat, he wore shalwar kameez, either with a shawl or a blazer, and it was always suits or semi-formal Western wear for corporate business.

However, watching him now commanding a room full of people, it was his expression which struck her; it was a mixture of command, confidence and relaxation, and infinitely different to how she'd seen him back home. Of course, she'd never been privy to a direct viewing of him in a panchayat or in a business meeting, but he would occasionally meet with panchayat members and have business meetings at the haveli when she'd been there. He'd also once taken an important business call at her home in Karachi; he'd been invited for lunch by Mama and Baba as he'd been in town for business. The stress which emanated from him back home was always palpable.

Over the years she had picked up on the changes in his demeanour as he'd effortlessly interchanged between his many contrasting responsibilities; a slight stiffening and straightening of his body, broadening of shoulders and head held high would put you face-to-face with Khan Murtasim Khan. Alternatively, a more sharpened and focused gaze, a confidant yet relaxed walk and a determined 'game on' expression gave you Murtasim Khan, owner of one of Pakistan's biggest corporate empires.

But the Murtasim in front of her eyes now was someone Meerab had trouble likening to the man she'd known all her life; for one, he was laughing occasionally and that too in a business meeting, and there seemed to be a relaxation in his body, a kind of tranquillity she hadn't seen before. It was exactly like the vibe of the hotel she'd picked on a while before; he actually looked like he was enjoying himself.

She watched as he finally leaned back and pointed to an iPad screen, brows knitted together in a stern expression. A man sat across from him held his hands up, as if in apology and laughed, causing the whole table to laugh, and lo and behold, Meerab witnessed her husband let out a full laugh. His mouth curved into a wide smile, his eyes crinkled at the edges and his tilted to the right; suddenly the image of a lily opening flashed into Meerab's mind. The one who likened her attitude to a lily also possessed some lily-like qualities it seemed.

Peering through the window into the husband's private life, Meerab watched as a server rolled a refreshments trolley into the lounge, placing a cup and saucer at the side of everyone at the table. When she reached her husband, the server paused, brought a side table and placed it beside his seat at the head of the table, and finally put his steaming cup of espresso on it. She then stepped back and waited, walking away only when Murtasim glanced at the table and nodded. A smile ghosted her mouth. He'd done for as long as she could remember; never allowing food or drink on the desk he was working on. It was a habit so familiar that Meerab could've bet money on what his next action would be. And she would've won, because in the very moment, her husband nodded at table and gracefully stood up, buttoning his blazer; the people at the table leaned back and reached for their cups, while he walked over the floor-to-ceiling glass facing the coast with the espresso in his hand.

A hand on her back had Meerab turning around to face Tanya, a fellow trainee.

"Yaar Meerab! Tum das minute pehle bahar aagayi thi. Abhi tak yahan kya kar rahi ho? Chalna nahi hai?"

Murmuring a faint "Haan", Meerab took one last look at her husband, his back broad and proud, in a situation so different yet the sight of him so reminiscent of a young Murtasim standing away from his desk, finishing his drink before going back to his papers. Turning, she smiled at her friend before falling into step with her.

The day progressed smoothly, with the trainees enjoying lunch in Dubai before attending the joint airline training until early evening. The flight home brought with it a late and somewhat surprising revelation. Meerab stared at the duty rota; her eyes fixed on the date written at the top of the sheet. Of course. It was autumn. And autumn brought with it the annual reminder of how their relationship has changed seasons not long ago. The Middle East made it easy to overlook the change in seasons due to its extreme weather. She'd forgotten. Not that her delayed awareness would impact the scenario in any way; the tone for this occasion had been set and she didn't expect this year to be any different.

The Doha sky glittered as the plane descended, the landing markings on the runway glowing as they slowed and came to a crawling halt. The walk from the makeshift tunnel linking the plane to the airport terminal was always satisfying; Meerab had a sense of homecoming mixed with an excitement as the icy air-conditioning of the airport hit her body, a drastic contrast from the balmy air outside. Saba was still in Oman, and since she had early training tomorrow morning, Meerab had decided she was going to treat herself to a luxury night in. Leaning her head against the window of the coach which took them to the hotel, all she wanted to do get in her robe, order room service and sink into her wonderful, wonderful bed.

Turns out, she wasn't the only one who could've done with a relaxing end to the day. As she walked into the hotel, Meerab glanced towards Billionaires Bay on instinct and did a double take. Her husband sat in the exact place she'd left him that morning, but that was where the similarities ended. The polished appearance of the day had been replaced by a rawer version of the same man; his blazer was draped over the standing jacket rail behind him, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, cufflinks gone and a five-o-clock shadow darkened his jaw. He sat reclined on the sofa, a soft glow coming from the cigarette dangling between his fingers. Omar Maktabi sat across from him, his own cigarette hanging from his mouth, listening as Murtasim talked. Had he been in there the whole day? Had he even taken a break? Did he do this every day?

The realisation that she knew scant about the man she'd married crept up on her; his life here was so different to the one she'd seen him live in Pakistan. It looked like he'd had back-to-back meetings all day and had just had a chance to sit back. She'd thought the lack of interaction around this date had been intentional, but looking at now, it was highly possible that he'd always just been so busy that the date, and her, had never crossed his mind.

Meerab averted her eyes and forced herself to walk on towards the lift, mentally giving herself a shake; he was a grown man, he had been managing himself just fine for many years and his schedule was none of her business. Better to let him carry on with his plans and squash the thoroughly unwanted and unwelcome wifely sensitivities creeping up in her traitorous mind.

Making quick work of her shower and night-time routine, Meerab was wrapped up in her robe and in the middle of painting her nails when there was knock at the door. Opening it to reveal her trolley of food, Meerab gave the bellhop a wide smile and allowed the trolley to be wheeled in.

Reaching the door to leave, he turned. "I'll just be at the door Madam."

He was out of the door before Meerab could clarify, leaving her to look at the trolley he'd just brought in confusion. Along with two silver dishes containing her dinner, a crystal glass, a bottle of Sprite in an iced bucket and a vase with a single rose, there was something else in the round tray. About as a big as her hand and embossed with black writing, a folded card was perched horizontally on the tray. Meerab picked it up, unfolding it to reveal smooth, cursive handwriting.

Married couples sometimes go out for dinner on their anniversaries.

Escala, in an hour.

MK

As Meerab stared at the note, her confusion at the bellhop's words shifted to her husband's actions. He'd remembered. He'd looked tired, like he was done with the day, and now he was inviting her to dinner? At nine pm and that too downstairs in the hotel restaurant, where everyone could see them. Meerab read the note again, her eyes lingering on the initials, as if confirming that it was indeed him. The need to confirm became redundant as soon as she turned the card over.

From the office of Murtasim Khan was printed in black at the bottom of the cream card, the writing chasing any doubt she may have had. The note still in hand, she walked to the door and opened it to reveal the bellhop. Maybe he'd have some answers.

"Uh...am I supposed to send a reply?"

Sensing her confusion, he gave her a warm smile and shook his head.

"I was told to let you know that the dinner you have ordered will not go to waste should you not wish to have it this evening. I can take it away for you. If you'd like to proceed with dinner in your room, I can leave now."

Meerab peered down at her robe and her half-painted nails and then looked up at the bellhop. If he found the situation strange, he was doing a very good job at hiding it. She had no reason to say no, even though her husband seemed to have given her an open choice to accept or decline. But what reason did she have to say yes? What did this change in routine mean and what would it signify for the future? The image of him sitting in the lounge a while ago floated into her mind; he'd looked like he hadn't had a moment to stop and breathe the whole day, and yet he'd remembered. And not only remembered, he wanted to celebrate. With her.

Suddenly Meerab was standing on the patio outside Murtasim's room at the haveli. As light rain sprinkled around them, two figures stood in front of each other in the darkness with only the dim patio lanterns lighting the garden. One of the figures looked up at the other with wide eyes, as if in complete trust.

"Mai tumse baaki cheezon ke waaday nahi kar raha, sirf ek waada karsakta hu. Humari shaadi mai meri taraf se imaandari mai kabhi kami nahi hogi. Jab tak zinda hoon, poori imaandari se nibhaun ga." His voice was low and firm, his eyes gazing intently into hers, conveying the magnitude of their situation without words.

"Aur mujhse? Bas imaandari chahiye?" she asked curiously, head tilted to one side.

There was a pause before he replied.

"Tumhe jo dena hai, jitna bhi dena hai, tum woh dena."

As Meerab looked up into serious eyes, the espresso-brown seeming even darker than usual. After what seemed like an eternity for Murtasim, she lowered her gaze, staring at the buttons of his kameez and nodded. And just like that, two seemingly mismatched individuals decided on the course of their impending marriage.

Standing there in the rain, wrapped snug in his cream shawl, Meerab felt a calm conviction warm her body. This was right. It felt right.

The bellhop clearing his throat brought Meerab back to the present. Looking down at the note in her hand, her husband's voice echoed in her mind. Bas imaandari. Letting go of the lower lip that she'd been biting subconsciously, Meerab finally looked at the bellhop.

"Please take my dinner away. I'll be dining downstairs tonight."

Murtasim tapped the cigarette on the rim of the crystal ashtray, bringing it to his mouth and letting it hang from the side of his mouth before placing his hand on the back of his neck and leaning back on the sofa. The day had been brutal; he'd had back-to-back meetings with Phoenix executives about the increased safety training schedule. After that he'd had a crisis in one of his holdings in Islamabad and had been on the phone sorting it out till late into the evening until Omar had popped by.

He and his friend had discussed the Latvian issue again; it seemed to be the only topic on their minds when they were together these days. It had been around nine pm when Omar had suggested dinner, but Murtasim had declined. He'd known his wife's flight had landed thirty minutes ago and whilst sending a note up to her room, he'd also found out that she hadn't had dinner.

It had just been a question of making the first move; a husband and wife in the same hotel on the eve of their anniversary; no matter how estranged, the situation begged one of them to make a move. And Murtasim had promised his wife lifelong integrity. Imaandari.

So here he was, decked in a fresh suit at nine-thirty pm on an autumnal Qatari evening, waiting for the lift doors to open and finally reveal the enigma he'd married. As if obeying his thoughts, the golden doors slid open, making Murtasim sit up on the sofa. The swish of royal blue on the floor had Murtasim standing up instinctively; very fibre in his body felt attuned to the movement of the fabric as it glided forward to reveal the hourglass figure of his wife. Five foot six inches of curves wrapped snugly in figure-hugging deep blue, the silk nipping in at her waist, lovingly caressing her full hips and then nipping in again just below her bottom. She looked good enough to eat. He took in every inch of his wife; beauty not admired was a sin, and Murtasim Khan was no sinner. At least in this regard.

She slowly walked out of the lift and stopped to stand in the middle of the lobby, her pink lips parted in concentration as she looked around for him. Buttoning his blazer, Murtasim flicked his cigarette into the ashtray, watching the amber glow fade away; he could get his dose of dopamine elsewhere now.

Meerab felt him before she heard him. And yet she stood where she was, not making a move around until she could almost feel the heat from his body reach hers. He was standing mere inches behind her, and she oddly felt engulfed by him.

"Happy anniversary wife."

She'd been right. He was standing so close that she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck and ear. Swallowing her sudden, irrational nervousness, Meerab turned around to face her husband of exactly two years and in the very next second, froze.

He looked handsome. The insanely good-looking, drool-worthy, Greek God kind of handsome. And Meerab felt like she was doing something naughty by having these thoughts. Murtasim had always been good-looking; she'd seen women eye him with naked admiration all her life and her friends had been willing to sell their kidneys just for an introduction. She'd always believed he was the kind of person Allah had blessed in all departments, yet to her, he'd always been just Murtasim. His appeal had been part of the package and knowing him all her life taken the attention away from that particular fact. Had he always been this handsome? She wasn't sure what it was, but he took her breath away tonight.

His face was sharper, the five-o-clock shadow on his jaw neatly groomed. His eyes had a spark, surprising for a man who'd just worked fourteen hours straight, and his hair was styled back, neater than usual. The dark check suit he wore set a delicious contrast against his white dress shirt, which highlighted his tanned throat and face. As the light from the massive chandeliers fell on them, his hair seemed more brown than black, with streaks of cappuccino merging with darker brown.

Lowering her eyes from his hair, Meerab's gaze collided with her husband's, who was now staring back at her with equal parts of intent and mirth. He'd seen her checking him out. Where was a hole when you needed one? Averting her eyes from his face, Meerab finally answered his greeting.

"Happy anniversary to you too."

His mouth curved into his half-smile before he held out a hand, gesturing towards Escala, the restaurant at the hotel.

"Shall we?"

When Meerab hesitated, he raised his eyebrows and waited as she wearily turned and looked back at him.

Chuckling at her hesitation, he came up behind her and lowered his face to her ear.

"Mai tumhe kha nahi jaonga Meerab. Andar khana hoga."

The mocking effect of his words was tempered by the proximity of his lips to the shell of her ear.

Appalled by the insinuation that she was scared, Meerab sharply turned her towards his voice, her nose almost brushing his as they came face-to-face. There was something in his eyes, something different; a change she couldn't put her finger on but it was causing all sorts of unrest within her. She'd been this man's wife for two years, in his close circle for all her life and he'd looked at her with a million expressions throughout the years. The way he was looking at her tonight was unlike any of those; an intensity glinted in his eyes, and she had no idea what he was feeling but it sure as hell made her feel a few inches taller and pushed her confidence up a few notches all while her tummy swirled with unrest.

Standing under the majestic chandelier, their bodies fed off each other's energies, her smoky lined eyes looking into his deep, mysterious ones, Meerab and Murtasim crossed a line with mutual understanding; the intense undercurrent emanating from Murtasim setting the tone for the night and Meerab's awareness and acceptance of it translating into one clear fact; they weren't the Meerab and Murtasim of the past tonight. This night was for Mr and Mrs Murtasim Khan, platonic frozen lakes be damned.

Escala was a wonder; so different to the bright and airy buffet hall, it was shrouded in an intimacy which enveloped you the moment you walked in through the huge glass doors. The entire architecture was glass and place glowed with reflection. The low lighting of the room was augmented only by the candlesticks illuminating each table and the smell of decadent oud brought a heady rush to the senses. Tables were significantly spaced apart with an open-water stream running straight through the middle of the restaurant floor creating a soothing background score as the water trickled gently along the passage.

They were led to their private table, which much to Meerab's surprise, was right next to the a tastefully equipped chef's station; her nervousness about being in complete privacy with him easily dispelled. Her chair was pulled out by the server and only then did Murtasim's hand, which until then had been on the small of her back, gently slid off as he helped her into her chair.

As he walked over to his own chair and sat down, talking to the waiter about the drink choices for the evening, Meerab was afforded a few moments to take him in and rearrange her thoughts. So, this was a date date. She was on a date with Murtasim. She was on a date with Murtasim? Wonders never ceased; the trajectory of their relationship really had up and exploded ever since they'd decided on this marriage. If you'd told Meerab about two and half years ago that she'd be in a seven star restaurant in an exotic city, dressed to the nines and on a date with Murtasim, she would've looked around for the 'Pranked' cameras. Her Mama's voice filtered into her head yet again; rait ki tarha waqt guzarta jaata hai aur humein pata hi nahi chalta ke hum kahan se kahan aagaye. Where they went next was what made Meerab's abdomen tighten and her breath hitch. Baby steps.

Dinner seemed to have taken a page out of the old Meerab and Murtasim's book; as one order was placed after the other, the French chef watched in amazement as Murtasim Khan, widely known as a man to be respected and feared in equal measures, smiled and indulged just about every single preposterous food combination his date ordered. The little half-smile never left his face when she brought a forkful of dynamite sushi to his mouth, his face without a crease as he swallowed the whole thing with eyes on her the whole time.

The companion, a young woman if Pierre looked past the makeup and sultry evening gown, was like a ray of sunshine in the hush-hush atmosphere of the restaurant. She giggled freely, her cheeks dimpling and eyes sparkling with joy as she watched their food be flipped and perform all sorts of acrobatics before being served to them. He could see why a man like Khan would be attracted to her; she was the soft curves to his hard edges, the giggles to his brooding demeanour, the innocence to his intensity. Not to mention just how insanely attractive she was; the curves on display alone were enough make a man salivate. Her crowning glory though, was her face; a marvellous mix of a sinfully symmetrical cut and youthful softness. Oh yes, Pierre could understand exactly why, for the first time in the six years he'd known the man, was Murtasim Khan romantically linking himself to a woman publicly.

The dessert prepared was enough for ten, and shared between the two; shared in such a way that had Murtasim tasting an item and then passing it onto Meerab, who finished it with gusto. He could only watch in amazed indulgence as his wife demolished her third and last cup of tiramisu, giving him that wide-eyed look which he now knew meant 'You're missing out'.

"Uff, lagta hai mai ek hafte tak kuch nai kha sakti ab."

Her head leaned back on the cushioned chair, Meerab panted as let her food settle, the dopamine rush of the experience making her feel like she floating. Murtasim was also sat back, chuckling as he took in her state.

"I highly doubt that. Tum aaj tak kabhi bemaar nahi huwi khanay se?" Murtasim tried to keep incredulity out of his voice, and for the most part failed.

A pink tongue poked out at him before she answered.

"Only the blessed can eat like this. MashaAllah bolo please."

If only she knew just how MashaAllah she looked right now.

"Arabic coffee?" he asked with a teasing lilt, but then you never knew with Meerab.

Her face scrunched up as she contemplated the offer; he could see the battle between being nauseatingly full and having the chance to try something new as she tilted her head, and he knew which would win even before she'd opened her mouth to speak; it was why he'd asked.

"I guess so..."

"Lekin idhar nahi. Kahin aur." His voice was low.

"Kahan?"

"Kahin aur..."

What was with the mystery? And why did that sound so ominous? Meerab debated whether it was a good idea to continue this little enchanting scenario they'd created for themselves in the past few hours. Practicality also nudged in as she remembered she had a six am start tomorrow.

"Kal mujhe bohat jaldi uthna hai. Six am training."

"Meri meeting bhi tab hi hai" There was the softest note of challenge in his voice, not strong enough for her to take the bait, but enough to pick up on.

"Haan to phir theek hai, kisi aur din coffee pee lein ge." Her hair shook around her head as her nods punctuated her words, trying hard to settle the matter.

She should've known better. Murtasim may be older and wiser, but he was also insanely want-driven at times; always had been thanks to the flame inside him. He also knew exactly how to get a response from her, a skill he exercised in the very next minute by turning up the teasing.

"Mujhse kehti ho mai middle-aged hu, aur khud ek late night se dar rahi ho? This is not the Meerab I thought I was taking out on this young, young night."

"Dar nahi rahi mai Murtasim, practically soch rahi hu. Its nearly twelve aur subha paanch bajay uthna hai humein."

His only response was a raised eyebrow and a challenging "Toh?"

When she started at him bewilderment, he leaned forward on the table and linked his fingers on the cream silk tablecloth, looking her straight in the eyes.

"I can do it. Can you?"

Hello my dears, hope you're all well. I really wanted to get the update to you sooner but alas. First, thank you so much for the love on the last chapter, it truly made me happy.

So Meerab & Murtasim have had their first date! Or at least part if it :D This was a long chapter & had to be split into two, so the remainder of the night will follow soon.

Also, something I wanted to write ever since I started this chapter was Meerab's POV when she sees MK for their date. I feel like we don't let women appreciate their men enough in our culture, on screen and in books, so Meerab admiring MK dressed up sharply and having a sizzle of awareness(as we usually write about men having) is my fave part of this chapter.

Photo inspo attached in the header, and lots of feedback please.

Till next time, D xo