Jism ke samandar mein
Ik leher jo thehri hai
Isme thori harkat honay do...

Splash! Meerab watched the pebble skip on the surface of the water until it disappeared into its dark depths. The gentle sea breeze passed through, creating ripples on the water's moonlit surface. A shiver ran down her body and she felt goose bumps pop up on her arms. Running a hand down the silk of her sleeves, Meerab took a deep breath; the weather was pleasant, but somehow being on the open water was making her feel chilly.

If peace could've been a moment, it would've been this; they said the water was a formidable enemy, but its deceptive stillness had a seductive beauty which put a blanket of tranquillity over Meerab's heart.

Though never would she have imagined that she'd be standing on a multimillion-pound yacht somewhere in the Persian Gulf in the middle of the night; it was too grand a scenario, but she was rapidly finding out that nothing was too grand when it came to her husband.

Despite having grown up in luxury and having been surrounded by the Khan wealth all her life, Meerab was somewhat in awe of just how much wealth Murtasim had accumulated; his palatial penthouse, or what she'd seen of it that one night, this yacht, the way he seemed to have flourishing businesses even here in the Middle East and how everyone waited hand and foot on him; it screamed immense privilege, and such privilege was almost always accompanied by an outrageously spectacular net-worth.

A temporary pause in the breeze flowing from behind her had the hair on her neck rising. A moment later, she felt his warm heat as he came to stand behind her. She didn't know how he did it again and again, but his presence enveloped her without any physical touch; Meerab didn't know when her innate response to Murtasim had blossomed from innocent consciousness to this abdomen-tightening, breath-hitching and mind-boggling business which had started recently; it was turning out to be an inconvenience actually. What did one do with these feelings when the recipient was one's own estranged husband, who they had no grand love story with?

In the time taken for Meerab to yet again rearrange her newfound feelings, Murtasim had come to stand beside her on the edge of the deck. Looking down at her, he felt his face involuntarily soften; a reaction he had now come to associate exclusively with his wife. The crown of her head shone in the moonlit night, and certain highlighted parts of her face shimmered from the low-lighting on the deck.

Murtasim Khan could safely say that tonight, finally, he was able to breathe easy. He could look at his wife in the way she deserved to be admired, and other than a slight confusion at how fast his feelings had changed gears, all he felt was the mystique and awareness which came with surprising, newfound passion. It felt exhilarating; no more restraint, no more shifting of the eyes when his thoughts entered dangerous territory and most importantly, no more feeling like she deserved better than to have her life be changed in such drastic way just for him. The last point stemmed from the confidence that they could make this work. Their marriage didn't have to be tepid; Murtasim was fast becoming aware that it could just as easily be molten lava, if only they'd breach the distance created between them and let the slow burn finally singe the surface.

She turned to him with a smile which was in equal parts warm and cautious.

"Paani hai, yacht hai, hum hain, lekin Arabic coffee kahan hai?" her voice was teasing.

"On the way. Tab tak ek aur kaam hai."

When she raised eyebrow, her eyes sparkling, he reached behind and grabbed something from the deck chair. Meerab's brows knitted together as he held her arm and pulled her closer to place something on her head. Then turning her around, he led her to the lounge area in the middle of the deck, coming to stand in front of a floor length mirror on one of the makeshift walls. A delighted chuckle escaped Meerab as she looked at herself.

"Ab ye kya hai?" her words were engulfed by an indulgent chuckle.

He raised his eyebrows in return as his eyes filled with mirth and his mouth tilted up slowly in that half-smile.

"Equality."

Meerab let out a laugh as she straightened her new accessory; a Captain's hat.

"Mai plane mai Captain hu, tum yahan pe ban jao. For tonight."

Turning around, she pouted her lower lip whilst tilting her head to the side.

"Oh please, ye rookha sookha Captain ban ne mai mujhe koi maza nahi aaraha."

Her words were uttered in jest, but she let out gasp as his hand took hers and started leading her back out onto the exposed deck, shaking his head with his lips turned up in that expression of indulgence which he'd bestowed upon her often.

Giggling all the way to the yacht's controls, Meerab squirmed in childish delight when her husband tried putting her on the Captain's leather seat, her head shaking as his hand went to turn the yacht on.

"Murtasim! Stop it, mai mazaak kar rahi thi. I can't drive this!"

Her words were punctuated by endless giggles as she tried to free herself from the circle of his arm whilst reaching forward and pulling back his other hand from the controls.

All he did was hum in denial and tightened his arm around her waist, his back flush against hers, but the two of them were too lost in the hilarity of the moment to realise their sheer proximity. It wasn't long until awareness seeped in.

In a swift move, Murtasim stepped back and twisted them around so that Meerab's body was now away from the seat and his own was closer to it. Taking a step back, he gracefully slid into the seat and Meerab could only watch as she felt herself being hoisted up from the side and put straight onto his lap, her feet dangling in the air because of the heightened position of the seat. As Murtasim adjusted his legs to face the steering wheel and control panel, Meerab felt herself slip deeper into his lap and her hand reached out to grab the large wooden steering wheel in front of her for support.

It could only be described as one of those moments in which everything happens so swiftly that you have no time to react, and by the time you realise the predicament you're in, it feels too late to protest; it was either reservation or pure shyness, but Meerab for the life of her couldn't do anything but sit still as her husband got himself comfortable, one hand already tight around her waist from when he'd pulled her up and the other coming to lay a hot imprint on her thigh.

The 'go with the flow' mentality clearly wasn't working here, because acting as if this was entirely normal and that her sitting in his lap being so intimately close to him was just like any regular interaction they ever had was somehow making the situation seem more forbidden. She shuffled up on his lap, swinging her feet into the area below the steering wheel, and as her heeled feet came to rest on his dress shoes, she felt him still.

It had been exactly fifteen seconds since she'd landed in his lap and so far hadn't uttered the loud protest he'd been expecting. So they were taking the 'play it cool' route; fine by him as long as she stayed exactly where she was. As he sat back, entirely comfortable with his wife's delicious weight on him, he saw her move her feet into the foot-rest, and froze. Was that...? Her legs were out of view too quickly for him to confirm his doubts, and he could be wrong, but it seemed his wife had a little surprise accessory on her tonight.

They'd already spent three hours together and she hadn't mentioned them, and was wearing clothing which totally hid their existence, so Murtasim was willing to bet that this was a sudden whim, one she didn't intend for him to discover. Well too bad. He wasn't in the habit of denying himself his gratifications, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Ready Captain?"

His voice was low and husky, coming from right behind her ear and Meerab willed her body to relax. Inhale. Exhale. Gulping down her hesitance, Meerab peered at him from over her shoulder.

"Mai kissi bhi cheez ko haath nahi laga rahi. I do not want to die tonight."

Chuckling, he leaned forward, bringing his back against hers.

"Bilkul mushkil nahi hai. Watch me."

The right hand around her waist loosened and went to a red button next to the wheel. His hand pushed the button and the very next moment a powerful buzz echoed around them, the giant machine vibrating from underneath as it purred to life. He went about adjusting the controls with ease; it was clear from his movements that he was technical man, his long fingers worked with the familiarity of a seasoned professional.

Meerab watched, her back curved into his and her right shoulder frozen as his chin rested on it, as his brows knitted in concentration whilst his eyes darted all over the panel. She didn't dare move an inch; movement was dangerous because as it was, they were already cheek to cheek. Meerab had always thought his signature scent was what caused the tightening of that little knot in her tummy. It wasn't. Up close, his perfume mixed with the natural scent and warmth emanating from body was probably what lethal potions were made up of. The perfume was just a layer of aroma which you'd experience from afar. This close, he smelt an altogether different type of delicious and it was surprising because Meerab realised she had never, in her twenty-three years, had been this close to him. This seemed be an evening of firsts.

"So Captain, what's the plan?"

Her back vibrated when he spoke and she felt his hands stroke a path down her arms until he picked up her hand and placed them on the steering wheel.

"Murtasim-"

"Shh...I got you. Peechay hojao."

When Meerab realised it was indeed his hands on hers on the steering which seemed to be in control, she allowed herself to lean back into her husband and watched as he took her right hand, engulfed in his, onto a gearstick, slowly shifting the lever up, resulting in the whirring sounds coming from under them to increase. She would've missed it had the water not started loudly lapping around the contours of the yacht; they were moving.

All at once, the breeze gently hit their faces and the feeling of effortlessly floating took over. Meerab had had her reservations but they were chucked out so fast it made her head spin; her giggles could be heard all over the Qatari strip of the Persian Gulf as she urged Murtasim to go faster. He indulged her, keeping one hand on the gear at all times, the other settled around her silk-clad waist.

Meerab had complete control of the wheel for a while and she loved it. The feeling of utter exhilaration as they glided along the dark abyss of the water was addictive and so freeing. The sweet, cool breeze pierced the straight hair falling around her shoulders and a slight turn of her told her that it was blowing gently across Murtasim's face.

A snapshot of them would've depicted a delighted Meerab with her eyes sparkling in joy, her dimples so deeply indented they looked sketched on, and even in the dark, Murtasim's intense gaze, stuck on his wife, would've been visible to the naked eyes. Removing her hair from his face, Murtasim frowned; her hair smelt the same as it always did. But she didn't. Straightening his back so that he could curve closer into her, Murtasim took a deep breath from her neck and realised this wasn't how his wife smelt; where were the strawberries?

"Tumne perfume change kiya hai?"

It took Meerab a second to come out of her excited daze and register his words; what a peculiar question. As she thought about the answer, her mind flashed back to the hurried frenzy she'd gotten ready in; he hadn't given her much time to get ready for a fancy evening, but she'd made do. The last thing she remembered was hurriedly grabbing the airline's standard Chanel bottle from the marbled vanity in the bathroom and spritzing it all over herself before heading out of the door.

She tsked in denial and shook her head, her hair sending waft of sweet strawberry through Murtasim's senses. The only saving grace.

"Nahi toh."

"That's Chanel." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"Yes...and?"

"You smell like an air-hostess."

Meerab let out a laugh, her head snapping back and brushing his shoulder as the giggles raided her body.

"Murtasim. I am an air-hostess."

"Not right now you're not. Abhi Meerab ho, meri biwi."

His voice held a note of authority; a strange and almost silly possessiveness at being given a reminder of the practicalities of their lives through something as inconsequential as her perfume. Meerab picked up on the 'meri biwi' and the slight change in his voice; it took on a huskier quality and brought her down from her excited stupor. As always, her first instinct in his proximity was to diffuse the undercurrent between them.

"Filhal to mai iss yacht ki Captain hoon."

Her voice and light and sweet as she toched the hat on her head, and he allowed the change of topic.

"Hmm, yes you are Captain..."

He left his sentence unfinished on purpose, giving her the choice of surname; something which seemed to be topic of discussion between them.

After a beat, she replied in true Meerab style.

"Meerab. That's Captain Meerab to you Captain Khan."

She looked over her shoulder, dimples display in all their glory, and promptly remembered why she hadn't done this for as long as she'd sat there; his face was now so close that his nose skimmed hers and their breaths met in the middle of the distance and merged, neither of them knowing where their own breath ended and the other's began. His eyes though, they unnerved her. He looked her right in the eyes and wasn't moving back, his head resolutely staying in place as he his eyes, just about visible in the low deck lights, darkened, and turned almost black.

"Meerab."

Meerab didn't know if it was in response to her last sentence or if he'd just uttered name in the moment, but he said it like it was a holy word, the one word drenched with reverence and something else she couldn't quite identify.

Their hot breaths were a sharp contrast to the cool breeze around them, encasing them in a bubble as Murtasim looked at his wife. So, so beautiful; a literal goddess stared back at him with those big brown eyes, pouty lips, shimmering Cupid's bow and glowing complexion; it was the face of an angel. Just how blind had he been? How had he not felt this before? How had they, two people who'd spent nearly every summer together, managed to skim past the underlying tension between them and have a totally nonchalant relationship?

They were either seriously strong-willed or serious fools, because Murtasim wasn't born yesterday. The kind of awakenings he'd had regarding his wife were not everyday occurrences for anyone; the pangs of feelings so intense it made his throat dry up. And Murtasim decided he didn't want to be parched any longer.

Meerab gulped down the eruption of ripples in her tummy as her breathing deepened. Neither of them had moved a millimetre since she'd turned her head and yet the moment seemed to have gotten heavier with passing moment until it was now drenched with awareness. She could've turned away long ago; it would've dispelled the moment and they would've carried on with their little game of playing it cool. But it was too late now; he'd caught her with his eyes and had seen that she knew. He knew that she knew exactly what was happening here and what he seemed to want from her. He moved a fraction, the slightest movement, but it was the direction of movement which had Meerab taking a laboured breath; he was moving towards her. His nose brushed hers so closely that it sent shivers down Meerab body, and the warm breath she let out touched his face, making him slowly blink. His hand tightened around her mid-section and the other hand slid up from her knee to the side of her of thigh, stopping just below her hip. In that moment, there seemed to be thermometer in front of Meerab's eyes; its line of mercury got higher with each passing beat and it took Murtasim leaning just the tiniest bit in for Meerab to realise the thermometer was about combust. Her next actions were pure fight or flight.

The sudden splash had Murtasim finally, after what seemed an eternity, tearing his gaze away as he looked out into the sea, his eyes rapidly losing their drunken glaze with each blink. The jerk which had come a second before the splash was registered after the noise, and Meerab realised she had steered the wheel so sharply that the yacht had changed course. Her grip loosened as Murtasim's hand came to wheel, his eyes taking in their surroundings as he steered the vehicle back on course with one hand.

It afforded Meerab a few precious moments to turn her face away and breathe easy after the longest few minutes of her life. Closing her eyes provided no relief because his face, as close as it had been to hers, flashed in her head so vividly it had her popping her eyes in panic. She felt Murtasim take in a deep breath as his chest expanded against her back, his hands loosening on the wheel, and she realised they were now facing Doha again, its glittering skyline providing extra light which Meerab really didn't need or appreciate at this particular moment. What did they do now? How was she supposed to look at him after that? Would they really have...?

The easy answer was to not face him altogether. With her eyes lowered, Meerab clung to her playing it cool mantra like a fish did to water; it was the only way she was going to get off this damned boat with her dignity intact. Murtasim seemed to agree because he didn't push; one hand loose on the wheel and the other still cupping her thigh, he shifted slightly and sat back, his chest moving into her back with each breath. The silence stretched as they sailed back to shore, the ironic picture of the two of them sat so intimately yet with, what felt like miles between them.

Somewhere just before they reached the coast, Meerab unconsciously let her hand wonder, only realising it when it hit the wooden steering wheel. Looking at where her hand was placed, her brows knitted as she tried to make out the tiny writing in the side the wood; it looked like four words, written in black cursive font and almost invisible in the dim lighting. Her curiosity made it impossible for her to not lean down to try and read it, and she felt Murtasim's arm tighten around her tummy as he pulled her back, most probably thinking she was slipping.

They say curiosity killed the cat, and they said correctly, because Meerab, in her wretched curiosity put a hand on his arm to stop him from pulling her back and leaned down again, her face coming almost touching the wheel, with Murtasim leaning in behind her to stop her from toppling over.

Upon realising exactly what she was doing, he tightened his arm once again and pulled her right into his chest, but not before Meerab had had a chance to complete her task. They spoke at the same time, his voice wry and hers coloured with curiosity.

"The Flower of Paradise."

Meerab, seconds away from turning yet again to ask him about her latest discovery, remembered just in time that the action would seriously violate her play it cool mantra again. Why couldn't she just shut up? Pressing her lips together, she sat still, facing forwards as though the last few minutes hadn't just occurred. Maybe he'd also play the game and let it go. She jumped when his voice sent vibrations through his body and into hers.

"It's the name. Of the yacht."

Meerab could only manage a throat-clearing and a hmm as the yacht finally reached shore with Murtasim turning technical again as he used one hand to turn the yacht around and steer it into the allocated parking bay in reverse, with its front facing the water.

Meerab would've been off his lap the second the engine turned off, but his arm was like a steel band around her mid-section, one which tightened as the engine whirred down and left only the sound of waves slapping each other. Meerab waited. And waited. He didn't let go; his arm not tightening yet curved with obvious intent, as is he was waiting for something. That or he was savouring the moment; their moment; which, as soon as they left the boat, would disappear into the ether.

Meerab waited; her back ram-rod straight and her legs already out of the foot-rest area and hanging mid-air in front of the step which led the Captain's seat. After forever and a day it seemed, Murtasim loosened his arm, his hand uncurving from around her side, but didn't fully remove his arm. Was it a choice? Was she supposed to remove it herself? Did she dare touch him again though? Why was all this so hard?

Her body made the choice for her as she leaned forward and shuffled, sighing in relief as he let his hand slip off and snake up to her hand as he helped her step down from the seat. She was turned away from him the whole time, walking a few steps further onto the deck as she busied herself in taking off the Captain's hat and straightening her dress and hair.

She continued to do so whilst he checked the control panel one last time and slid off the seat, taking a look around the yacht to make sure everything was in order before they left. She felt him walk towards the section of the deck they eneterd from and looked up to see his back as he walked down the stairs on the side.

Frowning in confusion, Meerab looked around before walking after him, only to see that he was now off the yacht and standing on the concerte platform of the parking bay. Her frown deepening even more, Meerab could only watch as the caretaker came forward to greet Murtasim. Meerab took off her heels and carefully climbed down the steps on the side of the yacht as she watched Murtasim hand over some keys to the man and shake his hand. The man was gone by the time she reached the bottom of the steps, but then she was stuck.

Murtasim watched as his wife came to a stop on the last step; he was a gentleman and would've laid out himself if it meant helping her cross the gap between the step and the platform, but there was something he needed to do first. His little tease of a wife had managed to avert their kiss without much effort, but this was something he wasn't going to go to bed without seeing. The peek he'd seen when she'd been stepping up onto the seat was still fresh in his mind and he would find out if he was right even if it was the last thing he did tonight. And so he put his hands in his pockets and waited.

Meerab peered down at her infuriating husband from her vantage point and then looked around for another way out; there was none. She needed to step from the yacht onto the platform, but the steep gap was so deep that there was no way she was going to make it; at least not while looking like a lady. Why wasn't he stepping forward and offering his hand? What kind of next-level badtameezi was this?

Well Meerab wasn't a damsel in distress who would wait around; she'd just have to bring the knight in shining armour to her. He currently seemed too busy being as ass. Direct and to the point as always, Meerab lifted an arm in the air as she looked at him properly for the first time since then. She watched as he slowly came forward and then stopped just inches away from her, the gap being the only between them. And then did absolutely nothing. He just stood there and looked at her with a mysterious look glinting in his eyes.

At this point, he could just fall headfirst into the gap and Meerab would happily climb back up and spend the night on board the yacht. Badtameez, besharam aadmi. Raising her eyebrows sharply in question, Meerab moved her hand in a 'what?' gesture, annoyed at being stranded and also at the fact that she needed help. In the middle of giving him another dirty expression, Meerab stopped as he slowly moved forward, and she raised her arm again, anticipating leaning down to put it on his shoulder. The insufferable man confused her again as he kept himself just out of reach, and when her arm finally dropped, he stepped up to the edge of the platform so that his shoulders were parallel with her knees.

And then did something which nearly made her fall headfirst into the dark water below. Keeping his eyes on hers, his hand slowly came up to her feet and after pausing for just a beat, he curled his fingers around her ankles, still clad in the silk hem of her dress, and began to slide his hand under the hem. Meerab's breath rushed out as the first hot touch of his fingers singed her bare foot. Suddenly, his hand was doing the exact movement and the night of the mayoun flashed into her mind; the way his fingers had grazed her ankles, how he'd pushed her churidaar up her leg, how he'd stroked the skin there before putting the pazaib on.

With a gasp, Meerab felt her body jerk as she pulled her leg back, but it was too late. She looked down as his hand grabbed onto her ankle as he pushed the hem of the dress up with his other hand. He looked up and Meerab swallowed. Hard. His gaze held an intense triumphant shine as his fingers grazed the pazaib on her ankles now. Meerab looked away and shut her eyes, her breathing laboured as embarrassment gave way to those little ripples in her tummy which she was now well aware of. She had known wearing them was a bad idea. In fact, taking them out of her 'Murtasim' box and bringing them here had been a bad idea. Wearing them tonight had been downright idiotic. She'd been seized by an irrational and frankly soppy surge of sentiment as she'd been getting ready, and in a moment of weakness, had taken them out of their maroon velvet pouch and put them on thinking they'd be hidden anyway. Oh, why was she like this? And why was she like this around this man? Anyone but him.

Murtasim watched the gold bands shine as he stroked the chains on her ankles; as always, his gut instinct hadn't let him down. He didn't know why seeing the anklets hooked around her smooth skin gave him such a kick, but the sight of them had his heart racing in ways so far unachieved by any cardio he'd ever tried. She was wearing them; they were completely out of character for her outfit choice and the evening, and yet here they were, glinting around his wife's pretty ankles.

Deciding he'd teased her enough and having satisfied himself, Murtasim gave her ankle one last stroke before removing his hand and letting her dress fall down around her feet. Taking one last inhale of her as the wind caused the hem of her dress to float around, he stepped back and raised a hand in the air, signalling the caretaker of the yacht.

Meerab watched in sheer indignation as the yacht suddenly moved and was slowly brought closer to the platform, making the steep gap seem much more manageable. With her mouth hanging open, she saw Murtasim turn around and wave a thank you at the caretaker, who seemed to have anchored the yacht and had used some sort of electrical pulling mechanism to pull at the yacht using the ropes attached to it. Then her husband turned to her and held out a hand.

"Shall we?"

Grabbing his hand, Meerab used her weight to shove him to the side as flounced down onto the platform, dropping his hand and walking up the sandy path to the hotel as soon as her feet had touched land. She felt herself scowling so deep that she was sure it going to be permanently imprinted on her face.

The nerve of the man.

Making her wait and then rudely ousting her private pazaib-wearing; if she'd wanted it to be public knowledge she would've let it be known. But no, he had to go hunting around under her dress. An exasperated huff left her mouth as her legs moved as fast as her dress allowed. They'd taken a long, sandy path from the hotel onto the coast and Meerab was just glad that it was one straight path; she did not want to add search and rescue to Murtasim's list of amusement as her expense tonight.

The lights of the hotel got nearer and nearer until she reached the stone arch and alcove they had walked out from. She realised she was barefoot when the freezing marble hit her feet, but even that wasn't going to slow her down. Walking straight through and making a beeline for the lobby, her dress swished around her feet as she stopped in front of the East-side lifts and pressed the button on the panel. A twist of her head had her see the concierge who was now watching her with curious eyes. Well, he could just watch on silently if he knew what was good for him.

The dull thuds of dress shoes had her back straightening as she looked up the numbers on the panel on above the lift. The thuds got closer and then stopped.

"Everything alright Captain Khan?"

His voice was low and throaty when he spoke.

"Just fine Saleh. Was just looking for something."

Saleh moved his wide eyes from the Captain to the gorgeous but highly strange woman waiting for the lift. They'd left together, but there was no way this woman was spending a minute more with Captain Khan. A chuckle rose up in his chest, promptly squashed but enjoyed nonetheless; so it wasn't just mere mortals like him who couldn't seem to get this dating thing right. If a man like Captain Khan couldn't crack it, then who was he to expect success soon? He turned away from the desk, giving the couple some privacy.

The lift doors chimed open and Meerab stepped in, her hand going to the floor numbers on the panel even before she was fully inside. Finger still on the button, she finally looked up and met his eyes from across the grand lobby. Her brows furrowed as he cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, as if mocking her. Most traitorous of all was her silly tummy, tightening as she took him in. The lift chimed and Meerab stuck out her chin and raised her own eyebrows in challenge as the lift doors slid shut.

As she closed her bedroom door behind her, Meerab chucked her heels to one side and rolled her shoulders back; you'd think she'd done some sort of extreme sport with the way her body was stiff in places. Placing a hand on her lower abdomen to settle the tightened muscles inside, she closed her eyes and walked further to stand in the middle of the open space. Deep breaths. Inhale. Exhale.

The evening swirled around in her mind as she focused on her breathing, her hand still on her tummy. She'd just taken her fifth breath in when her eyes shot open.

The Flower of Paradise

An image of her mother flashed into her head; young and smiling down with love at a little Meerab. 'Meerab ka matlab Jannat ka phool. Jo ke meri beti hai.'

The Flower of Paradise

Meerab abruptly turned to her side to face the floor length mirror opposite her bed. She looked different. Something about her was different and she couldn't figure out what. Her chest rose and fell with her laboured breathing and her eyes were wide open. She saw her throat dance as she swallowed and then licked her lips.

He'd named his yacht after her? When? And why?

As she looked at the reflection staring back at her, Meerab realised her anger had saved her from finding out how this night would've ended had they continued in their little bubble, playing their game.

Running a soothing hand over her mid-section, Meerab reached back to unzip her dress. Giving herself one long look before the dress fell to the floor, she took a deep breath and reiterated what she'd advised herself of earlier in the evening.

Baby steps.

Hello my dear readers. Happy MeerAsim reading!

First of all, I have just found out that the inspo photos I keep going on about were never uploaded due to some technical glitches😭 I love making those photo inspos for you guys so that made me really sad. I have now added all the inspos in the headers of the previous chapters for anyone who wants to see. Also pls let me know if you can see them and this chapter's photo header.

Meerab's pazaib/payal have only solid gold spheres hanging from it, I couldn't find a closer pic.

Onto the chapter; I tried not to let you guys wait too long. In the end, I ended up writing this all night long whilst waiting for updates from my husband, who's on a business trip and spent the night in the emergency department, so please forgive any errors.

I hope you enjoy the MeerAsim slow burn- I know no kiss, don't cancel me, but as Meerab said, baby steps😋

Feedback please, and I loved, loved reading your comments and theories on the last chapter.

Till next time, D xo