The evening had started off like any other grand family function in Khan Haveli. The air buzzed with excitement, laughter, and the chatter of distant relatives, some of whom Murtasim hadn’t seen in years. The living room was adorned with fresh marigolds, the smell of sandalwood incense lingering in the air. Long, decorative rugs were spread across the floors, and servants carried trays of steaming samosas and glasses of chai, carefully weaving their way through clusters of guests.
Murtasim sat on the large, plush armchair near the fireplace, looking every bit the confident head of the family. His dark sherwani, intricately embroidered with gold thread, perfectly contrasted with the traditional decor of the room. He was watching over the event with a quiet satisfaction, happy to see his family in high spirits. Meerab, on the other hand, was seated on the far side of the room with Mariyam and Maa Begum, her maroon dupatta draped elegantly over her shoulder. She seemed content, occasionally laughing at Mariyam’s jokes and catching Murtasim’s eye from across the room with a soft smile.
But this tranquil evening was about to take an unexpected turn.
Just as Murtasim picked up his cup of chai, a woman he recognized as a distant cousin of his late father entered the room. She was draped in a deep green sari, her heavy gold jewelry clinking with every movement. Her eyes scanned the room with sharp determination, and they landed on Meerab. Murtasim felt a strange unease creep up his spine as the woman, Mrs. Nasreen, made a beeline towards him, her face lighting up with delight as she approached.
“Murtasim beta!” she called out, her bangles jingling with excitement as she clasped his hand. “It’s been so long! How tall and handsome you’ve grown. Last time I saw you, you were this tiny!” She gestured with her hand, reminiscing about a time that Murtasim had no memory of.
Murtasim forced a polite smile. “Ji, Mrs. Nasreen, it has been a while. How have you been?”
Mrs. Nasreen waved off his question, her gaze already fixated on Meerab, who was oblivious to the approaching storm. She leaned closer to Murtasim and whispered, “Who is that beautiful girl sitting with Mariyam and Bhabhi Begum? Is she your younger sister? Oh, she’s such a lovely sight!”
Murtasim blinked, momentarily thrown off by her assumption. “Uh, that’s Meerab—”
But before he could clarify, Mrs. Nasreen interrupted, clasping her hands together dramatically. “I knew it! I just knew it! Such grace and beauty, she must be from the family! Oh, Murtasim, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect!” She punctuated her excitement by squeezing his arm.
Murtasim, who had dealt with countless negotiations, land disputes, and difficult people, suddenly found himself at a complete loss for words. “I… I’m sorry, I’m not sure what—”
“Oh, don’t be modest!” Mrs. Nasreen cut him off again, beaming as if she had just found a rare diamond. “I’ve been looking for the perfect match for my son, and this—” She pointed dramatically toward Meerab, who was now laughing at something Mariyam had said, oblivious to the fact that she was being appraised like a bride-to-be. “—this is fate! This is destiny!”
Murtasim’s blood froze. “Wait, what? No, no—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Mrs. Nasreen spun on her heel, making a beeline for Maa Begum, Anwar, and Mariyam, who were now engaged in conversation with Meerab. Murtasim, with wide eyes, followed her as she made her grand approach, feeling like a man walking into a disaster he couldn’t prevent.
Maa Begum raised an eyebrow as Mrs. Nasreen greeted her enthusiastically. “Bhabhi Begum, Anwar Bhai, I have such wonderful news! I couldn’t be happier to make this request in front of the family.”
