Bickering Love

Chapter 1

Meerab stands before the kitchen counter, ready to embark on her culinary masterpiece. Her raven-black hair cascades down her back like a silken waterfall, occasionally flickering in front of her face, only to be gracefully swept aside by her slender fingers.

Her eyes, like two sparkling sapphires, twinkle with a mixture of artistic passion and an innate zest for life. They hold a captivating depth, mirroring her inner world brimming with dreams and imagination.

As she artfully decorates the salad, her hands move with the grace of a dancer, each movement deliberate and measured. She delicately arranges the carrot slices and paprika rings, not merely as ingredients but as strokes of color on a culinary canvas.

Her lips, a soft and inviting shade of plum, curl into a contented smile as she steps back to admire her creation. To Meerab, this is more than just assembling ingredients; it's an artistic expression, a manifestation of her love for beauty and aesthetics.

"Meerab!" Anila' voice echoes through the kitchen. Meerab jumps, sending a few carrot slices flying, as she turns from her artfully arranged salad to face her mother. Anila stands with her hands on her hips, her expression a mix of shock and dismay.

Anila's eyes flit from the burnt stir-fry to Meerab's paint-splattered apron. "What culinary masterpiece have you created now?" she exclaims.

Meerab's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I am sorry, Ammi! I was channeling my inner Picasso; I didn't notice the stove."

"Picasso ab jali hui khana khana hoga aapko." Anila throws a wiping cloth at Meerab, who narrowly dodges it. However, the cloth sails through the air, landing with an unexpected slap right on Haya's face, her cousin who happened to enter the kitchen at the wrong moment.

Haya blinks in surprise, her eyes wide like a startled deer, as the wiping cloth sticks to her face. Meerab stifles a giggle.

Meanwhile, the smoke from the burnt stir-fry has filled the kitchen, and both Haya and Meerab start coughing, waving their hands in front of their faces.

"Kya hua bhabhi?" Hiba, Haya's mother and Meerab's aunt, enters the kitchen with panic written all over her face.

Anila points dramatically to the burnt stir-fry. "Kuch nahi. Aaj sabko jali hui khana khana hoga, Hiba. Picasso to asal khana bhul ke salad mein lagi hui thi," she quips, drawing laughter from Haya, who's now removed the wiping cloth from her face.

"Exam hai na dono ko kal? Yaha kya kar rahe ho fir? Parai kar lo," Hiba scolds both Haya and Meerab.

Haya and Meerab leave the kitchen, still chuckling and reenacting their exaggerated coughs.

In a spacious and immaculately organized office at the heart of a bustling corporate world, Murtasim sits at the head of a polished mahogany table. His attire is the embodiment of professionalism - a crisply tailored suit, a silk tie, and an air of unwavering dedication to his work.

The meeting room is bathed in the soft glow of recessed lighting, casting a serious and focused ambiance. A large, gleaming window offers a view of the city's skyline, a reminder of the business empire that Murtasim oversees.

The room is filled with executives and department heads, each seated around the table with notebooks and laptops at the ready. Murtasim flips through a stack of meticulously prepared reports, his brows furrowing with concentration.

As the meeting progresses, the discussion flows in a sea of corporate jargon and strategic planning. Charts and graphs projected onto a screen at the front of the room illustrate revenue projections and market trends.

Murtasim occasionally interjects with succinct, insightful remarks that steer the conversation toward actionable solutions. His voice, calm and authoritative, resonates with a quiet confidence that commands the attention of everyone present.

"We're facing some challenges in the Asian market, Mr. Murtasim. The competition is fierce," one of the executives says.

"I see. Let's explore potential strategic partnerships to gain a foothold. Any suggestions?" Murtasim asks.

"Well, we've identified a few potential allies in the region..."

The meeting continues, with Murtasim's unwavering dedication evident in his commitment to addressing each issue methodically and thoroughly. His vision for the company and his dedication to its success are palpable, and the room buzzes with a sense of purpose.

The clock on the wall ticks steadily, but time seems to stand still in this world of corporate strategy. Murtasim's world revolves around this boardroom, where each decision shapes the future of the business empire he's been entrusted to lead.

As the meeting unfolds, Murtasim remains the unwavering anchor, guiding the ship of business through the complex waters of commerce. Every word, every number, and every decision made in this room is a testament to his dedication and the immense responsibility he bears as a successful businessman.

Meerab sits on the balcony, textbooks and notes scattered around her, looking like she's trying to decode the mysteries of the universe. Her brow furrows with intense concentration, as if the fate of the world hinges on her exam performance. The gentle breeze ruffles her hair, but she hardly notices, so immersed in her books.

On the other side of the balcony, Haya lounges in a comfortable chair, her phone in one hand, and a bag of chips in the other. She scrolls through social media, her face bathed in the soft glow of the screen. The sound of her laughter at a meme disrupts the quiet ambiance of the study session.

Just then, Meerab's older brother, Maiz, enters the balcony. He's a tall and well-built young man, with a serious demeanour. His neatly combed hair and stern expression make it clear that he means business. He is the sensible guy in the family. His opinion matters in the family.

"Haya, why are you wasting your time on your phone when the exams are just around the corner?" Maiz asks in stern tone.

Haya looks up, startled by Maiz's sudden appearance, her packet of chips flying in the air. She quickly tucks her phone away and offers an apologetic smile.

"I was just taking a... uh, mental break. You know, to recharge my brain."

Meerab chuckles at Haya's reply.

"A mental break? I think you need a break from your mental break."

Maiz raises an eyebrow, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Bhai, parai kar rahi thi Haya. Abhi break liya tha," Meerab comes to the rescue of her cousin.

"Breaks are fine, but you should be studying more diligently. Exams are not a joke, and your grades matter." With that, Maiz leaves his two younger sisters to their studies. Haya exhales in relief, her hand still clutched to her chest.

"Haya, tu toh marte marte bach gayi," Meerab teases, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Haya rolls her eyes and grins. "You have no idea, Meerab. Maiz can be scarier than any exam."

They both share a laugh, relieved that they can continue their studies without the looming presence of their disciplinarian brother.