Trigger Warnings: discussion of death, past trauma, violence, crimes, mental health, grief
Notes: Some of my law stuff is inaccurate. This fanfiction is not meant to glorify the real people, and is based on the characters and actors featured in Dhurandhar 1 & 2.
Previous chapters are available on my page.
Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!
Enjoy and share your thoughts in the comments!!
PSA: The poem used in this chapter is not mine. It is by poet Ahmad Faraz and I got it from this video.
I imagine Uzair's voice reciting this poem.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moG8DKhvq3g
Taglist: @twinblueflamee @maladaptive-anxiety @savagedrama @khlomoneyyyy4 @whyishekinda @miraclejin1204 @diyak11 @imrankaunbsdk @wackyaussiegiraffes @precioussophia
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“Bhai jaan, ek aur round dena hamien.” Nayab asked the man at the pani puri stand. You both were standing at the side of the dusty street, enjoying the minty snack filled with plenty of vegetables and chickpeas. (Brother, can you please give us another round?)
After the next - and last round, Nayab being a man of his word, took you to another stand where a friendly man was frying fresh, bright orange jalebis, and then dipping them in sugary syrup before handing both of you a newspaper roll filled with the pretzel shaped dessert. You took a bite and groaned.
“Haye. It’s been so long since I’ve had street style jalebis like this. Mujhe tou aapna bachpan yaad agaya hai.” You said in between bites. Nayab glanced at you, and smiled. (I feel like I’m reliving my childhood by eating these jalebis).
You both had been surfing the streets of Karachi, enjoying a mix of different foods that he promised you as per the date. He had picked you up at noon on Saturday, wearing a simple black pathani shalwar kameez, with a nice watch that gleamed when the light hit it, and his hair styled back. You had also dressed to impress, wearing a light pink farshi shalwar suit, with silver embroidery and matching jewelry, including jhumkas, churiyan and a payal.
“Mujhe tou lagta hai ke aaj tou sugar rush ho ga. Main bhi Shahmir ke saath baccho ki tarha kehlungi.” You said. He laughed. (I feel like I’m going to have a sugar rush. Maybe I’ll go home and play like a child with Shahmir).
“It’s okay. Time se time aise sab ko let loose hona chahiye. Waise, filhal se aapka sab se favorite jagah konsi hai?” He asked. (Everyone should let loose every once in a while. Which place has been your favorite so far?)
“Hm, sochna parega.” (Hm, I’ll have to think about it).
“Acha?” (Really?) He raised his eyebrows.
“Haan! Abhi tou aur bhi kitna jagah par lekar gana hai aapne!!” You teased him, taking another bite of the delicious jalebi. (Yes! There are still so many places you have to take me before I decide).
Twenty minutes later, both of you were at a local falooda shop, where Nayab was animatedly telling you about the time he and his mates pranked their senior training officer at the police academy by dunking water on him in the middle of the night, disguised as common thieves.
You were laughing so hard, you began to snort.
“Once they found out it was us, we were punished for a whole two months!” He exclaimed, laughing loudly.
“What kind of punishment?” You asked.
“We were assigned to do everyone’s dirty laundry, and do triple the amount of drills compared to the rest of the police cadets.”
“Oof, that sounds difficult.”
“Yeah, but it was great.” He sobered up.
“So what made you want to join the police?” You asked, taking a bite of your falooda.
“My father was a police officer. A DSP.”
“Oh, nice. I didn’t know that.”
“He was killed in an encounter when I was a child.” He said somberly. “It was right after Kareem was born. It was devastating, of course.”
“Did they find out who did it?”
“It was Rehman Baloch. Back then, he was just a simple street gangster with a lot more loyalists and firepower without the sanitized political cover. He was never held accountable, obviously. Neither of the Baloch brothers have ever been held accountable for killing police officers. Until now.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that, Nayab.”
“I grew up too fast after that. But, it’s why I choose to wear the police uniform every day. To honor my father’s legacy.” He said.
“I respect that.” You said.
“It’s similar to how you became a prosecutor like your father.” He noted.
“Yup! Only Amir decided to join the police. He claimed that being a lawyer was too boring. He wanted to be on the action side of the law.” You said, imitating his deep voice. He chuckled.
“But like you, Amir grew up too fast after our mother’s death. He wasn’t always the serious, responsible older brother you see now.” You said solemnly. “Should I tell you about the time he beat up some guys who were harassing me in college?”
“Neki, aur puch puch?” (Good deeds need no permission). He said, smirking.
Nayab slurped his falooda noodles, listening intently as you narrated Amir’s Bollywood style heropanti as he, being the dutiful older brother, protected you from a couple guys harassing you and other girls at your college. It was not long after that he started getting proposals from so many girls who were impressed by his valiant display of chivalry and met Zobia, who was a teaching assistant at the time.
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With your legal pad in hand, you headed up to the conference room. Husayn sahab had called a meeting to discuss the ongoing case.
As you walked into the room, Husayn sahab and Nayab were sitting there, deep in conversation. You smiled and greeted them quietly before taking a seat next to Hafsa, who was already going through her notes. You felt Nayab’s eyes trailing you and looked up to catch him. He winked at you before looking away.
You smiled to yourself before starting to review your notes.
“Um, what was that? Did I just see the SP wink at you?” Hafsa whispered into your ear.
“We kinda went on a date over the weekend.” You whispered back.
“What?! You lucky sali. Mujhe kis waqt batane wali thi tum?” (When were you going to tell me?)
“I don’t know. If things got serious?” You shrugged. “It’s just one date, relax.”
“One date with the hottest and most eligible bachelor in all of Karachi! Don’t try to undersell this, sali.” She hissed, nudging you in the side.
Before you could say anything, Asif slipped into the seat on the other side of you.
“What are you two hens gossiping about?” He asked, whispering.
“Kuch nahi.” (Nothing). You said at the same time that Hafsa said, “She went on a date with SP Nayab Adam!!”
His eyes widened. “Whoa! Yeh wala Nayab Adam?” (This Nayab Adam?) He asked, pointing a finger under the table towards where Nayab and Husayn sahab were still talking.
“Nahi. Woh mere saath wala parosi hain na, Nayab Adam, usse se.” Hafsa remarked sarcastically. (No, I have a neighbor named Nayab Adam, that one.)
“Huh?” Asif looked even more confused.
“Yeh wala hi, bhondu!” She practically yelled in lower case. (This one, you fool!)
“Oh!!” He said. Then he grinned, looking at you. “Oho! Acha. Wah! Mujhe tou pata hi nahi tha ke tumhari itni tez game hai, Y/N! Khud tum ghoom rahi ho iske saath, lekin abhi tak meri baat tumne aage nahi ki Maryam ke saath. Yeh hai hamari dosti.” (Wow! I didn’t know you had such a good game. You’re going on dates with him but can’t help me pull Maryam? Such is the state of our friendship) He scoffed.
“Will you shut up with your theatrics? It was just one date, it’s not that serious. We’re not getting married.”
“Acha? Phir iska matlab hai ke mein bhi uss par try kar sakti hoon. Agar itna serious nahi hain tumhare liye.” Hafsa said. (Really? That means I can hit on him then. If it’s not that serious for you).
“Haan haan, jao. Main konsa rok rahi hoon tumhe.” (Of course, go ahead. It’s not like I’m stopping you). You gestured towards him, right as Husayn sahab cleared his throat.
More of Nayab’s uniformed officers had come into the room.
“This should come as a surprise to no one, but I am officially retired.” Husayn sahab said blandly.
“Whoop whoop!” Asif cheered next to you, doing a small bhangra while others cheered briefly as well. You giggled despite yourself.
Husayn sahab threw a mock glare at Asif, who immediately sat back down, before biting back a smile himself.
“I can see how sad you all are to see me go.” He remarked, earning laughter from everyone, including Nayab. “That being said, the department is looking for my replacement and has already received applications from people both inside and outside the office. I have already spoken to some of you who are interested privately, and look forward to seeing your applications as the administration goes through them. But now, it is time to talk business. Asif, please give us the latest updates on the case before we let SP sahab speak.”
Asif got up and walked to the front of the conference room and began to relay all the information about the ongoing trial preparations. This included how well the jury selection had gone, how evidence was being prepared and that certain witnesses had begun to come in for interviews and for rehearsal to provide testimony in court against Uzair. Once he finished discussing all of the surface level things, he thanked everyone and sat back down.
Nayab then stepped up to the front of the room.
“My unit has received credible intelligence from one of our confidential informants that Uzair Baloch has Iranian nationality. While sources confirm that he was born here, he has extended family in Iran and has visited Iran multiple times, and has dual nationality with both Iran and Pakistan. This information opens up new avenues for our investigation into his cross border crimes, including potential terrorist activity.”
“Will this CI be able to provide any evidence to attest to UB’s nationality?” Hafsa asked from beside you.
“Yes. Evidence will be stored at LTF headquarters until further notice.”
“I don’t believe that is wise.” You piped up. Everyone in the room, including Husayn sahab and Nayab both turned to look at you.
“I received information that there is a mole in LTF. This mole orchestrated the attack which led to SP Aslam’s assasination. I sent a memo to your office about this when I found out, sir.” You looked at Husayn sahab while you said the last sentence. You felt Asif tense next to you.
“Right, of course. I may not have had the chance to see it yet due to administrative blocks pursuant to my retirement.” He said. “Has LTF been informed?”
“Not officially. I have informed Amir, who said he will share it with Omar. Other than that, I emphasize the need to keep this information confidential amongst us all.
“Very well. Thank you for informing me of that, Y/N. That evidence needs to be moved ASAP. Move it to the courthouse here. Asif is in charge of evidence and can take it all into account.” Husayn sahab said to Nayab, who nodded. “On the topic of the late SP, Nayab has brought the new security detail for the three of you.” He gestured to Nayab, who spoke up.
“Yes, there will be two units of three officers each assigned to each of you. Both units will take shifts in providing protection and are all under my command. This security detail will start next week. They will provide protection for you outside of the courtroom and courthouse, including transportation to and from the jail, your home and elsewhere. Should there be any complaint or issue otherwise, I urge you to bring it to my attention. Any questions?”
You shook your head no, Asif and Hafsa doing the same.
“Is there anything else that needs to be discussed?” Husayn sahab asked.
“Sir, I will need to speak with you privately after this.” You said. He nodded.
“Very well. Thank you so much for your time everyone.” He said.
“You will receive more information on the logistics of your personal security details soon.” Nayab said to the three of you.
Asif and Hafsa got up and began to leave.
“Kya baat karni hai tumne Husayn sahab se?” (What do you need to discuss with Husayn sir?) He murmured to you.
“Kuch nahi. Tum jao, baad me milte hain.” (Nothing. I’ll see you later).
As the room cleared, leaving you and Husayn sahab, you walked up to Husayn sahab.
“Let’s walk and talk, Y/N.” He said. You waved goodbye to Nayab, who waved back, and began to follow Husayn sahab out the door, through the corridor.
“Sir, I just needed your permission to submit a motion to the court.”
“He is requesting access to facility programming.” You said, voice low. Husayn sahab remained silent, urging you to go on. “Normally, I wouldn’t entertain such requests due to the high profile nature of his case, but I wanted to ask you about this before doing anything else.”
“Sir, uss ne meri jaan bhi bachai thi uss din. Aapne suna hoga.” (Sir, he saved my life that day. I’m sure you heard).
“Yes, I heard about what he did.”
“And he provided me with this information about the LTF’s mole.”
“He provided you with that?”
“Aur usko kaise pata hai aise information ka?” (How does he know this information?)
“It could be a number of things. Word of mouth among inmates is a strong possibility.” You said honestly.
“Go ahead. Submit the motion and I’ll see what Judge Rahim says. I think this request is relatively harmless. But Y/N, be careful. Tumhe pata hai ke inmates staff ka faida utane ke liya kya kuch kar sakte hain. Remain on your guard.” (You know what inmates are capable of doing in order to take advantage of the staff).
“Ji, sir. Thank you.” You said. He rubbed your hair in a small gesture of affection, one that he showed only you and Hafsa (but never Asif) and walked off.
You remembered Asif always complaining about how he was the neglected middle child when it came to Husayn sahab’s attention and smirked. It was time to file that motion.
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It had been three weeks since you filed the motion for Uzair’s access to facility programming. His poetry class, no less. The motion was immediately granted, as it was relatively harmless, like Husayn sahab had said.
You were working in your office, going through piles of witness interviews and compiling testimonial and cross examination questions for each witness as they took the stand, when you heard a knock at the door.
“Ma’am, yeh aapke liye hain.” He said, handing you the general office correspondence.
“Thank you so much, Daniyal.” You said. He nodded and walked out.
On top of the pile of mail you had received, was a blue envelope. Unlike all the other boring legal documents, inmate request forms, police correspondence and general judicial documents you received regularly, this was new.
You flipped it open and pulled out a small card. It was an invitation for a poetry event hosted by the poetry and literature program at KCJ. For Friday night, at 7pm. Your name was written in bold letters at the bottom, humbly requesting your presence for the work showcase held by the inmates. You smiled, knowing very well who could be behind this invitation. You quickly checked your calendar to see your availability - you were free - and RSVP’d the event, plopping it in the mailbox bin in the hallway next to Daniyal’s desk.
—----------------------------
“Jab bhi event khatam ho gaya, tou mujhe phone kar dena. Main aajaon ga tumhe pick karne.” Amir said. (Whenever the event is over, give me a call and I’ll come pick you up).
“Ji bhai.” (Yes) you responded. “Waise aapke aaj date night nahi hai, Zobia bhabhi ke saath?” You teased. (Don’t you have a date night tonight with Zobia?)
“Woh toh hai, lekin tumhare ghar aane ke baad.” (Yes we do, but after you are home safe). You chuckled. Their monthly date night meant it was movie night for the rest of the family, with Shahmir choosing the movie - typically a cartoon that was switched once he fell asleep, and Maryam and you being delegated to prepare the snacks. Your Baba would always promise to stay awake to watch the entire movie, but would always end up falling asleep midway through.
Amir pulled up to the gates of KCJ, and you slipped out, saying Allah Hafiz and walking towards the jail. It was 6:45pm.
After you were done with the security entrance, you walked in. There was no designated compound where the event was to be held, but as you made it past Tower A, there was signage directing you to the central courtyard. As you stepped into the courtyard, you couldn’t help but gasp softly in amazement.
All of the area was cleaned up, with no tables, trash or other unnecessary stuff and it was decorated with a small stage, large curtains draping around it. Draped on the curtains, through the trees and around the poles were beautiful, bright fairy lights that illuminated the entire set up like fireflies glowing in the summer night’s grass. A microphone and a stool were set up in the middle of the stage. In front of the stage were carpets with small matching lawn chairs stacked with pillows. To the side of the stage, was a small table with what looked like snacks and refreshments. It looked like an entire grand mehfil.
You looked around and saw a couple of familiar faces, including the instructor for the program, Miss Jahanara, who was running around and making sure that everything was set up. Uzair was nowhere in sight.
You walked up to Jahanara. “Can I help with anything?”
She looked frazzled but smiled and shook your hand. “Arrey, nahi nahi. Aap aaram se betein. It’s almost ready.” (No no, please relax).
You took a seat towards the back of the seating arrangement that gave you a full view of the stage and gorgeously decorated courtyard. You had grabbed a small can of coke and popped it open, crossing your legs carefully before taking a sip.
You didn’t know what kind of event it was, so you dressed to impress. The poetry and literature program had annual events like this, but this was the first time you had been invited. You wore a navy blue banarasi silk saree, with gold embroidery. You had chosen to wear a simple pair of golden earrings and a simple necklace.
Jahanara came and sat next to you.
“Thank you so much for coming tonight, Miss Y/N.” She said, sipping on her glass of water.
“Thank you for having me.”
“All of our students have worked incredibly hard for this event this year. One particular student, a recent addition, has shown a specific interest in this event and insisted on inviting you.” She remarked.
“Acha? Kon?” You asked, knowing fully well who it could be. (Really? Who?)
“Uzair Baloch.” She replied, eyes scanning the set up for any last touches.
“He’s actually very talented. I was impressed with him from day one.” She told you. “I think you’ll enjoy his work. He said he wrote it for a very special woman in his life.” She said, obliviously.
You bit back a smile, and took a sip of your coke.
Ten minutes later, the sound of the gate opening and shuffling feet filled the air. A lot of staff members were lingering around and some had taken their seats around you.
Roughly ten different guards took up different positions around the perimeter, while the compound was filled with inmates. Instead of the traditional jail uniform, a lot of them were wearing fine, clean outfits including shalwar kameez, or a general suit and tie. Some of the women were wearing sarees or shararas.
Without your conscious consent, your eyes began to search for a certain tall, dark and handsome, bearded man. Almost on cue, he walked through the gate, one of the last people to enter after a group of beautifully adorned women. They all stood in a group like young elementary school children, as Jahanara rushed over and began to speak to them in a hushed voice.
Uzair hadn’t seen you yet and you took the opportunity to admire him without having to hear any teasing.
He was wearing a navy blue pathani suit that suited his tall, lean figure well in a perfectly fitted manner. His hair was brushed back from his forehead and styled carefully, and his beard was trimmed evenly. He also had on a brown shawl draped over his shoulders. With his impressive height and build, he towered over everyone. In a quick flash, he looked like the King of Lyari. The true Sher-E-Baloch.
Oh God, he looks even dreamier than usual, you thought breathlessly.
And then it hit you. Both of you were accidentally matching. One of the women in his group was chatting excitedly to him and he leaned down to listen, nodding at her words. But you could tell that he was distracted. As you watched him secretly, you saw him start looking through the crowd carefully, as if he was searching for someone. As his eyes landed on you, you immediately averted your gaze and looked elsewhere. A man from the administrative staff looked at you, smiled and started a conversation. You nodded along, but were not paying attention to anything he was saying. Instead, you were trying to ignore the intense gaze you felt on you, as a blush crawled up your neck.
Just then, the microphone crackled and Jahanara greeted everyone, beginning the event.
“Thank you all so much for coming. Welcome to the literature program’s annual showcase, in which our dedicated students will be sharing their creative works, ranging from poetry, short stories, ghazals and qawalis. There is no singular theme as we wanted to share a diversity of different topics and messages with you all. So, I tell you all to sit back, relax and enjoy the wonderful work that our students are excited to share with you all!”
She thanked everyone and called out a name from the list. The rest of the students had found seats towards the front, as they all waited to go. Uzair had sat at the very end of the line, his height dwarfing the woman sitting next to him, who was still chatting with him. You saw him turn around casually to sneak a look at you again. This time, when he locked eyes with you, you gave him a small wave, wiggling only your fingertips and smiled at him. He blushed and gave you the same small wave, wiggling his eyebrows and winking quickly at you before turning back to the front.
One by one, students were called and presented their impactful work. One woman shared a prose on the challenges of motherhood in jail, while another shared her survival and healing from sexual assault. One man shared the experience of growing up amid violence and poverty, which led to drug dealing and gangs, while another shared how the lack of a family led him down the wrong path. One girl sang a ghazal about her childhood love, ending it on a bittersweet note of them being separated when he died in an untimely manner. All of the work was so profoundly touching, and you felt yourself tear up from time to time.
Finally, the man himself - Uzair Baloch - was called up. As he walked up, you had to press your lips together from smiling too hard. He had a grin on his face and childish excitement radiated from him as he stepped up to the stage. Instead of sitting on the stool, he took the microphone and sat on the ground.
Before he began to speak, his eyes met yours in a gaze that arrested you in a hypnotic trance. In the voice that you had begun hearing in your dreams, rich with a deep baritone, he began to recite the poem.
Suna hai log usse ankh bar ke dekhte hai, tou uss ke sheher mein kuch din teher ke dekthe hain (I’ve heard that people gaze at her with awe, so let us remain in this city for a couple days to be sure)
Suna hai rabt hai usse kharab halon se, so aapne aap ko barbad kar ke dekhte hain (I’ve heard she’s empathetic to those down on their luck, so let us ruin ourselves to such a state to be sure)
Suna hai woh bole tou baaton se phool charte hain, yeh baat hai tou chalo, baat karke dekhte hain (I’ve heard that when she speaks, words bloom like flowers, so let us speak with her to be sure)
Suna hai din ko usse titliyaan satati hain, suna hai raat ko jugno teher ke dekhte hain (I’ve heard that during the day, the butterflies tease her. I’ve heard that during the night, the fireflies swoon around her)
Suna hai usski badan ki tarash aise hai, ke phool aapne qabayian qatar ke dekhte hain (I’ve heard that the silhouette of her skin is akin to such, that even roses burn their corners in jealousy)
Suna hai usske labon se gulab jalte hain, so ham bahar par ilzaam dhar ke dekhte hain (I’ve heard that from her lips come the fragrance of roses, if that is true then let us put spring to the test of beauty)
The entire time he recited the poem, his eyes never left yours. You felt your heart do a million somersaults the entire time he recited the poem, and were pretty sure you were as red as a tomato by the time he finished. As soon as he finished, the audience cheered, and multiple people stood up and clapped for him. You joined the standing ovation and clapped with all your might, smiling so hard that your cheeks began to hurt. He grinned at you before walking off the stage and reclaiming his seat. You felt breathless at the heartfelt poem he had just delivered.
Once all the presentations were finished, Jahanara went up to the stage, thanked everyone and said that the event would continue for another half an hour before they needed to close everything down as per warden’s orders. Until then, the students were allowed to intermingle with the invited guests.
As soon as she walked off the stage, countless chatter, laughter and light music began to play. Despite it being almost the middle of summer, there was a chilly breeze that filled the peaceful evening. You stood up and looked for Uzair, but amid the crowd of people, you had managed to lose the 6’2 giant. After looking for a couple minutes, you walked to the refreshment table, grabbed a small glass of water and walked off to the side, standing next to one of the pillars.
Where is he? Where did he go? You huffed. There is no way he delivered such a beautiful performance and disappeared into thin air. That’s very unlike him.
Just then, you felt a presence next to you and turned to look. It was Uzair. He stood next to you, holding out a rose.
“Y/N madam. Yeh aapke liye hai.” (This is for you). For the third time in one night, the man left you breathless. You reached out and gently took the rose from him.
“Thank you. Bohot khoobsurat shayari karte hain aap.” (You delivered such beautiful poetry) You said.
“Aapko achi lagi?” He asked. (Did you like it?)
“Bohot achi lagi.” (Very much).
“Aapke liye likhi thi.” (I wrote it for you).
“Humne shayari ki class mein Jahanara Madam se sikha tha, ke haar shayar aur kalakar ki apne ek inspiration hoti hai. Jisse ‘muse’ kehte hain. Aap mere muse hai.” (We learned in class from Ms. Jahanara that every poet and artist has a muse. You are my muse).
“Acha? Woh kaise?” (Really? How so?) You asked in a teasing tone. You saw him blush and look away. He was acting very shy. How very uncharacteristic of him.
“Aap bahadur hain, neik dil hain, padhi-likhi aur hoshiyar aurat hain.” (You’re brave, kind-hearted, and an educated and smart woman).
“Bas? Aur kuch nahi?” (That’s it? Nothing else?). You leaned a bit closer to him. He crossed his arms, leaning against the pillar in an attempt at nonchalance and gave you a smirk.
“Kuch bhool toh nahi raha main?” (I’m not forgetting anything, am I?) He said, tapping his chin with a finger.
“Chal, dhatt! Abhi abhi tou itni pyari shayari aapne padhi hai sab ke samne, ab aisi nautanki kar rahein hai aap?” (Shoo! You’ve just recited such beautiful poetry in front of everyone, now you’re acting like you don’t know anything else). You hit his shoulder with the rose playfully before stepping away and leaning against the pillar opposite of him. He chuckled at your antics. You sniffed the rose before clutching it tenderly to your chest.
You saw him look at you before speaking up.
“Aur aapki khoobsurati. Aap itni khoobsurat lag rahi hain aaj. Har roz lagti hain, lekin aaj tou aise jaise koi farishta utra hai jannat se mujhe milne ke liye.” (And your beauty of course. You look beautiful every day, but today it seems as if an angel has come down from heaven to grace me with her presence).
“Bohot bohot shukriya. Waise…ap bhi kamaal ke lag rahi hai iss pathani mein.” (Thank you. You don’t look bad yourself in this suit) You said, giving him a bold once-over.
He grinned at you. Suddenly, there was a strong breeze. You grabbed the palu of your saree, wrapping it tightly around your shoulders.
“Thand lag rahi hai?” (Are you cold?) He asked.
“Nahi tou.” You said. (No).
“Haan tou.” (Yes). He retorted.
Before you could say anything further, you saw him take off the brown shawl he had around his shoulders, shake it twice in the air, and wrap it around your shoulders, folding it in front of your chest reverently. His shawl was large and obviously made for his size, so it looked like the shawl was wearing you instead of the other way around. It dwarfed you and you felt like a child in an oversized towel. Despite how silly you felt, a fierce feeling of possessiveness flared in your chest. The shawl smelled faintly of him, sandalwood and smoke, and you curled it around you even more. From this proximity, you could feel his breath against your cheek as he hovered over you.
“Aapke liye mein jitni bhi shayari likhun, woh kaam hai. Aur aapki jitni bhi tareef karoon, woh bhi kaam hai, Y/N madam.” (No matter how much poetry I write for you, it will never be enough. And no matter how much I compliment you, it will never be enough, Y/N madam). He took one of your wild curls in his hand, pulled it up to his lips and kissed it reverently.
“Agar hum iss jagah, iss halat mein nahi milte tou kya hota? Mera matlab hai, agar mein ek wakeel nahi hoti, aur aap mere qaidi?” (If we hadn’t met under these circumstances, what would’ve happened? I mean, if I wasn’t a prosecutor and you weren’t my prisoner?)
“Tou phir bhi mujhe aapse ishq ho jata.” He whispered, leaning against the pillar and watching you with hooded eyes. (I still would’ve fallen for you).
You felt your heart leap into your throat. Just then, there was a whistle and the guards began to call out to the inmates, calling them back. The event was over.
He looked at you before stepping down and beginning to walk back to the center of the compound. He then turned around and grinned at you.
“Meri shawl aap rakh lein. Aap par behtar lagti hain.” (Keep my shawl. It looks better on you). You blushed profusely as he walked away, tracing his retreating figure.
You couldn’t help the warm feeling that flared in your chest and made you swoon. You held the shawl up to your face and smelled it deeply, sighing as you pressed it against your cheek.
Later that night, you fell asleep in the shawl and dreamt of a certain man with a deep voice and dark eyes, pressing kisses to your forehead and hair, holding you in his arms.
It was getting harder and harder to resist his advances. For once in your life, you didn’t want to resist either.
You wanted to fall head first. Let the consequences be damned.
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With weeks left until the trial, your work load showed no sign of lessening.
Evidence was sorted through and labeled, introductory statements were written, witnesses were prepped for testimony, including rehearsing certain questions and responses, and Karachi statutory law was analyzed in various court motions. Your office and Mir Ajmal’s office remained in regular correspondence in order to ensure that all kinds of evidence and legal motions were accessed from both sides, including FIRs, police reports and other investigative materials, which were to be used during trial.
As you flipped through a case book, beginning a case brief, there was a harsh, rapid knocking on your door. Before you could answer, Asif rushed in, his eyes and hair wild.
“Y/N, Y/N! Woh tumhare - woh - woh - woh Uzair ki - uski -” He shouted, gestures wild and frantic. (He…he…Uzair…he!!)
You immediately stood up, heart beating rapidly.
“Woh uski larayi phir hogaye hain! Abhi abhi usko infirmary mein le kar gaye hain!” (He got into a fight again! They just took him to the infirmary!)
“Oh Allah! What now?” You grabbed your badge and rushed out the door, Asif following quickly behind you.
“I just heard that he is in the infirmary. He got into a fight again. Apparently because someone was badmouthing you.”
You furrowed your eyebrows and began to speed walk to the Karachi Jail infirmary. What was a fifteen minute walk, you managed to achieve in less than ten minutes. Without you realizing it, Asif had stayed behind at the courthouse. After rushing through security, you half ran to the infirmary, sweat trickling down your neck and your hands, but for reasons unrelated to the infamous Karachi heat.
As soon as you got into the infirmary unit, you ignored the nurse at the front and made your way through the hall, peaking through the curtains that shielded the different beds, until you found him. He was sitting on the side of the bed, his feet on the floor with three guards surrounding him and a female nurse who was attending to his wounds. She had a tray with medical supplies, including cotton swabs that were filled with blood. You saw her step closer to him, dabbing at his cheekbone with some antiseptic.
You felt a wave of jealousy as the nurse stepped even closer to him, treating him with quick, effective moves. You stood frozen, watching her as she finished cleaning him up. She washed her hands in the sink, picked up the tray and murmured a goodbye to him before leaving. You didn’t miss the way she looked at him with barely concealed lust before walking out. You narrowed your eyes at her, watching her leave, and clenched your hands into fists to keep from doing anything impulsive.
Once she was gone, you cleared your throat. All the guards and Uzair went alert as they noticed your presence. You walked into the makeshift room, aware of the low voices from surrounding beds.
“Leave us. I need to speak to Mr. Baloch alone.” You commanded softly to the guards, your eyes remaining glued to Uzair’s face. He hadn’t shifted from his initial spot, sitting sideways on the bed with both feet on the floor. One of the guards looked like he was about to object, but the cold, seething look on your face rendered him silent. All three of them immediately left, standing a few feet away from the curtain as they shoved it close.
You stepped closer to Uzair, pinning him with a ferocious look.
“What happened?” You asked him, getting straight to the point.
“Jail yard mein tha. Wahan kisi ne tumhare bare mein baat shuru ki. Badtameezi ki.” He stared right back at you, no amusement in his eyes either. (I was in the jail yard. Someone there started talking about you. Disrespectfully).
“Toh maine usse maara.” (So, I beat him)
“Kyun?” (Why?) You stepped closer to him, and without even thinking about it, raised your hand and began to gently trace the line of his eyebrows, cheekbones, and nose. His nose was slightly swollen, as were his lips.
“Kyunki mein tumhare khilaaf koi bhi kisam ki badtameezi bardasht nahi kar sakta.” (Because I will not tolerate any form of disrespect against you). He leaned into your touch, but kept his hands firmly on the hospital bed, as if he was afraid to touch you.
You were standing fully in between his legs now, and despite him being seated and you standing, you were leveled eye to eye with him. Even now, you felt dwarfed by his height and size. He tilted his chin back, eyes drinking your face in and you leaned in, your nose almost brushing his. You inhaled, smelling the antiseptic, a twinge of his sweat and another, earthy smell, eyes trailing the wounds on his face like a tigress eyed her prey.
“Maine pehle bhi kaha tha na, ki tumhare hifazat karna meri zimmedari hain. Tumhare saath koi be-adabhi kare, main usse kutte ka mooh hi thodh doon. Mujhe aisa kuch nahi acha lagta.” He whispered. (I’ve said this before, your protection is my responsibility. If someone says or does anything disrespectful against you, I will beat him like a dog. I don’t like that at all).
What you did next shocked even you.
“Aur agar tumhe koi dusri aurat haath lagaye, woh mujhe acha nahi lagta.” You said, fingers curling into the nape of his neck before you closed your eyes and pressed your lips against his. (And I won’t tolerate another woman touching you. I don’t like that at all).
He went slack only for a second, before he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest and returning the kiss with equal fervor. You kissed him with an unbridled passion, pouring unspoken anger, jealousy, gratitude and fearlessness into it. You pressed yourself as close to him as you could, and he returned your passion, kiss for kiss. His beard tickled your skin and you almost giggled at the sensation. He expertly sucked your lower lip, and bit it softly. You moaned softly in his mouth, before pulling back for air. He wasted no time, one arm wrapped around your waist and his other arm snaking up your body, his hand twisting in your hair, as he began to press feverish kisses against your jawline, chin, behind your ears and down your neck. The fiery heat of lust gushed through your body, collecting in a deep, neverending pool of warm liquid in the pit of your stomach and between your legs. You felt blood rush to your cheeks and neck, blooming like a fresh rose in the spring. You moaned, a bit louder this time.
The sound of a sudden clatter in the next room broke both of you out of your trance. You quickly stepped out of his arms and he grabbed onto the hem of your robe, reluctant to let you go.
“Woh, mujhe chalna hoga.” (I-I have to leave) You said out of breath, snaking your fingers through your hair as you fixed it the best you could.
He watched you with an untamed hunger, eyes wild as they traced your face and body repeatedly, his own chest heaving. Then, he grinned wolfishly, as his gaze traveled from your hair to your very swollen lips.
Before he could say anything, you quickly left. As soon as you got out of the infirmary, you went into the staff bathroom. You looked at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes bright and hair mussed. You quickly fixed your hair, wetting your hands before running them through your tangled curls. The more you glanced at yourself in the mirror, the more you couldn’t recognize the woman staring back at you. She looked happy. Your cheeks had begun to hurt with how hard you were smiling, your heart pounding with exhilaration.
The walk back to the courthouse felt like a fever dream. You felt lighter than you had in years, like a butterfly that flew gently from flower to flower, underneath the warm protection of the sun. It was almost like you were dancing on the clouds, whimsical and fairylike. You brought your fingers up to touch your swollen lips and gushed internally.
Oh my God. I just kissed Uzair Baloch! The thought continuously ran through your mind and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered.
You didn’t feel like the prosecutor in charge of his case or the woman who was responsible for holding one of Pakistan’s most dangerous criminals accountable to justice in a court of law. You felt like a regular woman who had just shared passionate kisses with a regular man.
Only, there was nothing regular or normal about what you two had just shared.
I just kissed Uzair Baloch. What a time to be alive.
