I wanted to thank you all for being such an incredible fandom. I've had such a great time reading and writing on here, and have met such lovely people.
Unfortunately, life has caught up to me, and I'm going to take a hiatus. I might still linger to read, but I can't commit to writing now.
Requested by: @mujhekoimarsbhejdo - Hope you like it!
Prompt: Chosen numbers: 1. Pairing: Uzair x Reader and 2. Trope: Friends to lovers
Disclaimer: This is fiction inspired by the characters portrayed by the actors in Dhurandhar, not the real individuals themselves.
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If there was anything you knew, it was that you could get away with anything.
As the only daughter of Ali Ahmed, leader of the PAP, the world was truly your oyster. You were the apple of your parents’ eye, and they had never learnt to say no to you.
You wanted to dye your hair red? Ammi jaan bought the dye.
You wanted to study in Lahore? Daddy dearest dropped you off.
You hated Lahore and wanted to return home to Lyari? Both your parents were overjoyed their home would be full of life again.
When you returned, your best friend was already at your home, ready to greet you.
“Yalina!” you exclaimed, jumping right out of the car and running into her arms.
“Toh Lahore ne tumhe Lyari wapis kar hi diya,” she joked, “Ab aayi na Lyari mein jaan!”
You laughed as your mother pushed you aside to hug Yalina, “Y/N nahi thi toh tum ghar hi nahi aati thi!”
“Arrey aunty, bahut zyaada hi mashroof hun aaj kal,” she whined as she entered your house.
—
“I have a crush on someone!” Yalina burst out the second the two of you were alone in your room.
“Oho, toh inn sab cheezon mein mashroof ho?” you joked, before sitting next to her, “Tell me everything!”
“I have something even better,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “We’re meeting him at Qasim Qila tonight”.
—
“You know, this is where we met first, like properly,” Yalina gushed as she entered the club, “Police yahaan aa gayi thi toh he gave me a ride”.
You gagged, “Yalina, please, theek se baat karna seekh le”.
She rolled her eyes and led you in, face brightening when she spotted her man, “That’s Hamza! Oh, he’s brought Uzair bhai. Chal, tere liye bhi koi hai”.
“Yalina, I thought hum tere bande se milne aayein hain?”
“Tu mil le, phir humein akela chhod dena”.
You rolled your eyes, “You’re paying for all my drinks tonight. Aaj koi achche club chali jaati, par tum mujhe yahaan le aayi ho. Who even goes to fucking Qasim Qila anymore?”
Yalina simply laughed and pulled you towards the booth, where two men sat with a bottle of Black Label between them.
As you walked towards them, the man with long hair and biceps the size of your head stood up.
Yalina ran towards him and hugged him, before turning to you, “Y/N! Yeh hai Hamza!”
You nodded at him before sitting next to the other man. This close, your eyes ran over his broad shoulders and long fingers.
“Aur aap kaun?”
“Uzair Baloch,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “Aur aap hain Ali Ahmed ki eklauti beti”.
He glanced at you before pouring a glass of whiskey and nudging it towards you.
“Yeh kya hai?” you asked.
“Peene ki cheez hai,” he said, “Pee lo”.
“Woh mujhe pata hai,” you rolled your eyes, “Pooch rahi hu itna sasta wala kyu mangwaya”.
A silence descended on your booth, before Uzair barked out a laugh. Hamza choked on his drink, before joining the laughter.
“Burger bachchi,” Uzair teased you, “Bilkul jaisa Yalina ne bataya”.
"Kya?!" you asked, indignantly.
“Kuch nahi,” he grinned, “Abhi ye pee lo. Agli bottle aap ke hisaab se mangayenge”.
You tried to pout up at him, you really did. But something about the way he said it, amused - not mean, made it hard to be upset.
—
Yalina needed a cover for her meetings with Hamza, and naturally, you were her cover. While she drove off into the sunset with her now boyfriend, you were stuck in Uzair’s car.
After meeting him a couple of times and complaining about the car, the weather, and the lack of entertainment - each of which was met with amusement and laughter - he asked what you wanted.
“Daaru,” you shrugged, “Aur woh sasti wali Black Label nahi”.
Yet again, he smirked, before starting the car and driving to the nearest bar.
—
The bar was tucked away in a corner of Lyari. You entered, eyes widened, taking in the dim lighting, the lush carpet, and the gilded mirrors on the wall.
“Aap ko yeh jagah ke baare me kaise pata chala?” you asked in wonder.
“Mere bhai ki hi hai”.
“Rehman bhai?”
“Unka naam suna hai?”
You nodded, following him like an eager puppy, “Abbu unke saath kaam karna chahte hai”.
“Kya?” Uzair pulled a chair out for you, and you paused to thank him, before sitting down.
“Rehman bhai aur People’s Aman Committee bahut achcha kaam kar rahe hai. Abbu knows, so he wants to work with him!” you continued, excitedly.
Uzair smiled softly, before calling for your drinks.
“Yeh theek hai ya yeh bhi sasti hai?” he asked, turning the label of the bottle towards you.
You laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly, before picking your glass up.
—
Weeks passed this way, and now, you met him even when Yalina wasn’t with Hamza.
One of the nights, it was just you and him in his car, a bottle of expensive vodka in your hands. You took a sip and passed it over to him, “Ek baat batao…”
He hummed, taking a sip and passing the bottle back to you.
“Aap ko darr nahi lagta?”
“Kis cheez se?”
“Aap ka kaam,” you slumped in your seat, “Abbu kehte hain ki aap aur Rehman bhai kaafi danger mein ho?”
“Apne abbu se meri baatein karti ho?” he teased, chuckling when you swat at his shoulder, before continuing, “Darr lagta hai, kabhi kabhi. Par dikhana nahi jaanta hu”.
“Abhi toh mujhe dikhaya,” you pointed out.
“Tum alag ho”.
—
Uzair had just finished a long, grueling shift at the factory, and was just looking forward to going home and passing out, when his phone rang.
Your name lit across his screen and he smiled to himself before picking up, “Kaise yaad aayi meri?”
“Uzu,” your voice warbled through the line, “Mujhe bore maar raha hai”.
“Uzu?”
“Uzuuuuu,” you slurred, “Mujhe pick karo. Tumhari gaadi me baithna hai”.
He ran his palm across his face, his smile getting wider against his will, “Abhi aaya”.
—
“Burger khaana hai,” you whined, as you pulled the seatbelt on.
“Iss waqt koi burger nahi milega”.
“Uzu,” you whined again, pulling his ear gently as he got into his seat.
“Uzu kyun bula rahi ho?”
“Tumhara naam hai”.
“Mera naam Uzair hai”.
“Sab tumhe Uzair bulate hain. This is exclusive! And sirf mera hai! Aur koi tumhe Uzu nahi bulata hai, aur na hi bulayega”.
He drove off in silence, before asking, “Tum bahar akeli kyu khadi thi? Andar wait kar leti”.
“Uss Bilal ne kaha mujhe ghar chhod dega aur phir bandi dikhte hi mujhe chhod diya,” you grumbled, “Galat kiya na?”
“Bahut galat,” he agreed, “Main tumhe nahi chhodta aise beech sadak par”.
“Haan, kyunki tum achche insaan ho”. You looked out the window and added softly, “Sab kehte hain ki tum dangerous ho, par mujhe aisa bilkul nahi lagta”.
“Sab sahi kehte hai”.
“Nahi,” you argued, “Tum mujhe subah ke do baje lene aaye ho. And I know tum thake hue ho, phir bhi aaye”.
“Tum ne bulaya”.
You ran your hand over his forearm, “Tumhe dekhne ka bahut mann tha”.
“Oh?” He teased, “Mujhe laga meri gaadi ki yaad aa rahi thi”.
“Uzair!” you yelled, before both of you burst into laughter.
—
By the time you got home, you were asleep against his window.
“Y/N,” Uzair stopped the car, and turned to you, “Uth jao, ghar aa gaya”.
“Uzu nahi,” you whined, “Paanch minute, please”.
He shook his head, before getting out of the car and walking towards your side. He opened the door slowly, supporting your head, and gently shaking you, “Apne bistar me so jao. Chalo, ghar aa gaya”.
You grumbled a bit more, before getting out of his car and slowly wobbling towards your door. Once you reached the entrance of your house, you turned back and waved sleepily at him with a big smile.
Uzair thought about it all the way home.
—
You woke up with a pounding headache, three missed calls from Yalina, and a text from Uzair that simply said, Be ready by 2. Kuch baat karni hai.
You looked at the clock - it was half past one. You jumped out of bed and ran into the shower, calling Yalina.
“Kal kya hua?”
“Main aur Hamza party se dus baje hi nikal gaye the,” Yalina started, “Aur phir uske ghar gaye. Oh god, Y/N, main kaise batau, I swear kal raat toh maine jannat dekh li-”
“Yuck, Yalina,” you warbled, brushing your teeth. You spat, before returning to your call, “I’ve a message from Uzair saying he’ll pick me up at 2!”
“Oho, phir se date?”
“Shut up! Yalina, I called him Uzu yesterday!”
Yalina’s laughter echoed through your bathroom, “You’re mad!”
“I know,” you sighed, before adding softly, “Tumhe lagta hai woh mujhse gussa hai kya? Maine usse subah ke do baje bulaya”.
“Aur woh aaya na?”
You bit your lip, “I don’t know what he wants to say”.
“So get ready. He’ll be there in fifteen”.
You glanced at the time on your phone and hurriedly cut the call.
—
You threw on the first outfit you found and quickly brushed your hair. You ran out the door with a minute to spare, but Uzair’s car was already outside.
You slid in and quickly buckled the seat belt, “Sorry, Uzair. Kal raat do baje bulaya, aur tum thake hue bhi the, tum gussa toh-”
“Saans le lo pehle,” he said, slowly pulling out of your driveway, “Main gussa nahi hun”.
He didn’t say anything else for a full minute, which, to you, felt like eternity.
“Uzair,” you asked, “Sab khairiyat se hai?”
“Uzu”.
“Kya?”
“Kal tum ne mujhe Uzu bulaya”.
You pulled at your sleeve nervously, “Woh, sorry-”
“Aur phir kaha ki yeh exclusive hai, aur sirf tum mujhe yeh bula sakti ho”.
“Nahi nahi,” you backtracked, “Woh toh, koi bhi bula sakta-”
“Chup karo,” he cut you off. His fingers flexed on the wheel, before he continued, “Kal raat. Jab tumhe ghar drop kiya, toh tum meri gaadi mein so gayi thi. Jaise tumhe pura bharosa tha ki tum mere saath mehfooz ho”.
He sighed, before continuing, “Tum jaanti ho hum kitne alag hai. Tum Ali Ahmed ki beti ho, aur main… main woh hun jiski wajah se Lyari bahut baar laal ho chuki hai. Yeh koi fairytale nahi hai”.
“Toh kya hai?” you asked quietly.
“Yeh hai ki main tum se mohabbat karta hun. Pata nahi kab se shuru kiya, par jaanta hun ki pure din phone par nazar rehti hai ki tum kab call karogi. Kab meri gaadi me baithogi”. His ears turned pink as he added, “Kab Uzu bulaogi”.
A slow smile unfurled across your face, “Maine kaha tha na kal. Tumhe dekhne ka bahut mann tha. Har baar tumhe dekhna ka mann hai. Tumhari gaadi me baith kar tumhe tang karna chahti hun. Aur tumhe isiliye raat ke do baje phone karti hun kyunki mujhe yakeen hai ke tumhare saath main hamesha mehfooz rahungi”.
Uzair brought the car to a stop and looked at you, “Tum kya keh rahi ho?”
You rolled your eyes, “Yahi, ki main bhi tum se mohabbat karti hun”.
A smile broke out across Uzair’s face and you matched it with your own giddy smile.
He hesitantly leaned closer and you surged forward to meet him halfway, finally kissing him.
“I love you, you idiot” you said, before kissing his cheek, “Ab chalo, kal ka burger pending hai!”
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Tag list (If you'd like to be added/removed please let me know!)
For sleeping with my boyfriends enemy after he cheated on me.
Summary: a reddit post that blew up about a girl seeking third party opinion on her revenge. Or in which you find out about your boyfriend cheating on you and as a revenge you decide to sleep with a stranger who turn out to be Uzair baloch
Pairing- Uzair Baloch x reader
Trigger warning: Smut. Oral fem reciving ,P in v (wrap it before u tap it guys 🙏) infidelity etc.
Disclaimer: this is inspired by Danish pandor character in the movie not by the real life fuckers. SO CHILL
A/n: this has been floating in my head rent free for quite some time now, anyways happy reading!
so i (24)F have been dating my boyfriend now ex Arashad papu (30)M for the last 3 yrs. Honestly our relationship wasnt smooth sailing as it seemed it was basically a rocky road fillied with his toxic masculanity, constant gaslighting and his over possessive nature that was suffocating me. safe to say this relationship was nothing but a dumpster fire.
To be honest i should have seen this coming, two weeks ago he started acting really suspicious like borderline criminal suspect behavior hiding his phone in odd places, Ignoring my texts, staying late at work and when i asked about it he just shrugged and said work was stressful. Heres the thing tho my now ex was actually a gang leader what could be so stressful about controlling a bund of wannabe gangsters?
Anyways the cat was finally out of the bag when i visited him as a surprise and saw him tangled with another women sleeping peacefully in his bed, god was i angry my first thought was to shoot him with his gun that was lying on the bedside table but decided not to as i did not want to spend my rest of the life in jail. I know he would have gaslighted me if i confronted him so Instead of having a crash-out i decided to go to a club and have a one night stand as a revenge. Gonna cheat on me? Well two can play this game.
I was basically being a wallflower just sitting on a stool near the bar taking shots after shots to remove him out of my head when a dashingly handsome stranger approached me asking me if he could buy me a drink since i was clearly not having the best time. Apparently he was here with his bestfriend but he got ditched as his bestfriend found his girlfriend. The stranger was annoyingly handsome i suspected he was a model or something at that he just laughed and said he was a factory worker. No factory worker wears clothes this fancy and attends a club this bougie but i gave it no tought.
The stranger became my companion for the night he basically heard me rant about my pos ex and how i wanted revenge against him, the stranger surprisingly offered himself and who was i to deny such gracious offer.
So after some time when i was sober enough, he took me to the top floor the vip section but i was not paying much attention to question how a factory worker had access to the vip lounge. We got in the room and he made sure i was sober and consenting and wont regret this the next day he for the rest of the night he basically showed me heaven on earth.
Smut under the cut.
Uzair picked you up easily and carried you towards the bed placing you on the plush mattress he kneeled infront of you taking off your heels and gently messaging your ankles. He placed light kisses on your knees and thighs hands travelling further up towards the back of your dress unzipping it.
You played with his hair making him groan. His mouth was getting closer and closer to your heat his movements getting more ravenous as he sucked and bit your supple thighs you threw your head back letting out soft airy moans.
"Mashallah koi kaise ye khoobsurti ko dhokha de sakta hai." He gently took of your dress and you discarded your bra and he laid you back on the bed getting on top of you stroking your cheek with his hand, he leaned forward capturing your lips in a heated kiss it burned against your lips as you continue to chase after the high. He sucked on your tongue exploring the wet caravan of your mouth, pulling off to catch his breath.
You clutched at his kurta whining as you pulled it slightly he got the message and pulled it off discarding it somewhere on the floor. Gods those abs you wanted to bite them to see if they were real you were shamelessly checking him up and down. He grabbed your hand and placed it directly on his pecs, smirking at your very obviously flustered state.
He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck taking a long breath as if he was getting drunk off of your scent. He laid kisses against your throat his hands torturing your breast by pinching and rubbing your stiff areolas.
Traveling further south his lips leaving marks on your soft stomach he came face to face with your cunt just a pice on now drenched cotton in between. He hooked his finger in the waistband and took of your underwear. He laid a kiss against your pelvis and was about to go further when you called out-
"Ruko-ruko! Maine ye kabhi kiya nahi hai." You sounded panicked.
He blinks
"Par tum ne toh apne boyfriend ke sath-"
"Matlab maine vo kiya hai jo tum soch rahe ho par ye nahi jo tum abhi karne wale the... " you said embarrassed your hands now covering your face, he smirked amussed at the new info so nobody had eaten you out before huh? Well now he has to make sure to give you the unforgettable first experience.
"Bharosa rakh meri jaan agar tujhe taqleef ho toh bata dena mai ruk jaunga paaka." You nodded in agreement giving him the green light his hands pulled apart your thighs giving your heat a sweet peck before diving in he flattened his tongue swallowing you whole, slurping up your arousal.
You gasped hands tangling in his soft tuff of hair pulling him closer, he lapped at your cunt flicking his tongue and kissing your button occasionally before sliding in a finger making you dazed at noise slipped from your lush lips. His finger picked up the pace as he practically buries his face in your folds. He added another finger working them in and out till your were shattering.
Your climax was close he could feel it with the way you clenched around his digits his finger continued their brutal pace as he sucked on your clit bitting it lightly as you came undone moaning loudly. He placed one last kiss before getting up from between your thighs.
He took off his salwaar leaving him only in his boxers, you couldnt it see it before but god was he packing his hardened length was evident in his boxers it was big, bigger than what you had seen. He took of his boxers and stroked his cock once twice as he inched closer, his head nudged against your clit making you moan. He slowly entered in inch by inch you could feel evey ridge and vein inside you he took his sweet time to make sure you were adjusting.
His eyes searched your face for discomfort when he found none he pulled out a little and pushed back in thrusting in slowly going faster once whines and moans spilled from your lips. He pace got steady and brutal you bit your lip to stop the moan leaving you mouth. He stopped immediately.
"Apni meethi awaze mujhse mat chupao jaana." You nodded dumbly as he resumed thrusting at an agonizing pace making you see stars your release was getting closer he could feel it as he himself was getting closer due to your heat clenching on him, he twitched inside you twice hands pinching and drawing circles on your clit before he pulled out and you both came at the same time.
After catching your breath for a few minutes he got you cleaned up and somehow you both fell asleep in each others arms.
After waking up in the morning i was surprised to still find him there dozing beside me we were practically cuddling each other my head was on his chest and his arms wrapped around me. I struggled to get up trying to make as little movement as possible but unfortunately i woke him up in the process.
We got decent again and as a weak attempt at small talk he asked who my boyfriend was at taht i told his name Arshad papu at that the stranger laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach i got confused on his reaction which only made him laugh more, he asked me if i knew who he was and i answered honestly telling him no. He confessed he was Uzair Baloch my boyfriend now ex's enemy.
Tldr: i unknowingly slept with my boyfriends enemy as an act of revenge of him cheating on me.
Edit 1: its been a week and i cant seem to get that starnger out of my mind that night just keeps on circling back to me i think i might have developed some feelings for him.
Edit 2: we ran into each other at a shop and decided to exchange numbers, we have texting each other nonstop i think the feelings might be mutual
Edit 3: we started dating! 🎊 i have been on cloud 9 ever since he asked me out he is a total freak in the sheet gentleman in the streets 😌
Congrats op this totally sounds like a plot straight out of a Hollywood movie am i bit curious tho what happened to your ex is he dating the girl he cheated with? ↑ 107 ￬0 ⤷
Reader op
Lmao no he is infact dead my boyfriend murdered him in broad day light and played football with his head. ↑ 150 ￬ -3⤷
User1
Wow and ppl say chivalry is dead 😩 ↑ 203 ￬0
User2
Why were you still in a relationship with ur ex for 3 yrs he sounds like a scumbag???? ↑500 ￬-7⤷
Reader op
Tbh even idk y i stayed that long 🤷♀️ he was a controlling bitch who didnt let me out of his sight. ↑407 ￬-2⤷
User3
Tell us more about your current relationship is he treating you better than your ex? ↑300 ￬0⤷
Reader op
Oh yes infact he is treating me too good it cant even be compared to my pos ex. No more toxic masculanity, gaslighting and over possessiveness only and only princess treatment 😌😌. ↑700 ￬0⤷
User3
Thats great op def not jealous😭😭😭↑550￬0
User4
Lmaooo this is the best case scenario op pls spill the tea abt the break up too! ↑ 998 ￬-15⤷
Reader op
Ok ok the breakup was a goddamn show my ex lost his shit as soon as he got to know about the stunt i pulled it got worse as he when i said it was his enemy he was about to hit me physically but thank god someone intervened even i didn't know he would this far got scared but it was fun watching him lose his cool. ↑ 200 ￬0⤷
User4
My turn whennnnn 😭😭😭😭 ↑ 800 ￬-15⤷
Reader op
Soon girlie this too shall pass 🫂🫂🫂↑307￬-2
Hope yall like this 🎀
Jus wanted to make sure taht yall know the smut is not posted along the 'post' its a part of the 'fic' thats y its seprated by dividers i added smut bc without it the fic would have been too short n i didnt wanna give u all a nothing burger😃
Idk who to tag so using my four is a crowd tag list hope yall dont mind.
Author’s Note: Hey guys, this is my first fanfic (and post)! I’ve been an avid reader, so I wanted to help out with the Dhurandhar drought. This version has Hindi/Urdu dialogues and there is another version which is fully written in English. Please comment so I can interact with you guys and hear your thoughts—I'd love to make friends with other writers and Dhurandhar fans! 💕
Tell me why I feel like Ananya Pandey (I imagined her as Tara in this story) would look so good with Uzair?! Anways this fic is about an arranged marriage….
Word Count: 5030
Warnings: None
Warning: These are fictional works inspired only by the characters portrayed in Dhurandhar created by Adithya Dhar. It does not reflect or represent the real-life actors or any real individuals. Nothing depicted is intended to endorse real-world behaviour. Reader discretion is advised.
As an only child, Tara had no sanctuary. The constant, bitter shouting matches between her parents turned their beautifully furnished house into a loud, stressful battleground. Her father, Sikandar Mansoor, was a cold tycoon who ran his home with the same rigid control he used to manage his textile factories. Her mother, Zareen, was an elite socialite obsessed with high-society standing, spending her days critiquing Tara's posture and hosting charity committees. The second the yelling started, Tara would slip out the back door, heading straight for the servants' quarters to find Razia and Zayn. They were the children of Sakina, the family’s maid, but to Tara, they were her real family.
Sikandar and Zareen detested her hanging out with them, viewing it as a stain on their name. If Tara was ever caught coming back from the quarters, Zareen would scrub her hands in disgust while Sikandar would threaten to fire Sakina on the spot. Class status was a weapon they used to keep Tara isolated, making those escapes her quiet rebellion.
Razia was a year older, tall and expressive, with a brilliant smile that eased Tara's anxiety instantly. Her twin brother, Zayn, carried a calm, steady presence that balanced his sister's fiery nature perfectly. Both of them always looked out for Tara whenever the chaos of the house became too much.
The three of them would crowd onto a woven charpai in the small courtyard behind the main house, sharing broken glucose biscuits. To pass the time, they played makeshift word games, which is where Tara's deep love for language started.
Inside the main house, Sikandar and Zareen always snapped at her for being "annoying," telling her she talked entirely too much. Over time, they forced her to become completely quiet and reserved just to maintain their polished public image. But Razia and Zayn knew her true self. With them, her bubbly energy and bright laughter never faded. Tara's real beauty only showed when she genuinely laughed—her entire face would light up, her eyes would widen, and her genuine warmth would completely break through her usual reserved facade.
She still remembered one brutal afternoon when her parents were shrieking inside about a failed corporate merger. Terrified, Tara fled to the quarters. Razia pulled her into their small room, holding her shaking hands tightly while Zayn hilariously mimicked the dramatic, gossiping high-society guests who visited Zareen's parlors. He did it so perfectly that he turned Tara's tears of fear into breathless laughter.
As she grew older, the pressure only got worse. Her parents constantly reminded her that she was just an asset, a pawn to be married off to a man of Sikandar’s choosing to secure corporate alliances and the local influence needed to protect their empire. Tara kept her vibrant side safely hidden from the elite crowds, finding her only real escape as an English teacher at a public school. Behind closed doors, her parents had furious, screaming fits over it, threatening to completely disown her for dragging their prestigious name through the dirt. Yet, the moment they were in front of their high-society circles, they completely flipped the script, proudly boasting about Tara's teaching job as if it were a noble charity initiative they had graciously funded themselves.
But her anxieties went far deeper than just a fear of being trapped. Tara’s greatest terror was ending up in a marriage that was completely loveless, hollow, and fake—an exact replica of her parents'. In public, Sikandar and Zareen meticulously maintained the illusion of a devoted, elite power couple. In private, however, the facade completely vanished. The only times they weren't screaming at each other was when they chose to target Tara instead. It was as if they resented her simply for existing, furious because she was the living proof of their marriage that forced them to stay together. Her second deepest fear was entering a home where she would be utterly ignored and dismissed, left to fade into the background exactly the way she had been at home her whole life.
When they finalized the arrangement with Uzair Baloch, Tara agreed on one strict condition: she demanded weekly dates before the wedding. She needed to know who this man truly was, desperate to ensure she wasn't signing away her life to another cold, performative prison. Truthfully, she was surprised her parents had even listened to her demand; perhaps, behind all the mind games, they were just as exhausted by the endless fighting as she was.
The first date took place two months before the wedding. Uzair didn't take her to the polished, manicured spots her parents frequently visited in Clifton or Defense. Instead, he drove her out to a quiet stretch of Hawksbay away from the crowds, stopping the jeep where the sea breeze hit the hardest. The heavy Karachi humidity hung thickly over the sand, and the dark Arabian Sea crashed rhythmically against the shore.
Before coming out to the sand, he had pulled over at a roadside stall, and now the warm, sharp scent of spiced fish and hot bun kababs cut through the salty air between them. Tara sat on the edge of the jeep's open bed, her fingers tightly gripping the cold metal. Looking out at the vast, dark emptiness of the coastline, a sudden wave of relief washed over her, grounding her raw nerves. She was immensely grateful he hadn't chosen some suffocating, high-end restaurant in the city. If he had taken her to a place with valet parking, she would have spent the entire night on high alert, suffocated by the pressure to maintain a flawless public image. Out here, with the salty wind in her face and the calming hum of the ocean, there was no audience and there was no one to perform for.
Uzair sat beside her, his massive frame completely leaning back against the vehicle, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He didn't force a fake conversation. He simply just reached down into the oil-stained paper wrapping, took a bite of the street food, and looked out at the dark water under the moonlight.
“Khao,” Uzair said, his deep voice short and flat, but completely devoid of the harshness she always heard at home. “Isse pehle ke thanda ho jaye.”
Tara looked across the sand up to his sharp profile, her voice slightly stuttering. “Aap... aap khud toh kuch kha nahi rahe. Bas mujhe bura feel karane ke liye nakhre kar rahe hain.”
Uzair didn't argue. He just chewed rhythmically in the soft glow of the moonlight. “Kha toh raha hoon. Ab tum khao.”
Tara chewed her inner lip, a tiny crack appearing in her guard. At home, compliance was demanded with a shout. Uzair's blunt approach just left her alone in her own space, free from the crushing expectations of the Mansoor name.
“Mere... mere students aaj bilkul pagal ho gaye the,” she murmured, her true energy slipping out as her nerves dropped. “Hum vocabulary exercise kar rahe, aur ek chote ladke ne poori zidd pakad li ke 'fortress' ka matlab giant refrigerator hota hai. Main poore pandrah minute apni hansi rok kar usse samjhati rahi.”
Uzair’s lips twitched slightly, a barely visible dent appearing in his rugged jawline. “Refrigerator?”
“Haan! Aur itna confident tha na, hadd hai,” she said, a real, unforced laugh breaking through. Her eyes widened with enthusiasm as she used her hands to mimic a giant box. “Kehta hai mere mamoo ke kitchen mein ek 'fortress' hai jahan mahino tak gosht frozen rehta hai. Mera dil hi nahi kiya usse batane ka ke woh deep freezer ki baat kar raha hai.”
Uzair didn't interrupt her. He just finished his food and listened to her talk about her lesson plans and the books she wanted to buy, giving her his full, undivided attention until the night grew late.
Their second date took place at a quiet and low-profile rooftop tea spot near Stadium Road. The air smelled of strong cardamom, roasted corn, and lemon juice, and Tara was still finding her footing, shifting between long, quiet pauses and sudden bursts of talking while they sat on a low wooden bench.
“Meri ammi ne aaj poore teen ghante stage ke floral arrangements select karne mein barbad kiye,” Tara said, her fingers tracing the warm rim of her clay teacup. “Mujhse pucha tak nahi ke mujhe kya pasand hai. Bas keh diya ke white lilies photographs mein expensive lagti hain. Mujhe lilies se nafrat hai. Hospital jaisi boo aati hai unse. Mujhe umeed thi ke woh marigolds rakhne dengi, jo mujhe pasand hain.”
Uzair rested his thick forearms on his knees, watching the heavy traffic pass below on the main road. “Toh hum Haveli ke staff ko bol denge, woh agle hi din sab saaf kar denge. Waise bhi Ulfat bhabhi ko marigolds hi pasand hain. Unse hospital jaisi boo nahi aati.”
Tara turned her head, a small, genuine smile touching her lips before saying, “Lekin meri ammi kehti hain ke woh saste lagte hain, jaise signal par ek rupee mein milne wale. Unhein har cheez imported chahiye.”
"Haveli unka ghar nahi hai," Uzair muttered, his voice dropping an octave, solid and unyielding. "Jo andar hoga, hamare rules se hoga. Rehman bhai perimeter sambhalte hain, aur jo Ulfat bhabhi bolti hain, wahi hota hai. Unhein kaho apni lilies Clifton mein hi rakhein."
For their third date, roughly four weeks before the wedding, Uzair took her to a quiet, old park near the borders of the city during the late afternoon. It was far less manicured than the places her parents frequently dragged her to, but the shade of the ancient banyan trees felt relaxing.
The heavy silence of the afternoon hung between them. Usually, Tara would fill the space with endless stories about her school or her books, but today her shoulders were tense, her gaze fixed entirely on her boots as they walked. The approaching wedding date was acting like a physical weight, dragging her down.
In an attempt to shake off this feeling of suffocation, she stepped up onto the low, rugged stone border that lined the walkway, trying to focus on balancing herself. She walked with her arms slightly out, her movements careful as she hopped from one uneven rock to the next.
"Mere abba guest list mein mazeed do sau corporate clients badhana chahte hain," Tara mentioned. Her voice was barely above a whisper and lacked its usual bright energy. "Mujhse aaj keh rahe the ke shaadi koi intimate family dinner nahi hoti. Yeh ek corporate merger hai."
Uzair didn't slow his strides, keeping pace right beside her on the smooth path. He didn't look at the perimeter; his sharp eyes stayed locked on her feet. "Unhein jitne marzi log bulane hain bulayein. Saamne wala aangan family ka hai. Rehman bhai gates dekh lenge."
"Lekin agar unhone—" Tara started, turning her head too quickly to look down at him.
Her foot caught the jagged edge of a loose stone. She lost her footing completely, a small gasp escaping her throat as she tilted forward, slipping off the elevated border straight toward the hard, cracked ground.
Before she could even brace for the impact, Uzair moved. In one swift, effortless motion, his massive hands locked firmly around her waist, catching her cleanly mid-air.
The sheer momentum brought her right against his chest. For a second, the entire park fell completely quiet. Tara’s hands instinctively clamped onto his forearms, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs—not from the fall, but from the sudden, overwhelming proximity. Uzair held her completely off the ground for a beat longer than necessary, his grip iron-tight but remarkably careful, his sharp eyes searching her face to see if she was hurt.
He looked at her wide, startled eyes and the way her lips were parted in silence.
"Dhyan se chalo," Uzair muttered, his deep voice carrying a sudden, heavy gravity close to her ear. He set her back down onto the flat path, but his hands didn't immediately drop from her waist, ensuring she had her footing. "Aaj kuch ajeeb lag rahi ho."
Tara's face flushed a deep crimson. She looked up at him, her voice defensive but breathless as her fingers lingered on his linen sleeves. "Maine toh abhi theek se do sentences bhi nahi bole kyunki mera dimaag kahin aur chal raha hai."
Uzair's jaw tightened slightly, a barely visible trace of amusement passing through his eyes before he slowly let his hands drop back into his pockets. "Wahi toh. Mujhe pata chal jata hai jab tum nervous hoti ho."
He turned back toward the path, his stride slow and steady, waiting for her to catch up with him. "Tumhare abba ke guests main hall mein rahenge. Woh wahan nahi baithenge jahan hum baithenge. Awaaz gate ke paar nahi aati."
By their fourth date, three weeks before the wedding, they were sitting at a crowded dhabba near Gizri, surrounded by the roaring of passing rickshaws, loud laughter, and clinking teacups. Tara tried to navigate a fresh, burning paratha straight from the tawa and let out a sharp hiss, instantly dropping it back onto the plastic plate.
Uzair didn't ask useless questions or lecture her. He reached across the small table, took a heavy steel spoon, and cleanly broke the steaming paratha into smaller, manageable pieces before pushing the plate back toward her.
“Chammach use karo,” he muttered, gesturing toward the plastic cutlery beside her cup. “Haath mat jalao.”
Tara looked down at the pieces, her heart doing a sudden, hard flip. She picked up the fork, staring at the perfectly broken bites.
"Shukriya," she said softly, her voice carrying a rare, vulnerable weight over the noise of the dhabba.
Uzair picked up his own cup of strong chai, taking a slow sip. He didn't lift his gaze from the rim of his cup. "Kis liye?"
"Mujhe kisi aisi jagah laane ke liye jahan koi nahi dekhta ke main kaun hoon," she murmured, looking across at him as a rickshaw roared past their table. "Jab bhi family ke sath un high-end jagahon par jati hoon, toh lagta hai jaise koi audition chal raha ho. Ghar par toh halat is se bhi buri hai. Ammi ne khane par itni restrictions lagayi hui hain—ek ek nivala monitor karti hain ke society pages aur wedding photos ke liye flawless dikhna hai. Yeh sab itna exhausting ho jata hai ke aadha waqt toh main unki baaton se bachne ke liye theek se khati hi nahi hoon. Yahan bhale hi shor hai, par sukoon hai. Kkoi mujhe judge nahi kar raha, na hi meri plate ko ghoor raha hai."
Uzair set his teacup down with a firm, solid thud against the laminate table. His sharp eyes locked onto hers, entirely serious. "Haveli mein bhi aisa hi hai. Ek baar gate ke andar aagaye, toh baahar ki duniya andar jhaank kar nahi dekhti."
Tara looked up, her lips parting slightly. Uzair didn't lean in. Instead, his gaze shifted away from her, scanning the chaotic crowd of the dhabba and the roaring traffic of the street, almost contemplating the words before they left his mouth. Then, looking back at his tea, he whispered nonchalantly:
"Tumhara shohar hone ke naate, itna toh main kar hi sakta hoon."
The words hit her instantly. Tara’s breath caught in her throat as she caught his meaning, a sudden, intense warmth flushing across her cheeks. She quickly looked back down at her plate to hide the deep blush rising up her neck. The roaring streets seemed to fade into a dull hum, completely replaced by the quiet reality of what he had just stated so calmly. He wasn't just filtering out the high-society pressure for her anymore; he was completely stepping into her life to protect her space.
For their fifth date, they ended up at Dolmen Mall. Walking through the air-conditioned corridors under the bright lights, she felt a different kind of contrast. Uzair, in his usual dark salwar kameez with the sleeves rolled up, walked beside her with a slow, deliberate pace that made the rushing mall crowd naturally part around them.
"Ammi chahti thin ke main yahan designer boutiques par jaun aur post-wedding dinners ke liye teen aur formal tunics loon," Tara said, looking at the polished glass storefronts filled with mannequin displays. "Keh rahi thin ke agar main pehle hi mahine kapde repeat karti hui dikhi toh bohot embarrassing hoga. Keh rahi thin ke aapke side ke log sochenge Mansoor family ne apni beti ko jahez hi nahi diya."
Uzair didn't even look toward the high-end displays. "Wahi khareedo jo tumhein pehanna hai. Agar andar nahi jana, toh nahi jayenge. Haveli mein koi tumhare kapde nahi ginta. Rehman bhai ko koi farq nahi padta, aur Ulfat bhabhi ko bas is baat ki fikr hoti hai ke tum comfortable ho."
Tara smiled slightly, feeling the familiar, steady grounding he always brought. "Nahi, theek hai. Main bas corner wale bookstore par jana chahti hoon. Poore mall mein wahi ek jagah sukoon wali lagti hai."
Uzair simply nodded, changing direction without a single word and trailed behind her into the quiet, book-lined aisles.
The moment Tara stepped into the rows of tall bookshelves, her entire demeanor shifted. Her fingers danced eagerly along the spines of old history books, poetry collections, and classical novels. As she drifted from one shelf to the next, entirely lost in her own world, she would pull a heavy volume down, look over its summary with bright, excited eyes, and seamlessly hand it off backward toward Uzair without even looking.
She didn't even realize she was doing it. She was completely absorbed in the books, treating him like a natural, comforting presence that would just be there.
Uzair didn't say a word to disrupt her focus. His sharp eyes scanned the quiet rows, and every time her hand reached back with another book, his massive hands simply closed around the spine, stacking them carefully against his chest. By the time they reached the end of the aisle, he was holding a massive, heavy stack of novels, his posture completely unbothered by the weight.
When Tara finally snapped out of her trance near the register, she blinked, looking at his full hands with a look of sudden horror. "Oh my god, I am so sorry! Mera woh matlab nahi tha ke aap yeh sab uthayein, main bas—mera bilkul dhyan hi nahi raha."
Uzair didn't complain or wait for her to grab her purse. He stepped past her directly to the counter, setting the heavy stack down with a solid thud. Before she could even unclip her bag, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the cash, and handed it cleanly to the clerk.
"Main apne books ke paise khud de sakti hoon," Tara whispered, her face flushing slightly as the clerk began wrapping them up.
"Yeh Haveli ja rahe hain," Uzair muttered bluntly, taking the heavy paper bag in one hand. "Main dunga."
He turned and began walking toward the exit, holding the heavy bag securely in his left hand, while his right hand hung empty at his side.
Tara stood there for a moment, watching his broad back as he walked ahead. A sudden wave of courage overrode her usual hesitation. She quickly caught up to him, stepping right alongside his steady stride. Without a word, she reached down and slid her fingers into his empty right hand, lacing her fingers firmly with his broad, calloused ones.
Uzair stopped instantly, his entire frame tensing at the unexpected warmth of her touch. He looked down at their joined hands, and then up at her face, his sharp eyes filled with a quiet, intense surprise.
Tara looked up through her lashes, her face flushing a bright, beautiful crimson, but she didn't let go. She squeezed his hand gently and offered a small, defiant smile.
"Yeh meri taraf se payment hai," she said softly.
Uzair’s jaw tightened slightly, a heavy, unreadable emotion passing through his dark eyes. He didn't pull away. Instead, his large fingers wrapped securely around hers, shifting his grip to hold her hand completely against his side as they continued walking out into the mall together. As she pulled him forward toward the exit, Uzair just kept his eyes fixed entirely on their joined hands. A profound softness settled over his features as he stared down at the contrast of her smaller hand locked in his. He walked in a quiet trance, silently hoping that this simple moment wouldn't end, a deep sense of relief washing over him because she was finally comfortable with him.
Twelve days before the wedding, Uzair had come over to hand-deliver the last set of formal legal documents that Rehman Bhai had processed for Sikandar.
As he crossed the main foyer, Sikandar Mansoor came down the stairs, looking irritated as he called out blindly into the hallway. "Tara! Tara, neeche aao aur apne mangetar ko hello kaho!" When there was no immediate answer, Sikandar rolled his eyes, turning toward Uzair with an insincere, smooth laugh. "Inhein dekhein. Bilkul baat nahi manti. Jab bulayein toh dhyan tak nahi deti. Pata nahi shadi ke baad aapko kitna tang karegi."
Uzair stopped in his tracks, his large frame towering over the smoothly polished marble floor. He extended his arm and bluntly handed the heavy folder of legal documents directly to Sikandar, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked at the man. His voice dropped into a cold, flat rumble. "Woh bilkul theek sunti hain. Kuch aur logon ki tarah nahi hain."
Sikandar’s smile stiffened, completely caught off guard as he took the papers.
"Aur waise bhi," Uzair added, his tone heavy with a direct roast, "usse apne hi ghar mein thoda dhyan paane ke liye har waqt itni koshish nahi karni chahiye."
Before Sikandar could form a response, Tara's mother entered, coming from a nearby room. Seeing Uzair, her expression instantly shifted into a sugary, high-society facade. "Oh, Uzair beta! Aapko dekh kar kitni khushi hui. Aayein, baithein, main staff se kehti hoon aapke liye fresh juice layein—"
Uzair looked at her, his expression remaining entirely flat. "Aadaab," he said respectfully but completely devoid of warmth, intentionally avoiding calling her his mother-in-law. "Shukriya, par main theek hoon."
Without waiting for her to continue, he turned on his heel and walked straight past them toward the upper residential wing, intending to find Tara himself. Behind him, Sikandar and his wife both stood frozen, scowling as they watched his retreating back, before turning to glare at each other in sheer frustration at his blatant disregard for their gestures.
Uzair moved down the quiet, carpeted corridor, looking for her room. As he passed a slightly open door, he slowed his stride. He had intended to just pop his head in and say hello, but the sight inside made him stop completely.
Tara was standing in front of a tall wooden easel, entirely immersed in her work. She was painting a canvas that depicted a beautiful scene under a soft twilight sky. In the center of the canvas, she had painted a portrait of a woman's back and a massive, broad-shouldered man's back, their hands carefully laced together. Even from behind, the figures strongly resembled the two of them.
Hearing his heavy footsteps, Tara turned around abruptly, her eyes widening in sudden fluster. She instantly moved to stand directly in front of the easel, trying to hide the canvas from his view. She looked completely different away from her mother's watchful gaze. Her hair was up in a loose, casual style held by a claw clip, with half of it tumbling down her shoulders. A small smudge of dark blue paint was smeared across her forehead, and her simple cotton kurti had a few colorful splatters on the sleeve.
Uzair stepped into the room, his large frame easily taking in her frantic attempt to block the easel. A barely visible, amused twitch tugged at the corner of his jaw. Instead of staying back, he deliberately walked closer, stepping right up into her personal space to peer over her head at the canvas she was desperately trying to shield.
"Oh," Uzair said softly, his deep voice carrying a rare, teasing undertone as he leaned in slightly to get a better look. "Yeh kya hai?"
Tara bit her inner lip, her face turning bright crimson, and she remained completely silent, unable to find a single word to respond under his close proximity.
Uzair's gaze lingered on her flustered expression, and then his eyes traced up to her hair. She quickly shook her head, trying to move a stubborn, stray lock of hair that had fallen directly across her eyes. She shook it twice, but the strand remained firmly stuck against her cheek.
Without a word, Uzair closed the remaining distance between them. He reached out, his thick, calloused fingers incredibly gentle as he caught the stubborn strand of hair and tucked it carefully behind her ear. His hand lingered for a fraction of a second against the soft skin of her jawline.
Tara froze, her breath catching entirely in her throat. She looked up, her wide, expressive eyes locking directly onto his sharp, intense gaze. Surrounded by the scent of fresh oil paint, the space between them shrunk to nothing. Uzair looked down at her parted lips, his chest rising and falling heavily. Drawn in by the sudden, overwhelming gravity, they both slowly began to lean in, their faces inches apart, almost crossing the line into a kiss.
SLAM.
A door closing firmly several rooms away echoed down the corridor, shattering the quiet.
The sound startled them both. They instantly pulled apart. Uzair cleared his throat roughly, shifting his weight as his gaze darted toward the ceiling, the window, the floor—anywhere but her face.
Tara’s cheeks burned a deep crimson. She awkwardly cleared her throat, nervously wiping her hands on a cloth. "Uzair... ruko. Main bas yeh paint saaf karke aati hoon. Tum yahin baitho. Main... main tumhein kuch logon se milwana chahti hoon."
As she hurried into her attached bathroom, Uzair stood alone, finally taking a moment to observe her room. It was completely unlike his own sterile, dark space, and vastly different from the rest of the cold, pretentious mansion. Her room was filled with soft light, simple wooden furniture, stacks of books, and small handmade crafts. It felt incredibly positive, warm, and simple. His eyes drifted to a small wooden shelf near her desk, pausing on a couple of framed childhood pictures of her—one where she was laughing wildly with a missing front tooth, and another where she was holding a giant teddy bear. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips.
The sound of the bathroom door opening made him snap out of it instantly. He straightened his shoulders, wiping the smile from his face just as Tara stepped back out, her hands clean and her expression determined.
Without giving him a chance to speak, she immediately walked up, grabbed him firmly by the wrist, and began pulling him forward to lead the way out.
Uzair didn't say a word to slow her down. As she pulled him through the room, his gaze dropped entirely to her hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. It was hard for him to get used to this new feeling.
She checked the hallway carefully, ensuring her parents weren't looking, and then secretly guided him down the back staircase, leading him out toward the narrow brick path at the edge of the property.
When they reached the quiet courtyard of the servants' quarters, Tara immediately ran ahead to where Razia and Zayn were sitting on the woven cot under the neem tree. The rigid reserve she kept around her parents completely vanished as she introduced Uzair to them, her voice bright with relief.
With the introductions out of the way, the two girls sat back down on the cot, completely caught up in their own conversation. Within seconds, Tara was gesturing wildly, laughing as she caught her friend up on everything, her voice carrying a lively warmth.
Uzair stayed back by the edge of the brick path, his massive frame blending into the deep shade of the concrete wall. He didn't interrupt her joy. He just stood there with his arms crossed, watching her from a distance as she laughed and talked with Razia.
While the two women remained entirely focused on each other, completely animated in their own world, Zayn noticed Uzair standing in the shadows. His posture turned tense and formal for a moment, recognizing the sheer weight the Baloch name carried in the city. After a brief hesitation, Zayn quietly stepped away from the cot, leaving his sister and Tara to their conversation, and walked over to the edge of the path alone.
Uzair watched him approach, taking in the protective stance the young man naturally had and the raw, honest worry in his expression. Uzair didn't look at the modest quarters with any high-society judgment or arrogance. Instead, he kept his voice low and private so it wouldn't disturb the women or carry back to the main house.
"Maine tumhari un lafzon wali game ke baare mein suna hai," Uzair said, his deep voice characteristically short and blunt, but entirely devoid of condescension. "Iska khayal rakhne ke liye shukriya."
Zayn let out a slow breath, looking back at Tara for a quiet moment before meeting Uzair's sharp eyes directly. "Yeh us bade mahal mein poori zindagi gayab hi rahi hai, bhai. Woh log toh is par tabhi dhyan dete hain jab unhein ise sabko dikhana ho ya is mein koi khonsh nikalni ho. Yahan bahar aakar yeh sukoon ka saans leti hai." He paused, his expression serious and grounding. "Bas ise ek aisi jagah dena jahan ise apni baat sunwane ke liye ladna na pade."
Uzair followed his gaze, watching the genuine, bright smile on Tara's face as she talked. His expression remained completely unyielding while his voice carried a quiet, absolute certainty. "Aisa nahi hoga. Mera poora dhyan hai is par."
As Tara talked with Razia, her gaze occasionally drifted back toward him. Watching the steady, unbothered way he stood in her world, she realized her standards had been completely raised; no one else could ever compare to the quiet, protective security he offered. In truth, she had already decided to marry him from the first few dates itself. She had only dragged the remaining dates out to get more time with him—and looking at the faint, knowing look in his eyes right now, she had a strong feeling he knew exactly what she was doing and shared the very same feelings toward her.
This is set in the same uni of Dilwale Dulhaniya Uthake le Ayenge. It is based on the suggestion in the comments by @yehfitoormera about when Chotu Faizal caught his Khala and Chachu. Can be read as a one-shot.
This is completely based on Danish's fantastic portrayal of Uzair and is completely fictional. Here, they are regular gangsters, and it's an AU.
Constructive criticism appreciated. This is not beta read, so if you guys find some typos/ errors, please feel free to correct me.
Warnings: fluff, Uzair (he is the warning), established relationship, secret love, childhood enemies turned lovers, Baby Faizal.
Uzair x reader/oc
Happy reading....
“Phir agai mu uthake”, Uzair commented as he saw her entering the haveli. She was wearing a beautiful lavender suit with silver work, and beautiful chandbalis with lavender beads adorned her ears, making a soft, twinkling sound. She turned towards him sharply, her eyes narrowed. She looked angry, oh it would be fun to tease her, Uzair thought.
“Meri aapi ka ghar hain, main to aungi. 1000 baar aungi.” She replied coming closer looking at him in the eye.
“Jaa jaa." Uzair momentarily forgot his thoughts as her soft perfume invaded his senses. She looked so beautiful. He suddenly noticed a small paper bag in her hands. "Kya leke ai hain." He peeked through the bag from the side, "Jalebi? Wahi to leke ayegi. Tera dimag bhi bilkul jalebi jaisa hain na, pechida”
“Oo Naryal ke peed, atleast dimag to hain mujhme. College mein 1st class se pass hui hu, tumhari tarha nahi 8’ th vi 2 baar mein, aur 12 vi ke baad kitab bandh”
“Mujhe padhai ki zaroorat nahi duniya dari ke liye, bandook chalana ata hain. Lyari ka Prince hu samjhi na tu”
“Jao jao, bara aya Prince. Nalayak, nihaiti Badmash, masjid se bulb churane wala lagte ho tum.”
“Bas bas, baapre. Ghar ate h suru hogaye dono” Ulfat intervened. She had not yet entered the Haveli and had started fighting already.
“Aapi apke pati ke bhai ne hi suru kiya” She complained moved gto Ulfat;s side.
“Woh to pata hain Bachi. Mera bhai hain hi gadha, varna itni pyaari si bachi se koi lad sakta hain. Mashallah kitni pyaari lagrahi hain aj tu beta” Rehman made his entrance, patting her head softly like he did since she was 10. She was still his little bachi.
“Thank you, Rehman bhai, ye suit aapne hi dilvaya tha pichle saal”, she said, giving him a twirl like she always did whenever she wore new clothes.
“Andar a beta. Isko chor” Rehman held her shoulder with fatherly affection as he welcomed her in. At that very moment, Uzair snatched the paper bag full of jalebis and dashed away in full speed.
“Aree meri jalebi. Iski to…” She ran behind him.
“Kya kar rahe ho. Arey koi ajayega. Faizal uth gaya to?” She said to Uzair, who was hugging her from behind, his chest against her back as he cuddled her form, kissing her head softly.
It was past midnight. Everyone was asleep. Uzair had found this the perfect opportunity to sneak into her room to get some much-needed private time with her. Baby Faizal had decided that he wanted to sleep with his khala, and his khala was never able to resist his puppy eyes and cute pout. Thus, they had to be extra careful as Faizal was now sleeping on her bed.
“Aree woh to bacha hain. Koi nahi ayega. Ek kiss de na.” Uzair pulled her close, their noses touching.
“Chi, besharam. Hamesha bas ye sab baatein karva lo. Aur jab ai to ek baar meri tareef bhi nahi ki. Tumhare diya huye chandbali bhi phene the. Per nahi, nawab ko to dikhta hi nahi” She turned her back at him, showing mock anger.
“Aree baby, mujhe to tujhe dekhke hi nazar utarne ka maan kar raha tha, isiliye to jhagra kiya. Aur woh suit kya jach raha tha tumpe baby. Kaha se silvaya?” Uzair wrapped his arm around her waist, whispering the last words near her ear. She shivered, feeling him this close. It was not like this was the first time he was so close, but Uzair always had this effect on her.
“Haat jao. Tum hi to leke gaye the. Yaad nahi kya?” She was almost red now, recalling the moments when they went to the tailor to get the suit stitched. They were in the jeep, it was raining.
“Achaa. Meri jeep mein gaye the na, barish ho rahi thi aur tum…” She placed her palm on his mouth, preventing him from speaking further. She cherished those moments, but she became painfully shy when he spoke about them in such a blunt, almost cocky way.
“Chup karo, bacha so raha hain”
“Ye to hamesha sota hain.”Uzair said, looking at sleeping Faizal, who had just had the tasks of eating, sleeping, doing Masti and again sleeping.
“Mujhe kheer khilade na”, Uzair muttered, tracing her fingers and kissing them one by one as they stood beside the window.
“Kyu, bara jhagra karke kheh rahe the meri haat ki kheer to zeher hogi?”
“Hain tu nahi khilayegi to zeher hi lagega na. Tu agar pyaar se khilaye to zeher bhi kha lu.” She smiled, hearing him. He was such a flirt, so adorable and loved her so much she could never deny him.
“Tum bhi na. Chalo leke ao. Ek Katori alag se Rakha hain tumhare liye, zaada badam deke”
“Meri baby. Hamesha mere bare mein sochti hain” Uzair wrapped her in a tight hug and pecked her lips before he left for the kitchen to bring the kheer.
He entered with a bowl of kheer, topped with extra kaju, badam and pista. She waited for him to taste it, when he handed her the bowl, and he pulled her into his lap.
“Aree yaha kaha batha rahe ko.”
“Meri god me. Aur meri baby ne top kiya?” He asked as he made her sit on his lap. She fit perfectly.
“hain. 1st class se pass hui hu” She fed him the first bite of the kheer, while she answered, quite proud of her academic achievement. The kheer opened Uzair's taste buds, it was perfect. Perfectly sweet, milky and crunch of the badam made it even better. He hummed and quickly kissed her other palm.
“Kitni hosiyaar hain meri jaan. Sabse hoshiyar. Kya tofa chahiye phir?” Uzair was very proud of her academic achievements; he was happier than her. Hell, he was the one who had checked her results and was unable to sleep before her exams. He even went to the masjid to pray for her.
“Mujhe kuch nahi chahiye bas tum mere pas raho aisei” She smiled, looking at him as if he was her whole world. She loved him so much.
“Woh to main hamesha rahunga. Per tofa to deserve karti ho tum”
“Acha to jo tumhara maan kare”
“Jo mera man kare woh dediya to tum samhal nahi paogi.” Uzair teased.
“Hamesha ulti seedhi baatein” She softly hit his chest, but he pulled her even closer in his lap.
“Aree maine kaha kuch kaha. Tere hi is dimag mein chlata hain”
“Kheer acha bana hain?”
“Tum ne banaya hain acha to Banega hi. Chalo ab ek kiss dedo meri jaan”
“Acha thik hain” She agreed quickly, she wanted a kiss too.
Uzair placed the half-empty bowl on the side table, shifting her on his lap, making her face him. He looked deep into her eyes, their noses touching as he placed a kiss on her forehead first. He slowly lowered his lips to her, and she closed her eyes. The kiss initially soft, slowing deeped. He tasted sweet like the kheer.
“Chachu?” Faizal's sleepy voice made her jump from his lap.
“Faisal beta aap uth gaye?" She looked at him, trying to look as normal as possible.
“Khala mujhe bhi kheer do” His eyes were on the bowl of kheer on the side table.
“Hain beta abhi lai.” She wanted no questions from the boy and quickly went to the kitchen.
As she left, Faizal moved towards Uzair, “Chachu aap khala ko kissi de rahe the?”
“Maine khala ko daanta na isiliye sorry bol raha tha.” Uzair spun lies for the kid. He could not let the secret out, not before asking her.
“Achaa to kal raat ammi bhi abbu to sorry bo rahi thi.” Faizal thought deeply, remembering the incident of last night.
“Hain beta. Per tu kisiko baatana maat”
“Kyu? Khala to happy thi na?” Faizal was confused.
“Hain beta. Per ye secret hain na”
“Ye lo beta tumhara kheer. Khiladu?” She entered the room with a smaller bowl of kheer.
“Hain, aap jaise chachu ko khila rahe the. Meri godi mein baith jao aur mujhe kissi deke khilao”
“Beta main apke godi mein kaise baithu, aap to baby ho na”
“Nahi. Apko meri godi mein baithke hi khilana hoga” Faizal was determined, his lower lip was pouting almost as if he was about to cry.
“Hain chachu. Aap to smart hain” Faizal was quite happy with the suggestion and quickly sat on his khala's lap.
“Main kal abbu ko bol dunga ki aap smart hain, apko na daante” He chirped happily having the kheer.
“Nahi Faizal. Tu kuch nahi bolega,” Uzair said quickly.
“Kyu?”
“Ye is bache ko haar baat pe kyu bolna hota hain?” Uzair was losing his patience. He had come here to have some time with his beloved, and here his nephew was being the kabab mein haddi; why couldn't he sleep with his ammi abbu for the night?
“Aree Uzi chup.” She said quickly. “Faizal beta, agar aapne bola to Ammi ko bhi pata chal jayega aapne kheer khai, raat ko, chup chup ke. Haww, phir ammi ne aapki pitti kardi to?” She perfectly knew how to handle little Faizal.
“Haww, khala sahi main. Main chup rahunga. Ab meri kissi do” He seemed convinced.
“Ye lo mere Shehzade” She places an exaggerated kiss on his baby cheeks and Faizal was happy.
“Isko bhi kiss mila. Mera wala hi adha reh gaya.” Uzair was irritated.
“Ye lo chachu”, Faizal moved with his mouthful of kheer to place a wet kiss on his chachu's cheek.
“Aree ye kheer ke sath hi mujhe kiss kar gaya” Uzair made a face.
She laughed, looking at the chachu-bhatija pair. She moved to give Uzair another kiss on the other cheek. “Aree Uzi, main deti hu na”
“Yaar baby. Tum itni pyaari ho”
“Khala to hamesha pyaari hi thi. Aapko aaj pata chala. Thik hain, ammi bolti hain na der aye aur, aur, durse aye”
“Nahi beta, der aye per durust aye,” she corrected Faizal's muhavra.
“Hain. Kal ammi ko bata dena aap Khala”
“Faizal tu kuch nahi bolega aj kya hua.” Uzair warned him.
“Kya nahi bolunga chachu?”
“Tune jo dekha”
“Kya dekha?”
“Faizal ke bache.” Uzair was done; his patience was running thin.
“Faizal, aj aapne jo dekha mere aur chachu ki kheer wali baat." She said to Faizal softly.
“Oh. Aap kissi de rahe the woh wali baat. Nahi main kisi se nahi kahungi. Per chachu woh chocolate?” Faizal looked at Uzair with a mischievous smile; no one expects from a child his age, but again, he was the son of Rehman Baloch.
“Badmash. Samjh araha hain tere mein Balocho ka khoon hain. Le aunga bara wala chocolate,” Uzair agreed, pulling him onto his lap.
“Thik hain Chachu” Faizal hugged him with his small arms.
“So gaya?” Uzair asked softly. Faizal was now asleep in her arms, after a story about a lion and a rat.
“Ab ache se mujhe bhi 'kissi' dede meri jaan”
“Maan nahi bharta tumhara?”
“Tujhse? Kabhi nahi”
Tagging my baddies: @lutt-le-gaya @nevereversaygoodbye @hamzakamehroomkurta @sanamkhanani @mainyahaankyunhoon @precioussophia @aoyamaj3711 @angelicyuna @torumii @sarcastic-ravenpuff @cvclee @miraclejin1204 @diyak11 @sunf1over @hereforfanfictionsfr @tobitoooo @cherryyelixir @saniisinsane @mrgrungusthefrog @sinnoire @opheliasreblog @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @goldenharrysworld @gulaabjamun08 @idonthavechatpateusernamed @indigo-pdf @rutvii
(In case any of you guys wanna be added or removed, please tell me in the comments)
For my other fics: My Masterlist
Other Uzair fics:
1. Lover Boy
2. Dilwale Dulhaniya Uthake le ayenge
3. Taskeen
A/N- this is for the lovely @ishq-e-rehman. Kinda rambled on this one but I hope you like it.
Summary- friends to lovers
Warnings- family issues, breakdowns, alcohol
The streets of Lyari were quiet this time in the morning. Most people remained deep in their slumber but Y/n was awake, soft pop music played through her earphones as she gathered her books to leave for college. She loved waking up before the rest of the city, the feeling of being the only one alive made her feel at peace. Life wasn’t easy for her but in these moments she didn’t have to think about anything but the music coursing through her veins. She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked out. Shagufta, her best friend, waited right outside and together they walked over to Lyari General College.
On the other side of the city, Uzair slowly tumbled out of bed. Every bone in his body protested against even the slightest movements he made. It had been a long night at the factory and the fight that broke out at the docks had snatched away all his time to get a good night’s sleep. He laid his head down on the breakfast table as Rehman ruffled his hair and Ulfat served him piping parathas.
“Bhabhi Kyu Mujhe bhejte ho roz college? Kuch bhi nhi hota waha. Bhai aap hi socho main Kitna kaam kar sakta hu factory ka iss time mein.”
Ulfat rolled her eyes. She had heard this argument from him endless times but she wanted him to have some semblance of normalcy. She understood his struggle to fit in but she never changed her decision. Rehman would never go against his wife and his guilt regarding dragging Uzair into the business as a child further fuelled his desire for Uzair to study.
“Uzair kuch mahino ki hi toh baat hai fir khatam college. Tere chakkar mein Siyahi, Hamza aur toh aur Donge ko bhi college jaane par majboor kar diya hai.”
Ulfat rested her hands on his shoulders and gently whispered,
“Uzair college chale jaao, Tumhari favourite biryani banaungi.”
Uzair begrudgingly climbed into his jeep and drove off.
Shagufta and Y/n, first year students with eyes full of wonder, made their way to class. Shagufta dragged Y/n to the back of the class instead of their usual seats.
“Shagufta Kya kar rahi ho? Seat chali jaegi yaar.”
“Arre meri maa ek din padhai chod de, kuch baat karni hai tujhse. Chal!!!”
They settled into their seats and Shagufta grabbed Y/n’s hands and started whispering
“Ok so do you remember Siyahi? Do mahine pehele gye the jab hum dono Nafisa ke sath unn seniors ki party mein.”
“Haa haa. Wahi na jisse teri ankhein nhi hatt rahi thi? Kya hua? Kuch kia usne? Tu bata toh main muh Tod dungi uska.”
Shagufta rolled her eyes,
“Uff yaar tu bhi na. Nahi kuch bhi kia usne. Party ke baad we exchanged numbers and baat krte the roz. Mujhe pata hai uska last year hai and woh kya kaam karta hai but usne muje propose kia and I said yes. Tujhe bataye bina neend nhi aati. I really really like him.”
“Shagufta!!! Tu Pagal hai? Rehman bhai ke sath kaam karta hai woh. Last year hai, atleast 5saal toh bada hoga tujhse.”
Shagufta’s hopeful eyes melted all the barriers of y/n’s logical reasoning and she sighed and pulled her into a hug
“I’m so so happy for you.”
What y/n did not know was that she would become the designated third wheel for every single date. She didn’t mind Siyahi, she had grown to accept him and she knew how happy Shagufta was but it was annoyingly boring to third wheel them all the time.
A few weeks later Siyahi organised a party. No matter how hard y/n tried to get out of attending Shagufta’s puppy face and pleading eyes eventually won her over.
On the night of the party, the girls snuck out. The house smelled of cigarettes and alcohol, loud music poured out from the speakers. The lights had been dimmed and they were the only first year students except for Yalina, Hamza’s girlfriend. Few hours in to the party, y/n found herself sitting next to Uzair. To her he was just a tall man nursing a glass of whiskey. He looked far too intimidating for her to strike up a conversation but surprisingly she didn’t feel uncomfortable. Uzair caught her looking at him and the whiskey in his hand.
“Try karni hai?”
Y/n snapped out of her reverie,
“Huh? Kya? Nahi, I mean maybe.”
Uzair chuckled, her fumbling over her own words was an adorable sight to him.
“Mera naam Uzair hai. Tum?”
“Main Y/n. Maaf karna main ghoorna nhi chah rahi thi bas apne khayalon mein kho gyi thi.”
“Koi na. Tum first year mein ho na? Yaha kaise?”
“Shagufta meri best friend hai aur uske ghar wale Siyahi ke naam se toh aane dete nhi. So here I am.”
“Achha Achha… decoy ho tum.”
“Ji Mujhe toh laga tha insan hu, Shayad apko Chashma lagaana chahie.”
For the first time Uzair was taken aback. He laughed and tipped back the remaining whiskey.
They stayed glued to each other all night long. Conversational flow easily, and his height and stature protected her from the drunk stumbling men. She was suddenly very aware that the boy she was talking to was the brother of Rehman Baloch but nothing about him felt threatening. It was as if he had cast a spell on her and she never wanted to return to reality.
_______
The next morning Shagufta kept pestering y/n to tag along for yet another on of her dates.
“Yaar Shagufta main Kya karungi? Main bore ho jaati hu.”
“Aaj nhi hogi. Siyahi ek dost ko la raha hai.”
“Aur Mujhe Kya Matlab uske dost se yaar.”
“Poori party toh usse chipki baithi thi. Mujhe toh lecture diya aur khud seedha uzair Baloch k paas pahuchi.”
Crimson spread across y/n’s cheeks.
“Baat kari sirf. Koi manai thodi hai baat krne mein.”
Soon enough, Shagufta and YN were sat at Alam Bhai’s shop. Uzair’s jeep pulled up, and both the boys stepped out. After the initial greetings of the and Siyahi, separated from the other two.
“Toh aaj tum decoy ho.”
“Ji main toh insan hu.”
And just like before they fell into easy conversation.
“Uzair yaar tum kya bachpan mein sirf horlicks ki diet pe the? Gardan dard ho gyi hai meri upar dekhte dekhte.”
Uzair leaned down, “Shayad fal sabzi kha leti toh Itni si nhi reh jaati.”
“Uff uzair bilkul Ammi jaisi baatein kr rahe ho. Raho ab tum inn dono ke sath, jaa rahi mai.”
Uzair caught her wrist, gentle enough that it wouldn’t hurt but firm enough to stop her from leaving. The touch sent sparks down y/n’s spine.
“Khafa mat ho y/n. Achha chalo gulab jaamun khaogi? Mujhe poore Karachi ki best dukaan pata hai.”
“Ab Ammi jaisi harkatein bhi kar rahe ho. Pehele gussa karo fir khana khilao.”
She burst into laughter and followed him into the car. Uzair drove to Mahmood Sweets.
The warm gulab jamuns seemed to melt the remaining walls between uzair and y/n. They exchanged numbers and somehow found excuses to hang out everyday
“Chai peene ka mann hai… chalogi?”
“Uzairrrr ghuma do na apni jeep mein pleaseee. I’ll die of boredom”
What started as friendship blossomed into something else entirely. Their hands would remain intertwined on the gearbox, her head rested on his shoulder as they sat on the beach and uzair always wordlessly draped his jacket over her shoulders the moment her shoulders started curling in. When the simple desire to hang out turned into a helpless need to see each other, they never understood but neither of them seemed to mind.
While Y/n kept a smile on her face, her life behind closed doors often left her in tears. She had strained relations with her parents, especially her father. She loved them but she also craved a life that was her own and in her house that caused a lot of conflict.
“Y/n mere ghar mein Mujhe koi behas nhi sunni. Na keh dia na bas. Koi college nhi jana hai kal se.”
“Abbu please Mujhe wakalat karni hai. Mai class topper hu please abbu.”
Tears streamed down her face. Her mother joined in,
“Theek keh rahe hai abbu. Zaban toh kainchi jaise chalti hai. Pata nhi Kaha kaha ghoomti hai college ke naam par. Ghar par toh pair hi nhi tikte. Kuch bhi nhi ho paega tujhse.”
“Par ammi aap mile ho mere professors se. Aap ko pata hai mai padhai karti hu.”
“AWAZ NEECHE. SAMAJH NHI ATA EK BAAR MEIN TUMHE.”
Uzair’s jeep pulled in front of her house right then. He stepped out to wait for her, a habit he had formed in the past weeks. However he was unaware of the fact that whenever he had picked her up, her parents had never been home. He heard the faint noise of screams coming from the house.
Inside, y/n had heard uzair’s jeep. She ran out of her house and hopped in the jeep. Uzair got in.
“Uzair Chalo yaha se.”
Uzair didn’t ask any questions. He drove straight to their favourite spot, a deserted corner of the beach slightly separated by the natural cliff that overlooked the sea.
He stepped out, opened her door and pulled her out of her seat. The moment she left the jeep, y/n crashed into his chest, sobbing, her arms wrapped around him. It broke Uzair’s heart to see her like that. His hands hugged her closer, one wrapped around her waist while the other cradled her head, gently stroking her hair.
“Uzair woh Mujhe college jaane se rok rahe hai. Mujhe wakalat karni hai uzair maine bahut mehnat ki hai.”
She sobbed so hard that she couldn’t catch her breath. She was shaking like a leaf.
“Shh meri jaan. Shaant ho jaao, Aise karogi toh tabiyat kharab ho jaegi. Kuch nhi hoga, koi nhi rok sakta tumhe college jaane se. Shhh… saans lo.”
“Ammi ne Kaha main kabhi kuch nhi kar paungi.”
He tightened his hold on her,
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”
“Uzair, tum nhi jaoge na? Please Mujhe chod ke mat jana.”
He pressed a kiss on her forehead,
“Shh… kabhi bhi nhi jaunga. Tum meri favourite ho. Aur fir mere sath Gulaab jamun kaun khaega?”
A weak laugh escaped her lips and they stayed right there. Just the two of them, on an abandoned section of the beach, sitting on a log hands intertwined.
From that day, Uzair and y/n were beyond inseparable. He drove her to college and dropped her back, ensuring she would be able to attend. No one had the guts to question Uzair Baloch.
The day uzair graduated, y/n hugged him super tightly,
“Uzair I’m so so proud of you.”
He rested his cheek on top of her head, breathing her in. He knew his life would change now and he knew it. He would never let her be a part of his dark world.
“Uzair, tum Mujhe bhool toh nahi jaoge na?”
“Kabhi nahi.”
Over the next few weeks, Uzair was drowned in work. From seeing each other everyday, their conversations turned into short texts daily, soon that dwindled into a weekly text.
It broke y/n’s heart but she didn’t want to burden uzair. She tried going out with Yalina and Shagufta but the loneliness never seemed to leave her heart. She was exhausted from the constant quarrels, the exams and cried herself to sleep most nights.
Late one night, her phone beeped,
“Window kholo.”
She opened her window and uzair stumbled in. He was obviously drunk and his eyes were suspiciously shiny. He lost his balance and bumped into y/n. His head landed on her shoulder and he stayed there.
“Uzair tumne pi rakhi hai? Yaha kya kar rahe ho?”
“Y/n, I missed you yaar. Milna tha toh aa gya. Jaanta hu tum naraaz hogi ki mai wakt nhi de paya par main sachi mashroof ho gya tha kaam mein. Maaf kar do.”
His eyes were red and bloodshot as if he had been crying. His head returned to her shoulder.
Y/n felt him shaking and she tightened her hold on him,
“mai naraz nhi hu. I missed you too. Uzair kya hua? Meri taraf dekho, kya ho gya jaan?”
His tears finally spilled over.
“Aaj hi mere waldin ka inteqal hua tha. Main 12 saal ka tha, mere saamne unhe goli maar di. Mai bahut chillaya par koi nhi aya madad k lie. Main unke paas baitha raha teen din tak, tab Rehman bhai Mujhe lene aa gye. Bahut saal ho gye par unki bahut yaad aati hai y/n.”
Y/n pulled him in and he buried his head into her chest, curling into her like a child. He clutched on to her as if he was afraid she would leave. She held him as tightly as she could, rubbing circles on his back and wiping away his tears.
“Uzair, so jaao. Main kahi nhi jaungi. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. So jaao ab.”
She pressed a kiss on his forehead as his eyes finally fluttered shut.
Uzair and y/n formed a routine after that night. Uzair would drop her off to college and later sneak into her room and sneak back out before dawn.
Then disaster struck.
The Eid party was in full swing. Shagufta and Y/n had decided to go together and catch up with the others at the party itself. Shagufta’s jaw dropped as her eyes remained fixed on the entrance, y/n followed her gaze and her eyes immediately welled up at the sight in front her.
Uzair smiled at the girl who had walked in beside him dressed in luscious green sharara. She playfully swatted his arm and he laughed. His real laugh, the one reserved for the people he knew and loved. Uzair swiftly handed her a glass as his eyes scanned the room. They finally landed on y/n and he mouthed her name, walking over with the girl.
Y/n knew she was being unreasonable, she knew they had never made anything official neither had he ever asked her to be his girlfriend but she didn’t have the strength to meet this girl. Her lungs felt as if they had forgotten how to breathe. She swiftly turned and left the party.
The next week, all of uzair’s calls and texts went unanswered. She stopped going to college and he knew better than to sneak into without proper planning. Y/n had stopped going to all parties where their common friends gathered.
Until one fine day Shagufta finally dragged her to a party thrown by Siyahi. At the party, she avoided uzair like the plague after noticing that the same girl was still by his side. Uzair noticed her ignorance.
She stepped out onto the sand and gazed at the waves crashing down as the cool night air made her shiver. She suddenly felt a familiar leather jacket being wrapped around her shoulders. Her eyes turned to meet uzair’s
“Kya kar rahe ho uzair?” She began walking away as Uzair followed
“Mujhe kyu ignore kr rahi ho? Kya hua hai?”
“Andar jaao uzair. Bura lagega usse.”
“Kisse? Y/n baat toh karo. Koi galti kari hai maine toh batao Mujhe.”
“Chale jaao uzair. Main nhi dekh sakti tumhe uske sath.”
His hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back,
“Kaun? Kya keh rahi ho tum?”
“Main jaanti hu mai sirf dost hu tumhari, umr mei choti hu par pyaar hi gya tumse. Nahi dekhna chahti hu mai tumhe kisi aur ke sath.”
Tears tracked down her cheeks,
“I’m happy for you uzair but I’m not strong enough to be a part of your happiness.”
She began walking away again, the breeze blew her hair in all directions.
“Safeena naam hai uska.”
Yn’s tears fell faster.
“Cousin hai meri. Lahore se aai hai kuch dino ke lie. Zyada baat nhi hoti but we have always been close.”
Y/n stopped in her tracks, she felt like a moron.
“Tum toh jaanti thi na ki mai tumse kitni mohabbat karta hu? Fir kaise Soch lia yeh sab?”
He pulled her back to face him.
“Jaanti thi!? Kaha se jaanti? Bola kabhi?”
Uzair lowered his head, their foreheads met as a tear slipped down Uzair’s cheek
“I thought you knew. I thought you knew how I can’t breathe when you’re not around. How I wake up everyday because I know I’ll get it hear about your day. even ulfat bhabhi knows how much I love you. I thought you knew. Mujhe kabhi tumhe aise hurt nhi karna tha. Mujhe laaga tumhe pata tha.”
Her hands curled around his collar, trembling,
“Bataega kaun? Kyu nhi Kaha uzair? Kyu?”
Her voice broke as she buried her face in his chest and his arms wrapped around her shaking body.
“Maaf kar do Mujhe meri jaan. I love you. I love you so much. Main kehne se dare raha tha aur usme tumhe hurt kia hai maine. I’m so sorry.”
He pressed kisses all over her face.
Finally, she rested her hands on his face, stood in her tip toes and kissed him. His arms wrapped arounf her waist and they melted into each other, under the moon as the waves crashed into the sand. They held on to each other as if it hurt to separate because for a terrible week, it had.
There, at their spot on the beach, Uzair and y/n found the love they had searched for all their lives right where they had least expected to. A love that felt like home.
This is completely based on Danish's fantastic portrayal of Uzair and is completely fictional. Here, they are regular gangsters, and it's an AU.
Constructive criticism appreciated. This is not beta read, so if you guys find some typos/ errors, please feel free to correct me.
Warnings: arranged marriage, mutual love, silent love, soft confessions, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, drunk!Uzair (yes, he is the warning)
Happy reading....
She was waiting for Uzair; it was past midnight. Rehman bhai had informed Ulfat bhabhi that they would be late, but this late. He knew she could never sleep alone; he was responsible for this bad habit of hers. She was also angry with him. This was completely unfair; she was angry, and now he was making her wait.
She sat on the soft, cushiony chair her husband had suddenly brought one day. He had not said it out loud, but it was for her. She had said once that his chairs were too hard and stiff, and a week later, this chair was in their room, exactly like the one she had back home. He was strange at times; she could never completely understand him. He was caring but yet distant, loving yet angry.
It had been three months since they got married. It was a typical arranged marriage. Uzair was her khala’s cousin’s son’s mother-in-law’s aunt’s daughter’s brother-in-law. Yes, she was confused too. But he was from an affluent family, and he was the right hand of the Badshah of Lyari. They were rich and had power; it was enough for her parents. However, he was eight years older than her, and she was sceptical about arranged marriage, especially to someone so much older. Her parents wanted their daughter to be a queen, but she wanted a love story. Her mother had stated, “Ye pyaar mohabaat ka bhoot do din khali peet rahegi, nikal jayega”. She had looked at her plate of biryani and chicken korma and decided her mother indeed was right. It was also not like she had a boyfriend. She spent too much time studying and reading romance novels to find one. “Waise bhi konsa mafia husband romance hota hain real life mein”, her best friend, Zoya, had commented. Thus, she had agreed to marry him.
A month later, she was sitting in a bright red jora, her hands dark with mehendi, both of which were exactly according to her choice. She had seen him properly when he stood after the Quazi had declared them husband and wife. He stood up and blocked the light in front of her. She looked at him through her veil. He was tall, with broad shoulders. He lifted her veil, and she saw his face for the first time so clearly. His jawline was sharp, his eyes darkened with soorma, his beard dark and trimmed. A small scar on his cheek. He was handsome.
“Mashallah”, he kissed her forehead. She took a deep breath; he had a deep voice, too.
“Aakhein neechi karle ab, saari raat ghoorna apne shouhar ko suhagrat pe”, Zoya had muttered, and she immediately lowered her eyes.
The haveli was a new place for her, but Ulfat Bhabhi and Rehman bhai had made sure she never felt out of place. Well, for her husband, he was still quite a mystery. He stayed beside her like a rock, listening to her when she needed, trying to become a friend. She smiled, remembering how he slipped on the carpet of his own room on their suhagraat, and she had held him to prevent his fall. His cheeks had turned red after that. He had shyly kissed her forehead and given her the mu-dikhai, a pair of gold bangles which she wore daily now.
Uzair was sweet; he fulfilled all the responsibilities of a husband. He took care of her, listened to all her ‘bak-bak’ and fulfilled all her wishes, but there was a glass wall between them. It bothered her the most. He cared so much, yet ran away whenever she tried to take care of him. He cuddled her to sleep, listening to stories of her childhood, but never mentioned his own. He would tickle her, let her trouble him. He never raised his voice at her, answered her calmly, but last week, when she was flying a kite with Naiem and Faizal, she had slipped. He had caught her and then scolded her. He had said sorry later, even bought her ice-cream, but she could never understand why he was so angry about this small matter.
Ulfat Bhabhi had told her that Uzair loved her; well, she, too, believed that, but she would like to hear it sometime. He showed his affection, his care, yet there was an empty space, a void, as if there was something he was hiding from her. A pain Uzair chose to feel to feel alone, and she knew that, and that pained her more.
Today, she was angry at him because she had gotten another harsh scolding from him. His gun was lying on the dressing table, and she had just picked it up. She had seen it several times in his hands, or in the holster or the drawer, but never touched it. She was merely curious. She had even seen Naiem pick one and practice shooting; what harm was her touching it? Uzair came out of the shower to see her holding the gun and lost it. He was furious. He had snatched it from her hand and scolded her enough to make her teary-eyed, and then left. He knew she was angry, and now, instead of saying sorry, he was with his friends. She had planned that she would not let him sleep beside her.
She was lost in her thoughts when she heard him climb up the stairs in heavy steps, swaying from side to side. She caught her as he was about to fall, “Aree Dekhke.” The sharp stench of alcohol reached her nose.
“Aap ne pi rakhi hain”
“Hehe. Meri biwi ko maat batana,” he giggled. He squinted his eyes near her face, to look properly,” Aree tum to bilkul uski tarha dikhti ho. Aree, jaan ye to tum hi ho.”
“Door hatiye. Chi. Kitna ganda smell araha hain.” She moved away as she made him sit on the deevan on the veranda.
“Tum bhi mujhe door kar rahi ho. Mujhe laga tum mujhse pyaar karti ho.” Uzair looked at her with teary puppy eyes. She was confused. What had happened to him? He looked so vulnerable.
“Aree uzair”, she held her as he fell face-first on her chest while trying to stop her from going away.
“Ammi aur abbu pata hain kabhi kabhi ladte the. Per hamesha pyaar zaada tha. Mujhe ekdam nazo se pala tha, phir ekdin, ekdin woh nahi the.” She stilled beside him. I was a sore topic for Uzair. He never spoke about his parents. She had come to know from Ulfat Bhabhi that they had passed away when he was 12, but she denied giving any details about the matter.
“Pata hain ye kangan meri ammi ke hi hain. Tumhe yakken nahi hoga, ye bilkul tumhare hath ke naap ke hi the, jaise tumhare liye bane ho”, Uzair held her hands in front of his face and kissed her palms.
“Koi nahi aya. Maine 2 din se kuch nahi khaya tha.” Uzair started again, “Meri khala ai thi, per ammi ke gehne leke chali gai. Bas ye kangan mere paas the, to reh gaye. Woh ghar ke kagaaz bhi mang rahi thi, per mujhe pata nahi tha who kagaaz kaha hain, isiliye woh mujhe leke nahi gai. Mujhe akele us baare se ghar mein bohot daar lag raha tha” Tears escaped his eyes as he told him about the most vulnerable part of his life.
“Mujhe samajh hi nahi aya kya karu. Mujhe to ammi kitchen mein jaane bhi nahi nahi deti thi, to mujhe khana bhi banana nahi ata tha. Per mujhe bohot bhook lagi thi, to maine dekha unki banai hui thori si biryani thi. Maine 4 din tak thora thora karke khaya tha. Ammi ke hath ka khana uske baad to nahi milta na, to main bacha bacha ke kha raha tha” She was crying now, holding her husband close. She could see 12-year-old Uzair in him now, all alone, sacred, hungry.
“Ghar pe kuch nahi tha, phir kuch gunde aye aur tor phor karne lage. Tab rehman bhai ne mujhe bachaya. Mujhe bohot chot ai thi pata hain. Woh jo mere peth pe nishan hain, tum puch rahi thi na? Woh tab ka hain. Phir Bhabhi mujhe hospital le gai aur ek hafte baad mujhe acha khana mila. Puri aur sabzi.” She was always curious why his favourite meal was simple puri and sabzi; she had her answers now. Hungry Uzair got that as his first fresh meal, his first meal of love and care after his parents had died, and he was left alone to survive this harsh world. “Bhabhi tab paet se thi, per unhone mera bohot khayal Rakha. Mujhse to chala bhi nahi jaraha tha tab”
She was weeping. Her husband was such a strong man. She could not imagine such a life for a child. She held her close; all her anger was gone.
“Pata hain main biryani kha hi nahi pata tha. Ammi ki yaad ati hain, koi unke jaisa biryani bana hi nahi pata tha, bas unki yaad ati hain. Phir tumne usdin banai ekdam ammi jaisa bana tha. Tum unhe janti thi kya?” Uzair looked up at her, asking her the question, but seeing her cry, he was more confused.
“Ro kyu rahi ho. Ro maat. Mujhe daar lagta hain. Maine kuch galti ki kya? Mujhe tum chor ke chali to nahi jaogi na? Pata hain mujhe daar lagta hain, kisise itna pyaar karne se. Per tumse door reh hi nahi pata. Maan karta hain ki hamesha tumhe gale lagake rakhu, apne se alag hi na kau, per, Mard hu ladna padhta hain”
So, this is what Uzair’s deepest fear was, this is what made him scared. She places her hands on his cheeks.
“To sabse ladiye, per mere paas ake bas apne maan ki baat kar lijiye”
“Pakka? Tum mujhe hara hua, kamzoor admi to nahi samjhogi?”
“Aap sabse bahador koi hain? Is duniya mein sabse bahadoor hain aap. Ammi ke bhi sabse bahadoor bache the aap. Woh zaroor apko dekhke khush hoti hongi”, more tears left her eyes as she said these words.
“Sachi mein. Phir ammi ko to tum bhi bohot achi lagogi. Mujhse itna pyaar jo karti ho.” Uzair looked at her as if she were the moon, the star of his entire world.
“Tum jab usdin gussa karke mujhse baat nahi kar rahi thi, mujhe bohod dard hua tha pata hain? Main nahi chahta tha tumhe daantu, par tum seedhi se gir jati, patang urate-urate. Tumhe kuch ho jata to main akele kaise rehta? Isiliye dant diya. Mujhse gussa maat hona. Mere yaha bohot dard hota hain,” Uzair pointed towards his heart.
“Kabhi nahi karungi gussa. Promise” She frantically kissed his face. Her eyes were teary, full of love. “Chalo ab kurta utaro, aur jake fresh hojao.”
“Haw tumhare samne?”
“Apki biwi hu main”
“Hain woh to sahi hain. Chalo phir mujhe nehla bhi do, tumhare wale sabun se. Kitni pyaari Kushbu hain uski. Chandan jaisa, aur lagta hain phool khila hain.”
“Acha thik hain.”
“Suno, main tumse bohot Mohabbat karta hu, tumhare bina jee nahi paunga,” Uzair confessed, pulling her closer.
“Janti hu.” She kissed his forehead.
“Hamara bhi ek khandaan hoga na?”
“Kya bol rahe ho?”
“Main tum aur hamare bache.”
“Honge na zaroor honge”
“Tum mujhe chorke nahi jaogi na?”
“Main hamesha aapke pass rahungi”
“Main tumse bohot pyaar karta hu. Bohot zaada, sabse zaada”
She smiled, helping him to the washroom. Maybe her husband was not as mysterious as he seemed. Maybe it was good that she had an arranged marriage. Maybe Ammi and Abbu had chosen the right man for her, and maybe this was her love story. Well, tonight there were no maybe’s, just yes’s.
Rehman dying in 2009 is such a whacko because imagine leaving the planet at the cusp of a technological boom
wdym he didn't get to take snapchat selfies with puppy ears with Faizal
wdym Faizal didn't catch him secretly practicing Gen Z slang before talking to the kids only for him to confidently say, "That was... exceedingly skibidi."
wdym faizal didn't get to vlog his family being utterly chaotic and in the midst of it all, his abbu sits brooding in the office over a stack of shipment papers
wdym he never discovered Google Maps and kept insisting, "I know a shortcut," only to get the entire family lost for two hours
wdym he didn't host a WhatsApp channel for updates of sher e baloch
wdym he beat up Uzair cause his live location was at Hamza's kabootarkhana half the time
wdym he didn't have Uzair's socials blocked because he couldn't stop live-streaming Rehman's kills
wdym Uzair convinced Rehman that "rizz" meant respect, so this man walked into a business meeting saying,
"Gentlemen... let us proceed with maximum rizz."
wdym he muted the Baloch GC because these idiots just replied with stickers beyond his comprehension
wdym he didn't stream his favourite neo noir thrillers from the 70s in Netflix
wdym he never learned that Amazon says "Arriving today by 10 PM" and then watched the gate like a Victorian widow all afternoon
wdym he didn't become the designated OTP receiver for the entire household
wdym he didn't play candy crush, cruising through all the levels with the tenacity of a middle-aged aunty
wdym he never experienced the betrayal of YouTube giving him a 30-second unskippable ad just as the climax of his movie started
wdym he didn't yelp, jumping instantly at sight of the Roomba touring the Haveli
wdym Ulfat and him never sat in the same room, rallying stupid ass ai cat reels to each other and giggling like teenagers
wdym he never accidentally replied "👍" to a heartfelt paragraph Ulfat sent him and spent the next hour apologizing
wdym he didn't discover voice notes and start sending Ulfat fifteen-minute rambles about his day instead of typing
wdym his lock screen wasn't a photo of Ulfat pretending to be annoyed because she'd already caught him changing it seven times that week
wdym every other notification on his phone wasn't "Storage Almost Full" because he refuses to delete the 4,000 photos of Ulfat he took "by accident"
wdym Ulfat sent him raunchy selfies in the middle of work and he suddenly had to retire to the restroom
wdym tik tok isn't flooded with his thirst traps making ulfat's sickly possessive streak come out but then she shows who exactly he belongs to making Rehman reach work with immense lower back pain
wdym he didn't accidentally like one of Ulfat's five-year-old Instagram posts at 2 AM while stalking her profile
wdym he didn't order alexa to load up Ulfat's favourite music, dancing to it with Ulfat in his arms, watching her affectionately murmur the lyrics
wdym ulfat and him talked for hours and hours on WhatsApp calls, sher e baloch who, he's a sher e biwipaglu
wdym his "Good Morning 🌹☀️ Have a Blessed Day" messages would've been so aggressively boomer that even his own children muted him
wdym he never found out about AirTags and immediately hid one in Ulfat's purse because "it's for safety" (he checks it every twenty minutes)
wdym he didn't become irrationally competitive over Wordle and refuse to speak to anyone if it took him more than three tries
wdym he didn't order his relished balochi delicacies from Food Panda (yes I looked up Pakis still use that)
wdym Ulfat didn't keep seventy-three candid photos of him sleeping because Samsung cameras are criminally good now
wdym he blocked Jamali from all socials and had minimal contact on the message app
wdym he never discovered ChatGPT and immediately asked it, "Write a strongly worded letter insulting Jamali but keep it professional."
wdym Ulfat still found herself reaching for the empty side of the bed whenever something funny happened online, wishing she had someone to shove the phone toward and say, "Look at this."
wdym nobody called Uzair five times in a row just to ask,
"Have you reached?"
wdym his last voicemail would've become something Ulfat did not dare delete, even after switching phones three or four times.
wdym the family group chat was created years after he was gone, and every now and then someone still catches themselves thinking, "Abbu would've laughed at this."
wdym Ulfat never got to see his name light up her phone with a random, "Have you eaten?"
wdym the older Faizal got, the closer he came to looking like Rehman… until one day he caught his own reflection and had to sit down for a while
wdym every time Faizal heard an old ghazal, he instinctively reached for his phone to send it to Rehman, that there was no one behind that chat, but the chat had breached a 1000 messages, only from one side, in his own childish way talking to rehman, informing him about his day, how ammi was, that he has passed with full honours, and that uzair is moody but still an idiot.
wdym ulfat's locksceen was a photo of rehman dancing at hamza's walima because that's exactly how she wanted to remember him, laughing, free, powerful, and incredibly handsome
wdym the world became infinitely better at preserving memories, but all of Rehman's were trapped in fading photographs and old recordings.
Sypnonis-Uzair is a ruthless gangster till he had to go through the difficult task of dropping his daughter off at the first day of school
a/n-idk how to write fluff bear with me
warnings - none slightly suggestive content at the end ig (very bad jokes),crack fic
Uzair’s life had been the same blundering evenings he spent out with his friends, uncaring of the time that reflected on his wrists doing all the shenanigans he could with his equally crass friends, life was perfect to him before his reality changed from one word from his brother
“ Umar ho gayi hai ab teri, Ulfat aur mai ladki dhundh rahe hai tere liye”
And the first true discernment that his world wasn't going to be same ever was when he saw you sleeping against his chest after the wedding night,felt your deep breaths graze the skin right over his heart , tracing the indentation of the heavy jewellery left on your neck so reverently as if he had known this body all his life.
All the time he wasted outside getting drunk and on hooligans was cut short, he had fixed time to come home or face the wrath of his wife; you. And for someone who spoke with guns and violence all his life he could confirm his wife pouting at the very other side of the bed was more dangerous than any of the work Rehman had handed him.
The second shift, that tilted the axis of life, was 2 years after the wedding. After tons of ‘ Bache paida karo bhai bache paida karo’ that acted as a catalyst to the already -way overly attracted to his wife -Uzair as an excuse to devour you more than needed.
He had expected himself to love his wife (duh) the day he saw her, saw you sitting in between your parents, your lips pressed together in a shy smile, hands fiddling at the front, bored by the familiar setting he had seen one too many this was 10 proposal he was attending to after rejecting all before them ,only to be thrown off completely when you winked at him when your parents had become occupied with Rehman and Ulfat’s ‘grown ups’ talk.
And now he was here
The hospital air was sterile as expected, washed over and over till each corner was burning white, the newborn wailing was on everyone’s lips and eyes, becoming the center of attention but the first thing Uzair did was rush to you, laying weak but awake in the hospital bed,
“ Dekha aapne?”
You asked, watching him take your shaky frail hands to kiss his lips with all devotion, “ Nahi..” He whispered against your clammy palm,
“ Phele mujhe apni jaan ko dekhna tha”
“Mujhe toh aap vaise bhi har roz dekhte hai”
Uzair shook his head matching your feeble smile, his eyes sunken from waiting outside awake the whole night, you ruffled his head lovingly and he understood you needed him closer. He pressed his forehead against yours
"Tum ne boht acha kiya meri jaan, I am so proud of you. Tum sach mein boht strong ho iska aadha dard bhi mai nahi jhel pata..meri jaan ab bas aaraam karo”
Only when your tears dried and heartbeat became steady did he ask
“ Ladka hai ya ladki?”
He asked blinking slow, his eyes looking strangely different without the signature soorma but more brighter than you had ever seen them even with all the weariness that they wore.
“ Aapki kismat thodi kharab hai Uzair miyan, ladki hui hai” you joked fully aware he would be happy with both, but you knew Uzair really wanted a boy to play football with its what he told you but you knew it was because he believed he would not be able to handle the softness of raising a daughter, and that second shift was when he first took his daughter from Ulfat’s careful hold in his, he was in love.
She was still crying when he held her, her face scrunched up face turning red with cries when Uzair whispered in disbelief he didnt know he could have loved something this much “ Ya allah” his breaking voice was familiar to her from all the times he had spoken to your bump, stopping her cries against his chest, breathing deep with drool gathering at her lips much like his mother in sleep, one single tear drop unchecked ran down his cheek.
“Mahira”
He whispered turning back to look at you,
“ Kya?”
You asked back still half dazed
“ Mahira, meri Mahira”
You just rolled your eyes watching that stubborn look on his face, he wasn't going to change his mind, you beckoned with your fingers and he came running like he always did. Others left the room leaving you both to yourselves, You shifted making space beside you “ Light off karo tabhi voh aankhe kholegi” He nodded obeying to your command even though he didn't understand it, his eyes focused on the newborn’s face the way her nose beaked, one side of her cheek more sunken than the other and the thick set of eyebrows he looked like him, just like him.
Once the lights were off, only the afternoon sun made its way to illuminate the room through the unveiled windows casting long shadows in a quiet room that echoed with mechanical beeps and the baby’s breathing and cries as she shifted finally opening her eyes to him, they were like yours big and blinking at him.
For the first few months Uzair carried her around as if she was made of glass, protecting and keeping her at a arm distance from Faisal’s and Naiem hands at all cost, you had caught him soaking into her new born warm milk, vanilla-isc smell whenever you entered the room, and you trusted him to be precautious with her owing up to how overly protective he was, and that he had given up smoking in the house all together- only to be utterly betrayed to find him throwing her in the air one random evening when you decided to enter the room more quietly than usual , her head dangerously close to ceiling as she let out of toothless giggles equally entertained as her dad, her dad who flinged her in the air.
“UZAIR!”
She laughed even more clasping at his hair, clapping her chubby hands together as the scolding ensued, “ Agli baar meri beti ke saath aise uut patang harkat karte hue maine dekh liya na toh mai aapko jinda nahi chorungi” That warning never worked and over time the stunts got worse and to your surprise the man you found the most credible in the house, your Rehman bhai was caught doing the same skulduggery at this point you were convinced it ran in the blood.
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Mahira was waddling behind her dad telling her about her day in her incoherent voice blabbering around, “ Baba-baba” She squeaked, and needless to say his men were entranced by the chubby ball that even momentarily scared Rehman at times walking exactly like Uzair for when he was drunk, “ Baba- godi” She slapped her palm at his pant, “ Ji Mahi” He picked her up carefully but effortlessly making her seat on her forearm, she was in the bear onesie that Uzair had insisted for you to buy and keep making her wear the same thing because its adorable to watch her face peek out from between the brown fur, her lips puckered up watching him curiously “ Aapne khaana kha liya?” She nodded quickly her chubby cheeks puffed up and flapping understanding the broken words easily at 9 months old, and Uzair smirked showing her off with an expression that screamed ‘Meri biwi ne dilaya hai’
“ Hello bol ke dikhao Mahira” Her eyes widened at the familiar word reaching out and shaking her hand at the men who were never gathered around her in a small circle, watching her with so much importance and impressive now mixed with admiration like they hadn't seen somebody wave to them their whole life, only increasing the puff of Uzair chest,
“ Yeh kaun hai Mahi?” While Hamza knew all the truth most acquainted with the haveli and after spending all his time here he knew all the truth to Mahira speaking and teachings and wasn't going to let down a chance to pull Uzair’s legs, he pointed at Uzair asking the same question,
“Baba” She blabbered out again , “ Aur Aur?” Hamza prompted “ Pagal” She replied back proudly pointing at her dad, it turns out Mahi is calling Uzair all of the things she had heard you call him and the most common one being pagal. “ Yeh gande uncle hai inse baat nahi karte” He scowled trying to stop her from taking to Hamza only to be distracted when she started leaving kisses on his face waiting for him to tell her he is proud of her, meanwhile his men were going more interested to what Hamza was trying to prove,
“ Aur aur?”
“ UZAIR”
she tried repeating your tone now, the one you would use to call him when he has done something to tick off your nerves, which was a very common occurrence with him and his men finally understood what was happening, and laughed out loudly helping her more “ Aur Aur?”
“ Uzzi”
Uzair ears flushed red trying to shush her daughter
“ Aur Aur?”
“Baby kissie”
she said out brazenly making his men choke on their laughter and Hamza just passed Uzair a sly smile that said ‘ My Zayan’s smarter’
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
Uzair's biggest heartbreak till now was watching her daughter cry because of him, he had returned home early to play with her and pulled her into his lap the second he saw her to realise later that she was sniffling, her head facing away from him, angry. “ Kya hua Mahi?” He tickled her stomach but she didn't budge, making him worry more, “ Baat nahi karoge abbu se?” He tried biting her cheek but she didn't let him , “Kya hua? Jaanu kya hua hai isse”
he called out for you, you huffed pulling off your dupatta and discarding it on the bed the view still enough to make his breath catch, “ Dimaag kharab kar diya hai isne subah se, phele Faisal ki copy faad di, fir kabse naye teddy ke liye roye jaa rahi maine toh chor hi diya bahut nakhre karte hai” “ Aakhir beti kiski hai”He joked watching you move across the room lovingly, the way you hissed when your flicks fell forward in your face looking more prettier when you were angry
“I am serious Uzi, aise hi chalta raha toh yeh kisi ki baat nahi sunegi”
“ Aapki ammi toh kuch bhi bolte rahti hai kya chaiye meri gudiyan ko?” Her ears shot up ready to bombard her father with demands, “ Naya teddy…ice cream..aur aur” She tried remembering the words her little face scrunching up, “ Uzair aapko pata bhi hai kya kiya hai isne aaj?” “ Kya kiya?” “ Gun uske kari isne” “ KYA?”
“ Haan ek toh yeh faisal badmaash hai apne baba ki gun leke khel raha tha, usne isko gun nahi di thi copy faad di aur fir gun bhi le li aur shoot bhi kar diya, kabse sab itne tension mei hai aur isse abhi bhi zidd karni hai”
Uzair looked back at her face as she tried to still continue her demands playing innocent, what she didn't expect was that stern look from her dad and him putting her off her lap,
“ Baba-” “No”
he said firmly pulling away from her, she went once again tugging at his pants with a cute whine but to be ignored by him ,
“ NO Mahira”
It stinged her deeply to hear no word from her dad, he has never ever used that tone on him and almost immediately she started bawling her eyes out, at first it was staring at him teary eyed then it became full on sobs. For Uzair to see tear in those eyes and in pain was like watching you cry and his heart wasn't made to withstand that he was putty when it came to his wife and daughter, he picked her up and that evening returned Mahira returned home with a hand full of cup ice creams and a teddy bear double her size tucked into his bicep.
( imagine what Uzair was going through when she was teething earlier)
∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘
The air in the house was chaotic as usual but it had heightened more today turning into a jumble since it was Mahira's first day of school, you had pressed her uniform with precision putting her small frame into the equally small shirt and layering it with the bubbly pink over skirt, Ulfat dabbed a diabolical amount of kohl behind her eyes to ward off evil, Rehman was giving her a ted talk and she was getting tossed from one carry to another, currently in Rehman’s trained hands
“ Koi bhi school mei pareshan karega toh apne bhaiya ko batana” She squinted her eyes at both of her supposed ‘protectors’ and decided she was her own saviour, “ Its okay bade abbu chill” she could barely pronounce the words but she said them anyways, “ Yes.. I am chill” Rehman said clearing his throat
Uzair moved differently from the atmosphere the gloominess as evident and clear as day, “ Y/N mai gaadi nikaal raha, Mahira ko leke aajaana”
“ Meri bacchi” Rehman muttered lovingly assailing her with kisses that were soon joined by chachi as well, “ Bas bas” she jumped off running to you
You sat in your destined passenger seat making her recall all the basics you had already told her ten times, half turned into the backseat
“ Bottle hai na?”
“Ammi baba ka number yaad hai na? If not revise it Mahi and aapke bag pe bhi likha hai”
“ Koi pareshan kare toh direct teacher ko batana hai and agar teacher na sune toh bhaiya ko, bhaiya ki class second floor pe hai okay?” she sighed nodding
“ Koi ladka kuch bolega toh mujhe batana” that's all Uzair had to add to the conversation, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
It was march end, the summer heat was invading and breaking through the winters, the trees leaves anew you yourself were feeling teary eyes walking her to the door, kneeling by and telling all that she needed to near,
“ You are a brave girl Mahi okay, only three hours fir mama aapko lene aa jayegi”
She nodded looking comically unbothered, Uzair hadn’t intercepted one standing leaned against the door, his arm crossed over his chest, jaw shut tight with held in emotions.
“ Baba bye”
She waved cutely and Uzair let out a ugly,nose reddening cry before breaking into absolute tears, both of your head shot up in synchrony watching him like he had grown a second hand and Mahira was unimpressed totally unimpressed,
“ Uzair bas its okay”
You whispered confused yourself at over the emotional breakdown,
“ Chalo bye toh bol do”
You dragged him to the door and he still has not stopped crying yet.
“ Mahi..bye”
He kneeled down kissing her forehead cupping her face with his shaky hands, and Mahira was only a toddler, still three going on four she wasn't going to be untouched from the realisation of staying away from house, and her world won't be her house and the people she knew anymore and seeing the pain on her father’s face made her cave breaking into a childish cry going to clinging at her father’s shoulder. “ Mera baccha Mera baccha”
Uzair eyes were still blurry with tears and you had to drive ,constantly assuring him that it was just three hours and barely a big deal, but to Uzair all he could see that his baby who couldn't even support her head was now walking and going to school, a girl who couldn't live without pampering how will she face the world , in Uzair’s world there was no time for him to be a kid all his childhood was spent in blood and crime and he could not bear the same for his Mahi, not at all he never wanted the harshness of the world to touch her ever.
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By the time you both reached home, his cries subsiding into soft sniffles you poked fun of his blotchy face a few times before pulling him into a hug,
“ Aap itna kabse rone lage”
he said nothing pulling you tighter, crushing your chest with his burying his face in the crook of your shoulder, inhaling your scent deeply
“ Mujhe ek aur Mahi chaiye”
“ Uzair kya bol rahe hai aap”
“ Ek ladka..nahi ladka nahi varna Faisal aur Naiem jaise ho jayega ek aur ladki chaiye” You slapped at his chest chuckling, “ Pagal” “Mai majaak nahi kar raha” You pulled back a little to the serious look of his face, “ Uzzi no” You shook your head, but Uzair hands moved faster sweeping you off the floor in one go, you yelped hands going to his biceps but he wasn't stopping till he had carried you into your room, put you in bed.
a/n- bleh i know I should have posted this in the morning but I said today so aaj hi post kardiya, hope you all like it!!
“Bachi! Kya Baloch ki? Main bhi Baloch hu ab” (Little one! What Baloch? I am also a Baloch), Ulfat said in mock anger, patting her head.
“Aapi!! Aap na apne shauhar ke bhai ko bole ki woh apne haad mein rahe. Varna kisidin mere haath se uska katal hojayega”
“Aree, bachaa, us gadhe ne kya kar diya phir se?” Rehman appeared behind his wife, smiling at the cute 13-year-old girl with beautiful doe eyes, one side of her decorative braid open, surely the work of his brother.
“Rehman Bhai, aap apne is nihaiti badmash, Bijli ke khambe jaise bhai ko keh dijiye, agli baar mujhe ya mere baalo ko kuch kaha to main usse chorungi nahi”, her cheeks puffed up in anger.
“Chorne ke liye to pakarna bhi parega na. Aur tere ye chote chote pair mujhe pakar thori payenge”, Uzair ran as he pulled her hair again. That was the final nail in the coffin. Her eyes turned a little crazy as she ran behind him.
“Uzaaairrrrr”
Thus, 13-year-old her was now chasing 17-year-old Uzair, who had already become taller than the whole Baloch household. Uzair found so much joy in teasing the young girl; she was jolly happy and had long, wavy hair. So easy to pull and run away. They were Tom and Jerry, always behind each other, finding ways to irritate and tease each other. This continued even to this day. It had been 10 years, she was 23, and he was 27; the physical fights had ceased to a large extent, but there was no truce between them. Every time she visited the Haveli, he was ready to tease her, ready to do almost everything to get on her nerves. Often, Rehman and Ulfat had to physically stop them from murdering each other. Naiem and Faizal enjoyed it the most because in those days their parents would be too busy stopping their Khala and Chachu from fighting, leaving no time for them to stop the two little boys from doing any mischief. Also, Khala bought them so many gifts and then Chachu would bring more to keep the competition on, his ego too big. At the end, it was the two boys who benefited the most.
=================================================
It was quite cold after the sudden rain in the winter. Rehman was home before his usual time. The chill in the air of Lyari had made him want to go home and relax.
“Achaa... Kabhar to kafi achi hain. Aap bilkul na soche, hamari bachi itni pyaari hain. Unko zaaroor pasand ayegi, aur mashallah jaldi uska bhi ghar bas jayega... Hain, main aur rehman zaroor ayenge... Ji, chaliye. Khuda hafis”, Ulfat was on call with someone on the telephone, smiling.
“Kiska phone tha Jaan”
“Shazia Khala ka. Bachi ki shaadi ki baat chal rahi hain. Ladka Dubai mein rehta hain. Eklauta beta hain aur acha khandaan hain. Bas dua hain insaan bhi acha ho. Hamari bachi ko pyaar se rakhe”
“Wahh. Kitni achi khabar hain.” Rehman smiled and pulled his beautiful wife into his arms. “Yaad hain jab main tumhe bhaga laya tha.” He kissed her cheek as she pushed his chest.
"Aap bhi na Rehman", Ulfat smiled, still shy, remembering her youthful days, how she ran away with her lover, Rehman, when her family had fixed her marriage to a businessman's son.
“Ammi khala bhaag rahi hain?”, little Faizal, who had suddenly come in, asked his mother.
“Bhage gi kyu beta. Unka rista tay hua hain” Ulfat picked her little boy in her arms.
“Per khala ko to bola cha…” Before Faizal could complete his sentence, Rehman took Faizal from Ulfat's arms and kissed his soft cheeks, “Beta chalo khana kha lete hain. Raat hogai hain na”
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Rehman was feeling particularly romantic after dinner. Naiem and Faizal were sent to their bedroom by Zubeda Bi. Rehman and Ulfat had sat down on the deevan overlooking the garden. He had a glass of whiskey in his hands as he sat very close to his wife, stroking her soft waist as he heard her speak about her sweet little sister. She was not her sibling, but their bond had been stronger. Ulfat was 10 years older than her; she was the daughter of her mother’s mu-boli behen, but often bonds of heart are deeper than those of blood. After Ulfat’s mother had passed away, Shazia Khala became her maternal figure. Even after her own family had disowned her, when she eloped with Rehman, she was the one who had forgiven her, even though she was angry. When Naiem was born, Ulfat had become very weak. Shazia had left her home to take care of Ulfat. Even Rehman respected them a lot. They were, in a true sense, his in-laws. And their cute little daughter, whom they all called bachi, because she was the youngest then, was the apple of their eyes. Even now, after years, after Naiem and Faizal were born, she was still their bachi. Almost a daughter-like feeling came to their hearts, and now she was getting married. Oh, how time passed.
“Uzair nahi dikha aj”, Rehman suddenly remembered his brother was nowhere to be seen. He had even left the factory early.
“Oh, Uzair. Woh bol raha tha kahi bahar jayega Hamza ke sath. Pata nahi kaha ghumta hain woh ladka.” Ulfat replied, pulling the blanket closer. The air was quite cold.
“Us gadhe ki bhi shaadi karwa deni paregi. Ghar pe tikta hi nahi. Bas jab Bachi ati hain usko tang karne ke liye ghar pe milta tha. Varna jeep leka kabhi yaha kabhi waha. Agar uske aur bachi ke beech dushmani na hoti usi se tai kar deta is gadhe ki shaadi. Kitni pyaari hain. Per mere bhai ko akal thori hain. Bas height se barkat hua hain, dimag se abhi bhi 5 vi fail.”
“Aise kyu bol rahe hain. Bacha hain abhi woh, samajh jayega”
“Tum aur bigaro use. Usko to ab uski biwi line pe layegi. Riste dekho uske liye, aur ekdam shaant ladki nahi honi chahiye, thori ziddi ho, tabhi uska dimag thikane ayega.”
“Acha thik hain. Per apka hath kaha ja rahe hain” Rehman's hand had slowly trailed lower from Ulfat's waist, mischief clear in his eyes.
“Ab meri jaan, aap itni sundar lagrahi hain chand ki roshni mein ki chand khud soch raha hain ki akhir ye roshni kiski hain, aapki ya uski. To mera kya kusoor”
Ulfat rolled her eyes, “Rehman aap bhi na…” Rehman moved closer to place a kiss on her soft, rosy lips.
Suddenly, the sound of the telephone ringing came to their ears. Ulfat looked at the wall-clock, 1.30 am, who was calling so late. Rehman held her hand, “Main uthata hu.”
“Hain… Kya mil nahi rahi?... Kya bol rahi hain aap khala?... zaaroor kidnapping hogi... Bhaagne wali baat hi nahi hain… Hamari bachi hosiyaar hain woh bhaagegi thori. Aur kiske sath bhagegi, aj tak hamesha sabki baat suni hain…”
“Kya??”, Ulfat snatched the receiver from Rehman's hand and held it to her ears, “Khala, kya bol rahi hain aap?... dinner ke baad se mil rahi, achaa hum arahe hain... Nahi aap roiye maat na.” Ulfat was tense; she kept the receiver down and looked for Rehman. They needed to look for their Bachi. She had gone missing. “Rehman, aap kaha gaye”
“Tum shawl lelo, main gari nikal raha hu”, Rehman's sound came from the courtyard where his car was parked.
Uzair arrived a few hours before dawn, and the sky had turned slightly purple. He was tired. He went to his room quietly and locked the door.
“Jao hath mu dho lo”, he said to the woman wrapped in a dark shawl.
“Uzi, mujhe daar lag raha hain” She looked up to him, her doe eyes slightly teary.
Uzair held her hand, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles, “Kuch nahi hoga, baby. Main hoon na. Chalo, fresh hoje ao, aur so jao”
“Ammi bohot maregi”
“Kuch nahi hoga, meri jaan. Main hu na.”
She moved closer to him, her face clearer in the soft light of his room. Her sandy complexion glowing in the yellow light of his bedside lamp, “Aur Aapi aur Rehman bhai?”
“Unko main samhal lunga, Woh khud bhi to…”
Before Uzair could complete his words, she hugged him. "Main tumhare bagair kaise jeeti. Ammi ne jab bola ki shaadi ki baat karne ane wale hain main bohot daar gai thi. Mujhe samajh nahi araha tha", tears escaping her eyes finally. Her emotions could no longer be kept hidden.
“Shh shh… rote nahi, meri jaan. Main hoon tumhare paas, ekdam shant ho jao. Aur waise bhi main meri mallika to kisi aur ka hone thori deta, utha ke le ata”, Uzair wiped her tears with softness and affection, no one had ever seen him display.
“Acha? To abhi kya kiya hain? Uthaya hi to hain Baloch. Sach khete hain log Balocho ke paas thora bhi kabu nahi hain, bas zoor zabardasti hain”, her eyes still wet, but her teasing nature returned as she felt the comfort of his arms, his safe place.
“Tu bhagi hain meresath, uthaya hota to aise tere hath bandh diye hote," he held both her hands tight in his right palm, tight behind her back. " Aur teri zuban se ye bari bari baatein nahi nikalti.” as he pressed her soft cheeks together, her lips pouting, making her look cuter, as he pressed his lips on her. “Aur Baloch kisko kehti hain, ab to tu bhi Baloch hogi, meri jaan.”
She pulled her hands from his grip. Shyness spread over her cheeks as a bright red blush. “Dhaat, jao haato”, she pushed his chest a little.
“Jab itna sharam ata hain tu uksati kyu hain mujhe”, Uzair teased, biting her cheeks softly.
She moved a few steps away and gave him a teasing smile, “Maza ata hain”
“Ruk tujhe to main”, Uzair followed her quickly.
=================================================
Rehman and Ulfat returned home; it was not yet morning. The sun was still beyond the horizon, but the sky had turned slightly orange in anticipation of the morning. They were extremely tired. Khala had cried herself a river when they had reached. Khalu was pacing around the house. Ulfat had managed to comfort them and stop Khala’s tears. Rehman was sure that there was some sort of kidnapping, even though the room was perfect and only the Balcony door was open. He would have to look around. He had a plan, but he needed to speak to Uzair first. Hamza and Uzair would surely get the information out quickly.
Uzair’s jeep was parked hapazedly in the courtyard, the way he liked.
“Nawabzaada agaya hain. Jaan thora chai bana dogi, main Uzair se baat karke ata hu” Rehman's head was aching, the whole night they had not wink of sleep.
Ulfat herself felt the tiredness in her bones agreed at once. “Hain, main abhi leke ai”
“Aur tum chinta maat karo jaan. Bachi miljayegi, usko kuch nahi hoga” Rehman kissed her forehead. He knew how much bachi mattered to her.
“Pata hain rehman, aap hain na”
=================================================
Rehman moved to the second floor, crossing his kids' room and the two empty rooms to reach Uzair's wing. He knocked on the door quite harshly.
“Uzair. Darwaza khol.” Rehman continued banging on the door. “Uzair?”, the door suddenly opened due to the banging. The lock had given up.
“Uzair!!!!!”, Rehman's eyes landed on a shirtless Uzair, but was that a duppatta on his bed?
“Kaun hain, madar… ” Uzair woke up confused, his hair messed up. His eyes widened when he saw Rehman standing. He quickly tried to sit up. “Rehman bhai aap”
Rehman came a step closer and then moved back, seeing a woman on his bed under the blanket, only her long hair visible. “Kya kar raha hain? Aur kaun hain ye? Kitni baar kaha hain jo bhi karna hain ghar ke bahar, bache rehte hain ghar pe”
To make the situation worse, she moved from under the blanket when he moved to sit up, “Uzair, kaun chilla raha hain. Mujhe thand lag hain, door kyu gaye?” She moved her hair a little to hold Uzair's hand and pull him closer as if to protect herself from the cold.
Rehman recognised the noise, worst, he recognised that face, what in the world was this? Rehman spoke in a stunned voice,“Bachi? Tu?”
Uzair, seeing the situation was getting worse, tried to shield her,“Bhai main aapko sab bolta hu”.
The chaos finally made her wake up, she looked like a deer in headlights. Oh no rehman bhai was here and he had seen them together, on his bed. Where was her dupatta? She found it and flung it across her shoulder.
“Bolega to tu zaroor phele tere haddiya toor dungi. Tu ise utha laya hain?” Rehman had taken out his gun.
Ulfat arrived at that exact moment, carrying a tray, “Kya hua Rehman?”
“Dekh lo apne shezade ki harkate”
She looked at the scene, Uzair sitting on the bed, shirtless in front of her little sister, they had clearly just woken up from sleep,“Bachi? Tu yaha? Tu bhaag gai thi?”
“Woh aapi main… matlab who Uzi.. matlab rista...” words were not coming out of her mouth.
Uzair, seeing the whole situation, stood up, “Bhabhi main usse Mohabbat karta hu isiliye utha laya ise, mujhe isse nikah karna hain. Ye bhi mujhese pyaar karti hain. Aree bol na, chup kyu hain?” as he pulled her beside him.
“Hain, aapi. Main Uzi, matlab Uzair se pyaar karti hu, ammi ne woh shaadi ki baat ki, to main daar gai aur Uzair ko call karliye, toh woh agaya, to main uske jeep mai baith gai… aur useke sath matlab, dono milke yaha chale aye.” She blabbered whatever came to her mind. Her eyes got teary again; she had caused so much pain to her Aapi and Rehman bhai, they would surely be so angry with her. Ammi would probably disown her.
Uzair's heart broke seeing her tears. He turned to her side and wiped them with softness and kissed her forehead, “Jaan ro kyu rahi ho. Kou tumhe nahi datega, main hu na. Main tumhare hisse ki maar bhi kha lunga Shazia Khala se. Chalo asu nahi.”
“Thik hain Uzi”
Rehman's eyes twitched seeing this interaction. His brother was voluntarily wiping her tears, the tears of the same woman he would tease everytime she came home. His brother had surely done some sort of kaala jado; hell, they were all trapped in some sort of illusion. And the girl who never called Uzair by his name, spewing just insults at him, addressing him as batameez, besharam, nihaito nakara and bijli ka khambha, among other notable insults, was calling him 'Uzi'.
“Uzi? Ye ghore jaise gadhe ko Uzi kabse bolne lagi tum bachi?”
“Aree bhai woh to 4-5 saalo se”, Uzair said shyly scratching the back of his neck.
“Chup..”, she said to Uzair, understanding Rehman was not having it.
Rehman had had enough. He pointed the gun at Uzair and said, “4-5 saal? Kabse chal raha hain ye sab? Saaf saaf bol. Shazia Khala ko kya mu dikhaunga main? Ki khala aap chinta na kare, mera jo Kad se ucha akal se bauna bhai hain apki phool si bachi ko utha laya hain? Kya izzat reh jayegi Balocho ki? Ki hum ladki uthate hain?”
“Woh to aap uthate hi hain. Khandaan ki ek ladki to bara bhai utha laga, dusre ko chota bhai” Ulfat, who was a spectator till then, said sipping on her chai.
“Jaan, tum bhi. Tumhari wajah se hi bigra hain ye. Chal jaldi bata, varna ye bandook ki sari goliye khali kardunga”
Hearing this, she suddenly came in front of Uzair, “Nahi rehman bhai, inhe kuch na kare.”
“Bachi, kal tak to tui iska katal karna chahti thi, aj kya hogaya?” This interaction was something that made Rehman's head spin; he was sure he had grey hair now.
Uzair looked at her with a sappy smile, so much in love, “Woh sach thori tha Bhai, woh to uska mujhse Mohabbat zahir karne ka tareeka hain”
“Ai tu chup reh Bhos.. gadhe, ab jaldi bol puri baat”
“Woh Rehman bhai humlog ek dusre ko pasand karte the. Jab Faizal hua aur main Islamabad se ai, tab mujhe woh Dheere Dheere pasanda ne lage”
“Mujhe to tu bachpan se pasand hain.” Uzair interrupted her, proudly confessing and pulling her closer.
“Aur aap aur aapi jab naiem ko doctor ke pass leke gaye the, 4 saal pehel tab zoor ka toofan aya tha, main daar gai thi aur Uzi, matlab, Uzair ne hi mujhe samhala tha. Tabse hi.” She spoke with so much honesty and love in her eyes.
“Aur ye jab mereliye jalebi leke ati thi aur mujhe apne hatho se kheer khilati thi…” Uzair continued.
“Woh Uzair ne hi college mein mujhe bohot madat ki thi”
Ulfat was unsure whether to laugh or cry, “Bas bas, samajh gaye. Haye allah, yehi dekhna baki tha. Humlogo ke nak ke neeche ye log… Per uske baad bhi ladne ki kya zaarorat thi? Hume bol sakte the, hum khud rista leke jate”
“Woh aapi mujeh sharam ati hain”, She looked down, her hands fiddling with her dupatta.
“Hayee malika aise na sharmao, mujhe bara pyaar ata hain”
“Ai nawab tera saara pyaar abhi ek goli se nikal dunga. Thori sharam karde. Teri wajah se issi ammi ro rahi hain. Bhagne wala plan tera tha na?” Rehman was now irritated. What more was left for him to witness this night?
“Hain bhai…”
“Iski to...”
“Per bhai apse hi to seekha tha.”
“Aree gadhe, humlog thori mana karte shaadi ke liye.”
“Hain Uzair beta. Humlogo to koi atraz nahi hota. Nahi Khala ko. Humlog to chahte the humlogo ki shaadi ho, per tumlog itna ladte the ki humne taal diya”, Ulfat said, holding her trembling hand.
“Dekha maine kaha tha mujhe itna naat chidhao”
“Sorry, meri jaan.”
“Ye door hatho tumlog thora. Aur hath hata iske kamar se. Aur tu jake apna kurta pehen”, Rehman said, clearly uncomfortable at their display of affection. Their fighting was tolerable; this love made him dizzy.
“Ammi maine khana than a aapi bhaag jayegi. Chachu ne to bola tha, unhe bhaga le ayenge” Unknown to them, little Faizal had come to the chaos.
Ulfat bend down to pull her little boy in her arms, “Faizal? Apko pata tha?”
“Hain, Khala to Chachu ke paas hi rehti hain, unko to kissi bhi milta hain Chachu se.”
“Faizal ke bache, tujhe chocolate diya tha chup rehne ke liya ruk”
Tropes: Lyari Gangster / Fearless College Student, Love at First Sight, Instant Smitten, Absolute Devotion/Worshipful Hero, Protective Man
Synopsis: When a loud market trip turns into an absolute battleground of words, you completely unleash your badass fury on a rude street vendor, capped off with a fiery lecture to the two towering onlookers standing nearby. You have no idea you just humiliated a local dealer right in front of Uzair Baloch, the fierce and imposing gangster of Lyari's underworld and then proceeded to scream at him and his partner as well. Totally captivated by your sheer fearlessness and sharp tongue, Uzair instantly falls hopelessly in love.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This fanfiction is based on the character of Uzair Baloch from Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar duology, portrayed by Danish Pandor. It is a work of transformative fiction intended purely for entertainment purposes and is not affiliated with, authorized by, or endorsed by the filmmakers, actors, or production companies.
The afternoon heat in Lyari’s central market was thick, heavy with the scent of fried jalebis, crushed marigolds, and the metallic tang of old coins. You and your best friend-Sramana were navigating the cramped lanes, trying to check off a shopping list that felt a mile long.
"Yaar, if we don't get these clothes and lace by five, the tailor is going to lock his shop and leave us stranded. We need those dresses done before Eid warna end moment me kuch pehenne ko nahi milega, " Sramana muttered, wiping her forehead as she dragged you toward a shimmering jewelry cart. "Aur upar se yeh garmi... mera toh dimaag kharab ho raha hai."
The cart was an absolute treasure trove, spilling over with glass bangles and heavy silver earrings. Standing right next to you, examining a pair of delicate jhumkas, was an elegant woman in a pastel shalwar kameez. Standing slightly behind her, guarding her like a pair of towering, silent stone walls, were two broad-shouldered men. You casually glanced at them but didn't pay much attention—you weren't involved in local politics and had no idea you were standing next to Ulfat Bhabhi, Uzair Baloch, and Hamza Ali Mazari.
Sramana reached out to touch a pair of oxidized silver hoops hanging from the top rack. "Oye, dekh na, yeh kitne pyaare hain."
Before her fingers could even brush the metal, the shopkeeper—a stout man with stained teeth—slapped a heavy hand down on the wooden counter with a loud thap.
"Hey! Don't touch if you aren't buying," he snapped, his eyes raking over Sramana with a dismissive, ugly look. "Tum jaisi larkiyan bas yahan time waste karne aur designs chorane aati hain. Chalo, aage barho. Real customers ka rasta mat roko."
Sramana froze, her face flushing a deep crimson. She shrank back, her confidence instantly evaporating under his harsh tone. She instinctively clutched your arm, pulling you away. "Chal na, jaane de... nikalte hain yahan se," she whispered, her voice trembling.
But the moment he treated Sramana like dirt, something in your chest snapped.
"Excuse me?" You stepped squarely in front of Sramana, shielding her. Your voice cut through the market noise like a blade. "Kya bola tumne abhi? Tamiz nahi hai baat karne ki?"
The shopkeeper scoffed, crossing his arms. "Maine kaha, aage barho. Go play somewhere else, larki."
"First of all, you will watch your tone when you speak to us," you said, leaning over the counter, completely unfazed by his size. "Aukaat mein reh kar baat karo, samjhe? Kisne haq diya tumhe badtameezi karne ka?"
The shouting match escalated quickly. The vendor was turning red, furious that a young girl was humiliating him in front of a growing crowd. Finally, losing his mind, he threw his hands up and hurled a classic, insulting sneer:
You didn't even blink. You leaned in closer, a lethal, mocking smirk on your face, and fired back at the top of your lungs:
"Haan haan! Tera baap bhi 36 laya hoga, tu kaunsi wali ka hai?!"
The entire market lane went dead, drop-dead silent. The shopkeeper’s jaw practically hit the floor. Next to you, Ulfat Bhabhi choked back a sudden, shocked laugh, hiding her face in her dupatta. Behind her, Hamza raised a brow, thoroughly amused, while Uzair’s chest rose and fell as a slow, dangerous, and completely mesmerized smile crept onto his face.
Sramana looked like she was going to faint. "Abbe pagal, kya bol rahi hai?! Chal yahan se!" she cried, grabbing your arm with both hands and violently dragging you backward.
But you weren't done venting your fury. As Sramana was pulling you away, your eyes angrily swept over the crowd and landed dead on the two towering men—Uzair and Hamza—who had just been standing there like rocks, watching the whole thing play out.
You stopped, broke out of Sramana's grip for a split second, pointed a furious finger straight at Uzair's chest, and shouted at them:
"Aur tum dono! Saale naam ke mard ho tum! Beech bazaar mein ek larki ko ulta-seedha bol raha hai, chhed raha hai, aur tum dono wahan khade-khade tamasha dekh rahe ho?! Sharam nahi aati? Jao, ghar mein ghunghat pehen ke baith jao!"
Sramana practically shrieked in horror, grabbed your hand, and dragged you into the crowd at lightning speed before you could yell at anyone else.
For a few seconds, the space where you stood remained perfectly silent. Then, Hamza let out a low, booming chuckle, shaking his head. "Ghunghat? Bhai... isne toh hume hi sunakar chali gayi."
Uzair didn't say a word. He stood frozen, his dark, intense eyes locked on the spot where you had just been standing. His heart was hammering against his ribs in a way it never had before. The raw fire in your eyes, the absolute fearlessness, the way you had insulted a dangerous local gangster and his partner without even knowing who they were—it completely captivated him.
A slow, breathless laugh escaped Uzair’s lips. He was deeply, utterly, and instantly in love.
Ulfat Bhabhi adjusted her dupatta, a knowing, highly impressed smile on her face. She looked at Uzair’s starstruck expression and patted his shoulder. "Bohot aag hai larki mein, haina? Pata lagao kaun hai yeh, Uzair. Aur suno, agle hafte use humare haveli par khaane ke liye bulana hai. Invitation card tum khud dene jaoge."
Uzair cleared his throat, his gaze still lingering on the empty street. "Aap gaadi mein baithiye, Bhabhi. Naam, pata, sab kuch shaam tak haath mein hoga... aur invitation card main khud hi lekar jaunga."
A week had passed since that chaotic afternoon. You and Sramana were sitting on the porch of your house, enjoying the cool evening breeze. Sramana was endlessly scrolling through her phone, complaining about college assignments, while you were turning the pages of a notebook.
Suddenly, a heavy, purring sound filled the narrow street. A sleek, pitch-black SUV pulled up right in front of your gate.
The heavy car door swung open, and Uzair Baloch stepped out. He wore a crisp, tailored black kurta that highlighted his imposing frame, and a thick silver ring caught the dying sunlight. His dark eyes scanned the house before locking directly onto you.
Your defensive instincts flared instantly. You stood up, stepping slightly in front of Sramana. You later learned the name of the towering man from the market, Uzair Baloch-right hand and cousin of Rehman Dakait.
Uzair walked up to your small gate, his boots making a heavy sound against the pavement. He stopped just a few feet away, a slow, deeply amused smirk spreading across his face as he took in your fierce expression.
"Arey, aate hi itna gussa?" Uzair said, his voice a low, smooth gravelly drawl that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He leaned one hand against the gate post, looking down at you with genuine fascination. "Don't worry, main yahan ghunghat pehen ke nahi aaya hoon. Aur na hi koi lafda karne."
Your eyes widened slightly as the memory of what you said in anger hit you in full force. You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms tightly. "Humare ghar ke bahar kya kaam hai tumhara? Aur hume kaise dhoonda?"
Uzair let out a short, quiet laugh. "Lyari mein mere liye kisi ko dhoondna koi mushkil kaam nahi hai. Waise, mera naam Uzair hai. Uzair Baloch." He leaned in just a fraction closer, his gaze turning intense. "Pichle Tuesday ko jo tumne market mein kiya na... bohot jigra hai tum mein. Meri bhabhi tumse bohot impressed hui thi."
Sramana peeked from behind your shoulder, her face turning pale as paper. "Yaar, tu toh marwayegi hume..." she whispered in sheer panic. Sramana was a textbook people-pleaser, terrified of authority, and now the biggest name in Lyari underworld was standing at your gate.
But you kept your ground, unblinking. "So? Toh tum yahan sirf apni beizzati ka badla lene aaye ho?"
"Badla?" Uzair murmured softly, his eyes dropping for a split second to your lips before snapping back to yours. "Nahi, main toh ek kaam se aaya hoon."
He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a heavy, beautifully textured envelope made of cream-colored silk paper with a gold seal. He held it out to you, his large hand brushing against yours for a brief, electric moment as you took it.
"What is this?" you asked.
"Yeh invitation hai," Uzair explained, his tone shifting into something remarkably respectful yet incredibly smooth. "Ulfat Bhabhi ne bheja hai. She wants to host you and your friend at the Baloch Haveli for a proper dinner this weekend. Aur haan..." Uzair leaned in, a dangerous, intensely charming spark in his eyes. "Us dukandaar ki dukaan maine agle hi din hamesha ke liye band karwa di thi. Mere ilaqe mein koi larki ko ulta-seedha bole, yeh mujhe pasand nahi."
You looked down at the royal envelope, then back up at his towering figure. He was dangerous, powerful, and you were completely captivated.
"Haveli par zaroor aana," Uzair whispered, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a challenging, lingering gaze. "Wahan koi tumse unchi awaaz mein baat karne ki jurrat bhi nahi karega. Main khud dhyan rakhunga. I'll be waiting for you."
Saturday evening arrived, and Sramana was practically hyperventilating. She had changed her outfit five times, muttering, "Yaar, hum gunde ke ghar ja rahe hain, thoda simple kapde pehente hain na!" But you? You wore a gorgeous, striking traditional outfit, put on your favorite silver jhumkas, and walked out with your head held high.
The Baloch Haveli was spectacular—imposing, heavily guarded, and radiating old-money power. Armed guards in crisp linen kurtas stood at the gates. Sramana immediately glued herself to your side, clutching your sleeve like a lifeline. "Please, chal wapas chalte hain," she whimpered.
"Stop it, Sramana. Breathe," you whispered back, completely unfazed.
The grand wooden doors opened, and Ulfat Bhabhi walked out with a warm, maternal smile. "Aao, aao, masha'Allah, kitni pyaari lag rahi ho dono!" She pulled both of you into a warm hug. Sramana stiffened up like a board, bowing her head instantly. "A-Assalamualaikum, Bhabhi. Thank you so much for inviting us," she stammered and cringed inwardly.
Ulfat chuckled, patting Sramana’s cheek. "Walaikum Assalam, beta. Darna nahi hai, yeh tumhara apna hi ghar hai." Then she turned to you, a spark of deep admiration in her eyes. "Aur tum... bilkul waisi hi lag rahi ho jaisi us din market mein thi. Confident aur fearless."
Inside, the dinner turned into an absolute blast. Despite Sramana’s initial terror, the warmth of the household melted the ice completely. Rehman Dakait was laughing at the head of the table, and Hamza Ali Mazari was cracking jokes left and right, casually teasing Uzair about the "ghunghat" comment from the market. You fit right into their chaotic, high-energy dynamic, giving witty comebacks to Hamza’s teasing, while Sramana quietly relaxed, giggling into her dupatta.
Uzair sat directly across from you, his dark, intense eyes tracking your every move, every laugh, and every sharp retort. He looked completely smitten, utterly captivated by how effortlessly you commanded the room.
When night fell and it was time to leave, the atmosphere was thick with warmth. Because it was late, Ulfat Bhabhi commanded, "Hamza, gaadi nikalo. In dono ko safe ghar chhor kar aao."
Hamza jingled the car keys with a grin. "Ji, Bhabhi. Hukum sir aankhon par."
Just as they were walking to the SUV, Uzair casually stepped out of the shadows, throwing a black shawl over his shoulders. "Main bhi chal raha hoon," he announced, his voice a low drawl.
Hamza smirked, seeing right through him. "Kyun bhai? Abhi toh poori dopahar poore Lyari ka chakkar kaat kar aaye ho. Thake nahi?"
Uzair shot Hamza a sharp, warning glare. "Gaadi chala tu, zyada dimaag mat chala."
The drive back was filled with light banter, but you could feel Uzair’s gaze on you through the rearview mirror the entire time. When the SUV finally pulled up to your gate, Sramana practically scrambled out, whispering a quick, polite, "Thank you so much, Allah Hafiz!" before running inside to give you guys space.
You stepped out of the car, smoothing down your outfit, and turned to look at Uzair, who had stepped out with you. The cool night breeze blew a strand of hair across your face.
Uzair walked up close, his massive frame blocking out the streetlights, casting a protective shadow over you. "Toh..." he murmured, a slow, devastatingly charming smile breaking across his face. "Haveli mein darr toh nahi laga?"
"I told you before, Uzair Sahab," you replied, tilting your chin up with a playful smirk. "I don't scare easily. The food was amazing, and your family is lovely."
"Aur main?" Uzair stepped a fraction closer, his voice dropping into a deeper, dangerously intimate register that made your heart skip a heavy beat. His eyes locked onto yours, full of unadulterated interest. "Main accha nahi laga?"
You felt a blush creeping up your neck, but you refused to back down. "You? You were surprisingly well-behaved. No ghunghat required."
Uzair let out a low, rough chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your silver earring for a fleeting, electric second. "Chalo, dil mein jaan aayi. Warna mujhe laga aaj fir se daant padegi." He leaned in slightly, his dark eyes softening completely. "Kal college se free kab ho rahi ho?"
"Around three. Why?"
"Main lene aaunga. Ek date planned hai. Mana mat karna," he said, his tone a mix of a command and a gentle plea. Before you could answer, he gave you a lingering, deep look that made your stomach flip, murmured a soft "Khuda Hafiz," and slid back into the car.
As the SUV drove away, you stood at the gate, a genuine, fluttering smile on your lips. You had to admit it to yourself—you were starting to like him. A lot.
The next day at exactly 2:55 PM, the sleek black SUV was already idling outside your college gates. The students whispering and staring gave away his presence long before you even reached the road.
Uzair was leaning against the car, looking incredibly handsome in a crisp white pathani suit. The moment his eyes found you in the crowd of exiting students, his entire face lit up. He didn't care who was watching; to him, the entire world had faded into background noise.
He opened the passenger door for you with the utmost respect. "Assalamualaikum," he murmured gently as you slid in.
"Walaikum Assalam. Where are we going?" you asked, curious.
"Ek aisi jagah jahan koi hume disturb na kare," he said, driving away from the bustling city lanes.
The drive away from the college gates felt entirely different from your usual chaotic commute. Uzair drove with a relaxed confidence, his dark eyes occasionally darting away from the road to steal a glance at you.
He had taken you to a quiet, upscale rooftop restaurant overlooking a calmer side of the city—a spot he had completely cleared out so you wouldn't be bothered by the typical market crowds or whispering onlookers. The table was piled high with your favorite street foods, elegantly served alongside traditional sweets.
Throughout the afternoon, the dynamic between you two was effortless. You didn't hold back your sharp wit, and Uzair absolutely thrived on it. Every time you delivered a quick-witted comeback, he would let out a low, rough laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine delight. He listened to your stories about college, your rants about difficult assignments, and your banter about Sramana's dramatic panic attacks with an intensity that made you feel like you were the only person in the room. The date ended on an incredibly good note, filled with shared laughter and a lingering, unspoken tension as he dropped you home before sunset.
But after that day? Uzair Baloch turned into a certified lost puppy.
The fierce, imposing gangster who ruled the streets of Lyari suddenly found himself completely at the mercy of your schedule. Everywhere you went, a certain sleek black SUV wasn't too far behind. If you went to the local library, Uzair would be parked across the street. If you and Sramana went to grab gola ganda after class, you’d spot him leaning against a wall nearby, casually chatting with his boys but keeping his eyes locked entirely on you.
And because Uzair went everywhere you went, his inner circle had no choice but to tag along.
It became a hilariously common sight in the neighborhood: you walking down the street, followed by a small, incredibly dangerous entourage trying their best to look casual. Hamza Ali Mazari would be leaning against a lamppost, cracking up at how whipped his partner was. Donga and Siyahi, usually terrifying figures in the underworld, would be standing around awkwardly, holding shopping bags or waiting for orders while Uzair just stared at you with a goofy, lovestruck smile.
"Bhai, sach mein... pure Lyari mein humara khauf hai, aur yahan hum dhoop mein khade hoke larki ka wait kar rahe hain," Siyahi would mutter under his breath, adjusting his jacket.
Donga would chuckle, patting his shoulder. "Chup kar, Siyahi. Agar Uzair Bhai ne sun liya na, toh tere se hi pura market ka chakkar katwayenge. Dekh toh sahi kaise piche piche ghoom rahe hain."
Hamza would just shake his head with a grin, calling out, "Oye Uzair! Chal na yaar, bhabhi toh chali gayi andar. Ab kya gate ko dekhta rahega?"
Little by little, despite your best efforts to remain guarded and independent, the heavy walls around your heart began to melt. You started looking forward to seeing that black SUV. You found yourself smiling whenever you caught him watching you, and you’d even tell the street vendors to give him and his exhausted boys free cups of tea and you would secretly pay for them. He was powerful, dangerous, and fiercely protective, but around you, he was completely defenseless.
Then came a rainy Tuesday afternoon.
You were walking out of your college gate, expecting the usual sight of Uzair leaning against the car door, waiting to flash his devastating smile. But when he stepped out of the vehicle, something was different. His movements were slightly stiff. As he reached out to open the door for you, the sleeve of his kurta shifted, revealing a thick, stark white bandage tightly wrapped around his forearm.
Your heart instantly dropped into your stomach. A cold wave of panic washed over you.
"Uzair," you said, your voice sharp as you stopped dead in your tracks, ignoring his outstretched hand. "What is that?"
Uzair quickly tried to pull his sleeve down, offering a casual, dismissive shrug. "Kuch nahi hai, rani. Bas ek chhota sa scratch hai. Chalo, baitho gaadi mein—"
"Don't 'kuch nahi hai' me!" you snapped, your voice cracking slightly as the reality hit you. You stepped closer, grabbing his uninjured wrist and forcing him to look at you. You knew his world was violent, but seeing physical proof of it shook you to your core. "Yeh bandage kis liye hai? Tum kisi lafde mein the? Koi gang war scuffle tha?!"
Behind him, Hamza, Donga, and Siyahi exchange quiet, serious looks, stepping back to give you two space.
"Answer me, Uzair!" you demanded, your eyes burning with sudden tears. The anger was masking a deep, overwhelming fear of losing him. "Tumhe samajh nahi aata? Agar tumhe kuch ho gaya toh?! Tum har waqt dushmanon ke beech ghoomte ho, aur yahan mujhe darr lagta hai! Shauk hai kya tumhe yeh sab karne ka?"
As a hot tear finally escaped and rolled down your cheek, Uzair’s entire tough-guy demeanor crumbled. The sight of your tears completely shattered him. He didn't care about the scuffle, his wound, or the fact that his top lieutenants were watching.
He stepped into your space, his large, uninjured hand gently coming up to cup your face, his thumb softly wiping away the tear. His dark eyes were wide, swirling with a mixture of pain, yearning, and an absolute, deep-rooted devotion.
"Tum darti ho mere liye?" Uzair whispered, his voice incredibly low, thick with raw emotion. He leaned his forehead down close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Mat ro, jaan. Tumhari aankhon mein aansu dekh kar mera kaleja phat jaata hai. Yeh zakhm kuch nahi hai... tumhare in aansuon se zyada dard mujhe kisi goli se nahi hoga."
You let out a shaky sob, your hands clutching the fabric of his kurta. "Toh mat kiya karo na yeh sab... mujhe sach mein bohot darr lagta hai, Uzair."
Uzair’s grip on your cheek tightened gently, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that felt entirely holy. He couldn't hold it back anymore. The lost puppy, the pining, the endless following—it all culminated in this exact, quiet moment under the grey sky.
"Main nahi karunga... tum jo kahogi main wahi karunga," Uzair confessed, his voice trembling with the sheer weight of his love. "Puri duniya ek taraf, aur tum ek taraf. Main tumse bohot mohabbat karta hoon. Dil, jaan, sab kuch tumhare naam kar chuka hoon pichle ek mahine se. Main tumhare bina nahi jee paunga."
Your heart hammered wildly against your ribs. Looking into his vulnerable, worshipful eyes, the last of your doubts vanished into thin air.
"Main bhi," you whispered back, a fresh tear falling as a genuine, beautiful smile broke through your panic. "Main bhi tumse bohot mohabbat karti hoon, Uzair. Isiliye itna gussa aata hai."
Uzair let out a breathless, triumphant laugh, pulling you into a tight, fierce embrace that completely shielded you from the rest of the world. Behind him, Hamza smiled, shaking his head, while Donga and Siyahi finally let out sighs of relief.
The boss was finally happy, and Lyari’s fiercest leader had officially found his queen.
Uzair stood there under the pouring grey sky, holding you so tightly it felt as though he were trying to fuse your soul with his. The rain hammered against the roof of the SUV and splashed around your feet, but inside the circle of his arms, there was only a warm, consuming quiet.
Behind his back, Hamza casually slung an arm over Siyahi’s shoulder, a massive grin splitting his face. "Dekha? I told you, bhai was a goner the moment she told him to wear a ghunghat," Hamza whispered loudly over the sound of the rain.
Donga let out a low chuckle, nudging them both. "Chalo chalo, let’s give them some space before Uzair Bhai remembers we are standing here and assigns us to guard duty in the middle of a storm."
As the boys quietly piled back into the backup vehicle, Uzair slowly pulled away just enough to look down at your face. His thumbs gently stroked your wet cheeks, his dark eyes absolutely brimming with an emotion so intense it bordered on reverence.
"Suno," he murmured, his deep gravelly voice dropping to a rare, fragile register. "Aaj ke baad, Lyari mein kya, poori duniya mein koi aisa lafda nahi hoga jisme main apni jaan halke mein loon. Ab meri jaan meri nahi rahi, rani. Yeh tumhari amanat hai."
You let out a watery, breathless laugh, burying your face against his crisp white kurta one last time before letting him guide you into the warmth of the passenger seat. The drive back to your house was quiet, but it wasn't the heavy, tense silence of before. Your fingers were tightly intertwined with his uninjured hand over the gear shift, and every time the car stopped at a signal, Uzair would lift your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles with an unhurried, deeply protective devotion.
The weeks that followed their confession transformed the dynamic of Lyari entirely. Uzair didn't just love you; he worshipped the very ground you walked on. The black SUV was no longer a shadow following you in secret; it was your personal escort.
If you wanted to study late at the library, Uzair would have the entire street cleared of loud vendors so you could focus. If Sramana mentioned she was craving a specific street food from the other side of Karachi, Donga would arrive at your doorstep within thirty minutes, holding steaming packages with a polite, "Bhabhi, bhai ne bheja hai."
Your house became a fortress of respect. Neighbors who used to whisper about the young unmarried girls at your home now lowered their heads in deep reverence whenever you passed. But through it all, you remained exactly who you were—sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, and completely unafraid to put Uzair in his place whenever his gangster ego flared up. And Uzair absolutely loved it. He would sit in meetings with heavy political leaders, look completely terrifying, and then instantly soften the moment your name popped up on his phone screen.
The grand courtyard of the Baloch Haveli was bathed in the warm, golden glow of fairy lights and floating candles. The occasion was a massive celebration—a formal family gathering to mark a year of peace in the district, and more importantly, your official place beside Uzair.
The air was thick with the rich aroma of mutton biryani, roasting kebabs, and sweet zafrani kheer. Music played softly in the background, competing with the loud, booming laughter of Rehman Dakait, who was sitting on a plush charpai, deeply engaged in a conversation with the elders.
You stood near the marble fountain in the center of the courtyard, wearing an exquisite, heavy white traditional suit that Uzair had personally selected for you. Your silver jhumkas caught the light as you laughed, holding a small plate of sweets.
Right beside you was Sramana.
But this wasn't the trembling, terrified Sramana from a year ago. The girl who used to hide behind your shoulder at the mere mention of a weapon was currently dressed in a stunning royal blue lehenga, her posture straight, her chin held high. Frequent visits to the Haveli and being under the direct protection of the Baloch family had completely shattered her shell. She had grown out of her people-pleasing anxieties, walking through the heavily guarded corridors with an easy, confident grace.
"I’m just saying," Sramana said, casually popping a kaju katli into her mouth and pointing her spoon toward the entrance. "If the caterers don't bring out the hot naans in the next five minutes, I am going to go full karate on them. I learned from the best, after all."
You laughed, nudging her shoulder. "Look at you. Kahan woh ladki jo darr ke maare kapkapati thi, aur kahan ab. I’ve created a monster."
"You created a confident woman," Sramana corrected with a brilliant, bright smile, her eyes sparkling.
Before you could reply, a deep, heavy pair of footsteps approached from behind. A large, solid arm slid smoothly around your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest clad in a matching white sherwani. The familiar scent of expensive cologne and tobacco enveloped you instantly.
"Meri jaan..." Uzair murmured against your hair, his voice low and possessive as he kissed the side of your head. He looked down at you, his eyes completely dark with that familiar, intense devotion that had never faded for a single day. "Puri mehfil mein bas tum hi chamak rahi ho. Mera toh dimaag ghoom raha hai tumhe dekh kar."
You tilted your head back, looking up at his sharp jawline and the heavy silver ring on his finger resting against your waist. "Uzair, control yourself. Sab dekh rahe hain."
"Dekhne do," Uzair scoffed softly, a proud, dangerous smirk on his lips as his grip tightened around you. "Puri duniya ko pata hona chahiye ki Uzair Baloch kiske saamne jukhta hai."
Right then, Hamza Ali Mazari strolled over, a crisp maroon linen kurta hanging perfectly on his broad shoulders. He had a glass of sherbet in his hand, his eyes instantly tracking over to Sramana. The usual playful, mocking smirk he kept for Uzair completely vanished the moment his eyes landed on her.
Hamza stepped into the circle, his gaze lingering on Sramana’s confident stance. "Assalamualaikum, Sramana ji," Hamza said, his voice dropping into a remarkably smooth, charming register. "Aaj toh aap bilkul... kya kehte hain English mein... stunning lag rahi hain."
A year ago, Sramana would have choked on her breath and hidden behind you. But today? She turned to face Hamza fully, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow, a beautiful, teasing smile playing on her lips.
"Walaikum Assalam, Hamza ji," Sramana replied smoothly, looking him straight in the eye without a shred of hesitation. "Tareef ke liye shukriya. Lekin aapka yeh dialougewbaazi har ladki par chalta hoga, mere saamne thoda asli tareef seekh kar aaiye."
Hamza blinked, completely caught off guard by her sharp, confident retort. He let out a sudden, loud chuckle, his eyes widening with absolute fascination as he looked at her. He rubbed the back of his neck, thoroughly smitten. "Oho... lagta hai bhabhi ki sangat ka asar bohot gehra hua hai. Pura firecracker ban gayi ho."
"Fierce logon ke sath rehkar thoda toh seekhna hi padta hai," Sramana said, giving him a playful wink before turning back to the sweet counter.
Uzair watched the exchange and let out a low, rough chuckle, leaning his chin heavily against your shoulder as you both watched Hamza stand there, completely dazed and staring at Sramana like a lost puppy—the exact same way Uzair had a year ago.
"Dekha?" Uzair whispered in your ear, his breath warm and loving. "Humare khandaan ki yahi khubi hai... hum Baloch mard jab kisi se mohabbat karte hain na, toh bas unke ghulam ban jaate hain."
You turned slightly in his arms, wrapping your hands around his neck, looking into the eyes of the man who ruled Lyari with an iron fist but handled your heart like glass.
"Aur main is ghulam ko kabhi azaad nahi karne wali," you whispered back with a soft smile.
Uzair’s eyes softened into pure, unadulterated adoration, pulling you into a deep, warm embrace under the starlit Lyari sky, completely content in the kingdom he had built entirely for you.
HEYYYYYY-WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS??? DO LEAVE A LIKE AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE IT ;)
PLS DON'T KILL ME IDK WHO TO TAG SO I'M JUST TAGGING THE PEOPLE WHO READ AND WRITE DHURANDHAR FANFIC AND HAVE LIKED MY PREVIOUS POSTS LOL
ALSO IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED IN MY FUTURE FANFICS DO TELL ME XOXO
watching dhurandhar part 1 again, and during the “mehroom nahi, mehroon” scene, I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the Uzair who so brilliantly articulated the ins and outs of Khanani’s business, even knew how the fake bills are transported to India, was relegated to a bumfucking druggie in dhurandhar: the revenge
Okay fine, I get it, Rehman’s death broke him, but boy was the second-in-command for a reason!
him and rehman built that empire together! He had the gang members looking upto him, his entire family depending on him, Shirani would have crowned him Sher-E-Baloch.
I just cannot reconcile that the guy we saw in D1 didn’t consider the logistics that he could have easily gotten SP Aslam killed by asking Iqbal, Arshad could have been dealt with in a more lowkey way and if Uzair stepped into politics, Jamali’s party was anyways on a downwards spiral, I mean, he could have found a way to deal with him too 🤷🏻♀️
before anyone jumps at me that “omg why are you vouching for a terrorist!”, IM NOT ✋🏻🙂
all I’m saying is, Uzair had a lot of potential as an opponent. Hamza and Uzair could have had their Obi Wan vs Anakin arc. It would have been so much more nuanced, but Dhar Sahab heavily commercialised the sequel 🙂↕️☝🏻
Author's Note: This is my first time writing a reader insert fic so please be kind! I can't promise it's great but I've been wanting to try forever and was inspired by my favourite girlypop @between-smoke-and-roses who slays at it every time! I hope you lovelies like this, it's a long one! Please leave any thoughts, comments or feedback, I would love to hear your thoughts on how badly I butchered reader insert lol! And please let me know if you 'd like to be added or removed from the taglist. Much love to my loves 💋
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The air in the room was thick with the scent of burning agarbatti and the heavy, sweet fragrance of red roses. Y/N sat perfectly still on the floral-patterned floor cushion, though her fingers couldn't stop betraying her nerves. She was draped in a blush pink sharara, the fabric heavy with intricate bronze zari work that felt like a weight of expectation against her skin. Her silk dupatta shimmered between a pearlescent white and a soft rose every time she took a shallow breath, the light catching on the tiny beads stitched along its border. Her hands, dark with the stains of bridal henna, toyed with the delicate gold and pearl jewellery at her wrists, the soft clinking of the bangles the only sound she could make in her self-imposed silence.
The thin, beige chiffon veil over her head felt like a heavy barrier, a translucent wall between her girlhood and the unknown life of a woman. It blurred the world around her, turning the faces of her relatives into indistinct smudges of colour.
From the other side of the heavy floral curtain, a deep, steady voice resonated through the hushed room.
“Qubool hai.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine, vibrating through the floorboards and into her very bones. Uzair Baloch. She had seen his name on the invitation and a fleeting photograph, but he was a stranger, a man from a world that seemed far more formidable than her own. As the Qazi began to recite the prayers, Y/N’s mind drifted to the women of her house. She remembered her mother’s quiet subservience, the way she moved like a shadow to avoid disturbing her father, and her aunts’ hushed conversations about duty and patience. She had been taught that a husband was a sun, and she was merely a moon, existing only to reflect his light, her own dreams, likes, and dislikes relegated to the shadows of his orbit.
“Beti, qubool hai?” the Qazi’s voice broke through her thoughts.
She took a breath that felt like it might be her last as an individual. “Qubool hai,” she whispered, the words tasting like a surrender.
Suddenly, the room erupted. The silence was replaced by the rustle of heavy silks and the high-pitched “Mubarak ho!” of her aunts. Her mother hugged her tightly, the scent of her familiar perfume mixing with the roses, her tears dampening Y/N’s shoulder, a silent ceremony of welcome into the circle of shared sacrifice.
Then, the room cleared slightly as the tradition began. The curtain was pulled back.
She saw his polished leather shoes first, then the hem of an ivory sherwani that glowed under the chandeliers. Uzair walked slowly, his presence commanding, yet there was a strange hesitancy in his stride. When he reached her, he paused, his shadow stretching over her. She saw his hand, large, calloused, and masculine, yet trembling slightly, reach for the edge of her chiffon veil. He lifted it with agonizing slowness, the fabric snagging slightly on her gold tikka before it fell back.
Y/N kept her gaze pinned to her lap, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. But the weight of his stare became impossible to ignore; it was a physical pressure, demanding to be acknowledged.
Slowly, her eyes traveled up. She traced the intricate white-on-white embroidery of his sherwani, the strong line of his throat, and the sharp, stubborn set of his bearded jawline. Finally, she met his dark, intense eyes.
A jolt of pure, unadulterated fear mixed with a sudden, sharp curiosity shot through her. His eyes weren't cold as she had feared, but they were unreadable, deep pools of shadow that seemed to see right through her silk and pearls. In that moment, the reality crashed down on her: this was the man she was now bound to, body and soul, until the day she died. Her breath hitched as she looked into the eyes of her husband, searching for a sign of the life that awaited her, terrified that her own identity was already beginning to dissolve in the heat of his gaze.
The transition to the bedroom was a blur of heavy doors clicking shut and the sudden, deafening absence of the wedding crowd. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant, muffled echoes of the celebration still lingering downstairs. Y/N sat on the edge of the sprawling bed, the red rose petals scattered across the pristine white duvet feeling like tiny, cold weights against her palms. Her mind was a whirlwind of her mother’s last-minute whispers, warnings about compliance, the rights of a husband, and the absolute necessity of losing her own will to please the man she had just married.
She waited for the dominant presence she’d been taught to expect, her shoulders hunched as if bracing for an invisible impact.
She looked up as Uzair turned around after locking the door. To her shock, the man who looked so imposing in the ivory sherwani, looked just as awkward as she felt. There was no predatory confidence in his stride, instead, he seemed to be navigating the room as if he were an intruder in his own home. He headed towards the nightstand on what would become his side of the bed and picked up a dark green velvet box.
He brought it over and sat beside her, though he was careful to leave a respectful foot of space between them. He held it out, his hand steady but his eyes averted. “Aapki mooh dikhai,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly softness that was far gentler than it had been during the ceremony.
She took it tentatively, her fingers trembling. Inside sat two thin gold filigree bangles, the floral patterns so intricate they looked like golden lace spun by a spider. They were beautiful, but more than that, they felt like a peace offering. She touched them with one hand, her fingers softly tracing the cool, raised metal of the flowers. “Thank you,” she whispered, the phrase feeling small and inadequate in the vast room.
Uzair stood up abruptly, almost as if he were uncomfortable with her gratitude. He gestured toward the velvet couch sitting under the window, far from the bed. “Main sofa pe sojaunga,” he said firmly, his tone brook no argument. “Aap bed pe sojaein.”
Her head snapped up, her mouth parting in genuine shock. Her breath hitched. This was the moment her aunts had described as the final surrender, yet here he was, surrendering the very space he was entitled to. She hadn't expected him to suggest sleeping separately, and she certainly hadn't expected that he wouldn't demand the intimacy that was considered his ‘due’ on the first night.
She gaped at him as he moved around the room, his movements efficient as he gathered his night clothes. Was he rejecting her she wondered for a split second, before the sheer kindness in his earlier gaze corrected the thought. He wasn't rejecting her; he was protecting her.
She contemplated for a long moment, her heart racing. If she let him sleep on the sofa, she would be safe, but she would also be reinforcing the distance between them. She thought of her mother’s words about a wife’s role, but for the first time, she wanted to speak for herself, not for a tradition.
“Aap...aap yahan sojaein,” she finally blurted out, her voice stronger than she expected. “Mujhe koi dikat nahi hai. Yeh aapka bhi kamra hai.”
He stopped mid-motion, clutching a plain black kurta, and looked at her, his dark eyes searching her face for any sign of hidden fear or obligation. “Pakka?” he asked, his voice careful. “Agar aap nahi chahti, toh main sofe pe sojaunga, mujhe koi masla nahi hai.”
Y/N shook her head, a strand of hair escaping her pins and brushing her cheek. “Mujhe koi masla nahi hai, aap yahan sojaein.”
He nodded, and for the first time, she saw a small, almost imperceptible look of relief crossing his face, not the relief of a man getting his way, but the relief of a man who had been granted a seat at a table he feared he wasn't welcome at. He gestured to the bathroom. “Main fresh hojata hoon, aap apna time le lein. Main bahir aane se pehle knock karlunga.”
She watched him walk away, her eyes wide. He’s going to knock? In her house, men didn't knock on their wives’ doors; they simply entered.
As the bathroom door closed, Y/N let out a breath she felt she’d been holding since the nikkah. This was not the night her mother had warned her about, her husband was nothing like the silhouette of the man she had feared. Slowly, she reached up to take off her heavy gold earrings, unpinned her shimmering dupatta, and started taking out the dozens of pins holding her hair in place. With each pin she removed, the heavy weight of expectation seemed to unravel, leaving her with a strange, burgeoning sense of hope that she might not have to lose herself in this marriage after all.
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The first week of marriage had felt like walking on thin ice that refused to crack. Y/N moved through the house like a ghost of the expectations she’d been raised with, her every step calculated and quiet. She was constantly braced for the shift, the moment Uzair would finally drop the polite facade and begin setting the rules. She had been conditioned to wait for the demands, the long lists of household chores, or the subtle, sharp assertions of authority she had been taught were the hallmarks of a husband’s love. In her mind, a husband was a master to be managed, a person whose moods dictated the weather of the entire home.
But Uzair Baloch remained a quiet, frustrating enigma. He didn't demand his tea at a certain temperature, he didn't comment on the way she organized her side of the closet. Instead, he offered her a vast, confusing amount of space that felt less like freedom and more like a test she didn't know how to pass. They existed in a polite, awkward limbo, two strangers sharing a room but carefully avoiding the collision of their lives.
Their routine was the only thing anchoring her. She would wake early, long before the sun had fully burned through the morning mist, a habit of a lifetime formed under the watchful eyes of her maternal figures. She would slip out of the room while Uzair was still a rhythmic, heavy presence under the blankets, and retreat to the kitchen to have chai with Ulfat Bhabhi. It was the only time Y/N felt truly at ease, surrounded by the familiar clinking of porcelain, the steam of the kettle, and the domestic hum of the morning, she knew exactly who she was supposed to be.
Uzair would follow later, his presence announced by the heavy, steady thud of his footsteps on the stairs. On their very first morning together, Y/N had performed the ritual she had seen her mother perfect over thirty years. After setting his plate with a steaming paratha and omelet, she had instinctively moved to stand behind her chair. She kept her hands folded neatly in front of her, waiting for him to finish so she could immediately clear the plate or serve him more. She was a silent sentry, just as she had been told a ‘good’ wife should be.
Uzair had paused, a piece of paratha halfway to his mouth, his dark eyes tracking her movement with genuine confusion. He looked unsettled.
“Kya hua? Baithjaien,” he’d said, his voice rough with sleep but devoid of any command. He gestured with his chin toward the empty seat beside him.
She had stared at him, her mind momentarily blank, her internal compass spinning wildly. Was he testing her? Was this a trick to see if she was too bold? Slowly, tentatively, she pulled the chair back. The screech of the wood against the floor sounded like a scream in the quiet room. She sat down, but her back remained as stiff as a board, her posture defensive and her eyes fixed on the floral pattern of the tablecloth. She felt exposed sitting at the same level as him, sharing the table rather than serving it.
A few minutes later, the silence was broken again. He didn't ask for more salt or complain about the tea. He looked up, catching her eye for a split second before she looked away.
“Aapne khaya?”
The simple question had floored her, sending a strange, sharp ache through her chest. Her father had never asked her mother if she had eaten; his only concern was that the food was hot, the water was filled, and the table was set to his liking. To her father, her mother’s hunger was an afterthought, something she managed in the kitchen once he was satisfied.
“Ji,” she had whispered, her voice so small it was nearly swallowed by the morning air. She looked at her own empty hands, realizing that for the first time in her life, someone was looking at her not as a function of the household, but as a person who might also be hungry. It was a terrifying, beautiful realization that made the thin ice beneath her feel a little more like solid ground.
On this particular afternoon, the sun was beginning to dip, casting long, golden shadows that stretched across the floor like amber ribbons. Y/N slipped upstairs to grab a clip to pull her hair back, her mind occupied with the evening’s preparations and the mental checklist of spices Ulfat Bhabhi had mentioned.
She pushed the door open and froze, the breath hitching in her throat.
Uzair was standing by the cupboard, shirtless. His back was to her as he reached for a fresh, charcoal-grey kurta on a hanger. The sight of him, completely unburdened by the heavy sherwani or structured waistcoats she usually saw him in, sent a violent jolt through her. His skin was a deep, warm tan, and the muscles of his back shifted and rippled under the golden light like corded silk. He was broader than she had realized, the expanse of his shoulders seemed to fill the room, and the rugged, functional strength of his frame was a stark contrast to the delicate, sheltered world she had always known.
It was an intimacy she wasn't prepared for, a raw, physical reality of marriage that her maternal figures had whispered about in euphemisms but never truly described. She quickly averted her eyes, a deep, burning flush creeping up her neck and staining her cheeks. She let out a small, forced cough, the sound sharp and frantic in the quiet room.
Uzair spun around, his eyes wide with a startle that mirrored her own. For a fraction of a second, she caught a glimpse of his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the dark hair dusting his skin, before he realized his state.
“Uh…” The sound of him hurriedly pulling the cotton kurta over his head was muffled by the fabric. He struggled with the sleeves for a frantic second, his head finally popping through the neckline with his hair slightly mussed. He smoothed the fabric down with trembling hands, clearing his throat awkwardly as he tried to regain his composure. “Khaana... khaana lag gaya?”
Y/N focused very hard on the small plastic clip in her hand, her thumb tracing its ridges as if it were the most fascinating object in the world. She nodded quickly, unable to find her voice. “Ji.”
“Chalein phir?” he asked. His tone was hopeful, almost pleading, as if the prospect of a communal meal in the dining room would dissolve the thick, electric tension of the last thirty seconds.
She nodded again, finally managing to tuck her hair back with the clip and turning toward the door. Because of her hurried, desperate pace to leave the room and his naturally long, heavy strides, they reached the doorway at the exact same moment.
Y/N’s instincts kicked in immediately. She stopped short, her body tensing as she prepared to step back. She moved to yield the way, to shrink into the shadows of the doorframe as she had seen her mother do a thousand times for her father.
But Uzair stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't push past her with the casual entitlement she expected. He didn't even wait for her to move back. Instead, he stepped to the side, pressing his back slightly against the wall to give her as much room as possible. He extended his hand in a silent, strangely formal gesture, ushering her to go ahead of him.
Y/N hesitated, her eyes flickering from his hand to his face. He looked at her with a quiet, almost shy respect, an acknowledgment that she was a person worthy of the first step.
She stepped through the door, her heart hammering a strange, frantic new rhythm against her ribs. As she felt him following a few paces behind her down the hallway, maintaining a respectful distance, she realized that every map her mother had given her to navigate marriage was missing the very man she had married.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
A month of marriage had passed, and the landscape of Y/N’s life had shifted in ways she still couldn't entirely map out. The rigid, fearful architecture of her upbringing was slowly being dismantled, brick by brick, by Uzair’s quiet persistence. She was starting to take up space in the room, leaving a book on the side table, humming under her breath, because he never made her feel like her presence was a burden or a service.
Yet, a barrier remained. They lived in a polite, carefully maintained equilibrium, sleeping on extreme opposite edges of the bed as if an invisible line divided the mattress. They were more than strangers, but perhaps less than a couple; they were acquaintances who shared a life but had yet to share their hearts.
Today was another dawat, one of many in a seemingly endless cycle of celebrations. Y/N moved hurriedly around the bedroom, the rustle of her heavy formal wear the only sound in the room besides the low drone of the news. Uzair was already ready, sprawled against the headboard, his loafer-clad feet dangling over the edge of the bed. He seemed focused on the television, but his eyes would occasionally flutter toward her, tracking her movement with a silent, steady interest.
In her haste to grab her jewelry from the safe, the velvet box slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a thud.
“Aaram se karlo, koi baat nahi,” Uzair said, his voice calm and grounding. “Main keh dunga meri wajah se late hogaye.”
Y/N looked up, offering him a grateful, fleeting smile, but the habit of punctuality was hard to break. She pulled out a gold necklace adorned with dangling pearls, sliding it over her head and pulling the string taut to settle against the nape of her neck. She managed the left earring easily, but the right one became a battle. The backing refused to catch the post, twisting at a jagged angle and stubbornly jamming.
With a frustrated sigh, she fumbled with the gold post. In the mirror, she saw Uzair pick up the remote and click the TV off. The sudden silence made her heart skip. He stood up and walked toward her, stopping just behind her shoulder.
“Lao, main kar deta hoon,” he said softly, holding out his hand.
Y/N froze, her fingers hovering mid-air, paralyzed by the sudden proximity. Her eyes locked onto his reflection in the mirror, he looked different like this, less like the formidable gangster and more like a man trying to be careful with something fragile. He waited, a small, patient smile playing on his lips, his hand held out with a quiet confidence.
Slowly, she pulled the backing away from the gold post, her movements jerky. She turned slightly, the silk of her dress rustling, and dropped the tiny gold pieces into his palm. His hand was warm, his skin a stark, rugged contrast to the delicate jewelry.
She went as rigid as a wall as he stepped into her personal space. The scent of his cologne, something deep, woody, and clean, like rain on cedar, enveloped her, replacing the flowery air of the room. Uzair’s attention was entirely focused on her earlobe. He leaned in, his brow furrowing in intense concentration as he guided the post through.
He had to tilt his head, his face coming so close that she could feel the faint warmth of his breath against her cheek. She watched him through the glass, her breath held captive in her lungs, afraid that even the slightest exhale would shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy they had accidentally created. He moved with a surprising, surgical gentleness, his large fingers working with meticulous care to twist the backing until it sat flush and secure against her skin.
As he finally pulled his hand away, the rough, calloused pads of his fingers brushed, just for a heartbeat, against the pulse point on her neck.
The contact of his warm skin against her sensitive, thin skin sent a physical jolt through her, like a low-voltage current. She gulped, the movement of her throat sharp and visible in the mirror as her heart hammered against her ribs. She had been taught to expect touch as a demand, but this was a revelation, a soft, accidental spark that left her skin tingling.
His eyes finally lifted from her ear to the mirror, meeting hers in the reflection. The silence in the room changed then, it was no longer the awkward quiet of two strangers, but a heavy, charged atmosphere thick with something unsaid.
“Acchi lag rahi ho,” he said. His voice dropped an octave, becoming a sincere, low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the small space between them. It wasn't just a compliment, it felt like an acknowledgment of something unsaid.
“Shukriya,” she whispered, her voice barely finding its way out of her constricted throat.
Uzair tilted his head slightly, his gaze lingering on the curve of her face in the mirror for a moment longer than necessary, as if he were memorizing the way the light hit her eyes.
“Chalein?” he asked softly.
Y/N nodded slowly. Instead of looking at him through the safety of the reflection, she finally turned around to look at him directly, acknowledging the man who was slowly, carefully, becoming her world.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The atmosphere in the Baloch household was electric, vibrating with the joyous chaos that only Eid could bring. Ulfat Bhabhi had transformed the home into a sanctuary of celebration; strings of fairy lights draped over the balconies like fallen stars, and the air was a heavy, intoxicating blend of crushed rose petals and expensive oud attar oils that seemed to cling to the fine silk of Y/N’s clothes.
The post-lunch lethargy had settled over the dining room. The table was a battlefield of empty porcelain and stray grains of saffron rice, the beige tablecloth almost entirely obscured by an array of silver trays and bowls. Faisal, never one for patience, finally broke the comfortable silence.
“Abbu, ab toh khaana bhi kha liya, ab toh humari eidi dedein!”
Rehman narrowed his eyes playfully at his son before reaching into the inner pocket of his vest. He produced a stack of crisp white envelopes, distributing them with a practiced hand. He started with Faisal and Naieem, then moved to Ulfat and Y/N, ending at Uzair.
“Bhai, iski koi zaroorat nahi thi,” Y/N protested softly, her fingers brushing the paper as she looked down.
Rehman gave her a stern, fatherly look. “Chup chap le lo!”
The table grew quiet as Rehman turned his expectant gaze toward Uzair. For a moment, Uzair simply stared back, his dark eyes blinking in slow, genuine obliviousness to the unspoken social cue. Rehman sighed, shaking his head at his younger brother. “Sabko eidi do bhai.”
“Oh,” Uzair muttered, a faint trace of a flush appearing on his neck as the realization hit him. He reached into his pocket and produced envelopes for Faisal and Naieem. Faisal’s eyes widened in excitement as he balanced two envelopes in his hand. "Arrey Chachu, itni kanzoosi? Chachi ko nahi denge?"
Ulfat shot her son a look that could melt steel, and Faisal instantly ducked his head, pocketing the cash before his mother could take it back. But Rehman wouldn't let it go, leaning back with a smirk. “Sahi baat hai, Uzair. Bachi ki eidi kahan hai?”
Y/N opened her mouth to say, “Koi baat nah-” but the words died in her throat as she saw Uzair reach into the side pocket of his waistcoat.
He didn't pull out a paper envelope. Instead, he reached across the corner of the table and placed a long, rectangular box wrapped in dark green velvet directly in front of her. The weight of the box hitting the table felt more significant than any stack of cash. His hand lingered near the box for a split second, his knuckles grazing the beige cloth before he pulled back.
“Shukriya,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the clatter of dessert spoons. She pulled the box into her lap, hiding it beneath the table’s edge as if it were a fragile secret.
As Akhlaq brought out the dessert and Ulfat began plating the vibrant yellow zarda, Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her. Under the cover of the table, her heart hammering, she eased the box open. Nestled against the white satin were two gold anklets, the metal shimmering with a rich, buttery glow. Tiny gold ghungroos were scattered along the delicate chains, looking like drops of liquid sunlight.
She looked up, her breath catching when she realized he hadn't looked away. He was leaned back in his chair, a glass of water in his hand, watching her over the rim. His gaze was steady and uncharacteristically soft, lacking the sharp edge he usually carried. In that shared look, Y/N felt a flicker of something new, an acknowledgment that he had thought of her, specifically her, when choosing this.
She offered him the softest, faintest smile she had ever given him, a tiny curve of her lips that felt like a silent bridge being built over years of tradition. He didn't smile back, but the slight softening of his eyes told her he had received the message.
Later that evening, the house had finally quieted, the festive energy of Eid settling into a deep, velvety stillness. The scent of rose and oud still lingered in their bedroom, clinging to the heavy curtains and mixing with the cool, crisp night air drifting through the cracked window. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, the dark green velvet box rested beside her on the duvet, a silent invitation she had finally gathered the courage to extend.
The bathroom door creaked open, and Uzair stepped out, enveloped in a faint cloud of steam. He had changed into a simple cotton kurta, but his hair was still damp, several stray droplets of water tracing the tanned line of his neck before disappearing into the collar of his shirt. Y/N met his gaze across the room. She held his stare, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs, and picked up the box, holding it out toward him.
“Yeh pehenadein,” she said. Her voice was steady, a sharp contrast to the flutter in her chest.
Uzair paused, his hand going still on the towel draped over his shoulder. He looked at the box, then back at her, his expression flickering with a mix of surprise and something deeper, an intense, quiet recognition. It was as if he were checking to see if he had heard her correctly, or if he were dreaming. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he walked over and sat on the bed beside her, his weight causing the mattress to dip and bringing the scent of fresh soap and damp earth closer to her.
Y/N turned to face him fully, drawing her knees up so her feet rested on the mattress next to each other, directly in front of him. With fingers that only shook slightly, she reached down and delicately lifted the heavy hem of her shalwar, exposing the smooth skin of her ankles.
Uzair opened the box with slow, deliberate movements, his large hands looking almost too powerful for the delicate task. He lifted the first anklet, the tiny gold bells letting out a crystalline chime that seemed to ring through the entire room. He looked up at her once, his dark eyes searching hers for any sign of hesitation, before leaning forward.
His touch was surprisingly gentle for a man who seemed so rugged, so used to the harsh world of Lyari. As he wrapped the gold chain around her right ankle, the rough pads of his fingers dragged against her skin, sending a slow, searing burn of awareness through her. He fumbled slightly with the small, intricate clasp, his head bowed in absolute concentration, the damp locks of his hair falling over his forehead. He took his time, spinning the chain carefully so the clasp sat hidden near her heel, ensuring the ghungroos were perfectly placed.
He didn't pull away. He reached for the second anklet, his knuckles grazing the side of her foot in a way that made her breath catch. He repeated the motion on her left foot, the soft jingle-jingle of the bells following every movement of his hands. When he finished, he didn't immediately stand up or retreat into the safety of the silence. He remained there, leaned over her, his hands hovering just inches from her feet as if he were reluctant to break the physical connection.
Finally, he lifted his head to find her watching him, her face flushed with the heat of the moment. In the dim, amber light of the room, the distance between them felt smaller than it ever had in the weeks they had spent together. The bells jingled softly as Y/N’s foot gave a small, involuntary twitch, a tiny, melodic sound marking the moment the last of her walls began to crumble, replaced by a bond that no tradition could have prepared her for.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The house was silent, wrapped in the heavy stillness of the early morning hours. Y/N had long since drifted off, the soft, rhythmic chime of her new anklets silenced by sleep. The quiet was shattered only by the faint creak of the bedroom door. Uzair moved like a shadow, trying to minimize his presence, but as he sank onto the edge of the bed to pry off his boots, a low, pained groan escaped his lips.
The sound acted like a physical pull. Y/N stirred, her eyes fluttering open in the darkness. “Uzair?” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep.
He didn't respond, his silhouette rigid against the moonlight filtering through the curtains. Panic flared in her chest. She leaned over, clicking on the bedside lamp. The sudden amber glow made Uzair stiffen, his broad shoulders hunching as if to hide.
“Aap theek hain?” she asked, her voice rising with concern.
He sighed, a heavy, weary sound that seemed to carry the weight of the entire night’s unseen battles. Slowly, he turned his head toward the light. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart plummeting at the sight. In the amber glow of the bedside lamp, the damage was stark: a dark, angry bruise was already blooming across his sharp, high cheekbone, turning a deep shade of plum, and a jagged gash sliced across his forehead, the edges tacky with caked, dark blood that had begun to mat into his hair.
Without a word, the sleep-induced haze vanished, replaced by a sharp, focused clarity. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her movements frantic. The gold anklets around her ankles sang a sudden, melodic tune, the tiny bells jingling with every hurried step she took toward the bathroom.
She returned seconds later, the smell of antiseptic following her. She carried a warm, wet washcloth and a tube of ointment. The bed creaked as she sat on the mattress beside him, settling so close that her knee brushed against his thigh, a proximity she had never dared to bridge before.
“Idhar dekhein,” she commanded softly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
Uzair looked away, his jaw tightening so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. He stared at the darkened corner of the room, his pride seemingly more wounded than his face. “Main theek hoon,” he muttered, his voice gravelly. “Tum kyun takaluf kar rahi ho? So jao.”
Y/N felt a spark of something entirely new ignite within her, a fierce, protective streak that overrode every lesson she’d ever learned about being soft-spoken and yielding. The boundaries between them were momentarily forgotten by the sight of his pain.
She reached out, her hand hovering near his chin, and fixed him with a firm, unyielding glare. “Chup chap idhar dekhein,” she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.
The sheer authority in her voice caught him completely off guard. Uzair blinked, his dark eyes wide with a flicker of surprise as he turned his face toward her immediately. He had never heard her take charge, never seen her eyes flash with that kind of fire. The novelty of her boldness, coupled with the raw intensity of the care in her gaze, made him settle into a rare, quiet state of compliance. He sat still, a lion tamed by the unexpected strength of the woman beside him, and allowed her to finally step into the space he had been holding open for her all along.
She leaned in, her focus narrowing to the injury. With practiced gentleness, she used the washcloth to dab away the caked blood on his forehead. Uzair didn't move, he simply watched her. He studied the way her brow furrowed in concentration and the way the lamplight caught the gold of her filigree bangle as it dangled against her wrist.
Satisfied that the wound was clean, she unscrewed the ointment. She squeezed a small pearl of the cream onto her fingertip and began to spread it over the cut. As the white cream turned clear, absorbing into his skin, the adrenaline that had fuelled her began to ebb, replaced by a sudden, sharp realization.
She was so close now that the air between them felt supercharged, heavy with the scent of his skin and the lingering oud of the evening. She could see the individual lashes of his dark eyes, thick and casting shadows against his skin as he watched her. Her hand, instead of pulling away as the medicine was applied, surrendered to the magnetic pull of his presence. It slid slowly down from his forehead, her palm coming to rest against the rough hair of his beard, warm and solid. Her thumb moved instinctively, brushing with feather-light tenderness against the dark bruise on his cheekbone, a silent apology for the pain he had endured.
Uzair’s breath hitched, the sound sharp and ragged in the absolute stillness of the room. It was the first time she had seen him truly vulnerable, his usual guarded stoicism melting under the heat of her touch.
He didn't pull back. Instead, he slowly lifted his hand, his large frame casting a shadow over her as he reached up. His touch was ghostly at first, the tips of his fingers trembling with a restrained intensity as they grazed her jawline. He was moving with an agonizing slowness, giving her every possible opportunity to retreat, to regain the safety of the boundaries they had lived by for weeks.
When she remained still, her gaze locked on his, he finally cupped her cheek. His skin was warm and calloused, a stark contrast to the softness of hers. His own thumb mimicked her movement, stroking her skin with a reverence that made her heart hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird. The gold bells at her ankles let out a tiny, accidental chime as she shifted closer, the sound echoing the frantic rhythm of her pulse.
His eyes flickered down to her lips, parted in a soft, shaky exhale, before snapping back up to her eyes as if he were fighting a desperate battle with his own self-control. He looked at her as if she were something precious and unattainable, even though she was right there in his arms.
Y/N took a shallow breath, her heart finally winning the long-standing war against her nerves and the thoughts engraved in her mind. This wasn't about duty or roles, it was about the man sitting in front of her. She leaned in, just a fraction of an inch, but in the charged silence, it was a thunderclap of intent.
Uzair took the hint, his eyes searching hers with a raw, burning intensity until the very last second. He leaned forward, his heavy shadow falling over her face as he tilted his head. She felt the ghost of his breath against her lips before she softly brushed her nose against his, a silent, final invitation.
Uzair finally closed the distance, his movements no longer hesitant but driven by a quiet, desperate certainty.
The kiss was slow and lingering, a soft collision that felt like the merging of two separate worlds. It erased the weeks of separate ends of the bed, of careful spatial boundaries, and the rigid maps of tradition that had dictated their every move. As his lips pressed against hers, the air in the room seemed to still, leaving only the sound of their mingled breaths and the faint, rhythmic chime of her anklets as she tilted her head back to meet him.
It was a soft surrender, yet it felt like the most powerful thing she had ever experienced. In his touch, there was only a deep, reverent acknowledgment of her as his equal. Her hands, previously so hesitant, found their way to the nape of his neck, her fingers tangling in his damp hair, pulling him closer as if to bridge the final few inches of the gap between them.
This was the end of their lives as polite strangers. Every “shukriya” and “ji” exchanged in passing was being rewritten in this one shared breath. It was the beginning of something neither of them had been taught to expect, a marriage built not on the cold foundation of duty, but on a slow-burning, mutual respect that had finally ignited into something more. As they pulled back just enough for their foreheads to rest against each other, the bells at her ankles gave one last, soft jingle, a tiny celebratory sound for the life they were finally starting together.
Summary: Your husband's hands are out of the cast finally and you can't wait to have them on you.
WARNINGS: dom/sub dynamics, body worship, impact play(barely), oral(male recieving), overstimulation, squirting, they're both dirty and match each other's freak to the t, she tells him to stop once or twice but doesn't really want him to so it's okay if he goes on, contraceptive mentioned and removed (don't do it kids), baby making smut, talks of body image issues and changes, P*rn with little plot basically.
MINORS DNI
A/n: so finally after ages I'm posting and guess what it's a smut😭. (Smut virginity lost, Woohoo!) This is wholly and mostly written by @obsessedwidskincare, jitna sanitizer use karne ke baad kitanu ka contribution hota hai beemariyan failane main utna mera contribution hai is masterpeice smut mein, lekin mujhe dhamki di gayi hai so this endeavor is like 65% her and 35% me! (Main likhungi kuchipoos but pata nahi kab.) So please divert all your praise towards her😍😍😍
Khush ho jao @theuselessdaydreamingidiot aapki wish poori hui! Khushi se paagal na hoo jana😝😝😝
@twinblueflamee bbg look, aapke nakshe kadmo pe👀
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. IT IN NO WAY OR FORM ROMANTICIZES, PROPAGATES OR JUSTIFIES THE ACTS OF CHARACTERS OR ANY REAL LIFE PERSONALITY, THE ACTOR OR OTHERWISE. IT IS SOLELY WRITTEN IN CONTEXT OF THE CHARACTERS OF THE MOVIE.
If someone had told you a year and half ago that you would be happily married to a man like Uzair Baloch and he would somehow fall in love with you, you would have laughed it off as a cruel joke.
Today you were not only married to the gangster turned budding politician but also impossibly head over heels in love with him. You had a stable career, supportive family and friends and a husband who just couldn't get enough of you. The last year and half had brought about changes in you that surprised you more and left your husband slightly irritated. Due to your work nature or happy environment or extracurricular activities with your husband or all three, you lost some weight making your curves smoother and well defined. In no way you were slim but your figure was more on a plus sized model silhouette.
Now as you sat in the salon, next to the happy bride Nafisa, you couldn’t help but indulge in priming up for Uzair. After all, the man had been injured in a rogue attack, with his right hand being in cast for 3 weeks. With the plaster off now, you couldn’t wait to go back into his arms and suspected that he was as desperate for you as you were for him.
“Bikini wax karva le. Uzair bhai toh clean bowled ho jayenge” Nafi teased you as you both sat in chairs for your hair appointment.
“Besharam, chup ho jaa please. Mujhe already bohot sharam aa rahi hai” you mumble, your cheeks turning crimson.
“Wah ji wah. Dubai se mujhse lingerie mangvate hue sharam nahi aayi, bikini wax karvate hue sharam nahi aayi par maine bol kya diya madam to sharam se paani paani ho gayi”
“Accha sun, bag mein ek aur surprise hai. Thank me later” she winks at you as your brain gets busy planning seduction. Yes, this new found confidence was all a gift from your ever giving husband who you suspected was holding back, careful to not hurt you. Ever since you saw him intimidating a senior politician, your mind has been in the gutter, and the only way to calm it down would be to get railed by him.
“Main bore ho rahi hoon, yaar! Accha ye bata, teri toh arrange marriage hai, lekin teri ideal first date hogi na kuch? Uske barein mein socha tha toh kya socha tha, bata?” Nafi's voice breaks your chain of thoughts.
You smile, opening a wish box buried deep in your heart. Although you are grateful for what you have, you were once a girl who dreamed of romance and courtship.
“Main aur woh, samudra ki leheron ko dekhte hue, shaam ka sooraj dekhe. Kuch apni yaadein batau, kuch unki yaadien tazza ho. Saath chalte chalte waqt beet jaaye aur duniya ka pata hi na chale” you whisper, the little girl in you reliving her dreams.
Nafi adores you and holds your hand tight, “But jo mila hai woh soch se bhi behtar hai na?” She asks gently.
“Soch se bhi behtar hai” you assure her with a 440 watt smile.
Soon as you make your way to your parents home, where you are greeted by your aunt who scans you with envy.
“Y/n. pehle se behtar lag rahi ho. But phir bhi Uzair ke mukable tumhara wazan abhi bhi bhari hai. Koi baat nahi, dheere dheere sab ho jayega” she says with a tight, fake smile.
Just as Nafi is about to give her back, you hold her hand to stop her. The older you would have just ignored, the harsh words making you indulge in self-criticism. But Y/n 2.0 refused to take any sort of unsolicited criticism from anyone.
“Fufi, aap meri aur Uzair ki fikar na karein. Hum saath jaise bhi hai, khush hai. Bohot khush hai. Afsoos hota hai ki sabhi auraton ko aisa shauhar nahi milta jo unki rooh se mohabbat kare. Ab kismat ko kon badal sakta hai.” You mock sigh, smiling with pity at her.
Your mother looks at you with newfound respect, Nafi looks ready to cheer for you but it is your husband's voice from the verandah that surprises you.
“Y/n chale. Der ho gayi hai?” He says, his eyes glinting with admiration and love. As soon as you both drive away further from the house, Uzair stops the car to kiss you senseless.
“Kon ho tum and meri biwi kaha hai?”
You giggle and pinch him, “Uzair Baloch ki biwi hu, kisika sunke thodi lungi.”
He rewards you with a wide smile, kissing your hand, making way home.
_______________________
A few days later, post Nafisa's wedding, your parents decide to make a 15 day trip to Balochistan, providing you the perfect window to execute your plan. After all, it has been 1.5 months since Uzair and you had each other owing to his injury, his political duties and your bridesmaid duties.
Soon your parents left for Balochistan to spend some time with your Tayya Abbu. Citing repair work and cleaning, you inform Ulfat about staying at ‘Your Home’ for the weekend well aware that your husband would follow you.
“Par mujhe samajh nahi aa raha, abhi saal bhar pehle hi toh renovation karvaya tha. Itni jaldi repairing ke zaroorat kaise padi?” Uzair comments as soon as he enters home.
“Baarish shuru ho gayi hai isiliye waterproofing karvana padega ab” You tell him as a matter of fact.
Satisfied with your answer, he approaches you to kiss you when you step back.
“Uzair, shayad mere period aa gaye hai. Main fresh hoke aati hoon.”
Sighing, he kisses your forehead and slumps onto the sofa to watch the latest football match.
You march into the bedroom, shutting it behind you but not locking it. You pick the name less brand less bag from the corner of the room and fetch a sheer baby doll that leaves nothing to one's imagination. You quickly take a shower brushing yourself furiously. Rubbing scented oil all over your body, you look at yourself in the mirror and apply a thick layer of red lipstick. Styling your dark thick hair in a sultry fashion, you apply a bit of eyeliner to give you the vixen look. You slip into the baby doll that hugs your curves like a second skin. The cut is above your breast, leave your birthmark for him to admire.
The bodice barely covers your midriff as the sheer fabric leaves your skin for ample of show. You hoped it would tease him endlessly. The only garment that covers your body part completely is underwear, safeguarding your womanhood from your husband. You touch yourself feeling your breasts all over the fabric, nipples already pebbling under your heated touch. You imagine his hands and mouth, fulfilling all your dirty fantasies for you.
You hear the door rattling and quickly cover yourself with a white bathrobe. You open the door to see a worried Uzair. The moment he sees you he is completely mesmerised, for he had imagined all the worst scenarios for why his wife was in the washroom for the last one hour. But the sight in front of him excites him, knocking the air out of his lungs.
You slowly walk to him, your hands making their way up his chest, playing with his kurta buttons.
“Uzair, please meri baat manenge” You ask in your most sexy voice.
He gulps visibly in anticipation.
“Apni aankhein bandh karein, please”
He quickly closes his eyes as you dart across the room to fetch a pair of handcuffs. You quickly rid him of his kurta and take his hands in yours, handcuffing him. He opens his eyes to see you shedding your bathrobe, standing in front of him in the sheer baby doll lingerie.
‘Happy recovery Uzair’ you say as your hands make way to his salwar. Untying the knot, you discard his underwear as well, making him step out of his clothes. He looks so powerful, formidable, yet helpless with the handcuffs on.
You start kissing his chest, leaving lipstick marks all over his body.You feel his muscles fluttering the moment your lips make contact with his bare skin. Emboldened by his response, you start licking the pathway from his sternum to his happy trail, making his breath hitch and sweatbeats form at his forehead.
“Mujhe aapko surprise dena tha” Saying so your tongue tentatively licks the mushroom head of his very angry, very excited manhood. You see him close his eyes as you start fisting him. Inch by inch, you take him in your mouth, only managing to stuff him halfway.
You start moving your head, working on his manhood, while your hands play with his balls. Your head starts bobbling in urgent short motions. Your snug mouth feels him swelling more and more. Suddenly, you hear something snap and your eyes look up to see your husband who has broken the handcuffs in two.
Oh dear lord!
His one hand makes its way into your hair, fingers scraping your scalp before twisting your hair to hold it in impossibly firm grip. He pulls your head back, making your mouth release his cock with a plop, saliva and precum glistening your chin. Uzair pulls your head back so that your eyes meet his. Gone is the gentle, giving and compassionate lover. Instead, his obsidian eyes reek of hunger and possession. Your sensitised skin felt the smoldering heat of the cracking fire of domination that lit within him. A fire fueled and fanned by his need to claim you for his pleasure without any inhibitions. Uzair was finally done HOLDING BACK.
Expecting him to kiss you, you stood in front of him. With his one hand still holding your hair in a tight grip, Uzair does something unexpected. He looks towards the other side of the room, and gives you a devilish smirk. His mouth descends to kiss you hard and deep. Unlike the kisses shared before, this one is of total domination where he now is the taker instead of the giver. His hands cup your butt to lift you up, making you break the kiss.
“Uzair aapka haath…”Before you could complete the sentence, he bites your lower lip, hard.
“Maine tumhe bolne ki ijazat nahi di. Now shut up and be a good girl” Saying so he walks to the other side of the room turning around and dropping on the big armchair, with you still in his arms.
“Get up and strip for me” he says in a gruff voice that makes you immediately stand on your feet. Too shy to strip, you stay immobile for exactly 10 seconds before he pulls you to him, raising his head to bite your right nipple hard. You yelp in pain only for him to pull the barely covered tit between his teeth. You quickly pull the strings down, revealing you heavy breasts, your tits, your waist and ultimately your freshly bare womanhood. You weren't sure about the Brazilian wax Nafi had booked in your salon package but looking at the bewildered expressions on your husband's face, the pain was surely worth the reaction.
“Kisne chua tumhe yaha?” he asks, cupping your mound.
“Uzair, please….’” you moan, wanting him to touch you, kiss you, mark you. Instead he sits back, relaxed in the chair and spreads his legs.
‘“Turn around” he orders and you do so, the sight knocking the breath out of your lungs.
You were staring at your reflection in the mirror- freshly shaved, oiled, bare and sultry with a faint mark over your nipple. You see your husband's reflection stroking his massive cock behind you. You are in awe of the contradiction, turned on and wanton with need.
“Sit on me” he commands. You start turning towards him when his hands hold your hips in a bruising grip.
“Slide on me jaan but facing the mirror”
Oh god! Suddenly you were breathless. You were no stranger to being on top of your husband but watching your pussy descend on his cock made you feel hot and bothered.
Sensing your hesitation, Uzair pulls your back towards him, parting your legs with his knee and positioning you where he wanted you to be. You look at your reflection- your body crouched above his, your core just inches above his tip. Slowly you sit down on him, watching your pussy swallow his cock like a glove made to fit only him. Even then, he was a hard fit, stretching you incredibly to the point of making you hiss with pain.
The contrast of your creamy flushed soft curves against his hard tanned muscled body sends a shiver down your spine, the sight of your bodies fused together leaving you breathless.
“Move jaan” he commands but instead of waiting for you to move he starts pistoning his hips driving his cock deeper in you. Overwhelmed, you try to move away but his hands hold your hips in a tight grip. No escape.
You start bouncing on his cock, in short quick motions, making your eyes close to savor the delicious tension. A sharp slap on your mound jerks you to reality. Uzair moves forward, his teeth biting your ear while he whispers “Don't you dare close your eyes”
Saying so he guides your hips up and down on his cock, raising your hips high so that only the tip remains in and then proceeds to slide you down so hard that makes his balls slap against your inner thighs. You look at the mating of your bodies, while Uzair looks at you, registering your reaction. The hitching of your breath, the widening of your eyes, the o formed by your mouth acting as testament to the wildfire lit within you. Uzair moves his hips in a way that the next time your hips slap against his thighs, you see his cock bulge inside your stomach.
You are mesmerised by the sight while Uzair is turned on beyond rhyme and reason. Releasing your hips, he bunches your hair in his hand guiding you down on the floor. With your hands and knees on the floor and head held back by his hand in your hair, you look at your reflection- your ass spread out for him as he gets up and lines his cock against your weeping pussy. Without any preamble, he pounds into you in one deep hard stroke that has you yelling his name in a breathless incoherent manner. His hips give you no time to adjust as his cock spears into you in hard, deep and quick jabs that have you screaming for mercy and more at the same time.
‘Uzair, please….’ you moan, not knowing whether you are asking him to stop or go on. He bends down, his hand pulling your head further back to meet his hungry lips. Cupping your chin with his other hand, he breaks her kiss to smear the remaining lipstick, pressing hard on your lower lip.
His face is inches away from yours as he stares at you with hunger and quivering intensity. ‘Bohot roka hai maine apne aap ko. Ab aur nahi. Now look in the mirror and take it like a good girl’ saying this he moves your face to face the mirror, his hand fisting your hair tightly while his other hand spanks your ass hard enough to leave his handprints. His cock drives into your snug waiting pussy, setting a brutal rhythm that leaves you breathless, screaming for relief yet craving more for the onslaught. He moves his hips at a frantic pace, tilting occasionally to see his cock bulge into your lower abdomen. His hand moves from your butt to your clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle relentlessly. Your eyes are transfixed, unable to look away from your body jerking forward with each thrust while the man kneeling behind you looks at your reflection, never relaxing his pace. You are about to close your eyes when you feel his palm land on your mound, slapping your clit hard. You yelp, your legs threatening to give out but his hand holds you in position. Sweat beading, panting, your reflections look like mating in its raw form, just how nature intended it to be between a man and a woman.
His hand starts playing with your clit again as his cock furiously drives within your cunt, rubbing and teasing your g-spot. He grunts as your walls clamp down on him, holding his cock in tight lock while you gather your breath and thoughts for a second. The relief is short lived as he releases your hair and grips your waist with one hand making you sit upright on your knees while his fingers pinch your clit, tugging at the nerve bundle. The sensation of your clit being teased to the point of pain, along with his cock spearing upwards making a tell tale impression on your stomach makes your lower abdomen feel heavy, yet you are unable to topple over.
‘“Pinch your tits for me, hard!” he growls into your ears as your hands obey his command. You two look like an erotic painting of sorts, you on your knees naked, pinching your tits, him kneeling behind you, naked, his cock spearing into your shaved pussy, hand around your waist and other fingers toying with your clit. You pinch your nipple hard the same time as he tugs your clit while his cock stabs your g-spot. You feel electric current passing right from your hair strand to the tip of your toes. Eyes rolling, body convulsing hard against his steady frame, you feel your orgasm gushing out in uncontrollable fashion.
“OPEN. YOUR . EYES.” he growls and you somehow gather the strength to do so and see liquid gushing out of your body, spraying all over in front of you. Embarrassed, you try closing your legs but Uzair hits your clit hard, making more of that liquid spurt out in an uncontrollable manner, drenching his hand, your thighs and floor in front of you. Every cell in your body is energised yet you feel absolutely drained. You slump on the floor against the bed while his cock is still half impaled in you, hard. He removes your damp hair from your face. Too embarrassed to face him, you move your head away only for him to pull you back, lodging his cock deep in you. You moan, while he turns your head to kiss your temple and whispers
“Yeh tumne kya kiya Jaan?” he asks in wonder, as seeing your squirt has now altered his brain chemistry forever, leaving him craving for more.
“Uzair, I am sorry…”
He moves his hips in a slow circular motion, making your oversensitised inner walls spasm.
“Don't you dare say sorry. Do it for me again, let me taste you” He says and you look at him, his eyes glowing with conviction. He looks at his cock head impression on your lower stomach and suddenly lifts you up. You whimper at the loss of contact.
“Uzair, please nahi. Galti se hua tha ab phir se nahi hoga mujhse. Thakk gayi hu” you say panting while he simply replies “Hoga. Baar baar hoga aur har baar hoga” making your eyes widen in surprise.
He spreads you eagle on the bed, the lingerie bag at the corner of the room catching his eyes. He makes his way to it, and smirks when he sees another set of handcuffs and a small plastic leaf. Oh my god- Nafi actually got that vibrator for you. You wanted the earth to swallow you but your husband has a different plan. He makes his way to the bed just as you crawl back to escape him.
“Haath aage karo Y/n. Main dobara nahi bolunga” he says and you can't help but obey the command making it easy for him to handcuff you. You try to test its strength by pulling at it. The result has your wincing in pain while Uzair chuckles at your feeble attempt. How did he manage to break these into two!
He parts your legs, his fingers finding your drenched core. He pushes two fingers inside, making your head fall back. But instead of his usual ministrations, his long thick fingers delve deeper, hooking into the elastic of the contraceptive sponge that acted as a barrier between his sperm and your womb. You two look at each other, no words being exchanged. He scans your face for 10 seconds to gauge any signs of hesitation. He then proceeds to pull the drenched sponge out, throwing it across the room, landing with a plop.
The first time you both made love, the feel of his skin sliding in yours had you both addicted. Not relying on the pull out method, as you both were completely insatiable and mad with love/lust for each other, you decided to get a physical contraceptive to avoid unplanned surprises. Now with the barrier gone, you were well aware of his intentions and the realisation send a renewed wave of adrenaline surge across your body.
Uzair lifted your legs, hooking your knees on his shoulder as he bent down cupping your heavy breasts in his hands. His wide hands massaged your tender flesh in a feather soft, heavy and then bruising pattern making your breath hitch and eyes roll back.
“Socho kuch mahino mein yeh aur bhar jayenge Jaan” He says in a soft voice making your core tingle in anticipation. He flicks his thumbs across your tits in a breezy touch, bending down to lick each painfully erect nipple, one by one. He gives each tit a light kiss, moving up to place is mouth on yours while massaging the twin globes.
Fingers resting lightly on your tits, he whispers “Perfect! Socho jab yeh bhar jayenge tab main tumhe aise aaram dunga.” He kisses you with passion, this mouth sucking your tongue, mimicking the intimate act of sucking your sensitive peaks. His fingers and thumb pinch your tits, pulling, tugging and teasing. You feel helpless as you moan against the suction of his mouth, desperate for him to do the same to your tits.
You whimper again and again as he continues the onslaught. You finally turn your head, breaking the kiss and demand, “Please please please take them in your mouth”
Grinning, he whispers “Greedy girl” as he moves to your right boob, sucking your tit, pulling at it impossibly. His teeth bite down the already purple mark previously left by him. You thrash your head against the pillow, spread helpless, unable to move, your hands itching to touch him. He continues to devour your tits, switching in between. Just as he feels your breath hitching in a knowing pattern, he stops.
He unhooks your legs, maneuvering to rest your bent knees on either side of your breasts, moving down to core, leaving you completely exposed and at his mercy. Though already wet, he still spits on your opening, making you squirm. He inserts his two long fingers in your channel with ease. You close your eyes to savour the assault till you are rudely rattled by a strong vibration against your clit.
You jerk your head up to see Uzair teasing your clit with the flat leaf like massager. Oh god!
“Uzair, nahi please” you plead but he stuffs the vibrator in your mouth, lubricating it with your saliva. You start sucking at it, making your husband red with jealousy. He removes the vibrator and turns it at max speed. He crouches next to you, pulling your head sideways as he stuffs his angry red cock into your mouth. With his left hand guiding your head, swallowing the cock, his right hand moves to place the vibrator on your clit. Thumb holding the leaf against your nub, his long finger probes your opening, making you cry out with mouth full of his cock. You feel the quickening of your heartbeat, sweat forming a shiny sheet over your and his body, your saliva drooling sideways. You are close to the edge, possibly the strongest orgasm ever when he stops.
You yell in frustration while he moves down your body, placing vibrator on your tit, while his mouth starts sucking your nub, three fingers cruling into your channel rubbing your g-spot.
“Cum” he commands against your clit but the fear of squirting again is holding you back. Frustrated, Uzair slaps your vacant tit hard enough to send jolt through your body while his fingers scrap your g-spot in a relentless fashion. Unable to resist, you cum hard your body moving on its own accord, convulsing uncontrollably as your husband's arm has held you in place. You squirt endlessly unaware of the fact that your husband is reveling in the sight, tasting your release and lapping it as his newfound favorite drink.
Just as your body is coming down from the peak, his cock enters you in a fluid motion, balls slapping against your inner thighs. Even though bottomed out, Uzair still wants to go deeper. He raises your hips, going even deeper even though it was physically impossible. As his cock tip feels your cervix, he moves all the way out to slam in tearing through the tight sphincter that protected your womb from his seed. Once snugged in there, he cums, roaring, the sound of his release filling the room. The ropes of his release refuse to cease for a long time, making you cum again and passing out for god knows how long.
You wake up with his fingers scooping his seed, pushing it in. You smile at him, hands now free as you raise them to ask him to come hug you. He falls on you, his head laying flat against your heaving chest as he catches his breath. He lifts his head to look at you kissing your face all over. The switch from the mercliess dom to the sweet lover has your heart fluttering like a butterfly.
He kisses your lips, mumbling in between. “Tum aur main ek dusre ke liye hi bane hai. Tum mujhe pagal kar deti ho par sukoon bhi tumhare pass milta hai”
You decide it's time to bare your soul to him. Resting his head on your chest, your hands weave though his hair as you confess “Uzair, mujhe nahi pata agar main aapke layak hoon ya nahi. Lekin mujhe itna pata hai ke aap ke alawa mere dil, dimaag or jism pe kisi aur ka na koi haq tha, na hai aur na kabhi hoga. Aap ke saath sab sahi lagta hai, sab theek lagta hai. Accha lagta hai. I feel loved, cherished and even desired. I feel….beautiful’
He looks up at you, eyes widening with surprise and even anger.
“Kya matlab? Tum Khoobsurat ho….sabse badhke aur iss duniya mein sabse zyada khoobsurat. Surat aur seerat dono se. Allah ne chaha toh humari beti bhi tum jaisi hogi- sabse pyari, sabse khoobsurat.”
Your eyes fill with tears. Just as you are about to protest, he kisses you, turning your position as he lays on his back, placing you above him. His hands find your still quivering folds, as your breath hitches. You are surprised at his stamina and more turned on by your body's traitorous reaction.
He parts your legs with his knees, hand guiding his rock hard length in you. You whimper clawing at his shoulders.
“Rukiye, please”
But your pleas fall on deaf ears as he rams into you, making you cum while emptying himself in you. Still not satisfied, he proceeds to eat you out till you squirt all over his face and chest. You suspect your husband has turned into a squirt addict, not complaining though.
By the time he is through with you, you are unable to move an inch. So much so that when Yalina calls you for a girl's afternoon the next day, you are too tired to talk, leaving your husband to message her from your phone
“Unable to walk, talk or get up from the bed. Brb in a few days or a week”
You hide your face in shame as Yalina sends you an ‘Aye Aye Captain’ gif
About 2 days later, you are finally out of the house, walking hand in hand with your husband across the beach.
“Ammi ko beach se doobta sooraj dekhna accha lagta tha aur Abbu ko Ammi ke chehre ke ronak dekhke khushi hoti thi. Hum har mahine, ek baar toh yaha aate the. Paise kum the par yaadein tijori bharke hai”
You look at him bewildered. This was exactly how you thought your first date would be.
Uzair drags you to a spot by the rocks and shows you AUA carved in stone in wobbly handwriting.
“Yeh maine banaya tha jab main 9 saal ka tha. Bohot shararat karta tha” he chuckles.
“AUA matlab Ammi Uzair Abbu?” you ask him in a low whisper. He looks at you with glazed eyes, a small smile adorning his beautiful lips.
“Haan” He says and kisses your hand.
“Aapse Nafi ne kuch kaha tha kya?”
Puzzled he looks at you, as he has no idea what you were onto.
Unable to hold yourself back, you turn to him, hugging him tight. You were truly God's favorite child as all your dreams were turning into reality.
You tell him about the first date conversation, making him break out in a wide smile.
“Kaha tha na maine- Hum ek dusre ke liye hi bane hai”
“Aur hamesha ek dusre ke hi rahenge” You finish, moulding your body against it.
Truly with the right person everything falls into place, everything feels beautiful!
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Prompt: Chosen numbers: 5. A line of dialogue to include: Bhabhi ko bulao!!! and 6. Writer’s choice: Left blank; so I will take your trope! (Body swap)
Disclaimer: This is fiction inspired by the characters portrayed by the actors in Dhurandhar, not the real individuals themselves.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
When Rehman Baloch came to your father to strike a deal, your father - being the dramatic man he is - jovially added, “Ab iss deal ko rishte mein badal dete hain”. And the next thing you knew was you were sitting next to Uzair Baloch, shakily saying, “Qubool hai”.
It had been two months since your nikaah, and you were still essentially strangers.
Every morning, you woke up on your own side of the bed, before going down to get tea and breakfast ready for the house with Ulfat bhabhi. Two hours later, Uzair would come down, eat, nod at you and then disappear until late in the night, when you were already asleep.
You had gone from being two strangers to two strangers who had been forced into a union.
It was just another night, with you and Ulfat bhabhi cleaning up after dinner.
“Aaj saalan bahut achcha bana tha,” she complimented, as she collected all the cutlery onto a tray.
“Thank you, bhabhi,” you beamed, “Meri nani ki recipe hai”.
“Uzair ko aisa saalan bahut pasand hai,” she said absentmindedly, “Waise woh kab tak aayega?”
You shrugged, “Pata nahi. Rehman bhai keh rahe the ki docks mein aaj kuch kaam hai?”
Ulfat paused and looked up at you, “Ab bhi baatein nahi kar rahe ho?”
“Bas busy hain, bhabhi,” you collected the last of the plates, before changing the subject, “Waise kal bachchon ke tiffin mein kya daalna hai? Aap kahein toh chicken rolls bana dun?”
—
When Uzair returned, he saw you reading with the lamp on.
“Tum soyi nahi?” he asked.
“Nahi. Aap ne khana khaya?”
“Haan, raste mein kisi dhabe me ruk gaye the”.
A pang of disappointment hit you as you nodded, “Theek hai”. You placed the book to the side, switched off the lamp, and lay down, turning away from him.
—
When you woke up the next morning, something felt off. Your pillow didn’t smell of faint jasmine like it usually did - instead you could smell cedar and cigarettes. When you sat up, your body felt heavier. You squinted and rubbed your eyes, gasping when your hands felt rougher than you remembered. You pulled it away, only to notice they weren’t your hands.
Your hand looked longer, darker, with a faint scar running from your wrist to the middle of your palm - like the one you had seen on Uzair’s hand. You whipped your head to the side to see YOURSELF sleeping next to… you?
“Yeh koi khwaab hai. Yeh koi khwaab hai,” you tried to convince yourself, even as the voice that came out of you was lower and rougher.
Before the panic could overtake you, the body next to you stirred, “Abey kaun hai, lodu” in your voice. Your eyes widened, and the woman next to you sat up with a jolt.
“Kya? Kya?” she said, before looking at you and almost falling off the bed, “Yeh kya hai, bhen-”
“Bas!” you said, “Aur gaaliyan na dein!”
You gently got off the bed, stumbling as you tried to get used to the tall body you were somehow inhabiting.
“Tum kuch zyaada hi calm nahi ho?” you heard your voice.
“Yeh khwaab hai,” you insisted.
—
It wasn’t a dream, you realised quickly, when it felt like your bladder was about to burst.
“Uzair,” you said sheepishly, “Mujhe bathroom jaana hai”.
“K-kya?”
You hid your face in your hands, and he chided you, “Aisi harkatein mat karo”.
You squirmed, “Uzair, mujhe bathroom jaana hai! Kya karun?”
“Main- main madad-”
“Mere haathon se?” you were on the verge of sobbing, “Aap kya keh rahein hain?”
“Tum batao, main kya karun?”
You put your head in your hands again, ignoring his chiding, “Theek hai. Main jaati hun. Aap bhi,” you gulped, “Dekho, ek na ek din humein ek dusre ko dekhna hi tha. Ab- ab aise hi sahi”. You rubbed your face and made your way over to the washroom.
—
You firmly avoided thinking about what you had to do in his body and what he was doing in your body as you made your way down to the kitchen.
You stood up straight, “Bhabhi. Y/N. Haan, woh. Woh shayad bathroom mein hai toh, main chai bana dunga”.
“Tum kab se chai banana seekh gaye ho?” Ulfat asked as she brought the pot out and started measuring the milk, “Baith jao, Y/N aati hi hogi”.
You quickly ran back to your room, and came face to face with Uzair - or, well, you - trying to braid your hair.
You closed the door, before walking over, “Baith jao, main baal bana dungi”.
As your body sat in front of the mirror, you started to section your hair into three parts, “Sunein. Aap Ulfat bhabhi se kahiyega ki aapki, matlab meri, tabiyat kharaab hai. Kyunki aap khana toh bana nahi payenge”.
Uzair said, “Theek hai. Par aaj tum factory kaise-”
“Ya Allah,” you panicked, “Mujhe toh gaaliyaan deni bhi nahi aati”.
“Tum- tumhe kya lagta hai, main din bhar sirf gaaliyaan deta hun?”
“Mujhe kya pata aap kya karetin hain,” you grumbled, “Aap ne kabhi bataya bhi hai?”
“Tum ne kabhi poocha bhi nahi. Mujhe kaise pata chalega ki tum kya jaan’na chahti ho?”
“Main aap ko pehle batati thi ki mera din kaisa tha. Aap sirf haan-hm kar-”
“Uzair,” you heard Hamza’s voice cut through your speech.
The panic returned, “Main Hamza bhai se keh dungi ki meri tabiyat kharaab hai, toh aap ko ghar reh kar apni biwi ka khayal rakhna hoga”.
You could see your own face give you such a deadpan look, you backtracked, “Theek hai, hum keh denge ki hum dono ki tabiyat kharaab hai. Bas ek saath reh kar soch lete hain ki ab kya karein”.
You tied your hair, and reached around your body to pick up your attar. You pulled your body’s wrists towards you, rolling the oil on and adding some behind your ear. Noticing how he had suddenly gone quiet, you looked into the mirror taking in the sight properly for the first time.
To those that didn’t know of your current predicament, it looked like Uzair was getting his wife ready. His wife, who had gone pink in the cheeks.
—
You ambled downstairs, taking care to appear casual as you’d seen Uzair. “Hamze,” you said, lowering your voice, “Mujhe bukhaar hai”.
“Kya?” Hamza asked,”Mujhe toh ekdum theek lag raha hai”.
You bit your lip and then quickly let go of it, chastising yourself, before crossing your arms as you had seen your husband do a million times before.
“Woh, bas aap ko- tujh ko batane aaya hun. Aaj nahi aaunga, l-l-lodu,” you squeaked, before turning up and walking back up the stairs, choosing not to look back at what you knew would be confusion all over Hamza's face.
You shut the door to the room behind you, waiting for Uzair to return after informing Ulfat that both of you weren’t keeping well.
When he entered he looked puzzled, “Hamza pooch raha tha sab khairiyat se toh hai. Tum ne kya kaha?”
“Yahi ki aap ko bukhaar hua hai”.
He shrugged and sat next to you on the bed, careful to keep his distance, “Ab kya karein?”
You turned towards him, “Aap ko kya lagta hai, humare saath aisa kyun hua hai? Hum ne koi ladai nahi ki, na hum ne koi curse-wurse kiya hai. Matlab,” you squinted at him, “Maine toh nahi kiya hai. Kahin aap ne-”
“Pagal ho kya,” he countered.
You rested your head against the headboard, “Humein plan karna chahiye ki agar kal bhi aisi haalat mein hain toh kya karenge”. You turned towards him, “Main har subah chai banati hun, aur phir naashta aur bachchon ki tiffin”. You bit your nails, recounting your day, “Aur phir lunch aur dinner bhi. Aap itna khaana nahi bana payenge-”
“Ek second,” he interrupted, “Tum teeno waqt ka khaana banati ho?”
“Haan…”
“Toh Aqlaakh yahaan kya kar raha hai?”
“Woh meri madad kartein hain,” you defended him, “Subziyaan aur sab wahi toh kaat te hain”.
“Aur bhabhi?”
“Aap ko kya lagta hai, yeh haveli apne aap chalti hai? Staff ke kaam par nazar rakhna, guests ko welcome karna, aap sab ke hazaaron last-minute saawaton ki arrangements karna - yeh sab kaun karta hai?”
He sighed, “Mujhe nahi pata tha ki tum har roz itna saara kaam karti ho”.
You shrugged, playing with a stray thread on his sleeve, “Hum dono itni baatein kartein hi nahi hai, aap ko kaisa pata chalta”.
Before he could say anything, you added, “I’m not complaining. Bas humare haalat hi aisein hain”.
“Khaana banana, kamre ki safai, humare kapde… Aur kuch jo main miss kar raha hun?”
“Naieem aur Faizal ka homework kabhi kabhi main karati hun. Jab bhabhi busy hoti hain”.
He rubbed his face, and you could see the guilt etched on his face.
“Aap fikr na karein,” you said, “Aap bas bataayein ki aap ke din kaise hote hain. Main adjust kar lungi”.
“Gaaliyaan de paogi?” he teased, and you flushed, remembering the fiasco from earlier.
“Waise,” he cleared his throat, “Jab tak yeh masla theek nahi ho jaata, hum sab se kahenge ki meri tabiyat kharaab hai”.
“Kyun? Main aap ka kaam kar lungi, sach mein-”
“Humari abhi ek bahut badi deal chal rahi hai. Aur kaam bahut khatarnaak hai,” he raised an eyebrow, “Tumhein bandook chalaani aati hai?”
“B-b-bandook?”
The corner of his mouth lifted, “Mera yeh sab roz ka kaam hai. Tumhe pata toh hai na ki Baloch khandaan kya karta hai?”
You looked away, “Pata hai. Par kabhi socha nahi tha…” The guilt now clawed at you.
“Sorry,” you looked at him, “Maine kabhi theek se poocha bhi nahi ki aap kya kartein hain”.
“Main batata bhi nahi,” he nudged your shoulder, teasing you.
—
The next morning, Uzair woke up early as planned, and went downstairs to make chai.
Before heading to the kitchen, he stopped by the washroom downstairs, annoyed at the faint twinge in his stomach.
When he sat down, he realised why.
“Bhabhi ko bulao!” he screamed, and a servant knocked on the door.
“Bhabhi,” he asked, “Ulfat bhabhi ko bulaun?”
“K-kya?” Uzair fumbled, “N-Nahi. Main. Main aaya. Matlab, main aayi”. He quickly cleaned up, and ran back to your room, and woke you up.
“Y/N, utho!”
You sat up immediately, “Kya? Kya hua? Aap theek toh hain?”
You saw your own face, pale and trembling, “Nahi. Tumhara shayad. Shayad period shuru ho gaya hai”.
You paused and took a deep breath, “Okay. Okay. Mera date toh agle hafte ka tha”.
“Kya?”
“Matlab agle hafte aane wala tha. Okay,” you took another deep breath, “Aap ko periods ke baare mein kuch pata hai?”
“Mujhe class baad mein de dena, abhi batao kya karun!”
You sat up and walked over to your dresser, pulling out your comfortable period panties. You pulled him by the hand to the washroom, and showed him how to put a pad on the underwear.
“Main har baar nahi kar paungi, toh aap dekh lein,” you said, “Har teen ghante mein change kar lena, just to be safe”.
You gently brushed his hair - your hair - and smiled at him, “Ajeeb lag raha hoga na?”
“Yeh itna ajeeb nahi hai jitna apne aap ko pad lagate hue dekhna ajeeb hai”.
You laughed, “Aap fresh ho jayein, main dawai taiyyar rakhti hun”.
“Dawai?!”
—
It was an herbal concoction your mother would have at the ready every month for you. It was bitter, but worked wonders.
Of course, he didn’t listen to you and had one sip, before gagging, “Yeh kya hai”.
“Chup chap pee lein!” you scolded him, “Ek tara itni taqaluf ho rahi hai, aur janaab ko dawai bhi nahi leni hai”.
“Main mard hun, mujhe koi taqaluf nahi hogi”.
“Abhi aap aurat hain,” you reminded him, and thrust the glass in front of him, “Aap agar yeh jaldi pee lenge, main aap ko chocolate dungi”.
“Main koi bachcha nahi hun jisse chocolate chahiye”.
“Trust me,” you smiled wryly, “Aap ko uski zarurat padegi”.
—
You woke up next morning to the sound of your own voice complaining.
“Uzair?” you grumbled, marvelling at how easily you had accepted that he was now in your body, “Sab khairiyat?”
He sighed, “Tumhari woh dawai kaam nahi kar rahi hai”.
“Dard ho raha hai?”
“Maine aisa kuch nahi kaha”.
You rolled your eyes, “Just admit you’re in pain. Koi kam mard nahi ho jaoge”. You placed your hand on his stomach, pausing as you realised that essentially Uzair’s hand was on your stomach.
“Kya- kya kar rahi ho?”
You massaged your lower stomach, the way you always did on your period, “Yeh rahat dega. Bas paanch minute phir main hot water bag le aaungi”.
“Humesha itna dard hota hai kya?”
You continued your ministrations, “Jab waqt par nahi aata hai tab. Iss baar jaldi aa gaya toh shayad isiliye dard ho raha hai. Did the chocolate help yesterday?”
“Hm,” he replied, “Mujhe pata bhi nahi tha ki tumhare paas chocolate ki ek puri drawer hai”.
You laughed, “Stash ready rakhna padta hai. Aur toh aur, jab Naieem aur Faizal ka padhai ka mann nahi hota hai, toh kabhi kabhi bribe kar deti hun”.
He placed his hand on yours, “Shukriya”.
You shrugged, “Aap ne shayad zindagi mein nahi socha hoga ki ek din aap ko bhi yeh experience karne ko milega. I’m just trying to make it easy for you”.
—
By the fourth day, both of you were restless.
“Hum kab tak yahaan baithe rahenge,” you whined, “Bhabhi kitni pareshan hogi, sab kuch unhein manage karna pad raha hai”.
Uzair watched you walk around with a serene expression, “Iss waqt bhi tum dusron ke baare me soch rahi ho”.
You pointed a finger at him, “Aap bade aaraam se baithe hain?”
“Mera period chal raha hain,” he smirked, “Rest ke alawa kya karun?”
Both of you paused and took in the absurdity of his statement, of the situation and burst into laughter. You leaned against him, careful of your new body, “Mujhe mera shareer wapis chahiye!”
“Iss haalat mein?”
You pretended to think, “Theek hai, period ke baad”.
Both of you agreed to try and ease into the day.
Uzair burnt three rotis, before Ulfat banished him from the kitchen, insisting he only return once he felt better.
You tried to direct Hamza to bring in a shipment, but your “Please le aana” made Hamza fret over you, begging his Y/N bhabhi to keep Uzair locked in the room till he returned to his old self.
Banished to the room, you pouted at your husband, “Kya karein?”
“Pehle toh waisa muh banana bandh karo, mere chehre pe bilkul suit nahi karta hai,” he grumbled, before walking over to his desk.
He returned with a book, “Yeh mere accounts hai”.
“Aap mujhe kyun bata rahe ho?”
“Ab tak kuch nahi bataya. Us hi galti ko theek kar raha hun”.
He explained the numbers, his system, and how much of his earnings went to you, to the house, to charity, and to savings.
“Aur aap ke liye?”
“Kya matlab?”
“Aap apni kamayi mujhe, ghar ko, aur dusron ko dete hain. Toh aap ke liye kuch bacha hi nahi hai!”
“Mujhe kis cheez ki zarurat hogi?”
You frowned, “Yeh sahi nahi hai. Mujhe thode kam do, aur apne liye kuch rakhein”.
“Nahi”.
“Main pure paise use bhi nahi karti hun. Aadhe se zyaada bach jaate hain”. You played with the edge of his kurta, “Woh maine savings account me daalein hain. Aap kahein toh aap ki savings mein wapis kar dun?”
He gently pulled the kurta straight, “Achchi baat hai. Woh tumhare savings hai”.
“Ab woh humare savings ho sakte hain,” you said, covering his hand with yours.
—
The fifth morning, Uzair woke you up with a cup of chai, “Try karo, theek toh hai?”
You took a sip and looked at him, “Yeh aap ne banayi hai?”
He nodded, nervous all of a sudden.
“Bahut achchi bani hai. Sach mein aap ne banayi hai?”
He nodded again, a light smile on his face.
When you went down for breakfast, Ulfat pressed her hand against both your foreheads, “Tabiyat toh tum dono ki theek lag rahi hai, par pata nahi tum dono bade ajeeb lag rahe ho”.
Rehman, who sat at the dining table, cleared his throat, “Uzair miyaan, kaam par wapis aane ka iraada hai ya nahi?”
You looked at Uzair, suddenly remembering whose body you inhabited. You turned to Rehman, “Bhai, aap kahein toh aaj hi aa jaun?”
Rehman nodded, “Bas factory aa jaana do ghante ke liye. Nayi guns ki testing karni hai”.
You panicked and gestured to Uzair to follow you outside.
“Uzair, mujhe bandook test nahi karni aati!”
Uzair gestured for you to keep your voice down, “Tension mat lo. Hamza se keh dena woh kar lega. Bas do ghante jaana hai. Apna muh dikha dena aur wapis aa jaana”.
He added, “Aur haan, do teen gaaliyaan bhi de aana”. You laughed, pushing him lightly, apologising when he almost tumbled over.
“Aap bahut strong ho,” you whined, helping him back up.
—
You sat with your back ramrod straight as Hamza drove you and Rehman to the factory.
“Uzair, tu theek toh hai?” Hamza asked for the hundredth time, “Aise kyun baitha hai jaise koi jung me ja raha hai?”
If only he knew.
You relaxed slightly, arm coming to rest against the window.
When you entered the factory, the men stood up straighter, asking after your health. You nodded and smiled, immediately dropping the latter when everyone looked at you with confusion.
“Bhai, chai mangwa dun?” Donga asked.
You nodded, “Haan, please. Aur sab ke liye mangwa do. Aaj mausam achcha hai, toh samose bhi mangwa hi do”.
Donga looked at you like you had grown two heads, before nodding, “Ji bhai”.
You ran your hand across your face, “Kya kar rahi hun!”
“Oye khotte,” Hamza piped up, “Chalein bandook try karne?”
“Hamza,” you stuttered, “Aap- Tum try karo. Main bas dekhta hun”.
“Kya? Tu abhi bhi beemar hai kya? Bandook try karna tujhe itna pasand hai…”
You scratched your head, “Bas jab tak 100% nahi ho jaun, tu try kar le na… Lodu?”
He shook his head at you, “Tu bas rest kar. Ek ghante mein ghar chhod aaunga. Pata nahi kya ho gaya hai tujhe”. He muttered to himself as he left the room.
You sat down, praying the next hour went by fast.
—
You returned home to the smell of food burning. You rushed into the kitchen, “Kya hua?” only to see Ulfat and Aqlaakh in a corner and you/Uzair at the stove, running his hands through your hair in frustration.
“Y/N,” you started, moving closer, “Kya hua?”
Uzair turned towards you, “Mujhse roti nahi ban rahi”.
You could see the frustration and helplessness simmering within him and placed your hand on his back. He stiffened and turned towards you, “Kya kar rahi- rahe ho?”
“Chhod do. Kamre me chalo aur thoda rest karo. Hum dono ki tabiyat theek hi nahi hai”. You turned to Aqlaakh, “Aqlaakh, iss hafte khaane tum banaoge. Bhabhi ki tabiyat theek nahi hai”.
You turned to Ulfat, “Bhabhi, please Y/N ko kahein ki rest kare. Ye bas stress liye jaa rahi hai”.
Ulfat softened, “Y/N, tumhara shohar ek dum sahi keh raha hai. Please rest karo. Dono rest karo. Main doctor ko bula lungi”.
“Bhabhi, nahi,” you said firmly, surprising even yourself, “Doctor ki koi zarurat nahi hai. Bas, aaram ki”. Ulfat looked at you suspiciously, but let it slide, “Theek hai. Jao”.
—
That night, you stayed up late. Around midnight, you crept into the kitchen and quietly made a helping of kheer, before taking it back to the room.
When you returned, Uzair was already up, “Kahaan gayi thi?”
You showed him the kheer, “Khaana banaye hue itna waqt ho gaya, mann nahi maan raha tha”. You sat next to him on the bed, “Aap try karenge?”
He took the spoon from your hand and took a bite. You sat in silence, before he broke it, “Kheer mera sabse favourite dessert hai”.
“Pata hai,” you said, nudging him for the spoon, before taking a bite, “Isiliye banaya hai”.
“Tumhe kaise pata?”
“Jab bhi ghar me kheer banti hai, aap ki plate bilkul saaf hoti hai,” you giggled.
He went quiet, before softly saying, “Thank you”.
“Kis liye?”
“For everything. Bina bataye mera itna khayal rakhti ho, aur maine kabhi bhi-”
“Aap mujhe protect kar rahe the,” you said, “Pata hai. Bahut hi ajeeb tareeke ka protection hai, par ab main samajh gayi hun”.
You took another bite, before saying, “Uzair”.
“Hm?”
“Jab- Agar hum wapis apni bodies me aa jayenge… Kya hum tab bhi aise baith ke kheer kha sakte hain?”
You saw his features soften, “Bilkul. Ab se kabhi tumhe dur nahi rakhunga”. You smiled at him, before urging him to take another bite.
—
You woke up to the scent of jasmine.
You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes, before realising your hands were soft again. You quickly opened your eyes, taking in the dainty ring on your finger, your smaller hands, and the chipping nail polish.
“Ya Allah,” you breathed, before turning towards your husband, “Uzair, uthein!”
You took in the way he pressed his eyes shut before opening them. The way they rounded before he sat up and looked at his own hands, and then at you, “Wapis aa gaye?”
You nodded, tearing up, “Wapis aa gaye”.
He hesitated for just a second, before pulling you into a hug, “Wapis aa gaye”.
That morning, you took longer to get dressed, thankful to be back in your own bodies.
You sat in front of the mirror and braided your own hair, and Uzair looked at you in the mirror, “Tumhe kabhi kaha nahi, par tum bahut khoobsurat ho”.
“Chup!” you scolded with no real heat behind it, flushing pink.
He came closer and placed his hands on your shoulders before leaning down and kissing your cheek.
“Uzair, aap kya kar rahein hain?”
“Wahi jo bahut pehle karna chahiye tha”.
You covered your face with your palms and Uzair chuckled, before straightening up, “Chai?”
“Haan, bas do minute, main banati hun”.
“Nahi,” he said, “Aaj main banaunga”.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Tag list (If you'd like to be added/removed please let me know!)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction purely made with the purpose of providing entertainment. I do not intend to glorify, justify or promote any real person or the events linked with them.
Warnings: Crazy stupid idea i had a while back, bad writing.
(This is not ai. I made it using canva and picsart)
The Head Baker: Ulfat Baloch🌸
Arrives before sunrise every day.
Responsible for breads, croissants, cheesecakes, cookies, and all signature bakes.
Takes baking very seriously.(ofc)
Will silently judge anyone who squeezes a croissant.
Handles inventory, staff schedules, customer complaints, finances, and ordering supplies.
Still serves customers because he genuinely enjoys it.
Knows almost every regular by name and remembers their usual order.(specially a certain pretty lady who sits in the corner always ordering two pastries for herself)
Regular Customer!Y/N who has been coming to Mehfil for so long that nobody actually remembers when she became a regular. Some mornings it's before university, grabbing a quick cup of coffee before class. Other evenings it's after lectures with her books still peeking out of her tote bag. And on weekends she's there simply because nowhere else quite matches the comfort and vibes of Mehfil.
Regular Customer!Y/N who has an unreserved permanent table. It's the little corner by the window overlooking the streets and the docks beyond it, tucked just in the cozy corner away from the evening crowd where she can study in peace while still listening to the local band perform every night.
Store Manager!Uzair who, after her 3rd day at the cafe, starts noticing the moment she walks through the door without ever making it obvious. He'll be halfway through counting inventory or helping another customer, yet somehow he's always be the first one to greet her with a quiet smile and a soft, "The usual?"
Store Manager!Uzair who memorized her order months ago. One Kashmiri noon chai and whichever pastry she'd convinced herself she'd "only have a bite" of before inevitably finishing the entire thing , and ordering a second.
Store Manager!Uzair who always manages to sneak something complimentary onto her tray. Sometimes it's a pistachio croissant, sometimes a slice of kunafa cheesecake, sometimes a freshly baked cookie that "would've gone to waste anyway," even though everybody in the café knows that's a complete lie.
Regular Customer!Y/N who genuinely believes Mehfil just treats all their regulars like this. She tells her classmates all the time that it's the nicest café in Lyari, never realizing the complimentary pastries have absolutely nothing to do with customer loyalty.
Store Manager!Uzair who keeps telling himself it's simply good business. Regular customers recommend cafés to their friends, happy customers come back... and none of those reasons explain why he's never once slipped a complimentary pastry onto anyone else's tray.
Head Baker!Ulfat who starts noticing the pastry count never matches her inventory sheets anymore. One pistachio croissant disappears almost every afternoon without fail, followed by the occasional cheesecake slice or chocolate chip or coconut cookies.
Head Baker!Ulfat who immediately assumes Donga is the culprit. The poor man can't even decorate a cheesecake in peace before she's asking whether he's been "sampling" the display again.
Sous Chef!Donga who sputters abd spends an entire hour defending his innocence. He swears on every croissant in the bakery that he hasn't touched a single cheesecake or cookie, but absolutely nobody believes him.
Head Baker!Ulfat who corners Donga in the kitchen one afternoon with the inventory sheet still clutched in her hand. She asks where the missing pastries are going, and Donga, without a single thought in his brain, points through the serving window towards Uzair.
Sous Chef!Donga who accidentally exposes Uzair in under five seconds. "Uzair bhai gives them to that pretty girl by the window." Then immediately goes back to piping cream onto éclairs, blissfully ignoring the silence caused by the bomb he dropped.
Store Manager!Uzair who realizes he's been caught the second Ulfat walks out into the register, eyes narrowed at him. He's suddenly very interested in reorganizing the coffee beans that definitely did not need reorganizing.
Head Baker!Ulfat who drags Uzair into the kitchen by his ear. She doesn't care that customers might see, she wants to know why weeks' worth of perfectly made croissants have mysteriously vanished into one very specific customer's tray.
Store Manager!Uzair who completely blanks the second Ulfat asks him to explain himself. He starts rambling and stuttering about customer retention, loyalty, regulars, positive experiences and free marketing until even he realizes he isn't making any sense.
Head Baker!Ulfat who simply folds her arms and asks, "and...?."(there's always an and)
Store Manager!Uzair who sighs in defeat after thirty seconds of him rambling pathetic excuses and knows that he's been caught, "andshescuteandimighthaveacrushonher."
Head Baker!Ulfat who pinches the bridge of her nose. "Then ask the poor girl out. Stop bribing her with my pastries. Do you even knkw how expensive coconuts are in Karachi?!."
Brewmaster!Hamza who overhears the entire conversation while steaming milk. Doesn't even bother looking up before muttering, "Bhabi, I've literally been telling him that for months."
Brewmaster!Hamza who somehow becomes Uzair's biggest supporter and biggest bully at exactly the same time. Every time Y/N walks through the door, he quietly elbows Uzair in the ribs before disappearing into the back with the smuggest smirk known to mankind. And everytime Uzair would mutter profanities under his breath. He should have never told his stupid best friend about the crush. Ugh.
Store Manager!Uzair who somehow becomes twice as awkward after everyone finds out about his crush. He starts dropping spoons, forgetting table numbers and nearly burning himself on freshly brewed coffee whenever she smiles at him.
Regular Customer!Y/N who mistakes every ounce of his awkwardness for simple shyness. She just assumes he's naturally quiet since he hasn't really tried to intimate any conversation with her ever, she never realizes the poor man has forgotten how to function every time she even looks at him now.
Resident Cat!Suki who has more charm and game than Uzair, has found a permamnwt way to get pets and cuddles everytime Y/N was at the café. He waits at the café's window sill until she arrives and trots over the second she enters, and spends the next three hours curled up in her lap while she studies.
Regular Customer!Y/N who starts carrying cat treats in her bag specifically for Suki. She tells herself they're "just in case," even though everybody in Mehfil has watched her buy a fresh packet every single week for the furry menace.
Resident Cat!Suki who absolutely adores Y/N and absolutely cannot stand Uzair when Y/N is with him. Every time the poor man walks over with her order, Suki lifts his head just long enough to hiss before curling back up in her lap like nothing happened.
Brewmaster!Hamza who becomes convinced Suki can smell a man with a crush from across the room. Uzair insists cats don't work like that. Hamza insists Suki Dakat is living proof that they do.
Owner!Rehman who drops by the flagship one afternoon to check on business. He notices the steady crowd, the familiar university student by the window... and yet another complimentary pastry sitting on her tray.
Owner!Rehman who doesn't need anybody to explain what's happening. One look from his wife a cross the kitchen counter, and he knows what's going on. Telepathy comes naturally after a certain point in marriage,
Owner!Rehman who says absolutely nothing. He simply gives Uzair one long, knowing look before walking into his office at the back of he café, somehow making his younger brother feel more embarrassed than an entire lecture ever could.
The entire Mehfil staff who slowly turn Uzair's love life into a team project without letting either of them realise it. Ulfat "accidentally" bakes a heart shaped pistachio pastry, Hamza keeps making the wrong drink for Uzair to go over to her table atkeast twice before he makes it right, Donga offers encouraging thumbs ups from behind the pastry display.
Resident Cat!Suki who chooses the exact day Uzair finally gathers the courage to confess... to not hiss at him for once. Hamza later swears even the cat had finally decided to help.
Store Manager!Uzair who spends nearly ten minutes rehearsing what he's going to say before walking over to her table. The speech disappears from his brain the second she looks up and smiles.
Store Manager!Uzair who somehow manages to ask if she'd like to have dinner with him despite sounding like every word physically pains him to say. He's already preparing himself for rejection before she's even had a chance to answer.
Regular Customer!Y/N who blinks at him in complete confusion before laughing softly. She'd honestly been daydreaming about the sweet café manager who kept giving her free pastries finally asking her out.
Regular Customer!Y/N who admits she's partly kept coming back for him. somewhere between complimentary croissants and remembering her order, she'd developed a hopeless crush on the tall, sweet and handsome store manager too.
Store Manager!Uzair who spends months trying to win her over with free pastries... only to discover she'd already fallen for him long before he'd found the courage to ask.
Head Baker!Ulfat who let's all the staff have a piece of their favourite pastry in honour of Uzair finally growing a pair and asking his crush out.
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