Fluent in side-eye, sarcasm and silk

T | She/Her A work of art; mostly unfinished and highly opinionated | ~On hiatus~

[bitter-sweet-archive]

Masterlist

Series

Mujhse Pehli Si Mohabbat

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

Chapter 10 Chapter 11

Musafir

Part 1

One-shots · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · Jannat ul-Firdaus - Uzair Baloch x OC

The Grim Reaper - Uzair Baloch x OC

Qubool Hai - Uzair Baloch x Reader

Caught on Camera - Uzair Baloch x Reader

Sunday Kind of Love - Uzair Baloch x Reader

Where the Rapids Roar - Hamza Ali Mazari x Reader

Uzair x Zaara

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Of Ghosts and Grooms

The Lion's Pajama Party

Saltwater Promises

The Human Radiator

Twenty-One Pillows

Blood-Pulp & Jasmine

A Fever Called Envy

The 3 Times Uzair Tried to Get Zaara Pregnant

A Lesson in Loyalty

Lahore at 11:00 PM

Uzair x Zaara x Ghazal

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Haveli’s Rapunzel

A Case of Mistaken Identity

The Last Sunset in Lyari

Order in The Court

Mama's Little Shadow

The Midnight Cocoon

4’s a Crowd?

Call Me Baba

[between-smoke-and-roses]

Tere Ishq Ne

A/N: For @tessa-bl, sorry this took so long.

Pairing: Uzair Baloch x Reader

Synopsis: You want to marry your boyfriend, but your father owes Arshad Pappu a debt. So you climb out the window.

Word Count: 7325

Disclaimer: This work is a piece of fiction inspired by the characters portrayed by the actors in Dhurandhar, not the real individuals themselves. 

── .✦

✿ Masterlist ✿

── .✦

You knew him the way everyone knows everyone in Lyari - on the surface, from a distance, where you know of them but don't know them. 

But the first time you spoke to him was outside of Lyari, in a corner of Saddar Bazaar. Your friend Yalina and you were playing hooky from college and ended up at a tiny chai stall.

Uzair and Hamza were there as well, when you ran into them.

“Hamza, aap yahaan?” Yalina asked.

You'd heard of him. Yalina had gone into great detail about the man she saw at the PAP rally. She had described his luscious hair, his big chest, and you knew already that if they ever met again, she was going to dance on that chance.

As she pulled the moves on him, you looked at Uzair, “Chai piyenge? In dono ka toh chalta rahega”.

The two of them sputtered their denials, but Uzair laughed and ordered four cups of chai.

You deliberately gave Yalina and Hamza space as you and Uzair stood in a different corner.

“Aap ko Lyari mein dekha hai,” he said.

“Ji, main wahin pali-badi hun. Aaj bas college ka mann nahi tha toh yahaan chale aaye”.

“Meri khushqismati hai”.

You arched an eyebrow, “Aap ki ya Hamza bhai ki?”

“Hamza ki khushqismati hai ki Yalina aayi. Meri toh hai ki aap aayi”.

You tried to suppress your smile, “Linein badi achchi maar lete hain aap”.

“Mujhe bhi aaj hi pata chala hai,” he sipped his chai, “Pehli baar jo aap mili”.

“Bas karein,” you blushed, before steering the conversation to Lyari. When he mentioned he hadn't tried the mango shake at Aalam’s Juice Shop, you were flabbergasted.

“Aap wahaan kya order kartein hain?”

“Doodh soda”.

You chuckled, “Theek hai, ab toh aap ko wahaan ka mango shake try karna hi padega”.

“Jab aap free hain tab chalenge”.

“Hamza bhai ke saath bhi try karne ja sakte hain”.

“Haan, par mujhe aap ke saath waqt bitana hai. Iss nacheez ko thoda waqt dengi?”

How could you say no?

—

After your meeting at Aalam Juice Shop, where he conceded that the mango shake was better than doodh soda, you started to meet on a weekly basis. Be it mango milkshakes, long walks, or the nihari at New Zahid, your meetings were consistently planned over text messages after he asked for your number in Saddar. 

Yalina teased you nonstop, but you had no rebuttal. You'd just blush and giggle, thanking her, “Tum Hamza bhai se nahi milti toh mera bhi Uzair se milna nahi hota”.

Three months into the meetings, he called you. 

“Uzair? Aaj phone kyun kiya?”

“Seedhe seedhe baat karna chahta hun. Aap mujhe bohot pasand hain, aur mujhe yakeen hai ki aap ko bhi main pasand hun. Date pe chalengi?”

You stared at your phone in shock before bringing it back to your ear, “Aap kya keh rahein hain?”

“Mujhe pata hai aap ne saaf saaf suna”.

You huffed, “Aapko kaise yakeen hai ki main aapko pasand karti hun?”

“Aalam bhai ki mango milkshake achchi hai, par itni bhi achchi nahi ki hum har agle hafte wahaan jayein”.

Caught out, you pouted.

“Munh na fulayen,” he said and your jaw dropped, “Bata dein, date par chalein?”

This man.

“Kahaan le jayenge?”

—

Your first date was at Hawke’s Bay Beach where you watched the sunrise together. He held your hand and you leaned on his shoulder.

“Tulu-e-aftab kitna khoobsurat hai,” you sighed, watching as the sky turned into a vivid pink.

“Khoobsurat toh hai,” Uzair said, “Par aap jitna nahi”.

You pushed him gently, “Bas karein”.

You stayed until the soft light ushered in a new day.

—

Your first kiss happened completely by accident three weeks into officially dating.

You were at Clifton Beach, standing side by side as you took in the massive waves. The breeze provided a brief respite from the heat of the day.

You leaned on his shoulder, sighing as the stress of the day weighed on you. His hand automatically came up to stroke your hair, “Thak gayi?”

You hummed, “Hm. Par ab sab theek ho gaya hai”.

You felt his smile against your forehead. You tilted your face up to kiss his cheek, but at that exact moment, he turned to kiss yours.

In what you would later dub a “happy accident”, the two of you ended up kissing right in the middle of Clifton Beach.

You immediately pulled back, shocked, mirroring his expression.

And then his eyes softened and he leaned back in, where you met him halfway.

—

The first time you fought, like really fought, it was over the future.

You were in Dolmen Mall, and had stopped to gaze at a pretty diamond ring outside a shop.

Uzair stood next to you, pensive, “Jab humari mangni hogi toh tumhe aisi angoothi chahiye ya sone ki?”

You rolled your eyes, “Tumhari linein kabhi khatam nahi hoti kya?”

He went unnaturally quiet, brows furrowed. You continued looking through the rings obliviously when he said quietly, “Line nahi maar raha hun”.

“Kya?”

“Tumne kaha linein khatam nahi hoti. Main line nahi maar raha hun”.

“Tum mangni ki baat kar rahe ho, humein saath rahe chaar mahine hue hain”.

“Haan toh?”

“Toh? Toh tum kaise keh sakte ho ki mangni karenge? Tum mujhe theek se jaante bhi nahi ho”.

“Main itna jaanta hun ki tum mujhe bahut pasand ho. Aur mujhe tumse hi nikaah karna hai- Kahaan ja rahi ho?”

You had stalked off, unable to bear his words. He followed you, “Hum baat kar rahein hain, tum bas aise nahi nikal sakti!”

“Tum kaun hote ho mujhe kehne wale ki main kya aur kya nahi kar sakti?”

Over the years, Uzair had developed a keen eye for reading people. And right now, he saw the perfect picture of panic.

“Tumhe kis cheez ki ghabrahat hai?”

You took a deep breath, “Is baat ki ki hum dono ek dusre ko itne waqt se nahi jaante hain. Tum ab jo nikaah ki baat kar rahe ho… I feel suffocated”.

Uzair's face schooled itself into a neutral expression.

“Yeh itni jaldi baat kahaan se aayi hai?” you pushed, “Hum itne serious kab se ho gaye?”

“Main hamesha se serious hun”. His voice lowered, “Tum nahi ho?”

“Of course serious hun, Uzair,” you backtracked, “Bas yeh sab bahut jaldi ho raha hai. Main abhi toh college mein hun”.

You sat on the nearest bench and he slowly lowered himself next to you.

“Mujhe break up nai karna,” you started, “Par mujhe mangni ki baat nahi karni. Yeh mujh par pressure jaise hai”.

He stared at the floor for a long moment and you refused to look at him.

He spoke up, “Sorry. Main bina soche pressure dal raha hun. Uske liye. Par main tumse nikaah karna chahta hun, iss ke liye main sorry nahi ho sakta”.

Your face broke into relief, “Theek hai”.

“Mujhe ab bhi iske baare mein baat nahi karni. Jo future mein hoga woh tab dekha jayega,” you added.

He nodded, before suggesting he drop you home.

—

Things slowly returned to normal. Not just normal, it was almost as if that conversation had triggered you into deeply examining your relationship with him. 

A future with him didn't seem all that daunting, purely because nothing had changed. He hadn’t let your soft rejection affect any part of your relationship.

He still met you for mango milkshakes. He dropped you home after college just for a small pocket of your time. He called you every day, no matter how busy he was, just to ask about your day.

And you reciprocated. You stayed up till midnight just to hear his voice for two minutes. You learnt how to make biryani (much to your mother's chagrin) and took some for him to eat (much to his chagrin). You started vocalising your feelings, dreams, and fears.

As the two of you were leaving Aalam’s Juice Shop, he lightly directed you such that you were walking closer to the shop while he stood between you and the road. 

Your legs matched his pace, but it felt like your mind was far away.

—

But the day you truly felt it was when he did something so ordinary it almost didn’t register.

He was picking you up from college to take you for a movie. You were slightly late, but hurried to gather your things and hugged Yalina goodbye at the gate, before making your way over to his jeep, ready to spew apologies.

You were waiting to cross the road, when you saw an old woman stumbling with two heavy bags towards the bus stop. While no one else bothered, Uzair immediately went and took the bags from her hands and stood at the bus stop with her. You forgot to cross the road, simply watching as he lightly smiled at her. When the bus finally came, she placed her hand on his head, before the vehicle obstructed your view. 

You quickly crossed the road to see Uzair still waiting at the stop, looking inside the bus as if making sure the lady found a seat.

When the bus left, he noticed you. He jogged over and took your bag from you, almost as natural as breathing, and started walking towards his jeep.

You stopped right there. He took half a step, before turning to you, “Kya hua?”

You looked, really looked, at this man. 

This man, to whom kindness was just a way of being. For all the violence he faced in his daily life, there was still an ember so human within him, it made you wonder why you had even doubted your future with him for a second.

You took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, “Main tum se hi nikaah karne wali hun”.

He went quiet, before simply saying, “Finally”.

—

Sometimes, you got into trouble. Like now, as you were sitting at Aalam Juice Shop, surrounded by Hamza, Donga, and Uzair.

“Y/N,” Uzair said, exasperated, “Tum ne uss ladke ko thappad kyun mara?”

“Roz college ke bahar ladkiyon ko chidhata hai. Aaj toh hadd hi kar di, toh bas…”

“Tumhe koi tang karta hai toh mujhe kaha karo”.

“Arrey, tumhe kitna waqt lagta aane mein. Usse kya kehti, ‘Tum yaheen ruko, mera boyfriend aa raha hai tumhe maarne?’”

Uzair blushed, like he always did when you referred to him as your boyfriend.

Donga rolled his eyes, “Bhai, baad me laal hona”. He turned to you, “Baji, woh kisi ka bhatija tha. Aap ko kuch ho jata toh..?”

“Donga bhai,” you batted your lashes at him, “Aap log mujhe kuch hone dete?”

“Nahi, par-”

“Bas,” Hamza’s voice cut through, “Y/N, please agle baar aise kisi ko bas maar mat dena. Tumhare 'boyfriend’ ke kaafi dushman hain. Kuch galat na ho jaye, isiliye tumhe keh rahein hain ki khayal rakha karo”.

You crossed your arms and pouted, “Achcha sorry. Phir se nahi hoga”. 

You thought that was the end of it.

But what Uzair hadn’t told you was that as soon as he found out exactly whose nephew that guy was, he went back the same night and beat him within an inch of his life.

What he also hadn't told you was Hamza’s warning after, “Arshad Pappu itne jaldi cheezein nahi bhulta”.

—

The following year was the happiest of your life. The two of you were stronger than ever, and were seriously considering breaking the news to your parents.

Until one day, your father came home with a proposal that ruined everything.

He divulged it in bits and pieces.

“Arshad Pappu phir factory aaya tha…”

“Uska karza hum abhi bhi nahi de paa rahe hain…”

“Usne kaha hai ki karza maaf kar dega agar uske bhatije ka nikaah tumhare saath-”

That's when you intervened, “Abbu, bilkul nahi.”

“Ya Allah, tumhe lagta hai yahaan tumhari chalegi?” your father’s voice cracked, “Ek toh yeh Arshad Pappu peeche pada hai aur upar se yeh Uzair baloch ke saath ghoomti rehti ho”.

“Aap… Aap jaante ho?” you said, eyes welling up.

“Tumhe kya lagta hai, hum bewakoof hain?”

“Abbu, maine sirf Uzair se nikaah karni hai, main kisi aur se nahi nikaah karungi!”

“Tum samajhti kyun nahi? Main tumhe bech nahi raha. Main tumhe zinda rakhne ki koshish kar raha hun,” your father pleaded.

“Aap aisa kyun kar rahe ho mere saath? I'm not something you can barter!”

“Humare paas aur koi chaara nahi hai,” your mother said, quietly, “Hum sab ke paas gaye. Koi Arshad Pappu ke khilaaf awaaz nahi uthayega”.

“Aap samajh nahi rahein hai, Uzair dekh lega-”

Your father gently took your phone out of your hands, “Yeh Uzair ko bhool jao”. He looked haggard, like the last few days had taken away years from him.

Your mother walked you to your room, “Shaadi karne ke alawa aur koi chara nahi hai”. She looked at you sorrowfully as she closed the door and locked it.

—

Uzair was worried. Even when the two of you fought, you never went more than twelve hours without texting him.

It had been twenty hours since he last heard from you. 

Hence why, he was currently outside Hamza's flat, banging on the door.

“Hamza, Yalina hai kya tere saath?”

Hamza opened the door, hair mussed and shirt half opened, “Bhai, itni der hai, thoda toh lihaaj rakh”.

Uzair pushed in, looking around, “Yalina hai?”

“Kyun? Kuch hua?” Hamza immediately went into high alert.

“Y/N phone nahi utha rahi hai. Abhi tak uske do phone toh aa jaane chahiye the. Phone bhi off hai”.

Yalina entered the living room, smoothing her hair down, “Uzair bhai, kya hua?”

When Uzair explained the situation, she pursed her lips, “Main uske ghar ho aati hun. Aap phone paas rakhein”.

—

You could hear Yalina’s voice from your room.

Your parents’ voice - soft at first and then rising higher till it reached an all out screaming match.

Instead of banging on the door and begging for Yalina to rescue you, you sat on the edge of your bed, forearms on your knees.

You couldn’t wait to be rescued, there was no time. You had to choose what was next.

The wedding couldn’t happen, that much you knew.

You walked over to the window, laughing when it opened easily. Your parents had clearly not thought to lock the windows from outside before pushing you into it.

You opened it slowly, careful to avoid the creaking sound it always gave out when it was opened quickly.

Looking outside, you noted that despite being on the first floor, there was a ledge not too far below your window.

Without wasting a second, you jumped over and landed on the ledge, and then jumped again.

It wasn’t a soft landing, your palms were definitely scraped and your knee hurt a little, but you quickly gathered your dupatta and ran, refusing to look back.

—

The panic set in when Yalina walked back into Hamza’s flat without you.

It was bad.

Really bad.

From what Yalina could gather, you were going to be married off to Arshad Pappu’s nephew to settle some family debt.

Uzair’s rage knew no bounds.

Until Yalina said the wedding was tomorrow; that's when the panic set in.

“Hamza,” Uzair started, “Chal, uske abbu se baat karne chalte hain”.

Hamza tried to reason with him, “Agar Arshad Pappu ka masla pehle suljha lein toh uske abbu khushi khushi Y/N ka haath tujhe de denge”.

“Tu samajh nahi raha hai humare paas waqt nahi hai!”

As the two of them argued, Uzair’s phone rang. It was Mohammed Aalam. Hamza looked at the name for two seconds before urging Uzair to pick up, “Woh faltu me kabhi phone nahi kartein”.

Uzair picked up, impatient, “Haan bhai?”

Your voice filtered through, “Jaan?”

He stood up straight, “Y/N? Tum kahaan ho? Aalam ke phone se call kaise kiya?”

Hamza immediately called Yalina, turning away.

“Uzair,” your voice filtered through, “Tumhe yaad hai uss din hum Dolmen Mall me the aur tumne poocha ke mujhe sone ki ya diamond ki angoothi chahiye?”

“Huh?” Uzair was confused, “Haan, kyun? Tum kahaan ho?”

“Jaan, mujhe diamond chahiye. Tumhare liye sone ki lenge”.

“Woh sab theek hai, par jaana tum kahaan ho? Yalina ne kahan tumhare abbu tumhara nikaah kisi aur ke saath tay kiya hai”.

“Woh sab purani baat hai. Suno, mujhe woh heere ki angoothi chahiye”.

“Y/N,” Uzair said firmly, “Kya chal raha hai?”

You took a deep breath, “Woh main ghar se bhaag gayi hun, aur-”

The rest of it was simply white noise and he recalibrated his plan, “Kya?”

Across the table from you, Aalam clutched what was left of his hair.

“Uzair,” you said, “Tumne mujhse kaha tha ki tumhe mujhse nikaah karna hai. Mere abbu ne kisi aur ke saath tay kiya, toh main bhaag aayi. Ab tum batao, kya tum mujhse nikaah karoge?”

—

He was there in ten minutes.

“Jaana,” he entered Aalam’s juice shop, frantically looking for you. He saw you crouched in a corner, eyes wide with tears tracks on your face.

For a second, his panic disappeared. He sat next to you and wrapped an arm around you, “Tum theek ho?”

You shook your head, “Uzair, main bahut darr gayi thi. Koi Arshad Pappu ka bhatija-”

Uzair inhaled sharply, “Arshad Pappu?”

You nodded, examining his face, “Tumhara koi masla toh nahi uske saath?”

You saw a flash of Uzair Baloch the gangster and not your Uzair, before he schooled his features into something neutral, “Jaana, uss din jise tumne thappad maara tha woh Arshad Pappu ka bhatija hai”.

You blinked, white noise around you, “Isiliye woh mujhse…?” A shiver wracked your frame as you imagined what could have potentially happened with you if you had stayed home.

Uzair sighed, “Y/N, maine ek aur cheez ki jiski wajah se shayad-”

“Ya Khuda,” you cut him off, “Tumne usse maara!”

“Jaana, woh-”

“Maine usse thappad maar aur aap sab ne milkar mujhe daanta, aur phir khud usse maarne gaye?”

“Woh alag baat thi”.

“Kaise?”

Behind you, Aalam cleared his throat, “Aap dono baad me jhagad lena. Abhi woh zara Y/N ke abbu usse dhoondhne nikle hai”.

You stood up, and tugged at Uzair’s sleeve, pulling him up, “Chalein”.

“Kahaan?”

You looked at him bewildered, “Yeh bhi main plan karun? Tum kya karoge? Naachoge?”

You pushed him out of the way and walked up to Aalam, “Bhai, abbu kahaan honge?”

“Pura mohalla nikla hai”.

You looked around, “Hum yahaan ruk sakte hain aaj raat?”

Aalam nodded, “Upar wale manzill me chale jao. Wahaan Hamza ka purana kamra hai. Kal subah aaunga. Theek hai?”

You nodded, “Shukriya, Aalam bhai”.

—

The room was cramped with a single mattress on the floor.

You sat on the edge of it, hands shaking now that the weight of what you’d done finally set in. Uzair was in the corner, murmuring into his phone.

“Uzair,” you said, voice shaky. He paused, looked at you for a moment, before hanging up.

“Y/N,” he started, “Tavajjoh se suno. Arshad Pappu tumhare abbu se bahut naraaz hone wala hai”.

Your breath hitched, you hadn’t thought of the consequences your family-

“Suno,” Uzair’s voice cut through your thoughts, “Tumhare ammi aur abbu ka khayal Donga rakhega”.

His eyes went soft, and he tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, “Aur rahi humari baat”.

You looked up at him.

“Kal subah hum nikaah kar lenge. Maine imam se baat kar li hai”.

“Kya?”

Uzair’s brow furrowed, “Ab mat kehna tumhe nikaah nahi karna”.

“Nahi, matlab, haan. Karna hai. Par kaise…? Matlab, haan, imam se baat kar li hai, par Uzair, uske baad?”

“Uske baad, tum haveli chalogi aur main Rehman bhai se baat karunga”.

“Uske baad?” you said, voice shrill, “Kya unhein mere baare mein pata bhi hai?”

He looked offended, “Of course unhein tumhare baare me pata hai. Bhai hain mere woh”. He turned pink, before adding, “Aur Ulfat bhabhi toh ghar ki repainting ki planning bhi karna shuru kar chuki hain”.

At that, you looked at the floor, a slow smile unfurling across your face, “Tumhare bhai aur bhabhi ko mere baare mein pata hai?”

He took your hand in his, turning it over, before kissing your knuckles, “Sab ko pata hai. Bas tumhare abbu aur ammi ki haan ki deri thi”.

Your face fell and you moved closer to him, placing your head on his shoulder, “Ab woh kabhi baat nahi karenge mujhse”.

“Aisa kuch nahi hoga. Yeh Arshad Pappu ke maamle ko salta dein uske baad tumhare waldin se baat karne chalenge”.

“Aur woh nahi maane toh?”

“Isiliye nikaah kar ke jayenge,” he said drily, chuckling when you lightly pushed him. 

—

The imam was half asleep when you landed at his door. Uzair nervously rapped the door, rushing when the imam opened it.

Hamza, Yalina, and Aalam had come with you; Aalam pretending to be your father while also muttering under his breath that he wouldn’t let any daughter of his marry Uzair. Uzair shut that down with a quick look.

Yalina’s eyes had started welling up by your first Qubool Hai, but by the third, Hamza had started sniffling. The room went silent as all of you, including the imam, turned towards this hulking giant of a man with a solitary tear down his face.

Hamza shrugged, “Mohabbat bahut hi keemti cheez hai, humari duniya me itni asaani se nahi milti”. He took Yalina’s hand in his, while Uzair turned back to you, eyes soft.

And when you received the nikaah nama, Uzair looked at you, “Tumhara mahr dena bhool gaya”.

You shrugged, “Koi baat nahi-”

Uzair produced a diamond ring from his pocket. He smiled sheepishly, “Jis din tumne kaha ki nikaah karogi, uss hi din do angoothiyaan le aaya - sone ki aur heere ki. Aaj ke liye ye please qubool karo, kal theek se shopping le jaunga”.

You gaped at the ring in his hand before throwing your arms around him, “Pagal ho! Bilkul bewakoof!”

He hugged you back, kissing your cheek, “Deewana hun. Sirf tumhara”. He pulled back and placed the ring on your finger, smiling to himself as you looked back at him in awe.

—

It was on the way to the Baloch haveli that your panic set in. You grabbed Uzair’s hand on the steering wheel and pulled it, making the car lurch.

“Arrey,” he yelled, “Abhi nikaah hua hai, abhi hi bewa banne ki harkatein kar rahi ho!”

“Uzair,” you said, “Hum tumhare ghar jaa rahein hain! Miya-biwi ban kar!”

“Haan,” he gave you a lovesick smile, “Miya-biwi”.

You slapped his bicep, “Bhaag ke nikaah ki hai humne! Yeh romance ka waqt nahi hai!”

Uzair straightened, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him. He calmly brought the car to a stop at the side of the road, before turning to you and panicking, “Bhaag ke nikaah ki hai humne!”

“Arrey tum panic karoge toh main kya karun!”

“Hum- hum ek kaam karte hain, hum Kharotabad chale jaate hain!”

“Bewakoof, woh Balochistan hai, tumhare bhai ko pata chal jayega!”

He grabbed your hands, “Hindustan chale jayein?”

“Chup chap haveli chalo,” you smacked his head, “Bade aaye Hindustan chalenge”.

—

When you finally reached the haveli, you could hear the family chatter from inside.

As you stood at the entrance, Uzair nervously wiped his hand on his kurta, before grabbing yours. You could still feel his clammy palms. You prayed he couldn’t hear your heart pound.

You stepped inside the house together. The first person to notice you was Ulfat, who broke into a smile.

“MashAllah, tum Y/N hogi,” she said, walking towards you, arms open. She hugged you, before turning to Uzair, “Finally le aaye. Hum toh kab se milna chah rahe the, hai na, Rehman?”

She turned to her husband, the Sher-e-Baloch. Within the walls of the haveli, though, he was just Rehman. 

Rehman, who was sat at the table, with a small grin, “Wah Uzair, maan gaye ustaad”.

You nudged Uzair, who visibly gulped, “Bhai, bhabhi”. He exhaled, “Ye Y/N hai. Meri biwi”.

The sudden pin drop silence pricked something at the back of your neck.

“Kya?” Rehman asked, voice suddenly cold.

“Woh,” Uzair started, “Woh Arshad Pappu ke bhatije se iski zabardasti shaadi karaane wale the-”

“Toh main bhaag gayi,” you finished your husband’s sentence.

Ulfat stared at you. Rehman dropped his head, “Ya Allah”.

Naieem, who had stayed silent all this while piped up, “Congratulations!”

—

While Uzair and Rehman loudly argued in the latter’s study, Ulfat sat next to you primly with a cup of chai. She urged you to take a sip from yours, before saying, “Hum tum se kitni dafa se milna chahte the par Uzair bahut sharmila hai”.

You smiled to yourself, thinking of how Uzair turned red when referred to as your boyfriend. You couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he would publicly be referred to as your husband.

“Arshad Pappu ke bhatije se tumhara nikaah kyun karana chahte hain?” 

You sighed before launching into the story of your family’s debt, the slap incident, Uzair’s retaliation, and finally, your escape. Ulfat listened with her jaw wide open, before collecting herself and saying, “Apni zindagi ki kahaani ki script kisi director ko bech aao. Is pe movie ban ni chahiye”.

You laughed, your first in weeks, loud and bright. Ulfat’s face softened slightly, and she placed her hand on yours, “Tum fikr mat karo. Rehman kuch na kuch hal nikaal lega. Woh kehta nahi hai par Uzair se bahut pyaar karta hai. Ek hi toh bhai hai. Uss ke liye zameen-aasman ek kar dega, Arshad Pappu toh kuch nahi hai”.

You smiled, relieved, before asking for a tour of the haveli.

—

Ulfat had left you in Uzair’s room just to go check on Faisal. You looked around, marvelling at the intricate four poster bed and the marble floors.

You gasped as you suddenly felt a pair of warm arms around you, before leaning back into his sturdy chest, “Uzair”.

“Y/N,” he whispered, burying his face in your hair, “Kamra theek laga?”

You smiled and turned around in his arms, “Tum ekdum princess ho,” you giggled, pointing to the bed.

He laughed, before lifting you bridal style and gently dropping you on the bed. You settled against the sheets, and beckoned him close.

He leaned over you and kissed your cheek, “Princess hun?”

“Bilkul,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck.

You stayed that way, breathing each other in, before you broke the silence, “Kya Rehman bhai khafa hain?”

He sighed, “Thoda sa. Keh rahe the ki unhein nikaah me rehna ka haq tha”.

“So toh hai,” you said, “Sorry. Tumse bhi achchi dhoom-dhaam wali shaadi cheen li”.

“Meri jaan,” he whispered into your neck, “Mujhe tumhare alawa aur kuch nahi chahiye. Humara nikaah jaldbaazi me ho ya puri planning ke saath, mujhe koi farq nahi padhta”.

You snaked your hands into his hair, lightly pulling on his locks and pulled him back to look at you, “I love you”.

His face broke into a smile as he cuddled closer, “Love you too, jaan”. He kissed you, hands wandering down the sides of your body, and your legs came up to meet at his waist.

A cough broke your reverie and he practically jumped off you. At the doorway stood Ulfat, who looked at the ceiling, “Y/N, shayad baaki haveli ka tour Uzair tumhe de toh better hoga”.

You dropped your face into your hands, “Bhabhi, sorry!”

Ulfat finally looked at you and winked, “Jawaani ka josh hai, Y/N. Pehle bachche ke baad dheema ho jayega. Tab tak maze karo”.

Uzair stared at her, horrified, while you wished the ground would swallow you.

Revelling in the sudden turn of events, Ulfat said, “Lunch do ghante me lagega. Haveli dekh lo… ya jo karna hai karo”.

—

Uzair had immediately taken you around the haveli, the two of you looking at each other and blushing intermittently.

He showed you the kitchen, the living room, the formal living room, and had just taken you to the garden when Rehman came out. 

He looked down at your intertwined hands as he took a drag of his cigarette, before crushing it under his heel.

“Y/N,” he started, immediately commanding your attention, “Ab tum iss ghar ki bahu ho. Jo bhi uss Pappu ka karna hai hum dekh lenge”. 

He pointed his chin towards Uzair, “Ek saal se dekh raha hu ki mera bhai kuch zyaada hi khush hai. Pehle bahut sehma rehta tha, bahut gusse mein-”

“Bhai,” Uzair tried interrupting him, only to be silenced by a look.

“Bas yeh kehna chahta hun, ki tum ne iski zindagi badal di hai. Tum itna khayal rakhti ho, aur iss baar issne bhi tumhara itna khayal rakha”.

Your eyes started to well up, and you squeezed his hand. He squeezed yours in return.

“Jaise hi pata chala tum bhaag chali, isne Donge aur Siyahi ko tumhare waldin ke paas bhej diya unki hifazat ke liye”.

Uzair stiffened, and you looked up.

You turned to look at your husband, taking in the fact that while you were stressing over reaching him, his first move had been to take care of your family - like his own.

Immediately noticing it, Rehman asked, “Tune bataya nahi bachchi ko?”

“Bhai, maine kaha Donga khayal rakhega. Woh khud bhaag kar aayi thi, kuch kaam main bhi karu na?”

Rehman smiled and shook his head, “Abey gadhe, isse fikr hui hogi, bata toh deta”. He placed a warm palm on your head, before moving away, “Ulfat keh rahi thi tum dono mashroof ho-”

“Bhai!” Uzair yelled, turning red, as Rehman walked away chuckling.

You turned towards Uzair, “Tumne puri baat batayi bhi nahi?”

“Tum bas tab hi bhaag kar aayi thi aur Arshad Pappu ke bhatije ki maar peet ke baare mein tumhe bataya bhi nahi tha maine”.

Your lower lip trembled and you hugged him, “Shukriya Uzair”.

“Pyaar mein no sorry, no thank you,” he quipped, bursting into laughter when you pushed him.

—

Two days later, you stood at Cheel Chowk, looking up horrified.

“Yeh kya hai?” you whipped around towards Hamza, “Yeh kya bakwaas hai?”

Hamza’s gaze went up to where yours had been a second ago, “Sher-e-Baloch ka ailaan”.

You were no stranger to posters in Lyari. You had seen thousands of them growing up - in fact, you still teased Uzair about the poster with his and Rehman’s faces, where they both looked like they had been dragged through mud.

But now, to see your face next to Uzair’s with 

CONGRATULATIONS Y/N AND UZAIR BALOCH

HAPPY MARRIED LIFE

written under it made you shudder in horror.

“At least mujhe pooch lete toh achchi tasveer de deti. Hum dono ki saath me deti! Yeh kya hai,” you grabbed Hamza’s collar and tried to shake him.

You turned to Uzair who smiled softly as he gazed at the poster, “Tum kab sudhroge! Kuch toh kaho!”

Uzair turned to Hamza, “Hamza, baad me yeh poster apne factory me mere cabin me lagwa dena!”

“Ya Allah!” you screeched, “Uzair hum hazaar aur tasveerein kheench lenge, please isse chhod do!”

He calmly wrapped his arm around your waist, “Jaana, yeh pehli poster hai jisme humaare nikaah ka ailaan kiya gaya hai. Main dafan hounga toh bhi is hi ke saath”.

You didn’t know if that was morbid or romantic, so you settled for the latter, and kissed his cheek.

—

“Uzair,” you said to him later in your room as you got ready for bed, “Kya main ammi aur abbu se mil sakti hun?”

Uzair, who was towelling his hair dry, paused and turned towards you, “Jaana, unhe Gadani mein Ulfat bhabhi ke bhai ke ghar me rakha hai. Wahaan abhi toh nahi jaa sakte - jab tak Arshad Pappu yahaan ghoom raha hai”.

You pouted and stared at your hands, “Un se baat bhi nahi hui hai. Maafi maangna chahti hun, aur batana chahti hun ki mera shohar kitna achcha hai”.

You felt the bed dip next to you as he sat down and placed an arm around you, “Bas kuch aur din. Bas Pappu ke kuch karne ka intezaar hai. Phir khud unhe Lyari le aaunga”.

You rested your head against his shoulder before shooting up, “Par phone pe toh baat kar sakti hun na?”

He looked at you dumbfounded, probably wondering why he hadn’t thought of it. You stared at each other for another second, before he scrambled to get his phone out and call Donga.

“Donge? Haan haan, bata dunga Hamza ko ke match dekhe. Woh sab chhod, mere- mere sasur se baat karana,” he stuttered.

You snatched the phone from him, “Abbu?”

“Beta?” your father’s voice crackled through the phone, “Y/N?”

The relief that coursed through brought tears to your eyes, “Abbu? Aap theek toh hain?” 

Before he could reply, a dam burst within you, “Abbu, mujhe please maaf karein. Main jaanti hun aap ko bahut taqleef di hai maine. Par Abbu, main uss jaahil janwar se nikaah nahi kar sakti thi. Mujhe sirf aur sirf Uzair pasand hai aur-”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, “Aur hum ne nikaah kar liya hai. Abbu, sorry, par mere paas aur koi raasta nahi tha!”

There was silence on the other end, before your father huffed, “Pata hai humein. Donga bhai ne humein Cheel Chowk wala poster dikhaya-”

His next words were drowned out by your mother’s laughter.

“Ammi!” you scolded, “Aap hasna bandh karein! Itni gandi si photo thi, mere baalon mein tel lagaya hua tha!”

“Y/N,” your mother cooed, “Tumhare bhaagne ke pehle hum bhi soch rahe the ki iss masle se kaise nikaalein tumhe. Jab pata chala ki tum bhaag gayi toh humein bahut darr tha ki kahin Arshad Pappu tumhein dhoondh na lein. Phir jab Uzair ka phone aaya-”

You turned to Uzair, who had been creeping closer and trying to listen in, “Tumne unse baat bhi ki?”

“Haan haan, baat ki aur kaha ki humein abhi ke abhi Lyari se nikalna hoga,” your mother said, “Humein sahi-salamat yahaan pahuncha diya”.

“Ammi, aap mujhse khafa toh nahi hai na?”

“Bilkul nahi, meri jaan. Aur ab pata bhi hai ki tumhara shohar tumhara itna khayal rakhta hai, toh humein kya pareshani?”

Tears started to stream down your face as you thanked your parents over and over, while Uzair pressed his lips against your temple.

After promising to see each other soon, you finally hung up, before kissing your husband, “Shukriya”.

He pinched your waist, “Kaha tha na, pyaar mein no sorry, no thank you”.

—

The air in the haveli had suddenly gotten heavier over the last two days. The men had been in and out with serious faces, and Uzair was spending an increasing amount of time outside.

Until the third day, he interrupted your chai time with Ulfat, “Kuch baat karni hai”.

You followed him to your room and sat on the bed, gesturing for him to start.

“Tumhara ghar Nawaz Lane mein hain. Woh Arshad Pappu ka area hai”.

You exhaled, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Usne apne aadmi tumhare ghar ke chaaron taraf rakhein hain. Toh agar tum ya tumhare waldin aayein toh tumhe…” he trailed off, leaving you to imagine the rest.

“Toh- toh ammi aur abbu ghar nahi aa sakte?” you asked.

His jaw tightened, “Bilkul nahi. Bhai kuch soch rahe hain. Jab final hoga toh bataunga”.

He finally sat next to you, “Tumhe bata raha hun kyunki tumse wada kiya tha ki sab bataunga. Par agar yeh tumhare liye zyaada hai toh bata do”. 

You took his hand in yours, “Nahi. Main bahut khushqismat hun ki mera shohar meri itni baat manta hai. Tum plan kar ke batao kya kar sakte hain. Mujhe ammi aur abbu se milne ka bahut mann hai”.

—

You were pacing the floor and occasionally looking at the clock.

4 AM.

Uzair and Rehman were nowhere to be found. Uzair had called you, briefly, at 10 to tell you a plan was underway and he’d come home soon.

Ulfat had put the boys to sleep and was now watching you from the corner of the couch, “Woh aa jayenge”.

“Haan, bhabhi, aa toh jayenge, par sahi salamat toh aayein!”

Ulfat stayed silent.

An hour later, you heard the screech of tires, and shouting.

You ran out to see Hamza helping Uzair out of the jeep. When he straightened, you saw the front of Uzair’s kurta covered in blood.

You weakly asked, “Yeh tumhara toh nahi hai, na?”

“Jaan,” Uzair looked genuinely surprised to see you, “Tum abhi bhi jagi ho?”

“Uzair, kya hua?”

“Chaaku lag gaya hai isse,” Hamza grunted, taking all of Uzair’s weight, “Yeh baat andar karein?”

You quickly ushered them in, and Ulfat stood up to make space for Uzair.

Rehman walked in and looked at Ulfat gravely, “Doctor ko bulaya hai”.

You looked up from where you were crouched next to your husband, “Rehman bhai, kya hua?”

Uzair groaned next to you, “Hum Arshad Pappu ke bhatije ko uthane gaye the-” the rest of his sentence turned into a yelp as you hit his arm, before rubbing the spot.

“Tum pagal ho? Us ne hi yeh sab shuru kiya tha aur tum phir uske paas gaye?”

“Maaf karna, Y/N, par shuru tumne kiya tha jab tumne usse thappad mara,” Hamza interrupted tiredly, shutting up when you glared at him.

“Hum ne docks me Pappu ke maal ko aag lagaya taai woh aa jaye aur uske bhatije ko hum utha lein,” Uzair continued, as you helped him sit up.

“Phir?” your voice quivered as you drew your hands back, tinged with his blood.

“Aag lagi, aur Pappu aa gaya. Par uske ghar me humein woh bhatija nahi mila,” Rehman said, taking a seat next to Uzair.

“Kahaan tha?” you asked, voice small, gaze still on your hands.

“Docks pe, uske saath. Uss hi ne mujhe chaaku mara,” Uzair said.

“Toh usse uthaya nahi?”

“Oh, nahi, uske chaaku marne ke baad usse utha liya. Abhi woh warehouse me pit raha hai”.

The doctor arrived just then, and you were all ushered outside while he looked at Uzair.

“Bhai,” you softly said to Rehman, “Yeh sab meri galti hai. Agar aap ko sahi lage, toh main khud jaa kar Arshad Pappu se maafi maang leti hun”.

“Woh maafi nahi dega. Usse ek mauqa mil gaya hai hum se ladai karne ka. Aur ab toh uska bhatija bhi humare paas hai”.

“Bhai, toh ab? Mere ammi aur abbu abhi bhi Gadani mein hain”.

Rehman lit a cigarette and looked at you, “Tum befikr raho. Uzair ka khayal rakho. Ab bhatija humare paas hai. Pappu apne ghutno mein uski zindagi ki bheek maangne aayega”.

—

You had held yourself together remarkably well.

But the second it was just you and Uzair in your room, the dam burst.

You started to sob, and he held you close, “Y/N, main zinda hun”.

“Zinda ho, yeh kaafi nahi hai! Sahi salamat bhi hona chahiye. Meri wajah se tumhe aaj chaaku laga,” you cried.

“Jaan, tumhari wajah se nahi, woh Pappu ke bhatije ki wajah se hua. Aur ab toh woh humare paas hai”.

“At what fucking cost, Uzair?” Your hands shook as you stared at them, “Main ghar se bhaag aayi, hum ne nikaah kiya,” you looked back up at him, “Aur ab mere shohar ko chaaku laga hai. Do you understand what I’m going through? Mere waldin toh apne ghar bhi nahi aa sakte kyunki maine itni badi bewakoofi ki”.

“Jaan,” he sighed, kissing your temple, “Tum ne usse thappad isiliye maara kyunki woh ladkiyon ko chhed raha tha. Tum ne kuch galat nahi kiya”. He pulled back and looked at you, “Aur rahi baat uski saza ki, woh hum dekh lenge”.

“Uzair, usse marna mat. Aaj tumhe chaaku laga hai. Kal Hamza ko goli lagegi. Kyun? Kis liye?”

He looked at you with no answer.

Just as you placed your hand on his, you heard angry voices in the foyer. Quickly wrapping your dupatta around you, you turned to Uzair, “Neeche aane ki sochna bhi mat”. He rolled his eyes, and you amended your words, “Dhyaan se aana. Main jaldi jaa rahi hun”.

You ran down the stairs, stopping behind one of the pillars in the main entrance, eyes widening.

In the middle of the hall stood Arshad Pappu. You had seen the posters of course, but tonight he looked haggard, the many necklaces around his neck almost looking like they were weighing him down.

“Mere bhatije ko chhod de, Rehman, warna mujhse bura koi nahi hoga,” he hissed.

Rehman stood cooly, hands in pockets, “Jo karna hai kar le. Yaad rakh, tera sagga mere paas hai”.

“Puri Lyari jala dunga”.

“Jala de. Tere bhatije ko hum jala denge. Waise,” he lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, “Suna hai woh tere bhai ka eklauta aulad hai? Pata nahi tere bhai ko kaisa lagega jab usse pata chalega ki tereiwajah se uska beta jal kar raakh ho gaya”.

Pappu started to visibly sweat, “Dekh Rehman, chhod de use. Yeh hum dono ke beech ki baat hai”.

“Nahi. Ab mere khandaan ki baat hai”.

You stiffened, eyes tearing up as the weight of the words landed on you. Behind you, Uzair had finally come down and put his hand on your shoulder for a brief moment before walking into the hall.

“Uzair saale, yeh sab teri wajah se-” Pappu started, only to be cut off by Uzair’s scoff. 

“Meri biwi ke peeche aane ki jurrat ki? Aur phir mujhe chaaku mara? Tujhe shukr karna chahiye ki tera bhatja ab tak zinda bhi hai”.

He placed a hand on his chest, where the bandages rested and looked towards you, before turning back to Pappu, “Agar apne bhatije ko zinda dekhna chahta hai toh Karachi se nikal. Aur phir kabhi wapis nahi aana”.

“Saale, tujhe kya lagta hai tu bolega nikal aur main nikal jaunga?” Pappu roared.

“Baat nahi maanega toh tere bhatije ko zinda gaadh denge”.

There was a long silence. You could see him calculate all his options. From what you knew, after Babu Dakait’s murder, the Baloch family controlled two-thirds of Lyari, and had direct ties to Zarwari. Pappu wouldn’t survive.

He took a deep breath and hung his head low, “Peshawar me humara abai ghar hai. Hum wahaan chale jayenge”.

“Aur tere pahunchte hi tera bhatija tujhe wahaan sahi salamat milega,” Rehman said with finality.

Pappu looked like he wanted to argue, but held his tongue. With a final dirty look towards Uzair, he turned on his heels and left.

The relief was palpable. Uzair turned towards you, and asked across the room, “Ab samajh gayi na kya hone wala hai?”

When you looked on in confusion, Rehman smirked, “Ab pure Lyari mein Balocho ki hukumat hogi”.

—

You sat under the awning of your old garden, waiting for your parents to arrive.

Uzair had personally gone to Gadani to escort them back home.

When you heard the rumble of the engine at the gate, you ran out to the entrance. When your parents exited the car, you rushed towards them and engulfed them in a hug, “Ammi! Abbu! Ab dono theek hain?”

“Bilkul, meri bachchi,” your father stroked your hair, “Humare damad ne humara bahut khayal rakha”.

You looked up to see Uzair softly smile at you, while the tips of his ears turned red. You went over and hugged him carefully, making sure to avoid the bandages, “Shukriya”.

You hadn’t thought long and hard before escaping your house, but now, as you looked up at the man, you knew that loving Uzair - being embroiled in his world - would never be easy.

But as he looked down at you with the same shy smile from the chai stall in Saddar, you knew you’d climb out of the window all over again.

── .✦

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[bitter-sweet-archive]

Hi I really liked your "Mughe pehli si mohabbat" series. It's my humble request to you - please continue that series. I really liked it. Plzz 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🥺🥺🥺😭

Hi lovey,

First off, it makes me so happy to hear you enjoy the series! Thank you for reading it, its always special to me since it is my first piece of writing on here!

I'm so sorry that I cannot promise an exact timeline or even if it will ever get finished. I have been on hiatus from writing for a while. But I can promise that I will try my very best! If the magic writing fairy dust finds me again, I will use it to write a chapter of Mujhse Pehli Si Mohabbat first and foremost.

Sending you lots of love ♥️

[bitter-sweet-archive]

Missing you like hell dude, hope youre doing good❤️❤️

Awwwww 🥺🥺🥺

I miss my lovey doveys too!! Thank you for thinking of me while I've been gone! I hope your magical self is doing well!

Sending you bucket loads of love ♥️

[bitter-sweet-archive]

I write this from the bottom of my heart….when i first joined this community one of the first fanfics ive ever read were yours and that gave me so much comfort and joy and its hard to put in words….i really appreciate you and your fanfics.I hope you take a wonderful break and have a wonderful life… but a tiny selfish part of me will always wait for you to comeback ❤️❤️😔🥹will miss you ily babe,good luck❤️❤️

*wipes tears*

This was SUCH a sweet message to find after logging on. I truly cannot thank you enough for your kind words and for giving me so much love! I would be nothing without kind readers like you who take precious time out of your days to not only read my silly little writing but also to comment and send such lovely messages. For the last little while, the only thing that kept me motivated to write was lovely humans such as yourself. So thank you for being my muse!

Lots of love to you my love ♥️

[bitter-sweet-archive]

Call Me Baba

Uzair Baloch x OC x OC!Daughter

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Author's Note: Guess who's (temporarily) backkk?! This piece has been sitting in my drafts for 2 months but I was never satisfied with it so I thought what better way to ease back into writing than by editing a piece that has already been written. Not sure I am happy with it but I think 2 months later, it ain't getting any better than this. But what better way to come back than with my cutie pie Ghazal! I hope you enjoy this little slice of self-indulgent heaven! Alright logging off again so I don't drive myself crazy fussing over this. Much love to all my loves 💋

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Haveli was breathing with the slow, rhythmic hum of a Sunday afternoon, the kind of stillness that only settles when the sun is high and the belly is full. In the dining room, the air was warm with the lingering scent of spices and saffron. Zaara and Ulfat moved in a practiced, quiet dance, the gentle clink of silverware against china echoing softly as they cleared the remnants of lunch.

Across the hall, the drawing room felt like a different world, cooler, hushed, and thick with the comforting, masculine scent of old parchment and the faint, woody trail of Rehman’s expensive tobacco. Rehman himself was nearly invisible, buried behind the broad sheets of his newspaper, the occasional crisp, authoritative snap of a page the only sign that he was tracking the world’s events.

In the centre of the room, Uzair provided the only source of kinetic energy. He was pacing the length of the ornate Persian rug, his large frame casting a long shadow against the sun-streaked floorboards. His phone was pressed to his ear, his voice a low, gravelly rumble as he navigated the city's complexities, his brow furrowed, his jaw set in that hard.

It was a scene of perfect domestic clockwork, a delicate balance of peace and power, until the heavy silence of the hallway was punctured by a bright, skipping rhythm. The sound of small, energetic feet slapping against the marble grew louder, accompanied by the faint jingle-jingle of the tiny silver bells on her anklets, signalling that the whirlwind had arrived.

“Uzair!”

The name cut through the heavy, Sunday stillness like a lightning strike. The house froze. In the dining room, the rhythmic clink of china ceased instantly, leaving a glass-sharp silence in its wake. Zaara’s hand paused mid-air, a porcelain saucer hovering over the table, while Ulfat’s eyes widened in a look of pure, bewildered shock.

Across the hall, the broad sheets of the newspaper in Rehman’s hands went rigid. Even the smoke from his tobacco seemed to curl more slowly as he peered over the top of the paper, his usually unflappable expression replaced by a look of sheer, delighted disbelief.

Uzair stopped mid-stride, his heavy boots coming to a dead halt on the edge of the Persian rug. The phone remained pressed to his ear, but his voice simply vanished. His entire frame locked into place, muscles tensing under his shirt as if he’d been turned to stone by the sheer audacity of that tiny voice. In these halls, his name had never been uttered by that specific, high-pitched voice. To that voice, he was only ever Baba.

“Uzair!”

The voice was closer now, rounded the corner with all the casual confidence of a toddler who owned the floorboards. That second call snapped Uzair out of his trance. He didn't even say goodbye, he just muttered a clipped, “Main baad mein karta hoon,”  and lowered the phone, staring down at his daughter in a state of pure, bewildered shock.

Ghazal came to a stop right in front of him, her tiny hands planted firmly on her hips. She looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes, her head tilted to the side as she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. She didn't understand why the air in the room had suddenly turned to lead, she was just wondering why her favourite person was taking so long to answer.

Zaara emerged from the dining room, the mulmul of her dupatta fluttering behind her as she walked toward the centre of the room. Her eyes were wide, dancing with a volatile mix of maternal horror and suppressed hilarity. She reached Ghazal and knelt down on the rug, her knees clicking in the sudden silence. With a soft, lingering touch, she brushed a stray silken strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, her thumb grazing a rosy cheek. Her voice, when it finally came, was a strained, shaky blend of amusement and much-needed correction.

“Meri jaan,” Zaara started, her lips twitching uncontrollably as she tried to maintain a ‘teaching moment’ face. “Aap Baba ko naam se nahi bula sakte. Bilkul nahi. Yeh achi baat nahi hoti.” 

Ghazal’s response was instantaneous. Her tiny brow furrowed into that sharp, serious V-shape, the look she usually reserved for when her crayons snapped. She looked at her mother with genuine, unblinking confusion. “Kyun?”

Zaara took a slow, grounding breath, her mind racing to simplify the invisible social hierarchies of the Haveli for a three-year-old’s logic. “Kyunki...kyunki woh aap se bade hain. Aur woh aapke Baba hain, na? Unka rutba alag hai. Unka naam lene se... woh gussa ho sakte hain. Badtameezi hoti hai.” She gestured toward the sofa where the boys usually sat. “Jaise Naieem aur Faisal bhaiya Taya Abbu ko ‘Abba’ bulate hain, right? Woh unhe ‘Rehman’ toh nahi kehte? Agar woh unhe naam se bulayenge, toh Taya Abbu gussa honge.”

Ghazal’s gaze drifted toward the sofa, following her mother's hand. Rehman was fully visible now, the newspaper forgotten in his lap. His brow was arched, a visible, delighted smirk playing on his lips. He looked like a man who had just won the lottery, leaning forward slightly to catch every syllable of his cousin being dismantled by a toddler in a frock.

Ghazal looked back at her father, who was still standing there like a giant statue, watching her with a mixture of intense love and absolute bewilderment. She looked at his soft eyes, the gentle curve of his mouth, and the way he was practically vibrating with affection despite her ‘badtameezi.’ 

A triumphant, knowing smile broke across her small face. She turned her laser-focus back to Zaara, completely discarding the Taya Abbu example.

“Par Baba gussa nahi honge,” Ghazal declared with absolute, unwavering certainty, her little chin tilting up proudly. “Baba toh mujhse bohot pyaar karte hain. Woh mujh par kabhi gussa nahi hote. Toh main unhe Uzair bula sakti hoon!”

Uzair let out a weak, helpless sound in the background, entirely defeated by the fact that his daughter knew exactly how weak he was for her. From the sofa, Rehman let out a low, rumbling chuckle, completely undermining the lecture. “Baat toh sahi hai vaise” he called out, his eyes glittering with mischief as he looked at his cousin. “Bahaar toh bada sher bana phirta hai, aur apni beti ke samne abhi muh bhi nahi khul raha.” Uzair shot Rehman a look of profound betrayal.

Zaara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing out loud at Ghazal’s flawless logic and Rehman’s commentary. “Haan, Baba aap se bohot pyaar karte hain,” Zaara conceded “Lekin yeh baat galat hai.”

Ghazal looked back at her father, who was still standing there looking like a deer in headlights, and then turned her laser-focus back to Zaara. Suddenly, her eyes lit up, a triumphant “Aha!” moment dawning on her face. She had spotted the glaring hole in her mother’s argument.

“Par…" she started, her tone dropping into a logic-heavy, final pitch. “Par aap Baba ko Uzair bulati hai.”

Zaara let out a startled, melodic laugh that bubbled up from her chest, her head shaking in disbelief at the trap she had walked into. “Haan…” she managed. “Lekin woh isliye, kyunki woh mere shohar hain.”

Ghazal went quiet. The room held its breath again as the little girl tilted her head, her dark pigtails swaying as she processed this brand-new piece of information. She seemed to be weighing the word “shohar” against the word “Uzair.” Then, with a shrug of total nonchalance, as if she were simply asking for another strawberry, she asked:

“Toh...main apne shohar ko naam se bula sakti hoon?”

A strangled, guttural groan erupted from Uzair, the sound of a man who had survived power struggles and street wars only to be defeated by a three-year-old’s vocabulary. The paralyzed shock finally vanished, replaced instantly by a sudden, protective panic that made his heart hammer against his ribs.

He moved forward in two large, predatory strides. His large, calloused hands, hands that usually held the weight of weapons, reached out with surprising tenderness to scoop Ghazal up, hoisting her high into the absolute safety of his chest.

“Koi shohar-vohar nahi hoga,” he muttered, his voice a gruff, low rumble that vibrated right against her small ear. It was the tone of a man issuing a permanent decree, yet it was melting at the edges with a fierce, desperate affection.

He tucked her small, fragrant head into the warm crook of his neck, his palm splayed across the back of her skull as if physically shielding her from the very concept of growing up or ever leaving his side. “Khabardar,” he added with a mock-sternness that fooled no one. “Meri jaan hamesha apne Baba ke paas rahegi. Hamesha.” 

Ghazal didn't care about the logistics of names anymore. She just felt the familiar, cedar-scented warmth of his cotton kurta and the steady, comforting thrum of his voice against her cheek. The tension of her interrogation dissolved into a giggle. She wrapped her small, soft arms around his neck, squeezing with all her might, her bright, toothy smile pressing into his shoulder.

“Baba,” she whispered, the word a soft, perfect anchor that pulled him back from the ledge of his overprotective spiral.

Uzair closed his eyes, his shoulders finally dropping as his features relaxed into a genuine, tired smile. In the quiet of the sun-drenched drawing room, under the amused gaze of his family, he was relieved, even grateful, to just be Ghazal’s Baba again.

Rehman watched the scene from the depths of his armchair, the forgotten newspaper now resting squarely on his knees. He didn’t say a word, but the smirk on his face had softened into something much deeper, something profoundly quiet. He looked at Uzair, the boy he had raised, the hardened orphan who had spent his life building a suit of armour out of silence and steel. Rehman had seen that boy grow into a man whose name was whispered with caution in the dark corners of the city, a man who had forgotten how to be soft because the world had never been soft to him. Yet here he was, reduced to a sputtering, overprotective mess because a four-year-old in a yellow frock. Seeing Uzair’s large, scarred hand cradling Ghazal’s head as if she were the most fragile glass in the world was the only proof Rehman ever needed, the boy who had lost everything had finally found a home that didn't require him to be a soldier.

Zaara, still kneeling on the rug, looked up at the two of them, the mountain of a man and the tiny whirlwind tucked against his neck. The suppressed hilarity in her eyes had shifted into a warm, shimmering glow. She watched the way Uzair’s jaw, usually so tight it could crack stone, had completely relaxed against Ghazal’s hair. She saw the fierce, unyielding devotion in the way he held her, as if he were trying to pull her into his very skin to keep her safe from the world. A quiet, profound sense of peace settled over her. She thought back to the fear and the uncertainty of their beginning, and then she looked at the father her daughter was currently clinging to. I’m so glad it was you, she thought, a small, secret smile touching her lips. I’m so glad she has a heart like yours to grow up in.

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Taglist: @geometric-circle @dc-reign @shotsyfeather @avasif @i-am-yourmom @ooopssssu @desi-brownie @bloo3moon @tarininini-2308 @akinrawsx @12tan20 @ennarasc @esotericdomain @mariaaysbusjs @rini4everdreaming @hairandjhumkhasintheverandah @mainyahaankyunhoon @shadyalpaca13 @taliareads @losraire @rehmandakaitswife @manjari08 @orion067 @tanipartner @noone1233nobody @drowning-in-deadlines @between-smoke-and-roses @so-arttt-deco @perfectcherryblossomrebel @layinglowkey @insidellamakid @pavbhajisupremacist @scentedwolfdragon @softurns @lylacthenian @curiousbutbored @goldenharrysworld @ninnimouse @angelicyuna @velvetdakait @tojisloft @beardedcoffeefun @gulaabjamun08 @miraclejin1204 @carmenred28 @inkaurishq @mischiefmanaged666 @buchanana00 @moonysscar @bobcuts-blog @mrgrungusthefrog @theuselessdaydreamingidiot @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon

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T's Tiny Twinkling Thoughts ✨

Hello lovey doveys,

For those that were asking for when the remaining chapters of Mujhse Pehli Si Mohabbat would be rewritten and re-uploaded...they are FINALLY up! Chapter 4 and 5 have now been rewritten and are no longer garbage nonsense, tehe! 😋

Anddd with that, I bid you all adieu for now! I'm going to be logging off for a bit so I wanted to express my gratitude before I go. Thank you for giving my work so much love these past few months; it truly warms my heart to know I could spread a little joy in our quiet corner of the internet. 🥺 Writing has held a special place in my heart since I was a little girl - I’ve always loved its power to let us escape reality for a different world. For me, putting pen to paper (or fingers to keys in this case) has always been a reprieve from life and its struggles. Thank you for giving me the chance to turn my safe haven into something so much more than a hobby. Since my stories always have bits and pieces of me peeking through the words, in case you miss me while I’m gone, you can always find me between the sentences!

For anyone that has sent me a request, I am still holding onto those in case I feel inspired to write again while I'm off. I'm truly sorry if I could not get to your request, please know that I tried my very best!

You can still message me or send in asks, and please continue to tag me! I'm sure I'll pop in again soon to read all your lovely fics! But until then, take care of your lovely adorable selves! You ALWAYS have me cheering you on! You are magic, so keep being you and spreading your sparkle wherever you go! 🫶🏻

Much love to all my loves ♥️

Tagging all my loves to express my gratitude!

Taglist: @geometric-circle @dc-reign @shotsyfeather @avasif @i-am-yourmom @ooopssssu @desi-brownie @bloo3moon @tarininini-2308 @akinrawsx @12tan20 @ennarasc @esotericdomain @mariaaysbusjs @rini4everdreaming @hairandjhumkhasintheverandah @mainyahaankyunhoon @shadyalpaca13 @taliareads @losraire @rehmandakaitswife @manjari08 @orion067 @tanipartner @noone1233nobody @drowning-in-deadlines @between-smoke-and-roses @so-arttt-deco @perfectcherryblossomrebel @layinglowkey @insidellamakid @pavbhajisupremacist @scentedwolfdragon @softurns @lylacthenian @curiousbutbored @goldenharrysworld @ninnimouse @angelicyuna @velvetdakait @tojisloft @beardedcoffeefun @gulaabjamun08 @miraclejin1204 @carmenred28 @inkaurishq @mischiefmanaged666 @buchanana00 @moonysscar @bobcuts-blog @mrgrungusthefrog @theuselessdaydreamingidiot @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon

[bitter-sweet-archive]

well i just wanted to say that whatever’s going on will pass and i know overthinking is a bitch !! but you’re stronger and more amazing and mwaah 🫵 (sorry my brain is broken)

*captures u in a hug*

my cutie pie I absolutely adore you for this 🥺🫶🏻 if the goal was to make me cry - congratulations, im weeping in love! YOU'RE amazing, an academic weapon and just so freaking scrumptious! sending bucket loads of love to you, your broken (I refuse to believe its broken but okay) brain AND BRUCE 🫵🏻♥️

[bitter-sweet-archive]

GOING TO READ YOUR FIC IN A MIN BUT I DID NIT WANT TO LOSSE THE CHANCE OF BEING YOUR DIALOGUE WRITER

Meeeeeee

EEEKKKKKK

You have unlocked a lifetime of love and firstborn naming privileges. Double-tap to redeem your offer 🫵🏻💋

[bitter-sweet-archive]

testststststs can i be added to ur uzair taglist :3

My lovey dovey, you have been added! Whenever I come back and post again, you will be pinged! Mwah to my reblog queen 💋

[bitter-sweet-archive]

helloo I read 4s a crowd and could I please get more like that? a little angsty where gazhal feels scared and replaced despite loving her little brother and idk maybe uzair and zaara angst regarding her?

Hi lovey,

Sorry for the very late response but unfortunately Zaara and Ghazal are on vacation in my brain and I am not sure when they will return, I'm so sorry! Furthermore, I am taking a break from writing 🥺

But I will keep your request in my mind in case inspiration ever strikes again and I find myself back to writing! Thank you for reading and for sending in the request, I appreciate it so so much even if I can't write it at the moment!

Much love to you 💋

[bitter-sweet-archive]

Hey Tessa babe

I aaw your author's note. I guess life is really being a bitch to you right now

So this is my attempt to make you feel a little (nano bit) 🤏better

Presenting Tessa's life atm ft THE KARDASHIANS

Tessa baby girl feeling all the feels and not the good ones

Tessa meets Overthinking

Tessa finally decides enough is enough

Tessa confronting people

Tessa has stopped giving a Fu*k

Girlies encouraging Tessa

Meanwhile Me (Kris) with Tessa (Khloe). Guys Tessa is so done with people

#please don't kill me

#okay bye

#disappearing before getting caught

#Remember I am the founder of MJU

#Ghazal please save me

Oh. Em. Gee.

You sweet sweet sweet human, you’re going to make me cry 🥺 this is so incredibly thoughtful and you are such a sweetie pie! The fact that you took precious time out of your day to write this for me…*phew deep breath tessa, dont cry*

I know that in our busy busy lives, time is of the utmost value so the fact that you took time out of your day to think of silly ol’ me and send this, truly melts my heart! Thank you for your kindness, not just today, but in every single interaction! I hope the kindness you put out into the world finds its way back to you tenfold and you are made to feel as special as I do right now all because of you 🫶🏻

This made me feel so so so much better! I hope you know my heart is giving you the biggest hug right now and sending you so much love 🫶🏻😭

I love you meri jaan, the founder of Meri Jaan United 🫶🏻♥️

[bitter-sweet-archive]

Where the Rapids Roar

Hamza Ali Mazari x Reader

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Author's Note: T's brain wants to quit tumblr because it's an insecurity exploiting, self sabotaging, devious little bitch but this is my attempt at telling my brain to stfu and fuck off. Sooo, what better way to challenge your brain than to write for a whole new character? It's not great but alas, here we are. Also, I have accepted that I cannot write dialogue so if anyone wants to be my dialogue writer, i'll reward you with my love forevermore and firstborn naming rights. PUH-LEASE let me know how this is before I lose my will to live and disappear into a void. Much love 💋

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The wind was a wild, unruly thing, a howling gale that shrieked past them as they tore through the silence of the desert. It whipped her hair into a frenzied dance of silken strands, lashing across her face and stinging her cheeks with the salt-heavy air of the nearby Arabian Sea. They were piercing through the atmosphere at high speed, the Makran Coastal Highway stretching out before them like a sun-bleached ribbon of asphalt, shimmering with heat haze as it cut through the ancient, jagged heart of Hingol National Park.

Beneath them, the heavy frame of the bike thrummed with a raw, mechanical heartbeat. She could feel the powerful vibration of the engine rattling through her bones, a low-frequency growl that seemed to echo the primal energy of the landscape.

Behind him, she was a small, insistent weight, her fingers interlaced and white-knuckled over his stomach. She clutched his waist so tightly that she could feel the hard, rhythmic expansion of his ribs and the steady, iron-clad muscles of his abdomen with every breath he took. Feeling her slight tremble as the wind battered them, Hamza reached down with one hand, momentarily letting go of the handlebar to cover her locked fingers. With a sudden movement, he grabbed one of her hands from around his waist and hauled it higher, pulling her arm tighter against him until her palm rested flat across the centre of his chest.

The move was deliberate and grounding, pulling her body forward until she was molded completely against his back. She felt the sudden, intoxicating rush of his warmth, a radiant heat that defied the biting coastal wind, as she was pressed flush against the broad, solid planes of his frame. There wasn't a breath of air between them now, she was tucked securely into his shadow, anchored by the thrumming heat of his heart beneath her hand and the steady strength of the man.

Hamza leaned into a sharp, sweeping curve, the bike tilting at a dizzying angle that brought the rushing pavement terrifyingly close to her knees. Her stomach dropped, that fleeting sensation of weightlessness making her heart hammer against her ribs. She let out a frantic, breathless laugh, burying her face into the sturdy expanse of his back, the scent of his leather jacket mixed with the dry, dusty air. He swerved again, a deliberate, playful tilt designed to tease a shriek out of her, relishing the way she instinctively squeezed his chest harder.

His large, broad-shouldered frame acted as a formidable shield, a solid wall of muscle and leather that absorbed the brunt of the punishing gale. To the world, he was a force of nature, but for her, he was a pocket of absolute stillness. While the wind roared and tore at her clothes, the front of her body was pressed into his radiating heat, a sanctuary of warmth against the biting, high-speed chill of the coast.

On either side of them, the landscape was a masterpiece of beautiful desolation. Rugged, mud-contoured mountains rose like the skeletal spires of a forgotten cathedral, their beige surfaces sculpted into impossible, twisted shapes by eons of salt and wind. The terrain was alien and majestic, all sharp ridges and deep, shadowed canyons that looked like the surface of another planet, standing silent and indifferent as they blurred past on two wheels.

Hamza’s eyes scanned the horizon, narrowed against the glare, until he spotted a narrow, dusty trail veering off toward the valley floor. Without a word, he slowed the heavy machine, the roar of the engine deepening into a guttural purr as he pulled over, the tires crunching over the loose gravel at the edge of the asphalt.

She had already made him stop a dozen times, at every jagged peak and every strangely shaped rock formation, just to capture the way the light hit the silt-covered slopes. Despite the heat and the constant delay, he hadn't offered a single word of protest, his patience as vast and enduring as the Balochistan plains themselves.

Instead, he had simply leaned against the bike, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a quiet, observant intensity. He watched the way she scrambled over the rocks with a child-like giddiness, her eyes wide with wonder as she pointed out the way the shadows stretched long across the canyons or how the mineral-rich earth seemed to shimmer with a thousand hidden colours under the midday sun.. There was a softness in his gaze as he took in her excitement, a silent contentment in being the one to show her this wild, forgotten corner of the world.

This time, he stopped before she could even draw breath to ask, sensing the way she had leaned slightly in her seat and the way her grip on his chest had tightened with a sharp, inhaled breath when the cerulean river first carved its way into view.

As she slid off the bike, her legs feeling a bit wobbly from the vibration of the engine, she began smoothing her wind-tangled hair. She looked at him in genuine surprise, her eyes wide. “Arre, tum toh mere kehne se pehle hi ruk gaye. Tumhe kaise pata ke mujhe yahan rukna tha?”

Hamza kicked the stand down with a sharp clack, his dark hair messy and windswept, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look younger, less like the man that wielded a gun in his free time. He just smiled, a slow, effortless pull of his lips that felt like a secret.

“Itna sa toh jaan hi gaya hoon tumhe,” he murmured. The weight of the words hung in the air, it wasn't just about a scenic stop. It was the implication that he had been watching her, studying her rhythms and the way her mind worked, far more closely than she had realized.

She narrowed her eyes at him, searching for the punchline, for the flick of a smirk that would signal a tease. But his hazel eyes were a fortress. They were deep, swirling pools of amber and green that seemed to contain a world of depth she had barely begun to scratch the surface of. There was a quiet, ancient intelligence in his gaze, a layer of history and unspoken thought that remained firmly behind a veil. Every time she thought she had him figured out, he would reveal a new side of himself, a sudden gentleness or a sharp perception, that reminded her he was a maze she hadn't yet mapped.

He was incredibly hard to read, his expression a perfect, calm mask that only ever let her see what he allowed. It was frustrating and intoxicating all at once. Feeling her heart skip a beat under the sheer intensity of his focus, she had to look away before she got completely lost in the labyrinth of those eyes.

Turning quickly to hide the flush on her cheeks, she grabbed his large, calloused hand and yanked him along behind her. “Chalo janab, isse pehle ke tum sher-o-shayari karne lago,” she teased, her voice a little higher than usual as she led him down the gravel path.

They reached the shore where the cerulean rapids of the Hingol River churned violently against the weathered grey rocks, sending a fine, misty spray into the dry afternoon air. The water was a startling, vibrant blue, a stark contrast to the dusty tan of the surrounding canyons. She knelt at the very edge of the bank, her boots scuffing against the damp silt as she leaned forward.

Cupping her hands, she submerged them into the rush. The water was shockingly icy, a sharp, liquid fire that bit into her skin and sent a jolt of adrenaline through her system. It made her fingertips tingle and then go rapidly numb, the cold so intense it felt thick, like molten silver sliding through her grip. She watched the crystal-clear beads pool in her palms, trembling with the force of the current.

A mischievous spark suddenly lit her eyes, brighter than the sun reflecting off the rapids. She gathered a generous pool of the freezing water, her palms acting as a shallow bowl, and stood up with a sudden, coordinated burst of energy. With a flick of her wrists, she flung the droplets straight at him.

Hamza yelped, a rare sound of genuine shock, and tried to leap back, but he was far too slow for once. The water struck him with a wet splat. Tiny, shimmering diamonds of river water clung to his sun-warmed skin, dotting his forehead and getting lost in the dark thicket of his beard. One particularly large, heavy drop caught on the tip of his right lash. It hung there precariously, refracting the harsh Balochistan sun like a glinting orb of glass.

He froze, the cold water trickling down his cheek, but his expression shifted from surprise to something much more dangerous. A predatory glint slowly ignited in those hazel eyes, a dark, playful fire that promised a swift and thorough retaliation.

She turned to bolt, her boots skidding on the loose gravel as she let out a panicked, breathless gasp of laughter. But against Hamza, she never stood a chance. She could hear the heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots behind her, and in two predatory, ground-eating strides, he had closed the distance.

He collided with her from behind, a solid, overwhelming wall of heat and leather. Before she could even draw breath to scream, his arms hooked beneath hers, and he scooped her off her feet with effortless, terrifying strength. The world tilted as he hoisted her high against his chest, her feet dangling uselessly in the air. He began to pivot, swinging her out over the rocky ledge toward the churning, cerulean rapids as if he truly intended to hurl her into the icy depths.

“No! Hamza, no!” she shrieked, the sound bouncing off the ancient, sun-baked canyon walls. She twisted in his grip, her hands flying out to grab his forearms. Under her palms, his muscles were corded and unyielding, like heavy steel bands wrapped in warm skin. The sheer power in his hold was absolute,  she was completely encased in his strength, a bird caught in a golden cage.

“Sorry, sorry! Nahi karungi dobara!” she pleaded, her laughter turning into frantic, high-pitched giggles as he tipped her just an inch further toward the water. “Please chodd do, Hamza!”

He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, a deep, visceral sound that she felt vibrating through her own ribs and spine. The threat was a sham, a beautiful piece of theatre, and with one final, playful jolt, he swung her back toward the safety of the shore and set her feet onto the solid earth.

He didn't let go, though. He kept his arms draped loosely but possessively around her frame, anchoring her back against his chest. He leaned down, his face coming to rest in the hollow of her shoulder and neck. The sun-warmed, coarse texture of his thick beard tickled her sensitive skin, the scratchy domesticity of it sending a different kind of shiver, one that had nothing to do with the icy river, straight down her spine. The scent of him, sea salt, worn leather, and a hint of musk, enveloped her, more intoxicating than the thin mountain air.

“Ek toh main tumhe ghoomane laya hoon, aur tum mujhe hi chidha rahi ho?” he muttered, his husky voice a low, rough vibration that danced against the sensitive skin of her ear. He gave her a playful, mock-angry pull, his arms tightening to drag her flush against him until she could feel the steady, thumping cadence of his heart.

She twisted within the cage of his arms, her body spinning until she was facing him, her hands coming up to rest on his broad chest for balance. “Arre, maine sorry bola toh!” she countered, her eyes bright with lingering laughter.

Hamza, however, was committed to the bit. He deliberately avoided her gaze, turning his head sharply to the side. He raised his chin in a dramatic, stubborn pout, his jaw set in a line of faux-indignation that looked absurdly handsome against the backdrop of the rugged mountains.

She suppressed a smile at his theatrics, reaching out with a single finger to poke the centre of his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart. When he didn't budge, she deployed her final reserve. She tilted her head downward, forcing him to look down if he wanted to see her, and then peeked up through the dark, thick sweep of her lashes.

“Please? Maaf kardo?” she whispered, her voice softening into a sweet, melodic lilt.

The silence stretched for a heartbeat as Hamza fought a losing battle with his own resolve. He finally looked down, his eyes colliding with hers. The sheer force of her expression, that specific, sullen puppy-dog look, hit him like a physical weight. It was a weapon she used ruthlessly, a calculated vulnerability that bypassed every one of his defences. He looked into her wide, pleading eyes and felt the last of his mock-annoyance dissolve into a warm, helpless puddle.

“Ek sharat pe maaf karunga,” he said softly, his voice dropping into a register that was no longer teasing, but thick with a sudden, heavy intimacy.

She lifted an eyebrow, her heart skipping a beat at the change in his tone. “Kya?”

Hamza didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his large frame looming over her, bringing himself level until their breaths mingled in the small, heated space between them. The scent of the river and his skin was all-encompassing. He raised a hand, his index finger tapping his bottom lip twice in a slow, deliberate rhythm. A cheeky, devastating smile broke across his face, his hazel eyes flashing with a dare that made her breath hitch.

She shook her head, a soft, helpless smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looked into those mossy green eyes. In the unfiltered glare of the coastal sun, they were a vibrant, living green, the exact shade of the thick, velvet moss that clings to the bark of ancient cedar trees deep in a forest. They held that same ethereal glow, like the moment a rogue ray of golden sunshine finally breaks through a heavy canopy to illuminate the damp, secret earth below.

Her gaze dropped, focus shifting to his lips nestled within the dark, rugged shadow of his beard. The air between them felt charged, thick with the scent of sun-baked earth and the rhythmic roar of the rapids behind them. She leaned in, her movement tentative and soft, and placed a lingering peck on his lips. It was meant to be a quick peace offering, a light touch to seal the bargain before she retreated to the safety of the rocky shore.

But Hamza had other plans.

Before she could pull away, his hands moved with lightning precision. One palm slid up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her wind-blown hair to hold her steady, while his other arm cinched around her waist like a band of heated iron. He groaned low in his throat, a sound of pure, hungry possession, and took over the kiss, molding his lips to hers with a sudden, devastating urgency.

He was a large, looming shadow around her, a mountain of a man who effectively erased the rest of Balochistan from her view. She was encased within his strength, her smaller frame disappearing against the solid, unyielding planes of his chest.

Gravity seemed to shift, and she reached out to anchor herself, her hands traveling up the trunks of his arms. She traced the hard, undulating muscle of his biceps and shoulders before her fingers finally found their way to the nape of his neck, disappearing into the thick, silken strands of his hair. She pulled him closer, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his own, as the kiss deepened from a playful dare into something heavy, profound, and desperately sweet. In that moment, the roar of the river faded into nothingness, replaced by the thrum of his pulse and the overwhelming, territorial warmth of his embrace.

When he finally pulled back, her eyes remained closed for a heartbeat longer, her senses reeling from the sudden vacuum of his touch. The world felt tilted, the air cooler now that his lips had left hers. She could feel his gaze on her, not just a look, but a physical weight, heavy and silent, pressing against her skin with a staggering intensity.

Slowly, her lashes fluttered open. Hamza hadn't moved. He stood there, his large hands still resting possessively on her waist, framing her against the vastness of the park. Behind him, the pale, jagged mountains of Hingol rose up like ancient giants, their sun-bleached peaks standing rugged and enduring against the test of time, much like the man holding her.

But it was his face that arrested her. The usual mask of teasing indifference had completely shattered, leaving behind something raw and hauntingly exposed. His hazel eyes were no longer a maze, they were a storm of gold and moss-green, swirling with an expression she had never seen before, a mixture of profound longing and a quiet, aching reverence. He looked at her as if she were the only living thing in a desert of stone, his pupils blown wide, tracing every curve of her face as if he were trying to memorize her soul to survive a long winter.

The rapids roared behind them, a constant, churning thrum, and the faint, ghostly hum of a car passed down the highway high above, but here, in the shadow of the cliffs, the world was unnervingly still. She tilted her head in silent question, her heart skipping a beat as she tried to decipher the sudden gravity in his features. He looked vulnerable, yet more dangerous than ever in his honesty.

“Tum mujhe mere ghar ki yaad dilati ho,” he whispered, the words barely carrying over the sound of the water, yet sounding like a thunderclap in the silence between them.

She furrowed her brows, her mind racing to connect the dots. She looked at his rugged exterior, then at the harsh, beautiful landscape around them, confused how she, with her laughter and her city ways, could remind him of the rocky mountain ranges, the dry salty valleys, and the unforgiving limestone of Balochistan.

He did not elaborate. The shutter fell back into place, and she realized this was one of the many things he would keep locked away in the fortress of his eyes, a secret shared only with the wind.

What she didn't know was that the home she reminded him of was thousands of miles away, across a border he had crossed but never truly left. She didn't remind him of the dust or the stone. She reminded him of the crisp, biting breeze that swept through the emerald fields of Pathankot in the dead of winter, turning his cheeks red as a boy. She reminded him of the warm, sugary churi his mother would crush for him, feeding him from wrinkled, flour-dusted hands that smelled of love and woodsmoke. She reminded him of the scent of a fresh Punjab monsoon, the heavy, intoxicating fragrance of mitti when the first raindrops hit the parched earth, promising that despite the heat, life would always find a way to bloom again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist or if my silly silly self missed you!

Taglist: @geometric-circle @dc-reign @shotsyfeather @avasif @i-am-yourmom @ooopssssu @desi-brownie @bloo3moon @tarininini-2308 @akinrawsx @12tan20 @ennarasc @esotericdomain @mariaaysbusjs @rini4everdreaming @hairandjhumkhasintheverandah @mainyahaankyunhoon @shadyalpaca13 @taliareads @losraire @rehmandakaitswife @manjari08 @orion067 @tanipartner @noone1233nobody @drowning-in-deadlines @between-smoke-and-roses @so-arttt-deco @perfectcherryblossomrebel @layinglowkey @insidellamakid @pavbhajisupremacist @scentedwolfdragon @softurns @lylacthenian @curiousbutbored @goldenharrysworld @ninnimouse @angelicyuna @velvetdakait @tojisloft @beardedcoffeefun @gulaabjamun08 @miraclejin1204 @carmenred28 @inkaurishq @mischiefmanaged666 @buchanana00 @moonysscar @bobcuts-blog @mrgrungusthefrog @theuselessdaydreamingidiot @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon

[cache-e]

“I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.”

Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait in Letters

[bitter-sweet-archive]

Caught on Camera

Uzair Baloch x Reader

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Author's Note: The inevitable happened and I hit a writer's worst nightmare...writer's block *sigh* So here I am, trying to inspire myself and push through the writer's block with a short filthy little blurb (1.3k words) that was sitting half done until now. I don't know when/if I'll post again but if anyone has some magic writing fairy dust 🧚🏻‍♀️, please sprinkle some my way; I'll love you forever if you do. Much love to all my loves 💋 Warning: SMUT!!! Minors do not engage! Literally zero plot, just a dirty filthy nasty blurb.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Uzair trailed his lips down the soft plane of her stomach, his descent slow and agonizingly deliberate. He peppered soft, nipping kisses against her heated skin, his teeth grazing the delicate jut of her hip bones just enough to make her breath hitch in a rhythmic, needy stutter. He lingered there, his beard a rough caress against her velvet-soft skin, relishing the way her muscles jumped and quivered under his touch.

As he reached the dark, honeyed heat of her core, he didn't rush. He lingered in the valley of her thighs, his hot breath ghosting over her damp skin until she was whimpering, her hips doing a restless, searching dance against the emerald silk. With a calm, possessive authority, he slid his hand between her legs. His long, calloused fingers moved with a craftsman’s patience, slowly parting her trembling, swollen folds. He took his time, feeling the slick, feverish friction of her against his skin, stretching her open inch by agonizing inch until she was exposed completely to the flickering amber lamplight.

The visual was a feast of surrender, and he drank it in. He looked up, locking his dark, molten gaze onto hers, maintaining a fierce, heavy eye contact as he slowly brought his face closer to her centre. The air between them crackled with a silent, suffocating tension, the only sound the sound of her uneven breathing. In one fluid, carnal motion, he let a thick, silver bead of saliva fall directly onto her clit. He watched, mesmerized and utterly undone, as the liquid lathered her hypersensitive folds and began to drip down her slick skin in a slow, shimmering trail.

He didn't wait to recover from the sight. He brought his lips down, wrapping them firmly around the sensitive, throbbing bud of nerves and sucking with a rhythmic, grounding force that seemed to pull the very soul out of her.

She jolted violently, a soft, high-pitched “aah” breaking from her lips as her back arched off the deep green silk. He followed the suction by flicking the bud with his tongue, fast, back and forth, a precise, unrelenting friction that made her vision blur and her head swim. Then, he pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes never leaving hers, and blew a cool, steady breath onto her drenched, overstimulated core.

The air was a sharp, biting contrast to the feverish heat radiating from her skin. The sensation sent a violent shiver racing up her spine, the sudden cooling of the moisture he’d left behind acting as a conductor for every nerve ending he had just ignited. It was a sensory shock that felt like a physical strike; her breath hitched in her throat, catching in a series of tiny, desperate hitches. Her toes clenched instinctively around the deep green silk, the fabric bunching under her heels, as her body vibrated with a frantic, unspent energy that begged for him to finish what he had started.

She looked down at him, her chest heaving, her eyes pleading for the return of his warmth. He lingered for a heartbeat longer, watching the way her skin puckered and reacted to the chill, before he closed the distance again.

Her head fell back against the pillows, a broken, melodic gasp escaping her as he buried his face between her thighs with a sudden, predatory hunger. The relief was instantaneous and overwhelming. Her fingers instinctively dove into the thick, dark waves of his hair, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the strands with a primal ferocity. She tugged with a desperate, grounding strength, pulling him closer into her heat as if she were trying to merge their bodies, her hips lifting off the bed to meet the devastating pressure of his mouth.

His tongue was a relentless, rhythmic force, flicking against that sensitive bundle of nerves with a precision that sent jolts of electricity straight to her core. He worked with focused intensity, lapping at her drenched, swollen folds with a fervour that suggested he was drinking from a desert spring. The rough texture of his beard was a sharp, intoxicating contrast, burning against the tender skin of her inner thighs and the hypersensitive edges of her folds, dragging a jagged moan from the back of her throat.

As the tension coiled into an unbearable knot, her body betrayed her. Her thighs snapped shut, clamping firmly around his head, trapping him in the epicentre of her storm. She buckled, her spine arching off the bed as the first wave of her climax crashed through her, leaving her voice caught in a breathless, silent scream.

Uzair didn't flinch. Even as her muscles spasmed around him, he remained persistent, his tongue moving in slow, heavy sweeps to lap up every bit of the sweet, sticky nectar she yielded. He was methodical, ensuring he tasted the full depth of her surrender, his tongue tracing the path of her release until the very last tremor subsided.

She looked down at him, her chest heaving, her eyes hooded and dazed as she took in the man before her. When he finally pulled back, the sight was devastating. He was a sight of raw, unfiltered conquest. His lips were wet and stained, and the dark, coarse bristle of his beard, the same hair that had been burning her skin moments ago, was now saturated, glistening under the low light with the slick evidence of her pleasure. Every movement of his jaw caught the light, highlighting the dampness that clung to the hair around his mouth.

He looked entirely unrefined, his usually calculated composure replaced by the tousled, ‘just fucked’ mess of his hair where her fingers had been anchored. He didn't wipe his mouth. He simply knelt there between her trembling thighs, wearing the mark of her climax on his face like a trophy, his dark eyes smouldering with a triumphant, possessive heat. 

Uzair rose from the wreckage of the sheets, his massive, corded frame towering over her until his shadow encompassed her completely. He blotted out the flickering amber lamp, leaving her anchored in the dark, heavy silhouette of his power. His movement to the bedside table was fluid and silent, the predatory grace of a man who had reclaimed his territory. His fingers found his phone, the screen’s sharp, clinical glow momentarily cutting through the warm haze of the room.

He didn't say a word as he opened the camera app. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking down at the masterpiece he had created.

She lay there, a stunning study in contrast. Her flushed, feverish skin glowed like heated ivory against the deep, dark green of the silk sheets, the rich emerald fabric bunching around her limbs. She was glistening, a fine sheen of sweat and the slick, damp evidence of his mouth making her body shimmer under the low light. Scattered across the delicate curve of her chest and the column of her neck were tiny, blossoming red marks, the vivid brands of his beard and his hunger.

Her limbs were heavy, tangled in the stiff, black hide of his leather jacket, and her lips were swollen to a deep berry red. Even as her eyes remained dazed and swimming in the afterglow of her undoing, a very slight, knowing smile touched the corners of her mouth. It was a faint, hazy curve of satisfaction, a silent admission that she was exactly where she wanted to be, fully complicit in the intensity of his claim.

The shutter snapped, a quiet, digital click that sealed the wreckage and the beauty of the moment forever. Uzair scrolled for a brief second, his thumb ghosting over the screen as he added the image to a hidden folder. It joined a secret, mounting gallery of her most vulnerable moments: a private digital archive of her surrender. It was his testament to the fact that no matter how much freedom he gave her in the light of day, she would always, inevitably, return to the heat of his flame.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Taglist: @geometric-circle @dc-reign @shotsyfeather @avasif @i-am-yourmom @ooopssssu @desi-brownie @bloo3moon @tarininini-2308 @akinrawsx @12tan20 @ennarasc @esotericdomain @mariaaysbusjs @rini4everdreaming @hairandjhumkhasintheverandah @mainyahaankyunhoon @shadyalpaca13 @taliareads @losraire @rehmandakaitswife @manjari08 @orion067 @tanipartner @noone1233nobody @drowning-in-deadlines @between-smoke-and-roses @so-arttt-deco @perfectcherryblossomrebel @layinglowkey @insidellamakid @pavbhajisupremacist @scentedwolfdragon @softurns @lylacthenian @curiousbutbored @goldenharrysworld @ninnimouse @angelicyuna @velvetdakait @tojisloft @beardedcoffeefun @gulaabjamun08 @miraclejin1204 @carmenred28 @inkaurishq @mischiefmanaged666 @buchanana00 @moonysscar @bobcuts-blog

[mrgrungusthefrog]

this is written so fucking well so fucking poetic

[bitter-sweet-archive]

YOU are the true poetry, a majestic piece of art, a delectable slice of heaven, every colour of the rainbow 🫵🏻🫶🏻

[between-smoke-and-roses]

1 New Message

A/N: I've recently been obsessed with these hilarious flirty texts. It's a new format and I hope it isn't too confusing!

For my sweetu darling @tessa-bl, who is on the receiving end of these reels when my inner Rani Mukherjee takes over.

Pairing: Uzair Baloch x Reader

Synopsis: You text the wrong number. The recipient doesn't seem to mind it so much.

Word Count: 3615

Disclaimer: This work is a piece of fiction inspired by the characters portrayed by the actors in Dhurandhar, not the real individuals themselves. 

── .✦

✿ Masterlist ✿

── .✦

If someone asked Yalina, she would say you have a lot of weird habits. Nothing harmful, just stupid shit like deleting all your text messages at the end of the day, sending her flirty messages like a daarubaaz aashiq, and not saving people’s phone numbers, claiming your memory was sufficient.

It was a night like any other, you lost the Snake game on your mobile for the nth time and decided to harass Yalina.

Y/N: Lowkey jealous of the people who see u in person while im here staring at a screen. SO UNFAIR.

+92 XXXXX56789: Y/N mujhe sone do. Raat ke ek baj gayein hain.

Y/N: Raat ke nahi, subah ke. 

Y/N: Doodh me aati hai malai, subah ho gayi, uth jao meri rasmalai

+92 XXXXX56789: Maine apna number badalna hai. 

+92 XXXXX56789: Good night

You deleted her text, huffing to yourself. You put your arms behind your head and stared at your ceiling, before turning back over. You grabbed your phone, and sent her another message.

Y/N: Tum apne aap ko kabhi mera dost mat samajhna, kyunki um meri dost nahi ho… tum meri darling ho! 

No response. Annoyed, you texted her again.

Y/N: Ignore karogi toh ro dungi

Yalina usually texted within five minutes, but still no response. You rolled your eyes, wondering if she’d gone back to sleep when your phone lit up with a new message.

+92 XXXXX56798: Galat number. Phir text na karein.

You checked the number again and slapped a palm over your face. Yalina’s ended in 56789. This one was 56798. Your memory was starting to fail you.

Is this how it starts?The beginning of the end.

You sighed, replying to them.

Y/N: Sorry. 

But it was late and you weren’t in any mood to sleep. Yalina was asleep, but this person clearly wasn’t.

Y/N: Aap kaun ho?

+92 XXXXX56798: Tumhe nahi pata main kaun hu?

Y/N: Aap hi ne toh kaha galat number hai.

+92 XXXXX56798: Jaante hue message toh nahi kiya?

Y/N: Itni farigh nahi hun!

+92 XXXXX56798: Galat number ko message kiye ja rahi ho.

Y/N: Haan toh aap kya kar rahein hain?

No response. You deleted the texts and went back to try and defeat Snake.

—

Y/N: Bilkul civic sense nahi hai, tum jahaan jate ho wahaan logon ko deewana kar deti ho.

+92 XXXXX56789: Class pe attention do, yeh sab bakwaas mat karo.

Y/N: Shut up, khud mere messages uss Hamza ke bachche ko bhejti ho phir i love you i love you karti ho.

Across the lecture hall, you saw Yalina put her phone face down on the desk and look back at the lecturer.

You deleted her texts, annoyed. You then rolled your eyes, and texted again.

Y/N: Potato ko kehte hai aloo, cutie kya main tumhe pata lun?

+92 XXXXX56798: Phir se galat number. Jaante hue kar rahi ho. Tum jaanti ho main kaun hun.

Y/N: Arrey yaar. Mujhe nahi pata aap kaun hain. Aap apna number badlein, meri dost ke number se kaafi milta hai.

You deleted his texts, looking back at the lecturer who was now harping on about a quiz. Whatever, you’d sit behind Yalina, you were sorted.

—

Eleven at night. Relatively early for you, but you knew Yalina was going to doze off soon, so you wanted to text her something absurd before she slept. Just so she’d know you were thinking of her.

Y/N: Oh would you look at the time.. Its miss u o clock

+92 XXXXX56798: tum phir se shuru ho gyi

Y/N: Good night meri jaan

+92 XXXXX56798: main tumhari jaan nahi hun. Main uzair hun.

You checked the number and sighed.

Y/N: Confuse ho gayi. Sorry. 

+92 XXXXX56798: no problmen

You stared at the text, before typing again.

Y/N: Aap ne koi nasha kiya hai?

+92 XXXXX56798: tumhe KAIse pata chala

Y/N: Aap abhi full formal text nahi kar rahe. Meri tarah kar rahein hain.

+92 XXXXX56798: tumhari dost ka number save nahi kiya hai KYA har baar mujhe msg karti ho. 

Y/N: Nahi. 

+92 XXXXX56798: kyun

Y/N: Apne aap ko aise torture karne ka shauk hai.

Y/N: Waise aap hamesha kyun poochte ho ki main aapko jaanti hun ya nahi?

+92 XXXXX56798: main uzair hun.

Y/N: Ok congrats.

+92 XXXXX56798: tum samajh nahi rahi. 

+92 XXXXX56798: Lhyari

Y/N: Main bhi Lyari ki hun! 

Your brows furrowed, who was an Uzair in Lyari? You pursed your lips, trying to remember everyone in the mohalla before your jaw dropped.

Y/N: UZAIR BALOCH?

+92 XXXXX56798: yess. Umhe kaisa pata cha;a

Y/N: IM SO SORRY. MUJEH MAAF KAREIN. MAIN SAB TEXTS DELETE LARUNGO. SORRY SORRY SORRY.

You immediately deleted the texts. Your stupid habits had gotten you in trouble. You drew up your phone and saved Yalina’s number, double checking you got the number right.

Y/N: Yalina, I fucked up. Massively.

Yalina: Ab kya hua?

—

Yalina’s laughter was grating your ears.

“Tum pagal ho!” she wheezed, “Isiliye tum se kehti hun number save kiya karo!”

You folded your arms and rested it on the table in front of you, dropping your head on it, “Kal raat hi save kar diya”. You looked up, fear etched across your face, “Yalina, woh mujhe maar dalega”.

Yalina scoffed, “He has better things to do”.

Ignoring your hurt look, she continued, “Waise bhi, woh Hamza ka dost hai, aur-”

“Kya?” you stood up, “Tum usse mil chuki ho?”

“Haan,” she pulled you down onto your seat, “Woh ladkiyon ko kuch nahi kehta. Bas ab number save kar diya hai na. Don’t worry. He won’t-”

Your phone beeped. 

1 NEW MESSAGE

You looked like you were about to start crying, so Yalina opened it.

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum jaanti ho main kaun hun.

You pulled on Yalina’s sleeve, “He’s going to kill me”.

“Shut up,” she swatted your hand away, before replying to him.

Y/N: Ji. Aap ko itne din bhool se text kiya uske liye maaf karein. Maine apni dost ka number save kar diya hai. Phir se nahi hoga.

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum kaun ho? Mujhe message kisne kiya abhi?

You gasped, “He knows the way I text Yalina, he’ll sniff me out like a bloodhound and kill me!”

Yalina tch-ed and handed your phone back, “Just apologise”. She stood up, “Main Hamza se milne jaa rahi hun. Should I speak to him on your behalf?”

You looked back at her, “Are you mad? This is our secret, Yalina. We’re taking it to our graves”.

She giggled, kissing you goodbye before leaving. You looked back at your phone to a new message from him.

+92 XXXXX56798: Kaun ho tum?

Y/N: Main sorry hun. Sorry. Wapis kabhi nahi message karungi. OK BYE.

—

The first time you saw him was when Yalina was introducing you to Hamza. You were at Aalam’s juice shop, and Hamza was answering your very serious question about how the juicer machine worked, when a tall man with the broadest shoulders you’d ever seen came and stood next to Hamza.

“Hamze,” he said, voice low and raspy, “Chal. Arshad Pappu ki factory mein apne ladkon ka masla hai”.

Hamza straightened, not bothering with introductions. He nodded to you and Yalina before following that man out.

Yalina looked at your dumbfounded expression and let out a resigned sigh, “Woh Uzair Baloch hai”.

You whipped around and stared at her, before whispering, “Mera Uzair?”

She let out a surprised laugh, “Tumhara kab se ho gaya?”

She took one look at the determined look in your eyes, before saying, “Please, Y/N. No. I’ll tell Hamza”.

You looked at her, “Agar tum ne Hamza ko bataya toh main use bata dungi ki tumne uske thighs ke baare me kya kaha tha”.

Yalina turned red instantly, “You promised tum kisi aur ko kabhi nahi bataogi!”

You put an arm around her, “Yalina, ishq alag hi cheez hoti hai”.

“Ishq nahi, tumhari toh aiyyashi hai,” she grumbled.

—

That night, you rolled around in bed, giggling to yourself, before pulling your phone out. You didn’t bother saving his number, knowing you had Yalina’s saved.

Y/N: Achcha hua sundar hone ka bill nahi hota warna aap toh karze me doob jaate

He replied in less than a minute.

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum ne kaha phir message nahi karogi?

Y/N: Haan. Par phir mujhe aap dikhe..

+92 XXXXX56798: Kahaan? 

Y/N: Mustafa Mechanic ki dukaan ke paas

You lied, of course you did. Yalina had promised not to tell Hamza and you weren't going to be the one to give yourself away.

+92 XXXXX56798: Main aaj wahaan gaya bhi nahi.

Y/N: Maine kab kaha maine aapko aaj dekha??

No response for a full five minutes - you counted. And then - 

+92 XXXXX56798: Kab dekha mujhe?

Y/N: Main nahi bataungi.

+92 XXXXX56798: Kaun ho tum?

Y/N: Main chor hun aap ka dil de do

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum jaanti ho main kaun hun. Phir message mat karna.

You pouted and put your phone away. You’d have to try to catch him in a good mood. No worries, you’d try tomorrow.

—

The next morning, you woke up at noon, but decided your first text had to go out to him.

Y/N: Saans toh lene diya karo, aankh khulte hi yaad aa jaate ho

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum phir se shuru?

Y/N: Good morning!

+92 XXXXX56798: Dopahar hai.

Y/N: Main abhi uthi hun. Mera morning hai. Aap good afternoon bolein

+92 XXXXX56798: Mujhe nahi bolna.

Y/N: toh na bolein maine kahaan zabardasti ki hai?

He didn’t reply. You laughed and started your day.

—

You weren’t having a good day. But it turned around when you suddenly received a message from him first after a week of constantly texting him.

+92 XXXXX56798: Message mat karna.

Y/N: Maine message nahi kiya.

+92 XXXXX56798: Karna bhi mat.

You pouted at his tone, which - as you thought of it, was weird that you could tell he wasn’t having a good day either. You decided to heed his request - after one text.

Y/N: Ginger ko kehte hain adrak, good things r coming, tu zara thand rakh!

Your message didn’t go through. He had probably switched his phone off.

Or had he blocked you?

You pouted again, annoyed. No matter, you convinced yourself, you’d keep trying till your texts went through.

—

You woke up the next day to a text message from him already on your phone.

+92 XXXXX56798: Maine kaha tha message mat karna.

Y/N: Aap ne phone bandh kar rakha tha.?

+92 XXXXX56798: Haan.

You held your phone to your chest, giddy, before replying.

Y/N: THANK YOU

Y/N: Thank you for not blocking me

Y/N: WAIT

Y/N: PLEASE MUJHE BLOCK NA KAREIN PLEASE 

Y/N: MAINE IDEA KYUN DIYA

Y/N: Oh, messages ja rahein hain.

Y/N: Sab kehte hain sharing is caring but main aapko bilkul bhi share na karun!

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum phir shuru ho gayi?

Y/N: Yesss! Par aaj mera quiz hai toh aaj ke liye sirf itna.

Later that night, when you were all cried out about failing the quiz, your phone beeped.

+92 XXXXX56798: Kaisa gaya?

Y/N: WOW aapko yaad tha?

Y/N: Bahut kharaab tha. Fail ho gayi.

+92 XXXXX56798: Mujhe message mat karo, padhai pe focus karo.

Y/N: Khud par kaise focus karun jab saara focus aap par hi hai

He didn’t reply, but somehow you didn’t mind too much.

—

It was the hottest day of the year. Lyari, which already ran hot, seemed like it was on fire.

You sat in front of the cooler in Yalina’s room and ate your ice cream, when you decided to text him.

Y/N: Garmi toh aise badh rahi hai jaise mere mann me aap ke liye pyaar

+92 XXXXX56798: Pyaar?

Y/N: Hmm. sahi hai. Crush? Infatuation?

+92 XXXXX56798: Bahut garmi lag rahi hai toh kuch thanda kha lo.

Y/N: Ice cream kha rahi hun, phir Aaalam juice shop jaungi.

+92 XXXXX56798: Kya logi? Orange juice?

Y/N: Tarbooz ka juice. Rooh Afza ke saath. 

+92 XXXXX56798: …That actually sounds delicious.

Y/N: Meri pasand humesha lajawaab hoti hai, yakeen nahi toh khud ko dekh lo

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum bilkul nahi rukti ho.

Y/N: Bilkul nahi. Par aapko pasand hain Isiliye reply karte ho.

You worried you were being too forward, but it was a chance worth taking. 

A chance that paid off. 

+92 XXXXX56798: Haan.

—

Three days later, boredom struck you again. And of course, with Yalina busy riding on Hamza's bike, you had to direct your attention elsewhere.

Y/N: Don’t ask me kya haal hai, bc ofc aap ka hi khayal hai

+92 XXXXX56798: Maine poocha bhi nahi.

Y/N: Yaar aap itne pyaar se baat karte ho mujhe sharam aa jaati hai

+92 XXXXX56798: Tumne nashe kiye hain kya?

Y/N: Aapse ek sawaal karna tha.

+92 XXXXX56798: ?

Y/N: Woh aap se poochna tha aap mere pyaar me giroge ya peeche se dhakka dun?

When he didn't reply for a full hour, you texted again.

Y/N: Aapse baat karte waqt puri koshish hai ki aapko blush karwaaun

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum sudhrogi nahi, na?

You slept a little too peacefully that night.

—

A few weeks later, you weren't feeling well. So much so that you just slept all day, hoping it would go away by itself.

You hadn't realised you'd forgotten to text a certain someone until he reached out.

+92 XXXXX56798: Theek toh ho?

You squinted at your screen, but your body is too tired to translate the joy you felt in your heart to your face.

Y/N: Tabiyat kharaab hai.

+92 XXXXX56798: Kya hua?

Y/N: Bukhaar.

+92 XXXXX56798: Doctor ko dikhaya?

Y/N: Haan, unhonein kaha ki Vitamin U ki kami hai.

+92 XXXXX56798: …

Y/N: Chakkar aa raha hai aapki bahon me gir jaau?

+92 XXXXX56798: Take care. Dawaiyan lena mat bhoolna.

You smiled softly, hugging your phone to your chest as you fell asleep.

—

Some habits died hard.

You were running to catch your bus home while dialling Yalina’s number manually, not paying attention.

As soon as you heard the click, you rambled, “Yalina, tumhe yakeen nahi hoga aaj kya hua! Poocho kya hua!”

The voice that came through wasn’t Yalina’s. It was a low, raspy voice - one you’d heard a while ago, “Kya hua?”

You stopped in the middle of the road and looked down at your phone in horror.

56798.

Fuck.

You let out a strangled yelp and hung up, before running harder to your bus. When you got in, your phone vibrated. You looked down at your screen, hands trembling slightly.

+92 XXXXX56798: Tum mujhe dekh chuki ho. Maine tumhari awaaz sun li hai. We’re even.

Y/N: Maine bhi aapki awaaz sun li.

+92 XXXXX56798: Toh ab mujhe tumhe dekhna padega?

For the first time, you didn’t have a response.

—

You didn’t text him for three days, and he messaged first.

+92 XXXXX56798: Embarrassed?

Y/N: Shut up.

+92 XXXXX56798: Teen din se tumhare message nahi aaye toh laga sharma gayi ho.

Y/N: Yaar aap se baat nahi ho toh khali khali lagta hai

+92 XXXXX56798: Mujhe bhi.

—

You knew that it was inevitable - you were going to meet each other eventually.

He was in Hamza’s circle, you were in Yalina’s, and Hamza and Yalina were more than just in each other’s circle.

So when it was time to go to Hamza’s birthday party, you made sure to look your best. When Yalina saw you, she raised an eyebrow, “Is tonight the night he finds out?”

You thought about it, “I hope not. Mujhe unhein chidhaane me bahut mazaa aata hai”.

Yalina shook her head, before grabbing your hand and walking through the door of Hamza’s apartment.

The party was just a gathering of you, Yalina, Hamza, Uzair, and two of their friends - Donga and Siyahi. Hamza introduced you all to each other, before settling in for some cake.

You were trying to behave like a normal person, leaving Hamza confused and Yalina on the verge of laughter.

But the mask slipped when in a moment of unawareness, you went back to your default daarubaaz aashiq state around Yalina. You handed her a bottle of water to add to her drink, saying, “Yeh lo cutie, paani pee lo. Mere dimaag me ghoom ghoom ke thak chuki hogi”.

As Yalina and Hamza groaned, you heard Uzair, who was in the middle of a sentence, go quiet. He turned around and looked at you in suspicion, while you quickly turned towards Hamza.

“Hamza bhai, janamdin ki bahut mubaarak. Happy birthday,” you hugged him, “Okay bye”. You winced, recalling an earlier text to him, before kissing Yalina on the cheek and power walking out.

As you rushed, you heard heavy footsteps behind you.

“Y/N”.

You walked faster, groaning internally as his footsteps got closer. He placed his hand on your shoulder, and you yelped, whirling around.

He held his hands up, “Y/N?”

“Ji?”

“Aap… Yeh zara ajeeb lagega, par kya aap mujhe message kar rahi hain?”

You pretended to be confused, “Kya?”

He dragged his palm across his face, before holding his hand out, “Apna phone dikhaaein”.

“What?”

“Phone dikhaaein,” he said, before adding, “Please” as an afterthought.

“Dekhein, main aapko jaanti nahi hun. Main apna phone kyun dikhaun? Agar mera number chahte hain toh theek se maangein,” you added, cheekily.

He looked flustered, “Kya? Nahi, woh. Please. Aapka phone dikhaaein”.

When you shook your head, he pulled his phone out, “Aap mera dekh lein”.

You laughed, “Aap ka phone mujhe nahi dekhna hai”.

He sighed, “I know I sound crazy. But please?”

You handed your phone over to him, and watched as he opened your messages. You smirked, knowing you had already deleted all your messages of the day.

He looked at your phone in confusion, “Aap kisi ko message nahi karti?”

“Ji nahi, main calls prefer karti hun”.

He slowly nodded, before returning your phone, “Maaf karein. Aap ko main ajeeb lag raha honga”.

“Haan,” you said, shrugging, “But I don’t mind ajeeb”.

You winked at him, before returning home.

In the dead of the night, you texted him.

Y/N: My problem is i wanna see u right after ive seen u (YES im obsesseD)

+92 XXXXX56798: Y/N?

Y/N: Number save kar lein :-) 

—

Two days later, he texted you.

+92 XXXXX56798: Mera number save kyun nahi kiya?

Y/N: Aap ko galti se text karne ke baad Yalina ka save kar liya.

+92 XXXXX56798: Maine tumhara number save kar rakha hai.

You sighed dreamily. And then saved his number.

Uzair.

—

Uzair: Kahaan ho?

Y/N: Saddar Bazaar. Kyun?

Uzair: Aalam juice shop chalogi?

Y/N: Haan.

Y/N: Give me fifteen minutes. Bas kuch cheezein kharred kar aayi.

Uzair: Kya lene gayi ho.

Y/N: shehad.

Y/N: Waise market me kaafi farzi honey hai

Uzair: Don’t.

Y/N: asli honey toh aap hain ;-)

Y/N: YAAR MERA RHYTHM KYUN TODA

—

When you got to the juice shop, Uzair was already seated at a table facing the door, with two glasses of watermelon juice in front of him.

Despite the nerves, you slid into the seat opposite him.

You quietly took a sip of your juice, when he broke the silence, “Mera number save kiya?”

“Haan,” you said, “waise poochna tha - aapka naam Vaseline rakh dun? Aapke bina zindagi rukhi sukhi si lagti hai”.

You watched the contours of his face change, and the corner of his mouth lift up.

“Milne par bhi aisi baatein karogi?”

“Kyun nahi,” you leaned forward, “Aap ko toh meri baatein bahut pasand hai, na?”

He grinned, looking down at his drink, and not denying it.

Later that night, you texted him.

Y/N: kinda jealous of ur pillow

Uzair: ?

Y/N: you cuddle with it all night and not me :( 

Uzair: Good night.

Y/N: I KNOW UR SMILING UZAIR

—

Days turned into weeks, and you met him on an almost regular basis. Be it Aalam’s juice shop, Clifton beach, or even dinner, wherever you returned from your dates, you always sent him a text.

Like tonight, after he’d dropped you home, you pulled your phone out as soon as you got into bed.

Y/N: Mujhe lagta hai mere sabr ka fal aap hain.

Y/N: Sweet

Uzair: Isiliye asli honey toh main hoon.

Y/N: UZAIR?!?!?!

—

You were returning from college, when an idea struck you.

Y/N: Uzair, mujhe police ne Mai Kolachi bridge par rok liya hai.

Uzair: Kya?

Uzair: Main aa raha hun.

Y/N: Arrest karne ki baat kar rahe hain?

Uzair: Kya? Kyun?

Uzair: Main bas do minute door hun.

Y/N: Keh rahe hain aapko hadd se zyaada pasand krne ke jurm me giraftar karenge.

You giggled as you heard his footsteps behind you. You turned, watching as he shook his head, while trying to suppress his smile.

“Mujhe sach me laga kuch masla ho gaya hai”.

You walked over and wrapped your arms around him, “Sorry”. He stilled for a second, before hugging you back, resting his chin on your head, “Worth it”.

—

Three months had passed.

You and Uzair had established your relationship, but that didn’t stop you from flirting with him over texts. In fact, it was clearly one of your favorite parts of your relationship.

Which is why you were shocked when you woke up one morning to a text from him.

Uzair: Chidhiya banati hai ghosla, chuha banata hai bill.

Uzair: Toh batao, kyun churaya tumne mera dil?

── .✦

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[bitter-sweet-archive]

Sunday Kind of Love

Uzair Baloch x Reader

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Author's Note: Having a hard life few days and wrote up this fluff for some comfort! Unrelated, but always remember to be kind to yourself! Life isn't easy and you deserve just as much patience and grace as anybody else. If all you did today was wake up and exist, that is enough and is something to be celebrated! Keep being you, I think you're magic! Much love 🫶🏻

Slowly trying to push through the writer's block; can't promise it's great but I'm trying my best!

OH, the fic name is inspired by one of my fav Etta James songs, highly recommend!!

For my sweetu @between-smoke-and-roses

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Karachi sun was a relentless force outside, but within the thick limestone walls of the Haveli, it was humbled. It fought to pierce the heavy, floor-to-ceiling velvet drapes, deep emerald fabric so dense it seemed to swallow sound itself. Where the curtains didn't quite meet, long, sharp needles of light stabbed through the gloom, illuminating millions of dust motes dancing in the air like microscopic gold leaf. These beams slashed across the dark, polished teak of the floorboards, turning the scattered Persian rugs into vibrant landscapes of crimson and indigo.

The master suite was a sanctuary of old-world weight and modern shadows. A massive, hand-carved armoire stood against the far wall, its intricate floral engravings casting long, skeletal shadows that stretched toward the bed. On the nightstand, a forgotten glass of water caught a stray ray of light, throwing a dancing, caustic ripple onto the ceiling, while a silver tray held the remnants of a late-night candle, its wax pooled into a frozen, translucent lake.

Inside this fortress of silk and stone, the world remained suspended in a soft, amber-hued haze. The air was still, thick with the lingering scent of sandalwood, tobacco, and the heavy, metallic exhaustion that followed a night of adrenaline.

Only hours ago, the silence had been broken by the screech of tires and the low, lethal promises whispered into the ears of SP Aslam’s men. Uzair could still feel the phantom weight of his gun in his hand, the cold, unforgiving bite of the steel, and the sight of Rehman bhai, disheveled but alive, being pulled from the jaws of a trap on the Mai Kolachi bridge. The rescue had been a blur of shadows and high stakes, a frantic race against a man who intended to turn the bridge into a graveyard.

But here, the violence of the night felt like a fever dream. The only reality was the rhythmic tick of a vintage brass clock on the mantle and the warmth of the woman in his arms. The high ceilings, adorned with delicate plaster moldings, seemed to trap the peace inside, keeping the chaos of Lyari and the heat of the Karachi streets at a safe, respectful distance.

She stirred first. The memory of the night’s chaos flickered in her mind, the way she had paced these very floors, her bare feet silent on the cold marble of the ensuite, until the heavy iron front gates finally groaned open. But the morning light beckoned. Slowly, carefully, she began to inch away. She moved with the grace of a shadow, trying to shift toward the edge of the bed to start the day, her feet seeking the cool, solid reality of the floor.

She didn't even make it halfway.

With a sudden, fluid strength that belied his sluggish, sleepy state, Uzair’s arm snaked around her waist like a reclaiming shadow. His hand, large, heavy, and roughened by the grit of the streets, spread wide across her stomach, his fingers splaying instinctively. With a single, possessive tug that left no room for argument, he slid her effortlessly back across the cool Egyptian cotton sheets. The friction of the fabric hissed beneath her as he hauled her backward until her spine was fused flush against the furnace of his chest. 

He didn't open his eyes; he didn't need to. He simply surrendered to the gravity of her presence, burying his face deep into the warm, scented nape of her neck. He nuzzled greedily into the soft, sleep-tangled tresses of her hair, his beard catching against the fine silk of her pillowcase as he searched for the pulse point at her throat.

He stayed there, motionless, inhaling the intoxicating scent of peonies and home, a fragrance that acted as the ultimate sedative, finally dousing the flickering embers of adrenaline that had kept his nerves frayed since the bridge. It was the only scent in the world that managed to ground him, pulling him out of the dark, metallic memories of the night and back into the sanctuary of the living.

“Kahan jaa rahi ho?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that she felt more than heard. It was thick with sleep, stripped of the cold, hard edge he had used outside the Haveli gates.

She sighed, a small smile playing on her lips despite her efforts to be practical. She tried to twist in his arms, wanting to face him, but his grip was a locked vice of heavy muscle and stubborn affection. He held her firmly, pinning her against him as if he were afraid she might evaporate if he let go.

“Das baaj gaye,” she relented softly, her voice muffled by the plush pillow and his overwhelming proximity. She made a half-hearted attempt to peel his heavy arm from her waist, her fingers fluttering over his skin. “Tayiaar ho kar neeche jaa rahi hoon. Sab intezaar kar-”

“Nahi,” he interrupted.

The word was a low, vibrational hum against her spine, final and absolute. To emphasize his point, his arm tightened like a band of iron, the sheer weight of his limb anchoring her to the mattress. He hitched his arm upward, dragging her with him until her back was fused against the broad, solid heat of his chest. There wasn't a sliver of air left between them; she could feel every steady thud of his heart, a slow and rhythmic contrast to the frantic pulse she’d felt in him when he’d returned at dawn.

She huffed a quiet, breathless laugh, her hand reaching back blindly to find his forearm. Her fingertips traced the path of the dark hair dusting his skin, her touch light and grounding as she followed the curve of his muscle down to the prominent veins of his wrist. It was a soothing gesture, a silent acknowledgement of the strength that had protected their family last night.

“Kya matlab ‘nahi’?” she whispered, her thumb tracing small, rhythmic circles into his skin.

Uzair shifted, but only to bury his face deeper into the crook of her neck. He was like a man parched, seeking the coolness of her skin to wash away the grit of the Karachi streets. He moved his head slowly, his beard grazing her shoulder with a rough, domestic friction that sent a shiver down her spine, before he pressed a slow, lingering kiss onto the slope of her shoulder. It was a heavy, deliberate pressure, a silent, visceral thank you for being the quiet sanctuary he came home to.

“Nahi matlab nahi,” he repeated, his breath blooming warm and steady against her skin, making her feel entirely encased in his world.

“Uzair-” she started again, her voice wavering as she tried to maintain the logic of the real world against the intoxicating gravity of his embrace.

“Shhh.”

He squeezed her, a sudden, firm contraction of his arms that pulled her even deeper into the hollow of his body. It was a soft, commanding shush that didn't just silence her words, but seemed to quiet the very air in the room. He tucked his knees behind hers, his entire frame molding around her like a protective shell, shielding her from the sunlight and the responsibilities waiting beyond the bedroom door.

He wasn't ready to let the world back in. Not yet. The adrenaline of the night before had finally faded, leaving behind a desperate, aching need for this stillness. For Uzair, the day didn't start when the clock struck ten, or when the Haveli woke up, it started only when he was finally willing to let go of the only thing that made him feel human.

Determined to see his face, she wiggled within the iron circle of his arms, pushing against the heavy weight of the mattress and his limbs until she finally managed to roll over. Uzair let out a low, guttural “mm” of discontent at the loss of her back's warmth, his brow furrowing as he blindly protested the movement, his hands grasping at the sheets to find her again. But the moment she settled against him, facing him in the dim, emerald-tinted light, his resistance softened into a heavy, sleepy surrender.

She reached out, her hand a soft contrast to the sun-darkened, rugged texture of his skin, and began to caress his cheek. She watched him with a quiet, intense concentration, as if she were trying to map out every new line the stress of the last twenty-four hours had etched onto his face.

With a gentle, playful focus, she moved her index finger up to trace the thick, dark arch of his eyebrows, feeling the slight tension that lived in the muscle there even in sleep. She followed the line down to the corners of his closed eyes, her fingertip ghosting over the delicate fan of his lashes. She traced the high, sharp ridge of his cheekbones, the features that usually made him look so formidable to the world, and then slid her finger down the straight, aristocratic bridge of his nose.

She was so absorbed in her task, her head tilted slightly as she moved to trace the bow of his upper lip, that she didn't notice the subtle shift in his breathing. The moment her finger reached the centre of his lips, Uzair’s mouth quirked in a phantom of a smirk. Suddenly, without warning, he snapped his teeth toward her fingertip in a playful, lightning-fast bite.

She shrieked, a tiny, melodic sound of surprise that echoed off the high ceilings, and jerked her hand back, a bright, breathless laugh bubbling out of her.

The sound was what finally did it. Uzair opened his eyes, the amber light catching the deep, molten warmth in his gaze as he looked at her smiling face. The hardness he carried into the world was gone, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration. He reached out, hooking a hand behind her neck to pull her closer until their noses brushed, his body molding around hers. It was a study in contrasts; all her soft curves fitting seamlessly into the hard, unyielding ridges of his chest and thighs.

She raised her hand again, this time resting her palm against his jaw, her thumb brushing softly across his cheekbone in a steady, back-and-forth rhythm. Uzair’s eyes fluttered closed under the tenderness of the touch, leaning his weight into her hand.

“Main bohaut darr gayi thi raat,” she whispered, the playfulness fading into the gravity of the memory. “Itne saalon mein pehli baar koi Rehman bhai ko itna nuksan pohauncha paya hai. Agar kuch hojata, toh?”

His eyes snapped open at the tremor in her voice, the last remnants of sleep vanishing instantly. The gravity of the “what if” hung heavy and suffocating between them, a cold reminder of the bridge, the shadows, and the thin line between a homecoming and a tragedy. Seeing the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes, Uzair reached up, his large, scarred hand enveloping hers with a firm, grounding pressure.

He didn't took hold of her hand, bringing it to his mouth as he shifted closer. He pressed a series of lingering, fervent kisses to her knuckles, his lips grazing the gold of her ring before moving to the sensitive skin of her fingertips. Each kiss was an anchor, a physical rebuttal to her fears. His gaze remained locked onto hers, dark and unwavering, forcing her to see the absolute, terrifying certainty he carried within him.

“Kuch nahi hoga, main hoon na?” he said, his voice dropping into that deep, gravelly register, the one he used only for her, the one that made the rest of the world and its dangers feel a lifetime away.

He didn't blink, ensuring she felt the staggering weight of his promise. He was a man who lived in a world of broken oaths, yet for her, he would bend fate itself. “Main hamesha tumhare paas wapis aayunga…hamesha.”

Gently, he cupped her jaw, his palm cradling her face as if she were made of the finest porcelain. His thumb, rough-calloused from years of holding a steering wheel and a trigger, moved with agonizing softness to stroke her lower lip, pulling it down just enough to see the breath catch in her throat.

He leaned in, the movement slow and inevitable. He pressed a feather-light kiss to her mouth, a mere ghost of a touch, before pulling back just a fraction to linger against her skin. Then came another, and another, his lips alternating between her upper and lower lip with a reverent tenderness that made her heart ache. They were soft, tasting of the morning’s stillness and the heavy promises of the night, each contact slow and deliberate, as if he were meticulously memorizing the texture of her soul through her lips.

Finally, he pulled back just an inch, though he didn't truly break the contact. He rested his forehead against hers, their shared breaths mingling in the small, warm space between them. As he did, his arm slid beneath her neck while the other wrapped firmly around the small of her back, his large hand splaying flat against her spine to pull her into the very centre of his chest. She moved closer, her fingers sliding upward to curl into the light spattering of dark hair on his chest. She could feel the steady, heavy thrum of his heart beneath her palm.

He let out a long, weary sigh, the sound of a soldier finally laying down his arms, and closed his eyes, his hold on her tightening as if he were trying to merge their very shadows. Beneath the heavy, quilted duvet, he tangled his legs with hers, his ankles locking around hers to tether her to him, ensuring she couldn't drift away even in sleep.

In the quiet sanctuary of the Haveli, with the Karachi sun held at bay by the emerald velvet, Uzair finally let the last of the night's shadows dissolve, anchored safely in the only harbour that had ever mattered.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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