Author's note: This is very self-indulgent. So you will find specific descriptions at times.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who loves holding you close to him. After an intense session of 'lovemaking', he'll sit with his back to the headboard, while you lay against his chest, playing with his fingers and venting about your day. He'll hum and respond whenever it's necessary, occasionally placing kisses against your hair. You'll nuzzle against his hairy chest, content in his warmth as he tightens his hold on you.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who is lowkey embarrassed to be called as your boyfriend, not because he's ashamed of you, not at all, but because of the age gap. He's a man in his forties and being called 'boyfriend' by a young pretty girl like you makes him shy. But he also loves the jealous gazes he gets from men your age when you parade him around. Besides, he doesn't plan on being boyfriend for long. He's had the ring ready in his wallet ever since your first date together.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who doesn't believe in any of the modern dating rules. When you're both in bed, cuddling while you scroll through your phone, he'll scoff at every reel that talks about some new dating theory. He asks why there's this need to play so many games if you like the person and call it stupid while kissing your forehead.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who has to hold himself back from pouncing on you whenever you walk around the haveli in his clothes. Let it be one of his old shirts, or his kurta, it swallows your frame and he's obsessed with how it looks on you. Sometimes he gets his clothes in your favourite colour so you'll steal it.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who attends weddings often with you right beside him, turning heads and giving the people something new to whisper about. Both of you don't care, and it's not like anyone was daring enough to question the Sher-e-Baloch.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who yaps about his gun collection passionately. He'll point to each gun and tell you the mechanical stuff about it while you zone out staring at his breathtaking side profile. He ofcourse notices this and asks you to repeat what he just said. You'll cheekily smile in reply while he shakes his head in disapproval even though you can clearly see the blush creeping up his neck.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who'll randomly hug you throughout the day. You'll just be cleaning a shelf and he'll wrap his arms around you, manhandling you into facing him. While you're still confused, he'll tilt your head upwards and press his mouth against yours. It's not even a proper kiss, just the both of you smashing your lips together. Before you can respond properly, he'll pull away, pat your cheek with a smile, and walk away like nothing happened.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who grabs at you like you're a fluffy toy. You'd be making tea for him in the kitchen when he comes up from behind to squeeze your belly or ass. He's not soft with it either. He grabs like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. He'll scold you whenever you say anything bad about your body and tells you that it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He has a way of proving it too which ends with you limping around the house for a few days. He loves keeping you all chubby for him and he gets the cook to make your favourite dishes all the time so you'll eat a lot.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who drops the most specific and unusual compliments that has you pausing in confusion. He'll be so shameless with it too. "Your tits look very soft today", he'll murmur casually as he squeezes them through your shirt while you stand there looking confused.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who openly judges the type of shows you watch. He'll squint at the drama, and roll his eyes before grumbling about how it's so 'unrealistic'. An hour later he'll come back and ask "So does the man figure out that the girl he's been searching for is actually his maid?" with the most serious expression ever.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who brings home an abandoned puppy one night and tells you that he found it in the gutter, shivering in the rain. You've both been talking about getting a pet together so you're excited and immediately agree to the idea. You take care of the puppy together, taking it to the vet, buying treats, and he's thoroughly confused when you name it 'Biscuit', but doesn't question it. He adores the tiny creature and he lets it sleep on his lap while he works in his study. Although as days go by he gets jealous when he sees Biscuit hogging all your time. You'd both be watching tv at night and Biscuit would walk in, placing himself between the two of you, gaining your attention. Your boyfriend will pout but he secretly loves that he's building a family with you.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who texts like he's about to break up with you. The first time he texted you, he sent "We need to talk" and you began crying because you thought he was about to call it off. Meanwhile Rehman was wondering why you didn't reply to his text and came to see you. He's terrified to find you sobbing and frantically asks you for the reason. When you tell him why, he is so confused because he just wanted to let you know that he wishes to call you and hear your voice. You pause your crying, and begin slapping at his chest (though it does nothing to him) for scaring the living shit out of you. He'll later ask Uzair to teach him how to text properly using 'emojis' because he doesn't wanna scare you again.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who swears his hair is turning grey faster than usual from the shenanigans you pull with the gang members. You'll team up with them to tease him or to try some new experimental bullshit Siyahi has come up with (which somehow ends up with a fire no matter what). He'll stand with his hands on his hips, looking like an exhausted mama hen while he scolds the lot of you for not behaving, though his tone significantly softens when he talks to you. Uzair scoffs at the change and rolls his eyes while you secretly stick your tongue out at him. Rehman swears that he regrets introducing the guys to you but he's secretly so happy that his girl is fitting in so well with the men he considers as family. Although he wishes there were less fire incidents.
Older-boyfriend!Rehman who has a matching 'Sher' tattoo with both your initials designed into it in a hidden spot on his body. It was something you both did for your anniversary and he's obsessed with it. He intends to get another one soon – the date on which he first saw you.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and is not intended to glorify any real life pos terrorists and the activities linked with them.
P.S. this was a little hard for me to write since I am not sure how to portray child-parent/other adult figure relationships that well. Also, some charecters are a little ooc, deal with it😭
When Miss Sara Ahmed accepted the transfer from Islamabad to the Lyari branch of Burger kids International Academy, she had prepared herself mentally for rich, spoilt and difficult students.
The school was one of those elite private chains spread across Pakistan,with polished campuses, imported smart boards, absurd annual fees, and parents who thought donating suspicious amount of money to the school board gave them control over the syllabus.
Her colleagues in Islamabad had warned her before hand.
“Karachi rich kids are another breed.”
“Half of them think rules are optional.”
“Good luck surviving parent teacher meetings.”
So naturally, Miss Sara arrived in Lyari expecting spoiled children with superiority complexes and attitude problems.
Instead, she got… surprisingly lovely students.
Sure, there were a few dramatic children.
One boy cried because the cafeteria ran out of Nutella sandwiches.
Another genuinely asked if “community service” could be outsourced.
But overall?
The students were disciplined and polite.
They stood when teachers entered class, submitted homework on time, said “thank you" and "please" instinctively.
Some were mischievous, obviously, but not malicious.
The staff was decent too.
Though Miss Sara had noticed one strange thing, sometimes certain surnames made people pause very briefly.
Like they knew something she didn’t.
One of those surnames was:
Baloch.
Particularly attached to:
Naiem Baloch
Faisal Baloch
Meher Baloch
Naiem no longer attended, but the staff still talked about him like a he was the next Sheldon Cooper.
Graduated high school at fifteen, national distinctions, mathematics prodigy and painfully shy.
Apparently the principal still used his answer sheets as examples for other students.
Then there was Faisal, Miss Sara hadn’t met him yet, but she’d heard enough.
Failed eighth grade twice, charming menace.
Once convinced an invigilator he deserved “extra marks for being cute."
According to the Urdu teacher:
“That boy could sell sand to the desert and water to the sea.”
And finally, Meher Baloch.
Grade 4, nine years old and an absolute angel. Quiet and attentive and always completed her work neatly, shared stationery without being asked, raised her hand before speaking, always wanting to take part in class activities, basically the type of student teachers secretly prayed for.
So naturally Miss Sara adored her almost immediately.
Which is why what happened the following week nearly gave her a nervous breakdown.
---
“Alright class,” Miss Sara announced cheerfully one Monday morning. “Fir today's homework we are going to write a short essay about our families.”
Immediate excitement.
Children loved talking about themselves and their rich parents.
“You can write about your parents, siblings, pets, traditions, anything you want. Just write honestly.”
That, unfortunately, was the problem.
The essays came in by Wednesday, most were painfully generic.
“My father is a businessman.”
“My mother cooks very well.”
“My sister annoys me but I love her.”
A few essays were suspiciously sophisticated for a 4th grader.
Miss Sara read one sentence about “the socio economic contribution of paternal labor” and immediately knew someone’s overeducated and unemployed uncle had written the entire thing.
Then she reached Meher's notebook, the handwriting was neat but imperfect, a few spelling mistakes and some awkward sentence structures,very obviously written by an actual fourth grader.
Miss Sara smiled approvingly like finally an authentic essay.(Yes anon, Meher doesn't use ai)
Then she started reading and slowly her jaw fell to the floor.
---
My Family
By Meher Baloch
Grade 4-B
My family is very loving and little bit busy. There are many people in my house all the time. Sometimes when I wake up there are random uncles sleeping on sofas downstairs and nobody explains who they are.
Maybe guests, maybe abbu's friends from the factory. In my house it is hard to tell.
My Abbu’s name is Rehman and he works in a factory because Ammi always says things like “Eat your breakfast before going to the factory" and sometimes Abbu also says things like “Uzair get the car, we are late for the factory.”
So definitely factory.
But I think factory work is very stressful because many people come to our house crying, mostly men, very sweaty men.
Some hold Abbu’s hand and say sorry many many times. One uncle even kissed Abbu’s shoes once which I think was too much because they were dusty.
Then after some days some of those uncles disappear.
I asked Ammi where they go and she always says “Behesth.”(trans. Jannat, heavean)
I do not know where Behesth is but MANY people go there from our house. It must be very nice there because the uncles do not come back.
One time I asked if Behesth is near Lahore and Naiem bhai started laughing into his juice.
My Abbu is very nice though. He brings me chocolates and lets me sit with him during meetings. Sometimes the meetings look scary because everybody has angry faces and there are guns on table but nobody points them at me so probably safe.
Once I colored on Abbu’s knife with pink marker and pit hello kitty stickers on it because it looked boring, Everybody became very quiet, but then Abbu said “beautiful” and put the knife back in pocket. So, I think he liked it.
Sometimes Abbu comes home late with blood on him but Ammi never gets worried. She just says things like “go clean up” or “don’t touch the sofa.” So maybe factory workers get injured a lot. My Abbu works really hard for us.
One time there was a lot of blood on the floor and on abbu and I got scared but Siyahi chacha said it wasnt Abbu’s blood and then he cleaned it while eating biscuits so maybe it was not emergency.
My Ammi’s name is Ulfat and she is the real boss of house because she is the only person who yells at Abbu and abbu doesnt yell back. Everybody else talks to Abbu very carefully like school children talking to principal ma'am. But Ammi says things like “Rehman if you don't stop drinking rn I will kill YOU myself.” and Abbu stops drinking his stinky medicine.
Once one uncle was shouting very loudly in drawing room and then Ammi entered and said “awaaz neeche.”
That uncle almost whispered after that.
Ammi also has superpower aim with slippers. She can hit anybody from very far away without looking. Once Faisal bhai annoyed her from upstairs and she threw slipper from kitchen and it was direct headshot. Even Donga chacha said “wah.”
My oldest brother is Naiem bhai and honestly he is terrifying. He reads books with no pictures happily. Sometimes he sits alone in room doing maths for fun. FOR FUN.
Once I woke up at night and saw him in kitchen holding knife and staring at wall. I got scared but then he said he was thinking about equations and eating mango. I don't think he is okay.
But Naiem bhai loves me very much. He lets me have princess tea parties with him even when he is studying. One time I put makeup on him and he just sat there looking tired and beautiful. He also checks under my bed for monsters every night even though he says monsters are “statistically unlikely.”
My other brother is Faisal bhai and he is evil. He steals my chocolates and then helps me search for them. Once he put lizard in my school bag and I screamed so loudly one guard uncle came running inside with gun.
Then ammi shouted at him for ten minutes. It was nice.
Faisal bhai also fights me for TV remote even though he is old and should not watch so much tv. One time he told me I was adopted and they found me in a trash can outside the house, I cried so much that Ammi threw another slipper at him. Then he cried too which was embarrassing because he is old.
But he is nice sometimes, once I had fever and woke up at night and saw him sleeping on floor near my bed holding knife because he heard “suspicious sound outside.” it was the neighbour's cat.
Then in my family, I Have my Uzair chachu.
My Uzair chachu is unemployed because he just drives around in black cars wearing sunglasses and acting cool. Sometimes he leaves house at 3 am and comes back with bruises which feels unnecessary for unemployed person. Like what is he even doing? I think he was playing football with kids again.
He is very nice tho. He buys me dresses and teaches me football. He also taught me how to punch Faisal bhai properly.
He said “always stomach first.”
Sometimes Uzair chachu cleans guns while watching cartoons with me and and he also braids my hair. Uzair chachu is my favourite chachu.
Siyahi chacha and Donga chacha are also very nice. They play snakes and ladders with me and carry me to bed if I fall asleep downstairs. One time Siyahi chacha taught me how to remove blood stains using cold water and salt. Ammi shouted at him for “teaching weird things to child.”
But what if school uniform gets blood? Then what?
There are many guards outside my house always. When I was younger I thought everybody had guards with guns but then I went to Sana’s house and they only had one sleepy gate uncle with stick. I felt little unsafe for them honestly.
Sometimes loud noises happen outside at night and everybody suddenly wakes up and starts making phone calls. Then Ammi gives me ice cream and headphones and tells me not to come outside room. One time I peeked outside and saw Naieem bhai holding cricket bat while wearing SpongeBob pajamas and Uzair chachu holding actual gun ahead of him.
Very strong family bonding moment.
My family is little strange maybe, but they love me very much and I love them too.
---
Miss Sara read the essay twice.
Then a third time, and by the fourth read she had developed a stress headache and briefly considered emailing the school counsellor, child protection services, the principal and possibly the police.
Because surely, no well adjusted nine year old casually wrote things like:
“Sometimes meetings look scary because there are guns on table but nobody points them at me so probably safe.”
Or:
“One time Siyahi chacha taught me how to remove blood stains using cold water and salt.”
And yet the author of this essay was Meher Baloch. Tiny braid, My little pony sippy bottle, polite voice and constantly sharing stationery with classmates.
It made no sense.
Miss Sara looked at Meher again and as usual Meher smiled back sweetly.
Either something deeply concerning was happening in that household or Meher was a very creative liar.
So, at the end of class she handed the notebooks back one by one.
“Good.”
“Nice effort.”
“Please improve spelling.”
Then when she reached Meher's desk,
“Meher beta, stay one minute.”
Meher nodded obediently. “Yes Miss?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Miss Sara assured quickly, “I just reallyyyyy liked your essay and wanted to meet your parents.”
Meher brightened instantly. “Really?”
“Yes. Short meeting tomorrow before class.”
“Okay Miss.”
Then after a pause lottle Meher asked,
“Should guards also come?”
Miss Sara blinked.
“…Guards?”
“Yes.”
After a beat Miss Sara said, “…That won’t be necessary.”
---
The next morning Miss Sara walked into her little corner office in the staff room, and nearly dropped her coffee.
There were four armed men outside her office.
So apparently it had been necessary.
And sitting calmly at Meher’s desk was a man dressed in black pathani kurta, broad shouldered, composed, frighteningly relaxed. Beside him sat an elegant woman fixing Meher’s uniform while scolding her softly for not finishing breakfast.
Meher waved excitedly.
“Miss Sara! This is my Abbu and Ammi.”
Miss Sara’s stomach dropped.
Because now she recognized him properly.
Rehman Dakait.
Oh. Oh this was bad. Very bad.
For one horrifying second Miss Sara remembered all the authorities she’d considered contacting the previous night, right now she realised that these people were the authorities in Lyari.
“Assalamualaikum,” she said faintly.
“Walikumassalam,” Rehman replied politely. Which somehow made him look even more scarier.
Miss Sara sat slowly and opened the notebook.
“There were just… a few things I wanted clarification on.”
“Of course,” he said calmly.
She opened the notebook and pointed at the first paragraph.
“Random uncles sleeping on sofas downstairs.”
“What exactly does she mean by this?”
“People stay after meetings sometimes.”
“What kind of meetings?”
A pause.
“Work.”
That single word was doing unbelievable heavy lifting, Miss Sara nodded awkwardly and turned the page.
“Sweaty men crying and apologizing.”
“Business disagreements.”
Beside him, Ulfat sighed. “She notices too much.”
Next line.
“There are guns on table…”
“She’s not wrong,” Rehman admitted calmly.
Miss Sara stared at him.
He stared back, completely relaxed.
Like discussing firearms in front of a fourth grade teacher was a normal.
She flipped another page quickly.
“One time there was blood on floor—”
“Goat meat,” Ulfat interrupted immediately.
Rehman glanced at her briefly.
Then nodded once. “Yes,Goat meat.”
Miss Sara did not believe either of them for a second.
Then:
“I put Hello Kitty stickers on Abbu’s knife.”
To her horror, Rehman smiled slightly.
“She was very proud of those stickers.”
“You kept them for three weeks,” Ulfat said flatly.
“She would’ve been upset otherwise.”
“It was a weapon, Rehman.”
“It was decorative.”
Meher giggled proudly.
Miss Sara sat there frozen while one of Karachi’s most feared men defended Hello Kitty stickers on a weapon with complete sincerity.
And somehow, the terrifying part was that they genuinely seemed to adore their daughter.
Every few minutes Ulfat adjusted Meher’s hair absentmindedly. Rehman answered every question patiently, never once dismissing her. Meher leaned against them comfortably, completely secure.
There was no fear in that child, only affection.
Chaotic, heavily armed affection, but affection nonetheless.
Eventually the meeting ended.
Rehman stood first.“Thank you for teaching our daughter.”
Then Meher hugged Miss Sara around the waist before skipping out happily between her parents towards her class.
The armed guards followed behind them.
And Miss Sara remained seated at her desk long after they’d left, staring blankly at the essay in her hands.
Then she slowly closed the notebook, leaned back in her chair and whispered to herself:
“…Okay so apparently the mafia can produce emotionally stable children.”
☁️ summary : a chance encounter, a very angry you and a very smitten uzair baloch.
☁️ warnings : abusive language, mentions of sexual activities, kissing, also hamza in this fic is not a spy, he is a gangster like everyone else.
☁️ disclsimer : the character of uzair baloch in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of danish 'pookie' pandor in dhurandhar. this work of fiction is not about the real uzair baloch involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticizes him.
☁️ wc : 11.1k.
☁️ a/n : hello my lovelies, im back with a new chapter and this one is something that we've all been wanting for them for a longggg while, babies happy in their little world of love. 💗
a big shoutout to @obsessedwidskincare and @miraclejin1204 for their lovely ideas for this chapter, i love you both so much 🥰🫂🩷
as always, thank you so much for all for the love you've given to me, this little fic of mine and the other little fics of mine, i love you all, happy reading, do like, reblog and please leave your precious feedback for motivation. 🥰❤️
☁️ if anyone wants to be tagged for the further updates, please let me know 🫶🏼
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》 Masterlist
6.
As chaotic and as noisy as Lyari was during the day, at night, it feels as if the whole city becomes a completely different world, the roads, quiet now, are bathed in streetlights, the faint hum of the civilization now is a sharp contrast to the loud din of the day, soft lamplights from homes cast shadows on the walls decked with posters and in the middle of it all, You and Uzair sit on the terrace of your building in comfortable silence, while you sit cross legged, Uzair’s long legs dangle over the edge, two empty cups of noon chai and a half eaten samosa between the two of you as you both look at Lyari twinkling below.
Uzair reaches for your hand, the pad of his thumb strokes your knuckles gently.
“Chaand dekho Uzair, kitna khoobsurat hai.” You speak, looking at the moon in complete childlike wonder.
(Look at the moon, Uzair, it is so beautiful.)
“Haan, dekh raha hoon.” The man answers, not taking his eyes off you.
(Yes, I am looking.)
“Woh aasman par hota hai, sirf durr se dekha jaata hai.” You reply, trying not to blush.
(It's in the sky, only seen from afar. )
“Haan, sunna tha maine kuch arsa pehley ki chaand aasman par hota hai par ab chaand zameen par utar aaya hai, infact ab toh mere bilqul bagal mein baitha hai.”
(Yes, I had heard some time ago that the moon is in the sky but now the moon has come down to earth, in fact now it is sitting right next to me.)
You lightly smack his chest with the hand he's holding, hot flush rising in your cheeks as he laughs.
“Accha jaan, ek baat kahun?” The younger baloch speaks.
(Okay dear, can I say something?)
“Uzair, agar tumney phir se gandi gandi baatein shuru ki naa..” You warn him.
(Uzair, if you start talking dirty again..)
“Yaar jaan, kitni baar main tumhey bataun ki uss din jab tumney call ki thi toh woh saala Hamza meri aawaz nikaal kar tumsey ool-julool baatein kar raha tha!” Uzair tries to explain it to you again, thoroughly exasperated.
(My love, how many times should I tell you that the day you called, that bastard Hamza was imitating my voice and talking nonsense to you!)
“Oh accha? Uss baalon ki dukaan ko toh main dekhungi ab, miley agli baar woh mujhey, uski aur Yalina ki suhaagraat par mainey Jameel Jamali ko unn dono ke beech mein naa sulaaya toh dekhna!”
(Oh, okay? I'll see that hair salon now, next time I meet him, on her and Yalina's wedding night, if i didn't make Jameel Jamali sleep between them, then see.)
“Aur uska badla agar usney humari suhaagraat par nikala toh beda gark ho jaana hai, ek toh itni mushqil se meri jaan mujhey mili hai uss par se shaadi ki pehli raat ko apni biwi, apni jaan-e-mann se jee bhar ke mohabbat bhi nahi kar paunga!” Uzair mumbles, slightly pouting.
(And if he takes revenge on our wedding night, then it will be a disaster, I have got my love with so much difficulty and on top of that, I will not be able to love my wife, my life and soul, with all my heart on the first night of marriage.)
“What?” You ask, unsure.
“What?” He repeats, pretending to be absolutely clueless.
“Aur ek baat batao.” He speaks after a few beats of silence.
(Tell me one more thing.)
“Agar mujhe aisi hi baatein karni hoti toh main tumsey direct baatein nahi karta? Roz hi toh miltey hain hum, phone pe karney ka intezaar kyun karta?”
(If I had to talk like this, wouldn't I have talked to you directly? We meet every day, why would I wait to do it over the phone?)
“Waisey..” You trail off, looking away from him, smiling as you bite your lower lip and play with the edge of your dupatta, “agar tum mujhsey aisi, sexy baatein karna chaho toh kar saktey ho, I– umm.. I– I won't mind.”
(By the way.. If you want to talk to me about sexy things, you can, I… uh… uh, I won't mind.)
Uzair blinks, then holding your hand that was still in his hold, he pulls you closer to him, so that now you are facing him, looking directly into those two beautiful pools of molten cocoa.
“Jaan..” He whispers right near the shell of your ear, “Tum chahti ho main tumsey romantic, pyaari, sexy baatein karoon?”
(Love, Do you want me to talk about romantic, sweet, sexy things to you?)
You nod, flush creeping up your cheeks, “Main–” You try, playing with a button of his balochi kameez, “Main kal raat ko tumharey hi baare mein soch rahi thi aur mere khyaal bilqul bhi acchey nahi the.”
(I– I was thinking about you last night and my thoughts weren't good at all.)
It is true, you had spent the majority of last night thinking about him, or more specifically about his hands – large, calloused, warm, the jolt of electricity that had run down your body when earlier that evening, your kameez had shifted slightly from playfighting with your boyfriend and Uzair had pulled you flush against him, his palm unknowingly brushing against that bare part of your waist.
You yelp when you feel him pulling you right into his lap with just a tug and your palms brace against his chest for support.
“Uzair!”
The man grins, shamelessly.
“Sirf sochti kyun ho? Jab main unhey haqeeqat banaa sakta hoon, toh phir khyaali pulao bananey ka kya faayda?”
(Why just think? What's the point of daydreaming when I can make them a reality?)
You smack his chest again, harder this time and hide your face in his chest, blushing crimson as he holds you, laughing fondly.
Another thing that you've noticed these days is that your mind, your imagination has been wandering a LOT, especially more since you and Uzair have been together, earlier, yes, you used to think about him but nowadays, they are more like fantasies? Just a few days back, you and him were eating spicy tangy bhutta from a roadside stall together after your work and his factory hours, Uzair was animatedly telling you about Donga's shenanigans at work and you swear you were focusing on what he was saying, then like clockwork, your gaze falls down to his lips, his soft luscious lips partially hidden behind that well groomed beard and your mind fucking wanders.
On wanting to tug on that soft lower lip, on wanting to have his lips pressed against your skin, his lips trace kisses on your neck while those large hands wander, mapping your curves, making you shiver.
You were brought out of your daydreaming by your man himself as he snapped his fingers, asking you what's wrong and what were you supposed to answer? That you were distracted, distracted because you are fantasizing about your hot boyfriend in the middle of a crowded street in Lyari?
Making it worse were Haya's spicy books.
Tucked along an isolated dusty backstreet of Lyari was a bookstore that sold spicy smutty books in secret and Haya had dragged you along to buy some for herself on a day off from work and now you had borrowed them from her.
The Boutique has fallen into a quiet hum following the heavy rush of the mornings and mid afternoons, Haya is out for some fabric shopping as per Mrs Junaid's instructions while at the reception counter, you are engrossed in another spicy romance volume, the back of your rotating chair facing the entrance so that anyone coming in is not immediately able to see what's you're doing or to be more precise, what book you are devouring.
The previous chapter you read had explicit gunplay and you would be lying through your teeth if you say that after reading it, you didn't lay awake in bed thinking about how the cold muzzle of Uzair's beretta would feel against your damp swollen folds, your nails scratching his wide muscular back while you are under him, your whimpers are swallowed by his rough kisses that make your head spin while his silver triangle chain dangles over you, the cold metal a momentary relief for your flushed, heated skin.
You would be lying through your teeth if you said that as your imagination wandered, your panties weren't soaked.
Now this chapter had explicit oral sex and it got graphic to the point that you had to close the book for a few seconds and take a few deep calming breaths.
“Itni tharak aur hawas bhar gayi hai mere andar, pataa nahi nikaah ke baad how will my bhondu keep up with me?” You speak out loud, resting your chin on the spine of the book and then picking back up from where you were reading, oblivious of the slight creak of the boutique door opening and the soft yet steady echo of heavy combat boots against the marble floor.
(I am filled with so much lust and desire, I don't know how my fool will keep up with me after marriage?)
“She writhes in need, but he doesn't immediately give her what she wants, not yet, his lips press kisses, lingering, maddening kisses along the soft skin of her inner thighs but not where she wants him and his mouth the most.”
“Please–” She whimpered.
He obliges and the first swipe of his tongue against her wet folds has her bucking against the backseat, her fingers tangling in his hair while her mouth falls open in a shameless moan of his name–”
Uzair reads out loud and he wants to know what happens next as he is now seriously invested but you jump, letting out a small scream and snap the book shut, much to his amusement.
“Uzair!” You chide him as you take a few deep breaths, keeping a hand on your racing heart.
“Kya hua, jaan? Main hi toh hoon.” He speaks, leaning lazily against the desk.
("What happened, darling? It's just me.)
“Haan toh tum bata nahi saktey the? Khamoqa darra diya mujhey.”
(So you couldn't tell me? You scared me.)
“Agar bataa deta toh mujhey meri jaan ki masrufiyaat ke baarey mein pataa hi nahi chalta.” Uzair pointedly looks towards the spicy book you were trying to hide.
(If I had told you, I would not have known about my love's busy-ness.)
“Oh, yeh– yeh woh– woh Haya ki qitaabein hain, main– main toh– main toh bas aisey hi dekh rahi thi–” You try to come up with an excuse, cheeks pink.
(Oh, this— this— those are Haya's books, I— I was just— I was just looking at—)
However, your brain freezes when Uzair, who was leaning against the desk a few seconds ago, starts walking towards you.
“Hmm, tumhara mujhsey jhoot bolna mutawaqqo tha par ab tum apney aap se bhi jhoot bolney lagi ho?”
(Hmm, I expected you to lie to me, but now you've started lying to yourself too?)
“Na– Nahi– woh main–”
You try but your now frozen brain completely stops functioning because your man has stepped into your space, his powerful 6’2 frame towering over you, the scent that always clings to his clothes, oud, expensive tobacco and gunpowder surrounds you and you inhale, breathing it in, his scent always worked like a fucking drug, you were definitely an addict for your lover's scent.
“Shhh..” Uzair shushes you and as per habit, he goes to wipe his hands down his kameez before touching you, when you stop him right there by placing your hands on his wrists and softly shaking your head.
When he cups your face gently, his fingers are still shaking slightly as if the Prince Of Lyari still can't believe that you're now his, you lean further into his touch, closing your eyes briefly.
“Itna sharmaati kyun ho mujhsey? Apney khwaahishaat chupaati kyun ho? Tumhey kya lagta hai mainey mehsoos nahi kiya ki pichley kuch hafton se khoyi khoyi si ho?” Uzair steps closer, so close, that now your chest brushes against his, his warm breath fans across your skin making your own breath hitch, “Tumhey sach mein laga that you will keep staring at my lips and I wouldn't notice? Tumhey sach mein laga that I wouldn't notice ki kaisey tumhari saansein tezz hone lagti hain aur tumhara chehra surkh laal parney lagta hai jab bhi main tumhey jaane-anjaane choota hoon?”
(Why are you so shy of me? Why do you hide your desires? Do you think I haven't noticed you've been so lost these past few weeks? Did you really think you would keep staring at my lips and I wouldn't notice? Did you really think I wouldn't notice how your breathing quickens and your face turns red whenever I knowingly or unknowingly touch you?)
“If you want me, then tell me. Tell me what you want jaan, jo tum chahti ho wahi hoga.” He whispers, his voice a husky velvet and suddenly you find yourself suspended in the air for a brief moment, a yelp escapes your lips as you clutch onto Uzair's shoulders tightly.
(Whatever you want will be done.)
Uzair then places you effortlessly on your work desk and comes to stand between your parted thighs, his hands find your waist, fingers tracing small rhythmic circles on your skin, your hands instinctively slide up his chest.
“And you know what? Yeh jo bhi aur jaisa bhi inn qitaabon mein likha hai naa?” He leans closer so that his breath ghosts across the sensitive skin of your neck, making you sigh softly, “I can do it better, I can make you orgasm 1000000x better than those 2D characters.”
(Whatever and however it is written in these books, right?)
Uzair's voice drops an octave lower, his lips brush against your skin, making you shiver as your fingers clutched harder into the fabric of his balochi kameez.
“Jab tumharey paas main hoon, then why the fuck do you need these books, jaan?”
(When you have me, then why the fuck do you need these books, darling?)
“Meri yeh jawaani kis kaam ki agar main apni jaan-e-mann ki saari fantasies naa poori kar paun?”
(What is the use of my youth if I am not able to fulfill all the fantasies of my love?)
Your whole face explodes into crimson.
“Uzair..” You whisper shyly, playing with a button of his kameez, a cute habit of yours that he absolutely adores.
“Jab uss din hum Aalam Bhai ki dukaan par the, mainey tumhey Haya se iss qitaab ke baarey mein baat kartey huye sunna tha.” Uzair picks up a copy of An Offer From A Gentleman by Julia Quinn, The bathtub scene? If you want that, main vaada karta hoon tumsey, humarey nikaah se pehley, main bathroom mein personally luxury bathtub install karwaunga and I will read that scene, word by word, so that I can pleasure my baby exactly how she wants.”
(When we were at Aalam Bhai's shop that day, I heard you talking to Haya about this book. The bathtub scene? If you want that, I promise I'll personally install a luxury bathtub in the bathroom before our wedding.)
Your face flushes more crimson by the increasing second.
“Or this one?” Uzair then picks up the hardbound copy of The Viscount Who Loved Me by the same author, “The gazebo scene? Jaan, if you want that, I will again personally make sure ki humarey nikaah se pehley, haveli ke baagichey mein gazebo banwaya jaye.”
(Jaan, if you want that, I will again personally make sure that before our marriage, a gazebo should be built in the garden of the mansion.)
You laugh, smacking his arm gently, your cheeks still flushed crimson, “Offo, that seems a bit excess Uzair!”
“Nothing is excess for you, jaan.” He caresses your cheek, “but honestly, to make you cry out my name in ecstasy, I don't need a fancy gazebo, my mouth, my fingers and any surface where my baby is comfortable, is enough.”
A fresh wave of heat rushes straight to your core at his words as your heart skips ridiculously hard in your chest and suddenly you find the bangles on your wrists very interesting but Uzair doesn't let your gaze linger down, he doesn't let you hide. Instead, he pulls your chin up gently and you're looking directly into those beautiful warm brown irises.
“Kahaa naa, chupna nahi hai jaan, dekho meri aankhon mein and tell me what you want.”
(I told you, you can't hide, darling, look into my eyes and tell me what you want.)
“You.”
That's all you said, in a heartbeat.
aa, hoonthon pe khwaahish tu bunn le
“Soch lo.” (Think about it.)
“Soch liya.” (Thought about it)
Your hands that were till now on Uzair's chest, loop around his neck, your lips a breath away from his.
baaki jo hasrat woh chun le
“Last chance, jaan.” He whispers huskily, his thumb tracing your lower lip.
“I've already made up my mind, Mr. Bhondu.” Your gaze is challenging and your voice is tinged with mischief as you look at Uzair.
“Let's see if you keep calling me that after I've had my way with you.” He smirks.
Your eyes flutter close expecting a kiss but when Uzair's lips press to the curve where your shoulder meets your neck, he feels the flutter of your pulse beneath his mouth, he takes his time there, your skin is warm, soft, fragrant from that rose bath soap you like, he drags his lips slowly along the tendon, tasting the faint salt of your skin and you shiver, your breath catching.
bikhrey hain jo katrey mere
Uzair trails downward, each touch intentional, each kiss landing deliberately as his fingers gently pull away your dupatta, brushing down the soft fabric of your kameez from your shoulders, his lips brush the hollow at the base of your throat then lower, following the gentle slope.
Your pulse thunders, your fingers tangle in his soft hair at the base of his neck, wasn't this exactly what you were fantasizing about, a few nights back?
aa, tann se tann uljahaley zara
When Uzair reaches the lush swell of your breasts, he pauses, letting his breath ghost over the skin before he presses a kiss there, slow, open-mouthed, feeling the soft give of flesh beneath his lips, his tongue flicks over that small distracting mole you have there, tasting, teasing, before his lips follow, his large hands coming up to rest on your bosom.
phir se mann sulga le zara
chakhne toh de tukdey tere
“Uzair..” You moan softly against his neck and that awakens something in him.
main jalti raatein teri
tu woh subah jo bujha de
But before his fingers could untie the delicate set of dori’s that held your kameez together, to reveal more of your soft skin to his hungry gaze, the door to the boutique opens signalling the arrival of new customers.
“Kaun hai Behencho–” Uzair turns, furious as fuck, ready to curse the whole bloodline of whoever walked in, only to find clueless middle aged women staring back at him, fearfully.
(Who is it Sisterfuc–)
Sometimes, you truly did forget that the Baloch Brothers and the Baloch Family in general are feared and respected, because they've always treated you like family and now you are one of them.
Also, sometimes you truly do forget how intimidating Uzair can actually be.
Your heart does a little flip when Uzair does not curse in the company of women, he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, the tips of his ears and his full cheeks rapidly turning pink by the second yet he stands guard in front of you, shielding you from their judgemental and questionable stares while also giving you ample time to fix your appearance, you find the dupatta that your man had taken off but had not thrown it away haphazardly and drape it in a way that your neck is covered, for you're very sure that his kisses must've left marks, you smooth down the front of your kameez, tuck the stray locks of hair behind your ears and take long deep breaths, before gently placing a hand on Uzair's arm as silent assurance that you are okay now and step out from behind him to greet the customers with a polite practiced smile though the crimson of your cherub cheeks says otherwise.
As you lead the ladies over to the evening wear section, your hands find Uzair's giving it a gentle, loving squeeze, a silent thank you for always being there for you.
“I love you.” You whisper, looking at him, your shy smile saying it all.
“I love you more. Main tumhey shaam mein leney aaunga, phir hum baahir chalengey.” Uzair whispers, caressing your cheek.
(I will come to pick you up in the evening, then we will go out.)
“Apna khyaal rakhna.” You speak, gently smoothening the collar of his kameez.
(Take care.)
“Tum bhi.” He cups your face in his palms and leans in to lovingly kiss your forehead.
(You too.)
Upon feeling a gentle tug at your wrist, you look down at a little girl of around 10, who is with the customers who just came in, looking between you and Uzair, who is walking out of the boutique, with a sweet, curious smile on her beautiful features.
“Boyfriend?” Her voice is as sweet and as curious.
You nod, smiling.
“He is so handsome like a prince, good choice!” She smiles up at you, giving you a cute thumbs up, her pretty doe eyes shining with happiness and innocence.
You laugh, bending down to her level and lovingly pull her cheeks.
“He is indeed! Thank you.”
“Will you please pleasee pleaseeee invite me to your nikaah? Mujhey naa prince aur princess ki shaadi dekhni hai real life mein!” She jumps up and down cutely, holding onto your arm as you look at her, thoroughly endeared.
(I want to see the marriage of a prince and princess in real life!)
“Ofcourse I will, meri jaan. Par abhi aap apni mumma ke paas jaein, woh aapko dhoondh rahi hongi.” You lovingly ruffle her hair as she jumps in happiness again and then rushes off to her mother.
(Of course I will, my love. But go to your mother now, she'll be looking for you.)
That evening, after work, When you and Haya had stepped out of the boutique door, true to his promise, Uzair stood outside, leaning on his armoured suv, tinkering with his cell as he waited for you.
Freshly showered and changed, your man was now dressed in a black balochi salwar kameez, his silver chain glinting in the pale streetlights while his balochi kadas chimed softly as he texted someone, [definitely his work wife, Baalon Ki Dukaan Ali Mazari.] and you feel your heart beating a mile per minute because how can someone look so fucking gorgeous and so fucking hot to the point that just by looking at him, leaning so casually against the suv, dressed in black makes you want to fucking combust??!!
“Jo bhi kaho,” Haya says, “Uzair bhai ko dekhkar saari ladkiyon ki neeyat kharaab ho jaati hai, for real.”
(Whatever you say, every girls' intentions get spoiled after seeing Uzair Bhai, for real.)
“How is he so fucking hot, Haya? I think I will combust in flames! I want to do unspeakable things to him, I want him to do unspeakable things to me!” You literally stomp your feet, hiding your face in your hands as your cheeks burn crimson.
“Arrey meri jaan!” Haya giggles then coos, holding you into a hug, “Itna maal boyfriend hai tumhara, yeh toh valid reaction hai ulta I would've been concerned agar tumhey unkey liye gandey khyaal nahi aatey toh!”
(Oh my love! You have such a hot boyfriend, this is a valid reaction, on the contrary, I would have been worried if you didn't have any dirty thoughts about him!)
“Aur aaj dopehar baad toh aur bhi zyaada aaney lagey hain.” You mutter under your breath and Haya smiles knowingly because you were continuously zoning off to the thoughts of Uzair, his scent, his touch, the feel of his lips on your skin, on what would've happened if the customers hadn't arrived [maybe against the desk?] and it was Haya who kept bringing you out of your sexy fantasies.
(And after this afternoon even more fantasies have started coming.)
When Uzair sees you, the smile that lights up his handsome features makes your heart skip a beat again, he waves cutely, you wave back, he jogs up to you and you meet him halfway.
Your soft arms wrap around him, the warmth of your body, the steady thrum of your heart, your scent, jasmine and rain, envelop him like a safety blanket, your touch, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest against him, grounds him, anchors him to you and that's all it takes for Uzair to forget about the blood, grime and dirt of the day, he's here now, in your arms, in his safest sanctuary and nothing else matters, except you, his beloved.
“Hi.” You cutely look up at him, smiling.
“Hi.” He smiles, cupping your face in his palms and booping your nose with his.
“Bohot miss kiya maine tumhey.”
(I missed you a lot.)
“Maine bhi tumhey bohot miss kiya.”
(I missed you a lot too.)
After dropping Haya home safely, Uzair straightaway wanted to go to the first stop for the evening, Dolmen Mall but you asked him to give you at least twenty minutes to get showered, changed and get ready after a whole working day.
“Par tum toh humesha khoobsurat lagti ho meri jaan, jaisey ke abhi, poori tuttti frutti icecream lag rahi ho.” Uzair speaks with a straight face trying not to laugh, referring to your pretty, vibrant anarkali as you unlock the door to your apartment.
(But you always look beautiful my love, like right now, you look like a complete tutti frutti ice cream.)
“Hahahaha, very funny, Uzair Miyan.” You turn to look at him, arms crossed.
“Arrey baby, tum toh khafaa ho gayi, meri poori baat toh sunno! Tutti Frutti mera favorite icecream flavor hai, jee toh chaah raha hai tumhey khaa jaun.” He pulls you flush against his chest.
(Hey baby, you got upset, listen to me completely! Tutti Frutti is my favorite ice cream flavor, I feel like eating you.)
“Zyaada baatein naa banao!” You shove him lightly in the chest, blushing furiously but then pull him closer again, “Tum itney khoobsurat aur itney hot lag rahe ho ki tumhey dekhtey hi meri saansein rukk gayi thi, tumhey dekhkar main apni baat baar baat bhul rahi hoon, toh mujhey bhi toh ek mauqa do ki main bhi tumharey hosh udaa sakun, tumhara dil dhadka sakun?”
(Don't make too much fuss! You are looking so gorgeous and so hot that my breath stopped as soon as I saw you, I am forgetting my own words after seeing you, so give me a chance so that I can also make you lose your senses, make your heart beat?)
“Jaana, mere hosh toh ussi din udd gaye the jab maine tumhey hospital mein pehli baar dekha tha aur mera dil bhi ussi din tumney dhadkaya tha jab Naieem ki jaan ke badley paisey deney ki baat par tumhey mujhey sunnaya tha kyunki mainey baat hi gadho wali ki thi.” Uzair nuzzles in your neck like a cat, making you blush and giggle in his chest.
(Jaana, I lost my senses the day I saw you for the first time in the hospital and my heart also pounded the day you told me off for giving money in exchange for Naieem's life because I was the one who said such an idiotic thing.)
Leaving Uzair seated in the living room, you walked towards your bedroom to get ready, after a quick shower, you changed into a breathtaking silk lawn suit in a soft powder blue hue delicate as the first light of dawn, the kameez is crafted from feather light silk lawn that falls effortlessly, with intricate hand-embroidered silver zari veins tracing the neckline and cascading gently along the sleeves, tiny pearl and sequin embellishments are scattered across the fabric like drops of morning dew, catching the light with every movement, the sleeves are long and sheer, the ends trimmed with fine lace cuffs, a touch of grace.
If the suit is this beautiful, your mouth falls open in awe as you unwrap the dupatta for it is pure ethereal beauty, a flowing organza silk piece edged with detailed gota and resham embroidery, its borders adorned with subtle floral motifs in silver and white threadwork, it drapes like mist, adding an almost regal softness to the the ensemble, the trousers are tailored straight cut in matching silk lawn with embroidered hems.
A beautiful gift from Aisha Bhabhi.
For hair and makeup, you tie your hair in a soft low bun with a few face-framing locks curled delicately around your cherub cheeks and you tie the whole look together with a pearl claw clip, kohl lined eyes and a satin rosy lipstick.
Your everyday dainty jhumkis were replaced by pretty silver jhumkey and matching blue glass bangles.
When you step out after 15 minutes, Uzair who has been sprawled out on the sofa, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, stands up on seeing you, dropping his cell in the process, which skitters to the farthest end of the room before coming to a halt.
You cutely raise your eyebrows in question, but his reaction, those beautiful warm brown eyes wide and soft, his mouth hanging open, his expressions; a mixture of pure surprise and awe mixed with thorough fondness, tells you everything that you want to know.
Feeling pretty, you do a cute little twirl, your organza dupatta flows out around you like a soft fluffy cloud and Uzair feels his heart beating right out of his chest like shown in those cartoons Faizal watches.
“Kaisi lag rahi hoon main?” You ask, stepping closer to him, clasping both your hands behind your back.
(How do I look?)
“Nikaah karlo mujhsey!” He squeaks cutely, making you giggle and Uzair Baloch clutches his chest, not dramatically, no, he genuinely clutches his chest for his heart cannot handle your beauty and the sweet sound of your giggles, like tiny bells chiming together.
(Marry me!)
“Uzair..”
“Nahi seriously, nikaah karlo mujhsey.”
(No seriously, marry me!)
“Haan zaroor karungi par yeh mere sawaal ka jawaab nahi hai.”
(Yes, I will definitely, but this is not the answer to my question.)
“Jaana..” He cups your face in his palms, “Tum itni haseen lag rahi ho, itni beintehaa, behadd haseen ki jaisey chaand zameen par utar aaya ho, woh bhi sirf mere liye, main jaanta hoon ki shaadi ki jaldi hum dono ko nahi hai aur ek doosrey ko jaan-ne, samajhney ka faisla bhi humara khud ka tha par tum itni haseen lag rahi ho ki jee chahta hai ki tumhey abhi apni dulhan banakar apney saath, apney ghar le jaun.”
(Love, you are looking so beautiful, so infinitely, so incredibly beautiful as if the moon has come down to earth, that too only for me. I know that neither of us is in a hurry to get married and the decision to know and understand each other was also our own, but you are looking so beautiful that I feel like making you my bride right now and taking you with me to my home.)
“Toh le jao, kisney roka hai tumhey?” You look up at him, your cheeks flushed.
(So take me, who is stopping you.)
Uzair's breath hitches, audibly.
“Bas. Khatam.” He shakes his head, “Uzair Baloch.exe has officially stopped working, khuda hafiz.”
(Done. Finished.)
“Accha, ab chalo!” You laugh, holding his hand and pulling him towards the door.
(Okay, let's go now!)
Main soch raha hoon ki tumhey bhagaa kar le jaoon! Par hum jayenge kahaan?” Uzair muses cutely as he's led by you.
(I'm thinking of taking you away! But where will we go?)
“Uzair..”
Dolmen Mall was too crowded for a weekday tonight, in the last half an hour, you and Uzair have already been jostled five times by the crowd, but when an elderly woman had literally shoved you, to the point that you would've fallen right down the stairs if his strong arms hadn't held you in time, Uzair has had enough.
“Yeh aajkal ki ladkiyaan, chalney tak ki toh tameez hai nahi par boyfriend zaroor banaa-na hai inhone.” She sneers, looking at the two of you.
(These girls of today, they don't even have manners to walk but they definitely have boyfriends.)
Uzair is about to go all out on her but you keep a gentle, loving hand on his arm, when your man turns to look back at you, you shake your head gently and nod once which is his and yours code for, ‘jaan relax, i’ve got this shit handled.’
The Prince Of Lyari then steps back, letting his queen come through.
“Aur yeh aajkal ki auntiyaan, khud toh zindagi mein kabhi khush rahi nahi, shauhar ka pyaar kabhi mila nahi par doosron pe tanz zaroor karna hai inhone.” You speak calmly, crossing your arms.
(And these women of today, they themselves have never been happy in life, never got the love of their husbands, but they definitely want to judge others.)
Uzair snorts while that woman looks like she's been slapped hard across the face, for she never expected you to talk back to her and to hold your ground, she's opens her mouth again, about to say something more and you're standing right there, cool, composed, ready to counter whatever shit she'll spew about you and Uzair, but then she decides against it and scurries off.
This time, Uzair gently brings you towards the inside, more into him, more into his arms, away from the jostling crowd, then lovingly entwines his fingers with yours.
“Waisey hi itni mushqil se mili ho, kahin kho jaogi toh main kahaan jaaonga?” He whispers lovingly, looking into your eyes.
(Anyway, I have met you with so much difficulty, if you get lost somewhere then where will I go?)
You blush and before you can say something equally romantic, Uzair leans in, “BTW, that was so fucking hot jaana. You telling that woman off was so hot and you looked so hot while doing it, I'm literally swooning, I truly am the luckiest man in the whole world.”
“Uzair.”
“Honestly, I'm so turned on right now.”
“Mr. Eiffel Tower, please stop talking!”
When it came to you, Uzair Baloch was many things but today while you're at the mall with him, you also got to know that man absolutely loves to spoil you rotten, first, the beautiful delicate fine china plates that he gifted you and now the numerous shopping bags that had clothes, jewelry, makeup, perfumes, handbags, shoes and what not, you were currently standing in the MAC store, fussing over the 25,000/- bill, because once a few weeks ago, your head was in Uzair's lap, his fingers were running through the soft strands of your hair in a calming motion as you were looking through a glossy fashion magazine, came through MAC cosmetics advert and had absentmindedly pointed out the shades of their bullet lipsticks you loved, that was it, you even forgot that you had mentioned something like this to him.
But Uzair had filed that information away for later use and today, holding your hand, he had walked into the MAC store then asked you to pick your favorite shades, doesn't matter how many they may be.
You tried to pretend that you didn't remember the shades, you tried to pick up two and said these were all but no, your boyfriend was not having it.
“Uzair, yeh bohot zyaada ho gaya hai, waisey hi tum already mujhey itna kuch dilwa chukey ho, ab inki zaroorat nahi thi.” You say as the cashier carefully packs the lipsticks in a pretty MAC shopping bag.
(Uzair, this is too much, you have already got me so many things, I don't need these anymore.)
“Mere liye inn chand paison ki qeemat kabhi bhi tumhari khushi se zyaada nahi ho sakti, meri jaan, tumhari ek pyaari si muskurahat ke liye main yeh poori dukaan toh kya, yeh poora mall khareed sakta hoon.” Uzair smiles as he hands the amount payable in crisp currency bills, takes the bag from the cashier, nods in acknowledgement when she asks you both to visit again and holding your hand, walks out of the store.
(For me, the value of these few coins can never be more than your happiness, my love, for one sweet smile of yours, I can buy not only this entire shop but this entire mall.)
While shopping for more lawn suits, [because you looked so pretty tonight, your man wanted to see you in more of them] you and Uzair had accidentally wandered over to the lingerie section.
Uzair had walked in confidently for exactly two seconds before realizing where you and him actually are, he coughs awkwardly into the palm of his hand and suddenly becomes very interested in the ceiling, usually when Aisha Bhabhi dragged him along for eid shopping and he would be getting bored out of his mind, he would look at the mannequins but here, he realises, he cannot even do that.
“Uh.. I think hum galat section mein aa gaye hain?” He asks, internally short-circuiting because baby does not know whether to look, not look, joke or teleport out.
(Uh.. I think we're in the wrong section?)
But you on the other hand decided to have some fun with your boyfie's cute, adorable flustered self.
“Kya hua jaan? Itney flustered kyun ho?” You tease him, gently resting your chin on his shoulder and watch the tips of ears turning more pink than they actually are.
(What happened, love? Why are you so flustered?)
“Nahi, woh– matlab hum–yahaan–” He tries adorably, but his voice goes shy-er and quiet-er with every word.
(No, that– I mean we– are here.)
Holding his hand, you bring him along to a display where a scorching red number was put up on a mannequin, smooth satin contours met intricate lace accents, creating a look that was both daringly seductive and effortlessly luxurious.
“Yeh wala kaisa hai?” You ask him, mischief dancing in your eyes.
(How is this one?)
“Mujhey kya pataa?” Uzair immediately combusts, very cutely.
(How do I know?)
You giggle but then narrow your eyes playfully, “Accha Uzair Miyan, abhi boutique mein toh bohot badi badi baat kar rahey the, tumharey liye yeh lagwaunga, tumharey liye woh banwanunga, par baby..”
Looping your arms around his neck, you look right into those shy beautiful warm brown orbs, “you do realize ki jo sab tum karney ki baatein kar rahey the, ussey pehley you do have to undress me and maybe, uss waqt mainey yahi pehna ho? Toh agar tum aisey nazarein churaoge phir meri beauty kis kaam ki?” You pout, fluttering your lashes dramatically and talking like that one viral meme.
(Okay Uzair Miyan, just now in the boutique you were talking big, I will get this done for you, I will get that made for you, but baby.. you do realize that whatever you were talking about doing, before that, you do have to undress me and maybe, I could be wearing this at that time? So if you steal such glances then what is the use of my beauty?)
His thumbs trace circles from where they are around your waist as Uzair looks into your eyes, that shyness in those deep pools of molten cocoa dissolves into something darker as he leans in, his breath hot against your exposed neck.
“Waisey yeh bohot khoobsurat lagega tum par.” Reaching out, Uzair feels the fabric underneath his thumb and index finger once and then looks back at you as if he's mentally picturing you in that lingerie.
(By the way, this will look very beautiful on you.)
“You're staring, Uzair Baloch.”
“No, I'm just admiring what's mine, that and I'm undressing you in my head because I know how breathtakingly gorgeous that red number will be on my beautiful baby.”
Blushing, you rest your head on his chest, but then you look up at him with that mischievous glint in your eyes.
“So, does that mean I get to undress you in my head too?”
“Baby, you can't say such things in public and then expect me to behave!”
“Acchaaaa, but you can?”
You and Uzair are now walking towards the foodcourt, both his hands are full of shopping bags and you've continuously insisted that you can carry your own bags, that he can give some of those bags to you, so that you both can carry them, but your man didn't budge.
“Main jaanta hoon ki tum qaabil ho, strong ho, independent ho aur mujhey naaz hai tumpar, par meri jaan, tum meri mohabbat ho, meri zimmedaari ho.” He had said.
(I know that you are capable, strong, independent and I am proud of you, but my love, you are my love, you are my responsibility.)
“Agar tumhey kuch pakadna hi haina, toh yeh lo.” Uzair cutely forwards his hand to you, “Mera haath pakdo, agar kahin kho gayi toh phir main meri jaan ke bagair kahaan jaaonga?”
You smile, blinking back the tears that had pooled your eyes and entwined your fingers with him, holding onto the love of your entire life, securely, lovingly.
All your life, you've been a stern believer in only spending what you yourself earned, didn't matter how little that was, but now with Uzair you were slowly learning that it's okay to let the man you love indulge you, to give you gifts, to buy you something that reminded him of you.
“Pizza mangva lein kya?” You ask as you both are now looking at the menu card, seated at a corner table of the food court, away from the rush and also comes with a pretty view of the city skyline from the floor to ceiling windows.
(Should we order pizza?)
“Pizza? Woh italian paratha?” Uzair answers, keeping the menu card aside and you laugh at his very accurate description of the much loved delicacy.
(Pizza? That Italian flatbread?)
“Haan wahi.” You giggle, keeping the menu card aside as well.
(Yes, same.)
“Mangva lo, jo tum chahti ho woh mangva lo.” Uzair replies, looking at you with so much fondness that it makes your cheeks bloom crimson and your heart ache.
(Order it, order whatever you want.)
The server comes up to take your orders.
“Bhaijaan, ek italian paratha–” You smack your forehead cutely while Uzair laughs and the server looks visibly amused.
“Naieem aur Faizal toh yahaan aakar paagal hi ho jayenge, unn dono ko pizza bohot pasand hai, bhabhi se takreeban roz hi pizza mangvane ki farmaish kartey rehtey hain woh alag baat hai ki bhabhi phir bhi khilati unhey tinde hi hain.”
(Naieem and Faizal will go crazy after coming here, both of them love pizza a lot, they keep requesting Bhabhi to order pizza almost every day, it is a different matter that Bhabhi still feeds them tinde.)
You and Uzair laugh at the plight of the future generation of the balochs.
“Agli baar Naieem aur Faizal ko bhi saath lekar aayenge.” You smile, reaching for your man’s hand from across the table.
(Next time we will bring Naieem and Faizal along too.)
“Jo meri rani ka huqum.” Uzair bows, keeping a hand on his heart and then the warmth of his large, calloused hands envelop yours, his thumbs lovingly tracing soothing circles on your knuckles.
(Whatever my queen orders.)
After dinner, Uzair suggested the last destination before calling it a night, Clifton beach and you agreed, for there couldn't be a perfect end to a beautiful evening than a late night moonlit stroll along the beach with the love of your life.
After a long walk by the beach, loving how relaxing the damp sand and the cool sea water felt under your bare feet, along with the company ofcourse, Uzair had so many funny stories from the factory that at one point while he was telling you what Siyahi, Donga and Hamza got up to on Rehman’s birthday to give him a surprise, you had to sit down on the sand for a few seconds from how hard you were laughing.
“Ek minute, Madam Shakeela ka dance show, yeh tha unka surprise?” You ask, still laughing, “Unhey pataa nahi ki Rehman Bhai Aisha Bhabhi ke alawaa kisi aur aurat ki taraf nazar utha kar bhi nahi dekhtey? Matlab mujhey kuch hi arsa hua hai yahaan par main toh unn dono ke beech ki mohabbat ko pehley din hi samajh gayi thi, hospital mein, ki dono ek doosrey ke bagair reh nahi saktey.”
(Wait a minute, Madam Shakeela's dance show, this was their surprise? Don't they know that Rehman Bhai doesn't even glance at any other woman besides Aisha Bhabhi? I mean, I've been here for a while, but I understood the love between them on the very first day, in the hospital, that they couldn't live without each other.)
“Wahi toh.” Laughing, Uzair pulls you to your feet, “Pataa nahi kaunsey nashe karkey aaye the teeno! Rehman Bhai ne uss din toh kuch nahi kahaa par doosrey din subah class lagi thi teeno ki.”
(Exactly. I don't know what kind of drugs they were under! Rehman Bhai didn't say anything that day, but the next morning, all three of them had a severe telling off.)
“Hayeee, kaash main uss baalon ki dukaan ali mazari ki class lagtey huye dekh paati, pakka uski shakal uss waqt dekhney laayak thi.”
(I wish I could have seen hair salon ali mazari being told off, he was definitely a sight to behold at that time.)
“Ek toh yeh tum aur Hamza bhi naa, saara din laddtey rehtey ho.”
(First of all, you and Hamza, you both keep fighting the whole day.)
“Main laddti hoon? Uzair, tumhari work wife pangey leta hai mujhsey.”
(I fight? Uzair, your work wife keeps messing with me.)
By this time, you both had reached a small nimbu soda cart and Uzair walked forward to get some for himself and you.
“Tumhara nimbu soda thoda meetha thoda namkeen naa?” Your boyfriend asks and you nod cutely, leaning in to kiss his cheek as a thank you for being so thoughtful to which he smiles bashfully, making you coo and pull his cheeks.
As Uzair gets the nimbu sodas, you stand a few steps away, enjoying the cool sea breeze in your hair, moonlight washes over the ocean, making it look ethereal.
“Chacha, do nimbu soda, ek thoda meetha, thoda namkeen aur ek sirf namkeen.” He says as the man at the cart nods and gets to work, while waiting, a woman bumps into Uzair.
“Dikhaai nahi deta? Andhey–” She's about to say something sharp and humiliating but all her retort vanishes when she notices Uzair, tall, handsome and hot af.
(Can't you see? Blind—)
“Woh– Woh mera matlab hai ki, aapko kahin chot toh nahi aayi naa?” She asks, her tone switching from bitter to sugary sweet in a matter of seconds.
(I– I mean, you are not hurt anywhere, right?)
“Ji, main theek hoon.” Uzair nods.
(Yes, I am fine.)
“Nahi actually, main itni zor se aapse takraayi naa toh mujhey laga aapko kahin chot naa aayi ho.” She moves closer to Uzair, fluttering her lashes at him.
(No, actually, I collided so hard with you that I thought you might have gotten hurt.)
“Nahi, it's fine, I'm fine.”
(No, it's fine, I'm fine.)
“Are you sure?”
“Ji bilkul.”
(Yes absolutely.)
“By the way, I'm Iqra, aap se mil kar bohot zyaada accha laga, aap yahaan naye hain kya, woh kya haina pehley kabhi aapko dekha nahi yahaan? Aap Karachi se hain?” Iqra asked wayyyy too many questions in just a span of seconds.
(By the way, I'm Iqra. It's so nice to meet you. Are you new here because I haven't seen you here before? Are you from Karachi?)
“Beta, aapka order.” The vendor gives him two glasses of chilled fizzy nimbu soda with cute straws as Uzair nods and takes out his wallet to pay for the drinks.
(Son, your order.)
“Waisey agar aap yahaan akeley aayein hain toh main aapko company de sakti hoon, you know?” She twirls a strand of hair around her index finger, flirtatiously.
(By the way, if you have come here alone then I can keep you company, you know?)
“Oh my!” Iqra then screeches so loud that even the vendor is taken aback.
“Aapkey biceps!” She wrings her hands in excitement, “Pataa hai, meri hamesha se khwaahish thi ki mera boyfriend naa muscular ho aur aaj meri woh khwaahish bhi poori ho gayi, waisey jab aap workout kartey hain toh waisi hot hot wali photos bhi khinchtey hongey naa? Main ek baar aapkey biceps choo kar dekhun kya?”
(Your biceps! You know, I always wanted my boyfriend to be muscular, and today that wish has come true. By the way, when you work out, you also take such hot pictures, right? Can I try touching your biceps once?)
“Uh.. I don't think so.” Uzair, still holding onto two glasses of fizzy nimbu soda, tries to move back from her when a familiar, soft presence comes to stand beside him.
“Baby, kahaan chaley gaye the? Mujhey laga tum chacha ke saath baith kar nimbu soda bananey lagey ho!” You say as you come up to him.
(Baby, where have you been? I thought you were sitting with Uncle and making lemonade!)
“Woh main–” Uzair vaguely gestures to Iqra and it's here you ‘pretend’ to turn, finally acknowledging her presence.
(That I–)
“Ji? Aapki tareef?” You ask her.
(Yes? Your introduction?)
Iqra took some time to respond, clearly taken aback by the fact that you were calling Uzair ‘baby.’
“Main– Main Iqra, woh actually mujhsey bohot zor se dhakka lag gaya the inhey, toh main wahi pooch rahi thi ki kahin inko zyaada chot toh nahi aayi?” She finally speaks, looking between you and him.
(Me – I am Iqra, actually I pushed him very hard, so I was asking him whether he got hurt much or not?)
You smile and this time, you make sure that Iqra sees you holding Uzair's arm.
“Aapko itna taqalluf karney ki koi zaroorat nahi, bhaley hi yeh Uzair Baloch hain par galti se ek dhakka lag jaaney se aapka kuch nahi bigaadengey.” You smile, sweetly.
(There is no need for you to be so formal, even though he is Uzair Baloch but he will not harm you if you pushed him accidentally.)
Upon learning Uzair's name and his introduction, Iqra’s face not only goes pale but the way her expressions change from downright flirty to absolutely terrified is comical, her eyes going wide and her mouth falling open in pure shock and terror, she looks at you once, then at Uzair and then down where your hand is wrapped around his bicep, securely, lovingly and clearly very territorially, the very same biceps she was talking about touching just a few seconds ago.
“M– Maaf kardein bhaijaan, galti ho gayi.” Saying so, Iqra turns and walks away from the two of you as fast as she could.
(S- Sorry brother, I made a mistake.)
As Iqra disappears, Uzair turns to you and forwards your glass of nimbu soda to you, a sexy smirk graces his handsome features, man looks smug after being claimed territorially by his jaana.
But you are in no mood for any of this as you turn and walk away from him, leaving him thoroughly confused.
“Jaana.” He follows you, calling you in that soft voice that is reserved only for you and he knows it melts your heart, doesn't matter how mad you are at him.
“Don't ‘jaana’ me Uzair.” You continue walking.
“Please meri baat toh sunno!” Uzair pleads, very cutely.
“Kya sunnu main, haan? Kya sunnu? Mujhey jitna sunna tha mainey sab sunn liya, woh pichley 20 minute se tumharey saath flirt kar rahi thi aur ek tum ho bhondu kahin ke, samajh hi mein nahi aati tumhey ki woh line maar rahi thi tumpar!” You turn, both hands on your waist.
(What should I hear, yes? What should I hear? I heard everything I wanted to hear. She was flirting with you for the last 20 minutes and you are such a fool that you don't even understand that she was hitting on you!)
“Flirt? Nahi jaana, woh toh bas mujhsey mazhrat kar rahi thi, dhakka maara tha naa unhoney mujhey.” Uzair answers so innocently that you literally want to cover his whole face in kisses, but you still hold your ground.
(Flirt? No love, she was just apologizing to me because she pushed me.)
“Accha? Batana zara, kaunsi aisi mahzrat hoti hai jo yeh imply karti hai ki agar tum akeley ho toh woh tumhey company degi? Kaunsi aisi mahzrat hai jo yeh poochti hai ki woh tumharey biceps choo kar dekh sakti hai ki nahi? Tumsey yeh poochti hai ki tum waisi gym pics letey ho ki nahi?”
(Okay? Tell me, which apology implies that she will keep you company if you are alone? Which apology asks if she can see your biceps? Asks if you take such gym pictures or not?)
The realization flashes across Uzair's face and you can see it in his the exact moment when he realizes that Iqra was actually flirting with him, left, right, center.
“Arrey Yaar!” He cutely smacks his forehead.
“Ab samajh aayi?” You snap and turn back to walk away from him.
(Do you understand now?)
“Jaana, baat toh suno.” Uzair calls out as he follows you but you are in no mood to listen to him at all.
(Darling, listen to me.)
Your boyfriend keeps calling after you, following you around the beach cutely, like a lost golden retriever puppy, after a while when you don't hear his footsteps, you turn, only to find him rushing up to you, his both hands filled with goodies.
At first, Uzair gives you cotton candy, your absolute favorite, but you hand the sugary confection back to him, he then gives you a red heart balloon that is supposed to be the equivalent of his heart, his smile all sweet and earnest, so when you smile innocently looking at the balloon, his smile brightens but then drops the next second when you poke the balloon with your index fingernail and it bursts with a crack, then he keeps handing you your favourites, sour candies, popcorn and your favorite soft drink, a chilled bottle of coca cola with two straws which implied that you and him will be sharing, but you give it all back to him, not budging.
“Jaan, please itna khafaa toh naa ho mujhsey, tum jaanti ho jab tum khafaa hoti ho toh mujhey kuch bhi accha nahi lagta!” Uzair whines very cutely.
(Darling, please don't be so angry with me, you know when you are angry I don't like anything!)
“Toh tumney kyun Iqra ko apney saath flirt karney diya?” You look away from him, very much mad and pouting.
(So why did you let Iqra flirt with you?)
“Meri jaan, please mera yaqeen karo, mujhey sach mein iss baat ka bilqul bhi andaaza nahi tha ki woh khatun mujhsey flirt kar rahi hai, mujhey laga woh sach mein apney kiye par sharminda hai isliye baatein kar rahi hai bas, jab usney mujhsey poocha ki woh mere biceps choo kar dekh sakti hai ki nahi, main peechey hatt gaya tha, tumhari kasam, humari mohabbat ki kasam.” Uzair steps closer.
(My love, please believe me, I really had no idea that that lady was flirting with me, I thought she was really ashamed of her actions that's why she was talking like that, when she asked me whether she could touch my biceps or not, I stepped back, I swear on you, I swear on our love.)
You are still looking at him, your anger subsiding a bit.
“Baby, ek kaam kartey hain, chalo abhi tumharey naam ka tattoo banwa leta hoon main, Meri Jaana Ki Property, Uzair Baloch.” He emphasizes by gesturing his hands across his chest.
(Baby, let's do one thing, let me get a tattoo of your name right now, my love’s property, Uzair Baloch.)
That does the trick, your anger vanishes and you laugh, like really really laugh for Uzair can be very funny unintentionally, though Hamza would disagree and say that you're biased for you laugh on Uzair's rotten poor jokes as well, which none of the men find remotely funny at all.
When you hit his chest playfully while laughing, holding your wrist, he gently pulls you right in the circle of his arms, his face adorned with a soft smile as he watches you laugh, a sound so dear to him, Uzair Baloch, the Prince Of Lyari is ready to make a fool of himself for hours straight, if it means that he'll get to listen to you laugh.
Your laugh gradually fades as his beautiful warm cocoa eyes are locked on you, like he's not just looking at you, he's staring right into your very soul and it has your heart skipping a thunderous beat.
You turn away, remembering that you were supposed to be mad at him but Uzair doesn't let you escape, not this time and you try to free yourself from his grip, in that tussle, two of your glass bangles crack and break, without hurting you or him, thankfully.
“Uzair!” You snatch your hand back from his hold, “Tumney meri chooriyoon ka set barbaad kar diya, abhi pichley haftey hi nayi li thi.”
(Uzair! You ruined my set of bangles, I just bought a new one last week.)
You are not mad, no, but you definitely fake being mad, just to see your man getting all nervous.
“Jaan, tum gaadi mein jaakar baitho, main abhi aata hoon.” Uzair requests, holding your hands lovingly.
(Honey, you go and sit in the car, I'll be right back.)
Huffing, you do as he says, after around twenty minutes, Uzair is back, he gets in, closing the car door behind him and takes a deep breath for it looked like he ran a literal marathon.
“Tumharey liye kuch laaya hoon.” Uzair then turns towards you with the softest smile on his face, the one that has the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly and hands you a beautiful hand carved wooden box with golden filigree.
(I brought something for you.)
“Mere liye?” You ask excitedly.
(For me?)
“Nahi, Iqra ke liye.” He says it very seriously until you smack his arm and he laughs at your cute jealousy.
(No, for Iqra.)
A soft gasp escapes your lips when you open the box for inside are bangles, beautiful glass bangles in every color imaginable, arranged neatly as they shimmer in the dim interiors of the suv.
“Pasand aaya meri jaan ko?”
(Did my love like them?)
“Bohot bohot khoobsurat hain.”
(They are very very beautiful.)
“Tumsey kam.”
(Not more than you.)
You blush like a teenager with her high-school crush, the effect this man has on you needs to be studied.
“Par tumhey itni raat ko chooriyaan mili kahaan sey?” You ask, very curiously.
“Ek budhe chacha ki dukaan thi, kaafi durr, bandh hone wali thi par phir mainey unhe apni mohabbat ka qissa sunaya, bataya unhey ki meri jaan mujhsey rooth kar baithi hai aur yeh bhi ki humari pyaar ki ladaayi mein uski do chooriyaan kalaayi mein hi toot gayi toh unhoney mujhey ussi waqt saari chooriyaan pack karkey di aur yeh bhi bataya ki jab unki begum unsey rooth jaati hain naa, toh woh bhi unhey mananey ke liye tohfe mein chooriyaan hi detey hain, soch raha hoon ki humara mustaqbil bhi aisa hi hoga, jab hum dono budhe ho jayenge aur tum rootha karogi toh main bhi tumhey tohfe mein chooriyaan dekar hi manaunga.” He narrates, looking lovingly into your eyes.
(There was an old uncle who had a shop, quite far away, which was about to close down but then I told him the story of my love, told him that my love is upset with me and also that in the fight of our love, two of her bangles got broken in the wrist, then at that time he packed all the bangles and told me that when his wife gets upset with him, then he also gives her bangles as a gift to appease her, I am thinking that our future will also be like this, when we both will grow old and whenever you will be upset, I will gift you bangles.)
And you?
You had tears in your eyes, for no one, no one in your life has ever loved you like the way Uzair does.
“Itni mohabbat kartey ho mujhsey?” You ask, lovingly cupping his cheek.
(Do you love me so much?)
“Haan, ek hi toh jaan ho tum meri, tumsey mohabbat nahi karunga toh aur kis-sey karunga?” Uzair smiles, gently bopping your nose with his.
(Yes, you are my only life, if I don't love you then who else will I love?)
“Thank you Uzair, I love you.” You smile, before leaning in to kiss his forehead and then both of his cheeks.
“I love you more.” He replies, resting his forehead on yours, his thoughts running at the speed of light.
“Waisey main icecream bhi laaya hoon, tumhari favorite, chocolate, khaa letey hain, warna pighal jayegi.” Uzair then holds up two ice cream cups and hands one to you.
(By the way, I have also brought ice cream, your favorite, chocolate, let's eat it, otherwise it will melt.)
The drip of ice cream that smudges at the corner of your lips, the way those soft petal lips wrap around the little spoon has Uzair questioning his sanity.
“Waisey tumhey pataa hai–” You turn towards him to say something but your words fade as you notice Uzair's gaze, dark and hungry stuck to your mouth.
(By the way, did you know–)
The air between you both thickened, charged with the unspoken.
“Ijazat Hai?”
(Do I have the permission?)
You nod, shyly.
He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, but your eyes stayed locked on his, dark and inviting, your breath hitched as his lips brushed yours, featherlight, tentative, it was a question more than a statement, the barest pressure asking for permission, again.
You answered by tilting your chin, parting your lips just a fraction and the soft contact deepened, Uzair’s mouth moved against yours, warm and gentle, tasting the sweetness of chocolate on your lower lip before drawing it between his own, your hands come up to rest on his chest, not pushing, just to feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms, the kiss lingered, unhurried, a first soft exploration that promised more but demanded nothing, when you and Uzair finally broke apart, your lips were slightly swollen, your cheeks flushed and the small smile playing on your mouth had said everything words could not.
Uzair was no better, his cheeks were dusted pink that stretched all the way to the tips of his ears, his lips slightly swollen as well and a shy smile lit up his handsome features but the heat and hunger still simmered in those beautiful brown eyes of his.
“Fuck It.” You mumble under your breath and in one smooth, sensual move, straddle the Prince Of Lyari’s lap.
His breath audibly stutters and his eyes go wide very cutely but then his large hands settle around your hips to hold and steady you from sliding off his lap.
Uzair watches in unmasked awe as you unclasp your hair, letting it fall down like dark silk and then attach the pearl clip in the arm of his kameez.
“Hi Baby.” You smile, gently pulling him closer through the collars of his kameez.
“Hi Jaana.” Uzair smiles, letting himself be pulled into your orbit of love.
When yours and Uzair's lips meet again, the soft kiss from before shatters into something raw and hungry, his hands slid to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you closer and you melted into him without hesitation, your mouth opened under his, tongues meeting in a slick, urgent dance that tasted of want.
aa yeh raatein lambi tu karde
chingari rag rag mein bhar de
sharmon se tu sharm-o-haya
As the kiss deepened, your hands that are resting on his chest, began to move, your fingers curled around the fabric of his balochi kameez, finding the unbuttoned strip of buttons and slipped inside, the first touch of bare skin made you gasp against his mouth, his chest was warm, the hair beneath your palms, soft and springy, a delicious carpet of coarse strands that spread across his pectorals and trailed down his sternum, you spread your fingers wide, raking through the hair, feeling the firm muscle shift underneath as Uzair pulled you impossibly closer.
haan rakh le tu lab ko labon pe
main guzrun meri haddon se
thehrun kahaan? kuch toh bataa
Your touch grew bolder, exploring the contours of his chest, the dip between his pecs, the hard ridge of his collarbone, the subtle rise and fall of each breath, then your fingertips brushed against something cool and metallic, you traced it blindly, following the fine links of a silver chain that lay nestled against his warm skin.
main jalti raatein teri
tu woh subah jo bujha de
The chain dipped into the hollow of Uzair's throat before settling just above his sternum and at its end, your fingers found the distinct shape of a triangle pendant, smooth, solid, slightly warm from body heat.
You broke the kiss just enough to look down, watching your own hand disappear into his unbuttoned kameez, watching your fingers curl around the pendant, feeling the weight of it in your palm, when you looked back up, Uzair’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, a flicker of vulnerability with raw desire.
“Found it.” You whispered, thumb stroking the edge of the triangle, “Do you know how much this chain and its pendant have haunted my dreams, Uzair?”
“Jaan.” Uzair whispers against your skin, the pad of his thumb gently brushing your lower lip, “I think as much as these soft lips have haunted mine?”
“Uzair, I love you so much.” You speak in between softly pecking his lips.
“Jaana, I love you more.” He laughs cutely before reciprocating in kind.
