Welcome to my masterlist! I hope you find something worth your while, Jaan-e-man <3
Comment or DM to be added
REQUESTS OPEN!
This list is sorted by character!
Rehman Dakait- ON BREAK
Tarun Saluja- COMING SOON
Sanjaya Baru- ONE FIC
Dev Verma
Matthew Francis
IG Tarun Ahlawat- COMING SOON
Jai Angarchand- COMING SOON
Major Iqbal- ONE FIC
SP Chaudhry Aslam - ONE FIC
Siyahi (platonic romantic, no smut)- FIC OUT PLEASE LOOK AT SPECIAL MASTERLIST
UNDER CONSIDERATION
Uzair Baloch
Hamza Ali Mazari / Jaskirat Singh Rangi
Himmat Singh - Special ops
PERSONAL WORK
Morning's coming soon (poetry)
Rehman Baloch Dakait- Dhurandar
Dakait Sahab ki Vakeel Sahiba
Rehman Dakait x OC Indian spy/lawyer Rehanna Randhawa
(PLEASE PLEASE READ CONCEPT AND PROLOGUE BEFORE YOU START. IT'S VERY IMPORTANT)
SERIES SPECIAL MASTERLIST
Major Iqbal Khan- Dhurandar
A Lesson in Diplomacy (Major Iqbal Khan x Indian diplomat Yamini Singh smut)
SP Chaudhary Aslam- Dhurandar
The Aslam massla (Aslam x Indian journalist Rashmika Raina Smut).
Tarun Saluja - Section 375
Vakeel, police, aur gunehgar agar ek kamre me bandh hojaye aur chabi gumjaye?- (Tarun Saluja x Accused Criminal Psychologist Vaani Kharbanda x IG Tarun Alhlawat smut)…… Comming soon
Hell is a meeting room filled with Ex’es that you get locked in with. (Sanjaya Baru x Tarun Saluja x Malika Khar Diplomat and lawyer Smut)……..coming soon
The law school intern VS. two seasoned advocates ( Tarun Saluja x Jai Angarchand x Laila Chaudhry Smut)..........Comming soon
Sanjaya Baru- The Accidental Prime Minister
Pissed off at the PMO (Sanjaya Baru x Rani Marwah Indian Foreign Delegate smut)
Hell is a meeting room filled with Ex’es that you get locked in with. (Sanjaya Baru x Tarun Saluja x Malika Khar Diplomat and lawyer Reader Smut)........coming soon
Dev Verma- Ittefaq
Comming soon
Matthew Francis- MOM
Comming soon
IG Tarun Ahlawat- Dhrishyam
Vakeel, police, aur gunehgar agar ek kamre me bandh hojaye aur chabi gumjaye?- (Tarun Saluja x Accused Vaani Kharbanda x IG Tarun Alhlawat smut)…… Comming soon
Jai Angarchand- Hulchul
The law school intern VS. two seasoned advocates ( Tarun Saluja x Jai Angarchand x Laila Chaudhry Smut)……….Comming soon
UNIVERSE CROSSOVER
The law school intern VS. two seasoned advocates ( Tarun Saluja x Jai Angarchand x Laila Chaudhry Smut)……….Comming soon
Vakeel, police, aur gunehgar agar ek kamre me bandh hojaye aur chabi gumjaye?- (Tarun Saluja x Accused Criminal Psychologist Vaani Kharbanda x IG Tarun Alhlawat smut)…… Comming soon
Hell is a meeting room filled with Ex’es that you get locked in with. (Sanjaya Baru x Tarun Saluja x Malika Khar Diplomat and lawyer Reader Smut)……..coming soon
DSKVS ALTERNATE UNIVERSE: Siyahi x Rehanna Randhawa
Disclaimer: This one-shot is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Warnings: Weed, Drinking, Delusion, Fluff, Comedy, Halki halki maar peet
Masterlist
Author's note: Local idiot gangster gets astronomically high and hallucinates an entire married life with his boss's secret girlfriend.
(No, but seriously, this was so fun to write! Like, poor Siyahi yaar. This is your PSA to not do drugs, kids, because delulu is not the solulu.)
(ALSO WHY IS THIS PIC OF SIYAHI KINDAA- )
Siyahi ke Qhuab Vakeel Sahiba Ke Naam
Some time before Chapter 15 @ 1 pm
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Siyahi hummed absentmindedly beneath his breath as he wandered through the long corridors of the Baloch Haveli with absolutely no destination in mind. It was one of those afternoons that seemed to exist solely to make a person grateful for being alive.
A soft breeze drifted lazily through the open arches of the haveli, carrying with it the smell of wet earth from the gardens outside and the faint sweetness of blooming jasmine. Golden sunlight spilled through the carved windows in long slanted strips, warming the marble beneath his feet as the entire haveli settled into the comfortable silence that always followed lunch.
Lunch had been... difficult. Not because of the food. The food was excellent. The problem had been the woman sitting beside him.
Vakeel Sahiba, Rehanna Randhawa, had spent the entire meal wearing the simplest sky blue linen salwar suit imaginable. There had been no heavy jewellery today, no dramatic makeup, no expensive saree that made everyone stare. Just soft blue fabric, little silver earrings, her hair tied back loosely, and the pair of reading glasses she kept pushing further up her nose every few minutes while reading through a file between bites.
She had barely spoken to him. That somehow made it worse. Every time she quietly asked him to pass the salad bowl. Or a simple "Siyahi... namak dena zara." Every polite thank you. Every tiny accidental brush of her arm against his while reaching across the table. Each one settled somewhere deep inside his chest where his poor unfortunate heart had absolutely no business storing them. Because Siyahi was in love. Hopelessly. Pathetically. Embarrassingly.
He was hopelessly in love with his boss's lawyer. Everyone knew it. The boys knew it. The maids knew it. The dogs probably knew it. The only person who somehow continued living peacefully unaware of the entire disaster was Vakeel Sahiba herself. Or perhaps she did know and simply chose to pretend she didn't, treating him with the same easy warmth she treated everyone else in the haveli. Siyahi honestly preferred believing the first option. The second one hurt too much.
He continued strolling through the corridor pretending to inspect paintings on the walls every now and then so that if anyone asked what he was doing, he could confidently claim he had important work. But unfortunately for him, Uzair appeared around the corner before he could disappear somewhere useful. "Siyahi." Siyahi almost jumped. "Ji Uzair bhai?"
Uzair adjusted the collar of his pathani kurta "Ek naya shipment aya hai. Chal zara check karte hain." Siyahi's soul briefly left his body, he wasn't in the mood to do any work today. His eyes darted around the hallway desperately searching for divine intervention.
Instead he found a lie. "Mai chala jaata..." he began awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Lekin Vakeel Sahiba ne apne office me bulaya hai." Uzair narrowed his eyes immediately. "Accha?" Siyahi nodded "Haan."
"Toh ja phir." Uzair folded his arms. "Mai bhi dekhun kya kaam diya hai unhone." Siyahi smiled weakly. "...Ji." Well, now he actually had to go. He silently apologized to every deity he knew as he walked toward Rehanna's office wondering how exactly one explained appearing in someone's office for absolutely no reason whatsoever. He reached the heavy wooden door and knocked twice. Inside, papers rustled. Then came her voice. "Kaun hai?"
Siyahi swallowed. "Vakeel Sahiba... mai hun." There was only a second of silence before her voice brightened immediately. "Oh! Ajao Siyahi!" Behind him Uzair watched another moment before rolling his eyes. "Hmm." Apparently the idiot had actually been called. With that Uzair turned and disappeared down another hallway. Siyahi released a quiet breath of relief before pushing open the office door.
The familiar scent of sandalwood, old books and her perfume greeted him first. Then he saw her. His feet almost stopped moving. She sat curled comfortably into the large leather chair behind her desk, one leg folded beneath her while the other rested carelessly atop the desk itself.
A thick legal file lay open across her lap. Her reading glasses had slipped low onto her nose and she absentmindedly nudged them higher again without looking away from the page. Afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows behind her catching in her dark hair until individual strands looked dipped in gold.
She looked... hmmm. Angel wasn't quite the right word. She was too human for that. Too real. Beautiful in the quiet way that only seemed to happen when she forgot anyone might be looking. Siyahi stood there a second too long. He committed the moment to memory. The sunlight. The perfume. The tiny crease between her eyebrows while she concentrated. The soft blue of her clothes.
"Haan Siyahi?" she asked, finally looking up with an easy smile. "Kya hua?" His heart performed something medically concerning. "I... uh..." Brilliant, absolutely brilliant. He had successfully entered her office with no plan whatsoever. He cleared his throat. "Mai bas aapse poochne aya tha..." he said leaning lightly against the edge of her desk. "...ki kuch chahiye toh nahi?"
For a moment she simply blinked. Then her entire face softened. "Aww Siyahi..." She smiled so brightly it almost qualified as a workplace hazard. "Kitna dhyan rakhte ho tum mera." She shook her head warmly. "Nahi nahi mujhe kuch nahi chahiye." A tiny laugh escaped her. "Thank you so much." Siyahi nodded far too quickly before turning to leave while mentally congratulating himself for surviving the interaction.
That was when something caught his eye. A neatly rolled blunt rested beside an open file on her desk. He frowned. Pointed at it. "Vakeel Sahiba... ye kya hai?" She followed his finger. "Hmm?" "Oh." She picked it up casually between two fingers. "Yeh ek ganje ka blunt hai." She shrugged like she had just identified a pen. "Mera hai lekin ab mera mood nahi hai peene ka."
Siyahi stared. His brain quietly added smokes weed to the rapidly growing list titled: Things Vakeel Sahiba Somehow Does That Still Make Her Perfect. "Oh..." Was all he managed. She noticed him looking. "Tumhe chahiye kya?"
—------------
That was how Siyahi found himself walking through the haveli five minutes later carrying a blunt like it was some sacred artifact entrusted to him personally by destiny. He turned it over between his fingers every few steps.
Should he smoke it? Because she had given it to him, it should be classified as an artifact. Shouldn't he? It was a gift and he would like to taste something she smokes. Would one blunt really make much difference? He was still debating the question when a familiar voice called out across the corridor.
"Siyahi." He looked up. Rehman stood halfway down the hallway taking a slow drag from his cigarette. In one hand he carried a large decorative box tied with ribbon. In the other rested a crate filled with chilled beer bottles that clinked softly together every time he shifted his grip. "Siyahi idhar aa." Siyahi instinctively hid the blunt behind his back. "Ji bhai abhi aya." He hurried over.
Without another word Rehman thrust both the beer crate and the bakhlawa box into his arms. "Yeh le." Siyahi almost dropped everything. "Bakhlawa aur thandi beer." Rehman adjusted the collar of his black kurta with a grin that simply refused to leave his face. "Sab apne aap me baant lena." Another satisfied drag from his cigarette. "Abhi abhi ek bohot achhi deal hui hai." He nodded once. "Jao. Aaj tum sab ki ek din ki chutti."
Siyahi's eyes nearly doubled in size. "Ji bhai?" Rehman only chuckled. The kind of chuckle that escaped a man who was immensely pleased with both the world and himself. He glanced once toward the corridor leading to Rehanna's office before flicking ash onto the marble. "Mai zara aata hun." His grin somehow widened. "Vakeel Sahiba ke sath kuch aham baatein karni hain."
Important matters. Very important matters. Matters so important that Rehman had unconsciously straightened his sleeves, smoothed back his hair with one hand and checked his reflection in the nearest window while pretending not to. He had even spritzed more of her favorite cologne on him just a few moments ago. Siyahi, unfortunately, noticed absolutely none of this.
"Ji bhai bilkul." He nodded earnestly. "Woh apne office me hain." He ended by pointing with his chin due to his full hands. "Accha." Rehman didn't even bother hiding the bounce in his step anymore. He crushed his cigarette beneath his mojari and disappeared toward Rehanna's office looking suspiciously like a man whose biggest concern at the moment was not business, but how many excuses he could invent to spend the afternoon alone with the woman waiting inside.
Siyahi watched him disappear. He frowned thoughtfully. Strange. If Bhai was already so happy because of the deal... ...toh phir Vakeel Sahiba ke sath aur kaam kyun karna tha? Business people were very confusing. He missed his Rehman bhai who just used to be a gangster.
He looked down at his own arms. One box of bakhlawa. Six cold beers. One blunt. Rehman had, technically speaking, instructed him to share everything with the rest of the boys. Siyahi looked left. Then right. The corridor was empty. A slow grin spread across his face. "...mai kya pagal hun ki ye batunga mai?"
He turned on his heel and walked toward the gardens, entirely convinced that fortune itself had personally arranged the greatest afternoon of his life.
—-------------
Same day @ 1:15 pm
Roof of the Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The rooftop of the Baloch Haveli was perhaps the quietest place in the entire building during the afternoon. The boys were scattered across Lyari handling whatever work Rehman had assigned them before he disappeared into Rehanna’s office.
Somewhere below, utensils clinked faintly from the kitchen where the staff were cleaning up after lunch. Beyond the haveli walls, the distant sounds of children playing cricket drifted lazily through the neighborhood, interrupted every now and then by the honk of a passing rickshaw or the barking of one of Lyari's countless stray dogs.
In one shaded corner of the roof sat an old charpay tucked beneath the sprawling bougainvillea vines that climbed over the parapet wall. Bright pink flowers spilled over the brickwork in lazy clusters, swaying gently whenever the breeze wandered through. Siyahi smiled to himself as he looked at them. "Vakeel Sahiba bhi na..." he muttered under his breath. Even flowers had started appearing wherever she went. First the gardens downstairs. Then the herbs near the kitchen.
Now these bougainvilleas that had somehow transformed an otherwise boring rooftop into somewhere a person actually wanted to waste an afternoon. He dropped onto the charpay with a satisfied groan, stretched his legs out before him and reached for one of the chilled beer bottles. The cap came off with a practiced crack between his teeth. He spat it neatly toward a nearby flowerpot before taking an enormous swallow. Cold. Ice cold. The beer slid down his throat like liquid relief, making every muscle in his body loosen at once. "Aah..." he sighed happily. "Mazedar"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the blunt. For a moment he simply stared at it. Vakeel Sahiba ka blunt. A tiny grin spread across his face before he quickly shook his head at himself. He struck the lighter.
The brown paper crackled softly. The tip glowed orange. Siyahi took one long drag before leaning back against the woven ropes of the charpay. He held the smoke inside for a moment. Then slowly let it escape. His eyebrows lifted. "...Oye." He looked down at the blunt.
At the steadily glowing tip. "...Ye toh..." Another drag. Longer this time. "Badhiya hai." This was not the cheap garbage some of the boys occasionally smoked behind warehouses. This was smooth. Strong. Almost sweet. It barely scratched his throat before warmth began spreading lazily through his chest.
"Hmm..." he nodded thoughtfully. "Vakeel Sahiba ko sach me har cheez ki samajh hai." It seemed that Rehanna had knowledge in everything: law, politics, books, gardening, perfume. Apparently ganja too. Perfect. She was the perfect woman.
He reached for the decorative box resting beside him and lifted the lid. Rows upon rows of golden bakhlawa stared back. His eyes lit up. "Bhai bhi kamaal hain...Mithai aur ek din ki chutti?" One piece disappeared. Then another.
Sweet syrup clung to his fingertips. Flaky pastry shattered across his maroon kurta as he happily licked the honey from his thumb. "Allah..." He closed his eyes. "Ganja aur meetha..." He laughed to himself. "Jannat."
Time became pleasantly difficult to measure after that. One beer somehow became one and a half. One drag became several. One piece of bakhlawa mysteriously turned into nine. The afternoon sun settled warmly across his legs while the bougainvillea leaves rustled overhead. A lazy breeze drifted across the rooftop every few minutes, cooling the heat gathering beneath the winter sunshine until the entire world felt exactly the right temperature. Not hot. Not cold. Just... comfortable.
His eyelids grew heavier. His thoughts slowed. Somewhere inside the haze that had settled comfortably over his mind, one face returned exactly as it always did. Sky blue linen. Reading glasses slipping down her nose. "Aww Siyahi..." That smile. Always that smile. He smiled back at nothing. Then, without realizing when it happened, sleep quietly stole him away.
—----------------------
“... Siyahi?" He frowned slightly. Someone was calling him. "Siyahi..." He opened his eyes. The rooftop was gone. Instead he found himself standing in the haveli courtyard beneath the old neem tree. Rehanna stood only a few feet away. She looked strangely nervous. This was incredibly unlike her. His eyes darted around her looking for injury or signs of danger.
Her fingers twisted together anxiously on the edge of her dupatta. She kept biting her lower lip before glancing at him and then immediately looking away again. "Siyahi..." she said quietly. "Mai tumse kuch kehna chahti hun."
He blinked. "Haan?" he asked gently, taking a careful step toward her. "Kya hua? Bataiye." She looked down. Then up. Then down again. "I..." she whispered. "I..." Words seemed to refuse to come out.
Siyahi's expression softened. Without thinking he reached forward and gently took both her hands into his own. "Aaram se," he smiled. "Meri taraf dekhiye." She slowly raised her eyes to meet him. The moment their gazes locked, she inhaled sharply. "I love you." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Mai tumse mohabbat karti hun." Everything inside Siyahi stopped.
For one suspended heartbeat the world simply... froze. Then the biggest grin of his entire life spread across his face. "Aur mai..." he breathed almost laughing. "Mai aapse tabse mohabbat karta hun jabse maine aapko pehli baar dekha tha." A gasp escaped her.
Happy tears gathered in her eyes. Before either of them thought another word, Siyahi pulled her gently into his arms. His hand against her cheek. Her breath stuttered slightly as her lashes fluttered shut. Her hands fisted in the collar of his maroon kurta. Siyahi leaned in forward and Rehanna’s lips parted naturally.
She leaned in, meeting him halfway. Her soft lips brushed against his and then he kissed her properly. Lips moving against each other tentatively as they poured their passion between them. Heaven. Siyahi had reached heaven. Especially when she made a soft sound of pleasure against his lips when he pulled her closer by her waist.
He loved feeling the warm weight of her in his palms. She felt so soft even over her cotton kurta. Siyahi’s head tilted forward as she gave him access to kiss her deeper. The both of them sighed into the kiss as they felt their oxygen run out.
Eventually they parted flushed and panting. Her eyes wide and doe like a soft “Siyahi” left her lips. “Ji boliye? Meri jaan?” he stumbled out rapidly. She smiled at his nervousness, her hand cradled his face now “Tum mujhe bohot zyada cute lagte ho aise…sharmate hue” she kissed his cheek gently as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She had always belonged there. He rested his cheek against her hair, laughing softly in disbelief while she hid her face against his chest.
Neither of them spoke for a long time. They simply stood beneath the neem tree holding each other as though the entire world had finally settled exactly where it was supposed to. This had to be the best day of his life, second only to the day he saw her for the first time in his life.
—---------------------------
Soon the streets of Lyari had become theirs. Sometimes they wandered without any destination whatsoever, fingers comfortably intertwined as they walked past the little chai stalls and vegetable vendors who greeted them like they had known them forever. Shopkeepers smiled when they saw them coming.
Old aunties sitting outside their houses whispered to each other with knowing smiles before loudly blessing them anyway. Rehanna laughed more than she ever had before. Every few minutes she squeezed his hand for absolutely no reason other than because she could.
Siyahi, meanwhile, walked around with the permanently dazed expression of a man who still wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't all some elaborate prank being played on him by Allah Himself.
One evening they stopped beside an old pani poori cart tucked into a crowded corner of the bazaar. The vendor proudly announced that his pani was the spiciest in all of Karachi, which naturally made Rehanna insist she wanted to try it.
Siyahi had opened his mouth to warn her “Rehanna, Meri jaan, ye sach me bohot masale dar hai-” She didn't listen, she confidently popped the entire pani poori into her mouth. She chewed twice before her eyes widened dramatically. A second later she began coughing, fanning her mouth furiously. "Hai Bhagwan!" she squeaked, tears springing instantly to her eyes. "Yeh log zeher khilate hain kya?"
Siyahi doubled over laughing before hurriedly grabbing a bottle of cold water from the vendor. "Arre dheere!" he chuckled, holding the bottle to her lips. "Aaram se." She drank greedily between tiny gasps while glaring accusingly at the innocent pani poori seller, who looked deeply offended by the criticism. “Bibi ji maine toh aapko pehle se ittilah kiya tha! Aapse hi khaya nahi gaya aur ilzaam humpe?” he reasoned
“Chupe be!” Even after the burning finally faded she refused to admit defeat. "Theek tha..." she muttered stubbornly, wiping the corners of her eyes. "Bas ZEHER THA….taste toh theek tha lekin" Siyahi laughed so hard he had to hold onto the cart to stay standing.
—------------
Within weeks the relationship had evolved into something more real. It seemed as if the nights belonged only to them. That time after lyari began to quiet down and until it began to start up again. That time was theirs. Hidden from everyone else. Under the silver glow of the moon they found themselves lingering together for just a few stolen moments. Wrapped in each other's arms beneath the cool night sky, they spoke about everything and absolutely nothing.
Sometimes they spoke of childhood stories. Sometimes they simply stood together in comfortable silence, smiling and blushing every time their eyes met, the kind of silence that somehow said far more than words ever could.
Sometimes when the heat between them grew too much, their lips would find each others. Tongues dancing passionately as they gasped and sighed in each others embrace. Hands moving over clothes respectfully and always stopping before the fire burned them alive.
To Siyahi, every moment beside her felt impossibly precious, as though happiness itself had finally decided to make a home inside his chest.
—---------
Eventually secrets stopped being secrets. Donga figured it out first, naturally. He had taken one look at the way Siyahi smiled whenever Rehanna entered a room and loudly declared, "Bas! Ab toh pakka kuch chal raha hai!" And then within twenty four hours the entire haveli knew.
Hamza's reaction was exactly what everyone expected. He folded his arms, stared at Siyahi for what felt like an entire century and muttered, "Meri didi ke aas paas zyada hero mat ban’na." Siyahi nearly fainted on the spot.
But my god Hamza was taking it better than expected! Siyahi expected to die promptly but Hamza just glared. And those glares did nothing to Siyahi who found solace in the way Rehanna existed next to him. Rehanna only laughed at Hamza before slipping her hand into his again.
A week later Hamza had quietly accepted defeat after watching the way Siyahi looked after her, grumbling under his breath that perhaps the idiot wasn't completely useless after all. Uzair congratulated him with a grin and clapped him hard enough on the back to nearly knock him over. Donga insisted on announcing to every single person who entered the haveli that Siyahi had finally become "Ashiq number one."
But much to everyone’s surprise, the biggest surprise came from Rehman.
—------------
One afternoon. A few months after Rehanna and Siyahi had become official. Rehman called Siyahi into his office. Siyahi entered nervously expecting some assignment involving weapons or politics.
Instead Rehman casually tossed a thick envelope onto the desk. Siyahi caught it clumsily and looked inside. His eyes nearly fell out of his head. "Bhai..." he whispered. "Ye...?" It was 3 lakh rupees in cash.
Rehman leaned back in his chair, smiling with the quiet satisfaction of an older brother who had already made up his mind. "Bonus hai." Siyahi blinked repeatedly. "Bonus?"
Rehman nodded once. "Ja." He waved him toward the door. "Angoothi khareed." His grin widened. "Aur meri Vakeel Sahiba ko zyada intezar mat karwa aur jaldi nikaah karle…warna koi aur lejaega."
—---------------------
Siyahi had never run so fast in his entire life. He was about to get a ring for the love of his life. A few hours later he finally stood before Rehanna with trembling hands and an engagement ring. He had spent three hours choosing the ring because none of them felt beautiful enough for her. Now that he stood before her every carefully rehearsed speech abandoned him completely.
“Siyahi kya hua jaan?” she asked him gently as she pulled her ahri over one shoulder. Her fingers tucking one strand behind her ear. Siyahi stared at her for several long seconds before managing only one broken sentence. "Rehanna…meri jaan… aap kya..." he laughed nervously. "Mujhse Nikah karengi?” then as if remembering that her being hindu she would probably like a shadi instead of a nikaah “Ya agar aap chahein toh phr shadi bhi karsakte hain no problem" he mumbled quickly. For a heartbeat she simply looked at him. She looked at the ring.
A simple 1 carat diamond ring, it was beautiful in its simplicity. An oval diamond on a platinum band. Then her hands flew to her mouth. "Sach?" she gasped. Before he could even answer she threw herself into his arms with a delighted laugh that echoed through the entire haveli. "Haan!" she cried, almost bouncing with excitement. "Haan Siyahi! Bilkul karungi! Shadi aur nikah dono karungi"
She held up her hand before he had even found enough coordination to pull the ring in front of the box. Laughing so hard tears gathered in her eyes, she practically helped him slide the ring onto her finger herself before wrapping him in another crushing embrace, while somewhere behind them the entire haveli erupted into cheers.
“OYE HOYEEEE SHADI HONE WALI HAI!!” cheered Donga. Rehman clapped happily before he pulled Siyahi into an embrace “Maashallah Siyahi bohot badhiya. Vakeel sahiba jaisi tumhe kahi nahi milegi. Farishte jaisi hai”. Uzair held Hamza back just in case he got into a homicidal mood. “Hamza shant reh woh teri behen se pyar karta hai! ashiq nahi hai” Hamza twitched violently in Uzairs grip “UZAIR chhod mujhe aaj katal hone waala hai. Shaadi? SHAADI KAREGA SAALA?” Hamza hadn’t expected things to go this far.
—------------------
Siyahi was ecstatic. This was the happiest day of his life. He hadn’t slept all night but he was still as fresh as a daisy. Today was his wedding day. Today he would be getting married to the love of his life. His jaan, his Rehanna. The wedding was at noon but Siyahi was fully dressed by 6AM. He could not wait, he absolutely could not wait. Siyahi was vibrating in excitement pacing his room.
His sherwani was a deep emerald green studded with silver embroidered constellations. His salwar was a deep black. The shawl draped around him was a deep midnight black to match. Siyahi looked like a king.
The marriage hall in Karachi was decorated beautifully with white and green and many more complimenting colors. All chosen by his brilliant wife to be. Siyahi was positively giddy counting down the seconds. The boys teased him mercilessly. “Phen toh hara raha hai lekin bada lal ho raha hai?” laughed Uzair.
“Saale waise rishte me toh mai tera saala ban’ne wala hun lekin bolne ke majal na karlena!” warned an irritable Hamza. Yalina laughed beside him, “Hamza please bechare ko darao mat…rishte me ye humare Jija hone wale hain.”
The Qazi began calling the bride and groom to the stage. Siyahi practically ran to his seat across the flower curtain partition. The entire hall burst into laughter. Rehanna took her seat elegantly. Siahi could see through the flower partitions. She was wearing an emerald green saree to match him. Siyahi’s heartbeat began pounding at a medically concerning rate.
The Qazi said those magical words to Siyahi “Kya aap, Siyahi, ko Rehanna Randhawa, nikaah me qabool ha-” Siyahi didn't wait for the Qazi to finish “Qabool hai, Qabool hai, Qabool hai!” he cried making the entire hall break into whistles and laughter at his excitement.
Even Rehanna laughed behind the partition. The same question was asked to her. The Qazi began to speak “ Kya aap, Rehanna Randhawa, ko Siyahi, nikaah me qabool hai?” Rehanna took a moment. She spoke with the elegance of a queen. “Qabool hai” Siyahi’s breathing shallowed. “Qabool hai” his heart beat increased. When she took a moment longer to say the final confirmation, Siyahi felt like he was about to die “Qabool hai!”
Siyahi launched out of his seat in a cheer making Rehanna laugh. Siyahi’s heart fluttered at the way she laughed “YE PHOOLON KI CHADAR HATAO MUJHE APNI BEGUM DEKHNI HAI!” he proclaimed. Uzair and Hamza had to grab him by the shoulders and make him sit down again. The Qazi stuttered at his impatience “J-Janab shanti rakhiye. Aapki hi begum hai koi uthake leke nahi jaa raha”
—------------
“Aa ji sunte ho?” Called a melodious voice pulling Siyahi out of his slumber. Rehanna walked into the room with a towel wrapped around her damp hair. One chubby child balanced on her hip and the other running around her feet. Siyahi’s daughter in her arms and his son running a ruckus around her.
“Siyahi, please Haasan ko school chhod ayiye?” she sighed exhaustedly bouncing the fussing baby girl on her hip. The tornado that was his son Hassan had her curls and cheekyness, a handsome boy no doubt. The 6 year old jumped on the bed and tackled his father “CHALO ABBU CHALOO Faizal bhaiya aur Zayan bhaiya wait kar rahe honge!”
Siyahi chuckled as he threw the boy over his shoulder standing up from the bed. Within seconds he crossed the bedroom to his wife Rehanna. 6 years of marriage had suited her so well. She looked even more beautiful by the day. Every second Siyahi fell in love with her again. He kissed her forehead as he took their daughter from their arms. The little girl babbled excitedly, reaching her hands into Siyahi's beard.
Siyahi smiled and kissed his daughter's palm “Ahha abbu ki shehzadi uth gayi? Meri Haniya uth gayi?” The little girl clapped her hands delightedly. Rehanna frowned “Dono uthgaye aur subha se aatank macha rakha hai siyahi!” Hassan thrashed wildly over his fathers shoulder, enough to make Siyahi pull the boy into his arms properly.
“Tum dono ne apni ammi ko parehsan kiya? Nahi ye bilkul bhi allowed nahi hai.” said Siyahi to both children in his arms. Then he looked towards Rehanna “Dekho kitni pyari. Kitni sundar. Kini hoshiyar….. Kitni sabkuch hai tumhari Ammi” he leaned closer with each word, his tone dipping slightly.
Rehanna blushed furiously. Her lip in between her teeth as she chewed on it. Her eyes flicked to the ground shyly. Siyahi leaned in and kissed her lips softly, Rehanna stelled closer to wrap her hands around his neck. 2 year old Haniya in one of Siyahi’s arms and 6 year old Hassan in his other arm.
“CHEEE ABBU AMMI BLEGHHHHHH” gagged Hassan seeing his parents kiss. He writhed in his fathers arms to get away from the disgusting act of love. Then the boy got offended at the fact his father was getting so close to his mother “Abbu piche hato. Ye sab nahi chalega!” And apparently his sister agreed with him “Ammi no!” Haniya whined trying to push her mother away from her father.
Rehanna laughed against his lips as she stepped away from Siyahi “Achha baba, piche hat gayi mai khush?” Siyahi’s face flattened as he looked at his son “Oh chote! Teri ammi hogi woh lekin phele meri begum hai!” Rehanna laughed as Siyahi walked away with both children arguing with them about the right to kiss his wife. Siyahi loved this little life.
—---------
Same day @ 6:15 pm
Roof of the Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Siyahi smiled in his sleep as he clutched the bottle of beer as a pillow. He turned on the charpay slightly as he got comfortable again “Rehannamerijaanekkisstohdedobacchesohrahehain” he mumbled in his sleep with a giggle. As he nuzzled into the beer bottle.
Above him, unbeknownst to him, loomed Hamza, Uzair, and Donga. They stared at the sleeping man on the charpay who was surrounded by the evidence of his crimes. A half eaten box of Bakhlawa, two empty beer bottles and a third half empty one in his hands. “Ye sala keh kya raha hai?” muttered Uzair, narrowing his eyes at Siyahi.
Donga shrugged. Hamza glared. “Woh chhod, utha saale ko!” Donga raised the bucket in his hands higher. But then he paused “E-ek second bhai! Ye bacha bua bakhlawa side me raklo warna kharab hojaega” Uzair nodded as he grabbed the box “Point toh hai bhai” Uzair shut the box and set it away Hamza rolled his eyes. “Hogaya?” Donga nodded “Haan bhai, woh bakhlawa bachana zaroori tha!”
Then without a word donga raised the bucket higher and dumped the entirely of the contents onto the sleeping man below. Ice cold water and even chunks of ice fell on the man. Siyahi gasped as ge got water boarded. He twitched on the charpay in shock. He screams in surprise “OYE!”
Hamza leans forward and grabs Siyahi by his wet collar. The shocked man’s eyes bulged out of his head. He was just about to be kissed by Rehanna and now he woke up seeing Hamza's scary face. A hard slap lands across Siyahi's face. “Bhai ne bola tha ki beer aur bakhlawa sab ke liye hai aur to akele thus gaya bhand hoke?” Hamza yelled as he shook him by the collar.
Uzair shoved Hamza to the side as he grabbed Siyahi’s face to tilt it towards him. "Aur baar baar 'meri biwi' kis ko bol raha tha?" Siyahi looked like a deer in the headlights. So his dream was just a dream? Rehanna wasn't his wife? The sadness hit Siyahi square in the chest.
Donga had been strangely quiet. Then the large man gasps as he realizes what Siyahi was mumbling in his sleep. Donga turns to Hamza with wide shocked eyes. “Bhai ye vakeel sahiba ke bare me soch raha tha!” Siyahi’s eyes widened and he yelled out too fast “KYA! NAHI TOH?!?!?!”
Hamza goes scarily quiet. “Meri behen?” he asks quietly. Siyahi better not have been dreaming of his sister. Donga makes it worse “Yaad hai jab ye bol raha tha ‘rehannamerijaanekkisstohdedobachhesorahehain’? Ye chutiya keh raha tha REHANNA MERI JAAN MUJHE EK KISS TOH DEDO BACHHE SO RAHE HAIN!”
Uzair is in shock and he slaps a hand to his mouth. “Oh bhenchod….tu toh gaya saale” he laughs. Hamza…Hamza’s face is homicidal. Siyahi gulps “Hamza bhai..meri baat suno..” he starts backing away “SIYAHI! MERI BHEHEN??” Exclaims Hamza.
“BH-BH-BHAI MERI BAAT SUNO” he is stuttering and stumbling backwards. Siyahi falls off the charpay and scrambles to his feet. “SUNA BAAT SUNA TU SIYAHI! MERI BEHEN KE SATH BACHE KARNA CHAHATA HAI?” says Hamza as he gets closer to the scared man. Siyahi breaks into a sprint and three men run behind the man. One with the intent to murder. One with the intent to stop a murder. And the third with the intent to laugh his ass off.
—----------------
What a lovely peaceful day. A brilliant deal of many many lakhs had just gone through. The boys had been told to fuck off. THe haveli was quiet. Faizal was at a friend's house. And the cherry on top was that Rehman had had Rehanna to himself. In fact that was better than the deal for Rehman.
Now both of them stood in Rehanna’s bedroom balcony overlooking the Haveli gardens as the sun set over Lyari. Rehanna against the railing dressed only in Rehman's black kurta. And Rehman held her up steadily from behind. His bare chest against her back. A great afternoon. Her entire body weight held against him as she was too exhausted to hold herself up. Rehman placed his chin on her shoulder as they watched the fountains burble.
All of a sudden there is a scream and a crash nearby. It makes Rehanna flinch at how sudden it was. Rehman's arms tighten around her to make sure she feels safe and protected. Along with the scream and crash bubbled through howling laughter.
Siyahi ran through the gardens below the balcony at full speed. Hamza followed by Uzair, followed by a panting Donga who hated running. Siyahi begged as he turned backwards while running forwards “MERI MARRI HUI AMMI KASAM PHIR NAHI SOCHUNGA UNKE BARE ME AISE HAMZA BHAI MAAF KARDO”
Hamza yells as he speeds up “SAALE! RUK TU! MAI BHE TEREKO TERI MARRI HUI AMMI KE PAAS BHEJTA HUN!” Uzair speeds up behind Hamza “HAMZA ISKO MAAF KARDE!” Donga panted, huffed, and puffed “AUR TUM SAB BHAGNA BAND KARO BHENCHOD!”
Rehanna blinks in confusion at the comedy in front of her. Even Rehman is speechless for a moment. Rehanna stutters out “ Y-ye log kar kya rahe hain?” She tilts her head. Rehman sighs, shaking his head. He knows his men. They are grade A idiots. He begins to speak in his gravely exhausted voice “Meri jaan un bewakoofon ko chhodo mujhpe tawajjo do.”
His lips found her exposed shoulder, his kurta on her was oversized and it slipped off her frame. He kisses along the back of her neck, his lips tracing the hickeys he left not even half an hour ago.
Rehanna laughs and tilts her head against his shoulder, her hand snaking in his hair. Her nails scratched slightly along the nape of his neck. He sighed into her skin. “Rehman maine abhi aapko itne kareeb se aur nazuki se tawajjo di hai!” Rehman sighs into her skin “Kabhi kaafi nahi hai”
Rehanna rolls her eyes at him even though Rehman can't see it. But he can certainly feel it. His hands tighten around her waist. His kurta bunching in his hands as he makes his grip firm. Then within moments he lifts her clean off her feet. His bare muscled torso firm against her back. “REHMAN!” she yelped with a giggle. “Chalo mere sath. Meri jaan. Meri rooh. Aapke sath har pal rehna hai mujhe.” he mumbled into her skin as he carried her back into her bedroom and tossed her lightly onto her bed making her laugh.
—--------------------
Siyahi huffs and puffs as he runs through the gardens, weaving in and out of the house. Hamza and the boys stay hot on his tail. He makes it to the front veranda and he realizes he has been caught. So Siyahi huffs and puffs. As he stands and waits for the inevitable.
So it was a dream? Rehanna telling him that she loves him was a dream? Their wedding was a dream? Their kids were non-existent? Siyahi sighs wistfully.
Hamza catches up to Siyahi. His hands wrap around his torso and he tackles him to the ground. They fall on the ground. An oof pulls through Siyahi's body as he lands on the bricked driveway. Yet there is a smile on his face. Hamza lands on top of him.
Hamza begins pummelling Siyahi who covers his head with his arms. Hamza is yelling about something ot the other but Siyahi cant hear it. Uzair is trying to pull Hamza off of Siyahi, trying to reason with the incensed man. But Siyahi can't understand a single word. Donga is laughing his ass off, but to Siyahi even that is muffled.
Rehanna’s smile. How she was so nervous to tell him she loves him. How she was so happy when he proposed. She looked like the most beautiful woman in the whole world the day they got married. She looked so beautiful with him and their children. The perfect family. Siyahi’s Beautiful daughter Haniya and his handsome Hassan. Both of them the spitting image of their mother. Just how Siyahi hoped.
But it was all a dream. A weed dream. But Siyahi wasn't angry. Siyahi wasn't sad. He wasn't even upset. Even if it wasn't real, he just kept thinking one thing: Wow maze hi agaye….worth every puff.
Fun and cutu! Crumbs of our beloved DSKVS universe!
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Sanjaya Baru x Indian Foreign delegate Rani Marwah
------------------------------
Disclaimer: This one-shot is inspired by the movie The Accidental Prime Minister. It is in no way inspired by real events or implies real events. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Author's note: Guys.....Sanjaya Baru. Need I say anything more? (INEEDTOFUCKHIMSOBADITSGENUINELYCONCERNINGIMBANGINGTHEWALLSOFMYCAGEAHHHHHHH) * ahem ahem * Ignore that and read the fic, please : )
----------------------------
Pissed off at the PMO
Present day @ 7 pm
Sanjaya Baru’s office, Prime Ministers Office (PMO), Media and Relations wing, New Delhi, India
It's seven pm in New Delhi. Sanjaya Baru sits in his office in the media and relations wing with a glass of scotch he most definitely isn't supposed to be drinking on the job. Being the chief media advisor and spokesperson of the Prime minister meant that he had to stay sharp at all times.
But it's a late summer evening, the sun is about to set. The PMO is quieter than usual. Sanjaya had let the interns and the less significant lower ranking employees off early. Grey thunderous clouds are swirling over the PMO. The early monsoon winds carried hopes of rain and regret through Delhi.
Sanjaya Baru most definitely shouldn't be drinking on the job but when thunder rolled through the distance and the past clawed through him. He could only resist the alcohol for so long, he could only resist memories of her for so long. He takes a swig. The scotch burns down his throat landing warmly in his chest. He leans back in his chair looking out of his open window. This was her favorite weather.
A painful exhale leaves him and his head lols against the leather chair. His open laptop glowing aimlessly. She used to run into his office with her eyes dancing in excitement. As soon as she walked in Sanjaya would hear love songs in his mind. And her presence was so beautiful that the sun would break through the clouds just to grace her face. Her brown eyes glowing like honey. Eyes he could never forget, no matter how hard he tried.
She would have grabbed his hand and pulled him away from his papers. “Sanjaya chalo na! Lets go outside, the weather is beautiful!” She was always giddy with excitement. Well. Not always. But she loved romanticising the smallest of things. She said it makes the mundanity of life more bearable. But the reality is that she made life more bearable.
He would have grumbled about his work or a report he needed to submit. She would have just clicked her tongue at him and tilted her head in the sweetest way. “Sanjaya please leave those papers for one fucking second. We need your old ass to go touch some grass. You are always so cooped up!” he would have taken offence to the old thing but the love in his heart would have made him smile and follow her to the end of the world if she had asked him.
And when he finally agreed. Oh! Her beautiful face would light up like he had just gifted her the moon and the stars. Every time he used to see that he would have a painful realization. Sanjaya Baru could never, would never, hurt her. Because the day her smile died because of him. He wouldn't live with himself.
But that was five years ago. And contrary to popular belief Sanjaya Baru was still fucking alive. Unfortunately. And also barely. Barely alive because he was a husk of himself. Anyone with two working eyes and prior knowledge could tell you that. They could tell you he died the second he caused a tear of pain shed from her eyes.
The truth of the matter is that Sanjaya is not the man he was five years ago. He was a darker man. A more haunted man. A more cruel man. A more ruthless man. A more fucked up man. Sanjaya scoffs at the painful memories by draining his glass of scotch. A sigh of satisfaction pulled from his chest because the pain of the scotch felt like a miniscule amount of punishment for what he had done.
Thunder growls louder over head. The ground smells of petrichor, it wafts lazily upwards along this the heat of the pavement. She would be arriving any moment now wouldn't she? His heart still held out hope. Heels clicked steadily outside of his door. His brow arched as he looked towards his office door.
The door clicked open and the woman who walked in made Sanjaya sigh with disappointment though he tried to hide it under indifference. It was his private secretary Maria. Who also just happened to be one of the women he fucked to drown his sorrows in. Because when the pain of her memories became too much to bear the only way out was through.
The women meant nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. When he talked to them he imagined her face and her wit. When he touched them he imagined the feeling of her soft and supple skin. When he fucked them he was consumed in thoughts and memories of her. When he came he moaned her name not theirs. But none of them were her. None of them could ever be her.
He always hated himself more in the after. Post nut clarity, hurt like a mother fucker. It winded him physically, his chest would clench, his behavior would become erratic. He would leave within moments. Making vague promises of reaching out again which he never intended to keep. So the women meant nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.
But to the women? To the women Sanjaya Baru meant everything to them. He is a phenomenal fuck, ruining women for any other man. He knew that. He didn't care for it.
One woman he meant everything to was his ditzy private secretary Maria. The woman who had just walked in. She wore a dress that bordered on scandalous for appropriate officewear at the PMO. But Sanjaya had allowed it. He hates that he enjoyed looking at her body like a fucking caveman.
Maria rounded his desk and perched herself beside his empty scotch glass. Her hand reached into one of the desk drawers and pulled a cigar out of an ornate wooden box. A box that had been gifted to him five years ago by the woman who consumes his soul.
Maria brought the cigar to Sanjaya's lips before she lit it for him. “Is there...anything else I can get you sir?” she whispered huskily at him as her hand trailed along his arm. “No, that's alright Maria.” hummed Baru darkly as he openly stared at her cleavage under the neckline of her tight dress.
Maria smirked as she saw Sanjaya ogle her. She loved her dark and twisted boss. She loves how he fucks her and says he doesn’t care. Then days later he would come back to drag her to his office. No apologies, no explanations, just a stern look that told her to get on her knees. Her knees would hit the plush carpet on the floor of his office and within moments his belt would chink open.
His hand would fist in her hair and Maria would gag on his length. He would fuck her throat with no mercy. His mind fogged with thoughts of her again, her dirty words, her wit, her lips. Nothing would ever compare to the way she used to weaken his knees and drive him crazy. But he makes do with what he has, Maria’s mouth would have to do. When he had had his pleasure he would simply tell her to get off the floor and sort herself out. It was back to business as usual.
Everyone told Maria that Sanjaya was no good for her. Maria knew that Sanjaya was no good for her. But deep within her she had this feeling. A feeling that she could heal what was broken. A feeling that she could fix this dark fucked up man. Or at the very least have him all to herself.
Maria hummed as she nodded her head “Sir I just love this weather don't you?” she sighed wistfully as she looked out the window. Sanjaya froze. The air shifted. The cigar burned between his lips. Wrong. It felt wrong watching someone claim her weather. A heat rose through his body, bitter anger coursed through him. “Leave,” he said with a scary amount of control. “Sir?” she blinked in confusion.
“LEAVE.” he repeated loudly, his eyes crazed. Her. All he could think about was her. And Maria's presence disturbed him. Maria took a deep breath and left the room her boss was in one of his moods. That happened to him often. Moments where he just flipped. So she left.
Sanjaya stood up as soon as she left. He walked to his window as he took a deep drag off of his Cuban cigar. The petrichor in the wind assaulted his senses. The wind rushed through his silver pepper studded hair. His hands brushed it back roughly. She used to do it so kindly, her nails raking along his scalp. He used to shiver and lean into her touch. Those were the happiest moments of his life now that he thinks about it.
The thunder rumbled closer, the trees shook in the wind. Sanjaya's hands gripped the window sill, his knuckles turning white with how hard he gripped. Something violent clawed through his body. He tried to swallow it down. Maria triggered it. How dare she feel the same way about the weather. How dare someone else love what she loves. Because this was Rani’s favorite weather.
Even thinking of her name hurt his soul. But fuck, it sounded so sweet too. Rani. Her name is Rani Marwah. The woman who haunted Sanjaya Baru. The love of his life. The woman who he hurt. His jaan. His Rani.
A broken groan pulled out of his chest. Pain flooded him. His hand grabbed his cigar before it could fall out. The ground below his window was a garden. She used to frolic in the same garden when she was on her breaks. The sunshine would grace her. Any memory of her was always sunny, even the rainy days were sunny.
She used to pick up small pebbles from the garden beds. Her head tilting, her tongue between her teeth. She would take aim and throw the pebble on his window. Sanjaya used to frown but his concentration wouldn't break. One more stone. Sanjaya would groan in annoyance. One more stone. He would get up from his desk and fling his window open. “Kaun hai?” he would yell. Then another stone would hit him square in the forehead.
She would gasp “SHIT SORRY SANJAYA!” she would break into peals of warm laughter. He would massage the sore spot on his forehead where the pebble hit his face. “Rani…” he would begin warningly. She stuck her tongue out at him and ran away. Sanjaya would laugh as he grabbed his jacket and rushed out of his office to go meet her.
But that was before. Now the garden below his office was empty. The clouds swirled overhead. Emotions swirled through him harder. He took a deep breath and turned towards his desk again. His laptop sat there open and waiting. Her answer to the invitation sat on his screen. She had said no.
IFS Rani Marwah, First Secretary, Indian Embassy of Spain. RSVP: Not Attending
There was to be a cocktail party at the PMO for Indian delegates from all around the world. This was the event Sanjaya was waiting for. He assumed that it had been 5 years, maybe she would finally come back. But no. She wasn't coming.
Sanjaya sat down on his leather chair again with a deep groan. He tapped off the ash on his cigar in a crystal ash tray. He set the cigar in the crystal notch on its edge. His fingers flexed as he watched his computer screen. He was about to do something highly risky.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He thinks as he logs into a different window. He shouldn’t be betraying the prime minister’s trust and friendship. But Sanjaya had no choice. He needed to see her again.
When you are that close to the prime minister it’s not incredibly hard to swipe his login codes. In fact it’s too easy. He logs into the prime minister's email. His fingers fly across the key board as he drafts the email.
Was this wrong? Yes this was. Could this be seen as identity theft of the prime minister of India? Yes, most definitely. Sanjaya wrote a personal email inviting Rani to the cocktail party. He wrote that while he saw she had RSVP’d no he still hopes that after this personal invitation she would accept. He signed the email as the prime minister of India. Then he hit send. She was still at work. She would see it soon.
Now it was a waiting game. He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Sanjaya Baru banked all of his hopes on one thing. She couldn't possibly deny a personal invitation from the prime minister of India could she?
Thunder growled overhead. The storm was here. Within moments the sky opened up and rain poured down over Delhi. And all Sanjaya could think was that this was her favorite weather. He pulled out his wallet and flicked it open. And there was a photo of her. His eyes softened on it. His eyes only softened for her. He took a deep drag of his cigar.
“See you soon my darling” he hummed as he kissed her image. She had to say yes.
—---------
Present day @ the same time as previous segment 3:30 pm
Rani Marwah’s office, Indian Embassy, Madrid, Spain
Author's note: Yes I really do speak spanish. And not the duolingo kind ;)
Rani Marwah shut her laptop with a sigh. It had been a long day. She pulled her hair out of her face into a tired looking messy bun. Strands escaped willy-nilly but she didn't care. All day long she had gone through stacks and stacks of diplomatic transcripts that the ambassador wanted synopsized.
She had tried to tell him that this work would be better carried by a bunch of bright eyed and bushy tailed interns. But the ambassador simply said that her work was always impeccable and it was a personal request. So fuck her for being good at her job she guesses.
But now she was finally done. She could relax slightly before her workday ended. Spain has incredible work life balance laws. So a nine to five really was a nine to five, unless there was a diplomatic emergency which made her day extend. But that was a rare anomaly.
She put her legs up on her desk crossing one ankle over the other as she leaned back. Her mind goes to the RSVP she had sent as a ‘no’ this morning. The cocktail party at the PMO. If she could have responded with a ‘FUCK NO’ not because she didnt want to go to the cocktail party. In fact she would love to go visit her friends in India.
But there was a risk. The risk was a man. The man was Sanjaya Baru. 5 years ago he was her boyfriend. 5 years ago he was her everything. 5 years ago he was her forever. A lot can change in a few hours. But that was the past. Bin wajah gade hue murde kyun khodne hain? Dard toh kabhi mita nahi.
Everytime she thought of him she felt a chasm rip in her soul. She felt a stabbing pain at the base of her neck. She felt memories claw through her again. She had denied the invitation, she had fucking denied it. No need to go through the pain again. She tried to forget his handsome face, his loving words, the adoration in his eyes. She tried to remember how he ruined her career. Rani pinched her nose bridge as she let out a slow breath.
Thankfully someone walked into her office. “¿Señorita, tienes un momento?” asked an aide. Rani sighed as she straightened in her chair. Her hands pulled at her chiffon blouse to adjust it back into place. “Si si, tienes un momento ¿Que tal?”
(Aide- Miss do you have a moment? Rani- Yes, yes, I have a moment. What's up?)
The aide walked in “El embajador me ha dicho que le informe que acaba de recibir un correo electrónico del Primer Ministro de la India. Le gustaría que respondieras de inmediato.” Rani straightened even more as she threw open the lid of her laptop again. Lord was she to get a moment of peace today? Clearly not. But an email from the Prime minister, now this was interesting.
(Aide- The ambassador has told me to inform you that you just received an email from the Prime Minister of India. He would like you to respond to it immediately.)
Rani cleared her throat “Sí, sí por supuesto. Por favor, dile al embajador que me ocuparé de ello inmediatamente.” She waived the aide off as she logged in to her computer again. Immediately clicking onto her email.
(Rani- Yes, yes ofcourse. Please tell the ambassador I will see to it immediately.)
She takes a deep breath as she sees the email. Directly from the prime minister. She opens it and her eyes scan her screen rapidly. Fuck. This was not good. The Prime minister had directly invited her to the cocktail party she had rejected. FUCK. She couldn't say no now.
This personal email reeked to her of Sanjaya and his schemes. It reeked of his smoky oud cologne with notes of old books, ink, cigar smoke, and the most prominent note of dickheadedness. “¡PINCHE CABRÓN!” she fumed as she slammed a fist on her desk. The pens rattled in her penholder.
(Rani- FUCKING ASSHOLE)
—--------------
5 years ago-
PMO, New Delhi, India
If you had asked anyone in the PMO what the ideal relationship was they would have taken two names. Rani and Sanjaya. In fact they had become one name. Classy. Powerful. Sexy. Intelligent. Fucking phenomenal. There aren't adjectives to describe either Rani or Sanjaya. These words were used to describe both of them.
The PMO shone under their joint rule. Projects went smoothly, Sanjaya handled the media front, Rani handled the diplomatic and ministerial back end. Disasters were handled like it was child's play. Sanjaya's wit and charm, Rani’s mind and diplomacy. Nothing was a challenge for them. The PMO had never been better.
More than just work they made the PMO more kind and soft. Ask anyone where they were and the answers would vary but one thing would be the same “They must be together”. Because the both of them were inseparable. Walking together hand and hand in the hallways whispering and laughing amongst themselves. Her head on his shoulder. Both of them looked painfully in love.
Or they could be found working late nights in the office. All the lights shut off spare for the meeting room they were sitting together in. She would yawn sleepily as she shook her head “Fuckkk sar phat raha hai meraaaa” she whined as she collapsed dramatically onto the desk.
Sanjaya laughs under his breath as he watches her dramatics. The way she pouts in exhaustion. He fell deeper in love every second he lay his eyes on her over the edge of his glasses. Without another word he stands up and goes to the coffee cart in the corner of the room. He sighs tiredly as he makes her coffee just the way she liked it. Extra strong, bittersweet, and with almond milk.
He walked over to her leaning behind her. He caged her in his arms and placed the coffee by her head. “Here you are my darling. A coffee for you” he hummed gently with a smile as he kissed her cheek. She turned to him with a sleepy smile “Itna khayal rakhte ho thum mera jaan” she wrapped her hand around his neck and kissed him deeply. He kissed her back with equal fervor.
Eventually he broke away and kissed her nose “Darling have your coffee. Warna tum so jaogi aur thandi bhi hojaegi” She hums as she takes a sip. “Fucking perfect…if you ever leave your job then become a barista…id be your most loyal customer” she moans at the coffee. Sanjaya laughs under his breath as he sits beside her. “What about you? Don't you need coffee?”
“Mmm why would I need coffee if I'm sitting right next to pure electricity?” he flirts shamelessly. She laughs as she leans in close “Well let me share some of my energy with you my love” she grins. Rani takes a swig of coffee and kisses him hard, sharing the coffee with him. He drank it from her lips and never tasted coffee so good. The both of them looked forward to late nights after that.
Or if a project went really well people could tell you to steer clear of Sanjaya's office for a good few hours. “SANJAYAAA!” she grins as she walks into his office shutting the door behind her promptly “It worked! It fucking worked! Using the economic angle to put pressure on them worked and they agreed with no counter to the proposal!” she squealed as she walked into the office. He grins and pulls her close. His arm sweeps off the files and papers on his desk and lays her on it. Rani yelps as his lips find hers, the sound turning into a muffled moan.
“Well done my daring. Congratulations. Your fucking brilance is always the master stroke!” he groans against the column of her throat leaving bites and kisses that she would have to hide later. If this is what being in love felt like. Then the both of them could see them together forever.
—------------------
But good things dont last forever, ya shayad nazar lag gayi kisiki. It was all his fault. It was all Sanjaya Baru’s fault. In a jealous gossip and booze influenced haze, he ruined her reputation. He completely ruined her and her reputation at the PMO. Sanjaya did it because someone told him a vicious lie.
He had been at a media brunch that day. The drinks had been flowing strong. But all he was thinking about was his darling Rani who had promised him a surprise this evening when she kissed him goodbye. “Take your time coming home darling” she had smiled at him as she fixed his collar. “When you come home there will be a surprise waiting for you” she winked as she patted his chest.
Sanjaya’s eyebrow quirked. A slow cocky smirk spread across his handsome face. “Is that so my darling?” he hums “Then maybe I don't want to leave. The anticipation will kill me.” he pouts as he pulls her close. She giggled at his antics. His hand snaked around her waist. He leaned in close, kissing below her ear “Tell me sweetheart is my surprise you waiting for me in our bed?”
She clicked her tongue at him with a frown “you men and your one track mind.” He grins at her “Can you fucking blame me? My love, have you ever seen yourself? Mmmmhh jee toh karta hai ki tumhe apni bahon se kabhi na nikalne dun” he groans against her shamelessly. Her face burns slightly “Sanjaya… jao please” she said as she blushed. He laughed and kissed her sweetly as he left “I’ll be back soon my love”
An elbow jabbed into Sanjaya from his colleagues. “Arre yaar Baru kahan khoya hua hai? Have some drinks and be in the moment with us” Sanjaya shook his head with a smile “Its nothing like that. Bas madam ji ghar pe intezar kar rahi hai” oohs and teasing words emerged from the circle of men surrounding him.
Anand was unnaturally silent. Usually he would be the first to tease Baru about his relationship with Rani. Not today though. Today he was silent. That should have been the first sign. Anand took Baru by the elbow and dragged him to a corner. “Kya hua Anand?” Baru asked suspiciously.
Anand opened his mouth and the words that tumbled out of it shattered Sanjaya’s world. Anand spoke about how she was thinking about leaving him for another man. Sanjaya laughed at that, but Anand kept speaking. Rani was seen disappearing into empty rooms with strange men and emerging giggling and laughing, much too close to them. Sanjaya blinked. His Rani? It couldn't be.
Anand grinned into his drink as he saw the plan working. Sanjaya was tipsy, bordering on drunk. He was beginning to believe the lies he was telling about Rani. Anand doubled down; he needed to split Rani and Baru. They were becoming too efficient. Too perfect together. Too powerful. They made all the other departments look like shit. All is fair in politics….even blatant fucking lies.
By the end of the party Sanjaya was swaying with drink and rage. He truly believed his Rani had betrayed him.
—--------------------
That same evening Rani walked into their Delhi high rise apartment with excitement exuding out of every pore. The back of her neck burned and throbbed but it was okay because she knew Sanjaya’s reaction would make it worth it. When he would peel away the bandage and lose his mind. Then he would tend to the pain with icepacks and ointments telling her how much he loves her surprise.
Rani hummed to herself as she locked the door to the flat. Her phone rang, it was her friend from the PMO. “Haan Sheetal bol? Itni der se phone kar rahi ho sab theek hai na?” she said as she set her bag down on the dining table.
“Rani! Rani jaldi apna email check kar! Bohot badi problem ho gayi hai!” she urged through the phone. “CALL ME BACK!” yelled Sheetal as she hung up. Rani blinked in confusion as she checked her email. Then the world tilted.
—------------------
Sanjaya stumbled into their apartment drunk out of his mind. Rage and disbelief twisted through him. “RANI” he yelled into the apartment. There was no response. She wasnt fucking home yet. Good honestly. It's better she wasn't home yet.
He was about to fucking rip this lovely little domestic world apart. He somehow made it to their liquor cabinet and grabbed the scotch. He poured another drink as he pulled out his phone. He was about to fucking ruin her like she was about to ruin him.
What respect would be left of Sanjaya if the PMO found out his girlfriend of a year had been cheating on him? None. The answer is none. She was a filthy fucking two timer. He loves her so much and she betrayed him.
He began drafting a statement. He could write about how she was a cheating bitch. He could ruin her reputation as a person. He wanted to so badly too. His hands shook as he drained the scotch. He couldn't do it. He fucking loves her.
So he ruined her professionally. Within minutes the entire PMO knew a lie. The newly appointed IFS Rani Marwah had bribed her way through her UPSC exam and lied on her papers. She wasn't deserving of her role.
He dropped his phone on the ground as he poured another drink he didn't need.
—--------------------
Rani’s world tilted. The floor began moving, her head began swimming. This can't be real. This has to be faked. “S-SANJAYA!” she cried rushing through the apartment to find him. “SANJAYA WHAT IS THIS?!” She yelled though gasps as she found him in his study. Anxiety gripped her ribcage. She couldn't breathe.
He sat there with a lazy smirk on his face, the low lighting obscuring him. A cruel smirk on his face. A dark and twisted smirk on his face. The empty bottle of scotch rolled on the floor. The glass clinking on the hardwood floors. “Aa gayi tum meri jaan?” he grinned with a broken laugh. “What the fuck is going on?” she said, fighting back tears. “Sanjaya. What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On.” she was shaking now. On the verge of a panic attack.
Then Baru began speaking. “Fuck…meri jaan kya dhoka diya hai mujhe” he laughed darkly as he stood up. The alcohol had rendered him shitfaced, he swayed in rage and heartbreak. Then he told her everything Anand had told him.
Rani gasped when he ended his story. Tears were flowing down her face.He realizes his mistake as soon as he sees the tears in her eyes. But it's too late to take back words now. “TUMHE DIKH NAHI RAHA KI USNE TUMHARA CHUTIYA KATA HAI SANJAYA?” She yelled at him as she walked closer. She could smell the scotch from ten feet away. “HE IS FUCKING LYING! I'M NOT CHEATING ON YOU!”
“Dont….d-dont try to scramble for explanations you dont have honey. Dil mera tuta…lekin aansu tum baha rahi ho? wah!” he hums and stutters cruelly as he cups her face in his shaky hands. “I love you! Why would I betray you? Why would you ruin my career?” she cried as she fought out of his twisted attempt to console her.
“I -I can’t. I can't do this anymore. I need to go ineedtogetout. You- you’re so fucking cruel!” she gasped through tears as she walked out of the study towards their bedroom. Her flats clicked on the floor.
Sanjaya followed her “Don't act like you’re leaving me because all of a sudden you want a good man!” He hissed as he walked “you should have thought of that before getting involved with me. You should have thought of that before you betrayed me!” he ended cruelly.
Rani had made it into their room and began gathering her most prized possessions and stuffed them into a suitcase. “No, Sanjaya, I'm not leaving you because you are a bad man.” she began softly at first. Then she slammed a bag shut and looked at him “DONT BE FUCKING STUPID. I’m leaving you because you have RUINED me, RUINED MY CAREER!”
“You did this to yourself Rani! Don't act like a saint because you fucking know you aren't one!” he counterd pointing a shaky finger at her. Rani sniffed back her tears as she shut another bag. Her hand wiping harshly at her face.
The back of her neck stung violently, the bandages burning. She was so happy moments ago. “You know what, Sanjaya?” she began coldly. “Maybe I do deserve a good man. A kind of man you will never be able to be. Goodbye Mr.Baru” she smiled at him as she walked out of the apartment. Tears flowed down her face as she smiled. Her eyes were red. The door slammed shut.
Sanjaya fell to the floor in the living room. He will never forget his last memory of her. Tears streaming down her face, her eyes red and broken. She isn't arguing, she isn't angry. She is hurt. Hurt beyond repair.
Her reaction told him everything that mattered. Anand had lied. And he had fallen for it hook line and sinker. He had ruined their relationship, he had ruined her career. He wanted to go after her. He tried moving from the floor but his stupid fucking ego won't let him apologize, beg on his knees to stay. So he let her leave.
—-----------------
Summary of the five years until present
Rani had rushed to the PMO the same night with tears in her eyes. She ran into the minister of external affairs. “SIR SIR! Aapko pata hai woh email fake hai you know I have my position fairly!” The minister calmed her down, assuring that he knew and that there was no reason for her to be scared. They believed Sanjaya was hacked. They were looking into it.
“Sir, leave that. Leave whether he was hacked or not. My reputation here is ruined. Please transfer me overseas!” she begged the minister. The minister sighed and signed her transfer order effective immediately to the Indian embassy of Spain.
She immediately went to the airport and boarded her flight. Her aides and assistants instructed to gather and ship all of her things to Spain immediately. Before the plane took off she blocked Sanjaya everywhere. His number, his email, his personal email, whatsapp, facebook, twitter, instagram, even fucking youtube. She never wanted to speak to him again. She cried about the love of her life the entire flight.
Everyone at the PMO could see the change as soon as she left. Sanjaya Baru was no longer the same man. He was a darker man. A more fucked up man. A more insane man. He had walked into the PMO the next day. Still in the same clothes as the day before. Entirely disheveled. Rage in his eyes.
He had walked up to Anand. And without another word he threw a right hook hard enough to break the man's jaw. “COUNT YOUR FUCKING DAYS!” he yelled. It took five people to hold Sanjaya back. They had never seen Sanjaya behave like this.
Over the next few days he devolved further. Becoming crazed and erratic, trying to reach out to her but she had blocked him everywhere. So he stalked her online, and he makes fake accounts to follow her social media after she blocks him. He saves newspaper clippings about her accomplishments and collects him. He even goes so far as to pay one of her interns to just send him news about her.
He thinks about her when he wakes up; he thinks about her when he goes to bed. He fucks other women to help him forget. But nothing ever dulls the ache. Nothing ever takes away the fog she left on him. Nothing ever takes away how much he hates himself.
—---------------
Present day @ 3:40 pm
Rani Marwah’s office, Indian Embassy, Madrid, Spain
“Fuck….fuck…fuck a duck.” Rani groaned, putting her head in her hands. She tapped her foot on the floor rhythmically. A self soothing behavior to help her mind cope. Loopholes raced through her mind on how to get out of this situation.
Diplomatic emergency? One didn't exist right now but she could call the french ambassador and say a few choice words which could cause one. The death of a close family member? She could say her dead grandmother died. She got into an accident? She could fake a broken leg or break it by asking someone to run her over with a car. She died?..........but the thing was she didn't want to die yet. She had a girls trip to Santorini planned in two months and she had bought this sexy little bikini she wanted to romp around in.
Even though the entire personal re invite reeks of Sanjaya she couldn't take the risk to deny it again. She had to accept it. She sighed and pressed accept. Her laptop slammed shut hard enough to make the hardwood desk shake.
—-----------—-
Present day @ 7:10 pm
Sanjaya Baru’s office, Prime Ministers Office (PMO), Media and Relations wing, New Delhi, India
Baru smoked his cigar in absolute silence. Rain thundered outside hard enough to shake the trees and billow his curtains. He hadn't moved in 10 minutes. The smoke curled around his handsome features as his eyes stayed locked onto the picture of Rani he kept in his wallet.
His thumb stroked her cheek absentmindedly. It was a candid photo from her birthday. Rani is smiling from ear to ear as she looks at Sanjaya with pure love in her eyes. He remembers the moment so clearly how she didn't look into the camera, she only looked at him. She only looked at Sanjaya and that's why her eyes were soft and dilated.
“Five years meri jaan… five long years. Tell me you are coming home to me” He murmured softly to her picture. Lightning cracked in front of his window. Illuminating the room briefly before it settled into comfortable darkness. His computer beeped at him.
Sanjaya whipped his head to the side so fast he almost broke his neck. His cigar hung absentmindedly from his lips. He logs into the Prime Minister’s email as fast as his fingers will let him.
IFS Rani Marwah, First Secretary, Indian Embassy of Spain. RSVP: Attending
A laugh of pure joy and relief bubbled out of his chest. His fucked up manuver had worked. He looked at her picture in his wallet. He brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. “I knew you would come home my darling” He leans back as joy floods his system. His Rani was coming home. He laughs into his dark office. Preparations were to be made.
—---------------
4 days after previous segment @ 7 pm
Media and Relations wing ballroom, PMO building, New Delhi, India
Rani stood outside the ballroom doors of the PMO building. Coming back to the PMO felt like a twisted welcome home. The last time she was here she ran through the halls as she cried looking for the External affairs minister. She knew these halls in a very different way.
This was her first placement after her UPSC qualification. This is where she found joy in her work. This is where she found life long friends. This is where she had the best times in her life. This is where she fell in love. This is the first place she came to when her heart broke.
So much sat in these halls. It felt good to inhale the Delhi air with its pollution and all. It reminded her of a life she ran from overnight. Walking away doesn't mean it ends or disappears. It just fucking waits. Because it knows you will come back one day or another.
Rani looked at her reflection in the glass windows next to her. She adjusted her navy blue floor length cocktail dress. The silk satin mix fabric clung to her curves in all the ways that mattered while remaining modest enough to not look slutty for an elegant party. One shoulder on and the other elegantly fixed slipped off. The dress didn't need to be adjusted but she pulled at the neckline regardless.
This was just a waste of time. She knew it, she knew she was wasting time. Rani sighed as she rolled her shoulders back and straightened her spine. She had to get it over with. Rani would not pay attention to if Sanjaya was even there or not. And if he happened to be there she would pretend he was a floral arrangement and not a person. She nodded to herself as she walked through the double doors.
—-----------------
Sanjaya Baru stood in a dark corner of the ballroom where the cocktail party was organized. He nursed a pour of aged scotch on ice. He was dressed in an elegant ensemble of his own. Black tailored trousers, a white dress shirt, and a black structured blazer. To tie the look together he wore black leather dress shoes and a black leather belt.
Silver hair, black rimmed glasses, a structured jaw. He looked fucking devastating. The women of the PMO kept flicking their eyes over him as they talked in hushed circles. He could hear the whispers. “Isn't that Sanjaya Baru?” “Fuck he looks so good.” “Do you think I have a chance?” “I heard he is very open to one night stands.”
He scoffed into his scotch. He never cared for any of this. Especially not when he knew Rani would be here. He would get to see his darling after all of these years. His eyes watch the door like a hawk. He longed and yearned to merely breathe the same air as her again.
He taps his foot on the marble floor as he looks at his watch. 7 pm. She was supposed to be here already. Rani Marwah was a lot of things but she was always on time. And on cue the double doors of the ballroom opened and the great Sanjaya Baru lost his mind.
He heard the dainty click of her heels on the marble floor first. Click. Click. Click. Her walk was still the same, the maddening elegant sway of her hips still the same. The way she walked toward him in his dreams is still the same. She wore navy blue.
She is in an elegant and risqué little number. A dress that looked like it was poured into it. Like how aged whisky flows in between ice cubes to fill the glass beautifully. One strap placed on her shoulder as it was meant to be the other hanging off her frame exposing one shoulder and her collarbone to him.
His throat went dry at how the fabric clung to her sinfully. She had gained some weight. In the best way possible, her frame is slightly fuller now. The dress elegantly tight around her hips and bust. Sanjaya had to force himself to breathe through his nose instead of imagining how she would feel in his arms again after all this time. His hands would dig into the soft flesh as he kissed her. Or her thighs would suffocate him as he goes down on her. God the sounds she used to make.
He cleared his throat as he watched on. Her deep brown locs cascading down her back in loose waves. The last time he saw her hair it was to the mid of her back and now it was to her tailbone. She had matured with time. Her face was no longer fully youthful and a deep elegance had settled into her.
Her rose petal lips are still the same. Her eyes are still the same. Her face is still beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful. Beautiful like an apsara, an entirely other worldly ethereal beauty. Sanjaya smiles seeing her, his heart doing backflips. His darling was home.
—------------------
Authors note: Please listen to People I Don’t Like by UPSHAL
Rani takes a deep breath as she walks through the room looking around for familiar faces. While she searches she hopes and prays to whatever lord exists that she does not see one particular face. But she can feel his presence. It's undeniable he is somewhere in this room and he is watching her.
Hello, it's so good to see you
We met before but nice to meet you
Yeah, I don't really wanna be here like, ah-ah-ah-ah
What's my name? Do you remember?
I'm pretty sure you have my number
So let's pretend we like each other like, ah-ah-ah-ah
The first face Rani recognizes is Maheshwari. Her colleague from her time at the PMO and not a particularly pleasant one. Before she could think about approaching Maheshswari, the woman gasps and rushes over to Rani. Her saree swishes around her as she rushes “RANI MARWAH AS I LIVE AND BREATHE?”
“Oh. Hi Maheshwari, how are you?” Rani greets kindly, shaking her hand. The woman smiles that cunning smile that she always used to before she turned into a snake. So maybe nothing has changed in the last five years.
The classic barbs and jabs begin. You don't call me. You forgot about me. You ran away to Spain. What happened to you was horrible but you should have stayed. Rani hums and plays along. Maheshwari is not someone you can have constructive and genuine conversation with. It was best to smile and nod and have her hear what she wants so you can get the fuck out of there.
The night had just begun and Rani Marwah does not want to be here.
This room is so suffocating
Walking on ice, but nobody breaks it
Stuck in this one-way conversation
Guess I'll be here for a while
And you're blowing smoke in my face
And telling me all about your paycheck
Take a shot with a fake smile to chase it
Guess I'll take another round
Rani finally manages to pull away from Maheshwari but not before the bitch of a woman dragged 10 more people to come greet her. Her heels click on the floor as she walks to the bar. She must give the woman some credit where it's due. Because of her, she had forgotten about the lingering stare from Sanjaya she had been feeling so far.
Fuck. She had just thought of him again and felt his stare on her once more. She deliberately did not look in his direction. Rani makes it to the bar where she orders a drink of whiskey on ice. As soon as she takes a sip she can feel his eyes follow her throat as she swallows and it burns more than the topshelf whiskey.
Rani leans against the bar with a sigh then out of the corner of her eye she sees a man approach her smoking a cigar. She straightens and for a moment her heart thumps wildly thinking it's him. Thinking it's Sanjaya. But how could it be? She still feels his stare from across the room.
The man rocks up to her on the bar and instantly she relaxes. It's not Sanjaya. The man stares at her for a moment, not saying anything. Just observing dragging his eyes over her body like she was a piece of meat. Then he blows smoke in her face with a smug grin that the bastard probably thinks is sexy. “Hi there” he rasps at her trying to sound sexy.
Rani coughs at the cigar smoke in her face. Fucking bastard she thinks. He sounds like he deepthroated a fucking cactus. “Um hi? Do I know you?” she asks as she brings her drink closer to her suddenly not liking this man.
The bastard slides way too close to her with a toothy smile. “Id like to let you know me…very up close and personally.” A few choice words in Punjabi bubble through Rani. Words that would make the PMO shudder and gasp and chant tauba tauba tauba. Her diplomatic training kicks in before she can open her mouth. A polite smile works onto her face very begrudgingly.
Sanjaya felt something dark crawl inside of him the moment he saw that some fuckass man tried to get close to his Rani. Possession and darkness swirled through him. His hand on his scotch glass tightened his fingers deftly adjusted his glasses as he kept a sharp gaze on the pair.
That's when he saw it. Rani’s hands pinching her arm every few seconds. That was her unconscious behavior she did when she was nervous or uncomfortable. He remembers. He remembers everything. Sanjaya sees that she is uncomfortable from the other side of the room. He drains his scotch and crosses the room silently and under the radar.
He walks up to the bar. Standing behind her silently, a good 7-8 feet away. He uses his finger to gesture to the bartender for another scotch. And while he waits for it he watches the slimy bastard trying to make a move on Rani. Who was trying extremely hard not to take shots at his mother and sister right now, her teeth grinding through responses.
“So..pretty girl. Do you have any plans tonight?” the bastard asks disgustingly. That's it. That's the final straw for Sanjaya. He had fought a man in the PMO once and he wasn't afraid to do it again….especialy with a warranted reason this time. His knuckles cracked as his hands balled up in his pocket.
Sanjaya turns slowly and looks over Rani’s head. His sharp eyes bore into the man trying to hit on her. The glare is cold enough to freeze ice into something colder. The atmosphere chills by many degrees. The man began stuttering slightly as he spoke. Rani tilted her head trying to understand what was wrong.
Sanjaya kept glaring. A look so stern that it made the man hitting on her choke on his words and make a shitty excuse to get away as fast as he could. Rani blinked in confusion. Sanjaya's work was done and he began to leave.
She sees his eyes go behind her as he walks away. Rani looks behind her quickly and sees a man with grey hair walk away. Him. It was him. His cologne lingered. Smoky oud cologne with notes of old books, ink, cigar smoke, and the most prominent note……dickheadedness.
It was Sanjaya. He had been mere feet away from her.
Everybody in this party's fucking fake
I really wish that I could say it to your face
But I won't, so Hello, it's so good to see you
We met before, but nice to meet you
Yeah, I don't really wanna be here like, ah-ah-ah-ah
What's my name? Do you remember?
I'm pretty sure you have my number
So let's pretend we like each other like, ah-ah-ah-ah
Before she can think, another group of people come up to her and drag her away into conversation. Rani downs her whiskey as she scans the ballroom to find Sanjaya again. She can feel his eyes on her. But she can't find him anywhere she suffers through another round of uses greetings and explanations of where the fuck she had run off too and why.
Sanjaya grinned as he saw her searching for him. His jaan was looking for him. Oh how he wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he was right there and she didn't need to look around anymore.
Blah, blah, blah, I'm so bored
Love your shoes, tell me more
On and on about yourself
Can't you bother somebody else?
Raise a glass if you're like me, yeah
Getting trashed, 'cause you can't leave
Guess we're in this together
Makes my head hurt
A few minutes later another group grabbed her by the arm and took her for more introductions and reunions. They dragged her away from the bar much to her dismay “Baad me bhand hoti rehna chal lets go mingle” they said but what they really meant was its been 5 years we will grill your ass about why you left no contact.
Rani’s head began to hurt at this point. She wanted to stick a sign on her forehead that said “YES I RAN AWAY. I RAN AWAY TO SPAIN. I'M SORRY I DIDN'T CALL. WHY I LEFT? ZARA AUKAAT ME RAHIYE.” and what made it worse was the constant feeling of being watched. The intensity of his gaze made her visibly shiver from time to time. Which she had to play off as “Nahi bas thodi thand lag rahi hai.”
Everybody in this party's fucking fake
And so am I, but I just got here so I gotta show some face
Finally she makes it away from all of the people and sprints to the bar as elegantly as she can. The night was young and she was already fucking done. She leaned against the bar with a sigh “Yaar ek whiskey on the rocks please” she asked the bartender who just nodded and began filling her drink order.
One drink in peace. That's all she wanted. This was her little private moment she would bask in to regenerate her social battery. Then she would thrust herself into the box of knives once again and then leave cordially. The perfect plan. Until he began walking over.
Hello, it's so good to see you
We met before, but nice to meet you
Yeah, I don't really wanna be here like, ah-ah-ah-ah
What's my name? Do you remember?
I'm pretty sure you have my number
So let's pretend we like each other like, ah-ah-ah-ah
To the people I don't like
You're trying too hard (Keep trying, keep trying, keep trying)
To the people I don't like To the people I don't, don't, d-don't, don't, don't
Rani’s throat went dry as she saw Sanjaya again for the first time in so long. She hadn't even kept any pictures or memorabilia of him because it simply hurt too much. But even after all this time it felt like even the mitochondria of her cells recognized him. Love, lust, memory, heartbreak. All of it flowed through her at genuinely terrifying speeds.
Baru had changed. At least physically he had changed. Five years ago he had dark brown hair studded with a few strands of silver. Now he was entirely a silver fox. His hair brushed back dapperly in his usual style. His face is more mature, a few more wrinkles gracing his forehead, his smile lines slightly carved in.
Rani took a sip of her whiskey on ice for support. Because fuck. The bastard still pulled at her heart strings. He was a handsome fucking man no doubt. And age somehow made him sexier. His tailored sharp black suit wasn't helping much either. In fact it was making things cataclysmically harder.
Her mind raced through fragments of memories and applied them to this situation. What if she walked over to him and peeled that suit off with her own hands? Her hands roving over his taught lean muscular frame. Her lips against his jaw…
…Fuck no no no no no. He broke your heart. He ruined your life. She takes another hard gulp of whiskey and turns away from him. He isn't the love of your life, he is just some random bastard. The whiskey burns down her throat.
Sanjaya walks towards her slowly. His eyes on her watching her watch her reactions. At first her eyes widened, in shock. Her eyes dilate slightly as she looks at him, love. Then her eyes dart around his face, his shoulders, his arms, his hands, this was lust. Then they narrowed, she was remembering what he did. She turned away, hate. It was a cycle.
He expected it, he thought about it. He knew it was coming. But when her eyes narrowed at him he felt his heart clench. When she looked away he felt himself shatter. Fuck he deserved it. In fact he deserved her curses and her anger, but her silence hurt him like a stab.
He walked up to the bar and stood beside her. He leaned against the counter as he watched her side profile. She deliberately swirled the whiskey in her glass. “Surprised to see you here.” he began slowly as he traced his eyes over her carefully. He hadn't seen her this closely in years and she was more striking the closer you got.
Her perfume wafted and clouded his senses. Dior. Dior j’adore. She hadn't changed that either. After she left, Sanjaya had bought bottles and bottles of the same perfume for years. He sprayed it throughout their old apartment together, he sprayed it on the pillow he slept next to. Anything to have a fragment of her. But it never smelt the same.
Sanjaya thought it was a mistake in manufacturing. But now when he stands next to her all these years later he realizes he was an idiot to try and use her perfume to capture a fragment of her. When the real magic was in the way it sat on her skin. Dior j’adore matters only when mixed with the essence of Rani Marwah. Sanjaya tried his best to mask the greedy inhales he was taking of the air around her.
Sanjaya’s voice washed over Rani like an absolution. Like lukewarm water coating you in the shower on a warm night. She felt it travel through her body. It took everything in her to not release a shaky sigh. She took a deep breath before she responded. Each word forcefully stabilized “ Funny you say that…I was thinking the same thing.”
“Oh you were surprised to see me here?” Hummed Baru. Rani used one manicured nail to trace the edge of her whiskey glass. Sanjaya’s eyes trained onto it with hawk-like focus. She turned to look at him. Her hair falling over her shoulder, her neck stretching elegantly. The slipped strap of her dress exposing a fair amount of skin. Skin that made Sanjaya’s mouth go dry, skin he wanted to taste.
The warm lighting of the ballroom hit her elegantly. “No.” she said coldly “Then?” he interrupted. “Surprised to see myself here” She hummed, narrowing her eyes at Sanjaya knowingly. Sanjaya laughed darkly. The sound crawled up Rani's spine. She inhaled lightly to steady herself. Sanjaya continued speaking “Honi ko kaun taal sakta hai?”
“Nahi Baru.” She said coldly. “Prime Minister ka PERSONAL bulava kaun taal sata hai?” her fingers stopped moving along the edge of the glass. She picked it up and drained it while looking at him over the edge of the glass.
Sanjaya stood rooted to the spot. He met her eyes helplessly over her glass, the most intoxicating drug in the entire world. He stared deep into the deep brown void like he would be happy to drown in it. He swallowed hard when she took his name. Even if it was his last name. Even if it was cold. The way she said ‘Baru’ would fuel him for months.
She was suspicious of him. Sanjaya needed to cover so he cleared his throat as he adjusted his glasses “Wah? Prime Minister ka personal bulava? Aren't you special?” He hummed lightly as he toyed with his blazer button. He tried his hardest to sound indifferent and cold. Like he had gotten over her.
“Special?” she scoffed as she set the glass onto the bar. A drop of whiskey dripped out of her mouth, it settled on her lips. Sanjaya's eyes zeroed in on it. He watched the amber liquid on her rosy lips. He wanted to lean in close and kiss it away for her. He wanted his scotch to mix with her whiskey soaked mouth. Her tongue poked out of her mouth and slowly licked away the drop. Pulling it away into her mouth.
Sanjaya had to physically force himself to breathe. Because she was watching him. Then Rani continued speaking. She needed to shut him up and say something hard enough that he understood that this was not a welcome interaction. “Fuck knows about special. If I was special then….Khair.” she sighed bitterly as she picked a piece of lint off of her dress.
Sanjaya felt his heart clench. Because of him. Because of him, she didn't feel special. Before he could shut up he felt something bubble in his chest. A proclamation of adoration, obsession, lust, love, apology. Even he didn't understand what desperate words threatened to fall. Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth to speak. “Please-”
She looked at him, her hair flowing around her as her head turned. She looked surprised. Like even she didn't expect him to speak. But before more words could pour out of him both of their phones rang simultaneously. Thank god. Thought Baru immediately. Thank fucking god. Or he would have developed into a desperate mess within moments. He would have scared her with the depth of his longing.
“Hello?” she spoke into her phone as she lifted it to her ear. Her brow slightly furrowed in concentration as she tried to understand what the person on the line was saying. Baru stared openly at her. Her voice was beautiful, he was desperate to hear that same tone of voice for him. Maybe even dipped in love. Her furrowed brow pulled at Sanjaya's heart, the smallest thing was dear to him.
“Yes…” Baru trailed off as he spoke into his phone. Only half listening to the other line. His attention to her entirely. He briefly heard the words “Important” and “Signature required” and "Immediately".
“Hmm i’ll be right there” she hums with a sigh. Baru responds too quickly right after her confirmation “Haan aa raha hun” Rani looks at him and opens her mouth to say something. Then she decides against it and shuts her plush lips. She shakes her head and walks away. Her heels clicked behind her. Her perfumed hair swaying behind her.
As soon as she walks a few feet away Sanjaya greedily leans into her previously occupied space. He inhales the scent of her shamelessly. He shuts his eyes and groans the sound deep and rumbling through his chest. 5 years. 5 fucking years he missed this scent.
Dior J’adore, whiskey, her essence, the way she smelled like coffee at any given moment of time. Along with this new addition of bitter sadness. Sadness that he left in her. His eyes flutter open and go to her glass of discarded whiskey sitting on the bar.
Fuck he is such a creep he thinks as he picks it up. He can see her lipstick staining the glass. There is a sip of whiskey left inside of it. He looks around once. Nobody is watching. Good. He turns the glass and matches his lips to her lipstick residue and takes the last few drops of whiskey from her glass.
The residual taste of her. The residual scent of her. Her residual words. If fragments of her were this intoxicating, what would having her fully feel like? Sanjaya remembers. She was cocaine, heroin, and meth. You have a hit on her and you are ruined forever.
Sanjaya was ruined. A twitching junkie who had gone cold turkey and never really processed it. And now his drug was dancing before him. And he needed that hit more than his next breath. Sanjaya walks behind her.
—----------------
Same night @ 11:25 pm
Prime Ministers Office (PMO), Media and Relations wing, New Delhi, India
Both Rani and Sanjaya were called away from the party for genuine work in the media and relations wing of the PMO. This was in fact not one of Sanjaya's schemes to get her alone. But the way events lined up…Sanjaya Baru realised he was a fucking idiot.
Because pulling this ruse would have been easier than hacking into the Prime Minister's email. That's the scheme he used to get her here but he really didn't have a plan to get her alone. That's where he was an idiot. He always had been an idiot for her.
Rani walked through the halls of the PMO, her dress whispering around her ankles. The low lighting of the ornate hallways highlighting her in all the right ways. Sanjaya walked behind her slowly. He watched the way her hips swayed because of her dress, because of her heels, because of the heat of his stare. He had tried to walk by her, along with her, but then she stared at him so coldly he froze to the spot.
Then she used that moment to walk ahead of him. That's how they had walked to the employee registrar's office from where they had been called. Apparently Rani needed to sign in manually that she was back in the country and also fill in some bureaucratic forms. Her Spanish embassy foreign service tenure was about to end and she needed to do some closing paperwork. Sanjaya on the other hand, needed to sign timesheets for his department and himself.
“Hanji Sir aur Madam.” Began the tired registrar employee “Aap log aramse sign wine marlo aur file rakh jana idhar table pe. Office lock kardena baadme. Humara overtime hogaya hai goodnight” Rani and Sanjaya nodded blankly at the tired registrar as he waved behind his back and left the both of them alone.
Rani grabbed her papers and a pen from the pen holder and sat down on one of the chairs. Her attention immediately on them. Sanjaya grabbed his papers slowly, he pulled a pen out of his blazer as he sat down opposite to her. He cleared his throat “So..” he began to speak again. “Not a fucking word” she said icily to him without even looking at him. Sanjaya shut up as he filled his forms.
But in reality his eyes were more on her. So much more on her he signed the date as 11:25 pm. He cursed under his breath as he scratched it out and fixed it. Did this experience make Sanjaya think more about focusing on his paper work? Maybe it would have if she didn't bounce her foot gently and chew at the end of her pen thoughtfully.
Those lips pursing around her pen did two things. For one it made him incredibly jealous of a ball point pen. Another thing it did was make his trousers incredibly tight, it was already hot in here and now his pants were starting to get tight. Thank fuck he was wearing black and the fact that the PMO was dimly lit at this time of night.
Eventually the both of them finished their paperwork. Actually Sanjaya had finished 10 minutes ago but he pretended to be busy just to spend more time in her vicinity. He had pulled his phone out and sent a message five minutes ago to his junior who thought Sanjaya was god. ‘Lock the media and relations wing main doors and side doors’ and without a single reasonable question of why? He had just received the thumbs up emoji.
He hacked the PM’s email to get her here. Paperwork isolated them together. And now he had found a way to keep her in one place. Alone. With him.
She sighs as she stands up gathering the filled out paperwork and placing it on the Registrar’s desk. “Oh” she groaned slightly as she leaned backwards arching her back to crack it to ease the tension. Her sigh was breathy and strained as she pulled out of the graceful arch. The action is graceful but the sound is pornographic. The sound and the visual did absolutely nothing to ease the tightness in his pants, in fact it was steadily getting worse. Sanjaya blinked hard as he tried to commit her groan to memory.
Without another word she walks out of the registrar's office and heads for the large double doors that led them out. She was going to her hotel now. She had now had more than enough of tonight. Sanjaya walked slowly behind her. His face now gracing a steadily darkening grin.
He watched her pull at the doors. Rani frowned “The fuck? How can it be locked??” she tucks her hair behind her ear and tries yanking hard once more. The door rattles but it wont unlock. She turns to him with a furrowed brow “Its locked!”
Sanjaya was a wonderful actor when he wanted to be “Sach? Not possible” he says as he puts a confused look on his face now trying to unlock it. “Haan, of course you think I'm lying. What else is fucking new?” she says bitterly as she walks down the emergency exit hall trying to open the stairwell door. It was a snub at him. How that night he refused to believe that she wasn't cheating on him.
Sanjaya sighed as he watched her fruitlessly try all of the doors out of the wing. All of them were locked as per his instructions. Eventually she sighs walking back towards him grumbling under her breath “Meri hi mati mari gayi thi…” she scoffs.
“I may have a set of extra keys in my office” Sanjaya began slowly watching her face. “I may need your help to find them.” he says. Rani stares at him blankly “Tumhara office hai, tum jaano. Mai kya tumhari secretary lagi hun?” she says roughly.
“Dekhlo. If I dont find them dont say I didnt ask for your help. Do you want to stay here for the entire fucking night locked in with me?” he grinned at her smugly as he stepped closer. His cologne assaulted her senses which were already heightened due to the situation. Her breath hitched “Chalo” she said as casually as she could “Id rather fucking die than be alone with you” she says to mask any signals.
Sanjaya scoffs under his breath with a small laugh “After you” And she walks away without another word.
—-----------—-
Same night @ 11:30 pm
Sanjaya Baru’s office, Prime Ministers Office (PMO), Media and Relations wing, New Delhi, India
Within moments the both of them reach Sanjaya’s office. Where this story truly began. Where Sanjaya spent his days brooding over her. He walked in after her. Rani stopped by the doorway as she looked around the office trying to see what had changed since she had last seen it.
Sanjaya walks into his office and towards his desk his hands in his trouser pockets. He walks beyond the desk to the back of the room near a cabinet where he kept some liquor that he wasn't supposed to keep in his office “Drink?” He pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses.
Rani looked at him for just a moment before she resumed looking around his office. The literary magazines on the table. The messy bookshelves. The sprawled reports on his desk. It was the same. The same as five years ago. “Baru don’t pour me a fucking scotch. You know I don't like scotch.” she says coldly as her arms cross over her chest.
Sanjaya chuckles darkly. Rani can hear ice clinking in the glasses, liquor pouring in one glass. A cabinet opening, another bottle of liquor coming out of it, liquor pouring into the second iced glass. Baru grabs the glass and walks over to her, his heavy steps thudding on the carpeted floor. “Four fingers on ice, no scotch….Rani I haven't forgotten that much. We were together for a year”
Rani scoffs as she takes the glass “Nahi tumhara pata nahi hai na? kisi ke influence me aake tum kisi ke bare me kya kya nahi bhul jate ho?” She snubs at him as she takes a drink of the whiskey. “Fair enough, take the cheap shots at me.” He nods as he takes a drink of his own scotch and relights his half smoked cigar in the ashtray.
“Is this ... .Is this the Japanese whiskey that I like?” She asks carefully. Her nose lowering into the crystal glass, sniffing the bouquet of the whiskey. Her pacing on the carpeted floor stops as she just stands. Neither one of them had made any effort to find the keys.
Sanjaya grins. “I told you I remember” he speaks around the cigar in his mouth. The smoke curled around his face. He holds it in his hand as he blows rings out of his mouth into the air. Rani rolls her eyes at his smugness. The fucking bastard. Her fingers tapped the crystal glass, her nails clinking along with the ice. “Aur batao… in these five years aur kis kiski zindagi tabha kari hai tumne?”
He laughs darkly as he takes a deep drink. He sighs as he leans against his desk, his feet planted on the carpet. “Nobody.” he says truthfully. Nobody was the right answer because none of the one night fucks ever meant anything to him. In fact he always told them. Don't expect anything from him. And if they did….well that was their problem.
She chuckles in disbelief as she stands directly in front of him. Her heels sinking into the plush carpet “Really? and what about that floozy from the home ministry office?” she asks as she takes another chilled sip of whiskey.
Sanjaya pauses. He didn't expect this question. In fact he didn't expect her to know about that minor fling from the Home ministry that lasted merely a week. But he liked that she knew. He liked that she was more involved than she would like to be. “Didn't know you were stalking me, my darling”
“I like to keep tabs on people who have wronged me” she answers lightly even though the way he said darling made heat crawl through her. Her index finger tapped on the crystal again. Sanjaya chuckled “It's good to know you keep tabs on me” Rani grins now. Oh this was very interesting.
“You didn't answer my question, Baru… how very unlike you to deflect” she hums as she cocks her head at him. Sanjya hummed, nodding his head “I hate how well you know me” he looked up at her through his glasses.
“I hate that your actions had to make me forget” she clarifies, the whiskey in her glass sloshing as she makes a gesture at him. “Fair enough… I'm deflecting because I have to swallow my pride to answer that” he answered with terrifying restraint.
“Be a good boy and swallow for me, Baru. I don't have all night” she rolls her eyes at him, her foot now impatiently tapping on the carpet. Baru sighed his jaw clenching momentarily in realization of what he had to say “…the floozy from the home ministry office wasn't you”
“What?” she asks incredulously. Sanjaya grinds his teeth slightly but looks at her with pained eyes “She. wasn't. You.” Rani bursts out laughing at this admission. She couldn't believe it.
One of her hands stabilized her whiskey as she clutched her stomach. Peals of laughter pulling out of her throat. Sanjaya looked at her, oh god her laugh. She was laughing at him. But god she was beautiful when joy creased her face. Finally she sighed, wicking away a tear. Giggling into her whiskey she calmed down finally
“How juvenile for you to think anyone could be me Baru” She asks with joyous disbelief “yeh mard jaat ki sabse badi problem hai, you know?” she hums, nodding her head. “When you have a diamond, you don't care for it.” She pauses to make her point.
Sanjaya watches as she speaks. He doesn't interrupt. She takes another drink of the whiskey and speaks once more “When you lose it, you try to find the same value in zircon, but never can… Because as much as zircon tries to be like a diamond… it's just glass….Nothing beats a diamond” She ends and looks at him.
Sanjaya sighs “I don't disagree with you, darling” he took off his glasses and used his blazer to help clean them off. Darling. Again he had used the word darling. Rani gripped her glass tighter “Adam blamed Eve for his sins…Just as I blamed you for mine… I was a bad man, and deep down I always was.”
Her breath hitches at the admission. He was admitting it. That night. That fight. Five years ago. He was saying it was his fault. It was an admission of guilt. Feelings clawed through Rani violently. Internal turmoil stewed. Sanjaya kept speaking “..Treating diamonds like worthless glass. I was a fool” he ended bitterly.
Rani hums. Nodding her head as her tongue kisses her teeth in thought. He was admitting it was his fault. And she hated how much she realized in that moment, that his apology seemed to cement one of the many cracks in her heart caused by him. She still wasn't over him. To make matters worse, a man like Sanjaya Baru apologizing? It was incredibly sexy. “And now are you a better man, Sanjaya?”
Sanjaya sighed roughly as he drained his scotch. It burned down his esophagus as he set the glass down. The low light of his office contoured his handsome face. “No” he answered plainly. Truthfully. He wasn't a good man. He was a bad man. A fucked up man. The things he had done to get her alone was proof enough. He looked up at her with emotion in his eyes.
This is the moment when she was supposed to nod and leave. This is the moment when she was supposed to chew him out. But she didn't leave, she stood still her foot had stopped tapping on the carpet. Her finger had stilled against the crystal of her chilled glass. Like she was evaluating something.
When she had decided she spoke. “Good” Sanjaya blinked, but she continued “because I don't need a better man anymore” She ended darkly. Rani drains her whiskey and tosses the glass onto the carpeted floor not giving a damn if it shatters or not and walks to him.
The eye contact between them burns painfully. The atmosphere was so thick that neither could breathe. Sanjaya’s brilliant mind had blanked, he wasn't sure what was happening anymore.
—----------
Authors note: Please listen to You’re Simply Wonderful by Artemas
Rani crosses the 10 feet of distance between them in a few confident strides. She stands before him. The moonlight from the window and the low lamp light of his office lit up her eyes. Sanjaya stared into them like they were his ruin. Because they were. She took a heavy breath.
Then her lips crashed onto his. Sanjaya groans desperately into the kiss. He can taste the whiskey on her lips. She moans into his mouth. Her mouth moves hungrily against his, stealing his breaths, his gasps, his groans and swallowing them down somewhere deep inside of her. Her hands tangle roughly in his silver hair pulling hard as she fights against his tongue.
Once he shakes out of the shock his hands immediately grab onto her waist. His legs parted as he leaned against the desk so she could be pulled closer to him. She gasps lightly at the feeling of his warm and strong body against hers. Five years he waited for this. And the moment happened with no ceremony. Only desperation and the eruption of tension. Baru’s hands rove over her body in the silky dress. He kisses her back with equal fervor, maybe even more.
Girl, you're simply wonderful
You bleed, I bleed
Rani pulls away gasping, her hand still gripping his silver hair keeping him in place. Sanjaya's hands are curling around her like sentient vines. His eyes are dark and twisted as he stares into her own blown out eyes. Her back arches and her chest brushes against his and a low sound pulls from her throat. Within seconds Sanjaya's mouth chases hers again. Wanting more desperately.
She pulls away, out of his grip, entirely. She pants as she takes ten careful steps backwards while holding his eyes. He watches darkly. The back of her legs hit the sofa that sat opposite to his desk. She plops down onto it and keeps watching him. Then she finally speaks in her ragged by lust voice. “On your knees. Beg for forgiveness” her arms cross over her chest and she waits impatiently.
He stares at her darkly, his own chest heaving with the intensity of the moment. The intensity of what was happening. This is what he longed for. This is what he had dreamed of every night. This is what though of when he fucked random women. But he expected it to go very differently. Not like this.
His ego roars at him in his mind, telling him to take back control as he stands up from leaning against the desk. His hands flick open his blazer. He sheds it, dropping it to the floor. His hands go to his cufflinks.His nimble fingers making quick work of them as he rolls up his shirt sleeves exposing his muscular and lean forearms.
She watched patiently. Not uttering another word, simply observing him. Because the both of them know very well who holds the power in this room. Sanjaya swallows down his ego as he tosses his belt onto the floor. Now just in his dress shirt and slacks.
The great Sanjaya Baru, chief media advisor and spokesperson of the Prime minister, dropped down to his knees onto the carpet. Rani doesn't react; she tilts her head as she watches. Baru crawls on his knees to her, his arms swinging loosely by his sides. As he moves his trousers tighten around his bulge. Which was now painfully prominent.
You belong to me
All your hopes and dreams
They’re my hopes and dreams
'Cause you belong to me, yeah
He reaches her within moments. And before she can part her lips to speak he moves. Sanjaya touches his forehead to her knees and makes an apology from the depth of his soul. “Forgive me my darling. I was a drunk fucking fool” he says brokenly “I fell for gossip. I let it cloud my love for you. I let myself hurt the person I care about more than life itself. I hurt you…and that's the day I died too” he stared into her eyes. The raw grit in his voice told her that this was genuine. This was a man who regretted everything he had done.
Rani’s throat tightens at his broken and honest words. She wants to pull him close, cry into him as she forgives him. Have his strong hands wrap around her as he apologises endlessly. There would be plenty of time for that later. There were 5 years of anger and frustration to deal with right now.
She leans forward slightly “Do you really think that’s enough?” she hums darkly tilting his chin up slightly more. “Sanjaya if you are on your knees you should know a better way to apologise to me” she says her voice dropping slightly “You should use the mouth that hurt me to make me feel better don't you think?”
Sanjaya swallows hard as he realises what she was asking him to do. He nods dumbly, yes, of course he would apologize with the very thing that hurt her. Was that even a question? Rani’s thighs fall open beneath her dress silently. An invitation. Yet he still asks, his fingers holding the hem of her dress. “May I?” his voice a low gravely rasp that hits her core.
“Yes” she says simply. But the way he looks at her when she says yes makes her tremble in anticipation. He looked at her like he was grateful for whatever she had just set free inside of him. Something that he had been fighting for so long.
After that ‘yes’ from her his hands work quickly with no abandon. His hands fist into the silky material of her dress and his palms shove it up her body. He can feel her plush thighs beneath his palms. His eyes dart over her as more and more skin gets exposed. Creamy, delicious looking, soft skin. He salivates slightly.
This ain't make-believe
And this is not a dream
This is not a dream
This is not a dream
His lips kiss up her legs, his tongue darting out to taste her occasionally. A kiss to the left ankle, a kiss to the right calf, a kiss behind the left knee. He holds eye contact with her over the rim of his glasses. A kiss on her right thigh, a kiss on the left thigh. And then a truly pathetic groan as he comes face to face with her bare core.
“Fuck….Darling no panties?” He groaned like he was in pain. Because she had been bare all night. He can't even begin to describe the rush of filthy thoughts that run through him. He can't look anywhere else now, his eyes are wide as he stares at her glistening folds in the low light. His large palms rove her thighs gently, reverently.
Rani can feel the heat of his palms, the heat of his stare. She can feel the way his hands are pushing her legs apart gently so he can look at her better. Five years. Five years she had been waiting for this, waiting for him to be on his knees again. Her breath is shaky as her legs part wider “You are in no fucking postion to question or comment on anything don’t you think?”
He pulls her close until her glistening core is directly in front of his face. In the low light he can see the wetness glimmer along her inner thighs and directly on her folds. He has barely done anything, barely touched her and she is soaked. He can't stop the groan of appreciation that rips out of his chest after seeing this beautiful sight after so long. Sanjaya swallows as he nods pathetically. He is practically shaking as he leans in closer, his hands pushing her thighs apart to accommodate his broad shoulders. He can smell her arousal, his mouth waters for a taste of her. Without a moment to spare he dives in.
Baru’s tongue flattens as he licks a long stripe up her leaking slit. Her arousal gathered on his tongue like a potent elixir. “Mhhh fuck. Always so perfect” he moans at the taste of her, his voice thick and rough. A gasp rips from her throat at the feel of his tongue in between her legs. Before she can stutter out a response he dives back in.
His tongue swirls through her folds expertly collecting her arousal. Everything he memorised about her from years ago came back into play. His lips pressed against her clit, torturing the puffy bud with hard kitten licks from his relentless tongue. She cries out as her hands go to his hair naturally.
Sanjaya moans into her, any little sound she makes fuels him further. He was painfully hard now. Her breathy cries and moans like the most beautiful music to his ears. He can feel himself twitch in his trousers. He eats her out like a mad man.
He immediately dives back in with more fervor, his hands gripping her hips as his tongue begins its assault. His lips found her puffy clit again peppering it with tiny gentle kisses. He then nipped it gently making a shriek rip from her throat before he soothed it by creating a vacuum and sucking gently. He hums into her, the sound low and gravely. It reverberated through her.
Rani choked on a moan. The pleasure was dizzying. Her hands fisted in his silver hair. She was pulling hard enough to surely hurt but this just spurred Sanjaya on even more. His cock twitched once more in his trousers before he felt a dampness in the area. He curses and groans into her core again. A sharp cry of pleasure rips from her throat.
He was leaking into his trousers. This is how badly she affected him. He turned into a teenager with no self control when it came to her. “Oh- oh fuck” she whines as her head lolls back against the sofa in his office. Her hips chase his mouth grinding against his face.
Sanjaya moans at that, she was chasing the pleasure he was giving her. “Thas it… just like that” he pants appreciatively as she grinds against his face. Her slick coating his cheeks and chin as her hips grind wantonly chasing her own pleasure. She whines at his words the way he was urging her on.
Rani grips him harder by the hair, pushing his face where she needed it the most. His glasses begin to fog as his hot breath and her heat meet them. His tongue assaulting her with painful expertise.The sounds he makes while he eats her out are downright heinous. Wet smacking sounds reverberating through the dim office.
His teeth nip her again before he soothes it immediately with a moan pulling from her throat. He shifts his face down lightly, his tongue lining up with her entrance, his tongue circles it gently enough so the muscle flutters on its own. He loves the sight of it. He loves the way he knows how to manipulate what aspect of her body to get the reaction he wants. His memories didn't fail him because he replayed them every night.
His eyes flick up to her face, her mouth is hanging open and her chest is heaving her eyes screwed shut in pleasure as she moves against his face. He loves this sight more. He teases her against swirling his tongue through her folds, his nose nudging her clit on occasion, his glasses clattering slightly with movement. “Dont fucking tease me” she groans through gritted teeth.
Baru groans into her in understanding as he swirls his tongue expertly, alternating in between abusing her puffy clit to lapping at her wetness right at the source. Rani almost screamed when he shoved his tongue in her dripping hole. “Oh my god!” she gasps into the dark room.
Sanjaya's hands grip her hips and help her grind her clit against his nose. Her thighs began shaking as her core tightened, she was close. She cried out in pleasure.
Baru doubled down on his pace. Fucking her quivering hole with is tounge as he hums praises so the vibrations amplify her pleasure. “I missed you so much darling, I missed you so fucking much” he hummed “Fucking dreamt of this in my dreams, woke up to cum on my sheets but nothing fucking comapres to this.” he panted as her thighs quivered “Nothing fucking compares to you.” She shatters and cums on his tongue with an “ O- Oh my god” her hand clasping on her mouth to muffle her scream.
Girl, you're simply wonderful
You bleed, I bleed
So fuckin' wonderful
You breathe, I breathe
Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah-ah
So fuckin' wonderful
He groans in pleasure as he laps at her cum directly from the source. Muttering praises as he helps her ride out the orgasm on his face "Brilliant darling, just like that. Let go for me” he groans from between her thighs. The sound muffled as he places a kiss on her wet and quivering hole. Again. He wants this again he decides.
But before he can use his tongue on her again he feels a hard yank at the back of his head. She pulls him out of her by his hair. His face is coated in her slick, his glasses are askew and fogged up his mouth panting trying to regain some of his breath. The sight makes another wave of wetness and arousal flood her folds.
Baru tries to go down on her again like a man crazed. Fighting against her grip just rambling in a way that told Rani he was much too far gone. “No let me go darling.” He rasps “ I need more. I need to taste more of you” her grip loosens slightly and he pushes his head forward towards her dripping core again. “Ineedtomakeupforfiveyears.” he rambles mindlessly. He goes down on her again. His tongue flattens against her once more and a moan rips from her throat.
Rani’s eyes roll tot the back of her head again as she ffle sthe asuat of this tongue. With immense self control she grabs him by his hair and pulls him out of her again. She leans forward and hisses at him “you fucked up five years ago because you didnt listen to me. You will be listening to me now, is that understood?” she stares into his eyes to make sure her message is read loud and clear.
Sanjaya nods weakly, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. She begins speaking again as she catches her breath. “Remember the day we fought that many years ago?” Baru’s eyes shut in pain as she brings it up again. “Fuck Im sorry meri jaan.” he says with genuine remorse and lust hazed eyes. “Shut up and listen to me Sanjaya,” she hisses roughly.
“Undress me.” she says simply as she detaches her hand from his scalp roughly. Baru nods, his fingers quickly adjusting his steadily unfogging glasses. His hands shake as he finds the sipper on the side seam of the dress, he unzips her. She speaks as he undresses her. Her dark dilated eyes on him. She wasn't about to let him off the hook so easily. Because there is one thing Baru didn't know about that night.
“There is something you don't remember about that night do you?” she begins as she cradles his face gently. Sanjaya’s hands fumble on her zipper. “ That morning before you left for that god forsaken party I promised you something.” Realization dawns on Sanjaya. “The surprise?” Rani nods darkly, a bitter laugh pulling through her “Yes darling the surprise” it was funny now. To think back on how excited she was to show him that evening.
Sanjaya’s hands pull off her dress and he tosses it to the floor beside them. Leaving her in front of him with just her bra. His hands rush forward and unhook the strapless black satin bra. Not even paying attention to how good it made her full breasts look. He was too far gone for that, he needed to see her body in its full glory.
He moans pathetically when he sees her bare body again. The stuff of dreams when it was before you and the thing of nightmares when she was away because it haunted him. His rough palms run deftly over her body, her legs, her waist, her stomach, over her breasts lightly. His eyes wide and enamored.
His cock is screaming at him now. Positively throbbing, the wet patch of precum in his boxers grows steadily as he leaks pathetically at the sight of her body. The entirety of his blood volume had rushed south the moment he saw her. That was the only explanation he had when he forgot her instructions and listened to the voices in his head. There wasn't any decision making power left in his brain.
Baru leans in and takes the hard peak of one of her nipples into his mouth. He immediately latches on with a hard suck and a gentle bite. She lets out a sharp moan when he feels him flatten his tongue under her nipple and scrape his teeth along the top. She sighs in pleasure for a moment. She herself had forgotten that she had a point with the conversation she had started.
He smirks against her breast as she lets out pretty little whines from her mouth. He switches to the other breast following the same procedure. His large hands kneaded and massaged the soft flesh that wasn't in his mouth. Both her hands tangling in his hair again as she moans. Baru sighs against her “Beautiful” as he bites along the valley of her breast.
That's when she snaps out of it. Rani pulls away from him and her hand lands a hard crack on his cheek. His face falls sideways, his glasses askew. Pain blooms on his cheek and he blinks in confusion that was heavily suffocated by lust. Rani had slapped him. “Focus Baru!” she snaps her fingers at him.
He looks dazed but he nods, the pain on his cheek sharp enough to fight back the lust momentarily. So Rani continues speaking “Before you broke my heart I was so excited to show you something. Don't you remember the bandage at the back of my neck?” Baru nods his eyes hazing in lust even as she throws the verbal icewater on him. “Stand up” she orders him. Sanjaya obeys immediately, too far gone to fight back or think anything beyond her instructions. He even takes two steps back before she can tell him too.
“Strip for me Baru.” She watches as he undresses. And he obeys without a second thought. His hands go to the buttons of his white dress shirt. He watches her over his glasses as he flicks them open one by one. His lean muscular body comes into view with each button that's opened.
She leans back against the sofa as she watches him. Her gaze dragged over him shamelessly. Baru wasn't a particularly muscle heavy man. But what he did have was toned and well defined. The hard planes of his pecs, the tapered v of his torso as it disappears into his slacks, his soft abs hidden behind a light layer of fat. Present but sheathed. Rani’s hand runs down her body as she watches.
Sanjaya shrugs his shoulders and the shirt falls to the carpeted floor. His hands make equally quick work of his trousers. One hand flicking open the button and the other unhooking and unzipping the fabric from his body. He shoves it off of his body along with his socks and shoes. He now stands before her in just his boxers.
Her lip is in her teeth as she stares now. The imprint of his hard cock visible in his boxers. She can even see it twitch slightly under her hot gaze. Her hands play with her breasts. Palming them, pinching her nipples with a little moan. She throws her head back as she uses her elegant fingers to twist her nipples. Her eyes stay on him.
Baru burns. He burns under her lust heavy gaze. He watches her, his mouth agape as he shucks off his boxer with no ceremony. His hard cock immediately stood erect against his abdomen. Rani ogles as she bites her lip hard enough to draw blood. Fuck he was huge, seeing it after so long made her quiver in anticipation. His large cock is flushed red, it's hard and throbbing and leaking.
One of her hands snake away from her breast, it trails down her torso to her weeping cunt. Baru watches with rapt attention. His eyes follow helplessly as her fingers brush over her puffy clit making her breath hitch. Her index finger parts her sick folds and she sinks one finger into herself with a little whimper “Oh!” Her face contorts in pleasure as she fingers herself slowly.
Baru can't help the way his eyes widen at the visual. She was fingering herself to him. His cock twitches painfully at the disrespect. Why did she need her finger when it was right there ready and waiting? “Fuck….” he trails off watching her “My darling girl dont do this to me” He rasps in a way that was incredibly close to begging.
Rani huffs out a laugh at his crazed expression. She pulls her finger out of her gently making her hiss slightly. She groans as she stands up, cracking her neck slightly with a grin on her face. She was about to rock his world. She walks closer to him, her hips swaying as she kicks away her heels.
His hands reach out to grab her immediately he pulls her flush against him. Bare skin against bare skin. The heat of them. The heat between them. Both sizzle. Rani can feel his aching hard cock against her stomach as he presses up to her. She looks up at him to find him already looking into her soul.
Her face was flushed, lips parted, eyes dilated and doe like looking up at him. Fuck she looked beautiful was all Sanjaya could think. His Rani, his jaan, back in his arms once again. He had imagined this moment at least once a day. Sometimes many times a day. But having her here? Nothing could beat that.
Her sensitive nipples brush against the hard planes of his chest pulling a throaty gasp from her chest. Her delicate hand reaches up and brushes against his jaw gently. Her palm cupped his face. “Do you know why it hurt so fucking much when you broke my heart that night?” her thumb brushed his face. He shivered into her soft touch. “I mean it would have hurt normally as well but do you know why specifically that night hurt the most?” she hummed at him gently
“T- The surprise? The surprise you had for me?” He stutters out with a heavy sigh when she shifts against him, her soft supple skin against his aching cock. “Hmm that's right my darling… look at you, you are so smart. How could you have been such an idiot that night?" She tsks with a small sigh.
Her hand pulls away from his face and he visibly frowns at the loss of contact. But he fixes his face as he sees her move. Rani brushes her hair over one shoulder entirely. The nape of her neck exposed to him. She turns her head slightly so he can see. She kisses his shoulder and murmurs into it “Look Sanjaya.. this is what I was going to surprise you with that night.”
And what Sanjaya Baru sees short circuits him violently. In fact he goes fucking insane. His breath hitches as he looks at her surprise. A delicate black letter ‘S’ tattooed on her skin in a beautiful editorial font. It's simple but truly a work of art on her body.
Everything swirls in him. A multitude of feelings hit him square in the chest. Obsession. Darkness. Lust. Possession. That night when he broke her heart…this is what she wanted to show him. When he was at the party listening to that bastard Anand she was getting this tattooed. When she came home she had this waiting for him. And he broke her heart and she kept his name on her body.
He swallows hard, his breathing now ragged. His eyes couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. And all while he wrapped his head around this revelation Rani had been leaving hot open mouthed kisses into the column of his throat. Then she stops and turns to look at him, she hadn't expected this much silence.
“Sanjaya, you waited five years to see this tattoo. Tell me you like it. Please” her voice shakes slightly now as she looks to him for validation. Sanjaya feels a dominance surge through him, like she was giving up her control to give it to him now. He doesn't trust the words that could come out of his mouth. He kisses the tattoo groaning into her skin.
He spins her around in his arms, chest to back so he can look at the tattoo better. “Like it?” He asks in disbelief “My darling, how could you ever doubt my feelings for this.” he rasps into her skin as his arms wrap around her waist. His cock nestled into the soft curve of her ass making him groan. He picks her up and holds her against him in this very position.
He walks the few short steps to the sofa again all while rambling incoherently “Icantfuckingbelievethis” and “Fuck…meri jaan..you have ruined me” and “You had my initial on you all this time?” His eyes stay trained on it like a hawk. The black ink on her skin now imprinted into his soul
And I get a little twisted (Oh)
And I start to wonder why you’re not home (Oh)
And I get a little anxious ('Xious)
And I start to wonder why you're not calling back
Sanjaya puts her on the sofa as gently as he can, like she was a fragile porcelain doll and he was her admirer. His large strong hands maneuver her in any which way he pleases. Rani doesn't put up a fight. Her breath is stuck in her throat. She sees the look in his eyes.
She had been waiting to see this look since the needle had touched her skin, in fact she had been waiting since the idea had crossed her mind. She gasped as his hands maneuvered her onto her hands and knees. He was so extremely gentle it was terrifying especially seeing the look on his face.
Sanjaya gets on the sofa behind her his broad frame engulfing hers. He sets her hands in just the right position on the armrest. Then he speaks, his tone light but his voice so gravely it scraped over her. “I always imagined fucking you in missionary for hours when I got you again.” he hums before he continues “I wanted to have your pretty face imprinted in my soul.” Sanjaya’s hands sit along her waist as he watches the elegant curve of her spine.
“What changed darling?" she groans as she sets her elbows on the arm of the couch. Her back dips more, her ass sticking up higher. Sanjaya laughs darkly, bringing his mouth to the shel of her ear. She can feel his hot breath fanning on her skin “What changed?” he repeated with a laugh “Meri jaan this tattoo. Its fucking altered my brain chemisty.” He kisses the tattoo so gently it burns.
One of the hands that sat on her hips snaked forward reaching in between her legs. His fingers found her clit and began rubbing slow hard maddening circles on the puffy and abused nerve ending. Rani gasps, her hair sipping off her back, falling around her face in long loose waves.
Sanjaya’s other hand kneaded her breast roughly, fingers rolling the poor aching sensitive nipple hard enough to make her hiss in pain. He moved slightly, shifting his hips. His cock nested along her soaked and dripping slit waiting for him to push in.
She can feel his warm weight resting against her, his hand on her clit, his hand on her breast, him pushed up against her. His thumb and index finger flicked her nipple hard making her cry out. He hums darkly, she can feel him smiling into her spine as he kisses and bites around her tattoo as if he was framing the piece of art with more of his evidence.
A strangled moan pulls from her throat as his fingers almost threaten to slip into her tight waiting heat. She bucks against him wanting more. Needing more. Rani is writhing on her hands and knees. She can feel herself dripping onto the sofa below, he can feel her dripping against him. Just where Sanjaya wanted her. He husks against her ear “Mere dill ki Rani, mere jism ki Rani, meri rooh ki Rani. Finally back in my hands”
Queen of his heart, Queen of his mortal body, the Queen of his soul. That was his strategic brilliance. Sanjaya Baru was a wizard with his words and to her words just happened to mean a lot. When he blamed her for cheating on him, that meant a lot. And now when he has her writhing on her hands and knees he calls her the queen of his everything, this means a lot too. In fact it settles in her traitorous pussy oh so well.
She feels a throb of pleasure at her core, strong enough for her to forget her self respect for a moment. “Please… need it, fuck!” she moans. Sanjaya Baru returns to his natural resting state. The state of being a smug bastard. He grins like a wolf “What do you need darling? use your words for me.” he kisses her shoulder gently, his fingers once again threatening to slip into her fluttering cunt.
“Don't be a bastard," she whines, pushing her hips back into him hoping either his fingers or painfully hard cock slip into her. Sanjaya's face darkens slightly, the hand at her breast pinches her nipple hard enough to screech in pain. His words are dark when he speaks again “I broke your heart, I deserve the punishment. But I'm only going to let you be this much of a fucking brat. Not after i am this willing to apologise to you”
“You know my rules Rani, use your words tell me what you need.” he ends darkly next to her ear. His lips planted a sweet kiss on her ‘S’ tattoo once again. Rani trembles, his hand on her clit rubbing maddening circles and heat rushes through her body violently. She can't stop the desperate moans that spill from her throat as she lets her head all against the arm rest she was bracing against.
“Come on sweetheart, use your words for me” he urges and coos at her. Its so syrupy sweet its painfully attractive. Finally she manages to get over her ego and stutter out the words he was waiting to hear. “Fuck Sanjaya please…fuck me.. Need it…need it so bad.”
Sanjaya grins like a wolf once again, he wins again. “That's my good girl.” He croons at her as he lines up to her. His hand fists his cock once to prep it even though that was extremely un necessary with how painfully hard he was. He takes the puffy red tip of his cock and slides it through her soaked folds to gather enough wetness to push into her without pain.
She gasps at his praise and actions “S-sanjaya please go slow…i-its been a while.” She says embarrassedly. She cant believe she was fucking admiting this. The last time she had fucked anyone was months ago. Rani remembered enough of her sex life with Sanjaya to know he was big enough to leave her limping when she was fucking him regularly.
Sanjaya cant believe his ears, he is thankful she is facing away from him because the grin on his face is shit eating. “What was that honey?” he asks sweetly. She groans, this is what she was afraid of. He was doing this on purpose “Please go slow” Rani says as she swallows her pride.
Baru chuckles again “Darling ive been desperate for five years.” He starts as he continues gathering wetness on his cock. Sliding through her folds this time pausing to tap her clit making her swallow down a moan. “Ive never been this fucking hard in my life, your tattoo….. fuck….. your tattoo…. I’ve gone insane.” he admits with a shaky exhale. He continues speaking as he takes his hand from her breast and he places it on her hip again to stabilize himself “Do you think I have the mental presence to go slow?” He rasps by her ear. He sounds insane.
“You can take it darling. I know you can. Be brave for me.” He kisses the tattoo on her shoulder as he pushes into her. Rani screams at the sudden intrusion, he doesn't have the decency to push in slow. Baru buries to the hilt immediately. My god he was huge.
He pushes up against her cervix, her cunt flutters desperately to accommodate his massive size. His thick heavy weight stretches her opening so much it physically burns. She muffles her cries into the armrest clenching around him hard. Her breathing erratic as she tries to not let her eyes roll to the back of her head.
Sanjaya isn't doing any better either. The moment he pushed into her he groaned and cursed under his breath. God she was so fucking tight, even after prepping her and making her cum once she was still incredibly tight. Just as he remembered. Perfect for him. He dosen’t even understand what the fuck was wrong with him for trying to find fragments of her in other women. Nothing and no one would ever compare. His head dropped against her shoulder, a bead of sweat formed against his temple in effort.
Rani flutters around him, moaning weakly. “Fuck! Darling, I need you to relax for me” Sanjaya hisses in pain at this point. She is so tight he might cum on the spot. He kisses along her spine gently whispering praise to help her take deep calming breaths. “God I missed this so much…God I missed you so much, you feel like home.” He groans weakly into her skin. She forces her body to take deep breaths at the praise.
Sanjaya sighs in relief as he feels her relax around him. He pulls out slowly and she breaths shakily as he drags along her walls, each vein dragging along her perfectly to light each nerve ending on fire. He slams back into her hard enough to stall her breath
Pleasure, I want you back
Can't you see I'm upset?
You'rе making me sad
A little less convеrsation, ooh
They both moan brokenly at the feeling. Sanjaya begins setting a hard and steady pace. Slow enough to let her feel every inch of him but fast enough to not let her form a single coherent thought.
The sofa creaks beneath them as he snaps his hips into her again and again. She braces herself against the armrest as he fucks into her like a man possesed. Each thrust dragging along her g-spot then ending deep inside of her. Whines moans and gasps pulling out of her throat at random intervals. “SANJAYA!” she whined pathetically as he sped up slightly.
Sanjaya is on cloud nine. This is everything he dreamed of and imagined. Her tight heat clenching around him as he fucked her. It was like her cunt was a clay mold, the perfect impression of his cock. Made for him. And the sounds she makes are even more pornagraphic than the moment. Her back dips lower as she fucks into her from behind.
Her hips move backwards to meet him half way, she was fucking him back. Sanjaya groans “Ohh shit. So so fucking good my perfect girl” he pounds into her harder. The sound of skin against skin is deafening in his office. Moonlight spills across both of them. The area around her tattoo was already blooming in various shades of purple and red thanks to Sanjaya’s passion.
“I have to confess something if you will let me meri jaan” he pants as he holds his seedy pace. “Go on” she says, choking on a moan as his cock hits her g-spot at the perfect angle. A buzz of pleasure floats through her every time he hits just perfectly.
“Rani meri jaan. When you left you blocked me on everything….I made dozens of fake accounts to follow you everywhere. To keep tabs on you. To see fragments of you” he groans pathetically as his eyes screw shut in pleasure. Rani had clenched around him hard enough to make his hips stutter and to make him choke in pleasure.
His voice is thoroughly wrecked as he continues. “And -and I saw you had rejected the RSVP.” he pants with a violent snap of his hips against hers “I hacked into the Prime Minister's email. Wrote that.. Fuck- Wrote that myself in my office thinking about you…always thinking about you” he finished pathetically.
Rani is moaning and panting with more vigour now at his admission. She fucking knew it. She knew it all along. “Any other sins you want to confess sweetheart?” she panted as her eyes hazed in pleasure.
“So many…i have five years of sins to confess to you meri jaan” he whispered weakly as he continued fucking into her, seat rolling down both of thier bodies now. “But I suppose there is one more pressing one to admit to right now”
“And that is?” she gasped “I had my junior lock the media wing doors from the outside so you would be stuck here with me” he stumbled through the words quickie, punctuating with well timed hard thrusts so that she would be too lost to understand it fully just yet.
Much to his surprise she laughs breathlessly as she uses her muscular control to clench around him with a devastating rhythm. “Bas itna sa hi?” she says breathlessly. “I thought it would be worse than Sanjaya. I had higher expectations from you”
Sanjaya has to force himself to breathe through his nose at the way she clenches around him. He needs to keep his focus or he might cum right then and there. He fought it as he spoke “Kya matlab hai tumhara?” he panted.
They both can feel their pleasure get closer and closer to its precipice. The electricity between them thrumming wildly. Rani starts “First of all ... .I knew all of this” Sanjaya gasps his hips, stuttering slightly.
She continues “Im not a fucking idiot, I knew about your accounts, I had guessed that you were the one who wrote the PM email. And about us getting locked in together?” she laughs evilly. “Your junior had messaged me in confirmation because the bastard is desperate to be sent on foreign assignments to Spain. I told him it was okay to lock the doors”
“What?” This revelation drives him insane. “Tumhe pata tha?” Rani nods as her breathing gets shallow. The way he dragged inside of her was a delirious and delicious kind of pleasure. “Infact thoda dana toh maine hi dala tha tumhe Sanjaya!” she laughs.
Sanjaya can't believe this. He speeds up impossibly as a method of coping. His brain had checked out hours ago. She had known? She had left him crumbs? She had gotten his initial tattooed? Too much it was all too much. He felt his core tightening in pleasure as he fucked her. He could feel the way Rani was fluttering around him. “Im- Im Fuck. Im gonna cum” she moaned.
No not yet. Not like this. He needs to see her. He needs to watch her. He needs to fuck her like his dreams. She needs to cum around his cock properly. He needs to fuck her in missonary.
Girl, you're simply wonderful
You bleed, I bleed So fuckin' wonderful
You breathe, I breathe Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah-ah
So fuckin' wonderful Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah-ah
So fuckin' wonderful Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah, ah-ah S
o fuckin' wonderful
Just before she moans for a final time, lost in pleasure, stars about to burst behind her eyes, he pulls out of her completely. Rani curses and whines under her breath “What? Why? Fuck no no no no. NO! Sanjaya!” she practically sobs at her ruined orgasm. She feels the waves of pleasures that were steadily building shatter like glass as he pulls out and stops immediately.
He soothes her. “I know my love, I know.” he kisses her cheek. His hands grab her waist and flip her effortlessly into missionary. Her head on the armrest of the sofa. “NO YOU DONT FUCKING KNOW!” she sobs. “I was so fucking close you bastard!” she seethes at him. “You break my heart, become a mad man to try get me back, and now that you are fucking me you wont let me cum?” she berates him.
He laughs darkly as he fixes his glasses. His index finger sliding up his nose again. He knew why she was acting out like this. His hands push apart her thighs, his thumb rubs hard circles on her clit. Her ruined orgasm had made her incredibly sensitive. She twitched violently beneath him.
“Im not going to dignify that behavior with a response darling” he says slowly punctuating with his thumb by making it slow down and speed up its pace or rubbing hard circles on her puffy clit. She humphs at him angrily as she looks away. “Im going to fuck it out of you” he finishes darkly.
“Do your worst!” she huffs at him. Sanjaya smirks at her, his jaan was getting short with him because he ruined her orgasam. And with that he thrusts into her warm wet heat once more. And immediately without waiting for her to adjust he rutts into her at an incredible pace. Rani gasps as her hands fly to his broad shoulders for dear life. A moan gets stuck in her throat.
“OH!” she cries out “OH OH GOD!” she moans. Sanjaya wasn't a particularly muscular man as mentioned earlier but he did have broad, large shoulders. The way he hovered over her right now as he fucked into her obscured the ceiling of his office entirely. Him. all she could see was him as he fucked into her.
Her orgasm builds incredibly fast once again. Especially since she had been on the brink just moments ago. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, and powerful. Rani couldn't breathe. Rani couldn't think. Just gasps and broken moans and the stretch of him inside her, thick and hot and bare. With this new angle he rocks deeper into her.
Her legs lock around his waist helplessly, pulling him closer pulling him in impossibly deeper. Sanjaya groans into her neck as he feels her rhythmic fluttering again. Each pulse of her throbbing was trying to milk him. He held his pace of hard deep thrusts, his thumb rubbing fast hard circles on her already throbbing clit. “Are you going to cum for me darling?” he coos as he pulls away from her throat.
“Im- imgonna.” she nods breathlessly as her neck arches her head rolling back her cunt clenching desperately. Sanjaya pulls his hand away from her clit. “And if I don't let you? What then darling?” he asks smugly.
Rani moans weakly as a wave of pleasure stronger than before threatens to drown her. Not a single coherent thought is forming in her mind. Her eyes are beginning to blur in and out of focus. “P-please Sanjaya!” she moans.
The leather sofa creaks violently beneath them again. The scent of sex, cologne, perfume, obsession and whiskey cloud the air around them. Sanjaya laughs darkly as he leans in to sweetly capture her lips. She moans into him as he invades her mouth with his tongue. She can still taste some of herself on him.
He pulls away from her lips to catch his breath his arms brace on either side of her as he fucks into her harder. Sweat rolls down his face and body, the heat between them is burning. Her breasts bounce in rhythm to their fucking mesmerising Sanjaya. The way Rani looks at him with fucked out eyes most definately doesn't help.
Sanjaya’s glasses begin to slip down the sharp bridge of his nose. He doesn't even notice, too absorbed in bringing them both over the edge. Too absorbed in watching the way her greedy cunt devours his cock with each thrust. “My god so fucking perfect” he moans to himself as he watches the way they join together. Each time he pulls out his cock glimmers due to her slickness and the low lighting of the office.
In her haze of pleasure she narrows in on particular details. Too fucked out to notice too many at the same time. Her whines and moans become background music to each of his thrusts. Her hands claw at his shoulders, leaving red marks. During this she notices how his glasses slip down his face threatening to fall off. Rani uses her shaky fingers to gently push them back into place. Her palms grab his face and she kisses his nose. He can feel his cock twitch inside of her.
“FUCK!” roars Sanjaya against the crook of her neck. He was close. “Come for me darling. Come on” He urges her. His hand reaches between them once again, his hand rubbing hard circles on her clit again. He can feel her cunt spasming around him.
When he gave her the permission to let go she sighed exhaustedly. Rani felt white hot heat behind her eyes as she arched her back and came with a scream of his name on her lips “AHH FUCK! SANJAYA!” Her body tensing up further and intensifying his pleasure.
Baru fucked her through her orgasm as he built his own. He roared as he came inside her. Her walls milked him dry as they both shuddered in the after effects. His hips moving of their own volition as he fucked the mixture of thier cum deeper into her.
—-----------
following the same night @ 2 am of the next day
Sanjaya Baru’s office, Prime Ministers Office (PMO), Media and Relations wing, New Delhi, India
Within moments Sanjaya regains some of his senses. He reaches over to the table beside the sofa and pulls clean tissues to help clean them up. She whined in sensitivity as he pulled out. He himself hissed due to the same reason. Her eyes fluttered shut as she sighed at the feeling of their cum dripping out of her, her chest moving unevenly as she tried to catch her breath.
Sanjaya has them cleaned up in moments as he drops the dirty tissues into the bin by the door. His hands pour her a glass of water and he gently supports her as she takes greedy gulps. Eventually he pulls her limp body against his as they both lay on the sofa in his office.
Everything is quiet now. Crickets sound outside the window, the breeze gently shakes the trees. Inside the office she lays against his chest breathing deeply. Her fingers trace mindless patterns on his chest as she listens to his heartbeat. “ Forgive me Rani. Please forgive me for what it did” he sounds shaky now. Like he isn't sure if his apologies earlier were enough. “I’ll apologize to you for the rest of our lives if you would give me the chance. Just please, forgive me meri jaan”
Rani tilts her head upwards, she fins him already looking at her. Her hand softly caresses his cheeks. The apology and remorse in his eyes was genuine. He was as broken as she was. In fact you could argue he spiraled more than she did. She leans upwards and kisses his lips softly. He kisses her back immediately. A moment later she pulls away with her decision “Take me home in the morning Sanjaya. I've missed you.”
Relief floods through sanjaya at a magnitude he didn't know was possible. Like the tombstone he had placed on his own chest was lifted. His hand holds her cheek gently as he kisses her back. Deeper this time. Softer this time. He pulls away and whispers against her forehead “My Darling home is wherever you are with me. But our home together is untouched. The way you left it. We were both waiting for you.”
She smiles against him as her hands wrap around him, her leg hooking over his thigh to get comfortable. Sanjaya grins as he remembers that she always slept by tangling her body with his. He reaches to the throw blanket that he always kept slung over the sofa. He spreads it over both of them, a barrier against the night chill.
“I love you meri jaan. Thank you for forgiving me.” he whispers quietly into her hair. She doesn't respond. She is already drooling lightly against his chest, soft snores escaping her. Both Sanjaya Baru and Rani Marwah feel the pull of sweet restorative sleep for the first time in five years. Tangled in each other's arms as they should have always been.
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I genuinely love this one so much; it might be my favorite one-shot fic so far.
Tags: (DM or COMMENT TO BE ADDED) @fleurnoir@mainyahaankyunhoon@roses-and-iron@bohotbadajalebi@golgappalicious@tere-naal-nachna@curiousbutbored@harrystyleskiwi9@scentedwolfdragon@patrakilekha@immortalinvaderrogue@wan2bey-n @lemonsquishee @goodnightkathrine @livelaughlovebylerr@shadylovedhurandhar@noor-archive@dc-reign@alyislost@harrystyleskiwi9@goodasaysboo@tanipartner@anxiousbeeing@bitchystxnk @gowrimenop-1 @layinglowkey@slutforkaz@angellwhisperswritez@angelllk1ssed@buchanana00@hum-suffer@mandaakiniii@krishavania@moonysscar@akshayes@kamalkafool@bombaybomb@snihrayy@nooriyat@drownedinindigolove@thisismyaltsblog@vakalatnelagadiye@royaldreamermonsoon@poetry-beauty-love-writez
Disclaimer: This oneshot is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Author's note: Iqbal is such a rage-baiting bastard, yawrrrr...I wanna fuck him.
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A Lesson in Diplomacy
Day 0 @ 3 pm
(MEA) Ministry of External Affairs, Delhi, India
Why did diplomat Yamini Sing have to be so fucking good? That's the question of the century to the woman. She ponders this question as she sits in her office massaging her temples. She felt the migraine rising along with the rage. “KABIR WHERE THE HELL IS MY KADAK NIMBU SODA?” she yelled at her assistant out the door of her office. Nimbu soda would have to do, because she can't drink straight vodka on the job.
Being this good is a curse and not a boon. Which is contrary to what most people think. Most people think that being fucking phenomenal at your job gives you perks. And yes she does get perks. Was she allowed to be slightly more bitchy, rude, and unconventional? Yes. Because she got the results. But if you were to ask Yamini if those perks were worth the migraines she would have said absolutely not.
Being that damn good as a diplomat means one thing and one thing only. Yamini is only sent somewhere where relations are fucked beyond repair. Because Yamini Singh is magical, she can manage any situation.
She once talked the economic minister of the UK down from increasing tariffs and tax rates influenced by the mohhle ki kaleshi aunty, the US, with just a drink and a few well scattered slightly scandalous jokes. Another time she repaired tense relations with the eastern european countries by hosting a party with enough hard liquor and fun to get twenty alcoholic diplomats drunk out of their minds. She drank so much she had to go sober for a month but that's okay because relations were repaired.
So yes. Yamini is magical, she is phenomenal, and she is brilliant. Most of all she loves a challenge. The entire ministry knows that. Normally she asks for the hardest assignments, because she has something to prove. Not to the world, but more to herself. But there is one diplomatic relation even Yamini doesn't want to touch with a 10 foot pole and a can of disinfectant.
That relation is the infamous India-Pakistan diplomatic channel. To put it lightly, it was entirely held together by an over inflated diplomatic ego, in other words it was a mesmerisingly devastating dumpsterfire that the hobos of both sides are watching from the sidelines. And everytime the fires escalate the hobos look at each other and say “Look your side started it”. Yet neither side is willing to pick up the fire extinguisher and put it out for good.
All because this dumpster fire provides a warmth that neither side wants to lose completely. And the truth is Yamini Singh absolutely doesn't want to manage the delicate dumpster fire that India-Pakistan relations are.
“KABIR! TU KYA NIMBU KA PEDH UGANE GAYA HAI KYA SAALE?” She fumes looking at her very empty and Kabir-less doorway right now. How long did it take to make a masala nimbu soda? She genuinely contemplates banging her head on the hardwood desk in front of her. Maybe she could plead brain damage to get out of this situation.
But more than that she hopes it will help her forget the conversation that got her here in the first place. Because you can't deny a diplomatic mission when it's given to you by the head of the ministry of external affairs. And you most definitely can't deny it when he asks for you by name. “KABIR!-”
—-------------------
Yamini looked at her watch absent mindedly then she looked at the door. “Yaar lunch ke liye late ho raha hai, kahan hai sir?” she sighed as she looked at the ceiling lazily wondering if the Mexican place would still be open by the time this meeting was over. Suddenly the door to the office opened, making Yamini straighten immediately her mentor was walking in.
Yamini stands up and straightens her blazer as the head of the ministry of external affairs walks in. Her mentor. Her boss. The man she aspired to be, the famous Dr. S. Shankar. “Good afternoon Yamini” he nods to her as he walks in
“Good afternoon sir” she smiles as she shakes his hand. “Please take a seat” Jaishankar says as he takes his own seat behind his desk. Yamini sits down as she looks at Shankar expectantly. He had asked for her personally, and she was incredibly excited. Because he always gave her the best assignments.
But Shankar didn't seem to hold the same excitement. Strange. He was always excited. “Sir...kya hua hai?” she asked carefully, putting her excitement on the back burner for the moment. He huffed a laugh that held no real joy "You are very perceptive Yamini, I like that about you. It's an important skill to have as a diplomat”
Yamini blinked at him. She did not interrupt in thanks because this was a compliment given to soften the blow of whatever was about to come next. “Sir, please just tell me what happened. Your lack of enthusiasm for this meeting is scaring me.” Shankar sighed knowing that would have to spit it out eventually so he better get it over with “India-Pakistan, I'm giving you the delegation”
“Sir no.” she said with a smile of disbelief “You can't be serious”. Shankar nodded gravely “Their delegation is landing tomorrow. I need you to handle it. The dumpster fire has never been more delicate. This has to go well. The fate of two nations rests on this.”
“Sir-” she begins balking for words. “Yamini. Don't refuse me, not when I'm putting so much of my faith into you. Not when I’m personally assigning you this.” Shankar interrupts leaning in to make his point.
Yamini takes a deep breath. She can't say no. She has no choice. But she tries. She stays quiet for 20 seconds as if looking for a loophole out of this situation. There is none. She exhales her breath. “Yes sir, I'll handle this.”
—--------------------
“Sorry ma’am! Woh nimbu nahi mil rahe the!” Huffs Kabir slightly out of breath as he brings Yamini her soda. The glass sits in front of her. The ice cold drink is making the glass sweat in this heat. The soda bubbles rise lazily through the ice, fizzing on the surface.
Yamini sighs as she takes a long drink. This was about to be a long week. “Kabir. Mere lal. Tu ek nimbu ka truck magwale. Agar phirse itna time laga toh phir tujhe hi nichod ke pi jaungi!” she smiles with a sweetness that's deadly. “Ji madam” he gulps.
“M-Madam ek aur baat” He stutters. “Kya?” she hums anticipating another nail in her coffin. Kabir gently rests a thick black dossier beside her nimbu soda. “Um you may want to look at the Pakistani delegation. More specifically the man heading it”
“Why is it always a man yaar?” she sighs under her breath. Yamini furrows her brow and opens the dossier. Her fingers flick though the pages until she lands on the page with the list of delegates. Her eyes widen then narrow and then widen again at the name at the top of the list. “Major Iqbal khan?....... Wait a damn minute” She mutters in disbelief as she stands up from her chair.
She walks to a filing cabinet in the corner of her office and yanks open the drawer. She uses her index finger to comb through the files “P-P-P- Papua New Guinea, Paruguay…..Pakistan!” She pulls out the file on Pakistan and flicks to its military section. Her eyes scan the page quickly
“E-Ek second….Major IQBAL khan?” She starts looking back at Kabir with a raised eyebrow as if she is questioning her own reading skills for a moment. Kabir nods solemnly. Yamini slams the file on Pakistan shut and shoves it back in her cabinet.
“Major Iqbal khan. The head of the fucking ISI. Is coming to India as a diplomat?” She almost can't believe this. “Ji madam” Sighs Kabir already anticipating her next reaction. And honestly her reaction was entirely valid.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!”
—--------------------
Day 0 @ the same time as previous segment
(MOFA) Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Islamabad, Pakistan
Major Iqbal Khan is not a diplomat. He is the head of the ISI. And yet here he was, the head of the Pakistan-India diplomatic party. How the fuck this happend is beyond him. He sits down in his office with a heavy sigh. The leather chair creaks under his weight as he leans backwards.
Iqbal crosses one leg over the other. An ankle resting over a knee, he runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Mir! Meri whiskey kahan hai?” he calls sharply to his junior in the ISI Sajid Mir. Where our heroine Yamini couldn't drink on the job, Major Iqbal was unburdened with that rule. Being the head of the ISI did have certain perks.
Iqbal genuinely did not understand why on earth he was chosen for this diplomatic mission. But as it turns out what he thinks doesn't matter when the President of the nation personally requests for you to head the delegation.
Mir sets his whiskey on the hardwood table in front of him. The amber liquid swirls with the large ice cube in the crystal glass. “Ye lijiye Major sahab” Mir nods. Iqbal takes a large sip from the glass. Sighing deeply as the whiskey burns his throat. Iqbal lights his cigar and takes a deep drag from it. Releasing a curling puff of smoke into the dark wooded office.
“Major sahab kal subah aapki flight hai India ki. Pure delegation ke saath.” Mir says as he hands Iqbal a dossier of his travels and his diplomatic notes. Iqbal nods in acknowledgment, Mir salutes him and leaves the office. He wonders how he got into this mess.
Iqbal’s inability to say no is how he landed in this mess. He remembers the conversation so clearly.
—---------
“Assalam Walikum Janab” Salutes Iqbal, straightening his tall powerful frame to its full height. Aqib Ali Zarwari, the president of pakistan nods in greeting “Walikum Assalam Iqbal, aao andar aao”
Iqbal takes five large strides and crosses the room. His patent leather boots thudding dully on the plush carpet of the presidential office. The room was covered in marble, gold, and other various types of luxury. Zarwari was seated behind his large gilded hardwood desk, his table covered with files and documents meant for his signature.
Major Iqbal stands in front of the desk in relaxed military posture. His hands behind his back, his feet shoulder-width apart. His posture straight and his aura undeniable. He waits for Zarwari to speak.
“Iqbal mai chahata hun ki tum kal subha India ke liye rawana ho. We are sending a diplomatic mission to Delhi and mai chahata hun ki tum unke sath jao. Na bas jao, balkai unke delegation ko head karo.” Hums Zarwari as he takes a drink of water.
Iqbal blinks. What? This is not at all what he expected. But he revolvers smoothly and begins speaking “Janab mai ISI ka head hun, mujhme aisi diplomatic training nahi hai. I don't think that I am the right man to send for the job. With all due respect.”
“Iqbal it seems that you yourself are unaware of the skill you possess. If I am personally asking you to be there that means I have a certain hope for you don't I? Don't tell me you are second guessing an order by your president” Zarwari raises an eyebrow at Iqbal.
Iqbal straightens more as if that was possible. “Janab, I would never be so bold as to argue against your orders. Jaisa aap chahien waise hi hoga, mai kal subha baaki delegation ke sath India ke liye nikalta hun.” He nods with a salute.
—----------------
Iqbal rests the dossier against his knee as he sips his whiskey. He loosely flicks open the file and begins doing what intelligence agents do best. Understand and psychoanalyze the target.
He would begin with the head of the Indian delegation. Diplomat Yamini Singh. A woman with a reputation that precedes her. Shit show supervisor and an expert in cleaning up fallen raita. She was sent to put out fires and rebuild bridges. How interesting.
Iqbal smirked to himself as he took a deep drag of his cigar. This diplomatic shit show would be entertaining at the very least. Because India, putting her as their first line, spoke plenty about what they were expecting.
They saw that he was the Pakistani head and made assumptions and began maneuvers. They wanted to start the mindgames before the events had even begun. Now the question was whether Iqbal wanted to give them what they expect, or flip every strategy on its head.
Questions. Questions. Questions. And just as many options.
—-------------------------------------------
Day 1 @ 11 am
High Commission of Pakistan, New Delhi, India
“Kabir, remind me. How many more days until I can retire?” Hums Yamini as she straightens her clothes. The small India pin on her lapel had gone askew. Today she wore a powder blue vintage channel boucle set that she had scored on pure chance during her time off in France. She chose this color to match the beautiful blue and white building of the commission. Beneath her blue boucle skirt she wore silk stockings and white patent letter red bottom heels.
She was the picture of elegance with her dark brown wavy hair swept over one shoulder. A white chiffon scarf pinned loosely to her head. Her makeup was minimal with a focus on her eyes. Not just because she had beautiful eyes, no. That was a given of course. But the focus on her eyes was particularly pointed psychological warfare. A bold ‘Look into my eyes Major Sahab’
“Madam, I'm sorry to inform you that that measure isn't in days. It's in years” sighs Kabir as he wipes the lenses of his glasses with his handkerchief. Kabir looks dashing as well in his own tailored slacks, blazer, and white dress shirt. His medium length salt and pepper hair coiffed back handsomely.
“Fuck my life.” She sighs as she gives herself a final once over in the reflection of a window as she passes by. Her white red bottom pumps clicking through the marble halls of the Pakistani High Commission in New Delhi. It was decided that the first meeting of both delegations would happen on relatively neutral territory.
“Madam woh toh hone hi wala hai. Infact ho hi raha hai” Chuckles Kabir darkly. “Kabir, I didn't know you wanted to be unemployed” she smiles.
“Ma’am did I tell you that you look absolutely stunning today?”
Yamini rolls her eyes at the obvious job saving flattery “Thats better”
“Yes madam. I like my job” Kabir smiled as they walked through the halls towards the foyer where both delegations were to meet
—----------------------------
Major Iqbal Khan ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. Dressed in his black debonair structured jacket and well tailored slacks to go along with it. In his corsage pocket rested an emerald green silk handkerchief. To his lapel rested a metal Pakistani flag enamel pin.
He stood surrounded by the Pakistani delegation speaking to each other in hushed tones about various topics. Some spoke about the weather, some spoke about what they had seen in Delhi so far, some spoke in whispers about how Iqbal was sent to head this delegation rather than a proper diplomat.
He placed his hands in his pockets as he looked around the high commission building. They were waiting for the Indian delegation. The commission building was quite nice but nothing special to Iqbal. Marble floors, high arches, chandeliers, massive glass windows, islamic architecture. Major Iqbal was obscenely rich. None of this meant anything to him, honestly it bored him.
“Major Sahab, the Indian delegation is about to arrive. T minus 60 seconds” whispered an aide in Iqbal's ear. Iqbal nodded as he created his throat and fixed the cuffs of his sleeves. He steels himself.
Because it's a well known fact, Major Iqbal Khan, the head of the ISI, is famously Anti-India. Yet here he finds himself the head diplomat in the Pakistan-India delegation. He was told to be diplomatic. He was told to be civil. But he is here very, very openly unwillingly. He has already decided something that he will not back away from. Major Iqbal Khan will not show an ounce of diplomacy.
He looks up from the cuff of his sleeve to find the Indian delegation walking in front the opposite hallway. For a moment. It feels like time itself has slowed down. He hears her first. Heels clicking on the sharp marble floor, a melodious voice laughing politely to a comment made by someone near her.
Then he sees her. White patent leather heels clicking on the floor, long beautiful legs clad in silk stockings, then a powder blue pencil skirt beginning above her knee. Then a tailored jacket much like his, in the same powder blue. The jacket was very well tailored to her, elegant, feminine, just the right amount of class and sex appeal. Dark brown waves swept over her shoulder. A loose white chiffon scarf pinned to her hair. Well balanced features, eyes that could drown a man.
The way the woman walked it was clear she had substance to back her confidence. Her eyes locked on him. He felt her drag them over his body. One of her eyebrows arched as she stepped closer. Her lips twitched into a slight smirk, her head tilted slightly. She was analyzing him the way he was analyzing her.
Oh so this was the famous, or rather infamous, Major Iqbal? Mused Yamini as she walked. He was a tall man with a strong frame. Broad shoulders accentuated by his tailored jacket. A frown on his face, masked slightly by his beard. Dark eyes that pierce her. My my my he was a good looking man. It was clear, the way he stood, he didn't want to be here. And as fate would have it, she didn't want to be here either.
Her delegation walked behind her and his delegation stood behind him. Diplomats on either side stared at each other with a strange mixture of feelings. The room felt as tense as the India-Pakistan border. Hate, intrigue, annoyance, exhaustion. These were just some of the many feelings wafting through the room.
They stopped in front of each other. None of the usual cordial smiles were exchanged. Iqbal stared at her with his intense eyes. He was trying to intimidate her. She stared back, deep into his eyes, trying to tell him passionately that this maneuver of his was bullshit. She wasn't going to let it work.
Grace and etiquette says that the male head of a delegation should extend his hand first if the person leading the opposite delegation was a woman. Iqbal kept his hands firmly in his pockets. He didn't even make a move to pull his hands out of his pockets. Oh! What a bastard.
The Indian delegates blinked. They blinked at the blatant disrespect of Yamini. They were this close to forgetting where they were standing in the name of Yamini’s honor. Kabir took a deep breath to not lose his mind.The Pakistani delegates blinked. They blinked to hide their horror. What the fuck was Iqbal doing.
Yamini didn't let the disrespect bristle her. Her lips remained in the smirk they held ever since she walked into view. Her head tilted slightly, her eyes twinkled with a certain spark. He wants to be a bastard and not make the first move as he should? Fine. She would let him win this round. But not without a stab of her own.
She smiles at Iqbal. A cordial smile that reaches nowhere, openly fake. She folds her hands into a namaste. “Namaste Major Sahab, welcome to India” she nods befores he continues “We are honored that we get to host you for your first ever diplomatic mission.”
“This isn't my first mission” Iqbal hums darkly. “Well that's a surprise” she chuckles. “Is it?” he hums, stepping forward. Tobacco, oud, and something darker in his cologne clouds Yamini’s air. She keeps a pleasant smile on her face “ If this really isn't your first diplomatic mission then it truly is surprising. Yeh lack of etiquette sirf aapke sabse khas padosi ke liye hai?” She steps closer.
Both delegations gasp. Some out loud, some cover it with a cough, some clear their throat awkwardly. Yamini grins at him. Iqbal raises an eyebrow with a smile, his gold tooth showing. “Lack of etiquette? Singh Madam, we have only been in each other's proximity for 30 seconds and you are already questioning my manners?”
“Ji jo dikhega usi pe toh question karenge? Aap intelligence me hai na?” She responds. Iqbal nods. “You must be aware of the impact of first impressions, correct?” Yamini smiles. Iqbal huffs a laugh under his breath. He knows where she is going with this line of reasoning. “Chaliye be the bigger man Major Sahab” She grins.
What a phenomenal bitch, Iqbal has to admire her wit. He wanted to destabilise her greeting to destabilise her this entire diplomatic mission. She didn’t let that happen. How interesting.
He reaches his hand out of his pocket and holds it out in between them. Yamini doesn’t reach for it immediately. She lets it hang in the air. She shows Iqbal that she has the reins here. Both delegations wait with baited breath.
“Welcome to India major sahab” she grins as she shakes his hand. Sparks flutter through both of them. The energy undeniable. Her hand is soft in his battle worn hands. Like a delicate flower petal on a rough rock. Is the spark good? No. Is the spark bad? Also no.
Yamini pulls away first. Now that the heads of both delegations have shaken hands the rest of the members can meet. The border is crossed by both members as they shake hands. Both sides were relieved that there isn’t a diplomatic incident just yet. But both sides knew it was only a matter of time.
—-------------------------------———-----
Same day @ 2 pm
Yamini had excused herself to the restroom for a moment. She had needed a break, she needed a break or she might genuinely say something to cause war between India and Pakistan.
She ran a napkin under cold water and then held it to her neck to help calm her racing pulse. Major Iqbal is an ass hat of the highest order. He was testing her in ways she didn't even know she could be tested. He was pushing buttons she didn't even know existed.
—-----------------------
After the barely saved first meeting in the foyer the Pakistani delegation invited the Indian delegation to lunch in the high commission. As is standard. As is protocol. And as protocol dictates Iqbal was to be seated next to Yamini. She took her seat and waited for him as well. The bastard didn't stop next to her.
In fact he walked right by his waiting seat and sat nestled deep between the Pakistani delegation. The entire room paused and blinked. A Pakistani delegate muttered “Ya allah yeh kya ho raha hai” An Indian delegate looked at the ceiling and exhaled long and slow “You have to be kidding me” This was count one. Ruining the seating arrangement, putting her in an awkward position.
Somehow she had covered the situation and the meal had commenced awkwardly. Iqbal raised an eyebrow and smirked. Oh she really is as good as they say. She was hard to shake. And he wanted to shake her. Now more for fun, rather than actual diplomatic gain. He wanted to see what she would look like when she was angry. Would she turn red? Would she stomp away? Would she yell? Iqbal wanted to find out.
The salad course was fine, the soup course was fine, the first appetizer was fine. The second appetizer was not fine. Yamini was making polite conversation with the Pakistani delegates. She was helping to melt the awkwardness she was helping both sides engage and get friendly. “Toh Khan Sahab aap Qawali aur ghazalon ke shaukeen hain?” She smiled at the mustached delegate beside Iqbal. Her smile was pointed carefully, it curved around Iqbal, missing him on purpose. What a bitch.
“Ji haan, humaare abbu Qawali ke shaukeen the, thoh woh shauk hume bhi aya” he responds cordially. “Arresh wah toh phir aapki Mishra ji se kaafi banegi!” she smiled “Haina mishra ji?”
Mishra nods “Ji bilkul madam.” Delegate Khan nods towards Mishra with a smile. Yamini continues “Bas kuch hi dino me yahin Delhi me ek mushaira aur qawalli ka program hai. Mishra ji hi bata rahe the. Maybe you would enjoy it too!” she suggests kindly. Khan and Mishra light up at the suggestion. The atmosphere is warming up.
Then Iqbal ruins the moment. “Khan wishes he could come. Sadly he would be too busy” Ice water is thrown on the warm moment. Khan clears his throat and returns to his paneer tikka. Yamini shuts her eyes and exhales slowly. Iqbal smiles. This was fun for him. Strike two.
She tries to tell a personal anecdote and he cuts it down. Strike three. She laughs and he stares. She places a current affairs topic into the conversation, he clicks his tongue and tells her that this is neither time nor the place. Strike 4.
—---------------------------
“Pardon me” she says with immense forced calm as she places her napkin on the table adjusting her skirt as she gets up. She needs a break. She needs a break or she might insult the entire nation of Pakistan. Her heels click sharply as she heads out of the dining room. Iqbal grins. He had gotten under her skin. Finally, he was enjoying this challenge. She looked good when she was mad.
A Pakistani delegate leaned over to him with great urgency “Major sahab aap ye kya kar rahe hain? We need to be diplomatic and kind! Aap aise pesh nahi aa sakte hain!” He hisses. Iqbal leans in and chuckles darkly “ Iss delegation ka head kaun hai?” The delegate gulps, he knows how dangerous Iqbal can get. “A-ap sahab”
Iqbal rests a hand on his shoulder. The warm weight is like a death warrant. The grin on his face is haunting “Aukat me rahiye aap, Zarwari shab ne hume personally bheja hai. Kisi kaam se bheja hai. Mujhpe ainda sawal na kariyega.” The poor delegate nods, swallowing his concerns. Iqbal continues to make his point “Biwi bacche Lahor gaye hai na? nani ke ghar?”
—----------------------
Yamini takes deep breaths as the cold damp cloth touches her skin. She box breathes. 10 seconds in. 20 seconds hold. 25 seconds exhale. And repeat. Once, twice, thrice, four times. Her heels click on the marble floors of the bathroom. She tries not to let rage consume her. Her reflection in the mirror looks like she is about to strangle a man. Specifically a Pakistani Major.
There is a series of sharp nocks on the bathroom door. “Yamini ma’am? Is there anyone in there or is it okay for me to come in?” It's Kabir. Of course he had noticed her face and body language and decided to follow her. He had known her for her entire career as a diplomat at the Ministry of External Affairs. Very rarely has she excused herself in that manner. Kabir knew she was homicidal.
“Aja Kabir!” She sighs leaning against the sink. Kabir walks in and immediately stands in front of Yamini. Yamini looks at him with the restraint of a slowly maddening woman. “Madam?”
“Kabir im about to strangle a man”
“I know madam”
“Kabir im going to cause a diplomatic incident”
“Please don’t”
Yamini sighs, pinching her nose bridge. Kabir takes the cool towel off her neck. The towel seems to be more of a hot towel than a cool towel. She really was worked up. Kabir raises his eyebrows in shock. Yamini looks at the ceiling begging the universe for strength. “Chalein madam?”
She nods. Kabir gestures for her to lead the way. She shudders and rolls her shoulders as she steels herself to face the bastard again. Yamini will be diplomatic, she will smile through gritted teeth, she will get the fucking job done or so help her god. Kabir falls into step behind her as they exit the bathroom.
—--------------------
Then a dark voice crawls through the halls. Dark enough to stop Yamini in her tracks. It crawls up her spine in unpleasant ways “Areh wah! How nice to see that India encourages its diplomats to get this close and personal with their secretaries” Iqbal drawls lazily with a smirk. His hands in his trouser pockets.
The look in his face makes it clear that nothing good will be coming out of his face “How nice to know that they assign someone to…help get your frustrations out on Miss Singh” He hums with a laugh as he brushes past her.
Yamini stands still for a moment. Her mouth opens and colossuses. Then it opens again, a strangled indignant sound comes out of her throat.
HOW DARE HE? She spins on her heel to watch Iqbal lazily saunter through the halls of the Pakistani High Commission. Iqbal was insinuating, in clear broad daylight, that she was fucking Kabir in the bathroom!?
Kabir can sense her rage. He feels it too, at the disrespect Iqbal is showing her. Kabir would like some stern words and sterner fists. But right now it was imperative to calm Yamini. “Yamini madam please dont commit homicide here”
Yamini takes a deep breath with a scary smile as she watches Iqbal walk away “We are on Indian soil Kabir….kuch jugad lagake we can spin the murder investigation right?” There is murder in her eyes. She would kill him, and she already knew where to bury the body.
Kabir clears his throat, his next words are chosen very carefully. Something she can't argue against. “This is on technicality Pakistani jurisdiction. Please…..PLEASE try to remember that they have the right of inviolability and immunity due to the Vienna Convention of diplomatic relations.”
“God damn the diplomatic version of the doctor's oath.” She curses under her breath as she storms the opposite way back to the dining room.
“THANK GOD for the diplomatic version of the doctor's oath” Kabir mutters weakly as he follows her.
—---------------------------------------
Day 2 @ 12 pm
Hyderabad house, New Delhi, India
Today was day two of the doomed-from-the-begining diplomatic mission. And overnight the news of the disastrous first meeting had spread to the MEA like wild fire. Whispers floated through the halls “Did you hear that the Major was rude?” and “Did you hear Yamini tried her best to handle the situation?”
Thankfully Yamini’s boss Dr. S. Shankar was currently traveling to Australia and hadn't heard anything about this meeting. If he had heard how shit it had gone Yamini would have gotten an earful even though she didn't do anything wrong.
—-------------------------------
Major Iqbal had retired to his suite in the TAJ palace with much satisfaction for the day. Did he want to be in India? Fuck no. But was he having fun now? Fuck yes. He was very happy to have shaken the unshakable woman. He walked to his bathroom as he un-buttoned his coat. He reached into the shower and turned it on to the warm side and let it heat up. Once he undressed fully he stepped into the shower. His hand ran along his bare body with a sigh. Under the warm spay he grinned. He began formulating how to piss her off the next day.
Yamini had retired to her apartment in Delhi with much chagrin. She was this close to killing the bastard. She would have stabbed the man with her fork if she was presented the opportunity. Maybe it was a good thing he wasn't sitting next to her. His expensive cologne would have choked her. His gold tooth flashing at her would have pissed her off. And his words. She wanted to sew his mouth shut with a needle and thread. She groaned in her hands when she collapsed on her sofa. The bastard may have won today….But tomorrow will be hers. Because tomorrow is the media conference.
She pulled out her phone and dialed a number “Hello haan Rashmika? I need a favour..” Tomorrow will be hers she grins as she leans back on her sofa.
—------------------------
The Hyderabad house media room was set to perfection. A large stage set with a panel sized long table for both delegations to take a seat. In front of them the media pen was set up with cameras at the front and reporters in the back. Why was it called a pen? Because the media were animals.
The Indian delegation and Pakistani delegation entered the room at the same time from opposite sides of the room. Yamini Singh leading the Indian delegation and Major Iqbal Khan leading the Pakistani delegation. They locked eyes from across the room as both parties walked up the stairs to the stage.
Iqbal was wearing a navy blue jacket set today, on his lapel another Pakistani flag. The gold ornamental buttons on his jacket are done up all the way save for the collar button. The blue slacks below the jacket were sharp and tailored elongating his already tall and strong frame. As always his jacket clinged sinfully well to his broad shoulders. His black leather loafers click sharply as they step on the marble floors.
Yamini was wearing an elegant black sheath dress. Classy enough to be appropriate for the occasion and dangerous enough so the neckline and the tight fit would catch a certain Major’s eye. The tastefully low neckline doses as it was meant to, she can feel his eyes at the plunge of her dress. Her hair is pulled back into a neat bun with a few tasteful strands of hair pulled out. Her lips painted a rosy red to match the red bottoms of her black patent leather heels.
Their eyes met from across the room. Iqbal held a smug look on his face he was riding on his high from last night. He expected her to meet his yes and then look away sharply, or to glare at him with anger. She did neither. She smiled at him. Like she was excited to see him. Strange.
Both delegations stood on the stage and took photos before everyone began to find their pre assigned seats. The chairs in the middle reserved for the heads of both delegations. Yamini strides onto the stage and pulls Iqbal's chair out for him and then she gestures with her eyes. A look that asks ‘Major sahab are you done being a diva?’
Iqbal's jaw clenches. She is humiliating him on purpose. The cameras flash at this strange interaction. In public Iqbal has no choice but to smile goodnaturedly and take the seat she offers him. But not without pulling out her chair for her so he is captured as a gentleman in the eyes of the media “Oh how kind of you Major sahab….A proper Pakistani gentleman” She hums out loud making multiple people chuckle.
“What else would you expect Miss Singh? Yeh kya presumption leke ghum rahi han aap Pakistani mardon ke bare me?” He says with a sigh as he sits down next to her. His response is low enough that the microphones wont pick it up.
She grins as she leans against her chair, pivoting her body to the side in one swing. “Kya kare Major sahab, aap impression hi aisa rakhte ho….you sir are in a grave so deep that the only way left to go is up.” She hums lightly. “Not on a diplomatic stand point. I suppose you are on a relatively alright platform over there. Im referring on a more personal level”
Iqbal chuckles darkly he nods silently “Mashallah..aap humare bare me personal level pe bhi sochne lag gayi? Aapke Kabir ne aapka man sahi se nahi behlaya kya?” he muses leaning forward slightly. Oud, tobacco, and something darker cloud her personal space again.
Yamin leans forward too with a coy smile. Coffee, amber, and something painfully seductive cloud Iqbal's personal space. Her voice drops into a shiver inducing sexy husk “Kya karein Major sahab?” she hums. Iqbal can feel it coil in his gut. “Kabir is nothing compared to you…aapke yeh jo infuriating kartoot hai na? Meri raaton ki neend chura li…. Poori raat aap hi mere sapno me phudak rahe the” She husks at him with a wink.
Iqbal hates how her voice, her perfume, her coy smirk, and her eyes stir lust in his body. He clears his throat “Oh so I infuriate you? Hum kya aapke zehen me baith gaye kya?” he asks lightly with much difficulty. His voice is a deep register even with the immense effort he is putting in.
Yamini can hear it, it pleases her to know that she is having an effect on the usually stoic Major. She fixes her voice back to normal with infuriating ease “Ji haan Major sahab….aap kahan koi halki phulki hasti hain?....Yaad rakhne wali cheez hain aap” she smiles before turning to face forward in her chair. Iqbal blinked. Fuck this woman!....Fuck…this woman. Iqbal shakes out of it.
The press and media conference begins as soon as Yamini nods to Kabir. Kabir nods and addresses the room “Welcome esteemed media! The panel is now ready for questions” he says as he clears his throat.
The questions begin to pour in. Some to Yamini. Some to Iqbal. Some on Pakistan. Some on India. Some on ‘what's the point of this diplomatic mission in the first place?’ Iqbal answers his questions smoothly. Yamini answers hers with admirable finesse. Finesse that makes Iqbal stop and stare for a moment.
He watches the delicate curve of her throat as she speaks. The sparkle in her eye when she gives a cheeky answer. Her delicate and melodious laugh. The way she gives answers that make reporters stumble and scramble for follow ups. “Yes, next question please! And a fun one if you can” she joked while taking a sip of water.
A woman in the media pen grinned. She had been summoned “Rashmika Raina from the NNM! A question for Miss Yamini Singh!” A hand raised from the crowd and a woman in a deep blue salwar suit stood up. She brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her pencil made bun. She smiled at Yamini as her pen tapped against her notebook.
Yamini grinned as she saw Rashmika, her best friend who she had known from her college days. She wanted to get up and hug the woman but that would be severely unprofessional. Iqbal would have bullied her mercilessly. So instead she said “Oh hi Rashmika! Long time no see?”
Rashmika smiled to herself as she said the next words.“Hi Yamini! Woh asal me I had gone to Pakistan for a report. Abhi abhi wapas ayi hun” Yamini narrowed her eyes and she couldn't believe it. Rashmika was blushing to herself. What was that about?
“Oh how lovely…” she hums suspiciously. “We must discuss your report soon, I know it will be spectacular. You always have the most interesting takes.” Rashmika nods as she clears her throat and shakes out of whatever day dream she had gone into. She dragged her mind away from a certain dark and brooding SP of Karachi police. Who had her number but still hadn't called.
“Uh Miss Yamini. I would like to ask you what is your first impression of the Pakistani delegation?” Rashmika gets back into reporter mode. “There have been rumors that the first impression yesterday had gone disastrously?”
Yamini hums to herself for a moment, nodding her head in thought. She looks at Iqbal out of the corner of her eye. She gives him a look. A look that says ‘I could fucking destroy your diplomatic mission and the reputation of your country if I wanted to’ Yamini grins as she looks back into the crowd.
Iqbal's jaw sets at the realization. He didn't like the amount of power she had right now. She began speaking “Is that so Ms. Rashmika? I wasn't aware of that rumor actually. Tell me Major sahab, did our first meeting go disastrously?” she hums lightly, turning to Iqbal. Surprising that she is giving him the opportunity. Iqbal opens his mouth to speak “Dekhiye-”
“Areh aap kya bolenge major sahab mai hi bata deti hun” she interrupts, turning back to the crowd. Iqbal's words stop in his mouth. This bitch. This absolute bitch.
Iqbal releases a long breath though his nose. This was her snub. This was her revenge for his behavior yesterday. He humiliated her in private. She humiliated him in front of the world. “Mmm toh Rashmika ji i’d say our meeting was definitely unconventional.”
“Unconventional?” Rashmika raises an eyebrow. “Haan definitely un conventional. Because when you meet a foreign delegation you expect certain standards and protocols to be met for the greeting. Major sahab definitely kept me on my toes. The meeting was anything but standard. It was oh so close to misunderstanding.”
She hums with a grin looking at the seething Major beside her. She pauses long enough to make it seem like she was done talking. Iqbal goes to open his mouth once again but Yamini beats him to it “But thankfully quick thinking from both delegations saved the day” she smiles, ending the answer to Rashmika’s question.
—------------------------
Rashmika quirks her brow. There was something quite juicy here. Before she could probe further, her phone rang. “Thank you Yamini!” she nods as she sits down. The conference continues.
Rashmika looks at her phone. It's an Unknown number. The country code +92, meaning Pakistan. The area code for Karachi, +92 21. All clues point to one person. Her ex-police protection. SP Chaudhary Aslam.
Rashmika excuses herself from the press conference and bites her lip as she walks out of the room in hurried steps. It had to be him. The large conference room doors swing shut behind her. The phone had rang 10 times already without disconnecting.
“Hello? Yaad agayi humari SP Sahab? Bada wakt lag gaya apko” She hums sweetly into the phone. She expects a gruff voice to return her greeting. She leans against the wall smiling like a mad woman as she waits to hear his voice. She anticipates the shiver that would run through her body when she would hear it again.
Much to her surprise the phone disconnects without a word from the other side. Rashmika blinks. What the fuck? She looks at her phone. Did she lose signal? Did her battery die? Did she disconnect it by accident? Was it someone else?
“Fuck yaar” she sighs leaning her head against the cold walls of the Hyderabad House. Then suddenly her phone pings. Its a message
Unknown +92 21-: Phone galti se lag gaya tha.
Rashmika huffs a surprised breath through her nose. It really was him! How did she know? Because only Chaudhary Aslam would wait 10 rings to hear her voice and as soon as she stopped speaking he would cut the call. Sly bastard.
She shook her head with a smile as she went to her keypad to type back her response. Before she could type, three bouncing dots appeared.
Unknown +92 21-: …Waise kya kar rahi ho?
She laughed as she read the message, shaking her head. Sly bastard.
—---------------------
Iqbal can't believe this shit. Twice. Yamini had cut him off twice. She had made him look stupid thrice. His hand fisted in his lap as he held a neutral expression on his face. His knuckles cracked with effort. His mouth stayed shut with immense effort.
She turned and looked at him with a shit eating expression. She had neutralized the playing field. And she had a very devastating realization. The bastard looks much hotter with his mouth shut.
How else could she shut him up? Much food for thought. Her plans for the night had been fixed.
—-----------------------------------------------
Day 3 @ 4 pm
Hyderabad house, New Delhi, India
Yamini hummed through the halls as she walked beside Kabir. She was uncharacteristically cheery. Which was strange because she never skipped through the halls even on diplomatic missions she genuinely enjoyed.
So for her to be happy after 2 days of being volatile was a cause for concern to Kabir. “Yamini madam are you okay?” he asked carefully as he adjusted the files in his arms. “I'm overjoyed Kabir. O-ver J-oyed” she hummed. As she walked through the marble halls of Hyderabad House.
Kabir fell back slightly to watch her skip ahead. He sighed. This only meant one thing. She had decided how she was going to kill Iqbal. “Fuck my life” he groaned as he masaged his temples the files threatening to fall out of his hands.
—----------------
Major Iqbal Khan and his delegation stormed through the halls of Hyderabad house. She wasn't getting an inch today. Not a fucking inch. He would get his revenge for yesterday or so help him god. The entire delegation whispered duas’ under their breath as they walked behind their angry Major.
Diplomat Khan whispered to diplomat Ajmer “Mujhe aise kyun lagta hai ki aaj kisi ka qatal hone wala hai?” Diplomat Ajmer sighed as he responded “Kal ke baad? Puri possibility hai” another diplomat piped up. Marha whispered between the two men “Aap log Yamini ko discount na karein. She can hold her own, you know?” she adjusted her dupatta as she walked.
Both men nodded. Marha was right, Yamini would go down fighting. There would be a minimum of two bodies to handle in either scenario. The worst part would be that the Pakistani delegation and the Indian delegation would have to work together on that mess. All three sighed.
—-----------------
For the third time on this trip both delegations met. And the room held no presence of niceties this time. Just a smug woman and an incensed man holding a grudge from the day before. Both delegations shook hands with each other once again and then took their seats.
Today actual work was to be done. Both delegations were tasked with reviewing joint policies and re-negotiating on certain points of contention. Today was a long and boring day. Yamini sighed and clicked her tongue lightly as she opened her dossier. She felt Iqbal's stare on her.
He looked good today once again. This was beginning to get boring. And very difficult for the primal parts of her brain that wanted to claw at his shoulders while he fucked her. She hated that part of herself. The primal part that was affected by his bastard-like behavior and his dark and dangerous pheromones. She would leave dark red scars down his well defined muscular back. He wore a dark military green today with silver buttons.
She was catastrophic in her own way. Wearing a maroon dress with a neckline much too similar to yesterday. And much too deep to not be pointed at Iqbal. The somehow office appropriate dress clung to her sinfully well. He himself was having a difficult time not grabbing her and fucking her until she could think straight. Fucking her until all she was capable of doing was moan his name and beg for more. Fucking her until she stopped being infuriating.
The meeting began. Delegates from both sides took turns getting up and presenting their cases. India proposed that there be a designated schedule of meetings between India and Pakistan, seasonal perhaps, so that communications could be kept open throughout the year. Pakistan agreed. Everything was alright until then.
And then Iqbal motions for Khan to stand up. Khan nodded as he took the podium “We propose that Kashmir have its own diplomatic rights.” the entire room paused. What? Kashmir? Kashmir wasn't supposed to be discussed.
All the Indian diplomats looked at Yamini. Yamini looks unfazed. She taps a pen against her cheek. “You mean to say that Kashmir should have an equal Pakistani and Indian delegation?” she asks carefully. Getting a clear understanding was imperative. She crosses her legs elegantly.
“No, we say Kashmir will have its own delegation.” clarifies Khan. Yamini laughs. Both delegations blink at each other as she doubles over in laughter. “What exactly seems to be funny here, Singh madam?" Iqbal drawls lazily
“Well major sahab you seem to be insinuating that Kashmir isn't jointly occupied. You seem to be saying that Kashmir is its own nation?” She smiles leaning in. Iqbal grins too his gold tooth showing “Thats because it is”
“No It most definitely is not” countered Yamini. “We aren't here to debate that. We are here to discuss the diplomatic aspects” hums Iqbal.
“Well in that case we would like to respond with a resounding no to that appeal” She shrugs, shutting her files like she was done talking about this. “It wasn't an appeal.” He narrows his eyes at her, his voice lower than normal now
“Each point here is an appeal major sahab”
“And who decided that? You?”
“Our joint governments did. Not me. Not you.”
“These are excuses. Just say that you are afraid to make a single decision without express consent from your government.” drawls Iqbal lazily as he leans on the table “Fear is one thing major sahab. Respect for the chain of command is another” she emphasized each word so it gets to him.
“You make lovely excuses to avoid the main point. Is this why you were hired as a diplomat?” he narrows his eyes at her.
“Thats it. Im done” she says slamming her hands on the table before she grabs her things and leaves the room. She was about to kill Iqbal and his idiotic and painfully handsome face.
—------------------
Iqbal stormed behind her as she left the conference room. “Singh madam yeh koi baat nahi hui. This is highly professional even for you!” he called out as he followed her. Yamini stops suddenly and spins on her heel. She finds herself very up close and personal to Iqbal. Their faces inches away.
His cologne clouds her. Her perfume clouds him. Her face is red with rage. His strong eyes glower into her. “UNPROFFESIONAL?” she exclaims stabbing his chest with her finger. Iqbal feels lit sear like a brand into his being. She laughs in disbelief. “If I'm unprofessional then what have you been doing this entire diplomatic mission?” she steps impossibly closer to him.
“Im not the one who stormed out mid policy negotiation madam” he hisses “That was you”. She can feel the heat of his body. “And tell me Major sahab…why would I storm out? Backchodi ke liye?”
“Fuck knows madam….but for the first time today I agree with you” the tension between them brews into something painfully thick the breathe hard against each other. His eyes flick down to the swell of her breasts. This angle and the cut of her dress betray her. “Oh do tell major Sahab” she hisses “its good to know ki meri koi baat to aapke dimag me ghussi”.
He chuckles darkly, his voice crawling down Yamini’s spine. “Yeh pure fuckass diplomatic mission aap bakchodi hi kar rahi hain. And that's the truth” he practically spat.
“Oh really?" she asked with an angry laugh. Her head craned upwards to stare into his eyes. They were dark and angry. He leaned in closer. Their lips are inches apart. “Yes.” he hissed.
Like an incessant gravity she leaned forward. She could feel his breath against her. Lips now centimeters apart. “Fuck you major sahab” she whispered against his lips. “You wish Singh madam” he growled.
And yet they felt their bodies move closer of their own accord. His hand ghosted along her hip. Her eyes fluttered shut and a shaky breath exhaled from her lips. He was so close. So unbelievably close. Her lips parted as he leaned in closer. His cologne was making her dizzy.
“Major sahab? Janab?!” yelled a voice down the hall. Diplomat Khan. “Yamini madam?” called out another voice. Kabir. Both of them pulled away before their lips could meet. And immediately both took a large step back. What the fuck were they doing?
Iqbal ran a hand through his hair. Yamini clasped a hand over her mouth as she breathed out of her nose. Without a word both of them walked away from each other in opposite directions.
What the fuck were they doing?
—------------
Night 4 @ 7:30 pm
Durbar Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India
Today was the final night of the diplomatic mission. And both countries had the bright idea to organize a ball for both delegations. Something to ease the tensions they reasoned.
When Yamini had questioned how on earth they were supposed to relax tensions when everyone was painfully aware of each other? She was told “Oh that's simple. It's a masquerade ball. That should help take away the awkwardness.” Bullshit.
Yamini scoffed as she fluffed out her black sleeveless ballgown. The black lace gloves caught on the chiffon of her structured ballgown. “FUCK” she groaned as she untangled the lace from the chiffon. The warm chandelier light caught on the diamond choker on her throat. It refracted light across her skin using the help of the diamond drop earrings hanging from her earlobes.
Her hair was thrown into a chic messy bun. Strands pulled out tastefully to accentuate her look. The piece de resistance was the black lace mask that obscured her face. Only her eyes, nose, and lips are clearly visible. She looked like herself, yes. But with slightly more plausible deniability.
That was the point of the masks. Plausible deniability. For both delegations. Deniability to say "I didn't know who I was being friendly with! They were wearing masks!” as stupid as it was, it really was a good plan.
She walked into the grand Durbar ballroom of the TAJ palace in New Delhi. The TAJ hotel was where the Pakistani delegation had been housed for the entire mission. This masquerade ball was technically their territory once again.
The ballroom was opulent in every sense of the word. Golden decor, glass sculptures, a grand orchestra playing classical music. Delegates from both sides along with their aides and interns filled the ballroom. There must be 100 or maybe 150 people there at the minimum. Nobody here knew who the person next to them was.
A waiter walked by Yamini and she scooped up a glass of champagne from the tray. The cold fizzy alcohol soothed her as she sipped it slowly. She ran her eyes around the room observing the crowd of masked diplomats. The men in tuxedos and the women in evening gowns. All of them were much too occupied in themselves to notice her.
From across the room she felt a pair of familiar strong eyes drag along her body. She turned to look at the person staring at her. An ornate gold mask lay strapped to his face, his eyes pierced through her body. He was tall, with a strong frame and broad shoulders. He was wearing a debonair black tuxedo with an elegantly tied bow. The coat hugged his shoulders and tapered along his waist.
The mask obscured half of his face while his tamed beard graced the lower half of his face. She had seen those eyes before. That's all she could think. She had seen those strong eyes before. She looked at him over her glass of champagne as she drained it.
His eyes dragged across her from across the room. Her neck, her collarbones, her arms, her chest. The diamond on her throat, the diamonds on her beards. The man's eyes seemed to stare at every sliver of her exposed skin before landing intensely on her lips.
Another waiter walked by and she snagged another chilled glass of champagne. Her body burned under his gaze. She had seen this man before. She had a sneaking suspicion as to who he was. And she hoped she was wrong. Why? The man looked much too good. And she would hate to admit that major Iqbal was clouding her thoughts. That would simply be unacceptable.
Her finger twirled a stray strand of hair away from her face as she watched the man openly. Her lips pursed along the edge of the champagne glass as the liquid slipped down her throat. The Masked major watched back openly as he took a final deep drag off of his cigar.
He released the smoke through his nose as his hand curled around his whiskey glass. The woman he saw in front of him was the most eye-catching thing this entire trip. Wrapped in a black chiffon ballgown, black lace up her arms, black lace on her face. Elegant diamonds along her throat that looked like they belonged. He had seen her before no doubt.
The woman watched him with the same intensity he watched her with. Her lips twitch around her champagne glass. The Major drains his own whiskey and he must go to this woman. The major takes a step towards her. The woman grins as she drains her own glass. She was waiting for him to take the first step. She sets down the second empty glass and takes a step forward too. The orchestra pauses for a moment.
Both Yamini and Major pause. Then the orchestra plays again. The violins begin first and the both of them already know what piece was about to be played. “An invitation to dance” by Carl Maria von Weber Op.65.
Major Iqbal, the masked man, walks across the room. He stops directly in front of Yamini , the masked woman, and offers her his hand. A silent invitation. A silent dance with me. She bows her head in a small nod as she places her lace clad hand in his large hand. She smells his cologne in the air as they walk. The scent is familiar once again.
Iqbal silently leads her to the dance floor. Neither of them speak because then the mystery would be ruined immediately. Once in the middle of the dance floor one of his hands rested on her waist. Her free hand rests on his shoulder as his other hand clasps her lace gloved hand. Iqbal can smell her perfume in ernest now. It smells painfully familiar.
The music swells and they begin to waltz around the room. Small and controlled movements first. Both of them testing the waters between them. Testing if the other knew how to dance this particular dance. Yamini stares into the man’s eyes. Trying to prove her suspicions correct.
Iqbal led the dance in strong confident movements. Waltzing her around the ballroom as the orchestra swelled. She followed each movement with grace and competence. Each step was perfect. Each stride was confident. His hand on her waist tightened as he spun them around. Her hand clutched at his shoulder to keep her balance as her chiffon ball gown flared behind her.
Iqbal stared into her eyes when he wrapped both hands around her waist and lifted her into the air. Her warm brown eyes glowed in the chandelier light. She lands with a little flounce, a small gasp as his hands brace her against him. Iqbal has heard that gasp before.
They slow down along with the music. Waltzing in slow controlled movements as they stare into each other's souls. The person across from them is all too familiar. Iqbal prayed it wasn't her. Yamini prayed it wasn't him. The air between them was thick.
The music climaxes and Iqbal begins spinning them with the music working to a big finish. She gasps as she follows the movements. They can feel the air get more difficult to breathe. They can feel the eyes of everyone in the ballroom on them as they dance. The two figures in black waltzing on the floor as one.
The music picks up into the finale. All the instruments bidding their finales to the piece. The drums, the violins, the violas, the flutes. All singing their final goodbyes. Iqbal spins her out to make her gown flare. She holds his eyes as she spins back into him. He leans her into a tip.
Her hands grip the lapel of his tuxedo for balance. The fabric crumpled under her hand. The elegant line of her neck stretches as her chest heaves to catch her breath. His eyes follow helplessly.
He holds her in his arms a moment more than he should. A moment more than necessary. Her plush lips part as she pants to catch her breath. Eventually both of them stand back upright. The ballroom erupts in cheers. They bow to each other. Folding at the waist as they hold each other's eyes. Iqbal can't stop his eyes from flicking to the dip of the fabric in her cleavage, the soft flesh behind the dress threatening to almost spill out. She grins as she catches his eye.
Not a word is said between them and yet they have a whole conversation with their eyes. Her hand fixes her mask as she gives him a salute and walks away into the crowd.
—--------------
Same day @ 10 pm
Durbar Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India
It had been hours since the dance yet the heat had not died down. Everywhere the masked man touched her burned with heat. Everywhere he dragged his eyes little fires sprouted along her skin. Three more glasses of cold champagne did nothing to extinguish them. In fact they made the burn worse.
An hour ago he had disappeared with a group of men as he smoked his cigar. The smoke curled around his face. It whispered through his clothes leaving a trail behind him. His eyes met hers as he walked by, once more he had scanned her body with shameless openness. She stared back. Her eyes burned into his broad back as he walked away. She had been 3 drinks into the night at that point
Now an hour later she was 5 drinks into the night. The champagne loosening her inhibitions. The champagne probed her to find the masked man. The champagne whispering dirty thoughts into her mind. Follow him. Find him. Fuck him. She swallowed hard and motioned for the waiter to get her a fresh glass.
That man had to be Iqbal. It had to be. If only he wasn't wearing a mask. Fucking plausible deniability. An aide walks over to her and hands her a note suddenly “Madam the man in the golden mask and the black tuxedo has asked me to give you this note”
“Oh thank you” she takes the note, the aide nods with a smile and leaves. Yamini unfolds the note. It's written in a neat english scrawl. And it simply says:
Aap nachti bada achha hain…do you play cards as well as you dance? (Vazir Hall)
She smiles to herself she brings the note to her nose. It smells like his cologne. As a matter of fact she does. Yamini is damn good at cards. She folds the note and tucks it into her bra.
—--------------------------------
Same day @ 10:15 pm
Vazir Hall, Taj Hotel, New Delhi, India
Yamini climbs up the steps to the secluded halls of the Taj hotel. They had main ballrooms and halls but they also had more private and secluded rooms as well. Her heels click on the marble floors as her ballgown swishes around her feet. Eventually she reaches the door of the Vazir hall.
It's a dark, wood paneled room. Deep red carpets. Low lighting. Poker tables and lounges placed sporadically. The room was deserted save for one table against the most secluded corner of the hall.
Yamini walks slowly. There he is. The man in the golden mask and black tuxedo. He is reclined in a leather armchair. An ankle over the other knee. A cigar between his fingers as he watches her carefully. The sway of her hips. The silhouette of her body in the low lighting. For a moment neither person speaks.
“You called?” she hums lightly. Keeping the seductive husk in her voice so who she is isn't entirely apparent yet. Iqbal laughs darkly, tapping ash off of his cigar into a crystal ash tray. “You came?” he asks with a low rumble that shoots through her spine. He gestures for her to take a seat across from him.
She settles into the plush leather arm chair with a coy smile. “Tell me what games do you want to play?” she hums lightly as she sets her seventh champagne glass on the poker table in front of her. “Well poker for now” he says as he takes a long drag off of his cigar.
“For now?” she hums with a grin as she rests her chin in her palm. “For now” he hums with a dark rumble. “How will we play? I don't see a dealer” she questions with a raised eyebrow. Iqbal grins and claps his hands once. The sound reverberates in the empty room.
From a curtained alcove in the wall beside them a hand extends and waves at Yamini in greeting “Dealer in the wall” he grins.
“How very innovative and discrete” she muses. “What's on bet? Cash? Im sorry to say i dont have any on me” Iqbal leans back stroking his beard in thought.
“Let's make this interesting. Lets bet the chips like we have the funds to back them. An IOU of sorts.” He begins and Yamini nods as if understanding the game. He continues “And the person who loses the round not only loses their money they lose a piece of their dignity.” he grins darkly to finish.
“Dignity? Strip poker you mean? How very perverted of you masked man” she narrows her eyes at him through the masquerade mask as she sips her champagne. “Scared?” he laughs while taking another drag of his cigar. Yamini laughs into her glass “Of you? I don't even know who you are. So no. I'm not scared”
“Chaliye. Lets play then” Iqbal claps his hands once again.
—-----------------------------
Authors note: Please listen to Sharab by Himesh Reshammiya for this part….TRUST ME
The dealer begins by opening a fresh pack of cards in front of them. He shuffles them against the table with immense artistry. The cards curve and dance in the dealer's hands as Iqbal observes the masked woman in front of him. Yamini examines the masked man in front of her.
Ye botal bhari bharaayi
Na honton se lagaayi
Ghazab toh dekho yaaro
Usne aankhon se pilaayi
The dealer splits the cards and deals 2 cards to each player at the table and sets five cards face up onto the green velvet table. Texas Hold’em poker. Yamini was good at this game. She hides her smile behind her mask as she checks her cards. It's a strong hand. She bets 10 thousand rupees.
Iqbal checks his cards. Good but not great. He sees she has bet low. Was it a strategy or were her cards bad? “I raise the pot to 30 thousand rupees” he hums as he takes a swig of whiskey.
“I call” she smiles as she matches the pot, which now rested at 60 thousand rupees. The dealer taps his hands to the table. As he takes Yamini’s chips to the mide of the pot.
“Show” hums Iqbal as he throws 5 thousand more into the pot as the price to make her show her cards. “Eager aren't you?” she hums
Pehle toh nazar milaayi
Phir dekh ke muskurayi
Ghazab toh dekho yaaro
Usne aankhon se pilaayi
Yamini throws her cards onto the table. Straight flush. Iqbal throws his cards on the table. Full house. Not as strong as Yamini’s cards. She claps in triumph. “Chaliye take it off now” she hums as she leans in closer. He grins and takes off his tux jacket tossing it to the ground. “Well played” he hums. Yamini watches intensely as she sips her champagne.
The white shirt beneath it is tailored to him just as well. It clings to his strong muscular frame. His fingers undo the buttons at his cuff as he rolls up his sleeves to his forearms. Cigar hanging loose from his mouth. His hand undoes his bowtie letting it hang loose around his collar.
Tujhe jaisi na koi teeno lok mein
Sab kuch luta doon tere shauk mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
“Shal we keep the pot going if you aren't too greedy?” rumbles Iqbal as he leans forward now. Yamini laughs. “Why not”
The pot stands at 65 thousand now as the dealer re-deals the cards. Yamini checks her cards. They seem alright. Iqbal checks his cards. It's a strong hand. Iqbal throws in 20 thousand. Yamini throws in 10 thousand. Iqbal calls once again, throwing 5 thousand into the pot.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
The pot now stands at 1 lakh. Yamini throws her cards. Three of a kind. Iqbal grins as he throws his cards on the table. Full house. She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. Iqbal grins like a wolf “ And what will you be taking off?”
He assumes that she would take off her dress. He had her in an unfair position. A tuxedo had more parts. A ballgown had barely any parts. “Have some patience” she hums as she reaches under the table.
Her hand goes under her dress. She shuffles slightly in her seat as Iqbal watches curiously. She hums to herself lightly as she fumbles with her clothes. Her hand hooks into the waistband of her panties. She shucks them off and steps her heels out of it. She pulls her hand out from under her dress. Under the table.
She holds the fabric up. A slinky scrap of black lace and satin. Iqbal's throat goes dry as he realizes what he was seeing. She grins and throws it across the table to him.
Iqbal has to clear his throat before he responds. His thumb and index finger rub the lace. Fuck this is what she was wearing underneath. He can feel the gusset. It’s damp. “Eager are we?” he finally rasps as he holds up the fabric in front of his face. “Wearing a ballgown…I don't have many choices do I?” she smiles with a shrug.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Iqbal chuckles as he taps the table to make the dealer deal another round. Iqbal pockets her underwear discreetly as she turns her head momentarily. He feels the silky fabric slip into the pockets of his trousers. Lust swirls inside of him. This masked woman would be the death of him.
The dealer behind the curtain splits the cards and shuffles them once again. He deals the cards to both parties once again. The pot still sits at 1 lakh.
Chanchal kajrari aankhen
Haaye shikari aankhen
Dil pe chalaye chhuriyan
Teri katari aankhen
Iqbal looks at his cards. Shit. Not very good. Yamini looks at her cards. Very good. Very very good. She drains her champagne glass with a grin as she crosses one leg over the other and bounces her foot. Iqbal takes another deep drag off of his cigar. The smoke cures around her as he exhales. She was bare beneath that ballgown. Iqbal's hand twitched by his thigh.
She tosses 20 thousand into the pot. Iqbal tosses 25 thousand into the pot. Enough to raise and call on the same bet. The dealer taps his hand on the table making both of them throw their cards on the table. Yamini had a straight flush, Iqbal had straight. “Back to you” she hums with a grin.
Dil pe chalaye chhuriyan
Teri katari aankhen
Naagin si haye zulfein
Iqbal huffs a laugh as he places his cigar between his lips again. He leans back slightly and pulls his shirt out of his trousers. His hands make quick work of the buttons. Yamini stares at the masked man's body as he bares it.
His shapely chest is revealed first. Strong pectorals, hair on his chest. He unbuttons the shirt entirely and begins shucking it off of his shoulders, his biceps flexing behind his back as his abs come into view. Yamini stares openly. Dragging her eyes on every aspect of his fit muscular body that is littered with scars. A gunshot wound. A jagged knife scar. Each element adds to his rugged sex appeal. His cigar smoke curls around his own body.
“Like what you see?” he grins at her open staring. “Not bad.” She hums lightly, her voice slightly strained now, making him laugh as she throws his dress shirt to the ground.
Kaali ghataaye zulfein
Maaregi tauba tauba
Teri balaaye zulfein
Maaregi tauba tauba
Teri balaaye zulfein
The dealer splits and deals the cards once more. The pot sits at 1 lakh 45 thousand. But neither party really cares about the pot anymore. In fact they never cared at all. Iqbal looks at his cards again. Today just wasn't his day. Yamini looks at her cards. Today was her day.
“I bet 25 thousand” she hums, throwing in more chips to the pool. Iqbal sighs “Call. And an extra 5 thousand to show” the chips clatter on the large pile. The pool now sits at 2 lakhs. Yamini throws her cards on the table, a royal flush her grin is triumphant. Iqbal threw his cards face down. What he got didn't even matter anymore.
Toote chaand ka guroor
Tere chehre ka noor
Tujhe dekh dekh hota hai
Deewane ko suroor
“Ab kya utarenge?” she hums leaning back against the leather arm chair. Iqbal leans down and takes off his shoes, then his hands go to his belt and it comes away with a clatter. He tosses both things to the ground. “Hopefully that's satisfactory?” he chuckles as he ashes his blunt cigar.
“Not really ... .make it fun. Unbutton your trousers at the very least” she tsks off handedly as she fiddles with her lace mask. Iqbal grins behind his golden mask. “Why not?” he hums as he flicks open the button to his trouser pants.
Tujhe jaisi na koi teeno lok mein
Sab kuch luta doon tere shauk mein
“Shall we? Keep going that is.” he hums to her as he indicates to the dealer to re-shuffle the cards. The dealer's hands reach through the curtains and collect the cards on the table. He shuffles them artistically.
Yamini looks at the masked man with a grin. “Sabkuch lutane ka shaunk hai kya aapko?” The dealer begins to deal another pair of cards to both of them. “Kyun nahi?” he grins as he checks his cards. His luck had begun to turn and he had a strong hand.
“Hmm.. quite a risk taker aren't you? Not much dignity left for you to preserve.” She tsks at him as she oles his muscular body once more. Iqbal chuckles as he throws in 45 thousand. Yamini raises a brow at his bet. But matches it anyway with an extra 5 thousand to call him.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
The pot now sits at 3 lakhs. But the money meant nothing. It was all on the cards. Iqbal throws his cards in. Royal flush. Yamini curses under her breath as she throws her cards face down onto the table. They weren't even worth showing.
Iqbal grins lazily as he leans back in his leather arm chair. Yamini reaches behind her. Iqbal expects her to unzip her gown. He even hears the zipper move slightly. She burns under the intensity of his stare. Her hand works fast, unhooking her bra behind her back. She pulls it out of her dress and zips it up again. The strapless matching satin and lace bra is pulled out into the air like a prized fish.
She tosses it across the table to Iqbal who catches it in his hand. His fingers fist around the material as he places it in his lap gently. “Youre a wild card aren't you?” he rumbles. His voice has gone gravely with restraint. Lust swirls in his dark eyes behind the gold mask. He can feel his trousers getting uncomfortably tight.
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Tum aur sharab mile ho a ho
Rehne nahi dete dono hosh mein
Yamini doesn't speak. Instead this time she signals to the dealer. Another round. Once again the dealer's hands reach through the curtains and collect the cards on the table. He shuffles them artistically. The cards flying through the air.
Yamini and Iqbal watch each other carefully. Her thighs clench the way he stares at her. His eyes dragged over her dress as if he had x-ray vision. He was imagining her bare beneath it. She could feel her nipples pebble with anticipation. Yamini looks at her cards. They were decent.
Iqbal could feel the way her eyes dragged along his bare skin. Each place her eyes rested for more than a moment burned. His thighs shifted apart as he manspread to create more room for his poor aching cock. The trousers are too tight for comfort. He looked at his cards. Decent.
Yamini gathers all of her remaining chips in her hand. 3 lakhs worth of chips in her palms. Iqbal mentally counts his chips. 5 lakhs worth of chips. She curls an eyebrow at him. She is telling him to make his move.
Iqbal’s tongue licks his teeth once. He doesn't think too hard “All in” he says gruffly as he shoves his chips into the pot. Yamini matches “all in”. Both of them now lean forward. The pot now rests at 11 lakhs. But the money didn't matter to either of them. Dignity was on the line. Both of them threw their cards down. It was a draw.
Both of them blink at the cards for a moment. They hear a soft clap and a rustle behind the curtain. The dealer was gone. The Vazir hall was empty. The masked woman and the masked man were alone. The game was a draw.
“How fucking anticlimactic” she scoffs as she stands up. Iqbal watches her carefully, not speaking, just observing. She hikes up her knee and climbs onto the poker table. Iqbal narrows his eyes at this as he watches. She begins to crawl towards him on top of the table.
Her black chiffon gown against the velvet of the poker table. She shoves the cards and chips out of her way as she crawls to him. She holds his eyes intensely. Iqbal has most definitely seen those eyes somewhere.
She reaches her hand forwards. “Chaliye ab khel khatam. Wapas dijiye. We will split our winnings fairly” She is asking him for her bra and underwear again. He grins at her darkly, there is a flash of gold in his teeth.
“Aise kaise de den hum aapko ye wapas?” he hums raspily as he leans in closer to her “maine jeeta hai inko. Fair and square.” he reasons as she looks at her. Iqbal fists his hand in her bra that sat in his lap. Yamini laughs it off even as anticipation and arousal pools in her gut. “Jeeti toh mai bhi hun. So I deserve my property back don't I?"
He laughs darkly, the laugh makes her core flutter “ I won too masked madam. It's a draw. Ab kya karna hai?” he leans in closer. Their faces are painfully close to each other. Yamini swallows hard at the proximity to the man in the gold mask. “ Well then there is only one thing left to do to make it fair to the both of us. Its a big step.”
“Kya karna hoga?”
“Ab toh sirf ye fair hoga ki agar hum dono apni dignity ke last shreds ko bhi hatale. Naga hona padega sahab”
Iqbal leans forward if that was even possible. The green velvet of the poker table makes Yamini’s palms sweat. His lips are inches away from hers when he whispers with a painful amount of restraint “Will you do it…if I do it?
She nods as she swallows. Her eyes are dilated behind the mask. Arousal pools in her body. She trembles in anticipation. The entire Vaizir hall is thick with tension. It's just them here. The air is impossible to breathe. His hands curl beneath her chin so she looks square into his eyes. “Use your words princess.”
Yamini’s breath hitches. His words. She swallows and nods before she stammers out “Yes. Yes I will” Iqbal's lips crash against her and its kiss of teeth and tongue. No sweetness or fondness. It's a kiss of deep need. The need to consume the soul of someone who already clouded you.
—------------------------
She moans into his mouth in surprise and Iqbal swallows it down. He pulls her off of the poker table with his strong arms. She lands on the floor beside him with a thud as he kisses her. Her hands rove along the hard disciplined plane of his body with an appreciative groan into his mouth.
Iqbal's hands go to her zipper behind her back. She loops her fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pulls him in closer. She tastes like champagne and he tastes like whiskey and cigars. Together they taste intoxicating.
“Fuck” she gasps against his lips as he pulls the zipper down. The metal teeth sounded painfully loud in the tense room. Iqbal’s hands pulled at the fabric and pushed it onto the floor as fast as he could while he consumed her breath. And then she was bare in front of him.
Iqbal pulls away to look at her flushed and panting face. Her ample breasts heave under her labored breathing under his gaze. “Just as I imagined. Fucking stunning.” he groans as he takes a breast into his palm. The warm heavy weight sat perfectly as he massaged the flesh which spilled through his fingers. She choked on a moan as her body arched towards him.
His hands cupped both of her breasts rolling her pebbled nipples between his calloused thumb and index finger. His lips attacked her throat leaving hot open mouthed kisses along her skin. She breathes shakily in his arms, sparks of pleasure shooting through her body with every rough twist and pinch. “Imagined?” she finally gasps “You were imagining me?”
Her soft hands trace along his bare torso. Her nails lightly drag on his skin. He groans against her throat as he nips below her ear. The diamond earrings brushing his face. “Ever since I saw you in the ballroom. Ever since I danced with you. I've been undressing you in my mind” he rasps as he pulls away reluctantly to look at her face.
“Do you like what you see? Do you like what you see without knowing who I am?” rasps Yamini as her eyes flutter shut in pleasure. She feels him latch onto her nipple with a hard suck. His teeth scrape along the top as his tongue flicks at the underside.
Without stopping his assault of licks, bites, and sucks on her breast Iqbal reaches for his half finished glass of whiskey. He pours out his remaining drink along her shoulder. The whisky traces cold rivers on her flushed skin. None of it goes to waste. His tongue traces every drop. He kisses and bites her skin to collect every drop of his whiskey.
Her hands fist in his hair with a gasp. The silk ribbon holding his mask up tangles in her fingers. She could pull it off if she pleased. “Fucking stunning.” he rasps as he licks off the last of the whiskey from her skin.
Before she could utter another word Iqbal pushed back onto the poker table. The chips and cards pushed away haphazardly framing her body. The image looks like a twisted poker porno. The light hanging above the table illuminates her diamond necklace. His hair is messy, the look in his eyes is crazed and obsessed. Like he was discovering something holy.
His hands roved along her hips. Along her waist. His hands were rough with years of use and grueling training. Her skin was so soft, so delicate. He breath hitched when he groped and squeezed the flesh of her thighs. Her legs crossed of their own accord.
His body was scared and hers was untouched. A man like him doesn't even deserve to be looking at such pristine perfection. Iqbal leans in and bites her beautiful unmarked skin. Yamini hisses in pain as his teeth clamp into the soft flesh of her stomach. He litters her body in bites and kisses as he works his way up.
She writhes on the green velvet poker table. Small sounds of pleasure escaping her throat in the form of whines and moans. Her hands find purchase on his shoulders. In his hair. Her thighs clenched tight. The friction helped the burning slick forming there.
Each sound she makes drives Iqbal even more insane. He trails sloppy kisses up her jaw, capturing her plush lips again. Her lips part automatically as he kisses her deeply. His hands groping the flesh at her hip making her gasp into his mouth. His pants are unbearably tight now, almost painfully so. “Please.. Need more” she gasps against his mouth.
That's what Iqbal was looking for. Within seconds he has her flipped onto her stomach. Poker chips clatter on the soft table. Yamini moans as her sensitive nipples rub against the velvet. “Oh fuck!” she gasps startled. Iqbal laughs darkly at her as he brings her hips to the edge of the table. He shoves his leg between hers and kicks her ankles apart forcing her legs to open wide for him.
She gasps again as the cold night air hits her soaked folds. The difference in temperature makes a shiver run up her spine. “So fucking desperate arent you shehzadi?” he hums darky as his fingers trace her wet folds. “Soaked and i’ve barely fucking touched you”
Her face burns in embarrassment. She hates the heat that pools in her stomach when he calls her princess or shehzadi in that deep tone. She can feel herself dripping, her hole clenching around thin air. She can feel how her body responds to him. “Are you just going to stand there and feed your ego or will you do something?” she seethes through gritted teeth.
Iqbal chuckles darkly at her bitchy mouth. “Dont be impatient” he whispers against her shoulder blade as he plants a kiss there. She squirms as his hands hold her in place. The velvet is rough against her soft skin now. His ring and middle fingers part her slick folds. And before she can prepare herself he thrusts them deep into her.
A strangled moan rips from her throat at the intrusion of his fingers. The stretch is massive, she can feel his cold gold rings against her skin. Her back arches as his rough fingers drag against her g-spot. The motion makes sparks shoot through her body.
As her back arches Iqbal uses the moment to tangle his paw-like hand into her hair. He grips it and yanks her backwards. His fingers still inside of her, her back arches like a taught bow. She hisses in pain and pleasure. Her cunt flutters on his fingers. The stretch still burns. He shifts his fingers slightly making her moan wantonly. “So fucking tight princess…you can barely take my fingers.” he coos in her ear condescendingly.
“How on earth will you take my cock?” he tsks. She whines as her hands wrap behind her, around his neck. He begins to thrust his fingers in and out of her. Slowly at first. The pads of his fingers rub against her inner walls gently. His bare chest against her spine. One of his hands in her hair, one of his hands in her cunt. The heel of his palm hitting against her clit.
She grinds against his hand as he begins fucking her with his fingers propperly. His long and slender digits curled against her g spot. The heel of his palm hitting her clit. “More..need more” she gasps as her eyes flutter shut.
He laughs darky by her ear. He obliges and speeds up his fingers. “You are such a slut aren't you?” he starts darkly, his fingers thrusting hard. “You don't even know who I am and you are riding my fingers like a desperate slut begging for more” she moans loudly at his words and the way his fingers massage her walls expertly.
“Can’t the same be said for you? Hmm?” She laughs breathlessly against him “Look at you, fingering an unknown woman in a dark hall” she giggles with a moan as he curls his fingers inside of her. Iqbal pulls her hair harder for her insolence making her hiss. “Ahh!” she hisses “Take off the mask. Be brave and take off your mask”
“Bohot baat karti ho tum” he growls in her ear as his fingers speed up. “Darr gaye?” she moans as she rides his fingers harder. Each thrust hitting against her g spot. “Mai darta nahi hun shehzadi…if only you knew” he hums in her ear as he feels her cunt flutter around his fingers. She was close. Iqbal wanted to feel that around his cock.
He loosens the hand in her hair and brings it to her breast. He begins massaging the soft flesh in time with his fingers. He bites and kisses along her shoulder. She cries out in pleasure as she feels the pull of her orgasm. “That's it princess cum for me” he husks into her ear. “Fuck!” she exclaims as her walls quiver and sparks fly through her body
Wetness gushes on Iqbal's fingers as she cums. He chuckles darkly by her ear. “Well done” he hums as he pulls his fingers out of Yamini making her gasp. He brings his fingers to his face. He parts his lips and places his fingers inside. She tastes amazing, he moans around his fingers. The sound makes a fresh wave of wetness coat her folds.
A flush creeps up her face. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath. Her mask threatens to slip and loosen; Iqbal fixes it. Tightening the ribbon that held it in place with painfully gentle fingers. Before she can speak he takes a step back.
His hand pulls his cock out of his trousers with no flourish. He doesn't even take the moment to undress fully. Yamini’s eyes go to his cock with no shame. God damn he was big. 6 inches easily. Perfectly veined in such a way she was clenching her thighs in anticipation of the feeling. She leans back against the poker table.
With a deep groan he pumps his aching cock. The grin on his face is shit eating as he sees her wide eyes on him. He sits down in the large leather armchair again. It creaks slightly beneath his weight. His hand fists his cock lazily as he watches her through his golden mask.
His cock twitches lazily in his hand as he watches her hips, her breasts, the marks he left on her, the flush in her face. He calls to her in his deep and gravely voice. “Come here princess….. Like the cock hungry bitch you are”
She laughs darkly as she walks toward him. Hips swaying and breasts bouncing with every motion. “Im cock hungry?” she hums as she stands before him. “Arent you pussy starved? Don't tell me that this is one sided. Don't lie to yourself when your cock is that painfully hard”
Iqbal laughs darkly at her words. “Fine princess, I won't lie to myself. Come here so I can sink my aching cock into your tight cunt” She climbs into his lap. Her knees on either side of him. Her dripping cunt hovering over him.
Yamini holds his face gently in his hands. She pulls him close as she kisses him again. Iqbal's hands wrap around her waist as he groans into the kiss. She taunts him again, whispering against his lips “Take off the mask… don't worry. I won't make fun of you if you’re ugly”
Iqbal hums against her lips. He feels her slick drip onto his aching cock. “Why are you so desperate to know who I am?” His large palms brace her hips as he slams her down onto his cock. Practically impaling her. She screams into his shoulder as she feels his cock stretch her impossibly.
Fuck he was huge. Her cunt fluttered to try to accommodate him. Iqbal groans, pressing his forehead into her shoulder. Fuck she was tight. Her walls were milking him as they tried to fit him. He hadn't expected her to be this tight. He has to breathe deeply against her shoulder to loosen the knot of pleasure coiling inside of his core already.
A few moments later she moans weakly against his ear “You think I don't know who you are?” she chuckles as she rolls her hips against him. They both groan. Iqbal’s hands dig into her hips for support. She laughs and moans as he begins fucking into her “I know exactly who you are. And I think you know who I am too” she starts.
His hips snap into her making her choke for a moment but she continues “-But you are too afraid of reality. That's why you won't take off the mask” she hums as she rides his cock. Her breath came in uneven pants. He scoffs and says “I just don't want to be disappointed by the face under your mask thats all”
She rolls her eyes with a moan. This bastard. Yamini already knew who he was, otherwise she never would have let things go this far. She had a suspicion when he invited her for poker. It was confirmed many rounds ago. The time has come to let him know that she knew. She knew who he was.
“You like that, don't you Major sahab? The plausible deniability?" She rasps into his ear. Iqbal's hips stutter momentarily. Yamini felt it. The grin on her face was triumphant. His eyes went wide, she knew who he was. “Shut up princess. Don't start something you won't be able to handle” he pounds up into her harder. The rasp in his voice is delicious and it hits straight in her clit.
“Tell me Iqbal, does it turn you on?” he chokes on a moan at her taking his name. She laughs evilly as she unties his mask before he can stop her. The silk ribbon comes undone with a sharp tug. His cock brushes against her g-spot with every thrust. Her body quivers in pleasure.
The golden mask clatters to the floor. Iqbal's face is revealed, he looks so handsome, so exposed in the low lighting of the Vazir hall. “Mashallah yeh aya Eid ka chand” she laughs with a moan as she presses a kiss to his forehead. A flush graces Iqbal's face as he buries his face into her neck. Leaving hot open mouthed kisses along the column of her throat.
His lips bite and nip along her cleavage. His cock brushes deep inside of her with each thrust. Pleasure pulls at her navel embarrassingly fast again. Her thighs burn as she matches each thrust. The leather armchair beneath them groans and creaks. She pulls his head up by the hair. They are both close. She can feel it the way he is twitching inside of her. And he can feel it the way her cunt flutters desperately.
“Aap ISI ke head hai na? So for that sake, before we fall off the cliff of pleasure Major sahab. Tell me. Who am I?” She rides him hard with a roll of her hips. They pant against each other's lips. He fucks up into her harder. Each thrust settled deep inside of her.
“Tell me Iqbal, who do you want me to be?” she moans. Her head lolls in pleasure, her hands claw into his shoulders. He groans. Pleasure coils inside of him. But her request claws at him. He stays buried into the cork of her neck. His lips sucked deep marks that would remain for at least a week. With shaky fingers he goes to untie her mask.
“Yamini. I want you to be Yamini Singh” he says shakily into her throat, his hips still snapping up into her. Yamini’s breath hitched her cunt clenches again. He took her name for the first time. Iqbal groans as he feels her clenching around him. Her mask falls away. The black lace whispers as it falls against the arm of the leather armchair.
“Mujhe dekho Iqbal” she pants her eyes threatening to roll back. She is hazy with lust. Lost in the pleasure. Iqbal keeps himself against her throat. His shaky hand rests against her cheek “Iqbal please” she whines in pleasure as his cock brushes against her cervix.
The way she begs forces Iqbal to open his eyes. When he does he sees her beautiful flushed face. Her plump lips parted his name on her lips, her eyebrows scrunched. Fuck she looked beautiful. It was her. There was no plausible deniability anymore.
Her eyes were hazy and unfocussed as they stared at Iqbal. There most definitely was no plausible deniability anymore. Indian diplomat Yamini Singh. Pakistani Major Iqbal Khan of the ISI.
Iqbal pulls her in for a kiss. She moans into it. Their lips move against each other feverishly as they feel their highs get closer and closer. The reveal of identities made everything in the room burn with intensity. The air between them burns. His hands on her waist burned. Her hands on his shoulders burned.
Yamini feels pleasure pull at her again. She is close. His cock dragged deliciously along her ribbed walls. Each vein caresses the muscles. Each thrust first hit her g-spot and then her cervix. The pleasure was maddening. She felt her core clenching around him. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the empty hall.
“Cum for me shehzadi….cum for me Yamini” he pants breathlessly. Yamini screams into his shoulder as pleasure takes her. White hot stars burst behind her eyes as her body falls against his limply. “IQBAL!”
“FUCK……. YAMINI” roars Iqbal as he feels his core tighten. His hips stutter violently as he shoots thick hot ropes of cum into her. Her body shakes against his as her walls milk him for all he is worth. Iqbal cant help it, he fucks her through the orgasm with shaky breaths.
—------------------
A few moments later.
Both of them stay like that. Him inside of her, now softening. His cologne and her perfume clouding them. The thick atmosphere dissipates into the large Vazir hall. They can hear the orchestra from the durbar hall below. Where the diplomatic masquerade ball continues.
Iqbal’s fingers curl beneath her chin. He kisses her softly as he holds her in his arms. She moans softly into him as her hands tangle in his hair. No India. No Pakistan. No Diplomacy. No animosity. Just them a few moments of peace before they would have to part again.
Maybe diplomacy between India and Pakistan wasn't so bad after all. Not when the lessons in diplomacy looked like this.
---------------------
I HOPE YALL HAD AS MUCH FUN AS I DIDDDDDDD
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SP Chaudhary Aslam x Indian Journalist Rashmika Raina
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Disclaimer: This oneshot is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Author's note: Hello, my Jaan-e-maans and my Jaan-e-jigars! Welcome to my first work that isn't DSKVS. I hope you enjoy this, and also always comment down below to make your feelings heard! (YOU KNOW I LOVE THEM AND RESPOND TO EVERY SINGLE ONE!)
(before anyone asks: NO, I AM NOT LEAVING/ABANDONING DSKVS. THIS IS JUST A BREAK. WE WILL BE BACK TO THE REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING SOON PLZ DONT SHIT BRICKS!)
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Special Note:
SP Aslam was genuinely not in my plans to write for. But my darling wife and the love of my life @patrakilekha once told me how she is desperate for someone to write about her husband (SP Aslam).
She is the sweetest, most kindest, most supportive reader on this platform. Any author she loves is truly lucky to have a fan like her. Id like to say I'm the luckiest. Other than that, she is a great person and an even greater friend(IMEANWIFEPLZDONTKILLMEBABY) who deserves the world.
She has been traumatized by me regarding DSKVS for weeks. She has known about the chapter 15 plot point for so long and has been suffering in silence. Her love in particular is the biggest thing that keeps me going with my work.
The best part about being a writer is that I, at the very least, have the power to make her fantasies slightly real. I gave her this concept, and she has been obsessed ever since. Her reaction and her joy just solidified that this needed to exist.
So for the trauma she has endured and the love she showers. Let me present to you a tribute to her-
THE ASLAM MASLA for my darling Patrakilekha <3
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The Aslam Masla
Monday @ 10 am
National News Media Group Offices, Mumbai, India
Rashmika Raina was furious. Actually, that would be an understatement. She was incensed. Yes, that's a better word to describe it, she thinks as she angrily shuffles the stacks of papers in her hands as she walks out of the boardroom. Her kurta sleeve gets stuck on the hook of the door handle, and it makes Rashmika stop. She shuts her eyes painfully and looks at the ceiling. A long, slow breath comes out of her mouth. This is her thirteenth reason why.
She just wanted a field assignment; that was all she wanted. She had requested assignments many times. A smuggling case in the ports of Gujarat, military movement on the line of occupation in J&K, government hospital medical malpractice, and corrupt politicians. Each of these cases and stories is genuinely interesting to her; each of these would be brilliantly reported by her. But each time Rashmika was told two things.
Either she was told, “Nahi ye kaam tumhare caliber ka nahi hai, we need a more experienced journalist,” or she was told, “No, this story is too risky for a woman journalist, you better stick to the fashion journals and celebrity articles.” Each rejection annoyed Rashmika. Each one made her boil because they were just excuses. Petty excuses that too.
This time, she stormed into the boardroom with one goal and a printed resignation on the other hand. She was going to get a field case, or so help her god. She even had options to pitch to them. There were recent reports of election fraud in Karnataka, protests in West Bengal, and party politics in the Lok Sabha. Any one of these assignments would make her happy.
But when she had walked into the boardroom, she was tasked with more than she was bargaining for.
—---------
“May I come in, sir?” she asked, knocking on the door frame, her fingers tucking a stand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes scanned the boardroom.
The long table in the center of the boardroom was half-filled. At the head of the table sat a bald, mustached gentleman, Mr. Naman Jaiswal, the chief editor of the National News political and current affairs paper. He was the man who hired her and was her mentor. Beside him sat the co-editor in chief, a small, round, bespectacled man, Mr. Satya Gupta. These were the people at this table who mattered. The rest were arbitrary: journalists, writers, editors.
“Yes, please come in, Ms.Raina, take a seat,” nods Jaiswal. Rashmika nods and walks into the room. Her flats click lightly on the tiled floor as she takes a seat at the table. Once she sits down, Gupta turns to her, “Haan ji, Ms.Raina, did you enjoy your previous field assignment?” The tone of his voice is teasing. Rashmkia gives him a tight smile. “Yes, sir, I truly enjoyed asking celebrities who they were fucking and who they wanted to fuck. It was very enlightening, true journalism”
Gupta stares at her, flabbergasted. The rest of the people find very interesting things to look at to try not to laugh out loud. Some objects of choice were pens, the water cooler, the chair, the ceiling, and out the window.
“Sir, if I may?” Asks Rashmika, looking at Jaiswal. Jaiswal nods. “You and I both know that my talent is being wasted with these stupid masala pieces about celebrity gossip. You know I’m capable of handling hard topics. Much more capable than some of the reporters you currently have out there”
“What do you mean, Rashmika?” Asks Jaiswal, steepling his fingers in focus. “Sir apne pichle hafte Gaurav ko bheja tha for a report on Pakistani military training at the LOC. But did you read his report? Did you watch his televised interview?” Asks Rashmika, now pulling out a paper from her stack of files.
She grabs a red pen and quickly circles and underlines many words on the paper. Entire paragraphs circled in red, entire lines crossed out. Rashmika slides the paper to her boss across the table. Jaiswal quirks an eyebrow at the paper as he picks it up. The sheer amount of red is shocking.
She stands up now. Her palms were against the hardwood table. “Sir Gaurav wrote eight paragraphs on the actual report-worthy material and two pages on the beauty, innocence, and hospitality of village women.” Rashmika pauses for a moment, she looks around the table, making sure her point is hitting home, then she continues, “And the eight paragraphs he wrote are full of errors. Not just grammatical errors but errors in interpretation and facts!” She exclaims, the last part of her bangles chiming and clinking against her watch.
Jaiswal hands the paper to Gupta with a flat expression. Gupta’s eyes scan the paper rapidly. Rashmika sighs as she sits down. “Sir…apko bhi pata hai, and mujhe bhi pata hai. Kisi andhe duffer ko bhi dikhjaega. Gaurav ne puri story ka gud gobar kardiya hai. You all know that if you had sent me…this report would have been phenomenal”
“Sir, give my stupid celebrity gossip pieces to Gaurav, I’m sure he would manage to not fuck them up.” She looks at Jaiswal, “ Either give me stories worth my talent or I would like to tender my resignation,” she says, placing an envelope on the table.
Everyone in the room looks at that envelope. Jaiswal takes a heavy sigh. “ Rashmika, you know the question is never about your caliber or talent. The question is always about your safety, especially your safety as a woman on the field”
Rashmika opens her mouth to respond. No words come out, so she shuts it again. Then “Sir please bura mat man’na lekin ye koi reasoning nahi hui, ye misogyny hui.”
Jaiswal is well aware of what Rashmika is like. She gets fiery and cruel when faced with logic she doesn’t agree with. Jaiswal takes a deep breath and begins speaking slowly, “Rashmika, if I were a misogynist, you wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s a very low bar, sir,” she deadpans. “ It’s like saying, ‘Look, I have female reporters and journalists, I’m not a misogynist! But I won’t give them assignments worth their talent because I’m worried they can’t hold their own in the big, bad, scary world.’ Do you see what you sound like, sir?”
“ Rashmika-” Starts Jaiswal wearily, but she cuts him off with a click of her tongue. “Sir, I’m not here to argue. I want a field assignment!”
“Fine! You want a field assignment? I’ll give you one,” huffs a now-annoyed Jaiswal as he shuffles papers in front of him. Rashmika bites back a smile to keep her professional persona intact.“Thank you, sir”
“Umm…We have recently had an agreement with Karachi police.” Hums Jaiswal pulling out a file. “They want us to do a piece on how they handle gang wars and genuine policing in volatile areas. Like the city of Lyari. Apparently they are displeased with their image on the global stage. Do you want it?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll take it!” Exclaims Rashmika. This was the break she was looking for. This was the story she wanted. Not trashy celebrities, true journalism. “Good, don’t let me down, Rashmika.” Smiles Jaiswal begrudgingly, looking at her excitement, before he turns serious again. Pointing a pen at her, “And don’t fucking say I’m a misogynist. That was a low blow”
“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” says Rashmika, genuinely apologetic. Her head dips down slightly as she bites her tongue in reprimand. “Good, you leave tomorrow morning. And ek aur baat. You will have constant police protection,” mentions Jaiswal offhandedly.
“What? Sir, that’s unnecessary!” Exclaims Rashmika, now standing up again. She needed the assignment not a bloody babysitter. Now Gupta finally speaks up, “No, Rashmika. No bargaining on this matter. It’s a requirement for all Indian journalists and reporters to have constant police protection.” He says matter of factly to her. “Sir?! But-” She tries to argue.
“No buts Rashmika, either you take this or I give it to Gaurav” warns Jaiswal. A clear take it or leave it and after this outburst of yours, you better believe that you won’t get another opportunity like this. Her foot taps against the floor rapidly. She is weighing out her options, she sighs when she realises she has no choice “Sir…..fine”
“Lovely, get ready to leave tomorrow. It’s a 4 ish day long assignment. And here take this file” Jaiswal hands Rashmika a thick dossier “This is your police protection, An SP Chaudhary Aslam. He is the head of the Lyari task force that you will observe and your 24/7 police protection.”
Rashmika takes the dossier, barely looks at it and then whines to her mentor “Sir, is this police babysitter punishment for calling you a misogynist? I’m genuinely sorry sir” she says tilting her head and joining her hands together.
Jaiswal puts his hands on his chin, a pleased smile now on his face as he looks at Rashmika. “Rashmika I’m so glad you think this is punishment. Even if I didn’t intend it to be. If I wanted it to be a punishment I would have picked someone ugly” he hums making the rest of the table chuckle. Rashmika blinks at Jaiswal then opens the dossier in her hands. On the front page is an image of SP Chaudhary Aslam.
He is a good looking man no doubt about it. Handsome sharp features, strong eyes. His face is aged by time and a tough life. Deep set wrinkles on his forehead that make him simultaneously rugged and dangerously charming. His hair brushed back and threaded with strands of salt amongst the pepper. His thick beard and mustache is more salt than pepper. He was indeed a good looking man, yet he looked eternally displeased or unhappy at the very least .
Rashmika clears her throat “SP Aslam?.......Much obliged that you chose this halfway decent looking man sir. But he looks like someone pissed in his morning Chai.” she says, narrowing her eyes at the image of SP Aslam. She turns the dossier around to show the table. Her finger drummed on his image, pointing to his extreme resting-bitchface pose. “You can not make this man my police protection” she reasons once more.
Jaiswal hides a grin with the guise of wiping his face. “Rashmika, ja ghar ja aur packing kar, your flight is at 10 am tomorrow” Rashmika makes a face muttering under her breath as she gathers her papers. “Bakchodi…absolute and utter bakchodi….I dont need a fucking babysitter” she huffs under her breath. “Huh? Kya bola?” asks Jaiswal narrowing his eyes at her
“Nahi sir, kuch nahi sir” Rashmika says quickly as she walks to the door of the boardroom. “Haan it better be nothing Rashmika, I CAN ALWAYS GIVE THIS ASSIGNMENT TO GAURAV!” Yells Jaiswal behind her as she leaves out the door.
—---------
“A fucking baby sitter?!?!?!?” she angrily huffs as she shuffles the stacks of papers in her hands as she walks out of the boardroom. Her kurta sleeve gets stuck on the hook of the door handle, and it makes Rashmika stop.
She shuts her eyes painfully and looks at the ceiling. A long, slow breath comes out of her mouth. This is her thirteenth reason why. “Fuck. My. Life”
—----------------
Monday @ 10 am simultaneously as previous section
Karachi Police Headquarters, Karachi, Pakistan
SP Chaudhary Aslam was about to kill someone because he is not a fucking babysitter. His hands reached into the pocket of his pathani kurta, his strong forearms flexing as his fingers curled around his cigarette box. This has been a fucking terrible month. He scoffs to himself as he pulls out a cigarette and holds it between his fingers. His lighter’s flame kisses the end of his cigarette. He takes a hard puff.
This was supposed to be a good month. He was supposed to kill his arch nemesis Rehaman Dakait and then take the rest of the month off. Finally get to use his vacation days, maybe go to a retreat in the mountains of Pakistan. But no.
Rehman’s insane lawyer, Rehanna Randhawa, doused his taskforce office in petrol and had the gangsters tie his men from the roof while she recorded a blackmail message for him to hurry up and leave Rehman all with a smile. The woman was brilliant, no doubt. But she was also a massive bitch.
Rehanna had ruined his month by setting it on fire and then the Commissioner of Karachi police put diesel on it.
—----------
“Janab!” Saluted Aslam, clicking his heels lightly as he straightened his 6’4 posture. The commissioner Altaf Haasan looks up from his papers, the man looks through his glasses with a grin. “Arreh wah Chaudhary, aja mera sher”
“Janab” nods Aslam as he walks forward, his pathani salwar whooshing around his legs as he walks. “Kaisa hai tu?” hums Haasan as he shuts a file. “Janab, woh chuitye Rehman ki zamanat pe thoda dukh hua. Lekin theek hai kya karsate hain, kabhi aur pakadlunga usko” Shrugs Aslam making Haasan chuckle.
“Arre Rehman ke alawah kuch sunao, sabko pata hai Rehman tere mashooq jaisa hai. Zindagi ke bare me kuch batao” Says Hassan leaning back in his chair. Aslam’s face goes flat “Janab Rehman mera mashooq nahi hai.” Hassan laughs. If Aslam could curse at his boss he would but he can’t so he continues “Rehman ke alawa. Kal subaha se meri chutti hai. Teen hafte ki chutti hai meri. Das saal me maine pehli bar chutti li hai” Hassan nods seriously before looking at Aslam again “Tere bade arman hai? Teen hafte ki chutti? Wah bhai wah.”
“Janab aapne kuch kaam se bulaya hai?” Asks Aslam with terrifying patience. “Aree haan” says Hassan, straightening in his chair. “Yaad hai tujhe? Karachi police aur woh Indian news channel se humne ek report karwane ki baat ki thi?”
“Ji janab yaad hai” Nods Aslam. “Haan toh woh final ho gaya hai. A woman reporter from their channel has been assigned to this report. Her flight is landing tomorrow” Continues Hassan.
Aslam takes a deep breath. “Janab mai iss information ka kya karun?” Why should he care about this? In fact he didn't give a damn about this meeting either, he was thinking about his road trip to the mountains tomorrow. The lonesome highway. The 80’s music. His cigarettes. His whiskey by the fireplace. And most importantly peace.
Hassan sighs “You are her security detail. You and your Lyari Task Force are her subject of study. Ek hafte ke liye ayi hai aur ab tumhari zimmedari hai” Aslam blinks “Janab kal se meri chutti hai. Ye mohtarma meri zimmedari nahi hai”
“Chaudhary, Lyari task force tumhari hai, Lyari tumhara sheher hai. Agar unko kuch hogaya toh phir tumhare sar pe ayega” Says Hassan calmly. The first thing Aslam feels is deep annoyance. Because damn it the commissioner was right. If this journalist got hurt in his territory it would be on his head.
“Unka naam hai Rashmika Raina, unki flight kal 4 baje Karachi International Airport pe land hogi. Yeh loh unki file, kal pauch jana time se” says the commissioner handing him the file and gesturing for him to leave.
Aslam sighs as he takes it. He straightens and clicks his heels and salutes commissioner Hassan again “Janab!” Then he walks out of the office.
—-----------
Aslam took a drag off of his cigarette as he walked through the headquarters. Every constable, sub-inspector, inspector, assistant SP, deputy SP saluted him as he walked through the halls. Aslam returned each salute with half awareness. His awareness was trained on the file in his hand.
“Janab!” Salutes the constable who drove his white police jeep. Aslam returns it taking a drag as he sits in the passenger seat of the jeep. He plants a foot on the foot bar of the door, he lets the other hang downwards. He leans his head back against the headrest of the seat. Aslam brought up the hand that held his cigarette and used it to stroke his beard in thought as he looked up at the ceiling of the jeep.
Rashmika. Rashmika Raina. He took another drag off of his cigarette. He let it hang in between his lips as he opened the dossier. Her image was the first page. He picked it up with his right hand as his left hand tapped the ash off of his cigarette and helped him take another drag. And the first thing Aslam noticed was her elegant beauty.
Big bright inquisitive dark brown eyes, like they over analyzed everything they saw. Perfectly arched eyebrows that looked like they remained terminally raised, like she questioned everything she was presented with. A small red bindi between her brows, it looked odd to Aslam at first. But then it made a frightening amount of sense. A sculpted face with sharp features, high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, a long nose. Long straight black hair that curved around her face.
Aslam had to admit, she was a good looking woman no matter how much of a headache she was about to cause him.
—---------
Tuesday @ 4 pm
Karachi International Airport, Karachi, Pakistan
Rashmika drags her suitcase off of the baggage claim belt. She can't help but look around the airport in curiosity. This is her first lime in Pakistan so she was bound to be curious about any minor difference from India.
She walks through the terminal and finds that it's practically the same as Indian airports. Army and security personnel walking through keeping eyes on things. Families collecting bags and reuniting. TVs on the walls playing news and announcements. The same infuriatingly long immigration lines. The same everything. How disappointing she muses.
Finally she walks out the air conditioned terminal to the drop off pick up resa. As soon as she walks out a hot rush of air hits her face. She can smell the jet fuel, heat, and pollution in the air, strikingly similar to the Indira Gandhi International airport back home. She drapes her white dupatta over her head, she places her sunglasses on her face before she smooths down her grey suit.
Rashmika looks around the terminal. Ignoring the reuniting families. Ignoring the taxi drivers “Asalamwalaikum madam kahan jayengi aap?” Ignoring the tea stalls that beckon her towards them “Mohtarma chai pijiye!” She is looking for one thing and one thing only. Where is her police escort?
One pan around the terminal later. Her eyes set on her police protection for this journalistic mission. Rashmika finds her police protection sitting on his jeep in a white pathank kurta, one leg stabilized on the metal battering ram on the front of the jeep and the other hanging loosely. A snarl of boredom on his face, and a cigarette hanging out of his lip. SP Chaudhary Aslam.
The very same man from the photo in her dossier, except in real life his rugged charm is more apparent. She grabs her suitcase and begins rolling it along with her as she walks towards him. He is larger than she had imagined.
A big burly man who had to be more than 6 feet tall, the kurta he wore was loose and flowing around his body but snug around his arms accentuating the largeness of the muscle. The strength is clear in his large frame. The sleeves of the kurta were rolled up in this Karachi heat exposing his strong forearms. A body that matched the face in every aspect.
But the SP Aslam held an expression on his face that made it very clear, he would be anywhere else rather than here.
Aslam had done the same once over of her that she had of him. Her face also matched her body. She was tall, maybe 5 '6 or 5' 7, and she dressed elegantly in a grey salwar suit with a white dupatta. Her body moved in elegant and controlled strides. Her eyes were ever aware as they kept moving around the terminal.
She wasn't lost in her own world; she was aware of herself. She has a strange ethereal grace about her. Something he hasn't seen before. She only carried 2 bags. A backpack and a medium sized suitcase, no frivolity, no un necessary items. He liked that.
He steps off of his jeep to greet her as she rolls closer with her suitcase. He ashes his cigarette, his leather loafers crush it against the pavement. She steps closer, the wind drifts from behind her and he can smell her perfume. It's a fresh light scent, floral and citrusy. The scent warps around him and clings to him in ways that he isn't sure he likes.
“Assalam Walikum SP Sahab” Rashmika greets with a polite nod and a salam. Her voice is like honey. Smooth, rich, and something that coats you, something you don't forget. “Walaikum asalam Raina Madam, chaliye” He nods towards the jeep. As he takes the suitcase from her “Aree SP sahab iski koi zaroorat nahi hai” she clicks her tongue as she tries to take it from him.
“Mohtarma ye humara kaam hai, andar bathiye” he says shortly to her as he turns away to put her bag in the boot of the car. Okay so he really didn't want to be here, thinks Rashmika as she sits down in the back seat of the jeep.
He sits in the front moments later and tells the driver “Guest house leke chal, jaldi” the constable driving the car responds “Ji janab,” Their eyes meet once through the rearview mirror. Aslam looks very annoyed, his eyebrows set heavier on his face as he flicks his eyes away from her fast.
Okay so he really really didn't want to be here, thinks Rashmika as she frowns and looks out the window to the city of Karachi. She pulls out a small notepad and pen and begins writing her observations.
—------------------------
Same day @ 5 pm
Police Guest House, Karachi, Pakistan
A while later and after a painfully silent car ride, they reach the guest house. Rashmika steps out of the jeep with her backpack with her notebook in hand as she scribbles points to ask and write about later. Aslam unloads her suitcase from the back. He hands it to the guest house attendant.
He walks by her as he lights another cigarette and he begins speaking to her as he walks away. A clear cue that says follow me. “Raina ji ye hai woh police guest house jahan aap rahengi aapke report ke liye” he gestures un-impressedly at the modest and decent guest house.
They walk into the foyer of the home and there are two staircases leading upwards. And on both sides of them are hallways to the rest of the house. “Wahan right side pe apka kamra hai, aur uske theek opposite mera kamra hai” he says pointing to the two rooms on top of the staircase.
Rashmika pauses and stops walking “Ek second SP sahab, aap bhi yahan rahenge?” She asks. Aslam stops walking too and turns to look at her taking a drag off of his cigarette “kyun aapko koi problem hai kya? Mujhe order diya gaya hai. I have to stay with you 24/7 aapki suraksha ke liye” he says flatly.
Rashmika sighs, this is precisely what she didn't want “Mujhe koi boj nahi ban’na hai. Aapko yahan rehene ki koi zaroorat nahi hai. Mai khud se rehlungi” Aslam laughs darkly, stepping closer “ Dekhiye boj toh aap hain.” he grins at her exhaling smoke. It wraps around her as he continues speaking “Meherbani aapki ki aap mujhe bata rahi hain ki mai jaa sakta hun, kyunki mai khud apka rakhwalnahi ban na chahata hun. Lekin mujhe order diya gaya hai toh mujhe rhena hi padega.”
Then Aslam laughs remembering that she said she would be okay being in Karachi alone. The thought was very funny to him “Aur aapko kya lagta hai ki aap Karachi ya lyari jaise sheher me mehfooz rahengi? Galat fehmi mat paliye, ye aapko marwaengi.” Rashmika blinks at his borderline rude straightforwardness.
“Toh aap apna kaam kariye aur mujhe apna karne dijiye. Ye faltu ki acting nahi kariye.” He says taking another drag and walking away. What a rude bastard thinks Rashmika taking a deep slow breath. She was about to get a migraine.
—----------------------
Wed @ 11 am
Rashmika groans as she sits up in bed. Her hair is wild, her eyes are squinting in the morning light. Last night had been fucking terrible. So terrible she had to ask the house staff for a headache pill.
—-------------
After she had settled into her room yesterday evening she had gone downstairs for dinner. Where she and Aslam had sat across from each other having a tense and quiet meal. She had tried. Really tried. Rashmika really did try to be civil and polite.
“SP sahab aap kab se Lyari me posted hain?” she asked cordially as she tore a piece of her roti. Aslam looked at her over the edge of his plate. “Satra saal, lekin beech me mai saat saal ke liye suspend hogaya tha” he says gruffly going back to his meal. Not willing to divulge any more information or giving her room to ask another question.
But Rashmika was a reporter, she knew how to keep the questions going. “Agar aap mind na karein, can I ask you another question?” Aslam did not respond, he took a deep breath and continued with his meal. Rashmika frowned but asked anyway “Aap suspend kyun hoye the?” she asks taking a sip of water
Aslam exhaled through his nose before he looked at her with immense annoyance “Kuch siyasati logon ko maine galat tarha se chhed diya tha” he deadpanned, going back to his meal once again. “Iska kya matlab?” she asked inquisitively. This time Aslam simply said “Hindustan me logon ko chup rehna ata hai kya?”
“How fucking rude” Rashmika muttered under her breath so Aslam could not hear. She shook her head and went back to the meal. The rest of the meal went on with painful silence.
—---------------
Now it was the next morning. Today was the first official day of her assignment of understanding how the Karachi police handled genuine policing and gang handling simultaneously. Rashmika reads over her notes and questions for the day as she sips her morning chai.
Today she wanted to just understand how Aslam works. Because clearly just asking him questions won’t get her anywhere, yesterday was proof of that. She needed to be careful with how she handles him. He was like a venus flytrap in a way. The more she prys the more he will close.
She packs her field bag for the day, her camera, her notebook, her pen, water, and batteries. Just the essentials. She slings her bag over her shoulder as she fluffs out her sky blue kurta. Then she makes her way out of the guest house where Aslam is waiting by his jeep.
Another cigarette in his fingers, smoke curling around his face. He runs a hand over his beard in frustration as he looks at his watch. “Woh mohtarma kahan hai? Pura din waste karegi kya?” The constable standing by laughed cordially for a moment before he cleared his throat violently. Coughing into his fist as he gestures to Aslam with his eyes. Aslam raises an eyebrow “Kya be bhadwe? Mendak niglalgaya tha, ya haram ka paisa pachaya nahi jaata?”
The constable whispered towards him “Nahi sahab, woh…. madam agayi hain” Aslam looked at Rashmika quickly. She is wearing sunglasses and an annoyed look on her face. Today she was also wearing a sky blue salwar kurat, she looked good in it. Aslam should not be noticing these things but he was.Then he looked away and back to the constable “Dhamka raha hai kya mujhe? Agar mere muh ke samne bhi hoti to bhi wahi kehta.” Then he turns to Rashmika “Hanji mohtarma, aaj pura din barbad karna hai kya?” he takes another drag
God it was 11 am and she was told to be downstairs by 11 am. She was on time, what was up this man's ass? Thinks Rashmika. “Nahi Aslam sahab, lekin aapse ek cheez puchni thi” she hums as she gets closer to him. “Boliye” he says gruffly trying not to notice how she looked brighter when she smiled. She bites back a grin, she shouldn't be pissing him off but she was already speaking before she could shut up “Aapki khushiyon ka janaza nikalta hai kya har subha?” She tilts her head.
Aslam blinks exhaling smoke “Kya?” he crosses his arms over his chest. She looks at him over her sunglasses, openly looking up and down his body. Resting her eyes on his biceps, for a moment too long. She was noticing how his white kurta tightens on the muscles, she could see the muscles of his biceps. Aslam felt her eyes dragging over him.
She clears her throat “Nahi aap itna safed pehente hai na. Aisa lagta hai ki aap har subha apni khusiyon ko kisi kabar me bandh karke dafna ke ate hain” she says lightly as she opens the rear door of the jeep and disappears into the car.
The constable takes a deep breath and slaps a hand on his face trying his level best to not burst out laughing at the truth he just heard. Aslam pinches the bridge of his nose. God this woman was a headache. “Gaadi chala gandu” huffs Asalam. “Ji janab, sorry janab” mutters the constable as he rushes to the driver's seat.
—------------------
The entire day had been interesting and infuriating at the same time.
They had gone to the Lyari Task Force office first. Aslam had walked ahead as he gave her the not so enthusiastic, most definitely lacking flair, grand tour of the building. He showed her the main lobby, the reporting area, the weapons room, the jail cells, the file room, the bull pen, and he had even introduced her to a few of his officers.
“Yeh hai Altaf khan, inka kaam hai information verification” says Aslam, slapping his hand on the man’s shoulder “Samjha reporter madam ko apna kaam”. Altaf nods his head, “Hume khabrion se kafi information milti hai har din. Kabhi kabhi woh information kaafi conflicting hojati hain. Toh mera kaam hai sari information collect karna aur verify or crosscheck karna” He ends by showing her his desk and his ledgers of information.
Rashmika nods as she observes everything taking notes on her notepad. “Achha, toh phir jab aapko kuch confirmed information milti hai toh phir aap kya karte hain? What is the process?" she asks. Altaf nods at her “Madam ye information pe depend karta hai. Some information is just to observe and some is actionable. Whatever information requires action hum unko respective departments me bhijwa dete hain”
Rashmika nods as she takes more notes. Aslam observes how she bites her lip in concentration as she writes. How her hand scrawls on the page when she has rapid thoughts. She asks intelligent questions, muses Aslam.
“Hanji ab aap dono sath me khade hojaiye. Mai ek photograph lena chahati hun” she gestures as she reaches into her bag for her camera. “Nahi. Bilkul nahi.” says Aslam flatly “Koi chutiyaap nahi hoga, koi photos nahi li jaengi. Yeh ek task force hai koi garden nahi” Rashmika sighs as she adjusts the settings on her camera “Aslam sahab, contract me likha hua hai that I am allowed to take photos. And mai akal se paidal nahi hun. Of course task force office hai, obviously samhalke aur sensitively photo khechungi mai”
Aslam rolls his eyes. She backs away a few steps and crouches slightly. “SP sahab zara smile toh kijiye. Mai duniya ko Pakistan as a manhoos jagah nahi dikhana chahati” she grins at him. Aslam grins begrudgingly as he poses for the picture next to a grinning Altaf who is liking this fiery woman.
The rest of the day consisted of Aslam doing paperwork in his office. When she tried to ask him more about his job or about the city, Aslam either ignored her or gave her gruff answers. She rolled her eyes and huffed at him as she planted herself on the sofa in his office.
She scribbled furiously on her note pad. Aslam watched her over his papers noticing how her eyebrows furrowed crinkling her bindi. How she chewed on her pen when she was formulating an idea. He went back to his papers. “Aslam sahab, aaj kuch mildly interesting karne ka plan hai kya? Koi arrest? Koi raid? Koi operation?”
“Mohtarma yeh asal zindagi hai, koi action movie nahi.” he responded without looking at her. She sighed and went back to writing her notes.
—----------------------
Thursday @ 10 am
Day two wasn't any better. But at least it had slightly more action. Which had begun that morning.
Rashmika had decided on a white linen suit today. She rushed down to the dining room with a half packed bag and an array of items in her hands. She set her bag on the table as packed, funneling chai and namkeen into her face as breakfast. “Nahi nahi Farha bi! Nashte ka time nahi hai. Woh khadus ata hoga aur phir mujhe bolega ‘mohtarma aaj phir pura din barbad karna hai?’ yaar kaun subah subha unke chai me moot deta hai?” she sighs, making the kitchen maid laugh at her mimicry of Aslam.
Aslam watched her from the doorway with an eyebrow raised in fascination. How bitchy of her, he liked that very much. He would very much like to shut her up with his own lips. Her argumentative mouth would finally go quiet. But his biggest problem was that she looked good in white too. The kurta fit nicely on her body, loose enough to be modest, tight enough to make him wonder what her body looked like under those clothes.
The sun shone through at just the right moment, illuminating her figure through the thin linen. Aslam felt himself involuntarily salivating as he saw the silhouette of her body. Her hourglass curves, her toned body. Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun, some strands coming loose and falling against her face. Some trends loose against the back of her neck. He wondered what it would be like to tangle his hands in her hair.
Eventually she noticed him staring. She swallowed hard, the namkeen scratching her throat as it went down painfully. She looked at him and today…he wasn't wearing white. He was wearing a forest green. He looked very very good in it. The kurta once again fit snugly on his deliciously large arms. Who was his tailor? That perfectly tamed salt and pepper beard, that pathani suit, that dark charm, and the fact that he was an absolute bastard. Uff how sexy.
“Sabha khair Raina ji, aaj phir pura din barbad karna hai kya?” he asked as he lit another cigarette. “Good morning Aslam sahab, before I answer that phele mere ek sawal ka jawab dijiye” Aslam huffs “Ya allah aapke sawal kabhi khatam hote hain?”
“Nahi, peshe se reporter hu na? Mere sawal agar khatam ho gaye toh phir meri rozi roti nahi hogi.” she grins at him leaning against a chair “Puchho phir, kyunki dikh raha hai ki aap ko backchodi kare bina shanti nahi milegi” he sighs. “Kaun har subha aapki chai me moot deta hai?” she hums seriously.
“Ji sach bataun toh phir abhi toh aap.” He said calmly, sipping the tea that Farha brought out. “Aree? Mai kaise? Mai toh abhi abhi India se ayi hun?!” she gasps scandalously sipping her own chai. He hums “Aapke ane se pehle mai chutti pe janewala tha. Dus saal me pehli bar chutti li…Aur phir aap tapak padi” he says biting a biscuit.
Rashmika snorts and laughs into her tea. “Issiliye aapka mood kharab hai shuru se?” “Ji haan, ab apna muh band kariye. Isse pehele ki mai kuch anab shanab kehdun aapko” he deadpans. “Achha sorry, sorry ki mai aapke chhutti pe tapak gayi” she apologizes after she clears her throat and stops laughing.
—----------
The rest of the day was just Rashmika following Aslam like his shadow as he patrolled the city. She didn't ask him many questions; she now knew why he was in a bad mood. Aslam noticed how she wasn't making his day miserable. He also noticed she looked pretty when she wasn't running her mouth.
She silently observed him as he worked, as he made arrests, as he followed up on leads. Even in her silence he didn't stop being a bastard. He made sure to test this sudden change in her behavior. “Hmm Raina ji aaj badi shaanti hai? Atma tript hogayi thodi maar peet dekh ke, ya aap shant hain kyunki aapke dimag me mere khayal chal rahe hain? Kya hindustan me aise hatte katte SP nahi hai aapke taadne ke liye?” he hummed with a smirk as he handcuffed a criminal and threw him against the jeep.
She rolled her eyes as she pocketed her notebook “Kaash hote Aslam sahab” she sighed wistfully “Din raat apke khayalon me doobi reheti hun kyunki hindustaan me kahan aise sexy SP dikhte hain?” then she lowered her voice into a dramatic husk “Mujhe buddhe, khusat, zaroorat se zyada rude mard bohot zayada sexy lagte hain” He lifted an eyebrow at her theatrics, “Accha?”
The expression on her face flattened so fast it was comical “Nahi, pagla gaye hain kya aap?” Aslam barked out a laugh as he threw the poor bastard he just handcuffed into the boot of the jeep. Rashmika felt her stomach flutter at his laugh.
—----------------------
Friday @ 5 am
Rashmika was woken up with loud banging on her door “Raina ji! Raina ji!” Aslam's loud booming voice reverberated through the wooden door. Her eyes went to the clock and then she cursed violently beneath her breath as she got out of bed. Adjusting her silk night slip as she made her way to the door “AA RAHI HUN!”
She flung open the door and Aslam promptly stopped breathing. The slip hugged her body too damn well, painfully well. She was bare beneath the slip, the thought slowly made him spiral. A blind man could have seen her nipples pebble behind the cool fabric. She sleepily rubbed her eyes, the remnants of the kajal made her eyes smoky, her hair a mess. Why did she look better like this? The sight made violent visions flood his mind.
In his visions, his rough large hands palmed her breasts through the fabric. Then her mind-bogglingly attractive and simultaneously bitchy mouth would whine helplessly under his touch. He could practically feel the warm weight of her ample breasts in his palms, he could practically hear her whines.
She would sound so sweet. But he could imagine her screaming as he shoved his large fingers into her, his other hand would have to muffle her screaming. Her eyes rolled back as she clawed his shoulders, gasping for breath. He wanted to grab her and make his fantasy come true right now.
For a moment even Rashmika was quiet. He was in his sleepwear. White pathani salwar bottoms and a white banyan (vest). And OHMYGODHISARMS. She swallowed hard. The banyan was tight on his body; she could see his defined chest through the fabric. She wanted him to pull her against his body, she wanted to be pressed up against his hard pecs, she wanted to run her hands all over his torso, scratching lightly with her nails so his eyes would flutter shut.
Maybe he would shakily take her name, she would lose her god damn mind. And then her eyes went to his arms. The ones she had been fantasizing about, will she ever admit this? No she will not but that's between her and god. His arms were huge. That was an understatement but the best way she could describe them without feeling them. She could imagine him crushing her face in between the crook of his elbow as he fucked into her. His deep groans in her ear, his filthy words bringing her closer and closer to the edge. What an amazing fantasy.
She shook out of it with immense difficulty “-Kya hua Aslam sahab? Kuch kaam hai ya sirf apni gaandmasti me meri neend kharab karke mazze lene hai?” she frowned at him as she crossed her hands over her chest. Aslam almost genuinely frowned when she covered her chest. How rude of her to be rude and then take away his view. But he controlled it. “Hogaya apka?” he blinked at her. “Boliye” she huffed.
“Aaj aap mere sath LTF nahi aa sakti hain. Aaj aap guest house me hi rahengi” He tells her. “Kyun nahi?” she questioned immediately. Aslam sighed, dragging a hand down his face “Har baat aapko thodi bataunga? Ye ek sensitive police matter hai.” Rashmika rolled her eyes at this “Achha theek hai. Lekin ye baat ako subha ke paach baje batani thi?”
“Haan. kyunki mai abhi nikal raha hun” he said flatly. Now her lips twitch with a grin “Aise jaoge aap? Banyan me?” Aslam ignored her on purpose this time. He took a breath and spoke again “Shaam ko commissioner sahab ne ek event rakha hai karachi police ke liye. Aapko bhi invite kiya hai, khuda jane kisiliye”
“Excuse me? Subha ke paach baje meri insult karn aye hain aap?” she asks with an indignant gasp. Aslam ignores this once again “Shaam ke chhe baje pauch jaiyega, mera sub-inspector ayega aur aapki rakhwali karega aur aapko party tak pauchayega. Bas aapko ittilah karne aya tha” He says and he walks away without another word.
Rashmika stands there dazed for a moment. She shuts her door quietly and then blinks into the darkness of her room. Slowly she places one foot in front of the other and sinks back into her bed.
She tries to think about anything other than how good he looked just then. His arms, his hands, his rugged charm, the way he looks down on her, the way he tries so hard to hate her, and most importantly how she isn't supposed to want him.
Her thighs rub against each other under the covers; the friction makes her gasp. Her heart begins to thrum as her hand reaches below the covers of their own accord. Her fingers shakily lift up the edge of her night slip. Her fingers now trailing along her thigh as she can feel her heart beat in her ear now. All she can think about is him. All she can imagine is him. Her fingers brush over her soaked panties. Her eyes flutter shut, she can imagine him so vividly. “Rashmika-” he would groan into her ear.
It feels so fucking real she scares herself. Her hand jerked out from under the sheets with a gasp. What was she doing? What the fuck was she thinking? She was a fucking journalist. She was a fucking reporter! She was on an assignment for god's sake! She cant be doing this. Rashmika grabs the pillow close to her and presses it to her face “FUCK ME” she yells into it with a groan. She keeps her eyes shut.
Maybe this assignment should have gone to Gaurav. Because Jaiswal was right. This field mission is dangerous. And not because her life was in danger. Her sanity was in danger. Because he was just down the hall. It would be so easy. And the scary thing was that she knew exactly how she would do it too.
She could walk over to him in his room. He would be shocked for a moment. She would use that shock to her advantage. Before he could utter a word, she would push off the straps off her slip. The material would fall to the floor, he would see her in all her naked glory. She would see the darkness in his eyes.
She would watch him contemplate. Was it a risk? Yes. But she had seen the way his eyes dragged over her. Rashmika knew he wouldn't turn her away, so then she would whisper to him “Chaudhary…please. Sochiye mat” and then he would pounce on her. His hands on her body and her hands on his. Their lips would join, they would consume each other's souls.
A shaky breath leaves her. Fuck. She feels heat and arousal pool in her core. At the same time her eyes grow heavy with sleep and she is thankful for it. Because if it wasn't for her exhaustion. She might have gotten out of bed, she might have gambled everything.
A strange sleep takes over her. Not dreamless. Not dream full. Not restless. Not restorative. She was just consumed with thoughts of how fucked she is.
—--------------------
SP Chaudhary Aslam’s Day without her
Chaudhary Aslam had to take a long cold shower when he left her room. He saw the way her eyes dragged on him, like she was undressing him. And his fantasies weren't helping much either.
He had walked back to his room in the guest house and began by shedding his banyan. His hand lightly roved over his bare torso, a feeble attempt to fight the morning chill. He turned on the shower the coldest it could go. His hands deftly undoing his salwar as her sleepy eyes haunted him. The curves and contours of her body under that silk slip.
The cold spray hit his face and he gasped in reflex. His hand wiped his face and a painful realization hit him. His hand was the perfect size. The perfect size to hold her breast. The perfect size to hold her waist. The perfect size to throw her around. Fuck.
The cold water was doing absolutely nothing for his aching cock. His hand wrapped around it as he leaned against the cold bathroom tiles. A deep groan left his throat. Then he let his visions cloud him properly.
—----
When he emerged from his long cold shower he just about managed to get dressed. His mind physically fighting each thought of her, then his phone rang. “Janab! Mai neeche aapka intezar kar raha hun”
“Aa raha hun” He said curtly before he cut the call. This was about to be a long day.
—----
By 12 pm Aslam had the grave realization that meant he really was screwed. Rashmika Raina had clouded his mind.
He missed her. He missed her sarcasm, her wit, her remarks, her company, her. He missed her. Fuck. This wasn't plain lust anymore. And that scared the great SP Chaudhary Aslam. Who was famously never scared of anything.
—------------------
Rashmika Raina’s Day without him
Was it a dream? That's the first thought she has. Was that memory of Aslam showing up in her doorway a dream? Her thighs rub together as she shifts in her bed, she feels a slickness between her legs and a residual pull of pleasure in her navel.
The second thought she has is a realization. She had had a wet dream. A wet dream about SP Chaudhary Aslam. She pressed a hand on her mouth. Shit, this was not good. Rashmika shakily stepped out of her bed. This was very not good.
—----
By 12 pm Rashmika seemed to simultaneously have the same realization as Aslam. A grave realization crossed her mind. The grave realization that meant she really was screwed. SP Chaudhary Aslam had clouded his mind.
She missed him. She missed his sarcasm, his darkness, his ruthlessness, his company, him. She missed him. Fuck. This wasn't plain lust anymore, and it hadn't been for a while.
—---------
Same day @ 6 pm
The ballroom, Karachi Police Headquarters, Karachi, Pakistan
Rashmika took a deep breath before she pushed open the door of the ballroom. Should she have worn this white silk saree? Well whatever the case it was too late to change now. She adjusted the pallu over her shoulder before she walked in.
She walked in confidently looking around the ballroom. Marble floors, marble pillars, glass chandeliers, gold candelabras on the walls, gold accents around the room. It was lovely. She felt stares and whispers aimed towards her float through the room. She paid no heed to them.
A waiter walked by “Madam champagne?” he asked. “Ji shukriya” she nodded as she took a crystal flute from his tray. She took a sip and let the bubbles settle in her blood stream for a moment. My my myyy did the Karachi police have a lot of funds, especially if they served champagne in crystal flutes in golden ballrooms. She took another sip and then she began looking around for Aslam.
Aslam had already seen her. But before he did, he felt her first. A subtle shift in the room. The way people looked up front their conversations towards the door. Then he looked up with his eyes following their gazes.
And then Aslam forgot how to breathe. The whisky glass in his hand tightened slightly between his fingers as his gaze locked onto her figure moving through the hall. Saree. She was wearing a white silk saree.
The drape of the saree hugged her figure with dangerous precision, the pleats resting perfectly along her waist while the pallu lay elegantly along her shoulder. Her blouse was white as well, the neckline dipping into a deep V that balanced elegance with just enough boldness to pull wandering glances from half the men in the room. Any man with functioning eyes would struggle not to look twice. Aslam hated how he hated that.
Her eyes finally landed on Aslam and she promptly needed another sip of champagne to help her. He was standing with a few colleagues across the room from her. He stood out among them. Not just by his standing, not just by his rank, but by the air he held.
He was wearing a black sherwani embroidered in black thread. One that was sinfully well tailored against his broad frame. The crisp tailoring made his broad shoulders stand out. Pinned to his breastpocket were his medals and accolades. The metallic medals and pins on the black sherwani made him look so naturally powerful. His rank on full display and his aura untenable. The pathani salwar beneath the sherwani gave him a regal edge further aiding his look.
The both of them made eye contact from a distance. She tilted her head slightly and he raised an eyebrow. Silently Aslam raised his whiskey glass slightly in the air towards her. A silent toast. He was trying to be amicable, so he made the first move.
Rashmika’s lips curved, mischief twinkled in her eyes. She didn't return the toast. Instead she sipped her champagne and went on her merry way.
Aslam couldn't believe this brat.
—---------
Same day @ 9:45 pm
The ballroom, Karachi Police Headquarters, Karachi, Pakistan
The event had been dragging on for what felt like years. Rashmika tried her best to mingle with the guests she really did. She made polite conversation about her time in Pakistan so far. She answered questions about India. She answered questions about how her report was coming along. But as soon as she was done her eyes went back to Aslam.
And each time she would always find him already staring at her with those dark eyes of his. The way he sipped his whiskey, he looked like he was trying to stop his mind from undressing her. She had ignored his toast towards her and now he hadn't ignored her once.
“Madam aapke commissioner sahab ke sath live interview ka waqt agaya hai” Rashmika was informed by one of the liaisons of the Karachi police. She nodded as she abandoned her second empty champagne glass.
She walked over to the commissioner of Karachi police Altaf Hassan, behind who aslam stood staring at her. “Ji namaste Haasan sahab, aapko milke bohot achha laga” she smiled cordially as she shook the man's hand. Altaf shook her hand back with a smile “Hum theek hain, mohtarma aap hume bataiye. Mere sher Chaudhary ne aapka sahi se dhyan rakha na? Kuch kami toh nahi hui thi?”
She grins at Altaf, her eyes flicking to Aslam for a moment who simply raised an eyebrow and gestured for her to speak carefully. “Hassan sahab…Aslam sahab ne mera theek thaak dhyan rakha. Nothing prominent to complain about other than his manners.” she joked. Aslam rolled his eyes and she winked discreetly at him.
By now the camera crews had set up and mic'd up both her and the commissioner. She began like this was as natural as breathing together “Hello and good evening India. I am Rashmika Raina! Welcome to the NNM international feature. I have spent the past few days in the cities of Karachi and Lyari in the nation of Pakistan.” she began in her reporter voice. Aslam looked at her curiously, so this was what she looked like in her element.
“I studied how the Karachi police differentiates between genuine policing and the effective policing required to deal with gang violence that has become more prompt in the area. Tonight I am joined by the esteemed Commissioner of Karachi police Mr. Altaf Hassan. Welcome commissioner sahab” She paused for a moment bringing the mic to Altaf who greeted the camera.
The interview was in full swing within moments. She moved through topics and questions so smoothly that Aslam had no choice but to be impressed with her talent. Altaf was smiling at her as they spoke, this was the first interview he had enjoyed in a long time.
Within moments tragedy struck. A group of gunmen burst through the front doors of the ball room. And without a word they began firing into the crowd. People immediately began screaming and running as bodies hit the marble floor. Rashmika froze in fear. Officers sprung into action safeguarding the top officials and trying to shoot back at the attackers. Aslam began ordering his men and pulling his own gun. Blood was staining the marble floors. Streams ran down the floor conjoining into a fucked up river.
Rashmika’s head looked around wildly as she tried to continue reporting. “Jaisa ki aap dekh sakte hain police HQ me kuch armed gunmen ghus aye hain. They have stated no demands or agenda and they have just started shooting” She gasped as a bullet grazed by her waist. She could feel its heat on her skin “AAH!” she yelped.
The Camera man dropped the camera and ran, SP Aslam was in action before she could blink. She was his designation. She was the asset he needed to protect. He grabbed her by the waist and threw her against his body as he implemented defensive shooting tactics. His callused hand was warm on the skin of her waist. “Chaudhary!” she gasped, clinging to his sherwani. She took his name for the first time.
“Chhot toh nahi lagi?” He says looking at her face for any signs of pain. The look in his eyes was wild with concern “M-Mujhe nahi pata” she gasped shakily “Mujhe yahan se nikalo please!” He nodded wordlessly. He grabbed her and carried her up in the air against this shoulder as he rushed through the hallways with her in his arms.
“Darro mat mai hoon, tumhe kuch nahi hoga” he grunted as he shot behind him a few more times. Her heart thrummed wildly as he held her against him; she clutched him for dear life.
—---------
Same day @ 10 pm
Police Guest House, Karachi, Pakistan
Within fifteen minutes Aslam had managed to bring them back safely to the guest house. He didn’t let go of her until he had safely brought her into his bedroom.
Then he shut the door behind them. When he was convinced they were safe he finally set her feet down on the ground. She took a shaky breath trying to calm her nerves. “Oh my god, oh my god” she gasped. Aslam held her close, he wrapped his hand around her shoulders and crushed her against his chest. He could feel how she was shaking against him. “Shh shh” he murmured into her ear.
“Chaudhary mujhe dar lag raha hai. Ye kya hua hai abhi? Mere r-report ke beech me goliyan!” she stuttered with wide eyes, her hands flattening against his chest. He held her against him as he walked her backwards towards the wall of his bedroom. His hands caged her to the wall, his fingers curled under her chin. He tilted her upwards so her gaze would meet his.
“Chhot lagi hai kahin?” he asked her gently so he could cut through her anxiety. She blinked as her lip trembled slightly. “M-mujhe nahi pata” she gasped trying not to cry. Aslam nodded. It was clear she was shaken up. “Mujhe ijjazat do. Mai dekh lun agar chot lagi hai ya nahi?” He asked. She nodded as she swallowed hard.
Aslam’s large hand goes to the pallu of her white silk saree. He gently peels it off, exposing her body. Rashmika gasps as the pallu lifts off of her. She suddenly feels very exposed, now just in her blouse and the half wrapped saree. Aslam drags his eyes over her carefully. Her exposed collarbones, the neckline of her blouse, her heaving chest below it, the curve of her breasts beneath the blouse as she pants under her gaze.
He drops her pallu to the ground and he suddenly bends his knees and kneels on the ground in front of her. “-Chaudhary!” she gasps seeing him on the floor in front of her. A powerful and dark man on his knees in front of her wondering if she was hurt.
His hands ghosted along her waist as his eyes scanned her body for injury. She took a shaky breath each time his fingertips brushed her skin properly. Once he was satisfied that Rashmika wasn't hurt his hands gripped her by her hips making her breath hitch “Ek baat bolun mai?” he hums at her darkly from his knees. She nods. “Jabse aapko airport pe dekha tha tabse mai soch raha tha. Soch raha tha in dheele dheele suiton ke neeche aap kaisi dikhengi”
Rashmika’s breath hitched. His warm rough palms dragged along the exposed skin of her waist “Phir aaj subha aapko uss nighty me dekha…phir party me aap ye saree pehen ke ayi. Aur tabse mera haal behal hai.” he looked at her with crazed eyes. He admitted it, he admitted that he was going crazy for her.
“Aur ab jo dekhliya toh kya haal hai aapka?” she whispered shakily. Her fingers brushed back his hair. Her nails dragging along his scalp. His eyes rolled back. Then without a word his hands went to the pleats of her saree. Slowly he untucked them from her waistline, then his hands began unraveling the fabric. The white silk pooled on the floor shining under the dim bedroom lighting and the faint moonlight from the windows.
Finally the last of the saree fell away leaving her in just the blouse and the petticoat. Slowly he stood back up. Towering over her, he leaned forward until their lips were almost touching. Her hands flew to clutch the collar of his sherwani. “Kya haal hai mera?” he asks, almost destroyed. His voice is raspy like he was on the edge of delirium.
She chuckled lightly. The sound much too light for this moment by Aslam found that it made his dilemma worse. “Sunke achha laga ki jo haal mera hai woh aakpa bhi hai” she whispered leaning in slightly more. Her lips now centimeters away from his. Restraint was a thin veneer between them that was already fracturing. And then, almost violently it broke, and his lips crashed into hers.
The kiss was electric, immediate, a release of tension that had been coiled tighter than either had admitted. She responded without restraint, moaning into his mouth, a sound that vibrated along his chest and back, pulling him further into the gravity of her. Her hands gripped the collar of his sherwani, pulling him closer, pressing him into the warmth of her body, against the bare skin of her waist.
Their lips moved hungrily against each other's hot open mouthed kisses. Aslam's hands roamed her body groping and squeezing with no restraint. His tongue moved with purpose trying to dominate hers. But Rashimika was not one to let go and submit easily. Their tongues batted for dominance, dancing a devilish tango
Her hands fumbled with the buttons and hooks of the sherwani. She groaned in frustration against his lips. He grinned against her lips as his fingers deftly flicked open the hooks of her blouse, then his thumb and index finger un hooked her bra with the same amount of ease. She gasped in shock, her gasp was swallowed by him quite smugly.
His fingers trailed down her spine making her shiver against him. His hands tangled in the waist band of the petticoat. He shoved it down along with her panties until both garments were pooled on the floor along with the discarded saree. She was almost completely bare, spare for her half shed blouse, and he was fully dressed. She pulled away from his lips gasping for breath as she unhooked the last hooks of his sherwani.
Her hands pushed the thick heavy fabric off of his shoulders with her palms making the fabric land with a heavy thud onto the ground. Beneath the sherwani he is kurta less. His bare torso is exposed for her viewing pleasure. Her hands felt up his muscular frame shamelessly as she kissed him again. Aslam groaned into her mouth as he groped the soft flesh of her ass.
He suddenly lifted her off the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist naturally. He walked her to the bed. As he walked she quickly shed her half open blouse and tossed it to the floor exposing her to him in her full naked glory. Aslam groans at the sight of her breasts spilling forward right in front of his face. They bounced with each of his steps and he mused darkly watching them “Mashallah….hindustan ko thoda credit dena hi padega” A flush crept up Rashmika’s neck at how he ogled her.
Without a warning he leaned forward and captured one of her buds into his mouth. His tongue swirling around her sensitive nipple as he sucked and bit the soft and supple flesh. A gasp and moan ripped from her throat. Aslam liked that reaction very much he realized as he lay her onto the bed. Her hands clutched his strong shoulders as she felt his head dip to the valley of her breasts again.
His rough beard scratched against her deliciously as he left kisses and bites all over the soft flesh. His mouth was now on her right breast, his hand came up to cradle the left one, squeezing and massaging the mound before his fingers tweaked her sensitive nipple hard. She gasped sharply in pain before it dissolved into a moan. Her thighs rubbed together in search of friction to soothe the wetness and arousal that gathered there.
“Aah..fuck, please!” she moaned as he bit down hard on one of her pebbled peaks before he soothed it with his warm tongue. He chuckled darkly as he used one of his hands to undo his salwar. He kissed her neck slowly. Maddeningly slowly. Her shaky breathing refused to stabilize, instead it turned into panting.
She tried speaking once again but he bit below her ear making her gasp, her words died in her throat “Kya hua reporter madam?” he asked smugly as he shed all of his clothes to the floor now. “Aab kahan gaye aapke shabd?” he teased cruelly as his hands parted her legs below him. His large paw-like hand pushed open her thighs. His eyes darkened at the sight before him. He used this thumb to very gently part her slick folds. She gasped at his words and actions.
Her eyes locked onto his hard length and the sight alone made her eyes flutter shut and a blush crept up her neck. He was big. Both in length and girth. His cock matched his body, and also shockingly it matched his smug bastard persona. Which was indeed a rare feat considering most men can only walk the walk of big-dick energy, barely any of them could talk the talk. But here everything matched and lined up oh so well.
Wait a minute, how dare he comment on her words? She was still shaken up by almost dying for gods sake. Rashmika now wanted to shut him up.
She reached her hand forward and wrapped her warm palm around him. She fisted him once. Her thumb swirled over his tip with finesse. Aslam choked on a moan, he hadn't expected her to be so bold and he certainly didn't expect her to be so good with her hands.
She grinned “Haanji shabdon ki kya baat ho rahi thi?” she asked innocently as she fisted his cock next to her thigh. Aslam groaned and glared at her as she circled his sensitive tip. She stared back with not an ounce of apology in her eyes, a grin on her face. She felt him twitch in her hand.
What a phenomenal mind fucking kind of woman thought Aslam as he bit back another groan. She had paused momentarily to spit on her palm to help her hand glide along him more smoothly. The grin on her face was infuriating and sexy. Infuriatingly sexy. Aslam wanted to wipe it clean off.
He stared into her eyes as she fisted him, his hand at her thigh began moving. He used his middle and ring finger to side through her wet folds. Then he suddenly thrust his fingers into her tight wet and warm heat. She gasped when she felt his large fingers stretch her. The stretch burned. His fingers were massive.
“OH!” she yelped when Aslam didn't let her adjust to his fingers. He pulled them out almost entirely before he shoved them back into her. Her hands left what they were doing and flew to his shoulders for something to hold on to. Aslam laughed darkly as he leaned forward to kiss her again. His fingers moved with a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of her. She whimpered against his lips when his free hand began to knead her breast again.
“Uff Raina madam,” he began darkly as he pulled away from her lips. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck biting and sucking on her pulse point. “Aap meri ungliyan bhi nahi smahal pa rahi hain…mujhe kaise samhalengi?” he hummed as his beard scratched against her throat. He accentuated his point by repeatedly tapping his fingers against her g-spot as he curled his fingers inside of her in a come hear motion.
She moaned and gasped at the pleasure. “Kahan gaye shabd aapke?” he laughed darkly as he brought his other hand to her puffy and slick clit. He rubbed hard and slow circles in time with his fingers. She whined, her nails scratching his shoulders as her legs opened wider on their own accord. He hissed in pain at the feeling of her nails on his back.
Aslam grinned like the devil as he watched her lose her mind thrust by thrust on his fingers. Her walls squeezed around his fingers like her body was trying to milk them. His cock twitched as he thought about his. She gasped and whined breathlessly, her hands clawing at his shoulders for some kind of grip. Soon her hips began grinding into his hand as they naturally sought more pleasure.
He stilled his fingers inside of her. Just holding them there. Rashmika groaned in annoyance “Fuck!” she cursed as she felt the pleasure stop “Sikke khatam ho gaye kya?” she glared at him through her lashes. “Kya matlab hai iska” he asked gruffly at her rude tone. “Nahi matlab aap ruk gaye na? Toh machine me sikke khatam ho gaye ya aapki ego ko aur khilana padega?” she stared at him, her eyes hazy with lust but sharp with annoyance.
He laughed at that. She felt his dark laugh in her core. “Has kyun rahe ho?” she said, tangling her hands in his hair, yanking his face close to her. He looked at her with lust smug eyes as he pulled his fingers out of her. She swallowed back a whine of disappointment, her hand loosening in his hair. Because she knew if she made that pathetic sound he would be even more smug.
“Agar hasane wali baat bologi toh hasunga na?” he responded arrogantly. He used her remaining slick on his hand to pump his aching dick. She huffed and looked away annoyed. His hand gripped her jaw hard. Forcing her to look at him. “Ye kaisa ravia hai? Mai dekh raha hun ki jabse tum ayi ho aise hi pesh aa rahi ho” he asked roughly
“Attitude? Aur mai?” She scoffed with her jaw in his grip “Chalu kisne kiya tha? Mai kitni tameez se aapke sath airport pe pesh ayi thi. Aapne hi battamezi se chalu kiya tha” she hisses back at him. “Battameezi?” he asks in shock, his eyebrows raising. A evil grin graces his face “Battameezi toh mai ab karunga”
“pyar se pesh aaraha tha mai ab tak” He hums darkly as he pushes her back onto the bed. She gasps in shock. “Socha tha ki aap shock me hongi, aapki jaan khatre me thi. Lekin ab toh dikh hi raha hai ki asliyat kya hai” he clicks his tongue at her as he drags the heavy head of his cock through her leaking slit.
She squirmed under his gaze and touch. Her smug words normally ready at a moment's notice now nowhere to be found. “Hilo mat” he growls at her as he grips both of her hips, hovering over her. He grips hard enough to make her gasp in pain. She knows that the next morning there will be bruises where he touched her.
He lines his cock to her entrance. Without any warning or further foreplay he pushes into her, burying fully to the hilt in one thrust. Rashmika’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her back arched and lifted off of the bed. A scream erupted from the depth of her soul.
“AAHHH OH OH MY GOD” she screamed into the darkness of the room, her brows furrowing. He was so fucking big she struggled to handle him. The veins of his heavy cock dragged against her walls. Her core burned with pleasure.
Aslam faced his own demons. God she was so tight, he didn't even understand how this was possible on a biological level. Her slick warm heat felt like heaven to a sinner like him. He groaned against her throat.
His eyes kept fluttering shut each time her walls twitch in a feeble attempt to accommodate him, “Oh Rashmika” he groaned gutturally. It was taking him genuine effort to not give in to the voice in his head that told him to cum right there and then.
Rashmika moaned when he took her name. Her walls fluttered again because this is exactly how he sounded in her wet dreams. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him up from her neck by the hair. She brought her lips to his messily. He kissed her back painfully deeply. Like he was trying to consume her soul.
“Hilun?” he rasped against her lips when he felt like she had relaxed slightly. “H-Haan...please” she gasped. He pulled out of her almost completely before he slammed back in both of them moaning simultaneously. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands clawed at his shoulders again.
Aslam pulled back and slammed back into her. Once. twice. Thrice. And then he set a maddening rhythm not too fast and not too slow either. But instead a painful combination that ruined her for any other man.
Each of his thrusts were perfectly timed and paced to make her lose her mind. He hit against her g spot with one thrust. On the next thrust he bumped against her cervix. Then with the next thrust he hit her g spot once more. Fuck he was good.
Her breathing was erratic, unable to stabilize. Broken pants and groans pulled from both of them. Her hands etched deep lines into his back. THe muscles rippled with each of his powerful thrusts. The pain and the simultaneous pleasure made him hiss and bite her neck. Her nipples brushed against the hard planes of his chest. Each brush sends an electric spark through her.
“Mai- Mai- Oh…Oh god” she whined as she felt her orgasam approach her like a train. And she stood on the tracks waiting to be hit. His cock dragged against her walls deliciously each time he pulled out. The feeling made her shiver. She writhed and moved against the bed.
Aaslam felt how her walls quivered and fluttered around him. He heard the way her moans and whines got higher in pitch and frequency. She was close. And he wasn't about to let her off the hook so easily.
He pulled out of her entirely making her almost sob in frustration “What- Why! FUCK” she cursed. “Muh band rakho apna!” he growled into her ear. His hands flipped her onto her stomach with a scary amount of ease. Like she weighed nothing. And that in itself was incredibly hot.
His beefy arm anchored around her neck. Her face was squished between his muscles. “Bohot zyada hilti ho tum!” he hissed in her ear as he set her in the pro bone position. She gasped and whined into his arm. He shoved into her once more with a groan. He cursed and grunted by her ear with each thrust. His cock dragged against her g-pot with every movement.
“Ahh please!” she begged as her eyes began to tear. Even though she didn't understand what she was begging for. She just knew that Aslam was the only one who would be able to give it to her. He laughed darky in her ear, the sound rough with exertion. “Pata hai tum aise bohot achhi lagti ho.”
“Jab tumhara ye muh band hota hai toh phir rooh ko chain milta hai. Warna bus bakar. Bakar. bakar karti reheti ho.” He accentuates each point with a deep and hard thrust and a hard bite on the junction of her shoulder and neck. She screams into his arm as she feels the familiar pull of pleasure in her navel. “P-Please!” she whines, her teeth biting on his arm as a last resort to hold her sanity.
“Shh shh..” he laughs darkly “Bas bas. Mai teen tak ginunga. Phir apne hosh kho baith na theek hai?” He kisses her shoulder blade as he continues fucking into her. His beard brushed against her shivering skin. She nods dumbly to his instructions.
“Ek” he began As he sped up slightly. The room is filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin. “Doh” her cries get louder and breathier. The heat between them grows exponentially. If someone lit a match between them it would set the room a blaze.
Aslam groaned as he felt his own core tighten in pleasure. Her cunt fluttered around him rapidly. She moaned into his arm desperately. “Fuck! Aur……Aur chahiye” her teeth sank into his arm hard enough to make a lasting mark. He speeds up as he groans by her ear “Kitni demand karti ho tum.”
Then suddenly the pleasure was too much. She gasped breathlessly into the crook of his elbow. His arm was choking her slightly. Her head went fuzzy with pleasure. “Ah…Chaudhary! zyaada hogaya hai! please please! Aramse!” she sobbed.
He laughed darkly in her ear “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Kya hua Rashmika?” he hummed in mock sympathy “Tumko lagta hai ki yeh ab tumhare haath me hai?” he rasps. God he was so fucking cruel. Sweat rolls down his spine as he fucks into her like a man possesed. He is most definitely not slowing down. “Chaudhary mujhse ruka nahi jaega!” she warns, gasping, her hands fisting in the sheets..
“Nahi ruka jaega?” he coos at her as he yanks at her hair to lift up her limp head “Theek hai phir,” he hums. “Please!” she screams into his arm, her mind had stopped working a while ago. She didn't care that she was begging anymore. The bed was creaking with each thrust. Thumping against the wall rhythmically. Her screams filled the room
“Teen!” he grunted by her ear with one final hard thrust. Both their orgasms crashed violently against each other. White burst behind her eyes. Her body was trembling with pleasure as she screamed into the night. Her body burned and her breath faltered. Is this what heaven felt like?
After the flashes of white she felt a deep blackness pull at her vision. Within moments she lost consciousness with a weak moan.
With a broken groan he falls off the clif of pleasure. Aslam’s forehead fell against her back as her walls milked his cock. His hips fucked into her of their own accord as his cock twitched and painter her insides white with thick hot ropes of his cum.
The sheets were ruined no doubt as he leaked out of her stuffed entrance. A mix of her cum, her slick, and his cum dripped out of her spasming cunt.
He collapses beside her gasping for breath. She has gone limp in his arms, unconscious but breathing. Her body shivers, shakes, and twitches in the aftershock. Their cum now properly drips out of her to ruin the sheets definitively.
Aslam simply pulls the covers over her shivering body as he pulls her close. Soon sleep begins to pull at his own consciousness. And he gives in.
—----------------------
Sat @ 11 am
Police Guest House, Karachi, Pakistan
SP Chaudhary Aslam had woken up first. Histreached his arms but felt a weight on his biceps that prevented him from moving freely. He turned his head in confusion. And then he saw her.
Rashmika Raina was using his arm as a pillow curled up next to him like a cat. Her hair wildly spread over the bed and his arm. She snored softly. Aslam didn't know why he did it, he felt an urge. His fingers gently brushed the hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear.
God! What was wrong with him? He shook his head and got out of the bed. He grabbed his discarded salwar from the floor and pulled it on. The soft morning light bathed her bruised body. And in the light aslam saw how he marked her last night. Bites along her shoulder blades, hickies on her neck.
Brusises on her hips from how hard he held her in place while he fucked her. She shifts slightly in her sleep then he can see the rest of his handiwork. Her chest and breasts are littered with bites and purple marks. He had gone insane. In the best way possible last night he had gone insane.
Suddenly he remembered why they left the party in such a rush. The shooting. Right. He lights a cigarette and leaves the room as he shakes his head. This was about to be his headache for today… But at least he had someone to take his frustrations out on. He chuckles quietly as he exhales smoke into the air before he takes another drag.
—-----------
Within moments of when he leaves the room Rashmika blinks awake. It takes her less than 30 seconds to figure out what had happened last night and where she was. She had fucked him and then fallena sleep in his room. She groans heavily.
This wasn't supposed to happen. She hisses as she clambers out of the bed with shaky legs. She walks around the room collecting the clothes he had thrown unceremoniously. Her underwear and her bra are the first to be put on. Then the white blouse and petticoat of her saree.
She grabs the 6 and a half yards of white silk on the floor and tries to make sense of it with a pounding head. In front of the mirror she tucks in the first round and then attempts to make pleats. Her hair is wild around her head. The remaining kajal in her eyes has set into a smoky look further deepening her eyes. Her hands fumble and drop the pleats she managed to create shakily. “Madarchod” she curses under her breath as she tries again.
—-----------
At the same time Aslam walks back into the room. And for a moment he just stares at her. She is draping her saree again, her hair wild and messy in a sexy way. Her hands whooshing the silk around her body with practiced ease. The morning light makes her glow and he can't help the words that tumble out of his mouth "Subhanallah"
Her head lifts from her attention to the pleats in her hand as she hears him. She watches him through the large mirror as he walks closer. “Aap poochenge nahi? If I need help or not? Manners be ek cheez hoti hai”
“Agar utarne ke liye madat chahiye to boliye” he says like the absolute smug bastard he is. She flattens the expression on her face and responds “Chup chaap meri madat kariye. Ye pleats pakadiye sahi se set nahi ho rahi” and to both of their surprise Aslam nods.
He walks to her and kneels in front of her again. She swallows hard. His hands hold the pleats steady, his cigarette hanging in between his lips. Rashmika shakily begins reforming and adjusting the pleats in her hand before she tucks them into her petticoat. Silently he picks up the pallu material from the floor and hands it to her as he gets up off of the ground.
She takes it from him and drapes it ver her torso and chest and onto her shoulder with ease. He stands there and watches her, taking a lazy drag from hsi cigarette. Something in her softens and then she whispers, "Flight hai meri aaj, wapas India ki."
“Jaana zaroori hai kya?” he asks, not sure how he feels. But he knows he doesn't want her to leave yet.
“Kyun pyar hogaya hai kya mujhse?” She jokes with a smirk to lighten the tense air between them but she can't take the look out of her eyes. She can't take the softness out of her eyes.
“Nahi time paas achhi ho tum” He jokes back realizing what she is trying to do. He is grateful for it.
She laughs “Toh phir embassy jaake mera special visa extend karwaiye” Aslam gives her a rumbling chuckle and walks out of the room shaking his head.
She is glad that he is the one who walked away. Because she didn't know what to say next. Because this was never meant to happen.
—----------------------
Same day @ 5 pm
Karachi International Airport, Karachi, Pakistan
SP Chaudhary Aslam did not want to be here. Here they were around the circle from where they started.
He didn't want to pick her up from the airport then and he most definitely didn't want to drop her off now. He hates that he is feeling this way. “Mohtarma ke bags utar!” He orders his constable. “Ji Janab!” He salutes and walks towards the boot of the jeep.
Aslam watches Rashmika rifle through her hand bag for her passport. She looks exactly like the day he picked her up. But instead of gray she was wearing a navy blue suit. Her sunglasses on her face again and her hair tied back yet some strands stubbornly fell on her face with the wind.
Finally she finds her passport and along with it a slip of paper. She takes the bags from the constable with a smile and a “Shukriya” The constable smiles “Arre humara farz tha mohtarma”
She turns to aslam and pushes her sunglasses up her head so she can meet his eyes for a moment. She drags her eyes over him once more. As if trying to commit what he looks like to memory. “Har subah aapki chai me mootne ke liye sorry” she starts with a laugh “Aapke chutti pe tapakne ke liye bhi sorry” she continues. He holds out the paper to him, aslam takes it quietly from her, simply arching an eyebrow for an explanation.
She gathers her bags in her hands “Dekhiye its clear. You love me, aap deny karlo jitna karna hai but you cant hide from it. And agar aapko lage ki aapki mohobbat ruki nahi jaa rahi… toh phir phone miladena. Khuda Hafiz SP Sahab” she smiles at him one final time before she runs to the airport and begins walking in.
Aslam watches her leave with the ghost of a grin on his face, he shakes his head lightly. She was a fucking headache and a half. He took a drag off of his cigarette and placed the slip of paper with her number on it in his wallet.
He liked this Indian headache. More than he was willing to admit.
-----------------------
My first work that wasn't DSKVS! hope y'all enjoyed thattttt ;)
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DSKVS: SERIES BREAK ANOUNCEMENT and Series break queue (not in order)
Hello, my traumatized children!
.......HOW'S THE JOSH????..........hehehehhehe...
I am deeply sorry for what I did to you with that cliffhanger of an ending (the plot demanded it). Trust me when I tell you that it hurt me more than it hurt you because I first had to imagine it, then write it, then edit it, then read it. You went through it once, and I had years taken off of my life expectancy.
I decided to make this our cliffhanger for many reasons. The first one is that this naturally felt like a good point for me to use this point to give you guys a break without losing interest.
Because the truth of the matter is that all the authors on this god-forsaken website are going through a hard time. We aren't getting as many likes or interactions as before, and it naturally hurts. Another reason to make this the cliffhanger is so that the next chapters that are about to come will be extremely sexy because I'll have the time to do them slowly.
Now on to the upside of the trauma.
Here is your chance to experience my writing for something other than our Beloved Rehman and Rehanna. You may have seen these titles on my master list without an explanation. Now, finally, I'm happy to present to you..............
Chatpate one shots that could be a whole series, but this is all you get, and you don't complain :)
And as always, comment down below how you feel!
A lesson in diplomacy (smut)
Synopsis: Major Iqbal x Indian diplomat Yamini Singh
Major Iqbal Khan, the head of the ISI, is famously Anti-India. Yet here he finds himself the head diplomat in the Pakistan-India delegation. How could Iqbal say no when the president himself commands it? He is here very, very openly unwillingly. But he has already decided on something that he will not back away from. Major Iqbal Khan will not show an ounce of diplomacy.
Indian Diplomat Yamini Singh also doesn’t want to be here. But when personally requested by the minister of external affairs, she couldn't refuse. Yamini knows one thing about her professional reputation. She is only sent somewhere where relations are fucked beyond repair. Because Yamini Singh is magical, she can manage any situation. Even when she absolutely doesn't want to manage the delicate dumpster fire that India-Pakistan relations are.
Yamini steels herself. Yamini will be diplomatic, she will smile through gritted teeth, she will get the fucking job done or so help her god. But when encountering a certain complete ass hat of a Major, even her magic dries up. It's a clash from the moment they meet, a certain bad spark between them. Yet they have to persevere.
They have to persevere through four days of events. Peace talks, conferences, negotiations, and finally a masquerade ball. A night where both delegations are to let loose and mingle. A night where they can breathe freely. Even if its behind a mask.
So what happens when there is a round of high-stakes poker? What happens if two painfully terse diplomats happen to be seated opposite each other? What happens when there is too much liquor passed around? What happens when one diplomat rubs the other the wrong way? What happens when there is plausible deniability? The ability to say: I don't know who I fucked! They were wearing a mask!
RELEASED: READ IT NOW!
The Aslam Massla (smut)
Synopsis: SP Chaudhary Aslam x Indian Journalist Rashmika Raina
Written especially for my WIFE, the love of my life, and the most traumatized by my ideas @patrakilekha, who is a dirty, dirty SP Aslam ashiq (I see you, baby, and this is for you)
Rashmika Raina is a brilliant indian journalist. But happens to be a woman in a man's world. Desperate for a field assignment, her harami bosses and enemies in the channel decide to give her what she wants. A field assignment. In Pakistan. In the volatile and dangerous city of Lyari, Pakistan, to be more specific.
Now Rashmika is not one to back down, so she accepts. But as an indian she needs police protection as is mandated by the Pakistan Embassy for Indian journalist visas. She tries to fight it but loses.
So she walks out of the Karachi airport and finds her police protection sitting on his jeep, one leg stabilized on the metal battering ram on the front of the jeep and the other hanging loosely, a snarl of boredom on his face, and a cigarette hanging out of his lip. SP Chaudhary Aslam, who would be anywhere else rather than here. But when ordered from the very top, he couldn't say no. So now he is stuck on babysitting duty for an Indian journalist.
What will happen when headstrong and dark Aslam meets a bold and equally headstrong Raina? What will happen if they get stuck in crossfire during her report? What will happen under the immense stress and emotions? And who will relent first?
RELEASED: READ IT NOW!!!!
Hell is a meeting room filled with Ex’es that you get locked in with. (smut)
Synopsis: Sanjaya Baru x Lawyer and diplomat Malika Khar x Tarun Saluja
Malika Khar is what you call the epitome of intelligence and ambition. A qualified Indian diplomat and lawyer. She has a past, as all people do.
A different life in the PMO. Working as a diplomat. A different life in the high courts of Mumbai. As a young lawyer. Sanjaya Baru and Tarun Saluja mark each chapter separately. She was a different woman with both of them; they were different eras in her life. Both a distinct and firmly closed chapter of her life.
Or so she thinks. Her assistant Karan is the cause of all of this re-digging of the past. Karan should now pray for a swift and merciful death.
Fast forward to today. Malika has a corporate meeting scheduled for the amalgamation of the two projects she was heading. She was pleased with the meeting; it would take away her headache of managing 2 parties at a time.
So imagine her surprise when she walks into the meeting room and finds two catastrophic migraines waiting for her. And the cherry on top? They both don't know about each other. Her migraines aren't aware that the other man in the room is also a powerful migraine. And what's the worst part? She never really got over either of them.
What will happen when they find out about each other? What will happen when the past is dug up? And more importantly, what will happen if they get accidentally locked in this meeting suite overnight on a Friday night?
(Full disclosure: This one is one I'm very excited for personally. This tharki idea has been wrecking my sleep for WEEKS. Both of these old bastards have WRECKED ME beyond saving)
Pissed off at the PMO (smut)
Synopsis: Sanjaya Baru x Indian foreign delegate Rani Marwah
Sanjaya Baru and Rani Marwah had a relationship, or something better described as a fling, while she worked at the PMO. He was her senior, and she was his junior by a few years. Both of them held equal positions. Both of them held equal power. It was taboo, it was fiery, it was spicy, it was amazing. They were a true power couple. The PMO shone under their rule. It could have been something real. It could have been something amazing. Key word here is COULD.
It was all his fault. It was all Sanjaya Baru’s fault. In a jealous gossip- and booze-influenced haze, he ruined her reputation. He completely ruined her and her reputation at the PMO. Rani had no choice; she immediately took a foreign delegate posting to Spain to get away from the pain of him.
He realizes his mistake as soon as he sees the tears in her eyes. But his stupid fucking ego won't let him apologize, beg on his knees for her to stay. So he lets her leave. She blocks him and any channel of communication that he can think of. Instagram, Facebook, Twitter. Hell, she even blocked him on Email and LinkedIn.
He will never forget his last memory of her. Tears stream down her face, her eyes red and broken. She isn't arguing; she isn't angry. She is hurt. Hurt beyond repair. And that is so much worse than if she cursed at him. That's the face that he sees every time his eyes close.
Everyone at the PMO could see the change as soon as she left. Sanjaya Baru was no longer the same man. He was a darker man. He stalks her online, and he makes fake accounts to follow her social media after she blocks him. He saves newspaper clippings about her accomplishments. He starts a blog about her. He sends her flowers on their would-be anniversary every month. He pays one of her interns to just send him news about her every day.
He thinks about her when he wakes up and when he goes to bed. He fucks other women to help him forget. But nothing ever dulls the ache. Nothing ever takes away the fog she left on him. Nothing ever takes away how much he hates himself.
5 years later, she is invited back to the PMO for a ball, and first, she refuses.
Then Sanjaya pulls strings. The PM himself personally asks her to come, and she can't say no to that. They meet again for the first time in that ballroom. She is in a black-tie evening dress. A dress that looked like it was poured into it. Like how aged whisky flows in between ice cubes to fill the glass beautifully. He was in a debonair tuxedo, his hair now silver, his face now slightly more mature. What happens when they see each other face-to-face for the first time in 5 years?
Will he spot the small letter "s" tattooed on the back of her neck first? Or will she notice his dark obsession first?
And more importantly, what will happen if they get locked in the PMO building on Friday night?
(Full disclosure: This is the second one I'm most excited for. LIKE OMGGGGGG DARK FUCKED UP OBSESSIVE BARU????? Sign me the fuck up! In fact, don't because I bought out the entire event before anyone else could register.)
OUT NOW GO READ IT
Vakeel, police, aur gunehgar agar ek kamre me bandh hojaye..... aur chabi gumjaye? (smut)
Synopsis: Tarun Saluja x The Accused Criminal Psychologist Vaani Kharbanda x IG Tarun Alhlawat
Vaani Kharbanda is a criminal psychologist who was found standing over the dead body of her ex-criminal client. IG Tarun Ahlawat was dispatched to the scene first. He found her covered in blood, standing numb. All the evidence points to her. All the evidence points to Vaani Kharbanda being the murderer. And her being a Criminal psychologist certainly doesn't help her case. Yet she vehemently opposes it. IG Tarun Ahlawat has no choice but to take her back to the station for interrogation.
Enter her lawyer. Advocate Tarun Saluja. He is the best criminal attorney in all of Mumbai. Tarun, as her lawyer, knows that regardless of whether she did it or not, it's his job to make sure she is proven innocent. It is his job to go toe to toe with IG Tarun Ahlawat.
The interrogation room is cold and intense. A room full of wit and intelligence. The air is thick with tension and unspoken words. A lawyer, a psychologist, and an IG, all with their own angles to play. Narcissism, sarcasm, intellect, deflection, and mind games.
Everyone knows danger, tension, and wit are aphrodisiacs in their own manner. But what happens if everyone in a close and cramped room... experience all three aphrodisiac emotions in their own ways? The goal is to find out if Vaani Kharbanda is a murderer or not. But the room is about to burst with so much more
(Full disclosure: I came up with this idea because I had this vision of Vaani, our heroine, moaning "Tarun!" and both of these cocky bastards absolutely bending her over, wrecking her, turning her into a pathetic mess, while fighting with each other over who she meant)
The law school intern VS. Two seasoned advocates (Smut)
Synopsis: Advocate Tarun Saluja x Advocate Laila Chaudhry x Jai Angarchand
Laila took the case without reading the fine print. An interesting defamation case between two celebrities involving a sex tape. And that was her first mistake; as an advocate, she should have read the fine print first. Then maybe she wouldn't have taken the case. Not because of the celebrities involved. No, that makes the case more interesting than anything.
The true point of contention was the co-counsel on the case. Mr. Tarun FUCKING Saluja. An infuriatingly good-looking, brilliant, egomaniacal, absolute bastard of a lawyer. Who just happened to also be a fling from Laila’s past. And again, the point of contention wasn't even the fling. The point of contention was the cocky bastard Saluja himself. Who was bound to be preening like a peacock about his brilliance this entire case, with plenty of undertones about how once she was desperate for him, not so many moons ago.
The wild card in this case was the intern under Saluja. The fresh bright eyed law school third year intern who's still through that being a lawyer was like the movies. Jai Angarchand. Who is absolutely stoked to score this internship, the first in his group to get one and that too under the great Tarun Saluja.
Now the case itself is phenomenal. There is attraction, passion, money, fame, and love turned bitter. It's like a movie. When the group comes to look at the evidence, they find one crucial piece to be missing. The sex tape that started it all. Instead, all they find is a file and a note that tells them all they can have are these descriptions of the tapes. And my oh my are these descriptions confusingly written.
So what will happen when they have to reenact certain aspects of this case? What will happen when Tarun reads out directions and Jai and Laila have to act them out? What will happen when the room gets thick with tension? What will happen when Jai messes up one of the directions? What will happen if Tarun has to show Jai, using Laila, how to do it?
What will happen when Jai snaps and actually kisses her?
(Full disclosure: This one was a wild card....Even I was astounded by this one, but fuck me, I'm excited for this.)
DSKVS Alternate Universe: Siyahi Ke Qhuab Vakeel Sahiba Ke Naam
Synopsis: Everyone knows that Siyahi is in love with Vakeel Sahiba. And the poor boy doesn't know that the love of his life is very entangled with his boss. One fortunate Sunday afternoon, Siyahi happens to find a blunt on Rehanna's desk. And Rehanna, being kind, tells him to have the blunt, no problem!
So a blunt of weed, an ice cold beer, a box of bakhlawa, spring weather that's not too hot, not too cold but just the right temperature, and a half day off from Rehman...... It's a dangerous combination for a man hopelessly in love, wouldn't you say?
Weed leads to dreams of a Vakeel Sahiba falling in love with him, getting married to him, and having his children. Siyahi bas yaar ganja phookna band karde tera kuch nahi hoga bachhe.....
(Full disclosure: This was done due to popular requests and begging in my comments section for poor Siayahi. Now, Siyahi has no chance in real life; we all know that. Thank god for dreams)
OUT NOW GO READ IT
Tags: (DM or COMMENT TO BE ADDED) @fleurnoir@mainyahaankyunhoon@roses-and-iron@bohotbadajalebi@golgappalicious@tere-naal-nachna@curiousbutbored@harrystyleskiwi9@scentedwolfdragon@patrakilekha@immortalinvaderrogue@wan2bey-n @lemonsquishee @goodnightkathrine @livelaughlovebylerr@shadylovedhurandhar@noor-archive@dc-reign@alyislost@harrystyleskiwi9@goodasaysboo@tanipartner@anxiousbeeing@bitchystxnk @gowrimenop-1 @layinglowkey@slutforkaz@angellwhisperswritez@angelllk1ssed@buchanana00@hum-suffer@ch3rrycok3s@mandaakiniii@krishavania@moonysscar@akshayes@kamalkafool@bombaybomb@snihrayy@nooriyat@drownedinindigolove@thisismyaltsblog@vakalatnelagadiye@royaldreamermonsoon@poetry-beauty-love-writez
Disclaimer: This series is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Drinking
Masterlist
Author's Note: OMG, guys, we are at the series break post!!! Wow, I'm emotional! This has been such a long journey, and I'm so glad you guys are here and sticking around! As a reminder, the series will go on break for I think 2-3 weeks so I can give ya'll some yummy work that's not this series <3 Be on the lookout for the official announcement and the special masterlist coming soon
About the chapter- I'm genuinely sorry in advance. I'm writing this note from a security bunker because I am afraid for my life :) DONT KILL ME
Special appearance: Himmat Singh from Special Ops.
Chapter 15. Nafrat Karte Hain Aap Humse?
A week after the ending of chapter 14, sometime in late November @ 5 pm
Baloch Haveli front verandah, Lyari, Pakistan
“Tch Rehman mujhe saree phenana zaroori tha kya?” huffs Rehanna as she adjusts the fall of her maroon cotton saree that she wore with a maroon blouse. Her thick fluffy braid falls over her right shoulder, a few curls fall against her face escaping her braid as she leans over slightly. Her hands grip the pleats, shaking them out gently.
The verandah is deserted at the moment. But soon it would be bowling with all the boys clamoring into the cars that were lined up to take them for their meeting today. Suddenly she feels Rehman's presence behind her. She can feel the heat of his broad chest through her backless blouse as he gets closer to her.
Rehman's hands ghost along the top edge of her saree. Then he leans in, placing a kiss to the back of her neck, his naughty fingers pinch the soft flesh of her waist making her gasp. His arms wrap around her, his palms hot against the bare flesh of her stomach as he pulls her flush against him. Rehanna gasped her fist hitting his shoulder. He grinned shamelessly “Haan bohot zyada zaroori hai..faide ki baat hai”
“Accha? Meri saree pehn’ne se ya na pehen’ne se kya faida hai is meeting me?” she raised an eyebrow at him, turning slightly in his hold to look at him. He really looked quite handsome in this sand colored kurta. A dark brown waistcoat and matching dark brown leather punjabi mojari shoes accentuating the look more. He leaned forward into the crook of her neck. And began placing little feather light kisses along the line of her throat and shoulder, his fingers drawing little swirls against her stomach.
Her eyes flutter shut and a soft oh pulls from her throat. “Faida bohot hai meri jaan…” he murmurs into her neck. “Faida hi faida..” his tone dips with the second ‘faida’, his hands now running up and down her exposed waist. His true benefit of her wearing a saree now abundantly obvious to anyone with two functioning braincells “Oye!” says Rehanna finally shaking out of it “Ek second! Ek second! Sirf aapke ghurne ke maze ke liye mujhe aaj saree pehen’ne ko bola aapne?” she narrows her eyes at him.
“Dekhiye bola toh apne hai, maine nahi bola!” says Rehman cheekily pressing a kiss to the back of her neck now. She huffs at him angrily “Ab toh mai change karne ja rahi hun…agar saree ka itna hi shauk hai to phir in sab ladke logon ko kehdo ki saree pehenke gume. Pata hi saree samahlne me kitni gaand lagti hai?” she turns her nose away as she pulls away from his embrace.
Rehman chuckles warmly at her nakhre, it's one of his favorite things about her. His hand grips her wrist and spins her back into him. Her back hitting his chest an oof pulling from her body naturally. His other hand reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat, pulling something out of it gently. He presents it to her carefully, its a big beautiful brilliant white rose. Its truly perfect in every aspect. Which is only possible when a flower is hand selected.
Rehanna raises an eyebrow at the flower and then at him. Her expression is unimpressed “Iska kya aachar dalun mai?” Rehman's shoulders shake in silent laughter; this woman and her wit would be the end of him. She looks even more annoyed at his laughter “Phele toh inke ghurne ke liye saree pehno phir inke gulab ka achaar banaoun?” she rolls her eyes fighting out of his grip again.
Rehman stifles his laughter with great effort as he holds her tighter against him. When she stops squirming with a huff he brings the rose close to her face. He gently threads the de-thorned stem through her braid, weaving it between any small openings. When fully set the large rose sits by her ear it accentuates her beautiful features. The white of the rose petals brighten the white of her eyes. They make the pink of her lips more vibrant.
“Meri jaan.. Hum toh apke husn ke qadardan hain” he begins softly bringing one of her hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to it. The annoyance on her face melts slightly. “ Aur waise bhi ghoorne wale kya jane, niharna kya hota hai?” he hums to her as he gently pushes a loose curl out of her eyes. Tucking it behind her other ear. His palm rests against her cheek. He pulls her close slowly, capturing her lips sweetly.
She pulls away after a moment, his forehead now against hers. “Bhagwan kasam Rehman har bar aapki ye meethi meethi batieen apko bacha leti hain” she mutters against his lips with steadily melting annoyance. He grins triumphantly at her, because he knows he is a sweet talker. She pulls away from his grip again and begins walking away.
Two steps later she looks behind herself over her shoulder “Aap niharenge mujhe?” she asks. “Behad shiddat se” he replies, dragging his eyes over her once. His eyes landed on the soft curve of her waist before begrudgingly going to her equally beautiful eyes. “Kab tak niharenge?” she questions again. Rehman grins now “Jabtak aap chahien”
She hums with a begrudging smile like the answer satisfied her. Then without another word she turns and keeps walking. Raja and sultan show up and begin nudging her leg for attention. She scratched their ears gently and lovingly. This time there is a more pronounced sway in her hips, because she knows someone is staring. Because more than that she knows someone is appreciating.
Rehman's eyes stay on the hypnotic sway of her hips with a goofy grin pulling at his face. One one hand he didn't want her to ever walk away from him. On the other hand he doesn't mind the view one bit.
—-----------------
A few minutes later
A few minutes later the haveli erupted into its usual chaos. Footsteps thundered through hallways, someone shouted for car keys, Hamza yelled at Siyahi for stealing his lighter again, and somewhere in the kitchen a cook was loudly arguing with Donga about who had eaten the last kebab from the tray left out for the boys.
The evening sky over Lyari had begun dimming into that bruised blue color right before sunset disappeared entirely, the air carrying the distant scent of frying food, dust, sea salt and old Karachi smoke. One by one the men piled into the cars lined across the front driveway like a moving procession ready for war disguised as routine business. Eventually everyone settled themselves in place.
Donga took the driver’s seat of Rehman’s maroon corvette with immense self importance radiating off him. Uzair dropped dramatically into the passenger seat beside him scrolling through his phone lazily. In the backseat Rehman sat beside Rehanna while the second car carrying Hamza and Siyahi rolled out behind them.
As the car eased onto the roads of Lyari, Rehanna gracefully settled back against the leather seat, one leg crossing over the other carefully so her saree remained in place. Her elbow rested against the window sill while her fingers absentmindedly toyed with the loose edge of her pallu. Outside, the streets blurred in streaks. Small tea stalls glowing under yellow bulbs, children kicking footballs through narrow lanes, old men sitting on broken charpais discussing politics like the fate of the nation rested personally on their shoulders.
Karachi moved around them in all its beautiful ugly chaos. Rehman kept sneaking glances toward her every few moments despite himself. Fondness tugged painfully at his chest when she turned her head slightly and lifted the white rose closer to her face to inhale its scent. Her lashes lowered for just a second, her expression softening in a way that only he ever really got to see. The sight hit him harder than it should have. Suddenly he leaned forward slightly and spoke toward the front. “Donga kuch gaane chala.”
“Ji bhai,” Donga nodded immediately, fiddling with the radio controls with the seriousness of a surgeon performing an operation. Static crackled through the speakers before music finally filtered softly into the car. A qawwali began to play. Familiar. Rich. Deep. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s voice flooded the vehicle like velvet smoke curling through the air itself. Rehanna blinked softly in surprise. Her favorite. And then to make matters worse, the song was Yeh Jo Halka Halka Suroor Hai. Rehman leaned back slightly against the seat and offhandedly began singing along in that deep voice of his that nobody expected a gangster to possess.
His tone was rough around the edges yet strangely melodic, the kind of voice that sounded better because it carried life in it instead of perfection. “Ye jo halka halka suroor hai…” he sang casually. Uzair practically jolted in the front seat. “Oh ho bhai!” he clapped loudly. “Wah bhai!” Donga appreciated with an impressed nod while drumming the steering wheel dramatically.
Rehanna turned her head sharply toward Rehman, genuine surprise flickering across her face. Nobody expected Rehman to sing like this. Nobody expected a man with blood on his hands and guns hidden beneath his seat to sound like warm whiskey and midnight smoke when he sang.
Rehman caught her shocked expression immediately. And the bastard winked at her. Then he kept singing, this time clearly looking directly at her. “Ye jo halka halka suroor hai…ye teri nazar ka qasoor hai…ki sharab peena sikhadiya…” Rehanna bit the inside of her cheek hard before she could visibly blush. She rolled her eyes dramatically and looked away toward the window again but not before Rehman caught the tiny smile threatening the corner of her lips.
He was enjoying this entirely too much. The smugness on his face became unbearable as he stopped singing lyrics and simply hummed along to the music now, spreading himself back against the seat like some victorious king who had just conquered another kingdom. One arm stretched lazily behind Rehanna across the backrest though not touching her openly.
Uzair suddenly twisted around in the passenger seat to look at Rehman. “Bhai…ye jo nayi mohtarma aapne patai hai Ulfat bhabhi ke baad…jinka naam aapke phone me aapne meri jaan se save kar rakha hai…kya unko bhi gaana gaane se pataya?”
Rehanna’s eyebrow immediately twitched upward. Rehman slowly looked at Uzair. “Tujhe kya dilchaspi hai?” he asked suspiciously. “Nahi bas aise hi puch raha hun…koi dilchaspi nahi hai,” Uzair answered way too quickly before turning back around toward the windshield. That alone was enough to make Rehman suspicious. “Uzair,” Rehman drawled slowly now, a grin beginning to form.
Donga meanwhile had gone completely still as realization suddenly exploded across his face. “Bhai bhai bhai!!!” he nearly shouted excitedly. Uzair looked at him with murderous intent instantly. “Donga chup!” Too late. Donga now wore the most disgusting shit eating grin imaginable. “Bhai uss din Jamali ke ghar pe ek mohtarma se ishq hogaya hai Uzair ko unka naam hai Yasmi-mmmhph huumph!” Uzair practically lunged across the front seat, slapping a hand over Donga’s mouth before he could finish the name. The entire car burst into laughter.
Rehanna leaned back laughing openly now. “Aye haye Baloch sahab!” Even Rehman threw his head back laughing before leaning forward to clap a heavy hand onto Uzair’s shoulder. “Ishq ho gaya hai mere chotte bhai ko? Wah bataya bhi nahi bhenchod!”
“Arre nahi bhai aisa kuch nahi hai!” Uzair protested immediately though his ears had turned the faintest shade of pink. Which only made the laughter worse. Donga was wheezing behind Uzair’s hand now trying to continue exposing him through muffled sounds.
Rehanna was laughing hard enough that she had to hold the edge of her saree to her stomach. Even the car behind them briefly honked because Hamza and Siyahi were apparently demanding to know what the hell was so funny. Uzair groaned dramatically and dropped his head against the seat. “Kasam se jahil logon ke beech phas gaya hun.”
“Mohabbat karne wale hum nahi tum ho,” Rehanna teased sweetly. Uzair pointed accusingly at her. “Vakeel sahiba aap bhi mazaak uda lo.” “Bilkul udaungi,” she replied shamelessly.
The laughter inside the car refused to die down even as Uzair glared murderously at every single person present. The maroon corvette cut smoothly through the evening traffic of Karachi, headlights streaking across the windshield in long golden smears while the qawalli continued floating softly through the speakers. Inside the car there was warmth, teasing, familiarity. The kind of warmth built only through years of surviving together.
Uzair looked deeply offended as Donga continued wheezing with laughter beside him. “Mai kasam se tujhe gaadi se neeche phenk dunga” he muttered darkly. “Bhai dekho dekho sharma bhi raha hai!” Donga practically cried from excitement while clutching his chest dramatically. “Haye Allah pehla ishq!”
“Abe chup kar na!” Uzair snapped, finally shoving Donga’s shoulder hard enough to make him bounce against the door. Rehanna laughed softly from the backseat. Rehman noticed immediately. He noticed everything about her. The way her fingers absentmindedly touched the white rose braided into her hair. The way the corners of her lips curved now.
“Acha toh naam Yasmin hai?” Rehanna asked innocently, although the amusement sparkling in her eyes made it obvious she intended to make the poor man suffer. Uzair immediately pointed at Donga accusingly. “Is gadhe ne bataya?!?!”
“Arre maine kya kiya?” Donga defended himself shamelessly. “Mohabbat chupti thodi hai bhai!” Rehman leaned back against the leather seat with a grin so smug it should have been illegal. His arm stretched lazily along the backrest behind Rehanna, fingers nearly brushing the edge of her saree pallu. “Mere chotte bhai ko mohabbat ho gayi…” he repeated with immense satisfaction, shaking his head slightly. “Mashallah.” Uzair groaned loudly. “Bhai aap bhi shuru mat hojao.”
“Kaise hui?” asked Rehanna now, fully invested. “Pehli nazar wala chakkar tha kya?” Uzair crossed his arms stubbornly and looked out the windshield. “Mujhe nahi pata.” “Jhoot.” Rehanna narrowed her eyes immediately. “Aapko bilkul pata hai.”
“Vakeel sahiba sahi keh rahi hain,” Rehman added helpfully. “Ye chehra dekho iska. Seedha qatal hua hai.” The entire car burst into laughter again. Uzair finally sighed in defeat and rubbed a hand down his face. “Bas…dekha usko aur…” he stopped. “Aur?” Donga leaned closer eagerly. Uzair stared blankly ahead for a moment, like he genuinely hated himself for what he was about to admit. “Aur dimagh band hogaya.”
That made even Rehman bark out a proper laugh now, deep and warm and genuine. Because his little brother was just like him in some ways. Rehanna pressed her lips together trying not to laugh harder because poor Uzair looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. “Woah,” Donga whispered dramatically. “Maut.”
“Bohot buri wali,” Siyahi’s voice crackled suddenly through the speakerphone from the second car because apparently Hamza had called Donga at some point during the chaos. “Bhai ka toh kaam tamam hogaya.”
“Tum log meri janaza kyun nikal rahe ho?” Uzair snapped. Hamza’s laughter echoed through the speakers now too. “Kyuki Uzair bhai aapka haal dekh ke lag raha hai.” Rehanna shook her head fondly while the qawalli continued playing softly beneath the conversation.
The city lights reflected against the windows casting flickering gold over everyone’s faces. Just teasing and music and winter settling softly over Karachi. Then Rehman looked at her again. His eyes softened almost painfully when they landed on her face. Rehanna caught him staring. One eyebrow lifted slightly. “Kya?” she mouthed silently. Rehman’s gaze dropped briefly to the rose in her braid before returning to her eyes. A small smile tugged at his lips, softer this time. Possessive in a way only she could understand.
“Bohot khoobsurat lag rahi hain aap,” he whispered quietly enough so that only she could hear. Heat bloomed instantly beneath her skin despite herself. She rolled her eyes dramatically to hide it and turned back toward the window again, but the tiny smile pulling at her mouth betrayed her completely.
{Ye jo halka halka suroor hai… Ye teri nazar ka qasoor hai…}
—---------
Same day @ 6pm
The Khanani Brothers factory, Karachi, Pakistan
The loading bay of the Khanani Brothers factory smelled like hot ink, machine oil, paper dust and money. Not metaphorical money. Real money. Enough money to buy ministers, judges, policemen, entire districts. Enough money to start riots if released in the wrong places.
The maroon corvette rolled into the massive industrial loading dock with a low growl before coming to a stop beneath bright white warehouse lights that hummed overhead. Huge steel machines thundered in the background somewhere deeper inside the factory, their constant mechanical rhythm vibrating faintly through the concrete beneath their feet. Rehman stepped out first as always.
The moment his shoes hit the ground workers nearby subtly straightened, some lowering their eyes respectfully. Fear and reverence mixed together strangely around him. He rounded the car without hurry and opened Rehanna’s door himself. There was not a universe in existence where Rehman Baloch would allow her to open her own door while he stood breathing.
Rehanna placed one hand lightly in his and stepped out gracefully, the maroon saree flowing around her legs in soft folds. The white rose tucked into her braid looked almost startling against the dark richness of the fabric. She gave him a small smile before turning her attention toward the factory itself.
The moment they stepped inside both Rehanna and Hamza slowed slightly. Stacks. Endless stacks. Indian five hundred rupee notes. Freshly printed. Fresh enough that the sharp chemical scent of ink still lingered in the air heavily. Massive pallets towered beside them wrapped in plastic. Workers moved boxes with forklifts while giant industrial printers spat out sheets of currency with terrifying precision. Crores upon crores upon crores. Enough fake currency to quietly poison an economy from the inside out.
Hamza’s eyes widened for only a fraction of a second before he schooled his expression again. Rehanna shot him a glance. A single glance. Take note. Hamza gave the smallest nod possible in return. Understood. Neither spoke. Rehman walked ahead completely unbothered, hands casually slipped into the pockets of his dark waistcoat while his mojaris clicked softly against polished factory flooring. To him this was business. Another dangerous room. Another dangerous alliance. Another day.
A few moments later two men emerged from deeper inside the building. Javed Khanani smiled broadly the moment he saw Rehman while his brother Altaf Kahnani followed just behind him adjusting the cuffs of his expensive suit. Both men radiated old money and illegal money simultaneously. The sort of wealth that came from knowing exactly how much morality could be purchased. “Assalamualaikum Rehman bhai,” greeted Javed warmly while shaking Rehman’s hand firmly. “Walekumassalam,” replied Rehman smoothly. Both men then turned politely toward Rehanna. “Salam mohtarma.” “Walekumassalam,” she replied with an elegant nod.
Javed immediately began walking beside Rehman. “Major Iqbal sahab bas Zarwari sahab se milke aa hi rahe hain.” “Hm.” Rehman nodded once. They continued deeper inside the factory while giant machines roared around them. Workers glanced nervously at the group before immediately pretending not to notice them at all.
Uzair and Hamza moved slightly ahead, opening a heavy office door for Rehman and Rehanna before stepping aside respectfully. The room inside was colder. Sharper. Dangerous in a quieter way. Several men sat scattered around an expensive conference table smoking cigarettes and speaking in low murmurs. The moment Rehman entered the room, conversation dipped slightly.
“Ayie bhai,” Javed announced warmly. He began introducing everyone one by one. “Ye Sajid Mir hai Lashkar se.” A bespectacled man stood and shook Rehman’s hand. “Assalamualaikum.” “Walekumassalam.” “Yeh Abdul Bhuttovi aur Azam Cheema hain,” continued Javed. Both men stepped forward next. “Muridke me sabse bada mujahidon ka training camp chalate hain ye dono.” Rehman raised an eyebrow slightly. “Hmm accha?” “Bilkul.” Javed smiled before motioning toward another man standing nearby. “Aur ye hai Dawood Sayed Gilani urf David Headley. Ye Major Iqbal ke sath kaam karta hai.”
The foreign looking man stepped forward calmly. His eyes immediately stood out. One blue. One grey. Cold eyes. The kind that looked through people instead of at them. He salamed Rehman politely before his gaze shifted toward Rehanna. And lingered. Rehanna stared back evenly. Something twisted unpleasantly in her stomach. Not fear. Instinct. The room suddenly felt wrong. Not politically wrong. Not criminally wrong. Something darker. Something that made the air feel heavier against her lungs. Headley finally looked away first.
Javed spread a hand proudly toward Rehman. “Aur ye hai Rehman Baloch. Lyari ke betaj badshah.” Rehman grinned lazily at that title. It suited him too well. “Bas ek siyasi taj lagane ki deri hai, PAC party ke jeet ka.” Javed chuckled before continuing. “Khair ye unke chotte bhai hain Uzair Baloch. Unke aadmi. Aur ye mohtarma unki vakeel hai.” Every pair of eyes in the room shifted toward Rehanna again. Still no name. Just mystery. Just “vakeel.” Questions lingered behind their stares. Before the silence could settle further another voice cut through the room.
“Samajh lijiye ki PAC ki jeet ka taj inke sar pe hai.” Major Iqbal of the ISI entered from behind them casually, placing an arm around Hamza’s shoulder almost too familiarly before stepping forward toward Rehman. Rehman laughed softly and shook his hand firmly. “Major sahab.” Iqbal then turned toward Rehanna. “Salam Randhawa madam.”
“Salam Iqbal sahab,” Rehanna greeted smoothly before extending her hand toward him. “Kaafi time ho gaya hai mile hue? Akhri baar shayad Dakait Sahab ke janam din pe tha haina?” Her smile looked sweet. Warm. Disarming. Exactly the kind of softness that made dangerous men underestimate her. Iqbal nodded with a small smile. “Ji waqt toh kafi hogaya hai. Aapne kabhi mauka nahi diya aapki khatir dari karne ka.” she replied politely “Ji zaroor denge,”
Javed motioned toward the seating arrangement. Rehman immediately gestured for Rehanna to sit first on the sofa adjacent to him. Only after she settled elegantly into place did he sit down himself. Several men noticed that immediately. The subtle respect. The space he unconsciously made for her.
Iqbal adjusted his military jacket before finally speaking business. Javed handed Rehman a folded note. Rehman opened it calmly. His face did not shift once while reading. Then he handed it directly to Rehanna. Her eyes scanned the page carefully. Weapons. Rifles. Grenades. Ammo. Pistols. Large quantities. Very large quantities. But nothing unusual yet. Nothing impossible. She handed the note back silently. Rehman passed it to Uzair behind him.
Iqbal leaned back slightly before speaking. “Hume bhari tadad me aapse asla barood chahiye, magar woh jaali saman nahi. Asli saman. Jispe Amriki ya Russi stamp lagi ho. Kal ko agar koi international investigation ho toh phir humara naam nahi ana chahiye. ISI ka naam nahi ana chahiye.” Silence settled briefly. Rehman tilted his head toward Rehanna. “Vakeel sahiba? Lagta hai ki hojaega?”
“Hmmm hojaega,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Lekin daam sahi hona chahiye.” A grin tugged at Rehman’s mouth immediately. Profit first. Always. “Daam sahi hona chahiye Iqbal sahab.” But Rehanna was no longer fully listening.
Her mind kept circling back toward the factory floor outside. The counterfeit Indian notes. The untraceable weapons. The men in this room. Something enormous was moving beneath the surface here. Something catastrophic. And R&AW needed to know immediately. She stood smoothly. “Dakait sahab,” she said calmly while adjusting the fall of her saree. “Hamza aur mai factory manager ko phone milake ate hain.” Rehman nodded easily without suspicion. “Theek hai.” Hamza immediately followed her out of the room. The heavy office door shut behind them quietly.
—--------
Same day @ 6:45
The Khanani Brothers factory, Karachi, Pakistan
“Hamza!” hissed Rehanna sharply the moment they were out of sight, her fingers wrapping around his arm and dragging him quickly down a quieter hallway branching away from the conference room. The sound of machinery echoed faintly through the factory walls while fluorescent lights buzzed overhead casting everything in harsh white light. Her saree swished furiously around her ankles as she walked fast, the maroon fabric moving like dark spilled wine against polished flooring.
Hamza followed immediately, still visibly stunned. “Didi itne saare notes! Innko Indian currency printing plates mile kahan se?” he whispered harshly, glancing back once toward the meeting room as if expecting someone to emerge listening. Rehanna shook her head tiredly. “God knows.” Her voice carried something grim now. Because she understood exactly what this meant.
This was not small scale counterfeiting. This was infrastructure. State level infrastructure. Destabilization. Economic warfare. She pulled her phone from beneath the folds of her saree while still walking quickly. Her fingers moved with frightening familiarity. Without hesitation she popped open the back flap and removed the current sim card carefully. Hamza blinked in shock. “Didi ye… ye kya kar rahi ho?”
“Abe chup reh na!” she tsked impatiently, not even looking at him properly. Then she did something that made Hamza stare outright. Her hand slipped carefully into the neckline of her blouse, fingers searching discreetly beneath the fabric. For a moment she frowned slightly in concentration before finally finding what she wanted hidden deeper inside. Hamza nearly choked. From a tiny stitched pocket hidden within the lining of her bra she pulled out another sim card. Smaller. Unmarked. Protected. Hamza gasped dramatically. “WAH didi genius hain aap!”
“Haan janti hun mai,” she replied smugly without missing a beat. Even now. Even here. That sharp arrogance remained untouched. She inserted the second sim quickly and dialed a number from memory with terrifying speed. The line connected almost instantly. A cold automated voice spoke from the other side. “State your credentials then leave a message on the encrypted line.” Rehanna leaned casually against the wall as if she were merely taking a normal call. Her eyes remained alert however, scanning the hallway constantly.
“This is Dhurandhara and Dhurandhar,” she said smoothly for both herself and Hamza. “The Khanani’s have access to print genuine Indian notes. Only five hundred rupee plates are confirmed so far.” Hamza watched her with open admiration now. She sounded completely different during operational reporting. Sharper. Cleaner. Deadlier. She paused briefly before her tone shifted with dark amusement. “Humari border paar wali chugal khor khala ko American aur Russian stamped weapons chahiye.”
Hamza bit back a laugh despite the situation. Border paar wali chugal khor khala. ISI. Trust Rehanna to insult an intelligence agency mid classified transmission. “A good amount for something big,” she continued more seriously now. “Not sure what yet. Will update with more info later.”
The second she finished speaking she disconnected immediately. No hesitation. No goodbye. Nothing. The entire exchange had taken less than thirty seconds. Efficient. Controlled. Safe. Any longer then the risk of tracking and tracing increased dramatically. She immediately removed the special sim card again and slid her regular one back into place with practiced movements. Then the secure sim disappeared right back into the hidden stitched pocket beneath her blouse. Hamza stared at her like she had personally descended from heaven.
“Didi kasam se…” he muttered in awe. “Aap R&AW wale pagal hote ho.” Rehanna smirked faintly while snapping the phone shut. “Professional word ‘resourceful’ hota hai. Tera first mission hai na? Bete maine itne khel khele hain ki ab mai khel set karti hun, neend me ek haat se khelti hun.” Hamza raised his eyebrows at that claim but she continued “Tu bhi seekh jaega ek din, kyunki hum R&AW wale sache me aise genius pagal hain ki log dekhte rehjate hain”
Then her expression shifted serious again. “Ja. Wapas room me ja. Mai cover kar lungi.” Hamza nodded immediately. “Theek hai.” He turned and headed towards the cars to make his disappearance slightly longer while trying to force his face into something less suspicious. The moment he disappeared around the corner Rehanna’s entire demeanor changed seamlessly. Like flipping a switch.
Her shoulders relaxed. Her expression softened. Her tone brightened. She raised the phone back to her ear casually while beginning to walk deeper down the hallway. “Aree Salam Arman bhai!” she greeted warmly, now loud enough for anyone nearby to overhear naturally. “Hanji hanji factory ka dispatch schedule hi discuss karna tha…” Anyone watching would assume she had been dealing with ordinary business matters the entire time.
Her fingers absentmindedly reached toward the white rose woven into her braid. Soft fingertips brushed carefully over the petals. A tiny unconscious smile touched her mouth for only a second. Rehman. Even surrounded by counterfeit money, terrorists, smugglers and intelligence officers… somehow her mind still wandered back toward him.
—--------
Meanwhile inside the meeting room while Rehanna and Hamza are not in the room
The room falls into an odd silence the moment Rehanna and Hamza leave. The kind of silence that only exists in rooms where dangerous men are thinking dangerous things. The air conditioning hums softly overhead. Somewhere deeper in the factory heavy machinery continues running, the faint mechanical rhythm vibrating through the walls like a second heartbeat beneath the conversation. Rehman sits back against the sofa now, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, his broad hand loose against the armrest. Outwardly calm. Relaxed. Completely in control. But his eyes sharpen slightly the second Javed clears his throat.
“Rehman bhai…” Javed begins carefully, his smile polite but calculating. “Aapki vakeel hindustani hai na?” Rehman’s expression does not change. Not even slightly. He simply nods once. Slow. Controlled. Watching. “Haan.” Javed exchanges the briefest glance with Iqbal before continuing. “Toh phir achha hai ki woh yahan nahi hain.”
That makes Rehman’s fingers still against the armrest. The room suddenly feels smaller. “Kya matlab bhai iska?” asks Rehman slowly now, his voice calm enough to be dangerous. Not aggressive. Not offended. Just measured. The kind of tone that makes men think very carefully before their next sentence.
Iqbal adjusts his tinted glasses leisurely, crossing one leg over the other like this is merely business discussion over tea. “Bhuttovi sahab,” he says mildly, “bataiye Rehman bhai ko ki inke diye hue asla aur barood kahan jaenge.” Bhuttovi leans forward slightly now, elbows resting against his knees. “Baat asi hai ki hummare kuch mujahideen ladke log India jaane wale hain.” His voice lowers with significance. “Iss bar kuch bada karne ka plan hai.” For the briefest moment Rehman’s mind blanks.
India. The word lands strangely inside him now. Not because of politics. Not because of morality. Rehman Baloch is not a man unfamiliar with violence. Violence built the empire he sat atop. Violence paid for the very factory beneath their feet. But the moment India enters the conversation, another face flashes through his mind before he can stop it.
Maroon saree. White rose. Soft lips muttering “Aap niharenge mujhe?” The image disappears as quickly as it comes but it leaves behind the faintest discomfort curling somewhere in the back of his mind. Tiny. Almost invisible. Not enough for him to even fully register. But it is there.
Now every single word he says has to be calculated carefully. Because these men are not fools. One wrong expression. One moment too defensive. One hesitation at the mention of India and suddenly questions begin. Questions about why Lyari’s king cares so much about a Hindustani lawyer. Questions about loyalties. Questions that could get people killed. Questions that would put his Rehanna in danger.
Rehman shifts slightly against the sofa, his face remaining unreadable even as his thoughts begin moving rapidly beneath the surface. Carefully now. Very carefully. “Major sahab…” he begins slowly, fingers tapping once against the armrest. “Hindustan me toh pehle bhi aapne kuch kaand kiye hain.” His eyes flick briefly toward Iqbal. “Iss baar humari kaise yaad ayi asla aur barood ke liye?” The question is casual enough. Curious enough.
But underneath it he is probing carefully, trying to understand how much these people know, how much they suspect, how much they are testing him right now. Iqbal chuckles softly. “Zarasal yaad toh aapki kaafi baar ayi hai…” he says leaning forward now, voice smooth like oil sliding across water. “Lekin isi cheez ne hume baar baar rok diya.” Rehman’s gaze narrows slightly. “Aapki Hindustani vakeel.” There it is. The room suddenly feels quieter. “Unke hote hue aapse kaise India ke khilaf bandookein le sakte hain?” Iqbal spreads his hands lightly. “Aap hi bataiye?” Javed sighs dramatically beside him, shaking his head like this is some tragic business inconvenience.
“Agar unka masla nahi hota…” Iqbal continues now, watching Rehman very carefully through those tinted glasses. “Toh phir aapke sath toh hum croreon ka dhanda karte.” Crores. The number hangs in the air heavily. Crores lost because of her. The room watches him carefully now. Waiting. Testing. Measuring. And for one brief second something ugly tries to crawl into existence somewhere deep in Rehman’s subconscious. A poisonous little thought planted carefully by experienced hands. Crores. Lost opportunities. Complications. All because of one woman.
But the thought barely forms before Rehman crushes it instinctively. Money? Money means nothing to him. He has seen more money than most men could dream of. Stacks of cash taller than grown men. Weapons deals worth fortunes. Entire neighborhoods bought and sold through fear alone. What is money compared to the woman who waits for him at night with sleepy and adoring eyes with messy hair? What is money compared to the woman who made life worth living again? What is money compared to the woman who wears his necklace between the plunge of her throat? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.
Rehman leans back slightly now, one corner of his mouth pulling upward into an amused grin. “Croreon ka dhanda?” he repeats lazily. “Major sahab…Allah ka diya sab kuch hai.” His tone is easy now. Unbothered. “Dhande ki kami nahi hai.”
Iqbal smiles too but it does not reach his eyes. “Ji bilkul,” he says smoothly. “Hum toh bas afsos jata rahe the.” Afsos. Regret. Another tiny needle pushed carefully beneath his skin. Rehman ignores it completely.
But poison does not need immediate effect to be dangerous. Sometimes poison simply waits quietly inside the bloodstream until the right wound opens.
—-------
Same day @ 7 pm
The Khanani Brothers factory, Karachi, Pakistan
The heaviness in the room is immediate the moment Hamza steps back inside. It hits him before the door even fully shuts behind him. The men are quieter now. The air thicker somehow. Like something dangerous had been said while he and Rehanna were gone and now the remains of it still lingered in the room like smoke after gunfire. Hamza’s eyes dart across the faces in the room quickly.
Javed looks oddly tense. Sajid Mir is too relaxed. Iqbal is unreadable behind his tinted glasses. Uzair’s jaw is slightly tight. Rehman though…Rehman is impossible to read completely. That is what unsettles Hamza most. Usually Rehman carried his emotions openly in small ways. Amusement in his grin. Rage in his eyes. Fondness in the softness that appeared whenever Rehanna spoke. But right now his face is calm in a way that feels deliberate. Controlled. Hamza clears his throat carefully.
“Rehman bhai didi ki baat hogayi aapki factory se—” But before he can finish Javed interrupts suddenly. “Ek second,” he says, leaning back slightly. “Hume ye auzar aapse nahi chahiye.” His eyes flick briefly toward Rehman. “Aap toh first copy aur smuggled weapons dilwate hain na?” Uzair’s brows furrow immediately. “Humse nahi chahiye?” he says slowly. “Kya matlab?” Iqbal sighs softly then, folding one hand over the other atop his knee. His voice is calm when he begins speaking again.
“Balochistaan me kaafi maqbul pakad rahi hai aapki.” His gaze lands squarely on Rehman now. “Baloch United Force aur unke nau khalifo ne aapko Sher-e-Baloch ke khitab se nawaza hai.” Rehman tilts his head slightly. Sher-e-Baloch. The Lion of Balochistan. The title had spread through whispers first. Then graffiti. Then speeches. Then openly in villages where the Pakistani military was hated more than death itself. Rehman never openly acknowledged the title but he knew it existed. He knew what he represented to those people. Iqbal continues carefully.
“Woh toh aapko apna messiah mante hain.” His voice lowers slightly. “Aapke kahe ko kabhi inkar nahi karenge.” Hamza’s stomach twists. Something about this feels wrong. Very wrong. “Isiliye ye saara saman…” Iqbal says calmly, “aap unse khareed lijiye.” He pauses. “Hum keemat se bohot zyada denge.” Silence.
Then Uzair interrupts sharply before anyone else can. “Toh ye kaam aap khud bhi toh kar sakte the.” Iqbal looks genuinely stunned for half a second. “Hein?” he says softly. Then he laughs. Darkly. The sound crawls unpleasantly through the room. “Baloch azaad mulk ke liye hum hi se lad rahe hain,” he says. “Woh humein unki bandookein kyun denge?” Uzair immediately goes quiet. Hamza watches Rehman carefully now. Still expressionless. Still listening.
Then Sajid Mir speaks from the side casually as though discussing weather. “Major sahab ko toh bilkul bhi nahi denge.” He adjusts his glasses. “Haal hi me ISI aur Rangers ne kaafi BUF ke deshad gard mare hain.” Then Javed mutters into his fist with a small chuckle, “Interrogation ke naam pe unke sattar rishtedaron ko bhi toh marwadiya bhenchod.” Iqbal’s head turns slowly toward him. Cold. Sharp. Javed wilts almost immediately under the look and clears his throat awkwardly.
The room falls silent again. Heavy. Hamza can feel it now. This is not just a weapons deal. This is politics. War. Power. And suddenly he understands why Rehanna had looked so uneasy earlier. Even without hearing this directly she could sense something was wrong.
Rehman finally speaks after what feels like forever. “Mai apni kaum ko dhoka nahi dunga.” Simple words. Firm words. Real words. Because despite everything else Rehman loved his people fiercely. Brutally. Irrationally. Lyari’s king first and foremost belonged to Balochistan before he belonged to Pakistan. Iqbal goes quiet for a moment.
Then he hums softly. “Hmm theek hai.” But there is no disappointment in his voice. Instead there is patience. Calculation. “Lekin Rehman bhai…” he says after a pause, leaning forward slightly now. “Pakistani siyasat me jisne bhi hukumat ki hai…woh sab kuch na kuch galat harkat karke hi uss mukaam tak pahunche hain.” Rehman’s eyes narrow slightly. Politics. There it is.
The real bait. ‘If you want power,’ the man is really saying, ‘then blood is the price.’
“Agar aapko is hammam me utarna hai toh…” Iqbal continues smoothly, “nanga toh hona padega.” The words settle heavily into the room. Hamza looks toward Rehman instinctively. And for the first time tonight he sees it. Hesitation. Tiny. Brief. But there. Because politics.
Politics was Rehman’s weakness. Not money. Not women. Not fear. Power. Real power. The kind that made governments bow instead of gangs. The kind that put kings into parliament buildings instead of back alleys. Rehman can see the manipulation clearly. He is not stupid.
He knows exactly what Iqbal is doing right now. The man is dangling a ladder to power directly in front of him. And worst of all? It is working. Rehman takes a slow breath. Fuck. His jaw tightens once. Then he gives Uzair the slightest signal. Barely a movement. But Uzair understands immediately.
“Theek hai phir,” Uzair says calmly. “Ye saara maal aapko waqt se miljayega inshallah.” Hamza’s eyes widen slightly. The deal is done.
—---------
Same day @ 7:10 pm
The Khanani Brothers factory, Karachi, Pakistan
And before Hamza can even process that fully the door opens again. Rehanna walks back inside. And suddenly the entire room changes. Like somebody opened a window.
“Arreh wah sauda hogaya?” she says lightly with a smile as she walks back in, completely unaware of what she just walked into.
Both Hamza and Rehanna are completely unaware that the weapons are going to India. Only Rehanna, completely unaware that these weapons will not come from Rehman’s stockpile. Rehanna is completely unaware that these will be Baloch weapons. Stolen from men who trusted Rehman. The irony is almost unbearable.
But Rehanna notices business before emotion as always. “Raqam dollars me hogi,” she says smoothly, already stepping into negotiation mode. “Adha delivery se pehele aur adha delivery ke baad.” She pauses, looking toward Rehman instinctively. He blinks once in confirmation. Continue.
“Dono transactions alag alag offshore accounts me jaenge.” Her voice is calm. Professional. “Mai baadme Khanani sahab ko de dungi.” Iqbal watches Rehman closely now. Very closely. Waiting to see if the knowledge changes him. If having his Indian lawyer in the room suddenly affects his behavior. If this weakens him.
But Rehman’s face gives absolutely nothing away. Instead he leans back slightly and begins speaking, looking first at Javed then at Iqbal. “Mujhse wada kiya gaya hai.” His voice is calm. Deadly calm. “Usse bhulne ki gustakhi mat karna.”
The room quiets instantly. Rehanna looks at him sharply now. And then comes the grin. That dark grin. The one that makes even dangerous men uncomfortable. The one that makes her knees weaken. “Aap toh jante honge…” he says softly, “ki Rehman Dakait ki di hui mauth…” his eyes sharpen slightly now, “badi qasainuma hoti hai.”
Heat floods through Rehanna so suddenly it almost embarrasses her. God. The way he says things. The confidence. The darkness in his voice. The utter certainty that he could destroy everyone in this room if he chose to. She swallows hard. Her pulse stutters violently beneath her skin.
Iqbal nods with a quiet huff of laughter. The meeting is over. Rehman stands first. “Khuda Hafiz.”
And then without looking directly at her he gestures subtly for Rehanna to walk ahead. She glances toward him instinctively. And immediately he sees it. The flush spreading slowly across her face. The slight dilation in her eyes. That look. That dangerous look she gets whenever he says something that gets beneath her skin just right.The one that tells him she is imagining things she absolutely should not be imagining right now.
A smug grin settles onto his face. Rehanna immediately turns away before anyone notices. But as she walks out she adjusts the white rose in her braid unnecessarily, fingers brushing over the petals softly. And Rehman watches her go with entirely too much satisfaction burning in his chest.
—-------
Same day @ 8:40 pm
The Khanani Brothers Mansion, Karachi, Pakistan
The dining hall of the Khanani mansion glowed gold beneath massive crystal chandeliers, the kind that looked expensive enough to buy entire neighborhoods in Lyari. Their warm light reflected against polished marble floors and expensive cutlery, against whiskey glasses and gold trimmed plates and the heavy jeweled rings on the fingers of men who built empires through blood and smuggling and politics.
Outside the tall windows Karachi’s night glittered darkly, distant city lights swallowed beneath fog and sea breeze, but inside the mansion everything was rich, loud, decadent. Laughter echoed around the dining table in waves, thick cigar smoke curled lazily through the air, and servants moved silently around the room replacing empty dishes with fresh ones before anyone even realized they were gone.
Rehanna sat beside Rehman elegantly, the maroon saree wrapped around her body like molten wine beneath the chandelier light, the white rose still tucked into her braid now slightly softer around the edges after hours of wear. She looked devastating tonight. Not intentionally. That was the worst part. She simply existed beautifully. Her fingers curled around her whiskey glass as she listened to Altaf Khanani ramble on about some corrupt politician in Islamabad.
Occasionally she laughed softly, occasionally she added a sharp comment that made the entire table burst into louder laughter. Even the Khanani wives watched her with fascination. Rehanna had that effect on rooms. She pulled attention naturally without demanding it. But Rehman had stopped hearing half the conversation twenty minutes ago.
The whiskey sat warm and dangerous in his bloodstream now, softening his restraint into something reckless and hungry. His gaze kept drifting back to her again and again like a man possessed. First it was her neck. Then the elegant line of her collarbones glimmering beneath the chandelier light. Then the exposed curve of her back through the blouse. Then lower. The curve of her waist where the saree hugged her body so sinfully it made his throat dry.
Everytime she shifted slightly the tattoo near her ribs peeked through for one teasing second before disappearing again beneath silk folds. The white rose in her braid made her look softer somehow. More feminine. More his. And the alcohol made every thought worse. Because all he could think about now was later. Later when he would take every pin from her hair out one by one. Later when he would slowly unravel this saree from around her body. Later when all this maroon silk would end up pooled on the floor beside his bed while she sat in his lap breathless and flushed from the way he touched her.
That thought alone was carrying him through dinner. His jaw flexed slightly as he took another sip of whiskey. Beside him Rehanna was calmly eating saffron pulao while speaking to one of the Khanani wives about Karachi traffic like she wasn’t unknowingly driving him clinically insane. Rehman shifted slightly in his chair. Then slowly, discreetly, he dragged his chair a little closer to hers beneath the table. Nobody noticed. Except her. Rehanna’s eyes flicked sideways briefly but she said nothing.
His hand disappeared beneath the tablecloth. Then landed on her knee. Rehanna nearly paused mid bite. His large warm palm squeezed gently through the silk covering her leg. Slow. Possessive. Casual enough that nobody looking at them would suspect a thing. Rehanna shot him a sharp glare instantly. Rehman ignored it completely. The whiskey had destroyed whatever shame he possessed. His thumb rubbed against her knee lazily before his hand slid higher. Slowly. Deliberately. Until his palm settled against her thigh. Rehanna inhaled sharply through her nose.
Across the table Javed Khanani was too busy laughing at something Uzair said to notice Rehman Baloch was currently one inch away from causing a public incident beneath the dinner table. Rehman squeezed her thigh again. Harder this time. Rehanna nearly kicked him. Instead she picked up her whiskey glass with rigid elegance and took a long sip while glaring murderously at him from the corner of her eye. Rehman looked utterly unrepentant. In fact the bastard looked amused. His hand slid even higher. Now resting against the side curve of her waist beneath the tablecloth.
His fingers spread against the soft flesh there squeezing slowly possessively through the saree folds. Rehanna choked on her whiskey. Actually choked. The entire table looked toward her briefly. “Arey arey Vakeel Sahiba sambhaliye,” laughed Altaf Khanani. “Ji bas galat nali me chala gaya,” she coughed lightly, waving them off gracefully while beside her Rehman looked down into his whiskey glass like the devil himself trying not to grin. The pressure of his hand against her waist tightened slightly. Rehanna’s eyes widened furiously. This man had lost his mind completely.
“Vakeel Sahiba?” Rehman finally spoke calmly, his deep voice smooth as silk as he swirled whiskey around his glass. “Wo Sialkot wale supplier ka kya jawab aya tha?” Rehanna stared at him. For one second she almost laughed. Because this was exactly what she had done to him during Eid. The exact same excuse. The exact same trap. Her lips twitched despite herself. “Mai aapke ishare ka intezar kar rahi thi,” she replied smoothly while trying not to react to the fact that his hand was still very much on her waist beneath the table. “Agar aap chahein toh usko abhi phone karlen? Warna late hojaega.” The second the sentence ended Rehman stood up immediately. Too immediately. Like a man who had been waiting for permission. “Chaliye.” He grabbed his whiskey glass in one hand. Rehanna rose gracefully despite the heat flooding her face. Around the table nobody questioned it. Business calls during dinner were normal in this world. Weapons. Suppliers. Deals. Smuggling routes. Politics. Only Uzair noticed the way Rehman’s ears had gone slightly red beneath the alcohol. But nothing strange about that either.
—--------------
The moment they stepped out of the dining hall and the heavy carved doors swung shut behind them, the atmosphere changed entirely. The noise of conversation and clinking crystal dulled into a distant muffled hum as Rehman suddenly grabbed her hand and began walking fast down the corridor like a man possessed. Rehanna let out a startled laugh, nearly stumbling in her saree as he dragged her along the marble hallway.
“Rehman!” she hissed between laughter. “Aaram se! Girwaenge mujhe aap!”
But he was several pegs deep and far beyond reason now and he did not slow down. If anything he walked faster. His ears were pink from alcohol, his expression dark and hungry and entirely too handsome beneath the warm golden lights of the corridor. The white rose in her braid brushed against her shoulder as she laughed again, trying not to trip over her own saree while he practically dragged her toward the library like a man possessed.
His whiskey glass still sat lazily in one hand while the other held her wrist tightly, possessively, like he needed to touch her or he would lose his mind entirely. His broad shoulders looked even wider in the dim amber lighting of the mansion corridor. The alcohol had loosened him up just enough to make him reckless, and Rehanna could see it clearly now in the dark flush spreading across his face and the hunger in his eyes every time he looked back at her.
The library doors burst open under the force of his hand. The room inside was dark except for the soft golden light of antique lamps scattered around the massive shelves. The smell of old paper, leather bindings, expensive wood polish and faint cigar smoke lingered in the air. Heavy velvet curtains covered most of the windows, turning the room into something intimate and secretive.
The second the doors shut behind them Rehman turned and pushed her gently but firmly against one of the towering bookshelves. The wood creaked softly behind her. His body immediately crowded into hers. Heat surrounded her from every side. For one long moment he said absolutely nothing. He only stared.
His dark eyes dragged over every inch of her face slowly, heavily, greedily. The rose tucked into her braid. The flush spreading across her cheeks. The little smile she was trying and failing to suppress. Then his gaze dropped lower. To the curve of her throat. The line of her collarbones dusted gold by the soft lighting. The maroon saree wrapped around her body so elegantly it was driving him insane.
Rehman lifted the whiskey glass to his lips without once breaking eye contact and took a long slow drink.
Rehanna pressed her lips together trying not to laugh at how absurdly gone he looked. His hair had fallen slightly messy from the evening, a few strands resting over his forehead. She reached up gently and brushed them back with soft fingers. His eyes fluttered briefly at the touch. “Aapki woh line badi sexy thi,” she hummed softly.
Rehman grinned immediately, one hand landing on her waist again like it belonged there. He took another sip of whiskey, eyes half lidded now. “Lekin puri tarha se sach nahi thi,” she tsks holding his face gently.
“Achha?” Rehman hummed with a smirk. His breath smelled like expensive whiskey and smoke and something dangerously warm.
He grabbed her waist immediately, fingers spreading wide over the exposed curve above her saree. “Accha?” he repeated his tone dropping slightly, stepping closer until his chest nearly pressed into hers. The whiskey on his breath was warm and intoxicating.
Rehanna nodded completely seriously now. She cleared her throat dramatically and took a deep breath. Then her face shifted entirely, turning stern and deadly serious exactly the way his had earlier in the meeting room. Even her voice dropped deeper trying to imitate him.
“Rehman dakait ki di hui chummi…” she began gravely. “Badi zaykedar hoti hai.”
For one second Rehman simply stared at her in complete shock. Then Rehanna broke instantly into quiet uncontrollable laughter against him at the expression on his face.
Rehman slowly placed the whiskey glass onto the nearby bookshelf without looking away from her once. “Meri di hui chummi zaykedar hoti hai?” he asked incredulously. Rehanna nodded between giggles. “Haan.”
Something in his expression darkened instantly after that. Not angry. Worse. Hungrier. Something in him snapped beautifully.
His hands gripped her waist hard and he crashed his mouth against hers with enough force to steal the breath from her lungs instantly. The kiss was hot and rough and whiskey soaked. Rehanna gasped into his mouth as his body pressed flush against hers, trapping her between him and the bookshelf. Her fingers flying to clutch his shoulders as his body pinned hers harder against the bookshelf.
The kiss tasted like whiskey and desire and the slow destruction of self control.
His palms moved greedily over her body like he had been starving for hours. His hands roamed greedily over her body like he had spent the entire dinner memorizing every place he wanted to touch. One palm slid along the curve of her waist squeezing hard enough to make her gasp while the other dragged over her thigh through the saree before pinching sharply at her hip.
“Rehman—” she gasped breathlessly before he kissed her again. “Bohot bolti hain aap,” he muttered against her mouth. His fingers pinched lightly at the soft flesh of her side making her jolt with a surprised squeal that dissolved into laughter.
He smirked immediately against her lips, pleased with himself, before kissing her harder. The rose woven into her braid brushed against his cheek every time he tilted his head. Its scent mixed with whiskey and her perfume until the entire moment felt dizzy and lush and decadent.
“Rehman—” she laughed breathlessly against his mouth. “Has kyun rahi hain aap?” he muttered hoarsely before kissing her again.
Because his hands would suddenly tickle at her waist between kisses. Because he was drunk enough to become shamelessly grabby. Because every time she gasped he looked unbearably pleased with himself.
His lips left hers only to drag down her jaw slowly. He kissed beneath her ear. Then lower. Along her throat. Warm open mouthed kisses that made her fingers tighten in his kurta helplessly. Slow wet kisses pressed against her pulse point while his hands squeezed and roamed everywhere they could reach. Her stomach. Her waist. Her hips. The exposed skin of her back beneath the blouse.
The white rose tucked into her braid was ever prominent. Its soft floral scent mixed maddeningly with whiskey, her perfume and the heat of their skin.
Rehanna’s head tipped back against the bookshelf with a shaky breath when his teeth scraped lightly against her throat. His hand immediately tightened against her waist possessively at the sound she made. “Rehman…” she whispered weakly.
“Ji meri jaan?” he murmured directly against her skin before kissing below her ear again.
“Aap ne kuch zyada pi rakhi hai, .”
“Haan.”
“Aap besharam ho chuke hain”
“Bohot zyada.”
She laughed breathlessly again right before he bit lightly at the side of her throat making a startled gasp leave her mouth. His hands wandered lower now, squeezing her hips, tracing over the pleats of her saree possessively. Every touch made her squirm harder against him. Every little reaction from her seemed to intoxicate him further.
Rehman suddenly shoved his face into the crook of her neck with a groan. “Meri jaan…” he muttered hoarsely. “Aapko koi haq nahi itna khoobsurat lagne ka.” Her cheeks warmed instantly.
His hands traveled upward again, one settling at the small of her back while the other cupped her jaw possessively before kissing her again. Slower this time. Deeper. The kind of kiss that made time blur completely. Rehanna melted into him with a soft sigh, her fingers tangling into his hair while he kissed her like he had all the patience in the world despite how desperately his body betrayed him.
By the time they finally pulled apart both of them were breathing heavily. Rehman’s forehead dropped against hers. His lips swollen slightly from kissing her. His eyes dazed. Then his gaze lowered to her saree.
Slowly his hands reached for the pallu draped over her shoulder. Specifically to the pallu draped elegantly across her body. Rehanna saw the exact moment the thought entered his mind. His hands immediately moved to the fabric, fingers curling into the edge of the pallu with clear dangerous intent.
Rehanna’s eyes widened instantly. “Rehman, Rehman!” she whispered sharply, grabbing both his wrists before he could tug it away. “Abhi nahi! Hum ghar pe nahi hai abhi! Intezar karo!”
The pout that formed on his face was almost childish beneath all that dangerous masculinity. Rehanna nearly laughed again. Instead she leaned upward sweetly and pressed the softest most innocent kiss imaginable against his cheek.
It absolutely destroyed him. One soft press of her lips that somehow affected him far more than the entire makeout session had. Rehman blinked slowly while she slipped from his arms with far too much smugness for someone whose lipstick was half ruined and breathing was still uneven.
She adjusted the rose in her braid unnecessarily before turning away. Then she walked toward the door with slow swaying hips that she knew he was watching. And oh he was watching.
Her hips swayed deliberately now beneath the saree. Slow. Taunting. Knowing exactly what it did to him.
Rehman watched her like a man moments away from losing every last shred of sanity he possessed. Then he laughed darkly under his breath and picked up his whiskey glass again before downing the rest in one burning swallow.
—-----
Same day @ 10 pm
The Khanani Brothers Mansion, Karachi, Pakistan
The dinner somehow stretched on for another hour after that little stunt beneath the table. God himself probably deserved credit for Rehman Baloch Dakait managing to survive it with whatever remained of his dignity intact. The whiskey had settled deep into his bloodstream now, warm and dangerous and heavy behind his eyes.
Three more massive pegs had disappeared into him over the course of dinner and now he sat there leaning back slightly in his chair, broad shoulders relaxed with intoxication, one arm slung lazily over the backrest behind Rehanna while the other held yet another dangerously full glass of whiskey.
He was very drunk by his standards. Not sloppy. Not weak. But definitely drunk enough for his restraint to be hanging by a thread. Especially with Rehanna sitting beside him looking like that.
Every few minutes she would laugh at something one of the Khanani wives said and her hand would rise instinctively to tuck hair behind her ear. The white rose woven into her braid shifted softly each time she moved. Her maroon saree pooled elegantly around her body like wine spilled over silk. The backless blouse exposed just enough skin to keep driving him insane every time she leaned forward slightly for another bite of food or another sip of whiskey.
And god the whiskey in her hand was not helping him either. There was something deeply intoxicating to him about watching her drink. The elegant tilt of her throat. The dark maroon lipstick against crystal glass. The composed look in her eyes despite the warmth slowly entering her system.
Rehman had spent most of dinner imagining peeling that saree off her inch by inch. Which was honestly becoming a problem.
By the time dinner finally ended the men were relaxed with alcohol and the women were laughing softly amongst themselves while servants began clearing plates from the table. Rehanna stood gracefully from her chair smoothing down the pleats of her saree before warmly hugging both Khanani wives goodbye.
“Khuda ki kasam bohot kamaal ka khana tha,” she smiled genuinely. “Especially woh saffron pulao.”
The older wife laughed proudly. “Aap phir aiyega Vakeel Sahiba.”
“Bas bula lijiye,” Rehanna replied warmly.
Across the room Rehman hugged Iqbal briefly before shaking hands with both Khanani brothers. He was swaying slightly now, just barely noticeable beneath all his natural swagger. The whiskey glass in his hand was still almost full despite how much he had already consumed. “Khuda Hafiz,” Javed grinned. “Khuda Hafiz,” Rehman replied.
Then his eyes drifted automatically toward Rehanna. Always toward her.
The group slowly filtered outside toward the cars waiting beneath the yellow driveway lights of the mansion. Karachi’s November-December air had sharpened considerably now that night had fully settled over the city. Fog lingered low against the roads and the sea breeze carried that particular cold dampness only Karachi winters had.
Donga had already started the Corvette by the time Rehman reached the passenger side rear door for Rehanna.
Like always, he opened it himself. Like always, he offered her his hand. Rehanna placed her fingers into his palm gracefully as she prepared to step in. Then suddenly a sharp cold breeze swept through the driveway.
She gasped softly. “Ahh kitni thand hai—” The cold hit the exposed skin of her back and shoulders instantly, making her shiver visibly. Rehman’s expression changed immediately.
Without even thinking about it he reached toward the rear windshield console inside the Corvette where something had been sitting folded there quietly all day. A shawl.
A maroon pashmina shawl embroidered delicately with white threadwork so intricate it almost looked hand painted beneath the driveway lights. It looked expensive because it was expensive. Soft luxurious fabric gathered in his large hands as he unfolded it carefully.
Because of course he had anticipated this. Of course sometime this morning while getting dressed he had looked at her backless blouse and silently thought she would get cold later. Rehanna watched him in surprise.
The whiskey warmth in his eyes softened slightly as he stepped closer and gently draped the shawl around her shoulders. His hands adjusted it carefully over her back making sure the cold could not reach her skin anymore. His fingers lingered briefly against her shoulders as he tucked the fabric around her arms securely.
Such small acts. Always such small acts with him. But devastating ones. Rehanna smiled softly up at him, genuinely touched. “Thank you Dakait sahab kitna khyal rakhte hain aap mera.”
The words should have made him smile. Instead something sharp twisted in his chest. Because she was right. He did take care of her.
He anticipated her cold before she did. He carried shawls for her. Bought flowers for her. Adjusted her saree pleats when nobody was looking. Held her during nightmares. Listened to her memories about India like they were sacred things. And then tonight he signed a weapons deal that could eventually spill blood across the very country she still remembered with tears in her eyes.
The guilt arrived suddenly and violently. So violently it almost sobered him for one terrifying second. Rehanna didn’t notice the shift immediately. She simply smiled once more before ducking into the car gracefully. Rehman shut the door quietly.
Then walked around the car toward the other rear passenger door with his whiskey glass still in his hand. By the time he sat beside her again the warmth had vanished from him. Or rather it had buried itself. The car pulled smoothly away from the Khanani mansion.
Inside the Corvette soft qawali still played faintly from the speakers while Karachi’s lights blurred past outside the tinted windows. Donga and Uzair spoke quietly in the front about traffic routes back to Lyari, but the backseat had gone strangely silent.
Rehman sat leaned back against the leather seat staring out the window. Not touching her. Not teasing her. Not looking at her. He only took slow occasional sips from the whiskey glass in his hand while the city lights reflected against his face in flickers of gold and white.
The silence felt wrong. Especially after how touchy and restless he had been all evening. Rehanna observed him quietly from beside him.
The shawl wrapped warmly around her shoulders, still carrying faint traces of his perfume from his hands. She watched the side of his face carefully. The hard jaw. The slight furrow now settled between his brows. The way his fingers tightened around the whiskey glass absentmindedly.
Something had shifted. Very suddenly. Her suspicion stirred faintly. But then she dismissed it. He was drunk. Very drunk. Maybe the alcohol had finally begun weighing on him properly.
Still, her eyes lingered on him thoughtfully for the rest of the drive while beside her Rehman stared out into Karachi’s dark winter streets wondering why guilt suddenly tasted so bitter beneath whiskey.
—---------
Same day @ 11 pm
Baloch Haveli Driveway, Lyari, Pakistan
The drive into the haveli had been silent except for the low rumble of engines and the occasional clink of glass whenever Rehman lifted the whiskey bottle in the car to refill his own drink like a man actively trying to drown something clawing at him from the inside. By the time the gates of Baloch Haveli finally opened before them, the alcohol had settled fully into his blood. Heavy. Dangerous. Unstable.
The cars rolled into the driveway beneath the yellow lantern lights lining the haveli walls. Winter fog curled low over the ground. Somewhere in the distance dogs barked lazily at the sound of engines before recognizing familiar cars and calming again.
The Corvette stopped first. For a moment nobody moved. Then Uzair sighed heavily under his breath before stepping out quickly and circling around to Rehman’s side because one look through had already told him enough. Rehman was drunk.
Not playful drunk. Not relaxed drunk. Properly drunk. The kind where his shoulders carried tension instead of looseness. The kind where silence became dangerous.
Uzair opened the door carefully. “Bhai.” Rehman grunted and stepped out heavily, one hand still gripping his whiskey glass while the other braced briefly against the roof of the car. He swayed visibly this time. His sand colored kurta is slightly wrinkled now with the buttons hanging open. Eyes heavy with alcohol and thoughts he should never have let poison him.
Rehanna stepped out on her own from the opposite side. For the first time in a very long time, he did not come around the car for her. That hurt her more than she expected.
The cold winter air brushed against her face as she adjusted the pashmina shawl around her shoulders quietly. Something felt terribly wrong now. The silence. The heaviness. The way Rehman would not look at her.
Hamza stepped out from the SUV behind them, shutting the door harder than necessary. His face looked furious. Not conflicted. Furious. And before anyone could stop him he walked directly toward Rehman. “Bhai ye aapne theek nahi kiya,” Hamza said sharply. “Aapne balochon ke sath dagabazi ki hai.”
The words cracked through the driveway like a gunshot. Rehanna frowned immediately. “Kya keh rahe ho Hamza?” Hamza turned toward her instantly. “Rehman bhai ne ye deal banai hai ki ye BUF se asla aur barood lein aur ISI ko dein.”
Rehanna froze. Actually froze. The blood drained from her face so fast it almost frightened Uzair standing nearby. Her eyes snapped toward Rehman. Shock. Disbelief. And then understanding. That strange guilt during the drive. The silence. The distance.
Hamza looked back at Rehman again. “Bhai apne kaum ke sath sahi nahi kiya hai, dhoka diya hai aapne.” Rehman’s face darkened instantly. The alcohol sharpened his anger instead of dulling it. Slowly he stepped down one of the haveli stairs toward Hamza, towering over him now.
“Ye kaum ka drama mujhe mat dikha saale,” he snarled. The whiskey in his voice was thick now. Heavy and ugly. “Meri kaum ki ladai ne meri biwi aur bada baccha mujhse dur kardiya. Meri biwi usko leke Lahore me rehti hai, mere chotte bete ki koi ammi nahi hai!...........toh agar badle me thoda wapas le liya toh kaunsa tujhse teri ammi cheen li saale?”
Hamza recoiled slightly at the sheer venom in his tone. And immediately, Rehanna stepped in. Pure instinct. Pure older sister reflex. Completely ignoring how badly it hurt when he referred to Ulfat as his wife again. Not his ex-wife. But wife.
“Dakait sahab tameez me rahiye,” she snapped sharply. “Aise baat karne ki zaroorat nahi hai Hamza se.”
Rehman turned toward her slowly. Wrong move. Because now her own anger had risen too.
“Ye sach bol raha hai,” she continued in disbelief. “Aapne balochon ke sath dhoka kiya hai. Iqbal aur Khanani ne aapko dana dala aur aapne chugliya?”
That did it. Something ugly snapped inside him. “Bas,” Rehman barked harshly. “Ye tumhari jagah nahi hai bolne ki.”
“Ji bilkul meri jagah hai bolne ki,” Rehanna fired back immediately. “Mai aapki lawyer hun. Aapke aadhe se zyada business mai handle karti hun—”
“Haan aur wahi masla hai!” Rehman suddenly exploded. Everyone went silent. Even the dogs near the verandah stopped moving. Rehman laughed bitterly now, running a hand through his hair aggressively. “Tumne mujhe naram bana diya hai.”
Rehanna blinked in shock. “Kya?”
“Har jagah,” he hissed. “Har faisle me. Har deal me. Har meeting me mujhe tumhara khayal rakhna padta hai.”
“Dakait sahab aapne bohot pi rakhi hai,” Rehanna tried immediately, softer now. “Aap hosh me nahi hain.”
“Bhai bas kijiye,” Uzair stepped in quickly too. “Subah baat karlenge—”
But Rehman wasn’t listening anymore. Because the poison Iqbal planted earlier had finally found somewhere to grow. And alcohol had watered it beautifully. He laughed darkly now. Cruelly.
“Waise bhi…” he muttered. “Tumhari wajah se kitna nuksaan hua hai mera.”
Silence. Rehanna stared at him. He looked directly at her now.
“Tumhare yahan hone ki wajah se log sau baar sochte hain mere sath deal karne se pehele,” he continued bitterly. “Iqbal aur Khanani jaise log croreon ka dhanda karte agar meri…” he scoffed drunkenly, “…meri hindustani lawyer ka masla na hota. Nafrat karta hun mai aapse”
—--------------
Authors note: Listen to Nafrat by Darshan Raval.
Ye kaisi fitrat hai, jaaneya?
Mujhe to hairat hai, jaaneya
Tu pehle meri hasrat tha, jaaneya
Tu ab meri nafrat hai, jaaneya
Every single word landed like a blade. Rehanna’s face changed completely. Actually shattered. Not anger first. Pain first. Real pain. “Kya?” she whispered.
Uzair immediately grabbed her arm. “Nahi Vakeel Sahiba inhone bas zyada pi rakhi hai inki baat mat suno—” She yanked her arm away violently. “Nahi Baloch Sahab,” she said shakily, eyes locked only on Rehman now. “Mai unke muh se sunna chahati hun.”
The driveway had gone deathly silent. Even Rehman looked slightly unstable now beneath her gaze. She stepped closer slowly. Eyes glassy. Disbelief twisting through every inch of her face.
“Kya aap sach me mujhse nafrat karte hain?”
Mujhko ab hosh raha na, pal-pal jaise mar jaana
Aur kare na hum aitraaz bhi
Karke barbaad hai rakha, phir bhi na yaad hai rakha
Aur rahe na hum naaraaz bhi
Uzair looked horrified. Hamza looked ready to punch Rehman unconscious. And for one brief second Rehman should have stopped. Should have grabbed her. Should have apologized. Should have shut his mouth. Instead the alcohol chose for him.
“Haan,” he said coldly. The word echoed. “Nafrat karta hun mai aapse.”
Rehanna gasped softly. Like something physically pierced her chest. Tears instantly flooded her eyes but did not fall yet. And somehow that look on her face sobered Rehman more than anything else tonight.
But it was too late. Too fucking late. Rehanna nodded once slowly. Then dangerously softly, she spoke. “Jahan log mujhse nafrat karte hain…” her voice shook, “…mai wahan rukti nahi Dakait sahab.”
Even drunk, Rehman understood exactly what she meant. His jaw clenched. Then like a complete fucking idiot he doubled down. “Toh phir nikal jaiye MERI haveli se.”
Tu zakham de mujhe, chaah ke bhi boloon main na see
Haaye, kya pata itna gham deke
Khush rehne ki salaah doge tum
Silence. Absolute silence all the people present had gone deadly quiet. Rehanna stared at him for one long horrible second. Pain. Rage. Humiliation. Everything mixed together inside her eyes so violently it almost made him take the words back immediately. But she turned before he could.
And stormed past him into the haveli. Rehman scoffed bitterly and swallowed another mouthful of whiskey. “Nahi jaegi mai janta hun,” he muttered cruelly. He sat down on the porch swing on the verandah.
Akhiyaan na soye, yaara, roye, mera toota hai dil
Aisa haara ke dubara jeena hua mushkil
Akhiyaan na soye, yaara, roye, mera toota hai dil
Aisa haara ke dubara jeena hua mushkil
But upstairs chaos had already begun. Suitcases slammed open. Drawers yanked out violently. Fabric thrown everywhere. Uzair and the rest of the boys followed her upstairs desperately. “Vakeel Sahiba please—”
“Woh pehele bhi peeye huen hai,” she snapped while shoving clothes into a suitcase with shaking hands. “Kabhi bhi mujhse nafrat nahi ki.” That line nearly broke Uzair himself.
Her hands trembled violently as she packed. Not just with anger. With heartbreak. Real heartbreak.
“Baloch Sahab…” her voice cracked finally. “Agar ek meherbani kar sakein toh Siyahi, Donga aur Hamza ko boliye baki saman pack karwane me madad kardein.”
Uzair stared at her helplessly. The same helplessness he felt years ago because his bhabhi at the time had also left. And he could do nothing about it then. Rehanna wasn't his bhabhi, she is just his brother's lawyer. But why did it feel the same? Why did it feel like Uzair had failed once again from keeping his brother from destroying something he cares about.
Uzair sighed because he realized she was serious. She was actually leaving. Fifteen minutes later the haveli front doors opened again.
Ye kaisi fitrat hai, jaaneya?
Mujhe to hairat hai, jaaneya (Mujhe to hairat hai, jaa—)
Tu pehle meri hasrat tha, jaaneya
Tu ab meri nafrat hai, jaaneya (Aa)
Rehanna came walking out dragging suitcases behind her. She was actually leaving. Rehman’s expression changed instantly. Shock cut through his drunken haze. It was just her, the boys inside were helping her back just like she asked.
“Sach me ja rahi ho?” he laughed cruelly to hide the panic clawing up his throat. “Allah ka shukr.”
A tear escaped her eye. Just one. But it hit him harder than a bullet. His entire body froze. Like the alcohol finally cleared enough for reality to begin sinking in.
Rehanna laughed too then. But hers sounded broken. “Allah ka shukr…” she repeated bitterly. “Ya Bhagwan ki deen…” Another tear slid down her face. “Pata toh chala ki nafrat karte hain aap humse.”
Yе dard jo tere, bhulaaye bhi na jaayе
Chhupa bhi sakoon na, bataaye bhi na jaaye
Bejurm sazaayein bahut hee sataaye
Ke dil kare, haaye, hum abhi mar jaaye
Then suddenly she bent down. And ripped the payals he gifted her on her birthday off her ankles violently. The platinum snapped against her skin. Sharp edges sliced into her feet instantly making blood bead against marble.
She hissed sharply in pain but did not stop. Rehman stared horrified as she tore both payals free and threw them onto the ground before him. The diamonds and emeralds glittered painfully under the porch lights. Then she grabbed the pendant around her neck. The one he gave her. The one she never removed. And ripped that off too. The pendant with the little lion fell onto the marble with a hard clunk.
Bebasi dil mein kitni hai dekho, yaara (Aa)
Haaye, kya hua, kya pata, janoon na main
Ishq mera ye kaise zaaya ho gaya
“Jo mujhse nafrat karta hai uska kuch nahi chahiye…” her voice cracked violently now. “In payalon aur iss pendant me manlo ki apna ek dil ka tukda bhi chhord ke ja rahi hun.”
Something inside Rehman actually cracked then. Because suddenly those gifts lying abandoned on the marble floor looked grotesque. Pathetic. Dead. And for the first time tonight genuine fear entered him. She turned to leave.
“Waapas aao,” he called roughly.
She stopped. Turned slowly. The rage and hurt in her eyes stabbed straight through him. But he still couldn’t say sorry. Still couldn’t undo it. Instead he chose cruelty again.
“Woh shawl bhi mera hai.”
Rehanna stared at him for a long moment. Then slowly stepped closer. She held the shawl out toward him. Rehman reached for it instinctively. And just before his fingers touched the fabric— She dropped it onto the floor. A final fuck you.
Akhiyaan na soye, yaara, roye, mera toota hai dil
Aisa haara ke dubara jeena hua mushkil
Akhiyaan na soye, yaara, roye, mera toota hai dil
Aisa haara ke dubara jeena hua mushkil
Then she turned. And walked away without looking back once. The white rose slipped from her braid then. It fell silently onto the stone beneath her heel. Crushed instantly as she stepped on it. Rehman saw it happen.
And something about that flower dying beneath her foot made his stomach turn violently. Because it felt symbolic. Like watching the sweet morning they had, die in front of their eyes. Like watching something sacred get strangled.
Barbaadiyo ka meri, jaanib, aane ki jo wajah bataaun
Tu hee hai naubat, tu hee musibat, tu hee qayamat, jaaneya
Aashiq duniya bhar ke saare, sab kuch apna ishq mein haare
Rehanna felt it too. It felt like strangling herself. But she kept walking anyway. One ragged breath after another. The Raja and Sultan, the German shepherds who adored her more than they loved Rehman, began barking frantically now. Whining. Whimpering.
Raja actually tried following her immediately. The brown long coated german shepherd had begun padding behind her whimpering for her to wait. “Raja!” Rehman barked sharply. The dog stopped instantly but whimpered miserably watching her disappear through the gates. He turned back to Rehman as if begging him to stop her or at least to let him go with her. But rehman looked at the path she had walked out of his haveli with a strange coldness.
And then she was gone. Actually gone. Leaving behind blood drops on marble. A crushed white rose. And one drunken man standing in the middle of the driveway finally realizing he may have just destroyed the only thing he ever truly loved.
Barbaadiyo ka meri, jaanib, aane ki jo wajah bataaun (Ye ishq barbaad karega)
Tu hee hai naubat, tu hee musibat, tu hee qayamat, jaaneya (Ye ilm tha mujhe)
Aashiq duniya bhar ke saare, sab kuch apna ishq mein haare (Par iss qadar kar dega)
Rehanna Randhawa’s Old Apartment, Hindu Colony, Lyari, Pakistan
She makes it home somehow. She doesn’t even remember climbing the stairs. Doesn’t remember unlocking the apartment door. Doesn’t remember dragging the suitcases inside. All she remembers is the sound of his voice following her like a curse through the entire night.
“Nafrat karta hun mai.”
The moment the door shuts behind her she exhales sharply, like she had been holding her breath since the haveli driveway. Her suitcase slips from her hand with a loud thud against the floor. The apartment greets her with silence so heavy it almost echoes. White sheets cover the furniture like abandoned ghosts. Dust dances through pale moonlight spilling in through the windows. Everything smells closed off, untouched, lonely.
And suddenly every memory of him crashes into her skull all at once. Rehman holding her waist in the verandah this morning. Rehman threading the white rose into her braid so carefully like she was something precious. Rehman wrapping the pashmina shawl around her shoulders before she got cold. Rehman braiding her hair in that club room with rough careful fingers after she fell asleep.
Rehman kissing her forehead. Her cheeks. Her knuckles. Rehman looking at her like she hung the moon itself in the sky. Then his voice cuts through every single memory like a blade.
“Haan. Nafrat karta hun mai.”
Her breath stutters violently. A broken sound leaves her throat. She presses the heel of her palm hard against her eyes trying not to cry but tears spill through anyway. Because that was the problem with him. E
ven now her mind refused to make him cruel completely. Every loving thing he had ever done kept fighting against what he said tonight. Her brain kept trying to defend him while her heart bled out all over the floor. She laughs bitterly to herself while wiping angrily at her tears. “Stupid,” she whispers shakily. “Kitni stupid ho tum Rehanna.”
Because all those months ago when Rehman had practically carried her away to the haveli, she had quietly continued paying rent for this apartment anyway. Replaced every broken lock. Repaired every damaged door. Maintained it carefully. Just in case.
Maybe some wounded instinct inside her always knew this kind of love could never end peacefully. And for all Rehman knew she had nowhere to go tonight.
Yet he still told her to leave his haveli. That thought hurts almost more than the fight itself. Because he always corrected her before. Humari haveli. Aapka ghar. Your home too. Now suddenly it belonged only to him. How fucking convenient
She walks numbly toward the liquor cabinet and yanks it open harder than necessary. Glass clinks loudly. Her fingers curl around half a whiskey bottle shoved near the back. Good enough. She unscrews the cap and takes a long burning swig straight from the bottle.
The alcohol tears down her throat viciously. Good. Maybe it will cauterize something inside her. Another swallow follows immediately. Then another.
She leans back against the kitchen counter staring blankly at the ceiling while tears continue slipping silently down her face. The whiskey swirls bitterly in her mouth while her chest aches harder and harder.
Her phone suddenly rings. The sharp sound cuts through the apartment violently. She glances at the screen. Its Himmat Singh, her colleague and best friend from R&AW. Of course.
She stares at the name for a few seconds before answering tiredly. “What?” she mutters hoarsely.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT?” Himmat practically explodes the second the call connects. “Tumhara dimag kharab hogaya hai kya Rehanna?”
She shuts her eyes immediately. “Himmat please—”
“Nahi please nothing!” he snaps furiously. “Hamza ne mujhe call kiya abhi. Bola tumhara Rehman ke sath itna bada jhagda hua ki tum haveli chhod ke nikal gayi?”
At Rehman’s name her throat tightens painfully again. “Haan toh?” she mutters defensively, taking another sip straight from the bottle. “Haan toh?” Himmat repeats incredulously. “Do you have any idea how badly you could be compromising the mission right now?”
Something inside her finally snaps. “Mission?” she laughs sharply. “MISSION?”
“Haan mission!” Himmat shouts back. “Tum emotionally involved thi already, aur ab ye drama? Tumhe andaza bhi hai kitna dangerous—”
“Dangerous?” she cuts him off loudly now. “Tumhe lagta hai mujhe nahi pata dangerous kya hota hai?”
“Rehanna calm down—”
“No you calm down!” she yells back. “Mai toot gayi hun yahan!” Silence hits the line for half a second. Then Himmat speaks again, still angry but softer now. “Yaar…”
But she is crying properly now. Furious tears. Hurt tears. “He said he hates me,” she chokes out before she can stop herself. The words hang between them heavily. Himmat goes completely quiet. Then very carefully he asks, “Kya?”
Her laugh comes out broken.
“He said he hates me, Himmat. But dont worry I'll make this problem go away, I'll pretend like everything is fine.” She wipes violently at her face. “Khush? Happy now? Mission safe hai. Congratulations.”
“Rehanna listen to me carefully. Please tell me you don't love him—”
“Nahi! I don't love him. Khush?” she snaps again. “Leave me alone. Bas. Mujhe akela chhod do.”
“Rehanna—”
“GET LOST HIMMAT!”
And she cuts the call. The silence afterwards feels monstrous. Her hand trembles around the whiskey bottle. Then slowly she slides down the kitchen cabinets until she is sitting on the cold floor. Knees pulled loosely toward herself. Tears falling endlessly.
Because every time she closes her eyes she sees him loving her. Holding her. Protecting her. Looking at her like she mattered more than breath itself. And then his voice destroys it all again.
“Nafrat karta hun mai.”
—------------------
Meanwhile at the same time @ 0000 hours
R&AW Headquarters, Global Anti Terrorism Intelligence Wing, Himmat Singh’s Office, Delhi, India
Himmat stood frozen in the middle of his office staring blankly at the disconnected phone in his hand. The anger drained from his face slowly. Replacing itself with something much worse. Realization. “Oh fuck…” he muttered quietly.
His other hand settled against his hip while he stared at the wall hard enough like answers might appear there. Because he knew Rehanna. Knew her too well. And he had never heard her sound like that before.
Not after injuries. Not after operations gone wrong. Not after near death. Not even after her first kill. But tonight? Tonight she sounded shattered.
Himmat slowly dragged a hand down his face. Then looked toward the intelligence files scattered across his desk. Advocate Rehanna Randhawa. Rehman Baloch Dakait. Lyari. ISI movement. Weapon routes. Counterfeit currency. Everything suddenly felt far more dangerous than it had an hour ago.
Because now one horrifying thought kept repeating in his mind over and over again.
She might actually love him.
Oh fuck.
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Disclaimer: This series is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Authors Note: Bittersweet and sexy just like me ;)
Chapter 14. Memory is cruel
A few days after the ending of chapter 13 @ 3 am
Rehanna’s Bedroom, Baloch haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Memory is a cruel thing. In fact memory is a really fucking cruel thing. Its that bastard that sneaks up on you just when life stops fucking you sideways for just a moment. What hurts more is when memory hurts you when you are supposed to be the safest. Sound asleep in your lover's arms after a passionate time.
Rehannas mind flashes with memories. In the breakroom in the R&AW office after a long day, she is laughing with Himmat. Her old apartment in India, sitting peacefully sipping coffee and reading a book before her college friends show up unannounced. Memories of Himmat screaming like a little girl because she put a fake cockroach in his chai. Memories of when she was a child, her father pushing her on the swing in the garden as she screams happily “HIGHER PAPA HIGHER!"
Each memory makes her furrow her brow in her sleep. Each memory a stab. Each memory makes her toss and turn. She can feel Rehman next to her, the heat of his bare body, his arms around her. This should be comforting, but she can't feel that when her own mind is attacking her.
Rehanna wakes up with a slight gasp. Her heart pounding, sweat on her forehead. Her body feels unnaturally warm. Thunder crashes in the background. Wind flows through the open balcony doors, inflating the curtains making them billow in the find. Wrong, this all feels wrong.
There is just this overwhelming feeling hanging over her. Not just sadness, not just pain, not just nostalgia. Something that transcends labels. It's dark, heavy and looming.
Besides her, Rehman is in deep sleep. It's raining outside. On one hand she wants to wake him up, have him hold her close, cage her in his big strong arms and tell her it's going to be okay. On the other hand she wants to run. That's how she copes anyways, escaping and going alone. Being alone.
He looks so peaceful in his sleep. His lips parted slightly, the creases in his face relaxed. Peace, genuine peace on his face. She can't wake him up. She slowly untangles from the sheets. She slowly untangles herself from his arms, replacing her weight with a pillow so he won’t notice she is gone.
She wobbles out of the bed. The feeling grows heavier by the second. Get out. Run. Get free. You are caged. You are trapped. You need to run away. She bends over and grabs the clothes that were on the floor. Her breath was shaky. Those very clothes had been thrown unceremoniously on the floor a while ago as they found themselves in each other's arms. She pulls on the baggy shirt, she pulls on the loose pyjama bottoms. She goes to the bedside table and grabs her phone and headphones.
The storm outside rumbles again. She slips the headphones into her ears with trembling fingers. The soft static crackles for a second before the qawali begins flowing through her ears low and aching and ancient, harmoniums blending into the sound of rain beyond the balcony doors. The music wraps around her immediately like memory itself. Dangerous. Familiar. Comforting in the worst possible way.
Rehanna turns toward the balcony slowly. Wind lashes rain through the open doors making the curtains whip violently through the room while silver moonlight spills across the marble floor in flashes between clouds. Her bare feet pad quietly across the room. One glance over her shoulder toward the bed. Rehman remains asleep. Still peaceful. Still warm beneath tangled blankets. Still completely unaware that something inside her has cracked open tonight. Her chest tightens painfully.
Wind crashes softly through the open balcony curtains making them billow wildly into the room behind her. Rehanna climbs onto the railing carefully, one hand gripping the cold stone pillar beside it while rain lashes against her face instantly soaking loose strands of hair against her cheeks. The drop below is not very high. She has done far stupider things in her life than this. Like accepting this fucking mission for one thing.
Her bare foot finds the narrow ledge first. Then the other. Slowly she lowers herself downward climbing carefully along the side of the haveli wall before finally hopping the rest of the way down into the wet grass below. THUD.
Her payals chink loudly against her ankles. For one moment she simply stands there breathing hard beneath the storm. The rain immediately drenches her completely. Cold water slides down the oversized shirt clinging against her skin while her pajamas darken heavily from the storm within seconds. Thunder rolls somewhere overhead, shaking softly through the night sky while wind bends the trees violently around the garden.
Above her thick clouds drift across the moon occasionally allowing silver light to spill down across the rain soaked grounds before swallowing it whole again. Perfect weather. Her favorite weather. Nobody is awake. Nobody can see her. Nobody can ask questions she cannot answer. It is just her. Just her and memory.
Rehanna slowly lowers herself into the wet grass letting the rain hit her face freely while the qawali swells louder in her ears. The rain soaks her within seconds. Her hair sticks to her cheeks and throat while cold water slides beneath the collar of the shirt against her skin. The grass beneath her feet feels freezing and alive. She slowly sinks down onto it. The wet earth stains her pajamas immediately but she doesn’t care. Her eyes shut. And memory arrives like a knife.
Himmat laughing so hard that chai came out of his nose because she almost fell flat on her face slipping on a banana peel. Her college friends packed into her tiny apartment sitting cross legged on the floor eating takeout at two in the morning while everyone screamed over each other about hot guys.
Her father asleep on the living room sofa while cricket commentary played softly from the television. Her mother oiling her hair patiently while scolding her for climbing walls like a monkey as a child. The smell of old Delhi rain. Metro stations. Coffee shops. Traffic. Her bookshelf back home. Her old life. Her old self.
The version of her that died quietly somewhere along the way. A shaky breath leaves her. The version of herself that still existed there. The version she buried with her own hands. Then another shaky breath. Then suddenly tears slip free before she can stop them. She laughs softly at herself immediately afterward. Wet broken laughter swallowed by rainwater. “Wah,” she whispers bitterly to nobody. “Kya haal hogaya hai tumhara.” Thunder cracks across the sky again. The qawali crescendos in her ears.
Rehanna laughs weakly beneath her breath at the same time she cries because honestly memory is such a fucking bastard. It gives you beautiful things only to rip them out through your ribs later.
And suddenly she stands. The rain pours harder now soaking her completely as she lifts her face toward the sky and closes her eyes. The music overtakes her bloodstream entirely. She begins moving before even thinking about it. Slow at first. Bare feet sliding through soaked grass. Her arms lifting up, curling into something delicate. Her wet clothes cling against her body heavily while silver payals chime beneath the roar of rain.
She spins once. Then again. Rainwater lashes across her face while tears mix into it invisibly. She smiles while crying. Actually smiles. Because grief and love and memory are cruel things and somehow beautiful things at the exact same time. Moonlight flashes silver through gaps in the clouds illuminating her for brief beautiful moments before darkness swallows her again.
Because she misses people so much it physically hurts to breathe sometimes. Because she survived. Because she left. Because she became someone entirely different. Because somewhere deep down inside herself she still mourns the girl she used to be.
She dances wildly now. Like she is trying to shake memories directly out of her skin. Like she wants to shake away the memory of the sunsets she watched with friends. Like she wants to forget how once when she was sick the entire R&AW office acted like she had the plague, running out of rooms when she walked in like a zombie. The qawali echoed through her ears while thunder shakes the heavens overhead and cold rain drenches her to the bone. Her hair sticks against her neck.
Her shirt clings against her body. Mud splashes her ankles while her payals sing with every desperate movement across the soaked garden. The cold seeps into her bones slowly but she welcomes it. Loves it.
Loves the violence of the weather around her because it matches the violence inside her chest. Wind whips her hair across her face while the qawali crescendos in her ears sounding almost holy now. Hours seem to pass. Or maybe minutes. Time feels meaningless now. Like if she keeps moving maybe memory will finally lose sight of her. But memory never loses sight of anyone. Eventually exhaustion catches her. Her knees give out.
A broken sound tears out of her throat immediately afterward. Then another. Then suddenly she is sobbing. Not graceful crying. Not cinematic tears. Actual ugly painful sobbing that shakes violently through her entire body while rainwater pours over her mercilessly. Her forehead presses into the soaked grass while her hands fist desperately into the mud beneath her. And somewhere above on the covered verandah Rehman stands silently watching.
—--------------------
He had woken the moment he heard the soft thud beneath the balcony and the unmistakable chink of her payals disappearing into the night. At first he thought perhaps she simply needed air. He followed without making a sound. Pulling on his pants, rushing out the door forgetting his kurta. He went out her bedroom door down to the first floor. Stepping onto the verandah while rain lashed the garden beyond him endlessly.
Then he saw her dancing. And he understood immediately this was not something to interrupt. So he stayed still. Watching silently while something inside his chest twisted painfully. Because he had never seen her like this before. Not the fearless lawyer. Not the sharp mouthed woman who terrified politicians. Not the flirt. Not the chaos. Not the fire. Just a girl drowning quietly in something he didn't understand.
He watched her smile while crying beneath the moonlight and it nearly killed him. Something twists violently inside his chest. But he does not interrupt her. Does not call her name. Does not drag her back inside. Because instinctively he understands this is not something he can fight for her. This grief existed long before him. Long before Karachi. Long before Lyari. Long before she ever stepped into his life wearing courtroom heels and sharp sarcasm.
The umbrella hangs loose in one hand. A towel draped over his arm. And when she finally collapses into sobs against the wet grass unable to hold herself together anymore. That is when he moves.
He walks down the verandah steps slowly, one hand holding a large black umbrella above himself while the other carries a towel. Rain immediately splashes against his chappal as he approaches her collapsed figure silently, looming over her.
Thunder growls overhead. Rehanna looks up weakly through soaked lashes when his shadow falls over her. Her face is wrecked. Rainwater streams endlessly down her skin while tears continue slipping helplessly from red eyes. Wet hair sticks across her cheeks and neck.
For one horrible second she looks embarrassed. She opens her mouth instinctively trying to explain herself. “R-Rehman mai…” she whispers brokenly. Rehman says absolutely nothing. Not one word.
He simply kneels beside her in the rain and wraps the towel carefully around her shoulders first. Then immediately afterward he pulls her against his chest beneath the umbrella. And that is it. That is all. No questions. No pressure. Rehanna breaks apart completely after that. Her hands clutch his shoulders desperately while sobs shake through her body harder than before. Rehman only tightens his arms around her silently, one large hand pressing against the back of her soaked hair while rain crashes endlessly around them.
“Koi baat nahi,” he murmurs eventually against the top of her head quietly enough she almost does not hear it. “Ro lo meri jaan.” She cries harder. And he lets her.
—----------------------
Eventually he brings her back upstairs wrapped tightly in the towel. The umbrella discarded long ago, her in his arms as he carries her. She cries softly into his shoulder. Her hot tears mixed with the cold rain dripping from her hair. The haveli remains asleep around them. Only distant thunder follows them through dark hallways while rain lashes endlessly against the windows outside.
Rehman helps her out of the soaked clothes gently. Carefully. Like she is something breakable tonight. He dries her hair gently with the towel while she sits there exhausted and hollow eyed wearing his kurta now. Bare beneath it. He dries her hair without rubbing it too hard because she once told him that curly hair frizzes and tangles. So he pats and scrunches it dry, as dry as he can get it. She is hollow. Like the storm wrung something out of her completely.
Then he pulls her back into bed. Rehman climbs in behind her immediately afterward gathering her tightly against his chest beneath the blankets while rain taps softly against the balcony outside. One strong arm wraps securely around her waist while the other settles beneath her head pulling her closer until she can physically hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Her cold feet tangle with his legs while his arms cage her completely into his warmth. Rehanna stares blankly into darkness for a while.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers eventually. Rehman presses a kiss softly against her damp hair. “Nahi, Bilkul nahi ” he murmurs firmly. “Koi baat nahi.” She swallows hard, a whimper chokes in her throat. Threatening to burst into fresh tears. He tightens his arms around her slightly.
“Abhi baat kane ka koi faida bhi nahi aur karni bhi nahi” he says quietly. “Bas so jaiye.” And somehow that destroys her more than questions would have. Because he is giving her space to hurt without demanding explanations for it.
The storm continues outside. Thunder rolls softer now farther away across Karachi while wind rustles through the balcony curtains gently beneath moonlight. Wrapped tightly in his arms with exhaustion finally dragging her under again, Rehanna closes her eyes slowly. And this time when sleep takes her it is dreamless. Giving memory no room to plague her.
Rehman stays awake much longer staring into the darkness above them with quiet worry sitting heavily inside his chest.
—--------------------------
Same day @ 2pm
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
When Rehanna finally wakes up again it feels less like waking up and more like clawing herself unwillingly back into consciousness. Her head pounds viciously. Not a normal headache. Something deeper. Heavier. Like memory itself sat behind her eyes and kept pressing harder and harder against her skull trying to force itself back in. Her throat feels tight. Her body feels sore from the cold rain. From crying. From grief exhausting her more thoroughly than physical pain ever could.
The room is dim despite the afternoon hour. Rainclouds still linger outside the balcony windows turning the sunlight grey and muted. Beside her the sheets are empty now. Rehman is gone. For one horrible second she almost starts crying again.
Because the memories have not stopped. That is the cruel thing about mornings after breakdowns. You expect relief. Silence. Some kind of emotional mercy. Instead the grief is still sitting there waiting for you the moment your eyes open. Her chest aches painfully. Her best friend and colleague Himmat laughing. Her father smiling. Old Delhi rain. Coffee cups. Friends. Home. Home. Home.
Rehanna squeezes her eyes shut hard and presses the heels of her palms against them. “Bas,” she whispers shakily to herself. “Bas kar.” But memory does not listen. Eventually she forces herself out of bed. Her limbs feel heavy. Like someone filled her bones with wet cement overnight. She walks into the washroom and splashes cold water onto her face repeatedly until her skin burns slightly from it.
When she finally looks up into the mirror she barely recognizes herself. Her eyes are swollen slightly. Her face was pale. Exhaustion hanging beneath her skin like bruises. Zombie. That is genuinely the only word for it. Slowly she ties her hair back into something neat enough to pass for functional. Her jewelry was there as always. She never took it off. Ever. The three earings per ear, the necklace gifted to her by Rehman, the payals gifted to her by Rehman.
Now dressed in a simple oversized shirt and loose trousers she looks slightly more presentable. Just tired. Tired in a way sleep cannot fix. Downstairs the haveli is loud as always. Voices bounce off old walls. Somebody is yelling from the kitchen. Music plays faintly somewhere distant. Footsteps echo constantly through hallways. Lyari itself hums outside beyond the gates alive and chaotic beneath humid Karachi skies. Life continues whether grief wants it to or not.
The boys are gathered in the main sitting room when she walks in. Hamza immediately notices her first. “Asalamwalikum didi.” “Walikum asalam,” she murmurs softly. Uzair glances up briefly from where he is sprawled across one sofa eating chips directly from the packet like an animal. “Vakeel sahiba zinda hain aap?” he grins. She hums vaguely in response and sits down slowly on the armchair near the window curling one leg beneath herself.
Someone pushes coffee toward her automatically. She accepts it with quiet thanks. Nobody comments much on her silence at first. Mostly because the boys are too busy being idiots. Hamza is currently getting tortured alive.
“Bhai wah,” Siyahi says dramatically while grinning. “Hamza bhai ka rishta toh seedha Jamali khandan me hogaya.” Hamza groans immediately. “Chup kar saale.”
Uzair leans forward instantly sensing blood in the water like a shark. “Jijuuuu,” he croons sweetly, making Donga burst into laughter. He was imitating the way a few days ago Yasmin Kaif, Yalina’s cousin, had greeted Hamza at Jamali’s mansion. Uzair shuts his eyes briefly. Memories of Yasmin hitting him square in the chest. He won't admit it but he hasn't had a peaceful night of sleep since meeting her. He still remembers her furious face as she stole his cigarette from him, her laugh when she called him a ‘lamba khamba’.
Hamza throws a cushion at him violently. “Maa ki aankh teri.”
“Yalina bhabhi,” Siyahi says dreamily while placing one hand over his heart. “Kitna pyar karti hain hamare Hamza bhai se.”
“Bhabhi ne khana khaya?” Uzair asks innocently. “Bhabhi ne pani piya?” Donga adds helpfully. “Bhabhi ne saans li?” Siyahi finishes. Hamza looks genuinely homicidal now. Rehanna watches them quietly over the rim of her cup.
Usually she would have joined in immediately. Usually she would have escalated this entire situation beyond repair. Usually she would have been the loudest one in the room. Today she simply nods faintly when appropriate. Lost somewhere else entirely. The boys notice she is quieter than normal. But not enough. Not truly. Because to them, being tired is just tired.
Only Rehman notices the difference immediately. He stands near the doorway speaking quietly with one of his men regarding shipment timings for the factory. His expression remains calm. Controlled. Dangerous as always. But his eyes keep drifting back toward her. Again and again. Each time his chest tightens slightly. Because nobody else sees it.
Nobody else notices the way her hands curl too tightly around the coffee cup like she is grounding herself. Nobody else notices how glassy her eyes still are. Nobody else notices the exhaustion sitting inside her bones. But he does.
He notices everything about her. Unfortunately today is impossible. Meetings. Misrouted shipments. Factory inspections. Weapons inventory. Three separate issues needing his direct attention. And worst of all they are surrounded by people.
He cannot walk up to her and pull her into his arms. Cannot ask what memories haunted her last night. Cannot touch her face. Cannot kiss her forehead. Cannot even sit too close without suspicion. So he stands there trapped inside his own restraint while she sits ten feet away quietly unraveling.
Eventually one of the men near the entrance calls out, “Bhai gaadi tayar hai.” Rehman’s jaw tightens slightly. He has to leave. His eyes move to Rehanna again immediately. She looks up at the exact same moment. For one second everything else in the room fades away entirely. The noise. The boys. The teasing. The haveli. Just them.
Her eyes are slightly watery again though she is trying very hard to hide it. The exhaustion on her face physically hurts him to look at. He does not move toward her, he can not. Instead he simply stands there staring for half a second too long.
Rehanna smiles weakly at him. It is small. Strained. Fragile. Nothing like her usual smile. Then she lifts one hand lazily and waves him off slightly. “Jao,” she mouths silently. His chest twists violently. Because he can see she does not want him to leave. And worse. He can see she is pretending she is okay so he will go without worrying.
Rehman swallows hard. Then finally he gives one small nod back toward her. And leaves. The moment the haveli doors shut behind him the room somehow feels colder to her instantly.
—-----------------------
Same day @ 7 pm
Rehanna’s Office, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The office had become suffocating after sunset. Not because of the room itself, no. The room was beautiful. Dark polished wood, old persian rugs, warm lamps casting pools of amber light across shelves lined with legal files and books and expensive liquor.
Rainwater still clung faintly to the balcony railings from the storm earlier in the day and the entire haveli smelled of wet earth and old stone. But none of that mattered because the inside of Rehanna’s head was louder than the room itself. Memory kept scratching at the walls of her skull like an animal trying to claw its way free.
Rehanna had been awake for five hours today. Nothing special, just numb. After Rehman left she quietly disappeared into her office to try and drown the memories in work. Files spread around her desk. Contracts. Shipment records. Political paperwork. Arms manifests. She signed things mechanically. Read things twice and absorbed none of it. Sometimes she would just stare at a paragraph for five whole minutes before realizing she hadn’t understood a single word.
Rehman called her every half an hour. Every single time. And every single time she answered because she knew if she didn’t he would leave the factory and come back immediately. “Rehman, meri jaan meri chinta mat karo.” Another call forty minutes later. “Ab thoda behtar lag raha hai…” Then quieter. “Nahi mai roi nahi…shaanti se kaam kijiye aap, meri chinta mat kariye.” Each lie tasted strange in her mouth because technically she had stopped crying. Technically she was functioning. Technically she was alive.
By seven pm the office felt unbearable. Silent in all the wrong ways. She leaned back in her chair slowly, staring at the ceiling while thunder rumbled faintly somewhere far away over Lyari. The boys wouldn’t know how to deal with her right now. They would joke. Tease. Distract her. Hamza would try to force food into her hands. Uzair would say something wildly stupid. Siyahi would attempt emotional support and make it worse somehow. Donga would stare in worried silence. Usually she loved them for it. Today she couldn’t survive it.
So she grabbed her phone. She called her best friend. The call connected almost instantly. “Yalina…” her voice came out tired, softer than usual. “Mera mood kharab hai.” On the other side there was immediate concern. Then immediate chaos. “Chalo lets go to club didi.” That made something twitch faintly at the corner of Rehanna’s mouth. Not quite happiness. But close enough. “I’ll meet you there meri jaan.” And suddenly she had purpose.
—---------------
Twenty minutes later her bedroom looked like the aftermath of a glitter explosion. The white dress clung to her body like sin itself. Tiny reflective stones stitched into the fabric caught every bit of light and threw it back like shattered stars. The halter neckline plunged dangerously low, exposing the smooth skin of her chest where Rehman’s necklace rested openly against her skin.
The short tasseled skirt brushed mid thigh and moved when she walked like liquid silver rain. Every step made the strands sway against her legs. It was scandalous. Absolutely scandalous. Which was exactly why she chose it. Her makeup was heavier than usual. Sharp glittering eyeliner. Smoky silver eyeshadow. Dark maroon lips that looked almost sinful under warm light.
She dusted glitter across her collarbones slowly, across her shoulders, down her arms and legs until her skin shimmered faintly. Perfume followed next. Sweet, expensive and dangerous. She looked at herself in the mirror afterward and tilted her head slightly. God she looked phenomenal in white. For the first time all day she almost recognized herself. Almost.
Then she walked downstairs with absolutely no shame whatsoever. The boys were sprawled across the living room floor playing cards loudly, arguing over cheating allegations and money and whose turn it was to deal.
The second Rehanna walked in the room died. Completely. Uzair’s card slipped right out of his hand. Donga blinked slowly. Hamza physically choked on air. And Siyahi… Siyahi nearly saw god. The poor man stared so hard his cigarette nearly fell out of his fingers. Actual drool threatened at the corner of his mouth before he wiped it aggressively with the back of his hand. “YA ALLAH…” he whispered faintly.
Hamza recovered first and immediately looked horrified. “Didi!” he exclaimed standing up. “Ye kapde hain?!” Rehanna kept walking calmly. “Haan.” Hamza stood up pointing at her “Didi ye kapde bohot kam hain!” Uzair nodded solemnly. “Kapde ki economy chal rahi hai.” Donga smacked the back of his head. “Oye chup.” Siyahi was still staring in absolute devastation. “Mujhe toh lag raha hai mai marne wala hun…”
Rehanna finally laughed slightly. Small. Faint. But real. Then just as she reached the front door it opened. And Rehman walked in. Everything stopped. Rehman froze mid step. The entire haveli seemed to go silent around him.
His eyes dragged over her slowly and without mercy. White glittering dress. Bare legs. Sharp heels. Bold lips. His necklace resting openly in the plunge of her neckline. His brain nearly shut down immediately. Ya Allah. For one dangerous second every thought in his head disappeared except mine. Mine mine mine.
Then reality hit him like cold water. She had been crying at three in the morning. She had danced in the rain until she collapsed sobbing. And now she looked like this. Beautiful enough to start wars. His expression shifted immediately. Concern overtook desire. Though barely. Rehanna tilted her head slightly. “Aagaye aap?”
Rehman swallowed hard. “Kahan ja rahi hain aap?” Rehanna hummed “Bahar.” “Bahar kahan?” “Club.” The entire room blinked. Hamza looked scandalized again. “CLUB?”
“With Yalina,” Rehanna added, casually grabbing her car keys. Rehman stared at her for another long second before stepping closer carefully. Too carefully. Because everyone was watching. “Akele nahi jayengi aap.” Rehanna arched an eyebrow. “Kyun?”
“Kyunki…” he paused trying to invent something believable while fighting demons internally. “Karachi. Aapko lagta hai ki karachi raat ko mehfooz hai?” She almost smiled. “Dakait sahab mujhe lagta hai Karachi ko mujhse zyada khatra hai.” Uzair snorted loudly. Rehman ignored him completely.
“Koi saath jayega.” Rehanna clicked her tongue “No need.” Rehman began again “Vakeel sahiba—”
“No need,” she repeated firmly. For a moment they just stared at each other. Only they understood the real conversation happening underneath. Please let me go. Please don’t make this harder.
Rehman saw every single thing in her eyes. And it terrified him. She turned before he could stop her. The white tassels of her dress shimmered under the chandelier lights as she walked out the main door. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble.
Outside, her black Mercedes waited under the wet Karachi night gleaming under streetlights. She slid into the driver’s seat without another word. The engine roared softly. And then she was gone. Silence. Complete silence.
Then Rehman slowly turned toward Hamza. One look. That was all. Hamza immediately stood up. “Chalein?” he asked carefully. Rehman grabbed another cigarette from the table already walking toward the door. “Chal.”
—-------------------
Same day @ 7:30 pm
Alizeh Club, Karachi, Pakistan
Karachi at night looked like a city trying very hard not to feel anything. The roads glistened from a light drizzle earlier, neon signs reflecting off wet asphalt in blurred streaks of pink and blue and white. Music pulsed faintly even from outside the club district, bass vibrating through the air like a second heartbeat beneath the city itself.
Hamza drove with both hands locked tightly around the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The open jeep rolled through traffic carefully, headlights low, keeping a deliberate distance behind Rehanna’s black Mercedes. Beside him Rehman sat in complete silence, one elbow resting against the window frame, cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around his face in lazy spirals. Neither man spoke.
There were some silences that were peaceful. This was not one of them. Hamza kept glancing ahead every few seconds at Rehanna’s car as if it might suddenly disappear. His stomach was in knots. His brain refused to stop imagining what Yalina might be wearing inside that club. If Rehanna was dressed like that then Allah knows what he should expect for his girlfriend. He swallowed hard.
Meanwhile Rehman’s silence was something else entirely. Darker. Heavier. He watched the Mercedes ahead with sharp unreadable eyes. The image of her walking through the haveli thirty minutes ago refused to leave his head. The glitter on her skin. The exposed curve of her legs. The white dress hugging her body like it had been sewn onto her skin itself. The necklace around her throat. His necklace. And beneath all that desire was something far uglier.
Worry. That deadness in her eyes from earlier had terrified him more than bullets ever could.
The jeep eventually rolled into the massive parking lot of Alizeh Club. Music thundered from inside the building, muffled but powerful enough that the bass vibrated through the concrete beneath their feet. Expensive cars lined the lot. Luxury sedans, imported sports cars, black SUVs with tinted windows. Karachi’s rich children and corrupt men gathered in places like this to pretend morality was something that only existed during daylight hours.
Hamza parked the jeep around ten or fifteen spaces away from Rehanna’s Mercedes. Far enough that she would not notice them. Close enough that they could still see her. The engine shut off. Neither of them moved. Rehman brought the cigarette to his lips slowly, eyes fixed ahead through the darkness.
Then her car door opened. And there she was. She stepped out carefully in those white glittering heels, one manicured hand smoothing down the tiny dress automatically. The tassels hanging from the hem shimmered and swayed with every movement like droplets of light clinging to her thighs. The plunging neckline caught the silver glow of the parking lot lamps, the glitter dusted across her skin sparkling every time she moved. Her perfume almost seemed to linger even from this distance in Rehman’s imagination because he knew exactly how it smelled. Sweet and dangerous and addictive.
Hamza physically inhaled sharply beside him. Rehman exhaled smoke slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening so hard the muscle ticked violently. Then another woman appeared near the entrance waiting beside one of the bouncers. Yalina. Hamza forgot how to blink. “Allah reham kare...” he muttered weakly under his breath.
Yalina was wearing emerald green. Dark rich emerald green that clung to her figure beautifully. Not as scandalous as Rehanna’s outfit but scandalous enough that Hamza immediately sat straighter in his seat like he could somehow fight every man in the parking lot simultaneously. Her hair flowed down her back in soft curls, glossy beneath the lights, and the dress exposed enough skin to make his ears burn.
Then it happened. A group of boys walking toward the entrance slowed down slightly. Their eyes dragged openly over Rehanna and Yalina. One elbowed the other with a grin. Another turned fully to stare. Hamza’s face darkened instantly. “Aankhein neeche kar behenchod...” he muttered venomously under his breath, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
Beside him Rehman looked equally murderous. Completely silent. The kind of silence that usually happened seconds before somebody got shot. Smoke curled around his face as he watched those men look at Rehanna. His Rehanna. Standing there under neon lights looking heartbreakingly beautiful and heartbreakingly sad at the same time. Rehanna reached the entrance first.
Then suddenly her entire expression softened for the first time all day when she saw Yalina properly. She opened her arms and Yalina immediately squealed and hugged her tightly. The two women looked radiant standing together beneath the club lights. White and emerald. Glitter and gold. Sadness hidden beneath beauty. Rehman watched Rehanna laugh softly at something Yalina whispered into her ear. It was not a full laugh. Not real. But it was more life than he had seen in her face since dawn. That alone stopped him from dragging her back home immediately.
The women linked hands naturally and headed toward the entrance together. Their heels clicked against the pavement in rhythm. Men stared openly as they walked past. Women stared too. Rehanna carried herself like she belonged everywhere she stepped. Even miserable she looked untouchable. Hamza leaned back in his seat once the club doors swallowed them whole. He rubbed both hands down his face aggressively. “Bhai...” he said weakly. “Meri toh jaan nikal gayi.”
Rehman took one final drag of his cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot once he stepped out of the jeep. His eyes remained fixed on the glowing entrance of the club. “Meri bhi,” he muttered darkly. But for entirely different reasons.
—-------------------
Same day @ 10:45 pm
Inside Alizeh Club, Karachi, Pakistan
The club was drowning in light and noise and sweat. Bass thundered through the walls hard enough to vibrate bones. Neon lights flashed violently across moving bodies, painting everyone in shifting shades of blue and pink and red. Expensive perfume mixed with cigarette smoke and alcohol in the air until the entire place smelled like recklessness.
And Rehanna had been trying very hard to lose herself inside it for hours. The moment she and Yalina entered they had gone straight to the bar without hesitation. No greetings. No waiting around. No pretending tonight was supposed to be classy. Rehanna climbed onto one of the tall velvet barstools and leaned forward against the counter with exhaustion hidden beneath glitter. “Two rounds of vodka shots,” she said flatly to the bartender. “two rounds each.” The bartender nodded quickly, clearly recognizing the kind of night this was. Bottles clinked against each other beneath flashing lights as he poured two shots for each of them with practiced speed.
Yalina stared at the tiny glasses suspiciously. “Didi mujhe darr lag raha hai.” Rehanna looked at her blankly. “Yalina meri jaan tumhari problem ye hai ke tumhare andar himmat nahi hai.” she said, picking up one glass “Bilkul nahi hai,” Yalina admitted immediately. “Mai sharif gharane ki ladki hun.” Rehanna snorted softly. “Sharif gharane ki ladki ghar se bhaag ke Hamza ke ghar nahi rehti.” Yalina gasped dramatically. “Personal attack!” Rehanna rolled her eyes and grabbed both her shots at once. Then without expression she tilted her head back and swallowed them cleanly one after the other. Just a small sigh escaped her afterward as she set the glasses down.
Yalina meanwhile took one shot and immediately gagged. “YA ALLAH!” she wheezed, clutching her throat. “Ye log petrol pila rahe hain kya?” That finally made Rehanna laugh properly for the first time all day. A small genuine laugh that cracked through her numbness for just a second. “Aao,” she said grabbing Yalina’s wrist. “Dance floor pe chalo warna tum yahin mar jaogi.”
—-----------------------
Three songs later the dance floor had turned into chaos. Sweaty bodies crushed together beneath flashing lights while the DJ screamed into the microphone like a man possessed. Yalina was already flushed and giggling uncontrollably while Rehanna remained frustratingly composed despite the alcohol sitting warm in her stomach. She slipped back toward the bar eventually, hair slightly messy now, glitter clinging to her skin like stardust beneath the club lights.
“A double whiskey on ice,” she told the bartender. He raised an eyebrow slightly. “Long night?” Rehanna leaned one elbow against the counter tiredly. “Long life.” The bartender barked out a surprised laugh before sliding the drink toward her. She drank slowly this time, fingers curled around the cold glass while her eyes stayed fixed on Yalina dancing recklessly nearby.
The whiskey burned pleasantly down her throat but did absolutely nothing to the heaviness inside her chest. Four drinks in and she still felt painfully aware of herself. How irritating.
Yalina stumbled back toward her eventually, cheeks pink, curls sticking slightly to her forehead from sweat. She threw herself dramatically against Rehanna’s shoulder. “Didiiiii,” she sang drunkenly. “Aap bohot pretty ho.” mused Yalina as she played with Rehanna’s hair “Haan mujhe pata hai.”
“Aur scary bhi.” Yalina whispered “Woh bhi pata hai.” Yalina narrowed her eyes drunkenly. “Hamza mujhe itna kyun dekhta hai?” Rehanna nearly choked laughing on her whiskey. “Tumhare dimagh me abhi bhi wohi chal raha hai?”
“Uski aankhein bohot intense hain,” Yalina whispered dramatically while swaying to the music. “Jaise mujhe zinda kha jayega.” Rehanna burst out laughing again despite herself. “Woh tumhe zinda nahi khayega. Bas tumhare aas paas mandrata rahega bewakoofon ki tarah.” Yalina giggled “Cute hai,” Yalina sighed drunkenly. “Allah bachaye usse.” laughed Rehanna downing her drink.
Then Yalina suddenly grabbed Rehanna’s waist and dragged her back toward the dance floor again before she could protest. The DJ genuinely seemed obsessed with them at this point because every song melting through the speakers suited them perfectly. Songs made for women like them.
The dance floor pulsed around them wildly. Rehanna moved like she was trying to exorcise something from herself. The tassels of her white dress shimmered violently with every movement, catching the lights like shards of stars. Sweat gleamed along her collarbone beside the necklace Rehman had given her. Men stared openly. Women stared too. Some with admiration. Some with envy. Some with hunger. She did not care. Because none of them could see the grief underneath it all.
Yalina clung to her shoulders singing loudly off key into her ear. “DIDIII mujhe lagta hai mai bohot hot hun.” Rehanna nodded solemnly while swaying to the beat. “Tum hot ho.” “Hamza pagal ho jayega mujhe aise dekh ke.” “Woh pehle se pagal hai.” Yalina cackled so hard she nearly tripped in her heels.
—---------------------
A few songs later Rehanna left the dance floor again breathing slightly harder now. Her skin glowed beneath the lights. Her chest rose and fell with exertion. But the memories were still there. Still clawing at her insides. Still refusing to drown. So she made a decision. She slammed cash down onto the counter.
“4 shots of tequila!” she yelled over the music. The bartender blinked at her. “Madam...aap sure hain?” “Bilkul.” He hesitated while reaching for the bottle. “Aap thik hain?” Rehanna stared at him for one long second before laughing bitterly under her breath. “Mai thik lag rahi hun?” The bartender immediately stopped asking questions.
He poured the shots carefully. Rehanna grabbed the first one and swallowed it instantly. Then the second. Then the third. Then the fourth. Rapid enough that even the bartender stared at her in alarm now. “Madam dheere—” Too late. She slammed the final glass down against the counter and inhaled sharply as the tequila finally hit her bloodstream like fire. There it is. That warm dizzy looseness finally creeping into her bones. “Shukriya,” she muttered hoarsely before turning away.
The bartender watched her disappear back into the crowd with genuine concern written across his face. Meanwhile Yalina spotted her immediately and squealed dramatically. “DIDIII!” Rehanna grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close as the next song exploded through the speakers. “Dance karo,” Rehanna ordered. “Mai toh kabse kar rahi hun!” Yalina shouted back drunkenly.
Then they dissolved back into the flashing lights together. Two glittering women dancing like the world had never hurt them once in their lives. Even though one of them was trying desperately to forget that it had.
—-------------------
Same day @ 11 pm
Inside Alizeh Club, Karachi, Pakistan
Rehman had lost patience an hour ago. Actually, no. If he was being honest with himself, he had lost patience the moment Rehanna stepped out of that Mercedes in that tiny white dress looking like heartbreak wrapped in glitter. But he still waited.
He waited because she looked miserable this morning. He waited because she had cried in his arms at 3 am like her soul was breaking apart piece by piece. He waited because he knew this wasn’t rebellion. This wasn’t carelessness. This was grief trying to outrun itself. But now it was 11 pm. Enough.
Hamza had tried going inside earlier only for the bouncer to stop him with an annoyed expression and a bored “No stag entry.” Hamza had nearly started an argument right there before Rehman stopped him with one look.
Now though? Rehman was done being patient. God knew what state she was in right now. God knew who was trying to get close to her inside that club. The thought itself made something ugly and violent rise inside his chest.
Some random man putting his hands on her waist while she danced. Some idiot leaning close trying to flirt with her. Trying to touch what belonged to him. Rehman would first break his hands. Then snap his neck. Then shoot the body for good measure.
“Chal Hamza,” Rehman muttered darkly. Hamza immediately straightened and followed behind him without question. The night wind moved through Rehman’s navy blue pathani kurta and salwar slightly as he strode across the parking lot. The fabric billowed around his tall frame with every step. Leather mojaris crunched against gravel beneath him. Cigarette smoke still lingered faintly around him from earlier. He looked devastating. Violently handsome in the kind of way that made people instinctively move out of his path without understanding why.
The bouncer spotted them approaching and immediately sighed in irritation. “Bhai bola na no stag entr—” Hamza cut him off instantly. “Abe side ho hum andar ja rahe hain.” “Sir rules hain—” Then Rehman stopped walking. The bouncer’s voice died in his throat. Slowly, calmly, Rehman pulled the gun from beneath his kurta just enough for the metal to gleam beneath the club lights. Nothing dramatic. No shouting. Somehow that made it worse. Rehman looked at the bouncer once. Just once. The look said everything. Try me. I dare you. The poor man visibly paled. His Adam’s apple bobbed nervously. “...Jee bhai. Aap jaiye.” Hamza clicked his tongue smugly while passing him. “Shuru se seedha rehna tha.”
The moment Rehman stepped inside the club he immediately hated it. The noise assaulted him first. Bass shaking the floor beneath his feet hard enough to irritate him instantly. Flashing lights stabbed into his eyes from every direction. Men and women packed together sweating against each other while music screamed through the room. Perfume mixed with alcohol and smoke until the air itself felt filthy. His age really showing in this belief. “Lanat hai,” he muttered under his breath while scanning the crowd sharply.
Hamza meanwhile looked equally uncomfortable, though mostly because every second girl inside looked half naked and he was trying very hard not to look anywhere respectfully. Then Rehman spotted Yalina immediately near the bar looking completely dazed. And alone. His stomach tightened instantly. Where the hell was Rehanna? “Hamza,” Rehman said sharply over the music. “Ja Yalina ko ghar leja…mai baad me Vakeel Sahiba ko dhund ke lata hun.” Hamza nodded immediately and pushed through the crowd toward her.
Yalina spotted him within seconds. Her entire face lit up drunkenly. “HAMZAAA!” Oh no. Hamza barely had time to react before she launched herself at him dramatically, wrapping her arms around his neck and nearly hanging off him entirely. “Ya Allah! Aramse baby” Hamza grabbed her waist quickly before she fell flat on her face in those heels. Yalina stared at him dreamily for a second.
Then she grabbed his cheeks with both hands. “Aap bohot hot lag rahe ho.” Hamza choked violently. “Yalina!” “Nahi sach me,” she insisted drunkenly while trying to kiss somewhere near his jaw and mostly missing. “Aur mai bhi bohot hot hun.” Hamza looked genuinely distressed now. “Bas karo log dekh rahe hain!” “Dekhne do,” she whispered dramatically. “Ham dono bohot attractive hain.” Hamza physically picked her up by her thighs before she could embarrass him further.
Yalina squealed happily, legs wrapping around his waist automatically as she clung to him. “Tum bohot zalim ho,” Hamza muttered while carrying her toward the exit. “Itni pretty lag ke club me dance kar rahi thi.” Yalina giggled uncontrollably against his shoulder. “Aap jealous ho?” “Haan!” he snapped immediately. “Bohot!” That only made her laugh harder. “Acha hai,” she slurred happily while poking his cheek. “Jealous mard cute lagte hain.”
Hamza looked like he was simultaneously in love and on the verge of cardiac arrest. “Bas ghar chalo,” he groaned. “Allah kasam mera dimagh kharab kar diya tumne.” Yalina sighed dreamily and rested her head against his shoulder while he carried her out. “Hamza…” Hamza responded annoyedly “Kya?” “Mujhse shaadi karlo.” Hamza nearly stumbled walking.
Behind them, Rehman barely noticed. Because his attention was elsewhere now. Sharp eyes scanning through lights and bodies and smoke searching for one woman only. And somewhere deeper inside the club, beneath all that noise and glitter and heartbreak, Rehanna was still dancing.
—--------------------
The moment Hamza disappeared through the club entrance carrying a giggling Yalina in his arms, Rehman’s attention shifted instantly. Completely. Like a predator scenting blood in water. His dark eyes swept over the writhing dance floor once and then found her immediately.
Of course they did. The crowd seemed to split around Rehanna without even realizing it. Bodies moved and swayed beneath violent flashes of crimson and blue club lights, smoke curling through the air thick with perfume, sweat, alcohol and heat, yet somehow she stood untouched in the middle of all of it.
The white of her dress caught every single beam of light and reflected it back like she was glowing from inside. The tassels at the hem shimmered every time her hips moved. Glitter dusted over her skin caught the lights like stars trapped against warm flesh.
Rehman stopped walking. For one dangerous second he simply stared. His mouth went dry. She looked unreal. And worse than that, she looked happy. Not truly happy. Not healed. Not peaceful. He knew her too well for that now. He could see it in the slight heaviness behind her eyes, in the faint looseness of her movements, in the way she smiled just a little too brightly. The alcohol was working. The grief was buried under glitter and music and drink. Temporary. Fragile. His jaw clenched.
Rehanna meanwhile was finally beginning to feel warm instead of hollow. The tequila had settled into her bloodstream. Her limbs felt lighter now. Her memories are fuzzier around the edges. Not gone. Never gone. But softer. Distant enough that she could breathe without feeling like her ribs were caving in. Her eyes swept the club lazily. Then she saw him. Rehman.
Standing near the edge of the dance floor in that navy blue pathani kurta looking like every dangerous fantasy a woman should stay away from. Tall. Broad. Deadly. His face shadowed beneath the flashing lights. His expression is dark enough to make weaker people step back instinctively. Rehanna smiled faintly. Like she had been waiting for him. Because maybe she had.
She turned suddenly and walked toward the DJ booth. The DJ brightened immediately seeing her approach again. “Madam aur kuch?” he yelled over the music. Rehanna leaned against the booth slightly dizzy and grinned lazily. “Ek gaana lagao mere liye.” “Kaunsa?” She leaned close enough for him to hear. The DJ blinked once. Then slowly grinned. “Ohooo.” Rehanna only winked before turning away.
She walked back toward the center of the dance floor, heels clicking lightly against the polished black flooring. Around her the crowd moved restlessly waiting for the next song. Then the music changed. A deep dark haunting tune rolled through the club suddenly. Strange. Carnatic almost. Heavy with longing. The entire crowd reacted instantly with loud whistles and cheers before the beat dropped. And Rehman’s entire body went still.
—----------------------------
Authors note: Listen to Aja Sawariya by Rashmeet Kaur, Gurubaz, Rush x Blizza
The music changed and the entire energy of the club shifted with it. The pounding synthetic bass faded into something darker. Older. Sensual in a way that slithered beneath skin instead of demanding attention loudly. A deep carnatic undertone rolled through the speakers like smoke curling through candlelight. The crowd reacted instantly with whistles and drunken cheers before bodies began moving again beneath the red and gold lights flashing across the dance floor.
And there she stood in the center of it all. White glittering against darkness. The tassels of her dress shimmered every time her hips moved. The neckline plunged low enough for the diamond encrusted pendant resting against her skin to gleam beneath the lights. Her hair was slightly messy now from dancing for hours, glitter stuck to the curve of her throat and shoulders, her lipstick darker from the alcohol and heat.
She looked sinful. And then she looked directly at him.
Raha niharun sej sajaun
Aayi milan ki raina
Aja sawariya tohe garva lagaun
Rehanna smiled faintly. Not brightly. Not teasingly. Something softer, sadder, drunker. Like she was calling him toward her without words.
Her hands dragged slowly down the curve of her own waist. Over her hips, over her chest. Fingertips grazing over glittering skin. Her body swayed with the rhythm lazily, seductively, completely uninhibited now. The alcohol had melted away every wall she usually kept around herself. Her eyes stayed locked on Rehman as if the rest of the club had vanished.
And maybe for her it had. Rehman felt his pulse turn violent. Around him sweaty bodies shoved and danced beneath flashing lights. Men drank and shouted. Women laughed loudly against the music. Smoke curled through the air thick enough to blur faces into shadows.
Nobody knew who they were here. Nobody knew he was Rehman Dakait. Nobody knew she was Advocate Rehanna Randhawa.
No one was watching carefully enough to notice the most dangerous man in Karachi walking toward a woman like he was being pulled by gravity itself.
Aja sawariya
Aja sawariya
Aaa toh
Rehman pushed through the crowd slowly. Deliberately. His dark eyes never left her once.
Rehanna meanwhile continued swaying to the beat, her body moving like the music lived inside her veins now. The white dress clung and shimmered with every movement. Her thighs flashed beneath the tassels every time she turned. Her lips parted slightly as she breathed harder from dancing and drinking.
She looked broken. Drunk and broken. Beautifully drunk and broken. Which was strange. Because Rehman knew that she had a very high tolerance, many pegs of patiala whiskey had no effect on her. How much did she have that she seemed clearly drunk now?
Rehman was absolutely doomed for her. He reached her. For one second they simply stood there staring at each other beneath flickering crimson lights while the music wrapped around them thick and hypnotic.
Then Rehman moved behind her. His chest pressed firmly against her back. The sheer size of him swallowed her instantly. His hand slid onto her hip slowly, possessively, fingers spreading wide over the skimpy fabric before he pulled her flush against him hard enough to make her gasp. That sound alone nearly snapped whatever restraint he had left.
Raske bhare thore naina sawariya
Raske bhare thore naina sawariya
Raske bhare tore naina
Rehanna melted back against him immediately. Her head tipped slightly toward his shoulder. One hand rose behind her curling around the back of his neck while the other rested against his forearm. Their bodies began moving together naturally with the music. Slow. Heavy. Intimate enough to make strangers glance away awkwardly.
Rehman was not a dancing man. Never had been. But for her? He swayed with every movement she made.
If her hips rolled slowly against him, his hand tightened on her waist and followed. If her body dipped slightly with the rhythm, his chest moved with hers instinctively. Their movements weren’t practiced or flashy. They were worse.
They were intimate. Dangerously so. Rehman buried his face against the side of her neck inhaling deeply. Rain. Perfume. Booze. Glitter. Her.
His thumb stroked slowly over the exposed skin of her waist; the low back of the dress gave him access. Rehanna shivered. The crowd around them dissolved completely. Nobody existed anymore except the heat of his body behind hers and the dark music wrapping around them.
Raha niharun
Sej sajaun
Raha niharun
Sej sajaun
Ayyi milan ki raina
Rehanna turned slightly within his hold now, enough that her back no longer fully faced him. Her body brushed against his shamelessly with every movement. Her hand slid from his neck into his hair slowly ruining it further while her eyes stayed half lidded from drink and emotion.
Rehman looked at her like a starving man. His jaw clenched visibly every time she moved against him. And Rehanna noticed. Of course she noticed. A faint drunken smile curved her lips.
She leaned closer intentionally, her chest brushing his as her hips rolled slowly to the beat again. Rehman inhaled sharply through his nose. His hand on her waist tightened hard enough to almost hurt.
Still neither spoke. Words would ruin this. Words belonged to the real world. Here in this darkness beneath red lights and smoke they could be selfish. Here she could dance against him without hiding. Here he could touch her openly without pretending she was only his employee. So he did.
His hand slid from her waist down the curve of her hip before returning upward slowly. Possessively. His face stayed close enough to hers that their breaths mixed between them. Rehanna tilted her head back slightly looking up at him through glittering eyes. God. That look alone nearly destroyed him.
Aja sawariya
Aja sawariya
Aaa toh
She craned her head toward him a little more. Her lips parted, eyes dizzy. Rehman kissed her immediately. Hard. Hungry. Like he had been holding himself back for hours.
Her gasp disappeared into his mouth. One of his hands came up gripping her jaw while the other stayed firm on her hip anchoring her body against his. Rehanna kissed him back with equal desperation, fingers tangling harshly into his hair as the music pulsed around them.
The kiss turned filthy quickly. Messy breaths. Tequila on her tongue. Tequila? She normally drank vodka or whiskey. That explained a lot and simultaneously not enough. Her lipstick smudged against his mouth. Bodies still swayed together even while kissing because neither of them had truly stopped dancing.
The crowd around them gasped and whispered seeing the beautiful couple making out in the middle of the dance floor. Neither cared.
Rehman kissed her deeper until she made a soft sound against his mouth that almost made him lose control entirely. His forehead pressed briefly against hers as both of them breathed hard before she kissed him again first this time.
Raske bhare thore naina
Raske bhare thore naina
Nainaa
His hands roamed shamelessly now over her waist and hips while she clung to him like she was drowning. Their bodies moved together beneath the flashing lights with frightening familiarity. Every movement too intimate. Too natural. Too practiced for two people supposedly unrelated.
But nobody knew them here. To the crowd they were just another intoxicating pair drunk on music and each other. Only they knew this was something far more dangerous. Because Rehman loved her. And Rehanna in this moment looked like she wanted to disappear into him completely.
Rehman finally broke first. One second they were still kissing in the middle of the dance floor beneath flashing crimson lights and the next his hands slid firmly beneath her thighs as he lifted her clean off the ground again.
Rehanna gasped softly into his mouth, her arms immediately wrapping around his neck tighter as instinct took over. Her glittering heels swung slightly behind him while her dress rode higher against her thighs from the movement. Holding her like this felt dangerous.
Rehman barely pulled away from her lips long enough to breathe before kissing her again immediately, deeper this time, rougher. Rehanna whimpered softly against his mouth and the sound nearly shattered whatever sanity he had left.
The crowd around them erupted into whistles and drunken cheering seeing the beautiful couple tangled together shamelessly on the dance floor. Neither of them cared.
Rehman began walking immediately, one large hand gripping beneath her thighs securely while the other held her waist against him. His original intention was simple. Get her out of this cursed club. Get her home before either of them completely loses control in public.
But then he spotted the staircase. Dark. Quiet. Tucked into the corner of the club leading upstairs toward the private drinking rooms. Rehman stopped mid step. His eyes flicked upward once.Then back to her.
Rehanna was breathing hard now, lips swollen from kissing, her glitter was smeared faintly onto his jawline, her forehead resting briefly against his as she looked at him through heavy drunken eyes. One of her hands slid into his hair again, nails grazing his scalp lightly. How did her eyes get more captivating when she was drunk?
—-----------------------
That was it. His course changed instantly. Without a word he turned sharply toward the staircase instead.
Rehanna realized immediately and gasped breathlessly against his lips. “Rehman…” she whispered, already knowing exactly what he was thinking.
“Chup, ek shabd nahi” he muttered hoarsely before kissing her again. That demeanor made her shiver against him. She whimpered into his mouth.
He walked them toward the stairs while still kissing her heavily enough that it became difficult to breathe properly. Their mouths kept finding each other desperately between every step. Rehanna’s fingers tangled harder into his hair every time he kissed her deeper. His grip on her thighs tightened possessively beneath the shimmer of her dress.
The music that thumped violently, was now muffled slightly by distance. Flashing lights barely reached the staircase, leaving the narrow steps dim and shadowed. Perfect. Private. Dangerous.
“No entry sir” said a bouncer dressed in black. He blocked the way to the staircase. Rehanna pulled away gasping from his mouth. Rehman turned to the man, rage coiling in his veins. She was in his arms, looking devastating and he was well on his way to have her as he pleased and now he was interrupted.
The look on his face was murderous. Rehman reached into a pocket and pulled out a bundle of notes. Rehanna’s hazy eyes saw the stack. In her drunken stupor she recognized it was a bundle of one thousand rupee notes. It had to be at least 30-40 notes. Meaning 30,000 to 40,000 rupees.
Rehman didn't count, he threw the stack at the bouncer before he pointed a finger at the man. “Uppar koi nahi ana chahiye. Jisko bhi taqleef ho keh dena Rehman Dakait ka order hai” he says dangerously. The bouncer swallows hard. Now recognizing that this was the most dangerous man in Karachi and he had just dared to stop him. “J-ji bhai ji bhai, maafi bhai maafi” stutters the bouncer opening the barricade to the staircase.
Rehman glared once more before he captured Rehanna's lips again as he walked in. She kissed him hard, her tongue dancing with him. He just threw so much money at a man so he could be uninterrupted, uninterrupted with her. That was unbelievably hot.
—-------------------------
Rehman climbed slowly despite how badly he wanted to rush because kissing her like this while carrying her upstairs required concentration he currently did not possess.
Every few steps he stopped just long enough to kiss her harder against the wall beside the staircase before continuing upward again.
Rehanna was drunk enough to stop caring entirely about consequences now. She kissed him back openly, greedily, one hand sliding from his hair down the strong line of his neck while the other cupped his jaw. Her body stayed wrapped around him completely. Her chest pressed against his with every heavy breath.
“Ya Allah…” Rehman muttered brokenly against her mouth at one point, almost sounding angry at how badly he wanted her.
She laughed softly against his lips. That laugh nearly ended him. By the time they reached the top floor both of them were breathing hard enough to hurt.
Rehman finally set her down carefully near the dark hallway leading toward the private rooms. The second her heels touched the floor again he crowded into her space immediately, one hand braced beside her head against the wall while the other stayed locked around her waist like he physically could not let go.
Their foreheads pressed together. Both gasping for air. Rehman’s chest rose and fell heavily beneath his kurta. His lips hovered barely an inch from hers. He could still taste tequila on her mouth. Still feel the softness of her thighs beneath his palms.
Rehanna’s lipstick was ruined now, smeared darkly at the corners of her mouth. Her glitter shimmered beneath the dim hallway lights. Her breathing shook slightly from the force of the kissing.
For a long second neither spoke. Rehman just stared at her like she was driving him insane.Then finally he breathed against her lips roughly, voice low and wrecked. “...Aaj aap mera qatal kar ke hi manengi.”
Rehanna laughed softly at that, breathless and warm from tequila and him. The sound came out low and dazed, almost melting against his mouth. Her eyes lifted toward his through heavy lashes, darkened by drink and want and something heartbreakingly fragile underneath it all. The sight of her like this was enough to make Rehman lose every last shred of restraint he possessed.
Her hands slipped beneath his kurta slowly. Rehman inhaled sharply. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his salwar and tugged him closer possessively as her lips began pressing small kisses against the sharp line of his jaw. Slow. Lingering. Dangerous. Her nails brushed his stomach lightly as her fingers tangled teasingly with the drawstring threatening to pull.
She really was drunk. Because sober Rehanna would never do this in public. Never risk herself this openly. Never cling to him this desperately where someone could walk in. And that realization sobered him slightly despite the fire roaring beneath his skin. On one hand he wanted to cave immediately. Wanted to pin her against the nearest wall and forget the rest of the world existed. On the other hand he needed to know what was happening to her tonight. Needed to know why she looked like she was breaking apart beneath all this glitter and liquor and beautiful smiles.
Rehman caught both her hands gently before she could pull further on the drawstring. Rehanna made a small displeased sound against his neck but before she could protest he was already steering her toward one of the private drinking rooms.
He pushed the door open. Then shut it firmly behind them. The room was dimly lit in amber light. Leather sofas. Dark polished wood. Expensive whiskey bottles lining the shelves. The bass from downstairs vibrated faintly through the floor beneath them.
—------------------
Rehanna grinned immediately the second the door locked. Oh. So that was why he brought her here. Her lips curled mischievously as she stumbled toward him again. Her fingers immediately began fumbling with the buttons of his kurta but she was too drunk now for coordination. Her hands kept slipping. One button opened crookedly while another refused to cooperate entirely.
Rehman watched her for a second with an expression that looked genuinely tortured. Then he grabbed her wrists again gently and shook his head once. No. The betrayed look on her face destroyed him. Actually destroyed him. Her brows furrowed faintly, lips parting in confusion and disappointment like he had denied her something cruelly unfair. For one dangerous second Rehman almost gave in completely. Almost forgot every thought in his head except her. “Kitni pi rakhi hai aapne?” he asked finally, voice rough enough to scrape.
Rehanna blinked slowly at him. “Do shots vodka ke aur do drink whiskey,” she answered honestly. Rehman frowned immediately. That should not have affected her this badly. He knew her tolerance. This was nowhere near enough to get her drunk. He curled his fingers beneath her chin gently forcing her eyes back to his. “Meri jaan…” he murmured softly. “Sach batao.”
Her breathing hitched slightly beneath the intensity of his gaze. “Vodka aur whiskey se kuch nahi hota mera,” she admitted quietly after a moment. “Tequila. Tequila mujhe chadhti hai sahi se.” A pause. Then almost guiltily, “...char shots tequila.”
Rehman closed his eyes briefly. No food all day. Barely any sleep. An already shattered emotional state. And then tequila. A total of 8 drinks. He exhaled slowly through his nose before pulling her against him again. This time gentler. He sat down on one of the leather sofas and lifted her effortlessly into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Rehanna melted into him immediately. He brushed her hair back carefully from her face. Her glitter caught against his fingers faintly. Then he leaned toward the table beside them and poured a large glass of water. When he brought it toward her lips she immediately whined and buried her face stubbornly into his neck. “Noooo…” he was trying to get her sober when she didn't want to be.
“Rehanna… meri jaan,” he said sternly, one hand patting her hip once. The tone alone made her sit up. She stared at him with exaggerated betrayal before begrudgingly taking the glass. Rehman watched closely while she drank every last drop. Only when she finished did he lean forward and press a kiss softly against her cheek.
“Shabaash,” he murmured warmly. “Bohot badhiya.” The praise hit her instantly. Rehanna gasped softly and squirmed in his lap from the warmth that spread through her body. Rehman smirked faintly upon seeing it. God she was beautiful.
He pulled her closer again, fingers brushing another loose strand of hair behind her ear. His expression softened now. Entirely. “Ab sach bataiye,” he said quietly. “Kya ho raha hai aapke dimag me?” Rehanna immediately looked away. “Kuch nahi,” she muttered weakly. “Bas thoda mood kharab hai.”
Rehman stared at her for a long moment. He did not believe that for even a second. “Aap jhoot bohot bura bolti hain,” he said calmly. She tried laughing it off. “Acha? Vakeel hoke bhi?”
“Haan.” His thumb brushed beneath her eye gently. “Aur jab dard me hoti hain tab aur bhi bura.” That almost broke her immediately. Rehanna inhaled shakily. Then sniffled once. Tears threatened her again despite how hard she fought them.
“Yaadein…” she whispered finally, voice cracking softly. “Yaadein badi zalim hoti hain.” Rehman stayed silent. Just listening. Always listening. “Mujhe India ki yaad aa rahi thi,” she admitted brokenly. “Ghar ki yaad… doston ki yaad… bachpan ki yaad…” Her voice caught. Then a small choked sound escaped her throat. “Pata hai ki mujhe aaj subah kya yaad aya tha ki mai bhagi?” Rehman’s chest tightened painfully. He nodded once for her to continue because he knew interrupting would stop her completely.
Rehanna smiled then. And somehow that sad smile hurt more than tears. “Mai aath saal ki thi…” she whispered. “Papa mujhe jhula jhula rahe the.” Her eyes unfocused slightly like she could see it happening right in front of her. “Mai unse keh rahi thi…” her voice turned smaller now, softer, “‘aur tez papa aur tez’…” A tear finally escaped. “…aur woh haske mujhe jhula rahe the.” Rehman felt something inside his chest physically ache.
Rehmand didn’t understand fathers. His own was a bastard that he killed with his bare hands. Then he imagined himself with his young son, Faizal. And then he understood what she was feeling. He pulled her impossibly closer into his lap immediately. His arms wrapped around her securely like he could shield her from memory itself if he held tightly enough. Then he kissed her softly. Slowly. Tenderly. His forehead rested against hers afterward.
“Kya aap chahati hain,” he murmured against her lips quietly, “ki mai aapka dhyan bhatkaoun?” Rehanna nodded desperately. And that was all it took. Rehman kissed her again instantly. Harder this time. Needier. His hands moved over her body slowly, possessively, one settling against the exposed skin of her back beneath the halter ties of the dress.
His fingers traced maddening circles along the curve of her lower spine making her shiver violently against him. Rehanna gasped into his mouth. Her hands tangled deep into his hair immediately as she kissed him back with equal desperation now. Not teasing anymore. Not playful. Needing. Trying to drown memory inside him.
Rehman kissed her like he understood that completely. Like he would gladly let her lose herself in him tonight if it meant those tears disappeared for even five minutes. Their mouths moved together feverishly. Breaths mixed. Her lipstick smeared onto his lips now.
His hands tightened on her waist every time she made those soft broken sounds against his mouth. Rehanna rocked against him unconsciously chasing warmth chasing comfort chasing oblivion.
The room felt unbearably hot suddenly. Downstairs the bass still vibrated faintly through the floor but up here nothing else existed except him and her and the desperate way they clung to each other. Eventually the kiss broke only because breathing became impossible. Both of them gasped for air. Foreheads pressed together again.
Rehman’s hand still cradled the back of her neck carefully while his other remained spread possessively over her lower back. Rehanna breathed shakily against his lips. And for the first time all day the ache inside her chest quieted.
—----------------
Within moments Rehman grabs her by the hips. He moves her body effortlessly, making her gasp. One of her hands goes to his shoulder as he helps her straddle one of his strong muscular thighs. She whines into his mouth as he kisses her again.
Her short dress rides up, the fringe barely covering anything anymore. Rehman looks down and blanks for a moment. White lace. Her mound was covered in white lace underwear. “Yeh pehena hua hai?” he asks, his voice wrecked. Rehman's hand at her hip went to bunch up the fabric of her dress so he could see better. White pure lace underwear. That was turning more and more translucent by the second.
She giggled while wiping away a sniffle with the back of her hand. “Aapke liye pehena hai maine” Rehman's fingers came to gently touch the lace, brushing over it painfully gently. The groan that rips from his throat is close to animalistic. Fuck. This woman is about to drive him mad. She wore the white lace for him.
“Badi zaalim mizaaz ki hain aap” he hums darkly, finally painfully ripping his eyes away from her lace covered mound. He bounces the leg he had made her straddle, making her gasp in pleasure. The wetness was now soaked through her lace gusset. The heat of her now radiating through is navy blue shalwar.
“Aapko maza ata hai na? Mujhe har waqt tabah karke.” he asks her as his hands return to her hips holding her firmly in place. So firmly she can feel the pressure of his thigh through the wet lace making her hands fly to his shoulders for support. “Aisa nahi hai” she responds weakly. “Accha?” he raises an eyebrow at her.
“Aap keh toh rahi hain..lekin absos ki baat hai ki mujhe yakin nahi ho raha hai” he muses darkly, his fingers drumming on the sides of her hips. He was probing her, taunting her. If she wasn't drunk right now, she would give him a witty response. But right now she is a mess for him. “N-nahi-” she chokes out as he inhales her scent from the hollow of her throat “Jhoot!” Rehman hisses against the skin of her neck. Before she can respond the hands at her hips grip hard and rock her down against his thigh.
A strangled moan leaves her throat as pleasure sparks through her. Rehman doesn't stop, his hands stay on her hips rocking her against his thigh in a slow and torturous rhythm. “Mmh- Rehman” she moans, throwing her head back. The dim light of the drinking room catches on the glittery fabric of her dress. The feeling of pleasure shooting through her core while she is drunk, fuzzy, and lost is phenomenal.
She comes forward again, her elbow bracing on his shoulders, her lips tracing his jugular vein with hot lazy open mouthed kisses. Rehman's chin rests at the top of her head, his hands still on her waist helping her ride his thigh. Occasionally he flexes the muscle or bounges his leg to make her gasp or moan into his neck.
It's a matter of moments before his salwar suctions to him because of how soaked the fabric is. Rehman groans imagining the state of her panties. The flimsy lace must be drenched right now. Moulded around her mound. Rehanna gasps weakly as he sharply bounces his thigh. Her hips buck on their own now, chasing more pleasure. At a pace faster than he was providing it. Small moans and whimpers leave her throat as she bucks against him.
The wet lace of her underwear rubs against her throbbing cunt. The pure amount of pleasure is obscene. This should be illegal. The scent of Rehman's cologne invades her as she mewls weakly into his skin. He smirks to himself as he feels her trying to control the pace. His hands firmly grip her, slowing her down.
“Rehman aur chahiye mujhe” she whines frustratedly when his hands stop her hips from bucking wildly. “Kya chahiye meri jaan?” he hums innocently, moving her body down his thigh towards his bent knee. The hard curve of the bone pressed up against her perfectly making her choke on a moan. The pleasure blinded her for a second. That's when Rehman took advantage. He pulled her forward onto this thigh again and bunched up the front of her underwear tugging sharply upwards.
The lace scrunched and bunched, pulling up sharply against her clit. When the bunched fabric moved it rolled her clit along with it. A strangled moan left her. Rehman's fingers hooked in the bunched fabric he hooked it to the side. Effectively exposing her dripping cunt. The cool air hit her warm core making her gasp. He placed her back on his thigh.
Then his hands began moving again. Gripping her hips hard, he ground her against his leg mercilessly. Her pants and moans began getting breathier and breathier, her head lolled to the back helplessly as he ground her back and forth. He ground her harder when her clit made contact with his thigh. The rhythm made each rock back and forth hit her clit twice. “S-shit shit shit” she moaned when he began lightly bouncing his leg to a steady rhythm that complimented the way he rocked her against him.
His body leaned forward, pushing off the back rest of the sofa slightly. His lips traced down her throat with painful slowness. Leaving tender kisses along her neck as she bucked against his thigh wildly. “Rehman!” she moaned into the darkness of the room. The sound was not echoing as it should due to how thick the atmosphere of the room had become. He hummed lazily against her pulse point, biting down slightly before soothing it with his tongue.
“Bolo meri rooh?” His cock was throbbing in its confines. Rehman could feel it. His legs spread wider to accommodate his bulge. Her hands fisted in the fabric of his kurta as she let him move her. She was getting close. Sparks flowed through her violently and pleasure pulled at her navel. Her head was hazy with lust and booze. She was so so so close. Practically drenching his thigh with her wetness. “Mai- mai- mai- Reh” she panted breathlessly.
Rehman pulled away from her neck to watch her fall apart. It was one of his favorite sights. He had practically committed the order to memory. His hands on her hips kept their steady mind bending pace. Her eyes rolled back first, her lips parted. Then her body went limp falling forwards against him, her elbows braced her on his shoulders again. Her eyebrows scrunched in concentration. That meant he had seconds before she came. “Bas aise hi jaan-e-maan, jane doh mereliye” he cooed at her as he watched.
Her breath hitched as she moaned loudly, brokenly. Her breathing turned into ragged pants as she caught her breath. Her body twitching and moaning slightly every time he brushed her sensitive clit against the wet cotton of his salwar. The shocks of pleasure sustain her through the orgasm, helping it last longer.
He kissed her cheek gently as he balanced her boneless and drunk body in the crook of his arm. His other hand went to the drawstring of his salwar. Undoing it as quickly as he could because he knew it would be moments before another demand spilled from her lips.
And like clockwork- “Rehman! Please” she groaned into his shoulder. Still breathing hard from her first orgasm but demanding more pleasure instantly.
“Hmm meri jaan, ek second toh doh mereko” he rumbled as he pulled his hard aching cock out of his salwar and boxers. Not even bothering to take them off because he knew she didn't have the patience to wait. “Nahiiii.” she slurred now “ek bhi s-second nahi milega. Abhi do” he chuckled darkly at her drunken babbling into his shoulder as he fisted his cock once. Then twice.
Rehnna watched him fist his cock with hazy eyes. “Ek baat bataoun?” she asks as she tilts her head lazily at him. He nods for her to go, his eyes darkening. “Hum itni ratien sath bita chuke hain…lekin kabhi kabhi apko dekh ke mujhe ghabrahat hojati hai.” he huffs though his nose, a smirk pulling at his lips as he grabs her by the hips and helps her place both her shaky knees on the leather sofa on either side of his lap “Aur ye kyun ya qalbi?” she was now hovering directly above his cock.
“...kudrat ne aapko kaafi mala mal kiya hai” Rehanna hums shamelessly, running her hands through his hair. Her nails dragging along his scalp. Rehman couldn't believe what she was saying. In layman's terms she was saying that he had a massive cock. And the best part is, even after so long she still wasn't used to it. The smugness that curled through Rehman was extraordinary. The grin that pulled on his face was down right shameless. Wetness from her hovering cunt dripped onto the head of his waiting cock.
“Yeh jo aapki kabi kabar wali ghabrat hai. Pata hai woh kaise jaegi?” he hums looking up at her as she cradled his face. “Kaise jaegi?” she asked, scrunching her face in confusion. God she looked so cute like this he mused mentally shoving her panties deftly to the side again. “Mashq karne se” Rehnna hummed confusedly at him “Mashq? Kya matlab hai apka?-”
She didn't even get to finish her sentence before he slammed her down onto his cock with a deep groan. She yelped in surprise. Somewhere while it came out of her throat that yelp turned into a shrill scream. “AAH! REHMAN!” she screamed as he buried to the hilt in one go. Mashq meant practice. Because practice makes perfect. He wanted her to have more practice on his cock.
Rehaman wrapped his arms under her thighs and began slowly bouncing her on his tortured cock. His thick veined length dragged against her walls with each movement. She couldn't even scream again. All she could do was moan desperately.
Then his hips began snapping upwards into her; the only thing that made sense to her was bracing herself on his shoulders. Her nails dig into his kurta clad shoulders making him groan through gritted teeth.
He looked down between them and then immediately looked away because he might cum on the spot if he keeps watching. If he keeps watching the way her greedy cunt swallows him whole with each thrust. The low lights of the room catch on the wetness of her folds, it catches on her slick when he pulls out of her slightly then it disappears when he pounds into her again. It's a sinfully beautiful sight. “kitni haseen ho tum meri rooh.” Rehman groans fucking up into her.
His mouth goes to bite at the exposed skin on her chest. Biting and kissing with each thrust upwards. Her breathing is now ragged as she pants senseless drunken pleas for him to slow down and speed up simultaneously. “Reh- Rehman….aur chahiye” then a few seconds later “…too much…fuck PLEASE!” She cries into his shoulder. He hums at her knowingly “Haan meri jaan”
He can feel the way she is clenching around him, the way she is shaking slightly. The way her moans are getting desperate. He feels his own pleasure pull at his core. He grunts against her skin as he chases it for the both of them. It's not long before she screams in pleasure. Her core clenching and milking him as she breathes shakily into his neck. “Oh- Oh god” she babbles mindlessly. He follows soon after, fucking them through their orgasms moaning desperately into the crook of her neck. His cock twitching in her, then coating her walls with thick hot ropes of cum as he groans.
—----------------
Next morning following the same night @ 2am
Alizeh Club, Karachi, Pakistan
The club had emptied itself out slowly over the course of the night, like a dying fire. The deafening music downstairs had dulled into distant bass vibrations that barely reached the private room anymore, muffled beneath thick walls and expensive velvet.
The neon lights outside the frosted glass windows still bled pink and blue into the room in hazy streaks, painting everything with that strange exhausted glamour only clubs had at ungodly hours.
The smell of alcohol, perfume, smoke, sweat and expensive cologne still hung heavy in the air. Karachi outside was rainless tonight, humid and sleepless beneath the dark sky.
Rehanna had fallen asleep against him in the afterglow. Not gracefully either. Completely and utterly gone. Her body was curled into his chest bonelessly, one leg tangled with his, her cheek smushed against the fabric of his kurta.
Her breathing had finally steadied into deep soft pulls after hours of drowning herself in memories and music and tequila and him. The glitter on her skin had transferred onto him now. Tiny silver flecks clung stubbornly to his neck, his jaw, his hands. Her bold maroon lipstick was half gone and smeared faintly near the corner of her mouth from the way he had kissed her senseless. Her lashes rested against damp cheeks and every now and then she sighed softly in her sleep like her body still remembered crying.
Rehman looked down at her quietly. His expression softened in that dangerous way it only ever did for her. Slowly he adjusted the slinky white dress back properly over her thighs with careful large hands, irritation flickering through him at how short the damn thing actually was now that he was looking at it calmly. He tugged the tasseled hem down slightly before muttering under his breath, “Ye kapde hai ya kapde ke chithedre?” Then gentler now. “Bilkul pagal.”
He grabbed tissues from the table beside the sofa and carefully wiped the ruined makeup beneath her eyes before it could stain her skin further. Her eyeliner had smudged, glitter scattered across her cheekbones stubbornly refusing to come off. He cleaned what he could while she slept through all of it, only scrunching her nose slightly in annoyance before immediately cuddling closer to him again. That nearly made him smile.
Then came the hair. Rehman stared at the wild mess of black strands spread across both of them with visible hesitation. “…Ya Allah.” But he tried anyway. Slowly and with immense concentration, his rough scarred fingers gathered her hair together. He recalled every time she had sat near him absentmindedly braiding her own hair while talking, every time he had secretly watched the movement of her fingers.
His first few attempts completely failed. One section slipped loose immediately. Another tangled entirely. He cursed quietly under his breath before trying again with surprising patience. Eventually he managed something braid shaped. Messy. Loose. Slightly crooked. But functional. He stared at it with deep suspicion before nodding once to himself like he had accomplished something monumental. Rehanna made a tiny sleepy sound and buried herself further into his chest. Rehman leaned back into the sofa afterward with a tired sigh, pulling her against him properly.
For a few minutes neither of them moved. The room was finally still. No screaming crowd. No memories attacking her. No fake smiles. No dancing. Just her warm sleeping weight against him. Then his phone buzzed. Rehman frowned and grabbed it from the table. Uzair’s message glowed against the dark screen. “bhai sab thik? Aap log ghar nahi aye?” Rehman closed his eyes briefly. Right. He still had to get her home. He looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms again and groaned softly under his breath. “Shayad mai sach me buddha hogaya hun”
Carefully he shifted beneath her and stood up with a groan of effort, keeping one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. She stirred immediately at the movement, face scrunching unhappily. “Hmmm…”
“Bas bas…” he muttered automatically. “Ghar ja rahe hain.” That seemed to satisfy her because she instantly melted back against him again, drooling slightly onto his chest. Rehman looked down at the wet patch forming on his kurta and huffed out an incredulous laugh. “Acha ji.” He walked her out of the private room slowly, adjusting his hold every few seconds to keep the dress from shifting.
The staircase downstairs glowed dim gold beneath expensive wall lights. The club had thinned massively now. Only a few drunken stragglers remained scattered around tables and the dance floor. Some people looked up as Rehman descended the stairs carrying her. Then they immediately looked away. Because there was something about him tonight that warned people not to stare too long.
His navy blue kurta was wrinkled now, his hair slightly disheveled, his jaw shadowed with exhaustion and possessiveness and something darkly soft all at once. Rehanna slept against him entirely unbothered, one hand fisted lazily into his collar. By the time he reached the exit the cold night air finally hit them both. The bouncer straightened instantly when he saw the apparently unconscious woman in Rehman’s arms. “Sir…madam thik hain?” Rehman sighed wearily like a man who had survived several wars tonight already.
He adjusted her slightly in his arms to answer the question. Immediately Rehanna whimpered unhappily in her sleep and cuddled closer to him, face burying into his chest while one arm wrapped around his neck tighter possessively. The bouncer bit back a laugh instantly understanding the situation. Rehman looked exhausted. “Mai inko ghar leke ja raha hun,” he said tiredly. “Zyada pi li hai aur zyada thak gayi hai.” The bouncer nodded quickly. “Jaiye janaab.” Rehman gave him one silent nod before walking again.
The parking lot was nearly barren now. Only a handful of expensive cars remained beneath dim yellow lights. The humid Karachi night wrapped around them heavy and warm while distant traffic hummed faintly somewhere beyond the club walls. Rehanna slept through all of it. Her braid rested against his arm crookedly. Her glitter still shimmered faintly beneath the parking lot lights. One heel dangled precariously from her foot.
Rehman reached her black Mercedes and carefully opened the passenger door one handed before placing her inside gently. Even unconscious she immediately curled toward where his warmth had been, knees tucking slightly beneath her as if instinctively searching for him again. That made something painfully fond flicker across his face. He leaned down and buckled her in carefully. Her head lolled toward him. “Rehman…” she mumbled sleepily without waking. His expression softened completely. “Haan meri jaan.” She sighed softly and went still again.
Rehman shut the passenger door quietly before walking around the front of the car. The city reflected across the polished black hood in blurry gold streaks. Karachi at 2 am looked strangely lonely. Like even the city itself was exhausted. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the Mercedes. The engine hummed alive smoothly beneath them. As he pulled out of the parking lot, one hand rested automatically on her thigh possessively, warmly, grounding himself against her existence beside him.
His thumb stroked absent circles over her skin through the glitter and fabric while the empty roads stretched endlessly ahead beneath streetlights. Beside him, Rehanna slept curled toward him peacefully for the first time all day. And somewhere deep inside himself, beneath the violence and smoke and blood and darkness that made him. Rehman mentally thanked whatever god existed for allowing him to be the one driving her home tonight.
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Disclaimer: This series is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Author's note: I'm not a real lawyer...I tried my best.
Chapter 13. Jamali bhadwe sharam nahi ayi?
3-4 days after the end of chapter 12 @ 12 pm
Rehanna’s Office, Baloch haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The trip to Balochistan had genuinely been lovely. Rehanna had not expected to enjoy herself as much as she did, but somewhere between the endless cups of chai, the sharp desert sunsets bleeding gold over the mountains, the loud village women dragging her into gossip circles, and the constant teasing of one deeply unstable Baloch man, the entire experience had settled warmly in her heart.
The women adored her immediately. The children loved her. The animals apparently considered her their chosen leader. And Rehman had suffered through every second of it with the expression of a man being psychologically tortured. Which honestly made the entire thing even more entertaining for her. She had done it deliberately too. Completely deliberately.
Every time she sat with village women kneading dough with her bangles sliding softly down her wrists, Rehman stared at her like he wanted to throw every other human being out of the village just to keep her to himself. Every time she picked up a child or fixed some little girl’s dupatta or helped braid hair beside the courtyards, he physically deteriorated in front of everyone.
By the second day she had started provoking him intentionally just to see how far she could push him before he snapped publicly. Turns out the answer was extremely far.
—-----------------
Any free moment Rehman managed to get alone with her immediately turned into chaos.
At one point during the second afternoon he finally cornered her inside a narrow alleyway between cool mud brick walls while the distant sounds of village chatter echoed somewhere nearby beneath the heat of the desert sun.
Before she could even properly laugh at the look in his eyes his hands were already on her waist dragging her flush against him while his mouth crashed against hers hungrily. “Ab mai aapko nahi chh’odunga…” he muttered roughly against her lips between desperate kisses. “Ab aap nahi bhagengi.”
Rehanna laughed breathlessly into the kiss despite herself, one hand cupping his face gently while the other pressed against his chest. “Rehman please! Koi dekh lega.” Rehman groaned against her neck immediately like the very concept offended him spiritually. “Mujhe ghanta farak nahi padta.” Then he bit lightly at the sensitive skin beneath her jaw hard enough to pull a gasp from her lips while his hands fisted tighter into the fabric of her kameez, shaking visibly with restraint.
Dear God. The man genuinely looked half feral. She breathed shakily into another kiss and Rehman grinned against her mouth smugly, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on her.
Then suddenly Rehanna’s eyes shifted past his shoulder. And widened. “Rehman…” He ignored her completely too lost kissing along her throat now. “REHMAN!” She shoved him backward hard enough that he finally startled and looked at her properly, eyes darting over her face instantly searching for panic or injury. “Kya hua ya qalbi?” Without a word she pointed behind him.
The same toddler from the night before stood in the middle of the alleyway staring at Rehman with the kind of furious betrayal usually reserved for discovering political corruption or infidelity. His tiny little arms folded angrily across his chest while his huge dark eyes narrowed at Rehman like he was personally offending him by touching Rehanna. Rehman blinked. The toddler continued glaring. Rehman blinked again.
Rehanna physically had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing. Immediately she crouched down toward the child with a warm smile. “Arre baba…” The toddler ignored Rehman completely and walked directly toward her with offended dignity. Rehanna scooped him up into her arms lovingly while the child immediately cuddled possessively into her neck. Then over her shoulder the tiny traitor looked directly at Rehman again and narrowed his eyes further.
Rehman genuinely could not believe this shit. He stood there stunned while Rehanna walked away down the alley carrying the child who continued staring judgmentally at him like a disapproving father. Thwarted once again. By a fucking toddler.
Rehman leaned back against the cool mud wall and dragged both hands down his face slowly before shoving frustrated fingers through his hair. Somewhere overhead laundry fluttered lazily between rooftops beneath the blazing desert sun while distant laughter echoed from nearby courtyards. “Kamina bachha,” he muttered darkly beneath his breath before finally emerging from the alley defeated.
—---------------
Unfortunately for him things only became worse afterward. Later that same evening he finally managed to drag her behind one of the quieter animal enclosures near the edge of the village while sunset burned orange across the mountains. The evening light of the setting sun made her glow.
Before she could even properly tease him about his obsession his hands were already gripping her hips again pushing her back lightly against the mud wall while he kissed her hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs. “Pata hai aapne mera kya haal kiya hai?” he muttered roughly between kisses. “Do din se pagal kar rakha hai mujhe.”
Rehanna laughed softly against his mouth. “Accha? Maine?” Rehman kissed her “Haan aapne.” His hand slid upward against her waist while his forehead dropped briefly against hers. Then suddenly. THUD.
Something small slammed directly into Rehman’s shin. Hard. He hissed and looked downward in shock. The baby sheep stood beside them glaring upward furiously before immediately ramming its tiny head into his leg again with astonishing aggression. Rehanna burst into helpless laughter instantly. “OH MY GOD.”
The sheep bleated loudly and shoved itself between them possessively while Rehman stared at the animal in complete disbelief. “Ye bhed ka bachha mujhe jaanmujhke maar raha hai,” he said flatly. The sheep headbutted him again. “Dekha?!”
Meanwhile the traitorous animal immediately pressed itself affectionately against Rehanna’s legs seeking attention while she crouched down laughing so hard she nearly lost balance. “Aww baba jealous hogaye kya?” she cooed sweetly scratching beneath its chin. Rehman looked toward the sky slowly like a man asking God for patience. “Mai kasam se isko Korma bana dunga.”
The sheep bleated angrily as if understanding the threat of being cooked “REHMAN!” Rehanna scolded “Achha theek hai theek hai!” he muttered while glaring at the animal with deep personal hatred.
—---------
Another time he finally managed to get her alone beside the guest tents just after dusk. Warm wind rolled through the camp carrying smoke and distant music while lanterns glowed softly against the darkening desert sky.
Rehman had barely managed to pull her against him before his mouth found hers again like a starving man groaning into her like she was the only thing keeping him sane. His hands tightened around her waist desperately while hers slid into his hair. For approximately thirty glorious uninterrupted seconds nobody bothered them. Then suddenly voices echoed nearby.
“Rehanna didiiii!” Rehman froze against her lips immediately. A group of teenage village girls came hurrying around the tents carrying combs, ribbons, and embroidered scarves while searching excitedly for her. “Didi humari chotiyaan bana do na!” “Kal wali!” “Aur woh flower style bhi!”
Rehanna physically folded into laughter against Rehman’s chest while his eyes shut slowly in suffering. One of the girls finally spotted them. “Oh.” Complete silence. Then every single girl immediately started giggling violently.
Rehanna rushed after them, bribing them to keep their mouths shut about what they just saw. The girls, realizing the juicy gossip they had just got their hands on, decided to extort Rehanna “Achha thik hai didi….lekin aapko hume batna padega ki abhi aap log karne kya wale the!” Rehanna turned red as she looked at the little blackmailers, who just smiled at her in response.
Rehanna turned to look at Rehman as if asking what the hell does she tell these kids. Rehman looked ready to walk directly into the desert and never return.
—--------------------
And still somehow things got worse. Because the closest he came to finally properly having her during the entire trip happened inside his own tent late one night while wind rattled softly against the embroidered canvas walls outside. He had finally gotten her alone. Finally. No toddlers. No sheep. No village girls. No interruptions.
Rehanna lay half reclined against the small cushioned sofa beneath lantern light while Rehman hovered over her kissing her deeply enough to leave both of them breathless. One hand braced beside her head while the other fumbled impatiently with the maddeningly complicated ties at the back of her kameez. “Khuda ki kasam…” he muttered against her lips in frustration. “Ye kapde kis shaitan ne banaye hain?”
Rehanna laughed breathlessly while watching him struggle. “Skill ka issue lag raha hai….Waise mujhe laga ki aap mujhe Balochi kapdon me pasand karte hain?” Rehman looked indignant “ye meri dikkat nahi hai! Aur mai apko bina kapdon ke pasand karta hun...jaise khuda ne aapko banaya tha” His fingers finally managed to loosen one knot and he grinned triumphantly before kissing her harder.
Then suddenly from outside the tent came Uzair’s voice. “Bhai! Aap football khelenge kya? Sab ladke log khel rahe hain!” Rehman froze. Rehanna physically covered her mouth trying not to laugh. “NAHI!” Rehman barked back immediately without even lifting his head. Then he returned directly to her kameez ties with renewed determination. His fingers had barely started working again before Uzair yelled louder this time.
“BHAI PLEASEEE! Ek bande ki kami hai aap ajao na!” The sound of approaching footsteps followed immediately afterward. Rehanna squeaked in alarm. Before Rehman could even react, she army rolled clean off the little sofa ottoman and disappeared behind it just as the tent flap began moving. Rehman looked upward toward the ceiling of the tent slowly like a man asking the universe not to test him further. Uzair’s body began pushing through the flap. “Bha—”
“CHAL.” Rehman physically shoved him backward out of the tent with enough force to send the poor boy stumbling outside in confusion. “Arre lekin—” Rehman sighed angrily. He had to get Uzair out so Rehanna wouldn't be caught “UZAIR NIKAL MAI AA RAHA HUN.” Outside the tent the rest of the boys exchanged deeply concerned looks while Uzair blinked in complete bewilderment.
Inside meanwhile Rehanna sat hidden behind the sofa shaking silently with laughter while Rehman stood there with both hands on his hips, being the last line of defence so she wouldn't be caught, visibly contemplating murder. He had not properly had her once during the entire trip. Not once.
By the final day he had become so aggressively frustrated that even the boys had started keeping a safe distance from him despite having absolutely no idea why their boss suddenly looked ready to start fistfights with walls. Which only made the entire situation infinitely funnier to Rehanna.
—------------------------
Now however several days had passed since returning from Balochistan and thankfully for everyone involved Rehman had finally gotten his fill of her. Did she walk properly afterward? Did she leave her bed for hours? No. But that was between her and God.
Now peace had finally returned to the haveli. At least temporarily.
Sunlight spilled warmly through the tall windows of Rehanna’s office inside Baloch Haveli while papers lay scattered across her desk beside open law books and half finished iced coffee. Soft music blasted through her headphones loud enough that she could barely hear anything else while she signed documents carelessly with one hand.
“My name is Sheila!” she sang dramatically under her breath while scribbling her signature. “Sheila ki JAWANIII!” She stood afterward still holding the file and danced toward the cabinet to put it away. “I’m too sexy for you mai tere haath na aaniiii!” Completely lost in her own world she spun once lightly humming along with the music, hips swaying lazily to the beat while sunlight caught against the bangles on her wrist.
Then suddenly the office door burst open. Rehman stormed inside with the boys behind him looking tense enough to announce a national emergency. And froze. Because in the middle of the office stood Rehanna dancing passionately to Sheila Ki Jawani with absolutely no awareness of the chaos entering behind her.
Uzair blinked slowly. Hamza stared blankly. Siyahi physically looked away trying not to laugh. Meanwhile Rehman stood there already stressed beyond belief watching the woman he loved aggressively sing item songs in the middle of legal paperwork.
She shut her eyes dramatically to hit the next lyric “Sheila! Sheila ki jawaanii-”. Hamza finally sighed like a tired father accepting responsibility for the group and walked forward before yanking the headphones clean out of her ears. “AHHH duffer!” Rehanna hissed immediately clutching one ear. “Kya problem hai tera!” Then she saw everyone’s faces. Saw Rehman’s face. And instantly straightened. Because if Rehman looked tense then something serious had happened.
Immediately she sat down properly behind her desk and pulled the headphones off completely. “Kya hua?” Uzair spoke first grimly. “Vakeel sahiba khabar buri hai!” Rehman nodded once heavily. “Khabar kafi buri hai.” Now Rehanna frowned too. Worst case scenarios immediately started flooding through her mind. “Kya hua kya hai??? Seedha seedha bataiye!”
Uzair handed her a fat stack of papers while Rehman spoke flatly. “Ye abhi abhi aya hai… Jameel Jamali palat gaya. Usne case kiya hai mujhpe aur party pe.” Rehanna narrowed her eyes immediately while flipping through the documents quickly.
How could this even make sense? Jamali being angry made sense. Jamali being petty made sense. But this? “Breach of contract and expectations at the time of agreement?!?” she repeated incredulously. “Demanding a cease and desist???” She physically lowered the papers slightly and stared at them harder like maybe the stupidity would reorganize itself into logic if she looked long enough.
This case was ludicrous. There had never even been a formal contract between Rehman and Jamali regarding the unofficial thug work Rehman’s men occasionally handled for the party. This filing was emptier than the head of whichever idiot lawyer had written it. She looked up toward Rehman calmly. “Sirf ye hi problem hai?”
Rehman stared at her blankly. As if wondering what possible universe existed where this was not already catastrophic. Slowly he nodded yes. And suddenly Rehanna sighed in relief. “Mujhe laga koi badi problem hai mai dar gayi thi.” The boys looked utterly bewildered.
Siyahi finally asked carefully, “…agar ye badi problem nahi hai to phir badi problem kya hai?” Rehanna immediately turned serious and looked at all of them gravely. “Badi problem ye hoti agar Dakait sahab ganje ho rahe hote… sach me problem hoti woh.” She physically shuddered. For two entire seconds complete silence filled the office.
Then Rehman lowered his fist against his mouth slowly trying not to burst out laughing in front of everyone. “Vakeel sahiba ye masla saaf hojaega na?” he asked finally, serious again. Rehanna grinned immediately leaning back comfortably into her chair. “Areee bas ek baar mai us mahan vakeel se mil lun jisne ye bakchodi file ki hai! Sab sort ho jaeyga. Aap chinta na karo.” Collective relief visibly settled through the room instantly. Even Hamza exhaled.
The boys finally started leaving with Rehman while Rehanna continued flipping through the absurd complaint. Then around ten steps down the hallway outside suddenly loud unhinged cackling erupted from her office. Everyone froze.
Inside the room Rehanna sat doubled over laughing like an actual psychopath while reading further into the filing. “OH MY GOD,” she wheezed to herself. “NO WAY.” She slapped the desk once laughing harder. Because this was genuinely the most entertaining legal nonsense she had read in years. This was going to be very fun.
—-------------------------------------
Same day @ 1 pm
Rehanna’s office, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The afternoon heat pressed lazily against the old walls of the Baloch haveli while somewhere downstairs utensils clattered faintly from the kitchens and distant voices drifted through the long corridors in overlapping echoes. Lyari always carried sound differently during the afternoons. Everything became slower. Heavier. Sunlight spilled thick and golden through the carved wooden windows lining the hallway outside Rehanna’s office while dust floated visibly through the beams.
Rehanna wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand as she stepped into her office with the deeply satisfied expression of a woman whose soul had just been repaired by carbohydrates. Five paneer parathe. Five. Thick buttery layers stuffed aggressively with masala paneer and eaten with cold raita and achaar until she physically could not move properly afterward. Honestly? Worth it. Entirely worth it.
“Oh wow” she sighed happily to herself while closing the office door behind her with her foot. “Zindagi kitni haseen hai.” The office itself carried its usual warm chaos. Files stacked in uneven towers across her carved wooden desk. Open law books and novels spread face down across cushions. Sticky notes everywhere because she had become someone who communicated with themselves through color coded paper tabs. The old ceiling fan rotated lazily overhead pushing cool air across the room while sunlight stretched across the massive Persian carpet covering most of the floor. Then her eyes landed on the case file again. The happiness vanished immediately.
“Oh bhenchod…” she muttered under her breath while staring at the papers. “Ye bakwas bhi karni hai.” She walked around her desk slowly before slipping off her slippers near the edge of the carpet with a relieved little sigh. The woven fibers brushed against the bottoms of her feet as she stepped onto the Persian rug barefoot. She deliberately dragged her feet against it while walking because honestly the texture felt fantastic against sleepy skin after lunch. Soft. Thick. And warm beneath her. Rehanna dropped lazily into her chair before reaching for her phone. She unlocked it absentmindedly and opened her contacts list, scrolling downward until she found the saved number. Then immediately snorted. Room Temperature IQ.
“Yaar…… mai bohot zyada funny hun,” she whispered proudly to herself. She hit the call button and set the phone onto speaker mode while leaning back in her chair. The line rang once. Twice. Three times. Then it finally clicked.
“Asalam walaikum kaun bol raha hai?” said the voice on the other end “Walikum asalam aur uske sath namaste Ariz sahab mai Advocate Rehanna Randhawa bol rahi hun Dakait sahab ki vakeel…kaise hain aap aaj?” she asked sweetly while inspecting one of her nails critically beneath the sunlight. There was a pause. “Dekhiye apne client ko rokiye—”
“tsk tsk tsk Ariz sahab,” Rehanna interrupted immediately, clicking her tongue in disappointment. “Maine pucha aap kaise ho? Baat cheet ki mariyada rakhiye aur tameez se pesh aiye.” Complete silence. Ariz Azeem genuinely blanked for a moment because this was not how aggressive legal calls usually began.
Somewhere across Karachi his brain visibly rebooted. “...Hum thik hain…aap kaisi hain?” Rehanna grinned instantly. Control established. “Aree puchne ke liye shukriya…khush mizaz mood ke hain hum aaj…” she leaned back farther into the chair lazily. “Apke ye case ne hume hasadiya.”
What? Ariz frowned immediately on the other end of the line. This made her laugh? “Dekhiye mazaak ki baat nahi hai,” he said stiffly. “Aap apne client ko boliye ki woh PAC party aur uss’se related saari activities rok dein he is in breach of contract.” Rehanna stared at the ceiling. Then slowly blinked. “Arre yaar…” she muttered tiredly while standing up from the chair. “Kaunsa contract?” She began pacing slowly across the Persian carpet barefoot while Ariz continued speaking in long exhausting legal jargon that sounded increasingly like absolute nonsense the more he talked. Ariz continue speaking nonsense with growing confidence. “There was verbal understanding and expectations established between the parties involved regarding operational—”
“Operational?” Rehanna repeated weakly. “Operational kya? Gunda gardi?” this cant be real. “Dekhiye verbal understandings bhi contractual obligations me aa sakte hain—”
“NAHI AA SAKTE.” she clarified with aggressive clarification “Ji aa sakte hain implicit agreements are legally recognizable under certain—” She cant even begin to listen to this shit “Nahi.” Ariz the brick wall he was, responded with “Ji haan.”
“Ariz sahab,” she sighed deeply. “Aap mujhe dara rahe ho vakalat ke future ke liye…Implicit understanding aur legally binding contract ek cheez nahi hoti.” She reached her rolling chair and suddenly climbed directly onto the seat with both feet while still holding the conversation. The chair wobbled dangerously beneath her. Truly one of humanity’s strangest phenomena was the way fully educated adults turned into complete idiots during phone calls.
Outside in the hallway Rehman happened to walk past her office. Then paused. Through the slightly open door he saw Rehanna standing on top of a spinning office chair speaking aggressively into speakerphone while balancing herself with one hand in the air. “Aree mere bhai…” she was saying incredulously. “Jab contract hi nahi tha toh phir breach of contract kaise ho sakta hai?” Rehman immediately lowered his head trying not to laugh.
Hamza appeared beside him a moment later. “Kya hua bhai?” Without a word Rehman simply pointed inside. Hamza peeked through the doorway. Then instantly folded in half laughing silently. Inside the office Rehanna had now pushed herself away from the desk and was slowly spinning across the room atop the rolling chair like a deeply unstable lawyer possessed by legal rage. Hamza immediately pulled out his phone. Click. Perfect blackmail material. “Bhai,” he whispered, wheezing. “Didi pagal hai.”
Inside the office Ariz continued digging himself deeper into stupidity with every passing second. “Dekhiye political goodwill ek understood arrangement tha—”
“UNDERSTOOD ARRANGEMENT?” Rehanna repeated in horror. “Ariz sahab kya aap contract law ko WhatsApp friendship samajh rahe ho?”
Meanwhile Hamza had already texted the others. COME TO DIDI’S OFFICE ASAP. URGENT. Two minutes later Uzair, Siyahi, and Donga arrived in the hallway looking alarmed. Then Hamza silently pointed inside. All three immediately lost control of themselves.
Because now Rehanna had somehow managed to rotate herself in slow circles while arguing into the phone with increasing disbelief. “Ariz sahab meri baat suno…” she said patiently, like explaining mathematics to a goldfish. “Agar mai kal subah uthke bolun ki mujhe Shah Rukh Khan se shadi ki umeed thi toh kya court unko force karega mujhse nikaah karne ke liye?”
“Ye comparison logical nahi hai.” Huffed Ariz “APKA CASE bhi logical nahi hai!” Donga physically slid down the wall laughing silently into his hands. Uzair leaned against Hamza shaking violently trying not to make noise. Siyahi actually had tears in his eyes.
And in the middle of all of them stood Rehman completely doomed because unfortunately he was looking at her with hearts in his eyes. He tried very hard not to visibly smile too much in front of everyone but it was impossible. Watching her work genuinely did something catastrophic to him. She was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And brilliant.
Inside the office Rehanna was now crouched atop the chair like an angry crow. “Dekhiye,” Ariz insisted stubbornly. “Political damages hue hain.” “Kisko?” “Party ko.” “Kaise?” “Support withdraw hua.”
“Arre toh karne do na support withdraw!” she exploded finally. “Ye koi toxic relationship hai kya? Consent nahi hai toh nahi hai! bhai khatam karo!” Outside the doorway all the men physically bent over laughing silently.
Hamza almost dropped his phone. Uzair had fully collapsed against the wall clutching his stomach. Even Rehman finally looked away and covered his mouth with one hand because he genuinely could not breathe anymore. Inside the office however Rehanna’s patience was rapidly evaporating molecule by molecule. “Mr Jamali has every right to feel betrayed by your client after years of service and mutual cooperation.”
“Service?” Rehanna repeated. “Aap log isko Amazon delivery samajh rahe ho kya?” Ariz sighed “Advocate sahiba aap mazaak uda rahi hain—” Rehanna cut him off “Nahi mai genuinely samajhne ki koshish kar rahi hun.” She spun again lazily. “Aap khud keh rahe ho koi written contract nahi tha.”
“Haan.” Ariz agreed, Rehanna continued “Koi witnesses nahi.” Again Ariz agreed “Haan.” Rehanna kept going, “Koi payment structure documented nahi.” The reality was slowly clicking for Ariz “....Haan.” Rehanna doubled down “Koi legally enforceable obligations nahi.” Ariz was now grasping at straws “Dekhiye verbal commitment bhi—” She cut him off instantly “Toh phir CASE KYA HAI?”
The office fell silent afterward except for the squeaking sound of the spinning chair still rotating slowly beneath her feet. Even Ariz seemed briefly unsure now. Outside the door Hamza had tears in his eyes from trying not to laugh too loudly. Rehman leaned one shoulder against the wall silently enjoying her descent into legal madness. On the phone papers shuffled aggressively.
“Your client damaged my client politically.” Tried Ariz now. Rehanna had an exhaustion in her voice that had nothing to do with physical tiredness but more to do with mental tiredness “Aur?” Ariz went on “And financially.” Rehanna was sick of this shit “Aur?”
“And emotionally.” Ended Ariz. Rehanna froze. Then blinked slowly. “Emotionally?” Ariz responded “Yes.” She stared into empty space. Then she burst into laughter so suddenly she nearly lost balance and almost fell directly off the chair. Outside the office Hamza physically grabbed Rehman’s arm to stabilize himself from silent laughter.
“Emotionally,” Rehanna repeated weakly while wiping tears from beneath her eyes. “Ariz sahab kya aap log breakup lawsuit file kar rahe ho?” Ariz was miffed now “Advocate sahiba professionalism maintain kijiye.”
“AAP professionalism ki baat kar rahe ho?” she cried as she flicked through papers on her desk looking for a specific line. “Apne complaint me likha hai ‘loss of trust and emotional expectations.’ Ye court hai ya shaadi.com?” At this point even Rehman had finally lowered his head into his fist laughing quietly to himself in the hallway.
Inside the office however Rehanna’s patience was beginning to evaporate molecule by molecule. Because somehow. Somehow. This man genuinely believed he was making coherent legal arguments. “Dekhiye,” Ariz said stubbornly. “The relationship between Mr Jamali and your client implied long term cooperation.”
“Bhai mere.” Rehanna closed her eyes painfully. “Tum implied cooperation ko mafia nikah nama bana ke court le aye ho.” Ariz couldn't belive this “Advocate sahiba language tameez se—”
“TAMEEZ?” she exploded finally while crouching on the chair. “Ariz sahab mai pichle bees minute se aapko pyar se samjha rahi hun ki aapka case hawa pe khara hai!” Her hand pressed against her forehead while she inhaled deeply through her nose. Somewhere in the distance a pigeon cooed peacefully outside the haveli windows completely unaware this conversation was reducing IQ levels across Pakistan.
“No because genuinely explain this to me,” she said rubbing her forehead now. “Aap log keh kya rahe ho? Ki Dakait sahab ne illegal thug services dena band kardiya aur ab aap upset ho because emotional expectations hurt hui hain?”
“Ye simplistic interpretation hai…” Tried Ariz. “NAHI YE EXACT INTERPRETATION HAI.” Ariz inhaled sharply from the other end. “Advocate sahiba aap personally mat lijiye.”
“Personally?” she repeated in disbelief. “Mera profession insult hua hai obviously personally lungi!” She hopped off the chair finally and began pacing again barefoot through the carpet while dragging one hand down her face dramatically. “Haye bhagwan…” she whispered weakly. “Mujhe migraine hojayega.” Outside the boys were fully invested now like this was live television.
Then finally after another solid three minutes of legal nonsense Rehanna stopped walking entirely. Complete silence. She stared into space for a moment. Then inhaled slowly. “You know what?” she said suddenly very calmly. Ariz paused cautiously. “Kya?”
“Hum milte hain.” Outside the doorway everyone immediately straightened. “Oh?” Ariz sounded relieved immediately. “Fine. Hum mil sakte hain.” He didn't expect this. “Haan because phone pe toh mujhe lag raha hai mai cement ki diwar se baat kar rahi hun.” Deadpanned Rehanna “Advocate sahiba—” Rehanna was beyond done with this shit “Location batao.” There was a brief pause before Ariz answered carefully. “Aaj shaam. Jameel Jamali sahab ke mansion pe. Chai pe.”
“Perfect.” Click. Rehanna cut the call instantly. Then complete silence filled the office. She stood there motionless in the middle of the Persian carpet staring blankly into the distance while the ceiling fan rotated lazily overhead. Outside the doorway all five men waited. Finally after a full ten seconds she spoke very softly to absolutely nobody. “...Itna bewakoof koi kaise ho sakta hai?” The hallway exploded into laughter immediately.
—------------------
Same day @ 5 pm
Drive way of Jamali’s Mansion, Karachi, Pakistan
The driveway of Jameel Jamali’s mansion glittered obnoxiously beneath the late Karachi afternoon sun like the architectural manifestation of corruption itself. Marble fountains sprayed water far too dramatically near the entrance while expensive black SUVs lined the curved driveway beneath towering palm trees wrapped in decorative fairy lights despite the fact it was not even evening yet. Gold detailing covered nearly every visible surface of the mansion from the railings to the balcony trims to the giant lion statues near the staircase as if someone had handed a billionaire criminal unlimited money and absolutely no taste. And honestly? Rehanna hated the house.
But Rehman was having the time of his life. In more ways than one. Because first things first, Rehanna was wearing a skirt suit again. The very same one she had worn when she first met him months ago at the Karachi High Court. Their very first meeting. The day she had stood in front of him with sharp eyes and sharper words warning him he was walking into a trap while every other lawyer in the city either feared him or worshiped him. That had been the day Rehman Baloch Dakait had become completely and irreversibly doomed.
The white shirt fit her beautifully. Crisp and expensive and tailored perfectly against her frame, snug where it mattered and loose where it gave her elegance. The sleeves remained rolled neatly to her elbows exposing smooth forearms decorated only by her watch and the slim diamond bracelet she had splurged on. Rehman was a little mad at her for that, why use her own money when his wallet was begging to be abused?
The top two buttons sat undone beneath the Karachi heat revealing the chain resting against her skin. His chain. The platinum white gold pendant shaped into the letter R alongside the tiny lion glimmered openly against her chest like a silent declaration that belonged only to him. And then there was the skirt. Khuda ki kasam. The high waisted grey pencil skirt hugged her hips dangerously before falling in clean structured lines toward her shins. Professional. Elegant. Absolutely catastrophic for Rehman’s self control. Black patent leather heels clicked sharply against marble whenever she walked while her hair sat twisted into a loose professional bun that somehow only made her look even more devastating.
A few curls had escaped near her neck from the humidity and she looked every bit like the terrifyingly intelligent lawyer she truly was. My God she looked amazing.
When she had stepped out of her room earlier while rolling up her sleeves muttering irritatedly about incompetence beneath her breath, Rehman had physically stopped functioning for approximately five full seconds before grabbing her by the waist and backing her directly into her room again. The door had barely shut behind them before his hands settled against her hips possessively while his eyes dragged over her body with absolutely zero shame whatsoever.
“Kya hua jaan?” she had asked immediately, concern flashing across her face as if maybe something serious had happened. Rehman did not respond at first because unfortunately he was busy staring at her like a starving man. Her perfume wrapped around him softly, expensive and feminine and entirely too distracting while the exposed skin near her collarbone genuinely made him want to commit crimes.
Finally he muttered huskily, voice rough with restraint, “...Jaan-e-maan aaj jana zaroori hai kya?” The grip on her hips tightened slightly. His eyes looked borderline feral. Rehanna immediately burst into laughter shaking her head. “Rehman… please. Abhi mujhe distract mat kijiye mujhe ek duffer ko samhalna hai.” She sighed dramatically while attempting half heartedly to escape his hold.
Rehman leaned closer instantly, smug and shameless and entirely too pleased with himself. “Aye haye meri jaan…” he murmured near her ear. “Hume samhal lo.” Her face flushed immediately. Just for one second. But it was enough. Rehman enjoyed it immensely. His hand curled tighter around her waist pulling her flush against him. Rehanna cleared her throat trying to recover some dignity. “Kya aap keh rahe hain ki aap duffer hain?”
Rehman blinked. Genuine confusion crossed his face so fast it almost looked offensive. His brows furrowed while his brain visibly stalled trying to figure out the correct answer without accidentally insulting himself. And Rehanna used the opportunity mercilessly. She slipped smoothly out of his grip with victorious elegance before striding away down the hallway while her heels clicked sharply against the marble floors.
Rehman stared after her in disbelief. “Uff Vakeel sahiba…” he muttered weakly beneath his breath while dragging one hand down his face.
—----------------------
Now inside the SUV heading toward Jamali’s mansion, Rehanna sat beside him in the backseat reviewing the case files with growing levels of personal offense. Reading glasses slipped slightly down her nose every few minutes while papers remained spread across her lap in organized chaos. Occasionally she muttered gaalis beneath her breath at the sheer stupidity currently poisoning her eyesight.
Donga drove carefully through Karachi traffic while soft old music played quietly through the speakers. Uzair sat in the passenger seat scrolling through his phone half paying attention while another car carrying Hamza and Siyahi followed behind them. Meanwhile Rehman sat beside Rehanna smoking quietly and openly staring at her instead of literally anything else.
“Dakait sahab mujhe ghurna band kijiye…mera focus nahi baith raha hai,” she finally muttered without looking up while holding one paper toward the sunlight filtering through the tinted window. Her ankles crossed neatly because the skirt forced her to sit properly. Her exposed calves gleamed softly beneath the afternoon light. Her brow furrowed slightly while a loose curl escaped her bun entirely and rested near her cheek. How exactly was he supposed to not stare?
With immense effort Rehman finally dragged his eyes away before he accidentally said something catastrophic out loud in front of the boys. Because unfortunately if he spoke right now there was a very real possibility everyone in the car would discover that Rehman Baloch Dakait was secretly and violently in love with his lawyer. Disastrous situation overall.
—--------------
Eventually the SUVs rolled through the massive gates of Jamali’s mansion. Security guards stepped aside immediately, recognizing Rehman’s vehicles while fountains sprayed dramatically nearby. Rehman exited first of course. Always first. He rounded the SUV immediately and opened her door before she could even think about touching the handle herself because absolutely not.
The idea of Rehanna opening her own car door while he stood nearby genuinely offended him spiritually. He offered her his hand silently. Rehanna accepted it carefully while stepping out slowly, mindful of the skirt restricting her movement slightly. Once upright she gave him a soft thankful look before bending slightly at the waist to retrieve her files from the seat behind her.
Rehman immediately stopped breathing. His jaw clenched hard enough to hurt while he looked away toward the fountains with the expression of a man enduring military torture. She wasn’t even trying. That somehow made it worse.
Her skirt pulled tighter across her hips as she leaned forward gathering the papers against her chest while the scent of her perfume drifted around him again. “Khuda reham kare,” he muttered beneath his breath. He genuinely could not handle this. Her in this skirt and these heels leaning forward directly in front of him while completely unaware of the damage she was causing should honestly qualify as attempted murder.
Eventually she gathered her papers against her chest and began walking toward the mansion entrance while adjusting her sleeves absentmindedly. Her attention remained focused downward on the documents.
Which meant she did not see it yet. But Rehman did. Fatima. Standing near the giant front window beside the entrance like some cursed paranormal apparition specifically sent to ruin his day. Yalina’s phuppho. Jamali’s sister. The woman is irrationally obsessed with Rehman despite every possible sign from God and mankind telling her to stop. And worse. She was waving at him through the glass. Actually waving. While twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Rehman physically felt his soul leave his body.
No. No no no. Absolutely not. If Rehanna saw this right now there would be bloodshed. Immediate bloodshed. She already had to deal with one idiot lawyer today. Adding Fatima into the equation would push her directly into homicide territory. Rehman knew her. He knew exactly how possessive she became. As much as he loved it, now was not the time.
If Rehanna saw Fatima flirting through that window she would first shave the woman bald and then strangle her using the hair she removed personally. She would braid the hair into a noose. Without hesitation Rehman quickened his pace and gently steered Rehanna away by the elbow before her line of sight could shift toward the window. He held her by the elbow so it was still completely professional.
“Idhar se chaliye vakeel sahiba,” he said professionally while guiding her toward another pathway. “Zameen thodi ubhad khabad hai aapki heel phas jaegi.” Rehanna smiled warmly at him in thanks, completely unsuspecting. “Thank you Dakait sahab. Ye heels waise hi meri jaan le rahi hain, bohot time hogaya hai heels peheni nahi maine”
Behind the glass Fatima actually waved flirtatiously toward Rehman. Rehman ignored her with the concentration of a man diffusing a live bomb. “Utariye mat,” Rehman replied automatically. “Achhi lag rahi hain.” She smiled despite herself before allowing him to steer her down the alternate pathway where Fatima conveniently vanished from view entirely. Behind the glass Fatima’s smile visibly dropped in annoyance.
He released a quiet breath of relief beneath his breath as they walked safely toward the massive golden entrance doors together. Allah tera lakh lakh shukar hai, he mused. Ahead of them Jameel Jamali’s grotesquely expensive marble mansion loomed beneath the Karachi sun like a monument to corruption and terrible interior decorating choices. And beside him Rehanna adjusted her files calmly, entirely unaware she had almost committed first degree murder in the driveway five seconds ago.
—-------------------
Same day @ 5:20pm
Jamali’s living room, Karachi, Pakistan
The living room inside Jameel Jamali’s mansion looked less like a family home and more like a politician’s desperate attempt to physically manifest corruption into architecture. Everything gleamed obnoxiously beneath the chandelier light. Marble floors polished so aggressively they reflected the ceiling. Heavy gold detailing carved into the walls. Velvet sofas so overstuffed they looked uncomfortable despite clearly costing obscene amounts of money.
Giant framed portraits of Jamali shaking hands with political figures hung across the walls like shrine offerings to his own ego. Even the air smelled expensive in an irritating way. Oud, cigars, polished wood, and stale arrogance lingering beneath the air conditioning. Rehanna walked into the living room wearing a mildly amused expression on her face because she absolutely refused to let the idiot see exactly how much damage he had already done to her mental health today.
Her heels clicked sharply against the marble while the files rested neatly against her chest beneath one arm. Rehman walked ahead first, broad shoulders tense beneath his blue kurta while the others followed behind her in formation almost unconsciously now. Hamza. Uzair. Siyahi. Donga. All carrying varying levels of suspicion and irritation toward this entire situation.
Jamali himself stood near the far sofa looking unusually restrained today and frankly that alone was alarming. Usually the man carried himself with the loudness of someone addicted to hearing his own importance echoed back at him constantly. But today there was something uglier beneath the surface. Something bitter. The reason was obvious to everyone in the room.
His daughter Yalina had run away from home and now lived with Hamza in his house. Worse than that, the gangster he had once hired as muscle had now become far more powerful than him politically. Rehman’s closeness with Zarwari had grown catastrophic over the last few months. Dangerous levels of influence. Jamali could feel himself becoming less relevant in real time and it was eating him alive molecule by molecule.
Ariz stood up from the sofa immediately when he saw them enter. He adjusted his blazer automatically before stepping forward toward Rehanna with practiced confidence. Tall. Young. Well groomed. Not extremely handsome but objectively decent looking enough that women probably noticed him. At least they probably used to. Because the moment he actually saw Rehanna properly in person his entire nervous system visibly short circuited. He froze. Then paled slightly. Then swallowed. Because unfortunately for him the woman he had been arguing with over the phone all afternoon looked devastating in real life. Sharp. Elegant. Expensive. Completely self possessed.
Rehman watched the realization happen in real time from across the room and immediately felt something violent rise inside his chest. How dare this idiot lawyer even look at her long enough to form thoughts? Rehanna however immediately noticed his reaction too and unlike Rehman she intended to weaponize it. “Akhir kar mulaqat ho gayi Ariz sahab,” she said coyly while extending her hand toward him gracefully.
For one very embarrassing second Ariz only stared at her dumbly before finally remembering how human interaction worked. “Ji.” He cleared his throat quickly and shook her hand. “Ab shayad in person aapko dikhe ki aap galat hain.” A beat dropped into the room. Rehman blinked slowly. How dare this man say she was wrong? Rehanna laughed lightly but it was not real laughter. More like a small forced huff of disbelief escaping her lungs. “Accha?…” she tilted her head slightly. “Aapka confidence kabil e gaur hai.”
Everyone settled afterward around the living room slowly. Rehman sat heavily onto one sofa while Hamza leaned back beside him watching the room carefully. Uzair immediately stole expensive looking dry fruits from a crystal bowl without shame while Donga quietly inspected the decorative tiger statue near the wall like he wanted to rob it later. Siyahi remained seated silently with the exhausted expression of a man already anticipating disaster.
Meanwhile Rehanna crossed one leg elegantly over the other while leaning back into the sofa opposite Ariz. The pencil skirt forced her movements into controlled precision. One hand rested against the armrest while the other lazily flipped open the case files again. Calm. Professional. Beautiful enough to actively worsen Rehman’s quality of life every few seconds.
Ariz straightened importantly before beginning. “Dekhiye…humara case jayaz hai…aapke client ne breach kiya toh hai.” Rehanna blinked once slowly. “Breach kis cheez ka?” she countered immediately much to Ariz’s annoyance “The agreement.”
“Kaunsa agreement?” She countered again “The understanding between both parties.” he responded “Understanding legal contract nahi hoti Ariz sahab.” she hummed lightly “Aap technicalities me jaa rahi hain.” tried Ariz. “Aap law me fail ho rahe hain.”
Uzair physically covered his mouth to stop laughing. Hamza elbowed him hard immediately. Ariz continued stubbornly anyway. “PAC party ne Dakait sahab ko years tak political support diya hai.” “Haan?” Rehanna nodded patiently. “Aur?”
“Toh loyalty expected thi.” he explained. “Expected thi?” she repeated slowly like she could not believe the words leaving his mouth. “Aap expectation ko legally enforce karna chahte hain?” Jamali shifted awkwardly on the sofa. Ariz kept going with the confidence of a man sprinting directly into traffic. “Dekhiye moral obligation bhi koi cheez hoti hai.”
“Moral obligation pe cease and desist bhej rahe ho aap?” She quirked an eyebrow at Ariz. “Aap mazaak uda rahi hain.” he countered.
“Nahi Ariz sahab.” She smiled dangerously now. “Mujhe genuinely samajhna hai ki aapne law degree kaha se li.” The room immediately turned into a silent tennis match. Everyone’s eyes bounced back and forth between them with growing fascination. Even Rehman had stopped pretending not to enjoy this.
He sat back against the sofa smoking quietly while watching Rehanna dismantle the man piece by piece with terrifying calmness. Ariz meanwhile was growing visibly irritated now because every single point he attempted collapsed immediately under basic logic. “Dekhiye,” he said sharply now. “Aap jaan mujh ke misunderstand kar rahi hain.”
“Nahi.” Rehanna leaned forward slightly. “Mai jaan mujh ke samajhne ki koshish kar rahi hun.” Ariz sighed “You are deliberately avoiding the spirit of the agreement.” Rehanna held a smug expression on her face “Aur aap deliberately existence avoid kar rahe ho actual contract ki.” Uzair snorted so violently he nearly inhaled a pistachio. Ariz’s face tightened. “Mujhe lagta hai aapko ye case samajh hi nahi aya.”
Silence. A very dangerous silence. Rehanna blinked once. Then twice. Like her brain itself had briefly frozen trying to process the sheer scale of stupidity that had just occurred in front of her. Ariz unfortunately kept speaking. “No offense but maybe aapko corporate litigation ka utna experience nahi hai jitna aap samajhti hain.” The atmosphere snapped instantly. “ABEH OH VAKEEL KE NAAM PE KALANK!” Rehanna launched upward from the sofa so violently even Jamali flinched. Ariz stood too immediately. “Oh tameez se baat kariye mohtarma.”
“Tameez se? Mai? Tameez se?” she repeated incredulously before completely losing the last fragile thread of patience holding her soul together. Then physically launched herself across the room at him. “ABE OH BHENCHOD MAA CHOD KUDI CHOD GAWANDI CHOD MERA KUTTA CHOD! DIMAG SE PAIDAL AKAL SE GAWAR!” (please tell me someone gets that meme reference)
Absolute chaos exploded through the living room. Rehman moved first on instinct. Hamza immediately after him. Rehman grabbed her beneath her arms from behind while Hamza caught her legs before she could actually murder the man with her bare hands.
“CHHODIYE MUJHE!” she yelled furiously, still trying to physically reach Ariz. she was windmilling her arms in the air like a fish out of water to try to attack the man “MAI AAJ ISKA BAR COUNCIL LICENSE KHUD JALADUNGI!” Hamza was crying and laughing while struggling to hold her ankles. “Didi please!”
“YEH LAWYER HAI?! YE KAISE BANNA LAWYER???” Ariz stood there completely shell shocked and slightly pale now because the elegant lawyer from thirty seconds ago had transformed into a violent demon before his eyes.
Rehman finally managed to set her back down onto the floor while keeping both hands firmly on her shoulders. She stood there breathing hard with murder visibly radiating off her body. Nobody in the room spoke. Nobody. Then unfortunately fate decided things were still not bad enough.
Fatima walked into the living room mid disaster carrying a tea tray beside one of the servants before freezing dramatically. Her eyes moved across the room slowly. The overturned cushion. Ariz standing horrified. Hamza wheezing. Rehman gripping Rehanna’s shoulders like a hostage negotiator.
Then she smiled. “Hmph.” Fatima adjusted her dupatta smugly. “Batameezi toh dekhiye. Sabke samne itni gandi gandi gaali? Tauba tauba tauba. Bilkul bhi tameez nahi hai.” Rehanna’s head snapped toward her immediately. And somehow her anger worsened. “Tum tameez ki baat mat karo Fatima,” she said coldly. “Har dusre din kisi aur mard pe line marne wali aurat ko tameez ka lecture dene ka haq nahi hota.” The room physically recoiled.
Fatima’s face dropped instantly. “KYA?” “Haan.” Rehanna stepped forward now. “Aur waise bhi desperate hona alag baat hai lekin itna cheap hona bhi talent hai honestly.” Fatima looked ready to combust.
“SHAANTI!” Rehman’s voice cracked through the room like a gunshot. Everyone froze. “SAB das minute ke liye shaant hojao!” he barked sharply. “Baad me baat karenge!” Then before Rehanna could restart World War Three he grabbed her firmly by the wrist and practically dragged her out of the living room while she still fumed violently beneath her breath.
“ARIZ SAHAB APSE ZYADA STUPID LAWYER MAINE AAJ TAK NAHI DEKHA!” she yelled down the hallway while Rehman hauled her away.
The isolated hallway outside remained blessedly empty and quiet compared to the catastrophe behind them. Cool marble walls. Dim golden lights. Heavy silence. Rehman finally stopped near one of the pillars before turning toward her quickly and gripping both her shoulders firmly.
“Rehanna…” he said slowly. “Meri jaan gehri sasien lo.” She inhaled furiously through her nose. Then exhaled like an enraged dragon. “ISNE MERI PADHAI PE SAWAL KIYA REHMAN.”
“Mai janta hun… uski koi aukat nahi hai meri jaan-”
“USKO LEGAL NOTICE AUR COMPLAINT LIST ME FARAK NAHI PATA.”
“Saaf saaf dikh raha hai meri jaan”
“USNE MORAL EXPECTATION PE CEASE AND DESIST FILE KIYA HAI.”
“ Meri jaan…” Rehman physically looked away for a second because unfortunately that part almost made him laugh again. Rehanna meanwhile paced the hallway furiously in her heels while muttering vile Punjabi gaalis beneath her breath.
Her bun had loosened slightly during the attempted homicide. One curl hung beside her cheek now while anger still burned visibly through her entire body. And despite the situation being objectively catastrophic Rehman stared at her for one long dangerous second and thought only one thing. God she looked beautiful when she was furious.
He wanted to grab her in his arms and tell her to take her anger out on him. But sadly now was not the time.
—----------------------
During the much needed break @ 5:40 pm
Jamali’s mansion gardens, Karachi, Pakistan
The tension inside Jamali’s mansion had become so thick and hostile that even the air itself felt difficult to breathe. Voices still echoed faintly from somewhere deeper inside the marble halls where servants moved nervously carrying trays of untouched chai while guards pretended not to stare too openly at the chaos that had just unfolded in the living room.
Somewhere inside those walls Rehman was still trying to calm a homicidal lawyer who had nearly strangled another advocate in front of everyone while Jamali sat clutching his blood pressure medication wondering where exactly his life had gone wrong.
Meanwhile outside in the gardens the evening air felt cooler. The massive estate grounds stretched endlessly beneath the fading orange Karachi sky with trimmed hedges, white marble pathways, fountains spilling softly into turquoise pools, and rows of imported flowers planted with the kind of excessive wealth that screamed money and corruption simultaneously. The sun had begun to set. Golden lanterns had begun flickering awake along the pathways while distant city sounds hummed faintly beyond the enormous mansion walls.
Uzair, Hamza, Siyahi, and Donga walked through the gardens still processing the absolute psychological devastation they had just witnessed inside. Hamza kept randomly bursting into laughter every thirty seconds like his body physically could not hold it in anymore. Uzair was equally destroyed.
Every time he remembered Rehanna screaming “ABEH OH VAKEEL KE NAAM PE KALANK!” before physically launching herself at Ariz like an enraged missile he nearly lost consciousness laughing. “Kasam se…” Hamza wheezed holding his stomach. “Maine kabhi kisi ko itna gussa hote nahi dekha.”
“Bhai Vakeel sahiba toh usko kha jaati,” Uzair muttered through laughter. “Seedha kha jaati.” Donga looked genuinely disturbed. “Mujhe toh uss bechare lawyer pe taras aa raha hai.” “Taras?” Hamza looked at him in disbelief. “Usne bola kya tha suna nahi tune?”
Siyahi shook his head slowly while pulling out a cigarette packet from his pocket. “Nahi lekin…” he exhaled tiredly. “Vakeel sahiba ne jo gaaliyan di hain na…” Uzair immediately barked out another laugh. “MERA KUTTA CHOD!” Hamza physically bent over laughing again while Donga groaned into his hands. “Bhai mai mar jaunga.” Siyahi finally lit his cigarette and took a drag while Uzair grabbed another for himself.
The smoke curled lazily upward into the evening air while the boys slowly wandered deeper into the garden pathways beneath rows of rose bushes and imported trees swaying softly in the breeze. Then suddenly movement shifted behind one of the large flowering shrubs nearby.
A girl emerged from behind the bushes carrying a small gardening shovel in one hand while brushing dirt from the front of her pale yellow shalwar kameez with the other. For one suspended impossible moment Uzair genuinely forgot how basic human functions operated. She was beautiful.
Not ordinary, pretty. Not the kind of beauty you notice politely and then move on from. No. The kind that physically interrupts thought itself. Tall and graceful with fair skin glowing softly beneath the evening light, long straight black hair falling all the way to her mid back while strands of it blew carelessly across her face from the wind.
Her hazel eyes caught the golden lantern light strangely making them look almost honey colored beneath dark lashes. Her cheeks were naturally pink from the heat and gardening work while her lips looked absurdly soft and perfectly shaped in a way that immediately felt unfair to Uzair personally. The entire world around him slowed catastrophically. The fountains blurred. The boys disappeared into background noise.
The cigarette between his lips nearly burned through. All he could see was her. And then somehow it became worse because she frowned at him. “Oh hello!” she snapped immediately. “Yahan pe cigarette phookna mana hai!” Before Uzair could even process what was happening she stepped directly toward him, reached up without hesitation, plucked the cigarette clean out from between his lips, and crushed it beneath her sandal into the grass. Complete silence.
Every single boy stared at her in shock. Uzair blinked once. Then twice. Flabbergasted did not even begin covering it. No woman had ever just walked up to him and stolen a cigarette directly from his mouth like she was confiscating contraband from a criminal teenager. And the worst part? She looked deeply pleased with herself afterward. Then suddenly her expression shifted entirely as her eyes landed on Hamza standing nearby.
Her whole face lit up instantly. “JIJU!” Hamza physically looked behind himself in confusion. “Kaun? Mai?” The girl clicked her tongue dramatically before brushing directly past Uzair, Siyahi, and Donga and grabbing Hamza excitedly by both arms. “Asalamwalikum jiju!” Hamza still looked completely lost while the boys immediately started losing their minds silently behind him. “Walikum asalam…” Hamza answered cautiously. “Lekin…?”
“Oh ho jiju pehchana nahi?” she huffed. Hamza shook his head slowly. “Mai Yalina ki favorite behen hu! Yasmin. Yasmin Kaif…” she informed him proudly before immediately narrowing her eyes. “Usne aapko bataya nahi?” Hamza blinked. “Favorite behen?”
“...ab Yalina ki khair nahi,” the girl muttered angrily beneath her breath. Hamza finally laughed softly realizing who she must be. “Acha acha…” Then after a second he tilted his head curiously. “Lekin aapko kaise pata mai kaun hu?” The girl smirked instantly. “Aapko kya lagta hai?” she asked smugly. “Yalina poora din aapki baatein karti rehti hai.”
Hamza’s ears immediately went slightly red while Uzair and Donga stared at him with expressions of absolute betrayal. “OHHHHHH,” Donga dragged out dramatically. “Wah Hamzey…” Siyahi grinned. “Poora din?”
Hamza cleared his throat awkwardly trying and failing to suppress the stupid little smile threatening his face. “Bas bas chup karo.” The girl looked deeply entertained now. “Aap log yahan kya kar rahe ho?” Hamza finally gestured toward the mansion tiredly. “Rehman bhai ke saath aye hain…Jamali sahab ne case kiya hai unpe.”
“Case?” Her eyebrows lifted immediately. “Phir toh andar bohot drama hua hoga.” All four boys simultaneously burst into laughter again. “Aapko andaza bhi nahi hai,” Uzair muttered weakly, still recovering psychologically from her beauty.
Hamza pointed toward the others while introducing them. “Ye Donga hai.” Donga nodded politely. “Asalamwalikum.” “Ye Siyahi.” Siyahi gave her a lazy salute with his cigarette. “Ji.”
Then finally her eyes shifted toward Uzair who until now had barely spoken at all. Mostly because his brain had completely short circuited. She looked him up and down slowly. One eyebrow rose. “Aur ye zarurat se zyada lamba khamba kaun hai?” Uzair finally snapped out of his trance immediately looking offended. “Aap hoti kaun hai puchhne wali?”
Siyahi nearly choked laughing. “Mohtarma ye bhi humara admi hai.” Uzair whipped around toward him furiously. “AUR TU MERI AURAT HAI SAALE!” Siyahi looked scandalized. “Arre Uzair bhai isme galt kya bola maine?....yaar bina koi wajeh mera gender change kardia aur meri izzat halal kardi..tch. Bezzti ki had hai”
Yasminl burst out laughing instantly. Not fake laughter. Real laughter. Bright and warm and completely unrestrained while the wind pushed loose strands of black hair across her face again. Uzair stared at her helplessly like the sound itself had personally assaulted his nervous system.
“Pagal,” she muttered, shaking her head. Then she stepped backward slowly toward the pathway again. “Chalo phir milte hain.” Hamza smiled politely. “Allah hafiz.”
“Allah hafiz jiju.” And then she turned and began walking away through the gardens beneath the lantern light. Uzair watched her go silently. The sway of her hair. The graceful movement of her dress. The soft sound of her sandals against the marble pathway. Turn. His brain practically begged. Turn around once. Just once. And somehow impossibly she did. Halfway down the pathway Yasmin glanced back over her shoulder directly toward him. Like she had heard the thought itself somehow.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips beneath the golden garden lights before she disappeared behind the rose bushes again. Uzair blinked hard. Woah.
The second round of negotiations began with significantly less confidence and substantially more fear. Jamali’s office had grown darker now beneath the fading evening sky outside the tall windows. Golden lamplight spilled warmly across polished wood, expensive carpets, crystal ashtrays, and shelves lined with books nobody in this room except Rehanna had probably ever touched willingly. The scent of expensive cigars and coffee hung thickly in the air while tension sat over everything like smoke refusing to clear.
Rehanna lounged back against the sofa sipping her coffee slowly while glaring absolute murderous daggers at Ariz over the rim of her cup. The poor man looked spiritually altered after the earlier outburst. Gone was the smug lawyer who had confidently questioned her credentials twenty minutes ago. Now he sat unnaturally straight beside Jamali looking pale enough to concern medical professionals. Every few seconds his fingers adjusted papers that did not need adjusting while his eyes visibly avoided provoking her again.
Worse still, every time Rehanna narrowed her eyes slightly while listening to him speak, he physically flinched before correcting himself mid sentence. Across the room Uzair sat leaning forward with dangerous interest while Hamza rested one elbow against the sofa arm still trying not to laugh whenever he remembered her earlier gaaliyan. Siyahi looked exhausted by the entire human experience. Donga meanwhile watched Ariz with the pity of a man witnessing someone accidentally wander into an active war zone.
And beside Rehanna sat Rehman. Calm. Silent. Smoking lazily. Completely relaxed now. Because unlike everybody else in this room, Rehman already knew how this would end. He knew she would win. She always won.
Ariz cleared his throat carefully before trying again. “Dekhiye…” he started cautiously while reorganizing his papers for the seventh time. “Hum sirf itna keh rahe hain ki political damage hua hai. My client ko unexpected fallout face karna pada.” Rehanna hummed quietly into her coffee. “Hm.” Ariz continued nervously. “Aur legally agar direct contract nahi bhi tha…” he swallowed noticing her expression darken slightly. “…toh verbal understandings aur operational expectations toh the.” That finally made Rehanna lower her cup slowly. Everyone unconsciously straightened. Even Jamali looked nervous now.
She leaned forward gradually resting both elbows against her knees while staring directly at Ariz with the slow dangerous patience of someone deciding whether to educate another human being or kill them. “Dekh beta…” she started softly. Every single person in the room leaned closer instinctively. Everyone except Rehman. Rehman leaned back comfortably against the sofa, one eyebrow quirking upward because he recognized that tone immediately. That tone meant somebody’s soul was about to get dismantled professionally.
“Hum vakalat me aapke abbu lagte hain…” Silence fell instantly. Ariz blinked once. Jamali frowned in confusion. Uzair physically covered his mouth already anticipating disaster. Rehanna continued calmly, almost thoughtfully. “Mera aur vakalat ka rishta aisa hai ki vakalat meri begum lagti hai…” Now everyone looked genuinely lost. Technically she was not wrong. The law really did move around her naturally. Effortlessly. Like something alive beneath her hands. She understood loopholes and legal strategy with the intimacy of a husband understanding every expression on his wife’s face.
Then she tilted her head slightly. “Toh hum apse darkhuast karte hain…” A tiny pause. “…ki aap apni maa na chodein.” Silence. Pure stunned horrified silence. Even the boys stopped breathing.
Siyahi stared at the carpet like he had just witnessed a public execution. Donga looked one second away from cardiac arrest trying not to laugh out loud. Hamza physically folded forward clutching his mouth. Uzair made a choking sound somewhere between a cough and spiritual collapse. Jamali blinked slowly at the wall wondering how exactly negotiations had devolved into this. And Ariz… Poor Ariz looked like his soul had briefly disconnected from his body.
Meanwhile beside her Rehman shut his eyes for one dangerous second because good God. What was this woman? Because instead of being embarrassed he found this unbelievably attractive. The intelligence. The authority. The confidence. The way she dominated entire rooms without even trying. His pulse kicked hard beneath his ribs. He leaned slightly toward her, lowering his voice enough that only she could hear him. His breath brushed hot against the skin near her ear making her fingers tighten slightly around her coffee cup.
“....Mashallah meri jaan…” he murmured huskily. “Aapko pata hai ki aap kitni qatilana lag rahi hain aise?” Rehanna bit back a grin immediately. “Aapko pata hai ki abhi mera haal kya ho raha hai?” She finally glanced sideways at him from the corner of her eye, the look on her face asking him silently are you serious right now? Rehman nodded once solemnly. Completely serious. That nearly broke her composure entirely.
A grin escaped despite her best efforts before she forced herself to look back toward Ariz who still appeared spiritually concussed. Eventually Ariz cleared his throat weakly and looked back down at his papers trying desperately to recover what little professional dignity remained. This time however when he spoke his argument sounded more genuine. Less ego. More logic.
“Dekhiye…” he started carefully. “Political consequences genuinely unexpected the. My client ko lag raha hai ki unko completely side line kar diya gaya.” Rehanna finally nodded slightly. “Chalo ab kuch genuine baat hui.” Visible relief crossed Ariz’s face instantly. Finally. Progress. Rehanna placed her coffee cup down onto the table and uncrossed her legs before speaking calmly.
“Look…” she started professionally now. “You take the formal case away…phir mai apne client se baat karke kuch concession karwati hun.” And before Ariz could even respond she stood up immediately. Fast. Confident. Like this conversation was already over. She extended her hand toward him casually while arching one eyebrow in expectation. The movement itself carried quiet threat beneath the elegance.
This was her offer. Take it now or lose the opportunity entirely. Ariz hesitated. Then looked toward Jamali. Jamali looked trapped between panic and resignation. Because everyone in this room understood the truth. There was no point dragging this into court. Not against her. Not when she would dismantle the case publicly within fifteen minutes and humiliate everyone involved in the process. Finally Jamali sighed heavily. Ariz understood.
Slowly he stood up. Jamali stood too. The boys rose from the sofa automatically. Only Rehman remained seated. Smoking lazily. Watching. Ariz finally reached forward and shook her hand. And immediately Rehanna grinned like a wolf. The same victorious grin she always wore after winning negotiations. Which was often.
Because she always won.
—-------------------------
Same day @ 6:45 pm
Jamali’s front entrance, Jamali’s Mansion, Karachi, Pakistan
Rehanna stood near the entrance wrapping up her files neatly beneath one arm while adjusting her glasses tiredly. Nearby the boys had resumed normal conversation now that nobody was trying to murder anybody.
Jamali meanwhile hovered near Rehman speaking in that syrupy political tone wealthy men used when attempting damage control. “Rehman mere bacche misunderstandings hoti rehti hain…” Jamali was saying smoothly. “Hum sab ek hi taraf hain akhir.” Rehman nodded calmly, playing along surprisingly well despite the fact he looked capable of killing everyone in this mansion with his bare hands if sufficiently annoyed.
Then suddenly from behind them came a voice. “Madam!” Rehanna turned slightly. Ariz stood there looking oddly sincere now. “Rehanna madam…” he said honestly. “Aapki daat deni padegi.” There was genuine admiration in his voice now. Respect too. “You really are as formidable as they say.”
Rehanna looked at him for a moment. Then surprisingly her expression softened genuinely. She stepped slightly closer. “Ariz beta…” she said calmly. “This formidableness that you so admire is built on a strong foundation.” Ariz listened carefully now. No ego left. Only attention. “You have potential…” she continued while tapping the file lightly against his chest once. “Case hawa me mat banaya karo.” She gave him one pointed look. Then turned gracefully on her heel and walked out through the massive front doors into the Karachi evening without another word.
And behind her Ariz stood there staring after her quietly realizing two things simultaneously. First, he had just met the most terrifying lawyer of his career. And second. He absolutely wanted to become half as good as her someday.
—---------------------
Same day @ 7:20 pm
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The ride back to Lyari had felt victorious. Rehanna sighed happily the second she sank into the backseat of the car, one heel slipping halfway off her foot while she leaned her head back against the leather seat with the satisfaction of a woman who had successfully bullied incompetent men for two straight hours and enjoyed every second of it.
The city lights outside glowed gold and white beneath the deepening Karachi evening while the convoy engines rumbled softly around them. Donga climbed into the front seat still laughing under his breath about the negotiations while Uzair sprawled into the passenger seat dramatically retelling Rehanna’s insults to himself like treasured poetry. Outside her window Hamza and Siyahi lingered before getting into the second car. “Didi…” Hamza wheezed trying not to laugh again. “Aap genuinely pagal hain.” Siyahi nodded immediately. “Kasam se.”
Rehanna looked deeply pleased with herself. Then Hamza leaned down toward her window with narrowed eyes full of dangerous curiosity. “Didi ye pagalpan bachpan se tha kya?” Rehanna burst into laughter instantly. “Oh absolutely,” she nodded solemnly. “Doctor bhi pareshaan tha.” The boys laughed loudly.
She blew an exaggerated air kiss toward both of them in appreciation. Siyahi turned faintly red immediately which unfortunately only made Hamza laugh harder while Uzair leaned halfway out the passenger window yelling “Siyahi sharma gaya!”
“Band kar be!” Siyahi snapped furiously while walking toward the second car. Laughter followed them even after the convoy finally began moving.
And beside Rehanna sat Rehman. Silent. Blank faced. Dangerously blank faced. But internally? Internally he was losing a war.
Because all he could think about was her. The sight of her standing over Ariz tearing him apart verbally while looking devastating in that skirt suit had done irreversible psychological damage to him. Every image from the evening replayed mercilessly inside his head one after another. Her voice. Her confidence. Her mouth curling smugly after winning negotiations. The exposed skin near her collar where his necklace rested openly against her chest like a mark of ownership. Then unfortunately his brain became substantially worse.
His jaw remained clenched so tightly it physically hurt while his fingers flexed once against his knee trying desperately to keep himself grounded. Because every single thought inside his head circled back to her again and again and again like obsession itself had become biological.
His imagination betrayed him viciously now. Visions of her beneath him. Her lips against his throat. His hands gripping her waist hard enough to bruise. The soft gasps she made against his mouth. The way she whined his name when overwhelmed. The unbearable contrast between the woman who dominated entire rooms effortlessly and the same woman who melted for him privately.
A dangerously addictive thought. Rehman swallowed hard. Very dangerous thoughts. Extremely dangerous thought. Rehman clenched his jaw hard enough to ache trying desperately to ground himself. Meanwhile the source of all his suffering sat beside him having the absolute time of her life.
Rehanna smoked lazily while looking out the window peacefully, one elbow resting against the car door while city lights flickered across her face softly. Then very deliberately she ran the pointed toe of her patent leather heel slowly along his shin beneath the darkness of the backseat. Rehman looked at her instantly. The expression on his face physically begged her for mercy. Please do not do this right now.
Rehanna bit her lip immediately trying not to grin. Then shook her head no. Absolutely not. If anything she became worse. Slowly her heel traced lazy circles against his calf before dragging deliberately higher along the length of his leg. Rehman shut his eyes briefly and tilted his head toward the ceiling of the car asking whatever God existed for strength. Because this woman was going to kill him.
—------------------------
The second the convoy finally stopped inside the haveli courtyard Rehman practically launched himself out of the vehicle so quickly everyone blinked in confusion. He rounded the car immediately and opened Rehanna’s door before she could even think about touching it herself. Of course he did. There was no universe in which Rehman would allow her to open her own car door. Never. He extended his hand toward her automatically.
Rehanna placed her hand into his carefully while stepping out mindful of the tight skirt restricting her movement. Her fingers tightened around his slightly longer than necessary, deliberately brushing against his palm in slow soft strokes. Rehman flashed his eyes at her sharply. Behave.
She ignored him completely. Then unfortunately she bent slightly at the waist to gather her files from the backseat. And Rehman immediately looked away toward the sky again with visible suffering. Good God. The skirt fit tightly around her hips while the heels elongated her legs in ways that felt genuinely unfair to witness publicly. She was not even trying anymore and somehow that made it infinitely worse.
Rehman released one shaky breath through his nose before shutting the car door harder than necessary. Enough. He was done. This had become physically painful. Without another word he turned and walked into the haveli almost aggressively fast.
Rehanna watched him go with immense satisfaction. Oh this was delightful. She knew exactly where he was going. And instead of following immediately like a reasonable person she intentionally took her time walking through the haveli at the slowest pace humanly possible. Her heels clicked softly through long hallways while servants moved around carrying trays and lanterns beneath the warm golden lighting of evening. Somewhere distant old ghazals played softly from a radio while wind drifted through the carved archways carrying the scent of chai and sandalwood through the house.
—------------------
Her payals chan chan chaned as she walked out of her office. She had taken a pitstop to retrieve Rehman’s payals that she had taken off because they didn't work with her outfit.
Rehanna hummed under her breath the entire walk. Because tormenting Rehman had become one of her favorite hobbies unfortunately. Eventually she finally reached her bedroom. The moment she stepped inside she nearly laughed. Rehman looked completely insane. He was pacing back and forth across the room like a man moments away from committing violence.
Several buttons of his kurta already hung undone exposing warm skin beneath while his hair looked thoroughly wrecked from how many times he must have dragged frustrated hands through it. The second he saw her he crossed the room so fast she barely had time to yelp. “Reh—” His hands grabbed her immediately.
Then the door locked behind them. Then suddenly he lifted her clean off the ground making her gasp softly in surprise, her payals clink once, before carrying her straight toward the bed. “Rehman!” she laughed breathlessly. “Aap—”
He dropped her onto the mattress carefully but impatiently before crashing down against her mouth like a man possessed. Her payals crash into sound. The kiss hit hard instantly. Desperate. Hungry. Completely wrecked by restraint. His hands man handled her onto her pillows.
Rehman kissed her like he had been starving all evening and she was personally responsible for it. His hands moved everywhere at once gripping her waist, her hips, sliding against the fabric of her shirt while his mouth devoured every sound she made.
Rehanna gasped softly against his lips as he kissed her deeper, rougher, like the frustration from the entire day had finally snapped inside him. “Aap…” he muttered breathlessly against her mouth before kissing her again harder. “Aap bilkul baimaan hain.” Rehanna laughed softly into the kiss. “Hm?”
“Pure din…” another kiss against her jaw. “…mujhe dheere dheere mar rahi thi aap.” His hands roamed shamelessly down her sides gripping her hips hard enough to make her inhale sharply while his lips dragged lower against her throat. “Yeh skirt…” he groaned roughly against her skin. “Aur yeh heels…” Rehanna tilted her head back slightly laughing breathlessly when his mouth found the sensitive spot beneath her ear.
“Rehman…” she teased softly. “Maine kya kiya?” He looked at her like she had personally insulted God. “Kya kiya?” he repeated incredulously. “Meri jaan apne mujhe zinda jalaya hai aaj.” Rehanna grinned wickedly now. “Maine kuch nahi kiya,” she argued shamelessly. “Mai toh bas khud thi.” That nearly finished him psychologically.
“Baat aisi hai…” she added innocently while his hands tightened around her waist. “Adhe se zyada wakt toh mai try bhi nahi kar rahi thi aapko pagal karne ki.” Rehman stared at her in disbelief. Then immediately kissed her again like punishment.
His fingers fumbled desperately for the buttons of her shirt trying to undo them while kissing her at the same time but unfortunately his brain had stopped functioning properly hours ago. His hands shook faintly from how pent up he was and after nearly thirty seconds he had only managed three buttons. Three. He stared downward at his own hands in visible betrayal.
Then finally groaned directly into her neck in frustration. Rehanna burst into helpless laughter immediately. “Oh my God,” she wheezed while he buried his face dramatically against her throat. “Rehman…”
“Mujhse nahi ho raha, aap dekh rahi hain aapne mera kya haal kardiya?” he muttered angrily against her skin, sounding genuinely offended by the betrayal of his own motor skills. Her laughter only became worse. And unfortunately for Rehman? That sound turned him on even more.
—------------------
Rehanna presses her lips together to muffle her laughter knowing that this is pissing him off. She pushes him away slightly so she can have room to work. Her fingers go to the buttons of her shirt. She begins to flick them open one by one.
Rehman watches like a hawk. As each button flicks open more of her creamy skin gets revealed. Eventually all the buttons open. The shirt hangs loosely off her body. What gets revealed snaps the thin thread that Rehman's sanity was hanging on. A pure black satin bra. One that looked like a black void against her skin. A void his sanity was lost in.
Seeing this visual he gets a second wind of sorts and shoves the shirt off her shoulders in deft motions. Just wanting the damned fabric to get off of her body. The edges of her tattoo, the delicate black ink vines with flowers, disappear under the fabric of her bra. That tattoo will kill him one day. He moves quickly now. Stalking down her body.
His hands move along her waist reverently, his fingers fumble at the edge of her skirt trying to figure out what the closure was. His fingers find the zipper seam at the side of her waist. He leans in. His teeth gently grab the metal pull of the zipper, his eyes on hers, eye contact not broken. Her breath hammers in her ribs as she watches him. Rehman pulls the zipper down by his teeth.
His large hands immediately grab the fabric and yank it down her body. Rehman groans in pain as he sees what is revealed. Matching black satin panties. Doing this to a man has to be illegal. Her pendant, gifted by him, a mark of him, gleams against her chest, the dichotomy almost maddening. She grins at his reaction “Achhi lag rahi hun jaan?” she asks lightly. Enjoying his torment. Enjoying the feral look on his face.
“Nahi” he responds gruffly, moving further down her body. “Nahi?!” she asks indignantly “Toh phir yahan se nikaljao” his warm palm rests on her thigh, moving down towards her ankles slowly. She jerks her leg back with a hmph. Rehman grabs her ankle, simply observing her heel clad foot, when he speaks he sounds destroyed voice gruff “Nahi achhi nahi lag rahi ain aap…tabahi lag rahi hain aap”
“Oh” she responds weakly as his lips brush the inside of her ankle. Planting a kiss there before he gently slips off the heel. The same process is repeated on the other foot, another kiss on her ankle as he slips the heel off. Both heels land on the carpeted floor of her bedroom with a thud. His hands grab both of her feet together, for a moment he gently massages the soles of her feet.
Almost swallowing down his internal fire and lust to comfort her “Aap keh rahi thi ki dard ho raha tha in heels ke wajeh se. Ab kaisa hai dard?” he asks, his voice ragged with lust and care. His thumbs gently press into the arch of her foot loosening the tight muscle.
“Th-theek hai thank you” she stutters out as her eyes flutter shut. He hums lightly as if accepting her response before he begins kissing up each leg. One kiss on her right ankle, a kiss on her left shin, a kiss behind her right knee, a kiss on her left thigh. He kneels between her parted legs, his mouth now tracing the vines of her tattoo.
Sucking and biting on each flower and leaf, turning them red and maroon. Rehanna’s breathing changed visibly, her chest heaving and panting with each shaky breath. Her hands fisting into the fabric of his kurta at his shoulders. “Utaro!” she pants her hands fisting harder. Her lips parting. He doesn't seem to hear her.
He bites her skin lightly, entirely too invested in his own claim. “Rehman!” she pants gripping him by his hair. “Kya hua meri jaan?” he asks. “Utaro!” she groans, yanking at the fabric of his kurta.
He chuckles slightly at her impatience. He nods his head as he backs away slightly, pulling off his kurta in one go. Then his hands go the buckle of his jeans, the metal chinks as he tosses it onto the floor. Then he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them off equally quickly, pulling off all of his remaining clothes in one go.
Rehanna’s hands go to her own underwear; she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and begins shucking them off. Rehman interrupts her and yanks it off her body. His hands then flicking open the hooks of her bra with terrifying ease. Both articles of clothing are thrown somewhere into the abyss of her room.
He can't wait anymore, Rehman pulls her into a spooning position. Both of them laying on their sides, his chest to her back, her view is the balcony. He pulls her close, impossibly close. His hardness pressed into her back incessantly. He grabs her right thigh and hooks it backwards around his own leg, her payal rings.
His hand reaches forward, snaking around her waist. His fingertips part her puffy and soaked folds, the rough pads connecting to her clit as they rub slow hard maddening circles. His breath fans on the back of her neck as he bites and kisses the skin there. His other free hand roughly kneaded her breast. The soft flesh spilling through the gaps in his fingers. She gasped as her eyes fluttered shut in pleasure. Sparks flashing through her body.
“Poori duniya ke liye aap ek khunkar vakeel hain” he muses between kisses to her jaw. “Lekin yeh dekho…” he mutters darkly, his fingertips rolling one nipple to make her gasp again, his fingers still rubbing hard circles on her clit. Her face flushes slightly “...mereliye ap kulfi ki tarah pighalti hain” he chuckles. “Bohot zayada assan…agar duniya ko ye dikh gaya toh?” he tsks in her ear, his fingers between her folds now rubbing with a more maddening rhythm if that was even possible. His words… ever so slightly insult her. He was saying she was easy for him, her walls fluttering around nothing. She breathes hard bucking against his hand, needing more. Needing more than just his fingers on her clit.
“Please aur...” she gasps, grinding into his hand. She can feel his warm length against her spine. Rehman chuckles darky the caliber resonating in her clit. “Ab aapko samjh me aya?” he asks, Rehanna furrows her brows as she pants “kya samajh me aya?” he presses a hard kiss to her jaw, his fingers drawing another hard circle. “Yeh jo paagalpan aap mehsoos kar rahi hain ... Yeh sirf mere pagal pan ka ek hissa hai” he hisses into her ear, as he pulls away his hand from her clit. Making her gasp brokenly at the lack of pleasure. “Aah!” she gasps.
His hand goes to his hard aching length. He slides it through her slick slit. Her wetness coats him, the warmth inviting him in. The head of his cock nudges against her puffy clit, tapping it. Once. Twice. Each tap makes her twitch slightly, an electric like shock going through her. “Fuck…Rehman please” he hums into her neck, infuriatingly smug. She can feel his heartbeat in her back.
The way her cunt is coating him in her warm wetness almost makes him want to give in. His head circled her entrance. He was about to push in. Then he had a better idea. He suddenly sticks two fingers into her. His ring and middle fingers swirling inside her. Her walls clench, she keens in pleasure. A moan ripping from her throat.
He unhooks the leg that was resting on his. He pulls his fingers out just as abruptly as he puts them in. She whines “Ah Rehman! Kya- kyun-” He spreads the wetness that his fingers collected onto his length. He groaned in pleasure as he gave his cock some attention against the small of her back. “Shhh Meri jaan” he coos at her, she whines brattily. He kissed her shoulder to soothe her while she writhed in the lack of pleasure.
Then his hands press her thighs together as she lays on her side, like he is preparing her for something. He pumps his cock once before he pushes in, in between her thighs. Rehanna gasps in shock “What? Kya? Rehman?” Her plush, warm, soft thighs vacuum around his hard cock as he sinks deeper. He groans, biting her neck, “Mashallah ya qalbi…apke jism ka har hissa. Aisa lagta hai ki mereliye hi bana hai”
She is in shock for a few seconds, at a loss for words. She didnt expect him to be fucking her thighs. She can see the head of his cock poke out from in between her thighs with each of his lazy thrusts. The visual is dizzying, is this what he looks like when he is inside of her? She swallows hard as another wave of wetness gushes through her. The wetness coats his length, aiding his thrusts.
Rehanna tries to open her thighs. She is half hoping during his next thrust he would slip into her. So he would finally fuck her properly. As soon as the delicious vacuum begins to loosen Rehman’s hand presses down on the outside of her thigh. “Nahi bilkul nahi!” he grunts as his arm pulls her closer to his body. He keeps thrusting and fucking her thighs, now slightly changing his angle slightly to hit her clit with each thrust.
Her hand flies to his bicep as her head turns slightly, gasping “R-Rehman aisa mat karo…please ab sahi se!” He chuckles, the sound deep and dark, she can feel it through his chest into her spine. He turns her head slightly, his fingers on her jaw and he sweetly kisses her. Still fucking her thighs, still hitting her clit each time. She groans frustratedly and tries to move away but he grabs her. The new grip is so tight that she can't move.
All Rehanna can hear is him. His breath hot against the shell of her ear. Groaning and moaning into her ear in pleasure. “Oh meri jaan” he grunts as he fucks her thighs harder. She can feel him pulsing.
She whines brattily, she can't believe this! She cant believe he is just chasing his own pleasure “Rehman ye theek nahi hai! Maine apko jitaya! Maine ye case rafa dafa kiya!” And he groans in response “Sach hai ye jaan-e-maan. Aapne mujhe jitaya toh hai…. Lekin uska kya?” he huffs as he thrusts again “Jo apne mujhe pagal kiya uska kya?” and she has no response to that. Because he is right. Rehanna did drive him crazy, so she flexes her thighs, making the grip tighter. He moans appreciatively.
Rehman can feel how damn close he is after being on edge ever since he saw her in that damned skirt suit. He can feel pleasure coil inside him. He grips her harder. His forehead rests at the nape of her neck. With a broken groan he falls off the clif of pleasure. His cock twitching as thick hot ropes of cum coat her inner thighs.
She gasps in surprise. Then without stopping for a moment he hooks her leg over this thigh again. Opening her wide as they lay on their sides. Rehman grabs his cock and aligns it with her fluttering opening. He thrusts hard and in one go. Bottoming out at the hilt. Making her breathe shakily in shock. “Oh…oh god” Her cunt flutters desperately to accommodate his size because of how he stretches her. The stretch burns, it burns so good.
Rehman the bastard he is, doesn't wait for her to adjust. Instead he pulls out almost completely before he slams into her hard. She screams in pleasure “REHMAN!” each of the veins in his cock rub against her inner walls as he thrusts. Smugness curls through Rehman, he really was just that damn good. He had her into a screaming moaning mess. Her payals jingle violently.
“Shhh meri jaan…chilao mat poori haveli ko pata chal jaega” he chuckles. Her eyes widen, her cunt clenches. Rehman has a realization. He laughs breathlessly “Ohhhh…kya aap chahati hain ki sabko pata chale?” he asks incredulously. His palm goes back to kneading her breast. His fingers rolling her taut nipples. She gasps as her traitorous cunt flutters around him. What a bastard she thinks.
He clicks his tongue condescendingly “Bas socho meri jaan….Agar sabko pata chaljae. Phir hume chhupna nahi padega.” He muses as he hits her g-spot making her moan “Aap jee bharke mera naam chilana” she gasps as he thrusts particularly hard. “Aur jab mera man kare tab mai aapko apni bahon me bharlun…aur koi kuch nahi keh paye” He grunts. That's what he wanted. He wanted them to be open so he could have her freely, so she could scream his name without questions being asked. So he could love her openly
Rehman reaches one of his hands in between her legs while he thrusts into her. His fingers sweep up the cum spilled there. He brings it to her mouth expectantly. She moans at the sight. “Muh kholo ya qalbi” he kisses her jaw again, still pounding into her relentlessly. The skin between her back and his chest is slick with sweat. She parts her lips and sticks out her tongue collecting his cum from his fingers. Rehman groans watching this.
The sound of skin against skin fills the room. The sound of her wet cunt getting fucked fills the room. The sound of her moaning and his groaning fills the room. “Bas aise hi meri jaan, aise hi” he says through gritted teeth as he feels his orgasm approach again. His hand reaches between them again. This time going to her clit, rubbing hard and fast in synchrony with his thrusts.
She moans and pants helplessly “R-Rehman please” , her hands clutching his biceps, her nails digging in. They leave red crescent shaped marks behind. Marks that Rehman hoped would remain forever. Her legs shake in pleasure. Payals chan chan chan. Her core clenches warningly. Pleasure pulls at her navel. “Haan meri jaan… yahi pe hun mai. Jab apka maan kare” he kissed her cheek but caught her jaw as she writhed on the pillow.
His cock dragged deliciously along her walls. Each vein caressed the muscles. Each thrust hit her g-spot. The pleasure was maddening. Too much. Too good. His hand on her clit rubbed hard and measured. Mind bogglingly good. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Her orgasm crashed like a tsunami.
The waves were violent as she jerked against him. He fucked her through it. White stars burst behind her eyes as she moaned his name desperately. He followed soon after. Painting her walls white as he breathes shakily into her hair. The lingering scent of her perfume, his cologne, and the scent of their sex clouds the both of them.
“Shayad aisi vakalat mujhe karte rehna chahiye” she gasps “Bohot hogyaya bas office se paperwork karna” she muses exhaustedly turning to Rehman. Her skin glowed, she glowed in the afterglow. “Mari jaan..” he begins weakly kissing her shoulder. “Mera qatal karna chahati hain kya aap?” Rehanna laughs “Plan toh apka bura nahi hai” she hums as she kisses him again.
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Chapter 12. Moving up in the world aur Mera Vaar Balochana
Dakait Sahab ki Vakeel Sahiba
Rehman Dakait x OC Indian spy/Lawyer
Disclaimer: This series is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Chapter 12. Moving up in the world aur Mera Vaar Balochana
10 days after the ending of chapter 11 @ 6:30 pm
Baloch haveli driveway, Lyari, Pakistan
“Rehman!” She giggled trying to squirm away “Rehman please! Koi dekh lega!....Kya kar rahe ho!” Rehanna squealed as she got pinned against one of the stone arches of the front entrance. Rehman laughed evilly into her neck as he peppered kisses into her neck as she laughed from ticklishness. Pressing a kiss to the pendant he got her for Eid. The one made of platinum gold and diamonds, the one with the letter R and a small lion next to it “Aaj dekhlendo meri jaan…chhup chhup ke mera hogaya” he groaned into her skin, cherishing her laugh, cherishing the way she clutched his shoulders.
10 days ago Rehman was told to be on strict bedrest but did he listen? No he did not. In fact the next morning Rehanna found him walking around his room. She was scandalized when she walked in holding his steaming cup of chai “Rehman!” The man smiled tiredly before he began walking to her, a slight limp in his step, his saunter dulled. “Subha kahir meri jaan” he murmured, kissing her cheek in thanks for the chai.
“Rehman aap hil kyu rahe ho? Aapko pata hai ki aap ko allowed nahi hai” she muttered angrily as she led him back to the bed by the hand. “Chot lagi hai aapko! Jab mujhe lagi thi tab mujhe bada lecture dete the aap” She said now putting her hands on her hips as Rehman sat on the edge of his bed with his chai with a groan. “Aapko mujh se zyada lagi thi” Rehman says to her flatly “Meri sirf pasliyon me chot hai (bruised ribs) aur chehre pe ghaon hai” he shrugged which made him groan in tenderness. Rehanna rolled her eyes as she checked the cuts on his face “Bas itni si lagi hai? Chup rahiye aap aur apni chai pijiye…..yeh Aslam pe mai aisa tagda case karungi na….” she mutters under her breath inspecting his face. Rehman smiles at her “Jaisa aap kahein”
Now 10 days later Rehman had willed himself better out of spite. The doctors begged him to rest some more. But one hard stare from the Sher-e-baloch was plenty to shut them up. Today was an important day. Today something that had been set in motion months ago was finally coming to bear fruit.
—-------------------
Flashback to Chapter 4- extension of the post rally scene-
Rehman stood by the stage after his rousing speech and he talked to Jameel Jamali in hushed tones “Mai soch raha hun ki ye sab siyasat ke kaam chh’od ke mai apni khud ki party le ke aun” The crowd was still high on him, cheering for him, screaming his name. The power surged through Rehman. Jameel paled. Jameel paled because Rehman was just supposed to be muscle, he was just supposed to be a thug. One hit of power and now he wanted it?
—----------
Later in the timeline of the same chapter
“Vakeel sahiba?” asked Rehman as he smoked in his office chair lazily. “Ji Dakait sahab?” Rehanna looked up from her papers. “Ajj awam ki harkat dekh ke aapko kya lagta hai? Kya siayasat me pair rakha ja sakta hai?” he tilted his head towards her. He watched her as she sat on the leather sofa in his office.
Rehanna chewed on a pen in thought. Rehman watched her carefully “Ab aya sahi sawal” she grinned “Mai soch rahi thi ki aap ye kab puchoge” Rehman raised an eyebrow at her “Aur ye kyun?” She got up from her seat and walked towards him.
“Aapka sawal ka jawab hai..Haan…Bilkul” she hummed “People’s Aman Committee..” She said slowly stalking behind his chair. “Aapka matlab kya hai?”
“Mera kyahal. Aapki party ka ye naam hona chahiye. PAP se kafi milta julta…lekin pehchan aapki…naam apka…takat aapki” She said slowly.
“Aapke khyalon ki daat dete hain” Rehman chuckled slowly.
—-------------------------
Back to the present-
Today was the day of the announcement rally. The day the PAP Party president announced that Rehman’s party, Peoples Aman Committee, was a part of the group officially. Today Rehman wore a dashing black pathani suit and blazer, the cut on his face majorly healed. Rehanna wore an emerald green sharara. The color accentuating her fair skin and brown eyes, the color making her glow.
Rehman pinned her to the wall by the wrists, one hand around her waist. He kissed into her neck, where he knew she was ticklish. “Rehman please!” she giggled trying to push him away half heartedly.
The driveway was busy, one badly timed glance, one badly timed sound and they would be caught. Rehman grinned into her skin, making exaggerated kissing noises “Muwah. Muwah. Muwah….Aaj kinti hassen lag rahi hain aap, hara rang aap pe jachta hai” He was having too much fun. Her face was turning red.
“BHAI!? KAHAN HO AAP” Yelled Uzair “ABBU KAHAN HO AAP????” Yelled Rehman’s son Faizal. Almost walking around the corner. “SHIT!” Rehanna hissed trying to squirm away from Rehman who paid the stressful situation no heed. He stared at her with a dopey smile. 20 seconds and they would be caught.
He leaned in and captured her lips for a sweet kiss. 15 seconds. His hand on her waist, the curve of his hand sitting against the curve of her waist perfectly. 10 seconds. He let go of her wrists. Her hands in his hair gently brushing it back, she didn't break the kiss. Adrenaline surged through both of them. 5 seconds. They broke apart. 0. He backed away, the distance now completely respectable. The normal distance between a boss and his employee having a conversation.
Faizal ran to his dad crashing into him with a hug. Rehman chuckled, hugging his 10 year old son back. Rehanna’s eyes widened, her finger went to the side of her lips and she was gesturing something to Rehman. Her lipstick. Her berry toned lipstick was smudged across his mouth. Rehman saw the hint and quickly used the back of his hand to wipe it away before his son or brother saw it.
“Hi Rehanna Aunty! Aap green me bohot achhi dikhti ho” Said Faizal now hugging her. Rehanna shot Rehman a pointed look. A look that said ‘like father like son‘ Rehman shrugged as if saying ‘what can we say? We have a good eye’ she huffed a laugh before she hugged Faizal back. Thanking the little boy for his compliment.
“Bhai aap taiyar hain? Chalne ka wakt hogaya hai” Said Uzair. Rehman nodded “Haan chal, char gadiyaan nikal. Ek mere aur vakeel sahiba ke liye, Ek tumhare, Hamza, aur faizal ke liye, aur ek kuch admiyon ko ko sath leke chalne ke liye. Donga meri gadi chalayega.” Uzair nodded, Faizal bounced behind his chachu.
Rehman waited till they were gone again, he caged her to the wall again. One hand by her head “Aapko dekhte hi awam mujhe election jeetwadegi” he hums one hand going to her waist again . She steps closer, speaking against his lips “Phir apko fateh ki mubarakh Rehman” she kisses him gently again.
Just as he begins to kiss her back properly, his hands curling around her waist with weight now, another voice begins to interrupt “REHMAN BHAI? AAPNE KONSI DARU KI BOTTLE ZARWARI SAHAB KO TOFE KE TAUR PE RAKHNE KO BOLI THI?” Yells Siyahi loudly. Rehman sighs exhaustedly placing his forehead against hers “Kya mujhe kabi aap shanti se milengi?” he asked, genuinely exhausted. “Iss janam me toh nahi…in chutiyon ke sath nahi” she consoled him. She placed his speech draft in his hands.
“BHAI?!?!?!” Yells Siyahi again. Rehman sighs once more, pulling his head away as Rehanna chuckled. “AA RAHA HUN BHENCHOD!” Rehman yells walking towards Siyahi.
—-----------
Same day @ 7pm
Lyari Rally Ground, Lyari, Pakistan
The rally ground breathed like something alive. Heat rose off thousands of bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder beneath strings of floodlights and massive party banners that snapped violently in the evening wind rolling through Lyari.
Dust floated through the air in pale clouds beneath the glow of stage lights while chants surged across the field in restless violent waves, crashing against concrete walls, tin rooftops, and the crowded balconies surrounding the grounds where entire families leaned dangerously over railings just to catch one glimpse of history unfolding below. The smell of sweat, cigarettes, diesel fumes, fireworks, cheap perfume, and burning seekh kebabs from roadside stalls blended together into something uniquely Karachi, something loud and alive and impossible to separate from the city itself.
Men stood atop motorcycles waving PAP flags wildly while teenagers climbed electrical boxes screaming Rehman’s name into the chaos below. Somewhere near the barricades police officers struggled uselessly to maintain order as the crowd pushed harder toward the stage every few seconds.
And above all of it stood Aqib Ali Zarwari beneath the white glare of television cameras. The president of the PAP party and the president of Pakistan, stood at the center podium dressed in charcoal grey, tall and composed beneath the storm of noise around him. His silver hair gleamed beneath the lights while the PAP flag rippled behind him like a living thing. His voice boomed outward through the speakers positioned around the entire rally ground.
“Mere Lyari ke bhaiyon…” The crowd roared instantly. “Aaj Lyari ka ye samap dekh kar… meri shaheed begum Benazir ki ruh mutmayam hogayi hogi!” Thunderous applause erupted across the grounds. Behind Zarwari, Jameel Jamali clapped politely with the smile of a man watching his own replacement slowly materialize in public. Jameel was hopeful, hopeful it would be him. His face remained composed for the cameras but his eyes stayed fixed somewhere deeper in the crowd.
“Humare mukhalifo ko shayad yaad nahi hoga,” Zarwari continued smoothly, raising one hand toward the audience. “Ki ek zamane me Lyari ne mujhe bhi vote diya tha. Mujhe bhi Jameel sahab ki taraha yahan ka MNA mukarar kiya tha.” The crowd answered with whistles and chants. Jameel smiled as Zarwari continued speaking “Isiliye aaj hume behad khushi ho rahi hai yeh ehlan karte hue…” He paused deliberately. The anticipation spread visibly through the field.
“Ki agle election me PAP ki taraf se…” his voice deepened proudly, “mere chote bhai… Rehman Baloch ki party… Peoples Aman Committee… ittehaq me ladegi!” The rally ground exploded. Jameel couldn't believe this, an ugly emotion hit his chest. The noise hit like a physical force. Men screamed. Firecrackers burst somewhere near the barricades. Party workers jumped onto chairs waving flags wildly while the chants began instantly, violently, endlessly.
And Jameel Jamali’s face fell completely. Not dramatically. Worse. Quietly. Like something inside him had finally understood it was losing.
At the side of the stage Rehman began walking upward toward the podium through the roar of the crowd. One hand casually flicked open the button of his black blazer while security men struggled to contain the energy surging near the stairs.
The black pathani suit beneath the blazer fit him devastatingly well, sharp against his broad shoulders, the fading cut near his cheekbone only adding to the dangerous elegance of him. Power looked horrifyingly good on Rehman Baloch.
Behind him Rehanna followed upward with Uzair and Hamza. The moment she stepped high enough to properly see the crowd from stage level something hot rushed through her chest unexpectedly. Thousands of people. Thousands. Cheering. Watching. Waiting. The sheer scale of it made adrenaline curl beautifully through her veins. Because power intoxicated her just as deeply as it intoxicated Rehman.
Uzair and Hamza moved toward the side stage while Rehanna remained behind Rehman as he approached Zarwari. Cameras flashed violently now. Rehman stepped forward and Zarwari opened his arms wide for an embrace. The hug lasted just long enough for the media to immortalize it forever. The old lion of Pakistani politics. And the young wolf rising beside him. When they finally pulled apart Rehanna stepped forward gracefully. “Assalam walikum,” she greeted politely before adding a respectful namaste as well. Zarwari smiled warmly at her, returning the salam with visible curiosity toward the woman standing behind Rehman so naturally.
Then he gestured toward the podium. Rehman stepped forward slowly. He reached inside his blazer calmly and pulled out the folded speech Rehanna had written for him hours earlier. Behind him she stood perfectly poised beneath the floodlights while cameras shifted toward them both instinctively. The crowd slowly quieted. And then Rehman spoke. “As salam walikum Lyari!” The roar that followed nearly shook the stage itself. His voice curled through Rehanna.
Rehman smiled slowly into the microphone as chants erupted all over again before finally settling enough for him to continue. His deep voice rolled across the grounds effortlessly now, carrying her words like they had always belonged to him. “Khuda ki ibadat ke baad…” he began slowly, eyes scanning the crowd, “Lyari ki bandagi humare liye sabse aham baat hai.” The rally ground quieted completely now. “Aur is bandegi ke liye…” His voice lowered another fraction.
“Agar mujhe apna sar bhi katwana padjaye…” He pressed one hand against the podium firmly. “Toh mujhe khusi khushi hogi.” The crowd detonated into applause.
Uzair looked out over the sea of people with pride burning openly across his face. That was his brother. His Rehman bhai. The same man who once settled disputes in alleyways and now had entire political parties reshaping themselves around his existence.
Behind Rehman, Rehanna stared at him for one suspended moment with something dangerously close to awe. God. Why was he so fucking good at bringing her words to life? Every sentence sounded heavier in his voice. Sharper. More dangerous. Like the speech itself had grown teeth the second it touched his mouth. She swallowed hard.
“Zarwari sahab ne mujhe chota bhai bulake jo izzat se nawaza hai…” Rehman continued powerfully. “Uske badle…” He unfolded one hand toward the crowd. “Meri party Peoples Aman Committee…” The PAP and PAC flags waved violently beneath the floodlights now. “Ye vada karti hai sahab…” His voice thundered across the rally ground. “Ki woh PAP ko…” He slammed his hand lightly against the podium. “QAYAMAT TAK APNA SUPPORT DEGI!” The roar became deafening.
Men screamed themselves hoarse. Fireworks burst overhead in violent showers of gold and red while chants exploded across the grounds all over again. And in the middle of it all Rehman turned first toward Rehanna. Not the crowd. Her.
Her lips had parted slightly. Her eyes wider now, cheeks faintly flushed beneath the lights while adrenaline and power surged visibly through her system. She recovered almost immediately the second she realized he had caught her staring. But it was too late. Rehman saw it. A slow cocky look crossed his face. I know what power does to you.
Then before anyone expected it, he stepped aside slightly and motioned toward the podium. Toward her. The movement stunned nearly everyone onstage. Even Rehanna froze for half a second. Nobody expected Rehman’s lawyer to address the rally.
The crowd slowly quieted again, curious now, uncertain murmurs spreading through the field while cameras instantly turned toward the woman in emerald green stepping beneath the stage lights. Rehanna swallowed once. From the corner of her eye she could still feel Rehman watching her from behind with complete unwavering confidence. Not doubt. Not caution. Faith. Then she stepped forward properly. What the hell does she say? She didn't have anything prepared.
“Aap hukum karein!” Her voice cracked across the rally grounds sharp and elegant and commanding all at once. The crowd visibly reacted to it instantly. “Aap hukum karein!” she repeated louder. The silence broke apart. “Agar aap Aman chahte hain toh Aman hoga!” Cheers erupted immediately. “Agar aap…” she pointed outward into the sea of people, “Agar aap jung chahate hain…” Her voice rose powerfully. “Toh Jung hogi!” The rally ground exploded again.
And Rehman felt something dark and pleased twist beautifully through his chest as he watched her command thousands without fear. My God. Power suited her too. Power suited the both of them. Finally the world could see his brilliant lawyer properly.
“Lyari ka kal!” she called fiercely. The crowd answered instantly. “Karachi ka kal!” More cheers. Louder now. “Pakistan jaise mulq ka kal…” Her voice thundered through the speakers. “Ab awam ke haaton me hain!” She pointed directly toward the audience. “AAP KE HATON ME HAI!” The noise afterward became almost unbearable. Maybe the loudest the crowd had screamed all night. Fireworks erupted overhead while
Chants rolled violently through the rally ground again and again. “REHMAN BALOCH!” “REHMAN BALOCH!” And if they knew her name properly, they would have screamed that too.
When they finally walked offstage side by side neither of them looked toward the cameras anymore. Their attention stayed entirely on each other as they descended the metal stairs slowly beneath the noise of fireworks and chants and roaring crowds.
Power. Adrenaline. Respect. And copious amounts of lust. Everything swirled between them so violently now it almost became difficult to breathe properly around each other.
—-----------------------------------
20 minutes later
They escaped like criminals escaping their own celebration. Behind the massive stage setup, beyond the generators and parked security vans and stacks of folded chairs, the rally grounds became darker and emptier. Dust rolled softly through the open field beneath weak yellow floodlights while distant chants still echoed from the main stage somewhere behind them.
Neither Rehman nor Rehanna spoke as they walked quickly through the field. Words felt too dangerous right now. Too small for whatever had just happened between them up there beneath those lights.
The maroon Corvette waited near the far edge of the parking area half hidden behind supply trucks and party vehicles. Rehman unlocked it quickly before immediately opening the back door for her first. The second they slipped inside the tension became unbearable. The doors shut. And silence swallowed them whole.
The air inside the car felt hot despite the evening breeze outside, thick with perfume and sweat and adrenaline that still had not left their bodies since the stage. The muffled roar of the rally outside only made the privacy feel more dangerous somehow.
Rehman broke first. One rough hand grabbed her face instantly before he pulled her toward him hard enough to steal the breath from her lungs. His mouth crashed against hers brutally, hungrily, months of restrained obsession suddenly colliding with the intoxication of tonight. Rehanna gasped softly against his lips before kissing him back just as fiercely.
The kiss turned reckless immediately. Not soft. Not careful. His hand slid tightly around her waist pulling her across the seat until she was nearly in his lap while her fingers tangled roughly into his hair, ruining the careful styling completely. Rehman groaned low into her mouth when she kissed him harder in response, his forehead briefly pressing against hers before his lips descended to her jaw and throat desperately. “Rehman…” she breathed shakily as his mouth found the sensitive place beneath her ear.
“Jaan…” he groaned back against her skin. “Aaj aapne mujhe pagal kardiya.” Her laugh came out broken and breathless before disappearing entirely when he kissed her again. Harder this time. Slower too somehow. Like he wanted to consume every second of her properly now that nobody could see them.
Her hands moved quickly toward the buttons of his kurta, fingers fumbling slightly from adrenaline while his own hands slid lower against the fabric of her sharara pulling her impossibly closer. The windows had already begun fogging faintly with heat and breath.
“Rehman!” she gasped again against his mouth before kissing him harder herself this time. “Bas meri jaan…” he muttered roughly pulling her firmly against him in the cramped backseat. “Bas…”
Then suddenly the phone rang. The sound shattered the moment violently. Rehman froze. Then immediately cursed beneath his breath. “Madarchod!” Rehanna dropped her forehead briefly against his shoulder with a frustrated laugh while he angrily dragged the phone from his pocket. She pulled back enough to fix her dupatta and sharara while trying unsuccessfully to slow her breathing.
“Bhai…” Donga’s terrified voice rambled instantly through the speaker. “Gussa mat hona woh aapki gaadi ki chabi nahi mil rahi…” Rehman shut his eyes briefly in visible suffering. “Mere paas hai,” he answered gruffly, trying to lean closer to Rehanna, to try to reawaken the moment. While Rehanna quietly fixed the collar of his kurta again, shaking her head with a smile. “Aur kuch?” Rehman spoke into the phone uninterestedly, his lips trying to brush against Rehanna’s.
“Bhai woh Jamali sahab aapko dhoond rahe hai…” Donga finished nervously. Rehman pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to look physically offended by reality itself. His plans with Rehanna officially ruined yet again.
He shoved the phone away afterward before immediately looking back at her with an expression so openly desperate for her attention that she nearly laughed again. “Rehman mujhe aise na dekho,” she sighed softly while smoothing the fabric near his chest properly. “Kyun nahi?” he asked, his voice rough.
Then he stepped out first before instantly turning back to help her out of the car like a perfect gentleman despite the fact that five seconds earlier he had been trying very hard not to behave like one. The contrast almost made her smile.
“Agar aise dekhoge…” she murmured while adjusting her earrings lightly, “toh phir beech raste rukana nahi hai.” She winked. Rehman laughed immediately, low and dangerous and entirely too pleased with her answer. His hand settled against the small of her back naturally as they walked together through the dusty field toward the main rally grounds again.
The distant fireworks still painted flashes of red and gold across the Karachi sky while chants continued echoing from somewhere ahead. Just before reaching the brighter lights they slowed. Then separated naturally. Professional distance returning carefully between them once more.
But before walking fully back into the crowd they both turned one last time. One lingering look. One silent promise that the night was far from over yet. And then they parted ways.
—--------
Next day @10 am
Somewhere on the Karachi- Balochistan highway, Pakistan
The Karachi-Balochistan highway stretched endlessly beneath a pale washed out sky, the road cutting through dry earth and jagged hills like a scar that refused to heal. Heat shimmered above the asphalt in restless waves while the desert beyond remained empty except for thorn bushes, scattered rocks, and the occasional rusted truck roaring past in the opposite direction with enough force to shake their vehicle slightly each time. Dust clung to everything here. To the windows. To the tires. To the air itself.
Inside the SUV however the atmosphere was softer, quieter, filled with the low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of static from Siyahi’s phone connected to the speakers. The leather seats faced each other across the middle of the vehicle, creating a cramped little world of stretched legs, half-finished conversations, cigarette smoke, and exhaustion.
Rehanna leaned against the window with one elbow resting near the slightly opened window, a cigarette balanced loosely between her fingers as smoke drifted lazily out into the rushing desert wind. Her sunglasses sat low on her nose, hiding half her face, but nothing could hide the complete exhaustion radiating from her body. There was no life in her posture. No energy in her movements. She looked less like a human being and more like someone whose soul had quietly exited sometime around four in the morning and simply forgotten to return.
Across from her, Rehman sat with one ankle resting over his knee, pretending very badly to not stare at her every twenty seconds. His gaze kept drifting upward from whatever pointless thing he was pretending to focus on. First toward the cigarette between her fingers. Then toward the tired curve of her face resting against the window. Then toward the sharp glare she shot him every single time she caught him looking.
Beside Rehanna, Hamza sat relaxed for once, laughing with Uzair about football scores from the previous night while Siyahi and Donga argued loudly about some action movie they had watched together two nights ago. “Bhai uski ending bakwas thi,” Siyahi argued passionately from the front seat. “Hero itni goliyan kha ke zinda kaise tha?” Donga tsked “Arre woh hero hai isliye,” Donga scoffed while steering with one hand. “Tum emotional depth nahi samajhte.” Siyahi scoffed “Emotional depth teri—”
“Chup karo dono,” muttered Hamza without even looking up. “Subah se kaan kha rahe ho.” Meanwhile Rehanna cracked the window lower and inhaled another drag from her cigarette with the weariness of a woman who had not slept in approximately twelve thousand years. Because technically speaking she had not.
When they returned home after the rally last night Rehman had apparently decided that seeing her on stage looking powerful and beautiful and adored by thousands of people had personally altered his brain chemistry. The result of this realization had been catastrophic for her sleep schedule. Rehanna had lost her mind at about round 3 or at 3 am she doesn't even remember. And then at six in the fucking morning he had woken her up like a man possessed because apparently they absolutely had to leave immediately for Balochistan.
She could still remember herself glaring murderously at him while shoving clothes into her overnight bag with the fury of someone preparing for war instead of travel. “Rehman!” she had tsked angrily while throwing another outfit into the suitcase. “Ek to puri raat sone nahi dete, aur ab subah ke sabse zyada jhatu time pe mujhe bhaga rahe ho?” Rehman, shameless criminal that he was, had only huffed out a laugh before walking up behind her slowly, wrapping both arms around her waist while resting his chin against her shoulder. His voice had softened instantly. Dangerous. Sweet. Manipulative.
“Ek baat kahun?” he murmured against her neck before pressing a kiss there. “Agar sabko humare bare me pata hota…to phir mai aapko uthata bhi nahi. Seedhe apni bahon me bharke aapko sote sote gaadi me baithadeta.” She had tried very hard not to smile at that. Failed. Then immediately shoved him away anyway. “Zyada meethi meethi batein na karein….jaake Uzair ko uthaiye.”
Now several hours later she sat half dead in the car while the actual source of her suffering continued staring at her like he had done absolutely nothing wrong. When she caught him looking again for what had to be the fifth time in ten minutes she slowly lowered her sunglasses and shot him a look so sharp it could have physically injured weaker men. The glare said very clearly, my current exhaustion is entirely your fault.
Rehman bit back a grin instantly, pretending to wipe his mouth with one hand as though he had not just been caught staring again. His shoulders shook faintly with amusement before he finally sighed dramatically and pulled out his phone. Fine. If she did not want him looking at her then he would simply annoy her digitally. His thumb moved quickly across the screen before her own phone buzzed in her lap.
Rehanna frowned suspiciously before unlocking it.
Rehman <3 : Aap zinda hain ya inteqal hogaya hai thakan se?
Her expression flattened immediately.
Meri Jaan: Mera qatal karne ke baad ab chinta bhi aapko ho rahi hai?
Across from her Rehman huffed out a quiet laugh beneath his breath, eyes flicking upward toward her over the edge of his phone before typing again.
Rehman <3: Qatal itna bhi bura nahi tha. Aap stage pe bohot zyada khoobsurat lag rahi thi. Mai kya karta?
Rehanna stared at the message with complete disbelief.
Meri Jaan: Aapko sharam nahi ati? Meri kamar toot gayi hai. Mera sar phat raha hai. Aur coffee bhi nahi mili mujhe.
Rehman’s grin widened slowly now, smugness practically radiating off him.
Rehman <3: Mujhe afsos hai. Lekin thoda sa hi.
Then another message appeared immediately after.
Rehman <3: Waise… Aap mujhe bohot pasand ati hain jab meri wajah se thaki hui hoti hain. Aapki ye qatilana ankhein aur bhi nashili hojati hain. Aur aapki kamar ke khatir…hum bad me apki malish kardein?
Rehanna stared at the screen. Then looked away toward the desert outside immediately because a smile had started threatening her mouth despite every effort not to allow it. She bit the inside of her cheek hard trying to suppress it. Failed anyway. The corner of her lips lifted faintly before she caught herself.
Across from her Rehman saw everything. The smug bastard actually winked at her over the top of his phone. She rolled her eyes aggressively and looked back out the window before he became even more unbearable. Unfortunately fate hated her.
Because right at that exact moment Uzair leaned sideways casually toward Rehman. Then paused. Then squinted at his brother’s phone screen. “Bhai…” Rehman immediately stiffened. “Ye aapki jaan kaun hai?” For one horrifying second genuine panic crossed Rehman’s face. Tiny. Brief. But there. Uzair however made the completely wrong assumption instantly. He made the assumption that Rehman had rekindled with his ex wife Ulfat. “Ulfat bhabhi hai kya?” he asked curiously. “Woh aapse wapas baat karne lagi kya?”
Beside the window Rehanna inhaled cigarette smoke at exactly the wrong time and immediately choked slightly, sitting upright faster than intended. A sharp ugly flicker of jealousy crossed her face before she buried it beneath indifference. Rehman saw it immediately. And to his eternal shame he liked it far more than he should have. “Ulfat nahi hai chutiye,” he muttered gruffly while locking his phone quickly and shoving it into his pocket. “Woh teri bhabhi nahi hai ab. Woh sirf Faizal aur Naieem ki ammi hai.”
Uzair frowned instantly like he had been personally attacked for asking a perfectly reasonable question. “Bhai har bar gaali galoch pe utar ate ho…mai bas puch raha tha na?” he muttered defensively before immediately recovering again. “Bhai…agar Ulfat bhabhi nahi hai toh phir kaun hai?” Hamza looked up now too, interest immediately appearing in his eyes. “Haan ye toh mai bhi sunna chahta hun,” he said calmly.
“Acha…” Siyahi twisted around dramatically from the passenger seat. “REHMAN BHAI KE LIFE ME KOI HAI?” he gasped scandalously “Bhai naam batao,” Donga added instantly. “Hum bhi toh dekhein kaunsi bechari phas gayi.”
“Tum sab apna kaam karo,” Rehman snapped immediately. “Matlab hai koi!” Siyahi gasped loudly. “Bhai shadi karoge?” “Kaun hai?” “Kahan mili?” “Photo dikhao!” “Lyari ki hai?” “Karachi ki?”
“Lawyer toh nahi?” Hamza asked casually. Rehman nearly choked. Rehanna had to physically look away toward the window to hide the smile threatening her face now. “Khotte woh joh bhi hai lawyer kyun hogi? Sirf mai hun unki lawyer” Rehanna scowled at Hamza. Who now nodded like he was the stupid one for wondering.
“Tum logon ko koi aur kaam nahi hai?” Rehman growled. “Bhai naam hi bata do,” Uzair whined dramatically. “Hum promise karte hain judge nahi karenge.” Uzair made puppy eyes at his brother “Judge nahi karenge?” scoffed Hamza. “Sabse pehle tu hi karega.”
“Bhai…. meri jaan…” Siyahi grinned wickedly. “Kitna romantic contact naam hai.” Uzair nodded in agreement “Phone do zara check karun,” Donga laughed because only Uzair could ask that question and not die.
“Haath lagaya phone ko toh ungliyan tod dunga,” Rehman said flatly. “DEKHO!” Uzair pointed victoriously. “Ye pyar wala gussa hai!” The entire car erupted into chaos after that. Everyone talking over each other while Rehman sat there looking like he was approximately four seconds away from committing homicide.
And all the while the woman saved in his phone as meri jaan sat directly across from him smoking quietly while enjoying every second of his suffering. Finally Rehanna had enough. She lifted her head sharply and snapped, “OYE! SAB CHUP HO JAO MERA SAR PHAT JAEGA!” Silence. Even Siyahi shut his mouth instantly. The SUV returned to stillness afterward. Only the hum of the engine remained now along with the endless road stretching ahead beneath the desert sun.
Rehman exhaled slowly through his nose before finally looking toward her gratefully. She rolled her eyes at him with the faintest trace of a smile still lingering there before turning back toward the window again, cigarette smoke drifting out into the endless Balochistan wind while the man across from her stared like he would happily spend the rest of his life being yelled at by her if it meant she kept looking at him like that.
—--------
Same day @ 11 am
Hinglaj Mata Mandir / Nani Mandir, Balochistan, Pakistan
Ever since I found out that there is a real Hindu pilgrimage site in Balochistan I had to put this in.
The highway had stretched for hours through endless dust and heat before the sign appeared almost suddenly against the barren landscape, weathered by wind and time yet still unmistakable. Hinglaj Mata Mandir. Painted in fading colors beneath the harsh Balochistan sun like a secret that had somehow survived centuries of war, borders, religion, and politics without asking anyone’s permission to exist. Rehanna saw it through the car window and straightened immediately. “Donga gadi roko.” Donga nearly swerved. “Kya hua?”
“Gaadi Ghuma.” Rehanna repeated “Ky—” He asked but was then cut off “Donga.” That tone ended the discussion instantly. The SUV slowed across the lonely stretch of highway before turning back toward the sign while the rest of the men looked mildly confused. Uzair leaned sideways in his seat trying to read the board properly. “Mandir?” he asked slowly. Hamza glanced out the window afterward, eyebrows lifting slightly. Siyahi immediately looked interested because Siyahi looked interested in absolutely everything if there was even a two percent chance of chaos involved.
“Aap mandir jana chahti hain?” Rehman finally asked from across the car quietly, watching her carefully now. Rehanna nodded once without looking away from the window. “Haan.” Nobody argued after that. Not because they understood completely. Mostly because Rehman himself did not object. And if Sher-e-Baloch was willing to reroute an entire convoy in the middle of nowhere for one woman’s curiosity then frankly nobody else was stupid enough to complain.
The moment the car doors opened the desert heat hit them properly. Not Karachi heat. Karachi carried humidity and salt and suffocation. This heat felt older. Drier. Ancient in a way that made the skin tighten instantly beneath it. Wind moved lazily across the rocky terrain carrying dust through the air in soft spirals while jagged hills stretched endlessly beneath the pale white sky. Nothing around them looked alive except the occasional scattered pilgrims moving toward the temple path in colorful clothing that stood out violently against the muted earth tones of Balochistan.
Rehanna stepped out first, one hand immediately rising to secure her scarf over her hair against the hot wind. Her bangles clinked softly as she adjusted the fabric before turning toward the others. “Chalo.” Uzair blinked. “Hum?”
“Haan.” Rehanna answered, looking at them wondering why this was even a question, “Hum bahar wait karlete hain na didi? Aap aram se dekh ke aajao.” Hamza offered politely while shutting the car door behind himself. “Nahi.” She pointed toward the pathway immediately like an irritated schoolteacher dragging disobedient children on a field trip. “Sab chal rahe hain.” “Vakeel sahiba…” Siyahi tried diplomatically. “Ye mandir hai.”
“Toh?” she raised an eyebrow “Hum…” Donga gestured vaguely toward themselves. “…Muslim hain.” Rehanna stared at them for a full second before scoffing loudly. “Tum log mandir ke andar jaoge toh kaunsa bhagwaunji uthke personally tumhe thodi na marenge? Waise bhi pehele bhi toh tumplog mandir aye ho na?” Hamza snorted instantly beneath his breath while Uzair burst out laughing. Even Rehman huffed a quiet laugh beside her, lowering his head slightly to hide it. “Chalo,” she repeated while already walking ahead. “Itna dramatic mat bano.”
And somehow that was how Sher-e-Baloch, his brother, his men, and one very exhausted lawyer ended up walking toward one of the oldest Hindu temples in Pakistan together beneath the burning Balochistan sun. The pathway itself was uneven stone and dust leading toward the cave temple carved naturally into the mountainside.
It was not grand in the way famous religious monuments usually were. There were no towering marble domes or golden spires glittering toward the heavens. The beauty of Hinglaj Mata Mandir sat in its age instead. In the feeling of endurance. The cave entrance looked ancient enough to belong to the mountain itself, decorated with faded red cloths, bells, incense smoke, and old symbols painted lovingly over stone worn smooth by generations of hands and prayers.
Inside the cave the air cooled immediately. The harsh desert sunlight dimmed into softer shadows flickering beneath oil lamps and candles while incense smoke curled lazily through the enclosed space carrying sandalwood and ash and something strangely calming underneath it. Quiet chants echoed softly from deeper inside the mandir where devotees stood with folded hands before the shrine.
And Rehanna stopped moving entirely for a moment. Not emotionally. Instead she just… stopped. Her big brown eyes moved slowly across every inch of the cave with naked fascination, taking in the carved stone, the bells hanging from the ceiling, the old paint fading into the rock itself. She looked almost younger suddenly. Not Advocate Rehanna Randhawa. Not the terrifying criminal lawyer who threatened people for sport. Just a girl standing in a Pakistani Hindu temple she had never imagined she would see with her own eyes.
Because being Indian, temples like this had always existed for her in india. But Pakistan had never existed in her head like this before. Not like caves carrying Hindu prayers inside Balochistan mountains.Not like centuries of history tangled together so deeply that separating them suddenly felt impossible. “Beautiful…” she murmured almost absently beneath her breath.
Rehman stood a few feet behind her watching quietly. And something about the entire moment settled strangely inside him. Because yes. She was Indian. Hindu. Different from him in all the ways the world usually taught people mattered. He knew that already. He had always known it. But standing here now inside a mandir buried deep within Balochistan soil, surrounded by traces of histories older than either country, something about those differences suddenly felt both enormous and completely irrelevant at the same time.
This temple existed on Baloch land. Hindu prayers had existed near his roots long before borders ever carved the subcontinent apart. Long before Pakistan. Long before India. Long before politicians taught people how to divide things cleanly. And suddenly the fact that Rehanna was Hindu did not feel foreign to him at all. It just felt like another thread in the same old complicated soil they had both come from.
His eyes stayed on her quietly as she reached out carefully to touch one of the stone walls near the shrine, reverent without trying to be. Curious more than religious. Alive in a way he rarely saw outside courtrooms and chaos. God. He loved watching her exist.
Nearby meanwhile the boys remained incapable of behaving like solemn spiritual pilgrims for more than thirty seconds combined. Uzair rang one of the hanging bells lightly before immediately jumping at the loud sound himself. “BHENCHOD.” Hamza started laughing under his breath while Siyahi whispered dramatically, “Agar abhi koi pandit aake tujhe daant de na toh mai has has ke marjaunga.” Donga had somehow wandered near the incense stand looking deeply suspicious of everything around him. “Ye jo dhuan nikal raha hai…” he muttered quietly toward Hamza. “…isse mujhe bhook lag rahi hai.”
“Tumhe har jagah bhook lagti hai,” Hamza replied flatly. “Achi smell hai yaar.” Rehanna overheard that and laughed softly for the first time since entering the cave. The sound echoed lightly against the stone walls. Rehman’s eyes shifted toward her instantly again like instinct. Then quietly, without announcement, he moved closer beside her. Not touching. Just there. Shoulder nearly brushing hers beneath the dim cave light.
“Aap khush lag rahi hain,” he murmured softly. Rehanna glanced sideways toward him. “Interesting jagah hai.” Her eyes drifted back toward the shrine afterward. “Kabhi socha nahi tha ki Balochistan me mandir hoga.”
“Hm.” Rehman looked around slowly. “Maine bhi nahi socha tha.” Silence settled between them afterward. Somewhere deeper inside the cave another bell rang softly. Wind moved faintly through the entrance carrying heat and dust into the cooler air of the mandir. The others continued bickering quietly behind them while pilgrims passed peacefully through the cave with folded hands and murmured prayers. And standing there together beneath ancient stone older than either of their countries, something about them felt strangely inevitable.
Like history itself had already seen combinations far stranger than a Baloch gangster and an Indian Hindu lawyer falling disastrously in love.
—----------
Same day @ 12 pm
Baloch United Force (BUF), Balochistan, Pakistan
The convoy arrived like dust and thunder together. Long before the black SUVs actually crossed into the village center, the sound of engines had already spread through the dry Balochistan air like an announcement carried by the mountains themselves. Men emerged from mud houses and shaded courtyards. Children sprinted barefoot through the dusty pathways yelling Rehman’s name before the vehicles had even stopped properly.
Women gathered near the welcome path balancing enormous brass trays overflowing with rose petals that glowed crimson and pink beneath the brutal afternoon sun. The entire village felt awake in a different way today, stretched tight with excitement and pride and anticipation. Because Sher-e-Baloch had come home.
At the very front of the pathway stood Shirani Ahmad Baloch waiting with his grandson beside him, both dressed in traditional white Balochi clothing with embroidered waistcoats darkened slightly by age and desert dust. Shirani himself looked carved from the same mountains surrounding the village. Tall despite old age, heavily mustached and heavily bearded, weathered deeply by sun and years, his sharp eyes remained entirely alert beneath the folds of time across his face. The cars rolled to a stop. Dust swirled lazily around the tires. And immediately the back door of the lead SUV swung open.
Rehman stepped out first. Casually. Effortlessly. Like power itself had opened the door and stepped onto the dirt road wearing polished black shoes. The black pathani suit fit him obscenely well beneath the tailored blazer resting across broad shoulders while the loose black shawl draped around his neck gave him the dangerous elegance of a man who understood exactly how feared and admired he was. Sunglasses covered his eyes despite the village already worshipping the ground beneath his feet without needing further intimidation. And yes. Rehman absolutely knew this look made him appear powerful. More importantly however, he knew exactly what it did to Rehanna. Not that he would ever confess that aloud.
The second both feet hit the ground he turned instantly back toward the car and held out his hand toward her. Rehanna stepped out carefully afterward, one hand gathering the fabric of her maroon red anarkali suit as desert wind swept around her ankles. The rich deep color looked devastating against her skin beneath the sunlight while delicate gold embroidery shimmered softly across the flowing fabric every time she moved. Her earrings caught the light as she smiled softly at him in thanks while adjusting her dupatta over her shoulder. For one dangerous second Rehman forgot there were hundreds of people standing around them.
Then Shirani stepped forward warmly and wrapped Rehman into a strong embrace. “Sher-e-Baloch…” he greeted proudly. Rehman hugged him back firmly. “Shirani sahab.” When they pulled apart Shirani’s attention shifted immediately toward Rehanna with visible curiosity. She did not look like village women. She carried herself too sharply, too elegantly, too expensively. But she stood beside Rehman naturally enough to immediately invite assumptions. “Assalamualaikum,” Shirani greeted politely. Rehanna smiled warmly. “Walikum assalam.” Then added a respectful namaste instinctively afterward. Something softened immediately in the older man’s face.
The pathway ahead opened for them. And then the cheering truly began. Rose petals rained through the hot desert air while villagers surged louder from both sides of the pathway. Women tossed handfuls after handfuls over Rehman as though blessing him. Men shouted his name proudly. Children practically bounced with excitement trying to get closer. “REHMAN BALOCH!” “Sher-e-Baloch zindabad!” “Allah unko salamat rakhe!” And underneath the louder cheers came quieter whispers swirling through the crowd around Rehanna as she walked slightly behind him beside the boys. “...woh dekho Rehman Baloch…” “Ohhh mashallah kitne handsome hai Rehman sahab…” “Yeh unke sath me kaun mohtarma hai?” “Unki begum hai kya?” Rehanna nearly stumbled hearing that one.
Meanwhile Rehman walked ahead wearing sunglasses and pretending not to hear a single word despite the smugness threatening to crack through his expression completely. God. He liked the sound of that far too much.
The further they walked the more obvious it became that Rehman transformed here. Karachi gave him danger. Lyari gave him power. But Balochistan gave him belonging. His swagger changed entirely on this soil. He moved slower here somehow. More certain. More deeply rooted. Like every step recognized him before it landed. The black shawl shifted lazily around his shoulders in the hot wind while petals caught briefly against the fabric before sliding away again. Men lowered their heads respectfully when he passed. Elders reached for his hands. Young boys stared at him with outright worship burning in their eyes.
Watching him here did something deeply unfair to Rehanna’s nervous system. Because good lord. Power looked sinful on him.
At the end of the path stood a large mud built structure rising from the desert like an old fortress shaped by generations rather than architects. The doorway sat low enough that everyone had to bend slightly entering while cool shaded air replaced the brutal heat outside almost instantly. A cramped hallway stretched inward before suddenly opening into a massive courtyard hall that looked less like a room and more like the center of a throne room. Thick rugs covered the floor. Lanterns hung from wooden beams overhead. The middle path remained entirely cleared leading toward an elevated seat at the far end that resembled a throne more than anything else.
And lining the path stood traditional Balochi dancers. The men began swaying immediately the moment Rehman entered properly, moving rhythmically to the deep beating drums echoing through the hall. The dance reminded Rehanna instantly of Punjabi bhangra in certain ways, the arm movements carrying the same celebratory masculinity despite the differences in rhythm and posture. She noticed the similarity immediately.
Then her entire train of thought died. Because Rehman started dancing too. “Oh my god,” she breathed involuntarily beneath her breath. She had never seen him dance before. Never seen him this openly carefree. And it was devastating.
The grin spreading across his face made him look younger somehow. He moved easily alongside the dancers, shoulders rolling slightly with the rhythm as he pumped his arms lightly in time with the claps. The shawl shifted behind him dramatically every time he turned while dancers greeted him with loud salams that he returned mid movement without losing rhythm once. God. Why did he look so handsome smiling like that? Why did seeing him happy feel somehow more intimate than seeing him shirtless? Heat crawled embarrassingly fast into Rehanna’s face and throat while she watched him casually dance his way toward the throne like some desert king returning victorious from war.
The villagers cheered louder every time he joined another movement. His laughter echoed warmly through the hall. His confidence radiated off him so naturally it almost felt unfair to witness. And suddenly she needed a distraction immediately before she combusted on Balochi soil. Thankfully Uzair and Hamza solved that problem by shamelessly joining the dancers themselves. “Vakeel sahiba ayiye!” Uzair yelled laughing loudly while attempting the footwork badly. Rehanna burst into surprised laughter. “Aap log pagal ho.” Then before common sense could interfere she joined too.
Rehman had just lowered himself toward the throne when he froze completely. Because she was dancing. Her maroon anarkali flared beautifully around her legs as she moved into the rhythm surprisingly naturally, platinum gold payals chiming softly against the drums every time she stepped or spun. At first she copied the traditional Balochi movements respectfully enough to make the dancers grin in delighted surprise. Then she made the dance hers. Punjabi influence slipped into her movements effortlessly afterward, brighter spins and playful wrist flicks blending with the stronger grounded Balochi rhythm until even the musicians looked entertained watching her.
She laughed openly while dancing. And she refused to look directly at him even once. Because she knew if she did she would not survive whatever expression he was currently wearing. From Rehman’s seat however the sight nearly destroyed him. The throne beneath him suddenly felt dangerously literal. Like he was some ancient king watching the most beautiful woman in existence dance only for him inside his court. Possession hit first. Then awe. Then attraction so intense it bordered on physical pain.
The maroon fabric swirled around her legs like wine spilling across stone while her jewelry flashed beneath lantern light. Every smile she gave the dancers made something territorial and worshipful twist violently inside his chest. Mine. The thought arrived instinctively. Like his soul had already reached a conclusion his mouth still lacked the courage to say aloud.
Eventually the dancing settled enough for everyone to move toward the front again where Rehman remained seated. Shirani approached carrying a long traditional Balochi head covering wrapped carefully in his hands. The fabric resembled a desert turban slightly, elegant and regal in its construction. The hall quieted respectfully. Shirani placed the ceremonial headpiece carefully onto Rehman’s head.
And Rehanna swallowed hard immediately afterward. Because that was no longer a gangster sitting there. No longer merely a politician. He looked like a king. A dangerous beautiful desert king draped in black and crowned by his people while generations of loyalty and violence and love for his land settled naturally across his shoulders. God help her. He looked so good it bordered on offensive.
The dancers slowly cleared afterward while women of the household approached warmly to greet the guests properly. Shirani’s wife immediately took one look at Rehanna standing near Rehman and smiled knowingly. “Arre wah,” she laughed warmly. “Rehman sahab apni begum ko toh pehle kabhi nahi laye.” Rehanna blinked hard. “Oh—” a laugh escaped her instantly. “Haha nahi nahi mai inki begum nahi hun….Mai Dakait sahab ki Vakeel hun” But secretly? Secretly the sentence wrapped itself around her heart far more comfortably than it should have.
Beside her Rehman remained entirely silent because if he opened his mouth right now he might accidentally say yes. And honestly? He liked how naturally everyone assumed it. Liked it far too much. Uzair immediately jumped in helpfully. “Nahi nahi ye humari bhabhi nahi hain.” Siyahi grinned. “Single hain.”
“Bilkul,” Donga added proudly for absolutely no reason whatsoever. “Itni badhiya hain aur phir bhi kisi ke paas nahi hain.” Rehanna laughed goodnaturedly alongside them. “Haan haan bilkul sahi hai sirf mai aur meri tanhai hai.”
The temperature around Rehman dropped approximately twenty degrees instantly. He stared at all four men with enough violence in his gaze to qualify as artillery fire. Missiles. Bombs. Public executions. The boys visibly swallowed one after another without understanding what exactly they had done wrong.
Shirani’s wife only laughed louder afterward. “Arre koi baat nahi beta,” she said, grabbing Rehanna’s hand affectionately. “Hum tumhe itna sajaenge na yahan ki turant koi Vaar Balochana miljayega.” The other women laughed in agreement immediately while surrounding her warmly. Rehanna laughed too while allowing them to pull her away. And watching her disappear deeper into the women’s quarters made something unexpectedly soft flutter through Rehman’s chest. He wanted to follow her. Wanted to see her dressed in Balochi jewelry and fabrics and colors. Wanted to sit beside her while everyone continued mistaking her for his wife forever actually.
But before he could spiral further Shirani excused himself briefly to speak with some elders and walked away. Silence settled. Rehman slowly stood up. Then turned toward the boys lined up nearby. And without warning slapped all four of them simultaneously in one magnificent sweeping motion. The sound echoed beautifully through the hall. Complete artistry honestly. All four men froze in absolute shock.
“BHAI?!” Uzair yelled first clutching his head. “KYA KIYA HUMNE?” Siyahi looked genuinely devastated. Donga blinked rapidly. “Ye konsa zulm tha?” Hamza stared in stunned silence before finally muttering, “Maine kuch bola bhi nahi”
“Chup raho sab,” Rehman snapped immediately. “Aur tameez se betho.” The boys collectively pouted like abused school children, still not understanding the crime they had committed. But they obeyed instantly anyway. Rehman sat back down afterward with a huff, adjusting the ceremonial head covering slightly. Then finally he shut his eyes for one brief second.
Everyone thought Rehanna was his wife. A stupid helpless smile spread across his face immediately before he forced himself to hide it again. God. All of this. And he still had not told her he loved her once directly to her face.
—-----------
1 pm
Baloch United Force (BUF), Balochistan, Pakistan
Lunch had been laid out inside another large mud walled hall where thick woven rugs covered the floor beneath long rectangular dastarkhwans overflowing with food. Massive copper trays filled the center with saffron rice, roasted lamb, sizzling skewers of meat, bowls of yogurt, fresh naan stacked high beneath cloth covers, steaming karahi, dates, dried fruits, and clay jugs of cold lassi sweating softly beneath the desert heat. The scent of spices and charcoal drifted heavily through the room while old ceiling fans rotated lazily overhead, doing almost nothing except pushing warm air around. The men had already settled onto the floor cushions around the dastarkhwan.
Rehman sat naturally at the head beside Shirani Ahmad Baloch, one knee slightly raised, black shawl still draped around his shoulders carelessly despite the heat. Uzair had originally tried sitting to Rehman’s immediate right before Rehman looked at him once and jerked his chin toward the next cushion. “Neche.” Uzair blinked. “Kyun?” Rehman gruffly replied “Bas bola na. Sarak.” Uzair stared suspiciously before scooching down one spot anyway with a muttered “Zulm hai.” Shirani raised one weathered eyebrow slowly at the interaction but wisely chose not to comment.
Shirani’s grandson choked trying not to laugh because unfortunately for Rehman, everyone with functioning brain cells already knew exactly which seat he was protecting. Rehman himself sat there pretending composure while internally wondering where the hell Rehanna was.
The women’s laughter arrived first. Soft at first. Then louder. Echoing down the hallway outside the dining hall like silver bells colliding together. Every man at the table looked toward the entrance casually. Rehman looked up too. And then promptly forgot how breathing worked.
She stepped inside beneath the low doorway and the entire room shifted around her. The deep green Balochi dress flowed around her like something royal dragged out of another century. Rich silk fabric layered beneath intricate handmade embroidery that spread across the front panels in elaborate geometric patterns stitched with gold and silver thread. Tiny mirrors embedded into the needlework caught the lantern light every time she moved, scattering soft flashes across the room like trapped stars.
The loose flowing shalwar pooled elegantly around her ankles while the matching sareg draped over her head and shoulders gracefully, framing her face beneath layers of heavy silver jewelry. The jewelry itself nearly killed him. A broad silver tasani rested against her chest fastening the embroidered folds of fabric together while layered necklaces glittered down her throat, delicate chains and old tribal designs resting against her skin. Thick engraved sanga bangles wrapped around both wrists. Long nalooq earrings brushed her neck every time she turned her head. A mathapatti framed her forehead in silver chains and tiny gemstones, making her look less like a lawyer from India and more like some ancient Balochi princess who had stepped directly out of desert folklore.
The women had dressed her like royalty. And dear God. Dear fucking God. Rehman physically had to force his lungs to inhale again. His entire body short circuited so violently it almost hurt. Heat climbed up the back of his neck immediately while his brain completely abandoned all useful functions. His eyes dragged helplessly over every detail of her. The embroidery. The jewelry. The green against her skin. The way the silver shimmered every time she moved. She looked devastating. No. Worse. She looked like she belonged here. Like she had always belonged here. And that realization hit Rehman somewhere dangerously deep in his chest.
Rehanna smiled brightly toward the table, clearly unaware she had just caused catastrophic psychological damage to one extremely dangerous Baloch man, before gracefully lowering herself onto the floor cushion beside Rehman. The exact seat he had cleared. Uzair immediately leaned toward her with a grin. “Aap sach me hindustani ho?” he teased dramatically. “Lag toh nahi raha hai. Ek dum Balochi lag rahi ho aap.” Rehanna burst out laughing softly, adjusting one of her bangles. “Arre Baloch sahab aap bhi na.” Did Rehman enjoy watching his younger brother flirt jokingly with her? Absolutely not. In fact he experienced a very brief but vivid urge to throw Uzair directly through the mud wall. But internally? Internally he agreed with every word. Because she really did look Balochi. Not artificially. Not like a tourist wearing borrowed clothes for fun. It was worse than that. She wore the heritage naturally. Comfortably. Like the desert colors and silver belonged on her body.
Hamza shook his head in genuine admiration. “Sach me Didi bohot khoobsurat lag rahi hain aap.” Rehanna smiled “Bilkul rani jaisi,” Donga added through a mouth already half full of naan. Siyahi meanwhile looked equally destroyed. The poor bastard had gone entirely silent staring at Rehanna with the exact same thousand yard spiritual crisis currently happening inside Rehman’s own head. When Rehman glanced sideways and caught Siyahi looking too long, Siyahi immediately lowered his eyes toward his plate like a soldier caught disrespecting military law.
Lunch began afterward. Conversation flowed warmly around the table while food passed from hand to hand. Shirani discussed village matters with Rehman while the boys argued over who deserved more kebabs. Somewhere nearby women laughed softly in the adjoining rooms while children ran through the hallways recklessly beneath the feet of adults. And through all of it Rehman tried very hard not to stare at Rehanna. Rehanna meanwhile tried equally hard not to tease him. Every time she reached for food the silver bangles chimed softly. Every time she smiled the tiny mirrors on her dress caught the light. Every time her dupatta slipped slightly from her shoulder and she adjusted it again Rehman’s nervous system suffered immensely.
Things were difficult already. Then the toddler arrived. The little boy waddled unevenly across the rugs on tiny unsteady legs, clearly more interested in the sparkling jewelry than anything else happening in the room. His huge dark eyes locked immediately onto Rehanna’s silver headpiece like he had just discovered treasure. “Wah,” he announced very seriously. Several people at the table laughed softly. Rehman looked up. Before anyone else could react the child reached tiny hands toward Rehanna’s mathapatti fascinated by the glittering chains.
Rehanna completely melted. Her whole face lit up instantly with a smile so warm and genuine it physically punched the air out of Rehman’s lungs. “Arre hello!” she laughed softly leaning toward him. The toddler stared at her for approximately one second before becoming utterly obsessed. Like fully. Completely. Spiritually obsessed. He immediately climbed directly into her lap with the confidence of a child who had decided this woman now belonged to him forever.
Shirani sighed tiredly. “Idhar ao badmash,” he muttered reaching toward the boy. “Apni ammi ke paas jao.” But Rehanna pulled the child protectively closer with a laugh. “Arre Shirani sahab chh’od dijiye!” Then she started tickling the little boy gently until shrill delighted giggles filled the room. And that was it. That was the exact moment Rehman Baloch Dakait spiritually left his body. Because suddenly she was sitting there in royal Balochi clothing with a laughing child in her lap looking so soft and beautiful and maternal that something deeply dangerous snapped inside his brain.
The little boy babbled nonsense excitedly while grabbing at her bangles and necklaces. And she listened like he was revealing state secrets. “Achha?” she gasped dramatically. “Phir kya hua?” The toddler answered in incoherent baby language. Rehanna nodded seriously. “Nahiiii. Jhoot bol rahe ho.” The child squealed happily.
Then without even thinking about herself she abandoned her own lunch entirely and began feeding him small bites carefully from her own plate with her hands while blowing softly on hotter pieces first so he would not burn himself. The boy looked at her like she personally hung the moon.
Rehman completely fucking short circuited. His brain supplied one catastrophic thought after another with horrifying speed. She looks amazing with kids. She would look phenomenal with kids of her own. She would look phenomenal carrying his kids. Their kids would probably have her beautiful eyes.
The image hit him so violently he physically looked away from her. Absolutely not. No. Dangerous thought. Very dangerous thought. Abort immediately. Rehman grabbed his glass of water and drank half of it in one go while internally trying to wrestle his own imagination to death. Because the sight in front of him was doing things to his nervous system that genuinely bordered on medical emergency territory.
The child laughed again in Rehanna’s lap while she wiped yogurt from his cheek with the edge of her dupatta instinctively. Rehman nearly lost consciousness. This lunch had become physically painful.
Across the room villagers watched the interaction fondly, smiling quietly amongst themselves while Shirani’s wife exchanged knowing looks with the older women nearby. Because seeing a woman naturally adored by children always softened people instantly. Especially here. Especially in Balochistan.
Meanwhile Rehman sat beside her descending steadily into psychological ruin. He tried focusing on literally anything else. Politics. The food. Village matters. The wall. Death. Taxes. Nothing worked. Every few seconds his eyes betrayed him and drifted helplessly back toward Rehanna laughing softly with the toddler still curled comfortably in her lap. At one point the little boy grabbed her cheeks with both tiny hands and babbled something proudly. Rehanna gasped dramatically. The child yelled another incomprehensible “WAH!” Everyone laughed warmly. Everyone except Rehman.
Because Rehman was busy trying not to drag her into the nearest empty room and give her actual children immediately. The realization horrified him. This woman had genuinely broken something inside him. And the worst part? Rehanna remained completely blissfully unaware.
She sat there smiling softly feeding the toddler little bites of rice while silver jewelry glittered against green silk and sunlight spilled warmly across her face from the open courtyard nearby. Like she had absolutely no idea she was currently destroying a man’s self control molecule by molecule.
—---------
5 pm
Baloch United Force (BUF), Balochistan, Pakistan
The desert evening settled softly over the village. Sunset had begun bleeding itself slowly across the Balochistan sky, staining the jagged mountains in deep gold and burnt orange while shadows stretched longer over the mud courtyards and stone pathways. The harsh brutality of the afternoon heat had finally softened into something gentler now. Wind moved lazily through the open grounds carrying the smell of woodsmoke, chai, dust, sheep, and distant cooking fires from nearby homes preparing dinner.
Somewhere beyond the courtyard came the low rhythmic sound of village men talking amongst themselves while children laughed and ran through the dirt chasing each other barefoot beneath the fading sky. A large bonfire crackled near the center of the gathering area, sparks floating upward into the darkening air while cushions and rugs had been scattered around casually for everyone to sit. Steam rose from small cups of chai balanced between hands while conversations drifted lazily from one group to another beneath the warmth of the firelight.
And Rehman was suffering. Profoundly. Violently. Spiritually. Because across the fire sat Rehanna, still wearing that deep green royal Balochi outfit like she had personally stepped out of some ancient desert folktale designed specifically to ruin men’s lives. The silver jewelry still framed her beautifully beneath the firelight, the intricate mathapatti glinting softly every time she turned her head while the embroidered doch work across her dress shimmered faintly in the orange glow of the flames. The heavy sanga bangles shifted against her wrists each time she adjusted the sleepy toddler currently attached to her hip like a baby koala who had emotionally adopted her hours ago and now refused to acknowledge the existence of any other human being.
The child rested happily against her shoulder while she spoke softly with the village women seated around her, occasionally sipping her chai one handed with the ease of someone who looked frighteningly natural carrying a child. This is unfair, thought Rehman bitterly. This is cruel. This is targeted psychological warfare. Because her being beautiful was not the issue anymore. Her being good with children was also not the issue anymore. No. The actual issue was much worse. The actual issue was that Rehman could suddenly picture an entire life with her so vividly that it physically hurt to sit here and pretend he was normal about it.
And he was absolutely not normal about it. Not even remotely. Across the fire Uzair leaned sideways toward Hamza whispering something that made both of them laugh quietly while Siyahi sat nearby peeling pistachios absentmindedly into his chai saucer. Donga meanwhile remained deeply invested in feeding pieces of biscuit to one particularly aggressive village cat that kept climbing onto his lap uninvited.
Rehman however heard none of it. Because Rehanna had just smiled softly toward the women and casually said, “Pata hai? Mujhe bacche bohot pasand hai…mujhe humesha se ek qhuash thi. Mujhe ek din judwa bacche chahiye.” Rehman choked on his chai so violently it nearly exited through his soul.
“BHAI!” Uzair immediately smacked his back hard enough to shake him forward while Hamza looked alarmed for approximately two seconds “Aram se chai piyo bhai,” Hamza tsked. Rehman coughed violently into his fist while trying to regain basic respiratory function. Twins? She wanted twins? Good God. The images hit him instantly and with absolutely zero mercy.
Rehanna holding a baby in each arm beneath soft morning light somewhere inside the haveli. One baby wrapped in blue. One in cream. Tiny little silver payals on chubby ankles jingling through hallways while Faizal ran around excitedly trying to show his younger siblings cricket bats and comic books.
Rehanna sitting cross legged on a bed exhausted while scolding him because he had once again bought the children absurdly expensive things they absolutely did not need. And maybe this time he would finally get the daughter he had always secretly wanted. A tiny little princess with Rehanna’s eyes. He would spoil her beyond repair. Absolutely beyond repair. He would buy her diamonds before she could even walk properly. Tiny gold bangles. Tiny embroidered dresses. Tiny shoes from Italy. Rehanna would yell at him constantly for it while secretly loving every second too. And his daughter would absolutely manipulate him with ease because he already knew he would fold instantly every single time she called him abbu…or would she call him papa?
Rehman inhaled slowly through his nose trying with immense difficulty to regain control over his own brain. This was insanity. He had not even properly told her he loved her yet and meanwhile his mind had apparently already furnished an entire future complete with children and family dinners and domestic arguments about spoiled daughters.
Across the fire Rehanna remained blissfully unaware of the complete psychological collapse she had just triggered inside him. She sighed softly afterward and shifted onto a nearby flat rock beside the bonfire, adjusting the sleepy toddler higher against her shoulder. The child babbled tiredly into the fabric near her neck while tiny fingers lazily played with the silver embroidery near her dupatta. “Acha baba…” she hummed softly to him with sleepy affection. “Ab neend aa rahi hai aapko?” The child answered with completely incoherent exhausted babbling. And then
Rehanna actually started nodding along seriously like he was delivering profound philosophical insight instead of random toddler noises. “Haan?” she gasped softly pretending shock. “Sach me? Itna bada masla hogaya?” The women around her laughed warmly. Then gently, absentmindedly, she began humming a lullaby beneath her breath while patting the little boy’s back slowly.
And from across the fire Rehman stared at her like a man moments away from religious enlightenment. Or cardiac arrest. Possibly both. He genuinely could not look away now. Not from the firelight flickering across her face. Not from the tenderness in her voice. Not from the way the child had melted entirely against her like she was the safest place in the world. God. She would be such a good mother. The thought hit so hard it physically winded him.
Then suddenly something small and fluffy rammed directly into Rehanna’s shin with an indignant bleat. She blinked downward in confusion. A tiny baby sheep stood beside her glaring upward dramatically, its little tail twitching furiously while it bleated again demanding attention with shocking confidence. The women burst out laughing instantly. Rehanna stared at it for one confused second before realization softened her entire face. “Ohhh,” she laughed quietly. “Tumhe bhi attention chahiye?” The lamb bleated louder.
Rehman nearly lost consciousness from how cute she looked saying that. Still balancing the sleepy toddler against one thigh, Rehanna reached downward with her free arm and lifted the stubborn baby sheep awkwardly into her other side. The lamb immediately settled happily against her lap like this had been its goal all along. Now she sat there beside the bonfire holding both a sleepy toddler and an aggressively affectionate lamb simultaneously while silver jewelry glowed softly around her face beneath the desert evening sky.
This cannot be real, thought Rehman weakly. This woman cannot be a real human being. “Vakeel sahiba,” Siyahi called out dramatically from across the fire. “Aap insaan ho ya koi Disney princess?” The women laughed again while Rehanna rolled her eyes immediately. “Bas karo.”
“Nahi seriously,” Uzair grinned. “Bacche bhi aapse chipak rahe hain aur bakri bhi.” Rehanna rolled her eyes again “Sheep hai gadhe,” Hamza corrected flatly. “Same baat hai.” Donga pointed accusingly toward her with his chai cup. “Aap baby magnet ho.” Rehanna huffed out a laugh shaking her head softly while the lamb pushed its face against the embroidery near her arm seeking more affection. And inexplicably even the sheep adored her. Of course it did.
Because apparently every small living thing within a ten kilometer radius instinctively looked at Rehanna and decided yes. Her. We trust her with our lives. Rehman sat there gripping his chai cup silently while something unbearably soft twisted through his chest. He loved that children trusted her immediately. Loved that animals gravitated toward her. Loved that beneath all her sharpness and sarcasm and terrifying courtroom brilliance there existed this impossibly gentle softness that emerged around vulnerable things without her even realizing it.
And maybe what destroyed him most was how natural she looked like this. Not performative. Not forced. She held affection like breathing itself. The toddler yawned sleepily against her shoulder while the lamb bleated softly in her lap and Rehanna smiled down at both of them with quiet patience glowing across her face beneath the firelight. And Rehman genuinely began questioning whether God was specifically testing him today. Because if he kept looking at her much longer he was going to do something deeply irresponsible.
Like marry her immediately.
—----------------
10 pm post dinner
Baloch United Force (BUF) Guest Tents, Balochistan, Pakistan
Night settled over the Baloch United Force camp slowly and heavily, swallowing the heat of the day inch by inch until only the glow of lanterns and distant bonfires remained scattered across the darkened village like fallen stars. Wind rolled softly through the dunes beneath a sky so enormous it almost felt unreal. Somewhere far off a radio crackled faintly with old Balochi music while men laughed sleepily around dying fires. The entire village had softened into nighttime rhythms now. Quiet conversations. Yawning children. Tired animals settling into straw.
And in the middle of it all Rehman Baloch was suffering tremendously. Dinner had been an exercise in psychological warfare from beginning to end. The toddler had remained attached to Rehanna for approximately ninety percent of the meal while the baby sheep had apparently decided she was its actual biological mother. Every time Rehman thought perhaps now the tiny terrorists would finally leave her alone, one of them would immediately climb back into her lap again. At one point she had been feeding the toddler with one hand while absentmindedly scratching beneath the sheep’s chin with the other and Rehman had genuinely needed several seconds. It was unbearable. Completely unbearable.
By the time dinner finally ended and the toddler’s exhausted mother came to collect him properly, Rehman nearly sighed out loud from relief watching the sleepy child disappear into the night balanced against his mother’s shoulder. One problem solved. One remained. The sheep however continued trotting faithfully behind Rehanna’s ankles like some woolly guardian spirit assigned specifically to ruin Rehman’s life.
After dinner Rehman had cornered Shirani near the lanterns outside with an expression far too casual to actually be casual. “Shirani sahab…” he had said smoothly while lighting a cigarette. “Vakeel sahiba ka rehne ka bandobas kahan hai?” Shirani had looked at him once. Just once. And immediately understood everything because old men from villages always understood everything somehow. “Aap chinta na karein,” Shirani replied calmly, smoke curling from his own cigarette beneath the night sky. “Aapke bagal me hi hai.” And suddenly Rehman’s entire nervous system relaxed. “Hm.” He nodded once pretending the answer had not just improved his quality of life dramatically.
Now sometime near ten at night Rehanna finally escaped toward the guest tents exhausted beyond belief. The circular Balochi guest tents stood slightly apart from the main houses beneath the dark desert sky, large canvas structures embroidered beautifully along the entrances with traditional patterns that glowed softly beneath hanging lanterns. Wind brushed lazily against the fabric walls making them billow gently every few seconds. Rehanna pushed open the flap of her tent with a tired sigh and stepped inside.
The interior looked surprisingly lovely. Rich rugs layered across the ground beneath low lantern light while cushions and folded quilts sat neatly arranged beside a carved wooden chest near the far side of the tent. A proper bedroll had been laid out already beneath heavy blankets despite the desert warmth while brass trays holding water and tea rested nearby. Soft shadows flickered across the curved canvas walls making the entire space feel strangely intimate and insulated from the rest of the world outside.
Rehanna exhaled slowly. Finally. Peace. She sat down near the bedding and began removing the heavy silver jewelry piece by piece with visible relief. The Nalooq earrings disappeared first. Then the heavy Sanga bangles. Then the ornate Chhapka framing her forehead. Each piece clinked softly against the wooden tray beside her while her loosened hair began falling more freely around her shoulders. Now dressed only in the long deep green kameez over loose trousers, she stretched tiredly before kneeling to properly arrange the blankets. Then suddenly the tent flap burst open violently behind her.
Rehman crossed the tent in enormous strides before she could properly react. “Rehman?” she asked in shock, turning sharply toward him.
He said absolutely nothing. One large hand grabbed her waist instantly while the other tangled into her hair and then his mouth crashed against hers with enough force to steal the breath directly from her lungs. The kiss was desperate immediately. Heavy. The restraint and obsession and frustration pouring straight through him all at once after an entire day of watching her look like every fantasy he had never allowed himself to articulate aloud.
Rehanna gasped softly into his mouth before kissing him back just as hard. His hands gripped her waist tighter pulling her flush against him while his lips moved hungrily against hers like he had genuinely lost his mind somewhere around lunchtime and never recovered. “Aap…” he breathed roughly between kisses, forehead briefly pressing against hers before descending toward her jaw again. “Aaj…” another kiss against her throat. “Aaj kya lag rahi thi aap…” His voice sounded wrecked.
His lips dragged lower against her neck while one hand fisted tightly in the fabric of her kameez at her waist. “Bilkul…” kiss. “Bilkul Balochi shehzadi…” another kiss, harder this time. “Meri jaan…” Rehanna’s fingers shoved his blazer roughly from his shoulders letting it hit the carpets carelessly before immediately fumbling for the buttons of his black kurta. Her breathing had already turned uneven. “Rehman…” she whispered shakily when his mouth found the sensitive spot beneath her ear.
“Aur woh bacha…” he groaned against her skin before biting lightly enough to make her shiver. “Jab aap usko god me liye bethi thi…” His hands tightened against her waist again. “Khuda ki kasam meri jaan mai pagal hogaya tha.” Rehanna moaned softly beneath her breath when his lips returned to hers harder this time. Hungrier.
His hands slid upward against the long kameez almost reaching the tied strings at the back while her fingers finally managed to yank open several buttons of his kurta exposing warm skin beneath her palms. God. The feeling of her hands on his bare chest nearly finished him psychologically on the spot. “And jab aapne kaha…” he muttered roughly between kisses. “Ki aapko judwa bacche chahiye…” He shut his eyes briefly like even remembering it hurt him physically. “Meri jaan mai toh wahi mar gaya tha.”
Rehanna laughed breathlessly against his mouth after she helped him take off his kurta before kissing him harder in response, both hands sliding fully against his chest now while he buried his face against her throat again kissing and biting slowly enough to make her knees weaken. Then suddenly.
“MEHHHHHH.” The loud furious scream of the baby sheep exploded from outside the tent. Both of them froze. Rehanna pulled back first blinking in concern toward the entrance. “Rehman woh thik to hai na?” Rehman groaned directly into her neck in visible agony before dragging her closer again stubbornly. “Meri jaan chh’odo uss bhed ke bache ko,” he muttered darkly before kissing her again. And honestly for a few more seconds she obeyed him. Her hands slid over his bare chest while his own fingers curled dangerously tighter into her kameez.
“MEHHHHHHHH.” The sheep screamed again. Longer this time. Offended. Betrayed. Abandoned. Rehanna immediately pulled away. “Nahi usko kuch chahiye.”
“Usko jahannum chahiye,” Rehman muttered bitterly. But she was already moving. Rehanna quickly fixed her half loosened kameez enough to preserve basic human dignity before hurrying toward the tent flap and opening it. The tiny sheep practically threw itself inside immediately. Rehman stared at the animal in complete disbelief while the sheep trotted directly toward Rehanna like it owned the place.
His entire evening was destroyed by approximately fifteen pounds of wool. Unbelievable. Rehanna sat down onto the bedding with a tired sigh while smoothing her kameez back properly into place. “Chaliye ab is bechare bachhe ke samne kuch nahi,” she hummed softly while petting the aggressively attached sheep now happily curling beside her legs.
Meanwhile Rehman stood there pulling his kurta back on with the expression of a man experiencing divine punishment personally handcrafted for him by God. “Meri hi kismat kharab hai,” he muttered angrily beneath his breath while redoing the buttons. Eventually he gave up and dropped beside her onto the bedding with a begrudging sigh.
Fine. If fate refused to let him properly have his way with her tonight then at minimum he would at least hold her while sleeping. He reached one arm toward her waist. THUD. The sheep headbutted his forearm hard enough to physically stop him. Rehman stared at the animal slowly. The animal stared back smugly.
And beside them Rehanna burst into helpless laughter collapsing sideways against the bedding while trying unsuccessfully to breathe properly through it. “Oh my god,” she wheezed. “Rehman aapka chehra!” Because yes. The look on Rehman’s face genuinely resembled betrayal.
The kerosene lamp dimmed lower until only soft amber light remained flickering gently across the tent walls while desert wind rustled quietly outside beneath the stars. Rehanna finally stopped laughing like a mad woman and curled onto her side beneath the blankets. The baby sheep immediately snuggled straight into the curve of her neck possessively. Rehman lay beside them staring absolute murderous daggers at the animal.
“Saale…” he muttered under his breath darkly while glaring across the blankets. “Terko toh mai Eid pe halal karunga.” Rehanna’s eyes remained shut but a sleepy smile immediately tugged at her mouth. “Rehman…” she murmured softly. “Agar apne is cute se bhed ke bacche ko halal kiya…” Her eyes finally cracked open slightly toward him in warning. “Toh phir mai 3 hafte aapke mu nahi lagungi.” Rehman froze instantly. “Ek bhi kiss nahi milegi aapko.”
Complete silence. Then immediately. “Ar- are meri jaan,” Rehman corrected himself so fast it nearly caused spiritual whiplash. “Mai toh mazak kar raha tha.” He reached over stiffly and awkwardly petted the sheep with visible resentment while continuing to glare at it. “Mai kyun itne pyaare bhed ke bacche ko halal karunga?” The sheep looked entirely too satisfied with itself.
“Mai janta hun ki aap shakahari hain…” Rehman continued diplomatically through clenched teeth. “Mai aapke liye thodi na koi janwar halal karunga?” The sheep snuggled deeper smugly into Rehanna’s neck. Rehman genuinely could not believe this shit. That should be him right now.
Rehanna meanwhile could physically feel jealousy radiating off him through the darkness and finally gave up trying to suppress her grin. “Achha?” she asked softly. “Toh phir aap bhi vegetarian ho jao mere liye. I love all animals.” Rehman blinked. Then blinked again. Because unfortunately this woman could convince him to overthrow governments but vegetarianism was where his soul finally began sweating nervously.
“Uh…” he stalled magnificently. “Uh…” His brain visibly scrambled for survival. “Jaisa aap chahien,” he answered finally with immense sacrifice in his voice. Rehanna burst into laughter immediately. Warm sleepy laughter filling the tent softly while Rehman stared at the ceiling suffering.
“Tsk tsk tsk,” she teased between giggles. “Saaf saaf dikh raha hai Rehman kitna jhijhak ke bola hai.”
“Haan toh?” he muttered defensively. “Bakra bohot acha hota hai.” She laughed even harder. Outside the desert wind continued moving softly across Balochistan beneath endless stars while somewhere distant dogs barked lazily near dying fires.
Inside the guest tent warmth settled slowly over everything. Her laughter. His quiet grumbling. The tiny sheep curled triumphantly between them like a victorious warrior. And as Rehman finally drifted toward sleep glaring one last time at the animal blocking his place beside her, one exhausted thought settled quietly through him beneath all the chaos and lust and longing. This was the closest he had ever come to feeling like home.
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Chapter 11- Eidi nahi di aapne? Aur kya Matlab ki Nadiyon par Sajan ka Thana hai?
Dakait Sahab ki Vakeel Sahiba
Rehman Dakait x OC Indian spy/Lawyer
Disclaimer: This series is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Warnings: Cursing, copious amounts of jealousy, drinking, violence, Super Sexy Smut (khush hojao tharki logo!)
Masterlist
Author's note: OMG NARCISSIST AUTHOR SAHIBA USES HER OWN PHOTOS AS INSPO AGAIN??????? Haan, guys, the blue outfit is mine, I digress. I had to write Rehanna wearing this outfit; the demons in my mind demanded it.
Also, peep the 2 smut scenes in this one.....
Also, could this chapter have been split into 2? Yes, most probably.
Chapter 11- Eidi nahi di aapne? Aur kya Matlab ki Nadiyon par Sajan ka Thana hai?
3 weeks post chapter 10 + Summary of past 3 weeks
Baloch haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Three weeks passed after the night of the argument slowly. The violence never truly disappeared from places like Lyari, but it has softened at the edges now. Especially in the Baloch haveli. The fear was gone. The constant suffocating dread that had wrapped itself around every corridor after the warehouse finally loosened its grip.
Rehanna could feel it in the way servants laughed downstairs again while cutting vegetables in the kitchen, in the way music occasionally drifted through the haveli courtyard during tea time, in the way Sultan and Raja stopped waking up every hour to check whether she was still breathing. Life returned carefully. Like everyone inside the haveli was relearning how to exhale after weeks spent holding their breath.
—----------------
Yalina and Rehanna made up the very next morning. Or rather, Rehanna forced it to happen because guilt had eaten through her the entire night like acid. She had spent nearly two hours writing the apology letter beneath the pale morning light spilling through her bedroom windows. Several pages long.
Her handwriting grew messier toward the end where honesty became harder. She wrote about her anger. About how bitterness lived inside her like an old disease she never fully learned to cure. About how pain made her cruel sometimes. About how she hated herself for the words she threw at people when cornered emotionally. Especially people she loved. Especially Yalina. She admitted everything with a terrifying kind of honesty that made her chest ache while writing it.
Then she folded the letter carefully and sent it through Hamza alongside a bouquet of sunflowers and yellow roses because she knew Yalina loved the language of flowers and because yellow flowers meant friendship, apology, warmth, loyalty, affection. Acceptance. And beside the bouquet sat the pair of gold wired enamel bangles Yalina always admired whenever Rehanna wore them. Hamza returned nearly forty minutes later looking deeply entertained for reasons he refused to explain.
Rehanna understood why exactly ten minutes after that when her bedroom door burst open hard enough to rattle the walls.
“ISKAKYAMATLABHAI????” Rehanna nearly dropped her book in pure shock. “Wha—”
Yalina stormed fully into the room clutching the letter, bouquet, and bangles against her chest while looking personally victimized by emotions. “ISKAKYAMATLABHAI????” she repeated louder, shaking the items furiously in the air.
Rehanna stared at her for several seconds before her expression softened completely. Genuine regret flickered visibly across her face. Quietly she placed her book aside and pushed herself off the bed, hissing softly through her teeth when her healing side protested the movement. Then slowly she walked toward Yalina.
Before Yalina could continue yelling, Rehanna grabbed both her ears in apology like a guilty child. “Iska matlab hai sorry Yalina…” she admitted quietly. “Mujhe aisa nahi kehna chahiye tha…mai bas gussa thi.” Yalina immediately gasped in horror.
“ARREEE nahi nahi didi aise maafi nahi magte!” She quickly dropped everything onto the bed and grabbed Rehanna’s wrists, pulling her hands away from her ears instantly. “Aap meri didi ho aapka haq hai gussa hone ka…aise maafi mat mango mai sharminda ho rahi hun…” Her own eyes had already started watering now. “I should have considered your feelings aswell…Im sorry too.” And just like that the tension shattered completely.
Rehanna pulled her into a tight hug immediately while Yalina hugged her back just as fiercely. They stayed like that for several long quiet seconds holding onto each other with the kind of relief only sisters understood. Afterwards they sat together cross legged on the bed while Yalina carefully checked her healing stitches with the deeply serious expression of a medical student emotionally attached to her patient. Everything felt normal again.
Eventually Yalina finished examining her side and reached toward the bangles sitting nearby before awkwardly handing them back. “Ye lo,” she muttered stubbornly. “Mai nahi le sakti.” Rehanna looked scandalized instantly. “Kya matlab nahi le sakti? They are for you.”
“Nahi,” Yalina argued immediately. “Aap mujhe sorry gift ke taur pe de rahi ho. Mujhe nahi chahiye.”
Rehanna clicked her tongue in annoyance before grabbing Yalina’s wrists without warning. “Idhar haat do.” Before the poor girl could protest further, Rehanna carefully slid both bangles onto her hands herself. The gold gleamed beautifully against Yalina’s skin on each wrist.
Then softly, almost fondly, Rehanna explained. “Hamare yahan ek riwaz hai…ek maa apni hone wali bahu ko kangan deti hai. As a sign of acceptance.” Her expression gentled further. “Hamza ki maa nahi hai, uska parivar nahi hai…uski sirf ek behen hai. Mai hun.” Yalina froze completely. Rehanna smiled. “Tum dono ka pyaar dekh ke lagta hai ki tumhari shaadi hone wali hai…aur meri abhi se haan hai.” Yalina immediately turned red. “Didi aap bhi na…” she mumbled weakly while staring shyly down at the bangles circling her wrists.
Rehanna nudged her shoulder playfully. “Tujhe pata hai? Hamza poore din mujhse sirf ek hi baat karta hai…Yalina ye, Yalina woh, didi Yalina kitni sundar hai, Yalina kitni hoshiyar hai…” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Phir maine uss’se pucha to phir shaadi kab hai.” Rehanna paused for effect. “Aur pata hai kya hua?”
Yalina perked up instantly, waiting eagerly. “Lal hoke bhag gaya sharmata hua.” Rehanna grinned. Both women burst into loud laughter together. Rehanna’s very expensive payals jingled brightly beneath the blankets while Yalina doubled over clutching her stomach laughing. Then suddenly Yalina straightened with dangerous curiosity glittering in her eyes.
“Accha…” she began slowly. “Mere bohot zyada ameer Jija ji kaun hai phir?” she asked taking off the blankets to reveal her payals again. Rehanna instantly bit the inside of her cheek. And went quiet. Yalina froze. Because Rehanna never did that.
Never blushed. Never became shy. Never looked away from questions like this. Yet now the woman sitting beside her suddenly looked deeply occupied with the folds of her own kurta. Yalina’s eyes widened in absolute horror. Before she could interrogate further the bedroom door opened.
Rehman walked inside. The shift in Rehanna happened instantly. Small but undeniable. Her entire face softened the second she saw him standing there in his black kurta with his sleepless and tired eyes and cigarette smoke still lingering faintly around him. Yalina completely missed it, she completely missed the interaction that would have answered who her Jija to be was. “Asalamwalaikum Rehman bhai!”
“Walekumasalam,” he greeted easily before his eyes flickered toward both women sitting together on the bed. A grin tugged lazily at his mouth. “Sahelion me sulah hogayi?”
Rehanna rolled her eyes immediately with a slight shake of her head while Yalina laughed. Rehman walked further into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed beside Rehanna with a tired groan. “Pata hai ki kal raat ye kaafi ro rahi thi?” he casually informed Yalina. “Hume inhe sambhalna mushkil hogaya tha.”
“Dakait Sahab!” Rehanna groaned in betrayal while dropping her head backward dramatically against the pillows. Yalina looked delighted instantly. “Didi jitni pathar ki aap banti phirti hai utni hi aap softy ho.” Then mischievously she turned toward Rehman. “Waise Rehman bhai aapne inko sambhala kaise?”
Rehanna went red so fast it almost looked painful. Her fingers immediately twisted nervously into the edge of her kurta while last night crashed violently through her mind all over again. The heat of his mouth against hers. His hands sliding against her waist. The filthy murmured words against her skin. The way he kissed her until anger melted into breathless shaking softness beneath him. That was how he calmed her down.
The smugness on Rehman’s face became almost unbearable. Because he knew exactly what she was remembering. “Aree bas…” he answered lightly, watching Rehanna carefully from the corner of his eye. “Kaafi der tak batein ki.” The plainness of the words only made it worse.Yalina accepted the explanation immediately.
Rehanna nearly choked. Because she remembered very clearly that his “baatein” last night included filthy promises against her lips and him lazily calling her his meal for the night while she hid her burning face in her hands.
Then Rehman casually stood back up again. “Chaliye aap dono baatein karo,” he said easily. “Mai kuch kaam se hoke ata hun.” Yalina waved cheerfully. “Ji bhai!”
But right before leaving, Rehman glanced once toward Rehanna and shot her the most infuriatingly smug wink imaginable. Rehanna stared at him in absolute disbelief while he walked out looking entirely too pleased with himself.
—----------------------------
The next three weeks passed gently after that. Healing arrived slowly but steadily beneath the suffocating love of the entire haveli.
Salma Bi practically declared war against Rehanna’s immune system personally. Every single morning began with haldi ka doodh shoved aggressively into her hands while the older woman stood nearby making sure every last drop disappeared. “Salma bi please rehem khayiye mujhe doodh se ulti ati hai” Rehanna gagged mid swallow. Salma bi glared and that made Rehanna shut up and take it. Rehanna hated it passionately and nobody cared.
Sultan and Raja followed her everywhere now that she could walk properly again, trotting behind her through hallways like oversized furry bodyguards while servants smiled secretly watching the terrifying Vakeel Sahiba argue with dogs about personal space after she almost fell over because they were tangling her legs up “SULTAN! RAJA! NAK ME DUM KARDIYA TUM DONO NE.” and both of them looked up at her with toothy big smiles, puppy eyes, and wagging fluffy tails as if not understanding why she was yelling at them.
Faizal became attached to her side permanently after the warehouse incident. He sat with her while doing homework in the library, followed her around the courtyard during evening walks, and occasionally fell asleep against her shoulder during movies downstairs. Hamza relaxed visibly the healthier she became. The haunted look left his eyes little by little until eventually his old loud personality returned completely.
Uzair continued bringing her chai and coffee every afternoon while pretending he wasn’t checking whether she still looked pale. Siyahi smoked with her quietly on the balcony some nights beneath Karachi’s humid skies while both of them watched Lyari glitter restlessly below. Donga meanwhile treated feeding her like a sacred religious responsibility.
And Rehman. Rehman never stopped hovering. Not once. Even after the stitches stopped hurting and the bruises faded completely he still watched her constantly with that same quiet terrifying devotion. If she coughed, his head lifted immediately. If she looked tired, he noticed before anyone else.
—---------------
By the third week she had finally begun feeling like herself again. Strong again. Alive again. The final confirmation came on a humid afternoon inside her bedroom while half the haveli crowded around her dramatically like nervous family members awaiting surgery results.
Yalina sat beside her carefully removing the last bandages from her side while Rehanna sighed impatiently. Hamza hovered behind Yalina anxiously despite pretending not to care. Uzair leaned against the wall. Donga sat cross legged on the carpet feeding bits of biscuit to Sultan while Raja sprawled beside him lazily. Siyahi smoked silently near the balcony doors. Faizal bounced restlessly nearby waiting for updates like an anxious child outside an exam hall. And Rehman stood closest. Quietly watching.
Yalina examined the healed skin carefully for several long moments. Then suddenly her face brightened completely. “Done,” she announced proudly while looking up at everyone. “Rehanna didi bilkul theek hai ab.”
The room exploded instantly. Hamza threw both hands into the air victoriously. Uzair cheered loudly. Donga clapped while Faizal nearly tackled Rehanna in excitement. Even Sultan barked once sharply at the sudden noise.
And through all the chaos, Rehman released the smallest quietest sigh beneath his breath. Relief. Pure relief. Like only now, finally, after weeks of fear and blood and sleepless nights, his body believed she truly survived.
—--------------------------
Present day, Eid ul-Fitr
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Authors note: Am I aware that Eid usually happens around May-June? Yes I am. Did I forget that part and think that this was the perfect segway from the previous chapter? Also yes. So lets say that Eid this year happened in late September or we can say it's Eid Milad-un-Nabi which normally does happen later in the year. The thing with Eid Milad-un-Nabi is that its not a celebrating Eid like Eid ul-Fitr.
So um for this chapter we are saying its big Eid, which is Eid ul-Fitr……BEAR WITH ME AND TRY NOT TO THINK ABOUT THE TIMELINE SO HARD
The haveli had been turned upside down and inside out, pure chaos since sunrise. The maids had been thundering through each room, shining it from top to bottom yelling at the owners of each room for being such slobs. Rehanna had earned an earful of insults for the state of her office alone. The boys had been set to work too, cleaning the outside of the haveli, chopping vegetables, and other jobs they would fuck up the least.
Rehanna herself had been up and about helping around the haveli with Eid preparations much to the entire haveli’s scandal.
—-------------------------
To understand Eid morning we have to look at the night before. The standard routine that had been established was that Rehman would cross the hallway to Rehanna’s room to spend the night.
But the night before Eid she waited for him standing in her doorway, giving him a lazy smile. Rehman walked to her, tangling his large hand in her hair pulling her in for a kiss, his free hand pulling her closer by the waist. She sighs into the kiss, as if releasing the tension of her day into him, into this. Her feet become jelly as her knees weaken from his kisses. Rehman begins walking them backwards into her room. She pulls away and tut tut tuts him as she regains her footing.
Rehman pauses, and looks at her in genuine confusion “Aaj..humara mann yahan sone ka nahi hai” she hums at him as if stating the weather.
Rehman chuckles at her “jaan hum sote kab hain?” the innuendo in his voice abundantly clear. Because they never did sleep most nights...by the time sleep took them it would be very early in the morning. Rehanna rolls her eyes and repeats herself “Aaj humara mann YAHAN sone ka nahi hai”
He looks at her as if she is saying 2 + 2 = 5 “To phir kahan sone ka mann hai?” Rehanna shuts her eyes with a sigh, then she tsks at him once again and pulls out of his hands and walks across the hallway. Chan chan chan, and stands in his room’s doorway. The realization dawns on Rehman and his smile is painfully smug “Achha aaj mere kamre ka din agaya?” He walks towards her.
She narrows her eyes and puts a hand on his chest stopping Rehman in his tracks “EK second…ye mera-mera kya hai? Kya ye kamra mera nahi hai?” Rehman hums before leaning in closer. His lips inches from hers “Ji agar ap chahien to bilkul hai…to phir iss hisab se aapka kamra bhi humara hua phir?”
She shakes her head no, their lips now centimeters away “Jo apka hai wo mera hai aur jo mera hai…wo sirf mera hai” Then she slipped past him, into his room, and flopped onto his bed like she had conquered it. The bed dipped under her weight, her anklets jingling violently as silence briefly broke into something softer.
Rehman grins like a wolf before he shuts the door to his room and locks it, he turns off the light and stalks the bed, her eyes sparkle in the moonlight from his balcony. He pounces and cages her body beneath his and peppers kisses all over her face while she giggles and squeals.
Night swallowed the room after that, light fading into the soft glow of his balcony, where the city outside flickered like a restless secret. And inside, whatever happened belonged only to the walls.
—---------
Present day, Eid ul-Fitr @ 12 pm
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Rehman blinks awake. Rehman wakes up with a rare kind of peace settling in his body, like Eid had already decided to be kind to him. For a brief moment he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, smiling at the simple thought that for once he did not have to get up and cross a hallway to pretend he didn't spend the night with her.
He sleepily turns to kiss Rehanna good morning and to be the first to wish her Eid Mubarak. He turned slightly, already reaching out instinctively, already preparing to pull her closer. “Eid mubarak meri jaan,” he murmured lazily, still half asleep. His voice was a delicious sleepy husk that he knew she loved. His hand touched empty sheets. He frowned immediately and pushed himself up. The bed beside him was completely empty.
He blinked once, then again, as if the absence might correct itself on its own. The clock read 8 am. That alone was wrong. Everything about her being gone at 8 am was wrong, because Rehanna herself never showed any signs of life before 10 am voluntarily. He sat up fully now, running a hand through his hair, confused but slowly becoming amused in a tired way. Outside the room, her voice was already loud enough to confirm she was absolutely not resting.
Outside his room he can hear her ordering someone around in the hallway “Arre mere bhai isko side me rakh na!” she already sounds annoyed. He huffed a small laugh under his breath, shaking his head as he stood and went to freshen up. Within moments he walks out wearing his usual white kurta and pyjama, he can still hear her ordering people around. Like the haveli had already fully accepted that peace on Eid morning was a myth.
Rehman opens his door and his breath stalls. Rehanna is standing in the hallway ordering people around wearing a long black silk house dress. Very different from her usual cotton suits. Her wavy curly hair set loose and untamed, framing her face like an old Hollywood actress. The creamy skin of her calves and forearms peak out from under the black fabric and look delicious, that's the only word to describe it.
The silk house dress form fits her painfully well. Loose enough to be modest but tight enough where it really mattered. Rehman swallowed once. Hard. The thought came instantly and violently, uninvited and entirely honest. He wanted to pull her back into his room, shut the world out, and forget that Eid existed outside this hallway. He has this unnatural urge to just grab her and take her back to his bed while he possessively murmurs into her skin how dare she look so good.
But he can't, not with the audience of people being ordered around in the hallway. The servants salam him and wish him Eid Mubarak and he responds, Rehanna turns around and sees the bewildered look on his face and she knows why. It's clear on his face, the way he is staring at her, the way his eyes won't stop bouncing around her body. So she grins “Eid Mubarak Dakait sahab” coyly before she walks down the hall and out of sight. Chan chan chan. Rehman blinks once more before he makes a 180 degree turn back into his room to smoke a cigarette alone on his balcony to process what he just saw.
—-------------------------
She walks down to the kitchen. Her chan chan chan precedes her. And Salma bi immediately looks at her and says “Nahi nahi, bahar nikaliye aur aram kijiye” because the haveli had refused to accept that she was fully fixed, they still treated her like she was fragile.
Rehanna huffs “OH HO SALMA BI aaj Eid hai aaj mai madat karungi. Mujhe dikh raha hai ki aap sab itna kam kar rahe hain mujhe mat rokiye” she says as she goes to wash her hands to help. “Mai sevaiyan, salad, aur hare bhare kebab banadungi. Aap sab baki ka kaam dekhiye!” she says immediately grabbing a corner of the kitchen and gathering supplies. Salma bi huffs fondly knowing it was useless to stop her.
—-----------
Present day, Eid ul-Fitr @ 12 pm
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Rehanna had been in the kitchen for 4 hours making good on her promise. She made a truly massive pot of sevaiyan. It looked big enough to feed a city but she knew it would barely be enough for the Daawat tonight. She sighed as she set another massive pot on the stove. It had to be enough for both the Dawaat and the entire gang, not one person would end Eid without a bowl of her sevaiyan, whether that be the sweepers at the factory or the boys who worked on the docks. Rehanna had decided that today everyone would taste her cooking. As the second batch of sevaiyan cooked she filled 6 tupperware containers with salad, and filled 5 more with kebabs for the appetizer.
She flew around the kitchen stirring pots, slicing vegetables, flipping the kebabs that sat in the pan. Chan chan chan. Then she would pause to joke with the maids in the kitchen before she flew around the kitchen again. Chan chan chan.
When Rehman noticed she wasn't at breakfast he walked into the kitchen and found her there. Flying around like a maniac doing work and laughing with the staff. Her house dress fluttered around her shins. The lighting of the kitchen accentuated her soft contours under the skin hugging silk fabric. Rehman had to force himself to breathe through his nose.
As soon as the staff had seen Rehman they gasped and salamed him. He salamed back lazily as he walked into the kitchen. “Vakeel sahiba aap kya kar rahi hain?” he asked casually.
“Dakait sahab jaise ki aap dekh rahe hain mai apne haton se sevaiyan, salad, aur hare bhare kebab bana rahi hun” she smiled brightly as she wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Cooking was her joy, and it was clear the way the delicious aroma floated out of the kitchen. The boys of the gang, especially Donga, had tried to steal bites of food from Rehanna’s pots all day while she shooed them away with her steel ladle. Rehman now knew what 3 dishes he would truly enjoy tonight.
“Aapko aise nahi lagta ki aap kuch zyada kar rahi hain? Yalina ne bola hoga ki aap poori tarha se theek ho gayi hain lekin aapko aramse kaam karna chahiye” he asked as he stole some of the cucumber she had just chopped.
She tsked at him off handedly “Nahi mujhe maza aa raha hai” he laughed and left the kitchen the maids laughed at the interaction they just witnessed.
—-------------------
Now that she was done she came out of the kitchen with a sigh and joined everyone in the living room and collapsed on the sofa next to Hamza. She unceremoniously placed her legs in Hamza's lap and Hamza began to unconsciously massage them lightly.
Rehman quietly watched, a small jealousy in him stirred watching Hamza touch her but he kept reminding himself that Hamza was her brother. He supposes the real jealousy was that she couldn't openly flop against him on the sofa because their relationship was secret.
He really wanted to pull her close and kiss her forehead and thank her for all her hard work in the kitchen and how he couldn't wait to try it. But he can't. And it's eating at him. So he just smokes in his chair while pretending not to stare as Rehanna jokes with the boys lounging about the living room. She shakes a finger at Donga warning him that he better not touch the food before the Daawat.
“AREEE vakt to dekho!” Rehanna gasps as she looks at the clock, seeing its 12 pm already and the Eid Daawat was at 7 pm. “Mujhe abhi taiyaar bhi hona hai..mehendi bhi lagani hai!” she groans getting up from the sofa.
Rehman freezes about the idea of her skin decorated with mehendi. The deep brown designs accentuating and gracing her skin. Those hands on him- A very dangerous line of thought. Uzair jokes “Vakeel Sahiba aap apne haton pe us shaks ki mehendi lagaengi jisne apko ye payal di?”
Rehanna shakes her ankle so the payal jingles and she smiles “Haan kyun nahi” Rehman nearly stops breathing for a second. He loses it internally because he is the person who gave her the payal. And she just said that she would put mehendi on for him.
Hamza groans in annoyance “DIDIIIII yaar ab bata bhi do wo kaun hai! Mai pagal ho raha hun..mai wada karta hun ki mai…bhot zyada to nahi peetunga…haan ye wada mai karsakta hun” She laughs and ignores him and turns to Rehman and the group
“Haan sab kaan khol ke suno, mai ab taiyaar hone ja rahi hun, mujhe kuch ghante lagenge. KOI MUJHE TANG NAHI KAREGA…….Dakait sahab apko yaad hai na ki aapki woh phone pe meeting hai woh Sialkot wale supplier ke sath?”
Rehman blanks for a moment. He had no phone call with anyone. There was no meeting. But then he saw her eyes. And understood immediately. She was making a perfectly plausible excuse to get him alone. “Hmm ji abhi yaad aya. Mai karta hun thodi der me” he nods to her. Rehanna winks at only him and then leaves. Chan chan chan. Gone again.
—-----------------
20 minutes later Rehman slips away and knocks on her bedroom door. Her door was already open to him before he even knocked. She yells from inside “Aajaiye” and he comes in, locking the door behind him. She is setting up everything to get ready. The room was a controlled disaster of preparation. Mehndi cones, fabrics, jewellery, everything scattered like anticipation had physically taken shape.
While she was distracted, Rehman slipped a small box into the drawer of her nightstand. When he turned she turned too. Giving him a small smile completely unaware that he had hid something in her nightstand.
Surrounded by mehendi cones, she sits on the carpeted floor. Rehman comes and joins her on the floor. Rehman did not speak this time. He just pulled her into his lap. She gasped. And then everything else disappeared for a moment as he kissed her hard enough to steal her breath.His mouth found hers with a familiarity that did not ask permission anymore. His hands held her like the entire day outside the room was irrelevant. His hands roving all over her black silk house dress with an appreciative groan. She laughed softly against him and pushed him back slightly, just enough to breathe.
“Arre Rehman mujhe sach me taiyar hona hai!” she huffs with a laugh. “ Aur mujhe sach me aapko apni baho me bharna hai” he flirts back. He said it like it was a complaint against the universe.
Suddenly she has an idea “Kurta utariye!” he is shocked for a moment and obeys with a smirk thinking he is getting what he wants. And that was his first mistake. She then climbs into his lap, a mehendi cone hidden behind her back. He smirks, kissing her neck very happily thinking he is getting his wish, and she pulls out the mehendi cone and begins drawing a design on Rehman's shoulder. Rehman feels the cold mehendi and freezes and pulls away to see what she is doing.
“Ye kya faltu pana hai?” he asks now that he realizes that his intentions have been thwarted. She laughs and puts a finger on his lips “SHHHHH mera concentration mat hilao” she murmurs as she carefully draws a mandala on his shoulder.
He sits and lets it happen. “Zara apne haat kasiye” she hums. He flexes his bicep with an amused and exasperated expression, she smiles excitedly biting her lip as she continues her design. He watches amused, fondness dripping from his gaze.
When she is done she looks at him “Ta da!” and he looks at his upper arm and smiles “wahhh meri jaan kya khub banaya hai apne.” He appreciates the design, the loops of the mandala mixed effortlessly with swirls and curling leaves “Apne to Eid ke liye mujhe bhi saja diya” he kisses her gently. She smiles, kisses his cheek and gets off of his lap and sits on the carpet starting her own design on the back of her hand. He watches carefully and quietly.
She hums absentmindedly as she does her mehendi. Then he gets smug “Aap ispe humara naam nahi likhengi?” she hums hiding a smirk “ Aap late hogaye…apke aane se phele maine aapka naam kahi aur likh liya tha” Rehman sits up at this revelation “Kahan?” his eyes dart around her hands, her feet and any exposed location under the modest house dress.
She grins “Dhoond lena baad me ... .fursat me” Rehman blanks, the ideas running through his mind absolutely filthy. And that was all she gave him. She continued her mehndi like nothing had just been set on fire inside his mind.
He needs to distract himself, because right now his hands itch to peel that house dress off and search for where on her body she had written his name. So he grabbed a mehendi cone from the floor. He saw the skin on her foot, the blank skin by the payals he gifted her for her birthday.
He watches the design she makes on the back of her hand, it's not the traditional style that most women here wear. They usually fill their hand chock full of designs, Rehman personally never liked that. He had never told Rehanna this, never even alluded to it. Yet she naturally was doing a loose and natural floral arabic design that graced her hand oh so elegantly.
Rehman already knew that when the mehendi dried and the reddish brown stain appeared it would look beautiful. He fiddled with the cone in his hand while she hummed absent mindedly next to him. Then suddenly he leaned forward and tried to draw a dainty little flower on her foot to match the design she made on her hands.
Rehanna watched silently, in shock almost. Something warm hit her chest as she watched. At first Rehman didn't squeeze hard enough, the center of the flower coming out as just a small dot. Then he squeezed too hard making the first petal too fat. Yet he persevered, but it came out crooked. Pathetic. Rehman sighed disappointed at his work, he grabbed a tissue nearby in an attempt to wipe it off.
As he brought his hand close Rehanna smacked it away “Isko hatane ki koshish bhi mat kijiye” she murmured dangerously as she worked on her own design pretending like she didn't care. Rehman smiled to himself “Jaise aap ki marzi” Rehanna bit the inside of her cheek. “Chaliye ab nikaliye mujhe sach me taiyaar hona hai”
“Zyada taiyaar mat hoiyega” Rehman sighs wearily as he gets off the ground. Rehanna looks up from her design for a moment “kyun?” she asks perplexed. “Kahi Eid ka chaand ruuth na jaye, kahi chaand na soch ne lage ki ‘Baloch haveli ke angan me phele se chand hai to phir mera kya faida?” He grinned at her. She turned red, she flustered “Rehman…aap bhi na” she muttered in fake annoyance. Rehman chuckled as he grabbed his kurta from the floor and pulled it back on as he walked out the door, now that the design on his shoulder and bicep was dry.
—---------------------------
The evening of Eid ul-Fitr @ 7pm
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
By evening the entire Baloch Haveli looked less like a home and more like something pulled out of an old royal painting. Warm white fairy lights coated the exterior walls from top to bottom, glowing softly against the old stone architecture while the humid Lyari night wrapped around the haveli like silk.
Every balcony, every pillar, every archway had been decorated with flowers. Rajnigandha flowers. Long creamy stems arranged carefully into crystal vases that lined hallways and tables and staircases because Rehman had personally made sure her favorite flowers filled the haveli tonight. Their fragrance floated through the air rich and sweet, blending with the smell of incense, kebabs, charcoal smoke and fresh sevaiyan drifting from the kitchens.
Inside, the dining table looked regal enough to belong inside a palace. The finest china had been brought out carefully from storage, polished until it gleamed beneath the lights overhead. Gold cutlery rested beside embroidered napkins, crystal glasses caught reflections from the dozens of small Turkish mosaic lamps scattered across the table. Blue, amber and gold light spilled across the white tablecloth in jewel toned patterns while servants rushed around making final adjustments in hushed panic.
Outside on the grand verandah the entire haveli stood waiting to welcome guests. Rehman stood at the center naturally, like the axis the entire night rotated around. His crisp white kurta had been embroidered with real gold thread that caught softly beneath the fairy lights every time he moved. The sharpness of his shoulders beneath the fabric, the expensive watch on his wrist, the rings glinting against cigarette smoke curling from between his fingers, all of it made him look less like a man who had clawed his way up from the streets and more like the dangerous heir of some old forgotten empire.
Beside him stood Uzair wearing white as well, silver embroidery stitched elegantly across his kurta to mirror his older brother. Faizal wore deep royal blue while Hamza, also in white leaned impatiently against one of the pillars already irritated. “DIDI JALDI AAO, AAPKA NIKAH NAHI HAI KI AAP ITNA TAYIAR HO RAHI HO!” Uzair burst out laughing immediately while Hamza grinned proudly at his own joke.
Then it came. Chan chan chan. The delicate violent sound of payals approaching through the hallway. Every single head turned instinctively. Rehanna hissed in annoyance as she finally emerged from inside the haveli, her juttis clicking sharply against the marble floors. “Hamza tereko ek second ka bhi chain nahi hai kya?” she huffed without properly looking up as she adjusted the dupatta draped elegantly over one shoulder. And then Rehman forgot how to breathe.
She was wearing royal blue. Not just blue. The kind of deep regal royal blue that belonged in old Mughal paintings beneath gold leaf detailing. Her Pakistani style lehenga moved around her like liquid silk as she walked. The sleeveless A line kurta hugged her frame perfectly before flowing elegantly downward, the silk brocade fabric embroidered with intricate golden motifs that matched Rehman’s own kurta almost painfully well. As if they had dressed for each other without speaking about it.
The lehenga itself remained mostly plain except for the heavy embroidered border near the hem, allowing the richness of the silk to speak for itself. But the real showstopper was her dupatta. The sheer fabric shimmered beneath the lights, fully embroidered with intricate golden motifs that caught against her skin every time she moved. It rested across her shoulder like molten gold poured over blue silk.
Her wavy curly hair had been left open and loose, swept entirely over one shoulder exposing the elegant line of her neck. Diamonds glittered from her ears. Delicate diamond drops in the first piercing, smaller matching studs climbing the second and third. Around her neck rested a pear cut diamond pendant hanging from a thin gold chain that disappeared against her collarbone. One wrist carried a gold watch. The other carried a few bangles that flashed every time her mehendi stained hands moved.
And her mehendi. God. The deep reddish brown stain against her creamy skin looked sinful. Rehman went completely silent. Everyone else complimented her immediately. “Mashallah.” “Vakeel sahiba aaj to qatal lag rahi hain.” “Blue color bohot suit karta hai.” She thanked everyone gracefully, smiling politely while adjusting her dupatta again, the silk had slipped off her shoulder. But Rehman could barely hear any of it over the violent pounding inside his chest. Because his eyes kept catching on the smallest details and each one ruined him further. The way the diamonds glittered against her throat. The elegant curve of her neck exposed beneath her hair. The way her bangles softly clinked every time she moved her hands. The dark mehendi winding over her fingers.
The tiny flower he made badly on her foot earlier is still on her foot. She kept it. His chest tightened violently at that. And then his eyes traveled upward again and he nearly lost his mind entirely because she was already staring at him.
Watching him quietly lose composure in real time. Rehanna wiggled one eyebrow at him knowingly before speaking casually. “Arre wah dakait sahab…kaafi shaandar lag rahe hain aap aaj.” Her eyes dragged shamelessly over him from head to toe. Slow enough to make his pulse spike.
Rehman cleared his throat once before responding carefully because suddenly words felt difficult. “Lag to aap bhi rahi hain…” his voice dipped slightly lower. “Kaafi khoob, vakeel sahiba.” She gave him a small graceful bow of acknowledgement, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
Just then headlights flooded across the courtyard. A car entered through the haveli gates slowly. Red sirens mounted atop immediately identifying it as belonging to Jameel Jamali. Guards rushed forward instantly to open the doors while servants straightened themselves nervously.
Rehman descended the steps smoothly to greet him. Jameel Jamali stepped out dressed in an elegant white kurta paired with a shawl draped over one shoulder, carrying the aura of an old school politician accustomed to power. Rehman smiled respectfully before pulling the older man into a traditional embrace. “Eid mubarak Jameel sahab, khush ameed.”
“Eid mubarak Mere bachhe,” Jameel replied warmly. The two men had a small conversation. Meanwhile Yalina practically flew toward Rehanna in her bright magenta sharara. “Eid mubarak didi!” Rehanna laughed softly before hugging her tightly. “Eid mubarak Yalina.” Over Rehanna’s shoulder, Yalina immediately winked toward Hamza. Hamza nearly choked trying not to grin like an idiot in front of her parents.
Yalina then gasped at Rehanna’s hands “Didi ye mehendi kitni sundar hai! Kitne ghante laga ke rakhha ki ye stain aye?” She was noting how dark Rehanna’s mehendi stain was. Practically a deep maroon red. “Ummm…. ye maine aaj bara baje lagai thi” hums Rehanna smiling at her handiwork on her hands. “Sirf kuch ganto me itna rang? Kaun hai woh jo aapse itna pyar karta hai?” asked Yalina in shock. Rehman’s eyes flick to Rehanna’s for just a moment, he had heard what Yalina had said. Then she breaks the look with a slight flush and just hugs Yalina again “Haan koi toh karta hoga pyaar…khuda jaane woh kaun hai” Rehman rolled his eyes at how she decided to cover up.
Rehanna pulled away from Yalina smiling before greeting Jameel properly with a respectful salam. Afterwards she hugged Yalina’s mother cordially, complimenting her elegant white velvet suit while exchanging Eid wishes politely. Then her attention shifted. Beside Yalina’s parents stood another woman dressed in muted magenta pink. Older than Yalina. Younger than her mother. Beautiful in an artificial, overly polished kind of way. And staring at Rehman entirely too hard. The woman’s eyes practically widened upon seeing him, practically undressing him. Rehanna immediately disliked her. Deeply.
The woman eagerly stepped forward toward Rehman with a smile that bordered on inappropriate. “Eid mubarak Rehman sahab,” she giggled softly beneath her words while shaking his hand. Too eager. Far too eager. Rehman greeted her politely without noticing the murder forming in Rehanna’s eyes silently behind him. “Aapko bhi Eid mubarak. Chaliye sab andar chalte hain.” He gestured everyone toward the entrance smoothly.
Meanwhile Rehanna narrowed her eyes so slightly nobody else noticed. Except maybe Allah. She leaned subtly toward Yalina while everyone began walking inside. “Yalina, who is she?” she asked casually. Too casually. Yalina completely missed the jealousy painfully concealed beneath her tone. “Oh woh?” Yalina replied easily. “Woh meri phuppho hai, Fatima hai unka naam, woh mere abbu ki behen hai! Hume milne aayi hai Eid ke liye.” Then Yalina walked ahead happily beside her mother. Leaving Rehanna standing alone on the verandah for one extra second.
Watching that woman walk just a little too close beside Rehman. Watching her laugh too brightly at something he said politely. And suddenly jealousy flared hot and ugly inside Rehanna’s stomach. Sharp enough to embarrass her. Because it was irrational. Petty. Possessive. But God she hated the way that woman looked at him. Like she wanted him.
Rehanna swallowed the emotion down hard before fixing her expression back into elegance and stepping inside behind everyone else, her payals jingling softly beneath the lights of Eid night.
—----------------
The evening of Eid ul-Fitr @ 9 pm
Baloch Haveli dining room, Lyari, Pakistan
Rehanna was at the brink of losing it. The only thing stopping her from committing homicide in front of guests was years of social conditioning and the fact that Yalina’s father was technically an important politician. And also the fact that it would ruin her mission, but that was secondary at this point. Her fork stabbed violently into her hara bhara kebab again. In her mind it was not a kebab. It was Fatima’s chest.
The woman had perched herself beside Rehman the second dinner began. The exact seat meant to be Rehanna’s. That alone had irritated her enough to briefly consider poisoning somebody’s sevaiyan. It wouldn't even be hard, it would be oh so easy. Just a little oopsie! Oh my god I didn't realize that was rat poison! I thought it was rosewater. God it would be so easy. Instead she took a deep breath and sat across from Rehman beside Yalina with all the grace of a queen being publicly inconvenienced.
The dining room glowed warmly around them. Turkish mosaic lamps cast amber and sapphire light across the long table while crystal glasses glittered beneath chandeliers overhead. Servants moved silently through the room replacing dishes while the scent of charcoal, spices, butter and flowers hung thick in the air.
And directly across from her sat Rehman. Looking devastating. The white and gold embroidery of his kurta glimmered beneath the warm lighting while the sleeves rolled slightly near his wrists exposed strong veined hands resting lazily beside his plate. Every few moments cigarette smoke still lingered faintly around him from whatever stolen smoke break he had taken earlier. He looked relaxed. Too relaxed. Especially considering the woman practically hanging off his shoulder.
Fatima had not stopped talking to him. Not once. Every time the conversation shifted elsewhere she dragged it back toward herself and Rehman again like some deeply irritating homing pigeon. When the first course of hara bhara kebabs had been served the entire table erupted into praise almost instantly. “Subhanallah.” “Bohot maze ke hain.” “Kisne banaye?” Rehman answered before anybody else could. “Aaj vakeel sahiba ne ye kebab, salad, aur meethe ke liye sevaiyaan banayi hai.” Immediately the table burst into praise again.
Everyone complimented Rehanna enthusiastically while servants nearby smiled proudly because they had witnessed her practically running the kitchen all morning. Rehanna accepted the appreciation gracefully with a smile and the faintest blush dusting her cheeks. Across the table Rehman looked at her quietly and smiled too. And that smile ruined her slightly. Because there was genuine pride in it. The kind that warmed her chest embarrassingly fast, she didn't realize when her lower lip had come in between her teeth. Rehman noticed.
Fatima noticed immediately. Of course she did. “Rehman sahab,” she cut in sweetly while adjusting her dupatta. “Ye to achhe hain lekin aapko mere haat ka seekh kebab khana chahiye…apko maza ajaega.” Rehanna’s smile nearly twitched. Rehman answered politely, seemingly oblivious to the flirtation dripping beneath her words. “Ji bilkul, kisi din zaroor khayenge.” Rehanna stabbed another kebab. Harder.
By the time the main course arrived she was actively reconsidering violence. Light chatter floated around the table naturally. Uzair told some ridiculous story about Donga almost setting the outdoor grill on fire earlier and Rehanna laughed before she could stop herself. Her laughter rang soft and melodious across the table. Rehman’s eyes lifted immediately toward the sound. That small involuntary smile returned to his lips again. God she looked so pretty when she laughed, thought Rehman.
And Fatima noticed that too. So naturally she interrupted again almost immediately. “Waise Rehman sahab—” Rehanna’s jaw tightened. Ya Allah. Did this woman ever shut up? Meanwhile Rehman had initially been trying to pull away politely all evening. Short answers. Courteous nods. Constantly redirecting conversation elsewhere. Until he noticed something.
Until he noticed the way Rehanna was angrily biting into carrot sticks like they personally insulted her. Until he noticed how tight her grip had become around her Sharbat glass. Until he noticed the sharpness in her eyes every time Fatima laughed too loudly beside him. Oh. Rehman almost smiled into his drink. Rehanna was jealous. Terribly jealous. And suddenly this became the most entertaining Eid dinner of his life.
Because jealousy looked dangerously beautiful on her. So slowly, deliberately, he began giving Fatima slightly more than curt polite answers. Not enough to genuinely encourage her. Just enough. Just enough to drive Rehanna insane. “Oh to aapki shaadi nahi hui hai abhi tak?” he restated casually loud enough for Rehanna to hear clearly. Across the table Rehanna paused mid bite of her pulao. Her grip tightened around her spoon as she forced an exhale out of her nose. Rehman almost lost composure right there. He took a sip of water instead to hide the grin threatening his mouth.
Fatima meanwhile brightened visibly beneath the attention and continued talking enthusiastically while leaning slightly closer. Rehanna wanted Allah to strike her down with lightning. Then came the final straw. Fatima placed her hand lightly on Rehman’s arm.
Everything inside Rehanna went still. For one horrifying moment she genuinely imagined flipping the entire dining table over. Crystal shattering. Food everywhere. Hamza screaming. Yalina trying to stop her. Rehman trying not to laugh while she strangled Fatima with fairy lights. Instead she calmly picked up her water glass. Took one long sip. Swished the water around her mouth angrily before swallowing it like she was swallowing rage itself.
Across from her Rehman was having the time of his life. And then the absolute bastard placed his hand over Fatima’s politely. Fatima bit her lip. Rehanna saw red. Actual red. Her phone appeared in her hand so suddenly even Yalina blinked in confusion. Rehanna glanced at the screen for half a second before abruptly standing up, the chair screeching sharply against marble.
The entire table looked at her. “Uh…Dakait sahab zara do minute ke liye aap humse bahar baat karenge woh Sialkot wale supplier ne ek message bheja hai.” Her voice was controlled. Too controlled. Every syllable carefully threaded together with restraint hanging by its last thread.
Rehman leaned back slightly in his chair grinning lazily, the Sialkot supplier seemed to be her excuse of the day. “Vakeel sahiba aaj Eid hai, unse kal baat karlenge.” Fatima immediately nodded, her hand still resting on Rehman’s arm. “Haan Rehanna ji aaj Eid hai aaj to koi kaam nahi hona chahiye. Rehman sahab bechare kitna kaam karte hain.” Rehanna was about to slice this woman's arm clean off with a butter knife.
Rehanna looked at Rehman. And smiled. A terrifyingly professional smile. The kind lawyers gave before destroying someone’s life in court. “Dakait sahab agar emergency nahi hoti to phir mai nahi bolti…zara miliye hume bahar. Paanch minute ka kaam hai.” The gritted teeth beneath her words made Rehman nearly laugh out loud.
Instead he nodded smoothly and rose from his chair. “Ji.” He turned toward Fatima politely. “Mai abhi ata hun.” Fatima pouted at Rehman and asked him to come back soon and Rehanna wanted to slap her.
—-----------
Then he followed Rehanna out of the dining room. The second they entered the hallway Rehman grinned openly. God he had made her jealous. Violently jealous. The hallway outside remained dimly lit compared to the dining room, shadows stretching long across marble floors while distant laughter and cutlery noises echoed faintly behind them. And then suddenly—
A hand grabbed his collar violently. Rehman barely had time to react before his back slammed against the wall with a sharp thud. An “oof” left his mouth. Rehanna stood in front of him absolutely furious. And somehow even more beautiful than before. The dim lighting made the diamonds at her throat and ears glitter brilliantly while her flushed face and furious eyes made her look almost unhinged with jealousy.
“Aapko mazak suuj raha hai kya?” she hissed angrily. Rehman stared at her for half a second before deliberately pretending innocence. “Jaan aapka kya matlab hai?” That only made her angrier. “Hume jaan na bulaiye,” she snapped instantly. “Uss kamini Fatima ko boliye na apni jaan? Aap usse kafi line de rahe the.” The venom in her voice nearly killed him. Rehman’s grin widened helplessly. “Kya aap jal rahi hain ya qalbi?” That did it.
Rehanna grabbed his collar harder and kissed him. Violently. Possessively. Like she wanted to erase every second of that dinner from his mouth. A groan escaped Rehman instantly at the sheer force of it as her lips crashed against his. There was anger in the kiss. Jealousy. Claim. Her mehendi adorned fingers twisted tightly into his collar while she kissed him harder like she wanted him breathless and ruined and entirely hers. Rehman’s hands instinctively dropped to her waist but she smacked them away immediately without even breaking the kiss. Clearly still furious. The rejection only made something hot spark through him harder.
So he let her have control. Let her press him against the wall. Let her kiss him like she was punishing him for existing beautifully beside another woman. The diamonds at her ears brushed against his skin every time she moved while her dupatta slipped slightly from one shoulder in her anger. Her breathing had already become uneven against his mouth but she kept kissing him anyway, sharp and needy and possessive enough to make his head spin slightly. She shoved her tongue in his mouth.
Rehman had never seen her like this before. This is openly territorial. And God. It was driving him insane. Finally she pulled away abruptly. Both of them are breathing hard. Her lips swollen slightly from the force of the kiss while anger still burned visibly across her face. One hand remained twisted tightly in his collar as she glared up at him breathing fast.
Meanwhile Rehman looked completely wrecked. Flustered. Actually flustered. His chest rose sharply beneath his kurta while his mind struggled to process the sheer intensity of her jealousy.
—-------------
The evening of Eid ul-Fitr @ 9:20 pm
The hallway outside the Baloch Haveli dining room, Lyari, Pakistan
Author's note: I personally like listening to Jhaag by Char Diwari in this scene “Tu mujhe peeti jaye prano me bache jhag na” ;)
Rehman breathes hard a stupid grin appearing on his face. This is so incredibly hot right now, how possessive she is. How jealous she is. Rehanna narrows her eyes, how dare he smile. How dare he take her lightly? She takes one mehendi clad hand and grips his jaw squeezing his jaw. “Aapko ye mazak lag raha hai kya?” Before he can answer she slams her lips against his again.
She doesn't even let him breathe as she violently kisses him, huffing an angry breath out of her nose. Her lips move against his as her pulse thrums in her ears, her jealousy and needing to stake a claim, poison her vision. He groans. Her free hand lifts the edge of his kurta placing her palm on his hard abs. Her warm palm splays against his muscles as she roves over them shamelessly. Rehman sighs into the kiss at the feel of her touch.
A loud laugh and a crash of silverware bubbles out of the dining room. Rehamans eyes go wide as he remembers they are just 15 feet away from the Daawat. He pulls away from her bruising kiss “Re- Rehanna kya kar rahi hain aap?” he asks shakily as her hands continue roving under his kurta.
Rehanna can feel his heart beating wildly. She leans in and bites at his lower lip “Bada shaunk hai na aapko?” her nails drag along the v of his muscles by his waistband he shivers. “Bada shaunk hai na aapko haath lagwane ka? Fatima ke haath lagwane ka?” jealous venom drips out in between words.
“B-bilkul nahi meri jaan aap aisa kaise soch sakti hain?” he shudders out as her nails rake once more. Goosebumps follow the trail. He can feel the lust swirl in his body, he can feel how hard he is right now. She laughs cruelly against his lips like she didn't believe him “Hmmmm… mai ye tab maanti agar aapne apna hath uske haat pe nahi lagaiya hota” she hums playing with the drawstring of his shalwar.
Rehman takes a deep breath to try and control himself. Hyperaware of the Daawat and how anyone can come out into the hallway and see them. “Meri jaan mera woh matlab nahi tha! Mujhe bilkul bhi nahi achha lag raha tha ki wo mere gale se latki hui thi” he reasons and Rehanna stares at him. “Haan maine unke haath pe haath rakhha lekin sirf tameez ke liye, aur koi matlab nahi tha mera” She watches him for a moment then she kisses his lips again this time more sweetly, like honey sweet. Dangerously sweet after her anger and jealousy. But Rehman didn't think too hard he moaned into her kiss thinking she had calmed down now.
“Rehman, Rehman, Rehman…..ye aapki bahane baazi kaam nahi karegi…mai andhi nahi hun” she hisses against his lips. Her mind floods with images of Fatima clinging to him again, she sees red again. Her hands toy with the drawstring more, threatening to undo it. Rehman's breath hitches. Someone laughs in the dining room again. Suddenly she palms him through the fabric of his shalwar. Her hand coming to cup his hard bulge as her demeanor switches back to the anger she had momentarily sheathed with honey.
Rehman bites back a moan as she speaks again “Kya uske haath ye kar sakte hain? Kya uske haath……..ya uske alfaz aapki rooh me aisi aag jala sakti hai? Hmm?” she coos almost condescendingly as she palms him again and this time he isn't able to choke back his moan. The dark hallway outside the dining room is painfully quiet and loud simultaneously, loud with their shaky heated breaths, quiet everywhere else.
“Nahi meri jaan aap jaisa koi nahi….kabhi nahi” he moans out as she palms him rhythmically. “Lekin yahan nahi, abhi nahi” he can’t believe he is the one who is about to stop her. She murmurs against his lips as she lets the weight of his bulge rest in her palm “apko lagata hi ki aage jo hone wala hai aapke woh aapki marzi se hone wala hai? Aapko abhi bhi lagta hai na ki mai mazak kar rahi hu? Ab dekho mera maza” and before he can speak she palms him once more and sinks to her knees right there in the hallway.
Her lehenga pools around her like water, her dupatta has slipped completely off her shoulder she looks up at him from her knees “M- meri jaan wahan Daawat chal rahi hai koi hume dekh lega” Rehman tries to reason as he looks toward the dining room to make sure nobody was heading this way. His heart racing incredibly fast. “Chup. Agar aap chup rahenge to phir kuch nahi hoga” she responded curtly. Still angry. Still jealous. Still possessive.
Her hands shoved his kurta to the side before her fingers deftly un-did the drawstring of his shalwar. She spit on her hand before she reached in and pulled his hard cock out without ceremony or flourish. She held his 6 ish closer to 7 inches of length in her mehendi stained hands. Rehman bit back a groan at the visual, her delicate mehendi adorned hands wrapped around his length. God it looked so good. She didn't give him even a moment to enjoy it.
Her hand had begun fisting his length relentlessly. The hot skin of her palm against his hard veined cock. He groaned hard, his head hitting the wall as his eyes shut in pleasure. He quickly shut his mouth to stop making more noise. Her thumb swirled around his sensitive tip with perfect precision Rehman hissed. “Rehman aankhen kholo aur mujhe dekho” she demanded as she twisted her wrist perfectly, making him shudder. He opened his eyes and what happened next made his soul evaporate.
She stared hard into his eyes as she fisted him, then she let him go once he looked at her. His hard length twitched at the lack of touch, he groaned in frustration. Then within a millisecond she leaned forward and took his tip in her warm waiting mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside of his tip as she pressed him to the roof of her mouth.
Rehman couldn't help it, another deep groan ripped from his chest, his fist slammed into the wall he was leaning against. Phenomenal, god she was phenomenal. What had he done to deserve this? Inside the dining room not even 15 feet away Jameel Jamali made a boisterous claim that made the group cheer. The timing was immaculate, the loud cheer masked Rehman's groan. Without that timing, they would have been caught.
She rested her hands on his thighs as she sat up slightly on her haunches. Then she began in earnest. Swirling her tongue around his length taking him in deeper. He began panting as he watched her. Her mouth was a wet warm cavern, and heaven second only to her cunt. But this blowjob was different.
Not just because she was so jealous she was blowing him in a hallway in the middle of a Daawat, but it was different because of how she looked at him. Pure raw possession. In her eyes he saw it, he saw how she almost wanted Fatima to walk in on them. How Rehanna wanted her to see Rehman ruined just by her mouth and he would be happy to oblige that visual.
She gaged around his length slightly but didn't stop. Rehman’s mind swirled. Her tongue tracing each vein as her teeth dragged on his length gently. She sucks his cock almost like a straw, slowly taking him in centimeter by centimeter bobbing her head back and forth. He moans as he tries to control his breathing. His hands tangled in her hair, palm warm against her scalp. On her way down his cock she soothes the pain with her tongue.
Rehman pursed his lips in an attempt to stop the sounds that threatened to spill. His breathing was ragged and she was nowhere near done with him. She keeps a punishing pace. Suck. Hold. Hollow her cheeks. Then suck hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to make him groan or moan in pleasure and pain. Release. Tongue flicking against his sensitive head. Before she takes him deep into her mouth again. Rehanna knew him too well, she knew how to have Rehman into a melted moaning mess with a scary amount of ease. His head leaned back against the cold plaster of the wall. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
So good, her mouth was so good, she was so good, Rehman was lost in the pleasure now. He was just languidly and mindlessly thrusting into her warm wet mouth as he felt the tension coil in his core. She moaned around his length sending vibrations through him.
She was loving this, she was loving how utterly ruined he was just from her mouth. Her eyes watered when he thrust hard enough to make her gag. Voices from the Daawat could be heard again “Arre Rehman bhai aur Didi ko kaafi vakt ho gaya?” Hamza’s voice. The sheer possibility of being caught turned Rehman on even more. “Haan… agar paanch minut me nahi aye to phir mai jaata hun unko dhoondne” floated the voice of Uzair. He muffled a grunt into his fist. He was close. The sounds in this hallway were almost pornographic.
Rehanna pulled off and Rehman almost whined in disappointment, her hand replaced her mouth. Her saliva helped her hand glide on his twitching throbbing cock. The wet sounds were obscene. Rehman’s eyes screwed shut in pleasure. She blew cold air on his tip while she pumped him. A moan ripped from his throat that he was barely able to muffle. Rehanna reached for her dupatta on the ground. She balled up one end as she continued pumping him. She got up slightly and shoved the dupatta into his mouth as a gag. He was definitely going to get them caught. “Shhhh Rehman…” she hissed “aap marwaoge hume”.
He apologized with the gag in his mouth, he moaned about her being amazing as he thrusted into her fist. Her dupatta smelled of her perfume, his head was swimming. She laughed darkly, the sound pulled at Rehman’s heart in the most pathetic way. “Agar mai aapko aise chh’od dun toh aap kya karoge? kya apki Fatima apko sambhal legi?” she asks cruelly from her knees, her hand slowing down so he would have some mental bandwidth to answer. She was reminding him that her jealous fire hadn't stopped, in fact she was using him to make a point.
“Nahi nahi nahi nahi!” he rambled behind the gag begging her not to stop. Rehanna laughed, shaking her head as she lazily pumped him. He pulled her dupatta out of his mouth “Mai darquast kar raha hun… mat rukna meri jaan kabhi mat rukna. Koi aur nahi sirf aap. Sirf aur sif aap” he groaned hoarsely. In fact he wouldn't even look at another woman ever again if she had asked. The dim lighting of the hallway made his features more pronounced, making his face look sculpted.
Rehanna smirked before she took him in her mouth again. She brought him back to her torturously good rhythm in seconds. The frequency of his sounds of pleasure increased, his cock twitched in her mouth, his body tensing. In between moans and thrusts he managed to warn her. Trying to prepare her for when he shoots his hot cum down her throat “Meri jaan…. Mai- ya allah!” he hissed as she sucked particularly hard. Making his hips stutter as his mouth hung open.
She hummed around his length, her signal for him to cum when he would like. The vibrations traveled through his soul. He cursed under his breath as he came. His cock twitching as it spurt hot thick ropes into her mouth. A broken groan left him in euphoria, he slumped against the wall she stayed down on her knees. She sucked his tip through the haze, her hands pumping and working whatever wasn't in her mouth. All he could do was take in ragged breaths. Her dupatta now clutched in his hand, the silk now crumpled in his restraint.
She held his cum in her mouth as she rose from her knees. Rehman shakily adjusted his clothes back into place, assuming she had swallowed. She shook out her lehenga, adjusting her clothes. Rehman stands there, still fucking dazed, on cloud nine. And still unable to comprehend how amazing she is when she is jealous and angry. She fixes her kurta off-handedly. Then she ruins him.
She sticks her tongue out to him showing him that his cum was still on her tongue. Her mouth was coated in it, in the creamy and white substance. Rehman chokes on air at the visual, how proud she looks sticking out a tongue full of cum at him like it was her trophy. Before he can stutter out words she winks at him and swallows it all. Rehman swallows a groan of his own watching her. She steps closer to him as she wipes the edge of her lip with her thumb. Her makeup hadn't moved an inch. What sorcery was this?
And then Rehanna spoke again softly and dangerously. “Ainda kisi aur aurat ko aise haat lagane diya na…” Her eyes dropped meaningfully toward where Fatima touched him earlier. Then lifted back to his face. “…to Eid ke din qatal hojayega. Aapko to pata hai ki mai kitni qatiliana mizaz ki hun” she grabbed her dupatta from his hands and left him standing there in the hallway as she adjusted it and walked back into the dining room where the Daawat continued.
—-------------
The evening of Eid ul-Fitr @ 9:35 pm
The hallway outside the Baloch Haveli dining room, Lyari, Pakistan
Rehanna walked away first. Chan chan chan. Her payals rang sharply against the silence of the hallway as she disappeared back toward the dining room without sparing him another glance. The royal blue dupatta shimmered behind her for a brief second before vanishing around the corner. The dining room cheered seeing her again.
Meanwhile Rehman remained exactly where she left him. Pressed against the wall. Panting. Dazed. His chest still rose unevenly beneath his kurta while the imprint of her mouth lingered hot against his lips. Her jealousy. Her anger. The sheer possessiveness in the way she kissed him. He genuinely had not expected that at all. Not from Rehanna. Not from the woman who normally carried herself with enough composure to stare down judges and gangsters alike without blinking. But tonight she looked ready to commit murder over another woman touching him.
An incredulous laugh escaped his throat suddenly. Low. Disbelieving. He leaned back harder against the cold plaster wall and shut his eyes briefly trying to regulate himself because Ya Allah. That woman was going to kill him one day. Either with bullets or jealousy. Probably both.
A few seconds later he straightened once his breathing finally resembled something human again. He adjusted his kurta carefully, smoothing wrinkles from the collar she nearly strangled him through. Then he ran a hand through his hair and checked the time on his watch. Dessert. It was time for the sevaiyaan she had made. How on earth was he supposed to focus on dessert after being kissed and handled like that in a dark hallway?
Still, he cleared his throat once and walked back toward the dining room attempting to resemble a functional member of society again. The moment he entered the dining room Uzair looked up immediately and grinned. “Arre wah bhai bhi time se aagaye.” Faizal brightened instantly at seeing him. “Abbu jaldi aao meethe ka wakt ho gaya hai!” Rehman smiled automatically and ruffled his son’s hair affectionately. “Haan beta mai agaya.”
Fatima looked up at him with wide hopeful eyes trying very hard to enchant him again. He gave her one brief polite nod. Then immediately looked toward Rehanna. Who was sitting calmly in her chair beside Yalina laughing softly over some joke. Her lips pursed delicately around the straw of her sharbat while the diamonds near her ears glittered every time she tilted her head back to giggle. She looked entirely unaffected. Like she had not just nearly devoured him alive in a hallway. Rehman swallowed hard. Rehanna flicked her eyes toward him once. Then looked away again like he no longer existed. Ouch.
Fatima immediately tried to regain his attention once more. She leaned closer speaking animatedly but this time Rehman barely even looked at her while answering politely. His eyes remained fixed on Rehanna instead. Who ignored him magnificently. She was giving him exactly the treatment he deserved. And unfortunately he deserved it a lot.
Servants soon entered carrying warm bowls of sevaiyaan, the sweet scent of cardamom, milk, saffron and roasted nuts immediately filling the dining room. The entire table lit up instantly. “Wahhh.” “Smells amazing.” “Vakeel sahiba ne kamal kardiya.” Rehanna visibly blushed beneath all the praise while trying to wave it off modestly. “Arre nahi itna bhi kuch nahi hai.”
Then Rehman took one bite. And his soul ascended directly into heaven. The sevaiyaan were rich and creamy without being too heavy, perfectly balanced with cardamom and sweetness while the nuts added warmth beneath every spoonful. A shameless groan left his mouth immediately. “Masallah vakeel sahiba…” his voice dipped lower near the end while his eyes fixed entirely on her. “Kya khoob.” The compliment carried two meanings so openly that even Uzair looked between them suspiciously for half a second.
Rehman expected her to look up. Smile maybe. Thank him. Instead she completely ignored him and busied herself fixing Yalina’s hair accessory that had come loose. Rehman physically wilted slightly. Across the table Fatima meanwhile boiled internally at the fact that the man she had spent all evening chasing only seemed interested in praising Rehanna. So she tried again. Poor woman. This time Rehman shut her down diplomatically so smoothly it almost hurt to watch. “Ji,” he nodded politely before immediately turning toward Faizal instead and asking him about school. Fatima visibly deflated.
Across the table Rehanna grinned faintly beneath her breath. And suddenly Rehman felt victorious again. Discreetly beneath the table he stretched one foot forward until it brushed lightly against hers. Rehanna gave absolutely no reaction. But she did not move away either. Progress.
Dessert continued warmly after that. Conversation softened into comfortable laughter while second servings were forced onto everyone by Salma Bi personally. Faizal got sevaiyaan on his sleeve. Donga nearly dropped an entire spoonful onto Uzair’s kurta. Hamza kept sneaking glances toward Yalina every thirty seconds like a man terminally in love.
And before anyone realized it, the evening had begun winding down. Guests slowly stood from the table while servants started clearing dishes again. Rehanna and Yalina walked out of the dining room giggling together while discussing something quietly. Hamza practically had hearts in his eyes watching Yalina walk ahead of him. Rehanna noticed instantly. Of course she did. She leaned toward Yalina subtly and whispered, “Jaa 5 min Hamza ke sath gayab ho ja…mai kuch bahana banadungi.” Then she winked. Yalina nearly lit up with excitement before hurrying off to find her boyfriend secretly.
Meanwhile everyone gathered near the front porch of the haveli beneath the fairy lights and warm night air. And unfortunately Fatima apparently decided she had one final battle left to fight. The woman stood far too close to Rehman again speaking sweetly while laughing at everything he said. Uzair, Donga and Siyahi had all noticed by now and were openly sniggering amongst themselves nearby while poor Jameel Jamali looked deeply embarrassed of his sister’s behavior.
Rehman meanwhile was trying desperately hard to remain gentlemanly while rejecting her advances without publicly humiliating her. Unfortunately Rehanna stood nearby glaring holes directly into the back of his head. And he could feel it. Physically. Sweat nearly formed at the back of his neck.
Eventually Yalina returned from her very fake “bathroom trip” looking suspiciously happier and with a small gift box that definitely wasn't here before. While Hamza tried and failed to hide the lipstick slightly smeared near the corner of his mouth. The way he was staring at Yalina it looked like he wanted to just carry her away and have his way with her. She needed to fix this immediately. Rehanna rushed to her brother Hamza’s side and yanked him down by the ear into a corner “Khotte apne ishq ka khulasa karna hai kya? Tum dono ne sabooth nahi mitaya?” she hisses in his ear as she wipes off Yalina’s lipstick from his mouth with her dupatta.
Rehanna practically scrubs his mouth red and raw, taking it off. Once it was finally off Rehanna huffed and mused to herself “Arreh wah kya long lasting lipstick hai….mujhe bhi leni chahiye” Hamza looks at her quizzically “Didi aapko long lasting lipstick kyun chahiye?” Rehanna smirks and wiggles her eyebrows with a wink “Jaise tum Yalina ki lipstick kharab karte ho….waise mera bhi koi hai jo meri lipstick aur hosh dono uda deta hai” she whispers to Hamza with a wide smile. Hamza gags “BLEGH- DIDI PLEASE NAHI NAHI NAHI CHUP HOJAO”
Rehanna grins wide holding him in place so he is forced to listen. She is having way too much fun victimizing her brother. “Ohhh Hamza woh mujhe aise chhoota hai mmmhhh…aise kamar pakadke kheechta hai…haye daiya mera sar ghoom jata hai” She groans in memory “Kya gazab ke ashiq hain”. Her payals chan chan-ing slightly as she sways thinking about the memory.
Hamza looks green, Hamza looks like he is gonna kill someone and then throw up and then kill himself immediately. “HUUEGH- Didi ya to bata do ki kaun hai…warna mai dharti cheer ke usko dhoond ke usko mardunga…phir khud marjaounga” She grinned evilly and pressed a kiss to his cheek before walking away. Hamza shivered in disgust. Rehanna’s maneuver worked; he was no longer staring at Yalina like a hungry wolf and was instead looking thoroughly disgusted.
Then the proper goodbyes began. More hugs. More Eid Mubarak wishes. More compliments toward Rehanna and her cooking. And then disaster nearly struck. Fatima moved toward Rehman with open arms clearly intending to hug him goodbye. Absolutely not. Not today Satan.
Rehanna swooped in like divine intervention itself. “OH Fatima ji Eid mubarak Eid mubarak kitni pyari hain aap.” Her voice dripped with fake affection so thick even Allah probably blinked. Before Fatima could react properly she found herself trapped in Rehanna’s embrace instead. Rehman almost sighed out loud in relief. At the same time another wave of smugness curled through him because good God she was jealous.
Fatima smiled tightly while exchanging syrupy niceties back, but the expression on her face made it abundantly clear that behind the smile she was probably imagining pushing Rehanna down a staircase.
Eventually the Jamali family finally packed into their cars and left. The gates closed behind them. Silence settled back over the haveli. Only the usual residents remained standing on the porch beneath the fairy lights now. Uzair. Hamza. Siyahi. Donga. Faizal. Rehman. Rehanna.
Faizal immediately grabbed Hamza and Uzair by their hands dramatically. “Hamza chachu, Uzair chachu 10 minute park le chalo pleaseeeeeeee.” Hamza laughed while Uzair groaned theatrically. “Abhi?”
The boy begged “PLEASEEEE.” Within moments Hamza and Uzair surrendered while Donga and Siyahi joined purely for entertainment. Rehman called after them “Uzair isko laake sula dena…mujhe aur vakeel sahiba ko ye Sialkot wale supplier ko dekhna hai”
Uzair called back “JI BHAI” with a thumbs up. Soon they all disappeared through the gates with Faizal practically bouncing between them excitedly.
Leaving just Rehman and Rehanna alone on the porch. The second the others disappeared Rehanna hmphed loudly at him, turned her nose away with maximum drama and walked straight inside the haveli. Chan chan chan.
Rehman followed instantly like a lost miserable puppy. “Arre meri jaan kya hua?” No response. She continued walking through the hallways elegantly ignoring him completely. “Ya qalbi tum kitni haseen lagti ho iss gusse me…” he sighed dramatically behind her. “Mar hi dala.”
Still nothing. She walked faster. He followed her all the way toward her room looking utterly doomed and utterly in love.
—--------------
The evening of Eid ul-Fitr @ 10:35 pm
Rehanna’s bedroom, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Rehman followed her all the way to her room. Like a man sentenced to death following the executioner voluntarily. Rehanna pushed open her bedroom door and walked inside without acknowledging him once. The room still carried traces of her getting ready earlier. Mehendi cones sat forgotten beside her vanity, jewelry boxes remained scattered open, the faint scent of her perfume and rajnigandha flowers lingering softly through the air. Moonlight spilled through the balcony curtains in silver streaks while warm yellow lamps cast everything else in gold.
Behind her Rehman quietly shut the door. Rehanna still refused to look at him. She walked toward her vanity with her nose slightly turned upward in anger or maybe annoyance before pulling the embroidered dupatta from her shoulder and throwing it dramatically over a nearby chair. The heavy fabric collapsed over the wood in shimmering royal blue folds. Meanwhile Rehman stood there watching her like a man completely ruined. “Arre meri jaan…” he sighed softly while following after her. “Itna bhi kya gussa? Eid ke din to qaidiyon ko bhi maaf kardete hain.” No response.
Rehanna calmly reached up and began removing one diamond earring carefully. Rehman moved closer slowly. “Aapko pata hai?” he murmured. “Aaj chand dekhne ki bhi zaroorat nahi padi.” Still silence. “Kyuki chand to phele se hi Baloch haveli me ghoom raha tha.” The corner of Rehanna’s mouth twitched slightly despite herself. Rehman immediately noticed. Ah. Progress.
He leaned lazily against the frame of the canopy bed her watching her through the mirror while she removed the second earring. “Aur ye aankhein…” he exhaled dramatically. “Wallah Vakeel sahiba aisi aankhein kisi insaan ki nahi hosakti. Ye to seedha qatal karti hain.” Rehanna rolled her eyes faintly but her expression softened another fraction.
“Aur ye gulab ke phool jaise hont…” his voice lowered shamelessly. “Aapko andaza bhi hai aaj hallway me mera kya haal kardiya tha apne?” That made her glance up finally. Through the mirror their eyes met. And unfortunately for her Rehman saw the exact second she started melting. His grin widened instantly.
“Sach kahun?” he continued softly while moving behind her now. “Aapka chehra chand se bhi zyada khoobsurat hai.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Nahi. Chand se koi muqabla bhi nahi hai. Chand me daag hote hain.” A shy unwilling smile finally escaped her. Small. Soft. Visible only in the mirror. But Rehman saw it anyway and immediately looked unbearably pleased with himself. “Ye rahi meri jaan,” he murmured victoriously.
Rehanna huffed quietly trying to hide the smile while reaching for the pins in her hair. Then suddenly Rehman stepped fully behind her and rested his chin against her shoulder. His arms wrapped around her waist, naturally pulling her lightly against his chest. The warmth of him surrounded her instantly. “Aap bhi jalankhor nikli,” he teased softly near her ear. “Jab jalti hain to seedha qatal pe utar ati hain.” He chuckled low beneath his breath. “Aur woh bhi jab hum kisi aur khatun ko dana bhi nahi dete.”
His fingers squeezed lightly against her waist. “Ab to soch raha hun shayad thoda dana dena chahiye…” he mused dramatically. “Agar har baar aisa gussa mile toh….” Rehanna’s eyes snapped toward his in the mirror immediately. There it was again. That sharp flare of jealousy. Possession. Danger. “Ji nahi,” she replied coolly while staring directly into his eyes through the mirror. “Mujhe pasand nahi ayega agar koi aur woh cheez dekhe jo meri hai.”
Rehman short circuited. Completely. His brain genuinely stopped functioning for one full second. Mine. She called him hers so naturally. So possessively. Ya Allah. Before he could even recover she turned suddenly within his arms and shoved him backward hard enough that he stumbled onto the bed with a startled laugh.
Rehman hit the mattress with an oof. And then immediately stopped laughing because Rehanna rounded the bed slowly and climbed onto it after him. Then straddled him. The royal blue lehenga spread around her like spilled silk while her loose curls cascaded over one shoulder. The diamond pendant at her throat glimmered beneath the bedroom lighting while her mehendi darkened beautifully against her skin.
Rehman stared up at her looking thoroughly affected. Meanwhile Rehanna rested one hand lightly against his chest and traced absent minded patterns there with her fingers. “Waise…” she hummed softly. “Eidi nahi di hai apne mujhe?” Rehman grinned slowly despite the fact that his heartbeat had not stabilized once tonight. He reached up brushing a loose curl behind her ear affectionately. “Aapne mera chain, neend, sab cheenliya…” he murmured dramatically. “Aur kya du aapko mai Eidi me?”
Rehanna instantly tsked and rolled her eyes in disappointment. “Bas?” she muttered dryly. Rehman laughed softly. Then finally he reached sideways toward her nightstand drawer. Earlier that afternoon while she had been getting ready he quietly hid something there himself. Now he pulled out a small velvet gift box and handed it to her. Rehanna blinked once in surprise. “Kya hai isme?” she asked while shaking it lightly near her ear. “Kholiye,” Rehman replied simply.
Curiosity immediately overtook her irritation. She tore the wrapping off quickly before opening the box. Then froze. A small gasp escaped her lips. Inside rested a platinum necklace. Delicate. Elegant. Deadly meaningful. A diamond encrusted letter R rested at the center beside a tiny lion charm crafted in platinum and gold. The lion. Sher e Baloch. Him. And the R….. Was it for Rehanna? Or Rehman? The answer was obviously both. It was a mark. His mark. Something for her to wear openly against her throat. Rehanna stared at it speechlessly.
Meanwhile Rehman gently took the necklace from the box before she could fully process it. From beneath her he reached upward, carefully moving her hair aside. His fingers brushed lightly against the back of her neck as he clasped the chain into place. The pendant settled perfectly against her skin. Moonlight caught the diamonds instantly making them glitter brilliantly against her throat. Beautiful. God she looked beautiful.
“Rehman…” she breathed softly while touching the pendant in disbelief. Rehman openly grinned up at her, completely unable to hide his satisfaction now. “Eid mubarak meri jaan,” he murmured warmly. “Allah aapko zindagi bhar khush rakhe.” What Rehman really wanted to say was that he hoped she would remain happy with him for the rest of their lives. But he couldn't say that.
Something inside her chest cracked open at the sincerity in his voice. Because beneath all his teasing and flirting and arrogance there was something terrifyingly genuine there. Something steady. Devoted. Loving in a way that frightened her sometimes with its intensity. Tears pricked suddenly at her eyes before she could stop them.
She said nothing. Instead her fingers tightened suddenly around his collar and she bent forward kissing him hard enough to silence the entire world again. Her body folded against his while he lay beneath her on the bed, one hand immediately rising to cradle her jaw gently. And this kiss was different from the hallway. Not angry. Not jealous. Just full. Overwhelmingly full of everything she could not say aloud.
His thumb stroked her jaw as they kissed. Her new necklace dangled between them. She made the tiniest sound of pleasure into his mouth as their lips moved. Rehman groaned, his other hand tossing the gift box somewhere into the darkness of her room. Once that hand was free it went to her hip kneading the soft flesh there.
Their tongues moved together gently at first. Sweetly at first. Before Rehman got greedy that is. He tried to grab her by her hips and flip them over. Rehanna gripped the headboard with one hand and dug her knees into the bed at the same time to effectively trap him beneath her.
She pulled away from his lips with an angry sigh, one of her hands gripping his collar again. Her hair falling over her face as she leaned in to talk to him. “Aapse do meethi baatein kya kari aapko laga sab normal ho gaya? Mera gussa uttar gaya?” she cocked an eyebrow at him. He blinked back at her. She shook her head with a sigh before she climbed off of him tut tut tutting him.
Rehman sat up on the bed “Meri jaan maine toh kuch kiya bhi nahi!” he tried to reason with her, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “ Woh lipti hui thi! aur mai bas poori raat tumhare ye qatilna husn me dooba hua tha….. woh kya keh rahi thi aur kar rahi thi mujhe ab yaad bhi nahi! Mujhe toh uska naam bhi yaad nahi!” he said moving towards her where she stood by the edge of the bed. He moved on the bed on his hands and knees, effectively crawling towards her. He tilted his head up at her.
She narrowed her eyes at Rehman, his eyes were wide, his face lit up in the moonlight, he looked so handsome. His eyes held a genuine apology. She almost caved. Key word almost. She leaned in, her mehendi clad hand and gently held his jaw. “Bohot badhiya ki aapko yad nahi hai..yekin mai apni yaadash ka kya karu?” she hummed sweetly. “Jab bhi mai aapko dekhti hun mera khun khaul jata hai… mujhe sirf ye dikhta hai ki uske haath ap pe hain…jaise uska haq hai. Jaise uska haq ahi aap pe.” She hissed in anger now “ Rehman mujhe lal dikh raha tha, mai uska qatal karne wali thi….Ek baar aap soch ke dekho. Agar aap meri jaga ajao aur mai aapki jaga hun toh?”
Rehman swallows. Possession. Jealousy. Anger. Today Rehman had seen so much of this side of Rehanna. He loved it, he loved this so much. He rose slightly from his hands and knees to just on his knees on her bed. Haq…she talked about haq. Another woman having the possibility of a haq on him and how she boiled in rage at that. For a moment he put himself in her shoes.
He imagined another man holding her hand, another man leaning in vying for her attention. He saw red too. In comparison to him Rehanna was very kind. Rehanna didn't strangle Fatima, Rehman would have shot any man point blank for even thinking about her. His voice was a low rasp now, he understood Rehanna’s anger “Ya qalbi kisi aur ka haq nahi hai mujhpe…sirf aapka haq hai. Aaj raat aap apna haq jatao, sab ko dikhado. Dikhado ki Rehman Dakait ke uppar koi haq jatane wala hai”
Rehanna smiled dangerously. Now they were getting somewhere. She leaned forward and kissed Rehman with a bruising force.
—-------
Author’s Note: Please listen to Dilbar from Satyamev jayate for this part.
Dilbar dilbar…
Chadha jo mujhpe suroor hai
Asar tera yeh zaroor hai
Teri nazar ka kasoor hai
Rehanna pulls away just as quickly as she kisses him. Like she cant wait any longer “Kapde utariye” she says plainly and with no flourish. Rehman stares dazed at her for a moment before he gets into action. He pulls off his beautiful Eid kurta in one go before his shalwar follows, both articles of clothing hit the floor leaving him in just his boxers. She stares shamelessly for a moment admiring the mehendi she left on his bicep and shoulder earlier that day, it was equally as dark as hers. His muscles rippled in the moonlight with each movement. She swallows and breathes low at the sight, she gestures to the middle of the bed.
The instructions are simple, get back. Rehman moves back up the bed as he watches her. She pulls at the ties of her lehenga first, undoing the knot with one hand. The silk pools on the floor as she steps out of it elegantly. Her payals jingle once at the movement. The moonlight highlights her frame from the balcony behind her. She pulls off the kurta with the same ease. She steps closer and the lamp light of the room hits her, and Rehman's mouth goes dry. He can't believe his eyes.
She stands there clad in a deep blue lace lingerie set, hands clad in mehendi, feet adorned in his payals, neck adorned with his necklace, her brain short circuiting tattoo on full display, the faintest blush on her cheek, a wild look in her eyes. Ya Allah. Subhan Allah. Eid mubarakh indeed. Rehman manages to stutter out in a raspy voice “Mashaallah meri jaan…poori raat ye khan chupaya hua tha?”
Dilbar dilbar…
Aa paas aa tu kyun door hai
Yeh ishq ka jo fitoor hai
Nashe mein dil tere choor hai
“Fatima se apni nigahe uthake dekhna chaihiye tha aapko… dikh jata phir” she tells him with an arrogant humph. Rehanna traces the poles of her canopy bed as she walks around the frame. Her eyes on him, watching him. Calculating her next move. Rehman wants to open his mouth, he wants to try to say something to help soothe her anger. But the look in her eyes tells her that he better shut up.
She rounds the final corner and climbs the bed by her knees. Rehman's hands immediately come forward to grab her and pull her close. She smacks them away and shoves him hard enough so he falls back on the bed. Her arms cage him, her curls fall forward to brush his chest. Her newly gifted pendant sways between them framed by the swell of her breasts. Rehaman reaches one hand up to brush the hair from her eyes. What a sight. Phenomenal.
Dilbar dilbar…
Ab toh hosh na khabar hai
Yeh kaisa asar hai
She dips her head and slides her body down his. Her face near his abs. She dips her head down and her lips press a kiss to the muscle. Her lips brush his skin so gently it feels like a ghost brushed over his skin. Rehman lets out a shaky breath. She holds his eyes as she peppers more and more kisses in the area.
Slowly she begins working her way up his body, littering his torso with bites, kisses, licks, and hickies that would bruise purple by morning. “Meri jaan” he groans as she soothes a particularly hard bite with her tongue. His hand goes to cradle her face gently as she continues. His thumb brushing her cheek, his eyes dilated as he watches her bite him and bruise him in her claim.
He can feel the platinum gold and diamond encrusted pendant brush along his thigh as she takes her time with him. Her payals chink occasionally as she moves her body. With each kiss and bite he can feel her breathing get more and more uneven against his skin. Like the lust and jealousy had put her in a haze.
Hosh na khabar hai
Yeh kaisa asar hai
Tumse milne ke baad dilbar
Tumse milne ke baad dilbar
She works her way up eventually, tracing the hollow of his neck with her tongue before she plants a kiss on his adams apple. Rehman moves his face and captures her lips against his groaning into her mouth. One hand in her hair, the other resting on the lace on the swell of her ass.
She moans into the kiss as she straddles him. Rehman's hand squeezes the flesh rhythmically, his tongue dancing along with hers as she deepens the kiss. His hand moves the blue lace of her panties aside just a bit to feel her bare flesh. Rehman swallows her gasp as he squeezes hard enough to hurt.
Dilbar dilbar…
dilbar dilbar…
She pulls away from the kiss breathing hard against his forehead “Yaad hai? Aapne mujhse pucha tha ki maine aapka naam kaha likha hai?” Rehman suddenly remembers this afternoon again where she had written his name with mehendi somewhere more intimate, somewhere only for him to find. Rehman has a feeling he won't survive if she shows him where his name was written. But he needs to see, he needs to see this. Rehman nods, a smug look pulls on her face as she pulls away from him.
She now sits herself on his lap, her barely clothed core against his hardness. Rehman's eyes darted around her body desperately searching for his name. His eyes get tangled in the vines of her tattoo. Did she write his name there? He can't see it.
Rehanna points to her right hip, along the edge of her blue lace panties. There it was. Oh my god there it was. The mehendi had stained her skin a rich brown. There was his name on her skin. Spelled out clear as day, R-E-H-M-A-N, resting right over her pussy.
Rehman curses under his breath as he sits up, his hands going to her hips, his eyes trained on his name on her hip. “Mashallah Meri jaan….mar hi dala” He groans and curses under his breath as his thumb traces over each letter. He cant believe it, lust love and possession brew in him like a storm. She wore his payals, she wore his necklace, she had now written his name on her body.
Dilbar dilbar…
dilbar dilbar…
“Ab samajh me aa raha hai ki mujhe gussa kyun a raha tha?” she asks as she rolls her hips. The wet lace of her underwear rubbed against her core deliciously making her gasp. “Aapka naam hai mujhpe…aur uska haath tha aap pe” she hisses with another roll of her hips.
Rehman’s hands on her hips help her grind against his clothed cock. He can feel how soaked she is through the fabric of his boxers. A gasp rips from her throat as he hits just the right angle “Meri jaan mujhe tabah kardiya hai aapne” he groans against her neck inhaling her scent. “Mai samajh ta hun…apki jalan apka gussa” he helps her grind again. A whimper escapes her, her head falling back. “Aapne mera naam likha apne upar?” he asks again in disbelief.
She lets out a breathy laugh “Aap chauk kuyun rahe ho? Maine aapko apna bola…. Phir mai aapki nahi hui?” Her hips move again chasing the pleasure of grinding against him. Rehman groans into her chest. Burying himself in the swell of her breasts. His tongue dips in the valley between her mounds. His. She said she was his.
His mouth begins leaving hot open mouthed kisses all over her bra bound breasts. The lace rubbing against his face as he mouths on each mound. His tongue drenching the thin material as he moves his mouth over her. Her hand tangles in his hair as she grinds into his lap. “Mujhe nahi pasand agar koi meri cheez ho haath lagay” she says through gritted teeth pulling him away from her chest by his hair.
Karti qatal na aise tu chal
Paheli ka iss nikalo koi hal
Husan ka pitara khilta kamal
Kar loonga sabar kyunki meetha hai phal
The raw possession in her eyes does it for him. He groans as he grinds up into her almost pathetically. The thin material of his boxers are damp with her wetness and her own panties are soaked beyond saving. Her words. God damn her silver tongue. Her words have ruined Rehman.
The way they are moving against each other they are practically fucking through their clothes. He captures her nipple through the lace of the bra making her hiss and moan in pleasure. The wet lace, the heat of his mouth all rub against her sensitive nipples. “F-fuck…mmh Rehman” she stutters as his hands pull her down hard against him. Pleasure crashes through her like a wave on the shore.
His hips roll upwards “Jaan…” he groans his mouth pulling away from her cleavage just momentarily. His cock twitching, aching to be in her. She places both her hands on his shoulders and throws her whole weight against him making him fall back once again. As he falls back his hands hold her hips against his hardness, grinding into her constantly.
A pant of pleasure leaves her as she places a hand on his chest to push herself up slightly. She rolls her hips against his once again as she recaptures his lips. They gasp into each other's mouths. The heat building between them with each grind. She whined as the head of his cock hit perfectly against her clit through the layers of fabric.
Tu mera khaab hai
Tu mere dil ka qaraar
She breaks away from his kiss and pulls her body away from Rehman's hips. He groans hard as his hips stop mid thrust. “Rehanna” he groans gutturally at the lack of friction. She wordlessly shuffles up his body. Rehamans eyes stay trained on his mehendi written name on her hip. The lace gusset of her lace panties significantly darker than the rest of the fabric, a testament to her arousal.
“Rehman ye dikh raha hai?” she says her breath ragged. Rehman's eyes darken. “Jabse maine aaj shaam aapko apke Eid ke kapdon me dekha…tabse mera ye haal hai...mera badan apkeliye itna tadapta hai” she whispers darkly, her soaked underwear right in front of his face now.
“Ye jo aapki zuban uss Fatima sath phadphada rahi thi na?….isko kuch behtar kaam pe lagaiye” she mused darkly, her thumb brushing across his lip almost lovingly. Rehman could smell her arousal. The look in her eyes was dark and twisted. “Meri ibadat kariye iss’se…..maafi mangiye iss se…rehem mangiye iss’se” both her hands now gently caress his hair. Painfully gentle.
Rehman swallowed hard, he nodded wordlessly. He would worship at her altar. He would become the highest priest. The one who is in love with the goddess. She smiled like a Cheshire cat. She lowered herself on his face. She didn’t even let him take a breath before she sat herself on his face.
Rehman's arms immediately flew up to hold her, gripping her waist, holding her in place as he ate her out like a man starved. He flattened his tongue against the lace and liked a long flat stripe and moaned shamelessly at her taste.
Dekh le jaan-e-mann
Dekh le bas ek baar…
He does his best through the lace. Lapping at the soaked material for any trace of her essence. His tongue pushed through the lace in an attempt to taste her nectar from the source. Above him Rehanna breathes hard. Her hips rocking slowly as she feels the sparks of pleasure hit her clit with each lap of his tongue or each bump against his nose. A small moan leaves her mouth
Rehman growls into her in frustration. This isn't good enough. He uses his hands to move her off of his face for just a second. “Rehman!” she pants angrily, the pleasure stopping suddenly. How dare he move her?
“Ek minute meri rooh, bas ek minute” he said through heavy breaths. He himself was annoyed to stop mid meal. His fingers gripped the lace of the underwear. * RIIIPPP *
The sound was deafening in the charged but silent room. Rehman had ripped the lace underwear clean in half. Within seconds he ripped any remaining shreds by her hips that kept the material on her. He pulled the material away and threw it to the floor with immense hatred for blocking what he craved.
A loud gasp ripped from her throat “REHMAN! Pata hai ki woh kitna mehenga tha? Mujhe bohot pasand tha woh!” she looks at him in pure disbelief. She looks at the ripped lace on the floor with a sad look. He had ripped her expensive imported lace lingerie like it was a tissue. And what made this worse was that it was her favorite.
“Mai 10 aur, iss’se bhi zyda mehenge wale kharidwadunga apkeliye” he grunts as he pulls her back over his mouth. Like this was a mere inconvenience in the middle of his worship.
Chain kho gaya hai
Kuch toh ho gaya hai
He moans happily when he finally gets to taste her. His tongue swipes through her folds. A moan rips from her “Reh-Rehman har problem pe paise nahi phek sakte aap!” she protests weakly as her balance shakes from pleasure.
Rehman chuckles from in between her legs. The sound vibrates through her clit. “Mai kya karu ya qalbi… mere paas paisa bohot zyada hai” he says as he eats her out like a man starved. Rehanna gasps at his answer, he wasn't wrong. Rehman really was obscenely rich.. And money was one of her turn ons. She always had to take a shaky breath when she counted his earnings every month. The figure in the crores, easily. The blush on her face made her look sunburned.
He moans and groans appreciatively as she grinds against his face. Her slick coating his cheeks and chin as her hips grind wantonly chasing her own pleasure. Her moans turn into breathy pants as she moves against his face.
His groans send vibrations through her core. The sounds he makes while he eats her out are downright heinous. Wet smacking sounds reverberating through the room. Rehanna’s head spins in pleasure.
His cock is so hard and so sensitive it twitches in his boxers with each sound she makes. Each little moan, each little “aah” each chant of his name, each “Ahhgh Rehman!” makes his cock jump.
Chain kho gaya hai
Kuch toh ho gaya hai
“Ah ah ah god” she pants her head thrown back in pleasure as his tongue swirls around her clit expertly. Rehman grins into her cunt. She can feel it. On one hand it pisses her off beyond belief and on the other hand it turns her on even more.
Within moments her legs began shaking in pleasure. Rehman's hands held her waist and ground her against his face. His note nudging her clit with immense behrehmi. His tongue fucking her quivering and clenching hole. She was close.
Rehman doubled down. Licking, sucking, nipping at her clit, tongue swirling in her folds as if he was writing a love letter. Her pants and moans got higher in pitch, her mind lost entirely. Rehman the absolute bastard, was a multitasker, he was talking into her cunt “Bas ya qalbi aise hi.” and “Aap nasha aur mai…iss nashe ka gulam” he would moan with obscene slurps as she rode his face.
Her face burns, she is painting, she is moaning, she is a mess. She was close. So…so damn close. “Rehman” she breathed hard as she felt the first waves of her orgasm pull at her. Rehman hummed into her clit in response. Pleasure pulled at her navel, then soon it flooded her body. The waves of her orgasm crashed over her with a sharp cry of pleasure “AH!”
He hummed into her through it, the vibrations aiding in the pleasure. His tongue lapped at her cum from the source moaning in pleasure.
Tumse milne ke baad dilbar
Tumse milne ke baad dilbar
She climbs off of his face shakily. Her breathing is uneven. His face glistens with her slick under the moonlight and the lamplight of her room.
The visual is like a gentle balm to the jealousy in her soul. This visual. This moment. Something Fatima would never fucking get. She could dream it but nothing would ever be as good as the reality. This only belonged to Rehanna. Rehman only belonged to Rehanna.
Rehman caught his breath, head against the pillows. She pounced once more, clearly not done. She straddled his hips once more. Setting her soaked and quivering cunt directly over his cock over his boxers. Rehman could feel the heat through the fabric, he moaned.
She grabbed his face and kissed him hard. She could taste herself on his tongue. The taste was intoxicating. Rehman kissed her back with just as much vigour
Her hands let go of his face and went to the waist band of his boxers. Yanking at it deftly needing it to be off of his body this instant. He moved his hips to help her take the material off. His hand immediately went to his cock pumping it twice before his fingers gathered some of the wetness from her core. He spread his precum and her wetness on his shaft, his movements rushed and clumsy because he was equally desperate to be buried deep in her.
She lined her core up with his throbbing cock. And then she sank down on it. A silent scream left her throat as she took him to the hilt in one go. Rehman groaned, his eyes glued to where they joined. She braced herself on his chest, a broken gasp as she tried to accommodate his stretch.
No matter how much they fucked she would never be used to his massive size. Her cunt clenched frantically trying to accommodate. This position was unforgiving. The tip of his cock brushed her cervix with each movement.
She tested the waters with a slow roll of her hips, immediately moaning as the burn felt good. Then she began riding him in ernest.
Oh yeah! Ladies…
Ab toh hosh na khabar hai
Yeh kaisa asar hai
Rehman threw his head back with a broken moan when she lifted off of him and slammed her hips back down. His cock rubbing against all of her internal walls. His hips moved of their own volition, fucking up into her in response to each of her movements.
Rehman reached a hand behind her back, with his index finger and thumb he deftly flicked open the hooks of her bra in one go. The bra fell open and Rehman took it off her body and threw it onto the floor with its ruined matching panties. Her breasts swayed with the movement and Rehman groaned, finally seeing them for the first time all night. His hands immediately cupped and kneaded the soft flesh. Marveling at how perfectly they fit in his palms as if it were the first time.
She moved up and down on him, her mouth hanging open in pleasure, little sounds escaping every few seconds. The tiny R and lion hanging around her neck bounced along with her breasts with each movement. Rehman stared hypnotized. When he saw the necklace for the first time in the store was he guilty of imagining this? Was he guilty of imagining it swaying with her breasts with each thrust? Yes he was. But the real thing was even more phenomenal than his imagination.
Her movements took time and effort, she was beginning to tire and Rehman was beginning to ache. He wasn't going to last long. He grabbed her hips and began helping her and thrusting into her at the same time. She moaned in pleasure “Ah Rehman” as she ground down into him.
Hosh na khabar hai
Yeh kaisa asar hai
Rehman sat up with her still on his lap, his hands still on her hips slamming her down on his cock. Her hands rested on his shoulders for support as she bounced on his lap. The room echoed with his grunts of effort and her pants.
A violent image flashed through her head as she rode his cock. Fatima again, practically fucking him with her eyes, her hand on his bicep. Red again. She saw red again. Turns out that she wasn't over it yet. You know it was Rehman's fault at the end of the day, she couldn't even fully blame the bitch Fatima. Why was he so fucking handsome?
“Rehman pata hai? Ek tarha se ye apka fault hai” she panted breathily as she rode him. Rehman looked at her in genuine confusion as he fucked up into her “Ya qalbi uska lipatna meri ghalti kaise hui?” he panted back, his cock brushing against her g-spot making her keen in pleasure against him for a moment.
“AAP ITNE HANDSOME KYUN HO???” she groaned in frustration, her teeth grinding as she circled her hips on his cock making him choke on a moan. He laughed with a grunt not believing now his handsomeness was her point of anger “Meri jaan ye bhi meri ghalti?” he hit her g-spot again.
Tumse milne ke baad dilbar
Tumse milne ke baad dilbar
“A-Aur kya?!” she moaned before continuing “Aap itne hot dikhte ho ki saari aurtein aapko dekh ke hosh kho baith ti hain.” she said through gritted teeth as she once again circled her hips. The maneuver made Rehman moan brokenly.
“Mai unpe puri tarah se gussa bhi nahi ho sakti!” She ended, passionately complaining as she rode him harder. Rehman laughed again, sweat beaded on his forehead and on his abs in effort “Kyun nahi gussa ho sakti?” he asked with a pant and a groan of pleasure.
“Kyun ki mai khud aap pe hosh kho baithti hun…unko mai kya hi bol sakti hun? Lekin haan mujhe uss kamini Fatima ka muh zaroor todna ha. Usne aapko haath lagaya kaise?” she whined as he bumped straight against her cervix. Rehman laughed again, he genuinely could not believe this. He was pounding into her and she was still jealous.
Ho! Dilbar dilbar…
His cock dragged deliciously along her ribbed walls. Each vein caresses the muscles. Each thrust first hit her g-spot and then her cervix. The pleasure was maddening. She felt her core clenching around him. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room.
The sweet scent of sex mixed with her perfume and his cologne. The fresh cool breeze floating in from the balcony doing absolutely nothing to calm their heat.
Rehman moaned into her neck. Kissing the skin there desperately in an attempt to hold on longer. He felt his orgasm approaching, her walls were milking him. “Ya qalbi..” he groaned one hand coming to cup her face so she would look into his eyes.
Her eyes were hazy in pleasure as she stared back at him “Mai tumhara hun…sirf tumahara” he moaned. Hers. He was just hers. Both their orgasms crashed simultaneously. Hers in a scream she muffed in his neck and his in a deep groan released to the sky.
Because that's as close as you can get to saying I love you without saying the words.
She moaned weakly as her cunt clenched around him. He pumped her full of his cum, the thick hot ropes coating her walls. She was slick with sweat, panting in exhaustion. Rehman held her against his chest as he fell back against the pillows. She could hear his wild heart beat. Both of them panted trying to catch their breaths. The aftershocks of pleasure shooting through the both of them.
He held her close, kissing her forehead as the cool balcony breeze made her flushed skin shiver. “Aapki jalan shaant hui?” he asked exhaustedly. She laughed slightly, an exhausted sound, she picked up her head to look at him “Kya aap chahatein hai ki mai na jalun?”
Rehman thought seriously for a moment. “Nahi aisa bhi nahi hai” Rehanna hummed with a grin “Toh bas phir”
And the both of them laughed as they lay on the bed, he softened inside her slowly. They shared sips of water together in the afterglow. The moonlight made her pendant glow.
The afternoon sun burned white across the Maikalochi pull, turning the steel railings of the bridge almost blinding beneath the Karachi heat while traffic crawled endlessly toward the expressway. Horns blared somewhere ahead. A truck overloaded with construction rods rattled loudly beside them while motorcycles squeezed dangerously between lanes like insects surviving on instinct alone. Beneath the bridge the filthy water shimmered lazily under the sunlight, carrying oil slicks and floating garbage toward the harbor while Karachi breathed its usual chaos around them.
Inside Rehman’s grey SUV however the air conditioning hummed softly, shielding them from the outside world entirely. Rehanna sat comfortably beside Rehman in the backseat with one leg folded slightly beneath herself while she held her iced latte with both hands like something sacred. The plastic cup glistened with condensation beneath the cold air while the sharp bitter scent of espresso filled the inside of the car. One expensive unnecessary coffee. One thousand rupees worth of caffeine and attitude.
Exactly twenty minutes earlier she had forced poor Donga to take a complete detour toward Dolbeen Mall despite the fact that they were already running late for a meeting worth several lakhs.
The memory still visibly haunted Rehman. “Vakeel sahiba jab hum late ho rahe hain,” he said exasperatedly while leaning back against the expensive leather seat. “Aapki ye zarurat se zyada mehengi coffee ke liye bees minute ka ulta rasta pakadna zaroori tha kya?” Rehanna immediately slurped loudly from the straw in response just to irritate him further. A soft moan of appreciation escaped her afterward as the cold espresso hit her system properly. “Dakait sahab…” she sighed dramatically while clutching the cup to her chest. “Apko koi idea nahi hai iski kitni zaroorat thi mujhe.” Rehman huffed out a laugh despite himself. Because unfortunately for him the entire stupid detour had become worth it the second she smiled at him inside the café earlier.
Twenty minutes ago she had walked into the most expensive coffee shop in the entire mall dressed like royalty while Donga and Siyahi waited outside looking deeply betrayed by capitalism. Rehman had followed her inside muttering about rich people's habits beneath his breath only to nearly choke when the cashier announced the bill.
“One thousand.” His eyebrows had climbed directly into his hairline. “Coffee hai ya do wakt ka khana?” Meanwhile Rehanna had not even blinked while reaching calmly for her wallet. Rehman instantly snatched it out of her hands before she could pay. She protested immediately. “Rehman!” He shoved the wallet straight back into her handbag with one annoyed glare. “Bilkul nahi.” Then he paid the absurd amount himself while muttering darkly about inflation, corruption, taxes, capitalism, and possibly the downfall of civilization itself.
The cost had recovered itself instantly however the moment she took her first sip and looked at him over the rim of the cup with soft grateful eyes. Now sitting beside him in the SUV again she looked significantly more alive than she had earlier that morning. Color had returned to her face. The caffeine was clearly doing miracles already. “Ye sab chhodo,” she hummed while leaning closer toward him. “Aapne kagazat dekhliye?” She pointed toward one specific line in the contract resting in his hands. Her nails tapped lightly against the paper. “Mujhe lagta hai ki aramse 30-40 lakh ki deal bana sakte hain inlogo ne 5-10 lakh kuch zyada hi kam bola hai.” Rehman read through the paragraph carefully once more while nodding slowly in agreement. “Hm.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Kam bola hai.”
“Aur bohot besharami se bola hai,” Rehanna corrected while sipping her latte again. “Inko lag raha hai aap bas dhamkiyan dete ho aur numbers nahi samajhte. Chalo koi baat nahi abhi inko nanga karti hun mai” That made Siyahi snort from the front passenger seat while Donga grinned behind the wheel. “Phir to galat socha hai unlogo ne,” Siyahi muttered. The SUV smoothly turned onto the Maikalochi bridge afterward. Wind roared faintly against the sides of the car while the bridge stretched endlessly ahead over the polluted water below. Traffic had begun thinning slightly here. The drive remained smooth for approximately twelve seconds. Then hell erupted.
Gunfire exploded across the bridge so suddenly that for one horrifying second nobody inside the SUV even processed what was happening. Bullets slammed violently into nearby vehicles. Glass shattered somewhere ahead. A motorcyclist screamed as he lost control and crashed directly into another car. Horns erupted into deafening chaos while people began ducking and panicking across the bridge. “BHENCHOD—” Donga yanked the steering wheel hard. The SUV swerved violently sideways before screeching to a stop. The force threw Rehanna directly into Rehman’s chest while her iced latte flew dangerously sideways in her grip. “OH BHENCHOD MERI COFFEE—” She grabbed the cup with both hands, instantly stabilizing it with genuine panic before even realizing bullets were flying around them. Miraculously not a single drop spilled.
Beside her Rehman had already wrapped one arm protectively around her shoulders to steady her against him. His breathing came hard now from adrenaline and shock while another round of bullets struck somewhere nearby with metallic cracks. Then slowly the smoke drifting across the bridge began clearing. And SP Chaudhry Aslam appeared.
The man sat atop a white police jeep like war itself had personally placed him there. One boot rested against the battering ram fixed to the front of the vehicle while the other leg hung loose casually over the edge of the hood. In one hand rested a semi automatic rifle angled lazily toward the road. In the other sat a cigarette burning slowly between thick weathered fingers.
Smoke curled around him beneath the harsh Karachi sunlight while police vehicles completely blockaded both sides of the bridge behind him. Armed officers spread outward across the asphalt in full tactical gear with rifles raised. But somehow despite the guns and sirens and screaming civilians it was still Aslam himself who dominated the entire bridge.
The man looked carved from exhaustion and violence. Broad shouldered beneath his white pathani kurta. Thick forearms exposed beneath rolled sleeves darkened by old scars and sun damage. Salt and pepper hair combed roughly backward. The deeply lined face of a man who had spent decades sleeping too little and hunting monsters too long. His eyes however remained the worst part. Sharp. Heavy. Predatory. The eyes of someone who had seen too much blood to be frightened by more of it. And right now those eyes remained fixed entirely on Rehman.
Inside the SUV Rehman stared back coldly through shattered glass. Slowly Aslam removed the cigarette from his mouth. Then casually flicked it onto the asphalt below. Donga immediately pulled a gun from beneath his seat. Aslam raised one hand lazily. The police squad opened fire instantly. Bullets tore violently into the SUV. Windows exploded inward showering the seats in glittering shards while the sound became deafening inside the car. Rehman grabbed Rehanna instantly and shoved her downward beneath him, shielding her body completely with his own while more bullets cracked into the metal around them. Outside people screamed and ran across the bridge desperately trying to escape.
“Tum log yahan se niklo Vakeel sahiba ko leke,” Rehman barked toward Donga and Siyahi over the chaos. “Jameel sahab ko ittliah karo.” Neither of them moved immediately. Conflict tore visibly across their faces. Stay and protect Rehman. Or obey him. Another bullet shattered the rear windshield. “Jao!” That finally forced movement back into their bodies. Donga cursed violently beneath his breath while Siyahi grabbed another weapon and both of them shuffled out carefully from opposite sides of the SUV before crouching low behind the damaged vehicle waiting for the next opportunity.
The second Aslam saw Rehanna still inside the car he lifted one hand again. The firing stopped immediately. Silence crashed down over the bridge except for distant sirens, crying civilians, and the ticking engine of damaged vehicles. Then Aslam lifted a megaphone slowly toward his mouth. “Rehman…” His deep gravelly voice echoed across the bridge. “Lalle.” The strange rough endearment hit the air almost affectionately. “Jehenum ki ek ticket katun ya sath me apni vakeel ko bhi sath lejayega?” Inside the SUV Rehman turned immediately toward Rehanna. She looked slightly shaken now despite herself though remarkably she still held onto her coffee cup.
His hand rose gently toward her face cupping her cheek softly amidst the destruction around them. “Jab mai giraftar hojaun to phir aap yahan se nikalna ya qalbi,” he said quietly. “Meri chinta mat karna.”
“Rehman,” she inhaled deeply trying to steady herself. “Aap shaant rehna. Aslam ko gussa mat dilana. Mai bail ke kagaz leke aati hun.” For one brief second something unbearably soft crossed his face. Then he leaned forward and pressed a long hard kiss against her forehead. His eyes lingered on hers afterward with something dangerously close to longing before finally he straightened and unlocked the SUV door. He stepped out slowly with both hands raised. And stared directly at Aslam with open hatred.
Behind him Rehanna carefully stepped out as well, still carrying her coffee. Her pulse thundered violently beneath her ribs. Her client had just been ambushed in broad daylight on a public bridge without warning. Fear of the situation surged hot through her system for exactly three seconds. Then she inhaled once. And Advocate Rehanna Randhawa returned. The fear vanished from her face completely. Now she followed behind Rehman calmly while sipping thoughtfully from her latte as though police ambushes were merely inconvenient interruptions to her afternoon.
Ahead near the police barricade Aslam grinned slowly. Victorious. Patient. Like a hunter finally watching an exhausted animal walk willingly into the trap. Rehman reached the nearest constable and silently brought his hands forward. Metal cuffs snapped around his wrists immediately. Aslam laughed darkly beneath his breath. Rehman glared at him murderously but remained silent. Then suddenly another voice cut through the tension entirely.
“Salam SP Sahab!” Aslam looked up. And blinked once. Because Rehanna Randhawa was walking directly toward him through bullet casings and shattered glass while casually swirling the ice in her coffee cup. “Kya SP sahab…” she tsked with a grin. “Aramse coffee bhi nahi peene dete!” For the first time since the ambush began genuine surprise crossed Aslam’s face. He had expected fury. Panic. Threats. Demands. Instead she looked mildly irritated that he had interrupted her caffeine intake. A rough amused breath escaped him before he could stop it. “Hume maaf kariyega…” he replied while leaning back against the hood of his jeep. “Aapke ye client ki badi yaad aa rahi thi.” There it was again. That strange reluctant amusement he only ever seemed to show around her.
Nearby Rehman watched the interaction silently from behind the constables with narrowed eyes. Rehanna laughed lightly before taking another sip. “Hmmm yaad rakhne wali cheez hai to sahi mere client…” she hummed. “Lekin aise pakad ke le jaoge?” She clicked her tongue dramatically. “Bin warant? Tsk tsk tsk. Aapko shohba nahi deta ye SP sahab.” Aslam’s grin widened instantly. Like he had been waiting specifically for that question. Without breaking eye contact he snapped his fingers once. A constable hurried forward immediately handing over a folded document.
Aslam took it calmly before extending it toward her. “Aapke liye homework.” Rehanna accepted the warrant with one hand while still holding her coffee in the other. She flipped through the pages slowly. Calmly. Amused. “Wah,” she murmured appreciatively. “Kaafi taiyari se aye hain aap.” Aslam crossed his arms over his chest with a rough chuckle. “Kabhi kabhi kaam bhi karlete hain.”
She finally handed the papers back. “Chaliye le jaiye…” Then she stepped slightly closer with a dangerous little smile. “Lekin Dakait sahab ko tameez se rakhna. Mai abhi inko nikalwane aungi.” Her voice lowered another fraction. “Agar ek bhi kharoch lagi to phir aap dekhlena…” The smile on her face became terrifyingly sweet. “Karachi police ko aise case me phasaungi ki aapka commissioner bheek mangne ayega.” For one second silence hung between them. Then Aslam barked out a dark laugh directly in her face before turning away without another word. Behind them Rehman visibly bristled at the disrespect toward her until suddenly he noticed something else entirely.
Rehanna was laughing too. Not offended. Not frightened. Amused. Alive. Then she looked over her shoulder toward him. One single look. Steady. Certain. A look that said don’t worry, she will handle this. Then she turned away toward the bullet ridden SUV while already pulling her phone from her handbag. Her iced coffee swayed lightly in her hand as she dialed a number. Now this was fun. It had been far too long since Advocate Rehanna Randhawa had played a proper criminal lawyer.
—------------------
Same day @ 4 pm
Thandi Sadak, Lyari Karachi Expressway, Pakistan
The police van rattled violently as it moved through Thandi Sadak, its suspension groaning under the weight of speed, tension, and bodies packed too tightly inside a steel box that smelled of sweat, gun oil, burnt tobacco, and old dust baked into metal.
Outside, Karachi’s sirens echoed in layers, distant but constant, like the city itself refusing to stop screaming. The windows were barred and tinted, but sunlight still leaked through in thin fractured strips, cutting across the interior like pale blades that shifted with every turn of the convoy.
Inside, Aslam and Rehman sat directly opposite each other on bolted benches fixed into the van walls. There was barely enough space for their knees, barely enough air for their egos. On either side of them sat armed constables, rifles held upright, fingers resting near triggers out of habit rather than intent, but even they looked uncomfortable. Not because of Rehman. Not because of Aslam. But because of the silence between them.
Rehman leaned back deliberately, his posture loose in a way that bordered on disrespect. His shoulders slumped slightly, one arm resting on his knee, the other hanging casually as if the entire situation was beneath his concern. He looked at Aslam through his eyebrows more than his eyes, a quiet defiance sitting in the angle of his face. There was no fear there. Only irritation. And something worse than irritation. Familiarity. The kind of recognition that made enemies more dangerous because they understood each other too well.
Aslam, in contrast, leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, cigarette burning low between his fingers. Smoke curled upward in slow restless spirals, drifting between the cramped bodies and disappearing into the dim ceiling vents of the van. His presence filled the space in a way that had nothing to do with size and everything to do with weight. The weight of years. Of files closed and reopened. Of names crossed out and remembered anyway. For a long time neither of them spoke. Only the van spoke. Only the road spoke. Only the distant sirens layered over Karachi’s restless breath.
Then Aslam finally exhaled through his nose, the cigarette glowing brighter for a second as he took a slow drag. His eyes never left Rehman. “Baara saal intezar kiya…” he said quietly, voice rough like stone dragged across gravel. He tilted his head slightly, almost reflective. Almost calm. “Tere khoon ki cheetein apni kameez pe dekhne ke liye.” The words hung in the air like something heavier than smoke. One of the constables shifted slightly, uncomfortable. Another glanced away. Even the van seemed to tighten.
Rehman didn’t react immediately. He stared back at Aslam for a long second, then slowly let a crooked grin form on his face, the kind that never meant amusement and always meant provocation. He leaned his head slightly to one side, eyes narrowing just enough to sharpen the edge of his expression. “Rehman Dakait ka khoon hai SP sahab,” he said casually, like they were discussing weather instead of murder. Then his grin widened just a fraction more, almost insultingly relaxed. “Tameez se bahana.”
Silence dropped instantly after that. Not normal silence. Not empty silence. The kind of silence that happens right before something breaks. For half a heartbeat, even Aslam didn’t move. His cigarette burned down another millimeter, ash trembling at the edge before falling onto his knuckles. His eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t soften. Didn’t shift. Then he stood up. The van was too small for it. His shoulders nearly brushed the metal ceiling as he straightened, forcing everyone to adjust instinctively. One constable leaned back without realizing it. Another tightened his grip on his rifle. The air changed immediately, compressed by intent rather than space. Aslam didn’t say anything else. He just stepped forward and drove his fist straight into Rehman’s face. The impact echoed louder than it should have inside the confined space. Rehman’s head snapped slightly to the side, but even as blood threatened to rise at the edge of the moment, a laugh escaped him. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just there. Almost amused.
That was enough. Aslam’s voice cut through instantly, sharp and absolute. “Maaro sale ko.” And the van erupted. Two constables grabbed Rehman immediately, forcing his arms back while another fist landed into his ribs. A boot hit his side, then another. The rhythm wasn’t chaotic. It was controlled. Professional. The kind of beating that came from training, not rage. But it still carried weight. Still carried intent. Still carried Aslam’s presence even though he had already stepped back slightly, watching. Rehman bent slightly under the force, but even then he was laughing. It wasn’t fear. It was disbelief. It was satisfaction disguised as pain. He coughed once, sharp, then tilted his head upward through the chaos, eyes briefly flicking toward Aslam as another blow landed against his shoulder. His grin didn’t disappear. It only broke at the edges.
Did Rehanna tell him not to provoke Aslam? Yes. Very clearly. Very seriously. With that exact look in her eyes that meant consequences were not theoretical. But as Rehman’s ribs absorbed another hit and the van shook slightly with movement, one thought passed through his mind with ridiculous clarity. Worth it. Because SP Chaudhry Aslam had finally stopped treating him like a file after so many years.
—-----------
Meanwhile @ the Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The haveli felt different now. Not quieter exactly, but tighter. Like the walls themselves had absorbed the tension from Maikalochi Bridge and were holding it in their plaster veins. The usual warmth of Eid leftovers, faint perfume, and domestic chaos was still there, but it sat beneath something sharper now. Something metallic. Something that tasted like gunpowder before the guns had even been fired.
Rehanna pushed through the front doors first, still mid argument on her phone, her heels striking the marble with a pace that did not belong to someone who had just come back from a ambush but rather someone who had personally declared war. Her voice cut through the hall like a blade. “Abbas I want a bail draft right fucking now!”
Donga and Siyahi followed in behind her, both still visibly wired from the bridge. Donga’s hands kept moving as if he was still holding a steering wheel that no longer existed in his present reality, while Siyahi’s eyes kept darting toward the windows like he expected snipers to politely knock before entering. The contrast between them and Rehanna was almost absurd. She looked irritated, not afraid. Annoyed, not shaken. Like the problem was paperwork, not bullets.
Donga didn’t even wait for permission before exploding toward the living room where Hamza and Uzair were sitting. “Woh Madarchod SP Aslam bhai ko uthake legaya!” he shouted, voice cracking slightly on the adrenaline. “Gaadi pe goliyan chalayi, bridge pe sab kuch…” Uzair shot up immediately. “AISE KAISE LEGAYA BHENCHOD?” His chair scraped violently against the floor as he stood, disbelief turning instantly into rage. Hamza didn’t speak at first. He just stood slowly. Too slowly. Like something in his head was clicking into place in real time, each click heavier than the last. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing not in confusion but in calculation. Then suddenly, loudly, he turned his head and shouted into the hallway.
“AKHLAQ!” One of the cooks froze somewhere deeper in the house. “AKHLAQ SAALE KIDHAR HAI!” Uzair looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Hamza kya kar raha hai tu!?!?!?” Rehanna, still holding the phone to her ear, paused mid sentence. Her voice softened for the first time since the bridge, not in emotion but in focus. She turned her head slightly, watching Hamza like she was watching a match ignite. “Abbas I’ll call you back… I want that bail draft immediately.” The phone dropped from urgency into her hand as she ended the call without waiting for a reply.
Hamza had already moved. Akhlaq was dragged in from the corridor by two staff members who clearly had no idea why they were suddenly part of something far above their pay grade. The cook was sweating, stumbling, already begging before anyone had even touched him properly. “Bhai kya hua… main ne kya kiya…” Hamza grabbed him by the collar and pulled him forward hard enough that the man nearly fell. “KAHAN LEKE JA RAHE HAIN WOH REHMAN BHAI KO?”
Uzair immediately stepped forward. “Hamza kya kar raha hai tu? Chhod isko!” But Hamza didn’t even look at him. His eyes were locked on Akhlaq. “Kal raat ye phone pe baat kar raha tha, iske muh se ‘Aslam’ naam nikla mujhe laga koi aur ki baat kar raha hai, phir isne bola ki Didi aur Rehman bhai karib teen baje Maikalochi Pull ke paas honge, mujhe ajeeb laga… Ab samajh aya” The room shifted. It wasn’t loud. No dramatic reaction. Just a collective, sinking silence where every person understood the same thing at the same time.
Akhlaq tried to back away. “Nahi bhai main ne kuch nahi kiya, main to bas…” Rehanna moved closer now. Not rushing. Not panicking. Just closing distance like a lawyer approaching a witness she already knew was lying. She crouched slightly in front of him, her dupatta sliding forward, her expression calm in a way that somehow made the air more dangerous. “Seedhe seedhe bata de… pyaar se puch rahi hun mai chutiye. Hamza pyar se nahi puchega” That last line landed heavier than the rest. Akhlaq started shaking his head instantly. “Mujhe nahi pata… main bas…” Hamza picked up a heavy vase from the side table. Not decorative hesitation. Not warning. Decision. He walked to the wooden table and forced Akhlaq’s hand onto it. The cook screamed immediately. “BHAI PLEASE—”
“BOL KAHAN HAI!” Yells Hamza. Akhlaq speaks rapidly “MUJHE NAHI PATA-” Hamza strikes one of his fingers clean off. Akhlaq screams in pain, Hamza asks again “BOL CHUTIYE BHAI KAHAN HAI” he screams. Akhlaq cries he doesn't know again and Hamza whacks off 2 more fingers. Then through the pain Akhlaq screams “LYARI TASKFORCE OFFICE KE PAAS EK JUNGLE HAI, WAHAN PE REHMAN BHAI KO MAR DENGE!”
Uzair’s face twisted now, not in hesitation but in something darker, something decisive. He grabbed Akhlaq by the collar and pulled him up slightly, shaking him. “MERE BHAI KI MUKHBARI KAREGA SAALE? REHMAN BHAI KI MUKHBARI KAREGA?” Then without waiting for anything else, he dragged him out of the room. No more questions. The door to the courtyard opened and closed once. Two gunshots followed. Inside, silence returned, but it wasn’t empty anymore. It was heavy. Settled. Final.
Hamza stood still, breathing hard, hand still gripping the vase. His knuckles were white. His chest rose and fell like he had just finished a war instead of a question. Then his phone rang. The sound cut through everything like it didn’t belong in this world anymore. He looked down. Yalina. For a split second, something human flickered across his face. Then he answered. “Yalina?”
Her voice came instantly, bright, unaware of the gravity on the other side.“Kabse phone kar rahi hun kahan ho?” Hamza closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing whatever reality he was standing in. “Mai kisi zaruri kaam mai phasa hua hu mai karta hun phone” A pause. Then her tone shifted into something lighter again, almost teasing. “Are meri jaan phone to check karo tofa bheja hai tumhare liye… tumne bola tha na abbu pe nazar raho sp pe nazar rakho abbu-sp-sp-abbu… aisi qatilana nazar rakhi hai na ki tum abhi ke abhi mujhe aake kiss karloge!”
Hamza exhaled sharply through his nose, barely hearing the end of it at first. He pulled the phone away, eyes scanning it quickly. His expression changed immediately. Rehanna leans in and what she sees shocks her, its a video of SP Aslam and Jameel Jamali shaking hands and agreeing on who will handle lyari…who will handle Rehman.
“Yalina tum kaha ho is wakt?” She sounded pleased now. “Sach me a rahe ho kiss karne? Mai dolbeen mall mai hun” His face hardened. “Yalina mere ghar jao, phone off karo, aur jabtak mai na aun wahan se nikalna mat” And then he ended the call.
The kind of handshake that didn’t seal a deal. It sealed a hunt. Rehanna stared at it for a long moment, then something in her expression sharpened into absolute clarity. No panic. No confusion. Just alignment. “So it’s not an arrest,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “It’s a setup.” Hamza nodded once. That was all.
Rehanna turned away immediately, already dialing again, her voice resetting itself into something controlled, professional, dangerously calm. “Mehreen! Kaisi hai tu? Ek baat bata woh lyari task force ka pata kaun de payega? Nahi woh aapke Aslam bhaijan ko ek taufa dena tha meri madat karne ke liye… woh bail ki situation me… Achha Jameel Jamali ko pata hoga address? Okay okay thanks yaar mai baad me baat karti hun” She cut the call. Turned. Looked at Hamza. “Jameel pe pressure.”
Hamza didn’t answer. He was already dialing. Rehanna exhaled once through her nose, eyes sharpening further as she moved again. “ABBAS WHERE THE HELL ARE THE PAPERS?” And for the first time since the bridge, there was no hesitation left in the room. Only movement. Two fronts forming at once. Law and chaos. Paperwork and bullets. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Rehman Dakait walked into a trap that was already closing its jaws.
—-----
Same day @ 7 pm
Lyari Task Force HQ, Lyari border, Pakistan
The first thing that hit Lyari Task Force HQ was not the blast, not the gunfire, but the sheer insult of it. Hamza had insisted on the disguise himself, not because it was clever in any traditional sense, but because it was humiliating enough to work. A man wrapped in a black burkha stood awkwardly at the front gate, posture stiff, movements uncertain, carrying the kind of unnatural weight that immediately drew attention.
Behind him, the rest of them were shadows pressed against blind spots, Uzair on one side, Hamza on the other, fingers already resting on triggers like prayers waiting to be answered. The front desk officer squinted from behind the glass partition, leaning forward with confusion already turning into irritation.
The fluorescent lights above him flickered faintly, buzzing like they were tired of the building too. “Bibi yeh school band hogaya aur yahan bina ijazat ke nahi aa sakte!” The words barely finished forming before the entire shape in front of him shifted. The burkha lifted. And the bomb underneath was very real. For half a second there was only silence, the kind that happens right before human instinct decides whether to scream or survive.
Then Uzair and Hamza moved. The glass doors did not open so much as explode into obedience. Uzair came in first, rifle raised, expression twisted into something between rage and disbelief. Hamza followed, slower, colder, eyes scanning for resistance rather than expecting it. The officer behind the desk froze completely, hands half raised, mouth open but refusing to commit to sound.
—------
Meanwhile in a forest nearby
The location was quieter in the way death always prefers. Trees standing too still. Soil too soft. Air too thick with damp earth and cigarette smoke. The kind of place where sound goes to get buried. Aslam had Rehman on his knees. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically. Physically. Like something already halfway decided.
Aslam crouched slightly in front of him, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for a routine task, fist flexing once before relaxing again. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, ash too long, unbothered by gravity or timing. His eyes never left Rehman’s face, like he was studying a problem he had been waiting years to solve. “Dard toh samhalega na lalle?” Rehman lifted his head slowly. Blood at the corner of his lip. Breath uneven. Dirt clinging to the side of his jaw. Even like this there was something infuriatingly intact about him, some refusal to collapse fully, like pride was the only bone still unbroken. “Koshish karunga lalle.” It was almost polite. That was the worst part. Aslam smiled. Then hit him.
The punch landed clean enough to feel professional, like violence practiced over time instead of improvised in anger. Rehman’s body folded forward instantly, then collapsed sideways into the forest floor, leaves bursting up around him like startled witnesses. The sound of it echoed briefly between trees before being swallowed whole. Two constables moved immediately, hauling him back upright with mechanical efficiency, setting him back into place like an object that had fallen out of alignment.
Rehman inhaled sharply through his teeth, eyes half-lidded, a laugh threatening somewhere in his chest even as pain tried to occupy every space in it. Aslam stepped closer again. Slowly. Deliberately. And this time there was something different in his hand. Not a fist. A gun. One of the constables near the perimeter shifted slightly, adjusting his grip when his radio crackled once, then again.
He frowned, pulling out his phone as if annoyed by it more than alarmed. Then he clicked the link. And everything changed. His face drained first. Then his posture. Then the air around him. “Sir…” Aslam did not turn immediately. He was still focused on Rehman, still measuring him like the next strike was just another sentence in a conversation. But the constable’s voice tightened. “Sir… live feed hai.” That got his attention. Slowly, Aslam’s eyes flicked sideways. The phone screen glowed in the dim forest light. And what he saw did not match expectations.
Lyari Task Force HQ was burning. Not metaphorically. Literally. The camera feed jittered wildly as men screamed in the background, some hanging upside down from rafters, others drenched in kerosene, others pinned against walls that no longer felt like protection. Smoke filled corridors like a living thing. Somewhere in the chaos, Uzair’s voice cut through everything, raw and furious, tearing through the audio like a blade. “MERE BHAI KI UTHANE KI ZURRAT KAREGA SAALE??” Aslam snatched the phone. One motion. Hard enough that the constable nearly stumbled. He stared at the screen now properly. Watching his own office turn into a message.
The flames were spreading faster than discipline could contain. His men were no longer in control of anything except their fear. And in the middle of it all, Hamza appeared casually in frame, as if the entire building was just another room he had decided to renovate. He was holding matches. Lighting them. One by one. Letting them burn just long enough for the message to settle into everyone’s bones. The kerosene reflected the flame in trembling waves across the floor. Every strike of ignition made someone scream. Not loudly at first. Then uncontrollably. Then collectively, like the building itself had learned how to beg.
Hamza’s voice came through next, calm in a way that made it worse. “SP Chaudhry Aslam, Lyari task force ke office se aisi aag uthegi ki pura Karachi jal ke rakh hojaega…agle adhe ghante me mujhe Rehman bhai Sher Shah pul pe chahiye sahi salamat..” Aslam did not blink. Not even once. The phone tilted slightly as the feed shifted. And then she appeared. Rehanna. Perfectly composed in the middle of chaos that was not hers but clearly belonged to her side of the world.
She was fanning herself with bail papers like this was some inconvenient summer afternoon instead of a city-wide escalation of violence. Her expression was calm. Almost bored. Like she was waiting for traffic to move. “Sp Sahab jaldi ayiega…warna bail ke paper jama karne keliye koi jagah bachegi nahi.”
Silence followed. Not peace. Silence that comes right before something breaks. Aslam slowly lowered the phone.
Then looked back at Rehman. Something in his expression had changed. Not anger. Not panic. Something far more dangerous than both. Understanding.
Rehman, still on his knees, spat a small laugh through blood and exhaustion, because of course she would do that. Of course she would turn his arrest into a legal war and a city into leverage. Pride hit him first. Then something softer, what a woman! Aslam exhaled smoke slowly. The cigarette had burned down further without him noticing. He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if recalculating everything in real time.
And for the first time since this began, the game stopped feeling like pursuit. It started feeling like balance. Somewhere far away, fire continued to eat a police station. And somewhere between forest and city, three men realized the same truth at once. This was no longer about arrest. It was about who could make the entire system blink first.
—-----------
Same day @ 7:30 pm
Sher Shah Bridge, Karachi-Lyari Expressway, Pakistan
The bridge looked less like infrastructure now and more like a line drawn. Two worlds balanced on either side of it, headlights glaring into each other like unwilling witnesses. The wind coming off the Lyari side carried dust and exhaust and something metallic underneath it, like the city itself was holding its breath and refusing to exhale properly.
Exactly half an hour had passed, but time here did not behave like time anymore. It had become tension stretched so tight it had started to hum. The vans stopped almost in unison. Doors opened. And for a moment, nobody moved.
Then Rehman stepped out. Slowly at first, like his body was negotiating terms with itself. Every movement looked heavier than it should have, like the forest had left its weight behind inside him and refused to let go. His kurta was creased, slightly dusted, blood dried at the edge of his mouth that he had not bothered to wipe. But his eyes were still intact in the way only stubborn men manage to remain intact after breaking. He took one step forward. Then another. The constable who had cuffed him first stood nearest, watching him with a kind of professional caution that had now been replaced by something more personal, something uncertain.
Rehman stopped in front of him. For a second, he just stared. Then he spat at his feet. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just enough. A final punctuation mark. The constable froze, jaw tightening, but did not move. There was no point anymore. The rules had already been rewritten elsewhere. Rehman tilted his head back slightly and laughed. It was not a normal laugh. It was the kind that comes after you’ve decided survival is optional and ego is not. Aslam stood still. One foot slightly forward, hands relaxed at his sides, cigarette already lit again. He looked like a man who had never once rushed anything in his life, even consequences. His face remained unreadable, but his eyes tracked Rehman like a calculation that refused to resolve. Not anger. Not satisfaction. Something more patient than both.
Rehman turned slowly. And then he walked toward his men. Arms spread wide. Like he was greeting a festival instead of returning from captivity. The headlights hit him directly now, flattening shadows off his face, turning him into something almost theatrical as he crossed into his side of the bridge. His men shifted instantly, energy snapping back into place around him like metal finding a magnet again. Uzair stepped forward first, shoulders tense, eyes still burning with leftover rage from the HQ, while Hamza stood slightly behind, watching everything like he was still half inside another fire.
And then she stepped out of the shadows. Rehanna. She did not run. She did not hesitate. She simply walked forward into the light as if she had already decided the outcome before the scene began. For a brief moment, they passed each other. Close enough that the air between them changed. Their eyes met properly. Not in urgency. Not in chaos. But in recognition. Her expression softened first, almost imperceptibly. The kind of softness she never allowed to stay for long in public spaces, like it was something she could afford only for fractions of seconds. The kind Rehman knew intimately.
Her eyes carried everything she had not said over the last hour, everything she had already done in his absence, and everything she still intended to do if anyone tried again. The look said it clearly without language. I told you I would get you out. Rehman looked at her in the same silence, his gaze heavy with exhaustion and something warmer underneath it, something that had survived even the forest and the cuffs and the blood. His expression shifted slightly, just enough to soften the edge around his mouth. I knew you would be here, jaan-e-man. No words were exchanged. None were needed.
And then she moved past him. Just like that. The softness vanished the moment she crossed into the light fully again. Her posture straightened, shoulders squared, expression sealing itself back into control like a door locking from the inside. She walked directly toward Aslam. The distance between them closed in steady, deliberate steps. Aslam did not move. He watched her approach with the same stillness he had watched everything else tonight, but now there was a faint shift in his attention, like even he understood this was no longer just enforcement. It was negotiation disguised as aftermath.
Rehanna stopped in front of him. Without ceremony, she lifted the bail papers and slapped them into his chest. The sound echoed sharply across the bridge. No speech. No explanation. Just documentation made violent. Aslam looked down at the papers, then back at her. For a second, there was almost amusement in his eyes. Almost.
Rehanna did not wait for a reaction. She turned immediately and walked away, heels striking the asphalt with clean certainty, heading back toward her side of the bridge like she had already closed the case in her head. Behind her, Rehman watched. Still standing. Still bruised. But very much alive. And for the first time that evening, Aslam finally exhaled properly, eyes following the space where she had been standing, as if remembering that wars like this were never fought in just one language. Some used bullets. Some used law.
And some, inconveniently, used both without ever asking permission.
—-----------
Same day @ 8:30 pm
Rehman’s Bedroom, Baloch haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The room was unusually quiet in a way that felt almost artificial after everything that had happened. The same room that had once held laughter, arguments, teasing, late night conversations now felt slower, heavier, like even the walls had decided to rest for a moment.
The curtains were slightly drawn, letting in thin strips of streetlight from outside that cut across the bed in soft gold lines. Somewhere in the haveli, faint movement continued, servants clearing remnants of chaos, voices still discussing what had nearly happened. But here, it was muted. Distant. Almost unreal. Everyone had left them alone after making sure Rehman was stable enough to not immediately collapse again. Because he was stubborn enough to refuse hospitalisation like it was an insult to his pride. The doctor had come and gone. Bandages had been wrapped. Instructions had been given. And still, Rehman had insisted on being brought back here, like pain belonged more naturally to his own room than anywhere else.
Now he lay half propped against the headboard, one arm resting loosely at his side, the other barely moving unless it needed to. A bandage sat across his ribs, another near his cheekbone, and a small cut near his lip had dried into something that looked worse than it felt. His breathing was shallow but steady, the kind of controlled exhaustion that came after adrenaline finally stopped pretending to be strength.
Rehanna sat at the edge of the bed for a long moment without speaking. She was not used to silence like this between them. Her fingers stayed still in her lap, but her eyes kept moving over him like she was trying to catalogue damage in real time. For a moment, she just stared. And then something in her expression softened in a way she would have hated anyone else seeing. Because now she understood. Not theoretically. But properly. This was what it looked like from the other side. This anxiety was what Rehman felt when she was wounded.
Rehman’s eyes flicked open slowly, finding her immediately even through fatigue. His mouth twitched faintly like it was trying to become a smirk but did not have the energy to fully commit. “Meri jaan mariz ko tadpogi kya?” His voice was rough, low, carrying exhaustion wrapped in humour like he was refusing to let the room decide the tone for him.
Rehanna let out a small laugh, but it broke halfway turning watery, turning softer than intended. She moved closer without answering properly, climbing onto the bed carefully and sitting beside him. For a second she just hovered there, unsure where to place her hands like strength had become something fragile in her own grip. Then she leaned in. And hugged him gently. Not dramatically. Just enough to confirm he was still there.
Her head rested against his chest, careful of the bandage, listening to the uneven rhythm beneath his skin like it was the only stable thing left in the world tonight. Rehman’s hand moved slowly, hesitantly at first, then more certain as it found her hair. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there a moment longer than usual. “Dar gayi hain kya aap?” His tone had softened now, teasing faded into something more grounded. Rehanna closed her eyes for a second. “Mai kabhi darti hun kya Rehman?” But her voice did not match her sentence completely. It was quieter. More honest than she intended it to be.
She shifted slightly and pressed a kiss carefully against his chest, right over his heartbeat, like she needed to remind herself that it was still steady. Rehman exhaled slowly, then let out a faint, amused breath. “Agar dari nahi ko toh mujhe itne dheere se kyun pakda hai? Jaan…. thoda kaske pakdo” Even injured, even bruised, the audacity remained intact. That was him. The shameless flirt. That would probably always be him.
Rehanna laughed this time properly, though it carried a trace of emotion she did not bother hiding anymore. “Aap kabhi sudharte nahi Rehman” But she did not move away. Instead, she tightened her hold slightly, like she had decided something without saying it out loud. Like the decision had been made somewhere between the bridge and this room and now only needed execution.
Rehman looked down at her, his hand settling more firmly around her waist, pulling her closer despite every bandage and bruise protesting the movement. He kissed her softly this time, slower than usual, less like fire and more like return. She responded immediately. Not with hesitation. Not with doubt. But with the kind of certainty that only comes after almost losing something. The room did not feel quiet anymore after that. It felt contained. Like everything violent outside had finally been shut behind a door too strong to open.
Rehman’s hand stayed at her waist, steady now, anchoring her in place she had always belonged there and the world had just been temporarily confused about it. And in that small stretch of silence between breath and touch, between exhaustion and relief, there was no war left to fight. Only the fact that she was there. And he was still here.
She was his medicine, she was his painkiller, she was his healing.
She was his saving.
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Chapter 10- Ghaaon pe Marham, Halki si Recovery, aur Cheel Chawk pe Gandi Mauth
Dakait Sahab ki Vakeel Sahiba
Rehman Dakait x OC Indian spy/Lawyer
Disclaimer: This series is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Author's note: Finally, the Chapter 7A+7B+8+9 arc is over. I can be at peace.
Chapter 10. Ghaaon pe Marham, Halki si Recovery, aur Cheel Chawk pe Gandi Mauth
12 hours after chapter 9 ending @ 10 am
Rehanna’s bedroom, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Even before Rehanna wakes up, she can feel it. She can feel the pulsing, stabbing and throbbing pain in her side. She can feel the stitches pull with every shaky breath, releasing a new wave of stinging pain. She can feel her raw and hoarse throat, it hurts to swallow she can't muster the courage to speak. She can feel the persistent ache in her entire body. She can feel the bruise on her cheek, from a slap thanks to the now very dead Arshad Pappu. With each twitch of her face muscles she can feel the ache.
Her head throbs, both with exhaustion and possible injury. She cried so much last night. She can feel the dried tears on her face. The thing with Rehanna is that anytime a single tear escapes her that means that within minutes her head would be heavy and she would have a headache. With the amount she cried last night her head felt like someone was driving a jack hammer into her skull. Her body felt warm, not a nice toasty warm. A warm feeling that felt wrong, feverish, hellish. This was hell.
Rehanna is in so much pain she cant sleep, so much pain she cant open her eyes, so much pain she can't talk, so much pain that she wants to scream, so much pain she wants to cry, so much pain that she can't even cry. Hell. This was most definitely hell.
With tremendous bravery she feels her face scrunch up, she feels the tears well in her eyes. A pained gasp, a whimper. Then the tears flow. Hot and relentless down her face. The heat soothes the pain momentarily. She feels her hair soak her tears. Each movement of her body hurts because of her stitches. The pain makes a watery sob leave her throat. The first real audible sound to leave her throat.
—----------------------------------------
Rehman had been sitting in the chair across from her bed the entire night. He hadn't left for a single second. His kurta was still soaked with her blood, his hands were crusted with her blood. He sat in that chair and just watched her all night. Watching the shallow movements of her chest to make sure she kept breathing. Occasionally placing his finger beneath her nose to make sure she was breathing when in his hallucinations he felt like she wasn't breathing. He paced her room muttering under his breath. As if telling the devil and even god himself that not tonight, they wouldn't take her from him. He wouldn't let them. He would fight god for her.
Yalina had arrived bright and early that morning around 6 in the morning to come check on her. Her expertise as a medical student made her the one who really mattered in this scenario. She rushed into the haveli and into Rehanna’s room. She checked her wound, she checked her fever, she checked everything. Once satisfied she sighed and turned to Rehman with a gentle look as if she knew that she was approaching a wounded tiger “Rehman bhai aap jaake fresh hojaiye, abhi bhi aap didi ke khoon me san’ne hue hain. Mai hoon yahan pe, aap jaake fresh hoye kuch khaiye aur aram kijiye.”
Rehman ripped his eyes off of Rehanna’s sleeping or rather unconscious form with much hesitation “Yalina,” he began his voice gruff, looking through his heavy set brows at Yalina. His eyes were haunted, red, and violent “ Maine kal raat apko bola tha…ki jabtak Vakeel sahiba uthengi nahi tab tak mai jaunga nahi” He turned his head back to Rehanna. Yalina sighed, she knew there was no point in talking to Rehman. She left silently.
Food sent up sat cold and abandoned. Half empty chai cups cluttered the low table nearby. The ashtrays overflowed with ash. A cigarette sat between his fingers like a permanent fixture. The dogs had been let in, they sat beside her bed. Sultan and Raja took turns sniffing her hands, pacing the room, whimpering in stress. When they saw she wasn't moving they padded to Rehman in pure anxiety. Nudging his knee, Rehman ran a hand over both the dogs, looking at them like he understood their fear, because he felt it too “Kuch nahi hoga unko…Chinta mat karo. Humari jaan bohot mazboot hain” he soothed the anxious German shepherds. More than soothing them, you could argue he was soothing himself.
This was hours ago. Right now he sat in his chair, his head in his hands. He couldn't take it anymore, she hadn't moved in 12 hours, she hadn't woken up once. The dogs sat by the foot of her bed, ears perked towards her. Last night she passed out in his arms screaming and sobbing in agony. Agony he couldn't take away, agony caused by his father and his gang. She was incredible, she had killed Lulli, and then she killed Arshad when mortally wounded. She is so strong, she stood fighting until she saw him. Rehman won’t ever forget that look.
Her hair tangled and wild, her beautiful face bruised and bleeding. Her rosy pink lips pale with blood loss. She was shaky. She was swaying. She was gasping for breath. It looked incredibly wrong. A woman so strong looking frail and fragile. Her knuckles were spit and bleeding. She stood there standing strong. Like she would rather die than bend. Her eyes held fury, they held vengeance, they held violence. She didn't let her pain show on her face.
Then she saw him. She smiled at him, her eyes flashed something like recognition of home. Like recognition of safety. Then she collapsed into him. Because she knew he would catch her. Like every fibre of her being knew that he would save her. That much trust. She had that much trust in him.
Rehman was terrified. He isn't even ashamed to admit it. When she was screaming, when she was sobbing, when she held on to him for life while fighting for her own life. Rehman was terrified. He held her through it, because that's all he could do. Hold her, whisper sweet nothings in her ears as he himself tried not to break.
But that was last night. Today was a new day. And she still hadn't moved an inch, uttered a single word, made a single sound. Her payal sat on her feet. They hadn't jingled once. The silence was deafening. You could have joked that she looked dead, but for that joke Rehman would have killed you mercilessly. He sat there with his head in his hands, his eyes shut in a crude gangster's prayer. If any god was willing to listen. His ears pointed towards her, straining for a single sign of life.
—------------------------------
A choked sob of pain leaves her raw throat. Finally, a sign of life. Rehman whips his head up so fast it kinks his neck. He stands from the chair and crosses the mere few feet of distance between them. He crashes onto his knees by the side of her bed, a wave of relief floods through him. He briefly looks up at the ceiling as if to thank whatever god who heard him.
“Meri jaan” he whispers brokenly holding her bruised face like she was porcelain. The large purple bruise on her cheek makes him feel physically sick. His eyes sting with tears. “Main yahi pe hun..meri jaan aankhe kholo” Her face uncrumples just enough so she can open her eyes to see him. Her eyes are blood shot, broken, dull. Not magnetic and sparkly like he loves.
“Reh-Rehman….dard..sirf dard” she gasps out her hand shakily lifting to hold his arm that held her face. She leans into the palm of his hand that cradled her face like it was her only source of comfort. That simple admission. Pain. She was in pain. Broke him even more. He immediately looked on the bedside table where Yalina had left medication. Before she left the room she told Rehman that when Rehanna woke and was in pain to give her this medicine immediately. He gently pulled his hand away from her face and opened the package of pills.
“Apna mu kholo ya qalbi…Yalina ne ye dawa di hai.” he said. She opened her mouth and took the pills. Rehman brought the glass of water, gently helping her take the water as she lay on the bed. She sighed against the pillows, gingerly moving her hand to wipe her tears. Rehman beat her to it using his thumb to gently wipe away her tears. She tried sitting up but as soon as she tried to move the stitches pulled at her skin. Making her gasp in mind numbing pain. Wordlessly Rehman propped up pillows behind her and helped her sit up while she whimpered in pain. “Bas bas, hogaya jaan. Hogaya.” he hummed to her.
When she sat up, Rehman sat beside her on the bed and pressed kisses to her split knuckles. Each kiss is full of regret and apology. She watched quietly for a moment. He looked wrecked. She began speaking hoarsely “Rehman apke abbu….woh phir bhag gaye.” Rehman darkened “Meri jaan itni izzat uss bhadwe ke layak nahi” Rehanna gave him a ghost of a grin, voice still hoarse “Sach keh rahe ho aap…lekin humari tameez dekhiye. Agar baap hai aapka to baap hai apka. Ab kya kar sakte hain…izzat thodi to deni padegi…Uss faltu admi ke wajeh se aap jaisa kuch zyada hi handsome aadmi paida hua. Uski to halki si izzat banti hai haina?” She waited for his response, pumping an eyebrow at him to urge him. He couldn't believe it, in her agony she was cracking jokes.
Rehman laughed despite himself wiping a sniff with the back of his hand “Jaan- kya?-” like he didn't even know what to say he laughed again. Seeing this she smiled a bit more and huffed her own laugh out. She looked like herself for a moment when she laughed. Before she hissed in pain “AH fffffffff” she groaned, biting back a curse, holding her side with the stitches. Rehman immediately went serious again, his hands immediately flying out to brace her as if that could help. She groaned again trying to control her breathing so the pain would come under control.
Rehman’s heart clenched, even joy was painful for her now “Jaan mujhe maaf kardo-” he began shakily placing his forehead on her lap as if begging for her forgiveness “Kal mujhe tumhare sath rehna chahiye tha…ek dafa bhi akele nahi ch’hodna chahiye tha…Ye sab…ye sab mere wajeh se hua hai. Mai nahi tha aapko bachane ke liye. Ye ghaon, ye chotein, ye sab meri wajeh se apko sehna pada.” Her breath hitched her hand and ran through his hair.
He continued “Unko mujhe chot pauchani thi…mai nahi mila to phir mere dil ke kareeb jo shaks hai uspe pe hamla kiya” He was genuinely devastated, trying not to break down. “Rehman mujhe dekho” she whispered, pulling his head up from her lap. He was still wearing the kurta soaked in her blood. He looked up with unshed tears in his eyes.
“Mujhe dekho…mai zinda hun...mai yahi pe hun” she said, cradling his face in her hands. “Haat lagao…mehsoos karo” Rehman placed his hand on her thigh, his forehead against hers as he breathed shakily. Trying to help his mind understand that she was right here, in his arms and that she would be okay. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, her hand tangling in his hair.
“Mai vada karta hun meri jaan…woh haramzada zinda nahi rahega…Mere bhadwe abbu…jisne aapko takleef pauchane ki zurrat ki. Zinda nahi rehga woh.” each word was threaded with rage, with violence, with promise. He kissed her gently as if stamping his promise.
She pulled away after a moment “Rehman ek vada karo” He met her eyes instantly. She took a breath with a scarily calm smile “Vada karo ki behad berehmi se maroge aap Babu Dakait ko”
For the first time Rehman smiled properly “Ye bhi koi kehne ki baat hai meri jaan…jo hukum” he pressed his forehead to hers again.
—------
The summary of the week after her injury
Baloch haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The week after the warehouse felt strange inside Baloch Haveli. Quiet in some moments. Suffocating in others. Like the entire haveli itself had exhaled in relief after almost losing her and now refused to let her out of its sight again. Even the servants walked softer outside her room now. Even the dogs refused to leave her doorway for long. Sultan and Raja had somehow turned themselves into self appointed guards, sleeping across the entrance every night and lifting their heads instantly anytime she moved even slightly beneath the blankets.
The air inside her room permanently smelled of antiseptic, coffee, expensive cigarettes, pain medication, fresh flowers someone kept bringing her, and the faint iron scent of blood that still lingered despite Yalina’s obsessive cleaning.
Karachi’s humid heat drifted through the balcony doors alongside distant traffic and the call to prayer echoing softly over Lyari rooftops. Life outside continued normally. Inside the haveli however everything revolved quietly around one fact only. Rehanna was alive.
—------------
Monday belonged to Faizal. The poor child looked traumatized. Truly traumatized. Rehanna realized it the second he appeared hesitantly at her bedroom doorway holding one of his schoolbooks against his chest like a shield. His big eyes immediately darted toward the bandages visible beneath her loose kurta before flickering away guiltily as if even looking hurt her. He stood there silently for almost thirty seconds while she sat propped up against pillows beneath the afternoon sunlight spilling softly through the curtains. The bruising on her face had faded into ugly yellow purple shadows now. Her stitches still burned every time she moved. Even breathing too deeply hurt.
But she smiled anyway the second she saw him. “Faizu?” she asked softly. “Aise darwaze pe khade kyun ho?” He swallowed hard. “Aap… theek ho?” His voice came out tiny. Careful. Terrified. Something inside her chest ached harder than the stitches. “Aao idhar,” she said gently, opening one arm toward him. Faizal hesitated immediately. His eyes widened almost fearfully. “Nahi aunty… lag jayegi apko…” God. Rehanna nearly cried right there. Because he genuinely thought touching her might break her apart again. Slowly she shifted despite the sharp sting in her side and patted the bed beside her. “Faizal.” Her voice softened further. “Mujhe kuch nahi hoga.” He still looked uncertain.
So finally she reached out herself, carefully catching his wrist and pulling him closer until he climbed nervously onto the edge of the bed beside her. The second she wrapped an arm around him the boy froze completely. Then slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal. He hugged her back. “It’s okay,” she whispered against his hair while his small fingers bunched tightly into the fabric of her kurta. “Mai theek hun.” And suddenly Faizal burst into tears. Silent at first. Then properly sobbing into her shoulder while apologizing over and over because he thought he should have done something that night. Rehanna immediately hushed him gently despite how much even speaking strained her throat. “Shhh… meri jaan…” she soothed while stroking his hair slowly. “Tum bache ho.” Her own eyes burned now. “Tumhe kuch nahi karna tha.”
Eventually his crying quieted enough that he simply sat tucked against her side while she read aloud from his schoolbook in a hoarse sleepy voice until both of them accidentally fell asleep together beneath the afternoon sun.
—------------------
Tuesday belonged to Hamza. Hamza had avoided her room for almost two days straight after the warehouse. Not because he did not care. But because he cared too much. The giant man who usually carried himself like violence wrapped in muscle suddenly looked unsure of where to put his hands the second he stepped inside her room that morning. Rehanna immediately noticed the rakhi still tied around his thick wrist beneath his rolled sleeve. The same rakhi she had tied weeks ago. Only now the thread looked worn from how often he had been touching it. Playing with it. Clinging to it. His eyes looked exhausted too. Haunted in a way she recognized instantly.
“Hamza?” she asked softly from the bed. “Aise kyun dekh rahe ho mujhe?” The question shattered something in him immediately. Before she properly registered movement he crossed the room in three long strides and pulled her into a crushing hug. Rehanna yelped in pain instantly. “AH FUCK—” Hamza jerked backward so violently he nearly fell off the bed himself. “YA ALLAH SORRY SORRY SORRY—” Genuine panic exploded across his face. “Maine— shit— Didi sorry—” Rehanna burst into weak painful laughter despite herself clutching her side carefully. The horrified expression on his face looked almost comical now. “Hamza…” she wheezed. “Relax…”
But the poor man looked seconds away from emotional collapse. Because suddenly he wasn’t seeing Rehanna anymore. He was seeing blood soaked floors from years ago. Before this mission. His true life before he was anything other than Jaskirat. His biological older sister had died in front of him. Helplessness. Terror. Failure. The same cold fear had crawled back into his chest watching Rehanna unconscious in Rehman’s arms that night. Rehanna saw all of it cross his face in one horrible second.
So before he could pull away completely she grabbed his wrist tightly and tugged him back down beside her. More carefully this time. Then slowly she wrapped both arms around him despite the pain. “Idhar aao,” she murmured quietly. Hamza lowered his head instantly against her shoulder while she stroked his hair gently like calming a frightened animal. “Mai yahi hun.” The giant man shut his eyes hard enough to hurt. “Mujhe bohot darr lag gaya tha…” he finally admitted in a voice so quiet she barely heard it.
Rehanna’s expression softened painfully. “Mujhe pata hai.” And for several minutes neither of them spoke again.
—---------------
Wednesday belonged to Uzair. Unlike Hamza, Uzair entered her room trying to act normal. Which immediately told Rehanna exactly how badly affected he actually was. He leaned casually against the doorway holding two cups, one of chai and one of coffee, while pretending not to scan her body instantly for signs of worsening injury. The second she saw him she grinned lazily from beneath her blankets. “Oho.” Her voice still sounded rough around the edges. “Aaj bade handsome lag rahe ho Baloch Sahab.” He physically sagged in relief hearing her tease him again.
“Allah ka shukr hai,” he muttered dramatically while crossing the room. “Aapka dimagh abhi bhi kharab hai.” He sat beside her carefully handing her coffee while she shifted slowly upright with a grimace. The stitches still pulled painfully every time she moved but by now she had started forcing herself to walk small distances around the room despite everyone yelling at her constantly. The damned chan chan chan of her payals gave her away every time.
Twice already servants had caught her standing alone near the balcony trying to stretch properly before immediately reporting it to Yalina like terrified informants. Rehanna however refused to stay still. Pain irritated her. Weakness irritated her more.
Uzair watched her closely over the rim of his chai cup. “Sach batao,” he finally muttered. “Warehouse mein kya hua tha exactly?” Rehanna’s eyes immediately glittered dangerously. Ah. There it was. Curiosity. She grinned slowly before launching into the story with dramatic detail. How Lulli’s throat sounded when she punched him. How Arshad’s face looked after the steel chair hit him. How Babu ran like a coward. Uzair became completely hooked within minutes. “NAHI?” he barked halfway through the story while laughing in disbelief. “Uske muh pe chair maari?” Rehanna looked deeply offended. “Obviously.” Then smugly she added, “Aur bahut zor se maari.”
By the end of it Uzair sat staring at her like she personally crawled out of warfare mythology. “Vakeel sahiba…” he muttered finally. “Aap genuinely pagal ho.” Rehanna grinned proudly. “Thank you.”
—--------------
Thursday belonged to Yalina. Yalina had become unbearable. Absolutely unbearable. The sweet slightly shy medical student who was her best friend had disappeared entirely after the warehouse incident. In her place now existed a terrifying tiny dictator armed with disinfectant, thermometers, strict instructions, and approximately six hundred lectures per day.
“Didi seedha baithiye.” “Didi dawa khai?” “Didi stitches ko touch mat kariye.” “DIDI UTHO MAT.” Rehanna felt bullied inside her own bedroom.
Every few hours Yalina stormed inside carrying fresh bandages and a deeply judgmental expression while Rehanna suffered dramatically beneath her care. The problem however was that Rehanna could see directly through her. Every clipped instruction. Every irritated sigh. Every strict warning. Fear sat underneath all of it. Trauma. Yalina still woke up at night hearing those screams from the bedroom while pulling the glass out of her flesh.
So when Yalina entered Thursday evening already lecturing her because she got caught walking again, Rehanna simply stared quietly at her for several seconds before holding out her arms suddenly. “Lina.” Yalina stopped mid sentence. “Kya?” Rehanna patted the bed gently. “Idhar aao.” Immediately suspicious, Yalina narrowed her eyes. “Didi—” Rehanna wasn't taking any of it “Aao.”
Eventually grumbling beneath her breath she climbed onto the bed carefully beside her. The second she settled down Rehanna ignored the pain in her side and pulled her into a hug. Tight. Warm. Protective. “Lina…” she whispered softly while kissing her forehead. “Meri jaan bachane ke liye shukriya.” That did it. Completely. Yalina broke apart instantly.
A horrible sob tore from her chest before she buried her face against Rehanna and started crying properly. “Mujhe bohot darr lag raha tha…” she cried shakily. “Mujhe laga Didi aap—” She couldn’t even finish the sentence. Rehanna immediately held her closer despite the burning pain through her stitches.
“Shhh…” she soothed gently while stroking her hair. “Mai yahi hun.” Yalina cried until exhaustion finally replaced panic. Rehanna stayed holding her the entire time.
—---------------
Friday belonged to Siyahi. Siyahi entered her room quietly after sunset carrying two cigarettes and the exhausted hollow look of someone who had almost lost family. Siyahi loved her like Rehman loved her. He and Rehman loved differently but the depth remained equally dangerous. Rehanna understood that instantly the second he sat silently beside her bed without speaking. Outside rain tapped softly against the haveli balcony while the room glowed dim gold beneath a single bedside lamp.
Rehanna sat cross legged carefully wrapped in one of Rehman’s black cashmere shawls while Sultan slept beside the bed. For several long minutes Siyahi only listened to her talk. About random things at first. Karachi traffic. A terrible movie she once watched. The absurd amount of pain Yalina caused changing bandages. Slowly his shoulders loosened hearing her voice drift normally through the room again. Alive. Talking. Laughing softly. Existing. At one point she caught him staring at her quietly and tilted her head. “Kya?” Siyahi shook his head slowly before speaking in a rough voice. “Aapko uss haal mein dekh ke…” He swallowed hard. “Meri rooh nikal gayi thi.” Rehanna’s expression softened immediately.
So she reached over slowly and squeezed his hand. “Mai itni asaani se marne wali nahi hun.” Siyahi huffed out a quiet laugh at that. “Haan woh toh dekh liya.” Then eventually she began retelling parts of the fight again and Siyahi listened intensely while absentmindedly rolling cigarettes between his fingers. By the time he left, near dinner time, both of them looked lighter somehow. Like speaking fear aloud had weakened it.
—-------------------
Saturday belonged to Donga. Donga arrived like a criminal conspiracy wrapped in newspaper bags from the market. The second he entered her room the smell hit first. Fried potatoes. Tamarind chutney. Mint. Spice. Crispy papdi. Rehanna’s eyes widened immediately from where she sat pretending to read legal paperwork she absolutely should not have been working on yet. Rehman had her on strict orders. She wasn't allowed to touch her work until she was completely alright. But Rehanna was a rebel, she had snuck into her office grabbed her papers and limped back to her room and began working anyways.
Rehanna brightened when she saw Donga “DONGA MERI JAAN.” He grinned proudly before dramatically unveiling her favorite aaloo tikki chaat like presenting royal treasure. “Aapke liye Vakeel sahiba.” Rehanna looked seconds away from emotional collapse over chaat. “Mai tumhe itna pyar karti hun Donga….BEHAD PYAAR”
Unfortunately Yalina walked in exactly thirty seconds later carrying fresh dressings. The betrayal on her face looked biblical. “KYA KAR RAHE HO AAP DONO?” she shrieked instantly. Rehanna froze mid bite guiltily while Donga looked deeply unrepentant. “Vakeel Sahiba ko khana khila raha hun.” “
Ye khana hai?!” Yalina snapped horrified. “Ye tel aur mirchi ka chemical weapon hai!” Rehanna immediately clutched the plate protectively to her chest. “Lina please…” she gasped dramatically. “Maut ke muh se wapas ayi hun…” Donga nodded solemnly beside her. “Unko chaat milni chahiye.” Yalina looked moments away from committing homicide herself.
Meanwhile both Rehanna and Donga quietly began eating faster before she could confiscate the food entirely. At one point Yalina launched forward trying to grab the plate only for both of them to physically lean away from her simultaneously while laughing hysterically. “Aap dono bachche ho!” Yalina shouted furiously. Rehanna and Donga immediately stuck their tongues out at her in perfect synchronization before collapsing into louder laughter.
The pain afterward nearly killed Rehanna but honestly? Worth it.
—--------------------
Sunday belonged to Rehman. Truthfully every day belonged to Rehman. He existed inside her room now more than his own. Any free second immediately found him beside her again asking the same questions over and over in slightly different forms.
“Dard toh nahi horaha?” “Dawa time pe li?” “Walk kiya?” “Zyada walk toh nahi kiya?” “Bukhar toh nahi lag raha?”
Rehanna had never seen a more terrifying gangster transform into such an aggressively attentive nurse in her entire life. He adjusted her pillows personally. Checked her temperature himself. Forced her to drink water constantly. Lit her cigarettes only after long lectures about how technically she should not be smoking right now.
Sunday evening Yalina had taken the night off from Rehanna duty. So Rehman was up to bat, he sat carefully rebandaging her stitches beneath warm yellow lamplight, Rehanna watched him quietly for a long moment before grinning lazily. “Mujhe lagta hai mujhe thoda aur ghayal hona chahiye.” Rehman’s hands froze instantly. Bad decision. “Kyun?” he asked dangerously calm.
Rehanna’s grin widened mischievously. “Mera nurse bohot handsome hai.” For one second he simply stared at her blankly. Then genuine disbelief crossed his face. “Aisi baat dobara mat karna.” His voice came out rough immediately. Serious. “Kabhi bhi nahi.” Rehanna blinked slightly, surprised by the intensity in his tone. He tied off the bandage carefully before looking at her again. “Aap chaho to mai puri zindagi aise khayal rakhunga aapka.” he didn't even realize the weight of the words that left his mouth. “Lekin dobara ghayal hone ka mazaak bhi mat karna.”
Rehanna immediately raised both hands in surrender. “Okay okay…” But secretly she smiled watching him fuss over her afterward.
Because every night after the haveli finally went quiet and everyone else slept, Rehman still slipped silently into her room. He would climb carefully into bed beside her trying not to disturb her stitches before pulling her gently against his chest. Sometimes she pretended to stay asleep just to feel him kiss her forehead when he thought nobody noticed. Sometimes she woke halfway through the night feeling his fingers checking her pulse or brushing softly through her hair like reassurance that she remained alive. And every single morning before sunrise he reluctantly disappeared back into his own room again pretending he had slept there all along.
Like the most feared man in Lyari was secretly incapable of sleeping unless she breathed against his chest.
—-----------
Monday @ 1 pm
Baloch haveli courtyard, Lyari, Pakistan
Monday afternoon hung heavy over Baloch Haveli. The Karachi heat pressed against the old stone walls with a suffocating kind of stillness while somewhere beyond the gates Lyari continued breathing in its usual rhythm of distant shouting, roaring motorcycles, cricket commentary blaring from tea stalls, and the endless restless pulse of the city. Inside the haveli however everything felt sharpened today. Like the entire building itself knew blood would spill before sunset.
Rehman sat alone on the front porch beneath the shade of the high carved arches, one elbow resting against his knee while smoke curled lazily from the cigarette between his fingers. His jaw looked carved from stone. Hard. Unmoving. Violent thoughts sat heavy behind his eyes. Every few seconds his thumb tapped once against his thigh unconsciously before going still again. Waiting.
He had sent the men out nearly an hour ago. Uzair, Hamza, Siyahi, Donga. Half the gang scattered across Lyari hunting like starving wolves through alleyways, gambling dens, abandoned warehouses, cheap hotels, chai stalls, every filthy hiding place Babu Dakait could crawl into. Because today was the day.
Today the man who had orchestrated her kidnapping would die. A few meters away Faizal kicked his football across the courtyard alone, occasionally glancing toward his father with nervous eyes before quickly looking away again. Even the child could feel the tension pouring off him. Sultan and Raja sprawled lazily near the porch stairs but their ears remained perked alert, restless beneath the thick humid air. Somewhere inside the haveli a servant dropped metal utensils and immediately cursed under their breath. The sharp sound echoed strangely loud. Rehman barely blinked. His mind somewhere else entirely.
Behind him, hidden beneath the shadowed corridors of the haveli, Rehanna moved painfully slowly along the wall. One hand dragged lightly against the surface for support while the other stayed pressed against her stitched side. Every few steps her face tightened as the skin near her waist stretched painfully beneath the bandages. The healing wound still burned constantly. A vicious pulling sting with every wrong movement.
Yalina would probably faint on the spot if she saw this. Rehman too. Which was exactly why she had slipped out quietly while everyone remained distracted downstairs. Her payals barely made a sound as she walked. Partially because she physically could not move fast enough anymore. Partially because she was trying not to be caught. Rehman had practically turned the entire haveli into a prison this week. Servants monitored her. Guards reported her movements. Someone was always watching to make sure she did not overexert herself. It was infuriating. But she understood why.
After the warehouse Rehman watched her like someone terrified death would steal her the second he looked away. Still, nobody needed to tell her what today was. She knew the moment she woke up beside him that morning.
She felt it in the way he held her longer than usual after fajr prayers while dawn light spilled pale gold through her blue linen curtains. She felt it in the way his kisses lingered against her forehead. She felt it in the strange silence sitting inside him while he held her against his chest on the bed. Rehman became quieter when he was angry enough to kill someone. And today he had barely spoken at all.
By the time she finally reached the front patio her breathing had become uneven from the effort. Rehman still sat with his back toward her, broad shoulders tense beneath his baby blue kurta. Violence rolled off him so heavily it almost felt physical. Then suddenly his phone rang. The entire atmosphere shifted instantly. Rehman answered without looking at the screen. “Bolo.” Uzair’s voice crackled through the speaker sharp with adrenaline. “Bhai Babu mil gaya Cheel Chawk pe…aap jaldi ajao.” Silence. Cold silence. Rehman slowly stood to his feet. He did not answer because he did not need to. Everybody knew what came next.
He slid the phone back into his pocket before turning around toward the courtyard stairs and immediately freezing. Rehanna stood there swaying slightly from the effort of remaining upright. One hand still braced against the wall. Her face looked exhausted already. The hardness in his expression cracked instantly into worry. “Meri jaan aap yahan kaise ayi?” he demanded immediately, striding toward her. His brows furrowed deeply as his eyes swept over her pale face. “Aapko abhi aram karna chahiye kitni bar boloun mai?”
Despite herself she huffed irritably at the scolding while taking the arm he offered her. “Bas bas…” she muttered breathlessly as he carefully guided her toward the patio seating. The second she lowered herself into the chair, pain sliced through her side hard enough to steal her breath for a moment. She shut her eyes tightly inhaling slowly through her nose while Rehman crouched beside her immediately, one hand hovering anxiously near her waist as if unsure where to touch without hurting her further.
After several seconds she finally opened her eyes again. “Babu mil gaya na?” Rehman’s entire face darkened. Something cruel flashed briefly through his gaze. “Haan,” he answered quietly. “Abhi apni akhri sasein gin raha hai.” Rehanna hummed softly at that, staring out toward the courtyard where the heat shimmered above the stone. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then gently Rehman threaded his fingers through her hair, turning her face toward him carefully like she was still breakable. The look he gave her then felt heavier than words. It carried promise. Promises of wrath and devotion so violent it bordered on terrifying. The kind of look men gave before wars started. Slowly he leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Long. Lingering.
“Mai bhi a rahi hun sath mai,” she said matter of factly the second he pulled away. His answer came instantly. “Nahi.” Her eyes narrowed. “Nahi bilkul nahi,” he repeated firmer now. “Aapse chala bhi nahi ja raha hai…aur uss chutiye ko mai aapke upar ankhe rakhne ka bhi mauka nahi dene wala.” She opened her mouth immediately ready to argue but before she could speak he kissed her forehead once more and stood. Final. Decided. Then he turned around and walked away toward the driveway where black SUVs already waited with engines running.
Men loaded guns into trunks nearby while Faizal stood frozen in the courtyard sensing something ugly unfolding. “Dakait sahab!” Rehanna called after him sharply. Not Rehman. Never here. Not where half the haveli staff could hear.
Rehman paused briefly near the car door but he did not turn around. A second later he slid into the SUV and the convoy pulled out through the haveli gates disappearing into the burning Karachi afternoon.
Rehanna stared after the cars for several long seconds. She understood why he refused. His point was completely valid. She could barely walk properly right now. But none of that mattered. She needed to see this end with her own eyes. Slowly she pushed herself upright from the patio chair with a sharp hiss of pain. The world tilted unpleasantly for a second but she steadied herself stubbornly before beginning the miserable slow journey toward the driveway stairs.
Every movement hurt like a bitch. By the time she reached the bottom her breathing had gone shallow again. One of the drivers standing nearby immediately looked horrified seeing her approach. “OYE,” she snapped, pointing toward one of the remaining cars. “Chal mujhe leke chal unke peeche.”
The poor man physically paled. “Vakeel sahiba…” he stammered nervously. “Aapki halat nazuk hai mai nahi leke ja sakta….Rehman bhai mujhe jaan se mardenge agar apko kuch hogya to—” Rehanna stepped closer slowly despite the pain and narrowed her eyes at him with enough intensity to make the man nearly flinch backward. “Ya to tu leke chal mujhe…” she said coldly. “Warna mai khud apni jaan ko khatre me dalke…gaadi chala ke…pauch jaungi.” Her voice dropped lower. Sharper. “Ab tu dekhle. Tu pyar se leke jaega ya meri mauth ka ilzam apne sar pe lega?” The driver swallowed hard enough his throat visibly bobbed.
He looked absolutely doomed either way. Within seconds he hurried forward, opening the backseat door for her with trembling hands while she carefully lowered herself inside trying not to reopen her stitches. Then he practically sprinted around the car to start the engine before fear could let him reconsider his life choices.
—-----------------
Same day @ 1:20 pm
Cheel Chawk, Lyari, Pakistan
Cheel Chawk looked like the mouth of hell when Rehanna arrived. The car screeched violently to a stop near the crowded marketplace and before the driver could even properly step out she was already pushing the door open herself. Pain immediately tore through her side from the sudden movement hard enough to make her vision blur for half a second, but she ignored it completely.
The humid Karachi air hit her face thick with heat, sweat, dust, frying oil, diesel fumes, crushed coriander, cigarette smoke, and something else underneath all of it now. Fear. A massive crowd had gathered in the middle of the chawk. Shopkeepers abandoned stalls. Children stood perched on broken walls trying to see over others shoulders. Men whispered rapidly beneath their breath while others stared openly with the terrible fascinated expression people wore when witnessing violence unfold in real time.
The driver hurried ahead of her immediately shoving people aside. “Hato hato— side ho jao!” Rehanna stepped through the shifting crowd slowly, one hand pressed tightly against her stitches as her breathing shallowed from the pain. Then finally she saw the center of the circle. And stopped.
Uzair stood rigid near the edge of the crowd beside Hamza, Siyahi and Donga. All four of them looked stunned into silence watching the scene unfolding before them. Moments ago they themselves had been threatening people backwards to clear the area. Now even they simply stared.
In the middle of Cheel Chawk lay an overturned auto rickshaw twisted sideways across the road like something had smashed into it full force. One wheel still spun lazily. Vegetables and broken crates littered the pavement nearby. A streak of blood dragged across the dusty ground. And standing in the center of it all was Rehman. Baby blue kurta, and broad shoulders. Blood on his hands already. He pulled a cigarette from between his lips before crushing it slowly beneath his boot without a single trace of hurry. Then he crouched beside the overturned auto and grabbed Babu Dakait by the collar, hauling him violently from the wreckage.
Babu looked ruined already. Blood streamed from his nose and forehead soaking into his scraggly and barely there beard while one eye had swollen nearly shut. He gasped painfully trying to claw at Rehman’s wrists as Rehman dragged him across the street like dead weight. “NAHI!” Babu screamed desperately. “NAHI REHMAN TU MERA BETA HAI!” Rehman did not answer. Not even a glance. He just kept dragging him forward across the concrete while the entire market watched in horrified silence.
“MERE BETE!” Babu cried again, voice cracking into panic now. “MUJHE MAT MAAR!” Still nothing. The silence coming from Rehman somehow felt more terrifying than screaming would have.
Rehanna’s breath hitched painfully in her throat as heat flushed through her entire body. Exhaustion. Injury. Adrenaline. Something darker too. Something twisted and almost depraved curled low in her stomach while she watched him do this for her. Because this man loved her enough to become a monster publicly. Openly. Without hesitation.
And somewhere deep inside herself she realized with alarming clarity that she liked watching it. Slowly she began walking toward them through the crowd despite the agony burning through her side.
Rehman dragged Babu toward a nearby vegetable cart before slamming him brutally onto the wooden surface hard enough to rattle the entire thing. Tomatoes, potatoes, coriander and onions scattered everywhere rolling across the pavement beneath startled feet. Babu groaned weakly trying to crawl backward but Rehman grabbed his collar again and leaned close enough their faces nearly touched. “Meri jaan ko haat nahi lagana chahiye tha Babu,” he growled through clenched teeth only so Babu could hear. Babu spat blood to the side desperately scrambling for survival. “Tu mujhe uss kutti kamini vakeel ke liye maar raha hai??”
Wrong answer. Entirely wrong answer. Something murderous snapped visibly across Rehman’s face. The restraint vanished instantly. Pure hatred settled into his expression so completely several people in the crowd physically stepped backward. And then through the heavy market noise came a soft metallic sound. Chan. Chan. Chan. Payals.
Rehman’s head whipped around instantly in disbelief. There she was. Walking toward him slowly through the crowd in her pale yellow kurta, one hand gripping her wounded side, exhaustion written across every inch of her body and yet somehow still standing. Still terrifying. For a second genuine shock crossed his face. “Meri- Vakeel sahiba?” the word jaan almost left his mouth in public.
Rehanna lifted a hand cutting him off gently before reaching the cart. Her eyes slid toward Babu Dakait calmly. Coldly. “Mujhe ek minute do,” she said quietly. Even now. Even here. Rehman listened to her immediately. Completely flabbergasted, still trying to process the fact she had somehow dragged herself all the way to Cheel Chawk, he slowly stepped backward allowing her space. Around them the crowd watched breathlessly. Rehanna moved closer to the cart until she stood directly in front of Babu. The older man stared at her in horror now. Real horror. Because she was supposed to be dying. Broken. Weak. Instead she stood here alive watching his execution. Slowly she wrapped one hand around his throat.
Babu choked instantly beneath her grip as she leaned down near his ear, her voice dropping into something soft enough only he could hear. “Jehenum me mera intezaar karna SASUR JI…” Babu’s breath hitched at her whispered admission. “haan sahi suna…Aapk kya laga ki mai sirf Rehman ki vakeel hun? Tsk tsk tsk…mai unki jaan hu” she clarified.
“aapki na hone wali bahu hun…ab samajh me aya kya bawal kardiya tha us din jab mereko market me cheda tha? Aur jo dusri ghalti ki thi mereko uthane ki…tsk tsk tsk ” she whispered almost sweetly. This entire conversation was about to die with the man she was whispering it to.
“Jehenum aake apna badla lungi….khuda hafiz.” Babu stared at her completely stunned. And then Rehanna giggled. Cruel. Light. Almost playful. The sound made several people nearby visibly uneasy. She released his throat gently before stepping backward again and gesturing toward Rehman like granting permission. Continue. Rehman stared at her for one unreadable second, wondering what she said to his horrible father. before turning back toward Babu.
Nearby the vegetable stall sat one of the heavy iron weighing blocks used for produce. Rehman picked it up wordlessly. The crowd recoiled instinctively. Rehanna simply watched with a cold smile on her face while the sound of final violence echoed once through Cheel Chawk. Then silence followed. Thick. Horrified silence. Somewhere nearby a woman quietly whispered an ayat beneath her breath. Rehman didn't stop, again and again, he bashed Babu Dakait’s skull into a fine halwa.
Rehanna meanwhile calmly turned toward the tomato seller frozen beside her in absolute shock. “Bhai jaan ye tamatar kitne ke diye?” she asked casually while picking one up to inspect it. The poor man blinked at her like his soul had temporarily left his body. “30 rupay kilo,” he answered weakly. She clicked her tongue dramatically examining the tomato closer. “Are sahi sahi daam lagado yaar dikh nahi raha wah kisika qatal ho raha hai?” She gestured vaguely behind herself toward Babu’s very mutilated corpse without even looking. “Ab ye mauth wale tamatar kaun khareedega? Mai hu na mujhe bech do.” The vendor nodded immediately with trembling hands and began stuffing tomatoes into a plastic bag while still staring in stunned disbelief at the massacre happening beside his stall.
Behind her Rehman finally dropped the bloodied weight with a heavy metallic clang before exhaling a sharp breath of effort. “WOAH.” Then slowly he turned toward the crowd. Blood covered his hands. Splattered across his kurta. Splattered across his face. This time none of it belonged to her. Rehanna swallowed hard, the sight in front of her flooding her body with heat. He looked good like this, angry, dangerous, and painfully hot. She clutched the tomatoes closer for support.
“Aaj se Lyari me Balochon ki hukumat hogi,” he announced coldly. His voice carried across the entire chawk effortlessly. “Aur jo bhi dagabazi karega uska ye hi ashar hoga.” Fear moved visibly through the crowd like a wave.
Heads nodded instantly. Nobody argued. Nobody even breathed too loudly. Rehman’s gaze swept over them once more before finally turning toward Rehanna. The hardness in his face softened immediately seeing her standing there clutching a bag of tomatoes beside a dead body like she had merely finished grocery shopping.
Wordlessly he walked toward her and offered his arm. She took it instantly. Together they slowly walked back through the parted crowd toward his SUV while people moved aside without needing to be told. The blood on his hands and clothes smeared on her. The metaphor is painfully obvious.
Rehman guided her carefully into the backseat before climbing in beside her himself. The second the doors shut the outside chaos muffled away into silence. For several moments only the low hum of the engine filled the car as it pulled away from Cheel Chawk.
Then finally Rehman looked toward her. His expression exhausted now beneath the dried blood staining his skin. “Dard zyada toh nahi hua?” he asked quietly. Rehanna leaned back against the seat trying not to show how badly her side burned right now. “Theek thak hai.” He stared at her for another long second before shaking his head slightly. “Aapko nahi aana chahiye tha.” His voice stayed calm but underneath it sat lingering fear. “Agar raste me kuch hojata toh?”
Rehanna looked out the window watching Lyari blur past outside. “Mujhe aana tha.” Simple. Final. Rehman said nothing after that because deep down he understood completely. Some endings needed to be witnessed personally otherwise they haunted you forever unfinished. So the rest of the drive passed quietly. Side by side in the backseat. One covered in blood. The other smelling faintly of antiseptic and pain medication.
“Ye tamatar kyun?” he asked, looking at the bag that now sat in her lap. “Oh! Salma bi keh rahi thi ki ghar pe tamatar khatam hogaye the aur unko chutni banani thi…dikh gaye to leliye…Rate bhi sahi lagadiye stall wale ne” She shrugged with a smile. Rehman huffed a laugh at the pure absurdity of the situation.
And somewhere behind them in Cheel Chawk the entire balance of Lyari had just changed forever.
—-------------------
2 days post Cheel Chawk incident @ 8 pm
Rehanna’s bedroom, Lyari, Pakistan
The atmosphere inside Baloch Haveli had changed completely after Cheel Chawk. The heaviness was gone now. The ghosts had finally been fed blood. Arshad was dead. Lulli was dead. Babu Dakait was dead. Every monster that touched her had been buried one by one beneath violence.And strangely, the haveli itself seemed calmer for it.
The corridors no longer felt suffocating. The guards laughed again downstairs during card games. The servants whispered less nervously while carrying tea through the halls. Even Sultan and Raja had stopped pacing outside her bedroom every hour like anxious soldiers guarding a hospital ward. For the first time in days, the air inside the haveli no longer smelled like fear.
Rehman especially had changed. Something inside him had finally unclenched after Babu’s death. He walked lighter now. Slept easier. The permanent murderous tension sitting across his shoulders had loosened slightly. There was no regret in him whatsoever. Not for the public execution. Not for the blood. Not for the violence. If anything, killing Babu Dakait had soothed something primal inside him. A debt had finally been paid.
Meanwhile Rehanna healed slowly. Agonizingly slowly according to her.
The stitches still pulled painfully whenever she stretched too far or laughed too hard, but she had begun moving around again despite everyone’s protests. She wandered through the haveli. She stood on the balcony drinking chai in the mornings. She sat in the library downstairs pretending not to notice the way every servant stared nervously waiting for her to collapse dramatically at any second. Most offensively to everybody involved, she had begun sneaking into her office down the hall to continue her legal work.
The first time Rehman caught her sitting at her desk surrounded by files and paperwork he looked genuinely scandalized. “Rehanna!” he snapped from the doorway while she calmly highlighted something in a contract. “Aap pagal hogayi ho kya?” She barely looked up. “Good evening, jaan”
“Good evening?” he repeated in disbelief, striding toward her desk. “Aap bedrest pe ho!” she didn't look up “Aur?” Rehman stared “Aur?” He stared at her like she personally insulted his ancestors. “Aap yahan kaam kar rahi ho! Aur chal bhi rahi ho! Aap mujhe maarna chahti ho kya?”
Immediately she slammed the file shut and looked up at him with equal irritation. “Aur aap mujhe boredom se maarna chahte ho kya?” she shot back. “Rehman kya ap mujhe abhi tak nahi samjhe? Mera dimagh sadd raha hai bed pe pade pade.”
Rehman shut his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it looked painful. “Ya Allah…” he muttered beneath his breath, already feeling a headache rising. After several long seconds he exhaled heavily. “Theek hai. Agar apko kaam karna hi hai…” His eyes opened narrowing at her warningly. “To phir mai yahin pe baithunga.” And just like that he planted himself dramatically on the sofa inside her office like an armed babysitter.
For nearly two hours he sat there staring at her while she worked. Completely silent. Completely unhelpful. Just watching. The second she winced even slightly while reaching for a file he immediately stood up with deep offense. “Nahi nahi nahi bilkul nahi.” Before she could protest he would walk over, scoop her out of the chair despite her furious complaints, and carry her straight back to bed while she argued the entire way. “REHMAN mujhe neeche utaaro!” He looked forward “Nahi.”
“Mai serious hun!” she raged at him “Aur mai bhi.” he responded calmly. “Mai theek hun!” she tried “Aap jhoot bol rahi ho.” he responded again “I hate you.” she seethed “Nahi karti.” he hummed as he returned her to her bed. Insufferable man. Completely insufferable.
Unfortunately Yalina was somehow worse.The second she heard about the Cheel Chawk incident she stormed into the haveli like divine punishment itself and immediately tore Rehanna apart verbally for what she had done.
“AAPKO AKAL HAI YA NAHI?!” Yalina yelled while changing her bandages aggressively enough that Rehanna nearly yelped. “Aap uss halat mein Cheel Chawk chali gayi??” Rehanna sighed “Lina meri baat suno—”
“Nahi!” Yalina seethed. “Lekin—” she tried again. “CHUP DIDI BILKUL CHUP!” Rehanna sat there absolutely fuming while Yalina continued lecturing her for nearly twenty minutes straight about reopened stitches, infections, blood loss, and how everyone around her was apparently trying to develop heart conditions because of her behavior.
—------------
Now two days later, Rehanna had officially reached her limit. All day every day all she heard was sit down, lie down, rest, don’t move, careful, slowly, no, absolutely not. Baitho. Aram karo. So jao. Hilo mat.
She was losing her fucking mind.
At some point during recovery the pain itself had stopped being the worst part. The helplessness became worse. The stillness became worse. She felt trapped inside her own body. Like a racehorse forced into a cage.
So now at 8 pm while most of the haveli prepared for dinner downstairs, Rehanna made a decision.
Yalina had probably gone home by now. Rehman was downstairs with the others. The hallways outside her room remained quiet beneath the soft golden lighting of evening. Slowly she pushed aside her blankets and stood carefully from the bed. The stitches pulled sharply but not enough to stop her.
She walked toward her closet and pulled out her yoga mat with the determination of someone beginning a prison escape. After laying it across the floor she exhaled slowly before lowering herself down onto it carefully. The first stretch nearly made her moan in relief.
Pain immediately flared through her side but underneath the pain her muscles finally moved properly again. Her back loosened. Her shoulders cracked softly. Every inch of her body felt tight from days trapped in bed. Slowly she stretched further. Carefully. Breathing through the sting in her stitches while relief slowly flooded her body alongside the pain.
Then suddenly the bedroom door swung open. Yalina froze in the doorway holding a tray of medication. For one full second there was absolute silence. Then rage exploded across her face.“DIDI?!” Rehanna shut her eyes briefly. Fuck.
“What are you DOING?!” Yalina stormed fully into the room horrified. “Aapko meri baat ka koi farq padta bhi hai ya nahi?!” Rehanna immediately straightened from the yoga mat irritation flaring instantly. “Lina relax—”
“NO!” Yalina snapped furiously. “Aapko apni jaan ki koi parwah hai bhi ya nahi?! Din raat mai aapka khayal rakhu aur aap—” she gestured wildly toward the yoga mat like it personally offended her “—YE SAB KARO?!”
Something inside Rehanna finally snapped too. “OH MY GOD BAS!” she shouted back, suddenly standing up too quickly from the mat. Pain sliced violently through her side but she ignored it. “Kya tum samajhti nahi ho mai pagal ho rahi hun?!” Yalina stared at her furiously. “Aur kya karu mai?! Aapko phir se hospital pahucha du?”
“Hospital se zyada buri halat meri iss room ne kardi hai!” Rehanna yelled back. “Subah se shaam tak bas aram karo aram karo aram karo!” Tears of frustration already burned behind her eyes now. “Tum ek baar meri jagah khud ko rakh ke dekho!” The argument escalated instantly.
Voices rose louder and louder until the shouting spilled out of her bedroom and thundered down the staircase toward the dining hall below where everyone had just sat down for dinner. Chairs scraped violently backward downstairs. Within seconds footsteps thundered up the stairs.
The bedroom door burst open again.
Hamza, Uzair, Donga, Siyahi, Rehman. Everyone rushed inside at once only to freeze seeing absolute chaos unfolding before them.
Yalina stood near the bed breathing furiously while Rehanna faced her from beside the yoga mat equally furious.
“Lina bas—” Hamza immediately stepped forward grabbing his girlfriend Yalina gently by the shoulders trying to calm her down. She shook him off instantly. “Nahi Hamza!” she snapped angrily, eyes still locked onto Rehanna. “Inko koi farq nahi padta! Bilkul bhi nahi!”
And then Rehman walked fully into the room.The second his eyes landed on Rehanna he understood immediately. Not the argument itself, but he understood her. He saw the frustration trembling beneath her skin. The exhaustion in her face. The fury. The helplessness. Rehman understood confinement better than anyone. He himself would rather bleed than feel trapped.
Then suddenly Rehanna spoke again.nAnd this time the words came out cold enough to cut. “Yalina yahan se nikal ja…” she said shaking with anger and tears. “Agar itna hi sunana hai to phir us din meri jaan nahi bachani chahiye thi!” The entire room went dead silent. Rehanna’s eyes glittered viciously through tears. “Agar itna hi mujhe nahi samajhna hai…” her voice cracked violently now. “To phir mujhe marne deti!”
Shock slammed across the room instantly. Yalina physically recoiled like she had been slapped. Tears flooded her eyes immediately. Pure hurt. Pure disbelief. How could Rehanna say something like that after everything?
For the first time everyone in the room truly saw how cruel Rehanna could become when cornered emotionally. Not loud cruelty. Worse. Precise cruelty. The kind designed to wound deeply. Rehman stepped in immediately.
“DONO SHAANT HOJAIYE!” His voice cracked across the room sharply enough everyone froze. He looked toward Hamza without taking his eyes off Rehanna. “Hamza! Yalina ko leke ja aur thanda kar.” Then colder now. Firmer. “Sab ke sab yahan se niklo, mai dekhlunga” Nobody argued.
Slowly everyone filed out while Yalina continued crying angrily in the hallway. “WOH AISE KAISE KEH SAKTI HAI?!” Her voice echoed down the corridor while Hamza and the others tried calming her down.
The bedroom door shut heavily behind them. Silence. Then immediately Rehanna folded forward onto the yoga mat and burst into tears. Not soft crying. Angry crying. Frustrated crying. The kind that shook through her entire body violently. Rehman stared at her for several long seconds, still stunned. Then finally he spoke.
“Rehanna…” His voice came out rough with disbelief and anger both. “Ye aap kaise bol sakti ho?” She cried harder. “Aap kaise bol sakti ho ki aapko us din marjana chahiye tha?” Rehanna sniffed harshly, wiping furiously at her tears before glaring up at him from the floor. “Rehman chale jao aap!” she snapped shakily. “Warna mai aapko bhi kuch bura bhala keh dungi!”
But Rehman wasn’t even listening to the words anymore. Because now he could finally see it clearly.The restlessness. The pent up frustration. The helpless rage trapped beneath her skin from days of pain and confinement and fear and being treated fragile every second of every day. She looked like someone suffocating inside herself.
Wordlessly he walked toward her. Then bent down and picked her up from the yoga mat effortlessly into his arms. Immediately she started hitting his chest angrily. “REHMAN kya kar rahe ho?!” Tears streamed harder down her face now. “Mujhe neeche utaaro!” He ignored every word. He ignored the pain of her hands pounding at him.
Silently he carried her to the bed and laid her down carefully against the pillows before sitting beside her. Her breathing came ragged with anger while tears continued slipping down her cheeks. Rehman lifted one hand and gently wiped them away with his thumb.
Before she could speak again he kissed her. Deeply. Not soft. Not cautious. The kiss landed with weeks of fear and frustration and helplessness buried inside it. It swallowed every sharp word still trapped in her throat. Rehanna froze for only half a second before kissing him back just as desperately.
Her hands tangled violently into his hair and kurta dragging him closer while he cupped her face carefully between both hands like she was simultaneously precious and infuriating. The kiss turned heated almost instantly. Frustration melted into something rawer. Hungrier. Weeks of tension finally snapping loose between them all at once. Rehman kissed her like he was trying to calm a storm and drown inside it simultaneously.
Rehanna arched into him greedily breathing shakily against his mouth while one of his hands slid carefully into her hair. Every frustrated emotion sitting trapped inside her body suddenly had somewhere to go now. Into him. Into this. Into the way he kissed her hard enough to steal breath from her lungs.
The room filled with uneven breathing and the soft desperate sounds of kissing while somewhere downstairs dinner continued forgotten entirely. Outside the balcony doors Lyari buzzed softly beneath the night sky while inside the bedroom the world narrowed into heat and relief. Finally they broke apart breathlessly.
Rehman rested his forehead against hers while both of them struggled to steady their breathing. His hand still cradled her face gently while hers remained twisted into the fabric of his kurta. Neither of them spoke for several long seconds. They sat there and breathed in the same dense and thick air.
—-------------------
Rehanna crashed her lips back against Rehman with a desperate moan. He ran his hand up her leg to the waistband of her trousers, his other hand in her hair pulling her closer to his face. Rehman pulled away one more time “Aap iskeliye taiyaar hain? Dard to nahi ho raha?” he looked deep into her eyes hunting for the answer.
“Ye ghatiya sawal mujhse kabhi mat puuchna” she grumbles angrily against his lips. He chuckles as he pulls her in for a deep kiss. His hands trace the skin at the edge of her waistband teasingly. He can feel her skin vibrate in excitement. His long and slender fingers curve behind the elastic, his hand in her hair loosens and falls away. He brings both of his hands to the waistband and begins gently tugging it down. Pulling her underwear off simultaneously. Leaving her in just her kurta and completely bare from the waist down.
She moans against his lips, her hands fumbling with the buttons on the collar of his kurta. Once unbuttoned she yanks at the material impatiently “Isko jaldi se hatao…” she huffs at him. Rehman pulls away with a raised eyebrow at her demands, this is the Rehanna he knows and loves.
In one smooth motion he pulls the pathani kurta off of his body and makes it crumple in a heap on the floor along with her trousers and soaked panties. His rippling muscles glow under the warm yellow lighting of the bedside lamp.
Rehanna moans appreciatively at the sight in front of her, running her hands across his broad chest and taught abs, her nails dragging slightly. The reaction is like a balm on his soul. Suddenly Rehman places his hands on the side of the thighs and shifts her carefully on the bed horizontally, he gently lays her down. Within seconds he is kneeling on the floor by her bed.
“Arre kya kar rahe ho Rehman?” she asks as she takes a deep sniff to dry up her remaining tears. Sitting up on her elbows to watch him better, ignoring the way her stitches hurt when the soft contours of her waist fold in on themselves as she sits up more. Rehman doesn't answer immediately, instead he hooks her knees over his shoulders. His hands brace her hips and tug her body closer to the edge of the bed.
He pulls her close until her glistening folds are directly in front of his face. In the low light he can see the wetness glimmer along her inner thighs and directly on her folds. He has barely done anything, barely touched her and she is soaked. He can't stop the groan of appreciation that rips out of his chest after seeing this beautiful sight after so long. Her breath hitches at the view of Rehman from in between her legs, a man so powerful kneeling before her. “R-Rehman?” her voice shakes sightly.
He hums as he kisses the skin on one of her thighs closest to his lips. “Kya kar rahe ho?” she asks breathlessly like she doesn't know what he is clearly about to do. He cocks an eyebrow and looks at her with a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Aapne mera raat ke khaane me dakhil dali” he begins, stopping briefly to nip at the soft flesh on her right inner thigh. A gasp rips from her throat. That damned unruly strand of hair falls across his forehead. She feels arousal and anticipation pool in her lower belly.
“Baat asi hai..” he begins again, his voice now a more husky caliber. His eyes blown in lust, kissing her thighs as he speaks, pulling a series of gasps from her throat as she watches with wide eyes. “...ki mujhe bhook bohot lagi hai” he muses darkly, a tone of amusement in his voice, as he nips her thigh again making her swallow a moan. “Rehman!” she gasps as he soothes the nip with his tongue. She feels her arousal gush, a fresh wave of wetness coats her folds because he just admitted he was hungry.
Rehman moans with a dark laugh kissing her thigh. His mind is swimming with lust. He can practically taste her. He inhales shamelessly, the way one smells their food in appreciation before they eat. Her cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Neeche table pe rakha mera khana thanda hogaya hai..” he continues matter of factly, the faint stubble from the day just gone scratches the sensitive and soft flesh of her thighs. She whimpers at the delicious feeling.
“Khuda agar ek haat se leta hai to phir duse se deta bhi hai….aur ye dekho mashallah” he groans at the sight in front of him, his eyes almost rolling back in pleasure. “Iss duniya ka sabse khub aur nayab khana mere samne hai abhi” he continued licking desperately at the arousal that had smeared onto her inner thighs. Still not touching where she really needed it. She whines her thighs trying to clamp shut in reflex. He splays them open with his hands “....garam garam aur taza. Agar ye hai to phir aur kya chahiye?” he chuckles darkly.
Rehanna’s cheeks turn a violent shade of red at the comparison. He was comparing or rather likening her to his dinner. And she was the better option. She felt sparks travel her body. Her breathing shallowed in anticipation. “T-to phir khane ko thanda na karein” she stutters. Rehman looks at her again, his eyes sparkling in lust and amusement. “Accha?” he smiles. He can see her chest heaving, face blushing, eyes blown in lust.
And before she has a chance to respond he dives into her. A moan rips from her throat “AAH Rehman!” her hands fly to his hair, tangling in his locks. He flattens his tongue and licks a long stripe up her leaking slit. Her arousal coats his tongue. He pulls back momentarily marveling at the taste in his mouth with an almost broken groan.
He immediately dives back in with more fervor, his hands gripping her hips as his tongue begins its assault. His lips found her puffy clit peppering it with tiny gentle kisses. He then nipped it gently making a shriek rip from her throat before he soothed it by creating a vacuum and sucking gently. The tip of his tongue tormented her with tiny little kitten licks. The faint stubble on his face rubbed her thighs red and raw, aiding to the pleasure.
Moans and pants fell from her throat endlessly “Reh-Rehman…oh oh god” she keend desperately when she felt his tongue circle her entrance. He hummed against her making the vibrations reverberate through her body. His nose nudged her clit with each movement. Her hand tightened in his hair, yanking as a last resort. The pain grounded and aroused Rehman, his own moans stifled against her.
He fucked her with his tounge, sloppy and messy. Wet and slurping sounds filled the room next to her moaning. Pleasure flooded though every nerve ending in her body, the endorphins, dopamine, and oxytocin working as a painkiller so potent that she couldn't even feel her injury anymore. Her internal walls clenched around his tongue with every stroke.
Her head lolled against the sheets, her mouth hung open. Her thighs clamped his face in position while she mewled uselessly in pleasure. Rehman moaned happily, his tongue working relentlessly along her folds. He continued for a few minutes, until he felt his breath start to run out. He replaced his tongue with his fingers, curling his index and middle finger inside of her, rubbing on her walls deliciously. He broke out from her legs only once the replacement was done, he gasped and panted as she writhed in pleasure.
He watched her for a few moments, his fingers never stopping as they pumped in and out of her. He lifted off of his place on his knees and loomed over her body, he braced his free hand by her head as he leaned over her. Her eyes opened to look at him as she panted. His face and chin glistened with her slick, a thin sheen of sweat coated his chest. Her hands wrapped around his neck as she pulled him in for a bruising kiss. He moaned into her, she could taste herself on his tongue.
Rehman pulled away after a moment, just watching how she writhed in pleasure beneath him. “Please- Rehman please aur chaihiye, aapke hath aur aapki ke qatilana zuban ek sath chahiye” she begged with wide eyes. He smiled at her desperate begging for him, it satisfied a deep carnal smugness in him.
He kissed her sweetly once more before he descended down her body again. Back on his knees on the floor. He kept his fingers in her. He held her eyes as she leaned back on her elbows to watch him. Her lips parted and slick from his kiss. He descended his mouth on her slowly.
His tongue on her clit his fingers still deep inside of her. Now both work in tandem to make her cum. She chokes on a moan, or was it a scream? Even she wasn't sure. “Bas bas meri jaan ek dam aise hi” he murmurs into her clit. The sparks flare through her body. Her walls clench against his fingers. He moans imagining his cock instead.
He can feel how close she is. She trembles in pleasure. Nonsense flowing out of her mouth as her hands tangle in his hair. His tongue and lips suction on her clit relentlessly. The pleasure pulls at her navel, her body lights up. Until finally it happens, the dam of pleasure bursts and sweeps her away.
Her orgasm crashes in waves of blinding pleasure. A moan rips from her throat again, along with a desperate chant of his name “AGHh Rehman!” her head leans back against the sheets, her eyes roll to the back of her head. Stars burst behind her eyes as he fucks her with his fingers through the orgasm. She can feel his smug smile against her but she is too lost. Whimpers fall from her throat.
Rehman pulls his fingers away gently, watching in envy as her walls clench around nothing. His breath is uneven as he pushes off the floor again. Bracing his body on his arm, he leans over her again. And in front of her face he shamelessly slurps her cum from his fingers. She watched him while panting in pleasure. “Bhook mit gayi?” she asks, looking at him through her heavy lashes.
He grins now, caging her head with both arms leaning over her in earnest “Aapke liye? Sau janam bhi meri bhook nahi mita payegi” he leans down to kiss her. Her hands run along his torso. Traveling to the waistband of his salwar. Her fingers hooked on the waistband, toying with the edge. “Chaliye phir..kis baat ki deri?” she looks at him breathlessly.
He grins at her eagerness but uses his hand to gently take her hand off of him. It took him tremendous effort not to give in to the swirling lust in his body, his hard cock twitched for her. “Nahi meri jaan” he sighs after he gently lays on the bed next to her. He runs his hand through her hair, fluffing it out and away from her face. “Nahi?!....kya nahi?” she asks incredulously now turning to her side.
That was a mistake, her face pulled into a deep wince as soon as her stitches bore the weight of her body. Rehman looked at her and gently moved her body into laying flat on her back while she breathed hard controlling her pain. “Isiliye…aap abhi tak nahi sahi hui ho poori tarha se. Zyada zidd me zor na daliye apne upar” he told her gently as he reached her bedside table to get her pain medication.
She tsked in frustration as she took the pills. Rehman adjusted her to lay on the pillows properly, he helped her pull her trousers on again before he lay next to her on the bed shirtless. He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead.
“Mujhe apne aap me hi inti chidd ho rahi hai” she sighed bitterly finally admitting it out loud. Rehman hummed “mujhe pata hai jaan…aap bohot jald theek hojaengi” Then before she spoke again he continued, because he knew what she would say next “Yalina ki chinta mat karo..jab woh thandi ho jayengi to phir aramse baat karna...Abhi so jao” She nodded wordlessly, seemingly making peace with his solution. Rehman held her tight as the pull of sleep, exhaustion, and pain medication called on her body. Finally at peace.
As always, tell me how you feel bby xoxoxo
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I’m glad I’m your first hater, honestly. Don’t worry though if you keep using AI in your so-called “original” fanfics, you’ll have plenty more soon enough. You literally admitted to using AI for the classical dance scene yourself, so obviously nobody’s going to believe that’s the only place you used it. If you were willing to use it there, chances are you’ve used it elsewhere too.
And apart from your desperate attempts at “shudh desi gaali-galoch” to sound edgy or authentic, there’s genuinely nothing memorable about your writing. Your plots are repetitive, predictable, and honestly boring after a point. Every story feels like a recycled version of the last one with different names pasted onto it.
This isn’t hate, it’s constructive criticism. If you want people to take your work seriously, maybe focus more on originality and actual storytelling instead of hiding behind AI-generated scenes and forced slang.
Love,
a Band 9 IELTS scorer who can actually write without AI.
OH FUCK YEAHHHHHH 😝😝😝
Babe, you don't even understand how restrained and kind I was being in my first response.....Now you have unleashed the devil (who is still holding back her true kalesh potential). 😼
Again, I want to thank @patrakilekha and @tere-naal-nachna for another round table discussion where we absolutely cackled at this like demented witches. Someone legit burst a lung 😭😭😭 LMAO. We have come to the conclusion you must be a boy (not even a man) because that is the only explanation for your FUCKING fragile ego. 😌💅
1. "I’m glad I’m your first hater, honestly. Don’t worry though if you keep using AI in your so-called “original” fanfics, you’ll have plenty more soon enough."
This just made me laugh, honestly. Taking the hater darja with such grace. Because konse angle se meri fic (DSKVS) original nahi hai? HAD HAI BHENCHOD?!?!?!? Because all of Tumblr samaj keeps messaging me and saying that my idea and story are so unique! 🥲
Babe, what naala are you living under? Has the smell corroded your already non-existent sensibilities? LMK, I'll send you a massive stock of Godrej AER for free 🥰🥰🥰
2. "You literally admitted to using AI for the classical dance scene yourself, so obviously nobody’s going to believe that’s the only place you used it. If you were willing to use it there, chances are you’ve used it elsewhere too."
BBY, imma hold your hand when I say this....IF I WANTED TO JUST USE AI EVERYWHERE, WHY WOULD I DISCLOSE IT IN THE FIRST PLACE?????????🙄🙄🙄🙄
Next point... even with my AI disclosure, I wrote the main content myself and just needed ChatGPT to help me describe her dance moves and the atmosphere. Because it was my first time writing it, and also because I'm not a classical dancer. With just some description from ChatGPT I had to go back in and reword and fix a lot of things because it was simply so, so shit.
3. " And apart from your desperate attempts at “shudh desi gaali-galoch” to sound edgy or authentic, there’s genuinely nothing memorable about your writing."
Lol.... lmaoooo 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣
That's it, that's my response! No further clarification needed; my readers know what to think from this :)
4. " our plots are repetitive, predictable, and honestly boring after a point. Every story feels like a recycled version of the last one with different names pasted onto it."
TF YOU MEAN REPETITIVE, PREDICTABLE, AND BORING????? 🤨🤨🤨🤨 I wanna ask all my readers this, honestly... have you ppl ever survived one of my plot twists? Because the crying and begging in my DM's suggests otherwise
ALSO TF YOU MEAN EVERY STORY FEELS LIKE A RECYCLED VERSION OF THE LAST ONE WITH DIFFERENT NAMES PASTED ON IT???? 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨
You absolute dimwitted thick-skull, no-brain-cell having nonce....I'm only writing one story. So explain to me how each chapter feels recycled from the last, with different names pasted on it???? Because the math ain't mathing bitch...as a crash course 2 + 2= 4 and not 10, because each chapter builds off the last.
YOU ABSOLUTE THICKY THICKY DUMB DUMB (educated reference from mrcodydahler's vids)
5. "This isn’t hate, it’s constructive criticism. If you want people to take your work seriously, maybe focus more on originality and actual storytelling instead of hiding behind AI-generated scenes and forced slang."
Yk I might even take it as an opinion or even constructive criticism if you had the balls to come forward and DM me this.
...But no, ye mahashay ki gaand itni phati hai ki annon se ana pada because you yourself know that this whole thing is phaltu and you are just pressed that I can write so well it gets detected as AI. 😚💅
6. "Love, a Band 9 IELTS scorer who can actually write without AI."
First of all, thank you for signing this with your qualifications LMAOOOO. This made my day! So let me also sign with SOME of my qualifications..........
Firstly... let's see your work. I'd love to do a critical, deep analysis of that and find all the "originality" there. Second...with an IELTS band 9, why are you so unemployed? Yk, you can just not read my work if you think it's AI, right? I'm not holding you hostage! FEEL FREE TO FUCK ALL THE WAY OFF
With much love and suggestions to visit a psychiatrist,
Author Sahiba <3
(Honors English student 2 years + Advanced English student 2 years (entire high school career), Bilingual from birth (English and Hindi), Multilingual (Spanish, decent at Russian, decent at French, decent at German), Honors American High School Diploma track, Reading Lexile of 1800 in 6th grade that has been just growing, SAT english 800, I don't need an IELTS or TOFEL because of my qualifications, ETC ETC)
Tags: (DM or COMMENT TO BE ADDED) @fleurnoir@mainyahaankyunhoon@roses-and-iron@bohotbadajalebi@golgappalicious@tere-naal-nachna@curiousbutbored@harrystyleskiwi9@scentedwolfdragon @velisa03 @patrakilekha@immortalinvaderrogue@wan2bey-n @lemonsquishee @goodnightkathrine @livelaughlovebylerr@shadylovedhurandhar@noor-archive@dc-reign@alyislost @mxngiones @goodasaysboo@tanipartner @kidofmisfortune @anxiousbeeing@bitchystxnk @gowrimenop-1 @layinglowkey@slutforkaz@angellwhispers@poetry-beauty-love-writez@angelllk1ssed@buchanana00@hum-suffer@ch3rrycok3s@mandaakiniii@krishavania@moonysscar@akshayes@kamalkafool@bombaybomb@snihrayy@nooriyat@drownedinindigolove@thisismyaltsblog
So this is a huge moment for me. Thank you so very much, even though this was disappointing, ngl. I have so many things I want to say to you (such as some garam garam fresh fresh gaalis from the depths of my being), but for the sake of time and effort, I'll only say 2 things.
This response to you is late because
A. I don't really care enough to answer you, but I'm feeling bored, so why not?
B. It's because I was having a group discussion over your unoriginality and blandness with @patrakilekha and @tere-naal-nachna, and we all agree that this means I'm famous, so yay :) (but they also said that this was indeed too low effort, thus affirming my belief. AS MY QUEENS SHOULD)
NOW the real points :)
Your complete and utter lack of effort bores me and honestly hurts me more than a well-thought-out hate comment would have… Do better, yaar SMH.
2. I've been an honors and advanced English student for 6 years and an avid reader and academic for 8 years. Basically, since I was a child. When you absorb such vast quantities of literature from a young age, it impacts your writing, obviously. So basically the point is that I'M NOT A GAWAR, and I'm really good at writing, and you just seem jealous, pathetic, and unoriginal.
So pardon me if my "AI Slop" bores you. If you are that bored, feel free to fuck allllllll the way off :)
I'm tagging ya'll because this low-effort hate is just too god damn funny
Tags: (DM or COMMENT TO BE ADDED) @fleurnoir@mainyahaankyunhoon@roses-and-iron@bohotbadajalebi@golgappalicious@tere-naal-nachna@curiousbutbored@harrystyleskiwi9@scentedwolfdragon @velisa03 @patrakilekha@immortalinvaderrogue@wan2bey-n @lemonsquishee @goodnightkathrine @livelaughlovebylerr@shadylovedhurandhar@noor-archive@dc-reign@alyislost @mxngiones @goodasaysboo@tanipartner @kidofmisfortune @anxiousbeeing@bitchystxnk @gowrimenop-1 @layinglowkey@slutforkaz@angellwhispers@poetry-beauty-love-writez@angelllk1ssed@buchanana00@hum-suffer@ch3rrycok3s@mandaakiniii@krishavania@moonysscar@akshayes@kamalkafool@bombaybomb@snihrayy@nooriyat@drownedinindigolove@thisismyaltsblog
Disclaimer: This series is inspired by the 2025 movie Dhurandhar by Aditya Dhar. This is in no way meant to idolize the real people the movie is about; they are bastards, and this is just a fanfic for the appreciation of the movie and the lovely actors who brought the characters to life. SO TAKE A FUCKING CHILL PILL and enjoy <3
Author's note: Okay, babes, so we had a fun and fluffy chapter 8, and now I'm back to traumatizing you. Because we are essentially finishing the Chapter 7A and 7B plotline. No recounting of sexual harassment or anything but this chapter will have some dark themes, as is seen in the warnings. But I would like to say from my side its not as bad as it sounds. In my opinion, anyway. But I will be putting in warnings along the chapter if I see fit.
Chapter 9. Tuchhi baatein aur Bandook meri laila
3 weeks summary post chapter 8
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
3 weeks ago Rehanna Randhawa had moved into the baloch haveli for good. Bringing Rehanna to the haveli permanently was the second best decision of Rehman's life. The first being when he hired her as his lawyer that fateful day months ago.
The entire gang had settled into a lovely routine. Everyone would wake up and head to the dining room for breakfast together. She would always be preceded with a series of musical chan, chan, chans. Thanks to Rehman’s birthday gift of the obscenely expensive 10 lakh rupee diamond, emerald, and platinum gold payals he bought her. Announcing that she was about to arrive somewhere.
She would fluff Faizals' hair and sit beside him eating cereal together as they talked about Faizal’s classroom drama. “AUNTY APKO PATA HAI PHIR KYA HUA!” Faizal would begin excitedly and Rehanna would lean in eagerly to listen about stupid 5th grade drama. Uzair would smoke broodlily pretending like he didn't care about the drama but he did care deep down. Leaning in subconsciously to listen better. Rehman would sit at the head of the table watching this domestic mess in front of him. He couldn't help his smile as he ate his breakfast. Rehanna and Faizal together always warm his heart.
Mid breakfast Hamza, Siyahi, and Donga would show up and plop around the table and join breakfast. Rehanna would finish her food and brush her hip against Rehman's arm deliberately as she walked to her office. Chan. Chan. Chan. The sound followed her as she walked to her office to begin the day. Everyone would meet again for dinner and the same routine would follow.
In between meals they would hang around the house. Sometimes she would share a cigarette with Uzair as they chatted about nothing in particular. Sometimes she would slip out of the haveli with Donga to eat paani puri. Sometimes she would walk in the garden with Siyahi. Sometimes she would play jenga with Faizal on purpose and tickle the boy so he would lose. Sometimes they all would play cards in the living room, arguing over the most stupid and arbitrary rules just to defend their win.
It was a good life. Rehanna loved every second of it. Rehman loved every second of her being by him. This was the part of the routine that was for public eyes. The real change that both of them loved was the proximity. Every night they both said their proper goodbyes to each other. The public and decent ones.
Then 20 minutes later one of them would get out of bed and cross the hallway between their rooms. Then they would spend the night in the room together. Most of the time it was Rehman who slept in Rehanna's bed. Why? The answer is simple. Rehanna is lazy as hell. That's because after a long and tiring night in Rehman's bed she simply didn't have the energy to wake up at the ass crack of dawn and wobble to her own room before the maids begin their cleaning.
So it was often Rehman who made the journey. He would start in his room, head to hers and then stay the night. And while she slept at the crack of dawn, he would carefully untangle himself and cross back into his room and pretend he slept in his bed the entire night. But it wasn't always just about sex with the two of them.
Oftentimes they spent the night talking. Talking about dreams, aspirations, their pasts, their fears. Sometimes they would simply hold each other in the moonlight as they talked until one of them dozed off mid conversation. Other times they would talk in the after glow of their passion, watching the sun come up together. Their bodies tired and bruised from the night but their minds fresh from the glow of stimulating conversation. No point in sleeping now they would think as the both of them got dressed and snuck off to the roof of the haveli silently.
As the sun rose over lyari they would walk hand in hand on the massive roof of the haveli. She would lean against him for support of her tired body. Rehanna would point along the empty space and nudge Rehman “Aapko pata hai ki yahan pe aap iss khali jagah me phool laga sakte hain?....shayad bougunvelilia. Safed rang ka ya halka saafrani. Sabjaga phel jaega haveli badi sundar lagegi” she would hum. Rehman would squeeze her hand lightly planting a kiss on her forehead “Agar aap chahein to phir yahan lag jaenge meri jaan, ab to aap bhi yahan rehti hain ye aapki bhi haveli hui ek tarha se” She would smile as she leaned against the hard muscle of his arm. Leaning on him for support as they walked slowly on the rooftop. Her payal softly rang along with the melody of the morning birds that lived in the trees of the Haveli garden.
But sometimes she liked being a brat, sometimes for fun, sometimes for work. Sometimes she had to check in with R&AW on a secure phone line, and that certainly can't be done when the target is in her bed. Rehman would knock on her door at 12 pm. The usual. She would walk up to the door and just stick her head out of it. “Ji kaun?” she would ask sweetly. First Rehman would blink. Then he would play along, leaning against her doorframe “Ji apka ashiq” She would hum and nod in mock seriousness “Achha….dekhiye baat aisi hai ki humne koi ashiq ka order nahi diya hai” she pretended like he was a parcel she didn’t order. He would raise an eyebrow “Achha?” she would nod “ji goodnight” and shut the door on his face.
Rehman couldn't believe it. He stood there flabbergasted. Rehanna covered her mouth as she died of laughter behind her door. Rehman knocks again and she opens the door and he begins with a warning “Jaan-” his eyebrow raising at her. She smiles cheekily “Aaj mujhe koi ashiq ki zaroorat nai hai aap ja sakte ho, goodnight sweet dreams” then she shuts the door again. Rehman definitely could not believe this. His mouth opens and then closes. A frown pulls on his face that is much too close to a pout. He returns to his room. Lays in his bed, stares at the ceiling and doesn't sleep a wink.
The entire next day Rehman would stay very grumpy. By lunch even Rehanna would notice he was grumpy. When Rehanna would approach him for a kiss he wouldn't give it, he would turn away not speaking to her. “AREEEE itna gussa?” she would ask in shock as she moved to look at his face again. In reality she was trying not to laugh at the grumpy grown man of a gangster in front of her. She would laugh and throw her hands around his neck and plant kisses all over his face until his frown turned upside down. Then under her breath she would mutter “Bilkul ladki ke tarah ruth the hain” which Rehman would hear, now dangerously ticked off just the right amount. “Kya bola aapne jaan?” he would hum sweetly as he trapped her wrists so she couldn't run from him now. “Aree mera wo matlab nahi tha Rehman…..heheh” she would try to backtrack. While the look on Rehman's face grew smugger and smugger as he stepped closer and closer to her.
Sometimes they would actually do some work. Rehanna would sit in her office humming to her music as she wrote a legal petition to release some weapons from a port just south of Karachi. Suddenly Sultan, one of the long coated German shepherds, would pad into her office. The massive all black dog would come up to her and nudge her shin demanding pets. She would smile and scratch behind the dog's ears. As Sultan moves his head, a piece of paper brushes against her leg.
She would lean down to find a piece of paper and a pink rose attached to Sultan's collar. “Ye kya hai?” she would ask herself and grab the paper, opening it to find a note. A love note. From the man in the office across from hers. A stupid smile would grace her face as she read the note from Rehman which read……..
“Aaj aap kaafi sundar lag rahi hain iss gulabi suit main ya qalbi…..hamara tawajjo ab iss kaam me nahi hai. Aapke rang ke kwuab me mai dooba hun, aapke husn ke yaadon se juda hua hun. Ye gulabi rang aapke gulabi hoton se milta hai jab aap ke hont hamare hoton se milte hain. Ye gulabi rang aapke gaalon se milte hai jab aap humari tareef se sharmati hain……ye gulabi rang aap pe bohot jachta hai”
She would blush as she read the note, smelling the rose that came with it. God Rehman always had a way with words. And she loved men who knew how to use their words. She set the rose on her table and wrote a response back to him. She can't believe she is writing poetry like a lovesick maiden for him………
“Aapki rangoon ki pehchan ki mai daat deti hun Dakait sahab…lekin aapko pata hai ki hum aapke bhi rang pehchante hain? Aap hume kaafi pasand aaten hain jab aap kaala pehnte hain. Aapko dekh ke aisa lagta hai ki raat khud ba khud ayi hai hume bahon me bharne ke liye. Iss rat ka hum har din intezar kate hain.”
She ended the note with a kiss. Her dusty rose lipstick was imprinted on the paper. In between her lips she wrote her initials, RR. She folded the note and tucked it in Sultan's collar. She would then reach into her drawer for a treat to bribe the messenger back to its sender. The messenger would then happily pad across the hall to whom he was supposed to deliver the message to. Sultan made 10 trips between the offices that day. Then finally fed up, Sultan dragged Rehman by the arm to Rehanna. He gently gripped his master's hand in his teeth and pulled the man across the hall. As if telling the two of them ‘Mai thak gaya hun apni ashiqi in person karlo ab’ before he would turn tail and pad out of the room. Rehanna would tilt her head with a coy smile at the man leaning against her doorway. Soon she would find herself in his arms while she continued her work for the rest of the afternoon.
—------------------
A very specific scene that happened some day within these 3 weeks
Rakshabandhan @ 11 am
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
Author's note: Let's assume that Rakhi this specific year happened in late August after her birthday…..is this because I forgot? Yes it is….. but we roll with it.
One morning the haveli woke slowly beneath the heavy golden sunlight of Lyari. Ceiling fans hummed lazily overhead while somewhere downstairs Salma Bi yelled at one of the younger maids for nearly burning the parathas again. The scent of chai, fried eggs, butter, cigarettes, and sandalwood furniture drifted warmly through the long corridors of the house. It felt more lived in, more loud, more human. And right on schedule came the familiar sound.
Chan. Chan. Chan. The entire dining room looked up instinctively before she even appeared. Rehanna stepped into the room wearing a brand new navy blue cotton suit embroidered lightly with silver thread along the sleeves and dupatta border. The color made her skin glow warmly beneath the morning light pouring through the haveli windows. Her hair fell loose down her back in soft waves and the emeralds in her payals flashed every time she walked. The entire room paused for exactly half a second before returning to normal as though they were all pretending they had not collectively stopped breathing at her entrance again.
Faizal grinned immediately. “Aunty aaj aap bohot sundar lag rahi ho” “Thank you mere bachhe,” she smiled while ruffling his hair affectionately before stealing one of the fruits directly off his plate. “Tum bhi aaj kaafi handsome lag rahe ho.” “Obviously,” Faizal said smugly while adjusting his collar. Uzair snorted into his tea. Hamza meanwhile looked exhausted already and the day had barely started.
Rehanna picked up her coffee cup casually before glancing around the table. “Sab log jaldi breakfast khatam karo aur garden me aao.” She ended by taking a sip “Garden?” Donga frowned suspiciously. “Kyun?” Uzair asked immediately. “Bas aao,” she said simply, the dangerous kind of calm that meant she was planning something.
Then she turned her head slightly toward Rehman who sat at the head of the table in his usual black kurta, cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers while he watched her with that same unbearable softness he reserved only for her. “Aap bhi aiye,” she told him quietly. His gaze lingered on her for a moment too long before he nodded once. “Ji.” And then she walked away again. Chan. Chan. Chan. The payals echoed through the hallway until she disappeared completely.
Hamza suddenly groaned loudly and dropped his face directly into his hands. Rehman raised an eyebrow slowly. “Kya hua?” Hamza lifted his head looking personally victimized by life itself. “Mai kasam se bol raha hun bhai… jisne bhi didi ko yeh payal diye hain na…” he pointed furiously toward the hallway she disappeared into, “mai usko dhoondh ke rahunga aur woh payal uske gale me itna andar tak ghusaunga ki woh hafte bhar heere hagta rahega.” Siyahi nodded immediately in deadly agreement while chewing toast. “Bilkul.” Rehman took a slow drag from his cigarette to hide the smile threatening his mouth. “Achha?” Hamza continued ranting dramatically. “Har jagah chan chan chan chan. Pata hi nahi chalta banda aa raha hai ya poori baraat.”
Rehman exhaled smoke lazily. “Mujhe batana jab woh aadmi mil jaye.” Hamza looked at him immediately. “Kyun?” Rehman reached for his tea calmly. “Mai bhi madat karunga...Usse heere hagwayenge” Hamza nodded seriously. “Haan bhai bilkul”
Twenty minutes later the garden behind the haveli glowed softly beneath the late morning sun. The fountains burbled quietly while bougainvillea climbed across the old stone walls in bursts of white and light saffron. The boys stood lined up in utter confusion while Rehanna organized things with alarming seriousness. A silver thali rested on the small garden table beside her, decorated with tiny diyas, sweets, kumkum, rice, and several colorful rakhis laid neatly beside each other. Uzair blinked slowly. “Yeh kya hai?” Rehanna looked up immediately and was scandalized. “Tum logo ko Rakhi nahi pata?”
Donga shook his head. Hamza hid the fact that he knew what the festival was. Rehanna sighed dramatically, already disappointed in Pakistan as a nation more than she was already as a secret agent sent to dismantle its terrorist networks. “Rakshabandhan. Rakhi. Indian festival.” She picked up one of the threads carefully between her fingers. “Iss din Behene apne Bhaiyon ko rakhi baandhti hain. Protection ka promise hota hai. Family ka. Aur phir bhai apni beheno ko gifts dete hain.”
At the word gifts Faizal gasped. “OH…to ye business deal hai?” The boy was smart when he wanted to be. “Bilkul,” she nodded solemnly. Uzair immediately seemed far more interested now. Siyahi however went pale. Actually pale. Because realization slowly dawned across his face like the coming of death itself. Oh no. No no no no no.
Rehanna motioned toward Hamza first. “Aao.” Hamza sat down cross legged before her. The morning breeze flickered the flame softly as she performed a small aarti in front of him, muttering blessings beneath her breath before placing a small tilak on his forehead. Hamza looked genuinely touched for approximately three seconds before she shoved a laddoo into his mouth hard enough to nearly choke him. “Khush raho,” she said smugly while tying the rakhi around his wrist.
Hamza stared down at it for a moment, strangely emotional. Then slowly he reached into his wallet. And pulled out a crumpled ten rupee note. The entire garden went silent. Rehanna stared at the note. Then stared at him.
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Hamza.” her voice deadly “Aree gesture important hota hai didi—AAH!” She smacked him so hard across the arm that he nearly fell sideways off the chair. “Sorry sorry sorry!” he yelped immediately, fumbling through his wallet in panic before shoving several more notes into her hands. “Yeh lo! Yeh lo!” She counted the money calmly. “Theek hai.” she motioned for him to get lost. “Extortion hai yeh,” Hamza muttered under his breath while rubbing his arm. “Chup.”
Next came Uzair. He sat down grinning already while Rehanna repeated the ritual, the diya flame glowing warmly against his amused face as she tied the rakhi carefully around his wrist. The second she finished, Uzair immediately turned his head toward Rehman. “Bhai.” Rehman blinked once, already irritated. “Kya?”
“Agar thode paise miljate toh?....” A long silence followed. Then Rehman shut his eyes briefly like a disappointed father before reaching for his wallet. He pulled out two crisp five hundred rupee notes and shoved them toward Uzair. “Paise sambhalne ki akal kab ayegi tereko?” Uzair looked sheepish immediately as he spoke “Aajayegi Inshallah.” Rehman muttered under his breath as he shut his wallet “Qayamat ke din.” Uzair accepted the money anyway before obediently handing it to Rehanna who accepted it with immense dignity.
Meanwhile Siyahi had begun slowly backing away. Very slowly. Like a frightened deer escaping a forest fire. “Nahi,” he muttered under his breath. “Bilkul nahi.” Nobody noticed him yet. He took another step backward. “Bhai?” Donga frowned. Siyahi immediately shook his head violently. “Mereko inka bhaiya nahi saiyaan banna hai… mai nikal raha hun yahan se bhenchod.” he whispered to Donga. Then the man turned around and disappeared into the haveli at almost full speed. Uzair burst into hysterical laughter immediately. Hamza doubled over. Even Donga looked deeply entertained. Rehanna blinked in confusion. “Yeh bhaag kyun gaya?”
“Pata nahi,” Uzair wheezed while trying not to die laughing. “Bohot ajeeb aadmi hai,” Hamza nodded seriously. Then came Donga. The massive man sat before her carefully like he might accidentally break the furniture beneath him while Rehanna repeated the ritual again, tying the rakhi around his thick wrist while he watched quietly with surprising softness in his eyes. When she finished Donga immediately handed her another five hundred rupees respectfully. “Shukriya,” she smiled warmly.
Then suddenly she looked around again. “Siyahi kahan gaya? Abhi tak aya nahi” Rehanna was genuinely confused “Pata nahi,” Uzair answered instantly while biting the inside of his cheek. “Haan pata nahi,” Hamza agreed with suspicious innocence. All three men looked seconds away from exploding with laughter again. Uzair’s eyes lit up immediately, “Vakeel sahiba aap ye Siyahi ki rakhi Bhai ko bandh do na?”
“Haan!” Hamza nodded enthusiastically. “Bilkul bhai ko bhi bandho na didi?” Both Rehman and Rehanna froze. “Uh—” she began “Woh—” Rehman shot Uzair with such a murderous glare that Uzair physically leaned backward. Yet he didn't understand why he was being glared at, Uzair thought he was being helpful. He didn't know he was being a dumbass. Rehanna meanwhile reached for the final rakhi too quickly. It slipped from her fingers. Fell directly beneath her foot. Crunch. Everyone stared downward. The tiny decorative beads had snapped clean in half beneath her heel. A long silence followed.
Then Rehanna looked down at the destroyed rakhi before slowly lifting her eyes toward the others with unbearable fake sadness. “Oops.” Hamza blinked. “Well…” she sighed dramatically. “Ab kya hi kar sakte hain. Lagta hai mai Dakait Sahab ko apna bhai nahi bana sakti ab.”
Rehman immediately turned his face away to hide the smile clawing at his mouth. Thank god for her quick wit. “Haan,” he coughed lightly. “Bohot afsos ki baat hai.” He cleared his throat “Qismat hi kharab hai,” Rehanna said solemnly. And just like that everyone collectively shrugged and began wandering back toward the haveli again.
Rehman lingered behind her deliberately as they walked through the garden pathways together beneath the warm sunlight filtering through the trees. The others moved ahead laughing loudly while the fountains continued humming quietly nearby. Then suddenly he leaned closer beside her. So close his breath brushed against her ear. “Achha kiya ki apne bachaliya…” Her steps slowed slightly. “Kyunki mai apke sath bhai wali harkatein to nahi karta.” Rehanna smacked his chest instantly. Making him grin shamelessly.
“Harkatein to apki boss wali bhi nahi hain,” she muttered with a little glare. “Shauhar wali zyada hain.” And then she walked ahead. Chan. Chan. Chan. Like she didn't even realize the words that left her mouth. Rehman stopped dead in the middle of the garden. The word hit him straight in the chest. Shauhar. Husband. For a full five seconds the feared gangster of Lyari simply stood there short circuited beneath the morning sunlight while somewhere ahead her payals continued ringing softly through the haveli halls. Then slowly, helplessly, a stupid grin spread across his face.
—-----------------------------
Post 3 weeks summary, Present day @ 3pm
Aalam Juice Center, Bada Bazar, Lyari, Pakistan
The afternoon sun hung lazily above Lyari, turning the crowded streets of Bada Bazar gold beneath the heat haze rising off the pavement. The market was alive in the way only old Pakistani bazaars could be alive. Rickshaws pushed recklessly through narrow lanes while fruit vendors yelled over each other about mango prices. Somewhere nearby an old Bollywood song crackled through a broken speaker. The scent of frying samosas, dust, diesel, perfume oils, paan, grilled kebabs, and humid summer air tangled together heavily beneath the sky. And directly in the middle of all that chaos walked Rehanna and Yalina carrying entirely too many shopping bags.
“Yalina I swear to god agar tumne ek aur jhumka set liya na toh mai tumhe wahi dukaan pe chor ke chali jaungi,” Rehanna groaned dramatically while balancing three glossy bags against her hip. Yalina looked deeply offended immediately. “Excuse me? Woh emerald wale jhumke life changing the.” Rehanna stared at her flatly. “Woh bilkul bhi life changing nahi the aur woh asli emerald thodi the?” Yalina tsked at her “ Obviously asli nahi the lekin life changing to the!”
“Nahi the.” Rehanna answered flatly “The!” Then both women burst into laughter loud enough that a few nearby shopkeepers smiled automatically watching them pass. The soft chan. Chan. Chan of Rehanna’s payals threaded through the market noise with every step she took. Sunlight flashed against the emeralds wrapped around her ankles whenever her dupatta shifted enough to reveal them beneath her white trousers. More than once people turned their heads at the sound alone before their eyes landed on her.
Yalina meanwhile continued walking beside her while sipping from a bottle of now warm Limca. “Waise didi,” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “aapko shopping karna itna pasand hai phir bhi aap sirf books hi khareedti ho. Bohot ajeeb ho.” Rehanna gasped softly in mock offense. “Maine kapde bhi liye hain.” Yalina looks at her flatly “Haan do cotton suits.” Rehanna clicks her tongue “Comfort is important.”
“Fashion bhi important hota hai.” Yalina said seriously. “Tumhare liye.” responded Rehanna “Aur aapke liye bhi hona chahiye.” Rehanna simply rolled her eyes while stealing the bottle from Yalina’s hand and taking a sip herself. The two of them turned another corner before suddenly Yalina’s eyes lit up. “AALAM JUICE CENTER!” she announced like she had discovered religion itself. Rehanna looked up immediately and smiled despite herself.
The old green signboard sat crookedly above the tiny shopfront exactly where it had always been, faded slightly from years of heat and rain. Plastic chairs crowded around steel tables while boys rushed around carrying tall glasses of juice and falooda between customers. The familiar scent of rose syrup, crushed ice, milk, sugar, and fruit drifted warmly through the air. “Bas. Hum yahin ruk rahe hain,” Yalina declared firmly. The second they stepped inside, Aalam looked up from behind the counter. The elderly man’s entire face immediately softened.
“Arre meri betiyan agayi!” he exclaimed warmly. Rehanna laughed instantly. “Assalamualaikum chacha.” “Walekumassalam walekumassalam,” he hurried around the counter, already fussing over them. “Kitni garmi me ghoom rahi ho dono. Pagal ladkiyan.”
“Aapke falooda ke liye jaan bhi de sakte hain,” Rehanna answered dramatically while dropping into one of the plastic chairs. Aalam snorted loudly. “Bakwas band karo.” But he was smiling too fondly to sound convincing. Within minutes two massive bowls of falooda ice cream arrived in front of them overflowing with vermicelli, rose syrup, basil seeds, kulfi pieces, crushed nuts, and bright scoops of melting ice cream beneath the afternoon heat. Yalina took one bite and immediately shut her eyes in bliss. “Ya Allah.”
“Dramebaaz,” Rehanna muttered while taking her own bite. Then she paused. “Okay…. Yeh actually bohot acha hai.” she hummed around her bite. “Acha?” Aalam looked personally insulted from nearby. “Sirf acha?” Rehanna raised both hands immediately. “Theek hai theek hai life changing hai.”
“Bilkul,” Yalina nodded seriously through another bite. The three of them chatted lazily while the market buzzed outside. Aalam leaned against the counter while wiping a steel glass with a cloth, already fully invested in gossip. Unfortunately for Yalina, that gossip quickly became about Hamza. “Toh Hamza kab a raha hai rishta leke?” Aalam asked casually. Yalina nearly inhaled falooda into her lungs. “CHACHA!” she choked while Rehanna burst into laughter beside her. “Aree humne kya bola?” Aalam grinned shamelessly. “Pura Lyari jaanta hai woh larka tumhare peeche pagal hai.” Yalina’s face turned violently red. “Pagal nahi hai!”
“Haan bilkul nahi,” Rehanna nodded with fake seriousness. “Bas har dus minute me phone karta hai. Har jagah pick drop karta hai. Aur agar koi aadmi Yalina ko do second zyada dekhle toh usko aankhon se goli maar deta hai….” she rattles off the top of her head “DIDIII!” Yalina whined while covering her face. Aalam laughed loudly. “Woh toh bachpan se hi aisa hai. Possessive. Aur stupid,” Rehanna hummed. Yalina narrowed her eyes suddenly. “Acha?” she said slowly. “Mujhe mat chhediye.” Rehanna continued eating her falooda peacefully. Huge mistake.
Because the next second Yalina leaned downward suddenly and grabbed Rehanna’s ankle beneath the table. “OYE-” she yelled as her foot went in the air. The payal glittered instantly beneath the afternoon sunlight. “YE DEKHO AALAM CHACHA!” Yalina announced triumphantly like she had uncovered state secrets. “Didi ke kisi ashiq ne unko 10 lakh ki payal di hai! Aur ye bata bhi nahi rahi kisne di?!!” Aalam’s eyes widened so hard he nearly dropped the glass in his hand. “DAS LAKH?!” Rehanna calmly took another bite of falooda. “Rehanna beti,” Aalam leaned forward immediately. “Kaun hai woh?”
“Haan didi,” Yalina joined instantly. “Kaun hai? Kya karta hai? Kahan mila? Naam kya hai?” Rehanna hummed thoughtfully while stirring the melting ice cream with her spoon. “Achha aadmi hai kabhi kabhi.” she mused “BAS KABHI KABHI?” Yalina nearly screamed. “Kaafi caring hai,” Rehanna added lazily. “Naam?” Aalam pressed. “Protective bhi hai,” she continued calmly. “NAAM?” Yalina repeated louder. “Thoda kya bohot zyada possessive hai.”
“DIDI!” Yalina screeched “Kaafi had se zyada handsome bhi hai,” Rehanna admitted after another thoughtful bite. Yalina threw her hands into the air violently. “YA ALLAH.” Aalam folded his arms now fully invested. “Achha yeh batao. Karta kya hai?” Rehanna’s mouth twitched slightly around her spoon. “Business.” The follow up came immediately “Kaisa business?” Rehanna hummed “Import export type.”
“Import export?” Yalina repeated suspiciously. “Kya import export?” Rehanna shrugged elegantly. “Cheezein.” How could Rehanna say guns, alcohol, and drugs? The game would be over immediately. “Kaunsi cheezein?” Yalina narrowed her eyes “Yalina tum CID kyun ban rahi ho?” Rehanna asked calmly. “KYUNKI AAP BATA NAHI RAHI!”
Aalam pointed accusingly toward her. “Yeh lawyer answer mat do mere sath.” Rehanna grinned directly into her falooda. “Acha personality batao,” Yalina demanded stubbornly. Rehanna leaned back slightly in her chair now, sunlight catching softly against the diamonds at her ankles. And for the first time something gentler entered her expression. Softer. Warmer. “Hmm,” she murmured quietly. “Mere liye bohot ache hain.” Yalina narrowed her eyes instantly at the tone. “Kaafi khayal rakhte hain mera,” Rehanna continued absentmindedly while tracing the edge of her spoon. “Mai thak jaun toh bina bole coffee bhej dete hain. Agar mujhe neend na aaye toh puri raat baith ke baatein karte hain. Mujhe phool pasand aaye toh agle din poora garden bhar dete hain.” Aalam and Yalina exchanged looks immediately. “Aur?” Aalam pushed carefully now.
Rehanna smiled faintly to herself. “Mere bina sote nahi hai properly.” Yalina’s mouth fell open. “OH MY GOD.” This was a massive revelation to her. “Aur jab gussa hote hai toh bilkul bacchon ki tarah ruth te hain,” Rehanna muttered fondly before taking another bite casually. “DIDI YOU ARE IN LOVE.” Rehanna almost choked on her falooda. “Aree chup kar Yalina.” Aalam grinned knowingly now. “Lagta hai mamla serious hai.” Rehanna simply hid her smile behind another spoonful of melting ice cream while both of them continued interrogating her uselessly for the next several minutes.
Then suddenly Yalina’s phone rang. She glanced down at the screen before groaning softly. “Hamza.” Yalina may have groaned but a smile pulled at her lips. “Aur kaun,” Rehanna muttered immediately. Yalina pointed threateningly at her. “Mai abhi ayi interrogation baaki hai.” She stood quickly, already answering the call while walking toward the front of the shop. “Haan bolo baby… haan zinda hun mai…”
Aalam meanwhile sighed dramatically and pushed himself upright. “Tum dono baitho. Mai zara counter sambhal ke ata hun warna yeh customers mujhe barbaad kardenge.” he huffed walking away. “Theek hai chacha,” Rehanna smiled softly. And then suddenly she was alone. Well….. Alone enough. The market continued roaring outside beneath the afternoon sunlight while the ceiling fan above her spun lazily through the heat. Somewhere nearby glasses clinked together. A child laughed loudly outside. A scooter sped past blasting old music. Rehanna sat quietly on the bench beside the shop window with her half melted falooda in her hands. For the first time all day there was silence around her.
She leaned back slightly against the chair and looked downward absentmindedly at her payals beneath the sunlight spilling through the open shopfront. Tiny diamonds and emeralds glimmered softly around her ankles. Chan. Chan. The bells gave the faintest little sound when she shifted her foot. A stupid smile slowly spread across her face before she could stop it. God. That man had ruined her completely. And maybe she loved it more than her mission.
—------------------------
Rehanna sat sideways against the old plastic bench, one leg crossed over the other as she slowly ate her falooda now half melted beneath the heat. The silver spoon clinked softly against the steel bowl between bites while her payals glimmered beneath the golden sunlight pooling across the tiled floor. Somewhere outside a vegetable vendor screamed about fresh tomatoes. A child cried because his mother refused to buy him balloons. Rickshaws honked angrily at each other in the cramped street while old men argued over cricket scores nearby. Life continued loudly around her.
And through all of it Rehanna hummed softly beneath her breath without realizing it. “Manne ghana kasoota lage se… manne ghana kasoota lage se…” A stupid little smile kept tugging at the corner of her mouth every time she thought about Rehman. About the way he had looked at her this morning before she left the haveli. About the warmth of his hand against the small of her back. About the fact that if he knew she was sitting here humming love songs about him like some village maiden he would become insufferably smug for the next six business days. She scooped another spoonful of falooda into her mouth.
Then suddenly— Gunshots exploded through the market. POP. POP. POP. The entire bazaar froze for one split second before chaos erupted violently. People screamed immediately. Vendors abandoned carts. Mothers grabbed children. Shopkeepers ducked behind counters while fruit rolled across the street beneath stampeding feet. Rickshaws swerved recklessly trying to escape as several black jeeps tore into the market road like a pack of wolves. More gunshots ripped into the air. “BHAGO!” “GOLI CHAL GAYI!” “YA ALLAH!” Dust rose violently into the sunlight as the market emptied within seconds. Inside the shop Aalam’s entire face changed. Gone was the warm old juice seller. For half a second something sharp and trained flashed across his eyes instead, the R&AW agent.
His gaze snapped immediately toward Rehanna. But before he could move toward her she gave the smallest signal behind her back with one hand. Tiny, quick, and invisible unless you were trained to notice it. Protect Yalina. Not me. Aalam saw it instantly. And hated it instantly. Because by then he had already seen who climbed out of the jeeps. Babu Dakait. Arshad Pappu. Lulli Dakait. Aalam’s jaw tightened hard enough to crack teeth. But reluctantly he stepped backward instead, immediately moving toward the front side of the shop where Yalina still stood distracted on her phone near the road. Rehanna meanwhile did not move. Not even slightly.
She simply sat there beneath the humming ceiling fan eating her falooda while the market collapsed around her. “Manne ghana kasoota lage se…” The song continued softly beneath her breath. The jeep doors slammed shut one by one. Babu Dakait climbed out first with a swagger that looked ridiculous on him. Like a stray dog trying to imitate a tiger. Gold chains hung against his chest while his pistol rested openly in his hand. Beside him Arshad Pappu adjusted his shirt sleeves arrogantly while Lulli bit casually into a bright red apple, laughing loudly with both of them as though this entire thing was entertainment. The three men walked toward the shop slowly.
Rehanna sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose before finally lifting her eyes toward them. “Bhenchod,” she muttered irritably. “Aramse falooda bhi nahi khane dete haramiyo.” Then she crossed her arms against her chest and leaned back against the bench looking profoundly unimpressed. Inside though— Inside her blood had already begun boiling. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to break their necks. Especially Babu’s. Slowly. Violently. Publicly. But none of it reached her face.
Babu climbed the steps toward the shop first, sneering down at her. “Zyada Rehman ki salwar me garmi mat le vakeel.” Rehanna stared at him for exactly two seconds. Then slowly stood up. “Kyun jal rahe ho?” she asked calmly before making an exaggerated disgusted face. “Chee yaar tum apne bete ki salwar ke bare me kyun soch rahe ho bhadwe?” Behind Babu, Arshad burst into shocked laughter while Lulli nearly choked on his apple. Babu however looked moments away from exploding. “ABE OH—” Rehanna clicked her tongue dismissively before looking past him directly toward Arshad who was already stepping forward menacingly.
“Bade ghode pe sawar hai tu?” he asked darkly. Rehanna looked him up and down once. Utterly unimpressed. Then she sighed again and pointed downward toward herself, toward her crotch, with a small giggle. “Aja tujhe ghode pe ghumadun?” Silence. Absolute silence. Even the remaining market sounds seemed to stop for one second. Then Arshad’s face twisted with rage so violently it almost looked painful. Lulli barked out a loud “OHHHHH” while laughing hysterically.
Babu stepped closer now, fury simmering beneath every word. “Mera plan toh tujhe tere birthday pe uthwane ka tha…” he snarled. “Lekin tu bach gayi.” he hummed “Achha?” Rehanna asked flatly. “Kasar ab poori karne aye ho kya?” Her eyes swept lazily across the men behind them. “Lekin bhadwe tu toh aaj koi baccha bhi nahi laya mujhe rokne ke liye.” And that was when it happened. Too fast. Too sudden. Behind her Lulli had already soaked a dirty handkerchief in chloroform while she argued with Babu.
The second she sensed movement it was too late. A rough arm locked around her shoulders while the cloth slammed hard over her nose and mouth. Rehanna jerked violently. “Bhenchod—!” She drove her elbow backward instantly, hard enough to crack someone’s ribs. Lulli cursed loudly as the apple dropped from his hand and rolled across the floor. Rehanna clawed at the arm around her throat viciously while trying to twist free. But the chemical smell hit hard. Sharp. Sweet. Nauseating. Her vision lurched violently sideways.
“Pakdo saali ko!” Arshad barked. Rehanna tried fighting harder. Her nails ripped across Lulli’s arm deep enough to draw blood while she kicked another man directly in the knee hard enough to make him collapse screaming. But the world had already started blurring. The sunlight smeared strangely across the market. Voices echoed too far away. Her limbs suddenly felt unbearably heavy. “Ye toh cheating hui chutiye…” she slurred furiously as darkness dragged at her vision. Then everything vanished. Her body went limp instantly.
Two gang members grabbed her unconscious form roughly beneath the arms and dragged her outside while the payals on her ankles rang violently against the pavement. Chan. Chan. Chan. The sound echoed horribly through the emptied market.
Yalina watched from behind stacked crates near the alley entrance, frozen completely in terror while Aalam’s hand remained clamped tightly over her mouth. Tears streamed down her face. She wanted to scream. Wanted to run toward Rehanna. She wanted to grab her. But Aalam held her back with terrifying force. Because one wrong movement right now would get them both killed too.
Outside the gang members threw Rehanna brutally into the trunk of the jeep like discarded cargo. Her arm hung briefly over the edge before one of them shoved it fully inside and slammed the trunk shut. BANG.
Babu turned back toward the market grinning wildly before firing another shot into the air. “JAAKE REHMAN DAKAIT KO BOLDO USKI VAKEEL HUMARE PAAS HAI!” he roared across the terrified bazaar. His grin widened further. “JO KARNA HAI KARLE!” The jeeps exploded forward seconds later, tires screeching against the road as they vanished through the Lyari streets.
Silence crashed down afterward. Heavy. Horrible. Yalina ripped away from Aalam immediately the second the jeeps disappeared. “DIDI—” Her voice broke apart violently into sobs. Aalam grabbed both her shoulders hard. “SUNO.” His voice was suddenly cold. Sharp. Professional. “Rona baad me. Haveli chalo. Abhi.” Yalina nodded frantically through tears. And the two of them ran. The drive back to Baloch Haveli felt endless.
—-------------------------
Same day @ 4 pm
Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan
The haveli had been quiet before the disaster arrived. Afternoon sunlight spilled lazily through the tall carved windows of the living room while cigarette smoke curled slowly toward the ceiling fans overhead. Uzair sat on one sofa cleaning his pistol absentmindedly while Donga argued with Hamza over shipment timing across the dining table.
Siyahi lounged nearby half paying attention to the cricket match playing softly on television. Somewhere upstairs a maid vacuumed one of the corridors. Somewhere in the kitchen Salma Bi yelled at someone for putting too much mirchi in the curry again. Ordinary. Safe. Then suddenly the haveli doors burst open so hard they slammed against the walls.
“REHMAN BHAI!” Every single man in the room snapped their heads toward the entrance. Yalina stumbled inside gasping for breath so violently she nearly collapsed right there on the marble floor. Her dupatta had half fallen off her shoulder, tears streamed uncontrollably down her face, and panic radiated from her so strongly it made the entire room stand instantly.
“REHMAN BHAI!” Fear hit all of them immediately. Cold. Sharp. Wrong. Because Rehanna was not beside her. Heavy footsteps thundered overhead. Rehman appeared upstairs almost instantly before descending the staircase fast enough to make the wooden railing shake beneath his grip. The second he reached Yalina he grabbed her firmly by the arms to steady her before she could fall completely.
“Kya hua?” His voice came out sharp. Controlled. But something dangerous had already entered it. Because he was looking behind her too. Looking for another figure. Listening for another sound. Chan. Chan. Chan. Nothing. The absence of those payals suddenly felt deafening. Yalina grabbed onto his kurta with trembling hands. “Bhai…” her voice cracked violently. “Didi ko utha liya! DIDI KO UTHALIYA…” Rehman’s stomach dropped. “Kisne.” One word. Not a question. A threat. Yalina broke completely then. Sobs tore out of her chest as she tried speaking through her panic. “Babu Dakait… Arshad… Lulli…” The room changed instantly.
Hamza swore viciously beneath his breath and shoved his chair back hard enough for it to crash onto the floor. Uzair stood immediately. Donga’s entire expression darkened. Even Siyahi sat upright now, all traces of laziness gone from his face. Rehman however did not move. Not yet. His grip around Yalina’s arms slowly loosened because suddenly he became terrifyingly aware of his own strength. Rage had begun boiling through him so violently that he could feel his hands shaking. And Yalina was crying hard enough already. He forced himself to let her go gently before he accidentally frightened her further. “Saans lo,” he ordered quietly. “Aur sab batao.”
Yalina nodded shakily while Hamza immediately reached her side, pulling her carefully against him as she cried into his chest. Then between broken breaths she told them everything. The market. The jeeps. The gunshots. The crowd running. Rehanna sitting there still eating falooda like nothing in the world could scare her. Every word twisted deeper into Rehman’s chest like a knife. This morning. Ya Allah. This morning. He saw it all again so clearly it physically hurt. Rehanna standing near the haveli entrance adjusting the sleeve of her suit while Yalina impatiently called for her outside. The sunlight catching against her emerald payals. Her turning toward him at the last second with that soft smile reserved only for him. “Hum der se ayenge shayad.” And him leaning down to kiss her forehead absentmindedly before letting her go.
Like a fucking idiot. He should have gone with her. He should have never let her out of his sight after what happened on her birthday. His chest suddenly felt too tight to breathe properly. Because now all he could think about was her surrounded by those animals. Rehanna fighting them alone. Because Rehman knew that she would rather die than beg. Rehanna terrified. Rehanna hurt. Something molten and monstrous flooded through his veins. Yalina kept speaking through tears. “Phir Lulli ne… unke muh pe kuch rakha…Cloroform…”
Chloroform. Rehman looked away sharply. Because for one horrifying second he genuinely thought he might kill someone inside this room from the sheer force of rage boiling inside him. Slowly he walked toward the dining table nearby where a crystal decanter of water rested peacefully beneath the afternoon sunlight. The entire gang watched him carefully now. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Rehman picked up the decanter. And smashed it against the wall with such horrifying force that glass exploded across the entire room. Yalina screamed in shock and buried her face instantly into Hamza’s chest. Even Hamza himself flinched. The sound echoed through the haveli like a gunshot.
Rehman stood there breathing heavily while water dripped slowly down the wall amongst shattered crystal. His hands flexed violently at his sides. Then finally the rage erupted fully. “LYARI BAND KARDO.” The roar shook the room. “Har gali. Har dock. Har godown. Har warehouse check hoga.” His voice thundered through the haveli while servants froze in terror outside the room. “Mujhe har aadmi sadak pe chahiye ABHI.” Uzair was already pulling out his phone. Hamza gently moved Yalina aside and grabbed weapons from the cabinet nearby. Donga loaded rifles immediately. Siyahi’s face had gone frighteningly empty. “Jo banda un madarchodon ko panah dega na…” Rehman snarled while grabbing an assault rifle from the table. “Mai uska pura khandan zinda gaad dunga.” The haveli exploded into motion. Men ran through hallways. Guns clicked loaded. Vehicles started outside. Orders were screamed through phones. It felt less like a home now and more like war beginning.
But Rehman barely noticed any of it. Because every thought in his head led back to her. Rehanna unconscious. Rehanna waking up alone somewhere filthy surrounded by monsters. Rehanna fighting them anyway because she would rather die than beg. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Then suddenly he turned back toward Yalina again. The restraint in his face looked painful now. Thin. Fragile. Barely hanging together. But even with murder burning through his veins he still lowered his voice slightly when speaking to her. Gentleman till the end. “Jab woh aye…” he asked quietly. “Tum log kya kar rahe the?” Yalina wiped at her face shakily. “Hum bas… baat kar rahe the…” Rehman stared at her silently. “Didi mujhe Hamza ke bare me chida rahi thi.…” Yalina whispered brokenly. “Phir maine unki payal dikhayi Aalam chacha ko…” Rehman’s chest tightened violently. “Hum unse pooch rahe the…” Yalina sniffled. “Woh aadmi kaun hai jisne unko itni mehengi payal di…”
Something shattered inside him quietly. Because she had been talking about him. Smiling about him. Laughing. Sitting in sunlight eating ice cream while dodging questions about the man she loved. Or so he hoped anyways. And then they took her. A horrible silence fell over Rehman’s face. Uzair looked at him once and immediately looked away again. Because suddenly Rehman did not look angry anymore. He looked lethal. Absolutely lethal. Rehman picked up his gun slowly. Checked the magazine once. Click. Then he spoke so quietly it terrified the room far more than shouting would have. “Gaadi nikalo.” He looked toward the haveli gates where armed men were already gathering outside. “Aaj Lyari me qatal hoga.”
—-----------------------------------
Same day @ 6 pm
Babu Dakait’s final remaining hideout, Lyari, Pakistan
Darkness sat heavy over her mind like wet velvet. Thick. Suffocating. Endless. Somewhere far away voices echoed strangely through the fog of chloroform while her body floated weightlessly between unconsciousness and memory. Then slowly the darkness began shaping itself into another room. Another mission. Another country. Turkey. And that's when she knew she was dreaming.
In the dream or rather the memory, the safehouse had smelled like mildew, blood, damp concrete, and stale cigarettes. She remembered the way the rusty ceiling fan had creaked overhead in uneven circles while she sat tied to a chair with zip ties cutting into her wrists. Across from her sat Himmat Singh, her great friend and colleague from R&AW, equally restrained and equally furious. Not scared. Never scared. Just irritated. Deeply irritated. Like kidnapping was less of a life threatening event and more of an administrative inconvenience.
“Himmat maa kasam agar tumne woh coordinates encrypt kiye hote toh then we would not be in this situation,” she had snapped at him while trying to shift her tied hands behind her back. Himmat looked at her like she personally offended his ancestors. “OH SO YOU ARE BLAMING ME??” he hissed.
“YES YOU BASTARD! YOU HAD ONE FUCKING JOB!” she hissed back immediately. The kidnappers standing nearby holding assault rifles exchanged deeply confused looks. One of them slowly lowered his gun. Himmat scoffed loudly at her. “IM SORRY I WAS TOO BUSY TRYING NOT TO DIE.”
“Thats a skill issue.” she shot back instantly. “YOU DROPPED THE HARD DRIVE!” “BECAUSE SOMEONE SHOT AT ME VERA” That was her alias for the mission. Vera Vaibhav “AND SOMEHOW THAT IS MY PROBLEM?” she yelled back. One of the kidnappers rubbed his forehead tiredly. Another whispered something in Turkish that roughly translated to Are these two mentally ill? Meanwhile Himmat leaned forward in his chair glaring at her. “You are impossible yaar.”
“No,” she snapped immediately. “YOU are impossible.” Himmat countered.“You literally got distracted by kebabs during surveillance.” She rolled her eyes at him “THEY LOOKED GOOD.” Himmat narrowed his eyes “WE WERE BEING CHASED!” She shrugged, “And yet I was multitasking.” The kidnappers eventually separated them into opposite corners of the warehouse. Which somehow made things worse because now they whisper fought across the room like divorced parents sharing custody.
She hissed again “THIS IS STILL YOUR FAULT!” Himmat groaned “OH MY GOD SHUT UP!” She snapped at him“NO.” Himmat glared daggers at her “YOU ARE THE MOST ANNOYING WOMAN ALIVE.” She grinned at him “And yet you miss me when I’m gone.” Himmat looked scandalized “NEVER.” Three hours later the kidnappers had finally untied them out of pure exhaustion. One of them physically pointed toward the exit and yelled in broken English. “GET OUT. BOTH OF YOU. IMPOSSIBLE PEOPLE.” Vera (Rehanna) and Himmat walked out of the warehouse side by side into the cold Istanbul night. Then immediately high fived each other.
“We handled that well,” Himmat nodded proudly. She smacked him hard across the arm. “Im still mad at you by the way. It was your fault.” Himmat stared dead ahead into the abyss. “You are fucking impossible yaar.” The memory blurred apart slowly after that. His laughter dissolved into static. The darkness returned. Her heart ached for him. Then pain arrived.
A dull throbbing behind her eyes. Her mouth tasted bitter from chloroform. Her shoulders ached viciously. Rehanna’s eyes fluttered open slowly to darkness broken only by one hanging industrial bulb swinging faintly overhead. Warehouse. Dingy. Rusted. Damp. The air smelled like mold, cheap liquor, sweat, and seawater drifting in faintly from the Lyari docks nearby.
Somewhere water dripped rhythmically into a metal bucket. Rats scratched inside the walls. Her hands had been tied tightly behind a thick concrete support pillar with rough rope that burned against her wrists every time she shifted.
A few metres away Babu Dakait, Lulli, and Arshad sat around plastic crates playing cards while empty liquor bottles rolled around near their feet. Their guns rested carelessly nearby. Arshad laughed loudly at something filthy while Lulli scratched his stomach openly. Babu leaned back smoking a cigarette like he was some king sitting on a throne instead of a sewer rat hiding in a warehouse.
Rehanna said nothing at first. She simply watched. Counted exits. One main shutter. One side door. Possibly unlocked. Six visible men. Maybe more outside. Two pistols. Three rifles. One knife tucked inside Arshad’s waistband. Lulli was drunk already. Babu is overconfident. The rope is old. Cheap fibers. Weak at the knot. Good. She flexed her wrists slowly against the restraint while lowering her gaze so they would not notice. Pain shot through her arms but the rope shifted slightly. Useful. Then after several silent minutes she groaned dramatically and lifted her head. “Are yaar kitna ghatiya chloroform use kiya hai be…” Her voice echoed lazily through the warehouse. All three men looked up immediately. “Kuch dhanka to leke aate. Mere standard ke hisabse.”
Lulli barked out a laugh instantly. “Dekho dekho uth gayi.” Babu smirked slowly before standing up with his cards still in one hand. “Himmat to dekho iski,” Arshad muttered while rising too. The three men approached her together. Babu crouched slightly before her with a mocking smile. “Bohot bahadur banne ka natak karti hai tu.” Rehanna groaned again while trying to sit upright properly against the pillar, her body still aching from the drug. Her soul still ached at the chloroform induced memory. So she took the opportunity to pull one of himmat’s classic maneuvers in order to miss him less. Then she blinked at Babu flatly. “Tera naam kya hai?” For one second complete silence fell. Arshad frowned. Lulli blinked. Babu himself looked genuinely confused. Then slowly he laughed. “Itni jaldi bhool gayi?”
Rehanna clicked her tongue irritably. “Haaaan gandu.” Babu leaned closer toward her level, trying to sound threatening. “Yaad diladu?” His grin widened unpleasantly. “Kaise bhulne dunga mai?” Rehanna stared at him for exactly one second before responding completely deadpan. “Abe bol na bhadwe… tu bhenchod Emraan Hashmi hai ki tera naam yaad rakhun?” Lulli burst into laughter instantly. Even Arshad covered his mouth briefly. “Allah ka shukr guzar ban ki mereko atleast Bhadwa Dakait yaad hai.” Her voice remained calm. Cutting. “Tu ek jhaant ke baal ke barabar ke bhi khayal ke layak nahi hai.” Babu’s smile vanished completely.
“Babu Dakait hai mera naam,” he growled finally. Like the name itself should inspire fear. Rehanna stared at him blankly. “Ghatiya naam hai.” Babu physically looked offended. Then casually she turned her head toward Lulli. “Tera naam kya hai?” Lulli smirked proudly. “Lulli.” Rehanna groaned so loudly it echoed through the warehouse. “Aye hayee…” She shut her eyes briefly in pain. “Galti karli tujhse pooch ke…” Then she pointed lazily toward Babu with her chin. “Babu se sirf ek hi ghatiya naam hai.” She stared directly at him. “Bhenchod apne bacche ka naam Lulli kaun rakhta hai?”
“OYE SUN KAMINI—” Lulli snapped furiously. “Kya oye huh? Kya oye?” Rehanna interrupted immediately. “Kuch galat kaha maine?” And then suddenly Arshad muttered under his breath, “Point to hai.” Rehanna slowly turned toward him with one eyebrow raised. “Thank you…” she nodded approvingly. “Tera naam kya hai?”
“Arshad.” She sighed “Chalo ek ke pass dhanka naam to hai…” she hummed thoughtfully. “Tereko pata hai Arshad ka matlab kya hai?” Arshad frowned slightly. “Sabse imandaar. Sahi raste pe chalne wala.” Rehanna stared directly into his eyes for two full seconds. “……Puure naam ki maa chod di tumne.” Then she broke into loud laughter. Real laughter. Head thrown back against the pillar. Tears almost in her eyes. She had done it. Himmat’s classic manuver of telling the person who fucked up that they have fucked up the meaning of their name. And my god it helped the ache for him in her heart.
The sound bounced off the warehouse walls so violently even the men standing guard nearby started laughing despite themselves. Arshad’s face darkened instantly. He stepped forward and slapped her across the face hard enough to bruise. Crack. Her head snapped sideways. Pain exploded across her cheek. For one dangerous second something murderous flashed through her eyes. Something cold enough to freeze blood. But then suddenly she started laughing again. Quieter this time. Sharper. Meaner.
Arshad stepped back looking unsettled now. Because that was the problem. Fear was supposed to work here. Screaming was supposed to happen here. Begging. Crying. Pleading. But this woman tied to a pillar looked more annoyed than frightened. Eventually the men gave up trying to intimidate her and returned to their cards instead, muttering curses beneath their breath.
Rehanna leaned back against the pillar quietly afterward while continuing to work the rope slowly against the rough edge of exposed concrete behind her wrists. Millimetre by millimetre the knot loosened. Not enough to escape yet. But enough. Half an hour crawled by slowly. Outside thunder rumbled faintly somewhere above Lyari while evening settled darker around the warehouse windows.
Lulli had become drunker. Arshad louder. Babu meaner. And finally the rope loosened enough that her hands could slip free if she pulled hard. But she didn’t. Not yet. Instead she left them positioned carefully so it still looked like she was restrained. Then suddenly she yelled across the warehouse again. “Saale iss jhandpane se behtar to mujhe mar hi deta?” Exactly what she wanted happened. All three men looked up again irritably before walking toward her once more.
—-------------------
Author’s note: please listen to Aankh Band by Char Diwari for this part
Raat gayi, baat gayi (Raat gayi),
bitch bhi saali bhaag gayi (Bhaag gayi)
Mahine baad wapas aa gayi (Waapas) line pe
Andar gaya no crime pe
“Kitna bolti hai tu?” Arshad snapped. “Tum log sunne layak hote toh kam bolti,” she shot back immediately. Then the threats started again. What they would do to her. How Rehman could not save her. How nobody was coming. Rehanna waved them off lazily like annoying salesmen. Then suddenly she tilted her head slightly toward Babu. “Saale ek baat bata…” she hummed. “Agar tumhara plan tha mere birthday pe merko uthane ki…” Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Toh phir kahan gayab hogaye uske baad?” She grinned slightly. “Maulvi sahab se muhrat nikalwa rahe the kya?” she giggled in spite of herself.
Fuck a contact, warrant pe kara sign, be
Maut se nikla, ab zindagi ek sign pe
Ab studio kam nahi ek shrine se
Arshad spat angrily toward the floor. “Saale SP Chaudhry Aslam ne mujhe pakad liya tha usi raat.” “Haan mujhko bhi,” Lulli grumbled immediately. And suddenly Rehanna understood something. A crucial piece. They didn’t know. They genuinely didn’t know. The realization hit her so hard she barked out another laugh before she could stop herself. Because these idiots actually believed they got arrested through bad luck. Through coincidence. Through police work. Not because she engineered the entire thing herself from one phone call in Rehman’s office while eating birthday cake. Oh. Oh this was hysterical.
Aankh band, kartab karta jaa
Har dafaa bahe rakht, mera sankalp phatne ka
Mere andar aa, khol mera tan, dekh, jad jaise phaili meri antadiyaan
Main andar hi tha aur doondh raha khud ko main sab mein yahan, aakhir mila
Ekaki hanera, talaashe savera Jo khud ka na hua, kaise kisi ka?
These idiots really thought fate had intervened. They thought the police had magically stumbled upon them. They had no idea that the woman currently tied in front of them had personally orchestrated their arrests many weeks ago while sitting comfortably inside Rehman’s haveli with a coffee mug in her hand and diamond payals around her ankles. And suddenly beneath the dim warehouse light another memory surfaced.
A week ago. The morning had been unusually grey over Karachi. Heavy clouds sat low over the city while humid air clung to the roads thickly enough to taste. Rehanna stood inside her room at Baloch Haveli fastening the buttons of a crisp white shirt beneath her black advocate’s coat. The fabric smelled faintly of starch and old paper from months spent untouched inside her wardrobe. For weeks she had handled Rehman’s legal matters quietly from the haveli itself. Paperwork. Phone calls. Petitions. Safe and distant. But today required something more personal. Today she wanted to look like a lawyer again. Not just Rehman’s lover. Not the playful woman laughing over breakfast while Faizal complained about school. Not the woman sneaking kisses on rooftops at dawn.
Advocate Rehanna Randhawa. Sharp. Controlled. Dangerous. She adjusted the collar carefully before pinning her hair back neatly. Her black heels clicked softly across the marble floor as she walked toward the mirror. The woman staring back at her looked cold enough to cross examine god himself. Good. Exactly what she needed. Because 3 weeks earlier she had made a phone call from a burner number to an old friend at the Karachi High Court. An old prosecutor she trusted enough to gamble with carefully. The woman Rehanna spoke to happened to be close to SP Chaudhry Aslam. Very close.
Rehanna remembered standing near the haveli balcony during that call while rain lashed against the city outside. “There’s a good chance Aslam sahab catches Babu Dakait, Arshad Pappu, and Lulli Dakait tonight,” she had said calmly while watching lightning split the sky over Lyari. “They’ll be moving through the old port roads after midnight.” Her friend had gone silent immediately. “Tumhe ye information kahan se mili?” Rehanna smiled faintly into the darkness. “Professional curiosity.” And because SP Chaudhry Aslam hated criminals almost as much as he hated losing, he had seized the opportunity instantly. The arrests happened before sunrise.
Now weeks later, Rehanna walked directly into the Lyari Task Force office like she belonged there. She had found the top secret address by using a few R&AW resources on a personal request. The building smelled like stale chai, sweat, damp paperwork, cheap cigarettes, and old violence soaked permanently into concrete walls. Rusted ceiling fans creaked overhead while constables shuffled between desks carrying files thick enough to ruin lives. Somewhere deeper inside the station a man screamed during interrogation before the sound abruptly stopped. Nobody looked comfortable here. That was intentional. The second Rehanna stepped inside conversations dimmed slightly around her. Her black advocate’s coat commanded attention immediately. Not fear exactly. But caution.
A constable behind the front desk blinked at her. “Ji?” “ Mujhe SP Chaudhry Aslam se mulaqat karni hai regarding bail paperwork.” The constable’s expression shifted instantly at the name. “Kiski bail?” She beat around the bush “Personal matter.” The man nodded slowly before disappearing into the inner office. A few moments later heavy footsteps approached. And then SP Chaudhry Aslam emerged.
The man looked less like a police officer and more like someone war itself had carved out of stone and nicotine. Over six feet tall. Broad shouldered. Thick forearms visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his white pathani kurta. Salt and pepper hair combed roughly backward. Matching beard trimmed short around a deeply lined face hardened by years of stress, violence, sleeplessness, and Karachi’s filth. A cigarette rested permanently between two fingers like an extra bone attached to his hand. He stopped directly in front of her. Sized her up once. Slowly. His eyes were dark. Sharp. Predatory in the way experienced men became after decades of dealing with monsters.
Rehanna smiled politely first and extended her hand. “Assalamualaikum SP sahab.” Aslam looked at her hand briefly before taking it in a firm grip. “Walekumassalam.” His voice sounded like gravel dragged across concrete. Then immediately he said, “Rehman ko nahi pakda hai humne.” Rehanna laughed softly despite herself. “Mai jaanti hun aur main liye nahi ayi.” That earned the smallest flicker of amusement near his eyes. “Hm.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “Toh?”
“I’m here to sign the bail papers for Babu Dakait, Arshad Pappu, and Lulli Dakait.” For the first time genuine surprise crossed Aslam’s face. Not shock. Just interest. One thick eyebrow rose slightly before he turned toward the nearby constable. “Paperwork leke aao.” the constable nodded “Ji sir.” Aslam leaned casually against the edge of the desk afterward while smoke curled around him lazily beneath the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead. Rehanna stood across from him calmly adjusting the cuff of her sleeve. “Kaise hai tumhara client?” Aslam asked eventually.
Rehanna smiled faintly. “Kaunsa wala?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Jo poore Lyari ko personal property samajhta hai.” “Ah.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Woh.” Aslam exhaled smoke slowly. “Kaafi shareef hogaya hai aaj kal.” There was something almost disappointed in his tone. “Kaafi time hogaya usko dekhe hue.” He looked at her carefully. “Mauka hi nahi deta ab saala.”
Rehanna folded her arms lightly. “Mera client toh hamesha se acche hai…” Then dramatically she sighed toward the ceiling. “Ye zalim zamana bas woh side nahi dekhna chahta hai.” For one long second Aslam simply stared at her. Then suddenly a low laugh escaped him despite himself. Not warm. Not soft. But real. “Hmmm,” he muttered while shaking his head slightly. “Tum mujhe samajhdar lagti ho Advocate sahiba.” There was the faintest trace of reluctant respect in his gaze now. “Phir bhi aap us aadmi ke sath ho.” Rehanna smiled calmly. “Aur aap mujhe samajhdar lagte ho SP sahab.” She tilted her head slightly. “Phir bhi iss department me ho.” That actually made him laugh properly. A rough sound. Short lived. But genuine. The constable returned moments later carrying files which he placed onto the desk.
Rehanna opened them immediately and began signing each paper with smooth practiced strokes while Aslam watched her silently through cigarette smoke. After several moments he finally asked, “Ek baat batao.” She drew a stroke “Hm?” Aslam looked at her “Babu aur Lulli ki bail kyun?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Arshad ka toh samajh ata hai. Lekin teeno?” Rehanna continued signing without looking up. “Personal reasons.”
“Hm.” He studied her face carefully now. “Unko pata hai?” She hummed “Bilkul nahi.” She finally looked up then. “Aur aap bhi nahi bataoge.” Aslam snorted quietly. “Mai itna bhi sasta nahi hun.” “Good.” Silence settled briefly between them again while thunder rumbled faintly outside the station windows. Then Aslam spoke more seriously this time. “Dekho.” He tapped ash into a nearby tray. “Bail pe release ho rahe hain iska matlab ye nahi ki hum unko chhod denge.” His gaze stayed fixed on her. “Monitoring hogi.” A pause. “Aur mujhe umeed hai unke sath kuch nahi hoga.” His tone darkened slightly. “Chahe jitne bhi ghatiya aadmi ho.”
Slowly a smile spread across Rehanna’s face. Small. Sharp. Dangerous. “SP sahab…” she said almost sweetly. “Aap mujhe kyun bata rahe ho?” She shut the file calmly. “Mai kahan marne wali hu inko?” Then her smile widened just slightly. “Lekin haan…” she hummed thoughtfully. “Gaur ki baat ye hai ki Lyari bada unsafe sheher hai…” Her eyes met his directly now. “Yahan kab kya hojaye kaun jaane?”
For one stunned second Aslam stared at her. Then despite every instinct telling him otherwise the man barked out a laugh. Deep. Rough. Disbelieving. “Tum dono ek jaise ho,” he muttered while shaking his head slowly. Rehanna pretended innocence beautifully. “Kaun?” Aslam only smirked around his cigarette. Because both of them already knew the answer.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick "Kitne time tha tu jail mein?" (Jail mein)
"Paise kisne diye tere bail ke?" (Bail ke)
"Thullon ne mara kya pel ke?" (Pel ke)
Ab chutiye kya daalega sale pe?
The warehouse air had grown thicker now. Hotter. Heavy with cheap whiskey, sweat, rust, and the distant scent of rainwater leaking through the broken roof panels overhead. Outside somewhere thunder rolled across Lyari while the old hanging bulb above them swung lazily on its wire, throwing long distorted shadows across the concrete floor. Rehanna still sat against the pillar with her hands behind her back. Looking restrained. Looking exhausted. Looking vulnerable. Only she knew the rope had already loosened enough to slip free.
Across from her Babu, Lulli, and Arshad stared at her now with dawning realization crawling slowly across their faces like insects beneath skin. That horrible laughter of hers still echoed faintly through the warehouse walls. Because now they understood. Not fully. But enough. Enough to become afraid. Rehanna leaned her head back against the concrete pillar and grinned at them through the bruise blooming darkly across her cheek. Then softly beneath her breath she began singing. “Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…” The rhythm bounced eerily through the warehouse. Babu frowned. “Pagal hogayi hai kya?” Rehanna’s smile widened. “Kitne time tha tu jail mein?” she sang mockingly while tilting her head at Arshad. “Jail mein…” Arshad’s expression shifted instantly. Lulli stopped laughing. “Paise kisne diye tere bail ke?” Her voice sharpened now. Cruel. Amused. “Bail ke…” Silence. Absolute silence.
Then suddenly Rehanna burst into hysterical laughter so violently she bent forward against the ropes. “PAISE KISNE DIYE TERE BAIL KE?” she barked between laughs. The color drained from Arshad’s face first. Then Lulli’s. Babu stared at her like he was finally seeing something monstrous beneath her skin. And slowly. Slowly. The dots connected. The arrests. The sudden bail. The anonymous lawyer. The release.
“Ohhhhh…” Rehanna hummed mockingly. “Ab samajh aya?” Her eyes glittered dangerously beneath the dim light. “Tum logon ko laga police ne bas kismat se pakad liya?” She laughed again. “Bhenchod mai thi woh.”
“THULLON NE MARA KYA PEL KE?” she sang directly toward Lulli now. Lulli’s face twisted with rage immediately. “MADARCHOD—” And that was the exact second Rehanna moved. The rope dropped from her wrists. Too fast. Far too fast. Before any of them properly registered what happened she launched herself upward from the pillar like a bullet.
Fuck nahi deta, sar pe topi, neta
Focus on my paper, chahiye do-teen acre
Par chahiye na kisi se koi nahi favour
Jote bane, lage lightsaber
Kapde pehne subeh jaise
Power Ranger
The first punch cracked directly into Lulli’s throat. A wet choking sound exploded from him as he stumbled backward clutching his neck. Rehanna grabbed the steel chair beside her and swung it violently across Arshad’s face before he could pull his gun properly. The impact echoed through the warehouse with a horrifying metallic crack. Arshad collapsed sideways over the card table, bottles shattering everywhere. Chaos erupted instantly. “PAKDO USKO!” Babu roared. Too late.
Rehanna already moved again. A gang member rushed toward her from the left with a knife. She caught his wrist mid swing, twisted hard enough for bone to snap, then slammed his face directly into the concrete pillar. Blood sprayed across the floor. Another man grabbed her from behind. She drove the back of her head into his nose once. Twice. Felt cartilage collapse beneath impact. Then elbowed him hard enough in the ribs to send him crumpling. The warehouse exploded into noise. Shouting. Gunshots. Glass breaking. Heavy boots against concrete.
And somewhere through all of it the faint violent ringing of her payals. Chan. Chan. Chan. Like war drums. Babu realized almost immediately this situation had gone catastrophically wrong. The second Rehanna picked up one of the fallen pistols and fired into another attacker’s shoulder, Babu backed away instinctively. Coward. Always a coward. He cursed viciously before bolting toward the side exit while the others fought her. Rehanna saw him disappear through the corner of her vision. “BHAG LE BHADWE!” she screamed after him while slamming another man face first into a crate.
Inko laga ye sab easy tha
Yahan pe tha, jab se chaltaa CD tha
Cypher CP ka, tab se litty tha Delhi tha, bandi
Nikita, us par dil hi tha
Raaste naape jahaan, kaatein kaali billiyan
Gully cricket-wicket, cigarette gin liya
Out with that shit, in with that new is what I'm telling ya
Nobody fuckin' with me in my area
Single but jab karta date toh nobody fucking with my lady (Yeah)
Then Lulli came again. Bleeding from the throat now. Furious. Wild eyed. He charged toward her roaring while swinging a broken bottle. Big mistake. Rehanna ducked beneath the swing smoothly. Her fist slammed once into his ribs. Twice. Then she grabbed the back of his head and smashed his face directly into her rising knee with enough force to knock teeth loose. Blood exploded down his chin instantly. Lulli staggered backward dazed. She didn’t let him recover. Never let men like this recover.
Rehanna grabbed the collar of his shirt and drove him headfirst into the concrete wall hard enough that the entire warehouse echoed. Once. Twice. Three times. By the third impact his body stopped resisting. He slid dead onto the floor in a heap of blood and broken breath. One down.
Effort, essence, teacher, attendance
Bitch, omnipresent, loyalty jo karte reckon
Ab koi naam le toh chahiye royalty har second
Arshad however was already back on his feet. And unlike Lulli he was smart enough to be dangerous. The bastard tackled her hard around the waist before she could properly turn. Both of them crashed violently across the floor through shattered glass and overturned liquor bottles. Pain shot through Rehanna’s shoulder as Arshad tried pinning her wrists down. “KUTTI!” he snarled directly into her face.
Rehanna headbutted him instantly. His nose cracked. He screamed. She rolled them over violently and began hitting him. Not elegant punches. Not controlled. Brutal. Efficient.
Aankh band, kartab karta jaa
Har dafaa bahe rakht, mera sankalp phatne ka
Mere andar aa, khol mera tan, dekh, jad jaise phaili meri antadiyaan
Main andar hi tha aur doondh raha khud ko main sab mein yahan, aakhir mila
Ekaki hanera, talaashe savera Jo khud ka na hua, kaise kisi ka?
Buried rage poured into every strike. Her fist slammed into his jaw once. Twice. Again. Again. Again. Blood splattered across her knuckles. Arshad tried shielding his face but she grabbed his collar and smashed his skull against the floor hard enough to make his eyes roll briefly. “Tu…” Punch. “Mujhe…” Punch. “Uthayega?” Punch.
Arshad gasped desperately beneath her while she pummeled him without mercy. And then suddenly— Something hot entered her side. Sharp. Deep. Wrong. For one strange second her body didn’t understand it. Rehanna froze mid punch.
Arshad beneath her had grabbed a jagged piece of broken glass from the floor. And buried it into her side. Deep. Very deep. The sensation arrived delayed. Not pain first. Pressure. Like someone had punched molten metal through her ribs. Then heat exploded outward beneath her skin so violently it stole her breath completely.
Her mouth opened soundlessly. That hurt. OH GOD. That hurt. A horrible wet warmth immediately spread beneath her kurta. Thick. Rapid. Sticky against her skin. Blood. A lot of blood. Arshad shoved her off him violently and scrambled backward gasping while clutching his ruined face. Rehanna stayed crouched on one knee for half a second staring downward stupidly at the dark stain blooming across her clothes. Oh. That was not good.
The warehouse suddenly tilted strangely around her. The hanging bulb overhead blurred faintly. Her heartbeat thundered violently inside her ears now. Too loud. Too fast. Adrenaline still kept her upright but her body had already begun realizing the damage beneath the shock. Deep side wound. Possible organ hit. A dangerous amount of bleeding. Rehanna pressed one trembling hand against her side instinctively. Warm blood immediately flooded between her fingers. Thick enough to drip onto the concrete below. Drip. Drip. Drip. For one horrifying second her mind flashed somewhere completely different.
Rehman. His hands around her waist at dawn. The smell of his cigarettes. His sleepy voice saying jaan. The warmth of his bed. And suddenly an ugly realization hit her harder than the knife itself. If she died here… He would burn Lyari to the ground.
Arshad meanwhile stumbled backward breathing heavily while staring at the amount of blood pouring through her fingers now. Even he looked shocked by it. But then Rehanna slowly lifted her eyes toward him again. And smiled. A bloody smile. Absolutely psychotic. “Bas?” she rasped softly. Arshad’s expression changed instantly. Because she still stood up. Slowly. Bleeding heavily now. But standing. And suddenly for the first time that night genuine fear entered his eyes.
She laughed as she felt her body burn in pain. The terror in his eyes was her fuel. She moved, knife hidden behind her back. Then she did it as quick as it could be. She stuck the knife into the side of his neck. That was the end of Arshad Pappu
—--------------------------
The warehouse exploded into hell. One second it was only fists, blood, broken bottles, overturned tables, and the ringing echo of violence ricocheting through rusted metal walls. The next second an entire jeep came crashing directly through the front shutter with a deafening metallic scream that shook the whole building apart. Steel bent inward violently. Sparks flew everywhere. Dust exploded into the air thick enough to choke on. The headlights cut through the warehouse darkness like twin bullets before the jeep skidded sideways across the concrete floor. “REHMAN BHAI!” someone yelled over the chaos.
Doors flew open before the vehicle had even fully stopped moving. Hamza launched out first with a rifle already raised, firing before both feet properly hit the ground. Gunshots erupted instantly. Uzair followed from the other side reloading mid movement while Siyahi and Donga stormed in right behind them like a tidal wave of black clothes, smoke, and murder. Men shouted everywhere. Bullets slammed into crates. Glass shattered. Someone screamed. Somewhere near the back wall a body hit the ground with a sickening crack. And in the middle of all of it Yalina saw blood. A horrifying amount of blood.
“DIDI!” Her scream ripped through the warehouse so sharply even Hamza turned his head immediately. Rehanna still had Arshad half pinned beneath her, her fist tangled in his shirt, but her body had started swaying strangely now. Unsteady. Wrong. Blood soaked through the side of her kurta so heavily it almost looked black beneath the dim warehouse lights. The jagged shard of glass still protruded from her waist grotesquely, glimmering wetly every time she moved.
“YALINA RUKO!” Hamza shouted after her immediately. But Yalina was already running. Straight through bullets. Straight through chaos. Straight through hell itself. She stumbled over broken wood and spent shells while gunfire cracked around her ears. Someone grabbed her arm and missed. Another bullet slammed into the wall behind her spraying concrete dust into her hair. She didn’t even notice. Her entire world had narrowed down to one thing only. Rehanna. “DIDI!” she screamed again as she finally reached her.
Rehanna blinked slowly toward the sound like she had trouble focusing properly now. Her chest rose unevenly. Her lips had gone pale beneath the blood splattered across her face. For a second she genuinely looked confused. Like she did not fully understand why Yalina looked so terrified. Then Yalina’s eyes dropped toward the glass lodged deep into her side. And Rehanna followed her gaze. Slowly. Her hand shakily touched the wound. The second her fingers pressed against it her entire hand came away red. Bright red. Fresh blood immediately poured harder through her fingers. For the first time realization crossed her face. “Oh,” she breathed faintly. The world tilted violently beneath her feet.
“REHMAN BHAI JALDI!” Yalina screamed so loudly her throat tore. And then suddenly he was there. Rehman emerged through the smoke like death itself. Rifle hanging loose in one hand. Blood splattered across his black kurta that wasn’t his own. His breathing heavy. Wild. Terrifying. Then his eyes landed on her. Everything stopped. For one split second the entire warehouse disappeared around him. No bullets. No men. No screaming. Nothing. Only her. Only the glass buried inside her body. Only the blood. Only the sight of Rehanna swaying weakly on her feet while trying so hard to stay standing. Shock hit him so violently he physically froze.
Rehanna lifted her eyes toward him slowly. And smiled. A tiny thing. Relieved. Soft. Like seeing him had finally allowed her body permission to give up. Then she collapsed. “REHANNA!” He reached her before she hit the floor. His arms caught her instantly, pulling her hard against his chest while blood soaked through his clothes within seconds. Warm. Thick. Too much. Way too much. Her head fell limply against his shoulder as consciousness finally slipped away entirely. His voice broke apart completely. “Aankhen kholo.” Nothing. Her body stayed limp in his arms. Something inside Rehman nearly died right there.
“GAADI NIKALO!” Hamza barked over the gunfire while grabbing Yalina’s arm. “CHALO CHALO CHALO!” Rehman didn’t even remember reaching the jeep. One moment he was inside the warehouse. The next he was in the backseat clutching Rehanna against him while Hamza drove like a man possessed through the streets of Lyari. Tires screeched around corners violently enough to nearly flip the vehicle. The horn never stopped blaring once. Not for a single second. Inside the jeep everything dissolved into panic. “Didi sun rahi ho? Didi?” Yalina’s hands shook as she pressed both palms hard against the wound trying desperately to slow the bleeding. Blood coated her fingers instantly. It kept coming anyway. “Ya Allah…”
“Hospital?” Uzair shouted from the front seat. “Nahi!” Yalina snapped immediately. “Time nahi hai!” Hamza’s knuckles had gone white around the steering wheel. “Kya matlab hospital nahi?!” “Unko ghar le chalo!” Yalina shouted back. “Abhi!”
Rehman barely heard any of it. His entire world sat bleeding in his lap. He held Rehanna’s face carefully between trembling hands while the jeep tore through traffic outside. Her head rolled weakly with every sharp turn. Blood stained his palms. Blood soaked into his sleeves. Blood dripped slowly down onto the jeep floor. “meri jaan…” he whispered desperately against her forehead so only she could hear “Mere sath raho… mujhe dekho…” Her eyelids fluttered weakly. For one horrifying second he thought she wasn’t breathing. Then finally a faint shaky inhale left her lips. Relief hit him so hard it almost hurt. “Bas… bas meri jaan… aankhen kholo…” he whispered again. Hamza kept looking back every few seconds in complete panic. “Yalina woh theek hai na?!”
“DRIVE FASTER!” she screamed instead. The jeep practically flew through Lyari. Uzair had already called ahead. By the time they reached the haveli the gates were wide open and servants stood waiting in terrified panic near the entrance. The second the jeep stopped Rehman jumped out carrying Rehanna in his arms before the wheels had even fully stopped moving. “Rasta kholo!” Nobody dared hesitate. He stormed through the haveli with blood dripping behind him across polished marble floors while Yalina ran ahead already barking instructions at the maids. “Plastic sheets bed pe abhi!” “First aid box lao!” “Garam paani!” “Clean towels!” The haveli looked like war had entered it.
Rehman barely noticed the stairs beneath his feet as he carried her upstairs. Sultan and Raja began barking frantically somewhere down the corridor the second they smelled blood. Servants flattened themselves against walls to let him pass. Nobody spoke. Nobody breathed. Inside Rehanna’s room the bed had already been covered hastily with thick plastic sheets beneath clean bedsheets. Medical supplies lay scattered across every nearby surface. “Bhai yahan!” Yalina pointed quickly.
Rehman laid her carefully onto the bed while Yalina immediately began opening supplies with shaking hands. “Side pe litao.” He obeyed instantly. Then he tried pulling away. But suddenly Rehanna’s blood covered hand caught tightly in the fabric of his kurta. Even unconscious she refused to let go. The sight nearly shattered him. “Mujhe nahi chord rahi hain,” he said hoarsely. Yalina looked at him once. Then toward the doorway where all the boys had crowded in panic. “Sab bahar niklo!” she snapped immediately. “Abhi!” Nobody argued.
Hamza pulled Faizal away first because the boy had gone completely pale seeing the blood. Uzair shut the door behind them while Sultan and Raja immediately planted themselves outside it whining anxiously. Inside the room Yalina pointed toward the bed again. “Bhai aap unke peeche let jao aur pakadlo” Rehman climbed onto the bed beside her immediately, pulling Rehanna carefully against his chest while Yalina grabbed scissors and cut through the blood soaked fabric around the wound.
The second the injury became visible Rehman felt all color leave his face. The glass sat buried horrifyingly deep inside the soft flesh of her waist. Blood crusted around the wound dark and thick while fresh blood still slipped slowly downward across her skin. He had seen worse. God he had caused worse. Blood never scared him. Pain never scared him. Death certainly didn’t. But this? This wound on her body? It terrified him. He wrapped his arms tighter around her instinctively like somehow he could hold her together through sheer force alone.
“Bhai unko uthana padega,” Yalina whispered shakily. “Painkiller ka time nahi hai. Mujhe unko conscious rakhna hoga.” Rehman nodded once. Then gently tapped Rehanna’s cheek. “No response. His throat tightened painfully. “Rehanna… meri jaan aankhen kholo.” he whispered to her ear so Yalina couldn't hear. Another tap. “Please.” Her face scrunched weakly before finally her eyes fluttered open.
Immediately a broken whimper escaped her lips. Pain hit her all at once now that adrenaline had begun crashing. Her breathing turned shallow and shaky. Tears gathered instantly in her eyes before she could stop them. Both her hands instinctively grabbed tighter onto Rehman’s kurta like she was drowning. Yalina crouched beside the bed trying not to cry herself. “Didi bohot dard hone wala hai lekin aapko jaage rakhna hai…” Her voice cracked slightly. “Please didi jage raho.” Rehanna swallowed painfully. Then whispered weakly. “Okay…” Yalina grabbed the glass. And pulled.
The scream that tore from Rehanna’s throat ripped straight through the haveli. Outside the room every single person froze instantly. Hamza’s face drained completely of color. Faizal burst into tears and Uzair held him tight. Even Sultan and Raja began whining loudly scratching anxiously at the bedroom door.
Inside the room Rehanna sobbed violently as the jagged glass dragged out of her flesh inch by inch. Blood followed immediately. Her body jerked hard against Rehman’s chest from the agony. “Bas meri jaan bas…” Rehman whispered desperately into her hair while holding her tighter. “Bahadur ho aap… meri jaan bas thoda sa…” His own eyes had begun burning now.
Yalina’s hands shook so badly she almost lost grip halfway through. Then finally— THUNK. The blood coated shard landed heavily inside the metal tray beside them. Yalina immediately checked the wound frantically for remaining fragments. Then suddenly relief exploded across her face. “Allah ka lakh lakh shukr hai!” Rehman looked at her instantly. “Kya hua?!” “Bhai chot zyada gehri nahi hai aur jaan pe koi khatra nahi hai!” For the first time since the warehouse he breathed properly. The relief physically weakened him. But there was no time yet.
Yalina grabbed disinfectant. The second it touched the wound Rehanna screamed again and buried her face into Rehman’s chest sobbing uncontrollably now. Her throat had already gone raw from screaming. Tears soaked through his kurta while he whispered constantly into her ear. Sweet things. Soft things. Things meant only for her. Things nobody else would ever hear from Rehman Dakait.
Yalina flushed the wound carefully again and again before finally preparing sutures. By then Rehanna had begun drifting in and out of coherence. Her breathing shook violently. Pain blurred reality around the edges. She started mumbling nonsense beneath her breath. Fragments of sentences. Random words. Hallucinations born from blood loss and agony. Rehman brushed damp hair away from her forehead gently. “Bas didi… almost over…” Then Yalina began stitching.
This time Rehanna couldn’t even scream anymore. Her voice had shattered completely. So she only cried silently into him instead while every stitch pulled painfully through torn flesh. Rehman held her impossibly close the entire time like if he loosened his grip even slightly she might disappear. Toward the end her body finally gave up. Consciousness slipped away quietly beneath exhaustion and pain. Her head went limp against him again. But this time her breathing stayed steady. Thank god. Thank fucking god.
Yalina finally tied off the last suture and bandaged the wound carefully before cleaning everything around them. The room smelled heavily of blood, alcohol, antiseptic, sweat, and fear. Bloody gauze overflowed from the trash bin nearby. Her own clothes had been ruined completely red up to her wrists.
Yalina manic cleaned the room. Eventually everything became clean again. Controlled again. Still. “Rehman bhai…” Yalina said softly while exhausted beyond belief. “Ab aap didi ko leta do.” He shook his head immediately. “Nahi” His voice came out rough. Broken. “Jab tak ye uth na jaye mai kahi nahi jaa raha yalina.” Yalina looked at him for a long moment. Then simply nodded. She knew he was her boss, she new they had become close friends. She understood his fear.
---------------
Quietly she gathered the remaining supplies before walking toward the door. Before leaving she looked back once more at the sight on the bed. Rehman sitting against the headboard still covered in Rehanna’s blood. Holding her unconscious body against his chest. Like prayer. Like devotion. Like fear itself. Then she stepped outside and locked the door gently behind her. The hallway exploded immediately.
“YALINA?!” Hamza rushed toward her first before stopping dead at the sight of all the blood covering her. “Ya Allah…” Uzair stood up instantly. Faizal looked seconds away from vomiting from fear. Even Siyahi had worn a trench into the hallway floor from pacing. Yalina looked at all of them. Then finally spoke. “Didi theek hain.” Relief visibly slammed through the entire hallway at once. “Jaan pe koi khatra nahi hai…” Several people physically sagged against walls. “But khoon bohot baha hai unka.” Yalina whispered tiredly. “Lekin didi bohot mazboot hain… pura dard saha hai bina koi dawa ke…” Her eyes filled suddenly now that it was finally over. “Woh theek hojaengi.” And just like that the tension snapped. Yalina burst into tears from pure exhaustion. Hamza grabbed her instantly pulling her tightly into his chest while soothing her softly.
Uzair dragged both hands down his face in relief before sitting heavily against the wall. Donga shut his eyes briefly thanking Allah under his breath. Even Siyahi finally exhaled after what felt like hours. Near the bedroom door Sultan and Raja still sat guard silently. Watching. Waiting. Refusing to leave her side.
She was okay. Lulli was dead. Arshad was dead. Babu Dakait had run away. But his entire gang had collapsed. Rehanna was hurt. But she was a fighter. She would survive. She would live to see many tomorrows. Babu Dakait would not.
Yawrrr bhadwa Babu Dakait phri bhag gaya guyssss. Samajh nahi aa raha ki ye chutiya hai ki bhagoda hai?
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