Hewwo! I'm Misteria dare (wisteria with an M) and I'm a CA student by profession but writer by passion. I come from the city of pearls, I love to write but also I die while writing. I love food, I live for food. Music is my drug. I loveee to simp for people older than me (thanks to mommy and daddy issues).
My fandoms are : Harry Potter, shadow and bone, six of crows, Marvel, John wick, Vampire diaries, originals, Twilight, Naruto, demon slayer, red velvet, jujutsu kaisen, spyxfamily, jodha akbar, Dhurandhar, Ever after High, Disney, chilling adventures of sabrina, Lucifer, Castlevania. Probably even more that I barely remember.
I've been thinking about this for a while, and I owe you all an honest update.
For months now, I've kept saying, "Next week." I genuinely believed I'd be back soon, and I know it must have been frustrating to keep hearing that without seeing an update. I'm sorry.
The truth is that life had different plans for me.
The past year has been incredibly overwhelming. Between family circumstances, grief, and trying to navigate everything life decided to throw at me, writing fanfiction slowly stopped being something I had the emotional energy for. Around the same time, I also began focusing seriously on my CA journey and on an original writing project that has become very important to me.
Because of that, I've made a difficult decision.
All of my Dhurandhar fanfics are going on an indefinite hiatus.
I don't want to keep making promises that I may not be able to keep. You all deserve honesty more than another "next week."
Will I ever come back to these stories?
I honestly don't know.
Maybe one day I'll find my way back to them because I genuinely want to. Maybe my creative path will take me somewhere else. I don't want to promise either outcome, because I simply don't know yet.
What I do know is that this community has given me so much more than I ever expected.
I've met some of my closest friends here. We've laughed over ridiculous theories, survived fandom chaos, stayed up for late-night conversations, and shared a love for stories that brought us together. Every comment, every reblog, every message, every bit of encouragement meant more to me than I can put into words.
Thank you for loving my stories.
Thank you for believing in me.
Thank you for making this little corner of Tumblr feel like home.
For now, I'll be focusing on my studies and on my original writing. I probably won't be very active here for a while, but I didn't want to disappear without finally being honest with all of you.
This isn't a goodbye.
It's simply me turning the page to a new chapter.
I hope, wherever this journey takes me, you'll remember these stories as fondly as I always will.
operation amrit ke kitne chapters hai? im new hereee I love your work sm 💗💗💗 so good 😝
HELLO AND AHHHH THANK YOU!! so i have a lot of work these days and i'm busy this week, so sorry for that! operation amrit and my other dhurandhar fanfics will be updated next week onwards!!
I MEAN, she's a student, she's an A-LEVEL AUTHOR AND NOW SHES WRITING A BANGING GOOD NOVELLA IM SAT MA'AM, love love love your workkk you're so inspiring keep going ml 😍
😭😭
NOT ME CRYING WATERFALLS AT THIS BEAUTIFUL MESSAGE, WHO ARE YOU, YOU GORGEOUS HUMAN 😭😭😭 I LOVE U SO MUCHHH
accha so what happened is I was not aware about your fic regarding iqbal (what walks at night) and I got to know about it today and read it and my god, that was one of an experience to say the least, like firstly thank you for a happy ending (I was ready to bawl my eyes out but thankfully not) secondly the soft cornor I had for major iqbal (the movie one ofc) just increased 10 times after reading the fic and the way you depicted him, so loveable is just chef's kiss, lastly the storyline was sooooooooo good like every detail was top notch, and I couldn't help myself but appreciate you for such a fine piece of litrature. (I want a demol! Major iqbal for myself now🥹)
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
THANK YOU SO MUCH
THANK YOUUU 😭😭😭😭💕💕🥺🥺
I am soo happy you found it and loved it very much, that's literally the reason i still continue writing; because of the lovely messages i get and thank you so so much, i have no words tbh AND yeah idk why i can see iqbal in a different view as well, from the original canon style and it just felt so... perfect for the story line. also... hehe MORE DEMON IQBAL COMING UP BTW!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THANK YOU AGAINNNNNNNNNNN
Next part for Gods and Monsters please author ji🥺🙏🏻😭( no pressure take your time, just asking)
hewwo meri jaan, dont worry!! like i said; mondays, wednesday and fridays you will see updates and gods and monsters will come at that time this week (i wont say the exact day, the latter one basically because i have some curse regarding this ;-;) so stay tuned!!
uhhh hewwo :3 SLIGHTLY SEXY CONTENT WARNING AT THE END.
CHAPTER 4 : GREY AND STEEL
IB HEADQUARTERS
PRIVATE AUDITORIUM
2002
"Emotional manipulation. The greatest strength of a spy."
Ajay Sanyal's words still rung in her head, like a mantra rather than a mission debrief. With the code name Mohini, the greatest weapons she had been brandished with was manipulation and seduction, not brute strength or defence.
"In the mission, you would not simply be a mantelpiece observing everything in the back. Your goal is to become one of them. One of their trusted. Gain their trust, their loyalty and love. In every situation you would find a person who thinks not with his brain but with his heart, lets his emotions get the best or worst out of him."
It wasn't her father giving her a debrief or teaching her ways of emotional manipulation - it was Ajay Sanyal, the celebrated and decorated spy master of the country that taught her the tricks he honed from years.
"A person's greatest downfall would be from his emotions. If it is a weapon in his hands, it is a strength… a blade he will use to defend himself. If it is a weapon in our hand, it is a dagger to his back, his downfall that originates from his heart and the trenches of his heart. Mohini tricked the asuras into thinking she would feed them amrit, taking their heightened emotions as her greatest advantage."
She took down notes, ingraining his words as the absolute truth until she forgot her real sense of self. The training had started, she was deported to high tension zones as a way to learn real combat but what worried her more was not the limits her body pushed during physical training - it was the books, weapons of utmost danger that she consumed on a daily basis.
Everyday, an enormous amount of knowledge on the dark and twisted way of espionage was pumped into her brain that she had forgotten what kindness and reality really felt like. She locked herself in her room, the memories of Amrita Sanyal faded into nothing during this time - the mirror showed a woman with no identity and for Amrita, or was it Maya already? It was a hell, to stand in a limbo that sucked your soul into the deep hellish rivers of identity loss.
It wasn't until her father intervened and banned her from ever touching those books is what truly healed her. It broke her father.
CURRENTLY
RASHEED TAILORS AND FASHIONS
January 2005.
"Ji, Kya chahiye aapko?" Maya asked with saccharine spilling from her voice. The sudden mishap with her mask caught her off guard but it turned into a blessing in disguise as one of her targets walked straight into her trap.
Uzair Baloch.
Rehman Dakait's right hand man. The man Ajay Sanyal debriefed as a potential target with a dart on his head.
A faint red sheen spread across his cheeks, eyes caught wide and glinting with the light as he caught the sight of her naked face. His breath audibly hitched and Maya turned away, fumbling for the chunni over her head.
He darted his eyes away as soon as sobriety hit him - he stood there not sure what to do when Maya approached him with a measuring tape. "Can you stand in the middle? I have to take your measurements."
"Uh- huh," he fumbled, inwardly cursing for losing his charm before a beautiful woman. In the middle of the room, they stood with an intimate distance before them - Uzair could feel the warmth of her radiating, the scent of her perfume - oud with hints of jasmine and rose - hit his nostrils.
The height difference was staggering, she barely reached his chest yet her fingers were deft with the measuring tape. "A stool would be much more appropriate," he suggested but she just smiled.
"Some things need to be done in a raw way. I don't need to measure your head, sir-"
"Uzair-" he breathed. "My name is Uzair, I would like it if you call me by my name."
"-Uzair, I have measured a man much taller and bulkier than you-" at that second, Maya could notice Uzair's muscles tense up, his face with a cold facade as if she had uttered his enemy's name. "Can you stretch your arms?"
She pressed the tape, deliberately pushing the limits and boundaries of distance. She loved the way his muscles squirmed under her measurements - which was an excuse to break into his mind as an unforgettable nymph.
She slipped closer, wrapping the tape around his chest stretched by the grey pathani - which got a louder reaction from him. "Breathe normally," she whispered, looking at him through her lashes.
He did the exact opposite, inhaling too sharply. His chest expanded against the tape before he forced himself to breathe properly. From the close proximity, she could hear him gritting his teeth, almost as a way to curb something - self control - while the pulse jittered violently through the column of his throat.
He wasn't used to a woman reducing him into nothing with just a measuring tape and delicate fingers, Maya realised with a smirk. His physique, his face structure and features - everything was carved beautifully by the creator but his reaction to her 'measurements' told Maya everything she needed.
"Chest… forty three," she muttered, almost impressed. She slipped the tape around the thick muscle of his bicep. "Arm," she instructed, her fingers involuntarily pressing into the firm flesh barricaded by the fabric. The vicinity made her notice several things - one of them was a whiff of his perfume and his scent - a devious mixture of spicy, cool and… sharp. Was that gunpowder?
"Seventeen."
"Why aren't you taking a note of the measurements," he asked softly.
She dropped the tape, it recoiled like a snake and hung around her neck like a weapon of her profession - her identity. "I have a very good memory. Impossible to forget things."
Her fingers traced his waist, the tape looping around it like a belt but something metal and hard protruded from his side. She stared at him for an answer, knowing that the proximity was affecting him in ways that was dangerous. "Gun," she whispered.
He wordlessly removed it and tossed it on a soft couch nearby. He was more impossibly close - sucking his stomach in as a reflex when she tightened the tape around his waist.
"You don't need to impress me, Uzair." That earned a chuckle from him. "Thirty six."
"Reflexes don't really hear our words, do they?" he defended himself. "I thought a male worker takes the measurements-" he voiced his doubt.
"And shoulders?" she interjected.
He turned around at her instruction, feeling her fingers touch his shoulders gently. Her tape was pressed from one shoulder to another and it was again as if his body was on auto pilot - as his muscles tensed and squirmed under her delicate touch.
Maya was sure of the scars littering his back, even with the kurta hiding them. Bullet wounds, knife fights perhaps? Violence stitched violently into his skin, now remaining as invisible mementos.
Yet he shivered under the gentleness of her touch. Interesting, she mused.
"Have you always worked here?" There it was, the question she was waiting for. A question she was sure he would ask her - his curiosity voiced through small talk and formalities.
"I wasn't born here in the tailor shop, if you mean that." She replied. "I am working here from the past year. It's been only a year since I have moved to Lyari."
"Where are you originally from?" he pressed further, standing behind her as she folded the spread fabrics.
"Born and raised in Mithi but family is originally from Gwadar."
"Baloch?" he asked, surprised. She let out a giggle, relishing the look on his face - utter confusion and surprise. Of course he would be surprised, she belonged to his community and that is a much bigger blessing to him in his mind.
"You must have looked at my bindi and reckoned I am a Hindu… which technically is not wrong. I am a Hindu, but more specifically I am a Maratha Baloch. One of the rarest ores-" she whispered the last part with a teasing smirk.
"Then you are one of my own."
She shot up at his statement, caught off guard by his words that meant… something else - and she let the silence stretch, letting him watch her watch him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her reaction.
"The suit will be made within a week," she began, like a professional reciting her rehearsed lines. "If you want any adjustments to be made, you can come back tomorrow."
He scratched the back of his neck. "How can I contact you though?"
She spun around, still with the folded fabrics in her hands. "Why?"
"You know-" he stumbled, trying to figure out an excuse. "If I wish to contact you, to give any adjustments or have it tailored to my wishes… I need your number, don't I?"
She smiled at his cheeky excuse, placing the fabrics securely in the shelf. She walked towards the small table and pulled out a thin card from the drawer. She handed him the thin card pressed tight between her fingers.
"You can call Harbhajan chacha and ask for me." That's it Maya, let him crave you more, let him grovel everywhere just to contact you.
With a dejected sigh, Uzair took the business card and walked out of the room. His broad shoulders that stretched straight dulled down almost like a puppy that has been kicked.
Wait, it seems like I am not interested in him, it is way too straightforward-
"Wait!" Maya called out, rushing outside the shop, towards the black jeep parked in the middle. Uzair halted in his steps and turned back.
"Come back tomorrow. I will give you my personal number if you wish to contact me."
"Why not now?" he asked.
"Arey, on the first day itself? It's not as if you are leaving the city tonight and never returning…right, Uzair ji? Come back tomorrow."
With that, Maya left him baffled near his car door, sure of herself that he would come back tomorrow - not just for the suit but also for her. She spun around to leave but then a familiar figure caught her eye.
Across the street was Hamza, staring intensely at the scene unfolding several feet away from him - his eyes hard and grey and steel.
The said bulky man offered a salaam, to which she returned with a polite enough expression - it wasn't the time for niceties and greetings to be exchanged, especially when tension had surrounded the juice center like a thick fog of early January winter.
She tucked the shawl into the crevices of her arms, hugging tighter as the room dropped much colder. But what was the ice that chilled to her bones was Hamza's eyes, when he saw her interacting with Uzair.
Grey steel eyes, frosted with emotion. A harder emotion, on the much darker spectrum. He hadn't talked to her or interacted with her ever since and even now, had sat down at the table and not a single word out of that already infuriating silent mouth - and Amrita wondered what was wrong with him.
She knew what was wrong but she didn't know how to confront it. Her budding proximity to Hamza was purely out of her own feelings - finding solace in a man who was more or less on the same boat - the boat that either sinks faster or slower if fate is too kind upon them.
"Khabar pakki hain. Babu Dakait's men will attack at the wedding - Naieem Baloch is the target. Would you take the risk or should we wait for another opportunity?" Rizwan asked, feeding them the intel that Naieem Baloch, Rehman Dakait's son, was going to attend his friend's wedding tomorrow.
[The news is confirmed.]
The intel planted a seed of sickening inside Amrita's stomach, disgust at how low Babu Dakait had fallen that he planned to attack a child and get him killed all in the name of revenge - the child that was his own grandson.
"No-" Hamza interjected. "This is the perfect opportunity. Bacche ko bacha lunga."
[I will save the child.]
"It's risky though," Rizwan tried to reason. "There are variables that we might not be aware of."
"It's a risk worth taking," Hamza said, adamant on his decision. Aalam chacha sighed and Rizwan looked satisfied, not with the decision but with Hamza's determination.
"Who's going to the wedding then?" Maya asked when the silence got too heavy. Hamza's eyes immediately snapped to hers.
"Not you," he said tartly.
"I wasn't asking you," Maya answered. "You like it or not, I am invited to the same wedding and so is Aalam chacha, to cater the drinks."
"Maya, it is not safe. We cannot be certain on what would happen at the wedding-" Aalam explained.
"Chacha, the bride is my long term customer. I was the one who sewed her wedding gown. It is a must for me to be there and greet her-" Maya stated. The two males were quiet after her reason yet Hamza, his silence was troubling her from the start.
"And if a stray bullet lodges into you and you die, who will answer to Sanyal sir?" Hamza asked, his tone poisonous that stung Amrita.
She huffed, picking her small purse from the empty chair. "Chacha, I am leaving." The glares she sent towards him didn't go unnoticed by the others. "If you feel I am capable enough, call me for any mission. If you feel I am still that princess, then I am as good as dead-"
"Maya, listen!" Aalam exclaimed, following after her but she was much faster, leaving from the backdoor into the empty and void street lit only with the amber glow of streetlight.
It was deja vu all over again.
She stormed, steam hissing from her furious nerves - how dare he think of her as a burden and not as an operative? All the sacrifices she made wasn't just to sit around and sew her entire life, listening to the exhilarating gossip with only specks of intel in them.
How could he of all people do that to her?!
Separate footsteps echoed through the street and she spun around - a long haired familiar hunk she hated right now was walking behind her, maintaining a considerably long but safe distance, almost like a wraith. She wanted to scream, toss her bag at him and hit him until the fires inside her died down.
She power walked, increasing her pace until the warm glow of familiar streetlight and building reached her vision - Harbhajan chacha and their family must have left long ago, their house just a street away while she lived in the quaint establishment above the shop.
She juggled with her keys, cursing as the keys seemed to give up at the most needed time - she wished to enter the building and shut the doors before Hamza reached but alas.
"Maya, why are you so stubborn?" he asked from behind.
"Oh, I don't know Hamza, you tell me!" she gritted. The lock after several stubborn attempts finally yielded to Maya's fire as it clicked open.
The metal scraped against metal and Maya opened the door, entering the building's side stairs that led her to her room. "Can you kindly go back home now that you have dropped me off?"
"Kyu itni ziddi ho? Jaan ko khatra hain aur yeh bewajah gussa karke baithe ho jab main tumhe mehfuz dekhna chahta hu-" he exasperated.
Why are you so stubborn? Your life is in danger and you sit here angry for no reason when I just want to see you safe.]
"I am not a normal girl, Hamza!" she gritted her teeth. "I am also on a mission, if I sit around like a doll, then expect bullets in my chest from my own pistol because I did not leave everything just to laze around and let you, the saviour, take my responsibilities. Papa didn't send me here to you so you can protect me. I have my own mission."
She entered her room, tossing her bag on the small sofa.
"Why won't you listen to me and keep inviting danger to your threshold?!" he fumed but she was not in the mood to listen.
Not when a swirl of emotions attacked her temples into an aching headache. She simply wanted to sleep away the events and wake up and repeat it, not dwell on them unless absolutely necessary.
"Kaun ho tum mujhe batane ke liye?-" she shot but his grip was iron on her wrist - pulling her flush against his rock hard body and descending upon her lips - capturing them into a frustrated and senseless kiss.
[Who are you to tell me?]
"Hmmm!" she groaned into the kiss but her body seemed to have a mind of its own, melting like a puddle in his embrace and kiss and at last, she kissed him back - her fingers finding the back of his neck and tangling with his soft locks.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer - she tasted sweet, like the kheer she made in the morning - hints of almonds and something that was entirely her - her sweet perfume boggling his senses into a mush of chant that was her name.
It wasn't just frustration that was poured into the kiss - the telltale signs of his arousal hard against her stomach, dulled by layers of fabric between them. It was also a year full of deliberate but unsaid feelings, that both of them had tucked away into deep trenches behind the excuse of mission and professionality, that pent up and burst open.
It was Amrita's own attraction to Hamza, the small touches, the wanted closeness - and Hamza's suppressed obsession for her.
Hamza's obsession. Dormant for a whole year but suddenly awoken when he saw her with Uzair Baloch.
It was like a fire burning inside him, icy cold and impossible to extinguish. He knew that it was for the mission, her proximity to Uzair - but what was it about Amrita Sanyal that drew not only Hamza Ali Mazari, but also Jaskirat Singh Rangi like a moth to a flame - so much so that he was ready to burn in the fire of the dangerous feeling bubbling inside of him.
uhhh hewwo :3 SLIGHTLY SEXY CONTENT WARNING AT THE END.
CHAPTER 4 : GREY AND STEEL
IB HEADQUARTERS
PRIVATE AUDITORIUM
2002
"Emotional manipulation. The greatest strength of a spy."
Ajay Sanyal's words still rung in her head, like a mantra rather than a mission debrief. With the code name Mohini, the greatest weapons she had been brandished with was manipulation and seduction, not brute strength or defence.
"In the mission, you would not simply be a mantelpiece observing everything in the back. Your goal is to become one of them. One of their trusted. Gain their trust, their loyalty and love. In every situation you would find a person who thinks not with his brain but with his heart, lets his emotions get the best or worst out of him."
It wasn't her father giving her a debrief or teaching her ways of emotional manipulation - it was Ajay Sanyal, the celebrated and decorated spy master of the country that taught her the tricks he honed from years.
"A person's greatest downfall would be from his emotions. If it is a weapon in his hands, it is a strength… a blade he will use to defend himself. If it is a weapon in our hand, it is a dagger to his back, his downfall that originates from his heart and the trenches of his heart. Mohini tricked the asuras into thinking she would feed them amrit, taking their heightened emotions as her greatest advantage."
She took down notes, ingraining his words as the absolute truth until she forgot her real sense of self. The training had started, she was deported to high tension zones as a way to learn real combat but what worried her more was not the limits her body pushed during physical training - it was the books, weapons of utmost danger that she consumed on a daily basis.
Everyday, an enormous amount of knowledge on the dark and twisted way of espionage was pumped into her brain that she had forgotten what kindness and reality really felt like. She locked herself in her room, the memories of Amrita Sanyal faded into nothing during this time - the mirror showed a woman with no identity and for Amrita, or was it Maya already? It was a hell, to stand in a limbo that sucked your soul into the deep hellish rivers of identity loss.
It wasn't until her father intervened and banned her from ever touching those books is what truly healed her. It broke her father.
CURRENTLY
RASHEED TAILORS AND FASHIONS
January 2005.
"Ji, Kya chahiye aapko?" Maya asked with saccharine spilling from her voice. The sudden mishap with her mask caught her off guard but it turned into a blessing in disguise as one of her targets walked straight into her trap.
Uzair Baloch.
Rehman Dakait's right hand man. The man Ajay Sanyal debriefed as a potential target with a dart on his head.
A faint red sheen spread across his cheeks, eyes caught wide and glinting with the light as he caught the sight of her naked face. His breath audibly hitched and Maya turned away, fumbling for the chunni over her head.
He darted his eyes away as soon as sobriety hit him - he stood there not sure what to do when Maya approached him with a measuring tape. "Can you stand in the middle? I have to take your measurements."
"Uh- huh," he fumbled, inwardly cursing for losing his charm before a beautiful woman. In the middle of the room, they stood with an intimate distance before them - Uzair could feel the warmth of her radiating, the scent of her perfume - oud with hints of jasmine and rose - hit his nostrils.
The height difference was staggering, she barely reached his chest yet her fingers were deft with the measuring tape. "A stool would be much more appropriate," he suggested but she just smiled.
"Some things need to be done in a raw way. I don't need to measure your head, sir-"
"Uzair-" he breathed. "My name is Uzair, I would like it if you call me by my name."
"-Uzair, I have measured a man much taller and bulkier than you-" at that second, Maya could notice Uzair's muscles tense up, his face with a cold facade as if she had uttered his enemy's name. "Can you stretch your arms?"
She pressed the tape, deliberately pushing the limits and boundaries of distance. She loved the way his muscles squirmed under her measurements - which was an excuse to break into his mind as an unforgettable nymph.
She slipped closer, wrapping the tape around his chest stretched by the grey pathani - which got a louder reaction from him. "Breathe normally," she whispered, looking at him through her lashes.
He did the exact opposite, inhaling too sharply. His chest expanded against the tape before he forced himself to breathe properly. From the close proximity, she could hear him gritting his teeth, almost as a way to curb something - self control - while the pulse jittered violently through the column of his throat.
He wasn't used to a woman reducing him into nothing with just a measuring tape and delicate fingers, Maya realised with a smirk. His physique, his face structure and features - everything was carved beautifully by the creator but his reaction to her 'measurements' told Maya everything she needed.
"Chest… forty three," she muttered, almost impressed. She slipped the tape around the thick muscle of his bicep. "Arm," she instructed, her fingers involuntarily pressing into the firm flesh barricaded by the fabric. The vicinity made her notice several things - one of them was a whiff of his perfume and his scent - a devious mixture of spicy, cool and… sharp. Was that gunpowder?
"Seventeen."
"Why aren't you taking a note of the measurements," he asked softly.
She dropped the tape, it recoiled like a snake and hung around her neck like a weapon of her profession - her identity. "I have a very good memory. Impossible to forget things."
Her fingers traced his waist, the tape looping around it like a belt but something metal and hard protruded from his side. She stared at him for an answer, knowing that the proximity was affecting him in ways that was dangerous. "Gun," she whispered.
He wordlessly removed it and tossed it on a soft couch nearby. He was more impossibly close - sucking his stomach in as a reflex when she tightened the tape around his waist.
"You don't need to impress me, Uzair." That earned a chuckle from him. "Thirty six."
"Reflexes don't really hear our words, do they?" he defended himself. "I thought a male worker takes the measurements-" he voiced his doubt.
"And shoulders?" she interjected.
He turned around at her instruction, feeling her fingers touch his shoulders gently. Her tape was pressed from one shoulder to another and it was again as if his body was on auto pilot - as his muscles tensed and squirmed under her delicate touch.
Maya was sure of the scars littering his back, even with the kurta hiding them. Bullet wounds, knife fights perhaps? Violence stitched violently into his skin, now remaining as invisible mementos.
Yet he shivered under the gentleness of her touch. Interesting, she mused.
"Have you always worked here?" There it was, the question she was waiting for. A question she was sure he would ask her - his curiosity voiced through small talk and formalities.
"I wasn't born here in the tailor shop, if you mean that." She replied. "I am working here from the past year. It's been only a year since I have moved to Lyari."
"Where are you originally from?" he pressed further, standing behind her as she folded the spread fabrics.
"Born and raised in Mithi but family is originally from Gwadar."
"Baloch?" he asked, surprised. She let out a giggle, relishing the look on his face - utter confusion and surprise. Of course he would be surprised, she belonged to his community and that is a much bigger blessing to him in his mind.
"You must have looked at my bindi and reckoned I am a Hindu… which technically is not wrong. I am a Hindu, but more specifically I am a Maratha Baloch. One of the rarest ores-" she whispered the last part with a teasing smirk.
"Then you are one of my own."
She shot up at his statement, caught off guard by his words that meant… something else - and she let the silence stretch, letting him watch her watch him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her reaction.
"The suit will be made within a week," she began, like a professional reciting her rehearsed lines. "If you want any adjustments to be made, you can come back tomorrow."
He scratched the back of his neck. "How can I contact you though?"
She spun around, still with the folded fabrics in her hands. "Why?"
"You know-" he stumbled, trying to figure out an excuse. "If I wish to contact you, to give any adjustments or have it tailored to my wishes… I need your number, don't I?"
She smiled at his cheeky excuse, placing the fabrics securely in the shelf. She walked towards the small table and pulled out a thin card from the drawer. She handed him the thin card pressed tight between her fingers.
"You can call Harbhajan chacha and ask for me." That's it Maya, let him crave you more, let him grovel everywhere just to contact you.
With a dejected sigh, Uzair took the business card and walked out of the room. His broad shoulders that stretched straight dulled down almost like a puppy that has been kicked.
Wait, it seems like I am not interested in him, it is way too straightforward-
"Wait!" Maya called out, rushing outside the shop, towards the black jeep parked in the middle. Uzair halted in his steps and turned back.
"Come back tomorrow. I will give you my personal number if you wish to contact me."
"Why not now?" he asked.
"Arey, on the first day itself? It's not as if you are leaving the city tonight and never returning…right, Uzair ji? Come back tomorrow."
With that, Maya left him baffled near his car door, sure of herself that he would come back tomorrow - not just for the suit but also for her. She spun around to leave but then a familiar figure caught her eye.
Across the street was Hamza, staring intensely at the scene unfolding several feet away from him - his eyes hard and grey and steel.
The said bulky man offered a salaam, to which she returned with a polite enough expression - it wasn't the time for niceties and greetings to be exchanged, especially when tension had surrounded the juice center like a thick fog of early January winter.
She tucked the shawl into the crevices of her arms, hugging tighter as the room dropped much colder. But what was the ice that chilled to her bones was Hamza's eyes, when he saw her interacting with Uzair.
Grey steel eyes, frosted with emotion. A harder emotion, on the much darker spectrum. He hadn't talked to her or interacted with her ever since and even now, had sat down at the table and not a single word out of that already infuriating silent mouth - and Amrita wondered what was wrong with him.
She knew what was wrong but she didn't know how to confront it. Her budding proximity to Hamza was purely out of her own feelings - finding solace in a man who was more or less on the same boat - the boat that either sinks faster or slower if fate is too kind upon them.
"Khabar pakki hain. Babu Dakait's men will attack at the wedding - Naieem Baloch is the target. Would you take the risk or should we wait for another opportunity?" Rizwan asked, feeding them the intel that Naieem Baloch, Rehman Dakait's son, was going to attend his friend's wedding tomorrow.
[The news is confirmed.]
The intel planted a seed of sickening inside Amrita's stomach, disgust at how low Babu Dakait had fallen that he planned to attack a child and get him killed all in the name of revenge - the child that was his own grandson.
"No-" Hamza interjected. "This is the perfect opportunity. Bacche ko bacha lunga."
[I will save the child.]
"It's risky though," Rizwan tried to reason. "There are variables that we might not be aware of."
"It's a risk worth taking," Hamza said, adamant on his decision. Aalam chacha sighed and Rizwan looked satisfied, not with the decision but with Hamza's determination.
"Who's going to the wedding then?" Maya asked when the silence got too heavy. Hamza's eyes immediately snapped to hers.
"Not you," he said tartly.
"I wasn't asking you," Maya answered. "You like it or not, I am invited to the same wedding and so is Aalam chacha, to cater the drinks."
"Maya, it is not safe. We cannot be certain on what would happen at the wedding-" Aalam explained.
"Chacha, the bride is my long term customer. I was the one who sewed her wedding gown. It is a must for me to be there and greet her-" Maya stated. The two males were quiet after her reason yet Hamza, his silence was troubling her from the start.
"And if a stray bullet lodges into you and you die, who will answer to Sanyal sir?" Hamza asked, his tone poisonous that stung Amrita.
She huffed, picking her small purse from the empty chair. "Chacha, I am leaving." The glares she sent towards him didn't go unnoticed by the others. "If you feel I am capable enough, call me for any mission. If you feel I am still that princess, then I am as good as dead-"
"Maya, listen!" Aalam exclaimed, following after her but she was much faster, leaving from the backdoor into the empty and void street lit only with the amber glow of streetlight.
It was deja vu all over again.
She stormed, steam hissing from her furious nerves - how dare he think of her as a burden and not as an operative? All the sacrifices she made wasn't just to sit around and sew her entire life, listening to the exhilarating gossip with only specks of intel in them.
How could he of all people do that to her?!
Separate footsteps echoed through the street and she spun around - a long haired familiar hunk she hated right now was walking behind her, maintaining a considerably long but safe distance, almost like a wraith. She wanted to scream, toss her bag at him and hit him until the fires inside her died down.
She power walked, increasing her pace until the warm glow of familiar streetlight and building reached her vision - Harbhajan chacha and their family must have left long ago, their house just a street away while she lived in the quaint establishment above the shop.
She juggled with her keys, cursing as the keys seemed to give up at the most needed time - she wished to enter the building and shut the doors before Hamza reached but alas.
"Maya, why are you so stubborn?" he asked from behind.
"Oh, I don't know Hamza, you tell me!" she gritted. The lock after several stubborn attempts finally yielded to Maya's fire as it clicked open.
The metal scraped against metal and Maya opened the door, entering the building's side stairs that led her to her room. "Can you kindly go back home now that you have dropped me off?"
"Kyu itni ziddi ho? Jaan ko khatra hain aur yeh bewajah gussa karke baithe ho jab main tumhe mehfuz dekhna chahta hu-" he exasperated.
Why are you so stubborn? Your life is in danger and you sit here angry for no reason when I just want to see you safe.]
"I am not a normal girl, Hamza!" she gritted her teeth. "I am also on a mission, if I sit around like a doll, then expect bullets in my chest from my own pistol because I did not leave everything just to laze around and let you, the saviour, take my responsibilities. Papa didn't send me here to you so you can protect me. I have my own mission."
She entered her room, tossing her bag on the small sofa.
"Why won't you listen to me and keep inviting danger to your threshold?!" he fumed but she was not in the mood to listen.
Not when a swirl of emotions attacked her temples into an aching headache. She simply wanted to sleep away the events and wake up and repeat it, not dwell on them unless absolutely necessary.
"Kaun ho tum mujhe batane ke liye?-" she shot but his grip was iron on her wrist - pulling her flush against his rock hard body and descending upon her lips - capturing them into a frustrated and senseless kiss.
[Who are you to tell me?]
"Hmmm!" she groaned into the kiss but her body seemed to have a mind of its own, melting like a puddle in his embrace and kiss and at last, she kissed him back - her fingers finding the back of his neck and tangling with his soft locks.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer - she tasted sweet, like the kheer she made in the morning - hints of almonds and something that was entirely her - her sweet perfume boggling his senses into a mush of chant that was her name.
It wasn't just frustration that was poured into the kiss - the telltale signs of his arousal hard against her stomach, dulled by layers of fabric between them. It was also a year full of deliberate but unsaid feelings, that both of them had tucked away into deep trenches behind the excuse of mission and professionality, that pent up and burst open.
It was Amrita's own attraction to Hamza, the small touches, the wanted closeness - and Hamza's suppressed obsession for her.
Hamza's obsession. Dormant for a whole year but suddenly awoken when he saw her with Uzair Baloch.
It was like a fire burning inside him, icy cold and impossible to extinguish. He knew that it was for the mission, her proximity to Uzair - but what was it about Amrita Sanyal that drew not only Hamza Ali Mazari, but also Jaskirat Singh Rangi like a moth to a flame - so much so that he was ready to burn in the fire of the dangerous feeling bubbling inside of him.
Hello everyone. Been so long, right? I have something to reveal to everyone.
So, you guys remember how I disappeared for a month because of my grandfather's health issues, right? Well yeah... I was majorly depressed, having suicidal thoughts every day — not only because my grandpa was in serious condition (he was, I’ll explain in a bit), but because of the circumstances surrounding everything.
On May 6th, around 4 AM, my grandpa — who is a chain smoker and suffers from asthma — suddenly couldn’t get enough oxygen and collapsed. His eyes rolled back, his mouth turned grey, and when I lifted his hand... it just fell. There was no movement in his chest.
For two whole minutes, he had lost his life. I’m not even exaggerating.
Then I started pressing his chest, doing CPR over and over again. I screamed so loudly, ran to the terrace calling for the neighbours. They came, I called my father, and he came too. Me, my uncle, and my dad picked up my grandpa and rushed him to the nearest hospital because the first hour was the golden and most crucial hour.
The nearest hospital said his ECG reports were abnormal and that he needed to be shifted to a bigger hospital immediately.
At 6 AM, dressed in torn knee-length night pants and a knee-length kurti, I reached the hospital with my grandfather in an ambulance. Ever since then, I haven’t had a single proper, peaceful wink of sleep.
During those hospital visits, I became so anxious and mentally exhausted. My mind had been fucked in so many ways, but I stayed strong because my family isn’t emotionally strong in situations like these.
Thankfully, because of the insurance from my grandpa’s government job (and before anyone says “ahhh rich” — no, he barely gets anything), we somehow survived financially. Otherwise, this would have completely destroyed our already empty bank account. Even then, we still had to spend around 30–35k on additional expenses.
And all of this happened at a time when I had no phone because it suddenly stopped working, my laptop was damaged because water got inside it (not my fault, by the way), and I was already struggling mentally because it had been two months since I passed CA Foundation while our financial condition was still terrible.
I had backlogs for my entire CA Inter course. I’m not kidding — the whole course was pending. While my friends had already started their CA Inter journey in the first or second week of March, I only started mine on May 26th.
But on top of all this, I was also being treated terribly by my grandfather. I was taken for granted constantly. He disregarded everything I said. I tried to make him take his medicines properly, but he refused to listen and instead relied on his own half-assed knowledge, which led to screaming matches almost every day.
And then he said the same thing he had told me several times before — that my grandparents should never have brought me home from my parents and should have just left us there.
For context, my parents are unofficially separated. They abused me for four years, are practically bankrupt, and wasted two years of my life because they didn’t pay my fees while spending money on everything else instead. My mother was the biggest perpetrator, but I’m not comfortable sharing my entire story publicly.
So once again, I fought with my grandfather. And this time, he threw a medicine bottle at me because he thought my tone sounded rude.
That was the moment I realized I had been taken for granted all along. Everything I did felt meaningless when the very people I loved couldn’t even give me the respect and care I deserved.
That’s why I was offline.
I wanted to tell you all this so you could understand where I disappeared to.
Now, I have finally started studying again. But I am not leaving Tumblr. I might interact less with roleplays and even my own stories because I genuinely don’t get much time anymore — however, I never stopped writing.
I’ve decided to follow a more systematic writing schedule now.
Starting next week, I will upload fics every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I’ll try my absolute best to complete all my current WIPs, which are honestly a lot.
Operation Amrit will receive one large update every week, while the other two updates will be for different fics. Sometimes I might update only two fics in a week, and I hope you guys understand — but I promise I won’t leave until I finish everything.
The Dhurandhar fandom has given me so much love, and I will never let that support go to waste. I’ll continue writing until there are no WIPs left for this fandom.
I also have another small announcement.
I recently opened a Scrollstack account, and there’s one work that has always been my dream to publish in magazines or writing competitions, but it wasn’t possible before because international transactions were complicated.
But since it’s Pride Month, and honestly what better time than now, I finally posted a novella called RED SPOTLIGHT.
It follows the story of Tara, a rising actress in 1980s Bollywood, who goes to Kamathipura to understand the lives of sex workers for a movie role, but unexpectedly falls in love with a prostitute named Chandra.
It’s a sapphic and tragic short love story, and I’d really appreciate it if you guys gave it some love.
And lastly, if you enjoy my writing and wish to support me, you can support me monetarily by buying me a coffee (Basically supporting me, not buying me actual coffee. although appreciate that, i am single ready to mingle forever) through my Scrollstack account. It would genuinely mean a lot — not only for my writing career, but for me as a person trying to survive all of this.
RED SPOTLIGHT will also be updated frequently since most of it is already written.
Here's my account!
