Okay, so I realised how tedious it might be to search for a particular fic on my blog because of the sheer size of my posts, and since this is an almost exclusive Dhurandhar blog, it seems more ergonomical to just create an index of sorts.
I do not use AI to write my fics, though I do use it to fix my grammar from the first draft. But usually what gets published has a LOT more content than what I put into the AI. (I need to start editing my first drafts in a word doc, istg the alignment is pisses me off, but I edit directly in my Tumblr drafts.Yeah, IK, I am a Risk Taker™)
I work during the week, so most of my fic posting comes during weekends, unless there are holidays for Non-Hindu festivals or are more of a non-religious holiday.
This is not my main account, this is an alt account meant only to post fics. Though my main account is also pretty active on this platform and tag.
Nobody has asked me for fics{lol}(IDK if I could do it quickly, due to above mentioned constraints) but I would love to hear if you did do so, though I can't guarantee you a fic, I will surely act as a soundboard.
I write mostly in English, though, in the off chance that I find the organic emotion of Hindi prevails, I will try to write the Hindi dialogues it self(that English translation of the 'tujhse teri Ammi cheenli' dialogue in my fics haunts my nightmares lol)(I am not a native Hindi speaker, though I am proficient in it, its just that I know the school textbook and Ekta Kapoor's rotlu serial version of it, and I don't think the non-slang version of Hindi that comes naturally to me fits in well with the narrative of how a native citizen of Lyari would speak)
While I am very particular about spelling mistakes and the structural integrity of my sentences, or atleast try to be when I am not on the verge of deleting my 6-hr-long-editing-ka-result fics, I use vibes to do the punction, specifically commas, em-dashes, semi colons etc. So in conclusion, I might have what the kids call
'punctuation-blindness'. I hope it doesn't disrupt your reading experience.
I don't write smut.
I don't write 'xreader' fics or really any pairing except Hamlina. I can write PoVs where the character feels those emotions, but there will be no exploration of it in the real world of the story, they will remain just thoughts and prayers.
Okay, so dw I am not leaving. I am just here to share the changes in my update schedule. So previously I had promised you to update once every week. But since my office went back to WFO 5 days a week, I can't keep up that schedule, so I am pushing it to once in every two (or even 3 idk, depending on that week's workload folks). I am sorry for this change, I tried to work around it this week and past week, but I was unsuccessful, so I wanted to clarify it. I will instead try to answer like 3 to 4 asks(if I have them, please continue sending them you guys, about anything and everything, need not be about Dhurandhar only, waise bhi anon tag toh hai hi, jo kuch bhi bolna hai, bol do(respectfully) aur main toh humesha hun hi yahan) in the week that I am not uploading, if that's alright with you guys.
On a similar strain, I am sorry to say, that for the time being, my fic-in-pipeline, Two Halves of a Lie or Spylina, as it was fondly called, to be on indefinite hiatus. I say this after speaking with my lovely coauthor, Adira, because I don't think I can keep up the pace of update or the commitment it requires at the moment. I will try to update it little by little on our little doc, and if I do end up completing it, I will post it. But for now, I prefer to stick to one shots, because it allows me to have an erratic posting schedule without the guilt of leaving my lovely readers hanging or the strain of having to have a relevant plot that makes sense in an entire AU instead of creating a separate AU for each one shot. That said, it's a door I leave ajar, both for myself and anyone else who would rather take it up immediately.
With that out of the way,I am going to concentrate the next few weeks on completing A Second Chance exclusively, and once I am done with it, I will get to your fic-reqs. And I will get to them, trust.
Thank you for sticking around so long despite all the hiccups along the way, and I want to invite you to stay by my side as I crawl like a kacchui, onwards to wherever this Dhurandhar journey takes us. Thank you for being so understanding and accepting.
I will reiterate once again, I AM NOT LEAVING. Just, life coming to speed and my chill days of posting three fics in a week(or even a month) are over.
Dude every song is now hamlina coded like yesterday Iwas listening to Tu Jaane Na and all I could think of was hamlina and their doomed romance. I am so screwed.
Anon jii!
Omg dude, tell me about it. For Tu Jaane na, I keep imagining them acting like the Moon and Earth, ever so close, but so far, right after the reveal? where they both yearn to just reach out, but too much has happened? yk? You are right, saare gaane ab inhi ke lagne lage hain What obsession is this? istg, my brain circles around the sheer tragedy of this pair like a gnat does to a fruit. Part of the reason why I struggle to give the pair a happy ending is because I simply cannot seem to separate the sheer tragedy of their story from what I see as their identity, atp. Infact, bet 2010s music ALL suit Hamza and Yalina in some way. I was listening to Monta re, Sawar Loon, Shikayatein, Ankahee and Zinda from Lootera, and if you listen to it in that order, I promise, it sounds like their courtship and then heartbreak, followed by the aftermath. Did I just turn the entire jukebox of a movie into a rec for the Hamlina Feelz? Yes, yes I did, and I will die on this hill. Honestly, I miss Amit Trivedi's chokehold over the music industry so much. Pashmina also sounds like a great song for these two, esp if you are writing it in the style of dark obsession or the 'I know I am doomed, but I will still walk this path if it leads me to you' sorta way, yk? In fact, reading roro ji's story made me think of 'Falling In Love' rendition by Diana Ankudinova, it sends chills down my spine, but it feels so right, the sheer dark surrender!
I love the concept of hamza wearing the jacket Yalina gave him while he goes to sit on the throne of Lyari. I know he takes it off but it's such a sweet way of including his wife in his achievement
Anon ji!
Well, yes, and I have another theory too. I think it was almost metaphorical, until then, he had to wear what Yalina got him because hard as it might be to believe, she held the power in that equation. She was the more influential one. I see that scene as him wearing that jacket until he reaches the throne, similar to how he used his connection and control over Yalina to get himself close to Rehman's throat using Jamali, he was riding Yalina's coattails basically. And then, when he finally has that throne empty, of both Rehman and Uzair, he sheds that coat, and sits that throne in his own right, He doesn't need to cloak himself on borrowed power anymore since he has his own now.
Also, humour my arm chair English student analysis here, but somehow, it feels like a colour palette shift here, yk? This is almost the last time we see him wearing any colour other than black(other than the Zayan football scene, which almost reinforces my point). Is it a metaphor that she was the last splash of colour in his world/only source of colour in his world? Or was it somehow symbolic, that the kid gloves are now off. His loverboy era is over (dispite the fact that, imo, his hardest loverboy arc, outside of that Eid sequence, is after this while he walks Yalina through the house)
Honestly, the wardrobe of the movie deserves its own discussion. I see very little look into how much the costume department built the aura that Hamza had, yk? I have my grouses with the hair and makeup, and even the costumes, but for what they have done, its absolutely marvelous, there are such nuanced details hidden between all that grave music and camera angles, you could go over the entire thing with a fine-toothed comb and still keep finding new things to pore over.
Are you an english student? Your writing and the way you analyse stuff is exactly how i imagine an english student does. You are extremely talented
Anonji!
Arre, you make me shy🤭
My 15 year old self with her yearning to major in English would be absolutely stoked by that praise, ngl. While I am no English student, I used to be an avid reader. And I used to be my English teacher's favourite ( its been more than 5 years since I met her and that is still a flex for me lmao), as such, whenever I write anything, I try to think that my English teacher would read it, and she was a brilliant and sharp woman, so plot points or lack thereof couldn't be hidden behind good prose, so here we are. That, and I absolutely cannot stomach bad grammar or writing when its my own. Though, at this point, I use too much Hinglish for my writing to be up to my 15 year-old self's standards.
My ick towards my own writing is also a good chunk of the reason for why my fics are so slow to update, but you all are extremely understanding and hype me like no other, so I am always excited to put my best foot forward, thank you so much for your high praise, dear!
I kinda miss when the fandom here was active and blooming now it seems like life has caught up to everybody. But please you don’t leave. I absolutely love you fics
Anon ji!
Agreed. I was lowk flabbergasted that there was literally no new posts on here under these tags for a good 3 hours, Hamlina mein toh 4 din ke liye kuch nahi tha. And dw, I won't leave anytime soon. Life has caught up with me too, but that just means I am slower, par hum toh pehle se kachchuii thay. Thank you for sticking around dear, I know I don't make the waiting any easier.
A/N: Hey folks, I am here with the next chapter of Second chance (I know! fiiinally) and well, I hope you guys enjoy it, this was not the original chapter, because of you-know-what, but I had felt that the escalation in tone had not felt natural either. This is a long ass update, the next one will be a short filler chapter tho.
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Chapter XVIII — A New Dawn
( A Yalina PoV)
Yalina stared at herself in the mirror for a long time before her gaze finally drifted down to the phone lying silently upon the dressing table. The screen had long since dimmed, yet her father's number remained open, waiting for a single touch from her thumb.
Jas' idea had sounded like complete madness the first time he suggested it—fake her death, disappear, become somebody else, start over—and if anyone else had proposed something so absurd, she would have laughed in their face and walked away. But Jas was not anyone else, and the more she thought about Yusuf and the ugly obsession that had steadily consumed him over the past months, the more she realised that she had run out of sensible options. Yusuf had crossed too many lines already; every warning had become more dangerous than the last, every rejection had only fuelled his determination, and after the attack outside the theatre, pretending that he would simply grow bored and leave her alone had become impossible.
Jas had offered to speak with the officials responsible for his own protection programme, and somehow, against all expectations, they had actually agreed to help establish a false identity for her. Even then, he had admitted that her Pakistani nationality complicated everything, that there were records, government departments, intelligence agencies and diplomatic channels that could not simply be wished away.
"Your Abbu will have to help from Pakistan," he had said gently, if a touch apologetically, after he had returned from his trip. "Without him, this will become much harder."
She had agreed almost immediately at the time, but now, with her father's number glowing faintly beneath her thumb, courage had deserted her altogether. If Jas had looked wounded after learning about Yusuf from somebody else instead of her, Baba would be devastated, because in truth, she had not told him a single word about the upheaval in her life. Every time he called, she had smiled into the phone and spoken about lectures, assignments, hostel gossip, new recipes from the diner and London's miserable weather, complaining about buses arriving late and professors assigning too much coursework while carefully avoiding any mention of stalkers, threats or alleyways. It had felt kinder that way, or perhaps that was simply what she had wanted to believe.
Her father had already carried enough burdens after Hamza's apparent death and everything that had preceded it. He had hidden most of it from both her and Ammi, and for a long time she had been too consumed by her own grief to notice anything beyond the emptiness inside herself, yet even through that haze she had caught glimpses of the strain—properties quietly auctioned, trusted people suddenly disappearing from their circles, endless meetings stretching late into the night, quiet conversations conducted behind closed doors. She had eventually learnt that several family properties had been sold simply to pay the right people enough money to ensure that certain inconvenient truths remained buried: Hamza's campaign against the ISI, Iqbal, the aftermath and the loose ends. Her father had quietly cleaned up as much of the wreckage as he could.
Yalina had left Pakistan because she thought that, at the very least, Baba would not have to watch his daughter crumble every single day while simultaneously trying to repair everything that Hamza's war had broken, and medical school had simply become an unexpected blessing and a 'one stone, two birds' solution.
She wrapped both hands around her phone, palms already damp with nervous sweat, and a ridiculous, childish part of her wished her father would simply miss the call just this once. The dial tone rang, once, twice, and then his familiar, warm voice answered almost immediately. Of course. She almost laughed through the lump in her throat; she had been an absolute fool to imagine that Baba would ever ignore her call. The man had answered her phone even after she had deliberately infuriated him years ago by running away with her hooligan boyfriend.
"Baba?"
She hoped her voice did not tremble, though she knew it did anyway. Her father had always possessed an uncanny ability to hear emotions hidden beneath ordinary words, and Yalina was, and probably always would remain, a complete Papa ki pari. Whenever life became too difficult, some deeply embarrassing instinct inside her wanted to run straight back to her father and complain until he fixed everything, and she had never quite grown out of it. Speaking to him now, after finally surrendering to the knowledge that she needed his help, demanded more restraint than she thought herself capable of, because every carefully rehearsed sentence dissolved the moment she heard his voice, leaving behind only the overwhelming urge to burst into tears and complain like an exhausted child.
If only it were still that simple, if only every problem could still be solved by a gentle hand smoothing down her hair and Baba saying, "Bas, meri bacchi. Baba hai na." Sometimes it felt as though an entire lifetime separated the little girl who scraped her knees climbing mango trees from the woman who now sat preparing to ask her own father to help fake her death.
"I... I need to tell you something."
She swallowed hard. "Baba... there— there was— there was an incident."
She barely finished the sentence before the questions began pouring through the speaker one over another.
"Yalina! Meri bacchi! —Kya hua? Sab khairiyat toh hai? Tum theek toh ho, beta? Kisine tumse kuch kaha? College mein pareshaani ho gayi? Main ek flight book kar doon? Wahan aa jaun? Tumhe dikkat ho rahi hai toh ghabrao nahi. Baba hain yahin, beta. Baba sab sambhal lenge."
Oh.
Yalina felt the sour sting of tears in the back of her throat, because that one sentence—Baba sab sambhal lenge—had always been enough. He always said it, always, before he even knew what the problem was, and somehow, most of the time, he really did fix everything. Her fingers tightened helplessly around the phone until her knuckles whitened, the cool glass beneath her palms suddenly feeling impossibly cold as the distance between them pressed in on her all at once. She was so far away from home, from the man who had once picked her up after every scraped knee, brushed the dirt from her tiny frocks and declared the injury defeated before placing a loud kiss on her forehead, from the same man who, eighteen years later, had sat beside her hospital bed after she lost her first child, gently humming the old lullaby until exhaustion finally dragged her into uneasy sleep.
She missed her Baba more than she could bear to admit, and the first sob escaped before she could swallow it, followed by another and then another, until within moments she was crying so hard that words became impossible. She tried, she honestly tried, opening her mouth several times, determined to explain herself, but every attempt dissolved into another broken sob that shook her shoulders. Hearing his concern had broken something she had spent months carefully holding together, because her Baba was always fixing her life, always cleaning up after Yalina's spectacular mistakes, and she had wanted—needed—to prove that she could stand on her own feet this time. She had wanted to solve her own problems before they could reach Pakistan, had tried to stay strong, to minimise the damage, to convince herself that ignoring Yusuf long enough would eventually make him disappear, but instead everything had exploded in her face.
She was tired, so desperately tired, and she did not want to be strong anymore. She wanted to crawl into Ammi's lap and sleep without worrying about tomorrow, wanted Baba to wrap his shawl around her shoulders and tell her everything would be alright, wanted to hide behind Hamza's broad back and let him glare at the entire world until it decided she simply was not worth troubling anymore. Instead she sat alone in a London hostel room, crying into a mobile phone as though her father could somehow reach through thousands of miles of cable and satellite signals to hold her.
He was speaking—she knew he was, could hear fragments—but she simply could not understand any of them over the sound of her own sobbing, until, very softly, another sound reached her: a familiar melody. He had begun humming, and she still did not know the name of the tune despite having asked countless times as a child, because he always laughed and refused to answer. It was simply Baba's song, the one he hummed whenever she scraped a knee, whenever nightmares woke her, whenever examinations frightened her, whenever life became too much. The melody floated gently through the phone, steady and patient, unhurried, as though it had all the time in the world, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, the storm inside her began to quieten. Her breathing steadied, the sobs softened into sniffles, and by the time the humming stopped, the silence no longer felt frightening; it felt safe.
"Bas, meri bacchi, bas. Aur nahi rona. Meri gudiya, meri noor. Baba hain yahan. Baba aapko kuch nahi hone denge. Rona nahi. Tum meri sher-bacchi ho na? Koi bhi takleef hai, hum saath milke paar kar lenge. Theek hai? Tum fikar na karo. Hai na? Haan... Abbu sab sambhal lenge. Ab aap theek ho? Thoda paani pee lo, beta. Haan... acchi bacchi. Meri siyaani bacchi."
She almost laughed through the fresh tears gathering again, because at thirty-five years of age, her father still spoke to her exactly as though she were five, and it was ridiculous and mortifying and somehow, unbelievably comforting all at once. The attack still lived inside her body even after a week had passed, even after long conversations with Jas, even after forcing herself back into classes and routines, and though she had not admitted it aloud to anyone, the incident had shaken her badly. She was preparing to play dead, and that alone should have been enough proof.
"Woh... Baba..." She took another breath. "Woh Yusuf Afridi... Nasrullah Khan sahab ka grandson?"
"From his daughter's side?"
"Haan... wahi."
Her throat tightened again as she forced herself to continue. "He... he had been stalking me for some time. Jas beat him up once and warned him to stay away, but he kept showing up." She paused, the memory rising again with uncomfortable clarity—the motorcycle, the bottle, the splash, Jas' terrified face—and then pushed through before her courage faltered again. "Last week... he sent his men to feign throwing acid at me... to threaten me into marrying him."
"KYA?"
The shock in her father's voice struck her like a physical blow, sharp and immediate, reverberating through her chest as though he were standing right in front of her instead of miles away.
"Beta... are you telling me that the boy has not only stalked and threatened you? He had the gall to attack you? Aap theek toh ho? Aapko chot aayi hai? Usne aapko kuch kiya—" His words tumbled over each other in a rush of rising panic, each question more frantic than the last, and she could almost see him pacing, hand pressed to his forehead, trying to grasp the full extent of what she had just revealed.
"Baba, main theek hoon. Jas was there. He handled it there," she said quickly, almost desperately, trying to steady him before his worry spiraled further, and perhaps—though she would never admit it aloud—hoping that invoking Jas might soften her father’s reaction, might make him see that she had not been entirely alone in this.
There was a brief silence on the other end, almost like a graveyard.
"Why didn't you tell me, beta?" he asked at last, his voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier urgency and replaced with something far more difficult to bear. "Baba par itna bhi yakeen nahi tha, baccha?"
The question did not accuse; it wounded. The hurt in his voice was so raw, so unguarded, that it pierced straight through her defenses, settling deep in her chest where guilt already lay coiled. There was something soul-deep in those words that had not been present even in his exclamations.
She rushed to erase that wretched feeling from his voice, she could not bear it.
"Aisa nahi hai, Baba. Woh... woh mujhe laga... I can— The words faltered, slipping through her grasp as her throat tightened, and she found herself struggling to articulate something that had seemed so simple in her mind. Now, under the weight of his hurt, it sounded foolish even to her own ears.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. "I thought I could handle it myself." Her eyes squeezed shut as tears gathered again, hot and unwelcome. "I am sorry, Abbu. I— I miscalculated." The admission came out quieter than she intended, heavy with the realization of just how badly she had underestimated the situation. "I am trapped now."
"Beta, jab tak Baba zinda hai, you are never trapped. You hear me?" His response came immediately, firm and unwavering, the familiar steadiness returning to his tone as though he were anchoring both of them at once. It was the voice she had grown up trusting without question, the voice that had always promised safety even when the world outside seemed uncertain. "Meri Paakhi, Baba will stand behind you for as long as I am allowed. Do you hear me? Stop blaming yourself. I will bring you back to Pakistan right away. We will cook up something to tell your mother. I will arrange for it!"
His certainty wrapped around her like a shield, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to lean into it, to imagine what it would be like to simply return, to let him take control of everything as he always had. But the thought dissolved almost as quickly as it formed, replaced by the harsh reality she could not escape.
Her life had become a chain of losses, each one bleeding into the next until the boundaries between them blurred, until grief itself felt like a constant state rather than an event. And yet, despite everything, she had never truly been alone. There had always been someone—her Baba, unwavering and protective; Hamza, whose absence still echoed painfully within her; and now Jas, who had stepped into the chaos without hesitation. At every point where it would have been easier for them to walk away, they had chosen to stay, to stand beside her and bear the consequences with her.
And that was precisely why she could not allow her father to follow through on what he was suggesting. She had done enough damage.
"Baba... rukiye!" she interrupted, her voice tightening with urgency. "I—I can't come back to Pakistan. I— Ham—" The name caught in her throat, heavy with memories she was not ready to confront, and she forced herself to move past it. "It's too early, Baba. And you know the fallout has not died down either." She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself before continuing. "I... I do have a plan. But you will not like it."
A sigh drifted through the line, long and resigned, carrying with it a familiarity that almost made her smile despite everything.
"You did not call for rescue, did you?" he said, a trace of dry understanding creeping into his voice. "You don't need your Baba right now. You want Jameel Jamali, Minister of Pakistan, don't you?"
The accuracy of his assessment made her chest tighten with guilt. He knew her too well—knew that if there had been any other way, she would have shielded him from this, would have continued pretending everything was fine until it either resolved itself or consumed her entirely.
"What do you want from me?" he asked, more directly now, an almost long suffering indulgence in his tone.
She straightened unconsciously, bracing herself. This was the part she had been dreading, the part that felt almost impossible to say aloud.
"Baba..." She paused, gathering what little courage she had left. "You had wanted me to have a fresh start... did you not?"
There was a brief silence, not of confusion but of careful attention.
"What if that's what would be the best option here?" she continued, her voice lowering as though speaking too loudly might make the idea more real than she was ready for. "They— they do it in Japan, you know? Disappear from their lives. No trace. No path. New identities and new lives. No connection to their past life." Her grip tightened around the phone as she forced out the final plea. "Please, Baba?"
The silence that followed was absolute, stretching long enough to make her heart pound with unease. For a moment, she wondered if the call had dropped, if she had been spared his reaction by sheer accident.
Then his voice came, so quiet it almost didn’t sound like him.
"You want to fake your death?"
Each word landed with a weight that made her chest constrict.
"You want me—" He faltered, something she had rarely, if ever, heard from him. "Your— your Abbu... to help you bury his only child?"
The question hung between them, unbearable in its implication. For the first time in her life, she heard her father sound truly shaken. This was a man who had navigated political storms, betrayals, and dangers that would have broken lesser men, and yet this—this request from his daughter—had left him momentarily without footing.
A part of her wanted to take it back, to apologize and pretend she had never said it, but the image of Jas surfaced in her mind before she could give in to that impulse. His calm, resolute expression when he had suggested the alternative—killing Yusuf—flashed vividly before her, and she knew, with chilling certainty, that he would follow through if she allowed it. He would carry that burden without hesitation, and she could not, would not, let him do that for her.
"I— mujhe maloom nahi main kya bolun, Yalina."
Her breath caught. He almost never used her name. She had grown up wrapped in his endearments—meri gudiya, meri noor, meri Paakhi—each one a reminder of how deeply she was cherished. Hearing Yalina instead felt like a distance she had never known between them, a quiet acknowledgment of the gravity of what she was asking.
Finally, he exhaled, long and measured.
"Theek hai." The words came slowly, as though each one required deliberate effort. "If you want that, if that makes you happy... then so be it."
Her eyes closed, relief and sorrow tangling together in a way she could not separate.
"Be warned, meri gudiya," he continued, his tone firming with a resolve she recognized all too well. "I will not allow you to sever all ties. You will be my niece, and I will not hear a word against it. You hear me?"
Despite the heaviness of the moment, a faint smile tugged at her lips. Of course he would negotiate even this, refusing to let her disappear entirely from his life.
"I will ensure that Yalina Jamali shows up as de— dead," he said, the choked falter before the final word betraying more than words ever could. "But in exchange, you will be my niece from a lost sister who was adopted by some NRI couple. I will not budge on it."
She nodded instinctively, even though he could not see her.
"Everything I have accumulated... it's for you, beta," he added, his voice softening again. "And it will not go to anyone else as long as you draw breath, whichever corner of the world you are in, carrying whatever name you wish. Understood?"
Her hand rose to cover her mouth as another sob threatened to escape, overwhelmed by the depth of what he was offering, by the quiet, unwavering way he had chosen her yet again.
"Thank— shukriya, Baba."
The heaviness lingered for only a moment longer before he broke it in the only way he knew how.
"Ussi ne diya hoga ye wahiyaat idea. Pata nahi har baar ek namoona kaise chun leti ho."
A wet, startled laugh escaped her, the absurdity of his complaint cutting through the tension just enough to let her breathe again. Even now, even in the middle of planning something as drastic as faking her death, when she had asked such a steep price for his indulgence of her, he found a way to make her laugh.
"Beta, tum bohot sayaani ho... but your choice in men is absolutely appalling," he continued, and she could almost picture him shaking his head in exasperation.
Her laughter came easier this time, uneven but genuine, and she let it linger for a moment before wiping her cheeks.
"Accha, suno," he said, shifting back into a more practical tone as he began outlining what needed to be done—the documents that would have to be altered, the officials who could be trusted, the ones who absolutely could not, and the careful steps required to ensure that no loose ends remained.
She listened intently, committing every detail to memory, and by the time he finished, a quiet realization settled at the back of her mind, unexpected but persistent.
Perhaps, she thought, the idea of Jassi meeting her father was not as impossible as she had once believed.
Aleena Shergill stood still for a long moment, her suitcase resting beside her as she took in the house before her, the cool Dublin breeze brushing softly against her face and tugging at the loose strands of hair that had slipped free from her braid. The cream-coloured duplex stood quietly at the end of a tree-lined street in Dundrum, Sandyford, modest and unassuming, almost hesitant in its presence among the neighbouring homes.
This was theirs. Her home. The first home she and Jas had bought together.
Even now, the thought felt unreal, as though it would all vanish in a plume of smoke.
Jas had told her the story of the house during their drive that morning, his voice steady but subdued as he explained that it had once belonged to a prominent Pakistani politician who had begun selling off his European properties after the sudden death of his only daughter. She had graduated from medical school just a week before she died, and this house had been meant as her gift, a beginning, a promise of a future that never came. After her passing, the man had not been able to bear the sight of it, and so he had let it go.
The estate agents had described the property as immaculate, perfectly maintained, untouched by time.
But to Aleena, it did not feel untouched. It felt like something that had once been filled with hope and then left behind in grief. It felt like she was looking at her a parent's love for their child being trampled by the wheel of fate.
The thought settled heavily within her. She was a doctor; she understood what it meant to work toward that degree, to build a life around it, to carry not only your own dreams but the expectations and pride of those who loved you. She could imagine the father’s pride, the careful planning, the anticipation of handing over this house as a symbol of everything his daughter had achieved. And then, to lose her just as her life was meant to begin—it must have fractured something inside him in a way that could never truly be repaired.
She found herself hoping that wherever he was now, he had found some measure of peace. That her Ammi and Abbu would forgive her.
The house itself was smaller than what she had known before, far less grand than the home she had grown up in, and nowhere near as expansive as the one she had— left behind. The comparison rose unbidden, but she stopped herself before it could take shape, before memory could pull her backward into something she had already chosen to walk away from. This house was different, yes, but it was not lacking. It was simply quieter, more intimate, surrounded not by walls and distance but by neighbours and ordinary life. There were children’s bicycles leaning against fences, someone trimming hedges a few houses down, the faint bark of a dog carried through the air, and the lingering scent of damp earth after the morning drizzle. It was not the life she had once imagined for herself, but it was real, grounded, and safe.
And somehow, it belonged to them.
She turned to Jas almost instinctively, and found him watching her instead of the house, his expression soft but uncertain, his smile carrying a fragility that he could not quite hide. There was a question in his eyes, unspoken but unmistakable, as though he were waiting for her to decide whether this was enough, whether he had done right by her, whether this life he had brought her into could ever measure up to what she had left behind.
She did not let him wait.
Closing the distance between them, she wrapped her arms around his waist and began speaking almost immediately, her words tumbling over each other in a rush that was only partly about the house. “Jas, we have to paint this wall—no, wait, maybe sage green, or cream, or something brighter—and the kitchen needs herbs, we can have little pots outside the window, and maybe roses, no, jasmine, definitely jasmine, and I want bookshelves, lots of bookshelves, and we absolutely need—”
She kept going, not because decorating was suddenly urgent, but because she could feel the tension in him easing with every word, every second she held onto him. His shoulders, which had been stiff when they arrived, began to relax, and the tight grip he had maintained on the bags loosened as he exhaled quietly. She pretended not to notice, because she understood him well enough now to know what he had been afraid of—that she would stand here and mourn everything she had lost, that his efforts would not be enough to overcome her grief over her past.
Instead, she chose to show him that she was looking forward, even if she had to push herself there.
He rested his face briefly against her hair, his voice low when he spoke. “I will make it all worth it, I swear.”
She nodded against him, unable to respond immediately because there was too much inside her, too many emotions layered together to separate cleanly. When she finally pulled back, she managed a small, steady smile. “Its beautiful, meri jaan, and I love it dearly, just… give me a moment,” she said softly, taking a breath before continuing, “This wasn’t what I had imagined for my— our— future until… until recently.”
His arms tightened around her. “I know, Jaani. I know. I am sorry it has come to this.”
The guilt in his voice was unmistakable, and she wished he did not carry it so heavily. She blinked quickly, forcing back the tears that threatened to surface, and lifted her face again, offering him a smile that she hoped would reassure him, though she knew it was not entirely convincing. He saw through it, of course—he always did—and sighed quietly, but before the moment could settle into something heavier, he moved.
The ground disappeared beneath her feet.
“Jas!” she gasped as he lifted her effortlessly into his arms, his expression shifting into something far more mischievous.
“I have heard,” he said with exaggerated seriousness, “that in Europe there is a custom—something about carrying your partner across the threshold when you move into a new house.”
She stared at him for a second before laughter broke through despite everything. It had been a long time since anyone had held her like this, and the familiarity of it, the unexpected lightness, caught her off guard.
“Jas, good God,” she protested between laughs, “you are nearly fifty, your back will hurt.”
He scoffed, clearly offended. “Excuse me, madam. Do not underestimate me.” He adjusted his hold on her with deliberate emphasis. “As long as I have strength in my arms, I will always have the strength to pick you up. And you are far too light anyway.”
Before she could argue further, he carried her toward the door with an enthusiasm that bordered on ridiculous, his steps growing increasingly exaggerated until she could not help but laugh again, wrapping her arms around his neck as he crossed the threshold.
“Careful!” she said, though she was smiling, tightening her hold around his neck as he exaggerated his steps.
“Oh Sundari,” he replied grandly, “have a little faith in your extraordinarily athletic boyfriend.”
“Accha ji?” she echoed, laughing. “You are impossible. Who would have thunk that my tall, dark and broody sardar ji would have such a child hidden inside him!”
"Excuse-moi! you must take responsibility of that, meri jaan, I was a perfectly respectable man acting his age, before you came along and rubbed off on me and now I act like a loon." His faux-indignance just made her laugh harder.
He spun her once inside the foyer before setting her down, slower this time, careful despite the theatrics. The movement was unnecessary, but it broke the stillness of the empty house, their laughter filling the space in a way that made it feel less unfamiliar. The sound lingered for a moment, soft against the bare walls, as though the house itself was listening. The tightness in her chest eased—not gone, but loosened enough for her to breathe a little easier, probably exactly what her highly perceptive boyfriend intended to achieve with his theatrics.
Later that evening, she found herself sitting beside him on the sofa, gently rubbing liniment into his lower back as he lay face-down, groaning with theatrical exaggeration.
“Ah,” he said dramatically, “I appear to have sustained a grievous injury. It will only get better, fair maiden, if you kiss the hurt away!”
Aleena pressed her lips together, refusing to say what she very much wanted to say. She had warned him, more than once, and he had chosen not to listen. That was entirely his own doing. Still, she couldn't stop the undignified snort-cackle she let out as she continued working the liniment into his muscles, her touch careful and steady. And then, she kissed his cheek, of course. Her Sardar ji rarely acted silly, and she was nothing if not an enabler, just as he had excused. What sort of harpy would she be, if she didn't kiss her gallant knight's booboos better?
Everything had changed—her name, her country, her life, her home—and yet, sitting here, in this quiet space that was slowly becoming theirs, she felt something settle within her. She had lost everything once, and she had survived it. She would not lose everything again.
Never again.
She held onto that promise as Jas continued his exaggerated complaints, clearly more interested in making her laugh than in his supposed injury. Outside, evening settled gently over Sandyford, and inside, their voices filled the rooms that had been empty only hours before.
The aroma of frying potatoes, butter and toasted spices had already filled the little duplex by the time Aleena made her way downstairs, the scent wrapping around her like something familiar and grounding, something that belonged to a life she was still learning to accept as her own. Morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, while the radio hummed in the background with an old Irish folk tune neither of them understood but had somehow become part of their mornings anyway.
Jas stood at the stove, dressed in a faded navy blue t-shirt and grey track pants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, moving with an ease that came from habit rather than effort. One hand rolled out dough with practiced precision while the other reached for the bowl of spiced mashed potatoes beside him, his movements fluid and unhurried, and there was something almost absurdly adorable about the sight of him, flour dusted across his forearms, caught in his beard, even smudged faintly across the bridge of his nose that made her want to cuddle up to him and not let go.
"Arre, Jas, yeh sab karne ki kya zaroorat thi, meri jaan? Main cafeteria se kuch kha lungi."
He didn’t even look up, shaking his head immediately as though she had suggested something entirely unreasonable.
"Ji bilkul nahi!" he replied with mock outrage, his tone carrying that familiar stubbornness she had already come to recognise. "Today is your first day at the hospital and you want me to send you without a dabba? That too when I make the most stunning aloo ke paranthe? Absolutely not!"
He gestured toward the dining table with the rolling pin, still focused on his task.
"Give me two minutes and it will be ready! Aap baith jaiye. Aapke dabbe ke liye pack ho gaya, bas aapke liye turant do paranthe bana denge hum."
She let out a quiet laugh and did as she was told, pulling out a chair and sitting down, though her gaze lingered on him, absurdly endeared by the quiet care in everything he did without making a show of it.
Everything still felt new, but not in the unsettling way she had feared it might. The kitchen, the house, the name she answered to now, and the man who insisted on doing things for her even when she protested—it all felt like something she was stepping into like an old cardigan, instead of the hurried retreat for safety that it had actually been, and that difference mattered more than she could explain.
For a brief second, she found herself thinking of the rare mornings she used to pack lunches for Hamza. She had learned not to ask, had learned instead to hand him his lunchbox with mock sternness and remind him not to skip meals, and he would always grin, promise her he wouldn’t, only to return later with the box still half full. The memory tugged at her lips, forming a small, involuntary smile that lingered without the shadow of grief or guilt she had come to expect with his memories.
She was finally a doctor—well, a resident, but it still counted—and the weight of everything it had taken to get here pressed gently against her thoughts. Years of relentless studying, sleepless nights, exams that had seemed impossible at the time, grief she had carried quietly while still showing up for lectures and clinical postings, all of it had led her here, to this morning, to this moment that felt both ordinary and monumental at the same time.
She wondered whether Hamza would have been proud of her today, whether he would have smiled that quiet, knowing smile of his if he had seen her now, sitting in a kitchen that wasn’t theirs, preparing for a life that had taken a turn neither of them had ever planned for, yet knowing that she had kept her promise to him, she had become the doctor he had pushed her to be, she had built something of her own, she as he had wanted, except, he was not here to see it.
Her thoughts shifted again, before the nostalgia turned to melancholy, when she remembered the message she had received earlier that morning, and this time the smile deepened.
Baba—no, Bade Mama Ji now, though the title still felt strange enough to make her want to laugh—had sent her a message that was as brief as it was unmistakably him.
Proud of you, beta. First day mubarak. Khana time pe kha lena. Aur apne nikamme boyfriend ko mere taraf se hello bol dena.
Even now, despite everything that had changed on paper, he sounded exactly the same. She shook her head at her father's uncle's antics.
Her attention snapped back to the present when Jas placed a neatly packed steel lunchbox on the table with a small flourish, clearly pleased with himself, but before she could reach for it, his hand closed gently around her wrist, stopping her.
The next moment she was pulled into his arms, the movement so natural, so unforced, that she didn’t even think to resist it. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, leaving behind a faint trace of flour, and when he spoke, his voice had lost its usual teasing edge, replaced instead with something quieter, something steadier.
"I am so proud of you," he said, and there was no exaggeration in it, no attempt to make light of the moment. "Of everything you have accomplished... and how brave you have been through it all."
The words settled somewhere deep, catching her off guard in a way she hadn’t anticipated, and she felt her throat tighten almost immediately. She knew that feeling too well, knew how quickly it could spiral into something she wouldn’t be able to control, especially not today, not on her first day at work.
So instead of responding, she leaned into him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face against his chest, grounding herself in the familiar scent of butter, flour, and the sandalwood soap he loved so dearly.
She stayed there for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, leaning up just enough to press a quick kiss to his flour-dusted cheek.
"Thank you," she murmured, her voice softer now, steadier.
He smiled in response, that easy, unguarded smile that seemed to come more naturally to him around her, and without making a fuss about it, he slipped the lunchbox into her bag, zipping it up with another flourish.
"Aap bhi na," she said, shaking her head lightly. "Aapko bhi London ke liye nikalna hai aaj aur aap yeh sab karke baith gaye!"
"Haan toh kya hua ji?" he replied, shrugging slightly. "Aapke liye thoda bahot kar liya toh thak thodi na jaunga." Then his expression softened.
"And I will be away for nearly four days," he added, scratching the back of his neck in a way that betrayed a hint of awkwardness. "Apna guilt bhi toh dekhna hai."
She frowned at that immediately, "Kaisa guilt?" she asked, "You have done more than was ever expected of you." Her voice faltered slightly as she continued, the words still difficult to say out loud.
"You... you saved me... from... from him. I couldn't ask for mo—"
She didn’t get to finish.
Jas lifted his hand and gently pressed a finger against her lips, stopping her mid-sentence, the gesture quiet but firm enough to make her fall silent. He tilted her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze, and what she found there wasn’t pity or regret, but something far steadier, something that didn’t waver.
"Uske baare mein mat sochiye," he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. "Woh beet gaya. That is not your life anymore. Everything Yusuf was and the threat he posed to you died with your identity as Yalina. Don't keep drowning yourself in it" There was a calm certainty in his voice that made it difficult to argue, difficult to hold on to the weight of what she had been trying to say.
"Aapko nayi shuruat mili hai," he continued, his tone gentle but unwavering. "Just concentrate on that and do not think of that again."
His hand slipped into hers, their fingers intertwining naturally, as though it had always been meant to happen that way.
"I did everything," he added, giving her hand a small squeeze, "and I would do it all over again and more for you"
She felt something shift inside her at that, something she couldn’t quite put into words.
"There is very little I wouldn't do for you, Jaana. It feels like I have suffered every grief life had to give, and then life rewarded me with your companionship." He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, refusing to look away, even as she felt her face grow hot from the intensity of his gaze.
"I would fight tooth and nail to not lose what we have," he continued, his voice lowering slightly. "Aap par ehsaan nahi tha woh. It was selfish too. I want you and a lifetime of you. It was for the both of us," he clarified, before finishing quietly, "and I regret it not one bit, my dear."
Her lips curved into a smile despite herself.
"You have a silver tongue, boyfriend mine."
His reaction was immediate, his nose wrinkling in exaggerated displeasure, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the expression, because lately he had developed an almost comical aversion to the word boyfriend, insisting he was far too old for it, while she took every opportunity to remind him that there was a very simple promotion available if he disliked it so much.
Every time she mentioned the word husband, though, something shifted in him, something subtle but unmistakable, a flicker of something sharper, more intent, that lingered just long enough for her to notice before he masked it again. The last time she had teased him about it, she had caught that look lingering a second too long, and it had stayed with her since.
It made her smile now, especially when her thoughts drifted to the small velvet box she had discovered tucked carelessly into his trouser pocket while snooping for the candies he usually kept in his pockets, a couple of evenings ago. He had clearly forgotten that he no longer lived alone, and curiosity had gotten the better of her just enough for her to take a quick look.
She knew exactly what he was planning now, and the knowledge sat quietly in the back of her mind, warm and steady, like a secret she was choosing to keep for him.
When he finally gathered the courage to kneel in front of her with that sapphire ring, she would still act surprised, she decided, because he deserved that moment.
The thought made something light and fluttering settle in her chest, and she realised that she had never been proposed to before, not even by Hamza. He had simply asked her one day over tea, while she sat comfortably on his lap, no ring, no elaborate gestures, just a question that had somehow been enough at the time.
Another memory surfaced then, unbidden but not unwelcome, of her fath—Bade Mama Ji—who had never been particularly good at keeping secrets. During their last conversation, he had casually mentioned that "the boy"—a title she was certain he used solely to irritate Jas—had at least had the decency to ask for permission before proposing, unlike her previous gunda boyfriend, though she had somehow still managed to choose the same type of man twice.
That single comment had told her everything she needed to know, and the image of Jas standing awkwardly in front of her father, asking for her hand, made her smile in a way she couldn’t quite suppress.
There was something oddly familiar about the dynamic forming between them, something that reminded her of the way Hamza had once interacted with Baba, a mixture of barely tolerant and long suffering affection and teasing that never quite crossed into disrespect, and she found herself wondering if that was simply how these relationships worked, built on a foundation of half-spoken understanding and unspoken care.
"Don't forget our date on Sunday," Jas said, breaking through her thoughts as he nudged her gently toward the door, clearly aware that if he didn’t, she would end up late.
She slipped her shoes on quickly, grabbing her bag before turning back to look at him, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
"Bet your ass I won't!"
She didn’t wait for his reaction, darting out the door before he could respond. Yes, she decided, life was good.
Yali—nope—Aleena stared at Jas' tapping fingers and nervous, shifty eyes and held back a smirk. She couldn't believe this man was nervous about marriage of all things when she had decided to forego her very identity to be by his side.
"Jas, this is such a unique restaurant, honestly. What a novel idea, to have a scenic lake view with just a beautiful umbrella and incredibly aesthetic tables. Truly, the owners are geniuses. If they had marketed it as a proposal spot, it would have been an absolute hit. Look, they have fairy lights too."
Jassi looked so shocked and guilty that she almost laughed in his face. Then he blinked a tad owlishly before standing up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair backwards.
Don't laugh, Yal—Aleena, she told herself. The poor man is trying his best.
He cleared his throat.
"Right. Right, uhh. A—umm..."
Then he carefully bent down on one knee, far too gracefully for someone as nervous as he was.
Fuck! Stay calm, Alee—fuck it—Yalina, don't yell—
He looked up at her with the most earnest puppy eyes, as though he was placing his entire heart in his palms and offering it to her, before pulling out a ring bo—
AhhhhhhhHHHH— No, no. We had told ourselves that we will be normal about this, Yalina urged herself.
Jassi visibly steeled himself and began speaking.
"Yalina Mazari-Jamali..."
Aleena's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets as she hurriedly looked around to ensure they were alone. The man who had hammered into her that she must not refer to herself as Yalina, even in her own mind, was just throwing the name around?
"I have loved you since the day I saw you surrounded by my life and all of its shortcomings and still looking at home. I have dreamed an entire life with you—growing old and leaning against each other, learning how to say 'I love you' when I have no teeth anymore, fighting about stupid things as we fold laundry together, cooking diabolical and unhealthy food for each other even when the doctor said otherwise, buying flowers for you so often that even the florist's son keeps a bouquet ready when he sees me coming."
She snorted. It sounded suspiciously wet.
"It feels like, since the day I knew that my heart belonged to you, my very soul has positioned itself to walk towards you even when the universe required something else of me. We have lived through horrible things together. We have already faced the lows together. Will you face the highs with me? Meri chann, meri jaana, the light of my life, meri seher... will you marry me?"
Yalina could not hold back anymore.
She had intended to be dainty and nod tearily. She swore she had.
But somewhere between those lines that felt as though they had come from the very depths of his soul, Jas had managed to steal every bit of composure from her, just as he had once taken her heart from the graveyard it had been buried in.
She was fairly sure she must have barreled into him like a bulldozer because the next thing she knew, they were both sprawled on the damp grass, her lying on top of him as she gracelessly spoke—no, yelled—
"YES!"
The poor man looked utterly stunned. His eyes had grown so wide that she could clearly make out the tiny flecks of sunlit brown hidden inside his hazel-green irises. Or maybe she was simply too close.
She cleared her throat hurriedly before sitting back on her heels, desperately attempting to portray the controlled, mature woman she absolutely was.
"Ahm—I mean..."
She tried again.
"Yes, Jaswinder Gill." She couldn't stop the ear-splitting grin she was sure she sported," I will marry you."
The wide smile of absolute joy that lit up his face immediately destroyed whatever composure she had managed to recover, because she couldn't help matching his energy. The only thing she remembered afterwards was whisper-screaming countless tiny yeses as she peppered his face with kisses, only to realise that she had somehow become airborne halfway through her enthusiastic kiss attack.
Jassi, the idiot, had picked her up and was twirling her around as though they were some carefree young couple in a film.
She was immensely grateful that the half-maniacal laughter escaping her had no witnesses.
Except Jas, of course, whose eyes were sparkling almost as brilliantly as the diamond on her ri—
Wait a fucking minute. The idiot man hadn't even taken out the ring.
You didn't give him the chance to open the case, you dolt, her mind supplied helpfully.
"Jas..." she drawled, doing her absolute best to sound impatient she was impatient, "where is my riiing?"
She immediately caught the spark of mischief dancing in his eyes as his broad, delighted smile slowly transformed into an unbearably smug smirk.
Uh-oh. What?
Without saying a word, he finally opened the ring box.
And the little shit—
It wasn't even the same ring she had seen!
Instead, nestled inside the velvet box sat a beautiful gold ring with a central aquamarine diamond framed by pear-cut brown gold topaz gemstones.
"This is not the same ri—"
She met his smug gaze. Chori pakdi gayi, she thought as Jassi burst into laughter, his thoroughly knowing grin doing absolutely nothing to lessen her embarrassment.
She felt both mortified and intensely curious as she watched him gently slide the ring onto her finger, waiting for an explanation she was rapidly deciding he very much owed her.
"Well," he began, unable to stop grinning, "I had placed the ring box in my left pocket and later found it in my right one. Considering that there were only two of us living in that house... well... I had a feeling that you might have found the box. And anyway..."
His smile softened.
"I intended for you to find it."
Huh? She had genuinely believed she was being sneaky.
So Yal—Goodness, this could get so confusing. How did Jas do it all the time?—Aleena simply stared at him in bewilderment.
Why would he want her to find the ring after going to such lengths to keep the proposal a surprise?
Then the answer struck her.
Oh. He had wanted her to dress up.
He hadn't wanted her to feel underdressed in the almost-scrubs she had gradually begun wearing on their later dates after becoming far too comfortable around him.
Fuck. That was... actually incredibly smart. And thoughtful.
Sometimes these random moments of being far too clever for what he claims to do, combined with all the elaborate planning that had gone into creating her new identity, made her quietly wonder what exactly lay behind this supposed witness protection programme. Or whether it was witness protection at all or something else entirely.
Be that as it may, her curiosity about the sapphire ring won out. She gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow.
"Toh phir woh dusri ring kiske liye thi? Meri koi sautan-wautan rakhi hai kya?" she teased, determined to wipe that smug smirk off his face.
"Sautan? Baap re baap." He laughed, shaking his head, the sound warm and unrestrained. "I can barely keep up with you and you think I could do this twice? My dear, I would perish."
Oh, he thought he was funny.
Aleena narrowed her eyes at him, indignation rising swiftly, ready to retort, to remind him exactly who he was dealing with—but Jassi, as always, refused to let her linger in that space for long. Before she could gather her words, before she could even properly scowl, he reached up and cupped her face with a tenderness that stole the breath from her lungs, drawing her closer until she could feel the warmth of him, the quiet steadiness that had become her anchor.
And then, with deliberate softness, he kissed her—nose? That utterly impossible, infuriating, devastating man.
"Leena, I have chosen you and you alone. I don't want or need anyone else. If I had to have two wives, I would wish it was another of you, not another woman. It's you for me, or nobody else. Aapki koi sautan ho hi nahi sakti kyunki aapke alawa kisi aur ko waise dekhne ki mujhme qabiliyat hi nahi hai."
The sincerity in his voice, the quiet certainty with which he spoke, settled deep within her, dissolving whatever remnants of mock annoyance she had been clinging to. Sometimes Aleena wondered how it was possible to feel so much for one person, how her chest could hold something so expansive without breaking apart. It was absurd, really, that she felt this overwhelming urge to squeeze him, to hold him too tightly, as though she could somehow contain the sheer magnitude of what he meant to her. He was a nearly fifty-year-old man, broad and formidable and anything but conventionally adorable, and yet he reduced her to this—soft, helpless, brimming with affection she could barely articulate.
"I love you too," she whispered, the words quiet but heavy with everything she could not quite say.
His smile deepened at that, something softer flickering beneath the mischief that so often defined him, even when his actions were too serious, before his expression shifted again, turning almost conspiratorial.
"You didn't hear it from me," he began, lowering his voice slightly as though sharing a secret meant only for her, "but your uncle, who had stopped by last month, said he might not be able to join us at our wedding, so he left a surprise for you. He said it was a ring he had gifted his wife when they had been courting. It had been a present from the both of them. I had planned to use it as a decoy, you know, to tell you without telling you, since..."
The hesitation that followed was subtle, but she caught it immediately. His face shifted, the lightness dimming just enough for that familiar guilt to surface—the one he carried like a quiet burden.
"Since you haven't yet made any friends who are as close to you as Aamna and Varthika. I swear to God, once the little leech is caught and deported, I will bring them here. I can never return your name to you, but I can do this. I swear."
She missed them—missed them in a way that was both sharp and dull at once, a constant ache that never quite faded. Aamna, especially. The thought of her, of the laughter they had shared, of the ease with which they had once existed in each other’s lives, pressed against her chest until it felt almost too tight to breathe.
They could not know. Jassi had been firm about that, and she had understood, even when it hurt. It was too dangerous, too fragile a truth to entrust to anyone else. The more people who knew, the greater the risk, and Yusuf was not a man who left loose ends untied. She knew what her ‘death’ must have done to them, knew the grief they must have carried, and the guilt of that knowledge lingered like a shadow she could never quite outrun. She could only hope that when the truth finally came to light, they would find it in themselves to forgive her.
But Yusuf was a parasite, and until he was dealt with, she could not afford to be careless.
Besides, there was no performance more convincing than genuine grief. If they believed she was gone, then perhaps he would too.
"I—I had gone to London specifically to get you the ring, I needed those exact gemstones. I f you don't like it, we can look for something else" Jassi continued, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "Your fath—uncle's ring... I will give it to you as soon as we get home."
She shook her head gently, her decision immediate and certain.
"No. It was a wedding gift, and I will see it at our wedding. And this ring is absolutely beautiful, I would have no other."
For a moment, he simply looked at her, and then his expression softened into something warm and quietly pleased.
"Very well, my dear."
The moment lingered, delicate and full, before something shifted again—something unmistakably mischievous.
"Also..."
His gaze flicked past her shoulder, and before she could question it—
"Say cheese!"
"SURPRISE!"
Aleena startled, turning sharply just in time to see Rohit spring out from behind a bush with all the subtlety of an unwanted pimple, somehow managing to juggle both a camcorder and an iPhone.
"What?" Her eyes widened as realization dawned, horror creeping in with it.
"He had been there this entire time?"
Jassi rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the ground far more interesting than her expression. Before he could attempt an explanation, Farah and Kabir stepped out from behind Rohit, looking far too pleased with themselves.
They had been there too.
"They have been recording this entire thing?"
"Yes... well..." Jassi winced, offering her a sheepish smile that did absolutely nothing to mitigate the situation. "Wouldn't you want pictures?"
She stared at him. Because yes—she did want pictures. But now Rohit, the devious shit, had documented evidence of every ridiculous, overly emotional, entirely unfiltered moment she had just lived through.
And judging by the gleam in Rohit’s eyes, that was precisely the footage he intended to treasure.
Oh no. There would be gifs. There would be stickers!
Still, as mortifying as it was, she found herself unable to stay truly annoyed. Jassi looked far too pleased with himself, and there was something undeniably comforting about the presence of the others, about the way they had quietly made themselves part of this moment. Kabir and Farah, she suspected, would at least ensure Rohit did not weaponize the worst of it—though she would not put it past him to try.
Before she could dwell on it further, Farah was already upon her, pulling her into a tight embrace and immediately demanding to see the ring, her excitement spilling over in a way that was both overwhelming and oddly grounding.
It was, Aleena realized, a strange collection of people brought together by even stranger circumstances. And yet, somehow, they had become hers. And she would not trade that for anything. Well—almost anything.
Because even as she stood there, surrounded by laughter and chaos and the warmth of something that felt dangerously close to belonging, she knew there were still things she would change if she could.
But not this. Not this moment.
This, she would keep exactly as it was.
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A/N: AHHHHHHH! stay calm everyone! STAY KELM! Its happening! They are engaged folks! Anyone else hearing the music for the other shoe to drop?
Well, I hope it was not too OOC and cheesy, I was trying to make it a 'too-good-to-be-true' thing, yk. And well, my baby star candy princess deserves her happy times. And so does her man. My heartiest thanks to @adirasenraizada for helping me pick the ring, so to speak.
In case you guys were wondering about the odd stones, the central ring was the closest I could find to Jassi's eye colour and the surrounding topaz gems aren't exactly the golden-brown of Yalina's eyes, but aap imagine karlo ji! Thanks for reading ji, and I hope you have an amazing weekend!
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Imagine during their dating phase Hamza trying to teach Yalina how to ride a bike but he just can't stop laughing because of the goof Yalina is
Anon jiii!
Okay, so tmi, but I am a short short girlie. And I do ride a scooty. And my cousin tried to ride a bike, specifically, the Royal Enfield that her brother has. And she is a little shorter than me. I am a little over five feet, for reference. So the scooty is already a stretch for me, but the royal Enfield made her look like a stretched out,badly made taxidermy of an opposum. Like a sugar glider, trying to reach the handles as well as the ground at the same time. I imagine Yalina being the same, that while she has the balance because of the years riding bicycles, she cannot reach the floor when she is sitting on the rider seat and absolutely cannot heft the weight of the bike without the stand when the bike is not in motion. So when she needs to stop,she quite literally puts the bike on stand and leans her foot on the little hook on the stand, cus yk, short girl problems. Also seeing tiny itty bitty Yalina on his big ass hefty,heavy duty bike always cracks up Hamza cus girl is not even built for a scooty, forget a bike. And considering that Hamza needs to hold the bike steady and start it before she hops on cus she cannot kickstart the engine,he turns it into a 'milady' thing like he is a horseman from ancient times and Yalina is the lady trying to climb the horse.
Also headcanon that Yalina is confused by the right and left signals and her hands are too small to reach the indicators naturally,so she has to let go of the handle to switch the indicator,and well, since her control of the heft of the bike is tenacious at best, she can't let go of the handle without the bike going wobbly, which scares the ever living shit out of Hamza, because he is never riding pillion on those rides cus, yk, barely able to carry the weight of the bike, if he is on it too, yeah, they are toppling. Also, for aforementioned reasons, she absolutely cannot make a u turn, so she has to make a big ass semicircle instead, so her bike riding is usually restricted to them going to a far off area, where there is usually no traffic, no buildings, no parked vehicles so that she can ride around aram se without some impatient asshole honking at her or her accidentally accelerating and hitting another vehicle. Everyone thinks they are going for long drives. Nope, it's just Hamza standing at one end of the road looking like a nervous swim coach while Yalina is hoo-ing like an owl and trying to make dust tornadoes and speeding like a maniac. She also refuses to wear a helmet, which only makes Hamza fret like a geriatric mother of four.
This ask made me crack up. My answer also explains exactly how I learnt to ride a scooty, while my dad,who also doesn't ride a two wheeler, looked on, mildly concerned. I did wear a helmet tho, safety first kids, be like me, not Yalina.
Imagine Jassi pretending to be an uneducated boy who pronounces control as kentrol when Bansal clearly states he was good in padhai😭😭😭 bechara. I can see him helping Zayan with his schoolwork
Anonji!
Lmao yess, like I keep thinking if their diction had to be altered too, because if you notice during Jassi's brief with Sanyal in Dubai, when he is giving info to Sanyal about the fake notes being shipped, his speech style is distinctively Indian, as well as very...soldierly. but when Sanyal confirms the free hand, referring to him specifically as Hamza(which I believe was deliberate to show that the conversation was at its end), his diction and speech style changes back to the slightly altered Hindi affected by Urdu, using words like Mushtaqbil and all. And of course we have the infamous Mehroom and kentrol. His diction when speaking to Yalina right after the reveal is also interesting, because it's a mix of both, like his brain cannot select which to adhere to, and imo, we see the most "impassioned" version of Jassi right there, the closest we come to seeing Jassi's patriotism and true emotions regarding his mission, because he constantly shutters his face in regards to emotions, which is why scenes like the 26/11 and the walima and kentrol scene are so poignant, because seeing actual emotions on his face is so rare that it seems OOC for him.
And yes, I do see Yalina taking care of Zayan's studies initially, thinking that Hamza might not have formal education, and after the reveal,she realises that there is no way the man is not educated in some fashion,since he clearly knew how to read and write in Urdu when he was an Indian who probably didn't learn it from childhood, so she is just like,another thing that gives her son a way to bond with his dad, even though she is still on the fence with her feelings for him, and is surprised to see that somehow, Zayan was actually willing to sit down and study unlike with her,where he would be constantly trying to make a break for it and she realises her husband is actually training their son to study in the pomodoro format without all the schmancy terms. Like yeah, topper Jassi had a strategy to study that kept his mind fresh which he passed onto his son, just like his love for football.
I kinda wonder what Sanyal thinks of Jassi, like he knows he picked up Jassi from one hell only to bring him to another, knowing there is no light at the end of the tunnel for him. Does he kinda feel nice thinking at least Jassi has people he loves and who sincerely love him in Pakistan, he asked Hamza about Yalina and Zayan when they met him in Dubai, he ought to know Yalina and Zayan mean something to Jassi. Also how there is such a huge emphasis on family through Sanyal’s character in the film. He calls Jassi his boy when talking to the ISI Chief at the end, he sure is very fond of him. Also what were Sanyal and Alam thinking seeing Hamza get involved with Yalina, I mean they knew she is a spy’s daughter now getting married to a spy. Do they kinda feel bad for her knowing they are dragging her into a mess that’s bigger than her.
Also imagine Yalina after the reveal going through sone documents and sees her marriage certificate and she sees Hamza Ali Mazari written in place of husband’s name and she thinks that nothing in her world is real not even her marriage, her child’s birth certificate is also fabricated, Zayan’s birth certificate will always have an alias instead of an actual name, his school documents have the wrong name in the father’s place. She is literally married to a ghost. I wonder whether RAW picked up a Hamza Ali Mazari that existed whose brother passed away while serving in the BUF and they just placed Jassi in his shoes. I wonder what Yalina thought of the man behind Hamza when she still didn’t know his real name and his true feelings. Did she think he was mentally laughing at her seeing her fussing around him, taking care of him, loving him, when he was just using her for his own benefits? Did she think he was picturing someone else mentally, who belonged to his nation, who knew him before he became what he is, someone who was waiting for him at the other side of the border, when he was marrying her, cursing his fate that he couldn’t marry his one true love not knowing she was the woman he loved all along. I kinda wished he specified in clear words on the night of 26/11 or some other day after that, that he was actually not with any other woman but was somewhere else. Probably all her insecurities that slowly vanished through the course of her marriage came back all again the night of the reveal. And how would Jassi reassure her this time around knowing that he is the reason she is like that.
What was Jameel thinking when he married her off to Hamza? Did he mentally apologise to her for setting up her marriage for failure, knowing this will most probably end up in heartbreak for her either by loosing her husband to death or his extraction back to his homeland. What did he feel when he saw Yalina so happy around hamza before the reveal and saw that Hamza was equally happy in her presence? What did he feel seeing Hamza play around with Zayan? What did he feel when he was playing around with his grandson? Were he and Jassi sort of grateful to RAW for giving them another chance at a family no matter how twisted the reason and the end might be? What did Jamali feel when he came back home after saving Jaskirat to see a crying Yalina and had to lie to her face that her husband is dead(thats what he did mist probably)? What did he feel seeing his daughter blame herself for her husband’s death knowing it was not her fault and in fact he is alive?
What did Hamza feel when he saw Yalina looking at him with eyes full of trust? What did he feel when he saw Zayan looking at him with eyes full of trust? What did he feel on his actual birthday looking at Yalina treating it as any normal day knowing that if she knew today was his birthday she would turn the whole house upside down to make him feel good? Did he ever think of going back in time and never crossing her lath just so he can save her the heartbreak? But without Yalina he would have actually become a killing machine. What did he feel when Yalina asked him about his side of family and he lied even about that? What did he think of the simple, ordinary days with Yalina? What did he think seeing Yalina get along with Alam bhai, thinking would she get along the same with his dad? What did he think seeing Yalina and Rizwan, did he wish for her to tease Pinda the same way she teased him? Or just teasing Rizwan but not using his cover name but his actual name? Did he feel bad seeing burger bacha Yalina adjusting to his kabootar khaana just for him and thats when he silently promised himself to buy a big house for her?
I love Hamlina so much and will talk about them till the end of the world. This is one of the sole reasons I love star crossed lovers, the sheer What Ifs they leave behind and hamlina top the list just for the angst, the fluff potential and the chemistry. Please take your time and update when you feel, we are all here patiently waiting. Also, please ignore the errors I am still a little sleepy😭
-Lovergirl
Hello Lovergirl ji!
Honestly, I am on the fence with this, I do think that Sanyal has quite some fondness for Hamza in specific (and I have a headcanon that while Sanyal said 'criminals' it was not any criminal they were picking up, they were picking people who had a history of patriotism and got fucked by the justice system : peeps from the army, the civil service 'rejects' who turned to crime to avenge a loved one and were thrown into life sentence or death row for it. So imo, the program was also a way for the agencies and army to give a 'new life' to people they thought Judiciary had failed or had wrongly punished) because to Sanyal, what Jaskirat did was very valid. We already know that Sanyal lowk hates the politicians and their greedy, grubby hands and Sukhwinder probably pissed him off because Sukhwinder was a gunda who got away from justice using his political clout, so think he specifically came for Jassi himself, while most other recruits were met by either Bansal or another officer.
Also, secondary headcanon, coming from my observation that Hamza was given a 'free hand' only after Aalam's death, which makes me think, that he was following instructions with everything else, including marrying Yalina, getting Rehman to take over all of Lyari and getting him big enough for ISI to notice, and then the Uzair thing was also somewhat directed, like yes, I do think he improvised and did a lot of things based on his own decision too, but I think Aalam and through him, Sanyal had a lot of part in Hamza's plans. So the plan, imo had been: if you get into Rehman's gang, try to displace Uzair as main right hand man and become his most trusted confidante, but that wasn't working very well, because while Uzair was easy to manipulate, Rehman wasn't. So while he replaced Donga easily enough, Rehman held onto his cousin like his life depended on it, so he got orders to change tactics and go after Yalina , whom he had been using as an info source from before this, and he does all that 'test the give of the leash' thing and gets married to her. Finally, Hamza has the clout to stay at the top even if Rehman dies, cus Jamali will sponsor Hamza as the next evil overlord of Karachi for selfish reasons. Baaki toh aapko pata hi hai.
So I do think Sanyal felt glad Hamza had someone, but he was also sceptical, ecause this meant two vulnerabilities for someone who was supposed to be invincible (if you remember that statement from an F1 driver that he had risked it all and overtaken another competitor in a deadly way and didn't expect him to reciprocate because the competitor had a family to return to,similarly, Hamza now had reasons to hesitate, live and defect, when he was already very twitchy about defecting)
And I think the 'my boy' thing is a military thing, rather than fondness(though I do agree that there was fondness too) where platoon leaders refer to their soldiers as 'their boys' to invoke the similarity of father and sons amongst the group and the feeling of ownership being parental rather than hierarchical. And I do think Aalam felt bad for Yalina's inevitable fate, but ultimately was happy for Hamza. Sanyal on the other hand, had never met her, so she was just another piece on the chessboard to him, and whatever courtesy he had forgotten her well being was only related to how she is important to two of his most important assets. Sanyal has been looking at the forests for too long to care about the trees, let alone the 'undergrowth'. See, for eg, the first spy didn't get saved, Sanyal skipping hoops to get Hamza out was both a favour to Jamali(he said please, dude) and a 'mera babbar sher' thing.
I do think Yalina suffered through a lot of mental pressure, overthinking and second guessing post the reveal and I agree with all those scenarios, especially her wondering if Hamza had been laughing at how hard she had fallen for him and how overtly expressive she was about it.
As for the existence of a 'Hamza Ali Mazari' in the BUF, well conspiracy theory time, again. I think Dhar specifically angled to show that it was Afghanistan he got through,not Balochistan, to keep India and RAW's involvement with the BLF off his screen and to not create 'see even they accept it' that Pak could have pulled, which, with the way they use social media hear-say to make claims, could very well happen. So he made it seems like Hamza had no connections to BUF other than through Rehman. Instead, in a real scenario, it would have been BUF 'sending' Hamza with a recommendation letter from Shirani to Rehman.
As for Jamali, he is a very grey character to me. I do think that he did try to stop Yalina a little, a token protest if you will, because imo, Jamali both approved of Hamza and needed the political clout, so while I don't think Jamali sold Yalina, I don't think he put his best efforts to stop it either. And he kinda came to hold Hamza very dear later, even when he was mad at the beginning. He definitely didn't tell Yalina Hamza is alive, and tried to get her to move on, finally giving up and thinking it's for best so that an actual asshole dude who was power hungry would not remarry Yalina and use her and Zayan as hostage to get political clout from Jamali.
And yes, I do think Hamza had guilt about dragging her into the mess, but he justified it as 'following orders' for some time, and then he actually fell for her and he tried to get her to leave him, because she deserved better according to him, both as Hamza and Jaskirat. He did build the house specifically as an apology for the year or so of living so frugally and below her means in his shoebox apartment.(It's not actually a shoebox, but to someone like Yalina, it was. It was just really ratty looking. Rehman had actually given him one of the best apartment s he gave his underlings, the apartment was actually something he would give one of his lieutenants, not a newbie. Infact he had given him the same luxurious apartment with a view of Lyari that he had given his own brother in law, high praise and respect from Rehman, for saving Faisal and trying to save Naieem too)
I also think he tried his best to not think about Pinda and the others so that he could keep remembering the lies he had told himself and not mix up his backstory. And also that Yalina didn't get comfortable with Rizwan until Zayan started calling him Chachu. And when Hamza saw them, it actually reminded him of himself and Jasleen far more than it reminded him of Pinda. So one day, after the reveal, when things had settled, he had pretended to be nostalgic about home and told her about having sisters who tied him rakhi and how it had made him feel like his sisters' biggest protector and how it was actually started as a symbol of gratitude by a queen. He lowk inspired Yalina to tie Rizwan a rakhi after she realised he might be a spy too)
Also, Lovergirl ji, I also love talking about Hamlina and all the other conspiracy theories too, so don't think you are isolated in the need to always return to them every time you think of Dhurandhar. I am in the same boat!
do you have more fun/cute hamlina headcanons or just any other characters in general?
Anonjiii!
>>Aalam has done many odd jobs before becoming a doodh soda-wala and one of them was embroidery at a tailoring shop (because people underestimate what you can hear at a seamstress' shop for rich peeps and that was the first job Jameel had arranged for him, covertly, ofcourse. The doodh soda thing was his own efforts, and he even grew out a daadhi for that persona)
Glad you asked. I was dithering about this cus I already have headcanons for Hamlina and I didn't want to seem repetitive, and then Yasu ji asked for a few HCs or something and I remembered this ask, so imma go hard. Okay, based on a few more random observations from the movie:
For Aalam Chacha:
>>Relating to my previous headcanon, Aalam actually liked the job at the seamstress' because it was fun and relaxing, unlike being a soda shop owner in the middle of Lyari and being stuck between two mercurial ganglords. So, to remember his lessons and also cus he could, he would embroider his aprons. And wear them too. He especially liked embroidering flowers and delicate flora because it both showed his skill and made him seem more harmless.
>>Aalam was a better spy than Hamza.(obviously, he was more experienced) Omar's men absolutely ransacked Aalam's shop which was also his home and found nothing suspicious. Not even a paper or anything. And then there is Hamza, who kept his dear diary in his walk in closet that he shares with his wife (who has seen her husband write in it and hide it away whenever she got too close) and even his five foot wife was able to find it in less than ten minutes when she searched it, even when he had kept it on the top shelf so that Yalina couldn't reach it.(lol tall king taking advantage of short girl problems, but our shawty was determined)
>>Aalam had actually written a few recipes in normal ink in the first few pages, so that even if it got discovered, with its invisible ink and how often he wrote on it, people would just dismiss it as his recipe book. (He actually did write his own recipes in that book and when he gave it to Hamza, he had felt like he was passing on a tradition to his son. Hamza had all those recipes memorized too, even though he never admitted it. He also added his own 'recipes' to it. There was the Lehsuni Daal with Ghee Rice that his dad had taught him, and the Tomato Rice he had learnt from his training buddy during his fauji days, Also, there was the exact Lassi recipe that Jasleen liked, with a bit of ghee and honey added in, cus it tasted like like a richer version of Lassi, close to the Panchamrit that they had tasted in their friend Rahul's house during their festivals and poojas. When Rizwan had first opened the book after Jassi's extraction, he had cried for hours and hours because this felt like a gift and a blanket all in one, because somewhere between the pages of a book meant to be a hitlist, Aalam Chacha and Hamza bhai, his two dearest compatriots, still lived. Rizwan had watched Hamza kill Aalam bhai without a single flinch or protest and had then blown up a building while his best friend was inside. This felt like forgiveness and love)
>>Aalam had never dreamed of having a family (he did, he was an orphan who had had to watch his family die in the Kashmir exodus, and had then roamed Barielly as a child, without anyone offering to feed or shelter him, forced to become a pickpocket. Then he had become a spy and family had become a distant dream, so he had buried it in his psyche), so when Hamza introduced Aalam as Daadu to Zayan, he had gotten emotional and hugged Hamza real tight (he had cried, but only Hamza knew that). After that, Hamza had stopped being a ward. He was family. And Aalam had no regrets when he died, because he had died honoring his motherland and protecting his son. What greater martyrdom could he achieve?
>> Rizwan had joined the Pathan gang and had been appalled by how Arshad and Yasir let Babu and his ilk run amok with their disgusting predatory behaviour. He had been lowk hoping that Hamza failed at saving Naieem so that Rehman would finally kill Babu and be done with all the bother. Though he did not wish for his brother to fail or a child to die either. He had felt horrified when he had discovered that his wish had been granted, in its own sick way. Hamza had not failed in saving a child, a child had been saved, but another was dead, and later, so was Babu.
>>Aalam's juice shop had continued to run, as 'Aalam Juice Centre' itself even after his death. A discreet move by Hamza, that was continued by Rizwan. It went on to become a landmark in Lyari. People considered it legendary, because two of their most beloved Sardars (Dons, really, bfr) had come from these humble beginnings and both had honored their first mentor far more than they had their predecessors.
Rizwan:
>> When the chance to switchover came, during the gangwars, Rizwan had basically jumped, skipped and hopped to the other side (that whack he gave Yasir was personal. He had been wanting to whack that lil bitch since the first time he met him. Though he absolutely could not stomach the brutal ends the brothers had had.)
>> He had been absolutely disgusted with Uzair Baloch's spiral, and had been lowk in awe of Hamza managing to not throw up, because he remembered that during their trainings, Hamza had always been the 'give quick death because its justice, not vengeance' guy, and had always used moves that would target either the head or the neck for a quick death. He had seen Hamza look dazed and lost while Uzair had spent nearly 5 hours painfully dismembering a fully conscious Yasir in front of Arshad. Yasir had been his last brother alive and Rizwan didn't know much about Hamza's past but he did know that Hamza had been sentenced to death for exacting vengeance for the deaths of his family and rescuing another family member, possibly a sister, from a politician by killing the entire family's men. Rizwan had been the only one who had seen Hamza throw up, later, when Uzair had fucked off to torture Arshad some more while Hamza made up an excuse about wanting to take a piss. (He had held back his hair, and quipped a joke about it, like their old days back in the training camp, and Hamza had pushed him and cracked a grateful smile at him in the same breath)
>> While most of the men didn't know it, Zayan would always call Rizwan Chachu when it was just them in the room. Rizwan had never married and never had kids of his own, but after Hamza had died (Jassi had left), he had practically adopted Zayan. Yalina had been grateful for it too, she too had been tired and grieving and had not had the strength to tell Zayan that his abbu was dead. And considering the guilty look in her eyes, he had a feeling that Yalina knew more than she let on. Had known for a long time.
>> Rizwan had subtly pushed Yalina to succeed her dad in the political arena, finally convincing her to stand as a mayor, and later, an MNA from MMP. She had once cornered him and tied him a rakhi and asked him if he had had sisters, back when he had been with Hamza before he came to Pakistan. He had nearly shat himself and cried at the same time (Hamza, that bitch, had told her everything). He denied vehemently about knowing what she was talking about, but had never taken off the little token from his wrist.
>> He had died as Rizwan, but he had once been Dhruv. Rizwan had been jealous of Hamza in his last days because the fucker was dead and had left him alive( he missed his best friend and confidante)
That's it, for now, folks. Also, this is a conspiracy theory of mine, that when Sanyal asks after Yalina and Zayan, Hamza gives a long pause and only nods, never speaking, because spy!Hamza was warring with husband!Hamza in his head, to not tell Sanyal about Yalina finding out. He doesn't speak and only nods so that in effect, he had neither lied to his superior nor has he revealed Yalina's knowledge of his cover. But Jameel knew that Yalina knew, when she slips up about it while hurriedly calling her dad. But he doesn't tell Sanyal either.
Also, Sanyal is really shook about finding out how much fake currency was coming into India. Why was that? when Jameel too had been in the meeting, and clearly had a direct line to Sanyal too? Does this mean that Jameel really doesn't make reports or anything and truly is a deep asset, who doesn't directly contact anyone at all?
Just got done reading Dad-isms and let me tell you I have never giggled so hard in my life. A week long skip was worth it if it resulted in such a cute fic. You know what I love the most in your writing is your ability to make us feel things. What you write can also be written very mundanely but the way you explain things be it even a glint in the eye is so beautiful. All of these topics can also be very boring to read if not written by a capable writer but they way everything is explained even the way a character stops their dialogue the moment they realize something, or they way they repeat something because it grounds them makes me feel like I am there in the room with them. Even your dialogues are not cringe, they are cute and funny and make me blush at times. Your dialogues are so incredibly endearing. What you write is not rushed neither is it extremely slow paced, it is exactly what it should be. The situations that you come up with are just so cute and I can totally imagine Hamza Yalina doing this. A fan of how you never move too away from the characters, I came here to read a Hamza-Yalina fic and that's exactly what I get. Even with Second Chance, Jaswinder is exactly how I would imagine an older Jassi who finally gets to be with his love but is actively trying to hide away something will behave. He will cherish his time with Yalina but will zone out thinking about what being with Hamza made out of Yalina or how she would react if she knew he hid two identities from her. You possess a great talent Gremlin ji.
-Lovergirl
Lovergirl jiii!
I am always looking forward for an ask from you because ab aap thode se sage se lagne lage ho, yk? Like I know you even if I don't know you, aur humare vicharon mein bohot samta bhi hain, toh I also love hear your thoughts.
Also, itna saara pyaar! kahin mujhe diabetes na ho jaaye!(aap bohot sweet ho ji, and honestly, I am endeared by the way you write your asks too, its so well structured and you are so articulate too, love it. Also, you write it with all punctuations, and the voice of an English teacher that always stares over all my writings in my head, loves this)
You all make me feel so accomplished and competent with how much you guys hype me, you have no idea! And I love trying to maneuver a character to my plotline within the constraints of their original behaviour and character cues, because that feels far more challenging than going OOC, yk? Tho I do think that my version of Hamza is faaar more rotlu than in canon, I do hope tho, that my attempts at highlighting his strategic mind and tactical brilliance shines through between all those emotions and tears too.
You know I think Hamza was already in love with Yalina before marriage like those smiles with Yalina on the bike were way too big to just be honeytrap. Also the way he was blushing a lot more than her during the Eid sequence always gets me. Bro was down bad. Looking at Ranveer and Sara in that Eid sequence made me realise even a romantic gaze can be faked, how do actors even do this😭😭😭
If he was in love with her before marriage and before killing Rehman then imagine if he went back to India like he initially intended and then realised he loved Yalina 😭😭😭. What would he do?
Anon ji!
I do agree that he did love Yalina since before their marriage, he just didn't want to acknowledge it (or probably didn't even realise it). Also, for all that I harped on here yesterday that I think Ranveer and Sara's chemistry was shaky, I believe the Gehra Hua montage truly is some of his best chemistry with a costar after Deepika and Sonakshi (In the depths of my heart, his worst chemistry was with Alia, but don't tell anyone), actors are freaking strong (also, if you knew old bollywood, and some sandalwood rumours you wouldn't believe how zany old cinema was and how hygienic and more above board it has gotten).
Also, while I think that Jaskirat actually would have never abandoned his post(too much of an overachieving fauji for that, our goodboi), if he ever did, I imagine it would be something like main wapas aaunga. where he leaves, has an entire family, and then remembers his first love on a deathbed (though if we being real, if Hamza ran away after all that love and 'babbar sher'-ing from Sanyal, Sanyal would be so mad that he would cosplay as Shikari Shambu and hunt down a lion by himself. Hammza would never live to see his next birthday loll.) Either way, I firmly believe, that in every reality that Jaskirat does end up crossing paths with Yalina, does end up getting to know her, regardless of their fate as a couple, Yalina and her memories are always Jassi's last seven minutes.
I also headcanon, that Aalam did warn Sanyal about Jassi's admission of wavering loyalties after Rehman's death and that is the reason that Sanyal hurries to meet Jassi and give the 'reward' of a free hand, because Aalam was cooling Jassi's more impulsive tendencies and now that he was gone, he needed some grounding. Also, I think that the 'Yalina aur Zayan kaise hain' was a threat. 'Fuck up and we know what you hold dear' though Sanyal (moreso Maddy) did a great job of tempering that reminder to sound like concern.
Hamlina is very underrated on AO3 and Tumblr but it has huge fandom on insta and youtube. Even wattpad has quiet a few hamlina fics. There is a spy hamlina there too I believe, although very few readers. But you'll have to look under yalina tag for the hamlina fics, hamza tag has quiet a few stories so it gets lost in there
Hello Anon ji!
I was aware of the love they receive on Wattpad and Youtube, but I am not very active on insta these days, so I didn't know that. I am not sure if you say mean to say that there is spylina on wattpad or that there is spy AU Hamlina, I am assuming the former. I would love to check it out, but you know me and my wattpad problems so imma ask Adira to check it out in my stead whenever she is free, maybe we can get a few pointers there!
Thank you so much for the recs dear, wish you a lovely day 😊
Hi gremlin ji, I have a question... plz dont be offended.
For while now I have seen this and been wondering... why does the Hamlina fandom struggle so much, despite being the canon ship and the most screentime ship? AO3 is dominated by Hamzair, and tumblr by Rehmat... both of those arent really there in the movies. But you look at AO3 and it's all about them, and on tumblr it feels like every day or every other day someone posts a Rehmat fic... Hamlina struggles. I just dont understand...
Anonji!
Namaste! never apologize for curiorsity, especially one that stems from disappointment. Rahi baat popularity ki, toh Rehmat, we got very little of them, so it allowed us to give them whatever lovestory we wanted, the few scenes we saw of them together, they both were incredibly loving and entwined, Rehman was very physically affectionate with Ulfat in a culture that demands that all PDA be behind closed doors. So I think it stood out and stuck with people (And both Dhar and Akshaye (as well Sowmya) probably intended just that. because love humanises criminals, and for Rehman who was such a cruel man both in the movie and irl, he did have a 'soft side'. IRL, it translated to building hospitals and jobs. In the movie, they couldn't show that because they needed it for Rehman's politician arc, so they gave him a 'loving husband' persona, imo)
As for Hamzair...well doomed Yaoi has always been enticing is all I can say, And Ranveer has remarkable chemistry with everyone he tries to have chemistry with. Could probably have chemistry with a wall if he tried. But both Sara's own inexperience with romantic roles (not acting, but the 'intimacy' of a couple over what she has acted in, till now, is very different), and Dhar's fear of stepping on toes with such a young actress after what the audience did with Salman and Saiee(valid btw), we had very few scenes of them being romantically involved in any intimate capacity. Heck Hamza came closer to kissing Uzair with all that neck grabbing and manhandling that he did Yalina, on screen, at least, except that one gun scene (which they received a lot of backlash for) and the 'night of the wedding' shot, where it appears like Yalina is sleeping in the bed in some level of nudity alluding to acts of intimacy, while Hamza decides to off Rehman and locks in with his dear diary thing. Add in Ranveer's own awkwardness probably (he has never worked with someone this young as his partner, I believe, his next worst chemistry was with Sara Ali Khan, and she too, was young, if not as young as Sara Arjun is, he probably does feel too old with her, considering how hard he went with the 'I feel like she is my younger sister' thing during the promotions) and the audience knowing how imbalanced and hurtful to Yalina the story really is... I am not surprised that it is not all that popular. If you remove the context of the spy thing, you could almost change the story to another example of a conversion racket or a story that shows older men preying on naive, young women from well to do families and then abandoning them with a child. If this was an Indian girl with a Pakistani spy, trust me, this would be on atleast a few facebook warning Indian girls about love marriage or something similar(we would have Kerala Story 3: spy edition), at the very least. Sara would be receiving crass posts and life threats like Vivek Sinha did, people would be calling her disgusting names for not exposing Hamza. I hope you are catching what I am throwing, though I am refraining from stating the exact words because I don't want to take sides in a political debate on this blog.
As for popularity on sites...well, as a veteran fanfic reader, let me tell you about a ...stereotype, if you will. AO3 is considered as a site that usually has a lot of plus 18 writing and usually leans towards same-sex couples. If you see the stats for each fandom on ao3, non-canonical, yaoi/yuri couples are the norm there, I am not trying to throw shade or anything, just why Hamzair dominates ao3...because ao3 has always been a safespace from the judgement and homophobia that big fandoms like DC and Marvel with their long standing, old school fans showcase. being very...disgusting with what they say, esp couples like superman x batman (other marvel same-sex ships) and stony/stucky or others. As for Rehmat's popularity in the tumblr space...well, tumblr is knows for their xOC fics or the xY/N fics...and Ulfat is practically an OC with a face claim (Love to Saumya and ulfat and rehmat, don't be mad, my lovely rehmat friends, I am not shading, these are just my observations)
But ohh well, at the end of the day, as I have always stated, the internet is a big place, and we all have our own little corner of the sky on here, be it on whichever website it is. And its always better to enjoy what's on your plate, rather than worrying about what's on another's. Us few handful people, we have built a close knit community too, even if its not as popular as rehmat or hamzair, its ours, and its enough. Despite our discontent at how 'unpopular' or isolated our fave pair is, ultimately, we can never force it on anyone else (and shouldn't) and we shall never yuck anyone's yum, when they can easily do the same to us too. So, it is what it is.
LOML by Taylor Swift is just sooo Hamlina coded. Also Barbaad from Saiyaara too
Anon jii!
Yes, they are! Esp the saiyaara one. Tbh, I have been rotating between Kahe Mose and Jiya (Arijit's vocals are maddening in that one). I haven't really heard LOML much, because I don't listen to English songs much, but dang, when I heard it for the first time I was shook, and when I saw this ask, I was reminded of that feeling, because damn, that transition from Love to loss was hard hitting. Thank you soo much for the recs, dear!
How are you darling? Bahut time se interact nhi kia maine and I missed you so I dropped by. Chumissss
Carmen jiii!
Thank you so much for checking in, I am so sorry, I really have been AWOL lately, haven't I? These days I barely have time to do much other than give this app a cursory scroll and answer the comments on my fics, I haven't even kept up with the fics I had been following, I have been that busy with my job. Thank you so much for remembering me, you are very very sweet ji, love you loads!!! Hugs and kisses to you too!
