𝒮𝒶𝓊𝒹𝒶𝒹ℯ

[immortalconfluxmuse]

Final Masterlist of stories 💗

• 𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓪𝓺-𝓮-𝓚𝓪𝓼𝓪𝓴

• 𝓐𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓻-𝓮-𝓜𝓸𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓪𝓽

• 𝑻𝒂-𝑯𝒂𝒅𝒅-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒

• 𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 7

The gates of the haveli slammed shut downstairs with a echoing boom that vibrated through the floorboards. The convoy roared away, taking the last trace of jasmine and mountain air out of the room, leaving behind nothing but the scent of dust and split blood.

And then, the silence is broken.

A jagged sound vibrated from the depths of Uzair chest. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh.

"Heh... Hahaha..."

Uzair slowly peeled his hands away from his face, his shoulders starting to roll violently. He tilted his head back, his eyes staring blindly up at the high ceiling of the bedroom, and he laughed out loud.

"Hahaha! Hamza Ali Mazari..." he rasped out, repeating the name into the empty, ruined sanctuary.

As the laughter ripped from his throat, the tears didn't stop. They poured down his cheeks in nonstop, burning rivers, washing through the sweat on his jawline and splashing onto his kurta. He is laughing at the brutality of it all. He had wanted to break Hamza pride to keep him safe in his cage; instead, he had given birth to a lethal ruler who would now lead an entire army to destroy him.

"Uzair... Uzair, hosh mein aa! Khuda ke liye chup kar!" Rehman yelled, as he rushed forward from the wall, violently grabbing Uzair shoulder. "Pagal ho gaya hai kya?! Shirani poore Balochistan ko lekar hamare sir par khada hai! Teri tabahi ka sauda ho gaya hai yahan!"

Uzair wrenched his shoulder back, his laughter suddenly cutting short into a lethal grin. He looked at his older brother, his eyes wide and completely vacant of sanity, the tears still tracking down his face.

"Tabahi...?" Uzair whispered, "Rehman bhai... aapko abhi tak samajh nahi aaya? Mera rounak chala gaya. Mera nikaah toot gaya. Meri jaan us gaadi mein baith kar chala gaya..."

He raised his right palm—the palm that had just locked grips with Hamza, the palm that still tingled with the cold, sharp press of that ring.

"Yeh sauda nahi hai, bhai," Uzair chuckled "Yeh toh ishq hai... ab Hamza mujhse dushmani nibhayega. Aur qasam khuda ka, main uska har ek goli apne dil par muskura kar khaoonga."

The transition from the gentle boy of the mountains to the iron-willed heir of the Baloch takht happened the exact moment the borders of Karachi vanished in the rearview mirror.

After that day, the courtyard of the mazari estate became a place of silence. —the sweet laughter that accompanied his poetry or the gentle way he used to cradle little Faizal on his lap—is buried in the dust of Lyari.

No one saw Hamza soft-smile ever again. Not even once.

When the elders of the tribe gathered in the vast, carpeted meeting halls, they no longer saw a fragile boy wrapped in an oversized shawl. Hamza sat at the head of the table, his posture rigidly straight, His waves of hair were tied back strictly, exposing a jawline that had hardened into marble. His hazel-green eyes, once bright and full of raw emotion, were now two flat, piercing stones of jade that looked through men rather than at them.

"Hamza, beta..." Shirani Sahab had tried once, entering his private study in the dead of night, finding his nephew reviewing map lines of supply routes. The old man voice was heavy with a regret. "Thoda aaram kar lo. Bahut waqt pada hai dushmani ke liye."

Hamza didn't look up from the ledger. His fingers, still bearing that platinum wedding band on his right hand like a cold weapon, didn't even tremble.

"Mamu, aaram unke liye hota hai jinke paas khone ko kuch bacha ho," Hamza replied, "Agli meeting Quetta ke sardaron ke sath hai. Hamein Lyari ke har ek raaste ko block karna hai. Business par dhyan dein, baaki baatein fizool hain."

Shirani Sahab closed his eyes in grief. He had brought his bacha back from the cage, but the boy had left his soul behind in that ruined bedroom.

There were no tears. Not in the lonely hours of the night when the mountain winds howled against his windows, and definitely not during the brutal, tactical briefings where the destruction of the uzair Jan Baloch clan is systematically mapped out. If Uzair name was brought up by the commanders, Hamza pulse didn't even skip a beat. He would simply tap his fountain pen against the table and dictate the coordinates for the next ambush.

He is always on business. Always in meetings. Leading weapons shipments, organizing political alliances, and solidifying a blockade that is slowly choking the life out of Lyari's empire. The soft boy who had whimpered under Uzair crushing weight had been completely cremated. In his place stood a ghost wrapped in silk and iron—a ruler whose only purpose was to ensure that when the leader of Lyari finally met his end, it would be by Hamza own hand.

The dimly lit conference room of the neutral hotel at the border felt like an iron vault. Hamza sat perfectly still at the head of the table, his His hair tied back tightly, his hazel-green eyes fixed on the empty glass in front of him.

The doors groaned open.

Uzair walked in. The immediate, sharp scent of alcohol and stale sweat cut through the expensive jasmine incense of the room. His black kurta was rumpled, his hair wild, and his eyes bloodshot. But the moment his gaze landed on Hamza, a wide, broken smile slashed across his face.

Uzair pulled out the chair opposite Hamza, the wood scraping loudly against the marble floor. He sat down, leaning his forearms on the table, still smiling. He picked up a crystal decanter, poured a dark amber liquid into a glass with a shaking hand, and took a slow sip.

As the liquor hit his throat, a tear broke free from his lashes and tracked down his stubbble. Opposite him, Hamza stone facade didn't break—but a single, tear mirrored Uzair, escaping his eyes and cutting through the skin of his cheek.

"Mubarak ho, Hamza Ali Mazari. Ek mahine mein meri aadhi Lyari ko hila kar rakh diya tumne."

"Business ki baatein kijiye, Uzair Jan Baloch. Main yahan aapka rona sunne nahi aaya."

"Rona? Main toh hans raha hoon, jaan. Dekho... apni tabahi par muskura raha hoon."

"Mujhe 'jaan' mat kaho. Woh larka marr gaya jise is lafz se mohabbat tha."

"Woh kaise marr sakta hai? Use toh maine apne hathon se... isi seene mein dafan kiya tha."

"Toh phir uski qabr par baith kar sharab kyun peete ho?"

"Darr lagta hai ke agar hosh mein aa gaya... toh is dil ko kaise samjhaonga ke tum ab mere dushman ho."

"Aapne khud dushmani chuna tha, Uzair. Jab aapne apna hath uthaya tha."

"Khuda ki qasam, maine tumpar hath nahi uthaya, Hamza! Main... main pagal ho gaya tha, mujhe lag raha tha tum mujhe chhor doge."

"Aur aapne mujhe kaidi bana diya."

"Toh badla lo na! Yeh jo hathaeyar tum Balochistan se bhej rahe ho... mere seene par chalao unhein. Kisi aur ko kyun bhejte ho?"

"Waqt aane par woh bhi hoga. Pehle aapka saltanat ko mitti mein milaoonga, phir aapko."

"Mera takht toh tumhare sath hi chala gaya tha. Ab jo bacha hai... woh sirf ek laash hai jise tum dushmani mein zinda rakhe huye ho."

"Mujhe aapke jazbaat se koi matlab nahi hai. Agle hafte tak Lyari ka jo port area hai, woh mujhe chahiye. Warna agla dhamaaka aapke ghar ke bahar hoga."

"Le lo. Sab le lo. Port le lo, haveli le lo... badle mein mujhe sirf ek baar... sirf ek baar apni woh purana muskurahat de do."

"Maulana sahab ka register yaad hai? Hamza Ali Mazari likha tha maine. Ab hamare darmiyan sirf goli ka rishta hai."

"Goli ka hi sahi... kam se kam rishta toh hai. Tumhara goli bhi mere jism mein utrega, toh main samjhoonga tumne mujhe chhua hai."

"Aap sach mein pagal ho gaye hain, Uzair."

"Ishq mein pagal tha... ab dushmani mein pagal hoon. Lekin tumse door hoker hosh mein nahi reh sakta."

"Toh sharab peete rahiye. Aur apna maut ka intezar kijiye."

"Main har roz tumhara di hui maut ka intezar karta hoon, Hamza. Lekin tum aate hi nahi."

"Main aaonga. Lekin tab... aapke hath mein yeh glass nahi, meri di hui zillat hogi."

"Zillat bhi tumhara... izzat bhi tumhara. Ab toh mera maut bhi tumhara hathon se mubarak hoga."

Hamza fingers tightened around his empty glass until his. The freezing, calculated distance he had maintained for a whole month is suffocating him, He watched another tear roll down Uzair face, matching the one burning on his own cheek.

​Slowly, Hamza stood up from the table, pulling

​"Hamaara mulaqat ka waqt khatam hua, Uzair ," Hamza said, He didn't wait for a response. He turned his back on the scent of alcohol and heartbreak, as he walked toward the exit.

​Uzair didn't chase him this time. He couldn't. The weight of the liquor and the realization that Hamza could now look right at his tears and still walk away kept him anchored to his chair. He watched the doors click shut behind the boy, leaving the room cold, empty, and smelling faintly of old jasmine.

​Left entirely alone, Uzair let out another chuckle. He lifted the shaking glass to his lips, pouring the burning liquid down his throat to numb the phantom feeling of Hamza hand in his. Tears flooded his eyes, dripping nonstop onto the table, but the smile remained carved onto his face. His rounak is coming for his empire, and Uzair was going to let him tear it down piece by piece, just to see him one more time.

​Meanwhile, outside the hotel, the mountains of the border stood dark against the evening sky. Hamza stepped into the back of his armored vehicle, the door slamming shut to seal him into the silence. He leaned his head against the cold glass of the window, his chest heaving with a long, shaky breath he had been holding the entire meeting.

​He didn't wipe the single tear from his cheek. He let it dry, turning to stone just like the rest of him.

​"Mamu," Hamza spoke "Lyari port ki supply lines ka naya route nikaalo. Agle hafte tak haseen baagh waala area haamare qabze mein hona chahiye."

​The war isn't just starting anymore. It's personal, it's ruthless, and neither of them is going to stop until the streets of Lyari ran red with the price of a torn kurta.

The doors of the Lyari haveli didn’t just open when Uzair returned—they practically rattled under the weight of his unsteadiness. The stench of high-proof mountain liquor and stale tobacco preceded him into the courtyard, instantly cutting through the familiar humidity of the Karachi night.

Uzair stumbled past his guards, his towering frame swaying slightly, his black kurta unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He is still smiling, his eyes staring vacantly at the stone floor.

"Uzair!"

Rehman voice echoed down from the first-floor balcony before his boots slammed down the steps. Rehman didn't look like a smug kingpin anymore; his face is gaunt, his eyes frantic, and his vest was missing. The pressure of the last month—the blocked supply lines, the lost shipments, and the absolute radio silence from Major Iqbal handlers—had pushed the older brother to the absolute brink.

Rehman lunged forward, grabbing Uzair by the lapels of his wrinkled kurta

"Kahan tha tu?! Puri sham se port par firing ho rahi hai! Hamare char bande mare gaye aur tu yahan sharab ki tarah sarr raha hai?!" Rehman roared, his spittle flying into Uzair face. "Mazari ke logon ne haseen baagh ka poora ilaqa block kar diya hai! Tu unse milne gaya tha na? Kya kaha us larke ne?! Kya sauda hua?!"

Uzair didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands to push Rehman away. He just slowly tilted his head down,

"Sauda...?" Uzair whispered, "Koi sauda nahi hua, Rehman bhai... Woh toh apna dushmani nibhane aa raha hai."

"Pagal ho gaya hai tu?! Woh hamara saltanat tabah kar raha hai!" Rehman shrieked, striking Uzair hard across his chest, trying to beat some sense into the hollow shell of the leader of Lyari. "Kuch kar, Uzair! Apne mard khade kar! Warna kal subah tak yeh haveli bhi hamara nahi rahega!"

Uzair slowly peeled Rehman hands off his chest chilling strength that belonged to a monster, not a drunkard. He stepped closer to his brother, his breath smelling heavily of alcohol, his eyes suddenly locking onto Rehman,

"Toh rehne do na..." Uzair rasped, a tear cutting through the dirt on his cheek while his lips remained twisted into that smile. "Haveli bhi uska... yeh jism bhi uska. Maine kaha tha na aap se... jis din mera rounak is ghar se jayega, us din Lyari mein sirf maut nachega. Ab dekho... mera Hamza khud maut ban kar aa raha hai mujhe khatam karne."

​Upstairs, behind the railings, Ulfat stood in the shadows, her dupatta pulled tightly around her face. She listened to Uzair laughter and her husband panicked shouting, her eyes closing in a silent prayer. She had saved the boy, but the war she had unleashed is going to burn this entire family to ash.

​Meanwhile, sixty miles away at the edge of the Lyari port, the darkness was illuminated by the orange glow of burning shipping containers.

​The rhythmic, deafening clack-clack-clack of Kalashnikovs tore through the salty sea air. Uzair remaining loyalists were fleeing into the alleyways, leaving behind crates of ammunition and weaponry.

​Stepping through the thick black smoke, his polished black leather boots stepping over the spent shell casings, came Hamza.

​He didn't wear a vest, and he didn't carry a rifle. He walked with his hands folded behind his back, The ring on his finger caught the reflection of the flames, glowing like a brand. Behind him, ten armed Baloch commanders walked in perfect, disciplined formation.

​The local commander of the port territory crawled backward on the concrete, bleeding from his shoulder, looking up at the beautiful, stone-faced heir of the Mazari takht with terror. "M-Mazari Saheb... reham..."

​Hamza didn't look down at the man. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, toward the distant lights of the Lyari haveli. His face is smooth—no anger, no tears, and not a shadow of that soft smile.

​"In sab ko haseen baagh se baahar phenko," Hamza commanded,

The neutral border estate was freezing. The monsoon winds of Karachi rattled the heavy glass panes of the conference room, but inside, the atmosphere is dead silent.

Uzair sat at the far end of the table, the stark scent of high-proof mountain liquor mixing with something metallic and sharp. From the early hours of the morning, a deep, rattling cough had been tearing through his chest, leaving thick, dark stains of blood on his handkerchief. His body is breaking down from the poison of the alcohol and the consuming rot of his own guilt. But the moment the door open, Uzair frantically shoved the blood-soaked fabric deep into the pocket of his kurta. He couldn't let Hamza see his weakness. He didn't want his rounak vengeance to feel like pity.

Lifting the crystal glass with a visibly trembling hand, Uzair took a sip of his drink just as Hamza stepped into the room.

Hamza walked in like a winter storm. His waves of here are bound tightly at the nape of his neck, and his hazel-green eyes were completely devoid of life—flat, piercing, and focused on the maps laid out before them.

As Uzair instinctively tried to stand up, his towering frame swaying slightly, Hamza stopped in his tracks. He didn't offer a hand. He simply shook his head—a gesture that commanded Uzair to stay seated. Hamza pulled out his own chair, sitting directly opposite the man who had once been his entire world.

The single, silent tears that had marked their last meeting were gone. Today, there is only the cold ledger of war.

"Baithiye, Uzair Jan Baloch. Aaj hum yahan rishte tay karne nahi, zameen baantne aaye hain."

"Haseen baagh tumhara hua, Hamza. Mere bande wahan se hat chuke hain. Ab agla ilaqa kaunsa chahiye?"

"Lyari ka poora southern grid. Jahan aapke purane asle ke godam hain. Woh poora zameen Mazari takht ke naam hoga."

"Rehman bhai marr jayenge lekin woh grid nahi denge, jaan... unhone apna poora zindagi us mitti ko khareedne mein lagaya hai."

"Toh unhein maar dijiye. Ya main apne commanders ko bhejkar unhein hatwa doon? Faisla aapka hai."

"Nahi... main khud unhein chup karwaonga. Southern grid tumhara hua. Dastakhat karo aur use apne naam likho."

"Behtar hai. Port ki aadhi royalty ab seedha Balochistan ke khazane mein jayega. Har mahine ki pehli tareekh ko."

"Main khud har mahine check lekar tumhare darwaze par aaonga, Hamza Ali Mazari. Sirf is shart par ke tum mujhe andar aane doge."

"Aap sirf mere munshi se milenge, Uzair. Mere takht tak pahunchne ki auqat ab Lyari ke kisi sardar ki nahi hai."

"Auqat toh mera us din hi khatam ho gaya tha, jab tumne mujhe 'kafir' kaha tha. Ab toh bas yeh sauda hi bacha hai."

"Yeh sauda hi aapko zinda rakhe huye hai. Agar yeh grid mujhe agle do din mein na mila, toh dushmani ka naya daur shuru hoga."

"Do din kyun? Aaj raat hi apne bande bhej do. Main khud chabiyaan unke hath mein somp dunga."

"Aapka yeh jhukaav... yeh sharab ki boo... mujhe pasand nahi aa rahi. Uzair Jan Baloch kisi ke samne nahi jhukta tha."

"Uzair Jan baloch sirf apne rounak ke samne jhukta tha... aur aaj mera rounak mere samne mera sab kuch chheen ne baithi hai. Main khushi-khushi har cheez haar raha hoon."

"Aap haar nahi rahe hain, aap apni maut ka sauda kar rahe hain. Dastakhat kijiye is naye nikaah-nama par... jo dushmani ka hai."

Uzair let out a low breath, pulling the legal documents toward him. His fingers clutched the pen, and with a swift stroke, he signed over the heart of his empire to the Mazari clan. He pushed the papers back across the table, his eyes locked onto Hamza face.

As Hamza picked up the papers, ensuring every territory is legally transferred, Uzair felt another violent spasm hit his lungs. He choked back the cough, his hand instinctively gripping the bloodied handkerchief inside his pocket.

Hamza stood up, folding the documents into his leather vest. He looked down at Uzair one last time, his gaze lingering for a split second on the ring that still sat on his own finger.

"Sauda muqammal hua," Hamza whispered, turning on his heel and walking toward the doors without a single backward glance.

The moment the doors slammed shut, sealing Hamza away, Uzair collapsed forward onto the table. He pulled out the handkerchief and coughed violently, dark red blood splattering across the white linen and the polished wood. But through the pain, the bleeding smile returned to his lips. He had lost his kingdom, but he had bought more days of breathing the same air as his crown.

The atmosphere inside the Lyari haveli had become necrotic. Ulfat moved through the corridors like a silent shadow, her colorful dupattas replaced by shawls. She had entirely stopped speaking to Rehman; the sight of her husband greedy, panicked face only reminded her of the corrupt ISI deal that had ruined everything. She didn't speak to Uzair either. The silence between the brothers is a suffocating wall, and she had no words left for the monster Uzair had become.

But she had eyes. And she had a heart that, despite everything, could not completely shut off the human being inside her.

From her kitchen window, and through the wooden partition of the upper wing, Ulfat had been hearing it for the past four days—that deep, wet, agonizing rattle in Uzair chest. It wasn't a normal winter cough. It's a violent, suffocating spasm that usually ended with the thud of Uzair collapsing against his bathroom sink, followed by the scent of copper and fresh blood lingering in the drains.

She had seen the trash bins in his room when the servants emptied them—white cotton rags soaked through with thick, dark red stains. Uzair is drinking himself to death, his liver and lungs rotting from the pure poison of grief and alcohol. He is choosing slow suicide because he didn't have the courage to put a gun to his own head.

That evening, the haveli is eerily quiet. Rehman is out at the docks, desperately trying to salvage what was left of his bleeding finances.

Ulfat stood outside Uzair locked bedroom door, a tray containing a bowl of warm turmeric soup and a glass of water clutched in her hands. She didn't knock. She used her spare key, pushing the door open with her shoulder.

The room smelled entirely of stale whiskey, sweat, and sickness. The curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the Karachi sunset. There, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his head hanging between his knees, is the feared Leader of Lyari.

"Uzair," Ulfat spoke, It's the first time she had addressed him since the day Hamza left.

Uzair didn't lift his head. He just let out a weak,

chuckle, his voice sounding like it was dragging through gravel. "Bhabhi... aap? Maine kaha tha na... mujhe khana nahi chahiye. Mujhe bas... thoda sukoon chahiye."

Ulfat walked over and slammed the tray down on the dressing table, the loud rattle making Uzair flinch slightly. She stepped right into his space, her shadow falling over his form.

"Mujhe tumhare nakhro se koi matlab nahi hai, Uzair," Ulfat said, "Maine tumhare kachre mein khoon dekha hai. Tum subah se thook rahe ho use. Kab se chal rahan hai yeh?"

Uzair slowly tilted his head up. His eyes were so bloodshot they looked completely red, his cheeks hollowed out, and a thin, dried smear of dark blood was visible at the corner of his lips. He gave her that same smile that had become his permanent mask.

"Khoon...?" Uzair whispered, touching his lip with a trembling finger. "Yeh toh... rounak ka rang hai, Bhabhi. Jo andar ruk nahi raha. Achha hai na... jitna jaldi nikle, utna jaldi sukoon milega."

"Apni yeh bakwaas band karo!" Ulfat snapped, her instinc breaking through her anger as she grabbed his wrist. His skin is scorching with a raging fever. "Tum mard banne chale thay na? Haveli ke sardar thay na tum?! Yeh halat bana li hai apni?! Chalo utho yahan se."

"Kahan...?"

"Doctor ke paas," Ulfat commanded,

Uzair slowly, pulled his hand away from her grip. He looked down at his trembling palm, the palm that had signed away his empire, the palm that still felt the ghost of Hamza ring.

"Nahi, Bhabhi..." Uzair rasped, another wet cough catching in his throat as he pressed his handkerchief to his mouth, the white cloth instantly blooming with fresh red. He smiled through the pain, his eyes swimming with non-stop tears. "Doctor ke paas... doctor ke paas is bimaari ka koi ilaaj nahi hai. Mera dawa... mera dawa toh Balochistan mein baithi hai. Aur woh dawa... ab sirf zeher bhejta hai."

The room fell into an silence, save for the ragged, wheezing sound of Uzair shallow breathing.

Hearing him speak with such pathetic vulnerability broke the hard shell Ulfat had built over the last two months. He in’t the Sardar of Lyari right now; he is just a broken, dying boy begging for a scrap of news about the soul he had driven away.

Uzair slid off the edge of the mattress, his knees hitting the cold floorboards right at Ulfat feet. He clutched the edge of her shawl with his trembling hands, his head bowed as tears soaked into the fabric.

"Bhabhi... aapka baat hota hai kya usse?" Uzair begged, "Kaisa hai woh? Mujhse toh... mujhse toh woh theek se baat nahi karta. Sirf zameen mangta hai, port mangta hai... Do mahine ho gaye, Bhabhi. Maine uska woh purana, masoom aankhein nahi dekhin. Boliye na... kaisa hai mera Hamza?"

Ulfat looked down at his shoulders, her own chest heaving as she choked back a sob. She slowly reached down, her hand resting gently on Uzair hair—not out of forgiveness for what he had done, but out of pity for his wretched state.

"Haan, Uzair..." Ulfat whispered, she looked toward the window, her mind flashing to the secretive, late-night phone calls she had managed to exchange with the Mazari estate. "Baat hoti hai meri... parson hi usne mujhe phone kiya tha."

Uzair head snapped up, his tear-flooded eyes wide with a sudden hunger. He gripped her shawl tighter, "Kya... kya kaha usne? Mere baare mein pucha? Khana kha raha hai woh? Apna bimaari ka dhyan rakh raha hai na?"

​Ulfat closed her eyes, a tear escaping her lashes and tracking down her cheek. She didn't want to break him further, but she couldn't lie to a man who is already standing on the edge of his own grave.

​"Woh theek hai, Uzair... jism se theek hai," Ulfat said softly, "Khaata bhi waqt par hai, aur ab toh poore Balochistan ke faisle khud karta hai. Lekin... lekin woh ab tumhara Hamza nahi raha."

​Uzair smile faltered, his lips trembling. "K-Kya matlab...?"

​"Maine usse pucha tha, Uzair. Maine kaha ke 'Hamza, beta, thoda reham kar, gussa thuk de'..." Ulfat wept openly now, "Toh jaante ho usne kya kaha? Usne mujhse kaha, 'Bhabhi, jis Hamza par reham kiya ja sakta tha, use Lyari ke Sardar ne pehle isi haveli ke farsh par maar diya tha. Ab jo bacha hai, woh sirf Mazari takht ka waaris hai, jo apna hissa lene jald wapas aayega'."

​"Mera bacha patthar ka ho gaya hai, Uzair," Ulfat whispered, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Aur use patthar tumne banaya hai. Ab agar tum doctor ke paas nahi chaloge, agar tum is tarah khoon thookte rahe... toh tum uska dushmani dekhne ke liye bhi zinda nahi bachoge. Utho ab... khuda ke liye apna jaan par reham karo."

Uzair laugh sounded more like a death rattle than a human voice. He slowly used the edge of the mattress to push his frame up from the floor, his knees cracking under the weight. Another violent spasm caught him mid-breath, a wet, agonizing cough tearing through his chest that made his shoulders convulse. He slammed his fist against his chest to force it down, but the white handkerchief he pressed to his lips came away soaked in thick, dark crimson once more.

He didn't look at the blood.

"Chaliye..." Uzair rasped, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a thin smear of red across his stubble. "Phir dushmani dekhne ke liye hi sahi... zinda toh rehta hoon."

He looked at Ulfat, his lips twisting back into that smile. "Agar main marr gaya, Bhabhi... toh mera Hamza kispar apni goliyaan chalayega? Uska yeh naya nasha, yeh takht ki taqat... yeh sab adhoora reh jayega na agar uska dushman hi nahi bacha. Mujhe zinda rehna hoga. Use apna badla poora karne dena hai."

Ulfat couldn't even speak. She turned away quickly to hide the fresh wave of tears,

Uzair didn't care about Rehman, or the empire, or the ports anymore. He didn't wash the blood from his face; he wanted to keep the color of his rounak wrath right there on his skin.

As Ulfat drove the car through the narrow, garbage-strewn alleyways of Lyari toward a private clinic, Uzair leaned his head against the cold glass of the passenger window. He stared at the neon signs of the city, his chest wheezing with every breath, but his hand was firmly clamped around his pocket.

Inside that pocket, beneath the blood-stained rags, was the legal document he had signed earlier that week—the transfer of the southern grid. He closed his eyes, imagining Hamza fingers touching that very paper in Balochistan.

"Zinda rahoonga, jaan..." Uzair whispered into the dark, a final tear slipping into his smile. "Tumhara maut ban kar nahi... tumhara nishana ban kar."

The mountain air in Balochistan didn’t just bite; it sliced.

High up on the terrace of the Mazari fortress, the wind howled through the jagged stone arches, carrying the scent of wild juniper and oncoming winter. The vast, sprawling valley below lay in shadow, dotted only by the campfires of the tribal guards keeping watch at the borders.

Hamza stood right at the edge of the stone railing, the wool of his grey swal wrapped tightly around his shoulders. His waves of hair whipped violently across his face in the gale, but his eyes didn't blink. They were fixed south, toward the distant, invisible horizon where Karachi lay bleeding.

In his right hand, he held the legal document Uzair had signed a week ago—the deed to Lyari’s southern grid. The paper rustled loudly in the wind, but Hamza grip was vice-like. The ring pressed hard against his skin,

A heavy, rhythmic *thud-thud* of a cane echoed on the stone floor behind him.

"Puri saltnat tumhare qadmon mein dheri hai, Hamza," Shirani Sahab’s deep voice cut through the wind. The old lion stopped a few feet behind his nephew, leaning his weight onto his silver-topped cane, "Southern grid par hamare mard baith chuke hain. Rehman ke bande bhaag rahe hain. Tumne do mahine mein woh kar dikhaya jo bade bade sardar saalon mein nahi kar paate."

Hamza didn't turn around.

"Yeh sirf shuruat hai, Mamu," Hamza said, "Rehman ka khatma zaroori hai... taake ISI ka woh zeher dubara hamari mitti par qadam na rakh sake."

Shirani Sahab watched him closely, a flicker of sorrow passing through his eyes. He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a softer, "Aur Uzair? Uska kya karna hai? Humne uska peeth tod di hai, Hamza. Uske hathaeyar, uske ports, uska zameen... sab tumhare paas hai. Woh toh ab sirf ek saaya bacha hai."

Hearing the name Uzair, Hamza thumb slowly traced the wet ink of the signature at the bottom of the page. For a of a second, the image of Uzair sitting opposite him in that hotel flashed behind his eyes—the smell of alcohol, the eyes, and the way the leader of Lyari had trembled while looking at him.

But the memory of his torn kurta and the suffocating bedroom floor violently crashed over him, freezing the brief spark of hesitation into solid ice.

"Uzair Jan Baloch koi saaya nahi hai, Mamu," Hamza whispered, as he finally turned around to face shirani, the wind lifting his hair like a dark halo. "Woh ek jaanwar hai. Aur jab tak woh jaanwar zinda hai, Lyari hamara nahi ho sakta."

He folded the document tightly

"Agli meeting kab hai?" Hamza asked,

"Kal subah, Quetta ke commanders ke sath," Shirani replied, sighing heavily.

"Behtar hai," Hamza said, stepping past the old man without another word, "Unhein kahin ke Lyari ke central network par hamare bando ki nigaah honi chahiye. Main khud agle hafte Karachi jaonga... dushmani ka hissa barabar karne."

The private clinic in Karachi is tucked away in a quiet, sector far from the chaotic grid of Lyari. Inside the sterile white room, the air was cold and smelled strictly of antiseptic, a sharp contrast to the stale whiskey and blood that had followed Uzair for weeks.

Uzair sat on the edge of the examination table, His kurta is pulled down around his shoulders as an elderly doctor, a trusted family contact of Ulfat's, moved a stethoscope across his back.

Ulfat stood near the door, her hands tightly knotted into the fabric of her swal, her eyes scanning the doctor's face for any sign of hope.

The doctor finally stepped back, removing the stethoscope with a sigh. He looked at Uzair,

"Sardar Saheb," the doctor began, his voice laced with concern. "Aapke lungs aur liver dono tezi se collapse kar rahe hain. Yeh sirf sharab ka nasha nahi hai... yeh stress aur andaruni compartment failure hai. Jo khoon aap thook rahe hain, woh is baat ki nishani hai ke aapke andar zakhm itne gehre hain ke agar aapne abhi parhez nahi kiya, toh agle teen mahine mein aapka jism jawab de dega."

Ulfat let out a gasp from the corner. "Doctor... koi dawa? Koi ilaaj?"

"Ilaaj dawaon mein nahi hai, Bibi," the doctor replied, turning to her. "Inhein sukoon chahiye. Aur sharab ko hath bhi nahi lagana."

Uzair let out a chuckle that turned into a brief, rattling cough. He pulled his kurta back up over his shoulders, his trembling fingers slowly buttoning the collar. "Sukoon... Sukoon toh Balochistan ki pahariyon mein chala gaya, doctor sahab. Mujhe bas itna mohlat chahiye... ke jab mera dushman wahan se aaye, toh main uska goli par khada ho sakoon."

"Uzair, chup karo!" Ulfat snapped, stepping forward, "Doctor sahab, aap inhein prescription likh kar dein. Main khud inki dawayen dekhongi."

Meanwhile, at the exact same hour, a convoy of black armored SUVs is crossing the provincial border from Balochistan back into Sindh.

Hamza sat in the middle row of the lead vehicle. The window glass was tinted dark, but the passing streetlights of the Karachi highway periodically illuminated his face. His waves of hair are tied back in a flawless, severe knot. In his lap, he held a leather-bound folder containing the maps of Lyari's central network—the final stronghold of the Baloch clan.

His phone vibrated against his thigh. He picked it up, his hazel-green eyes narrowing as he saw an encrypted number.

"Ji, Mamu," Hamza spoke into the receiver,

"Hamza, hamare khabariyon ne khabar di hai," Shirani Sahab’s voice crackled through the secure line from the fortress. "Uzair kal raat Lyari se bahar ek private clinic gaya tha. Kuch bimaari ka maamla lagta hai. Log keh rahe hain ke woh andar se toot chuka hai."

Hearing those words, Hamza thumb unconsciously brushed against the ring on his right hand. A sudden, sharp image of Uzair coughing into his handkerchief during their last meeting flashed in his mind. The thought of his tormentor being weak should have brought him satisfaction, but instead, a void opened up in his chest.

"Mujhe uska bimaari se koi matlab nahi hai, Mamu," Hamza whispered, "Agar woh bimaar hai, toh apni qabr khud khode. Lekin agar woh mere saamne aane se pehle marr gaya... toh meri dushmani adhoora reh jayega. Main kal subah hi Lyari ke central boundary par hathaeyar supply kar raha hoon. Use keh dein, taiyar rahe."

He ended the call, slamming the leather folder shut. The boy who used to weep at the sight of blood is gone. As the convoy entered the humid air of the city, Hamza pulled his grey swal tighter around his shoulders, The final phase of the war was about to begin.

Hamza sat in the silence of the speeding SUV, the phone heavy in his hand. The logic of his revenge is absolute, yet a strange, sharp ache—something he hadn't felt in months—pierced through the cold armor he wore around his heart. Without waiting for his own brain to catch up with his impulses, his thumb moved before he could stop it, hitting the contact for Ulfat.

The line rang once. Twice. Then, a hesitant, shaky breath sounded on the other end.

"Hamza?" Ulfat voice was barely a whisper, "Hamza, kya... kya hua? Tumne itne mahino baad phone kiya hai?"

Hamza grip on the phone tightened He could hear the faint sound of a car engine in the background on her end—she is clearly in the car, likely taking Uzair back from that clinic.

"Bhabhi," Hamza said, his voice struggling to maintain that tone. He hated that his composure wavered, even if just for a second. "Mene suna hai... ki woh bimaar hai. Clinic gaya tha kal raat."

There was a long silence on the other end, punctuated only by the sound of Uzair rattling cough echoing in the background. It's a sound that had once made Hamza want to hold him, to soothe him; now, it was like a physical blow to his own ribs.

"Hamza..." Ulfat whispered, "Woh mar raha hai. Andar se toot chuka hai woh. Doctor keh raha hai ki agar sharab aur stress band nahi hua, toh..."

"Mujhe uska bimaari mein koi dilchaspi nahi hai," Hamza cut her off sharply, his voice surging with a anger—but he couldn't hide the tremor behind it. "Bas... bas itna keh dena use. Ke agar woh marega, toh mere hathon se marega. Use kehna ke apni maut ko sambhal kar rakhe, kyunki main Lyari aa raha hoon. Use... use kehna ki dushmani abhi khatam nahi hui."

"Hamza, tum bhi jante ho yeh jhoot hai," Ulfat replied, her tone desperate. "Tum dushmani ke naam par sirf apni jaan nikalte dekhna chahte ho—"

"Phone rakhiye, Bhabhi," Hamza commanded, his voice cracking. He cut the line abruptly, tossing the phone onto the empty seat beside him.

He slumped back against the headrest, his chest heaving, his eyes closed tight. He had called to threaten him, to remind him of the war—but all he could hear was that wet, broken rattle of Uzair lungs. He felt a single, tear escape his tightly shut eyes, burning a path down his cheek. He had sworn to be a king of stone, but the mere shadow of Uzair pain is enough to bring his world crashing down into sand.

The clock in the bedroom of the Lyari haveli ticked with a slow rhythm. It's past midnight. The room is dark, illuminated only by the faint, eerie glow of the Karachi streetlights leaking through the curtains.

Uzair lay flat on his back, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. A fresh bottle of liquor sat untouched on the nightstand next to a mountain of crumpled, blood-stained handkerchiefs. He is staring at the ceiling, his feverish skin coated in a thin layer of cold sweat, when his phone suddenly vibrated against the wood.

He didn't move at first. He thought it's Rehman calling about another lost warehouse. But when the vibration persisted, he slowly rolled his frame over and picked up the screen.

The breath completely caught in Uzair throat. His bloodshot eyes widened in the dark.

Hamza.

With a shaking, hand, Uzair swiped the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. He didn't say a word. He couldn't. His throat felt like it was lined with broken glass, and he is terrified that if he spoke, he would just choke on his own blood.

For a long minute, neither of them said anything. The line is just a bridge of two men breathing in the dark—one shallow and wheezing, the other trembling.

"Uzair."

Hamza’s voice finally cut through the static. It in't the flat, robotic voice of the Mazari heir that had spoken at the conference table. It was lower, softer, and laced with a exhaustion.

"Jaan..." Uzair rasped out, "Tum... tumne phone kiya..."

"Maine Bhabhi se baat ki," Hamza said, ignoring the term of endearment, though the line quieted for a second as if he were catching his breath. "Tum khoon thook rahe ho?"

Uzair let out a weak, chuckle, closing his eyes tightly. He pressed his hand over his burning chest, wishing he could feel Hamza touch through the signal. "Kuch nahi hua mujhe... Main theek hoon. Tumhare liye... tumhare dushmani ke liye zinda hoon, rounak."

"Jhoot mat bolo!" Hamza suddenly snapped, his voice cracking into a emotional tremor that he hadn't shown in two months. "Tum sharab pee kar khud ko maar rahe ho, Uzair! Tumhe kya lagta hai? Agar tum is tarah kisi kone mein marr gaye, toh mera badla poora ho jayega?!"

"Toh... toh aa jao na," Uzair begged, his voice breaking entirely as he turned onto his side, curling around the phone like a dying man clutching a lifeline. "Aa jao aur khud maar do mujhe, Hamza... Khuda ke liye, main thak gaya hoon. Yeh jism andar se sarr raha hai. Mujhe tumhare hath ki goli chahiye... kisi bimaari ki maut nahi."

Silence fell over the line again, On the other end, inside his speeding SUV, Hamza closed his eyes, a nonstop river of tears finally breaking through him soaking into his grey swal. He could hear the desperation in Uzair voice—the voice of the monster who had broken him, now reduced to a begging ghost.

"Main subah Karachi pahunch raha hoon," Hamza whispered, "Apne central network ke bando ko hata do wahan se, Uzair. Main seedha haveli aa raha hoon."

"Sab hata dunga... sab kuch tumhara hai," Uzair smiled through his tears, "Haveli ka darwaza khula milega, jaan. Main... main tumhara intezar karonga."

"Sharab mat peena aaj raat," Hamza said, his voice dropping into a soft whisper before the line went dead.

Uzair slowly lowered the phone from his ear, staring at the dark screen. He looked at the crystal bottle of liquor on his nightstand, and with a sudden, forceful sweep of his arm, he shattered it against the floorboards. The dark amber liquid spilled into the dust, mixing with the shadows, as Uzair buried his face in his pillow and wept out loud—not from pain, but because for the first time in two months, his rounak had told him to stay alive.

The dawn that broke over Karachi is heavy, gray, and thick with humidity.

Inside the Lyari haveli, the atmosphere was chaotic. Rehman is screaming at the commanders in the courtyard, his voice cracking with desperation as he realized his men were abandoning the central perimeter.

"Pagal ho gaye ho kya?! Hathaeyar kyun daal rahe ho?!" Rehman shrieked, grabbing a guard by his vest. "Mazari ke log border paar kar chuke hain! Woh yahan aa raha hai!"

"Sardar ka hukam hai, Rehman bhai," the guard said, pulling away with a hollow look. "Hamein piche hatne ko kaha gaya hai."

Upstairs, Uzair stood in front of the mirror of his bathroom. He had washed the sweat and dried blood from his face. His skin is pale, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, but his jaw was clean-shaven for the first time in weeks. He wore a fresh kurta, though it hung loosely on his deflated frame. A sharp, wet cough rattled his ribs, and he quickly spit a mouthful of dark blood into the sink, rinsing it away before anyone could see.

He didn't touch the liquor. His hands were shaking violently, but his mind is entirely focused on the sound of the approaching engines.

The gates of the haveli didn't just open; they are pushed aside by the force of three black armored SUVs rolling into the courtyard. The Lyari loyalists stood back, their hands empty, watching the Baloch commanders step out with their rifles held at low-ready.

Then, the door of the center vehicle opened.

Hamza stepped out into the Karachi air. He didn't look like the boy who had wept in a torn kurta; he looked like an emperor coming to claim a surrendered city.

Rehman lunged forward, his face twisted in fury, but four Mazari commanders instantly blocked him, their rifle barrels pressing hard into his chest.

"Yahan se hato, Rehman," Shirani Sahab voice echoed as he stepped out behind Hamza, "Aaj ka faisla tumhare bas ka nahi hai."

Hamza didn't look at Rehman. His eyes were fixed on the staircase. Slowly, he began to walk up the steps,

The door to the bedroom is slightly ajar. Hamza pushed it open with the tip of his fingers, stepping into the dim, shadow-filled sanctuary. The sharp scent of spilled whiskey from the shattered bottle on the floor hit his nose, but his gaze immediately locked onto the silhouette standing by the window.

Uzair turned around. The moment his eyes landed on Hamza, that smile tore across his face. Tears immediately welled up in his eyes, tracking down into his stubble.

"Tum aa gaye..." Uzair rasped, He took a fragile step forward, his frame trembling from the raging fever burning in his blood. "Mera rounak... wapas aa gaye."

Hamza stopped five feet away. The cold distance he had maintained for months is vibrating under the pressure of his own grief. He looked at Uzair cheeks, the faint trace of illness on his lips, and the devotion in his eyes.

Slowly, Hamza reached into his vest. He didn't pull out a document this time.

He pulled out a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol.

The metallic clack of the safety being switched off echoed sharply in the quiet room. Hamza raised his right hand, his grip steady, pointing the barrel at Uzair chest—right over his heart.

And there, resting perfectly against the black grip of the weapon, was the ring on Hamza finger, catching the dim golden light.

Uzair didn't flinch. He didn't step back. Instead, his smile widened, a tear spilling over his lashes as he looked from the barrel of the gun up to Hamza eyes. He slowly opened his arms wide, exposing his chest completely to the target.

"Maar do..." Uzair whispered, "Khuda ki qasam, Hamza... tumhare hath se maut bhi mere liye nikaah ka tohfa hai. Chalao goli."

Hamza finger rested on the trigger. His face remained perfectly still,

The sleek black pistol trembled for a fraction of a second before Hamza slowly lowered it to his side. The click of the safety being switched back on sounded like a sigh in the quiet of the room.

Hamza face remained a mask of marble, but his eyes shifted, tracking the nonstop tears cutting through the hollows of Uzair cheeks. The sheer sight of the mighty Leader of Lyari—reduced to a feverish, bleeding ghost begging for death at his feet—had broken the last cord of Hamza vengeance.

"Aaj ke baad hamara dushmani khatam hui," Hamza said,

Uzair open arms dropped slightly, his smile freezing on his lips as he stared at Hamza "H-Hamza...?"

"Main hat raha hoon Lyari ke har kone se," Hamza continued "Aapke ports, aapke warehouse, aapka central network... mujhe kuch nahi chahiye. Aaj ke baad agar aapko Balochistan se kuch bhi chahiye—chahe aslah ho, zameen ho, ya mard—aap be-jhijhak bol sakte hain. Mazari takht aapki madad karega."

Uzair took a shaky step forward, his frame swaying from the fever, a wet cough catching in his chest. He reached a trembling hand out toward the fabric of Hamza swal. "Jaan... mujhe yeh sab nahi chahiye... mujhe sirf tum—"

"Aur aaj ke baad," Hamza cut him off l, stepping back just enough to keep his swal out of Uzair reach, "hamara mulaqat sirf kaam ke silsile mein hi hoga."

The words were a different kind of bullet, tracing a clean, permanent boundary between them. Hamza isn't killing him with a gun; he is letting him live, but stripping away the passion of their hatred, leaving behind nothing but transactional business.

"Apni bimaari ka ilaaj karwayiye, Uzair Jan Baloch," Hamza whispered, his gaze lingering for one final, second on the broken man before him. "Ek kamzor Sardar se dushmani nibhane mein Mazariyo ka shaan nahi hai."

With a turn, Hamza walked toward the open bedroom door. He didn't look back at the shattered whiskey bottles, or the blood-stained handkerchiefs, or the man who had once been his entire world. He stepped out onto the staircase, leaving Uzair standing alone in the shadows of his reclaimed, yet entirely empty, empire....

(Naam tera likhne laga aadat mein

Likhti hun ke paagal hun main chaahat mein

Meri jaan meri haan

Tere naal naal rehna)

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 6

The words cut through the heat of the locked room like the edge of a blade.

"Agar zaroorat padi... toh zabardasti bhi karoonga," Uzair said.

His voice didn't shake. It didn’t carry the booming rage of Rehman, nor did it have the panic that was currently ripping Hamza chest apart. It's flat—the tone of the leader of Lyari who had just been backed into a corner by the only person he had ever allowed behind his guard.

Hamza felt a cold tremor spark at the base of his spine, but he didn't look away. The eyes, still wet and clouded with the remnants of his crying, hardened into something entirely unyielding. He let out a mocking laugh against Uzair face, his fingers curling into tight fists against his own sides.

"Toh kar ke dikhaiye," Hamza whispered, his voice cracking but sharp. "Rokiye mujhe. Maar dijiye mujhe. Is ghar mein hatiyaar toh bohot hain na? Ek aur jaan le lenge toh aapke 'business' mein kya farq padega?"

Uzair eyes flared, His grip on Hamza shoulders tightened, his thumbs digging into the soft skin beneath the cotton kurta,

"Zabaan ko lagaam do, Hamza," Uzair rasped, "Maine tumhein zameen se utha kar is ghar ka taaj banaya hai. Tumhare ek ek nakhre ko ibadat samjha hai. Lekin agar tum mere bhai par ungli uthaoge... toh main bhool jaonga ke tum mere liye kya ho."

"Toh bhool jaiye!" Hamza suddenly shrieked, the compliance shattering as he tore his torso backward, thrashing against Uzair weight "Bhool jaiye sab kuch! Mujhe nahi chahiye aapka yeh taaj! Mujhe nahi chahiye yeh izzat jo mere logon ke khoon se khareedi gayi ho! Mujhe mere Mamu ke paas jana hai... mujhe Balochistan jana hai!"

"Tum kahin nahi jaoge!" Uzair roared,

In one motion, Uzair slammed his body forward, forcing Hamza backward until the edge of the mattress hit the back of Hamza knees. Before Hamza could scramble away, Uzair threw him down onto the sheets—the very sheets where, they had tangled their fingers under the quilt in a sacred vow of devotion.

Hamza let out a gasp as his waves of hair scattered wildly across the pillows, his breath knocked out of him by the sudden impact. He instinctively tried to roll over, his bare feet digging into the mattress to find purchase, but Uzair is already over him. Uzair settled his weight between Hamza thighs, pinning his hips to the bed.

"Chodo mujhe! Uzair... chodo!" Hamza cried out, tears spilling fresh from the corners of his eyes, smudging the remaining surma across his temples as he lifted his hands to beat furiously against Uzair chest. His fists rained down on the muscle, uselessly, desperately.

Uzair didn't flinch from the blows. He reached up, capturing both of Hamza wrists in a single, palm, and pinned them flat against the mattress above Hamza head, paralyzing his upper body.

"Suno mera baat! Ek baar chup ho kar suno!" Uzair commanded, "Rehman bhai jo kar raha hai, woh is ghar ko, is Lyari ko zinda rakhne ke liye hai! Hum siyasat ke khilaune nahi hain, Hamza! Agar hum delivery nahi karenge, toh kal koi aur hamare bacchon ke saron par khada hoga!"

"Toh aap unka sath denge?!" Hamza sobbed, He stopped fighting, his body going limp beneath Uzair weight, his head turning into the pillow as his chest with sobs. "Mera Mamu... unhone hamesha aap par bharosa kiya. Unhone mujhe aapke hath mein diya... aur aap log unhein dhoka de rahe hain? Agar unhein pata chala... unka dil toot jayega, Uzair. Woh marr jayenge."

The vulnerability in Hamza voice hit Uzair. The rage in Uzair eyes flickered, replaced for a fraction of a second by a bleeding ache. He looked down at his husband—beautifully undone, his emerald kurta twisted around his torso, his long hair tangled and damp from tears, his wrists held captive in his own hand.

The silence stretched over the room,

Uzair grip on Hamza wrists slowly relaxed. He didn't let go entirely, but his fingers softened, his thumb shifting to trace the racing pulse at Hamza wrist. He lowered his head, resting his sweaty forehead against the hollow of Hamza neck,

"Jaan..." Uzair murmured, his voice dropping into that rasp that had soothed Hamza through every night of the past month. "Tumhara Mamu ko kuch nahi hoga. Main jaan de doonga, lekin Shirani Sahab par ek khraash nahi aane doonga. Yeh mera wada hai tumse."

Hamza didn't move. He kept his face buried in the pillow, his lips trembling. "Aapka wada... ab ek jhoot lagta hai, Uzair."

Uzair closed his eyes tightly, a low groan escaping his throat at the words. He lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Hamza tear-streaked face with a that bordered on madness.

"Jhoot lagta hai toh lagne do," Uzair whispered against his lips, "Lekin tum is kamre se baahar nahi jaoge. Tumhe lagta hai main kafir hoon? Toh socho main kafir hoon. Lekin tum mere ho, Hamza. Aur main apne jahan se apna rounak ko kabhi alag nahi hone doonga. Chahe mujhe tumhein is bistaar se baandh kar kyun na rakhna pade."

The room grew quiet after Uzair threat, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a fog. Hamza lay entirely still beneath him, his breathing shallow, his eyes fixed on his husband

Slowly, Uzair released his grip on Hamza wrists. His hand lingered for a moment, his fingers trembling slightly as he looked down at the red marks his own grip had left on Hamza skin. A flash of guilt crossed Uzair face, but he quickly hardened his expression, refusing to let his authority slip. He shifted his weight off Hamza, standing up from the bed and smoothing down his kurta

"Tumhein jo sochna hai, socho," Uzair said, "Lekin jab tak tumhara dimaag thik nahi hota, tum is kamre se bahar qadam nahi rakhoge."

Without waiting for a response, Uzair turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Hamza didn't move from the mattress; he simply watched Uzair retreating back through a fresh blur of tears,

Uzair stepped out of the bedroom, his frame exiting into the dimly lit corridor. The moment his boots cleared the threshold, he pulled the door shut behind him.

Standing in the corridor, Uzair let out a breath, his shoulders dropping as the immense strain of the confrontation finally hit him. He turned around and found Rehman standing a few paces away, leaning against the plaster wall with a calculating expression, while Ulfat sat on a low wooden bench nearby, quietly wiping her eyes with the corner of her dupatta.

"Sambhala use?" Rehman asked,

Uzair didn't look at his brother. He kept his eyes fixed on the locked door of his sanctuary. "Andar hai. Kahin nahi ja raha."

"Uzair, woh Shirani Saheb ka bhanja hai," Rehman stepped forward, "Agar usne ek call bhi Balochistan kar di, toh hamara sauda toh chodo, Shirani Saheb ke sath hamare pichla das saal ka izzat mitti mein mil jayega. Aur Major Iqbal ko bhanak bhi laga ke kaam kharab ho raha hai—"

"Maine kaha na, woh andar hai!" Uzair snapped, turning his dark, fierce gaze onto Rehman, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone practically protruded. "Mera ghar hai, Rehman bhai. Mera shohar hai. Main dekh loonga use. Aap apna kaam karein."

Rehman eyes narrowed at the sharp tone, but recognizing the dangerous edge in his younger brother posture, he simply nodded once, holding his ground. "Theek hai. Lekin phone uske paas nahi rehna chahiye, Uzair. Tum jaante ho main kya keh raha hoon."

Meanwhile, inside the locked bedroom,

Hamza slowly pushed himself up from the mattress, his muscles aching He felt hollow, as if the beautiful life he had lived for the past month had been entirely drained out of him, leaving only the reality of a cage.

His eyes darted to the nightstand. His phone is still sitting there, right next to the glass jar

Moving with an urgent, quiet desperation, Hamza crawled across the bed and snatched the phone. His fingers shook he nearly dropped it against the floorboards. He unlocked the screen, his thumb flying instantly to the contact list, hovering over the name that represented his only remaining safety in the world: Mamu.

He pressed dial.

The phone began to ring, the soft, repetitive chime sounding incredibly loud in the quiet room. Hamza pressed the device to his ear, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, his breath hitching as he waited for the one voice that could save him from this nightmare.

Ring... ring... ring...

"Mamu, please uthayein..." Hamza whispered tear spilling over his cheek. "Please..."

Before the call could connect, the sound of the lock turning outside caused Hamza entire body to freeze.

The bedroom door swung open, and Uzair stepped back inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the glowing screen of the phone in Hamza hand. The softness that Uzair usually carried for his husband is gone, replaced by the ruthless efficiency of the leader who handled threats before they could breathe.

In two strides, Uzair closed the distance. Before Hamza could even scream or pull back, Uzair hand reached down, his fingers locking around the phone and wrenching it out of Hamza grip

"Uzair, nahi! Mera phone dijiye! Uzair!" Hamza shrieked, scrambling onto his knees, his hands reaching out desperately to claw at Uzair wrists as he tried to fight for his only connection to his homeland.

Uzair didn't look at the screen. He disconnected the call with a single swipe of his thumb, his face blank as he slid the phone into the pocket of his own kurta.

"Maine kaha tha na, Hamza," Uzair rasped, as he looked down at his crying husband. "Tum is ghar se baahar koi rabta nahi rakhoge. Jab tak tumhein yeh samajh nahi aata ke tumhara jahan ab yahan hai, mere paas."

Hamza sank back onto his heels, his hands dropping limply into his lap as his last hope was stripped away. He looked up at the man standing over him—the same man who had worshipped his body under the quilt, now stripping him of his freedom.

"Aapne mujhe kaid kar diya..." Hamza whispered, his voice breaking into a faint, sob that shook his entire frame. "Aapne sach mein... mujhe kaid kar diya, Uzair."

Uzair chest heaved with a pained breath, but he didn't lower his gaze. He stepped back toward the door, his hand resting on the handle as he looked at his crown one last time before exiting.

"Agar tumhein yahan rehne ke liye kaid ki zaroorat hai... toh haan," Uzair murmured darkly. "Tum kaid ho, jaan."

⚠️ Warning: Proceed with caution.

The cold finality of Uzair words had barely settled in the air before the instinct took over his frame. Seeing Hamza shrunk on his heels, broken but still bleeding defiance from his eyes, made something primal snap in the leader of Lyari.

Uzair didn't leave the room. Instead, he let go of the door handle and turned back around,

Hamza eyes widened, a sudden shockwave of adrenaline hitting his core as he saw Uzair advancing. Before he could even scramble backward toward the headboard, Uzair lunged forward onto the mattress. His hands clamped around Hamza ankles

"Uzair—! Nahi!" Hamza gasped out,

With a single, brutal surge of his strength, Uzair pulled.

Hamza body was violently dragged across the mattress, the white sheets bunching up under his back as he was hauled down to the center of the bed. His hair whipped wildly across his face and shoulders, catching on the fabric, his kurta riding up slightly around his waist as his bare feet helplessly kicked against the air, trying to break the hold.

"Chodo mujhe! Uzair, please... chodo!" Hamza cried out, his fingernails digging desperately into the mattress, trying to find purchase, trying to anchor himself against the force of his husband.

But Uzair is relentless. In one movement, he dragged Hamza beneath his shadow and followed him down, throwing his weight over Hamza trembling frame. The impact knocked the breath straight out of Hamza lungs, a soft, helpless sob breaking from his lips

Uzair anchored his knees on either side of Hamza trembling thighs, pinning his lower body entirely to the bed. His chest crushed flat against Hamza,

​"Main tumhein baar baar bol raha hoon, Hamza... lekin tumhara zabaan, tumhara yeh zidd mere sabar ka imtihan le raha hai!" Uzair growled, as he reached up, using one hand to lock both of Hamza wrists together, pinning them above his head into the headboard.

​Hamza arched his back violently under the quilt, his chest straining upward as every muscle in his frame went taut with a desperate panic. Tears dropped non-stop from his eyes, smudging the surma into a dark haze across his temples as he thrashed his head from side to side, trying to escape the stifling heat of Uzair body.

​"Aap... aap badal gaye hain..." Hamza choked out, "Aap wahi hain... wahi zalim... wahi kafir jo mere logon ko marte hain! Maar dijiye mujhe bhi! Khatam kar dijiye mujhe!"

​Hearing those words—feeling the disgust and hatred radiating from his husband—sent a wave of heat straight to Uzair brain.

​"Zalim hoon na? Kafir hoon na?!" Uzair rasped, his hand shifting from Hamza wrists to grip his jawline with an hold, forcing him to stay still. "Toh phir dekhho mera zulm, jaan."

The words left a scorching, Hamza breath hitched, his jaw held hostage in Uzair, trembling hand. For a second, his struggles stopped.

​The eyes that had always held a gentle, warmth for Uzair now overflowed with a profound, stinging betrayal.

​"Aap... aap mujhse jabardasti karenge...?" Hamza whispered, "Is tarah se... is tarah se apna rounak banayenge aap mujhe?"

​The sight of Hamza vulnerability—not the anger, not the screaming defiance, but the quiet, shattered question—hit Uzair like an icy blade straight to his chest.

​The heat in Uzair brain instantly evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, aching cold. His eyes widened slightly as the weight of his own words crashed down upon him. He villainized himself in the eyes of the only person he had vowed to protect from the world.

​"Jaan..." Uzair rasped, "Nahi... nahi, mera yeh matlab nahi tha. Main... main pagal ho raha hoon, Hamza."

​Uzair immediately released Hamza wrists, letting them drop onto the pillows. He shifted his weight off Hamza chest, collapsing onto his knees beside him on the mattress, his head dropping forward into his hands. His shoulders rolled with pained breath. The leader of Lyari, who commanded thousands outside those walls, looked defeated on the bed of his own sanctuary.

​"Main tumhein kabhi hath nahi lagaunga... jabardasti nahi karunga," Uzair murmured into his palms, "Lekin main tumhein jaane bhi nahi de sakta, Hamza. Samjho mera baat... agar tum yahan se nikle, toh sab kuch tabah ho jayega. Shirani Saheb... Rehman bhai... hum sab khatam ho jayenge."

​Hamza lay still for a long time, his body shaking with silent sobs. He pulled his wrists down, cradling them against his chest where the kurta was wrinkled and torn at the collar.

​He didn't scramble to get away this time. The realization had settled deep into his bones: there is no escaping the iron cage of Lyari.

​Slowly, Hamza turned his head on the pillow, looking at the, bowed back of his husband. The anger in his heart hadn't left, but its being slowly suffocated by a crushing, permanent sorrow.

​"Toh phir mujhe aise hi rakhiye," Hamza whispered, "Zanjeerien mangwa lijiye, Uzair. Apne bandoook o ke sath mere haathon ke liye bhi kuch mangwa lijiye. Kyunki mera dil... mera dil ab is ghar mein kabhi khushi se nahi dhadkega."

slowly Uzair lifting his face from his hands. He turned his head, his gaze locking onto the face of his husband.

"Kyun kar rahe hain yeh, boliye?!" Hamza voice broke through the stillness, a laugh ripping from his chest as he looked at Uzair with despair. "Mera jism koi khilona hai na aapke liye?! Khel lijiye mujhse... kheliye!"

The accusation that his consuming, worshipful love was nothing but a cruel game—sent a blinding jolt straight to Uzair brain. The last remaining thread of his restraint snapped entirely.

With a low growl, Uzair lunged forward, his frame pinning Hamza down into the mattress before Hamza could even register the movement. The weight of the leader of Lyari crashed onto him, driving the air from his lungs as Uzair grabbed both of Hamza shoulders, anchoring him to the bed with a force.

Before Hamza could let out a single cry, Uzair slammed his mouth down onto Hamza trembling lips.

The kiss isn't the slow it's hard, desperate, and punishing, driven by a man completely unhinged by the hatred in his husband eyes. Uzair bit down ruthlessly against Hamza lips, demanding entry, his tongue invading his mouth with dominant strokes that claimed every single inch of him.

Hamza eyes flew wide beneath his tangled lashes, bright with a sudden shock. He thrashed his head violently under Uzair grip, trying to break the connection, but Uzair hand slid up to jawline, pinning his head immovably against the pillow as he continued to consume him.

A whimper tore from the back of Hamza throat, a wet, helpless sound that's instantly swallowed by Uzair open mouth. Driven entirely past the point of reason by the very crimes Hamza was accusing him of, Uzair tore his lips away from Hamza bleeding mouth, leaving him gasping for air as his hot, hurried breaths fanned against his skin.

"Tumhein lagta hai main zalim hoon?! Tumhein lagta hai main tumhara jism istamal kar raha hoon?!" Uzair rasped as his hands flew down to the collar of the cotton kurta. With a tug, the fabric tore open with a sharp rip, exposing Hamza chest to the cool morning air.

Hamza let out a high-pitched, broken sob, his fingers instinctively reaching up to grab Uzair wrists, "Uzair, nahi...... ah! Mat kijiye!"

But Uzair didn't stop. He lowered his frame, his mouth biting and sucking a trail of bruising, wet marks down the column of Hamza neck, He clamped his teeth firmly against Hamza collarbone, making Hamza arch his back off the bed, his knees trembling against Uzair sides as the reality of his husband took over.

Uzair hands slid down to Hamza waist, gripping the soft skin with an iron hold that would surely leave marks by evening. He guided Hamza thighs wide apart, settling his weight between them, his hard, throbbing length pressing flat against Hamza sensitive core through their clothes,

"Ab roko mujhe, Hamza!" Uzair growled against his chest, "Mera zulm dekhna tha na?! Toh ab dekho!"

Hamza hands, which had been digging desperately into the muscle of Uzair wrists, went limp. His fingers uncurled, sliding weakly down his husband arms before falling uselessly onto the white sheets.

He stopped thrashing. He stopped screaming.

The frantic, survival-driven energy that had possessed him for the last ten minutes evaporated, leaving behind a cold, hollow vacuum. Hamza threw his head back into the pillow, his hair scattering blindly around his face. His hazel-green eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling, glassy and wide, the tears freezing at the corners of his lids.

He lay there, undone and exposed beneath the mass of the leader of Lyari, offering no more resistance than a porcelain doll.

Uzair, driven by a chaotic haze of fury, grief, and madness, felt the sudden shift instantly. He had been expecting more fights, more scratches, more accusations to match his own unhinged fervor. But the complete, dead weight of Hamza beneath him hit his senses like a plunge into freezing water.

His mouth, which had been pressing a punishing, mark against the hollow of Hamza throat, slowed down.

Uzair slowly lifted his head, his eyes wild and bloodshot, his jawline glistening with sweat.

Hamza lips were bruised and slightly swollen from the force of the kiss, a tiny bead of blood pooling at the corner. The collar of his cotton kurta lay ruined, torn down the center to reveal the fluttering of his pulse point against his chest. But it's his eyes that made Uzair heart stop entirely.

There is no anger left in them. No defiance. Just a vast, bottomless ocean of numbness.

"Khel lijiye..." Hamza whispered, as he continued to stare at the ceiling. "Aap hi ka toh qaid hai. Jo marzi aaye... woh kijiye."

Uzair let out a gasp, his hands instantly releasing Hamza waist as if he had been burned. He scrambled backward on the mattress, his frame trembling violently as he detached himself from Hamza body,

He stood at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving as he stared down at the wreckage he had just caused. His own hands were shaking. He looked at his palms, responsible for the bruising grip on his husband skin.

"Hamza..." Uzair rasped, shattering into a bleeding sob. "Nahi... khuda ki qasam, nahi... main... main yeh nahi hoon..."

Hamza didn't move. He didn't pull the torn fabric of his kurta together, nor did he look at the man who is falling apart at his bedside. He simply closed his eyes, two tears finally breaking loose and tracking through the surma down to his ears.

Uzair took a step forward, his hand reaching out instinctively to touch him, to beg, to fix the unfixable. "Jaan, mere taraf dekho... mujhe maaf kar do, main pagal ho gaya tha—"

"Aap baahar jaiye," Hamza interrupted softly, "Mujhe... mujhe akela chhor dein, Uzair."

Uzair breath hitched in his throat. He knew that if he stayed, if he pushed further, he would lose the last remaining thread of Hamza soul forever.

With a shattered heart, Uzair turned around. He walked toward the door with slow steps, He opened the door, stepping out into the hallway without looking back, and closed it softly behind him—leaving his beautiful, broken crown alone in the dim golden light of the ruined sanctuary.

The moment Uzair stepped out into the dim corridor, choked breath escaped his chest. He looked down at his trembling hands—the same hands that had just torn the kurta off the only person he worshipped.

The weight of his own actions crashed down on him, He needed help. He couldn’t fix this alone. He had broken his crown, and the terror of losing Hamza soul forever turned his blood to ice.

"Bhabhi..." Uzair’s voice cracked, "Bhabhi! Kahan hain aap?!"

At the end of the corridor, near the kitchen entrance, Ulfat rushed out, her dupatta hurriedly pinned and her eyes still wide with anxiety from the screaming she had heard earlier. Rehman stood right behind her, his face tight and tense, ready for a war. But the moment they saw Uzair, they both froze.

"Uzair? Kya hua, beta?!" Ulfat gasped, running forward instinctively.

Uzair didn't even look at Rehman. He lunged toward his sister-in-law,

"Bhabhi... aao. Abhi humare kamre mein jaiye, please..." Uzair begged, his voice dropping into a broken whisper, his eyes pleading like a child. "Mera... mera qabu nahi raha. Main pagal ho gaya tha. Uska... uska kurta... please, Bhabhi, abhi jaiye use dekhiye!"

Ulfat heart dropped into her stomach. Hearing the words "mera qabu nahi raha" and from a man of Uzair size and temper made her face go entirely pale. She didn't ask a single question. She smacked Uzair hand away from her arm and shoved past his frame, her bare feet flying down the corridor toward the locked bedroom.

Rehman stepped into Uzair path, as he grabbed his younger brother shoulder. "Uzair... haath uthaya tune uspe? Kya kiya andar?!"

​Uzair didn't answer. He couldn't. He simply collapsed against the wall, his head dropping into his palms as a low, his entire frame shaking under the weight of his guilt.

​Meanwhile, Ulfat didn't even knock. She pushed the bedroom door open, stepping into the dim, golden light of the sanctuary—and the breath completely caught in her throat.

On the center of the bunched-up white sheets, Hamza lay perfectly still. He hadn't moved an inch since Uzair left. His waves of hair were scattered like shattered silk across the pillows, framing a face that's pale, save for the dark, tracks of smudged surma down his cheeks. The cotton kurta lay ruined, torn violently down the center, exposing his wildly fluttering pulse point and the fresh red marks blooming across his collarbone.

​He wasn't crying anymore. His hazel-green eyes were wide, glassy, and fixed blankly on the ceiling, empty of life.

​" mera bacha...!" Ulfat wailed softly, covering her mouth as tears instantly flooded her eyes.

​She slammed the bedroom door shut behind her, locking it from the inside. In a heartbeat, she rushed to the edge of the bed and dropped to her knees, her hands shaking as she pulled her own dupatta off her shoulders.

​"Hamza... Hamza, jaan, dekho bhabhi aayi hai," Ulfat wept softly. She gently, carefully draped her dupatta over Hamza trembling chest, covering the fabric and shielding him from the cold morning air.

​When her fingers accidentally brushed the sensitive, bruised skin of his shoulder, Hamza didn't flinch. He didn't gasp. He simply closed his eyes slowly, a single tear leaking from his lashes, his voice dropping into a tiny, hollow whisper that broke Ulfat heart into a million pieces.

​"Bhabhi... mujhe Mamu ke paas jana hai," Hamza murmured into the empty room, his voice dead entirely stripped of hope. "Mujhe... mujhe is jail mein nahi rehna."

Ulfat breath hitched at the word jail. It felt like a physical slap to her face. She looked at this beautiful, delicate boy from the mountains—the boy who had won over the Lyari elders just a month ago with his gentle smile and the boy who had lovingly held little Faizal on his lap—now reduced to a broken, shivering shell on the very bed that was supposed to be his sanctuary.

"Nahi, meri jaan... aisi baatein nahi karte," Ulfat cried openly, she carefully climbed onto the mattress.

She didn't care about Uzair anger, she didn't care about Rehman business dealings. In this moment, her only instinct is to shield Hamza. She slid her arms under his limp torso, gently lifting his upper body off the pillows and pulling him tightly against her chest. She rocked him back and forth, wrapping her arms around him,

"Tumhara bhabhi marr gayi hai kya jo tum khud ko akela samajhte ho? Shh... rona nahi, mera bacha," she whispered through her own sobs, smoothing down his long, tangled dark waves of hair with her trembling hand.

Hamza didn't hug her back. His arms remained frozen against his chest, his fingers still weakly clutching at the ruined fabric of his collar. But as the familiar, comforting scent of Ulfat rosewater and warmth enveloped him, the unnatural, terrifying numbness in his chest finally cracked.

His shoulders began to shake violently. A long, fractured sob broke from his throat, and he buried his face deep into Ulfat shoulder, finally letting the wall of stone crumble into a desperate weep. He cried for his home in Balochistan, he cried for his Mamu, but most of all, he cried for the beautiful illusion of the man

"Bhabhi... unhone... unhone mujhse..." Hamza choked out,

"Mujhe pata hai, mujhe sab pata hai, jaan. Main hoon na yahan," Ulfat hushed him "Koi tumhein hath nahi lagayega ab. Kisi ki jurrat nahi hai."

Outside the locked door, Uzair hadn't moved an inch from the wall. He remained frozen on his knees, his face buried deep within his palms, Every muffled sob, every broken whimper of Hamza voice that managed to bleed through the door cut straight through Uzair soul like a serrated blade.

He had done this. The leader of Lyari, who prided himself on being Hamza shield against the entire world, had become the very monster his husband needed protection from.

Rehman stood a few paces away, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, The practical, hardened reality of their empire is staring them in the face, but seeing Uzair—

Rehman stepped forward, his hand coming down onto Uzair shoulder, gripping the tense muscle with an iron-like finality.

"Uzair. Hosh mein ao," Rehman commanded, "Jo hona tha, ho gaya. Ulfat sambhal legi use. Lekin hamare paas waqt nahi hai. Major Iqbal ke aadmi shaam tak Balochistan ke border par honge. Shirani Saheb ko handle karna hai ya nahi? Tumhein chalna hoga mere sath."

Uzair slowly peeled his hands away from his face. He looked up at his older brother, his jawline ticking violently as he ripped his shoulder away from Rehman grip.

"Mujhe kisi saude se koi matlab nahi hai, Rehman bhai," Uzair rasped, "Agar mere jaan ko ek khraash bhi aayi... agar usne khana chora, ya uski tabiyat ko kuch hua... toh main bhool jaonga ke aap mere bade bhai hain. Aur main bhool jaonga ke Major Iqbal kaun hai."

Rehman expression hardened into a dangerous mask of authority, "Apne hosh thik karo, Uzair! Woh sirf ek larka—"

"Woh mera shohar hai!" Uzair roared, He turned his gaze back toward the locked door, his voice dropping into a whisper. "Woh mera rounak hai... aur maine... maine khud apne hathon se use tabah kar diya."

The sharp, resounding crack of the slap echoed like a gunshot through the corridor.

Uzair head snapped violently to the side from the sheer force of the blow. The sudden impact left a stark, blooming heat across his cheek, but he didn't raise a hand. He didn't even flinch. For the first time in his life, as he looked at his older brother through bloodshot, hollow eyes.

"Kya hua?!" Rehman boomed, as he stepped right into Uzair space, "Haath hi toh uthaya hai tune! Tera haq hai! Shohar hai tera, is ghar ki malik banakar laya hai toh nakhre sambhalne ke liye nahi, apne neeche rakhne ke liye laya hai!"

Uzair jaw clicked, a raw, suffocating ache tearing through his throat, but before he could even utter a single syllable to defend the boy crying behind the locked door, Rehman grabbed the front of his black kurta, twisting the fabric into an fist.

"Aur tu? Tu yahan khada hoker apne bhai ko dhamki dega?!" Rehman snarled, "Ek larke ke aansoon dekh kar tera khoon paani ho gaya, Uzair? Chup chap chal yahan se! Haath uthaya, achha kiya. Roz utha! Jab tak uska zidd toot nahi jaata, roz utha! Ab chal yahan se!"

With a brutal jerk, Rehman pulled Uzair forward.

Any other day, any other man who dared touch the leader of Lyari would have been buried beneath the dust of the city. But tonight, Uzair’s soul was entirely vacant. The crushing guilt of what he had done to Hamza—the image of that ruined kurta and those empty, glassy eyes—had stripped him of his strength. He let himself be dragged like a ghost, as Rehman hauled him down the staircase, forcing him away from the only room that held his heart.

Behind the locked door, the muffled sound of the slap and Rehman booming, cruel words had cut straight through the thin walls.

Inside the bed, wrapped tightly in Ulfat soft dupatta, Hamza shivering frame went still. His face remained buried deep in his sister-in-law's shoulder, but his tears instantly froze. Hearing Rehman dismiss his entire existence as a mere object to be broken—

Ulfat felt the sudden, terrifying rigidity in the boy spine. Her own eyes flared with a sickening horror and disgust for the men downstairs. She tightened her arms around Hamza, pulling him so close against her chest that there was no space left,

"Kuch nahi hoga... main hoon na," Ulfat whispered, as the front gate of the haveli creaked open and slammed shut below, signaling the departure of the brothers. "Main marr jaongi, Hamza, lekin unhein tumhein haath nahi lagane doongi. Shh... saans lo, mera bacha. Saans lo."

"Mujhe wapas jana hain, bhabhi... bas ab aur nahi," Hamza whispered,

He didn't scream, and he didn't cry frantically anymore. It was the flat, quiet finality in his tone that made Ulfat heart turn to stone. He lifted his head slowly from her chest, his eyes wide, glassy, and hollowed out by the words he had just heard through that door.

"Hamza, meri jaan, meri taraf dekho—" Ulfat pleaded, her hands trembling as she tried to cradle his face, but Hamza gently, weakly pulled his chin back, refusing the comfort.

He looked down at his own hands, which were still clutching the soft dupatta Ulfat had wrapped around his torn kurta. Every inch of his body felt heavy, bruised, and thoroughly violated—not just by Uzair madness, but by the chilling realization that in this house, his bleeding homeland is just 'business' and his body was just a possession to be broken.

"Mera Mamu... unhone mujhe is ghar ki shaan banakar bheja tha, bhabhi," Hamza murmured, "Unhone mujhe Uzair ke hath mein diya tha ke woh mera saya banenge. Lekin yahan... yahan Rehman bhai kehte hain ke mujhe roz maarna chahiye. Ke mera yahi haq hai."

A sob racked his frame, but he quickly bit his trembling lip, forcing the pain back down into his chest. He looked up at the locked bedroom window where the bright Karachi sun is trying to pierce through the curtains.

"Main is mitti ka nahi hoon. Mera dum ghutta hai yahan," Hamza choked out, "Mujhe mere pahadon mein wapas jana hai. Mujhe mere Mamu ke paas jana hai. Agar main ek din bhi aur is kamre mein raha, toh main marr jaonga, bhabhi... sach mein marr jaonga."

Ulfat covered her mouth to stifle a loud, agonizing wail. She looked at the red marks blooming across Hamza collarbone, She knew Rehman ruthless nature, and she knew that when Uzair was pushed into a corner by his brother pressure, the haveli would become a slaughterhouse for this boy’s gentle soul.

"Shh... thik hai, thik hai, meri jaan. Rona nahi," Ulfat wept softly, pulling him back into her arms as she looked toward the locked door. "Main tumhein bhejoongi. Tumhara bhabhi tumhein yahan marne nahi degi, Hamza. Khuda ki qasam, main tumhein is jail se nikalungi."

Ulfat didn’t hesitate. She knew that if she waited until the brothers returned from their armory transaction, Hamza would be trapped forever in a cage of dark orchids and iron wills.

​"Tum yahan bilkul safe ho, main abhi sab theek karti hoon," Ulfat whispered fiercely, gently laying Hamza back onto the pillows.

​She stood up, walked over to the dressing table where her own phone is hidden. Her hands were shaking, but her focus was lethal. She dialed the number that the entire household usually treated with immense, guarded respect: Shirani Sahab.

​The phone rang three times before the deep yet warm voice of the Baloch elder echoed through the receiver. "Ulfat beti? Khairiyat toh hai? Subah subah tumhara phone?"

​Hearing that tone—the tone of the man who had unconditionally trusted them with his most precious treasure—made a fresh wave of hot tears spill over Ulfat cheeks.

​"Shirani Saheb..." Ulfat choked out, "Aap abhi ke abhi... isi waqt Karachi ke liye niklein. Apne sath apne log lekar aaiye."

​There is an silence on the other end of the line. The rustle of papers stopped. Shirani voice dropped into a chilling, razor-sharp frequency. "Hamza? Mere bache ko kuch hua hai? Uzair ne kuch kiya?!"

​"Aap bas aaiye!" Ulfat openly wept, "Unhone mere bache ka dum ghot diya hai yahan... uska rounak chheen li hai. Aap aaiye aur use is jail se nikal kar le jaiye, warna mera Hamza nahi bachega!"

Before Shirani could even ask another question, Ulfat disconnected the call, She turned back toward the bed, where Hamza lay with his glassy eyes fixed on her ​"Aa rahe hain tumhare Mamu," Ulfat whispered, "Woh tumhein lene aa rahe hain, jaan. Tum bas saans lo."

​Meanwhile, miles away in the rugged mountains of Balochistan, Shirani stood up from his wooden chair, ​"Gaadiyan nikaalo!" Shirani roared "Abhi ke abhi Karachi chalo! Agar mere bache ko ek khraash bhi aaya, toh Uzair Jan Baloch ka poora Lyari ko main aag laga doonga!"

​The storm was moving toward Karachi, and the haveli is directly in its path.

The gates of the Lyari haveli groaned open, cutting through the stifling afternoon heat as Rehman rugged SUV rolled into the courtyard.

Downstairs, the air is thick with the scent of motor oil, exhaust, and the lingering tension of the armory. Rehman stepped out of the vehicle, his face hardened by a successful transaction with Major Iqbal men. He smoothed down his starched vest, To him, the storm had passed. The weapons were on their way to the border, the empire is secure, and the troublesome Baloch pride of a mountain boy had been successfully contained under his roof.

Uzair stepped out from the passenger side, but he looked like a shell of the man who had left hours prior.

His eyes were vacant, staring lifelessly at the staircase that led up to his private wing. He hadn't spoken a single word during the entire drive back from the docks. His mind was entirely trapped in that locked bedroom,

Rehman walked up beside him, slapping a heavy, callous hand onto Uzair tense shoulder.

"Dekha? Maine kaha tha na, dunya ka koi sauda nahi rukta," Rehman boomed with a low chuckle, "Major Iqbal khush hai. Aur jo andar larka ro raha hai, do din khana nahi khayega, teesre din khud apna nakhra chor kar tere samne khada hoga. Mard ban, Uzair. Tum Lyari ke sardar ho."

Uzair wrenched his shoulder out of Rehman' grip, He didn't look at his brother. He couldn't bear the sight of the man who had validated his behavior.

"Maine kaha tha na, Rehman bhai... mujhe is saude se koi matlab nahi hai," Uzair rasped, He began walking toward the stairs, "Main apna rounak ko dekhne ja raha hoon. Aur agar is baar kisi ne mere aur uske darmiyan aane ki koshish ki... toh qasam khuda ka, main apna hath nahi rokunga."

Rehman smirk vanished, his eyes narrowing at Uzair retreating back, but he let him go. He figured the boy just needed to settle his affairs.

Uzair ascended the stairs, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. The closer he got to the upper wing, the more the suffocating guilt threatened to choke him. He didn't want to be the leader anymore. He wanted to drop to his knees, bury his face in Hamza lap, and beg for a forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve. He wanted to hold those wrists and heal the red marks his own hands had carved into them.

He reached the door of their bedroom.

The corridor was eerily quiet. There was no sound of weeping, no shouting—just a silence that made the hairs on the back of Uzair neck stand up. The soft click echoed in the quiet hallway. He pushed the door open, his voice dropping into a trembling whisper before his eyes even adjusted to the dim golden light.

"Hamza... jaan... main wapas aa gaya..."

But the sight inside the room made his breath lock entirely in his throat.

Hamza wasn't looking at the ceiling anymore. He is sitting on the edge of the mattress, fully dressed in a fresh, simple white pathani outfit that Ulfat had provided, Beside his feet sat his small, packed suitcase—the very same suitcase that held his velvet-bound diary of mountain poems.

Standing right beside him, her arms crossed is Ulfat Bhabhi.

"Yeh... yeh kya hai, Bhabhi?" Uzair choked out, his voice cracking as he took a desperate step forward, his hands reaching out instinctively toward his husband. "Hamza? Yeh kapde... yeh suitcase kyun nikala hai tumne? Maine kaha na, main tumhein kahin nahi jaane doonga!"

Hamza didn't flinch at the booming desperation in Uzair voice. He slowly tilted his head up, He looked at Uzair as if he were looking at a ghost from a past life.

"Aap nahi rok sakte, Uzair," Hamza whispered softly,

Before Uzair could lunge forward to grab him, the sudden, deafening roar of multiple engines tore through the quiet Lyari afternoon. Downstairs, the screech of tires and the violent, metallic crash of the haveli iron gates being forcefully rammed open shook the very foundations of the house.

Rehman’s panicked shouts echoed from the courtyard, followed instantly by the terrifying, rhythmic cocking of dozens of automatic rifles.

The Lion of Balochistan had arrived, and the haveli was officially surrounded.

The chaotic, thunderous racket from the courtyard cascaded up the staircase, shattering the fragile standoff in the bedroom.

​Uzair head snapped toward the open balcony window, his primal, territorial instincts as the leader of Lyari instantly overriding his grief for a split second. Down below, the sound of shouting in Balochi and the synchronized, metallic clack-clack of automatic weapons being chambered echoed through the walls.

​"Uzair! Baahar nikal!" Rehman voice screamed from the courtyard, "Uzair! Shirani ke log hain! Inhone gate tod diya!"

​Hearing his Mamu name, a sudden, blinding flash of life rushed into Hamza glassy eyes. He didn't hesitate. Ignoring the deep, aching soreness radiating from his lower back and inner thighs, he pushed himself off the mattress, His bare feet hit the floorboards as he made a desperate lunge toward his suitcase.

​"Hamza, nahi!" Uzair roared,

​Driven by a sudden, terrified panic at the thought of his crown walking out of his life, Uzair reached out. His hand locked ruthlessly around Hamza wrist, pulling him backward against his chest. The sudden impact made Hamza let out a sharp, breathless gasp, his long dark waves of hair whipping across Uzair face as he thrashed violently against the iron hold.

​"Chodo mujhe! Uzair, chodo! Mere Mamu aa gaye hain!" Hamza shrieked, "Aapne kaha tha na aap zabardasti karenge?! Kijiye! Maarien mujhe mere Mamu ke samne!"

​"Tumhein lagta hai main tumhare Mamu se darta hoon?!" Uzair rasped frantically, "Main unka izzat karta hoon, Hamza! Lekin tumhein... tumhein main is ghar se baahar qadam nahi rakhne doonga! Tum mere ho!"

​"Yeh tumhara nahi hai, Uzair!" Ulfat suddenly screamed, stepping into his path She forcefully grabbed Uzair arm, " dhamki dekar gaye thay na tum? Ab baahar dekho! Khuda ka azab aaya hai tumhare is gande saude par! Chodo use!"

​Before Uzair could even answer his sister-in-law, the door of the bedroom was kicked open from the outside.

​Rehman stumbled back into the room, his face pale, sweat pouring down his temples. Behind him, the hallway is already lined with armed, men from the Balochistan mountains, their tactical vests loaded and their rifles pointed straight at Rehman chest.

​And then, stepping through the threshold, his silver-topped cane thudding heavily against the floorboards, came Shirani Sahab.

​ His eyes scanned the wreckage of the room, instantly taking in the packed suitcase, Ulfat tear-stained face, and finally—the sight of Uzair holding a trembling, wildly breathing Hamza captive in his arms. When Shirani gaze dropped to the red, bruised marks clearly visible on Hamza wrists and the hollow, tear-smudged trauma on his face,

​"Mamu..." Hamza choked out, a tiny, broken sob ripping from his throat as he looked at his sanctuary.

​Shirani Sahab didn't look at Uzair. He didn't look at Rehman. He slowly raised his cane and pointed it directly at Uzair chest, his voice dropping into a low, chilling register that made the entire upper wing of the haveli feel like an icebox.

​"Uzair Jan Baloch," Shirani murmured, the name carrying the weight of a death sentence. "Maine is bache ka hath tumhare hath mein diya tha... yeh soch kar ke Lyari ka sardar apna jaan de dega, lekin mere khoon par ek khraash nahi aane dega. Aur tumne... tumne mere bache ko kaidi bana diya?"

​Uzair grip on Hamza didn't loosen, but his face turned a violent shade of pale. The guilt collided with his territorial pride. He stood straight, his eyes meeting the elder without flinching.

​"Shirani Saheb... yeh mera ghar hai. Aur Hamza mera shohar hai," Uzair rasped, "Main aapka izzat karta hoon. Lekin is ghar ke mamlaat mein... main kisi ki madad ya siyasat bardasht nahi karunga. Hamza kahin nahi jayega."

​Shirani Saheb let out a low laugh that echoed off the walls. He finally shifted his gaze to Rehman,

​"Tumhare ghar ke mamlaat?" Shirani asked softly. "Ya ISI ke saude, Rehman? Tumhein kya laga tha... ke Balochistan ke parda-nasheen buzurg andhe hain? Ke tum mere hi zariye meri zameen par zeher bhejoge, aur main apne bache ko tumhare is kafir khane mein chor dunga?!"

Shirani Sahab did not lower his cane. Instead, he took a step forward, his polished leather boots crushing a piece of the torn green fabric that had fallen to the floor.

"Baitho," Shirani murmured, "Aaj mujhe kuch sauda karna hai."

Rehman jaw clenched, his hand twitching near his waist, but the three automatic rifles pointed directly at his forehead by Shirani guards kept him rooted to the spot.

Shirani Sahab slowly shifted his gaze down to Hamza, who was looking up at him with wide, tear-flooded eyes, still trembling in Uzair grip. A flicker of aching pain crossed the old man’s face,

"Aur yeh sauda main nahi..." Shirani paused,

"...aaj yeh sauda Hamza karega."

Uzair’s chest heaved, his arms instinctively tightening around Hamza waist, pulling him even closer, as if he could physically shield his husband from the words that were about to tear his world apart. "Shirani Saheb, maine kaha na—"

"Chup raho, Uzair!" Shirani roared, his cane slamming against the floorboards with a crack that made Ulfat flinch. "Tumne apni sardari dikha di is bache par?! Apne mardangi ka nasha iske masoom jism par nikaala na tumne?! Ab suno mera sauda."

Shirani stepped closer, "Aaj se... aur isi waqt se, Hamza mere takht par baithega," Shirani declared, "Balochistan ki har ek gari, har ek hathaeyar, aur har ek mard ab is bache ke ek ishare par chalega. Jo sauda tumne aur tumhare is makkari bhai ne Major Iqbal se kiya tha, woh sauda ab Hamza ki jooti ke neeche hai."

Rehman face turned a violent shade of ash. "Shirani Saheb! Aap hosh mein—"

"Aur dusri baat," Shirani interrupted, completely ignoring Rehman "Aaj se... abhi se... Baloch ke sath Lyari ki dushmani shuru hoti hai. Agar mere bache ki thoki hui thook bhi is deewar par giri, toh Lyari ka bacha bacha zabaan se saaf karega. Yeh dushmani tumne shuru ki hai, Uzair. Apne is bache ka suhaag ujaar kar, tumne poore Lyari ki maut par dastak di hai!"

Hearing those words—the official declaration of war, the absolute shattering of the alliance, and the realization that Hamza is being elevated to a position of lethal power just to destroy him—sent a sickening shockwave through Uzair soul. His hands began to shake violently against Hamza waist.

Hamza lay perfectly still in his arms, He wasn't looking at Uzair anymore. He is looking at his Mamu, the small, fragile spark of the mountain boy officially dying, replaced by the shadow of the Baloch takht.

​"Uzair..." Shirani whispered, "Mera bacha choro. Warna pehli goli tumhare is maghroor bhai ke bheje mein utrega, aur doosra tumhare dil mein."

"Aur maine maulana sahab ko bulaya hai," Shirani Saheb added, He slowly tilted his head, "Saath mein abhi... isi waqt, talaq hoga."

The single word ripped through Uzair chest like a hollow-point bullet. His vision blurred, the room spinning violently around him as his hands went entirely rigid against Hamza waist. His heart, which had been hammering with furious pride, seemed to stop beating altogether. To lose Hamza to war is one thing—to have the sacred, permanent vow they had whispered under the quilt completely erased, to have his rounak stripped of his name forever, was a death worse than any bullet Shirani men could fire.

"Nahi..." Uzair choked out, "Nahi... Shirani Saheb, khuda ke liye nahi... kuch bhi mang lijiye. Lyari le lijiye, meri jaan le lijiye... lekin talaq nahi."

For the first time, Hamza reacted. He lifted his head from Uzair chest, He looked at his Mamu,

"Mamu..." Hamza whispered,

"Chup raho, Uzair!" Shirani roared, his silver-topped cane slamming against the floorboards with a violent thud that made Rehman step back instinctively. " Tumne iska nikaah padha tha ya iske jism ko apni jageer samjha tha?! Jo mard apne shohar hone ka nasha mazloom par nikaale, woh mere takht ke waaris ka hamsafar nahi ho sakta!"

Shirani Saheb raised his hand, gesturing sharply to the heavy-set guards at the door. "Maulana sahab ko andar lekar ao!"

Within seconds, the armed guards stepped aside, and an elderly Maulana, a leather-bound register clutched tightly against his chest.

Rehman face had turned completely translucent with fear. He knew that if this divorce went through, the alliance is dead, the ISI deal is destroyed, and Lyari would be painted red by morning. He lunged forward desperately, his hands raised. "Shirani Saheb! Ek baar sochein! Yeh siyasat ka maamla—"

"Ek aur lafz, Rehman, aur tumhara zabaan is farsh par ghirega!" one of Shirani’s commanders growled, shoving the barrel of a Kalashnikov directly under Rehman jaw, forcing his head back against the wall.

Uzair didn't hear them. He is completely blind to his brother panic.

"Jaan... meri taraf dekho, please," Uzair begged, "Mat karo aisa... main marr jaonga, Hamza. Main khud ko khatam kar loonga. Maaf kar do mujhe... ek baar... sirf ek baar..."

Hamza lay flat against his chest, He closed his eyes, The gentle boy from the mountains is gone.

Slowly, Hamza opened his eyes, looking straight at the Maulana who was frantically opening the register on the dressing table.

"Kijiye, Maulana sahab," Hamza whispered, "Likh lijiye... mujhe is kafir ke naam se azad kijiye."

The words left Hamza lips like a final breath, freezing the entire room.

Uzair chest let out a gasp, as if the spine had been ripped straight out of him. His hands, which had held Hamza with an iron-tight, territorial grip for the past month, trembled violently before sliding weakly off his husband waist, falling uselessly onto the bunched-up white sheets.

He didn't scream. He didn't fight. The sheer, crushing finality of hearing Hamza—his gentle, soft-spoken rounak—call him a kafir and beg for freedom broke the leader of Lyari completely. Uzair sank backward onto his knees on the mattress, his head dropping into his scarred palms as a low sob ripped from the depths of his chest.

Hamza didn't look back. The moment the grip left his body, he pushed himself up from the bed,

He stepped toward the dressing table where the Maulana sat, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely hold the pen over the registration book. Shirani Saheb stood right beside the table,

"Yahan, beta," the Maulana whispered, his voice cracking with fear as he pointed a trembling finger at the bottom of the page, where the ink was still wet. "Yahan teen baar... aapko dastakhat karne hain."

Hamza picked up the black pen. For a single, fleeting second, his gaze drifted to the mirror of the dressing table. He saw his own reflection—the pale skin, the eyes surrounded by smudged shadows of surma, and his waves of hair tangled around his shoulders. He looked like a stranger. The boy who had arrived in Karachi with a heart full of nervous, sweet hope is dead.

With a cold, steady hand, Hamza pressed the pen to the paper.

Sign.

The scratching of the nib against the thick parchment felt like a gunshot in the silent room. Behind him, Uzair let out a groan, his shoulders rolling as he buried his face deeper into his hands, unable to bear the sight of his soul being legally stripped away from his name.

Sign.

Rehman watched from the wall, the barrel of the rifle still pressed hard under his jaw, his eyes wide with a sickening realization that their entire empire, the arms deal, and the peace of Lyari had just vanished into thin air.

Sign.

The third signature is finished. Hamza slowly set the pen down, his chest rising and falling in a deep, long-awaited breath.

"Ab..." Shirani Saheb murmured, reached out, his hand coming down onto Hamza shoulder, anchoring him. "Ab tum azad ho, mere bacha. Chalo yahan se."

"Maulana Sahab, register idhar kijiye," Shirani commanded sharply, "Uzair se nikaah-nama par dastakhat karwaiye. Aur agar isne inkar kiya... toh ise bata dena ke baahar khadi huye bees gaariyan is haveli ko mitti mein mila dega."

The Maulana frantically scrambled across the room, carrying the heavy register toward the edge of the bed where Uzair knelt like a defeated ghost. "Sardar... Sardar Saheb... yahan... yahan sign kar dijiye, please..."

Uzair slowly peeled his hands away from his face. He didn't look at the paper. He kept his eyes locked on Hamza, who is already reaching down to grab the handle of his small suitcase, his back completely turned to the bed.

"Hamza..." Uzair rasped, "Ek baar... sirf ek baar meri taraf dekhho, jaan... khuda ke liye ek baar..."

Hamza didn't pause. He picked up his suitcase, his fingers tightening around the handle. He turned to Ulfat Bhabhi, who stood by the closet, weeping silently into her sleeve. Hamza took a step forward and softly touched her arm. "Shukriya, Bhabhi. Mere liye...."

With those final words, Hamza walked out of the bedroom, Shirani Saheb followed right behind,

"Sign karo, Uzair!" Rehman hissed from the wall, his voice cracking with sheer, desperate panic as he saw the guards starting to back out of the room. "Sign kar, Warna yeh log humein zinda maar denge!"

Uzair looked down at the register. A single tear dropped from his lashes, smudging the ink where Hamza hand had just been. With a shaking, defeated hand, Uzair picked up the pen and violently slashed his signature across the page—completely erasing his right over his beautiful crown.

The roar of the engines outside seemed to fade into a distant hum as Hamza suddenly stopped at the threshold of the bedroom door. The line of armed Baloch guards paused with him, their rifles still raised, creating a tense perimeter around the broken space.

Slowly, Hamza turned back around.

The hollow numbness that had masked his face for the last hour suddenly shifted, replaced by a clarity. as he looked directly at the man kneeling on the mattress. He walked back into the room with slow steps,

Uzair lifted his eyes from the leather-bound register, his breath hitching in his throat as he saw his rounak stepping back toward him. A pathetic, desperate spark of hope flared in his chest—a hope that's instantly crushed by the look in Hamza eyes.

Hamza stopped just at the edge of the bed. Slowly, he lifted his right hand and extended it toward Uzair.

There, resting firmly against his skin, is his platinum wedding band—the very ring Uzair had slipped onto his finger on their nikaah night, promising to be his shield against the world. He in't taking it off. He is leaving it right there, a permanent mark of the vow they had just brutally shattered.

"Dushmanii mubarak, Uzair Jan Baloch," Hamza said,

Hearing his own name spoken not with love, but as a declaration of blood-feud, tore the remaining pieces of Uzair heart to shreds. The ultimate realization that they were now on opposite sides of a lethal war crashed down on him.

A choked laugh escaped Uzair throat. He didn't hesitate. He reached out with his hand and wrapped his fingers completely around Hamza hand, sealing the handshake. His grip is steady, yet his entire frame is shaking violently under the weight of his grief.

Tears spilled openly down Uzair cheeks, glistening in the dim golden light of the room, but a smile slowly broke across his clenched jaw. He looked straight into the eyes of the boy he had worshipped, accepting the fate they had carved with their own hands.

"Dushmani mubarak... Hamza Ali Mazari," Uzair rasped,

For a single, second, their hands remained locked—an grip between the Leader of Lyari and the new Heir to the Baloch Takht. The ring pressed hard into Uzair palm, a physical ache to match the bleeding cavern in his chest.

Then, Hamza pulled his hand back, severing the connection completely. He turned on his heel without looking back a second time,

Uzair stayed on his knees, his smiling face dropping back into his hands as the SUV doors slammed downstairs, signaling the official beginning of a war that would paint the streets of Karachi red....

(So here's today chapter I know you guys never expected it from me)

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 5

( 🔞 18+ WARNING 🔞

Dear innocent souls, this is your official evacuation notice. 😇

This story is strictly for 18+ readers. It contains mature themes, bold humor, questionable decisions, and enough chaos to make your Wi-Fi blush.

If you're under 18, this is your cue to close the story, drink some water, and pretend you never saw this. 👀

For everyone else... welcome aboard. Fasten your seatbelts, leave your judgment at the door, and enjoy the ride. What happens in this story, stays in this story. 😏)

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆

Through every single day of that first month, Uzair never once placed the weight of expectation on Hamza shoulders. He didn't demand the traditional duties of a husband, nor did he expect Hamza to instantly morph into the flawless, hardened spouse of a Lyari clan leader. Instead, Uzair shielded him, treating Hamza comfort and peace of mind as the priority.

Even at night, when the bedroom door was locked and the rest of the world is shut out, Uzair remained a sanctuary of patience. He never rushed him, never pushed for anything more than what Hamza is ready to give.

On this particular night, after a long, grueling day at the armory, Uzair sat on the edge of the bed, slowly unbuttoning the cuffs of his kurta. His shoulders were tense, the exhaustion of his responsibilities settling deep into his frame.

Hamza stepped into the room, closing the door softly. His hair were neatly brushed, cascading beautifully past his shoulders, and he wore a simple, soft emerald-green cotton kurta

Seeing the tension in his husband back, Hamza didn't hesitate. He walked over Instead of sitting far away, Hamza climbed onto the mattress and moved directly behind Uzair.

Slowly, carefully, Hamza placed his hands onto Uzair shoulders.

Uzair stiffened slightly at the sudden touch, a low, surprised breath escaping his lips. But as Hamza thumbs began to press into the tight muscles of his neck with gentle, rhythmic strokes, Uzair let out a sigh, his head dropping forward as he completely surrendered to the soothing sensation.

"Aap bohot thak gaye hain na...?" Hamza whispered softly,

"Tumhare is haseen hatho ka lams mil jaye, toh thakan ki kya auqat, jaan..." Uzair murmured, He didn't move, just sat there, content to let his husband take care of him.

Hamza smiled, He leaned forward slightly, his chest pressing gently against Uzair back as his hands continued their massage, realizing with a full heart that the man who demanded authority from the entire city required nothing but tenderness from him.

Hamza turned the key in the lock, the soft click echoing in the quiet room like a definitive seal on the world outside. He walked over to the nightstand with deliberate, quiet steps, setting down the glass jar of water before turning around to face his husband.

Uzair is still sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes tracking Hamza movements with his usual calmness. But tonight, there was a subtle shift in the air—a stillness that made Uzair gaze sharpen.

Hamza didn't lower his lashes this time. He looked directly into Uzair eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs, not out of fear, but out of a beautiful certainty. A full month of Uzair unconditional patience, his respect, and his silent protection had brought Hamza to this moment. Uzair had given him everything without demanding a single thing in return. Tonight, Hamza wanted to give him his whole heart, mind, and body.

Slowly, Hamza walked over until he was standing right between Uzair parted knees.

Uzair looked up, his breath hitching slightly in his chest as he noted the unwavering focus in Hamza eyes. "Hamza...?" Uzair murmured,

Instead of answering with words, Hamza reached down. His fingers gently found Uzair hands, lifting them up and placing them securely around his own waist. Hamza then leaned down, letting his waves of hair cascade over Uzair shoulders as he boldly buried his face into the side of Uzair neck,

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered against his skin, his voice trembling slightly "Aapne mera bohot sabar se intezar kiya hai... Aaj... aaj mujhe aapse door mat rakhiyega."

Uzair entire frame went entirely rigid for a fraction of a second as the meaning of Hamza words washed over him. His eyes flared with a sudden, scorching intensity, his large hands instantly tightening around Hamza waist, pulling him flush against his chest.

"Hamza," Uzair groaned out, He tilted his head up, his jawline brushing against Hamza cheek as his gaze locked onto his husband beautifully flushed face. " jaan... tum jaante ho na tum kya keh rahe ho? Mujhse tumhara yeh roop sambhala nahi jayega."

Hamza let out a soft gasp at the sudden, fierce heat radiating from Uzair, but he didn't pull back. Instead, a serene, breathtaking smile curved his lips. He reached up, his fingers tangling securely into the hair at the back of Uzair head, pulling him closer.

"Toh mat sambhaliye," Hamza murmured softly, his eyes heavy with love as he looked down at his husband. "Main sirf aapka hoon, Uzair. Pure dil se."

Uzair chest heaved with a breath. The sheer depth of his love for Hamza is a protective force, and even now, with Hamza standing so beautiful and willing in his arms, Uzair first instinct is to shield him—even from his own overwhelming desires.

He slid his hands up from Hamza waist, gently cupping his cheeks, his thumbs tracing the high line of Hamza cheekbones. Uzair looked up into those eyes, his own gaze filled with a trembling tenderness.

"Jaan, suno..." Uzair tried to say, "Tum aur waqt le lo... Aur thoda din ruk jao, koi jaldi nahi hai. Main yahin hoon, tumhare paas. Mujhpar koi bojh nahi hai, meri jaan."

He is offering a way out, offering more of his patience, because Hamza comfort meant more to him than his own life.

Hamza heart swelled so painfully with love that tears almost pricked the corners of his eyes. He shook his head slowly, a smile breaking across his face. He didn't lean back; instead, he leaned further into Uzair touch, pressing his cheek into Uzair palm.

"Uzair... mera baat suniye," Hamza whispered, "Yeh koi jaldbaazi nahi hai. Ek mahina... ek mahine tak aapne mujhe sirf duniya ki khushiyan aur izzat di hain. Mujhe apna banaya hai."

Hamza placed his hands over Uzair wrists, his fingers wrapping around them gently. He looked down into his husband eyes.

"Ab mera dil koi aur waqt nahi chahta," Hamza murmured, his breath fanning warm against Uzair lips as he lowered his head just a fraction more. "Main poore tarah se tayyar hoon, Uzair. Mujhe aur waqt nahi, sirf aap chahiye."

The last remaining thread of Uzair restraint snapped entirely. Hearing those words from Hamza lips—is more than his soul could bear.

With a low growl that vibrated directly against Hamza chest, Uzair stood up from the edge of the bed. his movements were incredibly fluid as he wrapped his arms securely around Hamza waist and thighs, lifting him off the floor.

Hamza let out a soft, startled gasp, his bare feet dangling as his hands instinctively locked around Uzair shoulders, his waves of hair swirling around them like a silk veil.

Uzair didn't lay him down immediately. He held Hamza pressed against his chest, as he looked up into Hamza face. "Tumne khud kaha hai, Hamza," Uzair rasped out, "Ab agar tum chaho bhi, toh main tumhe khud se door nahi hone doonga."

"Main kabhi door nahi jaonga," Hamza whispered, his eyes locking onto Uzair lips with an open, beautiful hunger that matched his husband.

Uzair stepped forward and gently, lowered Hamza onto the center of the mattress.

Before Hamza could even catch his breath, Uzair followed him down, hovering over him like a shadow, his hands anchoring themselves on either side of Hamza head.

Uzair reached down, his fingers gently tracing the collar of Hamza emerald-green kurta, his touch trembling just a fraction. He leaned down until his jaw brushed against Hamza ear,

"Mera jaan... mera rounak," Uzair murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin of Hamza neck, making Hamza arch his back with a soft, helpless shiver. "Aaj raat ke baad... is jahan mein koi dunya aisi nahi hoga jahan tum aur main alag ho sakein."

Uzair hovered over him, the heat of his body warming the cool sheets beneath Hamza. For a moment, everything in the room stood perfectly still. The distant sounds of Lyari were gone, the ticking of the clock faded, and all that remained is the rhythm of their hearts beating in unison.

Slowly, Uzair lowered his face. His eyes remained locked onto Hamza until the very last second, capturing the beautiful, trembling trust reflecting in those eyes.

When Uzair finally placed his lips on Hamza, it is the first time for both of them.

The touch was feather-light at first, a graze that made Hamza breath hitch sharply in his throat. Uzair lips were warm, slightly firm, and tasted faintly of the sweet cardamom tea they had shared after dinner. Hamza eyes fluttered shut, his lashes brushing against his cheeks as a wave of warmth rushed from his chest straight down to his toes.

As the realization of the moment settled over them, Uzair let out a shaky sigh against Hamza mouth. The initial hesitation melted away. He deepened the kiss, his lips parting slightly to claim Hamza with a slow tenderness that felt like a sacred vow. It isn't rushed; it's a consuming outpouring of a month worth of unspoken devotion, patience, and love.

Hamza fingers, which had been resting nervously on Uzair shoulders, tightened instinctively. He tangled his hands into the fabric of Uzair kurta, pulling himself upward, anchoring himself to his husband as he boldly returned the kiss. He poured all his gratitude, his shyness, and his wholehearted surrender into the touch.

Uzair groaned softly into the kiss, His hand slid up from the mattress, his thumb tracing the soft skin of his cheek to hold him steady under the beautiful intensity of their very first kiss.

The kiss lasted for a long, beautiful eternity, their breaths tangling together until the world outside their bedroom ceased to exist. Slowly, reluctantly, they parted, both of them breathing softly. Uzair lingered for a fraction of a second, his lips brushing against Hamza before he shifted upward, pressing a kiss right onto Hamza forehead.

Uzair hands moved to the front of his own kurta. With slow, movements, he began to undo the buttons,

Hamza heart did a wild flip. As the fabric parted, revealing the Uzair chest and the rugged scars that spoke of his life in Lyari, a sudden wave of intense shyness washed over Hamza. He quickly lowered his lashes, looking down at the white sheets, his cheeks burning a beautiful crimson.

Uzair let out a low chuckle at the sight of his husband sudden modesty. He reached down, his index finger gently hooking under Hamza chin, lifting his face back up so their eyes could lock.

"Mere taraf dekho, jaan," Uzair murmured, "Mujhse apna nazrein mat chhupao. Aaj sab kuch tumhara hai."

Hamza gaze slowly rose, his eyes locked onto Uzair face, He didn't look down again. Instead, he reached out, his fingers shaking just a fraction as they pressed against the skin of Uzair chest, feeling the thudding of his heart.

"Main... main chhupa nahi raha," Hamza whispered breathlessly, "Bas... aap mujhe aise dekhte hain toh mera khud par qabu nahi rehta."

Uzair eyes darkened further, He caught Hamza hands in his own, pressing a kiss into the center of each palm before pinning them gently to the mattress on either side of Hamza head. He leaned down, his frame completely blanketing Hamza,

"Toh mat rakho qabu," Uzair rasped against his lips, his breath hot and uneven. "Maine ek mahina tumhara har jhijhak, tumhara har darr sambhala hai. Aaj mujhe apne paas aane do."

With a slow movement, Uzair slid his hands down to the hem of Hamza emerald-green kurta, gently lifting the fabric. Hamza arched his back slightly, a soft gasp escaping his parted lips as the cool night air hit his skin, followed instantly by the solid heat of Uzair body coming down to meet his.

Uzair gently eased the emerald-green kurta over Hamza shoulders, his hands remarkably tender against Hamza smooth skin. reaching down with one movement, he gripped the soft, lightweight quilt and pulled it up over both of them, instantly trapping their shared warmth and sealing them away from the rest of the world. Under the blanket,

Hovering over his husband, Uzair began to shower Hamza with slow kisses, leaving no part of him unadored.

He started at the very top, pressing a soft kiss to the center of Hamza forehead, before moving down to his closed eyelids. His lips brushed over the dark, surma-lined lashes, making Hamza shiver beneath him. He moved to the bridge of his nose, and then to his cheeks,

​When Uzair lips finally found Hamza mouth again, the kiss is deep, slow, and consuming, a silent promise that he belonged entirely to him. Hamza let out a soft, breathless whimper into the kiss, his fingers digging into the muscles of Uzair back.

​Slowly parting from his lips, Uzair shifted downward. His jawline brushed against Hamza chin as his lips found the sensitive column of Hamza neck. Hamza tilted his head back into the pillow, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as Uzair hot breaths fanned against his skin.

​Uzair pressed a kiss right over the racing pulse point at Hamza throat, before tracing a path of burning kisses down to his collarbone. Every touch is heavy with passion, yet handled with the utmost care, as if Hamza were the most precious treasure in the world.

​He moved further down under the blanket, his lips pressing against the center of Hamza chest, right over his wildly beating heart, before continuing down the expanse of his stomach. Hamza abdominal muscles flexed sharply at the sudden sensation, his hands tangling firmly into Uzair hair as he completely surrendered to the overwhelming, beautiful tide of his husband love.

The night deepened under the warmth of the quilt, the quiet room filled only with the soft, sound of their breaths. Uzair shifted back up, his frame tracing a path of burning heat against Hamza skin until he was hovering over him once more, their eyes locking in the dim, golden lamplight.

Hamza eyes were bright, as he looked up at the man who held his entire world in his hands. The shyness is still there, painting his cheeks a deep crimson, but it was entirely overtaken by a beautiful, fearless surrender.

Uzair reached down, his hand gently tangling into Hamza waves of hair, anchoring him. "Tum sirf mera rounak nahi ho, Hamza," Uzair rasped, "Tum mera jaan ho. Mera sukoon ho."

Hamza didn't speak. Instead, he lifted his arms, wrapping them securely around Uzair neck and pulling him down. He met Uzair lips again, this time with a fierce, quiet passion of his own, letting every touch and every shared breath seal the unspoken vows between them.

Uzair restraint burned away completely into a fervor. Hearing Hamza soft breaths and feeling his total surrender under the quilt drove him to claim his husband fully. He buried his face into the crook of Hamza neck, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin before his lips pressed down with a hunger.

Slowly, Uzair nipped and sucked at the soft skin along the column of Hamza neck. He bit down gently, just enough to leave an undeniable statement of his devotion. Within moments, deep purple marks began to bloom like dark orchids across Hamza throat and collarbone.

The sensation made Hamza eyes snap wide under his lashes before fluttering tightly shut. His hands instantly gripped the muscles of Uzair back, his fingers digging into the solid warmth of his skin.

"Uzair... ah..." Hamza moaned out softly, a sweet, helpless sound that broke through the quiet of the room and echoed straight into Uzair chest.

That single, melodic sound sent a jolt of raw adrenaline through Uzair veins. He groaned deeply against Hamza skin, his large hands sliding down to grip Hamza waist, anchoring him tightly to the mattress as he continued to cover his neck in slow marks, sealing the leader of Lyari permanent claim on his husband.

Uzair shifted lower under the warmth of the quilt, his massive frame moving down the mattress with a focus. His eyes remained fixed on Hamza flushed face for a fleeting second before he gently but guided Hamza thighs apart, creating an space between them.

Hamza let out a soft, trembling breath, his fingers instantly knotting into the cool white sheets beneath him as the vulnerability of the position hit him. But there was no fear—only a racing anticipation that made his chest heave.

Uzair leaned down, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. He pressed his open mouth against the soft, sensitive skin of Hamza inner thigh, delivering a succession of deep, wet, kisses. The intense heat of his mouth against the smooth skin sent a sharp, intoxicating shockwave straight through Hamza core.

"Uzair... h-haan..." Hamza gasped out, his head throwing back into the plush pillow as his waves of hair scattered around him. He arched his back helplessly, his knees trembling slightly against Uzair torso as his husband claimed every inch of him.

Uzair groaned deeply against his skin, his hands anchoring Hamza hips firmly to the bed, undone state of his husband.

The burning heat of Uzair open-mouthed kisses against his skin drove Hamza completely past the point of reason. His mind is a beautiful fog of pure sensation, and his body acted on instinct to anchor himself to the man dominating his entire world.

Reaching down blindly under the quilt, Hamza hands found the back of Uzair head. His fingers tangled into Uzair hair, gripping the strands tightly.

He didn't pull Uzair away; instead, Hamza held onto him with a desperate grip, pulling his husband even closer against his trembling thighs.

"Uzair... please..." Hamza whimpered breathlessly,

Uzair let out a low, deep growl against Hamza skin, the tight grip on his hair only fueling the fire inside his chest. He gripped Hamza hips with an iron hold, lifting his head slightly to look up the length of Hamza beautifully undone body. Seeing his husband with his head thrown back, his eyes heavy and half-closed, and his fingers knotted tightly in his hair, Uzair knew there was no turning back. They belonged to each other, completely and entirely, in the quiet depth of the Karachi night.

Uzair moved up the length of the bed , his chest pressing flat against Hamza as he captured his lips once more. This time, the kiss wasn't gentle or testing—it was hard, deep, and thick with an hunger that had been building for weeks.

Hamza didn't shrink away. Driven by the fierce heat pooling in his lower belly, he wrapped his arms around Uzair neck and kissed him back with equal fervor, his lips parting willingly to welcome his husband deep strokes. Their breaths mingled in a frantic, desperate rhythm as they consumed each other.

Beneath the quilt, their fingers tangled together tightly, locking securely as if anchoring one another in the middle of a storm.

Breaking the kiss just an inch to breathe, Uzair let out a groan against Hamza lips. Without breaking eye contact, he kept his hand securely woven through Hamza fingers. Slowly Uzair guided Hamza hand down the smooth expanse of their flat stomachs, leading it lower until he placed Hamza palm against his own hard, throbbing length.

Hamza let out a sharp, breathless gasp at the sheer, burning heat of him, his eyes widening slightly in the dim light as his fingers instinctively curled around his husband.

Uzair let out a low, ragged sound from the back of his throat as Hamza fingers closed around him. The touch is soft, slightly hesitant, but completely filled with trust, and it sent a searing wave of heat straight through Uzair entire frame.

He leaned down again, his lips catching Hamza sharp gasp, drinking the sound in as he moved his hips with a slow deliberation against Hamza palm.

"Jaan... mera jaan," Uzair rasped against his mouth, His hand remained over Hamza, guiding the rhythm, teaching him exactly what he needed, while his other hand slid up to cradle the back of Hamza head, anchoring him to the pillow.

Hamza mind completely emptied of everything except the intense, friction and the solid, burning weight of his husband crushing him into the mattress. He arched his back, hiswaves of hair tangling in the sheets as he moved with Uzair, giving in to the rhythm they were creating together under the quilt.

their hurried breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets filling the quiet Lyari night. Uzair kisses grew harder, more desperate, his lips moving from Hamza mouth to bite gently down on his jawline, keeping them both bound tightly together as the tension between them wound up to a breaking point.

Uzair slowly pulled back from the heat of their kiss, as he shifted his massive frame lower under the quilt.

Moving with a slow intensity, Uzair guided Hamza knees wider, creating an space before setting his head securely between Hamza thick, trembling thighs.

The contrast of the cool air and the sudden, intense heat of Uzair mouth against the highly sensitive skin made Hamza entire body go taut. Uzair didn't hesitate; he leaned in closer, his lips parting as he began to kiss and suck the soft skin of Hamza upper inner thighs, leaving a trail of marks that claimed him completely.

"Uzair... ah!" Hamza cried out, his voice cracking with a high sob as his head slammed back into the pillows.

His fingers instantly flew to the headboard, as he gripped the wood for dear life, his hair scattering wildly across the sheets. He arched his hips helplessly into the touch,

Uzair kept a hold on Hamza hips, anchoring him to the mattress as Hamza body arched helplessly from the waves of sensation.

Recognizing that Hamza is completely undone, Uzair knew it was time to prepare his husband for the next step. He leaned over him,

"Dheere se, jaan... khud ko dheela chhoro," Uzair murmured,

With the utmost care, Uzair brought his hand down between them. His fingers were slick and warm as he gently pressed against Hamza core, slowly and carefully sliding a finger inside to begin easing his tight muscles.

Hamza let out a sharp gasp, his eyes flying wide beneath his lashes before tightly shutting. His fingers dug desperately into Uzair shoulders, his knees trembling against Uzair sides as his body instinctively clenched around the sudden fullness.

"Uzair... please..." Hamza whimpered, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye

"Main hoon, mera jaan. Main yahan hoon," Uzair rasped, his own heart hammering wildly against his ribs. He stayed perfectly still for a moment, letting Hamza body adjust to his finger, before he began to move it in a slow, gentle, and rhythmic pattern, ensuring that his husband is completely ready and comfortable before taking anything more.

As Uzair slowly and added a second finger, the sudden, deeper fullness sent an shockwave through Hamza entire body. It became utterly impossible for Hamza to stay still on the mattress.

With a breathless, high-pitched gasp, his body reacted on instinct. Hamza arched his back so violently that his spine curved off the bed, his chest straining upward as every muscle in his frame went taut.

"Uzair—! Uzair, nahi... ah!" Hamza cried out, his voice cracking with a mix of pleasure and sharpness, his eyes flying wide, bright with unshed tears of sensation.

Uzair reacted, his instinct to protect taking over. He shifted his weight forward, coming down to blanket Hamza body with his own. He pressed his chest flat against Hamza to ground him, while his hands locked securely over Hamza hips, holding him firmly to the bed to keep him safe from hurting himself.

"Shh... jaan, jaan, saans lo," Uzair rasped frantically against Hamza cheek, his own voice thick and shaking with restraint. He kept his fingers perfectly still inside him, letting Hamza tight, pulsing muscles adjust to the depth. "Saans lo, mera rounak. Main ruka hua hoon. Mujhe dekho..."

Hamza hands clutched wildly at Uzair broad shoulders, his fingernails digging deep into the solid muscle as he tried to catch his breath, his whole body trembling violently beneath the quilt.

Hamza let out a tiny, broken whimper that vibrated right against Uzair chest. His eyelashes fluttered rapidly, wet with a few stray tears that slipped down into his hair, leaving his surma slightly smudged around his eyes.

​"Uzair... bass... bohot zyaada hai," Hamza whispered, his lips trembling as he buried his face into the hollow of his husband neck, seeking shelter from the very storm Uzair is creating.

​Hearing that soft whimper completely shattered what was left of Uzair control, He didn't move his fingers deeper; instead, he kept them perfectly still inside Hamza tight warmth, letting him get used to the stretch.

​Uzair shifted his upper body, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Hamza head, pressing him closer. He began raining soft, soothing kisses along Hamza damp temple,

​"Tum bohot khoobsurat ho, jaan... Main ruka hoon, dekho, main bilkul nahi hil raha," Uzair rasped, "Dheere se saans lo. Apne Uzair par bharosa rakho."

​Under the warmth of the quilt, the air is thick and still, filled only with the sounds of their breathing. Sensing that Hamza body had finally relaxed and opened up for him, Uzair slowly withdrew his fingers. He shifted his frame, settling his weight firmly between Hamza trembling thighs.

Uzair leaned down, he pressed his throbbing length against Hamza sensitive core, rubbing against him in a slow tease that made Hamza breath hitch sharply in his throat.

Hamza eyes squeezed shut instantly, A soft, breathless gasp escaped his parted lips as his fingers flew to Uzair shoulders, his nails digging into the muscle. The friction of Uzair bare skin against his is almost too much to bear,

"Uzair..." Hamza whimpered, his head tossing back into the pillow,

"Mujhe dekho, jaan," Uzair rasped against his lips, He caught Hamza chin with his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing him to open his eyes. "Apni nazrein mat band karo. Mujhe dekhne do tum kya mehsoos kar rahe ho."

Hamza eyelashes fluttered open, his eyes wide and dark with a intoxicating haze of pleasure. He looked up into Uzair gaze, bare and beautifully undone beneath him.

Seeing that surrender, Uzair let out a low, rough growl. He didn't make Hamza wait any longer. Positioning his length at Hamza entrance, Uzair gave a slow push forward, carefully entering him.

The sudden, deep stretch made Hamza breath lock entirely in his throat. His eyes widened for a split second before his eyelids squeezed shut again, a sharp cry escaping his lips. His hips instinctively tried to shift away from the fullness, his heels digging into the white sheets as his back arched off the bed.

"Uzair—! Ah, rukiye... Uzair!" Hamza choked out, his fingers clutching desperately at Uzair back, as he clung to him.

Uzair immediately stopped his movement, freezing completely when he is only halfway inside. The restraint ripped through his muscles, causing his broad chest to heave violently against Hamza. He clamped his hands firmly over Hamza hips, pinning him securely to the mattress so he wouldn't move and hurt himself.

"Main ruka hoon... jaan, main ruka hoon," Uzair rasped frantically, his voice shaking with the immense effort it took to stay still. He leaned down, pressing his sweaty forehead against Hamza, breathing the same hot, hurried air. "Saans lo, Hamza. Apne Uzair ke liye saans lo, jaan. Dheere dheere..."

He began kissing Hamza’ trembling lips, his nose, and his tear-stained cheeks, offering his own body as an anchor while Hamza tight, pulsing muscles slowly began to accept the heat of his husband.

The soft, muffled sound of Hamza quiet sobs broke through the silence of the room, cutting straight through Uzair desire and replacing it with a wave of ache. Hamza chest heaved beneath him, tears escaped his tightly shut eyes, smudging the surma.

Seeing his husband overwhelmed and in tears completely paralyzed Uzair. He remained perfectly still inside the tight, pulsing warmth, not moving an inch deeper.

"... shh, jaan..." Uzair murmured,

He slid his hands up from Hamza hips, wrapping his arms around Hamza torso to lift him slightly, burying Hamza face securely into the crook of his neck. Uzair began to rock them in a slow, barely perceptible rhythm beneath the quilt, trying to soothe the tension locked in Hamza spine.

"Bohot dard ho raha hai? Main nikal jaoon?" Uzair rasped, The thought of pulling out tore at him, but seeing Hamza cry was a hundred times worse. He pressed a soft kiss to Hamza burning ear, his hand gently stroking the back of his head. "Batao mujhe, mera rounak. Jo tum kahoge, main wahi karoonga."

Hamza let out another trembling, wet whimper against Uzair throat, his fingers tightening their weak grip on Uzair shoulders. He shook his head slowly against his husband skin, his breath hitching as he tried to find his voice.

"N-Nahi..." Hamza choked out softly, "Nikalna... nikalna mat. Bas... ek mahina... ek mahina intezar kiya hai aapne. Mujhe bas ek pal dein, Uzair..."

The devotion in Hamza broken words made Uzair eyes burn. He tightened his embrace, burying his face in Hamza hair, He stayed frozen, offering nothing but his warmth and safety, waiting patiently for his husband to find his balance in the quiet depth of the night.

Uzair held him close, keeping his body perfectly still as Hamza ragged breathing gradually slowed, the quiet sobs giving way to soft, shaky exhales against Uzair neck.

Sensing the shift, Hamza slowly pulled back his head from Uzair neck. His eyes fluttered open, dark and wet, locking onto Uzair tense, strained expression.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered, his voice still a little breathless, but steady now. He deliberately uncurled his legs, letting his thighs relax completely around Uzair hips. "Ab... ab theek hai. Main theek hoon."

Uzair eyes darkened, a fire flaring up in them at the invitation. "Yaqeen hai, jaan?" he rasped, his hands sliding back down to grip Hamza waist

Hamza didn't answer with words. Instead, he tilted his hips up slightly, a silent, daring plea that completely shattered what is left of Uzair restraint.

With a low, ragged groan, Uzair pushed forward, driving the rest of his length inside, burying himself in Hamza tight, consuming warmth. Hamza head slammed back into the pillow, a loud, breathless cry escaping his parted lips as his fingers dug fiercely into the sheets.

Uzair didn't give him time to get overwhelmed again. He caught Hamza mouth in a hard, deep kiss, swallowing his gasps as he began to move. He set a slow rhythm, his hips crashing against Hamza with an force that made the old wooden bed creak beneath them.

The punishing friction of Uzair deep strokes began to work an intoxicating alchemy on Hamza body. The initial sharp discomfort dissolved, melting into a wave of pure heat that pooled low in his belly. Every thrust of Uzair massive frame no longer brought a sting, but an rush of pleasure that made his entire mind spin.

Hamza helpless cries shifted, losing their breathless edge and turning into soft, desperate whimpers of need. His eyes flew open, clouded with a haze of desire as he looked up at his husband.

No longer just enduring the weight, Hamza began to seek more.

His fingers slid from the tangled sheets, his arms reaching up to wrap around Uzair sweat-glistened neck. He hooked his legs higher around Uzair waist, anchoring himself completely to the rhythm, and began to tilt his hips upward to meet every plunge. He is chasing the friction now, begging for the pressure that is driving him to the brink.

"Uzair... ah, Uzair..." Hamza gasped out, as he arched his chest flat against his husband "Aur... please... h-aur tez..."

Hearing his name uttered like a prayer amid those shameless, pleading whimpers drove Uzair completely over the edge. A low growl ripped from his throat. He locked his hands under Hamza thighs, lifting his hips higher off the mattress to change the angle, and began driving into him with a faster, brutal,

In one sudden movement, Uzair gripped Hamza securely by the waist and flipped them over. The world spun for a breathtaking second before Hamza found himself sitting astride Uzair chest, his thighs framing his husband torso as he was shifted directly onto the apex of Uzair hard length.

Taking a ragged breath, Hamza settled his weight down, burying Uzair completely inside him. He arched his back, a long, trembling groan escaping his throat as his waves of hair tumbled down behind him, swaying in an mesmerizing rhythm as he began to move.

Hamza started riding him, his movements frantic and driven by the deep, building tension in his core. With downward press of his hips, his hair whipped and swayed beautifully across his back and shoulders, catching the dim light of the room.

Uzair let out a low, rough sound from the back of his throat, his eyes locked onto the sight above him. Seeing his husband in control,

Uzair hands slid down to securely lock around Hamza thighs. He gripped them with an hold, anchoring him as he began to actively help the rhythm, pushing his own hips upward to meet Hamza descent. His palms rubbed firmly against the smooth skin of Hamza inner thighs,

"Uzair... ah!" Hamza cried out, his hands slamming down onto Uzair chest for balance, his fingers digging into the muscle as the deeper angle drove him wild, his hair swaying faster with every stroke.

Hamza threw his head back , completely lost to the rhythm as he rode his husband. His hands left Uzair chest, sliding up his own sweat-glistened torso, his fingers tracing over his ribs and collarbones in a dazed, instinctual search for an anchor against the rising tide of pleasure. The movement pulled his chest taut, his of hair cascading down his back, swaying wildly with every heavy descent.

Looking up at the breath-taking sight of his husband completely undone and worshiping his own body, a smirk pulled at the corner of Uzair lips.

Without breaking the connection between them, Uzair used his immense strength to sit up, his frame shifting into a sitting position on the mattress. The change in angle drove him instantly deeper, making Hamza let out a loud, fractured cry that echoed off the walls. Uzair hands locked onto Hamza waist, stabilizing them both as Hamza remained astride him, trembling violently.

Uzair leaned forward, burying his face against the heated skin of Hamza chest. He began to kiss and suck his way up Hamza body, his mouth leaving dark, bruising marks along his ribs, his chest, and up to the hollow of his throat.

"Uzair—! Ah, ... bohot zyaada... ah!" Hamza sobbed out, his hands flying to tangle into Uzair hair, holding his husband head tightly against his neck as the double sensation of the deep friction below and the biting hunger against his skin pushed him right to the precipice.

Uzair wrapped his arms around Hamza waist, holding him flush against his chest tightly there was no space left between them.

"Uzair... please... main... main marr jaoonga," Hamza whimpered, his voice dropping into a broken sob. His head fell forward onto Uzair shoulder, his wet, surma-smeared face burying into the crook of his husband neck. His fingers were completely knotted into Uzair hair, holding on as if he were drowning.

The tight, frantic pulsing of Hamza body around him signaled that the end is seconds away. Uzair breath hitched, a low growl vibrating deep in his chest. He gripped Hamza hips driving into him one last time with a force that shattered whatever control they had left.

Hamza body went completely rigid. He let out a loud, ringing cry, his eyes flying wide in the dark as a wave of release overcame him, spilling out between their flat stomachs.

The tight, clenching heat of Hamza climax instantly dragged Uzair over the edge. With a deeply fractured groan, Uzair buried his face in Hamza waves of hair and poured himself deep inside his husband, his whole frame trembling violently under the quilt.

For a long time, the only sound in the Lyari night the frantic sound of their racing hearts and the ragged warmth of their breathing as they slowly collapsed against one another bound together.

Slowly, the racing of their hearts began to quiet down, leaving only the sound of their breaths in the dark room.

Uzair didn't let go. As the adrenaline faded into a exhaustion, he kept his arms wrapped securely around Hamza waist, supporting his weight. Slowly, he leaned backward, pulling Hamza down with him until they were both resting against the pillows once more.

Hamza let out a sigh, drained of all energy. He shifted slightly, curling his body into Uzair side, his head resting against his husband chest. His hair were scattered wildly across them both, damp and tangled.

Uzair hand came up, gently smoothing the stray dark strands away from Hamza face. He used his thumb to softly wipe away a smudge of surma and the dried track of a tear from Hamza cheek,

"Theek ho, jaan?" Uzair murmured

Hamza didn't speak; he simply nodded against Uzair chest, tightening his weak grip on his husband shoulder.

Hamza fell asleep within a second, the exhaustion of the moment claiming him the very instant his eyes closed. His body went completely soft and molding perfectly against Uzair side like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

Uzair let out a quiet, rumbling breath, his chest rising and falling beneath Hamza cheek. He stayed still, not wanting to disturb the deep, peaceful slumber that had overtaken his husband so quickly.

Slowly, Uzair pulled the quilt up higher, burying them both beneath its warmth until only the tops of their shoulders and Hamza tangled waves of hair were visible. He rested his chin gently against the crown of Hamza head, his hand resting over Hamza lower back. In the quiet, still depth of the Lyari night, Uzair finally let his own eyes close, holding his world tight against his chest.

The soft, golden light of the early morning crept through the seams of the window curtains, casting a glow across the quiet room.

Hamza eyelashes fluttered open. He blinked slowly against the morning light, his mind hazy as the deep slumber gradually wore off. The first thing he felt was the immense, grounding weight of Uzair arm wrapped securely around his waist, pinning him gently but firmly to his side.

Hamza shifted slightly, a soft ache in his muscles reminding him of everything that had unfolded under the quilt the night before. A quiet, contented smile touched his lips. He turned his head to look at his husband, who is still fast asleep beside him.

Without the gaze that usually defined him, Uzair looked peaceful. His features were relaxed, and his chest rose and fell in a deep rhythm against Hamza shoulder.

Hamza stayed perfectly still for a few moments, simply watching him. Carefully, so as not to wake him, Hamza lifted a hand and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his own face, his waves tumbling over Uzair shoulder as he savored the quiet, unbroken stillness of the morning.

As Hamza tried to shift a little more, a sharp, dull ache radiated directly from his lower back and inner thighs, making him catch his breath with a soft gasp. His entire body felt beautifully heavy and thoroughly sore, every muscle protesting the slightest movement.

He let out a tiny groan, sinking right back into the mattress.

The slight movement and the soft sound made Uzair stir. The arm around Hamza waist tightened instinctively pulling him closer against his Uzair chest rumbled with a low, sleepy grunt as he buried his face deeper into Hamza tangled waves of hair, still half-lost in sleep but completely aware of his husband presence.

Hamza bit his lip to hold back another whimper, trapped—but entirely content—beneath the warmth of the quilt and the weight of the man who had caused every single ache.

Uzair eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep but sharpening the moment he heard Hamza soft groan. He shifted, lifting his head from the pillow to look down at his husband. Seeing the slight tension in Hamza brow and the deep flush on his cheeks, Uzair understood.

A soft, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Uzair lips,

"Bohot dard ho raha hai?" Uzair murmured,

He slid his palm down to Hamza lower back, beginning to rub the aching muscles in slow, circles. The heat from his hand instantly began to soothe the deep ache, making Hamza let out a sigh of relief as he melted into the mattress.

"Aap bohot... bohot zyaada bhaarhi hain, Uzair," Hamza whispered, hiding his face in the pillow,

Uzair let out a chuckle. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of Hamza shoulder,

"Maaf karna, jaan," Uzair rasped, tightening his hold gently and pulling Hamza against his chest. "Lekin tumne hi tez hone ko kaha tha. Yaad hai?"

Hamza face turned a violent shade of crimson at the reminder. He grabbed the edge of the quilt and pulled it straight over his head, hiding himself from Uzair eyes.

"Behaya..." Hamza muffled, "Aap... aap bilkul behaya hain, Uzair. Sharam nahi aata aapko?"

Uzair let out a loud laugh that echoed in the quiet morning air, He didn't let Hamza hide for long. His hand gripped the edge of the quilt and tugged it down, exposing Hamza flushed face and wildly tangled dark waves of hair.

"Apne shohar se sharam?" Uzair rasped, leaning over until his shadow completely blanketed Hamza. He caught Hamza chin with his thumb, as he looked down at his beautiful, undone husband. "Tumhare samne aakar mera saara sharafat khatam ho jaata hai, jaan. Aur ismein mera koi qasoor nahi hai."

He leaned down, catching Hamza pouting, trembling lips in a slow kiss that silenced any further complaints, melting the remaining ache right out of Hamza bones.

Hamza whimpered softly into the kiss, his initial annoyance dissolving under the familiar, intoxicating warmth of Uzair mouth. His fingers instinctively reached up, tangling weakly into Uzair hair as he let himself be pulled back into the tide of his husband affection.

When Uzair broke the kiss, he didn't pull away far. He rested his forehead against Hamza, his breath hot and uneven against Hamza lips.

"Ab batao," Uzair murmured, as his hand continued its slow, soothing circles over Hamza aching lower back. "Kaun behaya hai? Main, ya tum jo abhi bhi mujhe aise pakde hue ho?"

Hamza immediately let go of Uzair hair, his eyes widening in mock outrage as a fresh wave of heat rushed to his cheeks. He tried to turn his face away into the pillow, but Uzair thumb on his chin kept him locked in place, forcing him to meet that gaze.

"Aap hi hain," Hamza whispered, his voice small, sweet, "Humesha aap hi hote hain, Uzair."

Uzair smile softened, He leaned down and pressed one last kiss to Hamza forehead, right between his eyes, before pulling the quilt back over both of their shoulders to shield them from the morning chill.

"Uthna mat," Uzair commanded softly, pulling Hamza flush against his chest and locking him in a embrace. "Jab tak tumhara dard theek nahi hota, hum yahin rahenge."

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･

The morning sun filtered through the courtyard of the house, casting long, peaceful shadows across the floor. One month had passed since that peaceful night, and the rhythm of the household had remained sweet and steady.

Hamza walked quietly down the corridor, his waves of hair brushing against his shoulders. He is heading toward Ulfat room to wake little Faizal up for school,

But as he passed by the door of the study, the smile died on his face.

The door wasn't fully latched. It's cracked open just a sliver, and the voices drifting out from the room were sharp, serious, and unfamiliar—except for the booming, authoritative tone of Rehman. Hamza hadn't meant to listen. He had never been one to pry. But a single name caught his ear, freezing his feet right to the spot.

"Haan, hum guns ko delivery kar denge Balochistan ko, Shirani Saheb se keh ke," Rehman’s voice boomed, clear and chillingly business-like. "Lekin zyada maal lagenge. Aur Shirani Saheb ko nahi jaana chahiye ki yeh ISI ke liye ja raha hai."

Hamza heart stopped. The blood turned to ice in his veins.

Another voice replied— It belonged to the guest who had arrived early that morning under a shroud of secrecy. The man voice carried the unmistakable, cold discipline of the military. Major Iqbal. That is his name.

Hamza stood entirely paralyzed in the dim hallway, his breath catching painfully in his throat. His mind reeled, spinning out of control as the gravity of those words crashed down upon him.

The ISI.

To Hamza, that name wasn't just an acronym; it is a curse. It is the shadow that haunted his very blood. Balochistan his home. It's the land where his mother had raised him, the land where his roots lay deep in the soil. And it's the ISI—those very people—who had brought poison to Balochistan. Because of their brutal, ruthless games, half of the children in his homeland had suffered, starved, and died. The pain of Balochistan was an open, bleeding wound in Hamza heart.

And here, inside the walls of the house he considered his sanctuary, the truth is being laid bare.

His husband family. Rehman. Uzair. The people he broke bread with every single day, the family that had wrapped him in warmth and safety—they were doing business with the very monsters who tore his homeland apart. They were smuggling guns. They were using his Mamu, Shirani, as a pawn in their dangerous game, all while deliberately keeping Shirani in the dark about the fact that the weapons were destined for the ISI.

Hamza hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp, his knees shaking violently he had to press his back against the cold corridor wall just to stay upright. The world around him fractured. The safe, loving home he thought he had built with Uzair suddenly felt like a beautifully constructed lie, built on top of the weapons and blood of his own people.

Hamza somehow found the strength to move his legs, stumbling blindly back down the corridor and slipping into the privacy of their bedroom. He closed the door softly, his hands trembling violently he could barely turn the handle.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, his knees giving out entirely. The silence of the room is deafening, a sharp contrast to the horrific truth echoing in his mind.

And then, the tears came. They dropped non-stop, hot and heavy, spilling over his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his kurta. His breath hitched in his throat, a silent, suffocating sob racking his chest. Every beautiful memory of the past month—the warmth of the dastar khwan, the safety of Uzair arms, the peaceful evening on the roofs—felt like a cruel, twisted illusion.

In the distance, the footsteps in the hallway signaled the end of the meeting. He heard the front gate creak open and shut as Major Iqbal left. The house fell back into its usual quiet rhythm, unaware of the wreckage inside Hamza heart.

Seconds later, the bedroom door clicked open.

Uzair walked in, He had a relaxed, calm expression on his face, ready to find his husband and pull him into his arms as he always did after a long morning.

But the moment Uzair eyes locked onto the bed, he froze.

The sight of Hamza sitting there, long waves of hair tangled around his face, and those endless tears dropping non-stop onto his lap, hit Uzair

"Hamza?" Uzair voice cracked, the intensity of his protectiveness taking over. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees right in front of Hamza on the floor, his hands flying up to frame Hamza tear-stained face. "Kya hua? Hamza, mere taraf dekho. Kahan dard ho raha hai? Mujhe batao!"

Hamza voice is barely a whisper, a quiet, fragile sound that seemed to slice right through the tense air of the room. He raised a trembling hand, pulling away slightly as he wiped the fresh tears from his cheeks,

"Aap log andar kya kar rahe thay?" Hamza asked,

Uzair hands remained frozen in the air for a fraction of a second, his thumbs still hovering near Hamza cheekbones. He is a man who rarely felt cornered, but the vulnerability and the weight in Hamza quiet question made his chest tighten.

"Hamza..." Uzair began, He didn't answer immediately, his mind calculating how much Hamza had heard, but his hands moved downward, gently grasping Hamza trembling wrists to keep him anchored close. "Ghar ka kaam tha. Rehman bhai aur ek mehmaan aaye thay. Tum yeh sab chodo, tumhara tabiyat kyun kharab ho rahi hai? Tum ro kyun rahe ho?"

The deflecting words, spoken with such calm authority, only made the ache in Hamza chest twist sharper. To Uzair, it was just 'business'—the cold, transactional reality of weapons and delivery. But to Hamza, it's the blood of Balochistan children, the very poison that had torn his home apart, now sitting right in the hands of the man he loved more than life itself.

"Kiyu chodu main ye saab?" Hamza’s voice broke, a ragged, agonized sound that ripped straight from his throat. "Kis liye?! Aap toh jaante hain na woh log kaun hain?! Woh log Balochistan ke saath kya kar rahe hain?!"

Driven by a sudden, desperate surge of pain, Hamza lunged forward and gripped Uzair collar with both hands. His fingers bunched tightly into the fabric, trembling violently as he pulled himself closer to his husband chest.

"Phir kiyu, Uzair Jan Baloch...!?" Hamza choked out, using the weight of his own identity—the blood of his people—to demand an answer. "Kiyu kar rahe hain aap yeh?! Hamare bache... hamara zameen... unhone poison diya hai hamare ghar ko! Aur aap... aap unke saath...?"

Uzair didn't move. He didn't flinch, nor did he break the grip Hamza had on his collar. His frame remained perfectly still, kneeling on the floor, but a storm flared in his eyes. Hearing his gentle, soft-spoken husband speak with such desperate, agonizing fury—hearing him call out the name of his bleeding homeland—hit Uzair right in the chest.

His hands came up, wrapping securely around Hamza wrists, not to push him away, but to hold him steady as Hamza strength began to fail him.

"Hamza, mera baat suno," Uzair commanded, He pulled Hamza trembling hands down slightly, forcing Hamza to look into his eyes. "Suno mera baat."

"Kuch nahi sunna mujhe! Kya sunayenge aap mujhe... huhhh? Kya sunayenge?!" Hamza screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of an agony. It's a sound completely foreign to the house—Hamza, who is always so gentle, so soft-spoken, was crying out with a pain that shook the very walls of their room.

Below, the frantic, desperate shouts instantly shattered the morning peace. The panicked thud of footsteps raced up the stairs.

The bedroom door flew open, and Rehman stepped in first, his face tight with alarm, with Ulfat close behind him, her eyes wide with fear.

"Uzair! Hamza! Kya hua?!" Rehman booming voice filled the room as he took in the sight of Uzair kneeling on the floor, holding a hysterical, trembling Hamza who is drowning in his own tears.

Ulfat rushed forward instinctively, her heart breaking at the sight of Hamza. "Hamza! Beta, kya baat hai? Uzair, kya kiya tumne?!"

Uzair didn't break his grip on Hamza wrists. He didn't look back at his brother or his sister-in-law. His eyes remained fixed entirely on Hamza, tear-streaked face, "Dekho, yeh sab business ka baat hain. Isme tum kiyu apna dimaag kharab kar rahe ho?" Uzair said, He didn't say it to be with the practical finality of a man who lived in a dangerous world—a world where business is business, no matter how dirty.

His hands tightened around Hamza wrists, trying to ground him, trying to force him to stop spiraling.

Hearing those words—hearing the brutal devastation of his homeland dismissed so easily as just 'business'—made something snap inside Hamza. He looked at Uzair as if he were looking at a stranger. The man who kissed him so tenderly just hours ago was now standing before him as a partner to the monsters who destroyed Balochistan.

"Business...?" Hamza whispered, a laugh escaping his trembling lips. He pulled against Uzair grip with all the strength left in his body. "Hamare Balochistan ke bacchon ka khoon aapke liye business hai, Uzair?! Hamari zameen ka sauda business hai?!"

Rehman stood by the door, his chest rising and falling heavily as he realized exactly what Hamza had overheard. He exchanged a sharp look with Uzair.

Ulfat, however, rushed to the side of the bed, She didn't fully understand the politics, but she knew Hamza pain is tearing him apart. "Uzair! Chodo use! Dekho toh sahi uska haalat kya ho gaya hai!"

"Meri bags kahan hain?! Mujhe jana hai! Main ek pal yahan nahi rahoonga!" Hamza sobbed, He tore himself out of Uzair grip, scrambling off the bed and onto his feet, his balance unsteady as he began tearing through the closet. He is throwing clothes onto the mattress in a blind, desperate hurry, his hands shaking violently he could barely grab a single item.

Uzair stood frozen for a split second, his face pale with a mixture of shock and a simmering rage.

"Hamza, ruk jao!" Uzair barked, his voice vibrating with command.

But Hamza ignored him, his eyes darting wildly around the room. He needed his phone. He needed his Mamu. He needed to be anywhere but here, in the home of the people who were arming the men who murdered his childhood, his people, his home.

"Mamu..." he whispered, his breath hitching, his fingers trembling as he fumbled across the nightstand for his phone. He grabbed it, his thumb hovering over the dial pad to call Shirani.

Rehman stepped forward, his expression hardening. "Uzair, usse roko! Woh kisi ko call kar raha hai!"

Uzair lunged, his frame closing the distance in a single stride. He grabbed Hamza waist from behind, his arms pinning Hamza arms against his sides in a crushing, iron-tight hold. Hamza screamed, thrashing against the sheer power of Uzair grip, his feet kicking out, his entire body convulsing with the need to escape.

"Chodo mujhe! Chodo!" Hamza shrieked, his voice breaking into a sob as he struggled against the man who had become his entire world, only to turn into his nightmare.

"Main tumhein kahin nahi jaane doonga," Uzair growled, his face buried against Hamza neck—the same place where he had hidden his face just hours before—as he effectively paralyzed Hamza in his arms. "Tum mere ho, Hamza. Mere ghar mein ho. Kahin jaane ki zaroorat nahi hai."

"Main kisi ka nahi hoon! Kisi ka nahi-iiii! Samjhe aap?!" Hamza shrieked, his voice splitting with a pain so sharp it sliced through the room. He thrashed violently against Uzair grip,

Through his blinding tears, his wet, furious gaze snapped over to Rehman, who is still standing near the door with a tense expression.

"Kiyu, Rehman bhai?! Darr lag raha hai?!" Hamza choked out, a bitter laugh breaking through his sobs. "Darr lag raha hai ke aapka yeh ganda sauda sabke samne aa jayega?! Main toh is ghar se jaakar rahoonga! Karo yeh business... maro hamare logon ko! Mujhe nahi rehna aise kafiro ke ghar!"

The word 'kafir rang out through the bedroom,

Rehman’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes darkening at the accusation, but he held his ground. Ulfat gasped, covering her mouth as she looked between them, her heart breaking for the sheer agony pouring out of Hamza.

Hearing Hamza call his family kafir—hearing the disgust and hatred in his husband voice—sent a dangerous wave of heat straight to Uzair brain. His grip on Hamza waist tightened until it was nearly bruising,

"Zabaan ko lagaam do, Hamza!" Uzair growled, He lifted Hamza completely off his feet, neutralizing his struggles, and threw a glance at his brother. "Bhai, aap Bhabi ko lekar baahar jaiye. Aur darwaza band kar dein."

Rehman didn't wait to be told twice. He grabbed a weeping, reluctant Ulfat by the arm and pulled her out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the room.

Uzair slowly set Hamza back down on his feet, but he didn't let go. His hands slid up to grip Hamza shoulders, his thumbs digging in just enough to hold him steady, forcing Hamza to face him.

Hamza didn't flinch. He tilted his head back, he looked straight into Uzair eyes. The tears were still tracking down his pale cheeks, but his gaze was fiercely defiant, stripped of all the shyness and warmth that usually defined him.

"Kya karenge? Jabardasti karenge?" Hamza asked, his voice dropping into a quiet, trembling whisper that cut sharper than any scream.....

So, here's today's chapter! ❤️

You might be wondering why Hamza was so shy—well, it was his first time experiencing something like that. 🥹

And yes, the intimate scene was a bit long because I wanted every reader to feel every emotion, every moment, and every touch between them. I hope I was able to do that, and I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for reading. 🤍

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 4

Hamza smiled, a shy beautiful curve of his lips as the sleep fully left his eyes. Slowly, he moved to step out of the car, his fingers immediately reaching out to lock tightly around Uzair welcoming hand. The moment his feet touched the Karachi ground, the sheer noise and vibrant energy of Lyari hit him, and he instinctively stepped behind Uzair frame—far too shy to face the crowd on his own.

Uzair chuckled softly, his body acting as a perfect shield for his husband as he led him toward the entrance of the haveli.

"Dekho! Dekho, naye dulha aa gaye!"

Ulfat’s loud, joyful voice rang out through the courtyard, which is beautifully illuminated with strings of fairy lights. True to her word, she had gathered the family and close neighbors, all waiting with anticipation.

Seeing Hamza hiding timidly behind Uzair, Ulfat wasted no time. She marched right down the steps, a huge grin on her face. "Hato, Uzair! Tumhara rasta ab khatam, ab yeh mera bhai hai," she teased, playfully pushing Uzair shoulder aside.

Gently but Ulfat took hold of Hamza hands, pulling him out from behind Uzair shadow.

Hamza cheeks burned a furious shade of crimson, his surma-lined lashes casting nervous shadows on his glowing skin as the crowd let out a collective, admiring gasp at how breathtaking the young mountain groom looked in his royal blue sherwani.

Ulfat wrapped a arm around Hamza shoulders, shielding his shyness with her own bustling energy as she began leading him inside the decorated haveli. "Chalo, chalo, andar aao! Nazar na lag jaye mere bache ko," she ushered warmly, leaving Uzair standing by the doorway, holding his sword, watching his husband,

Ulfat picked up a beautifully engraved silver platter containing a small bowl of milk and a shower of fresh jasmine petals. Step by step, she followed the traditional customs, reciting a soft Ayat-al-Kursi over Hamza to invoke blessings and protect him from the evil eye, blowing gently over him with a smile.

​She then took a small piece of mithai, offering it to Hamza with a grin. "Bismillah karo, meri jaan. Aur naye ghar ki rounak bano."

​Hamza took a small bite, his eyes lifting through his lashes to meet Ulfat gaze. "Shukriya, Bhabhi," he murmured, his voice soft, yet clear enough to make the elderly aunts whisper Mashallahs about his gentle manners.

​Ulfat then turned to Uzair, feeding him a piece as well, before setting the platter down. She grabbed a small velvet pouch of coins meant for sadqah to give to the needy tomorrow morning, and quietly whispered to Hamza, "Chalo, ab naye dulhe ko uske kamre tak chod aayein. Bohat lamba safar tha, thak gaye hoge."

​As Ulfat and a few cousins began leading Hamza up the staircase toward the private quarters, Hamza couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder.

​Down in the courtyard, Uzair is still standing there, his hand resting on the gold hilt of his sword. As their eyes locked across the crowded room, a smirk played on Uzair lips. His eyes held a : Go on. This is your home now, and I am right behind you.

The staircase led them to the upper wing of the haveli, a quieter and more private sanctuary away from the bustling sounds of the courtyard downstairs.

Ulfat stopped in front of a pair of doors. With a knowing smile, she pushed them open, revealing the bedroom. The room is breathtaking—soft candlelight illuminated the space, and the large four-poster bed was elegantly adorned with crisp white linen and a light dusting of fresh red rose petals.

"Yeh tumhara kamra hai, Hamza," Ulfat said softly, She stepped inside, gently guiding him by the shoulder. "Aaram karo. Main baqi sab ko neeche hi rakhongi taake koi tumhein tang na kare."

Hamza stepped into the room, his sherwani rustling against the carpet. He looked around, his hazel-green eyes wide with a mix of awe and a sudden, nervous fluttering in his chest. The glow on his face deepened into a beautiful, rosy flush under the warm lighting.

"Shukriya, Bhabhi... aapne bohot kuch kiya," Hamza murmured shyly, as he turned to face her.

"Abhi se shukriya? Abhi toh poori zindagi baqi hai," Ulfat teased gently, reaching out to pat his cheek. She leaned in slightly, whispering with a playful wink, "Uzair thoda khadoos zaroor lagta hai, par uska dil sirf tumhare liye dhadakta hai. Befikr raho."

With a final, reassuring smile, Ulfat stepped out of the room, closing the doors softly behind her, leaving Hamza alone in the quiet space.

Hamza stood near the edge of the bed, slowly letting out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since they crossed the Lyari border. He reached up, his fingers carefully untying the pagri from his head, letting his waves of hair fall loose over his shoulders.

Just as he set the pagri down on the dresser, the soft sound of the door handle clicking filled the room.

Hamza turned around quickly, his heart jumping into his throat. Uzair stepped inside, closing the door. Uzair eyes locked onto Hamza. Seeing his husband standing there—with his hair beautifully messy, his cheeks flushed pink—Uzair features softened into an tenderness.

He began walking forward, slowly closing the distance between them.

Hamza eyes drifted past Uzair approaching figure, catching sight of the far wall of the bedroom. he stepped around Uzair,

The entire wall was dedicated to pictures, framed beautifully in dark, polished wood. It was a visual timeline of Uzair life—a side of his husband Hamza had never seen.

Hamza stood right in front of it, his eyes wide with wonder, a soft smile breaking across his lips.

The highest photos showed a little Uzair—maybe five or six years old—with the exact same stubborn, sharp jawline, but with chubby cheeks and large eyes. In one picture, a young Uzair was holding a tiny wooden sword, looking dead-serious, which made Hamza let out a quiet, melodic chuckle.

Further down, the photos shifted into his teenage years. Uzair grew taller, his shoulders broadening out, his expressions turning more guarded and sharp, yet undeniably handsome. There were photos of him standing proudly next to a younger, laughing Ulfat Bhabhi, and a few with a proud Shirani Sahab during early family visits.

Uzair walked up soundlessly behind him, as Uzair leaned in close, his voice vibrating right against Hamza ear. "Kya dekh rahe ho?" Uzair murmured softly, his hand coming up to gently rest on the wall next to Hamza shoulder, effectively trapping his husband in his embrace.

Hamza didn't pull away. He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at Uzair

"Aap..." Hamza whispered shyly, as he pointed a finger toward the photo of little Uzair with the wooden sword. "Aap bachpan mein bhi bilkul aise hi gusse wale dikhte the."

Hamza eyes drifted from the photo wall, turning slowly to take in the rest of the space. A quiet, awe settled over him as he realized this wasn't just a beautifully decorated suite—this is Uzair personal sanctuary. The room where he grew up, slept, and lived his life.

Walking away from the wall with soft, hesitant steps, Hamza let his fingers trail lightly over the furniture.

The room is a perfect reflection of Uzair dual nature—rugged and powerful, yet deeply refined. On one side stood a bookshelf lined with old, leather-bound Urdu literature, legal volumes, and historical texts. Next to it was a stark contrast: a beautifully crafted wooden rack holding a collection of traditional, polished daggers and antique rings, looking like the personal armory of a true Baloch leader.

Hamza paused by a mirror. Sitting on the marble top were Uzair personal items—a silver watch, a bottle of his signature black saffron cologne, and a small, worn leather pouch.

Uzair didn't move from his spot by the photo wall. He stood with his arms loosely crossed, his head tilted slightly as he watched his husband explore. A quiet satisfaction settled deep into his chest. Seeing Hamza—with his waves of hair falling beautifully over his shoulders and his shawl draping elegantly behind him—moving around his personal space made the room finally feel complete.

Hamza caught Uzair gaze in the mirror. He turned around slowly, his heart doing that familiar, erratic dance against his ribs.

"Aapka kamra..." Hamza whispered, as he nervously adjusted the edge of his sleeve. "Yeh... yeh bohot bada hai. Aur bilkul aapke jaisa hai."

Uzair uncrossed his arms and began walking slowly toward Hamza, "Mera kamra nahi, Hamza," Uzair murmured, "Ab se, yeh humara kamra hai."

The realization that his entire life had just beautifully shifted into this new chapter sent a shiver of nervous excitement down his spine. He looked down, unable to hold Uzair gaze, his fingers tightening around the soft silk of his shawl.

Uzair chuckled softly, He reached out, his hand gently cupping Hamza chin, tilting his face up until those luminous hazel-green eyes are forced to meet his own again.

"Abhi bhi itna sharmate ho?" Uzair murmured, his thumb tracing a slow, comforting line across Hamza soft lower lip. " Hamza Hum apne ghar mein hain."

With slowness, Uzair other hand reached up to the first gold button of his own sherwani. He unfastened it, then the next, looking down at Hamza "Bohat lamba safar tha. Yeh bhaari kapde utaro aur aaram karo. Main thoda der mein aata hoon."

He gave Hamza chin a final, gentle squeeze before turning toward the attached dressing room to change into something lighter, giving his husband some privacy.

Left alone in the center of the candlelit room, Hamza let out a breath. He walked over to the bed, the red rose petals shifting softly under his touch. Slowly, he unbuttoned his sherwani, feeling the heavy fabric slip off his shoulders, leaving him in his soft, white cotton inner kurta. He felt lighter, the tension of the eleven-hour drive finally beginning to melt away from his tired muscles.

He sat on the edge of the plush mattress, , as he began untying the laces of his shoes.

A moment later, the door to the dressing room clicked open. Uzair stepped out, having changed into a simple kurta and pajama.

He walked over to the bed and sat down right next to Hamza, He didn't say a word at first. Instead, he simply reached down, took Hamza feet into his hands, and gently helped him remove the tight shoes, massaging his aching arches with a care. Hamza gasped softly, instinctively trying to pull his feet back in shock. "Uzair... aap yeh kya kar rahe hain?" he whispered,

"Tumhe aaram de raha hoon," Uzair replied simply, leaving no room for argument as his fingers continued their soothing rhythm. He looked up, "Tumne mere liye apna poora jahan choda hai, Hamza. Kya main tumhare liye itna bhi nahi kar sakta?"

Hamza heart swelled so acutely it felt like a sweet ache in his chest. Tears of gratitude pricked at the corners of his eyes, but this time, they didn't fall. He stopped trying to pull his feet away, completely surrendering to the warmth of Uzair palms.

"Aap... aap aisi baatein karte hain toh mujhe samajh nahi aata main kya kahoon," Hamza whispered, as he looked down at his own lap,

Uzair finished easing the tension from Hamza feet and slid closer on the mattress. He reached up, his hand gently flattening the waves of Hamza hair, smoothing them back behind his ear.

"Kuch kehne ki zaroorat nahi hai," Uzair murmured, "Sirf mujh par bharosa rakho."

With a slow movement, Uzair leaned forward, his arms wrapping around Hamza waist, pulling him gently but against his chest. Hamza let out a soft gasp, his hands automatically coming up to rest against Uzair shoulders for balance.

Uzair shifted back slightly against the headboard, bringing Hamza with him. He pulled the soft, lightweight quilt up over both of them, shielding them from the cool midnight breeze drifting in from the balcony

Hamza face was pressed right against the crook of Uzair neck. Listening to the thumping of his husband heart,

​"Uzair...?" Hamza whispered softly into the dark, his eyes already growing heavy.

​"Ji, meri jaan," Uzair replied, his hand gently stroking Hamza back.

​"Hum sach mein apne ghar pahonch gaye na?"

​Uzair smiled in the dim candlelight, pressing a soft kiss onto the crown of Hamza head. "Haan, hum apne ghar hain. Hamesha ke liye."

Hamza smiled softly against Uzair chest, the gentle rhythm of his husband hand on his back giving him a burst of quiet energy. Slowly, he began to lift his head, shifting his weight to slide out from under the warm quilt.

Uzair hand instantly tightened around Hamza waist, his eyes opening as his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Kaha ja rahe ho?" Uzair murmured, his voice rough with sleep as he tried to pull Hamza back down against his chest.

Hamza let out a soft sigh, a playful yet tired smile gracing his lips. He gently placed his hands over Uzair forearms to ease his grip.

"Suitcase unpack karna hai," Hamza said softly, as he looked down at his stubborn husband. "Aur gaari mein poora rasta soya hua tha main... abhi neend nahi aa rahi hai."

Uzair stared up at him for a long moment, as he realized Hamza is genuinely wide awake after his eleven-hour nap. With a chuckle Uzair finally let go of his waist, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Is waqt kaun unpack karta hai, Dulha Sahab?" Uzair teased, as his eyes tracked Hamza stepping off the bed.

Hamza bare feet sank into the plush rug as he walked over to where their suitcases had been placed near the wardrobe. "Main karta hoon," Hamza whispered back pulling the zipper of the first bag open. "Agar kapde aese hi reh gaye toh saari sherwaniyan kharab ho jayenge."

Uzair didn't say a word. He simply swung his legs over the side of the bed, He walked over to the wardrobe, as he reached up and pulled out a stack of empty hangers, holding them out to his husband "Theek hai," Uzair murmured, "Phir mil kar karte hain."

Hamza looked up at the hangers, then at Uzair "Uzair... aap kyun uth gaye? Aap toh bohot thak gaye honge driving se. Aap aaram karein, main kar loonga."

"Tumhe akele kaam karne doon aur main so jaoon?" Uzair countered, He took a step closer, "Mera rasta zaroor thakan wala tha, par mera jaan jab jaag raha ho, toh mujhe neend nahi aata."

Hamza turned back to the suitcase quickly to hide his burning cheeks, as he lifted out his first outfit—a beautifully embroidered, delicate linen kurta. He handed it to Uzair, who smoothly slid it onto a hanger and hung it inside the wardrobe.

For the next half hour, a quiet, beautiful rhythm settled between them. Hamza would neatly fold and lift the clothes from the trunk, and Uzair would take them, his hands handling Hamza soft silks and linens with an gentleness.

As Hamza reached the bottom of the suitcase, his fingers brushed against a small, velvet-bound diary hidden beneath his folded shawls. He paused, his gaze softening as he touched it. It's his personal journal from the haveli, filled with his poems and thoughts from his life in the mountains.

Uzair noticed the sudden quiet. He leaned against the wardrobe door, crossing his arms over his chest,

"Kya mila?" Uzair asked softly.

Hamza lifted the diary, clutching it gently against his chest as he stood up. He looked up at Uzair "Mera kuch... purane yaadein hain. Mera ek chota sa jahan hai isme."

Uzair stepped forward, closing the small distance between them until he is standing right over Hamza. He didn't try to take the diary. Instead, he reached out, his hand gently cupping the back of Hamza neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin there.

"Usko hamesha sambhal kar rakhna," Uzair murmured, "Is naye jahan mein tumhara purana yaadon ka bhi utna hi izzat hoga, jitna tumhara hai."

With the last of the clothes neatly arranged—Hamza silks and soft linens occupying one dedicated side of the wardrobe, right next to Uzair crisp, dark kurtas—they closed the doors.

Just as Hamza is smoothing down the front of his white inner kurta, a soft knock sounded at the door.

The door clicked back, and Ulfat entered the room carrying a arranged silver tray covered with a cloth, the rich aroma of fresh pilaf and spicy chicken salan instantly filling the air. Seeing the open suitcases and the neat wardrobe, her eyes darted between Uzair and Hamza,

"Maaf karna, dair ho gayi," Ulfat said softly, as she set the tray down on the side table. She turned to Hamza, taking his hands. "Bohot log hain na neeche... sab ko sambhaltay sambhaltay waqt ka pata hi nahi chala. Aur kal toh aur bhi bohot log ayenge, poore mohalle aur khandan ki dawat hai."

Hamza eyes widened slightly with a touch of sudden, anxious

Ulfat chuckled warmly, squeezing his hands reassoningly. "Naye dulhe ko sab ko dekhna jo hai! Sab bohot betaab hain tumse milne ke liye. Hamza bas kal ka din sambhal lo... phir main tumhein bilkul pareshan nahi karungi, waada hai mera."

Hamza felt a rush of warmth at her words. The anxiety in his chest softened, and he offered her a smile. "Koi baat nahi, Bhabhi. Pareshani ki koi baat nahi hai. Main... main kal sab se mil loonga."

"Mashallah," Ulfat beamed, patting his cheek lovingly before turning a sharp eye toward her brother. "Uzair, isse pehle khana thanda ho, tum dono kha lo. Aur is bechare ko zaroorat se zyada tang mat karna, bohot lamba safar tha."

Uzair leaned against the bedpost, "Ji, Bhabhi. Jaise aapka hukum."

With a nod, Ulfat turned and left the bedroom, clicking the door shut behind her, leaving the two husbands alone with the quiet room and the late-night feast.

The room fell into a silence as Uzair and Hamza sat together, sharing the warm late-night meal. Uzair made sure Hamza plate is filled first, watching with quiet satisfaction as his husband finally ate after the journey. Once they finished, Uzair gestured to the house staff, and the servants quietly cleared the plates, leaving the bedroom entirely private once more.

A moment later, Hamza phone buzzed with a familiar ringtone. Seeing the name on the screen, his face instantly lit up, He quickly answered, stepping closer to the balcony doors.

"Mamu...?" Hamza whispered into the receiver,

On the other end of the line, Shirani weathered voice came through with relief. "Hamza, Khairiyat se pahonch gaye? Maine socha abhi tak tum so gaye hoge, par dil nahi maana bina khabar liye."

"Ji, Mamu, hum bilkul khairiyat se pahonch gaye," Hamza said, as he leaned his shoulder against the glass door, his eyes scanning the twinkling lights of the Lyari skyline. "Bhabhi ne bohot achhi taryari ki thi. Sab bohot khush hain... aur Uzair ne raste mein mera bohot khayal rakha."

Uzair, who was leaning against the bedpost adjusting his silver watch, looked up at the mention of his name.

" Alhamdullilah," Shirani sighed over the phone, "Uzair par mujhe poora bharosa hai, beta. Kal tumhara dawat hai na? Bilkul ghabrana nahi hai. Tum hamare ghar ki shaan ho, aur ab us ghar ki rounak ho."

Hamza lashes lowered as a tear pricked his eye—not out of sadness this time, but out of comfort. "Ji Mamu, main kal sab sambhal loonga. Aap apna aur bacho ka khayal rakhiyega. Mujhe aapka bohot yaad aa raha hai."

"Meri duayein hamesha tumhare sath hain, beta. Chalo, ab aaram karo, subah jaldi uthna hoga," Shirani murmured affectionately before passing his blessings to Uzair and hanging up.

Hamza slowly lowered the phone, his heart feeling lighter and more grounded than it had all day. He turned around to face the room, only to find Uzair standing just a mere breath away,

"Mamu kya keh rahe the?" Uzair murmured, as he reached out thumb gently wiping away the single stray tear from Hamza cheek.

Hamza leaned into the warmth of Uzair hand, "Mamu keh rahe the ke ghabrana nahi hai... aur yeh bhi ke unhe aap par poora bharosa hai," he whispered,

Uzair didn't say a word. Instead, he slipped his hand from Hamza cheek down to the nape of his neck, his fingers gently tangling into those long, dark waves of hair. Gently he guided Hamza forward, pressing a kiss right onto his forehead.

Hamza eyes fluttered shut, his hands instinctively reaching out to grip the fabric of Uzair kurta.

"Maine unse waada kiya tha, Hamza," Uzair murmured against his skin, "Aur Uzair Baloch apna waada kabhi nahi todta. Tumhare aankh mein aanso sirf tab aayenge jab tum mujhe yaad karoge, kisi dukh se nahi."

Hamza looked up "Main jaanta hoon," Hamza murmured shyly,

Uzair smiled, slowly let his hand drop to wrap around Hamza waist. He guided his husband back toward the rose-petal-strewn bed.

"Chalo, ab chupchap so jao," Uzair commanded gently, pulling back the lightweight quilt. "Kal poora mohalla mere jaan ko dekhne aa raha hai. Aur main nahi chahta ke mere dulhe ki aankhon mein thakan dikhe."

Hamza froze at the edge of the mattress, his feet glued to the floor. His eyes stared down at the white sheets and the red rose petals scattered across them. A sudden, sharp wave of anxiety hit him, making his breath hitch.

Until this exact moment, the room had felt like a beautiful sanctuary. But now, looking at the decorated bed, the reality of their wedding night crashed down on him. He didn’t know what Uzair is expecting from him. Hamza heart began to hammer violently against his ribs,

Uzair, who is already sitting back against the headboard, noticed the sudden stiffness in Hamza posture.

The low, teasing smile immediately left Uzair face, replaced by a look of focused understanding. He realized exactly where his husband mind had gone.

Without a sound, Uzair swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. he took slow, steps until he is standing right in front of Hamza,

"Hamza," Uzair murmured,

Hamza didn't look up, his cheeks burning a furious crimson out of nervousness.

Uzair slowly reached out, his hands careful as he placed them firmly on Hamza shoulders. He didn't pull him toward the bed. He just held him there, grounding him.

"Mere taraf dekho," Uzair commanded softly.

Slowly, Hamza lifted his gaze his eyes wide and shining with an unspoken, anxious question.

"Suno mera baat," Uzair said, "Yeh phool, yeh sajawat... yeh sab Bhabhi ki khushi hai. Mera nahi. Main tumse yahan kisi cheez ki umeed lekar nahi aaya hoon."

He slid one hand up to gently cup Hamza cheek, his thumb smoothing over his skin. "Tum thake hue ho, aur ghabraye hue ho. Mujhe sirf tumhara sukoon chahiye, Hamza. Is bistar par tum tabhi aaoge jab tumhara dil chahega. Agar tum chaho, toh main poora raat is sofa par guzar sakta hoon. Tumse tumhare marzi ke bina main tumhara saya bhi nahi chounga."

A breath escaped Hamza lips. The knot of panic in his chest dissolved at Uzair respect and reassurance.

Hamza didn't let him finish. Overwhelmed by the weight of Uzair respect and the relief washing over him, he stepped forward and threw his arms tightly around Uzair neck. He buried his face deep into the crook of Uzair shoulder, hiding away from the world as soft, trembling sobs broke from his chest.

"Mujhe... mujhe thoda waqt chahiye..." Hamza cried softly, his whole body shaking as he let out the pent-up anxiety. "Main abhi... abhi kuch nahi kar sakta, Uzair... Please..."

Uzair heart wrenched at the sound of his husband soft cries. Without a second thought, his arms wrapped securely around Hamza waist, lifting him slightly to anchor him entirely against his frame. He rocked Hamza gently, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Hamza head, burying his fingers in those waves of hair.

"Shh... koi baat nahi, meri jaan. Bilkul koi baat nahi," Uzair murmured over and over, his He pressed a kiss against the side of Hamza head, holding him as if he were the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

"Suno meri baat," Uzair whispered, pulling back just enough to look down at Hamza tear-streaked face, though he kept his arms securely around his waist. He wiped the tears from Hamza cheeks with his thumbs.

"Sara zindagi pada hai hamare paas. Mujhe koi jaldi nahi hai. Tumhe jitna waqt chahiye, tum lo. Jab tak tum khud mere paas nahi aaoge, main tumse kuch nahi maangoonga. Tumhara sukoon mere liye har cheez se pehle hai."

​Hamza sniffled, looking up ​"Shukriya..." He whispered, his hands resting against Uzair chest.

​Uzair smiled, He didn't let go of Hamza waist; instead, he gently guided him toward the bed. With a sweep of his hand, Uzair brushed a clear space through the rose petals, pulling back the quilt so Hamza wouldn't feel overwhelmed.

​"Chalo, ab rona band karo aur aaram karo," Uzair said softly, helping Hamza slide under the sheets. Uzair then lay down right beside him on top of the covers, keeping his promise of distance, but leaving his hand open on the mattress between them—a silent, reassuring presence whenever Hamza is ready to take it.

Hamza looked at Uzair open palm resting on the mattress between them. The respect and patience in his husband eyes completely shattered the last of his hesitation.

Slowly, Hamza slipped his hand into Uzair, his fingers tangling securely with Uzair ones.

Uzair grip closed around Hamza hand , He didn't pull Hamza closer or try to breach the boundary he had set; he just held him, letting his warmth act as an anchor in the quiet room.

"Uzair...?" Hamza whispered into the dim light, his long waves of hair scattered beautifully over the white pillow as he tilted his head toward his husband.

"Ji, Hamza," Uzair replied,

"Aap... aap waqai mein bohot achhe hain," Hamza murmured,

A low chuckle rumbled deep in Uzair chest. "Maine kaha tha na, jaan... mujh par bharosa rakho. Ab chup chap so jao, kal ka din bohot lamba hai."

Hamza nodded against the pillow, a smile finally settling on his lips. With his hand safely enclosed in Uzair, the exhaustion from the eleven-hour journey and weight of the day finally took over. Within minutes, his breathing slowed into rhythm.

Uzair stayed awake for a while longer, his eyes never leaving Hamza sleeping face. He quietly made a silent vow to protect this innocence and this peace for the rest of his life, no matter what Lyari threw at them.

The next morning, the bright Karachi sunlight streamed through the grand balcony doors, accompanied by the distant, bustling sounds of the haveli preparing for the wedding dawat.

Hamza eyes fluttered open against the morning glare. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, before realizing his head is resting comfortably on a chest and a arm was securely wrapped around his waist, holding him close.

Uzair is already awake, propped up slightly against the headboard, a cup of morning chai resting on the nightstand. He looked down at Hamza,

"Dulha Sahab," Uzair murmured, "Uth jao, isse pehle ke Bhabhi dhol-dhamake ke sath kamre mein aa jayein."

Hamza let out a quiet chuckle, the morning warmth making him feel incredibly safe. Instead of getting up, he slid closer, pressing his face right into the center of Uzair chest to hide from the bright morning light. His hands gripped the fabric of Uzair kurta as he snuggled deeper into his husband embrace, letting out a soft, contented sigh.

Uzair chest rumbled with a laugh , His arm tightened around Hamza waist, pulling him against his body, while his other hand reached up to gently stroke those hair.

"Lagta hai mere dulhe ko uthne ka bilkul mood nahi hai," Uzair murmured as he pressed a kiss onto the crown of his head.

Hamza smiled against the warmth of Uzair skin, his eyes blinking open in the cozy darkness of his husband shadow.

"Thodi der aur..." Hamza whispered softly, as he tightened his hold around Uzair. "Neeche bohot shor hai... mujhe thoda aur waqt chahiye."

Uzair thumb traced a slow circle on Hamza waist through the kurta. "Jitna waqt chahiye lo, jaan," Uzair whispered back, "Jab tak tum nahi chahoge, is kamre ke darwaze kisi ke liye nahi khulenge."

They stayed like that for a few more quiet, stolen minutes, enveloped in the bubble of their bedroom while the rest of the haveli buzzed with life outside.

Eventually, a knock sounded at the doors, followed by the muffled, cheerful voice of Ulfat. "Uzair? Hamza? Uth jao bhaee! Naye dulhe ko tayyar hona hai, dawat ke mehmaan bas aane hi wale hain!"

Hamza eyes flew open, He quickly pulled back from Uzair chest, sitting up on the mattress as his hair fell over his shoulders.

"Bhabhi..." Hamza whispered

"Bhabhi ko thoda sabar karna seekhna chahiye," Uzair murmured

Uzair swung his legs out of bed and walked over to the door, He stepped halfway out, speaking to Ulfat in a low voice to give Hamza a few more moments of privacy.

When Uzair stepped back inside and closed the door, he is carrying a beautifully pressed, heavy cream-colored jamawar sherwani with intricate gold embroidery along the collar, alongside a matching silk shawl.

"Yeh tumhare liye hai," Uzair said softly, placing th attire onto the armchair near the wardrobe. He turned to face Hamza, a "Bhabhi keh rahi hain ke unhone tumhare liye surma taryar rakha hai. Tum naha kar tayyar ho jao, main tab tak neeche ka intezam dekhta hoon."

Hamza looked at the clothes, then up at his husband. The nervousness about meeting the whole clan is still there, but looking at Uzair Hamza felt a wave of courage.

"Ji," Hamza whispered shyly, sliding off the edge of the bed, his bare feet sinking into the rug.

Uzair walked up to him one last time before leaving, reaching out to gently tuck a stray dark curl behind Hamza ear. He leaned down, "Ghabrana nahi. Main har pal tumhare bilkul sath rahoonga."

With a reassuring squeeze to Hamza shoulder, Uzair turned and stepped out of the bedroom, door shut behind him to give his husband privacy.

Left alone, Hamza took a breath. He picked up the heavy cream jamawar sherwani, admiring the exquisite gold embroidery that shimmered under the Karachi sunlight. For a moment, he thought of his quiet life back in the mountains, but a glance toward the wardrobe—where his clothes now sat perfectly alongside Uzair—brought a smile to his face. He belonged here now.

An hour later, Hamza stood before the mirror,

The cream sherwani fit his frame flawlessly, the structured shoulders giving him a regal posture, while the matching silk shawl draped over his arm. His hair had been neatly brushed, cascading beautifully past his shoulders. Following Ulfat Bhabhi wishes, he had carefully applied the surma , making his hazel-green eyes look incredibly deep, luminous, and captivating.

He is just fixing the pleats of his shawl when the bedroom door opened softly.

Uzair stepped back inside, having changed into a sharp, jet-black traditional Baloch outfit with a beautifully tied formal turban.

But the moment Uzair gaze fell upon Hamza, he froze entirely in his tracks.

Hamza looked ethereal—a perfect blend of innocence and breathtaking royalty. Hamza caught Uzair stunned, stare in the mirror. He turned around slowly,

"Uzair...?" Hamza whispered. "Main... main theek lag raha hoon?"

Uzair didn't answer with words right away. He closed the distance between them with slow, strides,

Slowly, Uzair reached out, his hand gently cupping Hamza cheek. His tilting his face up until those striking, surma-lined hazel eyes met his own.

"Theek?" Uzair murmured, "Hamza... tum is poore jahan ki sab se haseen cheez ho jaan, aaj pooray Lyari ki nazar tum par hoga, par is poora dunya mein kisi ki himmat nahi jo mera is rounak par buri nazar dale."

Uzair stepped even closer, until the gold embroidery of Hamza sherwani brushed against his own chest. His gaze softened, captivated by the way the morning light caught the green in Hamza eyes.

"Yeh surma..." Uzair murmured, "Kasam se, Hamza, tumhari yeh aankhein kisi ko bhi tabah kar dein. Aur jab tum is tarah sharma kar apni palkein jhukate ho na, toh lagta hai jaise mera dil seene se nikal jayega."

Hamza let out a soft breath, his hands instinctively coming up to grip the fabric of Uzair black kurta for support.

Uzair lips curved into a smile. He leaned down slightly, his warm breath fanning across Hamza face as his hand slid down from his cheek to wrap firmly around his waist, pulling him flush against him.

"Maine bohot haseen log dekhein hain, par tum jaisa noor..." Uzair shook his head slowly, "Mera poora jahan ek taraf, aur tumhara yeh ek muskurahat ek taraf. Tumhe dekh kar lagta hai jaise Khuda ne tumhe sirf mere liye hi banaya hai, jaan. Aaj sab tumhein dekhenge, par sab ko pata hona chahiye ke tum sirf aur sirf Uzair Baloch ki shaan ho."

Hamza’s heart did a wild, chaotic flip at those words. He hid his face against Uzair shoulder, his forehead resting against the crisp fabric of the black turban. "Aap... aap aisi baatein karte hain toh mujhse khada bhi nahi hua jata," he whispered, his fingers clutching Uzair shoulders tightly.

Uzair let out a low rumble of laughter, his hands anchoring Hamza securely against his chest. "Toh mat khade ho. Kahoge toh yahin se utha kar neeche le chalunga," he teased,

"Nahi!" Hamza quickly gasped, pulling back "Bhabhi kya sochengi? Aur baaki sab..."

"Jo sochna hai sochne do," Uzair replied smoothly, his thumb tracing a slow line across Hamza waist before he loosened his grip. He stepped back just an inch, his gaze doing one last slow sweep over his husband. "Chalo. Isse pehle ke Bhabhi khud kamre ka darwaza tod dein."

Uzair offered his arm, his hand resting open for Hamza.

Hamza took a breath, smoothing down the front of his cream jamawar sherwani. He placed his hand into Uzair grasp, feeling the instant safety that came with it. Together, they walked toward the bedroom doors.

As Uzair turned the handle and pulled the door open, the vibrant, chaotic sounds of the Lyari haveli rushed in—the rhythmic beat of a distant dhol, the chatter of dozens of relatives, and the rich aroma of festive spices wafting up from the courtyard.

Ulfat was standing right outside, her arms full of fresh jasmine garlands. The moment she saw them step out, she stopped, her hands coming to her mouth as her eyes welled up with tears.

"Mashallah... Mera bacha," Ulfat whispered, stepping forward to immediately wrap Hamza in a hug, careful not to crush his sherwani. She pulled back, looking at his surma-lined eyes and his long hair. "Uzair, dekhna meri jaan ko kisi ki nazar na lage! Hamza, tum bilkul kisi shehzade jaise lag rahe ho."

"Bhabhi, aapne toh rona shuru kar diya," Uzair said with a smirk, though he stepped closer, his arm brushing against Hamza side in a silent show of support. "Chalein? Mehmaan intezar kar rahe hain."

"Haan, haan, chalo," Ulfat wiped her eyes hurriedly, laughing as she slipped the fragrant jasmine garlands onto Hamza wrists. "Neeche poora khandan aur mohalla jama hai. Sab bas tumhara hi rasta dekh rahe hain."

With Uzair leading the way, his presence clearing a path through the crowded corridors, they began their descent down the staircase toward the bustling courtyard below.

As they stepped into the courtyard, a sudden hush fell over the crowd, followed by a loud, joyous uproar. The heavy beat of the dhol echoed against the concrete walls, and rose petals rained down on them from the upper balconies.

Uzair moved forward But he never once let go of Hamza hand. He kept his husband just a half-step behind him,

"Uzair, mubarak ho bhai!" a booming voice called out as one of the elder clan members stepped forward, wrapping Uzair in a embrace.

"Khair mubarak, Chacha," Uzair replied, As soon as the embrace broke, Uzair gently pulled Hamza forward by his waist, "Yeh Hamza hai. Meri jaan."

The elder’s eyes softened as he looked at Hamza "Mashallah, Mashallah! Bilkul chand jaisa naseeb laya hai hamare ghar mein. Khush raho, beta," the elder blessed, placing a hand on Hamza head.

Hamza, despite the burning shyness in his cheeks, lowered his gaze and touched his heart. "Shukriya, Chacha Sahab," he whispered,

​Everywhere Uzair went to greet the men of Lyari—the neighborhood elders, his close childhood friends, and the prominent figures of the clan—Hamza is right there with him, meeting everyone side by side. Whenever the crowd became too suffocating or the voices too loud, Uzair would subtly shift his shoulders, blocking the intensity of the crowd and giving Hamza space to breathe.

​"Dekho toh sahi, Uzair bhai ka pasand toh kamaal hai!" one of Uzair younger cousins teased, laughing as he handed Hamza a refreshing glass of cold rooh-afza. "Hamza bhai, aapne is jalad ko kaise haan kar di?"

​Hamza let out a soft chuckle, his fingers brushing against the fresh jasmine garlands on his wrists. Before he could answer, Uzair glared at his cousin, "Apni zubaan ko thoda lagaam de, warna yahin se bahar phankwa doonga."

​The crowd laughed warmly, the genuine affection and deep respect the people had for Uzair washing over Hamza. Walking through the courtyard, greeting relative after relative, Hamza realized that he wasn't just meeting Uzair’s people—he is being welcomed into a family that is now his own.

As the afternoon wore on, the courtyard grew even more crowded. Rehman, Uzair arrived with a group of elders, immediately drawing Uzair into a discussion about the neighborhood arrangements and the incoming guests. Seeing his brother submerged in deep conversation, Uzair reluctantly let go of Hamza hand, throwing him one last look before stepping into the circle of men.

Noticing the shift, Ulfat immediately swooped in like a protective guardian angel. She took Hamza arm gently, shielding him from a group of over-enthusiastic aunties who were heading their way.

"Chalo, ab bohot der ho gayi tumhe wahan khade khade," Ulfat said guiding him away from the loud dhol beats toward a shaded diwan on the veranda. "Yeh toh baaton mein lag gaye, ab tum thoda sukoon se baitho."

She made Hamza sit down on the plush, silk cushions and immediately signaled a servant to bring a fresh glass of cold mint lemonade. Sititng down right next to him, she began fanning him gently with her hand-fan,

"Thak gaye na?" Ulfat asked softly, reaching out to gently adjust the silk shawl on his shoulder. "Uzair ka toh dimaag hi kharab hai, itni garmi mein tumhe poore khandan ke samne khada karke rakha hai. Usse toh khabar hi nahi rehti jab woh logon se mil raha hota hai."

Hamza let out a chuckle, his fingers tracing the jasmine garlands on his wrist. "Nahi, Bhabhi, aisi koi baat nahi hai. Woh... woh bas sab se mera taaruf karwa rahe the. Unhone mera bohot khayal rakha."

Ulfat eyes softened dramatically at his sweetness. She patted his cheek. "Tum bohot pyaare ho, Hamza. Bilkul masoom. Aur tumhara yeh aankhein... Mashallah, aaj toh pure mohalle ki nazrein tum par hain. Par tum ghabrana mat, jab tak main yahan hoon, kisi ko tumhein zyada tang nahi karne doongi."

From across the courtyard, through the thick crowd of guests, Uzair eyes instinctively sought out the veranda. Even while nodding along to whatever Rehman is saying, his gaze locked onto Hamza sitting safely with Ulfat. Seeing his husband finally resting and smiling softly, the tense edge in Uzair posture relaxed completely.

Ulfat caught her brother staring and let out a sigh. "Dekho toh zara, wahan khada hai par dhyan abhi bhi yahin hai. Ek pal ke liye bhi chain nahi hai isse."

Hamza looked up and caught Uzair gaze from across the distance. he lowered his lashes,

The chaotic bustle of the afternoon slowly melted into a warm, breezy Lyari evening. The heavy dhol beats had faded, and the majority of the neighborhood guests had bid their goodbyes, leaving only the close-knit core of the family in the courtyard.

Over in a shaded corner of the veranda, Naieem had completely crashed from all the excitement, curled up on a plush diwan and fast asleep

Faizal, however, was running on pure chaotic energy.

As the family—Uzair, Hamza, Rehman, and Ulfatboxes gathered around a large table on the floor to finally open the mountain of wedding gifts, Faizal decided it was the perfect time to pester his favorite uncle. He marched right up to Uzair, climbing onto his lap, intentionally blocking his view of the wrapped boxes.

"Chachu! Aapne mujhe woh gaadi nahi di jo aapne waada ki tha!" Faizal chirped loudly, tugging mercilessly at the collar of Uzair black kurta.

Rehman let out a laugh at the sight. "Faizal, neeche utro! Apne Chachu ko sukoon se baithne do, subah se thake hue hain."

"Koi baat nahi, Bhai," Uzair murmured, arms wrapped securely around his nephew to keep him from tumbling down. He gave the boy a playful shake, "Tumhe gaadi kal milega. Abhi chup chap baitho, varna tumhare is naye Chachu se kehkar saari chocolate wapas le loonga."

Faizal immediately turned his wide eyes toward Hamza, pouting dramatically. Hamza, who was sitting cross-legged next to Uzair, let out a giggle, as he reached out to gently boop Faizal nose. "Main aapko chocolate doonga, Faizal. Aap thodi der yahan baitho."

"Dekha? Naye Chachu bohot achhe hain!" Ulfat beamed, highly amused as she handed Hamza a beautifully wrapped, heavy gold box. "Chalo Hamza, sab se pehle yeh kholo. Yeh mere maykay se aaya hai."

Hamza carefully tore away the decorative paper, his eyes widening in awe as he lifted out a stunning, pure silver-threaded Kashmiri shawl, soft as a cloud.

"Mashallah, yeh toh bohot khoobsurat hai, Bhabhi," Hamza whispered, his fingers tracing the intricate embroidery with delight.

"Tum par bohot jachega, beta," Rehman said warmly, leaning back against a bolster. "Hamare Lyari ki thand mein yeh bilkul sahi rahega."

As Ulfat and Rehman continued passing gifts to Hamza, pointing out who sent what, Uzair quietly shifted Faizal to his side, his eyes locking onto Hamza profile. Under the soft glow of the courtyard lanterns, with his family laughing around him and Hamza looking at peace,

Subtly, beneath the edge of the table where Ulfat and Rehman couldn't see, Uzair reached out and found Hamza free hand, gently squeezing his fingers . Hamza breath hitched slightly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip on Uzair hand, safe in their shared world.

Faizal, immediately swayed by the promise of sweets and Hamza voice, scrambled off Uzair’s lap. He wiggled his way right onto Hamza lap, settling his small frame down comfortably against the soft cream jamawar of the sherwani.

Hamza didn't mind the mess at all. With a soft, smile, he unwrapped a piece of rich milk chocolate and handed it to the boy. Faizal happily grabbed it, taking a big bite and instantly getting a tiny smudge of chocolate on his cheek.

"Oho, Faizal! Naye Chachu ke kapde kharab mat karna," Ulfat scolded playfully, though her eyes were melting at the sight.

"Koi baat nahi, Bhabhi," Hamza whispered softly, He used the edge of his own clean handkerchief to gently wipe the chocolate from Faizal cheek, his movements so naturally tender that it looked like he had been a part of this family for years.

Uzair watched the scene unfold beside him, Seeing his husband cradling his nephew, He didn't say a word, but the grip he maintained on Hamza hand beneath the table tightened, his thumb rubbing soothingly against Hamza skin.

Rehman smiled, nudging Uzair with his shoulder. "Dekh raha hai, Uzair? Faizal toh ab tera sunne se raha. Usse naya dost mil gaya hai."

"Milne do," Uzair murmured, "Wese bhi, Hamza is ghar ki shaan hai. Iska hukum toh sab par chalega."

Hamza lowered his lashes, his heart doing that familiar, chaotic dance at Uzair open praise. He leaned his shoulder subtly against Uzair, anchoring himself closer to his husband while Faizal happily munched away on his lap.

The deep stillness of the midnight hour finally settled over the haveli. After a quiet, family dinner in the courtyard, everyone began to retire for the night. Downstairs, Rehman and Ulfat gathered a half-asleep, chocolate-stained Faizal into their arms and walked toward their ground-floor bedroom, their quiet whispers fading down the hallway.

Upstairs, the quiet corridor was illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the wall lanterns. Uzair walked up the grand staircase first,

Naieem, an adult young man but completely drained from the day endless festivities, stopped outside his own bedroom door just across the hall. He rubbed his eyes, offering a tired but respectful nod to his uncle amd uncle husband.

"Chachu... Hamza chachu... Subah milte hain. Assalamualaikum," Naeem murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"Walaikumassalam. Chupchap so jao ab," Uzair replied softly, Hamza gave Naieem a sweet, reassuring smile, watching until the young man stepped inside his room and clicked the door shut.

Now, only Uzair and Hamza remained in the quiet hallway.

Uzair turned around to face his husband, his eyes locking onto Hamza profile. The cream sherwani is gone, replaced by a simple, comfortable cotton kurta, Hamza waves of hair were still beautifully loose, and the faint trace of surma around his hazel-green eyes made him look mesmerizing in the dim night light.

Uzair walked over to their bedroom door, turning the handle and pushing it open.

Hamza stepped inside first, his bare feet sinking into the soft rug. As he heard the door close behind him and the lock click into place, that familiar, nervous flutter returned to his chest—but this time, the sharp panic from the night before is gone. He knew exactly who Uzair is now: a man of honor, patience, and devotion.

Uzair untied his black turban, placing it on the table, and turned to look at his husband,

"Thak gaye, jaan?" Uzair murmured, as he slowly began to walk toward him.

Hamza tilted his head, his waves shifting over his shoulder as he looked up "Bohot," he whispered softly, "Par aaj ka din... bohot pyaara tha." Uzair stopped just an inch away,

Slowly, Uzair reached out and slid his hands over Hamza shoulders, "Maine kaha tha na... jab tak main yahan hoon, tumhe ghabrane ki zaroorat nahi hai," Uzair murmured,

Hamza nodded, his hands instinctively coming up to rest flat against Uzair chest, "Mujhe pata hai. Ab mujhe bilkul darr nahi lag raha."

Without breaking eye contact, he moved one hand to the back of Hamza neck, his fingers gently tangling into those long, silky waves, and leaned down to press a kiss right onto Hamza forehead.

Hamza eyes fluttered shut, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he leaned into the warmth of his husband touch.

"Chalo, ab aaram karo," Uzair whispered against his skin, Hamza didn't hesitate this time. He slipped under the cool covers, his eyes watching as Uzair walked around to the other side and climbed in beside him.

Hamza shifted closer across the mattress. He reached out and slid his hand into Uzair waiting palm, their fingers locking together securely between them.

Uzair turned his head on the pillow, his eyes melting as he looked at his husband. He squeezed Hamza hand "Shaba khair, jaan."

​"Shab khair, Uzair," Hamza murmured softly, his heart safe in the hands of the leader of Lyari.

(So here's today chapter enjoy loves and little warning remember this Uzair very carefully)

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 3

The courtyard of the Shirani estate fell into an hush as the doors of the guest wing open.

Ulfat stepped into the room, her eyes widening as they fell upon Hamza. For a second, even the whirlwind of Lyari is struck speechless. "MashaAllah," she whispered, "MashaAllah, mera bacha..."

She walked over, gently wrapping her arm through Hamza, Holding him close, she began to guide him out.

They walked slowly, every step measured against the beat of the music. Hamza kept his eyes lowered, As they moved down the corridor and stepped out onto the veranda, the scent of burnt honey and fresh mountain roses drifted heavily from him, cutting right through the cold mountain air.

Ulfat led him toward the center of the courtyard, where a pristine white silk veil had been draped from the high wooden pillars, dividing the gathering into two sacred halves.

Gently, Ulfat guided Hamza to sit on the plush silk cushions on his side of the veil. On the immediate other side, the silhouettes of the Lyari men were visible through the translucent fabric—Rehman sat solid and steady, and right beside him, perfectly still, is Uzair. Even through the silk barrier, Hamza could feel the intensity of Uzair gaze locking onto him.

Shirani Sahab walked over from the elder row, his posture softening as he knelt down beside his sister son. Tears glistened openly in the old man eyes as he reached out and took Hamza hand into his own palms.

Hamza held his breath, his chest tight with a wild, chaotic mixture of emotion, his fingers squeezing his uncle hand for grounding.

The Maulana Sahab cleared his throat, opening the ledger as the formal recitation for the Nikah began, his voice echoing against the rugged mountains. The courtyard became so silent that the rustle of the pink silk shawl over Hamza shoulder sounded like a whisper.

"Bismillah-ir-Rahman-ir-Rahim," the Maulana’s voice intoned, turning his gaze toward the uzair side through the veil. "Uzair Jan Baloch... Nikah ke is paak mauqe par, aapka Mehr kya tay paya hai?"

From the other side of the silk veil, Uzair voice cut through the silence. "Maulana Sahab," Uzair voice echoed, "Uzair Jan Baloch ki taraf se... Mehr mein Lyari ke naye market ki poori malkiyat, Karachi ke safehouse ka poora stock, aur..."

He paused for a heartbeat, his silhouette leaning slightly closer to the silk barrier, his voice dropping to a low register meant to pierce straight through to Hamza ears.

"...aur meri jaan ki aakhri saans tak ki hifazat. Yeh mera Mehr hai."

A soft, collective gasp went through the Balochistan crowd at the sheer grandeur and weight of the promise.

Hamza breath hitched. A tear escaped his eyes, tracing a path down his flushed cheek as his heart hammered a frantic, He looked down, his fingers twisting the gold work of his shawl, dazed by the power of the man who was about to claim his hand.

The Maulana Sahab voice cut through the emotional silence of the courtyard, carrying the weight of the sacred moment.

""Hamza Ali Mazari bint-e-Shirani... Uzair jan Baloch ke saath, is Mehr ke badle, kya aapko yeh Nikah qubool hai?"

The question hung in the crisp mountain air. Hamza felt the entire universe grind to a complete halt. The rich scent of burnt honey and fresh roses seemed to deepen around him. Through the translucent white silk veil, he could see the silhouette of Uzair leaning slightly forward, perfectly still, holding his breath as he waited for the words that would bind their lives together forever.

Shirani squeezed Hamza hand gently, his own tears spilling over his gray beard, giving his sister's son the strength to speak.

Hamza took a slow shaky breath. He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, a smile breaking through his tears He opened his eyes, looking straight toward Uzair silhouette behind the veil.

"Qubool hai," Hamza whispered,

The Maulana Sahab nodded, adjusting his glasses as he asked the second time to fulfill the tradition. "Hamza Ali Mazari... kya aapko yeh Nikah qubool hai?"

Hamza smile deepened, the crimson blush rushing all the way down his neck beneath his pagri. He gripped his shawl. "Qubool hai," he repeated, louder this time, his voice filled with a certainty.

"Teesri aur aakhri baar, Hamza Ali Mazari... kya aapko Uzair jan Baloch ke saath yeh Nikah qubool hai?"

Hamza let out a soft laugh, a tear of joy tracing a path down his flushed cheek. He didn't look down, keeping his eyes fixed entirely on the man waiting on the other side of the silk barrier.

"Qubool hai," Hamza declared softly.

"Alhamdulillah," the Maulana voiced, as the crowd instantly erupted into a glorious symphony of blessings, prayers, and congratulations.

Across the veil, a distinct sigh of relief and victory escaped Uzair chest. The man from Lyari had officially won his greatest battle, right in the heart of Balochistan.

The Maulana Sahab turned his attention toward the other side of the veil, where Uzair sat straight

"Uzair jan Baloch bin-e-Rehman," the Maulana Sahab voice boomed through the courtyard, carrying the legal and spiritual weight of the moment. "Hamza Ali Mazari ke saath, is Mehr ke badle, kya aapko yeh Nikah qubool hai?"

The crowd held its breath. Through the thin silk barrier, Hamza eyes fixed entirely on the silhouette of the man from Lyari.

Uzair didn't pause for a single fraction of a second. His voice cut through the mountain air—

"Qubool hai," Uzair declared,

The Maulana Sahab nodded, moving his pen along the ledger. "Uzair jan Baloch... kya aapko yeh Nikah qubool hai?"

Uzair silhouette leaned slightly closer to the silk fabric, his focus entirely locked on the shadow of the boy sitting just inches away on the other side. "Qubool hai," Uzair repeated, .

"Teesri aur aakhri baar, Uzair jan Baloch... kya aapko Hamza Ali Mazari ke saath yeh Nikah qubool hai?"

"Qubool hai," Uzair said for the final time,

"Alhamdulillah! Nikah mukammal hua!" the Maulana voiced.

The entire courtyard instantly erupted into a grand, chaotic symphony of celebration. The dhol players struck their drums with a thunderous rhythm, and pink rose petals were thrown into the air by the handful, cascading down like rain.

Before the elders could even begin their formal prayers, Ulfat let out a laugh from Hamza side.

"Chalo, chalo! Ab yeh parda hatao!" Ulfat shouted joyfully,"Maine kab se kaha tha ke is safar se khali haath nahi jayenge! Rehman, parda girao, dulhe ko saamne lao!"

With a swift veil is dropped exposing the two sides of the one another for the very first time that day.

The curtain is tossed aside, Before they could fully lock eyes face-to-face, Ulfat and the aunts rushed forward with a dupatta. they draped the fabric over both Uzair and Hamza heads, creating a private, secluded tent of crimson and gold that cut off the rest of the bustling courtyard.

A large, silver-framed mirror is gently slid into the space between them, resting on the plush velvet cushions.

This is Aarsi Mushaf—the moment where the newlyweds would look at each other reflections for the very first time as husband and husband.

Hamza held his breath, Trembling slightly, Hamza slowly lifted his long, surma-lined lashes and let his hazel-green eyes fall upon the polished glass of the mirror.

His breath caught in his throat.

Uzair is looking too handsome for this world. He is wearing a deep, rich maroon sherwani crafted from velvet, the fabric absorbing the amber glow of the lanterns. Masterful, gold work down the high collar and along the chest, glittering with every steady breath he took. On his head rested a pristine white pagri, wrapped with sharp folds and adorned with matching gold embroidery along the borders.

Resting over his wrist is a gold-embroidered pata, and his hand was resting firmly on the hilt of a magnificent, ceremonial sword—the symbol of Lyari ghairat and protection.

Through the reflection of the mirror, Uzair eyes are fixed on Hamza reflection.

Seeing his groom in the royal blue sherwani, the soft pink shawl, and the cream pagri, He tilted his head slightly under the shared veil, his reflection leaning closer to Hamza in the glass.

"Maine kaha tha na, Hamza..." Uzair whispered inside the small, curtained world, meant only for his husband ears. "Kal subah sabse pehle tumhare samne khada milunga. Ab batao... kaun hara aur kaun jeeta?"

Hamza bit his lower lip, He looked down at Uzair hand resting on the sword, "Jeet toh aapki hi hui," Hamza whispered back, "Aap toh... poorq duniya hi jeet kar baith gaye hain."

The shared veil created a small universe where only the two of them existed. Outside, the muffled thunder of the dhols and the laughter of their families felt a million miles away.

Inside the amber glow of the mirror reflection, Uzair eyes never wavered from Hamza face. He listened to his husband soft surrender, the words "Jeet toh aapki hi hui" echoing like the sweetest victory he had ever claimed.

Slowly, Uzair let go of the sword. The gold-hilted blade rested against his knee as he slid his hand across the velvet cushions toward Hamza. His fingers gently brushed against the edge of Hamza shawl before tracing upward to slip into his open palm.

Hamza felt Uzair hand—a hand that ruled the Lyari markets—clasping his fingers with a tenderness.

"Mera hath thaam liya hai, Hamza... toh ab rasta maangne ki koshish mat karna," Uzair murmured, He leaned in just enough that the edge of his pagri brushed against Hamza one. "Ab se poora zindagi, tum jahan jaoge, yeh Uzair Baloch tumhare peechhe khada milega."

Hamza lifted his eyes from the mirror, daring to look directly at Uzair instead of his reflection. At this close proximity,

"Main ab bhaagne ka soch bhi nahi raha, Uzair," Hamza whispered he squeezed Uzair hand back "Aapne toh mujhe pehli nazar mein hi apna qaidi bana liya tha."

Before Uzair could reply to the beautifully bold confession, the dupatta above them was suddenly yanked back

"Oho! Bas kijiye, Dulha Sahab! Poora khandaan baahar mithaai khaane ka intezaar kar raha hai aur yahan parde ke peechhe alag hi dunya basi hui hai!"

Ulfat voice thundered through the courtyard as she stood over them, her hands on her hips, a grin on her face. Beside her, Shirani Sahab and Rehman are laughing heartily, their arms crossed

Naieem and Faizal immediately began whistling from the front row. "Mubarak ho, Uzair Chachu! Ab toh chura bhi rakh di aapne!" Naieem teased loudly.

Uzair cleared his throat, his ears turning a subtle shade of red as he slowly stood up, pulling Hamza up along with him. He kept his grip on Hamza hand tight, entirely ignoring the teasing of his nephews as he faced the crowd.

Standing tall in his sherwani, holding his sword in one hand and his husband in the other, Uzair looked like an unstoppable force. And beside him, Hamza stood with his head held high, his swal catching the mountain breeze, his hazel eyes shining like emeralds under the sun.

Shirani walked forward, his eyes misty with pride as he placed his hands over their joined grip. "Uzair... mere jigar ka tukda ab tumhara hua. Is balochinstan ki ronaq ab Lyari ki ronaq banega."

"Aap befikr rahein, shirani Sahab," Rehman said, stepping up to clap his brother on the back. "Humare ghar ki Malkin toh pehle hi isey apna beta bna chuki hain."

"Beta nahi, jaan hai meri!" Ulfat corrected proudly, flipping her dupatta over her shoulder and stepping next to Hamza, patting his cheek "Chalo ab, sab mithaai baanto! Aaj Lyari aur Balochistan ek ho gaye hain!"

​As the courtyard erupted into shouting, music, and a rain of fresh rose petals, Uzair leaned down slightly toward Hamza ear,

​"Chalein, Hamza Ali Mazari Baloch?"

​Hamza heart did a wild flip at the sound of his new name. He looked up at his husband, his smile radiant enough to eclipse the afternoon sun.

​"Jahan aap le chalein," Hamza whispered, stepping forward into their new life,

The beat of the dhols quieted down to a hum as the crystal bowls of mithaai were set aside. Two chairs had been placed side by side at the center of the main veranda, beneath the floral canopy of fresh jasmine and red roses.

Uzair and Hamza sat down together. Even now, through the formal shifts of the ceremony, Uzair hand never truly let go of Hamza fingers.

The Maulana Sahab laid out the official marriage contract—the Nikahnama—onto the low silver table in front of them. Beside the document sat a polished brass inkwell and a small velvet tray holding the two wedding rings.

"Uzair Jan Baloch, yahan apna dastakhat kijiye," the Maulana said, pointing to the primary line on the legal paper.

Uzair picked up the pen , He didn't look at the document; his eyes flicked sideways for a split second, capturing the sight of Hamza sitting beside him , With a swift, bold stroke of the pen, Uzair signed his name, cementing the vow he had made across the veil.

The pen is then handed to Hamza.

Hamza fingers were visibly trembling as he took it. His eyes scanned the signature of his husband before he lowered his lashes and signed his own name right beside it: Hamza Ali Mazari.

"MashaAllah! Alhamdulillah!" Ulfat clapped her hands brightly from behind them, leaning over to adjust Hamza shawl with a beaming smile. "Rehman, dekhiye! Ab toh sarkari tor par bhi hamara bacha humare sath Lyari ja raha hai!"

Rehman let out a chuckle, signing his own name as the primary witness, followed by Shirani, whose eyes were heavy ,With the papers officially validated and stamped, the Maulana Sahab gestured toward the velvet tray. "Ab ek doosre ko nishaani pehnayein."

Uzair picked up the first ring, He turned slightly in his chair to face Hamza properly, He took Hamza left hand "Darr toh nahi lag raha?" Uzair murmured,

Hamza looked up, his eyes locking directly into Uzair gaze, As he shook his head softly. "Aap sath hain... toh darr kaisa?"

Uzair broke into a smile. He slid the silver band onto Hamza finger, the cold metal settling perfectly against his hand.

Then, it's Hamza turn. He picked up the second ring—a matching platinum band adorned with a subtle, intricate geometric pattern. Hamza lifted Uzair hand, He looked down, carefully sliding the ring onto Uzair finger, his touch so gentle it made Uzair breath catch.

As the ring slipped into place, Hamza didn't immediately let go. He looked up through his lashes, a quiet flash of that Lahore-bred mischief returning to his eyes as a soft smirk tugged at his lips.

"Ab se aap bhi qaid hain, Uzair" Hamza whispered, just loud enough for Uzair to hear over the sudden burst of clapping from the family. "Lyari ke market ka hisab baad mein hoga... pehle mera hisab dena padega."

Uzair let out a laugh, his fingers tightening instantly around Hamza hand he leaned in close,

"Tumhare har hisab ke liye yeh jaan haazir hai, meri jaan," Uzair grinned, holding his husband hand high as Naieem, Faizal, and Ulfat showered them in a rain of red rose petals.

The formal paperwork is complete, and the ring exchange had officially anchored them together. as servers began carrying out silver platters of traditional Baloch cuisine—slow-cooked Sajji that filled the mountain air with a smoky, rich aroma, giant bowls of saffron-infused rice, and endless pots of strong, steaming green tea.

But at the main head table under the jasmine canopy, Uzair and Hamza were barely given a moment to look at the food.

"Mubarak ho! Mubarak ho!"

Naieem and Faizal practically jumped onto the steps of the veranda, carrying a silver tray loaded with fresh, glistening gulab jamuns. Naieem had his phone out, the camera flash blinking continuously as he grinned from ear to ear.

"Chachu, ab toh muskurana thoda kam kijiye, warna Ammi kahengi ke Lyari wale bohot zyaada khush ho gaye hain," Naieem teased, leaning in between the two newlyweds. "Hamza Chachu, aap batayein... yeh ring pehnane ke baad inhone aapka hath zyaada zor se toh nahi dabaya? Hum yahan hain aapki hifazat ke liye!"

Hamza let out a soft laugh, He lowered his eyes, his fingers still tightly entwined with Uzair beneath the folds of his shawl. "Nahi, Naieem... unhone bohot ehtiyat se pehnayi hai."

"Naieem, agar tu ne do second mein yeh camera band nahi kiya," Uzair said, a fond grin is playing on his lips, "toh tere agli gaadi ka petrol ka kharcha tu khud uthaega."

Naieem quickly lowered the phone with a dramatic gasp. "Faizal, chal bhaag yahan se! Chachu toh dulha bante hi poore badal gaye hain!" The two boys burst into giggles and ran off to join the other cousins near the dhol players.

As the family busied themselves with greeting the incoming tribal elders from the neighboring valleys, the space around the head table grew briefly quiet. The afternoon sun is beginning to dip, casting shadows across the stone courtyard and highlighting the diamond-work on Hamza sherwani.

Uzair shifted slightly in his chair, He reached over with his free hand, picking up a small crystal glass of cold, refreshing rose-water sherbet from the silver tray in front of them.

"Piyo," Uzair murmured softly, holding the glass close to Hamza lips. "Subah se kuch nahi khaya tumne. Yeh rasm-rivaaj insaan ko thaka dete hain."

Hamza looked up , He leaned forward slightly, taking a slow sip from the glass while Uzair held it steady for him. "Aapne bhi toh kuch nahi khaya, Uzair," Hamza whispered, his fingers gently brushing against Uzair wrist as he pulled back. "Aapka shervani ke button abhi bhi thode tedhe hain... lagta hai Bhabhi ne sach mein aapko bohot dara kar bheja tha."

Uzair let out a low chuckle, setting the glass down. He leaned in closer, until the edge of his pagri almost touched Hamza forehead,

"Darta toh main kisi se nahi hoon, Hamza... par jab tum samne khade ho, toh dil ka dharakna mere bas mein nahi rehta," Uzair confessed, his thumb tracing a slow circle over the back of Hamza hand, where the new silver ring rested. "Kal humein Karachi ke liye nikalna hai. Lyari ka naya ghar tumhara intezaar kar raha hai."

Hamza heart did a flip at the mention of their future together. He tilted his head, a soft, radiant smirk playing on his flushed lips. "Toh phir tayyar rahiye, Kyunki ab se... Lyari mein sirf aapka hukm nahi chalega."

The feast is served, and the aroma of slow-cooked mutton Sajji, saffron rice, and hot clay-oven naan filled the air. The long carpets stretching across the courtyard were packed with family, friends, and elders from both sides.

At the elevated head table, Uzair and Hamza sat side by side as silver platters of the finest wedding dishes were laid out before them.

"Chalo, chalo! Sab shuru karo!" Ulfat voice boomed as she sat next to Rehman at the adjacent family table, ensuring every guest's plate was piled high. "Uzair, mere bache ko pehle khilao! Subah se bechara bhooka baitha hai!"

Uzair, looking let out a low chuckle. He ignored the teasing stares of Naieem and Faizal from across the carpet and turned his focus entirely to his husband. Breaking off a soft, warm piece of naan, he wrapped it around a tender piece of meat, dipping it slightly into the yogurt chutney.

He turned to Hamza, holding the bite out

"Khao," Uzair murmured, "Bhabhi ki baatein khatam nahi hongi, par tumhara chehra thakaan se laal ho raha hai."

Hamza looked up , With everyone sitting around them eating and laughing, his cheeks flushed

Slowly, Hamza leaned forward and took the bite from Uzair hand, The sweet, rich fragrance of his burnt honey and rose ittar drifted heavily between them, capturing Uzair senses.

"Aap... aap sabke samne aise mat kijiye, Uzair," Hamza whispered softly, "Naieem video bana raha hai."

Uzair didn't care. He picked up a napkin, gently dabbing a stray drop of chutney from the corner of Hamza lip "Naieem ko kal subah dekh loonga," Uzair smirked, his eyes locking onto Hamza with as he took his own glass of sharbat. "Abhi toh sirf mera haq hai tum par. Poori duniya ke samne."

The doors finally shut against the biting desert wind, cutting off the sounds of the wedding celebration outside. The aunts and cousins had finally dispersed, leaving the newly married couple to the absolute quiet Uzair gently guided Hamza into bedroom.

"Tum pehle ja kar fresh ho jao," Uzair murmured, his voice soft as he closed the door behind them. He reached up, untying his pagri and setting it down beside his sword with a slow, sigh of relief. "Main yahan intezaar kar raha hoon."

Hamza nodded he walked into the attached washroom, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he began to untangle himself from the grandeur of the day. He unpinned the pagri, letting his hair fall loosely around his shoulders in thick, dark waves. He carefully took off the sherwani and the shawl, washing away the fatigue of the long ceremonies with cool water.

When he stepped back out into the amber-lit room, he had changed into a simple cotton kurta.

Uzair looked up, his breath catching completely at the sight. Stripped of the heavy wedding silks, Hamza looked breathtakingly natural, radiating a quiet, pure grace.

"Main abhi aata hoon," Uzair rasped, grabbing his own change of clothes.

A few minutes later, Uzair returned, having washed away the dust of the long highways. He had shed his sherwani for a simple cotton kurta that clung to his shoulders. His hair was slightly damp, combed back casually.

The two of them stood in the quiet center of the room, completely stripped of the regal armor of the wedding, facing each other simply as husband and husband for the very first time.

Hamza stepped over to the bed where the sherwani and the shawl were laid out. He carefully lifted the rich velvet and silk, his fingers moving with slow precision as he began folding them to pack into his bags for the long journey to Karachi tomorrow.

He kept his head lowered, his waves of hair falling forward to shield his face. The room is so quiet that the gentle rustle of the wedding clothes felt loud, and Hamza could feel the weight of Uzair gaze tracing his every movement.

Uzair is leaning back against the headboard of the bed, one leg propped up, his arms resting over his knees. In his simple charcoal-gray cotton kurta, he looked relaxed, yet his eyes were entirely locked onto his husband. A slow, fond smile played at the corner of his lips as he watched Hamza try so hard to look busy.

"Abhi se packing shuru kar di?" Uzair voice cut through the silence of the room, vibrating softly in the warm air. "Humare nikalne mein abhi poori raat baqi hai, Hamza."

Hamza fingers paused over the gold embroidery of the shawl. He looked down quickly, "Woh... Bhabhi ne kaha tha ke subah jaldi nikalna hai," Hamza whispered, "Main bas... saaman tayyar kar raha hoon taake subah der na ho."

Uzair let out a chuckle. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood up, his tall frame moving soundlessly across the carpet until he is standing directly behind Hamza. "Bhabhi ki fikar chhoro," Uzair murmured, leaning down slightly so his breath brushed against the back of Hamza neck, He reached out, his hand covering Hamza trembling fingers, stopping him from packing any further. "Zara idhar dekho."

Hamza heart gave thud against his ribs as Uzair hand stilled his movements. He slowly let go of the silk shawl, his lashes lifting as he turned around to face his husband.

Uzair is standing so close, his frame enveloping Hamza in the dim, amber light of the room.

"Dekhoon toh zara..." Uzair murmured, He gently reached out, his fingers cupping Hamza tilting his face up just enough to look into those luminous hazel-green eyes. "Chehra kyun utra hua hai? Is noor jaise chehre ko khilne ke liye kya karna padega?"

Hamza bit his lower lip, his gaze flickering down for a second before looking back up at Uzair. The realization of tomorrow—of leaving this, his uncle, and the mountains he grew up in—was suddenly pressing heavily on his chest,

"Achha nahi lag raha hai... kal in sabko chhod ke jaoge," Uzair said softly, He slowly stepped back just an inch and opened his arms wide, offering his chest as a sanctuary. "Aao."

A small tear spilled over Hamza lashes, catching the warm light. Without a single second of hesitation, he stepped forward, burying his face in Uzair chest.

Uzair arms wrapped around him pulling him flush against his body with a tight grip. One of his hands moved up to rest against the back of Hamza head, his fingers gently tangling in the loose hair, while the other held him securely by the waist. comfort washed over Hamza, instantly quietening the storm in his heart.

"Mujhe... mujhe Mamu ki yaad aayega, Uzair," Hamza whispered, his voice muffled against Uzair chest, his fingers gripping the cotton fabric of his kurta tightly. "Main kabhi is jagah se door nahi raha."

Uzair leaned his chin gently against the top of Hamza head, letting out a breath as he rocked him slightly in the quiet room.

"Main jaanta hoon, jaan," Uzair murmured, "Tumhe unse door nahi kar raha main. Jab tumhara dil karega, hum Balochistan aayenge. Aur Lyari mein... wahan Bhabhi hain, Rehman Bhai hain, main hoon. Tumhe kabhi akelepan ka ehsaas nahi hone doonga. Yeh Uzair Baloch ka waada hai tumse."

Uzair chest vibrated beneath Hamza cheek as a low soft sound escaped his throat. He didn't just speak the words; he began to hum the melody,

One of his hands continued to stroke Hamza hair keeping him pressed against his heart as he sang softly, changing the words just for his beautiful husband:

"Tum in sabko chhod ke kaise kal subah jaoge..."

"Mere saath inhe bhi toh tum yaad bahut aaoge..."

Hamza lay still in Uzair arms, his fingers tightening against the fabric of the kurta. Hearing uzair sing so softly, just to soothe his aching heart, made a fresh wave of warmth rush through him.

Uzair shifted slightly, his arms tightening around Hamza waist as he continued the melody, his voice dropping to a low, velvet whisper right against Hamza ear:

"Bade achhe lagte hain..."

"Yeh dharti, yeh nadiya, yeh raina... aur... aur tum."

As the final words left Uzair lips, he leaned down, gently pressing his lips against the crown of Hamza head, right into his soft, dark hair.

Hamza let out a laugh, finally lifting his head from Uzair chest. His eyes are shimmering with a beautiful mix of unshed tears and adoration. He looked up at his husband, a soft smile breaking through his sadness.

"Aapko... aapko yeh gaana aata hai?" Hamza whispered, as he rested his hands against Uzair shoulders. "Maine toh socha tha aapko sirf Lyari ke market ke hisab-kitaab yaad rehte hain."

Uzair broke into a teasing smirk. He didn't let go of Hamza waist, his eyes locking onto his husband face "Market ka hisab dimaag mein rehta hai, Hamza," Uzair murmured, his thumb gently reaching up to wipe away the stray tear from Hamza cheek. "Par tumhare liye jo kuch bhi hai... woh seedha yahan se nikalta hai."

Uzair fingers lingered on Hamza cheek, his thumb tracing the soft line of his jawline with a gentleness that belonged only to this room, away from the eyes of the world.

Hamza leaned into the touch instinctively, his surma-lined lashes fluttering shut for a brief second. The sorrow of leaving the mountains hadn't vanished completely, but inside Uzair steady hold, the fear of the unknown future in Karachi had melted away.

"Ab chalo, bohot packing ho gayi," Uzair murmured, Without breaking their joined hands, he guided Hamza toward the bed. The blankets had already been pulled back,

They sat down on the edge of the mattress together. Hamza shifted, pulling his legs up his hair fell over his shoulders as he looked at his husband.

Uzair reached over to the side table, turning down the brass oil lamp until the room was bathed in a deep amber twilight. He lay down, propping himself up on one elbow, his eyes never once losing sight of Hamza face.

"Yahan aao," Uzair said softly, tapping the empty space beside him.

Hamza heart gave a familiar, beautiful flutter. He slid down beneath the quilt, turning on his side to face Uzair. In the dim light, his hazel-green eyes looked almost dark, reflecting the tiny amber spark of the fading lamp. He reached out under the blanket, his fingers searching until they found Uzair hand.

Uzair immediately closed his grip around Hamza fingers, pulling his husband hand up to press a kiss against his knuckles—right against the wedding band.

"Kal jab subah gaadi chalegi," Uzair whispered, his voice dropping into that raspy, "tum bas apna sir mere kandhe par rakh kar so jana. Jab aankh khulegi, toh tum apne naye ghar mein hoge, Hamza."

Hamza smiled, He squeezed Uzair' hand tightly, pulling it closer to his chest as he closed his eyes,

"Shaba khair, uzair " Hamza whispered into the quiet dark.

Uzair leaned forward, pressing one last kiss against Hamza forehead. "Shaba khair, jaan."

The room fell into an quiet, broken only by the distant, rhythmic whistle of the wind sweeping through the valley.

As Hamza lay there, the quilt pulled up to his shoulders, a wave of warmth settled over his entire being. This is the very first time he is sleeping beside someone. Beside his husband. A man who, just met week ago, had been a name from Lyari, a stranger chosen through an arranged marriage.

A soft sigh escaped Hamza's lips into the amber darkness. Beneath the blanket, his heart is smiling.

He had heard so many stories, whispered in hushed tones by cousins during wedding preparations, about the expectations of the first night. He had been so incredibly nervous, his chest tight with a quiet anxiety he hadn't dared to voice to anyone. But Uzair... Uzair is entirely different.

The boss of the Lyari hadn't forced a single expectation on him. He hadn't tried to take advantage of the legal and traditional rights the Nikahnama had given him just hours ago. Instead of demanding closeness, Uzair had simply opened his arms to offer a sanctuary for Hamza tears, sung to soothe his aching heart, and is now content just holding his hand in the dark.

Through the flickering shadows of the room, Hamza opened his eyes just a fraction. He looked at Uzair silhouette beside him. Even in sleep, Uzair grip on Hamza fingers remained steady and protective, a warm anchor in the quiet night.

To be loved like this—with respect, patience, and a tenderness that placed his comfort above everything else—is the most beautiful realization Hamza had ever known.

He let his hair settle against the pillow and slid just an inch closer to Uzair side, With a heart at peace, Hamza closed his eyes and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The cold mountain wind howled against the windows of the haveli, but inside the amber-lit room, the chill couldn't penetrate the deep, peaceful warmth that had settled over the bed.

Feeling Hamza shift just a fraction closer in his sleep, Uzair stirred. In the quiet dark, his instincts took over. He shifted his frame, sliding his arm beneath Hamza shoulders and pulling him flush against his body.

Uzair wrapped him whole in his arms, enveloping Hamza within the secure sanctuary of his chest.

Hamza didn't wake, but a soft, contented sigh escaped his lips as he instinctively adjusted to the movement. His head nestled over Uzair heart, the steady, rhythmic beat acting as a soothing lullaby against his ear. Beneath the quilt, their joined hands rose together, resting over Uzair chest. Hamza fingers looked safe, clasped beneath Uzair palm.

With his eyes closed, Hamza let go of the last remnants of his anxiety.

Tomorrow, the Balochistan landscape would fade into the rearview mirror. Tomorrow, the dusty, chaotic highways would carry him away from the only home he had ever known, leading him straight into the bustling heart of Karachi. For the very first time, he would step across the threshold of his husband home—not as a guest, and not as a stranger, but as the person who held the key to the heart of the man.

But as the steady rise and fall of Uzair chest grounded him in the quiet night, the fear of tomorrow dissolved. It didn't matter how loud or unfamiliar the new city would be.

Holding onto Uzair in the dark, Hamza knew he is already home.

✧˖°🌼⋆｡♡

The soft golden light of the morning sun began to filter through the curtains, painting the room in a warm, amber glow. The biting desert wind from the night before had settled into a crisp, fresh morning breeze.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Uzair! Hamza! Utho chalo jaldi karo! Naashta thanda ho raha hai aur gaadi wale ne bahar horn bajana shuru kar diya hai!"

Ulfat loud cheerful voice boomed through the door, accompanied by another impatient rattle of the handle.

The sudden noise broke the sacred silence of the room. Uzair eyes fluttered open first. For a split second, he frowned at the door, but as he looked down, his expression melted into tenderness.

They are completely, beautifully tangled together.

Over the course of the night, the quilt had shifted. Hamza head is resting securely on Uzair chest, his long, dark waves of hair scattered like silk across the cotton fabric. One of Hamza legs is hooked over Uzair, and their hands are still tightly locked right over Uzair heart.

As Hamza began to stir from the noise, his lashes fluttered open, his eyes adjusting to the bright morning light.

Uzair breath caught completely. At this close proximity, the glow on Hamza face is clear. His cheeks carried a natural, radiant pink flush, his skin looked as soft as the mountain roses,

"Subah ho gaya," Hamza whispered, his voice thick and raspy from sleep. He looked up at Uzair, a sudden wave of shyness hitting him as he realized just how tightly he is clinging to his husband. He tried to pull his leg back, "Woh... Bhabhi bahar khadi hain."

Uzair didn't let him untangle just yet. He tightened his grip around Hamza waist for one final second,

"Bhabhi ko bolne do," Uzair murmured, his eyes locking onto Hamza face with an warmth. He reached up, gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind Hamza ear. "Pehle mujhe dekhne do... ke mera jaan subah kaisa lagta hai."

Hamza looked down shyly, "Chodiye... uthna hoga," he whispered, as he gently untangled himself from Uzair hold.

Hamza got up first, quickly smoothing down his crumpled kurta and running his fingers through his hair before opening the door. Uzair also got up slowly, as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching his husband.

The moment the latch clicked, Ulfat entered the room with her usual energetic stride. She looked around at the neatly packed bags, ready to take them outside to the waiting vehicles. But as she turned toward Hamza, her eyes caught his face. The glow is painting his skin

Ulfat smiled softly, her expression turning warm and as she stepped closer, gently patting Hamza cheek.

"Abb hume nikalna hoga, Hamza," Ulfat said, "Tum dono shaadi ke jode pehen lo. Main abhi nikal rahi hoon, tum log naashta karke nikalna. Main Lyari wapas ja rahi hoon, haveli ko taiyaar jo karna hai tumhara swagat ke liye!"

"Bhabhi, aap akele ja rahi hain?" Uzair asked,

​"Rehman hai mere saath, tum befikr raho," Ulfat dismissed with a wave of her hand, turning back to smile at Hamza one last time. "Tum dono bas aaram se aana. Lyari mein naye dulhe ka intezaar sab bohot shauq se kar rahe hain!"

Hamza stepped closer to Ulfat, his voice soft and laced with care. "Dhyan se jaana, Bhabhi," he said slowly, his eyes reflecting the affection he had already formed for the woman who had welcomed him so fiercely into her family.

Ulfat eyes softened at his tone. She reached out, wrapping her arms around Hamza in a warm, hug that smelled of wedding spices and familiar comfort. "Tum fikar mat karo, mera bacha. Apna dhyan rakho, aur is Uzair ko zyaada tanaav mat lene dena," she whispered with a wink, breaking the hug to pat his arm.

Uzair watched them from the edge of the bed Seeing his family embrace Hamza so seamlessly made the impending journey back to Karachi feel less like a departure and more like a homecoming.

With one final, sweep of her arms, Ulfat picked up two of the smaller bags. "Chalo, main chalti hoon. joda pehanna mat bhoolna, Hamza! Bohot pyaare lagte ho usme," she called out over her shoulder before stepping out of the room, her hurried footsteps echoing down the veranda.

The door clicked shut once more,

Hamza stood by the door for a moment, the weight of the transition settling over him. He turned around slowly, his hair catching the bright morning sun as his eyes found Uzair. Uzair is already standing tall, commanding frame moving soundlessly across the carpet until he is right in front of his husband.

"Ab chalein?" Uzair murmured, as he looked down at Hamza face. "Shaadi ka joda tumhara intezaar kar raha hai, Dulha Sahab."

Hamza face turned an even deeper shade of crimson at Uzair words. Without saying another word, he quickly snatched his sherwani and the shawl from the bed, turned on his heel, and practically ran into the washroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft thud.

Uzair let out a laugh, He shook his head fondly, his eyes fixed on the washroom door for a moment before he turned toward his own wedding attire.

Knowing it's his family's strict tradition for the newlyweds to return home wearing their wedding clothes, He picked up his sherwani, feeling the heavy, luxurious weight of the fabric. Slowly, he changed out of his comfortable cotton kurta, fastening the gold buttons with practiced ease, and tied the pagri around his head. By the time he picked up his gold-hilted sword, he looked every bit the king of Lyari once again.

A few minutes later, the washroom door clicked open.

Hamza stepped out, and Uzair’s breath caught completely in his throat. Hamza looked breathtaking. The royal blue sherwani fit his elegant frame perfectly, and the shawl draped over his shoulder caught the morning sunlight beautifully. His hair was neatly styled under his pagri, and his eyes are bright, his skin radiating that glow.

He stood there, nervously adjusting the edge of his shawl, looking up at Uzair

Uzair set his sword down on the table and walked over to his husband, He stopped right in front of Hamza,

"Maine kaha tha na," Uzair murmured, as he took Hamza hand. "Is jode mein tumhare samne ye poora dunya pheeka lagta hai, Hamza."

"Chaliye... bahar naashta karna hai," Hamza whispered , as he tried to pull his hand back, though his fingers lingered against Uzair for a fraction of a second.

Uzair smirked fondly, picking up his sword from the table. With a slow nod, he turned and began walking toward the door. Hamza followed closely behind him, As they stepped out onto the wide, sun-drenched veranda, the aroma of hot parathas, spicy omelets, and strong cardamom tea greeted them.

Standing near the edge of the courtyard is Shirani . The moment his eyes fell upon the two of them—looking incredibly regal in their wedding attire, walking side by side as husband and husband—his posture stiffened. He saw the glow on Hamza face, and a sudden wave of emotion hit the older man.

Shirani eyes instantly grew thick with tears. Hamza was the child he had raised, the quiet boy of the mountains, and seeing him now, completely protected and loved by the man from Lyari, broke something beautifully fragile inside his chest.

Hurriedly, Shirani turned his face away toward the valley, pulling out a handkerchief and pretending to check the crisp morning air, desperately trying to hide his tears from his nephew.

Hamza noticed it immediately. His steps slowed, his eyes softening with a ache as he looked at his uncle retreating shoulders. He reached , his hand gently catching the edge of Uzair sleeve, silently asking his husband to stop.

Hamza let go of Uzair sleeve, his footsteps quickening as he hurried across the stone veranda toward his uncle. "Mamu..." he breathed out,

The sound of Hamza voice broke Shirani resolve completely. He turned around, dropping his handkerchief, and the moment he saw his nephew standing before him, both of them broke down.

Hamza threw his arms around the older man's neck, burying his face into his uncle shoulder. The pristine pagri tilted slightly as he clung to the person who had been his anchor, his father, and his protector in these mountains for his entire life.

shaky sobs wrung through Hamza chest, Shirani wrapped his arms tightly around Hamza, his shoulders shaking violently as he wept into hamza hair. The tough, weathered facade of the mountain elder shattered, replaced by the sorrow of a father letting go of his child.

"Mera bacha... mera jaan," Shirani choked out through his tears, his hands trembling as they stroked Hamza back. "Hamesha khush raho... Allah tumhe hamesha aabaad rakhe."

Uzair stood a few paces back, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. His eyes softened with an respect as he watched the two of them. He didn't interrupt, nor did he step in to break them apart. He simply stood as a silent shield, allowing his husband the space to pour out his heart and say goodbye to the only home he had ever known.

Shirani slowly wiped the tears from his cheeks, his chest heaving with a final, steadying breath. Gently, he took Hamza hand in his own, looking deep into his nephew eyes. Seeing the devotion and peace reflected in them, a soft, incredibly proud smile broke through the elder man's sorrow. Hamza smiled back through his tears, a radiant, quiet comfort passing between them.

Turning together, Shirani walked Hamza over to where Uzair stood waiting

With solemnity, Shirani lifted Hamza hand and placed it directly into Uzair palm. Then, he placed his own trembling hand over their joined ones, locking them together.

"Uzair," Shirani said, as he looked uzair dead in the eye. "Maine isko bohot naaz se paala hai. Yeh is poori jagah ki rounak hai. Aaj se main apna sab kuch tumhare hawale kar raha hoon."

Uzair grip tightened around Hamza fingers, He held Shirani gaze

"Shirani Sahab," Uzair murmured, a low, echoing register that carried the weight of a blood oath. "Aapne mujhe apni rounak di hai. Jab tak Uzair Baloch ke jism mein jaan hai, aapke is noor par kabhi koi aanch nahi aane doonga. Yeh mera aapse aur is khuda se waada hai."

The weight of the morning shifted beautifully into warmth as they sat down at the long wooden table for breakfast. With tears behind them, the remaining cousins and aunts made sure to fill the courtyard with laughter. The teasing was relentless—mostly aimed at how Hamza cheeks turned rosy pink every time someone pointed out the matching glow on both husbands, or how Uzair kept quietly sliding the best pieces of paratha and the warmest cup of cardamom tea toward Hamza side of the table.

But soon enough, the sound of a car horn echoing outside signaled that it was time.

a sleek black car sat waiting in the gravel driveway, ready for the long journey back to Karachi. Uzair stepped out into the crisp morning air first,

He walked over to the rear passenger side and stood there, holding the car door open with an patient grace.

As Hamza stepped down the veranda stairs, a sudden rush of little footsteps filled the courtyard. All the children of there—his younger cousins and the neighborhood kids he had spent years storytelling and playing with—came running toward him in a chaotic, colorful wave.

"Hamza Bhai! Hamza Bhai, mat jao!" one little girl cried, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

Hamza crouched down unbothered by the dust as he opened his arms wide. One by one, every child pressed in for a giant, tangled group hug. Hamza laughed through a fresh shimmer of tears, kissing their foreheads, pulling small packets of sweets from his pockets, and handing them out with a whisper of promise that he would return soon.

Uzair stood by the open car door, watching the scene play out. His eyes softened to an warmth as he looked at his husband surrounded by the children. The pure, natural grace Hamza held, and the sheer love he radiated, made Uzair heart swell

When the children finally began to pull away, wiping their noses and clutching their sweets, Hamza stood up slowly. He turned toward the car, his eyes meeting Uzair gaze.

"Sab se mil liye?" Uzair murmured softly, as he extended his hand to help Hamza into the seat.

Hamza nodded, a smile breaking through his

Face. He placed his hand in Uzair, stepping inside the car to begin his journey to his new home.

Before stepping into the driver side, Uzair turned back to Shirani one last time. Without a word he stepped forward and wrapped the older man in a hug, gripping his shoulder firmly—a silent, honorable reassurance between two men.

Shirani patted Uzair back with a trembling hand, whispering a final blessing into the morning air.

With a nod, Uzair turned, slid into the front seat, and closed the door. The engine of the car purred to life, and with a soft crunch of gravel, the vehicle pulled out of the gates, leaving the only home Hamza had ever known behind in the dust.

As the rugged mountains of Balochistan began to roll past the window, the quiet inside the car is broken by a tiny, fragile sound.

Hamza is sitting in the back, as he leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He is trying so hard to be brave, but the sheer weight of leaving his uncle, the children, and his valley is too much. A small, involuntary sniff escaped his lips, his eyes pooling with fresh tears.

Hearing the soft sniff, Uzair eyes immediately flicked to the rearview mirror. His heart gave a painful, protective wrench at the sight of his husband looking so fragile.

Without a second thought, Uzair adjusted his steering wheel with one hand and reached back between the seats, his hand searching until it found Hamza knee. He slid his palm down, wrapping his fingers securely around Hamza hand,

"Hamza," Uzair murmured, "Idhar dekho,jaan."

Hamza turned his head slowly away from the window, He wiped a tear from his cheek with his free hand, trying to offer a small, reassuring smile.

"Rona nahi hai," Uzair murmured softly, his thumb tracing circles over the back of Hamza hand. "Maine waada kiya hai na tumse? Tumhe jab bhi Mamu ki yaad aayegi, hum wapas aayenge. Yeh doori sirf raste ki hai, dil ki nahi."

Hamza squeezed Uzair hand back tightly, a sense of relief washing over his chest.

"Main... main theek hoon," Hamza whispered, He shifted closer toward the center of the seat, leaning his head forward slightly. "Bas thoda... ajeeb lag raha hai."

Uzair softened, a smile gracing his features as he looked at his husband through the mirror.

"Toh phir jo maine kal raat kaha tha, woh karo," Uzair said, "Apna sir mere kandhe par rakho, aur so jao. Jab aankh khulega, toh tumhara naya ghar tumhare samne hoga."

Hamza heart gave a familiar flutter. He didn't hesitate this time. Moving with a quiet shyness, he leaned forward, resting his head gently against Uzair shoulder from behind the seat, his eyes fluttering shut as the rhythmic hum of the car on the highway finally began to lull him into a peaceful rest.

The hum of the engine quieted as the car navigated through the vibrant, bustling streets of Lyari. The cool mountain air of Balochistan was long gone, replaced by the warm, salt-tinged breeze of Karachi.

After an grueling eleven-hour journey across the highways, the car pulled into the private driveway of Uzair haveli.

Hamza had genuinely fallen fast asleep. The emotional exhaustion of the morning, combined with the rhythmic rocking of the car, had kept him under for almost the entire drive. His head was still resting softly near Uzair shoulder, His hands were loosely curled near Uzair arm.

Uzair turned off the engine, plunging the front of the car into silence, though the distant, lively sounds of Lyari streets hummed outside the compound walls.

Uzair sat still for a long moment, simply watching his husband sleep.

Slowly, carefully, Uzair unbuckled his seatbelt and shifted his frame in the seat to face Hamza fully. He reached out, his hand incredibly gentle as he stroked the side of Hamza cheek, his thumb lightly tracing his jawline.

"Hamza..." Uzair murmured, "Hamza, jaan, utho. Hum pahonch gaye."

Hamza stirred, a soft sigh escaping his parted lips. His long lashes fluttered heavily against his skin as his luminous hazel-green eyes slowly opened, blinking against the amber glow of the streetlights filtering through the tinted windows. For a second, he looked completely disoriented, his gaze wandering from Uzair up to his face.

"Uzair...?" Hamza whispered,

Uzair lips curved into a soft smirk. He reached up, gently adjusting the tilted pagri on Hamza head,

"Ji, Uzair yahan hai," Uzair murmured playfully, his hand lingering on the nape of Hamza neck to give a reassuring squeeze. "Chalo, utho. Bhabhi bahar tumhare swagat ke liye poore mohalle ko jama karke baithi hain. Apne naye ghar mein tumhara swagat hai, Dulha Sahab."

Welcome to today's chapter! 😂

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Happy reading! And no, I'm not being extra... y'all are just experiencing me in HD. 🤭✨

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 2

The sun broke over the jagged mountain peaks, flooding the courtyard with sharp, golden light. The morning air carried the faint smell of burning pine wood and the aroma of freshly brewed chai.

Uzair is already awake, sitting on the stone steps of the courtyard with a steaming brass cup in his hands. He hadn't slept much. Every time he closed his eyes, he kept seeing a flash of purple fabric and a pair of surma-lined hazel green eyes.

"Uzair! Arre, tum uth bhi gaye?!"

Ulfat voice shattered the morning peace as she marched out onto the veranda, her colorful dupatta trailing behind her. She didn't look tired at all; if anything, the mountain air had only amplified her energy. Rehman followed closely behind her, adjusting his watch,

"Ji Bhabhi, subah ho gaya hai," Uzair said,

"Subah toh kab ki ho gayi! Par mujhe lagta hai kisi ki raat abhi tak khatam nahi hui," Ulfat teased, walking down the steps and sitting right next to him. She nudged him hard with her elbow. "Maine dekha subah-subah, woh shareef bacha—Hamza—poore jagah mein phool saaf kar raha tha. Aur baar-baar tumhare kamre ki taraf dekh raha tha. Kuch hua kya?"

"Bhabhi, Khuda ke liye, subah-subah shuru mat hoiye," Uzair muttered,

Rehman let out a low chuckle, patting Uzair shoulder as he walked past toward the main dining hall. "Chhod do use, Ulfat. Aaj Shirani Sahab ke sath baithak hai, humein nikalna hai."

"Aap jayein apni baithak par!" Ulfat shot back, "Mera kaam yahan zyaada zaroori hai. Maine toh naye kapde bhi nikal liye hain Uzair ke liye."

By the time the family gathered in the dining hall, the table is loaded with local Baloch bread, fresh butter, and heavy iron pots of chana masala. Shirani is already seated at the head, laughing heartily at something Naieem had said.

But Uzair eyes instantly scanned the room, bypassing everyone until they landed near the serving side.

Hamza is there. He is wearing a soft, sky-blue kurta today, his hair loosely tied back, though a few stray pieces framed his face. He is quietly helping the house staff arrange the plates. The moment Uzair entered, Hamza hand froze over a basket of warm bread. His eyes lifted, locking onto Uzair.

A soft, immediate pink hue spread across Hamza cheeks. Remembering the conversation from the night before under the stars, he quickly lowered his gaze,

"Khush-aamdeed, Rehman! Khush-aamdeed, Uzair!" Shirani Sahab boomed, gesturing for them to sit. "Aao, aao. Hamza, beta, Uzair ke liye chai dalo."

Uzair didn't take his eyes off him. As Hamza set the teapot down, Uzair reached for the sugar bowl at the exact same time. Their fingers brushed.

Hamza swallowed picking up the silver teapot. He walked over to the table with quiet, measured steps, ensuring he didn't look directly at Uzair. He leaned down slightly, pouring the steaming tea into Uzair cup. The intoxicating scent of jasmine ittar and fresh soap drifted from him, instantly hitting Uzair senses.

An shock seemed to pass between them. Hamza pulled his hand back quickly, "Shukriya... Hamza," Uzair murmured under his breath,

Hamza bit his lower lip, a helpless, beautiful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaned down slightly to pick up an empty plate, whispering back just loud enough for Uzair to hear, "Aap subah-subah bhi baaz nahi aate?"

"Tum itne acche lagte ho toh main kya karoon?" Uzair grinned, leaning back in his chair, completely captivated.

Before Hamza could retreat to the safety of the kitchen, Ulfat eyes caught the entire interaction. She slammed her teacup down onto the saucer with a loud clatter, drawing everyone's attention.

"Shirani Sahab!" Ulfat called out,

Shirani Sahab looked up, stroking his gray beard. "Ji, Ulfat beti? Kuch chahiye?"

"Chahiye toh bohot kuch," Ulfat said, her eyes darting between Uzair and Hamza. "Main toh bas yeh keh rahi thi ke aapka yeh bhanja, Hamza... MashaAllah, hira hai hira! Itna tameezdaar, itna khoobsurat. Humare Lyari mein toh aise larke dhoondne se bhi nahi milte."

Hamza froze by the pillar, his face turning an shade of crimson. He looked at the floor, wanting the ground to swallow him whole, though his heart was hammering with a strange, wild excitement.

Uzair nearly choked on his paratha, coughing quickly as Naieem burst into a loud, suppressed fit of giggles next to him. "Bhabhi! Khana khaiye please," Uzair hissed.

"Main toh sach keh rahi hoon!" Ulfat scoffed, turning back to Shirani Sahab. "Shirani Sahab, aapne iske liye koi dhang ka ladka dhoondha hai ya nahi? Agar nahi dhoondha... toh meri nazar mein ek bohot hi ziddi, gusse wala, par dil ka saaf larka hai. Bilkul yahan baitha hai!"

The entire table went dead silent for a second before Shirani Sahab looked from Ulfat, to a blushing Hamza, and finally to a completely panicked Uzair. A slow, knowing smile spread across the old man face. He let out a loud, booming laugh that echoed through the high ceilings.

"Arre, Ulfat beti... agar baat aisi hai, toh humein kya aitraaz ho sakta hai?" Shirani Sahab chuckled, looking at Rehman. "Rehman, tera begum toh aate hi hamara hira churane ke chakkar mein hai!"

Rehman smiled, taking a calm sip of his tea. "Shirani Sahab, inka nishana kabhi khali nahi jata."

Hamza couldn't take it anymore. With a small, gasp, he offered a quick, hurried bow to the elders, caught Uzair gaze for a split second, and practically bolted out of the dining hall,

"Dekha Chachu?" Naieem whispered, leaning over with a grin. "Balochistan ka dulha ab door nahi hai."

Uzair watched the doorway where Hamza had vanished, a slow defeated smile spreading across his face. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

Uzair didn't even bother threatening his nephew this time. He just looked at his teacup, realizing that between his Bhabhi wild matchmaking and Hamza hazel-green eyes, his heart was completely, utterly trapped in Balochistan.

The departure of Hamza from the dining hall left a lingering warmth in the air, the silence broken only by the crackle of the wood fire and the steady, booming laughter of Shirani Sahab.

Ulfat didn’t waste a single second. The moment Hamza disappeared around the corner, she leaned forward on the table, her hands clasped together, her lively demeanor shifting into something genuinely earnest yet sharp.

"Shirani Sahab, mazaak ek taraf," Ulfat said, her voice dropping its teasing edge but keeping all of it's undeniable force. "Main bohot serious hoon. Humare Uzair ka dhaancha thoda sakht zaroor hai—Lyari ki hawa hi aisi hai—lekin dil ka sona hai yeh. Agar aap ijazat dein, toh main bohot maan aur izzat ke saath, aapke Hamza ka haath apne dewar ke liye maangna chahti hoon."

Uzair teacup remained suspended mid-air. He looked at his sister-in-law, his throat tightening. For all his business deals and commanding presence in the streets of Karachi, he had never felt his chest pound quite like this. He didn't interrupt. His eyes drifted to Shirani Sahab, waiting for the elder reaction.

Shirani Sahab laughter slowly subsided into a thoughtful smile. his sharp eyes moving from Ulfat determined face to Uzair, who sat still,

"Rehman," Shirani Sahab spoke quietly, looking toward the older brother. "Tum kya kehte ho? Yeh tumhare ghar ka chhota hai, aur mera Hamza mera jaan hai."

Rehman set his cup down, his expression calm and steady. "Shirani Sahab, Uzair ne aaj tak mujhse ya apni Bhabhi se kabhi kuch nahi maanga. Par kal se abhi tak, iski aankhein humein sab bata rahi hain. Hamza jaisa suljha hua aur shareef ladka agar is ghar ki ronaq ban jaye, toh mere liye isse badi khushi ki baat aur koi nahi hogi. Baaki, faisla aapka aur bache ki marzi ka hai."

The gravity of the moment settled over the table. Even Naieem and Faizal had stopped whispering, watching the elders with quiet eyes.

Shirani Sahab leaned back, a soft sigh escaping him as his gaze drifted toward the hallway where Hamza had run off. "Hamza ke maa-baap ke jaane ke baad, maine use hamesha apni aulad se zyaada chaha hai. Lahore padhne bheja taake use sukoon mile. Main hamesha darta tha ke is pahaadi ilaqe mein uske jaisa naram aur parha-likha bacha kaise sambhale ga. Use ek aisi deewar chahiye jo use har tufaan se bacha sake..."

The old man eyes locked onto Uzair, steady and piercing. "Uzair," Shirani Sahab called out firmly.

"Ji" Uzair replied instantly,

"Tum jaan-baaz ho, Lyari mein tumhara ek naam hai. Agar main apne jigar ka tukda tumhare haath mein doon, toh kya tum use wahi thandak aur izzat de paoge jo use yahan milta hai? Mere khaanpan mein dhokha nahi hota."

Uzair stood up from his chair, a rare gesture of absolute submission, and placed a hand over his heart. "Shirani Sahab, Lyari ki zameen par khada hoke ya yahan Balochistan ke pahaadon mein... Uzair ka lafzi faisla badalta nahi. Hamza par kabhi koi aanch aane se pehle, use meri jaan se guzarna hoga. Izzat bhi wahi milegi, aur sukoon bhi."

Ulfat smiled brightly, a stray tear of pride glistening in her eye as she looked at her brother-in-law.

Shirani Sahab watched Uzair for a long moment before his face broke into a wide, proud grin. He slapped the table firmly. "Toh phir baat pakki! Rehman, utho! Aaj haseen subah hai, gale milo!"

The two older men stood up and embraced warmly, clapping each other backs as the dining hall erupted into congratulations. Naieem immediately grinned, slapping Uzair's shoulder. "Mubarak ho, Chachu! Dulha pakka!"

While the elders began discussing dates, sweets, and the formal announcement, Uzair quietly slipped out of the side door, his heart racing faster than it ever had during a midnight raid.

He walked down the quiet, shaded corridor toward the guest wing, his steps deliberate. When he reached the door adjoining his own quarters, he knocked softly.

Silence.

"Hamza?" Uzair called out quietly. "Main hoon."

A few seconds passed before the door clicked open just an inch. Hamza stood behind it, His eyes were wide, luminous, and rimmed with a deep, shaky shyness. He had clearly heard the booming laughter and the celebration from the dining hall.

Uzair didn't say a word. He gently pushed the door open a bit further, stepping into the cool, incense-scented room.

Hamza took a step back, his fingers twisting the fabric of his sleeve, "Aap... aap yahan kyun aaye hain? Sab... sab baatein kar rahe hain wahan..."

Uzair walked up to him until there was barely any space left between them. He looked down at Hamza burning cheeks, a soft smile appearing on his face. "Sab ne baatein kar li hain, Hamza," Uzair murmured, "Mamu ne bhi, aur Bhai-Bhabhi ne bhi. Rishta pakka ho gaya hai."

Hamza breath hitched. He looked up, his eyes searching Uzair face, "Mamu ne... Mamu ne haan keh diya?"

"Haan keh diya," Uzair said softly. He reached out, his hand gently capturing Hamza one. He didn't pull him close; he just held his hand tightly, grounding him. "Lekin maine unse kaha ke aakhri faisla tumhara hai. Batao, Hamza Ali Mazari... Lyari chalne ke liye tayyar ho?"

Hamza looked down at their joined hands, a soft, laugh escaping his lips. A stray lock of his hair fell forward, and this time, he didn't try to hide behind it. He looked back up, his eyes locked onto Uzair

"Aapne kal raat hi toh kaha tha..." Hamza whispered a smile breaking across his face.

​"Kya kaha tha?"

​"...ke main ab anjaan nahi raha. Aur jab aap rasta hi nahi chhodte... toh phir mujhe aapke saath hi chalna padega na."

​Uzair let out a laugh, his thumb pressing gently against the back of Hamza hand, knowing that the wildest, most beautiful chapter of his life had just begun in the heart of Balochistan.

The footsteps of Shirani Sahab echoed down the stone corridor. Uzair, hearing the elder approach, gave Hamza hand one last gentle squeeze before stepping back into the hallway with a respectful nod to the old man. Shirani Sahab patted Uzair shoulder firmly as they passed each other, a silent understanding passing between the two men.

Shirani stepped into the quiet room and closed the door behind him.

Hamza is standing by the window, He looked up as his uncle entered,

"Mamu..." Hamza murmured, stepping forward to offer his arm, but Shirani simply held out his hands, gesturing for the boy to sit beside him on the wooden chest near the window.

The old man looked at his sister son—the quiet boy who had returned from Lahore with a gentle soul and a brilliant mind. He saw the way Hamza fingers were nervously tracing the embroidery of his sleeve, a clear sign of his racing heart.

"Hamza, beta," Shirani Sahab began, weathered tenderness of a father. "Mene hall mein Rehman aur uski begum ko haan zaroor kaha hai... par tum jaante ho ke is haveli mein tumhari marzi ke aage mere kisi lafzi faisle ki koi auqat nahi."

Hamza looked down, "Mamu, aapka har faisla mere sar aankhon par..."

"Nahi, mera bacha," Shirani Sahab interrupted gently, lifting Hamza chin so their eyes met. "Yeh tumhara zindagi hai. Uzair larka acchha hai—sher jaisa jigar hai uska, aur uske khandaan ki izzat poore Sindh mein hai. Maine uski aankhon mein dekha hai, woh tumhe palkon par bitha kar rakhega. Magar woh Lyari ka rehne wala hai, wahan ki zindagi yahan ke pahoadon jaisi naram nahi hai. wahan dhuandhar firing bhi hoti hai aur halat bhi tez rehte hain."

The old man smiled faintly, his thumb wiping a stray speck of dust from Hamza cheek.

"Main sirf itna poochna chahta hoon... kya tumhara dil is rishte par mutmaeen hai? Kya tumne Uzair mein apna safar dekh liya hai?"

The room fell into a beautiful silence. Outside, the distant, lively chatter of Ulfat arguing with Naieem about wedding suits drifted through the courtyard, but inside, Hamza felt entirely grounded.

He thought of the night before—the smell of the fresh rose petals falling into his hair, the low, steady warmth of Uzair voice shielding him from the crowd, and the protection in Uzair eyes. Uzair is dangerous to the world, yes, but to him, he is an anchor.

Slowly, a soft smile bloomed across Hamza lips. The deep crimson returned to his ears, but his hazel-green eyes were clear and certain as he looked back at his uncle.

"Mamu," Hamza whispered, "Lahore mein reh kar maine bohot se parhe-likhe aur bade gharon ke larke dekhe hain... par jo dhang aur jo ghairat Uzair mein hai, woh maine kisi mein nahi dekhi. Woh jitne ziddi hain... unki woh zid mujhe mehfooz lagti hai."

He placed his hand over his uncle palm.

"Agar aapki duaen mere sath hain... toh mujhe Lyari jaane se ya unka hath thamne se koi darr nahi hai. Meri taraf se... haan hai."

Shirani Sahab chest swelled with pride. A tear gathered in the corner of his old eyes, and he pulled Hamza into a tight embrace, kissing the top of his head. "MashaAllah... MashaAllah. Meri behen ki amanat ko uska naseeb mubarak ho."

The old man stood up, wiping his face, He threw open the door to the corridor, where Uzair is still standing a few paces away, pretending to check his phone but visibly holding his breath.

"Rehman! Ulfat!" Shirani Sahab voice thundered through the hallway, bringing the entire family rushing out of their rooms within seconds.

Ulfat arrived first, "shirani Sahab?! Kya hua?!"

Shirani smiled, pointing a proud finger back toward Hamza, who stood in the doorway, blushing so intensely he looked like a rose under the morning sun.

"Mubarak ho! Humare larke ne bhi haan keh di hai!" Shirani Sahab declared. "Dhol wale ko bulao! Aaj hi pure ilaqe mein mithaai bategi!"

"Hayee Mashaallah" Ulfat screamed with absolute joy, clapping her hands together. She bypassed everyone and threw her arms around a thoroughly startled but smiling Hamza. "Maine kaha tha na Rehman! Balochistan se khali hath nahi jayenge! Dulha humara hua!"

Naieem and Faizal immediately began whistling and cheering, while Rehman walked up to Uzair, wrapping an arm around his younger brother shoulder with a quiet smile.

Uzair didn't say anything. Through the chaotic storm of his family celebration, his eyes locked onto Hamza. Hamza lifted his head through the crowd, his eyes shining with a quiet, teasing mischief as he mouthed two words strictly for his future husband "Jeet meri."

Uzair let out a low laugh, folding his arms across his kurta, completely and happily defeated.

Sacks of local sweets were delivered by the truckload, and the sound of traditional Baloch music echoed across the estate well into the afternoon.

But inside the quiet shaded corridor of the guest wing, Uzair was trying to finish his packing while dealing with the relentless teasing of his family.

"Uzair Chachu, yeh aapka naya kheri sehne ka dhang badal gaya hai ya Balochistan ki hawa ka asar hai?" Naieem leaned against the doorframe, a massive grin on his face as he watched his uncle meticulously fold his kurta—something the tough Lyari man had never cared about before.

"Naieem, agar tu agle do second mein yahan se nahi bhaga, toh main naye khoke ka saara hisab tere sar daal dunga," Uzair threatened , though there was zero heat in his voice. He couldn't stop looking toward the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of hamza.

"Chup karo! Tumhe toh bas tang karne ka mauka chahiye!" Ulfat voice boomed as she marched into the room, carrying a heavy, beautifully embroidered velvet box. She set it on the bed "Uzair, yeh Shirani Sahab ne bheja hai. Hamza ke purane parivaar ka khandani ittar aur ek khoncha khusoosi kapde hain !"

Uzair rubbed the back of his neck, a helpless smile breaking through. "Bhabhi, hum abhi sirf rishta pakka karke ja rahe hain. Shaadi mein abhi waqt hai."

"Waqt kis ke paas hai?!" Ulfat shot back, flipping her dupatta over her shoulder. "Maine toh Rehman se keh diya hai, agle hafte hi baraat lekar wapas aana hai. Tum bas tayyar raho."

As the sun began its slow descent behind the rocky mountains, painting the Balochistan sky in shades of orange and violet, the SUV is packed and ready near the courtyard. Rehman and Shirani Sahab were standing by the front gate, exchanging a quiet, serious conversation about the security of the highway and the upcoming wedding logistics.

Uzair stepped away from the noise of the packing, walking toward the old pomegranate tree near the edge of the courtyard.

As if on cue, a quiet rustle of fabric announced his arrival. Hamza stepped out from the shadow of the veranda. "Toh... aap ja rahe hain?" Hamza whispered, stopping just a step away.

Uzair turned to face him, his commanding posture softening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved silver lighter—a token he always kept on him. He placed it gently in Hamza open palm, his fingers brushing against Hamza.

"Yeh mera nishaani rakh lo," Uzair murmured, "Taake jab tak main wapas na aaoon, tumhare paas yaad dilane ke liye kuch ho."

Hamza looked down at the silver lighter, his thumb tracing the patterns before he looked back up,

"Mujhe iska zarurat nahi padega," Hamza whispered, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Aapka chehra aur aapki woh baatein... poore pahaadon mein goonjta rehta hain. Main chaah kar bhi nahi bhool sakta."

Uzair let out a laugh, stepping half a pace closer until their shoulders almost brushed. "Achha? Itna asar ho gaya hai?"

"Aapko bohot hansi aa rahi hai," Hamza murmured, as he quickly looked away toward the horizon to hide his shyness. "Lyari ja kar mujhe bhool mat jaana. Wahan ki market aur business mein zyaada dhyan mat dena."

"Business toh chalta rahega, Hamza," Uzair said gently, his eyes tracing the soft curve of the younger man face. "Lekin ab se, Lyari ke har kone mein... mujhe sirf tumhara intezaar rahega."

"Uzair! Chalo, gaadi start ho gaya hai!" Rehman voice called out from the front gate.

Hamza took a slow breath, lifting his eyes to meet Uzair one last time. He gave a quiet nod. "Khuda-Hafiz, Uzair."

"Khuda-Hafiz, meri jaan," Uzair whispered back. turned and walked toward the idling SUV, his heart feeling heavier yet lighter than it ever had before. He climbed into the backseat next to a snoring Naieem and a restless Faizal.

As Rehman pulled the vehicle out of the courtyard and onto the dusty, winding mountain highway, Uzair looked out the window.

Standing on the high veranda of the haveli, framed by the glowing golden lanterns and the massive Balochistan mountains, is Hamza. He is watching the car depart, a solitary, beautiful figure against the vast sky.

Ulfat turned around from the front passenger seat, catching Uzair fixed gaze on the rearview mirror.

"Dekha Rehman? Maine kaha tha na," Ulfat declared, a victorious smirk on her face as she looked at her husband. "Mera dewar Balochistan mein hi dher ho gaya. Ab bas naye ghar ki tayaari shuru karo, Lyari mein dhol bajne wale hain!"

Uzair just smiled, leaning his head against the glass window as the vehicle sped into the dark, open highway, the echo of hazel-green eyes guiding his way back home.

The gates of the estate had barely closed behind the trailing dust of Uzair SUV before the courtyard fell into a profound silence. Hamza stood on the veranda for a long moment, the cool mountain breeze tugging at his kurta, before he finally turned and walked back toward his private quarters.

The faint scent of jasmine ittar still lingered in the quiet hallway, a reminder of the whirlwind that had just swept through his life.

He pushed his bedroom door open, stepping into the shaded coolness of the room. The space felt entirely different now—wider, quieter, and charged with an unfamiliar emptiness. Hamza let out a soft breath, a hand coming up to touch his burning cheek as a helpless smile bloomed across his face. He still couldn't believe everything that had transpired over a single breakfast table.

As he walked over to the side table near the window to set down his notebook, something caught his eye.

Resting right beside the brass tray where the morning teacups had been, was a small, neatly folded piece of white paper. It hadn't been there before.

Hamza heart gave a sudden, violent flip.

He slowly walked over, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached out and picked up the crisp square of paper. He unfolded it with deliberate care. Inside, written in a sharp, bold, commanding handwriting that perfectly matched the stature of its owner, is a single local phone number.

Underneath the digits, there was no name. Just a short, scribbled sentence in Urdu that made the breath catch in Hamza throat:

“Jab pahaadon mein mera naam goonj raha ho… toh is number par call kar dena. Intezaar rahega.”

Hamza stared at the ink, his thumb tracing the rough, hasty strokes of the pen. He quickly clutched the chit against his chest, as if hiding a secret from the empty room, a laugh escaping his lips.

"Aap na..." Hamza whispered to the quiet space, shaking his head "...sach mein bilkul seedhe nahi hain."

He walked over to the window, pulling out his phone while keeping the little slip of paper safely pressed into his palm. Outside, the Balochistan mountains were turning a deep, twilight blue, but for the first time in his life, Hamza gaze wasn't fixed on the scenery. He is already typing the numbers into his screen, his heart hammering against his ribs, wondering if the man from Lyari is already waiting by his phone on the long highway back to Karachi.

The long, bumpy highway stretched out into the pitch-black desert night, the SUV’s headlights cutting a lonely path through the rocky terrain. Inside the car, the silence is only broken by the low hum of the engine and Naieem rhythmic snoring in the backseat.

Uzair sat perfectly still, his head resting against the cold glass of the window. His phone was held firmly in his hand, the screen casting a faint blue glow against his sharp jawline. He kept checking the network signal bar, which had been dipping to zero every time they passed through a mountain pass. Every few minutes, his thumb would instinctively swipe down to refresh his messages, his usual calm patience completely failing him.

Buzz.

The sudden, sharp vibration against his palm made him sit straight up.

A blocked number—a Balochistan area code—flashed on the screen, followed by a short text message. Uzair heart thudded violently against his ribs. He opened it instantly.

"Pahaadon mein shor bohot zyaada tha... isliye yahan se raabta kiya hai. Khairiyat se poonch gaye, Uzair Sahab?"

A helpless grin broke across Uzair face, entirely shattering his tough Lyari exterior. He quickly began typing back, his thumbs moving across the screen with a speed his nephew Naieem had never seen before.

From the front passenger seat, Ulfat sharp eyes instantly caught the sudden shift in the car atmosphere. She adjusted her shawl, turning around in her seat with a knowing smirk that made Uzair immediately tilt his phone away from her view.

"Oho! Rehman, zara gaadi ka sheesha thoda kholna," Ulfat teased loudly, nudging her husband. "Ghar poonchne se pehle hi Balochistan ki thandi hawa gaadi ke andar tak aa gayi hai. Kisi ka chehra toh dekho kaise tam-tama raha hai!"

Rehman caught Uzair sheepish expression in the rearview mirror and let out a laugh. "Chhod do use, Ulfat. Larka abhi se dher hai, Karachi tak kaise bachega?"

"Bhabhi, thoda aaram kijiye," Uzair muttered, his voice cracking slightly as his ears turned red. He ignored their laughter and focused entirely on the screen as another message popped up.

"Aapki Bhabhi abhi bhi aapko tang kar rahi hain na? Main yahan se mehsoos kar sakta hoon."

Uzair chuckled softly, typing his response under the dim light of the dashboard:

"Bhabhi toh theek hain... par yahan kisi ko sirf tumhari kami mehsoos ho rahi hai. Ittar ki khushboo abhi tak gaadi mein hai, ya shayad mere dimaag mein."

Far away in the quiet guest wing of the Shirani estate, Hamza read the text, burying his face into his pillow to muffle his laugh,

The sun is barely breaking over the bustling skyline of Karachi when the SUV finally pulled into the guarded courtyard of the Lyari haveli. The smell of strong street chai, diesel, and salt water instantly replaced the clean mountain air.

The moment Uzair stepped out of the car, his men quickly gathered around him, ready to report on the new shop’s stock and the midnight deliveries from the port. Uzair shifted gears instantly, his posture turning rigid, commanding, and sharp. He is back in his territory,

"Bhai, saara maal safehouse mein shift karwa diya hai," one of his trusted men reported, handing him a clipboard. "Opening ki tayaari poori hai."

Uzair took the board, scanning the numbers with an analytical eye. "Theek hai. Raat ke 12 baje se pehle saara clear hona chahiye. Kisi qism ki ghalti nahi chahiye mujhe."

As the men nodded and dispersed, Uzair handed the clipboard back, his fingers slipping into his pocket to touch his phone. He walked over to the edge of the veranda, lighting a cigarette and taking a slow, deep drag, looking out over the crowded streets of Lyari.

His phone buzzed again in his palm.

"Mamu keh rahe hain ke Karachi poonchte hi aap kaam mein lag jayenge. Apna khayal rakhiyega... aur woh cigarettes abhi tak khatam nahi huin?"

Uzair took the cigarette out from between his lips, staring at the blue smoke curling into the morning air. With a defeated laugh, he dropped the cigarette into a nearby tray and crushed it out completely.

"Abhi se sudhaarna shuru kar diya," Uzair muttered to himself, a smile spreading across his face as he typed back:

"Tumne keh diya... toh bas khatam. Ab sirf tumhara intezaar hai."

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━

A single week. That was all the time Ulfat and Shirani Sahab decided was necessary to turn two provinces upside down.

In Lyari, the haveli had become an absolute battleground of silks, velvets, and gold thread. Ulfat is orchestrating the chaos like a general, refusing to let Rehman or Uzair focus on a single piece of market business. "Market ka maal agle mahine bhi bikega, Rehman! Par mere dewar ki shervani kal sil kar aani chahiye!" she would shout, throwing open reams of fabric while Naieem and Faizal ran around carrying boxes of wedding invitations.

Meanwhile, across the border in Balochistan, the Shirani estate is practically bursting at the seams. Tents of deep crimson and gold were being pitched across the courtyard, the smell of wood fires and roasting meats grew heavier by the day, and the sound of dhol and suroz music echoed constantly against the rugged mountains.

Hamza room had been completely overrun. A vibrant, loud army of his cousins, aunts, and neighborhood girls had taken over every square inch of the space, turning his quiet sanctuary into a chaotic den of laughter, heavy embroidery, and the sweet, crushing scent of fresh henna.

"Haye, Hamza! Zara apna phone toh dikhana? Kahin Karachi ka number toh nahi chamak raha dobara?" his eldest cousin, Zarmina, teased loudly, leaning over the wooden chest where Hamza is sitting.

"Zarmina Aapa, please... apna kaam kijiye," Hamza murmured, He is wearing a simple, soft kurta, his hair loosely pinned back to keep it out of his eyes, but his ears are red. He is holding his phone tightly in his palm, hiding it beneath the fold of his sleeve.

"Arre, kyun tang kar rahi ho mere bache ko?" an older aunt, Chachi Noor, chimed in, though her eyes were twinkling with pure mischief as she stirred a silver bowl of fresh mehendi. "Lekin Hamza, beta... maine suna hai Lyari ke larke bade ziddi hote hain. Baatein bohot tez karte hain. Yeh tumhara Uzair Sahab tumse seedhe moonh baat bhi karte hain ya bas hukm chalate hain?"

A chorus of giggles and whispers erupted from the younger cousins sitting on the floor.

"Nahi... woh..." Hamza breath hitched. He looked down at his lap, He thought of Uzair whisper in the quiet corridor, the way his hand had grounded his trembling fingers. "Woh... hukm nahi chalate. Bohot... shareef hain."

"Shareef?!" Zarmina burst out laughing, clapping her hands. "Haye Allah! Shirani khandaan ka sab se hoshiyar bacha ek hi hafte mein bilkul naddhal ho gaya hai! Zarra dekho toh sahi, sirf naam lene par tamatar jaisa laal ho gaya hai!"

One of the younger cousins, a mischievous girl named Maryam, sneaked up behind Hamza and snatched the small silver lighter from his side table—the one Uzair had given him as a token.

"Mamu! Dekhiye! Yeh kya hai?" Maryam squealed, holding it up like a trophy. "Hamza toh kabhi cigarette nahi khate, phir yeh chandi ka lighter kis ka hai?"

"Maryam! Wapas karo use!" Hamza scrambled up, "Woh... woh bas yoonhi hai..."

*Buzz. Buzz.*

The sudden vibration of the phone beneath his sleeve felt like a lifeline. Hamza didn't wait for his cousins to answer; he bolted toward the attached bathroom, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it with a breathless, shaky gasp.

The cousins laughed loudly outside, banging on the door. "Bhaag gaye! Phone aa gaya Karachi se!"

Inside the quiet, cool bathroom, Hamza looked at his screen. The Karachi number was flashing. He slid the button, lifting the phone to his ear with fingers that were trembling ever so slightly.

"Assalamu Alaikum..." Hamza whispered, his voice small and breathless.

"Walaikum Assalam," Uzair voice echoed through the speaker, cutting through the chaotic noise of the haveli outside. There was a faint sound of Lyari traffic and a car horn in his background, but his tone was entirely focused, with an unspoken longing. "Kyun bhaag rahe ho? Wahan bohot shor ho raha hai."

Hamza let out a laugh, his forehead resting against the door. "Aapko kaise pata main bhaag raha hoon?"

"Tumhara saans batata hai, Hamza," Uzair murmured, "Bhabhi yahan mujhe chain se baithne nahi de rahi hain, aur wahan tumhare parivaar ne tumhe gher rakha hai na?"

"Bohot zyaada..." Hamza murmured, his eyes softening as he looked down at his shoes, a helpless smile blooming across his lips. "Mera lighter bhi chheen liya unone. Keh rahe hain ke Karachi ka larka bilkul seedha nahi hai."

There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the distinct sound of Uzair clicking his tongue—

"Unse keh do... larka bilkul seedha nahi hai, par sirf apne dulhe ke aage jhukna jaanta hai," Uzair said, "Sirf teen din aur, Hamza. Phir koi tumhe mujhse door nahi rakh payega."

Hamza bit his lower lip, a beautiful crimson rushing back to his face. He clutched the phone tighter to his ear, wishing the long miles between Sindh and Balochistan would simply disappear. "Aap... aap bohot tang karte hain."

"Aur tum bohot jaldi sharma jaate ho," Uzair grinned on the other end, stepping out onto his veranda in Lyari, looking toward the distant mountains. "Tayyar raho, meri jaan. Baraat nikalne wala hai."

The midnight air of the Balochistan mountains is biting cold, but inside the sanctuary of Hamza room, the crackle of the small heater kept the space wrapped in a warm, amber glow. The chaotic army of aunts and cousins had finally gone to sleep, leaving behind the rich, sweet scent of lingering henna and fresh jasmine.

Only two days were left. Down on the highways, Uzair family had already left the crowded streets of Lyari. They were moving through the night, driving across the provincial borders to reach the estate a full day before the event.

Hamza is alone now. He stood in the center of the room, the silence a beautiful contrast to the week madness. His hair had been loosely pulled back, tied neatly into a soft man-bun,

Slowly, he walked over to the edge of his bed, a soft smile blooming across his lips.

Laid out across the mattress was his wedding attire, arranged with perfection. The sherwani is a deep, royal blue, stitched from a rich fabric that seemed to absorb the dim light of the room. Intricate diamond-work embroidery cascaded along the high collar and down the chest, sparkling like stars trapped against a midnight sky.

Resting right beside it was a luxurious silk shawl of a delicate, soft pink—a color Ulfat had insisted on adding to bring out the color in Hamza cheeks. The shawl is heavy, adorned with masterfully woven golden work that shimmered along the borders. Next to the fabric sat the traditional Baloch pagri, wrapped with precise, folds, and a small velvet box containing the wedding rings.

Hamza reached out, his fingers tracing the cold, glittering diamond-work on the royal blue sleeve. His heart gave a sudden, intense thud.

He picked up the small velvet box, opening it to look at the silver band.

Buzz.

The phone in his kurta pocket vibrated, shattering the quiet room. Hamza didn't even have to look at the screen to know who it was. He quickly answered, lifting it to his ear as he sat down on the edge of the bed right next to his sherwani.

"Assalamu Alaikum," Hamza whispered,

"Walaikum Assalam," Uzair voice echoed over the line. The heavy roar of the SUV’s engine and the faint sound of Baloch folk music playing quietly on the car stereo drifted through the background. "Abhi tak soye nahi?"

"Nahi," Hamza replied softly, his eyes lifting to look at the attire again, his cheeks flushing a beautiful pink. "Main... apnay kapde dekh raha tha. Jo Bhabhi ne mere liye chune hain."

​On the other end of the line, miles away on the dark, open highway, Uzair is leaning against the window, a cigarette unlit between his fingers just out of respect for the journey. A chuckle escaped his lips as he imagined the sight.

"Kaunse kapde? Woh deep blue wale?" Uzair murmured, "Bhabhi poore raaste bas yahi bata rahi hain ke mera dulha us rang mein kitna haseen lagega. Main gaadi tez chalane ko keh raha hoon Bhai se, par pahaadon mein raasta bohot kharab hai."

​Hamza bit his lower lip, his fingers tracing the golden work on the pink silk shawl. "Aap... itni jaldi mein kyun hain, Uzair? Hum kal subah tak yahin hain."

​"Kal subah bohot door hai, Hamza," Uzair said, "Ek hafta tumse door reh kar kaata hai. Ab jab tak apni aankhon se tumhara woh sharmata hua chehra na dekh loon, mujhe sukoon nahi aane wala."

​The words made Hamza ears turn crimson under his tied-back hair. He leaned back slightly, a helpless smile lighting up his eyes.

​"Aap zyaada baatein mat banayein... aur gaadi ahista chalane kahein Rehman Bhai ko," Hamza whispered, "Main... main intezaar kar raha hoon."

​"Bas, tumne keh diya... toh kal subah sabse pehle tumhare samne khada milunga," Uzair replied "Sone jao ab. Dulhe ki aankhein laal acchhi nahi lagenge."

​"Khuda-Hafiz," Hamza murmured softly.

​"Khuda-Hafiz, meri jaan."

​Hamza disconnected the call, pressing the phone against his chest as his heart hammered a wild rhythm. He looked back at the royal blue sherwani, the silk pink shawl, and the glittering rings, knowing that within twenty-four hours, the man who held his entire world would finally be standing here.

The morning sun crested the Balochistan mountains, casting a golden glow over the Shirani estate. The calm is instantly shattered by the loud, rhythmic thumping of a dhol and the roaring engine of a large SUV pulling into the dust-kissed courtyard.

Uzair family had officially arrived.

Inside the guest wing, Hamza eyes flew open. He sat up quickly on the edge of the bed, his heart instantly hammering a wild rhythm against his ribs. His hair is a beautiful mess around his shoulders. He instinctively took a step toward the door, wanting nothing more than to catch a single glimpse of the tall man from Lyari through the window.

Before his fingers could even touch the handle, the door is firmly shut from the outside, and Chachi Noor along with Zarmina Aapa marched into the room, their arms crossed with strict, glowing grins.

"Haye! Kahan ja rahe hain Dulha Sahab?" Zarmina teased, catching Hamza by his sleeve and gently guiding him back toward the center of the room. "Bilkul nahi! Aaj se lekar kal Nikah tak, aap is kamre se ek qadam bhi bahar nahi nikal sakte. jo bhi ho, shadi se pehle ek doosre ka chehra nahi dekhte! Yeh riwaaj hai!"

"Zarmina Aapa, please... sirf ek baar..." Hamza murmured,

"Ek baar bhi nahi!" Chachi Noor chimed in, setting down a tray of turmeric paste and fresh rosewater with a loud clatter. "Lyari wale bohot tez hain. Agar Uzair ne tumhe abhi dekh liya, toh woh kal ka intezaar hi nahi karega! Chalo, chup-chaap baitho yahan."

Hamza sat down on the wooden chest, utterly trapped by his own family's traditions. He could hear everything happening outside in the courtyard. The booming, joyful laughter of Shirani Sahab welcoming Rehman, the rustle of luggage, and then, the undeniable, loud force of nature that was his future Bhabhi.

"Shirani Sahab! Assalamu Alaikum!" Ulfat voice thundered through the open corridors, carrying straight into Hamza room. "Haye, itna lamba safar tha! Par mere dewar ko dekhiye, poore raaste bas gaadi tez chalane ki zidd kar raha tha! Pata nahi kis baat ki jaldi hai isey!"

A chorus of roaring laughter from the elders followed her words.

Hamza buried his burning face in his palms, his ears turning an shade of pink under his hair. He knew Uzair is standing right out there in the sun. He could almost picture him—tall, sharp-jawed, wearing a crisp kurta, holding a cigarette between his fingers,

"Aur mera chhota beta kahan hai? Hamza?!" Ulfat voice called out, getting closer to the guest wing. "Main abhi ja kar usse milungi!"

"Arre nahi, Ulfat beti," Shirani Sahab’s voice corrected her gently, "Humare riwaaj ke mutabiq, bacha abhi andar hi rahega. Kal Nikah ke waqt hi dono ek doosre ke samne aayenge."

"Oho! Chalo, jaisi aapki marzi!" Ulfat laughed loudly, though she didn't stop completely. She raised her voice even louder, making sure it cut through the doors. "Uzair! Sun liya tumne?! Kal se pehle dekhne ko nahi milega chand! Ab apna dil sambhal kar rakho!"

Inside the room, Hamza phone suddenly buzzed against his thigh. He jumped slightly, quickly sliding it out from his pocket while his aunts were busy mixing the ubtan paste near the window.

It was a text from Uzair.

"Bhabhi poore khandaan ke samne mazaak uda rahi hain... aur main yahan tumhare kamre ki deewar ko dekh kar khada hoon. Pata nahi kaunsa riwaaj hai yeh jo mujhe meri jaan se door rakh raha hai."

Hamza bit his lower lip to suppress a beautiful laugh, his eyes shimmering with adoration. He hid the screen beneath his sleeve and quickly typed back:

"Mamu ke riwaaj hain, Uzair... thoda ehtiyat kijiye. Agar unone aapko yahan dekh liya, toh daant padegi."

A few seconds later, the phone vibrated again.

"Daant ki parwah hota toh Lyari se Balochistan bhag kar na aata. Kal jab tum mere samne us sherwani mein aaoge na... toh poore parivaar ke samne sab se pehle tumhara hath thaamunga. Phir dekhte hain kaunsa riwaaj rokta hai."

Hamza clutched the phone tightly against his chest, He looked toward the closed door, a helpless smile blooming across his face as the scent of wedding incense filled the room. The distance is just a single wall now, and the countdown to tomorrow had begun.

On the exact opposite side of the spacious room filled with the scent of fresh laundry and packed suitcases, a completely different kind of chaos is unfolding.

Uzair is standing in front of a tall, silver-framed mirror, trying to adjusting the collar of his kurta. But maintaining a tough Lyari exterior is physically impossible when your two nephews were treated to front-row seats to your absolute restlessness.

"Chachu, zara side toh kijiyega," Naieem chuckled, leaning against the wardrobe with his arms crossed, a grin plastered on his face. "Main aur Faizal sochna shuru kar rahe hain ke kahin hum galat room mein toh nahi aa gaye? Hamare Uzair Chachu—jo pooray Lyari market ko ek ungli par nachate hain—woh pichle das minute se sirf apna baal theek kar rahe hain!"

"Naieem, tu apna muzazafat band kar aur chup-chaap apna kaam kar," Uzair muttered, shotting his eldest nephew a sharp glare through the mirror reflection.

"Arre, Naieem Bhai, Chachu ko kuch mat kahein," young Faizal chimed in, sitting on the edge of the bed with a huge plate of wedding mithaai in his lap. He popped a gulab jamun into his mouth, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Chachu ki haalat toh bilkul us hiran jaisi ho gayi hai jiske baare mein kal raat woh baat kar rahe thay. Bas farq itna hai ke hiran Balochistan ka hai, aur shikari khud dher ho kar baitha hai!"

Uzair turned around slowly, his eyebrows lifting dangerously.

Before Uzair could properly discipline the boys, Naieem stood up straight,

"Waise Chachu... hum toh ja rahe hain," Naieem said, a smirk breaking across his face.

Uzair paused, his eyes narrowing. "Kahan ja rahe ho?"

"Ammi ne kaha hai ke ja kar Hamza Chachu ke kamre mein saaman de aao," Faizal squealed, jumping off the bed with a grin.

"Hum toh ja kar unhe dekh bhi sakte hain, unse baatein bhi kar sakte hain, aur unka woh tamatar jaisa laal chehra bhi dekh sakte hain! Par aap..." Naieem leaned in closer, whispering with mockery, "...aap toh is deewar se ek inch bhi aage nahi ja sakte. Shirani Sahab ka sakht riwaaj hai!"

Uzair looked at the door leading to the corridor, then back at his laughing nephews. For all his power, influence, and security details, he had absolutely zero authority over a centuries-old Baloch tradition maintained by Shirani Sahab and backed by Ulfat bhabi.

"Chachu ke liye koi message dena hai?" Naieem teased, grabbing the tray of fresh roses from the table. "Hum bol dein unse ke aap yahan deewar ko ghoor rahe hain?"

"Tum dono abhi ke abhi yahan se dafa ho jao," Uzair said, his voice dropping to a low growl, though a fond smile was threatening to crack his tough posture.

The boys burst into a fit of loud giggles and practically bolted out of the room, slamming the door behind them before Uzair could reach for his boots to throw at them.

The moment the room fell quiet, Uzair let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair with a low laugh. He walked over to the wide courtyard-facing window, pushing the shutters open just an inch.

Through the gap, he could see Naieem and Faizal running across the sunny courtyard, carrying the rose trays straight toward the guest wing where the love of his life is trapped.

Buzz.

His phone vibrated in his palm. He lifted it up instantly.

"Aapke dono bache abhi mere kamre mein aaye hain... aur Naieem keh raha hai ke aap wahan bohot gusse mein khade hain. Sach mein?"

Uzair grin widened, his fingers moving across the screen "Gussa toh sirf un dono par hai... par tumhare liye toh dil mein sirf sukoon hai, Hamza. Un dono ko bolo zyaada der wahan na rukein."

Far away in the shaded room, Hamza read the text, his eyes sparkling with a quiet, triumphant warmth as he hid his face behind a handful of fresh rose petals.

The long-awaited morning finally arrived, bringing with it a flood of crisp mountain air, the thunderous, joyful beat of multiple dhols echoing across the valley, and a sense of celebration that vibrated through every stone of the Shirani estate. The lawns were completely covered in magnificent carpets of crimson and gold, and the entire province seemed to have gathered to witness the union of Lyari pride and Balochistan finest.

Inside the quiet sanctuary of the guest wing, the scent of fresh roses, burning incense, and chaotic energy.

Hamza stood in front of the mirror, looking breathtaking. He had already donned the magnificent royal blue sherwani. The fabric clung perfectly to his shoulders, and the intricate diamond-work embroidery along the high collar caught the sunlight filtering through the wooden shutters, sparkling like a clear midnight sky. Draped elegantly across his right shoulder is the luxurious, soft pink silk shawl, its dense golden thread-work shimmering with every slight movement he made.

"Haye, Hamza! Zara seedhe khade raho na!" Zarmina Aapa scolded playfully, holding a fine-toothed wooden comb as she stood on her tiptoes.

Hamza hair—usually left loose or casually pinned—was being meticulously brushed back by his cousins. They were smoothing the silky, dark strands with care, preparing his head so they could perfectly place the cream-colored royal pagri that rested on a velvet cushion nearby.

"Aapa, thoda ahista..." Hamza murmured, his voice a soft,

His eyes are wide, luminous, and beautifully lined with a subtle touch of dark surma that made the green in them stand out like emeralds. His cheeks are already flushed a natural, brilliant shade of pink, completely matching the silk of his shawl. He is so incredibly nervous that his fingers were trembling as he held a small, crystal vial of ittar.

"Chalo, ab jaldi se yeh laga lo, warna Ulfat Aapa ba bahar khadi deewar tod dengi!" Chachi Noor laughed, gently nudging his shoulder.

Hamza smiled shyly and uncorked the tiny vial. He touched the glass applicator to his wrists, rubbing them together before gently dabbing it along the pulse points of his neck.

Instantly, a rich, mesmerizing fragrance filled the entire room. It wasn't just a simple floral scent; it is a rare, intoxicating blend of burnt honey notes resting over a deep, velvety base of fresh mountain roses. It is thick, sweet, yet deeply masculine and sophisticated—a scent that beautifully contrasted his quiet, cultured grace with the environment of the mountains.

"MashaAllah... MashaAllah" ,Chachi Noor whispered, a tear of catching in her eye as Zarmina finally lifted the cream pagri and placed it perfectly over Hamza combed hair, pinning it with a small diamond brooch. "Nazar na lage mere bache ko. Kisi ki nazar na lage."

Hamza looked at his reflection in the mirror. With the royal blue sherwani, the pink silk shawl, the pristine cream pagri, and his striking hazel green eyes,

The ​door didn't just rattle; it practically vibrated under the weight of a very specific, frantic knock.

​"Hamza! Beta Hamza! Tayyar ho gaye?!" Ulfat voice boomed from the hallway, ignoring the guards outside. "Mera dewar bahar dulha bana khada hai, aur uske sabr ka baandh toot raha hai! Shervani ka ek button tak seedha nahi bandh pa raha hai !"

​The cousins inside the room burst into a loud, delighted chorus of giggles.

​Hamza quickly turned away from the mirror, He instinctively reached for his phone on the side table, his lashes lowering as a smile bloomed across his lips. ​He didn't even need to open a text message to know what was happening outside. Through the high windows, he could hear the procession entering the courtyard, the dhol players shifting to a majestic, welcoming rhythm. The man from Lyari is finally waiting for him on the other side of the door, and the countdown to their Nikah is officially down to minutes....

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 1

The morning air of Lyari is thick with the smell of strong chai, diesel exhaust from the street below, and the undeniable force of nature that is Ulfat. Inside the walls of the haveli, she moves like a whirlwind, her voice cutting through the morning haze before the sun has even fully cleared the rooftops.

Rehman, her husband, is trying his best to look small behind a pile of textiles, but there is nowhere to hide from a Malkin on a mission.

"Rehman! Aap us kapde ko is kapde ke saath kyun rakhe?!" Ulfat voice drops like a gavel, her hands resting firmly on her hips. "Main kab se dekh rahi hoon! Kab ki chai diya hai, chai tak nahi pee aapne. Phir thanda ho jayegi, phir kahenge 'garam kar ke lao'!"

Rehman opens his mouth to offer a quiet defense, but Ulfat has already pivoted. Her eyes lock onto Faizal, who is daydreaming over his breakfast plate.

"Aur Faizal! Tumhara abhi tak khana khatam hua nahi? Kab tak chalega yeh? School kab jaana hai?!" She snatches a stray notebook from the table, tucking it into his backpack with a snap.

Without breaking stride, she turns her gaze toward the hallway leading to the upper rooms. She inhales deeply, directing her voice straight up the stairs.

"Aur yeh aapke bade bete, Nawab Sahab! Naieem! Uth ja! Main kamre mein gaya toh bohot bura ho jayega!"

Downstairs, Faizal finally takes a giant bite of his paratha, eyes wide, knowing his older brother has exactly sixty seconds to show signs of life before the haveli truly erupts.

"Aur Uzair! Tum kab tak neeche aa rahe ho, ya upar hi ghar basa doon tumhara?!"

​She waits exactly two seconds for a response, getting nothing but silence from the upper floor. A knowing smirk crosses her face as she crosses her arms.

Uzair slowly dragged himself up, rubbing his eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed. He stared blankly at the door, completely exhausted by the daily routine.

"Yeh kya, Bhabhi... har waqt nikah, nikah lagaye rehte hain," he muttered to himself with a sigh, his head dropping right back onto the pillow. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders, fully intending to disappear back into sleep.

But the peace lasted less than a second.

Downstairs, Ulfat voice boomed again, sharper this time, threatening to march up the steps herself.

The blanket flew off. Uzair scrambled out of bed so fast he almost tripped over his own feet, his heart hammering as he hurriedly looked around for his slippers.

Downstairs, Ulfat is still at the base of the stairs, nodding firmly to herself.

"Ruko, tumhare liye achha sa ladka dekhti hoon! Koi dhang ka munda dhoond ke, chat-pat nikah karwa doonga tumhara. Phir dekhna, saari susti ek jhatke mein gaayab ho jayegi! Yeh 12 baje tak sone ki aadat na, do din mein theek karega woh!"

Uzair finally made his way downstairs, smelling faintly of soap and fresh cologne. He had changed into a crisp kurta, looking entirely different from the boy who was hiding under the covers ten minutes ago. A lit cigarette is tucked between his fingers, the blue smoke curling toward the high ceiling of the haveli.

By now, the house had shifted gears. Faizal had already bolted out the door to catch his school van, leaving the courtyard slightly quieter.

Uzair pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Rehman, leaning his elbows on the table.

"Bhai, woh jo naye khoke ka maal aane wala tha, uska kya hua? Delivery raat ko hi poonch gayi hai," Uzair said, flicking the ash into a small tray. "Nayi shop ki opening se pehle humein saara stock clear karna padega. Lyari ke market mein abhi bohot demand hai."

Rehman nodded , setting his teacup down to reply, but the business meeting is brutally cut short.

Ulfat marched back into the dining area, a hot plate of parathas in her hands. The moment her eyes fell on the cigarette smoke drifting near the food, her forehead creased with annoyance.

"Kitne baar kaha hai breakfast table mein yeh sab na karte huye?!" she scolded, setting the plate down with a loud clatter and swatting the air in front of Uzair face. "Subah-subah shuru ho jaate hain!"

Before Uzair could even crush the cigarette out, Ulfat whirled around, her attention instantly snapping back to the ceiling. Her patience with the eldest son had officially run out.

"Aur Naieem! Ab tera Uzair Chachu bhi neeche aa gaya hai! Tu nahi aaya na... ab tu dekh lena!"

Ulfat didn’t just stop at a warning. She glared at the cigarette in Uzair hand like it personally insulted her.

"Aur yeh cigarettes abhi hatao yahan se!" she snapped, "Pata nahi kya maza aata hai subah-subah apna phephda jalane mein. Chalo, bahar phenko ise, ya main utha ke paani mein daal doon?!"

Uzair held up his hands in immediate surrender, hiding a smirk as he quickly stood up to crush it out. Even in the Lyari underworld, nobody argued with the Malkin of the haveli when she is on a tear.

Rehman quietly cleared his throat, suddenly finding his breakfast very interesting again, while Ulfat kept one eye on Uzair and the other fixed on the stairs, waiting for Naieem to finally show his face.

Just as Uzair threw the crushed cigarette into the bin, footsteps finally echoed from the staircase. Naieem walked down, rubbing the back of his neck, his hair a complete mess, looking thoroughly defeated by his mother wake-up calls.

​"Aa gaye Nawab Sahab? Shukar hai, aakhir-kaaar zameen par tashreef le hi aaye aap!" Ulfat crossed her arms, watching her eldest son sit down with a sigh.

​"Ammi, subah-subah itna kyun chillati hain aap? Poora Lyari jaag jata hai," Naieem muttered, dragging a plate toward himself.

​"Poora Lyari toh kaam par chala bhi gaya, lekin mere ghar ke shehzade abhi so kar uth rahe hain!" Ulfat shot back, pouring him a cup of hot chai. "Chalo, jaldi khatam karo. Tumhare Abbu kab se akele baithe hain, aur tum logo ko bas aaram ki padi hai."

​Uzair slid back into his chair, pulling the plate of parathas closer. He caught his nephew eye and gave a subtle wink, amused by the boy getting scolded.

​But Naieem wasn't going down alone. He leaned over the table, whispering to Uzair just loud enough for Ulfat to hear. "Waise Chachu... Ammi abhi keh rahi thi ke aapke liye koi dhang ka ladka dhund rahi hain. Nikah pakka samajhein?"

​Uzair smirk vanished. He glared at Naieem, pointing a butter knife at his face. "Apna paratha khao, Naieem. Warna bhai se keh kar naye shop ka saara hisab-kitaab tere sar daal doonga. Phir din bhar baith ke hisab lagate rehna."

​Rehman looked up from his breakfast, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched his brother and son bicker, while Ulfat stood by the stove, hands on her hips, watching over her chaotic haveli.

Rehman took a slow, sip of his chai, He set the cup down, leaning in slightly toward his younger brother, completely tuning out the noise of the breakfast table.

"Waise, Balochistan nikalna hain kal," Rehman said to Uzair, "Kuch guns ki zarurat hai wahan. Shirani Sahab ko bol ke jaana hai."

Uzair stopped mid-bite, He wiped his hands on a napkin and nodded slowly. A trip to Balochistan meant high stakes, and dealing with someone like Shirani Sahab required precision.

"Theek hai, Bhai," Uzair replied ,ensuring the conversation stayed between them. "Main aaj hi baith kar saara stock check kar leta hoon. Jo behtareen maal aaya hai, wahi nikalenge unke liye. Shirani Sahab ke bande kal subah tak deliver karwa denge, ya humein khud border tak bhijwana hoga?"

Before Rehman could answer, Ulfat caught the change in their tone. She placed a fresh stack of parathas on the table, her eyes darting between her husband and brother-in-law, knowing exactly what kind of business they were discussing without them even saying it aloud.

Rehman sighed, breaking off a piece of paratha as he expanded on the plan. "Kal Balochistan jaana hai, waise bhi humein Shirani Sahab ne bulaya hai. Keh rahe thay poora parivaar lekar aane ke liye."

Uzair raised an eyebrow, looking from his brother to his sister-in-law. "Poora parivaar? Bhai, Shirani Sahab ke ilaake mein poori family ko lekar jaana theek rahega? Business ke maamle mein ghar walon ko beech mein laana..."

"Business nahi hai yeh, Uzair," Rehman interrupted quietly, glancing up at his wife. "Shirani Sahab ne apne bete ki shaadi ki dawat par bulaya hai. Unka bohot dabaao tha ke is baar Lyari se koi akela nahi aayega. Sabko aana padega."

Ulfat, who had been listening silently from the stove, wiped her hands on her dupatta and turned around, "Shirani Sahab ke ghar jaana hai? Balochistan? Rehman, aapko pata bhi hai wahan ke halat? Aur itne bade safar ke liye kapde, tayaari... Naieem! Faizal! Tum dono ko toh naye kurte silwane padenge!"

Naieem groaned loudly, face-palming into his hands. "Ammi, khuda ke liye, hum wahan kisi shadi mein ja rahe hain ya jang ladne? Kapdon ki kya zarurat hai!"

"Tum chup karo, Nawab Sahab! Tumhe toh bas so ke uthne se matlab hai," Ulfat snapped, already mentally packing bags for the whole haveli. She then turned her gaze toward Uzair, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Aur Uzair, tum toh bilkul chaloge. Kya pata Shirani Sahab ki dawat mein hi tumhare liye koi achha sa, dhang ka ladka mil jaye! Unke parivaar mein toh ek se ek parha-likha aur hoshiyar ladka hai."

Uzair nearly choked on his chai, coughing as he quickly set the cup down. "Bhabhi, please! Main wahan sirf Bhai ke sath security dekhne ja raha hoon, apna rishta dhoondne nahi!"

Ulfat tossed her head back, flipping her hair with confidence and a smirk.

"Arre, koi nahi! Main dhoond loongi tumhare liye ek!" she declared, "Tumhe toh bas tayyar hoke chalna hai. Baaki kaam meri aankhon par chhod do. Aisa dhang ka, shareef ladka dhoondungi jo tumhari yeh 12 baje tak sone ki aadat aur yeh fazool ki cigarettes ek jhatke mein chhudwa de!"

Uzair looked at Rehman, silently pleading for his brother to intervene, but Rehman just took another calm sip of his chai, completely abandoning him to his fate.

"Dekha Chachu? Ammi ne thaan li hai," Naieem chuckled, thoroughly enjoying his uncle sudden panic. "Ab toh Balochistan mein aapka dulha pakka hai. Bas naya shervani silwa lein."

"Naieem, tu apna muzazafat band kar aur chup-chaap khana kha," Uzair muttered, shooting his nephew a death glare. He grabbed his glass of water, realizing there was absolutely no escaping Ulfat matchmaking radar once she had a mission.

˚⊱🪷⊰˚

Meanwhile, in Balochistan...

The vast, rugged valleys of Balochistan were alive with energy as the Shirani estate prepared for the wedding. Colorful tents were being pitched, the aroma of slow-cooking Sajji filled the air, and guests were already arriving. At the center of it all was Shirani Sahab, the highly respected elder of the region. Everyone bowed to his word—well, almost everyone.

There was one person Shirani Sahab loved and trusted above all others, a young man he cherished even more than his own sons.

His nephew, Hamza Ali Mazari.

Hamza was the son of Shirani Sahab’s late sister. After a tragic accident took both of Hamza parents years ago, Shirani Sahab had taken the boy under his wing, raising him as his own. But Hamza wasn't like the other fiery, loud young men of the estate. He had spent the last few years away in Lahore for his studies, absorbing the quiet, cultured rhythm of the city, and had only returned home a week ago specifically for this wedding.

Standing near the courtyard, Hamza is silently checking the arrangements. He is strikingly handsome, with wavy, middle-length hair that caught the breeze, and sharp yet gentle hazel-green eyes that seemed to observe everything.

Unlike the boisterous crowd around him, Hamza iss soft-spoken. He believed in less talk, more work. He moved through the chaotic prep work quietly, listening intently to everyone needs, fixing issues before they even became problems,

Shirani Sahab watched his nephew from the veranda, a soft, proud smile on his face. The old man stroked his gray beard, a sudden thought striking him. Hamza is back home now, educated, grounded, and pure gold at heart. It’s time I find a good man for him—someone strong, someone who can match his quiet grace and protect him.

"Hamza," Shirani Sahab called out,

​Hamza immediately paused his work, wiped his hands, and walked over with a nod. "Ji, Mamu? Aapne bulaya?"

​"Kal Lyari se mere bohot purane dost, Rehman aur unka parivaar aa rahe hain," Shirani Sahab said, patting Hamza shoulder. " Main chahta hoon jab woh aayein, toh tum unka khaas khayal rakho."

​"Ji bilkul, Mamu. Main sab tayyari dekh loonga," Hamza replied softly, his hazel green eyes calm, unaware that across the border, a certain whirlwind named Ulfat was already planning a matchmaking storm of her own.

"Mamu, unke rehne ka intezaam kar raha hoon. Kitne kamre chahiye unke liye?" Hamza asked, a stark contrast to the loud shouting of the workers pitching tents in the distance. He already had his notebook out, ready to allocate the best rooms in the guest wing.

Shirani Sahab smiled, looking out over the sprawling courtyard. "Rehman hai, uski beegum Ulfat, aur unke do bete hain—Naieem aur Faizal. Aur saath mein Rehman ka chhota bhai, Uzair."

The old man stroked his beard, a thoughtful gleam in his eye. "Do bade kamre kaafi honge. Ek Rehman aur uske parivaar ke liye, aur doosra kamra... Uzair ke liye alag se rakhna. Safar se thak kar aayenge, toh use sukoon chahiye hoga."

"Ji, theek hai. Main do sabse bade guest rooms tayyar karwa deta hoon, purane drakht ke paas wale wing mein. Wahan thandak bhi rehti hai aur shor bhi kam aayega," Hamza replied softly, He made a neat note in his book, completely oblivious to the fact that his uncle was purposefully isolating Uzair in his own private quarters to give the Lyari bachelor some breathing room—and maybe a chance to cross paths with Hamza without the rest of the chaotic family around.

"Aur suno, Hamza," Shirani Sahab added as the hamza turned to leave. "Jab woh log kal pahunchein, toh sabse pehle tum unhe khush-aamdeed kehne ke liye maujood rehna. Lyari ke log hain, bohot ghairatmand aur dil wale hote hain."

"Aap befikr rahein, Mamu. Main khud unka swagat karoonga," Hamza said with a nod, before quietly walking off to personally inspect the sheets and the fresh flowers for the rooms.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The sun is barely touching the horizon when the haveli finally cleared out. After a chaotic storm of packing, screaming, and Ulfat double-checking every single suitcase, the family is finally on the road, leaving the crowded streets of Lyari behind for the open highways leading toward Balochistan.

Inside the large SUV, the seating arrangement is tense but typical for the family.

Rehman sat at the wheel, focused and calm, driving with the steady hand of a man used to navigating high-stakes situations. Next to him in the passenger seat wis Ulfat, a dupatta wrapped around her, already shifting her focus from packing to planning the trip.

In the back sat Uzair, leaning against the window, staring out at the changing landscape as the urban concrete began to give way to dry, rocky mountains. Beside him, Naieem is fast asleep with his mouth slightly open, while young Faizal was glued to the window, watching the trucks go by.

"Rehman, gaadi thoda ahista chalayein," Ulfat muttered, checking her reflection in the side mirror and adjusting her jewelry. "Aur Uzair, tumne apna woh naya kurta rakha na? Jo maine dukan se khud pasand kiya tha?"

Uzair sighed, not taking his eyes off the window. "Ji Bhabhi, sab rakh liya hai. Aap befikr rahein."

"Befikr kaise rahoon?" Ulfat flipped her hair over her shoulder, a spark in her eyes. "Shirani Sahab ka bohot bada khandaan hai. Wahan bohot se log aayenge. Maine toh Rehman se pehle hi keh diya hai, is safar se hum khali hath wapas Lyari nahi jaane wale. Tumhare liye toh dulha dhoond kar hi rahoongi!"

From the front seat, Rehman caught Uzair pained expression in the rearview mirror and let out a rare, low chuckle.

"Ammi, Khuda ke liye... sone dein," Naieem groaned, shifting uncomfortably next to Uzair without opening his eyes. "Chachu ki shadi Balochistan mein karwa ke unhe wahin chhod dena, taake subah-subah mujhe unka danda na khana pade."

"Tum chup karo, Nawab Sahab! Tumhari baari bhi aayegi," Ulfat snapped playfully.

Uzair just shook his head, reaching into his pocket for his cigarette pack before remembering Ulfat strict "no smoking in the car" rule. He tucked it back in, his mind drifting ahead. He is prepared for the guns, the business, and the security—but he had a feeling his Bhabhi matchmaking is going to be the hardest thing to survive on this trip.

After eleven grueling hours of dust, heat, and bumpy mountain roads, the SUV finally pulled into the sprawling guarded courtyard of the Shirani estate. The moment the engine cut, the doors flew open.

Shirani Sahab was already walking down the veranda steps, his arms wide open, a smile on his face. "Rehman! Khush-aamdeed!"

Rehman stepped out, his exhausted face lighting up as the two men met in a warm embrace, clapping each other on the back. Ulfat immediately stepped out after him, adjusting her dupatta and greeting the elders with her usual respectful yet lively grace.

Standing half a step behind Shirani Sahab, waiting patiently, is Hamza.

Uzair finally stepped out from behind Ulfat, stretching his stiff shoulders. He rubbed his eyes, leaning back against the car door, and looked up—and that’s when his entire world ground to a sudden, screeching halt.

His eyes locked onto the young man standing behind shirani.

Hamza hazel-green eyes are already looking right at him. They were sharp, piercing, and deep, lined with just a subtle hint of dark surma that made the green in them stand out like emeralds against the desert sand. As a soft breeze swept through the courtyard, a rich, intoxicating scent of itta drifted from him, cutting right through the smell of diesel and dust. His mid-length, wavy hair caught the wind, framing a face so flawlessly beautiful it didn't seem real.

Uzair forgot how to breathe. He had been coming to Balochistan for business since he was seventeen years old. He knew every major family, every smuggler, every commander, and every trader in these hills. But he had never seen this boy. Who is he? God, that hair... those eyes.

Suddenly, the loud chatter of the courtyard, the shouting of the guards, and the bustling wedding music faded into a dull hum. From somewhere far away, a melody seemed to echo strictly in Uzair ears, matching the sudden thumping of his chest:

Kabhi usey noor noor kehta hoon

Kabhi main hoor hoor kehta hoon

Kabhi usey noor noor kehta hoon

Ishq mein choor choor rehta hoon

Door naa jaa…

Naa jaa, aankhon aankhon mein hi rehna

Aankhon aankhon mein hi rehna

Uzair stood frozen, car door half-open, staring like a man who had just seen a ghost—or an angel.

Ulfat, whose matchmaking radar is sharper than a sniper scope, instantly noticed her brother-in-law total paralysis. She glanced from Uzair to Hamza, and a smirk spread across her face. She nudged Uzair hard with her elbow, leaning in.

"Uzair? Samne kya khada hai? Kitni ungliya hoti hain haath mein?" she teased loudly, laughing under her breath.

But Uzair didn't hear a single word. No sound came out of his mouth. The man from Lyari is completely gone, utterly trapped in the gaze of those beautiful hazel-green eyes.

Hamza felt the intensity of the gaze instantly. He is used to people looking at him, but there was something different about the way this tall, sharp-featured stranger from Lyari is staring. Uzair looked frozen, his eyes wide and completely captivated. Hamza heart gave a slight, unfamiliar flutter, but he quickly masked it, lowering his long, surma-lined lashes politely.

Shirani Sahab finally broke the trance, turning to pull Hamza forward. "Rehman, yeh dekhiye. Yeh mera bhanja hai, Hamza. Lahore se apni padhai poori karke aaya hai abhi ek hafta pehle."

Rehman smiled warmly, patting Hamza shoulder. "MashaAllah, bohot pyaara bachha hai. Shirani Sahab, bilkul aap par gaya hai."

"Mamu, main mehmaano ko unke kamre dikha deta hoon," Hamza spoke up, his voice soft, smooth, and deeply respectful, though he kept his eyes carefully averted from Uzair to hide his sudden shyness. "Safar bohot lamba tha, unhe aaram ki zarurat hogi."

"Haan, bilkul. Chalo, Ulfat, bachhon, andar chalo," Rehman said, gesturing for Ulfat and the boys to follow.

Ulfat didn't move immediately. Instead, she stood right next to Uzair, who was still standing by the car door like a statue, his eyes tracking Hamza every movement. She leaned in close, whispering sharply into his ear, "Uzair! Beta, moonh band karo, makkhi chalegi andar! Maine kaha tha na, Balochistan se khali haath nahi jayenge. Dulha pasand aa gaya?"

Uzair finally snapped out of it, as he looked at his sister-in-law in panic. "Bhabhi, khuda ke liye, chup kijiye!" he hissed, his usual tough-guy voice cracking slightly.

Hamza, who was walking ahead to lead the family toward the guest wing, turned back for a brief second to ensure everyone was following. His hazel-green eyes locked with Uzair one more time, and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned back around.

Uzair felt his knees go weak. Yeah, he thought, his heart hammering against his chest as he grabbed his suitcase. I am definitely not surviving this trip.

Hamza led the family through the sprawling corridors of the estate, directing Rehman, Ulfat, and the boys into their large, spacious family suite first. Once they were settled, Hamza turned to guide Uzair down the quieter, shaded wing of the haveli. As it turned out, the room arranged for Uzair was directly adjacent to Hamza own private quarters.

The bustling noise of the main house faded away until it was just the two of them standing in the quiet hallway.

Hamza reached for the door handle, pushing it open to reveal a beautifully arranged, spacious room filled with the scent of fresh linen and local wood. He stepped to the side, gesturing politely inside.

"Andar aaiye," Hamza said softly, his hazel-green eyes briefly lifting to meet Uzair before looking down. "Yeh aapke liye hai... yeh kamra."

Uzair walked in, setting his bag down, but his attention is entirely fixed on the smooth, melodic sound of Hamza voice.

Hamza lingered by the doorway, resting his hand on the frame as a gentle breeze ruffled his wavy hair. "Kuch chahiye toh bol dijiye. Main intezam karwa doonga."

Uzair turned around slowly, his usual sharp and commanding posture softening completely. He cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. "Shukriya... Hamza," he said, the name sounding gentle on his lips. "Abhi toh bas... sukoon chahiye tha. Safar bohot lamba tha."

Hamza offered a small, quiet nod, his eyes lingering on Uzair for just a second longer than necessary. "Aap aaram kijiye. Main thoda der mein aapke liye garam chai aur kuch khane ke liye bhijwata hoon."

"Aapka pura naam kya hai?" Uzair asked, quiet murmur that seemed to fill the small space between them. He lowered his gaze slightly, "Is anjaan ko... jaan'ne ka kuch haq hai kya?"

Hamza stopped in his tracks right at the threshold.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, lighting up his hazel-green eyes. He turned his head just enough to look back at Uzair,

"Hamza Ali Mazari," he replied, his voice a gentle, melodic whisper in the quiet hallway. "Aur aap ab anjaan nahi rahe."

With that, Hamza quietly stepped out and closed the door, leaving behind the faint, intoxicating scent of his ittar and a breathless Uzair standing alone in the center of the room.

Uzair stared at the closed door for a full minute, a slow, helpless smile spreading across his own face. He threw his head back and let out a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

"Hamza Ali Mazari..." he whispered to himself, testing the weight of the name on his lips. "Yaar, Uzair... tu toh gaya."

He walked over to the window, pushing it open to let the cool Balochistan mountain breeze hit his face. Outside, the wedding music is starting to pick up, but all Uzair could hear was the echo of Hamza soft voice.

​Suddenly, the door to his room didn't just feel like a barrier—it felt like the only thing separating him from the next room, where Hamza is. Uzair leaned against the window sill, pulling out a cigarette, but he paused before lighting it. He remembered Ulfat scolding words, and more importantly, he remembered Hamza pure, clean presence. With a quiet chuckle, he tucked the cigarette back into his pocket unlit, entirely whipped before the story had even truly begun.

After some time, a soft tap echoed on the door. Before Uzair could even answer, it pushed open, and Hamza stepped into the room carrying a beautifully engraved brass tray loaded with hot chai and a plate of fresh, steaming nasta.

Uzair immediately sat up on the edge of the bed, his eyes locked onto the younger man.

Hamza walked over to the small table near the window quietly, his gaze fixed entirely on the tray to hide the subtle blush returning to his cheeks. He set the tray down with a soft clatter and began preparing the tea. He picked up the small spoon, scooping a bit of sugar and stirring it into the cup, his long, surma-lined lashes brushing against his cheeks as he looked down, focused on his task.

Uzair didn't say a word. He just leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at Hamza like he is the only thing in the room. He watched the way Hamza hair fell slightly forward over his face, and how expertly and gently his hands moved. The rich, sweet scent of cardamom chai mixed with the intoxicating fragrance of Hamza's ittar, filling the entire room.

"Aap... cheeni kitna lete hain?" Hamza asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, still looking down at the swirling tea. "Maine ek chammach daala hai."

Uzair let out a chuckle, his eyes never leaving Hamza face. "Jitni bhi daal do, Hamza... Aapne banaya hai toh meetha hi hoga."

Hamza hand froze mid-air for a split second.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes, meeting Uzair gaze. he quickly looked down again, setting the spoon aside with fingers that trembled ever so slightly.

"Aap..." Hamza murmured, trying to hide his smile, "har baat itna achhe se karte hain kya?"

Uzair chuckle "Nahi."

Hamza glanced up, curious.

"Sirf tumse."

The answer made Hamza ears turn pink. He bit back a smile and shook his head. "Aap mujhe sharmaa rahe hain."

"Main?" Uzair placed a hand over his chest with mock innocence. "Maine toh abhi kuch kaha hi nahi."

Hamza finally looked at him properly, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. "Aur agar ye 'kuch nahi' hai... toh 'kuch' kya hoga?"

Uzair leaned back slightly, still unable to take his eyes off him. "Uska jawab abhi de diya toh tum chai gira doge."

Hamza let out the softest laugh, lowering his gaze again. "Nahi giraunga."

"Pakki baat?"

Hamza nodded "Ji."

Uzair smiled "Phir kabhi fursat se bataunga."

A silence settled between them.

Hamza carefully picked up the teacup and walked over to the bed. As he handed it to Uzair, their fingers brushed for the briefest moment.

Both of them paused. Hamza immediately withdrew his hand, his heartbeat quickening.

"Chai..." he said softly, almost whispering.

Uzair accepted the cup but didn't drink it right away. "Shukriya."

Hamza smiled "Umeed hai... pasand aayega."

Uzair took a sip, never breaking eye contact with him "Bilkul." He smiled faintly before adding ,"Waise chai toh waqai achhi hai..."

Hamza looked up expectantly.

"...lekin usse zyada uss shakhs ki wajah se achhi lag raha hai jisne banaya."

Hamza hid his face behind the loose strands of his hair, a smile blooming across his lips. "Aap na..."

"Haan?"

"...bohot tang karte hain."

Uzair grinned "Aur tum bahut jald sharma jaate ho."

Hamza let out another quiet laugh, finally relaxing as the room filled not just with the aroma of cardamom chai, but with the warmth of two hearts slowly, shyly finding their way toward each other.

the door is pushed open with zero warning.

"Uzair! Arre Uzair, tumne apna naya—"

Ulfat froze in her tracks at the entrance, her eyes darting from Uzair sitting on the edge of the bed to Hamza standing just inches away, she looked at the tea tray, then at the lingering tension in the air, and her eyes lit up like fireworks.

Hamza instantly took a step back, folding his hands politely, "A-Aapa... main bas Uzair ji ke liye chai laya tha."

"MashaAllah, MashaAllah!" Ulfat beams, walking into the room with a knowing grin plastered across her face. She practically ignores Uzair entirely and goes straight to Hamza, patting his shoulder warmly. "Kitna suljha hua bachha hai! Rehman keh rahe thay tum Lahore se padh ke aaye ho? Aur chai bhi khud banaya? Dekha Uzair? Isey kehte hain tameez!"

Uzair closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, his ears burning. "Bhabhi... aap yahan kis liye aayi thi?"

"Main toh tumhara naya kurta dene aayi thi, par mujhe lagta hai yahan kurtay se zyada zaroori baatein ho rahi hain," Ulfat teased, She turned back to Hamza, her smile widening. "Beta Hamza, humare Lyari mein na, jab koi itni achhi chai pilata hai, toh hum use hamesha ke liye apne ghar rakh lete hain. Tumhara kya khayal hai?"

Hamza breath hitched. He looked at the floor, completely defenseless against Ulfat a helpless, smile biting at his lips.

Uzair quickly stood up, setting his teacup down before his Bhabhi could completely scare the poor boy away. "Bhabhi! Khuda ke liye! Hamza, tum jao, main aata hoon."

"Ji... ji, main chalta hoon. Aap log aaram kijiye," Hamza murmured in a rush. He offered a quick, shy nod to Ulfat, caught Uzair apologetic yet intense gaze for a split second, and practically floated out of the room, his heart racing a million miles an hour.

The moment the door clicked shut, Ulfat turned around, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at her brother-in-law. "Toh... Hamza Ali Mazari, huh? Aur tum toh keh rahe thay tum yahan sirf security dekhne aaye ho?"

"Bhabi kuch nehi yoonhi bas "Uzair tried to ignore,

"Kuch nahi hai? Yoonhi bas?" Ulfat scoffed, mimicking his voice with a dramatic roll of her eyes. She stepped closer, slapping the folded kurta onto his bed with a thud. "Uzair, tumhare Bhai se shaadi kiye mujhe barson ho gaye hain. Tumhare is chehre ko tab se dekh rahi hoon jab tumhare mooch-daadhi ka ek baal bhi nahi tha! Mujhe bewaqoof banaoge?!"

Uzair cleared his throat, suddenly finding the pattern on his leather boots incredibly interesting. He rubbed the back of his neck, l "Bhabhi, woh Shirani Sahab ka bhanja hai. Lahore se padh ke aaya hai. Shareef bachha hai, aap khamakhah..."

"Aur tum badmaash ho?" Ulfat interrupted, her expression softening into a smile. She patted his cheek firmly. "Shareef hai tabhi toh dhoond rahi hoon tumhare liye! Dekha nahi kaise chaand jaisa chehra hai uska?!"

"Bhabhi, please!" Uzair groaned, "Woh kya sochega? Pehle hi din aap shuru ho gayi."

"Woh wahi soch raha hai jo tum soch rahe ho," Ulfat laughed, turning around to head toward the door, flipping her dupatta over her shoulder with victory. At the doorway, she paused, looking back at him with a smirk. "Kurta press kiya hua hai, dhang se pehan kar shaam ko neeche aana. Aur haan... thoda woh ittar laga lena jo tumne Lyari se khareeda tha. Pata chale Balochistan ke haseenon ke saamne mera dewar pheeka pad gaya!"

With a loud, teasing chuckle, she walked out, leaving Uzair alone in the quiet room. He dropped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, his chest tight with a feeling he had never, ever experienced in his life. He looked over at the empty teacup, a slow smile creeping onto his face despite himself.

𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆

The blazing desert sun dipped below the mountains, and the Shirani estate transformed into a glowing paradise. Strings of warm fairy lights illuminated the courtyard, and the air is thick with the scent of burning incense and roasting feasts. The evening Nikah is in full swing, bustling with music and chatter.

Hamza stood near the edge of the courtyard with a few of his cousins. He looked breathtaking, wearing a deep purple-colored kurta that made his hazel-green eyes look even more striking. His hair is left loose, framing his face perfectly as the gentle night breeze caught the strands. The rich, subtle scent of jasmine ittar drifted from him, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

Uzair stepped out into the courtyard. He is wearing a white kurta adorned with intricate pearl work along the collar and chest—a masterpiece that Ulfat had personally picked out. Standing tall with his sharp jawline and commanding presence, he looked like royalty from Lyari.

As if drawn by an invisible thread, Uzair gaze swept across the crowded courtyard and instantly locked onto the splash of purple across the yard. At the exact same moment, Hamza looked up.

Their eyes clashed through the crowd.

Uzair stopped mid-stride, his breath catching in his throat for the second time that day. The white and pearl kurta made him look devastatingly handsome, and Hamza heart did a violent flip in his chest. Overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of Uzair stare, Hamza cheeks flushed a furious crimson. Feeling exposed, he quickly looked down, taking a hasty step back to hide himself behind his taller cousin shoulder.

From a few steps behind, Ulfat caught the whole exchange. She nudged Rehman with her elbow, a smirk on her face. "Dekha Rehman? Maine kaha tha na, mera dewar Balochistan mein hi dher hoga!"

Rehman just shook his head with a quiet chuckle, while Uzair stood there, his eyes still fixed on the spot where Hamza is hiding,

The Nikah ceremony is reaching its peak, the atmosphere thick with the recitation of prayers and the gentle murmur of guests. Hamza is standing a little away from the main crowd, trying to calm his racing heart, when he felt a sudden, cool presence right behind him.

He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Just as Hamza turned slightly, Uzair—who had been holding a handful of fresh rose petals he’d picked from the estate’s garden—let them fall from his hand. They cascaded down, drifting softly through the air and landing gently in Hamza hair and over his shoulders.

Hamza stood frozen, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as a few petals brushed against his cheek.

Uzair leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, husky register, meant only for Hamza to hear.

"Chand bhi sharma jayega... itna sundar na dikho. Dil dhadkna band ho jata hai."

Hamza felt his entire world spin. He clutched the fabric of his purple kurta he dared not look up. He felt completely trapped, not by the crowd or the ceremony, but by the intensity of the man standing just inches away.

"A-Aap..." Hamza stammered, his voice barely a whisper, "yahan... sab dekh rahe hain."

Uzair didn't pull back. Instead, he stood even closer, his presence shielding Hamza from the rest of the world. "Dekhne do," he murmured, his gaze tracing the soft curve of Hamza neck. "Mujhe sirf tum nazar aa rahe ho, aur usse zyada mujhe kuch aur dikh bhi nahi raha."

Hamza bit his lip, his heartbeat echoing in his own ears, so loud he is sure everyone in could hear it. He is drowning, and for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be rescued.

Hamza cheeks refused to lose their crimson tint. He finally gathered enough courage to glance sideways at Uzair, only to find him already watching with that same infuriatingly calm smile.

"Aap..." Hamza muttered under his breath, "...bilkul bhi seedhe nahi hain."

Uzair raised an eyebrow. "Achha? Abhi toh main bohot shareef ban kar khada hoon."

Hamza let out a tiny scoff. "Isi ko shareef kehte hain? Sabke beech khade hokar aisi baatein karna?"

Uzair leaned just enough for only Hamza to hear.

"Sabke beech hi toh maza hai... warna tum bhaag jaate."

Hamza eyes widened "Main... bhaagta nahi."

"Nahi?"

"Nahi."

Uzair smiled, clearly unconvinced "Toh mere taraf dekh kar baat karo."

Hamza immediately looked everywhere except at him.The lanterns ,The flowersx The guests ,The sky Anywhere but Uzair.

A quiet laugh escaped Uzair.

"Bas, mere taraf mat dekhna. Chand ko dekh lo, phoolon ko dekh lo... lekin mujhe nahi."

Hamza couldn't help smiling "Aapko bohot yaqeen hai na apne aap par?"

"Nahi."

"Phir?"

"Mujhe yaqeen tumhara sharm par hai."

Hamza pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing "Aap har baar jeet jaate hain."

Uzair folded his arms "Galat .... Jeetta toh main tab... jab tum muskuraate nahi."

Hamza looked at him then—just for a heartbeat.

Their eyes met Uzair smile softened "Wahi toh mera jeet hai."

Hamza shook his head with an smile. "Allah... aapko jawab dena bohot mushkil hai."

Uzair grinned "Toh mat diya karo."

"Aur chup rahun?"

"Haan."

"Kyun?"

Uzair looked at him "Kyuki jab tum sharma kar chup hote ho na..."

He gently plucked a lone rose petal from Hamza hair and held it between his fingers "...tab duniya ki saari awaazon se zyada tumhara khamoshi khoobsurat lagta hai."

Hamza lowered his gaze again, smiling despite himself. "Aap bohot tang karte hain."

Uzair grin widened "Aur tum..."

"Haan?"

"...har baar tang hone ke baad bhi muskurana nahi chhodte."

Hamza finally laughed—a soft laugh that reached his eyes "Shayad... kyunki aapko chup karwana namumkin hai."

Uzair chuckled "Bilkul."

The call for the next part of the nikah echoed through the courtyard.

For a fleeting second, their shoulders brushed as they turned toward the gathering.

Neither moved away first.

Hamza tried to step past him, but Uzair shifted just enough to remain in his way.

Hamza looked up, trying to appear annoyed, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

"Rasta chhodiye..." he said, folding his arms. "Kaam hain bohot."

Uzair tilted his head innocently "Achha? Itne zaroori?"

"Haan."

"Mujhse bhi zyada?"

Hamza sighed "Aap se toh har cheez zyada zaroori hai."

"Oho..." Uzair placed a hand over his heart. "Itni berukhi?"

Hamza couldn't suppress a laugh "Berukhi nahi... haqeeqat."

Uzair stepped half a pace closer "Phir bhi, dil nahi maan raha."

Hamza looked around at the bustling courtyard before lowering his voice "Uzair sahab... agar kisi ne dekh liya na..."

"Kya hoga?"

"Hoga ye ke mamu mujhe dhoondte dhoondte yahin aa jayenge."

Uzair grinned "Toh main keh dunga..."

Hamza narrowed his eyes "Kya?"

"'Main hi rok kar khada tha.'"

Hamza blinked "Aur phir?"

"Phir daant main kha lunga."

Hamza smiled despite himself "Aapko daant se darr nahi lagta?"

Uzair looked straight into his eyes "Tumhara narazgi se lagta hai."

For a moment, Hamza forgot what he was about to say Then, clearing his throat, he gently pointed to the side "Bas... ab hero banna band kijiye."

"Hukm?"

"Rasta."

Uzair smiled mischievously but finally stepped aside with an exaggerated bow "Ijazat hai, janab."

As Hamza walked past, he stopped for just a heartbeat beside Uzair and whispered without looking at him— "Waise..."

"Hmm?"

"Jeet aaj bhi meri hi hui."

Uzair frowned "Woh kaise?"

Hamza smile deepened "Rasta toh aapne hi chhoda."

Before Uzair could think , Hamza walked away, the corner of his purple kurta swaying behind him.

Uzair watched him go, laughing quietly to himself "Aaj toh sach mein mujhe hara kar gaya..."

Hamza had barely taken a few steps before Uzair called after him in a low voice "Hamza."

He didn't stop "Hmm?"

"Ek baat poochun?"

Hamza kept walking, a smile threatening to appear "Pooch lijiye."

"Tum hamesha itne khoobsurat lagte ho... ya aaj meri kismat achhi hai?"

Hamza closed his eyes for a second, shaking his head "Allah..."

He turned around slowly "Aapko har baat mein tareef karna zaroori lagta hai?"

Uzair shrugged "Jhooth bolna buri baat hota hai."

Hamza folded his arms "Achha? Toh sach boliye."

Uzair smiled "Bol diya."

Hamza laughed softly "Nahi... woh wala sach."

"Woh kaunsa?"

"Jab aap pehli baar mujhe dekha tha... tab bhi aise hi dekh rahe the?"

Uzair didn't even pretend to think "Nahi."

Hamza blinked "Nahi?"

"Us waqt toh aur bura haalat tha."

Hamza raised an eyebrow "Kaisa?"

"Lag raha tha kisi ne waqt rok diya ho."

Hamza looked away, trying to hide his smile.

"Aap filmon ke dialogue yaad karke aaye hain?"

Uzair chuckled "Kaash."

"Toh?"

"Tumhe dekh kar khud-ba-khud yaad aa jaate hain."

Hamza let out an amused sigh "Aap na... bilkul nahi sudhrenge."

"Sudharna bhi nahi chahta."

"Kyun?"

Uzair's smile softened "Kyuki agar sudhar gaya... toh tumhe yun sharmana kaise dekhunga?"

Hamza clicked his tongue "Bohot pareshaan karte hain aap."

"Lekin bhaagte toh nahi."

Hamza took a small step closer, lowering his voice just enough that only Uzair could hear.

"Bhaagta nahi..."

Uzair looked at him ,

"...bas yaad rakhiye..."

"Hmm?"

"Agli baar rasta roka na..."

Uzair grinned "Toh?"

Hamza's hazel-green eyes sparkled with quiet mischief. "...main sabke saamne keh dunga, 'Yeh janab mujhe jaane hi nahi dete.'"

For the first time that evening, Uzair is left speechless.

Hamza smiled triumphantly "Dekha?"

Uzair laughed, shaking his head "Ab samjha..."

"Kya?"

"Tum sirf sharmaate hi nahi..."

He met Hamza eyes "...mauka mile toh hara bhi dete ho."

Hamza gave a tiny smile before turning away once more "Ab sach mein..."He looked back over his shoulder "...rasta mat rokna."

Uzair folded his hands behind his back with exaggerated obedience "Ji, huzoor."

Hamza walked off, smiling to himself ,Behind him, Uzair murmured under his breath with a fond smile,

"Ab toh lagta hai... muqabla barabar ka hai."

°‧ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 ·｡

The rhythm of the dhol finally began to slow as the midnight chill rolled over the Balochistan mountains. The feast is winding down, leaving behind the rich aroma of charred wood, spices, and the lingering sweetness of rosewater. Most of the guests had retired to their quarters, but the haveli central courtyard remained softly illuminated by the dying embers of the fire pits and a few golden lanterns.

Uzair stood near one of the stone pillars, a half-burned cigarette finally lit between his fingers. Now that Ulfat is tucked away inside the family suite, he could finally smoke in peace. He took a slow drag, his eyes tracking the smoke as it drifted toward the stars, but his mind was entirely trapped by a pair of hazel-green eyes.

"Maine kaha tha na, yeh cigarette aapke phephde jala dega."

The voice came from the darkness behind him. Uzair didn't even need to turn around to know who it was; the subtle, sweet scent of jasmine ittar announced Hamza presence before he even stepped into the lantern light.

Hamza had changed out of his wedding attire into a simple, dark green kurta. His hair was slightly damp from washing up, falling loosely around his face. Without the crowd around them, he looked smaller, softer, and entirely devastating.

Uzair turned slowly, a slow smirk spreading across his face as he took another drag. "Bhabhi ne tumhari duty lagaya hai kya, mera dhyan rakhne ke liye?"

"Mamu ne lagaya hai," Hamza replied softly, stepping closer until he is standing just a couple of feet away, his hands folded neatly behind his back. "Unone kaha ke Lyari ke mehmaan ko koi takleef nahi honi chahiye. Aur mujhe laga... aapko thand lag raha hoga."

He extended his hand, holding out a thick, beautifully woven woolen shawl.

Uzair looked at the shawl, then up at Hamza face. The cool mountain breeze caught a strand of Hamza hair, brushing it across his lips. Without thinking, Uzair reached out. Instead of taking the shawl, his fingers gently brushed the stray hair away from Hamza cheek, his thumb lingering near hamza jawline for a fraction of a second.

Hamza’s breath hitched. He froze, his eyes widening in the dim light as a sudden rush of warmth flooded his cheeks.

"Mujhe thand nahi lagta, Hamza," Uzair murmured, "Lyari ke logon ka khoon thoda garam hota hai."

Hamza quickly looked down, trying to steady his hands as he draped the shawl over Uzair shoulders himself, "Garam khoon acchha baat hai... par Balochistan ki thand bade-badon ko bimaar kar deta hai. Thoda ehtiyat kijiye."

"Ehtiyat toh main kab se kar raha hoon," Uzair chuckled softly, stepping half a pace closer, effectively trapping Hamza between himself and the stone pillar. "Tumhe dekha hai jab se, tab se har qadam ehtiyat se rakh raha hoon ke kahin tum darr ke bhaag na jao."

Hamza gripped the edge of his own kurta, lifting his gaze just enough to meet Uzair stare. The shyness was there, but so was that spark of Lahore-bred wit.

"Main koi hiran hoon jo darr ke bhaag jaunga?" Hamza whispered, a tiny, challenging smile tugging at his lips. "Aap khud ko bohot bada shikari samajhte hain, Uzair sahab?"

Uzair let out a low laugh, thoroughly amused. "Shikari toh dher ho chuka hai, Hamza. Pehli nazar mein hi."

"Agar aap pehli nazar mein dher ho gaye... toh phir yeh baatein karne ki himmat kahan se aati hai?" Hamza teased softly, tilting his head.

Uzair took one last drag of his cigarette and crushed it out against the stone wall, tossing the butt aside. He leaned down slightly, bringing his face close to Hamza ear. "Yeh himmat nahi hai, jaan. Yeh toh bas... aakhri khwaahish samajh lo." a loud, sharp throat-clearing echoed from the upper veranda.

"Oho! Toh yahan Balochistan ki thand mein dono ko garmi ka ehsaas ho raha hai?!"

Both of them snapped their heads upward. Ulfat was standing by the wooden railing, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, a grin plastered across her face. Beside her, Rehman is shaking his head, trying to pull his wife back into the room.

"Bhabhi!" Uzair groaned, his ears turning slightly red as he took a step back from Hamza.

"Kya 'Bhabhi'?! Main toh bas paani peene aayi thi, par yahan toh lagta hai dawat ke baad ki asal dawat chal rahi hai!" Ulfat laughed loudly, leaning over the railing. "Beta Hamza! Isko zyaada baatein mat banane dena. Yeh Lyari mein bohot bada gunda banta hai, par yahan dekho kaise bheengi billi bana khada hai!"

Hamza covered his mouth with his sleeve, a soft, beautiful laugh escaping him. He bowed his head toward the upper floor. "Ji Aapa, main bas... inhe shawl dene aaya ."

"Haan haan, shawl toh bahana hai, dewar ko ghar laana hai!" Ulfat shouted back with a wink before Rehman finally dragged her back inside, shutting the veranda door behind them with a muffled chuckle.

The courtyard fell silent again, save for the crackle of the distant embers. Hamza is practically glowing with embarrassment, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders shook with quiet laughter.

Uzair watched him, the frustration with his sister-in-law instantly melting away into adoration. He reached out, gently pulling Hamza hands away from his face.

"Bhabhi ki baaton ka bura mat manna," Uzair said gently, keeping a loose hold on Hamza wrists. "Woh... dil ki saaf hain, bas thodi zyaada tez hain."

"Bura nahi mana," Hamza whispered looking up, his eyes soft and shining under the moonlight. "Mujhe... acchha laga. Unka parivaar bohot pyaara hai."

​Uzair smile softened, his thumb tracing the inside of Hamza wrist, "Aur parivaar ka chhota beta?"

Hamza bit his lip, his heart hammering against his ribs. He gently pulled his hands back, though he didn't step away.

​"Woh... thoda zyaada ziddi hai," Hamza murmured, turning around to walk back toward the guest wing, his green kurta swaying gracefully. He paused at the edge of the shadow, looking back over his shoulder with a smile. "Magar shayad... unki yeh zid mujhe bura nahi lagta."

​Before Uzair could reply, Hamza slipped into the darkness of the hallway, leaving behind nothing but the scent of jasmine and a completely defenseless Lyari gangster standing alone under the stars....

(Okey here's the first chapter I don't know if I stand on expectation or not but as it's upto my readers they know how it's going to feels and someone have told me she always wanted to see me writing from middle of love story so she wanted to know how I write to fall in love so here jaan for you)

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 ❤︎

[immortalconfluxmuse]

I'll be honest with you cheri I get really uncomfortable reading mpreg stories but your stories hit different especially 𝑻𝒂-𝑯𝒂𝒅𝒅-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒 it became really close to my heart.Thank you so much for this beautiful journey and really excited for your future work,God bless you and love you 🥹🥹💗💗💗💕💕🥰🥰!!

Thank you love i am glad that you enjoyed 💗💗

[immortalconfluxmuse]

now whats next🤔🤔may be a rich hamza poor uzair au...ofcourse preggo uzair😊😊

No next will be arrange marriage one where everyone vote for bottom Hamza one....

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝑻𝒂-𝑯𝒂𝒅𝒅-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒

• Character aesthetics ❤︎

• Chapter 1

• Chapter 2

• Chapter 3

• Chapter 4

• Chapter 5

• Chapter 6

• Chapter 7

• Chapter 8

• Chapter 9

• Chapter 10

• Chapter 11

• Chapter 12

• Chapter 13

• Chapter 14

• Chapter 15

• Chapter 16

• Chapter 17

• Chapter 18

Let me know what's your favorite chapter.... 💗

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝑻𝒂-𝑯𝒂𝒅𝒅-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒 Chapter 18

The flatline tone from the monitor cut through the room like a death sentence, but the lead nurse refused to let the darkness win. Seeing the newborn boy crying fiercely, wrapped hastily in a warm cloth, she acted on pure instinct. She bypassed the doctors, rushed to the head of the table, and laid the tiny, wet, squirming baby directly onto Hamza chest.

Skin-to-skin. The desperate anchor.

The moment the baby warm, trembling body pressed against Hamza heart, a violent jolt shot through the flatlining monitor.

Hamza chest heaved upward. He let out a sharp, ragged gasp for air, his lungs violently pulling in the sterile room oxygen as the flatline instantly shattered back into a rapid, frantic, but living beep.

His eyes flew wide open. The dazed, fading memories of the border, the old betrayals, and the silk wedding veil evaporated into the reality of the present. He is alive. Below his chin, his newborn son is wailing, tiny hands clawing weakly against his skin, warm and fighting.

"He's back! The pulse is stabilizing!" the surgeon yelled, his hands moving "Get that blood transfusion running now! Pump the fluids, he’s fighting back!"

Hamza shallow, desperate breathing slowly began to find a normal, rhythmic pace. The cold in his limbs was replaced by the radiating heat of the tiny child resting on his chest. He couldn't move his arms yet, but his gaze locked onto the hair of his son. A tear cut through the sweat on his cheek—not of death, but of survival.

Outside the door, the sudden shift from the flatline scream to the rapid, rhythmic beeping made Uzair silent prayers freeze on his lips.

The door cracked open, and a breathless nurse stepped out, her scrubs stained with blood, but a smile on her face. She looked down at the king of Lyari kneeling on the floor.

"Uzair Baloch?" she gasped, catching her breath. "Your husband... he had a severe arrest, but he’s breathing. He’s stable. And you have a healthy baby boy."

Uzair hands fell from his face. He stared up at the nurse, his mind completely blank as the weight of the miracle crashed down on him. He didn't say a word. He just closed his eyes, pressing his forehead flat against the hospital tiles, letting out a sob of gratitude to the heavens.

Faizal choked on a sob he could no longer hold back. Without a word, Faizal threw his arms around Uzair shoulders holding onto the older man with everything he had.

"Chachu... sab theek hai," Faizal wept, "Sab theek ho gaya, Chachu... Hamza chachu zinda hain. Aapka beta aa gaya..."

Hearing the words spoken aloud by his own blood—hearing the confirmation that his world hadn't ended—Uzair unraveled.

He wrapped his arms around his nephew, locking Faizal into a embrace.

He wasn't a king in this moment. He is just a man who had been dragged back from the very edge of hell.

"Allah ka shukur hai... Allah ka shukur hai..." Uzair choked out through his weeping, his hands gripping the back of Faizal jacket tightly, anchoring himself as the rain continued to wash over the hospital windows outside.

Inside the room, the steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep of Hamza living heart monitor played on, a beautiful new melody for the future they are actually going to have.

The door of the room swung open again, but the frantic panic from before was gone. A senior nurse walked out into the corridor, carrying a small, warm bundle wrapped securely in a clean, soft white blanket. The tiny boy had been cleaned, his initial fierce wails now reduced to soft, rhythmic snuffles as he blinked sleepily against the hallway lights.

Uzair slowly stood up from the floor, his legs trembling violently that Faizal had to hold his elbow to keep him steady.

"Mr. Baloch," the nurse said, "Meet your son. He is perfectly healthy."

She stepped forward, extending the bundle toward Uzair chest.

Uzair hands lifted, but they shook uncontrollably, that he couldn't form a proper cradle with his arms. He froze, his fingers twitching in mid-air, a terrifying wave of disbelief hitting him. He looked at the tiny, perfect face— This is their baby. The child that had almost cost him everything. The child that carried their combined blood.

"Main... main isko gira doonga?" Uzair choked out, His hands hovered helplessly, too afraid to touch something so fragile with fingers that had known so much violence. "Mera haath... mere haath kaanp rahe hain..."

"Aap nahi giraenge," Faizal whispered from behind him, his own eyes welling up again as he gently reached out, guiding Uzair forearms into the correct position. "Pakriye, Chachu. Yeh aapka aur Hamza chachu ka beta hai."

With Faizal help, the nurse gently laid the lightweight bundle into the curve of Uzair arms.

The moment the baby warmth settled against his chest, Uzair strength deserted him. He pulled the bundle tight against his heart, tucking his chin over the baby head, and let out a cry that tore straight from the depths of his soul. He slumped back against the hospital wall, sliding down slightly as he wept openly over his son.

"Mera bacha..." Uzair sobbed, his thumb softly brushing against the tinycheek. "Hamza... hamara beta..."

The baby let out a small, soft coo against Uzair chest, perfectly safe in the grip of the father who would now spend the rest of his life protecting him.

The nurse laughed softly through her own exhaustion, leaning closer to look at the tiny face pressed against Uzair chest.

"Dekhiye toh sahi," she murmured, "Aap keh rahe hain ke Hamza jaisa hai, par yeh toh bilkul aap par gaya hai, Mr. Baloch. It's your carbon copy."

Uzair sniffled wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his free arm as he looked down properly through the blur of his tears. Now that his vision was clearing, he saw it. The tiny, prominent jawline, the shape of the brow, even the slight, stubborn set of the infant mouth—it isn't just a child. It's a miniature Uzair Baloch looking right back up at him.

"Haye, Chachu..." Faizal let out a laugh, peering over Uzair shoulder. "Yeh toh bilkul aap hai. Hamza chachu ne toh bas isko paala hai, naqsha poora Lyari ke badshah ka utra hai."

Uzair lips trembled into a watery smile, his heart swelling with a love that nearly choked him. He pressed his lips gently against the baby soft forehead, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of his son.

"Mera shair..." Uzair whispered, "Tu toh bilkul apne baap par chala gaya, jaan."

Inside the bundle baby squirmed, his miniature hand reaching out from the blanket to brush weakly against Uzair chin, as if recognizing the voice of the father who had spent months agonizing over his arrival.

Just then, the doctor stepped out of the room, snapping off his gloves with a relieved sigh. He looked at Uzair holding the baby and smiled. "Mr. Baloch? Stitches are done. The internal bleeding is fully controlled, and his vitals are steady. Hamza is awake. He's asking for his husband... and his son."

The doot open Uzair stepped inside the room. He walked slowly—impossibly slowly—each step taken with a terrifying caution. He is a man who had ruled the lawless streets of Lyari without fear, but right now, he is terrified. Terrified to look at how fragile Hamza might be, and terrified that his arms might drop the tiny life they cradled.

Hamza lay propped up against the pillows. He is exhausted, his face pale, but the oxygen mask is gone. When the door opened, his eyes immediately found Uzair.

They looked at each other silently. No words could bridge the distance of what they had just survived. Instead, a silent torrent of tears rolled down both of their faces.

Uzair stopped at the edge of the bed. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to throw his arms around Hamza, to lock him against his chest and squeeze him tightly like he had done every single time they fought or cried. But he looked at the medical lines, the monitors, and the bandages beneath the sheets. He knew he couldn't take Hamza in his arms today. He couldn't risk hurting him.

With care, Uzair leaned down. His hands shook as he slowly lowered the warm, white bundle into the crook of Hamza arms.

The moment the baby weight settled against him, a broken sob tore out of Hamza throat. He wanted to weep loudly, to let out all the agony of the last nine months, but the sharp pull of the fresh stitches in his lower abdomen cut his breath short. He gasped, wincing, unable to cry hard because of the physical toll on his body.

"Shh... jaan, nahi. Mat ro," Uzair whispered

Uzair sank onto the edge of the mattress. He reached out and took Hamza hand into both of his own, holding it like a sacred relic. He leaned down, pressing his lips against Hamza knuckles, kissing the skin over and over again as his own tears soaked his husband hand.

Hamza looked down at the baby—at the tiny, fierce jawline and the stubborn brow that looked exactly like a carbon copy of the man holding his hand. Through the pain, through the tears, and through the exhaustion, a smile broke across Hamza face.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The only sound in the room was the steady, comforting beep... beep... beep of the monitor and the soft, rhythmic breathing of the tiny boy resting on Hamza chest.

Hamza fingers weakly tangled into the soft edges of the white baby blanket. He traced the miniature jaw, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. "Bilkul aap par gaya hai... ziddi Baloch," he whispered,

Uzair let out a quiet laugh, leaning forward until his forehead rested gently against the side of Hamza pillow. He kept his grip on Hamza hand. "Mera shair hai. Par zidd isne apna baba se seekha hai... poore nau mahine lada hai apni jaan ke liye."

Uzair shifted slightly, carefully lifting his hand to brush a stra dark curl away from Hamza forehead.

"Dard ho raha hai?" Uzair murmured, his eyes scanning Hamza face for any sign of discomfort, the shadow of the doctor’s warnings still lingering in the back of his mind.

Hamza shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving the baby. The pulling sensation of the stitches iss sharp, but the emptiness that had plagued him during the pregnancy is entirely gone.

"Aap ke paas hote hue... dard nahi hota," Hamza whispered, turning his head slightly to press a kiss against Uzair palm. "Ishmir ko bulaiye na... Use apne bhai se milna hai."

"Faizal baahar hai," Uzair said softly, standing up just enough to press one kiss onto Hamza forehead. "Main use kehta hoon gari bheje haveli. Ulfat bhabi aur Ishmir ko abhi lekar aaye."

As Uzair walked toward the door to call Faizal, he paused, looking back at the bed. The late-afternoon monsoon gold was cutting through the window, bathing Hamza and their son in a warm light. For the first time in months, Uzair didn't feel the ticking of a clock. The countdown is officially over, and their life is beginning.

❤︎

The door to the room pushed open, and the quiet sanctuary was instantly filled with the chaotic, familiar energy of home.

Ulfat bhabhi stepped in first, her face entirely flushed. The moment her eyes fell upon Hamza—alive, breathing, and holding a newborn—the restraint she had kept for months collapsed. She let out a weeping sob, covering her mouth with her dupatta as she rushed to the opposite side of the bed.

"Hamza...," Ulfat cried, her own tears falling non-stop as she leaned over the rails, carefully touching Hamza cheek, But it was the little bundle in her arms that shifted everything.

Ishmir hadn't seen his Baba all day. He had been kept away from the rush, the sirens, and the blood, but his tiny heart had known something is terribly wrong. The moment his eyes locked onto Hamza face, he didn't care about the sterile room, the scary clicking monitors,

Ishmir immediately made grabby hands toward Hamza, his little lower lip trembling violently. "Baba! Baba!" he whimpered,

Within seconds of seeing his father, the little boy began to squirm in Ulfat grip that she could barely hold him. He want his Baba. He didn't care about anything else in the world.

​"Ishmir, nahi beta, aaram se... Baba ko chot laga hai," Ulfat tried to whisper through her tears, trying to hold the restless toddler back so he wouldn't accidentally jump onto Hamza stitches.

But Hamza eyes had already lit up . The moment he heard Ishmir cry out for him, the blinding pain in his abdomen seemed to dull. He weakly extended his free arm away from the newborn,

​"Mera bacha..." Hamza whispered, "Uzair... lijiye use. Mujhe mere bache ko dekhna hai."

​Uzair immediately moved into action. he leaned over the bed, his arms scooping a crying Ishmir out of Ulfat grasp before the toddler could clumsily hurt Hamza.

​"Aaram se, shair... aaram se," Uzair murmured into Ishmir hair, settling the three-year-old carefully onto the mattress right beside Hamza shoulder, completely away from the sensitive incision and the tiny newborn.

​The moment Ishmir is close enough, he buried his chubby face right into the crook of Hamza neck, his little hands instantly latching onto Hamza hospital gown. He let out a sigh of relief, finally safe now that he is back in his Baba familiar warmth. Hamza nuzzled his nose into Ishmir soft hair, closing his eyes as his small, beautiful family finally became whole in the golden afternoon light.

"Allah ka lakh lakh shukur hai," Ulfat whispered, wiping her cheeks with the corner of her dupatta. "Hamein toh lag raha tha... Khuda ne hamari sun li, Uzair. Tumhaara ghar aabaad raha."

Ishmir small, chubby fingers tightened in Hamza hospital gown, his soft whimpers finally calming down into tiny, hitching breaths as his Baba steady heartbeat soothed his fears. "Baba... no go," the toddler mumbled against Hamza throat, "No go hospital."

"Nahi jaunga, jaan... Baba ab kahi nahi jayenge," Hamza murmured into the boy hair, He tried to shift his arm to hold Ishmir tighter, but a sudden, burning flash of agony shot through his lower abdomen from the fresh stitches. Hamza hissed softly through his teeth,

Uzair sharp eyes caught the subtle spasm instantly. Before Hamza could mask the pain, Uzair is there. His hand carefully supported Ishmir back, gently absorbing the toddler's weight so it wouldn't press against Hamza wounded body.

"Ishmir, beta, aaram se," Uzair whispered, as he smoothed down his eldest son hair. "Baba thode thake hue hain. Aap abbu ke paas baitho."

Uzair coaxed Ishmir to lean back against his own chest instead, though he kept the boy close enough that Ishmir little hand could still stay tightly tangled in Hamza fingers.

Hamza let out a breath, The pain is still there, tearing at his midsection, but looking at his family—his husband protecting them, his eldest safe by his side, and the tiny newborn snoring softly against his chest—made the agony entirely bearable.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered, a tiny smile pulling at his lips "Dekhiye na... ishmir bilkul bhool gaya ke uska ek chota bhai bhi aaya hai."

Uzair looked down at the tiny bundle, then back at Hamza face. "Is ko hosh aane do," Uzair chuckled softly, "Phir dono mil kar poori haveli ko sar par uthaenge. Bilkul apne Baba ki tarah pareshan karenge mujhe."

Ulfat smiled through her tears, stepping forward to gently touch the newborn tiny, soft hand. "Naam kya socha hai, Uzair? Itna haseen bacha hai... bilkul tumhaara bachpan lag raha hai."

Uzair and Hamza locked eyes across ,

A soft, knowing look passed between the two husbands, cutting through the quiet warmth of the room. It was a memory from 8 years ago—long before the haveli, long before the border had torn them apart and brought them back together.

Hamza eyes sparkled as he looked up at Uzair. "Aapko yaad hai?" Hamza whispered, "Aath saal pehle... jab humne pehli baar ek bache ke baare mein socha tha."

Uzair froze for a second, a wave of intense nostalgia hitting him. A smile broke across his face as the memory rushed back. "Mujhe yaad hai, jaan. Maine kaha..."

"Mera pehla beta Ishmir hoga," Hamza finished the sentence for him, his smile widening.

Hearing his own name Ishmir instantly lifted his head from Uzair chest, "Mera naam? Baba, mera naam?" he mumbled, pointing a chubby finger at his own chest.

"Haan, mere shair, aapka naam," Uzair chuckled softly, kissing the top of Ishmir head before looking back at the tiny, sleeping newborn copy of himself. "Par us raat... jab humne poori raat baatein ki thi... tumne bhi toh ek naam chuna tha, Hamza."

Hamza’s eyes softened, a tear of happiness slipping down his cheek as he looked down at the tiny baby snuggling into his chest. He carefully brushed his fingers over the infant soft cheek.

"Izheal..." Hamza whispered, the name tasting like a beautiful promise on his lips. "Maine kaha tha ke agar hamara dusra beta hua... toh uska naam Izheal hoga."

"Izheal Baloch," Uzair repeated the name, He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Hamza, his hand tightly clamping Hamza fingers. "Bohat pyaara naam hai, jaan. Bilkul tumhaari tarah haseen."

Ulfat bhabhi let out a soft sigh from the foot of the bed, wiping her tears. "Ishmir aur Izheal... dono Baloch bhai poore Lyari par raaj karenge."

Ishmir looked down at the tiny bundle in his Baba arms, finally realizing what is happening. He reached out a tiny, cautious finger, gently patting the baby blanket. "Izheal..." the toddler cheered softly, a bright smile lighting up his face. "Chota bhai... Izheal!"

As the baby squirmed slightly at the sound of his brother voice, let out a tiny yawn, and settled back to sleep,

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

The transition from the sterile, white walls of the hospital back to the familiar arches of the haveli felt like stepping back into the land of the living. After 5 days of monitoring, transfusions, and careful recovery, the doctors signed the discharge papers.

But the freedom came with a strict, non-negotiable warning: complete bed rest.

Hamza body had survived a war, and the deep, internal incision from the emergency C-section required immobility to heal properly. He couldn't lift anything heavier than a teacup, he couldn't walk down the corridors, and he certainly couldn't chase after a hyperactive three-year-old.

Uzair didn't care about the restrictions—in fact, he enforced them like a dictator. He had personally carried Hamza out of the hospital, into the car, and up the stairs of the haveli, refusing to let his husband feet touch the ground even once.

Now settled back into their bedroom, The room had been thoroughly scrubbed, the velvet drapes drawn back to let the soft afternoon light filter in, and a wooden crib sat directly beside the bed.

Hamza lay propped up against a mountain of plush, silk pillows, clad in a fresh, loose cotton kurta.

Resting right beside his shoulder, safely tucked into the crook of his arm is tiny Izheal. The five-day-old baby is fast asleep,

At the foot of the bed, ishmir is sitting cross-legged, a toy car in his lap. He had been given strict orders by everyone in the house that he could not jump on the bed, so the little boy is being on his absolute best behavior, content just to be in the same room as his Baba again.

"Ishmir, beta, thoda aaram se..." Hamza whispered, "Baba bilkul theek hain."

The door pushed open, and Uzair walked in carrying a silver tray.

He set the tray—laden with warm, nutritious broth and fresh fruits—on the side table and immediately sank onto the edge of the mattress. His hand instinctively went to Hamza forehead, checking his temperature out of habit.

"Kaisa dard hai, jaan?" Uzair murmured, "Kucch chahiye? Dawai ka waqt ho gaya hai."

Hamza let out a laugh, placing his hand over Uzair knuckles. "Uzair, aapne har panch minute baad yahi poochna hai? Main theek hoon. Stitches mein thoda khichao hai, bas."

"Doctor ne kaha hai ek inch bhi nahi hilna," Uzair said his thumb brushing over Hamza cheekbone "Jab tak tumhaare zakhm poore theek nahi hote, tum is bistar se nahi uthoge."

Hamza eyes softened, He looked at Uzair, then down at tiny Izheal, and finally at Ishmir, who is now crawling carefully toward Uzair lap.

With Hamza under strict orders not to move an inch, the entire weight of the haveli routine fell onto Uzair shoulders—and 3-year-old Ishmir took absolute advantage of it.

Uzair completely at the mercy of his eldest son. Ishmir quickly realized that his Abbu wouldn't say no to a single thing right now, so he started demanding everything.

If Uzair gave him a glass of milk, Ishmir would point a chubby finger and demand, "Abbu, ek aur!" If Uzair lifted him onto his shoulders to walk down the corridor, Ishmir would cheer, "Abbu, fast! fast!" Even at bedtime, one story is no longer enough; Ishmir would sit cross-legged on Uzair lap, holding up two fingers with a stubborn pout, demanding a second tale before he would close his eyes.

Uzair, who used to command armies of men with a single glance, looked completely exhausted but infinitely patient. He didn't refuse a single demand. He would grumble under his breath, a helpless smile on his face, as he tirelessly ran around the room fulfilling his son endless wishes.

From the mountain of plush pillows on the bed, Hamza watched the duo with a soft glow in his eyes. Holding tiny, sleeping Izheal securely in the crook of his arm, he couldn't help but burst into a soft laugh every time Uzair is forced to jog across the room or do a clumsy double-spin just to make Ishmir giggle.

"Uzair..." Hamza laughed quietly, his hand gently patting Izheal back as the newborn cooed in his sleep. "Aapne hi isko zidd sikhai hai. Ab bhugtiye."

Uzair stopped right in the middle of the room, Ishmir currently draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, giggling wildly. Uzair wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and looked at the bed, his eyes softening at the sound of Hamza laughter—the beautiful, musical sound he had feared he might never hear again.

"Yeh ladka mera jaan lekar chodege," Uzair grumbled, walking over to the edge of the mattress and gently dumping a shrieking, laughing Ishmir right into the space next to Hamza pillows. Uzair sank onto the edge of the bed, leaning forward to press a kiss onto Hamza temple, his hand tracing the soft cheek of the newborn. "Par jab tak mera jaan hass raha hai... main is ki har zidd poora karunga."

Hamza smiled through a sudden rush of happy tears, leaning his head against Uzair shoulder, surrounded by the beautiful, noisy chaos of the family they had fought so hard to save.

Every evening, after the chaotic energy of the haveli finally quieted down and Ishmir is fast asleep in bed,

This is the time for the most intimate, painful, yet beautiful routine of their recovery: changing Hamza surgical dressings.

Despite Ulfat bhabhi and the private hospital nurses offering to handle it, Uzair completely refused. He wouldn't let anyone else touch the wound that had almost cost him his entire universe.

Uzair would bring a warm water, sterile gauze, and new bandages to the side of the bed. He would sink to his knees on the floor beside the mattress, With hands that are known across the city for their brutal strength, he would become unbelievably, impossibly gentle.

As Uzair slowly peeled back the medical tape from Hamza lower abdomen, Hamza would sharply inhale through his teeth, his fingers instantly digging into the bedsheets. The deep, jagged line of the emergency incision was a violent reminder of how close they had come to the edge.

"Aaram se, jaan... bas ho gaya," Uzair would murmur, He would dip the gauze into the warm water, carefully cleaning the skin, his eyes fixed entirely on his work with a devotion that bordered on worship.

During those quiet minutes, neither of them could speak they would just lock eyes.

They would look at each other —a look that felt like the end of them. It's a gaze that carried the weight of the last months, reality that they are both still here, breathing the same air.

​Hamza eyes would well up with tears, looking down at the shoulders of his husband kneeling before him.

​Once the clean, fresh bandage is securely taped down, Uzair wouldn't stand up immediately. He would lean forward, resting his forehead gently against Hamza skin just above the sheets. His hands would wrap around Hamza hips, anchoring himself.

​Hamza would weakly reach down, his fingers tangling into Uzair hair, pulling him closer as his own tears spilled over.

​"Hum bach gaye, Uzair..." Hamza whisper into the quiet room, his voice cracking with the memory of the wedding veil and the Qazi voice that had pulled him back from the dead. "Hum dono... bach gaye."

​Uzair would lift his head, his eyes swimming with his own unshed tears, "Maine tumse kaha tha, Hamza... tumhaara aakhri saans par bhi Uzair ka haq hai. Ab tum kahi nahi jaa sakte."

​The bedroom is completely enveloped in the peaceful stillness of midnight. Outside, the steady patter of the monsoon rain against the glass panes served as a soothing backdrop to the quiet room.

In the wooden crib beside the bed, tiny Izheal is tightly swaddled, snoring soft, milk-drunk puffs of air. Right next to him, curled up sideways on a small mattress Uzair had laid out on the floor right beside the bed, three-year-old Ishmir is fast asleep, his thumb tucked securely near his mouth, exhausted from a long day of making his Abbu do work.

With both boys finally down, the room belonged entirely to the two husbands.

Uzair sat cross-legged on the edge of the mattress, a silver bowl of warm, fragrant mutton broth and soft naan resting in his lap. He didn't even give Hamza the option to hold a spoon. Every time Hamza weakly tried to reach for the food, Uzair would swat his hand away with a glare.

"Uzair, main apne haath hila sakta hoon," Hamza whispered, a soft, tired smile playing on his lips as he leaned back against the mountain of plush pillows.

"Nahi," Uzair murmured, He carefully broke off a small piece of soft naan, dipped it into the broth, and held it up to Hamza lips. "Tumhe taqat ki zaroorat hai. Doctor ne kaha hai jitna ho sake sukoon karo. Chalo, moonh kholo."

Hamza let out a chuckle, —mindful of the dull ache in his stitches—and took the bite from Uzair fingers.

As Hamza chewed, Uzair would quickly take a bite for himself from the same bowl, eating casually before preparing the next piece for his husband.

Uzair watched Hamza swallow, his eyes tracing the faint color finally returning to Hamza pale cheeks. "Acha laga? Ulfat bhabi ne tumhaare liye khaas masalon ke bagair banaya hai," Uzair asked, using his thumb to gently wipe a drop of broth from the corner of Hamza lip.

"Bohat acha hai," Hamza whispered, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Uzair wrist. He didn't look at the food anymore; he just locked his gaze onto Uzair face, "Aapne khud saara din kucch nahi khaya properly, Uzair. Pehle aap poora khatam kijiye."

Uzair looked down at Hamza hand on his wrist, then up at his beautiful, living eyes. He set the bowl down on the side table for a moment, shifting closer until his chest is resting gently against Hamza side. He carefully reached around Hamza shoulders, pulling him into a soft, sideways embrace, letting Hamza rest his head right against his collarbone.

"Main theek hoon, jaan," Uzair murmured into Hamza hair, his hand gently stroking his arm. "Jab tak tum dono ko dekhta rahunga... mera pait bhara rahega."

Hamza closed his eyes, With the midnight meal finished, a heavy, comfortable drowsiness settled over the room. Uzair quietly set the empty silver bowl aside on the nightstand, He looked down at Hamza, whose eyelids qre already drooping with exhaustion.

"Chalo, ab so jao, jaan," Uzair whispered,

With care, Uzair placed his massive hands behind Hamza shoulders and under his knees, slowly and gently laying him down against the soft mattress. He adjusted the plush pillows under Hamza head, Hamza let out a long, content sigh as his body finally relaxed into the sheets.

But Uzair isn't done setting up their fortress for the night.

He stood up and walked over to the crib. With gentleness, he scooped up tiny, swaddled Izheal, who merely let out a soft, milk-drunk grunt before falling right back into a deep slumber. Uzair brought the newborn to the bed, carefully placing him right beside Hamza side, wrapping a soft barrier around the infant so he is safe.

Next, Uzair stepped down to the mattress on the floor where three-year-old Ishmir is sleeping. He slid his arms under his eldest son, lifting the toddler effortlessly into his chest. Ishmir didn't even wake up; he simply mumbled something incoherent and buried his face into Uzair neck.

Uzair climbed back onto the bed, carefully designing the sleeping arrangements like a protective shield.

He lay down right in the middle of the bed, positioning himself as the ultimate barrier. He knew how restless a Ishmir could be at night, and he couldn't risk any of Ishmir accidental, wild midnight kicks landing anywhere near Hamza abdomen.

So, the family of four settled into their perfect, protective line: On the far left lay *Hamza, safe and undisturbed , Tucked snugly between Hamza and Uzair is tiny Izheal, cocooned in pure warmth ,In the center is Uzair, And on the far right, curled tightly against Uzair side, is Ishmir, completely secure.

Uzair threw his arm over Ishmir, locking the toddler safely into his side, while his other hand reached across the small gap to gently rest over Hamza hand, right above where tiny Izheal is breathing.

Hamza turned his head on the pillow, his eyes catching Uzair gaze in the dim golden glow of the nightlight. A soft smile touched his lips as he squeezed Uzair fingers.

"Goodnight," Hamza whispered, his voice drifting off into sleep.

Uzair squeezed his hand back, looking at his husband.

The morning light slowly filtered through the velvet curtains, bringing with it the fresh, clean scent of the monsoon rain.

Uzair lay frozen in the middle of the bed, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling he let out a low, exhausted groan that groaned from the very depths of his chest.

He hadn't slept a single wink.

Right beside him, Ishmir is sprawled out completely sideways, his tiny head dug into Uzair ribs and one chubby leg thrown aggressively over Uzair hip. All night long, the little boy had turned the mattress into a stadium. Uzair had taken a relentless barrage of wild, sudden toddler kicks straight to his shins, his thighs, and his ribs. Every time Uzair had tried to gently nudge the boy away, Ishmir would simply roll over and launch another attack.

Uzair let out a quiet chuckle, looking down at his sleeping eldest son. This boy is going to be a footballer for sure, The strength in those tiny legs....

But the moment Uzair turned his head to the other side, the exhaustion evaporated from his face.

On the left side of the protective barrier, the world was completely still, soft, and breathtakingly beautiful. Hamza is curled up comfortably on his side, his face relaxed, free of the tight lines of pain that had haunted him for days. He is in a deep sleep.

Tucked perfectly into the warm curve of Hamza chest is tiny Izheal. Izheal is curled up in an exact mirror image of his father, his miniature fists tucked under his chin, letting out soft, rhythmic, milk-drunk snorts against Hamza kurta. They looked so peaceful, so safe, that they hadn't even noticed the chaotic football match happening on the other half of the bed.

Uzair eyes softened with an devotion. He slowly shifted his upper body, ensuring he didn't disturb the sleeping athlete attached to his side.

He reached his hand across the tiny gap, his thumb gently brushing against Hamza soft cheekbone before moving down to lightly tap the baby miniature nose. Izheal made a tiny, scrunching face in his sleep, mirroring Uzair own stubborn expressions, before settling right back down. as he looked at his husband and his two beautiful sons, Uzair knew he had never been a richer man in his entire life.

Uzair carefully braced himself, moving with the precision of a soldier trying not to trigger a landmine. With one motion, he slid his forearm under Ishmir lower back and scooped the sleeping toddler into his arms.

Ishmir let out a faint, grumbling whine, his chubby little arms instinctively flailing for a second before his head dropped against Uzair shoulder.

Uzair held his breath, casting a sharp, glance to his left. Thank Khuda, neither Hamza nor tiny Izheal so much as stirred. They remained deeply entangled in their peaceful sleep, completely oblivious to the stealth mission happening right next to them.

Slipping out of the bed, Uzair walked barefoot across the floor, He pushed the bedroom door open with his elbow, stepping out into the quiet, echoing corridors of the haveli.

He walked down the hallway until he reached Ulfat bhabhi quarters. He gave the door a soft, rhythmic kick with the toe of his foot.

Within seconds, the door swung open. Ulfat stood there, already dressed for the morning, her face instantly softening into a warm, knowing smile the moment she saw Uzair carrying the dead-weight of the sleeping Ishmir.

"Uth gaya mera shair?" Ulfat whispered, reaching out to take the toddler from Uzair arms.

"Nahi, bhabhi, so raha hai," Uzair murmured, as he handed Ishmir over. "Poora raat isne mujhe chain se sone nahi diya. Aise laatein marta hai jaise koi jung lad raha ho."

Ulfat let out a quiet laugh, cradling Ishmir against her chest. " Aur Hamza kaisa hai? Izheal utha?"

"Dono so rahe hain. Bohot sukoon mein hain," Uzair said, "Main unke jaagne se pehle thoda naashta aur coffee lekar jaata hoon. Aap is toofan ko sambhaaliye."

"Tum jao, main dekh lungi isse," Ulfat smiled warmly, stepping back into her room to lay the boy down.

Uzair turned back toward the kitchen, stretching his shoulders. Uzair walked back up the staircase carrying a silver tray, the aroma of strong, dark coffee for himself mingling with the plain, unseasoned porridge and clear broth Ulfat bhabhi had prepared for Hamza.

He nudged the bedroom door open with his hip and stepped inside, He set the tray down on the side table, his eyes instantly locking onto the bed.

Hamza and tiny Izheal were still curled up in the exact same position, Uzair sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress. Uzair leaned down, his cheek brushing against Hamza soft hair as he whispered, "Jaan... utho. Naashte ka waqt ho gaya hai."

Hamza eyelashes fluttered, a soft, groggy murmur escaping his lips as his eyes slowly opened. He blinked against the morning light, a faint, tired smile instantly gracing his lips the moment he saw Uzair face hovering over him. "Uzair... Ishmir kahan hai?"

"Usko bhabhi ke paas chod aaya hoon, hamara footballer abhi tak so raha hai," Uzair chuckled softly, reaching out to gently stroke Hamza cheek.

The sound of their quiet whispering, combined with the loss of the deep stillness, caught the attention of the other sleeping baby in the bed.

Tucked against Hamza chest, Izheal let out a tiny, high-pitched squeak. His miniature, swaddled body gave a sudden, full-body stretch, his tiny hands breaking free of the blanket to wave aimlessly in the air. His blurry eyes blinked open, his little jaw squaring exactly like Uzair as he let out a tiny, soft morning yawn.

"Dekhiye... aapka chota saaya bhi uth gaya," Hamza whispered, as he carefully adjusted his arm to support the squirming newborn, mindful of the dull pull of his stitches.

"Bilkul ziddi hai, baap ki tarah ek aawaaz par khada ho jaata hai," Uzair murmured, He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Hamza forehead, and then a tiny, lingering one on Izheal soft cheek.

Uzair reached over and grabbed the tray, placing it carefully across Hamza lap. "Chalo, ab pehle yeh naashta khatam karo."

Hamza looked down at the poridge amd clear broth, letting out a sigh that is entirely for Uzair benefit. "Uzair... ismein toh thoda sa namak bhi nahi hai. Ulfat bhabhi ne sach mein mujhe bilkul be-zaika khana paros diya."

"Doctor ka hukum hai, jaan," Uzair said, as he picked up the spoon himself blew gently on the warm porridge before holding it up to Hamza lips. "Stitches ko theek hone ke liye saada khana zaroori hai. Chalo, behas mat karo."

Hamza stubbornly tilted his head back just an inch, his eyes flashing with that familiar, playful spark. "Ek shart par khaunga. Izheal ko aap pakdiye. Mujhe poori raat isne bilkul move nahi karne diya, mera haath so gaya hai."

Uzair didn't need to be told twice. He carefully set the spoon back in the bowl and leaned over the mattress. His hands—hands that had held weapons and ruled the roughest parts of Lyari—slid with breathtaking gentleness beneath the tiny, warm bundle of their son.

The contrast is striking: tiny Izheal looked incredibly small against Uzair forearm. The newborn let out a soft coo, his blurry eyes blinking up at the man holding him. Uzair face completely softened, a smile breaking through his stubble as he tucked the baby securely against his chest with one arm.

"Mera chota shair," Uzair murmured,

With Izheal safely anchored against his chest, Uzair picked up the spoon again with his free hand, dipping it back into the bowl. "Ab chalo, moonh kholo. Agar tumne yeh poora khatam nahi kiya, toh main Faizal ko bhej kar doctor ko yahin haveli bulwa lunga."

Hamza chuckled softly, the sound warm and musical in the quiet room. He leaned forward and took the bite, his gaze shifting from the breakfast to lock onto his husband and their son and for the first time in eight long years, everything is exactly where it belonged.

Hamza slowly finished the last spoon of the bland porridge, leaning back against the pillows with a soft sigh of relief.

Uzair set the empty bowl back onto the silver tray, his eyes never leaving Hamza face. With his left arm, he kept tiny Izheal securely pressed against his chest. The newborn had settled completely, soothed by the deep, rhythmic rumble of his Abbu's heartbeat.

"Bas?" Uzair raised an eyebrow, "Mera spy itna sa khana kha kar thak gaya?"

"Aap khud kha kar dekhiye yeh feeka khana, phir poochna," Hamza countered playfully, a soft blush returning to his cheeks. He reached out, his fingers gently wrapping around Uzair wrist, tracing the silver watch he always wore. "Uzair... mujhe thoda sa dhoop mein baithna hai. Bohat din ho gaye hain."

"Bistar se uthne ki ijazat nahi hai, Hamza. Doctor ne saaf kaha tha—"

"Main uth nahi raha," Hamza interrupted softly, his eyes swimming with a pleading warmth that he knew Uzair could never resist. "Aap hain na... aap lekar chaliye mujhe. Bas balcony tak."

Uzair stared at him for a long moment, completely defeated by that look. He let out a l sigh, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Tum jaante ho na ke main tumhein kisi cheez ke liye mana nahi kar sakta?"

With absolute, practiced care, Uzair stood up. He walked over to the wooden crib and gently laid a sleeping Izheal down, tucking the soft blanket around his tiny shoulders. Then, he turned back to the bed.

He bent down, sliding one arm behind Hamza back and the other beneath his knees. In one smooth motion, he lifted Hamza into his arms, ensuring there was absolutely no pressure on his healing stitches. Hamza instinctively hooked his arms around Uzair neck, burying his face into the crook of his husband shoulder, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of sandalwood and leather.

Uzair walked across the cool floor, kicking open the double glass doors that led to the private balcony.

The morning monsoon air is crisp and fresh, and the golden sunlight i washing over the courtyard of the haveli below. Down in the garden, they could hear the faint, joyous laughter of Ishmir playing with Ulfat bhabhi.

Uzair sat down carefully on the large, cushioned outdoor divan, keeping Hamza securely settled in his lap, wrapped completely in his embrace. He rested his chin on Hamza soft hair, his hands anchoring his husband against his chest.

Hamza closed his eyes, tilting his face up to absorb the warm, golden sun. For months, they had lived under the terrifying shadow of a countdown, surrounded by blood, danger, and the fear of losing everything. But now, holding onto the man who had torn through heaven and hell to save him, Hamza finally felt the warmth of a new beginning.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered softly, his fingers tightening in Uzair. "Hum ghar aa gaye."

Uzair tightened his grip, pressing a kiss onto the side of Hamza neck. "Haan, jaan. Hum ghar aa gaye...."

ㅤ ♡

The early morning light filtered softly through the bedroom windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the bed.

Four years had passed, but some things in the haveli never changed.

Uzair is lying on his side, his arms wrapped tightly around Hamza waist. He pulled his husband flush against his chest, burying his face into the soft curve of Hamza neck. Hamza let out a contented, sleepy sigh, his fingers loosely tangled in Uzair hair as he leaned back into the warmth of his husband.

They are perfectly content, utterly wrapped up in each other, trying to steal just a few more minutes of quiet peace.

But outside their peaceful bubble, the bedroom doors are already wide open, and a full-blown chaotic war is under way.

"Abbu ne yeh ball mujhe di thi! Haath mat lagao isse!" seven-year-old Ishmir yelled, his voice cracking with the sheer indignation only an older brother could manage. He is desperately trying to hold the football high above his head.

"Nahi! Yeh meri hai! Aap hamesha sab cheez chupa dete ho!" four-year-old Izheal shouted back, his little jaw squaring stubbornly—a carbon copy of Uzair temper. He is aggressively jumping up, his chubby hands scratching at Ishmir kurta, trying to yank the ball down.

Thud! Crash!

A plastic toy box was knocked over in the scuffle, sending blocks rattling across the floor.

On the bed, Uzair didn't even open his eyes. Instead, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. His arms tightened even further around Hamza, pulling him so close that there wasn't a single inch of space left between them. He buried his face deeper into Hamza shoulder, ignoring the stadium-level noise at the foot of their bed.

Hamza smiled sleepily, his eyes remaining closed as he curled his legs inward, snuggling deeper into Uzair embrace. He let out a soft, murmur against Uzair chest. "Uzair... uthiye. Aapke dono shair subah-subah jung lad rahe hain."

"Sone do, jaan," Uzair muttered back, as he pressed a lazy kiss to the bare skin of Hamza shoulder. "Jab tak koi roye ga nahi, main is bistar se nahi hilne wala."

"Mera ball piche karo!" Izheal screech echoed through the room as he successfully tackled Ishmir waist, causing both brothers to tumble onto the plush rug with a loud groan.

"Izheal, chodo mujhe! Tum gira doge!" Ishmir barked, trying to roll away.

Hamza let out a laugh, finally opening his eyes to look at the mess on the floor, though he didn't make a single move to untangle himself from his husband tight grip.

"Uzair, sach mein... dekhiye toh," Hamza whispered, rubbing his nose playfully against Uzair cheek. "Ishmir bilkul aap par gaya hai, haar nahi maan raha. Aur Izheal toh poora Baloch khoon dikha raha hai."

Uzair finally blinked one eye open, looking at the two boys rolling around on the carpet, unbothered by the fact that they had just ruined their parents' quiet morning.

"Tum dono agar do minute mein shaant nahi hue, toh yeh football main baahar phenk dunga! Aur phir poora din kisi ko mango nahi milega!"

The threat of losing both the football and Chachi afternoon mangoes worked like magic. Ishmir and Izheal instantly stopped, sitting up on the rug with wide, guilty eyes, still holding onto opposite sides of the ball.

Uzair didn't wait for their excuse. He just closed his eyes again, pulling the duvet over himself and Hamza, sinking right back into the ultimate peace of his husband arms.

Ishmir and Izheal exchanged a quick, silent look of panic on the rug. The threat of losing the afternoon mangoes is a crisis far bigger than their football rivalry.

Slowly, Ishmir let go of his grip on the leather ball, letting out a sigh. "Theek hai, abhi aap rkho. Par shaam ko main pehle bating karunga."

"Football mein bating nahi hoti, bhaiya!" Izheal shot back in a loud whisper, hugging the ball to his chest like a hard-won trophy.

"Mujhe pata hai! Main toh bas dekh raha tha tumhein pata hai ya nahi," Ishmir retorted quickly, crossing his arms and huffing as he stood up.

On the bed, Hamza is trying his absolute best to suppress his laughter, his chest shaking against Uzair torso. He looked up at Uzair, whose eyes are still closed, his face buried deep in Hamza neck.

"Uzair... aapka darr sach mein bohot kaam aata hai," Hamza whispered , his fingers tracing the strong, clean line of Uzair bare shoulder.

"Tumhein lagta hai woh darr gaye?" Uzair murmured back, "Woh sirf mangoes ke liye shaant hue hain. Mere shair hain, kisi ke baap se nahi darte."

"Abbu..." A tiny, hesitant voice called out from the edge of the mattress.

Uzair opened one eye. Izheal had crawled up to the side of the bed, his chubby little hands resting on the sheets, his eyes wide and blinking up at them. Right behind him, Ishmir is lingering, looking equally hopeful.

"Kya hai?" Uzair asked, trying to sound stern,

"Hamein bhi sona hai," Izheal mumbled, dragging his feet.

Before Uzair could even answer, Hamza heart melted completely. He lifted the heavy duvet with his free arm, creating a wide, welcoming space. "Chalo, idhar aao dono."

That is all the invitation they needed. Ishmir and Izheal scrambled onto the grand bed like two little puppies. Ishmir quickly dove under the covers, curling up right next to Hamza side, while tiny Izheal squeezed himself directly into the small space between Uzair chest and Hamza waist, still holding his football.

Uzair let out a mock groan, but his arms automatically shifted, expanding his hold to wrap around Hamza, Izheal, and Ishmir all at once. He pulled his entire world into one giant embrace.

"Agar ab kisi ne ek bhi aawaaz ki," Uzair rumbled softly, pressing a kiss onto Hamza temple while resting his chin on Izheal messy hair, "toh main sach mein sabko bistar se neeche phenk dunga."

The room finally fell into a beautiful, warm quiet. Surrounded by the soft breathing of his two growing boys and the steady, heartbeat of the man who had saved his life, Hamza closed his eyes, completely lost in the ultimate sukoon of his family.

The peaceful silence didn't last for long. Inside the warm huddle, Ishmir suddenly nudged Izheal leg with his foot under the blanket, whispering, "Chalo, Badi Ammi ke paas chalte hain. Unhein tang karenge."

Izheal giggled softly, instantly dropping the football on the mattress. The two brothers scrambled out from under the duvet, their little feet hitting the marble floor with a flurry of rapid, thudding steps. Within seconds, their echoing laughter faded down the staircase, followed by the distant scolding of Badi Ammi downstairs.

Uzair opened his eyes, a gaze the moment the door clicked shut. With the boys gone, the lazy morning warmth instantly turned into something thick and magnetic.

Without a word, Uzair shifted his weight. In one smooth motion, he came over the top, pinning Hamza flat against the plush mattress. His arms planted themselves firmly on either side of Hamza head, trapping his husband completely beneath himself.

Hamza didn't flinch. He looked up, his eyes with an answering fire, a soft, breathless flush creeping up his neck as he felt the intense heat of Uzair body bearing down on him.

He wrapped his fingers around Uzair shoulders, his lips curving into a beautiful, teasing smile as he whispered "Besharam..."

​Uzair let out a growl, his eyes locking onto Hamza lips. He leaned down, his warm breath fanning across Hamza face

​"Apne hi kamre mein, apne hi shauhar ke saath... koi sharam nahi hai mujhe, jaan," Uzair murmured, his grip tightening on the sheets as he leaned in closer,

​Hamza let out a soft, musical laugh, twisting his fingers into Uzair hair and pulling him down to seal the distance between them....

(As we come to the end of this journey, I want to say something from the bottom of my heart.

Sometimes you might feel like I over-explain scenes—describing every touch, every glance, every hand held, every tear wiped away, every forehead kiss, every embrace. But those little moments mean everything to me. They are how I see love.

I know I can be a little dramatic at times, but that's simply who I am. For me, love isn't just spoken—it is shown through the smallest actions. I want you to see every moment, not just read it. I want you to feel as though the story is unfolding right in front of your eyes. That's when I feel truly satisfied as a writer.

I know my stories carry a lot of pain, but they also carry a lot of love. That's the kind of stories my heart knows how to tell, and I don't think I could write them any other way.

So, thank you. Thank you to everyone who stayed with me until the very end of this journey. Your love, support, and every single moment you spent reading my story mean more than words can express.

I love you all 💗)

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝑻𝒂-𝑯𝒂𝒅𝒅-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒 Chapter 17

The afternoon heat eventually gave way to a muted, shadow-filled evening. The dull, orange glow of the setting Lyari sun filtered through the lattices, cutting long, dark lines across the rug.

​Hamza eyelids fluttered, the fog of the sedation slowly clearing from his mind. His eyes blinked open, The first thing his body registered is the physical sensation in his lower abdomen—the cramps had finally receded into a faint pressure.

​Beside him, Ishmir shifted in his sleep, mumbling something tiny and incoherent as he tucked his chubby chin deeper into Hamza side safe and undisturbed.

​But the room isn't empty.

​Uzair is still there. He hadn't left the edge of the bed for a single second. His hand hadn't let go either—it's securely wrapped around Hamza ankle beneath the sheet a anchor that had kept watch over him through every minute of his medicated sleep.

​When Uzair heard the slight shift in the bedsheets, his head snapped up. He didn't speak. He didn't move closer. The terror of breaking the fragile peace, of causing Hamza to flare up in rage and damage his own body again, kept the uzair paralyzed in his own seat.

​Hamza looked back at him through the dim light. The anger from the morning had settled into a exhausted ache. He didn't pull his ankle away from Uzair grip, but he didn't reach out to close the distance either. The memory of Uzair asking the doctor to terminate the pregnancy still hung between them,

​"Uzair..." Hamza whispered, using his name for the first time since the breakdown. "Ishmir ko... neeche bhej dein. Bhabhi ke paas. Khana khila dein use."

​Uzair chest heaved at the sound of his name.

Uzair didn't stand up immediately to take Ishmir. He stayed frozen on the edge of the mattress,

​"Baat nahi karoge mujhse...?" Uzair whispered, "Itna gussa ho...?" ​The question left his lips like a broken plea, with the realization that he might have saved Hamza life in the warehouse only to lose his soul entirely in this bedroom.

​The sound of that tone made Hamza gaze shift. He slowly turned his head away from the sleeping form of their son, his eyes locking onto Uzair face. ​"Gussa...?" Hamza rasped, his voice incredibly small, matching the throb in his lower abdomen. He didn't pull his hand away from his stomach, keeping it flat over his kurta. "Aapne... aapne doctor se kya kaha tha, Uzair? Aap mere bache ko mita dena chahte the. Mujhe gussa nahi... mujhe darr lag raha hai aap se."

​The word —fear—coming from Hamza hit Uzair harder than any bullet ever could.

​"Darr...?" Uzair choked out, his hands trembling violently as he finally let them drop flat onto the mattress, an inch away from Hamza side but not daring to touch. "Main toh... main toh sirf tumhein bachana chahta tha, jaan. Agar is bache ki wajah se tumhein kuch ho gaya... toh main kis ke liye jiyunga? Main is darr se mar raha hoon, Hamza."

"Tumhaara sab kuch... tumhaara hai, lekin... mera darr kuch nahi na, jaan?" Uzair choked out, "Kya mujhe toh... mujhe toh darr ne ka haq hi nahi hai na, jaan? Ishq hai tumse itna... mera galti hai na, jaan?"

​With a sob, he collapsed forward, falling flat onto the edge of the bed. He buried his face straight into Hamza lap, as he began to cry like a helpless baby, his arms wrapping desperately around Hamza.

​The sheer weight of Uzair body sinking into his lap made Hamza gasp softly, the sudden movement sending a faint, dull throb across his lower abdomen. But the sound of Uzair weeping unraveled—begging for the right to be terrified for his husband life—made the last of Hamza stubborn, defensive walls wash away in a flood of hot tears.

​"Uzair..." Hamza wept , ​He didn't push his husband away. Despite the cold terror of the morning, his love for this man took over. Hamza slowly unlocked his left hand from where it was guarding his stromach, lifting his fingers to bury them deep into Uzair hair. He pressed his palm down, holding Uzair shaking head tightly against his thighs, letting his own tears spill over his lashes and drop straight into the fabric of Uzair kurta.

​Beside them, Ishmir stirred slightly from the sudden shifting of the mattress, but the sleep kept the toddler anchored to his pillow, his small hand still loosely gripping his car.

​"Mera darr... mera darr koi nahi dekhta," Uzair wailed, his hands clawing at the sheets on either side of Hamza thighs "Main mar jaunga, Hamza... Main sach mein mar jaunga agar tumhein kuch hua... Mujhe nahi chahiye yeh bacha agar yeh tumhein mujhse chheen le..."

​"Chup ho jaiye... chup ho jaiye," Hamza cried out softly, his fingers tightening in Uzair hair, desperately trying to soothe his husband. He leaned his upper body forward, ignoring the faint ache in his stromach, until his forehead is resting flat against the back of Uzair neck. "Aapka galti nahi hai... par mera bacha... main use nahi khona chahta, Uzair. Mujhe dono chahiye... mujhe aap bhi chahiye aur apna bacha bhi..."

​"Tum mujhse wada kar sakte ho...?" Uzair choked out, his words muffled against Hamza clothes, soaked in his own tears. "Tumhe kuch nahi hoga... kar sakte ho wada? Phir mujhe bhi chahiye yeh bacha... Bolo, kar sakte ho wada...?"

​He lifted his head slightly, as he begged for a guarantee that no human on earth could give. He wanted Hamza to look him in the eye and promise him survival. He wanted to believe that this high-risk, four-week-old miracle wouldn't end up costing him his entire world.

​The question hit Hamza like an icy wave.

​His fingers, which had been gently stroking through Uzair hair, froze . He wanted to lie. He wanted to give his husband the comfort he is crying for, to say the words that would stop those shoulders from shaking. But his reality and the sharp, persistent throb in his lower abdomen wouldn't let him. He knew the bleeding could start again at any second. He knew his body is operating on borrowed time.

​Slowly, Hamza looked away.

​He turned his face toward the lattices of the window, staring blankly out into the black Lyari night, completely avoiding the shattering gaze of his husband. A single, silent tear spilled over his eyelashes, tracking slowly down his temple and disappearing into his tangled dark curls. He couldn't make that promise. He couldn't guarantee his own life, and the weight of that unsaid truth hung between them.

​Uzair grip on Hamza thighs tightened until it was almost painful. He lifted his face, his eyes wide and wild with a panic.

​"Toh tum wada nahi kar sakte...?" Uzair choked out, his voice cracking into a breathless scream that he tried to stifle so he wouldn't wake Ishmir. "Toh theek hai... tum chale gaye... tumhaare jaane ke baad Ishmir aur jo aane wala hai, kaise sambhalunga inhe? Bolke jao mujhe!"

​He began to rock his upper body against Hamza lap, his hands sliding up to grip Hamza waist shaking him gently as if he could force a different reality out of him.

​"Kaise dekhunga main Ishmir ka chehra jab woh tumhaare baare mein poochega?!" Uzair wailed, "Aur is naye bache ko... is bache ko dekh kar main kaise jiyunga, Hamza, jab mujhe pata hoga ke iski wajah se mera jaan chheen gaya mujhse? Main pagal ho jaunga... Main inhein maar donga ya khud ko maar donga! Bolke jao mujhe ke main kaise jiyunga tumhaare bina!"

​The weight of Uzair words made Hamza head snap back around. Hearing Uzair talk about his own death, about the complete annihilation of their family if he closed his eyes on an operating table, tore through his soul.

​"Uzair! Chup kijiye!" Hamza shrieked softly, his hands coming down to cup Uzair face, forcing his husband to look at him. Hamza own tears are blinding him now, pouring down his cheeks "Aisi... aisi baatein mat kijiye... aap hamare baccho ke baap hain!"

​"Nahi hoon main kuch bhi! Main tumhaare bina kuch nahi hoon!" Uzair roared back in a broken whisper, "Mujhe wada do, Hamza... Mujhe jhoot bol do, par wada do ke tum mujhe chhor kar nahi jaoge!"

​"Agar mujhe kuch bhi hua, toh doosra nikah—"

​Hamza didn't get to even finish that sentence.

​Uzair reaction is terrifyingly violent. He didn't just stop him; he ripped his head up from Hamza lap, his eyes flashing with a fury that wiped out the weeping baby who had been begging for comfort a second ago.

​His hand slammed down onto the mattress right next to Hamza hip with a CRACK that made the wood groan.

​"Zabaan ko lagaam do, Hamza!" Uzair roared "Dobara... dobara apni zabaan se yeh maut aur doosri nikah ka lafz nikala na, toh khuda ki qasam mujh se bura koi nahi hoga!"

​The sheer force of Uzair anger made Hamza flinch, ​"Tumhein kya lagta hai?" Uzair hissed, his hands reaching out to grab Hamza shoulders, pinning him gently to the headboard. "Uzair ke jism mein doosra mohabbat ki jagah hai? Tumhaare baad is haveli mein sirf mera laash nikalega, samajh aai tumhein? Main kisi aur aurat ya mard ko tumhaara jagah khada dekhne se pehle apne dil mein goli maar loonga!"

​Uzair is shaking, The very idea of another person touching him, of living a life where Hamza is replaced, felt like an insult to the madness of his love.

​Hamza stared at his husband, completely breathless, his lips trembling as the weight of Uzair words settled into his bones. Uzair isn't just attached; he is completely consumed by him. If Hamza died on that operating table giving birth to this four-week-old miracle, he wouldn't just be leaving behind a grieving husband—he would be destroying Uzair entirely, leaving Ishmir and the new baby completely orphaned.

​Beside them, the sudden noise finally broke through Ishmir sleep. The toddler let out a small, frightened whimper, his little fingers clutching tightly at Hamza shirt as his eyes blinked open in the dark.

The silence that followed Uzair rage is more terrifying. His face, which had been contorted with weeping and then burning with feral fury, suddenly smoothed over into a mask of chilling, hollow calm. A smile touched his lips—a smile that didn't reach his eyes and felt colder than death itself.

​He pulled back, his hands sliding off Hamza shoulders, and he sat upright on the edge of the bed, staring at the shadows on the wall as if he were seeing a grave already dug.

​"Tumhein yeh bacha chahiye na?" Uzair said, "Hmmm... theek hai. Tumhein jo chahiye, wahi hoga. Tumhaare baad... mera kya hoga, woh main hi dekh loonga."

​He turned his head slowly to look at Hamza.

​"Tumhein tumhaara bacha mubarak ho, Hamza," he whispered, his smile widening just a fraction, a sight that made Hamza blood turn to ice. "Main tumhaara khayal rakhunga... bohot bekhoobi se rakhunga, jaan. Har pal, har qadam. Tumhe koi fikr nahi... main sab dekh loonga. Mera kya hoga? Woh mera masla hai."

​Hamza felt a shiver rip through his spine. This isnn't the Uzair who begged him to stay; this is Uzair had decided that if he is going to lose his husband, he would treat the remaining time as a slow vigil for a dying man.

​Hamza reached out, his hand trembling as he tried to touch Uzair arm, but Uzair stood up with his shadow looming over the bed

​"So jao," Uzair said softly, "Doctor ne kaha tha rest zaroori hai. Main baahar hoon. Tumhein ab koi dard nahi hoga... main hone hi nahi doonga."

​He turned and walked toward the bedroom door,

⋆˙⟡ —

Five months passed like a slow open grave.

​The sweltering Lyari heat had broken into a humid monsoon, and Hamza pregnancy had reached the 6-month mark. His body is no longer just a temple for a miracle; it is a battleground. Every single day is a vicious fight against his own anatomy. The constant internal bleeding , the dangerously low blood pressure, and the physical toll of carrying this pregnancy had drained the color from his skin and the flesh from his bones. His limbs are thin, his face hollow, Yet, hisbresolve kept him standing. For Ishmir, he forced a smile onto his lips every single morning. For Ishmir, he ate the bland food that made him nauseous.

​But between him and Uzair, the silence is cold, impenetrable wall.

​True to his promise, Uzair had become a ghost who performed miracles of care. He handled Hamza with the precise, detached efficiency of a clinical nurse. He never looked Hamza in the eyes. He never spoke a word to him. Yet, Uzair did everything.

​He woke up at dawn to lift Hamza body out of bed, carrying him into the bathroom to gently give him a shower, washing his damp curls with a tenderness that contradicted his dead, hollow expression. He changed Hamza clothes into fresh, soft cotton kurtas, handled his IV lines, administered his medications precisely on the dot, and spoon-fed him every single meal.

​But Uzair had also started doing something that broke Hamza heart into a million pieces every single day: Uzair is preparing for a life alone.

​Uzair had started keeping his own clothes separate. He ate his meals by himself, at odd hours, standing up by the kitchen counter. He had taken complete control of Ishmir routine—bathing him, teaching him, putting him to sleep, dressing his healed wounds. He is methodically learning how to be a single father. He is rehearsing for the day Hamza heart would stop on the operating table. It is a flawless preparation for an inevitable funeral.

​Hamza saw right through the mask. Because every single night, after the haveli fell into a dead quiet and Ishmir is fast asleep, the illusion shattered.

​From the small adjoining dressing room, Hamza would lie awake, his hand resting over his 6-month bump, feeling the kicks of the child who is draining his life. And through the door, he would hear it. The clink of a glass bottle. The burning smell of liquor. And then, the muffled sobs of uzair.

​Uzair would drink himself into an stupor, weeping silently into his hands, mourning the husband who is still breathing just a few feet awayaway.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒ ᰔᩚ

The morning light filtering through the bathroom ventilator was gray and with monsoon humidity. The regular splash of warm water and the plastic squeak of a toy duck were the only sounds cutting through the quiet of the haveli.

​Uzair is sitting on a low wooden stool, his frame hunched over basin where Ishmir is sitting. The sleeves of his kurta were rolled up past his elbows, exposing his forearms as he poured small mugs of warm water over his son soap-covered shoulders.

​"Abbu," Ishmir mumbled, his small fingers splashing the water, "Baba aaj phir se uthe nahi? Unhe chot laga hai?"

​Uzair didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He reached for the small cotton layout towel, pouring a few drops of mild soap onto it,

​"Nahi, jaan. Baba thake hue hain," Uzair answered quietly, keeping his gaze strictly on Ishmir small back as he rubbed the cloth in slow, soothing circles. "Unhe sona hai. Aap shor nahi machaoge upar."

​"Lekin Baba rote hain raat ko," Ishmir said innocently, "Maine dekha tha. Unka pet bohot bada ho gaya hai. Woh gir jayenge?"

​Uzair hand paused for a fraction of a second against Ishmir shoulder ​"Nahi girenge," Uzair murmured, "Abbu hain na yahan. Abbu sab sambhal lenge. Aapko bhook lagi hai? Paratha khayein?"

​"Haan! Mithi dahi ke saath," Ishmir chirped, completely unaware of the invisible tectonic plates shifting between his parents.

​From the threshold of the adjoining bedroom, Hamza stood leaning against the doorframe, his His 6-month bump protruded under his loose, oversized cotton kurta, the weight of it pulling heavily at his aching lower back.

​He stood there in the shadows, listening to his husband systematically teach their son how to survive in a world where Baba is nothing but a memory.

​Uzair lifted Ishmir out of the water with one motion, wrapping the towel around the toddler shivering frame and tucking him against his chest. As he turned toward the door to carry the boy out, his eyes finally hit Hamza frail silhouette standing in the doorway.

​Uzair didn't look shocked. He didn't ask why Hamza is out of bed without permission. He simply stopped, his expression perfectly level, waiting with a patience for Hamza to move out of the way so he could dress their child.

Uzair didn't say a single word as he carried Ishmir past Hamza into the bedroom. He laid the toddler down on the mattress, carefully dried his small feet, and dressed him in a clean, soft yellow kurta-shalwar.

​"Chalo, jaan. Neeche Ulfat Bhabhi ke paas jao. Apna paratha aur dahi khao," Uzair murmured softly, giving Ishmir a gentle pat on his back.

​"Ji Abbu!" Ishmir chirped, sliding off the high bed. He ran past Hamza, unaware of the storm brewing in the air, his little bare feet pattering rapidly down the staircase until the sound of his laughter faded into the lower floors of the haveli.

​The door clicked shut.

​Uzair didn't look at Hamza. He turned toward the small side table, his hands reaching for the clean towels and the fresh linen sheet to straighten the bed. He is moving like a machine, a man who had entirely detached his soul from his body just to keep from screaming.

​Hamza stood rooted by the doorframe, his hand still clutching his bump.

​"Kab tak...?" Hamza’s voice cracked into the quiet room, "Kab tak chalega yeh, Uzair?"

​Uzair hands paused for a split second over the pillows. ​"Aapko dawa khani hai," Uzair replied, "Main niche ja raha hoon aapka naashta lene. Let jaiye aap."

​"Mujhe dawa nahi chahiye!" Hamza shrieked softly, his eyes spilling over with tears as he took a painful, dragging step forward. His weak legs trembled under the weight of his pregnancy, but his gaze was locked onto his husband. "Mujhe dekho, Uzair! mere taraf dekho! Tum har raat... har raat us kamre mein baith kar sharab peete ho, rote ho... aur din mein mere bache ko aise paalte ho jaise... jaise main mar chuka hoon! Main zinda hoon, Uzair! Main abhi zinda hoon!"

​The accusation cut through the room,

He slowly turned around. "Kab tak rahoge...?"​Uzair asked the question so quietly it's almost a breath, yet it struck the walls of the bedroom like a thunderclap.

​He didn't yell. He didn't roar like the badsha who used to terrify the streets of Lyari. He just stood there, his hands hanging dead at his sides, exposing the brutal medical reality they both knew by heart.

​Kab tak rahoge?

​Hamza parted lips trembled, but no sound came out. The spy-grade operative, the man who always had a calculated answer, a backup plan, a way out—had absolutely nothing. He couldn't say 'main hamesha rahunga.' He couldn't say 'mujhe kuch nahi hoga.' The persistent throbbing in his lower abdomen and the weakness in his shaking knees are constant reminders of his body fragility. He had no answer.

​When Uzair saw the silence stretch, when he saw those eyes shatter and look away, something inside his mind snapped.

​Uzair laughed.

​It's a hollow sound that ripped out of his chest—a breathless chuckle that carried no joy, only the madness of a man who had been pushed past his breaking point. He leaned his head back against the pillar of the bed, his shoulders shaking as the laughter spilled into the empty, gray monsoon morning.

​"Dekha...?" Uzair whispered, He took a step toward Hamza, "Jawab nahi hai na tumhaare paas? Tum zinda ho, Hamza... lekin kab tak? Cheh mahine ho gaye hain. Roz... roz main tumhaare jism ko kamzor hote dekhta hoon. Roz main is baathroom mein tumhaara khoon saaf karta hoon!"

​He stopped just inches away, but he didn't touch him.

​"Tum zinda ho... par tumne mujhe maar diya hai," Uzair choked out, a tear finally breaking free "Tumne har raat mujhe us kamre mein baith kar apni laash ka intezar karne par majboor kiya hai. Main sharab na piyoon toh kya karoon, jaan? Agar main hosh mein rahoonga... toh main pagal ho jaunga."

​Hamza looked up at him through a blinding blur of his own tears,

​Slowly, with an careful hesitation, Uzair reached out his arms.

​He didn't pull Hamza aggressively like he used to when he was angry. Instead, he slid one hand behind Hamza lower back and the other beneath his thighs. With a soft breath, Uzair lifted his husband off the floorboards, gathering Hamza body entirely into his chest.

​Hamza let out a tiny, broken gasp, his arms instinctively wrapping around Uzair neck. The familiar warmth of his husband chest hit him so hard that Hamza buried his face straight into the crook of Uzair neck, He felt so small, so exhausted from fighting his own body every day, and being held like this was the only time he felt safe from the countdown ticking inside him.

​Uzair carried him the few steps back to the bed, but he didn't lay him down and walk away this time.

​He climbed onto the mattress with him, sitting back against the headboard and keeping Hamza tucked securely in his lap. He wrapped his arms around Hamza waist, cradling him from behind, his chest acting as a solid cushion for Hamza aching spine. He let his face sink into Hamza hair, inhaling the familiar scent of his husband that is now mixed with the bitter tang of medicine.

"​roko kat mujhe" Uzair whispered into Hamza’s hair, "Agar main raat ko nahi rounga, jaan...... toh main subah tumhein uthane ke qabil nahi rahoonga. Mujhe... mujhe apna gham manane do, Hamza. Mujhe pta hai tum ja rahe ho."

​Hamza gripped Uzair forearms where they crossed over his chest, tight against the upper curve of his belly. He shook his head against Uzair neck, a choked sob tearing out of his throat.

​"Main... main koshish kar raha hoon, Uzair," Hamza wept "Main har roz larr raha hoon... Main aapko aur Ishmir ko chhor kar nahi jaana chahta. ... mujhe zinda samajh kar mujh se baat kijiye. Main thak gaya hoon is khamoshi se."

​Uzair didn't answer with words. He just tightened his grip around Hamza waist, he slowly shifted his position, his fingertips gently brushing against Hamza cheekbone, tracing the line of his jawline, then moving up to push the curls away from his forehead.

​He touched him like a man visiting a shrine, trying to memorize every single pore, every curve, and every shadow before the dark closed in.

​"Kya baat karoon, jaan... bolo?" Uzair whispered,

​"Main jab bhi apni zabaan kholta hoon... toh mere andar ka darr baahar nikal aata hai," Uzair rumbled softly, his thumb gently smoothing over Hamza lips. "Main agar tumse baat karunga... toh main tumse poochonga ke aane wale bache ka naam kya rakhna hai? Main tumse poochonga ke Ishmir ke naye school ke kaagzaat kahan hain? Aur yeh sab poochte hi... mera dil phat jata hai, Hamza. Kyunki yeh baatein woh baap karta hai jo akela rehne wala ho."

​He let out a ragged, trembling breath, his forehead dropping down slowly until it rested flat against Hamza forehead. Their breathing mingled—

​"Mera dil chahta hai main tumse poonchoon... ke jab tum chale jaoge, toh main is haveli ki deewaron ko kaise dekhunga?" Uzair choked out, his grip on Hamza cheek tightening just enough to keep him from turning away. "Tumhara khushboo is bistar se kaise saaf karunga? Tumhe dekh kar jo sukoon milta tha... woh sukoon main Lyari ki kis gali se dhoond ke laonga? Batao mujhe, jaan... main yeh baatein karoon tumse?"

Hamza entire chest heaved with a silent sob. He lifted his own hands, locking his fingers tightly around Uzair wrists. He didn't want to hear these words, but hearing Uzair voice—is a thousand times better than the dead, suffocating silence of the last five months. He pressed his face up, closing the remaining fraction of an inch between them, burying his nose into Uzair jaw.

​"Aisi baatein mat kijiye..." Hamza cried out softly, his voice a tiny, ruined plea. "Mujhe... mujhe sirf itna keh dein ke aap mere saath hain. Jab tak main saans le raha hoon... mujhe apna Uzair chahiye. Woh jo mujhse larta tha, jo mujhe pyaar karta tha... Yeh zinda laash mujhe maar raha hai, Uzair."

​Uzair eyes closed shut, , Uzair let out another low chuckle—a sound that was softer this time,

​He didn't blink as he looked down into Hamza tear-stained hazel green eyes. His thumb gently wiped away a fresh tear from Hamza cheek, his face tilting into a small, ghost of a smile that looked beautiful and devastating all at once.

​"Jaan... jab tak tum zinda ho, tab tak nahi," Uzair whispered, "Jab tum chale bhi jaoge... yeh Uzair tumhaara hi rahega."

​The smile on his lips widened as if he had already made peace with his own destruction.

​"Tumhein kya lagta hai, Hamza? Mera ishq koi chhota-mota khilona hai jo tumhaara saans rukne se toot jayega?" Uzair murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss against Hamza forehead. "Yeh jism, yeh jaan, yeh haveli... sab tumse shuru hua tha, aur tumhi par khatam hoga. Agar khuda ne tumhaara qabr meri baahon mein likha hai... toh is Uzair ki wafadari us qabr ke andar bhi tumhaara hi rahege."

​Uzair wasn't just saying words to comfort him; he is stating a fact. It is a lifetime contract of loyalty, written in blood and tears. Even if Hamza left this world at the end of the third trimester, Uzair would never belong to anyone else. He would remain anchored to a ghost forever.

​Hamza lips trembled as another silent sob tore through his throat. He tightened his fingers in the fabric of Uzair kurta, pulling himself up until his face was completely buried in the hollow of his husband neck.

​"Uzair..." Hamza wept softly, "Aap pagal hain... aap sach mein pagal hain."

​"Tumhaare ishq mein hoon, jaan," Uzair whispered back into his hair, his arms locking around Hamza waist, "Tumhe zara jee bhar ke dekh toh loon... shaayad phir yeh mauka mile ya na mile," Uzair whispered against Hamza temple.

​The words left his lips trembling slowness, each syllable weighted with the countdown of the last three months. He gently gripped Hamza shoulders and leaned back just enough to look down at him, his eyes scanning every single detail of his husband face

​Hamza breath hitched, He wanted to look away, to hide the hollowed-out lines of his cheeks and the exhaustion bruising his skin, but Uzair thumb gently caught his chin, holding him steady in the gray monsoon light.

​Uzair gaze moved over Hamza like a man memorizing a map of a home he is about to be evicted from. He traced the soft curve of Hamza nose, the dry paleness of his lips, and the wild, tangled dark curls that lay against the pillow. His hand slid down, his palm spreading flat and over the roundness of Hamza bump.

​Beneath Uzair touch, the baby gave a sudden, flutter—a reminder of the life thriving inside the exhaustion.

​Uzair didn't flinch away this time. A broken, incredibly soft sigh escaped his chest, his fingers curling slightly against Hamza kurta. He smiled that small, devastatingly calm smile again, his eyes welling up with quiet tears that didn't spill over.

​"Kitne khoobsurat ho tum, jaan," Uzair murmured, "Roz kamzor hote ho...... mere liye tumse zyada haseen is jahan mein koi nahi hai. Mujhse yeh haq mat chheeno. Mujhe dekhne do tumhein."

​Hamza couldn't hold it in anymore. He let out a weeping sound, lifting his hands to lock around Uzair wrists. He didn't offer a fake promise of survival, and he didn't scold him for talking about the end. He just leaned up, pressing his forehead against Uzair chest, letting his tears soak into his husband heartbeat.

​"Main yahan hoon..." Hamza cried softly, "Main abhi aapke paas hoon, Uzair. Jab tak saans hai... main sirf aapko dekhunga."

Uzair hand slowly slid down from Hamza face, tracing the line of his arm until his fingers entwined with Hamza trembling ones. He lifted their joined hands, bringing Hamza knuckles to his lips for a kiss, before resting them right over his own thudding heartbeat.

​"Tum kya chahte ho... kaisa rahoon main tumhaare jaane ke baad?" Uzair asked softly,

​He is asking as a man who genuinely had no idea how to breathe in a world where Hamza heart didn't beat.

​"Batao mujhe, jaan," Uzair murmured, his thumb gently caressing the back of Hamza hand. "Main kaise uthoonga subah? Is haveli ke aangan mein jab Ishmir dorega, aur tumhaara aahat nahi hogi... toh main use kya kahoonga? Tumhaare is naye bache ko jab bhook lagegi, jab yeh royega... toh main iske rone mein tumhaara maut ko kaise na dhoondo? Mujhe seekha kar jao, Hamza. Agar tum chale gaye... toh is Uzair ko zinda rakhne ke liye main kya karoon?"

​hamza looked at his husband— ​Hamza throat closed up, a sob catching in his chest. He looked down at their joined hands, He knew he couldn't give Uzair a magical cure for grief. But hearing Uzair ask this meant the wall is truly gone. They aren't fighting each other anymore; they are finally fighting the tragedy together.

​Hamza squeezed Uzair hand with every ounce of strength left in his fingers. ​"Aap... aap sirf unhein dekhiyega," Hamza wept softly, "Jab aapko meri yaad aaye... aap Ishmir ki aankhon mein dekhiyega. Aur is bache ko... is bache ko jab aap apne baahon mein lenge, toh yeh mat sochiye ke isne mujhe chheen liya. Yeh sochiye ke yeh mera aakhri tohfa hai aap ke liye. Mera ek hissa hamesha isme zinda rahega, Uzair... Aapko hamare bacho ke liye jeena hoga."

Uzair let out another soft, broken chuckle, that smile returning to his lips as he looked down at Hamza. ​"Achha, jaan... kar loonga," Uzair whispered, He closed his eyes, holding Hamza hand tighter against his chest. "Tumhaare bacho ke liye... is tohfe ke liye, main zinda reh loonga. Ro ro kar hi sahi, par guzar loonga zindagi."

​Then, Uzair opened his eyes, He looked into Hamza eyes, his face inches away.

​"Agar tum meri jagah hote... tum kya karte? Itna bhi bata do," Uzair murmured, "Agar is bistar par main hota, Hamza... agar operating table par mera laash hota, aur tumhaara baahon mein hamara yeh bacha hota... toh tum kaise jeete? Tum kaise dekhte Ishmir ko? Batao mujhe, jaan... ?"

​The question turned Hamza blood into ice.

​As a former spy, Hamza had trained his mind to simulate every worst-case scenario, every brutal interrogation, and every tactical failure. But this—picturing himself sitting alone in this haveli with a newborn and Ishmir, looking at the empty side of the bed where his uzair used to sleep—was a horror his mind had always violently rejected.

​A sob tore out of Hamza throat before he could stop it. ​"Main... main pagal ho jata, Uzair," Hamza wept "Main ek din... ek din bhi na ji pata aapke bina! Main bilkul pagal ho jata... Mujhe mat poochiye yeh... mujhe is jagah khada mat kijiye..."

​Uzair didn't say a word. He just closed his arms around Hamza waist, pulling him tightly into his chest that their heartbeats thudded against each other in perfect unison. The realization washed over them both in the dim monsoon light: neither of them is stronger than the other. They are both equally ruined by how much they loved.

​"Chalo... yeh toh pata hai ke kisse guzarunga main," Uzair whispered ,​He didn't let Hamza pull away. Instead, Uzair began to press soft, kisses all over his husband tear-stained face. He kissed Hamza trembling eyelids, soaking up the salt of his tears. He kissed the sharp line of his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, and the soft, dry skin of his forehead, lingering there as if sealing a sacred pact.

​"Main akela nahi rahoonga is gham mein," Uzair murmured between soft brushes of his lips against Hamza temple. "Mujhe pata hai mera jaan... jahan bhi hoga, mere liye hi tadpega. Hum dono ek hi aag mein jal rahe hain, jaan."

​Uzair slowly slid down the mattress, shifting his frame until he was kneeling on the bed right beside Hamza hip.

​Slowly, Uzair leaned his head down. He rested his cheek gently against the cotton covering Hamza abdomen, listening to the tiny, rapid secondary heartbeat buried deep within his husband fragile body.

​He let out a breath, his hands carefully framing the sides of the bump. Then, he pressed a soft, kiss right over the center of the swelling mass.

​"Aap mujhse meri jaan chheen rahe hain..." Uzair whispered before he lifted his head just enough to look at the round curve. "Lekin aap toh mera jaan ka hi jaan hain..."

​Uzair is acknowledging the paradox that had been torturing him for five months: he wanted to hate the pregnancy for killing his husband, but he couldn't, because Hamza loved this unborn child more than his own life. The baby is an extension of Hamza’s soul, making it entirely untouchable to Uzair wrath.

​Up on the pillows, Hamza let out a breathless sob, a wave of tears blinding him. He reached down, his fingers tangling frantically into Uzair hair pulling his husband head up so he could see those beautiful, tortured eyes.

​"Uzair..." Hamza wept, The emotional dam had broken, and for the first time in five long months, the bedroom felt like a sanctuary instead of a sterile waiting room for a funeral.

​Uzair didn't let go. He kept Hamza pinned securely against his chest, his hand rhythmically rubbing slow, soothing circles into Hamza lower back to ease the constant, deep ache of the third trimester.

​"Sona hai?" Uzair murmured into his hair,

​Hamza gave a small, tired nod against Uzair collarbone. His eyes were half-closed, "Aap... aap baahar nahi jayenge na?" he whispered, his fingers clutching a fistful of Uzair kurta like a child terrified of being left in the dark.

​"Nahi jaunga, jaan. Main yahan hoon," Uzair promised, his heart aching at how fragile his husband had become.

​With care, Uzair shifted them both, sliding down the mattress until they are lying side-by-side. He pulled the sheet up over Hamza shoulders, tucking it gently around his bump. Then, he settled himself close, throwing a arm over Hamza waist,

​For the next few hours, the haveli remained perfectly quiet. Downstairs, Ulfat kept Ishmir occupied, giving the husbands the rarest commodity they had left: undisturbed time. Hamza slept a deep, dreamless sleep, while Uzair stayed awake, staring at Hamza face, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, and silently committing every single breath to memory.

​When Hamza finally opened his eyes again, the gray monsoon light had shifted into a dull, late-afternoon gold. The midday heat had made his skin damp,

​He shifted slightly, his movement causing Uzair arm to tighten around him.

​"Uth gaye?" Uzair asked softly.

​"Hmmm," Hamza murmured, stretching his aching legs cautiously. He looked up at Uzair, The grief is still there—it would always —but the wall is gone. "Ishmir kahan hai?"

"Neeche hai, Ulfat bhabi ke saath khail raha hai," Uzair said, sitting up and helping Hamza pull himself into a sitting position against the pillows. He reached for a glass of water from the side table, holding it to Hamza lips "Tumhein bhook laga hoga. Main khana laata hoon. Aur aaj... aaj main yahi tumhaare saath baith kar khaonga."

​A tiny, smile touched Hamza lips, "Theek hai. Lekin mujhe paratha nahi chahiye, Uzair. Bohot mirch lagta hai."

Uzair let out a chuckle—the first real sound of warmth Hamza had heard in half a year. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Hamza cheek. "Jo tum kaho, jaan. Jo tum kaho."

🎧๋࣭ ⭑🫧𖦹₊ ⊹⋆𓂃𓈒

The sterile, white walls of the private hospital room felt a world away from the crowded, noisy streets of Lyari. Outside, the rain beat a steady, relentless rhythm against the glass windows; inside, the only sound is the rhythmic, clinical beep of the heart monitor tracking Hamza fragile, fading pulse.

The countdown had finally reached 9 months.

Hamza body is spent, His face was ghostly pale, his skin translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights, and his breathing is shallow, supported by an oxygen mask resting near his chin. Yet, looking at him, his eyes possessed a quiet, radiant beauty that no sickness could touch.

Back at the haveli, Ulfat is holding a weeping Ishmir close, keeping him safe from the sterile reality of this room. Here, only Faizal stood in the quiet hallway outside, his head buried in his hands, unable to face the tragedy unfolding on the other side of the glass.

Inside the room, there is only Uzair and Hamza.

Uzair sat on the edge of the mattress, his frame hunched over, holding Hamza hand tightly between both of his own.

They looked at each other, and despite the tubes, the machines, and the shadow of the operating theater waiting for them down the hall, they both smiled. It is a beautiful, unbroken smile shared between two souls who had loved each other past the brink of madness.

"Ek gaana gaaiye na..." Hamza whispered, his voice a tiny, breathless scratch in the quiet room. His fingers gave a weak, reassuring squeeze against Uzair palm.

Uzair chest heaved with a sob, but he kept his smile fixed on his husband. He swallowed the bitter lump of grease and grief in his throat, closed his eyes for a brief second, and then leaned down closer to Hamza face.

In a low he begin to hum, his voice vibrating with the weight of his soul:

Humko mili hain aaj yeh

Ghadiyaan naseeb se

Jee bhar ke dekh leejiye

Humko qareeb se...

Uzair’s thumb gently caressed the back of Hamza hand, keeping perfect time with the beautiful melody. his voice never wavered as he sang the words they both knew by heart:

Phir aap ke naseeb mein

Yeh baat ho na ho…

Shayad phir is janam mein

Mulaqaat ho na ho...

The heart monitor beeped softly in the background, a cruel metronome to the end of an era. Uzair leaned down even further, his breath hot against Hamza cheek, his voice breaking into a whisper on the final chord:

Lag ja gale… ae… ae…

As the last note dissolved into the sterile air of the room, Uzair pressed his lips against Hamza forehead. He kept them there for a long, breathless eternity, closing his eyes tightly, soaking in the fading warmth of his husband skin, while the baby inside Hamza belly gave one flutter—ready to enter the world just as its father prepared to leave it.

​Suddenly, the red emergency light above the door flared to life, casting a harsh, bloody glow across the white corridor. The sharp, rapid beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor spiked into a frantic, chaotic rhythm. The door flew open, and a wave of doctors and nurses rushed past the threshold, their faces tight with panic.

​"Blood pressure is dropping dangerously! We're losing the pulse!" the lead surgeon shouted, snapping on fresh surgical gloves. "There's no time to transfer him to the main theater! We have to do the emergency C-section right here, right now! Get the kit!"

​Uzair is violently shoved backward by the sea of medical staff. His hands were ripped away from Hamza fingers.

​" Uzair!" Hamza’s voice tore through the room—a scream of pure physical torture as the sudden, violent onset of severe internal complications hit his body. His fingers clawed at the white bedsheets,

​"Sir, you need to step out! Now!" a nurse yelled, physically pushing Uzair toward the exit.

​Uzair stumbled backward into the corridor, the door slamming shut right in his face, cutting off the sight of his husband.

​The silence of the hallway hit him like a physical blow, instantly replaced by the muffled, screams of Hamza

Inside, the doctors had no choice but to begin the incision immediately to save the suffocating child and the bleeding father.

​Uzair knees gave out. The badsha of Lyari, the man who had never bowed his head to any enemy, collapsed onto the cold, tiled floor of the hospital corridor.

​Faizal rushed forward from the end of the hall, his own face pale with horror, catching Uzair by his shoulders. "Chachu! Chachu, sambhalo khud ko!"

​But Uzair couldn't hear him. He couldn't see him.

​Uzair hands flew up to cover his face, his body He buried his head between his knees, and through his trembling fingers, he began to chant. It wasn't a roar, and it wasn't a cry—it's a silent whisper, his lips moving at a breathless speed as he begged the only power higher than himself.

​"Allah... Allah... Ya Allah..." Uzair choked out, his eyes squeezed shut as tears flooded his palms. "Mere Hamza ko bacha le... Ya Rab, meri jaan mat chheen... Mujhe maar de, mera sab kuch le le... par use zinda rakh... Allah... Allah..."

​Inside the room, the mechanical clinking of surgical steel and the frantic, muffled commands of the doctors reached a fever pitch, while out in the corridor, Uzair stayed on his knees, desperately pouring his entire soul into a silent prayer against the ticking clock.

The frantic, chaotic noises inside the room suddenly dissolved as a sharp, piercing cry punctured the silence.

The baby is out.

Through the dazed, blurred tunnel of his fading vision, Hamza could see the green-gowned figures moving under the bright lights. The voices of the doctors and nurses reached his ears as a muffled, echoing hum, all saying the same words: "It's a boy... it's a boy..."

For a fraction of a second, a spark of pure, relief flared in Hamza chest. He had done it. He had brought Uzair second son into the world.

"His blood! He's hemorrhaging! The internal artery has ruptured!" the lead surgeon yelled, his hands completely soaked in deep crimson. "Hold him down! Get the pressure pads! We are losing him, rush the blood bags!"

The nurse hurried to press down on his chest, but Hamza couldn't feel the pain anymore. The chaotic shouting of the medical staff began to fade away, replaced by a profound quiet. The ceiling lights grew dim, and his eyelids felt impossibly, beautifully heavy.

As the darkness gently pulled him under, the final defense of his mind gave way. His life didn't flash before his eyes in panic; instead, his memories came walking toward him, one by one, like old friends.

He saw Ishmir small, chubby face, laughing under the grand arches of the haveli, running into his arms while shouting, "Baba! Baba!"

Then came the darker, heavier shadows—the agonizing grief of losing their unborn twins, the bitter, violent betrayals that had initially torn him and Uzair apart, and the distance that had plagued them for the last few months. He saw the faces of his mother and his sister, left far behind across the guarded border in India—a home and a family he now knew he would never see again in this life.

But the darkness didn't stop there. It washed through the pain, sweeping away the blood and the grief, until it brought him to the most important, most beautiful turning point of his entire existence.

The memory is so vivid he could smell the jasmine garlands. He is sitting behind the silk veil, the old Qazi’ gentle voice echoing through the countryard : “Kya aapko Uzair Baloch ke saath yeh nikah qubool hai?”

In the fading light of the hospital room, a tiny, radiant smile touched Hamza lips. The daze in his eyes cleared for one final, beautiful second. He didn't see the doctors, and he didn't hear the flatlining monitor.

He only saw his Uzair.

His breath grew incredibly faint, a soft, fluttering sigh. With the very last ounce of warmth left in his chest, a small whisper slipped past his lips into the air:

"Qubool hai..."

When death comes,

it should come with your voice,

with your face.

I would run toward it

as I would have run

toward the wedding day that was ours.

When death comes,

it should come with your smile,

with your touch.

I would melt into it,

the way a flower melts into sunlight,

because you have lived in every breath I have taken.

When death comes,

it should have hands like yours—

hands to hold,

hands to guide,

hands I can smile against without fear.

When death comes,

it should feel like the last kiss

you placed upon my forehead,

gentle enough to quiet every sorrow.

When death comes,

it should smell like you,

so that I may run into it

without hesitation,

carrying the very same smile

we wore on our wedding day,

knowing that even at the end,

I am only finding my way

back to you...

(Hope you have a good read loves)

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝑻𝒂-𝑯𝒂𝒅𝒅-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒

chapter 16

The door clicked shut behind Ulfat Bhabhi, sealing out the hallway and the man waiting within it.

Hamza head snapped toward the sound instantly, But when he saw it was only Ulfat, the tense, rigid posture of his shoulders gave way to a tiny, fraction of relief. Still, his arms didn't loosen their ironclad hold around Ishmir.

Ulfat walked over slowly, She carried the silver tray carefully, placing it down on the small nightstand beside the bed. The warm, sweet scent of the milk and the fresh, buttery aroma of a small paratha "Hamza," Ulfat whispered sitting down on the very edge of the mattress. She didn't try to force her way into his space, nor did she reach for Ishmir. She knew better. She knew that a father protecting "Dekho, main kya layi hoon. Subah se tumhaare pet mein ek niwala nahi gaya. Yeh thoda sa doodh pee lo, jaan."

Hamza looked at the glass of milk, then immediately averted his eyes, a pout settling onto his lips. He shook his head weakly, his long, wavy hair falling forward to hide his face.

"Mujhe nahi khana, Bhabhi," Hamza rasped, his throat so dry from hours of non-stop whispering that the words scraped against his teeth. He shifted Ishmir slightly, "Aap... aap le jaiye ise yahan se. Mera jism bilkul theek hai."

"Bilkul theek nahi hai!" Ulfat scolded gently, "Doctor ne kya kaha tha? Tumhaara blood pressure kitna kam hai, andaza hai tumhein? Hamza... tum sirf apne liye nahi lad rahe ho abhi. Agar tum nahi khaoge, agar tumhaare jism mein taqat nahi hogi... toh is nanni si jaan ko taqat kahan se milegi?"

She pointed a soft finger toward his tightly guarded stomach.

The mention of the baby inside Hamza looked down at his stomach, "Bhabhi..." Hamza wept softly tear spilling down his cheek and landing onto Ishmir bandaged forehead. "Uzair... Uzair is bache ko maar dena chahte hain. Woh... woh keh rahe hain hum ise nahi rakhenge. Aapne suna na unhe? Woh pagal ho gaye hain..."

"Woh pagal nahi hua, Hamza... woh sirf darr gaya hai," Ulfat sighed heavily, picking up the glass of warm milk and pressing it gently into Hamza hand—the one still stained with the dried blood from the ripped IV. "Woh tumse mohabbat karta hai, aur us darr ne use andha kar diya hai. Lekin main yahan hoon. Main kisi ko tumhaari jaan ya is bache ko chhoone nahi doongi. Par pehle, tumhein yeh doodh peena hoga. Apne is bache ke liye, Hamza. Mere liye."

Hamza looked at the warm glass, He knew she is right. If he collapsed from starvation, he wouldn't be able to protect Ishmir, and he would lose the tiny heartbeat inside him.

Slowly, keeping his right arm locked around his sleeping son, Hamza lifted the glass to his lips and took a small, hesitant sip

˖𓍢ִ໋❀.ೃ࿔

The clock in the downstairs hallway struck midnight, its chimes echoing faintly through the stone walls of the haveli.

​Outside the bedroom, the corridor had grown freezing cold. Uzair slowly lifted his head from his hands. His eyes were shot through with thick red veins, his face hollow He stood up, his joints popping in the silence, and approached the door.

​He didn't knock this time. With breath-held caution, he turned the handle and pushed the door open just a fraction of an inch, slipping inside like a shadow.

​The room is bathed in the soft, warm amber glow of a single bedside lamp. Ulfat Bhabhi is gone, having left the empty silver tray on the nightstand.

​Uzair stopped dead in his tracks, his breath hitching in his chest at the sight before him.

​The defense had finally cracked under the weight of pure, medical exhaustion. Hamza had fallen asleep. He is lying on his side in the middle of the bed, Even in sleep, his protective configuration hadn't broken. His right arm was still securely looped around Ishmir, anchoring the sleeping toddler flush against his chest. Ishmir little face was buried in the fabric of Hamza kurta, his tiny, rhythmic breaths rising and falling in perfect sync with his Baba.

​But what made a fresh wave of hot tears prick behind Uzair eyes was Hamza left hand.

​It was tucked protectively under the blanket, resting unchangingly over his lower abdomen. Even in the subconscious wilderness of sleep, Hamza was shielding the tiny, four-week-old miracle hidden within him. He is keeping both of his children close, refusing to let the world—or his husband—touch them.

​Uzair walked over with slowness, He looked down at them, his entire universe contained in a six-foot radius of white linen.

​Slowly, carefully, Uzair sank to his knees right beside the bed. He didn't dare climb onto the mattress; he didn't want to risk waking Hamza and triggering that fearful look in his hazel green eyes again.

​Instead, Uzair leaned his forehead gently against the edge of the mattress, right next to Hamza hip. He reached out with a hand, his large fingers hovering over Hamza hair for a long moment before he finally found the courage to gently, infinitesimally brush a stray strand away from his temple.

​Hamza stirred slightly at the touch, a faint, soft groan escaping his parted lips, his brow furrowing in sleep. Uzair froze entirely, pulling his hand back, until Hamza breathing settled back into a rhythm.

​"Main dushman nahi hoon tumhaara, jaan..." Uzair whispered into the dark, his voice a rough, weeping thread that barely carried through the quiet room. "Main toh sirf... main toh sirf tumhaara maut se darr gaya hoon. Mujhe maaf kar do... Mujhe maaf kar do, meri jaan."

​He kept his face buried against the edge of the bed, weeping silently into the sheets, guarding the perimeter of their sleep while the impossible, high-risk miracle continued to take root inside Hamza quiet body.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The harsh, golden lyari dawn broke over the courtyard of the haveli,

​Hamza eyelashes fluttered weakly. The deep, sleep of physical exhaustion began to clear, leaving his mind in instantly on high alert. The first thing he felt dull, persistent throb of a deep cramp in his lower abdomen—the quiet, unchanging weight of the four-week-old heartbeat taking root inside him.

​His eyes snapped open,instantly locking onto the small form tucked against his chest.

​Ishmir is still fast asleep, his tiny thumb hooked into his mouth, his breathing slow and rhythmic beneath the white gauze wrapped around his temple. Seeing his boy safe, Hamza let out a breath, his body relaxing just a fraction into the pillows. He smoothed a hand over Ishmir hair,

​Then, he felt the weight resting against the side of the mattress.

​Hamza shifted his gaze downward.

​Uzair is there. The badsha of Lyari hadn't moved an inch from the floor all night. He is slumped on his knees by the bedside, his chest rising and falling in rhythms. His face is buried sideways against the edge of the mattress, right near Hamza hip. In the bright morning light, Uzair looked completely undone ,His hand is resting flat on the sheet, just inches away from Hamza hip, as if he had spent the entire night trying to stay close without crossing the invisible line his husband had drawn.

​Looking down at the broken, sleeping form of his husband, the anger in Hamza chest shifted into something deeply aching and complex. He knew the ruthlessness Uzair carried outside these walls, but looking at the dried tracks of tears on Uzair cheek, Hamza saw only the terrifying depth of his husband fear. Uzair isn't trying to be a tyrant; he is a man entirely paralyzed by the ghost of a flatlining monitor.

​Hamza didn't pull away this time. He stayed completely still in the morning quiet, his hazel green eyes staring down at the sleeping king who had spent the night guarding his perimeter from the floor.

The quiet of the morning didn't last long. Within half an hour, Ishmir little eyelids began to flutter against the bright sunlight streaming through the lattices. He let out a tiny, soft yawn, rubbing his face against Hamza kurta before his big, dark eyes blinked open.

​The moment the toddler saw his Baba looking down at him with an warmth, a bright, beautiful smile broke across his face, making him forget all about the scary warehouse from the day before.

​"Baba!" Ishmir chirped happily.

​With the sudden, clumsy energy, Ishmir scrambled his little legs underneath him. He pinned his small hands right onto Hamza lower abdomen, preparing to launch his entire weight upward to sit directly on top of his Baba stomach, just like he did every single morning during their lazy playtime.

​"Nahi, nahi! Ishmir, jaan, rukiye!"

He reached out with both hands, hurriedly catching Ishmir by his tiny waist and holding him firmly down onto the soft mattress beside him, completely blocking the toddler from landing any weight onto his body.

​The movement was so sudden and sharp that Hamza let out a tiny gasp, He kept one hand securely on Ishmir, while his other hand remained flat over his stomach, guarding the fragile, four-week-old miracle hidden beneath the sheets.

​Ishmir dropped back onto the pillows with a soft thud, his little bottom lip instantly sticking out into a pout. He looked at Hamza with deeply offended eyes, his little fingers twisting the edge of the blanket.

​"Kiyu, Baba?" Ishmir asked, his small voice cracking confused whine. "Kiyu nahi? Ishmir ne galti ki?"

​The shift of the mattress and the sound of Ishmir sweet, confused voice instantly broke Uzair light sleep. His head snapped up from the edge of the bed where he had been resting all night. His eyes blinked against the morning light, immediately taking in the tense scene—Hamza guarding his stomach, and their son pouting with a tearful face.

​Hamza took a slow breath, forcing his racing heart to slow down. He leaned over slightly, softening his grip on Ishmir waist to stroke the boy chubby, tear-stained cheek, ensuring he didn't feel unloved.

​"Nahi, mere sharir bacha, aapne koi galti nahi ki," Hamza whispered "Aap toh Baba ke sab se acche bache hain na? Lekin... lekin abhi Baba ka pet thoda sa bimar hai. Aap bohot bade ho gaye hain, jaan. Agar aap upar baithenge, toh Baba ko dard hoga. Is liye ab se aap sirf Baba ke saath barabar mein soyenge, thik hai?"

​Ishmir tilted his head, his eyes shifting down to Hamza hand, which is still clamped over his abdomen. He reached out a tiny, hesitant hand and gently tapped Hamza knuckles.

​"Baba ko choot lagi hai?" Ishmir whispered softly.

​Uzair watched from the floor, Hearing Hamza talk about his fragile condition to their son—watching him protect the unborn child with every single breath while trying to keep Ishmir happy He wanted to reach out, but he remained frozen on his knees, waiting to see if Hamza would finally look at him

Hamza eyes softened completely, A tiny, fragile smile broke across his face—the very first smile Uzair had seen on him since the nightmare in the warehouse began.

​"Haan, jaan," Hamza whispered,

​Slowly, carefully, Hamza took Ishmir tiny, chubby hand into his own fingers. He lifted it gently and placed it flat over his lower abdomen, He held the little boy palm there, letting him feel the quiet warmth of his body.

​"Yahan ek nanni si jaan hai, Ishmir," Hamza murmured, "Aap se bhi chota... koi hai yahan andar. Woh abhi bohot chota sa hai, bilkul ek phool ki tarah. Aur use abhi bohot aaram ki zaroorat hai. Isliye mere shair bache ko ab thoda sa dhyan rakhna padega, haan?"

​Ishmir eyes went completely round. He kept his tiny palm perfectly still against Hamza stomach, his mouth opening into a small 'O' of wonder. He looked from his hand up to Hamza face, his pout completely forgotten.

​"Chota bacha?" Ishmir whispered, his voice full of awe, as if he were being trusted with the biggest secret in the universe. "Baba ke andar... chota bhaiyya hai?"

​"Bhaiyya ho ya appi... jo bhi hai, abhi bohot nanna sa hai," Hamza softy laughed, a beautiful, breathless sound that cut through the tension of the past twenty-four hours like sunshine. He bent down and pressed a kiss onto Ishmir forehead, right next to the white gauze bandage. "Aur hamare Ishmir ko ab bada bhai banna hai. Baba ki madad karenge aap?"

"Haan! Ishmir madad karega!" The toddler nodded his head his facelighting up with immense pride. He carefully patted Hamza stomach with the softest, most gentle touch his tiny hands could manage, treating his Baba like a fragile piece of glass. "Ishmir baithega. Bache ko choot nahi lagne dega."

​Down on his knees by the edge of the bed, Uzair felt his entire world shift.

​Hearing Hamza claim the child so beautifully in front of their son—watching him place Ishmir hand over with so much love and pride—shattered the last remaining remnants of Uzair stubborn resistance. He saw it clearly now. This isn't just a high-risk medical condition; this is Hamza entire soul. Hamza isn't going to let this baby go, even if it meant fighting death itself.

​Uzair slowly shifted on his knees, as he placed it on the mattress, just an inch away from where Ishmir and Hamza are tangled together.

​Hamza felt the movement and finally, for the first time that morning, his eyes flicked downward. He looked at Uzair. The glare from the night before is gone, replaced by a exhausted vulnerability that seemed to ask: Are you still going to fight me on this?

Ishmir, sensing the presence of his father from the edge of the mattress, turned his head. His eyes lit up when he saw his Abbu kneeling there on the cold floor. Remembering his Baba strict rule from just a second ago, ishmir clever little mind instantly found a loophole.

​He couldn't sit on top of his Baba anymore because of the "chota bacha," but his Abbu chest is a completely different story.

​"Abbu!" Ishmir chirped, instantly making eager, grabby hands toward Uzair, his tiny fingers curling in the air as he leaned his upper body over the edge of the bed. "Abbu... upar!"

​Uzair heart completely broke at the sound. He didn't say a word. He simply rose from his knees, leaning over the mattress as he reached out with his arms and scooped Ishmir up against his chest. He pulled the little boy out of the bed and tucked him firmly into his lap, sinking back onto the floorboards with his back against the bed.

​The moment Ishmir is securely settled on his lap, Uzair buried his face into his son small neck, his shoulders convulsing as silent tears finally spilled over his eyelashes,

​Uzair couldn't contain it anymore. He began kissing the boy everywhere kisses pressed against Ishmir chubby cheeks, his tiny nose, his chin, and right over his small hands. He kissed him as if he were trying to verify, through pure touch, that his baby is truly alive, truly safe, and back in his arms after the horror of the warehouse.

​"Abbu..." Ishmir muttered softly, giggling slightly he instinctively wrapped his small arms around his father neck, "Abbu... dhoop lagi?"

​Uzair didn't answer. He just held his son with a desperate grip, his hand gently supporting the back of Ishmir head right below the white gauze bandage.

​From the bed above them, Hamza leaned forward slightly, as watched the scene below. Seeing the ruthless badsha of Lyari sitting on the floor, weeping silently while showering their son with broken, desperate affection, His own left hand remained flat over his lower abdomen guarding the tiny heartbeat within, but his gaze remained locked on his husband, full of a quiet, aching understanding.

The sight of Uzair completely broken on the floor made a lump form in his throat, but the crushing fatigue in his own limbs was a reminder that he couldn't stay frozen in this bed forever. He needed to wash the scent of the hospital from his skin. He needed to feel clean if he was going to survive the months ahead.

​Slowly, carefully, Hamza began to slide his legs out from under the sheets.

​The moment his bare feet swung over the edge of the bed, a wave of dizziness hit the back of his eyes. His vision blurred at the edges, and the cramp in his lower abdomen tightened like a coiled spring. He gasped softly, his hand immediately flying down to press flat against his stomach, anchoring himself. He gripped the edge of the mattress with his other hand, as he tried to force his trembling legs to take his weight.

​He hadn't even managed to lower his toes to touch the rug when the door is thrown open with a sharp click.

​"Hamza! Yeh kya badtameezi hai?!"

​Ulfat Bhabhi marched into the room, her eyes widening in immediate disapproval. She carried a fresh basin of warm water and a clean towel, and she didn't hesitate to set them down with a loud thud on the side table before stepping directly into Hamza path, effectively blocking him from making a single movement downward.

​"Tumhein samajh nahi aati ek baar mein? Doctor ne saaf lafzon mein kaha hai ke jism ko zara sa bhi jhatka nahi lagna chahiye!" Bhabhi scolded, She forcefully but carefully grabbed Hamza by his shoulders, pushing him back onto the pillows. "Paanv neeche rakhne ki himmat kaise hui tumhaari? Agar abhi phir se khoon jaari ho gaya, toh kaun zimmedar hoga?!"

​Hamza winced, He didn't look at her; instead, his gaze instinctively flicked down to Uzair, who is still sitting on the floor with Ishmir wrapped in his arms.

​Uzair hadn't moved. He had frozen the exact second Hamza tried to stand, his eyes wide with panic. But he didn't reach out. He didn't jump up to carry Hamza back into the blankets like he usually would. He stayed exactly where he was, his arms locked tight around Ishmir,

​The distance between the two husbands felt miles wide, Uzair is entirely paralyzed by the fear that if he touched Hamza, if he spoke to him, the fierce defiance would flare up again and push Hamza body over the edge of collapse.

​"Bhabhi... mujhe bas... haath mooh dhona hai," Hamza whispered weakly against the pillows, as his eyes remained locked onto Uzair face. "Main thak gaya hoon is bistar se..."

​"Tumhein jo bhi chahiye, main yahin bistar par doongi," Bhabhi snapped, though her hands softened as she pulled the blanket back over his legs sealing him away from the floor. "Tumhaara kaam sirf letna hai, Hamza. Jab tak yeh khatra tal nahi jata, tum is bed se ek inch bhi neeche nahi utroge."

​The silence in the room stretched thin and painful, the invisible chasm between Uzair on the floor and Hamza in the bed growing deeper with every passing second of the morning light.

Uzair slowly stood up from the floor, his arms remained cradle around Ishmir. The toddler had gone quiet, his tiny chin resting on his father shoulder, his eyes blinking sleepily as he sensed the tension through the adults.

​Uzair didn't say a single word. He didn't offer a helping hand to Ulfat Bhabhi, nor did he look at Hamza. The paralysis of his own fear had hardened into a quiet, painful wall. He knew that every breath he took inside this room, every clumsy step he made toward the bed, only served as a reminder of the threat he had made against the pregnancy the night before.

​Adjusting Ishmir weight against his chest, Uzair turned his back to the bed.

​"Uzair, kahan ja rahe ho bache ko lekar?" Ulfat Bhabhi asked,

​"Ise... ise neeche le ja raha hoon, Bhabhi," Uzair rumbled, He kept his eyes locked firmly on the handle. "Neeche dukan khul gaya hoga. Iske liye mithi lassi aur paratha lene ja raha hoon...."

​From the high teak bed, Hamza eyes widened slightly, tracking his husband shoulders. The ache in his chest sharpened, He had expected Uzair to fight him, to roar, to demand control as the badsha of Lyari. But this withdrawal—this silent retreat where Uzair wouldn't even look him in the eye—is far more terrifying. Uzair is giving him exactly what he asked for when he said “Aap hatiye yahan se,” and the distance felt like an abyss opening up between them.

​Hamza fingers tightened into the sheets, He wanted to call out, to tell Uzair that he didn't want him to leave the room, but his stubborn pride and the trauma of the warehouse kept the words trapped in his throat.

​Uzair reached the door and pushed it open with his elbow, stepping out into the corridor without a single backward glance. The door clicked shut behind him with a thud, leaving the bedroom completely emptied of his presence.

​"Bhabhi, dekha aapne? Baat... mujhse baat bhi nahi kiya unhone," Hamza whispered, He had driven Uzair away with his own words, but seeing the king of Lyari actually turn his back, pick up Ishmir, and walk out of the room without offering a single glance was a completely different kind of torture. The silence Uzair left behind felt heavier than any shout.

​Ulfat Bhabhi stopped wringing the cloth, She sat down on the mattress beside him, gently placing the damp cloth over Hamza forehead to soothe the rising heat of his distress.

​"Hamza, bacha... tumne hi toh kaha tha use door jaane ko," Ulfat Bhabhi murmured softly, "Woh darr gaya hai. Jab ek mard itna bada rasta chhor kar tumhaare qadmon mein baith jaye, aur tum use dushman samajh lo, toh woh toot jata hai. Woh tumhein takleef nahi dena chahta, isliye khud ko tumse door kar raha hai."

​"Lekin aise?" Hamza wept,

​He didn't care about the physical distance anymore; it was the emotional mutilation of this silence that is killing him. He slowly moved his left hand under the blanket, his fingers pressing into his flat, aching lower abdomen. The persistent, dull cramping in his stomach felt like a quiet storm, reminding him that while he had successfully fought to keep the four-week-old heartbeat inside him, he is losing.

​The toddler had a small cup of sweet lassi sitting nearby, his little lips coated in a white rim, but Uzair hadn't touched a single thing. His hands hung loosely between his knees, trembling with an exhaustion.

​He want Uzair to be beside him right now. He want Uzair to break the rules, to ignore the scolding, to storm back through that door and hold him down with those hands until the terror of the warehouse finally faded. But the door remained completely shut, the quiet hallway outside offering no sound of returning boots.

​Ulfat Bhabhi tried to feed Hamza a few spoons of soft semolina pudding, but Hamza kept his teeth locked tight, his face turned toward the wall.

​"Main nahi khaunga, Bhabhi," Hamza rasped against the pillow,"Unhein... unhein bulao neeche se."

​"Hamza, woh neeche Ishmir ko sambhal raha hai—"

​"Bulao unhein!" Hamza snapped, his eyes flashing with a panic as he twisted his body slightly under the blanket. The movement triggered stab across his lower abdomen, making him let out a small, breathless whimper. He instantly clamped both hands over his stomach, "Bhabhi... dard ho raha hai. Bulao unhein, please..."

​Ulfat Bhabhi face went entirely pale. She dropped the spoon into the bowl with a loud clatter and scrambled up from the bed, rushing out into the corridor and screaming over the balcony. "Uzair! Uzair, jaldi upar aao! Hamza... Hamza ko takleef ho raha hai!"

​The sound of his name being screamed in that tone cut through the courtyard like a bullet.

​Uzair didn't even think. He didn't pick up Ishmir; he simply left the boy with Faizal and launched his body toward the stairs, his boots throwing up clouds of dust as he took the steps three at a time.

​He threw the bedroom door open his eyes instantly locking onto the bed.

​Hamza is curled into a tight ball under the sheets, his hair tangled across his face.

​Uzair stopped dead at the foot of the bed, his shoulders trembling as he looked at his husband. The distance between them didn't shatter into a warm embrace; instead, it sharpened into a panic. Uzair is too terrified to even step closer, his hands hovering in the air like a man standing before a ticking bomb.

​"Hamza..." Uzair choked out, "Jaan... main... main doctor ko bula raha hoon."

​"Nahi!" Hamza cried out, his head snapping up from the pillow, "Doctor nahi... aap... aap aao yahan. Paas aao mera..."

The bedroom door open again, and Doctor Junaid stepped inside, his brow furrowed with deep worry as he carried his medical kit.

​The doctor didn't waste a single second. He hurried over to the bedside, setting his kit down on the nightstand. He pulled out his stethoscope and a small portable ultrasound scanner, immediately pulling back the sheets to check on Hamza.

​Hamza lay curled on his side, his face completely pale, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

​Doctor Junaid gently placed his gloved hands over Hamza stomach, pressing lightly to check the tension. Hamza flinched, letting out a sharp, breathless gasp and closing his eyes tight.

​" Hamza... yeh case behad high risk hai," Doctor Junaid said, as he checked the monitors and wiped the sweat from Hamza temple. "Aapke jism ne bohot zyada trauma jhela hai. Blood pressure abhi bhi dangerously low hai, aur stress ki wajah pressure aa raha hai. So yeh dard, yeh cramps... yeh sab is halat mein normal hain."

​The word normal didn't bring a single ounce of comfort to the room

​"Lekin... lekin bacha?" Hamza rasped, as he looked up at the doctor. His voice trembling with the fear of losing this child just like the twins in Delhi. "Bacha theek hai na, doctor? Please... mujhe sach bataiye."

​"Heartbeat abhi bhi stable hai, Hamza. Lekin agar aapne zara sa bhi jhatka jhela, ya phir se khade hone ki koshish ki, toh internal bleeding shuru ho sakti hai," Doctor Junaid warned sternly, turning his eyes toward Uzair, who looked like a man standing on the gallows. "Inhe mukammal bed rest chahiye. Ek qadam bhi neeche nahi rakhenge yeh."

​Uzair listened to the doctor words, He stood there, completely hollowed out, the crushing guilt and terror inside him growing so heavy he could barely breathe. He wanted to scream, he wanted to break everything in the room, but seeing Hamza in so much pain, he remained paralyzed, the chasm between them widening as the harsh reality of the high-risk pregnancy settled into the quiet morning light.

Doctor Junaid adjusting the portable scanner, packing away his syringe, when Uzair voice broke the silence.

​"Doctor..." Uzair muttered, his eyes staring fixedly at the clinical equipment, avoiding the bed. "Abhi... abhi bhi waqt gaya nahi hai na? Abhi bhi hum... hum Hamza ko bacha sakte hain?"

​The meaning of the words hung in the air like a Uzair isn't asking how to save the pregnancy. He i asking, plain and clear, if they could still terminate it to guarantee that Hamza wouldn't bleed to death on an operating table. He is ready to sacrifice the unborn child right then and there to keep his anchor from slipping into a grave.

​Hamza breath caught . He slowly lifted his head from the pillows, his eyes widening as he looked at Uzair averted, stone-cold face. The realization of what his husband is proposing hit him harder than any physical blow.

​"Aap..." Hamza cried out, "Aap chup rahiye! Keh kya rahe hain aap?!"

​He scrambled to pull his upper body up against the headboard, entirely forgetting the doctor warnings about moving too quickly. A sharp cramp flared across his lower abdomen, making him wince, He clamped both hands over his stomach like a shield, his tears spilling over his cheeks in thick, hot streams.

​"Aapka himmat kaise hui yeh kehne ki?!" Hamza screamed, "Doctor ke saamne... aap mere bache ko maarne ki baat kar rahe hain? Maine kaha na yeh bacha aayega! Aap kaun hote hain faisla karne waale?!"

​Doctor Junaid stopped his movements entirely, looking between the two husbands , He didn't intervene. In this haveli, some wounds are too deep for medicine to touch.

​Uzair stood perfectly still, letting the words wash over him. He didn't shout back. He didn't look angry. He just closed his eyes, his shoulders trembling as tears tracked down, Uzair is willing to let Hamza hate him for the rest of his life, so long as Hamza is alive to do the hating.

​"Hamza... jaan..." Uzair whispered, "Main tumhaare bina nahi jee sakta... mujhe nahi chahiye kuch aur."

The room fell into a silence so sharp it felt like a blade.

​Hamza’s eyes weren't just wet; they were burning with a cold, terrifying resolve. He didn't care about the doctor warning or the sharp, stabbing cramps that are trying to bring him to his knees. He gripped the edge of the bed as he forced himself to stand.

​"Mujhe chahiye," Hamza spat the words at Uzair, "Mujhe Ishmir chahiye. Use mere paas dekar jaiye aap!"

​He took a stumbling, jagged step toward the door, his hand still clutched firmly over his stomach, his breathing ragged and shallow.

​"Main abhi ja raha hoon is ghar se," Hamza hissed, his eyes darting around searching for his bag. "Main Kazakhstan wapas ja raha hoon! Nahin rehna mujhe yahan... nahin rehna mujhe ek aise mard ke saath jo mere bache ka qatil banna chahta ho!"

​Doctor Junaid moved instantly, stepping in front of Hamza to steady him, his voice urgent and stern. "Hamza, hosh mein aaiye! Aapko samajh nahi aa raha? Aapka jism aapka saath nahi de raha, aap gir jayenge! Aap kahin nahi ja rahe!"

​But Hamza pushed the doctor arm away, his eyes locked entirely on Uzair.

​Uzair stood at the foot of the bed, his entire world collapsing. Hearing the word Kazakhstan—the place he had fought so hard to bring Hamza home from—felt like a death sentence. He looked at Hamza, seeing the way his husband is willing to shatter his own body just to escape the man he now viewed as a threat to their child.

​"Hamza, ruk jao," Uzair whispered, He didn't dare move closer for fear of triggering another collapse, "Tum kahan jaoge? Is haalat mein? Main... main tumhein kahin nahi jaane doonga."

​"Rok kar dikhaiye!" Hamza challenged, his eyes fixed on the door. "Main mar jaunga, lekin yahan, aapke saaye mein nahi rahoonga! Ishmir ko bulao! Main use le kar ja raha hoon!"

​Uzair final thread of restraint snapped Hearing Hamza threaten to take Ishmir and vanish back into the wilderness of Kazakhstan— He didn't care about the invisible boundary anymore. He didn't care if Hamza hated him for the rest of his days.

​Before Hamza could take another stumbling step toward the door, Uzair crossed the distance between them . ​His hands reached out and locked Hamza securely into his arms. He didn't handle Hamza roughly, He pulled Hamza swaying body flush against his chest, lifting his feet entirely off the floorboards to stop his frantic movement.

​"Nahi... Nahi, jaan! Mera jaan, nahi!" Uzair roared into the hollow silence of the bedroom, his voice breaking into a sobbing wail that shook his shoulders. He squeezed Hamza tight against him, burying his face deep into the curls at Hamza neck. "Kahin nahi jaoge tum! Mujhe chhor kar kahin nahi jaoge!"

​The sudden, overwhelming heat of Uzair body enveloped Hamza completely.

​Hamza went stiff, He began to fight against the embrace, his elbows digging sharply into Uzair chest, his weak hands clawing frantically at the wrinkled fabric of Uzair kurta.

​"Chhoriye mujhe! Uzair, hatiye!" Hamza shrieked, He twisted his torso trying to break free from the trap of those arms. "Main nahi rahoonga yahan! Aap mere bache ko maarna chahte hain! Door ho jaiye mujhse!"

​"Nahi maarunga! Khuda ki qasam, nahi maarunga!" Uzair wept openly now, He carried Hamza back toward the bed, refusing to let go for even a millisecond. He brought his hand down, trapping Hamza left hand right over his lower abdomen—protecting the stomach between both of their palms. "Jo tum kahoge wahi hoga, jaan! Yeh bacha aayega... Main is bache ko apna jaan se zyada sambhalunga! Bas tum mat jao... Mujhe chhor kar mat jao..."

​The exertion of the struggle caught up to Hamza instantly. His body went entirely limp in Uzair arms, his head dropping against his husband shoulder as a soft, breathless whimper escaped his parted lips.

​Doctor Junaid rushed forward, "Uzair! Inhe bed par litayein, jaldi! Inka jism thak chuka hai, stress handle nahi kar paayenge yeh!"

​Uzair carefully laid Hamza down onto the mattress, but he didn't climb off. He stayed hovered directly over Hamza, as he kept his arms looped loosely around his husband waist, staring down into those hazy, pain-filled hazel green eyes. The distance between them is physically gone, but the bleeding ache of what had just been said hung heavily in the morning air.

The door creaked open just a fraction, breaking the suffocating tension that hung over the mattress. A tiny, hesitant pair of bare feet patted softly against the rug.

​It's Ishmir. He stood by the entrance, holding a small toy car, his eyes looking wide and uncertain as he sensed the atmosphere of the bedroom. The white gauze bandage wrapped around his little temple is a stark reminder of the danger he had just survived.

​The moment his small shadow fell across the floorboards, both of his fathers reacted instantly.

​Hamza instincts kicked in through the haze of his physical pain. He hurriedly raised his trembling sleeve, wiping the tracks of tears from his cheeks, forcing his breathing to slow down so he wouldn't terrify his son. Beside him, Uzair turned his face away for a split second, his hand aggressively brushing the moisture from his eyes and clearing his rough throat, trying to swallow the broken, weeping sounds that had just torn out of him.

​Hamza leaned back against the headboard,

​"Ishmir... jaan, idhar aaiye," Hamza whispered,

​The toddler blinked, then slowly walked over to the side of the bed, his little fingers gripping the edge of the sheet.

​"Bachha, suniye..." Hamza murmured, reaching out with his free hand to gently stroke Ishmir chubby cheek, "Bilkul idhar udhar nahi jana abhi aapko, thik hai? Aapko chot lagi hai na... aap acche bache hain. Chupchap bas... mere paas lete rahoge yahan."

​Ishmir looked at Hamza face, then his gaze flicked to Uzair, who is still hovering near the mattress , The toddler didn't understand the medical high-stakes or the rift between his parents, but he understood the quiet authority in his Baba voice.

​He nodded his little head solemnly. With careful, unusually quiet movements, Ishmir climbed onto the edge of the bed, dragging his toy car with him. He crawled under the blanket and curled his tiny body right into the small space beside Hamza hip, his little head resting flat against the mattress.

​Uzair watched them from the edge, He didn't leave the room this time, and he didn't pull away. He remained right there,

The silence that settled over the mattress , Ishmir lay still, his small fingers loosely holding his car against the sheet, his eyes shifting between Hamza face and Uzair shoulders.

​Uzair sat on the edge of the bed, He looked emptied out. The promise he had screamed into Hamza neck—“Yeh bacha aayega... Main is bache ko apni jaan se zyada sambhalunga”—had stripped him of his last defense.

​Slowly, Uzair reached out He didn't dare touch Hamza face knowing the friction between them is still raw and bleeding. Instead, he carefully placed his palm over Hamza ankles beneath the blanket, anchoring him to the bed, physically ensuring he wouldn't try to get up and flee to Kazakhstan again.

​"Bhabhi..." Uzair rumbled, He didn't look up at Ulfat Bhabhi, who is standing quietly "Inhe... inhe dawa dein. Aur jo dukan se dahi aur paratha laya hoon, woh upar lekar aayein. Hamza ne kal se kuch nahi khaya."

​Hamza didn't turn his head to look at Uzair, but his eyes flickered at the sound of his husband hollow voice. ​"Main... main lassi piyunga sirf," Hamza whispered into the quiet room, his voice tiny and ruined. He didn't use Uzair name, nor did he look his way, keeping his gaze fixed on the white gauze wrapping Ishmir temple. "Halka sa... taake dawa kha sakoon."

​Uzair grip on Hamza ankle tightened just a fraction—a silent, desperate acknowledgment. He didn't push for more. He didn't ask Hamza to forgive him for wanting to kill the pregnancy to save his life. He simply sat there, guarding the perimeter of the bed, while Doctor Junaid quietly stepped forward with a small syringe to administer the necessary sedative and progesterone support into Hamza IV line.

​Ishmir watched the doctor hands carefully, then let out a soft yawn, his tiny hand reaching up to touch Hamza kurta. "Baba... chota bacha so raha hai?"

​Hamza lips trembled into a fragile, barely visible smile as he looked down at his son. "Haan, jaan. Bacha bhi so raha hai... aur aap bhi so jao abhi."

As the afternoon sun climbed higher, The sedative Doctor Junaid had mixed into the IV line began to take its toll, a wave of exhaustion pulling at Hamza eyelids.

​Hamza breathing slowed, his fingers loosening He didn't want to close his eyes—his instincts are still screaming at him to keep watch, to guard the four-week-old miracle inside him—but his battered body simply had nothing left to give.

​Beside him, Ishmir had already drifted off, his tiny thumb hooked into his mouth, his little body curled tightly against Hamza hip like a shield.

​Uzair hadn't moved an inch from the edge of the mattress. His hand remained wrapped securely around Hamza ankle beneath the blanket, the only physical point of contact he allowed himself. He sat hunched over, his eyes staring fixedly at the floorboards, listening to the synchronized, quiet rhythm of his husband and son breathing. He looked completely hollowed out, a king who had given up his crown, his empire, and his own sanity just to keep Hamza from fleeing.

​Ulfat Bhabhi quietly stepped back into the room, carrying a tall silver tumbler of chilled mithi lassi and a small bowl of soft food, but when she saw Hamza head loll sideways against the pillows in sleep, she stopped. She looked at Uzair shoulders and let out a sigh, placing the tray on the side table before slipping back out, closing the door behind her with a soft click...

​

[immortalconfluxmuse]

𝑻𝒂-𝑯𝒂𝒅𝒅-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒 Chapter 15

The moment the doors swung open, Uzair stopped pacing. The beast that had terrorized the industrial sector of Lyari just an hour ago vanished, replaced by a man hollowed out by pure terror. He took two strides toward the chairs, reached down, and hauled Hamza up against his chest.

​Uzair wrapped his arms securely around Hamza shaking frame, anchoring him tightly that Hamza could feel the thudding of his husband heart. Hamza buried his face into the crook of Uzair neck, his fingers clawing desperately into the blood-stained kurta, his body still trembling from the violent flashbacks of Delhi.

​Uzair turned his head slowly, his grip tightening around Hamza waist, and looked at the surgeon. For the first time in his entire life, the badsha of Lyari had pleading eyes. There was no threat in his posture, no imperial authority left—just the desperation of a father begging for his son survival.

​"Doctor..." Uzair voice came out as a rough, fractured whisper, stripped of all its roaring strength. "Mera beta...?"

​The surgeon took a slow breath, looking at the blood-smeared, exhausted family standing before him. He offered a small, reassuring nod

​"Allah ka shukar hai, woh khatre se baahar hai," the doctor said softly. "Chot gehri thi aur khoon kaafi beh gaya tha, jiski wajah se woh behosh ho gaya. Humne stitches laga diye hain aur concussion ko stabilize kar diya hai. Abhi ICU mein thoda dhyan rakhna hoga, par bache ki jaan ko koi khatra nahi hai."

​A gasp ripped from Hamza throat. The weight of the past decade—the ghosts of the twins, the blood on the warehouse floor, the guilt—instantly evaporated. He crumbled completely into Uzair embrace, ​"Mera bacha... zinda hai..." Hamza whispered against Uzair collarbone, his fingers finally loosening their frantic grip on the fabric.

​Uzair let out a long exhale, a sound that is half-sob and half-prayer. He buried his face into the long, wild strands of Hamza hair, pressing his lips against his temple, holding both of them up through willpower. "Maine kaha tha na, jaan... humara ghar nahi tootega," Uzair murmured,

​Beside them, Ulfat raised her hands to her face, weeping softly as she offered a silent prayer of gratitude to the heavens,

​But as the profound relief settled into the quiet hallway, Hamza body suddenly rebelled against the severe emotional and physical toll of the day.

​Without warning, that persistent, coiling tightness in his lower abdomen snapped into a sharp, blinding cramp. The room tilted. The white fluorescent lights of the corridor blurred into streaks of blinding glare, and a numbness swept from his head down to his toes.

​"Uzair..." Hamza breathed out, his voice dropping into a faint, breathless thread.

​Before Uzair could even ask what is wrong, Hamza eyes rolled back. His head fell limply against Uzair shoulder, his fingers slipping entirely from his husband arms as his conscious mind slipped away into a sudden, dead faint.

​"Hamza! Hamza, jaan!" Uzair roared in a panic, catching Hamza weight before he could hit the floor, his face turning pale as he frantically shouted for the nurses.

​The clinical hum of the hospital’s private wing was vastly different from the chaotic, blood-slicked urgency of the emergency trauma unit down below.

​Hamza lay motionless on the white sheets of the hospital bed, his hair spread out across the pillow like spilled ink. The stark fluorescent lights overhead caught the extreme paleness of his face, making him look fragile—a sight that is utterly unnatural for anyone who knew the razor-sharp, lethal R&AW operative hidden beneath the skin. The kurta he wore was still creased, but a nurse had gently sponged away the dried smears of Ishmir blood from his hands, leaving his skin looking scrubbed.

​An IV line is taped securely to the back of his left hand, clear fluid dripping steadily down the plastic tubing, rehydrating a body that had been pushed past the absolute brink of human endurance.

​Beside the bed, Uzair sat in a low metal chair that looked entirely too small for his massive frame. The badsha of Lyari looked like a fallen king. His kurta was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, His hands are clamped tightly around Hamza limp right hand, his thumb rhythmically, desperately stroking the back of Hamza knuckles.

​Uzair eyes hadn't left Hamza face for a single second since the junior doctors had wheeled him into the room. He had almost lost his son. And now, his husband—the very anchor of his sanity—is lying unconscious before him.

​A few feet away, near the door of the private room, Ulfat Bhabhi stood quietly. Her eyes are red and swollen from hours of continuous weeping, Every few minutes, she would cast a worried glance toward the door, knowing that just two rooms down, little Ishmir is sleeping under the watchful eye of a pediatrician, his concussion stabilized, his tiny head wrapped in gauze.

​The door clicked open with a quiet, muted friction.

​A senior doctor—a graying man in his late fifties with a stern but deeply exhausted countenance—stepped into the room, holding a metallic clipboard against his white lab coat. Behind him, a junior nurse hovered nervously, her eyes darting toward Uzair with an undeniable undercurrent of fear. In Lyari, the medical staff knew exactly who Uzair is; they knew that a single wrong diagnosis or an air of negligence could bring the wrath of an entire armed sector down upon the hospital.

​Uzair didn't stand up ​"Khatre ki koi baat nahi hai, Uzair sahib," the doctor spoke immediately, his voice low calming, aiming to neutralize the volatile tension in the room before it could escalate. He stepped closer to the foot of the bed, consulting the charts attached to his clipboard. "Aapke shohar ka hosh thodi der mein wapas aa jayega. Yeh behoshi... yeh unke jism ki aakhri hadd thi."

​Uzair grip on Hamza hand tightened. "Toh hosh kyun nahi aaya ab tak?" he rumbled, "Do ghante ho gaye hain. Agar chot nahi lagi, toh yeh aise kyun pade hain?"

​The doctor sighed softly, adjusting his glasses. "Uzair sahib, insani jism koi mitti ka khilona nahi hai jo har zakhm ko bina nishan ke jhel jaye. Unka jism pehle hi andarooni taur par bohot kamzor ho chuka hai—purani chotein, zehni tanaav, Aur aaj... aaj jo unhone zehni aur jismani sadma jhela hai, unke dimaag ne khud ko bachanay ke liye shut down kar diya. It was a severe panic-induced vasovagal syncope. Unka blood pressure is waqt bohot low hai."

​Ulfat Bhabhi stepped forward, "Doctor sahib, humne unhe ghar par bhi ajeeb haal mein dekha tha. Subah se unhe baar-baar chakkar aa rahe the, kitchen mein kaam karte waqt... aur woh ultiyan bhi kar rahe the. Humne socha bas garmi aur thakan hai."

​The doctor pen paused over the paper. He looked up, He looked at Ulfat, then directed his gaze downward at the unconscious Hamza, before finally locking eyes with Uzair.

​"Aapne bilkul theek kaha, Bhabhi ji," the doctor said slowly, "Yeh sirf thakan ya sadma nahi hai. Garmi aur tanaav ne is haalat ko badhawa zaroor diya hai... par wajah kuch aur hai."

​Uzair brow furrowed, as he slowly stood up from the small metal chair. "Saaf saaf bolo, doctor. Humare paas paheliyan suljhanay ka waqt nahi hai. Mere bache par hamla hua hai, mera shohar yahan behosh hai. Mujhe seedha jawab chahiye."

​The doctor didn't flinch, ​"Uzair sahib... humne unke behoshi ke baad unka routine blood work aur hormonal panel chalaya tha, taake hum kisi andarooni bleeding ya toxic shock ko rule out kar sakein," the doctor explained, "Reports abhi-abhi aayi hain. Hamza sahib... he is pregnant. Kareeb char hafte ho chuke hain."

​The silence that hit the room.

​Uzair froze , which had survived street wars, military operations, and political betrayals, became as still as a stone monument. His hand, which was still holding Hamza fingers, went completely numb.

​He looked down at Hamza abdomen beneath the fabric. Four weeks. A month. For an entire month, while they were living in the quiet warmth of the haveli, while Hamza was making sweet milk for Ishmir, a tiny, fragile heartbeat had been secretly forming inside him.

​Ulfat Bhabhi let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Ya Allah..." she whispered, "Yeh... yeh sacch hai?"

​"Reports bilkul saaf hain," the doctor confirmed, his face softening slightly " Unka jism is waqt ek naye jism ko bana raha hai, Uzair sahib. Aur is shuruati daur mein, jab unhe dhoop, bhag-daur, aur itna bada zehni sadma mila... unke jism ne bache ko bachanay ke liye apni saari energy andar khinch li. Isiliye unhe severe nausea aur dizziness ho rahi thi."

​The doctor stepped forward, "Lekin yaad rakhiye. Yeh pregnancy bohot zyada high-risk hai. Agar aaj thoda sa bhi aur khoon behta, ya unke pet par koi chot lagta... toh hum bacha aur shayad unhe bhi kho dete. Unhe mukammal aaram chahiye. Koi tanaav nahi, koi bhag-daur nahi. Agle kuch mahine unke liye zindgi aur maut ka khel hain."

​Before Uzair could even process the weight of the doctor's warning, a low, weak groan cut through the silence of the room.

​On the bed, Hamza eyelashes fluttered weakly against his cheeks. His head rolled slightly to the side, a soft, pained sigh escaping his dry, parted lips.

​"Uz... Uzair..." Hamza muttered, his voice nothing more than a faint, dry whisper, his fingers twitching weakly inside Uzair palm.

Uzair dropped back to his knees instantly, his frame collapsing by the side of the bed as if all his strength had been cut from his tendons. He leaned over Hamza, his face just inches away from his husband,

​"Main yahin hoon, jaan. Main yahin hoon," Uzair choked out, his thumb smoothing down the stray, messy strands of hair away from Hamza forehead.

​Hamza eyes slowly cracked open, the hazel green depths glazed with pain, confusion, and the lingering residue of the terrifying panic. He blinked against the harsh white light, his mind instantly racing backward to the last image he remembered—the cold floor, the blood seeping from his son head, ​"Ishmir..." Hamza gasped weakly, his entire frame attempting to sit up in a sudden, frantic panic, his hand clawing at the IV line. "Uzair... mera bacha... woh... woh kahan hai? Use... use hosh aaya?"

​"Hamza, lethe raho! Hilo mat!" Uzair commanded, his hands gently but firmly pressing against Hamza shoulders, forcing him back down onto the soft pillows. "Ishmir theek hai. Khuda ki kasam, woh bilkul theek hai. Do kamre chhor kar so raha hai. Doctor ne use check kar liya hai, sirf thode stitches aaye hain. Woh bilkul mahfooz hai, jaan. Tum shanti se lethe raho."

​Hearing the certainty in Uzair voice, Hamza let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing back into the mattress. He closed his eyes for a second, a silent prayer of gratitude leaving his lips.

​But as the panic about Ishmir subsided, the cramp in his lower abdomen made itself known again. Hamza winced, his hand instinctively moving down to press against his stomach, a soft groan escaping him. He looked up at Uzair, noticing for the first time the expression on his husband face—the way Uzair was looking at him with a mixture of profound reverence, terror, and a vulnerability he had never seen before.

​"Uzair...?" Hamza whispered, He looked past Uzair shoulder, seeing Ulfat Bhabhi wiping her tears, her face glowing with warmth. "Kya hua hai? Aap log... aap log mujhe aise kyun dekh rahe hain? Doctor... kuch... kuch aur hua hai kya?"

​Uzair looked down at Hamza, He took Hamza hand—the one currently resting protectively over his abdomen—and covered it entirely with his own palm, pressing it gently against the fabric of the kurta

Uzair hands were trembling against Hamza skin, his face contorted with a grief that looked entirely different from the rage he had carried into the warehouse. The tears he had held back through the entire day finally spilled over dropping onto Hamza knuckles.

​"Hamza... jaan, suno," Uzair choked out, his voice cracking as he squeezed Hamza hand against his chest. "Humare paas Ishmir hai. Hum hain... lekin, Hamza, hum yeh nahi rakh sakte. Bohot high risk hai. Doctor ne kaha hai tumhaara jaan ko khatra hai. Main tumhe kho nahi sakta, jaan. Hum yeh bacha nahi rakh sakte..."

​Hamza looked at Uzair confusedly, his brow furrowing as the hazy, drug-induced fog in his mind tried to process the words. Hum yeh bacha nahi rakh sakte? The phrase sounded foreign. He looked at Uzair tear-stained face, then past his shoulder at Ulfat Bhabhi, who had buried her face in her dupatta, sobbing silently.

​Then, the realization hit him like a physical blow.

​The morning nausea. The waves of dizziness in the shower. The strange cramp coiling in his abdomen right before he collapsed. It wasn't the Karachi heat. It wasn't just the psychological trauma of Delhi clawing its way back to the surface.

​His hand suddenly went completely rigid. With a sudden, explosive burst of strength born of panic, Hamza pulled his hand out from Uzair palm.

​"Pagal ho gaye hain aap?!" Hamza gasped, his voice cracking as he forced himself upright against the pillows despite the sharp pull of the IV line in his wrist. His hazel green eyes, usually so soft and compliant for his husband, flashed with a wildness. "Aap... aap yeh kya keh rahe hain, Uzair?! Hosh mein hain?!"

​"Hamza, meri baat suno, doctor ne kaha hai—" Uzair tried to lean forward, his hands reaching out to stabilize Hamza shaking shoulders, but Hamza slapped his hands away.

​"Nahi! Main nahi sununga koi baat!" Hamza shrieked, unhinged by the sheer horror of what Uzair is suggesting. He covered his abdomen with both of his hands, shielding his stomach as if Uzair himself are the enemy threat. "Aapko andaza bhi hai aap kya bol rahe hain? Yeh... yeh humara bacha hai! Humara apna khoon hai!"

​The memories of Delhi—the cold, silent, empty cribs that had haunted his nightmares for eight agonizing years—surged to the absolute forefront of his mind. He had already given two shadows to the grave. He had just spent the last two hours believing his third child was dead on a concrete floor. The thought of voluntarily giving up a heartbeat—of erasing a miracle that had taken root inside his broken body—felt like an execution of his soul.

​"Main do bache pehle hi dafan kar chuka hoon, Uzair..." Hamza wept openly now, "Main teesra nahi maar sakta... main nahi karunga yeh! Aap kaise keh sakte hain ke hum is bache ko nahi rakhenge?! Kaise?!"

​Uzair stood up, his own tears blinding him as he looked down at his husband. "Kyunki agar is bache ko kuch hua... toh tum mar jaoge, Hamza! Aur main tumhaare bina nahi jee sakta! Main poora duniya ko zameen mein gaar sakta hoon, par main maut se nahi lad sakta! Mujhe mera beta chahiye, mujhe tum chahiye... mujhe yeh nahi chahiye agar yeh tumhaara jaan le le!"

"Uzair, baahar jao tum abhi!" Ulfat Bhabhi voice rang out, sharp and authoritative, cutting right through the the room.

​Uzair froze, his chest heaving as he looked down at Hamza posture. The badsha looked completely undone, his formidable presence reduced to raw, bleeding pieces. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, furiously wiping his eyes with the back of his hand as he stepped into the empty corridor.

​The moment the lock clicked, the silence returned, save for Hamza ragged, breathless sobbing.

​Ulfat didn't waste a heartbeat. She rushed to the side of the bed, climbing right onto the mattress and throwing her arms around Hamza. She pulled him tightly against her chest, rocking him as he collapsed into her embrace, his hands still locked protectively over his abdomen.

​"Mere jaan... shant ho jao, Hamza, shant ho jao," Ulfat wept softly, pressing her cheek against his hair.

​But as the warmth of her hug enveloped him, Hamza mind— The adrenaline began to fade, and a cold, paralyzing dread settled deep in his chest. He stiffened in her arms, his breath catching in his throat.

​They had just said everything.

​In the middle of their screaming match, the carefully guarded walls of the past eight years had completely disintegrated. The secrecy he had hidden from the family... it had all been laid bare.

​“Main do bache pehle hi dafan kar chuka hoon, Uzair...”

​The words echoed in his ears like a death knell. He had confessed to the twins. He had spoken of the graves in Delhi, the losses that Ulfat knew nothing about. The sheer terror of being exposed—of Ulfat realizing the depth of the deception and the shadows they had carried into her home—made his heart race frantically against his ribs.

​But looking up through his blurry, tear-stained vision, Hamza didn't see judgment or confusion in Ulfat eyes. He only saw sorrow. She didn't care about the secrets or the missing timeline; she only cared about the bleeding heart of the boy she had claimed as her own. She knew the agony of burying a child, and hearing that Hamza had carried that exact same phantom tore her soul apart.

​Realizing she isn't pushing him away, Hamza broke completely. He buried his face deeper into her shoulder, his fingers bunching into her dupatta as his tears soaked the fabric, his voice cracking into a weeping plea.

​"Dekhiye na, Bhabhi... pagal ho gaye hain yeh," Hamza sobbed out, his entire body convulsing with grief as he clung to her like a child. "Kese keh rahe hain ke hum is bache ko nahi rakhenge? Yeh... yeh humara jaan lene ki baat kar rahe hain, Bhabhi. Main nahi maar sakta apne bache ko... main mar jaunga par is jaan ko kuch nahi hone doonga."

​Ulfat held him tighter, her own tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she stroked his back, "Nahi marne doongi, Hamza. Main yahan hoon na? Us pagal ko main sambhalungi. Tum bas apni jaan ko sambhalo..."

Ulfat gently placed her hands on Hamza wet cheeks, as she forced him to look at her. She reached up with the corner of her dupatta, wiping away the fresh tears spilling from his long lashes.

​"Nahi, Hamza. Bilkul nahi," Ulfat said, her voice soft authority of an elder sister. "Doctor ne kya kaha, suna nahi tumne? Jism mein bilkul jaan nahi hai tumhaara. Ishmir do kamre chhod kar bilkul thik so raha hai, Faizal baahar khada hai uske dhyan ke liye. Tum is haalat mein bed se ek qadam bhi neeche nahi rakhoge."

​Hamza pouted weakly, his lips trembling as he looked down at his stomach, his fingers still tracing the cotton of his kurta over his abdomen. The IV drip is cold against the back of his hand.

​"Lekin Bhabhi... woh darr gaya hoga," Hamza whispered, "Jab use hosh aayega, agar usne mujhe paas nahi dekha..."

​"Jab use hosh aayega, main khud use tumhaare paas lekar aaoongi, yeh mera waada hai," Ulfat cut him off gently, kissing his forehead. She carefully helped him lean back against the stacked pillows, pulling the white hospital blanket up to his chest to keep him warm. "Abhi tumhaara aaram karna sab se zyada zaroori hai. Tumhaare andar ek aur nanni si jaan hai, Hamza. Uske baare mein socho."

​Hamza let out a sigh, his body finally yielding to the exhaustion. He relaxed into the pillows, his hair splaying out around him once more.

​Just then, the door of the private room cracked open by a mere couple of inches.

​Uzair is standing in the gap. He didn't dare step inside fully after Ulfat scolding, but his gaze was locked onto Hamza face, checking if his shohor is breathing, if he is safe.

​Hamza saw him through the crack of the door. He didn't look away this time, but his jaw set into a firm, stubborn line, his hand moving under the blanket to rest securely over his stromach.

Outside in the bleak, sterile corridor of the private wing, the door clicked shut, severing the connection entirely. Uzair stood frozen against the cold, whitewashed wall of the hospital hallway. The relentless, artificial hum of the corridor’s air conditioning system sounded like a distant drone in his ears, completely drowned out by the beat of his own heart.

​Slowly, —the very same frame that could make the most ruthless faction leaders of Karachi drop their weapons in terror—collapsed backward into one of the low plastic chairs lining the wall.

​Uzair bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and buried his face entirely into his hands. ​He couldn't breathe. The air in his lungs felt like molten lead.

​A single sob tore from the depths of his chest, a sound so raw and broken that the armed sector guards standing at the far end of the corridor instinctively looked away, lowering their heads in respectful silence. They had never seen the badsha like this. They had never seen the tyrant of Lyari completely brought to his knees, shattered by a reality he could neither shoot, threaten, nor bribe away.

​“Main tumhe kho nahi sakta, jaan... Main nahi jee sakta tumhaare bina.”

​The words he had shouted in a blind panic inside the room echoed back to him in the silence of his mind. Every single word felt like a bleeding gash. He wasn't thinking about the empire outside the hospital walls. He wasn't thinking about the rival factions he had ordered Faizal to dismantle, or the blood that would inevitably flow in the streets of Lyari by nightfall to avenge the attack on Ishmir. None of it mattered. The entire world, his entire universe, was contained within the four walls of the private ward he had just been kicked out of.

​He could not lose Hamza. He could not.

​The mere thought of a flatlining monitor—the mere thought of entering the bedroom of the haveli and finding the space beside him permanently cold and empty—sent a wave of terror through his veins that no weapon ever could. For eight long years, during their brutal exile, Uzair had survived on a singular, driving hope: the ironclad belief that one day, he would bring his husband home, tuck him safely within the fortified walls of Lyari, and give him the peaceful, beautiful life they had been robbed of. They had finally reclaimed that sanctuary. They had spent a whole month sharing slow, lazy mornings, feeding their son lassi, and tasting the quiet warmth of a normal life.

​And now, a month into their peace, the universe was demanding a price he was entirely unwilling to pay.

​High-risk. The senior doctor's words are a death sentence ringing in his ears. Agle kuch mahine unke liye zindagi aur maut ka khel hain.

​Uzair chest heaved as he kept his face buried in his hands, his tears slipping through his fingers, dropping silently onto the cold tiles beneath his boots. Hamza body had barely begun to heal. It had barely begun to adjust to the absence of the adrenaline and the ghosts of the isolation cells. How could that same fragile, beautiful body survive the immense, crushing physical toll of a high-risk pregnancy?

​Uzair mind fractured further as he remembered the terror in Hamza eyes when he had suggested they couldn't keep the child. He had seen the madness that took over his husband—the ghost of the twins he had buried in Delhi rising up like a protective wall around him.

Hamza had looked at him not as a husband, but as a threat. He had shielded his stomach with his bare hands, ready to die before letting anyone touch the new heartbeat inside him.

​"Ya Allah... main kya karoon?" Uzair growled softly into his palms, "Mera ghar mat tod... Main bheek mangta hoon... use mat le kar jana."

​He is caught in a living nightmare, torn between two executioner blades. If he forced Hamza to terminate the pregnancy to save his life, he would permanently destroy Hamza soul. The man he loved would become a hollow, unliving shell, consumed by the guilt of losing another child. But if he let Hamza carry this high-risk miracle to term, he risked watching his husband bleed out on an operating table, leaving him and Ishmir stranded in a world that would instantly turn back into a frozen, black void.

​Inside the room, Hamza lay completely still under the blanket, his eyes staring blankly at the door where his husband had vanished, his hand still clamped tightly, defensively, over his stomach as Ulfat Bhabhi stroked his hair in silence. The rift between the two husbands had been cracked wide open, and outside, the king of the city is weeping into his hands, entirely powerless against the love that refused to let him go.

The silence of the private wing lasted for what felt like an eternity.

​Inside the pediatric room down the hall, the rhythmic beep of a smaller monitor suddenly shifted.

​On the hospital bed, wrapped in a pale green blanket that made his tiny form look even smaller, little Ishmir eyelids fluttered. The white gauze wrapped securely around his forehead felt heavy and tight, and the dull, throbbing ache of the concussion made his tiny brow furrow in deep confusion. He blinked against the unfamiliar shadows of the clinic room. There are no familiar wardrobes here. No scent of the haveli's kitchen. No warm, comforting presence of his family right beside him.

​The initial confusion vanished in a split second, replaced by the memory of the cold-storage warehouse—the loud crashes, the rough hands tearing him away, and the sight of his Baba

​Ishmir chest heaved, his little lips trembling violently. He sat up abruptly, his tiny fists bunching into the scratchy hospital sheets as his big, dark eyes filled with instant tears. He looked around the empty, sterile room, and a wail tore from his throat.

​"BABA! BABA!"

​The toddler cried out, his voice cracking with terror as he kicked against the blanket screaming for the only anchor he knew in a world that had suddenly turned violent. "Baba... mujhe Baba ke paas jana hai! Abbu! Baba!"

​The piercing shriek of the boy echoed right through the thin walls of the private wing,

​Outside in the corridor, Uzair head snapped up instantly from his palms. He threw himself out of the plastic chair, his boots thudding against the tiles as he lunged toward Ishmir room.

​At the exact same moment, the door to Hamza room flew open.

​Hamza stepped out into the hallway, completely ignoring the pull of the IV line that he had brutally ripped from the back of his left hand. A thin trickle of dark blood is already seeping from the puncture wound on his wrist, dripping onto the pristine white tiles, but he didn't care.

​"Hamza! Tum baahar kyun aaye?!" Uzair roared, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw his husband standing weakly in the doorway, trembling from head to toe, his hand still clamped protectively over his stomach.

​"Mera bacha..." Hamza gasped, as another sharp wave of dizziness threatened to black out his vision. He didn't even look at Uzair, as he followed the sound of Ishmir sobbing. "Mera bacha ro raha hai, Uzair... Mujhe jaane dijiye!"

​"Hamza, rukho, tumhaara haalat nahi hai!" Ulfat Bhabhi screamed, rushing out of the room behind him, but Hamza is already moving. He stumbled forward, his knees buckling slightly under his own weight as he pushed past Uzair

​Hamza threw open the door to Ishmir room, his chest heaving.

​The moment Ishmir saw the his Baba standing in the doorway, his crying reached a fever pitch. He reached out his chubby, trembling arms, his little legs scrambling across the mattress to get to the edge. "BABA! BABA!"

​"Meri jaan! Mera bacha!" Hamza let out a shattered sob, collapsing onto his knees right beside the pediatric bed. He reached out and gathered Ishmir into his arms, pulling the little boy warm body flush against his chest. He buried his face into the boy neck, his fingers tangling in Ishmir messy dark hair, rocking him back and forth as if he could physically shield him from the rest of the world.

​Ishmir buried his face into Hamza shoulder, his tiny fists gripping the fabric of the kurta his loud, breathless sobs slowly turning into hitching gasps now that he is safely anchored against his Baba heart. "Baba... darr lag raha tha... chhor kar mat jana..."

​"Nahi jaunga, jaan. Baba yahin hain... Baba aapko chhor kar kahin nahi jayenge," Hamza wept openly, his tears soaking into the gauze around his son head.

​In the doorway, Uzair stood frozen in the entrance. He watched the two of them—his family holding onto each other in the dim light of the hospital room. His eyes drifted from Ishmir bandaged head down to Hamza bleeding wrist, and finally to the hand Hamza had unconsciously locked around Ishmir waist, subconsciously protecting his own abdomen even while holding his baby.

​The madness in Uzair chest didn't lessen, but looking at them, the reality of his choices weighed heavier than ever. He couldn't destroy this. He couldn't tear this bond apart, but the fear of losing Hamza to the high-risk miracle inside him is a ghost that refused to leave his shoulder.

Hamza fingers are trembling as he gently pulled back just enough to look at Ishmir face. His own bleeding wrist, where the IV had been ripped out, smeared a tiny, faint streak of red onto the sleeve of Ishmir hospital gown, but Hamza didn't even care. His mind is entirely locked onto his boy.

​"Mera pyaara bacha, dekhein Baba ko. Mujhe dekhein, jaan," Hamza murmured, his voice breathless stream of soothing whispers as he carefully touched the edges of the white gauze wrapped around the toddler head. His fingertips moved with the light, practiced precision of a medic, checking the alignment of the bandage, ensuring there was no fresh seepage through the dressing. "Kuch nahi hua, bilkul theek hai mera shair bacha. Aap toh itne bahadur hain na? Baba ke paas hain aap. Bilkul mahfooz hain."

​He pressed a kiss right against the side of the gauze, then another onto Ishmir tear-stained chubby cheek, and another onto his tiny nose. He couldn't stop. The non-stop stream of words was as much for himself as it was for the boy—a desperate verbal shield to drown out the lingering echoes of the warehouse, the screams, and the warnings about his own body.

​"Hum abhi ghar chalenge, haan? Aapke liye mithi lassi banayenge, aur aapko woh lambi waali kahani sunayenge jo aapko pasand hai. Ulfat Bhabhi aapke liye mazeed parathe banayengi. Koi aapko nahi chhoone dega, Baba yahin hain. Baba aapke paas hain..."

​Ishmir hitching gasps slowly began to rhythmically match the rise and fall of Hamza chest. Hearing the constant, familiar cadence of his Baba voice, the toddler finally let his head drop back onto Hamza shoulder. His tiny fingers remained tightly bunched into the Hamza kurta, a subconscious grip that refused to let go.

​Uzair watched from the doorway, He wanted to step in. He wanted to wrap his arms around both of them and absorb every ounce of their pain, but the silence Hamza had thrown at him earlier hung in the air like a wall of solid ice.

​Hamza didn't look up at Uzair once. He kept his back to the door, stubbornly keeping his entire focus on Ishmir, his hand occasionally dropping down to brush against his own lower abdomen under the blanket—a silent confirmation that he is guarding both of his children now, whether the badsha of Lyari agreed with it or not.

​Ulfat Bhabhi quietly stepped into the room past Uzair, her heart breaking at the sight. She knelt down beside Hamza, gently taking his bleeding left wrist into her hands to press a clean piece of medical cotton against the IV puncture.

​"Hamza, bacha shant ho gaya hai," Ulfat whispered looking at how Ishmir eyes are growing heavy again under the soothing spell of Hamza constant talk. "Tum bhi thoda saas lo. Baith jao bed par uske saath."

Hamza allowed Ulfat Bhabhi to guide him up onto the edge of the pediatric bed, He slid his legs onto the mattress, keeping Ishmir tucked firmly against his chest. The little boy was completely quiet now, his breathing turning slow and rhythmic as sleep reclaimed his exhausted, healing body.

​With his right hand supporting Ishmir back, Hamza left hand naturally drifted downward, his palm resting protectively over his own flat, aching abdomen. The thin piece of medical cotton Ulfat had pressed against his wrist is stained with a small circle of blood, a reminder of the violence with which he had ripped himself away from the clinical monitors just moments prior.

​The non-stop stream of soothing whispers finally tapered off into a silence. Hamza leaned his head back against the cold metal railing of the bed, his hair falling around his face like a protective shroud. staring fixedly at the opposite wall to avoid the towering figure standing in the doorway.

​Uzair stepped into the room.

​His boots made no sound against the floor, He stopped right at the foot of the bed, his eyes taking in the sight—his son wrapped in gauze, his husband looking like a ghost, and the silent, defensive barrier Hamza had erected between them.

​"Bhabhi," Uzair rumbled, "Zara baahar... Faizal ke paas jaiye. Use kahein gari tayyar rakhe."

​Ulfat Bhabhi looked up, her hand pausing on Hamza shoulder. She looked at Uzair pleading face, then at Hamza stubborn, averted gaze. She let out a soft, heavy sigh, realizing that the survival of this household is teetering on a razor edge that she could no longer manage from the inside. ​"Ghar chalte hain, Uzair," Ulfat said softly as she passed him, "Jo bhi baat karni hai... sukoon se karna. Yeh waqt larnay ka nahi hai."

​The door clicked shut behind her, leaving the two husbands entirely alone with their sleeping child.

​Uzair didn't move from the foot of the bed. He stood there, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his chest rising and falling in painful breaths. ​"Hamza..." Uzair whispered, the name leaving his lips like a broken prayer.

​Hamza didn't move. He didn't turn his head. His fingers simply tightened around the fabric of Ishmir hospital gown, The silent warfare between the deep-cover asset and the ruthless king had officially begun, and neither was prepared to back down from the miracle—or the tragedy—growing silently inside the room.

The silence followed them out of the hospital like a physical entity.

​Outside, the scorching Karachi heat had broken into a twilight. Faizal stood by the open door of the reinforced SUV, his head lowered, his face grim. He didn't dare breathe a word as Uzair stepped out into the courtyard, holding the sleeping, bandaged form of Ishmir gently wrapped in a green hospital blanket.

​Right behind them walked Hamza. He looked like a ghost drifting through the shadows— his left hand still pressed over his lower abdomen. Ulfat Bhabhi walked right by his side, her arm securely hooked through his elbow to ensure he didn't stumble as another faint, lingering wave of dizziness rattled his frame.

​Uzair carefully laid Ishmir down across the wide back seat, tucking the blanket around his tiny shoulders. Hamza climbed in right after, sliding into the far corner of the seat and pulling Ishmir head gently onto his lap.

​Uzair paused at the open door. His eyes searched Hamza face, begging for a single glance, a slight softening of that face. But Hamza kept his eyes fixed strictly downward on his son sleeping face.

​With a exhale, Uzair slammed the door shut and climbed into the front passenger seat next to Faizal.

As the engine roared to life and the vehicle began its descent into the labyrinth of Lyari, the silence inside the cabin became suffocating.

​Faizal drove with his eyes locked straight on the road, acutely aware of the ticking time bomb sitting right behind him.

​Through the rearview mirror, Uzair gaze is fixed entirely on Hamza. He watched the subtle, protective way Hamza left arm remained curved around his own waist under the blanket,

Uzair heart twisted into a knot. He is drowning in his own fear, his mind still screaming with the doctor’s warnings about high risks, bleeding, and internal collapse. He wanted to scream, he wanted to pull the car over and beg Hamza to understand that he couldn't survive a world where Hamza is dead.

​But Hamza remained completely turned away, his shoulder pressed against the window, staring out at the passing neon lights of the Lyari markets. His mind is miles away, locked in the cold ICU rooms of Delhi, counting the ghosts of the twins he had already lost. He wasn't just fighting Uzair; he is fighting the universe for the right to let this new heartbeat live.

​Not a single word was exchanged as the vehicle passed through the guarded sector gates, moving closer and closer toward the isolated stone walls of the haveli.

The gates of the haveli screeched open, The courtyard wasn't just guarded; it was occupied. Armed men stood in tactical pairs at every entry vector, under every stone archway, and along the perimeter walls. Uzair had doubled the security detail, turning the ancient stone haveli into an impenetrable fortress. But inside the SUV, none of that tactical armor mattered.

​The moment the vehicle stopped, Hamza didn't wait for anyone to open his door. Pushing through the residual numbness in his legs, he scooped Ishmir up against his chest, his arms locking around the boy like a vice.

​Uzair stepped out of the front seat, his frame instantly moving to block the wind, reaching out instinctively to take the heavy weight of the sleeping toddler from Hamza arms. "Hamza, mujhe do—"

​Hamza didn't even let him finish the sentence. He violently twisted his shoulder away, shielding Ishmir with his own body, his eyes flashing with a warning that made uzair step back. Without a single word, Hamza carried their son through the courtyard, up the stairs, and straight into the bedroom, leaving Uzair standing alone in the dust.

​Inside the bedroom, the door clicked shut, but Hamza didn't lock it. He couldn't. His hands are shaking too violently.

​He sat down on the edge of the bed, but he didn't lay Ishmir down. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Every time his mind pictured the boy's head striking that cold concrete pallet in the warehouse, a jolt of pure electric terror shot through his spine. He is terrified that if he let go of Ishmir for even a single second, the boy would slip away into the dark, just like his twins in Delhi.

​"Aap bilkul mahfooz hain, jaan... Baba yahin hain," Hamza whispered frantically, the toddler stirred weakly, his tiny fingers still bunched into Hamza kurta, comforted by the non-stop cadence of his Baba voice. "Hum apne ghar aa gaye hain. Koi nahi aayega yahan. Baba aapko kahin nahi jaane denge. Aap bas so jaiye..."

​Hamza rocked him restlessly, He is exhausted. His lower abdomen is tight, cramping faintly from the physical strain of the day, but his willpower is holding his body upright through stubbornness.

​The door creaked open slowly.

​Uzair walked in, He looked at Hamza sitting on the edge of the bed, holding their son with a grip that looked almost painful in its desperation. Uzair didn't come closer. He stayed near the door, his hands trembling at his sides, his heart breaking into a million bleeding pieces as he listened to his husband talk non-stop to a boy who is already fast asleep.

​"Hamza..." Uzair’s voice came out as a broken, rough whisper. "Use... use lita do, jaan. Tumhaara apna jaan nikal jayega aise."

"Aap hatiye yahan se," Hamza said.

​His voice wasn't a scream this time. It is a whisper that cut through the silence of the bedroom sharper than any blade. He didn't look up. He kept his eyes locked entirely on Ishmir face, his fingers rhythmically, frantically smoothing down Ishmir dark hair.

​Uzair felt the words hit him right in the chest, knocking the breath clean out of his lungs. He took a slow step forward, "Hamza... jaan, meri baat—"

​"Maine kaha hatiye yahan se, Uzair!" Hamza head snapped up, his hair flying back to reveal a face completely ruined by tears, cold sweat, and desperation. "Aapko samajh nahi aata mera baat? Chale jaiye baahar! Mujhe aapka koi baat nahi sunna!"

​He pulled Ishmir even closer against his chest, his arms locking around the toddler so tightly that the little boy stirred weakly in his sleep, letting out a soft, tiny whimper. The moment Ishmir moved, Hamza instantly softened his posture, rocking him restlessly, his voice dropping back into that whisper against Ishmir ear. "Kuch nahi, jaan... Baba yahin hain. So jaiye, mera bacha... Baba aapko chhor kar kahin nahi jayenge."

​Uzair stopped dead in his tracks, He looked down at Hamza bleeding left wrist—where the medical cotton is now soaked through with red—and then at the way Hamza elbow is clamped like an shield over his lower abdomen.

​Every single instinct in Uzair body screamed at him to drop to his knees, to wrap his arms around his husband and their child, and force Hamza to let him carry the weight. But seeing the terror and hostility in Hamza eyes, Uzair realized that his presence is only pushing his husband closer to a physical collapse. The doctor's warnings about internal bleeding and severe shock echoed like a death sentence in his mind.

​"Main... main baahar hoon," Uzair choked out, He backed away slowly toward the door, "Main yahin baahar khada hoon, Hamza. Agar... agar bache ko mera zaroorat ho, toh mujhe bula lena."

​He stepped out into the dimly lit corridor, and the door clicked shut between them, leaving Hamza alone in the quiet room, stubbornly holding onto his baby while guarding the fragile heartbeat hidden within his own.

​The night deepened over Lyari, burying the fortified haveli in a stillness. Outside the bedroom, the corridor is entirely silent, save for the muffled, distant sounds of the heavy-armed guards shifting under the stone arches of the courtyard.

​Hamza sat in the exact same position on the edge of the bed, his body frozen like a statue of pale marble.

​An hour had passed since he had driven Uzair out, but his arms hadn't loosened their frantic, bone-crushing grip around Ishmir for a single second. The toddler is dead to the world, his l breaths vibrating softly against Hamza collarbone. The gauze wrapped around Ishmir temple is a cruel, stark contrast against his dark, messy hair.

​Hamza eyes wide, glazed, and unblinking, staring fixedly at the door. Every time his body tried to relax, his mind violently dragged him back to the cold concrete floor of the warehouse—the sound of the dull thud, the crimson blood pooling on the gray stone.

​"Baba... Baba yahan hain..." Hamza muttered, his voice nothing more than a dry, broken rasp now. He had talked non-stop for hours, "Aap so jaiye, jaan... Koi nahi aayega. Baba aapko kisi ke haath mein nahi denge."

​His left hand, still raw and smeared with a trace of dried blood where he had ripped the IV line out, is pressed under the blanket, curved over his own lower abdomen.

​The cramp in his stomach had settled into a dull, thrumming ache. His body is entirely exhausted, his blood pressure dangerously low, but his instinct had completely overridden his physical limits. He is guarding two lives now. He is fighting for Ishmir safety, and he is fighting against the very husband he loved to protect the fragile, four-week-old heartbeat growing secretly inside his broken frame.

​Outside the door, Uzair hadn't moved an inch.

​The badsha of Lyari sat slumped against the opposite wall of the dimly lit corridor, his legs stretched out in front of him, his head leaning back against the cold stone. His kurta is wrinkled and ruined, the top buttons torn open as if he is constantly fighting for air. His hands lay limp in his lap,

​He could hear the faint, non-stop murmur of Hamza voice, Every cracked whisper from his husband felt like a physical lash against his soul.

​Uzair buried his face back into his hands, a sob convulsing his shoulders. He had never known fear like this. Not when he is running from military operations, not when bullets were spraying through the streets of his sector. But now, the threat wasn't an enemy faction he could dismantle with an automatic rifle. The threat is a clinical reality—a high-risk pregnancy that could tear his anchor away from him forever.

​“Main tumhe kho nahi sakta, jaan... Main nahi jee sakta tumhaare bina.”

​The words tore through his mind in a vicious loop. He is trapped. If he begged Hamza to listen to the doctors and prioritize his own survival, he would permanently shatter the sanity of the man who is already haunted by the graves of the twins in Delhi. But if he stood by and let Hamza carry this child, he risked watching the light leave those beautiful eyes forever on an operating table.

​The door to the corridor suddenly creaked open from the far end.

​Ulfat Bhabhi walked down the hallway, carrying a small silver tray with a glass of warm milk and a small bowl of water with a clean cloth. Her own face is pale, the bandage on her temple catching the dim corridor light. She stopped in front of Uzair, looking down at him

​"Uzair," she spoke softly, "Utho yahan se. Kab tak aise deewar se lag kar roge?"

​Uzair slowly lowered his hands, "Bhabhi... woh mujhe andar nahi aane de raha," he whispered, "Woh... woh samajh raha hai main uska dushman hoon. Main use bachanay ki baat kar raha hoon, Bhabhi... main use khona nahi chahta."

​Ulfat placed the tray down on a nearby side-table and knelt down beside him, "Woh baba hai, Uzair. Tumne usse uske bache ko chhinne ki baat ki hai... woh kaise tumhe paas aane dega? Tumhara darr apni jagah sacch hai, par uske andar jo pehle se zakhmi dil hai, tumne us par namak chhidak diya hai."

​She stood up, picking up the glass of milk and the tray. "Hosh se kaam lo. Usne subah se kuch nahi khaya, jism mein khoon nahi hai uske. Main andar ja rahi hoon. Tum yahin khade raho, aur jab tak main na kahoon, andar mat aana."

​Ulfat turned and gently knocked on the bedroom door, pushing it open slowly before Hamza could shout, leaving Uzair alone once more in the corridor.....

[immortalconfluxmuse]

Hiii,can you make a story of bottom hamza and top uzair with non spy and betrayal concept uk like request someone asked which you've also posted just like that with hamza being soft, submissive and gentle n all while uzair is more possessive and dominant.maybe a arrange marriage concept uk.pleaseeee🤧 I've been really wanting this type of story and maybe once where hamza is finally getting all the love💗 from his husband 🙏🏻🙏🏻😭😭

How many of you Interested in this idea I need to know and what idea you guys have that too but I am not promising anything 🫶🤌