It was during the house arrest at Calcutta, in 1941 or 1942, I forgot, which exact date, but yeah, where Bose was captured by the British, but he managed to get out and fled to N@zi Germany to ask help from H I T L E R on 1942, and tbh, now people would say, "OMG, Bose went to N@zi Germany to meet H¡tler himself!" Or "OMG, is he a N@zi, too?"
And the answer is no. No, he wasn't a N@zi. Bose never believed in his ideologies or anything, but when we say, "Enemy of the enemy is my friend," so, yeah, and both of them hated British.
The reason why the Indians hated the British is: One, because the British had ruled over India for nearly 190 years. Starting from 1757 to 1947, they looted so many things from us. Though I don't hate the British. It's the past, ik (maybe for the others, not all Indians lol). Also... "When are you giving back our Kohinoor, hmm? Give us back our Kohinoor. Do you hear us?? Where is our Kohinoor, huh? Huh, bisshhh??! Where is it?? WHERE IS IT??!" (/jkkk)
So, why did Bose go to H I T L E R? I know some of you already know, but there are some idiotic people who just don't know the WHOLE history about Bose and Hitler meeting together and just started to throw HATE to Indians cause they're what? Superior to us? To their race? So, let me tell you something, guys. I know, in his Mein Kampf, he wrote bad things about India and how the people were, but if he had never met Netaji, he wouldn't even know how the Indians were. He did mention that Bose was an intelligent man with a good strategic mind and had a big army who would literally jump from the cliff for Netaji. The army name was "Indian National Army." Or INA or Azad Hind Fauj.
There is a fun fact, and my most favorite topic of all was that Hitler has so many clones (you already know that). So, to test Netaji, he sent one of his clones, and guess what?
Netaji said, "I'm not interested in talking with clones until I meet the real Führer of Germany."
This made Hitler, of course, impressed. He even said he'll help India to get its independence.
I can't say if they were close, but I know they had made a great history together.
Some Indians don't know him, and that's why he was known as the Forgotten Hero of India. But as a true bhakt (devotee) for Netaji, I want to show everyone what he had done for India. Unlike Gandhi or Nehru ji, who literally would lick the British people's shoe to please them.
It's true that Hitler wanted to use Netaji's army, but Hitler promised and helped his army to get independence from the British Raj but failed.
He died in 1945, 18 August, off Taipei.
Also, there's a temple of Subhas Chandra Bose in Japan, Renko-ji. A Buddhist temple.
Now, before you all attack me. First, learn the whole damn history, then you speak. Don't just throw slurs or judge at the very first hand. First, know the history, then speak.
I know more, but you can ask me. Like I said, you are all free to ask me questions.
T.W: NSFW, Minors DNI, and also just Sushant being a cutie patootie.
Three months in, your arranged marriage to IB Deputy Director Sushant Bansal feels like a slow, burning waiting game.
He leaves early for work, brings you jalebi from your favorite shop on his way back, but never crosses that line. You know you want him, you can feel how he wants you too, he just won’t act on it yet.
You’ve caught him staring at your lips when you laugh, felt his hand linger on your waist when he helps you with your saree. Last week, he walked out of the bathroom in just a towel, water still dripping down his chest, and you almost forgot how to breathe.
Tonight, you slip into a deep maroon silk saree, and you see his jaw tighten when he turns to look at you.
He adjusts his crisp black suit coar, clearing his throat to hide how his voice almost catches. He holds out his arm for you, calloused fingers brushing yours lightly when you take it.
"Chaliye hume nikalna chahiye, nahi toh late ho jayenge, Y/N."
Tonight is the annual Mess Dinner, your first event together as a married couple.
_________________________________________________
The car pulls up outside the IB officers’ event venue, the lawn lit softly with fairy lights and neat rows of tables set across the grass. Officers in formal dress and their families move around the venue, quiet conversations and polite laughter filling the warm evening air.
Sushant steps out first, adjusting his coat before turning back to you. He reaches up to help you out, his hand staying at your lower back as you walk in, guiding you gently.
He leans slightly closer, his voice low and warm.
“Tum aaj bohot sundar lag rahi ho.”
You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, twisting the end of your pallu lightly between your fingers. Your voice comes out soft, a little shy.
“Shukriya. Aap bhi bohot acche lag rahe ho aaj, suit mein." He smiles a little, his fingers pressing just a little harder into your back.
Crystal glasses clink softly around the long polished table, the air rich with the smell of slow-cooked food.
Senior IB officers sit in easy conversation, quiet laughter rising between discussions of postings, politics, and old operations, while waiters move smoothly between the tables, refilling glasses and setting down fresh plates.
You’re in the middle of a polite conversation with a young IPS officer’s wife, smiling through talk of transfers and Delhi summers, when Sushant excuses himself to greet Sanyal across the room.
The seat beside you barely stays empty for a moment before a junior officer slides into it, offering you an easy smile.
The junior officer leans in a little too close, the sharp smell of whiskey lingering as he gives you a smug smile.
“Deputy Bansal is always so busy… you must get lonely, right?”
You stiffen slightly, leaning back in your chair, trying to create even a little distance between you without making a scene. Your smile turns tight, polite, the kind women learn to wear when they’re uncomfortable but expected to stay graceful.
“I manage just fine,” you reply evenly, your voice calm despite the irritation rising underneath.
Before you can lean away any further, a warm, firm hand lands on the young officer’s shoulder, hard enough to make him stiffen.
Sushant stands there beside you, his expression calm enough for anyone watching, but his eyes are dark, sharp, and carrying the kind of warning that needs no raising of his voice.
His hand stays on the officer’s shoulder for a second longer before he speaks, his tone low and controlled.
“Yeh meri biwi hai.”
A small pause. His jaw tightens.
“Apni hadd mein raho.”
Sushant steers you away from the table, his hand firm at your waist as he guides you toward the quieter area, The noise of the dinner fades behind you, replaced by the softer hum of the night.
The moment you’re alone, he turns to face you, his expression tight with barely controlled anger.
“Tum theek ho na?” his voice is low, rough with restraint. “Uss bewakoof ne kuch zyada toh nahi kaha?”
Your breath catches, his low growl and possessive touch send a sharp, hot thrill straight down your spine.
He senses the shift in your breathing, feels how you lean into his touch instead of pulling away. He still keeps his hand respectful on your waist, but his jaw tightens. His voice is lower now, thick with a hunger he’s been hiding for months.
"Ghar chalte hain. Yahaan rehkar main control nahi kar paa raha."
Sushant pulls Director Sanyal aside near the edge of the lawn, keeping his posture straight and his voice formal, though there’s a tension in it that only someone who knows him well would notice.
“Sir, kuch family ka kaam aa gaya hai. Hum thoda jaldi nikal rahe hain. Aage se maafi chahta hoon.”
Sanyal studies him for a moment, then glances past him toward you, standing near the car, your pallu gathered carefully in one hand. He notices the way Sushant’s attention keeps shifting back to you, like even for a second he refuses to let you out of sight.
A knowing smile touches his face.
“Chale jao,” he says calmly. “Koi baat nahi.”
Sushant gives a short nod, respectful as always.
“Thank you, sir.”
But the second the formality is over, he’s already walking back to you.
The car’s partition is rolled all the way up, and before he can lean in to ask you again if you’re okay, you surge forward to press your mouth to his.
He freezes for half a second, hands hovering awkwardly by your waist, then groans low and kisses you back hard.
"Yeh kya kar rahi ho, Y/N? Agar driver dekh lega?"
You pull back just enough to brush your thumb over his jaw and over his mustache, your lips still brushing his.
"Main tumhe chahti hoon Sushant. Itne din se bas dekh rahi hoon." He curses low under his breath, his hands finally fisting in your saree to pull you closer.
"Ghar bas 5 minute mein hai. Thoda wait karo na meri jaan." You could hear the hesitation in his voice as he said ‘meri jaan'.
Your cheeks heat up bright pink and you duck your head, hiding your smile against his shoulder. He notices immediately, a soft, smug chuckle rumbling in his chest, his thumb brushing over your heated cheek.
"Arre, kya hua? Ab blush kyun kar rahi ho? Main sach bol raha hoon na tum meri jaan ho."
By the time the car pulls into the bungalow driveway, you’re both breathless, your lipstick smudged on his shirt collar.
He pays the driver quickly, then hoists you into his arms before you can even step out, his voice rough and warm against your ear. "Chalo ab andar chalte hain. Ab koi nahi hai hume rokne waala."
You both practically ran inside, you were giggling the entire time
The second the front door shut behind you, both of you were still trying and failing to stay serious.
You were giggling breathlessly the entire way inside, half from rushing up the stairs in your saree, half from the way Sushant kept looking at you like he was barely holding himself together.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, laughing as you kicked your heels off near the door.
Once you were both in, He kicks the bedroom door shut behind him and walks over to you, his hands still holding your waist like you’re something precious. He pauses, breathing hard, searching your face for any hesitation.
"Tum sure ho na? Agar tum nahi chahti toh main abhi ruk jaoonga."
You reach up to slide his crisp suit coat off his broad shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a soft heap. Your fingers move to unbutton his starched shirt next, your hands trembling just a little. He sucks in a sharp breath, his hands coming to rest light on your hips.
"Itna jaldi?"
He catches your wrist before you can undo his belt, leaning in to press a slow, warm kiss to your shoulder first, his mustache brushing your soft skin. He’s been waiting for this as long as you have, his voice thick with hunger.
"Pehle apni saree utaro, meri sundar biwi."
He helps you undo the saree knot at your waist, letting the silk slide down to pool at your feet, his eyes dark with awe as he looks at you. He brushes a strand of hair back from your face, his touch still gentle even as his breathing speeds up.
"Tum kitni sundar ho...fuck...Main kitna lucky hoon ki tum meri ho."
He pulls you closer, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone, his hands roaming your waist soft but hungry. He pulls back to brush his thumb over your nipple, groaning when you shiver.
"Pyaar, Jo tum chaho woh karenge bas, tumhari marzi."
You push him back onto the bed, climbing into his lap and unbuckling his belt slow. He laces his fingers through yours, letting you take the lead, his dark eyes soft with trust and hunger. He presses a warm kiss to your jaw, breath hot against your skin.
"Lelo apna waqt, jaan. Main tumhara hoon, poora."
You pull his hard cock out of his trousers, stroking it slow, and he hisses, head falling back against the headboard. His hips jerk up into your touch, but he doesn’t push you, just squeezes your waist soft.
"Ahh-h....Bas aise hi, pyaar."
Your fingers pause just around his shaft, heart hammering hard enough you can hear it in your ears. He notices immediately, his thumb brushing soft over your hip, voice gentle and concerned.
"Tum theek ho? Agar rukna chahti ho toh batao, koi problem nahi."
You surge forward to kiss him, smiling against his mouth. ,"Kyun rukoon? Do you really think I want to stop now?"
He groans into your kiss, one hand tangling in your hair to hold you close, the other squeezing your waist. He nips your lower lip lightly when you pull back, eyes dark with lust and adoration.
"Sapne mein bhi nahi socha tha iss sab ke bareme."
Your hand stretches out to the side table, fingers brushing the unopened condom pack you’d stowed away the day after your wedding.
He watches you, breath held, and reaches over to help you rip the foil open, his knuckles brushing yours. "Challo, main kar leta hoon...."
He rolls the condom down his shaft slowly, his hands trembling just a little from how badly he wants you. He looks up at you, dark eyes soft, and holds your hips to guide you slow over him.
"Go slow, jaan, take your time. Main yahin hoon."
You sink down slow onto him, the stretch a soft, full ache that makes you both gasp. He holds your hips steady, letting you adjust, pressing warm kisses to your chest. When you start rolling your hips, he groans low against your skin.
"...meri jaan..aise hi, fuck tum bohot tight ho..."
He keeps the pace slow and deep, one hand tangled in your hair, the other wrapped around your waist to hold you close. He kisses you soft between thrusts, his breath hot against your mouth.
"Meri pyaari biwi… aaj se tum meri ho, sirf meri, aur main tumhara."
Your hips roll slow against his, every deep drag of his cock against your walls sending soft, warm pleasure spreading through your body. He holds you close, his thumb brushing over your cheek, and kisses you deep when your breath catches. "Main tumse bohot pyaar karta hoon. Hamesha tumhara hi rahunga."
The room is quiet, only soft sounds of breathing and the faint creak of the bed filling the air. He keeps his thrusts slow and deep, every movement deliberate, pressing his forehead to yours as he watches your face.
He stays perfectly slow, hips rolling gentle against yours, one thumb brushing tight soft circles on your clit as he holds you close. His lips press light open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, breath warm against your skin.
"Are you close, jaan? I can feel you clamping down. Come for me, okay?"
Your back arches as your orgasm crashes over you, soft cries falling from your lips. He follows you right after, pressing his face into your neck and groaning low, his hips stuttering against yours. He wraps his arms tight around you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.
"Bahut accha kiya meri jaan. Main tumse kitna pyaar karta hai na, tum nahi jaanti."
He pulls out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it, then pulls you back against his warm chest, wrapping the soft cotton duvet around both of you. He brushes your messy hair back from your face, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.
"Kal subah hum saath mein nasta banayenge, okay? Ab aaram karo meri jaan."
_______________________________________________
Woohoo, This was fun.
Also on a side note, I have noticed the lack of new fics for other Akshaye Khanna characters(Sanjaya Baru, Tarun Saluja, Dev Verma etc etc) if you have any long fic idea pls do send, rn ima finish another req from my inbox and yes ppl don't forget to comment 💋
I just published "Prologue " of my story "He Should've Killed Her {Book 1}". https://www.wattpad.com/1623850171?utm_source=android&utm_medium=com.tumblr&utm_content=share_published&wp_page=create_on_publish&wp_uname=KarunaGogoi
Read Prologue from the story He Should've Killed Her {Book 1} by KarunaGogoi (♥︎Jisoooooyaaa♥︎) with 3 reads. akshayek...
BOOM!!
Presenting! "He Should've Killed Her" first part!
I hope you like it! If anyone needs me to adjust a few things, let me know, Lovelees!
So, if anyone wants to be tagged, plss tell mee, Lovelees! @maroonphase @goodasaysboo @gulaabjamun08 @abyssalmirageworm
She asked me to tag her... So, yeah! Ur tagged, my Lovelee!
Scenario: As we know, Rehman (aka AK) isn’t much of a social media freak , but on the other hand, Ulfat (aka Saumya) is super active online. So she keeps finding random reels and shorts and sends them to him non-stop — de dana dan, one after another, without giving him a break.
Ulfat: (randomly scrolling) aww this is so cute *sends
Ohh yeasss, Rehman should try impressing me like this from next time *sends
This one-piece is sooo beautiful — Rehman would definitely love to wear it *sends
Greattt, he should learn these cooking skills (remembering the last time he made soup… that looked more like a cement bowl than soup) *sends
Blah blah blah *sends
Awleee this baby is soo cute, I think .....we need more *sends
(continues scrolling like it’s her full-time job) *sends sends sends
Meanwhile Rehman: (engrossed in his files, suddenly notifications start popping)
Omg Pinterest, how did you know that i was Akshaye Khanna paglu 😭😭😭
(Pinterest is spying on me lmaooo)
And let's be fr can you blame us girlies for not simping over him? I mean cmon bro he is hot as hell especially when he is being yk "nonchalant" asf bruhhh 🫠🫠🫠
If anyone wanna follow my instagram (cuz i need new desi and international frnds) mssge me to get my acc name privately in my Tumblr acc so that i can chat with you in insta or maybe share my dukh dard ki kahani 🥲🫶
HEYYYY big fan first of all, and uhm this req is gonna come either as a heart attack okay no its GONNA come as a heart attack. CAN I PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE get a yalina x rehman ff? (sob emojis)
Lol I'm ngl thoda to chauk gayi mai ye padh ke, but yk what, I'm doing this for sheer love of the game. Not a couple I find myself shipping cos Rehman x Ulfat is my OTP and well... the age difference, but I've shipped mortal x immortal before so who am I to judge. Still, it's been a bit of a challenge to exchange me bas wo username samjha do because I have so many questions (why would Rehman know what dosa is? Why would he have eaten it? And what kind of monster hates dosa?)
Had to age Rehman down a bit to make it work so the age difference is twenty years instead of thirty like in canon, but that's it.
Fic under the cut. 9.3k words cos I'm incapable of not yapping.
Five Times Rehman Returned Yalina Home (And the One Time He Didn't)
1. The first time Rehman had to return Yalina home, she was six years old.
She had just had a fight with her ammi. "Mujhe apne baal nahi kaatne!" She had yelled. "Mere baal hai, mai nahi kaatne dungi-"
Her mother had just grabbed her by the arm and shaken her. "Bas! Ekdum chup! Bohot ho gaya tera natak! Ab muh se ek aur lafz bhi nikla na-"
Her papa had walked in just then and she had felt a momentary spark of hope. Maybe he would save her. Instead, he just joined in on her mother's side without even asking what the matter was. "Yalina! Apni ammi se badtameezi karna band karo! Ye kya tamasha kar ke rakha hai?"
"I hate you!" She yelled at both of them. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! Mar jao dono!"
She had been confined to her room for that, forbidden from her toys and the TV. Her blood boiled from the injustice of it all. Fortunately, her room was on the ground floor and her balcony opened directly into the gardens. She dragged her chair to the balcony and climbed on top of it, using the extra height to climb over the railings. She hesitated for a moment. The distance between the her and the ground was only a couple of feet, but it felt huge to her young mind. But it was too late to turn back- she lacked the strength to pull herself back over- so she closed her eyes and jumped.
The impact sent her sprawling to the ground. Her palms hurt and her knees were scraped, but she stumbled to her feet. "I'm not going to cry. Big girls don't cry," she reminded herself, as she ducked behind the bushes to avoid the servants and ran out of the property gates.
Free, she thought, the moment she had crossed the gate. Free, free, free. No ammi, no papa. She had escaped their silly rules and constant yelling. She looked both ways, then crossed the road, and started running on the footpath. She wasn't sure where she was headed just yet, but as long as it wasn't here it would be fine. Maybe she could go to Afrah's house, her parents were very nice-
Her musings were interrupted as she saw a man come around the corner right into her path. She tried to stop, but her momentum carried her forward and and she crashed into him. She stumbled back, almost tripping, but his hand shot forward and grabbed her shoulder, steadying her. "Sambhal ke," he said in a low, rumbling voice.
She looked up at him. He was dressed in all dark colours, a dark grey kurta atop a black salwar and black boots. His dark hair was neatly combed back and his eyes were like black stones. He looked like the Devil himself come alive, and her heart hammered in fright. He studied her for a moment. "Tu Jamali ki beti hai na?"
She nodded slowly. He frowned and looked around. "Akeli ghoom rahi hai?"
She nodded again. "Ye mehfooz nahi hai," he said. "Mai tumhe ghar chhodta hu-"
"Nahi!" The word burst out of her.
"Nahi?"
"Mai ghar nahi jaungi," she said, anger overcoming fear. "Mujhe wo log pasand nahi. Bohot zaalim hai."
For a moment, he just stared at her. Then he burst out laughing. Her cheeks flushed with indignation. How dare he! She tried to twist out of his grip, but he held firm. He stopped laughing upon seeing her fury, and crouched down instead. "Maaf kijiye hame. Galti ho gayi. Lekin aapke ammi-abbu ne aisa kya kar diya, Jamali sahiba?"
Jamali sahiba. She liked that. It made her sound grown up. "Mujhe mere baal nahi kaatne. Wo sun nahi rahe, aur ammi ne mujhe maara bhi."
He frowned and looked at her curls. "Aapke baal to bohot achhe hain."
"Wahi to! Lekin ammi nahi maanti-"
"Shayad aapko naya cut bhi achha dikhe?" He asked. "Aur agar pasand nahi aaya, to ek-do mahine me wapis badh jayenge na?"
"Haan, lekin mere baal hain," she said sullenly. "Mujhe nahi kaatne."
"Aur iss wajah se aap ghar chhod dengi?"
"Mujhe nahi rehna unke saath-"
"Ammi-abbu ka rehne do," he interrupted. "Ghar pe aur bhi to aapko pasand hoga kuchh. Aapka kamra, aapke khilaune..."
She paused. She did like her room. It was her very own, and it had all her favourite things in it. And her toys: her favourite doll, the teddy bear on her bed, the cricket set she had made her father buy... Oh and she liked the food too- Amira khala made the best kheer in the world.
Sensing that he was winning her over, the man slowly got up and started leading her back home. "Agli baar saara samaan lekar bhagein," he said humorously. She didn't respond, just trudging back home. She was going to be scolded again for this, she knew. He rang the doorbell and was shown in by a servant. "Tumhare abba aane se pehle jaldi bhago," he whispered to her. She looked at him in awe. He wasn't going to rat her out? He was far better than all the people in her home put together. "Jao!" He hissed. She turned tail and ran, barely making it out of the room before her father entered.
"Arre Rehman, mere bachche, jaldi aa gaya tu?" She stopped to watch her father greet the man. Rehman, he had called him. Rehman grimaced as her father pulled him into a hug. She gave him a sympathetic glance, trying to convey her solidarity; her father was trying at the best of times. He saw it and gave her a small smile. Go, he indicated with a flick of his hand. She nodded and waved him goodbye before running back to her room, smiling as she closed the door behind her.
She learned more about Rehman over the next few months. She had heard the name thrown around, but she had never seen him and never been interested either. He was just another of her father’s associates. Now that she had met him, though, her ears pricked up every time he was mentioned by her father, mostly on phone calls.
“Aap fikr mat kijiye Zarwari saab, mai Rehman se baat kar lunga, election hamara hi hai-”
“Rehman aaj MMP waalo ka convoy aane wala hai, zara raaste me kuchh- samajh gaye? Shyana ho gaya hai mera bachcha-”
“Rehman ko utha ke le gaye? Kaun, naya SP? Fikr mat kar Uzair beta, tera Jameel mamu hai na? Abhi usko riha kar deta hoon, ye saala SP bhi… suspend kar dunga, fir kabhi himmat nahi karega aisi gustakhi ki-”
Her mother disliked political talk at the dinner table, but that didn’t stop her papa from saying whatever he wanted anyways. “Ye Rehman ne bhi yaar dimaag kharab karke rakha hai,” he said that evening. “Jabse biwi mar gayi tabse pagalon ki tarah bartaav kar raha hai. SP utha ke le gaya usko! Mujhe laga tha Babu aur Pappu ko khatam karke iska man shaant ho jayega lekin nahi! Lyari ka raja bana fir bhi utna hi bawla hai. Use kaha bhi maine, ki yaar wo to guzar gayi lekin tu abhi bhi jawan hai, kar le doosra nikaah! Mere pe hi chadh gaya. Khuda ka shukr hai ki kam se kam uske bhai me to thodi si akkal hai use roke rakhne ki, nahi to pata nahi, poora Karachi jala deta…”
Ammi cleared her throat pointedly, indicating Yalina’s presence at the dinner table. Papa huffed but fell silent.
2. The second time Yalina ran away from her parents was during a political function. It was a dinner party at their home- some important person's birthday or the other- and she was bored to death. She didn't know why her parents insisted she be present. There were no other children her age here. She was nine, and the next youngest person was some seventeen year old boy. Her feet ached from all the standing, her braids itched, and her dress was too tight around her arms.
She told her father she was going to go to the washroom, and then made her way to the exit. She told the man standing at the door he was being summoned by her father, and then slipped outside while he went to search for his master. This was so easy.
Or not.
Because Rehman was standing on the lawn outside, dressed in all dark colours just like before, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the stars. She didn't think she had made a sound, but somehow he seemed to have sensed her presence. He turned to look at her. A look of wry amusement filled his face.
"Jamali sahiba," he said. "Aap fir se bhaag gayi?"
"Aur aap fir mere raste me aa gaye?" She asked. "Aapko andar nahi jaana?"
His smile faded. "Nahi."
"Kyu?"
He closed his eyes, a brief flash of pain crossing his face. "Mai raste ka gunda hoon. Is cham-cham me mere liye koi jagah nahi."
"To fir kyu aaye?"
"Ek bhoot ki talash me. Socha aur kahi nahi to jaha pehle mile wahi dikh jaye. Nahi mila." He shook his head. "Khair, chhodo. Aap kyu bhaag rahi hain?"
She shrugged. "I'm bored. Lekin ye bhoot ke baare me batao-"
"Nahi!" For a moment, his eyes sparked with anger. She shrank back. She hadn't remembered how terrifying he looked the first time around, forgetting her fear once he helped her avoid her parents' scolding. But right now, in the darkness, dressed in black from head to toe with eyes like burning coals, suddenly she was afraid all over again. He really does look like the Devil.
Rehman seemed to realize he was scaring her. The fury faded from his eyes. "Maaf kijiye, Jamali sahiba. Lekin ye bhoot sirf mera hai."
She just nodded, unwilling to anger him again.
He sighed. "Bored ho, to ek mazak sikhau?"
"Kya?"
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rubber band. He hooked it under his little finger, then twisted it around the bottom of his palm all the way over to his index finger. He held his hand out like he was pretending to shoot a gun, and then let the little finger go. The rubber band shot out in the direction his index finger pointed, hitting a nearby wall.
Yalina clapped in delight. She could see so many uses for this. It was a wicked trick, great for annoying her parents. Oh, and it would impress all her friends. Rehman, she decided, was one of the few fun adults she had met. "Mujhe sikhao, mujhe sikhao!"
He spent the next few minutes teaching her. It wasn't as easy as it looked- her smaller hands didn't provide as much resistance to the band from snapping up, and her aim was atrocious- but after a couple dozen tries she could get it right evey time. "Shabash," Rehman said as he ruffled her hair. "Ab jao, dekho chupke se kitne neeras logon ko maar sakti ho."
She laughed. Oh, he was fun. She hugged him. "Thank you," she whispered. He chuckled, leading her to the door. "Shukriya to mujhe ada karna chahiye. Aap un logon ka kya karengi ye soch kar hi achha lag raha hai." He stopped at the door. "Chaliye. Fir kabhi milenge. Khuda hafiz."
"Khuda hafiz." She went back inside and searched for a spot that wasn't easily visible. This was going to be so much fun.
She saw Rehman every now and then. Sometimes he'd come to meet her abbu at home. Sometimes her family would go to his haveli, for Eid or other festivities. It was a nice, big house, but it lacked warmth in her opinion. Everything was too square, too rough. Like it was always ready for war. And would a little bit of colour kill him? She had thought it was just his clothes but no, his home was all dark too.
It was alright, though. He was still one of the few adults she liked. He didn't snap at her like her parents, and he would teach her cool tricks sometimes. He showed her how to make a stone skip through a lake, and how to make a paper helicopter that actually flew. Her favourite though, was this paper cracker that made a loud sound when you swung it down very fast. It almost sounded as loud as a real one, and she loved scaring her abbu with it. He'd always jump up in fright. She told Rehman that, and he burst out laughing.
He looked nice when he laughed. Bright. Happy. He should laugh more, but when she told him that, his smile faded.
3. The third time was not her fault.
She wasn't running away, exactly. She just ditched her chauffeur and snuck out of the school with her friends so she could have golgappas. It was all in good fun- she intended to return before she was missed.
She didn't expect to be kidnapped. She didn't even realize it until it was done, it all happened so fast. One moment she was taking money out of her purse to give to the vendor, and in the next a white van had pulled up beside, a pair of hands from the back grabbed her and pulled her in before the door slammed shut. There was a blow to her head, and everything faded into darkness.
When she woke up, she was in some kind of factory. It was dark, dusty, and the place stank of chemicals. She was on the floor, her hands tied to some kind of machine, and her head throbbed. She could feel the blood dripping down her face. There was only one light on, right above her, and a man was speaking. She tried to make out what he was saying through the pain.
"... dekh liya? Aapko aapki beti zinda chahiye to mujhe 2 karod rupaye chahiye. Aapke paas ek ghanta hai intezaam karne ke liye. Paise kaha pahunchane hai wo mai baad me bataunga." He cut the call.
He must have noticed that she had woken up, because he crouched down in front of her. Her vision was still blurry, but she could vaguely make out his thick beard and broken nose. His breath reeked, and she turned away in disgust, but he gripped her chin and forced her to face him. "Umeed kar le ki tere abbu ko tu unke paiso se pyaari hai. Warna..." She felt the cold steel of knife at her throat. "Warna mere ladko ko unka hisaab kisi aur tareeke se dena padega. Samajh lenge. Maal to lajawab hai hi." Disgust crawled up her spine at the implication. She tried to jerk away out of his grasp, but he held on tightly. Tears filled her eyes. He laughed and moved away.
Ammi-abbu to ghar pe hai bhi nahi, she thought despairingly. They were in Islamabad for a party meeting. How would they even arrange for the ransom to be paid where he wanted it to be?
She didn't know how long they waited. She could hear him talking to someone- one of the men he mentioned earlier probably- and see vague shadows thrown against the walls, but her sense of time was off. The pain in her head was only getting worse with each passing moment, and she faded in and out of consciousness.
She woke up with a start at a loud banging sound. Did one of the factory machines explode? But then there was another, and dozens more in rapid succession. Gunshots, she realized. They sounded so much louder here than they did in movies. It was like firecrackers being set off right next to her ears. She raised her head- the movement hurt but she needed to know what was happening- and tried to look around. The men who had kidnapped her were scrambling for cover, taking out their guns and shooting back at the attackers. Police, maybe? She wondered. There was a stack of crates in front of her obscuring her view.
The factory doors burst open, and dozens of men poured in. Tall, burly, armed to the teeth, firing at her captors. Not the police, she realized. Not even close. A familiar voice shouted out. "Bhenchod dekh ke bandook chala, bachchi yahi kahi hai-"
Idhar, she tried to cry out. But the words refused to form. There were a couple more minutes of firing, and then silence. She heard a pair of footsteps, then felt a hand on her shoulder. "Ya Allah... Bhai! Idhar! Bachchi yahan hai!"
Another pair of footsteps rushed over, and Rehman dropped down in front of her. Tears rolled down her cheeks in relief at the sight of his familiar face. He cut through the ropes tying her with his knife, rubbing soothingly around the lacerations left behind. She felt his fingers at her chin- warm and gentle, unlike the sickening touch of the kidnapper- tilting her face up so he could take a proper look. "Yalina?"
Yalina. How odd to hear him say that name. He never called her Yalina. She was always Jamali sahiba. A hysterical giggle escaped her. His expression grew dark with worry, and he turned to the man who had found her. "Jaldi ja, Donga ko bol gaadi darwaze tak laane. Aspatal jaana padega. Jab, abhi!" The man scrambled to his feet and ran.
Rehman turned back to her. He drew a handkerchief out of his pocket and pressed it against the wound on her head. She hissed at the pain from the contact and flinched, but he held on firmly. "Rehman... dard ho raha hai."
"Jaanta hoon. Bas thodi der."
"Wo- wo log mujhe-" A sudden sob broke out of her. She hated it. She didn't want to burst out crying like a child, but it was uncontrollable once it had started. "Rehman-"
She buried her face in his shoulder, trying to hide her tears. He smelt of tobacco and smoke and leather, she noticed. He patted her back soothingly. "Shh... shh, ab sab theek hai, ham hai na? Kuchh nahi hoga tumhe."
The man from before returned. "Bhai, gaadi aa gayi."
Rehman handed her the handkerchief. "Ise ghaav par pakde rakho," he ordered and picked her up. The world tilted for a moment and she nearly fell, but he steadied her and moved towards the exit. It was sort of cold outside, and dark- night had fallen. She must have been there for hours. Someone opened the door of the waiting car and he gently placed her inside before getting in through the other door. "Donga. Hospital. Jaldi."
"Ji, bhai." The big man sitting in the driver's seat started the car and they shot off.
She must have lost consciousness during the journey, because the next time she woke up, she was in a hospital bed. The beeping of the machines penetrated through the fog in her mind, but when she tried to open her eyes the brightness of the white lights sent pain shooting through her head. She turned to the side to avoid the lights. Two men were standing by the door. One of them must be a doctor, judging by his white coat- at least she thought it was a white coat. The other was Rehman, she could tell by his voice.
"... just a tiny skull fracture. Thodi der aur observation ke liye rakhenge, fir use aap ghar le ja sakte hain."
The next few hours passed in a blur. The doctor gave her painkillers, checked her bandages and reflexes and discharged her with strict instructions to take it easy for a few days and rest as much as she could. She was glad when it was over- she didn't like being touched and prodded by people. Rehman led her to his car to be driven home, a small convoy following them.
She watched the city lights as they travelled. She didn't want to say it, but she dreaded the moment she would reach home. The incident had left her shaken, and her parents wouldn't have made it back yet. Not that their presence would improve things- in fact, she was quite sure they would actively make it all worse- but at least she wouldn't be alone in the house. There were servants, yes, but her father always kept them at an arm's length and so she never felt close to them, despite some of them having worked there since before she was born.
But time listened to no one, and eventually they pulled into the driveway of her house. She stepped out and was immediately flanked by a pair of maids. "Inhe unke kamre me lekar jao," instructed Rehman. "Doctor ne aaram karne kaha hai. Subah tak Jameel saab laut aayenge."
They nodded and started helping her up the steps. Her parents had discovered her ability to escape the punishment of being confined to her room by exiting through the balcony a year ago, and had moved her to the first floor so she couldn't so that anymore. She shrugged off their arms. "Mai chal sakti hu apne dam pe." They accepted it but followed closely, ready to catch her if needed. The moment she was in her room, she closed her door and flopped down onto the bed.
She kept the lights on; the darkness reminded her too much of the warehouse. Sleep eluded her. Any time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the inside of the van before she was struck. If she managed to nod off, she dreamt of them making their way into her house, of snatching her away again, of what could have happened...
After she woke up for the sixth time, she finally gave up and got out of bed. She couldn't sleep now, knowing she was alone. She would just have to try in the morning when her parents returned. There were still a couple of hours to dawn; maybe she should clear her head with some fresh air. She didn't want to go downstairs again, so she stepped out to the balcony. It was dark out- too dark- and that made her uneasy. Don't be silly, she scolded herself. You're too old to be afraid of the dark.
What if they come back? The servants can't do shit about them-
She forced herself to look at the garden and gave a start of surprise. There were men, over a dozen, loafing around among her mother's pristine flowers. For a moment, she panicked. Oh God, they're back. But then one of them seemed familiar, so she took a closer look. Rehman's men, she realized. She examined them closely, and found Rehman too, standing near a rose bush and lighting a cigarette. The man must have some supernatural instincts, because he looked up immediately. Seeing her standing there, he walked closer. He raised his hand in a questioning gesture. Why are you awake?
She shook her head. Can't sleep.
He tapped his chest and pointed at the men around, then indicated his eyes and the grounds. We're watching. Go, he indicated with a nod of his head. He slipped his gun out of its holster and held it up. Some of the heaviness in her chest lifted. She pointed at herself and made the gesture of shooting a gun, grinning. Mujhe bhi chahiye bandook. He rolled his eyes and turned away but didn't leave, standing there at attention with his gun. She waited for a while, but he stayed there.
She returned inside to her bed, much more at ease now. This time, there were no kidnappers invading her home.
4. The fourth time was completely justified, in her opinion.
She was seventeen, and her father had just won the local elections. This was not in the least bit newsworthy- he had been winning for years- and she was rather bored. The highlight of the afternoon was seeing Rehman come along and steal her father's thunder. There had been a huge roar as his convoy entered, and his walk onto the stage was accompanies by deafening cheers. And when he raised his hand in greeting... she was sure her eardrums would have burst if she wasn't wearing her earphones. She had to admit she could see the appeal. Standing there in his dark shirt and waistcoat, hair combed back and sharp profile facing the crowd, he looked regal, like a dark king. All he needed was a crown and she could see him as such.
Besides, didn't he rule Lyari anyways? Her father might be the one sitting in the political chambers, but Rehman had absolute power over the people- what he said was law. It was almost pathetic, how her father needed to hold Rehman's hand up to get the cheers for him as well.
But even that had lost its charm after a while. These political speeches went on for so fucking long. She had gone back to her music, leaning against the couch and watching Rehman command the crowd. But she couldn't even do that in peace. Her mother kept haranguing her. "Abbu election jeet gaye, aur tu aise muh sadaye baithi hai-"
She snorted. "To kya karu mai, nachu?" No one could even see her from where she was sitting except for the people on stage and some of Rehman's men. Her mother started berating her for her rudeness, but thankfully her father beckoned them both over for a photo. She ignored her mother hissing reprimands at her and scowled as she made her way to the front. Ammi took her place next to abbu, but Yalina was annoyed. She rebelliously stood next to Rehman instead of the expected position next to her mother. Rehman shot her a look of amusement, but stayed silent. Her parents glared but there was nothing they could do in the eyes of the public. She would pay for this, she knew, but she didn't care.
When it was all over, they headed to the cars that would take them home. Abbu was furious. He raged at her for disobeying her mother, for not standing where she was expected to during the photos, for embarrassing him in front of thousands. He blamed her phone for it all, snatching it out of her hands and tossing it onto the ground. She poked her head out of the window, stricken at the thought of losing her only connection to the outside world on most days, watching as the little device bounced on the dusty road. It was probably all cracked and broken now, she thought mournfully.
She looked up to meet Rehman's eyes. He was standing a distance away listening to some short spectacled man talking at his side, but his eyes were fixed on her. He had clearly seen what happened. A sudden surge of boldness filled her. She had already pissed her parents off. What was the worst that could happen? She opened the door of the car and got out.
"Kya kar rahi ho? Yalina! Bohot nakhre kar liye tune, ruk, aaj dekhna-"
She didn't wait to hear the rest. She stormed off towards Rehman's convoy, to the car that she had seen him entering in. Rehman hastily ended his conversation and made his way to her in long strides, only stopping for a moment to pick up her fallen phone.
"Mujhe ghar chhod denge?" She asked.
Rehman nodded wordlessly, opening the door for her and handing her the phone. Her father had just reached them by then, huffing and puffing. "Yalina! Ye kya tamasha kar rakha hai-"
"Jameel saab." Rehman grabbed his shoulder, freezing the older man in place. "Sabke dimaag garam hai, rehne dijiye. Aap shaanti se jaiye, mai inko ghar pohoncha dunga. Tab tak sabka gussa thanda hoga."
No, it will only get worse, Yalina knew. But she wasn't about to correct Rehman when he was taking her side.
Her father fumed, and for a moment she wondered whether he would actually dare to cross Rehman's word. But then he retreated, giving that fake laugh no one fell for. "Theek hai, jaise tumhe barabar lage. Zyada hi shyana ho gaya hai mera bachcha, aye?"
Rehman said nothing, just getting into the seat next to her and ordering Uzair to start driving. For a few minutes, they just sat in silence, before he finally turned to her, looking tired. "Kya mila ye sab karke?"
"To kya bas chupchap sir neecha karke unki har baat sunu? Jaante bhi ho unhone mera jeena kitna haraam karke rakha hai? Ghutan ho chuki hai mujhe! Do minat chain se saans le saku isliye medical exam ki taiyaari kar rahi hoon. Socho, chain paane ke liye medical ki taiyaari! Mai pagal ho jaungi!"
Rehman chuckled. "'Ho jaungi'? Matlab abhi-"
"Aage ke shabd soch ke bolo." She raised her finger threateningly. "Pehle se hi mera mood kharab hai."
Rehman raised his hands in surrender, still smiling. "Achha achha, maaf kar dijiye hame, Jamali sahiba. Galti ho gayi. Kuchh nahi bolunga." But then he frowned. "Lekin medical kyu? Class to arts vagerah ki bhi hoti hai na?"
Yalina scoffed. "Arts bola to mere abbu class me jaane denge? Pehle se hi medical ke class ke liye unke itne nakhre hain... aur waise medical utna bhi bura nahi hai."
Uzair laughed from the front seat. "'Utna bhi bura nahi hai'? Mere se zyaada Bhai ko khushi hui thi mere boards ke baad meri kitaabein jalane me. Aap galat logon ke saamne bol rahi hain. Hamare ghar me aapki iss baat se koi sehmat nahi hoga."
"Mujhe sach me pasand hai." She defended herself. "Aur thodi azaadi ke liye itni bhi badi keemat nahi hai."
"Uzair, pareshaan mat kar." Rehman turned to her. "Aapko banna hai na doctor? Baniye. Hamare qaum ko zarurat hai aise padhe-likhe logon ki, aur achhe doctor to lagte hi hain."
"Meri college me entry bhi nahi hui, aur aapne mujhe achha doctor ghoshit kar diya?"
"Mujhe poora bharosa hai." There was an odd sincerity in his voice, forceful but not loud. He meant every word of it, and for the first time, Yalina found herself falling silent in his presence. There was something about someone having this- this complete, absolute faith in her- that made the world suddenly come sharply into focus. She had been taking it all lightly until now, using the excuse of medical coaching to escape her home, but it suddenly felt heavier, more important. Like there was an aim, a purpose to her life beyond just having the most fun she could until she was inevitably married off to some burger bachcha for political gain. Like she could be something more.
Could she? Instead of just being another lonely housewife in a loveless marriage like her mother, could she do something else, carve her own path, defy her parents? Could she avoid the bitterness she thought would inevitably creep into her nature the way it did into her mother's, and instead be free and happy? Would he help her to do so, if she asked?
Probably. He did step in between her and her father, after all. As long as she took the first step herself.
She kept turning the thoughts over and over in her head until they reached the gates of her home. Rehman stepped out first and held the door open for her. "Mai zara Jameel saab se bolkar aata hoon." He gave her a small wink. "Dekhta hoon mahaul kaisa hai, lekin mere hisaab se mai zyaada kuchh nahi kar sakta abhi aapke liye."
He headed inside first, while Yalina lingered out of the gates for a moment. She knew what storm awaited her inside, and she would take every second of peace before it that she could get. Uzair leaned against the car and crossed his arms as he watched his brother's retreating back. He seemed to be deep in thought.
"Itna kya soch rahe hain?"
He shook himself out of his reverie. "Nahi... kuchh nahi. Bas, kayi barso baad Bhai ko aise sachche man se haste dekha." He straightened up, smoothening his jacket. "Kabhi man kare to bina jhijhak ke milne aaiye. Achcha lagega hame." Rehman was walking back to them, giving an apologetic shake in reply to their questioning gazes. "Lagta hai Bhai se nahi hui baat shaant."
Yalina sighed. "Wo to pata hi tha. Khair, koi baat nahi..."
"Aapko aapke imtehaan aur abhi ki qayamat ke liye best of luck," said Uzair. Yalina laughed and moved towards the house, meeting Rehman halfway. "Maaf kijiye Jamali sahiba," he said. "Mera kaam aag lagana hai, bujhana nahi."
"Koshish ki, mere liye kaafi hai." Plus, her mood had significantly improved during the journey home now that she didn't have to share it with her irate parents. She hugged him. "Thank you."
He tensed for a moment at her arms going around him, but then he relaxed, awkwardly patting her on the back. "You're welcome. Ab jaldi andar jaiye, warna aapke walid aapke saath meri bhi class lenge."
She listened and hurried to the door, turning back one last time before entering. He was waiting, watching from the gate. She waved at him and he returned the gesture, before she slipped inside to face the storm awaiting her.
5. The fifth time was entirely unnecessary, if you asked her.
She was in her final year of her MBBS. Her courses were done, but she still had to work in the hospital for clinical training. The hours were long and grueling and she was exhausted to the bone by the end of it but honestly? She didn't mind. It was better than staying at home. In fact, the longer her day was, the better. Sometimes if things got over early she would actually go over Rehman's workplace rather than go home before time. He'd sigh and pretend to be disturbed from his books and papers, but he'd always keep them aside and listen to her.
If asked, she honestly couldn't have said what they talked about. Trying to remember, the topics all sounded rather unimportant, but somehow they never ran out of things to discuss. Well, it was mostly her talking and him listening. She'd tell him about the goings-on at the hospital and whatever new thing she saw on the internet, and he would hear her out patiently. He was a rather good listener- never judging, asking questions that meant he was paying attention, following along enough to make jokes. She had thought a man twenty years her senior would yawn and complain about being forced to hear about internet trends and hospital gossip, but he seemed to find it all very entertaining. She had become such a common sight at the factory that he had added another large cushioned chair in his office for her to lounge on.
Today, though, he looked surprised to see her. "Tumhe ghar jaana chahiye," he said the moment she entered his office.
"Good evening to you too," she said mockingly.
"Aaj Jameel saab ka janamdin hai na?"
"Aur abbu ne kab unka janamdin hamare saath bitaya hai?" She demanded. "Wahan aate hi honge unke PAP wale dost, zyaada daaru peekar dakaar maarne. Mai kya sirf ammi ke saath showpiece banne ke liye chali jau?"
"To yahan par kya kursi se baat karogi?" He got up from his chair. He was dressed in black as always, but he wasn't in his usual garb of a kurta and a salwar. Instead he had donned a crisp black shirt and suit, the sharp lines of the jacket and the trousers accentuating his broad shoulders and narrow hips. His hair was neatly brushed back and his boots gleamed in the yellow light. A shadow king, the thought came back to her. She had been noticing these things more often when it came to him, from the curve of his cheekbones to the curl of his lips and even the shape of his fucking hands. A forty-one year old man should not look this good. It was just not fair. "Mai to ja raha hoon 'daaru peene aur dakaar maarne'." His eyes gleamed with amusement.
She groaned. "Mat jao. Mai bore ho jaungi yahan..."
"Isliye tumhe saath lekar ja raha hoon. Chalo, gaadi ruki hui hai."
"Nahi, mai baad me aa jaungi. Thoda Uzair se mil leti hoon-"
"Uzair ko Quetta me kaam hai, wo nahi aayega. Chalo."
"Rehmaannnn..." She gave him her best puppy eyed look. "Please?"
He didn't seem moved in the slightest. She sighed and gave in, grumbling. She complained about various members of the party her father brought around at length while in the car, but he only laughed in fond amusement. He didn't like them very much either, she knew, and only tolerated them for his work. He even chimed in with additional details at times in that dry, irreverent manner of his, and by the time they had reached her house she was laughing.
The party had already started, which thankfully meant her mother was busy with the guests and not there to try and control her clothes and jewellery and ruin her mood. She got ready and rushed down to mingle with the guests before her parents noticed how late she was.
It was just as she expected- liquor, repetitive greetings, too many people who liked the sound of their own voices- and in an hour or so she found herself praying that things would wind down soon. Rehman seemed to have reached the limit of his patience as well, and was currently sitting in a chair he had dragged to the corner, smoking. She made her way over to him. "Kaha tha na maine nahi aate hain?"
He huffed. "Mai nikal hi raha hoon thodi der me."
"Mujhe bhi saath lekar jao," she grumbled, leaning against the wall. "Aise kone me chhup-"
"Arre Yalina beta? Kitni der baad dekha tumhe!" An unfamiliar voice interrupted them.
Yalina turned to see a woman her mother's age standing behind her, with a man. She didn't recognize her, but Rehman came to the rescue. "Asif Saab," he greeted. "Bohot der baad aapko dekha. Aur aapko bhi, baji."
"Rehman Bhai." The man greeted and shook his hand. Asif, Asif, who the fuck is Asif... oh. The details came back to her. Asif Khan was one of her father's associates and contested the elections in a neighbouring district, but he had become something of a recluse in recent years. The last time she had seen him had been nearly ten years ago. And that would be his wife, Amira.
"Kitni badi ho gayi hai na?" She examined Yalina from top to bottom, making her shift uncomfortably. She gestured with her hand to summon someone from the crowd, and a young man- probably a couple of years older than her- stepped out. "Shahid se mili ho?"
Ya Allah. They're trying to get me married to their son. She gave Rehman a panicked look but he said nothing, just sitting and watching with amusement. I'm going to kill him, she thought. The moment the crowd is gone.
What followed were some of the most gruelling fifteen minutes of her life as the couple heaped praises on their son, who stood there awkwardly trying to get them to stop. This was interspersed by them asking questions to her about her age, abilities, education...
Her patience was rapidly dwindling. When they hinted for the third time that they would prefer a woman aligned with their son's interest in politics who would support him in his endeavours, she snapped. "Mujhe lagta hai aap kisi aur ko dhund rahi hain," she said, clenching her hands. "Mera doctor banne ka irada hai, aur wo pakka hai."
"Beta, itni khoobsurat ho, aur uske upar siyasati khandaan se. Ye doctori me apni zindagi barbaad mat karna-"
"Barbaad? Barbaad? Mai apne logon ki madad karna chahti hoon, aur aapko wo barbaadi lag rahi hai? Lekin mai bas ghar pe gulam bankar aapke bete ke peechhe ghoomti rahu, wo safalta hai?"
"Zabaan sambhal ke-"
"Nahi sambhali jaati mere se! Aisi hi hoon mai. Koi aitraaz ho to chale jayen."
"Arre ye kaise-"
Rehman stood up suddenly, bringing the conversation to a halt. He had been sitting so still that everyone had almost forgotten that he was listening. His earlier amusement was gone, his face grim, his eyes hard as flint. "Theek hi bol rahi hain. Agar aapko ladki pasand nahi to kahi aur chalein jayein. Isko pareshan karke kya fayda?"
"Uske bhale ke liye keh rahe hain ham."
"Uska bhala wo jaanti hai." His voice was firm. "Bachchi nahi hai wo, MBBS hone ko aaya hai uska. Usko zindagi jaisi jeeni hai, wo ji legi. Aapki baat se sirf ghutan hogi use."
For a moment, they glared at him. She wondered whether things would come to blows, but they seemed to remember who they were talking to and how much hold he had over the city. They muttered something and backed off, disappearing into the crowd.
"Thank you," she said. "Nahi to pata nahi kab take ye log pareshan karte rehte. Na ka matlab samajh nahi aata unhe?" She looked down at her feet. "Waise ye aakhri to nahi honge. Aur baki jo aayenge, unko bhi-"
She suddenly felt the warmth of his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up so that she was looking into his eyes. "Meri baat suno. Aur dhyaan se." His voice was a low rumble. "Wo log gadhe hain. Tum zindagi sirf apni marzi se jiyogi, samjhi?" She swallowed. He felt too close like this, his dark eyes boring into her soul. "Aag ho tum. Jinse chingari bhi sambhali nahi jaati, unko takleef hogi tumse. To kya? Jal jayenge. Lekin unke liye tumhe khud ko kam karne ki zaroorat nahi. Aag ko agar azaadi nahi mile to bujh jaati hai."
The words rushed through her, filling her with warmth from head to toe. Aag ho tum. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. "Aur aag ke baare me aapka kya khayal hai, Sardar?"
He let go of her. She suddenly felt very cold, despite the phantom sensation of his fingers lingering. He was reaching into his pockets, pulling out another cigarette and burning it with his lighter. He snapped the lighter's cover shut and took in a long drag. "Mera to uske bina nahi chalta."
There was something there- some intangible, strange thread between them at that moment- but just then they were interrupted by someone calling out to Rehman. He turned away, and the moment broke, both of them stepping away from each other instinctively.
She spent the rest of the evening thinking about it. Aag ho tum. Mera to uske bina nahi chalta.
1. Things were different, now.
She still worked at the hospital, but as a doctor now instead of a student. She still had to avoid her parents, but she also no longer needed to beg them for things like college fees. She still went to Rehman's nearly every evening after work, but now their conversations felt different, a strange tension underlying their words.
Today, though, she was there in a professional capacity. There had been a shootout in the city- one after years- and Rehman and his men had dealt with it, but a bullet had scraped past his shoulder. It was only a gash, but it would need stitches.
He was an absolutely terrible patient, she had found. He kept walking around trying to coordinate his men and raising his arm to talk on his phone to the inspector he had on his payroll. She had been trying to make him stay still for the past ten minutes to no avail. Out of patience, she snatched his phone. "Rehman aapse baad me baat karenge. Khuda hafiz," she said and cut the call, tossing it on the floor. Rehman scowled, ready to admonish her, but she didn't give him a chance. "Baitho," she ordered and pushed him towards the chair. "Ek aur lafz nahi. Mujhe apna kaam karne do, fir jo man me aaye wo karna."
He rolled his eyes but sat. "Kandha dekhne do mujhe theek se," she said. She helped unbutton the shirt and slip his arm out of the sleeve, exposing half his torso. He seemed to have a remarkably high pain tolerance- apart from a faint flinch when she had first begun to clean the wound, he hadn't even moved. She did the stitches carefully and bandaged the area up. "Kuchh dino ke liye iss haath ko kam istemaal karna, aur iss kaandhe par sona nahi. Should be obvious, yes," she said in response to his narrowed eyes. "But I've seen too much in these past two years."
He chuckled, leaning back tiredly in his chair as she finished tying the bandages. "Aap bohot order deti hain, Jamali sahiba."
"Haan to? Tumne hi to kaha tha aag ko sambhale rakhne. Koi aitraaz ho to darwaza wahan hai."
He raised an eyebrow. "Ye meri factory hai."
"To fir exit ka rasta pata hi hoga."
He shook his head, a small smile on his face. Now that she was no longer focussed on the blood and the wound, she found herself looking at him properly. He usually looked deceptively slender, but now that his shirt was off she could see the hard outlines of his pecs and abs, skin taut against his muscles. His usually slicked back hair was now in a disarray, long locks falling into his eyes, his profile casting sharp angled shadows on the wall.
Yalina wasn't blind. She had accepted, some time over the past two years since that party, that he was attractive. Scratch that, he was hot. Even if he was twenty years older, the man had aged like fine wine. She could see how his biceps bulged and the veins stood out along his arms, and it took all her willpower not to touch them.
He cleared his throat. She looked back up at him, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, as he raised an eyebrow at her shameless ogling. She had been staring too long. "To aise leti hain aap ilaaj ka payment?"
"Chup!" She muttered as he laughed. He leaned forward to pick his phone up, but the movement must have jolted his shoulder because he hissed in pain, grabbing the wounded area. She pushed him back into his chair. "Maine abhi bola haath zyaada hilana nahi!"
He let go of his grip, scowling. "Nahi hilane wala tha, lekin kisi ladki ne mera phone fek diya."
She picked it up but didn't hand it to him, holding it just out of reach. "Ek hi haath istemaal karoge kuchh din. Ya to phone be bolo ya fir apne aadmiyon ko direction do. Dono ek saath nahi. Doctor's orders."
"Bhaad me jaaye doctor ke-"
"Ab to bilkul bhi nahi milega phone." She stood in front of him but held the phone above her head. He reached out with his good arm, tugging her hand down, but she just passed it to the other hand, laughing at his frustration.
"Mujhe Inspector se baat karni hai-"
"Haan, do minat aaraam kiya to qayamat aa jayegi." He scowled and tried again to no avail, trying to wrench her arm down from its upraised position.
Over the course of push-and-pull she had come rather close, she realized suddenly. His face was less than an inch for hers and she could feel his breath on her cheek. The momentary distraction was enough- he reached up and grabbed the phone, face lighting up in triumph. "Ha! Akhir-" he too must have realized how close they were, because he suddenly stopped speaking.
They stayed frozen like that for a moment, neither daring to move. She knew what the sensible thing to do was. Step back, turn away, make a joke, pretend none strange ever happened, go back to their normal lives.
But she had never been good at doing the sensible thing.
And besides it was too tempting to let go. He was too tempting to let go.
So she she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his, his warm lips a balm against the cold air. He responded instinctively, returning the kiss, his good arm tugging her closer. She cupped his cheek, tracing the sharp edges of his cheekbones, trying to urge him to deepen the kiss. But something seemed to have pierced through the haze they were both in, because he wrenched himself away, eyes wide, panting. "Yalina. Hame- mera matlab tum... mai nahi-" The words floated around uselessly, as if he couldn't come up with a coherent sentence. He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Ye hame nahi karna chahiye tha."
"Kyu?"
He looked at her in disbelief. He gestured around them vaguely. "Kyu matlab?"
"Aisa kya ho gaya-"
"Tum pagal ho?" He asked incredulously. "Mai kaun hoon? Tum kaun ho? Hamare haalaat, hamare mustaqbil, hamari umar..."
"Mujhe kuchh fark nahi padta usse." She really didn't. She wasn't stupid, there were a hundred reasons why they should stay away from each other. She just didn't care. She had met dozens of men her age from her friends to sons of her father's associates to her patients, but none of them had made her feel like this.
Alive. Free. Burning.
But he shook his head, pulling away from her. "Ghar jao."
"Rehman-"
"Yalina. Ghar jao." His tone was flat, emotionless. "Uzair tumhe chhod dega." He turned away, refusing to meet her eyes.
She reeled back, hurt by the coldness in his voice. "Koi zarurat nahi. Chali jaungi mai."
"Bachkani harkatein mat karo. Yalina-"
But she wasn't listening, eyes stinging from the humiliation, storming out of the door and the factory. Childish? He thought this was childishness? A thoughtless impulse? She wouldn't return there again, she swore to herself.
Two days passed, then three, then a whole week. She avoided the factory like it was the plague, instead just roaming around the city on her own. Her feet ached and it was lonely, not having anyone waiting to listen to her chatter with interest, but she was firm. Rehman had been calling her nearly ever hour since then, but she ignored it. Really, she should just block the number, but she didn't.
He probably has a thousand other numbers at his disposal anyways, there's no point, she told herself. But really, she just couldn't bring herself to do it.
Then one day, as she left the hospital, a familiar black car was waiting at the gate for her. She took one look at it and then set out in the opposite direction, ignoring it altogether. She heard quick footsteps behind her, and then felt someone grabbing her hand.
She turned around, furious. "Chhodo mujhe-"
"Yalina." Rehman did not let go, his grip tightening. "Meri baat sun lo-"
"Jo kehna tha keh chuke ho tum-"
"Galat kaha maine. Please. Gaadi me baith jao. Jo bol raha hoon pasand na aaye, chali jaana." He had never looked so pleading before. Angry, amused, even confused, but not this. It was an odd look on him.
She wanted to shake off his arm and walk away, she really did. But her traitor heart refused to listen to her mind, and she instead found herself walking towards the waiting car. There was no driver inside- he must have driven himself here. She slid into the passenger seat silently, and he got in and started driving.
Rehman didn't say anything for the first few minutes. Usually she didn't mind his silences but now each second chafed, irritation prickling under her skin. "Bolo," she said. "Ya fir mjhe utarne do."
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and he swallowed nervously. "Uss din maine galti kar di."
"Haan, wo to tum bol hi chuke ho." Bitterness crept into her voice. "Nahi karna chahiye tha."
"Nahi! Mera matlab..." He took in a deep breath. "Mujhe tumhe door nahi bhejna chahiye tha."
"Kyu, abhi galti nahi lag rahi mai?"
"Tum galti nahi ho!" He took a turn leading them out of the city. "Mai bas..." He looked tired. "Samajhne ki koshish karo. Mai tumse bees saal bada hoon. Tum siyasati khandaan ki padhi likhi ladki ho aur mai..." He gestured to the glove compartment, where she knew he kept a gun. "Tum jo chahe kar sakti ho, jo chahe ban sakti ho. Fir mera aisa karna theek nahi-"
"Jo chahe kar sakti hoon? Lekin jise chahti hoon wo to saala kayar nikla!" She snapped at him. "Aur bas uss din jo bola uska rona-dhona karna hai to abhi ruk jao kisi rickshaw ke saamne."
"Poori baat to sun lo!" He turned to look at her for a moment, frustrated, before turning back to the road. "Pehle mujhe laga ki maine sahi kiya. Lekin fir pichhle hafte tum dikhi nahi... aisa laga jaise ki sab andhera sa ho gaya. Kaam kar raha tha, chal-fr raha tha lekin jee nahi raha tha. Shayad jo kar raha hoon wo galat hai." He slowed the car down, stopping it by the side of the road next to the trees. "Lekin maine achha hone ka kabhi dawa nahi kiya." He was still not looking at her, staring at the empty stretch of road in front of them. "Mere me nahi hai taqat tumhe 'na' kehne ki. Lekin tum iss duniya me barbaad ho jaogi. Abhi bhi keh raha hoon. Chali jao."
"Idhar dekho."
He turned to her slowly. She leaned forward, her face inches from his. "Mai dikh rahi hoon?"
"Haan?"
"Mere chehre par koi darr hai?"
"Nahi."
"To fir?" She demanded. "Tumne hi kaha tha na ki mai bachchi nahi hoon, mujhe apne man ka karna chahiye? Fir ab kya hua?"
"Mai bas tumhari fikr-'
"Mai kar lungi apni fikr!"
He stared at her for a long moment, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then suddenly he was pulling her forward, his hand around the back of her neck, his firm lips against hers. She wanted to be angry- she was still angry- but the sensations were overwhelming: his palm cupping the back of her neck, keeping her from moving away, the scent of his cologne enveloping them, his teeth nipping at her lower lip... she gasped and he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, claiming every inch of her mouth, devouring her with his tongue. Her hands were tangled in his hair now, tugging at the dark locks, pulling him closer. She had been kissed before, yes, but not like this, not like someone was trying to consume her, like he couldn't get enough of her. She felt like she had been set alight but she couldn't move away, drawn in by some irresistible force towards him, a moan escaping her. That only seemed to fuel him further, his grip tightening, the heat and force of the kiss almost brutal.
When they finally parted, they were both out of breath, panting for air. He looked absolutely delicious like this, lips swollen, hair dishevelled, eyes wide.
A man should not look so pretty when someone was trying be angry with him.
He let out a low laugh, resting his forehead against hers. "Meri jaan le baithogi tum."
"Haan. Wahi irada hai. Koi aitraaz?"
He shook his head. "Nahi."
She smiled. "Good." She kissed his cheek. "Aur Rehman?"
"Haan?"
"Ahinda kabhi issko 'galti' bola..." this time she was the one tilting his chin up to make sure he got the message. "To fir tumhe goli maar dungi, samjhe?"
He chuckled. "Ji, mohtarma."
"I'm serious," she said fiercely. His eyes widened as he saw the look on her face, and then he nodded slowly. "Okay."
"Good." She let go of him and sat back in her seat, satisfied. "Aaj mausam achha hai, beach chalein?"
He smiled at her. "Jaise aapki aagya, Jamali Sahiba."
A/N: Aaaand that's it. End end me barabar se feeling nahi aa rahi thi isliye I dunno if the last part landed well, but I hope you're happy with it. Definitely the hardest one I've written. Ab jaake thoda rehmat padhke shuddhikaran kar aati hoon mera lol.
Soooo i was js yk looking through Bernard Law Montgomery stuff in Google and Zubeen Garg (our most favorite singer from Assam RIP). Okayyy??
So what caught my eye was their birth date and their month. Sooo, Bernard Law Montgomery was born 17th Nov 1887, kayy? And Zubeen Garg was born on 18th Nov 1972
(It's like the difference ahdhsjkwkq and idk how to explain lmaooo)
And i was like, eh, eh wae wae wha woo?? I was blinking nonstop
Btw its nothing it js smth that caught my eyes kay so don't take it srsly alr?
Its js a joke kay?
[Edited: I added pics lol]
Abey saala, that means, after Monty's birthday, it's our Zubeen Garg's birthday lmaoooo
Edit on the SS-Obersgruppenfürher Reinhard Heydrich
( Do not ask me who made it or who posted it. It's so embarrassing...but still,it's my hardwork..i mean.. someone i know made it ...okay I admit I made it )
Has anyone seen Dhurandhar 1 and 2? And oof! What a movie it was! Ppl might call it propaganda and shit just bcuz Modi was seen, but nahh! Whatever happened was real and nothing was fictional. Yes, a few of them were fictional but the Parliament attack and the terrorists attack was all real. The money making and all
Anywayss! I recommend you guys to watch the movie! It's awesome!
