A/N: my first fanfic in a long time. if it's not upto the mark, please bear with me.
PS: thank you for the request i had a love of fun writing it!!<33
This is a fictional work and does not endorse, glorify, or justify the actions depicted. It is written purely within the narrative context of the film’s characters and storyline.
"Uzair, hum dono kal mela dekhne chalein? Mera behad dil kar raha hai wahan jaane ka. Aur waise bhi is saal ka pehla Eid mela hai, uski roshni aur mahaul kuch alag hi hoga!", you said excitedly with a huge smile on your face which dimmed slightly when you got no response from your mehboob. This was your first Eid with Uzair and you'd be lying if you said that you weren't over the moon to celebrate it with him. However, his lack of enthusiasm or any reaction for that matter tied an anchor to your floating boat of eagerness.
Uzair was sitting next to you on a sofa in his house, which he also happened to share with Rehman, Ulfat and their two kids- Naieem and Faizal. Neither Rehman nor Ulfat had any issues with you coming over. In fact, Ulfat loved having another female presence in the house while Rehman enjoyed having someone to distract Uzair so he could also spend some quality time with his wife. Currently, Rehman and Ulfat were out with the kids on an ice cream run- leaving the house to you two.
"Uzair, aap meri baat sun bhi rahe hai?", you turned to Uzair again who still seemed to be lost in his own world.
No response.
"Uzair-", you began.
"Arey kya Uzair-Uzair laga rakha h? Jab dekho tab 'Uzair yahan chalein?','Uzair wahan chalein?','Uzair aisa karein?,"Uzair waise karein?", he stood up and you sat up straighter at his sudden outburst.
You opened your mouth to speak but he beat you to it.
"Tang aa gaya hoon main tum se. Jahan dekho wahan mere peechay peechay ghoomti rehti ho, tumhein koi aur kaam dhandha nahi hai kya? Yahan koi insaan sukoon se jee nahi sakta kya? Ek dafa phone na uthao to do din tak manana padta hai. Aur agar main jawab nahi de raha, to baar baar kyun pareshan karti ho mujhe? Bas ab aur bardasht nahi hota mujhse. Har waqt meri zindagi mein itni dakhal andazi kyun karti ho? Main tumse bezaar ho gaya hoon is rawaiye se. Thodi tanhai chahta hoon. Khuda ke liye mujhe kuch dafa akela rehne do!", he ended his monologue by storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him, not giving you a chance to speak.
You sat frozen for a few minutes, still contemplating what had happened. Uzair had never talked to you in that tone before. You replayed his words in your head until a tear ran down your cheek and to save yourself from more humiliation, you got your belongings and went home.
Uzair had regretted his words the moment he left the room with you in it. Although, he just couldn't bring himself to turn around and hold you in his arms while apologizing. The truth is- this was the first time Rehman had gone out without him ever since that incident with SP Chaudhary Aslam. And though Uzair sent a hundred other guards with them, with Aslam still alive and well, Rehman was always under threat. The only reason Uzair hadn't accompanied them today was because they had already left by the time he came home from some errand.
For the next few days, Uzair did not get a call, text or one of those unexpected visits from you that he loved so much. He waited by his phone like a lovesick puppy, often picking up calls on first rings just incase it was you calling him back. He had left you a dozen texts and even tried to get ahold of your friends and told them to tell you to talk to him. He felt more and more awful as the days went by. And it wasn't just Uzair who noticed your absence. Ulfat noticed it first, followed by Rehman, Naieem and Faizal. Ulfat wasn't naive. She obviously knew something had went down between the two of you and called you- mainly to check in on you but also to pry on the details of how her dewar-jaan had messed up. That night, Rehman had spend 3 hours listening to Ulfat rant about Uzair and his immaturity.
The next morning, Ulfat brought in chai for Rehman and Uzair, who were sitting in the living room. She gave her husband a smile before setting his cup in front of him. Next she turned to Uzair, whom she also smiled at sweetly before setting his cup down in front of him with a little more force than necessary.
Uzair was confused at his bhabhi's behaviour.
"Ye bhabhi ko itni subah- subah kya ho gya?", he asked Rehman while picking his cup from the table.
Rehman looked at his wife's retreating form amusedly before looking at Uzair and shrugging.
"Waise kaafi dino se Y/N nahi dikhi.", Rehman started, making Uzair choke on his chai.
Instead of answering Rehman, he called out to Ulfat.
"Bhabhi ye chai mein aapnein shakkar ki jagah namak kyun daala hai?"
No response.
"Bhai aapki chai bhi namkeen hai kya?", Uzair turned to Rehman.
Rehman shook his head at Uzair's confused form.
"Ulfat ko Y/N ne bataya kal raat ki tune usey kya kya kahaan tha. Shaayad usi ki naraazagi bayaan kar rahi hai.", Rehman said while barely holding his laugh.
Realisation dawned upon Uzair followed by a sheepish look.
"Aap hi batayein na bhai main kya karu. Uss din aapki kafi fikr ho rahi thi aur aapka ghussa Y/N pe nikaal diya."
Rehman rose an eyebrow at the "aapka ghussa" part but chose to ignore it. He knew his cousin meant well.
"Tum dono ke muaamle mein main kya bataoon?", he said seriously.
"Wo na mera phone utha rahin hai na hi milne aa rahin hai. Aapko toh bohot tazurba hoga na. Bhabhi toh roz aapse behad-", Uzair stopped when Rehman looked him dead in the eye.
"Nahi matlab- main toh yoohin bol raha tha."
Rehman sighed. His cousin was hopeless. To Rehman, you were perfectly tolerable and a good match for his cousin, unlike Uzair's previous relationships. He shuddered at the thought of one of his exes and decided he will help his cousin purely because he liked you and did not want to deal with another Shabana.
For the next 20 minutes or so, Rehman gave Uzair ideas and advice on how to make it up to you.
The next morning, you woke up to a serious looking Uzair sitting by your window. You were about to scream out of sheer surprise when he ran and hurriedly cover your mouth with his hand.
"Shh. Poore maholle ko jagaana hai kya?", he said lowly.
You pushed his hand aside while he sat on the edge of your bed.
"Uzair aap jaaiyein yaha se. Mujhe aapse koi baat nahi karni!", you turned around to face away from him, hoping he'll go away.
"Baat toh karni padegi tumhein mujhse.", he said with finality but you ignored him.
Just as you thought he is going to leave, you felt hands around your waist and towards your stomach and then it started!
Uzair knew you were a highly ticklish person and he was using that to his advantage now.
"Uzair aap kya kar rahein hai? Jaane dijiye mujhe! Uzair!!", you said in between laughter.
He continued it for another minute or so until you were nothing but a puddle in his arms, laughing heartily with your eyes closed. Uzair just looked at you and soaked it in for a moment. Oh how he missed that laugh!
"Kya?", you asked when you noticed him staring at you.
He leaned down to rest his forehead on yours.
"Mujhe muaaf kardo maine tumhein itna kuch kahaan. Uss din Rehman bhai ki kaafi fikr ho rahin thi aur tum beech mei fass gyi. Sach toh ye hai ki mujhe tumhare saath waqt bitaana itna pasand hai ki jab mai kaam mei bhi mashroof hota hoon tab bhi yahin sochta hu ki tum kya kar rahin hogi. Mai har jagah tumhare peechey peechey jaana chahtaa hu kyuki jahan tum hogi wahin mujhe jannat naseeb hogi. Itne dino se tumne baat nhi kari toh mera jeena haraam ho rakha h.", he said looking into your eyes.
Your eyes softened. You ran your hand through his hair, making him close his eyes and sigh in relief.
"Aap hi ne toh kaha tha aapko akela rehne du.", you pouted.
While you may be upset about what went down, you understood his reason. Rehman was the family he never had. He cared about him a lot and you'd be lying if you said Rehman wasn't like a brother to you too.
"Tum meri matt suna karo, mai kuch bhi bol deta hu. Jis din tumhara ye haseen chehra na dikhe, ya jis din tumhari awaaz sunne ko na mile, wo din bhi bhala kaisa din? Tum dhadkan ho meri. Apne dil ko apne se kaise alag hone du?"
You smiled softly but hid it quickly.
"Agar aap mujhpe phirse naraazgi jataye toh?", you frowned.
Uzair thought for a moment before answering.
"Toh phirrr.."
"Tumhari jooti aur mera sar. Jo saza dogi mujhe khushi khushi qubool hai.", your eyebrows rose at his casual tone.
"Dekh lijiye. Apne waade se mooh matt fer lena.", you warned.
He just smiled in return while looking at your lips with such intensity, you could feel its heat all over your body. Just as he leaned in to kiss you, you swerved your head to the right, making his kiss land on your cheek instead. It was his turn to pout now.
"Agar agli dafa mujhpe naraaz hue toh aapko mujhse nikaah padhna padega. Fir aapko zindagi bhar saza dungi. Roz aapse hi kaam karwaungi, aapse hi khaana banwaungi aur aapse hi bartan bhi dhulwaungi. Qubool hai?"
Uzair just chuckled.
"Qubool hai, sahiba."
"Phir theek hai.", and with that you wrap your arms around his neck and peck him on the lips, making Uzair smile against your lips.
Finally, he thought before deepening the kiss and trying to be as close to you as possible to make up for that lost time.
Rehman baloch x reader. The trope here goes: arrange marriage but make it romantic. This is actually a silly fluffy one.
So the reader who is a lover of romantic poems and books since her childhood is getting married to rehman (his character stays the same ferocious as he is) who is rather very straightforward and bad at expressing the usual banter of romance. Like bro cannot be romantic lol. So reader being a tease sends him a love letter accusing him of how mindless he is when it comes to being a romantic husband and a intrigued rehman sends her a letter back. So the story kind of unfolds through teasing and flirting but through love letters in their fiance period. (Uzair and hamza can pull his legs too) You can conclude the ending of the fic as per you want and what will look prettyyyy like them getting flustered on meeting irl or something like that.
You do either of the fics or both or none and i will still worship your writing skills because they are all so beautiful with the aesthetics and everything!! THANKYOU so much in advance if you choose to write any one 🫶🏼🫶🏼
Honestly? I LOVEDDDDD THIS ONEEEE. Mujhe bhi love letter chahiye (I think sabhi ladkiyo ko chahiye hota hai). Anyway, be ready for tooth-rooting fluff. Also, second update of the day 🤪
Suniye Future-Shohar Sahab
Rehman Dakait/Rehman Baloch x Reader
Sometimes, love isn’t gifts or touches but letters exchanged without ever seeing each other.
She was a girl who dreamt of romance and a knight in shining armour; he was a man who didn’t know anything about romance—straight like a sword. But letters? They reveal a side of him he never expected to know.
Warnings: NOTHING. Arranged Marriage. Fluff, fluff and only fluff. I tried translating the letters to my best level. I tried writing the Shayari as well (translation done by ChatGPT, toh usse kahna agar galat translation hai toh). Tooth-rotting fluff, kisi ko diabetes hua toh main zimmedar nahi. Bold + Italics are words belonging to the letters.
Word Count: 2.5k (honestly? It’s my favourite writing length, I think)
“Toh aap kah rahi hai ki unhone angoothe chod ke kuch aur nahi bhijvaya?” (So you are saying that he didn’t send anything else other than a ring?) The woman gasped out loud, staring at her best friend who sat down on the edge of her bed with a huff, her gaze drifting down to the ring that sat heavy on her finger—the weight a constant reminder of her decided fate.
It wasn’t that she was against this marriage—she didn’t have a choice to protest against it. But she had hoped for a husband that would at least match a third of her romantic soul, but apparently, her fiancée was a ‘No-Shit-Sherlock’ personality.
She had expected him to at least meet her on the day of their khitbah, and embarrassingly assumed her fiancée’s cousin to be the man her parents had decided to marry her to. But Uzair—as he had introduced himself as—had kindly informed her that her soon-to-be husband was preoccupied in something else, and that he was sorry for his absence.
Sorry, but no gifts to compensate for it.
Just the ring that was demanded by the society and a box of sweets that tasted ashen when her mood was instantly soured.
“Aap humare zakhmon par merhaam lagane aayi hai ya namak dalne?” (Are you here to tend to my wounds or to sprinkle salt on them?) She replied sharply, glancing at her best friend who was looking through her extensive book collection of romance novels and poetry. Her fingers caressed the spine like she always did absently before it stopped against one particular spine with a raised eyebrow.
It was ‘The Love Letter’ by Cathleen Schine.
“Iss book mein main character ko ek letter milta hai, haina?” (The main character gets a letter in this book, right?)
The question made the newly engaged woman look up, glancing at the name before she hummed, “Anonymous love letter,” she corrected, almost uninterested in how her best friend was practically not listening to her drowning in the misery of having a non-romantic spouse.
The slow grin on her friend’s face made her raise an eyebrow in suspicion.
“Kyu na tum bhi apne hone wale shohar ko letter likho? Anonymously nahi—apne naam ke saath.” (How about you write a letter to your soon-to-be husband? Not anonymously—with your name.)
The suggestion wasn’t bad, it was disastrous.
She didn’t know him at all. Had never seen his face except for in a few political pamphlets where he looked like…a constipated chicken. She knew that he was a blunt man who worked in all sorts of illegal activities. A man of immense power—the type that don’t do romances and love letters.
She rolled her eyes at the idea then, but it revolved around her head for far too long until she was actually sat on the floor, writing soft accusations in cursive while a thrill rushed down her spine. She had never written a letter to someone, much less a man that would be her husband one day—but she couldn’t stop anymore. Not when the ink had dried and the words sat on the paper heavy and reflective.
And then came the riskiest part.
A soft imprint of her lips left in the end. Not a red lipstick but a pink one that inclined towards brown. Not too vulgar, was it?
She had shoved it into a pristine envelope, forgoing writing a name or address, and she had handed it to one of the more discreet servants of the house. A clear instruction to deliver it into Rehman Dakait’s hand only before she had rushed back to her room and hid under her blanket, almost trying to forget what she had done.
The envelope reached Rehman next morning, pristine and without a name that only fuelled his curiosity. An edge of the envelope was torn open and the letter inside saw the sunlight.
He had expected a lot of things—a warning or a threat by his enemy, a potential ally or client reaching out, even the Balochistan United Front requesting his assistance in some way, shape or form. He hadn’t expected a love letter, not by a secret admirer but his own soon-to-be wife, even though her name wasn’t mentioned.
Waise toh hum apko jante bhi nahi, par itna zaroor samajh gaye hai ki apko romance ka koi idea nahi hai. Akhir jisko thoda bohot bhi idea hota, woh khud ke hi khitbah mein kyu na aata? Aur agar na bhi aata, toh at least, koi tohfa toh bhejta. (In reality I don’t know you, but I have understand that you have no idea about romance. After all someone who might have an idea about it, why would he have skipped coming to his own engagement? And still if he couldn’t come, then at least, he would have sent some gift.)
Lekin nahi. (But no.)
Hume mili toh sirf ek angoothi aur ek mithai ka dabba. Abb aap batao ki mithai se nikah padhe ya dabbe se? (I got only a ring and a box of sweets. Now tell me should I marry the sweets or the box?)
Dekhiye, hum sach kahenge. Humari iss rishte se kuch zyada umeed toh nahi hai. Par hum bore ho kar, apse tang aa kar yeh rishta chalana nahi chahte. Romantic soul hai humari aur apne toh pehli baar mein hi paani pher diya. Abb aap hi dhundhiye iss problem ka solution, warna sach kah rahe hai apko bhi pareshan kar denge hum. (See, I will admit the truth. I don’t have a lot of expectations from this marriage. But I don’t want to drag this marriage after being bored and annoyed by you. I have a romantic soul and you poured water over it at the very beginning. Now you find a solution to this problem, otherwise, I am telling you the truth, I will annoy you a lot.)
Apki hone wali humsafar… (your soon-to-be life partner…)
A raised eyebrow at the faint imprint of the lipstick, a quirked smile at the honest words but he could not quite admire it properly. Because it was in his hands one second, and gone in the next, followed by a series of ‘wow’ while Uzair skimmed over the words with a toothy grin that promised mischief and teasing.
“Hamza, dekh toh bhai ko kya mast love letter likha hai bhabhi ne.” (Hamza, see what a great love letter sister-in-pashas written for brother.)
The letter was handed, much to Rehman’s utter dismay. He glared at the two men with his hands perched over his hips before he diverted his attention to shorter of the two—who was still taller than the lion. He didn’t say anything, no orders whispered or a threat. Just extended his hand expectantly and the letter returned to him without a single trace of protest except the quiet huff of his younger cousin.
Never in his dreams had he thought that he would write someone a letter, much less that being his fiancée, and yet, the morning a letter awaited for her on the top of her writing desk.
She hadn’t expected it, and she was a little taken aback when she found it.
How did he even got it there?
And still, her hands shook a little as she opened the parchment, carefully reading through the words written in a…hurried handwriting, a slow smile tugging on her lips while her cheeks were dusted with a little pink.
Humari hone-wali humsafar ko humara saalam, (greetings to my soon-to-be life partner)
Maaf kariyega humari iss gustakhi ko par apka khat padh kar uska jawab dena hume laazmi laga. Agar apko bura lage toh iss bewaqoof ko maaf kariyega. (Forgive me for my insolence but after reading your letter, it felt necessary to reply. If you don’t like it then forgive this idiot.)
Accha likhti hai aap, aur sach bhi. Apne sahi kaha ki hume yeh ishq ki zubaan nahi aati par yeh mat sochiyega ki hume kuch nahi aata. Shayari padhne ka shauq rakhte hai—Mir, Ghalib, Gulzar—lekin khud likhne mein maat kha jaate hai. (You write wonderfully, and truthfully. You said it right that I don’t understand the language of love but don’t think that I don’t know anything. I like reading Shayari—Mir, Ghalib, Gulzar—but I fail at writing one.)
Uzair bata raha tha ki bohot haseen hai aap. Maano jaise bahaar mein phool khile ho ya phir sard ki raat mein garm chai. Afsoos hai ki khitbah wale din aapse mil nahi paya. Sach kahu toh kaam ke saath-saath dar bhi tha jisne rok liya aane se. Aur shayad sahi bhi kiya…akhir, ussi din intiqal ho jata toh yeh khat kaise likhta? (Uzair was telling me that you are very beautiful. Like flowers blooming in spring or a hot tea in winter night. I regret not meeting you during the engagement. To be honest, fear stopped me just as much as work did. And maybe it was correct—after all, how would have I written this letter if I had died that day?)
Hum jaante hai ki yeh rishta shayad apki marzi ke bina ho raha ho, par hum ek dusre ko jaan toh sakte hai. Khat ke sahare hi sahi… (I know that this relationship has happened without your will, but we can get to know each other. Through letters…)
Apke jawab ka intezaar rahega. (Will wait for your reply.)
Apka Future-Shohar. (Your future-husband.)
The giggle that escaped her was dreamy, while her cheeks resembled an apple she so dearly hated. She hadn’t known that he would be such a capable man with words—most of the men were not. And yet, he had rendered her speechless and blushing like a schoolgirl who had greeted her crush in the corridor.
She folded the paper carefully, gaze flickering to the window while a smile tugged on her lips.
It was a stupid idea—someone as fearsome as Rehman Dakait entering the room of his fiancée to place a letter. But it was still a thought that made her grin and tuck the letter into the book that had given her best friend that idea.
The pattern began then.
She would write letters and have her trusted servant deliver them to him, or even slipping one or two into the hands of Uzair who would visit to discuss arrangements of the nikah and he would write a reply—the one she would find on her desk always.
They began short and introductory, but soon turned long and conversational in a way that reminded her of old-school stories of lovers speaking through letters. The lip imprints changed too—firmer, with the pink replaced for red. And the sweetest part was the mutual adoption of spraying the paper with their perfumes.
Hers smelled like peony and vanilla.
His smelled smoky with oud—a spicy undertone.
Aap bhi koshish kariye na kabhi kuch likhne ki… (You try writing something someday) she had written almost carelessly, with eyes heavy with sleep and words coming loose on paper—too vulnerable for the letters that were meant to be for the purpose of knowing each other better.
No letter came the next day, just a piece of parchment with ink spilled in shape of words and a single rose resting on it—thorns clipped away.
Unki zulfon ki siyahi mein shaam thahar si jaati hai (in the darkness of her hair, the evening itself seems to stop)
Unki Chand si rangat se roshni nikhar si jaati hai (from her moon-like complexion, light appears to be more radiant)
Aur unki ankhon ka woh gehra, haseen sa jaadu — (and the deep, beautiful enchantment of her eyes—)
Dil Ki har baat khud-ba-khud Adab sa bayaan ho jaati hai. (makes every feeling of the heart express itself with a quiet reverence.)
She had blushed for an entire week after reading it, while quietly, she had memorised every single word that he wrote—in the form of Shayari and letters. Perhaps, she thought of him more than she thought of the bridal lehenga that had been made as per her wishes. Remembered him more than she remembered her own name.
The letter that came a day before their nikah for a different kind of intimacy that had made her breath stutter to a stop. And it had come when she was awake, in the form of Uzair hanging on the windowsill, shocked that she was still awake.
“Aap jaag rahi hai?” (You are awake?)
“Khat dene aaye hai na?” (You are here to give the letter?) She extended his hand, offering the burly man a triumphant smile when the paper settled on her palm and he settled on the window. Not because he had any desire to be caught snooping in the room of his bhabhi, but because he had a vague gut feeling that she would want a letter to be delivered before the nikah.
He didn’t mention how she looked just like his cousin did when he received her letters—that would be treasonous. But maybe, he will tell her one day.
She opened the letter hastily, looking over the words of his last letter as her fiancée. Would there be letters after they marry? She would have to ask him the question one day, particularly because she liked the anticipation of those.
Humari hone-wali humsafar ko humara saalam, (greetings to my soon-to-be life partner)
Aaj kuch khaas batane ko toh nahi par yeh zaroor kahenge ki apko dikhne ke liye humari nigahein taras chuki hai. Neend ki jagah apke khwabon ne le li hai aur dhadkan ki jagah apke shabdon ne. (I don’t have anything special to tell tonight but I will certainly admit that my eyes yearn to see you. Your dreams have taken over my sleep and your words over my heartbeat.)
Kal intezaar rahega unka jinhone hume ishq ki zubaan sikha di. (I will wait for the one who taught me the language of love tomorrow.)
Apke Future-shohar. (Your Future-husband.)
She wanted to squeal—desperately. But the man watching her with an amused smirk reminded her to control. Just for a little while.
“Uzair miyan?”
“Ji, bhabhi?” (Yes, sister-in-law?)
He already knew what she would ask for, as was evident by the smirk she ignores, quickly reaching for a paper and uncapping the pen, writing down something—not a lot, but enough, before she folded the paper, handing it to the man who watched her with amusement.
“Yeh unhe de dijiyega aur kahiyega ki abhi na khole.” (Give this to him and tell him not to open it now.)
Uzair nodded, saluting her before he disappeared, diligently conveying the paper and the instructions to his cousin, whose sleep was already taken away by his heart that yearned to see her in front of him.
He wanted to see what had she written—thought of having a peek at it, but he waits and waits, until nothing separated the two from seeing each other—husband and wife for everyone to know.
The air between them was charged as they sat on adjacent chairs, a shared plate resting nearly untouched in front of them on the table while the guests were busy feasting—letting the couple have some privacy after the nikah.
“Aap waqai bohot haseen hai,” (you really are very beautiful) he breathed out, breathless as his gaze traced her features, noting the little smile that she tried to hide.
She turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a teasing glint in her kohl-lined eyes, “kyu? Apko kya laga tha apke bhai jhooth kah rahe hai?” (Why? Did you think that your brother was lying?)
A pause before they both laugh, flustered and newly married.
“Apke pass woh paper hai?” (Do you have that paper?)
Her voice was softer than before, losing its teasing edge and sounding almost like chashni (sugar syrup)—and he forgets to breathe for a moment before he nodded slowly, eyes taking her features in with a reverence he hadn’t thought he would feel towards a woman he had just seen for the first time.
Uzair’s descriptions of her did no justice to her beauty.
“Ji.” (Yes.)
She chuckled at the breathless admission, cheeks dusted pink as she glanced away from him. And he wanted to tell her to not be such a tease, to look at him and never look away after it.
“Abb padh lijiye.” (Now, read it.)
He nodded, looking around to make sure that none of the guests were observing the newly married couple while his hand slipped into the pocket of his elaborate sherwani, taking out the folded paper and slowly opening it with his heart in his mouth and his cheeks dusted a little pink too.
Suniye Shohar Sahab, (Listen Husband Sir)
Apki humsafar kahna chahti hai ki aap bohot handsome lag rahe ho. (Your life partener wants to say that you look very handsome.)
