Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.
A/N: After a grueling heartbreak and ending an almost ten-year relationship, your local writer girlie is baaaack (with more emotional baggages that she should probably unpack in therapy but instead chooses to be overproductive so she wouldn't think about how she's now alone). I doooo hope you enjoy this! <33
Masterlist, Season 2
Prologue
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “No waking up.”
You turned to face him, his face looked heavenly even with his eyes closed, peaceful even, you thought. Kim Seokjin looked like an angel. His lashes fluttered when you traced his cheek with your finger, his plump lips pulling into a smile. His hand cupped yours before planting a soft kiss on your palm.
At that exact moment he opened his eyes, the most loving and kind eyes you had ever gazed upon, you felt the most happy.
You felt the love you spent your whole life looking for.
The morning light filters softly through the curtains, catching the edges of his dark hair and casting a gentle glow over his features. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence between you is heavy with a quiet, sacred comfort, broken only by the sound of your synchronized breathing.
His grip on your waist tightens just a fraction, as if confirming to himself that you are truly there. The smile on his lips widens, crinkling the corners of those beautiful eyes you adore so much.
“Don’t wake up, sunshine.”
“We have to,” you told him as gently as you could.
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something you didn’t know. Slowly, Seokjin rested his head on yours as if he was trying to keep something that was slowly moving away from him. “I don’t want to lose this.”
“Lose what?” you asked.
“Us.”
You smiled and this time, it didn’t reach your eyes.
“We already lost us.”
You woke up.
The room was dark.
He wasn’t here, you reminded yourself. He was never here.
—
“47% increase in recovery rate from last week’s experiment,” Kim Seokjin quietly noted as he tapped down on his tablet. The soft humming of the machines and the cold air made the atmosphere seemed more clinical than necessary.
To anyone looking in, he was the picture perfect of a composed and collected man.
To anyone looking in, he was merely conducting an experiment.
To anyone looking in, Kim Seokjin was sane.
They couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
6 months, 13 days, 7 hours, 42 minutes.
That was how long it had been since he last saw you. The last time since he was able to rein in the monster lurking in him. He rationalized that there was no need to hide it anymore. After all, it was a part of him.
Abandoning him was the worst mistake you ever made because by doing so, you unleashed hell on Earth. No longer was he pretending to be someone who was good. You broke the last chain. You broke the last resolve he had in him.
The man’s eyes were wide with terror as he looked at the place where his right hand used to be. Moments ago, the wound would not stop bleeding. The cut, although precise and somewhat clean from Seokjin’s ministrations, was also jagged at the edges, a testament to the fact that Seokjin hadn’t used a scalpel for the severance—he had used his own raw, manic strength.
“This is healing better than your left hand, wouldn’t you say?” Seokjin monotonously asked, peering down on him with dark eyes that didn’t seem to register the monster he had become. “Maybe when we get to your right foot, healing would almost be instantaneous. All set to be broken once again.”
The man whimpered at the mere thought of experiencing the same hell all over again, “P-please, j-just kill me. End t-this misery-”
“Shh,” he shushed while adjusting the dextrose, his tone emotionless. “We’ve been here a thousand times. You know begging won’t do anything. Aren’t I taking care of you so well that you’ll live even when I’m dead? Besides, aren’t you glad that you’re ‘voluntarily’ helping the medical community researching ways to save people?”
Seokjin turned to him and flashed him a smile so soulless one would wonder if there was still even an ounce of humanity left in him. “We do thank you for your service.”
“Please. I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry-”
“I’ve only been hurting you for months. You hurt her for years. I am certain I’ll forgive you when I run out of body parts to cut.
Oh, and of course you need not worry. No one will look for you. The Bangtan took care of your death certificate.”
—
“Good morning, Doc!”
You smiled at the receptionist as you greeted her warmly. You were looking at the chart she handed you. Your patient today was the first one assigned to you when you transferred to this province. A simple, veteran man who was ordered to undergo therapy before he could be cleared for active duty.
The receptionist pointed to the small lobby where he was waiting. His back was ramrod straight, he was looking ahead, his stance as though he was on guard. You were certain that Minho would recover in no time. You were glad that his night terrors were becoming fewer as the sessions went on. He no longer sported the haunted look you first saw him in. His hands no longer tremble out of nowhere.
Meanwhile, you wondered when you could sleep well again. If sleep requires peace, perhaps you would never again because each time you closed your eyes, all you saw was blood and violence and each morning just before you woke up, you’d see his eyes staring at you with both hatred and coldness.
Some nights though, you would dream about him chasing after you with a certain need in his eyes. Some nights though, you dreamed about him pointing a gun at you.
The worst was when you would dream about the life you could have had with him had he been anyone but who he truly was.
Doing the right thing for you wasn’t easy, and was it ever, not when saving you meant leaving him. Not when it meant leaving the version of him that you loved. You wondered if the person you fell in love with truly existed or was it just an act? Was he truly warm? Was he truly someone who would take his time to cook for you? Was he really that childish yet incredibly competent man you first fell in love with?
Did that Kim Seokjin really exist?
Or was he merely a figment of your imagination?
Discovering that he was the darkness himself, one that you spent your entire life outrunning, tainted all the memories you had with him. Because when they said time heals all, they didn’t know what they were saying.
Time didn’t truly mean anything when you could still feel in your bones the chilling realization that he was part of the world you so badly wanted to escape from. Time was regardless when despite the fact that you knew who he was, who he truly was, a part of you still longed for the version of him you fell in love with.
And how much it still hurts despite the distance you put between you and him.
“Have you been sleeping well?”
“Five hours last night,” Minho answered.
“That’s good,” you wrote down his progress, smiling at him. You were pleased at his progress when just months ago, he only slept for less than an hour. “You’re doing so well now. I’ll clear you for active duty as soon as we finish the remaining sessions.”
Minho was quiet for a moment and when you looked up, his eyes were assessing you as though you were a case he needed to solve. “Have you been sleeping well?”
You blinked owlishly at his question and the intensity on which he worded it. You attempted to laugh it off. “Of course I am-”
“Liar,” he noted as he leaned in from his seat on the sofa. “Doc, your eyebags darkened a little bit more each time I return.”
“I-it must have been my concealer. I bought the cheapest one…”
He nodded, “Right. Nothing to do with the way you kept on looking on your shoulder like grim reaper himself would appear any moment to take you back to his lair.”
You opened your mouth when he shook his head. “All I’m saying is that if you don’t feel safe, you only have to say a word. You helped me. I want to help you back.”
Help was something you no longer believed in. It was something that brought you in this situation. It was the outreached hand that ran you out of Seoul. It was the help that made you fall for the executioner himself.
Instead, you told him not to worry about you. Instead, you told him you were okay when you were farther from the truth.
—
The place you moved to was quaint and quiet, the exact opposite of what Seoul was to you.
The walk home was slow and entirely too peaceful. Whereas the streets were filled with bustling establishments and busy people in the city with lights that never seemed to dim, here you could slow down.
You could take your time.
You could look up in the sky and clearly see the stars.
You could walk down the street, with fields on either side of you, and felt entirely safe.
Here, people didn’t want to hurt you.
Here, people couldn’t hurt you.
The people who hurt you were now far away from you, you told yourself repeatedly hoping that one day, you would stop obsessively looking over your shoulder, waiting for someone to jump and hurt you again.
You rented the top floor of a small, two-floor house with a garden that you always wanted to have. The seeds you planted were now blooming with flowers. This place may have been small and old, but this was yours, you thought. This was your safe space.
When you moved in, the owner told you that the first floor was vacant for a while now and that a new tenant would move in next week.
When you went home, however, you saw the lights turned on on the first floor. Empty boxes were placed on the outside of the door of the first floor.
The tenant must have moved early, you thought. Or late if you considered that it was already almost midnight.
Must have been from the city, you thought, seeing as it was late when she arrived.
With an exhausted sigh, you told yourself that you would instead introduce yourself the next morning. And with that, you
You felt him before you could even open your eyes.
His arm was wrapped around your waist, his hand plastered on your stomach. His solid chest secured you. You could feel his warm breath on your nape. He was warm.
He was real.
You smiled when he pulled you closer, his voice particularly deep in the morning. “Found you.”
Summary: You have been with Him since the beginning. To you he was the only person that existed in the world, in your world. But to him, you are another pair of hands that clapped after each of his performance. Will it change when you secure a job in his dancing academy?
Pairing: Celebrity Choreographar!Hoseok X Reader
Theme: Angst, onesided pining, fluffy fluff, eventual smut, a lot of sexual tension
Word count: Will be mentioned in the parts
a/n: So this is my second ff. After you all liked the first one I got some courage to start another one. This will be a mini series. Hope you all will like it too.
I’m Euphorkive, a psychology student who firmly believes that overthinking is actually a love language. While most people watch movies for the plot, I’m over here treating every fictional character like a high-stakes case study, dissecting their motives and probably giving them a diagnostic code they didn't ask for. Currently, my heart (and my drafts) are in a total Akshaye Khanna and Ranveer Singh era. There’s just something about their brooding intensity that makes my brain go into a complete meltdown.
I’m fr surviving textbooks, iced coffee, and the existential crisis that comes free with studying the human mind. Psychology fascinates me because people are layered, contradictory, and beautifully complex, and that’s exactly what I love exploring in my writing. I adore morally grey characters, intense emotions, flawed love, and the kind of stories that make you pause and go, “oh.”
Welcome to my headspace! 🤍
✮⋆˙ Requests are opened, sweethearts!🤍
MASTERLIST ₊˚⊹♡
i. Khairiyat - Rehman Baloch x Daughter!Oc [Completed] ✮⋆˙ Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
ii. Darkhaast - Rehman Baloch x Daughter!Oc [Fluff with Angst Ending] ✮⋆˙ Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
iii. Mehbooba - Rehman and Uzair x FMC! [A Reverse Harem Fanfiction] ✮⋆˙ Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
iv. Gehra Hua - Rehman Baloch x FMC [Found Family Trope] ✮⋆˙ Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
v. Deewana Deewana - Uzair Baloch x FMC [Dark Romance] ✮⋆˙ Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
vi. Paaro, Oh Meri Paaro - Dhurandhar OCxOC ✮⋆˙ Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
vii. Samjhawan - Major Iqbal x daughter! oc [Fluff] ✮⋆˙ Part 1
viii. Ghana Kasoota Lage Se - Danish Pandor x oc! ✮⋆˙ Characters Part 1
ix. Khuda Bhi - Hamza x oc! ✮⋆˙ Part 1
vii. Requests! ft. Dhurandhar
✮⋆˙ Reader finds herself going into the Dhurandhar universe as Uzair Baloch's wife ❤︎
✮⋆˙ Rehman is struggling on Instagram and fighting away his teenage daughter's crush ❤︎ ❤︎
✮⋆˙ Rehman is finding a daughter-in-law ❤︎
✮⋆˙ Rehman and his daughter's british boyfriend ❤︎
✮⋆˙ Rehman is struggling with his bengali wife ❤︎
I can try. Because the moment you stop living you don't get a chance to fix anything any more, because the sun can never come out, because nobody can smile at you and you can't smile at them. Because deciding to stop living is a very permanent solution to what are sometimes, especially in retrospect, very temporary problems. Because, often, time heals and things get better.
summary: bound by a lifetime of unrequited devotion, your spirit finally shatters when you overhear Uzair, the man you have loved since you were five, cruelly mock your appearance and your heart to his gang. choosing to grant him the very peace he claimed to crave, you vow to replace your chatter with a chilling silence, leaving the once arrogant Uzair, to realise too late that the girl he pushed away is the only light in his dark, violent world. (based on this request)
word count: 9.8k words
Part 1
The following morning, the Baloch Haveli felt like a tomb, its high ceilings trapping the echoes of the previous night's devastation. You moved through the corridors with the silent, practiced grace of a ghost, desperate to cross the threshold before the sun climbed high enough to rouse the person you could no longer bear to face.
Your reflection in the hallway mirror was a jarring sight, the vibrant girl of the Haveli had been replaced by a hollow eyed stranger. Your cheeks were drained of their usual glow, your eyes were rimmed with a raw, angry red and heavy shadows hung beneath them like bruises, the physical toll of a night spent in a relentless cycle of weeping, cursing your own heart and desperately trying to convince yourself that freedom was only an exam away.
Ulfat was already in the kitchen, the scent of frying spices filling the air, but her smile faltered the moment she saw you. "Bacha? Itni subha kahan ja rahi ho? Aur tumhari aankhein..." she trailed off, her hand reaching out to touch your face with maternal concern.
"Bhabi, imtehaan sar par hain," you lied, the words tasting like ash. "Library jaldi khulti hai, aur mujhe is baar avval anna hai. Ache number ayege, toh aage naukri bhi achi milegi."
Ulfat let out a soft, tinkling laugh, patting your cheek affectionately. "Pagli, naukri ki fikar kyun karti hai? Rehman toh kal hi keh rahe the ki college khatam hone ke baad tum hi sara hisab kitab sambhalogi. Woh apne us nikamme accountant ko nikaal bahar karege."
In any other universe, the prospect of working at the warehouse, being in Uzair's orbit every single day, would have made your heart soar. Now, you paled further, looking as if a cold hand had clutched your throat. The thought of being trapped in that metallic, grease stained graveyard of your feelings made you feel physically ill.
"Nahi...mera matlab, main khud kuch karna chahti hoon," you stammered, backing away.
Ulfat's brow furrowed, her worry deepening. "Sab theek toh hai na? Agar sukoon chahiye toh Rehman ka office istemal kar lo, varna main Uzair se kehti hoon ke tumhe library chor ayega—"
"Nahi!" the word came out too sharp, too frantic.
"Main...main khud chali jaungi. Rickshaw mil jayega. Aur Sana library mein mera intezaar kar rahi hogi." You declined her offer of a hot paratha, fleeing the house before she could insist further.
As you crossed the threshold, you felt her lingering, troubled gaze burning into your back, a silent testament to the fact that your mask was slipping.
The day was a blur of ink and exhaustion. You hadn't eaten a morsel since the day before, your once famous appetite had vanished, replaced by a hollow ache that food couldn't touch. You immersed yourself in commerce theories, trying to drown out the memory of Uzair's mocking falsetto with the cold logic of ledgers. When Sana forced a piece of aloo paratha into your hand, you chewed it mechanically, the flavour like cardboard.
Your friends exchanged worried glances as you stared blankly at your notes, the bubbly chatterbox they knew having retreated into a fortress of silence. You knew people teased you about marrying a chef because you loved food so much, but now, the very thought of nourishment felt like an insult to the heaviness in your soul. Your mind was the only thing you could control now and you intended to sharpen it into a blade that would cut your ties to Lyari forever.
Instead of heading home after the final bell, you retreated back into the sanctuary of the college library. Sana had cornered you, her eyes searching yours. "Y/N, sach bata, kya hua hai?" You offered her a watery, fragile smile, repeating the same lie about grades and prospects.
You couldn't tell her the truth.
The shame of having wasted seventeen years on a man who saw you as a burden was a weight you had to carry alone. You feared that if they knew, their pity would be the final blow that broke you.
By 2:30 PM, the library was a cavern of hushed whispers and scratching pens. You had silenced your phone, ignoring the ghost of Uzair that haunted your digital screen.
He hadn't called or texted, not that he ever did and for the first time, you didn't check the signal bars with bated breath. You were so deep in your notes that you didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco that suddenly cut through the musty smell of old paper. A shadow fell over your desk and a chair was pulled out with a deliberate, slow screech.
You stiffened, your heart leaping into your throat as Uzair lounged into the seat beside you. You tried to make yourself small, your eyes darting back to your book as your hands became clammy. He looked infuriatingly handsome, his jaw shadowed by stubble, his elbow resting on the table as he propped his face in his palm. Earlier, you would have melted under his proximity, now, it felt like standing too close to an open flame.
"Phone sach mein kisi jheel mein hi phenk de tu apna," Uzair muttered, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. "Yahi ghar basane ka irada hai kya?"
"Tum andar kaise aaye?" you hissed, finally looking at him. Your voice was a mere thread, trembling with suppressed rage.
"Chalkar," he replied dryly, his dark eyes scanning your face, lingering with an uncomfortable intensity on the red puffiness of your lids.
You averted your gaze once again, the movement sharp and jagged. You used to love his dry sense of humour but now it was grating on your nerves, like salt rubbed into an open wound. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel him searching your face, his gaze trailing over you with a weight you couldn't name.
Panic flared in your chest. You quickly shifted your dupatta, pulling the fabric in a way that covered your body completely. You didn't want a single further comment from him about your weight, you didn't want to give him another reason to mock the girl who wasn't beautiful enough for his world.
A flicker of something, was it confusion? Guilt?, crossed over Uzair's face but you were buried too deep in the suffocating darkness of your self-deprecating thoughts to notice.
"Tujhe ho kya gaya hai kal se?" he asked, his voice losing its mocking edge, replaced by a strange, gruff tension.
You chose to ignore the question, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. A spark of hope erupted again, that stupid, resilient hope that whispered maybe he noticed your pain. You punched it down ruthlessly.
Of course he noticed, you thought bitterly. He doesn't have anyone in his close vicinity to make fun of today, that's why he noticed my absence.
"Mujhe abhi yahan waqt lagega. Main khud ghar aa jaungi," you said, turning back to your notes with a finality that felt like slamming a door. The words on the page were meaningless squiggles but you stared at them until your eyes burned.
"Acha? Aladin ka udne wala kaalin khareed liya hai?" he mocked, trying to catch your eye. When you continued to ignore him, his expression shifted from mockery to a strange, strained irritation. "Sun, main dobara lene nahi aaunga. Chal ab."
"Maine tumhe abhi bhi nahi bulaya, Uzair," you whispered, the coldness in your tone surprising even yourself.
"Toh tu ghar kaise—" He started to raise his voice, and you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping harshly.
For a second, looking at his face, the familiar curve of his lips, the intensity in his gaze, you wanted to collapse into his arms and scream until your lungs gave out. But the memory of the warehouse, the laughter of his friends and the mean words he had hurled so casually acted as a shield of ice around your heart.
"Tumhe mujhe pareshan karne mein maza aata hai kya?" you hissed, your eyes flashing with a pain that finally made him recoil. "Dikh nahi raha main padh rahi hoon?" You began to gather your things, ready to move to the furthest corner of the library to escape him.
Uzair stood up too, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. He looked at you for a long, silent moment, his pride warring with something that looked suspiciously like guilt. "Acha, acha...ja raha hoon main," he said, taking a few steps back.
He paused, his voice uncharacteristically timid, almost small. "Phone kar dena...jab teri padhai puri ho jaye."
You didn't dignify the request with a glance. You sat back down and stared at your book until the heat of his presence finally faded from the room.
At 5:00 PM, the library lights flickered, signalling closing time. You walked out into the cooling evening air, intent on finding a rickshaw. But as you reached the main gate, you stilled. There, parked across the street, was the familiar black jeep. Uzair was leaning against the hood, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, his eyes fixed on the entrance.
A new security guard, noticing your fixed stare, walked over. "Beti, in janab ko janti ho?" he asked with a chuckle. You slowly shook your head no, your throat tight. "Pata nahi kiska intezaar kar rahe hain. Pichle teen ghante se ye yahi khade hain. Maine toh pehle bolne wala tha ke yahan gate ke samne khade nahi ho sakte, phir kisi ne bataya ke ye Rehman Sahab ke bhai hain...toh main chup raha."
The realization that Uzair had been idling outside the gates for three hours in the suffocating, dust choked heat of a Karachi afternoon felt like a physical weight on your chest. Three hours. He had leaned against that metal hood, watching the students filter out, smoking away the minutes as if time were a resource he had in infinite supply. To anyone else, it might have looked like the height of devotion, the silent vigil of a protective lover.
But to you, it was a hauntingly familiar trap.
Your mind involuntarily spiraled back to the night of the fair when you were seventeen. You could still feel the humid air of that night, the neon lights of the ferris wheel spinning into a blur of color. You had stayed at a bangles stall, mesmerized by the delicate clinking of glass, losing track of time for just a few minutes.
When you finally turned around, Uzair was gone. Panic had set in, a cold, sharp needle in your heart because the fair was a labyrinth of strangers and shadows. Yet, despite the fear, you hadn't moved an inch from that stall. You had stood there like a statue for an hour, terrified that if you wandered off to find him, he would return and find the spot empty and you didn't want to cause him even a second of trouble.
When he finally reappeared, Hamza was trailing behind him, his face etched with genuine worry.
But Uzair? Uzair had walked up with that familiar, devastating swagger, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a smirk that felt like a slap.
"Dekha Hamze? Maine bola tha na koi daregi nahi ye," he had chuckled, gesturing toward you as if you were a spectator in your own life. "Ek ghante se yahan se hilli nahi...gappe haankne mein mast thi ye toh!"
You had simply lowered your head, the words of explanation dying in your throat. You hadn't been gossiping. You had been a terrified girl holding her breath, waiting for a savior who arrived only to mock her for her loyalty.
As Hamza ushered you into the car, his voice soft as he asked if you were alright, you had merely nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat. The ride home had been a gauntlet of his teasing, Uzair loudly predicting how you'd run to Rehman Bhai to complain that they had abandoned you. You hadn't planned on saying a word. The moment the jeep pulled into the Haveli, you had bolted to your room, collapsing against the door to hide the tears that finally broke free.
You could never understand why he held such a low opinion of you, why every act of your love was translated by him into a nuisance or a joke.
But now you did.
So no, there was no earthly way he was standing outside your college gates now of his own accord. The math simply didn't add up.
Rehman Bhai must have commanded him not to return without me, you thought, the bitterness coating your tongue like bile. Or maybe Ulfat Bhabhi made him swear on her life to bring me home safely because of the way I looked this morning.
He wasn't here for you. He was here because he was a soldier following orders, a man fulfilling a chore that he likely resented with every breath he drew in that stifling heat.
The thought of sitting in that car with him, enduring another ride of his mocking silence or his sharp-tongued barbs, felt like a sentence you weren't prepared to serve.
You weren't a child anymore, you didn't have to wait at the stall.
Without a second glance back at the black jeep or the man leaning against it, you turned on your heel. You moved with a sudden, frantic purpose, your sandals clicking against the pavement as you hurried toward the back gate of the college.
You slipped through a narrow, debris-strewn side alley, the shadows of the tall buildings offering a temporary shroud. When you finally hailed a rickshaw, the rusted metal cage felt like a sanctuary.
As the driver revved the engine and began the jarring journey through the winding, neon-lit streets of Lyari, you stared out at the passing world through the frayed plastic curtains.
You refused to step foot in his car. You refused to be the burden he had to pick up at the end of a shift.
For the first time in seventeen years, you were choosing a different path home, leaving Uzair to wait for a girl who was no longer there.
The vibrant pulse of the Baloch Haveli had begun to feel like a rhythmic drumbeat you were no longer in sync with. You had carved out a new, hollow routine, one designed with the surgical precision of someone trying to amputate a part of their own soul.
Every morning, before the prayer call had even faded from the Lyari sky, you would slip out of your room, your footsteps a ghost-like tap on the cold marble. You only ever sought out Ulfat, the one person whose warmth you couldn't entirely freeze out.
She had begun to anticipate your early departures, standing in the kitchen with dark circles under her own eyes, packing heavy stainless steel tiffins filled with parathas and shami kababs despite your soft protests.
"Ache se khayegi nahi, toh padhegi kaise? Haddiyan nikal ayi hain teri, Y/N," she would murmur, her voice thick with a maternal dread as she pressed the warm bags into your hands. You would offer a brittle, practiced smile and nod but the moment you reached the sanctuary of the college library, those tiffins remained unopened.
Your appetite hadn't just vanished, it had been replaced by a persistent, gnawing nausea that flared whenever you thought of the incident at the warehouse. You only forced yourself to swallow a few bites of dry bread when the world started to tilt and your vision blurred, a mechanical necessity to keep from passing out before your exams had even begun. You would catch yourself staring at a single morsel for minutes, your stomach twisting in a knot of phantom nausea until you eventually pushed the plate away, the sight of nourishment feeling like an intrusion on your grief and insecurities.
The physical toll of your silent martyrdom was a slow, creeping erosion, far too subtle for a dramatic transformation, yet visible in the way the light seemed to have retreated from your skin. Now, when you caught your reflection in the darkened glass of the library windows, you saw a sallow, muted version of yourself. Your skin, once like polished marble, had taken on a greyish, translucent quality and the persistent lack of sleep had etched fine, weary lines around your mouth that made you look years older than a college student.
Your clothes, the vibrant lawns and embroidered cottons that Ulfat painstakingly picked for you, felt different against your skin, not because they were suddenly falling off but because you no longer filled them with the same life. The fabric seemed to hang with a heavy, limp exhaustion, bunching awkwardly at your waist as you sat hunched over your books, as if the very threads were mourning the loss of your once animated spirit. You found yourself tugging at your dupatta more often, wrapping it tighter around your shoulders not for modesty but because a constant, deep seated chill had settled into your bones, a cold that no amount of Karachi heat could dissipate.
Every movement felt like pulling your limbs through deep water. The simple act of climbing the stairs to your room left your heart hammering a frantic, hollow rhythm against your ribs, a reminder that your body was running on nothing but sheer, jagged willpower.
Even Faisal and Naieem, had begun to notice the shift. They would corner you in the courtyard, their voices high and whining as they complained that you didn't play football with them or help with their homework anymore.
"Phuphi, aap ab hamare saath baithti hi nahi!" Faisal would pout, tugging at your dupatta.
You would crouch down and lie to them with a heart that felt like lead. "Bas kuch din aur, phir hum sab bohot masti karenge," you'd whisper, ruffling their hair.
It was a cruel mercy.
You didn't have the courage to tell them that after the exams didn't mean a return to normal but a final departure. You were preparing them for a ghost, promising a future you had already traded away for a ticket out of Lyari. The guilt of leaving them was the only thing that rivaled the pain of staying near Uzair.
Even Rehman, usually insulated by the violent demands of his empire, couldn't ignore the change. One evening, after you had skipped dinner for the sixth night in a row claiming you were stuffed from college snacks, he caught you by the stairs. His eyes searching your pale face with a piercing intensity.
"Bacha, sab theek hai na? Aaj kal dikhti hi nahi hai tu. Mayoos si rehti hai. Kisi ne kuch kaha hai tujhe?" His voice was low, the protective rumble of a lion sensing a threat to his cub.
You forced a light, airy laugh, clutching your books to your chest like armor. "Nahi bhai, bas exams ki tension hai." Rehman let out a warm, booming laugh that echoed through the hallway, reaching out to ruffle your hair with a heavy hand. "Pagal ladki, kisi teacher ki itni jurrat nahi ke meri behen ko fail kare."
"Bhai, Faisal bhi toh aapka hi beta hai, par woh do baar fail ho chuka hai!" you teased, the old banter surfacing for a brief, beautiful second. Rehman let out a genuine bark of laughter, the sound filling the space between you with a rare moment of levity. For that one heartbeat, you felt safe, anchored to the only man who had never made you feel like a burden. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow move. Uzair was rounding the corner, his gaze instantly locking onto the two of you.
The moment his eyes met yours, dark, unreadable, and searing, the air left your lungs. The warmth from Rehman's laughter evaporated instantly. Without a word of greeting or a second glance toward the man who haunted your every thought, you pivoted on your heel and hurried toward your room.
You didn't see the way Uzair's smile vanished or the way his hand tightened into a white knuckled fist against the doorframe as he watched your retreating back, his brow furrowed in a confusion that was rapidly curdling into something more desperate.
You had even taken the drastic step of involving Hamza, knowing he was the only bridge Uzair couldn't easily burn. You had caught him near the gates one afternoon, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. "Hamza, Uzair se keh dena ke ab mujhe lene na aya kare. Sana mujhe ghar chor diya karegi, hum saath mein library mein parhte hain na."
It was a blatant lie. Sana lived in the opposite direction and you spent your evenings in solitary confinement with your textbooks, but it was a necessary shield.
Hamza had paused, his cigarette halfway to his lips, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and pity. "Tu khud bol dena usse. Tumhari ladai hui hai kya?" he asked, his voice softening.
The question almost made you laugh. A fight? You bit your lip to keep the sob back. Fights were for people who occupied equal ground, for people who had something left to lose. Fights happened where there was love or at least the messy remains of it.
"Nahi, Hamza. Ladai nahi hui," you said, your voice cold and final, a tone that sat strangely on your tongue.
This wasn't a conflict, it was an awakening.
It was the sound of seventeen years of pride finally snapping and being swept away. This was just you finally gathering the scattered, bruised pieces of your self-respect and realising that you deserved to exist in a space where you weren't a joke.
"College ka kaam itna zyada hai ke mujhe kisi se baat karne ka waqt nahi milta. Bas use keh dena ke mera intezaar na kare." you continued, avoiding his eyes as you adjusted your bag. You walked away before he could press further, leaving him standing in the dust of the driveway. You were no longer the girl who brought lunch to the warehouse. You were a stranger living in the same house, a ghost who was slowly, painstakingly, erasing herself from his life before she actually disappeared for good.
The library doors groaned as you stepped out into the humid, amber glow of the Karachi evening, the weight of your commerce textbooks feeling like a physical anchor. You moved with a newfound, hollow confidence, convinced that you no longer needed to navigate the back alleys like a fugitive.
Surely, Hamza had delivered the message. Surely, Uzair had received the news of his retirement from his chaperon duties with a sigh of profound relief. You imagined him finally enjoying the silence of his jeep, free from your incessant chatter and the burden of your presence. But the air suddenly turned cold, and your soul seemed to depart from your body as you rounded the corner and saw him. He wasn't in the car, he was leaning casually against the sun bleached brick wall, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the pavement.
You faltered, your grip loosening on your folders until they nearly slipped from your numb fingers. Uzair looked at you for a beat, his dark eyes tracing the sallow hollows of your cheeks and the guarded, weary slant of your shoulders. He reached toward you, an instinctive movement and you flinched so violently that he halted mid-air, his hand hovering in the stagnant heat.
A flicker of something sharp and painful crossed his features before the mask returned. Without a word, he reached out again, this time slower and firmly took the heavy bag and books from your hands. You were too paralyzed by the sheer impossibility of his presence to offer even a whisper of protest.
"Aaj toh Sana nahi aayi lag rahi," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet that vibrated in the small space between you. "Main hi chhod deta hoon ghar tujhe." He turned on his heel, expecting the usual frantic scuttle of your footsteps behind him. But when you didn't move, frozen to the spot as if your feet had taken root in the cracked concrete, he paused. He looked back over his shoulder, his brow furrowing with a simmering, impatient tension.
"Chalegi? Ya tujhe bhi utha kar le jaun?" The threat wasn't delivered with his usual biting malice. It sounded strangely like a plea wrapped in a dare.
You moved then, your legs feeling like leaden weights but you walked slowly, your brain short-circuiting as you watched the broad expanse of his back. You cringed inwardly, bracing yourself for the inevitable scolding, expecting him to bark at you for your sluggish pace, to tell you that you were wasting his precious time.
But for the first time in seventeen years, the script had changed. Usually, Uzair walked ten paces ahead, a silent storm you had to sprint to keep up with, never once looking back to see if you had tripped or fallen. Today, he stopped. He stood by the open door of the jeep, his hand resting on the frame and simply waited for you to catch up.
The climb into the passenger seat felt like entering an interrogation room. The atmosphere inside the cabin was thick, saturated with the scent of sandalwood and the heavy, metallic tang of the firearms warehouse. You sat ramrod straight, your spine pressed against the worn leather, your hands clutched in your lap as if to keep yourself from shattering. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Uzair’s gaze. He wasn't focused solely on the chaotic Lyari traffic, he kept glancing at you, his eyes darting toward your profile with a restless, frantic energy that made the hair on your arms stand up.
The silence was a screaming thing until the jeep slowed near a familiar roadside stall, the colorful lights of the kulfi vendor blurred by the rising dust. "Kulfi khayegi?" Uzair asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a dull blade. You didn't even look at him, you merely shook your head in a slow, rhythmic denial. He stared at you for a second, his jaw tightening until a muscle leaped in his cheek. "Par mujhe bhook lagi hai," he grumbled, more to himself than to you, before swinging himself out of the vehicle and disappearing into the crowd of the evening bazaar.
He returned moments later, the door creaking as he slid back into the seat. In his hand, he held two kulfis, the creamy malai and saffron scent of your favourite flavour filling the cramped space. He held one out to you, the ice already beginning to weep in the stifling heat. You took it mechanically, holding the stick with a trembling hand but you didn't move to eat. You stared at the melting cream as it dripped onto the wrapper, your stomach turning at the very thought of ingestion.
"Dekhne ke liye nahi laya yeh main," Uzair muttered, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he pulled back into the flow of traffic. You looked at the kulfi, then at the blurred buildings passing by, your voice barely a whisper when you finally spoke. "Mujhe bhook nahi hai."
He let out a sharp, cynical huff, the sound echoing the many insults of the past. "Kha le. Ek kulfi se bada tera pait bhar jayega," he snapped. The words were likely meant to be a clumsy attempt at his old banter but to your ears, tuned to the frequency of heartbreak, they sounded like another cruel dig at your weight. You felt the familiar, hot prickle of shame behind your eyelids. You folded your arms over yourself, instinctively trying to hide the body he had mocked in front of his friends, the body that was now a prison of your own making.
Uzair saw the way you winced, the way you retreated into the fabric of your dupatta and his mouth opened as if to take the words back, to explain that he hadn't meant it that way. But the damage was done. The girl who used to laugh at his barbs was dead.
In a sudden, fluid motion born of pure, jagged defiance, you reached out and rolled down the window. Without a single word, without even a glance in his direction, you threw the pristine, expensive kulfi out into the dusty street. You watched it disappear into the grime of the gutter, a sacrifice to the silence you had vowed to keep, leaving Uzair staring at your cold, unyielding profile in a silence that was finally, terrifyingly absolute.
These days you felt as though you had stepped through a jagged tear in reality into an alternate dimension, one where the predator had become the petitioner. For seventeen years, you had been the satellite orbiting Uzair’s cold, distant sun, desperate for a single ray of acknowledgment.
Now, as you systematically withdrew your light, you found him trailing in your wake with the restless, bewildered energy of a lost puppy who had forgotten how to exist without its shadow. The silence you had granted him was clearly a torment he hadn't prepared for and the sight of him fumbling for your attention was a bitter, haunting irony.
The first instance of this surreal new world occurred in the early morning fog of the courtyard. You were hurrying toward the gate, your library bag heavy on your shoulder, when you tripped over a loose cobblestone. In the past, Uzair would have watched from the balcony with a smirk, perhaps calling out a dry remark about your clumsiness.
But before you could even steady yourself, he was there, his hand catching your elbow with a startling, electric urgency. "Sambhalkar, Y/N," he muttered, his voice stripped of its usual razor-edged silk. His fingers lingered on your sleeve, searching your downcast face for a flicker of the old warmth.
You didn't give it to him. You simply adjusted your dupatta, murmuring a toneless "Shukriya," and tried to move past him. Out of the corner of your eye, you couldn't help but notice how disheveled he looked. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His kurta was slightly wrinkled and there was a frantic, shadowed exhaustion in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat with a weary sort of recognition. You quickly looked away, refusing to let the sight of his vulnerability soften the granite you had placed around your heart.
"College ja rahi hai?" he asked, stepping into your path, his voice unusually low. "Main chord doon?"
"Nahi, main chali jaungi," you replied, your voice flat, refusing to meet his gaze. You adjusted the strap of your bag, focusing intently on the rusted hinges of the Haveli gate rather than the man standing far too close to you.
Uzair’s eyes scanned the empty street behind you, his jaw tightening. "Sana ke saath? Dikh toh rahi nahi woh mujhe." He was fishing, searching for a reason, any reason, to insert himself back into the routine of your life but you weren't going to hand him the bait.
"Akele. Mujhe koi kidnap nahi kar lene wala," you said dryly, finally looking up. The irony wasn't lost on you, for years you had prayed he would care enough to worry about your safety and now that he was finally hovering, it felt like an intrusion you hadn't invited.
Uzair’s expression darkened instantly, a flash of something lethal flickering in the depths of his pupils. "Koi jurrat toh karke dekhe," he hissed, the words sounding like a vow of violence. You turned to him, genuinely surprised by the raw, possessive intensity in his voice.
For a second, your gazes locked, yours wide with disbelief, his mirroring your shock, as if he hadn't realised how much of his heart he had just let slip through his teeth.
He recovered quickly, though the air between you remained charged and heavy. "Yahi khadi rehna," he said slowly, his voice dropping into a commanding tone that lacked its usual bite. "Main do minute mein chabi lekar aaya." He turned to head toward the porch, his stride purposeful, as if he could simply command the world back into its old shape.
But you had reached your limit. The exhaustion of the last few days, the hunger and the jagged remains of your pride finally rose up in a wave of cold fury. You snapped. "Apna dimaag kisi Karachi ke bazaar mein bech diya hai kya?" you shouted, the sound echoing off the high stone walls. You didn't care if the servants heard you. "Kaha na maine, main chali jaungi! Main nahi chahti main tumhare saath dikhoon college mein. Log tarah tarah ki baate banate hai hamare baare mein!"
The lie tasted like copper on your tongue. In reality, no one in Lyari and certainly no one at your college was bold enough to whisper a single word about Uzair, let alone gossip about him to your face. He was a man feared and respected in equal measure and your association with him had always been your unspoken shield. But he didn't need to know that. You needed a weapon to keep him at bay.
You didn't wait to see the effect of your words. You turned on your heel and moved toward the gate with a frantic, hurried pace, your heart hammering against your ribs. You refused to glance back, terrified that if you saw the look of pure, unmasked hurt on his face, you might actually break.
You left him standing there in the cooling fog, reduced to a man standing alone in a courtyard, silenced by the very girl who used to live for his every word.
The afternoon sun filtered through the high, arched windows of the living area, casting long, gilded bars across the Persian rugs but the warmth felt distant, unable to penetrate the icy barrier you had erected around yourself. You were curled into the familiar velvet embrace of the corner chair, your spine curved over a thick volume of Advanced Accounting, the complex ledgers and credit debit columns serving as a shield against the reality of the room. Usually, this space was a battlefield of indifference. Uzair would occupy the far sofa, his boots kicked up, either pointedly ignoring your existence or engaging in boisterous, aggressive banter with Hamza just to drown out the sound of your breathing.
Today, however, the air was stagnant, heavy with a silent, watchful tension.
You looked up from a particularly stubborn balance sheet to find him not on the sofa but sitting on the floor just a few feet away. He looked like a caged wolf, restless and dangerous even in repose, his movements as he cleaned a disassembled handgun appearing distracted and mechanical. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms stained with the dark, metallic grease of the warehouse, a stark contrast to the pristine white of the marble floor. He didn't look at you immediately but you could feel his gaze, a burning, persistent weight, pressing against the side of your head every few seconds. When he finally cleared his throat, the sound was startlingly loud in the quiet room, breaking the trance of your study.
"Y/N," he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft, lacking its usual serrated edge. He gestured vaguely toward a stack of crumpled papers beside him, his expression one of forced, awkward neutrality. "Yeh...zara dekhna. Yeh saare hisab angreezi mein hain, kuch samajh nahi aa raha. Todhi madad chahiye thi."
You had thought that after the venomous way you had insulted him in the courtyard, telling him you didn't want to be seen with him, he would finally take the hint and stay away. You had expected him to retreat into his usual cold shell of arrogance, perhaps even to retaliate with a biting remark of his own.
But this man clearly had other plans.
You hesitated, the rejection sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he spoke again before you could retreat. "Yahan baitho na, niche," he said politely, a word that felt foreign coming from his mouth. He gestured to the spot on the rug beside him. "Kapde grease se lade hue hain, bhabi chillayengi agar sofa ganda kiya toh."
Old habits, nurtured over seventeen years of devotion, proved harder to kill than you had imagined. Despite the screaming alarm in your head, you found yourself closing your book and quietly sliding out of the chair, moving to sit on the floor beside him with the hesitant grace of someone approaching a landmine.
As you reached for the first bill, Uzair shifted. He moved with a fluid grace until he was mere inches away. His shoulder brushed yours and you could feel the radiant heat of his body through the thin cotton of your kameez. He leaned in, ostensibly to point at a figure on the paper but his hand didn't move toward the bill, it came to rest on the floor behind your back, effectively caging you in. He was so close that the scent of sandalwood and tobacco felt suffocating and you could feel the warm, steady puff of his breath against your cheeks.
The text on the logistics bill was nothing more than a chaotic swarm of ink, the letters fracturing and dancing across the page as your vision blurred from the sheer, suffocating proximity of him. Your heart was beating a frantic, hammering rhythm against your ribs that you were certain he could feel through the mere inches of air between you.
For seventeen years, you had lived for a moment like this, to be invited into his space but the reality was a sensory assault that made your skin crawl with a desperate, agonising self-consciousness.
Out of the corner of your eye, the world narrowed down to the sharp, lethal curve of Uzair’s jaw and the dark, unyielding intensity of his gaze. He wasn't even pretending to look at the figures you were supposed to be deciphering. His eyes were tracing the terrain of your face with a terrifying, predatory focus. You could see the individual dark hairs of his stubble, the slight pulse at the hollow of his throat and the way his pupils were blown wide, swallowing the amber light of the room until they were nothing but twin abysses. The heat radiating from his body was a physical weight, a warmth you had craved for a lifetime that now felt like it was blistering your very soul.
As his hand remained anchored on the floor behind you, effectively caging you within the circle of his reach, a wave of hot, acidic panic surged through your veins. You were painfully aware of every flaw you had spent years trying to hide. You felt the sallow, greyish tint of your skin, drained of the health and you were convinced he was dissecting it with clinical disdain. To you, his silence wasn't one of awe or concern, it was the silence of a man cataloging your shortcomings.
The way your dupatta was draped felt like a clumsy, pathetic attempt to shroud a body you were certain he found repulsive. You imagined him noticing the slight tremble of your fingers on the paper and the way your breath came in shallow, ragged hitches and you were sure he was mentally preparing his next joke.
This was the closest you had been to him in nearly two decades, a physical intimacy you once would have traded your soul for yet all you could feel was a profound, aching vulnerability. You felt exposed, as if his dark eyes were peeling back the layers of your skin to reveal the wreckage beneath. The man carved from marble and fire was too bright, too magnificent and you felt like a smudge of soot in his presence, a dirty, unwanted remnant of a childhood crush that had overstayed its welcome.
The silence became unbearable, a heavy, velvet shroud that threatened to choke you. You needed to escape, to put walls and doors and miles between yourself and the man who was currently invading the very air you breathed.
"Woh...maine..." you stammered, your voice coming out as a breathless, pathetic squeak. You scrambled to your feet, your movements jerky and uncoordinated as you nearly tripped over your own salwar. "Maine kitchen mein doodh ubalne rakha tha! Bhabi ne kaha tha dhyan rakhne ko. Main...main abhi aayi."
It was a clumsy lie, a transparent fabrication that wouldn't have fooled a child, yet you clung to it like a life raft. You didn't wait for his response. You turned and bolted toward the kitchen, your heart thumping a frantic 'run run run' against your sternum.
Behind you, you heard the heavy thud of his hand hitting the floor in frustration and then his voice, louder now, echoing down the hallway. "Arey, Akhlaq dekh lega doodh! Y/N, ruk toh sahi!" His voice carried a frustrated note you had never heard before but you didn't turn back.
You couldn't.
You burst into the kitchen, the cool tiles beneath your feet doing nothing to soothe the burning shame in your chest. You stood by the stove, staring at a pot that wasn't even there, your hands shaking so violently you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. You were a stranger in your own home, a ghost fleeing from the only man she had ever loved.
The evening sky over Lyari had bruised into a deep, suffocating purple before bleeding into total ink. Inside your room, the only world that existed was the small, flickering halo of your desk lamp, illuminating the jagged lines of accounting ledgers like trenches in a war zone.
When the power abruptly cut, a common casualty of the Karachi grid, the darkness pounced. In years past, this sudden blindness would have sent you bolting from your chair, heart hammering against your ribs as you fled toward the light of the courtyard or, more often, toward the sanctuary of Uzair’s room. You used to be terrified of the shadows, convinced they held the ghosts of everything you feared losing.
Now, you simply sat there. The darkness felt honest. It didn't ask you to perform or to hide your imperfections. You just stared into the void, your eyes wide and vacant, finding a strange, numb comfort in the fact that, for once, no one could see you fading.
Your mind drifted back to a childhood memory, sharp and painful as a splinter. You were barely ten, slipping into Uzair’s room during a blackout, your small voice a relentless hum as you talked his ear off just to drown out the silence. He had been agitated that night, his young face shadowed by a simmering rage you didn't yet understand. When you had tugged on his sleeve for the tenth time, he had turned and roared at you, a sound so violent and jagged that it had physically knocked the breath from your lungs. You had fled, sobbing only for Rehman to intervene and scold him.
The aftermath was worse than the shout. Uzair had ignored you for a week straight. You had followed him around the Haveli like a wounded animal, whispering apologies to his retreating back, starving for a scrap of his attention. Looking back, you realised the pattern of your life had been set that night.
You, the beggar, him, the indifferent king.
The click of your door handle snapped the thread of the past. Faisal burst in, his youthful energy a jarring contrast to your stillness. He grabbed your wrist and started tugging you toward the door. "Phuphi! Aap yahan andhere mein kya kar rahi hain? Sab baramde mein baithe hain, chaliye na!" You tried to protest, your voice a weak rasp but he merely pouted, dragging you toward the centre of the house. "Andhere mein thodi na padhai hoti hai. Chaliye, sab aapka intezaar kar rahe hain."
You felt like a prisoner being led to an exhibition. You didn't want to be under the collective scrutiny of the family, you didn't want Ulfat to track your lack of appetite or Rehman to ask why your eyes looked like burnt out coals.
As you stepped out into the expansive, open-air courtyard, the scene was illuminated only by the faint, silvery wash of the moon and a few scattered candles. The silhouettes of the Baloch family were draped across sofas and charpais. You saw the familiar bulks of Donga and Siyahi sitting near the edge of the light. Your first instinct was to pivot and bolt back into the darkness of the corridor but before you could retreat, Ulfat’s sharp eyes caught your movement.
"Y/N! Idhar aao, bacha. Yahan baitho," she called out, gesturing to a spot near the centre. You were trapped, caught in the gravity of her kindness and the weight of their collective presence.
You moved timidly, choosing a seat on a narrow wooden cot that was wedged tightly against a thick concrete beam. It was a marginal spot, half hidden by the pillar and you pressed your side against the cool stone, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.
Across from you, Siyahi leaned forward, his teeth flashing white in the dimness as he offered a respectful nod. "Bade dino baad dikhi aap, bha-baji!" he corrected himself quickly, his voice carrying a hint of the awkwardness that now permeated every interaction involving you and Uzair's circle.
You managed a tight, fragile smile, the irony of his words cutting deep. Of course you haven't seen me, you thought. You don't have your daily entertainment anymore. The laughing stock stopped showing up at the warehouse.
"Exams ki tayaari chal rahi hai, Siyahi bhaijaan. Bas thodi mashroof zyada hu aaj kall," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your soul.
You tried to engage in the light chatter around you, nodding as Ulfat talked about the rising heat and laughing softly when Naieem made a joke about the electricity board. Your only reprieve, the only reason your lungs could still draw air, was the absence of the one person who defined your misery. Uzair and Hamza were nowhere to be seen. You began to relax, just a fraction, the tension in your shoulders uncoiling as the darkness offered its temporary protection.
Then, the heavy iron gates of the Haveli groaned open. The sound of boisterous laughter cut through the quiet night like a blade. Your entire body went rigid, your breath hitching in your throat as the silhouettes of Hamza and Uzair emerged from the driveway. They were loud, smelling of the outdoors and cigarettes, bringing with them a chaotic energy that sucked the oxygen out of the courtyard. You immediately looked down at your hands, your mind frantically searching for an exit strategy but the path to the stairs was blocked by the sprawl of the sofas. You were pinned against the beam, a bird in a cage of shadows.
Uzair didn't go toward the empty chairs near Rehman. He didn't even stop to greet Siyahi or Donga. He walked straight toward the narrow cot where you were sitting. Before you could even process the movement, he sat down right next to you.
The cot was small, designed for one and his sudden weight caused the wood to creak and the mattress to dip toward him. Because of the limited space, his thigh was pressed firmly against yours, the heat of his skin searing through the layers of your clothes. You felt a jolt of pure shock, your eyes widening as you stared at the darkness in front of you, not daring to move a muscle.
The proximity was a sensory overload. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the subtle scent of his cologne mixing with the smell of the night air. You were breaking out in a cold, nervous sweat, your hands becoming clammy as you tried to scoot even closer to the concrete pillar.
You pressed your shoulder against the rough stone until it bruised, wishing, praying, that the beam would simply open up and swallow you whole. But as you moved away, Uzair shifted with you, closing the gap as if he were an inescapable tide. He leaned back, his arm coming to rest on the beam behind you, his forearm brushing against your waist in a way that felt entirely too deliberate.
He was doing this on purpose.
The thought hammered in your brain like a funeral bell. He wanted to show his friends how easily he could still rattle you. He wanted to watch you struggle under the weight of his presence, to prove that despite your recent silence, you were still the same affected, desperate girl.
Because it was dark, you couldn't tell if he was looking at you but you could feel the heavy, burning weight of his eyes on the side of your neck. You didn't dare turn your head. You knew that if you did, he would see the raw panic in your eyes and mistake it for the creepy infatuation you had spent years displaying. You were a statue of glass, terrified that even a single breath would cause you to shatter.
You were holding your breath, your lungs screaming for air, when he leaned in. His head moved closer until his lips were just inches from your ear, his warm breath ghosting over your skin and making your hair stand on end. "Namkeen khaogi?" he whispered, his voice a low, intimate rumble that vibrated through your very bones. The mundane question felt like an explosion in the quiet courtyard. You stifled a gasp by reflexively slamming your hand over your mouth, your eyes darting toward the others to see if they had noticed the suffocating closeness of the man beside you.
"Haan? Haan..." you stammered, the word barely a puff of air. You didn't even want the snack, you just wanted him to move, to stop the electrical current that was running from his thigh into yours.
Uzair looked toward Faisal, his voice raising just enough to be heard over the communal chatter. "Faisal, zara namkeen idhar lana." The boy pranced toward you both, a small bowl in his hands. You desperately wanted to grab Faisal and pull him down between you, to use his small body as a barricade but there was simply no room. The space between you and Uzair had been utterly consumed.
You reached into the bowl with shaking hands, your fingers fumbling against the plastic as you took a small handful of the savory mix. You could feel Uzair following your every movement, his gaze tracking the path of your hand to your mouth like a hawk watching a mouse.
Every crunch of the snack felt deafeningly loud in your ears. You were acutely aware of the way his arm was still draped behind you, the heat of his bicep pressing against the small of your back, anchoring you to him in a way that felt like a claim.
The conversation around the courtyard continued, Rehman was talking about a new shipment, Hamza and Naieem were laughing about something but your mind had completely blanked out their words. You were in a vacuum of Uzair’s making.
You felt like a specimen under a microscope, convinced that Siyahi and Donga were watching this display with smirks on their faces, witnessing Uzair toy with his favourite plaything. The shame was a hot, liquid thing in your gut, competing with the terror of his touch. You felt exposed and pathetic, a girl who couldn't even sit on a cot without trembling like a leaf.
Uzair shifted again, his leg heavy against yours, his presence so large and overwhelming that it seemed to blot out the rest of the world. He didn't say anything else but he didn't move away either. He stayed there, a silent, burning sun at your side, forcing you to endure the very intimacy you had spent seventeen years begging for, now that it was the last thing you wanted.
The shadows of the neem trees danced like skeletal fingers across the courtyard, mocking the frantic, irregular thrum of your pulse. You sat there, your hands clenched into white knuckled fists in your lap, the fabric of your shalwar bunching under the sheer force of your grip. Every nerve ending on your right side was screaming, sensitised by the unyielding heat of Uzair’s frame pressed against yours.
You prayed for the electricity to return. You needed a shield, a distraction, anything to justify standing up and fleeing back to the hollow safety of your dark, lonely room before the gravity of his presence pulled you apart.
The silence was finally punctured by the heavy, rhythmic tread of Akhlaq emerging from the shadows of the corridor. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, his voice a gravelly comfort in the thick air. "Chai kaun kaun piyega?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the gathered family.
A chorus of "Main" and "Ek mere liye bhi" echoed through the courtyard, a collective craving for the bitter warmth of caffeine to cut through the humid night. Akhlaq let out a long, weary sigh, muttering under his breath about the sheer volume of tea required for such a restless household. "Itni saari chai..."
This was it, your tether to sanity.
"Bhaijaan, mien madad kar deti hoon chai banane mein," you announced, your voice coming out in a hurried, breathless rush.
You moved to stand, desperate to put distance between your skin and the searing heat of Uzair’s thigh, but the darkness was a treacherous ally. In your haste to escape the magnetic pull of the man beside you, your foot caught on the uneven leg of the cot. Your balance betrayed you and you fell, not onto the hard ground but directly into Uzair’s lap.
Your soul literally left your body.
The air in your lungs vanished, replaced by the scent of his cologne, musk, tobacco and something uniquely him that made your head spin. In the frantic confusion of the dark, you felt his arms react before his mind could. His hands came up to steady you, his grip firm and possessive around your waist. For a terrifying second, it felt as though he pulled you closer, tucking your frame against the hard expanse of his chest. Your brain had completely short-circuited, leaving you paralysed in the embrace of the one person you were trying to erase from your existence.
The mortification was a tidal wave, crashing over you with such force that it left you gasping. You scrambled to find your footing, your movements jerky and uncoordinated as you fought to extricate yourself from the heat of his lap. In your desperate scramble, your toe collided sharply with the edge of a heavy wooden low-table.
A jagged flash of pain shot up your leg and you bit your lip until you tasted copper to stifle a cry of agony. You couldn't let them hear you break, you couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had rattled you. Without a backward glance, you limped toward the kitchen, following the retreating shadow of Akhlaq.
As you moved away, the low murmur of the courtyard followed you like a haunting refrain. You could hear Hamza’s voice, filtered through the darkness, laced with a genuine, confused concern. "Y/N ko aaj kal kya ho gaya hai? Kuch zyada hi pareshan lag rahi hai." The words felt like a spotlight on your back.
Your mind was filled to the brim with a toxic mixture of shame and dread. You were absolutely certain that Uzair, arrogant, perceptive Uzair, must have thought you fell on purpose. You could almost hear his internal smirk, imagining him thinking that his ugly shadow was up to her old tricks again, seeking his touch under the guise of an accident.
By the time you crossed the threshold of the kitchen, the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving only the throbbing, rhythmic flare of pain in your foot. The yellow glow of a single battery-powered emergency light flickered on the counter, casting long, distorted shadows against the spice jars. You leaned against the cold tile of the counter, your breath coming in ragged hitches as you reached down to clutch your injured toe. The physical pain was almost a relief, a tangible, sharp distraction from the emotional wreckage you had just left behind in the courtyard.
Akhlaq turned from the stove, his weathered face softening into an expression of deep worry as he saw you huddled there. He had known you since you were a child, had seen you at your brightest and now, clearly, at your dimmest. He set down the teapot and moved toward you, his voice low so as not to carry back to the others.
"Bacha, tu theek hai?" He looked at your pale, drawn face and the way you were trembling, his intuition sensing that the injury was more than just a stubbed toe.
"Tu wapas ja," Akhlaq said firmly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Mien bana loonga chai, koi baat nahi. Tu ja kar araam kar, teri tabiyat wese hi theek nahi lag rahi." You wanted to protest, to stay in the kitchen where the air was neutral and Uzair wasn't a constant, suffocating weight against your side but your body was failing you. The combination of the lack of food, the lack of sleep and the sheer psychological exhaustion of being near him was finally demanding its due.
But you turned to leave, your vision swimming with dark spots, only to find the doorway blocked by a sudden, solid wall of masculine heat. You almost collided with the broad expanse of Uzair’s chest. You recoiled as if burned, your heart doing a frantic, stumbling dance against your ribs. Uzair didn't look at you immediately.
He directed his attention to Akhlaq, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who had just witnessed your undignified tumble into his lap. "Akhlaq, main bhi chai le jaane mein madad kar doonga."
Akhlaq, oblivious to the silent lightning arcing between the two of you, sighed with relief but gestured toward you with a wooden spoon. "Acha kiya tu aa gaya, Uzair. Bachi ki ungli par chot lag gayi hai andhere mein. Ye toh khadi bhi nahi ho paa rahi."
At the mention of your injury, Uzair’s gaze finally dropped to you, snapping onto your face with the intensity of a searchlight. You felt the heat of his scrutiny and immediately lowered your head, your hair falling forward like a curtain to hide the shame burning in your cheeks. You were busy tracing the patterns on the floor tiles, desperate to avoid the dark, searching depth of his eyes.
The silence in the kitchen stretched, thick and suffocating, until the sound of a heavy rustle broke it. Before you could process his intent, Uzair had dropped to one knee on the cold floor. You gasped, taking a stumbling step back. "Kya...kya kar rahe ho tum?" you stammered, your voice a fragile thread of sound. You tried to pull your foot away but he was faster. His large, calloused hand reached out and caught your ankle with a firm, unyielding grip that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your spine.
"Chup baitho," he commanded, though the harshness was absent, replaced by a low, gravelly vibration that made your knees go weak. Without waiting for permission, he guided your foot upward, resting it atop his knee. The intimacy of the gesture was staggering. His palm was a furnace against your skin and the proximity was so absolute that you could see the faint tremor in his fingers.
"Chot kahan lagi hai...woh dekh raha hoon," he muttered, his thumb grazing the side of your foot as he inspected the swelling, purple bruise on your toe. The touch almost tender and that was far more dangerous than his cruelty had ever been.
Just as the air between you became too heavy to breathe, a sudden, sharp hum vibrated through the house. The electricity surged back to life with a blinding, clinical glare. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered once, twice and then stayed on, washing the kitchen in a harsh, unforgiving white. The sudden transition from the soft, protective shadows to this absolute exposure felt like a physical blow. There was Uzair on his knees before you, cradling your foot in his hand as if it were made of the finest porcelain, his face tilted up toward yours.
For a long, agonising beat, time simply ceased to exist. You stared down at him and he stared back, his dark eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. There was no smirk, no sarcasm, only a raw, pleading confusion that mirrored your own agony. His thumb continued to stroke your skin in a slow, unconscious rhythm, a silent admission of a feeling he would never name. In the stark light, the sallow hollows of your face and the red-rimmed exhaustion of your eyes were laid bare to him and for the first time, you saw him truly see you, not as a nuisance but as a breaking thing.
The spell was shattered by Rehman's voice echoing from the courtyard. "Kahan reh gaye teeno? Chai la rahe ho ya wahin peeni hai?" You jolted as if struck, the reality of your position crashing back down on you. The thought of Uzair’s friends or Rehman walking in and seeing this sent a fresh wave of mortification through you. You were sure he was only doing this to keep up the charade, to mock you further once you were out of earshot.
"Tumhe...tumhe bhai bula rahe hain," you whispered, your voice cracking. You quickly jerked your foot from his knee, the loss of his touch leaving a cold, aching void where the heat had been.
Uzair didn't stand up immediately, he stayed on one knee, his hand still shaped as if it were holding you, his gaze anchored to your face with a desperate, unspoken question. He looked like a man who had finally found what he was looking for, only to have it slip through his fingers the moment he reached out.
You didn't wait for him to find his voice. You bolted. You limped past him, ignoring the flare of pain in your toe and hurried toward the back corridor that led to the bedrooms. Your breath was coming in short, jagged gasps, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else. You could feel his eyes on your back, a heavy, burning weight that followed you until you rounded the corner and vanished into the shadows of the hallway. You heard a muffled sound behind you, a frustrated, low curse but you didn't turn back.
Once inside your room, you slammed the door and locked it, leaning your forehead against the cool wood as your body finally began to shake. The silence of the room was a mockery. Your mind was a whirlwind of shame, convinced that every touch, every look from Uzair today had been a calculated joke, a way to see just how much more he could make you suffer before you finally snapped.
I can’t do this, you thought, the realization hitting you with the force of a physical blow. I can’t live in this house for one more month. The Baloch Haveli, once the centre of your universe, had become a torture chamber where your dignity was the price of admission. You looked at your desk, at the stacks of books that were supposed to be your ticket to freedom and felt a cold, hard resolve settle into your bones. You couldn't wait until the exams were over. You couldn't wait for the results.
You needed to find a way to leave as soon as possible.
summary: bound by a lifetime of unrequited devotion, your spirit finally shatters when you overhear Uzair, the man you have loved since you were five, cruelly mock your appearance and your heart to his gang. choosing to grant him the very peace he claimed to crave, you vow to replace your chatter with a chilling silence, leaving the once arrogant Uzair, to realise too late that the girl he pushed away is the only light in his dark, violent world. (based on this request)
word count: 9.8k words
Part 1
The following morning, the Baloch Haveli felt like a tomb, its high ceilings trapping the echoes of the previous night's devastation. You moved through the corridors with the silent, practiced grace of a ghost, desperate to cross the threshold before the sun climbed high enough to rouse the person you could no longer bear to face.
Your reflection in the hallway mirror was a jarring sight, the vibrant girl of the Haveli had been replaced by a hollow eyed stranger. Your cheeks were drained of their usual glow, your eyes were rimmed with a raw, angry red and heavy shadows hung beneath them like bruises, the physical toll of a night spent in a relentless cycle of weeping, cursing your own heart and desperately trying to convince yourself that freedom was only an exam away.
Ulfat was already in the kitchen, the scent of frying spices filling the air, but her smile faltered the moment she saw you. "Bacha? Itni subha kahan ja rahi ho? Aur tumhari aankhein..." she trailed off, her hand reaching out to touch your face with maternal concern.
"Bhabi, imtehaan sar par hain," you lied, the words tasting like ash. "Library jaldi khulti hai, aur mujhe is baar avval anna hai. Ache number ayege, toh aage naukri bhi achi milegi."
Ulfat let out a soft, tinkling laugh, patting your cheek affectionately. "Pagli, naukri ki fikar kyun karti hai? Rehman toh kal hi keh rahe the ki college khatam hone ke baad tum hi sara hisab kitab sambhalogi. Woh apne us nikamme accountant ko nikaal bahar karege."
In any other universe, the prospect of working at the warehouse, being in Uzair's orbit every single day, would have made your heart soar. Now, you paled further, looking as if a cold hand had clutched your throat. The thought of being trapped in that metallic, grease stained graveyard of your feelings made you feel physically ill.
"Nahi...mera matlab, main khud kuch karna chahti hoon," you stammered, backing away.
Ulfat's brow furrowed, her worry deepening. "Sab theek toh hai na? Agar sukoon chahiye toh Rehman ka office istemal kar lo, varna main Uzair se kehti hoon ke tumhe library chor ayega—"
"Nahi!" the word came out too sharp, too frantic.
"Main...main khud chali jaungi. Rickshaw mil jayega. Aur Sana library mein mera intezaar kar rahi hogi." You declined her offer of a hot paratha, fleeing the house before she could insist further.
As you crossed the threshold, you felt her lingering, troubled gaze burning into your back, a silent testament to the fact that your mask was slipping.
The day was a blur of ink and exhaustion. You hadn't eaten a morsel since the day before, your once famous appetite had vanished, replaced by a hollow ache that food couldn't touch. You immersed yourself in commerce theories, trying to drown out the memory of Uzair's mocking falsetto with the cold logic of ledgers. When Sana forced a piece of aloo paratha into your hand, you chewed it mechanically, the flavour like cardboard.
Your friends exchanged worried glances as you stared blankly at your notes, the bubbly chatterbox they knew having retreated into a fortress of silence. You knew people teased you about marrying a chef because you loved food so much, but now, the very thought of nourishment felt like an insult to the heaviness in your soul. Your mind was the only thing you could control now and you intended to sharpen it into a blade that would cut your ties to Lyari forever.
Instead of heading home after the final bell, you retreated back into the sanctuary of the college library. Sana had cornered you, her eyes searching yours. "Y/N, sach bata, kya hua hai?" You offered her a watery, fragile smile, repeating the same lie about grades and prospects.
You couldn't tell her the truth.
The shame of having wasted seventeen years on a man who saw you as a burden was a weight you had to carry alone. You feared that if they knew, their pity would be the final blow that broke you.
By 2:30 PM, the library was a cavern of hushed whispers and scratching pens. You had silenced your phone, ignoring the ghost of Uzair that haunted your digital screen.
He hadn't called or texted, not that he ever did and for the first time, you didn't check the signal bars with bated breath. You were so deep in your notes that you didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle scent of sandalwood and expensive tobacco that suddenly cut through the musty smell of old paper. A shadow fell over your desk and a chair was pulled out with a deliberate, slow screech.
You stiffened, your heart leaping into your throat as Uzair lounged into the seat beside you. You tried to make yourself small, your eyes darting back to your book as your hands became clammy. He looked infuriatingly handsome, his jaw shadowed by stubble, his elbow resting on the table as he propped his face in his palm. Earlier, you would have melted under his proximity, now, it felt like standing too close to an open flame.
"Phone sach mein kisi jheel mein hi phenk de tu apna," Uzair muttered, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room. "Yahi ghar basane ka irada hai kya?"
"Tum andar kaise aaye?" you hissed, finally looking at him. Your voice was a mere thread, trembling with suppressed rage.
"Chalkar," he replied dryly, his dark eyes scanning your face, lingering with an uncomfortable intensity on the red puffiness of your lids.
You averted your gaze once again, the movement sharp and jagged. You used to love his dry sense of humour but now it was grating on your nerves, like salt rubbed into an open wound. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel him searching your face, his gaze trailing over you with a weight you couldn't name.
Panic flared in your chest. You quickly shifted your dupatta, pulling the fabric in a way that covered your body completely. You didn't want a single further comment from him about your weight, you didn't want to give him another reason to mock the girl who wasn't beautiful enough for his world.
A flicker of something, was it confusion? Guilt?, crossed over Uzair's face but you were buried too deep in the suffocating darkness of your self-deprecating thoughts to notice.
"Tujhe ho kya gaya hai kal se?" he asked, his voice losing its mocking edge, replaced by a strange, gruff tension.
You chose to ignore the question, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm. A spark of hope erupted again, that stupid, resilient hope that whispered maybe he noticed your pain. You punched it down ruthlessly.
Of course he noticed, you thought bitterly. He doesn't have anyone in his close vicinity to make fun of today, that's why he noticed my absence.
"Mujhe abhi yahan waqt lagega. Main khud ghar aa jaungi," you said, turning back to your notes with a finality that felt like slamming a door. The words on the page were meaningless squiggles but you stared at them until your eyes burned.
"Acha? Aladin ka udne wala kaalin khareed liya hai?" he mocked, trying to catch your eye. When you continued to ignore him, his expression shifted from mockery to a strange, strained irritation. "Sun, main dobara lene nahi aaunga. Chal ab."
"Maine tumhe abhi bhi nahi bulaya, Uzair," you whispered, the coldness in your tone surprising even yourself.
"Toh tu ghar kaise—" He started to raise his voice, and you stood up abruptly, your chair scraping harshly.
For a second, looking at his face, the familiar curve of his lips, the intensity in his gaze, you wanted to collapse into his arms and scream until your lungs gave out. But the memory of the warehouse, the laughter of his friends and the mean words he had hurled so casually acted as a shield of ice around your heart.
"Tumhe mujhe pareshan karne mein maza aata hai kya?" you hissed, your eyes flashing with a pain that finally made him recoil. "Dikh nahi raha main padh rahi hoon?" You began to gather your things, ready to move to the furthest corner of the library to escape him.
Uzair stood up too, his towering frame casting a long shadow over you. He looked at you for a long, silent moment, his pride warring with something that looked suspiciously like guilt. "Acha, acha...ja raha hoon main," he said, taking a few steps back.
He paused, his voice uncharacteristically timid, almost small. "Phone kar dena...jab teri padhai puri ho jaye."
You didn't dignify the request with a glance. You sat back down and stared at your book until the heat of his presence finally faded from the room.
At 5:00 PM, the library lights flickered, signalling closing time. You walked out into the cooling evening air, intent on finding a rickshaw. But as you reached the main gate, you stilled. There, parked across the street, was the familiar black jeep. Uzair was leaning against the hood, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, his eyes fixed on the entrance.
A new security guard, noticing your fixed stare, walked over. "Beti, in janab ko janti ho?" he asked with a chuckle. You slowly shook your head no, your throat tight. "Pata nahi kiska intezaar kar rahe hain. Pichle teen ghante se ye yahi khade hain. Maine toh pehle bolne wala tha ke yahan gate ke samne khade nahi ho sakte, phir kisi ne bataya ke ye Rehman Sahab ke bhai hain...toh main chup raha."
The realization that Uzair had been idling outside the gates for three hours in the suffocating, dust choked heat of a Karachi afternoon felt like a physical weight on your chest. Three hours. He had leaned against that metal hood, watching the students filter out, smoking away the minutes as if time were a resource he had in infinite supply. To anyone else, it might have looked like the height of devotion, the silent vigil of a protective lover.
But to you, it was a hauntingly familiar trap.
Your mind involuntarily spiraled back to the night of the fair when you were seventeen. You could still feel the humid air of that night, the neon lights of the ferris wheel spinning into a blur of color. You had stayed at a bangles stall, mesmerized by the delicate clinking of glass, losing track of time for just a few minutes.
When you finally turned around, Uzair was gone. Panic had set in, a cold, sharp needle in your heart because the fair was a labyrinth of strangers and shadows. Yet, despite the fear, you hadn't moved an inch from that stall. You had stood there like a statue for an hour, terrified that if you wandered off to find him, he would return and find the spot empty and you didn't want to cause him even a second of trouble.
When he finally reappeared, Hamza was trailing behind him, his face etched with genuine worry.
But Uzair? Uzair had walked up with that familiar, devastating swagger, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a smirk that felt like a slap.
"Dekha Hamze? Maine bola tha na koi daregi nahi ye," he had chuckled, gesturing toward you as if you were a spectator in your own life. "Ek ghante se yahan se hilli nahi...gappe haankne mein mast thi ye toh!"
You had simply lowered your head, the words of explanation dying in your throat. You hadn't been gossiping. You had been a terrified girl holding her breath, waiting for a savior who arrived only to mock her for her loyalty.
As Hamza ushered you into the car, his voice soft as he asked if you were alright, you had merely nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat. The ride home had been a gauntlet of his teasing, Uzair loudly predicting how you'd run to Rehman Bhai to complain that they had abandoned you. You hadn't planned on saying a word. The moment the jeep pulled into the Haveli, you had bolted to your room, collapsing against the door to hide the tears that finally broke free.
You could never understand why he held such a low opinion of you, why every act of your love was translated by him into a nuisance or a joke.
But now you did.
So no, there was no earthly way he was standing outside your college gates now of his own accord. The math simply didn't add up.
Rehman Bhai must have commanded him not to return without me, you thought, the bitterness coating your tongue like bile. Or maybe Ulfat Bhabhi made him swear on her life to bring me home safely because of the way I looked this morning.
He wasn't here for you. He was here because he was a soldier following orders, a man fulfilling a chore that he likely resented with every breath he drew in that stifling heat.
The thought of sitting in that car with him, enduring another ride of his mocking silence or his sharp-tongued barbs, felt like a sentence you weren't prepared to serve.
You weren't a child anymore, you didn't have to wait at the stall.
Without a second glance back at the black jeep or the man leaning against it, you turned on your heel. You moved with a sudden, frantic purpose, your sandals clicking against the pavement as you hurried toward the back gate of the college.
You slipped through a narrow, debris-strewn side alley, the shadows of the tall buildings offering a temporary shroud. When you finally hailed a rickshaw, the rusted metal cage felt like a sanctuary.
As the driver revved the engine and began the jarring journey through the winding, neon-lit streets of Lyari, you stared out at the passing world through the frayed plastic curtains.
You refused to step foot in his car. You refused to be the burden he had to pick up at the end of a shift.
For the first time in seventeen years, you were choosing a different path home, leaving Uzair to wait for a girl who was no longer there.
The vibrant pulse of the Baloch Haveli had begun to feel like a rhythmic drumbeat you were no longer in sync with. You had carved out a new, hollow routine, one designed with the surgical precision of someone trying to amputate a part of their own soul.
Every morning, before the prayer call had even faded from the Lyari sky, you would slip out of your room, your footsteps a ghost-like tap on the cold marble. You only ever sought out Ulfat, the one person whose warmth you couldn't entirely freeze out.
She had begun to anticipate your early departures, standing in the kitchen with dark circles under her own eyes, packing heavy stainless steel tiffins filled with parathas and shami kababs despite your soft protests.
"Ache se khayegi nahi, toh padhegi kaise? Haddiyan nikal ayi hain teri, Y/N," she would murmur, her voice thick with a maternal dread as she pressed the warm bags into your hands. You would offer a brittle, practiced smile and nod but the moment you reached the sanctuary of the college library, those tiffins remained unopened.
Your appetite hadn't just vanished, it had been replaced by a persistent, gnawing nausea that flared whenever you thought of the incident at the warehouse. You only forced yourself to swallow a few bites of dry bread when the world started to tilt and your vision blurred, a mechanical necessity to keep from passing out before your exams had even begun. You would catch yourself staring at a single morsel for minutes, your stomach twisting in a knot of phantom nausea until you eventually pushed the plate away, the sight of nourishment feeling like an intrusion on your grief and insecurities.
The physical toll of your silent martyrdom was a slow, creeping erosion, far too subtle for a dramatic transformation, yet visible in the way the light seemed to have retreated from your skin. Now, when you caught your reflection in the darkened glass of the library windows, you saw a sallow, muted version of yourself. Your skin, once like polished marble, had taken on a greyish, translucent quality and the persistent lack of sleep had etched fine, weary lines around your mouth that made you look years older than a college student.
Your clothes, the vibrant lawns and embroidered cottons that Ulfat painstakingly picked for you, felt different against your skin, not because they were suddenly falling off but because you no longer filled them with the same life. The fabric seemed to hang with a heavy, limp exhaustion, bunching awkwardly at your waist as you sat hunched over your books, as if the very threads were mourning the loss of your once animated spirit. You found yourself tugging at your dupatta more often, wrapping it tighter around your shoulders not for modesty but because a constant, deep seated chill had settled into your bones, a cold that no amount of Karachi heat could dissipate.
Every movement felt like pulling your limbs through deep water. The simple act of climbing the stairs to your room left your heart hammering a frantic, hollow rhythm against your ribs, a reminder that your body was running on nothing but sheer, jagged willpower.
Even Faisal and Naieem, had begun to notice the shift. They would corner you in the courtyard, their voices high and whining as they complained that you didn't play football with them or help with their homework anymore.
"Phuphi, aap ab hamare saath baithti hi nahi!" Faisal would pout, tugging at your dupatta.
You would crouch down and lie to them with a heart that felt like lead. "Bas kuch din aur, phir hum sab bohot masti karenge," you'd whisper, ruffling their hair.
It was a cruel mercy.
You didn't have the courage to tell them that after the exams didn't mean a return to normal but a final departure. You were preparing them for a ghost, promising a future you had already traded away for a ticket out of Lyari. The guilt of leaving them was the only thing that rivaled the pain of staying near Uzair.
Even Rehman, usually insulated by the violent demands of his empire, couldn't ignore the change. One evening, after you had skipped dinner for the sixth night in a row claiming you were stuffed from college snacks, he caught you by the stairs. His eyes searching your pale face with a piercing intensity.
"Bacha, sab theek hai na? Aaj kal dikhti hi nahi hai tu. Mayoos si rehti hai. Kisi ne kuch kaha hai tujhe?" His voice was low, the protective rumble of a lion sensing a threat to his cub.
You forced a light, airy laugh, clutching your books to your chest like armor. "Nahi bhai, bas exams ki tension hai." Rehman let out a warm, booming laugh that echoed through the hallway, reaching out to ruffle your hair with a heavy hand. "Pagal ladki, kisi teacher ki itni jurrat nahi ke meri behen ko fail kare."
"Bhai, Faisal bhi toh aapka hi beta hai, par woh do baar fail ho chuka hai!" you teased, the old banter surfacing for a brief, beautiful second. Rehman let out a genuine bark of laughter, the sound filling the space between you with a rare moment of levity. For that one heartbeat, you felt safe, anchored to the only man who had never made you feel like a burden. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow move. Uzair was rounding the corner, his gaze instantly locking onto the two of you.
The moment his eyes met yours, dark, unreadable, and searing, the air left your lungs. The warmth from Rehman's laughter evaporated instantly. Without a word of greeting or a second glance toward the man who haunted your every thought, you pivoted on your heel and hurried toward your room.
You didn't see the way Uzair's smile vanished or the way his hand tightened into a white knuckled fist against the doorframe as he watched your retreating back, his brow furrowed in a confusion that was rapidly curdling into something more desperate.
You had even taken the drastic step of involving Hamza, knowing he was the only bridge Uzair couldn't easily burn. You had caught him near the gates one afternoon, your voice steady despite the trembling in your hands. "Hamza, Uzair se keh dena ke ab mujhe lene na aya kare. Sana mujhe ghar chor diya karegi, hum saath mein library mein parhte hain na."
It was a blatant lie. Sana lived in the opposite direction and you spent your evenings in solitary confinement with your textbooks, but it was a necessary shield.
Hamza had paused, his cigarette halfway to his lips, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and pity. "Tu khud bol dena usse. Tumhari ladai hui hai kya?" he asked, his voice softening.
The question almost made you laugh. A fight? You bit your lip to keep the sob back. Fights were for people who occupied equal ground, for people who had something left to lose. Fights happened where there was love or at least the messy remains of it.
"Nahi, Hamza. Ladai nahi hui," you said, your voice cold and final, a tone that sat strangely on your tongue.
This wasn't a conflict, it was an awakening.
It was the sound of seventeen years of pride finally snapping and being swept away. This was just you finally gathering the scattered, bruised pieces of your self-respect and realising that you deserved to exist in a space where you weren't a joke.
"College ka kaam itna zyada hai ke mujhe kisi se baat karne ka waqt nahi milta. Bas use keh dena ke mera intezaar na kare." you continued, avoiding his eyes as you adjusted your bag. You walked away before he could press further, leaving him standing in the dust of the driveway. You were no longer the girl who brought lunch to the warehouse. You were a stranger living in the same house, a ghost who was slowly, painstakingly, erasing herself from his life before she actually disappeared for good.
The library doors groaned as you stepped out into the humid, amber glow of the Karachi evening, the weight of your commerce textbooks feeling like a physical anchor. You moved with a newfound, hollow confidence, convinced that you no longer needed to navigate the back alleys like a fugitive.
Surely, Hamza had delivered the message. Surely, Uzair had received the news of his retirement from his chaperon duties with a sigh of profound relief. You imagined him finally enjoying the silence of his jeep, free from your incessant chatter and the burden of your presence. But the air suddenly turned cold, and your soul seemed to depart from your body as you rounded the corner and saw him. He wasn't in the car, he was leaning casually against the sun bleached brick wall, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the pavement.
You faltered, your grip loosening on your folders until they nearly slipped from your numb fingers. Uzair looked at you for a beat, his dark eyes tracing the sallow hollows of your cheeks and the guarded, weary slant of your shoulders. He reached toward you, an instinctive movement and you flinched so violently that he halted mid-air, his hand hovering in the stagnant heat.
A flicker of something sharp and painful crossed his features before the mask returned. Without a word, he reached out again, this time slower and firmly took the heavy bag and books from your hands. You were too paralyzed by the sheer impossibility of his presence to offer even a whisper of protest.
"Aaj toh Sana nahi aayi lag rahi," he murmured, his voice a low, raspy velvet that vibrated in the small space between you. "Main hi chhod deta hoon ghar tujhe." He turned on his heel, expecting the usual frantic scuttle of your footsteps behind him. But when you didn't move, frozen to the spot as if your feet had taken root in the cracked concrete, he paused. He looked back over his shoulder, his brow furrowing with a simmering, impatient tension.
"Chalegi? Ya tujhe bhi utha kar le jaun?" The threat wasn't delivered with his usual biting malice. It sounded strangely like a plea wrapped in a dare.
You moved then, your legs feeling like leaden weights but you walked slowly, your brain short-circuiting as you watched the broad expanse of his back. You cringed inwardly, bracing yourself for the inevitable scolding, expecting him to bark at you for your sluggish pace, to tell you that you were wasting his precious time.
But for the first time in seventeen years, the script had changed. Usually, Uzair walked ten paces ahead, a silent storm you had to sprint to keep up with, never once looking back to see if you had tripped or fallen. Today, he stopped. He stood by the open door of the jeep, his hand resting on the frame and simply waited for you to catch up.
The climb into the passenger seat felt like entering an interrogation room. The atmosphere inside the cabin was thick, saturated with the scent of sandalwood and the heavy, metallic tang of the firearms warehouse. You sat ramrod straight, your spine pressed against the worn leather, your hands clutched in your lap as if to keep yourself from shattering. Out of the corner of your eye, you could feel Uzair’s gaze. He wasn't focused solely on the chaotic Lyari traffic, he kept glancing at you, his eyes darting toward your profile with a restless, frantic energy that made the hair on your arms stand up.
The silence was a screaming thing until the jeep slowed near a familiar roadside stall, the colorful lights of the kulfi vendor blurred by the rising dust. "Kulfi khayegi?" Uzair asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a dull blade. You didn't even look at him, you merely shook your head in a slow, rhythmic denial. He stared at you for a second, his jaw tightening until a muscle leaped in his cheek. "Par mujhe bhook lagi hai," he grumbled, more to himself than to you, before swinging himself out of the vehicle and disappearing into the crowd of the evening bazaar.
He returned moments later, the door creaking as he slid back into the seat. In his hand, he held two kulfis, the creamy malai and saffron scent of your favourite flavour filling the cramped space. He held one out to you, the ice already beginning to weep in the stifling heat. You took it mechanically, holding the stick with a trembling hand but you didn't move to eat. You stared at the melting cream as it dripped onto the wrapper, your stomach turning at the very thought of ingestion.
"Dekhne ke liye nahi laya yeh main," Uzair muttered, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he pulled back into the flow of traffic. You looked at the kulfi, then at the blurred buildings passing by, your voice barely a whisper when you finally spoke. "Mujhe bhook nahi hai."
He let out a sharp, cynical huff, the sound echoing the many insults of the past. "Kha le. Ek kulfi se bada tera pait bhar jayega," he snapped. The words were likely meant to be a clumsy attempt at his old banter but to your ears, tuned to the frequency of heartbreak, they sounded like another cruel dig at your weight. You felt the familiar, hot prickle of shame behind your eyelids. You folded your arms over yourself, instinctively trying to hide the body he had mocked in front of his friends, the body that was now a prison of your own making.
Uzair saw the way you winced, the way you retreated into the fabric of your dupatta and his mouth opened as if to take the words back, to explain that he hadn't meant it that way. But the damage was done. The girl who used to laugh at his barbs was dead.
In a sudden, fluid motion born of pure, jagged defiance, you reached out and rolled down the window. Without a single word, without even a glance in his direction, you threw the pristine, expensive kulfi out into the dusty street. You watched it disappear into the grime of the gutter, a sacrifice to the silence you had vowed to keep, leaving Uzair staring at your cold, unyielding profile in a silence that was finally, terrifyingly absolute.
These days you felt as though you had stepped through a jagged tear in reality into an alternate dimension, one where the predator had become the petitioner. For seventeen years, you had been the satellite orbiting Uzair’s cold, distant sun, desperate for a single ray of acknowledgment.
Now, as you systematically withdrew your light, you found him trailing in your wake with the restless, bewildered energy of a lost puppy who had forgotten how to exist without its shadow. The silence you had granted him was clearly a torment he hadn't prepared for and the sight of him fumbling for your attention was a bitter, haunting irony.
The first instance of this surreal new world occurred in the early morning fog of the courtyard. You were hurrying toward the gate, your library bag heavy on your shoulder, when you tripped over a loose cobblestone. In the past, Uzair would have watched from the balcony with a smirk, perhaps calling out a dry remark about your clumsiness.
But before you could even steady yourself, he was there, his hand catching your elbow with a startling, electric urgency. "Sambhalkar, Y/N," he muttered, his voice stripped of its usual razor-edged silk. His fingers lingered on your sleeve, searching your downcast face for a flicker of the old warmth.
You didn't give it to him. You simply adjusted your dupatta, murmuring a toneless "Shukriya," and tried to move past him. Out of the corner of your eye, you couldn't help but notice how disheveled he looked. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His kurta was slightly wrinkled and there was a frantic, shadowed exhaustion in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat with a weary sort of recognition. You quickly looked away, refusing to let the sight of his vulnerability soften the granite you had placed around your heart.
"College ja rahi hai?" he asked, stepping into your path, his voice unusually low. "Main chord doon?"
"Nahi, main chali jaungi," you replied, your voice flat, refusing to meet his gaze. You adjusted the strap of your bag, focusing intently on the rusted hinges of the Haveli gate rather than the man standing far too close to you.
Uzair’s eyes scanned the empty street behind you, his jaw tightening. "Sana ke saath? Dikh toh rahi nahi woh mujhe." He was fishing, searching for a reason, any reason, to insert himself back into the routine of your life but you weren't going to hand him the bait.
"Akele. Mujhe koi kidnap nahi kar lene wala," you said dryly, finally looking up. The irony wasn't lost on you, for years you had prayed he would care enough to worry about your safety and now that he was finally hovering, it felt like an intrusion you hadn't invited.
Uzair’s expression darkened instantly, a flash of something lethal flickering in the depths of his pupils. "Koi jurrat toh karke dekhe," he hissed, the words sounding like a vow of violence. You turned to him, genuinely surprised by the raw, possessive intensity in his voice.
For a second, your gazes locked, yours wide with disbelief, his mirroring your shock, as if he hadn't realised how much of his heart he had just let slip through his teeth.
He recovered quickly, though the air between you remained charged and heavy. "Yahi khadi rehna," he said slowly, his voice dropping into a commanding tone that lacked its usual bite. "Main do minute mein chabi lekar aaya." He turned to head toward the porch, his stride purposeful, as if he could simply command the world back into its old shape.
But you had reached your limit. The exhaustion of the last few days, the hunger and the jagged remains of your pride finally rose up in a wave of cold fury. You snapped. "Apna dimaag kisi Karachi ke bazaar mein bech diya hai kya?" you shouted, the sound echoing off the high stone walls. You didn't care if the servants heard you. "Kaha na maine, main chali jaungi! Main nahi chahti main tumhare saath dikhoon college mein. Log tarah tarah ki baate banate hai hamare baare mein!"
The lie tasted like copper on your tongue. In reality, no one in Lyari and certainly no one at your college was bold enough to whisper a single word about Uzair, let alone gossip about him to your face. He was a man feared and respected in equal measure and your association with him had always been your unspoken shield. But he didn't need to know that. You needed a weapon to keep him at bay.
You didn't wait to see the effect of your words. You turned on your heel and moved toward the gate with a frantic, hurried pace, your heart hammering against your ribs. You refused to glance back, terrified that if you saw the look of pure, unmasked hurt on his face, you might actually break.
You left him standing there in the cooling fog, reduced to a man standing alone in a courtyard, silenced by the very girl who used to live for his every word.
The afternoon sun filtered through the high, arched windows of the living area, casting long, gilded bars across the Persian rugs but the warmth felt distant, unable to penetrate the icy barrier you had erected around yourself. You were curled into the familiar velvet embrace of the corner chair, your spine curved over a thick volume of Advanced Accounting, the complex ledgers and credit debit columns serving as a shield against the reality of the room. Usually, this space was a battlefield of indifference. Uzair would occupy the far sofa, his boots kicked up, either pointedly ignoring your existence or engaging in boisterous, aggressive banter with Hamza just to drown out the sound of your breathing.
Today, however, the air was stagnant, heavy with a silent, watchful tension.
You looked up from a particularly stubborn balance sheet to find him not on the sofa but sitting on the floor just a few feet away. He looked like a caged wolf, restless and dangerous even in repose, his movements as he cleaned a disassembled handgun appearing distracted and mechanical. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms stained with the dark, metallic grease of the warehouse, a stark contrast to the pristine white of the marble floor. He didn't look at you immediately but you could feel his gaze, a burning, persistent weight, pressing against the side of your head every few seconds. When he finally cleared his throat, the sound was startlingly loud in the quiet room, breaking the trance of your study.
"Y/N," he began, his voice uncharacteristically soft, lacking its usual serrated edge. He gestured vaguely toward a stack of crumpled papers beside him, his expression one of forced, awkward neutrality. "Yeh...zara dekhna. Yeh saare hisab angreezi mein hain, kuch samajh nahi aa raha. Todhi madad chahiye thi."
You had thought that after the venomous way you had insulted him in the courtyard, telling him you didn't want to be seen with him, he would finally take the hint and stay away. You had expected him to retreat into his usual cold shell of arrogance, perhaps even to retaliate with a biting remark of his own.
But this man clearly had other plans.
You hesitated, the rejection sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he spoke again before you could retreat. "Yahan baitho na, niche," he said politely, a word that felt foreign coming from his mouth. He gestured to the spot on the rug beside him. "Kapde grease se lade hue hain, bhabi chillayengi agar sofa ganda kiya toh."
Old habits, nurtured over seventeen years of devotion, proved harder to kill than you had imagined. Despite the screaming alarm in your head, you found yourself closing your book and quietly sliding out of the chair, moving to sit on the floor beside him with the hesitant grace of someone approaching a landmine.
As you reached for the first bill, Uzair shifted. He moved with a fluid grace until he was mere inches away. His shoulder brushed yours and you could feel the radiant heat of his body through the thin cotton of your kameez. He leaned in, ostensibly to point at a figure on the paper but his hand didn't move toward the bill, it came to rest on the floor behind your back, effectively caging you in. He was so close that the scent of sandalwood and tobacco felt suffocating and you could feel the warm, steady puff of his breath against your cheeks.
The text on the logistics bill was nothing more than a chaotic swarm of ink, the letters fracturing and dancing across the page as your vision blurred from the sheer, suffocating proximity of him. Your heart was beating a frantic, hammering rhythm against your ribs that you were certain he could feel through the mere inches of air between you.
For seventeen years, you had lived for a moment like this, to be invited into his space but the reality was a sensory assault that made your skin crawl with a desperate, agonising self-consciousness.
Out of the corner of your eye, the world narrowed down to the sharp, lethal curve of Uzair’s jaw and the dark, unyielding intensity of his gaze. He wasn't even pretending to look at the figures you were supposed to be deciphering. His eyes were tracing the terrain of your face with a terrifying, predatory focus. You could see the individual dark hairs of his stubble, the slight pulse at the hollow of his throat and the way his pupils were blown wide, swallowing the amber light of the room until they were nothing but twin abysses. The heat radiating from his body was a physical weight, a warmth you had craved for a lifetime that now felt like it was blistering your very soul.
As his hand remained anchored on the floor behind you, effectively caging you within the circle of his reach, a wave of hot, acidic panic surged through your veins. You were painfully aware of every flaw you had spent years trying to hide. You felt the sallow, greyish tint of your skin, drained of the health and you were convinced he was dissecting it with clinical disdain. To you, his silence wasn't one of awe or concern, it was the silence of a man cataloging your shortcomings.
The way your dupatta was draped felt like a clumsy, pathetic attempt to shroud a body you were certain he found repulsive. You imagined him noticing the slight tremble of your fingers on the paper and the way your breath came in shallow, ragged hitches and you were sure he was mentally preparing his next joke.
This was the closest you had been to him in nearly two decades, a physical intimacy you once would have traded your soul for yet all you could feel was a profound, aching vulnerability. You felt exposed, as if his dark eyes were peeling back the layers of your skin to reveal the wreckage beneath. The man carved from marble and fire was too bright, too magnificent and you felt like a smudge of soot in his presence, a dirty, unwanted remnant of a childhood crush that had overstayed its welcome.
The silence became unbearable, a heavy, velvet shroud that threatened to choke you. You needed to escape, to put walls and doors and miles between yourself and the man who was currently invading the very air you breathed.
"Woh...maine..." you stammered, your voice coming out as a breathless, pathetic squeak. You scrambled to your feet, your movements jerky and uncoordinated as you nearly tripped over your own salwar. "Maine kitchen mein doodh ubalne rakha tha! Bhabi ne kaha tha dhyan rakhne ko. Main...main abhi aayi."
It was a clumsy lie, a transparent fabrication that wouldn't have fooled a child, yet you clung to it like a life raft. You didn't wait for his response. You turned and bolted toward the kitchen, your heart thumping a frantic 'run run run' against your sternum.
Behind you, you heard the heavy thud of his hand hitting the floor in frustration and then his voice, louder now, echoing down the hallway. "Arey, Akhlaq dekh lega doodh! Y/N, ruk toh sahi!" His voice carried a frustrated note you had never heard before but you didn't turn back.
You couldn't.
You burst into the kitchen, the cool tiles beneath your feet doing nothing to soothe the burning shame in your chest. You stood by the stove, staring at a pot that wasn't even there, your hands shaking so violently you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. You were a stranger in your own home, a ghost fleeing from the only man she had ever loved.
The evening sky over Lyari had bruised into a deep, suffocating purple before bleeding into total ink. Inside your room, the only world that existed was the small, flickering halo of your desk lamp, illuminating the jagged lines of accounting ledgers like trenches in a war zone.
When the power abruptly cut, a common casualty of the Karachi grid, the darkness pounced. In years past, this sudden blindness would have sent you bolting from your chair, heart hammering against your ribs as you fled toward the light of the courtyard or, more often, toward the sanctuary of Uzair’s room. You used to be terrified of the shadows, convinced they held the ghosts of everything you feared losing.
Now, you simply sat there. The darkness felt honest. It didn't ask you to perform or to hide your imperfections. You just stared into the void, your eyes wide and vacant, finding a strange, numb comfort in the fact that, for once, no one could see you fading.
Your mind drifted back to a childhood memory, sharp and painful as a splinter. You were barely ten, slipping into Uzair’s room during a blackout, your small voice a relentless hum as you talked his ear off just to drown out the silence. He had been agitated that night, his young face shadowed by a simmering rage you didn't yet understand. When you had tugged on his sleeve for the tenth time, he had turned and roared at you, a sound so violent and jagged that it had physically knocked the breath from your lungs. You had fled, sobbing only for Rehman to intervene and scold him.
The aftermath was worse than the shout. Uzair had ignored you for a week straight. You had followed him around the Haveli like a wounded animal, whispering apologies to his retreating back, starving for a scrap of his attention. Looking back, you realised the pattern of your life had been set that night.
You, the beggar, him, the indifferent king.
The click of your door handle snapped the thread of the past. Faisal burst in, his youthful energy a jarring contrast to your stillness. He grabbed your wrist and started tugging you toward the door. "Phuphi! Aap yahan andhere mein kya kar rahi hain? Sab baramde mein baithe hain, chaliye na!" You tried to protest, your voice a weak rasp but he merely pouted, dragging you toward the centre of the house. "Andhere mein thodi na padhai hoti hai. Chaliye, sab aapka intezaar kar rahe hain."
You felt like a prisoner being led to an exhibition. You didn't want to be under the collective scrutiny of the family, you didn't want Ulfat to track your lack of appetite or Rehman to ask why your eyes looked like burnt out coals.
As you stepped out into the expansive, open-air courtyard, the scene was illuminated only by the faint, silvery wash of the moon and a few scattered candles. The silhouettes of the Baloch family were draped across sofas and charpais. You saw the familiar bulks of Donga and Siyahi sitting near the edge of the light. Your first instinct was to pivot and bolt back into the darkness of the corridor but before you could retreat, Ulfat’s sharp eyes caught your movement.
"Y/N! Idhar aao, bacha. Yahan baitho," she called out, gesturing to a spot near the centre. You were trapped, caught in the gravity of her kindness and the weight of their collective presence.
You moved timidly, choosing a seat on a narrow wooden cot that was wedged tightly against a thick concrete beam. It was a marginal spot, half hidden by the pillar and you pressed your side against the cool stone, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.
Across from you, Siyahi leaned forward, his teeth flashing white in the dimness as he offered a respectful nod. "Bade dino baad dikhi aap, bha-baji!" he corrected himself quickly, his voice carrying a hint of the awkwardness that now permeated every interaction involving you and Uzair's circle.
You managed a tight, fragile smile, the irony of his words cutting deep. Of course you haven't seen me, you thought. You don't have your daily entertainment anymore. The laughing stock stopped showing up at the warehouse.
"Exams ki tayaari chal rahi hai, Siyahi bhaijaan. Bas thodi mashroof zyada hu aaj kall," you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your soul.
You tried to engage in the light chatter around you, nodding as Ulfat talked about the rising heat and laughing softly when Naieem made a joke about the electricity board. Your only reprieve, the only reason your lungs could still draw air, was the absence of the one person who defined your misery. Uzair and Hamza were nowhere to be seen. You began to relax, just a fraction, the tension in your shoulders uncoiling as the darkness offered its temporary protection.
Then, the heavy iron gates of the Haveli groaned open. The sound of boisterous laughter cut through the quiet night like a blade. Your entire body went rigid, your breath hitching in your throat as the silhouettes of Hamza and Uzair emerged from the driveway. They were loud, smelling of the outdoors and cigarettes, bringing with them a chaotic energy that sucked the oxygen out of the courtyard. You immediately looked down at your hands, your mind frantically searching for an exit strategy but the path to the stairs was blocked by the sprawl of the sofas. You were pinned against the beam, a bird in a cage of shadows.
Uzair didn't go toward the empty chairs near Rehman. He didn't even stop to greet Siyahi or Donga. He walked straight toward the narrow cot where you were sitting. Before you could even process the movement, he sat down right next to you.
The cot was small, designed for one and his sudden weight caused the wood to creak and the mattress to dip toward him. Because of the limited space, his thigh was pressed firmly against yours, the heat of his skin searing through the layers of your clothes. You felt a jolt of pure shock, your eyes widening as you stared at the darkness in front of you, not daring to move a muscle.
The proximity was a sensory overload. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the subtle scent of his cologne mixing with the smell of the night air. You were breaking out in a cold, nervous sweat, your hands becoming clammy as you tried to scoot even closer to the concrete pillar.
You pressed your shoulder against the rough stone until it bruised, wishing, praying, that the beam would simply open up and swallow you whole. But as you moved away, Uzair shifted with you, closing the gap as if he were an inescapable tide. He leaned back, his arm coming to rest on the beam behind you, his forearm brushing against your waist in a way that felt entirely too deliberate.
He was doing this on purpose.
The thought hammered in your brain like a funeral bell. He wanted to show his friends how easily he could still rattle you. He wanted to watch you struggle under the weight of his presence, to prove that despite your recent silence, you were still the same affected, desperate girl.
Because it was dark, you couldn't tell if he was looking at you but you could feel the heavy, burning weight of his eyes on the side of your neck. You didn't dare turn your head. You knew that if you did, he would see the raw panic in your eyes and mistake it for the creepy infatuation you had spent years displaying. You were a statue of glass, terrified that even a single breath would cause you to shatter.
You were holding your breath, your lungs screaming for air, when he leaned in. His head moved closer until his lips were just inches from your ear, his warm breath ghosting over your skin and making your hair stand on end. "Namkeen khaogi?" he whispered, his voice a low, intimate rumble that vibrated through your very bones. The mundane question felt like an explosion in the quiet courtyard. You stifled a gasp by reflexively slamming your hand over your mouth, your eyes darting toward the others to see if they had noticed the suffocating closeness of the man beside you.
"Haan? Haan..." you stammered, the word barely a puff of air. You didn't even want the snack, you just wanted him to move, to stop the electrical current that was running from his thigh into yours.
Uzair looked toward Faisal, his voice raising just enough to be heard over the communal chatter. "Faisal, zara namkeen idhar lana." The boy pranced toward you both, a small bowl in his hands. You desperately wanted to grab Faisal and pull him down between you, to use his small body as a barricade but there was simply no room. The space between you and Uzair had been utterly consumed.
You reached into the bowl with shaking hands, your fingers fumbling against the plastic as you took a small handful of the savory mix. You could feel Uzair following your every movement, his gaze tracking the path of your hand to your mouth like a hawk watching a mouse.
Every crunch of the snack felt deafeningly loud in your ears. You were acutely aware of the way his arm was still draped behind you, the heat of his bicep pressing against the small of your back, anchoring you to him in a way that felt like a claim.
The conversation around the courtyard continued, Rehman was talking about a new shipment, Hamza and Naieem were laughing about something but your mind had completely blanked out their words. You were in a vacuum of Uzair’s making.
You felt like a specimen under a microscope, convinced that Siyahi and Donga were watching this display with smirks on their faces, witnessing Uzair toy with his favourite plaything. The shame was a hot, liquid thing in your gut, competing with the terror of his touch. You felt exposed and pathetic, a girl who couldn't even sit on a cot without trembling like a leaf.
Uzair shifted again, his leg heavy against yours, his presence so large and overwhelming that it seemed to blot out the rest of the world. He didn't say anything else but he didn't move away either. He stayed there, a silent, burning sun at your side, forcing you to endure the very intimacy you had spent seventeen years begging for, now that it was the last thing you wanted.
The shadows of the neem trees danced like skeletal fingers across the courtyard, mocking the frantic, irregular thrum of your pulse. You sat there, your hands clenched into white knuckled fists in your lap, the fabric of your shalwar bunching under the sheer force of your grip. Every nerve ending on your right side was screaming, sensitised by the unyielding heat of Uzair’s frame pressed against yours.
You prayed for the electricity to return. You needed a shield, a distraction, anything to justify standing up and fleeing back to the hollow safety of your dark, lonely room before the gravity of his presence pulled you apart.
The silence was finally punctured by the heavy, rhythmic tread of Akhlaq emerging from the shadows of the corridor. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, his voice a gravelly comfort in the thick air. "Chai kaun kaun piyega?" he asked, his gaze sweeping over the gathered family.
A chorus of "Main" and "Ek mere liye bhi" echoed through the courtyard, a collective craving for the bitter warmth of caffeine to cut through the humid night. Akhlaq let out a long, weary sigh, muttering under his breath about the sheer volume of tea required for such a restless household. "Itni saari chai..."
This was it, your tether to sanity.
"Bhaijaan, mien madad kar deti hoon chai banane mein," you announced, your voice coming out in a hurried, breathless rush.
You moved to stand, desperate to put distance between your skin and the searing heat of Uzair’s thigh, but the darkness was a treacherous ally. In your haste to escape the magnetic pull of the man beside you, your foot caught on the uneven leg of the cot. Your balance betrayed you and you fell, not onto the hard ground but directly into Uzair’s lap.
Your soul literally left your body.
The air in your lungs vanished, replaced by the scent of his cologne, musk, tobacco and something uniquely him that made your head spin. In the frantic confusion of the dark, you felt his arms react before his mind could. His hands came up to steady you, his grip firm and possessive around your waist. For a terrifying second, it felt as though he pulled you closer, tucking your frame against the hard expanse of his chest. Your brain had completely short-circuited, leaving you paralysed in the embrace of the one person you were trying to erase from your existence.
The mortification was a tidal wave, crashing over you with such force that it left you gasping. You scrambled to find your footing, your movements jerky and uncoordinated as you fought to extricate yourself from the heat of his lap. In your desperate scramble, your toe collided sharply with the edge of a heavy wooden low-table.
A jagged flash of pain shot up your leg and you bit your lip until you tasted copper to stifle a cry of agony. You couldn't let them hear you break, you couldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had rattled you. Without a backward glance, you limped toward the kitchen, following the retreating shadow of Akhlaq.
As you moved away, the low murmur of the courtyard followed you like a haunting refrain. You could hear Hamza’s voice, filtered through the darkness, laced with a genuine, confused concern. "Y/N ko aaj kal kya ho gaya hai? Kuch zyada hi pareshan lag rahi hai." The words felt like a spotlight on your back.
Your mind was filled to the brim with a toxic mixture of shame and dread. You were absolutely certain that Uzair, arrogant, perceptive Uzair, must have thought you fell on purpose. You could almost hear his internal smirk, imagining him thinking that his ugly shadow was up to her old tricks again, seeking his touch under the guise of an accident.
By the time you crossed the threshold of the kitchen, the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving only the throbbing, rhythmic flare of pain in your foot. The yellow glow of a single battery-powered emergency light flickered on the counter, casting long, distorted shadows against the spice jars. You leaned against the cold tile of the counter, your breath coming in ragged hitches as you reached down to clutch your injured toe. The physical pain was almost a relief, a tangible, sharp distraction from the emotional wreckage you had just left behind in the courtyard.
Akhlaq turned from the stove, his weathered face softening into an expression of deep worry as he saw you huddled there. He had known you since you were a child, had seen you at your brightest and now, clearly, at your dimmest. He set down the teapot and moved toward you, his voice low so as not to carry back to the others.
"Bacha, tu theek hai?" He looked at your pale, drawn face and the way you were trembling, his intuition sensing that the injury was more than just a stubbed toe.
"Tu wapas ja," Akhlaq said firmly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Mien bana loonga chai, koi baat nahi. Tu ja kar araam kar, teri tabiyat wese hi theek nahi lag rahi." You wanted to protest, to stay in the kitchen where the air was neutral and Uzair wasn't a constant, suffocating weight against your side but your body was failing you. The combination of the lack of food, the lack of sleep and the sheer psychological exhaustion of being near him was finally demanding its due.
But you turned to leave, your vision swimming with dark spots, only to find the doorway blocked by a sudden, solid wall of masculine heat. You almost collided with the broad expanse of Uzair’s chest. You recoiled as if burned, your heart doing a frantic, stumbling dance against your ribs. Uzair didn't look at you immediately.
He directed his attention to Akhlaq, his voice surprisingly steady for someone who had just witnessed your undignified tumble into his lap. "Akhlaq, main bhi chai le jaane mein madad kar doonga."
Akhlaq, oblivious to the silent lightning arcing between the two of you, sighed with relief but gestured toward you with a wooden spoon. "Acha kiya tu aa gaya, Uzair. Bachi ki ungli par chot lag gayi hai andhere mein. Ye toh khadi bhi nahi ho paa rahi."
At the mention of your injury, Uzair’s gaze finally dropped to you, snapping onto your face with the intensity of a searchlight. You felt the heat of his scrutiny and immediately lowered your head, your hair falling forward like a curtain to hide the shame burning in your cheeks. You were busy tracing the patterns on the floor tiles, desperate to avoid the dark, searching depth of his eyes.
The silence in the kitchen stretched, thick and suffocating, until the sound of a heavy rustle broke it. Before you could process his intent, Uzair had dropped to one knee on the cold floor. You gasped, taking a stumbling step back. "Kya...kya kar rahe ho tum?" you stammered, your voice a fragile thread of sound. You tried to pull your foot away but he was faster. His large, calloused hand reached out and caught your ankle with a firm, unyielding grip that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your spine.
"Chup baitho," he commanded, though the harshness was absent, replaced by a low, gravelly vibration that made your knees go weak. Without waiting for permission, he guided your foot upward, resting it atop his knee. The intimacy of the gesture was staggering. His palm was a furnace against your skin and the proximity was so absolute that you could see the faint tremor in his fingers.
"Chot kahan lagi hai...woh dekh raha hoon," he muttered, his thumb grazing the side of your foot as he inspected the swelling, purple bruise on your toe. The touch almost tender and that was far more dangerous than his cruelty had ever been.
Just as the air between you became too heavy to breathe, a sudden, sharp hum vibrated through the house. The electricity surged back to life with a blinding, clinical glare. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered once, twice and then stayed on, washing the kitchen in a harsh, unforgiving white. The sudden transition from the soft, protective shadows to this absolute exposure felt like a physical blow. There was Uzair on his knees before you, cradling your foot in his hand as if it were made of the finest porcelain, his face tilted up toward yours.
For a long, agonising beat, time simply ceased to exist. You stared down at him and he stared back, his dark eyes wide and vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. There was no smirk, no sarcasm, only a raw, pleading confusion that mirrored your own agony. His thumb continued to stroke your skin in a slow, unconscious rhythm, a silent admission of a feeling he would never name. In the stark light, the sallow hollows of your face and the red-rimmed exhaustion of your eyes were laid bare to him and for the first time, you saw him truly see you, not as a nuisance but as a breaking thing.
The spell was shattered by Rehman's voice echoing from the courtyard. "Kahan reh gaye teeno? Chai la rahe ho ya wahin peeni hai?" You jolted as if struck, the reality of your position crashing back down on you. The thought of Uzair’s friends or Rehman walking in and seeing this sent a fresh wave of mortification through you. You were sure he was only doing this to keep up the charade, to mock you further once you were out of earshot.
"Tumhe...tumhe bhai bula rahe hain," you whispered, your voice cracking. You quickly jerked your foot from his knee, the loss of his touch leaving a cold, aching void where the heat had been.
Uzair didn't stand up immediately, he stayed on one knee, his hand still shaped as if it were holding you, his gaze anchored to your face with a desperate, unspoken question. He looked like a man who had finally found what he was looking for, only to have it slip through his fingers the moment he reached out.
You didn't wait for him to find his voice. You bolted. You limped past him, ignoring the flare of pain in your toe and hurried toward the back corridor that led to the bedrooms. Your breath was coming in short, jagged gasps, the sound of your own heartbeat drowning out everything else. You could feel his eyes on your back, a heavy, burning weight that followed you until you rounded the corner and vanished into the shadows of the hallway. You heard a muffled sound behind you, a frustrated, low curse but you didn't turn back.
Once inside your room, you slammed the door and locked it, leaning your forehead against the cool wood as your body finally began to shake. The silence of the room was a mockery. Your mind was a whirlwind of shame, convinced that every touch, every look from Uzair today had been a calculated joke, a way to see just how much more he could make you suffer before you finally snapped.
I can’t do this, you thought, the realization hitting you with the force of a physical blow. I can’t live in this house for one more month. The Baloch Haveli, once the centre of your universe, had become a torture chamber where your dignity was the price of admission. You looked at your desk, at the stacks of books that were supposed to be your ticket to freedom and felt a cold, hard resolve settle into your bones. You couldn't wait until the exams were over. You couldn't wait for the results.
You needed to find a way to leave as soon as possible.
summary: bound by a lifetime of unrequited devotion, your spirit finally shatters when you overhear Uzair, the man you have loved since you were five, cruelly mock your appearance and your heart to his gang. choosing to grant him the very peace he claimed to crave, you vow to replace your chatter with a chilling silence, leaving the once arrogant Uzair, to realise too late that the girl he pushed away is the only light in his dark, violent world. (based on this request)
word count: 5.4k words
The air in Lyari carried in a mixture of sea salt from the nearby Arabian Sea, the earthy scent of frying parathas and the unspoken tension of a neighbourhood governed by its own laws. Inside the Baloch Haveli, however, the morning was serene. Gold-flecked light filtered through the sprawling branches of the ancient neem trees, casting dancing shadows across the veranda where the family sat.
You were nursing a cup of chai, watching the world with a quiet, contented smile. Across from you, Ulfat was gently scolding Faisal for trying to feed his crusts to the cat, while Naieem was buried in a cricket magazine. Rehman had just stepped away, his heavy footsteps echoing on the stone floor as he took a call that likely decided the fate of a consignment.
The peace of the Haveli was your sanctuary, a stark contrast to the tragedy that had brought you here seventeen years ago. You still saw it in your dreams sometimes. The screech of tires, the blinding headlights and the sudden, horrific silence. You were only five when that car accident took your parents. Your father had been Rehman's right hand, his brother in arms and they had been building an empire together until a rival gang's shadow fell over that rainy Karachi night.
Because Rehman hadn't yet reached the height of his current, terrifying power back then, the investigation had yielded nothing but whispers and accidental labels. The guilt of that unresolved justice lived in the lines around Rehman's eyes. He had stepped into the void of your father's absence with a protective ferocity that brooked no argument.
When your paternal grandparents had come to take you away, fearing the darkness of this town, you had screamed and clung to Ulfat's kameez with a strength that shocked everyone. You refused to leave the only people who smelled like the home you had lost. Eventually, the elders conceded, leaving you to be raised as the cherished younger sister of the most feared man in the city.
But you weren't the only orphan in the house.
Uzair, Rehman's cousin, had been brought in under similar blood-soaked circumstances after his parents were murdered by Arshad Pappu's men. When you had first arrived, a trembling five year old in a yellow frock, you had seen a seven year old Uzair standing by the pillars. You thought he was just shy, his silence a mirror of your own grief. You spent years trying to bridge that gap but as the decades passed, his reserve only hardened into a wall of aloofness.
Rehman, perhaps trying to compensate for the ghosts of the past, often doted on you more visibly. The favouritism Rehman showed was never meant to be a weapon, but it slowly became a silent wedge. Rehman, didn't know the nuance of parenting two grieving children. He saw your vulnerability as a fragile flame that needed shielding, while he saw Uzair's as a blade that needed tempering. Consequently, he became a guardian who smothered you in indulgence to silence his own guilt.
You remembered a specific sweltering afternoon when the dust in the courtyard seemed to hang suspended in the Karachi heat. Rehman had finally taken a break from the warehouse to show a ten year old Uzair the art of the street-style football dribble. Uzair's face, usually a mask of precocious gravity, was lit with a rare, jagged spark of joy. He was finally getting his brother's undivided attention, his feet moving with a frantic energy as he tried to impress the man he idolized.
Then, you had burst through the heavy mahogany doors, your bangles jingling like a frantic, cheerful warning. "Rehman bhai! Mela laga hai, aur mujhe wahan ki kulfi khani hai! Abhi chalo na!"
Without a second's hesitation, Rehman's focus shifted. The football was left forgotten under the neem tree. He ruffled Uzair's damp hair, a gesture that was affectionate but fundamentally dismissive. "Uzair, baaki kal seekhenge. Abhi mele ghoom aate hai."
The spark in Uzair's eyes turned into stone. You had turned to him, your heart hammering with the hope that he'd join the adventure. "Haan Uzair, tum bhi chalo na! Main tumhe wahan se bada wala bhalu jeet kar doongi, pakka!"
But Uzair had merely wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of a dirty hand, his gaze dropping to his scuffed shoes. "Mera mann nahi hai," he huffed, his voice cracking with a bitterness he was too young to fully name. He retreated into the house, his silhouette small and rigid against the sprawling architecture of the Haveli.
That rejection was the first of a thousand.
Throughout your childhood, you were like a stubborn shadow he couldn't shake off. When he and Hamza would hide in the attic to smoke stolen cigarettes or talk about "gang business," you would inevitably find them, balancing a plate of sliced mangoes or a cold bottle of Rooh Afza.
"Uzair, Hamza! Dekho, Ulfat bhabi ne aam bheje hain. Bilkul thandey hain, bus abhi baraf se nikale," you announced, your voice a burst of unwanted sunshine in their dim, gritty sanctuary. You crawled toward them, oblivious to the soot staining your clean clothes and set the plate down between them like a peace offering.
Uzair's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he flicked a stray mango peel away with his foot. "Tumhe yahan kisne bulaya? Jao yahan se, hum kaam kar rahe hain," he snapped, his voice dropping into that low growl he was trying so hard to master. He didn't even look at the golden fruit, though the sweet aroma was already filling the cramped space.
Hamza, whose stomach had been audible for the last hour, reached out tentatively. "Oye, Y/N se aise baat mat kar, Uzair. Ek toh bechari aam layi hai, shukriya!"
Uzair shot Hamza a look that could have withered a cactus. "Iski bak bak tujhe sunne ka shauq hai toh tu jaake sun, mujhe apna sar nahi dukhana," he spat, turning his back to you to fiddle with a rusted latch on a trunk.
You didn't flinch. You were used to the thorns. "Lekin Uzair, tumne subha se kuch nahi khaya...bhabi keh rahi thi ke tum nashta bhi chor kar bhaag aaye the."
"Humein bhook nahi hai! Ja, jaake bhabi ka sar kha," he hissed, giving the plate a dismissive shove that nearly sent a mango slice sliding onto the floor.
Your shoulders slumped, the bright light in your eyes dimming just a fraction. You didn't argue further, you knew the more you pushed, the further he'd retreat into his shell. You turned around and climbed back down the ladder, the silence of the attic following you like a heavy shroud.
But you didn't go far. You paused on the middle rung, your eyes level with the floorboards, peering through the narrow gap.
The moment the sound of your footsteps faded, Uzair's rigid shoulders finally slumped. He looked at the plate, then at the trapdoor to make sure you were truly gone. Without a word, he reached out and grabbed the largest, most succulent slice of mango, devouring it with a desperate, silent hunger.
"Dekha? Maine kaha tha na, bhook lag rahi hai tujhe," Hamza teased, grabbing a slice for himself.
Then there was the time when you were twelve and he had started accompanying the men to the firearms factory. You had followed him all the way to the edge of the street, your feet struggling to keep up with his angry, long strides.
"Uzair! Ruko! Tumhara tabeez gir gaya tha!" you panted, holding out the small amulet he always wore around his neck.
He had whirled around, his face reddening. "Tu mera picha karna kab band karegi?" He snatched the amulet and kept walking without a thank you. But later that night, when a stray dog in the neighbourhood had barked too close to your window and made you cry because you were scared of dogs, Uzair had spent three hours sitting on the porch steps right outside your room, cleaning his bike in the dark just so you'd know someone was there. He never said a word, but the rhythmic clinking of his tools was the only thing that let you sleep.
Once, you had tripped in the courtyard while trying to show him a new dance move you learned at school. You scraped both knees, the blood blooming through your white shalwar. Uzair had stood there, looking bored and merely called out, "Rehman bhai! Dekhein isko, phir gir gayi." He walked away while Rehman rushed to pick you up.
Yet, when everyone was asleep, you found a tin of antiseptic and your favourite candies tucked under your pillow.
You always deluded yourself into thinking that the love you felt wasn't just a childhood crush, it was a rooted thing that grew in the cracks of his silence. You knew that beneath the tough exterior he was building, there was still that boy who was terrified that if he let you get too close, the world that took his parents would notice you too.
After all, you were the sunshine of the Haveli, you were the glue that held their domestic life together. While the men dealt in blood and iron, you dealt in laughter and comfort. You helped Ulfat with the heavy embroidery of her suits, you listened to Naieem's stuttering confessions about the girl he liked at school, you made sure Faisal actually finished his math homework before he went out to play. Being a commerce student, you even kept the books for Rehman's legitimate front businesses, your nimble fingers flying over ledgers that hid the true scale of the Baloch wealth.
Yet, for all your warmth, Uzair remained your greatest challenge. He was a chatterbox with his inner circle. From the balcony, you'd hear him laughing loudly with them, his voice rich and carefree. But the moment you entered the room, he would pull a mask of indifference over his face.
You tried everything. You'd pack his favourite dishes and take it to the warehouse where the firearms were assembled, walking through the grime and heat just to see him. "Uzair, main tumhare liye khana lai hu!" you'd say, ignoring the whistles of his men.
He would barely look up from the pistol he was cleaning, gesturing for you to leave it on a greasy crate. "Theek hai, ab ja yahan se. Yeh jagah tere liye nahi hai," he'd mutter, dismissing you like a nuisance.
Your college friends told you to give up, calling him a stone hearted gangster but you knew better. You saw the quiet ways he looked out for you. During your final exams, when you stayed up until 3:00 AM studying, a tray would mysteriously appear outside your door with hot tea and biscuits. When you mentioned wanting a specific, out of print novel, it would appear on your desk two days later with no note. He dropped you off and picked you up from college every single day, acting as your silent, scowling guardian.
The silence of the morning was suddenly broken by a sharp, impatient voice from the doorway.
"Tu do minute mein na uthi toh yahi chor dunga, phir paidal chale jana college," Uzair snapped, leaning against the doorframe. He looked lethal even in simple clothes, his eyes hidden behind dark aviators.
You didn't wither under his glare. You grinned, taking a final, hurried sip of your tea. "Chor toh tum mujhe tab bhi nahi paoge jab main tumhara dimaag kha rahi hungi!" you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.
You stood up, kissing Ulfat's cheek and ruffling Faisal's hair. "Naieem, woh chitthi chhupa kar rakhna, agar bhai ne dekh liya toh khair nahi!" You winked at the teenager and hurried toward the jeep where Uzair was already revving the engine.
As you hopped into the passenger seat, the cabin was already thick with the scent of him, an intoxicating, masculine blend of sharp sandalwood and the heavy, expensive tobacco. It was a smell that meant safety to you, a scent that meant home.
As he maneuvered the vehicle out of the Haveli's gates and into the chaotic, vibrant pulse of the morning traffic, you didn't let the silence last for even a second. You were a whirlwind of words, an unstoppable force of nature. You launched into a breathless play by play of your new economics professor's terrible toupee, then pivoted seamlessly to the outrageous price of silk at the market and finally culminated in a vivid description of a dream you'd had involving a flying goat wearing a waistcoat.
Uzair's jaw worked rhythmically, his eyes fixed on the road, navigating around donkey carts and colourful buses with aggressive precision. "Chubis ghante bolne ke paise deta hai tujhe koi?" he finally muttered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that vibrated in your chest. "Chip ho ja, warna main chalti gaadi se kood jaunga."
You noticed, however, that despite the threat, his knuckles weren't white against the steering wheel anymore. His grip had loosened, his body relaxing into the seat as your voice filled the space that usually held only the grim silence of his business.
"Tum nahi koodoge," you laughed, leaning back into the worn leather seat, the wind whipping strands of your hair across your face. "Tumhe pata hai mere baghair is ghar mein sab bore ho jayenge. Aur tum? Tum toh sabse zyada bore ho jaoge. Awaz sunne ke liye taras jaoge meri!"
He let out a short, cynical huff, the corner of his mouth twitching as he shifted gears. "Acha? Galat faymiyan waqayi la-jawaab paal rakhi hain tune. Main toh shukar manaunga ke thodi der sukoon milega."
The jeep eventually screeched to a halt in front of the college gates, the tires kicking up a small cloud of dust. You gathered your heavy commerce books, adjusting your dupatta but paused for a heartbeat to look at him. His profile was sharp against the morning sun, the silhouette of a man who carried far too much weight on his shoulders.
"Theek do baje pahunch jana," you warned, pointing a finger at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Warna main kisi rickshaw wale ke saath bhaag jaungi! Phir dhoondte rehna mujhe poore Lyari mein."
Uzair finally turned his head, his aviators sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to see the dark, mocking intensity in his eyes. "Koi pagal rickshaw wala hi leke bhagega tujhe," he retorted dryly.
He adjusted his glasses back into place, a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, the kind of look he only ever gave you when he thought no one was watching. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, replaced by his signature scowl. "Time pe bahar ajana, warna yahin dhoop mein sadti rehna. Main dobara chakkar nahi lagaunga."
"Dekhte hain!" you chirped, hopping out of the jeep. "Apna khayal rakhna!"
You shouted it over your shoulder, not waiting for a reply because you knew he wouldn't give one. But as you ran toward the entrance, you felt his gaze lingering on your back until you disappeared through the gates. You walked toward your first class glowing, fuelled by that tiny hint of a smile and the knowledge that, no matter how much he grumbled, he'd be there on time, waiting in the heat just to drive his headache home.
The sweltering afternoon sun beat down on the pavement, but your spirit was light as you slipped out of the college gates earlier than expected. Your afternoon lectures had been cancelled and the rest of your friends were heading to Sana's house to gossip over cold drinks, you had only one destination in mind.
Sana had given you a pitying, knowing look, the kind reserved for those hopelessly lost in a one-sided devotion but you had merely offered an apologetic, sheepish grin. You hailed a rickshaw, the wind whipping your dupatta as you navigated the bustling streets of Lyari, stopping briefly at a roadside stall. The vendor was pulling sticks of creamy, saffron-infused faluda kulfi from the ice and you bought a generous bag for Uzair and his inner circle, imagining the look of reluctant satisfaction on his face when you interrupted his gruelling workday with a cold treat.
As the rickshaw pulled up to the rusted gates of the firearms factory, a sprawling, grim warehouse that smelled of grease, burnt gunpowder, and hot iron, you hopped out with a spring in your step. The bag of kulfis swung at your side, the condensation dampening the paper, a physical manifestation of your excitement. You knew every nook and cranny of this place, you had been bringing him and Rehman lunch here since you were old enough to cross the street alone.
But as you approached the heavy, oil-stained machinery near the back office, the sound of familiar, raucous laughter made you pause. You instinctively ducked behind the hulking shadow of an industrial lathe, wanting to surprise them but the mention of your name froze the breath in your lungs.
"Bhai, waise sach mein," Donga’s voice rang out, thick with a teasing lilt that made your heart skip a beat. "Aap Y/N bhabhi ko kitna dante ho...bechari ka dil hi tod dete ho aap." You expected a grunt or a dismissive mumble but Uzair’s response was a sharp, jagged shard of ice that sliced through the warm afternoon air.
"Abe o lodu! Bhabhi hogi teri ammi," Uzair barked, the harshness in his tone amplified by the echoing acoustics of the warehouse. "Mera dimaag kharab nahi hai jo us chudail se nikaah karun." The words stung but you tried to swallow it down, telling yourself it was just his usual bravado in front of the boys.
Hamza chimed in, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Haan haan, bol le, jitna jhoot bolna hai bol le. Yahan sabko pata hai ke tu kaise dekhta rehta hai usse." You leaned closer to the cold metal of the machine, a desperate hope flickering in your chest that he would finally admit to a shred of affection even if it was buried under layers of ego.
"Chomu, ghoorna kehte hain usse," Uzair countered, his voice dripping with a cruel arrogance. "Dekhna isliye padta hai taaki pata chale ke kab kahan se musibat aa rahi hai." The laughter that followed from the men felt like physical blows, bruising the fragile ego you had spent years building within the safety of the Haveli.
Siyahi, never one to let a topic drop, pushed further. "Acha, toh aap roz bhage bhage kyun jaate ho college? Time se pehle hi jeep nikaal lete ho bhabhi ko lene ke liye."
Uzair let out a theatrical, weary sigh and you could almost picture him rolling his eyes. "Kyuki woh Rehman bhai ki chamchi rona shuru kar deti hai bhai ke saamne," he said, his voice shifting into a high-pitched falsetto as he mimicked you. "Ki dekho bhai, yeh mujhe waqt se lene nahi aaya...dhoop mein khade khade mera wazan kam ho gaya."
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. You froze, the heavy, metallic air of the factory suddenly suffocating. Your weight had always been a quiet, gnawing insecurity, a sensitive topic that you buried under layers of bubbly laughter. While Ulfat and your friends always told you that you were beautiful, that your curves were a mark of health and grace, you had always felt like a soft, blurred shape next to Uzair’s razor sharp, lethal edges.
A thought pierced you with the precision of a bullet, was he so dismissive because you weren't beautiful enough to be loved by a man like him?
The fantasy you had lived in for seventeen years, the one where your childhood protector would one day wake up and see you as his partner, shattered into a million jagged pieces. In that moment, you saw yourself through what you imagined were his eyes, a heavy, annoying girl who clung to him like a burr, a girl who wouldn't even be cast as an extra in a film, let alone play the lead in his life. He looked like a god among men, carved from marble and fire and you felt like a clumsy afterthought. You fought back the hot, stinging tears that threatened to spill, your vision blurring as you stepped back, the bag of kulfis suddenly feeling like lead in your hand.
As you turned to flee, your movements were fuelled by a quiet, jagged devastation that made the familiar floor of the factory feel like sinking sand. You didn't see the way the shadows danced on the walls or the dust motes swirling in the stagnant air, you only felt the crushing weight of Uzair’s mockery.
Just as you reached the periphery of the group, a low-level worker, emboldened by the cruel laughter echoing through the rafters, leaned toward his companion. His voice was a greasy whisper that nonetheless cut through the hum of machinery. "Sahi toh keh raha hai Uzair bhai...itna wazan utha kar roz kaun laye?"
The comment was a physical blow to your spine, making you stumble for a fraction of a second. You didn't look back. You couldn't.
If you had stayed for even a heartbeat longer, you would have felt the sudden, unnatural atmospheric shift in the room. The raucous laughter of Siyahi and Donga hadn't just fade, it had vanished, replaced by a silence so absolute it was terrifying. The air in the warehouse, previously thick with banter, had suddenly turned electric, charged with a lethal, predatory energy that usually preceded a storm of lead.
Had you turned your head, you would have seen Uzair’s face transform. The mocking falsetto he had been using was gone, replaced by a mask of cold, murderous stillness. His eyes, which had been dancing with arrogance a second ago, narrowed into two slivers of dark flint.
Before the worker could even finish his smirk, Uzair lunged. It was the explosive strike of a man who had been raised in the shadow of violence, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw with a sickening, heavy thud that echoed against the corrugated iron roof.
"Zubaan kaat ke hath mein de dunga teri," Uzair’s voice was no longer a shout, it was a low, terrifying hiss that made even Hamza take a step back. He grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him upward until his feet barely touched the oil-stained floor. "Uski taraf dekhne ki auqat bhi nahi hai teri, aur tu uske bare mein baat kar raha hai? Dobara uske naam ko apni gandi zabaan se nikala, toh Lyari ke kisi kachre ke dher mein bhi teri laash nahi milegi."
But you were already gone, a ghost haunting the alleyways of Lyari.
You didn't hear the man’s muffled pleas for mercy or the sound of Uzair throwing him against a stack of crates like a piece of discarded scrap. You only felt the suffocating lump in your throat and the hot, shameful prickle of tears. You felt stupid, clumsy and utterly unwanted. To you, the world was a blur of grey and hurt, you were so convinced of your own incompetence that you missed the one moment where Uzair finally showed his hand, defending the one girl he claimed to despise with a savagery that spoke of a truth he was too terrified to admit to himself.
As you reached the dusty alleyway outside the factory gates, a group of local children were playing cricket with a tattered ball. One of them, a small boy with dirt smudged cheeks and bright eyes, looked up at you curiously. You reached into your bag and handed him the entire collection of kulfis, the treats meant for the man who had just shattered your heart.
The boy’s face lit up with a radiance you hadn't felt in years. "Shukriya appi!" he chirped, clutching the melting bag to his chest. "Allah aapki har khwaish poori kare!"
The blessing hit you like a physical weight. Every wish? You stifled a sob, the irony of his words cutting deeper than Uzair’s insults. Your only wish had just been incinerated in a warehouse full of guns and laughter. You turned away quickly, stumbling toward the main road to hail an auto. As the vehicle pulled away, you didn't tell the driver where to go.
You just wanted to be away, away from the Haveli, away from the factory and away from the girl who had been foolish enough to believe in a fairy tale.
The park you found yourself in was a desolate sanctuary of wilted grass and rusted swings, a stark reflection of the carnage inside your chest. You sat on a splintered wooden bench, the hem of your fine lawn dupatta damp and wrinkled from where you had been frantically mopping away the salt-stain of your tears.
Every sob that escaped felt like a betrayal of your own dignity. You cursed your heart, this stubborn, treacherous organ that had anchored itself to a man who saw you as nothing more than a punchline for his warehouse banter. How many times had your friends warned you? How many times had you caught the pitying, sidelong glances from Hamza, looks that screamed 'you’re chasing a ghost'? You had ignored them all, weaving a tapestry of excuses to stay within the gravitational pull of a sun that was only ever meant to burn you.
The guilt of your choices began to weigh heavier than the insults. Your paternal grandparents, who lived far from the blood soaked soil of Lyari, had begged you for years to leave the shadows of the Baloch Haveli. They had offered you a life of peace, away from the rattling of firearms and the scent of gunpowder, but you had turned them down with a smile and a lie, claiming you couldn't leave Rehman and Ulfat.
Deep down, the truth was much uglier.
You couldn't bear the thought of a world where you didn't wake up under the same roof as Uzair. Now, the realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. You had sacrificed a life with your own kin for a man who publicly demeaned you and mocked the very body you were already so desperate to hide.
In the gathering gloom of the evening, a cold resolve began to crystallise amidst the wreckage of your heart. You made a silent, solemn vow. Once your final commerce exams were over, you would leave this city. You would go to your grandparents, serve them and find a job where your mind was valued even if your heart was broken. You told yourself, with a cruel sort of certainty, that you would never marry.
Who would want a wife who looked like you, who carried this much weight and spoke too much? If some poor soul were forced into an arranged marriage with you, it would be a life of silent penance, for you knew you could never love a stranger with even a fraction of the terrifying intensity you felt for Uzair. You were smart enough to build a life alone.
You didn't need a hero who was actually a villain.
The silence of the park was punctuated only by the persistent, jarring vibration of your phone. It had been ringing incessantly for hours, calls from your worried friends, from the Haveli and most frequently, from Uzair. Every time his name flashed on the screen, a fresh wave of frustration and agony washed over you. You wanted to hurl the device into the stagnant park pond, to shatter the connection to the person who was currently hunting for the girl he claimed to despise.
The only person you had answered was Ulfat, forcing your voice into a brittle, cheerful lie that you were at Sana’s house, studying late. As the sky bled into a bruised purple and the shadows of the trees stretched like grasping fingers, survival instinct finally overrode your grief. You were heartbroken, yes, but you knew better than to roam these streets after the lamps were lit.
The walk back to the Haveli felt like a march toward a gallows. You moved through the corridors like a shadow, hoping to slip into the sanctuary of your bedroom before the heavy gaze of the family caught you. But as you reached the final turn, a tall, imposing silhouette detached itself from the gloom near your door. Uzair was waiting, his presence a dark storm front that blocked your path. His jaw was set, his chest heaving as if he had been running and his eyes burned with a mixture of raw fury and something else, something sharp and frantic that he tried to bury under a layer of aggression.
"Phone uthana nahi hota toh kisi jheel mein kyun nahi phenk deti!" he barked, his voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Kahan thi tum?"
You didn't look up. You couldn't. You knew if you met those dark eyes, the wall you had built would crumble into dust. You tried to brush past him, your shoulder nearly clipping his chest. "Sana ke ghar thi. Bhabi ko bataya tha maine," you murmured, your voice a hollow, toneless rasp.
Uzair stepped into your personal space, his large frame acting as a barricade that you couldn't bypass. "Bhabi ne tumhare college ke chaar chakkar nahi kaate! Bhabi tumhe poore sheher mein dhundti nahi phir rahi thi!" He leaned down, his voice dropping into a dangerous, low register that vibrated through your very bones. "Mujhe kaun batane wala tha, haan? Ke tum kahan gayab ho?"
Anger, hot and sudden, flared in your chest, momentarily dousing the cold embers of your sadness. You finally tilted your head back, meeting his gaze with a fire he had never seen in you. "Tumhe kyun bataun main?" you snapped, the defiance in your voice making him flinch. He looked haggard, his hair disheveled and his knuckles bruised, but you were too far gone to care about his well being.
Uzair let out a sharp, cynical bark of laughter, a sound devoid of any real mirth. He moved even closer, so close you could smell the lingering scent of tobacco and the metallic tang of the warehouse on him. "Tumhe kyun bataun main?" he mocked, his eyes searching your face with a terrifying intensity. "Waise toh har choti si choti cheez batani hoti hai. Poora din 'Uzair, Uzair' karti nahi thakti, aur ab...tumhe kyun bataun?"
The reminder of your own devotion, the way you had followed him like a loyal pup only to be kicked, made you flinch as if he had physically struck you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold back the tide of tears that were threatening to overflow. "Sana ke ghar gaya tha main," he whispered, his voice suddenly losing its edge, replaced by a hauntingly quiet gravity. "Wahan toh thi nahi tum."
You felt the air leave your lungs as you realized he had gone looking for you, but the memory of his mockery of your weight surged back, turning your blood to ice. You tried to shove past him again, but his hand shot out, his fingers encircling your wrist in a grip that was firm but surprisingly careful. "Meri baat poori nahi hui hai, Y/N," he growled.
In a sudden burst of adrenaline and hurt, you shoved him, throwing all your pent-up rage into the movement. Uzair, caught completely off guard by your sudden violence, stumbled back several steps, his eyes widening in genuine shock. He stared at you as if seeing a stranger, his mouth slightly agape as the silence of the hallway became deafening.
"Mujhe tumhari bakwas sunne mein koi dilchaspi nahi hai!" you hissed, your voice trembling with the effort of not screaming. "Bohot pareshan karti hoon na tumhe main? Aiyenda mere mooh hi mat lagna."
Before he could find his voice or regain his footing, you bolted into your room and slammed the heavy oak door, the click of the lock sounding like a final curtain call. You could hear him almost immediately, the heavy rapping of his knuckles against the wood, his voice low and urgent, calling your name over and over again.
But you didn't stop. You ran into the bathroom, turning on the taps to full blast so the roar of the water would drown out his voice and your own wretched cries. As you sank to the cold tiled floor, finally weeping to your heart's content, you remembered his words about enjoying the peace if you just stopped talking.
The universe might not be interested in granting your wishes, you thought bitterly, but you could surely grant him his silence.
20th march, mass Tumblr log off in protest of the reblog update
Remember when we threatened a mass log off to get rid of shapes.inc and then all the shapes.inc ads mysteriously vanished? yeah, let's do that again. On the 20th of march 2026, we tumblr users will log off in protest of the split notes on reblogs. Spread the word!! Reblog!! Tag your moots!!
Side note: tag yapping doesn't seem to count as an addition to the OG post, you can use that to carry out conversations.
Don't forget to log off of everything you're on, so computers and apps. And a word of advice: do it. This could really make a difference and lead to Tumblr putting the posts back the way they were.
If any of you are watching Dhurandhar 2 tomorrow or in the first two weeks of release YOU BETTER TAG SPOILERS ONLY AND ONLY ON THE TAG DHURANDHAR 2 SPOILERS. NO CHARACTER NAME. NO MOVIE NAME. NO ACTOR NAME. JUST THAT ONE TAG.
Trying to make birthday plans when you’re someone who really cares about your birthday is so humiliating just hitting people up like hey do you mind proving to me that I’m loved and there’s a place for me in this world for the anniversary of my birth this weekend
Summary: Hamza ali mazari has been your co-wife since the day you've known him.
Based loosely on movie "mere baap pehle aap"
Part 2 | Drabble
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. IT IN NO WAY OR FORM ROMANTICIZES, PROPOGATES OR JUSTIFIES THE ACTS OF CHARATERS OT ANY REAL LIFE PERSONALITY. IT IS SOLELY WRITTEN IN CONTEXT OF THE CHARACTERS OF THE MOVIE.
Finding good friends is good luck but finding a good best friend is super good luck. Among the sea of backstabbing bitches and jealous people you found her. She wasn't flawless. She had her quirks, a bit reckless, previlged, but she had a heart of gold. Yalina. Daughter of one of the most corrupt men you've ever had the misfortune to know. You met her during your coaching for medical entrance. And became fast friends. She thought you were funny and you liked to feel funny. She was more or less your emotional support human and sugar mommy in one during your years at medical college. Everything was going smooth as butter before that asshole showed up in her life and pushed you from the highest podium of her priorities to second highest. Hamza ali mazari the posionous thorn in your side.
You thought his job would deter yalina but she had her head in her damn ovaries! He was so much older than her too- you both were in your early twenties and he was somewhere in his mid thirties. Despite hating him you didn't think he was wrong for her-it was better than what her father would've pushed onto her. Hamza cared about her, earned decently, was gentle and considerate. A green flag if you said so reluctantly. Yeah he killed people for living but he was soft for her so you didn't mind as much. However what you DID mind was that he took all of her time. You had literally no friends other than her (nobody was worthy enough, anyways). She was either on phone with him the whole time or they were out together. Inshort your girl dates had become non existent.
It wasn't that's they didn't notice, she did and soon, they started inviting you to their "not dates" to make you feel included, but you knew better. Worst part was that they would be on Hamza's bike and you would trail behind them with on scooty like some beaten up puppy following a random kind stranger who gave them biscuits once. You had been a third wheel so many times now that you believed you'd get a bachelor's in that before your medical degree. Your single ass was sad and jealous.
Hamza at first was apologetic and even a bit of an ass kisser. Trying to make you like him, because your opinion did matter to yalina. But over the time when you did not let go of the grudge he started enjoying competing with you for her attention. Purposefully making jabs at how yalina was his, how she'd drop everything in the dead of the night for him, how you were always welcome with them if you feel lonely. You finally had enough. Revenge is best served cold and in secret. So you did what anybody sensible would do. Tit for tat. He stole your best friend, you'll steal his. Ofcourse not start dating his bestfriend or anything- but you could distract him, make him focus on something else than Hamza. Maybe then that little bitch will learn.
A very fine evening you stole Hamza's phone, (his password was 11111, it was asking to be stolen!) and stole number of one of the most feared gangsters in lyari- Uzair baloch. This could end with a few bullets in your body but that was the risk you were willing to take. So here was your idea, you will call Uzair baloch and basically spam him, enough to consume his head whole in the mystery of who could it be so Hamza will feel neglected. If you believed Yalina, as per her- Uzair was to Hamza, the same way Yalina is to you. It's gonna hurt him so bad, you could already feel the satisfaction of revenge.
The sun was dipping down through the clouds, sky was painted pink and purple, as much as you wanted to you cannot involve yalina in this plan because ofcourse she'll rat you out to her boyfriend. So here you were your phone clutched in your trembling hand, with a deep breath you dailed his number. After a few rings, he picked up the call and you could hear the sound of men laughing, and a distant 'abe lodu chup-'
"Hello, kaun?"
"Ji kya meri baat Uzair ji se ho rahi hai?"
"Haan, main Uzair hi bol raha hoon. Kisse kaam hai apko?"
"Aapse"
"Aap kaun?"
"Woh zaroori nahi, kya aap ne mujhe pehchana nahi?"
"Dekhiye mohtarma, main koi jinn thodi hoon, yahin se jaan jaun bina naam ke ki aap kaun hain?"
The dread sat deep in your stomach; in the excitement for revenge you forgot to plan what you were actually going to say. Sweat gather in your mehendi clad hands. Oh!
"Main Mehandi-"
"Hassan?"
"Nahi, mehandi matlab Mera naam heena hai."
"Main kisi Heena ko nahi jaanta. Aap ne galat jagah number laga diya hai."
You can hear the frustrated sigh that hime let out
"Main kisi Heena ko nahi jaanta, dubara phone mat karna-"
Before you could say anything, he hung up on you. The heartbeat in your own ears should've scared you but on contrary it was electric! Finally something exciting was happening in your boring life, surrounded by books and sick people all day.
Over the next few days you kept calling him at any random time, in your break, between lectures, sometimes even blank calls just to hear the frustrated groan or his words borderline explicit. You talked his ear off about all the random things and then more. It wasn't flirting per say but you were on the dangerous line to cross that. It wasn't just a revenge now, it was full blown routine- part of your day you were most excited about.
"Accha tumhara favourite colour konsa hai?"
"Kaala"
"Sacchi! Mera bhi! Hum dono ki joodi Mashallah!"
Bakwaas bandh karo apni! Tum ho kaun?"
"Accha woh sab chhodo, meri dost ki kal saalgirah hai, main kya pehnu?"
"Kafan pehen le, chudail"
"Are, tum kitne bure ho"
"Toh mat kar phone aayinda se"
"Kyun tum milne aaoge?"
"Tumhe toh main-
Before he could finish you heard someone calling his name, and he hung up.
Then one time, During college lunch break Yalina was on phone with her shitty boyfriend, giggling and whispering and you felt left out.
Honestly did they give him money for doing nothing? You needed this job if you got all the free time to talk shit on call. So naturally you pulled out your phone, feeling a bit adventurous (you were ovulating) you decided to up your game. Uzair picked up after a few rings, he sighed-
"Itni der kyun lagayi uthane mein, kya kar rahe the?"
"Khudkhushi"
"Mere bina?"
"Kyun jahannum tak saath chalogi?"
"Tum kahoge wahan tak chalungi, mere kaleje"
"Kaleje?"
"Haan kaleje, aisa vaisa mat smajo, badan ka zaroori hissa hota hai. Dil toh tum kisi ka bhi ban sakte ho, kaleja toh sirf mera hi rahoge"
"Konse pagal khane se bhaagi ho waise tum? Dhoondte nahi kya woh log mareezon ko?"
"Jitni haseen tumhari mohobbat, usse zyada haseen tumhara gussa hai, tumhari gehri aakhein, jee karta hai doob jaaun in mein. Hayee" you sighed like heroine in those God awful rom-coms.
"Doobne ka itna hi shauk hai toh kisi naali mein doob jaao"
"Tumhare masboot kandhe, tumhari badi-badi bazooein, jee kata hai bijli ke khambhe ki tarha tum par chadh jaaun-"
Before you could finish your sentence, you could hear sudden commotion and coughing and choking sounds. You heard someone calling him out- wait was that hamza? Oh it definitely was!
"Oye khote kya hua, gale mein kya phas gaya?" You giggled ending the call, it was enough for today. Poor him.
Rehman and Ulfat had noticed a weird change in Uzair. The moment his phone rang, he would run ahead to pick it up before even a second ring. He always kept his phone on hand and would often aggressively whisper before hanging up on the caller. Curious ulfat picked up his phone while he had left it on the table, it had already ringed four times from the same number, as Rehman wasn't home, she decided to pick it up.
"Hello, kaun?" You heard a female voice on the other side.
"Ji main Uzair se baat kar sakti hoon?"
"Ji, woh toh khuch kaam mein mashroof hain, main unki bhabhi baat kar rahi hoon. Aap zaroori baat ho toh mujhe bata dein, main use khabar kar doongi."
"Ji nahi, main unhi se baat kar lungi. Aap se baat karke bohot accha laga bhabhi."
"Aap Uzair ki dost hain?"
"Haan, aur kuch zyada."
"Uzair ne aapke baare mein kuch bataya nahi"
You barely hold back your snort.
"Woh thoda sharmata hain na, aap toh jaanti hain."
Instead of answering she just hums and you silently wheeze rolling on your bed.
"Woh Hamza ke saath hai?"
"Haan shayad, kyun?"
"Dekhiye na bhabhi, mere saath wakt bitane ke bajaye, sara wakt us Hamza ke saath ghoomte rehte hain. Hamza toh uski mehbooba ko maqbool vakt deta hai aur ek Uzair hain ki bas mujhse door bhagte rehte hain jaise main padosi ki biwi hoon"
"Tumne kaha na woh sharmata hai, issi liye hoga. Waise tumne apna naam kya bataya?"
"Heena"
"Accha toh heena, main Uzair ko bata doongi ki tumhe phone kare"
"Ji bhabhi, khuda Hafiz"
"Khuda Hafiz"
You knew involving his family was a bit extreme, but you had no choice, she picked up the call, you couldn't have just hung up on her. It would be rude and from what Yalina had told her, ulfat was literal angel, so you could definitely not leave her hanging.
Uzair had just came back home, laughing with hamza on something whils Ulfat stood in middle of the Veranda, with his phone in her hand.
"Kya hua bhabhi? Mera phone aapke paas?"
"Tum mujhe batao Uzair, tum kuch batana chahte ho?"
"Kya matlab bhabhi?"
"Heena kaun hai Uzair?"
He groan, his hand against his forehead
"Are woh kamini yahaan tak pohoch gai? Main use chhodunga nahi. Aaj toh main uski-"
"Uspar kyun gussa kar rahe ho? Tumhe phone kya tha usne maine bas utha liya. Kab batane wale the tum hamein, nikaah ke din? Mujhe toh bata dete-"
"Bhabhi khuda kasam mai iss chudail ko jaanta tak nahi, pata nahi kyun aur kahan se mera number mil gaya isse. Maine do baar toh badal liya phir bhi use kahin se mil jaata hai! Block karta hoon toh naye number se phone karti hai."
"Batein mat banao, koi ladki aise kisi ke peeche nahi padti. Beechari kaise jhelti hogi tumhe. Aur waise bhi koi ladki mili tumhe yahi badi baat hai, pura din jo iss Hamza ke saath ghoomte rehte ho. Tumhare Bhai aur mujhe fikr hai tumhari."
"Bhabhi Kasam se koi ladki nahi hai, ye koi paagal hai."
"Woh jo bhi ho, main nahi jaanti. Lekin agar sach mein kuch hai aur tumne mujhe nahi bataya toh mujhe bohot bura lagega"
"Lekin bhabhi-"
Before he could explain himself, ulfat left after placing his phone on the centre table. Uzair groans, wiping his hand over his face.
"Hamze ye kaun pad gayi hai mere peeche, chain se saans nahi li jabse isne phone karne shuru kiye hain. Khuda kasam jis din ye mujhe mil gayi na main iska gala ghont dunga main"
Uzair called you for the first time that evening. You were just as intrigued as you were surprised.
"Are Aaj meri yaad kaise?"
"Kaun hai tere peeche"
"Are koi nahi, akeli hoon. Jalan ho rahi hai? Kisi ke saath nahi-"
"Bakwas bandh kar! Jabtak mujhe pareshan karti thi tabtak theek tha, ab mere ghar walon se bakwas kar rahi ho? Main phir pooch raha hoon, kiske gang mein ho tum?"
"Kisi gang-vang mein nahi hoon main!"
"Phir mere peeche kyun padi ho!?"
"Jaise heer ranja ke peeche, Soni mahiwal ke peeche, zara veer ke peeche, waise main tumhara peeche"
"Aainda kabhi mere ghar phone kiya na toh tumhari haddiyan tod kar arab samadar mein phek dunga"
"Are itne chidh kyun rahe ho? Bhabhi se shikayat kardi iss liye? Danta Kya unhone? Ya isliye chidh rahe ho ki meri sautan ki shikayat kardi Maine?"
"Kya bakwas kar rahi ho?"
"Haan tumhe toh bakwas hi lagegi, mujhse pucho. Saare din us hamze ke saath ghoomte rehte ho. Biwi hai kya tumhari woh? Mujhe bilkul pasand nahi woh. Suna hai maashuka bhi hai uski, phir uske saath kyun nahi rehta? Sab jagah se-"
Ek minute pehle toh main kisi ke bhi saath ghoomon tumhare abbu ke kitne jaayenge, aur doosri baat mere jee mein jo aayega main karunga, Hamza ke saath ghoomunga bhi aur rahunga bhi. Aaj ke baad kabhi mujhe phone Kiya na toh apne baap ko tere janaze ki taiyaariyan karne ko keh dena"
After that day you called him a few times but he did not pick up. You layed awake in the middle of the night already planning for some other way to talk to him. Reaching out you called him, it was around 3 in the night. You thought he wouldn't pick up but he surprisingly did.
"Bolo"
His voice didn't not sound laced with sleep at all, was he awake too?
"Neend nahi aa Rahi?"
"Toh kya looriyan sunau tumhe"
"Pooch rahi hoon"
The line went dead for a minute, you thought he would hang up. But he answered
"Nahin"
"Kyun? Kya hua?"
"Tumhe kya matlab?"
"Chaho toh bata do, main kaha kisiko kuch bataungi"
You could hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice as he sighs
"Batane ke liye kuch nahi hai, bas aise hi"
You hum, you initial plan to annoy him retreating. Kicking him while he was already down was mean.
"Koi baat nahi, kal baat karenge"
"Nahi, ruko-"
"Haan?"
"Itni raat ko bakwas karene agar phone kiya hi hai toh karlo, kal bhi din kharab karogi varna"
The smile that crosses your face was genuine. Not at his or even Hamza's expense. Just because of him.
"Thik hai. Mere paas toh duniya bhar ki baatein hai"
"Pata hai, hukumat tumhare abbu se azafi mahsool nahi leti kya, itna bolti jo ho tum?"
"Nahin, mufta ka hai! Accha batao, tumhe kitne bacche chahiye?"
"Kyun? Naya kaam shuru kiya hai? Taskari karti ho ya, baccha chor ho? Khandani kaam hai?"
"Zyada bakwas mat karo, aurat hoon paida kar sakti hoon"
"Accha? Aurat ho? Mujhe laga pishachini ho."
"Gale pad jaaungi na tab pata chalega, saari hekdi nikal jaayegi. Woh toh mujhe sharam aati hai isliye."
"Sharam aur tumhe? Us din toh bada mujhe par chadne ki batein kar rahi thi-"
"Dekho jazbaton mein beh gayi thi"
He snorts.
"Waise daadhi vagareh bhi acchi hi rakh lete ho. Lambe bhi ho, tagde. Koi girlfriend ya biwi nahi tumhari?"
"Mera sab hi kamaal hai, aur main aurton ke chakkar mein nahi padta."
"Lekin mere chakkar mein toh pad gaye ya mardon ke chakkar mein ho? Tabhi us hamze ke saath din bhar, ya raat bhar-?"
"Auratein kaha maine pishachini nahi kaha aur hamza ko door rakho isse"
You couldn't help but chuckle at the obsurdity of your conversation.
"Accha ab kuch din tumhe phone nahi karungi"
"Kyun?" You could hear the subtle drop in his tone.
"Are, itne khush mat ho jaao, imtehaan aa rahe hai mere, tumhe pata naa ho toh bata doon bohot padhai karni padti hai mujhe, uske baad phir tumhara khoone peene aa jaungi"
"Pata nahi tha, jaadu tona aaj kal collegeon mein padhya jaa raha hai. Duniya vakai aage badh rahi hai"
"Are nahi woh toh mere khoon main hai, meri nani sikhati thi mujhe. College toh main doctari padhne jaati hoon"
Other line echoes with his bostrous laughter. Wheezing, he caught his breath;
"Tum aur doctor banogi??"
"Hasna band karo, kya matlab hai tumhara? Donation se nahi mila college mujhe! Bakaida acche marks laye hain maine, scholarship bhi mili hai mujhe."
"Lagta hain pagalon ka ilaaj bhi pagal doctor bankar hi khud karte hain"
"Bada bolne lage ho tum, pehle hi accha tha. Ab mujhe baat nahi karni, neend aane lagi tumhari baatein sun kar"
You hung up the call with a strange warm feeling trying to burst your heart. Your chest tightens and cheeks heat up. This was definitely not just a prank anymore.
For the next month and a half you wouldn't call him as much but occasionally texted him because of the academic stress. The most you got in reply was a thumbs up, or absolutely nothing, but you knew he was reading your texts. The delusion was strong on this one. Despite studying day and night your exams didn't go that well. You knew you had given your best but what if you wouldn't pass? Or if you did with bare minimum marks? Even after the exams you didn't feel the sense of relief you should've. Uzair despite a constant presence in your thoughts,
you didn't call him.
Out of blue one day you got a text from him.
"Zinda ho?"
To which you had replied with a thumbs up.
Was he worried about you? Or he missed you? The last time you talked was pretty civil if anything.
You called him the very next day, teasing him about missing you which he did not confirm neither deny. Days went by and your plan was perfectly working. Yalina told you hamza was spending more time with her because Uzair was busy, hamza was agitated and frustrated because his best friend was giving someone else the time of his day- how does it feel looser?
You were in turn busy keeping Uzair busy. Yalina to realized that you both were spending less time together so she tried to make plans but you had someone more intresting now. Karma is a bitch.
Weeks went by and your results finally came out. You had passed that too with whooping 73% marks! And weirdly enough the first person you wanted to tell about it was Uzair and that is what you did. You called him. He didn't pick up on the first and neither the fourth time. But on the fifth try he picked up.
"Jaldi bolo kya hua, main yahan-"
"Main paas ho gai! Woh bhi avval darje se! Unhone kaha hai mujhe puri scholarship milegi!"
You heard the commotion behind and were those gun shot sounds?!
"Uzair tum kahan ho?"
"Main tumse baad mein baat karta hoon, yahan par goliyan-"
"GOLI?"
"Fikr mat karo mujhe kuch nahi hoga-"
And that is when you heard the dull thud of the phone dropping. Hamza's voice panicked in the background.
"Donga! Uzair ko goli lagi hai! Uzair saale abhi kisse baat kar raha tha-"
Everything went static, you didn't hear anything that was being said. The shock rendering you senseless. Yalina shook your shoulder.
"Kya hua? Chal na Aaj party karte hain pass hone ki Khushi mein! Mujhe toh laga tha iss saal toh main gayi, lekin socha tha usse accha hi-"
"Uzair ko goli lagi hai" your words came out choaked.
"Kya?"
"Usair, use goli lagi hai."
"lekin tujhe kaise pata? Hamza kahan hai? Usne-"
You feel you whole body trembling in panic. You scream with a choaked sob
"Yalina! Usse goli lagi hai woh bhi meri wajah se."
"Tu kya keh rahi hai? Main hamza ko-"
"Main tujhe sab baad mein bataungi please abhi hospital chal!"
The desperation in your voice convenienced her not to ask more questions and take you to the hospital as soon as possible. Running through the corridors of the hospital casualty, you stopped at the doors of ot. You didn't barge in, you had that much sense, if his surgery was going on and you had barged in, it'd only hinder his treatment longer. You turned around and realised Hamza was standing there all along. Currently talking to yalina, worried out of his wits.
"Hamza, use kahan goli lagi hai?" You asked him breathless.
"Kandhe par lagi hai, use andar le gaye hain, goli nikalne ke liye"
"Lekin usse goli lagi kase?! Tum kar kya rahe the?!"
"Chillao mat! Goli baari ke beech phone uthakar baatein kar raha tha. Pata nahi-"
It knocked the air straight out of your lungs. He was shot because of you. You called him unprompted. You had always called him unprompted. Your juvenile prank had almost cost him his fucking life. It was the final nail in the coffin. You needed to stop.
"Ye sab meri wajah se ho raha hai. Na main use kabhi phone karti, na ye din aata. Mujhe nahi pata tha mera mazak uski jaan-"
Yalina hugs you as you breakdown in her arms. Hamza was confused at the breakdown. He cared about Uzair and to a degree he would understand of if yalina cried a bit. She knew him. But you literally breaking down to the floor was not something logical.
The guilt made you practically vomit everything out. Your words came out hurried, at times not making any sense.
You told them everything, how this was a prank on hamza technically but it spiraled into so much more. How despite not knowing when and how you had fallen for him, how now the phone calls weren't only full of annoying name calling but actually something vulnerable made appearance every now and then. How he was the one to whom you had bared your soul to, told your deepest fears.
"Meri galti hai. Main wada karti hoon aaj ke baad kabhi usse pareshan nahi karungi. Mujhe maaf kardo, lekin please usse mat batana main kaun hoon. Waise bhi usse sukoon hi milega mujhse chutkaara paa kar"
You wiped your tears and left the hospital like a coward. You didn't remember how you reached home or if anybody saw you breaking down on the floor of your bedroom.
For the next few week neither did you call anyone or picked anyone's call either.
Yalina kept calling you but you ignored her. After week's of frustration she showed up at your home, banging on your bedroom door.
"Y/n kholo! Bohot ho gaya. Woh zinda hai, mara nahi jo maatam mana rahi ho. Tune goli nahi maari use"
After her persistent begging and banging you reluctantly opened the door.
"Ye kya haal bana rakhha hai! Pagal ho gai hai kya? Zinda hai woh! Theek bhi ho chuka hai, lekin paagal ho gaya hai. Tumhara phone nahi lagta, na tum usse karti ho. Pure din har ring par yahi lagta hai ki tum ho. Hamza tak se nahi mil raha."
The guilt and desperation kept gawning on your heart. You didn't think it'd affect him this much.
"Iss kamre se bahr nikal chal. Kapde badal hume Hamza ke ghar jaana hai. Bohot ho gaya ye rona dhona."
"Yalina mujhe kahin nahi jaana. Main theek hoon-"
"Main phir nahi kahungi, bahr nikal. Mujhe majboor mat kar ki main tujhe ghaseet kar le jaaun."
You sigh, realising she will not budge.
"Thik hai, tu bahr baith main aati hoon"
After half hearted attempt to look presentable you left with Yalina. You had visited Hamza's kabutarkhana before. As soon as the car stopped you stepped out and started climbing the stairs. Pushing in at the doors you expected Hamza to be sitting on the chair or standing in the middle of the room. Instead you saw Uzair standing there, a triangular bandage wraped on his left shoulder. Your breath hitches and eyes widen. You turned around to look for yalina but there was no yalina.
Infact even the door was closed.
"Um- Hamza?"
"Uzair"
"Main woh- yalina ki dost hoon. Hamza-"
"Main jaanta hoon tum kaun"
"Woh main-"
"Heena ya y/n?"
Dread sits deep in your stomach. You were literally not ready for the confrontation. Especially not like this. Vulnerable and alone with him. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
"Woh ek mazak tha, meri galti hai maine aapko isme ghaseeta. Mera Aisa koi irada nahi tha. Aapko meri wajah se goli lagi-"
"Tum hamesha aisi hi bakwas karti ho? Goli mujhe tumhari wajah se nahi, meri bewakoofi ki wajah se lagi."
He takes steps towards you and you take steps back, until you're against the wall.
"Hamza ke saath hota tab phone karti agar Hamza se badla hota tumhe. Aadhi raat ko phone karne ki kya zaroorat thi? Mujhe apni zindagi ki har chote lamhat baatne ki kya zaroorat thi? Itna meri zindagi ko matasar karne ki kya zaroorat thi? Mujhe itna pareshan karne ki, kareeb aane ki kya zaroorat thi ki mujhe tumse mohabbat hi ho jaaye?"
"Uzair-"
His right hand cups your cheek. His thumb caressing.
"Tum chali kyun gai, Hospital aayi thi toh?"
Your eyes brim with tears, a choaked sob escapes your lips
"Mujhe maaf kardo, maine tumse jooth bola, tumhare ghar mein masla ho gaya, aur tumhe phir meri wajah se goli bhi lag gai."
He gently wipes your tears, leaning down to kiss your forehead.
"Maaf Kiya."
You close your eyes and release a sigh of relief, soaking the moment.
"Lekin agar tum sach mein sharminda ho toh-"
He taps his finger on his lips.
Your blush lightly and raise your eyebrow.
"Tum toh aurton ke mamlon se door rehte ho na?"
"Pehle bhi kaha hai, phir kehta hoon. Aurton se door rehta hoon, lekin ab pishachinyan thodi pasand aane lagi hain mujhe"
You hit his injured arm. He hisses in pain, face contouring into a frown.
"Accha aur kuch karna hai mujhe tumhari maafi ke liye?"
"Tum kuch keh rahi thi mujhe, chadne-vadhne ki baatein"
"Sharam karlo, pehli baar mil rahe ho, aur waise bhi haath to tutaa hua hai tumhara"
"Toh doosri baar meilenge tab tumhe chalega?"
"Bade Besharam aadmi se mohobbat karli maine"
He just looked at you as if you had said something he didn't know, something he never thought could happen, in disbelief.
You didn't have anything else to say, so you just yanked him down by his shirt and kissed him. His working hand held your lower back pushing you into him. You broke the kiss, panting and giggling.
"Hamza pehle bhi mera sautan tha, ab phir mera sautan ban gaya."
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Disclaimer: This is fiction inspired by the characters portrayed by the actors in Dhurandhar, not the real individuals themselves.
⋆ Series ⋆
Between Smoke & Roses
Synopsis: A journey through Lyari from the eyes of Inaya, Faisal's teacher.
Pairing: Uzair Baloch x OC
This reimagining removes the Major Iqbal subplot entirely and does not keep Hamza as a spy. The Baloch brothers operate as Lyari gangsters running a fake firearms factory alongside extortion rackets, serving as muscle for Jameel Jamali’s political operations.
The focus centers on family survival, moral compromise, and forbidden romance within Karachi's underworld.
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