Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.
Warning: This is a Khichdi AU— humor, chaos, and questionable logic. Logic may appear briefly before disappearing again. Almost everyone here is completely insane, with the exception of half sane Naieem and the entirety sane Rehman and Ulfat, umm although, to be fair, they're also hopelessly lovesick.
Requested by @misscatsanju
Rehman Baloch was currently huddled over a mahogany desk in his private study. He was staring at a map as he was planning a high-stakes route for a massive upcoming shipment. His rugged face was tensed up in deep concentration.
Naturally, his wife, Ulfat Baloch was standing right beside him. "Rehman , listen to me," Ulfat said seriously, tapping a finger on a specific highway on the map. "Don't send the trucks through the main city check-post. The police have increased security there because of the upcoming elections. Take the old bypass route near the coast. It's unpaved and bumpy, but it’s completely clear of patrols. Your cargo will reach safely."
Rehman stopped staring at the map. He slowly looked up at his wife. Her sharp, intelligent mind and the authoritative way she adjusted her dupatta never fails to mesmerize him always.
"Ulfat ," Rehman murmured, his rugged voice dropping , forgetting about the shipment and routes. "You have such a brilliant mind. When you give me strategic advice like this, you look so incredibly beautiful that my heart skips a beat."
"Oh Rehman, I am just trying to make sure my king stays on top."
"For you, Ulfat," Rehman whispered, standing from his seat, stepping closer and gently trapping her against the edge of the desk, his fierce gaze turning utterly mushy, "I could conquer the whole of Lyari twice over. Your voice is the only map I need in life."
He reached out, gently cupping her jawline. They leaned in close, their lips inches apart, totally trapped in their own romantic bubble —
SLAM!
"Oh, hello! Excuse me! Papa! Mummy! Focus!"
Rehman and Ulfat jumped apart as the heavy wooden door of the study banged open. Standing there, breathing heavily and holding a vacation homework booklet like a weapon, was Faizal .
Faizal was currently in the 8th grade. He had been in the 8th grade for three years now. He was, without a doubt, the crown jewel of the family’s daily insanity.
"What is it, Faizal?!" Rehman groaned, quickly pulling a file over the shipment map while rubbing his temples in sheer frustration. "Why are you barging into my study? Go study! Otherwise, Naieem will have to explain your report card to me again, and my blood pressure cannot take it."
"I am not studying!" Faizal declared, slightly slamming the booklet right on top of Rehman's top-secret smuggling route. "It's the summer holidays, and I have a creative project! We have to research a specific place. And I have decided. We are going to the haunted ruins on the outskirts of Lyari!"
"Absolutely not," Rehman said instantly, his instincts returning. "That place is dangerous. Criminals hide out there. Real criminals, not like us who have a reputation to maintain."
"No way, Faizal," Naieem chimed in, walking into the study with a thick textbook, looking as tired as a man who hadn't slept for years . "It’s structurally unsafe, psychologically damaging, and realistically foolish."
Faizal folded his arms, a devious, unhinged glint in his eyes. "Oh, really? Fine. Don't let me go. But when the results come out next year, and I fail the 8th grade for the fourth time... don't ask me why. I'll just tell the principal that my family didn't support my academic research."
Rehman gasped . Ulfat clutched her heart in pure horror. A fourth failure in the 8th grade will be the death of their remaining reputation.
"Okay! Okay, fine! We are going!" Rehman yelled in total, crushing defeat.
An hour later, the expedition was ready, much to Rehman's utter despair. Because it wasn't just them.
First, there was Donga , who was currently wearing a vibrant floral beach shirt , happily eating a mango in the courtyard. Next to him was Siyahi , who was busy on the phone gossiping loudly. "Hello? Haan baji! No, we are just going to some haunted ruins to get Faizal passed. Yes, if a ghost kills him, at least we save on his tuition fees! Okay, bye!"
But the real challenge for Rehman’s sanity were his two apples of his eyes , Uzair and Hamza. To the rest of Lyari, they were terrifying hitmen who used peaceful means (which usually meant terrifying people into compliance by just staring at them). But to Rehman? They were his babies. His sweet, slightly insane, 30-something-year-old babies . "Come on, everyone, step alive!" Faizal shouted, leading the march out of the Haveli.
By the time they reached the outskirts of Lyari, the atmosphere had drastically shifted. The bustling, chaotic noises of the city faded away in an eerie, suffocating silence.
It was an abandoned, crumbling colonial-era mansion swallowed by gnarled, dead trees. The wind howled through the cracked, glassless windows like a weeping woman. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the dirt ground. A rusty iron gate creaked open and shut, screeech— clack. screeech— clack.
Even Rehman felt a chill down his spine, instinctively pulling Ulfat closer. "Ulfat, if a ghost attacks, you hide behind my chest."
"Oh Rehman dw , you are my shield," she swooned, completely ignoring a literal bat flying right over her head.
Naieem looked up at the terrifying, pitch-black entrance of the mansion.
"This is absolutely absurd," Naieem muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "The atmosphere here is purely sinister."
Uzair, who was walking right behind Naieem while holding a gun in his pocket.
He leaned over to Hamza, who was walking beside him.
Hamza stopped in his tracks, a look of profound, scholarly wisdom washing over his face. He adjusted an imaginary pair of glasses and looked at Uzair with utter confidence.
"Sinister Uzairrr , tumhe yaad hai last month, Ulfat bhabhi ne Eid ke liye suit liya tha . Aur vo master ji ke paas silwane gayi thi par uss master ne unke suit ka satyanash kar diya tha. And she got angry. So she went again to him and screamed at the tailor, to bhabhi ne kya bola tha ? “
“Bhabhi ne bola tha, ki tumne meri dress kharab kardi , abhi yehi beth kar mere samne dubara siloge , stitch it mister! Stitch it mister….. ohhh sinister , achaaaa Sinister “
Naieem, who had overheard the entire explanation, stopped walking. He slowly turned around, staring at Hamza and Uzair with a look of soul-crushing defeat. He opened his mouth to correct them, looked at their wide, joyful, expectant faces, and closed it and kept walking with a broken heart.
They pushed past the groaning iron gate and stepped inside.
The interior of the abandoned mansion was suffocatingly still.
As they proceeded, the temperature started dropping. Outside it was 40 degrees and inside it felt like someone had turned on the AC at 18 degrees.
"Wow," Faizal whispered, scribbling furiously in a notebook with a pen that was barely working. "Temperature dropping. Classic ghostly activity. This is easily worth an A-plus. If the teacher fails me now, it’s targeted harassment."
"Faizal, beta, look over there," Donga said, pointing toward a dark hallway with a cheerful grin. "If a ghost attacks us from that side, should I run clockwise or anti-clockwise? Because my shoes are new, and I don't want to crease them."
"Oh, shut up, Donga!" Siyahi snapped, pulling his shawl (which he brought out of nowhere) tighter around his shoulders. Uzair and Hamza were staring at a broken, dangling ceiling fan, looking thoroughly perplexed as to why it wasn't rotating.
As the group slowly drifted apart to inspect the rotting furniture and peeling wallpaper, the tension in the air grew thick. Shadows seemed to stretch and twist along the walls, elongated by the dim moonlight filtering through the cracked roof. Naieem was hyper-vigilant, keeping a strict eye on Faizal, who was currently trying to collect haunted cobwebs in a tiffin box.
In the midst of this terrifying, spine-chilling environment, Rehman and Ulfat found themselves drifting into a dimly lit corner of the grand foyer.
The walls around them were stained with moisture, and a massive, cracked Victorian mirror hung precariously on the wall beside them, covered in a layer of grime. But Rehman didn’t care about the cold, the shadows, or the imminent threat of the supernatural. He only had eyes for his wife.
"Ulfat," Rehman murmured, his voice thick with passion. He pinned her gently against the damp wall, his rugged frame blocking out the rest of the haunted world. "Even in this place , your beauty burns like a Molotov cocktail."
"Rehman," Ulfat gasped softly, placing her hands on his shoulder. "You say the most romantic things. Who cares about ghosts when I have my king?"
Right at that moment, the temperature dropped even further. The air turned foul, smelling of decayed flesh and old graves.
Directly behind them, inside the reflection of the grimy, cracked mirror, something monstrous began to materialize.
It was a tall, skeletal figure with skin the color of rotting parchment, stretched tightly over its skull. Its eyes were completely hollow, bleeding a thick, black tar-like liquid down its sunken cheeks. Its jaw unhinged to an impossible degree, revealing rows of jagged, rusty-looking teeth, and it let out a silent, vibrating screech that made the glass of the mirror vibrate. It raised a pair of long, emaciated hands with razor-sharp, blackened claws, reaching out from the reflection as if it were about to rip through the glass and drag them into hell.
Rehman and Ulfat both saw it clearly in the reflection.
Rehman blinked. Ulfat blinked.
Then, completely ignoring the demon currently trying to curse their bloodline, Rehman leaned in, and Ulfat met him halfway. They locked lips in a deep, passionate, completely unbothered French kiss right in front of the mirror.
The entity in the mirror actually stopped mid-screech. Its jaw slowly closed back up. Its clawed hands dropped to its sides. It looked genuinely offended, utterly bewildered that its terrifying presence was being overshadowed by PDA.
Rehman deepened the kiss, holding Ulfat closer, completely tuning out the haunted mansion.
"Ahmm."
A loud, dual throat-clearing shattered the romance.
Rehman and Ulfat pulled apart, startled, and snapped their heads around.
Standing right there, side-by-side, were Uzair and Hamza. Uzair had his thumbs tucked into his pockets. Hamza had his arms crossed, shaking his head with the deep, patronizing disapproval of an elder sibling.
"Bhai..." Uzair said, his deep, intimidating voice sounding incredibly whiny. "Look at this, Hamza. Hum yahan par bhoot dundh rahe hai aur Bhai and Bhabhi are here…. , ohhh mere Allah , someone give us bleach. "
Hamza sighed loudly, looking at Rehman. "Rehman Bhai, this is not good na. You are a big gangster. If the enemy gangs see you doing this kinda… stuff in a haunted house, what will happen to our market value? People will think we don't do target killing, we do target ahhh, uzair bleach dee !"
Rehman’s face turned bright red. "Uzair! Hamza!" Rehman roared, trying to regain his terrifying posture. "What are you both doing here?! Go guard the perimeter!"
"But Bhai," Uzair pouted, pointing at the mirror. "We came to tell you... that face in the glass looked very hungry. Should I go get it some biryani?”
A heavy, suffocating weight dropped onto the room, pressing down on everyone’s chests until breathing felt like inhaling crushed glass. The dim moonlight filtering through the ceiling vanished entirely, plunged into an unnatural, absolute pitch-blackness that no flashlight could pierce.
From the dark, yawning hallway behind them came a sound that made the hairs on the back of Naieem’s neck stand rigid. It was the sound of wet, heavy footsteps —squelch, drag, squelch, accompanied by the rhythmic, sickening snap-snap-snap of bones breaking and resetting with every step.
Suddenly, a foul, icy wind howled through the corridor, carrying the stench of copper, wet dirt, and centuries of decay. The temperature dropped so drastically that frost instantly webbed across the floorboards.
Out of the darkness, it emerged.
The entity did not walk, it levitated inches off the ground, its body contorted at a horrific, unnatural angle. Its spine was bent backward, its head hanging upside down, staring at them with two vacant, milky-white eyes that leaked thick, coagulated blood. Its skin was translucent, showing black, pulsing veins underneath. As it opened its mouth, a guttural, vibrating shriek echoed through the mansion, a sound composed of a thousand weeping voices, vibrating right through the marrow of their bones.
It raised a spectral, elongated arm, its razor-thin claws pointing directly at Rehman's heart.
The tension was thick enough to choke on. The silence that followed its screech was deafening.
The ghost waited for the screaming. It waited for the running. It waited for the sweet, delicious feast of human terror.
Instead, Faizal stepped forward, clicking his ballpoint pen.
"Excuse me, Uncle Ghost," Faizal said, squinting through the pitch-black darkness while holding up his vacation homework copy. "Can you repeat that scream? I need to note down the exact frequency for my creative project. Also, do you spell your screech with a 'W' or a 'Y'?"
The ghost’s upside-down head tilted slightly. The bloody tears paused.
Before the spirit could process this, Donga sauntered up right next to Faizal, completely ignoring the horrific smell of decay. He looked at the ghost's contorted, backward-bent spine with deep, professional interest.
"Oh ho ho! Look at that, Siyahi !" Donga exclaimed, clapping his hands. "What a wonderful stretch! Uncle, from which gym do you do your yoga? Because my lower back hurts so much when I sit on the sofa for two hours, but you are floating and bending like a rubber band! Is this Baba Ramdev’s new posture?"
The ghost let out a low, confused hiss, its terrifying aura flickering like a dying lightbulb. It lowered its clawed hand a fraction of an inch.
"Aree, leave the gym, Donga!" Siyahi barked, walking past the entity to check out a dusty old vase on a pedestal. "Look at his clothes! Completely torn and dirty. Hey, ghost brother, don't you have a wife? Who washes your clothes in this jungle? If you don't use good detergent, these blood stains will never come out. Then you will have to roam around looking like a ragpicker forever!"
The ancient, malevolent spirit of the Lyari outskirts stood utterly paralyzed. For three hundred years, it had terrorized bandits, soldiers, and explorers. No one had ever asked it about its laundry routine.
Then came the final blow. Uzair and Hamza stepped up, flanking the ghost on both sides. They were looking at it with deep, genuine pity.
"Hamza..." Uzair whispered loudly, pointing at the ghost's upside-down face. "Look at his eyes. Ekdum whitee . I think he has a very bad cataract. He cannot see properly, that’s why he is crying black tears."
"No, Uzair, you don't understand," Hamza replied with utmost authority, shaking his head. "He is upside down because he failed his 8th-class exam just like Faizal, and his father gave him the murgha punishment for three hundred years. Now his neck is stuck like this."
Hamza then patted the terrifying, blood-dripping entity gently on its cold, spectral shoulder. "It’s okay, brother. Don't worry. Our Rehman bhai is a very big gangster. If anyone is bullying you or keeping you upside down, just tell us the name. We will use peaceful means and break their legs."
The ghost looked at Hamza. It looked at Uzair’s sympathetic, innocent eyes. It looked at Siyahi, who was now complaining about the dust allergies in the room. It looked at Donga, who was trying to mimic its backward spine stretch and groaning in pain.
The sheer weight of their collective, logical-yet-completely-insane questioning began to crack the ghost's supernatural psyche. The terrifying red aura around it faded into a dull, pathetic gray. A single, genuine, non-demonic tear rolled down the ghost's rotting cheek. It let out a soft, pathetic sob.
"I….I just wanted to haunt you," the ghost whimpered, its voice no longer a thousand weeping souls, but just a very tired, emotionally drained spirit. "I spent three hours preparing this jump scare..."
"Oh, don't cry, uncle," Ulfat said kindly, finally looking away from Rehman's eyes. "Do you want some water? Rehman , see if there’s any juice left in the cooler."
"No! No water! I don't want anything!" the ghost wailed, bursting into full, loud, messy tears. It covered its upside-down face with its claws, utterly humiliated. "You people are psycho! You are more dangerous than me! I am leaving!"
With a loud POOF and a dramatic sob, the fearsome entity dissolved into a cloud of harmless white smoke, leaving behind nothing but the faint smell of jasmine and utter disappointment.
As the smoke cleared and the family began walking back toward the mansion's exit, Naieem rubbed his face with both hands, completely shattered by the evening's events.
"I cannot believe this," Naieem muttered to himself, stepping over a fallen beam. "We came to a haunted house, completely insulted a centuries-old entity, and now we're walking back like we just finished a picnic. This entire family dynamic is profoundly ludicrous."
Uzair, who was busy trying to balance a stick on his chin, froze. His ears perked up. He immediately nudged Hamza with his elbow.
Hamza stopped walking, instantly adopting his signature look of supreme intellectual superiority. "Ludicrous Uzairrr, do you remember neighbour wale ludo uncle.?
"Yes, yes! The one who plays Ludo on the porch all day and hides the dice in his pocket!" Uzair nodded eagerly.
"Exactly!" Hamza smiled triumphantly. "And you know how when he loses the game, he gets so angry that he takes his Chappals and starts hitting everyone with them?"
"Ohhh, yes! Pichle mahine Donga ko mara tha !"
"Right! So jab ludo uncle gets mad and takes his slipper, that slipper becomes ludo-crush.” Uzair’s jaw dropped in absolute awe, his eyes widening with fear and deep respect. "Ohhh! Ludo-crush! Ludo…crush, ludicrous!!"
Naieem closed his eyes, Rehman and Ulfat gave a look of defeat and Faizal sighed, crossing out a line in his notebook. "Great. The ghost left without signing my project acknowledgment form. Now I really am going to fail the 8th grade for the fourth time.”
Rehman rested his chin on Ulfat’s head, his voice a low, soothing hum as he sang a familiar, half-forgotten tune. Ulfat leaned into him heavily, her eyes fixed on the night sky, though she wasn't really looking at the stars. She was looking at the way the moonlight caught the edge of Rehman's smile.
"They look peaceful tonight," Ulfat whispered, gesturing vaguely to the sky. "The stars."
"hmm, but they feel like distraction," Rehman murmured, his hand tracing down her arm to rest gently over the prominent swell of her stomach. "The real stars are right here. In your eyes. And this little one."
As if on cue, a slow, lazy kick ripple beneath Rehman’s palm.
Rehman gasped softly, his smile widening as he pressed his hand a little firmer. "Look at that. Even the baby agrees with his father. He’s already got his mother’s stubborn timing."
Ulfat laughed, a sound so pure it momentarily drowned out the noise of the city below. "He’s going to be just like you. Always demanding attention." She turned her face up to him, nudging his shoulder. "You know, Rehman. I’ve gotten far too used to you. If you ever decide to wander off too far, I won't survive. I'll simply forget how to breathe."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere meri jaan " Rehman replied softly, kissing her forehead. "We have a whole lifetime to figure out. We’ll sit on this very swing when our hair is white, complaining about our knees, watching our baby bring his own children up here. The wars will end, Ulfat. But this? You and me? This is the only truth ."
The swing creaked with an agonizing, solitary rhythm, the full moon hung in the exact same spot in the sky, casting the same silver glow over the rooftop.
Ulfat sat alone, her arms wrapped around her own torso, hugging a void that time could never fill. The streets below were still loud, still dangerous, but the silence on the rooftop was deafening.
She looked up at the stars— the same stars Rehman had once dismissed as a mere distraction. He had called their love, their future, the only truth. But as the cold night wind swept across the empty seat beside her, a bitter tear slipped down her cheek.
The beautiful, fragile life they had dreamed of that night hadn't just been broken; it had been shattered into a thousand pieces, scattered by the very violence they thought they could ignore. Her husband was gone. Her boy, Naieem, who had once kicked so lazily beneath his father's hand was grown and caught in the jaws of a reality they couldn't protect him from.
Looking at the empty space beside her, Ulfat hummed the same song "Bade acche lagte hai - ye dharti , ye nadiya , ye raina, aur — "
" Aur ?"
(let me know if you want to get tagged💜/untagged🤍)
there are fanfic writers who are: "I want to write about this prompt but other people have already done it before, unfortunately. I would have loved to write it 😢"
and then there's me who unapologetically writes about the same prompt, same trope (that has absolutely been written by other people before), same ship — in slightly different ways, at least 200 times in across 200 different fics of mine.
Ulfat’s head was resting comfortably on Rehman’s broad chest, a familiar sanctuary where the chaotic noise of the outside world always seemed to fade away. Their limbs were tangled together in a lazy, intimate embrace, a silent protest against the ticking clock. Downstairs, the muffled sounds of the boys getting ready echoed through the house, hurried footsteps and excited chatter about the event of water pipeline inauguration. It was a major event . He was already running late. Yet, he remained still, holding her just a little tighter, trapped in the gravitational pull of a morning he didn't want to leave.
"Jaan, mujhe deri ho rahi hai. Main jau?" Rehman’s voice was a low, gravelly murmur against the quiet of the room. He leaned down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss against her temple, his breath warm against her skin.
Ulfat didn’t move. Instead, she tightened her grip on his torso, burying her face deeper into his chest, inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of colonge . "Rehman," she whispered. The syllable carried the weight of an unspoken plea, heavy and fragile all at once.
"Bolo, meri jaan," he replied softly, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her shoulder, smoothing down her tangled hair.
"Aaj rehne do na... mat jao," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant commotion of the boys downstairs.
Rehman shifted, rolling onto his side so he could look at her properly. Ulfat finally tilted her head up, her dark eyes locking onto his. There was an unusual, heavy anxiety swirling in her gaze, a shadow that didn't belong in the serene warmth of their bedroom.
He smiled softly, though a flicker of reluctance crossed his features. "Jana to hoga na, Ulfat. Sab intezar kar rahe hain."
"Please," she whispered again. This time, her fingers clamped onto the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him to the mattress. A sudden, unexplainable dread had taken root in her chest, tightening with every passing second.
Rehman let out a soft sigh, half-amused, half-pained by how difficult she was making it for him to step out the door. He rubbed the small of her back, trying to inject a sense of casual normalcy into the air. "Aise kyun kar rahi ho? Main kaunsa kabhi vapis nahi aunga," he said casually, offering a small, reassuring smile as he began to gently disengage himself to get out of bed.
She grabbed his arm with both hands, pulling him back toward her with a strength born of pure desperation. "Aisi batein matt kiya karo!" she said, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "Meri jaan niklti hai, Rehman. Dobara kabhi aise mat kehna."
Rehman froze, he looked into her eyes and saw the genuine terror flashing within them. For a long, breathless moment, they simply stared at each other. The silence between them grew profound, heavy with things left unsaid, as if the universe itself was pausing to witness their silent exchange.
Seeing her distress, Rehman’s expression softened . He cupped her face in his large hands, his thumbs wiping away a tear she hadn't even realized had escaped. He leaned in and pressed a firm, sacred kiss right onto her forehead, holding it there for a long moment, sealing a silent vow.
When he pulled back, his eyes were fierce with reassurance. "I promise you, Ulfat. I’ll come back. Thodi der ki baat hai, inauguration khatam hote hi main seedha ghar aunga."
He gave her hand one final, reassuring squeeze before finally pulling away. He stood up, stepping out of the warm sanctuary of the bed and stepping into his uniform. Ulfat sat frozen, wrapped in the blankets, watching him move. It felt as though a strange, blurring mist was entering the room. Within moments, he had adjusted his vest, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.
As the door clicked shut, it felt to Ulfat as if he had vanished completely from her eyesight, leaving behind an unbearable, echoing emptiness. The house downstairs suddenly fell quiet as the front door slammed, signaling the departure of Rehman and the boys.
The room felt colder now, the amber sunlight suddenly feeling bleak and distant. Ulfat pulled her knees up to her chest, staring at the empty space on the bed beside her where his warmth still lingered. The phantom sensation of his lips on her forehead felt like a fragile shield against a storm she couldn't see but could deeply feel.
Clutching his pillow tight against her chest, inhaling the last traces of his scent, she closed her eyes. The silence of the room pressed heavily against her ears, and in a voice that was nothing more than a broken breath, she whispered to the empty air:
"Aaj jaane ki zid na karo, Rehman..."
(Let me know if you want to get tagged💜 untagged 🤍)
Ulfat’s head was resting comfortably on Rehman’s broad chest, a familiar sanctuary where the chaotic noise of the outside world always seemed to fade away. Their limbs were tangled together in a lazy, intimate embrace, a silent protest against the ticking clock. Downstairs, the muffled sounds of the boys getting ready echoed through the house, hurried footsteps and excited chatter about the event of water pipeline inauguration. It was a major event . He was already running late. Yet, he remained still, holding her just a little tighter, trapped in the gravitational pull of a morning he didn't want to leave.
"Jaan, mujhe deri ho rahi hai. Main jau?" Rehman’s voice was a low, gravelly murmur against the quiet of the room. He leaned down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss against her temple, his breath warm against her skin.
Ulfat didn’t move. Instead, she tightened her grip on his torso, burying her face deeper into his chest, inhaling the comforting, familiar scent of colonge . "Rehman," she whispered. The syllable carried the weight of an unspoken plea, heavy and fragile all at once.
"Bolo, meri jaan," he replied softly, his fingers gently tracing the curve of her shoulder, smoothing down her tangled hair.
"Aaj rehne do na... mat jao," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the distant commotion of the boys downstairs.
Rehman shifted, rolling onto his side so he could look at her properly. Ulfat finally tilted her head up, her dark eyes locking onto his. There was an unusual, heavy anxiety swirling in her gaze, a shadow that didn't belong in the serene warmth of their bedroom.
He smiled softly, though a flicker of reluctance crossed his features. "Jana to hoga na, Ulfat. Sab intezar kar rahe hain."
"Please," she whispered again. This time, her fingers clamped onto the fabric of his shirt, anchoring him to the mattress. A sudden, unexplainable dread had taken root in her chest, tightening with every passing second.
Rehman let out a soft sigh, half-amused, half-pained by how difficult she was making it for him to step out the door. He rubbed the small of her back, trying to inject a sense of casual normalcy into the air. "Aise kyun kar rahi ho? Main kaunsa kabhi vapis nahi aunga," he said casually, offering a small, reassuring smile as he began to gently disengage himself to get out of bed.
She grabbed his arm with both hands, pulling him back toward her with a strength born of pure desperation. "Aisi batein matt kiya karo!" she said, her voice cracking with raw emotion. "Meri jaan niklti hai, Rehman. Dobara kabhi aise mat kehna."
Rehman froze, he looked into her eyes and saw the genuine terror flashing within them. For a long, breathless moment, they simply stared at each other. The silence between them grew profound, heavy with things left unsaid, as if the universe itself was pausing to witness their silent exchange.
Seeing her distress, Rehman’s expression softened . He cupped her face in his large hands, his thumbs wiping away a tear she hadn't even realized had escaped. He leaned in and pressed a firm, sacred kiss right onto her forehead, holding it there for a long moment, sealing a silent vow.
When he pulled back, his eyes were fierce with reassurance. "I promise you, Ulfat. I’ll come back. Thodi der ki baat hai, inauguration khatam hote hi main seedha ghar aunga."
He gave her hand one final, reassuring squeeze before finally pulling away. He stood up, stepping out of the warm sanctuary of the bed and stepping into his uniform. Ulfat sat frozen, wrapped in the blankets, watching him move. It felt as though a strange, blurring mist was entering the room. Within moments, he had adjusted his vest, grabbed his keys, and walked out the door.
As the door clicked shut, it felt to Ulfat as if he had vanished completely from her eyesight, leaving behind an unbearable, echoing emptiness. The house downstairs suddenly fell quiet as the front door slammed, signaling the departure of Rehman and the boys.
The room felt colder now, the amber sunlight suddenly feeling bleak and distant. Ulfat pulled her knees up to her chest, staring at the empty space on the bed beside her where his warmth still lingered. The phantom sensation of his lips on her forehead felt like a fragile shield against a storm she couldn't see but could deeply feel.
Clutching his pillow tight against her chest, inhaling the last traces of his scent, she closed her eyes. The silence of the room pressed heavily against her ears, and in a voice that was nothing more than a broken breath, she whispered to the empty air:
"Aaj jaane ki zid na karo, Rehman..."
(Let me know if you want to get tagged💜 untagged 🤍)
here it is @mcdreamyshepherd as requested. tried to do as best as i can, at first i didn't include the 'saari duniya se jeet ke aya hoon' lyrics part as it is most used in many reel edits already but then i couldn't resist the temptation👉👈, i mean the lyrics r so them coded🤌. Thanks for requesting this one.🙌
Hey. So I have a question that there are lots of fics of Uzair but I cannot find any of "Danish". Can you help me out if there is some? And if not, then maybe you can write it 😝
Uh, well, I haven't come across any fic on Danny either, so I honestly don't know if there are any.
Sweetheart, I really can't write one on him. I'm not that much into Uzair either, so writing about him is already pretty rare for me and Danish toh humse bilkul hi na ho payega 🤧 I hope you don't mind.
Also, the comment box is open — if anybody know any fic on Danish, feel free to share it there!
One song that reminds you of Ulfat after Rehman's death
Okay so the song Charkha , reminds me of her. I know it's a little off topic but here's my personal interpretation of the lyrics.
Let me explain you how :
Ve mahiya tere vekhn nu chuk charkha gali de vich davan
Here, Charkha does not merely represent the spinning wheel. In Baba Bulleh Shah's poetry, it serves as a symbol of the human body. The rhythmic sound of the spinning wheel while spinning thread (katna) resembles the continuous flow of human breath. Therefore, in my interpretation, when she takes her Charkha to his grave, means bringing her own self—her body and soul , in the hope of encountering him once more, even if only for a fleeting glimpse.
Ve lokan pane main kat di , tand teri yaadan de pawan
People think that I am merely spinning the wheel, breathing as usual. What they do not realize is that with every breath I take, I remember only you.
Babul di son jee nayio lagda , Dahda saik ishq di aag da , ve mayia mera jee karda ghar chhad ke malang ho javan
Babul means father (I am taking it as the world here) . She swears by the world and confesses that she cannot live without her beloved. Life no longer feels the same in his absence, and the fire of love burning within her leaves her restless and unable to live in peace. Overwhelmed by longing, she wishes she could abandon everything that binds her and return to him once again.
Wasan nai dende , saure peke , mainu tere pen bhulkhe , hun mainu das mahiya tere bajo kidar nu javan ?
The responsibilities of life, the demands of the world, and the ties that still bind me prevent me from leaving everything behind and coming to you. I see your presence in everything around me, every sight and every thought becomes a reminder of you. Tell me, where am I supposed to go without you? How am I meant to endure this separation and learn to live with your absence?
