uzair's girl

MASTERLIST link - https://www.tumblr.com/oceanicashes/813426708650852352/masterlist?source=share

[oceanicashes]

MASTERLIST

Uzair Baloch x Reader

HC

-Uzair steals you away.

Post by @oceanicashes

💬 10  🔁 3  ❤️ 17 · Hi guys I had an account once ago....where I wrote fics and then deleted it. Thinking of getting back into it so here's U

- You're pregnant with Uzair's child.

Post by @oceanicashes · 1 link

💬 3  🔁 0  ❤️ 11 · Post by @oceanicashes · Can be read as a standalone or a Part 2 of this HC. 💬 13  🔁 3  ❤️ 18 · Hi guys I had an account o

[oceanicashes]

Bhai someone send reqs or ask me something I'm so done with life yet so bored 😭

[oceanicashes]

Can be read as a standalone or a Part 2 of this HC.

Post by @oceanicashes

💬 13  🔁 3  ❤️ 18 · Hi guys I had an account once ago....where I wrote fics and then deleted it. Thinking of getting back into it so here's U

MDNI ❌ ‼️‼️‼️

18+ Smut, dub-con, maybe borderline non-con, drugs, violence etc etc

*Somnophilia?

This is a HC, if this gains some traction I might write a fic. Requests for drabbles and HCs are open :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- It had been half a year since your marriage to Uzair Baloch, the younger brother of Rehman Dakait and while it had been sunshine and rainbows for most part sometimes you couldn't help but worry what will happen when a child is brought into this world.

- You had already seen what had happened to Naeem and now how Faisal was always under the radar, after Rehman's death things had been even more tense, Ulfat was devastated, all the responsibility of the Baloch name now falling on Uzair.

- And yet regardless of everything Uzair never once forgot to direct his attention towards _you_. No matter how many rounds of patrolling it took him or how many nights he spent in the dusty streets of Lyari, travelling from Karachi to Islamabad he never once forgot to get you gifts, sweets and jewellery.

- You loved it or at least some part of you did, the way his hands would softly caress your chin before tilting your face towards his as his soft lips landed on yours. His ever bruising grip had only gotten stronger after losing his brother and his hands which were those of a fighter were even more immovable now yet he kissed you with the same gentleness as always.

- You would be fast asleep and Uzair would slip into your duvet, slowly finding home between your thighs. He would shush you as your sleep filled lids would slowly peel open and soon pleasure would replace sleep. Uzair never once let you clean up yourself, wether it was after basking himself in the feel of you wrapped around him or a normal bath. He would always scrub your back softly, massaging your temples and your scalp, rub perfumed oil on your skin and pick out matching outfits for the both of you.

- Sometimes you couldn't help but awe at the man in front of you, who was the embodiment of terror for the people of Karachi but also the embodiment of perfectly devoted husband for you and you only. How could he find the time to rub your feet and arrange your bangles for you all the while fighting his enemies all day.

- "Jaan, kha ho?" That's the first thing you'd always hear come out of Uzair's mouth whenever he returned after a tiring day, he was working hard to establish himself as the new Sher- e- Baloch he had told you but what you didn't know was that he had been working harder to become a father.

- Uzair never let a barrier come in between you but also like the man starved he was he always tracked your cycles to know when you'd be the most fertile and most welcoming to his touch. He knew the risk of bringing a child into a world like his, filled with death and blood so he waited. He had been waiting for 6 months, spending tireless nights fighting crime, clearing out his enemies, any opposition he might face and now was the time.

- You had always wanted kids and having them with Uzair had never crossed your mind when you had initially gotten married but then he had outdone himself. The now Sher- e- Baloch was an epitome of devotion to his family.

- Uzair had not only avenged Rehman, finished the gangwars but also helped Ulfat and Faisal shift into a safe and distant place away from the world of crime.

- And now he wanted his reward for all his hardwork. That's what he tells you when he undresses you one night after dinner, slowly discarding the fabrics of your shalwar kameez and kissing every inch of exposed skin.

- Uzair licks and sucks on every bit of skin he can see and you moan at the contact, rarely ever a day would have gone by when Uzair would not have been inside you.

- And yet no matter how long it's been, his touch still leaves fire in its path and you can't help but squirm and wince and moan beneath him. He enters inside your folds with his fingers first and starts moving them, his rough hands wrack sensations through you like nothing else.

- He lets you gasp for air and then suffocates you with his kisses. Uzair switches from being an angel in bed to a devil. He will gently kiss you and then flip you over and pound into you from the back and you can't do anything but lay there and take it.

- You love it though, your initial hesitation and discomfort had long been gone once Uzair had properly gotten his hands on you. You can't help but beg him for more and pull his closer and he only smiles and says "Uff, meri jaan, aap toh hamari jaan hi le lengi". You sometimes shy away and sometimes you kiss him back with even more passion and intensity.

- After everything that happened between you and him at night everyday it was no surprise you find yourself pregnant. And before you can even tell Uzair he knows. He knows from the glow on your face, the blush on your cheeks and the shine in your hair.

- Uzair kisses the hardest he had ever kissed you and he suckles on your breasts, he can't wait to see you pregnant and glowing with his child. He can't wait for your hormones to be a wreck around him only ever waiting for his touch.

- Ulfat is over the moon and her and Uzair together plan a grand baby shower for you. Uzair increases the security in the haveli, brings you imli every day and returns home as early as he can.

- He doesn't even let you take a step on your own, carrying you everywhere he can. This won't help the baby be delivered normally you tell him but he doesn't care, if he could he would never leave you alone.

- He lifts you up and puts you in his jeep and drives you around to eat gola and buy toys, clothes and accessories for the baby. He brushes your hair and washes your clothes and helps you all night when you have to use the washroom and every night he makes you cum around him or his fingers, engulfs you in his arms and kisses your forehead before sleep finds you.

[oceanicashes]

Hi guys I had an account once ago....where I wrote fics and then deleted it. Thinking of getting back into it so here's Uzair Baloch for you because after Dhurandhar all I wanna do is fuck him 🙏🏻

MDNI ❌ ‼️‼️‼️

18+ Smut, dub-con, maybe borderline non-con, drugs, violence etc etc

This is a HC, if this gains some traction I might write a fic. Requests for drabbles and HCs are open :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Uzair Baloch is the younger brother of Rehman Dakait but he's even more fearsome. People shake in their wake at the sight of him and heads bow, yet he's just a young man with a soft spot for his family which maybe sometimes pushes him to do horrible things.

- He adores his brother so much to an extent that he will do anything for him, but somehow he still has an ounce of humanity left in him even after being in this horrible world of crime, betrayal and bloodshed.

- Uzair was on his daily rounds of tax collection from liquor imports when one man refused to comply, his men dragged the ragged bastard out and start beating him up when a small voice comes crying and drives his attention away.

- Its you, they're beating up your father so brutally, these monsters and THAT man. Your father was a well reputed man not only in Lyari but also in Karachi and his only crime refusing to pay some taxes because of loss in business.

- You jump in between Uzair's men and your father not caring one bit about yourself but then a blow lands on you that's when you hear the thunderous voice of the tall man in front of you.

- No matter what Uzair won't let them beat up a woman, one especially the daughter of an important servant of theirs. He has taken an interest in you now, how can someone be so fearless that too stand up in front of the Baloch men.

- Uzair helps you up and maybe you're imagining it or maybe you're not, his hand lingers for just a moment more on your back, his strong cologne clouding your senses. Your tear stained face does something to him, maybe he sees his love for your family similar to his own.

- He let's your father go on a warning and a notice period. But he definitely doesn't let you go. This isn't their way he thinks but whatever the Balochs will they do it. So he tells your father that since you're a classmate of his sister's he'll take you to the haveli till the time the tax is paid.

- You don't have a choice, obviously you hate this man in front of you but you don't want to lose your father, after having already lost your mother not more than a year ago, so you agree.

- Uzair helps you in his jeep, Donga and the other men following in another vehicle, the neighborhood watches this spectacle unfold in front of them. The man next to you is eerily quiet but you can feel the heat of his gaze on you.

- At the haveli Ulfat wants to slap Uzair but Rehman stops her, saying that maybe this will set up an example for others and how regardless of whatever Uzair did, he didn't disrespect a woman. You are a Baloch at heart but you were adopted by your parents and so you don't know much about their language or customs but you for sure know that Uzair is talking about you and laughing at jokes about you when you see him with his men.

- You're allowed to meet your father but Uzair's ever looming presence never leaves you, he drives you around like a reward to be parraded and no matter how weird you might find it, you silently accept your fate.

- It's been 2 weeks since you've arrived at the haveli, Ulfat is your only source of comfort in this suffocating household, her daughter your only friend. Faisal sometimes plays with you but he misses his brother so much and mostly sticks to spending time with his family.

- The only person who's presence is always around you is Uzair. He quietly watches you as you walk in the verandah, lighting a cigarette under the guise of coming out in the open, but also extinguishes it when the smoke makes you cough. He sometimes drives you to college and picks you up, asking you how your day was, he takes you to eat chaat and while you may know what's happening you endure it all for your father. It's only a matter of a month or so you thought.

- Another fire breaks out at the warehouse and your father needs another month but for some reason Uzair is all too happy to let him take his time while his own clothes smell of Kerosene.

- During dinner he quietly calls out your name asking you to pass the bowl and during celebration he silently walks behind you, making sure you know your way around the strangers. No matter how oppressive his presence feels it brings a sense of comfort and so you welcome it. You let him guide you in the house after a party, you let him buy you gifts and you let him graze your back or play with your hair or kiss your temple when he's too drunk after a nightout with the men and doesn't want to be caught.

- Uzair had everything his younger self could have asked for, he got all the familial love but there wasn't anyone to truly call his own. And now that you're here, why would he ever give you up and so when your father is done with the payment he dies in a mysterious accident soon after.

- You're distraught and almost dying, you're too depressed to even think about the technicalities of what could have happened but like always you're not alone. You never were, after Uzair had entered your life. Before you can fall to the ground at the news of your father's demise, his arms cage you in. You sob into his chest, where you can smell the blood and his cologne all in one. But you're too broken, too tired and too alone now to question everything.

- You were an orphan and now once again your fate has failed you but maybe it hasn't. Uzair will always be there for you, be by your side forever, at least that's what he tells you when he welcomes you into the haveli that night. You are his and he is yours that's what he says as he proposes marriage to you in front of the family.

- It's been months since you've been living with Rehman and his family, you're a Baloch, your father a well reputed man who had worked under Rehman, you're all alone in this world now and this proposition is probably the best that could have happened for you.

- Your life had changed overnight but then it had changed the moment Uzair had laid eyes on you.

- The wedding ceremony is small and private followed by a grand reception, your mehendi smells heavenly with Uzair's name hidden in a corner, the glow on your face radiating in all of Karachi but the hollows under your eyes tell a different story. Your hair smells beautiful adorned with fresh flowers and that's what Uzair tell you as he pulls your veil down for the night.

- He tells you not to be scared, after all you have lived in this world for years, lived in this haveli for months, been around this room for ages and it will all be okay. That's what Uzair says as he kisses you. His lips are soft on yours but his grip is possessive and strong.

- His hand reaches your ankle and your breath hitches as he pulls your skirt up. His own clothes are soon discarded on the floor and he's in you.

- You have an out of body experience you've never held hands with a man let alone be this close with one but Uzair will take care of you like he always has and he does. His palms massage your breasts and his tongue finds a hardened nipple. You wince but he shushes you, you try to push him away but you're too weak.

- But the come the I love yous and the kisses and the soft languid thrusts that push you over the edge and soothe you all the same. And maybe after all that you've been through Uzair Baloch will be your sanctuary. He'll be your saviour and your destroyer in one.

- It doesn't matter how your relationship or your marriage came to be because Uzair is a great husband. The best you could have gotten in this lifetime, except maybe sometimes when he hold you too tight, scared that you'll leave him like everyone else does. Or that he'll destroy and hurt you like he does to everything he touches.

- But that day never comes, at least in this janam you are Mrs. Uzair Baloch and will be till you reach Jannat.

[mrgrungusthefrog]

nahi theek hai mai mar hi jaati hu na

pls write a sweet uzair one now (WITH A HAPPY ENDING) 😛 warna kasainuma maut awaits you

[oceanicashes]

Haha sorry 😭 I'll try but I mostly love the angst and dark aspects of fics, so I don't think I'm that good at writing sweet characters lol

[oceanicashes]

Hi guys I had an account once ago....where I wrote fics and then deleted it. Thinking of getting back into it so here's Uzair Baloch for you because after Dhurandhar all I wanna do is fuck him 🙏🏻

MDNI ❌ ‼️‼️‼️

18+ Smut, dub-con, maybe borderline non-con, drugs, violence etc etc

This is a HC, if this gains some traction I might write a fic. Requests for drabbles and HCs are open :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Uzair Baloch is the younger brother of Rehman Dakait but he's even more fearsome. People shake in their wake at the sight of him and heads bow, yet he's just a young man with a soft spot for his family which maybe sometimes pushes him to do horrible things.

- He adores his brother so much to an extent that he will do anything for him, but somehow he still has an ounce of humanity left in him even after being in this horrible world of crime, betrayal and bloodshed.

- Uzair was on his daily rounds of tax collection from liquor imports when one man refused to comply, his men dragged the ragged bastard out and start beating him up when a small voice comes crying and drives his attention away.

- Its you, they're beating up your father so brutally, these monsters and THAT man. Your father was a well reputed man not only in Lyari but also in Karachi and his only crime refusing to pay some taxes because of loss in business.

- You jump in between Uzair's men and your father not caring one bit about yourself but then a blow lands on you that's when you hear the thunderous voice of the tall man in front of you.

- No matter what Uzair won't let them beat up a woman, one especially the daughter of an important servant of theirs. He has taken an interest in you now, how can someone be so fearless that too stand up in front of the Baloch men.

- Uzair helps you up and maybe you're imagining it or maybe you're not, his hand lingers for just a moment more on your back, his strong cologne clouding your senses. Your tear stained face does something to him, maybe he sees his love for your family similar to his own.

- He let's your father go on a warning and a notice period. But he definitely doesn't let you go. This isn't their way he thinks but whatever the Balochs will they do it. So he tells your father that since you're a classmate of his sister's he'll take you to the haveli till the time the tax is paid.

- You don't have a choice, obviously you hate this man in front of you but you don't want to lose your father, after having already lost your mother not more than a year ago, so you agree.

- Uzair helps you in his jeep, Donga and the other men following in another vehicle, the neighborhood watches this spectacle unfold in front of them. The man next to you is eerily quiet but you can feel the heat of his gaze on you.

- At the haveli Ulfat wants to slap Uzair but Rehman stops her, saying that maybe this will set up an example for others and how regardless of whatever Uzair did, he didn't disrespect a woman. You are a Baloch at heart but you were adopted by your parents and so you don't know much about their language or customs but you for sure know that Uzair is talking about you and laughing at jokes about you when you see him with his men.

- You're allowed to meet your father but Uzair's ever looming presence never leaves you, he drives you around like a reward to be parraded and no matter how weird you might find it, you silently accept your fate.

- It's been 2 weeks since you've arrived at the haveli, Ulfat is your only source of comfort in this suffocating household, her daughter your only friend. Faisal sometimes plays with you but he misses his brother so much and mostly sticks to spending time with his family.

- The only person who's presence is always around you is Uzair. He quietly watches you as you walk in the verandah, lighting a cigarette under the guise of coming out in the open, but also extinguishes it when the smoke makes you cough. He sometimes drives you to college and picks you up, asking you how your day was, he takes you to eat chaat and while you may know what's happening you endure it all for your father. It's only a matter of a month or so you thought.

- Another fire breaks out at the warehouse and your father needs another month but for some reason Uzair is all too happy to let him take his time while his own clothes smell of Kerosene.

- During dinner he quietly calls out your name asking you to pass the bowl and during celebration he silently walks behind you, making sure you know your way around the strangers. No matter how oppressive his presence feels it brings a sense of comfort and so you welcome it. You let him guide you in the house after a party, you let him buy you gifts and you let him graze your back or play with your hair or kiss your temple when he's too drunk after a nightout with the men and doesn't want to be caught.

- Uzair had everything his younger self could have asked for, he got all the familial love but there wasn't anyone to truly call his own. And now that you're here, why would he ever give you up and so when your father is done with the payment he dies in a mysterious accident soon after.

- You're distraught and almost dying, you're too depressed to even think about the technicalities of what could have happened but like always you're not alone. You never were, after Uzair had entered your life. Before you can fall to the ground at the news of your father's demise, his arms cage you in. You sob into his chest, where you can smell the blood and his cologne all in one. But you're too broken, too tired and too alone now to question everything.

- You were an orphan and now once again your fate has failed you but maybe it hasn't. Uzair will always be there for you, be by your side forever, at least that's what he tells you when he welcomes you into the haveli that night. You are his and he is yours that's what he says as he proposes marriage to you in front of the family.

- It's been months since you've been living with Rehman and his family, you're a Baloch, your father a well reputed man who had worked under Rehman, you're all alone in this world now and this proposition is probably the best that could have happened for you.

- Your life had changed overnight but then it had changed the moment Uzair had laid eyes on you.

- The wedding ceremony is small and private followed by a grand reception, your mehendi smells heavenly with Uzair's name hidden in a corner, the glow on your face radiating in all of Karachi but the hollows under your eyes tell a different story. Your hair smells beautiful adorned with fresh flowers and that's what Uzair tell you as he pulls your veil down for the night.

- He tells you not to be scared, after all you have lived in this world for years, lived in this haveli for months, been around this room for ages and it will all be okay. That's what Uzair says as he kisses you. His lips are soft on yours but his grip is possessive and strong.

- His hand reaches your ankle and your breath hitches as he pulls your skirt up. His own clothes are soon discarded on the floor and he's in you.

- You have an out of body experience you've never held hands with a man let alone be this close with one but Uzair will take care of you like he always has and he does. His palms massage your breasts and his tongue finds a hardened nipple. You wince but he shushes you, you try to push him away but you're too weak.

- But the come the I love yous and the kisses and the soft languid thrusts that push you over the edge and soothe you all the same. And maybe after all that you've been through Uzair Baloch will be your sanctuary. He'll be your saviour and your destroyer in one.

- It doesn't matter how your relationship or your marriage came to be because Uzair is a great husband. The best you could have gotten in this lifetime, except maybe sometimes when he hold you too tight, scared that you'll leave him like everyone else does. Or that he'll destroy and hurt you like he does to everything he touches.

- But that day never comes, at least in this janam you are Mrs. Uzair Baloch and will be till you reach Jannat.

[metamorphesque]

The Count of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas

[twinblueflamee]

Khamoshi (Uzair Baloch x Reader) (Part 3)

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: 7k words

author's note: kya matlab series wrap-up karne jaati hu aur 2 aur parts peche se aakar dhappa bol dete hai 😭🫠🥲 will deliver feral uzi in the next part ☝🏻👁️👁️

Part 1 | Part 2

The morning after the incident in the kitchen, the air in the haveli felt too thin to breathe. The memory of Uzair's calloused hand around your ankle, the weight of his knee beneath your foot and the terrifyingly raw look in his eyes had become a phantom presence that followed you into the bustling chaos of the college canteen. 

You sat amidst the clatter of plastic trays and the high pitched hum of student gossip, your tea cooling and untouched. Your appetite remained a distant memory, replaced by a cold, hard knot of resolve. 

The haveli was no longer a home. 

It was a gilded cage where every shadow looked like him and every silence echoed with his uncharacteristic, gravelly whispers.

As you picked at a stray thread on your dupatta, Nafisa, one of your friends, began a spirited tirade that cut through your fog. 

"Tum log yakeen nahi karoge," she groaned, rubbing her temples. "Meri roommate ne raaton raat saamaan bandha aur chalti bani. Na koi notice, na kuch bataya. Ab is mahine ka kiraya akele bharnaa padega, aur upar se exams ki sar dardi!" Her frustration was palpable, a mundane struggle of student life that to your ears, sounded like the melodic chime of a sanctuary bell.

Before your conscious mind could weigh the consequences, before the ingrained loyalty to your family could pull you back, the words tumbled out of your mouth. "Main tumhare saath shift ho sakti hoon," you said, your voice surprisingly steady. 

The table fell into a sudden, vacuum like silence. Your friends, who knew you as the girl inextricably woven into the fabric of the powerful Baloch name, stared at you as if you had just suggested moving to the moon.

Nafisa was the only one who didn't look shocked. She had always been a no-nonsense girl, someone who looked at the world through a lens of stark reality rather than romantic platitudes.

You remembered a day months ago when you had been drowning in a sea of self-loathing, convinced of your own plainness. She had gripped your shoulders, her gaze a searing brand of honesty. 

"Y/N," she had said, "Tum shayad yaha par sabse haseen ladki nahi ho, par tumhara dimaag itna tez hai ke bade bade maat kha jayein. Aur yakeen maano, lambi race mein ye khoobsurati kaam nahi aati, dimaag hi kaam aata hai." It was her bluntness that made you trust her now. She saw you as a person and not as a charity case.

The silence at the table was finally broken by one of your other friend, her brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Kyun? Haveli mein tere liye jagah kam pad rahi hai kya? Itna bada ghar hai, wahan kya masla hai?" 

You faltered, the weight of the family's reputation pressing down on you. But Nafisa and Sania traded a sharp, knowing glance and the girl immediately fell silent under their collective glare. They didn't know the details of the warehouse but they saw the ghost you were becoming.

You cleared your throat, constructing a lie that felt as brittle as dry parchment. 

"Nahi, aisi baat nahi hai. Bas...haveli mein sara din logon ka aana jaana laga rehta hai. Kabhi koi kaam se aa raha hai, kabhi koi milne. Nafisa ke PG mein toh itna shor nahi hoga na." It sounded logical, a studious girl seeking academic sanctuary but Nafisa's all-knowing eyes made you squirm. "Agar tumhare ghar waale maan jayein, toh mujhe koi aitraz nahi. Rent bhi divide ho jayega."

On your way back to the haveli, the genius idea of the afternoon, now felt like a terrifying mountain you had to climb. You knew Rehman, the man who ruled Lyari with an iron fist and a soft heart for his family, would never understand why his protected sister wanted to live in a cramped PG in a dusty corner of the city. As the sun began to dip, casting long, bloody shadows across the courtyard, you made your way toward Rehman's study, your palms slick with a nervous sweat.

Rehman was seated behind his heavy mahogany desk, the smoke from his cigar curling into the dim light like a silver serpent. When you presented your request, his reaction was exactly what you had feared. A flat, absolute refusal delivered with the calm authority of a king. 

"Nahi, bache. Iski koi zaroorat nahi hai," he said, not even looking up from his ledgers initially. You began to plead, citing the distractions and the need for intense focus but he countered every point with effortless generosity.

"Jagah ka masla hai? Toh tum teesari manzeel ka jo sabse bada waala kamra hai, uss mein shift ho jao. Main aur Ulfat bacho ko samjha denge ki tumhe tang na karein. Jo chahiye, yahan mangwa lo." He finally looked up, his expression softening into that paternal warmth that usually made you feel safe but today it felt like a shackle. "Ghar pe rehna tumhare liye behtar hai, bacha. Bahar rahogi toh khaane peene aur har chhoti cheez ki fikar karni padegi. Yahan tum sirf apni kitabon pe dhyan do."

He rose from his chair, crossing the room to place a heavy, protective hand on your head, ruffling your hair just as he had since you were a child. "Jab tak main zinda hoon, tumhe kahin dar dar bhatakne ki zaroorat nahi hai. Sukoon se yahan raho." 

His kindness was a wall you couldn't break through with logic. To him, providing for you was his duty and his pride. He couldn't see that the protection he offered was the very thing allowing Uzair to slowly dismantle your soul.

As you walked out of the study, your heart heavy with the defeat, you nearly collided with a figure standing in the shadows of the corridor. 

It was Uzair. 

He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Had he heard everything? His dark eyes tracked you with an intensity that made your breath hitch but he didn't say a word. He looked like a statue of silent judgment, watching you struggle against the invisible threads that bound you to this house. To him.

You didn't stay to find out what he was thinking. You pivoted away, your footsteps quick and frantic as you sought out the only person who might actually hear what you weren't saying. 

You needed Ulfat. 

You needed a woman's intuition to navigate the fortress of Rehman's protection. You hurried toward the kitchen, the phantom heat of Uzair's gaze still burning into your back, praying that Ulfat would see the desperation behind your studious excuses and help you escape the sanctuary that had become your prison.

Ulfat did not end up helping you. 

In fact, she completely dismissed your plea for escape and dismantled your excuses with a motherly precision that left you feeling utterly exposed. 

"Y/N, mujhse jhoot mat bol," she murmured, her voice dropping into a register of genuine, piercing concern. "Ye exams ka bahana...ye mujh par nahi chale ga. Tum toh hamesha se avval aati rahi ho, ab achanak ye kaisa dar?" She stepped closer, the light of the kitchen highlighting the sallow hollows of your cheeks that you had tried so hard to mask.

Her intuition was a blade, sharp and unyielding. She moved toward the stove but her eyes never left your face. "Tum aaj kall dhang se khana bhi nahi kha rahi. Aur ye mat kehna ke college mein kha leti ho," she added, her voice sharpening with a jagged edge of betrayal. 

"Maine Sania se baat ki thi. Usne bataya ke jo khana main itne pyaar se pack karti hoon, wo tum doston mein baant deti ho aur khud bhooki rehti ho. Kyun kar rahi ho ye sab?" The silence that followed was heavy, a suffocating vacuum that made the heat of the kitchen feel unbearable.

You felt cornered, the walls of the haveli closing in like the jaws of a trap. Your mind raced, desperately grasping for a fabrication that wouldn't lead back to the warehouse or the crushing weight of Uzair's mockery. You couldn't tell her the truth. 

If Ulfat knew that Uzair's cruelty was the poison in your veins, she would tell Rehman. And you could not let that happen. 

Just as the pressure became too much to bear, the tension was shattered by Faisal, who burst into the kitchen with the theatrical flair of a dying man. "Ammi! Agar abhi kuch nahi mila toh main yahin gir jaunga! Mujhe bohot bhook lagi hai!" he wailed, clutching his stomach for emphasis. 

You seized the opportunity with a frantic desperation, slipping out of Ulfat's orbit. "Main...main jaldi se table set karti hoon, bhabi," you stuttered, grabbing a stack of plates with trembling hands. The heavy, unresolved look she cast your way told you that this conversation was merely a stay of execution.

Dinner that night was a gauntlet of forced normalcy. You sat at the long, mahogany table, the rich scent of nalli nihari and naan making your stomach churn with a phantom nausea. 

You were acutely aware of the eyes on you. 

Ulfat's watchful gaze, Rehman's satisfied presence and the dark, magnetic force of the man sitting directly beside you. 

Uzair had claimed the chair to your right, his presence so large and overwhelming that it seemed to warp the very air you breathed. You kept your head down, focusing on the intricate floral patterns of the china, trying to be invisible while being the centre of an unspoken storm.

He wasn't sneering at you tonight for a change. 

Tonight he seemed genuinely confused by the wall of ice you had erected. Every few seconds, his shoulder would brush yours, not with the aggressive intent of the past but with a tentative, almost shy curiosity. 

When he reached for the water jug, his arm lingered against yours for a heartbeat longer than necessary, the heat of his skin searing through your sleeve. He seemed out of his depth, his usual predatory confidence replaced by a restless, awkward energy as he tried to figure out why you had suddenly turned into a silent ghost.

The clatter of silverware was interrupted by Rehman's deep, authoritative rumble. "Uzair, muzalimo se kehkar, jo upar ka sabse bada karma hai, vo khali karva de. Y/N waha padh liya karegi." 

"Kehti hai ki yahan padhai nahi hoti. Upar toh shanti hi rehti hai. Jab tak iske exam khatam nahi hote, wahan koi par bhi nahi maare ga." The words felt like the heavy thud of a prison door locking into place. 

Your last hope for a clean break, for a life where you didn't have to breathe the same air as Uzair, was being dismantled by the very man who loved you most.

Uzair's shifted in his seat, his thigh pressing firmly against yours under the table, a bold, hidden intimacy that made your heart hammer a frantic beat against your ribs. 

He looked at you and for the first time, he looked utterly vulnerable, his brow furrowed in a strange mixture of triumph and desperation. "Haan, upar wala kamra behtar hai," he said, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to resonate in the marrow of your bones. "Main karva dunga saman upar shift."

"Nahi...main...main khud kar lungi," you managed to whisper, the words feeling like dry sand in your mouth. But the conversation had already moved on, the children arguing over dessert and Rehman discussing warehouse logistics.

Uzair was not finished. The restless energy that had possessed him throughout the meal seemed to coalesce into a singular, misguided intent. He leaned in slightly, his shoulder once again encroaching on your space, the heat of his body radiating through the thin lawn of your kameez. He tilted his head toward yours, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that was meant only for your ears.

"Y/N...pair kaisa hai ab?" he murmured, the question trailing off with a tentative, almost pleading inflection you had never heard from him. 

It was a soft inquiry that seemed to hang in the air between you. He was looking at you with a newfound intensity, as if by checking on the physical bruise he had witnessed in the kitchen, he could somehow bypass the emotional carnage he had spent years perfecting.

He likely thought this, this forced proximity, this sudden, unearned show of concern, was a way to mend the wreckage. He expected the same girl who had trailed after him for seventeen years, the one who hung on his every grunt and dismissal, to look up with wide, grateful eyes and accept this scrap of kindness like a starving animal. 

He thought that by acknowledging your pain now, the nearly two decades of being his favourite target would simply dissolve into the background noise.

But the girl he knew was dead. 

In her place sat someone forged in the fire of his mockery, someone whose heart had finally turned to jagged flint. You slowly turned your head to meet his gaze. The look you gave him was one of such pure, concentrated venom that the air between you seemed to crackle with the intensity of it. 

Your eyes, usually so soft and seeking, were now two chips of frozen obsidian. In that single, searing look, you laid bare the memory of the warehouse, the echoes of his laughter and the way he had dismantled your dignity for the amusement of his men. 

You looked at him as if he were something beneath your notice, a stain on the marble floor of the haveli, a man whose very breath was an intrusion on your existence. 

Uzair actually balked. The man who had faced down rival gangs and navigated the deadliest streets of the city without blinking felt the physical impact of your hatred. He physically recoiled, his breath hitching in his throat as the words he was about to say died a silent, strangled death. 

He didn't try to touch you again. He didn't offer another word. He slowly, almost mechanically, pressed himself back into his seat, creating as much distance as the narrow chair would allow. 

The triumph that had flickered in his eyes earlier was gone, extinguished by the sheer force of your rejection. He sat there, staring at his half empty plate, his jaw tightening until a muscle leaped in his cheek, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. 

For the first time in his life, Uzair Baloch was the one who was truly, utterly silenced.

The dinner continued around you, Naieem laughed at a joke, Faisal spilled his water and Ulfat began clearing the plates but the vacuum between you and Uzair remained absolute. 

As you stood up to leave the table, you felt the cold comfort of knowing that even if he could keep you in his house, you would never again allow him into your heart.

The universe, it seemed, was no longer a silent observer of your misery. 

It had become an active, malicious architect of your proximity to Uzair Baloch. Every time you attempted to sever a thread of connection, fate simply wove a thicker rope to bind you together. 

You had been sequestered in the relative sanctuary of your new room, buried in the clinical, dry prose of your textbooks.

Following the volatile friction of that meal, a strange, heavy silence had descended between you and Uzair. He hadn't tried to invade your personal space, hadn't brushed against your shoulder and hadn't pinned you with those searching, dark eyes. You had almost begun to breathe again, convinced that your venomous look had finally driven him into a permanent retreat.

One evening, you returned from a gruelling session at the college library, your shoulders aching from the weight of your bag and your mind a frayed tapestry of accounting formulas. 

You had pushed open the door to your old room, intending to finally start the tedious process of packing for the move to the top floor over the weekend. But as the door swung wide, you froze. 

The room was hollow. 

The bed was stripped, the shelves were skeletal and the familiar clutter of your life had been erased. A cold spike of panic shot through your chest. 

You spun around, catching a passing housemaid by the arm, your voice frantic. "Mera saaman kahan hai?" 

The girl looked at you with wide, startled eyes. "Baji, Uzair bhaijaan ne sab upar pahuncha diya hai," she explained hurriedly. "Woh khud aaj pura din sabke saath lage huye the. Abhi bas aakhri chakkar laga kar niptey hain sab." 

The idea of your life being tossed into boxes without a care made your blood run cold. You were meticulous about your trinkets, your flower pots and the specific, chaotic order of your notes.

You bolted for the stairs, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You reached the top floor out of breath, your hand trembling as you pushed open the heavy oak door of the room. 

You had expected a mess of half unpacked crates and misplaced memories but the sight that met you made the air vanish from your lungs. 

The space was bathed in the soft, amber glow of new floor lamps, highlighting a massive, polished mahogany study table that put your old desk to shame. In the corner, a sleek desktop computer sat ready, and a brand new mini-fridge was tucked discreetly under a shelf.

You walked further in, your footsteps muffled by a thick, plush rug. To your right, the oversized almirah stood with its doors slightly ajar, revealing your clothes hung with a precision that bordered on obsessive. 

But it was the bookshelf that truly stopped your heart. Your textbooks, your tattered novels and even your smallest journals were arranged in perfect, alphabetical order, their spines aligned as if they had been handled with the utmost reverence.

As the sheer scale of the effort sank in, a floorboard creaked behind you. You spun around, your breath catching. 

Uzair was standing in the threshold, his large frame silhouetted against the dim hallway light. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair was disheveled and there were faint smudges of dust on his forehead. 

He looked exhausted.

In his hands, he held a simple glass vase filled with fresh, white lilies, your favorite flowers, the ones you used to mention in passing years ago.

He entered the room quietly, as if he were afraid the mere vibration of his footsteps would shatter the fragile peace. He didn't look at you directly. His eyes stayed fixed on the window sill as he carefully placed the vase down, adjusting it until the moonlight hit the petals just right. 

He turned back toward you, his hands dropping to his sides, looking utterly unsure of what to do with his own body. He stood there, taking you in, the exhausted slump of your shoulders, the dark circles under your eyes and for a second, his expression was so raw with unshielded regret that it was almost unbearable.

But as his gaze lingered, that familiar, toxic insecurity washed over you like a wave of acid. 

You felt exposed in this beautiful room he had built for you, as if the new furniture and the expensive computer were just more ways to highlight how much you lacked. You felt like a stray cat being brought into a palace and the shame of it tasted like copper in your mouth. 

You didn't see the effort, you only saw the pity. 

You couldn't handle the way he was looking at you, not with mockery but with a terrifying, heavy kind of devotion.

"Tumhe aur koi kaam nahi hai kya?" you snapped, your voice sharp enough to draw blood in the quiet room. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shielding your body from his eyes. "Jo yahan khade hokar timepass kar rahe ho?" 

The words were a deliberate, jagged strike. You saw the physical impact of them, the way his shoulders slumped and the flicker of hurt that crossed his features, extinguishing the small, hopeful light in his eyes. 

He didn't argue. He didn't throw back a biting retort about your ingratitude. He simply lowered his head, as he swallowed whatever explanation he had been harbouring. 

He had turned without a word and had walked out, his footsteps echoing down the long, lonely corridor of the top floor. 

In the present, as you fought with the guilt of perhaps having been too harsh and ungrateful that day, Naieem strolled in with the effortless arrogance of a favored nephew, his hand sweeping across your desk to snap your ledgers shut. 

"Bas karein, phuphi," he had insisted, his grin a mischievous flash in the dim light. "I'm missing my favorite aunt and I've decided we're having fun today. No more numbers, only candy floss."

And so, through a series of manoeuvres you were too exhausted to fight, you found yourself exactly where you vowed never to be again, the passenger seat of Uzair's jeep. 

The familiar scent of sandalwood and tobacco was a sensory trap, thick and cloying in the confined space. Beside you, the man who usually radiated the lethal confidence of a desert predator was sitting in a silence so heavy it felt loud. He kept stealing glances at you that were disturbingly reminiscent of a kicked puppy. 

Behind you, Hamza and Naieem were a cacophony of boisterous laughter and plans for the evening, oblivious to the high voltage tension between the two front seats.

You cursed yourself with every mile, the rhythmic thrum of the tires sounding like a chant of 'should have gone to the wedding.' 

Rehman, Ulfat and Faisal were currently miles away, likely enjoying the lavish festivities of a family nuptial and you had turned down Ulfat's invitation in favor of some quiet study time. 

Now, that quiet had been replaced by the roar of the Karachi wind and the suffocating presence of a man who seemed to be trying, and failing, to figure out how to apologize without using words. You stared out the window, your jaw set, refusing to acknowledge the way his hand shifted toward the gear stick, nearly brushing your knee before he jerked it back as if burned.

The fairground emerged from the dusty twilight like a neon lit fever dream. In years past, this would have been your personal heaven. You used to adore the chaotic tapestry of the fair, the spinning kaleidoscope of the Ferris wheel, the dizzying scent of frying jalebis and the rhythmic clatter of wooden stall shutters. 

You would have been the first one out of the car, your dupatta fluttering like a flag of excitement, dragging a scowling Uzair toward the most dangerous ride. You remembered how he used to roll his eyes at your childish euphoria, his dark brows knit in a permanent expression of bored disdain.

But tonight, the roles had suffered a shift.

You were the one scowling now, your arms folded tightly across your chest as you stepped onto the gravel. The festive atmosphere felt like a mockery of your internal winter. 

Why were there suddenly so many couples about? 

It felt as if every person in Karachi had decided to descend upon this fairground specifically to showcase their domestic bliss. You watched a young man win a giant, garish teddy bear for a blushing girl and instead of finding it sweet, you felt a sharp, cynical pang in your chest. The cynicism was a shield, a way to keep the old, hopeful version of yourself buried under layers of protective ice.

Hamza and Naieem were already several paces ahead, navigating the throng of people, their voices lost in the din of the calliope music and the shouting vendors. You trudged behind them, your footsteps heavy and reluctant, feeling like a prisoner on a forced march. 

And behind you, always behind you, was Uzair. 

He wasn't walking ten steps ahead today, daring you to keep up. He was trailing in your wake, his pace perfectly synchronized with yours, a silent, looming shadow that refused to let you out of his sight.

Naieem, ever the instigator of chaos, let out a piercing whistle and grabbed Hamza's arm, dragging him toward the muffled roar of the Motorcycle Death Well. 

Left in their wake, the silence between you and Uzair became a physical weight. You gestured vaguely toward a nearby stall dripping with intricate jhumkas that shivered in the breeze. 

"Main wahan ja rahi hoon," you muttered, but before you could take a single step, Uzair's hand shot out, his fingers locking around your wrist with a startled, iron like grip.

"Akeli mat jao," he commanded, his voice a low rasp as he made to pull you toward the crowd. 

"Arey! Choro mujhe!" you snapped, the sound of your voice sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from passersby. You wrenched your hand back with a violent jerk, the skin where he had touched you tingling with a cold, electric fury. 

You looked him dead in the eye, your expression a mask of frigid disdain. "Kyun? Dar lag raha hai ki main phir se kho jaungi? Tum kyu fikar kar rahe ho? Tumhe toh ek aur bahana mil jayega, mera mazak udane ka!" You turned on your heel and stalked toward the jewelry stall, leaving him standing in the middle of the thoroughfare.

As you stood before the glittering display of earrings, your fingers mindlessly traced the cold metal of a pair of heavy oxidised ones, but your eyes drifted elsewhere. 

A few yards away, at a shooting gallery, a young man who possessed the same lean, dangerous grace as Uzair was handing a massive, plushie to a girl. She was radiant, her skin glowing under the lights, her laughter a melodic chime that seemed to belong to a different world than yours. 

He looked at her with such unshielded devotion that it made your chest ache. You couldn't help a small, bitter smile from tugging at your lips. She was everything you weren't. Thin, vibrant, and effortlessly beautiful. You were certain no man would ever look at you with that kind of worship. 

You were the girl people looked past, never at.

Then, the memory of Nafisa's blunt, grounding voice echoed in the chambers of your mind. "Y/N, you might not be the prettiest, but you are the sharpest."

The thought was a bucket of cold water to your spiraling insecurities. You didn't need a man to win prizes for you. You didn't need to be the pretty girl on someone's arm to justify your existence. Your brain was a weapon and your resolve was a fortress. 

If you wanted something, you would take it yourself. 

Your gaze shifted to a neighboring stall where a large, round penguin plushie sat perched on a high shelf, its black and white face looking absurdly dignified amidst the gaudy prizes. That was it. That was what you would win.

Your feet carried you toward the shooting stall with a newfound purpose. The owner, a man with a weather beaten face and a smirk, handed you a heavy air rifle. 

"Teen mauke milenge, baji," he droned, gesturing toward the wall of brightly colored balloons. "Teenon phate toh sabse bada khilona aapka." 

You took the gun, its weight surprising in your hands. You aimed with all the concentration you usually reserved for complex accounting, squinting through the sights. 

Pop. 

The first shot went wide, hitting the wooden backing. The second grazed a string. The third sailed harmlessly into the darkness. You stood there, the rifle feeling like a lead weight, a familiar sense of dejection washing over you. 

Of course. 

Even in this, you were the failure.

A shadow fell over you. Uzair moved into your peripheral vision, his presence an inescapable gravity. He didn't say a word to you. He simply reached into his pocket, tossed a crumpled bill onto the counter and took the rifle from the owner's startled hands. He didn't even look at the balloons at first. He kept his eyes trained on your face, a silent burning in his gaze that made your breath hitch.

Then, with a fluid, lethal precision that spoke of years spent in the darker corners of the city, he turned. 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

Three shots, three explosions of colored rubber, all within the span of five seconds. He didn't even seem to be trying. The owner's smirk vanished, replaced by a look of disgruntled shock. No one had ever cleared the board with that kind of terrifying accuracy. Uzair lowered the rifle, his expression unreadable as he turned back to you.

"Kaunsa chahiye?" the owner muttered, gesturing toward the wall of prizes. 

Uzair didn't look at the shelf. He kept his eyes locked on yours, waiting, his posture expectant and strangely humble. 

He was offering you the win he had just snatched, a silent peace offering wrapped in the guise of a carnival game. He wanted you to choose. He wanted you to look at him with something other than venom.

The neon lights of the fairground blurred into jagged streaks of electric pink and acid green as you turned your back on the shooting stall, the weight of Uzair's silent plea pressing against your spine like a physical burden. 

You didn't say a word. 

The rejection was in the stiff line of your shoulders and the frantic, uneven rhythm of your stride as you wove through the throng of laughing families and sticky handed children. 

You weren't a prize to be won with a marksman's trick and you certainly weren't a child to be pacated with a stuffed penguin. The sheer audacity of his attempt, this sudden shift from tormentor to protector, felt like a fresh layer of salt rubbed into a seventeen year old wound.

"Y/N! Ruko toh sahi!" His voice cut through the cacophony of the calliope music, no longer a command but a desperate request. 

You didn't stop. You pushed past a group of teenagers, your breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. You could hear his heavy tread behind you, the sound of his boots on the gravel a relentless pursuit. He wasn't used to being ignored, certainly not by you. But you didn't care. You wanted to vanish into the Karachi night, to become a shadow that even he couldn't find.

Suddenly, a large, calloused hand clamped around your wrist, the grip firm but lacking the bruising force of his usual arrogance. He jerked you back, the momentum spinning you around until you were pulled flush against the hard, unyielding expanse of his chest.

"Choro mujhe!" you hissed, your voice a fractured rasp as you struggled against him, your palms flat against the rough linen of his kurta. You were so close you could feel the frantic thud of his heart, or was it yours?, echoing between your ribcages.

"Nahi," he gritted out. "Not until you tell me what the hell I did wrong! What is it, Y/N? What did I do? I can't read your fucking mind!"

Before you could lash out with a retort or try to push him again, his hands moved with the blurred, lethal precision of a man who had spent his life in confrontation. 

He caught both your wrists that were placed on his chest, sweeping them behind the small of your back and anchoring them there with a single grip. His other hand slid around your waist, his fingers splaying across your spine as he pulled you so close that the world narrowed down to just him. Your nose was almost touching his, your breaths mingling in the cold air, a shared, rhythm of anger and something far more dangerous.

Uzair had absolutely no care for who might be watching, though the gravelly expanse of around you was empty now, save for the skeletons of parked cars and the long shadows of the trees. 

His dark eyes were searching yours, darting from your trembling lips to the frozen obsidian of your gaze, seeking an answer to a question he was too arrogant to realise he had already answered a thousand times over.

The sheer ignorance in his question was the final spark. 

The years of quiet endurance, the nights spent crying into your pillow and the agonising weight of his public mockery finally reached a breaking point.

"What did you do?" you screamed, the sound tearing from your throat with a violence that surprised even you, shattering the stagnant air of the deserted parking lot. 

You thrashed against his grip, your body a whirlwind of suppressed agony and newfound defiance. Seeing the edges of your fury, the way your eyes burned with a light that wasn't love anymore, Uzair's fingers instinctively uncoiled.

The moment your hands were freed, you, shoved him with every ounce of the resentment you had harboured for seventeen years. 

Uzair stumbled back. His boots crunched harshly against the gravel, his eyes wide and fractured with a bewilderment that only fueled your rage. The silence that followed was heavy, haunted by the ghosts of a thousand unspoken slights.

"What did you do?" you repeated, your voice a fractured rasp that rose into a shriek. "What did you do? After everything you have put me through, after every night you turned into a funeral for my self-esteem, you have the gall to stand there and ask me, what did you do?"

Uzair reached out, his hand hovering in the empty space between you, his fingers trembling with a rare, terrifying vulnerability. "Y/N! Suno toh sahi—" he started, his voice a low, desperate vibration. 

But you recoiled as if his touch were acid. "No! I'm done listening to you! I am done being the silent audience to your cruelty!"

"You treated me like vermin, Uzair! Like something you stepped in and couldn't scrape off your boot!" You stepped into his space, your face inches from his, forcing him to look at the wreckage he had curated. 

"And for what? Because Rehman bhai would spent more time with me? Because he loved me when you chose to hate me?" You let out a broken, hysterical laugh that tasted like copper. "Main bhi toh bachi hi thi na, Uzair!"

The realisation of your shared loss hit the air like a physical blow. "I had lost my parents too! I was just as alone, just as terrified as you were! And I never demanded bhai's attention. I just wanted both of you to spend time with me! I just wanted you to not treat me like a burden!" 

Your voice broke, a sob catching in your throat before you swallowed it down with pure spite. "But you...you always dismissed me. You made sure I knew I didn't belong in your world."

You began to list the casualties of his arrogance, your voice shaking with the weight of it. "You made fun of the way I talked, the way I dressed, the smallest things that made me me. You belittled me in front of the servants, excluded me from the family gatherings as if I were a source of shame. You made me feel like an outsider in the only home I had left." Each memory was a fresh bruise, an ache that had spread until it consumed your entire identity.

"Uzair...I heard you that day...at the warehouse, making fun of me," you whispered, the words quiet now, lethal in their simplicity, cutting through the humid night air like a jagged blade.

Uzair froze, his entire frame turning to stone as if the very blood in his veins had solidified into lead. The defensive tension in his shoulders shattered, replaced by a sudden, hollow stillness. He opened his mouth to speak, a frantic, silent protest dying in his throat, but you weren't done.

"You let your men laugh at me as if I were a joke. It was so easy for you, wasn't it, to make a mockery of my deepest insecurities?" The memory of that laughter was the coldest blade of all, twisting in your gut with a relentless, painful rhythm.

Uzair didn't speak, he couldn't. 

His throat seemed to have seized up under the weight of your accusations. He stepped forward, his shadow swallowing yours and before you could retreat, his hands found your waist again. But this time, they weren't pinning you back, they were pulling you in with a frantic, starving urgency that made your breath hitch.

He leaned down, his face a mask of tortured realisation and captured your lips with his. It felt like a violent collision of two worlds that had been spinning in opposite directions for far too long. 

It wasn't a soft, romantic gesture, it was a battle. 

It was Uzair trying to pour every unsaid apology, every buried feeling and every ounce of his confused, twisted devotion into a single, devastating contact.

For a heartbeat, you were paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming sensory assault of him. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his mouth against yours, it was everything you had ever dreamed of, delivered in the middle of a nightmare. 

Your hands, which had been balled into fists against his chest, slowly unfurled. Against your better judgment, against every instinct of self-preservation, you leaned into him. You met his intensity with your own, your fingers tangling in the rough fabric of his kurta as you spiralled into the chaos of his touch.

The world outside the two of you ceased to exist. For a fleeting second, the pain vanished, replaced by a terrifying, electric connection that felt like coming home. 

But as you pulled apart, gasping for oxygen, the reality of the parking lot rushed back in. 

The cold air hit your damp skin and with it came the memories, the laughter at the warehouse, all those mean remarks, the seventeen years of being the girl who wasn't good enough.

The humiliation surged back with a vengeance, more acidic than before because you had let him in. 

You felt disgusted with yourself, with him, with the weakness that had made you melt in his arms. 

Before he could say a word, before he could even blink, your hand flashed out. The sound of the slap was like a gunshot in the quiet lot. It was a hard, stinging blow that snapped his head to the side, leaving a stark, red mark against the tan of his cheek.

Uzair stood there, stupefied, his hand rising slowly to touch the heat on his face where your palm had left its mark. He looked at you with an expression that was beyond shock. The world he had built on his own arrogance had finally crumbled into the dust at his feet. 

You were already breaking. 

The tears were streaming down your face now, hot and unstoppable, blurring your vision until he was nothing but a dark, flickering smear against the Karachi night. You stumbled back, your legs feeling like leaden weights, the distance between you feeling like a miles wide chasm.

"I...I never meant to—" Uzair began, his voice a fractured ghost of its usual command. He sounded like a man drowning in the very words he had used as weapons for years.

"What?" you spat, the syllable a broken shard of glass. "Didn't mean to make me doubt myself with every waking minute? Didn't mean to make me feel like a sub-human in my own home? Didn't mean to make fun of my weight?"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT HAPPENED AT THE—" Uzair roared, his frustration finally snapping. He stepped toward you, his chest heaving, his face contorted with a desperate, frantic need to explain the inexplicable.

"I DON'T CARE, UZAIR!" you screamed, your voice echoing off the skeletons of the parked cars.

"I am beyond the point of caring! Whether you meant it as a joke or a truth, the result was the same!"

"No! Just, please listen to me!" he pleaded, reaching out again, as if to catch the fragments of the air between you.

"Uzair, if ever, ever you have had even a small amount of respect for me! If there is even a shred of the boy I used to follow around left in you...Please leave me alone," you whispered, the quietness of your voice far more devastating than the screaming. 

"I don't want your apologies. I don't want your explanations. I don't want your attention. I don't want anything from you! I just want to forget you ever existed."

You couldn't look at him anymore. You couldn't look at the man you had loved so much that you had allowed him to destroy you, because seeing the regret in his eyes only made the betrayal feel more acute. You turned to leave, your footsteps crunching heavily on the gravel, your heart a cold, dead thing in your chest.

"Main tumhe akele nahi jaane dunga," he said. He took a step toward you, his protective instincts clashing with the visible wreckage of his own heart. "Even if you hate me, even if you never speak to me again, I won't compromise your safety."

But you were past the point of being managed. You were sobbing now, a deep, guttural sound that tore at your lungs. 

You were angry at him for his sudden, hypocritical care.

But you were angrier at yourself. 

You were angry that you had turned into this, a woman who screamed and slapped and hated. 

You would have never, ever hurt him like this in the past, you would have protected him from the world and yet here he was, making you the villain in your own story.

Your eyes snapped to the breast pocket of his charcoal kurta, where the silver glint of the car keys mocked you. With a movement born of pure spite, you snatched the keys from him. Your fingers grazed his chest for a fraction of a second, a spark of heat that made you flinch. 

He tried to reach out, his face pale and pleading. "Y/N, please...just—"

"Paidal ajana tum teeno!" you screamed, the venom in your voice sharp enough to draw blood. You didn't care about the miles between the fairground and the haveli. You didn't care about Hamza or Naieem. 

You wanted Uzair to feel every inch of the road, to feel the exhaustion in his bones, and the silence of the night. You wanted him to be as stranded as he had made you feel for seventeen years.

You stumbled toward the jeep, your mind having completely blanked out. You didn't see the way he watched you, his silhouette looking smaller than you had ever seen it. 

You climbed into the driver's seat, fumbled the keys into the ignition and roared the engine to life. As you peeled out of the gravel lot, the rearview mirror showed him standing there, a lone figure in the dark, clutching the silence you had left behind. 

You drove into the night, the wind whipping your hair across your tear stained face, finally, utterly alone.

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[little-whoregirl]

🖤 𝕾𝖆𝖍 𝖊𝖎𝖓 𝕸ä𝖉𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖓 𝖊𝖎𝖓 𝕽ö𝖘𝖑𝖊𝖎𝖓 𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖍𝖊𝖓 🖤

x: ʏᴇᴅᴏʟʟ_

[unsatisfiedguy508]

[polish-lolita]

[craziestgrlevr-deactivated20251]

i dream of having a regulated nervous system

[onedudesview]

[mister-s0013-deactivated2023101]

You're the "my cunt gets wet when you talk down to me" kinda whore, aren't ya?

Yeaaaah, you like being talked to like a fucking dummy.

Awww, we're gonna have so much fun, you're such a stupid little fuckdoll...

[pervhedonistdaddy-deactivated20]

intelligent woman who turn into a braindead fuckdoll is the best kind of drug.

[wholeheartedsuggestions]

you can start anytime.

you can brush your teeth in the middle of the day. you can wash the dishes at 2am. you can do things outside the normal times assigned by society.

[campmiasmas]

“It was a devil and an angel tattoo. It said something underneath: Serendipity. I really loved the idea of being in this quite formal priest uniform with the dog collar — and there’s this little bit of his past creeping up. That is how Father Jud is attempting to be this version of himself. He’s not denying his past, hence he still has the tattoo. But that anger is still there.” — Josh O'Connor (x)

[nerujikam]

something something blindfolding jud kissing and worshiping places where he's inked and down so he wont remember it visually and get distracted when looking at you during sermons

[soul-from-another-era]