Hey, you write beautifully. Honestly I love your smuts and series storylines especially can't wait for the new firaaq-e-Mohabbat it is so unique honesty.
I just wanted to know who are your fav writers here??????
Hey thank you so much love❤
And for the fav writer I don't have one because I find it unnecessary considering every person here is unique and brilliant in their way but here are some people I truly adore, be it their writing, edits or just their presence:-
Also they are not in any particular order. I kept remembering and sharing what my heart wanted so here it goes.
@rabbdaradio I love her iqbal ff truly one of the best I have ever read.. And this girl basically simp over grandad like I do. Mads reference if anyone gets it. And brigadier too I mean what I relate to her much 😭
@ishq-e-rehman this lady here is an absolute sweetheart. Not only she is an amazing writer, she is extremely passionate, motivating and surely a lovely person... I honestly love her❤🫂
. @luvvkk okay I have honestly never talked to her but damn her series BARBAAD uzair ff that shot made me cry.. It is my favorite and seriously her masterlist aesthetic completely in love👀🤭
@yearnerray girl I love your aesthetic and OC ff so unique and still waiting for PIck up duty jldi kro ab toh. I will wait for eternity uske liye❤🤲
@sanajjjjjj this bby girl deserves so much appreciation for her iqbal edits seriously. I keep waiting ki kb she will serve again. Jao n pyaar dikhaooooo.
@work-of-procrastination ahhh she is such a baddie - seriously love her shenanigans (she knows what I am talking about🤭) i don't know just fcking love her presence here such a sweetheart.
@rini4everdreaming such a cutie this girl is.... Have talked to her for a short time well hua hi mujhe ek kuch mahina hai but I feel so protective of her idk whyyyy like a lil sister she is.... Mind you she could be the cutest lil bean irl.
@peonies7002 oh bby you deserve a special special mention. First person to reach out to me here and the support and motivated she gave me, I bet she is such as a wonderful person irl.
@cherryyelixir my pinda yearning baddie. Seriously she is the reason I wrote pinda ke ff so all hail to her!!!
@depressedgiftedburnout girl okay her REHMAN ff vakeel sahiba one I don't think anyone is as invested in their ff as this girl here is.... One of the best ff I have ever started. Girl I have to read rest pls spare me Coz life happened but I bet all her chapter are just as great as her!!!! The plotline, presence, character everything literally everything is GOATED.
@ch3rrycok3s damn her million dollar man and sanjaya baru ff just love those.
@hereforfanfictionsfr she is new writer and extremely underrated. Go check out her work!!!
@goodasaysboo okay I think she is one of the most talented. Full of variety and diverse range.. Literally RANGE is how I would describe her.. She doesn't hesitate to go full angsty and I seriously love it for her.
@fleurenoir first ff I ever read was by her... Seriously love her aesthetic, her writing and idk I think she is not active anymore but she is the reason I became a fan of dhurandhar ff world.
@miraclejin1204 her ff woh khirke has my heart seriously so beautifully written. One of the best work here
@mainyahaankyunhoon very famous writer no intro needed. Just love her work and everything about her.
@misteriadare her ff are truly goated and you can see whyyy. She writers from heart....
@ppinkitten you lovely person... I love you dua e shaitaan. One of the first and finest work I have read..... You have my ❤.
Sorry I disappeared. I just don't know anymore. With the way things are changing I don't know. So yea. But i realised it's better to live life to the fullest than worry about doom.
This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. Certain characters may be inspired by fictional or cinematic portrayals (including a character named Uzair), but this narrative does not represent real individuals or their actual actions.
Any connections, relationships, or traits depicted in this story are part of a fictional adaptation and should not be interpreted as factual or reflective of real-life people. The real individuals behind such portrayals are not associated with the events or behaviours shown in this story.
This narrative is not based on real-life incidents, including the events of 26/11, and does not intend to depict or recreate them in any form.
Certain scenes depict criminal activity, extortion, food tampering, and other harmful actions. These are included solely for storytelling purposes and are not meant to be imitated, justified, or encouraged in any way.
The author does not support, promote, or glorify violence, illegal activity, or harm toward others. Readers are strongly advised to treat this work as fiction only and not draw real-world inspiration from it.
All rights to any referenced inspirations or likenesses belong to their respective owners.
Reader discretion is advised.
Collaboration with @misteriadare . THANK YOU SO MUCH LOVE. Will start adding translation from next work.
Chapter 1
Only a week had passed since Dhun opened her snack shop in Lyari. With her chacha falling ill, she knew she had to start supporting her family, hence Dhun ki Dukaan opened. As the only full-time staff, Dhun managed every aspect of the shop herself. She would wake up before dawn to prepare crispy samosas, flaky egg puffs, strong chai, creamy milkshakes, and fresh sandwiches. Between stirring the chai and pulling golden puffs from the oven, she kept the books, served customers, and scrubbed the floors, her hands never still for a moment.
07/05/2005 : 8 days since opening
The day had started like any other. Dhun stood in the back kitchen, frying a fresh batch of samosas while keeping an eye on the milk for chai and the sandwiches toasting on the griddle. Suddenly, Omar, her chacha’s son, home for the holidays, burst inside, eager to help with the morning rush.
“Didi! Didi! Didi!”
“Kya hogaya Omar?” She turned off the gas, facing the breathless boy. “Aur kitni baar kaha hai, dukaan mein bhaago mat. Girke agar kamar toot gayi toh main hospital ke bill nahi bharungi!”
“Sorry, didi par urgently order dena tha…” he huffed, chest heaving up and down with each breath. “6 samosa, aur 5 egg puff aur 6 chai.”
“Thik hai, thik hai. Ye le chai, le ja, dhyan se! Girana mat, thik hai?” She wiped sweat from her forehead.
“Ok, didi.” He nodded, turning to leave. “Waise didi, fresh khana dena… Uzair bhai aur unke logo ka order hai ye.”
“Uzair bhai?” She turned to him again. “Rehman Dakait ka bhai, Uzair?”
“Haan didi, wohi Uzair bhai.” He nodded frantically, balancing the tray.
She pursed her lips, eyes darting towards the seating section for a glimpse of said gangsters, her heart already filled with a mix of dread and caution. “Accha thik hai, tu jaa, main baaki ka leke aati hu. Aur haan, kuch ulta seedha bolna mat,” she instructed as she rushed to reheat the egg puffs and fry fresh samosas. Carefully plating them on a brand new tray, she headed out, covering her head slightly with her coral dupatta.
Rehman’s gang rarely caused any issues, and Uzair never openly made trouble unless threatened. Yet she took careful steps towards their table, because at the end of the day, they were simply gangsters.
She spotted Uzair sitting with his men at the corner table — adorned in a grey pathani kurta with the first few buttons unbuttoned, revealing glimpses of his toned chest. She gulped before averting her eyes. She quickly served them and turned on her heels towards the kitchen.
However, before she could disappear, a voice cut through.
“Dukaan kitne bajje tak khuli hoti hai?” Uzair asked.
She turned around coyly. “Ji… 6 baje tak khuli rehti hai, Uzair bhai.”
“Bhai na kahein mujhe,” he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, unlike anything she’d pictured in a gangster.
“Thik hai, Uzair Bha…. ji.” She corrected herself, mentally scolding herself as she felt heat creeping up her cheeks. “Aapko kuch aur chahiye?”
“Nahi nahi, bas aaj ke liye itna kaafi hai.” He scratched the back of his neck. A flush crept across his cheeks, mirroring Dhun’s own embarrassment. “Aap bas itna bata dein, kitna hua iss sab ka?” He grabbed his wallet.
Before Dhun could get the bill and turn away, Donga interrupted. “Arey kuch bhi, Uzair bhai? Aapse thodi na paise legi? Haina, Dhun ji?”
She blinked. Excuse me? “Ji?!”
She stood there, stunned for a second at the sudden intrusion by Donga. Why would she not take money from him? Her shop isn’t his nani’s house, where they just eat and leave with bulging bellies. But they were gangsters. And Rehman bhai protects those under him. Her heartbeat quickened; suddenly, the group of gangsters seemed much scarier with egg puff crumbs around their mouths.
“Haan haan, Uzair ji, aapse kaise paise le sakti hu main,” she stuttered, laughing it off despite being scared for life.
“Dekha bhai! Chalte hain. Khana bada accha tha, Dhun ji,” said Donga.
‘Haa, kyu nahi accha lagega? Muft ka mila hai na?’ Dhun retorted in her mind, smiling at him as if she wasn’t thinking of a hundred different ways to break that baldie’s head.
“Arey par…” He looked at her, guilt for freeloading evident.
Arey haan bol na. Paisa de. Insaaniyat ka koi kona zinda hai toh use kar. She prayed in her mind. But the scaredy cat in her just smiled. Khair, ek hi toh din ki baat hai. Next time pay kar denge.
As Uzair and the gang settled into the car, the air inside was instantly filled with jostling elbows and easy camaraderie. Donga sat in the front while Hamza and Siyahi squeezed into the back. The engine coughed to life.
“Bhai na kahein mujhe,” Donga teased.
Hamza joined in with a high-pitched tone. “Ji Uzair ji… par kyu?”
“Aapse pyaar ho gaya hai pehli nazar pe, Dhun ji,” Donga deepened his voice to mimic Uzair, placing his hand on his chest in mock love. “Aapka bhaiya nahi, saiya banna hai mujhe.”
“Ya Allah, Uzair ji! Ye kya bol rahe hai?” Hamza clutched his chest dramatically.
“Chup karo, lodu.” Uzair scowled, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
“Ya Allah! Uzair bhai — mera matlab Uzair ji — aise aurton ke saamne gaaliyan na de. Thoda sa toh lihaaz kar.” Hamza chimed, enjoying his friend’s suffering.
“Maafi, Dhun ji, bhavnaon mein beh gaya tha. Woh kya hai na, aapse pehli nazar pe pyaar ho gaya.” Siyahi cleared his throat and joined in the fun. “Par main maanu na.”
“Oi chup karo, behen ke—!” Uzair hit the brakes. His eyes were now wide while his cheeks burned tomato red. “Aisa kuch nahi hai… gadhe log.”
Yet a few days passed, and Hamza had had enough. “Aisa kuch nahi hai? Toh hum kyu roz aa rahe hain idhar, Uzair?”
He groaned, munching on a samosa begrudgingly. Sure, it was delicious, but his taste buds could only eat the same thing for so long. And it was the fifteenth time he was eating samosas made by the same person, with the same taste.
“Roz roz kahan, lodu?” Uzair asked, sipping a second cup of chai at Dhun ki Dukaan.
“7th ko aaye, phir 8th, 9th, 10th, phir 11th ko rally thi toh nahi aaye the, phir 12th…”
“Haan toh roz toh nahi aaye na…” Uzair replied, waving his hand.
Hamza shot him a look so flat it could have ironed Uzair’s pathani kurta. His eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a straight line, every ounce of disbelief and exasperation written clear across his face.
And that’s when she entered, holding a takeaway package. Dhun’s blush had disappeared the moment their total bill reached 10k, which was five days ago. At first, it was just Uzair, Hamza, Siyahi, Donga, and two other men whose names she didn’t care enough to learn.
But a few days in, a group of men started coming in the evening, demanding free food as they were part of Rehman’s gang too. Uzair’s long-ass lashes no longer turned her on but, on the contrary, turned her off.
'Saale aaj bhi aa gaye muft khana khane ke liye, bhookad saale. Rehman Dakait ke bhai na hote toh maa kasam, gala ghot deti ek ek ka!’ She thought to herself as she handed over the sandwiches Uzair wanted to carry for his nephews.
Fifteen thousand and five hundred, she mentally added to the tally, cursing her fate.
And to top it off — “Iss mahine ke wasooli ki rakam bhi leni thi, Dhun ji.” Siyahi’s voice shook her out of her thoughts.
“Ji, ek minute, laayi.” She nodded, heading inside while her mind went: kamine, kha kha ke kangaal toh kar diya, ab wasooli ke paise bhi chahiye inhe. Saalo, itna bhi nahi darao ki dar hi khatam ho jaye. Ye bhi nahi sikhaya tumhe gundagiri ki school mein.
What she missed was Uzair shooting Siyahi a hard glare, his voice low but sharp as he scolded him for asking Dhun for recovery money. “Tujhe sharam nahi aati? Ladki ki haalat dekhi hai? Dukaan chalana asaan nahi hai, aur tu wasooli ki baat kar raha hai?” Uzair muttered.
Meanwhile, outside the kitchen, Dhun, unaware of Uzair’s defence, counted the notes in her apron and returned with the payment. “Ye lijiye,” she handed the money to Siyahi.
Siyahi counted the notes one by one, once and then again. “Uzair bhai, ismein toh 1000 kam hai…”
The drive back home was quieter than usual. The sun had dipped behind Lyari’s rooftops. “Oi Hamzey! Tujhe kya lagta hai? Dhun ji ko main pasand hu?” Uzair asked suddenly.
“Uzair, agar tu uske yahan itna kharcha karega aur paise bhi na de, toh kaunsi ladki tere pyaar mein padne waali hai!?” Hamza asked, genuinely frustrated with his himbo of a friend.
“Toh kya karu? Tune Yalina ko kaise pataya tha? Kuch tips toh de,” Uzair asked desperately. Because while he had been giving her heart eyes every day, he could feel her eyes growing more katilaana as the days passed.
“Ok, toh tu usko date pe le jaa. Tere irade kya hain, woh bataa use.”
So on the 19th, Uzair decided to finally ask her out.
“Dhun ji… aap aaj shaam Karim chacha ke yahan mere saath chai peene chalengi?”
CHAI!??? Saale, 30 litre chai piyi hogi mere haathon ki aur… control, Dhun, control. She calmed herself, recalling what her guruji had taught her.
She crossed her arms, clearly annoyed by this himbo. “Kyu? Aapko hamare yahan ki chai pasand nahi hai!?”
“Nahi nahi, aap toh bura maan gayi — mera woh matlab nahi tha!?” Uzair immediately defended himself, not expecting his plan to backfire.
But before she could reply, Omar screamed. “Didi!!! Ye chai dekhona, dance kar rahi hai!!!!!!”
She rushed inside only to witness the chai overflowing. She quickly took it off the gas and breathed heavily. And just when Dhun thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, fate proved her wrong. Her phone buzzed loudly on the counter, slicing through her mounting frustration… it was the landlord.
“As-salamu alaykum, Salim chacha.”
“Wa alaikum assalam, beta. Iss mahine ka kiraya kab dene ka iraada hai?”
“Salim chacha, bas thode din aur,” she begged.
“Beta, main tere halaat samajhta hu, par mujhe bhi toh meri beti ki padhai ke liye paise chahiye.”
“Ji, Salim chacha. Mujhe bas aap 3 din dijiye, main aapko interest ke saath poora kiraya de dungi.”
“Thik hai, beta, par sirf 3 din.”
The pressure whistle in her head finally blew. She didn’t want to go to this extreme, but the reason she was going broke laughed outside while she cried in the kitchen.
It was all too much. It was her kindness and respect that allowed them these many days to step inside the shop and eat all they could without paying a single dime. But what happened to basic civic sense, the sense of humanity and morality to pay for things?
On impulse, she grabbed the bottle of Julaab ki Goli and crushed it into fine powder before adding it to the sandwich chutney. She served the platters and relaxed internally, watching them devour everything within minutes.
At night, she struggled to sleep as guilt weighed heavily on her chest. She switched on the light and searched through the trash can for the bottle.
“Contains 40 pills…” Her brain went flatline as she realised the gravity of what she had done. She had mixed all forty laxatives into the chutney she’d served to Rehman’s gang. Her stomach dropped. What had she done? Panic surged through her veins. She rushed to the bed and shook Omar awake.
“Omar, uth, jaldi. Tera bag pack kar, hum chacha ke ghar ja rahe hain. Rawalpindi ki bus abhi 20 minute mein niklegi, chal uth.”
Omar blinked, disoriented, rubbing his eyes as Dhun hurriedly stuffed their belongings into a bag. She couldn’t let her stupid, reckless impulse destroy the only thing that mattered.
“Omar, ye le bag aur chal.” She handed him the bag and opened the door — she swung it open and froze. Two men stood there. Before she could react, they grabbed them both. Omar was yanked from behind her, and within seconds, they were shoved into a jeep. The engine roared to life.
No one spoke. Ten minutes later, the jeep rolled to a stop.
Baloch Haveli.
She glanced around the magnificent building, then quickly covered her nose with her dupatta. The place looked beautiful but smelled like… shit. Literal shit. Omar grabbed her dupatta too, to cover his nose.
The scent of flowers neatly arranged in makeshift pots was overpowered by the human smell of farts and stool, obvious signs of an upset stomach, correction, upset stomachs.
She spotted a few men she recognised clutching their stomachs. A few had sprawled on the ground, too tired to get up.
And there he was. Sher-e-Baloch. Standing at the entrance with a mask covering his face, while his wife sprayed air freshener around the house.
“Rehman bhai, yahi hai… jiske yahan se yeh log kha ke aaye the.” His eyes sharpened as they landed on her. He tilted his head, gesturing for her to come inside. Dhun stepped forward, gripping Omar’s hand like a vice.
“Kaunsi gang ke liye kaam karti hai tu?” Rehman’s voice was cold. “Arshad Pappu? Ya seedha police ke liye?”
“Kisi ke liye nahi, Rehman bhai.” She answered, pulling Omar protectively behind her.
“Maine koi zeher nahi daala,” she answered, quickly. “Aapke saath dagabaazi kaise kar sakti hoon, Rehman bhai?”
“Toh yeh bata… mere bees aadmiyon ki yeh haalat kyu hai?”
A pause. She took a deep breath. Maybe if she told the truth, Omar would survive. “Kyunki… maine Julaab ki Goliyan daali thi chutney mein.”
Rehman’s expression hardened instantly. He lifted his gun, ready to shoot. Dhun closed her eyes. She was prepared to die. Death means no responsibility, no bills, no phone calls from the landlord.
And just then, Uzair stumbled in, clutching his stomach. “Bhai — bhai, yeh kya kar rahe hain!?” he winced. “Dhun ji? Aap yahan? Kya ho gaya?”
Rehman didn’t break his deadly gaze from her. “Isne tumhare khaane mein julaab daala hai. Issi liye yeh haalat hai tum sabki.”
“Ji kya!?” Uzair stared at her, shocked. “Dhun ji, kya yeh sach hai? Aapne aisa kyu kiya?”
“Kyunki tum log mujhe kangaal kar rahe ho!” Her voice finally cracked, but she didn’t back down. “Maanti hoon, 40 goliyan zyada thi… par main kya karti, Rehman bhai?” She quickly pulled out a folded paper. “Aapke aadmi muft mein khaate hain. Yeh dekhiye, bill.” Her hands trembled slightly as she handed it over.
Rehman glanced at it, then frowned. “20 hazaar?! ” He looked up sharply. “Tum log kya kha rahe ho aisa!? Aklaq theek se khana nahi banata kya?”
“Arey Dhun ji, 20 hazaar kaise…?” Uzair started.
“Kaise nahi?” she shot back. “Ye pack kardo, woh pack kar do — aur roz shaam ko 10–10 log aate hain aapke naam pe! Aap hi bataiye, main ghar kaise chalaun?”
Her voice grew steadier with every word. “Mere chacha beemar hain. Dukaan ka kiraya dena hota hai. Saaman khareedne ke paise alag… aur upar se aapke log mujhse wasooli bhi lete hain!”
“Yeh kya hai, Uzair? Yeh sab toh nahi sikhaya ki kissi ki rozzi roti hi tu chin le.” Rehman looked straight at Uzair now, Disappointment laced in his words.
Uzair looked genuinely shaken. “Bhai… maine poocha tha inse. Inhone hi mana kar diya.”
“Toh main kaise kehti?” Dhun snapped. “Aapke dost khud bolte hain — 'Rehman bhai se paise kaise le sakti ho?’”
“Arey toh—”
“Bas!” Rehman’s voice thundered. “Dono chup. Ekdam chup.” He rubbed his forehead.
The room fell silent. He turned to Uzair. “Tijori se 30 hazaar nikaal. Aur isse maafi maang.”
Uzair hesitated. “Bhai…”
Rehman’s gaze hardened. “Abhi.”
“Aur yeh bata,” Rehman’s voice cut through the silence again, now edged with irritation, “Itni baar iske yahan jaate ho… sharam nahi aati? Kam se kam wasooli ke paise toh chod dete. Itna accha khana banati hai ki baar baar muh utha ke aa jaate ho? Kabhi mere liye bhi parcel le aata.”
“Bhai…” But Uzair was cut off once again.
“Arey bhai…” Hamza suddenly cut in, unable to hold back. “Woh toh Uzair ka dil aa gaya hai Dhun ji pe.”
Dhun stood there, stunned, watching the men interact while the nerves in her mind short-circuited. He has feelings for me, too?
“Kya bakwaas bol rahe ho tum!?” Uzair snapped instantly, shooting him a glare.
Hamza just smirked and nudged him. Uzair clenched his jaw… then looked at Dhun. It was now or never.
This is a work of fanfiction. All characters, names, and settings belong to their original creators and the rights holders of Dhrishyam. I claim no ownership over them.
This story is a work of fiction, created for entertainment purposes only.
The sun had just dipped below the line of old acacia trees as Y/N navigated her scooter through the outskirts of Rajyam, the small Goan town she’d always called home. This lane belonged to memories: childhood games played under banyan shade; The Salgaonkar house, where she had spent countless evenings with Anju, was at the far end.
Y/N slowed her scooter before turning into the familiar lane, the worn rubber tyres crackling over loose gravel. A chill breeze carried the scent of damp earth and wilted jasmines, lingering from pots at the gate. Her eyes flicked toward Vijay uncle’s house. The house was pitch black; not a single light flickered. Quite unusual, as they had a generator. She turned off the engine, and the sudden silence rang in her ears, sharper for the way it replaced the usual hum of her scooter. Helmet still gripped tight in her hands, she stood there for a second, listening to the absence of TV noise and Nandini aunty’s mixer, which she never let rest, pressed down on her. Quickly getting off the scooter, she brushed her palm against the rough, dusty gate handle and rushed inside the house. Her chest felt tight as she walked inside.
Everyone was in the living room. Vijay uncle sat on the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. Nandini aunty stood near the window, her arms folded, staring at nothing. Anju sat on the floor, back against the couch, knees pulled to her chest. No one noticed Y/N at first.
“Kya hua? Sab aise kyun baithe ho jaise kisi ki maiyat ho?” y/n asked, hoping to break the tension, but no one smiled.
Anju’s eyes were blood red, she was biting her nails, her fingers bleeding slowly.
“Uncle?” y/n asked softly.
Vijay’s eyes met hers, and she understood.
“Police?” she asked, even though she knew.
Nandini aunty turned away, wiping her face with the edge of her dupatta.
Y/N took a few steps forward. “Par… case toh band ho gaya tha na? Acchanak?”
Vijay let out a slow breath. “Naya IG aaya hai. Koi Tarun Ahlawat. Case reopen kiya hai…”
Y/N frowned. “Toh?? Aap pichli baar ki tarah handle kar lenge na???”
“Woh zyadda samajhdar lagta hai,” Vijay said. “Dusron ki tarah bewakoof nahi hai.”
That sentence landed in her chest. He must be really something if her Vijay uncle was scared. Y/N looked around the room. At Anju’s trembling fingers, then at Nandini aunty’s stiff shoulders, and then the way Vijay uncle kept staring at the floor, as if it might give him answers. Something ugly inside her clicked.
“Ek minute,” she said.
She pulled her notebook out of her bag and a pen from her pocket, already doubting that their conversation was being recorded.
Vijay frowned. “Kya kar rahi hai tu?”
Instead of answering him, she wrote. “Agar woh suspend ho jaye toh?” and held the notebook in front of Vijay. He stared at the words. Then she hesitated. It wasn't that she wanted to drag someone down, but she knew how the system worked here: And she had seen enough, heard enough in college about how to create a scandal in the right place, with the right approach. She flipped the page and wrote again. “IG sahab suspend ho jaye toh baaki aapke takkar ka koi nahi rahega na?”
Vijay’s eyes met hers, and then she wrote one last line.
“Mujhe pata hai usse kaise suspend karna hai.”
The room went very still for a second, and he picked up the pen instead and wrote beneath her words.
“Jo bhi kar… dhyaan se karna.”
Y/N closed the notebook. This was enough for now.
Later, Y/N found Anju alone in her room, sitting at her study desk, her eyes unfocused and distant from the open books in front of her. Anju’s shoulders were hunched, her chin resting in one trembling hand. She kept rubbing at a spot on the desk, fingertips tracing circles over a faint stain, as if searching for comfort in the motion. Every so often, her leg bounced restlessly under the chair.
Y/N quietly pulled a seat beside her. Anju flinched, startled by her presence. For a long moment, silence hung heavy between them. After a while, Anju whispered, “Woh din… mujhe sapne mein bhi dikhta hai.” Her voice cracked.
“I try not to think about it. Par phir bhi… aata hai.”
Y/N reached out, slowly, like she was afraid Anju might break if she touched her too suddenly. She held Anju’s hand, and as she had assumed, it was ice cold.
“Tu galat nahi thi,” Y/N said quietly.
Anju shook her head. "Main murderer hoon.” Her voice trembled, heavy with memories that haunted her. It was as if she could still see the blood on her hands from that night.
“Nahi tu murderer nahi hai,” Y/N said.
Anju looked at her, eyes glassy, searching.
Y/N didn’t look away. “Tu bas ek bachchi thi, aur bass darr gayi thi.” massaging her hands to warm them up.
This is a work of fanfiction inspired by Dhurandhar. All original rights, characters, and concepts belong to their respective creators. I do not claim ownership over them.
This story is written purely for entertainment and creative purposes. No copyright infringement is intended.
The portrayal of characters, events, and settings is fictional and does not represent real-life individuals or situations. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.
This work does not support, promote, or glorify violence, crime, terrorism, or any unlawful activities in any form. It is purely a fictional narrative.
note: Hamza isn’t a spy here. Logic here is weak. This is kinda just vibes ok. Based on this request. https://www.tumblr.com/peonies7002/810259149358235649/can-you-write-a-fic-with-donga-as-the-male?source=share
“Oi su-.”
He pulled the phone slightly away from his ear, frowning. “Subah subah badtameezi kar rahi hai!… Eid hai aaj. Khuda ka khauf kar.”
“Meri eidi kahan hai?” Noor snapped. “Ya sirf logon se vasooli karte ho, dete kuch nahi?”
He let out a dry scoff. “Isiliye tujhse shaadi nahi karta. Warna tu bewa ban jayegi.”
“Accha?” she shot back instantly.
“Haan. Tera jo bhai hai na… woh mujhe kasainuma maut dega. Seedha nahi marega, ek ek tukde karega Aur tujhe eidi chahiye?”
“Jhootey,” she scoffed. “Shaadi isiliye nahi karta kyunki darr hai berozgar ho jayega.”
“Pehli baat main jee lunga. Meri zarooratein kam hain,” he answered, mildly offended.
“Achha?”
“Haan. Par tere yeh jo lipstick ke shauq hain na…” he paused, voice lowering, “unmein ghis ghis ke mar jaunga main. Samjhi?”
“Tu mill mujhe tere ko toh ….”
“Noor?” She froze. In one quick motion, she ended the call and wiped the number from her phone. Cause becoming a widow at 25 was definitely not on her agenda.
Uzair leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Kisse baat kar rahi thi?”
“Kisi se bhi nahi,” she answered sheepishly.
“Phone kyun kaata toh phir?” uncrossing his arms.
“Network gaya.”
“Phone de!” he put out his hand, demanding the phone.
She glared. “Privacy naam ki bhi cheez hoti hai Uzair.”
Uzair’s gaze lingered, eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his face. He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. Then he clicked his tongue. “Bhai ko pata chala na toh.. chodh Jamali aa gaya hai neeche… khane ke liye chal.” He walked away, but in his mind, he’d already started plotting how to track down the guy noor was talking to.
The Very Next Day
“NOOR!” Ulfat shouted from downstairs. She ran downstairs, only to stop dead in her tracks. A large bouquet of peonies was at the door. Her lips tightened. Of course, it was from him.
Noor shrugged casually trying to hid her blush. “Pata nahi bhabhi hoga koi?” knowing very well who sent it.
Her phone buzzed. “Mein aati hu,” she muttered and walked quickly to her room, shutting the door.
“Pagal ho gaya hai kya?” she hissed the moment she picked up. “Ghar pe phool bheje tune?!”
“Kyu acche nahi lage?” he replied, unfazed.
“Peonies itni saari Donga!“ she whispered, trying to keep her voice down.
“Haan peonies hi hai, tujhe acche lage.. dekh naa mat bolna mera pure hafte ki kamai hai,” he pleaded.
“Gadhey toh kyu..”
She didn’t get to finish; the door flew open. Uzair stormed in, and before she could react, he snatched the phone from her hand.
“Hello?” he said coldly.
Silence.
“Oi suar ki alaud, kon hai be tu? Pata hai kisne iqsh lada raha hai? Tu mil mujhe zinda gaadh dunga tujhe toh. Tadhpa tadpa ke marunga tujhe. Meri behen ko phool bhejta hai saale!!”
Then beep. The call ended before Uzair could threaten more. Uzair’s eyes locked onto the screen, burning the number into his memory.
“Hamzey,” Uzair said later, tossing the number at him. “Trace kar.”
Hamza nodded, already on his way to trace the number. Meanwhile.
“Uzair? ye kya kar raha hai tu!!!??” Noor huffed in anger.
“Tu toh chup hi reh samjhi… laa phone de.. bhai ko batata hu teri harkate!” Uzair barked, grabbing her phone as he headed out.
They drove for thirty minutes. Uzair didn’t say a word, his grip on the wheel so tight his knuckles went white, jaw locked. Hamza sat beside him, quiet for once. Finally, they pulled over. The GPS pin blinked at the edge of some murky canal, water glinting dully in the afternoon light.
Uzair stood at the water’s edge, shoes sinking into the muddy bank. He didn’t say a word, just stared, jaw clenched, as if he could will the phone to float back up. Beside him, Hamza shifted from foot to foot, glancing nervously between Uzair and the canal. “Yahin, last location thi Uzair,” Hamza said.
Uzair’s jaw tightened. The phone was in the water. “Tujhe nahi lag raha ki ussne…. paani mein.”
“Uzair tujhe nahi lagta tune uss ladke ko zyada hi dara diya tha….. shayad ho sakta hai…” Hamza said.
“Uzair Rehman bhai se baccha baccha darta hai.. shyad woh ya tu usse maare uske pehle usne khud….” Hamza added as he placed his hand on Uzair’s shoulder . The conclusion hung heavy in the air.
Back at Baloch Haveli that evening.
Noor pushed open the door with her elbow, bags of sabzi dangling from both hands. She was still humming some dumb tune from the radio until she looked up and froze. The whole room felt off. Still. Like someone had pressed pause on the day. Every face was turned toward her, too quiet.
Way too tense.
“Aap sab aise kyu behave kar rahe hai jaise koi mar gaya ho?” she frowned.
Uzair looked at her. There was not a flicker of his usual sarcasm.
“Tere aashiq ne …” he said slowly, “suicide kar li.”
“Kya!!! Kuch bhi bol raha hai tu.” Noor dropped the bags in shock.
“Wo kuud gaya,” Uzair added. “Phone mila paani mein.”
“Tu…tu jhoot bol raha hai…” Her voice trembled.
Her breath caught… sharp and ragged. For a second, it felt like the whole room shifted sideways. And then, suddenly.. Her knees buckled. She hit the floor hard, hands barely breaking the fall. “Noor !” Ulfat rushed forward, but her world was already tilting away, everything blurring at the edges.
“TUMNE USSE KYA KAHA THA?!” she choked, clutching her chest. “Tune usse dara diya… tune….”
She didn’t want to believe it, but the truth was impossible to ignore. In Lyari, everyone feared her brothers. They never had to exaggerate their threats. Everyone knew they meant it. Maybe that he really had jumped, panic in his veins, convinced that the water offered a softer end than her brothers ever would.
And then the door opened.
“Bhai bhai bhai pata hai…”
The voice sliced through the panic, sharp and jarringly familiar. Not a ghost but something real. Noor went still, the sob dying in her throat. She turned, almost afraid to look. And there he was, standing at the doorway, half a step inside, still rambling about something useless, totally clueless. It took him a second before he saw her. On the floor, knees drawn up, sobs wrecking her body, crying as if something inside her had broken.
“Ky…”
Without thinking, she got to her feet. In two strides, she was in front of him. The pain, the panic, the terror of believing he was gone all exploded before she could even process it. The slap landed, echoing through the room.
“Suar! Tu toh mar gaya tha na?!” she screamed.
Donga’s head snapped slightly to the side, more from shock than pain. “Kya…?”
Before he could process anything, she hit his chest with both hands again and again.
“Pagal aadmi! Main… main yahan…” her voice broke again, tears spilling fresh. “Tu… tu zinda hai!!!??…”
“Ek minute… Mein kab mara?”
But then he saw her red, swollen eyes. Her hands were shaking so hard it looked like she might shatter. He reached out and caught her wrists mid-swing, holding them steady.
“Aye… bas… bas…” And before she could pull away, he pulled her into him. Like he was afraid she’d fall apart if he didn’t hold her .
Noor froze for half a second… Then broke again. Her fists clenched into his kurta as she cried into his chest. Donga lowered his head slightly, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, pressing her closer.
“Meri jaan… rona band kar please…” he whispered, almost desperate. “Acchi nahi lagti tu rote hue…”
Her shoulders shook harder against him.
“Tu… tu mar gaya tha…” she choked out between sobs.
“Pagal hai kya… main yahin hoon. Kahin nahi gaya,” he murmured, softer now.
She shook her head against him, refusing to believe it so easily.
“Jhoot… uzair bol rahe the…”
“Main jhoot lag raha hoon tujhe?” he murmured, almost teasing.
Her fingers bunched his kurta so tight her knuckles turned white. She still couldn’t quite believe it, so she couldn’t risk loosening her grip, not even for a second. It felt as if she let go, he’d vanish; this would all dissolve into some cruel dream. Donga’s breath left him in a shaky rush. He pressed his chin to the top of her head, holding her just as fiercely, like he was anchoring them both to this impossible, miraculous moment.
Still holding her.
“Ahem.” Rehman cleared his throat
Both of them froze and pulled apart. Noor stepped back first, wiping her tears, suddenly very aware of where she was.
Donga? Donga looked like a man who had just realised he had accidentally signed his own death certificate.
His eyes shifted to Rehman, then to Uzair, then back to Rehman.
“Bhai…” he started carefully, hands already half-raised in surrender. “Bhai bhai bhai please… pehle baat sun lo… marna nahi…”
Rehman was silent. The kind of silence that prickled across the back of your neck. That pause hung heavier than any shouting could have. He just turned, slow and measured, eyes landing on Uzair. Calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made everyone in the room want to run.
“Uzair.”
“Ji bhai.”
“Woh… nayi wali bandook laana zara.”
“BHAI BHAI BHAI….” he took a step back instantly.
Uzair was already turning to go.
Donga looked between them like a trapped animal. “Bhai suno toh! Aapko galat samajh aa raha hai! Main seedha aadmi hoon!”
Rehman’s eyebrow arched, unimpressed. Donga’s words just made things worse, way worse. “Bhai please… main mar jaunga…”
This story is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. Certain characters may be inspired by fictional or cinematic portrayals (including a character named Uzair), but this narrative does not represent real individuals or their actual actions.
Any connections, relationships, or traits depicted in this story are part of a fictional adaptation and should not be interpreted as factual or reflective of real-life people. The real individuals behind such portrayals are not associated with the events or behaviours shown in this story.
This narrative is not based on real-life incidents, including the events of 26/11, and does not intend to depict or recreate them in any form.
Certain scenes depict criminal activity, extortion, food tampering, and other harmful actions. These are included solely for storytelling purposes and are not meant to be imitated, justified, or encouraged in any way.
The author does not support, promote, or glorify violence, illegal activity, or harm toward others. Readers are strongly advised to treat this work as fiction only and not draw real-world inspiration from it.
All rights to any referenced inspirations or likenesses belong to their respective owners.
Reader discretion is advised.
Collaboration with @misteriadare . THANK YOU SO MUCH LOVE. Will start adding translation from next work.
Chapter 1
Only a week had passed since Dhun opened her snack shop in Lyari. With her chacha falling ill, she knew she had to start supporting her family, hence Dhun ki Dukaan opened. As the only full-time staff, Dhun managed every aspect of the shop herself. She would wake up before dawn to prepare crispy samosas, flaky egg puffs, strong chai, creamy milkshakes, and fresh sandwiches. Between stirring the chai and pulling golden puffs from the oven, she kept the books, served customers, and scrubbed the floors, her hands never still for a moment.
07/05/2005 : 8 days since opening
The day had started like any other. Dhun stood in the back kitchen, frying a fresh batch of samosas while keeping an eye on the milk for chai and the sandwiches toasting on the griddle. Suddenly, Omar, her chacha’s son, home for the holidays, burst inside, eager to help with the morning rush.
“Didi! Didi! Didi!”
“Kya hogaya Omar?” She turned off the gas, facing the breathless boy. “Aur kitni baar kaha hai, dukaan mein bhaago mat. Girke agar kamar toot gayi toh main hospital ke bill nahi bharungi!”
“Sorry, didi par urgently order dena tha…” he huffed, chest heaving up and down with each breath. “6 samosa, aur 5 egg puff aur 6 chai.”
“Thik hai, thik hai. Ye le chai, le ja, dhyan se! Girana mat, thik hai?” She wiped sweat from her forehead.
“Ok, didi.” He nodded, turning to leave. “Waise didi, fresh khana dena… Uzair bhai aur unke logo ka order hai ye.”
“Uzair bhai?” She turned to him again. “Rehman Dakait ka bhai, Uzair?”
“Haan didi, wohi Uzair bhai.” He nodded frantically, balancing the tray.
She pursed her lips, eyes darting towards the seating section for a glimpse of said gangsters, her heart already filled with a mix of dread and caution. “Accha thik hai, tu jaa, main baaki ka leke aati hu. Aur haan, kuch ulta seedha bolna mat,” she instructed as she rushed to reheat the egg puffs and fry fresh samosas. Carefully plating them on a brand new tray, she headed out, covering her head slightly with her coral dupatta.
Rehman’s gang rarely caused any issues, and Uzair never openly made trouble unless threatened. Yet she took careful steps towards their table, because at the end of the day, they were simply gangsters.
She spotted Uzair sitting with his men at the corner table — adorned in a grey pathani kurta with the first few buttons unbuttoned, revealing glimpses of his toned chest. She gulped before averting her eyes. She quickly served them and turned on her heels towards the kitchen.
However, before she could disappear, a voice cut through.
“Dukaan kitne bajje tak khuli hoti hai?” Uzair asked.
She turned around coyly. “Ji… 6 baje tak khuli rehti hai, Uzair bhai.”
“Bhai na kahein mujhe,” he said, his voice unexpectedly gentle, unlike anything she’d pictured in a gangster.
“Thik hai, Uzair Bha…. ji.” She corrected herself, mentally scolding herself as she felt heat creeping up her cheeks. “Aapko kuch aur chahiye?”
“Nahi nahi, bas aaj ke liye itna kaafi hai.” He scratched the back of his neck. A flush crept across his cheeks, mirroring Dhun’s own embarrassment. “Aap bas itna bata dein, kitna hua iss sab ka?” He grabbed his wallet.
Before Dhun could get the bill and turn away, Donga interrupted. “Arey kuch bhi, Uzair bhai? Aapse thodi na paise legi? Haina, Dhun ji?”
She blinked. Excuse me? “Ji?!”
She stood there, stunned for a second at the sudden intrusion by Donga. Why would she not take money from him? Her shop isn’t his nani’s house, where they just eat and leave with bulging bellies. But they were gangsters. And Rehman bhai protects those under him. Her heartbeat quickened; suddenly, the group of gangsters seemed much scarier with egg puff crumbs around their mouths.
“Haan haan, Uzair ji, aapse kaise paise le sakti hu main,” she stuttered, laughing it off despite being scared for life.
“Dekha bhai! Chalte hain. Khana bada accha tha, Dhun ji,” said Donga.
‘Haa, kyu nahi accha lagega? Muft ka mila hai na?’ Dhun retorted in her mind, smiling at him as if she wasn’t thinking of a hundred different ways to break that baldie’s head.
“Arey par…” He looked at her, guilt for freeloading evident.
Arey haan bol na. Paisa de. Insaaniyat ka koi kona zinda hai toh use kar. She prayed in her mind. But the scaredy cat in her just smiled. Khair, ek hi toh din ki baat hai. Next time pay kar denge.
As Uzair and the gang settled into the car, the air inside was instantly filled with jostling elbows and easy camaraderie. Donga sat in the front while Hamza and Siyahi squeezed into the back. The engine coughed to life.
“Bhai na kahein mujhe,” Donga teased.
Hamza joined in with a high-pitched tone. “Ji Uzair ji… par kyu?”
“Aapse pyaar ho gaya hai pehli nazar pe, Dhun ji,” Donga deepened his voice to mimic Uzair, placing his hand on his chest in mock love. “Aapka bhaiya nahi, saiya banna hai mujhe.”
“Ya Allah, Uzair ji! Ye kya bol rahe hai?” Hamza clutched his chest dramatically.
“Chup karo, lodu.” Uzair scowled, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
“Ya Allah! Uzair bhai — mera matlab Uzair ji — aise aurton ke saamne gaaliyan na de. Thoda sa toh lihaaz kar.” Hamza chimed, enjoying his friend’s suffering.
“Maafi, Dhun ji, bhavnaon mein beh gaya tha. Woh kya hai na, aapse pehli nazar pe pyaar ho gaya.” Siyahi cleared his throat and joined in the fun. “Par main maanu na.”
“Oi chup karo, behen ke—!” Uzair hit the brakes. His eyes were now wide while his cheeks burned tomato red. “Aisa kuch nahi hai… gadhe log.”
Yet a few days passed, and Hamza had had enough. “Aisa kuch nahi hai? Toh hum kyu roz aa rahe hain idhar, Uzair?”
He groaned, munching on a samosa begrudgingly. Sure, it was delicious, but his taste buds could only eat the same thing for so long. And it was the fifteenth time he was eating samosas made by the same person, with the same taste.
“Roz roz kahan, lodu?” Uzair asked, sipping a second cup of chai at Dhun ki Dukaan.
“7th ko aaye, phir 8th, 9th, 10th, phir 11th ko rally thi toh nahi aaye the, phir 12th…”
“Haan toh roz toh nahi aaye na…” Uzair replied, waving his hand.
Hamza shot him a look so flat it could have ironed Uzair’s pathani kurta. His eyes narrowed, lips pressed in a straight line, every ounce of disbelief and exasperation written clear across his face.
And that’s when she entered, holding a takeaway package. Dhun’s blush had disappeared the moment their total bill reached 10k, which was five days ago. At first, it was just Uzair, Hamza, Siyahi, Donga, and two other men whose names she didn’t care enough to learn.
But a few days in, a group of men started coming in the evening, demanding free food as they were part of Rehman’s gang too. Uzair’s long-ass lashes no longer turned her on but, on the contrary, turned her off.
'Saale aaj bhi aa gaye muft khana khane ke liye, bhookad saale. Rehman Dakait ke bhai na hote toh maa kasam, gala ghot deti ek ek ka!’ She thought to herself as she handed over the sandwiches Uzair wanted to carry for his nephews.
Fifteen thousand and five hundred, she mentally added to the tally, cursing her fate.
And to top it off — “Iss mahine ke wasooli ki rakam bhi leni thi, Dhun ji.” Siyahi’s voice shook her out of her thoughts.
“Ji, ek minute, laayi.” She nodded, heading inside while her mind went: kamine, kha kha ke kangaal toh kar diya, ab wasooli ke paise bhi chahiye inhe. Saalo, itna bhi nahi darao ki dar hi khatam ho jaye. Ye bhi nahi sikhaya tumhe gundagiri ki school mein.
What she missed was Uzair shooting Siyahi a hard glare, his voice low but sharp as he scolded him for asking Dhun for recovery money. “Tujhe sharam nahi aati? Ladki ki haalat dekhi hai? Dukaan chalana asaan nahi hai, aur tu wasooli ki baat kar raha hai?” Uzair muttered.
Meanwhile, outside the kitchen, Dhun, unaware of Uzair’s defence, counted the notes in her apron and returned with the payment. “Ye lijiye,” she handed the money to Siyahi.
Siyahi counted the notes one by one, once and then again. “Uzair bhai, ismein toh 1000 kam hai…”
The drive back home was quieter than usual. The sun had dipped behind Lyari’s rooftops. “Oi Hamzey! Tujhe kya lagta hai? Dhun ji ko main pasand hu?” Uzair asked suddenly.
“Uzair, agar tu uske yahan itna kharcha karega aur paise bhi na de, toh kaunsi ladki tere pyaar mein padne waali hai!?” Hamza asked, genuinely frustrated with his himbo of a friend.
“Toh kya karu? Tune Yalina ko kaise pataya tha? Kuch tips toh de,” Uzair asked desperately. Because while he had been giving her heart eyes every day, he could feel her eyes growing more katilaana as the days passed.
“Ok, toh tu usko date pe le jaa. Tere irade kya hain, woh bataa use.”
So on the 19th, Uzair decided to finally ask her out.
“Dhun ji… aap aaj shaam Karim chacha ke yahan mere saath chai peene chalengi?”
CHAI!??? Saale, 30 litre chai piyi hogi mere haathon ki aur… control, Dhun, control. She calmed herself, recalling what her guruji had taught her.
She crossed her arms, clearly annoyed by this himbo. “Kyu? Aapko hamare yahan ki chai pasand nahi hai!?”
“Nahi nahi, aap toh bura maan gayi — mera woh matlab nahi tha!?” Uzair immediately defended himself, not expecting his plan to backfire.
But before she could reply, Omar screamed. “Didi!!! Ye chai dekhona, dance kar rahi hai!!!!!!”
She rushed inside only to witness the chai overflowing. She quickly took it off the gas and breathed heavily. And just when Dhun thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse, fate proved her wrong. Her phone buzzed loudly on the counter, slicing through her mounting frustration… it was the landlord.
“As-salamu alaykum, Salim chacha.”
“Wa alaikum assalam, beta. Iss mahine ka kiraya kab dene ka iraada hai?”
“Salim chacha, bas thode din aur,” she begged.
“Beta, main tere halaat samajhta hu, par mujhe bhi toh meri beti ki padhai ke liye paise chahiye.”
“Ji, Salim chacha. Mujhe bas aap 3 din dijiye, main aapko interest ke saath poora kiraya de dungi.”
“Thik hai, beta, par sirf 3 din.”
The pressure whistle in her head finally blew. She didn’t want to go to this extreme, but the reason she was going broke laughed outside while she cried in the kitchen.
It was all too much. It was her kindness and respect that allowed them these many days to step inside the shop and eat all they could without paying a single dime. But what happened to basic civic sense, the sense of humanity and morality to pay for things?
On impulse, she grabbed the bottle of Julaab ki Goli and crushed it into fine powder before adding it to the sandwich chutney. She served the platters and relaxed internally, watching them devour everything within minutes.
At night, she struggled to sleep as guilt weighed heavily on her chest. She switched on the light and searched through the trash can for the bottle.
“Contains 40 pills…” Her brain went flatline as she realised the gravity of what she had done. She had mixed all forty laxatives into the chutney she’d served to Rehman’s gang. Her stomach dropped. What had she done? Panic surged through her veins. She rushed to the bed and shook Omar awake.
“Omar, uth, jaldi. Tera bag pack kar, hum chacha ke ghar ja rahe hain. Rawalpindi ki bus abhi 20 minute mein niklegi, chal uth.”
Omar blinked, disoriented, rubbing his eyes as Dhun hurriedly stuffed their belongings into a bag. She couldn’t let her stupid, reckless impulse destroy the only thing that mattered.
“Omar, ye le bag aur chal.” She handed him the bag and opened the door — she swung it open and froze. Two men stood there. Before she could react, they grabbed them both. Omar was yanked from behind her, and within seconds, they were shoved into a jeep. The engine roared to life.
No one spoke. Ten minutes later, the jeep rolled to a stop.
Baloch Haveli.
She glanced around the magnificent building, then quickly covered her nose with her dupatta. The place looked beautiful but smelled like… shit. Literal shit. Omar grabbed her dupatta too, to cover his nose.
The scent of flowers neatly arranged in makeshift pots was overpowered by the human smell of farts and stool, obvious signs of an upset stomach, correction, upset stomachs.
She spotted a few men she recognised clutching their stomachs. A few had sprawled on the ground, too tired to get up.
And there he was. Sher-e-Baloch. Standing at the entrance with a mask covering his face, while his wife sprayed air freshener around the house.
“Rehman bhai, yahi hai… jiske yahan se yeh log kha ke aaye the.” His eyes sharpened as they landed on her. He tilted his head, gesturing for her to come inside. Dhun stepped forward, gripping Omar’s hand like a vice.
“Kaunsi gang ke liye kaam karti hai tu?” Rehman’s voice was cold. “Arshad Pappu? Ya seedha police ke liye?”
“Kisi ke liye nahi, Rehman bhai.” She answered, pulling Omar protectively behind her.
“Maine koi zeher nahi daala,” she answered, quickly. “Aapke saath dagabaazi kaise kar sakti hoon, Rehman bhai?”
“Toh yeh bata… mere bees aadmiyon ki yeh haalat kyu hai?”
A pause. She took a deep breath. Maybe if she told the truth, Omar would survive. “Kyunki… maine Julaab ki Goliyan daali thi chutney mein.”
Rehman’s expression hardened instantly. He lifted his gun, ready to shoot. Dhun closed her eyes. She was prepared to die. Death means no responsibility, no bills, no phone calls from the landlord.
And just then, Uzair stumbled in, clutching his stomach. “Bhai — bhai, yeh kya kar rahe hain!?” he winced. “Dhun ji? Aap yahan? Kya ho gaya?”
Rehman didn’t break his deadly gaze from her. “Isne tumhare khaane mein julaab daala hai. Issi liye yeh haalat hai tum sabki.”
“Ji kya!?” Uzair stared at her, shocked. “Dhun ji, kya yeh sach hai? Aapne aisa kyu kiya?”
“Kyunki tum log mujhe kangaal kar rahe ho!” Her voice finally cracked, but she didn’t back down. “Maanti hoon, 40 goliyan zyada thi… par main kya karti, Rehman bhai?” She quickly pulled out a folded paper. “Aapke aadmi muft mein khaate hain. Yeh dekhiye, bill.” Her hands trembled slightly as she handed it over.
Rehman glanced at it, then frowned. “20 hazaar?! ” He looked up sharply. “Tum log kya kha rahe ho aisa!? Aklaq theek se khana nahi banata kya?”
“Arey Dhun ji, 20 hazaar kaise…?” Uzair started.
“Kaise nahi?” she shot back. “Ye pack kardo, woh pack kar do — aur roz shaam ko 10–10 log aate hain aapke naam pe! Aap hi bataiye, main ghar kaise chalaun?”
Her voice grew steadier with every word. “Mere chacha beemar hain. Dukaan ka kiraya dena hota hai. Saaman khareedne ke paise alag… aur upar se aapke log mujhse wasooli bhi lete hain!”
“Yeh kya hai, Uzair? Yeh sab toh nahi sikhaya ki kissi ki rozzi roti hi tu chin le.” Rehman looked straight at Uzair now, Disappointment laced in his words.
Uzair looked genuinely shaken. “Bhai… maine poocha tha inse. Inhone hi mana kar diya.”
“Toh main kaise kehti?” Dhun snapped. “Aapke dost khud bolte hain — 'Rehman bhai se paise kaise le sakti ho?’”
“Arey toh—”
“Bas!” Rehman’s voice thundered. “Dono chup. Ekdam chup.” He rubbed his forehead.
The room fell silent. He turned to Uzair. “Tijori se 30 hazaar nikaal. Aur isse maafi maang.”
Uzair hesitated. “Bhai…”
Rehman’s gaze hardened. “Abhi.”
“Aur yeh bata,” Rehman’s voice cut through the silence again, now edged with irritation, “Itni baar iske yahan jaate ho… sharam nahi aati? Kam se kam wasooli ke paise toh chod dete. Itna accha khana banati hai ki baar baar muh utha ke aa jaate ho? Kabhi mere liye bhi parcel le aata.”
“Bhai…” But Uzair was cut off once again.
“Arey bhai…” Hamza suddenly cut in, unable to hold back. “Woh toh Uzair ka dil aa gaya hai Dhun ji pe.”
Dhun stood there, stunned, watching the men interact while the nerves in her mind short-circuited. He has feelings for me, too?
“Kya bakwaas bol rahe ho tum!?” Uzair snapped instantly, shooting him a glare.
Hamza just smirked and nudged him. Uzair clenched his jaw… then looked at Dhun. It was now or never.
A collab between me and Meri Mallika (@peonies7002) The first chapter of the story will be reposted by her soon for those who haven't read it yet. This chapter is written by me, and Y'ALL, I HOPE IT'S GOOD; WRITING FOR UZAIR FOR THE FIRST TIME!! Thank you so much, Ami, for trusting me!! Also phone is dead, so couldn't make a banner :(
Dhun slept with guilt that night, tossing and turning at the image of Uzair clutching his stomach. Although the smell of the Baloch haveli was putrid — a direct consequence of her mixing laxatives — she couldn't help but feel sorry for Rehman bhai.
She should have gone to Rehman bhai and complained to him instead of making an impulsive decision. At least she was saved from having bullets in her fate.
The shop ran smoothly after the incident. No rumour of her being the mastermind behind the collapse of Rehman's gang in the washrooms spread, by Rehman's grace. Regulars came and left, and the scent of spices wafted throughout the shop while it bubbled hot in the kitchen with the cooking.
She paid the rent, the outstanding amount for inventory purchases, and the other bills that kept piling up on her desk. Rehman had returned her wasooli as well. She accepted it with a heavy heart, seeing Rehman ashamed of his cousin and his gang's actions of freeloading.
Despite Uzair's confession, Dhun's breath hitched and her heart skipped a beat at that confession replaying — she had acted indifferent and simply walked away with Omar on her tail, Rehman's gruff voice cajoling Uzair fading away, even though her heart had confessed back with its inconsistent thudding.
It was three days later when Uzair came to the shop. She almost missed their presence; it was muscle memory, autopilot, to peek from the kitchen and see a group of mountainous men calling her out, "Dhun ji!"
He looked like a nervous little puppy that had been kicked, scratching his neck with eyes downcast, stuttering and mumbling to himself.
She shook her head fondly, the annoyance for them dissipating into mere mist. "Milkshake chahiye? Julaab nahi milaya usme."
He barked out a laugh, hiding his face behind his palm nonchalantly, trying to conceal the smile that kept breaking through. A long silence passed between them. Uzair opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand and stopped him. "Kuch der mein shop band hogi. Tab baat karenge."
He nodded in understanding. "I will wait here then."
He stayed true to his word, waited until the customers left one by one and he was the only soul remaining. Dhun came out with a plate of steaming samosas and a milkshake, settling the plate in front of him wordlessly.
She took the seat opposite him. Suddenly, all the bravery and boldness that had caused her to nearly poison half of Rehman's gang evaporated into the air, and in its place remained a girl who had feelings for the gangster in front of her.
"Dhun ji… mujhe aapse maafi maangni hai — meri aur mere gang ki harkaton ke liye. Mera kabhi irada nahi tha ki main aapko chot pahunchaoon, main toh sapne mein bhi aisa soch nahi sakta. Mujhe uss din paise de dene chahiye the, lekin —"
"Uss mote ne woh baat keh di thi," she interrupted. "Pata hai. Tab main aapse paise maang bhi nahi sakti thi. Kuch din tak toh sab theek tha, lekin phir aur log Rehman bhai ka naam leke muft khana maangne lage. Aur Siyahi ne wasooli ke mamle mein bilkul bhi aankh band nahi ki. Mujhe roz zamindaar ke phone aane lage, aur mere chacha ke medical bills bhi aasman chhoo rahe the."
He looked ashamed, a red flush spreading across his face as he refused to meet her eyes. It certainly had taken a lot for her to get over it — the most being Rehman asking for her forgiveness and all those men suffering through the laxatives.
To be honest, she didn't regret the julaab idea. In fact, she loved it. She just felt a little guilty — mostly for Uzair and Hamza. The others could rot for all she cared. Especially Donga and Siyahi — they deserved it.
Oh, she missed the look on Donga's face after that. She could imagine him running rounds to the washroom and collapsing at the end. Siyahi must have regretted asking for that wasooli.
"Waise… shukriya. Aapne uss din mujhe Rehman bhai se bacha liya tha — even after jo aapne kiya," Dhun thanked.
They didn't acknowledge the confession that had happened. It wasn't as if she chose to ignore it like it never happened. They simply lived without it lingering in the air. But something in the air did change after Uzair's apology.
Uzair frequently visited the shop — sometimes as a customer. Other times, he followed her like a puppy into the kitchen, towering over her unintentionally in the cramped space, leaning over her shoulder and watching with intense focus as she showed him how to make the best samosas without them looking like deformed momos.
"So you tuck the edges like that?" he asked, his breath warm against her neck. Thank god Omar was not present — some birthday party, he had claimed. The customers had all left hours ago. Why was she even teaching Uzair Baloch, the feared Baloch gangster, how to make sandwiches and samosas?
"Yeah, it gives that crispy edge. Also," she turned around, eyes narrowed. "Don't you have any work to do? You know, gangster work?"
"Aaj meri chutti hai, Rehman bhai ne mujhe chhutti di hai." No, he did not. He had a ton of work waiting for him, Rehman's wrath waiting at the entrance of the haveli with a Kalashnikov in hand.
Dhun knew it too — that Uzair deliberately lied about free time and buzzed around in her shop. Days turned into weeks. When he didn't come to the shop, it almost felt empty, as though something vital was missing from it.
Uzair's beard tickled the soft lobe of her ear, his presence much more domineering as she felt him impossibly close to her body. The warmth of their bodies mingled, hers fitting perfectly against Uzair's.
She closed her eyes, the dough lying forgotten on the countertop before her — she leaned back, resting her head against his chest while his lips found solace in her neck. His nose brushed the planes of her neck, watching her veins pulse, while his lips pressed soft, feather-light kisses when —
"Uzair bhai, Rehman bhai aapko bula rahe hain — AH MAINE KUCH NAHI DEKHA!" Donga crashed into the table, stumbling with his aviator glasses and turning away at the sight of Dhun and Uzair in the kitchen, the door of which was unfortunately open.
They immediately broke apart — Uzair crashing against the wall and reading the labels as if they made perfect sense, while Dhun began rolling out the dough, acting nonchalant with a huge blush on her face.
"Uh, kya hai?!" Uzair demanded.
"Rehman bhai aapko bula rahe hain… Unhe kuch chahiye tha. Lekin aap yahan busy hain —"
Dhun began coughing loudly.
"Haan, main aata hoon. Tu ja!" Uzair shooed him away, as though Donga were a nosy little cat. He stood there, embarrassed, red spreading across his face.
"Uh… Rehman bhai ko aapki zarurat hai," Dhun reminded him, with a shy smile. "Didn't you say Rehman bhai had given you a holiday?"
Uzair dashed out of the shop, Dhun's bright laughter fading into the distance as he rode off in his jeep — a sheepish smile on his face, the events replaying again and again until he turned impossibly red.
It was soon Hamza's wedding. Dhun had received the order to cater snacks for it, yet Hamza — the groom, the man of the hour — was stuck in the huge kitchen, wrapping samosa filling into the dough wrappers.
"Kamal hai, dulha main hoon, walima mera hai kuch ghanton mein, aur mere hi haath se kaam karva rahe hain," he muttered, shoving the potato stuffing in a little aggressively.
"Mera yaar hai tu, ek bhai ki help bhi nahi kar sakta?" Uzair persuaded, pulling the 'brother' card. "Dekho woh kitna kaam kar rahi hain. Dhun ji's shoulders must hurt."
Hamza's gaze darted toward Dhun, who was… indeed working very hard. At screaming orders at the workers. "SANDWICH AISI BANTI HAI? THEEK SE TOAST KAR!"
"Haan. Bohut mehnat kar rahi hai," Hamza deadpanned. Uzair nudged him, gesturing for him to cooperate.
If it weren't for the lingering guilt of eating free at Dhun's shop and the begrudging love he had for Uzair as a brother, he would not have volunteered.
"Hamza bhai, kya Yalina ji ko sandwich pasand hai? Main aapke haathon ka sandwich unhe khilaaungi," Dhun asked hamza, leaning over him from behind.
"Ji. Unhe pasand hai — theeka bhi ho toh kha leti hain," Hamza told her.
"Chalo, toh aap woh sandwich arrange kardo, main samosas dekh leti hoon." She left, barking orders at the other workers, leaving Hamza and Uzair dumfounded.
"Bhai yeh kya torture hai!" Hamza exclaimed.
"Hamze… dil hai woh mera, kuch waqt ke liye seh le —" Uzair pleaded, with puppy dog eyes.
HELLO EVERYONE. SO I HAVE TO ASK YOU GUYS SOMETHING!!
I have started writing gods and monsters as well, so no worries about it being like abandoned OR EVEN TUMSE MILKELMAO.
They will be updated, but Operation Amrit will have a bit more regular updates. I will be updating the collab between me and @peonies7002 tomorrow; so excited FOR THAT!!
But I want to ask you guys as well, uh, what do you guys want next?
ALSO TURN ON THE BELL SYMBOL (why do i sound like a youtuber lol) SO YOU WILL BE NOTIFIED WHEN I POST BECAUSE I MIGHT MISS FEW TAGS. I'M SORRY AGAIN AHHHHHHHHH
