𝓐𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓻-𝓮-𝓜𝓸𝓱𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓪𝓽 chapter 8
Five months bled into one another, changing the atmosphere on Baloch haveli into a heavy, permanent silence. The seasons shifted, and with them, Uzair’s body changed, carrying the undeniable weight of a six-month pregnancy now. The neat, loose-fitting kurtas he wore could no longer hide the prominent, round curve of his stomach. Yet, his stubborn, unyielding pride remained as unbroken as the day he was cast out.
Every single morning, the halls of the haveli witnessed the exact same struggle.
"Uzair! baith ja!" Ulfat’s voice would echo through the corridors, sharp with a mix of anger and desperate pleading. "Tujhe samajh nahi aati? Is haalat mein tu jhadu uthayega?!"
"Bhabhi, mujhe bees hazar tankhwah milti hai is ghar se," Uzair would reply, his voice flat, completely detached as he forced his aching body to bend down, "Main yahan haram ka khane nahi aya. Agar main kaam nahi karunga, toh main yeh paisay nahi loonga."
No matter how much Ulfat scolded, cried, or begged, Uzair refused to sit idle. He would dust the high shelves, wipe the long dining table, and fold the laundry, working until his ankles swelled and his breath came in exhausted pants.
But throughout those five long months, the most brutal punishment Uzair inflicted wasn't his hard labor—it was his absolute, terrifying silence.
He didn't speak a single word to Rehman Baloch. He didn't speak a single word to Hamza Ali Mazari Baloch.
The two most powerful men in the haveli had been reduced to desperate shadows in their own home. Every day, Rehman would purposely sit in the lounge when Uzair was cleaning, clearing his throat, trying to find a reason any reason—to initiate a conversation.
"Uzair... woh, gufaar se keh kar naye kambal mangwaye hain... dekh lena agar pasand aayein," Rehman would try, his commanding voice now pleading for a crumb of acknowledgement.
Uzair wouldn't even flinch. His hollow eyes would scan every single corner of the room, tracking the dust on the grand arches, looking at the floor, looking at the walls—but his gaze would glide right over Rehman as if were made of thin air.
It was even worse for Hamza. Hamza lived in a perpetual state of living death. He would leave small glasses of saffron milk on the counters, put comfortable cushions on the chairs Uzair frequenting, and leave vitamins where he could see them.
"Uzair... thoda sa paani pee lo, garmi zyaada hai bahar," Hamza would whisper, stepping into Uzair’s path, his eyes begging for a single look, a single angry scream, anything but the void.
But Uzair’s eyes would land on the glass, land on the door, land on the floorboards—never once rising to meet Hamza’s face. He had erased them both from his reality while living under the exact same roof.
The battle for his prenatal check-ups had been the most brutal. In the first month, Hamza had tried every single thing in his power to accompany him. He had begged, he had blocked the doorway, he had wept by the car doors, pleading, "Uzair, please mujhe chalne do. Main baahar khada rahoonga, main andar nahi aaunga."
But Uzair had refused. He would rather walk out of the haveli gates in his weakened state than let Hamza play the part of a father now.
In those early weeks, Uzair had stubbornly tried to leave the haveli on foot to take the dusty, crowded public buses to the hospital. The mere thought of it had driven the household into a frenzy. Ulfat had broken down completely. She had run after him on the dirt road, grabbing his arm and weeping in front of the guards. "Uzu, main tere aage haath jodti hoon, bacha! Agar tu public bus mein gaya toh main apni jaan de doongi! Chala ja is ghar se, par mere saamne apne aap ko mat mita!"
Seeing his Bhabhi—the woman who was more like his mother—begging on the road, Uzair's resolve had finally cracked. He had let it go. He surrendered, but on one absolute condition: neither Hamza nor Rehman would ever be in the vehicle.
From that first month onward, every single monthly check-up followed a strict, silent routine. There were no public buses. Ulfat would sit beside Uzair in the back seat of the comfortable, air-conditioned car, shielding him from the world. Ulfat would hold his hand during the smooth drives, watching him stare blankly out the window, his large palm resting protectively over the heavy bump beneath his loose kurta—carrying a child whose father was mere rooms away, yet worlds apart.
The haveli was quiet, save for the ticking of the antique grandfather clock tracking the minutes toward his six-month check-up appointment.
Uzair sat quietly on the edge of the plush sofa, his large, distinct bump straining beautifully against his loose, pale blue cotton kurta. He looked fragile yet incredibly grounded. Clutched tightly in his hands was a thick, leather-bound medical file containing all his scan reports. Beside him sat a bottle of water and a few small pieces of chocolate. The doctor and Ulfat had both strictly instructed him to eat something sweet twenty minutes before the ultrasound, explaining that the sudden burst of natural sugar would help the baby become active and move around for the monitor.
Uzair slowly unwrapped a piece of chocolate, his fingers trembling slightly as he popped it into his mouth. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the staircase, patiently waiting for Ulfat to come down so they could leave for the clinic.
A heavy rustle of fabric echoed from the upper landing.
Uzair looked up, expecting to see ulfat. But as Ulfat descended the stairs, his eyes instantly frosted over. Walking right behind her, their faces pale and etched with an intense, suffocating nervousness, were Rehman and Hamza.
Uzair’s entire body went rigid. His fingers clenched tightly around the edges of his medical file, his gaze immediately dropping to the floor, completely deleting the two men from his vision.
Ulfat stepped into the hallway, her expression deeply conflicted, her eyes shifting guiltily between Uzair and her husband. She swallowed hard, stepping closer to Uzair’s sofa, her voice coming out a little strained, a too rehearsed.
"Uzair... bacha," Ulfat started softly, fidgeting with the edge of her dupatta. "Woh... woh Rehman ki tabiyat thodi theek nahi hai aaj. Unhein subah se seene mein thoda dard ho raha hain, Toh... toh unhone kaha ke wo bhi hamare sath hi chalenge hospital. Thoda wo bhi apna check-up karwa lenge doctor ko dikha kar."
Uzair didn't say a word. He didn't even look up to see the visible tremor in Rehman’s hands as the older man stood a few paces back, looking completely ashamed of the lie they had constructed just to be near him.
Ulfat cleared her throat, her voice dropping into an even more hesitant, pleading tone as she pointed toward the driveway. "Aur bacha... aaj wo, driver nahi aaya hai. Wo chutti par hai. Toh... toh isliye Hamza gari chalayega. Hamza jayega hamare sath."
The silence that followed her words was deafening.
Hamza stood near the heavy wooden doors, his keys tightly gripped in his fist, his eyes locked onto Uzair with a desperate longing. He didn't dare speak. He knew the terms. He knew that the only way he and his older brother could even breathe the same air as Uzair during this milestone appointment was by hiding behind excuses and illnesses.
Uzair sat perfectly still for a long moment his breathing turning shallow but entirely controlled. He didn't throw a tantrum, he didn't argue, and he didn't demand to take a bus—he knew his Bhabhi’s heart would break if he did.
Instead, with a quiet dignity, Uzair braced his lower back with one hand and slowly pushed himself up from the sofa. Keeping his eyes strictly on the floor, bypassing the two men as if they were nothing but empty pillars in the hall, he walked toward the door.
"Chalein, Bhabhi?" Uzair whispered softly, his voice clear, calm, and utterly detached, cutting through the two brothers like a double-edged sword.
The doors of the SUV clicked shut, sealing the four of them into a suffocating, dense silence.
The arrangement was deliberate. Uzair sat in the back, his round bump safely nestled behind the passenger seat, with Ulfat sitting right beside him. In the front, Hamza’s large frame in the driver’s seat, Beside him sat Rehman, staring blankly out the windshield, his shoulders tense as he pretended to nurse the "chest pain" they had used as an excuse.
Hamza started the engine, the smooth purr of the car filling the quiet cabin. He adjusted the rearview mirror, his eyes instantly seeking out Uzair’s reflection.
Uzair, however, was entirely checked out. He didn't look up at the mirror once. With slow, methodical movements, his eyes fixed strictly on his own lap, he peeled back the silver foil of the chocolate. The doctor’s words echoed in his mind—sugar helps baby to get active.
Beside him, Ulfat tried to break the heavy tension by focusing on the medical reports. The rustle of paper was the only sound over the hum of the air conditioner.
"Uzu, teri pichli scan report kahan hai?" Ulfat asked softly, flipping through the thick leather-bound folder. "Mera khayal hai doctor ne is baar tere iron supplements badhane ko kaha tha. Aur yeh dekh... teri blood pressure ki readings toh theek hain na?"
Uzair swallowed the chocolate, his hand dropping down to gently stroke the side of his stomach. "Ji Bhabhi, woh neela wala page hai beech mein. Doctor ne kaha tha sab normal hai. Bas thoda peeth mein dard rehta hai."
At the mention of the back pain, Hamza’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again, a helplessness twisting his features. He subtly adjusted the car’s climate control, making the cabin a fraction warmer because he knew Uzair caught chills easily these days. He drove with extreme caution, navigating every speed bump and pothole as if he were carrying a cargo of fragile glass.
In the passenger seat, Rehman let out a low, slow breath, his eyes briefly closing in shame. He could hear the soft, detached tone of his little brother’s voice in the back. He wanted to turn around, to ask if the seating was comfortable, to offer a pillow—but the invisible wall Uzair had built around himself was impenetrable.
Uzair took another quiet bite of the chocolate, staring blankly out the side window at the passing trees, completely ignoring the two men in the front who were hanging onto his every breath.
The car pulled up smoothly right in front of the hospital’s main entrance. Hamza turned off the engine,
Uzair braced his hand against the door handle. With a slow, careful effort, he swung his legs out, holding his water bottle in one hand while his other hand instinctively cradled the heavy bump. Ulfat stepped out quickly from the other side, tucking Uzair’s thick medical file securely under her arm, her eyes instantly scanning his face for any signs of dizziness.
In the front, Rehman and Hamza stepped out of the vehicle almost simultaneously.
Ulfat gently placed her hand on Uzair’s lower back, guiding him through the sliding glass doors of the clinic.
"Aaram se, Uzu. Lambe saans le, bacha," Ulfat whispered softly, keeping her pace perfectly synced with his.
Hamza and Rehman followed from behind. They didn't walk beside them—they didn't dare to but they stayed close enough to act as a shield against the bustling hospital crowd. Hamza’s eyes never left the back of Uzair's head,
As they walked down the long, sterile corridor toward the obstetrician's cabin, Uzair’s breathing began to turn shallow. He could hear the heavy, familiar footsteps of Hamza and Rehman echoing right behind him.
The suffocating weight of their presence was pressing down on him, but he kept his head held high, on the small movements of the baby kicking against his ribs from the chocolate he had eaten.
Finally, they reached the he doctor’s nameplate.
Ulfat pushed the door open, turning her head slightly to look back at her husband and brother-in-law. Uzair stepped past her, entering the quiet, sunlit room where the ultrasound machine sat waiting.
But the moment Uzair’s foot crossed the door, Rehman and Hamza stopped in their tracks.
They froze right outside the doorway, their boots glued to the floor of the corridor. Hamza’s hand was halfway raised, his fingers trembling with a desperate urge to push the door wider, to step inside and see the monitor, to hear his child's heartbeat. Rehman stood right beside him, his face pale, his breath catching in his throat as he stared into the room.
They both knew the boundary.
For the past five months, Uzair had chosen a devastating, absolute silence. He hadn't acknowledged their existence, he hadn't looked them in the eyes, and he hadn't spoken a single word to them. He had tolerated their presence in the car because of Ulfat's tears. But both Rehman and Hamza knew that this room the sanctuary where his fragile medical reality was laid bare—was a line they could not cross.
They knew that if they took even one step over if they dared to intrude on his space while he lay vulnerable on that check-up bed, Uzair’s silence would shatter into a storm. He would not stay quiet. He would stand up, walk out, and destroy the peace they had desperately tried to maintain.
Slowly, Hamza lowered his hand, his head dropping as a bitter, silent tear slipped down his cheek. Rehman placed a trembling hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, pulling him back into the corridor shadows. They stood outside , forced to wait in the hallway.
Inside the quiet, softly lit room, the cool gel was applied to Uzair’s rounded stomach. The doctor moved the transducer smoothly across his skin, her eyes locked onto the black-and-white monitor displaying the faint, rhythmic pulse of the life growing inside him.
Ulfat stood right beside the bed, clutching the medical file against her chest, her eyes darting between the screen and the doctor’s face.
The doctor adjusted her glasses, clicking a few buttons to measure the baby's growth, and then she let out a long, heavy sigh. She wiped the gel from Uzair's stomach and pulled her stool closer, looking at him with a gaze full of deep concern.
"Uzair..." the doctor started, her voice gentle but firm. "dekhien... reports ke mutabiq child is absolutely okay. Bache ki growth bilkul sahi hai, aur dil ki dharkan bhi bohot majboot hai. Lekin..."
She paused, looking down at his charts before looking straight into Uzair’s hollow, tired eyes.
"Lekin aapki apni health condition bilkul theek nahi hai. Your body is under immense stress. Yeh jo depression aur khamoshi aap jhel rahe hain na, yeh is stage par bohot khatarank hai. Aapka blood pressure bar bar fluctuat kar raha hai, aur aapka weight jitna barhna chahiye tha, nahi barha."
Uzair kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his fingers weakly pulling down his kurta over his stomach,
The doctor sighed again, turning to look at Ulfat before addressing Uzair directly. "Main aapko medicines de sakti hoon, vitamins de sakti hoon... par wo is cheez ka ilaaj nahi hain. This is a very sensitive phase. Your body is asking for peace. You need your husband's support right now. Aapko is waqt unke sath waqt guzarna chahiye, baat karni chahiye... you need to be pampered by him Agar aap yunhi andar hi andar khud ko khatam karte rahenge, toh delivery ke waqt bohot complications ho sakti hain."
Ulfat closed her eyes as the doctor's words cut through her like a knife, knowing that the "husband" the doctor was talking about was standing just inches away, separated only by a door, completely barred from touching or comforting the boy who was wasting away in silence.
Uzair didn't say a word. He slowly turned his head away, staring blankly at the wall, a single, silent tear slipping from the corner of his eye and dampening the pillow underneath him, his heart heavy with a loneliness that no medicine could ever cure.
The door opened with a soft click, and Uzair stepped out into the sterile corridor, his hand resting under his bump for support.
Rehman and Hamza snapped to attention instantly Hamza’s eyes desperately searched Uzair’s face, trying to read the outcome of the scan, but Uzair kept his head down, completely bypassing them as he walked toward the pharmacy counter.
Ulfat followed closely behind, her mind racing with the doctor's warnings about Uzair's health and depression. She stopped at the desk, handing over the prescription. "Aap yeh medicines nikal dein," she told the pharmacist, her voice quiet.
While the clerk began gathering the iron supplements and vitamins, the hospital administrator printed out the invoice for the consultation, the ultrasound, and the medication.
"Sir, total bill fifteen thousand rupees," the receptionist announced, looking at the group.
The moment the amount was spoken, Uzair reached into the pocket of his cotton kurta. With trembling but determined fingers, he pulled out his own wallet. Inside was the hard-earned salary he had saved, every rupee earned through the grueling manual labor he forced himself to do at the haveli. He counted out the crisp notes, stepping forward to hand them to the receptionist. He refused to let this child be an expense on the Baloch name.
But before his hand could reach the counter, two leather wallets cleared from the front.
Hamza stepped in, his large frame practically shielding Uzair from the counter as he put his credit card toward the receptionist. "Mera card lein," Hamza commanded, his voice thick with a desperate, aggressive urgency. This was his child, his family, and the thought of Uzair paying for his own prenatal care with servant’s wages tore at his soul.
Simultaneously, Rehman’s hand appeared over Hamza's shoulder, holding his own premium card "Nahi, mera card lagao," Rehman insisted .
The receptionist looked back and forth between the two men and the pregnant boy, completely bewildered by the sudden tension.
Uzair froze, his outstretched hand holding the paper money remaining suspended in the air. The invisible wall around him seemed to hum with a sudden, freezing vibration as he stared at the two cards, Before Uzair could even voice his protest, the receptionist, intimidated by Rehman’s towering stature and commanding aura, quickly took the card and swiped it through the machine. The transaction cleared with a sharp, sterile beep.
Uzair slowly lowered his hand. He folded his paper currency back into a tight roll, his face completely devoid of expression. Without a single word, he turned and walked straight out of the hospital doors toward the car.
During the entire drive back to the haveli, the silence in the SUV was heavier than before. Yet, beneath that silence, a dangerous spark of hope had ignited in the front seat. Both Rehman and Hamza stole glances at the rearview mirror. For the past five months, Uzair had violently rejected every single thing they offered. The fact that he hadn't thrown a tantrum, hadn't demanded the transaction be reversed, and had quietly let Rehman pay made them believe, even if just a little, that the ice was finally melting. They thought he was finally accepting their support.
When the car pulled into the haveli driveway, Uzair stepped out quietly and walked inside.
Ulfat immediately sat down on the main sofa, spreading the medical files and the newly bought boxes of vitamins and iron supplements across the glass table. "Mujhe dekhne de, doctor ne kaunsi goli khane ke baad kahi thi" she murmured, completely absorbed in reading the prescription.
Uzair stood near the edge of the carpet. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crisp roll of cash—exactly fifteen thousand rupees, his entire savings from the months of grueling work
Rehman and Hamza walked into the hallroom right behind him, their faces carrying a faint, rare trace of relief.
But that relief vanished in a heartbeat.
Uzair didn't look at Hamza. With slow, deliberate steps, his eyes fixed entirely on his target, he walked straight up to Rehman Baloch.
Rehman froze, his breath catching in his throat as his little brother stopped mere inches away from him. For a split second, Rehman’s heart hammered with hope, thinking Uzair was finally going to look at him, perhaps even speak to him.
Instead, Uzair reached out. he took Rehman’s right hand and forced it open. He placed the heavy roll of cash directly into Rehman’s palm, wrapping the older man's fingers around the money with an unyielding, freezing strength.
"Mera bojh... aur mere bache ka bojh... is haveli par udhaar nahi rahega" Uzair whispered, his voice a lethal, deadpan rasp that vibrated through the quiet hall.
He didn't wait for a response. He didn't look at the absolute horror and shattering grief that instantly broke across Rehman’s face, nor did he look at Hamza, who stood frozen in the doorway Leaving rehman holding the blood-earned cash of a servant, Uzair turned his back on them and walked away toward his room, his dignity entirely unbroken.
The heavy, suffocating tension inside the haveli reached its peak as evening approached. The hallway was dead quiet, save for the nervous shifting of feet. Today was the day. After months of legal separation, Yalina was coming to the haveli to finalise the divorce that she and Hamza had mutually applied for. Today, the final papers would be signed
Hamza and Rehman sat on the grand sofa in the center of the hall, a thick leather folder containing the legal documents resting on the glass table before them. Both men looked completely drained, their eyes fixed anxiously on the entrance.
At the same time, Uzair slowly stepped out of his bedroom on the upper floor. His lower back throbbed with a dull, heavy ache, and his bump weighed heavily against his loose kurta. He didn't want to be a part of whatever was happening downstairs, but he needed a warm cup of herbal tea to settle his constant evening nausea. Bracing one hand against the polished wooden banister, he began his slow, careful descent toward the kitchen, where Ulfat was already busy preparing the evening trays.
Just as Uzair reached the bottom steps, the heavy double doors of the haveli swung open.
Yalina stepped into the hallway. But she wasn't alone. Walking in right behind her, his posture protective and his face serious, was Jameel Jamali.
The moment Yalina’s eyes scanned the room, she didn't look at Hamza, and she didn't look at Rehman. Her gaze landed instantly on Uzair, who was standing frozen near the base of the staircase, his hand resting protectively over his prominent bump.
A gasp of pure emotion escaped Yalina's lips. Forgetting the lawyers, the papers, and the heavy presence of the men, she ran straight past the sofas. She closed the distance between them and gently, carefully wrapped her arms around Uzair, burying her face against his shoulder.
"Uzair bhai! Kaise ho aap?" Yalina said softly trembling with genuine warmth and concern as she pulled back slightly to look at his pale, tired face. "Apna khayal nahi rakh rahe aap? Dekhiye kitne kamzor ho gaye hain!"
Uzair felt a sudden, rare warmth bloom in his chest at her genuine embrace. Carefully, ensuring the heavy weight of his bump wasn't pressed or strained against her, he wrapped his arms back around Yalina, hugging her back
"Main theek hoon... tum kaisi ho?" Uzair whispered softly, his voice cracking slightly with an emotion he had suppressed for far too long.
Hearing the soft, gentle tone of Uzair’s voice—a tone that had been completely dead to the rest of the house sent a sharp, physical pang right through Hamza’s heart. Hamza watched them from the sofa, his fingers digging into his own knees, his chest burning with a devastating mix of relief to see Uzair smiling, and absolute agony that it wasn't because of him. He would have given up his entire life just to hear Uzair speak to him with that same softness.
Yalina pulled back slowly, keeping her hands gently resting on Uzair’s arms, her eyes scanning his face before dropping to the prominent, round shape beneath his kurta.
"Main bilkul theek hoon, Uzair bhai," Yalina said, "Aapko dekhne aayi thi... aur bas aaj is purane bojh ko hamesha ke liye khatam karne aayi hoon." She subtly turned her head, her gaze hardening as she finally looked toward the center of the room where Hamza and Rehman sat like statues. Jameel Jamali stepped up from behind her, his face serious, placing a protective hand on the small of Yalina's back
The papers were already laid out on the heavy glass table. Yalina had walked straight over to it, picked up the pen without a single second of hesitation, and firmly scratched her signature across the lines. The legal tie was severed.
Now, it was Hamza’s turn. He sat with his head bowed as he signed his own name, officially ending the marriage that had caused so much wreckage. Once the signatures were done, the atmosphere in the center of the room shifted into a tense, professional stiffness. Jameel Jamali stepped forward, joining Rehman and Hamza near the grand desk. The three men began speaking in low, serious murmurs, discussing the final legal handovers, property divisions, and the official court filings.
But on the plush sofas across the hallway, a completely different world was unfolding.
Yalina had completely ignored the men. She sat right beside Uzair, her face glowing with excitement and warmth, talking non-stop. Being a doctor herself, she didn't possess the awkward hesitation the rest of the family had; she knew exactly what Uzair’s body was going through.
"Mujhe sach-sach bataiye, Uzair bhai, aap apna khayal bilkul nahi rakh rahe na?" Yalina said, her voice a comforting, lively buzz in the quiet room. "Khaane mein kya pasand aa raha hai aaj kal? Any weird late-night cravings? Meetha khane ka dil karta hai ya khatta?"
Uzair felt a genuine, small smile touch his lips for the first time in five months. "Bas... thoda chocolate pasand aane laga hai aaj kal," he murmured softly, his hand resting on his large bump.
"I knew it!" Yalina laughed softly, her eyes shining. "Aur iski movements? Kicks bohot strong hain na? Six months ke baad toh yeh raat ko sone bhi nahi deta hoga. Jab aap let-te hain, tab yeh zyada active hota hai, haina?"
Ulfat sat right beside them, a huge wave of relief washing over her face as she watched Uzair actually open up and speak. She reached down to the floor and lifted a beautifully wrapped shopping bag she had kept hidden.
"Uzu, dekh Yalina tere liye kya laayi hai," Ulfat said, Yalina eagerly pulled out the contents small, incredibly soft cotton baby clothes in pastel yellows and pure whites, along with tiny woolen socks and baby mittens. "Main ek medical conference ke liye baahir gayi thi, toh mujhe yeh dikh gaye. Main khud ko rok hi nahi paayi, Uzair bhai. Yeh sab is chote mehmaan ke liye hain."
Uzair’s eyes softened completely as he looked at the tiny clothes. He picked up a pair of the small white mittens, his fingers gently brushing against the soft fabric.
Across the room, the low murmur of the men's conversation suddenly faltered. Hamza had completely lost track of what Jameel Jamali was saying. His eyes were locked onto the sight of Uzair holding those tiny baby clothes. Seeing his child's clothing in Uzair's hands, and hearing the soft, beautiful sound of Uzair actually talking about the baby's kicks, tore Hamza's soul to pieces. He stood there, trapped in his conversation, desperately wishing he had the right to sit at that sofa and hold those tiny socks alongside him.
The doors of the haveli finally clicked shut as Jameel and Yalina left, the warmth of Yalina’s parting hugs still lingering faintly in the cold hallway. Uzair stood near the base of the staircase for a moment, his fingers lightly gripping the soft cotton of the tiny baby mittens Yalina had gifted him.
The brief flash of happiness vanished from his face, replaced instantly by the familiar, exhausting numbness. Supporting his heavy, bump with one hand and holding the shopping bag in the other, Uzair turned toward the stairs, intending to bury himself back in the safety of his quiet bedroom.
As Uzair’s bare foot touched the first marble step, Rehman cleared his throat. His voice was incredibly low, shaking with an intense hesitation, unsure if he even had the right to utter the words.
"Ulfat..." Rehman spoke quietly, his eyes fixed on the floor, though his words were meant for the entire room. "Ab... ab Yalina aur Hamza ka rishta toh hamesha ke liye khatam ho gaya hai. Mera khayal hai... ab humein Hamza aur Uzair ka nikah kar dena chahiye. Bache ko apna naam milna chahiye."
The silence that instantly blanketed the hallway was terrifying.
Hamza’s head snapped up, his breath catching in his throat, his heart slamming against his ribs as he stared at his older brother. Ulfat froze near the sofa, Uzair stopped dead in his tracks.
His foot hovered over the second step for a long, agonizing second. Slowly, with a chilling, mechanical precision, Uzair turned his body around. His eyes, which had been so soft and gentle just minutes ago with Yalina, were now completely vacant—hollow, piercing, and freezing cold.
He didn't look like a fragile anymore; he looked like a storm ready to tear the haveli apart. He walked down the two steps, stepping back onto the main hall floor, his gaze locking directly onto Rehman Baloch for the first time in five months.
"Kya... kya kaha aapne?" Uzair asked, his voice dangerously calm, a quiet, lethal whisper that cut through the silence like ice. "Ek baar phir kehna... maine thik se suna nahi."
Rehman swallowed hard, his throat dry as he looked at the absolute desolation in Uzair’s eyes. The sheer intensity of Uzair’s gaze, but the guilt in his chest forced him to maintain his ground.
"Uzair...main toh bas..." Rehman stammered, his hands trembling slightly as he gestured vaguely toward the leather folder on the table. "Main toh bas is ghar ki bhalai ke liye keh raha hoon. Ab sab kuch saaf ho gaya hai. Is bache ko... is bache ko ek baap ka naam chahiye, ek pehchan chahiye. Hum bas tumhein tumhara haq dena chahte hain."
A bitter, hollow laugh suddenly ripped from Uzair’s throat. It was a sharp, ugly sound that had no joy in it He took a heavy step forward, his hand pressing fiercely against his bump,
"Haq?!" Uzair hissed, his voice rising, breaking through the months of silence like a thunderclap. "Ab yaad aaya aapko haq?! Jab main is dehleez par khada ro raha tha, tab kahan tha aapka haq?"
"Uzu, please..." Hamza choked out, stepping forward, his hands raised in a desperate, pleading gesture. His heart was tearing apart bleeding from Uzair's every word. "Bhai ka wo matlab nahi tha—"
"Aap toh khamosh hi rahiye!" Uzair snapped, his dark, tear-filled eyes whipping toward Hamza like a loaded gun. "Aapne kya socha tha? Ke wahan ek jagah khali hogi, aur aap mujhe utha kar wahan bitha denge?! Kya main koi khilona hoon?! Kya is bache ki koi keemat nahi hai jo aap jab chahein iski keemat lagayein?!"
Uzair turned back to Rehman, his furious tears finally spilling over his eyelashes.
"Mujhe nahi chahiye aapka yeh rehm! Mujhe nahi chahiye aapka yeh naam! Main ek naukar hoon na is haveli ka? Toh yeh bacha ek naukar ka bacha ban kar palega! Is dehleez ka koi haq nahi hai is par!" Uzair screamed, his voice breaking into a desperate sob as he clutched his stomach tightly. "Mera nikah meri maut ke sath ho jayega... par is shakhs ke sath kabhi nahi hoga!"
Turning around with a violent twist of his body, Uzair stumbled blindly up the stairs, his heavy, sobs echoing through the grand hallway as he left the brothers standing in the ruins of their own making.
Uzair didn't make it to the top of the stairs.
He had only taken a few frantic, heavy steps up the marble staircase when a sudden, terrifying sensation made him freeze. It wasn't a contraction, and it wasn't the familiar, dull ache he had grown used to. It was a hot, heavy rush of liquid.
Slowly, his breath catching in his throat, Uzair looked down.
The pale marble step beneath his bare feet was suddenly splattered with bright, terrifying crimson. The cotton of his kurta was rapidly soaking through, turning a heavy, ominous black around his thighs. The blood was running down his legs in thick, unstoppable streams.
A gasp of pure horror died in Uzair's throat. The world around him seemed to tilt, the arches of the haveli spinning into a blur of shadows. His head swung back slowly, his wide, panicked eyes finding Hamza standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Uzair didn't need to utter a single word. His pale face, his trembling lips, and the dark red pool widening around his feet told the entire catastrophic story.
"UZU!"
Hamza didn't think. The roar that left his chest was entirely primal, born of a father's terror. He vaulted over the banister, his heavy boots devouring the distance as he practically flew up the steps.
The exact moment Hamza’s desperate arms wrapped around Uzair’s waist, Uzair's knees completely gave out. The fragile strength that had kept him upright through five months of silence and pride evaporated into nothingness. His eyes rolled back, his head dropping against Hamza’s shoulder as his entire body went dead limp.
"Rehman bhai! Gari nikalo! REHMAN BHAI!" Hamza screamed frantically, his voice cracking into a panicked wail as he scooped Uzair’s heavy, bleeding form into his chest. He locked his arms around Uzair's bump, lifting him completely off the bloody stairs. "Bhabhi, chadar lao!"
Ulfat shrieked from the hallway, dropping everything as she rushed for a blanket, while Rehman was already sprinting toward the main doors, his face pale with the terrifying realization that their pressure had finally broken the boy completely. Hamza held Uzair flush against his heart, running down the stairs with his world slipping away in his arms, his own tears dripping onto Uzair's pale, unconscious face.
The SUV flew down the dark roads like a bullet, its tires screeching as Rehman pushed the engine to its absolute limit. In the front passenger seat, Ulfat was sobbing into her hands, dialing the hospital to get an emergency team ready.
But the real nightmare was unfolding in the backseat.
Hamza sat with his back pressed against the door, his large frame completely wrapping around Uzair’s fragile body. He had wrapped a thick white sheet around Uzair's lower half, but it was already blossoming with terrifying patches of bright red.
Uzair had regained consciousness, but the silent, stoic boy from the past five months was entirely gone. The sudden, brutal trauma of the bleeding had completely shattered his mind, plunging him into a state of sheer, hysterical panic. He was crying uncontrollably, his chest heaving in ragged, choking gasps as he clung to the front of Hamza’s shirt with both hands,
"Hamza... Hamza, kuch ho raha hai... Hamza, dekho na..." Uzair sobbed, his voice shrill and trembling with a terror he had never felt before.
He wasn't pushing Hamza away anymore; he was burying his face into Hamza’s neck, talking non-stop, his words tumbling out in a frantic, disjointed rush.
"Mera bacha... Hamza, humara bacha... woh... woh move nahi kar raha... Hamza, suno na! Abhi toh Yalina se baat kar raha tha... abhi toh move kar raha tha... ab kyun nahi kar raha?!" Uzair wailed, his entire body shaking violently as Hot, as tears soaked through Hamza’s shirt.
Hamza felt his own heart breaking into a million pieces. He rocked Uzair back and forth in his arms, his large hands gently cupping Uzair's face, his own tears blinding him as they dripped onto Uzair’s pale cheeks.
"Kuch nahi hoga, Uzu... Kuch nahi hoga mere jaan, main hoon na... Main tumhein aur humare bache ko kuch nahi hone dunga!" Hamza choked out, his voice cracking into a desperate sob as he pressed his forehead against Uzair’s, trying to absorb his panic. "Rehman bhai! Aur tez chalao!"
"Nahi, nahi, nahi! Hamza, bohot dard ho raha hai... neeche... bohot bohot dard ho raha hai..." Uzair screamed softly, his hand dropping down to clutch at his heavy, bump, trying to hold the baby inside him by sheer force. "Maine... maine tumhe bura bola na? Isliye... isliye khuda mujhe saza de raha hai... Hamza, mujhe maaf kar do... Mere bache ko mat le kar jao... Main mar jaunga, Hamza... main mar jaunga..."
"Nahi, Uzu! Aise mat bolo, meri jaan, Khuda ka waasfa aise mat bolo!" Hamza cried out openly, his broad shoulders shaking violently as he squeezed Uzair tightly against his chest, terrified that if he let go even a fraction, Uzair would slip away. He kissed Uzair’s tear-stained eyes, his forehead, his trembling lips, trying to anchor him. "Saza mujhe milni chahiye, bacha, tumhein nahi! Tum bilkul theek ho, humara bacha bilkul theek hai... Bas thodi der aur, bacha, bas hospital pahunchne wale hain..."
But Uzair couldn't hear him over his own frantic sobbing. He just kept twisting in Hamza's arms, his voice growing weaker but the panic remaining as he kept begging Hamza to fix it, repeating his name over and over like a lifeline in the middle of a collapsing world.
The SUV skidded to a violent halt right under the glowing red sign of the hospital's emergency entrance. Because the names Rehman Baloch and Hamza Ali Mazari Baloch carried immense weight, the hospital administration had already mobilized. The sliding glass doors flew open before Hamza could even shout, and a team of doctors, nurses, and a waiting gurney rushed out into the cold night air.
"Yahan! Jaldi laayein!" the head obstetrician commanded, her voice cutting through the panic as the medical staff surrounded the car.
Hamza didn't wait for them to help him. He scrambled out of the backseat, his arms locked like iron bands around Uzair’s shaking, bleeding body. The sheet wrapped around Uzair's legs was deeply stained, and Uzair was still sobbing weakly against Hamza’s neck, his fingers tightly knotted into the collar of Hamza’s shirt.
"Hamza... mat chhorna... please..." Uzair whimpered, his voice faint, his eyes glassy with shock as the bright, sterile lights of the hospital hit his face.
"Main yahan hoon, Uzu, main kahin nahi ja raha," The moment Uzair’s body left his arms, the medical team moved with practiced, terrifying speed.
"Abruptio placentae ho sakta hai! He's bleeding heavily, get an IV line started immediately!" the doctor shouted, checking Uzair’s skyrocketing pulse while two nurses hooked up emergency monitors. "Prepare the ultrasound machine in Room 1! Call the OT!"
Uzair’s hands scraped desperately across the sheets, trying to find Hamza’s grip They reached the doors of the emergency "Sir, aap log andar nahi aa sakte! Please, stay outside!" a male nurse shouted, forcefully placing his hands against Hamza’s broad chest, halting him right at the door.
"Woh mera bacha hai! Mera jaan hai andar! Mujhe jaane do!" Hamza roared, his voice cracking into a desperate, feral scream as his grip on Uzair’s hand was forcefully broken.
The heavy doors swung shut, locking with a sharp, electronic click. Through the small rectangular glass window, Hamza watched in absolute agony as the doctors swarmed around Uzair, cutting away the kurta, attaching monitors to his six-and-a-half-month bump, while Uzair’s head thrashed wildly on the pillow, still crying out for the man he had spent five months refusing to look at.
The heavy electronic clock on the wall of the waiting room clicked over. Five hours. Five agonizing, motionless hours since the doors had shut, separating Hamza from everything that gave his life meaning.
Hamza sat on the edge of the plastic waiting room chair, his large frame hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He hadn’t looked up once. He hadn’t changed his position. He hadn’t spoken, and worst of all, he hadn’t shed a single tear. His eyes were wide and fixed entirely on the small red drops of Uzair’s blood that had dried on the leather of his right boot.
Behind him, Rehman and Ulfat sat like ghosts. Ulfat’s face was swollen from crying, while Rehman looked older than he ever had, the weight of his guilt pressing his shoulders down. Both of them had their hands placed over Hamza’s trembling, ice-cold fists, trying to offer a warmth they didn't possess.
But Hamza couldn't feel them. His mind had detached from the sterile smell of the hospital corridor, slipping backward through time, triggered by the horrific familiarity of this nightmare.
He remembered this exact feeling. He was trapped in a memory from years ago.
Uzair had been just eight years old. It was the night of a brutal winter storm when Uzair had suffered his first severe, life-threatening asthma attack. Hamza remembered the absolute panic of carrying the small, wheezing boy into the old city clinic, Uzair’s tiny, fragile chest heaving violently as he struggled for a single pocket of air. The doctors had torn Uzair from Hamza's arms then, too, rushing him behind a curtain while the monitors wailed.
That night, years ago, Hamza hadn't been this silent stone. He had been a boy himself, collapsing on the hospital floor between Rehman and Ulfat. He remembered sobbing uncontrollably, burying his face in his brother's chest, grabbing Ulfat’s dupatta, and screaming through his tears: "Bhai... Bhabhi... Uzu mujhe chhod ke toh nahi ja raha? Woh mar toh nahi jayega? Mujhe dar lag raha hai, uzu thik ho jayega na?"
Back then, Rehman had held him tight, and Ulfat had promised him that Uzair would come back to them. And Uzair had come back. He had opened his big, dark eyes, put his tiny hand in Hamza’s, and smiled through his oxygen mask.
But today... today was different. Today, Hamza couldn't cry. The guilt was a heavy, suffocating hand wrapped around his throat. He knew that years ago, it was a disease that had hurt Uzair. But today, the blood on his hands, the bleeding that had broken Uzair’s body, was because of them. Because of family’s relentless pressure. Because of the haveli.
Hamza’s fingers slowly twitched under Rehman and Ulfat’s grip. He stared at his boots, his mind screaming the exact same question he had asked
Uzu... mujhe chhod ke toh nahi ja raha?
Suddenly, the sharp click of the electronic lock broke the silence of the corridor. The heavy OT doors swung open, and the lead surgeon stepped out, pulling off her surgical mask, her expression exhausted and grave.
The moment the doctor’s footsteps echoed in the silent corridor, the paralysis holding Hamza shattered. He surged forward so violently that his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Within a second, he crossed the hallway, his towering frame casting a shadow over the exhausted surgeon. Rehman and Ulfat were right on his heels, their hearts hammering in their chests, catching their breath as they crowded around the doctor.
"Doctor... Uzu?" Hamza’s voice finally broke, a raw, jagged sound that barely sounded human. His hands were hovering in the air, trembling, covered in the ghost of the blood he had been staring at for hours. "Mera bacha... mera Uzair thik hai? Bolie na, doctor!"
The surgeon looked at the three of them, her eyes softening with deep exhaustion, but beneath the tiredness, there was a visible look of relief. She took a deep breath.
"Aap log hosla rakhein," the doctor said quickly "Operation Kamyab raha hai. Uzair bilkul thik hai. Humne bleeding rok li hai."
A loud, choked gasp escaped Ulfat’s lips as she instantly dropped to her knees right there on the hospital floor, burying her face in her hands, thanking God over and over again. Rehman let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging forward as if an entire mountain had been lifted off his chest.
But Hamza didn't move. He stood completely frozen, his eyes locked onto the doctor's face. His mind had registered that Uzair was safe, but his heart was still stopping because the doctor hadn't mentioned the baby.
"Aur... aur humara bacha?" Hamza whispered, his throat completely tight, terrified to ask the question that had been burning his soul for five hours The doctor looked straight into Hamza’s eyes and gave a small, reassuring smile. "Aapka bacha bhi bilkul sahi salamat hai, Mr. Hamza. It was a partial placental abruption caused by extreme stress and a sudden spike in blood pressure. It was very close, but you brought him here exactly on time. Another ten minutes, and we could have lost both of them."
She paused, her expression turning serious again. "Internal damage ko repair kar diya gaya hai, aur bache ki heartbeat normal hai. Lekin Uzair abhi bohot zyada weak hai. Humne unhein heavy sedatives diye hain taake unka dimaag aur jism sukoon mein rahe. Agle kuch hafte unke liye absolute bed rest hai. Koi stress nahi, koi rona dhona nahi. Agar ab phir se aisa kuch hua, toh hum bache ko nahi bacha payenge."
Hamza felt his knees go weak. For the first time in five hours tears finally broke through his rigid defense and spilled down his cheek, followed by a violent, silent sob that shook his entire heavy chest. He covered his mouth with his hand, turning his head away as the sheer, overwhelming wave of relief completely broke him down. They are alive. His whole world is still alive.
The room was swallowed by the quiet, steady rhythm of the hospital monitors. Outside, the first light of dawn was beginning to break against the windows, casting soft, gray shadows across the private room.
Hamza hadn’t moved from the small plastic stool beside the bed. He sat slumped over, his large hands resting carefully on the mattress, inches away from Uzair’s pale, limp fingers. He hadn't touched him. Even now, with the danger passed, Hamza was terrified that his touch might somehow bring back the chaos of the haveli. He had spent the last hours simply watching the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Uzair’s chest, his eyes burning with a deep, sleepless exhaustion.
Underneath the heavy hospital blanket, the round silhouette of Uzair bump remained safe, a quiet miracle after the horror of the previous night.
Suddenly, the sharp, rapid beeping of the heart monitor shifted.
Uzair’s long eyelashes fluttered. A low, pained whimper escaped his dry, cracked lips as his head rolled slightly on the pillow. The heavy sedatives were finally wearing off, pulling him back into consciousness. His brow furrowed instantly, a small line forming between his eyes as his senses began to register the sterile smell of the room and the dull, heavy ache in his lower abdomen.
"Uzu..." Hamza whispered, He rose to his feet instantly, leaning over the guardrail of the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Uzu, bacha... main yahan hoon."
Hearing the voice, Uzair’s eyes slowly opened. They were glassy and disoriented at first, staring blankly at the white ceiling as his mind tried to piece together where he was. Then, with a sudden, violent jolt of memory, his entire body went rigid.
The terror of the staircase the blood, the panic, the agonizing drive—came rushing back in a single second.
"Bacha... mera bacha..." Uzair gasped weakly, his voice breaking into a breathless panic as he tried to lift his head from the pillow. His hands moved frantically, blindly scraping against the rough hospital sheets as he desperately tried to reach for his stomach. "Hamza... kahan hai... woh kaha—"
"Shh, nahi, nahi, Uzu, dekho mere taraf! Hilo mat, mera jaan, hilo mat!" He carefully caught Uzair’s flailing, ice-cold hands, pinning them gently against the mattress while using his other arm to lightly brace Uzair’s shoulders so he wouldn't tear his internal stitches.
"Suno mera baat, Uzu! Bacha bilkul thik hai. Bilkul sahi salamat hai andar," Hamza rushed out, his own tears finally spilling over as he looked into Uzair’s terrified, wide eyes. He took Uzair's hand and placed it gently, securely, over the top of the dark blue hospital gown, right over his prominent bump. "Yahan hai... suno isko. Kuch nahi hua humare bache ko. Doctor ne kaha woh bilkul safe hai. Tum dono safe ho."
The moment Uzair’s palm felt the firm, familiar warmth of his stomach, and the steady, reassuring thump of his own pulse, his frantic breathing began to slow. He closed his eyes tightly, a long, trembling sob ripping from his chest as his head sank back into the pillow. He didn't pull his hand away from Hamza’s grip; he just held onto his stomach for dear life, his shoulders shaking violently as the sheer, exhausting relief washed over his body.
Hamza felt his breath catch in his throat as Uzair’s finger weakly wrapped around his hand. With slow, trembling effort, Uzair lifted Hamza’s hand and placed it directly over the apex of his bump.
The moment Hamza’s palm made contact with the firm, warm curve of Uzair's stomach, a soft, distinct flutter pulsed right against his hand—the baby, alive and moving, responding to its father's touch.
Uzair looked up, his big, doe eyes swimming with unshed tears, completely stripped of the icy, defensive anger that had shielded him for months. His gaze locked onto Hamza eyes, filled with a deep, silent plea Weakly, his fingers tugged at the fabric of Hamza's sleeve, trying to pull the heavy, broad-shouldered man down, begging for the closeness his body and soul had been starving for.
"Uzu..." Hamza choked out, his voice cracking completely.
He didn't resist for a single second. Hamza carefully leaned over the bed, lowering his large frame until his forehead was resting gently against Uzair's temple. He wrapped his arms around Uzair's shoulders with an incredible, protective gentleness, mindful of the IV lines and the fresh stitches, while keeping his hand firmly anchored over their baby.
"Main yahan hoon, jaan... main yahan hoon," Hamza wept silently, his broad shoulders shaking as he buried his face into the crook of Uzair’s neck. He inhaled the sweet, familiar scent of the boy he loved so fiercely, his lips pressing a dozen desperate, grateful kisses against Uzair's skin.
Uzair let out a long, shuddering sob, his fingers knotting into the back of Hamza’s shirt. He pulled himself as close to Hamza’s solid warmth as his weak body would allow, finally letting go of the heavy, suffocating loneliness that had broken him down, finding his only sanctuary in the arms of the man he had tried so hard to hate.
The quiet, fragile peace of the room was softly broken as the door clicked open. Rehman and Ulfat stepped in with hesitant, tiptoeing steps, their eyes wide with anxious dread as they looked toward the bed.
The moment Uzair’s tear-filled eyes landed on Ulfat, something inside him completely cracked. The last remnants of his rigid, stoic wall crumbled away. Like a small, helpless baby seeing its mother after a terrifying nightmare, Uzair let out a raw, broken cry, his chest heaving as fresh tears flooded his pale face. He weakly reached his free arm out toward her, his fingers curling in the air, begging for the only mother comfort he had ever known.
"Bhabhi...!" Uzair sobbed, his voice thin, shrill, and entirely childlike in its agony.
Ulfat didn't care about anything else. Hearing that heartbroken wail tore through her soul, and she burst into tears, rushing past Rehman and to the opposite side of the hospital bed. Because of the fresh stitches, the delicate IV lines, and the doctor’s strict warnings, she couldn't lift him into her embrace, but she did the next best thing.
She leaned all the way over the guardrail, wrapping her arms carefully around Uzair’s head and shoulders, burying his face into the warm, familiar fabric of her dupatta. She grabbed his trembling hand, squeezing it against her chest.
"Mera bacha... mera pyara bacha, main yahan hoon," Ulfat wept openly, rocking him as gently as she could, her maternal instinct taking over completely. "Rona nahi, jaan, rona nahi... Bhabhi paas hai tere. Allah ne sun li meri, tu sahi salamat hai."
Uzair nuzzled his face deeply into Ulfat’s side, hiding himself from the world within her protective warmth, his frame shaking with continuous, exhausted sobs. Hamza remained on the other side of the bed, his hand still resting over the safe, warm curve of Uzair’s bump, his head bowed as his own tears dripped silently onto the sheets.
Rehman stood at the foot of the bed, a safe distance away. Seeing Uzair crying so helplessly, seeking shelter in Ulfat's arms, He didn't dare speak or move closer, terrified that his voice might break the fragile peace Uzair was finally finding, but his heart bled to see the boy finally being held.
Eventually, the room settled back into a heavy, quiet stillness. Ulfat had stayed until Uzair’s breathless sobbing turned into slow, exhausted hiccups, and only when the doctor strictly reminded them that Uzair needed absolute quiet did she let Rehman guide her out. They left the room with soft footsteps, leaving the heavy wooden door to click shut behind them.
Now, it was just Hamza.
He moved his plastic stool closer, pressing it right against the edge of the mattress. Uzair was completely spent, his face resting sideways on the pillow, his dark eyes glassy and half-closed from the lingering sedatives and sheer emotional exhaustion. But his mind was still trapped in the horror of the evening. Every time his eyelids started to droop, his frame would suddenly twitch, his fingers tightening in a blind panic around Hamza hand. The memory of the red blood on the white marble steps was still screaming in his head.
"Shh... main yahan hoon, Uzu. Kuch nahi hua, meri jaan. Bilkul safe ho tum," Hamza murmured, his voice a low, rhythmic rumble that filled the quiet space between them.
He leaned over the bed, using his free hand to gently brush the damp, sweaty strands of hair away from Uzair’s forehead. He began to stroke Uzair’s hair in slow, repetitive motions, knowing how much it used to soothe him when they were younger.
Uzair let out a small, weak whimper, his gaze lifting heavily to lock onto Hamza’s face. He looked so incredibly young, stripped of all the bitter pride and anger of the past few months, completely reduced to a vulnerable boy who just wanted to feel protected. He shifted his weight slightly, trying to curl closer to Hamza’s side of the bed.
"Hamza..." Uzair whispered, his voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of the heart monitor. "Bohot... bohot darr lag raha hai."
"Darrne ki koi baat nahi hai, bacha. Main yahin baitha hoon. Poori raat tumhara haath pakad ke rakhunga," Hamza said softly, his eyes filled with tenderness as he kissed the back of Uzair’s pale hand. He carefully pulled the thick hospital blanket higher, tucking it gently around Uzair’s shoulders to keep out the morning chill. "Tumhare paas koi nahi aa sakta. Humara bacha sukoon se so raha hai andar... ab tum bhi apni aankhein band karo."
Hamza kept up the pampering, his voice never dropping below a soothing whisper. He talked to him about nothing and everything—soft, meaningless promises of the quiet days ahead, stories of how they would fix up a peaceful corner for him, anything to drown out the terrifying memories in Uzair's head. He stroked his cheek, his thumb gently wiping away the dry salt trails of the old tears.
Slowly, under the warmth of Hamza’s constant touch and the low, steady melody of his voice, the tension began to drain out of Uzair’s shoulders. His breathing became deeper, more regular. His grip on Hamza’s hand loosened into a soft, trusting hold.
With one final, long sigh, Uzair’s long eyelashes finally settled against his pale cheeks, his mind slipping away from the blood and the shouting, finding a safe, dreamless sleep anchored entirely by the man sitting by his side.
The transition from the hospital back to the haveli felt like stepping back into a world that had almost ended. For one whole week, Hamza had lived entirely on that small plastic stool beside Uzair’s bed. He hadn't left the hospital room once. He hadn't gone home to change, he hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time, and his jaw was shadowed with a thick, rugged beard. He had dedicated every single second of the last seven days to pampering Uzair, feeding him every spoonful of soup, and holding his hand through the midnight night-terrors.
Now, they were finally back. The front doors of the haveli swung open, and Hamza stepped over the threshold, holding Uzair securely in his arms. Uzair was wearing a deeply comfortable, oversized soft grey kurta, his bump resting heavily against Hamza’s chest. He looked fragile, but the color had slowly started returning to his cheeks after a week of intense medical care.
But the moment they stepped into the grand hallway, Uzair’s entire body went rigid.
His eyes landed instantly on the marble staircase. The sight of those polished steps immediately triggered the raw, suffocating trauma of that night. In his mind, he could still see the bright crimson blood splashing against the white stone; he could still feel the terrifying, hot rush of liquid running down his legs.
A sharp, panicked gasp caught in Uzair’s throat. His fingers violently clawed into the fabric of Hamza’s shirt, as he buried his face deeply into the crook of Hamza's neck, trembling from head to toe. He held onto Hamza with a desperate, crushing tightness, begging without words to be shielded from that place.
"Shh... main hoon Kuch nahi hua jaan. Aankhein band kar lo," Hamza murmured instantly, his heart breaking as he felt the sheer terror radiating from uzair body.
Hamza stopped at the base of the stairs. He looked up at the long flight of steps leading to Uzair room on the upper floor. The doctor's strict warnings echoed in his head: Absolute bed rest. No stress. No stairs. We cannot risk it again. Even if the doctor hadn't said it, Hamza would never have forced Uzair to look at that staircase again. He wasn't going to risk his soul or their baby for a room.
Without a moment of hesitation, Hamza turned his back on the stairs.
Holding Uzair firmly against his heart, he began walking down the long, wide corridor of the ground floor, heading straight toward the master wing—toward Hamza's own bedroom. It was a spacious, sunlit room that required no climbing, no strain, and held no bloody memories.
Behind them, Rehman and Ulfat walked in absolute, respectful silence. Ulfat was carrying the hospital bag her eyes soft with a mixture of grief for Uzair's trauma and immense relief that Hamza was finally taking charge. Rehman followed a few steps behind his wife, his head bowed, silently watching his younger brother carry the fragile life of their family into a safer sanctuary.
The atmosphere in Hamza bedroom different from the rest of the haveli—it was quiet, isolated, and shielded from the heavy memories of the past few months.
With painful gentleness, Hamza walked over to bed carefully sliding Uzair onto the soft matteres made sure Uzair’s back was fully supported by a mountain of plush pillows, ensuring no strain was placed on his bump.
Reaching for the remote, Hamza turned on the AC, setting it to a comfortable, soothing temperature to drive away the afternoon heat. He then lifted the heavy, quilted duvet and slowly covered Uzair up to his chest, tucking the edges around his shoulders with absolute devotion.
Uzair’s dark eyes followed Hamza’s every move, his fingers still weakly clutching the edge of the blanket,
At the doorway, Ulfat gently placed the hospital bags and the small baby clothes on a side console. She exchanged a quiet, tearful nod with Hamza, giving Uzair one last reassuring smile before she and Rehman slowly backed out of the room, pulling the door shut to give them the absolute privacy they needed.
Now alone, Hamza knelt by the side of the bed, his hand softly resting over Uzair’s head.
"Uzu...main bas paanch minute mein aa raha hoon. Main bilkul paas hoon," Hamza whispered, his voice incredibly soft as he leaned down to press a lingering, warm kiss against Uzair's forehead. "Main bas badal kar aata hoon, thik hai?"
Uzair gave a very slight, exhausted nod, his eyelashes fluttering as the comfort of the familiar bed and the cool air began to make him drowsy. He slowly let go of his tight grip on the blanket, letting his hand rest safely near his stomach.
Hamza stood up, his bones aching with the accumulated fatigue of a whole week spent on a plastic hospital stool. His clothes were rumpled, and his mind was still foggy with exhaustion. He walked over to his closet, grabbed a pair of fresh, soft cotton trousers and a plain t-shirt, and quietly stepped into the attached bathroom.
Turning on the shower, he let the warm water cascade over his head and shoulders, finally washing away the invisible grime of the hospital corridors, the scent of antiseptic, and the lingering terror of the past seven days, desperately trying to feel human again for uzair waiting just outside the door.
The soft click of the bathroom door opening broke the quiet hum of the AC. Hamza stepped out into the room, his hair damp and dark, wearing a fresh, loose cotton t-shirt and trousers. For the first time in a week, the suffocating scent of the hospital was gone, replaced by the familiar, clean scent of his soap.
He walked quietly to the edge of the bed, trying not to make a sound, and sat down on the mattress beside Uzair. His eyes, though still lined with deep exhaustion, were soft as he looked down at the boy.
Uzair wasn't asleep. He had been lying there, staring at the empty space beside him, waiting. The moment Hamza sat down, Uzair’s hand slowly crept out from beneath the heavy duvet. His fingers weakly but deliberately tugged at Hamza hand, his dark doe eyes lifting to meet Hamza’s with a quiet, vulnerable pleading.
Hamza understood instantly. The silent communication that had always existed between them since childhood was completely back.
"Main yahin hoon..." Hamza whispered Carefully, so he wouldn't disturb the heavy blanket or cause any strain to Uzair bump, Hamza shifted his weight and climbed onto the bed. He slid beneath the duvet, lying down on his side right next to Uzair.
With an incredible, protective gentleness, Hamza slid his arm under Uzair’s neck, gathering him close. His other arm came around Uzair’s back, pulling the boy fully against his broad chest, shielding him from the rest of the world.
Uzair let out a long, shaky sigh that he seemed to have been holding since they left the hospital. He leaned his head directly into the hollow of Hamza’s neck, his face burying into the fresh, warm fabric of Hamza's shirt. He weakly curled his legs forward, his round stomach resting safely against Hamza's torso, feeling the steady, rhythmic heartbeat of the man.
Hamza held him his hand gently resting on the back of Uzair’s head, his fingers stroking through his hair. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of Uzair, finally letting his own tense muscles relax into the mattress. In the safety of his own room, with Uzair tucked securely against his heart, the lingering shadows of the trauma finally began to fade.
The small, restless movement of Uzair’s fingers against his chest pulled Hamza right out of his drifting thoughts. He looked down, loosening his grip slightly so he could see Uzair's face.
Uzair was staring at the collar of Hamza’s fresh t-shirt, his lower lip trembling just a fraction. He tugged at the fabric again, his voice incredibly small, sounding like a soft, hesitant whisper in the quiet room.
"Hamza..." Uzair murmured, his doe eyes lifting weakly to meet Hamza's. "Mujhe... mujhe bhi ek t-shirt dijiye aapka... aur trouser bhi. Mujhe kurta nahi pehna."
Hamza’s heart softened completely at the small, muffled voice pressing into his chest.
"Kurta nahi pehanna?" Hamza asked, his voice an incredibly gentle whisper as he brushed a stray lock of hair from Uzair’s forehead. "Theek hai. Jo tumhara dil kare."
He didn't say it out loud, but Hamza knew exactly why. They were what he wore on the stairs, and what the doctors had to cut away from his body . A kurta felt heavy, suffocating, and tied to the trauma. He just wanted to feel safe, light, He wanted to disappear into the safe, oversized warmth of Hamza’s clothes.
"Abhi laya," Hamza murmured, kissing the top of Uzair's head before carefully sliding his arm out from under him.
He slipped out of the bed, ensuring the duvet stayed snugly tucked around Uzair, and walked over to his large wooden wardrobe. He rummaged through the drawers, bypassing his newer clothes until he found exactly what he was looking for: his oldest, softest grey t-shirt—the one that had been washed so many times a pair of loose, lightweight black cotton trousers with a flexible drawstring.
He walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, showing them to Uzair. "Yeh dekho. Yeh bilkul naram hain. Aur iska elastic bohot loose hai"
Uzair weakly pushed the heavy blanket down, sitting up just a bit with a tired nod.
With utmost devotion, treating Uzair like a fragile doll, Hamza helped him change. He gently unbuttoned the soft grey kurta, sliding it off Uzair's shoulders and tossing it far away from the bed. He was incredibly mindful of the faint bruising on Uzair's arms from the IV lines and the quiet, solid weight of the bump.
Hamza carefully guided Uzair’s arms through the sleeves of his oversized t-shirt. When it settled over Uzair’s frame, the hem easily swallowed his round stomach, hanging loosely and comfortably around his thighs. It smelled entirely of Hamza—of clean soap and the familiar warmth that Uzair had craved for months. Next, Hamza helped him step into the soft trousers, loosely tying the drawstring low beneath his bump so there was absolutely no pressure on his healing body.
When they were done, Uzair looked tiny, completely engulfed in Hamza’s large clothes, looking incredibly comfortable and safe.
"Ab theek hai, bacha?" Hamza asked softly, his eyes brimming with affection.
Uzair didn't answer with words; he just weakly reached his arms out again. Hamza smiled through his exhaustion, climbing right back onto the mattress. The moment he lay down, Uzair crawled straight back into his space, tucking his head under Hamza’s chin and wrapping his arms tightly around Hamza’s waist, finally letting out a deep, relaxed sigh as he buried himself in his man’s scent
The next morning, the heavy tension in the haveli seemed to have softened just a fraction. Hamza was incredibly patient, helping Uzair ease out of the large bed. Uzair was still wearing Hamza’s oversized t-shirt, which safely draped over his bump, giving him a sense of security he hadn't felt in a long time. Supporting him carefully by the waist, making sure he didn't take any rushed steps, Hamza guided him out of the master wing and into the main lounge.
The moment they stepped into the open area, they heard the sound of familiar voices.
Near the entrance, Rehman was warmly greeting a tall, sharp-looking young man with a bright, easy smile.
It was Aariz.
Aariz was someone they knew very well. His father had been Rehman’s primary business partner for decades, a bond that had naturally turned their families into close friends. Throughout their childhood, whenever Aariz’s father visited the haveli for long business meetings, the boys would spend hours playing together in the courtyard.
As Aariz’s eyes fell upon the two of them coming down the corridor, his face lit up with a genuine smile. Rehman gestured for him to come inside, talking warmly. "Aariz kuch din yahan rahega business ke silsile mein. Maine socha haveli se behtar aur kya jagah hogi."
Aariz stepped forward, his eyes softening as he looked at Uzair. Ignoring the usual formal distances, he extended his arms. "Uzu! Kitne waqt baad dekh raha hoon yaar."
Uzair, for the first time in months, let out a soft, genuine laugh. He stepped into Aariz's embrace, hugging him back warmly.
From a few steps behind them, Hamza stood perfectly still, watching the embrace.
A faint, deeply sad smile touched Hamza’s lips as he watched Uzair smile so effortlessly in someone else's arms. A sudden, crushing thought settled deep into Hamza’s chest, heavy and bittersweet. He looked at his own hands—the hands that had caused Uzair so much stress, the hands that had been covered in Uzair's blood just a week ago on that staircase.
Maybe... Hamza thought, his chest aching as he stared at his childhood friend, maybe finally, he has found someone who will actually take care of him. Someone who won't bring him pain. Someone who hasn't broken his soul the way I did.
For the past week, Hamza had been drowning in the guilt of almost losing his family. Now, seeing how easily Uzair smiled at a childhood friend, a heartbreaking realization washed over him. Maybe his own love was too toxic, too heavy with the curses of the haveli. Looking at Aariz, Hamza felt a quiet, agonizing surrender in his soul. Maybe he had finally found the person he could safely hand his jaan over to—someone who would protect Uzair and their baby without ever bringing them a single drop of pain....
AM I GONE TOOOO DRAMATICCCCC???
