Khamoshi (Uzair Baloch x Reader) (Part 5)
summary: bound by a lifetime of unrequited devotion, your spirit finally shatters when you overhear Uzair, the man you have loved since you were five, cruelly mock your appearance and your heart to his gang. choosing to grant him the very peace he claimed to crave, you vow to replace your chatter with a chilling silence, leaving the once arrogant Uzair, to realise too late that the girl he pushed away is the only light in his dark, violent world. (based on this request) !!!!
word count: 6.3k words
author’s note: all I do is lie 😈😭 offering you babies part 5 today 🎀😌, will release part 6 either tomorrow or on Tuesday ♥️🥺💋
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6
The final echoes of your exams had barely faded, replaced by the heavy, expectant silence of your grandparents' living room. You sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, looking from your grandmother's hopeful, wrinkled face to your grandfather's sheepish gaze.
Just minutes ago, they had dropped a proverbial bomb on you, a revelation that felt like a seismic shift under your feet.
On the polished mahogany table lay a photograph, not just any picture but a portrait of a man they considered the ideal match to anchor your drifting heart.
Your grandmother leaned forward, her voice a soft entreaty.
"Beta, ek baari mil toh le, apna Zaid hi toh hai," she urged, her eyes searching yours for a spark of recognition.
He was indeed "their" Zaid, a name that unspooled a thread of memories stretching back to the sun-drenched courtyards of your childhood.
In the tapestry of your youth, Zaid had been a constant figure who followed you around with the clumsy, earnest devotion of a puppy. Together with Sana, you had formed an eccentric trio, three souls attached at the hip, navigating the labyrinthine streets of Lyari.
Zaid's family lived just two houses down from the Haveli, making your lives a blurred entity of shared school benches, joint homework sessions and the innocent, fierce vows of children who believed that "always" was a promise the world was obligated to keep.
Even then, the future had been a game of pretend played with deadly seriousness.
Sana would often proclaim that you would all be at each other's weddings, to which Zaid would cheekily reply that of course you would be at his, because you were destined to be the bride. Sana would laugh, appointing herself the head bridesmaid, while you would smack Zaid lightly on the back of his head, rolling your tongue out at his audacity.
Even at ten, your gaze was always wandering toward the periphery, searching for the older boy who was hell-bent on ignoring you, the one whose scoff was the only music you truly wanted to hear.
But Zaid's devotion was legendary in the neighborhood, a persistent, sweet hum that you had eventually learned to treat as background noise.
He was the boy who would save his pocket money for weeks just to buy you the specific brand of imported colored pencils you liked, or the one who would stand outside your gate in the blistering Karachi heat just to hand you a single, wilted jasmine flower because he knew you liked the scent. He was your most ardent defender, a boy whose world revolved entirely around the axis of your whims, oblivious to the fact that you were looking past him at a much darker, colder sun.
The most vivid memory surfaced from your twelfth birthday.
Zaid had thrown a hissy fit, dragging his reluctant parents to one of the most expensive toy stores in the city. That evening, he had presented his gift with a grin that threatened to split his face in two.
It was the largest teddy bear you had ever seen, a plush giant of pink fur and a vibrant turquoise bow, your favourite colours. Its glass eyes seemed to mirror your own and it was so tall that hugging it felt like disappearing into the embrace of a real, soft-hearted bear.
You had been moved to tears, the sheer sincerity of the gesture cutting through your adolescent poise as you pulled Zaid into a tight hug, leaving him blushing a deep crimson.
When you finally let go, your eyes instinctively sought out the one person whose approval mattered.
Uzair was there, leaning against a far marble pillar, his arms crossed and his face a mask of chilling disdain. As you moved to excitedly show him the bear, he fixed you with a glare so venomous it felt as if your joy was a cardinal sin. Without a word, he turned and stalked upstairs, dragging a confused Hamza away from his third serving of birthday cake.
A cold weight settled in your stomach.
You wanted to follow him, to demand why he was angry but Sana had already seized your arm, dragging you toward a boisterous game of musical chairs.
The following morning brought a horror you hadn't expected. You walked into the courtyard to find the pink-and-turquoise bear lying in the dirt, a sacrificial lamb to the stray dogs that Ulfat took pity on. They were tearing at its limbs, growls punctuating the sound of ripping fabric.
You were certain you had left the bear safely in your room, yet here it was, being decimated before your eyes. You grabbed a stick, lunging at the dogs with a sob of fury but it was too late.
By the time the strays scattered, all that remained of Zaid's heartfelt gift was a tattered skin and handfuls of synthetic floof drifting across the stones like mocking snow.
As you stood over the remains, a long shadow fell over the wreckage. You turned to find Uzair standing there, his expression unreadable. For a fleeting second, you thought you saw an imperceptible smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth but it vanished instantly into his usual stony mask.
"Ek khilone ke peeche kab tak royegi?" he remarked, his voice devoid of any comfort. "Andar chali ja, isse pehle dhoop mein khadi khadi behosh ho jaye. Phir Rehman bhai mujhe hi dantege, ki tune dhyan nahi rakha 'meri pyari bachi' ka."
With that cold, mocking dismissal, he sauntered away, leaving you to mourn a gift you had failed to protect for even twenty-four hours.
The guilt of the incident followed you like a physical ache. You felt like a wretched friend. Zaid had poured his heart into that gift and you had allowed it to be destroyed. You spent the day sulking, avoiding the courtyard and even crying quietly in your room after school when Zaid asked you for the hundredth time if you still liked it.
You lied, your voice cracking as you told him it was the best gift ever, unable to find the courage to tell him it was currently being dragged through the gutters of Lyari.
Later that afternoon, you were playing with the neighbourhood kids in the local playground, trying to distract yourself.
Fate, however, was in a cruel mood.
A small puppy came trotting across the dust, its tail wagging proudly as it dragged a mangled, dirt-stained pink arm, the unmistakable remains of your teddy bear.
Zaid, who was sitting on the swings nearby, froze. You watched the realisation dawn on his face, as he looked from the toy to you. He realised in an instant that you had been lying and the hurt in his eyes was more than you could bear.
"Zaid, meri baat toh sunn!" you cried out, reaching for his arm but he flinched away as if your touch burned.
He looked at you with tearful eyes, his voice a broken whisper of defeat.
"Main kabhi Uzair bhai jitna acha nahi ban sakta tere liye, haina? Main chahe kuch bhi kar loon?"
The words were a serrated mirror held up to your soul, revealing a truth you weren't ready to face. Before you could offer a single word of explanation or apology, he turned and ran toward his house, his small frame shaking with sobs.
You were left standing in the dust, the mangled pink fur at your feet, feeling like the villain in a story you never asked to be in.
Sana tried her best to cheer you up, promising that she would talk to Zaid and even tell him that the dogs had gotten into your room but the heaviness in your chest wouldn't lift.
When you eventually trudged back into the Haveli, you found a new arrival waiting in the center of the hall.
It was a penguin plushie, your favorite animal, of such gargantuan proportions that it was almost the size of a wall. It had the softest, most luxurious texture you had ever felt and a face so cute it seemed to plead for a hug.
Even in your state of profound sadness, the sight was staggering. You assumed Rehman had seen your tears over the bear and had gone to extraordinary lengths to replace it.
Running around the house to find your brother, you collided with Ulfat. You threw your arms around her, thanking her profusely for the penguin but she only laughed softly, ruffling your hair with a knowing glint in her eyes.
"Maine nahi mangwaya yeh, aur na hi Rehman ne," she whispered, leaning down to your ear. "Yeh kisi aise ne bheja hai jisne tumhe rote hue dekha tha, par usse batana mat ke maine tumhe bataya, warna woh phir se nakhre dikhayega."
So it was Uzair.
He had seen your grief and in his own silent way, he had tried to mend what was broken. The haze of sadness over Zaid lifted slightly, the thought that Uzair cared enough to notice your tears felt like a secret treasure.
If only you had known that the hand that provided the penguin was the same hand that had stolen the teddy bear from your bedside, casting it to the dogs as a common chew toy just to erase another boy's mark from your life.
The next day, your grandparents arrived to whisk you away for the summer holidays. Usually, you dreaded leaving the Haveli but this time, the tension with Zaid made the departure feel like an escape. Rehman had coddled you into agreeing, promising that the city air would do you good.
Before you left, you and Sana went to Zaid's house to say goodbye, hoping to mend the fractured bridge. However, the house help informed you that Zaid wasn't home.
As you turned to leave, you happened to glance up at his bedroom window and saw him. A small, lonely silhouette peaking from behind the curtains, refusing to come down and face the girl who had broken his heart.
Sana, squeezed your hand and reassured you.
"Main samjahugi isse," she promised. "Jab tak tum wapis aaogi, main Zaid ko mana loongi."
Throughout the long, hot summer at your grandparents' house, you hovered by the telephone, dialing Zaid's number until your fingers ached.
No one ever picked up.
The ringing would echo into a void, a hollow sound that matched the growing pit in your stomach. Sana wasn't much help either, she had been sent to her maternal aunt's house, leaving you isolated in your guilt and the fading memory of a pink bear and a tearful boy.
A week before you were due to return to Lyari, Sana called. Her voice was uncharacteristically sober, stripped of its usual bubbly energy.
She had returned to the neighbourhood and gone to check on Zaid, only to find the house locked and the nameplate removed. His family had shifted to Dubai a few days ago, his father had taken a job transfer and they had vanished without a single goodbye.
The news felt like a physical weight settling onto your shoulders, a final, cold door slamming shut on a part of your childhood.
Zaid had left the country carrying the weight of that hurt, believing you had discarded his heart along with that toy, and that made you feel physically ill.
You had inadvertently wounded the one person who had been nothing but kind to you and now the ocean lay between you, making an apology impossible.
You felt like a bad omen.
A girl who brought destruction to those who cared for her.
This lingering feeling became a permanent ghost in your heart, a silent reminder that your obsession with Uzair had already begun to cost you the people who truly deserved your love.
The return to Lyari that summer had felt like walking through a house where all the furniture had been moved in the dark.
You and Sana had spent weeks asking around, knocking on the heavy doors of neighbours and corner-shop owners but the trail had gone cold. No one had the new contact information for Zaid's family, they had vanished into the shimmering skyline of Dubai as if they had never existed.
Slowly, the visceral sting of guilt was blunted by the relentless march of time.
Life took over, school, family gatherings, and the intensifying bloom of your feelings for Uzair. That crush had ripened into an all-consuming love that left little room for ghosts. You and Sana grew even closer and the boy who had looked at you as if you had personally hung every star in the sky was relegated to a quiet, dusty corner of your heart.
Until now.
You reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as you picked up the photograph from the mahogany table.
He still possessed that same, radiant grin, a smile that seemed to possess its own luminosity, capable of lighting up the darkest corners of a room.
His face had leaned out, the soft puffiness of childhood replaced by a strong jawline and a straight, noble nose. But it was his eyes that caught you. They were warm, amber pools of kindness that seemed to look right through the lens.
Looking at him evoked a tidal wave of bittersweet nostalgia and a crushing sense of unworthiness. He looked whole, vibrant, and untainted by the bitterness that had become your daily bread.
If it had been any other time, or any other man, you would have declined your grandparents. But you seemed to be inhabiting a version of yourself that was unrecognisable lately.
You were doing things the old you would have considered impossible, even sacrilegious.
The girl who used to cling to the walls of the Haveli had moved out to live with her grandparents. The girl who had worshipped the ground Uzair walked on had actually raised her hand and slapped him, her Uzair, her everything.
You were keeping him at a calculated, icy distance, when previously you would have folded and disintegrated at the slightest crumb of his attention.
Safe to say, the girl you used to be was lost and this new, hardened version was running on autopilot.
You found yourself wanting to say yes because of a debt that had been accruing interest for nearly a decade. You wanted to meet Zaid because you owed him an apology.
No, you owed him much more than that.
You needed to acknowledge that you had seen his heart and, in your haste to chase a man who didn't want you, you had stepped all over it.
Yet, even with the desire to make amends, the thought of a formal meeting made your stomach curdle with a familiar, acidic dread.
You imagined his family inspecting you like a piece of flawed ware, dissecting your insecurities with the practiced ease of jewelers looking for cracks. The last thing your fragile ego needed was for people who were once a staple of your everyday life to remark on how you weren't thin enough, beautiful enough, or accomplished enough for their golden son.
You already knew the verdict, you weren't good enough for Zaid.
At least, not for the version of him that lived in your memories, that selfless, kindhearted boy who deserved a girl whose heart wasn't already a battlefield.
Your grandfather, ever the silent observer of your internal storms, must have seen the turmoil flickering across your face. He spoke with a gentleness that nearly broke your resolve.
He explained that Zaid had been steadfastly refusing every match his parents suggested, rejecting girl after girl until your name was mentioned. He had only agreed to this meeting because it was you.
Furthermore, Zaid had insisted that he didn't want a traditional parade of families, he didn't want all the scrutiny. He had strictly requested that the meeting occur only between the two people who were supposed to consider a life together.
Your grandfather handed you a small, unassuming slip of paper. On it, in a firm, elegant script, Zaid had written his phone number and the address of a quiet, upscale cafe.
Your grandmother quickly chimed in, her voice hushed and hopeful.
"Sirf ek baar mil lo, beta. Agar vo pasand nahi aaya, toh hum bilkul bhi tumpar zor nahi dalenge. Baat yahin khatam ho jayegi."
As you took the slip, you heard both of them exhale a synchronised sigh of relief, as if they had just managed to pull you back from the edge of a precipice.
You were convinced that Zaid had only agreed to this meeting to gloat and frankly, you couldn't blame him.
You had become the neighbourhood joke, the girl who had wasted the prime of her youth pining for a man like Uzair, who treated her like vermin.
You were now a warped, broken version of yourself, a girl who couldn't even swallow a morsel of food without the phantom weight of Uzair's past insults making her retch it back out.
Meanwhile, Zaid had grown into a radiant, successful young man who had just established his own architectural firm in Lahore.
The contrast was humiliating.
Still, despite the power dynamic having shifted so violently, the core of the matter remained, Zaid had always been exceptionally kind to you.
So if he wanted to stand across from you and see exactly what your obsession had cost you, if he wanted to witness the hollowed-out version of the girl he once loved, then he, out of everyone in the world, deserved that satisfaction.
If he wanted to gloat, you would stand there and take it.
The silence in the room stretched until it became heavy, demanding a response. You forced your muscles into a performance, plastering a fake, porcelain smile onto your face, a mask you had perfected in the weeks since leaving the Haveli.
"Theek hai," you said, your voice steady despite the chaos in your chest. "Mil toh sakti hi hoon main."
Your grandmother let out a joyful exclamation, her face lighting up with a radiance that made you feel like a liar
and she pulled you into a fierce, suffocating hug.
But as you felt the warmth of your grandmother's embrace, you wondered if Zaid would even recognise the girl sitting across from him, or if he would only see the wreckage that Uzair had left behind.
To say you were nervous would have been a gross understatement. You stood outside the newly opened cafe in Dolmen Mall, a space that felt entirely too polished for your current internal state.
For the hundredth time in the span of a few minutes, you took a deep breath, trying to steady the tremors in your hands. You reached down to flick an invisible speck of dust off the navy blue Anarkali you were wearing, the same outfit you had meticulously selected and saved for what was supposed to be your first official date with Uzair, a night that had lived only in the naive corridors of your imagination. That date was never going to happen, you knew that now with certainty.
It felt poetic, in a tragic sort of way, to wear the shroud of a dead dream to meet a man who represented a life you had discarded.
Anyways, you weren't here to find love, you were here to offer a long-overdue apology.
You had considered calling Zaid first, your finger had hovered over his number a dozen times but it felt like a cop-out. You wanted the first time you heard his voice after all these years to be in person, where you couldn't hide behind the safety of a digital signal. Or perhaps, you mused bitterly, you were just a coward who needed the pressure of a public setting to keep from fleeing.
You were mentally bracing yourself to finally push through the heavy glass doors and step into the air-conditioned interior when someone called out your name.
The voice was a rich, smooth baritone that lacked any of the gravel or bite you had grown accustomed to in the streets of Lyari. You turned around, your breath hitching and there stood Zaid in the flesh.
If the photograph had been impressive, the man in person was a revelation. He looked even cuter, his presence radiating a gentle, grounding energy that felt like a balm to your frayed nerves.
Zaid looked as if Clark Kent had accidentally stumbled into the chaotic heart of Karachi and decided to stay. He looked like the absolute antithesis of Uzair, soft where the other was jagged, approachable where the other was a fortress.
You shook your head internally, a wave of self-loathing washing over you.
God, it was pathetic.
Even standing in front of a man who was the literal embodiment of a second chance, you were still using Uzair as a measuring stick. You were still letting his shadow darken a moment that was supposed to be light.
Zaid was staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes, his expression a mixture of awe and sheer disbelief. It took you several seconds to realise that you hadn't actually replied to his greeting, leaving a vacuum of awkward silence between you.
"Oh...um...hiiiii!" you finally blurted out, the greeting coming out a bit more high-pitched than you intended.
You took a tentative step toward him, extending your hand in a formal gesture that felt stiff. He remained paralysed, his gaze fixed on your face as if he were trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the girl who had haunted his memories. You felt the heat rising in your neck as the seconds ticked by.
"Umm...Zaid?" you prompted, waving your extended hand slightly in front of his face to jolt him back to the present.
The movement seemed to break the spell. Zaid blinked rapidly, a deep, flustered red coating his cheeks as he realised he had been gawking. He nervously adjusted his glasses with his free hand before finally reaching out to take yours.
"Y/N," he breathed, the sound of your name on his lips feeling like a bridge finally snapping into place.
"It's really nice to see you, after so long!" you said, trying to inject some genuine warmth into your voice.
Zaid merely nodded, looking momentarily at a total loss for words. He continued to hold your hand, his thumb grazing your knuckles as if he were checking to see if you were real.
You smiled awkwardly, the silence stretching out once more. You had expected him to act haughty but he seemed completely out of his depth. When he still didn't release your hand, you cleared your throat pointedly.
"Oh, sorry!" he exclaimed, laughing nervously as he finally let go. He ran a hand through his hair, which was neatly styled but now slightly mussed from his nervous fidgeting.
"You must think, kya pagal insaan hai yeh? I'm so sorry, I just...I've had a very busy morning and my brain is a bit scrambled."
"Oh, thank you for taking some time out to meet me," you replied, your voice softening.
Zaid's eyes widened behind his lenses, his expression turning frantic. "Wait, sorry, I hope it didn't sound like I was showing off my schedule or anything! I...I didn't mean it like that, I was just—"
You couldn't help but smile. He was still the same endearing, over-thinking boy you remembered.
"Zaid, it's fine. It didn't seem like that at all," you reassured him.
He let out a long, relieved chuckle, the tension finally beginning to bleed out of his shoulders.
He smiled then, that characteristic, brilliant smile that had always been his trademark.
"It's good to be back here," he said softly, his amber eyes searching yours. "And to finally meet you."
His gaze flickered across your face and for a moment, you felt a pang of self-consciousness. You knew you looked like a mess despite the effort, you knew the dark circles under your eyes were visible and that your face had lost its healthy glow. But all you saw in his expression was his blush intensifying, his gaze eventually dropping to his feet.
'Must be the summer heat,' you thought, trying to rationalise the way he was looking at you. You stood there for another awkward moment, the bustle of the mall swirling around your quiet island of history, until Zaid suddenly seemed to remember where he was.
"Where are my manners?" he muttered, quickly moving past you to grip the handle of the heavy glass door. He pulled it open with a flourish, bowing slightly. "After you, m'lady," he said with a playful lilt, gesturing for you to enter first.
You couldn't help but giggle, it was so theatrical and so sweet that for a split second, the heavy weight of Lyari felt miles away.
As he moved to step in next to you, the cool air of the cafe enveloping you both, you stole a look at him from the corner of your eye. Despite the years and the way things had ended, there was a profound sense of comfort radiating from him. He carried an aura of safety that was entirely foreign to your life.
You wondered if he felt the same. Surely being around you was dredging up all the bad memories. He seemed so incredibly nervous that you were convinced he was reliving the sting of your old rejections.
Zaid navigated the space with a quiet confidence, leading you toward a secluded table in the far corner. It was a perfect spot, tucked away near a large window that offered a scenic, elevated view of the main street below.
He reached for the chair, pulling it out for you with a silent, courtly grace. You gave him a thankful nod, settling into the seat and smoothing down the navy silk of your Anarkali, before he finally sat down in the chair opposite you, his glasses catching the light as he looked across the table at the girl he had never quite managed to forget.
The silence between you stretched, fragile and fraught with the weight of a decade, until the tension snapped.
"I'm sorry!" you both blurted out in unison, the words colliding in the air like two panicked birds.
You blinked, momentarily stunned into a stupor, "Why are you sorry?"
Zaid shifted in his chair, his fingers nervously tracing the rim of his porcelain cup.
"For...for the way I left. Disappearing without so much as a proper goodbye...it was incredibly immature of me," he confessed, the guilt evident in the downward tilt of his head.
"You were just a kid, Zaid." you countered softly but he shook his head with a rueful smile.
"And so were you! I'm sorry for cutting you off so harshly. I don't even know why I convinced myself you would deliberately throw away my gift like that. I should have known you better."
The sheer earnestness in his voice made your heart clench with a painful tightness. It was so rare to hear a man take accountability without a trace of venom or defense that it left you momentarily breathless.
Compelled by his honesty, you finally unburdened yourself, explaining the chaotic truth of that day, the stray dogs, the shredded pink fur and the stick you had wielded in a futile attempt to save his gift.
When you finished, he let out a heavy sigh and face-palmed, his glasses nearly sliding off his nose. "See? This is exactly what I was saying. I'm such an idiot for ever doubting you."
"You really need to stop apologising!" you laughed, though the sound was tinged with a lingering sadness for the years lost to a misunderstanding.
"You know, after a few days, jab mera gussa finally thanda hua and I was missing you so terribly that I couldn't control myself, maine Haveli call kiya tha," he revealed, "I only remembered that one landline number. In fact, mujhe Sana ke ghar ka number bhi yaad nahi tha."
"I called a couple of times. The first time, no one picked it up and I thought, maybe I'd forgotten the digits. I called again after two or three days. A house help answered and told me you weren't home. I left a message, begging him to tell you I'd called. When no one called back, I tried again the next day." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly, "Tab Uzair bhai ne phone uthaya. Unhone bola ki tumhe mujhse baat nahi karni aur main roz-roz Haveli phone karna band kar doon. He cut the call after that. Uske baad toh meri himmat hi nahi hui, dobara try karne ki."
The air seemed to vanish from your lungs, replaced by a searing rage that tasted like copper. A wave of shock washed over you, followed closely by a surge of pure anger directed toward the man who had loomed over your life like a shadow.
No one had told you.
Not the house help and certainly not Uzair. He had intercepted your chance at closure, deliberately withholding the information that your best friend had reached out. Uzair had let you drown in your own guilt.
"Tumhe...kisi ne nahi bataya, that I had called?" Zaid asked softly, noticing the color draining from your face.
"No!" you exclaimed, your voice rising in a sharp spike of disbelief. A few patrons at the nearby tables turned to look and you quickly lowered your tone, though the intensity remained.
"No! Agar mujhe kisi ne bhi bataya hota, then I swear, I would have called back. Sana and I searched every nook and cranny of Lyari. We asked every shopkeeper, every neighbour, every classmate, no one had your new contact info."
Zaid leaned back, a look of profound relief washing over him, though it was tempered by the gravity of the lost years.
"I left without saying goodbye to anyone. My parents only broke the news a few days before we moved. They knew I'd have put my foot down and made a scene about leaving my friends behind. By the time they told me, I was so distraught over our fight that I didn't even have the energy to argue with them."
Your eyes softened, the anger at Uzair momentarily eclipsed by the immense sadness of two children being manipulated by circumstances beyond their control.
Without thinking, you reached across the table and squeezed his hand, your fingers anchoring him to the present. "I'm really sorry for everything that happened, Zaid. Truly."
He looked up, the cheeky, boyish grin you remembered so fondly finally breaking through his composure. "It's okay. You've more than made up for it by agreeing to come here! Even though, again, I'm sorry, your grandparents probably emotionally blackmailed you into this meeting."
You smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it wasn't a forced mask.
"They didn't. The only reason I agreed to come to this 'potential rishta meet' was because it was you. If it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have even considered it."
Zaid's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, a flush creeping up his neck. "Oh, I'm flattered! To be honest, jab ammi ne tumhari tasveer dikhayi, I was genuinely shocked that you were still single. The way Uzair bhai used to be so territorial over you...he used to watch you like a hawk, and how you used to follow him around...mujhe laga tha abhi tak toh tum dono ka nikaah ho gaya hoga."
Your smile faltered, leaving your face neutral and distant. You took a slow sip of your water, trying to steady your voice to sound as nonchalant as humanly possible.
"Uzair and I aren't on talking terms now," you said, the finality of the statement hanging in the air between the brass fixtures.
Zaid's eyebrows shot up, "What? Really? I thought...I mean, everyone in the neighbourhood thought it was only a matter of time."
You gave a short, stiff nod, refusing to let the bitterness seep into your tone. "I don't even live at the Haveli anymore. I live with my grandparents now."
"You have really changed," Zaid remarked softly, his amber eyes searching yours with a depth that made you feel exposed.
Oh, he had no idea.
Changing the trajectory of the conversation with a forced smile, you gestured toward him. "And you haven't changed at all. Still a walking ray of sunshine!"
Suddenly, his phone vibrated against the tabletop, an insistent buzz that caused him to groan audibly. The caller ID flashed "Ammi," and with a practiced flick of his thumb, he silenced the device without a second thought.
"Shouldn't you pick that up? It might be important."
Zaid leaned back, a look of exhaustion crossing his handsome features. "She is only calling to make sure I'm putting on a good impression. She's probably timing how long it takes for me to say something incredibly stupid."
You couldn't help but feel a flicker of warmth at his humility. "Really? She doesn't have to worry. You are well...you, after all."
He chuckled, though there was a self-deprecating edge to it. "This is exactly why she is worried! My parents don't hold nearly as high an opinion of me as you do."
You found yourself giggling as he began to describe his current predicament. He explained that he had absolutely no inclination to get married anytime soon. His singular focus was the architectural firm he had established just two months ago. Yet, his parents were hell-bent on trapping him in the golden cage of matrimony and he was currently being bullied, as he put it, into this parade of prospective brides.
Seeing his mood dip you tried to steer him back toward laughter using the only tool left in your arsenal, a self-deprecating joke.
"Look on the bright side, aaj tumhe zyada problem nahi ayegi. You can just go back and tell your parents that you didn't like me at all. Problem solved!"
"Yeh toh woh kabhi nahi maanenge because they know how much I—" He stopped abruptly, a violent blush creeping up from his collar to his ears. "—I missed you...and Sana!"
"Sana and I missed you a lot too," you replied, choosing to ignore the heavy pause that had preceded his correction. "Speaking of her, have you had the chance to meet her yet?"
Zaid shook his head, his fingers drumming nervously on the table. "Not yet. You are the first person I'm meeting since coming back. But obviously, plan toh hai. I'm actually a little scared because I know mujhe bohot galiyaan padne wali hai."
"Just a heads up, gaaliyon ke saath ho sakta hai woh tumhe thoda peet bhi de."
The shared laughter felt like a bridge being rebuilt, stone by stone. Caught in the momentum of the moment, you perked up with a sudden idea.
"Actually, some of my friends were planning to go to the fair tomorrow and we were going to grab dinner afterward. Why don't you tag along if you're free? It'll be just like old times."
Zaid looked hesitant, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pity. "Really? I don't want to intrude on your circle. I'd be the odd one out."
"Come on," you insisted, waving away his concerns. "You know half of them from school anyway. Everyone would be genuinely happy to see you there."
He finally gave in with a reluctant, charming smile. "Okay, fine. But I'm holding onto you to save me from Sana's wrath."
You grinned, leaning back into the plush velvet of your chair. "No promises!"
The conversation flowed with a natural ease that you had forgotten existed. He caught you up on his odyssey in Dubai, describing how his fascination with the skeletal beauty of skyscrapers led him to architecture. He spoke with a quiet, fierce pride about establishing his firm immediately after his bachelors, despite his father's skepticism that he should have "labored under an expert" first. Zaid's confidence in his own business acumen was a sharp contrast to the boys you knew in Lyari and you found yourself admiring the steady, calm fire in his eyes.
In return, you caught him up on the small, mundane details of life in the neighbourhood, though you were meticulous in cutting out any mention of Uzair, leaving the center of the story hollow, refusing to let the man who had broken you haunt this sanctuary.
You didn't even realise how much time had slipped away until the golden light of the afternoon began to stretch into the long shadows of evening.
When it was finally time to leave, Zaid insisted on dropping you home despite your protests about the distance. The ride back was filled with merry chatter, a stark contrast to the heavy, suffocating silence of your recent trips in Uzair's jeep.
When he finally pulled up outside your grandparents' gate, you gave him a quick side hug and finalised the details for the fair. You were about to unbuckle and step out when he reached into the backseat, his face set in a look of intense shyness.
"Wait, Y/N," he murmured. He produced a bouquet of fragrant jasmine and delicate lilies but tucked into the center of the blooms was something that made your breath hitch. It was a miniature version of the pink-and-turquoise teddy bear from your twelfth birthday.
Zaid's hands were shaking slightly as he handed them to you. "Yeh maine tumhare liye laya tha...itna nervous tha ki gaadi mein hi bhool gaya," he confessed, his gaze fixed on the steering wheel to avoid your reaction.
A wave of shame washed over you for having thought, even for a second, that he was here to gloat or mock your downfall. Throughout the entire afternoon, he had been nothing but ecstatic to see you, his every word a testament to a friendship that had survived time and distance.
"Zaid... you really didn't need to do this," you whispered, clutching the small bear to your chest. The softness of the fur felt like a reproach to your own hardened heart.
"Nahi, zaroori tha," he said, "You could have chosen not to come today and I wouldn't have blamed you after the things I said that day. I know that if you had been in my place, you would have at least listened to me instead of assuming the worst. So really, thank you for always being so understanding and kind to me, even back then."
You were speechless, the air in the car suddenly feeling thick with an emotion you couldn't name.
The transition from being Uzair's shadow to being Zaid's priority felt like stepping out of a dark room directly into the blistering glare of the midday sun, it was blinding, disorienting and physically overwhelming.
For years, your self-worth had been a currency that Uzair devalued daily with a surgeon's expertise. You had learned to make yourself small, to anticipate the sharp sting of a joke about your appearance before it was even uttered, and to accept the role of the reliable bridge that boys crossed to only to get to the more radiant girls standing beside you.
You had become so accustomed to the callous remarks about your weight and the indifferent shrugs that they had become the very foundation of your identity, you didn't just hear the insults, you believed them.
When Zaid looked at you, there was no calculation in his eyes, no hidden agenda, and no cruelty. Your brain, conditioned for defense and self-deprecation, struggled to categorise this alien feeling.
You were a person who had been taught to expect crumbs, and Zaid was offering you a feast. The disparity was so vast that your first instinct wasn't joy but a desperate, panicked need to flee back into the familiar safety of your own solitude.
As you stood there, clutching the flowers and the small, plush bear, you watched his car pull away until its taillights disappeared. You fought back the tears that were finally beginning to shed.
But as the warmth of the flowers seeped into your skin, an ugly, cruel voice reared its head in the back of your mind, the voice of your own insecurity. It whispered that now that Uzair had discarded you, you were simply using Zaid's kindness as a bandage to cover the rot he left behind.
You let out a broken sob, frantically wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. You felt like a fraud, a girl who didn't deserve the sunshine Zaid brought because your soul was still stained with the darkness of a man who didn't love you.
"Y/N? Beta, tum aa gayi?" your grandmother's voice called out from the porch, her tone laced with a hopeful curiosity that felt like a weight.
You took several deep, shuddering breaths, trying to compose your unravelling form before stepping into the light of the house.
With one final, shaky exhale, you pushed the door open, forcing the wreckage of your heart into the shadows as you stepped toward the warmth of your grandmother's voice, haunted by the terrifying possibility that you were actually loved, just not by the man who still occupied your heart and your every waking thought.
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