haafiza
major iqbal x reader
summary: you reflect back on your times with iqbal.
warnings: ok this is angsty. about 900 words, random blurb. idk what i've written. just bear with me maybe. first time writing for major iqbal, hell, first time writing for dhurandhar so please don't attack me bro. iqbal might be ooc, also if you see a typo, no you did not. d2 spoilers, don't read if you haven't watched!!
recommended listen: mann mera (original version)- gajendra verma.
divider from: @uzmacchiato
iqbal was dead.
your iqbal-
no. that wouldn't be the right thing to say. he had only ever belonged to his kaum.
you should've known better. you always knew better. ever since you were mere kids.
while he had been impulsive and quick to anger, you were often the calm to his storm, the kinaara to his samandar.
a tear rolls down your cheek, but your throat lets out no sound.
always too silent, weren't you?
as you lift a hand to wipe it off, the bangles on your wrist chime, and you're once again brought back to what you thought you had left behind as soon as you had stepped into this house.
'ab kya laaye hain aap?'
you were, safe to say, annoyed at him. he hadn't shown up in days, which was horrendous since you only lived one floor below his, and now he's cornered you in the empty corridor at the back of the house, both of you now standing in front of the window, a spectrum of colors falling on your face through the tinted glass panes as you look up at him.
why is he so tall.
'khud dekh lijiye, dekhiyega saari naraazi yu dur ho jaayegi aapki.'
oh accha, you thought as you rolled your eyes, and took the 'gift' he had brought for you, wrapped in a newspaper.
you knew what it was as soon as you saw it. you had seen it enough times when you and your ammi, your aapi and the other women in your house had went shopping.
bangles, from a street vendor.
to think that iqbal jahangir ahmed, son of brigadier jahangir ahmed, had abandoned his knack for the finest designed jewelry just because you had said you preferred glass bangles over gold ones, because they were often lighter.
you opened the package slowly, a smile crossing your face as soon as you see the colour. your favourite. of course, he knows. however much of hot-headedness he had inherited from his father, it couldn't be denied that he had also inherited an incredibly observant nature from his ammi. only lord knew how that woman could so easily guess what you were thinking.
a part of you always wished she hadn't been married to that pimp of a man.
as you looked up to see iqbal looking at you expectantly, you couldn't help but laugh.
'ajeeb hai aap bhi, abhi naraaz thi ab hass rahi hai. manna padega, hamaare jaise hoshiyaar aadmi ko bhi hairaan kar deti hai aap.'
as your full fledged laughed turned into giggles,eventually quietening, covered by his slightly unruly hair, you noticed a cut. fresh.
ya allah.
you must be the most horrible lover on earth. he must be in so much pain right now-
'iqbal, hame abhi bataye ye kaise hua.' (as if you don't already know how it must have happened.)
'arrey aap kyu yeh fizul ki baatein soch-'
'ham aapse waapas naraaz hojayenge iqbal.'
as soon as you say that, his hands hook around your thighs, lifting you up, making you sit on the wide windowsill. he knows how difficult it is for you to keep standing when you're stressed.
his hands now hold your face, making you look up at him.
'zyada kuch nahi hai, aap to jaanti hain abbu ko, aise hi bas, ek rally mai jaa nahi paaya, dusra kuch kaam tha, unhe pata chal gaya, dekhiye ham yahi to hai aapke saamne kuch nahi huya hai hame, faltu mai itna sochne se aapke sar mai dard hojaayega.'
you wanted to scream at him. why. why does his father want him to be a part of all that.
and why do you always agree, you wanted to ask iqbal.
since then, a small part of you had come to realise that iqbal had started to believe in what his father believed. and you knew very well how much it would cost him.
he had climbed the ranks quite steadily, not surprising, he had always been the type to excel, and once he put his heart to something, he had it done.
but what you kept hearing about him and his conquests confirmed that he had lost his heart somewhere on his way to the air-conditioned offices of the isi.
you had watched from the balcony as he had had to shoulder his mom's coffin on her last journey.
she will finally be at peace, was what you had thought. he hadn't cried, but you could swear you could see the weight of grief- and anger- settling on his shoulders permanently.
you never really saw him after that.
your family had moved away, and when they asked you to marry, you couldn't help but agree.
your husband wasn't bad. on the contrary, he treated you just fine. he was an informer to the isi, nothing fancy or over the top really, just tracking the activities of local drug cartels and mafia, through local word of mouth. but that meant you heard of him daily.
the major never forgets, your husband says.
but iqbal does, you want to say. he forgot me, that's why i'm here.
i should've stopped him. but would he have listened?
and now you have been told he's dead. killed.
whatever he had done had to come back to him someday.
'suno, zara idhar aana bahu', your mother-in-law's voice breaks you out of your thoughts.
'ji, aayi.'
you can't bear to sit for too long anymore.
author's note (do people read this anymore): i'm so sorry. idek what this is. lekin agar galti se pasand aajaye to comment aur reblog karna like karke mat bhaagna!! constructive criticism is appreciated!!
tagging people who might be interested: @y0uneversawmehere @softkissesandicecreams @budugu @i-am-yourmom @mujhegharjaanahai @cakiebleh @yaadonmein @sparksfromhell @nervouscashrascalflowers @d1stytoes62 @mainyahaankyunhoon @peonies7002 @raazeishq @laal-pari @rayylovesf1 @roses-and-iron @pleasetagmejaaneman @maraudersbitchesassemble @rehmandakaitswife