has the alcohol lulled him down or is he aware that his cock is about to burst through the confines of his salwar
godddddd he's sooo hard....just want him to fuck me silly and tipsy sex lowkey the horniest 💋 the tip of his cock smeared with pre cum, throbbing, red and twitching wildly before he pushes into mah wet inviting pussy, whining as the alcohol makes him subby, wantonly fucking with wild deep strokes, aching to cum the deepest pits of mah pussy 💦 while he busies himself with mah boobies, sucking them raw and fucking me raw.........FUCKKKKK
A/N: based on my Rehman x Ulfat bengali!AU headcanons and this idea, shoutout to @rosesandpeoniesthings and @nevereversaygoodbye !! with translated dialogues because my non-bengali babies begged me to be let in on the fun :3 pretty sure i gave myself like 2 ? 3 ? orgasms while writing this so i think i did a pretty good job. also look whos back to their roots of posting at the oddest of times (my sleep schedule is writing its suicide note rn)
word count: ~4.3k words
genre: fluff, smut, basically a pwnp oneshot/drabble.
TW: none as such, some parts may sound a bit dubcon-ish esp to my non bengali readers but i can't explain it, it's just how bangla is and most of us bengali girls are, we WILL be like no no and deny it even though we want it 😭 ulfat is no different
It was Mahashashti, and the massive DakaatBari mansion was entirely alive with a chaotic, buzzing energy. The air inside the thakurdaalan was heavy with the thick, suffocating smell of burning dhuno, crushed marigold petals, and the evening breeze blowing in from the Hooghly river, as Rehman, the Boro-korta of the house, sat on a low, velvet-draped divan, his long legs stretched out carelessly in front of him. He was dressed in a pristine white silk panjabi, the fine fabric stretched tight across the broad expanse of his chest, the top three gold buttons left casually undone, his fingers adorned with gold rings that glinted in the light of the brass oil lamps.
Surrounding him were the regional gang leaders, local traders, and shifting political allies who had traveled specifically to pay their respects to the most feared landlord in Bengal.
Outwardly, Rehman was the picture of terrifying, calculated hospitality. He laughed deeply at a corrupt merchant's joke, took long, slow drags from his ornamental hookah, and nodded along to the logistical complaints of his smugglers.
Inwardly, he was losing his goddamn mind.
Because across the courtyard, entirely oblivious to the small army of men hanging onto every word her husband uttered, Ulfat was finalizing her departure.
She was taking Naieem and Faizal out for an evening of pandal hopping across the kachakachi para-r pujos. It wasn’t a long trip; just a single evening, a few hours at most - but to Rehman, who had spent the last few days entirely consumed by the logistical nightmare of handling the estate’s own bari-r Durga Puja and weapon smuggling routes, even ek bela without her presence felt like a prison sentence.
Worse, she had dressed for the occasion.
Ulfat was wearing a heavy, traditional crimson saree that wrapped around her soft curves like a second skin, the rich fabric emphasizing the line of her hips and the smallness of her waist. But it wasn’t the saree that had Rehman’s knuckles turning white against the hookah pipe. It was the blouse. A deep, plunging, midnight-black silk blouse that was completely backless, held together by nothing more than two impossibly thin string ties knotted at her spine. Every single time she turned around to adjust Faizal’s small dhuti or wipe a smudge of dirt from Naieem’s cheek, a vast, smooth expanse of her pale, creamy skin was exposed to the cool evening air. The delicate, hollow indentation of her lower back, trailing down toward where the heavy saree was tucked into her petticoat, was entirely bare.
"Ogo, shunchho?" (Hey, are you listening?) Ulfat’s voice drifted across the chaotic courtyard, sweet and clear over the din of the dhak drums practicing near the gate.
Rehman let out a thick cloud of smoke, his eyes instantly locking onto hers. "Bolo, shona." (Yes, sweetheart?)
"Ami chele duto ke niye berocchhi." (I’m going out with the boys.) she said, stepping closer to the edge of the dalaan, her shankha-pola clinking rhythmically. She didn't step directly into the circle of men, but the teasing curve of her lips told him she knew exactly what his intense stare meant. "Firte firte ektu deri hote pare. Tumi thakurdalaan-er kaaj gulo guchhiye nio, aar enara chole gele luchi gulo kheye niyo, ami rannaghor-e dheke rekhechhi." (It may be a bit late by the time we return. Finish up whatever work you have here, and after they go, have the luchis, I’ve kept them covered in the kitchen.)
Rehman didn't care about the luchis. Hell, he didn't care about anything right now, really. His eyes traced the sharp line of her collarbone, down to the soft swell of her breasts hidden beneath the red silk pleats, and then finally back to her exposed back as she turned slightly to call out to their sons.
"Uzair!" Rehman’s voice boomed across the dalaan, deep and rough, cutting through the conversations instantly.
Uzair, who was busy trying to untangle a massive string of tuni lights near the main pillars, ran over, looking exhausted. "Haan, Dadabhai? Ki hoyeche?" (Yes, dada? What happened?)
"Tui oder shonge jaa." (Go with them.) Rehman commanded, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Oder sathe sathe thakbi. Dekhbi jeno Naieem aar Faizal ek pa-o edik shedik na jaay. Aar shon-" (Stay close by. Make sure Naieem and Faizal don’t go off somewhere. And listen-) Rehman leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, threatening rumble that only his brother could hear. "jodi kono hotocchhara tor boudi-r dike chokh tule takay, okhanei guli kore dibi. Tar porer thana-police ami dekhe nebo." (If some scoundrel dares to even look up at your sister in law, shoot him then and there. I’ll handle the legalities and the police after that if need be.)
Uzair swallowed hard, looking between his brother’s wild eyes and his boudi. He immediately understood the assignment. "Ami achhi toh, Dada. Chaap niyo na. Ami ekta paan theke chun o khoshte debo na." (I’m here, dada. Don’t stress. I won’t let anything go wrong.)
Ulfat adjusted her aachol, a soft, amused laugh escaping her lips as she watched her husband’s protective frenzy. "Uff, eto chinta koro keno? Para-r pujo, shobai chene amader. Chollam ami." (Uff, why do you worry so much? Its only nearby pandals anyway, everyone knows us. I’ll be off now.)
Rehman watched her walk away. He watched the way her hips swayed under the heavy crimson silk, the way the thin black strings shifted against the smooth skin of her spine with every step she took. The moment she stepped out of the main gates of DakaatBari, the entire mansion felt entirely empty to him. The dhaak-er awaaj sounded hollow. The tobacco tasted bitter.
For the rest of the evening, Rehman felt like he was going to go mad. Here he was, surrounded by men he would rather shoot, putting on a performance of laughing along to their jokes which suddenly started sounding unfunny now that his chokh-er moni (apple of his eye) was not in a one meter radius. Every single minute felt like a year. His skin felt hot, his palms sweaty, his lower belly tight with a heavy, throbbing ache that only one woman in the entire province of Bengal - no scratch that, the entire world- could soothe.
After a hearty dinner, the “guests” had left. It was well past his sons’ bedtime when the footsteps of his family’s return finally echoed through the outer courtyard.
Rehman didn't wait. He literally threw his gorod-er panjabi onto the aramkedara, walking towards the main gate in nothing but his tight, sleeveless white sando genji and his dhuti, his shoulders glistening with a fine sheen of sweat from the humidity.
Uzair practically stumbled in, looking thoroughly defeated, holding a half-asleep Faizal over his shoulder while Naieem dragged his feet behind him.
"Baap re baap, dada, tor chele-gulo-ke shamlate amar toh obostha tight hoye gelo re!" (Good lord, dada, looking after your sons will be the death of me!) Uzair groaned, not even looking at Rehman as he staggered toward his room. "Sharakkhon khai-khai lege ache dutor! Faizal terota phuchka kheyeche, aar Naieem toh ponero ta kheyeche. Ami gelam ghumate, shorir ta dicche naa aar." (Constantly demanding food, the both of them. Faizal ate thirteen panipuris, and Naieem ate fifteen. I'm off to sleep, I can't take any more.)
Rehman didn't even hear him.
Ulfat had stepped in, looking slightly disheveled but breathtakingly beautiful. The night air had dampened her dark curls, making them cling to the sides of her neck. Her red saree was slightly loosened from hours of walking, the pleats slipping a little lower on her waist, revealing the soft curve of her hip. And her blouse, god, that black blouse - the strings were now slightly damp, biting into the smooth flesh of her back.
The moment her feet touched the cool stone of the courtyard, Rehman closed the distance between them. He didn't care that a few security guards were still patrolling the perimeter. He grabbed her kamarbandh, yanking her with a sudden, violent force that sent her crashing straight against his solid chest.
"Oma! Ki korchho ta ki!" (Oh god! What do you think you’re doing?) Ulfat gasped, her hands instantly coming up to press against his bare shoulders, her eyes wide with surprise. "Gari-wala achhe, darowan ra ache, keu dekhe felbe toh-" (The driver is still there, the guards are there, someone will see-)
"Chup," (Shh.) Rehman growled. He buried his face straight into the crook of her neck, inhaling sharply. She still smelled faintly of the expensive jasmine attar he had bought her. "Ek bela... puro ekta bela tui amar samne chilish na. Janish amar ki obostha hochhillo niche?" (One whole evening.. the entire evening, you weren't in front of me. Do you even know what kind of torture i was going through at the thakurdaalan?)
"Tumi toh niche lokjon er sathe chile," (But you were with so many people.) she whispered, her breath hitching as Rehman’s lips pressed a hard, bruising kiss right against her collarbone, his fingers tightening against her hip. She allowed him to drag her up the stairs, her feet barely touching the steps as he practically carried her toward the privacy of the upper floor. "Ah, tumi erom bacchha-der moto koro keno? Chharo, ami haath-mukh dhuye ashi..." (Oh, why must you act like such a child? Leave me, let me wash my face and hands..)
"Na." (No.) Rehman muttered, his grip tightening as they finally reached the massive double doors of the master bedroom. He kicked the heavy teak wood doors open, hauled her inside, and slammed them shut behind them, throwing the heavy brass cross-bar lock into place with a loud clank.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint, golden glow of a single kerosene lamp burning on the vanity table.
Ulfat backed away slightly, her heart hammering against her ribs as she looked at him. Rehman looked especially unhinged in this light. The dark hair on his chest was peeking out the top of his genji and the gold chain around his neck was glinting in the lamplight. His chest was heaving, his eyes completely dark with an intense, needy lust that she knew all too well.
"Rehman, ektu shanto hao-" (Rehman, calm down now- ) she tried to say, her voice trembling slightly as she adjusted her aachol, though the sheer weight of his gaze was making her knees weak. "Ami khub klanto, shona, koto hetechhi aaj pandal gulo-te. Shari ta chharte dao, ami ektu haath mukh ta dhuye ashi-" (I’m very tired, darling, I’ve walked so much today at the pandals. Let me change out of my saree, wash myself up a bit-)
“Na. Bollam toh, na, tumi kothhao jaabe na.” (No. I told you, no, you aren’t going anywhere.) Rehman said, sounding almost like a petulant child, closing the distance between them until his towering frame completely blocked out the light of the lamp. He reached out, his rough fingers tracing the line of her jaw before sliding down to her throat, his thumb pressing lightly against her pulse.
"Arre, amar kotha ta toh shono-" (Arre, at least listen to me once-) Ulfat tried to speak, but the words were instantly crushed under his lips.
He didn't kiss her gently. He kissed her with a raw, violent hunger as if he had been starving for months. His mouth slammed onto hers, his lips hot and demanding, his tongue instantly driving deep into her mouth, claiming her with a feral possessiveness that made her knees go completely weak. His large hand slid down her waist, his rough palm gripping the curve of her hip through the heavy silk of her saree, pulling her closer so that her tummy brushed against the hard, rigid length straining against his dhuti.
Ulfat whimpered into the kiss, her fingers automatically tangling into his short, dark hair, her back arching instinctively against him. The sheer intensity of his need was infectious; it always was. He was a dakait, a ruthless landlord who took what he wanted by force, but in this room, under the flickering lamplight, his violence was entirely translated into an all-consuming devotion that left her breathless.
When he finally broke the kiss to breathe, his lips didn't leave her skin. He trailed his mouth down her jaw, his teeth lightly nipping at the sensitive skin of her throat, making her gasp out loud. His sheer dominance was suffocating, but beneath it, there was a raw, desperate neediness that always made Ulfat’s heart melt. This was the man who terrorized the entire province, yet right now, he was looking at her like an addict looking at his last fix.
"Shona, lagate dao na, bas ekbar." (Sweetheart, let me put it in, just once.) he pleaded suddenly, his voice dropping into a low, husky whine that vibrated right through her core. He rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot against her lips. "Ekbar, maa kali-r dibbi, ami tarporei ghumiye porbo, shono na! Boro koshto hochhe amar, ek bela tomar theke dure thaka... ami ar parchhi na." (Just once, I swear on god, I’ll go straight to sleep after that, listen to me! I’m in so much agony right now, staying away from you the whole evening.. I just can’t take it anymore.)
"Tumi ekta pagol." (You are a complete madman.) Ulfat murmured, a small, helpless smile tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion. She reached up, her hands resting against his broad shoulders, feeling the tension locked in his muscles. "Shob shomoy khali eishob.. kothay ektu jiggesh korbe je thakur kemon dekhle, kotogulo dekhle, chele gulo ki korlo-" (All the time its just all this, instead of asking about the how the idols were, how many pandals we visited, what all the boys did-)
"O oi shob kaal shokale shunbo." (Oh, I’ll listen to all that tomorrow morning.) Rehman interrupted, his hands sliding around her back, his fingers immediately finding the top silk string of her blouse. He pulled it with a practiced motion. The knot unraveled instantly. "Ektu lagate dao na, bas ekbar... Shona ma amar, eto prem kori tomay, dekho, mana korbe na kintu." (Let me fuck you, please, just once… My sweet girl, I love you so much, don’t say no now.)
"Ah, Rehman, ekhon na... raat hoyeche toh onek." (Ah, Rehman, not now… its so late already.) she tried to chide him, her voice trembling slightly. "Chele-ra pasher ghor-e ache, jodi keu jege jay?” (Our sons are sleeping in the next room, what if someone wakes up?)
“O keu jaagbe na. Chharo toh. Oh shona, lagabooo.” (Oh, no one’s going to wake up. Leave all that. Darling, I wanna do itttt.) Rehman pleaded, his voice an irresistible purr as his hands roamed her back. "Ekbar khali... tomay ektu-o koshto korte hobe na, chomchom. Ami-i shob korbo." (Just once.. you won't have to put in any effort at all, my sweet. I will do everything.)
Ulfat sighed, her defense crumbling under the weight of his puppy eyes. “Boddo baar berecho aajkal.” (You’re crossing all your limits these days.) The heat radiating from his body was overwhelming, and the throbbing ache between her own legs was becoming impossible to ignore. "Shudhu ekbar. Tarpor kintu ghumate hobe." (Alright, just once. But you have to sleep after that, okay?)
"Haan, haan, ja bolbi tai," (Yes, yes, whatever you say.) Rehman muttered frantically, but the moment he got her approval, the needy submission completely vanished. With one violent, impatient tug, the delicate knots snapped apart. The blouse fell open, exposing her full, heavy breasts to the cool air. Rehman let out a low growl at the sight, his large hands immediately coming up to cup them, his thumbs frictioning over the peaks until she cried out, her head falling back.
He didn’t give her time to recover from the sudden exposure. He squeezed her forcefully, molding her breasts against his palms - scarred from years of handling heavy iron weapons - until she had to wrap her arms around his neck just to stay upright. He backed her up across the dark room, his thighs encasing hers, forcing her legs to part with every heavy step he took toward the massive mahogany writing desk in the corner.
The desk was an heirloom, where the accounts of extortion, land deeds, and river-smuggling bribes were recorded. With a single, violent sweep of his left arm, Rehman cleared the surface. A heavy brass inkwell, stacks of official letters from the district magistrate, and a silver paperweight went crashing to the floorboards with a loud clang.
"Rehman! Table ta-" (Rehman! The table-)
"Chaaro toh." (To hell with the table.) he muttered against her skin. He set up down on the edge of the table and bit her lightly until she cried out, her fingers twisting into his hair as he buried her face between her cleavage. "Aaj raat e emon bhabe lagabo, kal shokal e pa felte koshto hobe tor. Tui ghore boshe thakbi, ami kaal tor kachhe bhat niye ashbo, kintu aaj raat ta amar... shara raat ta amar." (Tonight, I’m gonna fuck you so good, you'll find it difficult to even take a step tomorrow. You’ll stay sitting in the room, I will bring food to you tomorrow myself, but tonight belongs to me… all night.)
"Tor jonno hoyechhi." (Only for you.) he muttered against her damp skin, his breath searing hot.
He reached down, his fingers catching the heavy, intricate silver chain of her kamarbandh. He didn't unhook it. Instead, he used it as an anchor to yank her hips flush against his lower belly. His length straining inside his loose dhuti pressed directly against her lower stomach once again, separated only by the layers of her saree and her thin petticoat.
His hands left her waist and went down to the pleats of her saree, tucked tightly at her navel. He didn't have the patience to unwrap the six yards. He simply gathered the rich silk together, his rough palms sliding under the hem of her cotton petticoat until he reached the bare, smooth skin of her inner thighs, and pulled it down, throwing it onto the floor, as Ulfat leaned slightly back.
The heat radiating from her core was staggering. Rehman’s fingers, trembling slightly with the weight of his restraint, brushed against the soft, soaking wet fabric of her underwear. He let out a shaky breath, his thumb tracing her slit through the fabric until he felt the heavy slickness leaking through the cloth.
"Dekho... mukhe bolchho raat hoyeche, kintu bhetor bhetor toh puro gole jacchho, go." (See, you're saying that it's too late already, but you're melting inside, love.) he teased, his voice dropping into that low purr that always made her blush. He gripped the thin cotton fabric and tore it down the middle, the sound of tearing cloth loud in the silent room. "Ami na thakle ki thakur dekhe eshei eto gorom hoye jete tumi, chomchom? Eto shob kaar jonne, shona? Bolo?" (If I wasn't here, would you be getting this hot and bothered just from going pandal hopping, my sweet? Who's all this for, sweetheart? Tell me?)
"Tumi na- uff, tomar-i jonno," (You are- ugh, only for you,) she cried out, her face flushing crimson as he took off his own genji, and parted her legs as wide as they could go, pinning her knees against his ribs.
Rehman didn't- or rather, couldn’t wait any longer. He untied the knot of his dhuti, letting the white fabric pool around his ankles until he was completely bare, freeing his length, thick, fully erect, and glistening with a drop of pre-cum in the dim light. He gripped the base of his cock, rubbing the blunt head against her soaking wet slit, smearing her own wetness over her clit until Ulfat was crying out, her fingers tightening into his shoulders like claws.
“Please, aar deri koro na, keno jalachho erom kore- AH! Rehman!” (Please, don't make me wait anymore, why are you torturing me like this- AH! Rehman!) Ulfat’s scream was sharp, caught instantly in the back of her throat as her eyes flew wide open. With a sudden, powerful lurch of his hips, Rehman had driven himself forward, burying his entire length inside her in one single thrust, the thick shaft forcing its way through her tight, sliding walls until he bottomed out completely against her cervix.
The sheer fullness of him, stretching her open to her absolute limit, made her chest heave violently. Her back arched, her head falling back as her fingers scrambled wildly across the wood, knocking over a stray pen-holder in order to hold on to an edge of the table.
The sound of her cry echoed through the high ceilings, but Rehman captured her lips immediately after, tongue deep and heavy, swallowing her remaining gasps.
The rhythm was instantly frantic. Rehman was working with an insane amount of backed-up adrenaline. He gripped the edge of the mahogany desk with both hands, using it as leverage to drive into her with a brutal, relentless force. He pulled back until only the tip remained inside her wet heat, before driving back in. Every thrust was deep, wet, and heavy, the friction of their skin creating a loud, slapping sound that filled the otherwise silent room.
Thud. Slap. Thud.
"Ogo... uff, maago!" (oh.. ugh, god!) Her voice was a strained, melodic gasp that ended in a sharp inhale, her legs wrapping around his waist to try and control the depth of his penetration, but her movements only served to drive him deeper. "Ektu... ektu aaste koro na! Ah- laage toh!" (Do it.. Do it a little slower, no! Ah- it hurts!) Her whole body was shaking, the friction of his hairy chest and the cold metal of his chain against her bare breasts making her nipples ache with overstimulation.
"Aaste korbo? Puro ek bela chokher aaral chhilo, aar ekhon bou naki bolche aaste koro. Hmph." (Do it slower? Away from my eyes for a whole evening, and now my wife tells me to slow down. Hmph.) Rehman’s teeth bared in a wolfish grin, his sweat-slicked shoulders glistening under the lamplight, having no intention to slow down. He reached down, his hand wrapping around the kamarbandh once again, using the metal chain to literally lift her hips off the desk with every single downward stroke. He was drilling into her now, his strokes fast and punishing.
"Rehman, boddo jore hocchhe kintu- aha, lagche!" (Rehman, you're going way too fast, I'm telling you- aha, it hurts!) she whined, her voice trembling with a mixture of intense pleasure and overwhelming friction as he continued to drive into her without an ounce of mercy, her voice cracking as his thick head repeatedly hammered against the sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside her. "Ogo... shono... ektu-" (Darling.. Listen.. A little-)
"Bollam na, mana korbi na aaj raat ta amay." (I told you, don't deny me anything tonight.) Rehman panted, his chest heaving as he pumped into her faster, his face twisted in an expression of pure, agonized ecstasy.
The pleasure was too much, too sharp, too frequent. A violent, shattering wave of an orgasm began to build in her lower belly, tightening her walls around him. Ulfat’s head rolled from side to side on the scattered papers, her lips parted in a silent scream as her body began to convulse around his shaft, her climax pulling him over the edge along with her.
Feeling the tight, convulsing contractions of her climax broke the final thread of Rehman’s control. His jaw tightened, his breathing turning into a series of ragged growls. He leaned down, burying his face in the curve of her neck, his teeth biting down hard enough on her collarbone to leave a deep purple mark as he delivered four final, devastatingly deep thrusts.
With a loud, guttural groan that vibrated right through her chest, Rehman buckled his hips forward and came, rutting against her like an animal.
He filled her completely, a thick, hot torrent of his seed pumping deep into her womb, his entire body violently trembling as he held himself pinned inside her. Ulfat let out one last, long sob of pleasure, holding him close as the room spun around them.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of their ragged, synchronized breathing and the distant, faint hum of the night outside.
Rehman remained buried inside her for a long time, his forehead resting against her shoulder, his chest rising and falling against her bare breasts. Slowly, he pulled out, a wet sound echoing through the quiet room as his fluids began to slowly drip onto the smooth mahogany of the desk.
He didn't say a word. He simply scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her soft exhausted murmurs, and carried her over to the massive four-poster bed. He laid her down on the soft sheets, crawling in right beside her, and pulled the cotton quilt over both of their sweat-slicked bodies.
Ulfat immediately curled into his side, her head resting on his bare chest, her breath turning slow and steady as sleep instantly began to claim her. Rehman wrapped his arm around her waist, his large hand resting protectively over her bare stomach, his fingers tracing the faint red chain-marks his heavy grip had left on her skin. He looked down at her peaceful face under the dim light of the kerosene lamp, a soft, incredibly smug smile finally tugging at his lips.
"Accha.. mane, ye... bolchilam, mane, oi ekta jodi round two..." (Um.. you know... I was just thinking, like, you know, maybe if I could get a round two...)
"REHMAN!"
[He infact did technically end up getting the round two, which manifested itself in the form of slow, lazy, morning sex. He had promised her she wouldn't be able to walk straight in the morning. And as the boro-korta of DakaatBari, Rehman always kept his word.]
A /n : It has a Badhai Ho AU, but not in the way you'd expect. You'll see it unfold in the flashback scenes, so please don't expect too much from me🙂 I tried my best, but I still feel I couldn't do complete justice to it. That's probably because humor and I recently went through a breakup. I did try to add some, but it's definitely lacking.
Warning: Fluff, mature content, MDNI
Request by @lilymodernfamily , it didn't turned out as i thought but i hope atleast i could make up to your expectations. Ignore the mistakes rest enjoy 🫶🏻
(let me know if you want to get tagged💜/untagged🤍)
Ulfat was sitting up against the headboard, propped up comfortably by a mountain of plush silk pillows. Nestled securely in her arms was their tiny, eight-month-old miracle, stirring gently against her warmth. Rehmat. The light of the Baloch household. The little girl was cradled perfectly against her mother’s chest, her small face flushed with the warmth of sleep. One of her tiny, dimpled hands was fisted against Ulfat's clothes, while her mouth worked in rhythmic, lazy suctions, nursing softly as she hovered in the liminal space between deep sleep and waking up. Ulfat looked down, her eyelids heavy but her gaze intensely tender, her arm draped protectively around Rehmat’s tiny back. Her hair, thick and dark with silver threads catching the morning light, fell softly over her shoulders.
On the other side of the bed, Rehman was propped up on his elbow, positioned close to them. He hadn’t slept for the last half an hour. He didn’t want to. Instead, he was content to just watch them. The fierce, untouchable Rehman Dakait, a man whose name made rivals think twice, was currently reduced to absolute, trembling mush by the sight of his wife sitting there, softly feeding their infant daughter. His dark eyes, softened by age and an overwhelming abundance of devotion, traced the delicate features of his daughter. Rehmat had Ulfat’s nose — that stubborn, slightly upturned curve, but she had inherited his own dark, expressive eyes.
Rehman’s hand, large and calloused, hovered over the baby’s head, his fingers barely brushing the fine, downy silk of her hair as she nursed. A profound sense of disbelief still washed over him whenever he looked at her. As he watched the gentle rise and fall of Rehmat’s tiny chest in Ulfat's embrace, his thoughts inevitably drifted backward.
The memory shifted, pulling Rehman away from the quiet bedroom and plunging him back into the sterile, stifling air of the doctor’s cabinet.He remembered the exact weight of that silence. They had been sitting side by side on two leather chairs, the steady hum of the clinic's air conditioner the only sound filling the room. On the desk between them lay the medical report, the word printed in bold black ink staring back at them like an impossibility: POSITIVE. Pregnant. For the third time. At the age of forty-eight.
Rehman’s mind had instantly flashed back to how this impossible twist of fate had even begun. It had happened on the day of Hamza’s walima. That night, they had both looked heavenly gorgeous. Ulfat had been radiant in a deep, heavily embroidered ensemble that made her look as breathtaking as the day he married her, and Rehman had been entirely captivated. Rehman, on the other hand, left her breathless, his beauty filling the space between them. He had also been slightly drunk, a looseness to his posture, his eyes dark with an intense, unyielding focus only on his wife.
When they had finally escaped the grand celebration and locked the door of their bedroom, all control had evaporated. They couldn't stop each other. The passion between them hadn't faded with age, if anything, it had grown deeper, more consuming. They had kept going, completely lost in one another, until the sun was high in the sky the next afternoon.
They were a fiercely passionate couple, and truth be told, this wasn't the first time they had completely lost control. It happened many times throughout their marriage, so much so that people in their social circle often wondered aloud how a couple so visibly infatuated with each other only had two children. Honestly, even Rehman and Ulfat didn't know the answer to that. For years, nature had simply taken its course.
They had never, not even in their wildest dreams, thought that this specific night to afternoon session would lead to a pregnancy. Not at this age. The factory was supposed to be closed. The chapter of diapers and midnight cries was supposed to be ancient history. But there they were, sitting in front of a grave-faced doctor, reality crashing down around them.
The doctor hadn't minced words. She began listing the overwhelming statistics, each word hitting Rehman like a physical blow. “At this maternal age, Rehman Sahab, the risks are exceptionally high”. The doctor took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose before looking at the couple with an expression that was entirely clinical, yet laced with urgency.
“Rehman Sahab, Ulfat Ji,” she began, tapping a finger against the thick file. “Because of irregular cycles at this age, you both realized this pregnancy quite late. We are already hitting the threshold. Whatever decision you want to take regarding continuing or terminating, you need to take it within a few days. We cannot delay this anymore. Every week we wait, the risks for Ulfat Ji increase tenfold.”
The word terminating echoed in the quiet cabinet like a gunshot. Rehman felt his chest tighten, his eyes darting to his wife. Ulfat sat perfectly still, her face a mask of calm, though her fingers tightly gripped the edge of her dupatta. They thanked the doctor, took the prescriptions, and walked out into the blinding afternoon sun. On their way back, Rehman pulled the car over near a secluded, lush public garden.
They walked to a shaded marble bench beneath a canopy of old banyan trees and just sat. For a long, agonizing time, neither of them said a single word. The silence between them was heavy with the weight of the unknown. Rehman stared blankly at a fountain in the distance, watching the water rise and fall. Beside him, Ulfat smoothed down the fabric of her kurti, her eyes fixed on a young couple pushing a stroller on the far side of the park.
“Rehman,” Ulfat finally broke the silence, her voice a soft murmur against the rustle of the leaves.
“Hmm?”
“Look at us,” she said with a faint, bittersweet smile, gesturing vaguely to the two of them and then to their surroundings. “We are sitting in a park discussing a positive pregnancy report at an age when people are looking at wedding venues for their children.”
Rehman let out a rough, breathless chuckle, rubbing his face with his hands. “Fifty and forty-eight, Ulfat. We are old. The world will think we’ve lost our minds. And Naieem... ya Allah, Naieem is twenty-three! He is a grown man, standing beside me in business deals. Faizal is sixteen, a moody teenager. How are we supposed to tell a twenty-three year old and a sixteen year old that their mother is expecting?”
“Naieem will probably look at you like you’ve committed a crime,” Ulfat teased softly, though her eyes remained serious. “And Faizal will die of embarrassment.”
Rehman turned to look at her, his expression instantly softening, the lines of worry deepening around his eyes. “But it’s not just about the boys or what people will say, jaan. You heard the doctor. Thyroid, blood pressure, blood sugar, the chromosomal risks. I am terrified, Ulfat. If anything happens to you, this entire world I built means absolutely nothing to me. I can’t risk your life.”
Ulfat turned her body fully toward him, reaching out to cover his large, calloused hands with both of her own. Her grip was steady, unyielding.
“Rehman, listen to me,” she said, her voice anchoring him instantly. “When have we ever done things the normal way? For years, everyone wondered why we only had two children when we... well, when we clearly couldn't keep our hands off each other. We didn't know why. But now, when it shouldn't even be medically less possible , this child has come. Don't you see? It's a sign.”
She took a deep breath, her eyes brimming with a sudden, emotional warmth. “Aapka ek maan tha na? You always wanted a daughter. A little girl to spoil, someone who would wear little frocks and call you Abba in that sweet voice. I want her too, Rehman. I want our daughter. I am willing to fight the risks. Let’s keep our baby.”
Rehman looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only the fierce, unbreakable spirit of the woman he had loved for over two decades. He leaned forward, forehead resting against hers, letting out a long, surrendered breath.
“If you are fighting, I am standing right beside you,” he whispered. “We keep her.”
They gathered everyone in the main living room that evening under the guise of a family meeting. Uzair and his wife Zoya, along with their sharp-witted six year old daughter, Ghazala. Sitting on the adjacent sofa were Naieem and Faizal. Standing guard near the doorway, looking formal but curious, were Donga, Siyahi, and Hamza (whose walima had been the catalyst for this entire situation).
Rehman cleared his throat, standing tall, though internally he was more nervous than he had ever been during a multi-million-dollar standoff.
“We called you all here because... there is an addition coming to this family,” Rehman stated directly, deciding bluntness was the best approach. “Ulfat is pregnant.”
For a solid ten seconds, the room was so quiet you could hear the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway.
Then, the reactions exploded.
Uzair burst into a loud, booming laugh, clapping his hands together. “Ya Allah! Mubarak ho, Bhai!” he cheered, completely unbothered by the gravity of the situation.
Hamza, standing by the door, started coughing violently into his fist, trying to hide a massive grin. “Mubarak ho, Rehman bhai . But honestly, it’s about time. We were all starting to doubt if Faizal would ever get to be an elder brother. The amount of bleach we’ve had to consume over the years hearing things through the walls... tauba, tauba!”
“Uzair! Hamza!” Zoya hissed, her face turning bright red as she smacked Uzair's arm. She quickly turned to Ulfat, her eyes wide with shock but filling with happiness. “Bhabhi, really? Oh my god, congratulations! But at this age ? Are you feeling okay? The health strain—”
Before Ulfat could answer Ghazala piped up, looking thoroughly confused. “Ammi, what is pregnant? Is Chachi getting a puppy?”
“No, beta, a baby,” Zoya whispered, trying to corral her daughter.
Meanwhile, on the other sofa, the two boys were handling the news in completely contrasting ways.
Faizal looked utterly astonished. His jaw was practically on the floor. As a teenager, the realization of how this happened immediately registered in his brain, and a bright crimson flush crept up his neck. “Wait….what?” he stammered, shifting uncomfortably. “Ammi? A baby? Like, like a crying, diaper-changing baby? Now? I’m sixteen! But I am still a baby. How can you do this to me !”
“Shut up, Faizal,” Naieem snapped, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
Unlike his brother Naieem wasn't feeling embarassed. He stood up, his jaw clenched, his dark eyes fixed entirely on his mother. He looked at her pale face, remembering her recent bouts of fatigue.
“Ammi,” Naieem said, his voice deep and laced with immense, heavy worry. He stepped past his father, completely ignoring the jokes from Uzair and Hamza, and knelt beside his mother’s chair. “Is this safe for you? You’ve been sick. The doctors….what do they say? I don’t care about a sibling, mumma, I care about you. Your health comes first.”
The room quieted down at Naieem's protective tone. Ulfat’s eyes softened beautifully as she reached out to ruffle her eldest son’s hair, her heart swelling with pride. “I am fine, mere jaan. The doctors will monitor me. Your baba is tracking my every breath. Don’t worry.”
At the back of the room, Donga and Siyahi stood like two massive blocks of stone, though their eyes held a distinct warmth. Donga cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Mubarak ho, Bhai, Bhabhi Ji. Gar ki rounak badhegi.”
Siyahi nodded fiercely in agreement. “Don’t worry about the outside work, Bhaj. We will handle everything. Bhabhi Ji just needs to rest.”
Inside the preparation room, the atmosphere was thick with tension. The obstetrician stepped out of the inner cubicle, her expression grave as she looked at Rehman, who was pacing the floor like a caged tiger, flanked by Naieem and Uzair.
“Rehman Sahab,” the doctor had said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Ulfat's blood pressure is refusing to stabilize, and the baby’s heart rate is starting to fluctuate slightly. We cannot risk natural labor. We need to perform an emergency C-section right now.”
A bubble of fear and panic growing in his heart. He squeezed his eyes shut, nodding silently as the nurses wheeled Ulfat toward the heavy double doors of the operating theater. Before she disappeared, she caught his eye, giving him a faint, reassuring wink that somehow managed to be both terrifying and incredibly brave. The next two hours were a test of endurance. But then, the heavy red light above the theater doors flickered off. The doctor stepped out, a triumphant smile breaking across her face. “Mubarak ho, Rehman Sahab. Everything went incredibly smoothly. Both mother and your little princess are perfectly healthy.”
When the family was finally allowed into the recovery room, the atmosphere shifted from suffocating dread to anticipation. Ulfat was propped up on the pillows, weak but glowing .
The nurse turned around, holding a tiny, pristine white swaddle, and looked at the two tall boys standing awkwardly at the front of the crowd. “Who wants to hold her first? The big brothers?”
Naieem, usually so stoic and unyielding , froze completely. He looked at the tiny bundle, then at his mother, and then at his father. The doubts that had plagued his mind for nine months regarding the worry for his mother’s life, the lingering question of how a twenty-three year old was supposed to fit a newborn sister into his life seems to evaporate into thin air the exact second his eyes fell on her face. She had a tuft of jet-black hair and tiny, perfectly formed pink fingers.
“Go on, Naieem,” Ulfat whispered, her voice rough but warm. “Take your sister.”
With trembling hands, the massive, broad-shouldered young man stepped forward. When the nurse gently placed the baby into his arms, Naieem’s breath hitched. He cradled her with an agonizing amount of care, terrified that even his breathing might shatter her. As he looked down into her blinking, dark eyes, all the adult reservation melted away. He was completely, utterly whipped.
“Ammi..” Naieem choked out, his voice cracking entirely. A beautiful, emotional smile broke across his face, his eyes shining with instant, unconditional devotion.
Faizal was standing right beside him. For the past nine months, Faizal had lived in a state of perpetual teenage embarrassment, fiercely avoiding his friends' questions about his parents' sudden, late-stage fertility. He had felt confused.
But as he leaned over Naieem’s arm to look at the baby, the baby let out a tiny, soft yawn, her minuscule hand brushing against Faizal’s pinky finger.
Heavy tears began pricking through his eyes silently, spilling over his cheeks in rapid succession. A watery, breathless laugh escaped his lips as he quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand, utterly fascinated by her. “Look at her hands, Bhai... they are so tiny. Main isko cricket sikhunga.” (I will teach her cricket.)
“Bilkul nahi, blockhead, she will break her bones,” Naieem whispered back, though he pulled Faizal closer so they could both shield her.
Watching her two grown sons completely reduced to tears of joy, Ulfat couldn't hold back anymore. Happy, emotional tears streamed down her cheeks. She let out a soft laugh that was half-sob, looking at her family whole, safe, and wildly in love with the new addition.
Rehman stepped closer to the bed, sliding his arm around Ulfat’s shoulders, drawing her head to his chest. He looked at his sons holding his daughter, his own eyes brimming with hot tears. The sheer relief that his wife was safe, combined with seeing their boys turn into protective guardians, made his heart swell to the point of aching.
“Shukur hai Allah ka,” Rehman whispered into Ulfat’s hair, his voice trembling with an immense gratitude. “Hamari Rehmat.”
From the doorway, the rest of the members spilled in.
Uzair rushed forward, clapping Rehman on the back so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of him. “Mubarak ho, Bhai! Mubarak ho! Maine kaha tha na, Bhai ki beti hai, rounak toh double hogi!” (I told you, she is Rehman Sahab's daughter, the brightness will be double!)
Zoya holding little six-year-old Ghazala up on her tiptoes. “Look, Ghazala, your baby sister is here!”
Ghazala gasped, her big eyes wide with pure wonder. “Chachi! She is so pretty! Can I give her my pink teddy bear right now?”
“Give her a few months, beta,” Ulfat laughed through her tears, leaning her head back against Rehman’s solid chest.
Even Hamza, Donga and Siyahi were shuffling into the room, trying to maintain their tough, formidable expressions but failing miserably. Hamza was grinning from ear to ear, while Donga and Siyahi stood like two proud, emotional uncles at the foot of the bed, their eyes fixed on the tiny bundle in Naieem's arms.
“Bhabhi Ji, pure ilaqe mein mithai batwa di hai,” Donga announced proudly, clearing his throat to hide his watery voice. “No one will sleep hungry tonight.” (Bhabhi Ji, sweets have been distributed in the entire area.)
A heavy, emotional tear finally escaped Rehman’s eye in the present, tracking down his cheek as the vivid memory receded. He looked at Ulfat, who was still sitting gracefully against the headboard of their bedroom. In her arms, eight month old Rehmat had finally let go of her mother’s chest, a tiny trail of milk at the corner of her mouth, her eyes heavy with a deep, content sleep.
Ulfat, noticing the sudden silence from her husband, turned her head. Her soft, warm hand reached out, her fingers gently sliding into his hair, cradling the back of his head. She leaned forward, pressing a tender, lingering kiss right to the center of his forehead.
“Kya hua, jaan? Kahan kho gaye?” she murmured, her voice a low, melodious purr that instantly anchored him.
Rehman managed a soft, slightly sheepish smile, dismissing the lingering past with a shake of his head. He leaned up, kissing her palm affectionately. “Kuch nahi, Ulfat. Just thinking about that day in the hospital. Look at how far we’ve come.”
He carefully shifted, reaching out to take the sleeping Rehmat from her arms. “Lao, mujhe do.”
With practiced, incredibly gentle movements, Rehman lifted the baby princess against his broad chest, placing her head securely on his shoulder. He rubbed her tiny back in slow, rhythmic circles, waiting for the soft little burp to escape her lips. Once she let out a tiny, milky sigh, he cradled her close, rocking her gently until she drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep, before laying her down safely in the cradle.
He climbed back into bed, sliding beneath the heavy duvet, and Ulfat immediately shifted closer to him, resting her head against his chest. Rehman wrapped his arm around her, pulling her flush against his side.
Today was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. A silver milestone that belonged entirely to them, built on a quarter-century of shared secrets, fierce battles, and an unbreakable devotion.
After sometime:
The quiet rhythm of the house was already changing. The preparation for the evening’s gathering had been fully claimed by the boys. Naieem, now twenty-four and stepping heavily into his father’s shoes within the family business, was managing the logistics with a quiet, unyielding authority. He stood in the central courtyard, directing the trusted staff with low, precise commands.
"The seating near the fountain needs extra bolsters," Naieem told Siyahi, who was checking the guest list. "And make sure the lighting in the northern pavilion isn't too sharp. Ammi's eyes get strained when the glare is too bright."
Siyahi nodded, a rare, genuine respect softening his rugged features. "Consider it done. Donga is already supervising the perimeter with the boys. Only the close circle from the party and business will step foot inside today."
A few yards away, sevseventeen-year-old Faizal was a whirlwind of entirely different energy. Completely unbothered by his crisp morning clothes, he was sitting on the manicured grass with seven-year-old Ghazala leaning heavily against his shoulder. Between them sat little Rehmat, propped up by a mountain of soft cushions, her dark eyes wide with curiosity as she watched her older brother.
"Look, Rehmat," Faizal murmured, his voice dropping into that absurdly soft, high-pitched tone he reserved exclusively for his baby sister. He held up a bright yellow tennis ball, rolling it gently toward her tiny, dimpled hands. "This is a ball. Your Bhai gave it to you , can you say bhayia. Come on say it, before Naieem bhai comes over and tells us we’re ruining the lawn."
Ghazala giggled, her small hand reaching out to gently stroke Rehmat’s fine, dark hair. "Faizal bhaiya, she can't talk yet! She only knows how to pull my braids and chew on my doll's shoes."
"Hey, don't complain about the princess," Faizal laughed, pulling Ghazala into a brief, one-armed hug while ensuring Rehmat didn't tip over. "She can pull whatever she wants. She owns this house, right, Rehmat?"
The baby let out a tiny, bubbly squeal, her mouth stretching into a toothless grin as she grabbed Faizal’s thumb with her entire fist.
From the upper terrace, Rehman stood with his arm hooked securely around Ulfat’s waist, watching the scene below. They had both changed into comfortable morning casuals, but their eyes were fixed on the courtyard.
"Look at them," Ulfat whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder, her hand resting over his where it gripped her hip. "Our boys have taken over everything today. I haven't had to look into a single ledger of anything."
"They are grown, jaan," Rehman murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of her jasmine oil. "It's time they carried the weight. Today, you only have to look at me."
Ulfat turned her face upward, a beautiful, knowing smile touching her lips. "I’ve been looking at you for twenty-five years. Don't you think you're being a little greedy?"
"Never enough when it comes to you," he replied, his grip tightening just a fraction, pulling her flush against his side.
As evening approached, the mansion transformed into a haven of soft lights and deep colors. The theme for the silver anniversary had been chosen weeks in advance .
All the children were dressed in identical shades of deep, midnight blue. Naieem looked striking and incredibly mature in a tailored midnight-blue sherwani, his posture a mirror image of his father’s as he greeted the politicians and business allies at the entrance. Faizal wore a lighter, more flexible kurta in the same rich shade, allowing him to easily navigate the lounge. Little Ghazala was a miniature doll in a midnight-blue lehenga, her tiny dupatta pinned perfectly to her shoulder, while Rehmat was nestled in a soft, velvet frock of the exact same color, looking like a little blue button.
But the true center of gravity in the grand hall belonged entirely to the couple of the hour.
Rehman and Ulfat had chosen matching shades of slate gray and silver. Rehman stood tall and imposing in a dark gray, heavily textured bandhgala suit, the silver buttons catching the light of the crystal chandeliers.
And then there was Ulfat.
She had chosen a traditional saree, a heavy, slate-gray silk with intricate silver zari work running along the border. The pallu was draped elegantly over her shoulder, pinned with a vintage diamond brooch Rehman had gifted her years ago. The saree clung to her mature curves with an intimacy that made Rehman’s breath catch the moment their eyes met. There were fine lines around her eyes when she smiled, and her posture carried the deliberate grace of a queen who knew exactly who she was.
The moment she reached the bottom step, Rehman was there to claim her. He reached out, taking her hand, his thumb tracing the smooth, warm skin of her wrist.
"You look absolutely dangerous, Ulfat," Rehman whispered, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register meant for her ears alone.
A soft, beautiful blush crept up her neck, contrasting sharply with the silver of her saree. "Rehman, behave yourself. Look at the guests."
"Who cares ," Rehman murmured, his dark eyes heavy, intense, and completely fixed on her lips. "I govern this house. And you govern me. "
Throughout the evening, the celebration proceeded with a smooth, luxurious rhythm. Naieem and Uzair handled the business guests, moving through the small crowd with seasoned ease, ensuring that Rehman wasn't bothered with mundane pleasantries. Faizal stayed near the family lounge, keeping Ghazala and Rehmat entertained, though the baby spent most of her time being passed from one doting family member to another.
Yet, no matter where Rehman stood in the hall, whether he was nodding along to a political ally or discussing a new real estate venture, his eyes never truly left Ulfat. Every time she laughed, her hand rising to touch her throat, he noticed. Every time the silk pallu of her saree slipped slightly from her shoulder, revealing the soft skin of her collarbone, his jaw would tighten. He would find excuses to cross the room, his hand brushing against the small of her back as he passed, his fingers lingering on the silk fabric just long enough to let her know he was there.
Ulfat wasn't immune to it either. Whenever their eyes met across the crowded room, a silent, electric understanding would pass between them. She would offer him a small, knowing smile, her fingers subtly adjusting the diamond brooch at her shoulder, her gaze holding his until someone interrupted them. It was a silent game of courtship, played out in the open, hidden in plain sight from the few dozen people surrounding them.
By midnight, the formal guests had departed, leaving only the family members . The heavy chandeliers in the main hall were turned off, and the gathering moved out to the private garden courtyard.
The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. A large silver samovar of hot, cardamom-infused chai had been set up on a low wooden table. They sat on the traditional low bolsters and cane chairs. Uzair, Zoya, Naieem, Faizal, and Hamza with Donga,Siyahi and his other men standing a respectful distance away near the pillars .
"Twenty-five years," Uzair said, taking a loud, appreciative sip of his chai, leaning back against the bolster. "Bhai, honestly, when you two got married, the amount of fires you both had to fight, but look at this family now. Safe, established, and growing."
"It’s because Bhabhi never let bhai lose his anchor," Hamza chimed , a grin splitting his face. "We all remember the ups and downs, the times when the business was under threat, the political rivalries that almost brought walls down. But through everything, they stood beside each other like a fortress. If someone threw a stone at this family, it had to break through Rehman Bhai first and if someone tried to touch Bhai , they had to face Bhabhi."
A round of soft, affectionate agreement echoed through the courtyard. Zoya smiled, "It's true. They protected us, and now the boys are protecting them."
Naieem smiled, Faizal was currently rocking a semi-asleep Rehmat in his lap. Little Ghazala was already curled up against Zoya’s side, snoring softly.
Rehman listened to his family talk but his attention wasn't on the stories of the past.He had noticed the subtle change in Ulfat's expression over the last twenty minutes. She was sitting a little too straight, her fingers gripping the edge of her saree's pallu with a slight tightness. Her breathing was shallow, and every few seconds, she would subtly shift her weight, trying to relieve the pressure on her lower back. The heavy silk saree, the hours of standing on her feet greeting guests, and the lingering fatigue from her late-stage pregnancy last year had taken their toll. Her body was stiff, aching under the formal constraints.
Rehman looked across the courtyard. Rehmat was perfectly content, her thumb in her mouth, her small head resting against Faizal’s midnight-blue kurta while Naieem gently stroked her back. Ghazala was safe, the perimeter was secure. His daughter was absolutely safe here, surrounded by her brothers.
He didn't need to stay here any longer. His wife needed him.
Rehman stood up, breaking the flow of Uzair's latest anecdote. He reached down, taking Ulfat’s hand and gently pulling her up with him.
"It's late," Rehman announced, his voice carrying that quiet, absolute authority that no one questioned. "Ulfat needs to take her nightly medications, and she’s been on her feet for too long. We are taking our leave."
Uzair looked up, a distinctly wicked, knowing grin spreading across his face. Hamza coughed into his hand, turning his head away to hide his smirk, while even Faizal let out a small, muffled snort. They all knew Rehman’s medication excuse was simply his way of reclaiming his wife.
Naieem, ever the responsible eldest, simply nodded, his expression respectful and grounded. "Don't worry about downstairs, Abba. I'll lock up and ensure Rehmat is brought up when she’s fully asleep. You both rest."
Rehman saw the wicked smiles on Uzair and Hamza’s faces. Wicked people, he thought, a faint, amused line touching his lips. But he didn't care. Let them laugh. Let them think whatever they wanted. There was only one person in this entire world that mattered to him, and she was currently leaning slightly against his side, her body heavy with exhaustion.
The moment the heavy, solid mahogany door of their master bedroom clicked shut behind them, the outside world ceased to exist.
The room was dimly lit, only the small yellow lamps on the nightstands casting a warm, amber glow across the expansive bed. Ulfat let out a long, trembling breath, her shoulders instantly dropping as she leaned her back against the closed door, her eyes closing in pure relief.
"Ya Allah," she whispered, her voice rough, a little breathless. "My back feels like it's made of lead. That saree weighs a ton."
Rehman didn't speak. He walked over to the side table, poured a glass of cool water from the silver carafe, and brought it back to her. He held it to her lips, watching her swallow the liquid, his eyes steady and unblinking. When she was done, he took the glass away, setting it on a nearby console, and turned back to her.
She was still standing against the door, the slate-gray saree looking slightly rumpled now, her silver jewelry catching the dim lamplight. Her stiffness was evident in the way she held her neck.
"Sit down on the bed, Ulfat," he commanded softly, his hands moving up to unbutton his dark gray bandhgala jacket. He shed the heavy formal wear, throwing it carelessly over a chair, leaving him in his soft white undershirt and trousers.
Ulfat walked over to the bed with slow, stiff steps. Instead of sitting, she climbed onto the mattress, lying flat on her stomach, her face buried in the silk pillows. The position was the only one that brought some relief to her aching lower spine.
Rehman climbed onto the bed behind her, kneeling beside her hips. His large, broad hands, calloused from years of a hard life but incredibly gentle whenever they touched her skin, settled onto her shoulders. He began to work the muscles, his palms pressing down with a firm, deliberate pressure, kneading the tension out of her upper back.
A soft, low moan escaped Ulfat’s lips into the pillow. "Right there, ahh Rehman, the shoulders are completely knotted."
"I know," he murmured, his thumbs moving down her spine, tracing the line of her back through the heavy silk of her blouse. "You stood for too long. I told you to sit down during the speeches, but you never listen."
"It would look bad if the host sat down while the elders were standing," she mumbled, her voice growing thick and drowsy under the soothing, powerful rhythm of his hands.
But the domestic rhythm of the massage began to shift, the air in the room thickening with a familiar, heavy heat. Rehman’s movements slowed down. His palms were no longer just kneading muscle, they were sliding over the fabric, his touch turning lighter, more lingering, tracing the curve of her waist where the saree met the skin.
He leaned down, his chest pressing against her back, his breath warm against the exposed skin of her nape where her hair had been flowing on one side.
"Rehman" she whispered, her voice losing its drowsiness, a sudden, sharp tremor running through her as his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below her ear.
"Let me," he hushed her, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against her skin.
With slow, practiced movements, his fingers moved to the hooks of her blouse at the back. One by one, the metal clasps gave way under his touch. He slid the fabric apart, exposing the expanse of her smooth, warm back. He didn't stop there. He reached down, unpinning the silver pallu from her shoulder, pulling the heavy silk saree away from her body entirely, making her shift, move, and toss on the mattress as he unraveled the yards of fabric.
Ulfat turned over onto her back, her breathing hitching as the remaining layers were stripped away. She lay completely naked beneath him, her skin glowing like amber in the dim yellow light of the lamps.
Rehman paused, his breath catching in his throat as he looked down at her. Her body carried the indelible, permanent map of their life together. Her breasts, once high and firm in her twenties, were now slightly shaggy, heavier, their skin marked by pale, veiny tracks that spoke of the milk that had sustained three children, including little Rehmat just months ago. Her stomach, soft and rounded, was lined with silver stretch marks.
To her, these were the markers of age, the fading of youth. But to Rehman, as he looked down at her, a wave of pure, borderline obsessive devotion crashed over his chest. He didn't just love her despite these marks, he loved her because of them. Every single line on her skin was a battle scar she had earned while building his family. This body belonged to him, marked by him, shaped by the depth of their passion.
"You are so beautiful, Ulfat," he growled, his voice thick with a raw, undeniable hunger as he lowered his body over hers. "So beautiful it hurts."
Rehman’s mouth moved down her throat, his tongue trailing over her collarbone, before his attention settled entirely on her breasts.
His hands cupped the heavy weight, his thumbs brushing over the dark, sensitive aureoles. When he lowered his head, taking one full breast into his mouth, his suction was deep and slow. Because she had been nursing Rehmat earlier in the day, a faint, sweet drop of milk mixed with the heat of his saliva. The taste drove him completely over the edge. He sucked hard, drawing the milk out, his tongue swirling around the nipple, making Ulfat let out a sharp, breathless cry as she arched her back violently off the mattress, her fingers locking tightly into the thick hair at the back of his head.
"Rehman... ah, Rehman, please," she gasped, her hips moving instinctively against the mattress, her body completely alive, burning under the onslaught of his touch.
He moved down her body, his kisses leaving a trail of fire over her soft, stretch-marked stomach. He pushed her legs apart, kneeling between her thighs, his eyes fixed on her dark, wet heat. He didn't hesitate. He lowered his head, eating her pussy with a fierce, deliberate, slow rhythm, his tongue finding her core, driving her to the point of absolute distraction. Ulfat thrashed against the silk sheets, her head tossing from side to side, her voice breaking into soft, breathless murmurs as she called his name over and over again.
When she was entirely undone, her body trembling and slick with sweat,
Rehman raised himself up. He looked down into her dark, hooded eyes, seeing his own reflection in her gaze. He removed his own clothes, freeing his throbbing member.
He guided his thick member to her entrance, and with one smooth, heavy thrust, he pushed himself completely inside her. She pulled him deeper, locking him into her warmth as her body adjusted to the heavy, familiar fullness of him. Rehman leaned down immediately, capturing her lips in a deep, bruising kiss to muffle the raw moans rising from her throat. He began to move, his thrusts driving deep and rhythmic, filling the quiet sanctuary of their room with the soft friction of skin against skin and the rustle of the tangled sheets.
Ulfat’s hands flew to his shoulders, her fingers digging fiercely into his broad back. Her nails dragged down his skin in a desperate attempt to anchor herself against the overwhelming wave of pleasure, leaving faint red marks that would undoubtedly sting by morning.
Rehman broke the kiss, his mouth sliding down her jawline and throat, tracing the erratic pulse beating there before burying his face against her chest again. His mouth taking the sensitive peak into his mouth. He sucked deeply, swirling his tongue around the dark aureole, drawing out the faint, sweet trace of milk . The taste sent a jolt of raw adrenaline straight to his core. His pace grew faster, harder, his hips driving against hers with a sudden, relentless passion that made Ulfat’s head toss back into the silk pillows, her eyes rolling back in sheer ecstasy.
"Rehman…ya Allah, Rehman," she gasped out, her voice a fractured whisper.
Sensing her climax, his free hand slid down between their heat, his fingers finding her oversensitive clit and rubbing in a fast, circular motion. The dual stimulation was too much. Ulfat’s internal walls clamped down around his length, tightening into a vice-like grip that nearly unraveled his control entirely.
“Ahh Rehman, I am about to come,” she moaned, her hips tilting up desperately to meet every heavy stroke.
“Spill it, jaan, spill it for me,” he growled against her neck, his voice low and fiercely possessive. He redoubled his pace, his thrusts becoming powerful and unyielding.
With a final, breathless cry, Ulfat convulsed beneath him as her walls spasmed wildly around his length, flooding him with her release. The intense friction of her climax was the breaking point. With two more violent, deep thrusts, Rehman let out a low, guttural roar, burying himself as deep as possible as he came, filling her completely with his own hot release.
An hour later, the room was entirely still again.
The heavy duvet had been pulled up to their waists. They lay tangled together in the center of the massive bed. Ulfat’s head was resting securely on Rehman’s bare chest, her fingers tracing the dark hair around his sternum. Rehman’s arm was wrapped securely around her bare shoulders, his chin resting against the crown of her head, his fingers tracing the soft skin of her upper arm.
They were exhausted, their bodies aching with a good, thoroughly satisfied fatigue.
"Twenty-five years," Ulfat whispered into the dark, her voice a low, contented murmur against his skin.
"And twenty-five more after this," his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek. He tightened his grip, pulling the duvet a little higher over her shoulders to keep the chill away.
“and I promise you, we are going to grow beautifully, fiercely old together.”
A/N: A Baloch family based chaos. Requested by this cutie @lilymodernfamily I hope it's upto your expectation. I have paired up Naieem and Yalina in this. No hate to Hamza x Yalina. Here I have changed Yalina age. In actual she was almost 3-4 years younger than Naieem but here in this fic they are same age.
Naieem had exactly three problems in life. First, his younger brother Faizal stealing his snacks. Second, baby Innayat belived every electronic button on earth existed solely for her entertainment. And third, His father was unfairly handsome. The thrird problem was currently destroying his life.
It all started when Naieem's class was assigned a science project. Where they have to build a working volcano model and explain chemical reaction. They have to do theproject in pair of two. Naieem as usual paired up with his best friend Yalina on whom he has a crush too.
Rehman and Jameel Jamali shared an old alliance through Jameel's political party. So Naieem and Yalina had grown up together, playing, sharing toys, Naieem teaching her football, and Yalina teaching him how to sketch. They had stayed close ever since.
Yalina turned to Naieem and adjusted the strap of her bag. "Kal Saturday hai na, toh kal mai tumhare ghar ajati hu. Wahi project complete kar lenge."
Naieem nodded with a smile. "Yeah, sure."
The next day, Yalina arrived at Baloch Haveli. She met Ulfat in the courtyard, who was instructing the gardeners and other staff. Ulfat turned when she noticed her and welcomed her warmly.
Ulfat gave her a soft smile. "Kaisi ho, Yalina?"
Yalina returned the smile and stepped closer "Mai theek hu, Aunty... umm... Naieem kaha hai?"
Ulfat thought for a second before replying, "Naieem shayad apne kamre mein hoga."
Yalina nodded lightly. "Chale mai dekh leti hu. Actually, hume school mein project mila hai, toh uske liye ayi hu."
Ulfat nodded. "Ha mujhe Naieem ne bataya tha ke tum aaogi. Waise bhi sara time woh tumhari hi baat karta hai."
Yalina looked amused and raised an eyebrow. "Sach mein?"
Before anyone could say anything further, Naieem's panicked voice echoed through the courtyard.
"AMMI!"
Naieem jogged towards them, slightly out of breath. "Ammi, Yalina agayi. Aapne bataya bhi nahi mujhe."
Ulfat looked at him. "Abhi toh ayi hai."
Yalina raised her brow and gave him a smirk. "Aunty se kafi kuch pata chala hai mujhe."
Naieem looked at Ulfat and then back at Yalina. He let out a nervous chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck.
Naieem practically sprinted from there, taking Yalina along with him.
They went into the drawing room, and Yalina placed all the art supplies she had brought on the floor. Naieem sat down beside her while she spread out the papers, paints, and sketch pens between them. Soon, the floor around them was scattered with project materials as they began working together.
While they were working on their project, cardboard pieces were scattered across the floor, and paint bottles sat open beside them.
Then a low pattering sound caught Yalina's attention. She looked up first, and there entered baby Innayat, crawling across the floor. She came over and sat right in the middle of everything, looking around as if she were inspecting their project. Yalina watched her with adoration in her eyes.
Innayat's eyes found her big brother, and she threw the toy she had brought with her towards him, asking him to play. Naieem gasped dramatically and looked at his baby sister. He picked up the toy and tossed it gently back towards her. Innayat immediately threw it at him again and squealed, "EHH DAAA!"
Yalina started laughing at the little chaos unfolding before them. Innayat's head snapped towards the new audience. She gave Yalina a proud smile, clearly pleased with her performance. Yalina forwarded her hands towards her, and Innu launched herself into her arms. Yalina gathered her carefully and kissed her soft cheeks.
"Naieem... she is soo cute and adorable."
Naieem kept the toy aside and shook his head. "Yeh tum isliye bol rahi ho kyu ke tumhe pura din iske piche nahi bhagna parta. Yeh crawl karte hue kahi bhi chali jati hai."
Yalina adjusted Innayat on her lap and played with her tiny hands.
"Kuch bhi ho... hai toh yeh bahut cute. Itni chotu si hai."
Naieem smiled too as he looked at his baby sister.
"Innu, Ammi kaha hai? Yaha kaise agayi tum?"
Innayat immediately started explaining in her baby language, waving her little hands around for emphasis. It looked as if she was describing all the struggles she had gone through to reach there. Yalina chuckled and kissed her chubby, soft cheeks. Just then, Ulfat entered the room, looking around.
"Yeh dekho, ise mai sare ghar mein dhund rahi hu aur yeh yaha hai."
Yalina looked up at her. "Aunty, yahi rehne de na ise."
Ulfat smiled knowingly and shook her head. "Nahi beta, yeh tum dono ko project nahi karne degi. 2 minute mein sab cheeze idhar se udhar hongi."
As if proving her point, Innayat reached for a paintbrush lying nearby and paint her forhead. The three of them laughed. Ulfat stepped forward and carefully took Innayat into her arms. Innayat immediately started protesting in baby sounds and stretched her hands towards Yalina, who smiled and gently tapped her tiny nose before Ulfat carried her away.
It was early evening when the main door opened and Rehman entered inside. Not seeing anyone around, he walked straight towards the hall. But Yalina saw him. Though she had seen Rehman before, she had never really looked at him properly. Most of the time, she had only caught glimpses of him from a distance or seen him on news channels. She had not interacted with him much either, as Rehman was usually at work or busy with his responsibilities.
Today, however, she observed him carefully. Rehman was dressed in a black kurta, his hair slightly messy from the wind outside. Yalina looked at him, blinked, then turned to look at Naieem. After a few more seconds, she looked back at Rehman.
"Naieem."
Naieem looked up from the project. "Hmm?"
Yalina continued in a matter-of-fact tone, "Your Baba is so handsome."
Naieem immediately choked on air. "What?"
Yalina leaned closer and lowered her voice as if sharing an important observation. "No, seriously... he's really hot."
Naieem's eyes grew wide. Yalina had never said anything like that before.
"YALINA!"
Yalina simply shrugged. "You know, he looks like a Hollywood actor."
"Yalina, he is my Baba."
"When did I deny that fact?"
Naieem stared at her in disbelief while she returned her attention to the project as if she had said nothing unusual.
Outside, Rehman entered the hall and realized someone was in the drawing room. He assumed a guest had come over. Just then, he spotted Faizal rushing outside with a football tucked under his arm. Rehman stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Faizal, ghar par koi aya hai kya? Drawing room khula hai."
Faizal glanced towards the drawing room and a mischievous smile appeared on his face.
"Haan, Baba. Aapki hone wali bahu ayi hai."
Rehman frowned in confusion. "Meri hone wali bahu?"
But before he could ask anything else, Faizal broke free and ran off laughing.
"Faizal!"
Rehman shook his head as the boy disappeared outside.
"Yeh larka bhi na..."
Still confused by the strange statement, Rehman turned and headed towards his bedroom, looking for his wife.
He entered the room and saw Ulfat and Innayat sitting on the carpet. Toys and books were scattered all around them. His face immediately softened, and a smile that was reserved only for his jaan appeared on his lips. He closed the door behind him. Innayat looked towards him and squealed in happiness. Her eyes lit up instantly.
"BABA!"
She immediately accelerated towards him on all fours. Rehman bent down and scooped her into his arms before she could crash into his legs. Innayat grabbed a fistful of his kurta and rested her head against his shoulder for exactly two seconds before trying to investigate the buttons on his collar. Ulfat smiled as she watched them.
"Aj aap jaldi agaye."
Rehman walked further inside and slipped an arm around Ulfat's shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. He replied before placing a soft kiss on her forehead.
"Haa kaam khatam hogaya tha isliye agaya."
Innayat was busy having a serious fight with the collar of his kurta, trying to chew on it, while Rehman tucked a loose strand of hair behind Ulfat's ear.
"Ghar par koi aya hai kya?"
Ulfat brushed a bit of fabric lint from his shoulder "Ha woh Yalina ayi hai."
Rehman frowned for a moment. "Kon Yalina?"
Ulfat gave him a look. "Kya matlab kon Yalina? Jameel bhai ki beti. Naieem ki dost."
Realization settled on his face. "Acha... Yalina."
Then something struck him. "Toh yeh Faizal ne mujhe aisa kyu bola ke meri hone wali bahu ayi hai?"
Ulfat chuckled and took Innayat from Rehman's arms before the baby succeeded in pulling off one of his buttons.
"Faizal na aisi ulti bate karta hai, phir Naieem gussa karta hai."
She made Innayat sit on the floor. The moment her feet touched the carpet, Innayat crawled away at impressive speed. Within seconds, she reached a picture book, opened it upside down, stared at it thoughtfully, then slapped a page with great confidence. Innayat started crawling around her parents, passing between them while they continued their conversation.
"Waise ek tarah se galat bhi nahi hai... aapka beta pasand karta hai use."
Rehman looked at Ulfat with amusement. "Sach? Usne khud kaha?"
Ulfat shrugged. "Nahi, khud nahi kaha... magar maa hu uski, sab nazar ata hai."
As they spoke, Innayat returned dragging a stuffed rabbit that was almost as big as her. Halfway there she got distracted by her own sock and sat down to examine it.
Rehman smiled warmly. "Aisa hai toh achi baat hai. Yalina kafi pyari bachi hai. Mai use apni bahu banane ke liye tayar hu."
Ulfat lightly pushed his arm. "Rehman, bache hai abhi woh dono. Parhayi karne do unhe. Jab bare hojayenge tab sochenge yeh sab."
Rehman smiled and moved a little closer to her. "Theek hai meri jaan, jaisa ap kahe"
While they were talking, Innayat had crawled behind them. Finding her path blocked by her parents standing too close together, she tried squeezing through the small gap between them. When she failed, she looked up in outrage.
"AHHH... BABA... MAMA!"
Her loud squeal immediately grabbed their attention. They both looked down. Innayat was sitting between them with her tiny arms stretched upward, passionately complaining in her baby language about the obstacle that had suddenly appeared in her route.
She pointed at them, then at the floor, then babbled even more as if presenting evidence for her case. For a moment, both Rehman and Ulfat simply stared at her. Then they burst out laughing. Innayat blinked at them in confusion before deciding their reaction was acceptable. She grinned proudly, clapped her hands, and immediately crawled away again in search of her next adventure.
It was dinner time. Ulfat sent Faizal to call Naieem and Yalina for dinner. Faizal entered the drawing room like a storm while shaking one of Innayat's rattles as if he were an officer announcing his arrival.
"Bhai aur bhabhi... mera matlab bhai aur baji, khana lag gaya hai. Ammi bula rahi hai, aap log aa jayein."
Naieem glared at Faizal. If looks could kill, Faizal would have died by now. Yalina pretended she hadn't heard anything and continued arranging the project papers. Faizal completely ignored his brother's glare, grinned proudly at the reaction he had received, and left the room before Naieem could throw something at him.
A few minutes later, they all entered the dining hall. Rehman was sitting at the head of the table with Innayat in his lap. The little girl was currently on a mission to start her own drumming concert. She repeatedly hit a spoon against the table, creating loud clinking sounds that echoed through the room.
"TAK! TAK! TAK!"
Innayat squealed happily at the noise she was making and immediately hit the spoon again. Ulfat sighed and reached over to take it from her. The moment the spoon disappeared from her hand, Innayat's face fell. For one second she stared at Ulfat in disbelief. Then came the protest.
"Aaaahhhhhh!"
She threw herself dramatically against Rehman's chest and buried her face there as if she had suffered a great injustice. Rehman chuckled and took the spoon from Ulfat before handing it back to her. Innayat immediately brightened up and resumed her concert.
Ulfat complained while shaking her head. "Tum aur bigaro ise, Rehman."
Rehman smiled and adjusted Innayat on his lap. "Koi baat nahi, meri jaan. Karne do use."
Satisfied with her victory, Innayat banged the spoon a few more times before becoming distracted by a glass of water. She stretched as far as she could to reach it.
"Na na na," Ulfat quickly moved the glass away.
Innayat frowned at the betrayal. Everyone settled down for dinner. As they ate, Yalina leaned slightly towards Naieem and nudged his arm again.
"I'm telling you again, your Baba is really too handsome. He doesn't even look like your Baba, he looks like your elder brother. In fact, both your parents are too hot to call them your parents and not your elder siblings."
Naieem nearly choked on his food. "What is wrong with you?" he muttered under his breath.
Across the table, Faizal heard her and immediately did a fake cough to hide his laughter.
"uhhu....uhhu..."
Naieem shot him another warning glare. Faizal looked away innocently. Meanwhile, Innayat had lost interest in her spoon and was now trying to steal food from Rehman's plate. Her tiny hand reached forward and grabbed a piece of bread before anyone could stop her.
"Innu..." Ulfat warned.
Innayat quickly stuffed it into her mouth and looked away as if she had done nothing.
Rehman laughed. "Dekha? Kitni masoom hai meri beti"
Ulfat gave him a look. "Jee bilkul apki tarha"
Innayat responded by smacking her tiny palm on the table and laughing at absolutely nothing. By the time dinner ended, everyone was smiling because of her constant antics.
Once they were done with dinner, Yalina finally took her leave and went back to her house. The moment she left, Naieem stood in front of Rehman and Ulfat. He looked at them as if they were the culprits behind all his problems. Meanwhile, Rehman and Ulfat were completely confused. Faizal spoke before anyone else. He leaned forward and grinned.
"Ajkal log bolne lage hain ke aap dono hamare Ammi aur Baba nahi, bare bhai behen lagte ho. Toh mai soch raha tha ke kyu na kal se mai aap dono ko Rehman bhai aur Ulfat aapi bulata hu. Chalega?"
Rehman immediately glared at him. "Mai tumhare kan ke niche bajaoon, chalega?"
Faizal took a cautious step back. Rehman continued, pointing a finger at him. "Parhayi mein dehan do tum. Is baar marks kam aye na toh dekhna, sara football khelna band kar dunga tumhara."
Faizal's smile disappeared instantly. Naieem spoke next. "Faizal, tum chup betho thori der. Tumse toh mai bad mein baat karunga."
Then he looked back at his parents. "Ammi... kya zaroorat thi aapko itne handsome insaan se shadi karne ki?"
Ulfat's eyes grew wide.
"Kya matlab?"
Naieem looked at Rehman, who was now frowning.
"Thora sa kam handsome larka nahi mila tha aapko market mein? Jo shadi ke kuch saal baad change lagne lagta."
From the side, Uzair stepped forward and casually threw an arm across Naieem's shoulder "Mera bhi yahi sawal hai bhabhi se. Kya soch kar inse shadi kari thi aapne, bhabhi?"
Rehman shot him a glare. "Mera bhi Minal se sawal hai."
He turned towards Minal, Uzair's wife. "Kya soch kar is gadhe se shadi kari thi?"
Minal pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.
At that moment, Innayat, who had been sitting on the carpet beside Ulfat, suddenly started crawling towards the center of the room with a napkin she had somehow stolen from the dining table.
"Areyy" Ulfat called.
Too late. Innayat proudly waved the napkin in the air like a victory flag before dropping it on Rehman's foot. Everyone ignored her accomplishment except Innayat herself. She clapped enthusiastically.
Naieem spoke again. "Ammi, meri class ki sari larkiya Baba ko dekh kar impressed hojati hai... Adhi larkiyon ko toh crush hi agaya hai Baba par."
Ulfat bit her lip to suppress her smile while Rehman gave a crooked smirk.
"Well... that's not my mistake...I can't help being handsome"
The room exploded. Everyone start laughing.
Naieem soul left his body "BABA"
Rehman smirked "skill issue beta"
Faizal chirped from behind. "Bhai ko is baat se masla nahi ke unki class ki larkiyo ko Baba par crush hai." He stepped forward with a mischievous smile directed at Naieem. "Balke is baat se ke Yalina ne Baba ko hot aur handsome bola hai."
Ulfat, Rehman, and Minal all choked on air. Uzair doubled over laughing.
"Beta, yeh toh bahut tough competition hogaya hai aapka."
Naieem looked at Uzair in horror. "Chachu, hase mat."
Then he turned to Rehman. "Aur Baba, aap Yalina ke samne kyu aye?"
Rehman straightened in his seat as if he had been personally offended. "Mai kab aya uske samne?"
Rehman raised an eyebrow. "Ek baat batao. Tumhe kyu itni mirche lag rahi hai? Tumhari toh woh dost hai na sirf?"
Naieem immediately became speechless. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. He started stammering while trying to find an answer.
"Mai... woh... matlab..."
Before he could complete a sentence, Innayat crawled over and grabbed the edge of his trouser. When he looked down, she smiled at him with all four of her tiny teeth.
Faizal nudged his brother. "Bhai, relax. Hum bhabhi ko bol denge Baba ko na dekhe."
Naieem snapped his head towards him. "Tum toh pitoge mujhse, Faizal."
Then he looked towards Ulfat. "Ammi, aapko pata hai? Isne akar bola ke bhai aur bhabhi, Ammi khane ke liye bula rahi hain."
He pointed accusingly at Faizal. "Yalina ke samne usko bol raha tha yeh sab. Mai peet dunga isko."
Rehman nodded in agreement. "Isne mujhe bhi yahi bola ke aapki hone wali bahu ayi hai. Bahut bari cheez hai yeh Faizal." He slowly stood up. "Yeh toh mujhse bhi pitega ab."
Faizal's eyes widened. He looked at his father. Then at his brother. Then back at his father. Realizing both of them were completely serious, he turned around and bolted.
"AMMIIII!"
He sprinted towards the other wing of the haveli.
"RUKO!" Naieem shouted, running after him.
"AJA IDHAR!" Rehman called as he followed behind.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the entire house. Innayat watched them disappear around the corner. For a moment she blinked. Then, deciding this looked fun, she squealed loudly and tried to crawl after them.
Ulfat quickly scooped her up before she could join the chase. "Nahi madam, aap nahi."
Innayat protested by waving her tiny arms. "Da! Da! Da!"
Ulfat shook her head while trying not to laugh. Across the room, Minal and Uzair were still smiling at the chaos. As Rehman and Naieem continued chasing Faizal through the haveli, Ulfat simply sighed.
"Yeh ghar kabhi normal nahi ho sakta."
Then she carried Innayat to their room while the sounds of Faizal screaming for mercy echoed from somewhere down the hallway.
Summary : You’re running away the night before your wedding.
Uzair is coming to pick you up.
But you may have also brought something unexpected along.
The warehouse smelled like dust, engine oil, and hot metal.
Forklifts beeped somewhere in the background while workers dragged crates across the concrete floor. Someone shouted instructions across the loading dock, metal clanged somewhere near the back.
Uzair stood beside a stack of boxes, sleeves rolled up, listening to Rehman talk about a shipment that had arrived late.
Rehman tapped the clipboard with his pen.
“Dekho, agar yeh containers kal tak clear nahi hue na, toh pura schedule delay ho jayega.”
Uzair nodded absent-mindedly, eyes on the paperwork but not really reading it.
“Driver ko call kiya?” he asked.
“Kiya tha. Banda keh raha tha traffic tha—”
Uzair’s phone vibrated in his pocket.
He ignored it.
Rehman kept talking.
“—aur customs wale bhi sar pe kharay hain—”
The phone vibrated again.
Uzair frowned slightly but still didn’t take it out.
Then it vibrated again.
And again.
Rehman stopped mid-sentence and looked at him.
“Phone utha lo. Shayad kuch zaroori hai.”
Uzair sighed and finally pulled it out.
The moment he saw your name on the screen, something in his expression shifted.
He answered immediately.
“Haan bolo.”
For a second there was only breathing on the other side.
Then your voice.
Soft.
“Uzair…”
He straightened instantly, every bit of distraction gone.
“Kya hua? Sab theek hai?”
There was a small pause.
Then quietly
“Uzair… Abba kal meri shaadi karwa rahe hain.”
Uzair blinked.
His brain stalled for a second.
“…Kya?”
For a moment he genuinely thought he heard wrong.
“Yeh kab hua?”
“Mujhe nahi pata,” you said quickly. “Aaj hi decide kiya unhone.”
Uzair dragged a hand down his face, trying to process that.
“Phir?”
Another pause.
Then calmly
“Main ghar se bhaag rahi hoon.”
Uzair nearly dropped the phone.
“KYA?!”
Two workers nearby turned around at the volume.
He immediately turned away from them, lowering his voice.
“Pagal ho gayi ho kya?!” he hissed.
Your voice stayed calm.
“Tum aa rahe ho lene mujhe… ya main khud aa jaun?”
Uzair started pacing immediately, one hand gripping the phone, the other running through his hair.
“Nahi. Bilkul nahi. Tum kahin nahi jaogi. Wahi ruko. Main aa raha hoon.”
He stopped near a stack of crates.
“Uzair—”
“Haan?”
“Jaldi aana.”
He paused.
“Haan bs Aa raha hoon.”
He hung up.
For two seconds Uzair just stared at the wall like his brain had stopped functioning.
Rehman was watching him carefully.
“Kya hua?”
Uzair rubbed his forehead.
“…Woh bhaag rahi hai.”
Rehman blinked slowly.
“…Kaun?”
Uzair looked at him like the answer should be obvious.
“Meri girlfriend.”
Rehman stared.
Then scoffed in disbelief
“TUMHARI girlfriend hai?”
Uzair grabbed his car keys from the table.
“Haan bhai! Bas aapko batane hi wala tha main!”
Rehman folded his arms, unimpressed.
“Mashallah. Bohot badi khabar de di tumne aaj.”
Uzair was already walking toward the door.
“Main jaa raha hoon use lene.”
Uzair didn’t even turn around.
Rehman shook his head slowly and laughed
“Allah us ladki ko sabr de.”
Twenty minutes later Uzair’s car screeched to a stop below your street.
He barely had time to step out before you came running around the corner with a giant bag bouncing against your side.
“Uzair!”
You practically crashed into him, arms wrapping tightly around him.
Uzair blinked, catching you before you lost balance.
“Tum theek ho?”
“Haan.”
“Kisi ne dekha?”
“Nahi.”
He glanced down at the massive bag hanging from your shoulder.
“…Yeh kya hai?”
You opened the car door casually.
“Mera bag.”
Uzair frowned.
“Bag mein kya hai?”
You sat down in the car and said very seriously
“Mera Lehenga.”
Uzair froze.
“…Kya?”
“Aree nikkah wala!” you said. “Bohot mehenga hai.”
Uzair just stared at you in a disbelief
“Tum ghar se bhaag ke aayi ho…”
He pointed at the bag.
“…aur lehenga le aayi?”
You shrugged.
“Uzair, bhout sundar hai mera lehenga”
Uzair leaned his head back against the car for a second and let out a tired laugh.
“Ya Allah.”
As he starts to drive the car your phone started ringing.
Uzair’s eyes immediately snapped toward it.
“Kiska hai?”
You glanced down.
“Abba.”
Then calmly silenced it.
Uzair nearly choked.
“Phone kyun band kar diya?!”
You looked at him like it was obvious.
“Kyuki Abba ka hai.”
Uzair stared at the road like his brain had officially stopped functioning.
“Tum itni shaant kaise ho?”
You leaned over and kissed his cheek.
He froze mid-panic.
“Aap mere saath ho na,” you said softly.
“Toh mujhe ghabrane ki kya baat hai?”
Uzair stared at you for a moment.
Then sighed dramatically.
“Meri jaan le kar hi manogi tum ”
When you reached his house, Uzair pushed the door open.
You stepped inside cautiously.
Then you noticed someone standing in the living room.
Rehman.
Tall. Calm. Watching everything.
You immediately moved closer to Uzair, almost hiding behind his shoulder.
He leaned slightly toward you.
“Darr kyun rahi ho?”
You whispered back
“Rehman bhai thode scary lagte hain.”
Uzair nearly laughed.
“Aree kuch nahi hoga,” he murmured, squeezing your hand.
Rehman’s eyes dropped to the giant bag.
Then slowly back to you.
“Bhaag ke aayi ho?”
You nodded.
Uzair groaned quietly.
Rehman turned toward the hallway and shouted—
“ULFAT!”
A voice came from inside.
“Ji?”
Rehman replied calmly.
“Uzair ladki bhaga ke le aaya hai.”
Uzair closed his eyes.
“Bhai…”
Footsteps approached.
Ulfat walked into the room, still talking.
“Rehman aap bhi kesi batein kr rahe hai..”
Then she saw you.
Standing beside Uzair.
Holding his hand.
Trying very hard to hide.
Her eyes widened.
“…Sach mein?”
You nodded shyly.
Instead of getting angry, Ulfat broke into a wide smile.
“Mashallah.”
Then she noticed the bag.
“Yeh kya hai?”
“Lehenga,” Uzair answered before you could.
Ulfat looked at you again.
“…Sach?”
You nodded.
“Bohot mehenga tha.”
Rehman laughed.
“Practical hai ladki.”
Ulfat laughed too and gently took your hand.
“Chalo. Andar aao.”
You hesitated and glanced back at Uzair.
He nodded reassuringly.
“Jao. Sab theek hai.”
As you walked away with her
Rehman sat down beside Uzair on the sofa.
Still smiling.
“Lehenga bhi le aayi?”
Uzair dropped his head back against the cushion.
“Mujhe pata hi nahi tha meri girlfriend itni planning kar ke Bhagi hai.”
Later that night the guest room door opened quietly.
Uzair stepped inside.
You were sitting on the edge of the bed.
The moment you saw him, you stood up and ran straight into his arms.
Clinging tightly.
“Aap aa gaye…”
Uzair wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.
“Tumne mujhe choice hi kahan di thi.”
You pulled back slightly.
“Agar nahi aate toh?”
Uzair didn’t even pause.
“Toh main zindagi bhar pachtaata.”
Your eyes softened.
He brushed a loose strand of hair away from your face.
“Waise ek baat batao.”
You blinked.
“Kya?”
He glanced toward the bag sitting in the corner.
“Lehenga kyun le aayi?”
You looked offended.
“Aree mehenga tha.”
Uzair laughed quietly.
“Accha hai.”
He pulled you a little closer.
“Kaam aa jayega.”
Your brows furrowed.
“Kis liye?”
Uzair smiled.
“Nikkah ke liye.”
Your eyes widened.
“Itni jaldi?”
Uzair shrugged slightly.
“Tum itni door se bhaag ke aayi ho.”
Then he gently rested his forehead against yours.
“Ab wapas thodi na jaane dunga.”
You tried not to smile.
But failed.
For a moment neither of you moved.
The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan.
Then suddenly you pulled back slightly, remembering something.
“Ek minute.”
Uzair frowned.
“Kya hua?”
You walked over to the bag sitting in the corner and unzipped it.
Uzair watched suspiciously.
“Ab kya kar rahi ho?”
You pulled the lehenga out carefully, the fabric catching the light.
“Bas check kar rahi hoon theek hai ya nahi.”
Uzair stared at you.
“Tum abhi bhi apne lehenga ki fikr kar rahi ho?”
You looked at him defensively.
“Uzair bohot mehenga hai.”
He ran a hand over his face, half laughing.
“Tum sach mein kamal ho.”
You walked back toward him, still holding the lehenga.
“Achha suno.”
“Haan?”
You tilted your head slightly.
“Agar Abba yahan aa gaye toh?”
Uzair didn’t even hesitate.
“Toh baith ke baat karenge.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“Bas?”
He smiled a little.
“Nahi.”
He reached out and pulled you closer again.
“Phir nikkah kar lenge.”
Your eyes widened.
“Uzair!”
He laughed softly.
“Kya?”
You tried to look annoyed.
But your smile gave you away.
Across the house, Rehman’s voice suddenly echoed from the hallway.
“Uzair!”
Uzair sighed dramatically.
“Dekha?”
You giggled.
“Abhi se daant pad rahi hai.”
Uzair shook his head.
“Chalo.”
“Kahan?”
He glanced at the lehenga in your hands.
“Ulfat bhabhi ko toh dikha dein.”
You blinked.
“Abhi?”
Uzair smirked.
“Tum itni door bhaag ke aayi ho.”
Then he nudged your shoulder lightly.
“Ab ghar wale bhi toh dekhen ki main kis toofan ko ghar le aaya hoon.”
You laughed.
And for the first time since running away…
Everything felt strangely calm.
But then you heard Rehman’s voice echo through the hallway again
“UZAIR!!”
Author’s note : I feel like Uzair might survive this situation…
हम तेरे प्यार में सारा आलम
खो बैठे हैं, खो बैठे
तुम कहते हो के ऐसे प्यार को
भूल जाओ, भूल जाओ.....
Ulfat woke up with a violent jolt. Again. Tears were already spilling out of her eyes, tracing that same familiar path down her face as if they knew the way better than she did. Her breaths came out uneven, breaking in the middle, each one catching painfully in her throat like it did not want to leave.
For a second, she dragged in a sharp breath and held it there, clinging to it like it was the only fragile thread keeping her from completely falling apart.
She did not move immediately. She could not. There was a heaviness in the air, something unspoken that pressed down on her, keeping her exactly where she was. Even blinking felt like effort. Even existing did.
Then with slow and almost reluctant movement, her hand shifted toward the other side of the bed. Not all at once, but inch by inch, like she was postponing something she already knew. Her fingers hovered for a second, trembling faintly before finally touching the sheets.
The sheets were cold.
Not just empty cold. Not the kind left behind for a few minutes. This was deeper. Like it had been there for a long time and had no intention of leaving. Like no one had ever slept there. Like no presence had ever reached that space at all.
Her fingers pressed into the fabric, slowly at first then with more force, as if the mattress might give something back if she insisted enough. As if it might hold onto even the faintest trace of warmth. But it did not. It stayed the same beneath her hand, still and unyielding, offering nothing in return. The fabric did not responded. It did not give her anything back. No warmth. No trace. No memory left behind in its threads.
Her breathing faltered again, catching somewhere between her chest and her throat refusing to come out the way it should.
A sound rose from her throat, something raw and torn from somewhere deep inside, a sob that carried the weight of everything she had been holding back for far too long yet it never fully made its way out. It stayed there pressing painfully against her chest, against her ribs, like it refused to leave her even in that. Her lips parted, her body tensing as if she was about to scream, as if she needed to, but nothing followed. No voice. No sound strong enough to break the silence that surrounded her. It was as though even her grief had learned to stay quiet, to exist without being heard.
It has been a year.
A whole year since her Rehman was gone. A year since the world had shifted in a way she could not undo, since the person who held her together had slipped away, leaving her standing in a life that no longer felt like hers. A year since he left her behind in a world that felt too large.
A year of waking up like this. A year of reaching out without thinking, only to be met with the same cold unchanging truth. A year of carrying his absence in every breath, in every quiet moment, in every corner of a life that still refused to stop moving.
A year without him was not something she had learned to accept. It was something she had learned to endure.
Her world had grown smaller in ways she never imagined. It had narrowed itself down until there was almost nothing left of it. Just her and Faizal. Everything else felt distant like it belonged to someone else’s life, not hers.
Faizal, in this one year had grown up. Not in the way children usually do, not just in height or in the way his voice had steadied, but in something far deeper that Ulfat could not look at for too long without feeling that quiet ache spread through her chest. It had only been a year, and yet there were moments when it felt like he had lived through ten.
He did not cry anymore. Not in front of her. Not even when she knew he wanted to. The tears that used to come so easily, that used to spill over the smallest things, had disappeared somewhere along the way, replaced by a silence that felt far too heavy for someone his age. He did not whine, did not complain, did not throw tantrums the way children are meant to, the way they should be allowed to. It was as if he had quietly decided that he could not afford to.
Ulfat noticed it in the smallest things, the way he would stop himself mid sentence if he thought she looked too tired to listen. The way he would lower his voice, soften his presence, as if trying to take up less space in a world that had already taken too much from him. The way he would sit beside her without saying anything.
He had understood her and that was what hurt the most. Because he was never supposed to understand this kind of pain. He was never supposed to adjust himself around her grief, never supposed to carry it with her in the quiet unnoticed ways he did. But life had not asked him. It had simply placed it on his shoulders and moved on, leaving him to figure it out on his own.
He had even started to study seriously now, burying himself in books with a focus . There was no complaining, no need to be told twice. He sat there for hours sometimes, eyes fixed on the pages as if staying busy was easier than letting his thoughts wander to places that would only hurt.
Every time Ulfat watched him like that, something inside her twisted painfully.
Oh her child.
Ulfat rose to her feet slowly. Her hand reached for the wooden railing of the bed, fingers curling around it, not because her body needed the support but because her mind did. She stayed there for a moment, gripping it, grounding herself in something that would not slip away.
Nights had become the hardest part. They stretched longer than they should, heavier than she could bear, carrying a silence that did not comfort but suffocated. The days, at least gave her something to hold onto. They passed in fragments, in small tasks that kept her moving. Taking care of Faizal, making sure he ate, that he studied, that he smiled at least once. She filled the hours with whatever she could find. Cooking, even when she had no appetite. Gardening, her hands buried in soil just to feel something real. She had even learned embroidery, not because she loved it, but because it kept her thoughts from wandering too far.
But nights stripped all of that away. When everything fell quiet, when the outside world faded into nothing, there was nothing left to distract her from the emptiness that waited. It settled around her, inside her pressing against her chest until even breathing felt like effort. Each inhale felt incomplete like the air itself was not enough to fill whatever had been carved out of her.
There were moments when she felt like she was not really there, not fully present in her own life. Like something had been left behind the day he was gone, and what remained was only moving out of habit. Like she was not living but surviving.
She felt like something without weight, without direction. Like a cork drifting over still water, carried wherever the current decided, with no purpose of its own, no place to belong. Like an empty vase, placed carefully in a space where it once held something beautiful, something alive, but now stood hollow, holding nothing except that quiet, echoing void within it. A space that could not be filled, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much she tried to look away from it.
She stopped in front of the wardrobe. For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at it as if it held more than just clothes. Her hand lifted slowly and lingered in the air before finally settling on the oak wood handle. Her fingers did not move right away. They stayed there, curled around it as she swallowed the tightness in her throat that refused to go down easily.
It took her a second or maybe more then she pulled it open. The sight inside did not change. It never did.
Clothes were arranged neatly, hanging in place as if nothing had ever been disturbed. Kurtas lined up one after another, trousers folded with care, everything exactly where it used to be. As if someone would wake up in the morning, reach in without looking, and ask for the same things again. As if time had not moved forward at all.
“Jaan, mera kurta kaha rakha hai.”
The memory came without warning and it was so clear that it almost felt real, like if she turned around she would find him standing there, waiting, that familiar impatience in his voice softened by something only meant for her.
Her breath faltered. Her hand moved on its own, reaching for the black kurta hanging among the others. Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled it down, the fabric slipping free from the hanger with a soft sound. She stared at it for a long moment, her eyes tracing its folds, the creases that had remained untouched in a way that made it feel like time had paused only here.
Slowly, she brought it closer, the fabric brushed against her fingers, then against her chest and she held it there carefully like it might fall apart if she was not gentle enough but then her grip tightened. Her fingers curled into it, clutching it closer, pressing it against herself as if it could fill the space that had been empty for far too long.
Her eyes closed on their own and she breathed in.
The scent was still there. It was faint. So faint that it almost slipped away before she could hold onto it. That familiar trace of him, something warm mixed with the sharpness of tobacco, something that used to linger around him without effort. But it was fading. Slowly, , with every passing day.
And she felt it. She felt him slipping away from her. Again.
Her hold tightened even more, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she could stop it, as if she could keep even this from leaving her. She breathed in again trying to capture whatever was left before it disappeared completely. She held onto it like it was the only thing keeping him from being gone completely.
Because this was all she had now. A fading scent. A memory that refused to stay still and yet refused to stay whole.
Many people had told her to let go of his things. To pack them away, to put them somewhere out of sight, or to throw them out completely. They said it would hurt less if she stopped surrounding herself with reminders, if she gave herself space to move on, to breathe without his absence staring back at her from every corner.
But how could she do that?
How could she take something that had once belonged to him, something that had carried his warmth, his presence, his quiet, everyday existence and treat it like it meant nothing. How could she fold it away into some forgotten box or worse, throw it out like it was replaceable, like he was replaceable.
These were not just things. They were pieces of him. Small, silent pieces that had stayed behind when he left, the only ones that had not slipped out of her reach. His clothes still held the shape of him in ways she could not explain, the faint creases, the way the sleeves fell, the way the collar bent as if it remembered how he wore it. Even the scent, fading as it was, still carried something of him, something she could not afford to lose.
If she let these go, what would she have left. Who is she without these?
No, she could not throw them away. She could not lock them up somewhere out of sight and pretend that would make anything easier. It would not. It would only take away the last tangible pieces of him she had left.
She will not do that. She will not let the world take him away from her in every possible way.
She slowly raised her head, her eyes drifted around the room. Their room. It still carried that quiet sense of belonging yet felt unfamiliar in a way that made her chest tighten. Everything was in its place as if the room itself had refused to move forward.
Near the window, the rocking chair stood, her gaze lingered there. That had been his spot. No matter how long the day had been or how late the night stretched, he would find his way there without thinking, settling into it like it belonged to him as much as he belonged to it. He would sit there for hours sometimes, his presence filling the room even in silence.
Sometimes he would look out of the window, his eyes fixed on something far beyond what she could see. Sometimes it was the moon that held his attention, the soft light falling across his face making him look distant and untouchable like he had slipped into a place she could not reach. And sometimes, he would simply sit there lost in his own thoughts, a stillness settling over him that never felt empty but calm.
Rehman was sitting on the rocking chair, swaying it gently back and forth, his gaze lifted toward the moon. He looked lost somewhere far away.
Ulfat had just come out of the shower, her hair still wet and cool against her neck. She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. Then slowly, she walked toward him, the soft sound of her jhanjhar filling the quiet room. Rehman looked up at it and found her eyes already on him. There was something in them...Jealousy?
"Itni shiddat se kya dekh rahe ho, Rehman?" she said, her voice carrying that same feeling.
He smiled at her. That smile the one that belonged only to her, the one he never gave to anyone else. He lifted his hand and offered it to her without a word. She placed her hand in his and let him settle her onto his lap.
"Chand dekh rahe the?" she asked again, curling her arms around his neck.
Rehman hummed, his thumb moving slowly over her knuckles before he brought her hand to his lips.
"Chand jalta hai tujhse, meri jaan," he said and she rolled her eyes.
"Ye sach hai," he added quietly, watching her reaction with something soft in his expression.
"Makkhan lagana toh koi tumse sikhe, Rehman."
He looked up at her then, as if she had said something that genuinely puzzled him.
"Makkhan? Aapko hamare jazbaat makkhan lagte hain." He shook his head slowly. "Yeh sach hai, tujhse haseen koi nahi hai iss jahan mein."
The color rose in her cheeks before she could stop it, she looked down in shyness. A smile followed, the kind she could never quite hide from him. Rehman brought his free hand to his chest, his face scrunching as if something had struck him there.
"Uff. Aur kitne sitam dhayegi apne aashiq par."
Her eyes glistened at the memory. Now who will call her like this. There is no one. No one to call her his own.
It had been a year and she felt like she had aged a decade. Somewhere along the way, without even noticing, she had stopped looking at mirrors. There was no purpose in it anymore. What was the point of getting ready when he was not here. When there was no one to adore her, to look at her the way he did, to place his hand on his heart like her beauty had completely undone him.
There was no point.
No point in any of it. No point in getting ready, no point in looking, no point in even breathing.and yet...here she was, still doing it. Still waking up. Still moving through days that felt like they belonged to someone else. Not because she wanted to. Not because it felt like living. But because her body has not yet learned how to stop.
She remembered the day she was brought to this haveli as a bride. The day Rehman had walked her through its doors for the first time, his hand steady around hers.
She remembered what he had said. He had looked at her then at the walls around them and something in his expression had shifted into something that felt like it came from a place deeper than words.
She made it home, then why she feels like she is homeless now?
She took slow steps toward the rocking chair. Each step felt heavier than the last, like her feet already knew where they were going and were dreading it. She stopped beside it and stood there for a moment.
Her hand reached out and settled on the armrest. She rested her fingers there lightly, the way you touch something you are afraid might disappear if you hold it too tightly. The wood was smooth beneath her fingertips, worn in the way only years of use could manage. She could feel it, the way the surface had shaped itself around him, around the weight of his hands, the warmth of his presence. She stood there and let herself feel it, all of it, even the parts that hurt.
Especially those parts.
Then slowly, with a carefulness that had nothing to do with her body and everything to do with something inside her she could not name, she sat down. The chair received her the way it always had, swaying gently under her weight, that familiar rhythm returning as if it had been waiting. She leaned back and gripped the armrests and closed her eyes for just a moment, just long enough to pretend. To imagine the weight of the world lifting, even briefly.
It did not. She opened her eyes and looked up.
The sky was quiet and vast and indifferent in the way skies always are, stretching endlessly above her without any awareness of how small she felt beneath it. She looked at it the way a person looks at something they no longer expect anything from.
Then she saw them. Two stars. Sitting close together, brighter than everything around them, shining. She stared at them and something in her chest pulled so tight it became difficult to breathe. Her grip on the armrests tightened without her meaning it to, her knuckles pressing pale against her skin.
It had been a different kind of night then. Ulfat was standing near the window, her eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the courtyard below. There was something in her expression that she had not said out loud yet, a grief she had been carrying quietly for days, folding it smaller and smaller until it fit somewhere inside her chest where she thought no one could see it.
Rehman saw it. He always does.
He stood beside her, close enough that his arm brushed hers, and he watched her the way he always did in her quiet moments, with a longing so deep it had nowhere to go. He wanted to reach into whatever place she had gone to and bring her back. He wanted to take whatever she was carrying and carry it himself. But he only stood there, watching, because sometimes that was all a person could do.
"Kya dekh rahi hai, chanda," he said finally. His voice came out low, softer than he intended, a tightness sitting somewhere behind his words that he could not push away.
Ulfat turned to look at him. Just for a second. Her eyes met his and in that second something passed between them, no words were exchanged between them, They never needed words to communicate. No language could explain what was between them. Then she turned back to the sky.
Her hand lifted slowly. Her finger pointed toward the brightest star, the one that outshone everything around it, burning quietly and alone in all that darkness.
"Rehman," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she was afraid of what she was about to say. As if saying it out loud would make it more real than she could bear.
"Aksar log kaha karte hain ki jo log chale jaate hain woh taare ban jaate hain." She paused. The silence between them stretched and filled with everything neither of them could say.
"Agar aisa hai." Her voice caught. She steadied it. "Toh woh jo sab se zyada chamak raha hai, woh hamara Naieem hai."
Rehman did not move. He did not speak. He could not. It felt like something had driven itself straight into the center of his chest and lodged itself there pressing against everything inside him. He looked at the star she was pointing to, burning bright and unreachable and so very far away, and he felt the ground beneath him shift .
He had held so much together for so long. He had been steady when she needed steady, present when she needed presence, strong in the way he thought she needed him to be strong. But in that moment, standing beside her in the dark, looking at a star she had named after their son, he felt all of it crack.
It was not big. It was small, enough one.
He said nothing. There was nothing in the world that he could have said.
And now.
Now she would have to find her Rehman there too. In stars.
The thought came quietly, the way the most devastating things always do, settling over her like the night itself, without mercy. She looked at the two stars, the ones shining close together, and her throat tightened around something she could not swallow down.
Was he there now. Was he the one beside Naieem, the one that had appeared as if it had always belonged there, as if it had been waiting to find its place. Was that him. Was that all that was left of the man who used to sit in this very chair, who used to look at this same sky, who used to hold her hand and tell her the moon burned with jealousy for her.
Was that all she had now. A star she could not reach. A light she could not hold.
She inhaled deeply, pulling the air in slow and deliberate, as if she could breathe him in from somewhere. Her head fell back against the chair. The rocking slowed but did not stop, swaying gently beneath her like it was trying to offer something, some small comfort it did not have the means to give. Her fingers curled tighter around the armrests, tighter and tighter still, her knuckles turning white from the force of her grip, as if holding on here meant holding on to something else entirely. As if letting go of the wood meant letting go of him.
here it is @mcdreamyshepherd as requested. tried to do as best as i can, at first i didn't include the 'saari duniya se jeet ke aya hoon' lyrics part as it is most used in many reel edits already but then i couldn't resist the temptation👉👈, i mean the lyrics r so them coded🤌. Thanks for requesting this one.🙌
