#spy oc

[alexaartss]

Imagine drawing your in-game spy and forget to draw his hat. This is what happened to me.

[fansockz]

weird spies

[yembarzal]

Saza-i-Maut - VIII

Prologue part I part II part III part IV part V part VI part VII

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

The final weeks of the academic year had descended upon the school like a heatwave. Revision season was in full swing, and the corridors were hushed, punctuated only by the occasional rhythmic chant of multiplication tables echoing from the younger grades.

She sat in the staffroom, her red pen hovering over a stack of practice papers. The air was stagnant, the single ceiling fan struggling to displace the heavy humidity of a Karachi afternoon. Nearby, a group of senior teachers huddled over their tea, their voices lowered in that specific, sharp register of gossip that always preceded a sting.

"It’s getting ridiculous," Mrs. Qureshi whispered, her voice carrying more than she intended. "Look at how they come to school. Does nobody iron their shirts? These Baloch kids barely knew how to hold a pencil properly when they arrived. If it weren't for Rehman Sahab’s charity, half of them wouldn't even be allowed past the gates. It’s a drain on our resources, really."

The red pen in her hand snapped. She looked down at the paper under her hand—a child's essay on his dreams for the future. The handwriting was shaky, but the soul in the words was sturdier than anything she had seen from the elite students in the private wing. These kids weren't just students to her, they were her mirrors. They were the living proof that a flower could grow out of the cracks in a sidewalk if only someone stopped stepping on it.

The realisation that she might lose her job flashed through her mind, but it was drowned out by a louder, more primal instinct. If she didn't speak up now, she would be no better than the people who watched her own village burn.

"It’s interesting you use the word 'charity,' Mrs. Qureshi," she said, her voice smooth, almost conversational. The older woman blinked, startled by the interruption from a junior teacher.

"Well, it is, isn't it? The Baloch Haveli funds their seats," Mrs. Qureshi replied defensively.

"Rehman Sahab isn't giving charity, he’s performing a duty. He’s investing in the only thing that actually changes a society and that is education. And honestly, looking at these papers, some of these 'charity cases' are outperforming the students who come here in chauffeured SUVs."

She paused, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable before leaning in slightly. "By the way, Mrs. Qureshi, your nephew joined us last month, didn't he? In Grade 9? I heard he didn't quite meet the merit cutoff for the entrance exam, but a quick call to the board cleared that right up. Does that also count as 'charity,' or do we only use that word for people who don't have a personal connection to the administration?"

The staffroom went deathly silent. Mrs. Qureshi’s face turned a shade of mottled purple that almost matched her dupatta.

"I... I was just saying—"

"I know what you were saying," she interrupted, her smile never reaching her eyes. "But these kids aren't here by luck. They’re here because someone finally gave them a seat at the table. And they’re proving they belong there."

She stood up, gathered her papers, and walked out. She knew she had crossed a line. By the time the final bell rang, word of the staffroom confrontation had spread like wildfire and well, Faizal was not happy.

He was waiting for her by the gate, his face a storm of conflicting emotions.

"Ma'am," he said as she approached. His usual mischief was gone, replaced by a fierce, dark pride. "I heard what you said. To the old lady."

She sighed, ruffling his hair. "That old lady is your ma'am Faizal, and you shouldn't listen to staffroom gossip."

"Mere doston ke baarein mein itna bura kaha unhone" he spat, his hands curling into fists. "Most of them don't even have proper roofs, but they study under the streetlights just to pass your tests. They love my Baba because he’s the only one who didn't look at them like they were trash."

He looked at her, his eyes shining. "Thank you for taking a stand. No one ever stands up to the senior teachers."

She gave him a sad smile, the weight of the day finally hitting her. "Go home, Faizal. Don't worry about it."

But as she walked to her own apartment, the adrenaline faded, leaving only a cold, hollow pit of anxiety in her stomach. She had a job because she was invisible; she was a spy because she could blend in. Today, she had made herself a target.

That evening, the phone rang. It was the school admin. "The Principal would like to see you in his office tomorrow morning after the first bell."

Her heart sank. This is it, she thought. The end of the road.

She spent the night in a feverish state of "what-ifs." She pulled up job boards on her laptop, her eyes landing on a prestigious opening in Lahore. It was a good post, high salary, safe neighborhood. But it was in Lahore.

Lahore meant leaving the humidity of the coast. It meant leaving the chaotic, beautiful streets of Lyari. It meant leaving-

While she was mourning her career in a dark apartment, the Baloch Haveli was in an uproar.

Faizal had stormed into the living room, his face flushed. The entire inner circle was there, Baba, Ammi, Chachu, Donga bhai, Hamza bhai and...Jameel Mamu?

"Baba! Chachu!" Faizal shouted, throwing his bag on the sofa. He recounted the entire incident; Mrs. Qureshi’s insults and his teacher’s sharp, dangerous rebuttal.

"Maine kabhi socha nahi tha ki aisa kahunga aapse," Faizal said, turning to his father and uncle with a gravity that silenced the room. "Lekin aap dono ko apne bade naam aur taakat ka fayda aaj uthana hoga. Kya pata Ma'am ko kal school se nikal diya toh?"

He grabbed Rehman’s arm. "Baba, aap ek phone kar do. Ya Chachu ko kal bhej do. Dekhna, Ma'am ko toh woh log naya Principal bhi bana denge, nikaalna toh door ki baat hai."

Hamza chuckled, but his eyes were thoughtful.  I really need to meet this wonder woman and give her an earful, he thought.

Rehman slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, the screen illuminating his rugged features. He scrolled through his contacts with a deliberate, slow precision until he found the name he was looking for. For a second, his thumb hovered over the call button, but then he paused, his jaw tightening as he looked up at the expectant faces in the room.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and stood up.

"Chal," he said, directed at Uzair and Hamza.

Uzair didn't even blink; he straightened his silver chain and stepped into stride. Hamza, catching the vibe instantly, suppressed a grin and followed suit, both of them moving with the synchronised lethal grace of men who had done this a thousand times.

"Jameel Sahab, shaam ho gayi hai, aapse kal mulaqaat hogi. Khuda Hafiz."

It wasn't a farewell; it was a dismissal. Before Jameel could even stutter a response, the three men were out the door, the roar of the SUV’s engine a few moments later signaling the start of a very long, very uncomfortable night for the school’s principal.

Faizal sat back on the sofa, a triumphant smirk finally breaking through his sour mood. He knew that when his father used that specific tone, the world was about to shift on its axis.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

The next morning, she walked into the school like a woman heading to her own execution. She taught her first class in a daze, her voice mechanical. Faizal was sitting in the front row, looking suspiciously happy. He kept grinning at her, his foot tapping a frantic, joyful rhythm.

"Ma'am, yeh homework kal dena hai na?" he asked as the bell rang.

She looked at him, her eyes clouded with sadness. "Haan, Faizal. Lekin agar main kal na aa paun... toh Shazia Madam ko submit kar dena."

Faizal let out a loud, bark-like laugh as he ran out of the room. "Aap toh bohat achha mazaak kar leti hain, Ma'am!"

She stood there, blinking. Mazaak? Does he think being fired is a joke?

She walked toward the Principal’s office, her shoulders squared, her resignation letter already mentally drafted. She knocked, and the door opened instantly.

The Principal, a man who usually treated junior staff like furniture, practically leapt out of his chair. "Ah! Please, come in! Sit, sit!"

He beamed at her, his eyes crinkling with a terrifying amount of warmth. "I heard about what happened yesterday in the staffroom. I wanted to personally tell you how proud I am to have a teacher of your calibre on our team."

She blinked. "Sir?"

"We cannot tolerate that kind of elitist behavior here," the Principal continued, his voice booming. "A major chunk of our student population is Baloch kids. We receive a lot of support from that community and we provide aid to them as well. To insult them is to insult the school itself."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "We have decided to suspend Mrs. Qureshi indefinitely. Her attitude was unprofessional. And, as a token of our appreciation for your integrity, the board has approved an immediate increase in your salary."

She walked out of the office ten minutes later, her head spinning. She was confused, relieved, and deeply suspicious. She spent the rest of the day assuming the Principal had simply found a conscience overnight. She figured he realised that knocking some sense into a senior teacher was a brave thing to do.

What she didn't know was that at 11:00 PM the previous night, somebody had visited the Principal’s home. It wasn't a long conversation. It was a quiet, one-sided talk about the importance of "respect" and the "longevity" of the school’s infrastructure.

And she definitely didn't know that Uzair had been parked across the street from the school that morning, watching her walk through the gates, his hand resting on the silver chain at his throat, ensuring that the only person who made sense in his world wasn't taken away by the small-mindedness of others, leaving only when she was within the safe premises of the brick walls.

She decided not to think too much. She was staying. She wasn't going to Lahore. She was here, in the salt and the heat, exactly where she belonged.

"I think I’ll treat myself with something sweet," she whispered to herself as she packed her stuff for the next class. "And probably a proper dinner tonight."

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

The final bell had long since stopped echoing, and the school gates were now just a backdrop to the rising, shimmering heat of the afternoon. She stood on the curb, her bag heavy with the weight of practice papers. To her dismay, the rickshaw stand was a ghost town, and the bus was nowhere to be seen, likely delayed by another protest or a broken axle somewhere in the city’s arteries.

She began to walk, her footsteps heavy on the dusty pavement, her mind already drifting to the cold shower she’d take if she ever made it home.

Then, she felt it. A low, rhythmic vibration in the ground beneath her feet.

A familiar black SUV crawled along the curb, moving at exactly her pace. It didn't honk. It simply shadowed her like a silent, metallic beast. Uzair had her schedule memorised down to the second; he knew exactly when the last bell rang and how long it took her to cross the courtyard.

The passenger window rolled down with a soft hiss, and a mist of ice-cold air conditioning spilled out into the humid street like a ghost. Uzair was leaning across the console, his arm draped over the steering wheel, his silver chain catching the harsh sunlight. He didn't say a word. He just looked at her, his dark eyes tracing the line of her jaw, waiting for her to acknowledge the inevitable.

Neither of them spoke for a long minute. It was a standoff of silence, a contest of who would crack first under the weight of the unspoken things between them.

"Bhaijaan, maine taxi nahi book ki," she said finally, her voice dry. "Aap chale jaayein."

Uzair didn't flinch. A slow, dangerous tilt of his head was the only response. "Arey Bibi... Karachi ki dhoop tez hai. Aur aapka dimaag thoda zyada garam lag raha hai aaj. Ye taxi bhi free hai, aur driver bhi."

She stopped walking, turning to face him with her hands on her hips. "Nahi, nahi. Main free mein nahi jaungi. Kuch toh daam chukana padega."

"Acha?" He paused, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. "Toh phir iss nacheez ke saath kuch khane par chal lein?"

She stared at him suspiciously. Did he just ask me out? On a date? Her heart hammered against her ribs, but her logical mind, the one trained to see through every facade quickly intervened. No. He’s probably just hungry. Why is this man always hungry when he’s near me? Is he incapable of feeding himself at the Haveli?

"Paise mere," she stated firmly, trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Ji," he replied, a faint, almost imperceptible ghost of a smile touching his lips.

She didn't wait for another invitation. She unlocked the door and slid into her usual spot in the passenger seat, the leather cool against her skin.

"Acha," she murmured, "Toh phir batao, tumhe khane mein kya pasand hai?"

And so they found themselves in a place that was a restaurant which felt fancy enough for a celebration but also served desi cuisine so that's all they cared about. The air was perfumed with the smell of coal and rosewater, and the walls were adorned with intricate woodwork that reminded her of the book she’d been reading.

The moment he sat across from her and muttered, "Aapki marzi," she knew she was taking the lead. She didn't even hand him the menu.

"Two plates of chicken biryani," she told the waiter, her voice commanding. "Ekdum teekhi. And two salty pudina lassis. Extra ice."

Uzair sat back, watching her with that same, unblinking intensity. He looked like a man who was happy to let someone else dictate the terms of his surrender for once.

"And for dessert?" the waiter asked.

"Ice cream," she said immediately. "Chocolate. Two scoops each."

She didn't bother to ask him if he liked chocolate. In her mind, if a man was going to follow her around in his car, the least he could do was eat what he was told.

The lassi arrived first, frothy and green with crushed mint. She took a long, deep sip, the cold saltiness cutting through the heat of the day. She looked at him over the rim of her glass, the spy in her temporarily resting, replaced by the woman who had just realised that for all his power, Uzair Baloch was currently sitting in a public restaurant, eating chocolate ice cream because she said so.

"So," she said, leaning in, "Are you going to tell me what you really said to the Principal, or should I just enjoy my free taxi ride in peace?"

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

Uzair sat paralysed for a moment, his mind a whirlpool of disbelief and adoration. Who is this woman? he wondered, his heart doing a frantic rhythm against his ribs. She dismantled his defenses with the same casual ease she used to grade a student's paper. He was the Baloch second-in-command, a man who moved pieces on a chessboard of life and death, yet here he was, losing control of his own senses because she decided to eat dessert before the main course.

He watched her devour the chocolate ice cream, the small silver spoon disappearing between her lips.

"Pehle meetha ya khana?" he asked, his voice thick, his eyes betraying the emotion he was desperately trying to mask.

She stopped mid-bite, the spoon still in her mouth, and leveled him with a look that was both defiant and playful. "Meri marzi. Baad mein ek aur ice cream khaungi. Mere paise jaa rahe hain, koi dikkat hai tumhe?"

She went right back to her chocolate, leaving Uzair with no choice but to start on his own, his appetite suddenly tied to her whims.

"Waise, tumne mere sawal ka jawab nahi diya," she prompted between bites.

Uzair cleared his throat, trying to regain his footing. "Thodi si baat kari Principal se, bas. Yaad dilaya unhe ki Balochon ka karza hai unpar. Hamare bacho ke saath waise hi nainsaafi hoti hai har jagah, ab aise school mein toh nahi honi chahiye jo Rehman Baloch ki madad se chalta ho."

She looked at him through her lashes, her eyes wide and mock-innocent. "Toh sirf bacho ki baat ki…?"

"Haan... bhai phir tumhari tareef bhi kar rahe the," Uzair muttered, looking down at his plate to hide the heat in his face. "Bol rahe the achi teacher hai, aur unka nuqsaan hoga agar tumhe jaane diya."

"Bhai keh rahe the?" she caught him instantly. "Toh tumne poora time baat nahi ki? Kuch nahi bola?"

"Maine sehmati dikhayi Rehman bhai se," Uzair said, nodding his head with exaggerated seriousness. “Sar hilakar.”

"Kis baat pe? Ki main ek achi teacher hoon?"

"Ki bohut nuqsaan hoga uska... jo tumhe jaane dega," he said, his voice dropping an octave, the meaning hanging heavy and electric in the air between them.

She went quiet for a few seconds, the weight of his words knocking the breath right out of her. It wasn't about the school anymore; it was about him. But of course, she had to dodge the vulnerability.

"Acha... toh main achi teacher nahi hoon?"

Uzair was baffled. He felt like he was playing a game where she kept changing the rules. "Ya Allah, kya khaakar paida kiya hai tumhari amma ne?"

"Wahi, jo tum abhi khaane wale ho," she grinned, the spark returning to her eyes. "Chicken biryani. Bohut saari. Ekdum masaledaar. Bilkul meri tarah."

Just then, the waiter arrived with the steaming platters. "Thank you," she said brightly. "Can we also get another round of ice cream after this meal?"

The waiter nodded and vanished. Uzair watched her begin to serve the food, the playful energy suddenly dipping into something more somber.

"Waise... tumne kabhi apne ammi-abbu ke baare mein nahi bataya," Uzair said softly.

The serving spoon paused. She couldn't tell him about the academy, the tactical training, or the mission that put her in his path. But she needed to give him a piece of her soul to keep this cover alive. She reached into the depths of her memory, pulling out the story of a girl she had known in a rehabilitation camp—a Baloch refugee whose tragedy was so sharp it felt like her own. Forgive me, she thought, but I have to be her today.

"Aise majboori nahi hai agar nahi batana chahti," Uzair said, noticing her hesitation. "Koi baat—"

"Arey nahi, nahi. Mujhe toh zyada yaad bhi nahi hai," she interrupted, serving a generous portion onto his plate. "Main Panjgur mein paida hui thi. Amma kehti thi poore din sirf khajur khati thi main, shayad isiliye meethe se itna pyar hai."

She looked at him, her gaze distant. "Baba Gwadar mein kaam karte the. Hukoomat ne China ke saath koi deal karke shipping industry kholi thi, usi mein. Bohut kam hota tha hamara unse milna. Ek din kaam pe koi dikkat ho gayi aur maal gayab ho gaya, lekin ISI walon ko wo samaan chahiye tha... toh asaan hai na? Baloch pe ilzaam laga do. Keh do usne kiya hai, aur marwa do use."

He listened to every word as if it were a prayer.

"Body mili nahi kabhi," she continued, her voice steady but hollow. "Amma kehti thi samundar mein phenk di hogi. Isiliye mujhe samundar dekhna pasand hai, pata hai? Aisa lagta hai jaise Baba se baat kar rahi hoon."

"Kitne saal ki thi tum?" Uzair asked, his voice thick with a protective rage. "Aur tumhari ammi?"

"Shayad paanch? Mera toh apni jagah chhodne ka man nahi tha, par Ammi ne bola padhai karni hai, ek nayi zindagi shuru karni hai. Hum Baleli chale gaye. Quetta mein tab bohut saare rehabilitation centres the. Chahte toh Afghanistan ja sakte the wahan se, lekin hum kyun jaate? Yeh zameen hamari bhi toh hai na, Uzair?"

She slid his plate toward him. "Isse pehle tum Ammi ke baare mein pucho... woh beemar ho gayi thi. Bohut beemar. Paise nahi the ilaaj ke. Aankhon ke saamne unka janaza uthta dekha hai maine. Buri baat yeh hai ki main paanch saal ki nahi thi tab, warna ab tak bhul gayi hoti. Jab satrah ki umr mein kuch ho, toh woh aasani se zehen se nahi jaata."

"Tab se tum akeli ho?" Uzair’s heart felt like it was being squeezed.

"Haan," she said, as if describing the weather. "Refugee camp mein kaam kiya, phir Karachi aake teacher lag gayi."

"Tumhari Hamza se kaafi banegi," Uzair said, trying to lighten the crushing weight of the story. "Woh bhi Quetta se hai."

She looked at him, a mischievous glint cutting through the sadness. "Tum meri setting karwa rahe ho uske saath?"

Uzair literally dropped his spoon, giving her a look so deadpan and horrified that she burst into a fit of laughter. The lady at the next table shot them a judging glance, but she didn't care.

"Bohut khush hai woh Yalina ke saath!" Uzair defended himself, looking genuinely scandalised. "Mera matlab tha agar kabhi ghar ki yaad aaye toh—"

"Haan, haan, samajh gayi. Koi baat nahi. Aur shukriya. Waise, tum kha kyun nahi rahe?"

"Yeh chamche se khaane mein maza nahi aata."

She smirked. "Waise toh agar tum chaho, yahan bomb girwa sakte ho. Toh I don't think tumhe haath se khaane mein koi rokega. Jao pehle haath dhoke aao, phir hi main khana shuru karungi."

"Gundi ban gayi ho aaj kal tum," Uzair muttered, sliding out of his seat. He gave her a smirk, his silver chain swinging as he headed toward the washroom.

"Sangat ka asar hai janaab!" she called after him.

She watched him walk away, her smile fading into a thoughtful frown. She had shared a part of a soul that wasn't hers, yet the pain she felt was real. Was she involving herself too much? Was this necessary for the mission, or was she just looking for a reason to stay in this city, in this moment, with this man? She didn't have the answers, but the "teacher" was starting to disappear, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to find her again.

𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍 𑁍

Guys do y'all think there could have been a better way for her to repay Uzair ? 😋🫵🏼

THIS ISNT PROOFREAD GUYZ. Idk how I feel about this chapter lmao. But will think about it after exams

YES I HAVE EXAMS AND I WILL BE MIA FOR SOME TIME 💔 June mein phirse active 😋 (app toh chalaunga mein)

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[kreidxpriz]

spy OCs ft. friends @cult-rangoons

[spyontherun]

SPY !!!

also them <3

[wwwjustkidding]

°• Mitti aur Ghar •° (1)

Hamza ali mazari x Female oc

Warning: This work of fiction explores difficult themes, including past trauma, violence, criminal acts and abusive language. Please approach with care.

Tags:

@mariaaysbusjs @tere-naal-nachna @roses-and-iron @hum-suffer @winterqueensworld

Credits: All the movie storyline credit is to aditya dhar sir. The exsagertion is my work of fiction.

Playlist :

Darling darling dil kyu toda !

Pilo pilo aalam doodh soda !

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The evening was fresh. Something that felt impossible to be believed in a city that consumed blood.

Alam's shop was quiet busy, the helpers moved with ease around the shop working here and there. Hamza was behind the counter spinning the juicer handle lightly as taught by Alam chacha.

" Eyy Hamza ..agar woh hogya ho toh ek pineapple lagaa ..jaldi "

Alam bhai said putting the rumaal on his shoulder down on counter before opening the drawer to count cash.

" Eyy Rafiq jaa jaldi... table no. 4 saaf kar "

Alam said to another worker younger than hamza.

Just then someone tapped on the counter infront of Alam. He starled a bit and snapped his head towards the person.

"Aur kya haal chaal...."

She said as both of them laughed...A real laugh.

" Bas sabh badhiya tum kesi ho..."

He said laughing to which she giggled and replied

" bass badhiya "

Her silver hopped jhumka's dangled freely as she moved forward locking eyes with hamza who was already staring at her.

" Abh saari baatein yahin karenge ya hume bhi koi doodh soda milega "

She said moving her eyes back to Alam chacha.

" Aree aao aao baitho..."

He said guiding her to a table far from the counter and much in a corner.

She wasn't new to the shop, Had some relation with Alam and to be accompanied by the shop owner she definitely was someone important. Hamza noticed all of it and a bit too much of her, she wasn't a part of this -not possible- and Atleast didn't belong to lyari. He thought still keeping an eye on them when Rafiq approached him.

" Bhai yeh loo .... Dekar aao Alam bhai ke table par "

He said handing hamza a tray with a pink drink placed on it.

" Jaao bhai ...mein yaha sambhal lunga "

Hamza took the drink and moved towards their table as he arrived, he placed it carefully on the table.

" yeh lijiye ..."

He said giving her a polite smile that she returned.

" shukriya ...."

She thanked him and turned to Alam

"Vese yahi hai"

She said

"Haan yahi hai "

Alam said while nodding

"hu-hh kya "

Hamza said a bit confused and panicked.

"Gulabi jannat"

She said as she started to giggled followed by Alam as hamza stood there dumbfounded.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

The sun pulled up spreading the sunlight over the world. The chirping of birds was melodious, Hamza woke up even if he didn't got enough sleep. The entire night went in exaggerated thoughts, a anxiety attack and a lot of overthinking. It's been a month since the first encounter with her.

Inayat kashmiri, She was Alam's niece and that's all he knew. It was like he didn't want to know but he needed to hear it from her. Well let's say she has occupied his mind as much as the stress of his work did.

" Aree.... kaha ho gaya "

Alam said waving his hand infront of hamza.

" kahi nahi "

Hamza said looking down.

" Chall ajaa ....chai peeke aate hai "

Alam said chuckling and pulled on his arm.

" Nahi.. Nahi aap jaaye ...main tabhi Tak kaam suru karta hu "

He said a bit petrified.

" Achaa thik phir....Aata hoon main."

Alam said giving him a last concerned glance before walking out.

-Woh chai peene se aacha mein petrol pi loon huh -

Hamza thought before getting back to work. He stood up and bent to pull up the carat of fruits. And a voice said

" Alam chacha hai kya ....?"

And he dropped it back just as soon as he picked it, Then stood straighter then ever.

" Aree ....araaam se "

Inayat said concerned and moved from where she stood.

" Thikk hoo aap "

She asked

"Haan ... Ha-haan thik hoon ... Vese Alam bhai bahar gaye hai time lagega ..."

He said as he looked away avoiding to let them flicker on her frame and let's say the kajal rimmed eyes, light blue anarkali and aura of warmth made it difficult.

" Aap intezaar karna chahe toh aayee baithiye "

hamza said finally looking at her. This was going to be tough, more tough then being in the same room as his target.

She nodded and moved to one of the table in the middle then turned to look at hamza who seemed to be frozen at the place he stood.

" Vese ... Ek soda milega "

She said slightly tilting her head.

His trance brooke

"Haan z-zarur ... Mein aabhi banata hoon"

He moved quickly towards the counter and started to arrange ingredients.

"vese konsa chahiyee...? "

He asked midway of pulling out a glass.

" Tumhe nahi pataa ..."

He looked at her ...really looked and then nodded.

" Samjhaa "

He said smiling. Well this was her fourth visit here and he knew how to prepare a drink she liked.

" kuch madad karun "

she said as she walked over to him after a few minutes trying to peak over his shoulder.

" Nahi-- bass hogya "

He said turning around to face her as she smiled at him. And handing her the drink.

" La-javaab... Bas humesha ki tarah "

She said looking at him she said looking at him and he looked back at her his eye sparkled just a little, an unsaid emotion behind them. And then he looked away. She tilted her head slightly.

" Tumhare khayalon ki khabar hai mujhe...Hamza. Hum ek hi mitti ke hai"

And with that she set the glass down and left the shop giving him a last glance who stood there frozen.

[leafix-arrts]

attack i did for @that-one-digi !!! These two are so cute omg Go attack him on artfight !!