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𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊-𝖈𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖗𝖑 - 2

read pt1 before this ! aaaaaaaa, finally continuing my this story! so so sorry for not finishing ts earlier, i was in a majorrrr writers block TwT. not proofread, so pls bear w me! uzair baloch x collegestudent!oc, ~3.4k words OC: Mehrunnisa, 20F. (uzair is 26) self indulgent, tooth rotting fluff, no smut but still pretty spicy, implied spice.

Uzair's bike roared to life, the vibration humming through the seat and straight into Mehrunnisa’s bones. As they pulled away from the BBSU gates, the wind caught her open hair, sending the dark strands dancing behind her like a silken banner. She tightened her grip on Uzair’s torso, her palms flat against the rough linen of his black pathani suit, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heart, which was surprisingly calm for a man whose name made the police department break into a cold sweat.

Uzair drove through the narrow, congested lanes of Lyari with a practiced ease, his presence alone making the crowds move like Moses parting the Red Sea. People moved, not out of fear, but out of a deep-seated respect. Yet, his focus wasn't on the streets; it was on the small, warm weight of the girl pressed against his back. Every few minutes, he’d glance at her in the side mirror, catching the way her hair flew wild behind her, her face partially obscured by his oversized aviators.

"Oye, Baloch!" someone shouted from a storefront. Uzair merely raised a hand in a lazy salute, his eyes fixed on the road, but his smirk deepened. He was aware of the girl clinging to him, her warmth seeping into his back.

"Kaha leke ja rahe hai aap?" Mehrunnisa shouted over the wind, her voice a melody that cut through the roar of the engine.

"Jaha aap kahein, Shehzaadi," he called back, tilting his head slightly. "Lekin pehle, pet puja. Bhook lagi hogi college ke baad? Aapko Lyari market se kuch khila laate hai."

"Haa, woh toh lagi hai.. Lekin yeh jo market ki taraf jaa rahe hai, meri ammi dikh gayi na, toh meri khair nahi, Uzair Sahab!"

He let out a short, bark of a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners behind the wind. "Mere saath hote hue bhala tumhe koi fikar kyu hogi? Jaana, aaj poora shehar aapka hai. Aur rahi baat aapke ammi ki... unhe bol dena Uzair Baloch ne dawat pe bulaya tha. Himmat hai toh mana karke dikhayein."

They slowed down as they hit the heart of the market. The air was thick with the scent of frying pakoras, spices, and the heavy, sweet aroma of ripening dates. Uzair parked the bike with a flourish, getting off and immediately offering a hand to Mehrunnisa.

She got off, grinning at his act of chivalry. As she went to take off his aviators to hand them back to him, he stopped her.

"Rehne dijiye. Aap pe jach rahe hai," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

"Shukriya, Baloch Sahab," she teased as he helped her put it back on, his fingers brushing her temples.

"Baloch Sahab nahi hoon main aapke liye, Meher," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he put the aviators onto her face. "Sirf Uzair kaafi hai."

They walked through the narrow lanes, their shoulders brushing. Uzair was a titan in this world; every few steps, a shopkeeper would bow their head or offer a "Salam, Bhaijaan." He acknowledged them with a curt nod, but his hand stayed firmly at the small of Mehrunnisa’s back, guiding her through the crowd like she was the most fragile glass.

He stopped at a small, unassuming stall. "Yaha ki chaat nahi khayi, toh Lyari nahi dekha."

"Do plate, bhai. Masala tez rakhna," Uzair ordered, not even looking at the menu. He turned to Mehrunnisa, leaning against a wooden pillar. "Yaha ki chaat poore Karachi mein mashoor hai. Agar pasand nahi aayi, toh paise wapas."

"Paise toh aap hi de rahe hai, toh mera kya nuksaan?" she quipped, her eyes sparkling.

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that felt like velvet. "Zabaan toh badi tez chalti hai aapki. Bilkul churi ki tarah."

"Toh darr lagta hai aapko?"

Uzair stepped closer, effectively pinning her between the pillar and his towering frame. He smelled of expensive sandalwood, tobacco, and something uniquely him - petrichor, the scent of the earth after rain. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, the kohl in his eyes making his gaze look predatory yet infinitely soft.

"Churi se darr nahi lagta, Mehrunnisa," he whispered, his breath fanning over her lips. "Darr toh iss baat ka hai ke kahi iss churi ke nishaan mere dil par hamesha hamesha ke liye na reh jayein."

Before she could respond, the vendor cleared his throat loudly, holding out two plastic plates. Mehrunnisa jumped slightly, her cheeks turning a shade of crimson that rivaled the chutney on the chaat. Uzair just smirked, took the plates, and handed her one with a wink. As they stood by the wooden counter, Mehrunnisa took a bite and immediately hissed, her eyes watering.

"Haye Allah! Yeh toh aag hai!" she gasped, fanning her mouth.

Uzair chuckled, a low, dark sound. Without a word, he reached his hand out and wiped a stray drop of chutney from the corner of her lip with his thumb. His touch was agonizingly slow. But what made her eyes go wide was that he didn't just stop at that, oh no, he brought his thumb right back to his own lips, cleaning it with a lick. He could see the effect he had on her, and yet, instead of teasing her about it, he asked, "Kya hua? Itni tez zabaan hai aapki, laga tha mirchi bardasht kar lengi."

"Badle mein kuch meetha chahiye ab," she pouted, her lips flushed pink from the spice.

Uzair’s gaze darkened, his eyes dropping to her pouted lips for a second too long. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Meetha? Chaliye, phir humari shehzaadi ki farmaish poori ki jaye."

He led her and his bike a few steps down to a small vendor with a rusted freezer box. Mehrunnisa’s eyes lit up like a child’s. "Chocolate ice cream stick! Ek mere liye, aur ek aapke liye bhi," she insisted, pointing eagerly.

Uzair handed over the notes, but shook his head. "Nahi, aap khaiye. Humein mithaas ki aadat nahi hai."

He leaned back against his bike, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he watched her. Mehrunnisa unwrapped the foil, the dark chocolate coating glistening. She took a slow, deliberate bite, closing her eyes as the cold sweetness countered the fire of the chaat. A small, contented hum escaped her throat—a sound that made Uzair’s grip on his own biceps tighten.

He watched her intently. He didn't- no, COULDN'T- look away. He watched the way her tongue darted out to catch a melting drop of chocolate on her lower lip. He watched the way she licked at it from bottom to top. He watched the way she wrapped her lips around the cold stick, hollowing her cheeks just a bit, and pulling back with a soft, wet 'pop'.

His mind, usually occupied with territories and tactical strikes, took a sharp, illicit turn. Against his own will, his mind started to conjure images of that warm, plush mouth on something a LOT different from ice cream. He imagined the heat of her breath against his skin, the way she would look up at him with those same wide eyes if he were the one she was tasting so hungrily, how she- fuck.

The image was so vivid, so visceral, that he felt a sudden, tight heat coil in his gut. He shifted his stance, his throat suddenly bone-dry.

"Uzair? Kya hua?" Mehrunnisa asked, tilting her head. "Aap itne gaur se kya dekh rahe hai?" She held the half-eaten stick toward him, "Chahiye kya?"

Uzair let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, his voice coming out an octave higher, rough and strained.

"Haan," he rasped, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "Chahiye toh bohot kuch. Par filhaal... aap apni ice cream khatam kijiye, jaan-e-mann. Warna mera sabr khatam ho jayega."

.......

After buying her a set of pink glass bangles to match her outfit, which he had slid onto her wrists with his own hands, ofcourse, Uzair asked "Picture dekhni hai?" as they left the food street, the sun dipping low and painting the Karachi sky in bruised purples and oranges. "Kuch nayi wali lagi hai. Suna hai action-vaiction acha hai. Aur waise bhi, cinema hall bhi bas yaha hi hai."

Mehrunnisa smiled. "Chaliye. Waise bhi, thodi thandak chahiye ab."

The cinema was an old-school hall, the kind with heavy velvet curtains and the smell of stale popcorn and nostalgia. Uzair didn't stand in line; he walked straight to the counter, exchanged a few words with the manager - who looked like he was about to faint - and came back with two tickets.

He led her to the very back; the corner seats, shrouded in deep shadows. "Corner seats," he said, his voice dropping into that dangerous, honey-thick register. "Taki koi disturb na kare."

As they sat down, the loud, booming soundtrack of the movie filled the room, but Mehrunnisa could barely register the screen. The darkness of the theater felt intimate, private. Uzair settled into the seat next to her, and lifted the armrest to put it back. Now, there was nothing between them, no pesky armrest, nothing to stop him from wrapping his hand on her waist to pull her flush against his side. He then draped his arm over the back of her seat, his fingers occasionally brushing her shoulder.

"Comfortable?" he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

"J-ji," she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

"Picture dekh bhi rahi hain aap?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Koshish toh kar rahi hoon," Mehrunnisa chided, though her eyes were squeezed shut. Every time he shifted, the scent of his cigarette smoke and expensive oud wrapped around her like a physical weight. "Peeche baithne ka idea mera toh tha nahi."

Uzair leaned in, his lips ghosting over the curve of her cheek, never quite touching but close enough that the fine hairs on her arms stood up. "Mera tha. Takleef ho rahi hai?"

"Nahi," she breathed, finally opening her eyes to look at him. "Bas... koi dekh le.. toh?"

"Lyari mein Uzair Baloch ko dekhne ki himmat kisi mein nahi, aur Uzair Baloch jise dekh raha hai, usey dekhne ki jurrat kisi ki nahi," he murmured. It wasn't arrogance, no, because it didnt sound like the average attempt at impressing a girl, it sounded like he really, truly, meant it. The truth in his voice was steady, and terrifyingly attractive.

Mehrunnisa felt a bold spark ignite in her chest. "Baatein toh bohot badi badi karte hain aap. Kaam bhi bade hain ya sirf baatcheet?"

Uzair’s smirk deepened. He leaned in, invading her space till her head was forced to rest against the seat. The scent of him was intoxicating. "Kyu? Aapko aazma ke dekhna hai?"

Slowly, almost tentatively, he moved his hand, his thumb tracing the hem of her kurti before slipping slightly underneath to touch the bare skin of her waist.

A shiver racked her entire body, and she couldn't help the soft moan that escaped her lips, quickly drowned out by a loud explosion on the cinema screen.

Uzair stiffened, his grip tightening for a second. He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye, his breathing heavy, erratic. "Aise awaaz mat nikaaliye," he warned, his voice thick with a hunger he was barely containing. "Warna main bhool jaunga ke hum abhi bhi ek public jagah mein hain."

Mehrunnisa felt her breath hitch. She turned her head to look at him, but in the flickering light of the projector, he looked like a god of the shadows. His sunglasses were tucked into his shirt, and those kohl-lined eyes were fixed on her, not the screen.

"Aap bohot zyaada baat karte hain, Uzair Sahab," she breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

"Toh phir khamosh kar dijiye humein," he challenged, his smirk ghosting against her lips.

He reached out, his fingers tangling into the thick waves of her hair, gently pulling her closer. Mehrunnisa didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in, her hand finding the collar of his black pathani suit. The fabric was rough, but the skin beneath his jaw was warm.

The onscreen action was now irrelevant- nothing compared to the heat radiating between them in the back row. Uzair tilted his head, his nose brushing against hers. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to retreat, but she herself closed the distance, her fingers tightening on his shirt.

When his lips finally met hers, it wasn't like the movies. It was better. It tasted of the chaat they’d shared, the faint trace of tobacco, and a desperation that had been building since their hands first brushed over a lost dupatta. It was a soft, lingering pressure that quickly deepened into something more hungry, more possessive.

Uzair’s hand moved from her hair to the nape of her neck, his thumb stroking her jawline with a tenderness that defied his reputation. He pulled her flush against him, his other hand resting firmly on her waist, anchoring her. Mehrunnisa felt a shiver run down her spine—not from the cinema’s air conditioning, but from the sheer power in his touch. Her hands found their way to his hair, and in a moment of sudden boldness, she fisted her hands in his dark locks, pulling at it, not exactly gently.

"Lagta hai badi himmat hai aap mein?" Uzair let out a low, guttural growl, his grip on her waist tightening until there wasn't even a breath of air between them. He leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He nipped at the skin there, just below her ear—a sharp, controlled bite that made her gasp out loud, the sound lost in the cinematic gunfire.

"Uzair... please," she breathed, biting her lip, as his tongue now laved over the spot he'd bitten, soothing the sting of his teeth.

He pulled back to look her in the eye, his raw, unfiltered hunger on full display. "Please kya, jaana? Words, baby, use your words. Bataiye toh sahi... kya chahiye?"

He didn't wait. His hand slid from her waist, tracing the curve of her hip before resting on her thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric. He began to move his hand upward, slowly, torturously.

"Sab kuch," she whispered. Uzair let out a shaky breath, his composure finally fracturing. He claimed her mouth again, but this time it was deep, possessive, and searing. He pulled her onto his lap, the hidden corner providing a scandalous sanctuary. His tongue swept against hers, a silent claim of territory. He moved one of his hands under her kurti, tracing patterns against the bare skin of her waist as he moved his hand higher, and higher.

"Aapko pata hai na, meri marzi ke bina yahan parinda bhi nahi udta," he growled against her skin, his hand sliding dangerously high. "Aur meri marzi yeh hai... ki aaj ke baad, aap sirf meri rahein."

Mehrunnisa couldn't muster words, high on the sensations he was giving her. She let out a soft moan in agreement, her head falling back as he trailed open mouthed kisses down to the edge of her neckline, biting and sucking on her collarbone to leave a mark - his mark - which she was sure would manifest as a hickey afterwards. She felt the raw power in his arms, the sheer intensity of a man who took what he wanted—and for the first time, she wanted to be taken.

They pulled apart just an inch, both breathless, their foreheads resting against each other. The light from an explosion on screen illuminated Uzair’s face—the sharp cheekbones, the dark eyes full of something far softer than malice.

"Meher," he breathed against her lips, "Aapne mera karza chukaya nahi... aapne toh mujhe apna maqrooz bana liya."

She smiled against his mouth. It was soft, sweet, and tasted of the ice cream she had, but with an underlying heat that promised this was only the first of many such 'chai-shai' dates.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her head to rest on his chest. As the movie reached its climax, Mehrunnisa closed her eyes, listening to the steady, thumping heart of the most dangerous man in Lyari, feeling more safe than she ever had in her life. The world outside could wait; here, in the dark, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

Mehrunnisa shifted, her kurti rustling against his rough pathani suit. The friction sent a fresh jolt through her. She looked up at him, her eyes dark and searching in the dim light. "Uzair?" she whispered, the name a breathless plea.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, one of his hands stayed anchored on her waist, while the other moved to the back of her head, his fingers weaving through her loose hair to hold her steady as he placed a soft kiss on her lips, the kind which told her all the things he felt for her where words failed.

As the credits began to roll and the lights flickered dimly back to life, Uzair pulled back, though his eyes remained fixed on her flushed face. He reached out, smoothing down a stray lock of her hair with a tenderness that seemed impossible for a man of his reputation.

"Chalein?" he asked, his voice returning to that smooth, authoritative tone, though the sparkle in his eyes told a different story.

"H-haan," she managed to say, her legs feeling like jelly as she stood up. She adjusted her dupatta, trying to regain some semblance of the 'college student' she had been three hours ago.

He stood up, pulling her to her feet and keeping her tucked firmly under his arm. As they walked out into the cool Karachi night, the air felt different—electric, charged with the promise of what was to come. Uzair led her back to the bike, but before he helped her on, he pinned her against the seat for one last, bruising kiss.

"Raat abhi baaki hai, Meher," he whispered into her ear, his hand lingering on her hip. "Aur mera karza... abhi poora nahi utra."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her hair was a beautiful mess, her kajal was slightly smudged, and her lips—those teasing, defiant lips—were swollen from his touch.

A slow, predatory smirk spread across Uzair’s face—the look of a man who had finally found something worth more than all of Lyari. He stood up, but he didn’t let go of her hand. He pulled her up with him, bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

He murmured against her skin. "Lekin filhaal, aapko sahi-salamat ghar chhorna mera farz hai. Warna kal college kaise jayegi meri jaan, hmm?"

The city was alive—horns blaring, the smell of street food lingering—but as Mehrunnisa climbed onto the back of his bike, the world felt quiet. She looped her arms around his waist, pressing her chest against his back, feeling the solid, dangerous, yet strangely protective warmth of him.

He drove slower this time, as if trying to stretch the asphalt between the cinema and her gully. When they finally reached the corner of her lane, shielded by the shadow of a sprawling neem tree, he cut the engine.

Mehrunnisa slid off, smoothing her kurti, but she didn't step away. Uzair leaned back against the bike, crossing his arms, the moonlight catching the gold of his aviators tucked into his shirt.

"Toh... Allah Haafiz, Uzair Sahab?" she whispered, a playful yet lingering tone in her voice.

Uzair reached out, snagging the end of her dupatta—that same damned dupatta that had started it all—and gently tugged her back into his space. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over her ear one last time.

"Sirf 'Allah Haafiz' nahi, Mehrunnisa. Kal 4:30 baje... main wahi milunga. Aur yaad rakhna," he pulled back, his dark eyes twinkling with a possessive heat, "Aapka karza abhi bhi baaki hai."

She flushed a deep crimson, gave him a final, lingering look that promised a thousand more meetings, and turned to walk away.

Uzair stayed there, lighting a cigarette and watching her until she disappeared behind her front door. He took a long drag, exhaling a plume of smoke into the night, a ghost of a smile on his face. He had spent his life winning wars, but as he kicked the bike back to life, he knew he had just started the only pursuit that actually mattered.

The prince of Lyari was officially, hopelessly, under a college girl's spell.

tags: @tojisloft @nooriyat @myvarya @littletigerspeaks @hairandjhumkhasintheverandah @lakshana-ke-lakshan @luvvkk @byvishanti @angelllk1ssed @desigurlie @tere-naal-nachna @rini4everdreaming @nervouscashrascalflowers @goodnightkatherine @desi-brownie @geometric-circle @cakiebleh @myvarya @lessbutliving

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