I created this new blog because my previous one hasn't been behaving very nicely lately. Tagging issues, notifications issues and a few other technical hiccups have made things a bit frustrating so I decided to set up a fresh space instead.
[Haa mere dimaag ka legit dahi ban chuka hai ab. Tumblr apna aapko sudhar❗️]
So from now on, whenever you tag me, make sure to use this blog! I'll be fully active here.
Also, since I'm starting fresh this time, I’m going to try and write stuff on here. [Jo mujhse obviously nahi hoga. 🤓] If you have some fun ideas do send them my way. I will try my best to actually write and post it.
For anyone who knows me from my old blog, welcome back! And for anyone who's new here, I hope you enjoy your stay. ❤️
It’s crazy how some authors were hating on others for writing about Iqbal and telling people to raise their standard if they wrote for Iqbal
Honestly i understand he is based on a irl monster but the dhurandhar version is between that and honestly it's a frictional character ( plus it's Arjun rampal 😔🙌) so IMO we should respect and appreciatethe people who write such complex characters.
I feel like we should never hate the people who put there time and effort into a work they made with love and passion instead we should appreciate it and give all the love as much as we can!!
And if it's not your thing ignore it respectly, no one is forcing anyone here can we all just be happy and enjoy a thing together it's not that hard guys
Also gonna tag the people I think people should appreciate for writing Major Iqbal fics (GO SHOW THEM LOVE)
@ppinkitten @vexillia @peonies7002 @kisswithknife @fanaajnabi @tere-naal-nachna @rabbdaradio @roses-and-iron @pine-breeze @desigal-26 @rutvii @chocolate-and-trouble (and anyone else I forgot to tag but they write for major Iqbal I'm sorry I'm bad with names)
Also special appreciation to the admin who roleplays @majoriqbalahmedisi they do it so good and they are so funny and brave to roleplay a character like this
Ok, I have not finished writing Mission failed successfully yet—I am writing it rn—but, I got ideas. And I wanna them too. So, tell me which one?
Option 1. Ajay Sanyal as Indian spy has served his country. Now, he is IB chief. [Inspired by real life.] But, now he is very hypersensitive about his surroundings. Because of that her work—she is deputy chief of IB—is always disturbed and all. So, now she takes it in her hand to make him normal.
Option 2. Indian doctor x Major Iqbal. She came to help his country of some natural disaster crisis. He wanted her beauty. She gave him her fire. He wanted to control her, he wanted her to submit, she gave him none.
Option 3. Major Iqbal ki khidkitod biwi jo Brigadier ka band bajayegi. I already have name for this fic. @obsessedwidskincare had the perfect name for it.
Choose which one should I write next, I will write all just asking which one to write first.
IB deputy chief OC x IB chief Ajay Sanyal
Indian doc! OC x Major Iqbal
Brigadier ka band by baddie bahu
Voting ended onJun 28
Aur bhi ideas the actually, but pehle yeh toh karu complete.
Ok, I have not finished writing Mission failed successfully yet—I am writing it rn—but, I got ideas. And I wanna them too. So, tell me which one?
Option 1. Ajay Sanyal as Indian spy has served his country. Now, he is IB chief. [Inspired by real life.] But, now he is very hypersensitive about his surroundings. Because of that her work—she is deputy chief of IB—is always disturbed and all. So, now she takes it in her hand to make him normal.
Option 2. Indian doctor x Major Iqbal. She came to help his country of some natural disaster crisis. He wanted her beauty. She gave him her fire. He wanted to control her, he wanted her to submit, she gave him none.
Option 3. Major Iqbal ki khidkitod biwi jo Brigadier ka band bajayegi. I already have name for this fic. @obsessedwidskincare had the perfect name for it.
Choose which one should I write next, I will write all just asking which one to write first.
IB deputy chief OC x IB chief Ajay Sanyal
Indian doc! OC x Major Iqbal
Brigadier ka band by baddie bahu
Voting ended onJun 28
Aur bhi ideas the actually, but pehle yeh toh karu complete.
This is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. The story does not support, glorify, justify or promote terrorism, extremist ideologies or any individuals involved in such activities.
Summary —
When a marriage arranged for power and influence ties two unwilling people together, a young woman finds herself trapped by a lie she created to escape it. What starts as a clever attempt to sabotage the proposal soon turns into a dangerous game of appearances, forcing her to hide her true self behind a carefully crafted mask.
Chapter - 1 | 2 | 3 ...
Chapter 3
"I am going to lose my mind, Sabira! I am literally at the edge of a cliff and that buddha uncle just pushed me!"
Falak was pacing in her room, it looked like a literal marathon across her bedroom floor, her phone pressed so tightly to her ear that her knuckles were turning white.
The sheer frustration vibrating through her voice could have powered the entire city's electricity for a week.
On the other end of the line, a loud, familiar sigh echoed.
"Falak, breathe," Sabira said, her tone a mix of amusement and exhaustion.
"And stop calling him a buddha uncle. He’s a Major. He’s forty two, not eighty two. From what you told me, he sounds like he belongs in a high-budget action movie, not a retirement home."
"I don't care if he belongs in a movie or the military base, the point is he was supposed to back off!" Falak threw her hands up in the air, completely forgetting that her best friend couldn't see her.
"The script was simple. I act like an insufferable, high-maintenance, shopping obsessed and attention seeking brat, he gets disgusted, he tells Abbu he’d rather fight a war than marry me and boom, I’m free! But no! He sat there, smirked like a supervillain and accepted the terms! Who does that?!"
Sabira let out a soft chuckle. "Look, if he didn’t back off even after you unleashed a ultimate nightmare persona which is actually very insufferable...maybe he’s actually not that bad? Think about it. A guy who can handle that level of chaotic energy without flinching might actually make a pretty good husband."
Falak stopped dead in her tracks, her expression morphing into pure outrage.
"Whose best friend are you anyway?!", Falak snapped, her voice rising.
"This isn't about him being 'good' or 'bad', Sabira! It’s about the fact that I don't want to get married at all right now! I am a college student! I have classes, I have assignments, I have a whole life and career to figure out. How am I supposed to balance my studies with a literal army major who now thinks it's his personal mission to tame me?"
She slumped onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow for a brief second before pulling back up, looking thoroughly miserable.
"And the worst part? I can't even back off now," Falak groaned, dragging a hand down her face.
"My ego is at stake. Because he accepted the challenge, I have to keep up the act. I have to pretend to be this ridiculous, burger bachhi 24/7! Do you know how exhausting it is to fake a whiny accent and care about nail extensions?!"
Sabira burst into a fit of uncontrolled laughter on the other end. "Oh, I would pay actual money to see you pull off a burger girl accent in front of your dad."
"It's not funny!" Falak whined, though a tiny, reluctant pout formed on her lips.
"Okay, okay, calm down," Sabira said, trying to steady her breath after laughing. "Just take it one step at a time. Don't stress out before the actual battle begins."
Falak didn't calm down. In fact, her brain was already spinning a hundred new worst-case scenarios, but she just mumbled a bitter, "Whatever," before hanging up the call.
Over the next few days, the household transformed into an absolute circus.
Wedding preparations officially kicked in. Relatives were calling, catering menus were being debated and the living room was permanently buried under a mountain of heavy jewellery catalogues and fabric samples. It was a whirlwind of traditional celebration and Falak was undeniably the most uninterested, detached person in the entire house.
While her mother, Mariyam, was stress-checking guest lists, Falak would slide past the chaos like a ghost, completely zoning out with her college textbooks open, trying to pretend none of this was happening.
Until her father called her into the study. Abdullah didn't look up from his desk as Falak walked in.
"Tomorrow morning at eleven, we are going to the designer boutique downtown. Your mother, you and myself."
Falak leaned against the doorframe, her posture stiff. "Why do I need to go? Just pick whatever color you want to trade me off in."
Abdullah’s eyes snapped up, cold and warning. "Mind your tongue, Falak. We are going because we are finalizing your Nikkah outfit. And Major Iqbal will be meeting us there."
Falak’s heart did a violent, unwanted flip.
The Major. Again.
"Why does he need to be there?" she asked, her voice instantly channeling a defensive, arrogant edge. "Can't he just buy a basic suit and call it a day?"
"He will be there because he will be choosing your clothes," her father stated flatly, leaving absolutely no room for argument. "And the outfits for the bride and groom need to be matching. It's a formal event, and our families will look cohesive."
Choosing her clothes? The nerve of that man! Falak’s mind immediately raced back to his smug, victorious face at the cafe. He was already trying to dictate her life.
A sharp, rebellious glint flashed in her eyes. If she was going to be forced into a high-stakes designer standoff with a forty two year old military strategist, she wasn't going into the battlefield alone.
"Fine," Falak declared, crossing her arms and tilting her chin up with a level of defiance that made her father narrow his eyes. "But I am bringing Sabira with me. If I'm going to be trapped in a boutique for hours staring at sherwanis and bridal wear, I need my best friend there to keep me from dying of boredom."
Mohammed Abdullah looked at his daughter for a long, silent moment, weighing her defiance. To her surprise, he didn't throw a fit. He simply leaned back in his chair.
"Fine," he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. "Bring her. At least you're actually showing up."
Falak suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at his retreating back. Step two of Mission - Unmarryable—or whatever the hell this chaotic sequel was—had officially commenced.
The next morning, the heavy glass doors of Pakeezah Boutique swung open, and Falak stepped into a world of pure, unadulterated visual noise.
For the Abdullah family, the sight of vibrant colourfull lehengas and gararas, heavily embroidered sherwanis and shimmering gold dupattas draped over mannequins was nothing new. It was standard high-end wedding madness.
But when Major Iqbal walked through the doors ten minutes later, his sensory nervous system had a heart attack.
His eyes were practically attacked by the sheer explosion of neon pinks, dazzling silvers and blinding magentas.
Iqbal had spent his entire adult life surrounded by the rigid, comforting monotony of olive greens, crisp khakis, and dark navy blues. To him, this aesthetic variation was choosing a black pen over a blue one. Walking into this boutique felt like stepping directly into a high-voltage rainbow that had exploded.
He cleared his throat, maintaining his stone-faced composure by sheer force of military will.
Mohammed Abdullah immediately puffed out his chest, stepping forward to butter him up. "Ah, Major Sahab! Punctual as always. Come, come. This boutique is the finest in the city. I've already told the owner to give us his absolute undivided attention."
Iqbal offered a firm, professional nod.
While Abdullah immediately started drifting off toward the men's section to browse heavy silk kurtas for himself, Mariyam and Sabira wasted no time. They were already at a velvet-covered counter, rapidly gesturing to the shop assistants to pull down the heaviest, most intricate bridal wear from the top shelves.
Standing a few feet away from them was Falak. Iqbal’s sharp eyes instantly locked onto her. She didn't notice him yet. She was standing with her arms tightly crossed, her posture slouching, her face a picture of utter, absolute boredom. She looked like a prisoner waiting for a sentencing hearing, completely detached from the flurry of silks and zari work around her.
But the moment Iqbal took three strides closer, the shift happened.
Sabira and Mariyam noticed his approach first, turning around with polite smiles.
"Assalam Walekum Major Sahab!" Mariyam greeted warmly. Sabira chimed in right behind her, offering a respectful nod.
"Walekum Assalam," Iqbal replied, his deep, formal voice momentarily cutting through the loud background music playing in the boutique.
As soon as those words left his mouth, Falak’s head snapped toward him. In the span of a single second, her bored, deadpan expression vanished. Her eyes lit up with a terrifying, malicious gleam, and she instantly flipped the switch, her burger bachhi mask onn.
"Oh my god, Iqbal! You're finally here!" Falak squealed, her voice morphing into that high-pitched, whiny drawl as she marched right up to him.
Beside her, Sabira bit the inside of her cheek so hard she nearly drew blood, desperately trying to suffocate a laugh.
Falak didn't give him a chance to breathe. She grabbed a heavily embroided, blinding bright orange and hot-pink lehenga from a startled shop worker and shoved it directly toward Iqbal’s face.
"Look at this one! Isn't it just like totally wowwwwww? Or do you think the pink is too subtle? I feel like I need to look like a literal neon sign on our Nikkah," she rambled, tossing the fabric aside before grabbing a violent shade of electric blue. "Or what about this? Wait, no, look at this green! Iqbal, listen to me, which one matches your eyes? Do you even have green eyes under those scary shades? Tell me!"
Iqbal didn't flinch. He slowly looked down at the mountain of violently bright fabrics she was aggressively piling into his space and then looked back up at her frantic, overly dramatic face.
He didn't argue. He didn't look annoyed. Instead, he just calmly played along.
"The blue is too loud for a Nikkah, Ms. Abdullah," Iqbal said smoothly, his voice dropping into a relaxed cadence. "And the orange would clash with the lighting. Try something classic."
Falak pouted dramatically, stamping her foot slightly. "Ugh, you are so boring! Fine, what about this velvet one? It weighs like fifty kilos, which is perfect because I expect you to carry me if my feet hurt."
While she continued her relentless onslaught of high-maintenance demands, a sharp, analytical spark ignited in Iqbal’s mind. A deep sense of suspicion planted itself firmly in his thoughts.
Fascinating, he thought, his eyes narrowing just a fraction as he watched her twirl a dupatta.
When he had walked into the boutique, she was completely uninterested. Dead to the world. She hadn't even wanted to look at a single thread. But the exact second he arrived, she suddenly turned into a hyperactive manic. The transition was too fast, too calculated.
She wasn't actually a brat. She was putting on a performance for him, he realised.
The shopping expedition dragged on for an grueling four hours.
Sabira was having the absolute time of her life, sitting on a plush velvet sofa, sipping the complimentary chai and watching the chaos unfold like it was a front-row seat to a premium comedy show. Falak was throwing glances at Sabira every two minutes, subtly exaggerating her movements and changing her facial expressions to keep her best friend entertained, turning the entire high-end boutique into a pure theatrical stage.
From the men's section, Abdullah watched the interaction while holding a silk sherwani. He knew exactly what his daughter was trying to do, she was trying to suffocate the Major with her antics until he snapped. But, Abdullah also saw how Iqbal stood his ground, responding to her ridiculous demands with calm, unflappable precision, completely unfazed.
A knowing, victorious smirk spread across Abdullah’s face. 'The Major is unbreakable', he thought, deeply satisfied with his choice.
Meanwhile, Mariyam stood near the jewelry counter, looking between her whiny, demanding daughter and the intensely patient Major, her face a picture of pure, utter confusion. 'Since when did my sensible daughter become like this?', she wondered, rubbing her temples.
When it came time to pick Iqbal’s sherwani, Falak took her burger bachhi act to its absolute limits.
"Oh my god, Iqbal! No, literally no." she whined, pointing a dramatic finger at a classic, dignified jet-black sherwani the assistant held up. "Black is so, like, depressing! You need to wear royal velvet with massive gold embroidery. I want us to look like we are a walking royalty couple, okay? If your shoulders don't hurt from the weight of the zari, you are not trying hard enough!"
Iqbal simply watched her, his expression an unreadable mask as she rejected three perfectly tailored, sophisticated outfits in favor of things that looked incredibly absurd. "Noted, Ms.Abdullah," he said smoothly, rejecting the velvet piece with a simple flick of his hand and selecting a deeply elegant, dark charcoal piece instead. "But we are sticking to this."
By tye end of hour four, Falak was practically running out of breath, her voice hoarse from maintaining the accent, while Iqbal stood there looking as crisp and perfectly composed as he had at 11:00 AM.
Finally, after all these exhausting hours, they made their way out of the boutique. As they stood on the pavement waiting for the cars to pull up, Iqbal paused. He adjusted his watch, looking down at Falak with a sharp, dangerous glimmer of amusement in his dark eyes.
"You know, Abdullah sahab," Iqbal spoke up, his voice easily carrying over the street noise. "It seems Ms. Abdullah is way too excited for this wedding. Look at her energy. Perhaps...we should prepone the dates."
Falak’s breath hitched. 'Prepone?!' Her internal monologue screamed in absolute horror. 'No, no, no! The plan backfired completely again!'
She felt like she was running a race where the finish line kept moving closer to her.
The moment they reached home, Falak didn't look left or right. She practically bolted up the stairs, straight to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Sabira followed closely, slipping into the room just before the lock clicked.
Inside, Falak completely crashed out.
"I am ruined! Sabira, I am dead! This man is a psychopath!" Falak began pacing like a caged animal, throwing her hands in the air. "Prepone?! Did you hear him? He wants to bring the wedding closer! My act was supposed to scare him to the mountains and instead, he’s running towards the nikkah like it's oxygen. Idiot!"
Sabira spent the next twenty minutes trying to calm her down, rubbing her shoulders and laughing softly. "Falak, listen to me, breathe! You brought this on yourself with that neon-sign comment." Falak snapped," I—" scoffs.
Somehow, Sabira managed to steady her, but the sheer panic did something unexpected to Falak. It made her go completely, utterly silent. The realization that she couldn't out-bluff a literal military strategist hit her hard.
From that afternoon all the way up to the wedding day, Falak stayed abnormally quiet. The sharp, creative girl vanished under a mask of total numbness.
The wedding day arrived.
Even on the wedding day, the silence remained. During the Nikkah, while wearing the elegant outfit they had eventually settled on, Falak sat like a beautiful, silent doll. She signed the papers, accepted the congratulations, and kept her eyes trained on her lap.
Iqbal, sitting beside his newly wedded wife, noticed it immediately. His analytical mind registered the complete lack of whiny complaints, the lack of dramatic sighs and the heavy quiet around her. 'Why is she so silent now?' he wondered, his eyes lingering on her profile. But given the gravity of the occasion and the crowd of relatives, he didn't say anything.
Late that night, they were dropped off at Iqbal's house by his close associate, Mir. The car pulled up to the dark, quiet house and Iqbal stepped out, guiding Falak by her elbow.
Mir stood by the car, waiting to be invited in, but Iqbal turned around at the threshold. "That will be all for tonight, Mir. You are dismissed. Go home," he commanded flatly.
"Yes, Major," Mir nodded, quietly backing away.
Iqbal commands a Lieutenant to pick up the bags and keep them in the master bedroom. Then opened the door and gently guided Falak through the dark corridors straight up to the master bedroom.
The room was spacious, elegant and entirely done in sophisticated, moody tones.
Iqbal walked over to the dresser. While unbuttoning his collar and slowly removing his heavy watch, he looked at her through the mirror.
"Why were you so silent today, Falak?" he asked, his deep voice slicing through the quiet room.
Falak stiffened. The sudden question caught her completely off guard. In her panic, she suddenly realized she had dropped her guard. If she stayed this mature and silent, he would realize her entire bratty persona was a lie! Her mind scrambled, and she immediately tried to pull the burger bachi mask back over her face.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, forcing a whiny pout. "Ugh, it’s just because Abbu told me before the function that I have to act a little quiet and obedient in front of the guests, okay? It was so exhausting! I was literally dying to say so many things, but I had to sit there like a statue because of family respect or whatever."
Iqbal stopped. He turned around, leaning against the dresser and let out a low, rare chuckle. The sound was rich and entirely amused.
"I see", Iqbal said, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Well, change your clothes and come down. I’ll see if we have something to eat in the kitchen. You barely ate anything at the wedding anyway."
Before she could utter another whiny syllable or reject the idea, Iqbal turned on his heel and walked out toward the kitchen.
Falak let out a massive breath, her shoulders sagging. She quickly changed out of the heavy, suffocating bridal wear into a comfortable, simple kurti.
After a few minutes, she cautiously padded downstairs. When she entered the kitchen, she paused. Major Iqbal, with his sleeves rolled up, was standing in front of the stove, carefully trying to heat up some food on the gas. The sight of this giant, intimidating military man dealing with kitchen pots was completely surreal.
Falak immediately channeled her inner burger bacchi to cover her awkwardness. "Oh wow, look at you! You're actually being caring and stuff. But you know, Major Sahab, you have to prove it morally to impress me."
Then, looking at the food, her brain short-circuited under the exhaustion and she accidentally let a line slip out of her mouth,"You should feed me with your hands."
The kitchen went dead silent.
Falak’s eyes widened in sheer horror. 'Did I just say that out loud?!'
Iqbal paused, holding the plate. He slowly raised a single dark eyebrow, his gaze locking onto her flushed face. The challenge was right back in the air. He didn't say a word to mock her. Instead, he calmly walked over to the kitchen counter, broke a small piece of the food, and extended his hand toward her mouth.
Falak felt her face burning. 'Buddhe ko koi le jao yaha se. Please! And why the hell am I blushing?' The situation had turned incredibly and unbearably awkward. But her ego refused to let her back down. Trembling slightly, she leaned in and let him feed her.
While holding the next bite, Iqbal looked down at her, his voice smooth and laced with quiet amusement. "So, should I be ready for tomorrow, Ms. Abdullah? What are you going to do? Will you call me exactly in the morning? Because obviously, you won't be waking up early tomorrow. Maybe you'll call the second you wake up, so perhaps I should keep my phone glued to my hand during my morning briefings."
Falak, chewing awkwardly with her heart hammering at a million miles an hour, could only nod frantically. "Yeah...yeah, yeah! Exactly. I'll call you. Just be ready, okay?" Her thoughts ran like express, 'Girl dad banoge ji? No, wait what? What am I even thinking? I wanna die!!!'
Desperate to escape the intense gravity of his presence, she swallowed the food, mumbled a quick excuse and practically ran back up to the bedroom.
An hour later, the lights were dimmed.
They were finally in bed. They had decided their respective sides of the mattress, leaving a safe, respectful distance between them. Falak turned around, facing away from him, curling up on her side.
She closed her eyes, trying to force her chaotic mind to quiet down so she could sleep. Her heart was finally returning to a normal rhythm.
Suddenly, the mattress dipped behind her. Before Falak could even process the movement, a large, heavy, warm hand slid over her waist, settling firmly against her stomach. With a gentle but completely unyielding strength, Iqbal pulled her backward, flushing her back flat against his solid chest. He leaned down, burying his face directly into the crook of her neck, his breath warm against her skin through the strands of her hair.
Falak’s entire body went completely rigid. Her eyes flew open in the dark, her heart instantly thumping violently against her ribs. 'Ek kaam kar na budhe unclen, jaan hi le le ek baari mein. Who the hell does gives heart attack every few minutes?'
She quickly turned her head around, her expression a mix of pure shock and panic. "What...what are you doing?" she whispered into the dark.
Iqbal didn't pull away. He just shifted his gaze, looking down at her in the dim light, his expression entirely calm, stable, and untroubled. He didn't need to give a grand speech. His eyes said it all.
"You are my wife, right?" he murmured softly, his voice a low vibration in the quiet room.
Falak stared at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. The burger bachhi act, the attitude, the wit—everything completely evaporated under the sheer warmth of his hold.
"Yeah...whatever," she whispered breathlessly, turning her face back around, her face burning in the dark.
Her heart continued to hammer a frantic rhythm against her ribs, loud enough that she was certain he could feel it vibrating against his chest. But Iqbal didn't say another word, his grip simply tightened around her waist, anchoring her against him with a quiet, unyielding finality.
Safe, warm and utterly trapped in a trap of her own making. Falak stared into the shadows of her new bedroom until her heavy eyelids finally gave in, letting the darkness carry her away.
💬 Author's note - Thanks for reading! ❤️ I hope you guys liked this chapter. My exams are over–almost– therefore updates may come a littler faster than earlier. No promises tho. Ik will fail. Because my missions also fail successfully like Falak's. 😭 Also, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Hearing from you always sparks my motivation. ✨️
This is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. The story does not support, glorify, justify or promote terrorism, extremist ideologies or any individuals involved in such activities.
Summary —
When a marriage arranged for power and influence ties two unwilling people together, a young woman finds herself trapped by a lie she created to escape it. What starts as a clever attempt to sabotage the proposal soon turns into a dangerous game of appearances, forcing her to hide her true self behind a carefully crafted mask.
Chapter — 1 | 2 | 3 ...
Chapter 2
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Thrice
With every buzz, Falak’s confidence deteriorated by exactly ten percent. By the fourth ring, she was seriously considering throwing the phone into the fish tank.
What was she thinking? This was a literal Major. A man who probably ate gunpowder or even grenades for breakfast.
On the fifth ring, the line clicked.
"Speak," a voice commanded.
It was a gravelly, low-pitched growl that sounded like it had traveled through miles and survived military discipline for years which it had. It was the kind of voice that made you want to stand up straight and check if your shoes were polished.
Falak choked on her own saliva. She cleared her throat forcefully, instantly channeling every high-maintenance, bratty, dramatic movie heroine she had ever watched.
"Hello? Major Sahab?" she asked, her tone shifting into a high-pitched, whiny scowl.
A heavy silence stretched over the line. Iqbal, currently sitting at his desk reviewing reports, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who is this? And how did you get this number?"
"Ughhh, so aggressive!" Falak sighed dramatically into the phone, twirling a strand of her hair. "Relax, Major. It’s Falak. Abdullah’s daughter. Your future nightmare—I mean, wife."
Iqbal’s pen froze over the paper. His eyes narrowed. He looked at the caller ID, which showed a completely untraceable local number. Abdullah's daughter. The 'showpiece' her father was trying to trade off.
"Ms. Abdullah," Iqbal said, his voice dropping into a dangerously cold register. "This is highly inappropriate. If your father wishes to convey a message—"
"Oh, Papa doesn't know I'm calling," Falak interrupted breezily, though her heart was doing bhangra against her ribs. "Look, Uncle—sorry, Major—we need to talk. Personally. And we need to do it before that 'professional' dinner tomorrow."
Uncle? Iqbal’s jaw tightened. He was forty-two, in top physical condition and could outrun half the rookies at the base but this girl was talking to him like he belonged in his penthouse after retirement.
"There is nothing to talk about. The dinner is a formal meeting between families," Iqbal stated flatly.
"Yeah, well, I don't do formal. And I certainly don't do 'quiet and obedient,'" Falak scoffed crossing her arms.
"If you think you're getting a nice, sweet, homely girl who will massage your feet when you come back from the border, you are sorely mistaken. I have demands. Big ones. And if you have any respect for your own sanity, you'll meet me tomorrow, exactly at 10 am."
Iqbal leaned back in his leather chair, a dark, calculating expression crossing his face. He was used to dealing with threats, international syndicates and crime lords too. He was not used to being threatened with 'demands' by a girl who sounded like she hadn't even graduated yet.
"And where exactly do you propose we meet, Ms. Abdullah?" he asked, his tone dangerously smooth.
"The Roasted Bean Cafe. Downtown", Falak said quickly.
She omitted the very crucial detail that the cafe was literally right across the street from her college campus and currently crowded with young adults.
"10 am, Major Sahab. Don't be late. I absolutely hate waiting. It ruins my complexion."
Before Iqbal could utter another word, Falak slammed her thumb onto the red button, cutting the call.
She let out a massive breath, clutching her phone to her chest. "Oh my god. I did it. I actually did it."
Meanwhile, in his study, Major Iqbal stared at his blank phone screen.
"The Roasted Bean," Iqbal muttered, standing up and grabbing his heavy black overcoat.
He didn't know what game Mohammed Abdullah's daughter was playing, but Major Iqbal had never backed down from a battlefield in his life. Especially not one proposed by a girl who thought she could order him around like a general.
The next morning, Iqbal’s watch ticked steadily towards 10:00 AM.
Downtown was bustling with the usual morning rush, but the area surrounding The Roasted Bean Cafe had a distinctly different energy. It was crawling with college students rushing to their morning lectures, balancing backpacks, and clutching iced coffees.
When Iqbal stepped out of his vehicle, he looked like an absolute anomaly. Dressed in a crisp, dark tailored jacket with his usual sharp, intimidating posture, he walked into the cafe exactly at 10:00 AM. He picked a table near the corner window, giving him a clear view of the entire layout.
He didn't order anything. He simply sat, his dark eyes scanning the room, making a couple of nineteen-year-olds at the adjacent table quietly pack up their laptops and move to the opposite side of the room.
10:15 AM.
Iqbal checked his watch. His jaw tightened slightly. Punctuality wasn't just a habit for him, it was a lifestyle.
10:25 AM.
A slow, dangerous calm began to settle over Iqbal. In his line of work, thirty-minutes delay meant a compromised mission. Here, it meant a spoiled college student was playing games.
Meanwhile, across the street, safely tucked behind a massive campus bookstore billboard, Falak was peering through the glass window of the cafe.
She checked her phone.10:28 AM.
A triumphant, deeply satisfied smirk spread across her face. Step one of 'Mission: Unmarryable' was going beautifully. She knew exactly what kind of military man Major Iqbal was—he probably timed his blinks. Making him wait for half an hour was the ultimate psychological strike.
She watched as he shifted slightly in his chair, his posture turning incredibly stiff. He looked like he was exactly sixty seconds away from standing up, walking out and telling her father to call off the wedding himself.
"Perfect timing", Falak muttered to herself.
She took a deep breath, dropped her shoulders into a sloppy, high-maintenance slouch, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and marched across the street.
Inside the cafe, Iqbal’s patience had run out. He braced his hands on the table, fully intending to stand up and leave this ridiculous stunt behind.
Ding.
The little bell above the cafe door chimed loudly, and a whirlwind of pure, calculated chaos stepped inside.
Falak scanned the room dramatically until her eyes landed on Iqbal. Instead of looking apologetic, she let out a loud, heavy sigh, rolled her eyes, and sauntered over to his table. With a deliberate, dramatic flourish, she tossed her expensive handbag right onto the wooden surface, missing his personal space by a mere inch.
She slid into the chair opposite him, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands, looking at him like he was the one who had inconvenienced her.
"Oh my god, Major Sahab! You will literally not believe the morning I've had," Falak groaned, her voice carrying a loud, whiny drawl that made a nearby barista look over. "The traffic near the campus was just unreal. And then my driver took the longest route known to mankind. I hope you weren't sitting here counting the seconds."
Iqbal didn't move. He slowly looked from the handbag on the table up to her face. His dark eyes were freezing, analytical, and entirely unamused.
"Twenty-nine minutes, Ms. Abdullah," Iqbal said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that usually made insubordinate soldiers instantly break into a sweat. "I don't like my time being wasted."
Falak didn't flinch. Inside, her heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs, but on the outside, she just gave a dismissive wave of her hand.
"Oh, relax! A girl is never late, Major. Everyone else is simply early," she scoffed, crossing her arms and leaning back. "Besides, if you can't handle a little waiting now, how are you going to handle me after marriage? I need constant attention, you know."
Iqbal slowly raised a single, dark eyebrow. He didn’t bark an order, and he didn’t storm out. He just sat there, looking at her like she was a bizarre new piece of terrain he needed to map out.
Falak took that as her cue to double down.
She leaned back in her seat, deliberately slouching with an attitude that screamed pure, unadulterated arrogance. She tapped her neatly manicured nails against the wooden table, looking him dead in the eye with a sharp smirk.
"Look Major, let’s be real," she began, her tone dripping with dramatic flair. "I am not your typical, quiet, homely girl. I need attention. Not just regular attention—I mean your whole attention. 24/7."
Iqbal didn't blink. He just tracked the movement of her fingers.
"And don't even get me started on material things," Falak continued, waving a hand dismissively in the air.
"I expect gifts on every single occasion. And I don’t just mean Valentine’s Day. I’m talking about a one-month anniversary gift, a two-month anniversary gift, and my birthday? Oh, it better be a grand, massive surprise party." She paused, throwing him a cheeky, exaggerated wink. "And you better be the one planning it."
She leaned forward slightly, dropping her voice into a mock-serious whisper to really drive the final nail into the coffin.
"And the most important rule? Whenever I call, you answer. I don’t care if you’re out on the field, in a high-level briefing with top government officials or in the middle of an intense military meeting. If I call because I’m bored, you pick up on the first ring. I won't tolerate being ignored."
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, leaning back again with a triumphant tilt of her chin.
"So, Major Sahab, can you handle that? Or is a bigdail bachhi like me a bit too much for your structured little world?"
'Go on', Falak thought fiercely to herself, her inner monologue practically cheering. 'Call it off. Stand up, call my dad, tell him I’m an absolute nightmare, and run away. Do it!'
But Major Iqbal didn’t look horrified. In fact, the cold, rigid annoyance on his face slowly began to melt away, replaced by something much more dangerous.
His jaw shifted.
His shoulders relaxed.
To anyone else, Falak’s demands sounded like a laundry list of toxic relationship red flags. But to a forty-two-year-old man who had built his entire reputation on breaking the toughest recruits, surviving the harshest terrains, and overcoming impossible odds!
This didn’t sound like a warning. It sounded like a dare. It sounded like a direct attack on his ego.
A slow, utterly lethal smirk tugged at the corner of Iqbal’s lips. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, instantly closing the distance between them. The sheer gravity of his presence made the air in the tiny cafe feel heavy.
"Is that all, Ms. Abdullah?" Iqbal asked, his voice a low, smooth purr that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.
Falak blinked, her confident smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "Uh... yeah. For now."
"Good," Iqbal said, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute finality.
"Aapki farmaishein toh bohot badi hai Falak, lekin itni badi nahi ki hum usse pura na kar sake." he leaned back.
"I’ve spent my entire life executing high-risk operations. You think a little phone call during a meeting is going to disrupt my system? You think a surprise party is a tactical challenge I can't handle?"
He stood up smoothly, buttoning his dark jacket with effortless discipline. He towered over her, casting a long shadow across the small cafe table.
"I accept the terms, Ms. Abdullah. Be ready for whatever your generation calls the man who provides these services. You wanted my attention? You’re going to get it. Right away. Every single second of it."
Falak sat frozen in her chair, her jaw literally dropping open. Her brain completely short-circuited.
'Wait. No. This wasn't the script! He was supposed to say 'Goodbye forever', not 'Challenge accepted'!'
She opened her mouth to speak, to yell, to tell him she was just kidding but she was too stunned to utter a single syllable.
Before she could recover her senses, Iqbal turned on his heel. He grabbed his phone from the table, spun around and walked out of The Roasted Bean Cafe with sharp and confident strides.
As the glass door chimed behind him and he stepped out into the morning sun, a genuine, victorious smirk spread across Major Iqbal's face.
Mohammed Abdullah thought his daughter was a show piece to trade off.
Iqbal knew better now. She was a brat, a handful, and entirely ridiculous—and he was going to enjoy every single moment of making her play her own game.
Back at the table, Falak stared at the empty chair opposite her with and utmost horrified expression.
Mission failed successfully.
💬 Author note - Thanks for reading! ❤️ This was it for chapter 2. I have a lot of ideas saved up for fics and other projects. So, I’ll be posting them gradually. Updates won't be on a regular schedule—it might take a few days or honestly, even months 😭. Also, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Hearing from you always sparks my motivation.
Do tell me if you got the JODHA AKBAR reference from this chapter.
This is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. The story does not support, glorify, justify or promote terrorism, extremist ideologies or any individuals involved in such activities.
Summary —
When a marriage arranged for power and influence ties two unwilling people together, a young woman finds herself trapped by a lie she created to escape it. What starts as a clever attempt to sabotage the proposal soon turns into a dangerous game of appearances, forcing her to hide her true self behind a carefully crafted mask.
Chapter — 1 | 2 | 3 ...
Chapter 1
Major Iqbal hated meetings when, either he didn't arranged the meeting or he didn't know the reason. This meeting was both, neither did he arranged it nor did he knew the reason. Still, here he was. Sitting on a leather chair opposite to a man who clearly just wanted power.
And ofcourse Major Iqbal was power.
"Why are you looking so irritated Major? Is the chai (tea) not good? Or is it the temperature of AC? What is it Major?"
"Mr. Mohammed Abdullah, I am not here to have chai. Just tell me why did you arranged this meeting?", Iqbal said annoyed trying to make the man speak of his true intensions.
Abdullah acts surprised, "Oh! The meeting? It's actually pretty simple but I expect you to make it difficult for me to convince you."
"Good. If you already know that is what's going to happen, why are we having the meeting? You know once I say no it's not difficult—it's impossible to convince me otherwise."
The said man chuckled, "Ofcourse, ofcourse, Major I know. But let me take my chances with it."
Major Iqbal raises an eyebrow, ofcourse he is going to take chance. Major sighed.
"Ok then, just say whatever you wanted to talk about".
Abdullah chuckles at those words. It was like he knew he already won the battle.
"You know our association is envied by others, right? I can't take risk I want this association to be strong enough so that I don't have to think everyday."
"Abdullah sahab, Dhanda bharose pe chalta hain ( Mr. Abdullah, Business survives on trust). Keep faith in me. You don't have to be scarred. "
"I am not scarred. It's a fact. I need to have assurance. And that's why I am making this offer."
Iqbal raised an eyebrow, this time in curiosity.
"I want you to marry my daughter."
Silence.
A long silence.
And then finally, "I don't make personal relationships business."
Abdullah leans on the desk, "Sometimes that's the best thing to do Major."
"I have already assured you of the association if you can't trust me, then I am sorry. But, that's not my problem."
Major Iqbal was allmost impatient to leave the office, but before he could, Abdullah leaned back in his chair and spoke again.
"Exactly what I was talking about." Iqbal was surprised, he was almost caught doing something he denied and promised against.
"What do you mean?"
"You say I should trust you and then when I make an offer you just try to walk away. That's why I want you to marry my daughter." Major Iqbal almost chuckled.
"That's because your offer here is ridiculous. And I will not entertain it."
"Come on Major, don't get hazy. Ok, come to dinner tomorrow. At my house. I bet once you see my daughter you won't be able to take your eyes off her." Abdullah smirked.
Major Iqbal noticed, the smirk and the choice of words.
'Once you see my daughter'
Not 'meet my daughter'.
"Are you sure she is your own blood?", Major asked suspiciously.
"Yes! Ofcourse. Why would you ask that?", that was surprisingly too casual.
"Nothing. I will there at dinner tomorrow. 8pm exactly"
The way Major Iqbal said it sounded less like confirmation and more like a warning.
Without waiting for another word, Major Iqbal got up from his chair and walked out.
Abdullah had a wide grin that reached his ears.
I may have just won a lottery today that was his thought.
Meanwhile, sitting in his car, Iqbal replayed Abdullah's words.
'Once you see my daughter'
"Does Abdullah really just thinks his daughter is just some kind of show piece?", he muttered.
"How can a man simply trade his daughter, a girl who is raised like flower, to someone whose life revolves around weapons and ammunition?"
"This is not fair! You didn't even ask me if I wanted to get married!"
Falak's voice rang through the living room, sharp enough to make the silence crack.
Her father didn't even bother looking up.
"This marriage is not about you, Falak," Abdullah said coolly. "It's about my business."
The look that crossed Falak's face was a mixture of disbelief, horror and pure outrage—the kind of combination that should never exist, like mayonnaise on ice cream. Once you see it, you never want to witness it again.
She turned to her mother so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.
Are you hearing this? her eyes screamed.
Mariyam sighed.
"At least let the child think about it."
Abdullah's head snapped in her direction.
"Mariyam. Just. Shut up."
The room fell silent.
Mariyam immediately looked away.
Falak, meanwhile, delivered the most offended eye-roll known to mankind.
"I am not marrying him," she declared with a level of authority she absolutely did not possess.
Abdullah simply stood.
Calm and Unbothered
And then He started climbing the staircase.
"Don't make me force you, Falak."
The warning was delivered without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
A few moments later, his bedroom door slammed shut
Silence.
Of course.
There was no point arguing with him.
No point trying to convince a man who had already made up his mind.
"Ughhh!" Falak dragged both hands down her face and let out an exasperated groan.
For a moment, she paced around the room. Then she stopped.
A thought appeared.
A very dangerous thought.
And slowly a smile crept onto her face.
Not a normal smile though.
The kind of smile people get right before making a decision they'll regret later.
An idea struck her.
And in Falak's opinion, it was nothing short of legendary.
Half an hour later, she was crouched inside her father's study, surrounded by open drawers and absolute chaos.
"Why does this man keep thousands of dairies?" she muttered under her breath.
She dug through pool of diaries.
Finally, after what felt like a full decade, she found the leather-bound contact diary she had been searching for.
"Got you.", Her eyes scanned the pages rapidly.
Business partners, associates, lawyers, more associates, Majors...
Major
Major
Major
Major Aftab
Major Shadab
Major Iqbal
There it was.
MAJOR IQBAL.
Falak grinned.
"Oh, Major Saab."
Pulling out her phone, she carefully entered the number.
For a brief second, she hesitated.
Then she pressed the call button.
The phone began to ring.
And suddenly, her plan didn't seem quite as brilliant as it had 15 minutes ago.
💬 Author note - Thanks for reading! ❤️ I have a lot of ideas saved up for fics and other projects. So, I’ll be posting them gradually. Updates won't be on a regular schedule—it might take a few days or honestly, even months 😭. Also, I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! Hearing from you always sparks my motivation.
