Z 🦜

Chapter 6 is up!

Disclaimer:

Before the Beginning is a fanfiction inspired by Aditya Dhar's two-part film Dhurandhar. All canon characters and the world of Dhurandhar belong to their respective creators and rights holders.

This story is an original, non-commercial work created purely for entertainment. While it features real locations and some historical figures, their portrayals, relationships, motivations, and events have been fictionalised for narrative purposes. The appearances and personalities of the characters are heavily inspired by the actors portraying them in Dhurandhar and are not intended to represent their real-life counterparts in any way.

Additional disclaimer: Cultural references could be incorrect. Any cultural references only serve the plot line. There is no intention to hurt any religious or cultural sentiments in any way whatsoever.

I hope this story brings you as much joy in reading as it brought me in dreaming it up. ❤️

Chapter 6 : The Fall of the House(2006-2009)

For two days, Kamol drifted through Lyari’s labyrinthine streets. She studied every face, counted each unfamiliar footfall, and found menace in every gaze that lingered a heartbeat too long.

"This is a blessing in disguise," her new handler had said from the other end of the line.

She hardly knew him, so she bit back her questions about his cryptic words. Ever since Naieem had unearthed Yesaj’s photograph, Kamol had lived with a gnawing dread that her disguise was unravelling thread by thread.

On the third night, she slipped into her faded black kurta and crawled beneath the sheets. The silence shattered as her phone shrieked through the darkness.

"It's Naieem. Jaldi haveli jana," Shagufta's panicked voice trembled through the receiver.

At the haveli, Ulfat moved like a ghost, her face locked in an unreadable mask. Shaqeel rushed them into the car. The drive to Lyari Hospital was wordless, Kamol’s hand never letting go of Ulfat’s trembling fingers.

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The hospital corridor was dim, its walls scarred with peeling, stained plaster. Kamol left Ulfat with Rehman and wandered through doorway after doorway until she found a bed veiled in a white sheet. Shagufta stood beside it, shaking with silent sobs.

Kamol looked at Naieem’s face, serene as if he were only dreaming. Only the dark stains of blood spreading through his clothes revealed the truth.

When Kamol had called her handler, she braced herself for a clever lie, a new plan, some way to stitch together the fraying seams. She had never imagined she would be standing over Naieem’s lifeless body instead.

Somewhere along the years, the boy who once argued over sketches, lugged files, and wandered construction sites with her had quietly become her family.

For the first time since joining RAW, Kamol confronted a consequence she had never dared to picture herself enduring.

Yet even as grief hollowed her chest, her handler’s words echoed relentlessly in her mind. The mission still waited for her, patient and unyielding.

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Kamol forced herself to look away from Naieem for the last time and stepped out of the room. The humid night slapped her skin as soon as she crossed the hospital threshold.

On her way out, Kamol made sure Shagufta stayed close to Ulfat, whose piercing cries had faded into a hollow silence. Outside, Rehman slumped against the ambulance, the picture of a man convinced he could have saved Naieem if only he had come a moment sooner.

“Aaj main Jamali ki kit-kit nahi sunn sakta”, Rehman told Kamol when she approached him.

Kamol nodded and walked toward Jamali’s car, her steps steady even as a storm raged inside her.

“...election tak kuch bhi badla-shadla nahi lena.”, Jamali kept repeating to Uzair.

“Haan, Jamil sahab. Uzair samajh gaya. Dus baar dohrane ki zarurat nahi.” Kamol placed herself between Uzair and Jameel’s rolled-down window.

“Haan, haan…” and catching a sly look at the long-haired man who had saved Faizal, Jameel Jamali had rolled up his car window and sped off into the night.

“Thanks,” Uzair murmured, his hand drifting between them, almost without thought. After a pause, Kamol let her fingers find his. She still could not meet his eyes, guilt over Naieem’s death gnawing at her, but she stayed by his side.

“Aaj meri baat sun lein.”, Uzair said as he guided her to the entrance lobby.

They sat shoulder to shoulder on the hospital steps, watching the gang huddle off to the side, voices low and urgent. Kamol was sure they were searching for the leak, plotting revenge. Among them stood a stranger: a man with green eyes and long hair.

“Woh Hamza hai. Faisal ki jaan bachayi hai usne.”, Uzair said. Kamol watched Hamza intently. The blood staining his shirt was not his own. His knuckles were raw, but he stood firm, not seeking praise or thanks. Instead, he quietly observed everyone around him.

“Kaash main ne security pe aur dhyaan diya hota.”, Uzair breathed, his voice a broken sound. A sound that was ridden with guilt and held back tears.

So this, Kamol realised, was the ‘blessing in disguise’ her handler had meant. A distracted Uzair had left a crack in their security. That weakness had been exploited completely tonight.

--------------------------------------------

“Jaanta hoon, galati ki maine. Aur koi safai nahi hai mere paas.” Uzair started after a few moments of silence. “Main waada karta hoon. Phir kabhi drugs nahi loonga.”

“Lekin, ek galati ki itni badi saaja jayas nahi thi na Kamol?”

“Baat drugs ki nahi hai Uzair. Woh toh galat hi tha.”, Kamol said with a heavy sigh, “Tumne jitne aasani se apni jindagi daav pe laga di, uss ki baat hai”

Uzair waited for her to continue.

“Tumhare kaam mein har din jaan ko khatra hai. Lekin us raat tumne thoda bhi socha nahi, apni jaan ko khud khuda ke havale karne nikle the. Main pehle hi apne aai-Abbu aur Yesaj ko kho chuki hoon. Meri problem ye hai ki tumhe apni jaan ki parwah nahi hai.”

“Kamol... main abhi bhi yahin hoon.”

“Maut agar aani hogi toh aa jayegi, Uzair. Tum use bulane ki koshish mat karo.”

Uzair looked away. For once, he did not argue. They sat in silence. Kamol’s words hung between them, heavy and inescapable. Their time together felt suddenly finite.

“Naieem se maine waada kiya tha,” Kamol said, her voice shaking with the confession,  “Wo chahta tha ki main tumhari baat sun loon. Tumhe maaf kar doon.”

Uzair gulped. His eyes were full of unshed tears. “Usne mujhse bhi waada karwaya. Ke tum kitna bhi mana karo, main maafi mangte rahun, tab tak ke tum maan lo.”

Kamol laughed despite herself. “Shayad wo hume behtar jaanta hai.” She did not realise she was still referring to Naieem in the present tense.

“Sach batao? Ghar ka kaam kyu nahi roka?” Uzair asked her, turning towards her fully.

“Abhi tak nahi samjhe tum Uzair? Main tumse door rehne ki koshish kar sakti hoon... lekin tumhe chhod nahi sakti.”

Though the night had brought only pain and loss, a tired smile flickered across Uzair’s lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. As he opened it, Kamol caught sight of a tiny photograph tucked behind the plastic meant for an ID card. It showed them at the Lyari football ground: Kamol and Uzair with arms around each other, a younger Naieem and Faizal standing in front.

Uzair pulled out the gold band he had safely carried around since their fight.

“Abhi bhi naraaj ho?” he asked.

“Nahi,” she whispered. “Bas tumhari fikr hoti hai hamesha”

This time, the ring felt heavier than ever before.

--------------------------------------------

"I will handle the situation," her handler had said.

Kamol held her breath. There was always a price.

"Ensure that the boy always has a place near Rehman."

"That's impossible," Kamol replied. "Not even from inside the house. Unless you move Donga or Siyahi elsewhere, there's no place for him."

A brief silence followed.

"Then secure him to Uzair," the handler said. "Make him his shadow."

Kamol had known she had no choice.

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Even as Naieem’s death loomed like a storm cloud over the haveli, Uzair glowed with happiness. After weeks of silence, Kamol had come back. Nothing could dull his spirit. He kept away from Rehman and Ulfat, giving them space to grieve.

One afternoon, as Kamol and Uzair oversaw the last touches on their house, a small, practical car pulled up to the edge of the property. Hamza stepped out, his long hair tied in a bun, dark glasses shielding his eyes.

“Hamza, aur wo bhi gaadi chalate hua? Mamla kya hai? “, Kamol asked from where she stood at the upper-level balcony.

“Bhool gayi? Tumne khud kaha tha Aalam bhai ki dukaan Babu Dakait ke ilaqe mein hai. Aur phir bhi roz cycle le kar nikal jaati thi.”

After Naieem’s death, Uzair tightened security and made Kamol promise she would stop cycling around town alone.

“Ek patthar se do panchhi,” Uzair said. “Hamza bhi aa gaya, aur tumhari cycle bhi retire ho gayi.”

“Kyun maan liya maine tumhara ye cycle chodne ka promise? ”, Kamol huffed.

So Hamza became Kamol’s driver, shuttling her across Lyari to every site she managed.

--------------------------------------------

Hamza found himself venturing into corners of Lyari he had never seen before.

Until then, Hamza’s world beyond Aalam bhai’s juice shop was small: the shopfront, the narrow staircase to the cramped room above, and a handful of nearby streets. That was the Lyari he knew.

Travelling with Kamol unlocked every hidden corner of Lyari for Hamza, even those beyond Baloch territory. Kamol’s reputation for working for all of Lyari’s people, no matter her ties to Rehman, meant she was welcome everywhere. She had earned that trust over years of effort.

Everywhere Hamza went with Kamol, he saw her greeted with warm smiles. Clients trusted her with their dreams, site workers respected her, and contractors listened closely to her advice. Kamol saw every building as more than concrete and steel. She knew that behind each project was someone’s future. She remembered workers’ names, knew which contractor’s son had just started school, and perched on half-built walls with the team, helping solve their construction puzzles.

Hamza realised she had built something far more enduring than fear: trust.

If Hamza wanted to belong in Lyari, he would have to do the same.

For the first few weeks, Hamza was just the new driver, more bodyguard than chauffeur. But slowly, things began to shift.

“Kamol baji ke sath aye ho?”, people would ask him. “Lyari mein naye ho?”, they would comment.

Over time, these changed into greetings: “Hamza bhai, gaadi yahan laga sakte ho.”, a shopkeeper would say.  “Hamza bhai, chai lijiyein”, he would be offered on rainy days at site visits.

Kamol understood why Hamza had been chosen. He was quiet and observant. Nothing escaped his notice. Yet he also had a quality that made people trust him.

Soon Hamza knew Lyari as well as his own palm. He learned which routes to avoid on market days, which streets turned dangerous after dark, and which gangs controlled which hidden corners.

“You are ready,” Kamol told Hamza with certainty as they drove back from the housing complex under construction. Hamza simply met her gaze in the rearview mirror.

--------------------------------------------

“Ise le jao apne factory ke kaam mein. Muzhe koi doosra driver-bodyguard de dena”, Kamol told Uzair.

“Kyun? Kaam thik se nahi karta?”, Uzair asked, puzzled.

“Nahi. Kaafi achcha kaam karta hai. Aise talent ko, jisko bandook bhi chalani aati hai, tum driver duty pe zaya kar rahe ho.”, Kamol explained.

“Aaj sooraj galat disha se toh upar nahi na chadha?”

“Nahi nahi. Pakka. Aisa karo, use teen mahine factory pe le jao. Agar pasand nahi aaya, toh wapas bhej dena,” Kamol told Uzair, then added with a confident smile, “Shart laga ke keh sakti hoon, tum ise kabhi wapas nahi bhejoge.”

--------------------------------------------

“Main shart haar gaya, Kamol,” Uzair admitted after three months. Hamza had blended into the gang. He was their new football star, worked hard, and never needed instructions twice.

"Pata hai usne kya kiya?" Uzair said. "Sab darr rahe the. Lekin Hamza ne bin dikkat Rehman bhai ko bat diya ki badla lena chahiye."

True to his word to Jameel Jamali, Uzair had steered Donga, Siyahi and the rest of the gang away from even the remotest ideas of a hit-back on Babu Dakit. Uzair had been extremely worried when Rehman decided to heed the newcomers' suggestion instead of Uzair’s advice. He had paced the haveli corridors restlessly the entire night before the plan was to be put into action. When the pacing did not settle his uneasy nerves, he cleaned his guns twice before adjusting and readjusting his holsters.

The next day, as every Karachi news channel buzzed about the brazen daylight murder of Babu Dakit in Lyari’s Cheel Chowk, Uzair could not stop marveling at Hamza’s skill, his political instincts, and his deadly precision.

“Halat achche hote, toh ye ladka military mein hota”, Uzair said with conviction.

Kamol and Uzair were standing in the verandah of the Haveli. Inside, Rehman had gathered Ulfat and Faizal, his remaining family, into his arms. The rest of the gang were packing up the extra ammunition into the garage below.

Kamol simply nodded. There was no longer any doubt in her mind about Hamza’s military training.

“Mujhe tum aur woh thode mumahsil lagte ho.”, Uzair said after a while, the smoke from his cigarette filling his lungs.

“Woh kaise?”

“Silent killer types ho dono. Teez soch aur kaatilana aankhein”, and crushing the cigarette, Uzair leaned across to stare into Kamol’s brilliantly hazel eyes.

“Tumhari aankhe dekhta hoon toh dhadkanein tez hoti hai”, he breathed before capturing Kamol’s lips in his own, for once not caring if his men were witness to his surrender to the woman in his arms.

Their kiss was hesitant at first, almost uncertain, as if they were rediscovering each other after weeks apart. When they finally parted, their foreheads remained pressed together.

"Aath saal se saath hain hum," Kamol whispered, holding his gaze "Abhi bhi?"

Uzair smiled. "Always” He kissed her once more, gentler this time.

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Uzair and Kamol's house was decked with strings of flowers. New furniture stood alongside the old diwan brought from Kamol's apartment, pushed against the living room walls to make space for the day's celebration. The first meal in their new home simmered in the kitchen, prepared for the dawat that would follow their wedding.

"In dono ko pardeh ki kya zarurat?", Donga had argued with Siyahi and Mukka, who had been setting up the space under Ulfat’s guidance. In the end, Ulfat had relented, and instead Uzair and Kamol were sitting side by side on low stools before the Qazi—Uzair in a cream sherwani, Kamol draped in a shimmering green sari.

Their house was ready for new memories. Loved ones gathered to witness the day. Even Anayat, whom Kamol had barely kept in touch with, arrived with a very reluctant Yusuf in tow.

They signed the nikahnama. They repeated the words of acceptance.

It felt strangely ordinary. After eight years of separations, losses, broken promises, and impossible choices, neither believed those words had made them husband and wife. That had happened long ago.

“Mubarak ho.” The courtyard erupted in cries of greeting and, in the case of Mukka and Shaqeel, wolf whistles.

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One by one, the guests began to disperse. The laughter in the courtyard gave way to lingering conversations as empty dishes were stacked away.

Siyahi and Shagufta had left with the heavy load of their sleeping son tucked in Siyahi’s arms. “Khush rehna!”

Anayat hugged Kamol tightly before Yusuf muttered something about the late hour and practically dragged her toward the gate.

Shaqeel clasped Uzair's hand and nodded once, “Khayal rakhna.”

Donga had reached for Kamol’s hand, squeezing it tightly in his. “Main apni kirayedaar ko miss karunga.”

“Main sheher chhod ke nahi gayi, Donga bhai.”, Kamol laughed.

“Ek zaroori baat.” Donga continued, “Woh apartment tere liye hamesha rahega. Kiraya bhi nahi badhaunga. Aur agar ye”—he jabbed a thumb toward Uzair—“kabhi zyada pareshaan kare na, toh yaad rakhna... main hamesha tumhari side loonga.”

Uzair groaned. “Abey, Donge! Tu mera dost hai ya Kamol ka?”

“Sachchai ka.”

As laughter filled the courtyard, Kamol stepped forward and hugged Donga. He had been her elder brother through all these years. “Thank you... for everything.”

Donga awkwardly patted her shoulder before clearing his throat. “Achha bas. Itni emotional mat ho. Warna log kahenge dulhan mujhe chhod ke iske saath bhaag gayi.”

“Chance hi nahi,” Uzair said, slipping an arm around Kamol's waist.

--------------------------------------------

With one last look around the courtyard, Rehman placed a hand on Uzair's shoulder.

“Apna ghar sambhalna,” he said quietly. “Aur Kamol ko.

Uzair nodded. For once, he had no joke, no argument, no clever reply. “Ji, Rehman bhai.”

Rehman looked at Kamol then, his expression softening. Here was the girl he had first met in his factory to discuss the Lyari school. He had never imagined she would become the anchor in his brother’s life and an essential part of his work.

“Lyari ke liye tumne behtraeen kam kiya hai, Kamol. Ab khud bhi thoda khush rehna seekho.”

For a moment, Kamol was left speechless.

She had spent years pretending to carve out space for her own work, all while quietly passing intel to her handlers. Today marked the final step binding her to this life. If her identity was ever exposed, there would be no escape.

Rehman and Ulfat walked back toward the haveli, leaving behind a house overflowing with laughter, memories, and two people who had finally found their way home.

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Kamol looked around. They had their house—not Rehman’s haveli, not her old apartment. It was their own space, built by steady hands, where the walls seemed to breathe with their shared dreams. And now, a contract bound them together in the eyes of the almighty.

As Kamol bade goodbye to the last guest and locked their home’s door for the very first time, Uzair wrapped his arms around her. He rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in the scent of flowers still woven into her hair. Then, with the tenderness of someone who still could not believe she was finally his, he pressed a kiss to the skin exposed along the edge of her blouse.

“Toh Mrs Dakait urf Baloch? Taiyaar ho?”, Uzair asked.

“Ready kis liye?” she asked, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.

Uzair stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Abhi bhi sawaal poochogi?”

Kamol rolled her eyes, but the warmth in them gave her away. “Tum bhi na…”

He glanced at the flowers, at the sink filled with dishes, and then back at her. “Aur waise bhi... Apne ghar mein pehli raat sirf safai karte hue nahi guzarni chahiye. Kal dekh lenge”

And saying that, Uzair led Kamol through their hall, up the staircase and into their room.

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Uzair slept with one arm wrapped around her, holding onto the same impossible trust he had carried for years. Kamol traced the gold band on her finger, feeling its weight settle deeper than ever before.

She had spent the night believing she had finally arrived at the one place she could belong. Yet even here, even now, there were promises she had made in the shadows.

Three days before their wedding, Hamza had made her one of them.

“Main jaldi se site ja kar aati hoon.”, Kamol had told Uzair. “Thoda urgent kaam tha.”

“Aaj jana jaroori hai kya, Kamol? Itni taiyariyan baki hai?” Ulfat had scolded her. “Apni khud ke shadi ke liye toh chutti le leti”

“Main chod deta hoon.”, Hamza had offered. After Hamza became part of Uzair’s operations, another driver had taken over Kamol’s daily travel. But whenever he found an excuse, Hamza still offered to take her around the city. Their conversations had become quieter over time—not friendship exactly, but an understanding between two people carrying secrets they could never reveal.

Kamol had had to visit the Lyari housing complex that would soon be handed over to its beneficiaries. She had to complete the final checks before handover with Khan and Taufeek.

As Hamza drove Kamol back to the haveli, he told her with complete sincerity, “Main tumhari izzat karta hoon, Kamol. Lyari ke liye jo tum karti ho, woh alag baat hai. Lekin jo doosra kaam tum karti ho... dono ko saath lekar chalna kaise mumkin hai, samajh nahi aata.”

“Har insaan ki kuch majbooriyan hoti hain, Hamza. Meri bhi thi. Lekin maine koshish ki ke un majbooriyon ka matlab sirf tabahi na ho. Jahan mauka mila, kuch behtar karne ki koshish ki.”

They had almost reached the haveli.

“Hamza… tum jo bhi kar rahe ho, jis bhi wajah se kar rahe ho, mujhe farq nahi padta. Lekin agar Uzair ko kuch hua… toh main khud tumhari pehchaan sabke saamne rakh dungi.”

Hamza remained silent for a long moment. Then he looked at her through the rearview mirror.

“Uzair zinda rahega, Kamol.”

His voice carried no hesitation.

“Ye mera waada hai.”

PSA: Here is everyone's weekly dose of angst. Enjoy!

TAGLIST: @maladaptive-anxiety @imrankaunbsdk @savagedrama @khlomoneyyyy4 @precioussophia @wackyaussiegiraffes @sanpiece @sanajjjjjj @itsrebexxa @twinblueflamee @ishq-e-rehman @yembarzal @radhuma

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You stared at the inmate request form. It had your name inscribed on it in handwriting that you recognized all too well. 

Uzair had been sending inmate request forms multiple times a week since your entire debacle in the jail courtyard, and you ignored all of them. This was the latest. 

You sighed, looking at your watch. You had time before you went home. You decided to indulge him this once, even though talking to him was the last thing you wanted to do. 

Today was the first day of the trial. Asif was responsible for handling the first half of the witnesses and survivors who were testifying to the violence in Lyari. You would handle the second half and the closing. Witnesses provided first hand testimony, including detailed accounts of the corruption and gang violence that had become a part of their daily routine while living in Lyari. Having made sure all the witnesses and survivors were prepped for testimony, Asif made sure to ask open-ended questions that allowed those on the stand to share their experiences witnessing the brutality done either directly by Uzair or under his watch. At certain points, depending on which witness was testifying and to what account they were testifying, Asif would introduce articles of physical evidence to the court and present it to the jury. He would explain the evidence, where it was procured from and what it had been used for, including any acts of violence and fatalities it may have caused. 

Jury members listened intently to all of the witness testimony, some even gasping at the brutality that was normalized in Lyari but seemed worlds away from the posh, wealthy neighborhoods they had grown up and lived in. Asif had them eating out of his hand, which was a strength for your case. 

Throughout the entire four hour proceeding, Uzair stared at you, trying to catch your attention. When he realized that you were deliberately not meeting his gaze, he resorted to staring at his feet. His attorney, Mir Ajmal did a good enough job at dissecting each person’s testimony during cross examination. As a defense attorney, he was not required to provide any proof of Uzair’s innocence. The burden of proof rested on the prosecution, and Mir Ajmal’s job was to poke holes in the prosecution’s narration against Uzair. Enough holes and doubts that were poked into the testimonies, physical evidence and other points that Asif, Hafsa and you had worked to present before the jury were a clever defense strategy. If your case against Uzair was strong enough to withstand his counterarguments, and you were able to convince the jury that Uzair Baloch was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, then you would win. If Mir Ajmal’s deliberate challenges to your narrative poked enough holes for the jury to doubt Uzair’s culpability in any way, even for one juror, the defense would win on a technicality. It all came down to which side presented a strong and believable case for all twelve jurors to agree and side with. If even one juror did not vote for the prosecution during jury deliberations after the trial, all your hard work against Uzair would be rendered futile. 

 The case was becoming a hot topic in Pakistan and almost all kinds of news channels were coming in to cover the proceedings, trying to get exclusive interviews. Camera crews, reporters and journalists all flocked outside the courthouse and hounded you three once you left after the hearing. As per usual, you three remained polite but tightlipped about the whole case. 

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When you reached Uzair’s cell in Tower E, you stood outside and barked out his name. You were never going to show this man a shred of gentleness ever again. 

You heard a grunt of pain as he slowly walked up to the cell door. As the sunlight hit his face, you almost winced. He had bruises all over his face, including a busted lip. You were certain he had bruises all over his body to match, courtesy of the unique interrogative methods you had ordered the lieutenants to employ against him. 

You stood there silently, glaring at him and waiting for him to speak. He grabbed the cell bar with one hand and looked down at you with puppy dog eyes. 

“Mangi mubarak ho, Y/N madam.” (Congratulations on your engagement.) He bit out in a low growl. 

“Shukriya. Kisliye bhulaya hai mujhe?” (Thank you. Why did you call me?) You crossed your arms across your chest impatiently. 

“Aap se baat karne ke liye.” (To speak with you.) 

“Toh bolo.” (Then, speak.)

He took a deep breath, before continuing. There was dried blood on his lip and for a moment, you felt the instinct to reach out and wipe it. Then, the cold hand of grief reached out and crushed that instinct. 

“Maine tumhare bhai ko nahi maara. Mera yaqeen karo, Y/N.” (I did not kill your brother. Please believe me.) He said. 

You were not going to believe his lies or fall for his facade anymore. 

“Kaise karoon main tumhara yaqeen, Uzair? Tumne toh aise hi aapni zindagi guzari hai. Jurm, qatal, ghair qanooni kaamon mein. Yeh sab tumhari adat nahi, tumhari fitraat ho gayi hai. Is sab ki ilawa tum jaanti bhi kya ho, Uzair? Tum jaise andh-padh, gawar, gandhe gali ke gunde par kaun yaqeen kare?” (How can I believe you, Uzair? You’ve spent your whole life like this - crimes, murder and illegal work. All of this isn’t just your pastime but your inherent nature. What else do you know other than this? Who would believe a dirty, uneducated and vulgar street thug like you?)

“Aur reh gaye baat Amir ki, toh mujhse jhooth maath bolo. Aur kitni police officers ke qatal tumne aur Baloch gang ne kiye hain? Aisa kaise ho sakta hai ke tumne sab officers ke qatal kiye hain lekin Amir ko bakhsh diya.” (And as for Amir, don’t lie to me. How many police officers have you and the Baloch gang killed? How is it that you’ve killed almost every police officer out there but left Amir alone?) You continued, anger seeping into your voice despite how hard you were trying to control yourself. 

“Maine tumhe aapne sab karobar aur dandoon ki information di hai. Maine tumhe LTF ke mole ki information di hai. Jo kuch bhi tumne manga hai, woh maine tumhe diya hai. Aur meri sab di hui information sach nikle hai. Phir bhi tumne mujh par yaqeen nahi hai?” He pleaded with you. (I’ve given you information on all of my businesses and work. I told you about the mole in LTF. Whatever you asked of me, I gave you. And all of it has been accurate. You still don’t believe me?) 

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. 

“Tumse zyada gussa mujhe aapne aap par hai, Uzair. Mujhe gussa is cheez par hai ke maine tumhare saath ishq kar liya. Ki main itni bewakoof nikle ke mujhe aapne samne kara hua wehshi nahi nazar aaya. Ke main tum jaise wehshi ki baaton mein phaas gaye. Tumhari gaandi nazar aapne aap par aane di. Aur tumhare gaandi haath mere jism ko choone diye.” You spat at him. (I am more angry at myself than I am at you, Uzair. I am angry at the fact that I fell in love with you. That I was so foolish as to not see the monster in front of me. And that I fell for that monster, for you and all your sweet words. I let your dirty gaze fall on me. And I let your dirty hands touch me.) You spat at him. 

“Mujhe tumse nafrat ho gayi hai, Uzair. Aur waise, tumhari auqat bhi kiya jo main tumse pyar karti?” (I hate you, Uzair. And besides, what status do you have for me to be in love with you?) You hissed to him venomously. 

His eyes welled up with tears, and because you couldn’t bear to see him cry, you turned to walk away. 

“Kiya aap aapne uss mangetar se pyaar karti ho? Woh SP Nayab Adam?” He asked, slowly enunciating Nayab’s name. (Do you love that fiancee of yours? That SP Nayab Adam?) 

You spun around, eyes narrowing on him. 

“Kyun? Tumhe kya isse lena-dena?” (Why? Why do you care?) 

“Iska matlab hai ke nahi karti.” (That means you don’t.) He said matter of factly, eyes darkening as he stared down at you. 

“Main usse pyaar karoon ya na karoon, yeh tumhari business nahi hai.” (Whether I love him or don’t, that is none of your business.) 

“Lekin meri baat toh sach hain.” (But, I’m right.) He crossed his arms across his chest. 

“Kyun? Jealous ho?” (Why? Are you jealous?) 

“Bilkul.” He confessed in a low, rumbling growl. (Absolutely.) 

“Tumhari tou itni auqat bhi nahi hai ki tum uski aankh main aankh mila kar baat karo. Aur yahan tum usse jealous ho rahe ho.”  (You don’t even have the status to look him in the eyes to speak with him. And here you are, being jealous of him.) You harrumphed.

“Lekin ishq toh aapne mujhse kiya hai. Aapna jism aur rooh toh mujhe di hai aapne.” He said solemnly. (And yet, you fell in love with me. You gave your body and soul to me.) 

You growled, stepping forward and slamming your hands against the cell bars. 

“Go to hell, Uzair!” You shouted, before turning around to leave. 

“Meri ek baat sunjayien!” He called out. (Listen to my one thing before you leave.) 

You groaned before turning around again. 

“Bolo!” You barked. (Speak!) 

“Aapne pehle kaha tha na, ke yeh sab meri fitrat hain. Theek kaha aapne. Mein Lyari ke khachre main bara hua hoon. Yeh sab jurm, qatal, chori, kidnapping, yeh sab maine seekha hai aur kiya hai. Isse zyada mujhe meri zindagi se koi umeed nahi thi. Aur Rehman bhai ki qatal ki baad, mujhe aise laga tha ke yeh dushmani, yeh khoon-kharaba mujhe khatam kardega. Mujhe aur koi umeed nahi thi.” (Earlier, you said that all of this is my nature. You were right. I grew up in the slums of Lyari. I learned and did all of this crime, killing, kidnapping, etc. I had no other hope or ambition for my life. And after Rehman bhai’s murder, I felt like the enmity, the bloodshed would end me. I had no other hope for myself.) He said somberly. 

“Lekin jab aap mujhe mili, tab mujhe aapni zindagi main pehli dafa ko umeed mili. Aapni zindagi ki, aapni khushi ke khwab main dekhne laga.” (But when I met you, I felt hope for the first time in my life. For the first time, I began to dream of happiness.) 

“Aap ne mehfil ki raat mujhse ek sawal pucha tha. Ki agar main qaidi nahi hota, aur aap iss case ki wakeel nahi hoti, tou phir hamara kya hota. Main phir bhi aapse ishq karta, Y/N madam. Agar hum kisi aur halat main milte, toh main zaroor aapko jheet leta.” He whispered. (The night of the mehfil, you asked me a question. If you weren’t the prosecutor and I wasn’t your prisoner, then what would have happened between us? I would’ve still fallen in love with you. If we had met under different circumstances, I would’ve won you over.)

Then, before you could do anything, he sank to his knees on the ground. Through the cell bars, he reached out and touched your feet reverently. You quickly scrambled back, pulling yourself away from his touch, which - despite everything - shot jolts of electricity up your spine. 

“Main aapke liye ek behtar mard banna chahta hoon, agar aap mujhe ek chance dein toh. Aur main aapne ishq ki kasam kah kar kehta hoon, ki maine Amir ka qatal nahi kiya. Please, mera yaqeen karien.” He swore, his eyes filling up with tears. (I want to be a better man for you, if you will give me a chance to. And I swear on my love for you, I did not kill Amir. Please believe me.) 

He reached through the bars and held out his hand towards you. “Mera haath thaam lijiye. Chahe kuch bhi hojaye.” (Take my hand. Regardless of what happens.) 

You knelt down and looked at his hand. 

“Kaise thamoon main tumhara haath, Uzair? Iss haath par mujhe aapne bhai ka khoon nazar aata hai.” You said, tears welling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks. (How can I hold onto your hand, Uzair? I see my brother’s blood on it.) 

Tagged by @softqsweetie tysm ur such a sweetheart 🌷🩷

last song -> Toh phir aao ( by Pritam)

currently watching -> literally nothing

current obsession -> IDK SANRIO HELLO KITTY DHURANDAR BEING

currently reading -> My science research draft?

currently working on -> Shopping for my birthdayyyyyyy

last google search -> A math problem :(

wearing -> Pink shorts with stars on them and a baggy tee

favourite flowers -> Lilly of the valley

Tags: @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @goodnightkatherine @sonasarchive @doesntmatteryawwrr @kisswithknife @chai-ke-sath-parleg @fallonsworlds-blog @ishq-e-rehman @sanajjjjjj

I'd really wanna know u cuties better ♡

Last song- slide (chase atlantic)

Currently watching- Miraculous ladybug season 6

Current obsession- dhurandhar and percy jackson

Currently reading- caraval by Stephanie Garber

Currently working on- studying for my exams

Last google search- ncert chem solutions

Wearing- school p.e uniform (dark blue t shirt n pants)

Favorite flower- currently dandelions (luv how they wither away easily)

Tagging: @saniisinsane @sunf1over @rutvii @gulaabjamun08 @sarcastic-ravenpuff

Ok now let's see-

1. Last song - tere paas mai (female version)

2. Currently watching - the mentalist

3. Current obssession - sleep

4, currently reading - tuesdays with morrie

5. Currently wprking - maintaning 75% attendance

6. Last google search - my college website

7. Wearing - pyjamas( black top and zebra print pants)

8. Favourite flower - hibiscus maybe idk

1. Last song - ishq di baajiyaan

2. Currently watching - adarsh baal vidhyalaya

3. Current obsession - Dhurandhar and travel vlogs

4, currently reading - just starting Mahagatha by Siddharth Nayak

5. Currently working - clearing the aukat ke bahar wala exam jo maine khud hi choose kiya

6. Last google search - rustom uav

7. Wearing - pink top and black plazzo

8. Favourite flower - sunflowers and yellow roses

1 Last song – Barbaad (from saiyaara)

2 Currently watching – Adarsh baal vidhyalaya (same pinch)

3 Current obsession – My friend's birthday and mine is coming too

4 Currently reading – Pride and prejudice (I'm not very very dedicated though)

5 Currently working – On my fics, and an original story + my academics.

6 Last google search – some online games

7 Wearing – Butter yellow night suit

8 Favourite flowers – water lilies and lotuses

last song- love is not enough by ashe

currently watching- one tree hill(also catching up on the spiderman movies)

current obsession- dhurandhar duhhh

currently reading- i have 5 pages left of the striker i dont like it at all but wanted to finish anyway

currently working- trying graphic designing and creating a portfolio, college, fics

last google search- what i need to know about the punishers

wearing- a friends oversized tee with short shorts

favorite flowers- lilies

last song — ocean eyes by billie eilish

currently watching — house of the dragon

current obsession — dhurandhar, house of the dragon, project hail mary

currently reading — fire & blood by grrm

currently working — college assignments & crochet blanket (plus a few wips)

last google search — johansen cointegration test (don’t ask)

wearing — pastel green oversized tshirt that says “you got no jams”

favorite flowers — lilies (same)

last song - the beast by cheema y

currently watching - byomkesh gotro // batman begins

currently reading - project hail mary, andy weir // a feast for crows, george reorge rartin martin // roktokorobi, rabindranath tagore

currently working on - assignments (ugh) // research project on bengali detective fiction // diy fixing a cooler

last google search - saumya tandon

wearing - olive green full t shirt with a rabbit doodle

last song - Tere Paas Main from Main Wapas Aaunga

currently watching - idk... funny reel compilations of current events? Not really watching any shows rn

current obsession - dhurandhar (send help it has been 8 months i need to get over it)

currently reading - boring papers

currently working on - master's degree project (ugh)

last google search - Are squirrels rodents?

wearing - blue polo shirt with black spidey hoodie, cargo pants

favorite flowers - mogra

Last song: 1949 by Lana del Rey

Currently Watching: I’m in between shows right now. Just finished season 4 of Bridgerton, will probably do a Friends marathon next.

Current obsession: Akshaye Khanna as Sanjaya Baru 🤭😋

Currently reading: I just finished The stolen Heir by Holly Black. My indecisive ass is still figuring out what to read next.

Currently working on: Uh, let’s leave it at studies 🤫

Last google search: Grammatically, should it be xyz and her or her and xyz?

Wearing: A green tee, with black checkered shorts

Favourite flowers: Hard to pick one, really. Lavender, periwinkles, snow drops, those skeleton flowers, lotus, lilies oooh and kanakambaram (is that how u spell it?), orchids, roses(I should probably stop now)

Last song - nothing's gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

Currently Watching - nothing atm

Current obsession - jude bellingham⚽️😛

Currently reading - the silent patient is on hold , so it's cleopatra & frankenstein by coco mellors for now

Currently working on - studies ftw🍹

Last google search - what makes solid cheese smooth and creamy?

Wearing - a soft peach tee with grey shorts

Favourite flowers - i love , love lilies and peonies-with baby's breath deserving a special mention🌙

Last song- ice on my baby by yung bleu ahahah 🧊🧊

Currently watching- nothing at the moment

Current obsession- Akshaye Khanna 🧘🏽‍♀️🙏🏽

Current reading- all the lovely tumblr fics ahahah

Currently working on- my first tumblr fics @maroonphase 🤭🤭

Last Google search- youtube to mp3 download LMFAOO

Wearing- a pink nightie with white flowers

Favourite flowers- I adore baby pink and dark red roses. Also loveee jasmine

1. last song : humne tumko dil ye de diya🤌🏽

2. currently watching: nothing yarrr😓

3. current obsession: JAMES SPADER 😫

4. current reading: under your scars

5. currently working on: ppt n assignments😭

6. last google search: selena gomez

7. wearing: a maroon t-shirt and black jeans

8. fav flowers: roses🫠

Last song- Afghan Jalebi

Currently Watching- nothing, unless you count F1

Current obsession-F1

Currently reading- Finders Keepers by Stephen King; Prairie Rose (a gr63 fanfic)

Currently working on- My F1 Text!au

Last google search- Yellow, green and red cockroaches (i was studying zoology)

wearing- navy blue t-shirt and shorts

Fav flowers- orchids

Last song:

Currently Watching: Zanjeerain, Sarbuland Khan da real loml ❤️

Me if he appears in front of me 👆

Current Obsession : Danyal Zafar

Currently reading : NCERT textbooks 🥀🤧

Currently working on : Nothing 😭 🙏

Last Google search : Practice problems Favourite flowers : Tulips 🌷

Tagging my lovleessss

@lessthanalove

@gehra-hua

@gudbud

@willowsgoldenhour

@rutvii

@gloriouspurpose01

Last song:

Currently watching: Nothing

Current obession: Making memes (lol)

Currently reading: My history book (🥲)

Currently working on: Making a new WW2 edit

Last Google Search: AHSEC Class 12 History question papers

Favorite flowers: Sunflowers

Tagging:

@cloudyparadoxqueen

🎵Last song- GOT theme song inspiration (original Irani version, from the shah’s wedding)

📺Currently Watching-The last czar, The Pitt

🕵🏻‍♀️Current obsession- Ancient Indian History, Gym

📚Currently reading- Mauryas( Devika Rangachari) , Ophthalmology (AK Khurana)

✍🏼Currently working on- Ophthal assignment

🕶️Last google search- Who is Futurecanoe?

👚Wearing- pink t-shirt black shorts

🪷Fav flowers- Lotus (it’s literally my name haha)

💻Adding one of my own entry Fav YouTuber- MarcInsco

Last song arhe so jhade by cheema y (on yt) and sai ve by satinder sartaaj (on spotify)

Currently watching kujh bhi nhi

Current obsession CROCHETING

Currently reading the murder of roger ackroyd by agatha christie

Currently working on fanfics 😔

Last google search delhi sunday book market

Wearing a dress with blue, red, and, white strips (w shorts underneath dont wanna flash anyone)

Fav flower lotus 🪷

Last Song: Fevicol Se

Currently Watching: ZANJEERAIN MY GOAT

Currently Reading: Vita Nostra (absolute masterpiece btw highly recommend anyone interested in fantasy and mystery to pick it up U WILL NOT REGRET IT)

Currently Working On: ...calculus 1 & 2 😿

Last Google Search: funny salman khan tweets (idk what I was even doing with this but "does nt matter yaar")

Wearing: baggy grey t-shirt and light blue pajama pants

Favorite Flower: jasmine (god the smell is heavenly)

Last Song: My Baby by XOXO and Vaari Jawan from D2 (i have this on replay daily)

Currently watching: (rewatching) Ertrugul Ghazi. Turgut and Bamsi are my favs 😭😝, reaction videos from the Youtube channel - Watch What Happens Next and AI cooking videos (it's a guilty pleasure)

Current obsession: Rizwan Shah's deep and sexy accent and Sara Arjun's red dress from D2, and cooking (it's very soothing for me, i love cooking)

Currently reading: nothing 💀 just mentally preparing myself for the law books I will be reading in a couple weeks 😭✋🏽

Currently working on: the remaining chapters of my fanfic while cooking channa daal and falafels

Last Google Search: The incoming student orientation agenda for my law school

Currently wearing: a full sleeved navy blue shirt and navy blue pajama pants with s'mores on them

Fav song: Love Story by Indila

Fav flower: (this is cliche) a red rose, it reminds me of Beauty and the Beast 🌹

Chapter 1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter 5 is up!

Disclaimer:

Before the Beginning is a fanfiction inspired by Aditya Dhar's two-part film Dhurandhar. All canon characters and the world of Dhurandhar belong to their respective creators and rights holders.

This story is an original, non-commercial work created purely for entertainment. While it features real locations and some historical figures, their portrayals, relationships, motivations, and events have been fictionalised for narrative purposes. The appearances and personalities of the characters are heavily inspired by the actors portraying them in Dhurandhar and are not intended to represent their real-life counterparts in any way.

Additional disclaimer: Cultural references could be incorrect. Any cultural references only serve the plot line. There is no intention to hurt any religious or cultural sentiments in any way whatsoever.

I hope this story brings you as much joy in reading as it brought me in dreaming it up. ❤️

Chapter 5 : Neither here nor there (2005–2006)

“They're setting up an entirely new production line.”, Kamol told Beg at their early morning meeting in his garden. “They’ve obtained new firearm designs through BUF leaders.”

"Good work," Beg rasped, nodding in approval as he pressed a handkerchief to his mouth, his body wracked by another fit of coughing.

“Have you been taking medication?” Kamol asked worriedly.

“Don’t worry, Kamol. We all grow old, and so have I.” Then, the architect in him flickered back to life. "The houses look wonderful. I saw the photos."

On his recent journey to Urak, Uzair captured the houses through the lens of his SLR, later presenting the glossy prints to Beg. Every corner of Kamol’s designs revealed her deep grasp of tribal life. The homes appeared to breathe with the community, their rooms flowing fluidly from inside to out, encompassing a lifestyle that welcomed the lands outside its walls.

The sepia-toned photographs were spread over Beg's workstation on an off-Saturday as Uzair sat opposite him. Rallying his courage, Uzair sought Beg’s permission, “Aap Kamol ke ustad aur walid samaan hai. Isiliye aapse pooch raha hoon. Kamol se shadi karna chahta hoon. Aapki ijajat chahiye”

Beg let out a sigh heavy with fatigue. He knew Kamol’s path would lead her deeper into secrets, each step multiplying the dangers she faced.

“Jitna ho sake, apne kaam ko Kamol se door rakhna”

“Koshish hamesha wahin hoti hai meri,” Uzair had spoken with conviction.

--------------------------------------------

Dinner simmered on the stove as Kamol immersed herself in a book describing Afghanistan’s ancient Buddhist shrines. The key turned in the lock with the confidence of someone who belonged. Uzair was back from his weekly game of football.

Greeting her with a tender smile, he disappeared into the bathroom, returning from the steam dressed in khaki pants and a fresh white T-shirt. Uzair’s spare clothes were neatly folded on a shelf in Kamol’s almirah, marking the space he had already claimed in her life.

As Kamol warmed up their dinner, the gentle dance of their Saturday night routine began, each movement practised and cherished.

“Rehman bhai aur Ulfat baji ko kab batana hai?”, Kamol asked Uzair as she served him kebabs and curry over a heap of rice.

“Agle hafte baat karenge. Tab tak Ajad Kashmir jane wala shipment ka tension khatam hoga, aur Faisal ke imtehaan bhi. Tab dono shaant man se baat kar paayenge.”

Kamol nodded and, without a word, slipped another kebab onto his plate.

They ate together, relating stories from their day, laughter surging up between mouthfuls as the evening news flickered quietly in the background.

“Mere liye ek khaas project karogi?”

“Hargiz! Kaho…”

Uzair just smiled, sidestepping her questions as he collected their empty plates. He set about brewing strong cardamom tea, its warm, spicy scent drifting through the kitchen.

“Please. Ab batao bhi...”

He laughed and said, “Mere jacket ke jeeb mein dekhna…” She was already at the hook beside the door, fishing his pockets.

“Ek lifafa hai…”

Kamol opened the crisp white envelope to find sale deeds to a piece of land.

“Haveli ke piche ki jameen ke kagaz hai.”, he explained as he poured the tea into mismatched cups. “Hamare liye ek chota ghar banana chahta hoon. Rehman bhai ke kareeb rahnege aur apni niji jindagi bhi milegi”

Kamol drew Uzair into a fierce embrace, clutching his waist as though she could anchor this moment in time.

“Tumhe kaisa ghar pasand hai?” she asked, her eyes beaming as he gently freed her arms and carried the tea to the diwan.

“Ghar jahan sukoon mile, tum aur main apna kaam shanti se kar paye, aur ek doosre ke sath jindagi guzar lein. Wahan jane ke baad, baki saari chezein bhool paye”, he told her softly as they relaxed on the diwan. Uzair held Kamol’s hand as they drank tea, his fingers sweeping over the thin gold band he had placed on her finger a few days ago.

Even after they slipped beneath the covers, Kamol’s excitement sparkled restlessly, refusing to let her drift into sleep.

“Thank you so much! Tumhe kaise batau ki kitni khushi dein hai tumne mujhe aaj?”, she asked, peppering Uzair’s face and lips with soft kisses.

Laughing at her enthusiasm, Uzair pushed her firmly onto her back, and he pressed a reverent kiss to her shoulder.

“Main batata hoon shukriya kaise ada karte hain.”

--------------------------------------------

The next morning, Kamol dove headfirst into sketching out their new home.

Her tiny apartment now held a makeshift office: a desk with a computer running licensed software, a drafting table squeezed beside it, and walls featuring sketches and photos from her projects.

Yet beneath Kamol’s joy as architect and fiancée, a quiet voice reminded her of the weight she bore. She was crafting a home for the man she loved, all while betraying him and his family with each passing day.

“Mubarak ho!”

“Ham kab se raah dekh rahe the!”

Uzair and Kamol were at the haveli, having dinner with Rehman, Ulfat, and the kids.

“Toh kab karna hai nikkah?”, Rehman asked, beaming proudly. He had seen Uzair grow up from a disturbed teenager to a defender of the people. He was confident that Uzair had found his equal in Kamol, a woman who believed in working for the people.

Kamol glanced nervously at Uzair, silently willing him to answer first.

“Bhai, hum dono chahte hain hamara ghar ban jaein. Aur phir usi ghar mein hum shadi karenge”, Uzair had readily agreed to Kamol's wish.

“Itne saal saath mein ho, toh aur intejar kyun karna hai tumhe?”, Ulfat looked unconvinced.

“Itne saal intejar kiya hai, toh aur ek saal sahi”, Uzair answered with conviction, looking at Kamol lovingly.

“Kya us ghar mein mere liye kamra hoga?” Faisal asked innocently.

“Haan bilkul”, Kamol pulled Faisal into her arms. She had grown to love Naieem and Faisal as her own nephews.

“Phir thik hai”, Faisal answered from his spot in Kamol’s lap.

Laughter circled the table, but Kamol alone could not join in fully. She was to be bound to the man she loved, and her heart, instead of soaring with joy, could only be heard hissing to her- traitor.

Over the next few months, Kamol’s work for the Lyari college and their home were her entire focus.

Rehman was funding the Lyari college. The first phase was set to be operational within the next six months. Khan and his brother Taufeek had doubled their efforts and increased the pace of the construction.

For their house, Kamol pictured the road from the haveli winding to their plot, where a generous garden would link both homes—a place for merriment and gatherings. The house was simple: two offices below, a wide verandah and courtyard, a deewan-khana and kitchen gazing out towards the large banyan and mango trees that lined the edges. The windows were angled away from the haveli for privacy but invited the morning sun, filling rooms with golden warmth. Upstairs, bedrooms and a library held the promise of a shared life.

Taufeek had started the construction immediately, worried that Uzair bhai would surely cut his pay if there were any delays. Moreover, he knew with experience that Kamol would insist on neater detailing and good quality construction - both aspects that call for careful planning and an adequate amount of time to execute properly.

--------------------------------------------

It was mid-2005 when Beg rang Kamol, “Is baar mere office mein milte hai”

In the confines of Beg’s private office, when the sun had set and the studio closed for the day, Beg handed her a photograph.  A boy wearing a graduation cap stood holding his degree up to the camera.

“He has accepted a job through campus recruitment.”, Beg added. Kamol could only smile. She knew she would never learn his whereabouts, let alone an address to write to him.

“Your reports have been getting shorter”, he observed. His vocal cords had grown even raspier in the past months.

“There is nothing new to report yet. Once you get to know a system inside out, it's only the significant changes that are worth mentioning”, Kamol answered blandly.

“Hmm… your work there is almost complete. There is a change of role planned for you.”, Beg began.

Kamol looked up at Beg, noticing the wrinkles around his tired face. All this while, her eyes had been glued to the photo, imagining him waving back at her.

Beg now showed Kamol another photograph of a green-eyed man with unusually long hair. “He will be joining Rehman’s ranks soon.”

“I thought we were done gathering intel? ”, Kamol asked Beg.

“A different team handles the operation.”, Beg explained. “But think of it…It's the perfect opportunity for you.”

Kamol understood the untold words between the lines. Her brother had completed his education. Both parties had upheld their end of the deal. That would mean Kamol would either have to leave Lyari and start a life elsewhere…or …The alternative was worse.

And Beg, having seen many operatives who had become liabilities or potential sources of leaks eliminated, had sworn to save Kamol from that fate.

“Once you become a part of that house, your sole job is to assist him from within. Whatever that may be. Moreover, if he fails in any way, you know what is to be done.”

The price she would pay for her own life and a life with Uzair was steady vigilance over the minutest happenings around them.

“And remember, he has the same instructions for you. The day you let even a single word slip out, that will be the last day you breathe”, Beg informed her with the calmness of reading out the morning news.

Beg stood and extended his hand. Kamol took it without thinking, her feet heavy as stone. She knew she had to protect her place on the shifting chessboard, especially now, with Beg’s illness advancing day by day.

"This is the last time we meet. You now report to a new handler…only via phone”, he added, giving her a slip of paper with a neatly written phone number.

“I will miss you, sir.”, Kamol told Beg sincerely.

“And I will miss my best shagird!”

--------------------------------------------

“Jaldi aagai aap!”, Naieem hollered over the dull thuds of the construction site starting its morning routine. A worker was watering the walls that were built the day before; another was gathering his tools for the day. Kamol stood with Taufeek on the side, deep in discussion as she addressed his queries through quick sketches.

Naieem had seen Kamol pedal her faithful cycle early in the morning from his window and had decided to join her at the site. He was eagerly waiting for the day when she and Uzair would be his neighbours, and he could spend his afternoons in their courtyard instead of the haveli’s.

“Tum aaj bada jaldi jaag gaye ho. Main toh hamesha suraj ke sath site pe aati hoon”, Kamol teased Naieem.

Naieem had taken a keen interest in construction. Even though he had studied physics to design his own range of machine guns, hopefully one day manufacturing those in Rehman’s factory instead of first copies, he maintained that had he been introduced to art in his childhood, he may have become a civil engineer instead. Every time there was any paperwork Rehman needed delivered to Kamol, Naieem would volunteer to hand it over, using the excuse to visit construction sites across Lyari.

Today, Naieem sauntered through the half-built home with Kamol, mapping the drawing he had studied to the actual construction. For weeks he had been reading Kamol’s neat working drawings that Taufeek had pasted on the compound wall for quick access.

“Aapi, ye jagah kuch gadbad nahi hua?” he asked, pointing at a wall that to his eyes did not match the drawings.

“Achcha, bada expert ban gaya hai tu?”, Kamol asked him from the other side. She was examining the tile samples delivered the day before, trying to decide between a shade of yellow and ochre for the floors.

“Taufeek bhai ko btao, kuch toh galati hua hai. Aapke drawing me toh ye deewar nahi hai”, Naieem continued with confidence.

Kamol turned to Naieem, looking at the wall he had been pointing at, and warned him, “Shanti rakho. Sab samjhati hoon.”

When Kamol finished her work, she guided Naieem to the edge of the plot, in the shade of the mango tree.

“Woh ek khufiya kamra hoga. Isliye uska jikr kisi bhi drawing me nahi hai. Sirf taufeek jaanta hai ki site pe kya karna hai. Toh apna mooh band rakhna.”

“Kya jarurat hai?” Naieem was not convinced.

“Rehman bhai ke sath kaam karte ho tum, Naieem. Socho.”, Kamol asked. “Kisi din agar hamla ho jaye, toh chipne ki jagah hai wo. Aur koi aisi file ya saman jo ghar mein pakda na jaein, uske khatir banayi hai jagah”

“Waada karo, yeh kahi nahi dohrana.”, Kamol asked Naieem, without a trace of a joke.

“Mera waada raha. Aapne itna socha hoga,mujhe kabhi laga nahi tha.” For once, Naieem was serious. “Chachu ko pata hai?”

“Haan.Ye idea Uzair ka tha. ”, Kamol answered.

Under the bright yellow lamp on her drafting table, Kamol and Uzair had studied the drawings to add a concealed room accessible from the upper-floor passage. It was a tiny space that could barely hold three people inside, but was totally inconspicuous unless someone decided to measure the building from the outside and the inside and did the math for the missing few feet.

Kamol prayed that like the Beretta she carried every day, strapped to her calf, hidden underneath the flowy salwar, this room too would never need to be used.

--------------------------------------------

“Uzair bhai, saalon laga diye aapne Kamol se ek sidha-sadha haan ugalwane main”, Donga joked loudly as Siyahi refilled their glasses with amber liquid. “Aapne pehle poocha nahi? Ki Kamol mana karte rahi?”

The group was at Siyahi and Shagufta’s house, spread out over charpais and odd chairs after a hearty meal. Once a month, the gang, with their spouses and, in Donga’s case, his sister, would meet for dinner, chatting late into the night and playing carrom or cards.

“Donga bhai, thoda aarma se”, Shagufta complained. “Beta so gaya hai mera. Agar aapke awaj se uth gaya na, toh aap hi sulana phir use”

“Maaf karna”, Donga whispered in a comedic tone, while the group descended into giggles further.

“Haan toh, btao Uzair bhai, konsa jadu kaam kar gaya”, now Siyahi had joined the teasing.

Uzair only laughed, and pulling Kamol under his arm said, “Ye toh aap Kamol se puch lo. Haan,usne kahi hai.”

“Tumne pucha nahi tha. Seedhe faisla sunaya tha. Bhool gaye?”, was Kamol’s witty retort.

Each week, Kamol found it harder to keep her cheerful mask in place. Outwardly, she stayed sharp and witty, but inside, her nerves twisted tighter. Their love, true to the core, was built on a foundation of half-truths.

Later that night, Shagufta and Kamol lounged on the balcony, sipping Coca-Cola and laughing until their sides ached at the tiniest jokes. Kamol realised how deeply Lyari, the gang, and her work had rooted themselves in her life. The same work that had saved her brother from death had also gifted her a family beyond blood.

“Kya soch rahi ho, Kamol?” Shagufta asked her as she munched on a handful of masala peanuts. “Bas yuhi, soch rahi thi ghar ki chaat sloping rahne de ya use badal ke flat bana de,” she lied smoothly.

“Tere sir mein aur kuch chalta bhi hain architecture chod ke?”, Shagufta laughed.

“Aur coke le ke aati hoon. Tumhe chahiye?” asked Kamol as she headed inside.

As Kamol walked inside, a large body bumped into her.

“Kamu…”, a staggering Uzair almost fell over her.

“Are, thik ho? Aaj kitni pi hai?” Kamol asked, catching him before he stumbled.

Uzair laughed. “Aaj sirf piya nahi...”

“Matlab?”, Kamol feared the worst.

“Are bhabhi... aaj bhai ne thodi powder soongh li hai”, Mukka called out from across the room, where he was lying on the sofa, wasted.

Grabbing Uzair by the shoulders, her own glass forgotten in the commotion, she pushed him onto the nearest chair.

“Meri taraf dekho.” Kamol held his face, looking into his eyes to find them rimmed with red, puffy around the edges. “Sach batao, tumne drugs li?”

“Bas thodi si-” he mumbled with an embarrassed grin. “Pehli baar try kiya hai Kamu-” Uzair tried to get up from the chair to hug her. He failed at both miserably, his legs wobbling before he fell back. “Mukka ne dare de diya.”

“Ek baar kaafi hai chaska lagne ke liye.” She scolded, “Aur ye kaisa bachpana hai, ki dare pe tumne drugs le liye? Akal kaha gayi tumhari? ”

“Maaf kar de na”, Uzair pleaded, his head pounding from the drugs in his system. “Jaanta hu, galti ho gayi. Dobara nahi hoga.”

“Apni jaan ki keemat jaante ho?”, Kamol asked.

By then, Donga, Siyahi and Shaqeel had abandoned their game of cards. They had never seen Uzair and Kamol fight. Their quarrels were always handled in private with dignity.

“Har roz darr lagta hai tumhare liye.  Aur, tum…”, Kamol now looked into Uzair's eyes, disbelief at this act shining; her volume had shrunk back to its normal level,  “Tum khud apni jaan se khel rahe ho? ”

Even in his drug-induced high, Uzair realised this was not about the drugs. There was something in her voice that frightened him more than her shouting. This was not about tonight.

“Tum kyu nahi samajhte Uzair? Na mere Aai-Abbu rahe, na Yesaj-”, words stuck in her throat. “Sirf tum bache ho mere paas.”

From within the house, the faint cry of a child waking up could be heard. Without a word, Shagufta had gone inside to console her wailing son.

“Waada karo Uzair. Dobara kabhi drugs nahi loge. Apni jaan daaw pe nahi lagaoge.”

“Kamol, kal baat karte hai”, Uzair said, rubbing his temples to ease the throbbing pain. By now he had managed to stand on his own two feet. “Please, sab dekh rahe hain”

“Kal?” she spoke quietly, her eyes full of desperation,  “Ye baat kal tak ruk sakti hai?”

“Kamu... kya hua hai?”

Kamol gazed at him for a long moment. She had traded away her freedom to save Yesaj, chosen silence to build a life with Uzair, and now here he was, willing to risk everything for a fleeting high. For the first time since loving him, Kamol saw the boundaries of what she could bear.

“Kya kar rahi ho?”, Uzair asked Kamol when she started pulling off the gold band he had placed on her finger. And moving closer to him, she placed the band in the chest pocket of his kurta, fastening the button on it, in the hope that he would not lose it.

Uzair stared at Kamol. The fog in his mind cleared slightly. Whatever argument they were having, this was entirely different.

“Jab apni zindagi ki keemat samjhoge, tab aana mere paas.”

And Kamol walked out of Siyahi’s house with her head held high, leaving behind the man she loved to grapple with reality.

--------------------------------------------

Donga was the first to inquire if she was okay the very next morning. Peeping from the window next to the door, hoping to catch her at home. But Kamol had already left for the day.

Apart from her site visits, Kamol barricaded herself in her apartment, refusing to open the door to anyone. Uzair came by again and again. He pleaded for a conversation; when that failed, he threatened to break down the door. But he could never bring himself to do it.

When he gave up his silent vigil at her door, he called her on her mobile. After the first few unanswered calls, Kamol had picked up, “Agar koi mar gaya hai, toh hi phone karna”

Yet, despite her anger, Kamol never allowed Taufeek to halt the construction of their house. The slab was cast on schedule, the next floor rose steadily. The building grew, even as a crack widened between them.

--------------------------------------------

Life was moving at an unmatched pace. Mr Beg had passed away from his cancer.

The janaza was the first time Kamol had seen the inside of Beg’s villa, rather than the grounds and the outhouse studio. Anayat, Yusuf and her past colleagues sat with Mrs Beg in Beg’s studio, offering their condolences.

“He had a special place for you in his heart”, Mrs Beg had told Kamol.

Kamol felt orphaned in the truest sense. Beg had filled the emptiness her parents left behind. Now, grief pressing in, she knew it was time to dial the number on the slip of paper.

For three nights the slip of paper remained untouched inside her drawer. Every time Kamol lifted it, she imagined Beg's tired smile instead. On the fourth morning, she finally dialled the number.

“Hello?” Kamol started tentatively.

“We will keep it short. You must keep up your fight with Uzair for some more time.”, a deep male voice instructed from the other side. “Let’s use it to our advantage.”

She replayed the voice in her mind, again and again. It held the commanding weight of someone she might have known, though memory refused to yield a name.

--------------------------------------------

Rehman and Ulfat could no longer bear to watch Uzair’s brokenness. He moved through his work at the factory and in Rehman’s political circles like a machine. Once the heart and soul of the gang, he now drifted in silence.

They had questioned everyone present that night at Siyahi’s place - only to encounter vague answers that protected Uzair from his slip of character. In the end, Shagufta had relented, narrating to Ulfat quietly over a cup of tea the scene that had transpired.

“Kamol sahi hai Uzair.” Ulfat’s calm voice carried over the cold morning air, while Rehman regarded him silently, disappointed with his brother for the very first time.

“Jaanta hoon,” Uzair replied, his voice weighed down. He gazed at their house—the only proof that Kamol still cared, a fragile thread of hope. She had not changed the roof design, after all.

“Lekin woh baat karne se inkar kiye ja rahi hai.”

--------------------------------------------

Kamol was staring at Yesaj’s photograph when she heard a silent tap on the glass window beside the door. She hastily hid the photograph under her recent sketches for the housing project Rehman wished to start.

It was Naieem.

“Socha dekh loon aapke ghar mein aisa kya hai, jo chachu apna haveli ka bada kamara chod ke aapke sath rehne aate hai”, Naieem smiled at Kamol.

“Aao, baitho. Chai banati hoon”, she masked her surprise well enough.

Kamol turned towards the counter, unsure of what to say to Naieem. It was the first time he had visited her tiny place. When she returned to the diwan with piping-hot cups of tea, Naieem was observing the sketches that filled her desk and walls.

“Filhal kuch naya project hai?”, he asked, taking the cup of tea from Kamol.

“Ek housing project hai.”, Kamol told him quietly.

“Aap bas chachu ko aur ek mauka do.” Naieem was never the one to beat around the bush. “Kam se kam unki baat toh sun lo.”

Kamol did not answer.

“Galati unki hai, main bhi maanta hoon, aapi. Lekin saja toh tum dono kaat rahe ho.” Naieem’s logic was bulletproof.

“Promise me, you will talk to him”, he pleaded.

“Thik hai, Naieem. Sirf tumhare khatir.”

“Aap janti nahi, aapko milne se pehle Ammi ne kitne rishte laye the chachu ke liye. Wo hamesha mana karte rahe.” Kamol knew the heaviness of her decision to push Uzair away. She had learned to live with many bitter truths , but she would not see him spiral. She was selfish enough to want his body and mind with her.

Relieving the tension in the room, Naieem brandished Yesaj’s graduation picture at her. “By the way, ye photo kiski hai? Aapka bhai?”

“Haan.” Kamol’s mechanical answer slipped out before she could stop herself.

“Mujhe hamesha se laga wo aapse chota tha. Ye toh photo kaafi purani lagti hai-”, he had presumed the regularly handled tattered edges for age. “Khair…”

“Main chalta hoon. Parso mere dost ke walime mein jana hai. Tohfa kharidne ka bahana banakar aapse milne aya tha.” he smiled, “Ab asli tohfa  leke phir ghar jana padega.”

“Bye, Naieem.” She waved from her balcony.

Kamol managed a smile for Naieem, though her heart pounded wildly. As soon as she locked the door, she burned Yesaj’s photo—something she should have done long ago. Then, with trembling hands, she called her handler.

As the call disconnected, Kamol remained seated beside the dead phone for a long time. It was the same helplessness she had felt years ago, when another stranger had first offered her a bargain she could not refuse.

--------------------------------------------

Kamol remembered the day she had signed over her fate to RAW with stark clarity.

She had been relaxing with her friends in her hostel room after a tough exam, handing out sweets her mother had sent a week earlier, when the warden called Kamol over with a grim expression. She had boarded the first bus out of Karachi, hands shivering all the way through the journey.

A middle-aged doctor had stepped out of the ICU, informing Kamol that Yesaj’s chances of survival were slim, especially in a hospital that barely had enough staff to keep it running, let alone high-tech equipment. Kamol had slumped against the dark hospital corridor, praying for her brother’s life, the image of her parents’ lifeless bodies stamped in her memory.

After Yesaj’s emergency transfer to Islamabad, every door she knocked on closed in her face. NGOs cited funding rules, incomplete paperwork, or refused to help the Baloch. Weeks slipped away with no answer whatsoever while Yesaj’s life was hanging by a thread. Kamol started asking the doctor how long he had.

When an elderly lady arrived, searching for Kamol in the dirty guesthouse where she was lodged, Kamol thought there was hope at last. She was brought to a safehouse and briefed about RAW’s expectations.

The words sounded impossible - surgery, a foreign college and a future for Yesaj. After weeks of closed doors, they had offered her exactly what she needed most. And in return, Kamol was to go back to Karachi University after completing training at a discreet facility. She was to find lodging in Lyari, finish her last year of college and work under Beg, gathering intel in any way Beg deemed correct.

“How do you plan to use the information?”

“That is not for you to know”, she was told by a man with calculated eyes.

Did she trust them? Did she wish to avenge her dead parents? Kamol’s answer was a resounding no. But at that moment, she was desperate to save her brother and secure his future.

“Is this for life?”

The cold, scheming eyes gave nothing away.

“And if I do not get enough intel?”

“There is no such thing as less data. It’s either accurate or false. Get us correct information.”

Chapter 3 is up!

For months, I've eagerly devoured Dhurandhar fanfiction on Tumblr, and now, after much anticipation, I've finally mustered the courage to pen my very first story. So, here it begins!

Introduction :

Remember when Donga tells Hamza while showing him around Lyari, "Aur badle mein hum Lyari ke liye schools, aspatal aur colleges banate hain"? That one line stayed with me for a long time.

As an architect I found myself endlessly curious about the unsung builders behind those schools, hospitals, and colleges. That curiosity clubbed with Danish Pandor's amazing acting skills inspired me to write 'Before the Beginning' a tale set years before Hamza arrives in Lyari, delving into the lives, relationships, and choices that quietly wove the world he would one day inherit. This is set to be a 7 part fic.

Disclaimer:

Before the Beginning is a fanfiction inspired by Aditya Dhar's two-part film Dhurandhar. All canon characters and the world of Dhurandhar belong to their respective creators and rights holders.

This story is an original, non-commercial work created purely for entertainment. While it features real locations and some historical figures, their portrayals, relationships, motivations, and events have been fictionalised for narrative purposes. The appearances and personalities of the characters are heavily inspired by the actors portraying them in Dhurandhar and are not intended to represent their real-life counterparts in any way.

Additional disclaimer: Cultural references could be incorrect. Any cultural references only serve the plot line. There is no intention to hurt any religious or cultural sentiments in any way whatsoever.

I hope this story brings you as much joy in reading as it brought me in dreaming it up. ❤️

Chapter 3 : Lines that cannot be crossed (2003–2004)

“Drugs?” Beg asked, “ Are you absolutely sure, Kamol?”

“I doubt college kids buy talcum powder with such uneasy faces along the shoreline, sir.” Kamol sat once more in Beg’s private office, the air dense with implicit tension.

Alert now, he continued, “This is fresh intel. Until last year, they only dealt in firearms. Is Rehman mixed up in this, or is this Uzair’s turf?”

“I cannot say with certainty. But his closest men know of it, which means Rehman must be aware at the very least, if not directly involved.”

“Hmm. Neither of us can risk gathering more intel at the docks.” Beg’s practicality always prevailed. Sometimes, protecting their identities mattered more than any information. “I’ll pass this on. Maybe HQ can open up other channels.”

“Kamol, hostel ka kaam kaise chalu hai? “, Beg added.

“Design toh pakki ho gayi hai. Thode din me construction bhi karenge shuru”, Kamol answered.

“The design is impressive. I appreciate that every room is unique. Hostelites always resent those identical, soulless spaces,” Beg remarked with genuine approval.

Beg had become her mentor in every way. Every design Kamol created for the people of Lyari first found its way to Beg's desk. For both, it was a way to anchor themselves in reality amid the double lives they lived.

--------------------------------------------

The week slipped by with Kamol glued to her computer screen. She managed to steal a single hour beneath the neem tree’s gentle shade. When Saturday finally arrived, it seemed like a small miracle, granting her an early escape. Kamol paced through Lyari’s busy market, collecting fresh vegetables and fish for the evening.

At exactly 7 pm, a frantic knock pounded her wooden door while the fragrance of fish curry filled her tiny apartment. She opened the door and saw Uzair in a rust-coloured kurta,

“Jaldi nahi khol sakti thi? Donga dekh leta toh?” he exclaimed, quickly getting in and firmly shutting the door. He then closed the curtain on the thin window that looked onto the passage.

“Hello! Pehli baar mere ghar aye ho. Aur harkate toh dekho!” Kamol found Uzair’s antics amusing.

“Tu chahti hai ki Donga bhi aye yahan pe?”, he deadpanned. They were both quite aware that they wanted the evening just for themselves.

“Chinta mat karo. Donga bhai ghar pe nahi hai. Siyahi bhai ke ghar gaye hai.”

“Tuzhe kaise maloom?” Uzair asked suspiciously.

“Shagufta ka phone thodi der pehle aaya tha. Pooch rahi thi ke main bhi aungi ki nahi. Maine use mana kar diya.”

Satisfied that the coast was clear, Uzair settled onto the low seating in Kamol’s house. “Main dar gaya tha. Kahin Donge ko pata chal gaya main yahan hu, toh woh sab ladkon ko factory mein bol dega. Phir meri khair nahi”

“Uzair Baloch aur darpok? Bahar mat pata chalne dena ye baat. Election mein tumhare vote kam ho jaenge.” Kamol laughed as she brought them two glasses of sherbat.

Settling onto the diwan opposite him, she handed the glass to Uzair. “Posters dekhi. Har chaurahe pe zhalak rahe ho tum aur Rehman bhai.”

“Ghatiya photo hai. Gusse wala aadmi lagta hoon.”, Uzair answered honestly, raising the glass to his lips. “Lekin siyasati cheezain Rehman bhai aur Jameel sahab ke mutabik chalti hain”

“Wo chodo, tum batao kaisi ho ? Apna ghar mujhe nahi dikhaogi?”

“Itna hi toh hai mera ghar, Uzair.” Kamol gestured towards the tiny space.

Across from the diwan where they sat, a chair and desk hugged the wall beneath the window. A small kitchen counter stretched along the far end, anchored by an old wooden table that doubled as a dining spot and workbench. Her bedroom was just a cosy nook for a wide single bed and an almirah, separated by a jali wooden screen. The space was tiny, but it was packed with her identity: sturdy shoes lined up by the door, her well-worn site jacket with its many pockets and her satchel hanging from a hook, and the kitchen window bright with pots of lemongrass and jasmine.

Seeing the jasmine, Uzair realised what he had missed. He produced a lightly covered newspaper packet from his pocket. “Tumhare liye”

A delicate gajra of jasmine, threaded with tiny red roses, tumbled out. Kamol’s face broke into a beaming smile.

--------------------------------------------

As Kamol added the final garnishes to the fish curry and rolled out the dough for rotis, Uzair joined her at the wooden bench. “Main kuch kar sakta hu?”

“Please ye kakri kaat do bas.” Kamol handed him a chopping board and knife, turning back to the tawa to flip the roti. As Kamol pulled down plates, Uzair ladled the curry into bowls, and they settled across the wooden bench.

“Waah. Gwadar ke kinaron ki yaad aa gayi. Bahut lazees hai,” Uzair praised, closing his eyes. For a moment, he was back on the peaceful shores of Baluchistan.

“Meri Ammi Gwadar se thi. Ye usi ki khaas recipe hai.”

After a pause of silence, Uzair ventured further, “Kamol, kya main tumhe kuch pooch sakta hu?”

“Ek sawal toh pooch liya tumne, Uzair. Aur ek sahi” Kamol let out a soft laugh, hoping to scatter the tension that had crept between them.

“Lyari me akeli rahti ho. Tumhare Maa-baap ko fikr nahi hoti?”

Sighing deeply, Kamol finished her last bite before raising her exhausted eyes towards Uzair's. “Woh dono is duniya mein nahi rahe,” she told him at last; the words draining the strength from her.

“Kya hua tha Kamol?”

“Baloch hona is mulk mein julm hai Uzair… Aur Marhatta Baloch hona…usse bhi jyada.” Breathing deeply, she continued, “Kya jaante ho Marhatta Balochon ke baare mein?”

Tentatively, Uzair answered, “Hindustan se aye the. 1700’s me jung ke baad unhe qaidi bana kar laya tha Abdali ne. Phir woh hum Balochon me sama gaye.”

“Bas utna nahi, unka mazhab bhi badla. Rato raat Hindu se Islam ho gaya. Agli saari peedhiyon ne Islam ko apana mazhab mana hai.”

Uzair waited patiently.

Slowly she continued, “Gunah bas itna hai ki hum apne purkhon ko bhoolna nahi chahte. Aur ye waada nibhane se saal mein ek baar…sirf ek baar…Hinglaj Mata ki Yatra jate hai.”

“Aur?”

“Us saal, ISI walon ne firing ki thi, jab mere Aai aur Abbu yatra pe the. Mera chota bhai bhi unke sath tha. Us din yatra pe gaye, sau log maare gaye. Main yahan college mein thi. Imhetaah chal rahe the, isliye ja nahi paayi.”

“Kabhi kabhi lagta hai shayad me bhi us din waha hoti, toh aaj ye dard nahi hota.”

Across the table, Uzair sat stunned. Words deserted him, so he simply reached out and held Kamol’s hand in a steady, warm grip. He saw the pain she concealed under her iron resolve and realised just how much she had borne alone for years.

After a few moments, Kamol pulled herself together. “Meetha lati hoon. Halwa banaya hai”

Uzair resolved not to ask Kamol any further questions about her family. He recognised the pain she kept carefully hidden. He had devoted years to doing the same.

As she served him halwa, he gently steered the conversation to her recent projects, and their evening drifted into lighter waters.

--------------------------------------------

Uzair spoke about the philanthropic projects he and Rehman hoped to launch after the elections. He disliked politics, but if it could improve life in Lyari, he considered it a necessary compromise.

As Uzair donned his jacket and stepped out of Kamol’s house, she requested, “Uzair, jo maine tumhe bataya woh aaj tak kisi aur ko bataya nahi tha. School aur college ke sabse kareeb doston ko bhi nahi. Is mulk me Kafir ke himayati kehlana bhi jaan lewa hai.”

She sighed, finally meeting his eyes, “Tum ab aawam ke nazar mein ho. Kahi ye baat bahar aa gayi, toh tumhe bhi khatra hoga.”

Uzzair could not believe the extent to which Kamol had gone to safeguard her near and dear ones. And now, instead of feeling light-hearted to have revealed this jarring truth, she was worried for him.

“Kamol…”, he said, holding both her hands in his large warm ones, “Ye raaz hamare beench rahega. Chahe kuch bhi hojaye. Mera waada raha”

Kamol looked up into his eyes. She searched his face for just the slightest trace of wavering. And, finding only honesty, she moved into his arms, seeking the comfort that beamed from his promise.

The operative in her recognised the gesture, but what startled her was that, for once, it was not a cover story. This was her own truth.

Pulling her close, Uzair murmured into her hair; the gajra he had brought for her tickled his chin from its place in her plait. “Tum akeli nahi ho. Yaad rakhna.”

--------------------------------------------

Both Kamol and Uzair continued their lives, each fighting battles on two fronts. For Uzair, it was the world of firearms and politics; for Kamol, it was Beg’s studio and her hostel project. They kept up their weekly phone calls and sometimes managed hurried cups of tea between work. When the rains reached their peak in August, Uzair would drop her at Beg’s studio whenever he could, having abandoned his own bike for the season. Their meetings turned into a careful dance: Kamol would walk to the corner of her lane, umbrella in hand, pretending to hail a rickshaw, while Uzair’s pickup truck waited just out of sight from Donga’s windows. He would drop her a lane away from Beg’s studio. Uzair hated the secrecy, but knew it was the only way to keep her safe and their visits hidden from Donga and,by extension, Rehman.

Kamol’s skills sharpened with each succeeding week. Her drawings grew neater, her work faster; she could now spot problems before her sketches even became detailed plans. Her abilities as an operative had grown too. She picked up on the tiniest details in her chats with Uzair. She now knew his schedule, which shopkeepers were loyal to the Balochs, and Uzair’s routine scouting routes around town. Kamol could tell with certainty whether it was a consignment wearing him down or the strain of keeping up appearances for politics, just by the sound of his voice over the phone.

“Tum thik nahi lag rahe, Uzair. Baat kya hai?” Kamol inquired one day.

“Suar Jamli! Aur kya! Siyasat ke liye Rehman bhai ko alag-alag cultural program mein bulate rehte hain. Kabhi koi krida sammelan toh kabhi education pe taqreer karne bulate hain.”, an irritable Uzair exclaimed. He had dropped by for a quick bite of dinner at Kamol’s place right in the middle of the week.

“Aur?” Kamol pressed

“Toh muzhe har jagah jana kyun jaroori hai? Rehman bhai kaafi hain,” huffed Uzair as he hastily took another bite of the fragrant pilaf. “Mujhe asli kaam karna hai. Lyari ke logon ke liye medical camp chal raha hai, uski tyaari karwa rahe hai aspatal ke staff se. Phir agle hafte Africa jane wali consignment hai, woh bahoot badi hai. Uska nafe ka ek hissa yateem-khanee ke liye bhejna hai. Consignment mein deer hui toh woh naafa ghatega.”

“Tum abhi bhi nahi samjhe ki tumhare Suar Jamali ko tum itne kyu jaroori ho?”, Kamol asked the totally clueless Uzair. “Ye saab jo tum kaam karte ho wo Rehman bhai ke hukum pe. Lekin akhirkar Lyari ki awam tumhe bhi utna hi pehchanti hai jitna Rehman bhai ko. Tum agar wahan nahi honge, toh tumhare vote jaroor kaam ho jayenge.”

Uzair remained unconvinced. “Anyways, Lyari ke maidan par ek chota storage aur bachchon ke liye chaaon me baithne ki jaagah banani hai. Ye consignment ka kaam ho jayega toh sath me dekh lenge.”

Uzair had slowly started seeking Kamol's aid in the party's philanthropic works. Keeping his real motives carefully hidden, Uzair argued before Rehman that although Beg's work was respected, Lyari also needed a different perspective. A capable woman working closely with the party's social programs would appeal to voters across the community. Kamol's work with Beg at the children's school had already gained her a reputation for dependability, rendering her an easy choice.

Rehman quietly agreed, citing the fact that Ulfat needed company and help, as she could not manage home, kids, and philanthropic work in parallel.

While Uzair rejoiced that this meant he could spend more time with Kamol, Beg was extremely satisfied with the outcome. Kamol’s reports now included an account of the money being spent on various initiatives around town, which in turn were a clear indication of the fortune the Baloch brothers were amassing through the firearms business.

--------------------------------------------

“Suna hai Lyari mein tumhare charche badh rahe hain”, Naseer asked Kamol one day while he assessed a structurally critical junction.

“Kehna kya chahte ho?” Kamol was quick to catch on to his edged words.

“Rehman Dakait ke kaam mein haath bata rahi ho”, Naseer had now fully turned his chair towards Kamol, “Aur sunneh me aya hai ki Uzair Baloch ke sath rishta hai tera?”

Kamol had known that word would spread soon, even though she and Uzair had tried to be discreet. She soon noticed the studio gradually pulling away from her. Even Yusuf, who had previously been interested in her, now avoided conversation, keeping things strictly professional. He stopped joining Anayat and Kamol for breaks under the neem tree as well. The studio’s once-cheerful atmosphere dimmed whenever she was around, and most people hesitated to share design ideas with her.

“Log kehte hain Beg sir bhi Lyari mein pale badhe hai. Apne dam par padhai kar ke unhone apni taqdeer ko badla, aur apni begum ko le kar shaher ke behtarin ilaqe mein rahne lage.” Kamol had heard Farzana talking in hushed whispers, “Shayad isiliye unhe Kamol se itna lawag hai. Kya fayda lekin? Agar woh ladki Lyari se bahar nikalna khud hi na chahe, toh Beg sir ki uski mentorship fizul hai.”

“Kamol, mat soch iske baare main”, Anayat had assured her, “Log bolte rahenge”

“Haan, lekin main Beg sir ko mushkil main dalna nahi chahti”, was Kamol’s calculated answer. “Aaj mere baare mein baate kar rahe hain, kal agar Beg sir ke baare mein bhala bura kahaan toh unki saalon se kamai izzat mitti me mil jaegi”

Of course, people from respectable houses avoided those from the poorer side of town, especially when said persons were connected to the underground. She realised she would have to take the next step in her cover. A move that was always in the plans, but she was having to press the pedal on it.

--------------------------------------------

Kamol gradually started to let her intentions slip through conversations, bit by bit.

“Aaj kal khush nahi lag rahi tu?”, Donga asked when he was not greeted by Kamol’s usual chirpy self when they passed each other in their building’s staircase.

“Uzair ne tuzhe dard diya hai?”, Donga asked, his voice sinking to a quiet fervour, brotherly warmth oozing from his tone.

“Nahi, bhai. Ye toh office ke masle hai. Dheere dheere hal ho jaege.”

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“Are Kamol, dhyaan kidhar hai tera?” Ulfat scolded. Kamol had messed up the gift packing that they were helping Shagufta with for her son’s birthday. Siyahi had sought Ulfat and Kamol’s help, knowing well that no one from Shagufta’s family would be with her on this joyous occasion.

“Maaf karein, baaji. Mera man thoda chal-bichal hai”, Kamol said as she realised her mistake and began sorting the gifts into the right piles.

“Kaha khoi hoti hai tu aaj kal?”, Shagufta asked, concerned. She had grown to regard Kamol as a sister.

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“Asli baat kya hai ?” Uzair gave Kamol an ultimatum after seeing her unhappy for a few weeks.

They were leaning against Uzair’s bike on the sandy beach at dusk, the sea breeze ruffling their hair, Uzair’s arm around Kamol while they stood covered in her thick shawl.

Sighing, Kamol delivered her final act, “Studio me aur kaam karna nahi chahti.”

“Beg sahab?"

"Kabhi nahi," Kamol replied immediately. "Woh mere ustaad hain.Unke liye mere maan mein sirf izzat hai.”

“Phir?”

“Masla studio ke baaki login se hai”, she looked toward the waves before continuing.

“Lyari ke rehne walon ko apne se kam samajhte hain. Aur jitna main tumhare sath Rehman bhai ke kaam mein haath batati hoon utna woh mujhse baatein kaam karte ja rahe hain.” Kamol said tiredly. “Anayat meri ab bhi dost hai, lekin akhir woh Yusuf ko chahti hai. Galat ko sahi banane, apnon ke khilaf jane walon me se Anayat nahi”

“Beg sahab ka kya kehna hai? Woh is problem se guzar chuke honge apni begam ke liye.”

“Abhi tak maine unse is baare main baat nahi ki hai. Aur Uzair- “, she turned to look at his profile, “Hamare baare mein bhi mujhe tooka ja raha hai”

“Mera bas chale toh main un kameeno ko apni jagah dikh du.”, Uzair exclaimed angrily before controlling his rage, “Tum kya chahti ho, Kamol?”

“Lyari ke logon ke liye kiya kaam mujhe khushi deta hai…” This was an honest answer to her core, with no bearing on her background as an operative.

“Aur?”

“Main tumse door rehna nahi chahti.”

Uzair was taken aback by her jarring honesty. He had come to realise that Kamol did not easily open up about her feelings but expressed them in subtle ways. Her confession matched his growing feelings.

Turning in the cocoon of the shawl, Uzair pulled Kamol into his arms, resting his forehead against hers in the lonely evening.

Kamol realised that her second answer, although a calculated move, resonated with her feelings. If she decided to ignore the blatant criminal background, Uzair was a good person at heart. He was genuine, cared deeply for the people of Lyari, and made her laugh on tiring days. Had they been two people in any other situation, she knew falling for him would be as natural as breathing.

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The hostel project Kamol was working on was nearly complete. Khan sahab’s brother, Taufeek, had joined him and taken up the construction. The adobe hostel rooms stood like gentle guardians. Each room’s windows opened onto a large light well but never faced each other directly. Every room had a peaceful study nook; the communal bathrooms with skylights promised sunlit, hygienic spaces; and a small game room waited for laughter-filled nights.

On that evening, as Kamol left the site on her cycle, having checked the last of the works underway before the handover, she realised she had taken the wrong lane to return to her apartment. This route would take her home in a shorter time, but it crossed through Arshad Pappu’s side of town.

Kamol looked over her shoulder. She was already halfway down this route; she could risk it once.

She could not have been more mistaken.

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Uzair was pacing the passage in front of Kamol’s door. The door had stood firmly shut even after his incessant banging, only for him to see the fat paddle lock.

Uzair had long since given up his attempts to keep his visits to Kamol hidden from Donga. Those had been utterly fruitless. Donga was, instead, profusely warned about breathing any word back to Rehman Dakait, only to have Donga answer with calm nonchalance, “ Uzair bhai, aapko lagta hai ki Rehman bhai ko pata nahi? Aur unhe kuch aitraz hota toh woh aapko khud nahi batate?”

Donga’s logic could not be fought with.

After about ten unanswered calls and absolute uncertainty about his following steps, Uzair saw Kamol turning the corner of the lane. She was now walking slowly, rolling her cycle alongside her, visibly unharmed but looking shaken.

He rushed downstairs, “Kya hua? Kaha thi itni der?”

When Kamol could not muster an answer, Uzair physically grabbed her shoulders, shaking her out of her trance. “Kamol, meri baat sun rahi ho? Kya hua?”

“Kuch nahi Uzair. Main thik hoon.” Kamol mustered the last of her strength, locking her cycle under the stairs and turning towards her apartment door, muscle memory taking over. “Maaf karna, deer ho gayi”

“Jhooth.” Uzair had followed her inside, locking the door behind him as Kamol took off her shoes and kept her bag away, still not meeting his eyes.

“Sach bata. Itni der se teri raah dekh raha hu, ek phone bhi nahi kiya tune. Na jane is waqt me maine kya kya soch liya tha”, Uzair expressed angrily as Kamol had a glass of water, her hands still shaking. “Aur aise lag rahi hai jaise koi jinn dekh liya ho tune.”

“Haan, dar gayi thi main.”, Kamol shouted, angrily slapping the steel tumbler on the counter. Tears making it to the corner of her eyes, yet refusing to fall over.

“Pappu ke aadmiyon ne gher liya tha. Dhamki de ke gaye hain ki galati se bhi unke ilake me wapis dikhi toh shayad ghar na pahuncho.”

With a shaky breath, she wiped her eyes and shot at Uzair, “Aur…daadto tum mujhe ki phone nahi kiya.”

“Pehle hi kahan tha maine tumhe,Kamol. Sambhal ke rehna. Lekin sunti nahi tu mera.”

“Aur Pappu ki toh-” Uzair said, pulling out his gun that was usually discreetly tucked into his waistband.

"- Abhi is masle ko khatam karte hain. Pehle election ke rally pe pathar feenk ki, ab ye-”

“Nahi -”, Uzair was practically out of the door when Kamol found her bearings at last. Pulling him back by the nape of his kurta, she locked the door once again. Pushing him against the wall, “-nahi! Election tumhare sir pe hai, Uzair.”

“Mujhe koi fark nahi padta. Baat jab ‘mere jaan’ ke hifajat ki hai.”, struggling to break free of her hold, “Jaane do mujhe-”

“Abhi tak nahi samjhe tum-”, Kamol was now putting her entire weight against him just to keep him in place. “-yeh tumhe uksane ki strategy hain. Agar tumne ek bhi galat kadam liya toh Rehman bhai ki election me haar pakki hai”

That appeared to calm him. Uzair took deep breaths, the fight in him fading away at the mention of Rehman. He looked down at Kamol, who barely reached his chest, yet had managed to keep him in her apartment, safe from rash decisions.

Throwing his gun onto the diwan, he cupped Kamol’s cheeks, turning her head towards him. “Tumhe kuch ho jata toh?”

“Main yahi hu. Tumhare sath”, Kamol trailed her hands that had been resting on his chest to lovingly caress Uzair’s dark hair. Rising on her tiptoes, she dropped a gentle kiss on his cheek, a gesture of affection they had started as a greeting on the home dinner dates.

“Aaj ye kaafi nahi—” Uzair caught Kamol’s lips. Turning her towards the wall, he poured out his relief of having her back in his arms into a heated kiss.

“I love you,Kamol”, he breathed into her ear when they parted for air. His revelation floated between them.

That night, Kamol sent a single report to Beg: Indecisive, unhinged thinking in stressful situations, lack of understanding of political subtleties, extreme loyalty to Rehman Dakait.

Kamol omitted from her report: Protective, deeply cares for Lyari, loves with his heart and soul, lives for people he loves.

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To be continued...