Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
Summary - Nargis Chaudhary, the daughter of SP Aslam Chaudhary was never even supposed to cross paths with Hamza. Something that starts quietly in secrecy pulls her into a world she was not meant to be a part of. What happens when her father finds out she is in love with a Baloch?
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie - Dhurandhar. The characters in this fanfic are based on the fictional versions depicted in the movie and not the real criminals. All the characters (except Nargis and any other oc) belong to the makers of the movie.]
masterlist
As promised, Aslam managed to find Nargis a job as an English teacher at a private school by evening. He came home early that day with the joining letter in hand. To say she was surprised would be an understatement, she did not think he would actually get her a job without deliberately delaying the search.
âMaine baat ki hai school waalo se, fourth aur fifth class bachon ko padhaogi. Monday se shuru hogi tumhara kaam.â He said while they were having dinner together. âTumhe driver le jayega aur waapas chor dega. Aur kahi nahi ghumna. Theek hai?â
âTheek hai Abbu.â rest of the dinner was continued in silence.
Nargis was a nervous wreck on the day of her joining. She stood in front of the mirror and straightened her suit for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. She checked her appearance one last time before picking up her handbag and heading down.
While climbing down the stairs she saw her father speaking to a young man, who looked about her age.
ââŠ-sahi salamat le aana. Koi masla nahi hona chahiye. Samjhe?â, she heard him saying while the boy said, âJi sahab.â
Aslam notices her coming down, his attention slightly shifting from the boy to her, âNargis, idhar aaoâ
She stepped off the stairs, her gaze briefly flicking to the young man standing with her father before she came and stood beside Aslam. Up-close he looked even younger â looking a little nervous. She studied him for a moment before facing her father.
âYeh Zaid hai, aaj se yeh tumhara driver.â
âJiâ the boy nodded quickly, âAssalamualaikum.â
âWalaikum-assalamâ Nargis replied.
âChalo, gaadi bahar haiâ Aslam continued ,âAur jo maine kaha tha - â he turned towards Nargis, gaze sharpening a little, âWaqt par aajana, bina mujhe bataye kahi nahi jaana.â
âJi abbu.â
He turned back to Zaid, âAur tum â meri baat se hatna mat.â
âJi saab. Madam chalein?â he asked me, slightly stepping aside.
She glanced at her father once more, âKhuda hafiz abbuâ,
âKhuda hafizâ
âChaloâ saying that she moved outside. She could feel her fatherâs gaze on her longer than usual.
She sat in the backseat with hands folded in her lap, observing the road ahead. The car moved smoothly through the morning traffic. Outside, it was loud, vendors calling out, bikes weaving through the rush. People moving with the kind of urgency she wasnât used to.
Her eyes flickered to the driver, observing him. From the way he held the steering wheel to how often his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror; it was obvious he had taken her fatherâs words very seriously.
âtumhara umar kya hai?â She asked him curiously âMain 21 saal ka hoon jiâ
âYe driving ke alawa kuch aur karte ho?â she questioned
âMain actually steel factory mei kaam karta hoon, distance se BA bi kar raha hoon. Aur kabhi kabhi aise kaam bhi kar leta hoon taake ghar waalon ki madad kar saku.â
Nargis leaned her head back against the seat, exhaling quietly.
âMadamâ Zaid spoke, âSchool aa gaya.â
She straightened slightly and reached for the door handle. Before she could step out, she turned towards the driver and said, âShaam ko yahi milna.â
âJi madamâ
âAur ha mujhe baar baar madam mat bulana, ajeeb lag raha haiâ
âJi baji.â
She stepped out, eyes lifting towards the building ahead. It was better than she expected. Clean and structured, a little too polished for its surroundings. High boundary wall, children in neat uniforms moving in small groups.
For a moment she just stood there. Then adjusted her dupatta and moved towards the gate. The guard at the gate glanced at her and immediately straightened. âJi?â
âMain new teacher hoon, aaj join karna tha.â Her voice steady but quieter than she intended.
The guard nodded and stepped aside, âAap andar office mei poochiye.â
Nargis gave a small nod and walked inside. Inside the noise shifted almost immediately. While outside was loud and scattered, here it was contained. Classrooms buzzing with children, a bell ringing somewhere in the distance, footsteps echoing in the corridor. It all felt different. Everything was organized and controlled.
She went down the corridor until she reached a small office. The door was half open. Inside sat a middle-aged woman, who was going through some papers.
âExcuse me,â Nargis said softly. The woman looked up, scanning her before saying âyes?â
âMain Nargis Chaudhary⊠aaj joining hai meraâ she said, holding her bag a little tighter.
Then the womanâs expression shifted slightly âOh. Aapâ She straightened in her chair âJi, hume bataya gaya tha. Please bhaitiye.â She pointed towards the chair in front. Nargis stepped inside and sat down. The woman reached for a folder, looking through it before fishing out a paper.
âAap English padhayengi, yeh hai aapka time table.â She said handing over the paper. Nargis scanned the paper, âPehla din hai toh, thoda hectic hoga. Shuruat aise hi hota hei lekin adjust ho jayega.â Nargis nodded âJiâ
The woman stood up âChaliye, main aapko class dikha deti hoon.â They both stepped out into the corridor together. A couple of students walked past them, their voices quietening down as soon as they noticed them. Though their gaze lingered on Nargis for a moment.
âYahan discipline ko bohot importance di jaati hai.â The woman said casually. Nargis did not respond. She just walked beside her, observing the classrooms, corridors. She felt slightly out of place.
They paused at a door where the label read âclass â 5Bâ.
âYeh aapki pehli class haiâ she said before opening the door and walking in with Nargis following behind. The classroom immediately quietened as they noticed the new presence. All heads turning towards her.
âClassâ the womanâs voice cut through sharply âyeh aapki new English teacher hain.â A weak chorus of uneven and uninterested âGood morning, maâam...â followed. The woman gave her a small nod stepping out, leaving her alone.
âGood morningâ she said, her voice steady. Some greeted back, while most didnât. âMy name is Nargis⊠and I will be teaching you Englishâ. As soon as she turned towards the board, a boy in the back whispered something which was followed by a few giggles. Nargis turned towards them sharply âkya? Kuch funny hai?â
The class went quiet. âNothing maâamâ
She held his gaze for a moment before turning towards the board. The quiet did not last, within minutes voices started rising again â two girls fighting over a book, stationery being dropped somewhere. Students in the back kept talking like she wasnât present.
She tried again her voice little firmer this time âEveryone open your booksâ. Some did, some didnât. By the time the bell rang she wasnât sure if she managed to teach anything.
The rest of the day passed by in a blur.
After the first class there were more classes, more noise, repeating instructions over and over. There were a few students who actually listened to her, few of them just questioned her back. By lunch break, her head started aching. In the staff room, conversations flowed around her. She sat there quietly nodding or speaking only when someone spoke to her, not really joining in any conversation.
She immediately felt relieved when the final bell rang. Her shoulders ached and her mind felt heavier while she packed her bag. As she stepped out, the noise of the street rushed back in. Zaid was already waiting by the car.
âChalein, baji?â she nodded slightly and slid into the passenger seat this time.
The car moved in silence for a while. Nargis leaned her head against the seat, closing her eyes briefly. She exhaled slowly. She noticed Zaid glancing at her every now and then before he finally asked, âPehla din kaisa raha baji?â
Nargis sighed softly answering, âbohot thak gayi mai. Yeh bachche na bilkul sunte hi nahi⊠Zaid raaste mai koi juice shop kuch hai to rok dena. Sir dukh raha hai, kuch thanda peene ka mann kar raha haiâ
âpar baji, sp saab ne - â
âTum bataoge kya unhe? Jo unhe nahi pata, usse kya hoga?â
ââŠtheek haiâ hesitation clear in his voice.
The car came to a halt five minutes later. Nargis looked out to see that they had stopped in front of a shop, the slightly faded signboard read â âAalam juice centreâ. She got out of the car and stepped inside the shop, taking in the atmosphere while going up to the counter where an elderly looking man was seated writing something in his diary. He looked when he sensed her presence.
âBoliye kya chahiye?â
âEk mosambi juice milega?â
âJi, do minute time lagega aap baith jaiye.â
Nargis nodded slightly and seated herself at one of the tables. Her gaze drifting around the shop, it was small, a little worn out but clean enough. There were a few customers scattered around, some talking quietly, others finishing their drinks. A couple of fans rotated above lazily pushing the warm air around. The sweet, fruity smell lingering in the air.
Her eyes fell on a newspaper on the table beside her, she would have ignored it but the picture of her father on it caught her attention. She took the paper to read its contents. âCHAUDHARY ASLAM REAPPOINTED AS SP OF LYARI: WHATâS NEXT?â was written in the headlines, before she could read any further, the cold glass of juice was placed on the table.
âYeh lijiye aapka mosambi juiceâ the older man kept the glass there, giving a small smile.
âShukriyaâ she returned the smile. She folded the newspaper and put it away, picked up the glass and took a sip, chillness running down her throat, she let out a content sigh.
She was totally, mindfully enjoying her sweet treat when -
âArre Hamza!â the older manâs voice carried through the shop warmer than before âKab aye tum?â
Nargis hand stilled around the glass, she looked up to see a man standing in front of the counter. He had his back to her, one hand loosely to his side other hand brushing his hair back â which she noticed was longer than most, falling past his shoulders.
âAalam bhai, kaise ho? Sab khairiyat?â he asked the older man, whose name Nargis now assumed was Aalam. They continued their conversation.
Nargisâ gaze lingered for a moment then dropped back to her glass, she took another sip. A few moments passed by and she lifted her eyes again. He was no longer facing Aalam bhai, he turned around.
Her eyes paused on him for a second longer than necessary.
He didnât look at her, not directly. But something shifted around that space.
She looked away first, finished the rest of her juice. She got up and walked to the counter, âKitne hue?â she asked
âbheesâ
She opened her bag, taking out some money and placed the twenty rupee note on the counter. For a second her hand stayed there, the man was standing beside her. Not too close but not far enough to ignore.
Then she stepped towards the exit, he moved aside slightly to clear her way.
Outside Zaid was waiting inside the car. As she was crossing the street, she couldnât help but turn back to look at the stranger once again only to find him already looking at her. He immediately looked away when she saw him.
She got into the car, closing the door softly.
{A/N :- I apologize if there are any mistakes. Hope ya'll liked it (also sorry if it was boring). I won't be able to update the story for a few days as i have an important exam coming up and then i'll leave for a short vacation. But after that you can expect regular updates. Thank you}
Disclaimer :- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individuals or supporting the real event, this is purely fictional storytelling.
Summary :- A day full of interruptions turns into a night they finally get to keep for themselves.
Word count :- 1.6k words
Warning â heavy tension, suggestive scenes, implied smut.
A/N :- First time writing suggestive content so feedback is welcome (be gentle plz)
1. Morning â Almost Too Far
The rain paints the world in slow strokes, a morning meant for tangled limbs and stolen hours. You wake to the drum of droplets against glass and the heat of Iqbalâs chest pressed to your back, his arm already slung possessively over your waist.
âUth gayi?â His voice is rough, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your kurta to trace the dip of your hip.
You donât answer. Just arch into his touch, a silent go on.
Iqbal doesnât need permission twice. He rolls you onto your back in one fluid motion, his knee coming in between your legs as his mouth crashes into yours. Thereâs no gentleness here, just hunger. His tongue swipes past your lips, swallowing your gasp as his hand palms your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple through the fabric.
âIqbalââ You claw at his shoulders, as heâs already dragging your kurta up, his mouth following the exposed collarbone, the trembling valley between your breastsâ
âIss ghar mein koi uthta bhi hai ya nahi?!â
The shout from Brigadier Jahangir from the living room freezes him mid-motion. His chest heaves against yours, lips still hovering over your perked nipple.
ââŠignore karo,â he grits out, but his fingers dig into your thigh, frustrated.
âSubah ke 8 baj baye haiââ. Yet another scream from the living room.
"Nahi uthi toh pura Ghar sar par utha lenge". You say in a frustrated tone, as you try to wriggle your way out.
He doesnât let go. Not fully. Just sinks his teeth into your neck claiming, before wrenching away with a groan, as he watches you leave.
2. Late Morning â Worse
The kitchen reeks of interrupted desire. Youâre chopping vegetables with unsteady hands when Iqbal steps behind you.
âAkeli ho?â His breath ghosts over your ear as his hands slide around your waist then lower. One palm presses flat to your stomach, pushing you flush against the counterâs edge while the other slips boldly beneath your salwar.
âIqbalâSofia aa jayegiââ
âNahi aayegi,â he murmurs, fingers skimming lower to his desired destination.
You reach back to swat him, but he just laughs softly, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips grazing the delicate skin there as his other hand inches lower, teasing the edge of your underwear. You shiver partly from his proximity, partly from the prospect of getting caught. He must sense it. He chuckles again, low and smug.
"Agar tumhari awaaz sunegi, toh woh zaroor aa jayegi." he murmurs against your ear.
His fingertips press dangerously close to where you ache, but he doesnât give you what you want. Not yet. Just traces slow, torturous circles high enough to make your breath hitch, low enough to leave you squirming.
You bite your lip, nails digging into the countertop. "Bas woâ"
"Nahi," he interrupts, voice low. "Abhi nahi."
And thenâ
Footsteps.
He tears himself away just as Sofia rounds the corner, her eyes flicking between you both. She bows slightly acknowledging Iqbal before turning to you.
 "Bibi, khane mai aur kuch banana baki hai kya?"
Your face burns with embarrassment as you answer.
"Roti bana de zara," you say as you turn to continue your work.
Iqbal steps back, expression schooled into indifference but the look he shoots you promises this isnât over.
3. Before He Leaves â Almost Breaking Point
The doorway becomes a battleground. Iqbal stands at the doorway as he pins you against the wall, one hand cradling your jaw while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.
âAane mein late hoga kya?â you whisper, already breathless.
His answer is a kiss that steals reason, all tongue and teeth and suppressed frustration from hours of interruptions. When he pulls back, his pupils are blown black. âPata nahi".
You whimper, arching into himâ
Thenâ
âAbbu!â
Mehrâs voice snaps the tension like glass. Both of you pull away immediately. Iqbal exhales sharply through his nose before adjusting himself subtly and then smiles at Mehr.
"Allahafiz" he say quietly to both you and Mehr before walking to his car.
4. Night â No More Interruptions
The house finally sleeps. Rain blurs the world beyond your bedroom as Iqbal crowds you against the door the moment it clicks shut.
âAbhi⊠koi disturb nahi karega,â you breathe.
His answering smirk is feral. âPakka?â
You nod.
Thatâs all he needs.
In three strides, he has you on the bed, his body covering yours completely. His mouth is everywhere, your neck, your collarbone, the frantic pulse at your wrist each kiss a brand. When his fingers hook into the waistband of your salwar,Â
ââŠfinally,â you whisper.
He lets out a quiet breath, something more of relief.
âHaan,â he murmurs.
The last coherent word either of you speaks for hours. Dawn finds the sheets tangled at the foot of the bed, your body curled into his, and his arm slung possessively over your waist. The rain has stopped. The world finally feels at peace.
P.s :- The text dividers have been taken from pinterest.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Disclaimer :- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individuals or supporting the real event, this is purely fictional storytelling.
Summary :- A day full of interruptions turns into a night they finally get to keep for themselves.
Word count :- 1.6k words
Warning â heavy tension, suggestive scenes, implied smut.
A/N :- First time writing suggestive content so feedback is welcome (be gentle plz)
1. Morning â Almost Too Far
The rain paints the world in slow strokes, a morning meant for tangled limbs and stolen hours. You wake to the drum of droplets against glass and the heat of Iqbalâs chest pressed to your back, his arm already slung possessively over your waist.
âUth gayi?â His voice is rough, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your kurta to trace the dip of your hip.
You donât answer. Just arch into his touch, a silent go on.
Iqbal doesnât need permission twice. He rolls you onto your back in one fluid motion, his knee coming in between your legs as his mouth crashes into yours. Thereâs no gentleness here, just hunger. His tongue swipes past your lips, swallowing your gasp as his hand palms your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple through the fabric.
âIqbalââ You claw at his shoulders, as heâs already dragging your kurta up, his mouth following the exposed collarbone, the trembling valley between your breastsâ
âIss ghar mein koi uthta bhi hai ya nahi?!â
The shout from Brigadier Jahangir from the living room freezes him mid-motion. His chest heaves against yours, lips still hovering over your perked nipple.
ââŠignore karo,â he grits out, but his fingers dig into your thigh, frustrated.
âSubah ke 8 baj baye haiââ. Yet another scream from the living room.
"Nahi uthi toh pura Ghar sar par utha lenge". You say in a frustrated tone, as you try to wriggle your way out.
He doesnât let go. Not fully. Just sinks his teeth into your neck claiming, before wrenching away with a groan, as he watches you leave.
2. Late Morning â Worse
The kitchen reeks of interrupted desire. Youâre chopping vegetables with unsteady hands when Iqbal steps behind you.
âAkeli ho?â His breath ghosts over your ear as his hands slide around your waist then lower. One palm presses flat to your stomach, pushing you flush against the counterâs edge while the other slips boldly beneath your salwar.
âIqbalâSofia aa jayegiââ
âNahi aayegi,â he murmurs, fingers skimming lower to his desired destination.
You reach back to swat him, but he just laughs softly, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips grazing the delicate skin there as his other hand inches lower, teasing the edge of your underwear. You shiver partly from his proximity, partly from the prospect of getting caught. He must sense it. He chuckles again, low and smug.
"Agar tumhari awaaz sunegi, toh woh zaroor aa jayegi." he murmurs against your ear.
His fingertips press dangerously close to where you ache, but he doesnât give you what you want. Not yet. Just traces slow, torturous circles high enough to make your breath hitch, low enough to leave you squirming.
You bite your lip, nails digging into the countertop. "Bas woâ"
"Nahi," he interrupts, voice low. "Abhi nahi."
And thenâ
Footsteps.
He tears himself away just as Sofia rounds the corner, her eyes flicking between you both. She bows slightly acknowledging Iqbal before turning to you.
 "Bibi, khane mai aur kuch banana baki hai kya?"
Your face burns with embarrassment as you answer.
"Roti bana de zara," you say as you turn to continue your work.
Iqbal steps back, expression schooled into indifference but the look he shoots you promises this isnât over.
3. Before He Leaves â Almost Breaking Point
The doorway becomes a battleground. Iqbal stands at the doorway as he pins you against the wall, one hand cradling your jaw while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.
âAane mein late hoga kya?â you whisper, already breathless.
His answer is a kiss that steals reason, all tongue and teeth and suppressed frustration from hours of interruptions. When he pulls back, his pupils are blown black. âPata nahi".
You whimper, arching into himâ
Thenâ
âAbbu!â
Mehrâs voice snaps the tension like glass. Both of you pull away immediately. Iqbal exhales sharply through his nose before adjusting himself subtly and then smiles at Mehr.
"Allahafiz" he say quietly to both you and Mehr before walking to his car.
4. Night â No More Interruptions
The house finally sleeps. Rain blurs the world beyond your bedroom as Iqbal crowds you against the door the moment it clicks shut.
âAbhi⊠koi disturb nahi karega,â you breathe.
His answering smirk is feral. âPakka?â
You nod.
Thatâs all he needs.
In three strides, he has you on the bed, his body covering yours completely. His mouth is everywhere, your neck, your collarbone, the frantic pulse at your wrist each kiss a brand. When his fingers hook into the waistband of your salwar,Â
ââŠfinally,â you whisper.
He lets out a quiet breath, something more of relief.
âHaan,â he murmurs.
The last coherent word either of you speaks for hours. Dawn finds the sheets tangled at the foot of the bed, your body curled into his, and his arm slung possessively over your waist. The rain has stopped. The world finally feels at peace.
P.s :- The text dividers have been taken from pinterest.
Disclaimer:- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individuals or supporting the real event, this is purely fictional storytelling.
Summary :- On a stormy morning, Major Iqbal insists on going to work despite the heavy rain but for some reason heâs forced to stay back. What follows is an unexpectedly soft day at home, filled with small moments, playful chaos, and quiet warmth.
Rain had been falling all night, steadily like the sky had decided it wasnât stopping anytime soon. You wake up to the sound of it. The windows slightly misted, the air cooler than usual, the faint smell of wet earth drifting inside.
And the other side of the bed, empty. Of course.
You sigh, pushing the blanket aside and stepping out, already knowing where heâd be. Iqbal stands near the mirror, adjusting his watch, uniform crisp as always, as if the storm outside had nothing to do with him.
âAap seriously jaa rahe hai?â you ask, leaning against the doorframe. He glances at you through the mirror.
âOffice hai,â he replies simply.
You walk further in, folding your arms.
âOffice kal bhi hoga,â you say.
âYeh baarish kal nahi hogi.â
He ignores that. Focuses on straightening his sleeve instead.
âAapko dikh nahi raha bahar kya ho raha hai?â you press on.
âRaat se baarish ho rahi hai. Road ka kya haal hogaââ
âManage ho jaayega,â he cuts in calmly.
You stare at him.
âOf course. Aapke liye sab manage ho jaata hai,â you mutter.
He almost smiles. Without responding, he picks up his files and walks past you toward the dining area. You follow behind him quietly.
Sofia is already there, placing a cup of chai in front of him, she nods politely before stepping aside. Iqbal sits, picking up the cup like this is any other morning. Like the sky isnât literally falling outside. Right on cue a loud crack of thunder echoes through the house.
You pause. Look at him. He doesnât react.
âSuna aapne?â you ask.
âHaan,â he replies, taking a sip.
âAur?â
âAur kuch nahi.â
You blink. Before you can respond small footsteps echo behind you.
Mehr appears, rubbing her eyes, hair slightly messy, blanket still clutched in one hand.
âAmmiâŠâ she murmurs. You soften immediately.
âAao,â you say, bending slightly. âUth gayi meri bachchi?â
She nods, then looks toward Iqbal.
âAbbu kaha jaa rahe hai?â she asks. Iqbal glances at her.
âOffice beta,â he replies.
Mehr frowns.
âBaarish ho rahi hai,â she says, like itâs the most obvious argument in the world. You try very hard not to smile.
âExactly,â you say, pointing at her like see?
Iqbal exhales quietly.
âBaarish se kaam rukta nahi,â he says.
Mehr walks closer to him.
âMat jao,â she says simply.
And that makes him pause. Just for a second. He looks at her properly now.
ââŠjaana toh padega,â he says, but itâs softer this time.
Mehr doesnât argue. Doesnât insist. Just nods slowly and sits beside him. Thatâs worse. You watch his expression shift.
Before the moment can stretch a knock comes from the door. Iqbal looks up. His driver stands there, slightly drenched, clearly having rushed.
âMajor sahab,â he says, a bit hesitant.
âSaare rasto par paani bhar gaya hain. Gaadi le jaana mushkil hoga.â
Silence. You raise your brows slowly. Turn toward Iqbal.
âOh,â you say, trying and failing to sound neutral.
âYe toh problem ho gayi.â
He gives you a look. You ignore it.
âAreyy aap fikr na kare,â you add sweetly, turning to the driver.
The driver freezes. Iqbal closes his eyes for a brief second.
ââŠtheek hai,â he says finally, standing up.
âAaj nahi jaa raha.â
You blink. That was easier than expected.
âAchha?â you say, clearly enjoying this.
âAap nahi jaa rahe?â
He gives you a look.
âZyada khush mat ho.â
Too late. Mehr smiles. A proper one this time. And just like that the entire mood of the house changes. The rest of the morning is slower. No rushed footsteps. No constant checking of time.
Instead, Mehr drags him toward the living room.
âAbbu chalo drawing kare,â she says, holding onto his hand.
âMeri shehzadi, office nahi ja raha iska matlab ye nahi ki ghar pe rehe kar file nahi padh sakta,â he replies automatically.
âAaj rehene de, waise bhi bohot dino ke baad aap ghar par hai,â you cut in, dropping onto the sofa. He looks at both of you. Then sighs.
âThik hai, bas thodi der.â
That âthodi derâ turns into much longer. The whole afternoon was spent drawing and playing with little Mehr.
Mehr laughs when the block structure she made collapses.
âAbbu ne giraya!â she accuses.
âMaine haath bhi nahi lagaya tha,â he defends immediately.
âJhoot,â you say from the side.
He looks at you aghast.
âTum bhi?â
You shrug.
âHa toh? Maine dekha aapko.â
He didnât even do anything. But somehow he still loses the argument. At some point, Mehr climbs onto his lap, fully claiming her spot. He adjusts without thinking, one arm steady around her. And for once heâs not in a hurry to move.
By evening, the rain hasnât stopped. If anything, itâs heavier now. Mehr dozes off eventually, right there between both of you. Her head resting partly on his lap.
Sofia quietly brings chai again and places it near you leaving without a word. You pick up a cup and hand the other to him carefully.
âDekha,â you murmur softly, looking toward the window.
âEk din ghar pe rehne se kuch nahi hota.â
He takes the cup.
ââŠhaa,â he says after a pause.
Outside the rain continues, steady and endless.
You lean back slightly, sipping your chai, he does the same. Neither of you speak again. Because you donât have to, the calm feeling in the moment felt more rewarding than anything.
Disclaimer:- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individuals or supporting the real event, this is purely fictional storytelling.
Summary :- On a stormy morning, Major Iqbal insists on going to work despite the heavy rain but for some reason heâs forced to stay back. What follows is an unexpectedly soft day at home, filled with small moments, playful chaos, and quiet warmth.
Rain had been falling all night, steadily like the sky had decided it wasnât stopping anytime soon. You wake up to the sound of it. The windows slightly misted, the air cooler than usual, the faint smell of wet earth drifting inside.
And the other side of the bed, empty. Of course.
You sigh, pushing the blanket aside and stepping out, already knowing where heâd be. Iqbal stands near the mirror, adjusting his watch, uniform crisp as always, as if the storm outside had nothing to do with him.
âAap seriously jaa rahe hai?â you ask, leaning against the doorframe. He glances at you through the mirror.
âOffice hai,â he replies simply.
You walk further in, folding your arms.
âOffice kal bhi hoga,â you say.
âYeh baarish kal nahi hogi.â
He ignores that. Focuses on straightening his sleeve instead.
âAapko dikh nahi raha bahar kya ho raha hai?â you press on.
âRaat se baarish ho rahi hai. Road ka kya haal hogaââ
âManage ho jaayega,â he cuts in calmly.
You stare at him.
âOf course. Aapke liye sab manage ho jaata hai,â you mutter.
He almost smiles. Without responding, he picks up his files and walks past you toward the dining area. You follow behind him quietly.
Sofia is already there, placing a cup of chai in front of him, she nods politely before stepping aside. Iqbal sits, picking up the cup like this is any other morning. Like the sky isnât literally falling outside. Right on cue a loud crack of thunder echoes through the house.
You pause. Look at him. He doesnât react.
âSuna aapne?â you ask.
âHaan,â he replies, taking a sip.
âAur?â
âAur kuch nahi.â
You blink. Before you can respond small footsteps echo behind you.
Mehr appears, rubbing her eyes, hair slightly messy, blanket still clutched in one hand.
âAmmiâŠâ she murmurs. You soften immediately.
âAao,â you say, bending slightly. âUth gayi meri bachchi?â
She nods, then looks toward Iqbal.
âAbbu kaha jaa rahe hai?â she asks. Iqbal glances at her.
âOffice beta,â he replies.
Mehr frowns.
âBaarish ho rahi hai,â she says, like itâs the most obvious argument in the world. You try very hard not to smile.
âExactly,â you say, pointing at her like see?
Iqbal exhales quietly.
âBaarish se kaam rukta nahi,â he says.
Mehr walks closer to him.
âMat jao,â she says simply.
And that makes him pause. Just for a second. He looks at her properly now.
ââŠjaana toh padega,â he says, but itâs softer this time.
Mehr doesnât argue. Doesnât insist. Just nods slowly and sits beside him. Thatâs worse. You watch his expression shift.
Before the moment can stretch a knock comes from the door. Iqbal looks up. His driver stands there, slightly drenched, clearly having rushed.
âMajor sahab,â he says, a bit hesitant.
âSaare rasto par paani bhar gaya hain. Gaadi le jaana mushkil hoga.â
Silence. You raise your brows slowly. Turn toward Iqbal.
âOh,â you say, trying and failing to sound neutral.
âYe toh problem ho gayi.â
He gives you a look. You ignore it.
âAreyy aap fikr na kare,â you add sweetly, turning to the driver.
The driver freezes. Iqbal closes his eyes for a brief second.
ââŠtheek hai,â he says finally, standing up.
âAaj nahi jaa raha.â
You blink. That was easier than expected.
âAchha?â you say, clearly enjoying this.
âAap nahi jaa rahe?â
He gives you a look.
âZyada khush mat ho.â
Too late. Mehr smiles. A proper one this time. And just like that the entire mood of the house changes. The rest of the morning is slower. No rushed footsteps. No constant checking of time.
Instead, Mehr drags him toward the living room.
âAbbu chalo drawing kare,â she says, holding onto his hand.
âMeri shehzadi, office nahi ja raha iska matlab ye nahi ki ghar pe rehe kar file nahi padh sakta,â he replies automatically.
âAaj rehene de, waise bhi bohot dino ke baad aap ghar par hai,â you cut in, dropping onto the sofa. He looks at both of you. Then sighs.
âThik hai, bas thodi der.â
That âthodi derâ turns into much longer. The whole afternoon was spent drawing and playing with little Mehr.
Mehr laughs when the block structure she made collapses.
âAbbu ne giraya!â she accuses.
âMaine haath bhi nahi lagaya tha,â he defends immediately.
âJhoot,â you say from the side.
He looks at you aghast.
âTum bhi?â
You shrug.
âHa toh? Maine dekha aapko.â
He didnât even do anything. But somehow he still loses the argument. At some point, Mehr climbs onto his lap, fully claiming her spot. He adjusts without thinking, one arm steady around her. And for once heâs not in a hurry to move.
By evening, the rain hasnât stopped. If anything, itâs heavier now. Mehr dozes off eventually, right there between both of you. Her head resting partly on his lap.
Sofia quietly brings chai again and places it near you leaving without a word. You pick up a cup and hand the other to him carefully.
âDekha,â you murmur softly, looking toward the window.
âEk din ghar pe rehne se kuch nahi hota.â
He takes the cup.
ââŠhaa,â he says after a pause.
Outside the rain continues, steady and endless.
You lean back slightly, sipping your chai, he does the same. Neither of you speak again. Because you donât have to, the calm feeling in the moment felt more rewarding than anything.
Disclaimer :- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individuals or supporting the real event, this is purely fictional storytellingÂ
Summary :- After a long, exhausting day, Major Iqbal returns home carrying more in his mind than he lets on. Sensing the weight he refuses to voice, his wife gently pulls him out of it. What begins as a simple attempt to distract him turns into a tender moment. For a little while, the world fades away, and Iqbal is left with a single, grounding thought no matter how heavy life gets, he has her.
Word count :- 1.2k words
The house is finally quiet. The kind that settles after a long day, like everything is slowly exhaling. Iqbal sits on the edge of the sofa, shoulders slightly slumped, fingers loosely interlocked, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the room. Heâs been like this since he came home. Present. But not entirely here.
You watch him for a moment from the doorway. The way his jaw tightens unconsciously. The way his thumb keeps rubbing against his knuckle, something he only does when his mind wonât stop.
âIqbalâŠâ
He looks up immediately. That part never changes. No matter how far his thoughts drift he always comes back when itâs you.
âHaan?â His voice is softer now, but tired. You walk toward him slowly, stopping just in front of where he sits.
âKitni der se dekh rahi hoon,â you say, tilting your head slightly.
âGhar aa gaye hai aap⊠lekin dimaag abhi bhi wahin hai.â
A faint, almost apologetic smile touches his lips.
âThoda sa,â he admits.
âThoda sa?â you raise a brow, a small teasing smile forming.
âMujhe lag raha hai pura ka pura wahin reh gaya hai.â
That earns a quiet huff from him. âAadat hai,â he says after a pause.
âBand nahi hoti itni easily.â You nod. Of course it doesnât. His life doesnât allow easy switches. But still you step a little closer.
âAaj ke liye try kijiye,â you say gently.
âBas thodi der ke liye. Mujhe de dijiye.â He looks at you, confused for a second.
âKya?â
âYeh sab,â you gesture vaguely toward his head, his thoughts, the weight sitting on his shoulders. âWorries. Stress. Sab.â A pause. Then a small, tired smile.
âTum le logi?â he asks quietly.
âMain sambhaal lungi,â you reply just as softly. Something in his expression shifts. You extend your hand toward him. âUthiye.â He glances at your hand. Then back at you.
âKyun?â There's the faintest hint of suspicion now. âBas uthiye,â you insist, a little grin slipping through. He exhales softly but places his hand in yours anyway. You pull him up. He stands close now. For a second, neither of you says anything.
Then, softly almost like youâre testing the air you begin:
âaapki aankhon mein kuchâŠâ
He freezes.
ââŠmehke hue se raaz haiâŠâ
Your voice isnât perfect. It doesnât need to be. Because this isnât performance. Itâs home.
Iqbal watches you, something softer replacing the tension in his eyes.
âYeh kya kar rahi ho tum?â he asks, but thereâs no real resistance in his voice. You smile, stepping closer.
âAapko distract kar rahi hoon,â you say simply.
âCooperate kijiye, Major sahab.â That almost makes him laugh.
âaapse bhi khoobsuratâŠâ
You gently take his other hand, placing it at your waist. He stiffens for a second. Then relaxes.
ââŠaapke andaaz haiâŠâ
âMujhe dance nahi aata,â he murmurs.
âJhoot,â you say immediately.
âBas try nahi karte aap.â
You sway slightly, guiding him with you. At first, he follows awkwardly. But then slowly he adjusts. His grip steadies. His steps match yours. And for the first time since he walked in he looks present.
âLab hile toh mogre keâŠâ
You tilt your head, smiling up at him.
âDekha?â you whisper.
âAap ghar par aa chuke hai, bas yaha dhyan dijiye ab.â
He lets out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.
âHaan,â he says softly. The room feels smaller now.
âPhool khilte hai kahinâŠâ
You rest your head lightly against his shoulder for a moment as you sway.
âHar baar itna hi mushkil hota hai?â you ask quietly.
âYeh sab chhod ke aana?â He doesnât answer immediately.
âHar baar,â he admits after a pause. You nod, like you expected that. Then you lift your head, meeting his eyes again.
âToh har baar main hoon na,â you say simply.
âAapko yaad dilane ke liye ki aap sirf Major nahi hai, mere shauhar, Mehr ke aabu bhi hai.â
Something in his gaze softens completely this time. No walls, no distance just him and you. He adjusts his hold on you slightly, pulling you a little closer just enough to say:
stay.
And you do. The song fades into a quiet hum on your lips. The movement slows. But neither of you stop. Because itâs not about the song anymore. Itâs about this small, stolen moment where nothing else exists.
After a while, you go quiet. But he doesnât let go.
âContinue karo,â he murmurs.
You smile softly. âAap sun rahe the?â you tease.
âHar shabdh,â he replies. Thereâs a pause. Then, quieter, more honest than beforeâ
âMain lucky hoon,â he says. You blink, slightly surprised.
âKis baat ke liye?â He looks at you like the answer is obvious.
âTumhare liye, ki tum mere saath ho.â
You donât respond immediately, because some things donât need words. So you just rest your forehead lightly against his. And for once he doesnât think about anything else. Not work. Not responsibilities. Not the weight he carries outside these walls. Just this. Just you.
And the quiet realization that no matter how heavy the world gets, he has somewhere to come back to. Someone. And maybe thatâs enough.
A/N :- I was initially going to post âJo Reh Gayaâ pt 2 but then I felt like it needed more work so I posted this instead. Also would yaâll be interested in reading a Siyahi x reader fic, i have a basic outline of how i want the story to go but idk if people would actually read it, so please do tell me if yaâll would be interested. Enjoy <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Disclaimer:- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individual or supporting the real events, this is purely fictional storytelling.
Summary :- Iqbal takes on a task far more difficult than anything heâs faced beforeâbraiding Mehrâs hair. What starts as a clumsy attempt quickly turns into something softer, filled with quiet determination, small laughter, and unspoken tenderness. In the middle of the mess, the three of you find a moment that feels like home.
Word Count :- 1.6k words
Iqbal had faced interrogation rooms, gunfire, and men twice his size without flinching.
This, howeverâ
âSeedha baitho, Mehr,â he muttered, already sounding like he regretted whatever decision had led him here.
Mehr sat cross-legged on the floor between his knees, her back to him, hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders. For once, she was relatively still, though the occasional sway of her head made his job infinitely harder.
âAap kya kar rahe ho?â she asked, craning her neck to look back at him.
âChoti,â he replied shortly.
She blinked. âAapko aati hai?â Iqbal paused. Just for a second. Then, with complete confidence that he did not possessââAati hai.â
From across the room, you nearly choked. You were leaning against the cupboard, watching the entire scene unfold with very little intention of interfering. Thisâthis was far too entertaining.
Mehr seemed satisfied with his answer. âAmmi do banati hain,â she informed him helpfully, holding up two fingers. Iqbal stared at her hair. Then at his hands. Then back at her hair.
âDekhenge,â he said.
That did not sound convincing.
He gathered her hair together awkwardly, fingers fumbling slightly as he tried to separate it into sections. It didnât help that her hair was soft, slipping through his grip like it had no intention of cooperating.
âHilna mat,â he warned.
âMai nahi hil rahi!â she protested immediately, while very much moving.
He exhaled sharply. This was ridiculous. Carefully, he divided her hair into three uneven sections, holding them like they might disappear if he loosened his grip.
âAb kya?â he muttered under his breath.
You pressed your lips together, watching. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. One section slipped free. Then another.
âMehr,â he said, patience thinning, âseedha baitho.â
She huffed. âAapko nahi aati.â That did it. Iqbalâs grip tightenedânot enough to hurt, but enough to show heâd taken that personally.
âAata hai,â he repeated, quieter this time. More stubborn. You raised an eyebrow. Oh, this was going to be good. He tried again, slower this time. Crossing one section over the other, then pausing like he needed to mentally process what came next. His fingers were too big, movements too stiff, nothing about this was natural for him.
âAbbuâŠâ Mehr started again.Â
âChup,â he said automatically, though there was no real harshness in it. She fell silent for approximately three seconds.
Thenâ
âAmmi jaldi karti hain.â
From your spot, you couldnât hold it in anymore, you laughed. Soft, but unmistakable. Iqbal didnât turn immediately. But you saw it, the slight clench in his jaw.
âHasne ki zarurat nahi hai,â he said flatly. You pushed off the cupboard, walking over slowly. âMain toh bas dekh rahi hoon.â
âDekhiye,â he replied shortly, not looking at you. âSeekh raha hoon.â
That made you pause. Something about the way he said it, quiet, almost defensive. Not irritation. Just⊠intent. You softened slightly.
Mehr, completely unaware of the shift, tilted her head again. âTight mat karna.â
âHilna mat,â he shot back.
You crouched down beside them now, close enough to see the mess heâd created. Three sections, yes. But none of them even. And somehow heâd already managed to tangle one into the other. You bit back another smile.
âDikhao,â you said gently, reaching forward. His hands stilled immediately. For a moment, you thought heâd let you take over.
Insteadâ
âNahi,â he said. Not harsh. Just firm.
âMai karunga.â
You leaned back slightly, surprised. Iqbal rarely insisted on things like this. But there was something in his expression now focused, almost stubborn in a quiet way that made you stop.
âAchha,â you said, lifting your hands in surrender. âKijiye.â
Mehr seemed amused by this shift in power.
âAapko nahi aati,â she repeated, sing-song now.
Iqbal didnât respond. He just adjusted his grip, starting again. This time slower. More careful. Crossing one section over the middle, then the other. Then again. It wasnât neat. Not even close. But it was⊠something.
You watched the way his fingers moved now, still unsure, but deliberate. Like he was memorizing the motion with each attempt.
Mehr, for once, stayed still. Maybe she sensed it too. Or maybe she was just curious to see how badly this would turn out. A few strands slipped loose again. Iqbal didnât stop. He just gathered them back in, adjusting awkwardly.
You could see the effort now. Not just in the braid. But in him. This wasnât about hair anymore. It was about trying. And for a man like him, that mattered more than getting it right.
âHo gaya?â Mehr asked after a while.
âBas,â he said, though it clearly wasnât.
One last attempt. He secured the end with a band, fingers fumbling slightly before finally managing it.
Thenâ
he leaned back. A small exhale leaving him. Done. Mehr immediately reached back, trying to feel it.
âRuko,â you said, gently catching her hand. âSheeshe mein dekhte hain.â
You stood, guiding her toward the mirror. Iqbal stayed where he was for a second. Watching. Not moving. You positioned her in front of it, adjusting her shoulders slightly.
âDekho.â
Mehrâs eyes lit up instantly.
âDo choti nahi hai,â she pointed out.
âHaa ek hi hai,â you agreed softly. She tilted her head, examining it from one side. Then the other. It was uneven. A little messy. Strands sticking out where they shouldnât.
Butâ
âAcchi hai,â she decided finally, with complete certainty. Iqbalâs gaze shifted. Just slightly. You looked at him through the mirror. He was already looking. Not at the braid. At her. And something in his expression softened. In that quiet, almost invisible way he had.
âHaan?â he asked, voice low. Mehr nodded enthusiastically. âHaan!â That was enough. More than enough.
You turned back to him, a small smile tugging at your lips.
âBura nahi tha,â you admitted. âThodi aur practice karni padegi.â He exhaled quietly, something close to amusement flickering across his face.
âZarurat nahi,â he said. âAgli baar do banaunga.â
You blinked. Mehr gasped. âSach?â He nodded once. Bas. Decision ho gaya. You laughed, shaking your head. âDekhte hain.â Mehr ran off before anything else could be said, already calling out to Sofia and Bashir to show them her hair.
Her voice faded down the hallway. Silence settled in her place. You stayed by the mirror. Iqbal was still sitting on the floor. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you walked back over, stopping in front of him. You looked down at him, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
âChoti tedhi thi.â
He didnât even react properly. Just glanced up at you, expression flat.
âHaan toh?â
A beat.
âMeri Mehr ko pasand aayi.â
The way he said it,so matter-of-fact, so sure, made something in you give way. A small laugh slipped out before you could stop it. You shook your head, stepping closer.
âAap bhi naâŠâ
And before he could respond, you lowered yourself, settling into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He stiffened for half a second. Then didnât move at all. You reached for his hand, turning it slightly, inspecting his fingers like you were genuinely evaluating his âskills.â
âKoi nahi,â you murmured, softer now. âMain sikha dungi.â
He huffed quietly. âZarurat nahi hai.â
You glanced up at him, a small challenge in your eyes.
âSeekhenge nahi toh aur tedhi banayenge.â
âPhir bhi pasand aayegi use.â
That made you pause. Then your expression softened completely this time. You leaned in, pressing a brief, quiet kiss against his cheek.
âPhir bhi,â you whispered, pulling back slightly, âseedhi banana seekh lijiye.â
âHmm..dekhte hai kitni acchi teacher ho tumâ he said as he rested his hand more firmly against yours now.Â
A/N :- no thoughts head empty just Iqbal trying to braid his daughterâs hair and taking it way too seriously. Had this idea in my head for a while now so just wrote it.
Disclaimer:- The fic is about the fictional version of Major Iqbal (played by Arjun Rampal) not the real life person. I am not romanticizing the real individual or supporting the real events, this is purely fictional storytelling.
Summary :- Iqbal takes on a task far more difficult than anything heâs faced beforeâbraiding Mehrâs hair. What starts as a clumsy attempt quickly turns into something softer, filled with quiet determination, small laughter, and unspoken tenderness. In the middle of the mess, the three of you find a moment that feels like home.
Word Count :- 1.6k words
Iqbal had faced interrogation rooms, gunfire, and men twice his size without flinching.
This, howeverâ
âSeedha baitho, Mehr,â he muttered, already sounding like he regretted whatever decision had led him here.
Mehr sat cross-legged on the floor between his knees, her back to him, hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders. For once, she was relatively still, though the occasional sway of her head made his job infinitely harder.
âAap kya kar rahe ho?â she asked, craning her neck to look back at him.
âChoti,â he replied shortly.
She blinked. âAapko aati hai?â Iqbal paused. Just for a second. Then, with complete confidence that he did not possessââAati hai.â
From across the room, you nearly choked. You were leaning against the cupboard, watching the entire scene unfold with very little intention of interfering. Thisâthis was far too entertaining.
Mehr seemed satisfied with his answer. âAmmi do banati hain,â she informed him helpfully, holding up two fingers. Iqbal stared at her hair. Then at his hands. Then back at her hair.
âDekhenge,â he said.
That did not sound convincing.
He gathered her hair together awkwardly, fingers fumbling slightly as he tried to separate it into sections. It didnât help that her hair was soft, slipping through his grip like it had no intention of cooperating.
âHilna mat,â he warned.
âMai nahi hil rahi!â she protested immediately, while very much moving.
He exhaled sharply. This was ridiculous. Carefully, he divided her hair into three uneven sections, holding them like they might disappear if he loosened his grip.
âAb kya?â he muttered under his breath.
You pressed your lips together, watching. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. One section slipped free. Then another.
âMehr,â he said, patience thinning, âseedha baitho.â
She huffed. âAapko nahi aati.â That did it. Iqbalâs grip tightenedânot enough to hurt, but enough to show heâd taken that personally.
âAata hai,â he repeated, quieter this time. More stubborn. You raised an eyebrow. Oh, this was going to be good. He tried again, slower this time. Crossing one section over the other, then pausing like he needed to mentally process what came next. His fingers were too big, movements too stiff, nothing about this was natural for him.
âAbbuâŠâ Mehr started again.Â
âChup,â he said automatically, though there was no real harshness in it. She fell silent for approximately three seconds.
Thenâ
âAmmi jaldi karti hain.â
From your spot, you couldnât hold it in anymore, you laughed. Soft, but unmistakable. Iqbal didnât turn immediately. But you saw it, the slight clench in his jaw.
âHasne ki zarurat nahi hai,â he said flatly. You pushed off the cupboard, walking over slowly. âMain toh bas dekh rahi hoon.â
âDekhiye,â he replied shortly, not looking at you. âSeekh raha hoon.â
That made you pause. Something about the way he said it, quiet, almost defensive. Not irritation. Just⊠intent. You softened slightly.
Mehr, completely unaware of the shift, tilted her head again. âTight mat karna.â
âHilna mat,â he shot back.
You crouched down beside them now, close enough to see the mess heâd created. Three sections, yes. But none of them even. And somehow heâd already managed to tangle one into the other. You bit back another smile.
âDikhao,â you said gently, reaching forward. His hands stilled immediately. For a moment, you thought heâd let you take over.
Insteadâ
âNahi,â he said. Not harsh. Just firm.
âMai karunga.â
You leaned back slightly, surprised. Iqbal rarely insisted on things like this. But there was something in his expression now focused, almost stubborn in a quiet way that made you stop.
âAchha,â you said, lifting your hands in surrender. âKijiye.â
Mehr seemed amused by this shift in power.
âAapko nahi aati,â she repeated, sing-song now.
Iqbal didnât respond. He just adjusted his grip, starting again. This time slower. More careful. Crossing one section over the middle, then the other. Then again. It wasnât neat. Not even close. But it was⊠something.
You watched the way his fingers moved now, still unsure, but deliberate. Like he was memorizing the motion with each attempt.
Mehr, for once, stayed still. Maybe she sensed it too. Or maybe she was just curious to see how badly this would turn out. A few strands slipped loose again. Iqbal didnât stop. He just gathered them back in, adjusting awkwardly.
You could see the effort now. Not just in the braid. But in him. This wasnât about hair anymore. It was about trying. And for a man like him, that mattered more than getting it right.
âHo gaya?â Mehr asked after a while.
âBas,â he said, though it clearly wasnât.
One last attempt. He secured the end with a band, fingers fumbling slightly before finally managing it.
Thenâ
he leaned back. A small exhale leaving him. Done. Mehr immediately reached back, trying to feel it.
âRuko,â you said, gently catching her hand. âSheeshe mein dekhte hain.â
You stood, guiding her toward the mirror. Iqbal stayed where he was for a second. Watching. Not moving. You positioned her in front of it, adjusting her shoulders slightly.
âDekho.â
Mehrâs eyes lit up instantly.
âDo choti nahi hai,â she pointed out.
âHaa ek hi hai,â you agreed softly. She tilted her head, examining it from one side. Then the other. It was uneven. A little messy. Strands sticking out where they shouldnât.
Butâ
âAcchi hai,â she decided finally, with complete certainty. Iqbalâs gaze shifted. Just slightly. You looked at him through the mirror. He was already looking. Not at the braid. At her. And something in his expression softened. In that quiet, almost invisible way he had.
âHaan?â he asked, voice low. Mehr nodded enthusiastically. âHaan!â That was enough. More than enough.
You turned back to him, a small smile tugging at your lips.
âBura nahi tha,â you admitted. âThodi aur practice karni padegi.â He exhaled quietly, something close to amusement flickering across his face.
âZarurat nahi,â he said. âAgli baar do banaunga.â
You blinked. Mehr gasped. âSach?â He nodded once. Bas. Decision ho gaya. You laughed, shaking your head. âDekhte hain.â Mehr ran off before anything else could be said, already calling out to Sofia and Bashir to show them her hair.
Her voice faded down the hallway. Silence settled in her place. You stayed by the mirror. Iqbal was still sitting on the floor. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you walked back over, stopping in front of him. You looked down at him, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
âChoti tedhi thi.â
He didnât even react properly. Just glanced up at you, expression flat.
âHaan toh?â
A beat.
âMeri Mehr ko pasand aayi.â
The way he said it,so matter-of-fact, so sure, made something in you give way. A small laugh slipped out before you could stop it. You shook your head, stepping closer.
âAap bhi naâŠâ
And before he could respond, you lowered yourself, settling into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He stiffened for half a second. Then didnât move at all. You reached for his hand, turning it slightly, inspecting his fingers like you were genuinely evaluating his âskills.â
âKoi nahi,â you murmured, softer now. âMain sikha dungi.â
He huffed quietly. âZarurat nahi hai.â
You glanced up at him, a small challenge in your eyes.
âSeekhenge nahi toh aur tedhi banayenge.â
âPhir bhi pasand aayegi use.â
That made you pause. Then your expression softened completely this time. You leaned in, pressing a brief, quiet kiss against his cheek.
âPhir bhi,â you whispered, pulling back slightly, âseedhi banana seekh lijiye.â
âHmm..dekhte hai kitni acchi teacher ho tumâ he said as he rested his hand more firmly against yours now.Â
A/N :- no thoughts head empty just Iqbal trying to braid his daughterâs hair and taking it way too seriously. Had this idea in my head for a while now so just wrote it.
Disclaimer :- This work is purely fictional and is based only on the character of Uzair Baloch as portrayed in the film. It is not intended to depict or reference the real-life individual in any way. This story does not romanticize or glorify real-world violence or terrorism, but instead explores a fictional context
Summary :- After Rehmanâs death, Uzair is left with nothing but memories that refuse to fade. As grief consumes him, you try to hold him together reminding him of what still remains, even when everything feels lost. Between quiet breakdowns and unspoken pain, love becomes the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Word Count :- 1k words
The house didnât feel quiet. It felt abandoned. Uzair hadnât slept. You could tell before you even saw him, the untouched side of the bed, the door slightly open, the absence that had started to feel heavier with each passing night.
You found him sitting on the floor near the cupboard this time, a football resting loosely beside his leg. That alone made your chest tighten. You didnât say anything as you walked over, lowering yourself beside him. Close, but not enough to startle him. For a while, he didnât acknowledge you. His gaze stayed fixed on the ball. Like it held something you couldnât see.
âSone nahi aaye?â you asked quietly. He shook his head. Then, almost absently, he nudged the ball forward with his foot. âYehâŠâ he said, âbhai laake diye the.â
âMain chhota tha⊠gali mein khelta tha,â he continued slowly. âHar baar haar jaata tha.â There was the faintest shift in his expression, something softer, distant. âPhir ek din bhai bole⊠âidhar aa, chal tujhe football sikhata hu.ââ Your throat tightened. Uzair let out a quiet, broken huff. âDaant bhi dete the⊠bolte the, pair seedha rakh, dhyaan rakh⊠ache se khelna seekhna hai na?.â
His fingers brushed over the ball absentmindedly.
âAur phir⊠jab goal karta tha naâŠâ He stopped. His jaw tightened. ââŠaise khush hote the jaise unhone khud goal kiya ho.â
Silence settled between you, thick and heavy. You could already feel where this was going. But you let him. He needed to go there. âNaieemâŠâ his voice dropped at the name, softer. âjab paida hua tha, tab bhai ne bola âIse sikhayega na tu football, jaise maine tujhe sikhaya tha?â
You swallowed hard. âMain⊠aur bhaiâŠâ he continued, slower now, like every word weighed something. âdono milke khelte the Naieem ke saath.â A faint, broken exhale left him.
âChhota sa tha⊠ball usse badi lagti thi.â For a second there was something like warmth in his voice. Then it disappeared. âGir jaata tha, baar baar, par fir bhi uthke wapas goal karta tha.â His grip on the ball tightened.
âAbâŠâ his voice cracked, sharp this time, like it hurt to even say it. âna woh hai⊠naââ He couldnât finish. The sentence collapsed in the air between you. You felt something in your chest twist painfully. Uzair leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, one hand pressing against his forehead like he could hold himself together.
âSab khatam ho gaya,â he said, quieter now. âSabâŠâ You moved closer immediately, your hand coming up to his arm, steady, grounding. âUzairâŠâ you said softly. He shook his head.
âYeh kyu ho raha hai humare saathâŠâ he went on, voice uneven now, spiraling without realizing it. âPura ghar ab khali lagta hai.â
You reached for his face gently, turning it toward you despite his resistance. âUzair suno,â you said, firm but soft. âMeri taraf dekho.â He didnât want to. But he did. His eyes were red now, filled with something heavier than just grief. âSab khatam nahi hua,â you said quietly. He let out a hollow laugh. âKya bacha hai?â Everything in that question hurt.
âFaizal.â He stilled. âFaizal hai,â you repeated, softer this time. âUlfat bhabhi hai.â His gaze dropped immediately. Like that hadnât even crossed his mind in the way it should have. âUnke liyeâŠâ you continued, your hand still steady against him, âtum ho.â
âFaizal ko tumhari jarurat hai,â you said gently. âJaise tumhe ek waqt Rehman bhai ki zarurat thi.â That landed. You saw it in the way his breathing shifted. In the way his grip on the ball loosened slightly. Uzair closed his eyes. And thatâs when he broke. His shoulders dropped, the tension finally giving way as he leaned forward, and this time when you pulled him toward you he didnât hold back at all.
His head rested against you, his hand gripping your arm like he needed something to stay steady. âWo yaha hone chahiye the,â he said, voice breaking through every word. âDono.â You tightened your hold on him. âPata hai mujhe.â
âBhabi aur faizal dono ko tumhari jarurat hai, agar tum aise toot jaoge toh Rehman bhai ka badla kaun lega,â you whispered softly. After a while, his breathing slowed, though his grip on you didnât loosen. You let your hand move gently through his hair, grounding him, steadying him, the only way you could.
Uzairâs hand slowly fell away from you, not in rejection but in withdrawal. âMai bhai ko nahi bacha paaya, par mai SP Aslam ko zinda nahi chodunga, usse maiââ
âPehle Rehman bhai ko theek se ruksat karte hai, uske baad badlaâ You said reminding him that the funeral was more important than revenge. He didnât argue. Your words didnât break him. They anchored him. âPehleâŠâ he repeated under his breath. Like he was memorising it. Like it was the only thing holding him together. And in that silence, grief remained.
A/N:- Idk how this turned out, but this felt like a moment we shouldâve gotten in the movie. Uzair clearly loved his brother and his kids, and the story kind of skips over how they all deal with that loss. Ulfat and Faizal just disappear after the funeral, and that never sat right with me, so this is me trying to explore that.
P.s :- The text dividers have been taken from pinterest
Disclaimer :- This work is purely fictional and is based only on the character of Uzair Baloch as portrayed in the film. It is not intended to depict or reference the real-life individual in any way. This story does not romanticize or glorify real-world violence or terrorism, but instead explores a fictional context
Summary :- After Rehmanâs death, Uzair is left with nothing but memories that refuse to fade. As grief consumes him, you try to hold him together reminding him of what still remains, even when everything feels lost. Between quiet breakdowns and unspoken pain, love becomes the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
Word Count :- 1k words
The house didnât feel quiet. It felt abandoned. Uzair hadnât slept. You could tell before you even saw him, the untouched side of the bed, the door slightly open, the absence that had started to feel heavier with each passing night.
You found him sitting on the floor near the cupboard this time, a football resting loosely beside his leg. That alone made your chest tighten. You didnât say anything as you walked over, lowering yourself beside him. Close, but not enough to startle him. For a while, he didnât acknowledge you. His gaze stayed fixed on the ball. Like it held something you couldnât see.
âSone nahi aaye?â you asked quietly. He shook his head. Then, almost absently, he nudged the ball forward with his foot. âYehâŠâ he said, âbhai laake diye the.â
âMain chhota tha⊠gali mein khelta tha,â he continued slowly. âHar baar haar jaata tha.â There was the faintest shift in his expression, something softer, distant. âPhir ek din bhai bole⊠âidhar aa, chal tujhe football sikhata hu.ââ Your throat tightened. Uzair let out a quiet, broken huff. âDaant bhi dete the⊠bolte the, pair seedha rakh, dhyaan rakh⊠ache se khelna seekhna hai na?.â
His fingers brushed over the ball absentmindedly.
âAur phir⊠jab goal karta tha naâŠâ He stopped. His jaw tightened. ââŠaise khush hote the jaise unhone khud goal kiya ho.â
Silence settled between you, thick and heavy. You could already feel where this was going. But you let him. He needed to go there. âNaieemâŠâ his voice dropped at the name, softer. âjab paida hua tha, tab bhai ne bola âIse sikhayega na tu football, jaise maine tujhe sikhaya tha?â
You swallowed hard. âMain⊠aur bhaiâŠâ he continued, slower now, like every word weighed something. âdono milke khelte the Naieem ke saath.â A faint, broken exhale left him.
âChhota sa tha⊠ball usse badi lagti thi.â For a second there was something like warmth in his voice. Then it disappeared. âGir jaata tha, baar baar, par fir bhi uthke wapas goal karta tha.â His grip on the ball tightened.
âAbâŠâ his voice cracked, sharp this time, like it hurt to even say it. âna woh hai⊠naââ He couldnât finish. The sentence collapsed in the air between you. You felt something in your chest twist painfully. Uzair leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, one hand pressing against his forehead like he could hold himself together.
âSab khatam ho gaya,â he said, quieter now. âSabâŠâ You moved closer immediately, your hand coming up to his arm, steady, grounding. âUzairâŠâ you said softly. He shook his head.
âYeh kyu ho raha hai humare saathâŠâ he went on, voice uneven now, spiraling without realizing it. âPura ghar ab khali lagta hai.â
You reached for his face gently, turning it toward you despite his resistance. âUzair suno,â you said, firm but soft. âMeri taraf dekho.â He didnât want to. But he did. His eyes were red now, filled with something heavier than just grief. âSab khatam nahi hua,â you said quietly. He let out a hollow laugh. âKya bacha hai?â Everything in that question hurt.
âFaizal.â He stilled. âFaizal hai,â you repeated, softer this time. âUlfat bhabhi hai.â His gaze dropped immediately. Like that hadnât even crossed his mind in the way it should have. âUnke liyeâŠâ you continued, your hand still steady against him, âtum ho.â
âFaizal ko tumhari jarurat hai,â you said gently. âJaise tumhe ek waqt Rehman bhai ki zarurat thi.â That landed. You saw it in the way his breathing shifted. In the way his grip on the ball loosened slightly. Uzair closed his eyes. And thatâs when he broke. His shoulders dropped, the tension finally giving way as he leaned forward, and this time when you pulled him toward you he didnât hold back at all.
His head rested against you, his hand gripping your arm like he needed something to stay steady. âWo yaha hone chahiye the,â he said, voice breaking through every word. âDono.â You tightened your hold on him. âPata hai mujhe.â
âBhabi aur faizal dono ko tumhari jarurat hai, agar tum aise toot jaoge toh Rehman bhai ka badla kaun lega,â you whispered softly. After a while, his breathing slowed, though his grip on you didnât loosen. You let your hand move gently through his hair, grounding him, steadying him, the only way you could.
Uzairâs hand slowly fell away from you, not in rejection but in withdrawal. âMai bhai ko nahi bacha paaya, par mai SP Aslam ko zinda nahi chodunga, usse maiââ
âPehle Rehman bhai ko theek se ruksat karte hai, uske baad badlaâ You said reminding him that the funeral was more important than revenge. He didnât argue. Your words didnât break him. They anchored him. âPehleâŠâ he repeated under his breath. Like he was memorising it. Like it was the only thing holding him together. And in that silence, grief remained.
A/N:- Idk how this turned out, but this felt like a moment we shouldâve gotten in the movie. Uzair clearly loved his brother and his kids, and the story kind of skips over how they all deal with that loss. Ulfat and Faizal just disappear after the funeral, and that never sat right with me, so this is me trying to explore that.
P.s :- The text dividers have been taken from pinterest
Summary :- Itâs just another night in a house that has never known kindness. A father who wounds, a daughter who doesnât understand, and a man caught somewhere in between. But behind closed doors, in the quiet moments that follow, something softer begins to take shape. Because sometimes, love isnât loud itâs simply choosing to stay.
Word Count :- ~ 2 k words (Ik its a lot but please give this a chance)
Disclaimer:- This fic is about the fictional version of major iqbal (as portrayed on screen by Arjun Rampal), not the real-life person. iâm not romanticizing or supporting real events or individuals this is purely fictional storytelling.
A/N :- Never in my life have I ever written fanfics. I just felt like there were very little or no fanfics at all about major Iqbal from Dhurandhar : The Revenge, so I wanted to try writing. Please yâall don't judge me if this isn't good enough just wanted to get this idea outta me. Also i dont think his daughters name was mentioned in the movie so i just gave her a name. Enjoyyy!!!!!!!!!!
The door clicked open with a quiet finality. You didnât look up. You didnât need to. The room had already shifted, the air tightening, as if it recognized him before you allowed yourself to. âAa gaya tu, Major?â
The voice came sharp and precise from across the room. Brigadier Jehangir never raised his volume unnecessarily. He didnât have to. Every word carried enough weight to land exactly where it hurt. You kept your eyes on the paper in front of your daughter.
âYe aap hai?â you murmured softly. She nodded, smiling to herself, crayon pressed too hard against the page. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Familiar. He didnât respond. He never did.
Instead, Major Iqbal crossed the room and lowered himself beside her, the stiffness in his shoulders easing just slightly.
âAreyy waah meri shehzadi, jara humein bhi dikhana kya banaya hai.â
Your daughter lit up instantly, turning the paper toward him like it was the most important thing in the world. âYe aap hai, ye mai hu, ye ammi hai aur ye daadu,â she said, a little uncertain, a little proud.
A crooked circle. Stick limbs. A line that mightâve been a smile.
He looked at it longer than necessary.âHmm,â he said quietly. âBohot acha banaya hai.â From behind you, a dry scoff. âHa aapke liye toh acha hoga hi, baki aata kya hai iss ladki ko.â
Your fingers tightened just slightly around the edge of the paper. You didnât turn. You had learned a long time ago, acknowledgment was fuel. Silence was survival.
âTujh jaise bhadwe se baat bhi kya karna, pota toh de na saka,â Jehangir continued, voice laced with disdain. âAur jo diya hai woh bhiââ
You shifted before he could finish, gently adjusting your daughterâs hand.
âBeta, yaha ek acha sa garden banaogi??â you said softly. âYaha ammi abbu ke peeche.â
For a moment, the words hung in the air anyway. Unsaid, but never unheard. Iqbalâs jaw tightened. Just once. Then his hand moved steady, deliberate covering his daughterâs smaller one as he guided the crayon across the page.
âAise yaha phool banana,â he murmured.
âAreyy uss ladki ko achese bolna toh sikaho, 8 saal ki hai aur abhi bhi dhang se baat nahi kar sakti ye nikammi ladki, meri nasl ko barbaad kar diya tumne, ek layak waaris tak paida nahi kar sake.â
The words came again. Sharp. Repetitive. Like they always did. âYa woh bhi jyada ho jayega humari bahu ke liyeâ He said in a sarcastic tone.
You didnât let him finish this time. Not because you hadnât heard it before. But because she had. You stood up quietly, already reaching for your daughterâs hand. âChalo beta,â you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
âAaj ammi aapko room mai khana khilayengi.â
She looked up at you, confused for a second, then nodded, trusting, always trusting. You didnât spare a glance toward Brigadier Jehangir. You had learned long ago, he didnât deserve one. His voice followed anyway. Louder now.
âAreyy wahh bhaag rahi ho? Waise bhi aur kya hi aata hai iss ghar kiââ
The door to the bedroom closed behind you before the sentence could land.
Outside, the words didnât stop. They never did. For a moment, nothing happened. Major Iqbal stood up. Not rushed. Not angry. Just⊠done. He walked past the table, past the scattered silence, and stopped beside his fatherâs wheelchair. The older man didnât pause. Didnât falter.
âAb kya? Tu bhi bhaag jayege? Saale bhadwe, namard kahikaâ
Iqbalâs hand rested on the back of the chair. Firm. âBas.â One word. Low. Final. It didnât sound like a request. For the first time, the room stilled. But not for long.
âWarna kya?â The familiar challenge. The same old test. Iqbal didnât answer. He simply turned the wheelchair. The wheels moved across the floor, the sound steady, unhurried, until it stopped at the doorway of the older manâs room.
A pause. Just a second. Then he pushed the door open, guided the chair inside, and stepped back. The protests came then, louder, sharper, edged with something unfamiliar. Not power. Something closer to⊠being denied it. Iqbal closed the door. And locked it. The click was soft. But it echoed anyway.
When he entered the bedroom, the world felt different. Quieter. Warmer. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, feeding your daughter slowly, patiently, like nothing outside that door existed.
For a moment, he just stood there,watching. âAapko woh karne ki jarurat nahi thi.â You didnât look up when you said it. âJarurat thi.â His voice was quieter now. Not controlled. Just⊠tired. You finally glanced at him then. âWo rukenge toh nahi,â you said gently.
âAapko pata hai na?â âPata hai.â A pause. Then, softer,
âPar iska matlab ye nahi ki meri beti ko ye sab sunna pade.â Something in your chest shifted at that. You held out the bowl toward him without thinking. âLijiye.â He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped forward, taking it from your hands. Your daughter smiled instantly. âAbbu.â
The word landed differently here. He sat beside her, carefully, like the moment required precision. You watched them for a second longer than you meant to.
âTumhe pata hai na ki tumhe aur Mehr ko yaha rukne ki jarurat nahi hai, mai akela rehe lunga Brigadier ke saathâ he said again, quieter this time. This time, you did smile. Slightly. âAur tumhe akela chodh du iss buddhe ke saath?â His grip on the spoon stilled. âMai yaha sirf tumhare liye ruki hu Iqbal, muje iss ghar mai koi dilchaspi nahi haiâ you added, softer now.
Iqbal stayed quiet and continued feeding Mehr. The night settled slowly around the house. For once, it didnât feel heavy.
Your daughter had fallen asleep curled against him, her small hand still fisted lightly in his shirt, as if even in sleep, she refused to let go. Major Iqbal didnât move for a long time. Not until her breathing evened out. Only then did he shift carefully, easing her down onto the bed beside you. You adjusted the blanket over her, your fingers brushing his for a brief second, neither of you pulling away immediately. No words. Just that quiet, shared understanding. When he finally lay down beside you, the distance between you wasnât as wide as it used to be. And sometime between that and morning, sleep came easier.
The house returned to itself with daylight.You woke to the faint rustle of movement. He was already up. Shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled just enough, every motion precise, habitual. For a second, you just watched him. Thenâ
âAaj jaldi jaa rahe hai aap?.â He glanced at you, nodding once. âDuty.â Of course. Your daughter stirred beside you, mumbling something incoherent before settling again. His gaze softened at that. Just slightly. He stepped closer, adjusting the blanket near her shoulder with a care that didnât match the rest of him. Then he turned to you.
âAaj koi kuch nahi bolega.â Iqbal said simply before he left.
In the hallway, his footsteps were steady. Brigadier Jehangirâs door remained shut. At the far end, Bashir stood waiting, as he always did.
âMajor.â Iqbal paused. Just for a moment. Then, quieter than expected âAaj⊠unhe kamre se bahar mat aane dena.â Bashir hesitated briefly. Not out of defiance but surprise.
âJi, sahab.â A beat. Then Iqbal added âAurâŠâ His gaze flickered, just once, toward the closed bedroom door behind him. âUnke paas jaane ki zarurat nahi hai, maine Sofia ko kaha hai wo sab kar legi.â
This time, there was no hesitation. âJi.â
When the front door closed behind him, the sound didnât echo the way it usually did. Inside, the house remained quiet. But not empty. Not unguarded. And in the room down the hall for the first time it felt like the silence belonged to you.
A/N :- Iâm not entirely sure how this turned out. I just started writing and this is where it led me. Iâd really appreciate any feedback, whether itâs suggestions for improvement or anything that didnât quite feel right.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
Summary :- Itâs just another night in a house that has never known kindness. A father who wounds, a daughter who doesnât understand, and a man caught somewhere in between. But behind closed doors, in the quiet moments that follow, something softer begins to take shape. Because sometimes, love isnât loud itâs simply choosing to stay.
Word Count :- ~ 2 k words
Disclaimer:- This fic is about the fictional version of major iqbal (as portrayed on screen by Arjun Rampal), not the real-life person. iâm not romanticizing or supporting real events or individuals this is purely fictional storytelling.
A/N :- Never in my life have I ever written fanfics. I just felt like there were very little or no fanfics at all about major Iqbal from Dhurandhar : The Revenge, so I wanted to try writing. Please yâall don't judge me if this isn't good enough just wanted to get this idea outta me. Also i dont think his daughters name was mentioned in the movie so i just gave her a name. Enjoyyy!!!!!!!!!!
The door clicked open with a quiet finality. You didnât look up. You didnât need to. The room had already shifted, the air tightening, as if it recognized him before you allowed yourself to. âAa gaya tu, Major?â
The voice came sharp and precise from across the room. Brigadier Jehangir never raised his volume unnecessarily. He didnât have to. Every word carried enough weight to land exactly where it hurt. You kept your eyes on the paper in front of your daughter.
âYe aap hai?â you murmured softly. She nodded, smiling to herself, crayon pressed too hard against the page. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Familiar. He didnât respond. He never did.
Instead, Major Iqbal crossed the room and lowered himself beside her, the stiffness in his shoulders easing just slightly.
âAreyy waah meri shehzadi, jara humein bhi dikhana kya banaya hai.â
Your daughter lit up instantly, turning the paper toward him like it was the most important thing in the world. âYe aap hai, ye mai hu, ye ammi hai aur ye daadu,â she said, a little uncertain, a little proud.
A crooked circle. Stick limbs. A line that mightâve been a smile.
He looked at it longer than necessary.âHmm,â he said quietly. âBohot acha banaya hai.â From behind you, a dry scoff. âHa aapke liye toh acha hoga hi, baki aata kya hai iss ladki ko.â
Your fingers tightened just slightly around the edge of the paper. You didnât turn. You had learned a long time ago, acknowledgment was fuel. Silence was survival.
âTujh jaise bhadwe se baat bhi kya karna, pota toh de na saka,â Jehangir continued, voice laced with disdain. âAur jo diya hai woh bhiââ
You shifted before he could finish, gently adjusting your daughterâs hand.
âBeta, yaha ek acha sa garden banaogi??â you said softly. âYaha ammi abbu ke peeche.â
For a moment, the words hung in the air anyway. Unsaid, but never unheard. Iqbalâs jaw tightened. Just once. Then his hand moved steady, deliberate covering his daughterâs smaller one as he guided the crayon across the page.
âAise yaha phool banana,â he murmured.
âAreyy uss ladki ko achese bolna toh sikaho, 8 saal ki hai aur abhi bhi dhang se baat nahi kar sakti ye nikammi ladki, meri nasl ko barbaad kar diya tumne, ek layak waaris tak paida nahi kar sake.â
The words came again. Sharp. Repetitive. Like they always did. âYa woh bhi jyada ho jayega humari bahu ke liyeâ He said in a sarcastic tone.
You didnât let him finish this time. Not because you hadnât heard it before. But because she had. You stood up quietly, already reaching for your daughterâs hand. âChalo beta,â you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
âAaj ammi aapko room mai khana khilayengi.â
She looked up at you, confused for a second, then nodded, trusting, always trusting. You didnât spare a glance toward Brigadier Jehangir. You had learned long ago, he didnât deserve one. His voice followed anyway. Louder now.
âAreyy wahh bhaag rahi ho? Waise bhi aur kya hi aata hai iss ghar kiââ
The door to the bedroom closed behind you before the sentence could land.
Outside, the words didnât stop. They never did. For a moment, nothing happened. Major Iqbal stood up. Not rushed. Not angry. Just⊠done. He walked past the table, past the scattered silence, and stopped beside his fatherâs wheelchair. The older man didnât pause. Didnât falter.
âAb kya? Tu bhi bhaag jayege? Saale bhadwe, namard kahikaâ
Iqbalâs hand rested on the back of the chair. Firm. âBas.â One word. Low. Final. It didnât sound like a request. For the first time, the room stilled. But not for long.
âWarna kya?â The familiar challenge. The same old test. Iqbal didnât answer. He simply turned the wheelchair. The wheels moved across the floor, the sound steady, unhurried, until it stopped at the doorway of the older manâs room.
A pause. Just a second. Then he pushed the door open, guided the chair inside, and stepped back. The protests came then, louder, sharper, edged with something unfamiliar. Not power. Something closer to⊠being denied it. Iqbal closed the door. And locked it. The click was soft. But it echoed anyway.
When he entered the bedroom, the world felt different. Quieter. Warmer. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, feeding your daughter slowly, patiently, like nothing outside that door existed.
For a moment, he just stood there,watching. âAapko woh karne ki jarurat nahi thi.â You didnât look up when you said it. âJarurat thi.â His voice was quieter now. Not controlled. Just⊠tired. You finally glanced at him then. âWo rukenge toh nahi,â you said gently.
âAapko pata hai na?â âPata hai.â A pause. Then, softer,
âPar iska matlab ye nahi ki meri beti ko ye sab sunna pade.â Something in your chest shifted at that. You held out the bowl toward him without thinking. âLijiye.â He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped forward, taking it from your hands. Your daughter smiled instantly. âAbbu.â
The word landed differently here. He sat beside her, carefully, like the moment required precision. You watched them for a second longer than you meant to.
âTumhe pata hai na ki tumhe aur Mehr ko yaha rukne ki jarurat nahi hai, mai akela rehe lunga Brigadier ke saathâ he said again, quieter this time. This time, you did smile. Slightly. âAur tumhe akela chodh du iss buddhe ke saath?â His grip on the spoon stilled. âMai yaha sirf tumhare liye ruki hu Iqbal, muje iss ghar mai koi dilchaspi nahi haiâ you added, softer now.
Iqbal stayed quiet and continued feeding Mehr. The night settled slowly around the house. For once, it didnât feel heavy.
Your daughter had fallen asleep curled against him, her small hand still fisted lightly in his shirt, as if even in sleep, she refused to let go. Major Iqbal didnât move for a long time. Not until her breathing evened out. Only then did he shift carefully, easing her down onto the bed beside you. You adjusted the blanket over her, your fingers brushing his for a brief second, neither of you pulling away immediately. No words. Just that quiet, shared understanding. When he finally lay down beside you, the distance between you wasnât as wide as it used to be. And sometime between that and morning, sleep came easier.
The house returned to itself with daylight.You woke to the faint rustle of movement. He was already up. Shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled just enough, every motion precise, habitual. For a second, you just watched him. Thenâ
âAaj jaldi jaa rahe hai aap?.â He glanced at you, nodding once. âDuty.â Of course. Your daughter stirred beside you, mumbling something incoherent before settling again. His gaze softened at that. Just slightly. He stepped closer, adjusting the blanket near her shoulder with a care that didnât match the rest of him. Then he turned to you.
âAaj koi kuch nahi bolega.â Iqbal said simply before he left.
In the hallway, his footsteps were steady. Brigadier Jehangirâs door remained shut. At the far end, Bashir stood waiting, as he always did.
âMajor.â Iqbal paused. Just for a moment. Then, quieter than expected âAaj⊠unhe kamre se bahar mat aane dena.â Bashir hesitated briefly. Not out of defiance but surprise.
âJi, sahab.â A beat. Then Iqbal added âAurâŠâ His gaze flickered, just once, toward the closed bedroom door behind him. âUnke paas jaane ki zarurat nahi hai, maine Sofia ko kaha hai wo sab kar legi.â
This time, there was no hesitation. âJi.â
When the front door closed behind him, the sound didnât echo the way it usually did. Inside, the house remained quiet. But not empty. Not unguarded. And in the room down the hall for the first time it felt like the silence belonged to you.
A/N :- Iâm not entirely sure how this turned out. I just started writing and this is where it led me. Iâd really appreciate any feedback, whether itâs suggestions for improvement or anything that didnât quite feel right.
Summary : National security protocols stand no chance against a domestic breach in black chiffon.
Word count : ~600
A/N : soo ⊠this my first ever writing , toh agar kuch upar neeche ho toh , have mercy , Baki toh ⊠enjoyyyy !!!
Idea @zeherili-ankhein ki post se liye ⊠hope aapko pasand aaye ⊠aur do tell others !!!
The air in the corner office was thick with the smell of old paper and the hum of the server racks, the IB office was quiet, the kind of silence that usually meant Deputy Director of the IB , Sushant Bansal was burying himself in a crisis.
He was leaning over his desk, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie loosened , a rare sight for a man who usually looked like he was born in a three-piece suit. He was hunched over a spreadsheet of sanctioned assets.
The door opened without a knock. Only one person in Delhi had that kind of audacity.
Maya walked in, draped in a sheer black chiffon saree that moved like smoke around her ankles. She looked every bit the sophisticated Directorâs wife. Poised, elegant, and dangerously calm. She placed a silver tiffin carrier on his desk, right on top of a red-stamped file.
Sushant finally looked up, his glasses sliding down his nose. "Maya? Yeh kya hai?"
"Dinner hai, Sushant. Aur kya hoga?" she said, her voice smooth and calm, but with that sharp edge that always kept him on his toes. She sat on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs with a slow, deliberate grace.
"Maya, pure office ko pata chal gaya hai ki tum aayi ho. Formals mein kyun nahi aayi? You know Sanyal is around."
Maya pulled out a chair and sat down, crossing her legs with a slow, deliberate grace. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"Sanyal mere liye ruka hai kya? Sushant, look at me. Teen din se tumne ghar ki shakal nahi dekhi. Office mein hi so rahe ho?"
Sushant sighed, finally rubbing his eyes and looking at her. â Case sensitive hai, Maya. You know the protocols , Sanyal is breathing down my neck. Kaam bohot zyada hai, I canât just leave .â
"Sanyal aur Protocols ki toh baat hi mat karo, look at you. Aankhein laal ho gayi hain tumhari. Kya mil jayega itna kaam karke? The country won't stop running if you take an hour off." Maya leaned forward, her perfume, something expensive and flora , hitting him like a wave, her voice dropping into a smooth, sassy hum. "Vese maine suna hai tumne naye recruits ko lecture diya tha kuch â Emotional intelligence is a liability⊠vegara vegara ' . Toh phir meri yaad mein do raat se soye kyun nahi? Your assistant told me you were staring at my photo at 4:00 AM."
"Handle me first," Maya challenged, a small, elegant smirk playing on her lips. She stood up, she didn't scramble or rush; every movement was fluid. She stopped behind his chair, her hands sliding over his shoulders.
Sushant leaned back, closing his eyes for a second as her perfume , jasmine and something expensive , filled his senses. "Maya, please. Not here."
âKyun? Just because tum yahan deputy director ho toh sab pe control chaloge ?Mujhpe yeh sab kaam nahi karega Bansal sahab " She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Sushant, stop being the Architect for five minutes. Be my husband. Ghar chalo, khana thanda ho raha hai... aur main bhi."
Sushant turned his chair around, grabbing her waist and pulling her between his knees. The sudden movement made her gasp, her hand flying to his chest for balance.
"Tumhe lagta hai tum bohot hoshiyaar ho, haina?" he muttered, his voice dropping into that deep, authoritative register. "Coming here, wearing this, knowing exactly what it does to my focus."
Maya didn't flinch. She ran a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect side parting. "Focus toh pehle hi khatam ho chuka tha, Director Sahab. I just came to collect the remains.â
"Maya, behave," he warned, though his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer until the silk of her saree was bunched against his suit.
"Make me," she whispered, her eyes glowing with a quiet fire. "Sanyal bahar hi hai. Boldo usey ki national issue handle hogaye hai, ab domestic issue dekhne hai."
Sushant looked at herâthe elegance of her posture, the sharp wit in her eyes, and the way she managed to be both his greatest support and his biggest distraction. He stood up, towering over her, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't care about the files.
He walked to the door, turned the lock with a sharp click, and looked back at her.
"Domestic security, huh?" he said, a slow, predatory smirk finally appearing. "Okay then. Letâs start the briefing."
Maya leaned back against the desk, looking perfectly unbothered. "Briefing lambi honi chahiye, Sushant. I have a lot of complaints."
"Tumhari har complaint ka jawab dunga," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he stepped into her personal space, his shadow completely eclipsing her. "But not with words, Maya. I think weâre done talking for tonight."
She didn't back down; she leaned in further, her fingers catching the knot of his tie.
"Ab kari na Deputy Director wali baat," she whispered, her eyes locked onto his with a challenging fire. "Chalo phir, letâs see if the man who runs the countryâs intelligence can actually handle me."
Sushant didn't hesitate. He reached past her, his palm flat against the desk as he leaned in, his breath warm against her lips. "Be careful what you wish for, Maya. Yahan koi protocols nahi hain."
PS : all the photos , text dividers are from pintrest