Disclaimer : This story is not based on actual people, in no shape or form do i support the real people involved in terrorism, gang wars or any form of violence. This story is loosely based on the characters of the Dhurandhar franchise and all credits lies with Aditya Dhar, except of course my OC. As this is not a canon story, Hamza Ali Mazari is neither a spy nor are Baloch brothers involved in any form of terrorism against India or are ally with anyone doing the same.
A 35 year old Uzair remembered it all just as clearly as 14 year old Uzair had seen it. He remembered the pungent metallic smell of blood mixed with sewage water, the petrichor scent of sky crying along with him as he found his parents floating in sewage, as if his mother hadn’t promised to make his favourite korma that night, as if his father hadn’t promised to return back with his favour candy, for him and Noori. As if they hadn’t been alive few hours ago.
He remembers so vividly, so graphically as if he could still hear Waseem chacha banging on his door to call him out, only for him to be met with that scene that has remain etched forever in his nightmares. He remembered how Noori was asleep when he went out, so oblivious and so blissful.
He remembered how a 25 year old Rehman had walked in without knocking and had helped him pack whatever he and Noori had left, and took them to his adobe, in a means to provide solace to two orphans.
Ulfat too remembered how Rehman had brought in his cousins, a teenage Uzair who clung to a sleepy two year old Noori, his chest trembling, and breathing uneven as didn’t protest when she took Noori from his arms, taking his responsibility from his, holding the chubby little one as if a mother were to hold her first newborn, the same way she caressed Uzair’s cheek before feeding him korma and naan from her own hands.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
Noori remembered nothing, all that she remembered was the feeling of clinging to a trembling surface and then being passed to warm soft arms. Ever since she has gained consciousness all she knew was Ulfat, Uzair, and Rehman.
Noori had always been a curious child and hence one of her prominent question was why her name was her name Noorjahan, when everyone called her Noori? A name she loved and told proudly. And Uzair would tell her, in soft whispers about how their mother loved listening to Madam Nurjahan on radio, knitting a sweater for him in her rocking chair as her pregnant belly swelled, while she hummed to her favourite Sanu Neher Wale Pul Te.
As Noori would grow older, she would thank her mother for not naming her after Begum Akhtar or Farida Khanum, with all due respect to her mother’s other favourite singers.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
Noori had always known love, she was easy to love, made to love. Her chubby cheeks squished as she was passed around like a hot potato, silver anklets jingling in her tiny ankles, Rehman had bought them for her, for her third birthday. It wasn’t remembered when the pampering turned into love and love turned into spoiling. Whatever Noori would want, would Noori get.
Uzair had left the way of ink for the way of violence, but Rehman and Uzair made sure the same didn’t happen with Noori. It was ensured that Noori must live a normal life, as she remained an only piece of innocence in the haveli whose floors were soaked with blood. She was the only peace remaining in the lives of those affected with revenge and vengeance.
Noori would babble for hours to Ulfat, telling her about her day in nursery, or sit in Uzair’s lap at dinner and complain about how cruel teachers were making a four year old do mathematics. Or complain to Rehman about how Uzair had teased her by calling her a wobalt , a creature he had seen in national geographical. Noori was truly offended when she got older and aware about its skills.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
Noori knew what she wanted to be from a very young age. She was used to being referred as heroine from those that knew her antics, a delusional girl would she be called now. Even from a very young age she would be meticulous about how Ulfat would tie her luscious waves into braids or stand infront of the mirror reciting a dialogue she had heard in a movie.
She would sit in front of TV and watch movies with mouth open, in awe and trance. She would watch likes of Kareena Kapoor in kabhi khushi kabhi gham or Amrita Rao in Main Hoon Na and knew what she wanted to be like. A diva.
She would spend hours in front of Ulfat’s vanity, trying everything and anything, poor Ulfat wouldn’t have the power to stop her when she turned those gazelle like eyes towards her, wide and pleading. And frankly, it’s not like Ulfat mind it even a slightest, she always wanted a daughter to doll up and pamper, and with Noori she had her chance. Ulfat would beckon the best tailor in Lyari and make her fix the seams that would have made Noori cry from discomfort, making sure she wore the best frocks in the town.
Noori loved many things; getting ready, writing down, reading, acting, dancing, listening to music, all things feminine and taking snapshots of every special moment of her life.
For her fourteenth birthday, Noori had demanded a Nikon camera specifically in pink colour from Rehman, and Rehman had especially gotten it from Dubai through a partner.
The first picture in that camera was of Rehman and Ulfat in hospital with the latter cradling a newborn Naieem, the second picture was of Uzair in the jeep Rehman had gifted him, the third picture was of Donga and Siyahi with moustaches from lassi on their upper lips, fourth picture was of her pet rabbit whose name name was ‘bunny’, fifth was of her and her best friend Sajal in their new grade.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
Haveli didn’t realise when Noorjahan grew up, when the waves that ended at her shoulder blade started falling down to her hips, or when did she start occupying full space on the wooden swing in the courtyard, when the tailor was replaced by seamstress.
Now, Noori would spend her day jotting down ghazals in her vintage leather diary, laying down on her stomach in her bed, the sheer white canopy falling around its four posts. Or she would sit in front of large vanity of her own and puff her body with pink dusting powder or tightline her honey eyed eyes using kohl.
And if she was doing none of that she would lay on the chaise lounge in her room, with diy mask on and listen to mehndi hassan or nusrat fateh ali khan, there was no in between for her. She seemed like a protagonist of one of the falguni pathak’s music video at this point.
Soon, she started filling the forms for a fashion designing school in Karachi, she knew where her passion lied. Once the forms were filled and sent through post was when she told Rehman, Uzair and Ulfat about it.
Expectantly, they weren’t in favour of sending her to Karachi, they knew what kind of risk their business brought upon her and how her being a vulnerability was a known fact to all who shared animosity with them.
However, as we know, ‘what Noori wants, Noori gets.’ It wasn’t easy to convince her brothers, or sister in law, but Noori was a master manipulator and even better of an actor who knew where to shed tears.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
So now, Noori was on the verge of completing her four years bachelor’s degree in Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture, Karachi. Karachi was everything Lyari wasn’t, it was like a whole new world for naive Noori.
Karachi taught Noori that she captured attention more easily than one should, everywhere she went she grabbed attention and turned heads. It was hard not to notice her with her model-esque height, glowing ivory skin, flushed cheeks and honeyed eyes. She was used to having people glance at her first, look at her twice and stare at thrice.
Noori here was different than what she was in Lyari, a small town girl what was she didn’t want to be. She had joined a Pilates class, an acting club, went to a nearby cafe for her studies and tried to do everything that she knew she couldn’t lover wannabe influencer lifestyle once she was back in Lyari.
It was Karachi where she had gone to clubbing for first time, where she had her transformation from modest suits to short dress and tight jeans, where she had learnt to a little free. Sajal had accompanied her too, much to Noori’s mirth. But now it was time to go back.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
Back in Lyari, a lot had happened. An attack on Naieem had happened which had rattled the family however a guy who worked at a doodh soda shop, Hamza Ali Mazari, had save him, adding him instantly to the inner circle of Baloch gang.
An attack that happened in Lyari rippled upto Karachi and Noori had to return back as soon as her degree was completed, Uzair and Hamza had went to bring her back with her belongings.
Noori was not surprised on finding Uzair outside her hostel, that wasn’t new but a new guy!? a guy who looked like he walked straight out Bollywood movies with majestic long mane like hair, a chest that almost competed hers, biceps bigger than her face which made her want to take a bit off of them and a look so non chalant it made her want to scoff not even looking twice at her, ‘kon hai yeh jisne dobara mud kar noori ko nahi dekha?’ but hey, atleast Lyari will be fun now.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
author’s note : this is absolutely shit, the actual draft was really very good, i promise!!! i wrote this in an hour after losing my actual good draft, it just wants to make me cry. i edited the gifs myself btw.
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DUDEEEE I had you mixed up with roses and iron and I was so upset for a while that there wasn’t gonna be a part 3 to madam noorjahan but Since she quit but it’s actually you and there will be another part 😭I feel so dumb 😭🙏🏻 But ab keh diya toh please RELEASE THE NEXT PART AND MAKE A GIRL HAPPY !
yaar it is yet to be written but i will surely get back on it, things have been quite stressful as of recently 😔🙏
hiii , just wanted to ask if I could get added to the tag list and maybe a teeny tiny update on the next part of madam noorjahan if possible !!! 🫶🏻💗
Hii, yes surely! I am not sure if your asking to another part for it an update in general (😭) but I am yet to write it as I haven’t not been at best in regards of my health!
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Part 1 ~ Uzair Miyan Aur Unke Hone Waale Bacche Ki Ammi
A/N ~ Hello everyone! This is my first time writing and posting something on Tumblr, so please be kind with me. If anyone wants to be removed from the tag list, feel free to DM me anytime. I used to read mostly on Wattpad, but after getting a little bored, I somehow found my way back to Tumblr thanks to @mainyahaankyunhoon and their amazing Dhurandhar fanfics. After reading so many beautiful stories here, I felt inspired to try writing something myself, so here I am. I’m still very new to Tumblr, so if you see anything looking a little out of place… please pretend you didn’t see it 😭 Thank you so much for being here.
[THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES NOT ROMANTICISE, SUPPORT, OR JUSTIFY THE ACTIONS OF ANY CHARACTER OR REAL-LIFE PERSON. EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS ONLY IN THE CONTEXT OF THE CHARACTERS FROM THE MOVIE, AS WELL AS THE GROWING ADMIRATION FOR THE ACTORS WHO BROUGHT THEM TO LIFE.]
Dolmen Mall was loud in the way every mall on a weekend was loud.
Children were running around like they had personally been injected with sugar and chaos, holding balloons in one hand and melting ice cream in the other. Somewhere in the distance, a toddler was crying like his entire life had ended because his mother refused to buy him a toy car the size of a real vehicle.
Couples were pretending they were “just friends” while walking suspiciously close together, sharing one drink with two straws and acting like nobody could see them. Groups of teenage girls were standing in the middle of walkways taking selfies from every possible angle while their one poor friend held all the shopping bags like an unpaid intern.
And then there were the aunties. Who had somehow turned every clothing store into a battlefield because of 50% off sale.
One aunty was arguing with a salesman like her life depended on getting an extra discount. While another was holding up a dress and loudly announcing, “Iss colour main mai moti dikhungi kyy?” while her husband stood behind her holding eight shopping bags and looking like he had mentally left this world three hours ago.
The perfume section smelled so strong that Y/N was convinced if she stayed there for five more minutes, she would either faint or her lungs would soon start to smell like a mix of rose, jasmine, sandalwood and what not.
And after almost four hours of shopping, her arms felt like they were hanging by a thread, while she tightly held multiple bags in her small hands.
One bag had clothes she absolutely did not need but bought because they were “too cute to leave behind.” Another had random skincare products she had seen online at 2am and suddenly decided she needed them for survival. One bag had earrings and jewelleries. One had sandals. One had candles that smelled like “vanilla dreams” and “midnight rain” even though she had no idea what midnight rain was supposed to smell like. Another bag had snacks she bought from the supermarket section because “what if I feel hungry at 4am?” as if she doesn't live in a house with two fabulous cooks. She had also somehow ended up buying hair clips, nail paint, a notebook she was never going to write in, and a phone cover even though her current one was perfectly fine.
At this point she was carrying enough bags to look like she had come to the mall after a breakup and decided to rebuild her entire personality from scratch.
But it all would have been more fun if her best friend was here. She really missed Yalina right now. Not that Zoya and Sira were bad company. They are fun and dramatic, but nobody could really take her best friend’s place.
Yalina would have been right beside her, carrying the same amount of unrequited stuff and still forcing her into stores they both has nothing to do with. And convincing her to buy things she absolutely did not need with lines like, “Yaar le le, future mein kaam aa jayega.” And somehow, like every single time, Y/N would have end up listening to her.
It honestly was not fair that today of all days, Yalina had to disappear because her mother suddenly decided this was the perfect day for shopping. But obviously, the second Yalina told her mother she already had plans, aunty had probably pulled out the classic emotional blackmail.
“Main mar jaungi ek din, tab tumhe meri yaad aayegi.”
And just like that, the poor girl had been dragged away. Y/N could already imagine the torture Yalina was suffering through right now. Carrying her mother’s purse, holding six shopping bags in one hand, standing outside trial rooms for hours, and hearing things like, “Beta yeh colour mujh par khil raha hai kyy?” Honestly, Y/N had only let her go because if Yalina had refused to accompany her mother, aunty would have killed her with taunts within a week. And she really likes to see her best friend alive.
By the time they finally collapsed into chairs at the food court, they looked exhausted, broke, and emotionally drained. All three of them sat down with the kind of relief usually reserved for people returning home from war.
The food court was complete chaos.
Children were screaming somewhere in the background, people were hunting for empty tables like it was a national sport, and every few seconds someone could be heard shouting, “Bhaiya ek chair idhar dena!” Teenagers were taking photos of their food from every possible angle before eating it, because apparently fries tasted better after fifteen photos. Nearby, a tired uncle was standing in a long line at a fast-food counter, staring at the menu with betrayal in his eyes like he had just discovered that a good meal now cost the same as monthly rent.
Y/N sat right in the middle of all that chaos with a burger in one hand, fries spread across the tray, and shopping bags surrounding her chair like she was guarding treasure. One bag was near her feet. Two were hanging from the back of her chair. One was sitting on the empty chair beside her because apparently even her shopping needed personal space.
Her two friends, who she lovingly calls burger bucchas completely ignoring the irony of her own origin of political background, inhaled their food like they had not eaten in months. Sira had already finished half her burger before anyone else had even opened the ketchup packets. Zoya was not much better. She had somehow managed to steal fries from both Y/N and Sira while still eating her own. Y/N looked at them in disgust. “Tum dono ko dekh ke lag raha hai ki ghar mai bhooka rakha jata hai.”
“Mujhe judge mat kar,” Sira said without even looking up from her food. “Shopping, cardio se kam nahi hota hai.” Zoya nodded seriously. “Exactly, aur cardio ke baad protein zaruri hota hai.”
“You are eating a burger with extra cheese,” Y/N deadpanned. “Or protein with personality,” Zoya corrected. And all three giggled like teenage girls on the table behind them.
“Yaar, agar Yalina yahan hoti na toh aur maza aata, woh mujhe aur zyada faltu cheezein khareedwa deti.” Y/N muttered dramatically as she adjusted the shopping bag near her feet. Zoya and Sira, looked at her with absolutely no sympathy. “Please,” Zoya said while shamelessly stealing fries from Y/N’s tray “tujhe Yalina ki zarurat nahi hai faltu shopping ke liye. Tu akali bhi kaafi hai.”
“Excuse me?” Y/N looked offended.
“Sahi bol rahi hoon vo,” Sira added. “Tu mall aayi thi ek jeans lene aur ab dekh. Tere paas itne bags hain jaise tu yahan nayi zindagi shuru karne aayi ho.” Y/N looked around at the bags surrounding her chair and immediately got defensive. “Accha? Lekin sab zaruri cheezein hain.”
“Really?” Zoya asked, raising an eyebrow. “Toh woh scented candles kyun li jo ‘midnight rain’ aur ‘soft romance’ naam ki hain? Tu hawa soonghegi ya romance karegi?” Y/N pointed a fry at her dramatically. “Tum log mera mazaak uda lo, phir jab mera room aesthetic lagega na tab mat bolna.”
“Room aesthetic?” Sira repeated. “Tumne same shade ke teen lip gloss liye hain.”
“They are not the same shade,” Y/N said immediately, personally offended. “Ek nude pink hai, ek soft pink hai aur ek rosy pink hai. Difference samjho yaar!” Sira stared at her for a second before very slowly taking a sip of her drink. “Iska hone vala shohar tho gya.”
Y/N finished her food and took the last sip of her drink, still not feeling like this outing had been fun enough to justify the amount of money she had spent.
“Yaar kuch fun karte hain,” Y/N groaned dramatically as she leaned back in her chair. “Main thak gayi hoon, mere pair toot rahe hain, mera bank account almost khali hogya hoga aur mujhe Yalina ki yaad aa rahi hai.”
“Truth and dare?” Zoya asked immediately, as if she had been waiting her whole life for someone to suggest it. “Truth and dare tab tak hi fun hota hai jab tak log bakwaas questions nahi poochte jaise ‘tera pehla crush kaun tha’ ya ‘tu kis se shaadi karegi’” Y/N complained.
“Accha toh phir sirf dare karte hain,” Sira said with an evil smile slowly spreading across her face. Y/N should have known right there that nothing good was going to come out of this. Because Sira only smiled like that when she was about to ruin someone’s life for entertainment. Y/N narrowed her eyes at her suspiciously. “Overreact mat kar,” Sira said. “Bas thoda maza karenge yrr.” That should have been the moment Y/N got up, picked up her bags, and left. But unfortunately, she loves to jump head first in trouble. So, she stayed.
And that was exactly how, ten minutes later, she ended up staring across the food court at a group of two men walking in. The first thing she noticed was that they looked horribly out of place. They were okayishly dressed, but too confident, too calm in the middle of all the chaos around them. People moved out of their way without even realizing they were doing it.
But Y/N’s eyes stayed fixed on the tall man at the left. He was dressed in a dark blue pathani kurta, the sleeves folded up slightly to his forearms. His hair looked a little messy, like he had run a hand through it too many times, and his face was completely stoic but he looked calm, though his eyes were restless like the Arctic ocean. But even from far away, Y/N could somehow tell he probably had a really nice smile.
Not that she was interested.
Obviously not.
Meanwhile, Uzair was sitting lazily in his chair with his head resting against the wall behind him and his arms folded across his chest. He looked deeply unimpressed by everything around him. “Teri bandi ke liye taufa lena tha toh mujhe yahan laane ki kya zarurat thi?” he grumbled, looking at , who was sitting opposite him with a gift bag in front of him.
Hamza did not even bother to look up.
“Taaki tujhe pata ho,” he said while writing something on a small card in the most disgusting handwriting known to mankind. “Agar kal ko galti se tuje bhi ishq ho gya ya teri shaadi ho gayi toh unko kaise manayega?” Uzair looked personally offended. “Main nahi padta in sab behuda cheezon mein.” But Hamza ignored him completely and continued scribbling on the card with unnecessary concentration. For some reason, he had decided to write “I love you” in giant crooked letters and underneath that he had drawn an H♡Y with an arrow going through the heart.
And Uzair stared at it with visible pain. “Yeh kya bana raha hai tu?” he asked flatly. “Art,” Hamza said proudly. “Yeh dekh ke teri bandi tujhe chhod degi.” Hamza gasped dramatically and held the card closer to himself. “Jalan ho rahi hai tujhe?” Uzair looked like he would rather fight ten people than sit through this conversation. Completely unaware that from the other corner of the food court, a storm in the form of Y/N was already staring at him like a hungry lioness.
“Dare yeh hai,” Sira said, suddenly sitting up straighter in her chair like she had just been blessed with the worst idea in human history. “Uske paas ja aur bol ki tu uske hone wale bacche ki ammi hai aur woh tujhe chhod ke bhaag gaya.”
For two seconds there was silence. Then Zoya almost choked on her drink. “KYA?” she whisper-yelled. “PAGAL HAI KYA? MARWAYEGI UNKO?” But Sira looked completely unbothered. “Arre bas bolna hai aur bhaagna hai. Hum bags leke exit ke paas ready rahenge. Aur fatafat bhaag jayegi, okay?” Zoya immediately looked at Y/N. “Nahi. Bilkul nahi. Tu mat kar yeh.” But honestly, who could save a moth that willingly wanted to burn itself in fire? Because the second Sira said it, there was already a dangerous little spark in Y/N’s eyes. That stupid spark that always appeared right before she did something she would regret later.
Y/N could not help but quickly count the odds of ever meeting that man again. Which honestly seemed almost impossible. It was not like she knew him personally. It was not like her best friend was dating one of his friends or something insane like that. There was absolutely no chance they would ever cross paths again. And maybe that was exactly why it felt so tempting. Because suddenly, in the middle of this boring shopping trip, there was finally something exciting. Something stupid. Something that would probably haunt her forever. But still exciting.
And with that, Y/N stood up from her chair. She adjusted her short kurti over her jeans, fixed her hair quickly, and looked at the girls the same way a warrior probably looked before walking into battle. “Samaan uthao aur bhaagne ko ready rehna.” She said seriously. Zoya looked like she had already started praying mentally. Meanwhile, Sira was already grinning like the devil. And before anyone could stop her, Y/N turned around and started walking towards the table of men like a hurricane in human form.
Uzair Baloch was still staring at the card in front of him like it had personally insulted his entire bloodline. Meanwhile, Hamza was fully invested in decorating it. And was now drawing tiny flowers around the badly written “I love you” like he was designing a wedding invitation instead of a gift card. Uzair scrunched his nose in disgust. “Aur kitna sajayega ise? Teri shaadi ka card thodi hai.” Hamza did not even look up. “Tu nahi samjhega. Takhaleeqi (Creative) efforts naam ki bhi koi cheez hoti hai.”
“Takhaleeqi?” Uzair repeated flatly. “Yeh phool pyar ke nahi balki kisi mayyat se uthaye lag rahe hai. Isse dekh kar vo tujhe chhodh hi na de.” Hamza looked offended. “Kamm se kamm meri bandi tho hai.” Uzair was just opening his mouth to insult him back when suddenly.
THAK!
A hand slammed dramatically onto the table so hard that Hamza nearly jumped out of his chair. The pen slipped from his fingers and rolled across the table. Both men looked up at once. And there she was.
Y/N stood in front of them with one hand planted on the table, eyes narrowed dramatically, breathing slightly fast because she had walked too confidently and now her heart was trying to escape her chest. For one second, nobody spoke. Then she looked directly at Uzair and said in the most accusing voice possible “Wah. Kya baat hai.” Uzair just blinked. “Toh tum mujhe apne hone wale bacche ki ammi bana kar yahan ghoom rahe ho?”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Hamza looked like he had physically stopped breathing. The expression on his face was so horrified and confused that for a second Y/N almost cracked a smile. The pen he had been holding dropped from his hand onto the table. Meanwhile Uzair just stared at her. Completely. Utterly. Speechless. His face had gone blank in pure shock. He looked at her like his brain had stopped working and now he was trying to restart it manually.
Hamza slowly looked from Y/N to Uzair.
Then back to Y/N.
Then back to Uzair again.
“Baccha?” he whispered weakly.
Uzair finally snapped out of it and turned to him so fast he almost pulled a muscle. “Mujhe kya dekh raha hai? Mujhe khud nahi pata yeh kaun hai!” Y/N immediately pointed a finger at him dramatically. “Wow. Ab toh pehchaan bhi nahi rahe ho mujhe?”
Hamza’s mouth fell open. “Tu ne hume bataya bhi nahi?” he asked Uzair in genuine betrayal. “Pagal ho gaya hai kya?” Uzair snapped, looking completely horrified now. “Main isse jaanta tak nahi!”
“Jhooth!” Y/N gasped dramatically, putting a hand over her heart like he had just broken it into pieces. “Tumne kaha tha tum mere saath rahoge!” she continued speaking, and somehow managed to make the situation even worse for him. “You promised me!” she said, voice rising dramatically as she pointed at Uzair Baloch like he had personally ruined her life. “Tumne wada kiya tha ki tum mera aur iss hone wale bacche ka saath doge!” At this point, even the people passing by had slowed down. A group of women carrying shopping bags had completely stopped walking. Even the man cleaning tables looked invested. And the funniest part to Y/N was that Uzair still had not denied it.
He was so shocked that his brain seemed to have completely stopped functioning. He was just staring at her with wide eyes, like he genuinely could not understand how his life had reached this point. And then Y/N noticed his ears were slowly turning pink. Oh my God. He was embarrassed. That alone nearly ruined her entire performance because she almost burst out laughing right there. Beside him, Hamza leaned forward slowly, still trying to process whatever nightmare he had just been dragged into and turned towards Uzair like he had discovered an entirely new side to him. “Bhai…” he said slowly. “Tu toh bada tez nikla.” Uzair looked ready to pass away on the spot. “HAMZA, KASAM SE—”
“BAS!” Y/N cut him off dramatically before he could explain himself. Because truthfully, now she has started to panic a little because absolutely nobody was reacting the way she expected. The man in blue was doing everything other than declining her accusation. While his friend looked absolutely betrayed. And the random public was fully invested. So before she lose control and would start laughing, she pointed at Uzair dramatically one last time. “Main samajh gayi. Tum jaise mardon se aur umeed bhi kya kar sakti hoon?” Her eyes glinted with fake unshed tears, her expression looked personally victimized, and before either of them could recover, she turned around and walked away as fast as humanly possible without technically running.
For a few seconds after she left, there was complete silence at the table. Hamza stared at the direction she had disappeared in. Then he slowly turned toward Uzair. Then back toward where she had run. Then back toward Uzair again. And without saying a single word, he immediately pulled out his phone.
“Hamza” Uzair warned dangerously.
But it was too late. Hamza was already calling Donga. The second the call connected, Hamza almost folded over laughing. “Bhai…” he wheezed. “Abhi abhi kya hua hai tu soch bhi nahi sakta.” Uzair looked ready to snatch the phone and throw it across the mall, but he didn't because he knows the damage was done.
Within seconds, Hamza had narrated the entire story in the most dramatic way possible. And because Donga was Donga, he spread the news faster than the speed of light. Uzair could literally hear everyone's shouting from the other side of the phone.
“Uzair miyan, aapne hume bacche ki mithai nahi khilai!”
“Aapka pura parivaar hai? Aapne toh hamara bharosa tod diya!”
“Kab hua yeh sab? Hume bataya bhi nahi?”
“Bhabhi aur Rehman bhai ko pta chala tho suli par chhada denge.” Hamza was laughing so hard now that he was struggling to breathe. Meanwhile Uzair sat there looking furious, embarrassed, and deeply offended by Hamza's existence. But underneath all that irritation, there was something else too. Because despite everything, the humiliation, despite Hamza’s nonstop laughing, despite the entire food court probably thinking he was somebody’s deadbeat father.
He could not stop thinking about her. Because she had been bold. Pretty. And completely insane.
“Oye Hamze! Ab marna nahi hai tho hasna band kar aur iss ladki ke baare mai sub pta kar. Sub. Kuch. Varna Rehman bhai ko bta dunga tu apna kaam muje sop kar, Jamali ki ladki ghuma raha hai. Phir mera tho pta nhi, par tu suli pe zarur chhadega.”
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Summary: it's Bahaar's first birthday with her family :)
This drabble is part of MMBUPAW AU.
A/n: idea given by my loveliest @obsessedwidskincare 🥰🫂 and written for her because she's a Rehmanpaglu 🙂↔️
Ayaan is seven, Bahaar is four now and Zayan is three and a half.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. IT IN NO WAY OR FORM ROMANTICIZES, PROPOGATES OR JUSTIFIES THE ACTS OF CHARACTERS OR ANY REAL LIFE PERSONALITY. IT IS SOLELY WRITTEN IN CONTEXT OF THE CHARACTERS OF THE MOVIE.
Morning in baloch haweli was different from any other morning. The hushed voices whispering screaming in frustration was not the norm. Rehman and Uzair fought amongst each other to determine if Abbu or Bade Abbu, who holds more authority or power to give the gift to little Bahaar first on her first birthday with the family.
Verandah was decorated with shiny balloons because dull balloons are useless as Bahaar believed. There were lots and lots of chocolates which Ulfat was not happy about but y/n assured her that they'll be distributed among all four kids, and she'll take half for herself as well.
Hamza stood smug and happy with Zayan because he had to Uzair's very obvious disdain to have gotten her a bicycle matching Zayan’s.
Yeah, your little zayan had a not so little crush on Bahaar and while you thought it was cute (and you absolutely didn't mind if in the far far future they ended up together) but the men in your house, Rehman, Uzair and Naieem hated it. While Naieem did not miss a moment to divide them or separate them during games, Uzair’s displeasure was palpable. He literally had a beef going on with little zayan, but as a protective aunt you clicked him whenever the playful quips turned mean. Hamza however enjoyed it to the T. Weirdest was Rehman bhai's reaction because according to him- Bahaar will never love a man more than him and so she will never leave him and go with anyone else. She will marry only if her husband moves in and then Rehman Dakait will make sure that his princess is treated like a Queen.
“Bhai ye nahi chalega! Main pehle utha tha! Main phele dunga.”
“Haan aur duniya mein main pehle aaya tha. Bakwas mat kar lodu. Main dunga, baat khatam.”
Rehman waves a dismissive hand.
“Rehman bacche ko dene dijiye na. Pehli saal girah hai Bahaar ki.”
Ulfat tries to reason but her words fall dead on Rehman's ears. Uzair huffs and sits beside you, leaning his head on your shoulder. This big baby was trying to curl on you. You had three kids honestly and if you add your nephews then five!
Rehman Bhai's gift was a surprise ofcourse, Naieem was going to take her for colouring classes for two months where he'd join her. Faizal had gotten her the best and safest science experiment set which he'll help her perform. Uzair had made a whole ass solar system model from a diy set, because she loved space. He even got those glow in the dark stickers for her room ceiling. Ulfat had made a crochet frock for her in three of her favourite colours. Yalina mami had planned six mani-padi girl dates stretching over the year with her favourite niece. You had collected little trinkets all over the course of the nine months period she had been with the family. It felt symbolic. The box was filled to the brim. There were hair clips, stickers, bracelets, shoes, pretty socks, glitter pins, diary, puzzles and everything in between.
You heard a pitter-patter of little legs followed by deliberate foot strikings on the ground. You had sent Ayaan to wake Bahaar and get her to the verandah for the surprise. The moment she saw the decoration and all of you, she let out a scream of joy. She ran straight into your arms and you picked her up and spun her in the air.
After she was a bit composed about the birthday celebration you put her down only after slobbering her cheeks with kisses. She went and hugged Uzair who went on his knees to hug her properly. She then immediately ran up to Rehman and wanted for him to give her uppies. He picked her up and threw her into the air then caught her. Both of their laughter contagious, spreading and bouncing through the walls of haveli.
“Ammi bahaar ka ba-day?”
“Haan meri jaan, Bahaar ka birthday hai aaj!”
“Ah! Ba-day! Cake!”
“Bilkul cake bhi hai! Woh bhi chocolate.”
She covers her mouth with her little hands in excitement, giggling and coohing.
After she blew the candles, when she was asked to feed the cake, as expected she offered the first bite to Ayaan, then to everybody's surprise turned towards Zayan. Your husband and Rehman were seething whereas Zayan was dancing a little. She gave the next bite to your husband and then to Rehman, and went around feeding everyone except you. You felt a pang when she called Hamza and Yalina too before you. When you handed her a bite of cake to feed you last, she shook her head and said that now the rest of the cake was for you because Bahaar loved her Ammi the most, so she should get the most of the cake if not all. And you cried.
After lunch everybody was in the verandah laying, some sitting, some splayed on the mats on the ground. Afternoon sun was being battled by the shade of the shade sheet, and trees looming over the house shading the verandah. Everybody had their gifts ready. Uzair had given up on fighting Rehman to be the first one to give the gift to Bahaar on her birthday.
“Ye lo meri pari ke liye saalgirah ka tohfa.”
Rehman handed her a box that she at first couldn't open. Rehman chuckled and opened it for her. She gasped and covered her mouth with both hands leading to dropping the box into her lap.
“AMMI! ye bale abbu ke jaisa blacelet”
She squeals in unadulterated joy. She has since the day known that Rehman was her biggest asset because he'd do anything for her, had been pulling him everywhere. Looking at stars past bedtime? Bade abbu kahenge toh abbu nahi daant sakte! Skipping lunch to have some gola? Bade abbu is the partner in crime! A car ride around the sea shore? Bade abbu ne kaha toh hoga hi! It was hard to wrap her little hands around his wrist so she tugged at the silver kada that he wore without fail. It was as permanent as he was going to be in her life.
So obviously having the same exact kada just in the size of her little wrist would make her jump like a monkey toy with a key.
“Abbu penao, penaooo na!”
She thrusted the box into Rehman's hand. Rehman pushed it on her wrist with such gentleness that was foreign in his field of work.
It reminded you of the day Uzair had reached your home for your hand in marriage, uninvited, uninformed, unprepared. You were shitting your pants because the stink eyes you got from your uncle and aunt were giving you anxiety attacks. Sher-e-baloch was literally sitting in your humble house. After Ulfat bhabhi somehow actually turned awkward silence and angered gazes to actual conversation, your uncle and aunt hadn't agreed for the alliance right away. They shared how you were technically an orphan. That they spent on your education because they wanted you to support them in their old age, which you didn't mind really but according to them you being married away would be a waste of all their efforts. You were already studying on scholarship, Yalina or rather her father was the one who handled most of your expenses but to them you were leeching off them and now this was your escape plan. And even though the situation did conform to the worst, it still hurt. They had never even thought of you as a daughter let alone treat you as one.
“Humare paas dene ke liye kuch nahi hai. Iske abbu ka jo tha woh sab humne mil baant ke khaya hai. Koi hissa karne ki baat hi nahi hai. Baki humne parvarish aur tarbiyat theek hi ki hai, ab kuch kami hogi toh humari taraf se nahi hogi. Aap isse apne ghar ki bahu banana chaein toh aapki marzi lekin ispar humare ehsaan hai.”
Your uncle said it in a detached tone. You felt embarrassed and hurt. Uzair should've waited for you to talk to them.
“Humein bas hamari beti chahiye, aur kuch nahi. Aap jo kahein hum Dene ko taiyaar hain, chahein toh aapko har mahine aako maali haq mil jaayega. Aap humein beti denge yahi humare liye sabse ahem baat hai.”
Rehman said firmly. He turned towards you.
“Agar tumhari aur tumhare chacha chachi ki marzi ho toh hum parso hi mangni karna chahenge.”
Uzair looked at Rehman, shocked that matched your own.
Rehman bhai had a private conversation with your uncle and aunt while Ulfat was busy gushing about the preparations for the engagement, while you were glaring at Uzair and he was avoiding meeting your eyes. Hamza was enjoying the free show from afar.
Your uncle and aunt had agreed for the alliance whole heartedly. The amount Rehman offered must've been much much bigger than your meager salary currently as an intern and a R1 resident soon.
Your very first day as a married woman, at baloch haveli was like a celebration again. Everything was going opposite to what you expected. You weren't asked to cook, but instead you were asked your favourites and those were the meals that day. Ulfat kept teasing you about Uzair's girlfriend, someone named ‘heena’ who clearly had a lot of complaints about him and if they were solved or not. Naieem and Faizal were like puppies honestly and your husband was glowing and preening like a peacock when you called him husband instead of by his name.
Sitting on the swing in the courtyard with your husband you were discussing your new work schedule, trying to navigate through it to find some time for a weekend getaway. Rehman came strolling around. He chatted with both of you casually, awkward small talk until Uzair asked him point blank if he wanted to say something.
“Bhai aapko huck kaam hain? Koi kaam hai? Kyunki jahan tak main jaanta hoon aapko Lahore aur Karachi ke Mausam ke fark se koi matlab nahi hai.”
Uzair pointed out.
Rehman sighed in resignation and pulled out a velvet box from his pocket and a folded paper who has seen better days before being folded so small to fit into his pocket.
“Ye tumhare liye hai”
The cautious smile vanished from your face in shock. Why would he gift you anything? He had done enough already.
“Ji?”
“Haan, tumhare liye. Ye kangan Uzair ki Ammi ke hain. Bure walt mein bhi Ulfat ne kabhi inhe bechne nahi diya.”
You were so touched by the sentiment of the gift. You opened the box to see a simple silver thick kangans that had intricate nakkashi on it.Your vintage jewelry lover heart summersaulted. They were a bit bigger but nothing you couldn't fix.
“Shukriya Rehman bhai. Main inhe utna hi sambhal kar rakhungi jitna ab tak aap dono ne rakha.”
Your gaze drifted to Uzair who was looking down at his folded hands in his lap. You did not mean it only about the kangan’s, but about Uzair's parents last and most precious living memory. Rehman understood that and nodded.
He cleared his throat and handed you the paper he was holding casually as if it held much less meaning than it did.
“Ye kuch ek aad FD hain. Tumhare aur tumhare jitne bhi bacche honge unke naam par. Meri taraf se shaadi ka tohfa samajna.”
You were shocked if anything, the paper clearly said an amount you'd never earn even in your whole career. And that was only for you. Your and Uzair's kids would get the same amount each.
“Ye main nahi le sakti. Aapne pehle hi mere ghar waalon ki zimmedari ki hai. Main jitna kamato hoon usme se Maine bachaya bhi hai. Khuda na khaadya agar mushkil wakt aaya bhi toh main Uzair ka saath kabhi nahi chhodungi.”
Rehman shook his head, smiling.
“Main jaanta hoon. Lekin ye Uzair ke liye hai hi nahi. Tumhare liye hai. Humara kaam jaisa hai, hum chahein kitna bhi bhagen iss baat se lekin agar hum mein se koi agar kabhi ghar naa aya toh tumhe ya ulfat ko apne aage ki zindagi ki fikr na karni pade.”
“Lekin Rehman bhai main toh-”
“Haq se toh ab tumhara hi hai, lekin mujhse uss haq se le lo, jis haq se agar tumhare abbu dete toh le leti.”
Tears brimming in your eyes, rolled down your cheeks finally. You stood up and hugged rehman out of the blue. He let out a startled laugh before patting your head. You broke the hug and sniffled, wiping your nose.
“Bhai ab main kya aapke baccho ke list mein chautha hoon?”
Uzair whined.
Watching everybody dote on your daughter filled your heart to the brim. She had so many people caring for her. She had Rehman bhai, Uzair, Hamza and even Naieem and Faizal. As much as you believed you could take care of your kids alone in case of any adversity, it kept your heart and mind at peace that she would never have to feel unprotected in absence of her father because she was like a daughter to many.
“Bahaal Chalo na hum cycle chalate hain!”
Zayan held her hand and dragged her to the gift he brought for her.
“Koi zaroorat nahi, main sikha dunga usse.”
Uzair quickly stood up from his place, and walked up to them.
“Alee waah! Phu Phu humein cycle sikhaenge?!”
Zayan, your poor baby thought his Phu Phu was being kind and protective. He exclaimed in joy that they were being joined by him.
“Uzair, aaram se. Bhatija hai mera.”
You smiled at him gently and waved at the three of them. Your subtle warning, was not so subtle. Ayaan snorted and sat in your lap, finally getting his favourite place as the birthday girl left your side for the first time today.
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This story is based on the movie written and directed by Aditya Dhar, it has nothing to do with the actual inspiration of the incidents or characters for the movie from the real life instances, rather their portrayal in the movie by the characters.
Another quick note, Rehman Dakait is not a terrorist in this fic, he's a rebel against the Pakistani forces oppressing Balochistan and a gangster, Hamza is also a similar character and not a spy, these changes are to make this fic more digestible for the masses that can't look past their atrocities in real life. (Not saying that I am looking past them but, the actors were too hot)
✨ Pairing: Uzair Baloch x Inaya Aslam Chaudhary (oc)
🚬 Warnings: Mature content, consumption of alcohol, consumption of tobacco, consumption of weed, abusive words, physical abuse, emotional abuse, kidnapping, age gap, non con, dub con, Uzair is a warning by himself
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Uzair Baloch x OC - the best closer in the business is here to collect his dues of blood and tears and he will use whatever means necessary
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Inaya was out to run some errands and mainly get her engagement dress fitted as she had lost some weight in the past few weeks, probably from the stress of the upcoming wedding. She was supposed to be accompanied by her grandmother, but as the sweet old lady had taken to bed, Inaya was left to get the work done. Dressed in a pale powder blue silk kurta that sat loosely on her frame not highlighting any curves ending above her knees and a similar silk plazzo pants that flowed with each of her steps with her head covered by an ombre organza dupatta she had wrapped around loosely, she stood out in a subtle way, one might not notice her if she passed by but once she caught your eye it would be hard to take them off her.
Inaya was weaving the market roads with efficiency of someone on a time crunch, stopping only when and where it was necessary, she had handed the master-ji her dress and informed him where the changes had to be made and she set out to explore the rest of the market, one thing she was looking to buy were some bangles made of lacquer.
Thankfully she didn't have to look for too long she found the shop with the help of other vendors, she had gotten two customized sets, one in pale pastel colours, an amazing blend of a baby pink, chick yellow and the green of young leaves, while the other was an enigmatic blend of a glittery royal blue and gold on a black background. She couldn't help as she already wore the pastel pair as they went well with the suit she was wearing, while the other two were neatly put in the side of her handbag that sat on her shoulder.
After looking through a few more places and purchasing what she thought went well with the chosen outfits for nikah and walima, she decided to head back towards the tailor's shop and collected her heavy and embellished sharara and began to move towards the main road to catch a rikshaw back home before the evening rush would fully started to set in and the later she would show up at home, the higher the chances were that her grandparents might be alerting her baba, worried for her safety.
She was a few metres away from the main road when she saw a rickshaw pull away, causing her to slow down a little defeated with the heavy sharara causing the ache in her arms. Suddenly she felt arms wrap around her waist and a wet cloth placed over her face, mainly her mouth and nose forcing her to inhale whatever was causing the dampness of the fabric, she tried to trash and scream, but the strength of the person holding her was superior to her own and after a few moments she felt her body start to go weak.
Uzair calmly carried the girl to the car a few steps away and placed her in the backseat and signalled Hamza to get the bags she dropped, thankful that they didn't have to threaten anyone into silence. Soon they pulled away from the street and began their journey for Quetta. As he relaxed in the backseat Uzair finally took a good look at her, she had a pale complexion, with pink cheeks and would bruise at the slightest force, her now red face a proof of it, he could almost see the faint lines of his hand, her duppata had slipped from her head when she was struggling, revealing the soft waves of her almost brown hair that was reaching well below her waist. She looked like one of those china dolls that sat in the decoration case back home in Lyari, hard to find and easy to break.
It had been an hour since they had hit the highway, 3 hours since they kidnapped the girl, and would take about 7 or 8 hours for them to reach Quetta when Uzair noticed that Hamza was silent, it wasn't anything surprising but the way he was looking back at her every few minutes through the mirror was caught by Uzair, "Oy Hamze, kya baat hai?" Hamza's gaze shifted to Uzair as he heard the question and immediately diverted his eyes to the road.
"Kuch nahi bhai" He replied curtly.
"Hamze, bata de lodu" Uzair asked again as he lit a joint to calm himself down, he noticed that on an instinct, Hamza had rolled the windows down. Uzair kept staring through the mirror, letting Hamza know that he was not taking no for an answer.
"Bahi vo, hum sahi kar rahe hai? Yalina ke umr ki lagti hai." Hamza structured his words well, the question was followed by a little food for thought, his conscience mocking him, questioning how far he was going to fall. Uzair looked at her to his right and didn't look away as he replied.
"Nahi, par agar SP ko khoon ke ansoo nahi rulaye na, mujhe chain nahi aane wala." Uzair made his stance clear to Hamza, he didn't care how, but he will be hitting the SP exactly where it was going to hurt. He knew that the SP had probably already issued a missing person case for his daughter but he also knew that in this country even without using his power and connections to suppress the search, it was going to be at least 2 days before SP would get the whole force moving and that would be enough time for him to erase all her tracks.
Thank you so much for all the love and appreciation that y'all have sent my way, really and actually grateful for it. On the other hand I am confused about where I was going to go with Uzair's role, I was going to make him evil and heartless but I feel like he still is a idiotic softy, so idk if I wanna make him evil or morally grey. Please help me with this dilemma👆✨
And anything else that you think I can improve at? My writing, my character description, anything at all that could help with your reading experience?
P.s. I was actually going to post the day before but idk what happened I lost the last saved version where I had revised the whole thing, I was then pissed off with myself for it, but here we are!!
Author's Note: Based on the request above! I am truly very sorry @ninnimouse because this is such a disgrace to your lovely ask but I've been staring at this for days and have lost hope for it getting any better. I hope the lovelies somewhat like whatever this garbage nonsense is. Please feel free to leave any thoughts or comments, even if it's just to (politely) tell me how shitty this is! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! Much love to my loves 💋
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The afternoon sun filtered through the ancient, sprawling boughs of the Haveli’s garden, casting long, swaying shadows that danced across the lush green grass. The air was thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and damp earth, but on a wide, quilted blanket spread near the rosebushes, the atmosphere was far more focused. A very serious, high-stakes party was underway.
Ghazal was deep in the throes of a tea party that required the precision of a master architect. She sat cross-legged, her small frame hunched forward as she gripped a tiny, translucent plastic pitcher. Her brow was furrowed in such intense concentration that her little nose was scrunched up, and the tip of her pink tongue poked out from the corner of her mouth, a sure sign of her total dedication to the craft. With the utmost care, she tilted the pitcher, watching the stream of apple juice hit the bottom of her miniature teacup. Not a single drop was allowed to escape onto the fabric of the blanket. To Ghazal, a spill would be a catastrophe of the highest order.
Surrounding her was a carefully curated feast, plates of sliced apples, a neat stack of salty crackers, and the “grown-up” porcelain cups of steaming chai she had firmly insisted her parents bring. She had even laid out a few extra plastic cups for Mimi and the imaginary guests who were apparently running late.
While Uzair was lounging back on his elbows, the picture of absolute serenity, Zaara was a different story entirely. Uzair looked every bit the relaxed king of his domain, his long legs stretched out and his eyes shielded from the sun, seemingly without a care in the world. Next to him, Zaara was a vibrating bundle of nerves. Her knee bounced with a frantic, rhythmic energy that she couldn't seem to stop, and her fingers were busy twisting and untwisting the silk edge of her dupatta.
Every few seconds, she darted a glance at Uzair, her eyes silently screaming for him to take this seriously, to look at least a little bit anxious about the life-changing conversation they were about to have with their daughter. But Uzair merely caught her gaze and offered a slow, teasing wink, looking entirely too amused by her internal panic. He knew their daughter, and he knew their love. To him, this conversation was just another beautiful layer of their life, but to Zaara, it felt like the most fragile secret in the world.
Once Ghazal had successfully filled her cup to the very brim without a single splatter, she let out a tiny, held breath. She set the pitcher down with a triumphant little thud, satisfied that her hospitality was, for the moment, perfect.
“Ghazal…” Zaara called out softly.
Ghazal’s head snapped up with a tiny jump, her miniature teacup frozen halfway to her lips. Her wide, dark eyes, so much like Uzair’s, locked onto her mother with a look of pure, expectant curiosity. For a heartbeat, the only sound in the garden was the distant chirping of a bulbul and the rustle of the leaves above. The silence seemed to stretch, thick with the weight of the secret Zaara had been carrying.
Seeking an anchor, Zaara looked over at Uzair. He didn’t say a word, but he gave her a slow, heavy nod of encouragement, his gaze steady and warm. He shifted closer, his large, calloused hand moving to rest supportively on the small of her back, the heat of his palm grounding her through the silk of her kameez.
Zaara took a soft breath and turned back to her daughter. “Meri jaan...tumhe yaad hai tumne poocha tha ke tumhara bhai kab aayega?”
The effect was instantaneous. Ghazal’s entire face transformed, lighting up like a lantern. She perked up so quickly that her messy pigtails bounced against her shoulders like twin springs. The teacup was forgotten on the blanket as she leaned forward, her voice a breathless, high-pitched squeak.
“Mama! Mera bhai aa raha hai?”
Zaara couldn’t help the radiant, shaky smile that broke across her face, a mix of relief and overwhelming love. She nodded gently, her eyes shimmering.
Ghazal went quiet for a moment, her little mind whirring at a thousand miles an hour. She looked around the garden as if expecting a stork to be landing nearby, then glanced at the empty plastic chair she’d set out for her ‘guests,’ and finally looked back at Zaara with a puzzled squint.
“Woh abhi kahan hai?”
Slowly, almost tentatively, Zaara brought her hand down to her belly. Her fingers splayed over the slight, soft curve of her abdomen, a bump that was still small enough to hide from the world, but was everything to the three of them. Ghazal’s eyes followed the movement with laser-focus, her head tilting lower and lower to track her mother's hand.
“Woh yahan hai,” Zaara whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Ghazal’s eyebrows furrowed into a deep, jagged V. She stared at Zaara’s stomach with a look of profound, clinical confusion that slowly morphed into genuine, wide-eyed horror. She looked from the belly back up to Zaara’s face, her jaw dropping open.
“ Aapne usse khaa liya?” she gasped, her voice trembling at the thought of her mother’s sudden, strange appetite.
"Nahi! Nahi, meri jaan!" Zaara burst out, a fit of giggles erupting as her cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed pink.
Ghazal didn't laugh. She tilted her head nearly forty-five degrees to the side, looking more baffled than she had ever been in her four years of life. To her, the physics of the situation simply didn't add up. “Toh...toh woh wahan kaise pohauncha? Woh wahan andar kya kar raha hai?”
The silence that followed lasted exactly one second before the gravity of Ghazal’s logic hit. Uzair let out a sudden, loud snort of laughter that broke the quiet of the garden, his broad shoulders shaking as he doubled over. Zaara didn't even look up, she simply reached out, her hand moving with the lethal accuracy of a seasoned wife, and delivered a sharp, practiced smack to his bicep.
“Ouch,” Uzair muttered, rubbing the spot with a wince, though the mischievous grin remained plastered on his face. He cleared his throat, desperately trying to pull his features into something resembling a serious, responsible fatherly expression. But his eyes were still dancing with unbridled mirth. Ghazal’s innocent “Toh woh wahan kaise pohauncha?” had inadvertently stumbled into the one question every parent dreaded, and for Uzair, the answer was a vivid, private memory of a rainy night in the Haveli, a memory involving far more than just ‘prayers’ and ‘miracles.'
He caught Zaara’s eyes, his smirk deepening as he watched her struggle to find a PG-rated explanation for a process he was currently enjoying the mental recap of.
Zaara, meanwhile, was scrambling. She felt the heat rising in her neck, her mind racing through every bedtime story, fairy tale, and nursery rhyme she knew, trying to find a way to explain the miracle of life to a four-year-old who currently thought she was a cannibal. She could feel Uzair’s gaze on her, heavy with the shared secret of that night, and it only made her more flustered.
“Um...Allah Miyan ko pata tha ke hamari Ghazal ko ek bhai chahiye,” she began, her voice gaining a bit more confidence as she leaned into the explanation. “Toh unhon ne usse bheja. Par abhi woh bohat, bohat chota hai. Itna chota ke woh abhi bahir nahi reh sakta. Toh woh Mama ke andar ek chote se ghar mein reh raha hai. Jab woh thoda bada ho jayega, aur uske hath aur pair thode mazboot ho jayenge, toh woh bahir aa jayega.”
Ghazal went silent, her gaze fixed intensely on Zaara’s stomach as if she could see through the fabric of the kurta. She seemed to be weighing this new information against the laws of her universe. After a long, contemplative beat, the ‘eating him’ theory was officially discarded in favour of Allah Miyan’s special delivery service. She looked convinced, at least for the next five minutes.
Zaara stole a glance at Uzair. He was already watching her, his elbow resting on his knee and his chin in his hand. The look in his eyes was so thick with pride and a raw, quiet warmth that it made her breath hitch in her throat. It was the look of a man who knew he was the luckiest person alive.
Turning back to their daughter, Zaara reached out and took Ghazal’s small, juice-sticky hand in hers. Her voice was a soft, hopeful whisper. “Tum khush ho?”
Ghazal didn't answer immediately. The gravity of the situation returned to her small face. She became incredibly serious, her little chin tilting up with an air of immense importance as she looked at her mother’s belly, clearly trying to negotiate the terms of this new arrangement with the tiny tenant inside.
“Woh mere saath colour karega?” she asked solemnly, her eyes wide with the weight of the question. For Ghazal, this was the ultimate litmus test of a sibling's worth.
The sheer, heart-melting innocence of it broke the last of the tension. Both Uzair and Zaara burst into a genuine, loud laugh that echoed off the high walls of the Haveli.
Uzair reached forward, his large hand completely covering Ghazal's head as he playfully ruffled her messy pigtails until they stood up at odd angles. “Haan, meri jaan. Bilkul karega. Aur woh tumhare saare colours tod bhi dega, aur sari deewaron par lakeerein bhi banayega, dekh lena. Phir tum mujhse shikayat karne aaogi.”
Ghazal completely ignored the warning about her precious crayons being snapped. The idea of a permanent playmate was far too shiny to be tarnished by the threat of broken wax. She let out a wide, toothy smile that lit up her entire face, her dark eyes sparkling with a new kind of excitement.
“Phir main khush hoon!” she declared, picking up her plastic teacup to toast to the news.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The afternoon sun was leaning low over the primary school gates, casting long, spindly shadows across the pavement that looked like giant fingers reaching for the students. Usually, this was the absolute highlight of Ghazal’s day, the moment the heavy doors creaked open and she could burst through them, her oversized backpack thumping rhythmically against her spine. Her eyes would instinctively lock onto the same square of sidewalk near the large, fragrant jasmine bush where Zaara always stood, a radiant anchor in the sea of parents.
But today, the spot was hauntingly empty.
Ghazal skidded to a halt, her sneakers squeaking against the concrete. Her little brows knitted together into a deep, worried V as she scanned the crowd. She looked for the specific shade of her mother’s dupatta, the specific way she held her phone, but she saw nothing but strangers. For a split second, a cold shiver of abandonment washed over her. Instead of Zaara’s familiar, slender silhouette, she spotted Ulfat standing a few feet to the left, waving a pale silk handkerchief to catch her eye.
Ghazal’s frown deepened into a scowl as she trudged over, her heart thumping with a sudden, sharp anxiety that felt far too heavy for her chest. “Tayi Ammi!” she called out, her voice small, tight, and wavering. “Mama kahan hai? Woh...woh bhool gayi?”
Ulfat immediately knelt on the pavement, heedless of her expensive lawn suit, and offered a soft, reassuring smile. She reached out to smooth a stray, frizzy strand of hair back into Ghazal’s pigtail. “Nahi, meri jaan, Mama kaise bhool sakti hain? Bas Mama ki tabiyat thodi theek nahi thi, unhe thakaan ho rahi thi toh woh so rahi thee,” she explained gently, her voice steady like a warm blanket. “Maine socha main aaj apni sabse pyaari jaan ko khud lene jaun. Kya hum dono aaj date pe nahi ja sakte?”
Ghazal didn't look convinced. In her four-year-old mind, the baby was already starting to rewrite the rules of her world. Her Mama never missed a pickup, not for a headache, not for the rain, not for anything. A dark, prickly thought took root; Mama wasn't sick, the ‘bhai’ was just making her stay home. The baby was already taking Mama’s time, and now he was taking her spot at the jasmine bush, too. Her lower lip began that familiar, dangerous wobble as she stared at the empty space where her mother should have been.
Ulfat, a veteran of childhood moods, sensed the impending raincloud and leaned in closer with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes. “Acha, gussa nahi hote. Ek baat batao…raste mein hum aapki favourite chocolate chip ice cream lein? Double scoop? Aur upar se bohot saara chocolate syrup?”
The transformation was instantaneous. The mention of sugar and the promise of a double scoop acted like a magic eraser on her worries. The dark thoughts about the baby were shoved into a corner of her mind, temporarily defeated by the allure of a frozen treat.
Her face split into a wide, toothy grin, and she reached out, grabbing Ulfat’s arm with surprising, desperate strength. She began dragging her Tayi Ammi toward the parking lot with the force of a mini-tugboat.
“Chaliye, Tayi Ammi! Jaldi! Hum ice cream ke liye late ho rahe hain!” she chirped, her earlier heartbreak forgotten in the rush of the moment.
Ulfat burst into a bright, musical laugh, stumbling slightly as she tried to keep up with the tiny, determined whirlwind. “Acha baba, chalti hoon! Sabar karo, ice cream kahin bhaag nahi rahi!”
But as they walked, Ghazal kept her grip tight on Ulfat's hand, a small part of her wondering if, by the time she got home, the baby would have moved into her playroom, too.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The master suite was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the evening lamps, the air thick with the quiet, honeyed hum of a day winding down. Zaara and Uzair were propped up against the carved mahogany headboard, their shoulders brushing in a way that spoke of a shared, private world. Zaara had a book resting precariously against the swell of her stomach, while Uzair had one arm draped protectively behind her neck, his thumb idly stroking her shoulder as they talked in low, rumbling murmurs.
The tranquility lasted only until the frantic, rhythmic thud-thud of small feet echoed in the hallway, growing louder with every second.
Ghazal burst through the open door like a tiny, colourful whirlwind, her mismatched pajamas fluttering behind her. She didn't slow down as she reached the edge of the high mattress, her eyes locked on the space between her parents. She began a clumsy, high-speed scramble to launch herself into her usual territory, right against her mother’s side.
Before she could collide with Zaara, Uzair’s large hand shot out with the lightning reflexes of a man who spent his life on guard. He intercepted her mid-climb, his fingers hooking under her arms. With the practiced ease of a man used to handling the whirlwind, he scooped her up and, instead of letting her reach Zaara, he tucked her firmly into the hollow of his own lap, creating a human barrier.
“Ghazal!” His voice was stern, sharp, and entirely lacking its usual playful lilt. “Dhyan se, meri jaan. Tumhe kaha tha na ke Mama ke paas aise bhagna nahi hai? Mama aur bhai ko chot lagegi.”
The use of her full name, not Jaan, hit her like a bucket of ice water. Ghazal’s frantic energy vanished instantly, replaced by a stinging shock. She slumped in his lap, her spine losing its stiffness as her lower lip jutted out in a heavy, wounded pout. She stared down at her own small, restless hands, her voice dropping to a barely audible, heartbroken whisper.
“Sorry, Baba.”
Uzair’s heart softened the moment the word left her lips, he could never stay the disciplinarian for long. He pulled her closer into a one-armed hug, his chin resting atop the chaotic nest of her pigtails, trying to breathe the warmth back into her. “Acha batao, kya hua? Itni jaldi bhag kar kyun aa rahi thi?”
She looked up at him, her dark eyes still glassy and swimming with the hurt of the reprimand. “Mujhe Mama se story sunni hai.”
Uzair gave her a small, encouraging squeeze and moved her from his lap, plopping her down onto the mattress beside Zaara. He intended for her to have the front row seat, but as Ghazal settled in, her brows knit together in a deep, brooding frown.
Normally, story time was a sacred ritual of closeness. It meant crawling into the warm, soft cradle of her mother’s lap, tucking her head under Zaara’s chin, and feeling the literal vibration of the story against her cheek. But as she tried to lean in, she hit a physical wall. The bump was growing every day, a round, firm hill that sat exactly where Ghazal used to rest. It was getting between them both literally and figuratively, pushing her further to the edge of the bed.
She stared at the curve of Zaara's belly for a long, silent beat, her expression clouding over with a quiet, growing resentment. The realization hit her with a toddler’s brutal clarity, one of her favourite seats in the whole world had been given away to someone she hadn't even met yet.
With a small, disgruntled huff that sounded far too old for her face, she gave up on the lap entirely. She didn't want to fight a bump that had already won. Instead, she settled for resting her head against the outer edge of Zaara’s arm, miles away from the rhythmic, comforting thrum of her mother's heart where she usually slept. The excitement she’d felt while sprinting down the hall had evaporated, leaving behind a cold, heavy feeling of being an outsider in her own parents' bed. For the first time, the Princess story felt like just a bunch of words, and the magic of the Haveli felt very far away.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The verandah was cool, the evening air heavy with the scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine, but the beauty of the Haveli’s gardens offered no comfort to Ghazal. She was sitting on the top marble step, her small chin resting heavily in her palms, staring at her bare toes with a look of profound, world-weary sadness. To anyone else, she was a small child on a porch, to herself, she was a girl watching her kingdom slowly slide into the hands of a stranger.
Rehman, returning from his evening walk, spotted the small, slumped figure. The sight of the usually vibrant whirlwind so still and defeated made him pause, his expression softening instantly. He walked over and lowered himself onto the step beside her, his joints giving a slight, aged protest.
“Ghazal? Yahan kyun baithi ho, meri jaan?”
Ghazal didn't look up at first. She took a deep, shaky breath that hitched in her chest, a sound of genuine, unadulterated grief. When she finally turned her head to look at her Taya Abbu, her expression was devastatingly serious, her dark eyes swimming with a weight no four-year-old should carry.
“Taya Abbu...mujhe bhai nahi chahiye,” she whispered, the words sounding like a final, tragic decree.
Rehman blinked, taken aback by the sheer, cold finality in her tone. “Arrey? Kyun meri jaan? Tum toh itni khush thi ke tumhe bhai milne wala hai. Tumne toh uske liye purane colours bhi jama kiye thay.”
Ghazal let out a weary sigh, the kind of heavy breath usually reserved for someone who had reached the end of a long, difficult life. “Kyunki phir Mama aur Baba mujhe pyaar nahi karenge,” she said, her voice cracking. “Sab bhai ke ho jayenge. Tayi Ammi bhi, aur aap bhi.”
Rehman leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a gentle, deeply concerned register. He looked directly into her big, soulful eyes, according her the respect of a peer. “Aur aisa kyun lagta hai tumhe? Kisne kaha ke humari Ghazal ki jagah koi aur le sakta hai?”
Ghazal looked at him as if the evidence was written in the stars. “Mama mujhe school se lene nahi aati. Aur Baba...Baba ne kal mujhe Ghazal kaha. Unhone 'Jaan' nahi kaha.”
It was as if a dam had burst. The sad lore of the past few weeks came pouring out in a frantic, heartbroken rush, her little hands gesturing wildly to match the scale of her tragedy. “- Mama mere saath bhagam-bhag nahi khelti! Aur jab bhi main Mama ke paas baithna chahti hoon, toh bhai beech mein aa jata hai! Baba kehte hain ‘door raho,’ ‘chot lag jayegi.’ Sab badal gaya hai, Taya Abbu. Sab uske hain."
She finished with a sharp, dramatic gasp for air, her little chest heaving as a single, fat tear finally escaped and rolled down her cheek.
Rehman felt a tug of amusement at her innate flair for the dramatic, but he suppressed it instantly. He knew that in her small world, these weren't just complaints, they were signs of an ending. He reached out, his weathered, steady hand smoothing a stray, frizzy hair from her forehead with immense tenderness.
“Ghazal,” he said softly, his voice grounding her. “Suno meri baat. Tumhare Ammi aur Abbu tumse bohaut mohabbat karte hain. Sabse zyaada mohabbat tumse karte hain...aur tumhare bhai ke aane ke baad bhi waisa hi rahega. Mohabbat kam nahi hoti, bache. Mohabbat toh aur barhti hai.”
She looked at him, her eyes narrowed with a sharp, stinging skepticism. Rehman realized he needed a more concrete proof for her toddler logic. “Ab dekho...kya main aur Tayi Ammi, Naieem bhaiya ko kam pyaar karte hain Faisal bhaiya se? Kya Naieem ke aane par humne Faisal ko ghar se nikaal diya tha?”
Ghazal paused. She actually put a finger to her chin, tapping it for dramatic effect while her little brain processed this historical comparison. She thought of how her Tayi Ammi still hovered over both her grown sons with the same plate of fruit. After a moment of intense deliberation, she looked up, the clouds in her eyes parting just a fraction. “Nahi.”
“Toh phir tumhare Ammi aur Abbu tumse kam pyaar kyun karenge? Tum toh unka pehla chamatkar ho,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Tumhari jagah koi nahi le sakta.”
A tiny, fragile spark of hope flickered in her eyes. She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Promise?”
Rehman smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling into the kind, familiar maps of a thousand stories. "Pakka promise. Chalo...tum khud hi pooch lo.”
He stood up, offering his large, sturdy hand. Ghazal reached up, her small, soft fingers disappearing into his palm, feeling the safety and permanency of the Haveli in his grip as he led her inside with a newfound courage.
Rehman led her to the drawing room door, where the heavy oak frame framed a scene of such quiet, aching domesticity that he lingered for a moment just to witness it. The room was warm, scented with sandalwood and the lingering aroma of evening tea. Uzair was sprawled at one end of the long, velvet couch, the blue light of the evening news reflecting in his focused eyes, his posture relaxed for once. At the other end, Zaara sat with her feet tucked under her, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she navigated a silver needle through a loose button on one of Uzair’s crisp white kurtas.
Every so often, Uzair would absentmindedly reach out his foot to nudge Zaara’s ankle and she would respond by resting her hand on his shin for a fleeting second without ever looking up from her work.
Rehman gave Ghazal a little nudge and a conspiratorial wink. As she scurried off toward them, her small footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug, he watched with a satisfied smile before slipping away into the shadows of the hallway.
Ghazal walked up to Uzair, stopping right beside his knee. She didn't climb up immediately; instead, she stood there with her hands behind her back, reaching out to poke his arm with a single, insistent finger.
“Baba…”
Uzair looked away from the TV instantly. The hard, sharp lines of his face, the ones he wore for the rest of the world, melted into something unrecognizable the moment his gaze landed on her. “Haan, meri jaan? Idhar aao,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave into that low, fatherly rumble.
Ghazal didn’t move. She looked down at her bare feet, her voice a tiny, fragile tremor that tore at his heart. “Kya aap aur Mama mujhse pyaar karenge...jab mera bhai aayega?”
The news was forgotten in a heartbeat. The anchor’s voice became background noise as Uzair straightened up, a look of pure, aching realization washing over him. He realized then that his strictness and the missed school pickups hadn't just been inconveniences to her, they had been threats.
He reached out and scooped her up in one fluid motion, settling her firmly on his lap and tucking her into the curve of his chest. “Bilkul, meri jaan! Aise baat kyun kar rahi ho? Main aur Mama toh tumhe hamesha pyaar karenge. Tum toh humari jaan ho na?”
“Par...agar aapko mera bhai zyaada acha laga toh?” she asked, her voice muffled against his shirt, still searching for a loophole in the terrifying logic of being replaced.
Uzair pulled her back just enough to look deep into her eyes, his large, scarred hand cupping her cheek with a tenderness that was almost painful to behold. He needed her to understand the absolute gravity of his words. “Aisa ho hi nahi sakta. Dekho meri taraf. Humein tum dono utne hi pyaare ho...par tum toh humari pehli jaan ho. Tumne humein seekhaya ke Mama aur Baba kaise bante hain. Woh jagah koi nahi le sakta. Kabhi nahi.”
Ghazal searched his face for a long, silent minute. Finding only truth there, the heavy weight that had been crushing her chest for weeks finally began to lift. She leaned her head back against his chest, closing her eyes and listening to the steady, powerful thump-thump of his heart, the sound that had always meant safety.
Suddenly, she pulled back and held out her hand, her pinky finger sticking out with stiff, formal importance. “Pinky promise?”
Uzair didn't hesitate. He looked at his hand, calloused and marked by a life of hard choices, and then at hers, so small and soft. He linked his large pinky around her tiny one, his grip firm yet incredibly gentle. “Pinky promise, meri jaan,” he whispered, kissing the knuckles of her hand.
Ghazal turned her head toward her mother. Zaara had long since dropped the needle and the kurta, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she watched the exchange. She didn't need to say a word, she just opened her arms wide, a silent invitation to the sanctuary Ghazal had been missing.
Ghazal didn't need to be asked twice. She scrambled across the cushions, crawling over the couch with a clumsy, desperate urgency until she reached her mother’s side. She dove into the embrace, wrapping her arms around Zaara’s neck and pressing her face into the crook of her shoulder.
As she hugged her mother, her small body draped right over the bump. For the first time in weeks, the bump didn't feel like a wall or a rival. It felt like a little secret they were all keeping together. Zaara tucked her chin over Ghazal’s head, her hand stroking the child's back in that steady, soothing rhythm, while Uzair moved closer, resting his hand over both of them. Finally, completely content and anchored by her parents' love, Ghazal closed her eyes and let out a happy, tired sigh. The world was right again.
Disclaimer : This story is not based on actual people, in no shape or form do i support the real people involved in terrorism, gang wars or any form of violence. This story is loosely based on the characters of the Dhurandhar franchise and all credits lies with Aditya Dhar, except of course my OC. As this is not a canon story, Hamza Ali Mazari is neither a spy nor are Baloch brothers involved in any form of terrorism against India or are ally with anyone doing the same.
─⋆𐙚 part one:
💬 43 🔁 6 ❤️ 82 · Madam Noorjahan · ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🪞་༘࿐
𓊆ྀི Hamza Ali Mazari x OC𓊇ྀི
Disclaimer : This story is not based on actual people, i
Distance from Noori’s hostel to Lyari wasn’t long enough, unfortunately, because what do you mean she’d have to stop gazing at Hamza’s majestic grey eyes as soon as the car would come to a stop?
For past fourty five minutes, she had been staring at Hamza through the rear view mirror. She had deliberately chosen the strategic spot in the backseat for the same purpose, to ogle the muscled man.
Now, Noori loved her elder brother, but today she wished he’d stop his blabbering so Noori can listen to the soft hum of Hamza’s raspy voice to the radio, which was currently playing mere rahske qamar by ustad nusrat fateh ali khan.
She doubted the man would be happy to have a twenty three year old eye fuck a thirty year old man to his divine vocals, but in Noori’s defence he started it first by singing jawani, jawani se takra gayi! If she jawanis were to clash, they’d surely react the same way she was reacting to Hamza.
Again in Noori’s defence, Hamza was at fault here. Who wore such tight pathani kurtas? He was practically asking to be stared at. He also had little braid tied in his mane like hairs, which conjoined at his little man bun, he was so fucking adorable but Noori couldn’t imagine the time he would make in his routine to braid his hair before going off to kill people.
She wasn’t bothered by Hamza knowing she was ogling at him, she could care less. She lived by the philosophies of playgirls but with a dating life of a celibate. If she could, she would drink around and play around but her brothers would probably kill the guys involved, if they even got a sniff of it, she couldn’t take the risk.
However, what did bothered Noori was how non chalant Hamza was towards Noorjahan Baloch!!? How was he not glancing at her back? Not even meeting her eyes in the rear view mirror, and not by shyness, no, but by ignorance. How dare he?
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
As much as Noori enjoyed the little travel from Clifton to Lyari because of Hamza, she definitely loved her home more. As soon as the suv came to stop in the driveway of the haveli, Noori practically threw the door open as she ran to meet her Rehman, Ulfat, Seher and the kids.
The first person that she met was Rehman and she immediately jumped to cling to him like a little baby bear to his momma bear. She had missed her bhaijaan, she had always called him that, perhaps because she was filmy or because it helped in differentiate between bhaijaan Rehman and bhai Uzair.
“Bhaijaan, hamne aap ko kitna yaad kiya, kuch ilm bhi hai aapko!?” Noori exclaimed, looking up at his brother with wide eyes, and wider grin.
“Tumhari bhabhiyon ne bhi tumhe bahut yaad kiya, aur bacchon ne bhi!” Rehman softly ruffled her Dyson styled hairs. “Aur aapne?!” Noori pouted, a little disappointed to hear dearest brother excluded from the list of those who missed her. “Maine sabse zyada.” Yeah, now she was grinning as if he had given her the stars and moons. But before she could reply back, a soft yet warm cut in.
“Aa gayi meri Noori?” Noori had never known a mother other than Ulfat, and hence it didn’t surprise Rehman when his little sister removed herself from his arms to go into his wife’s. “Bhabhi, hamne aap sab ko kitna yaad kiya!” Noori repeated, smooching the cheek of her elder bhabhi.
Seher, Uzair’s wife made her way out of the kitchen, fragrance of shahi tukda, Noori’s favourite, following her. “Seher bhabhi!” Noori grinned, “Shahi tukda?!” She turned her head, just inhaling the fragrance. “Ji haan, sirf aapke liye!” Seher grinned, pinching the cheeks of the younger one.
Seher had been a fairly new edition to the family yet she fit in like glove, her and uzair had gotten arranged married three years back and had a little daughter Meher who was Noori’s best friend in manipulation, Noori had taught her the master technique of crying on spot.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
Evening arrived quite soon, and Ulfat and Seher were helping Noori in unpacking all her belongings when she quipped, “Accha bhabhi, woh naya ladka kon hai?” Ulfat tilted her head in slight confusion, “Kon ladka?”, “Arey wahi jiske lambe lambe heroinon jaise baal hai aur hatta katta hai!!” Noori exclaimed in curiosity,
“Oh, Hamza ki baat kar rhi ho?” this time Seher was the one who joined the conversation. “Usne hamare Naieem ki jaan bachai toh bhaijaan ne usse bhi gang mai shamil kar liya, kir kab woh parivar ka hissa ban gaya, pata hi nhi chala, na bhabhi?” Seher turned to Ulfat who was currently handling the herculean task of unpacking the humongous amount of earrings Noori had, “haan, ghar ka hi baccha samjho usse toh ab tum Noori.”
Noori formed an O from her plump lips and nodded, but not before adding, “baccha toh nhi lagta bhabhi woh!” which earned her a soft flicker on her forehead from Ulfat.
Soon Akhlaq ascended to the upper floor to announce that dinner was set up on the table and the ladies of Baloch family descended down the stairs.
︶⊹୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶
Over the dinner, the whole family bonded over and Noori tried to sneak in little questions about Hamza whenever she could, thankfully everyone took it as curiosity rather an interest. It was almost a miracle by how blatant she was.
After the dinner, Noori sat on the wooden vintage designed jhoola in her personal balcony, wired earphones in hear ear blaring ‘Chiggy Wiggy’ as she scribbled down in her leather diary about her day, starting by, ‘Dear Diary, wow kya ladka hai? isse toh bhaut maza aayega…’
author note: this almost seem like a filler chapter with how cringe this is. also, this story makes me want to cry each time i write it because i have lost the draft for it twice :’((
(I recorded this for an edit but no one knows if i will ever even make that so giving yall this!!) :P
Tagging ppl (sorry if i forgot anyone + do tell me if u do not wanna be tagged in this!) (I remember someone asked me to tag them, i forgot who tho... so tagging ppl who liked chikna danish)
A/n : hi guys??? So excited to post this. It's my first time writing on Tumblr so excuse any rough edges. If there's any constructive criticism, feel free to inform me 🥹💕
! This is just a work of fiction, take it with a grain of salt. It has nothing to do with real life events. It's written with just the characters of the movie kept in mind. I do not claim it being relevant to the plot in any circumstances !
“Chal na yaar! Chalte hai na,” y/n whined, pulling the sleeve of Jasleen’s kurta insistently.
“Arey nahi hoga yaar. Bhai jaane hi nahi dega,” Jasleen shook her head frantically.
Her words elicited a very sharp scoff from y/n.
Y/n hated her best friend’s older brother Jaskirat’s guts more than she could explain in words. He was awful. Just horrible. He stole every girl's night opportunity, every single hangout.
Strict curfew, ‘6 baje se pehle ghar pohoch jana.’
6 baje was said out of formality. In reality, however, 5:15 was already pushing it.
Guess what, college and coaching end at 4. To come home by foot? 25 minutes, minimum.
According to Jaskirat Singh Rangi, a ‘girl’s night’ meant bhelpuri, unnecessary walking, and ghar waapsi.
So in short, y/n never got to take her bestest friend out for a girls night.
Oh but, they could hang out for hours.
If it was at his house.
…………………………………………………
“Jas, jaane do na usey. Mere saath hi toh rahegi! Movie dekhke ajayenge na dono!” y/n pleaded, swinging her legs as she sat on top of a tall stool.
“Jaao na, mujhe koi aitraaz nahi.”
“Sach!?” She beamed, her legs stopping mid-swing as she leaned forward.
“Bas,” he added, “6 baje se pehle wapas ajana.”
Of course.
Y/n scoffed, leaning back in her chair, legs swinging with more force as it was the only thing she could take her anger out on.
“Konsa kisi aur ke saath bhaag rahi hai, mere saath hi toh rahegi,” y/n grumbled, loud enough for him to hear.
“Tumhare saath jaane diya toh ek ko uthayenge aur dusri free mil jayegi.”
“Kya matlab?”
Jaskirat stood up, walked in front of her, and crossed his arms.
“Choti si toh ho tum. Ek mukka maarna toh aata hoga nahi—”
“Maarke dikhau?”
“Bas zabaan chalani aati hai.”
Jasleen slammed her book shut, dragging both their attention to her. “Tum dono jhagadna band karoge?”
“Jhagad kaha rahe hai,” the two said in unison. Y/n shot him a look.
Thief.
“Dekh y/n, main bas bol raha hu, dhyaan se reh. Duniya ki niyat buri hai.”
‘Duniya ki niyat buri hai.’
Y/n had heard that line more times than she could count. And she always wondered, jab duniya dekhi hi nahi, toh niyat ka pata kaise chalega.
Maybe he did not want them to find out either.
And like always, the conversation died there.
…………………………………………………
“Bartan kal dho denge maa. Baarish de rahi hai,” y/n murmured, stacking the dishes in the sink.
It was not a full fledged rain yet, more like a light drizzle, but it was late enough for her mother to agree. The lights were switched off. Everyone retreated to their rooms.
Y/n took a cold shower the moment she entered hers. She loved the way the chill clung to her skin, reminding her of rain.
Scrunching her damp hair with a towel, she came to her roofed balcony. She took a slow, deep inhale, eyes roaming from sky to road, and wait—
What?
The breath left her in a sharp exhale when she saw a very familiar figure
Jaskirat.
He was sitting by the side of the road, back against the wall, eyes shut.
What was he doing here?
The soft drizzle was slowly thickening, the droplets growing heavier every second, suggesting it was turning into a steady rain.
Before y/n knew it, her feet had already pulled her towards the door, walking down the stairs with featherlike steps, careful not to make a sound.
She clicked the door open with careful secrecy. A little too quiet, a little too practiced.
She ran to him, crouching down, ignoring the way rain soaked into her pajamas.
“Jas. Tum yaha kya kar rahe ho. Itni baarish mein. Itni raat ko. Ghar kyu nahi ho. Yahaan kyun baithe ho.”
“Main. Main ghar nahi jaa sakta.”
The moment he spoke, alcohol clung to his breath. Strong. Heavy. His words dragged, voice lower than she had ever heard it.
Y/n’s eyes widened.
She opened her mouth and shut it again. She looped her arms around him to pull him up. The rain was growing heavier every second.
“Sambhalo khudko,” she muttered.
He steadied himself as much as he could. He couldn’t tell what she was planning, but he was too drunk to question anything.
She dragged him to the door of her house before clamping a hand over his mouth softly. “Chup raho, jab tak main na kahu.”
She nearly lost her balance hauling his weight up the stairs, teeth clenched as he stumbled against her shoulder.
Both of their clothes were decently damp by now. She looked at the balcony. The soft drizzle had turned into a steady rain by now, which made y/n sigh with relief that she had brought him inside quicker.
Her gaze darted between him and the balcony before settling on him. “Tum peekar kya kar rahe the waha nashediyon ki tarah?” she asked sharply.
Jaskirat looked at her, eyes droopy. His lips curved lazily.
“Main mazak nahi kar rahi Jas! Kar kya rahe the?” she furrowed her brows.
He blinked.
“Tehel raha tha.”
Y/n folded her arms and looked at him, deadpan. She shook her hand once she understood she wouldn't get a proper answer.
She sat on the other corner of the bed, tidying the folds of the bedsheet before glancing at him again.
“So jao. Varna tabiyat kharab ho jayegi. Upar se, subah subah tumhe chupake bahar karna hoga,” she said wearily before standing up to take out some pillows from the cabinet beneath her almirah.
“Tum mujhe andar kyu laayi?” he asked, confused as to why she’d sneak him in.
She replied without looking back, “Toh tumhe waha pe talli hoke raste par sone dena tha?”
Silence.
Y/n assumed he had passed out.
Right now, the fact that she couldn’t find the exact cabinet with the pillows and blankets was what annoyed her.
“Y/n?”
“Hm?”
“Maine tumhe bola tha na?”
“Kya?”
“Ki duniya ki niyat buri hai?”
She snorted under her breath. “Itni baar mera naam nahi bola hoga jitni baar ye bola hai.”
“Toh tumne mujhe andar kyu kiya?”
“Phir wahi sawal?” she sighed, pulling out the pillows, just as she turned to see him stand up lazily, steadying himself by gripping the edge of the nightstand.
She came near him in long strides. “Uth kyu gaye—”
“Mera matlab woh nahi tha,” he said, pushing her by the shoulders gently to make her sit down on the bed.
He looked down at her.
“Duniya ki niyat toh buri hai hi…”
A beat.
“Meri bhi niyat buri huyi toh?”
His greyish droopy eyes looked deeply into hers, expecting a reaction.
A minute passed.
And she chuckled at his words, her smile lingering even after the sound stopped.
“Has kyu rahi hai?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed as if offended by her reaction.
“Tumhari niyat… buri?” she asked.
Jaskirat bent to her level, hands cradled her head and tilted it up to look directly into her eyes.
“Agar main abhi kuch bura kar du toh?” he grumbled.
“Kardo,” she said simply.
His eyebrows twitched. He dug his fingers into her hair, bringing his face closer and closer to hers.
He tilted his head slightly. He stopped when he could feel their breaths mingling.
If he moved just a centimetre more, he’d do something he would regret.
Or maybe cherish it.
Y/n’s eyes followed him the entire time. She didn’t move once.
His hands twitched around her. They tilted her face up, his touch weaker now.
He drew his head back slowly. His eyes roamed over her features, starting from the tiny mole tucked beneath the corner of her lower lip, to her cupid’s bow, then her nose, before finally settling on her eyes.
And Jaskirat took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He shook his head once, hesitant at first, then decisive. His arms fell to his sides.
And his body gave out, his head falling to her shoulder and his body leaning against her, still shaking his head slightly.
Her arms wrapped around his neck to soothe the nape of his neck, lips curving upwards as she leaned back, palm flat against the bed to steady herself.
“Nahi kar paaye?” she murmured, teasing.
Jaskirat was silent. He just snuggled deeper into her neck and grumbled something incoherent.
Y/n could feel the growing warmth of his face.
He wouldn't do it.
She knew he wouldn't.
Not under substance at least. It felt wrong.
Wrong, because he looked at her like she was made of glass, like she was something sacred.
Wrong, because he’d wanted this for far too long to take it under the influence of cheap liquor.
Y/n sat there, fingers running through his hair until his breathing turned steady. She gently moved him to lay him flat on the bed and pulled his shoes off, his head resting on a pillow. She spread a fuzzy blanket over him.
Careful not to wake him.
After she was done, she stood straight, hands on her hips, eyes roaming over his face lit by the light of the night sky from the balcony. Y/n pulled a chair to the side of her bed and sat there, elbow propped on the nightstand, head resting on her hand.
He looked peaceful. His chest rose and fell steadily.
Y/n couldn’t help the smile forming on her face just watching him. The fear of being caught with a man sleeping in her bed lingered at the back of her mind.
She wondered if she would even have the heart to wake him if someone knocked at the door right now.
She brushed back strands of hair from his forehead, and her heart swelled when he nuzzled into her touch involuntarily.
Maybe tonight, she should just look at him. Maybe count his eyelashes before the time was up and she had to make him leave. The thought made her chest ache, something she’d never felt before.
This wasn’t good. Y/n knew that much.
The thought of what Jasleen would say if she peeked into y/n’s mind and saw her like this just watching him, wanting to take care of Jaskirat, made her lose her mind.
Y/n didn’t realise when her own eyes betrayed her, and she gave in to the cheap temptation of sleep.
…………………………………………………
Y/n blinked her eyes open softly. Her neck ached from sleeping on the nightstand, but that wasn’t what woke her up. It was a faint tug at her fingers. She opened her eyes to see Jaskirat tracing lines over her fingers.
He was awake, his eyes fixed on her hand like it was something fascinating. Something sacred.
She curled her finger instinctively, breaking his trance, and he quickly let her hand go, clearing his throat.
The sky was a softened blue now. She caught a glimpse of it from the balcony. Her eyes darted to the clock.
4:18 a.m.
She let out a sigh of relief.
“Jas,” she called softly. Softer than she’d ever called him.
“Hm?” he responded, forcing himself to sit up despite the sharp headache.
“Tumhe nikalna chahiye. Baad mein papa uth gaye toh phir…”
He nodded and shifted, letting his feet touch the floor without making a sound. He pulled his shoes from behind the bed and put them on, tying the laces.
“Ghar kaise jaoge?”
“Pinda ke chala jaunga. Wahan se naha dhoke ghar jaunga toh shak nahi hoga ghar pe,” he answered without looking up.
She nodded thoughtfully.
“Tum… sharab peete ho?” she asked.
“Nahi,” he replied instantly, fingers pausing, tension visible in his hands.
“Pinda ke doston ke saath tha. Uske baap ne use kisi kaam pe bhej diya aur main waha unn bigdail bando ke saath phas gaya,” his jaw tightened. “Unhone aadhi bottle gale ke neeche utaardi thi mere aur Gurbaaz ke ghar panga na ho jaye isliye maine kuch kiya bhi nahi. Main bas nikal aaya waha se.”
His voice was low, gaze on the floor, as if ashamed.
Y/n let out a sharp exhale, somewhere between relief and anger. She stood up and nudged his shoulder.
“Chalo.”
The two walked very deliberately. Every door clicked slow and quiet, careful not to wake anyone in the house. She kept a tight hold on his shirt, leading the way to the main door.
Once outside, beneath the soft breezy sky of early dawn, surrounded by the aftermath of rain on trees and muddy puddles on her lawn, they both let out the breath they’d been holding.
Jaskirat stood in front of her, looking down like he was expecting her to say something.
“Samhalke jaana aur jaake sardard ki dawai le lena,” she said, fixing the folds of his collar.
He nodded.
“Pinda ko bol dena ki aise logon ke saath na rahe aur agar rahe toh tumhe saath na le jaye. Aaj ke baad sharab mat peena,” her hands softened the wrinkles on his shirt.
“Maine kuch galat toh nahi kiya na kal?” he asked quietly.
Y/n chuckled. “Kiya hota toh zinda kaha chhodti tumhe,” she said, hoping her cheeks wouldn’t betray her.
Jaskirat’s lips curved slightly.
“Chalo, jaao ab. Dhyaan se jaana,” she said with a warm smile.
Jaskirat nodded and started walking, steps slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to stay a minute longer.
“Aur…” she spoke.
He stopped.
“Agli baar… hosh mein aana.”
By the time he turned, she had already gone inside.
He stood there for a moment, then walked away, face warm.
Anyone who saw Jaskirat Singh Rangi that day would've assumed he was fighting demons with how he was kicking the air.
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1.7k words! Bolti kya hu karti kya hoon, sorry to all who were waiting for the Uzair fic🥺🙏🏻
WARNINGS: This is a work of fiction, contains sexual elements. AGE GAP! reader is seventeen and they indulge in consensual sexual activities (no smut) but this is set in the 13th century. Mujhe kisi ki policing nahi chaiye, scroll away if it makes you uncomfortable! BYE!
13th century, Afghanistan
Jalaluddin Khilji was sitting in the Sahn of his Palace with his ministers planning to take over the Delhi Sultanate when the doors open and in walked his twenty one year old nephew Allauddin Khilji, with an ostrich.
“Arey Allauddin, humne tumse ek pankh mangaya tha tum to poora shuturmurkh le aaye!” Jalaluddin chuckled, calling out to his daughters to show them the bird. The two girls, Meherunnisa and Y/n, twenty and sixteen respectively, appeared at the window giggling among themselves, admiring the huge bird. “Batao Allauddin, kya chaiye tumhe?”
“Meherunnisa se nikkah.” He replied without missing a beat, Y/n froze beside her elder sister, the older girl blushing at the proposal. Their father rose from his seat and zeroed in on Allauddin, to reprimand him for his daring but then the younger man loudly asked, “Meherunnisa binte Jalaluddin Khilji, kya tumhe Allauddin Khilji ke sath nikkah qabool hai?” When she didn’t deny and giggled instead, Allauddin smirked in his uncle’s face who agreed to the union.
Meherunnisa ran to her Hujrah, while Y/n stood in her spot seething in anger. She was not the one to shed tears for her loss, she was the one who turned loses into gains. She’d been in love with Allauddin since she learnt how to pronounce his name properly, she wasn’t going let anyone get in between them, not even her own sister. She let out a scoff glaring at the men below her, and turned to walk into her Khwabgah, her long tunic flowing behind her. She flopped onto the bed, her long hair splayed on the silk sheets as she stared up at the chandelier. She’d been cooped up in her private room until evening, her restless heart not finding ease anywhere.
“Shehzadi, Sultan apka pooch rahe hain.” A Kaneez called out from the curtain.
“Kehdo mar gayi.” Y/n announced still staring up at the ceiling.
“Shehz-“
“Dafa hojao yahan se isse pehly tumhare marne ki khabar bahar poche!” Y/n screamed and the kaneez ran away in an instant.
The sun had set at the horizon and the palace had turned dark, the brass lamps and chandelier’s lit to caste a soft and warm glow all over the palace. Y/n left her chambers and made her way over to Allauddin’s, she didn’t call out his name or announce her presence, she just pulled the curtain of his chamber and walked inside. He was sprawled in his bed, half naked, deep asleep. At the sound of her pazeb, he lifted his head to see her standing near his bed.
“Aapko kisi ne dastak dena nahi sikhaya shehzadi Y/n?” He murmured, face still stuffed into the silk sheets.
“Aisa kya hai unme jo humme nahi hai?” She demanded but he snored in response, testing her patience that was already wearing thin. She rounded his bed, picked up the jug filled with water and dumped it on him with enough force to jerk him up.
“Ye kya badtameezi hai Y/n?” He yelled wiping a hand over his face, his hair and upper body drenched.
“Hum puch rahe hain unme aisa kya hai jo humme nahi hai, Allauddin!” She repeated, this time louder. He chuckled getting off the bed, standing in front of her, enjoying the way her chest was heaving up in anger.
“Kuch nahi,” he said raising his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Aap unse zyada haseen hain, zyada zaheen aur beinteha bahadur.” He tilted his head admiring her. He knew no one would dare to wake him up from his sleep, and if they did it would be the last thing they’d do but her, she just knew how to handle him.
“Agar ye sab khoobiyan humme hain to aapne unhe kyu chuna? Hum aapse mohabbat karte hain aur aap par sirf humara haq hai.” She declared take a step closer, he threw his head back laughing in her face.
“Mohabbat? Apko lagta hai aap apne abba jaan ke saamne pair patakengi royengi aur wo apka nikkah humse kardengy?” He was mocking her now, “aap bacchi hain, kya hi de sakti hain aap hume?” His eyes darkened looking at her face.
“Bacche nahin hain hum, agle mahine sattrah ke hojaengy.” She retorted, his body burning under her gaze. She pulled out a dagger from her robes, the sharp blades glinting under the lights. She pressed the tip of the blade into his chest, just enough to draw blood, “hum ye nikkah nahi hone dengy, phir chahe uske liye hum mare, Meherunnisa, ya aap.” He scoffed, brushing her words off as just mere threats.
“Andhera hogaya hai, kamre tak pohoch jaengi ya hum chor ke aaen?” He mocked but she left without another word. His eyes following her silhouette until she was out of sight.
The next morning Y/n went to her sister’s chamber, she found the older girl sitting in front of the mirror, a kaneez combing her silky long hair. The older girl saw her sister in the mirror and turned to her with a gleeful smile. “Eid ka chand ho gayi hai ap toh, apni behen ko Nikkah tay hone ki mubarakbad bhi nahi di.” She complained playfully, the younger girl eyed the kaneez, motioning her to leave. She placed the comb on the table and left.
“Mehru aap Allauddin se mohabbat karti hain?” Y/n asked moving her finger in and out of the candle flame. Mehrunnisa’s smile faltered at the question.
“Ye kaisa sawal hai Y/n-“
“Hum karte hain,” y/n cut her off, “beintaha.” Mehrunnisa froze when she saw a blade in her sister’s hand. “Hum chahte hain aap nikkah se inkaar karde.” Meherunnisa stood up, looking at her sister with a concerned look. “Dariye mat aapi, hum aapko marna nahi chahte, lekin aap toh janti hain itihas ke panno me har kisi ne kuch paane ke liye apne sage bhai, abba, chacha ka qatl kiya hai.” Y/n said calmly taking a step closer while Meherunnisa took one back. “Hume sirf Allauddin chaiye.”
“Dimag ulat gaya hai tumhara, Y/n!” Meherunnisa exclaimed her eyes filling up with tears.
“Agar aap humse mohabbat karti hain, to nikkah se inkar kar dein ya hum aapko mar dengy, agar aap Allauddin se mohabbat karti hain to hume maar dein,” y/n said handing out the dagger towards her sister. “Par agar aap unke liye mar nahi sakti aur bhi maar nahi sakti, to aapko unse nikkah karne ka haq nahi hai.” Mehrunnisa gasped as he back hit the wall, she was cornered and had nowhere to run.
“Abba-jaan aur Allauddin nahi manengy.”
Y/n scoffed cackling loudly. She hugged her sister tightly, resting her head on Meherunnisa’s shoulder, the older let out a yelp at the sudden move, “Oh aapi, aap janti hain hume apni baat manwana aati hai.” She smiled up at her. Never in her wildest dream she’d imagined she’d be scared of little sister, who she had loved like a daughter.
“Hum mana kar dengy.” She finally gave in, Y/n lifted her head from her shoulder and looked at her excitedly.
“Waqai? Aap sabse acchi hain.” She kissed her cheek before running out of the room happily. The split change in her behaviour had Meherunnisa shivering even after she’d left the room. Her sister would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Meherunnisa told her father that she didn’t want to marry Allauddin, her father was furious at her decision, “hum usko kya jawab dengy? Zubaan di hai humne!” He bellowed sitting on his throne. Mehrunnisa stood in front of her father with her head held down in shame.
“Hum karengy nikkah Allauddin se.” Y/n presented herself like the saviour. “Abba jaan, hum apki zubaan zaya nahi jaane dengy. hum jante hai Allauddin sirf apse apna rishta mazboot karna chahte hain, aur agar unhe apki beti chaiye to hum haazir hai, aapki izzat se badhkar humare liye kuch nahi hai.” She said like she’s the most obedient daughter to ever exist. Mehrunnisa was baffled at her sister’s cunningness.
“Khushabad raho mere bacche.” Jalaluddin patted the younger’s head.
When the news reached Allauddin he laughed like a maniac, he didn’t think Y/n had it in her to pull this off. What he said to her earlier was true, he liked her better than her sister but he also knew his uncle would’ve never agreed to their union, because of her age.
On her seventeenth birthday, y/n was wedded to Allauddin. She was waiting for him on his, he stumbled in a few minutes later, a hungry look in his eyes, one would think she would be shy but the intensity of her gaze matched his. He dropped on his knees on the edge of the bed, placing his palms on the bed he crawled over to her. “MashaAllah, beintaha khoobsoorat.”
“Humne aapse kaha tha aap sirf humare hain, aur humne saabit karke dikhaya.” She said placing her hands on his shoulders, massaging gently. His lips found purchase in her neck, biting the soft skin. She pushed his robe off his shoulders, revealing his chiselled chest. He placed his hands on her waist. “Aapne kaha har nayab chiz pe aapka haq hai, humse zyada nayab aur kon hai iss pure jahan me?” Her words turned into a moan as he yanked her leg lower so she was laying on her back. He chuckled darkly, his eyes roving her body.
“Koi nahi nahi.” He grinned capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. “Mallika hain aap humari, humari ankhon ka sukoon.” Her back arched off the bed, her chest pressing into his. He laid on his back pulling her on top of him, his hands not leaving an inch of skin untouched. She pulled away sitting on his chest.
“Kahiye aap sirf humare hain!” She demanded looking down at him.
“Allauddin Khilji sirf apni Begum Y/n Allauddin ka hai.” He declared with a growl, a satisfied evil grin graced her lips.
They were both crazy, psychotic but they were the only ones who understood each other’s obsession.
