Allergic to normal behavior ✨

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SAKURA

BLOSSOM

ROSES

PUMPKIN SPICE

Chapter 2 : Uns

The midnight clock on the central library tower struck twelve, its heavy iron chimes reverberating through the misty air of the campus.

The terrace of the old humanities block was completely deserted. Overhead, a half-moon peeked through thick, drifting clouds, casting long, silver shadows across the cracked concrete floor. A cold breeze swept down from the Margalla Hills, rustling the overgrown wild creepers that stretched over the iron railings.

Laila stood near the edge of the rooftop, her hands tucked deep into the pockets of her dark coat, a soft woolen stole wrapped loosely around her neck. Her dark hair swayed softly in the wind.

She checked her watch.

12:05 AM.

She tapped her boot impatiently against the ground, a light breath of white mist rising into the crisp air.

"Barah baje ka waqt diya tha," Laila muttered under her breath, turning her head left and right, scanning the empty corners of the dark terrace. "Aur khud abhi tak ghaib hai. Agar koi mazaak hua na, toh kal poore campus ke samne iska mazaak banaoongi."

She paced back and forth across the roof, her footfalls rhythmic against the cold stone. Another five minutes passed.

12:10 AM.

Laila stopped walking. Her lips thinned into a fine, unimpressed line. She turned her head toward the narrow stairwell door.

"Bohat ho gaya," she said aloud to the empty night, pulling her stole tighter around her shoulders. "Main kisi ka intezar nahi karti. Khas tor par aise bande ka jo baatein bari bari kare aur mauqay par pichay hat jaye."

She took two decisive steps toward the exit, fully intent on walking down the stairs, going back to Room 304, and completely ignoring whatever absurd note appeared on her porch the next morning.

Laila lifted her foot to step onto the top stair, but just as her heel touched the threshold, a deep, rich voice echoed out from the darkness near the far side of the rooftop.

The voice was low, smooth, and resonant, carrying the natural weight of the northern mountains:

Teri ada mein sarkashi, chehre pe noor hai, haakim ki har hadon se tu kitni door hai. Jhukna tere mazaaj ki fitrat mein hi nahi, tere baasar ghuroor pe duniya ko naaz hai.

Laila froze instantly.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, not from fear, but from the sudden, magnetic pull of those spoken words. The poetry hit her directly—it wasn't just sweet romantic drivel, it was a precise, acute description of her very essence.

She slowly turned around, her sharp dark eyes cutting through the darkness toward the shadow behind the water tank.

There was no one in sight. Only the rustling of the creepers against the concrete wall.

A small, dangerous, highly amused smirk spread across Laila’s lips. She crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow at the empty air.

"Ohhh," Laila said playfully, her voice laced with pure, teasing confidence. "Toh yeh baat hai? Sachme meri khoobsurti sehen nahi kar paye? Parde ke piche chupan-chupai khelne ka irada hai kya?"

A soft, low chuckle sounded from the shadows.

Slowly, stepping out from the darkest corner of the terrace into the full glow of the moonlight, came a tall, broad-shouldered figure.

Sarbuland Khan stepped forward.

He was wearing a dark charcoal shawl draped across his broad shoulders, his jet-black hair slightly windswept, his sharp, aristocratic jawline highlighted by the pale moonlight. But what held Laila completely motionless were his eyes—deep, dark, and filled with an overwhelming, almost terrifying devotion.

Laila’s breath hitched slightly in her throat. She recognized him instantly.

Sarbuland Khan. The quiet, terrifying prince of the Law Department. The towering student from the north whom everyone in the university spoke of with a mixture of immense respect and subtle fear. The guy who usually sat quietly in the back of the campus, glowing with an aura of raw, untouchable authority.

"Aap..." Laila blinked, her sharp composure faltering for a rare, split second before she caught herself. "Sarbuland Khan?"

Sarbuland stopped a few feet away from her, keeping a respectful distance. He looked down at her, his usual terrifying presence completely absent, replaced by a soft, almost shy warmth.

"Assalam-o-Alaikum, Laila," Sarbuland said softly, his voice trembling ever so slightly with genuine nervousness.

Laila stared at him, taking in his towering height, the dark shawl, and the shy, reddish tint on his cheeks that completely contradicted his formidable reputation.

"Walaikum Assalam," Laila said slowly, the amused smirk returning to her face as she took a small step closer to him. "Toh... mera 'Ajnabi Aashiq', jo pichle ek mahine se mere hostel ke baahar shaairana baatein phenk raha tha... woh Quaid-i-Azam University ka sab se khamosh aur dehshatgard student hai?"

Sarbuland lowered his head slightly, a quiet, sheepish smile touching his lips. "Main dehshatgard nahi hoon. Aur... main aap se darta nahi tha. Main bas... is baat se darta tha ke agar main samne aaya, toh aap shayad baat bhi nahi karengi."

"Kyu?" Laila raised her chin, her eyes glittering. "Kya main itni buri lagti hoon?"

"Nahi," Sarbuland looked directly into her eyes, his expression instantly turning serious and deeply sincere. "Aap buri nahi lagti. Aap itni roshan hain ke insaan ko apni nazrein jhukani parhti hain."

Laila felt a sudden, strange fluttering in her chest. She had heard dozens of compliments from boys on campus before, but none had ever spoken to her with this level of quiet, unshakeable reverence.

"Baatein toh bohot achhi kar lete hain aap, Sarbuland Khan," Laila said, stepping closer until only a couple of feet separated them under the midnight sky. "Lekin kaagaz ke phoolon ka waqt khatam ho gaya hai. Ab agar baat karni hai, toh rubaroo hogi."

Sarbuland’s eyes glowed with quiet happiness. "Mujhe manzoor hai."

The silence of the night was broken only by the cold breeze and the distant hum of the city below. They sat down on the wide concrete ledge of the terrace, wrapped against the chill, watching the misty lights of Islamabad stretch out beneath them.

"Toh bataiye," Laila began, swinging her legs slightly over the edge, looking at him sideways. "Mujhe hi kyu chunna? University mein ladkiyon ki kami nahi hai. Main toh har teesre din kisi na kisi professor ya student ki class leti rehti hoon. People call me stubborn, arrogant, unruly."

"Log galat kehte hain," Sarbuland said firmly, turning his upper body to face her completely. "Aap unruly nahi hain. Aap ghair-munsifana baaton ko bardasht nahi karti. Aur yeh sifat har kisi mein nahi hoti."

Laila looked at him, slightly surprised by his insight. "Aapne Professor Qadri waale din se dekhna shuru kiya na?"

Sarbuland smiled, a warm, genuine look that made his harsh features look extraordinarily handsome. "Uss din se pehle bhi dekhta tha. Lekin uss din... uss din mujhe ehsaas hua ke aap sirf khoobsurat nahi hain, aapke paas ek shairani dil hai jo kisi ke samne jhukta nahi."

"Aur aapko jhukne waale log pasand nahi?" Laila asked with a soft giggle.

"Nahi," Sarbuland shook his head gently. "Humaare yahan... mere kabeela mein, mard hamesha samjhte hain ke hukoomat unka haq hai. Lekin main jab aapko dekhta hoon, toh mujhe lagta hai ke asli hukoomat toh soch ki hoti hai. Aapki soch aazad hai."

Laila leaned back on her hands, staring up at the stars, thoroughly fascinated by the man sitting beside her. For all his massive build and reputation as a powerful tribal heir, Sarbuland Khan possessed a heart that was intensely thoughtful, deeply romantic, and shockingly progressive.

"Pata hai, Sarbuland," Laila said quietly, her voice softening into a rare gentleness. "Main samajhti thi ke aap baaki mardon jaisi honge. Rigid, arrogant, loud. Lekin aap toh... ek bilkul alag hi dunya ke hain."

Sarbuland looked at her dark eyes reflecting the moonlight. "Main bas aapki dunya ka hissa banna chahta hoon, Laila."

"Itni aasan nahi hai meri dunya," Laila warned him, though her eyes were filled with warmth. "Main sawal karti hoon. Main bahas karti hoon. Main raatei parhte hue guzaarti hoon."

Sarbuland chuckled softly, pulling his shawl around his shoulders. "Toh phir theek hai. Main bhi aapke sawalon ke jawab doonga. Aur agar aap raatei parhte hue guzaarengi... toh main aapke liye chai banaya karoon ga."

Laila burst into a bright, musical laugh that vibrated through the cold night air. "Aap? Sarbuland Khan? Chai banayenge?"

"Main bohot achhi chai banata hoon," Sarbuland declared proudly, raising his eyebrows. "Kal raat try kar ke dekh lijiyega."

"Kal raat?" Laila teased, raising an eyebrow at him. "Aapne toh pehle se hi kal raat ka plan bana liya?"

Sarbuland’s cheeks flushed dark red again, and he quickly looked down, rubbing the back of his neck in utter embarrassment. "M-Mera matlab tha... agar aap ijazat dein toh."

Laila reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against the sleeve of his coat, causing a wave of electricity to shoot down Sarbuland’s spine.

"Ijazat hai, Sarbuland Khan," Laila whispered softly. "Kal raat, isi terrace par. Par chai achhi honi chahiye."

What started as a single midnight meeting quickly turned into a sacred, unshakeable ritual.

Every night at midnight, while the rest of the campus slept, two figures would slip onto the terrace of the old humanities block. Sarbuland would arrive first, carrying a thermos filled with boiling hot, cardamom-infused Karak chai, along with two small metal cups he had specifically bought for their meetings. Laila would arrive right on time, carrying her thick law textbooks and notebooks.

They spent hours sitting side by side under the open sky, wrapped in winter shawls, studying, debating, and laughing until the sky began to turn dark purple with the approach of dawn.

"Nahi, Sarbuland! Yeh constitutional point galat hai!" Laila argued one night, tapping her pen aggressively against her open book. "Article 8 clearly states that any law inconsistent with fundamental rights is void!"

Sarbuland sat cross-legged beside her, holding his cup of tea, watching her intense expression with absolute, unfiltered adoration. He wasn't even looking at the textbook; he was completely mesmerized by the way her eyebrows furrowed when she was deeply focused.

"Sarbuland!" Laila snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. "Aap sun rahe hain ya mujhe ghoor rahe hain?!"

Sarbuland blinked, taking a calm sip of his chai. "Main dono kar raha hoon."

Laila gasped playfully, hitting his arm with her notebook. "Aap bilkul bhi dhyan nahi de rahe! Main yahan exam ki tayyari kar rahi hoon aur aap... aap romance ke mood mein hain!"

"Exam toh pass ho jaye ga, Laila," Sarbuland said softly, leaning a little closer to her, his voice dropping into that deep, enchanting tone that always made her pulse race. "Lekin yeh waqt... yeh raatein wapas nahi aayengi."

Laila looked into his eyes, her sharp tongue instantly falling silent. The intensity in his gaze was overwhelming, wrapping around her like a warm blanket in the icy wind.

"Aap bohot dangerous hain, Sarbuland Khan," Laila murmured softly, resting her chin on her knees. "Aapki baatein dimaag kharab kar deti hain."

Sarbuland smiled, reaching out with agonizing slowness. His fingers gently tucked a stray strand of dark hair behind her ear, his warm skin brushing against her cheek. Laila didn't pull away; instead, she leaned slightly into his touch, her eyes closing for a brief second.

"Dimaag kharab nahi kar raha," Sarbuland whispered gently, his thumb lightly grazing her cheekbone. "Bas apna dil aapke paas rakh raha hoon... Meri Jaan."

Laila’s eyes flew open. The endearment echoed in the quiet air between them—Meri Jaan. It was spoken with such deep, natural affection, without a hint of pretense or dynamic power, that it sank straight into her soul.

Laila looked at him, her heart beating wildly against her ribs. She didn't scold him. She didn't roast him. She just offered a soft, brilliant smile, her dark eyes shining with an emotion she was only just beginning to truly understand.

"Chai pilao ab," Laila murmured playfully, nudging his knee with hers. "Varna main gussa ho jaungi, Sarbuland."

Sarbuland’s smile broadened as he poured more tea into her cup.

In those quiet hours under the Islamabad stars, they were just two young lovers caught in the beautiful, chaotic web of first love. Neither of them knew the terrifying truth lurking in the shadows of their pasts. Neither of them knew that back in the ancient, blood-soaked mountain valley they both called home, their families carried titles written in centuries of hatred.

They didn't know that Sarbuland was the heir to the Khan kabeela, and Laila was the daughter of the rival faction that had sworn to wipe his bloodline off the earth.

For now, in the quiet warmth of the midnight terrace, there was no blood feud. There were no swords, no ancient rivalries, no warlords.

There was only the quiet night, the sweet taste of cardamom tea, and the unspoken promise of a love that was growing stronger with every passing breath.

MASTERLIST

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A/N : First chapter of KABEELA, ISHQ AUR ISLAMABAD, LESGOOOO. A FEW OC'S ARE THERE AND A FEW CARACTER DYNAMICS ARE CHANGED CUZ THIS IS MY FIC AND I'M THE ONE TO CONTROL THE CHEMISTRY 💅👩‍🔬🧪⚗️

Dividers by @diviniyae HAD TO APPRECIATE THIS KWEEN 💖👑

Based on

Masterlist

Chapter 1 : Dilkashi

The morning breeze in Islamabad was unusually crisp, carrying the soft scent of pine trees and rain-soaked earth. At the bustling campus of Quaid-i-Azam University, students were gathered around the central cafeteria, their laughter and debates echoing through the courtyard.

Among them sat Sarbuland Khan, the towering, brooding heir to one of the most formidable tribal families in the northern valley. To anyone looking at him, he possessed the intimidating presence of his lineage—broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and eyes that could make grown men think twice before raising their voice. Yet today, Sarbuland was sitting completely still, staring blankly into his cup of lukewarm chai, a soft, utterly helpless smile playing on his lips.

His best friend, Mudassir, leaned across the wooden table, squinting in deep suspicion. Beside Mudassir sat Rabiya, his sharp-witted girlfriend and Sarbuland’s closest confidante on campus. On the other side were Khaqan, Shahveer, and Hamza—the rest of Sarbuland’s tight-knit college circle—all watching him with varying degrees of utter disbelief.

"Are you seeing this?" Khaqan whispered to Shahveer, gesturing vaguely at Sarbuland’s mesmerized face. "He looks like he’s been hypnotized by a jinnee."

Shahveer snorted, tossing a fried peanut at Sarbuland’s forehead. It bounced right off his hair, but Sarbuland didn't even flinch. He just blinked, sighed softly, and took another slow sip of chai.

"Yeh bilkul pagal ho chuka hai," Hamza declared, shaking his head. "Totally gone."

Rabiya rolled her eyes at the boys, leaning forward on her elbows to look directly into Sarbuland’s eyes.

"Sarbuland," Rabiya said, raising her voice slightly. "Assalam-o-Alaikum! Earth to Sarbuland Khan! Are you in Islamabad or have you mentally ascended to your kabeela?"

Sarbuland shook his head, snap-refocusing his dark eyes as a subtle blush flushed across his high cheekbones.

"Walaikum Assalam, Rabiya," Sarbuland muttered, adjusting the collar of his simple kurta. "Kuch nahi hua. Main bas... soch raha tha."

"Soch rahe the?" Mudassir scoffed loudly, slapping the table. "Bhai, tum pichle tees din se sirf ek hi cheez 'soch' rahe ho! Aur jab bhi woh soch chalti hai, tumhare chehre pe yeh ajeeb si, sharmila si muskaan aa jati hai. It is creepy, Sarbuland! You are an heir to a massive warlord dynasty, not a hero in a low-budget romantic drama!"

"Bakwas mat karo, Mudassir," Sarbuland muttered defensively, though the reddish hue on his ears betrayed him completely.

Rabiya leaned in closer, a mischievous smirk spreading across her face. "Laila ke peeche Majnu kyu bane, Sarbuland? Woh hi kyu? Koi aur kyu nahi? Matlab... itni saari ladkiyaan hain university mein. Half the social sciences department spends their day trying to catch your eye, yet you are obsessing over the girl who looks like she’d break a brick over someone’s head for breathing wrong."

Sarbuland’s expression softened instantly at the mention of Laila’s name. A quiet, reverent sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair, looking up at the gray sky above the Margalla Hills.

"Tum nahi samajhogi, Rabiya," Sarbuland said softly, his voice dropping into a rich tone. "Woh aam ladkiyon jaisi nahi hai. Woh ek aag hai."

"Ek aag jo tumhara dimaag jala chuki hai," Mudassir deadpanned.

Sarbuland ignored him, turning to look at Rabiya. "Did you see what happened in Professor Qadri's lecture last month? You weren't there that day."

"Professor Qadri? That old dinosaur from the Sociology department?" Rabiya asked, raising an eyebrow. "What did he do this time?"

"He was giving his usual lecture on traditional family roles," Sarbuland recalled, a proud, fond grin spreading across his face. "He stopped in the middle of his slide, looked directly at the front row, and had the audacity to say, 'Aaj kal ki ladkiyoon ko ghar ke kaam se zyada, bahar ki azaadi ka shauk hai. Lekin mard ka muqam hamesha oochar rehta hai, chahe aurat kitni bhi padh-likh jaye.'"

Mudassir winced. "Oof. He said that out loud?"

"In a hall full of two hundred students," Sarbuland said, his eyes glittering with admiration. "Everyone was quiet. Half the girls were uncomfortable, the boys were smirking or looking away. But then... she stood up."

"Laila?" Rabiya smiled.

"Laila," Sarbuland repeated, his voice filled with wonder. "She stood right up in the middle of the lecture hall, slowly unclipped her pen, and looked Professor Qadri straight in the eye. She didn't raise her voice. She was completely calm, completely deadly."

Sarbuland mimicked her calm demeanor, leaning forward. "She looked at him and said, 'Sir, agar mard ka muqam itna hi oocha, toh aapko apna muqam saabit karne ke liye aurat ko chota dikhane ki zaroorat kyu padti hai? Kya aapki shakhsiyat itni kamzor hai ke ek padhi-likhi aurat ki azaadi se aapka wajood khatre mein aa jata hai?'"

Hamza let out a dramatic gasp. "Bhai! In front of everyone?!"

"In front of two hundred people!" Sarbuland laughed, a rare, bright sound. "Professor Qadri turned redder than a pomegranate. He sputtered and said, 'Yeh badtameezi hai, Miss Laila! Main aapka uprofessor hoon!' And do you know what she replied?"

"What?" Rabiya asked, completely hooked.

"She smiled—that razor-sharp smile of hers—and said, 'Aap professor hain, Sir, isliye professor ki tarah baat kariye. Jahalat padhana hamaari syllabus ka hissa nahi hai.' Then she packed her bag, picked up her books, and walked out of the hall while half the class was trying not to burst into applause."

Sarbuland rested his chin on his palm, staring off into the distance, thoroughly smitten. "That day, Rabiya... I realized that I didn't just admire her. I was completely, helplessly sold. She has a rebellious spirit. A savage heart. A tight slap on every misogynist who thinks women should sit quietly in the dark."

Mudassir clapped his hands together slowly. "Mashaallah, Mashaallah! Sarbuland Khan, the terrifying prince of the northern mountains, reduced to a poet by a girl who roasted a sixty-year-old professor."

"Main koi poet ya shayar nahi hoon," Sarbuland mumbled, suddenly defensive again.

"Pata hai, pata hai," Shahveer chimed in with a grin. "Tum toh bas 'Gumnam Aashiq' ho! The guy who is too terrified to walk up to her and say hello, so he sneaks around like a ninja dropping handmade parchment notes on her hostel porch every single night!"

"It's romantic!" Rabiya defended, hitting Shahveer's arm. "Although... Sarbuland, seriously. It’s been a full month. Thirty days of secret letters and Urdu shayris. How long are you going to hide behind the trees?"

Sarbuland looked down at his leather messenger bag, where a neatly folded piece of cream-colored paper lay hidden beneath his textbooks. "Main bas... dar lagta hai. What if she hates me? What if she finds out who I am and walks away? My family name carries blood and legacy, Rabiya. But in front of her... I am just a man who doesn't know how to speak without stuttering."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the campus, inside the courtyard of the Women's Hostel, a completely different storm was brewing.

"LAILA!"

A loud shout echoed down the third-floor corridor. Jasmeet came skidding into Room 304, nearly tripping over a pair of stray sneakers. Behind her walked Shama, looking exasperated, holding two cups of hot chai, while Qais Bhat—Laila’s flamboyant, perpetually dramatic friend who spent way too much time hanging out near the hostel gates— stood at the door, leaning casually against the frame.

"Aapki chai thandi ho rahi hai, aur aap yahan abhi tak apna rumaal set kar rahi hain!" Jasmeet huffed, dropping onto the unmade bed.

Laila was standing in front of a small, gilded mirror hanging on the wall. She adjusted her stole over her shoulders, her dark eyes flashing with amusement as she turned to face her friends. Laila was striking—not just in her beauty, but in her unyielding, electric posture. She didn't walk; she paced like a panther. She didn't speak; she declared.

"Sukoon rakho, Jasmeet," Laila said, taking a cup of tea from Shama with a soft smile. "Shukriya, Shama."

"Shukriya ko chodo," Qais Bhat interrupted, stepping into the room with a dramatically tragic sigh. "Laila, mere bhai! Pehle yeh batao... aaj ka paigaam kahan hai? Where is today's masterpiece from your mysterious Romeo?"

Laila’s eyes softened slightly, a small, knowing smile twitching at the corner of her lips. She slowly walked over to her study desk and pointed at a small wooden tray. Rested on top of it was a series of carefully folded papers, each tied with a simple piece of rustic brown twine.

"Raha aaj ka khat," Laila said calmly.

Jasmeet practically gasped, darting across the room to look at it. "Arey! Pehle kyu nahi bataya?! Read it! Read it out loud!"

"Main kyu parhoon?" Laila chuckled, leaning against the desk and sipping her tea. "Tum log toh waise bhi bina ijazat ke parh hi lete ho."

"Main parhta hoon!" Qais volunteered instantly, striking a poetic pose in the middle of the room. He dramatically picked up the latest letter, untied the string, and unfolded the heavy paper.

"Ahem, ahem," Qais cleared his throat, adopting a deep, theatrical voice:

Suno, Aapki aawaaz mein jo ghooror hai, woh kisi taaj se kam nahi, Aapki khamoshi mein jo aag hai, woh kisi shole se kam nahi. Log kehte hain ke chand ko dekhna ibadat hai, Par humne toh chand ko zameen par chaltay dekha hai...

Shama placed a hand over her heart, letting out a dramatic groan. "Haiii! Kitna pyaara hai! Who writes like this in 2026?! Girls are getting texts like 'u up?' and Laila is receiving pure classical Urdu poetry dropped on her doorstep like a royal decree!"

"Banda jo koi bhi hai, shair zabardast hai," Jasmeet admitted, leaning against Laila’s shoulder. "Lekin Laila... sach batao. Are you not getting annoyed? It’s been thirty whole days! A month of these letters appearing every single morning on the hostel porch. Aren't you curious?"

Laila took another slow sip of her tea, her gaze drifting toward the window that overlooked the main campus paths.

"Curious?" Laila mused softly. "Pehle mujhe laga koi mazaak hai. Someone trying to play a silly game. But... look at the handwriting. Look at the respect in every line. He hasn't said a single inappropriate thing in thirty letters. He doesn't ask for my phone number. He doesn't demand anything. He just... admires."

"Toh phir?" Qais asked, leaning in, his sharp eyes glinting with intrigue. "Kya iraada hai tera? Is the great, untouchable Laila actually soft on her Ajnabi Aashiq?"

Laila turned back to them, her eyes sparkling with a dangerous, mischievous glint.

"Soft? Nahi, Qais," Laila smirked, tapping her fingers against her tea cup. "Lekin main kisi ko itni azaadi nahi deti ke woh mujhe door se beth kar sataye. If he has the courage to write such heavy words, he should have the courage to stand in front of me."

"Wait..." Shama stared at her, her eyes widening. "Laila... what did you do?"

Laila calmly pointed her chin toward the edge of the desk. There, lying separate from the stack, was an open bottle of dark blue fountain pen ink and a single sheet of ivory paper.

Jasmeet gasped, rushing to pick it up. "No way! You wrote back?!"

"Read it!" Qais shrieked, totally dropping his nonchalant persona and crowding around Jasmeet. "Read what she wrote!"

Jasmeet cleared her throat, reading Laila’s crisp, elegant handwriting aloud:

Mere Ajnabi Aashiq, Kab tak is tarah mujhe satate rahoge? Ab toh samne aa jao. Ya meri khoobsurti rubaroo sehen nahi kar paoge? Aapki shayari achhi hai, par mujhe kaagaz ke phool pasand nahi. Agar dum hai, toh parda girao aur samne aao. — Laila

Qais burst into a fit of dramatic applause. "Savage! Absolute peak behavior! 'Ya meri khoobsurti rubaroo sehen nahi kar paoge?' AAH! I am dying! The guy is going to have a heart attack when he reads this!"

"Laila, you didn't!" Shama giggled, covering her face. "Where did you put it?!"

"Last night, before I went to sleep," Laila said, a faint, rare flush creeping onto her cheeks, though her posture remained imperious. "I stepped out onto the porch and left my letter right under the small flower pot where he always leaves his. He usually comes before dawn to drop his notes. So... he must have found it this morning."

Jasmeet grabbed Laila’s hands, bouncing on her heels. "So he has it! He actually has your letter right now!"

Laila looked out the window again, the soft smile returning to her lips. "Haan. Ab dekhte hain ke mera 'Ajnabi Aashiq' sirf kaagaz ka sher hai... ya waqai koi mard hai."

Back at the boys' hostel room, the chaos was reaching an absolute peak.

Sarbuland’s room was a chaotic mix of heavy wooden furniture, stacks of thick law and history books, and traditional hand-woven tribal rugs sent from his village. Sarbuland was sitting on his bed, laptop open, caught in the middle of a mandatory group video call with his massive, loud family back in the mountain valley.

Gathered around the screen on his end were Mudassir and Shahveer, who had forced their way into the frame just to witness the madness. On the laptop screen, the whole kabeela was present in full force.

At the center of the camera sat Bijaan, the formidable matriarch of the clan, draped in a heavy velvet shawl, sitting grandly on her charpai. Beside her stood Sherdil lala, Sarbuland’s fierce elder brother, alongside his sweet wife, Gul Bhabhi, who was holding their young daughter, Laiba. On the other side was Sohrab lala, Sarbuland’s second brother, looking stern as always, flanked by his wife Noor Bhabhi and their energetic little son, Umar Daraaz. Sitting on the rug near Bijaan’s feet was Bano, Sarbuland’s beloved younger sister, who was currently staring intensely at her brother through the camera.

"Sarbuland!" Bijaan’s booming, authoritative voice echoed through the laptop speakers. "Tumhare chehre ko kya hua hai? Laal kyu ho rahe ho tum? Islamabad mein garmi badh gayi hai kya?!"

Sarbuland choked on his air, quickly coughing into his fist. "N-Nahi, Bijaan! Yahan mausam bilkul theek hai. Main... main bas abhi dhoop se andar aaya hoon."

"Dhoop se aaye ho ya kisi ke khayaalon se?" Bano piped up instantly on the screen, a evil grin spreading across her face. "Bijaan, main aapko bata rahi hoon! Jab bhi Sarbuland lala video call karte hain, yeh ajeeb tarah se muskurate rehte hain. Bilkul aashiq lagte hain!"

"Bano!" Sarbuland warned, narrowing his eyes at his sister. "Aapni padhai pe dhyan do, faltu baatein mat karo."

"Arey, chote ko tang mat karo!" Gul Bhabhi said gently on the call, adjusting little Laiba in her arms. "Sarbuland beta, tum khana waqt pe kha rahe ho na? Yeh Mudassir tumko tang toh nahi karta?"

"Bhabhi!" Mudassir leaned right into the camera frame, waving enthusiastically. "Assalam-o-Alaikum Bhabhi! Main kyun tang karoon? Aapka dewar khud hi din raat khayaalon ki dunya mein rehta hai! Isko khane ka hosh hi nahi hai!"

"Mudassir beta, Walaikum Assalam," Noor Bhabhi smiled from the back. "Iska khayal rakho. Umar Daraaz bhi apne chacha ko bohot yaad karta hai."

On cue, five-year-old Umar Daraaz popped his head directly in front of the camera, holding up a plastic toy sword. "Chacha! Aap kab aayenge?! Humne pahadon pe shikaar pe jana hai!"

Sarbuland’s heart warmed, a real, genuine smile replacing his nervous posture. "Main jald aaoonga, Umar. Tum apna khayal rakho aur Sohrab lala ko tang mat karo."

Sohrab lala crossed his arms, looking down at the camera with a stern, paternal expression. "Padhai kaisi chal rahi hai, Sarbuland? Kabeela ke maamlaat abhi shant hain, par tumhein jald wapas aana hoga. Tum iss ghar ke waaris ho."

Sherdil lala nodded in agreement, his voice deep and resonant. "Haan, Sarbuland. Islamabad ka maahaul tumhe narm na bana de. Hamaare dushman abhi bhi sar uthane ki koshish kar rahe hain. Apni hifazat ka khayal rakhna."

The mention of the blood feud instantly brought a heavy silence over the room. Sarbuland’s jaw tightened slightly. The ancient rivalry between his clan and their bitter enemies in the valley was a shadow that followed him everywhere, even in the bustling streets of Islamabad.

"Mujhe sab yaad hai, Sherdil lala," Sarbuland said, his voice instantly turning firm and serious. "Main apna farz nahi bhoola."

"Acha acha, abhi inn baaton ko chhodo!" Bijaan barked, waving her hand dismissively at her eldest sons. "Mera bacha parhai kar raha hai. Sarbuland, tum bas apna khayal rakho. Aur agar koi pasand aa gayi hai, toh chupane ki zaroorat nahi hai! Main khud rishta le kar aaoongi!"

"BIJAAN!" Sarbuland squeaked, his voice cracking slightly, causing Shahveer and Mudassir to burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter beside him.

"Acha, Allah Hafiz!" Bano giggled, blowing a kiss to the screen before quickly ending the video call, leaving Sarbuland burying his face in his hands while his friends rolled on the floor laughing.

"Bhai, tumhari family toh next level hai!" Shahveer wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Bijaan literally offered to roll up to Islamabad with a whole caravan for your rishta!"

"Tum dono abhi ke abhi yahan se dafa ho jao," Sarbuland groaned, throwing a pillow at them.

Just as Mudassir was about to throw the pillow back, Khaqan came bursting through the door, out of breath and holding a folded piece of paper in his hand.

"Sarbuland!" Khaqan panted, catching his breath against the doorframe. "Bhai... main abhi tumhare hostel waale raste se aa raha tha..."

Sarbuland sat up straight, his entire posture locking up. "Kya hua?"

"I passed by the girls' hostel porch... where you usually leave your notes," Khaqan said, holding up the paper. "There was no note under the pot. Instead... there was this."

The room went dead silent.

Sarbuland stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floorboards. He walked over to Khaqan with slow, disbelieving steps, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He stretched out his hand, taking the ivory paper.

It wasn't his paper. It was fine, smooth stationery, scented faint of jasmine.

"Is that..." Mudassir whispered, his eyes wide. "...a reply?"

Sarbuland didn't hear him. His hands were trembling slightly as he slowly unfolded the sheet. The dark blue fountain pen ink stood out boldly against the ivory background. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and confident—just like her.

He read the words silently at first, his eyes scanning the lines:

Mere Ajnabi Aashiq, Kab tak is tarah mujhe satate rahoge? Ab toh samne aa jao. Ya meri khoobsurti rubaroo sehen nahi kar paoge? Aapki shayari achhi hai, par mujhe kaagaz ke phool pasand nahi. Agar dum hai, toh parda girao aur samne aao. — Laila

Sarbuland’s breath hitched in his throat. He read it once. He read it twice. He read it three times.

A deep, fiery flush spread across his face, creeping up to his ears, down to his neck. His chest rose and fell rapidly.

"Kya likha hai?!" Shahveer demanded, trying to peer over his shoulder. "Bhai, parh ke sunao! Did she call the police?! Did she roast you?!"

Sarbuland slowly collapsed back onto his bed, staring at the paper in absolute awe.

"She... she wrote back," Sarbuland whispered, his voice barely audible.

"PADH KE SUNAO!" Mudassir yelled, snatching the paper out of his hand before Sarbuland could stop him.

Mudassir, Khaqan, and Shahveer crowded together, reading the text out loud in unison:

"KAB TAK IS TARAH MUJHE SATATE RAHOGE?! AB TOH SAMNE AA JAO! YA MERI KHOOBSURTI RUBAROO SEHEN NAHI KAR PAOGE?!"

The room exploded into utter chaos.

"OHHH MY GOD!" Khaqan screamed, falling backward onto the rug. "SHE CHALLENGED HIM! SHE LITERALLY CALLED HIM OUT!"

"YA MERI KHOOBSURTI RUBAROO SEHEN NAHI KAR PAOGE?!" Shahveer mimicked in a high-pitched voice, clapping his hands hysterically. "Bhai, she just called herself breathtaking and told you that you don't have the guts!"

"Agar dum hai, toh parda girao aur samne aao!" Mudassir yelled, shaking Sarbuland by his shoulders. "Sarbuland! Your savage queen just threw down the gauntlet! What are you going to do now?!"

Sarbuland sat motionless, holding his head in his hands, though a massive, unstoppable grin was spreading across his face.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't creeped out. She was intrigued. She was challenging him.

"Main..." Sarbuland swallowed hard, looking up at his friends with dark, determined eyes. "Main usse milunga."

"WHAT?!" all three boys shouted together.

"You're actually going to reveal yourself?!" Khaqan asked, wide-eyed. "The guy who turns into a statue whenever she walks past the library?!"

Sarbuland stood up, snatching the letter back from Mudassir and carefully folding it, placing it right next to his heart in his inner pocket. He walked over to his desk, pulling out his finest sheet of parchment paper and unscrewing his fountain pen.

"She asked if I have the courage," Sarbuland said, his voice dropping into a low, firm register, the pride of his valley rising within him. "Main Sarbuland Khan hoon. Main kisi dawat se peeche nahi hat’ta."

Rabiya walked into the open doorway of the hostel room right at that moment, holding a bag of snacks. She took one look at Sarbuland’s intense face, the open parchment on the desk, and the three boys sweating in excitement.

"Okay, what did I miss?" Rabiya asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Laila left a note!" Shahveer grinned wildly. "And now Prince Sarbuland is writing his final response!"

Rabiya’s jaw dropped. "She replied?! What did she say?!"

"She basically called him a coward and challenged him to show his face!" Mudassir chuckled.

Rabiya turned to Sarbuland, her eyes shining with pride. "So... what are you writing back, Romeo?"

Sarbuland dipped his pen into the dark ink, leaning over the paper. The tip of the pen glided smoothly across the surface, writing with absolute precision and unmatched grace:

Aapki khwahish humaare liye hukam hai, Laila. Agar aapko lagta hai ke hum aapki khoobsurti ka samna nahi kar sakte, toh aaj raat yeh ghalat-fehmi bhi door ho jaye gi. Aaj raat, theek baarah baje, university ki purani imarat ki chath (terrace) par mera intezar kijiyega. Parda girne wala hai. — Aapka Ajnabi Aashiq

Sarbuland blew gently on the wet ink, watching it dry under the desk lamp. He carefully folded the letter, sealing it inside a crisp white envelope.

He turned to look at his friends, his heart pounding a fierce, rhythmic beat against his chest. The playfulness of the past month was about to end. The secret games, the anonymous notes, the blushing from afar—it was all culminating tonight.

Tonight, Laila would finally look into his eyes. And tonight, before the inevitable shadows of their families' ancient blood feud could ever reach them in this mountain valley city, two worlds were about to collide.

"Khaqan," Sarbuland said, handing him the sealed envelope with steady hands. "Deliver this to her porch before she comes back from her evening lecture."

Khaqan took the envelope, saluting dramatically. "Consider it done, boss."

Sarbuland walked over to the balcony of his room, looking out toward the distant Margalla Hills wrapped in the cool evening mist. A quiet, confident smile touched his lips.

"Aaj raat, Laila... tumse mulaqat hogi."

Comment if you want to be added/removed from the taglist

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LIKES, COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Aapke aane se meri duniya ho gayi bright! 🌈

Ghar ke darwaze ko kehte hain gate 🚪

Main toh luckiest hoon jo mile mujhe aap jaisa mate! 💍

Gulaab ko english me kehte hain rose 🌹

Dil chahta hai hum rahein hamesha close! 🥰

Aakhri panno ko kehte hain end 📖

Aap hi ho meri wife aur sabse acchi friend! ❤️

PEHCHANO KON?

I WISH I COULR COME UP WITH SOMETHING PAR MAIN STUPID HOON ILYSM I KNOW WHO YOU ARE @hereforfanfictionsfr 😛😛😛😛😛😛

You are a cutie patooti, aam wali frooti. 🥭

(maine pehchano kon ko pehncho kon padha 💔) BAHAHAHAHA 🥀

10 people id like to know better tag game ‧˚꒰🧁୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

TYSM FOR THE TAG CUTIE @anna-lioncourt (also ignore how i made a seperate post instead of continuing the reblog chain)

Hair colorཻུ۪۪♡. Dark dark brown basically black!

Favorite colorཻུ۪۪♡. BABY PINK aka the color of nearly everything i own

Favorite drinkཻུ۪۪♡. Iced coffee in any form (frappe, latte, vanilla, caramel) OR strawberry iced matcha latte

One thing i love about myselfཻུ۪۪♡. I love my long fluttery eyelashes

If i could be an animalཻུ۪۪♡. A unicorn ofc! Or a hybrid kittycorn

Dream placeཻུ۪۪♡. Switzerland or France

Looking forward toཻུ۪۪♡. Finding a job (ew) and buying everything i want

Biggest dreamཻུ۪۪♡. Become a forensic psychologist and live in a cute little cottage in the countryside with the love of my life and 2 kids

Songs i have on repeatཻུ۪۪♡. Bbm baby - lana del rey, Prom song (gone wrong) - lana del rey, Crush - ethel cain, Television heaven - Lana del rey, Dream girl - Lana del rey, Michelle pfeiffer - ethel cain

Hair ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> Dark Brownish Blackish

Favorite color ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> PINK

Favorite drink ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> Limca 🩷 (Sprite ≠ Limca)

One thing I love about myself ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> My pwetty pwetty hair

If i could be an animal ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> A bunny or a kitten

Dream place ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> My bed?

Looking forward to ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> My birthdayyeye

Biggest dream ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> Getting a good college

Songs on repeat ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ -> Kaho na Kaho, Rashke Qamar, Jaiye Sajna, Udaarian, Mere Mehboob Qayamat Hogi, One more night

Hair ᥫ᭡. black

Favourite colour ᥫ᭡. baby pink, powder blue, brown, butter yellow, and sage green

Favourite drink ᥫ᭡. tea (love all type of tea), strawberry refresher, and caramel popcorn frappe 😋

One thing i love about myself ᥫ᭡. my works fs like art, ff and other crafts

If i could be an animal ᥫ᭡. BUNNY BUNNY BUNNY BUNNY 

Dream place ᥫ᭡. my boyfi’s arm🥰

Looking forward to ᥫ᭡. meeting my boyfi daily because he will be studying in same uni

Biggest dream ᥫ᭡. becoming a psychologist and have a beautiful family with my baby (im bf obsessed)

Songs on repeat ᥫ᭡. trump, ceo, snake [all 3 by cheema y] akhri apeel by satinder sartaaj, tere bagair by amrinder gill and ravi by sajjid ali

Hair : Black with a few brown strands

Favourite colour : Cerulean, dark blue, cornflower blue and turquoise 💙🩵🔵

Favourite Drink : Boba tea, Black coffee and Almond Cappuccino ☕

One thing I love about myself : My academic success, football achievements and the things I write like ffs, a novel that I'm writing and poems (genuine poems, not the whimsical ones).

If I could be an animal : Arctic Fox 🦊

Dream place : Sydney 🌆

Looking forward to : Becoming a neurosurgeon. 👩‍⚕️🥼🏥🩻🩺💊💉

Biggest Dream : Becoming a successful neurosurgeon, and live in Sydney.

Songs on repeat (chatpate songs only 💋🌶️🍒)

Tagging:

@gudbud

@maladaptive-anxiety

@abolitionistlawpluscoffee

@saniisinsane

@rutvii

@gloriouspurpose01

@cherryyelixir

@willowsgoldenhour

@not-aviii

@gehra-hua

Martin Fonseca x Reader

synopsis- life has ways of bringing things back to orbit and just like that after months you are collided again with martin but this time you dont give any attention to him.

warnings- MARTIN IS THE TAG, possessive behaviour, obsessive behaviour, internet stalking, drinking, descriptive violence, gore, blood, cursing, ignore errors.

wc - 2.6k+

chapter two

december 2025, goa

time slipped like sand; after the case was closed martin’s life took a huge turn.

he had completely paused with the activities which harmed others, using his skills for a better use. now he kept a low profile, staying in a small apartment in south goa, he freelanced sometimes.

and the other times?

ghosts in his head took control, he used his skills to take a look at what you are doing in life.

even right now, he sat in front of his screen monitoring your latest digital footprints, the usual instagram stories you posted.

you had gone out with your friends last night, looking stunning as usual martin traced his eyes across your face on the screen a bright smile wrapped on your face.

a smile, the one he had stolen away but after a few months you had got it back, you were living a happening life like every young adult should, letting go of the past and welcoming the pleasant present. you were moved on.

martin doesn't believe that.

a person who has moved on from the past wound doesn't write about the one who hurt them in their notes app, doesn't still keep their pictures in hidden folder to stare at two am.

you had told everyone you moved on, now searching for true love but only your heart knew the reality and so did martin.

he sighed, on the click of his mouse. he dragged all of your photos and saved it to an encrypted folder where he had saved all of your other pictures.

he leaned back on his chair going through your pictures in the encrypted folder, he had few them added to ‘favourites’ the ones where you are smiling, making cute faces.

it reminds him of the cozy sunset, the romantic sunset, sound of the beach and your eyes that looked full of love. if he could then he would do anything to bring back the love.

true, hopeful and warm.

now all that was left was hatred.

martin was a tech genius, a master of cyberweb, he could run a malware check and solve any problem involving technology within seconds.

but with human emotions it was different, he didn't know how to fix the problems he had created so he rotted within himself instead.

it wasn't that he didn't like you— quite opposite actually, it was him who had orchestrated every little detail to make you fall for him.

from the moment you first saw him to all of the time you ‘accidentally’ stumbled upon him or the times he had offered you ‘help’ with studies or the one time when your father was trapped in a financial fraud.

it was him— he would be the one to create the mess and smoothly take you out if it. it was a psychological tactic he used to make you fall deeper, to make you rely on him.

but he never acted out on his feelings maybe due to insecurities or maybe because you were a streak of pure sunshine in his dark world.

that also didn't mean he left a room for someone else, he was possessive in nature. he didn't let anyone else touch things he considered his.

and you were a porcelain piece of treasure that he kept close, martin would never bear the thought of another man having your romantic attention.

he had carefully dismantled every man who tried to get close to you by doing something purposeful, sometimes vague. anything in his power to keep you away from other men.

speaking as of now, he went through your instagram messages to see a guy constantly blabbering nonsense in your dms. you have been ignoring him but he kept plastering you continuously.

his calm gaze hardened, a vein popping in forehead with sharpness. he had to quickly get rid of the guy, he tracked down the IP address and tackled him with careful precision.

after over five hours of work, the guy’s instagram ID had been banned and the mail’s password had also been changed.

if he can't have you then no one can.

he let go off his harsh grip on the mouse, leaning back his head on the chair. he could feel his heart rate increasing, closing his eyes. he took long breaths to calm himself for a minute.

a soft ping from his personal phone disrupted in the calm air of his room, he slowly opened his eyes. retrieving the phone from his pocket to see a notification.

siyona

i know you are trying your best, i can see that…but it's time you get out of your room and face the real world, why don't you join us tonight for the christmas party?

martin inspected the text carefully, he was about to reply with a ‘no’.

but then his attention wavered to his computer screen where your text messages were displayed, you were excitedly beaming about tonight's party to your friends in the group chat.

and that was an indicator to his sudden change of mind, he gripped the phone tightly in his hand and typed, ‘yes’ . hitting the send button.

he tossed the phone on his desk.

christmas eve was the perfect excuse, now that you were leading a perfect life it was his time to enter again.

⋆˚࿔ ⋆.

the party was a whirlwind of reckless warmth, laughter filled the air in the room. it smelled of crushed cinnamon, expensive scents and warm spiced wine.

with a christmas tree placed in the centre, it was decorated with vibrant lights which added a vibrant mode to the party.

the room was filled with flashy young-adults, dressed impeccably, the theme of the occasion.

and then there was a martin who had showed up in his usual red hoodie and denim jeans paired with converses, he looked entirely unapproachable for an event where one is supposed to socialise.

sat on the countertop near the drinks section, he began drowning himself one after another.

over the time he had spent, he did meet his cousin, siyona, exchanged a few words before losing her to the crowd.

when the noise started getting loud, he tuck in his earphones to get rid of the background noise.

he didn't want to please anyone here, he was only here for one thing, you. and his target had walked in.

the world seemed to froze the moment you walked inside, carrying yourself with absolute grace that turned heads.

martin’s lips paused around the glass, the pupils in his eyes dilated with an intense rage to pursue the urge to claim you right here in front of everyone present in the room.

gone was the girl who was helplessly in love, replaced by a confident, secure woman who knew her worth.

dressed in a halter neck white polka dot dress, stopping at the base of your thighs. thick hairs cascaded down to the shoulder held together by a white bow and the makeup you chose to put on accentuated softly with the warm features of your face.

his eyes travelled to the dress that hugged your curves and remained still exactly where the fabric stopped, the cut of your dress exposed the porcelain skin.

his hold on the glass tightened, gaze shifting to the guys who were checking you out.

but as you moved across the room, walking towards his direction. his posture seemed to stiffen the tech genius who didn't hesitate twice was out of his senses.

the guilt wrapped around him, he constantly got reminders of the tragedy he had put you through and after all of that….he couldn't look into your eyes.

as you slid beside him, blatantly ignoring his presence. pouring yourself a drink while laughing at your friends’ joke.

something inside him shifts.

the glass was still in his hand but the eyes remained hardened on the floor. his eyebrows drawn together in confusion as to why you didn't show any reaction despite the close proximity.

martin turns his head, looking at you with an intense gaze. he searches for the little old you who would flinch in his presence, blushing ferociously when he was present within your radar.

but now? you didn't give him any satisfaction. you just talked to your friend, completely cutting off his presence, treating him like a stranger and it bothered him more than he could admit.

you moved again, this time on the opposite end of the room. far away from him in a bunch of crowd, he hated to see that he had not left any impact on you.

his eyes follow your every little movement. how you laugh with others, smile for pictures. grin when someone complimented your outfit, he noticed everything and every second that passed without you looking at him made him more feral.

the party goes on for a few hours, close to midnight. you find yourself on the balcony, overlooking the city. wind blowing your hair in a motion, you stared at the sky as if you were finding your existence.

the cold weather of december wrapped around you, your body began shivering at the impact of the wind. that's when you felt, a jacket being placed around your shoulders.

you flinched under the intensity of rough fingers brushing across your skin, your face remains still expecting…

it was, shaurya, a friend of yours.

the heart that was beating with a palpable speed relaxed under the weight of the person.

he stands beside you, flashing his boxy smile. “are you okay, why did you flinched like that”

you let out a chuckle, “yea, i am fine i just thought…ugh, nevermind. this is overstimulating me”

his eyebrows arched together, “why…what's wrong, is something bothering you?”

you shook your head, “its just that i am drunk i will probably head home”

“i will drop you off” shaurya offered.

you nodded along, leaning closer to him.

“i am going to keep this jacket, it feels so warm in here unlike goa’s weather” you hugged yourself, feeling the warmth.

“by all means, ma’am it's yours now but on one condition” he says, leaning towards you.

you leaned further, eliminating the little distance between the both of you, “which is?”

“will you go on a date with me?”

shaurya’s sweet proposal rumbled a laugh through your chest, you pretended to think. “mhm…i will think about it”

he let out a genuine smile, telling you to stay here until he brings out the car out of the parking lot, he leaves.

leaving you alone in the watchful gaze of someone all again.

⋆˚࿔ ⋆.

martin watched the entire conversation being exchanged, standing under the dim corner of the room where the vibrant lighting of the christmas tree didn't catch his silhouette.

firstly, it was peaceful seeing you alone, reflecting the events of the night. he had thought that maybe the poison had started filing in your brain.

that was until, a guy with a foolish smile approached you and had blatant audacity to cover you with his jacket.

he had noticed you flinch expecting him but the relief on your face broke something inside him.

he had to instinctively stick his foot to the floor because the urge of dismantling another man’s fabric from your body grew with every second.

he buried his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie, curled into a tight fist, his eyes narrowed with dark jealousy that suffocated him when he watched you wrapping his jacket tighter around yourself, accept his offer for a date with a teasing smile.

the warmth, teaseful smile only belonged to him, now seeing his lousy replacement who probably didn't know how to handle your mess took you home.

according to him, it wasn't just unacceptable but it was immoral, all these months he had eliminated every romantic interaction. seeing you with someone else was like repeatedly knocking a nail in his chest.

it was the last straw of control for martin, he had been already triggered with the ignorance and now this. oh he wasn't going to slide it easily.

he was going to put you back where you belong; right within his possessive hold

but first he has to deal with the guy to make sure he never thinks of crossing paths with you again.

⋆˚࿔ ⋆.

shaurya walked down to the ramps of the basement parking lot, a smug victorious smile displayed on his lips as he approached the car.

he didn't hear the footsteps nor did he got the time to register what was happening in his surroundings.

a heavy hand slammed into the back of his neck, sending him sideways before he could regain his balance. martin grabbed him by his collar, slamming his head against the concrete pillar.

shaurya let out a choked gasp, his vision blurring. "what the fuck man, who do you think you are here?"

again, before he could pull himself together. martin dropped to his knees, grabbing shaurya by his head. without any hesitation, he snapped his own forehead down. with a brutal force he headbutted shaurya.

"who do you think you are?" martin's tone had dropped, turning demandingly cold.

"putting your hands on her, giving her your jacket, sitting with her in the balcony making her laugh like a gentleman" he leaned down until his rage filled, bloodshot eyes were inches away from shaurya's tear filled ones.

"thinking that, you will use her easily and then discard her right?'' martin whispered, the voice bringing back his criminal persona, "while putting the girlfriend who is waiting for you at home in the dark"

shaurya instinctively moved back, shivering at martin's intense gaze. "i don't have a girlfriend"

martin couldn't help but snap his forehead against shaurya's again drawing a vast pool of blood. "do you know that i fucking hate liars?"

he released shaurya's hair, pulling his phone from the jean pocket, martin held the glowing screen over shaurya's bloody face, "one more lie and i'm sending all of your texts, pictures to your girlfriend''

on the screen remained a series of proofs that revealed the secrets shaurya kept buried. sexting, morphed photos with other girls.

"please" shaurya choked out, his hands trembling in an apology, "please don't..."

martin let out a chuckle, not a humorous one but a dangerous, merciless one that sent shivers down shaurya's spine.

"please? kyu sunu mey teri, jabhi uske sath flirt kar raha tha date par jane ke liye puch raha tha tab toh tujhe yeh please yaad aaya nahi lekin ab jabhi expose hone ki baari aayi tabhi maafi mang raha hai, thats not fair now is it?"

"what can i do for you, sir?" shaurya sobbed, his face covered with cowardly tears.

martin leaned down, his face entirely cold. "bhag ja idhar se, phirse kabhi bhi dikh mat and if you decide to linger around i will make sure the photos are not only sent to your girlfriend but also to the HR of the company you work in"

grabbing shaurya by his collar, he slammed his against the pillar one more time. "aas pass bhi mat dikhna uske, woh sirf meri hai...only i can be to give her pain any one else will be dismantled with cyber precision" his voice dropping to a possessive whisper.

"i'm sorry sir, i'm leaving..." he scrambled backwards trying to regain his balance, pathetically he placed his weight inside the car and drove off.

martin himself stood up, wiping blood off from his own forehead with the back of his hands, his knuckles burning with pain as blood coated around them.

he watched as the car sped off in rushed, desparate panic, adjusting his own red hoodie now he headed toward the one person who had the ability to ruin him completely— you.

it was time he confronted you but with an unyeidling twist.

note - the fiction is only based on vikrant massey's potryal in the series pritam and pedro and doesnt encourage the counterparts involving his character.

this would have came yesterday but iamlazy. anyways i felt that i rushed it idkk do tell me if its nicely written or nah

tags 💌

@s4nzt @goodnightkatherine @ppinkitten @hereforfanfictionsfr @wtafananya @rehmanhatesdosa @mujhekoimarsbhejdo @sahaar @idonthaveachatpateusernamed @oinswiftie @kamalkafool @multifandom-boss-bitch @yesssbrooooo

Martin Fonseca x Reader

synopsis- you have been loving martin since the age of eighteen after six years you finally decide to confess your feelings only for him to reject you.

warnings- added accordingly to chapters

status- ongoing

to my biwijaan @s4nzt fellow martin paglu i love you so much 💌

playlist

tu hai ki nahi - ankit tiwari

mere nishan- mohammed

tumhe apna banane ka- armaan malik

lae dooba- sunidhi chauhan

barbaad - jubin nautiyal

pal (female) - shreya ghoshal

bheegi si bhaagi si - mohit chauhan

kabhi joh badaal barse - arjit singh

INDEX