𝒮𝒶𝓊𝒹𝒶𝒹ℯ @immortalconfluxmuse - Tumblr Blog

𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒

Chapter 3

The days quickly blurred into weeks, and before Uzair knew it, a full month had passed since he first stepped through the gates of the Haveli.

Life had settled into a comfortable, comforting routine. Uzair hands were no longer rough and trembling with fear; they were steady, practiced, and relied upon. Every morning, he woke up before dawn to help Zareena with the breakfast prep, his round, perfectly thin rotis now a staple at the dining table. The Haveli upper floors remained spotless under his care, and little Raqs had become the darling of the household. Ulfat constantly spoiled the boy with new cotton kurtas, and even the stern Rehman Sahab would occasionally chuckle when Raqs babbled at him from his makeshift cradle.

And then, there is Hamza.

The Alpha leader is still as intimidating as ever, running the chaotic streets of Lyari with an iron fist. But inside the Haveli, a quiet, unspoken shift had occurred. Hamza no longer glared at Uzair. Instead, his eyes would silently follow the young Omega as he moved about the house.

Whenever Hamza is around, his scent of cedarwood would subtly soften, wrapping around Uzair like a protective shield against the harsh world outside.

Today is the first of the month—salary day.

After the afternoon lunch dishes were cleared, Ulfat called Uzair into the main inner courtyard. She is sitting on her usual charpai, a small metal lockbox resting beside her. Rehman and Hamza are also there, sitting nearby as they reviewed some ledger books over their afternoon green tea.

"Uzair, beta, yahan aao," Ulfat called out with a warm smile.

Uzair walked over quickly, wiping his hands on his clean apron and keeping his head bowed as he approached the family. His heart gave a nervous little flutter, not out of fear, but out of anticipation. For the first time in his life, he had earned a living safely, honorably, and without having to beg for mercy.

Ulfat reached into the metal box and pulled out a neat, crisp envelope. She held it out to him, her eyes beaming with affection.

"Yeh tumhara pehli mahine ki tankhwah hai, beta," Ulfat said softly. "Bohot mehnat ki hai tumne is mahine. Allah tumhare rizk mein barkat de, aur tumhare bache ki umar lambi kare."

Uzair stepped forward, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepted the heavy envelope. The paper felt crisp under his touch. For a person who had spent months fleeing in terror, wondering where his child's next meal would come from, holding his own earned money felt entirely surreal. A lump formed in his throat, and his eyes welled with tears.

"Shukriya, Baji," Uzair whispered, as he pressed the envelope tightly against his chest. "Aap logon ne mujhe siraf tankhwah nahi di... mujhe aur mere bache ko ek nayi zindagi di hai. Main aapka yeh ehsaan kabhi nahi bhoolunga."

Rehman looked up from his ledger, a smile appearing on his face. "Ehsaan kesa, Uzair? Tumne apni mehnat se kamaya hai. Haq hai tumhara."

Uzair bowed his head, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. As he turned to step back toward the kitchen, his eyes briefly collided with Hamza.

The younger Alpha is leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn't said a word, but his eyes are fixed on Uzair face. As Uzair clutched the envelope, a wave of Hamza cedarwood pheromones brushed against him—thick, reassuring, and heavy with silent approval. It's as if the Alpha is silently telling him that he is safe, and that he truly belonged here now.

Uzair gave a small nod in Hamza direction before turning around, his heart fluttering with a sense of pride and security as he hurried back to the guest wing to show the envelope to a sleeping Raqs.

Uzair stepped over the threshold of his quiet room, closing the door softly behind him. He walked straight over to the bed where Raqs os sleeping soundly, his little chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

Before he even opened the envelope, before he counted a single note, Uzair quietly placed it down on the side table. He turned away from the door, folding his hands against his chest, and closed his eyes.

"Shukur hai tera, Krishna ji..." Uzair whispered, his voice trembling as tears slipped down his cheeks. "Aapne mera sun li. Mujhe aur mere bache ko is dunya mein akela nahi choda. Agar aap is Haveli ke darwaze mere liye na kholte, toh aaj main kahaan hota... Yeh sab aapka diya hua hai."

He bowed his head low, offering his gratitude to the deity he kept hidden safely in his heart, the one who had guided his steps through the darkest, most terrifying nights of his escape.

Feeling a sense of peace wash over him, Uzair wiped his eyes and turned back to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and gently picked up the envelope, looking down at Raqs with a soft, tearful smile.

Uzair carefully tore open the top of the envelope. His breath caught when he pulled out the stack of currency. It isn't just a basic servant's wage—it's a generous amount, far more than he had anticipated. Ulfat Baji had clearly added a blessing for little Raqs.

He counted the crisp notes slowly, his fingers tracing the smooth paper. For the first time, he didn't feel the choking weight of anxiety about tomorrow. He could buy softer cotton for Raqs summer clothes, a few proper toys, and maybe some special gripe water Zareena Baji had recommended for the baby’s occasional colic.

"Dekho, Raqs," Uzair murmured softly, leaning over the sleeping baby and gently pressing the edge of the envelope against his tiny, resting palm. "Tumhaare baba ne kamaaya hai. Hum ab safe hain, beta. Hum ab kisi ke mohtaj nahi hain."

Raqs stirred slightly, letting out a soft, milky sigh as his tiny fingers curled instinctively around his father thumb. Uzair smiled, a expression that hadn't touched his face in a very long time.

He carefully tucked the money into the small, hidden drawer of the wooden bedside table. Just as he stood up to smooth down his kurta and head back to the kitchen to help Zareena with the evening tea, a knock echoed against the door of his room.

Uzair froze, his pulse jumping. He quickly checked his reflection in the small mirror, ensuring his hair is neat, before walking over and pulling the door open.

Standing out in the dimming light of the corridor is Hamza.

The Alpha He had changed into a clean, dark charcoal shalwar kameez, the top buttons undone, and the scent of fresh cedarwood and faint rain immediately poured into the small room.

Uzair breath hitched, his eyes instantly dropping to Hamza chest. "S-Sahab? Aap yahan...?"

Hamza didn’t answer. He stood in the doorway, His eyes swept over Uzair face, noting the lingering pink flush on his cheeks and the faint, dried tear tracks near his eyes.

"Bhabi ne jo diya, kam toh nahi tha?" Hamza rumbled, his deep baritone dropping low so it wouldn't disturb the sleeping baby behind the door.

Uzair eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head quickly, his hands folding instinctively over his apron. "Nahi, nahi, Sahab! Bohot zyada hai. Main... main toh itne ke laqiq bhi—"

"Bakwaas mat karo," Hamza cut him off bluntly, though his tone isn't angry. It's just his usual, Lyari roughness. He reached into the pocket of his charcoal kurta and pulled out a separate, small bundle of crisp notes, neatly folded.

He extended his hand, holding the money out to Uzair.

Uzair stared at the Alpha hand, entirely confused. "Sahab? Yeh... yeh kis liye? Baji ne toh mujhe meri tankhwah de di hai."

"Woh ghar ki tankhwah tha," Hamza rumbled, stepping half a pace closer. The scent of cedarwood spiked, warm and commanding, enveloping Uzair senses. "Yeh mardane ki taraf se hai. Mahine bhar tumne wahan ke mehmanon ke liye alag se kaam kiya hai. Hum kisi ka haq daba kar nahi rakhte."

Uzair swallowed hard, his inner Omega fluttering at the close proximity of the Alpha. He hesitated, his hands trembling. "Par Sahab, Rehman Sahab ne pehle hi itna de diya—"

"Uzair," Hamza growled softly, a low warning vibration in his chest that made the young Omega knees turn weak. "Pakdo isse. Aur jo zaroori lage, bache ke liye mangwa lena."

Without waiting for another refusal, Hamza took hold of Uzair hand in his palm covering Uzair fingers as he pressed the folded notes securely into his grasp. The brief, intense skin-to-skin contact sent a jolt straight down Uzair spine,

Hamza didn't let go. His eyes locked onto Uzair face, lingering for a silent beat before he released his grip and stepped back into the corridor.

"Garam kapde aur naye khilone le lena uske liye," Hamza muttered gruffly, turning on his heel. His boots echoed down the quiet corridor as he walked away, leaving Uzair standing at the open door, his hand tingling from the Alpha touch and holding a second fortune.

Uzair stood in the doorway for a long moment, staring down at the folded notes in his palm. His skin still felt warm where Hamza hand had brushed against his. The weight of the Alpha protective care is starting to ripple through his entire chest, leaving a confusing, beautiful flutter in its wake.

He quietly closed the door, leaning his back against the wood. He walked back to the bedside table, sliding the extra money into the drawer alongside the first envelope.

"Krishna ji... in logon ka dil kitna bada hai," Uzair murmured softly, looking over at Raqs, who had turned onto his side, his thumb resting near his mouth.

Knowing Zareena would be waiting for him, Uzair quickly smoothed out his kurta, checked that the baby was securely blocked by pillows so he wouldn't roll off the bed, and quietly slipped out of the room to return to his duties.

The evening passed in a busy, comforting hum. Uzair helped Zareena set the dining table for dinner. When Rehman and Hamza came inside from the mardana, the atmosphere is relaxed. Throughout the meal, Uzair kept his head down, serving the fresh rotis he had made, but he could feel Hamza gaze tracking his movements every time he approached the table.

Later that night, after the dishes were washed and the Haveli had finally settled into a deep silence, Uzair sat on the edge of his bed. The cool night breeze was flowing through the open window, carrying the faint, distant sounds of Lyari streets.

Raqs woke up, blinking his big, dark eyes up at his father. He didn't cry; instead, he let out a soft, happy gurgle, reaching his chubby arms up.

Uzair smiled, lifting the baby into his lap. "Tumhe pata hai, Raqs? Kal hum tumhare liye naye kapde lene jayenge. Zareena Baji ne kaha hai ke paas wale bazaar mein bohot ache cotton ke kapde milte hain."

Raqs babbled in response, his tiny hands grabbing at Uzair fingers.

Just then, a very faint, familiar scent drifted through the gap under the door—the deep, unmistakable trace of cedarwood and rich tobacco. Hamza is making his final rounds of the Haveli before turning in for the night. The scent lingered outside the guest wing for a quiet minute, standing guard in the silent corridor, before slowly fading away as the Alpha moved toward his own quarters.

Uzair held his baby a little closer, pulling the soft blanket over them both as he finally lay down to sleep, feeling entirely safe.

The next morning, the Haveli woke up to a bright, clear sky. True to her word, Zareena had gotten permission from Ulfat to take Uzair to the nearby Lyari bazaar during the quiet afternoon hours when the household chores were minimal.

"Tum bilkul chinta mat karo, Uzair. Main Raqs ko apne paas rakhungi," Ulfat said, cradling the happy baby in her arms on the main courtyard charpai. "Tum dono jaakar tasalli se kapde aur bache ka zaroori saaman le aao."

Uzair bowed, a bright smile on his face. "Shukriya, Baji. Main jaldi laut aaunga."

With the crisp envelope of his earned salary tucked safely into his inner pocket, Uzair stepped out of the gates of the Haveli alongside Zareena. It's the first time in a month that he was stepping onto the open streets of Lyari. His inner Omega felt a brief, nervous spike at the sudden flood of unfamiliar scents, but Zareena presence beside him kept him grounded.

The bazaar is a vibrant, chaotic explosion of colors and sounds. Stalls were piled high with bright summer fabrics, local spices, and plastic toys. Uzair felt a deep sense of pride as he walked up to a vendor selling soft, cotton children's kurtas. For the first time, he didn't have to look at the cheapest, worn-out rags. He carefully picked out three beautiful, light-colored kurtas—one soft blue, one pale yellow, and a clean white one—feeling the fabric between his fingers to ensure it wouldn't hurt Raqs sensitive skin.

"Yeh bohot pyaare hain, Uzair," Zareena smiled, helping him pick out a small, colorful wooden rattle as well.

After paying the vendor with his own money, they walked further down the lane toward a large wholesale grocery setup to buy the special gripe water Zareena had recommended.

As they waited near the counter, the chaotic noise of the bazaar suddenly seemed to quiet down. The crowd of shoppers parted instinctively, shifting to the sides of the narrow street. the air, instantly catching Uzair attention.

He turned his head slightly and froze.

Walking down the center of the bazaar market lane is Hamza. He was flanked by three of his trusted men, his figure immediate respect from every shopkeeper they passed. He is wearing a deep navy-blue shalwar kameez, a heavy leather watch on his wrist, and his eyes are scanning the crowds with sharp, calculated precision. The scent of raw cedarwood and old leather cut through the pungent smells of the marketplace.

Uzair’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly stepped closer to Zareena, lowering his head to avoid drawing attention to himself in the public space.

But Hamza sharp eyes had already locked onto the familiar figure in kurta.

The Alpha stopped in his tracks, pausing his conversation with his men. He looked straight toward the shop where Uzair and Zareena were standing. Without a word to his subordinates, Hamza turned and began walking toward them,

Uzair felt his breath hitch as the thud of Hamza boots grew closer. The ambient noise of the bustling market seemed to fade into a dull hum, replaced entirely by the presence of the Alpha. Beside him, Zareena adjusted her dupatta, a knowing smile instantly gracing her face.

"Hamza?" Zareena spoke up first as the Alpha stepped under the shade of the shop's awning. "Tum yahan bazaar ke chakkar par ho?"

"Haan," Hamza rumbled smoothly, his eyes briefly acknowledged Zareena before shifting to Uzair. He took in the young Omega flushed cheeks, his lowered gaze, and the tightly clutched fabric shopping bag held against his chest. "Saaman le liya?"

"Ji... Ji, Sahab," Uzair whispered softly, his fingers tightening around the handles of the bag. The rich scent of cedarwood is incredibly potent out here in the open air, acting like an invisible wall that shielded him from the chaotic pheromones of the bazaar. "Raqs ke liye... kapde aur khilone liye hain."

Hamza looked down at the plastic bag, a small, nearly imperceptible softening appearing at the corners of his stern eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brass token—a custom merchant seal used by the Alphas running the Lyari markets. He stepped a fraction closer, his frame blocking Uzair from the view of the passing crowd.

He extended the token, pressing it into Uzair palm. The warmth of his fingers sent a shiver down Uzair spine.

"Agli dukaan se bache ke liye jo doodh aur dawayi leni hai, yeh token dena. Kisi ko paise dene ki zaroorat nahi hai," Hamza commanded , his tone leaving no room for argument.

Uzair looked up, his eyes briefly locking onto Hamza gaze before shifting down in shyness. "Sahab... mere paas paise hain, aapne kal hi toh—"

"Uzair," Hamza rumbled, "Jo kaha hai, woh karo."

Zareena chuckled softly, patting Uzair shoulder. "Le lo, Uzair. Hamza ki baat na manna sahi nahi hota."

Hamza gave a short, firm nod, his eyes lingering on the soft line of Uzair jaw for one beat longer before he turned back toward his waiting men out in the street. "Zareena, isko seedha ghar le kar jaana. Dopehar dhal rahi hai."

"Haan, haan, bas hum nikal hi rahe hain," Zareena promised.

As Hamza strode back into the center of the lane, his men quickly falling into formation around him, Uzair clutched the brass token in his hand. The metal felt warm, carrying the faint, lingering trace of cedarwood. He looked out at the Alpha shoulders moving through the crowd, his heart beating a rhythm against his ribs.

Zareena nudged his elbow gently, a playful glint in her eyes. "Chalo, ab abba huzoor ka hukam mil gaya hai, toh chal kar baqi saaman bhi le lein."

Uzair quickly nodded and followed Zareena down the lane to the wholesale chemist shop. When the shopkeeper saw the brass token in Uzair hand, his attitude instantly turned into bowing respect. The man packaged the gripe water and two large tins of high-quality supplemental milk without asking for a single rupee, carefully bowing as he handed the parcels over.

By the time they walked back through the gates of the Haveli, the afternoon sun had dipped, casting long, golden shadows across the brick courtyard.

"Uzair! Zareena! Aa gaye tum log?" Ulfat called out from the shaded verandah.

Raqs was lying right beside her on a soft sheet, kicking his tiny legs in the air. The moment the baby heard the familiar click of the gate and caught the faint, sweet scent of his father, he let out a loud, excited squeak and began rolling around, trying to lift his head.

"Mera jaan!" Uzair dropped the shopping bags onto the nearby table and rushed over, lifting raqs into his arms. He buried his face in Raqs neck, breathing in the comforting, pure scent of his pup. Raqs grabbed at Uzair hair, letting out high-pitched, happy giggles.

"Dekho, Baji, aaj toh iski lottery nikal aayi," Zareena laughed, setting the parcels down. "Uzair ne kapde toh khareede hi, par bazaar mein Hamza mil gaya thaa. Usne apna token de kar poore mahine ka doodh aur dawayi muft karwa di."

Ulfat raised her eyebrows, a soft, knowing smile spreading across her face. She looked at Uzair,

"Achha?" Ulfat murmured softly, her tone warm. "Hamza ne token diya? Woh toh kisi ko apni cheez choone nahi deta... Chalo, Allah usay hidayat de aur zinda rakhe. Uzair, beta, jaao tum kapde tabdeel kar lo aur bache ko naye kapde pehnao. Phir shaam ki chai ka waqt hone wala hai."

"Ji, Baji," Uzair whispered softly.

He gathered the shopping bags and walked back to his room, his heart humming with a sense of safety. He sat Raqs on the bed and carefully unpacked the soft, pale yellow cotton kurta they had bought. He pulled it over the baby head and smoothed down the clean fabric.

"Kitna pyaara lag raha hai mera bacha," Uzair whispered, kissing Raqs chubby cheeks.

Just then, the sound of the front gates opening echoed through the Haveli. The men were back from the bazaar. A few moments later, the familiar, grounding scent of cedarwood drifted down the long corridor, settling right outside Uzair door like a quiet, watchful guardian.

Uzair hands paused on Raqs yellow kurta. His heart did that now-familiar, erratic little skip against his ribs. The cedarwood scent outside isn't just passing by this time; it's thick, stationary, and heavy with a quiet, waiting presence.

Raqs, sensing the familiar scent that had cradled him so securely just weeks ago, let out a soft, happy gurgle. The baby kicked his tiny feet against the mattress, his eyes wide and fixed entirely on the closed wooden door.

Taking a small, stabilizing breath, Uzair stood up. He smoothed down his own kurta, picked up Raqs against his chest, and walked over to pull the door open.

Hamza is standing right there in the dimming light of the corridor. He had discarded his leather watch, and the top buttons of his shalwar kameez were slightly undone, exposing the column of his neck. He looked tired from a long day handling the rough streets of Lyari, but the moment the door swung open, his gaze snapped onto Uzair.

Then, his eyes dropped to the baby.

Raqs instantly reached out a chubby, trembling hand, his little fingers opening and closing in the air as if demanding to be held. The pale yellow cotton looked bright and beautiful against the baby’s soft skin.

A faint, incredibly rare trace of a smile touched the very corner of Hamza lips.

"Pura aa gaya," Hamza rumbled ,

"Ji... Ji, Sahab," Uzair whispered, his head bowing politely, "Kapra bohot naram hai. Aur... aur aapka bohot shukriya. Dukandaar ne paise lene se bilkul inkaar kar diya thaa."

Hamza stepped half a pace closer, He didn't say a word about the token. Instead, he reached out a hand and gently ran the back of his index finger down Raqs soft, chubby cheek. The baby leaned into the touch immediately, letting out a pleased, milky sigh.

"Shaam ki chai mardane mein le kar aana," Hamza commanded softly, his eyes shifting upward to lock onto Uzair amber ones, holding them captive for a beat. "Zareena se kaho ke patti tez rakhe."

"Ji, Sahab," Uzair breathed, his inner Omega purring weakly at the warmth radiating off the Alpha.

Hamza gave a single nod, his finger leaving the baby cheek as he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor toward his quarters,

Uzair carried the tray carefully, his heart thumping against his ribs as he neared the mardana. The courtyard is loud, packed with several outer-district traders and local Alphas who had come for the evening meeting.

Keeping his gaze firmly glued to the floor, Uzair stepped onto the verandah. He systematically began serving the tea, ensuring Rehman Sahab and the elderly guests received theirs first. When he approached Hamza, he kept his eyes downcast, but he could feel the heat of the younger Alpha gaze tracking his every move. Hamza picked up his cup, his cedarwood scent flaring briefly in the air as if marking his presence before turning back to listen to an elder speaking.

Once the tray is empty, Uzair quietly stepped backward, blending into the shadows of the corridor to return to the safety of the inner Haveli.

He had barely walked past the first pillar of the side alley when a rough hand suddenly shot out from the recess of the brick wall.

Before Uzair could even gasp, a grip clamped tightly around his wrist, and a second arm snaked around his waist, pulling his soft Omega frame flush against a harsh, unfamiliar body. The scent that hit him was foul—sharp, aggressive alpha pheromones reeking of cheap tobacco and sweat.

It was one of the visiting traders from the mardana, a heavy-set man who had sneaked away from the meeting.

"Oye, aaram se..." the man sneered, his voice a disgusting, low whisper right against Uzair ear as his hand began to forcibly press into Uzair waist, trapping him against the cold brick wall. "Ek mahine se dekh raha hoon... kya cheez hai tu. Haveli ke laundon ke nakhre toh dekho."

Uzair eyes widened in paralyzing terror. The trauma of his past flashed before his eyes, suffocating him. He tried to twist away, his hands pushing frantically against the man chest, his breath coming in short, terrified gasps.

"Ch-Chodein mujhe... chodein..." Uzair whimpered, his inner Omega crying out in desperate distress, releasing a sharp, panicked spike of scent into the corridor.

"Chup kar, shor mat macha," the man growled, tightening his grip on Uzair waist and leaning his face closer to Uzair neck. "Koi nahi aayega tera—"

A sudden, deafening crash cut the man off.

The door leading to the courtyard didn't just open—it was violently ripped off its hinges, slamming against the brick wall with a force that rattled the entire corridor.

The air in the alley instantly turned ice-cold, suffocatingly thick, and heavy. The scent of cedarwood didn't just drift out—it exploded like a lethal thunderstorm, carrying a raw, murderous Alpha rage that made the temperature drop instantly.

Hamza stood at the entrance of the corridor, his frame completely blocking out the evening light. His hands curled into fists, the veins on his thick forearms bulging. His eyes were pitch black, locked onto the man holding Uzair.

"Apna haath," Hamza growled, "Usse hatao."

The trader froze, his face draining of color as the suffocating pressure of Hamza dominant Alpha crashed over him. The weight of the cedarwood scent in the corridor is so intense it made the man's grip instantly loosen in primal fear.

Uzair didn't wait. Shaking violently, tears streaming down his face, he tore himself away from the man grasp and stumbled backward, collapsing against the opposite wall. He clutched his own chest, his breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps as his inner Omega wept for safety.

The trader tried to swallow, his voice cracking as he stepped back. "H-Hamza Bhai... main toh bas... yeh naukar—"

"Tumhara himmat kaise hui," Hamza cut him off, his voice quiet, yet vibrating with a lethal, rage.

Before the man could even raise his hands to defend himself, Hamza closed the distance in a single, explosive stride. His hand shot forward like lightning, gripping the trader by the front of his collar and slamming his body against the brick wall. The force of the impact echoed loudly through the alley.

"Hamza Bhai, galti ho gayi—!" the man choked out, his wide with the realization that he was facing the undisputed, ruthless leader of Lyari streets.

Hamza didn't speak. His face is a mask of cold fury. He pulled the man forward and drove a, bone-crushing punch straight into his jaw. The trader groaned heavily, his head snapping back as blood immediately splattered against the bricks. Hamza didn't let him fall; he gripped his collar tighter, throwing a second, vicious blow into the man's ribs, followed by a knee to his stomach that left the trader wheezing and gasping for air on the dusty floor.

The loud commotion finally drew the rest of the mardana. Heavy footsteps hurried down the corridor as Rehman and several elders rushed into the alley, stopping dead in their tracks at the bloody scene.

"Hamza! Kya ho raha hai yeh?!" Rehman boomed, his voice ringing out as he took in his younger brother dark, pitch-black eyes and fists.

Hamza didn't even look back at his brother. He stood over the groaning, bloodied trader, his chest heaving as his cedarwood scent continued to flare violently, claiming every inch of the space.

"Is kachre ko abhi ke abhi mere ghar se baahir pheko," Hamza growled to his men, "Aur agar yeh dubara Lyari ki kisi gali mein dikha... toh iska janaza bhi naseeb nahi hoga."

Rehman eyes shifted past Hamza, landing on Uzair, who is trembling uncontrollably in the corner, his face buried in his hands as he tried to suppress his sobs. Rehman expression instantly turned incredibly dark. He understood everything.

"Uthao isse," Rehman commanded his men coldly, pointing at the bleeding trader. "Aur dafa karo yahan se."

As the men dragged the weeping, broken trader away, the alley slowly quieted down, though the air remained thick with tension. Rehman looked at his younger brother, noting the protective instinct vibrating through Hamza entire frame. Rehman gave a single nod, turning to lead the remaining elders back to the courtyard to clear out the meeting.

Once the corridor is empty, the edge of Hamza began to shift. The murderous rage receded, replaced by a wave of warm, reassuring cedarwood—softened entirely, directed solely at the trembling Omega in the corner.

Hamza turned around slowly. His boots thudded softly against the ground as he stepped toward Uzair.

Uzair is still flinching, his shoulders shaking as the trauma of being touched against his will held him captive. But as the warm, familiar scent wrapped around him like a protective blanket, his heart began to slow down.

Hamza stopped just inches away. He didn't touch Uzair, knowing the young Omega is startled, but his frame blocked out the rest of the world, creating a safe, impenetrable sanctuary in the dim alley.

"Uzair," Hamza rumbled, his deep baritone dropping to a soft, incredibly low vibration. "Dekho mujhe."

Uzair voice is barely a whisper, broken and ragged as he pressed himself as hard as he could against the brick wall, wishing he could just disappear into it. He squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clutching the fabric of his kurta right over his heart.

"M-Maine kuch nahi kiya..." Uzair choked out, as he fought a losing battle against the sob tearing its way up his throat. "Sahab, khuda ki qasam... maine... maine kuch nahi kiya. Main bas chai de kar—"

"Mujhe pata hai," Hamza cut him off.

The Alpha voice isn't harsh. The growl that had just broken a man bones is gone. Instead, his voice is steady grounded—like a anchor holding Uzair down in the middle of a storm.

Hamza took one more step forward, closing the gap between them but keeping his hands strictly to himself, giving Uzair the space he needed to breathe. His chest rose and fell, and with every breath, he released a wave of his pure cedarwood scent. It isn't the aggressive, terrifying scent he used for his enemies; it's warm, rich, and protective, wrapping around Uzair distressed Omega senses like a shield.

"Uzair. Mere taraf dekho," Hamza rumbled softly,

Uzair eyelashes trembled, wet with unshed tears, as he slowly, hesitantly lifted his head. His wide, amber eyes, filled with vulnerability and lingering fear, met Hamza gaze.

Hamza looked down at him, "Tumne kuch nahi kiya," Hamza said, each word heavy and deliberate, leaving no room for doubt. "Tumhara koi galti nahi hai. Mere maujoodgi mein kisi ki itni auqat nahi hai ke woh tum par ungli bhi uthaye. Samajh aaye?"

Hearing those words, the dam inside Uzair broke. A tear spilled over his lashes and ran down his cheek. But for the first time since the attack, the terror in his chest began to ease, replaced by the safety of the Alpha standing guard before him.

Uzair shoulders dropped a fraction, the tension leaving his body as he let out a long breath. He looked up at Hamza through wet lashes, his lips trembling.

"M-Mera bacha..." Uzair whispered, his thoughts instantly flying to the guest wing. "Raqs... woh andar..."

"Woh bhabi ke paas safe hai," Hamza rumbled softly, his body shifting slightly to ensure the cool evening draft didn't hit Uzair directly. "Tum yahan khade raho. Do minute. Lambe saans lo."

Uzair nodded weakly, leaning his head back against the brick wall. He closed his eyes, doing exactly what the Alpha commanded. With every deep breath he took, the rich, grounding scent of cedarwood filled his lungs, systematically washing away the lingering, foul stench of the trader.

Slowly, the trembling stopped. The wild hammering in his chest settled into a calm rhythm.

When Uzair opened his eyes again, Hamza is still standing there, patient and unmoving like a solid wall of iron. The younger Alpha glanced down at Uzair wrists, checking for any bruises, before his eyes lifted back to Uzair face.

"Theek ho?" Hamza asked, his deep voice carrying a rare, quiet gentleness.

"Ji, Sahab," Uzair whispered, wiping the last of his tears with the sleeve of his kurta. "Aapka... aapka bohot shukriya."

Hamza didn't reply with words. He simply gave a single, firm nod. Then, turning around slowly, he walked a few paces ahead, creating a clear, protected path down the corridor for Uzair.

"Chalo. Andar jaao," Hamza commanded quietly, standing guard at the corner of the alley to ensure no one else is in sight.

Uzair hurried past him, his heart giving a small, different kind of flutter as he crossed the threshold into the inner Haveli. The moment he stepped into the courtyard, he saw Ulfat sitting on the charpai, gently rocking a peaceful Raqs.

Seeing the safe, warm sight of his son, a soft, tearful smile finally broke across Uzair face as he walked forward to claim his sanctuary.

Ulfat looked up from the charpai the moment Uzair stepped into the courtyard, her sharp eyes immediately catching the faint pink around his eyelids and the slight tremor still lingering in his hands. Before she could even ask Uzair what was wrong, the door creaked open again.

Hamza stepped out into the open courtyard. His face was set in a hard, dangerously stone-cold expression, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his face jumped.

Ulfat frowned, shifting Raqs slightly in her lap as she looked at her brother-in-law.

"Kya hua hai, Hamza? Aisa mooh kyun banaya hua hai?" Ulfat asked, "Mardane mein sab khairiyat toh hai? Aur tumhare haath..."

She paused, her eyes dropping to Hamza right hand, where the knuckles are slightly red and scraped from the force of the punches he had landed.

Hamza stopped near the edge of the verandah, his gaze briefly passing over Uzair—who had quickly moved to sit on the edge of the charpai to take Raqs into his arms—before looking at Ulfat. He didn't want to recount the disgusting details in front of Uzair and risk upsetting the Omega further.

"Kuch nahi, Bhabhi," Hamza rumbled, "Ek baahir ka vyapari tha. Apni auqat bhool raha tha, toh bas sahi jagah par thikana laga diya."

Ulfat eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze moving from Hamza tense frame to Uzair downcast face. She had lived in the Haveli long enough to read between the lines, especially when it came to Hamza protective nature.

"Acha... chalo, Rehman ne dekh liya hoga," Ulfat said softly, choosing not to press further in the open courtyard. She turned her attention to Uzair, her expression instantly softening as she patted his knee. "Uzair, beta, tum jaao, bache ko le kar thoda aaram kar lo. Shaam ka baqi kaam Zareena dekh legi."

Uzair gave a small nod. "Ji, Baji. Shukriya," he whispered, his voice still carrying a slight, soft tremor.

He gathered Raqs gently against his chest, tucking the baby head securely under his chin. As he stood up from the charpai, he had to walk past Hamza to get to the corridor leading to the guest wing. He kept his eyes lowered, but as he passed, he felt the comforting warmth of Hamza cedarwood pheromones wrap around him one last time, like a silent, protective hand on his shoulder.

Hamza didn't move an inch, standing like an wall between Uzair and the rest of the world until the young Omega had safely disappeared down the hallway.

Inside his room, Uzair bolted the door. He walked over to the bed and sat down, letting out a long, shuddering breath that he had been holding in. Raqs looked up at him, letting out a tiny, soft coo and reaching up to touch his cheek.

"Hum theek hain, beta... hum safe hain," Uzair whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Raqs forehead as a few quiet tears finally slipped down his face.

Ulfat waited until she heard Uzair door click shut before she turned her sharp, knowing gaze back to Hamza.

"Hamza," Ulfat said, her voice quiet but firm as she stood up from the charpai. "Yeh baahir ka vyapari... isne Uzair ke saath badtameezi ki thi na?"

Hamza jaw tightened, his eyes darkening further. He didn't answer immediately, but the sudden, sharp spike in his cedarwood scent is answer enough.

"Ab woh kabhi is Haveli ki taraf dekhne ke laqiq bhi nahi raha, Bhabhi," Hamza rumbled,

Ulfat looked at him for a long moment. She saw the possessive instinct burning in the younger Alpha eyes—an instinct that went far beyond just protecting a household servant.

"Theek kiya tumne," Ulfat said softly, walking over to pat Hamza shoulder. "Hamare ghar aaye mehmaan aur sharan dhoondne walon ki hifazat hamara farz hai. Aur Uzair... bechara pehle hi bohot dukh dekh kar yahan aya hai. Tumne sahi waqt par usay sambhal liya."

"Uske taraf koi aankh utha kar bhi nahi dekhega jab tak main zinda hoon," Hamza muttered gruffly, his hand clenching into a fist.

Ulfat smiled gently, her eyes warm. "Mujhe pata hai, beta. Mujhe pata hai. Jaao, apne haath par thoda marham laga lo."

The door is bolted tight, but the silence inside the small room felt incredibly vast. On the bed, little Raqs had finally drifted off into a peaceful sleep, his tiny mouth slightly open and his yellow cotton kurta rising and falling with his gentle breaths.

Uzair lay beside him, turned onto his side with his knees pulled slightly toward his chest.

Now that he is alone in the dark, the fragile dam he had built up during the day crumbled. He buried his face in the soft pillow, trying desperately to muffle the raw, broken sobs that tore through his chest. He cried silently, his shoulders shaking violently under his kurta.

The terrifying memory of the hands clamping around his waist, the foul, suffocating smell of the stranger, and the helplessness of those few seconds played on a loop in his mind. It dragged him right back to the dark, haunting nightmares of his past—

“Maine kuch nahi kiya…” he whispered into the tear-soaked fabric of the pillow,

But as the tears flowed, another memory began to weave its way through the panic, slowly grounding him. He remembered the deafening sound of the door being ripped off its hinges. He remembered the fury of Hamza voice, and how the Alpha frame had eclipsed his vision, standing between him and the danger like an unbreakable shield.

He remembered the warmth of Hamza hand pressing the bazaar token into his palm earlier that afternoon, and the quiet, gravelly gentleness of his voice in the dark corridor: “Mera maujoodgi mein kisi ki itna auqat nahi hai…”

Uzair reached out a trembling hand, gently placing his fingers over Raqs tiny, warm back. The soft, rhythmic heartbeat of his baby, combined with the lingering, faint trace of cedarwood on his own skin from where Hamza had stood close to him, slowly began to soothe his frayed Omega nerves.

He closed his eyes, his silent tears gradually slowing to a stop as he clutched his baby close, letting the safety of the Haveli—and the unspoken promise of the Alpha guarding it— lull him into a sleep.

The soft, rhythmic thud against the wooden door was quiet—deliberate and careful not to wake the sleeping baby—but in the dead silence of the night, it sounded like thunder to Uzair sensitive ears.

He gasped, sat up instantly, and clutched the blanket to his chest. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. The shadows in the corner of the room suddenly looked menacing, and the terror of the afternoon threatened to claw its way back up.

But then, he took a breath.

Drifting through the small gap under the bolted door was a thick, soothing wave of fresh cedarwood, rain, and a faint hint of warm tobacco.

It's Hamza.

Uzair carefully slipped out of bed, ensuring the pillows were still tucked securely around Raqs. Walking on tiptoe across the cool tiled floor, his hands trembled slightly as he slid the metal bolt back. He pulled the door open just a few inches.

The corridor is bathed in the dim, golden glow of a single wall sconce. Standing in the shadows, looking larger and more imposing than ever in the quiet of the night, is Hamza. He had changed into a soft kurta, his hair slightly damp, and his eyes locked onto Uzair face.

Hamza gaze swept over Uzair swollen eyes and the faint dampness still lingering on his eyelashes. A subtle, tight pull tightened the Alpha jaw, his cedarwood scent flaring slightly with a low, protective hum.

"Jagaya tumhein?" Hamza rumbled, his deep voice dropping to an incredibly soft, gravelly whisper that seemed to vibrate in the quiet air.

"N-Nahi, Sahab..." Uzair whispered back, his hand clutching the edge of the door for support. He looked up at the Alpha, his inner Omega practically begging to step closer into that warm, comforting scent. "Aap... aap is waqt yahan...?"

Hamza didn't answer. His eyes lingered on Uzair face, taking in the features and the slight, nervous flutter of his pulse at his throat.

Without a word, Hamza slowly reached out, his massive, warm hand coming up to hold a small, wrapped paper packet. He extended it toward Uzair.

"Yeh lagao," Hamza rumbled softly, his voice a low, soothing purr. "Bhabi se liya hai. Chot... aur dard ke liye hai."

Uzair looked down at the packet, then back up at Hamza, his heart doing a chaotic, beautiful flip. He realized with a jolt of warmth that Hamza had gone to his sister-in-law, Ulfat Baji, in the middle of the night just to ask for something to soothe Uzair nerves and any bruises he might have gotten when the trader grabbed him.

"Sahab... mujhe koi chot nahi aaya," Uzair whispered, his voice trembling with a sudden rush of emotion. "Main... main bilkul theek hoon. Aapne... aapne mujhe bacha liya."

"Pakdo isse," Hamza commanded gently, his tone leaving no room for argument but carrying a deep, heavy warmth.

Uzair slowly reached out, his small fingers brushing against Hamza palm as he took the small packet. The brief spark of skin-to-skin contact made Uzair's breath hitch, a deep, comforting shiver running straight down his spine.

Hamza eyes darkened slightly, his gaze dropping to Uzair's parted lips before lifting back to his amber eyes. He stepped a fraction closer, his powerful, protective cedarwood scent completely washing over Uzair, wrapping around him like a heavy, physical embrace.

"Raqs so raha hai?" Hamza asked quietly, his eyes drifting toward the dim interior of the room.

"Ji, Sahab. Abhi soye hain," Uzair replied softly, his voice barely a breath.

"Tum bhi so jaao," Hamza rumbled, his hand slowly retreating back to his side, though his presence remained unyielding. "Darwaza andar se band karo. Main baahir hi hoon."

Uzair’s eyes widened slightly. "Aap... aap yahan...?"

"Tum so jaao, Uzair," Hamza repeated, his tone dropping to a deep, gravelly vibration that felt like a protective shield locking into place. "Jab tak subah nahi hoti, main yahin hoon. Koi tumhare darwaze tak nahi aayega."

A sweet warmth bloomed deep within Uzair chest, completely melting away the very last traces of his fear. He looked at the Alpha , his heart full of a feeling he had never experienced in his entire life— unquestioned safety.

"Shukriya, Sahab," Uzair whispered, his eyes shining with soft gratitude.

He slowly closed the door, sliding the heavy metal bolt back into place. He walked back to the bed, clutching the small packet of ointment to his chest. As he lay down beside Raqs and pulled the blanket over them, he could hear the faint, comforting creak of the floorboards outside as Hamza settled against the wall, standing guard in the quiet night...

Ishq ki is daastaan par hum yun aa baithe,

Ke aag mein khud jalne ki talab liye baithe hain.

Ishq ki is daastaan par hum yun aa baithe,

Ke aag mein khud jalne ki talab liye baithe hain.

Dil to kab ka toot chuka, mohtaram,

Ab to bas aapki fariyaad hi baaqi hai.

#hamza x uzair #hamza ali mazari #uzair baloch #dhurandhar #ao3 #rehman x ulfat #angest #dhurandhar 2 #dhurandhar revenge #hamzair #dhurandhar fanfiction #dhurandhar fanfic #dhurandar the revenge #dhuranandar2 #dhurandar fandom #bottom uzair agenda #top hamza

𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒

Chapter 2

The first light of dawn is just breaking through the arched windows of the guest wing, casting a soft, pale blue hue over the room. Uzair eyes fluttered open precisely at five in the morning. Years of being on the run and working till his bones ached had built a clock inside him that never failed.

He looked down at his chest. Raqs is sound asleep, his little lips parted as he let out tiny, rhythmic snores. Uzair smiled softly, the fever medicine had clearly worked wonders, and the baby skin felt cool and healthy to the touch. Knowing his son habits, Uzair knew the medicine and the warm milk would keep the little one asleep until at least nine in the morning.

Moving with care, Uzair slipped out from under the quilt. He gently lifted Raqs and transferred him into the soft wooden cradle in the corner, tucking the light blanket securely around his tiny shoulders.

"Baba abhi aaya, mera jaan," he whispered, kissing the baby forehead.

Uzair adjusted his new cotton kurta and quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door without a sound. The Haveli is still, wrapped in a serene, early-morning silence. Eager to prove his worth before anyone else woke up, Uzair made his way down to the laundry area near the courtyard.

He gathered the household clothes left for washing—heavy linen sheets, table covers, and some of the servants' uniforms. Dragging the large wicker basket to the washing area near the well, he rolled up his sleeves, tied a piece of cloth around his waist, and began filling the large wooden tubs with water.

The water is freezing cold against his hands, making him shiver, but Uzair didn't care. He scrubbed the fabrics with determination, the rhythmic sound of splashing water breaking the morning quiet, his mind focused entirely on ensuring that Ulfat and the Alphas of the house would find no fault in his work.

By seven in the morning, the basket is filled with clean, wrung-out linens, which Uzair carefully hung on the clotheslines across the back courtyard. His hands were red and numb from the freezing well water, and his back integration-ached from bending over the tubs, but a sense of pride washed over him. The first task of the day is done.

Wiping his damp hands on his kurta, he quickly made his way to the kitchen of the Haveli. The morning air was getting lighter, and he knew the family would be waking up soon. Uzair quickly set to work, lighting the large clay tandoor and the gas stoves. He kneaded a fresh batch of dough for parathas, the rhythmic thump of his palms against the wooden board grounding him. Soon, the rich, aromatic scent of boiling chai with cardamom and ginger began to fill the kitchen, alongside the comforting smell of melting ghee.

At exactly eight o'clock, the soft rustle of a silk dupatta announced a presence at the kitchen door.

Ulfat stepped down into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes slightly, expecting to find the kitchen dark and empty before Zareena arrived. Instead, her jaw dropped in shock.

There is Uzair, standing by the stove, flipping a perfectly golden, layered paratha with practiced ease. The kitchen is spotless, a large pot of steaming chai is simmering gently, and through the window, she could see the courtyard lines full of freshly washed laundry.

"Uzair?!" Ulfat exclaimed, stepping fully into the kitchen, her eyes wide as she looked at him and then at the clock on the wall. "Tum... tum is waqt? Itni subah subah? Aur yeh saare kapde... tumne dhoe hain?!"

Uzair instantly turned around, his posture tensing out of respect. He lowered his head, a soft smile playing on his lips as he wiped his hands. "Ji, Baji. Subah paanch baje aankh khul gayi thi, toh maine socha pehle kapde dho loon. Aur ab aap sab ke liye nashta aur chai taiyar hai. Aap baithiye, main abhi aap ke liye chai nikalta hoon."

Ulfat walked over to him, shaking her head in disbelief and sympathy. "Beta, tum kal hi toh aaye ho, aur itne kamzor ho. Maine tumse kaha tha na ke araam karo! Tumne poore ghar ke kapde dho diye itni thand mein?"

Before Ulfat could scold him any further, footsteps echoed from the tiled corridor, instantly changing the entire energy of the space. The lighthearted warmth of the kitchen vanished, replaced by a sudden density in the air.

A tall, imposing older man stepped through the doorway. He wore an immaculate, starch-white kurta, and his eyes carrying the hardened, terrifying weight of a man who ruled the streets of Lyari with an iron fist.

It's Rehman Dakait.

Uzair breath hitched in his throat. He froze, the spatula nearly slipping from his numb fingers. He had never seen the man in person, but anyone who had ever set foot in Lyari knew that face. It was pasted on political posters, spray-painted on walls, and spoken about in whispered, fearful tones in every dark alleyway. The legendary, feared figure of the Baloch clan is standing right in front of him.

A wave of instinctual fear flooded Uzair system. His Omega nature instantly recoiled from the power radiating off the older man. Uzair heart hammered violently against his ribs, and he quickly stepped back into the shadows of the stove, his eyes wide and trembling as he looked down at his own bare feet, trying to make himself look as small and invisible as possible.

Rehman eyes immediately flicked toward the new face in his kitchen. He noticed the sudden, sharp scent of fear spiking the air, and his brow furrowed as he looked at the fragile young man drowning in the Haveli cotton kurta.

"Ulfat," Rehman voice boomed, making Uzair flinch slightly. "Yeh naya larka kaun hai? Aur itni subah subah Haveli mein itni ronaq kyun lagi hui hai?"

Ulfat stepped into the space between Rehman and Uzair, her presence acting as a shield for the trembling Omega. She offered her husband a calm, reassuring smile.

"Yeh Uzair hai, Rehman," Ulfat said "Maine kal raat hi isse Haveli mein rakha hai. Bohot shareef larka hai, aur iska ek chota sa bacha bhi hai. Aur dekho toh sahi, abhi subah ke aath baje hain aur isne poore ghar ke kapde dho kar nashta bhi taiyar kar diya."

Rehman gaze shifted from his wife back to Uzair. He didn't speak immediately. The silence in the kitchen stretched and suffocating, as the formidable Alpha evaluated the newcomer. He took note of the way Uzair shoulders trembled, the stark paleness of his skin, and the humble way he kept his head bowed, refusing to make direct eye contact.

"Baloch hai?" Rehman asked, his voice sending a shiver down Uzair spine. The older man stepped closer to the counter, pouring himself a cup of the hot cardamom chai Uzair had just brewed. He took a sip, his sharp eyes never leaving the boy. "Lyari ke halat kharab hain. Mujhe Haveli mein koi fuzool masla nahi chahiye."

"Koi masla nahi hoga, Sahab," Uzair whispered frantically, his voice shaking as he forced himself to speak. He kept his eyes locked firmly on the floor, his hands tightly clasped together in front of his kurta. "Main bas yahan kaam karunga... aur apne bache ko palunga. Main aap ko kisi shikayat ka mauka nahi doonga, Khuda ki qasam."

Rehman watched him for a long moment, the rich scent of his dominant Alpha settling heavily over the kitchen. Finally, the tension in his shoulders relaxed slightly. The chai is excellent, and the boy clearly knew his place.

"Theek hai," Rehman muttered, turning back toward the door. "Kaam karo. Par yaad rakhna, yeh Haveli jitni daitoon ki hai, utni hi shareefon ki bhi hai. Wafadari dikhaoge, toh sukoon se rahoge."

With that, Rehman walked out of the kitchen, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

The moment his presence cleared, Uzair let out a long, shaky breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His knees felt like water, and he had to lean against the kitchen counter to keep himself standing.

Ulfat quickly walked over, placing a hand on his arm. "Dekha? Maine kaha tha na, darna nahi hai. Woh upar se sakht hain, par dil ke bure nahi hain. Chalo, ab tum bache ko dekho, aath-baje se upar ho gaya hai. Woh jagne wala hoga."

Uzair blinked, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked at Ulfat with a curiosity. He straightened up slightly from the counter, adjusting the sleeve of his fresh kurta.

"Aap ko kaise pata, Baji?" Uzair asked softly, a genuine, puzzled look on his face. "Ke Raqs theek aath ya nau baje hi jagega? Maine toh aap ko bataya bhi nahi tha."

Ulfat let out a warm laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she picked up a plate of the hot parathas Uzair had made.

"Arre beta, main koi pehli baar bacha nahi dekh rahi," she said, her tone filled with amusement. "Maine is Haveli mein apne bache paale hain, Hamza ko chota dekha hai, aur ab poore khandan ke bache mere hi samne bade hote hain. Aur phir, tumne kal raat usse bukhar ki garam dawai di thi na? Us dawai se bache bohot gehri aur sukoon ki neend sote hain. Itni thand mein, garam doodh aur dawai ke baad, koi bhi bacha subah nau baje se pehle apni aankh nahi kholta."

Uzair cheeks flushed a faint pink, a smile finally breaking through his usual anxious expression. He felt a sudden wave of comfort. To a runaway Omega who is alone in the world, having an experienced, kind elder woman notice these small details felt like a warm blanket on a freezing night.

"Aap bilkul theek keh rahi hain, Baji," Uzair whispered, bowing his head. "Main abhi ja kar dekhta hoon usse."

"Haan, jao," Ulfat nodded gently, shooing him toward the door. "Main baqi ka nashta dekh lungi. Agar woh jag gaya hai toh usse yahan le aana, main thoda kheloongi uske sath."

Uzair hurried back down the quiet, cool corridor of the guest wing, his heart feeling a little lighter after Ulfat words. He gently pushed the door open and stepped into the room, closing it softly behind him to avoid making any noise.

The room is bathed in the soft, bright light of mid-morning. Uzair walked over to the wooden cradle in the corner, his eyes softening the moment he looked inside.

Just as Ulfat had predicted, Raqs is right on the verge of waking up. The little baby is stretching his chubby arms over his head, his tiny fists balled up as he let out a long, cute yawn. He blinked his eyes, squinting at the light before his gaze wandered around the unfamiliar room. For a split second, a tiny pout formed on his lips, his little chest heaving as if he might cry from not recognizing his surroundings.

"Mera jaan, Baba yahan hain," Uzair whispered quickly, leaning over the cradle.

The moment Raqs heard Uzair voice and caught the comforting, sweet scent of milk and honey, his pout vanished. A bright, toothless smile broke across his chubby face, and he kicked his tiny legs excitedly under the blanket, reaching his hands up toward his father.

Uzair smiled, a tear of pure happiness slipping down his cheek as he scooped the raqs into his arms. He held Raqs close, burying his face in the baby soft neck, inhaling his clean, sweet scent. The fever is gone; Raqs skin felt cool and healthy.

"Chalo, mera bacha," Uzair murmured softly, rocking him gently as he looked at the stack of fresh clothes Zareena had left. "Pehle Baba aap ko yeh naye, saaf kapde pehnayenge, phir hum Baji ke paas kitchen mein chalenge. Woh aap ka intezar kar rahi hain."

Knowing the Lyari morning air is still far too chilly, Uzair decided against giving Raqs a full bath. He didn't want the fever returning. Instead, he fetched a bowl of warm water and a soft cloth, carefully and gently wiping down the baby chubby arms, legs, and face. Raqs giggled, squirming and trying to grab the damp cloth with his tiny fingers.

"Nahi, mera jaan, ruko," Uzair soft-chided with a smile, kissing the baby wet cheek.

Once Raqs is clean and dry, Uzair reached for the beautiful, neatly folded clothes Ulfat had sent down. He picked out a tiny, soft cotton kurta in a pale, soothing cream color. It's incredibly well-made, and though it had belonged to one of Ulfat boys before, it had been washed so thoroughly that it felt like silk.

Carefully, Uzair guided Raqs small arms through the sleeves and buttoned up the front, smoothing down the fabric. He then pulled a pair of warm little matching trousers onto the baby's legs.

Raqs looked adorable. The fresh clothes made his chubby, healthy cheeks pop, and he looked like a little prince compared to the stained clothes he had been wearing on the streets just yesterday. Raqs looked down at his new kurta, patting his own stomach with a happy, confused little gurgle.

Uzair couldn't help but smile, He adjusted his own new kurta, hoisted the raqs securely onto his hip, and stepped out of the room to head back to the kitchen.

Uzair walked back into the kitchen area and froze slightly as he realized the entire family is gathered at the breakfast table just outside the main cooking space.

Rehman Dakait sat at the head of the table, looking formidable as he read a newspaper, while Ulfat sat beside him. Their two younger sons were chatting quietly, and Hamza sat across from them, The scent of cedarwood, leather, and strong Alpha blended with the rich aroma of the parathas and chai Uzair had prepared.

As Uzair stood near the threshold, unsure of whether to step forward or retreat, Ulfat eyes caught sight of him. Her face instantly lit up.

"Arre, Uzair! Aao, aao," Ulfat called out warmly, gesturing toward a smaller side counter where a plate of fresh parathas, eggs, and a steaming cup of chai had been neatly laid out for him. "Tum yahan apna nashta karlo, wahan pe nashta lag gaya hai tumhara."

Uzair bowed his head, feeling a rush of gratitude. He began to move toward the counter, but Ulfat stood up from the main table, her eyes locked onto the baby. Raqs is looking around wide-eyed, looking incredibly handsome in the cream-colored cotton kurta.

"Aur Raqs ko mere paas dekar jao," Ulfat smiled, extending her arms toward the baby. "Zara khel loon is shahzade ke saath!"

Uzair felt a sudden wave of relief wash over him. He stepped closer, carefully transferring the warm, heavy bundle of his son into Ulfat eager, gentle arms. Hamza eyes flicked up from his plate, tracking Uzair movements and lingering on the sweet Omega scent that softly brushed past the table. Uzair quickly lowered his gaze, scurrying over to the side counter to eat his breakfast in a quiet corner, his heart full as he heard Ulfat cooing and laughing with raqs.

Uzair sat quietly on the small wooden stool by the side counter, keeping his back slightly turned out of respect and nervousness. The food smelled incredible, but his throat felt tight. He took a small, careful bite of the crisp, buttery paratha he had rolled out just hours ago. It tasted even better than it smelled, warming his empty stomach instantly. He took a slow sip of the hot chai, letting the sweet, cardamom-infused warmth steady his racing pulse.

Behind him, the dining area s filled with the lively, comforting sounds of the family.

"Oho! Dekho toh sahi iske baal," Ulfat cooed happily, her bangles clinking as she bounced Raqs gently on her lap. "Bilkul apna... mera matlab, bilkul shehzada lag raha hai mera bacha. Rehman, dekhiye na iski aankhen kitni baari hain!"

Rehman lowered his newspaper slightly, his stern face softening just a fraction as he glanced at the baby gurgling happily in his wife arms. He let out a low grunt, which was as close to a compliment as the leader ever gave. "Theek hai, Ulfat. Par isse zyada laad mat lagao, warna tumhare bache ki tarah yeh bhi sar par chadhega."

"Arre, ab mere beton ko beech mein mat laayein," Ulfat chided playfully, making her two younger sons chuckle into their plates.

Uzair listened to the banter, a small smile touching his lips. But the moment of peace is cut short when he felt a gaze burning into the side of his face.

He didn't even have to look up to know who it is. The intoxicating scent of cedarwood and dark leather is drifting closer from across the table. Hamza is sitting silently, a cup of black coffee in his hand, his eyes locked onto the Omega tucked away in the corner. Hamza observed the delicate curve of Uzair jaw, the neat way his new kurta fitted his slender frame, and the subtle, sweet trail of milk and honey pheromones that Uzair is still too weak to fully contain.

Feeling the weight of the Alpha attention, Uzair shoulders tensed up again. He quickly finished his tea, cleared his plate with practiced quietness, and stood up, keeping his head low.

"Baji..." Uzair murmured softly, stepping out from the corner and bowing his head near Ulfat. "M-Main abhi Sahab ke kamre ki safai ke liye chala jaoon? Unhone kaha tha ke thoda jaldi..."

Hamza set his coffee cup down on the saucer with a sharp clink, making Uzair flinch slightly.

"Chale jao," Hamza voice rumbled, cutting off his bhabi before she could speak. He stood up from the table, "Main nikal raha hoon. Mere aane se pehle kamra saaf milna chahiye. Aur jo kaha tha, yaad rakhna—kagazat ko haath mat lagana."

"Ji, Sahab..." Uzair whispered, bowing his head so low his chin nearly touched his chest. He felt the pull of Hamza alpha as the man stepped away from the table, his boots clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor until he exited the front courtyard.

The moment Hamza is out of sight, Uzair finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

Ulfat, noticing the young Omega visible trembling, sighed softly and adjusted Raqs on her lap. "Daro mat, Uzair. Hamza ka mizaaj bachpan se hi aisa sakht hai. Aur waise bhi, woh Rehman ka chota bhai hai, toh poore Lyari ka bojh un dono par hi hai. Zabaan thodi kadwi hai uski, par dil ka bura nahi hai."

"Ji, Baji," Uzair said softly, "Main bohot dhyan se kaam karunga taaki unhe koi shikayat na ho."

"Haan, jao beta. Zareena se kaho woh tumhe saaf kapde aur baalti de degi," Ulfat smiled, gently tapping Raqs chubby cheek, making the baby let out a high-pitched, happy gurgle. "Raqs mere paas bilkul mehfooz hai. Tum sukoon se apna kaam khatam karo."

Uzair gave a final, grateful nod and hurried out of the dining area. He fetched a bucket of warm water, a clean dusting cloth, and a broom from Zareena, who gave him a look but warned him again to be careful up there.

With a nervous flutter in his chest, Uzair walked up the staircase leading to the upper floor of the Haveli.

He stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Uzair gently pushed the door open,

Uzair froze right at the threshold of the grand room, the dusting cloth clutching tightly in his hands. He slowly turned around to find Ulfat standing at the top of the stairs, holding Raqs securely on her hip. She had followed him up, a look of quiet curiosity on her gentle face, her mind clearly lingering on what she had heard earlier.

"Aur suno..." Ulfat asked softly, stepping closer into the corridor, her voice low so it wouldn't echo through the house. "Tum Hindu ho, beta?"

Uzair heart gave a sudden, nervous thud Slowly, Uzair lowered his head, his fingers tightening against the cloth, but he looked up at her kind, eyes and decided to speak the truth.

"Ji, Baji..." he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Main... main aap se jhoot nahi bolna chahta tha. Main Hindu hoon."

He held his breath for a moment, fearing that this revelation might change everything—that the safety he had just found for his baby might vanish.

Instead, a soft sigh escaped Ulfat lips. She walked over and placed a hand on his slumped shoulder.

"Daro mat, Uzair," Ulfat murmured gently, a tender smile returning to her lips. "Is Haveli mein Khuda ka naam lene wale bhi rehte hain, aur tumhare Kanha Ji ka aashirwad bhi tumhare sath hai. Hum insaniyat se pehle kisi ka dharam nahi dekhte. Tum is ghar mein aur tumhara bacha bilkul mehfooz hain."

A wave of relief washed over Uzair chest, a stray tear escaping his eye as he nodded weakly.

"Shukriya, Baji... bohot shukriya," he choked out, bowing.

"Chalo, ab dil laga kar apna kaam karo," Ulfat smiled, turning back toward the stairs with a happy Raqs. "Aur haan, Hamza ke aane se pehle kamra chamak jana chahiye!"

With Ulfat reassuring words still echoing in his mind, Uzair turned back toward Hamza quarters. He took a deep, steadying breath and stepped fully into the room, gently closing the door behind him.

The room is a dark wooden king-sized bed, heavy velvet drapes, and a large, polished writing desk near the window. The scent of Hamza alpha—cedarwood, leather, and a hint of expensive tobacco—hung heavily in the air, making Uzair inner Omega feel instantly small and hyper-aware.

Determined to do a perfect job, Uzair immediately set to work. He began by making the bed, smoothing out the dark silk sheets and fluffing the pillows with care. He then took his damp cloth and began dusting the wooden furniture, making sure not to leave a single speck of dirt.

As he approached the large writing desk, his eyes fell upon piles of heavy ledgers, official-looking documents, and stamped papers scattered across the surface. Remembering Hamza warning from earlier—“kagazat ko haath mat lagana”—Uzair pulled his hands back, holding the dusting cloth tightly against his chest.

He didn't dare touch a single paper. Instead, he carefully dusted around the edges of the desk, moving with the precision of someone who knew that one wrong move could cost him his safety. He then picked up the broom and began sweeping the polished tiled floor, ensuring every corner is completely spotless.

Just as he was finishing up, wiping down the final glass cabinet near the window, the doorknob echoed through the quiet room.

Uzair heart leaped into his throat. He quickly turned around, dropping his gaze firmly to the floor as the door swung open, revealing Hamza figure standing at the threshold.

Hamza stepped into the room, He looked slightly annoyed, his brows furrowed as he loosened the top button of his vest. He had clearly rushed back because he had forgotten something important.

Uzair immediately pressed himself against the edge of the glass cabinet, trying to occupy as little space as possible. He clutched the dusting cloth to his chest, his eyes locked firmly onto the pattern of the floor tiles near Hamza leather boots. The sudden influx of Hamza sharp scent made Uzair's heart hammer against his ribs.

"Sahab..." Uzair whispered, his voice barely audible out of pure respect and nerves.

Hamza didn't answer right away. His eyes swept over the room first. He noticed the perfectly made bed, the spotless floor, and the clean gleam of the wooden furniture. Finally, his gaze drifted to the large writing desk. Everything is untouched, just as he had demanded.

Striding past Uzair without a word, Hamza walked straight to the desk. The breeze of his movement carried his intoxicating cedarwood scent right past the young Omega, making Uzair shift uncomfortably.

Hamza flipped through a small stack of papers near the edge, his fingers moving quickly until he found a thick brown leather file. He snatched it up, tucking it securely under his arm.

Before turning to leave, Hamza paused. He stood by the desk, as his gaze fell back onto Uzair trembling form. He took note of how neat the fragile boy looked in the fresh cotton kurta, his hair curling slightly at the nape of his neck.

"Tumne kisi cheez ko haath toh nahi lagaya?" Hamza voice rumbled through the quiet room, testing him.

Uzair head snapped down even further, his fingers tightening so hard around the dusting cloth that his knuckles turned white. The commanding authority in Hamza voice made his knees feel weak, his Omega instincts screaming at him to remain entirely submissive.

"N-Nahi, Sahab," Uzair whispered frantically, his voice trembling as he shook his head. "Khuda ki qasam, maine kisi kagaz ko haath nahi lagaya. Bas... bas door se hi safai ki hai. Aap dekh lijiye."

Hamza didn't speak immediately. He took a slow step closer, The scent of cedarwood and leather spiked slightly as Hamza evaluated him, his eyes tracking the nervous pulse fluttering rapidly at the base of Uzair throat.

He could smell the fear rolling off the boy, sweet but laced with panic. Yet, looking around the pristine desk, Hamza saw that the boy is telling the truth. Not a single document had been shifted out of place.

"Acha hai," Hamza rumbled, "Warna tum ache tarah jaante ho ke is Haveli mein ghalti ki saza kya milti hai."

"Ji, Sahab. Mujhe maafi de dein, main aage bhi bohot dhyan rakhunga," Uzair murmured, keeping his gaze locked onto Hamza boots,

Hamza let out a low grunt, seemingly satisfied with the obedience. He adjusted the leather file under his arm, turned on his heel, and strode out of the room, his steps echoing down the corridor before fading away.

The moment the front courtyard door clicked shut downstairs, signaling Hamza departure, Uzair let out a long, ragged breath. He staggered back slightly, pressing his hand against the glass cabinet to steady his shaking legs. He wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead, his heart slowly returning to its normal rhythm.

He had survived his first real interaction with the younger Alpha leader, but he knew he would have to walk on eggshells every single day to keep himself and little Raqs safe under this roof. Taking one last look at the spotless room, Uzair picked up his bucket and broom, quietly slipping out to return to the safety of Ulfat Baji's presence downstairs.

Uzair hurried down the staircase, his legs still a bit shaky but his chest lighter now that he is returning to the lower floors.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found Ulfat sitting on a low, traditional charpai in the shaded verandah. Raqs is lying on his back beside her, kicking his chubby legs in the air and squealing with delight as Ulfat tickled his little stomach with the end of her silk dupatta.

"Oho! Mera shehzada toh bada bahaadur hai," Ulfat was laughing, her bangles chiming musically. "Bilkul nahi darta apna dadi se, hain na?"

Seeing his baby so happy, safe, and loved brought an instant, warm flush to Uzair cheeks. The residual fear from Hamza warning melted away completely. He walked over quietly, placing the bucket and broom near the storage closet before stepping onto the verandah.

"Baji," Uzair murmured softly, standing a respectful distance away with his hands clasped neatly over his kurta. "Main... main saari safai kar aaya hoon. Sahab aaye the apni file lene, maine kisi cheez ko haath nahi lagaya."

Ulfat looked up, her expression instantly softening as she noticed the lingering paleness on his face. She patted the space on the charpai next to her.

"Aao, baitho Uzair," she said gently, "Main jaanti hoon Hamza ne zaroor kuch kaha hoga. Woh dukanon aur ilaqe ke maamlaat dekh kar aata hai toh mizaaj bohot garm hota hai uska. Tumne darna nahi hai. Chalo, ab apne bache ko sambhalo, yeh toh thak hi nahi raha!"

Uzair smiled, moving closer and sitting down carefully on the edge of the woven mat. The moment Raqs saw his father, his little arms flailed excitedly, and he let out a loud, bubbly coo. Uzair scooped him into his lap, burying his face in Raqs clean hair.

"Baji, aap ka jitna shukriya ada karoon kam hai," Uzair whispered, looking at Ulfat "Mujhe lagta tha is duniya mein humare liye koi jagah nahi bacha."

"Aisi baatein nahi karte, beta," Ulfat replied firmly but kindly, reaching over to pat his head. "Khuda ne chaha toh yahan tumhare saare dukh khatam ho jayenge. Abhi thodi der mein Zareena dopehar ka khaana banayegi, tum uske sath thodi madad kar dena, aur phir thoda araam kar lena."

By the afternoon, the heat of the day had settled over Lyari, but the kitchen inside the Haveli remained bustling. Uzair is standing side by side with Zareena near the large stove, the rhythmic sound of chopping and the rich aroma of spices filling the warm air.

Zareena is busy stirring a pot of chicken korma, while Uzair took charge of kneading fresh dough and rolling out perfectly round, thin rotis. His movements were quick and practiced, a clear sign of how hard he is trying to prove his worth.

"Tumhare haath mein toh bohot safai hai, Uzair," Zareena commented, watching him flip a roti onto the hot tawa with effortless grace. A genuine smile touched her worn face. "Baji bilkul theek keh rahi thi. Tum bohot saleeqay mand larke ho."

Uzair cheeks warmed with a shy blush. "Shukriya, Zareena Baji. Main bas chahta hoon ke kisi ko shikayat ka mauka na mile. Aap logon ne mujhe aur mere bache ko chat di hai, yeh mere liye bohot badi baat hai."

"Arre, ab itna mat socho," Zareena said, lowering the flame under the korma. "Baji tumse bohot khush hain. Aur woh dekho, tumhara shehzada toh sukoon se so raha hai."

Uzair glanced toward the shaded corner of the kitchen, where he had placed Raqs in a small cloth makeshift cradle. The baby is fast asleep, his tiny thumb tucked into his mouth, undisturbed by the clatter of pots and pans. Looking at his peaceful son, Uzair felt a deep sense of relief.

As he placed another finished, fluffy roti into the hot-pot, Uzair wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his kurta. The kitchen is getting warmer, and the afternoon silence of the Haveli is approaching—the time when the men would usually return for lunch and the household energy would shift once again.

The doors of the courtyard opened, and the deep, rumbling voices of Rehman and Hamza signaled their return. Both Alphas looked tired, their shoulders carrying the heavy burden of managing the volatile affairs of Lyari. They washed up quickly and took their respective seats at the dining table.

Inside the kitchen, Uzair heart began to thump against his ribs. He quickly stack the last of the hot, steaming rotis into the basket, covering them with a clean cloth.

"Chalo, Uzair, tum salan le kar chalo, main rotiyan uthati hoon," Zareena whispered, trying to ease his nerves.

Uzair nodded quickly, keeping his head bowed as he carried the ceramic bowl of chicken korma to the table. He carefully placed it in the center, ensuring he didn't make a sound or make direct eye contact with either of the powerful men. The rich, dominant scents of cedarwood and tobacco filled the dining space, making his inner Omega instinctively retreat. He quickly stepped back toward the kitchen threshold, waiting to serve them if needed.

Rehman took a piece of the hot roti, dipping it into the gravy. "Korma bohot lazeez bana hai aaj, Ulfat," he noted approvingly, his voice relaxed.

Hamza, sitting across from his brother, reached into the basket and pulled out a fresh, fluffy roti. The moment his fingers tore into the bread, he paused. It's incredibly soft, light, and perfectly thin—completely different from the slightly thicker, heavier rotis Zareena usually made. He took a bite, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

He chewed slowly, then lowered the bread back to his plate. Looking across at his sister-in-law, Hamza voice rumbled through the quiet dining room.

"Bhabhi," Hamza asked, his eyes flickering for a brief second toward the kitchen door where Uzair is standing quietly. "Aaj roti kisne banayi hai? Kitni naram hai."

Ulfat smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling as she glanced toward the kitchen threshold where Uzair is standing, trying his best to look invisible.

"Yeh Uzair ne banayi hain, Hamza," Ulfat replied, her tone full of quiet pride. "Subah se kitchen mein Zareena ka haath banta raha hai. Bohot saleeqay mand bacha hai, dekhna kaam kitni jaldi seekh liya isne."

Rehman looked up from his plate, nodding slowly in approval. "Hoon. Haath mein zaiqa hai iske."

Hamza didn't say anything immediately. His eyes shifted over to Uzair, who is clutching the edge of his kurta, his gaze locked firmly onto his own bare toes. Hamza picked up another piece of the soft roti, the subtle, lingering scent of milk and honey pheromones from the kitchen blending with the rich aroma of the food. It's a strange contrast—such a fragile, trembling Omega producing something so perfect for the household.

"Acha hai," Hamza finally rumbled, He took another bite, his demeanor remaining intense but no longer as hostile as it had been upstairs. "Mehnat se kaam karega toh is Haveli mein kisi cheez ki kami nahi hogi."

"Ji... Ji, Sahab. Shukriya," Uzair whispered softly, his voice trembling slightly with relief.

Hearing the Alpha rare, indirect praise felt like a heavy weight lifting off his chest. He quickly stepped back into the kitchen to help Zareena with the remaining dishes,

After finishing their lunch, Rehman and Hamza sat back to sip their green tea, discussing the evening security arrangements in Lyari, while Uzair quietly waited for them to finish so he could begin clearing the table.

Once the men finished their tea and stepped out toward the front courtyard to discuss business, the dining table is finally clear. Uzair hurried out of the kitchen to gather the empty cups and plates, but Zareena gently caught his wrist, stopping him.

"Bas karo, Uzair," Zareena said softly, as she took the tray from his hands. "Subah se tum ek pair par khade ho. Rotiya bhi banayin, upar ki safai bhi ki. Ab tum jao aur thoda araam karlo. Baqi ka bartan main dho loongi."

Uzair looked at her, exhausted but deeply grateful. "Par Baji, aap akeli—"

"Maine kaha na jao," Zareena chided playfully, nudging him toward the verandah. "Tumhara shehzada bhi abhi uthne wala hoga. Usse lo aur apne kamre mein jao."

Uzair nodded respectfully, washing his hands quickly before walking over to the shaded charpai where Raqs is just starting to stir. The baby opened his big eyes and let out a tiny, sleepy whimper, reaching his little fists up the moment he saw his father.

Uzair smiled, scooping the warm bundle into his arms. He carried Raqs down the quiet, cool corridor of the guest wing and entered his room, closing the door softly behind them to shut out the afternoon heat.

The room was cool and quiet. Uzair laid Raqs down on the soft bed, lying down right beside him. The baby immediately snuggled into his side, clutching a handful of Uzair kurta with his tiny fingers. Exhaustion finally caught up with Uzair; inhaling the sweet, safe scent of his baby, he closed his eyes and let himself drift into a deep sleep, feeling secure inside the Haveli walls.

Hours passed in stillness, the thick afternoon heat outside kept at bay by the high concrete walls of the guest quarters.

It was nearly late evening when Uzair slowly blinked his eyes open. The room had grown dim, the orange hues of the setting Lyari sun casting long, soft shadows across the floor. He shifted slightly, noticing that Raqs is already awake. The baby was lying on his back, contentedly playing with his own tiny toes and making quiet, bubbly blowing sounds with his mouth.

Uzair smiled softly, his heart filling with peace. He rolled over and pressed a long kiss to Raqs chubby cheek, making the baby squeal and flail his arms.

"Mera pyaara bacha," Uzair whispered, his voice thick with sleep. He sat up, smoothing down his crumpled kurta, and lifted Raqs onto his hip.

Knowing it's time to help with the evening chores, Uzair slipped his feet into his slippers and quietly opened his bedroom door. The Haveli is waking up from its afternoon slumber. The scent of cedarwood and expensive tobacco is gone from the main corridors, indicating that Rehman and Hamza had likely gone back out to the markets or the clan headquarters for their evening rounds.

Uzair walked out into the courtyard, where the air had cooled down significantly. A pleasant, fresh breeze was blowing through the open space, carrying the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine.

He found Ulfat Baji sitting on the verandah, stringing fresh jasmine flowers onto a thread. She looked up, her face instantly brightening when she saw them.

"Aao, Uzair! So kar uth gaye?" Ulfat called out warmly, gesturing for him to come closer. "Dekho, pure mohalle se log milne aaye hain Rehman se, aur baahir mardane mein bohot ronak hai. Tum zara kitchen mein ja kar Zareena se kaho ke thodi zyada chai chada de, aur thode pakode bhi nikal le."

"Ji, Baji. Main abhi bolta hoon," Uzair replied softly with a nod and walked quickly over to the kitchen, carrying Raqs securely against his chest. Inside, Zareena is already getting the massive aluminum kettle ready, anticipating the rush of evening guests.

"Zareena Baji, Ulfat Baji ne kaha hai ke thodi zyada chai chada dein. Aur baahir mardane ke liye pakode bhi nikalne hain," Uzair said, walking in.

"Haan, mujhe andaza tha," Zareena sighed good-naturedly, wiping her hands on her apron. "Poore Lyari ke log bade sahab se milne aate hain asar ke baad. Uzair, tum zara yeh bache ko palang par litao aur jaldi se besan ghol do, main chai ka paani chadhati hoon."

Uzair placed Raqs in his small cloth cradle nearby, giving him a little plastic rattle to keep him occupied. Then, he washed his hands thoroughly, tied a clean apron around his waist, and set to work. He finely chopped onions, green chilies, and potatoes with quick, practiced strokes, mixing them into a bowl of gram flour with a splash of water and a perfect blend of spices.

Within twenty minutes, the kitchen is alive with the crackle of hot oil. Uzair deftly dropped small portions of the spiced batter into the deep pan, the savory, mouth-watering aroma of crisp, golden pakoras quickly filling the air.

Just as he was lifting the first batch of frying pakoras into a large steel colander, the back screen door of the kitchen clicked open.

Uzair glanced up, expecting it to be one of Rehman younger sons coming to check on the food. Instead, his breath caught instantly in his throat. Standing in the doorway, having entered from the side alley connecting the outer courtyard to the kitchen, is Hamza.

The Alpha dark shirt was slightly rumpled, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing the thick muscle and light hair there. He looked tired, a scowl etched onto his face from a long evening of settling neighborhood disputes. The overpowering, commanding scent of raw cedarwood, sweat, and leather flooded the warm kitchen, suffocating the aroma of the spices.

Uzair lowered his gaze, his body freezing over the hot oil, his inner Omega trembling under the weight of Hamza sudden, close presence.

Hamza stood in the doorway for a long moment, his frame blocking the evening light. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes tracked Uzair sudden stiffness. He noticed the way the young Omega shoulders hunched, his head bowing so low that the nape of his neck is entirely exposed—a universal sign of a vulnerable Omega yielding to a dominant Alpha.

"Zareena kahaan hai?" Hamza baritone cut through the sizzling sound of the frying oil.

"W-Woh... baahir Baji ke paas gayi hain, Sahab," Uzair whispered, his voice shaking slightly as he kept his eyes locked on the bubbling oil. He carefully set the metal strainer down, trying not to let his trembling hands splash any hot grease. "Chai ke liye... chai ke liye bartan lene gayi hain."

Hamza let out a low, tired grunt. He walked fully into the kitchen, his boots thudding softly against the floor. The space suddenly felt incredibly small with him in it. He stopped right beside the counter where Uzair is frying the pakoras, the heat of his body radiating outward, mixing with the sharp scent of raw cedarwood and old leather.

Uzair heart was hammering against his ribs. He felt trapped between the burning stove and the Alpha leader.

Hamza reached out with his hand, his fingers bypassing the hot colander to snatch a single, fresh, piping-hot pakora directly from the batch Uzair had just taken out. He didn't even flinch at the heat, breaking it in half with his fingers.

"Mardane mein bohot log hain aaj," Hamza rumbled, speaking more to himself than to Uzair, though his gaze remained fixed on the side of Uzair face. He took a bite, the crunch loud in the quiet kitchen. He chewed slowly, evaluating the taste. "Bhabhi sahi keh rahi thi. Tumhare haath mein waqai safai hai."

Uzair breath hitched. He hadn't expected another compliment, however casual or gruff it might be.

"S-Shukriya, Sahab," Uzair murmured, "Main... main jaldi se baqi bhi nikal raha hoon taaki baahir thanda na ho."

Hamza didn't move away. Instead, he leaned his hip slightly against the edge of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes flickered toward the shaded corner of the kitchen, falling upon the small cloth cradle where little Raqs is quietly shaking his plastic rattle,

Uzair heart stopped. His hands froze over the sizzling pan of oil as he watched Hamza push away from the counter and take two strides toward the quiet corner of the kitchen.

The contrast is terrifying. Hamza is a massive, battle-hardened Alpha who ran the volatile streets of Lyari, his forearms thick and lined with veins. Raqs is a tiny, fragile bundle of soft skin and cotton.

"Sahab..." Uzair gasped softly, his inner Omega instantly panicking, screaming at him to protect his pup. He took a small, impulsive step forward, but his respect and fear of the Alpha kept him glued to the floor.

Hamza didn't pay attention to Uzair panic. He stood over the small cloth cradle, looking down at the baby. Little Raqs stopped shaking his rattle, his big eyes looking up at the giant towering over him. Instead of crying from the heavy scent of cedarwood and tobacco, the baby let out a soft, curious bubble.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Hamza reached down. His hands—hands that usually held heavy iron grips or signed strict territory ledgers—slid carefully under Raqs tiny arms and lower back.

With surprising gentleness for a man his size, Hamza lifted Raqs up against his chest.

The baby looked microscopic against Hamza frame. Raqs tiny, chubby fingers instantly reached out, clutching at the dark linen fabric of Hamza shirt right over his heartbeat. Hamza held him securely with one arm, his palm covering the baby back, anchoring him safely.

Uzair stood entirely breathless, his eyes wide and lips parted. He is trembling, terrified that Raqs might start crying or ruin the Alpha clothes, but the baby did the exact opposite. Feeling the solid, roaring warmth of a Alpha, Raqs cuddled closer, burying his tiny nose right into Hamza collarbone where the scent of cedarwood is strongest.

Hamza looked down at the small face resting against his chest, He looked up at Uzair, whose eyes were wide with anxiety.

"Rota nahi hai yeh?" Hamza rumbled,

"N-Nahi, Sahab," Uzair whispered softly, his heart still racing but a tiny wave of relief breaking through his panic. "Aam taur par... aam taur par logon ko dekh kar darta nahi hai. Par aap ke sath... itni sukoon se pehle kabhi nahi baitha kisi ke paas."

It's the truth. Back in Lyari, whenever any loud, aggressive Alpha came near them, Raqs would wail instantly. But right now, cradled against Hamza chest, The warmth and protective strength radiating off the Alpha leader seemed to act like a natural shield for the fragile pup.

Hamza looked down at the tiny bundle, his thumb casually rubbing a small circle over Raqs cotton-clad back. His skin is rough against the soft fabric, yet he handled the baby like it's made of fragile glass.

"Bhaagne walo ke bache zyaada der rote nahi hain," Hamza rumbled bluntly, his voice dropping to a low, "Unhay bachpan se hi khamosh rehna seekhna padta hai."

The raw truth in his words hit Uzair right in the chest. A soft, sad ache pulled at his heart, and he lowered his gaze, nodding weakly.

Just then, the outer screen door clicked, and Zareena voice carried in from the verandah before she even crossed the threshold. "Uzair, maine badi ketli nikal li hai, tum—"

She stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw dropping slightly as she entered the kitchen and saw Hamza standing by the cradle, calmly bouncing raqs against his chest while the frying oil sizzled softly on the stove.

"H-Hamza?" Zareena blinked, caught off guard. "Tum yahan?"

Hamza turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on Zareena. His expression instantly locked back into its usual closed-off, stoic mask, though he didn't put the baby down immediately.

"Mardane ke liye pakode dekh raha tha," Hamza rumbled smoothly, "Bhabhi ne kaha tha ke garam garam baahir bhej do."

Zareena quickly recovered her composure, a knowing, slightly amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She knew Hamza reputation across Lyari, but she also knew the soft, protective streak he kept buried deep down under all that heavy armor.

"Haan, bas taiyar hi hain," Zareena said, walking over to take the heavy aluminum kettle to the sink. "Uzair ne besan bohot acha ghola hai. Tum baahir baitho, main bas do minute mein chai aur pakode bhejti hoon."

Hamza let out a low grunt in response. He looked down at Raqs one last time. The baby is still clutching his dark linen shirt, his tiny lips parted in a peaceful sleep, intoxicated by the rich, comforting scent of cedarwood.

With slow, careful movements, Hamza leaned over the small cradle and gently lowered Raqs back onto the soft cloth mat. The moment his warmth left the Raqs shifted slightly, letting out a soft, sleepy whimper, but Hamza gently tapped the baby chest once with his palm until the little boy settled back down.

When Hamza straightened up, his eyes shifted to Uzair. The young Omega is still standing near the stove, his face flushed from the heat of the oil and the intensity of the moment, his hands gripping his apron tightly.

"Chai mein patti tez rakhna," Hamza commanded, his eyes lingering on Uzair for a beat longer than necessary before he turned on his heel and stroded out of the kitchen, his boots echoing down the side alley.

The moment the screen door clicked shut behind him, Uzair let out a long, shaky breath, his shoulders slumping.

"Allah meri tauba," Zareena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she brought the fresh milk to the stove. "Main toh darr hi gayi thi. Is larke ka mizaaj toh poore Lyari mein sab se sakht hai, par tumhare bache ko kitne pyaar se uthaya hua tha!"

Uzair looked over at the cradle, "M-Mujhe toh laga thaa ke Sahab gussa karenge, Baji..."

"Gussa?" Zareena laughed gently, patting Uzair shoulder. "Hamza jitna baahir se sakht hai, andar se utna hi dhyan rakhne wala hai. Chalo, ab jaldi se yeh pakode thaal mein nikalo, baahir log intezar kar rahe hain."

Uzair nodded quickly, pushing his confusing emotions aside as he picked up the long slotted spoon. He deftly transferred the remaining golden-brown pakoras from the bubbling oil into the large steel tray lined with clean paper, the crisp crunch of the fritters filling the small space.

"Main tray baahir le jata hoon, Baji," Uzair murmured, carefully balancing the steaming platter of pakoras along with a stack of small ceramic plates.

"Haan, jao. Main piche se chai ki ketli aur cup le kar aati hoon," Zareena replied, adjusting the flame under the pot of strong, aromatic milk tea.

Uzair took a breath, smoothing down his apron before stepping out of the kitchen. As he walked down the shaded corridor—the spacious outer courtyard where the men gathered—the loud, booming chatter of Lyari's neighborhood elders and traders grew distinct.

He slowed his pace as he neared the open verandah. Dozens of men were seated on traditional woven charpais and wooden chairs, all dressed in crisp shalwar kameez. In the center of it all sat Rehman, laughing heartily at a joke made by an elderly shopkeeper.

And right beside him, leaning back in a heavy carved wooden chair, is Hamza. He had a fresh cigarette lit between his fingers, the thin trail of grey smoke drifting upward into the evening air. His shirt was still slightly wrinkled from where Raqs had tightly gripped it just minutes prior, a detail that made Uzair heart do a strange, nervous flip.

"Aao, aao! Pakode aa gaye!" one of the elders called out, noticing Uzair approach.

Uzair immediately lowered his eyes, his Omega instincts making him hyper-aware of the dozen distinct Alpha and Beta scents clashing in the open air. He stepped forward carefully, keeping his posture humble and submissive as he set the steaming tray on the central low table.

"Assalam-o-Alaikum," Uzair whispered softly to the gathering, ensuring he didn't lock eyes with anyone.

"Wa-Alaikum-Assalam," Rehman replied warmly, reaching out to take a piping hot pakora. "Wah, khushboo toh bohot lajawab hai."

Uzair began distributing the small plates, moving efficiently around the table. As he stretched his arm forward to place a plate near Hamza, the younger Alpha leader shifted slightly. His gaze locked onto Uzair trembling hands.

Hamza took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke away from Uzair direction before stubbing it out in a nearby brass ashtray. He didn't say a word, but the sudden, deliberate spike of his warm cedarwood scent felt like a quiet, protective blanket slicing through the overwhelming mix of the other men's pheromones, instantly settling the frantic flutter in Uzair chest.

Uzair was just finishing setting down the last few plates in the mardana when a faint, sharp sound pierced through the loud chatter of the men. It was a high-pitched, breathless wail.

Raqs.

Uzair inner Omega flared with instant panic, his body reacting before his mind even could. The tray in his hands rattled slightly. He didn't care about the strict rules of the courtyard anymore, nor the dozen Alphas watching him. He murmured a apology to Rehman and hurried back down the corridor, his heart in his throat.

As he neared the kitchen verandah, the crying grew louder, full of distressed little hiccups.

"Oho, mera bacha, kya hua? Paani piyoge? Dekho dadi yahan hai," Ulfat is saying anxiously, rocking the baby back and forth in her arms. Zareena stood right beside her, shaking the plastic rattle and making soft cooing noises, but Raqs isn't having any of it. His tiny face is bright red, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks as he kicked his legs, his little head turning frantically left and right. He was looking for one specific scent. One specific person.

"Baji!" Uzair gasped, rushing onto the verandah.

The moment his soft, milk-and-honey Omega scent hit the air, Raqs loud wails chipped into desperate, breathless squeaks. The baby reached his tiny, trembling arms straight out toward his father, his little chest heaving.

"Hai Allah, shukur hai tum aa gaye," Ulfat sighed with immense relief, carefully transferring the crying bundle into Uzair arms. "Pata nahi kya hua, abhi toh sukoon se so raha tha. Achanak utha aur rona shuru kar diya. Hum dono se sambhal hi nahi raha tha."

The moment Raqs is pressed against Uzair chest, Uzair held him tight, burying his face into raqs soft neck, releasing a wave of soothing, comforting pheromones to wrap around his frightened pup. He rocked him gently, humming a low, familiar lullaby.

"Shh... baba yahan hain, mera jaan. Kuch nahi hua, baba yahan hain," Uzair whispered softly, his own eyes stinging with tears of relief as he felt his baby rapid heartbeat gradually slow down against his own.

Raqs let out one last, long, shuddering hiccup, burying his wet face deep into the collar of Uzair kurta. His tiny fingers tightly locked into the fabric, refusing to let go, his breathing finally turning soft and regular.

Zareena wiped a hand across her forehead, letting out a soft laugh. "Dekha Baji? Yeh toh bas apne abbu ka deewana hai. Humari saari koshishein nakaam kar dein isne."

The soft, rhythmic and clear, resonant chords of a harmonium began to drift across the courtyard from the mardana. It seemed one of the neighborhood elders or a visiting street musician had started performing for the gathering outside. The beautiful melody floated through the open arches, cutting through the quiet afternoon warmth of the inner verandah.

A soulful voice sang the lyrics clearly, the words carrying a deep, poetic melancholy:

“Tere-mere ishq ka qissa abhi bana nahin

Tere-mere ishq ka qissa abhi bana nahin

Main Heer hoon ya faqeer hoon, tay nahin kiya abhi

Tere-mere ishq ka qissa abhi bana nahin…”

Uzair stood perfectly still, continuing to rock a now-calm Raqs against his chest. The sweeping, emotional cadence of the music seemed to settle over the entire Haveli. Raqs tiny eyes blinks grew heavier and heavier, soothed by his father scent and the gentle rhythm of the distant song.

Ulfat Baji smiled softly, leaning her head back against the charpai as she listened to the music. "Wah," she murmured gently. "Lyari ke logon ke dilon mein waqai bohot dard aur bohot shurili aawazein hain."

Uzair didn't say anything, but as the lyrics about unfinished stories and uncertain destinies echoed through the corridor, his mind involuntarily flashed back to the dark eyes of the younger Alpha leader, and the steady, protective warmth he had felt in the kitchen just moments ago. He gently patted Raqs back, his own heart beating a little softer to the rhythm of the music.

Aakhir kab aankhen mili thi,

Kab aankhen churaayi thi, yaad nahin mujhe.

Aakhir kab nazrein mili thi,

Kab nazrein jhukaayi thi, yaad nahin mujhe.

Bas itna yaad hai mujhe,

Ishq mera na hua,

Haq bhi mera na hua.

Dil yeh kaise haar gaya,

Pata nahin yeh sauda kab hua.

𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒 Chapter 1

The air of the tiny, windowless room is the first thing that seeped into Uzair bones as his eyes flickered open. The peeling wallpaper and the faint smell of leaking pipes are painfully familiar. He didn't move—he couldn't. Heavy, crushing exhaustion pinned him to the thin, coarse mattress on the floor.

Then, he felt the tiny, warm weight on his chest.

Seven-month-old Raqs is sprawled out over him like a little starfish. The baby's soft, dark curls are messy, and his tiny mouth is slightly open, leaving a warm puddle of drool right on Uzair worn-out kurta. Even in the middle of this, Raqs smelled like sweet, clean baby warmth—the only thing keeping Uzair world from shattering.

Gently, Uzair ran a trembling hand over Raqs back, his heart aching at how light the baby felt. The cupboard is empty, the rent is three weeks overdue, and the fever medicine Raqs needed is sitting behind a pharmacy counter Uzair couldn't afford.

Uzair closed his eyes for a second, a silent tear slipping into his hairline as he whispered in a cracked, tired voice:

"Mera bacha... uth jao, jaan. Baba ko kaam pe jana hai."

He slowly sat up, supporting Raqs head so the baby wouldn't wake up too abruptly, but the shift in movement made the little one stir. Raqs let out a soft, tiny whine, his little fists scrunching up against Uzair chest.

The world spun slightly as Uzair stood up, his vision blurring at the edges. He had to steady himself against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal. Six days? Seven? He had lost count. Every single rupee he earned from scrubbing floors and washing dishes in wealthy houses went straight to Raqs—for his formula, his diapers, and the expensive medicine that kept his weak chest from wheezing. For Uzair, water is his only breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His stomach had stopped cramping days ago; now, it was just a dull, hollow ache.

Raqs rubbed his tiny eyes with his fists, letting out a soft, sleepy yawn. He looked up at Uzair with big, innocent eyes, unaware of the storm his Baba is fighting just to keep them alive.

Uzair forced a weak, loving smile, his heart breaking at how hollow his own cheeks felt. He carefully picked Raqs up, holding him tight against his collarbone.

"Raqs, mera pyara bacha..." Uzair whispered, "Aaj thoda sa aur sabr kar lo, jaan. Baba aaj thoda aur kaam dhoondenge. Sab theek ho jayega."

He sat the baby down on the worn-out sheet, surrounded by a couple of pillows to keep him safe, and reached for the plastic jug of water. Uzair poured himself a glass, swallowing the cold liquid to trick his empty stomach into feeling full. He needed energy. He had a long walk ahead of him to the wealthier sectors of the city, hoping someone would hire him for daily chores.

As he packed Raqs small bag with the last remaining diaper and a half-empty bottle of milk, his body trembled. He couldn't afford to collapse today. Not when his baby is relying on him.

In a world ruled by the dynamics of Alphas and Omegas, being a single, unmated Omega with a baby is nothing short of a death sentence.

Without an Alpha's scent to protect them, an unmated Omega was seen as easy prey. Uzair had to constantly douse himself in cheap, chemical scent-blockers just to walk down the street without attracting attention. The suppressants he needed to keep his heats at bay were incredibly expensive, forcing him to choose between his own biological safety and Raqs next meal. Most of the time, he chose Raqs, living in constant, suffocating fear of when his next cycle would hit.

Society looked down on him. Landlords charged him double rent because he didn't have an Alpha's backing, and employers in the wealthier sectors either exploited his vulnerability or refused to hire him entirely, fearing the "distraction" of an Omega in heat.

Holding Raqs close, Uzair wrapped a faded, threadbare shawl tightly around them both. He tucked his scent glands deep into the collar of his kurta, praying that the faint, sweet scent of his milk-and-honey Omega wouldn't leak through.

"Koi baat nahi, Raqs," Uzair whispered, kissing the baby forehead as he stepped out into the morning light. "Baba hain na. Baba sab sambhal lenge."

But as the cold wind hit his face, making his empty stomach twist in pain, Uzair knew he is running out of time. His body is reaching its limit.

The chaotic, narrow alleys of Lyari were already buzzing with noise. Motorbikes roared past, kickstarting the dust into the humid air, while vendors yelled out the prices of meat and vegetables. For a single Omega, Lyari is a maze of survival. People here lived on the edge, and nobody had the time or money to offer charity.

Uzair walked with heavy, dragging steps, his arms wrapped securely around Raqs. The heat is already rising, and the sweat was washing away the cheap scent-blocker he had rubbed onto his neck. Every step felt like lifting lead. His throat is parched, his stomach numb after a week of surviving on nothing but tap water.

He stopped outside a small, bustling local market, looking at a shopkeeper who is unloading heavy crates of produce.

Uzair swallowed hard, clearing his throat to find his voice.

"Bhai... koi kaam hai? Safai ka, ya ye saman uthane ka? Kuch bhi chalega. Bas aaj ki dihadi de dein."

The shopkeeper looked Uzair up and down, noticing his pale face, trembling hands, and the baby clutched to his chest. The man scoffed, waving his hand dismissively.

"Jaao yaar, aage barho. Tumse ye bhaari krate nahi uthni. Aur upar se ye bacha uthaya hua hai. Hamain apna nuksan nahi karwana."

Uzair heart sank into his stomach. He tightened his grip on Raqs, feeling a wave of desperation hit him. He couldn't go back to that room empty-handed. Not today. Today money is supposed to buy Raqs medicine and milk.

"Bhai, khuda ke liye..." Uzair pleaded, his voice cracking as he took a step closer. "Thoda sa kaam de dein. Main sab kar loonga. Mere bache ki tabiyat theek nahi hai, mujhe dawai leni hai."

The shopkeeper didn't look at him this time. He just spat on the ground, pointing a rough finger toward the crowded street.

"Arre, aage barho yaar! Subah subah dhande ka waqt hai, dimaag mat kharab karo. Bacha pakar kar bheek mangne nikal aate hain sab."

The words sliced right through Uzair. Bheek. He isn't begging. He is asking for work, begging for a chance to sweat and earn for his son. But to the world, a desperate, pale Omega carrying a baby is nothing but a nuisance.

A few bystanders turned to look, their gazes heavy with pity or cold indifference. Uzair felt the heat of embarrassment rush to his face, his scent gland pulsing with a sudden spike of distressed, sweet pheromones. He quickly pulled his shawl tighter over his neck and over Raqs, shielding the baby from the dust and the words.

"Maaf karna..." Uzair whispered under his breath, his head hanging low as he stepped back into the bustling crowd.

His knees shook. The hunger is clawing at his chest now, making his breath shallow. He looked down at Raqs, who had started to whimpering softly, sensing his Baba distress. The baby little fingers clutched at Uzair torn collar.

"Rona nahi, mera bacha..." Uzair whispered, his voice trembling as he walked down the dusty Lyari road, searching for any other shop, any house, anywhere that might give him even fifty rupees to buy a single packet of milk. "Baba abhi kuch intezam karte hain. Rona nahi..."

The shadows of Lyari stretched long and dark as night finally took over. The chaotic buzz of the daytime market faded into a tense silence, broken only by the distant barking of stray dogs and the hum of old generators.

Uzair body is screaming. His feet were blistered, his throat felt like sandpaper, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. He had searched all day. He had begged for chores, offered to wash dishes for pennies, but everyone had turned him away. He had made zero rupees today.

In his arms, Raqs is no longer crying; he is too weak. The baby just whimpered softly against Uzair shoulder, sucking on his own dry thumb because there was no milk left in his bottle.

Desperation is a terrifying thing. It pushes a person to the very edge, making the impossible seem like the only way out. As Uzair stumbled down a dark alley, his dizzy mind kept returning to one name. One place.

Rehman Dakait.

The undisputed Badshah of Lyari. Everyone in these streets knew the stories. He is a dangerous man, a legend feared by the law, but to the poor and forgotten of Lyari, he is a savior. They said if you were truly helpless, if you had nowhere left to go, you went to the Lyari Haveli. If you were willing to work, Rehman never turned you away empty-handed.

Uzair shuddered. A Omega like him had no business near the heavily guarded gates of the Haveli, a place crawling with dominant Alphas and dangerous men. But as he looked down at Raqs pale, sleeping face, his fear evaporated, replaced by a instinct. He would walk straight into hell if it meant his baby got a drop of milk.

Turning his steps away from his rented room, Uzair began the long walk toward the gates of the Lyari Haveli.

The iron gates of the Haveli loomed ahead, guarded by armed men smoking cigarettes in the dim light. Uzair heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. He clutched Raqs so tightly to his chest, praying his scent wouldn't betray his terror.

As he approached, the guards instantly straightened up, their cold, calculating eyes locking onto the Omega carrying a bundle. One of the guards stepped forward, raising his gun slightly to block the path. "Aey! Kaun hai re? Kidhar ja raha hai? ye koi khairat batne ki jagah nahi hai."

Uzair knees buckled, and he almost fell to his knees right there on the gravel. He forced himself to look up, his eyes glassy with tears and exhaustion.

"Bhai... Khuda ke liye... mujhe Rehman Bhai se milne dein. Mujhe bheek nahi chahiye... main koi bhi kaam kar loonga. Safai, bartan, kuch bhi. Mera bacha... ye bhook se mar jayega. Mujhe bas kaam chahiye."

The guard stared down at Uzair, ready to shove him back into the dark Lyari streets. But before he could lay a hand on him, a clear, authoritative voice cut through the night air from above.

"Usse andar aane do."

The guard instantly froze. He stepped back, lowering his weapon and bowing his head in respect.

Uzair slowly looked up, his blurry vision straining to see who had spoken. Standing on the grand, old-style balcony of the Haveli, looking down at them with a mixture of authority and quiet grace, is Ulfat.

Rehman Dakait’s wife. The queen of this fortress.

She wore a simple anarkali elegant dupatta draped over her head, her sharp eyes taking in the sight of the trembling Omega clutching a small baby to his chest. In a place filled with blood, guns, and ruthless Alphas, Ulfat is the heart of the Haveli—the one who kept the balance.

"Chalo, kharay kyun ho? Andar lekar aao isse," she commanded the guard, her voice soft but brook-no-argument.

The guard quickly opened the iron gate and gestured for Uzair to enter.

"Andar jaao," the guard said, his tone much quieter now.

Uzair legs were shaking violently he could barely put one foot in front of the other. The grand courtyard of the Haveli is massive, lit by warm lanterns, but to Uzair, it felt like stepping into another world. He walked in, holding Raqs close, his heart pounding in his ears as Ulfat began walking down the wide marble staircase to meet him.

Uzair bowed his head, keeping his eyes glued to the polished marble floor. He didn't dare look directly at the wife of Lyari’s most feared man. The sheer power radiating from the Haveli is enough to make his knees wobble, but he stood his ground, anchoring himself to the weight of the baby in his arms.

Ulfat walked down the final steps, her soft footsteps echoing in the quiet courtyard. Her eyes instantly softened when they landed on the tiny, wrapped bundle. She stepped closer, her maternal instincts overriding the cold atmosphere of the Haveli.

"Bolo, paisa chahiye? Kya chahiye?" she asked, her voice gentle yet direct. She leaned in slightly, trying to get a glimpse of the baby face under the faded shawl. "Bacha kitne din ka hain? Kitna pyaara hain..."

Uzair felt a lump throat rise in his throat, a mix of relief and shame making it hard to speak. He shifted the shawl slightly so Ulfat could see Raqs sleeping, drooly face.

"B-Baji... ye saat mahine ka hai. Raqs naam hai iska. Mujhe... mujhe khairat nahi chahiye. Main bohot mehnati hoon. Mujhe bas koi bhi kaam de dein... safai ka, kapre dhone ka, bartan ka. Iske paas na peene ko doodh hai, na dawai ke paise hain. Main hafte se bhooka hoon, mujhe farq nahi parta... par mera bacha mar jayega..."

His voice cracked at the end, a single tear escaping his eye and splashing onto the shawl.

Before Uzair could even process what is happening, Ulfat gently reached out and eased the small, warm bundle out of his trembling arms.

Uzair instincts screamed to pull his baby back—every fiber of his Omega being wanted to protect his pup—but he forced his body to remain still. He had no choice but to trust her.

As soon as Raqs felt the change in hands, his little eyes fluttered open. Instead of crying, the baby blinked up at Ulfat kind, glowing face. His tiny, chubby fingers reached out, instantly catching the soft, embroidered edge of her silk dupatta. He let out a tiny, wet gurgle, pulling the fabric toward his mouth to chew on it.

A smile broke across Ulfat face. She rocked the baby gently in her arms, her eyes fixed on Uzair face. "Khana banana, ghar saaf karna, kapde dhona... ye sab aata hai tumhain?"

Uzair quickly nodded his head, his hands clasped together in front of him, desperate to prove his worth.

"Ji, ji Baji! Mujhe sab aata hai. Ghar ka har ek kona chamka doonga, kapde bhi dho doonga... Bas mujhe kaam pe rakh lein. Main aap ko kabhi shikayat ka mauqa nahi doonga."

Ulfat smiled down at the little baby, gently pulling the silk of her dupatta from his tiny mouth before he could soak it in drool. She looked back up at Uzair, her sharp eyes taking in his hollow cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his knees were visibly trembling under his worn-out clothes. He looked like he was one step away from collapsing right onto her floor.

"Theek hai," Ulfat said, her voice carrying a quiet authority that instantly calmed the frantic beating of Uzair heart. "Aaj se tum yahan Haveli mein kaam karoge. Haveli bohot badi hai, kaam ki koi kami nahi hai yahan. Safai bhi dekh lena aur kitchen mein bhi madad kar dena."

Uzair felt a sob catch in his dry throat, and he immediately bowed his head, tears of relief spilling over his eyelashes. "Baji, aap ka bohot bohot shukriya. Main aap ka ye ehsaan kabhi nahi bhoolunga. Jo kahenge main sab karunga, bas mere bache ko..."

"Pehle khana khao," Ulfat cut in gently, her maternal instinct taking over as she noticed how frail the young Omega truly is. She turned and gestured to a nearby maid who is waiting in the shadows. "Zareena! Isse pehle kitchen mein leke jaao. Isse pet bhar ke khana khilao, aur bache ke liye garam doodh ka intezam karo. Aur haan, shehar se bache ki bukhar ki dawai bhi abhi mangwa kar do."

Hearing those words, Uzair felt a weight lift from his chest, so intense that his head spun. his baby is going to have milk, and he was going to have a safe roof over his head. He watched with a heart as Ulfat cradled Raqs closer, the baby looking perfectly content in her warm, secure embrace as Uzair is led away into the warmth of the Haveli's kitchen.

Ulfat looked up from Raqs, her gaze turning firm but protective as she looked at the fragile Omega. "Aur suno," she added, her voice echoing softly in the corridor. "Aaj se tum yahan hi rahoge. Haveli bohot badi hai, yahan bohot kamre hain. Hamare sab naukar yahan par hi rehte hain, toh tumhain roz-roz is bache ko lekar Lyari ki galyon mein dhakke khane ki zaroorat nahi hai. Agar koi pareshani ho, ya koi tumhain tang kare, toh mujhe foran batana."

Uzair stared at her, completely frozen. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. A safe room? A roof over his head where the rain wouldn't leak through, and where Alphas couldn't track his scent through a broken wooden door? It felt like a dream.

"Ji... Ji Baji," Uzair whispered, his voice trembling so much he could barely form the words. He pressed his hands together, his body swaying slightly from a mix of relief and starvation. "Aap ka jitna shukriya ada karoon kam hai. Main... main hamesha aap ka shukar guzar rahoonga."

Ulfat nodded gently, signaling Zareena to take him away before his legs gave out. As Uzair followed the maid toward the back of the Haveli, his eyes stayed glued to Raqs, who is still safely nestled in Ulfat arms, blissfully unaware that his Baba had just saved their lives by walking straight into the heart of Lyari's most dangerous fortress.

Ulfat walked up the staircase, cradling Raqs close to her chest. The little baby is fascinated by the sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, his tiny mouth open in awe. Ulfat couldn't help but chuckle, her heart melting at how sweet and innocent he is. She had always adored children, and having a soft, chubby baby in her arms again felt like a blessing.

As she stepped onto the spacious upper terrace, she found her two sons playing with a wooden toy on the rug, while a tall, broad-shouldered man stood near the railing, a cigarette burning slowly between his fingers. The scent of cedarwood and dark leather instantly marked him as an Alpha.

Before Ulfat could even call out to her sons, a voice drifted across the terrace, dripping with effortless amusement.

"Aaj kiska bacha jhap liya, Bhabhi?"

It's Hamza. Her husband cousin brother, a Alpha who stayed in the Haveli and handled the family's business with an iron fist. He turned around, his eyes locking onto the tiny bundle in Ulfat arms, a half-smirk playing on his lips.

Ulfat rolled her eyes playfully, adjusting Raqs against her shoulder. "Bakwas mat karo, Hamza. Ek ghareeb bacha hai. Uska baap hamare haveli mein kaam karne aaya hai, toh maine socha isse thodi der apne paas rakh loon. Dekho toh sahi, kitna pyaara hai."

Hamza took a slow drag of his cigarette, his gaze lingering on the baby. Strangely, the moment he stepped closer, Raqs stopped whimpering entirely. The baby blinked his big, round eyes, staring directly at the towering, intimidating Alpha as if he aren't scared of him at all.

Hamza stepped a little closer, the scent of his Alpha settling over the terrace. He blew out a thin stream of smoke away from the baby, his sharp eyes softening just a fraction as he looked down at the chubby cheeks and the messy dark curls. There is no denying it; the kid was undeniably beautiful.

"Haan, bacha toh bohot pyaara hai," Hamza admitted, his voice dropping a pitch so he wouldn't startle the little one. He reached out a hand, letting his index finger brush against the baby's tiny fist. "Naam kya hai iska?"

Raqs instantly gripped Hamza large finger with his entire hand, his tiny fingers barely wrapping around it. He let out a soft, milky gurgle, looking up at the giant Alpha with wonder.

Ulfat smiled, gently rocking the baby as she saw how naturally Raqs took to him. "Raqs naam hai iska. Pyaara naam hai na? Bechaara bohot kamzor ho gaya tha, par ab theek ho jayega."

Hamza didn't pull his finger away. He let the baby hold on, a strange, expression crossing his sharp features as he looked at the tiny boy. "Raqs... Acha naam hai. Par iska baap kidhar hai? Haveli mein naya kaam karne aaya hai toh bache ko aap ke paas chhor gaya?"

Ulfat chuckled, a bright, warm sound that made Raqs giggle along with her, his tiny legs kicking under the shawl. She pulled the baby a little closer, shifting him away from Hamza hand just to tease her brother-in-law.

"Nahi, maine zabardasti liya!" Ulfat said, "Dekh na kitna pyaara hain. Main toh chhorungi nahi isse, dekh lena. Mera toh dil aa gaya hai ispe."

Hamza let out a huff, shaking his head as he flicked the ash from his cigarette over the balcony railing. He watched the way the little boy immediately whimpered at the loss of contact with his finger, his tiny hands reaching back out into the air toward the Alpha.

"Bhabhi, aap bhi na... kisi din kisi ka bacha sach mein utha ke le aayengi," Hamza murmured, his tone relaxed his eyes remaining fixed on Raqs. There is something incredibly striking about the baby’s features—a delicate, soft look that usually belonged to a very specific lineage. "Wese... iska baap... kya naam bataya aap ne? Haveli ke kis hisse mein kaam par lagaya hai usse?"

Ulfat adjusted the baby in her arms, looking thoughtfully down at his delicate features before looking back up at Hamza. "Uzair Baloch," she said softly, tracing a finger over Raqs tiny cheek. "Lagta hai Hindu hain... warna aisa naam bache ka? Dekh na, 'Raqs' Krishna ki raas se aur Sufi gaane ko mila kar rakha hai. Bohot gehra naam hai."

Hamza’s brow furrowed slightly at the name. Uzair Baloch. The surname belonged to one of the most prominent, hardened clans in Lyari, but the first name and the baby unique naming convention didn't completely fit the typical picture. A unmated Omega carrying a Baloch name while hiding in the poorest corners of Lyari—it piqued his Alpha curiosity, though his face remained a mask of cool indifference.

"Baloch?" Hamza repeated, his voice carrying a thoughtful undertone as he took one last drag of his cigarette before crushing it out in a nearby ashtray. "Lyari mein is naam ke log toh bohot hain, Bhabhi. Par is tarah bache ka naam rakhna... thoda alag hai."

He looked back at Raqs, who is now sleepily blinking his eyes, exhausted from his long, stressful day. The baby grip on Ulfat dupatta slackened as he slowly drifted off to sleep, feeling safe under the Alpha that Hamza is unconsciously radiating.

"Khair, jo bhi ho," Hamza muttered, shifting his gaze toward the courtyard below where the servants' quarters were located. "Agar Haveli mein rakh hi liya hai, toh dekhna ke koi masla na khara kare. Lyari ke halat wese hi kharab hain aaj kal."

Ulfat shook her head, her face softening into an expression of pity as she looked down at the sleeping baby.

"Arre nahi, bohot bura haal hai uska," she said quietly, her voice dropping so she wouldn't wake Raqs. "Lagta hai koi hai nahi uska. Na koi sahara, na koi dekhbhal karne wala. Bechara itna kamzor ho raha hai, lagta hai hafte se kuch khaya nahi hai usne. Agar aaj woh yahan na aata, toh pta nahi is bache ka kya hota."

Hamza didn't say anything immediately. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes darkening slightly as he listened to his sister-in-law. In Lyari, weakness usually meant death, and a helpless Omega with a newborn was the easiest target. For an Omega to be entirely alone, surviving on nothing in these brutal streets, it meant he had either been abandoned or had run away from something terrible.

"Koi nahi hai matlab?" Hamza asked, "Koi nahi hai uske sath? Piche koi khandan?"

"Bilkul akela hai," Ulfat sighed, gently smoothing down Raqs messy curls. "Maine jab pucha toh bas rone laga. Keh raha tha bache ki dawai ke paise nahi hain. Mujhe toh dekh kar hi tars aa gaya. Tumne toh dekha hi hai, is shehar mein ek akele ladke ki kya izzat reh jati hai jab koi sir pe na ho."

Hamza shifted his gaze back to the courtyard, where the lights of the kitchen were still burning bright. A strange instinct—something buried deep within his Alpha nature—stirred faintly at her words, though his expression remained perfectly stoic. An unmated, helpless Omega is now living right under his roof, bringing a fragile, beautiful baby into the middle of their dangerous world.

The food Uzair had just eaten felt like a shock to his starved system. His stomach, unused to anything but cold water for the past week, cramped slightly, but the sheer relief of being full made him feel almost lightheaded. He didn't dare idle, though. Desperate to prove he is worth keeping, Uzair had immediately started scrubbing the copper pots stacked by the kitchen sink, his hands moving fast despite the deep ache in his bones.

Yet, with every plate he wiped, his eyes kept darting toward the kitchen door. His mind is upstairs, spinning with anxiety. Is Raqs okay? Is he crying? Did he miss his Baba? An Omega’s bond with their pup is intense, and being separated from his baby, even for an hour, felt like a physical ache in Uzair chest.

Suddenly, the doors of the kitchen swung open, and the sound of high-pitched, distressed wailing broke the quiet hum of the room.

Uzair heart stopped. He dropped the scrub back into the soapy water, his head whipping around instantly.

Ulfat walked in, looking exhausted and concerned as she rocked a crying, sobbing Raqs in her arms. The baby face is flushed a bright red, his tiny chest heaving with big, shuddering gasps as tears poured down his chubby cheeks. He was inconsolable, rejecting the soft fabric of Ulfat dupatta and twisting his little body around as if searching for a familiar presence.

"Uzair, beta, yeh lo," Ulfat said, her voice filled with worry as she quickly walked over to him. "Pata nahi kya hua isse. Achanak rona shuru kar diya aur chup hi nahi ho raha. Lagta hai tumhare bina iska dil nahi lag raha yahan."

The moment Raqs heard Uzair intake of breath, his little head turned. Uzair didn't care about the water dripping from his hands. He quickly wiped them on his faded pants and reached out, The moment Ulfat transferred the crying bundle back into Uzair arms,

Uzair pulled Raqs tight against his chest, burying his face into the baby’s soft, dark curls. His scent glands, finally unclogged by the cheap suppressants, leaked a wave of warm, soothing milk-and-honey pheromones, wrapping around the baby like a protective blanket.

"Shh... mera bacha, mera pyara jaan. Baba yahan hain," Uzair whispered, his own voice cracking with unshed tears as he rocked the baby back and forth. "Rona nahi... Baba yahan hain, bilkul paas hain."

Raqs loud wails dissolved into small, hitching snifflings. He buried his wet face right into the crook of Uzair neck, his tiny hands gripping the damp fabric of Uzair kurta as if he would never let go. The scent of his Omega father calmed him down within seconds, his small body relaxing against Uzair chest.

Ulfat watched the scene, a soft smile touching her lips. The bond between the young father and his baby is so beautiful, yet so heartbreakingly desperate.

With Raqs finally quiet and clinging to him like a little koala, Uzair didn't dare set him down again. Instead, he adjusted his faded cotton kurta—and tucked the sleeping baby securely against his chest. Supporting Raqs.bottom with one arm, Uzair turned back to the sink, determined to finish his chores. He picked up a copper pot with his free hand, his as he strained to scrub the grease away. He is terrified that if he stopped working, even for a minute, he would be thrown back out into the unforgiving cold.

Ulfat stood by the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. Her heart ached as she watched the Omega struggle to work with a seven-month-old baby strapped to his chest, his breathing heavy and his shoulders trembling from exhaustion.

"Uzair, bas karo ab," Ulfat said softly, "Haath roko apna. Itni bhi kya jaldi hai? Pura din para hai kaam ke liye."

Uzair stopped, his shoulders tensing as he looked at her with wide, anxious eyes, his hand still holding the scrub. "Nahi, Baji... main theek hoon. Main bache ke sath bhi saara kaam kar sakta hoon, aap bas mujhe nikalna mat. Main bilkul bojh nahi banoonga aap pe."

Ulfat sighed, walking over to him and gently taking the scrub from his hand, placing it back into the soapy water. She guided him by the shoulder to a small wooden stool near the hearth. "Maine kaha na baith jao. Koi tumhain nahi nikal raha yahan se. Jab tak main is Haveli mein hoon, tum aur tumhara bacha bilkul mahfooz ho."

Uzair slowly sat down, his legs instantly giving out. He cradled Raqs closer, his thumb stroking the baby soft cheek.

Ulfat pulled up another stool, sitting opposite him. She looked at his face, noticing the faint, sweet scent of milk and honey that still lingered in the air, a sign of his soft Omega nature. "Uzair... tumhara koi aur nahi hai is duniya mein? Tumhara khandan? Is bache ka..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Iska koi baap nahi hai?"

At the mention of an Alpha, Uzair entire body went rigid. A look of pain flashed across his eyes, and he instinctively pulled the collar of his kurta higher, as if trying to shield his scent gland from the very question. He looked down at the floor, his eyelashes wet with sudden tears.

"Mera koi nahi hai, Baji," Uzair whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Hum dono bilkul akele hain. Is bache ka mere siva... aur mera iske siva, koi nahi hai is duniya mein."

Ulfat heart squeezed at Uzair voice. She reached out, placing a hand over his trembling shoulder. "Koi baat nahi, Uzair. Tum par aur tumhare bache par ab koi aanch nahi aane degi yeh Haveli. Aaj se tum yahan bilkul mehfooz ho. Bas ab rona nahi."

She stood up, gently patting his back. "Chalo, ab bohot raat ho gayi hai. Zareena se kaho tumhain tumhara kamra dikha de. Aaj koi kaam karne ki zaroorat nahi hai. So jao, aur apne bache ko bhi sulao."

Uzair wiped his damp eyes quickly on the sleeve of his loose cotton kurta, nodding. "Baji... khuda aap ko khush rakhe. Main hamesha aap ka shukar guzar rahoonga."

With Raqs still fast asleep against his chest, Uzair stood up on his shaky, exhausted legs. He quietly stepped out of the warm kitchen, walking down the dimly lit, corridor that led toward the servants quarters at the back of the Haveli. The night air is cool, making him shiver slightly inside his thin clothing.

Just as he turned the corner near the courtyard, a heavy, scent of cedarwood and dark leather hit him like a physical wave.

Uzair froze, his Omega instincts instantly screaming at him to flee. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. Standing right in the middle of the shadowy corridor, leaning against a carved marble pillar, is Hamza.

The tall, broad-shouldered Alpha is wearing a dark charcoal kurta that made him look even more imposing in the shadows. He had a cigarette between his fingers, but he isn't smoking it. His eyes were locked on Uzair.

Because Uzair scent-blockers had washed away, his pure, sweet scent of milk and honey—spiked with the sharp, bitter tang of fear—is leaking heavily into the air.

Hamza eyes darkened as the intoxicating, sweet aroma hit his senses. He took a slow step forward,

"Toh..." Hamza voice echoed in the quiet corridor, making Uzair instinctively clutch Raqs tighter. "Tum ho Uzair Baloch."

Uzair breath hitched in his throat. He immediately bowed his head, his gaze dropping to the tips of Hamza shoe. His body trembled under the weight of the Alpha commanding presence. He gave a quick, frantic nod, his fingers tightening around the sleeping baby tucked against his chest.

"J-Ji, Sahab..." Uzair whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own racing heart.

Hamza took a slow, measured drag of his cigarette, his sharp eyes scanning the Omega—from the oversized, worn-out cotton kurta that practically drowned his frame, to the delicate way he cradled his pup. The sweet, rich scent of Uzair Omega pheromones is dizzying, but Hamza kept his expression entirely unreadable, professional, and stern.

"Mere kamre mein thoda dhyaan se jana jab bhi jana," Hamza said, his rumbling voice cutting through the quiet of the corridor. He flicked a bit of ash onto the ground, his gaze shifting slightly toward the upper floor where his personal quarters were. "Bohot kagaj idhar udhar pade rehte hain. Kaam ke hain sab. Kisi cheez ko haath mat lagana bina wajah."

Uzair heart did a nervous flutter. The thought of entering a Alpha personal room—a space saturated with that cedarwood scent—made him feel weak in the knees. But he knew he couldn't afford to make a single mistake.

"Ji, Sahab... main bohot ehtiyat karunga," Uzair replied softly, keeping his head low and respectful. "Aap ke kisi bhi kagaz ko haath nahi lagaunga. Safai bohot dhyan se karunga."

Hamza let out a low, grunt-like hum of approval, his eyes lingering on the tiny, sleeping Raqs for a fraction of a second before he stepped aside, clearing the path.

"Theek hai. Jao," Hamza muttered, gesturing with his cigarette toward the servants's wing. "Sulao isse."

Uzair didn’t need to be told twice. Holding his breath, he quickly scurried past Hamza, his heart hammering against his ribs until he finally rounded the corner and left the intoxicating scent of cedarwood behind.

Instead of leading him to the servants' quarters near the stables, Zareena led him toward the guest wing of the Haveli. This wing is quieter, lined with high arched windows that let the moonlight pool onto the clean tiled floors. The air here was cool and smelled of fresh jasmine from the courtyard outside.

"Baji ne kaha hai tum yahan rahoge," Zareena whispered, pushing open a door at the end of the corridor. "Yahan sukoon rahega bache ko."

Uzair stepped inside, his eyes widening in disbelief. The room is modest compared to the rest of the mansion, but to Uzair, it felt like a palace. There was a clean, sturdy wooden bed with a thick mattress, a small wardrobe, and a wooden cradle tucked neatly into the corner. A warm lantern flickered on a side table, casting a soft, welcoming glow over the space.

Slowly walking over to the bed, Uzair gently laid Raqs down on the soft sheets. The baby let out a tiny, contented sigh, rolling onto his side and tucking his little fists under his chin, at peace in the warmth.

Uzair collapsed onto the edge of the mattress, his strength leaving him. He covered his face with his hands, a single tear of gratitude slipping through his fingers. For the first time in months, they are safe. No one was hunting them tonight. No one is screaming.

He crawled up next to his baby, pulling the light quilt over them both. As he breathed in the clean, safe scent of the room, his eyes slowly fluttered shut, his exhausted body finally surrendering to a deep, dreamless sleep.

A quiet creak broke the stillness of the room. Uzair eyes snapped open instantly, his Omega instincts on high alert even in his deep exhaustion. He sat up quickly, shielding Raqs with his arm as the door swung open.

It was Zareena. She walked in quietly, carrying a tray in one hand and a neatly folded stack of fresh clothes over her other arm. The warm, comforting aroma of spiced lentils and fresh flatbread immediately filled the air, making Uzair stomach rumble despite the food he had eaten earlier.

"Suno, bache," Zareena whispered softly, setting the tray down on the small bedside table. "Baji ne yeh sab bheja hai tumhare liye."

On the tray sat a small bottle of baby fever medicine with a tiny spoon, a silver bowl of warm, freshly boiled milk for Raqs, and a steaming plate of food for Uzair.

Zareena then stepped closer and placed the stack of clothes at the foot of the bed. "Yeh naye kapde hain. Baji ne apne beto ke purane par bilkul saaf-suthre cotton ke kurte nikale hain is nanhe ke liye. Aur yeh tumhare liye..." She smoothed down a couple of high-quality, soft cotton kurtas in deep, soothing colors. "Yeh Haveli ke naye kapde hain. Tumhara apna kurta bohot phata hua hai, yeh pehan lena."

Uzair stared at the tray, then at the beautiful, soft clothes, his throat tightening with an wave of emotion. He had come to this Haveli just begging for a scrap of bread or a dry floor, and instead, they were treating him like a human being.

"Zareena khala..." Uzair voice cracked, his eyes welling up with tears as he looked at the older maid. "Baji se kehna... main unki yeh meharbani zindagi bhar nahi bhoolunga. Main unka har hukum sar-aankhon par rakhunga."

"Woh bohot dil wali hain, beta," Zareena smiled gently, giving his shoulder a pat. "Ab rona band karo. Pehle isse dawai aur thoda garam doodh pilao, phir khud bhi khao aur araam karo. Kal se toh kaam shuru karna hi hai."

With a final nod, Zareena quietly slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Uzair alone in the cozy, lantern-lit sanctuary with his baby.

Uzair sat on the edge of the soft bed, carefully pouring a few drops of the fever medicine into the tiny spoon. Raqs made a little face at the bitter taste, smacking his lips in protest, but Uzair quickly followed it with a few small spoons of the warm, sweet milk Zareena had brought. The baby swallowed it eagerly, his little hands patting Uzair chest as he relaxed, the warmth of the milk soothing his aching body.

As Raqs finally drifted back into a sleep, Uzair gently laid him down and covered him with the soft quilt.

The room is quiet, save for the gentle hum of the night. Uzair looked at his sleeping son, then down at the tray of fresh food and the stack of clean, soft cotton kurtas. The weight of the day—the terror of the Lyari streets, the hunger, the desperation, and now this safety—came crashing down on him.

He slipped off the bed and quietly sank to his knees on the floor. Clasping his hands tightly together near his chest, he bowed his head, tears of gratitude spilling over his cheeks.

"Kanha Ji... aap ka bohot bohot shukar guzar hoon," Uzair whispered, his voice trembling with emotion as he prayed in the quiet sanctuary of the room. "Aap ne mere bache ko bacha liya. Mujhe ek sahara de diya... Main bohot bhatak gaya tha, par aap ne mujhe rasta dikha diya. Bas ab mere Raqs ko apni hifazat mein rakhna."

He wiped his face with the sleeve of his worn-out kurta, feeling a sense of peace settle over his heart for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Kanha Ji had heard his cries in the dark, and right here, in the middle of this Haveli, they finally had a chance to survive.

The warm water of the Haveli bathroom washed away days of grime, sweat, and the bitter, metallic smell of fear that had clung to Uzair skin. Stepping out, he slipped into one of the new cotton kurtas Ulfat had provided. The fabric is incredibly soft against his bruised skin, smelling faintly of lavender and fresh linen.

He climbed back onto the bed, gently pulling Raqs onto his chest. The baby steady, warm breaths rose and fell against his heart, a comforting rhythm in the quiet room.

As Uzair stared up at the high ceiling, the silence allowed his mind to wander to places he hadn't dared look in a very long time.

He is an Omega, yes, but before he is a runaway father, he is just a boy. A boy with big, bright youth eyes that used to look at the world with boundless hope. He remembered a time when he used to look in the mirror and smile; he used to be beautiful. His skin had a healthy glow, his hair was well-kept, and his laughter isn't weighed down by terror.

Like every young Omega, he had dreams. Beautiful, delicate dreams. He used to think about growing up, finding a loving Alpha who would court him with respect, and building a mated life filled with warmth. He had dreamed of the traditional ceremonies, the binding vows, and raising a family of beautiful pups in a home that belonged to them. He had imagined a life of safety, where his only worry would be what to cook for dinner or how to decorate their rooms.

But the world had been brutal. It had taken those dreams and shattered them like cheap glass, forcing him to lose himself just to stay alive. The innocence in his eyes had been replaced by the sharp, hyper-vigilant gaze of a survivor.

Uzair looked down at Raqs, gently tracing the baby tiny eyebrow. He had lost his youth, his beauty, and his dreams—but looking at his son, he knew he hadn't lost his capacity to love.

"Mera bacha," Uzair whispered into the dark, a tear slipping into his hair. "Mera sab kuch."

Aapke is Sikandar ke marham par dastak dene hum bhi aa gaye.

Agar samay mile to kabhi shikwa kar lijiye,

Warna thukra dijiye.

Jo bhi kijiye, magar aankhen na churaiye.

Sulagte hue is dil ko yun tanha na chhodiye.

Kabhi fursat mile to is marham par laut kar dekh lijiye.

Ishq khud chal kar aaya hai aapse milne,

Bas ek nazar-e-karam farma dijiye......

(So here's is the first chapter hope you liked it)

𝑺𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒂-𝒆-𝑰𝒔𝒉𝒒

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 ✿゙

• 𝑯𝒂𝒎𝒛𝒂 𝑨𝒍𝒊 𝑴𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒓𝒊

• 𝑼𝒛𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝑩𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒉

• 𝑹𝒂𝒒𝒔 𝑩𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒉

•18+ Adults Only

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𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Masterlist

• character aesthetics ❤︎

• Chapter 1

• Chapter 2

• Chapter 3

• Chapter 4

• Chapter 5

• Chapter 6

• Chapter 7

• Chapter 8

• Chapter 9

• Chapter 10

• Chapter 11

• Chapter 12

• Chapter 13

• Chapter 14

#hamza x uzair #hamza ali mazari #uzair baloch #dhurandhar #rehman x ulfat #angest #dhurandhar 2 #dhurandhar revenge #ao3 #hamzair #dhurandhar fanfiction #dhurandhar fanfic #dhurandar the revenge #dhuranandar2 #dhurandar fandom

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 14

The rays of the morning sun pierced through the gaps in the velvet curtains, cutting across the chaotic disarray of the master bedroom. Sheets were tangled at the foot of the bed, pillows lay discarded on the floor, and the scent of musk and sweat still hung thick in the warm air.

Hamza stirred with a soft, painful groan. Every single muscle in his body felt unraveled, a deep, persistent ache thropping in his thighs and lower back—a brutal reminder of the punishing, desperate pace Uzair had maintained until the sky turned gray. He tried to shift, but a weight resting over his waist anchored him flat against the mattress.

Uzair is fast asleep beside him, his arm thrown over Hamza’ torso, clamping the prince tightly against his side. The Sardar looked at peace, the deep lines of stress and guilt that usually etched his face smoothed out.

Suddenly, a knocking rattled the wooden doors of the guest room.

"Sardar Sahab! Hamza Baba!" a servant's voice called out anxiously from the corridor. "Bhabi Saheba ne bulaya hai! Maulvi sahab tashreef la chuke hain, aur nikah ka waqt shuru hone wala hai! Aap dono abhi tak andar hi hain?!"

Hamza hazel-green eyes snapped wide open in panic. The reality of the morning crashed down on him. The nikah.

"Uzair... Uzair, uthiye!" Hamza whispered frantically, his voice cracking from the night screaming and weeping. He began nudging Uzair shoulder, trying to shake the sleeping giant awake. "Khuda ke liye uthiye! Bahar sab khade hain! Agar kisi ne dekh liya ki hum raat bhar..."

Uzair merely let out a low annoyed grunt, his grip tightening around Hamza waist as he pulled the flustered hamza even closer into his chest, burying his face in the waves of Hamza hair. "Sone do, rounak... maulvi ko kaho intezar kare..."

"Uzair!" Hamza gasped, his face burning a bright crimson as the knocking outside grew louder.

Hamza heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the sound of that voice. The servant’s frantic knocking had ceased, replaced by the loud, unmistakable, and thoroughly amused voice of Ulfat—Hamza sister-in-law and the mastermind behind this entire scheme.

"Oye! Aur dono dulha hua raat bhar! Abb toh dono nikal aao kamre se!" Ulfat teased loudly from the other side of the door, her laughter echoing down the hallway. "Poora saal alag reh kar bhi dil nahi bhara? Chalo, ab jaldi karo, sab intezar kar rahe hain!"

Hamza turned a violent shade of scarlet, his hands flying up to hide his burning face in his palms. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. "Bhabi... Bhabi bahar hain..." he wailed in a mortified whisper, squirming desperately beneath Uzair frame.

Uzair, however, didn't show an ounce of shame. Hearing his sister-in-law's voice, a slow, wicked grin spread across his rugged face. He didn't let Hamza hide, pulling hamza hands away from his blushing face and pinning them over his head.

"Bhabi!" Uzair called out loudly toward the door, "Maulvi sahab se kaho aadha ghanta aur rukein! Dulha abhi thoda masroof hai!"

"Uzair! Chup kijiye!" Hamza shrieked softly, his eyes wide with horror as he planted a kiss on Uzair lip just to make him shut up, his legs twitching weakly under the sheet.

Outside, Ulfat loud laughter ringed out again. "Acha, acha! Aadha ghanta de rahi hoon, Baloch Sahab! Usse zyada nahi, warna main andar aa jaungi!" her footsteps finally faded down the corridor, leaving the flustered hamza at the mercy of his grinning husband.

After managing to drag themselves out of the tangled sheets, a long, warm shower helped wash away the exhaustion of the night, though the stubborn ache in Hamza body remained.

They kept things completely simple, eschewing the heavy, suffocating royal sherwanis for soft, light cotton kurtas. Hamza chose a pristine white one, while Uzair donned a deep slate-gray kurta that made his shoulders look even more massive.

As they stepped out of the bathroom, Hamza took a step and immediately winced, his hand instinctively flying to the wall to steady himself. He is limping slightly, a dull soreness throbbing in his lower back and thighs—a consequence of the merciless, desperate pace Uzair had kept up until the early hours of the dawn.

Uzair, who is adjusting the collar of his kurta, noticed the stumble instantly. In two long strides, he crossed the room and caught Hamza by the waist, anchoring him against his side. A smirk played on his lips.

"Aaram se, rounak," Uzair murmured, He looked down at Hamza flushed face, his eyes tracing the faint, beautiful bruises peeking out from the collar of the white kurta.

"Yeh sab aapki wajah se hai," Hamza muttered in a flustered, breathless whisper, as he leaned lightly into Uzair strength. He adjusted his stance, trying to hide the slight tremor in his knees. "Bhabi dekhlengi toh kya sochengi... hum pehle se hi shaadi-shuda hain, Uzair. Yeh dobara nikah sirif ek tamasha hai."

"Talaq ke kaghazat par galat naam likhne se pehle sochna chahiye tha, rounak," Uzair teased softly, leaning down to press a kiss right behind Hamza ear, making hamza shiver. "Chalo ab. Poore duniya ke samne tumhein firse mera banna hai... is baar poore naam ke sath."

Uzair kept a steadying arm around Hamza waist as they slowly walked out of the guest room and made their way down the corridor. Every time Hamza stride faltered or a small wince crossed his face, Uzair would simply tighten his grip, unbothered by the staff bowing to them as they passed.

They reached the main courtyard, where a small, intimate gathering had been arranged. White silk canopies fluttered softly in the morning breeze, and the air is rich with the fragrance of fresh jasmine and marigolds. Sitting on a decorated floor-mat was the elderly Maulvi, holding a fresh set of legal registers, with Gurbaaz and Ulfat sitting nearby.

The moment they stepped into view, Ulfat eyes darted down to Hamza slightly uneven step. A knowing, grin broke across her face.

"Aao, aao! Dulha sahab tashreef le aaye," Ulfat teased loudly, clapping her hands together as she rose to greet them. She walked straight over to Hamza, leaning in to whisper near his ear, "Raat ki thakan abhi tak utri nahi kya, Hamza? Thoda sambhal kar chalo, dulhe raaja."

Hamza’s face flared into a crimson, his gaze dropping to the floor as he nervously tugged at the cuff of his white cotton kurta. "Bhabi, please..." he murmured, wishing he could disappear right then and there.

Gurbaaz, sitting cross-legged near the Maulvi, let out a deep, hearty chuckle, shaking his head at his best friend. "Sardar sahab, lagta hai aapne kal raat hamare maulvi sahab ki naseehaton ko kuch zyada hi jaldi shuru kar diya."

Uzair simply laughed, a low, rumbling sound of contentment. He didn't offer a single word of denial. Instead, he carefully guided Hamza down onto the soft cushions across from the Maulvi, ensuring hamza is sitting comfortably before settling down right beside him, their shoulders l pressed together.

The Maulvi adjusted his spectacles, opening the marriage register. "Agar dono dulha taiyar hain, toh hum rasmat shuru karein?"*

Before the Maulvi could begin reciting the vows, Hamza swallowed hard, his conscience pricking at him. He looked across the floor mat at Gurbaaz. Remembering how horribly he had treated the man —the icy glares, the bitter remarks, and the poison he had spewed all out of blinding jealousy—Hamza felt a wave of shame.

Ignoring the slight ache in his body, Hamza shifted on his cushion and leaned slightly forward toward Uzair best friend.

"Gurbaaz bhai..." Hamza spoke up softly,

Gurbaaz blinked, looking up from the marriage documents, while Uzair turned his eyes toward his hamza, watching him quietly.

"Mujhe... mujhe maaf kar dijiye," Hamza said, his hazel-green eyes shining with apology as he nervously laced his fingers together. "Maine ek aapke sath bohot bura sulook kiya. Main... main dushmani samajh baitha tha, aur us jalan mein maine kya kuch nahi kaha. Mujhe sach mein nahi pata tha ki aap Uzair ke itne purane dost hain."

Gurbaaz stared at hamza for a beat, caught off guard by the sudden confession, before a warm, genuine smile broke across his face. He let out a hearty chuckle, waving his hand dismissively.

"Oho, Hamza Baba, aap sharminda mat hoiye," Gurbaaz said warmly, his voice full of respect. *

"Mohabbat mein insaan andha ho jata hai, aur aap toh Sardar ke ishq mein pagal the. Agar aapki jagah koi aur hota, toh shayad mera sar hi kalam karwa deta! Mujhe koi gila nahi hai, aap mere bhai hain."

Uzair smiled, a sense of pride swelling in his chest as he reached out, placing his hand over Hamza fingers and squeezing them gently. "Dekha rounak? Kaha tha na, mera yaar dil ka saaf hai. Ab saari fikar chhoro, aur qubool hai kehne ke liye taiyar ho jao."

The Maulvi cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the marriage register, bringing everyone attention back to the ritual.

"Agar sabki ijazat ho, toh hum nikaah ki rasmat shuru karein?" the Maulvi asked, his elderly voice echoing softly in the serene courtyard.

Uzair nodded firmly, his hand still tightly clasping Hamza. "Ji, shuru kijiye."

The Maulvi began reciting the Arabic verses of the Nikah, the beautiful, rhythmic words filling the air with a sense of peace and finality. Hamza listened quietly, his heart hammering against his ribs—not out of panic this time, but out of an overwhelming, dizzying happiness. He stole a glance at Uzair, seeing his husband looking so serene and deeply content.

After completing the prayers, the Maulvi turned his gaze toward hamza. "Hamza Ali Mazari Baloch... kya aapko Uzair Baloch, itne haq-mahar ke sath, apne nikaah mein qubool hain?"

Hearing his full name—the title he had mistakenly omitted a year ago, the name that truly bound him to this man—brought a fresh shimmer of tears to Hamza hazel-green eyes. He looked at Uzair, his voice clear, soft,

"Qubool hai," Hamza whispered.

The Maulvi asked a second time, and then a third.

"Qubool hai. Qubool hai."

A collective breath of relief seemed to leave everyone in the courtyard. The Maulvi then turned to Uzair, repeating the solemn question. Uzair didn't hesitate for even a fraction of a second,

"Qubool hai. Qubool hai. Qubool hai."

"Mubarak ho! Nikaah mukammal hua," the Maulvi announced, a wide smile breaking on his face as Ulfat immediately clapped her hands, showering the couple with fresh rose petals and jasmine flowers.

Before Hamza could even wipe a stray petal from his shoulder, Uzair leaned over. Disregarding the Maulvi and the laughing onlookers, he brought his hand up to cup Hamza cheek, his eyes burning with possession."Ab toh poora naam likh diya na, rounak?" Uzair growled softly against his ear, his thumb caressing his jawline. "Ab tum chah kar bhi mujhse door nahi ja sakte."

Ulfat stepped forward with a bright, knowing smile, holding a beautifully adorned, silver-framed mirror— she placed it in Hamza hands.

"Chalo, ab isme ek doosre ka aks dekho," Ulfat teased softly, her eyes sparkling. "Taaki tum dono ko yakeen aa jaye ki tum ab hamesha ke liye ek ho chuke ho."

Hamza hands trembled slightly as he held the mirror up, adjusting the angle. As the glass caught the morning light, their reflections came into focus. Hamza looked at himself—flushed, slightly disheveled, his hazel-green eyes bright with unshed tears of pure happiness. And right beside him, filling the frame is Uzair. The Sardar eyes aren't looking at the mirror; they are fixed on Hamza reflection, a soft smile gracing his features.

Looking into the glass, Hamza felt a sense of peace. The reflection didn't lie. They belonged to each other, fully and irrevocably.

Behind them, the entire family gathered closer to share in the joy. Shirani stood beside a beaming Gurbaaz, Rehaman stood nearby, his chest swelling with pride to see his brother whole again. Ulfat stood with her two sons, Faizal and Naieem, who were leaning in eagerly to catch a glimpse of their favorite uncles.

Everyone is smiling, their faces reflected beautifully in the edges of the silver mirror, forming a protective, loving circle around the reunited couple.

Uzair leaned down slightly, his shoulder pressing against Hamza as he whispered for the mirror only, "Kya dekh rahe ho, rounak? Khuda ki kasam, is aaine mein tumse khoobsurat aur kuch nahi hai."

Hamza eyes fluttered softly in the mirror’s reflection, his cheeks burning a fresh, lovely shade of rose at Uzair praise. He lowered the silver frame slightly, turning his head to look into his husband mesmerizing eyes instead of their reflection.

"Aap sabke samne kuch bhi bol dete hain," Hamza murmured in a flustered whisper, though his lips curved into a smile.

Before Uzair could retort with another wicked grin, Ulfat stepped forward, gently taking the mirror from Hamza hands and placing a warm hand on his head. "Chalo, bohot dekh liya ek doosre ko! Ab baqi sabse bhi milo," she said warmly, her eyes crinkling with joy.

One by one, the family stepped closer. Gurbaaz walked up first, his booming laughter echoing through the courtyard as he pulled Uzair into a bear hug, clapping the Sardar heavily on the back. "Mubarak ho, mere bhai! Khuda kare yeh raunak tumhare mahal mein hamesha qaim rahe." Turning to Hamza, Gurbaaz bowed his head with respect. "Mubarak ho, Hamza Baba. Aaj se aap is ghar ki asli rounak hain."

"Shukriya, Gurbaaz bhai," Hamza said softly, a wave of relief washing over him now that the old animosity was officially buried.

Next came young Faizal and Naieem, shoving past each other in excitement. "Chacha! Humne suna hai sheher se bohot saari mithai aayi hai! Kya hum ab kha sakte hain?" Faizal asked, his eyes wide as he looked up at Uzair.

Uzair let out a deep, laugh, reaching out to ruffle his nephew's hair with a heavy hand. "Haan, jao. Poora mahal tumhara hai, jitni marzi ho mithai khao." The two boys cheered loudly, running off toward the dessert tables while Rehaman and Shirani stepped forward to offer their quiet, deeply respectful blessings to the newlyweds.

As the family began to mingle, chatting happily under the decorated white canopies, Uzair silently slid his arm back around Hamza waist. He pulled hamza flush against his side, carefully bearing most of Hamza weight when he noticed the younger man subtly shifting his feet to ease the persistent ache in his thighs.

"Thak gaye ho, rounak?" Uzair murmured near his ear,

Hamza leaned into the steady comfort of Uzair chest, looking out at the smiling faces of their family. For the first time in a whole year, the suffocating weight in his chest was entirely gone. He is home.

"Nahi," Hamza whispered, wrapping his hand over Uzair fingers at his waist. "Main bilkul nahi thaka, Uzair. Main toh bas abhi jeena shuru hua hoon."

Ulfat slithered over with a playful, mischievous grin, holding a silver plate piled high with rich, golden laddoos and barfi. With a dramatic flourish, she picked up a piece of sweet and fed a bit to Uzair, then turned to Hamza, gently pressing a soft piece against his lips until he took a bite,

"Mithai toh bohot meethi hai," Ulfat said, her voice dropping into a teasing, sly undertone as she leaned in closer to the newlyweds. "Lekin Hamza... ab humein is meethas se bhi badhkar kuch chahiye. Jaldi se ab is ghar mein ek nanha sa jaan chahiye hume! Poora mahal soona lagta hai."

Hamza instantly choked on the piece of sweet, his entire face, ears, and neck turning a violent, burning shade of scarlet. He coughed softly, his hands flying up to cover his mouth as he looked at his sister-in-law in shock. A child. The boldness of her words, especially after the punishing, unbridled night he and Uzair had just spent, made his knees go weak under his cotton kurta.

"Bhabi... aap... aap kya keh rahi hain!" Hamza stammered out, he instinctively tried to shrink behind Uzair frame to hide his face.

Uzair, however, let out a laugh that vibrated right against Hamza back. He didn't look flustered at all; instead, his eyes flashed with a wicked, deeply amused glint as he tightly wound his arm around Hamza waist,

"Bhabi ki khwahish bilkul sahi hai, rounak," Uzair teased mercilessly, leaning down to whisper right against Hamza ear, his hand giving his waist a squeeze. "Vaise bhi, humne raat bhar mehnat toh shuru kar hi di hai... kyun, meri jaan?"

"Uzair!" Hamza wailed in utter mortification, burying his face into the fabric of Uzair slate-gray kurta, desperately wishing the ground would swallow him whole while Ulfat loud, triumphant laughter echoed across the courtyard.

Six months had flown by like a beautiful, golden blur. The cold winter winds had softened into a balmy breeze, and the palace, once quiet and imposing, is now filled with an entirely new kind of energy.

inside the master bedroom, the velvet curtains were pulled back to let the soft afternoon light stream in. Hamza is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at his lap. He isn't wearing his simple white kurtas anymore; he wore a soft, loosely fitted silk tunic , His cheeks were flushed a natural, radiant pink, and his hazel-green eyes were bright with a mixture of awe and nervous excitement.

The doors suddenly creaked open, and Uzair stepped inside, adjusting the cuffs of his dark kameez. The fearsome Sardar looked exhausted from a long day of tribal meetings, but the moment his eyes landed on his rounak, the tension instantly melted from his shoulders.

"Rounak?" Uzair murmured, He walked over, "Kya hua? Aaj badi khamoshi hai is kamre mein."

Hamza didn't speak right away. His lower lip trembled slightly as he looked up at his husband. Slowly, he reached out and took Uzair hand, pulling him down to sit on the mattress right beside him. Without a word, Hamza guided Uzair palm away from his waist and placed it flat against his own lower stomach—where a very slight, barely noticeable curve is beginning to show beneath the loose silk.

Uzair froze. His breath hitched in his throat, his entire body going rigid. He looked from his hand to Hamza face, his eyes widening in a rare moment of realization.

"Hamza..." Uzair choked out, his voice suddenly thick and trembling "Yeh... tum...?"

Hamza let out a wet chuckle, a single tear of joy slipping down his cheek as he pressed Uzair hand firmer against his skin.

"Bhabi ki khwahish... poori ho gayi, jaan-e-mann," Hamza whispered, "Humare ghar mein... ek nanha sa jaan aane wala hai."

Uzair practically jumped off the mattress, Before Hamza could even gasp, Uzair scooped him up right into his arms, lifting him entirely off the bed and holding him tightly against his chest as if he were the most precious, fragile glass in the world.

"Kitne mahine?! Kab se jaante thay tum, rounak?!" Uzair asked frantically, his voice cracking with a wild, uncontrollable excitement. He is grinning so hard his face ached, He began spinning Hamza around the room in a slow, careful circle, refusing to let him go.

"Uzair! Aaram se... neeche utariye mujhe!" Hamza shrieked softly, his arms wrapping around Uzair neck for balance. He let out a breathless, beautiful laugh, his face flushing a bright, radiant crimson as he rested his forehead against his husband. "Do mahine... do mahine ho chuke hain."

"Do mahine?!" Uzair stopped spinning, his grip tightening around Hamza hips as he looked up at him in mock anger, though his lips were twitching with pure happiness. "Do mahine se itni badi baat chupa kar rakha mujhse? Mujhe kyun nahi bataya pehle, meri jaan?"

"Main... main pakka hona chahta tha," Hamza whispered shyly, his fingers gently tangling in the thick hair at the back of Uzair neck. He leaned down, pressing his lips softly against Uzair forehead. "Aur mujhe thoda darr bhi lag raha tha... ki aap pata nahi kaise behave karenge."

"Darr?" Uzair growled softly, He carefully walked back to the bed, lowering Hamza onto the soft pillows with a tenderness that didn't match his size. He immediately leaned over him, his hands framing Hamza face. "Mera khoon hai tumhare andar... hamara mohabbat ka nishaani hai. Main poore duniya ke tukde kar dunga is jaan ke liye, rounak."

Hamza let out a bright, melodic giggle, the sound echoing beautifully in the quiet room. He had never, in all his years of knowing the Sardar of the Baloch tribe, seen him look like this.

Uzair is hovering over him with a wide, goofy, and utterly grin spread across his face. His , sharp eyes—usually so intense they could make grown men tremble—were soft and wide, staring down at Hamza with the awe of a little baby looking at something magical.

"Uzair, aapka chehra dekhiye," Hamza teased softly, reaching up to gently poke the dimple hiding in Uzair rough stubble. "Poora ilaqa aapke naam se darta hai, aur aap yahan aise muskura rahe hain."

"Muskurao nahi toh aur kya karoon, rounak?" Uzair murmured, He leaned down, pressing his face into the crook of Hamza neck, "Tumne mujhe sab kuch de diya... pehle apna dil, fir apni maafi, aur ab... hamara nishaani."

Hamza giggle softened into a tender smile. He wrapped his arms securely around Uzair shoulders, running his fingers through his dark hair, holding his giant husband close as they just lay there, soaking in the beautiful, reality-shifting news together.

Later that evening, they finally broke the news to the family. They are gathered in the main courtyard for dinner when Uzair, unable to keep the proud, bursting grin off his face any longer, looked at his sister-in-law and cleared his throat.

The moment the words left Uzair's mouth, Ulfat froze. Her eyes went wide, darting from Uzair proud face down to Hamza shyly lowered gaze.

Before anyone else could even process the news, Ulfat burst into tears. Loud, sobs tore from her throat as she threw her hands over her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

"Bhabi!" Hamza gasped, instantly panicked as he tried to stand up, his face flushing crimson. "Aap... aap ro kyun rahi hain? Khushi ki baat hai!"

"Haye... main na maroon is khushi se!" Ulfat cried out through her tears, wiping her face with the corner of her dupatta as she lunged across the floor cushions. She threw her arms around Hamza, pulling him into a hug. "Mera bacha... mera pyara Hamza! Main kitni mannatein maang rahi thi! Mujhe pata tha, meri duaein qubool ho gayin!"

She pulled back, her eyes red and streaming with happy tears, but already a familiar protective glint returned to her gaze. She slapped Uzair arm. "Aur tum! Baloch Sahab! Aaj ke baad mere bache ko ek tinka uthane ki bhi zaroorat nahi hai! Agar tumne isse zara sa bhi pareshan kiya, toh mujhse bura koi nahi hoga!"

Uzair just threw his head back and laughed,

After letting out all her tears on Hamza, Ulfat wiped her eyes and turned to Rehaman, her voice cracking with emotion as she broke the news to him.

Rehaman stood frozen for a beat, Slowly, a pair of tears welled up and rolled down his cheeks. Without a single care for his usual stoic exterior, Rehaman stepped forward and pulled Ulfat into a embrace, the two of them hugging each other tightly as they wept tears of joy for the future of the Baloch clan.

Right next to them, the courtyard erupted into pure, chaotic energy as Naieem and Faizal figured out what is happening. The two boys started jumping up and down, thrilled for their favorite chachu.

"Naieem bhai! Humare ghar mein bacha aane wala hai!" Faizal shrieked , He sprinted straight over to Hamza and Uzair, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Chachu! Main ab is ghar mein sabse chota nahi rahoonga! Main bada bhai banoonga!"

Hamza let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling as he reached out and pinched Faizal cheek. "Haan, Faizal. Aap bade bhai banoge, aur aapko apne chhote bahein ya bhai ka bohot khayal rakhna hoga."

"Main sabse zaroori kaam sikhaoonga isse!" Faizal declared proudly, puffing out his chest while Naieem laughed and shoved his shoulder.

Uzair looked around at the beautiful, noisy chaos of his family—his sister-in-law and his brother weeping with joy, his nephews celebrating, and his beautiful rounak sitting beside him with a smile. Uzair silently reached under the table, pulling Hamza hand into his lap and squeezing it tightly, his heart overflowing with a happiness he never thought he'd deserve.

The celebration in the courtyard stretched long into the evening, filled with endless laughter, plates of sweets, and the family already debating names for the unborn child. By the time Uzair and Hamza finally excused themselves and retreated to the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, the moon is high and bright in the midnight sky.

The moment the doors clicked shut, blocking out the rest of the world, the energy shifted into something deeply intimate and quiet.

Hamza let out a long, weary sigh, his shoulders relaxing completely as he leaned back against the closed door. The emotional high of the day, combined with the early stages of the pregnancy, had left him thoroughly exhausted.

Uzair didn't say a word. He walked over, frame casting a warm shadow over hamza. With immense gentleness, he reached out, his hands coming to rest on Hamza hips. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Hamza, closing his eyes as he breathed in the familiar, comforting scent of jasmine clinging to the younger man's skin.

"Ab thik ho, rounak?" Uzair murmured,

"Bohat khush hoon," Hamza whispered back, his hazel-green eyes fluttering open to look into the gaze of his husband. He placed his hands over Uzair chest, feeling the steady, thud of the Uzair heart. "Bhabi aur Rehaman bhai ko rote dekh kar... aur Faizal ki khushi... Uzair, mujhe lagta hai humne naye sire se jeena shuru kiya hai."

Uzair lips curved into a soft, rare smile. He slid one hand down from Hamza hip, his palm over Hamza lower abdomen again. The touch is light, almost reverent, as if he were guarding the most precious treasure in the entire world.

"Humne waqt zaya kiya, rounak," Uzair whispered, his voice thick with a sudden wave of emotion as he looked down at his hand against Hamza stomach. "Ek saal dushmani mein, aur baqi ka waqt nafrat mein. Lekin Khuda ki kasam... ab is jaan ke aane tak, aur uske baad bhi, main tumhare chehre se yeh muskurahat kabhi gayab nahi hone dunga."

Hamza heart swelled so much it felt painful. He leaned forward, sealing their promise with a soft, lingering kiss, a quiet tear of gratitude slipping down his cheek in the dim light of their room.

Later that night, after the initial chaos in the palace had settled, Hamza sat on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hand. He knew he couldn't go to sleep without telling the one person who had stood by him through his darkest, most isolated days over the past year.

He dialed Shirani number. It only rang twice before his warm, familiar voice came through the line. "Hamza? Itni raat ko phone kiya? Sab khairiyat toh hai na?"

Hearing his tone, Hamza felt a lump form in his throat. He cleared his throat, a beautiful, emotional smile breaking across his face. "Ji, mamu... sab theek hai. Bohat khairiyat hai. Main... main aapko kuch batane ke liye phone kiya tha."

"Kya hua? Batao, mujhe darr lag raha hai," he said,

Hamza took a soft, deep breath, his hand instinctively coming to rest over his lower stomach. "mamu... aap... aap dadu banne wale hain. Humare ghar mein naya mehmaan aane wala hai."

There was a sudden, silence on the other end of the line. For a few seconds, Hamza thought the call had dropped. But then, a sharp, choked gasp echoed through the speaker, immediately followed by the sound of crying.

"Mamu! Aap ro kyun rahi hain?" Hamza asked, his own eyes welling up with fresh tears at his reaction.

"Hamza..." Shirani sobbed loudly, "Khuda ka shukar hai... Mere Allah ka lakh lakh shukar hai! Tumne kitne dukh jhele hain is ek saal mein, kitne aansu bahaye hain... Mera bacha, tumhara aangan ab hamesha ke liye khushiyon se bhar gaya! Mera pyara pota ya poti aane wala hai!"

Uzair, who is sitting beside Hamza on the bed, wrapped his arm around hamza shoulders, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head as they both listened to Shirani weeping.

Through his tears, Shirani started making frantic plans. "Main kal hi subah sabse pehla gadi se mahal aa raha hoon! Main khud tumhara khayal rakhoonga, aur us badtameez Baloch ko toh bilkul tumhare paas bhatakne bhi nahi doonga! Tum bas aaram karo, mera jaan!"

Hamza let out a wet, beautiful chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his cheek as he leaned into Uzair chest, his heart feeling lighter and more complete than it ever had before.

As soon as the call clicked shut, Hamza let his hand drop onto the mattress, the phone slipping from his fingers. The emotional weight of the day—the tears, the laughter, and the overwhelming love from their family—finally caught up to him all at once, leaving him defenseless against his exhaustion.

Without a word, Uzair shifted his frame. He hooked one strong arm under Hamza knees and the other securely behind his back, lifting hamza into his lap.

Hamza didn't protest for even a second. With a soft, contented sigh, he collapsed against Uzair chest, curling his body inward until he fit perfectly against his husband frame. He buried his face deep into the crook of Uzair neck, his hands clutching tightly at the fabric of the kurta.

Uzair wrapped his arms around him, holding Hamza so close that there isn't a single inch of space left between them. He rested his chin on top of Hamza soft hair, his hand slowly rubbing circles up and down at lower back

"Bohat ro liye aaj, rounak," Uzair murmured, "Ab bas. Is mahal mein jitne aansu bahne the, beh chuke. Ab se tumhare aankhon mein sirf khushi ke aansu dekhoonga main."

Hamza didn't speak. He just tightened his hold on Uzair neck, letting out a soft, shaky breath as a wave of safety washed over him. In Uzair arms, wrapped in his embrace, Hamza knew that no matter what storms lay ahead, he and their unborn child are untouchable.

Four months passed in a beautiful, steady rhythm, changing everything about the palace. The quiet halls are now filled with an undeniable warmth, centered around ensuring Hamza comfort.

By the sixth month of the pregnancy, Hamza condition had become beautifully evident. The slight curve from a few months ago had grown into a neat, round bump that he could no longer hide beneath his clothes. His body had softened, his skin glowing with a healthy flush, though the extra weight made him tire easily and left a persistent ache in his lower back and hips.

The doors of the master bedroom pushed open, and Uzair stepped inside. The fierce Sardar looked exhausted from a long day of dealing with tribal disputes, but the moment his eyes landed on Hamza, his expression softened.

Hamza is sitting propped up against a mountain of plush silk pillows on the bed, looking slightly flushed and exasperated as he tried to adjust his position to ease the pressure on his back.

"Rounak," Uzair murmured,

Without waiting for an answer, Uzair sat on the edge of the mattress. He reached out with his hands, gently taking hold of Hamza ankles and pulling hamza legs into his lap. Uzair thumbs began massaging Hamza swollen feet and calves, applying just the right amount of pressure to ease the ache.

"Aap har waqt mujhe bacha samajh kar lita dete hain," Hamza murmured, a soft giggle escaping his lips, though he sighed in pure relief at the soothing touch.

"Tum ho bacha," Uzair growled softly, a rare, smile gracing his features. He stopped massaging for a moment, sliding his palm upward until it rested flat against the prominent, curve of Hamza stomach.

Almost instantly, as if recognizing its father touch, a distinct, sharp flutter kicked against Uzair hand.

Uzair froze, his eyes widening in awe, his breath hitching in his throat just like it did the very first day he found out. He leaned down, pressing his forehead reverently against Hamza round belly,

"Bohat zyaada shararat ho rahi hai andar, rounak... bilkul tum par gaya hai."

Hamza smiled beautifully, his hazel-green eyes shimmering with tears of pure happiness as he ran his fingers through Uzair hair, holding his husband close to his heart.

Uzair remained leaning against Hamza ound belly for a long, quiet moment, listening to the soft, rhythmic sound of hamza breathing. Slowly, he shifted his frame up, crawling onto the bed to sit right beside Hamza, pulling the younger man sideways into his arms so Hamza could rest his back completely against his chest.

Hamza let out a soft, contented sigh, instantly melting into the familiar, comforting warmth. He rested his head back on Uzair shoulder, his hand coming to rest over Uzair one, which is still spread over his six-month bump.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered softly, his hazel-green eyes fixed on the dim lamp light dancing on the ceiling. "Pichle saal... is waqt... maine kabhi socha bhi nahi tha ki meri zindagi aisi hoga. Main darr mein rehta tha. Aur aaj..."

"Aaj tum mera jaan ho," Uzair interrupted gently, his voice a low rumble against Hamza ear. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss to Hamza temple,

"Maine bohat galtiyan kaam kiya, Hamza. Tumhe rulaya, tum par haq jataya. Lekin Khuda gawah hai, ab jab tak mera saans chal raha hai, is mahal mein tumhara ek aansu bhi nahi girega."

Hamza turned his head slightly, his lips curving into a smile as he looked up at the Sardar who became a completely different man just for him. "Main jaanta hoon. Mujhe ab koi darr nahi hai."

Right on cue, another sharp, playful kick thudded against Uzair palm from inside, making both of them let out a soft laugh.

"Dekho," Hamza giggled, "Aapka bacha bhi aapki baatein sun raha hai."

"Sikhna chahiye isse," Uzair teased wickedly, his thumb caressing the soft fabric of Hamza tunic over his stomach. "Taaki bada hokar apna papa ki tarah bilkul ziddi na bane."

"Uzair!" Hamza huffed, turning around to swat at his chest, but Uzair just caught his wrist easily, pulling him into a kiss that silenced all of Hamza complaints, leaving them wrapped in their own quiet, perfect world.

Two years had passed, and the once quiet, intimidating palace is now entirely ruled by a tiny, whirlwind of a two-year-old girl named Sehrish. She had her father thick, dark eyelashes and untamable spirit, but her hazel-green eyes were inherited completely from her papa.

Right now, those hazel-green eyes were wide with dramatic, mock terror as she clung like a little koala to Uzair chest.

"Sehrish Baloch! Aap seedhe khade hoiye aur meri baat suniye!" Hamza scolded, standing in the middle of the bedroom with his hands firmly on his hips. He was wearing a soft lilac kurta, his face flushed pink, looking incredibly beautiful even when he was trying to look strictly authoritative. "Maine aapse kaha tha na ki deewaron par rang nahi lagana? Poore haseen mahal ki deewar ko aapne apni choti gaadi bana diya hai!"

"Papa gussa..." Sehrish whimpered theatrically, burying her chubby, paint-stained cheeks right into the crook of Uzair neck, her tiny hands clutching at his dark grey kameez.

Uzair, the fearsome Sardar of the entire Baloch tribe, who could silence an entire council of elders with a single glance, is currently sweating under his daughter's protection duty. He had his arms wrapped securely around the toddler, shielding her completely from Hamza view.

"Acha, rounak... choti bachi hai, galti ho gayi," Uzair cleared his throat, trying to use his most diplomatic, soothing tone to defuse the 'papa warth.' He shot Sehrish a quick, secret wink before looking back at his husband with an incredibly soft, pleading smile. "Deewar toh saaf ho jayegi. Tum bas gussa mat karo, tumhara BP badh jayega, meri jaan."

"Aap bilkul chup rahiye, Uzair!" Hamza snapped, pointing an accusing finger at his husband, though his lips twitched, fighting back a smile. "Yeh sab aapki lad-pyaar ka nateeja hai! Jab bhi main isse danta hoon, aap iske dhaal ban kar khade ho jaate hain. Yeh bilkul aap par gayi hai—badtameez aur ziddi!"

"Papa...!" Sehrish peeked out from behind Uzair broad shoulder, pouting her little lips.

"Dekha? Apne aap ko bacha rahi hai," Uzair chuckled deeply, his rumbling laugh vibrating against the little girl. He leaned in closer, stepping right into Hamzapersonal space while still holding their daughter. With one arm supporting Sehrish, he used his free hand to gently slide around Hamza waist, pulling his husband close.

"Maaf kar do is baar, rounak," Uzair murmured near Hamza ear, "Warna yeh raat bhar mujhe sone nahi degi, aur main tumhare paas nahi aa paonga."

Hamza face turned a brilliant shade of crimson at the undertone in front of their daughter. He let out a soft, defeated huff, his hands coming down to rest against Uzair chest.

"Aap dono se koi nahi jeet sakta," Hamza murmured, a smile finally breaking across his face. He reached up, gently wiping a smudge of blue paint off Sehrish cheek. "Agli baar deewar par rang lagaya, toh main aap dono se baat nahi karoonga, samajh aayi?"

Sehrish cheered loudly, immediately planting a messy, wet kiss on Uzair cheek, while the proud Sardar just smiled like a baby, content in the beautiful, chaotic family they had built together.

Hamza reached out, his hands slipping under Sehrish arms to lift her away from her protector. Uzair let out a mock sigh of surrender, slowly loosening his grip and letting the toddler transfer over to her papa embrace.

The moment Sehrish was in Hamza arms, her dramatic whimpering completely stopped. She wrapped her tiny, paint-stained arms tightly around Hamza neck, burying her face into his shoulder. She knew that even though Papa scolded her, his embrace was the softest, safest place in the whole palace.

"Ab aaya oont pahad ke neeche," Hamza murmured, a triumphant but tender smile gracing his lips as he settled the little girl against his hip. He looked at Uzair, raising a playful eyebrow. "Dekha? Aapka dhaal kaam nahi aayi."

Uzair just stood there, his arms now empty, a soft, helpless grin spreading across his face. He took a step closer, completely towering over them, but his presence brought nothing but warmth. He reached out, his hand gently cupping the back of Hamza head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss onto the forehead, right above his hazel-green eyes.

"Meri dhaal toh tum ho, rounak," Uzair whispered, as his gaze shifted from his beautiful husband to their little daughter, who is already turning around to look at her father with wide, curious eyes. "Main toh bas tum dono ke aage haarna seekh gaya hoon."

Hamza heart swelled, He leaned slightly into Uzair touch, the toddler sandwiched comfortably between them, completing the perfect circle of the family they had fought so hard to build.

A huge THANK YOU to everyone who stayed till the very end and read this story 🥹💗 And to my constant readers who have been here from the beginning to the end—you guys are the real 😭🫶🏻 Like seriously… you survived my story, my drama, my chaos, and probably my questionable decisions 😂😭

I love you all soooo much! 💕 I really hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing (and emotionally torturing you with) it 🤭😂💗

Thank you for all the love and support. You guys have my whole heart 🥹🫶🏻✨

And about my NEXT story… 👀

🚨 HUGE DRAMA ALERT ALREADY 🚨 because apparently, I don't know how to write anything peacefully 😭✋🏻

It's going to be an Omegaverse story anddd—SHAYARI. Lots and lots of shayari 🤌🏻😭❤️‍🩹 And yes, I will also be shamelessly flexing my music taste because music is going to be a HUGE part of this story 🎧😭 Expect a song every two seconds because I simply cannot control myself.

Also, most of the dialogues will be in Hindi/Urdu, and I'm sorry but I genuinely cannot change that 😭✋🏻 I personally feel like it brings so much more authenticity and emotion to the story. Some feelings just hit different in Hindi and Urdu… 🥹❤️‍🩹

And the pairing is… 👀

Bottom Uzair × Top Hamza 🫣✨

So, if you're interested and want to be tagged when I post it, let me know in the comments 👀🫶🏻

Bas itna samajh lo… drama hoga, shayari hogi, music hoga aur sukoon? Woh toh bilkul nahi hoga 😭🎧❤️‍🩹

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 13

{ 🪷🔞 Sanskari Warning 🔞🪷

Under 18? Beta, jao. 😭👉🚪

Mummy Maggi bana rahi hai. 🍜

This story is 100% sanskari. 🙏😇

Hum shareef log hain. 🌸

Bas characters thode…

Western culture ke shikaar hain. 💀😭

Chup chap andar aao…

Sharma ji ko pata nahi chalna chahiye. 🫣 }

The room is thick with the sound of their frantic, desperate breathing, the distant music from the rooftop fading into white noise against the thud of their racing hearts.

Hamza straddled Uzair lap, his fingers gripping the torn edges of the black kurta as he pulled himself against the Sardar frame. He is weeping through the intensity of it, a broken, breathless sound escaping his throat as his lips moved hungrily over Uzair jaw, his teeth catching the skin of his neck with a bite.

" Uzair…" Hamza gasped out, trembling whisper against his skin, his forehead resting for a fraction of a second against Uzair shoulder as a soft groan escaped him.

Uzair hands slid down from Hamza waist, the rough friction of his palms sending a shiver straight through the hamza spine. With a sudden, heavy heave, Uzair slid his hands underneath Hamza thighs, lifting him slightly to anchor him closer, locking him tightly into his lap. The weight and heat of the Sardar body beneath him made Hamza whimper, his fingers digging harder into Uzair shoulders as he leaned back down to crash their lips together once more.

Uzair let out a growl against Hamza mouth, his grip on the hamza thighs tightening to iron, devouring the soft, breathless sounds Hamza is making into the quiet of the locked room.

With a shift of weight, Uzair rolled them over, falling back onto the rumpling sheets of the mattress with Hamza still anchored securely over his lap. The sudden movement made Hamza gasp, his hands sliding up Uzair bare chest for balance as he sat high on uzair thighs, his silhouette framed by the dim light of the room.

Hamza breathing is shallow and ragged, his hazel-green eyes blown wide with an uncontainable, heat. Reaching up with trembling fingers, he quickly unfastened the front of his own kurta, pulling the fabric apart to let the cool air of the room hit his flushed skin. With a desperate tug, he pulled the silk band from his hair, letting the long, refined waves cascade down around his face in a wild, dark halo.

Looking straight down into Uzair eyes, Hamza let out a soft, trembling groan—"Ah… Uzair…"—as he slowly, deliberately began to grind his hips down into uzair lap.

Uzair jaw clenched, his hands instantly locking onto Hamza bare waist to guide the agonizingly slow friction. A grunt escaped the back of Uzair throat as the sheer heat of the hamza body pressed relentlessly against him.

Outside, the previous rhythm faded away, replaced by the deep, haunting resonance of a new melody drifting through the high transom window. The slow, seductive thrum of the strings vibrated through the floorboards:

"Ang laga de re...

Mohe rang laga de re...

Main toh teri joganiya...

Tu jog laga de re..."

The lyrics filled the space between them like a physical command. Hamza arched his back, a breathless whimper sliding past his lips as he kept up the slow, torturous rhythm, his long hair brushing against Uzair face as he leaned down to reclaim his husband mouth with a burning hunger.

The mattress groaned under their combined weight as Uzair suddenly shifted, his upper body tensing as he flipped them down onto the sheets. In one swift motion, he pinned Hamza beneath his frame, trapping the hamza body flat against the mattress.

Uzair buried his face into the crook of Hamza neck, his lips and tongue immediately claiming the sensitive skin with a driving hunger. He sucked fiercely at the spot where Hamza shoulder met his throat, leaving a deep, dark brand of his own to obliterate any thoughts of the outside world.

"Ah… Uzair… haanh… please…" Hamza shattered under the friction, his hips arching helplessly off the bed as a string of breathless, high-pitched moans escaped his parted lips. His fingers clawed wildly into the muscles of Uzair bare back, his nails digging deep into the skin as the rough stubble of Uzair jaw scraped against his neck, sending sharp jolts of heat straight down his spine.

The air in the room grew thick, with the scent of their mingled sweat and the frantic, rhythmic friction of their skin rubbing together as Uzair pressed his full weight down into Hamza lap, ensuring his rounak felt every single inch of the fire burning between them.

Through the open window, the slow, heavy thrum of the music swelled, the singer voice pouring into the dark room:

"Ram ratan dhan...

Lagan magan man...

Tan mora chandan re...

Ujli kori preet piya...

Satrang laga de re..."

Hamza long, wavy hair was spread wildly across the pillows, his head tossing from side to side as Uzair mouth moved lower, biting and sucking along his collarbone. Every ragged breath Hamza took was a broken whimper—"Uhh……"—his body trembling uncontrollably as Uzair hand slid down his torso, gripping his hip with a bruising force to steady him for the deeper, more friction to come.

The air in the room was thick and suffocating, filled with the sound of Hamza unraveled, high-pitched cries. Every single restraint of his pride is gone, burnt away by the relentless, weight of Uzair body pinning him down.

"Ahhh! Uzair...... haaahn..." Hamza shrieked softly into the dark, his back arching off the mattress as Uzair mouth moved with a heavy, deliberate slowness down his skin.

Leaving a trail of bruises, Uzair dragged his lips from the sensitive hollow of Hamza neck, down the sharp line of his collarbone, and straight down the center of his chest. Hamza is thrashing wildly beneath him, his wavy hair tangled across the pillows, his fingers clawing desperately into the sheets on either side of his head as the friction of Uzair rough stubble scraped against his bare skin.

Uzair didn't let him pull away. With a low grunt, he brought his hands down, wrapping his grip securely around Hamza wrists and pinning them above his head. He held hamza immobile, anchoring him to the bed while his mouth dropped lower, settling right over Hamza navel and sucking hard against the sensitive flesh.

" Uzair, please... rukain..." Hamza sobbed out, a moan ripping from his throat as his hips jerked helplessly against the mattress, overwhelmed by the intense, localized heat.

Through the open transom window, the music reached a dark, haunting crescendo, the heavy beat of the instruments matching the frantic rhythm of their breathing:

"Raat banjar si hai...

Kaale khanjar si hai...

Tere seene ki lau...

Mere andar bhi hai..."

The lyrics vibrated through the room like an echo of their own madness. Uzair lifted his head for a fraction of a second, his eyes burning down into Hamza flushed, tear-stained face. His chest is heaving, covered in the salt of Hamza tears and his own sweat, before he leaned right back down to bury his face against Hamza trembling torso, refusing to give his rounak a moment of peace.

Uzair shifted his weight, his chest dragging against Hamza flushed skin as he moved upward just enough to look down at the rounak. His eyes are black with desire, focused on the trembling, exposed body beneath him. With a tug, Uzair reached down and pulled away the remaining fabric of the pathani pants, leaving Hamza bare and vulnerable beneath his shadow.

Hamza let out a weak, broken cry—"Uhh… Uzair…"—his head tossing back against the pillows as the cool air of the room hit his lower body, only to be immediately replaced by the suffocating, intense heat of the Sardar form.

Uzair settled his shoulders directly between Hamza inner thighs, using his knees to push his rounak legs wide apart. The exposure made Hamza whimper, his hands reaching out to grip Uzair hair as he tried to anchor himself. But Uzair is unyielding. He leaned down, his mouth pressing into the highly sensitive flesh of Hamza inner thigh, sucking the soft skin hungrily before nipping at it with a bite.

" jaan… haaahn!" Hamza shrieked, his hips jerking violently off the mattress as a shiver ran straight through his spine. His toes curled into the bedsheets, his fingers tightening desperately into Uzair locks as the wet friction of the Sardar mouth sent an wave of pleasure crashing over his senses.

Outside, the heavy, hypnotic rhythm of the music reached its absolute peak, the singer’s voice pouring through the window like molten silver:

"Tu hawa de isey...

Toh mera tann jale...

Jala de re sang jala de re...

Mohey ang laga de re...

Main toh teri joganiya...

Tu jog laga de re..."

The air in the room was thick with the scent of their sweat, the sound of Uzair guttural breathing, and the non-stop, breathless moans ripping from Hamza throat. Uzair gripped the undersides of Hamza thighs with his hands, lifting them higher onto his shoulders to deepen the contact, consuming his rounak in the dark hours before the dawn.

Hamza body trembled at the peak of friction, overwhelmed by the heat radiating between his legs. In a desperate, reflexive bid for control, he squeezed his inner thighs tightly together, locking them around Uzair head and trapping the Sardar face firmly against his bare, sensitive skin.

A choked, muffled gasp slipped past Hamza lips—"Uhh… Uzair… please…"— as his fingers dug frantically into the mattress.

Beneath the tight hold, a hum rumbled from the back of Uzair throat. The sound buzzed against Hamza bare skin, sending a jolt of pleasure straight up hamza spine. Instead of backing away from the pressure, Uzair used the tight grip to his advantage, leaning into the friction. He tilted his jaw and began to suck even harder at the soft flesh of Hamza inner thigh, his tongue tracing the sensitive line with a ruthless, demanding hunger.

"Ahhh! Jaan…… haaahn!" Hamza shrieked out, his head tossing violently across the pillows as his hips jerked upward against his own will. The sensation of squeezing Uzair close while feeling the relentless, wet pressure of his mouth shattered his last remaining defense, leaving him entirely at his husband mercy as the final hours of the night began to bleed away.

With a breathless heave, Uzair shifted his frame and flipped them once more, settling his back flat against the rumpled sheets and bringing Hamza up onto his chest. The sudden shift of perspective made Hamza hair fall forward, veiling his flushed, tear-stained face as he sat straddling Uzair torso.

His breathing is shallow, his lips parted and swollen from their bruised kisses. Looking down at the man beneath him, Hamza let out a soft, trembling sigh. The last remaining shred of his distance had been obliterated; there is only a consuming need to belong to Uzair, and to make Uzair his.

Slowly,, Hamza slid his body downward, his bare knees tracking along the sides of Uzair thighs. He shifted until he is kneeling between the Sardar legs, his eyes locking onto Uzair gaze.

Leaning forward with a breathless whimper, Hamza closed his lips over the very tip of Uzair length, taking him into the wet warmth of his mouth with a slow, careful suction.

A deep, violently rough growl ripped from the depths of Uzair chest—"Uff… rounak…"—his hands flying forward to bury his fingers into the dark, thick waves of Hamza hair. as Hamza slowly took more of the length, his throat tightening around the thick heat , Uzair hips jerked up off the mattress instinctively, his jaw clenching as the pleasure threatened to break his control.

Hamza kept his hazel-green eyes locked on Uzair face, his long, dark waves spilling over his shoulders as he set a slow, torturous pace. He pulled back slightly, his wet lips leaving the skin for a fraction of a second, only for his fingers to wrap tightly around the base. He squeezed the length firmly, sliding his hand upward in a smooth, demanding stroke that drew a sharp, ragged hiss from the Sardar lips.

Before Uzair could even catch his breath, Hamza leaned back down, taking the thick tip back into the deep, wet warmth of his mouth.

"Ah… rounak… haanh…" Uzair groaned, his voice cracking under the intensity. His hands tightened their grip in Hamza hair, his fingers tangling thoroughly in the waves to guide the rhythmic motion of hamza head.

The friction is driving Uzair to the brink of his restraint, his hips arching off the mattress instinctively with every deep pull.

Slowly, Hamza eased himself off, letting the slick length slide out of his mouth. He didn't move away. Kneeling closely between Uzair thighs, he leaned forward and began to slow-rub the wet, burning tip against his own swollen, bruised lips, tracing the shape of his mouth with it.

Uzair breath hitched , his chest locking in place as he stared up at the possessiveness written across hamza face. The closeness and the wet friction against Hamza lips sent a shudder through Uzair frame, making him growl out in helpless surrender in the quiet space of the room.

The slow friction against Hamza lips is the breaking point for Uzair.

With a sudden, violent surge of movement, Uzair hands tightened in Hamza long, dark waves. He didn't let hamza pull back a millimeter. Grunting heavily from the depths of his chest, Uzair guided Hamza head back down, his hips arching up from the rumpled mattress to plunge deep into the wet warmth of Hamza mouth.

" rounak… haanh…" Uzair groaned out,

Hamza let out a muffled, whimper against the heat, his throat tightening instinctively around the depth of the intrusion. His hazel-green eyes fluttered shut, his eyelashes wet with a fresh gloss of tears as he surrendered to the demanding rhythm Uzair is forcing upon him. Hamza fingers clawed frantically into the sheets beside Uzair thighs, his body trembling from the sheer weight and power of the Sardar movements.

Uzair chest heaved under the strain, the scars across his shoulders glistening with sweat in the dim light of the guest room. Uzair tangled in Hamza hair, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as the pleasure pushed him past the control.

With one deep thrust, Uzair entire body went rigid. A loud, guttural cry tore from his throat—"Ahhh… Hamza!"—as his grip in the hamza hair tightened, releasing everything into the warmth of Hamza mouth, shattering the last lingering remnants of the lonely year behind them.

Hamza slowly lifted his head, his chest heaving as he gasped for the cool air of the room. His long, wavy hair hung wildly around his flushed face, and his hazel-green eyes were heavy-lidded and blown out with desire. Raising the back of his trembling hand, he slowly wiped his bruised, swollen lips, a faint smear of white fluid glistening against his skin and leaking down from the corner of his mouth.

He didn't pull away. The fire inside him is far from extinguished. Shifting his weight with a grace, Hamza moved back up Uzair frame, straddling the Sardar thighs once again.

Sitting high on his lap, Hamza leaned forward, his hands sliding over Uzair chest. He began caressing his husband entire body, his fingertips tracing the rugged lines of the scars that mapped Uzair skin, reminding them both of everything they had survived to reach this moment.

With his gaze locked onto Uzair eyes, Hamza reached down between their bodies. His fingers wrapped around Uzair length, which is already hardening again in the heat of their embrace. Slowly Hamza began to rub the length against his own aching entrance, tracing the sensitive contours of his hole without letting it slide inside just yet.

A shudder ran straight through Uzair torso, He let out a low, gravelly groan—"Uff… Hamza…"—his hands flying to lock onto hamza hips, his fingers digging into the flesh to hold him still as the maddening, wet friction threatened to push them both over the edge all over again.

Hamza tilted his head back, his hair spilling over his shoulders as he braced his hands firmly against Uzair chest he lowered his hips, guiding Uzair thick length into his tight, burning warmth.

The moment the friction took hold, a sharp, breathless cry tore from Hamza’s throat—"Ahhh… Uzair…"—his hazel-green eyes squeezing shut as tears spilled over his flushed cheeks.

The sensation of being filled after a year of agonizing separation is overwhelming, a beautiful torture that made his entire body tremble. He stayed perfectly still for a long moment, stretched to his limit, his fingers clawing desperately into the muscles of Uzair shoulders as a continuous, soft whimper vibrated in his throat.

Uzair let out a growl from the depths of his chest, his hands locking onto Hamza bare waist with a grip. as he anchored hamza down, his eyes staring up at Hamza weeping, exquisite face with a mixture of reverence and hunger, waiting for his rounak to adjust to the fullness.

Uzair hands slid down from Hamza waist, his palms burning hot against the hamza flushed skin. With a grunt, Uzair wrapped his fingers around the plush, full curves of Hamza ass, squeezing the soft flesh that forced Hamza down deeper onto his length.

"Uff……" Uzair groaned out, fullness of the connection locked them together.

The sudden, intense pressure made Hamza shriek softly—" Uzair…"—his back arching like a bow as he settled into Uzair lap.

Without losing a single beat of the rhythm, Uzair shifted his hold. While one hand stayed anchored on the back of Hamza ass, pushing and guiding his hips to maintain the friction, his other hand traveled up Hamza torso. His fingers found Hamza hardened, sensitive nipple, pinching and squeezing it down firmly.

"Ah…Haaahn… please…" Hamza wept, his long, wavy hair tossing wildly as the assault on his body shattered his senses. The friction from below combined with the sharp pleasure from Uzair fingers left him unraveled, his fingers clawing frantically into the Sardar shoulders as he began to move his hips in a desperate, non-stop rhythm.

The dam of a year worth of agony, loneliness, and suffocating distance broke. Hamza didn't wait another second. Gripping Uzair shoulders for leverage, he began to bounce on the rigid length, his movements frantic and uncontrolled.

" Uzair... jaan... haaahn!" Hamza shrieked out, his voice cracking with a sob.

He was crying, the tears streaming down his flushed cheeks and dripping onto Uzair bare chest. Every single downward drop is deep and punishingly full, driving the thick length into his tight, burning warmth until they crashed together with a wet friction. After twelve months of pure hell, of looking at each other across crowded rooms like strangers, he is finally here. He was finally taking the man who belonged only to him.

"... Hamza...... rounak..." Uzair growled out, a gravelly grunt ripping from his throat as the relentless, rapid bouncing pushed his restraint to the limit.

Uzair hands dug bruisingly hard into the soft flesh of Hamza ass and hips, trying to anchor the wild, weeping Prince, but Hamza refused to stop. He threw his head back, his long, wavy hair flying wildly around his face as a non-stop string of high-pitched, desperate moans filled the locked room. He bounced faster, chasing the friction, desperate to lose himself in the consuming heat of his husband lap before the morning light could tear them apart again.

With a surge of muscle, Uzair hauled his upper body up from the mattress, sitting upright in the middle of the bed. He brought his frame face-to-face with the weeping prince, the sudden shift in position driving his length even deeper into Hamza's tight, burning core.

Hamza let out a choked, breathless gasp ""Ahhh! Uzair…"—his hands flying instinctively to clamp onto Uzair shoulders as the fullness overwhelmed him.

Uzair didn't let him pause. Reaching out with his hands, he locked an grip around the plush curves of Hamza ass and the sides of his hips. Holding him securely, Uzair took control of the momentum. He began pulling Hamza down and lifting him up in a rhythm, forcing the prince to bounce relentlessly on the rigid steel beneath him.

"rounak…," Uzair growled against Hamza lips,

The wet friction echoed through the locked room as Uzair drove him up and down at a punishing pace. Hamza is entirely unraveled, his body trembling as he crashed down onto Uzair lap again and again. His hazel-green eyes were wide, wet with tears, staring directly into Uzair burning gaze as a non-stop string of breathless moans—"Aaaah… haanh… Uzair!"—filled the space between them, marking the surrender of their bodies to the dark hours of the night.

The frame of the wooden bed groaned and slid an inch against the floorboards as Uzair suddenly shifted his weight. In one explosive, motion, he flipped Hamza flat onto his back, pinning his shoulders deep into the rumpled mattress.

Without giving Hamza even a second to catch his breath, Uzair hooked his hands under Hamza knees, driving them high up toward his chest to open him. He leaned down, his sweat-glistening chest pressing against Hamza torso, and began thrusting at a wild pace.

"Ahhh! Uzair! —hahn!" Hamza shrieked out, his head tossing across the pillows as his waves tangled in a wild mess around his face.

Every single driving thrust from the Sardar is punishingly deep, hitting every sensitive spot with a brutal accuracy that shattered Hamza senses. the entire bed began to move rhythmically against the wall, the wood thudding in time with the wet, frantic friction of their skin.

Uzair is animalistic now, his restraint thoroughly burnt away by the year of distance. A continuous, low, guttural growl vibrated in his chest with every plunge, His fingers dug bruisingly hard into the soft flesh of Hamza thighs, anchoring him to the mattress as he drove them both closer to the edge of the night.

The thud of the wooden bedstead against the wall grew faster, a relentless, primitive rhythm that echoed through the room. Uzair is blind to everything but the tight, consuming heat of hamza beneath him. He drove forward with a force his sweat dripping directly onto Hamza chest.

"Ahhh! Uzair… bas… jaan… haanh!" Hamza shrieked out, his head thrashing from side to side against the pillows. His voice is broken, a beautiful, ruined sound as his long hair waves wrapped around his neck. His fingers clawed frantically into Uzair back, his nails leaving red marks across the Sardar skin. "Marr jaonga… Uzair… dhire... ahhh!"

Uzair chest heaved, a low, animalistic growl ripping from his throat as he hit that deepest, most sensitive spot again and again without mercy. Hearing his prince beg in their shared tongue only added fuel to the raging fire in his veins.

"Nahi chhorunga…" Uzair snarled out, his voice thick, gravelly, and entirely ruined by the pleasure. He leaned down, his rough stubble scraping brutally against Hamza jaw as he whispered right into his ear, "Ek saal… ek saal tadpaya hai tumne mujhe, rounak. Aaj poora raat tumhein mera banna padega."

With a grunt, Uzair gripped Hamza hips even harder, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh to anchor him down as he delivered three devastatingly hard, rapid thrusts.

"… aaaah! Uzair !" Hamza cried out, his hazel-green eyes rolling back as his entire body went rigid. The sheer friction is too much, his toes curling into the sheets as his hips jerked upward instinctively, helpless under the crushing power of his husband possession.

The frantic momentum inside the locked room reached an peak. The wooden headboard rattled against the wall as Uzair maintained his punishing, wild pace, his heavy thrusts driving Hamza higher and higher up the mattress with every deep, wet collision.

"Uzair... khuda ke liye... haanh! Khuda ke liye bas kijiye..." Hamza wept out, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His legs, hooked high over the Sardar shoulders, are trembling uncontrollably. He was entirely spent, his body unraveled by the force of Uzair year-long hunger. "Main... main toot jaonga... ahhh!"

Uzair eyes burned down into Hamza flushed, tear-stained face, entirely devoid of any intention to slow down. The sight of his rounak broken beneath him, begging in that soft, ruined voice, only drove him deeper into madness.

"Toot jao... mere andar toot jao, rounak,"Uzair growled out, a thick, guttural grunt ripping from his chest as his hips slammed forward with an even more desperate,

"Tumhein jodne wala bhi main hi hoon. Tum sirf mere ho... sirf mere."

With a final, explosive surge of possessiveness, Uzair reached down, his hand locking around Hamza throat not to choke, but to anchor him flat against the bed. He delivered several deep, heavy, and frantic plunges, hitting the very depths of Hamza burning core until the entire bed shifted violently.

"Ahhh! Uzair! jaan!" Hamza shrieked, his eyes blowing wide as his entire frame went stark rigid.

A uncontrollable shudder ran through Uzair torso. A loud, animalistic roar tore from his throat—"Hamza!"—as his grip on hamza hips tightened to a bruising vice. He locked his hips flat against Hamza lap, releasing his blinding heat deep inside the tight warmth, drowning them both in the surrender of the night.

Hamza entire body spasmed beneath Uzair crushing weight, a long, uncontrollable tremor rippling from his toes straight up his spine. His chest heaved in sharp, irregular gasps as he tried to catch his breath, his throat clicking with soft, involuntary whimpers.

The intensity of Uzair release, combined with the warmth flooding deep inside him, is too much for his senses to bear. His fingers, still tangled desperately in the bedsheets, slowly lost their grip, his arms falling limply onto the pillows on either side of his head.

"Uff... Uzair..." Hamza breathed out, his voice a barely audible, broken whisper against the room. He couldn't move a single muscle; his legs, still draped weakly over Uzair shoulders, shook with aftershocks, his thighs twitching against the rough hair of the Sardar arms. tears continued to leak from the corners of his tightly closed eyes, tracking through the sweat on his temples.

Uzair remained still for a long moment, his chest expanding and contracting heavily against Hamza bare torso as his own breathing slowly regulated. The madness of their collision is settling, leaving only the heat of their shared skin.

Slowly, with a deep sigh, Uzair eased his weight off hamza, shifting down to lie flat beside him on the ruined sheets. He didn't break the closeness. Reaching out with a arm, he hauled Hamza trembling body against his side, burying his face into the damp, dark waves of hamza hair as they both lay spent in the quiet before the dawn.

Hamza chest heavily heaved against Uzair side, the raw exhaustion of the past year breaking through the physical haze of their passion. He turned his face into the tear-soaked pillow, a bitter, broken sob ripping from the depths of his throat.

"Aap kisi ke nahi ho sakte... kisi ke nahi..." Hamza wept out, his voice cracking with all the pain and insecurity he had carried through those long, lonely months. "Aap sirf... sirf rasta badalna jaante hain..."

The words cut straight through Uzair. Seeing his proud prince reduced to such fragile, weeping pieces in his bed made a fierce wave of protectiveness surge through the Sardar chest.

Without a word, Uzair shifted his frame, pulling Hamza trembling body into his arms. He hauled him close until Hamza back is pressed securely against his broad chest, trapping the prince in an embrace. Tightening his grip around Hamza waist, Uzair leaned forward, burying his face in the damp waves of Hamza hair before pressing a long kiss right onto his burning forehead.

"Bass... shh... rounak, bas kijiye," Uzair murmured, as his rough stubble scraped softly against Hamza skin. He kissed his forehead again, lingering there as if trying to pour his very soul into the prince. "Galat keh rahe hain tum. Yeh jaan, yeh tann... sab kuch tumhara hai. Uzair agar kisi ka hai, toh wo sirf Hamza ka hai."

The words hit the room like a sudden, freezing draft. Hamza entire body went rigid in Uzair arms, a gasp catching in his throat before a fresh wave of bitter tears spilled over his cheeks. He tried to wrench himself out of the Sardar tight hold, his elbows digging into Uzair chest as he fought to create distance.

"Kal aapka firse nikah hai!" Hamza cried out, his voice turning into a broken, unraveled shriek that cracked under the weight of his agony. " Kisi aur ko apna kahenge! Fir kis muh se keh rahe hain ki aap mere hain, Uzair?!"

He wept , his long, dark waves tossing wildly as he struggled against the grip. The realization of the coming dawn—and the reality of the political nightmare waiting for them outside this locked guest room—is tearing him apart from the inside out.

Uzair didn't let him go. No matter how hard Hamza fought, Uzair arms tightened around his waist, trapping him securely against his chest He leaned down, pressing his forehead against the back of Hamza neck,

"Nikah sirf ek hi baar hua tha, aur wo tumse hua tha, rounak," Uzair muttered, his breath burning against Hamza damp skin. He turned Hamza around by force until he could look into the hamza weeping, hazel-green eyes. "Kal sirf ek tamasha hai duniya ke liye. Par is dil mein, is jaan mein... tumhare alawa koi aur kabhi kadam nahi rakh sakta. Suna tumne?"

Hamza froze, his eyelashes heavy with tears as he stared up at Uzair.

"Matlab... matlab woh Gurbaaz... fir woh kaun hain? Aur aapka nikah jo subha..." Hamza stammered, his lips parting in utter confusion. He looked so lost, his hazel-green eyes blinking rapidly through his tears,

Uzair let out a sudden, deep rumble of laughter. The booming, rugged sound vibrated heavily against Hamza chest as the Sardar shook his head,

"Bhabi ka plan tha yeh sab, aur tum usme phans gaye, meri jaan," Uzair chuckled warmly, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss onto Hamza button nose, unbothered by hamza stunned expression. He wrapped his arms even tighter around Hamza waist, pulling him flush against his chest. "Aur Gurbaaz? Woh mera bohot purana dost hai... mera best friend hai."

Hamza sat there in silence, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in. All those burning jealousy, the sleepless nights, and the terror of losing his husband to another—all of it had been an elaborate, carefully orchestrated trap by his own sister-in-law to finally force the stubborn hamza back into Uzair arms.

Hamza jaw dropped, a perfect mix of shock and betrayal washing over his flushed face. The realization that he had been played like a fiddle by his own family and his husband made his blood run hot, even as the last of his anxious tears spilled over his cheeks.

"Matlab... matlab aap log sab mile huye hain?!" Hamza sobbed out, his voice a high-pitched wail of pure disbelief.

Before Uzair could even answer, Hamza ball-fisted his hands and began hitting Uzair chest. He isn't using his full strength, but he is furious enough to make his slaps echo in the quiet room. "Main yahan marr raha tha! Ek saal se main thik se soya nahi, aur aap... aap sab baith kar tamasha dekh rahe the!"

Uzair didn't even flinch. He just lay there, a teasing smirk plastered across his face as he took the weak blows to his chest. The relief of having his dramatic, fiery husband back in his arms is worth a few angry punches.

With a low chuckle, Uzair caught both of Hamza wrists in one of his hands, pinning them securely against his chest. With his free arm, he hooked Hamza waist and dragged him up until hamza is flat on top of him, their chests locked together.

"Haanh, sab mile huye the," Uzair confessed unshamedly, He leaned up, pressing a firm, reprimanding kiss to Hamza pouting lips. "Aur koi raasta nahi tha tumhein seedha karne ka, rounak. Agar yeh drama nahi hota, toh tum apna us zidd ke sath abhi bhi apne mahal mein baith kar aahaein bhar rahe hote."

Hamza stopped struggling, his fists freezing right against Uzair chest as the Sardar words echoed in his ears. His hazel-green eyes blinked once, twice, the utter absurdity of what he is hearing completely halting his tears.

"Kal humara nikah hain firse..." Uzair murmured, his thumb gently wiped away a stray tear from Hamza flushed cheek. "Aur kitne buddhu ho tum... haan? Yeh bhi nahi jata paya ki humara talaq hua hi kab tha?"

Hamza lips parted in sheer shock. "Matlab...?"

"Haan yaar," Uzair chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated right through Hamza body. He tightened his grip around hamza waist, pulling him so close their noses almost touched. "Ek saal pehle tumne jo papers sign kiye the, tab main kuch bola nahi. Abb bolta hoon. Tumne wahan kya sign kiya tha? 'Hamza Ali Mazari', right?"

"Lekin meri jaan, wahan 'Hamza Ali Mazari Baloch' sign karna tha. Mera title dena hota tha tumhe," Uzair explained, his grin widening as he thoroughly enjoyed the look of complete, jaw-dropping realization on hamza face. "Tumne poora naam hi nahi likha. Toh woh kaghaz khali tukda hain. Humara talaq kabhi hua hi nahi, rounak. Tum tab bhi mere the, aur aaj bhi mere hi ho."

Hamza mouth fell wide open, as the weight of his own stupidity hit him. For twelve whole months, he had been mourning his broken marriage, crying himself to sleep, and rewriting his entire life, all because he couldn't even sign a divorce paper correctly.

"Aap... aapne mujhe bataya kyun nahi?!" Hamza suddenly shrieked, his face turning a brilliant shade of crimson as he began hitting Uzair chest all over again, harder this time. "Main ek saal se ro raha hoon! Meri jaan nikal gaya tha yeh soch kar ki aap kisi aur ke ho gaye! Aur aapne... aapne sirf ek surname ki wajah se sab chupa kar rakha?!"

Uzair just laughed out loud, He easily weathered the barrage of slaps, his hands wrapping around Hamza waist to lift him up slightly and flip him flat onto his back beneath him once again.

"Agar bata deta, toh tumhara yeh zidd kaise toot-ti, rounak?" Uzair growled playfully, trapping Hamza beneath his frame, "Chalo, ab saari shikaayatein khatam karo. Kal subha poora duniya ke samne tumhe firse mera banna hai... is baar sahi signature ke sath."

Hamza let out a soft, defeated whine, hiding his burning face in Uzair neck, his arms instinctively locking around the Sardar shoulders. The anger is fading fast, washed away by the relief that he is, and always had been, safe in his husband arms.

Uzair shifted his weight, leaning down until his lips were brushing the soft skin of Hamza neck,

"Mera rounak ab kafi khul gaya hai mere saath... hmmm?" Uzair teased, He nipped playfully at Hamza earlobe, his hand sliding down to give the plush curve of his ass a squeeze. "Kya kiya abhi tumne... hmmm?"

Hamza face turned an even deeper shade of crimson. He tried to turn his head away, burying his burning cheeks into the crook of Uzair neck to hide, but there is nowhere to run. his own hands instinctively gripping the muscles of Uzair shoulders.

"Uzair... bas kijiye na," Hamza whined softly, his voice a breathless, flustered murmur as he tightened his legs around Uzair hips, "Aap... aap bohot bure hain."

Uzair let out another low, rumbling chuckle, thoroughly enjoying how easily he could make his hamza fluster. He didn't let Hamza hide for long; using his chin, he nudged Hamza face up, forcing those wide, hazel-green eyes to look directly into his own burning gaze.

"Bura hoon? Achha, toh abhi thodi der pehle jo tum 'Uzair chilla rahe the, woh kisi bade acche aadmi ke liye tha?" Uzair teased mercilessly, a wicked, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "Tumne toh poore mahal ko jaga diya tha, rounak. Itna mohabbat... aur kehte ho main bura hoon?"

"Uzair! Khuda ke liye chup ho jaiye!" Hamza gasped out, his hands flying up to cover Uzair mouth, though his fingers is trembling. "Koi... koi sun lega! Bahar pehre-daar hain!"

Uzair simply bit the fleshy palm of Hamza hand playfully, making hamza hiss and yank his hand back in shock.

"Sunte hain toh sun-ne do," Uzair growled softly, his tone suddenly shifting from teasing to a seriousness that made Hamza breath hitch. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Hamza his eyes locking onto hamza lips. "Sabko pata chalna ki Baloch ka haq kahan hai. Kal subha ka nikah toh sirf ek rasm hai, rounak... tumne jo abhi mere sath kiya hai, asal qubool hai toh woh tha."

The playful aura in the room vanished in an instant, replaced by a silence. Uzair shoulders suddenly trembled, and tear fell straight onto Hamza cheek.

Hamza froze, his heart skipping a beat as he looked up.

"Jaan..." Uzair choked out, his voice breaking. He reached out, his hands trembling as he took both of Hamza slender hands into his own, pressing them tightly against his heaving chest. "Hamza..."

Hamza hummed softly, his hazel-green eyes widening with a mixture of shock and deep, aching sorrow. He had never seen this man break down like this.

"Maaf kardo..." Uzair sobbed, the tears tracking through his rough stubble as he looked down at hamza "Ek saal pehle jo kiya tha maine tumhare saath... woh zabardasti... main kabhi apne aap ko maaf nahi kar paya, rounak. Mere paas tumhein chune ka bhi haq nahi hai... main nahi deta yeh haq khudko, jab tak tum khud nahi chahte."

The memory of a year ago—the anger, the forceful possession that had driven them apart—loomed between them. Uzair grip on Hamza hands is tight, desperate, as if he were a man begging for his life at the gallows, throwing his pride at the feet of the prince he loved to madness.

Hamza heart shattered at the sight of Uzair tears. All the lingering anger, the pain, and the bitter memories of that day a year ago melted away, replaced by an overwhelming wave of pure love and forgiveness.

Slowly, gently, Hamza freed his hands from Uzair grip and reached up, his fingers cradling Uzair face. He used his thumbs to wipe away the tears falling from his husband eyes.

"Uzair... mere taraf dekhiye,"Hamza whispered, his own voice cracking with emotion as he forced Uzair to look at him. He pulled himself up slightly, pressing his forehead against Uzair letting their breaths mingle in the quiet room. "Maine aapko bohot pehle hi maaf kar diya tha. Agar maaf nahi kiya hota, toh kya aaj main aapke paas aata? Kya khud ko aapke hawale karta?"

Hamza took one of Uzair hands and placed it flat over his own beating heart, holding it there firmly.

"Yeh haq kisi aur ka nahi hai, Uzair. Yeh aapka tha, aapka hai, aur hamesha aapka hi rahega," Hamza said softly, his hazel-green eyes shining with surrender. "Aapne mere sath zabardasti nahi ki... aaj jo kuch bhi hua, wo meri marzi se hua hai. Maine haq diya hai aapko. Ab aap khud ko saza dena band kijiye, jaan-e-mann."

Uzair let out a breath, the burden he had carried for twelve months lifting off his chest. Hearing those words from Hamza—feeling the steady, frantic beat of hamza heart right beneath his palm—shattered the last of his restraint.

He didn't speak. Instead, Uzair buried his face into the crook of Hamza neck,

"Rounak... Meri jaan..." Uzair muttered into his skin, his voice thick and broken with gratitude.

Hamza smiled through his own fresh tears, his arms wrapping securely around Uzair shoulders, his fingers tangling in the thick hair at the back of the Sardar neck. He held him close, rocking him gently in the quiet dark of the room, letting the steady rhythm of their breathing heal the deep wounds of the past.

"Bas... ab rona band kijiye," Hamza whispered tenderly, a soft, teasing lilt returning to his voice as he stroked Uzair back. "Subha hamara nikah hai, Sardar ji. Agar dulha aisi suji hui aankhon ke sath baith gaya, toh log kya kahenge?"

Uzair let out a wet, breathless chuckle against Hamza skin. He slowly pulled back, his eyes still glistening but now burning with a warmth. He looked down at Hamza beautiful, flushed face, a slow smirk finally tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Logon ki parwah kab se karne lage tum?" Uzair growled softly, "Aur agar aankhein suji hui hain... toh poora raat baqi hai, rounak. Thoda aur ro lene do mujhe... tumhare baahon mein."

Hamza let out a soft gasp as Uzair weight shifted over him once more,

"Uzair... abhi toh aap ro rahe the," Hamza whispered, his voice trembling slightly as he looked up into his husband eyes. He tried to sound strict, but his fingers are already curling into the muscles of Uzair shoulders betraying him. "Aap bilkul nahi badle... bade chalak hain aap."

"Tumhare samne sab chalaakiyaan khatam ho jaata hain, rounak," Uzair growled softly, He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of Hamza ear before trailing a path of kisses down the sensitive line of his jaw. "Ek saal ka hisaab dena hai tumhein... lagta hai itna jaldi chhor dunga?"

Hamza eyes fluttered closed, a low whimper escaping his lips as Uzair hands slid down his sides, gripping his hips with a bruising familiarity. The sheer possessiveness in the Sardar touch made Hamza entire body ache for him all over again, the lingering exhaustion of their previous encounter forgotten.

"Toh... toh fir subha ke nikah ka kya hoga?" Hamza breathed out, his chest heaving as Uzair tilted his chin up, sealing their lips in a bruising kiss that tasted of salt, tears, and surrender.

When Uzair pulled back, his breath is coming in ragged gasps, "Nikah hota rahega, mera jaan... pehle mujhe apna haq poora karne do....."

#hamza x uzair #hamza ali mazari #uzair baloch #dhurandhar #rehman x ulfat #ao3 #angest #dhurandhar 2 #dhurandhar revenge #hamzair #dhurandhar fanfiction #dhurandhar fanfic #dhurandar the revenge #dhuranandar2 #dhurandar fandom

Hello author

Are u taking requests?

I had a request basically a class difference fiction. So like you can switch the roles.

Like uzair belongs to this wealthy family and hamza works as his househelp so hamza and him has a age difference of ten years and hamza comes to lyari with his child who he has without marriage so for survival they come here and slowly the fall in love and uzair is being pressured to marry someone of wealthy family so they find a groom who is like total opposite of hamza like docile and pure and uziar wants to marry him but then rehman bhai says if u marry hamza he would remove him from will which consist of factory which uzair has worked very hard on and also belongs to uzair father so now he has difficult choices to make.

So I have been reading your fic from start. I love how u do the feelings and angst. Please, it would be so great if you could take it up

I am interested in it how many of you let me know and if someone wanna share anything with me you can do it so and how many of you want bottom Uzair or bottom hamza vote for it I will do it accroding to it and first thing there will to many songs in it and my high voltage drama 🤚💗😘

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 12

Aap toh raat ko waise bhi kafi thak gaye the.

The words echoed in Hamza ears like a bomb going off in a closed vault. He sat frozen, his gaze glued to that plum-colored bruise on Gurbaaz neck. Every memory of his own time in that bedroom—every time Uzair hands had pinned him down, every time those rough lips had left identical, burning marks on his own collarbone—flashed before his eyes like a cruel, mocking slideshow.

And now, this stranger from India is sitting here, feeding Uzair, wearing Uzair mark, and talking about how "tired" Uzair is from the night.

Hamza hands began to shake that the silverware on his empty plate began to rattle. A wave of rage rushed from the depths of his chest straight to his head, burning away the last remaining shred of his pride, his dignity, and his carefully constructed composure.

Clank!

Hamza slammed his palms down onto the table, standing up so fast his heavy dining chair flew backward, crashing loudly against the marble floor.

"Bas!" Hamza shrieked, his voice cracking, entirely stripped of its usual refined, soft cadence. It's a scream of jealousy that echoed off the high ceilings of the haveli.

The entire dining room went dead silent. Ulfat hid her face behind her napkin to conceal the grin spreading across her lips. Rehman calmly took a sip of his tea, while Gurbaaz instantly froze, keeping his eyes wide and innocent, though his heart is secretly cheering.

But Uzair—Uzair looked up, his eyes wide with a desperate hope as he stared at his wild trembling hamza.

Hamza isn't looking at Ulfat. He isn't looking at Gurbaaz. His burning, tear-filled, hazel-green eyes were locked entirely onto Uzair. He is breathing in short, ragged gasps,

"tum..." Hamza choked out, pointing a trembling, accusing finger directly at Uzair face, ignoring all family protocol. "Tumne... tumne use mere kamre mein rehne diya? Tumne use apne paas bithaya?! Aur yeh..." He gestured toward Gurbaaz neck, his voice trembling with a furious agony. "Yeh sab kya hai, Uzair Baloch?! Tumhara himmat kaise hua kisi aur ko haath lagane ki?!"

Uzair heart gave a thud. He began to push his chair back to stand up, his lips parting to speak, but Hamza didn't give him the chance.

Driven insane by the silence, Hamza took a sharp step around the table, storming straight toward them. He grabbed Gurbaaz by the shoulder, his fingers digging in with a strength, and violently shoved his rival away from Uzair side.

"Utho yahan se!" Hamza yelled right into Gurbaaz face, his tears overflowing and racing down his flushed cheeks. "Yeh tumhara shohar nahi hai! Yeh tumhara kamra nahi hai! Yeh mard... yeh jagah... yeh sab kuch mera hai! Tumhare paas India ka passport hai na? Toh dafa ho jao yahan se wapas! Chale jao mere ghar se!"

The words hung in the air of the dining hall, vibrating with the force of a year's worth of suppressed love and bleeding jealousy.

Yeh mard... yeh jagah... yeh sab kuch mera hai!

Then, the finality of the silence hit him. Hamza fingers slowly loosened their desperate, grip on Gurbaaz. His hand dropped to his side, heavy as lead. He looked around the room, and the sudden, freezing realization of what he had just done—what he had just screamed in front of the entire Baloch family—crashed down on his sanity.

He had completely stripped away his Mazari armor. He had stood in the middle of Lyari and thrown a tantrum over a man who had divorced him. He had laid his entire, bleeding heart bare on the dining table for everyone to see.

Hamza eyes widened in horror. The burning crimson on his cheeks instantly drained away, leaving him a deathly pale. He took a step backward, his breath catching in his throat as he looked at Gurbaaz, knowing look, and then at Ulfat, whose eyes were glittering with victory.

Finally, his gaze landed on Uzair.

Uzair had already stood up, his frame casting a long shadow over the table. But he wasn't angry. He isn't looking at Hamza with the distance of a stranger. His eyes are wide, his hands trembling at his sides as if he is trying to restrain himself from leaping across the short distance between them.

"Hamza..." Uzair rasped, his voice a deep, rough vibration that carried the weight of a man who had just been handed his soul back.

"Nahi," Hamza choked out, a fresh wave of humiliation flooding his chest. He shook his head wildly, his hands flying to his face as a sob escaped his lips. "Nahi... main... mujhe maaf kar dein. Mujhse ghalti hui. Main ja raha hoon."

He couldn't stay here for another second. The weight of his own confession is crushing him. Turning on his heel, Hamza didn't just walk—he fled, his kurta fluttering behind him as he ran blindly out of the dining hall, heading straight toward the front courtyard of the haveli to escape the suffocating walls.

But the moment Hamza feet hit the veranda steps, Uzair didn't care about Ulfat plan anymore. He didn't care about promises, protocol, or the fake mark on Gurbaaz neck.

"Hamza!" Uzair roared, a sound that shook the very foundation of the courtyard. He sprinted out of the dining room, his boots thundering against the marble as he gave chase after his fleeing prince.

Inside the dining hall, the echo of Uzair thundering boots had barely faded before the tension broke

Gurbaaz let out a long, low whistle, reaching up to rub the back of his neck where Hamza fingers had just been digging in. A grin split across his face. "Yaar, bhabhi... sach mein, bacha toh darr gaya. Par kya acting ki hai maine! Ek dam real jaisi jalan dikhayi hai bhabhi humare hamza bhai ne!"

Rehman stepped out toward the veranda doors, watching the distant figures of his younger brother and the Quetta prince in the sprawling courtyard. Uzair had reached Hamza, his arms wrapping tightly around the smaller man waist from behind, pinning him to his chest while Hamza thrashed and sobbed against the restraint.

"Uzair toh toot gaya hai," Rehman murmured, shaking his head with a quiet sigh of relief. "Woh ab zyada der door nahi reh payega, Ulfat. Woh sach batane hi wala hai use."

"Nahi batayega!" Ulfat voice cut through the room,

She walked over to the edge of the dining table, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched the dramatic struggle unfolding outside. Her eyes were calculating, focused on the endgame. She knew Hamza Ali Mazari far better than the men did. She knew that right now, Hamza is reacting out of shock. The moment he went back into a room and his pride reassembled itself, he would construct a defensive wall so high that Uzair would never pierce it again.

"Lagta hai itna jaldi nahi manega," Ulfat said, a smirk returning to her lips as she turned back to face Rehman and Gurbaaz. "Abhi toh sirf iska ghuroor hila hai. Agar abhi Uzair ne ise sach bata diya, toh Hamza phir se zidd par add jayega ke tum sab ne mera mazaak udaya. Yeh baat ko nikaah tak le jana hi padega!"

Gurbaaz eyes widened, a sudden laugh bursting from his throat. "Oye hoye! Bhabhi... matlab aap sach mein mere saath iska nikaah padhwayengi? Meri mummy toh dhoondti reh jayegi Punjab mein dulhan!"

"Nikaah hoga... par nikaah ke mandap par dulha badal jayega," Ulfat whispered, She leaned forward, pinning Gurbaaz with a look. "Gurbaaz, tum maulvi sahab ke saamne baithoge. Kapde badal kar, sehra pehan kar. Aur nikaah se thandak pehle, jab Hamza ka dil poori tarah phatne wala hoga... tab Uzair tumhara jagah baithega."

She turned back to the window, watching Uzair forcefully lifting a weeping, struggling Hamza into his arms to carry him back toward the privacy of the guest wing.

"Iske paas koi rasta nahi chhorna," Ulfat murmured. "Ise nikaah ki dahliz par khada kar ke poori duniya ka samna karne par majboor karenge. Tabhi yeh mere bhai ka hath hamesha ke liye thamega."

The bright morning sun was blinding, but Hamza couldn't see any of it. His vision is blurred by stinging tears as he fought like a wild animal against the arms wrapped around his waist.

"Chhorho mujhe! Haath mat lagao mujhe, Uzair!" Hamza shrieked, He kicked, he thrashed, his elbows striking against Uzair chest, but it was like fighting a stone mountain.

Uzair didn't say a single word. He couldn't let him go. If he let him go now, Hamza would run straight out of the Lyari gates and vanish into the dust of Balochistan forever.

With a single, effortless heave, Uzair shifted his weight, hooking his arm under Hamza knees and lifting the prince off his feet. Hamza gasped, his hands instantly flying to Uzair shoulders for balance despite his fury. He beat his fists against Uzair chest, sobbing hysterically as the Sardar strode back up the veranda steps, ignoring the servants who hurriedly looked away in respect.

Uzair kicked the door of the guest suite open, stepped inside the cool, shaded room, and slammed it shut with his boot, locking it from the inside with a click.

The moment his feet touched the floor, Hamza shoved himself away from Uzair, stumbling backward until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He stood there, his kurta wrinkled, his hair chaotic, his chest heaving as he stared at his ex-husband through a thick veil of tears.

"Kyun laye ho mujhe yahan?!" Hamza wept, "Tohfe mein chahiye hoon tumhein?! Ke tum apna nikaah uske saath parho aur main... main yahan baith kar tumhara intezar karoon?! Tum badal gaye ho, Uzair... tum sach mein kisi aur ke ho gaye..."

The words were a dagger straight to Uzair soul. He took a step forward, his frame blocking out the light from the window. The agony of keeping Ulfat secret is burning him alive, but the sight of Hamza pride—the fact that his rounak had just screamed to the world that Uzair belonged to him—sent a thrill through his veins.

Uzair reached out, his hands grabbing Hamza by the upper arms and pulling him forward until their chests slammed together.

"Tumhein lagta hai main kisi aur ka ho sakta hoon?!" Uzair growled, his voice dropping into that deep, terrifyingly low gravelly pitch that used to make Hamza knees go weak. His eyes burned into Hamza hazel ones "Tumne kal raat upar mere kamre ke bahar khade hokar kya suna? Tumhe kya laga... main us larke ke saath...?"

Hamza flinched, his heart stopping as Uzair revealed he knew about his midnight visit. "Tumne use... tumne use apna nishani di hai," Hamza whispered, a fresh sob breaking his voice as he thought of the plum bruise on Gurbaaz neck. "Maine dekha... nashte par..."

Uzair grip on his arms tightened until it was nearly bruising, He couldn't tell him the truth about the makeup—Ulfat warning about the actual Nikaah arrangement is ringing in his head—but he could not let Hamza believe he had been touched by anyone else.

"Suno mera baat," Uzair hissed, leaning down until his lips were mere inches from Hamza trembling mouth, "Is dunya mein koi paida nahi hua jo is Sardar ko haath laga sake. Mere jism par, meri jaan par, aur mere is daagh-daar dil par... sirf ek hi bande ka haq hai. Aur agar tumne abhi bhi apna haq nahi maanga, Hamza...."

Hamza chin tilted up, his blood forcing a shield of icy indifference to freeze over his burning heart. He stared straight up into Uzair eyes, his own hazel-green gaze hardening despite the tear tracks staining his cheeks.

"Kariye jo karna hai," Hamza whispered, "Mujhe kuch nahi kehna aap se. Kuch nahi."

Uzair grip on Hamza arms loosened. He looked down at his rounak, his eyes searching that beautiful face for even a fraction of the wild, screaming passion Hamza had just displayed in the dining hall. But Hamza had withdrawn behind his walls. The sudden silence from the smaller man is terrifying than any tantrum.

Uzair stood entirely quiet for a long,

"Theek hai," Uzair said softly, He stepped backward, his towering frame releasing Hamza from his shadow. "Toh nikaah tak yahin rehna. Nikaah dekh ke tab jaana."

Without waiting for a response, without giving away a single hint of the trap Ulfat is spinning for the altar, Uzair turned on his heel. He strode toward the door, unlocked it with a twist, and walked out, slamming the door shut behind him.

The heavy thud of the door echoed through the room like a final sentence.

Hamza knees gave out. He sank onto the edge of the guest bed, his fingers clutching the cold sheets as he stared blankly at the locked door. Nikaah dekh ke tab jaana. The words repeated in his head, tearing through his remaining sanity. Uzair is actually going through with it. He is going to let Hamza sit in the audience and watch him bind his life to Gurbaaz.

Upstairs, the moment Uzair reached the top of the grand staircase, Ulfat and Gurbaaz were already waiting in the shadows of the corridor.

"Suna tumne?" Ulfat whispered, "Maine kaha tha na... ab yeh ghar se nahi bhaagega. Iska ghuroor ab ise nikaah ke mandap tak kheench kar layega."

Uzair didn't look at either of them. He walked straight past his best friend and his sister-in-law, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "Tayaari karo, Bhabhi," Uzair growled, "Maulvi ko bulao. Kapde tayaar karo. Mujhe yeh tamasha ab do din mein khatam chahiye."

The door stayed shut, but the silence it left behind was a mocking, living thing.

Hamza collapsed onto the sheets of the guest bed, curling into a tight ball as the dam inside him broke. A sob ripped from his throat, muffled only by the unfamiliar velvet pillow he pressed desperately against his face.

His husband.

The thought clawed at his chest, drawing blood from his heart. No matter what papers had been signed in a moment of pride, no matter what daggers they had thrown at each other in the dust of Lyari, Uzair is his husband. The Sardar belonged to Hamza. Every line on Uzair palms, the weight of his shadow, the growl of his voice—it's all supposed to be Hamza sanctuary.

"Mera hai..." Hamza choked out into the dark fabric, his shoulders shaking, his fingers clawing at the mattress. "Woh sirf... sirf mera hai..."

The image of the dark, plum-colored mark on Gurbaaz neck flashed behind his closed eyelids like an unholy branding. It's a visual execution. Uzair touch isn't gentle; it's a consuming, bruising fire. Hamza knew exactly how those marks felt—how they burned into the skin, how they demanded submission, how they stayed for days as a silent testament to who owned him.

To see that exact same mark on another man skin—on a stranger who smiled so softly and glided through the haveli with such unearned confidence—is a humiliation that made Hamza feel like he is dying. Uzair is giving his body away. He is letting someone else feel the heat of that chest, letting someone else claim the intimacy that used to be Hamza entire world.

The thought that those marks, those claims of ownership that belonged only to him, are being painted onto someone else drove Hamza into a state of madness.

He is being erased from the only heart he had ever truly crawled inside.

The entire day dissolved into a blur of suffocating heat and distant, mocking sounds. Outside the doors of the guest wing, the haveli was alive with the low hum of servants moving furniture, the faint rustle of marigold garlands being delivered, and the terrifying, steady ticking of the clock in the courtyard.

Hamza hadn't moved from the bed. He hadn't touched a single drop of water, let alone unpack his clothes. He sat curled up, his knees pulled tightly to his chest, his linen kurta wrinkled and stained with the salt of his endless tears. His hazel-green eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, staring blankly at the wall. The exhaustion of his own grief had slowed his sobs into quiet, occasional tremors that shook his shoulders every few minutes.

Click.

The sharp turn of the key inside the lock cut through the dead silence of the room.

Hamza didn't even turn his head. He remained frozen, expecting Ulfat to come in with another polite dagger, or Gurbaaz to mock him with his soft-spoken grace.

But the footsteps that entered the room were slow, and carried a familiar weight that made the floorboards beneath the rug vibrate.

Uzair stepped into the dim room, shutting the door behind him with his elbow. In his hands, he is holding a silver tray. On it sat a plate of warm, fresh pulao, a bowl of spiced yogurt, and a glass of water. The Sardar face is drained of color, dark shadows under his eyes showing that he hadn't slept a single second either.

Uzair walked over to the bedside table, setting the tray down with a quiet clink. He stood there for a long moment, his frame casting a shadow over the curled-up prince. His chest heaved as he looked down at Hamza face, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces at the sight of the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Khaana khao, Hamza," Uzair rasped, He stepped closer, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, the bed dipping under his weight. "Subah se ek niwaala nahi gaya tumhare andar. Apni jaan nikaloge kya?"

Hamza slowly turned his head, his eyes locking onto Uzair face. He looked at the man who is supposed to be preparing for a wedding tomorrow, the man whose touch belonged to another.

"Kyun aaye ho yahan?" Hamza whispered, He didn't look at the food. "Apne dulhe ke paas jao, Uzair... mujhe bhook nahi hai. Mujhe mere haal par chhorh do."

"Chalo, thoda sa toh khaana padega," Uzair murmured, ignoring Hamza words, Uzair reached down toward the silver tray. His fingers moved with an care as he poured the rich, spiced gravy over the pulao. He mixed a perfect bite of the flavorful pulao with his own hands, ensuring it isn't too hot, before lifting it up.

Uzair leaned closer, his frame enveloping Hamza space, and held the bite against hamza trembling lips.

"Mera sar khane ke liye bhi toh jaan chahiye na?" Uzair whispered, a faint smile touching the corner of his lips. "Chalo, munh kholo."

Hamza stared at the hand holding the food. His heart gave a twist. This is the same hand he believed had left those dark marks on Gurbaaz just hours ago. He wanted to turn his face away, he wanted to slap the plate out of Uzair grip and scream at him to go back to his new love—but the proximity of his husband, the familiar scent radiating from Uzair skin, paralyzed his resistance.

A tear spilled over Hamza lashes and tracked down his cheek. His lips parted just a fraction, a quiet, breath escaping him as he finally gave in, leaning forward to take the bite from Uzair fingers.

The familiar taste of the food did nothing to soothe the burning ache in his chest. As he chewed slowly, his eyes never left Uzair face, searching the features of the Sardar for any sign of regret, any sign that the man standing before him still belonged to him.

Uzair watched him swallow, a sigh of relief escaping his chest. Without a word, he began forming the next bite, his thumb gently brushing away the wet tear from Hamza cheek before bringing the food back to his lips. "Aise hi... chup chaap saara plate khatam karo. Jab tak tum poora nahi khaoge, main is kamre se ek qadam bahar nahi rakhunga."

Hamza took the second bite, but the food felt like ash in his throat. He couldn't chew, he couldn't swallow, and he couldn't take the weight of Uzair gentle touch anymore.

"Achha... kya hua? Itna ro kyun rahe ho?"

The question slipped from Uzair lips, his voice carrying a soft quiet tone as he looked at the fresh tears tracking down his hamza cheeks. He genuinely wanted Hamza to say it. He wanted him to spit the fire out, to scream his right, to shatter the fake wedding before the dawn arrived.

But to Hamza, the question sounded like the mockery. Itna ro kyun rahe ho? As if his heart isn't being torn out of his chest, as if the whole haveli isn't whispering about the Sardar new groom upstairs, as if Uzair hadn't just marked another man skin with his own lips.

Hamza violently turned his head away, refusing the next bite. He brought his hands up to his face, his shoulders shaking as a sob broke through his iron restraint.

"Aap... aap mujhse pooch rahe hain?!" Hamza choked out through his fingers, He dropped his hands, staring up at Uzair with "Mera sab kuch chheen kar... mujhe is andhere kamre mein phenk kar... aap mujhse pooch rahe hain ke main kyun ro raha hoon?!"

He pointed a finger toward the door, toward the upper wing where Gurbaaz is supposed to be.

"Kal aapka nikaah hai, Uzair Baloch! Kal aap kisi aur ke naam ka kalma padhenge! Kisi aur ko us kamre mein lekar aayenge, kisi aur ko... kisi aur ko wahi nishaniyan denge jo sirf mera tha!" Hamza yelled, his voice cracking as his chest heaved. "Aur aap keh rahe hain ke kya hua?! Mera mard mujhse chheen raha hai... aur main ro bhi nahi sakta?!"

Uzair froze, his hand holding the food remaining suspended in mid-air. The bleeding in Hamza scream hit him right in the chest, knocking the breath clean out of his frame. Mera mard. The words echoed through the silent guest suite like thunder.

Uzair slowly set the plate back onto the silver tray, He leaned in closer, his eyes locking onto Hamza flushed, as he set his hands flat on the mattress on either side of the hamza thighs, trapping him. His eyes narrowed into a calculating stare that burned right through Hamza defense.

"Tumhein kisne kaha main tumhara hoon?" Uzair asked, "Humara toh talaq ho chuka hai na?"

Hamza froze.

The breathing in his chest instantly trapped itself in his throat. His lips remained slightly parted, his trembling, tear-stained face locking in a state of sudden paralysis. The words hit him like a bucket of freezing water, washing away the fury of his jealousy and leaving behind the reality of the legal, bitter truth.

Talaq.

The word sounded so ugly, so final, spoken aloud in Uzair voice. It was the very monster Hamza had constructed out of his own pride a year ago. He had signed those papers. He had packed his bags. He had demanded his freedom from the life of Lyari. He had broken the bond with his own hands—and now, the legal cage he had built to protect his pride had turned into an executioner block.

Hamza eyes widened, swimming in a fresh glaze of tears as he stared at his ex-husband. He looked at Uzair lips—the lips that had just reminded him that legally, rightfully, Uzair owed him nothing. Legally, Uzair had every right to marry Gurbaaz tomorrow. Legally, Hamza is nothing but an uninvited stranger crying in a downstairs guest room.

The realization broke something fundamental inside the his bearing. His trembling hands slowly dropped back onto the bed sheets , his fingers curling into the fabric , He had no right to scream. He had no right to throw tantrums. He had thrown his ownership away, and now he is begging for crumbs at the table of a man he had rejected.

Uzair watched the fire in Hamza eyes instantly fracture into a state of pure, helpless devastation. It took every single ounce of the Sardar strength not to rip his own chest open right there to show the prince that the divorce papers were nothing but worthless, burnt ash in his heart.

"Bolo," Uzair whispered "Jab rishta hi tod diya tumne... toh aaj is Sardar ke jism par apna haq kyun jata rahe ho? "

Hamza gaze broke. The defiance in his eyes completely shattered, and he slowly lowered his head, his chin dropping toward his chest.

He didn't say a word. He couldn't.

The weight of the word talaq had effectively choked out whatever desperate arguments were left in his throat. He sat entirely frozen under Uzair shadow, his fingers tightly knotting into the ivory linen of his own kurta. A tear escaped his lashes, dropping silently onto the fabric between his knees, quickly followed by another.

He had no answer. To admit that the divorce is a mistake meant completely burying his pride in the dirt of Lyari. But to agree with Uzair meant accepting that tomorrow morning, he would have to watch the man he loved bind his soul to someone else. Caught between the execution block of his pride and the suicide of his heart, he chose the only defense he had left: weeping silence.

Uzair stared down at the top of Hamza head, watching the silent, rhythm of his shoulders. The defeat radiating from hamza is a physical ache in the Sardar own chest. He had pushed him to the edge, but Hamza pride is still a stubborn, bleeding wall holding him back from making the final confession.

Uzair slowly pulled his hands back from the mattress, his frame straightening up. The distance returned to his features, hiding the desperate love that was tearing him apart from the inside.

"Theek hai," Uzair murmured, "Jab kuch kehne ko bacha hi nahi... toh phir kal subah tayaar rehna. Mera nikaah dekh kar hi tumhara is haveli se safar shuru hoga."

He turned on his heel, his boots making a dull, definitive sound against the rug as he walked toward the door. He didn't look back. He slipped out into the corridor, shutting the door behind him with a sharp click that signaled the arrival of the final, fateful night before the wedding.

The heavy drapes of night fell over Lyari, but the haveli didn't sleep. Instead, the sprawling courtyard and grand halls burst into life. The air grew thick with the scent of burning jasmine incense, rosewater, and the faint, rhythmic beat of a traditional dhol echoing from the outer gates. Guests—prominent Baloch elders, distant cousins, and powerful political allies—had already started pouring through the arched entrance, filling the air with loud greetings and celebratory laughter.

In the center of the main hall, Gurbaaz is the man of the hour. He is dressed in a stunning, heavily embroidered cream-colored sherwani, looking every bit the blushing, soft-spoken groom. He stood close to Uzair and Rehman, politely nodding and shaking hands with the arriving elders. Uzair stood beside him like a mountain of ice, his eyes fixed on the entrance, his mind detached from the chaos around him.

Suddenly, a commotion at the main gates drew everyone's attention. The Mazari guard had arrived.

Walking through the threshold with a commanding, regal stride was Hamza Mamu—the fierce, highly respected chief of the Shirani clan. His graying beard is sharply trimmed, his traditional turban immaculate, and his presence immediately commanded a quiet respect from everyone in the room, including Rehman and Uzair.

From the shadows of the corridor, a broken figure emerged. Hamza hadn't changed into wedding clothes; he was still in a simple, creased kurta, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. The moment his hazel-green eyes landed on his uncle, the last remaining wall of his dignity dissolved into nothing.

"Mamu..." Hamza gasped, his voice cracking like a hurt child's.

Completely ignoring the crowded hall, the watching guests, and the strict protocols of the Mazari family, Hamza practically ran across the marble floor. He threw himself into his uncle's arms, burying his face deep into the older man's heavy wool shawl. His shoulders shook violently as he clung to the Shirani, sobbing quietly, spent from twenty-four hours of torture.

Right now, Hamza isn't a proud prince. He is a helpless child running to his protector. In his mind, he wanted his Mamu to roar at the Baloch family. He wanted this powerful man to scold Uzair, to slap Gurbaaz, and to demand why they were torturing him like this—to tear up this entire wedding with a single command.

"Mamu, inhein rokein... please inhein rokein..." Hamza wept softly into the fabric, his fingers clutching his uncle back.

From across the room, Ulfat stood near the staircase, watching the heartbreaking scene unfold. A soft smile touched her lips. She didn't look angry; she looked like a mother watching the final pieces of a puzzle fall into place.

The Sherani chief slowly raised his ring-adorned hand, gently patting Hamza head. He looked up, his eyes scanning the room until they met Ulfat gaze.

Over the top of Hamza weeping head, Shirani and the tactical matriarch of the Baloch house exchanged a long, silent, and deeply knowing smile. The uncle knew exactly what game is being played. He knew about the stage makeup, he knew about Gurbaaz, and he knew about the altar switch. He had agreed to let his nephew's pride burn a little longer, just so the boy would never run away from his true home again.

"Shh... chup ho jao, mere bache," Shirani murmured softly, as he stroked Hamza hair, keeping the secret safe. "Sab theek ho jayega. Kal subah sab kuch saaf ho jayega."

The courtyard is transformed into a sea of glittering fairy lights, plush carpets, and low velvet diwans. The air was thick with the scent of crushed red roses and burning agarbatti. The Dholki night had officially begun, and the musicians at the center of the gathering struck the harmonium, their voices soaring into the humid night air with a melody that felt like a beautiful, mocking torture.

Hamza sat on a low diwan, sandwiched tightly beside Ulfat. He looked impossibly fragile, his fingers tightly laced together in his lap, his hazel-green eyes fixed staring blankly at the musicians. But his focus isn't on the music. It is drawn, like a magnet to steel, to the diwan directly across the floor.

There sat Uzair, looking like a devastatingly handsome king in a dark shadow-black kurta. And right beside him, practically attached to his side, is Gurbaaz in his cream sherwani.

To the outside world, they looked like the perfect, striking couple. But what made Hamza throat tighten until he could barely breathe was Uzair position. The Sardar arm is thrown over the back of the diwan, his hand resting against Gurbaaz waist, pulling the other man intimately close into his space.

The lead singer closed his eyes, his voice echoing passionately through the speakers:

"Kabhi usey noor noor kehta hoon...

Kabhi main hoor hoor kehta hoon...

Ishq mein choor choor rehta hoon...

Door naa jaa…"

Every single lyric felt like a physical slap to Hamza' face. Ishq mein choor choor rehta hoon. He remembered when Uzair used to whisper those exact, raw words against his own throat in the dark of their bedroom, calling him his light, his noor. And now, Uzair is sitting right there, his hand on another man waist, listening to song as if Hamza didn't even exist in the same universe.

"Na ja aankhon aankhon mein hi rehna...

Aankhon aankhon mein hi rehna...

Aankhon aankhon mein hi rehna..."

As the chorus hit, Uzair suddenly tilted his head. His eyes cut sharply through the crowded courtyard, looking past the guests, past the flowers, until his gaze locked onto Hamza tear-stained face. The intensity in Uzair eyes is suffocating, He didn't break the stare. Even with his hand still resting on Gurbaaz waist, his eyes devouring his prince.

Hamza breath hitched, a soft, broken whimper dying in his throat. He wanted to look away, but he is completely trapped by that gaze.

"Ishq di bajiyan...

Jeetiyan naa haariyan...

Jaan se laag gayin...

Jaan ki yaariyan..."

Beside him, Ulfat gently placed her hand over Hamza freezing fingers, passing another quick, glance over toward the Shirani chief sitting nearby. The trap is fully set, the music is playing, and the madness of love is driving the prince to the exact brink of surrender.

The harmonium swelled, the deep, mournful drone of the strings cutting through the festive chatter of the Lyari courtyard. The lead singer’s voice rose to a shattering crescendo, delivering the verses like a direct judgment upon the two men staring at each other across the crowded floor.

"Gin ke dekh badan pe neel diye hain ishq ne...

Pade jo haath pe chhaale chheel diye hain ishq ne...

Ve main saare dukh sehna, tainu nahi dassna..."

Count them. Count the bruises love has left upon the body.

The lyric struck Hamza like a physical blow. His eyes dropped instantly to Uzair hand, which is still resting against Gurbaaz waist. He thought of the plum-colored mark he had seen on Gurbaaz neck that morning. He thought of his own heart, which felt flayed, covered in unseen, bleeding welts from a year. I will bear every pain, but I won't tell you. That was exactly what he had done. He had stayed silent, he had signed the papers, and now he is drowning in the consequence.

Across the space, Uzair fingers tightened against Gurbaaz side, though his eyes never left Hamza face. The Sardar’s chest heaved. He heard the lyrics, and every single beat of the dhol reminded him of the agony he had endured watching Hamza walk away a year ago. If he had to burn the prince pride to the ground to keep him from ever leaving again, he would do it.

"O laggiyan ishq di baajiyan...

Jeetiyan na haariyan...

Jaan se lag gayin...

Jaan ki yaariyan..."

The guests around them clapped along, completely oblivious to the silent, lethal war being fought through glances. Gurbaaz tilted his head toward Uzair, playing his part beautifully, a soft smile on his lips as if the song were meant for them.

Hamza lower lip trembled. The sight of Uzair gaze, paired with the casual intimacy he is showing the stranger, is stripping the last shred of sanity from his bones.

"Kabhi usey noor noor kehta hoon...

Kabhi main hoor hoor kehta hoon...

Ishq mein choor choor rehta hoon...

Door naa jaa…

Door naa jaa…"

As the final, lingering note of "Door naa jaa" faded into the night air, Hamza abruptly pulled his hand away from Ulfat grasp. He couldn't do this anymore. The music, the lights, the weight of Uzair hand on another man—it's a visual execution he could not survive until morning.

Without a word to his Mamu or Ulfat, Hamza stood up from the velvet diwan, his face a mask of weeping devastation, and fled the courtyard toward the dark, silent corridors of the guest wing.

Watching his prince break and run, Uzair jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. He let his hand drop from Gurbaaz waist, his eyes burning with an uncontrollable impatience.

The door had barely clicked shut behind Hamza before the lock rattled again.

Hamza was buried face-down in the pillows, his shoulders shaking with the breathless sobs he had been holding back through every line of that song. He felt hollowed out, ruined by the image of Uzair hand on another man’s waist.

But the footsteps didn't wait for permission. Uzair strode into the dim guest room, his dark shadow cutting off the light from the corridor as he slammed the door shut behind him. The cool, quiet sanctuary of the room is instantly filled with the scent of tobacco and desperation.

Uzair stood at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving under his black kurta. He looked down at the curled-up, weeping prince,

"Meri rounak..." Uzair rasped, his voice breaking into a rough, agonizing whisper that carried the raw truth of the last twelve months. "Kya hua?"

The endearment—the private, sacred name Uzair used to whisper against his skin when the world outside didn't exist—struck Hamza like a lightning bolt. Meri rounak.

Something inside Hamza's mind snapped entirely. The legal papers, the pride, the fake wedding, the presence of the guests, the crushing humiliation—everything is instantly incinerated by a hot, wild wave of possessiveness.

Hamza pushed himself up from the bed, his hazel-green eyes wide, bloodshot, and manic with jealousy. He didn't say a word. He didn't complain. With the energy of a starving man, Hamza threw himself off the mattress and crashed directly into Uzair chest.

Before Uzair could even breathe, Hamza reached up, his fingers clawing desperately into the collar of Uzair black kurta, and pulled the Sardar down, crashing their lips together in a collision that is more a war than a kiss.

It was a bruising, frantic claim. Hamza tasted the salt of his own tears, his lips moving with a biting fury against Uzair mouth, his teeth catching the Sardar lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. He is marking him back. He is clawing at him, trying to erase the very memory of Gurbaaz, trying to force his way back into the only palace he had ever truly owned.

Uzair let out a growl from the back of his throat—a sound of surrender. He didn't pull back from the bite; instead, his hands flew to Hamza waist, his grip turning to iron as he pinned the smaller man body flush against his chest. He lifted Hamza slightly off his feet, anchoring him down, his mouth responding with an equal, consuming ferocity that threatened to steal the very breath from the hamza lungs.

They crashed onto the mattress together, the frame creaking under Uzair weight as he fell back, taking Hamza down with him. The world outside vanished. The guests, the upcoming dawn, the suffocating rules of the Mazari and Baloch clans—everything is incinerated in the white-hot fire of their reunion.

Hamza didn't waste a single second. Straddling Uzair lap, his fingers are trembling with a desperate urgency as he ripped open the buttons of Uzair black shadow kurta. The fabric parted, revealing the broad muscled chest covered in familiar, rugged scars.

A ragged, broken sob escaped Hamza throat as he buried his face against Uzair neck, his lips biting, kissing, and marking the skin. He is marking his territory, erasing every ghost, reclaiming every inch of the man who belonged only to him. Uzair hands locked onto Hamza waist, his grip bruisingly tight as he arched his chest up into the hamza touch, returning the bruising kisses with a fierce, primal hunger.

Through the open transom window above the veranda doors, the distant, echoing strains of the dholki night drifted down from the rooftop, the singer voice carrying a haunting, soulful weight into the shadowed guest room:

"Tere bin, bin tere sufiyon ke dere...

Dekh maine kitne lagaaye phere adiye...

Ho chhod ke bhi jaana ho toh

Hari bhari bairi tale challa chhad jaayin ni mundya..."

Uzair hands slid up from Hamza waist, tangling deeply into rounak long, chaotic hair, forcing Hamza to tilt his head back. Uzair eyes burned into Hamza tear-blurred hazel ones. There is no mockery left in the Sardar—only a bleeding devotion that had survived a year of pure hell.

"Mera jism... mera jaan... sab tera hai, rounak," Uzair growled against Hamza lips, his breath flaring between them as he pulled him down for another deep, consuming kiss.

"Yaad aa jaaye toh tera naam leke jhoom lun...

Shaam aa jaaye toh uth ke chand ka maatha choom lun...

Ve main sare dukh sehna tainu nahi dassna..."

They lay locked together on the bed, breathless, sweaty, and consumed by each other as the lyrics washed over them. The pain of the past year, the secrets, the endless lonely nights—it all bled into the mattress. Hamza collapsed against Uzair chest, his fingers clutching the torn fabric of the black kurta, his frantic breathing slowing down as he listened to the steady, thundering beat of Uzair heart.

He is home. He is sitting on his husband lap, his lips bruised from their war.......

(Every song have two sides first when you enjoy it second when you realise it that was the first song uzair mind have played when he first see hamza and fall in love)

•18+ Adults Only

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𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 11

Before Hamza could even process the weight in his chest, the sharp, piercing ring of his phone shattered the dead silence of the study. He jumped slightly, his hand trembling as he reached for the device on the desk.

The screen flashed with a name that made his stomach twist into a painful knot: Ulfat Bhabhi.

Hamza swallowed the lump in his throat, trying desperately to pull the broken pieces of his composure back together. He swiped the screen and brought the phone to his ear, his voice tight, thin, and visibly shaking.

"Haan... Bhabhi," he whispered.

On the other side of the line, sitting comfortably in the sunny courtyard of the Lyari haveli with a brilliant, calculating smirk spreading across her face, Ulfat leaned back against her chair. She could hear the trauma in his voice, and it's exactly what she had anticipated.

"Card mila, Hamza?" Ulfat asked, her tone bright, cheerful, and entirely devoid of the sympathy she had shown him just days before.

Hamza knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the phone. He looked down at the gold-inked letters mocking him from the desk. Uzair Baloch weds Gurbaaz Singh. He couldn't speak; the words are physically stuck in his throat.

Ulfat didn't wait for him to answer. She pressed forward, layering the performance "Tumhe bilkul aana hain, yaar! Pura ek hafte pehle se aana hai, samajh gaye? Main kuch nahi sunungi! Mere dewar ki doosri shaadi hain, aur tum toh jaante ho Lyari mein Balochon ki shaadi kitne dhoom-dhaam se hoti hai. Pura haveli ko saja rahe hain hum!"

Every single word coming out of the receiver felt like a physical strike against Hamza ribs. He felt blinded, left in the dark. He had no idea that his ex-husband is currently sitting in his own bedroom across the hall, completely forbidden from speaking, forced by his Bhabhi to blindly nod along to a trap designed solely to drag Hamza back to Karachi. To Hamza, It's an invitation to watch the man who had held him through his fever switch his allegiance to someone else.

"Bhabhi... main..." Hamza choked out, his hazel-green eyes filling with tears that broke free and spilled down his cheeks. "Main kaise... main nahi aa sakta. Aap samajh kyun nahi rahi hain—"

"Maine kaha na, main kuch nahi sunungi, Hamza!" Ulfat cut him "Tum aa rahe ho, aur bas aa rahe ho. Shirani Sahab ko bhi keha diya hai maine. Agle hafte tak mujhe tum Karachi mein chahiye!"

"Par main aake kya karunga, Bhabhi...?"

Hamza voice broke. The proud, untouchable facade of the Mazari Prince vanished, leaving behind only a boy holding a phone in a cold, empty study. A sob caught in his throat, making his chest heave violently as he gripped the edge of the desk.

"Main... main wahan aake kya karunga?" he whispered again, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks now, dripping onto the gold-inked wedding card below him. "Mera kya haq bacha hai wahan? Uzair... Uzair kisi aur se nikaah kar rahe hain. Main kis mooh se khada hoonga us haveli mein? Log kya kahein ge...?"

On the other end of the line, the desperate, bleeding agony in Hamza voice hit Ulfat right in the heart. For a brief second, the instinct in her wanted to drop the act, tell him the truth, and comfort him. But she squeezed her eyes shut and forced her jaw to tighten. She knew these two stubborn men; if she showed even a single crack in her armor now, the whole plan would collapse, and they would both spend the rest of their lives dying in separate provinces.

She had to be ruthless to save them.

"Log kya kahein ge, yeh sochne ka waqt ek saal pehle tha, Hamza," Ulfat said, "Aur haq ki baat mat karo mujhse. Tumne khud us kanooni kagaz par dastakhat kiye thay, khud is ghar ko chhor kar gaye thay. Ab jab Uzair apna zindagi badal raha hai, apne haveli ko aabaad kar raha hai, toh tumhein takleef kyun ho rahi hai?"

Hamza winced as if she had physically slapped him. The words burned through his chest, twisting the knife of guilt that had been stabbing him since the morning he woke up from his fever.

"Tum aaoge," Ulfat commanded, "Aur tum isliye aaoge kyunke rishtay kanoon se toot-te hain, jazbaat se nahi. Tum is ghar ke baday damad thay, Hamza. Shirani Sahab ko keh diya hai maine, gaadi aayegi tumhein lene. Pura ek hafte pehle mujhe tum haveli ke dahliz par chahiye. Agar nahi aaye... toh samajh lena tumne apni Bhabhi ka rishta bhi hamesha ke liye dafan kar diya."

Before Hamza could scream, before he could beg her to have mercy on his bleeding heart, the line went dead.

The cold beep-beep-beep of the disconnected call echoed through the silent study. Hamza slowly lowered the phone, his hand trembling violently it slipped from his grip, the device clattering loudly onto the desk right next to the crimson invitation.

He collapsed back into his leather chair, burying his face in his hands as the realization hit him . He had no choice. He is trapped, left in the dark about the game his Bhabhi is playing, believing that in seven days, he would have to walk back into the Lyari haveli and watch the only man he had ever loved pledge his life to someone else.

Hamza slowly lowered his hands from his face. His tear-blurred hazel-green eyes focused back on the crimson card resting on the desk. With fingers that felt entirely devoid of strength, he reached out and gently closed the gilded invitation, hiding the names Uzair Baloch and Gurbaaz Singh from his sight. He couldn't look at it anymore; it felt like staring directly into a blinding sun.

The moment the darkness behind his eyelids took over, the cold mountain breeze of Quetta evaporated. His mind, stubborn and bleeding, refused to stay in Balochistan. It turned around and flew straight back to Karachi, crossing the provincial borders effortlessly, dragging him right back through the gates of the Lyari haveli.

He was standing in their room.

No matter what the legal papers said, no matter who Uzair is supposedly marrying in seven days, Hamza soul stubbornly claimed that space. It’s my room, a desperate, fierce whisper echoed in his chest. Isn't it? It’s still my room.

Every corner of that master suite in Lyari belonged to him. He could see it clearly now—the massive, low-slung dark mahogany bed where they had spent nights locked in volatile, passionate arguments that always dissolved into breathless whispers. He remembered the heavy, velvet emerald-green curtains he had personally chosen to block out the harsh Lyari sun, the silver-framed mirrors where he used to stand adjusting his kurtas while Uzair watched him from the bed, his eyes filled with a quiet possessiveness.

He had left so many things behind in that room. It isn't just his clothes, his watch collection, or the perfumes still sitting on the dresser. He had left his laughter there. He had left the best years of his youth there. He had left his entire heart under those sheets, locked away in the drawer of a nightstand that smelled permanently of Uzair cedarwood cologne.

A bitter, choking sob escaped his lips in the quiet of the study. How could Uzair bring someone else into that space? How could another person sleep on those pillows, open those closets, and look out of those high arched windows at the Lyari courtyard?

Hamza clutched at the fabric over his chest, his heart aching violently it felt like it was physically splitting in two. He is blind to the fact that his room in Lyari had been locked from the outside for twelve months, that Uzair hadn't let a single servant step inside to change a thing, and that Ulfat is currently using that very room as the final anchor to drag him home. To Hamza, he is a prince who had lost his kingdom, facing the nightmare of returning only to see another person take his throne.

The thought hit him knocking the remaining breath straight out of his lungs.

Nothing is his now.

Hamza eyes squeezed shut even tighter, the darkness behind his lids turning chaotic and suffocating. Right now, as he sat in the cold of Quetta, a new reality is being carved out in Karachi. Someone else—this Gurbaaz Singh—would walk into that haveli. Someone else would unpack their bags in that master suite, redecorate the space, pull down the emerald-green curtains Hamza had chosen, and make that room entirely their own. They would live there happily. They would share the morning light, the quiet nights, and the protection of the Sardar.

The jealousy is a sudden, toxic poison that flooded Hamza veins, turning his grief into a panic. Because the moment he imagined someone else in that room, his mind instantly betrayed him, flashing back to exactly how it felt when that room belonged only to them.

He could feel it as if it were happening right now.

He remembered the quiet evenings when he would stand by the window, looking out over Lyari. Suddenly, the space behind him would vanish as Uzair frame stepped up into his blind spot. Uzair hands would slide slowly around his waist from behind, locking him flat against a chest that radiated an heat.

Hamza gasped into the empty study, his neck instinctively tilting to the side as the sensation washed over his skin. He remembered the texture of Uzair palms gripping his hips, anchoring him down, before that jaw would drop into the crook of his shoulder.

The memory of Uzair lips pressing against his bare neck—hot, demanding, and utterly possessive—made Hamza entire body tremble. Uzair would find that exact sensitive spot right below his ear, his breath ragged and deep, before sinking his teeth in gently, sucking the skin until a bruised, dark mark formed. Hamza remembered the breathless, broken sounds that used to escape his own throat, the way his fingers would claw desperately behind him into Uzair hair,

“Tum sirf mere ho,” Uzair voice used to growl against his pulse point, his teeth marking him over and over again to remind the world who owned the prince. “Sirf mere.”

Hamza opened his eyes with a sob, his hand flying instantly to his bare neck, his fingers clutching the exact spot where Uzair lips used to burn. The skin is cool. The room is empty. There is no cedarwood scent, no hands locking around his waist—only the dead silence of the Mazari estate and the crimson wedding card mockingly staring back at him from the desk.

Another person is going to feel that touch. Another person is going to be held against that chest and marked by those lips.

The sheer agony of the thought broke the last of Hamza resistance. He couldn't stay in Quetta and hide. If he stayed, he would die of the anticipation. He had to go. Even if it killed him, even if it meant watching his own funeral, he had to look Uzair in the eye one last time.

Meanwhile, back inside the walls of the Lyari haveli, the atmosphere is thick with a different kind of tension.

In the private family seating area, Uzair Baloch is pacing the floor like a caged predator. He is tracking back and forth across the Persian rug, his hands buried deep in his hair, pulling at the dark strands in , Every few seconds, a low, guttural curse would rip from his throat,

"Main pagal hoon... main bilkul pagal hoon jo aapki baaton mein aaya, Bhabhi!" Uzair roared, suddenly stopping in his tracks and spinning around to face the couch. His eyes were wild with a mix of terror and guilt. "Aapne... aapne card bhej diya? Aur upar se phone par us bache ko itna rulaya?! Mera Hamza... woh pehle hi kamzoor hai, bukhar se utha hai abhi! Agar usko kuch ho gaya toh main aapko kabhi maaf nahi karoonga, Bhabhi! Main khud ko goli maar doonga!"

Sitting elegantly on the plush velvet sofa, Ulfat didn't look even remotely intimidated by the Sardar outburst. Instead, a satisfied smirk played on her lips. She calmly took a slow sip from her teacup, her eyes glittering with the triumph of a matriarch who knew exactly which strings to pull.

"Chup baitho, Uzair," Ulfat said setting her cup down on the glass table with a soft clink

She leaned back, her smirk widening as she looked up at her towering brother-in-law. "Tumhari yeh sardaari dabdaba baqi dunya ke liye hoga, mere saamne choti aawaaz mein baat kiya karo. Tumhe kya lagta hai, agar main usse pyaar se kehti ke 'Beta, wapas aa jao', toh woh tumhara jhoota ghuroor dekh kar wapas aata? Kabhi nahi! Uska dil dukhna zaroori tha taake uski anaa tootay. Ab dekhna, woh ek hafte pehle yahan dahliz par khada hoga."

Uzair let out a breath, running his palms over his face. He felt trapped by his own promise, totally forced to remain entirely quiet and play along with this gamble. The thought of Hamza weeping on the other side of the phone because of a fake wedding card was physically ripping his chest open, but he had surrendered his authority to her.

Standing quietly near the high arched windows, Rehman stood with his arms crossed over his chest, silently observing the chaotic scene. His sharp eyes flicked from his panicked, cursing brother to his brilliant, plotting wife.

Rehman remained quiet, a subtle, highly amused shake of his head the only sign of his thoughts. He knew his brother was the undisputed king of the Lyari streets, capable of handling the most brutal gang wars and political feuds—but in front of Ulfat sharp mind, the fearsome Sardar is defenseless. Rehman didn't utter a single word to interfere. He simply watched the trap spin tighter, knowing that the countdown to Hamza return had begun.

The seven days passed like a slow sentence for both sides of the provincial border.

In Quetta, Hamza hadn't slept. He had packed a single suitcase with hands that felt entirely numb, refusing any help from the servants. He had ignored the quiet, questioning looks from Shirani Sahab, who chose not to interfere out of a deep respect for the finality of the summons. To Hamza, every tick of the clock is a step closer to his own execution. He is traveling down to Karachi entirely blind, his heart heavy with the crushing certainty that he is going to witness the final burial of his past life.

And now, the black sedan bearing the Mazari family crest was finally navigating the dense, chaotic streets of Lyari.

Inside the haveli, the tension had reached a suffocating peak. The entire courtyard had been subtly transformed under Ulfat sharp direction—marigold garlands hung from the pillars, and large, ornamental carpets had been rolled out, creating the perfect illusion of a house preparing for a massive celebration.

Uzair is standing inside the sanctuary of the living hall, tucked behind the curtains of the viewing window. his fists clenched tightly inside his pockets His heart was hammering against his ribs like an imprisoned beast. He is terrified. He is entirely bound by his promise to Ulfat to keep his mouth shut, forced to play the part of the groom who had moved on, even though every fiber of his being wanted to tear down the gates and carry his prince inside.

"Gaadi aa gayi," Rehman voice cut through the silence of the room as he stepped up behind his brother.

Uzair breath hitched in his throat. His eyes locked onto the gates as they swung open with a groan.

The black sedan rolled smoothly into the courtyard, the tires crunching against the gravel before coming to a complete halt right in front of the main veranda. The driver quickly stepped out, walking around to the rear door and pulling it open.

Slowly, a polished leather boot hit the marble steps.

Hamza stepped out of the vehicle, and the moment his full frame came into view, a sharp, physical ache ripped through Uzair chest. The Mazari Prince looked breathtakingly beautiful, but utterly devastated. He is dressed in a dark, midnight-blue silk kurta that hung slightly loose on his frame, his skin contrasting sharply against the rich fabric. His face was a mask of cold, composure, but his hazel-green eyes were red-rimmed, tracking the festive marigold decorations with a look of profound, bleeding betrayal.

He stood at the threshold of his old home, his chin tilted up with a fragile, desperate pride, entirely unaware that the man watching him from behind the glass was drowning in an equal ocean of love and guilt.

"Hamza! Mera pyara bacha aa gaya!"

Ulfat voice rang out across the veranda, bursting with an warmth that felt entirely surreal given the suffocating tension in the air. She hurried down the marble steps, her silk dupatta fluttering behind her, and threw her arms tightly around Hamza frame before he could even steel his defenses.

Hamza went rigid in her embrace. His body felt cold, his heart hammering weakly against his ribs like a trapped bird. As Ulfat pulled back, she took his pale face in her hands and pressed a firm, loving kiss right onto his forehead.

"Aao, aao, andar aao," she murmured brightly, her fingers anchoring around his wrist, completely ignoring the silent plea for mercy in his hazel-green eyes. She pulled him forward, guiding him over the threshold and into the living hall.

The moment Hamza boots stepped onto the polished interior marble, the air vanished from his lungs.

Uzair is standing there.

The towering Sardar of Lyari looked like an statue, His frame blocked the light from the corridor behind him, His eyes locked onto Hamza face with a hunger that he couldn't hide.

Hamza froze in his tracks, his breath hitching. For a second, just one fragile second, the silence between them stretched so tight it felt like the entire year of separation is about to dissolve. Hamza looked at the man who had held him through the fever, searching for a sign, a crack, a confession.

But Uzair didn't move. He didn't say a single word. He remained entirely quiet, bound by the ruthless, unspoken oath he had sworn to his sister-in-law, forced to keep his lips sealed even as his heart bled out on the floor.

Ulfat eyes flicked between the two of them, her smirk widening as she deliberately stepped into the space between them, breaking the spell.

"Dekho toh, Uzair! Humara sabse khaas mehman aa gaya," Ulfat said, her voice dripping with an almost mocking cheerfulness as she turned back to Hamza. "Chaliye, safar se thak gaye ho tum. Tumhein pehle tumhare kamre mein chhor doon. Guest room chalo."

Guest room.

The two words hit Hamza like an icy bucket of water. He paused dead in his tracks just outside the door of the downstairs eastern wing, his boots refusing to take another step forward. His hazel-green eyes widened in a panic as he stared at the unfamiliar door of the haveli’s luxury guest suite.

He had never, not once in his entire life, been inside the guest room of this haveli.

During their marriage, Hamza had arrived as a king, as the owner of the master wing. He had always—always—belonged in Uzair room. That is his sanctuary, his cage, his throne. To be escorted to the guest wing is the confirmation of his new status. He isn't the master of the house anymore; he isn't the beloved, fiercely guarded husband. He is exactly what Ulfat had called him.

A guest. A stranger invited to watch from the sidelines.

Hamza slowly turned his head back toward the main hall, his gaze desperately searching for Uzair form, his lips trembling as a silent question formed in his eyes: Are you really going to let them put me in the guest room?

"Kya hua, Hamza?"

Ulfat asked the question with a face that is the picture of innocent, hosting concern. She stopped by the open door of the guest suite, tilting her head slightly, her large eyes wide and blinking with a gentle curiosity. But underneath that soft expression, she knew exactly what she had done. She knew every single chord she was striking in Hamza chest, and she was pulling them with the precision of a master musician.

Hamza stood paralyzed, his fingers curling so tightly around the handle of his suitcase , He looked at the guest room—the crisp, neutral sheets on the bed, the blank dresser, the total absence of any history or familiarity. It looked like a luxury hotel room. It looked like a place for someone who didn't matter.

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat tasting like pure copper. His pride is the only thing keeping his knees from buckling right there on the marble floor.

"Kuch... kuch nahi, Bhabhi," Hamza managed to whisper, He didn't dare look back at the main hall where Uzair is standing. He knew if he looked at his ex-husband right now, the last thread of his dignity would snap, and he would end up begging on his knees.

"Bas... thoda thak gaya hoon safar se," he lied through his teeth, his hazel-green eyes fixed entirely on the floor as he forced his feet to take those steps over the threshold of the stranger's quarters.

Across the hall, tucked just inside the shadows of the arched doorway, Uzair is watching the entire scene play out. Hearing the small, broken whisper of his prince—seeing him stand before the guest room like an outcast—is torture. Uzair chest heaved, His right hand instinctively twitched out of his pocket, his frame shifting forward as every instinct screamed at him to grab Hamza, drag him upstairs, and lock him into the master bedroom where he belonged.

But before he could take a single step, Rehman hand clamped down firmly onto Uzair shoulder from behind, anchoring him to the spot in a silent warning. Remember your promise. Keep your mouth shut.

Uzair closed his eyes, his head dropping back against the doorframe as he forced himself to swallow the bitter rage. He is the Sardar of Lyari, but right now, he is a prisoner to his Bhabhi masterstroke, forced to watch his own heart walk into the guest wing.

"Chalo, tum aaram karo, beta," Ulfat said brightly, completely ignoring the suffocating war of silence between the two men. She stepped back into the corridor and began pulling the door shut. "Shaam ko chai par milte hain. Bohat saari baatein karni hain shaadi ki tayaariyon ki!"

Ulfat didn’t just close the door; she leaned against the wood for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air, before adding the final, crushing blow. Her voice was muffled through the door, but it was perfectly audible to Hamza, who had just turned around to face the sterile, cold interior of the guest suite.

"Aur ek baat toh batana main bhool hi gayi, Hamza," Ulfat called out, her tone dripping with the kind of casual, devastating cheerfulness that only a woman of her standing could muster. "Pata hai, shaam ko kaun aa raha hai? Gurbaaz aa raha hai! Woh toh ab se yahin rahega, uske paas toh India ka passport hai, toh ab usne yahan ki nationality ke liye bhi apply kar diya hai."

Hamza felt his blood freeze in his veins. He stood motionless in the center of the guest room, his hands trembling as the implications of her words crashed over him.

Ulfat voice continued, sharper now, slicing through the door as if she were aiming directly at his heart. "Main soch rahi hoon, Gurbaaz safar se thak kar aayega, kyun na main use seedha Uzair ke room mein hi shift kara doon? Woh kamra toh waise bhi kafi bada hai, dono aram se rahenge... tum kya kehte ho, Hamza?"

Outside in the corridor, Ulfat stood with a triumphant, wicked smirk on her face. She glanced toward the main hall, where Uzair is standing frozen, his eyes wide with horror and a desperate, rising rage at the words his Bhabhi had just uttered.

The silence that followed her question.

Inside the guest room, Hamza didn't speak. He couldn't. His entire world—the memories of his room, the scent of cedarwood, the phantom feeling of Uzair arms around his waist—felt like it was being systematically dismantled and handed over to someone else. The cruelty of the suggestion—that his ex-husband would be sharing their sanctuary with this new person—made Hamza vision swim.

Ulfat didn't care. She knew exactly what she is doing. She was pushing Hamza to the very brink, waiting for him to shatter completely that he would be forced to reach out and take back what's his.

She knocked lightly on the door, one last mocking tap.

"Soch kar batana, Hamza! Shaam ko milte hain!"

With those words, she turned and walked away, her footsteps clicking sharply against the marble, leaving Hamza alone in the guest room with nothing but the image of Gurbaaz and Uzair sharing the space that had once been his own.

As the Karachi heat began to settle into a cool evening breeze, the iron gates of the Lyari haveli rattled open once more.

A sleek, silver luxury SUV rolled smoothly into the courtyard. This isn't a stranger arriving to steal a kingdom—not in reality. The man stepping out of the back seat was Gurbaaz Singh, Uzair best friend and his most trusted international business partner, managing the shipping and transit corridors between the borders.

Gurbaaz is sharp, loyal, and possessed a wicked sense of humor that made him a dangerous ally in a setup like this. When Ulfat had called him into Sindh four days ago, Gurbaaz hadn't hesitated for a single second. He know exactly what he was coming here to do. the entire marriage card trap, and he was fully prepared to play his part to the limit.

Walking up the veranda steps, Gurbaaz smoothed down the front of his crisp, cream-colored designer kurta. He had a look of serene, soft-spoken elegance about him—the exact image of a refined, wealthy, and gentle groom ready to be wed to a powerful Sardar. It is a mirror image of the poised, royal aura Hamza had once brought into this very haveli. Gurbaaz intended to step on every single one of Hamza raw nerves, using a soft, polite charm to drive the prince completely insane with jealousy.

The doors of the guest wing slowly creaked open, and Hamza finally stepped out into the main hall. He looked pale, his hazel-green eyes slightly swollen from the tears he had shed in isolation, his fragile pride the only thing holding his shoulders back. He had forced himself to come out for tea, determined not to look like a coward.

The moment Hamza entered the living area, his eyes instantly locked onto Gurbaaz, who is sitting comfortably on the plush sofa right next to Ulfat.

"Ah, Hamza! Aao, aao," Ulfat called out with a beaming smile, gesturing toward the empty armchair. "Milo, yeh Gurbaaz hai. Uzair ke hone wale... khair, tum samajh hi gaye ho."

Gurbaaz immediately stood up, offering a polite bow of his head. He smiled softly, his voice smooth and perfectly modulated, carrying that gentle, cultured tone that Hamza used to take pride in.

"Aadaab, Hamza Sahab," Gurbaaz said, his eyes glittering with a subtle, mischievous amusement that Hamza entirely misread as smug victory. "Uzair ne aapke baare mein bohat kuch bataya hai. Mujhe behad khushi hui aapse mil kar. Main toh bas abhi aaya aur Bhabhi se keh raha tha ke mujhe kisi baday kamre ki zaroorat nahi hai... par yeh toh zidd par ad gaye hain ke mujhe seedha Uzair ke master bedroom mein hi shift karenge."

Every single word felt like a drop of boiling acid on Hamza exposed nerves.

Sitting tightly across from them, Uzair is gripping the arms of his wooden chair so hard the leather was groaning under his weight. He is silent, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning into his best friend with a look that said, If you push him too far, I will forget Bhabhi promise and throw you out of my house.

But Gurbaaz didn't care about Uzair silent threats. He is having way too much fun playing the soft-spoken, perfect groom-to-be. He casually turned his gaze back to Hamza, tilting his head with an smile. "Aap hi batayein, Hamza Sahab... Uzair ka kamra toh kafi bada hai na? Hum dono wahan aram se settle ho jayenge, haina?"

Hamza stood entirely frozen, his fingers curling into the fabric of his kurta, his chest heaving as the polite, refined mask of Gurbaaz began to tear his remaining sanity to shreds.

The question hung in the air, sweet and lethal. Gurbaaz tone was so thoroughly gentle, so polite and soft-spoken, that anyone else would have thought it was a innocent inquiry. But to Hamza, it's a twist of the blade right in his deepest wound.

Hamza stood entirely paralyzed in the center of the living hall. His hazel-green eyes flicked from Gurbaaz face to the couch, and then, inevitably, to Uzair.

Uzair hadn't moved an inch. He sat in his armchair like a stone carved out of the Lyari mountains, His eyes were fixed onto Hamza face, burning with a desperate intensity that practically begged his prince to scream, to fight, to throw a tantrum—anything to put an end to this suffocating theater. But his lips remained tightly sealed. He is entirely bound by his oath to Ulfat, forced to stay silent while his best friend laid waste to Hamza remaining sanity.

Hamza chin tilted up by a single fraction. The pride of the Mazari family was the only thing keeping his knees from buckling in front of his rival. He swallowed the burning lump of humiliation in his throat, forcing his voice to remain flat, cold.

"Mujhe nahi maloom, Gurbaaz Sahab," Hamza said, "Main is haveli mein sirf ek mehman hoon. Sardar Sahab apna kamra kis ke saath share karte hain... isme mera koi taluq nahi hai."

Ulfat smirked behind her teacup, hiding her delight.

"Arre, aao na, Hamza, betho yahan," Ulfat said brightly, patting the empty space on the sofa right next to Gurbaaz, forcing them into close proximity. "Chai thandi ho rahi hai. Gurbaaz, beta, apne haath se Hamza ko ek cup bana kar do. Ab se tumhein hi toh is ghar ke saare mehmandozi ke maamle sambhalne hain."

"Ji, bilkul, Bhabhi," Gurbaaz replied smoothly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he leaned forward over the glass table.

With elegant movements, Gurbaaz picked up the silver teapot, pouring the hot, saffron-scented liquid into a fine porcelain cup. He added a single cube of sugar, stirring it with a soft, rhythmic clink-clink-clink of the spoon that felt like a countdown inside Hamza head. Gurbaaz is playing the part of the perfect, refined partner to perfection—the exact kind of cultured, elite presence Hamza used to be before the violence of Lyari tore them apart.

Gurbaaz lifted the cup and extended it toward Hamza, his eyes glittering with that sharp, hidden amusement as he got under the hamza very last nerve. "Lijiye, Hamza Sahab. Khaas Kashmiri chai hai. Suna hai aapke Quetta mein bhi aisi hi thand padti hai... umeed hai aapko yahan hamare naye rishte ki mithaas pasand aayegi."

Hamza stared at the porcelain cup being offered to him by the man who is supposed to sleep in Uzair bed tonight. His fingers twitched violently against his kurta, the jealousy rising in his chest until he felt like he was physically choking.

Hamza didn’t take the cup. He couldn’t force his hand to move, his eyes locked onto the porcelain as if it were filled with venom.

Seeing the hesitation in hamza, Gurbaaz let out a soft, airy chuckle. He set the cup back down on the glass table with a quiet clink. Then, Gurbaaz stood up from the sofa and glided across the polished marble floor straight toward Uzair armchair.

Right in front of Hamza burning gaze, Gurbaaz casually sank down onto the wide velvet armrest of Uzair chair. He leaned his weight in close, his cream designer kurta brushing against Uzair stark white pathani suit. And then, with an familiar ease, Gurbaaz reached down, took Uzair right hand, and wrapped his own fingers around it.

"Tum bhi toh kuch kaho, Uzair," Gurbaaz murmured softly, his voice dripping with an , gentle intimacy as he squeezed the Sardar hand. "Tumhare dost Quetta se itna lamba safar tay kar ke aaye hain, aur tum bas khamosh baithe ho? Hamza Sahab ko lag raha hai hum unka is haveli mein swagat nahi kar rahe."

The sight of Gurbaaz hand holding the hand that had once bruised Hamza hips, the hand that had held him through a raging fever just four nights ago, sent a violent, shattering jolt straight through Hamza core.

Uzair entire body went rigid as a stone pillar. The moment Gurbaaz touched his hand, Uzair eyes flared with a panic. Every single muscle in his jaw throbbed, a low, desperate sound trapped in his chest. He wanted to rip his hand away from his best friend, kick the table over, and scream the truth. His fingers twitched inside Gurbaaz grip, a sweat breaking out on his neck as he remained entirely quiet, his gaze locked on Hamza, practically pleading for his rounak to react.

Across from them, the final thread holding Hamza sanity together didn't just snap; it dissolved into ash.

The image of another person touching Uzair, sitting on his chair, claiming his touch, and preparing to walk into their bedroom tonight tore through Hamza pride like a blade through silk. his breath turning shallow and ragged. The polite mask shattered leaving behind bleeding jealousy.

"Bas..." Hamza choked out, his voice suddenly rising from its thin whisper into a sharp, trembling gasp. He took a sharp step backward, his hazel-green eyes flashing with a agony as he stared at their joined hands. "Bas karein... bohot ho gaya."

"Kya bohot ho gaya, Hamza?" Ulfat asked, her eyebrows rising as she pinned him with her gaze.

The sound of her voice brought Hamza crashing back to reality. The sudden realization of what he is doing—how much of his bleeding jealousy he had just laid bare in front of them—hit him like a wave of ice. He looked at their joined hands, then at Ulfat calculating eyes, and felt an wave of humiliation.

"Kuch nahi... kuch nahi, Bhabhi," Hamza gasped out hurriedly, He stumbled backward, his hands trembling he had to tuck them into his sleeves. "Main... main apne kamre mein ja raha hoon. Meri tabiyat theek nahi hai."

Without waiting for a response, without daring to look at Uzair face for even a second, Hamza turned on his heel and practically fled down the corridor, the door of the guest room slamming shut behind him moments later.

The second the door clicked shut, the theater in the living hall vanished.

Uzair ripped his hand out of Gurbaaz grip, standing up from his armchair so fast it rattled against the marble floor. his eyes blazing with a mix of panic and fury as he stared down the hallway where his rounak had just disappeared.

"Oye, kutte! Shanti rakh," Gurbaaz chuckled, unfazed by the Uzair. He stood up a smirk breaking across his face as he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Uzair shoulders in a hug. "Yaara, bade dino baad mile yaar! Par sach mein... Hamza Bhai toh bohot sundar hain. Kitna bura hai tu, itne pyaare bande ko sambhal ke nahi rakh paya, kutte!"

Uzair didn't hug him back; his body remained wound tight like a spring, his fists clenched in his pockets. "Gurbaaz, mazaak nahi hai yeh," Uzair growled "Uska dil toot gaya hai andar. Woh ro raha hoga. Main ja raha hoon uske paas—"

"Tum kahin nahi jaoge, Uzair," Ulfat voice cut through the air, she set her teacup down looked up at the two friends, her smirk matching Gurbaaz. "Khel toh abhi shuru hua hai. Gurbaaz, tumne toh bilkul wahi kiya jo maine kaha tha. Dekha tumne? Hamza ki anaa ek hi jhatke mein deewar se ja lagi hai."

Gurbaaz pulled back from the hug, winking at Ulfat. "Bhabhi, aapka plan toh ekdum solid hai. Agle do din mein Hamza Bhai khud iska kamra chheen kar apna haq maangenge, dekh lena."

"Chal, ab tere kamre mein rahoonga... mera shohar ji!" Gurbaaz said, giving Uzair a loud, theatrical wink as he burst into a hearty laugh. He nudged Uzair shoulder with his elbow, thoroughly enjoying the utter misery and panic painted across his best friend face.

Uzair face contorted into an disgust. "Apni yeh gandi zabaan band kar, Gurbaaz!" Uzair hissed under his breath, He threw a glance back toward the guest wing corridor, his heart practically stopping. "Dheere bol, saale! Agar Hamza ne sun liya toh woh sach mein is ghar ko aag laga dega aur mera chehra bhi nahi dekhega!"

"Toh wahi toh hum chahte hain, mere bhai!" Gurbaaz laughed, lowering his voice just a fraction but keeping his tone dripping with mock affection. He casually picked up his bag from the floor, throwing the strap over his shoulder. "Chalo, Bhabhi ne kaha hai toh dulhe raja ko unke kamre tak chhor kar aao. Mujhe bhi dekhna hai ke tumhare us kamre mein mere liye kahan jagah banta hai."

Ulfat sat back on the sofa, her arms crossed, watching the two men "Uzair, jao. Gurbaaz ko upar le jao. Aur haan, seedha seedha chalna, seedhiyon par pair patakhte hue jana taake neeche guest room tak aawaaz jaye ke tum dono upar ja rahe ho."

Uzair let out a breath that felt like it's tearing his throat. He felt like a traitor in his own home, forced to play a disgusting game while his real love was bleeding out in the dark downstairs. Defeated, he turned and began walking toward the staircase, his boots deliberately thudding against the marble steps just as Ulfat had commanded.

Gurbaaz followed right beside him, deliberately raising his voice to a cheerful, soft-spoken pitch that easily carried down the quiet, arched corridors of the haveli. " Uzair, tumhara yeh haveli ka architecture toh sach mein kamaal hai. Mujhe toh abhi se is kamre se pyaar ho raha hai!"

Downstairs, behind the locked door of the guest suite, Hamza is sitting on the edge of the unfamiliar bed. The moment those loud, deliberate footsteps echoed on the ceiling above him—accompanied by the faint, cheerful hum of Gurbaaz voice—Hamza flinched

He looked up at the ceiling, his eyes wide, dark, and swimming in a fresh wave of tears. They were up there. Together. In their room. The reality of Gurbaaz walking into that private sanctuary was a torment he hadn't prepared for. Every second of the ticking clock was pushing him closer to madness.

Upstairs, the door of the master suite clicked shut.

The moment they ars hidden from the rest of the haveli, Gurbaaz dropped his bag onto the rug and let out a long whistle. He looked around the room—the emerald-green curtains pinned back perfectly, the neat, untouched bed, and the faint, lingering trace of a refined perfume that definitely didn't belong to Uzair.

"Yaar Uzair, chal ab drama band kar aur khuda ke liye apna yeh murda chehra theek kar," Gurbaaz said, shaking his head as he threw himself onto a armchair near the window. "Maine toh sirf haath pakda tha, aur tere chehre ka rang aise uda jaise maine teri zayeedad apne naam karwali ho."

Uzair didn't answer him. He is standing in the center of the room, his frame stiff, his eyes fixed on the floor beneath his feet. He knew exactly what is directly under this master wing. The guest suite. Hamza is sitting right beneath them, in a cold, unfamiliar bed, listening to every creak of the ceiling, believing his entire life had been handed over to another man.

"Tu nahi samajhta, Gurbaaz," Uzair rasped, his voice dropping into a whisper that carried the weight of a year’s worth of agony. He walked over to the nightstand, his hand gently tracing the smooth wood where Hamza watch used to sit. "Usne pehle hi bohot kuch bardasht kiya hai meri wajah se. Yeh Lyari... yeh dushmani... sab kuch. Aur aaj, jab woh wapas aaya hai, toh maine khud use us ghor kamre mein jaane diya. Mera dil phat raha hai, yaara."

Gurbaaz smirk faded slightly, replaced by the loyalty of a true brother. He leaned forward, his tone dropping its theatrical edge. "Uzair, sun. Agar aaj tu kamzoor pada, toh Hamza Bhai phir se Quetta nikal jayenge. Unka ghuroor unhein yahan rukne nahi dega. Bhabhi bilkul theek keh rahi hain—jab tak unhein khone ka darr nahi hoga, tab tak woh apna zidd nahi chhornge. Tujhe unke andar ki us jalan ko dahliz par lana hoga."

Uzair closed his eyes, a single breath escaping his clenches jaws. He knew Gurbaaz is right. He knew Ulfat trap is the only way out of this dead-end, but the price of success is his rounak tears, and it's a price Uzair was finding impossible to pay.

Downstairs, the quiet of the guest room is suffocating.

Hamza hadn't changed his clothes. He hadn't unpacked a single item from his suitcase. He is sitting cross-legged on the cold sheets, his midnight-blue silk kurta wrinkled, his face buried in his hands as his shoulders shook with violent, silent sobs. The faint sound of muffled talking from the ceiling above him had stopped, leaving behind an more terrifying silence.

Kya woh dono ab...

Hamza squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his mind to stop the thought before it could drive him insane. He couldn't stay in this bed. Every second he spent in this room felt like a slow, execution. His hazel-green eyes flared open, dark and chaotic through his tears. He stood up, his feet moving almost entirely on instinct. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to look at that bedroom door. He needed to see if it's really closed.

The clock in the courtyard chimed a single, note, echoing through the dead silence of the Lyari haveli. It's two in the morning.

Hamza bare feet made no sound as he slowly turned the handle of the guest room door and stepped into the dark, cavernous hallway. The marble beneath his feet is freezing, sending a sharp chill through his body, but he barely felt it. His mind is entirely unmoored, functioning entirely on a desperate, toxic cocktail of jealousy and grief.

He didn't have a plan. He only knew that the space inside that guest room had become a choking hazard.

Slowly, like a ghost haunting his own past, Hamza crept toward the grand, sweeping staircase. He anchored a trembling hand onto the cold wrought-iron railing, looking up into the pitch-black shadows of the upper floor. His heart is hammering against his ribs violently it felt audible in the silence. Every instinct warned him to turn back, to preserve whatever remaining shreds of pride he possessed—but his feet refused to listen. They dragged him up the stairs, step by step, until he is standing on the upper landing.

At the very end of the corridor stood the door of the master suite.

There is a thin, golden sliver of light escaping from the crack beneath the door. They are still awake.

Hamza approached the threshold with halting, steps. He stopped just a foot away from the wood, his chest heaving as he stared at the golden light. He could hear low, muffled murmurs from inside. He couldn't make out the words, but just the cadence of two voices inside his sacred sanctuary made his stomach twist into a knot. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingers hovering just inches away from the handle, his eyes wide and swimming in fresh tears.

Just open it, a frantic, chaotic whisper screamed in his head. Tear the illusion down. Let them see you bleed.

Inside the room, the golden light is from a single bedside lamp. Gurbaaz is stretched out sideways across the sofa, his legs dangling over the armrest, snoring softly with a pillow pulled over his face. He had played his part to perfection and is now out cold.

Uzair, however, hadn't even touched the bed. He is sitting on the floor, his back resting against the wood of the door, his legs drawn up to his chest. He had been sitting there for hours, refusing to sleep, his ears straining for any sound from the haveli below.

Suddenly, Uzair shoulders went rigid.

Through the wood, he heard the faint, nearly imperceptible rustle of silk fabric. Then, he saw a shadow cut through the thin sliver of golden light beneath the door. Someone is standing right outside.

Uzair heart gave a thud against his ribs. He knew that scent, he knew the rhythm of that shallow, breathing even through the barrier of the wood. It's Hamza. His rounak is standing right on the other side of the threshold.

Uzair slowly, silently rose to his feet, He reached out, his hand wrapping around the handle from the inside. His breath caught in his throat. He is just a single twist of the wrist away from pulling Hamza into his chest, promise be damned.

Hamza fingers hovered over the cold metal, shaking violently that he couldn't bring himself to squeeze down. The terror of what he might see on the other side—the visual confirmation of Gurbaaz in his space, or worse, the sight of Uzair looking at someone else with those dark, possessive eyes—paralyzed him. His pride, now a broken and pathetic thing, clawed at his throat, begging him to run before he threw away the last ounce of his dignity.

On the other side of the wood, Uzair is sweating. His palm is clamped tight over the inner handle, the muscles in his forearm bulging under the desperate restraint it took not to violently yank the door inward. He could hear a tiny, wet hitch in the breathing outside.

He’s crying.

Uzair closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the door, He wanted to call out. He wanted to whisper “rounak,” just to hear the breathless gasp his prince always gave when they are close. But Ulfat words echoed in his skull like a death sentence: “Ek lafzi ghalti... aur tum hamesha ke liye use kho doge.”

Outside, Hamza slowly let his hand drop to his side. The silence from within the room is too heavy, too complete. It felt like a rejection. It felt like the haveli itself is telling him that he no longer belonged in the upper wing.

A single tear spilled over his lashes, tracking down his cheek and dropping onto the kurta. He took one step backward, then another, his bare feet sliding silently over the plush carpet. He couldn't do it. He couldn't play the fool in their theater.

Turning around, Hamza hurried back down the dark corridor, practically floating down the staircase like a ghost escaping the dawn. He slipped back into the luxury of the downstairs guest room, shutting the door with a click that sounded like a final gavel strike. He threw himself onto the bed, burying his face deep into the unfamiliar pillows to, breathless sobs that broke through his defenses.

Upstairs, the shadow vanished from beneath the door.

Uzair felt the sudden emptiness as if the temperature in the room had dropped below freezing. He slowly let go of the handle, his hand dropping heavily to his side. He turned around, looking at the empty bed, then at Gurbaaz snoring peacefully on the sofa.

The theater had gone on for less than twelve hours, and he is already at his limit. He isn't going to let this game drag out for days. If Hamza is burning, then Uzair is going to pour gasoline on the fire tomorrow morning until the prince had no choice but to claim what is his.

The morning sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon when Gurbaaz slipped out of the master suite, his bare feet moving quickly down the upper corridor. He didn't head downstairs toward the guest wing; instead, he rapped a rhythmic rhythm on the door of Ulfat and Rehman private quarters.

The door opened instantly. Ulfat stood there, already perfectly dressed in a sharp maroon lawn suit, her hair pinned up, a wicked, brilliant spark in her eyes. Behind her, Rehman is standing near the dresser, sipping a cup of black coffee, watching his wife

"Aao, Gurbaaz. Sab tayaar hai," Ulfat whispered, gesturing for him to quickly step inside.

Moments later, Uzair walked into the room, his frame looking exhausted but wound incredibly tight. He had a deep frown etched into his forehead, his eyes wide with disbelief as he watched what is happening at Ulfat vanity table.

Gurbaaz is sitting comfortably in the cushioned chair, tilting his neck upward with a massive, l grin. Ulfat is leaning over him, holding a small, makeup palette she had pulled from her dresser. With a fine blending sponge and a mix of deep plum, crimson, and subtle violet eyeshadows, she is meticulously painting a terrifyingly realistic, dark purple bruise right over Gurbaaz collarbone.

"Oye, thoda aur dark karo, Bhabhi," Gurbaaz chuckled, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. "Hamza Bhai toh bohot tez hain, unhein ek hi jhatke mein lagna chahiye ke Uzair ne raat ko koi kasar nahi chhori!"

"Tum chup baitho, Gurbaaz," Ulfat scolded playfully, stippling the red tones around the edges to give it that perfect, fresh, bitten look. "Uzair, yahan aao! Dekho toh, theek lag raha hai? Tum toh waise bhi jab gusse mein hote ho toh aisi hi nishaniyan chhorhte thay hamza par."

Uzair looked at the fake hickey on his best friend neck and felt a urge to throw up. His face turned a deep shade of crimson, his fists clenching inside his pockets.

"Bhabhi, yeh... yeh bohot zyada ho raha hai," Uzair rasped, "Woh jaan de dega apna! Agar usne yeh subah-subah nashte par dekh liya! Main nahi kar sakta yeh mazaak!"

Rehman let out a low, quiet chuckle, setting his coffee cup down and clapping a hand onto his younger brother shoulder. "Chup khada reh, Uzair. Tera bhabhi jo kar rahi hain, sahi kar rahi hain. Aaj nashte par faisla ho jayega ke tumhara rounak tumhein chhorh kar ja sakta hai ya nahi."

"Bilkul," Gurbaaz smirked, standing up from the vanity and admiring the lethal piece of art on his neck in the mirror. He turned around, giving Uzair a slow wink. "Chaliye, Sardar Sahab. Chaliye neeche... aapke purane dildar humara intezar kar rahe honge."

The dining hall of the Lyari haveli is bathed in a bright, unforgiving morning light that offered no place for secrets to hide. The scent of fresh parathas, spiced omelets, and strong chai filled the air, but the atmosphere around the table was thick with an underlying frost.

Hamza is the last to arrive. He stepped into the dining room with exhausted steps, his body wrapped in a simple, elegant ivory linen kurta. His face is a mask perfection, but his eyes were heavily shadowed from the sleepless night he had just survived. He had spent hours steeling his heart, telling himself that he is hamza , that he could sit through a single breakfast without shattering.

But the moment he cleared the arched doorway, his gaze was pulled toward the head of the table.

Uzair and Gurbaaz are sitting side by side, their chairs pulled so close together that Gurbaaz shoulder was resting against Uzair chest. Gurbaaz is leaning in, his head tilted slightly toward the Sardar as he whispered something with a soft, cheerful chuckle. Uzair sat entirely rigid, his eyes fixed firmly on his plate, his hands gripping his fork with enough force to bend the metal,

"Ah, Hamza! Aao, beta, betho," Ulfat called out warmly from the foot of the table, gesturing to the empty chair directly across from the two men. "Hum bas tumhara hi intezar kar rahe the."

Hamza swallowed the dry lump in his throat, pulling out his chair and sitting down. He kept his chin tilted up, trying his best to look anywhere but at his ex-husband.

But then, Gurbaaz turned his head to offer Hamza a polite morning greeting.

"Good morning, Hamza Sahab," Gurbaaz murmured smoothly, shifting his weight. As he did, the wide collar of his cream-colored linen shirt shifted slightly to the side, exposing the right side of his neck to the bright morning sun.

Right there, stark and undeniable against Gurbaaz smooth skin, was a deep, plum-colored, viciously dark bruise. It's the unmistakable, mark of a hickey—placed exactly where Uzair used to mark his territory whenever his possessive, protective fury took over.

Hamza breath didn't just hitch; it completely died in his throat.

His eyes locked onto the dark purple mark, widening in a sudden, sharp, and blinding horror. The color drained from his face until he looked like a ghost. The muffled sounds he had heard through the ceiling last night, the long hours of silence, the footsteps—it all crashed down on his sanity in a single second. He isn't just being replaced. Uzair had given away the one thing that Hamza thought belonged to him: his touch.

Across the table, Uzair felt the exact second Hamza gaze locked onto the makeup. Uzair chest heaved violently, as he looked up and saw the bleeding devastation painted across his hamza face. He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the table apart and scrub his friend neck clean.

But Gurbaaz simply smiled, unfazed, and reached over to scoop some eggs onto Uzair plate, "Khaiye na, Uzair... aap toh raat ko waise bhi kafi thak gaye the.."

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 10

The same thundercloud that lashed against the mountains of Quetta swept across the coast of Karachi later that night, bringing a sudden, violent deluge to the streets of Lyari. Rain hammered against the walls of the haveli, turning the central courtyard into a swirling pool of water.

Inside his bedroom, Uzair sat upright on the edge of the mattress.

He hadn't slept a wink. The air in the room, heavy with the scent of rain and the lingering, fading ghost of jasmine that he had desperately tried to preserve for the last three months. Every loud crack of thunder that shook the windowpanes made his chest heave.

He didn't reach for the cabinet. He didn't even look toward the hallway where his old friend sat locked away. His hands were clenched into fists on his knees, his veins standing out under his skin as he endured the agony of a sober mind.

In the pitch-black room, Uzair looked toward the empty space beside him on the velvet coverlet.

On a night like this, Hamza would have been curled into his side, shivering slightly from the chill, hiding his face in the crook of Uzair neck to block out the flashes of lightning. Uzair arms would have been a fortress around him, keeping the entire world at bay.

"Hamza..." Uzair groaned into the name tearing from his throat like a broken prayer.

He leaned forward, bowing his head until his forehead touched his trembling hands. He isn't going to break his promise. He is going to stay sober, he is going to take care of the haveli, and he is going to respect Hamza peace—even if the silence of this room killed him piece by piece every single night.

He raised his eyes back to the window, watching the rain wash over the glass. Thousands of miles away, past the storm and across the borders, his heart was resting in a peach orchard in Quetta.

When the clock on the wall ticked past three in the morning and the rain showed no signs of stopping, Uzair finally accepted defeat. The sober mind he fought so hard to maintain during the day was turning into a weapon against him at night, replaying the same memories on a loop.

His body is exhausted, his muscles aching from the tension, but his brain refused to shut down.

With a sigh, Uzair stood up from the edge of the bed. He opened the mirrored cabinet and reached for a small, white plastic bottle. For the past few months, these sleeping pills had become his nightly ritual. It's the only compromise he allowed himself; he had sworn off the alcohol, but without these pills, the insomnia would have driven him mad.

He tapped a single tablet into his palm, filled a glass with tap water, and swallowed the medicine in one gulp.

Walking back into the bedroom, he climbed under the blankets, resting his head against the pillow. As he waited for the chemical numbness to take over his senses, he turned his head to look at the empty space beside him one last time.

The medicine began to heavy his eyelids, pulling him down into a forced, dreamless sleep. It isn't the natural, peaceful rest he used to find when Hamza is curled against his chest, but as the darkness finally clouded his mind, it gave the fierce Sardar a temporary relief from the burning ache in his ribs.

The chemical sleep did not bring peace; it only brought a temporary truce with his thoughts. When the morning light finally broke through the dense Karachi clouds, the storm had passed, leaving behind a damp, quiet world.

Uzair opened his eyes, his head throbbing slightly from the lingering side effects of the medication. The room is cold. He lay still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the familiar, daily ache in his chest to settle into its usual, dull rhythm before he forced himself to move.

Downstairs, the haveli was already waking up. The faint sound of a broom sweeping the wet leaves from the courtyard marble echoed up the stairwell. Uzair dressed mechanically in a simple, charcoal-grey pathani suit, bypassing the mirror. He didn't need to look at the dark circles under his eyes to know what he looked like.

As he descended the staircase, he found Ulfat standing by the veranda, holding a warm cup of tea, her eyes fixed on the damp courtyard.

"Tum jaag gaye, Uzair?" she asked softly, turning her head as his footsteps slowed behind her.

"Ji, Bhabhi," Uzair murmured, "Port par aaj kuch naye customs clearances dekhne hain. Main thoda jaldi nikal raha hoon."

Ulfat didn't hand him the tea right away. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes assessing the exhaustion etched into his jaw. She knew about the white plastic bottle in his bathroom. She knew about the long hours he spent staring at the ceiling.

"Uzair... kab tak chalega yeh?" she whispered, "Tumne khud ko ek aisi saza mein daal diya hai jo khatam hi nahi hoti. Apne upar thoda rehm khao, beta."

Uzair let out a breath, his eyes shifting toward the gates of the haveli. "Mera rehm ka waqt bohot pehle guzar chuka hai, Bhabhi. Yeh saza nahi hai... yeh toh bas woh qemat hai jo mujhe chukani hai. Taake jab mera khuda mujhse pooche ke maine apne jaan ke saath kya kiya, toh mere paas dikhane ke liye yeh ho."

While the rain slowly cleared in Karachi, the cold in the mountains of Quetta turned brutal. The storm from the night before had left a bone-chilling frost over the peach orchards, but inside the master wing of the Mazari estate, the heat is suffocating.

Hamza lay buried beneath three layers of woolen quilts, his skin burning to a crimson.

The storm that had shattered his defenses in the library had taken a physical toll. By dawn, a severe, racking fever had seized his body, locking his joints in an ache. The estate’s personal doctors had been in and out of the room since five in the morning, administering intravenous drips and cold compresses, but the temperature refused to break.

A group of elderly aunts and female house-helps stood near the doorways, their faces lined with worry as they wrung out cold cloths in bowls of ice water. But it wasn't the heat of the fever that kept the room trapped in a silence.

It's the sound.

From beneath the blankets, a quiet sobbing broke through the quiet room. It isn't a loud, cry; it's a weak weep—the sound of a soul that had run out of strength to fight its own truth. Every time a fresh wave of fever made Hamza shiver, a broken, muffled sob would escape his lips, his head turning restlessly against the pillow.

Shirani Sahab stood near the foot of the bed, his hands gripped tightly behind his back, his sharp eyes filled with a helplessness. He watched his nephew fingers twitch against the sheets, his hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead.

"Shirani Sahab..." one of the aunts whispered, wiping her own tears as she stepped away from the bedside. "Dawa de di hai, par asar nahi ho raha. Yeh bukhar jism ka nahi hai... yeh dil ka rog hai. Yeh bacha andar se toot raha hai."

Everyone in the room knew she is speaking the l truth. This isn't the sunehri tap of the mountains. This is the delayed explosion of a year spent hiding in the dark, pretending that separate cities and signed divorce papers could erase a love that had been woven into his very bones. Hamza isn't weeping because his body ached; he is weeping because the scent of cedarwood and old jasmine from the Lyari bedroom had hunted him down in the dark, and he had no fortress left to hide in.

The fever peaked as the afternoon sun cast shadows across the room. Hamza breathing grew shallower, his chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven jerks. The ice compresses did nothing to cool the raging fire beneath his skin.

Shirani stepped closer, bending over the bed as Hamza lips began to move in a restless, feverish mutter. The aunts stepped back, keeping a respectful distance as the young prince drifted into the territory of delirium.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered, He turned his head blindly on the pillow, his fingers clutching at the empty air as if searching for a familiar grip. "Uzair... bohot thand hai. Mujhe... mujhe chhupayein na... please..."

A collective ache settled over the room. Shirani Sahab jaw tightened so hard his facial muscles twitched. Hearing the boy who had always carried himself with such untouchable dignity beg for his ex-husband in his sleep shattered the older leader resolve.

Hamza eyes fluttered open slightly, though they were glazed and unseeing, fixed on the ghosts of his mind. He looked right through his uncle.

"Mamu..." Hamza gasped weakly, a fresh tear cutting through the crimson flush of his cheek. "Maine... maine unhein bataya nahi... ke unki chaukhat par... mera dil wahin reh gaya tha. Unse kahein... mujhe... mujhe lene aayein..."

"Bas, mera bacha. Bas," Shirani murmured, his own voice thick with an emotion he rarely showed. He reached down, placing his hand over Hamza burning forehead.

Shirani stood upright, his decision made. He turned around, "Sab bahar jao," he ordered the house-helps and aunts. "Mujhe kamra khali chahiye."

The women quietly gathered the bowls and linens, stepping out and clicking the doors shut. The room fell into a silence, save for Hamza breathing.

Shirani Sahab pulled phone from his waistcoat pocket. He stared at the screen for a long moment. He remembered the bloody history of Lyari, the rivalries, and the strict legal boundaries of the divorce. But looking at the fading, broken boy on the bed, none of it mattered anymore.

The Karachi port is an chaos of noise. The iron cranes groaned under the weight of shipping containers, the horns of incoming cargo vessels blared against the humid coastline, and hundreds of dockworkers moved in a frantic, disciplined rush.

In the middle of the dust and the heat stood Uzair.

He was holding a thick stack of custom clearance files, his hair messy from the wind, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He is barking orders to his manager about a delayed shipment from Gwadar, his voice carrying the sharp, commanding edge of the Sardar of Lyari. For five hours, he had used the brutal manual labor to silence the screaming void in his chest.

Suddenly, the phone in his trouser pocket began to vibrate against his thigh, its distinct, high-pitched ring cutting through the mechanical roar of the port.

Uzair paused mid-sentence. He pulled the phone out, his eyes falling on the caller ID.

The breath left his lungs. The stack of custom files slipped from his hand, the papers scattering across the dusty floor as the dockworkers scrambled to catch them. Uzair didn't look down. His entire universe had shrunk to the flashing name on the screen.

Shirani Sahab.

With trembling fingers, Uzair pressed the phone to his ear. He stepped away from the roaring cranes, moving toward the edge of the pier where the sea slapped against the concrete blocks.

"Shirani Sahab...?" Uzair spoke into the receiver,

"Uzair," Shirani voice crackled through the speaker, sounding older, carrying a weight that made Uzair heart give a panicked thud against his ribs. "Mera guroor haar gaya, Uzair. Aur tumhara saza jeet gaya."

Uzair grip on the phone tightened "Kya... kya hua, Sahab? Hamza... Hamza theek hai na?"

"Woh theek nahi hai," Shirani Sahab replied, "Raat ke toofan ne use tod diya hai. Bohot teez bukhar hai... hosh mein nahi hai woh. Aur is behoshi mein, uska zubaan se sirf ek hi naam nikal raha hai."

Shirani took a breath on the other end, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Tumhara naam le raha hai, Uzair. Har saans ke saath, woh tumhara chaukhat ki baatein kar raha hai. Keh raha hai ke 'Mamu, mera dil wahin reh gaya... unse kahein mujhe lene aayein'."

Uzair world came to a shattering, the sea—everything faded into blackness. A tear crashed down his cheek, cutting through the dust on his skin.

Uzair didn’t say another word into the phone. He didn't say goodbye, nor did he offer any explanation to the managers shouting his name as the custom files bled into the mud on the pier. He dropped the phone into his pocket, turned on his heel, and sprinted.

He ran through the crowded docks like a madman, his boots slamming against the tarmac until he reached his blacked-out, armored Land Cruiser. He threw himself into the driver's seat, slammed the keys into the ignition, and revved the twin-turbo engine until it roared like a beast breaking its chains.

He didn't call for his guards. He didn't wait for a security convoy. The Sardar of Lyari is driving alone into enemy territory, lawless, flying past the port exit and tearing straight toward the RCD Highway.

The highway stretched out before him—a lethal, winding ribbon of asphalt that cut through the desolate, unforgiving terrain connecting Sindh to Balochistan. Uzair pressed his foot flat against the accelerator, the speedometer climbing past 160, then 180 kilometers per hour. The desert landscape outside his window blurred into a chaotic smear of dust and gray rock.

His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather groaned under his palms. His mind is screaming.

He knew exactly what this fever meant. He knew the psychology of the boy he loved more than his own life. This isn't a permanent surrender. The scorching, blinding heat of the sickness had temporarily melted Hamza iron walls, letting the truth of his soul leak out in his delirium.

"Yeh sirf bukhar ki wajah se hai," Uzair whispered to the empty cabin, his eyes burning as he stared fixedly at the horizon. "Jaise hi bukhar utrega... mera purana, ziddi Hamza wapas apna deewarein khadi kar lega. Woh phir se mujhse nafrat karega. Mujhe dekhna bhi pasand nahi karega."

A choked, sob escaped Uzair chest, but he didn't slow down. He pushed the vehicle even harder, overtaking massive oil tankers on blind, mountainous curves.

"Par jab tak woh bukhar nahi utarta... jab tak uska behoshi qayam hai... main use apni baahon mein bharoonga. Main apni jaan ko apne seene se laga kar rakhoonga. Khuda ki qasam, bas ek baar mujhe wahan pohnchne do."

The miles melted away under the scorching tires. The coastal heat of Karachi began to drop rapidly as the armored vehicle started its steep, climb into the mountains of the Balochistan border.

The journey from the coastal edge of Karachi to the high valley of Quetta is an eleven-hour trek through treacherous, twisting mountain terrain—a route that usually demanded caution, patience, and survival instincts.

Uzair demolished it in six.

He drove like a man possessing a disregard for death, flying over broken gravel, drifting through blind mountain curves, and pushing the armored engine until the hood hissed with boiling heat. When the black Land Cruiser finally screeched through the high, wrought-iron gates of the Mazari estate, the tires were smoking, leaving thick, black rubber burns across the pristine stone driveway.

Uzair didn't even turn off the engine. He kicked the door open, stumbling out into the biting, freezing Quetta air. He didn't have a jacket; his charcoal-grey pathani suit is wrinkled, damp with sweat, and covered in port dust.

He didn't greet the armed guards who instantly raised their rifles in panic, nor did he look for Shirani Sahab.

"Hamza!" Uzair roared breathlessly,

He lunged up the wide, carpeted staircase three steps at a time. The servants scrambled out of his way, terrified by the desperation radiating from the Lyari Sardar. He knew the layout of this fortress from the early, golden days of their marriage. He turned sharply down the long, high-ceilinged corridor of the master wing, his eyes fixed on the doors at the very end.

He threw the doors open with a violent thud, the handles rattling against the inner walls.

The room instantly went dead silent. Shirani Sahab, who is sitting in a chair near the windows, stood up slowly. The two elderly aunts holding fresh compresses froze, staring at the breathless, wild-eyed giant standing at the threshold.

Uzair didn't see them. He didn't see the room.

His gaze crashed directly onto the center of the massive bed. There, buried under the heavy quilts, looking heartbreakingly small and fragile, lay Hamza. His long, beautiful waves of hair are damp, tangled against the pillow, and his breathing is a rapid, raspy rattle that tore straight through Uzair ribs.

"Uzair..." Shirani Sahab started, his voice heavy, but Uzair was already moving.

He crossed the distance between the door and the bedside in three strides. He fell to his knees right on the floor beside the mattress, his frame collapsing against the edge of the bed as if his legs could no longer support the weight of his own heart.

Uzair didn't care who is watching. He didn't care about the decades of tribal pride or the eyes of the Mazari elders. With a sob that had been trapped in his throat for three hundred and sixty-five days, he reached into the heavy woolen quilts and slid his arms beneath Hamza burning frame.

Carefully, as if lifting the most fragile glass ornament, Uzair pulled Hamza off the mattress and gathered him against his chest.

"Jaan... mera jaan, main aa gaya," Uzair rumbled against Hamza temple,

He shifted back against the headboard of the bed, dragging Hamza entirely into his lap. He wrapped his arms around Hamza torso, burying his face into those long hair waves. he pulled him tighter, locking him into a crushing, hold.Hamza head fell back weakly against Uzair shoulder. In the deep fog of his delirium, his body recognized the touch before his mind could even process it. At the familiar, heavy scent of dark cedarwood and the steady, thudding heartbeat beneath his cheek, Hamza let out a long, gasp. His shivering slowed. His weak, trembling fingers drifted upward, clutching blindly at the fabric of Uzair collar, burying his face into the crook of his ex-husband neck.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered in his sleep, a tiny, broken whimper that sounded safe for the first time in a year. "Uzair... bohot der kar di... mujhe thand lag raha tha..."

"Ab nahi, jaan. Ab koi thand nahi lagega," Uzair cried openly, the tears soaking into Hamza hair. He began to rock him slowly, back and forth on the bed, "Main hoon na. Main kabhi nahi chhoroonga ab. So jao, meri jaan."

Shirani Sahab stood at the foot of the bed, watching the fearsome Sardar of Lyari reduced to a weeping protector, rocking his nephew like a mother holds a sick child. The old leader let out a long, quiet breath, the final remnants of his tribal reservations dissolving into the room.

He turned toward the elderly aunts and the house-helps, giving them a sharp, silent nod. Without a single word, the women quietly picked up their towels. Shirani stepped back, taking one last look at the two broken souls clinging to each other in the center of the bed, before stepping out and closing the doors with a soft, final click.

They were completely alone. The silence of the Quetta bedroom is broken only by the rocking of Uzair body and the soft sighs of a prince who had stopped fleeing.

With the room cleared and the doors shut, the chaos of the outside world ceased to exist. Uzair is no longer the fierce Sardar who had torn through the RCD Highway; he is a man devoted to the survival and comfort of the boy in his arms.

He slowly stopped the rocking motion as Hamza shivering subsided into a stillness. Carefully, Uzair adjusted his posture on the bed. He didn't let go of Hamza. Instead, he propped himself up against the pillows, keeping one arm wrapped securely around Hamza waist, locking him to his side, while using his free hand to manage the treatment.

He reached for the fresh bowl of ice water the aunts had left on the bedside table. His hands, usually so accustomed to the rough handling of weapons and port logistics, became incredibly gentle. He picked up a soft linen cloth, dipped it into the freezing water, and wrung it out with slow precision.

"Thoda sa thanda lagega, jaan... par bardasht kar lo," Uzair whispered,

He gently placed the cool cloth over Hamza burning forehead. Hamza flinched slightly at the sudden cold, a low, weak groan escaping his throat as his brows furrowed in discomfort. He tried to turn his face away, burying it deeper into Uzair chest to escape the chill.

"Shh... main hoon na. Kuch nahi hota," Uzair murmured, kissing the crown of Hamza head, drawing in the sweet, faint scent of jasmine that still fought to survive through the sweat.

With patience that only an endless, year-long devotion could breed, Uzair continued the process. He wiped the cold cloth gently across Hamza flushed cheeks, down the line of his throat, and over his burning wrists where the pulse is racing frantically. Every few minutes, as the cloth absorbed the heat of the fever, Uzair would dip it back into the ice water and repeat the cycle.

By midnight, Uzair own pathani suit was damp and wrinkled from the wet compresses and the heat radiating from Hamza body. His eyes are heavy with a exhaustion, but he didn't dare close them. He stayed awake, watching every single rise and fall of Hamza chest, checking his breathing,

He knew that this night is a stolen sanctuary. He knew that when the morning sun broke through the Quetta valley and the fever died, the walls of reality would crash back down. But for now, in the protective dark of the master wing, Uzair kept his vigil, refusing to let a single shadow touch his prince.

Hamza did not wake. The fog of the sickness held his mind prisoner, but his body had its own desperate language.

Every time Uzair tried to shift slightly to refresh the cold compress in the bowl, Hamza would let out a weak, whimper. It was a sound of panic, as if his subconscious believed that the moment the warmth left his side, he would be thrown back into the freezing, lonely void of the past year.

"Uzair... mat jayein..." Hamza breathed out against Uzair skin, his voice so faint it was nearly lost to the room.

His fingers, still trembling with the residual tremors of the high fever, tightened into tight claws, bunching the fabric of Uzair kurta into his fists. With a effort, he dragged his body even closer, trying to merge himself into Uzair frame. He buried his face deep into the crook of Uzair neck that his breath fanned against the Sardar pulsing vein.

Uzair’ heart shattered into a thousand pieces at the vulnerability of the boy. He dropped the linen cloth back into the water abandoning the compress. He wrapped both of his arms around Hamza back, pulling him upward until Hamza was draped over his chest, shielded from the cold air of the room.

"Main kahin nahi ja raha, jaan, main yahi hoon," Uzair choked out, as he rocked him He brought his hand up, threading his fingers through Hamza hair his palm flat against the back of Hamza head to hold him securely against his pulse.

"Jitna chhupna hai, chhup jao. Yeh jism, yeh seena... sab tumhara hai."

It was a devastatingly beautiful sight in the dim lamplight. The fearsome, untouchable Sardar of Lyari sat back against the headboard, willingly acting as a human fortress, while the proud Mazari Prince whimpered and clung to him like a lost child who had finally stumbled into his home in the dark. Hamza small, soft sighs slowed down, his head resting against Uzair collarbone as the constant, rhythmic thud of Uzair sober heart finally acted as the medicine, lulling his tortured soul into a safer sleep.

The freezing night of the Quetta valley slowly bled into a soft, pale dawn. The winds that had rattled the estate for hours settled into a quiet, crisp morning breeze, and the first rays of the sun filtered through the high arched windows, casting a gentle, golden warmth across the master bedroom.

Inside, the silence of the room is peaceful now.

Hamza spent the entire night draped over Uzair, his small frame securely anchored on top of his ex-husband chest. The heat that had ravaged his body for hours had finally broken, leaving his skin cool, damp, and relaxed. His face was turned to the side, his cheek resting over Uzair heartbeat, and every few seconds, a soft, contented sigh would escape his parted lips, fanning warmly against the fabric of Uzair. His hair was scattered beautifully across Uzair shoulders, completely unrestrained.

Uzair, too, had surrendered to his exhaustion.

The man who hadn't slept a full night in three months, the man who had driven six hours through lawless mountain passes and spent the night fighting a raging fever with his bare hands, had fallen into a deep sleep. His hands are still wrapped defensively around Hamza waist, locking the boy to his chest even in his slumber, refusing to let him slide away.

There is no white plastic bottle needed this morning. There is no alcohol to numb the ghosts. For the first time in a year, Uzair face is smoothed out, the sharp, defensive line of his jaw relaxed against the crown of Hamza head.

They slept like two survivors who had finally pulled each other out of a wreckage. The legal divorce, the separate provincial borders, and the toxic pride of the past year were locked outside the door. In the quiet sanctuary of the morning light, they were simply Uzair and his jaan, breathing in unison, safe in the warmth of a sober, aching love that had refused to die in the dark.

The golden light of the Quetta sun climbed higher, casting sharp, bright angles across the velvet coverlet. The mechanical routine of the estate was starting up outside, but inside the bedroom, the peace of the morning is about to fracture.

Hamza is the first to stir.

A soft, low breath escaped his throat as his eyelashes fluttered against the bright light. His senses returned slowly, waking up from a deep, dreamless oblivion. The aching weight in his limbs is gone; the scorching fire of the fever had evaporated, leaving his body light and cool.

But as his mind cleared, his physical surroundings came into focus.

He isn't curled up alone under his cold woolen quilts. He is draped completely over someone else. His cheek was pressed flat against a chest that rose and fell with a heavy, steady rhythm. The scent filling his lungs isn't the crisp peach blossom air of Quetta—it was a deep, intoxicating, and achingly familiar blend of dark cedarwood and raw skin.

Hamza froze. His heart gave a sudden, violent thud against his ribs.

Slowly, carefully, he lifted his head from the shoulder beneath him. His hazel-green eyes, wide and trembling with a sudden shock, looked down.

Sleeping right beneath him, his face illuminated by the bright morning sun, is Uzair.

The fearsome Sardar of Lyari looked defenseless in his sleep, the dark circles under his eyes showing the sheer exhaustion of the night he had just endured. His hands were still clamped tightly around Hamza waist,

The memories of his delirium flashed behind Hamza eyes—the weeping in the dark, the desperate begging for warmth, the rumble of Uzair voice whispering “Main hoon na, jaan” into his hair for hours. He had bared his entire soul to the man who broke his heart.

Panic, instantly seized Hamza throat. The fever is gone, and with it, the protective fog had dissolved. The legal documents, the separate lives, and the painful armor of the Mazari Prince rushed back into his mind like a tidal wave.

He scrambled to get up, his hands pressing against Uzair shoulders as he tried to slide off his lap, desperately trying to break free before those dark eyes could open and witness his vulnerability.

"Uzair... chhorein..." Hamza whispered frantically, his voice shaking as he pulled against the heavy grip on his waist. "Chhorein mujhe... please..."

The sudden, frantic movement on his chest instantly snapped Uzair out of his deep sleep. His eyes flew open, blinking rapidly against the sunlight before locking instantly onto the beautiful, flushed face of the boy scrambling to escape his arms.

As Hamza pulled away, his hazel-green eyes wide with panic and his breath coming in short, defensive gasps, the reality of the waking world crashed down upon the Sardar with a suffocating weight.

The fever was gone. The old Hamza—the proud, guarded Mazari Prince—is back.

Uzair fingers, which had been clamped around Hamza waist like an unbreakable iron lock all night, instantly went limp. He opened his palms, slowly and drawing his hands back, away from the fabric of the kurta, until they were resting flat on the mattress.

He let go.

Uzair shifted his frame backward, creating a wide, distance between them on the large bed. He sat up against the headboard, his shoulders slightly slumped, his eyes fixed onto his own bare palms. The tingle of Hamza body warmth is still vibrant on his skin, but he forced himself to look away.

"Ghalti ho gaya... maaf kijiyega," Uzair murmured,

He didn't try to reach out again. He didn't try to slide his fingers into Hamza hand. He sat there in his wrinkled, damp pathani suit, looking at the empty space between them on the mattress. He knew his boundaries. He knew that the moment the delirium left Hamza body, the legal reality of the divorce papers returned to the room.

He had no right to hold him. He had no right to shield him from the cold. He had thrown that right away in a fit of toxic pride a year ago, and no amount of midnight caretaking could magically buy it back.

"Aapka bukhar... aapka bukhar ab utar gaya hai," Uzair whispered, keeping his gaze anchored strictly to the floorboards beneath the bed, refusing to force Hamza into meeting his eyes. "Aap theek hain ab. Main... main abhi chalta hoon. Shirani Sahab ko bhejta hoon andar."

He began to shift his legs toward the edge of the mattress, ready to walk out of the room and back into the shadows of his own lonely life, content with the fact that he had kept his promise: he had held his jaan close until the fire died, and now, he was ready to step back into the dark.

Uzair didn't wait for a response. He didn't dare look back to see the expression on Hamza face, fearing that a single look of rejection or anger would shatter the fragile composure he is fighting so hard to maintain.

He swung his legs off the edge of the bed. His boots, still caked with the dried mud of the Karachi port and the dust of the RCD Highway,

His body ached from the six hours of reckless driving and the long, sleepless night spent acting as a human shield against the fever, but he forced his spine to straighten.

He stood up, smoothing down his wrinkled, damp kurta with trembling hands.

With slow, steps, Uzair walked across the vast bedroom. Every single inch of distance he placed between himself and the bed felt like a physical tearing of his flesh. He reached the doors, his hand wrapping around the cold brass handle.

He paused for a fraction of a second, He didn't turn his head. He just let out a long breath that sounded like a broken vow into the quiet room.

"Apna khayal rakhiyega," Uzair whispered into the silence.

He pulled the door open, stepped out into the long, high-ceilinged corridor of the Mazari estate, and let the door click shut softly behind him.

The master wing fell into an, suffocating quiet. Outside, the Quetta sun was blindingly bright, but as Uzair walked down the staircase alone, he felt the familiar, freezing darkness of Lyari closing back in around his chest. He had done what he came to do. His jaan is safe, the fever is gone, and now, the Sardar had to return to his empty cage.

As Uzair stepped out of the doors

At the foot of the stairs, leaning against the polished mahogany balustrade, stood Shirani Sahab.

The older leader is holding a hot cup of green tea, the steam rising softly into the crisp morning air. His sharp, weathered eyes immediately locked onto Uzair frame. He saw the crumpled, damp state of the pathani suit, the dark, hollow exhaustion mapping the young Sardar's face, and the complete absence of the volatile pride that used to define him.

Uzair stopped at the base of the staircase, keeping a respectful distance. He didn't speak. He simply bowed his head, his lips parting into a small smile—the smile of a man who had won the battle against the fever but completely lost the war for his own happiness.

Shirani Sahab didn't ask a single question. He lowered his tea cup, his gaze tracking the subtle tremor in Uzair hands. In the brutal world of tribal politics and blood feuds, these two men had seen lifetimes of conflict, but as elders and leaders, they understood a different kind of language. Shirani Sahab read the entire story written in the bloodshot depth of Uzair eyes.

He understood what had happened between the two ex-husbands the moment the sickness died down. He knew that the fever had acted as a temporary bridge. He knew Hamza had retreated behind his walls, and he knew Uzair had respectfully stepped back, refusing to claim a right that is no longer his.

"Khuda hafiz, Shirani Sahab," Uzair murmured, "Woh... woh theek hain ab. Hosh mein hain."

Shirani let out a long sigh, the breath condensing slightly in the cool foyer. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Uzair slumped shoulder. There is no tribal rivalry left between them; there is only a silent understanding of grief.

"Tumne apna farz pura kiya, Uzair," Shirani Sahab said softly, "Ghar mehfooz hai tumhara... aur tumhara niyat bhi. Khuda tumhein sabr de, beta."

Uzair gave a single, tight nod, his jaw clenching to keep the burning in his chest from breaking out into another sob. He turned on his heel, as he walked toward the exit doors, leaving the sanctuary of Quetta behind to face the long, sober road back to Lyari.

The drive back down the RCD Highway is an blur of dust and deafening silence. Without the frantic adrenaline of the fever pushing him forward, the six-hour journey back to Karachi felt like an eternity. Uzair drove like a ghost, his hands loose on the steering wheel, his eyes staring blankly at the asphalt as the cold mountains of Balochistan melted back into the humid, heavy air of the Sindh coast.

By the time the blacked-out Land Cruiser finally rolled through the iron gates of the Lyari haveli, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, plunging the courtyard into a deep, shadows-heavy dusk.

Inside the main living hall, the anxiety had been suffocating for hours.

Rehman and Ulfat had been pacing the polished marble floors since dawn. Uzair sudden, disappearance from the port the previous afternoon—leaving behind his guards, his corporate files, and completely switching off his phone—had sent shockwaves through the household. They knew he is sober, but they also knew that a sober Uzair carrying a year's worth of unexpressed grief is a dangerous, volatile thing.

The moment the entrance doors groaned open and Uzair frame stepped into the foyer, both Rehman and Ulfat lunged forward hurriedly.

"Uzair!" Ulfat cried out, her face pale with worry as she rushed toward him, her hands trembling. "Kaha tha tu? Puri raat ghar nahi aya... aur poora din guzar gaya! Mobile kyun band tha tumhara?"

Rehman stepped up right beside her, his eyes instantly scanning his brother. He took in the terrifying state of the Sardar: the pathani suit is ruined, caked in desert dust and wrinkled from a long night of restless movement; his hair is wild, and his face looked like it had been carved out of stone, hollowed by a exhaustion.

"Uzair, khairiyat toh hai na? Port par sab chhor kar tu kahan nikal gaya" Rehman asked, his voice tight with a protective, brother anger.

Uzair stopped dead in his tracks in the center of the hall. He looked at his brother and his sister-in-law, his eyes empty of the fire they were used to seeing. He didn't offer an angry shout; he didn't even raise his hand to dismiss them.

He just let out a low, breath that sounded more like a choke.

"Quetta... Quetta gaya tha main," Uzair murmured, "Hamza... Hamza ko bohot teez bukhar tha."

The name Hamza always had the power to stop time inside the walls of the Lyari haveli, but tonight, it turned the air into ice.

Ulfat paused mid-sentence, her hands freezing in the air as her breath hitched in her throat. Beside her, Rehman's tense posture collapsed, his sharp, protective anger draining out of him, leaving only a profound, sadness.

The two of them stood perfectly still, their eyes locked onto Uzair face.

In the dim, warm lamplight of the living hall, the story didn't need any more words. They saw the terrifying depth of the exhaustion lining his eyes. They saw the state of his clothes—damp and ruined from a night spent fighting a fever that isn't even his to cure anymore. More than anything, they saw the hollow quiet radiating from him. The fearsome Sardar looked like a man who had gone to the edge of the world to save his life, only to realize he had to walk back alone.

Rehman and Ulfat exchanged a single, look of understanding. They didn't ask how he knew about the fever. They didn't ask if Hamza spoke to him, or why he had returned in the middle of the night without bringing the prince back. They understood the reality of the two ex-husbands without a single explanation.

They didn't say anything more.

Ulfat slowly lowered her hands, a tear slipping silently down her cheek as she stepped back, giving her brother-in-law the space to just breathe. Rehman simply stepped forward and placed a palm on Uzair arm, a silent gesture that said I am here, brother, without forcing him to speak a single word of his grief.

Uzair gave a small, nod to them both. He slowly pulled himself away, his boots dragging against the marble as he walked toward the dark, empty corridor leading to his bedroom, his long shadow following him into the quiet sanctuary of his loneliness.

The next afternoon, the humid coastal breeze of Karachi seemed to carry the silence of the previous night. Ulfat sat alone in the courtyard of the Lyari haveli, a cold cup of tea sitting forgotten on the table before her. Her mind kept drifting back to the sight of Uzair—hollow, dust-covered, and broken—dragging himself into his bedroom.

She couldn't take the silence anymore. She needed answers that Uzair would never be able to give her.

With trembling fingers, Ulfat picked up her phone and dialed Hamza number. after three long, rings, the line suddenly clicked open.

There is no greeting. Just a silence that stretched across the miles between Sindh and the cold mountains of Balochistan.

"Hamza...?" Ulfat spoke softly into the receiver, "Hamza, beta... kaise ho tum? Bukhar utar gaya?"

On the other end of the line, sitting by the high arched windows of the Mazari estate, Hamza closed his eyes. His skin is cool now, but his fingers were tightly curled around the fabric of his sleeve. Hearing Ulfat's voice—the voice of the woman who had welcomed him into Lyari with open arms—made a hot lump form in his throat.

"Ji... bhabhi," Hamza whispered, "Main... main theek hoon. Bukhar raat hi utar gaya tha."

Ulfat paused. She hadn't called just to check his temperature. As she listened closely to the tone of his voice, she felt a sudden, sharp ache in her chest. She didn't need him to confess anything. She needed to hear the frequency of his grief—to know if the fire of their love had truly turned to ash, or if there is still something bleeding underneath the pride.

And it's there. It was entirely there. Hamza voice isn't cold; it's broken, trembling with a yearning that he couldn't hide from a woman who knew him like a mother. He sounded like a boy who had been pulled out of a warm sanctuary and thrown back into the freezing dark.

"Bhabhi..." Hamza started, his voice cracking slightly as he stared blankly at the empty spot on his mattress where a hand had rested all night. He didn't ask about Uzair by name—he didn't have the right to—but the unspoken question hung heavily in the air. "Woh... woh pohnch gaye wapas...?"

Ulfat eyes filled with tears. In that single, hesitant question, she got her answer. This love isn't dead. It's a living, breathing tragedy.

"Pohnch gaya, beta," Ulfat wiped a tear from her cheek, "Puri raat tumhari aag mein jalta raha... aur subah hote hi apni tanhai wapas le kar lout aya. Tum donon ek doosre se door bhaagte ho, Hamza... par tumhara rooh aaj bhi wahin khadi hai."

The sudden beep-beep-beep of the disconnected call echoed in the quiet Karachi courtyard, cutting through the afternoon heat. Hamza hadn't argued, he hadn't denied it, and he hadn't put up his usual walls. He had simply cut the connection because the weight of the truth is too heavy for his fragile, post-fever chest to bear.

Ulfat slowly lowered the phone from her ear, her hand trembling slightly as she stared down at the dark screen.

She let out a sigh that came from the very depths of her soul. The silence of the haveli seemed to press in on her from all sides—the empty corridors, the locked doors of Uzair bedroom, and the haunting, lingering ghost of a marriage that had once filled this house with life.

She had heard everything she needed to hear in those brief, broken whispers from Quetta. Hamza’s voice is bleeding. Uzair spirit is crushed. Two proud men from two powerful lineages were willingly destroying themselves, choosing to drown in their separate oceans of toxic guilt and legal finality rather than bridge the gap.

Ulfat eyes cleared, the tears of sorrow drying up, replaced by a sudden, fierce determination. She stood up from the courtyard table, smoothing down the front of her dupatta. The time for weeping, pacing, and waiting for time to heal these two idiots is officially over. Time wasn't healing them; it's killing them.

"Bohat ho gaya," Ulfat whispered to the empty courtyard, her jaw tightening with the fierce resolve of a woman who had managed the Lyari household through wars and blood feuds. "Agar in donon par chhor diya, toh yeh aglay jahan mein hi ek doosre se milein ge. Mujhe ab khud is aag mein koodna padega."

She knew she couldn't count on Rehman to help—he is too bound by his loyalty to Uzair boundaries and tribal respect. She couldn't count on Shirani Sahab, who is trapped by the rigid honor of the Mazari clan.

If this love was going to survive, the matriarch of Lyari would have to take the steering wheel into her own hands.

The next morning, the sun didn't bring peace to the Lyari haveli; it brought the storm that Ulfat had been brewing in her chest all night.

She didn't knock. She didn't wait for permission. She threw the doors of Uzair bedroom open with a violent swing that made the wood rattle against the walls. The room inside is a tomb—dark, suffocating, thick with the scent of stagnant cedarwood, and completely closed off from the world.

Uzair is still asleep, buried under a single sheet, his frame sprawled across the mattress in a state of bone-deep exhaustion. He hadn't changed out of his clothes properly; he had simply collapsed into the dark, hiding from the light of a world that didn't have his jaan in it.

Ulfat didn't care about his fatigue. She didn't care about the reputation of the Sardar of Lyari. Before Uzair could even blink his eyes open to process the sudden intrusion, her voice shattered the quiet of the room like a lightning strike.

"Utho, Uzair! utho!" Ulfat screamed, her voice echoing off the high ceilings, with an anger that had been simmering for twelve agonizing months.

Uzair snapped awake, his eyes flying open in confusion, his hand instinctively reaching toward the side table where his weapon usually lay. He sat up hurriedly, his hair wild, as he blinked against the sudden glare of the open corridor light. "Bhabhi...? Khairiyat toh—"

"Kuch khairiyat nahi hai!" Ulfat cut him off instantly, stepping right up to the edge of the bed, her shadow towering over him. She threw her hands down, her dupatta slipping from her shoulders in her fury. "Puri raat main so nahi saki hoon, Uzair! Aur tum yahan is andhere kamre mein murdon ki tarah pade ho? Kis baat ka Sardar ho tum? Kis baat ka mard-e-momin ho, jo apni jaan ko ek doosray qubaile ke reham-o-karam par chhor kar yahan matam mana raha hai?!"

Uzair winced, the words striking him harder than any bullet ever could. He rubbed his face with his hands, his voice dropping into that low, defeated whisper. "Bhabhi, aap samajh nahi rahi hain... woh hosh mein aa gaya tha. Kal subah jab uska aankh khula, toh uski aankhon mein mere liye sirf darr aur nafrat tha. Mera koi haq nahi hai ab uspar. Humara talaq ho chuka hai, kanoon kehta hai ke—"

"Bhaar mein jaye tumhara kanoon aur doob mare tumhari yeh jhooti ghairet!" Ulfat roared, leaning down until she is face-to-face with the fearsome leader,

"Kanoon ne tumhein nikaah sikhaya tha? Kanoon ne tumhein us bache se mohabbat karna sikhayi tha?! Kal jab maine Hamza ko phone kiya, toh uska aawaaz mein sirf aur sirf tumhara intezar tha! Woh ro raha tha, Uzair! Woh zinda laash bana betha hai Quetta mein kyunke uski bhabhi dekh sakti hai ke uska rooh aaj bhi is Lyari ki mitti se bandhi hui hai! Par tum donon ziddi, anaa-parast insaan apni jhooti sharafat ke peechay chup kar ek doosre ki zindagi zahar kar rahe ho!"

Uzair sat frozen, his breath hitching in his chest. The mention of Hamza weeping on the phone cut through his defenses, "Hamza... Hamza ro raha tha? Bhabhi, sach...?"

"Haan! Sach!" Ulfat snapped, her voice tightening as she made her final, stand. She stepped back, pointing a firm finger straight at his chest.

"Ab meri baat kaan khol kar sun lo, Uzair. Tumne ek saal is ghar ko qabrastan bana kar rakha hai, par ab main tumhein aur khud ko is aag mein mazeed nahi jalne doongi. Agar tumhein apna Hamza wapas chahiye... agar sach mein tum us bache ko is haveli ka bana kar wapas laana chahte ho... toh ab se lekar uske is ghar wapas aane tak, main jo bhi karoongi, tum usme chupchapa haan mein haan milaoge! Ek lafzi sawal nahi karoge tum mujhse!"

Uzair stared up at his sister-in-law, stripped of his title, his power, and his pride. In this house, before she is a sister-in-law, she is the matriarch who had held his family together through the bloodiest streets of Karachi.

"Jo main kehti hoon, bas wohi hoga," Ulfat declared, her voice dropping into a chillingly calm, "Main jahan bolungi chalna hai, tum chaloge. Main jahan bolungi jhoot bolna hai, tum bolenge. Tumhara yeh sardaari ka dabdaba mere samne mat dikhana. Mujhe mera dewar wapas chahiye, aur us dewar ki jaan uske seene mein wapas chahiye. Haan ya haan, Uzair?!"

Uzair looked at the look in Ulfat eyes, then down at his own empty palms. The thought of Hamza weeping in the cold mountains of Quetta broke the last lock on his heavy heart.

Slowly, deliberately, the fearsome Sardar of Lyari bowed his head before his Bhabhi, a single, desperate tear breaking free and slipping down his jawline.

"Haan, Bhabhi... jaisay aap kahein," Uzair whispered, surrendering his fate into her hands. "Bas... bas mera Hamza mujhe wapas dila dein."

Four days had passed since the storm in the Lyari haveli. Four days of an at stretched across the provincial borders from the coastal heat of Karachi to the crisp, mountain air of Balochistan.

In the grand study of the Mazari estate, Hamza sat behind a wood desk. The room is flooded with the light of the Quetta morning, but the prince himself looked as pale as the linen sheets he had been confined to just days prior. He is dressed in a simple kurta that made his slight frame look even smaller. He is supposed to be reviewing the legal deeds for the family’s northern lands, but his hazel-green eyes hadn't processed a single word on the parchment in over an hour. His fingers kept tracing the smooth edge of the desk, his mind hopelessly trapped in the memory of a dark cedarwood scent and the rumble of a voice whispering "main hoon na " into his hair.

He had been waiting for a sign. A phone call, a message, a threat—anything from the beast of Lyari. But there had been nothing. He had no idea what had happened after he cut the call with Ulfat Bhabhi four days ago. He didn't know about the screaming match in Uzair bedroom, and he certainly didn't know that Ulfat had completely taken the reins of Uzair's life into her own hands. To Hamza, the world is exactly as it had been—

A sudden, knock at the study doors broke his trance.

"Aayein," Hamza called out,

The doors open, and one of the senior Mazari household attendants stepped into the room, bowing his head respectfully. The man isn't carrying files or ledgers. Instead, resting on a polished silver tray in his hands was a thick, square envelope made of heavy, crimson-dyed cardstock, embossed with intricate gold filigree along the borders.

"Hamza Sahab," the attendant murmured, stepping closer to the desk. "Lyari haveli se ek qasid aaya hai. Yeh khatt khusoosi taur par aapke naam bheja gaya hai."

Hamza heart gave a thud against his ribs. Lyari haveli.

"Yahan rakh do," Hamza managed to say, keeping his voice strictly professional, hiding the sudden tremor in his hands.

The servant bowed, placed the crimson envelope on the smooth wood of the desk, and quietly exited the room, closing the doors behind him.

The moment the lock clicked shut, the mask of the Mazari Prince vanished. Hamza leaned forward hurriedly, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes scanned the cardstock. There are no stamps, no mailing labels—just his full name written in exquisite, sweeping Urdu calligraphy: Hamza Ali Mazari.

He felt a deep, confusing knot form in the pit of his stomach. Why would Uzair send a formal card? If he wanted to threaten him, he would call. If he wanted to see him, he would break down the gates. With shaking fingers, Hamza tore open the gold seal at the back of the envelope. He pulled out the gold-gilded card inside, the rich scent of saffron and expensive ink wafting into the cool air of the study.

He opened the folding card. His eyes flew to the center of the elegant script, searching for the familiar name, and then his entire world ground to a halt.

The text, written in shimmering gold ink, read: The family of Baloch invites you to celebrate the auspicious occasion of the Nikaah ceremony of Uzair Baloch weds Gurbaaz Singh.

The cardstock slipped out of Hamza paralyzed fingers, fluttering face-up onto the wood of the desk.

Uzair Baloch weds Gurbaaz Singh.

Hamza breath is trapped in his lungs. The room around him went entirely cold, the white sunlight turning into a blinding, dizzying blur. His mind reeled in absolute, chaotic confusion. Gurbaaz Singh? The name belonged to one of the most powerful, influential transport and logistics families operating out of the Punjab-Sindh border—a strategic political alliance that would make Uzair grip on the shipping ports completely untouchable.

But it wasn't the politics that made the air vanish from the room. It was the reality of the print. Only four nights ago, that beast had wept into his hair, had held him against his chest all night, had acted as a human shield against a raging fever. And now, four days later, a formal invitation had arrived at the Mazari estate, inviting the ex-husband to witness the new marriage.....

#hamza x uzair #hamza ali mazari #uzair baloch #dhurandhar #rehman x ulfat #angest #ao3 #dhurandhar 2 #dhurandhar revenge #hamzair #dhurandhar fanfiction #dhurandhar fanfic #dhurandar the revenge #dhuranandar2 #dhurandar fandom #top uzair #bottom hamza

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 9

The doors of the inner fortress creaked open once more, and Uzair stepped out into the courtyard.

He moved slowly, his frame still slightly stiff from the residual ache of the fever, but his posture had returned to that of the Sardar. The vulnerability from the bedroom is locked away behind a tight jaw and unreadable eyes. Yet, as his boots ground against the gravel, his gaze instinctively swept the entire courtyard, searching the high stone balconies and the arched windows.

He was looking for a glimpse of long waves. He is looking for hazel-green eyes.

But the courtyard is empty, save for the tribal guards packing the last of the luggage into the armored SUVs. Hamza is nowhere to be seen. He had truly fled.

Ulfat stood by the lead vehicle, her shawl wrapped tightly against the sharp Balochistan wind. She looked at Uzair as he approached, noting the hollow disappointment in his eyes. She didn't say a word about what she had witnessed in the corridor, nor did she mention Hamza escape. She simply gave Uzair a gentle, reassuring nod that told him everything he needed to know.

"Sab tayyar hai, Uzair," Ulfat said softly, "Chalein? Karachi pahuche pahuche raat ho jayegi."

Uzair stopped by the door of the SUV, his hand resting on the cold metal. He took one last, breath of the mountain air, dragging the faint, scent of cedar and jasmine into his lungs one final time. He knew Hamza isn't here to say goodbye, but the ghost of morning—the real, weight of Hamza sleeping against his chest—is coming back to Lyari with him.

"Ji, Bhabhi. Chalein," Uzair murmured,

He climbed into the driver seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel. As the engine roared to life and the iron gates of the Mazari fortress began to open, Uzair looked into the rearview mirror one last time. He didn't know what the future held, and he didn't know how they would survive the distance, but for the first time in a year, the emptiness in his chest didn't feel entirely permanent.

The convoy slowly rolled out of the gates, descending the winding mountain passes, leaving the fortress behind as they headed back toward the lights of Karachi.

The highway back to Karachi is long, quiet, The rhythmic thrum of the SUV’s tires against the asphalt was the only sound breaking the silence inside the vehicle. Uzair drove with his eyes fixed on the unfolding road, his hands gripping the wheel with a calm that hadn't been there the day before. The fever had left his body, but the memory of Hamza weight against his chest remained, a phantom warmth he couldn't shake.

Beside him, Ulfat watched the passing landscape of dry hills slowly flatten into the familiar outskirts of Sindh. She waited until the city lights of Karachi began to flicker on the horizon before she finally spoke.

"Maine use keh diya hai," Ulfat said softly,

Uzair didn't turn his head, his eyes shifting toward her in the dim light of the dashboard. "Kya kaha, Bhabhi?"

"Ke samne Eid hai, aur use haveli aana hoga," she replied, looking out the window as the first signs of the Lyari checkpoints appeared ahead. "Maine usse dawat ka wada liya hai."

A sudden tension gripped Uzair chest. His heart, which had settled into a dull ache, gave a violent thud against his ribs. Eid at the haveli. The place where they had lived as husbands, the place where every hallway held a ghost of their laughter, their arguments, and their final, devastating goodbye. To have Hamza step back into that space felt like an dream—and a reality.

"Usne... usne kya kaha?" Uzair asked, He is almost afraid to hear the answer, preparing himself for the rejection he usually received.

Ulfat turned to look at him, a gentle, knowing smile softening her face. "Usne mana nahi kiya, Uzair. Usne kaha ke woh koshish karega. Aur tum jante ho, agar woh koshish karne ka wada kare, toh uska dil pehle hi maan chuka hota hai."

Uzair blinked, his vision blurring slightly as he turned the SUV through the gates of the Lyari haveli. The courtyard is exactly as he had left it— quiet. But as he turned off the engine and the headlights died, the windows of the estate didn't look empty anymore.

For the first time in an entire year, as Uzair stepped out into the humid Karachi air, he didn't feel like a man returning to a graveyard. There is a date on the horizon. There is a promise in the air.

He looked down at his own hand, then up at the moon hanging low over the city. The distance between Karachi and Balochistan is still vast, and the scars of their past are still deep, but as the countdown to Eid began, the fearsome Sardar of Lyari finally felt a flicker of hope burning through his soul.

The courtyard of the Lyari haveli is dead silent as the servants finished unloading the remaining bags. Uzair and Ulfat walked side by side toward the entrance, their shadows stretching long across the polished marble floor under the dim veranda lights.

Just as they reached the threshold, Uzair slowed his steps. His mind, which had been entirely consumed by Hamza for the last twenty-four hours, suddenly shifted to the cloud that had been hanging over their own household. He looked at Ulfat, seeing the quiet dignity she carried, but also the scars left by months of family strife.

"Bhabhi..." Uzair said, turning to face her.

Ulfat paused, looking up at him

Uzair swallowed hard, his eyes reflecting the soft light of the courtyard. "Rehman bhai ko maaf kar dijiye."

The mention of Rehman name made the air between them instantly turn heavy. Ulfat expression didn't harden, but a flicker of sorrow crossed her eyes.

"Main janta hoon unhone jo kiya, woh maafi ke qabil nahi hai," Uzair continued, his voice tight with the weight of his brother mistakes. He thought of his own broken life, of the devastating cost of pride and stubbornness that he and Hamza were currently paying. He didn't want the same rot to consume the rest of his family. "Lekin is ghar ki deewarein pehle hi bohot thandi ho chuka hain. Eid sar par hai, Bhabhi. Agar aap unhein maaf nahi karengi, toh yeh haveli kabhi poora nahi hoga."

Ulfat let out a long sigh, her fingers tightening around the edge of her dupatta. She looked out into the empty courtyard, where the wind was rustling the palm fronds.

"Tumne toh use maaf kar diya, Uzair... jisne tumse tumhara zindagi chheen li," Ulfat said softly, her voice carrying a bittersweet edge as she turned her eyes back to him. "Tumhara dil bohot bada hai, beta."

"Mera dil bada nahi hai, Bhabhi," Uzair murmured, a small, sad smile touching his lips as he thought of Hamza touch from that morning. "Mera dil toh bas toot chuka hai. Aur toote hue log samajhte hain ke narazgi mein sirf apna hi nuksan hota hai. Main nahi chahta ke Rehman bhai bhi us andhere mein chale jahan se lautna mushkil ho."

Ulfat stood in silence for a long moment,

"Ghar aane do use," Ulfat whispered. "Eid ka din hai... khuda ke ghar se koi khali nahi jata, toh main kaun hoti hoon niyat badalne wali. Tum bas apne par dhyan do, Uzair. Hamza ko is chaukhat par vapas lana hai."

Uzair felt a weight lift from his chest. He nodded respectfully, opening the door for her as they finally stepped inside the haveli, the shadow of the past year slowly beginning to crack open to let the first rays of hope inside.

They had just stepped into the, dimly lit foyer of the haveli when Uzair footsteps slowed to a halt again.

He didn't look at Ulfat. Instead, his eyes fixed onto the floor beneath his boots, his hands shifting restlessly at his sides.

"Aur Bhabhi..." Uzair asked slowly, "Aapne... aapne mujhe maaf kiya? Hamza ke saath jo bhi kiya maine..."

The question hung heavily in the cool air of the foyer. It was the one question he had been too terrified to ask for an entire year. He had looked at Ulfat every day, seen her managing the haveli, seen her taking care of him when the grief became too heavy—but they had never spoken directly about the devastating role Uzair own pride had played in tearing his marriage apart. He knew how deeply Ulfat loved Hamza, how she had always seen the sweet Mazari Prince as a son.

Ulfat stopped walking. She turned around slowly, her dupatta shifting over her shoulder. She looked at Uzair—at the slight tremor in his jaw, at the guilt in his eyes, and at the man who had spent the last twenty-four hours weeping in his sleep because his soul is starving for the boy he had pushed away.

The sternness in her eyes dissolved,

She stepped closer to him, reaching up to place both of her hands gently against Uzair cheeks, forcing the fearsome Sardar of Lyari to look down and meet her gaze.

"Tumse narazgi kaisa, Uzair?" Ulfat whispered, "Ghalti tumse hui, beta... bohot badi ghalti hui. Tumne us phool jaise bache ka dil dukhaya jo tumhare liye apni puri duniya chor kar aaya tha. Lekin tumhari saza... tumhari saza toh maine pichle ek saal se har roz dekhi hai."

She gently wiped a tear that had escaped Uzair lashes with the pad of her thumb.

"Mera Khuda gawah hai, maine tumhe maaf kiya," she continued softly, "Lekin mer maafi se tumhara ghar abaad nahi hoga, Uzair. Ab yeh jo dard tumhare seene mein hai, iska hissab sirf Hamza hi pura kar sakta hai. Is Eid par jab woh is chaukhat par qadam rakhe... toh apna sab kuch uske qadmon mein rakh dena. Apni saari akarr, apna yeh sardari ka nasha... sab kuch."

Uzair let out a breath, his large hands coming up to gently cover her hands on his face. He nodded slowly,

"Main sab kuch chor dunga, Bhabhi," Uzair murmured, "Bas woh ek baar vapas aa jaye."

The gates of the Lyari haveli groaned open once more as the clock struck ten. The familiar crunch of tires on gravel signaled the return of the rest of the household.

Rehman stepped out of the driver seat, his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a long day handling the Karachi port logistics. From the passenger and back seats, Naieem and Faizal climbed out, balancing backpacks stuffed with coaching center notes and textbooks.

Rehman paused by the entrance, his hand hovering over the door handle. For months, stepping into this house had felt like walking into a courtroom. The silence from Ulfat and the icy, detached aura of Uzair had made the haveli feel entirely suffocating.

But tonight, as Rehman pushed the doors open, the atmosphere felt subtly shifted. The thrumming tension that usually hung in the air was lighter.

Ulfat was sitting on the low diwan in the lounge, a woolen shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She looked up as the front door opened. Her eyes went first to her sons, Naieem and Faizal, and a soft, genuine smile touched her tired face.

"Ammi!" Faizal mumbled, instantly dropping his heavy bag onto a chair and collapsing onto the carpet near her feet. "Aaj coaching waalon ne jaan le li. Itni lambi physics ka class tha."

"Tum log haath mooh dho kar aao, main khana lagwati hoon," Ulfat said gently, running a hand through Faizal hair. Naieem offered a tired but respectful salaam, which Ulfat returned with a soft nod before the two boys headed down the corridor toward their rooms.

With the boys gone, Rehman remained standing near the doorway, his eyes fixed on his wife. He looked hesitant, almost fearful of taking another step forward, waiting for the cold shoulder.

Instead, Ulfat gaze moved from the empty corridor back to him. The wall of resentment that had defined her expression for the past year isn't there. It had been replaced by a quiet acceptance. She didn't speak, but she didn't look away either.

From the top of staircase, Uzair watched the scene play out. His frame was leaning against the balustrade, his eyes taking in the small, fragile truce forming in his family. He caught Rehman eye and gave his brother a single nod—a silent reassurance that the storm inside the haveli is finally beginning to pass.

Uzair stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at his brother, his sister-in-law, and the faint sounds of his nephews in the background. The peace mending below him didn't make him envious; it only deepened the profound, bittersweet longing in his chest.

In that quiet moment, a strange, beautiful shift happened inside the heart of the fearsome Sardar.

He looked out at the vast, chaotic world beyond the haveli walls and realized he wanted every love in the world to find its way home. He wanted every fractured family to heal, every separated lover to meet, and everyone to have the happy ending that he had so carelessly thrown away. He didn't want anyone to know the cold of an empty bed or the silence of a year spent grieving in the dark.

A soft smile touched his lips as he looked up at the moon through the skylight. He knew the brutal reality of his past. He knew that even with the promise of Eid, he might never get to hold Hamza as his husband again. He might never get to wake up with those hazel-green eyes resting peacefully against his chest in the waking world.

But as he watched Ulfat softly guide Rehman toward the dining room, Uzair realized something beautiful: he could find his own love hiding in the happiness of others.

If he couldn't have Hamza, he would spend the rest of his days protecting the love around him. He would find his love for Hamza in the way he mended his family. He would find it in the way he ruled Lyari with mercy instead of cruelty. He would find it in the quiet joy of seeing people smile, knowing that his own broken heart is channeling its endless devotion into making the world just a little bit warmer.

He might never hold his jaan again in reality, but through this—through becoming a man worthy of the love he had lost—he would keep Hamza alive in every good thing he did.

Uzair took a breath, the final remnants of his bitter pride dissolving into the night air. He is ready for Eid. He is ready to give everything he had left, without asking for a single thing in return.

The days leading up to Eid passed in a blur of anticipation that kept the entire haveli on edge. The quiet truce between Rehman and Ulfat held, bringing a long-awaited warmth back into the corridors, but Uzair remained a silent anchor in the center of it all. He threw himself into the preparations, personally overseeing everything from the lighting of the courtyard to the charity distribution for the people of Lyari. Every action he took was filled with a gentle, deliberate care, as if he were trying to craft a sanctuary pure enough for a prince to step into.

Finally, the morning of Eid arrived.

The air in Karachi is thick with the scent of burning incense, sweet sheer khurma, and fresh jasmine. After the morning prayers, the haveli erupted into a flurry of movement. Naieem and Faizal were running down the halls in their crisp new kurtas, and Rehman is greeting elders in the lounge.

Uzair stood in front of the mirror in his room, dressing with slow precision. He wore a dark, midnight-blue pathani suit, the fabric stark and imposing, yet his reflection showed a man entirely softened. His hair is neatly brushed back, and his beard was trimmed, but his eyes are wide and anxious. He looked down at his bare hands, then took a breath, adjusting his collar before heading downstairs.

By afternoon, the dawat is in full swing. Relatives, political allies, and neighborhood elders filled the sprawling courtyard. Laughter and the clinking of plates echoed. Uzair stood near the entrance, playing the part of the host, shaking hands and embracing guests—but his gaze never settled. Every time the outer gates creaked open, his heart gave a violent, painful thud against his ribs.

'Will he come? Or was the promise of a "try" just a gentle way to break my heart one last time?'

Hours bled into the evening. The crowd began to thin, the bright afternoon sun dipping below the horizon, painting the Karachi sky in shades of deep purple and gold. The fairy lights draped across the balconies flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the half-empty courtyard.

Uzair is standing near the central fountain, his shoulders slightly slumped as the weight of disappointment began to settle into his bones. He looked down at the rippling water, a small, sad smile touching his lips. He reminded himself of his vow: even if Hamza didn't show, he would not let bitterness take over. He would find his love in the joy of his family tonight.

"Uzair."

A soft voice called out from the main arched entrance of the courtyard. It isn't Ulfat's voice. It was sweet carried a slight, nervous tremor.

Uzair froze. The world around him seemed to lose its sound entirely. He turned around slowly, his breath catching so sharply in his throat that it physically hurt.

Standing at the threshold of the haveli, framed by the glowing fairy lights, is Hamza.

He looked devastatingly beautiful. He wore a soft, ivory-white kurta that made his skin look radiant under the evening lights. His waves of hair were perfectly styled, falling gently around his face, and his eyes wide, scanning the courtyard until they locked directly onto Uzair. He looked out of place in the rugged Lyari fortress, like a creature of pure light stepping into the dark. In his hands, he held a beautifully wrapped box of sweets from Quetta—he hadn't come empty-handed.

The entire courtyard seemed to fade into a blur. Uzair stood rooted to the spot, his chest heaving as he stared at his ex-husband.

Hamza took a slow, hesitant step forward, his boots clicking softly on the marble. He gripped the sweet box tighter, his lips parting slightly as he looked at the man in midnight-blue who is looking back at him as if he were the only thing left in the universe.

Behind Hamza, a figure stepped through the archway into the warm glow of the fairy lights. It was Shirani Sahab.

His sharp eyes immediately scanned the courtyard, his protective stance clear. He would never let the Mazari Prince step into the heart of Lyari alone, even on Eid. The history is too bloody, the memories too raw, and Hamza is far too precious to be left unguarded.

The spell broke. Uzair forced his feet to move, tearing his eyes away from Hamza face with a effort. He knew his boundaries. He knew the legal reality. Most of all, he knew he didn't have the right or the permission to reach out and touch the boy who had once belonged to him.

Instead, Uzair stepped forward and closed the distance toward the older man.

"Shirani Sahab," Uzair said, He extended his arms and pulled the older leader into a respectful Eid embrace. "Eid Mubarak. Aapka is chaukhat par aana... humari khush kismati hai."

Shirani patted Uzair back with a slow nod, recognizing the immense humility in the young Sardar’s posture. "Eid Mubarak, Uzair."

As they pulled apart, Uzair hands dropped to his sides. He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Hamza gaze for a second. He didn't offer a hug. He didn't dare slide his hand into Hamza palm like he had in the feverish dark of the fortress. He simply bowed his head in a quiet, deeply respectful aadab, his heart breaking and healing all at once just from being this close to him.

"Hamza..." Uzair murmured, the name a soft, reverent vow on his lips. "Eid Mubarak."

Hamza eyes softened, as he returned the nod, his hand still clutching the sweet box. "Eid Mubarak, Uzair."

"Hamza chachu!"

Before the silence could stretch between them, a joyful shout echoed from the main doors of the house. Faizal came running down the veranda steps, his crisp Eid kurta flaring behind him. He didn't care about tribal politics, the divorce, or the tension filling the air. For an entire year, he had been starving for his favorite uncle.

"Chachu!" Faizal cried, practically throwing himself at Hamza.

A smile finally broke across Hamza face, chasing away all the nervousness. He instantly dropped his guard, catching Faizal in his arms and hugging him tight, burying his face into the boy's shoulder as a soft laugh escaped his lips. "Faizal... mera jaan, kitne bade ho gaye ho tum!"

From behind Uzair, the doors opened fully. Ulfat stepped into the courtyard, flanked by Rehman and Naieem. Seeing Hamza holding Faizal, a tearful, triumphant smile graced Ulfat face. She looked at Rehman, and then back at the beautiful ivory-white figure standing in her courtyard.

"Chachu! Aap kahan chale gaye the?" Faizal asked, as he finally pulled back from the hug, his hands gripping Hamza arms tightly. "Ek saal ho gaya... aapne ek baar bhi humse baat nahi ki!"

Hamza heart squeezed painfully. He looked into Faizal eyes, his own gaze shimmering with unshed tears. "Mera jaan, main... main thoda door tha. Lekin main kabhi tum logon ko bhoola nahi."

In Faizal’s innocent, stubborn mind, nothing had truly changed. The legalities of a divorce, the bitter rivalries of Lyari and Balochistan, the silence of the past year—none of it mattered. To Faizal, Hamza is still the beautiful, gentle soul who had brought light into this fortress. He is still, and would always be, his Uzair Chachu husband.

"Ab aap aa gaye hain na, ab main aapko kahin nahi jaane dunga," Faizal declared with determination.

Before anyone could utter a word of warning, Faizal grabbed Hamza by his wrist. With the unstoppable energy of youth, the boy began dragging the Mazari Prince straight toward the veranda steps.

"Faizal, ruko—" Hamza gasped, his face instantly flushing a deep crimson as he stumbled after him. He looked back desperately at Shirani Sahab and Ulfat, his ivory-white kurta rustling as he tried to find a way to politely break free without hurting the boy.

But no one moved to stop them.

The entire courtyard fell into a silence. The guards stood like stone statues. Shirani Sahab watched with a quiet, knowing expression, recognizing that sometimes a child's innocence can cut through a year of adult pride faster than any political negotiation. Rehman looked at Ulfat, and Ulfat simply closed her eyes, a soft, tearful smile touching her lips as she silently blessed the moment.

Uzair stood rooted to the spot, his chest heaving His eyes tracked Hamza every movement as Faizal dragged him right past the lounge, right past the dining area, and straight up the staircase.

Faizal knew exactly where he is taking him. He didn't take him to the formal guest drawing-room or the courtyard seating. He marched Hamza straight down the familiar, dimly lit corridor of the upper floor and pulled open the door to Uzair bedroom—the very room where they had once shared a life.

"Aap yahan baithiye. Main abhi aapke liye sheer khurma lekar aata hoon!" Faizal said breathlessly, gently pushing Hamza onto the edge of the large, mattress before turning on his heel and running back down the hall to the kitchen.

The door clicked shut, leaving Hamza sitting entirely alone in the quiet sanctuary of Uzair room.

The scent of fresh jasmine and the familiar, dark cedarwood cologne of his ex-husband instantly enveloped him. Hamza sat on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling against the fabric of his ivory kurta, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs. It's exactly as it had been a year ago, clean quietly waiting for him.

Downstairs, Uzair looked up at the top of the staircase, He looked at Ulfat, his silent gaze asking for permission, for guidance, for the courage to step into his own room.

Hamza sat on the edge of the mattress, his hands pressing flat into the velvet coverlet just to keep himself grounded. The silence of the bedroom was deafening, yet it felt as if a thousand voices were echoing off the walls. Every single corner of the room was screaming a memory at him.

He looked toward the large arched window where the heavy silk drapes were pulled back, letting in the golden-purple hues of the Karachi twilight. He remembered how they used to stand there together during the monsoon season, Uzair frame wrapped around him from behind, shielding his body from the cool, damp breeze as they watched the rain flood the Lyari streets.

His gaze drifted to the wardrobe. He remembered the morning rants, the way he would complain about how Uzair giant pathani suits took up three-quarters of the space, leaving no room for his own neatly pressed, elegant kurtas. He remembered the laughter Uzair would let out before picking him up by the waist just to silence his teasing.

And then, his eyes fell upon the bedside table.

There, sitting right under the soft glow of the lamp, was a small, familiar silver tray. On it sat a single, dried jasmine flower—withered and brown, but preserved with care.his breath hitched in his throat. It's from the last bouquet he had brought into this house before everything shattered. Uzair hadn't thrown it away. He had kept the dead petals in the dark, staring at them for a whole year.

A tear broke free, tracing a slow path down Hamza cheek. The anger, the pride, and the cold aloofness he had rehearsed so carefully in Quetta are completely dissolving in the scent of cedar and old memories. He isn't the untouchable Mazari Prince in this room; he is just a boy who was desperately, helplessly homesick for the man who broke his heart.

The soft, distinctive click of the door handle moving made Hamza stiffen.

The door pushed open slowly, and Uzair frame filled the threshold. He stood there in his midnight-blue pathani, his eyes wide and breathless as he looked at Hamza sitting on his bed, the flickering evening light catching the tear track on his ex-husband beautiful face.

Uzair stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, as if a single sudden gesture might make the vision in front of him vanish. He closed the door behind him with a soft, quiet click, cutting off the distant sounds of laughter and chatter from the courtyard downstairs.

Seeing the wet shimmer in Hamza eyes and the way his shoulders were trembling, a ache flared in Uzair chest. He took two steps forward, stopping just a few feet away from the edge of the bed.

"Kya hua...?" Uzair asked softly. His voice is barely a whisper, the weight of tenderness and concern that he hadn't allowed himself to voice in a year.

Hamza flinched slightly at the sound, the sheer intimacy of Uzair tone cutting straight through his defenses. He quickly lifted his right hand—the ring catching the soft lamplight—and hurriedly wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, trying to compose himself. He swallowed hard, refusing to look directly up into those searching eyes.

"Kuch... kuch nahi," Hamza whispered, He kept his gaze fixed on his own lap, his fingers nervously bunching the fabric of his kurta. "Bas... thoda thakan hai. Aur kuch nahi."

Uzair didn't move away. He stood there, his shadow falling gently over Hamza, his heart breaking because he knew that "kuch nahi" meant absolutely everything.

Uzair squeezed his eyes shut for a fraction of a second, the pain of Hamza distant tone cutting deep into his chest. He looked at Hamza—so fragile, so breathtakingly beautiful in ivory white, sitting on the very bed they used to share—and forced his own desperate selfish desires down into the dark.

He knew Hamza is suffocating under the weight of the memories screaming from every corner. He knew he didn't have the right to keep him trapped in this ghost town of their past.

"Chalo... is kamre mein rehne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai," Uzair said softly, He stepped back toward the door, gesturing toward the open corridor. "Neeche chalte hain. Sab aapka intezar kar rahe hain."

But inside his chest, Uzair heart is hammering a completely different truth.

As he watched Hamza slowly stand up from the mattress, Uzair eyes memorized every single detail of the scene. He looked at the exact spot on the velvet coverlet where Hamza had been sitting. He drew in a quiet breath, feeling the delicate, scent of Hamza jasmine perfume already embedding itself deep into the cedarwood air of the room.

Go downstairs, Uzair thought to himself, Run away from me again if you have to, jaan. But you have left your warmth here.

Uzair knew, with certainty, that even if Hamza walked out of the haveli tonight and never looked back, he could survive on just this single evening. He could live a whole lifetime in this room, staring at that exact spot on the bed, breathing in the lingering ghost of Hamza scent, and find enough love in it to keep his soul alive until his last breath.

Hamza smoothed down his ivory kurta, keeping his eyes averted as he walked past Uzair. Uzair held the door open wide, standing still, making sure his shoulders didn't accidentally brush against Hamza arm as the younger man stepped back out into the light of the hallway.

As the door clicked shut behind Hamza, the room fell into an silence. Uzair didn't follow him down the stairs right away. He couldn't.

He turned around slowly, as he looked at the empty bedroom. The scent of Hamza jasmine is still hanging thick and sweet in the air, swirling with the dark cedarwood, creating a devastatingly beautiful ghost of his presence.

Uzair walked over to the bed with slow, reverent steps. He sank down onto his knees on the floor right beside the mattress, bringing himself level with the exact spot where Hamza had been sitting just moments ago.

Slowly, his hand trembled as he reached out. He flattened his palm against the velvet coverlet, gently swaying his hand back and forth over the fabric, feeling the faint, lingering warmth Hamza body had left behind.

A soft smile broke across the his face. A single, tear slipped from his dark lashes, dampening the velvet, but the smile remained.

"Yeh kafi hai..." Uzair whispered into "Is zindagi ke liye... bas itna hi kafi hai, jaan."

He knew his reality. He knew the scars of this lifetime are too deep, the pride too toxic, and the damage perhaps too permanent to ever truly mend what they once had. He is content to live in the shadows of this haveli, protecting Hamza from afar, surviving on nothing but the faded scent of jasmine and the echo of his voice.

But as he pressed his forehead gently against the edge of the mattress, his hand still resting on Hamza warmth, a vow took root in the deepest corners of his soul.

Uzair thought, In the next life, I will be born again. And the very moment I find you, I will take you away from everyone. I will hide you against my chest, shield you from the entire universe, and love you so fiercely, so brutally, so boundlessly... that the whole world will call me a madman.

He would not let pride touch them in the next world. He would not let tribal names or family feuds stand between them. He would be nothing but a shield for his prince.

Uzair took one breath of the room, locking the scent and the warmth away into the darkest vault of his heart. He stood up, smoothing down his kurta, his posture returning to that of the Sardar of Lyari. He wiped his face clean, turned the knob, and stepped out of the room to follow his love downstairs, ready to face the world with a heart that was entirely unbroken by the dark.

Uzair descended the staircase, Downstairs, the haveli is full of life—Faizal was eagerly serving Hamza a bowl of sheer khurma, Shirani Sahab is conversing with Rehman, and Ulfat is moving about with a smile. But to Uzair, the laughter and the clinking of dishes felt miles away. The burning vow he had just made in the isolation of his bedroom was raging like a wildfire beneath his stoic exterior.

His throat felt dry. Parched.

For months, he hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol. He had strictly cleaned up his life, locking away the bottles that used to drown his sorrows because he wanted to be a better man, a man worthy of even a single glance from Hamza. But tonight, the intensity of having Hamza so close, yet untouchable, is tearing his ribs apart. The warmth of the mattress was still tingling on his palm.

His eyes drifted toward the locked cabinet in the far corner of his study down the hall. Just once, his mind screamed. Just one glass to numb the burning. Is that too much to ask?

In the dark, lonely months of his separation, alcohol hadn't been a vice; it had been his only friend. It was the only thing that didn't judge him for his ruinous pride, the only thing that silenced the screaming ghosts of his empty bed. He desperately craved that familiar, burning numbness right now.

"Uzair?"

A soft voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. He blinked, snapping out of his trance to find Hamza looking up at him from the couch. Faizal had just handed Hamza the sweet bowl, but Hamza eyes aren't on the food—they are fixed on Uzair face, tracking the storm passing behind the Sardar eyes.

Hamza knew Uzair habits better than anyone. He noticed the slight, restless clenching of Uzair fists and the way his gaze had drifted toward the study. A faint, unspoken flicker of worry crossed Hamza features.

Uzair caught that look. He realized that if he took a drink tonight, the scent of alcohol would replace the pure jasmine and cedarwood clinging to his skin. If he turned back to his old friend, he would be failing the very promise he made to himself. He wanted to be a shield for Hamza, even if it was only from a distance, and a shield couldn't afford to shatter.

Forcing a calm expression onto his face, Uzair tore his eyes away from the dark corridor. He walked straight into the lounge, bypassing his temptations entirely, and took a seat on the single armchair across from Shirani Sahab.

"Bhabhi," Uzair called out, "Mujhe bhi sheer khurma dijiye. Aaj Eid hai."

Hamza quietly lowered his gaze to his bowl, the tension in his shoulders finally easing, while Uzair sat tall, burn of reality with a sober heart.

The rest of the evening passed under the soft, golden glow of the courtyard lights. The initial ice had broken, melted away by Faizal relentless chattering and Naieem quiet updates about his studies.

Uzair ate the sheer khurma Ulfat brought him, savoring the sweetness even as his heart remained heavy. He stayed true to his silent vow; he spoke respectfully with Shirani Sahab about the local dynamics, offered a calm word to Rehman when asked about the port arrangements, and kept his gaze carefully anchored away from Hamza whenever the silence between them grew too loud.

But Hamza is watching. From the opposite side of the lounge, wrapped in his ivory kurta, Hamza eyes subtly tracked every movement the man made. He noticed the steady hands, the clear, sober eyes, and the patience in Uzair voice. This isn't the volatile, prideful Sardar who had torn their world apart a year ago. This is a man who had been completely dismantled by his own grief, rebuilt into something quiet, protective, and profound.

Around midnight, the air turned crisp and the gathering finally began to wind down. Shirani Sahab stood up, smoothing his formal shawl.

"Chalein, Hamza? Bohot raat ho gaya hai," Shirani said gently, his voice signaling the end of the truce. "Subah Quetta ke liye nikalna hai."

The mention of Quetta—of Hamza leaving Karachi again—made the room instantly grow still. Uzair stood up immediately,

"Main bahar tak chor aata hoon," Rehman offered, but Ulfat gently caught her husband arm, giving him a look that told him to stay back.

Uzair walked beside Shirani as they moved out into the courtyard toward their armored vehicles. Hamza walked a few steps behind them, his boots clicking softly on the stone. The night wind rustled the jasmine bushes, carrying that intoxicating blend of scent that Uzair had locked in his bedroom upstairs.

By the car, Shirani Sahab turned and shook Uzair hand "Khuda hafiz, Uzair. Tumne aaj apna baddapan dikhaya hai."

"Aapka shukriya, Shirani Sahab," Uzair murmured, bowing his head.

Shirani stepped into the front seat, leaving Hamza standing by the open passenger door. The courtyard is quiet now, the remaining guards keeping a respectful distance. For the first time all evening, Uzair and Hamza were standing face-to-face without Faizal or Ulfat between them.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered softly, his voice almost carried away by the wind.

The silence between them stretched, thick with everything they hadn't said, everything they couldn't say. Hamza looked up, He looked at Uzair, then down at Uzair, bare hands.

"Ji, jaan," Uzair answered instinctively, the old endearment slipping from his lips in a rumble before he could stop himself. He instantly tightened his jaw, his eyes wide with an apology for crossing the line.

But Hamza didn't flinch. A small, smile touched his lips, a look of profound sorrow mixed with a tiny, flickering spark of something else.

"Aap... aap badal gaye hain," Hamza said softly, his fingers tightening against the car door. "Maine dekha aaj."

Uzair swallowed the lump in his throat, his chest heaving. "Aapko bohot pehle yeh Uzair milna chahiye tha, Hamza. Main bohot der se sudhra hoon."

Hamza looked at him for one long, burning moment, memorizing the face of the man he had loved so fiercely. He didn't promise to come back tomorrow, and he didn't take back the divorce. But as he stepped into the car and closed the door, he rolled down the window just an inch.

"Eid Mubarak, Uzair," Hamza voice drifted out into the dark. "Apna... apna khayal rakhiyega."

The engine roared to life, and the vehicle slowly rolled through the gates of the Lyari haveli, disappearing into the chaotic lights of the Karachi night.

Uzair stood alone in the empty courtyard for a long time, the cool wind brushing against his face. He looked at the closed gates, then up at the moon. The house behind him was quiet, but it's no longer a graveyard. He hadn't held his love tonight, but he had felt his warmth. He had seen him smile. And as he turned to walk back inside, the Sardar knew that this sober, aching heart of his was entirely ready to wait for a lifetime.

Uzair stepped back inside the haveli, the doors shutting out the Karachi night. The quiet hum of the house enveloped him, but as he moved down the central corridor, a soft, warm light spilling from the main lounge caught his attention.

He slowed his steps, looking through the arched doorway.

There, standing near the window, is Rehman. His older brother had his arms securely wrapped around Ulfat from behind, his chin resting gently against her shoulder. Ulfat had her hands placed over Rehman arms, her eyes closed in a moment of pure peace. The bitter winter of their marriage had finally melted away into the warmth of Eid.

Uzair smiled softly, a deep sense of contentment washing over him. He walked further down the hall, passing the open doors of the adjacent living areas. Through one, he saw Naieem and Faizal crashed on the large sofa, completely exhausted from the day, their heads leaning against each other in deep, peaceful sleep. Every corner of the fortress that had felt like a tomb for the past year was now packed with life, filled with people resting safely in the arms of the ones they loved.

His smile widened—a genuine, beautiful expression of a man who truly wanted the whole world to be happy, even if his own hands were empty. He had mended his home. He had protected his family's love.

Turning on his heel, Uzair walked up the staircase with a light, steady stride. He pushed open the door to his own bedroom and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.

The room was dark, lit only by the silver moonlight filtering through the large arched window. The faint, sweet scent of Hamza jasmine perfume still lingered in the air, wrapping around Uzair like a gentle, invisible embrace.

Uzair walked over to the bed, looked at the spot where his prince had sat, and climbed under the covers. He didn't reach for a bottle. He didn't let the darkness consume him. He simply closed his eyes, breathed in the fading scent of his jaan, and let himself fall asleep with a peaceful, sober heart, entirely content with the beautiful ghost of the love he had chosen to protect for the rest of his days.

The armored SUV cut through the dark, winding roads of the Karachi-Quetta highway, the city lights fading into a vast expanse of midnight blue and starlight. Inside the vehicle, the hum of the engine is the only constant sound, a steady rhythm cutting through the silence of the cabin.

In the passenger seat, Shirani Sahab leaned his head back against the headrest, his eyes closed in restful slumber, exhausted from the weight of tribal duties and the emotional gravity of the day.

But in the backseat, Hamza is wide awake.

He sat pressed against the window, his forehead resting gently against the cool glass. His hands were resting in his lap, his fingers tracing the smooth, clean surface of his platinum ring.

He watched the shadows of the roadside trees flicker past, but his mind is still trapped in that upper-floor bedroom. He could still smell the dark cedarwood cologne. He could still feel the weight of Uzair eyes looking down at him with that tenderness.

“Aapko bohot pehle yeh Uzair milna chahiye tha, Hamza.”

The rumble of Uzair voice echoed in his ears, making his chest ache with a sudden, sharp intensity. Hamza let out a soft, sigh, his breath fogging up the glass window. He reached up, his fingers unconsciously tracing a small pattern in the condensation.

He had expected to feel anger when he went back. He had expected to feel the cold, bitter sting of the past year. But instead, all he had found is a man who had completely broken his own pride just to keep his family whole. He had seen the way Uzair looked at the cabinet down the hall and then deliberately turned away, choosing to stay completely sober, completely present, just for him.

Hamza closed his eyes, a single, silent tear escaping his lashes and catching the dim light of the dashboard.

He isn't ready to go back. The scars on his heart are still too fresh, and the memory of the divorce papers still carried a weight. But as the car carried him further and further away into the safety of Balochistan, Hamza knew a profound truth: the fierce, terrifying Sardar of Lyari had finally become the man he had always prayed he would be.

Hamza pulled his shawl tighter around his shoulders, burying his chin into the fabric. For the first time in a year, as he drifted off to sleep against the moving glass, his heart didn't feel completely empty. The distance between them was still vast, but the bridge hadn't been entirely burned.

The sudden, deep rumble of Shirani Sahab voice broke the quiet hum of the SUV.

Hamza flinched slightly, quickly lifting his fingers to brush away the wet track on his cheek before turning his head away from the window. He hadn't realized the older leader had woken up, let alone been watching him in the dim dashboard light.

Shirani Sahab shifted in his seat, turning his torso slightly to look back at the younger man.

"Kya hua, bachha?" Shirani asked again, "Pura raasta tum us sheeshe ko dekh rahe ho. Lyari piche choot gaya hai, lekin tumhara dhyan abhi bhi wahin hai?"

Hamza swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers tightening around the edge of his shawl. He tried to offer a small, reassuring smile, but his lips trembled against the effort. Under Shirani sharp, knowing gaze, he knew there is no point in hiding behind another "kuch nahi."

"Mamu..." Hamza whispered, "Woh... woh badal gaye hain. Jo ghalti unhone ek saal pehle ki thi, uska pachtawa unke aankhon mein saaf dikh raha tha. Unka woh guroor, woh zidd... kuch bhi nahi bacha ab."

Shirani Sahab listened quietly,

"Waqt aur chot, dono bohot bade ustad hote hain, Hamza," Shirani said gently, leaning his arm on the backrest. "Uzair ne jo ghalti ki, uski saza usne akele kaati hai. Maine aaj uski aankhon mein woh sharaab ka nasha nahi dekha jo pehle hua karta tha... aaj uski aankhon mein sirf ek hosh tha, aur tumhare liye ek darr tha. Tumhe khone ka darr."

He paused, "Lekin tum par koi zabardasti nahi hai, beta. Agar tumhara dil abhi bhi usse maaf karne ke liye tayyar nahi hai, toh Quetta ke darwaze tumhare liye hamesha khule hain. Tumhe kya lagta hai?"

Hamza looked back out the window at the dark Balochistan mountains beginning to outline the horizon. The question hung heavily in the air, forcing him to look deep into his own aching heart.

Shirani Sahab let out a tired sigh that seemed to carry the weight of generations of tribal heartbreaks. He looked at Hamza profile against the window, seeing the ghost of the boy's mother in those sad, resolute green eyes. He didn't push further. He simply reached over the seat, patted Hamza trembling knee with a firm, comforting hand, and turned back around to face the dark highway.

"Kuch nahi Mamu... chodiye," Hamza whispered "Har kisi ko sab kuch nahi milta. Khatam ki hui cheez ko jagane se... ab koi matlab nahi."

He closed his eyes, letting the rhythmic bumps of the road lull him into a state of numb exhaustion. He kept telling himself it's over. He kept telling himself that the legal documents, the separate cities, and the vast mountains of Balochistan are a permanent wall between them.

But as the SUV sped deeper into the night, away from Karachi and away from Lyari, Hamza heart refused to listen to his mind.

No matter how hard he tried to bury the past, the image of Uzair kneeling in his mind, sober and aching, remained burned behind his eyelids. He had told his uncle that you shouldn't wake up what is already dead—but as he finally fell into a restless sleep against the window, Hamza knew the terrifying truth.

Their love isn't dead. It had never been dead. It was just waiting in the dark, breathing quietly, alive in every tear they shed apart.

The next morning, the Mazari estate in Quetta welcomed them with the crisp, cool air of the valley. The high stone walls and lush peach orchards were a world away from the humid, chaotic energy of Karachi. It's safe. It's peaceful.

But for Hamza, the peace felt like a heavy shroud.

He fell back into his old routine with a quiet, mechanical precision. He spent his mornings helping around the estate, his afternoons reading in the sun-drenched library, and his evenings sitting with Shirani Sahab on the veranda, drinking green tea. To the rest of the household, the Mazari Prince had returned from his Eid trip unchanged—elegant, poised, and reserved.

But Shirani Sahab noticed the subtle shifts. He saw how Hamza would occasionally look down at his bare wrist, as if expecting a hand to be gripping it. He noticed how Hamza would pause whenever a servant brought in fresh jasmine for the vases, his breath catching for a fraction of a second before he quietly asked them to place the flowers in a different room.

The ghost of Lyari hadn't stayed in Karachi. It had followed Hamza across the provincial border, slipping into his thoughts the moment the sun went down.

Back in Lyari, the haveli had settled into a new kind of normal.

The gloom that had plagued the house for a year was gone, replaced by the fragile, hard-won peace that Rehman and Ulfat were carefully nurturing. The courtyard is clean, the guards were disciplined, and the business at the port ran smoother than ever.

Uzair was the pillar holding it all up. He kept his word. He didn't touch a drop of alcohol, turning away from his old friend completely. Whenever the burning in his chest grew too intense, whenever the silence of his bedroom screamed Hamza name, Uzair would simply step out onto his balcony, look toward the northwest mountains, and draw a breath of the Karachi wind.

He didn't send messages. He didn't call. He respected the boundaries of the divorce with a discipline. He is content with the warmth Hamza had left on his mattress on Eid night. It's his fuel, his reminder of what he is fighting to become.

Three months passed in this quiet, agonizing standoff.

One evening in Quetta, a heavy thunderstorm rolled over the mountains, bringing a sudden, violent downpour that lashed against the library windows. The power flickered out, plunging the room into a deep, shadowy twilight.

Hamza is standing by the bookshelf, a leather-bound novel clutched to his chest. As a sharp crack of thunder echoed through the valley, the glass windows rattled violently.

In that split second of darkness, Hamza didn't see the Quetta estate. He saw the Lyari bedroom. He remembered a night just like this, a year and a half ago, when the thunder had woken him in a panic. He remembered how Uzair arms had instantly wrapped around his waist, pulling him back against his chest, a voice rumbling in his ear, “Main hoon na, jaan. So jao.”

A gasp escaped Hamza lips, the book slipping from his fingers and hitting the Persian rug with a dull thud.

He sank to his knees right there in the dark, his hands covering his face as the tears he had suppressed for three months finally broke through. The walls of pride, the logic of the divorce, the fear of being hurt again—it all shattered under the weight of a truth he could no longer deny.

He was tired of surviving on ghosts. He is tired of pretending that a broken heart could be healed by distance.

Outside the library door, Shirani Sahab stood in the dim corridor, his hand resting on the brass doorknob. Hearing the soft, muffled sobs of his nephew from inside, the old leader closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. He didn't open the door. He knew that some fires had to burn themselves out before a man could see the path forward....

#hamza x uzair #hamza ali mazari #uzair baloch #dhurandhar #ao3 #rehman x ulfat #angest #dhurandhar revenge #dhurandhar 2 #dhurandhar fanfiction #dhurandhar fanfic #dhurandar the revenge #dhuranandar2 #dhurandar fandom #top uzair #bottom hamza #hamzair

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 8

The monsoon clouds of Karachi hung low over the Lyari port, but the air felt different now. The chaotic, blood-soaked violence that had once defined these streets had settled into a quiet, disciplined order.

A year had passed.

Inside the office of the port terminal, the scent of whiskey is entirely gone, replaced by the sharp, clean aroma of strong black coffee and cedarwood incense.

Uzair sat behind a desk, reviewing the monthly shipping manifests. He looked remarkably different. His frame had regained its imposing, weight, the feverish hollowness in his cheeks replaced by a jawline covered in a neatly trimmed beard. The haze in his eyes was gone, replaced by a quiet, exhausting clarity. He hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol in twelve months. He had chosen to live, strictly because a living man is the only one who could attend the quarterly border meetings.

The doors of the office opened, and a Lyari guard stepped in, bowing his head respectfully. "Sardar Saheb. Balochistan se Mazari kafila border checkpoint cross kar chuka hai. Dus minute mein yahan honge."

Uzair heart gave a familiar, thud against his ribs, but his face remained perfectly composed. He stood up, smoothing down the front of his kurta. "Rehman bhai ko kaho bando ko door rakhein. Meeting hall ko saaf karo."

Ten minutes later, the roar of a convoy echoed through the terminal courtyard.

The doors to the main conference room opened, and Hamza stepped inside.

A year had matured the heir of the Mazari takht into a devastatingly refined ruler. His waves of hair were tied back in a flawless, intricate knot, a few stray strands framing his face. He wore an elegant, cream-colored pathani outfit with a dark emerald green waistcoat—a silent, subtle nod to the colors he once wore, but carrying none of the fragility. His eyes were sharp, professional, and entirely calm.

Behind him walked Shirani Sahab, looking older but proud, leaning on his silver cane.

Uzair stood at the opposite end of the table. For a split second, as his eyes locked onto Hamza figure, the phantom scent of old jasmine and tears seemed to flicker in the room. But neither man broke. The smiles of the past were buried under a year of silence.

"Khushamdeed, Hamza Ali Mazari Saheb," Uzair said, He extended a hand across the table—

Hamza stepped forward, He looked down at Uzair extended hand, then lifted his own right hand to meet it. As their palms touched for the first time in a year, the ring on Hamza finger pressed briefly against Uzair knuckles.

"Shukriya, Sardar Uzair Jan, baloch" Hamza replied, as he released the grip and pulled out his chair. "Waqt kam hai. Balochistan se jo naya aslah aur border security clearance ke documents aaye hain, pehle unhein dekh lete hain. Business shuru karein?"

Uzair sat down opposite him, a quiet, melancholic peace settling deep in his chest. His rounak is no longer his husband, and he is no longer his tormentor. They are two kings dividing the world in the light of day, bound by a contract that would keep them looking into each other's eyes for the rest of their lives.

"Ji," Uzair whispered, opening the folder before him. "Business shuru karte hain."

The silence of the room is thick with everything left unsaid. Yes, on paper and by the law of the takht, they are divorced. The marriage that had nearly burned Lyari to the ground is legally over. But as Uzair sat opposite Hamza, looking at him through the clear, sober lens of a year’s worth of separation, he realized that a piece of paper couldn't erase the phantom threads still tying his soul to his ex-husband.

Uzair cataloged the changes in Hamza with a bittersweet ache that pressed hard against his ribs.

The boy who used to weep in a torn kurta, the fragile creature who had trembled on the bedroom floor, is entirely gone. Hamza had grown into his power. Sitting there Hamza commanded the room without raising his voice. There is no hesitation in his eyes anymore—no lingering hatred, no burning desire for vengeance. And that is what hurt Uzair the most. The hatred had been a connection; this perfect, calm professionalism is an impenetrable wall. Hamza had moved on. He had channeled all his heartbreak into becoming the undisputed, iron-willed leader of Balochistan.

But Uzair knew he had changed drastically too.

A year ago, he is a dying animal, drowning his guilt in liquor and coughing up his own life blood just to feel a shred of emotion. Today, Uzair is sober, stable, and commanding. He had reclaimed his health, his mind sharp. He had done exactly what Hamza had told him to do—he had survived. But looking at Hamza now, Uzair realized the brutal irony of his survival: he had fixed his body just to spend the rest of his life as a ghost in his own palace, permanently longing for the boy he had broken.

Every instinct inside Uzair screamed to reach across the table, to grab Hamza hand, to beg for a single look that isn't about shipping routes or border security. He missed the quiet mornings before the war. He missed the soft laugh that used to light up the corners of the haveli. He missed his husband so violently it made his clean, healed lungs feel empty.

Yet, as Hamza calmly pointed to a section on the map, his fingers brushing near the documents, Uzair caught the ring still sitting securely on Hamza hand.

Uzair swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing his features to remain as stoic. He couldn't reach out. He couldn't speak of the past. This is the price of his life—to sit five feet away from the only person he ever loved, acting like they were nothing more than business partners dividing a kingdom.

Every single night, when the doors of the master bedroom clicked shut and the rest of the Lyari haveli fell into a silence, the fearsome Sardar of Lyari vanished.

In the dark, Uzair would move through the room like a man possessed, his hands trembling as he touched the edges of the wardrobe, the velvet curtains, and the porcelain of the sink. He would close his eyes and inhale deeply, desperately trying to catch a stray, fading whisper of old jasmine, mountain air, and the clean soap Hamza used to use.

Most nights, the room just smelled of cedarwood, humidity, and his own echoing loneliness. But his mind would betray him, conjuring the scent of his ex-husband so vividly that Uzair would sink to his knees right on the floorboards, his back pressed against the side of the bed they once shared.

Slowly, in the pitch black, his voice would break the silence—no longer carrying the booming authority of a kingpin, but cracking with the bleeding agony of a man who had thrown away his own paradise. He would look up at the moonlight filtering through the window pane and softly sing the words he had whispered into Hamza ear on their wedding night, back when the kurta was whole and Hamza smile belonged only to him:

"Hum tum kitne paas hai, kitne door hai chand sitaare..."

A tear would spill over his lashes, tracking down into his beard. He would chuckle numbers to himself, a sound in the dark, remembering how Hamza used to blush and hide his face against Uzair chest whenever he sang to him.

"Sach poocho toh mann ko jhoothe lagte hai yeh saare..."

Uzair would wrap his arms around himself, clutching his own shoulders tightly, closing his eyes to imagine that the warmth belonged to Hamza.

They are so close now—only a few hours' drive apart, sitting across the same business tables every few months—yet they are further apart than the moon and the stars.

He had his sobriety, he had his health, and he had his empire back. But every night, in the empty room that still echoed with the ghost of his husband soft breathing, Uzair knew the truth: he is just a king ruling over an empty takht, singing songs to a shadow that would never come home.

The urge usually hit him around three in the morning, when the silence in the bedroom became too loud to bear and the phantom melody of their wedding song still echoed in his throat. Uzair would pace the floor, his frame restless, his fingers twitching over his phone. He knew it's dangerous. He knew he iss violating the strict, professional boundary Hamza had drawn in the dust between them.

But some nights, the withdrawal is too violent. He couldn't stay still.

With a shaking thumb, he would dial the encrypted Balochistan line. He knew Hamza wouldn't be asleep—a ruler of the Mazari takht rarely slept through the night.

The line would ring, sending a jolt of raw adrenaline through Uzair chest, until the clicking sound of the call connecting cut the static.

"Ji, Sardar Uzair," Hamza’s voice would drift through the receiver. It was always level, smooth, and entirely devoid of sleep, carrying that calm that Uzair both feared and craved.

Uzair would close his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the window pane, He would take a ragged breath, forcing his voice to sound steady, hiding the desperation tearing through his chest.

"Mazari Saheb... Maazrat chahta hoon is waqt zahmat dene ke liye," Uzair would begin, utilizing the formal excuse he had spent the last hour fabricating. "Gawadar aur Lyari port ke beech jo teesra shipping container grid hai... uska customs clearance par kuch mard badalwane hain. Socha subah hone se pehle aapko aagah kar doon."

There would be a brief pause on the other end. Uzair could hear the faint rustle of papers—Hamza is likely at his desk in the mountain fortress, working under the glow of a single lamp.

"Uski clearance agle hafte hona hai, Uzair," Hamza would reply, his tone polite "Aap subah mere munshi ko e-mail karwa sakte thay. Is waqt phone karne ki koi thos wajah?"

'Wajah tum ho...'Uzair’s mind would scream in the dark. 'Wajah yeh hai ke tumhare bina yeh haveli mujhe zinda dafan kar raha hai.'

"Nahi... bas, port ka mamla tha, toh socha khud baat kar loon," Uzair would whisper instead, his voice cracking slightly on the edges despite his best efforts. He just wanted to prolong the call, even if it was just to hear Hamza breathe. "Aap... aap theek hain na, Mazari Saheb?"

Another long, silence would stretch over the miles between Karachi and Balochistan. For a single, fleeting second, Uzair would pray for a glitch in the armor—for Hamza to call him jaan, or to ask why his voice sounded so hollow.

But the boy is gone.

"Main bilkul theek hoon, Sardar Saheb," Hamza would say, "Agar port ka mamla hal ho gaya ho, toh main phone rakhta hoon. Subah Quetta nikalna hai. Khuda hafiz."

"Khuda... Khuda hafiz," Uzair would rasp.

The line would click dead, leaving Uzair standing in the dark with the phone pressed to his ear, listening to the empty dial tone. He had gotten what he wanted—he had heard the voice that kept his heart beating. But as he sat back down on the edge of the empty bed, the reality would sink in: he is using the empire he once choked Hamza for, just to buy two minutes of formal conversation with his ex-husband.

The stone corridors of the Mazari fortress were built to withstand artillery, but they couldn't keep out the ghosts.

High up in the cold mountains of Balochistan, only Hamza knew the true cost of his rule. To the tribal commanders, to Shirani Sahab, and to the entire province, he is the untouchable, flawless heir who had brought Lyari to its knees and reclaimed their dignity.

They didn't see him when the public duties ended.

Lately, the valley had seen a string of traditional tribal weddings. Whenever Hamza attended these gatherings as the guest of honor, his chest would physically tighten. He would watch the older elders playfully tease the blushing, newly married couples, and his mind would instantly detach from the loud music and the laughter. He would go entirely numb.

If he saw a young bride nervously adjusting her veil, or a young husband quietly catching his wife's hand under the shade of a shawl, Hamza would fall completely silent.

His eyes would fixate on their laced fingers. He would remember the warmth Uzair hands shielding his ones from the Karachi wind. He would remember when those hands meant safety, before they turned into the hands of a captor.

At night, the fortress became a tomb. Sleep never came.

The moment the oil lamps were extinguished, the wool of his grey swal felt less like armor and more like a shroud. Hamza would curl onto his side on the mattress, his knees tucked tightly toward his chest as a relentless rush of silent tears soaked into his pillow. He would grip his own arms so hard his nails bit into his skin, desperately craving the crushing weight of Uzair chest against his back, wrapping him completely, holding him so tight that the world vanished. He wanted to bury his face in Uzair shoulder and just scream, just cry until the pain literally killed him, until there is nothing left to bleed.

When the loneliness became too heavy to carry alone, Hamza would reach for his phone, his trembling fingers dialing Ulfat number late into the night.

"Hamza? Beta, tum theek ho?" Ulfat’s voice would instantly come through,

"Ji, Bhabhi... main theek hoon," Hamza would whisper into the dark, his voice a fragile, sweet tremor, so different from his daytime authority. "Bas... aise hi phone kiya. Haveli ke haalaat kaise hain? Mausam kaisa hai Karachi mein?"

He is a proud Mazari; he could never straight-up ask about his ex-husband. He had drawn the boundary himself, and his dignity wouldn't allow him to break it openly. Instead, he would weave a web of conversation, talking about the port paperwork, the family's welfare, or the household expenses, just trying to catch any stray mention of Uzair in the crossfire of their talk.

He would linger on topics about the haveli kitchen, hoping Ulfat would drop a hint. Is he eating? Did his appetite return after the liver damage? He would ask if the haveli was quiet at night, silently begging to know, Is he sleeping? Is he still pacing the floors? Is he still coughing up blood?

Ulfat, knowing both of her boys too well, would usually catch on to the silences between Hamza careful questions. She would gently steer the conversation, offering the scraps of information Hamza was starving for.

"Haveli theek hai, Hamza," Ulfat would say softly, "Ghar mein ab sukoon hai. Sardi badh rahi hai toh sab waqt par so jaate hain... aur khana bhi ab sab dhyan se khate hain. Ab pehle jaise hungame nahi hote."

Hearing those subtle reassurances—knowing that Uzair is surviving, that he wasn't drinking himself to death anymore—Hamza would let out a long breath in the dark, closing his eyes as a tear tracked down his cheek. He would listen to the dial tone long after the call ended, clutching the phone against his chest right over his heart, where the legal documents of their broken empire sat during the day, and where Uzair ghost ruled during the night.

Yes, he is divorced. On paper, he is free. Yet, every single morning when Hamza dressed and every single night when he stripped off in the freezing quiet of his bedroom, his eyes would inevitably fall to his right hand.

The ring sat there, catching the cold mountain light.

He had tried to take it off. He had stood over the stone washbasin a thousand times, his fingers gripping the metal, intending to slide it off his knuckle and throw it into the deep canyon below the fortress walls. But the moment the metal moved even a millimeter, a panic would seize his chest, making him catch his breath as if he were pulling a plug on his own life support.

He had asked himself a thousand times in the dark: Why? Why are you still carrying the brand of the man who broke you? Why keep the scar of the monster who destroyed your innocence?

He knew the answer. Deep down, in the most hidden, bleeding corner of his soul, he knew exactly why.

He couldn't take it off because removing that ring meant accepting that it's truly over. It meant admitting that the man who used to hold him in the Karachi nights was permanently gone from his life. It meant stepping into a world where he is just a king, but no longer Uzair rounak.

But Hamza is not brave enough to name it. He couldn't bring himself to utter the word love in the same breath as Uzair name. To name it meant admitting that all his power, all his territory, and all his armor were a lie—that despite the blood, the tears, and the divorce, he is still entirely, hopelessly devoted to his captor.

So instead of naming it, he let the platinum band press hard against his skin—a beautiful, silent shackle that kept him anchored to the ghost of his husband, even as they divided the world like strangers.

The mountain pass leading to the Mazari fortress was covered in a thick, unforgiving mist, the high-altitude winds slamming against the windows of Uzair SUV.

Inside the vehicle, the heat was turned up to its maximum limit, but Uzair is shivering violently. his hands gripping his knees to stop the tremors His skin is burning, a dangerous, raging fever flushing his cheeks and darkening the hollows beneath his eyes.

"Uzair, abhi bhi waqt hai, gari ghumane ko kaho," Ulfat pleaded from the seat beside him, her hand resting against his scorching forehead. She had refused to let him travel alone when she saw him collapse on the haveli floor morning, forcing her way into the convoy. "Tumhe sunehri tap (high fever) hai. Is thand mein tumhari jaan chala jayega!"

"Nahi, Bhabhi..." Uzair rasped, He pulled his black wool shawl tighter around his shoulders. "Ek saal... ek saal ho gaya hai mujhe wahan gaye hue. Aur aaj toh... aaj woh mere ilaake mein nahi, main uske takht par ja raha hoon. Main piche nahi hat sakta."

He didn't say the real reason. He didn't say that the thought of sitting five feet away from Hamza on Hamza own home turf is the only thing keeping his heart pumping through the infection clouding his blood.

When the convoy finally rolled through the stone gates of the Balochistan fortress, the tribal guards stood at attention. The door opened, and the icy mountain air hit Uzair. He staggered, his boots hitting the gravel heavily, his vision blurring for a second. Ulfat quickly moved to his side, her hand gripping his elbow under his shawl to keep him upright as they walked into the meeting hall.

Inside the hall, a roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth.

Hamza stood by the table, reviewing the trade maps with Shirani Sahab. His hair are tied back with severe, flawless precision, his hazel-green eyes scanning the documents with focus.

The doors groaned open.

Hamza looked up, his professional greeting already forming on his lips—but the words died instantly in his throat.

Uzair walked in, but he wasn't the towering, invincible Sardar of Lyari today. He is visibly swaying, his breathing shallow and loud in the quiet room, his eyes glazed over with a feverish film. Behind him, Ulfat face is tight with pale anxiety.

Hamza gaze locked onto Uzair face, and for a fraction of a second, the perfect mask of the Mazari heir shattered. A sharp panic flared in his chest. His thumb instinctively dug into the ring on his right hand, pressing it hard into his skin it hurt. Why is he burning like this? Why did he travel through the mountains in this state?

"Khushamdeed, Uzair," Shirani spoke up, his sharp eyes narrowing as he noticed Uzair unsteady stance. "Aapka tabiyat kuch nahaeyat kharab maloom hoti hai."

Uzair forced his spine to straighten, his eyes locking onto Hamza, frozen figure. Even through the haze of his fever, the sight of his ex-husband is a shot of pure life straight to his soul.

"Mausam ki thand hai, Shirani Sahab," Uzair managed to say, his voice a deep, trembling rumble that vibrated through the room. He didn't look at Shirani; his eyes never left Hamza. "Sardar kabhi bimaari se piche nahi hat-te. Business shuru karein... Mazari Saheb?"

Hamza stood entirely still on the other side of the table, his chest heaving silently. He could see the sweat sheen on Uzair forehead, could hear the rattling breath he is trying so desperately to hide. The boundary Hamza had spent a year building suddenly felt like a thin sheet of glass, threatening to shatter under the weight of his instinct to cross the room and catch his ex-husband before he fell.

Hamza didn’t say a single word to Uzair. He couldn't. If he spoke to him while looking at those glazed, feverish eyes, his entire defense would crumble right there in front of the tribal commanders.

Instead, Hamza shifted his gaze slightly to the side, his eyes locking onto Ulfat face.

"Bhabhi," Hamza said, "Aap thak chuki hongi safar se. Chaliye, main aapko aapka kamra dikha deta hoon."

Ulfat looked at Uzair, who gave her a very faint, reassuring nod through his trembling frame, and then she silently followed Hamza out of the doors. Hamza left Shirani Sahab to handle the initial paperwork, leaving Uzair standing by the fire, his body shivering despite the heat.

Hamza led Ulfat through the stone corridors of the fortress, He didn't speak a word until they reached the curtains of his private quarters. He pushed the door open, stepping into his bedroom—a sanctuary that smelled of mountain air, dark cedar, and the faint scent of jasmine.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, isolating them from the guards, the icy, untouchable posture of the Mazari Prince instantly collapsed. Hamza turned around, his composure shattering as tears broke through his lashes.

"Yeh kya pagalpan hai, Bhabhi?!" Hamza choked out, as he grabbed Ulfat hands. "Unka halat dekhne layak nahi hai! Unka jism tap raha hai! Woh is thand mein Balochistan ki pahariyon par kyun aaya?!"

Ulfat let out a sigh, her own tears welling up as she looked at the young boy she had seen break and grow. She didn't let go of his shaking hands.

"Woh sirf tumhare liye aaya hai, Hamza," Ulfat whispered, "Maine use bohot roka, haveli mein subah woh gir gaya tha... lekin usne ek nahi suni. Jab se tumne kaha hai na ke mulaqat sirf kaam ke silsile mein hoga, woh har meeting ka intezar kisi dervish ki tarah karta hai. Woh marr jayega, Hamza... lekin tumse milne ka ek mauka nahi chodega."

Hamza turned his back to her, pressing his hand over his mouth to muffle a broken sob. His

"Woh jhoot bolta hai..." Hamza cried silently, "Usko kaho dawa le... usko kaho khud par taras khaye..."

"Tum jante ho woh meri baat nahi sunega," Ulfat said softly, stepping closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Woh sirf tumhara hukam maanta hai, rounak. Agar tum use zinda dekhna chahte ho, toh tumhe khud uske saamne aana hoga. Yeh dushmani aur business ka parda ab hata do, khuda ke liye."

Hamza closed his eyes, his thumb unconsciously digging into the ring on his finger, feeling the metal burn against his skin. He is a king on the outside, but inside his own room, faced with the reality of Uzair dying devotion, he is still just a boy helplessly bound to his husband.

Hamza took a breath, forcing the emotion back down into his chest as he turned to face Ulfat again. He wiped the tears from his cheeks with a swift motion of his sleeve, trying to piece his broken armor back together, even if it was just a temporary fix.

"Bhabhi..." Hamza said, "Aaj ke liye aap log reh lijiye idhar. Main... main sab intezam karwata hoon."

Ulfat looked at him, her eyes soft She nodded quietly. "Shukriya, beta."

"Aap yahan aaram kijiye," Hamza continued, "Main hakeem sahab ko bulwata hoon. Unhein kaho ke... kaho ke neeche hall mein chalein. Aur main kitchen se garam shorba aur dawayen bhijwata hoon."

He couldn't bring himself to say Uzair name out loud, but the desperate urgency in his tone said everything. He turned around quickly, He needed to get out of the room before he fell apart in front of her.

As he opened the door and stepped back into the corridor of the fortress, his heart is hammering violently against his ribs. He had spent a year drawing a line in the sand, but the moment Uzair life is threatened by the freezing mountain air, that line dissolved into nothing. He walked briskly down the hallway toward the servants' quarters, his mind racing. He is going to make sure Uzair got the strongest medicine the mountains had to offer—even if he had to force it down the stubborn Sardar's throat himself.

Hamza was just coming around the corner of the stone corridor when the doors of the meeting hall open.

His footsteps halted instantly.

Uzair is leaning heavily against Shirani Sahab, Shirani, despite his old age and his silver cane, had his arm wrapped around Uzair waist, anchoring the giant as Uzair boots dragged clumsily across the stone floor. Uzair head is bowed,

"Dhyan se, Sardar Saheb... ek ek qadam," Shirani was saying, "Aapka jism aag ki tarah tap raha hai."

The sight struck Hamza. The fearsome Leader of Lyari, the man who had once ruled Karachi with an iron fist, couldn't even walk across a room on his own.

Before his brain could remind him of their divorce, of the boundaries, or of the past year of silence, Hamza legs moved on instinct. He crossed the distance between them in a split second,

"Mamu, hatiye," Hamza commanded,

Without waiting for a response, Hamza stepped into Shirani place. He slid his own shoulder under Uzair arm, wrapping his right arm tightly around Uzair waist. The moment their bodies made contact, the heat of Uzair high fever burned right through Hamza clothes. Uzair let out a low groan, his head rolling weakly to the side until his forehead pressed directly the crook of Hamza neck.

"J-Jaan...?" Uzair rasped, the word barely a breath of hot air against Hamza skin.

"Chup rahiye, Uzair," Hamza choked out, a single, tear escaping his eyes and cutting a path down his cheek. He tightened his grip on Uzair waist, using every ounce of his own strength to keep the giant upright. "Ek lafz mat bolna. Mamu, aap hakeem ko mere kamre mein bhejiye. Foran!"

Shirani Sahab looked at Hamza desperate, tear-stained face, then down at Hamza right hand—where the ring is pressing deep into Uzair side. The old man sighed softly, nodding. "Main bhejta hoon."

With his heart hammering against his ribs, Hamza practically carried his ex-husband down the corridor, guiding the man he still hopelessly loved toward the only sanctuary left: his own bed.

As Hamza strained against his weight, guiding him into the candlelit warmth of the bedroom, Uzair stopped trying to find his footing altogether. He let his entire frame sink into Hamza, burying his face deeper into the crook of his ex-husband neck.

The heat in his blood is blinding, but the scent—the sharp, piercing reality of Hamza scent—is clear.

It's all there. The cold mountain air, the clean cedarwood, and that faint, heartbreaking undertone of fresh jasmine that Uzair had spent a thousand nights trying to conjure from the empty shadows of Lyari. Uzair closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his chest rattling as he dragged the scent deep into his burning lungs. He breathed it in with a desperation, his senses tearing at the fragrance, trying to memorize every single note of it.

He knew the rules. He knew this isn't forever. He knew that tomorrow, or the day after, the fever would break, the ink on the shipping manifests would dry, and Hamza would slip that impenetrable mask back over his face. This closeness is an accident—a momentary lapse born out of pity and weakness.

"Jaan..." Uzair whimpered into Hamza skin, a tear slipping from his eye .

His hand shifted weakly, his fingers blindly catching the fabric of Hamza sleeve, pulling himself even closer until there is no air left between them. He didn't care about the pain, the infection, or his crumbling pride. In the twilight of his delirium, with his ex-husband arm wrapped tightly around his waist, Uzair just kept breathing him in, hoarding the scent like a dying man stealing breaths of oxygen before the sky closed up for good.

The hakim had given Uzair a herbal decoction to break the fever, and for hours, the giant lay in the center of Hamza bed, trapped in a state between consciousness and a restless sleep.

But the fever isn't what shocked Hamza the most. It's the tears.

From the moment Hamza had laid him down on the mattress, through the afternoon as the mountain storm rumbled outside, and now into the late hours of the night, Uzair eyes hadn't dried once. Even in his sleep, tears continuously welled up beneath his thick lashes, tracking down into his beard and soaking the silk pillows. When he drifted awake for brief moments, his glazed, bloodshot eyes would fixate on Hamza sitting in the armchair by the bed, and a fresh, wave of weeping would shake his chest, his throat letting out small, broken sounds of grief.

Hamza sat frozen, his own chest aching. He had known Uzair as a monster, as a tyrant, and as a husband—but he had never seen him like this. The fearsome Sardar of Lyari is crying as if his soul were leaking out of him, unraveled by the simple fact that Hamza is in the same room.

Ulfat sat on the opposite side of the bed, pressing a cloth to Uzair burning forehead. Hamza watched her closely, waiting for her to look shocked, or to say something about Uzair breakdown.

But Ulfat didn't even blink.

Her face was just lined with a exhaustion. She wiped the tears from Uzair cheeks with the edge of her dupatta, She didn't look surprised at all.

Seeing her indifference struck a chilling chord in Hamza heart. He realized, with a sudden, clarity, that this isn't an anomaly brought on by the fever. This is how Uzair lived now. This is what Ulfat witnessed every single night in the Lyari haveli when the doors are shut.

"Bhabhi..." Hamza whispered, "Yeh... yeh is tarah kab se...?"

Ulfat didn't look up from Uzair face, but a bitter, sad smile touched her lips. "Ek saal se, Hamza. Jab se tum Lyari se nikal gaye ho, is haveli ki raunakh hi khatam ho gayi hai."

She rinsed the cloth in the bowl, the water splashing softly. "Ghar mein sab jaante hain. Yeh din bhar Sardar bane rehte hain, lekin raat ko... raat ko iska yahi haal hota hai. Yeh rote rote so jaate hain, aur rote rote hi iska aankh khulta hai. Aaj tumhare saamne hain, toh tum dekh rahe ho. Warna yeh dard toh iska hamsaya ban chuka hai."

Hamza stepped back, his hand flying to his mouth to a gasp as a fresh rush of tears broke through his own eyes. He looked down at his right hand, where the ring felt heavier than ever. He had thought he was the only one dying in the dark, curling around his own chadar in the freezing mountains. He had thought Uzair had moved on, content with his sobered life and his reclaimed ports.

But looking at the endless river of tears on Uzair face, and the lack of surprise on Ulfat Hamza realized the truth: they had legally broken their vows, but neither of them had survived the divorce.

Ulfat softly stood up, placing the bowl and the damp cloth on the dresser. She looked at Hamza trembling frame, then down at Uzair, whose breathing had finally slowed into a exhausted slumber, though his thick lashes were still wet.

"Main bahar hoon," Ulfat whispered gently, placing a hand on Hamza shoulder as she passed. "Is waqt... isko sirf tumhara zaroorat hai, Hamza."

The door clicked shut, leaving Hamza alone with his ex-husband.

The silence in the room is deafening, broken only by the crackle of the hearth and the soft, rhythmic wheeze in Uzair chest. Hamza stood rooted to the spot for a long time. Slowly, as if pulled by an thread, he walked to the edge of the bed.

He sat down on the mattress. The legal boundaries, the pride of the Mazari takht, the bitter memories of the past—all of it felt entirely weightless against the reality before him.

Uzair hand lay open on the coverlet, his fingers twitching slightly in his sleep. Hamza looked at those familiar knuckles. Trembling, he reached out and slowly slid his hand into Uzair palm.

The moment their skin met, Uzair fingers instinctively closed around Hamza hand with a desperate grip, even in his deep sleep. He pulled Hamza hand toward his face, pressing his cheek and damp beard right against Hamza palm, letting out a sigh of pure relief.

Hamza didn't pull away. He leaned forward, his hair falling over his face as his own hot tears fell onto Uzair shoulder. He brought his left hand up, his thumb gently smoothing over Uzair burning forehead, feeling the raging heat of the fever finally beginning to break under the comfort of his touch.

"Main yahan hoon..." Hamza whispered into the dim light, as he leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against Uzair temple. "Main yahan hoon, Uzair... So jaeyiye."

Against Uzair cheek, the ring on Hamza finger rested perfectly, no longer a hidden secret or a painful shackle, but the only truth left between two broken kings in the quiet of the night.

The soft, golden morning light of Balochistan filtered through the high stone arched windows, chasing away the freezing shadows of the night.

Uzair slowly opened his eyes. The weight of the infection had finally left his blood, leaving his body feeling light—almost entirely numb. He stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, a quiet, familiar ache settling in his chest. He knew where he is. He was in Hamza room. He is in the fortress he had spent a year dreaming about.

Then, he felt a soft, warmth resting right against his ribs.

Uzair looked down. His breath hitched sharply in his throat, his heart skipping a violent beat.

Hamza was curled up right against his chest. His face looked entirely peaceful, his lips parted slightly as he breathed in soft, even rhythms. His hand was still gripping the fabric near Uzair shoulder, and right there, glinting beautifully in the daylight, is the ring.

A soft, smile touched Uzair’s lips. He didn't move an inch. He didn't even dare to breathe too deeply. He knew his own mind too well; he had lived through a thousand feverish, lonely nights in Lyari where his brain would construct this exact paradise just to rip it away the moment he reached out. He is entirely convinced he is still asleep, trapped in a beautiful, cruel delirium.

'Kitna khoobsurat khwab hai...' Uzair thought, his eyes softening as he just stared at the sight, wanting to hoard this image in his mind before the reality woke him up to an empty room.

But then, his chest shifted as he took a long, shaky breath.

The slight movement woke Hamza instantly. His lashes fluttered open, his eyes blinking against the morning light. The moment Hamza realized where he is—that he had fallen asleep draped over his ex-husband, clutching him like a lifeline all night—a panic flashed across his face.

Hamza scrambled backward, as he hurriedly pulled away, scrambling to get off the bed. His face flushed a deep crimson, his professional, wall instantly trying to slam back into place.

Uzair watched him move, his smile remaining soft, slow, He didn't look angry or surprised by Hamza sudden retreat. He just reached out a hand, his fingers tracing the empty air where Hamza had just been laying.

"Arey... kahan ja rahe ho?" Uzair murmured softly, He looked up at Hamza with eyes full of an devotion. "Abhi toh subah hui hai, jaan... Neend aayi achhe se?"

Hamza froze at the edge of the mattress, his breath catching in his throat

"Kitne achhe dikhte ho tum..." Uzair whispered, his eyes lingering on Hamza flushed cheeks and tangled hair, a soft chuckle escaping his chest. "Khwab mein na..."

Hamza’s brow furrowed, He looked down at his own hands, then back at Uzair The fierce Sardar of Lyari wasn't trying to hold him back, nor is he acting out of shame. He is looking at Hamza as if he were looking at a ghost.

"Khwab...?" Hamza whispered, "Uzair... aap... aap kya keh rahe hain?"

Uzair soft smile faltered, a sudden crease appearing between his brows. He blinked slowly, the morning light hitting his face, bringing the reality of the room into focus.

His eyes tracked from the carved wooden bedpost to the crackling embers in the hearth, and then finally back to the beautiful, trembling figure sitting at the edge of the mattress.

Hamza isn't fading. The scent of fresh jasmine and mountain cedar isn't dissolving into the smell of empty Karachi humidity. And most of all, the ghost in't supposed to speak back.. In a year of violent, sleepless delirium, his imagination had given him many things—silent stares, tearful glances, and phantom warmth—but it had never, not once, spoken to him.

"Tum..." Uzair rasped, as the daze in his mind began to clear.

He slowly lifted his hand, his fingers trembling with a sudden terror. He didn't reach out to grab him this time; he just held his palm out, as if testing the air between them.

"Meri... meri kiyal (imagination) toh kabhi baat nahi karta tha," Uzair whispered, his eyes widening as they locked onto Hamza flushed, tear-stained face. He looked down at the blanket, seeing the distinct impression of where Hamza weight had been resting against his chest just seconds ago.

The realization hit him knocking the remaining breath from his healed lungs. The fever hadn't created this. The loneliness hadn't conjured this.

"Hamza...?" Uzair breathed, "Tum... tum sach mein yahan ho?"

Hamza sat entirely still at the edge of the mattress, his breath catching in his throat as he watched the realization break across Uzair face.

"Main yahan hoon," Hamza whispered, He didn't pull away this time. Instead, he slowly slid back across the velvet coverlet, closing the distance between them until he is sitting right beside Uzair. "Main sach mein yahan hoon, Uzair."

To prove it, Hamza reached out with a trembling hand and gently pressed his palm against Uzair cheek. His skin was still warm from the remnants of the fever, but the touch is solid, real, and undeniable.

Uzair let out a choked sound—a sob that had been trapped in his chest for an entire year. The moment he felt the unmistakable, soft friction of Hamza fingers against his beard, his control disintegrated. He didn't care about the takht, the divorce, or his own pride.

With a desperate motion, Uzair moved forward and buried his face into Hamza lap, his arms wrapping tightly around Hamza waist, locking him in a crushing embrace. He held onto him as if the entire fortress were crumbling around them and Hamza is the only stable ground left in the world.

"Tum yahan ho..." Uzair wept, "Khuda ki qasam, mujhe laga main marr raha hoon... mujhe laga mera zehn mujhe pagal kar raha hai."

Hamza let out a sob of his own, leaning down over Uzair back. He wrapped his arms around Uzair neck, burying his face into his ex-husband hair.

The year of stone-cold silence, the formal business meetings, and the distance between Karachi and Balochistan vanished in the golden morning light. They were still legally divorced, and the world outside the doors still expected them to be rivals—but in the quiet sanctuary of the room, as Uzair cried into his lap and Hamza held him close, the ring on Hamza hand pressed deep into Uzair shoulder, binding them together in a truth they could no longer deny.

The sudden clarity of what he is doing hit Hamza

He is holding him. He is letting the Sardar of Lyari cry into his lap. He had completely surrendered his armor, his dignity, and the boundary he had spent a whole agonizing year building with his own blood and tears.

What am I doing? the voice of the Mazari Prince screamed inside his head. We are divorced. He broke me. We are rivals.

With a gasp, Hamza pulled his hands back as if Uzair skin had turned to burning charcoal. He untangled himself from Uzair arms, scrambling backward off the bed so fast his boots nearly slipped on the polished stone floor.

"Hamza—?" Uzair rasped, "Jaan, kya hua...?"

But Hamza couldn't even look at him. The shame of his own weakness was choking him.

"Nahi... nahi, yeh ghalat hai," Hamza choked out, He backed away toward the door, "Yeh... yeh sab sirf bimaari ki wajah se tha. Aap... aap theek hain ab. Dawa asar kar gaya hai."

"Hamza, baat suno—" Uzair pushed himself up, as he tried to get out of the bed to follow him, his hand reaching out desperately.

"Mat aayiye mere piche!" Hamza shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of a sob.

He didn't wait another second. Hamza turned on his heel, wrenched the door open, and practically ran out of the room. He sprinted down the stone corridors of the fortress, his shawl flaring behind him like a shadow, his breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps.

He fled from the room, fled from the scent of jasmine, and fled from the man who still held his entire soul in the palm of his hand, leaving Uzair standing alone in the golden morning light, staring at the empty doorway.

Hamza is running blindly, his vision blurred by a fresh rush of tears, when he nearly collided with someone in the middle of the drafty corridor.

He stumbled back, his hands automatically reaching out to steady himself against the cold stone wall. When he looked up, his breathing ragged and wild, he found himself staring into the soft eyes of Ulfat.

She is standing there with a fresh tray of tea in her hands, the steam rising quietly into the chilly mountain air. She didn't look startled by his sudden, frantic appearance. She just stood entirely still, her gaze fixed entirely on his face.

She saw the bright flush of crimson on his cheeks. She saw the terror and confusion swimming in his eyes, and the way his lips were trembling so hard he couldn't form a single word. But most of all, she looked down at his right hand—where his fingers were still twisting and pulling at the ring, trying to hide it, trying to pretend it hadn't just been pressed against Uzair skin.

In that single, quiet moment, Ulfat didn't need a single word of explanation. She understood everything.

She knew the daze had cleared. She knew Uzair had woken up, and she knew Hamza had finally let the armor drop—even if it was just for a few fleeting minutes—before the terror of his own helpless love drove him to run.

A look of pity softened Ulfat face. She didn't scold him, and she didn't try to force him back toward the bedroom. Instead, she set the tray down on a nearby console

"Hamza..." Ulfat whispered, her voice like a warm blanket in the freezing stone hallway as she stepped closer to him.

Hamza let out a small, broken whimper, his shoulders shaking beneath his shawl. He looked at her like a child who had been caught keeping a secret he couldn't carry anymore.

"Main... main ja raha hoon, Bhabhi," Hamza choked out, as he backed away from her, his hands trembling at his sides. "Main Quetta ja raha hoon. Mamu baki ke kaghazat dekh lenge. Mujhe yahan nahi rukna."

Ulfat didn't move to stop him. She just watched him "Tum Balochistan ke aakhri kone tak bhi bhaag jao, beta... lekin us dil ka kya karoge jo tum yahin, us kamre mein chor kar ja rahe ho?"

The words struck Hamza like a. He bit his trembling lower lip so hard it nearly bled, refusing to answer. He turned away from her,

Hamza stopped mid-stride, his back still turned to her, "Samne Eid hai, Hamza," Ulfat said, "Haveli ki dawat hai. Tumhara ana zaruri hai. Khali haath mat aana, aur bahane mat banana. Is baar... tumhe aana hi hoga."

Hamza felt his hand tighten uncontrollably around the hilt of his swal. Eid at the haveli. It meant sitting at the same table as Uzair, breathing the same air as him, and pretending, in front of the entire family and staff, that the man who had held him all night in the fortress wasn't the same man he had divorced.

"Bhabhi, main..." Hamza started, "Business ke silsile mein Quetta mein hon..."

"Hamza!" Ulfat interrupted, "Business ki zaroorat nahi hai. Tumhari zaroorat hai. Uzair ne pichle saal koi Eid nahi manayi."

Hamza squeezed his eyes shut. A single, tear traced the line of his jaw and disappeared into the wool of his shawl. He is the Mazari Prince; he could command thousands, he could control the port, he could dominate the trade routes of Balochistan. But he couldn't say no to the ache in his own soul, and he couldn't deny the silent, agonizing plea in Ulfat voice.

He stood there for a long time, the silence stretching between them until the only sound is the howling mountain wind against the fortress walls, he gave the smallest nod.

"Main... main koshish karunga," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

It isn't a yes, but it isn't a no. It's the only sliver of light he could offer, and for Ulfat, who knew exactly what that promise cost him, it's enough...

(So here today chapter I don't know if you guys gonna like it or not and i am hell nervous tomorrow is my music practical for last time i dont know why am I so nervous but yeah just wanted to share with you guys bye bye love youu)

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 7

The gates of the haveli slammed shut downstairs with a echoing boom that vibrated through the floorboards. The convoy roared away, taking the last trace of jasmine and mountain air out of the room, leaving behind nothing but the scent of dust and split blood.

And then, the silence is broken.

A jagged sound vibrated from the depths of Uzair chest. It wasn't a sob. It was a laugh.

"Heh... Hahaha..."

Uzair slowly peeled his hands away from his face, his shoulders starting to roll violently. He tilted his head back, his eyes staring blindly up at the high ceiling of the bedroom, and he laughed out loud.

"Hahaha! Hamza Ali Mazari..." he rasped out, repeating the name into the empty, ruined sanctuary.

As the laughter ripped from his throat, the tears didn't stop. They poured down his cheeks in nonstop, burning rivers, washing through the sweat on his jawline and splashing onto his kurta. He is laughing at the brutality of it all. He had wanted to break Hamza pride to keep him safe in his cage; instead, he had given birth to a lethal ruler who would now lead an entire army to destroy him.

"Uzair... Uzair, hosh mein aa! Khuda ke liye chup kar!" Rehman yelled, as he rushed forward from the wall, violently grabbing Uzair shoulder. "Pagal ho gaya hai kya?! Shirani poore Balochistan ko lekar hamare sir par khada hai! Teri tabahi ka sauda ho gaya hai yahan!"

Uzair wrenched his shoulder back, his laughter suddenly cutting short into a lethal grin. He looked at his older brother, his eyes wide and completely vacant of sanity, the tears still tracking down his face.

"Tabahi...?" Uzair whispered, "Rehman bhai... aapko abhi tak samajh nahi aaya? Mera rounak chala gaya. Mera nikaah toot gaya. Meri jaan us gaadi mein baith kar chala gaya..."

He raised his right palm—the palm that had just locked grips with Hamza, the palm that still tingled with the cold, sharp press of that ring.

"Yeh sauda nahi hai, bhai," Uzair chuckled "Yeh toh ishq hai... ab Hamza mujhse dushmani nibhayega. Aur qasam khuda ka, main uska har ek goli apne dil par muskura kar khaoonga."

The transition from the gentle boy of the mountains to the iron-willed heir of the Baloch takht happened the exact moment the borders of Karachi vanished in the rearview mirror.

After that day, the courtyard of the mazari estate became a place of silence. —the sweet laughter that accompanied his poetry or the gentle way he used to cradle little Faizal on his lap—is buried in the dust of Lyari.

No one saw Hamza soft-smile ever again. Not even once.

When the elders of the tribe gathered in the vast, carpeted meeting halls, they no longer saw a fragile boy wrapped in an oversized shawl. Hamza sat at the head of the table, his posture rigidly straight, His waves of hair were tied back strictly, exposing a jawline that had hardened into marble. His hazel-green eyes, once bright and full of raw emotion, were now two flat, piercing stones of jade that looked through men rather than at them.

"Hamza, beta..." Shirani Sahab had tried once, entering his private study in the dead of night, finding his nephew reviewing map lines of supply routes. The old man voice was heavy with a regret. "Thoda aaram kar lo. Bahut waqt pada hai dushmani ke liye."

Hamza didn't look up from the ledger. His fingers, still bearing that platinum wedding band on his right hand like a cold weapon, didn't even tremble.

"Mamu, aaram unke liye hota hai jinke paas khone ko kuch bacha ho," Hamza replied, "Agli meeting Quetta ke sardaron ke sath hai. Hamein Lyari ke har ek raaste ko block karna hai. Business par dhyan dein, baaki baatein fizool hain."

Shirani Sahab closed his eyes in grief. He had brought his bacha back from the cage, but the boy had left his soul behind in that ruined bedroom.

There were no tears. Not in the lonely hours of the night when the mountain winds howled against his windows, and definitely not during the brutal, tactical briefings where the destruction of the uzair Jan Baloch clan is systematically mapped out. If Uzair name was brought up by the commanders, Hamza pulse didn't even skip a beat. He would simply tap his fountain pen against the table and dictate the coordinates for the next ambush.

He is always on business. Always in meetings. Leading weapons shipments, organizing political alliances, and solidifying a blockade that is slowly choking the life out of Lyari's empire. The soft boy who had whimpered under Uzair crushing weight had been completely cremated. In his place stood a ghost wrapped in silk and iron—a ruler whose only purpose was to ensure that when the leader of Lyari finally met his end, it would be by Hamza own hand.

The dimly lit conference room of the neutral hotel at the border felt like an iron vault. Hamza sat perfectly still at the head of the table, his His hair tied back tightly, his hazel-green eyes fixed on the empty glass in front of him.

The doors groaned open.

Uzair walked in. The immediate, sharp scent of alcohol and stale sweat cut through the expensive jasmine incense of the room. His black kurta was rumpled, his hair wild, and his eyes bloodshot. But the moment his gaze landed on Hamza, a wide, broken smile slashed across his face.

Uzair pulled out the chair opposite Hamza, the wood scraping loudly against the marble floor. He sat down, leaning his forearms on the table, still smiling. He picked up a crystal decanter, poured a dark amber liquid into a glass with a shaking hand, and took a slow sip.

As the liquor hit his throat, a tear broke free from his lashes and tracked down his stubbble. Opposite him, Hamza stone facade didn't break—but a single, tear mirrored Uzair, escaping his eyes and cutting through the skin of his cheek.

"Mubarak ho, Hamza Ali Mazari. Ek mahine mein meri aadhi Lyari ko hila kar rakh diya tumne."

"Business ki baatein kijiye, Uzair Jan Baloch. Main yahan aapka rona sunne nahi aaya."

"Rona? Main toh hans raha hoon, jaan. Dekho... apni tabahi par muskura raha hoon."

"Mujhe 'jaan' mat kaho. Woh larka marr gaya jise is lafz se mohabbat tha."

"Woh kaise marr sakta hai? Use toh maine apne hathon se... isi seene mein dafan kiya tha."

"Toh phir uski qabr par baith kar sharab kyun peete ho?"

"Darr lagta hai ke agar hosh mein aa gaya... toh is dil ko kaise samjhaonga ke tum ab mere dushman ho."

"Aapne khud dushmani chuna tha, Uzair. Jab aapne apna hath uthaya tha."

"Khuda ki qasam, maine tumpar hath nahi uthaya, Hamza! Main... main pagal ho gaya tha, mujhe lag raha tha tum mujhe chhor doge."

"Aur aapne mujhe kaidi bana diya."

"Toh badla lo na! Yeh jo hathaeyar tum Balochistan se bhej rahe ho... mere seene par chalao unhein. Kisi aur ko kyun bhejte ho?"

"Waqt aane par woh bhi hoga. Pehle aapka saltanat ko mitti mein milaoonga, phir aapko."

"Mera takht toh tumhare sath hi chala gaya tha. Ab jo bacha hai... woh sirf ek laash hai jise tum dushmani mein zinda rakhe huye ho."

"Mujhe aapke jazbaat se koi matlab nahi hai. Agle hafte tak Lyari ka jo port area hai, woh mujhe chahiye. Warna agla dhamaaka aapke ghar ke bahar hoga."

"Le lo. Sab le lo. Port le lo, haveli le lo... badle mein mujhe sirf ek baar... sirf ek baar apni woh purana muskurahat de do."

"Maulana sahab ka register yaad hai? Hamza Ali Mazari likha tha maine. Ab hamare darmiyan sirf goli ka rishta hai."

"Goli ka hi sahi... kam se kam rishta toh hai. Tumhara goli bhi mere jism mein utrega, toh main samjhoonga tumne mujhe chhua hai."

"Aap sach mein pagal ho gaye hain, Uzair."

"Ishq mein pagal tha... ab dushmani mein pagal hoon. Lekin tumse door hoker hosh mein nahi reh sakta."

"Toh sharab peete rahiye. Aur apna maut ka intezar kijiye."

"Main har roz tumhara di hui maut ka intezar karta hoon, Hamza. Lekin tum aate hi nahi."

"Main aaonga. Lekin tab... aapke hath mein yeh glass nahi, meri di hui zillat hogi."

"Zillat bhi tumhara... izzat bhi tumhara. Ab toh mera maut bhi tumhara hathon se mubarak hoga."

Hamza fingers tightened around his empty glass until his. The freezing, calculated distance he had maintained for a whole month is suffocating him, He watched another tear roll down Uzair face, matching the one burning on his own cheek.

Slowly, Hamza stood up from the table, pulling

"Hamaara mulaqat ka waqt khatam hua, Uzair ," Hamza said, He didn't wait for a response. He turned his back on the scent of alcohol and heartbreak, as he walked toward the exit.

Uzair didn't chase him this time. He couldn't. The weight of the liquor and the realization that Hamza could now look right at his tears and still walk away kept him anchored to his chair. He watched the doors click shut behind the boy, leaving the room cold, empty, and smelling faintly of old jasmine.

Left entirely alone, Uzair let out another chuckle. He lifted the shaking glass to his lips, pouring the burning liquid down his throat to numb the phantom feeling of Hamza hand in his. Tears flooded his eyes, dripping nonstop onto the table, but the smile remained carved onto his face. His rounak is coming for his empire, and Uzair was going to let him tear it down piece by piece, just to see him one more time.

Meanwhile, outside the hotel, the mountains of the border stood dark against the evening sky. Hamza stepped into the back of his armored vehicle, the door slamming shut to seal him into the silence. He leaned his head against the cold glass of the window, his chest heaving with a long, shaky breath he had been holding the entire meeting.

He didn't wipe the single tear from his cheek. He let it dry, turning to stone just like the rest of him.

"Mamu," Hamza spoke "Lyari port ki supply lines ka naya route nikaalo. Agle hafte tak haseen baagh waala area haamare qabze mein hona chahiye."

The war isn't just starting anymore. It's personal, it's ruthless, and neither of them is going to stop until the streets of Lyari ran red with the price of a torn kurta.

The doors of the Lyari haveli didn’t just open when Uzair returned—they practically rattled under the weight of his unsteadiness. The stench of high-proof mountain liquor and stale tobacco preceded him into the courtyard, instantly cutting through the familiar humidity of the Karachi night.

Uzair stumbled past his guards, his towering frame swaying slightly, his black kurta unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He is still smiling, his eyes staring vacantly at the stone floor.

"Uzair!"

Rehman voice echoed down from the first-floor balcony before his boots slammed down the steps. Rehman didn't look like a smug kingpin anymore; his face is gaunt, his eyes frantic, and his vest was missing. The pressure of the last month—the blocked supply lines, the lost shipments, and the absolute radio silence from Major Iqbal handlers—had pushed the older brother to the absolute brink.

Rehman lunged forward, grabbing Uzair by the lapels of his wrinkled kurta

"Kahan tha tu?! Puri sham se port par firing ho rahi hai! Hamare char bande mare gaye aur tu yahan sharab ki tarah sarr raha hai?!" Rehman roared, his spittle flying into Uzair face. "Mazari ke logon ne haseen baagh ka poora ilaqa block kar diya hai! Tu unse milne gaya tha na? Kya kaha us larke ne?! Kya sauda hua?!"

Uzair didn't flinch. He didn't even raise his hands to push Rehman away. He just slowly tilted his head down,

"Sauda...?" Uzair whispered, "Koi sauda nahi hua, Rehman bhai... Woh toh apna dushmani nibhane aa raha hai."

"Pagal ho gaya hai tu?! Woh hamara saltanat tabah kar raha hai!" Rehman shrieked, striking Uzair hard across his chest, trying to beat some sense into the hollow shell of the leader of Lyari. "Kuch kar, Uzair! Apne mard khade kar! Warna kal subah tak yeh haveli bhi hamara nahi rahega!"

Uzair slowly peeled Rehman hands off his chest chilling strength that belonged to a monster, not a drunkard. He stepped closer to his brother, his breath smelling heavily of alcohol, his eyes suddenly locking onto Rehman,

"Toh rehne do na..." Uzair rasped, a tear cutting through the dirt on his cheek while his lips remained twisted into that smile. "Haveli bhi uska... yeh jism bhi uska. Maine kaha tha na aap se... jis din mera rounak is ghar se jayega, us din Lyari mein sirf maut nachega. Ab dekho... mera Hamza khud maut ban kar aa raha hai mujhe khatam karne."

Upstairs, behind the railings, Ulfat stood in the shadows, her dupatta pulled tightly around her face. She listened to Uzair laughter and her husband panicked shouting, her eyes closing in a silent prayer. She had saved the boy, but the war she had unleashed is going to burn this entire family to ash.

Meanwhile, sixty miles away at the edge of the Lyari port, the darkness was illuminated by the orange glow of burning shipping containers.

The rhythmic, deafening clack-clack-clack of Kalashnikovs tore through the salty sea air. Uzair remaining loyalists were fleeing into the alleyways, leaving behind crates of ammunition and weaponry.

Stepping through the thick black smoke, his polished black leather boots stepping over the spent shell casings, came Hamza.

He didn't wear a vest, and he didn't carry a rifle. He walked with his hands folded behind his back, The ring on his finger caught the reflection of the flames, glowing like a brand. Behind him, ten armed Baloch commanders walked in perfect, disciplined formation.

The local commander of the port territory crawled backward on the concrete, bleeding from his shoulder, looking up at the beautiful, stone-faced heir of the Mazari takht with terror. "M-Mazari Saheb... reham..."

Hamza didn't look down at the man. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, toward the distant lights of the Lyari haveli. His face is smooth—no anger, no tears, and not a shadow of that soft smile.

"In sab ko haseen baagh se baahar phenko," Hamza commanded,

The neutral border estate was freezing. The monsoon winds of Karachi rattled the heavy glass panes of the conference room, but inside, the atmosphere is dead silent.

Uzair sat at the far end of the table, the stark scent of high-proof mountain liquor mixing with something metallic and sharp. From the early hours of the morning, a deep, rattling cough had been tearing through his chest, leaving thick, dark stains of blood on his handkerchief. His body is breaking down from the poison of the alcohol and the consuming rot of his own guilt. But the moment the door open, Uzair frantically shoved the blood-soaked fabric deep into the pocket of his kurta. He couldn't let Hamza see his weakness. He didn't want his rounak vengeance to feel like pity.

Lifting the crystal glass with a visibly trembling hand, Uzair took a sip of his drink just as Hamza stepped into the room.

Hamza walked in like a winter storm. His waves of here are bound tightly at the nape of his neck, and his hazel-green eyes were completely devoid of life—flat, piercing, and focused on the maps laid out before them.

As Uzair instinctively tried to stand up, his towering frame swaying slightly, Hamza stopped in his tracks. He didn't offer a hand. He simply shook his head—a gesture that commanded Uzair to stay seated. Hamza pulled out his own chair, sitting directly opposite the man who had once been his entire world.

The single, silent tears that had marked their last meeting were gone. Today, there is only the cold ledger of war.

"Baithiye, Uzair Jan Baloch. Aaj hum yahan rishte tay karne nahi, zameen baantne aaye hain."

"Haseen baagh tumhara hua, Hamza. Mere bande wahan se hat chuke hain. Ab agla ilaqa kaunsa chahiye?"

"Lyari ka poora southern grid. Jahan aapke purane asle ke godam hain. Woh poora zameen Mazari takht ke naam hoga."

"Rehman bhai marr jayenge lekin woh grid nahi denge, jaan... unhone apna poora zindagi us mitti ko khareedne mein lagaya hai."

"Toh unhein maar dijiye. Ya main apne commanders ko bhejkar unhein hatwa doon? Faisla aapka hai."

"Nahi... main khud unhein chup karwaonga. Southern grid tumhara hua. Dastakhat karo aur use apne naam likho."

"Behtar hai. Port ki aadhi royalty ab seedha Balochistan ke khazane mein jayega. Har mahine ki pehli tareekh ko."

"Main khud har mahine check lekar tumhare darwaze par aaonga, Hamza Ali Mazari. Sirf is shart par ke tum mujhe andar aane doge."

"Aap sirf mere munshi se milenge, Uzair. Mere takht tak pahunchne ki auqat ab Lyari ke kisi sardar ki nahi hai."

"Auqat toh mera us din hi khatam ho gaya tha, jab tumne mujhe 'kafir' kaha tha. Ab toh bas yeh sauda hi bacha hai."

"Yeh sauda hi aapko zinda rakhe huye hai. Agar yeh grid mujhe agle do din mein na mila, toh dushmani ka naya daur shuru hoga."

"Do din kyun? Aaj raat hi apne bande bhej do. Main khud chabiyaan unke hath mein somp dunga."

"Aapka yeh jhukaav... yeh sharab ki boo... mujhe pasand nahi aa rahi. Uzair Jan Baloch kisi ke samne nahi jhukta tha."

"Uzair Jan baloch sirf apne rounak ke samne jhukta tha... aur aaj mera rounak mere samne mera sab kuch chheen ne baithi hai. Main khushi-khushi har cheez haar raha hoon."

"Aap haar nahi rahe hain, aap apni maut ka sauda kar rahe hain. Dastakhat kijiye is naye nikaah-nama par... jo dushmani ka hai."

Uzair let out a low breath, pulling the legal documents toward him. His fingers clutched the pen, and with a swift stroke, he signed over the heart of his empire to the Mazari clan. He pushed the papers back across the table, his eyes locked onto Hamza face.

As Hamza picked up the papers, ensuring every territory is legally transferred, Uzair felt another violent spasm hit his lungs. He choked back the cough, his hand instinctively gripping the bloodied handkerchief inside his pocket.

Hamza stood up, folding the documents into his leather vest. He looked down at Uzair one last time, his gaze lingering for a split second on the ring that still sat on his own finger.

"Sauda muqammal hua," Hamza whispered, turning on his heel and walking toward the doors without a single backward glance.

The moment the doors slammed shut, sealing Hamza away, Uzair collapsed forward onto the table. He pulled out the handkerchief and coughed violently, dark red blood splattering across the white linen and the polished wood. But through the pain, the bleeding smile returned to his lips. He had lost his kingdom, but he had bought more days of breathing the same air as his crown.

The atmosphere inside the Lyari haveli had become necrotic. Ulfat moved through the corridors like a silent shadow, her colorful dupattas replaced by shawls. She had entirely stopped speaking to Rehman; the sight of her husband greedy, panicked face only reminded her of the corrupt ISI deal that had ruined everything. She didn't speak to Uzair either. The silence between the brothers is a suffocating wall, and she had no words left for the monster Uzair had become.

But she had eyes. And she had a heart that, despite everything, could not completely shut off the human being inside her.

From her kitchen window, and through the wooden partition of the upper wing, Ulfat had been hearing it for the past four days—that deep, wet, agonizing rattle in Uzair chest. It wasn't a normal winter cough. It's a violent, suffocating spasm that usually ended with the thud of Uzair collapsing against his bathroom sink, followed by the scent of copper and fresh blood lingering in the drains.

She had seen the trash bins in his room when the servants emptied them—white cotton rags soaked through with thick, dark red stains. Uzair is drinking himself to death, his liver and lungs rotting from the pure poison of grief and alcohol. He is choosing slow suicide because he didn't have the courage to put a gun to his own head.

That evening, the haveli is eerily quiet. Rehman is out at the docks, desperately trying to salvage what was left of his bleeding finances.

Ulfat stood outside Uzair locked bedroom door, a tray containing a bowl of warm turmeric soup and a glass of water clutched in her hands. She didn't knock. She used her spare key, pushing the door open with her shoulder.

The room smelled entirely of stale whiskey, sweat, and sickness. The curtains were drawn shut, blocking out the Karachi sunset. There, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his head hanging between his knees, is the feared Leader of Lyari.

"Uzair," Ulfat spoke, It's the first time she had addressed him since the day Hamza left.

Uzair didn't lift his head. He just let out a weak,

chuckle, his voice sounding like it was dragging through gravel. "Bhabhi... aap? Maine kaha tha na... mujhe khana nahi chahiye. Mujhe bas... thoda sukoon chahiye."

Ulfat walked over and slammed the tray down on the dressing table, the loud rattle making Uzair flinch slightly. She stepped right into his space, her shadow falling over his form.

"Mujhe tumhare nakhro se koi matlab nahi hai, Uzair," Ulfat said, "Maine tumhare kachre mein khoon dekha hai. Tum subah se thook rahe ho use. Kab se chal rahan hai yeh?"

Uzair slowly tilted his head up. His eyes were so bloodshot they looked completely red, his cheeks hollowed out, and a thin, dried smear of dark blood was visible at the corner of his lips. He gave her that same smile that had become his permanent mask.

"Khoon...?" Uzair whispered, touching his lip with a trembling finger. "Yeh toh... rounak ka rang hai, Bhabhi. Jo andar ruk nahi raha. Achha hai na... jitna jaldi nikle, utna jaldi sukoon milega."

"Apni yeh bakwaas band karo!" Ulfat snapped, her instinc breaking through her anger as she grabbed his wrist. His skin is scorching with a raging fever. "Tum mard banne chale thay na? Haveli ke sardar thay na tum?! Yeh halat bana li hai apni?! Chalo utho yahan se."

"Kahan...?"

"Doctor ke paas," Ulfat commanded,

Uzair slowly, pulled his hand away from her grip. He looked down at his trembling palm, the palm that had signed away his empire, the palm that still felt the ghost of Hamza ring.

"Nahi, Bhabhi..." Uzair rasped, another wet cough catching in his throat as he pressed his handkerchief to his mouth, the white cloth instantly blooming with fresh red. He smiled through the pain, his eyes swimming with non-stop tears. "Doctor ke paas... doctor ke paas is bimaari ka koi ilaaj nahi hai. Mera dawa... mera dawa toh Balochistan mein baithi hai. Aur woh dawa... ab sirf zeher bhejta hai."

The room fell into an silence, save for the ragged, wheezing sound of Uzair shallow breathing.

Hearing him speak with such pathetic vulnerability broke the hard shell Ulfat had built over the last two months. He in’t the Sardar of Lyari right now; he is just a broken, dying boy begging for a scrap of news about the soul he had driven away.

Uzair slid off the edge of the mattress, his knees hitting the cold floorboards right at Ulfat feet. He clutched the edge of her shawl with his trembling hands, his head bowed as tears soaked into the fabric.

"Bhabhi... aapka baat hota hai kya usse?" Uzair begged, "Kaisa hai woh? Mujhse toh... mujhse toh woh theek se baat nahi karta. Sirf zameen mangta hai, port mangta hai... Do mahine ho gaye, Bhabhi. Maine uska woh purana, masoom aankhein nahi dekhin. Boliye na... kaisa hai mera Hamza?"

Ulfat looked down at his shoulders, her own chest heaving as she choked back a sob. She slowly reached down, her hand resting gently on Uzair hair—not out of forgiveness for what he had done, but out of pity for his wretched state.

"Haan, Uzair..." Ulfat whispered, she looked toward the window, her mind flashing to the secretive, late-night phone calls she had managed to exchange with the Mazari estate. "Baat hoti hai meri... parson hi usne mujhe phone kiya tha."

Uzair head snapped up, his tear-flooded eyes wide with a sudden hunger. He gripped her shawl tighter, "Kya... kya kaha usne? Mere baare mein pucha? Khana kha raha hai woh? Apna bimaari ka dhyan rakh raha hai na?"

Ulfat closed her eyes, a tear escaping her lashes and tracking down her cheek. She didn't want to break him further, but she couldn't lie to a man who is already standing on the edge of his own grave.

"Woh theek hai, Uzair... jism se theek hai," Ulfat said softly, "Khaata bhi waqt par hai, aur ab toh poore Balochistan ke faisle khud karta hai. Lekin... lekin woh ab tumhara Hamza nahi raha."

Uzair smile faltered, his lips trembling. "K-Kya matlab...?"

"Maine usse pucha tha, Uzair. Maine kaha ke 'Hamza, beta, thoda reham kar, gussa thuk de'..." Ulfat wept openly now, "Toh jaante ho usne kya kaha? Usne mujhse kaha, 'Bhabhi, jis Hamza par reham kiya ja sakta tha, use Lyari ke Sardar ne pehle isi haveli ke farsh par maar diya tha. Ab jo bacha hai, woh sirf Mazari takht ka waaris hai, jo apna hissa lene jald wapas aayega'."

"Mera bacha patthar ka ho gaya hai, Uzair," Ulfat whispered, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Aur use patthar tumne banaya hai. Ab agar tum doctor ke paas nahi chaloge, agar tum is tarah khoon thookte rahe... toh tum uska dushmani dekhne ke liye bhi zinda nahi bachoge. Utho ab... khuda ke liye apna jaan par reham karo."

Uzair laugh sounded more like a death rattle than a human voice. He slowly used the edge of the mattress to push his frame up from the floor, his knees cracking under the weight. Another violent spasm caught him mid-breath, a wet, agonizing cough tearing through his chest that made his shoulders convulse. He slammed his fist against his chest to force it down, but the white handkerchief he pressed to his lips came away soaked in thick, dark crimson once more.

He didn't look at the blood.

"Chaliye..." Uzair rasped, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a thin smear of red across his stubble. "Phir dushmani dekhne ke liye hi sahi... zinda toh rehta hoon."

He looked at Ulfat, his lips twisting back into that smile. "Agar main marr gaya, Bhabhi... toh mera Hamza kispar apni goliyaan chalayega? Uska yeh naya nasha, yeh takht ki taqat... yeh sab adhoora reh jayega na agar uska dushman hi nahi bacha. Mujhe zinda rehna hoga. Use apna badla poora karne dena hai."

Ulfat couldn't even speak. She turned away quickly to hide the fresh wave of tears,

Uzair didn't care about Rehman, or the empire, or the ports anymore. He didn't wash the blood from his face; he wanted to keep the color of his rounak wrath right there on his skin.

As Ulfat drove the car through the narrow, garbage-strewn alleyways of Lyari toward a private clinic, Uzair leaned his head against the cold glass of the passenger window. He stared at the neon signs of the city, his chest wheezing with every breath, but his hand was firmly clamped around his pocket.

Inside that pocket, beneath the blood-stained rags, was the legal document he had signed earlier that week—the transfer of the southern grid. He closed his eyes, imagining Hamza fingers touching that very paper in Balochistan.

"Zinda rahoonga, jaan..." Uzair whispered into the dark, a final tear slipping into his smile. "Tumhara maut ban kar nahi... tumhara nishana ban kar."

The mountain air in Balochistan didn’t just bite; it sliced.

High up on the terrace of the Mazari fortress, the wind howled through the jagged stone arches, carrying the scent of wild juniper and oncoming winter. The vast, sprawling valley below lay in shadow, dotted only by the campfires of the tribal guards keeping watch at the borders.

Hamza stood right at the edge of the stone railing, the wool of his grey swal wrapped tightly around his shoulders. His waves of hair whipped violently across his face in the gale, but his eyes didn't blink. They were fixed south, toward the distant, invisible horizon where Karachi lay bleeding.

In his right hand, he held the legal document Uzair had signed a week ago—the deed to Lyari’s southern grid. The paper rustled loudly in the wind, but Hamza grip was vice-like. The ring pressed hard against his skin,

A heavy, rhythmic *thud-thud* of a cane echoed on the stone floor behind him.

"Puri saltnat tumhare qadmon mein dheri hai, Hamza," Shirani Sahab’s deep voice cut through the wind. The old lion stopped a few feet behind his nephew, leaning his weight onto his silver-topped cane, "Southern grid par hamare mard baith chuke hain. Rehman ke bande bhaag rahe hain. Tumne do mahine mein woh kar dikhaya jo bade bade sardar saalon mein nahi kar paate."

Hamza didn't turn around.

"Yeh sirf shuruat hai, Mamu," Hamza said, "Rehman ka khatma zaroori hai... taake ISI ka woh zeher dubara hamari mitti par qadam na rakh sake."

Shirani Sahab watched him closely, a flicker of sorrow passing through his eyes. He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a softer, "Aur Uzair? Uska kya karna hai? Humne uska peeth tod di hai, Hamza. Uske hathaeyar, uske ports, uska zameen... sab tumhare paas hai. Woh toh ab sirf ek saaya bacha hai."

Hearing the name Uzair, Hamza thumb slowly traced the wet ink of the signature at the bottom of the page. For a of a second, the image of Uzair sitting opposite him in that hotel flashed behind his eyes—the smell of alcohol, the eyes, and the way the leader of Lyari had trembled while looking at him.

But the memory of his torn kurta and the suffocating bedroom floor violently crashed over him, freezing the brief spark of hesitation into solid ice.

"Uzair Jan Baloch koi saaya nahi hai, Mamu," Hamza whispered, as he finally turned around to face shirani, the wind lifting his hair like a dark halo. "Woh ek jaanwar hai. Aur jab tak woh jaanwar zinda hai, Lyari hamara nahi ho sakta."

He folded the document tightly

"Agli meeting kab hai?" Hamza asked,

"Kal subah, Quetta ke commanders ke sath," Shirani replied, sighing heavily.

"Behtar hai," Hamza said, stepping past the old man without another word, "Unhein kahin ke Lyari ke central network par hamare bando ki nigaah honi chahiye. Main khud agle hafte Karachi jaonga... dushmani ka hissa barabar karne."

The private clinic in Karachi is tucked away in a quiet, sector far from the chaotic grid of Lyari. Inside the sterile white room, the air was cold and smelled strictly of antiseptic, a sharp contrast to the stale whiskey and blood that had followed Uzair for weeks.

Uzair sat on the edge of the examination table, His kurta is pulled down around his shoulders as an elderly doctor, a trusted family contact of Ulfat's, moved a stethoscope across his back.

Ulfat stood near the door, her hands tightly knotted into the fabric of her swal, her eyes scanning the doctor's face for any sign of hope.

The doctor finally stepped back, removing the stethoscope with a sigh. He looked at Uzair,

"Sardar Saheb," the doctor began, his voice laced with concern. "Aapke lungs aur liver dono tezi se collapse kar rahe hain. Yeh sirf sharab ka nasha nahi hai... yeh stress aur andaruni compartment failure hai. Jo khoon aap thook rahe hain, woh is baat ki nishani hai ke aapke andar zakhm itne gehre hain ke agar aapne abhi parhez nahi kiya, toh agle teen mahine mein aapka jism jawab de dega."

Ulfat let out a gasp from the corner. "Doctor... koi dawa? Koi ilaaj?"

"Ilaaj dawaon mein nahi hai, Bibi," the doctor replied, turning to her. "Inhein sukoon chahiye. Aur sharab ko hath bhi nahi lagana."

Uzair let out a chuckle that turned into a brief, rattling cough. He pulled his kurta back up over his shoulders, his trembling fingers slowly buttoning the collar. "Sukoon... Sukoon toh Balochistan ki pahariyon mein chala gaya, doctor sahab. Mujhe bas itna mohlat chahiye... ke jab mera dushman wahan se aaye, toh main uska goli par khada ho sakoon."

"Uzair, chup karo!" Ulfat snapped, stepping forward, "Doctor sahab, aap inhein prescription likh kar dein. Main khud inki dawayen dekhongi."

Meanwhile, at the exact same hour, a convoy of black armored SUVs is crossing the provincial border from Balochistan back into Sindh.

Hamza sat in the middle row of the lead vehicle. The window glass was tinted dark, but the passing streetlights of the Karachi highway periodically illuminated his face. His waves of hair are tied back in a flawless, severe knot. In his lap, he held a leather-bound folder containing the maps of Lyari's central network—the final stronghold of the Baloch clan.

His phone vibrated against his thigh. He picked it up, his hazel-green eyes narrowing as he saw an encrypted number.

"Ji, Mamu," Hamza spoke into the receiver,

"Hamza, hamare khabariyon ne khabar di hai," Shirani Sahab’s voice crackled through the secure line from the fortress. "Uzair kal raat Lyari se bahar ek private clinic gaya tha. Kuch bimaari ka maamla lagta hai. Log keh rahe hain ke woh andar se toot chuka hai."

Hearing those words, Hamza thumb unconsciously brushed against the ring on his right hand. A sudden, sharp image of Uzair coughing into his handkerchief during their last meeting flashed in his mind. The thought of his tormentor being weak should have brought him satisfaction, but instead, a void opened up in his chest.

"Mujhe uska bimaari se koi matlab nahi hai, Mamu," Hamza whispered, "Agar woh bimaar hai, toh apni qabr khud khode. Lekin agar woh mere saamne aane se pehle marr gaya... toh meri dushmani adhoora reh jayega. Main kal subah hi Lyari ke central boundary par hathaeyar supply kar raha hoon. Use keh dein, taiyar rahe."

He ended the call, slamming the leather folder shut. The boy who used to weep at the sight of blood is gone. As the convoy entered the humid air of the city, Hamza pulled his grey swal tighter around his shoulders, The final phase of the war was about to begin.

Hamza sat in the silence of the speeding SUV, the phone heavy in his hand. The logic of his revenge is absolute, yet a strange, sharp ache—something he hadn't felt in months—pierced through the cold armor he wore around his heart. Without waiting for his own brain to catch up with his impulses, his thumb moved before he could stop it, hitting the contact for Ulfat.

The line rang once. Twice. Then, a hesitant, shaky breath sounded on the other end.

"Hamza?" Ulfat voice was barely a whisper, "Hamza, kya... kya hua? Tumne itne mahino baad phone kiya hai?"

Hamza grip on the phone tightened He could hear the faint sound of a car engine in the background on her end—she is clearly in the car, likely taking Uzair back from that clinic.

"Bhabhi," Hamza said, his voice struggling to maintain that tone. He hated that his composure wavered, even if just for a second. "Mene suna hai... ki woh bimaar hai. Clinic gaya tha kal raat."

There was a long silence on the other end, punctuated only by the sound of Uzair rattling cough echoing in the background. It's a sound that had once made Hamza want to hold him, to soothe him; now, it was like a physical blow to his own ribs.

"Hamza..." Ulfat whispered, "Woh mar raha hai. Andar se toot chuka hai woh. Doctor keh raha hai ki agar sharab aur stress band nahi hua, toh..."

"Mujhe uska bimaari mein koi dilchaspi nahi hai," Hamza cut her off sharply, his voice surging with a anger—but he couldn't hide the tremor behind it. "Bas... bas itna keh dena use. Ke agar woh marega, toh mere hathon se marega. Use kehna ke apni maut ko sambhal kar rakhe, kyunki main Lyari aa raha hoon. Use... use kehna ki dushmani abhi khatam nahi hui."

"Hamza, tum bhi jante ho yeh jhoot hai," Ulfat replied, her tone desperate. "Tum dushmani ke naam par sirf apni jaan nikalte dekhna chahte ho—"

"Phone rakhiye, Bhabhi," Hamza commanded, his voice cracking. He cut the line abruptly, tossing the phone onto the empty seat beside him.

He slumped back against the headrest, his chest heaving, his eyes closed tight. He had called to threaten him, to remind him of the war—but all he could hear was that wet, broken rattle of Uzair lungs. He felt a single, tear escape his tightly shut eyes, burning a path down his cheek. He had sworn to be a king of stone, but the mere shadow of Uzair pain is enough to bring his world crashing down into sand.

The clock in the bedroom of the Lyari haveli ticked with a slow rhythm. It's past midnight. The room is dark, illuminated only by the faint, eerie glow of the Karachi streetlights leaking through the curtains.

Uzair lay flat on his back, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. A fresh bottle of liquor sat untouched on the nightstand next to a mountain of crumpled, blood-stained handkerchiefs. He is staring at the ceiling, his feverish skin coated in a thin layer of cold sweat, when his phone suddenly vibrated against the wood.

He didn't move at first. He thought it's Rehman calling about another lost warehouse. But when the vibration persisted, he slowly rolled his frame over and picked up the screen.

The breath completely caught in Uzair throat. His bloodshot eyes widened in the dark.

Hamza.

With a shaking, hand, Uzair swiped the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. He didn't say a word. He couldn't. His throat felt like it was lined with broken glass, and he is terrified that if he spoke, he would just choke on his own blood.

For a long minute, neither of them said anything. The line is just a bridge of two men breathing in the dark—one shallow and wheezing, the other trembling.

"Uzair."

Hamza’s voice finally cut through the static. It in't the flat, robotic voice of the Mazari heir that had spoken at the conference table. It was lower, softer, and laced with a exhaustion.

"Jaan..." Uzair rasped out, "Tum... tumne phone kiya..."

"Maine Bhabhi se baat ki," Hamza said, ignoring the term of endearment, though the line quieted for a second as if he were catching his breath. "Tum khoon thook rahe ho?"

Uzair let out a weak, chuckle, closing his eyes tightly. He pressed his hand over his burning chest, wishing he could feel Hamza touch through the signal. "Kuch nahi hua mujhe... Main theek hoon. Tumhare liye... tumhare dushmani ke liye zinda hoon, rounak."

"Jhoot mat bolo!" Hamza suddenly snapped, his voice cracking into a emotional tremor that he hadn't shown in two months. "Tum sharab pee kar khud ko maar rahe ho, Uzair! Tumhe kya lagta hai? Agar tum is tarah kisi kone mein marr gaye, toh mera badla poora ho jayega?!"

"Toh... toh aa jao na," Uzair begged, his voice breaking entirely as he turned onto his side, curling around the phone like a dying man clutching a lifeline. "Aa jao aur khud maar do mujhe, Hamza... Khuda ke liye, main thak gaya hoon. Yeh jism andar se sarr raha hai. Mujhe tumhare hath ki goli chahiye... kisi bimaari ki maut nahi."

Silence fell over the line again, On the other end, inside his speeding SUV, Hamza closed his eyes, a nonstop river of tears finally breaking through him soaking into his grey swal. He could hear the desperation in Uzair voice—the voice of the monster who had broken him, now reduced to a begging ghost.

"Main subah Karachi pahunch raha hoon," Hamza whispered, "Apne central network ke bando ko hata do wahan se, Uzair. Main seedha haveli aa raha hoon."

"Sab hata dunga... sab kuch tumhara hai," Uzair smiled through his tears, "Haveli ka darwaza khula milega, jaan. Main... main tumhara intezar karonga."

"Sharab mat peena aaj raat," Hamza said, his voice dropping into a soft whisper before the line went dead.

Uzair slowly lowered the phone from his ear, staring at the dark screen. He looked at the crystal bottle of liquor on his nightstand, and with a sudden, forceful sweep of his arm, he shattered it against the floorboards. The dark amber liquid spilled into the dust, mixing with the shadows, as Uzair buried his face in his pillow and wept out loud—not from pain, but because for the first time in two months, his rounak had told him to stay alive.

The dawn that broke over Karachi is heavy, gray, and thick with humidity.

Inside the Lyari haveli, the atmosphere was chaotic. Rehman is screaming at the commanders in the courtyard, his voice cracking with desperation as he realized his men were abandoning the central perimeter.

"Pagal ho gaye ho kya?! Hathaeyar kyun daal rahe ho?!" Rehman shrieked, grabbing a guard by his vest. "Mazari ke log border paar kar chuke hain! Woh yahan aa raha hai!"

"Sardar ka hukam hai, Rehman bhai," the guard said, pulling away with a hollow look. "Hamein piche hatne ko kaha gaya hai."

Upstairs, Uzair stood in front of the mirror of his bathroom. He had washed the sweat and dried blood from his face. His skin is pale, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, but his jaw was clean-shaven for the first time in weeks. He wore a fresh kurta, though it hung loosely on his deflated frame. A sharp, wet cough rattled his ribs, and he quickly spit a mouthful of dark blood into the sink, rinsing it away before anyone could see.

He didn't touch the liquor. His hands were shaking violently, but his mind is entirely focused on the sound of the approaching engines.

The gates of the haveli didn't just open; they are pushed aside by the force of three black armored SUVs rolling into the courtyard. The Lyari loyalists stood back, their hands empty, watching the Baloch commanders step out with their rifles held at low-ready.

Then, the door of the center vehicle opened.

Hamza stepped out into the Karachi air. He didn't look like the boy who had wept in a torn kurta; he looked like an emperor coming to claim a surrendered city.

Rehman lunged forward, his face twisted in fury, but four Mazari commanders instantly blocked him, their rifle barrels pressing hard into his chest.

"Yahan se hato, Rehman," Shirani Sahab voice echoed as he stepped out behind Hamza, "Aaj ka faisla tumhare bas ka nahi hai."

Hamza didn't look at Rehman. His eyes were fixed on the staircase. Slowly, he began to walk up the steps,

The door to the bedroom is slightly ajar. Hamza pushed it open with the tip of his fingers, stepping into the dim, shadow-filled sanctuary. The sharp scent of spilled whiskey from the shattered bottle on the floor hit his nose, but his gaze immediately locked onto the silhouette standing by the window.

Uzair turned around. The moment his eyes landed on Hamza, that smile tore across his face. Tears immediately welled up in his eyes, tracking down into his stubble.

"Tum aa gaye..." Uzair rasped, He took a fragile step forward, his frame trembling from the raging fever burning in his blood. "Mera rounak... wapas aa gaye."

Hamza stopped five feet away. The cold distance he had maintained for months is vibrating under the pressure of his own grief. He looked at Uzair cheeks, the faint trace of illness on his lips, and the devotion in his eyes.

Slowly, Hamza reached into his vest. He didn't pull out a document this time.

He pulled out a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol.

The metallic clack of the safety being switched off echoed sharply in the quiet room. Hamza raised his right hand, his grip steady, pointing the barrel at Uzair chest—right over his heart.

And there, resting perfectly against the black grip of the weapon, was the ring on Hamza finger, catching the dim golden light.

Uzair didn't flinch. He didn't step back. Instead, his smile widened, a tear spilling over his lashes as he looked from the barrel of the gun up to Hamza eyes. He slowly opened his arms wide, exposing his chest completely to the target.

"Maar do..." Uzair whispered, "Khuda ki qasam, Hamza... tumhare hath se maut bhi mere liye nikaah ka tohfa hai. Chalao goli."

Hamza finger rested on the trigger. His face remained perfectly still,

The sleek black pistol trembled for a fraction of a second before Hamza slowly lowered it to his side. The click of the safety being switched back on sounded like a sigh in the quiet of the room.

Hamza face remained a mask of marble, but his eyes shifted, tracking the nonstop tears cutting through the hollows of Uzair cheeks. The sheer sight of the mighty Leader of Lyari—reduced to a feverish, bleeding ghost begging for death at his feet—had broken the last cord of Hamza vengeance.

"Aaj ke baad hamara dushmani khatam hui," Hamza said,

Uzair open arms dropped slightly, his smile freezing on his lips as he stared at Hamza "H-Hamza...?"

"Main hat raha hoon Lyari ke har kone se," Hamza continued "Aapke ports, aapke warehouse, aapka central network... mujhe kuch nahi chahiye. Aaj ke baad agar aapko Balochistan se kuch bhi chahiye—chahe aslah ho, zameen ho, ya mard—aap be-jhijhak bol sakte hain. Mazari takht aapki madad karega."

Uzair took a shaky step forward, his frame swaying from the fever, a wet cough catching in his chest. He reached a trembling hand out toward the fabric of Hamza swal. "Jaan... mujhe yeh sab nahi chahiye... mujhe sirf tum—"

"Aur aaj ke baad," Hamza cut him off l, stepping back just enough to keep his swal out of Uzair reach, "hamara mulaqat sirf kaam ke silsile mein hi hoga."

The words were a different kind of bullet, tracing a clean, permanent boundary between them. Hamza isn't killing him with a gun; he is letting him live, but stripping away the passion of their hatred, leaving behind nothing but transactional business.

"Apni bimaari ka ilaaj karwayiye, Uzair Jan Baloch," Hamza whispered, his gaze lingering for one final, second on the broken man before him. "Ek kamzor Sardar se dushmani nibhane mein Mazariyo ka shaan nahi hai."

With a turn, Hamza walked toward the open bedroom door. He didn't look back at the shattered whiskey bottles, or the blood-stained handkerchiefs, or the man who had once been his entire world. He stepped out onto the staircase, leaving Uzair standing alone in the shadows of his reclaimed, yet entirely empty, empire....

(Naam tera likhne laga aadat mein

Likhti hun ke paagal hun main chaahat mein

Meri jaan meri haan

Tere naal naal rehna)

•18+ Adults Only

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𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 6

The words cut through the heat of the locked room like the edge of a blade.

"Agar zaroorat padi... toh zabardasti bhi karoonga," Uzair said.

His voice didn't shake. It didn’t carry the booming rage of Rehman, nor did it have the panic that was currently ripping Hamza chest apart. It's flat—the tone of the leader of Lyari who had just been backed into a corner by the only person he had ever allowed behind his guard.

Hamza felt a cold tremor spark at the base of his spine, but he didn't look away. The eyes, still wet and clouded with the remnants of his crying, hardened into something entirely unyielding. He let out a mocking laugh against Uzair face, his fingers curling into tight fists against his own sides.

"Toh kar ke dikhaiye," Hamza whispered, his voice cracking but sharp. "Rokiye mujhe. Maar dijiye mujhe. Is ghar mein hatiyaar toh bohot hain na? Ek aur jaan le lenge toh aapke 'business' mein kya farq padega?"

Uzair eyes flared, His grip on Hamza shoulders tightened, his thumbs digging into the soft skin beneath the cotton kurta,

"Zabaan ko lagaam do, Hamza," Uzair rasped, "Maine tumhein zameen se utha kar is ghar ka taaj banaya hai. Tumhare ek ek nakhre ko ibadat samjha hai. Lekin agar tum mere bhai par ungli uthaoge... toh main bhool jaonga ke tum mere liye kya ho."

"Toh bhool jaiye!" Hamza suddenly shrieked, the compliance shattering as he tore his torso backward, thrashing against Uzair weight "Bhool jaiye sab kuch! Mujhe nahi chahiye aapka yeh taaj! Mujhe nahi chahiye yeh izzat jo mere logon ke khoon se khareedi gayi ho! Mujhe mere Mamu ke paas jana hai... mujhe Balochistan jana hai!"

"Tum kahin nahi jaoge!" Uzair roared,

In one motion, Uzair slammed his body forward, forcing Hamza backward until the edge of the mattress hit the back of Hamza knees. Before Hamza could scramble away, Uzair threw him down onto the sheets—the very sheets where, they had tangled their fingers under the quilt in a sacred vow of devotion.

Hamza let out a gasp as his waves of hair scattered wildly across the pillows, his breath knocked out of him by the sudden impact. He instinctively tried to roll over, his bare feet digging into the mattress to find purchase, but Uzair is already over him. Uzair settled his weight between Hamza thighs, pinning his hips to the bed.

"Chodo mujhe! Uzair... chodo!" Hamza cried out, tears spilling fresh from the corners of his eyes, smudging the remaining surma across his temples as he lifted his hands to beat furiously against Uzair chest. His fists rained down on the muscle, uselessly, desperately.

Uzair didn't flinch from the blows. He reached up, capturing both of Hamza wrists in a single, palm, and pinned them flat against the mattress above Hamza head, paralyzing his upper body.

"Suno mera baat! Ek baar chup ho kar suno!" Uzair commanded, "Rehman bhai jo kar raha hai, woh is ghar ko, is Lyari ko zinda rakhne ke liye hai! Hum siyasat ke khilaune nahi hain, Hamza! Agar hum delivery nahi karenge, toh kal koi aur hamare bacchon ke saron par khada hoga!"

"Toh aap unka sath denge?!" Hamza sobbed, He stopped fighting, his body going limp beneath Uzair weight, his head turning into the pillow as his chest with sobs. "Mera Mamu... unhone hamesha aap par bharosa kiya. Unhone mujhe aapke hath mein diya... aur aap log unhein dhoka de rahe hain? Agar unhein pata chala... unka dil toot jayega, Uzair. Woh marr jayenge."

The vulnerability in Hamza voice hit Uzair. The rage in Uzair eyes flickered, replaced for a fraction of a second by a bleeding ache. He looked down at his husband—beautifully undone, his emerald kurta twisted around his torso, his long hair tangled and damp from tears, his wrists held captive in his own hand.

The silence stretched over the room,

Uzair grip on Hamza wrists slowly relaxed. He didn't let go entirely, but his fingers softened, his thumb shifting to trace the racing pulse at Hamza wrist. He lowered his head, resting his sweaty forehead against the hollow of Hamza neck,

"Jaan..." Uzair murmured, his voice dropping into that rasp that had soothed Hamza through every night of the past month. "Tumhara Mamu ko kuch nahi hoga. Main jaan de doonga, lekin Shirani Sahab par ek khraash nahi aane doonga. Yeh mera wada hai tumse."

Hamza didn't move. He kept his face buried in the pillow, his lips trembling. "Aapka wada... ab ek jhoot lagta hai, Uzair."

Uzair closed his eyes tightly, a low groan escaping his throat at the words. He lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Hamza tear-streaked face with a that bordered on madness.

"Jhoot lagta hai toh lagne do," Uzair whispered against his lips, "Lekin tum is kamre se baahar nahi jaoge. Tumhe lagta hai main kafir hoon? Toh socho main kafir hoon. Lekin tum mere ho, Hamza. Aur main apne jahan se apna rounak ko kabhi alag nahi hone doonga. Chahe mujhe tumhein is bistaar se baandh kar kyun na rakhna pade."

The room grew quiet after Uzair threat, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a fog. Hamza lay entirely still beneath him, his breathing shallow, his eyes fixed on his husband

Slowly, Uzair released his grip on Hamza wrists. His hand lingered for a moment, his fingers trembling slightly as he looked down at the red marks his own grip had left on Hamza skin. A flash of guilt crossed Uzair face, but he quickly hardened his expression, refusing to let his authority slip. He shifted his weight off Hamza, standing up from the bed and smoothing down his kurta

"Tumhein jo sochna hai, socho," Uzair said, "Lekin jab tak tumhara dimaag thik nahi hota, tum is kamre se bahar qadam nahi rakhoge."

Without waiting for a response, Uzair turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Hamza didn't move from the mattress; he simply watched Uzair retreating back through a fresh blur of tears,

Uzair stepped out of the bedroom, his frame exiting into the dimly lit corridor. The moment his boots cleared the threshold, he pulled the door shut behind him.

Standing in the corridor, Uzair let out a breath, his shoulders dropping as the immense strain of the confrontation finally hit him. He turned around and found Rehman standing a few paces away, leaning against the plaster wall with a calculating expression, while Ulfat sat on a low wooden bench nearby, quietly wiping her eyes with the corner of her dupatta.

"Sambhala use?" Rehman asked,

Uzair didn't look at his brother. He kept his eyes fixed on the locked door of his sanctuary. "Andar hai. Kahin nahi ja raha."

"Uzair, woh Shirani Saheb ka bhanja hai," Rehman stepped forward, "Agar usne ek call bhi Balochistan kar di, toh hamara sauda toh chodo, Shirani Saheb ke sath hamare pichla das saal ka izzat mitti mein mil jayega. Aur Major Iqbal ko bhanak bhi laga ke kaam kharab ho raha hai—"

"Maine kaha na, woh andar hai!" Uzair snapped, turning his dark, fierce gaze onto Rehman, his jaw clenched so tightly the bone practically protruded. "Mera ghar hai, Rehman bhai. Mera shohar hai. Main dekh loonga use. Aap apna kaam karein."

Rehman eyes narrowed at the sharp tone, but recognizing the dangerous edge in his younger brother posture, he simply nodded once, holding his ground. "Theek hai. Lekin phone uske paas nahi rehna chahiye, Uzair. Tum jaante ho main kya keh raha hoon."

Meanwhile, inside the locked bedroom,

Hamza slowly pushed himself up from the mattress, his muscles aching He felt hollow, as if the beautiful life he had lived for the past month had been entirely drained out of him, leaving only the reality of a cage.

His eyes darted to the nightstand. His phone is still sitting there, right next to the glass jar

Moving with an urgent, quiet desperation, Hamza crawled across the bed and snatched the phone. His fingers shook he nearly dropped it against the floorboards. He unlocked the screen, his thumb flying instantly to the contact list, hovering over the name that represented his only remaining safety in the world: Mamu.

He pressed dial.

The phone began to ring, the soft, repetitive chime sounding incredibly loud in the quiet room. Hamza pressed the device to his ear, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, his breath hitching as he waited for the one voice that could save him from this nightmare.

Ring... ring... ring...

"Mamu, please uthayein..." Hamza whispered tear spilling over his cheek. "Please..."

Before the call could connect, the sound of the lock turning outside caused Hamza entire body to freeze.

The bedroom door swung open, and Uzair stepped back inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the glowing screen of the phone in Hamza hand. The softness that Uzair usually carried for his husband is gone, replaced by the ruthless efficiency of the leader who handled threats before they could breathe.

In two strides, Uzair closed the distance. Before Hamza could even scream or pull back, Uzair hand reached down, his fingers locking around the phone and wrenching it out of Hamza grip

"Uzair, nahi! Mera phone dijiye! Uzair!" Hamza shrieked, scrambling onto his knees, his hands reaching out desperately to claw at Uzair wrists as he tried to fight for his only connection to his homeland.

Uzair didn't look at the screen. He disconnected the call with a single swipe of his thumb, his face blank as he slid the phone into the pocket of his own kurta.

"Maine kaha tha na, Hamza," Uzair rasped, as he looked down at his crying husband. "Tum is ghar se baahar koi rabta nahi rakhoge. Jab tak tumhein yeh samajh nahi aata ke tumhara jahan ab yahan hai, mere paas."

Hamza sank back onto his heels, his hands dropping limply into his lap as his last hope was stripped away. He looked up at the man standing over him—the same man who had worshipped his body under the quilt, now stripping him of his freedom.

"Aapne mujhe kaid kar diya..." Hamza whispered, his voice breaking into a faint, sob that shook his entire frame. "Aapne sach mein... mujhe kaid kar diya, Uzair."

Uzair chest heaved with a pained breath, but he didn't lower his gaze. He stepped back toward the door, his hand resting on the handle as he looked at his crown one last time before exiting.

"Agar tumhein yahan rehne ke liye kaid ki zaroorat hai... toh haan," Uzair murmured darkly. "Tum kaid ho, jaan."

⚠️ Warning: Proceed with caution.

The cold finality of Uzair words had barely settled in the air before the instinct took over his frame. Seeing Hamza shrunk on his heels, broken but still bleeding defiance from his eyes, made something primal snap in the leader of Lyari.

Uzair didn't leave the room. Instead, he let go of the door handle and turned back around,

Hamza eyes widened, a sudden shockwave of adrenaline hitting his core as he saw Uzair advancing. Before he could even scramble backward toward the headboard, Uzair lunged forward onto the mattress. His hands clamped around Hamza ankles

"Uzair—! Nahi!" Hamza gasped out,

With a single, brutal surge of his strength, Uzair pulled.

Hamza body was violently dragged across the mattress, the white sheets bunching up under his back as he was hauled down to the center of the bed. His hair whipped wildly across his face and shoulders, catching on the fabric, his kurta riding up slightly around his waist as his bare feet helplessly kicked against the air, trying to break the hold.

"Chodo mujhe! Uzair, please... chodo!" Hamza cried out, his fingernails digging desperately into the mattress, trying to find purchase, trying to anchor himself against the force of his husband.

But Uzair is relentless. In one movement, he dragged Hamza beneath his shadow and followed him down, throwing his weight over Hamza trembling frame. The impact knocked the breath straight out of Hamza lungs, a soft, helpless sob breaking from his lips

Uzair anchored his knees on either side of Hamza trembling thighs, pinning his lower body entirely to the bed. His chest crushed flat against Hamza,

"Main tumhein baar baar bol raha hoon, Hamza... lekin tumhara zabaan, tumhara yeh zidd mere sabar ka imtihan le raha hai!" Uzair growled, as he reached up, using one hand to lock both of Hamza wrists together, pinning them above his head into the headboard.

Hamza arched his back violently under the quilt, his chest straining upward as every muscle in his frame went taut with a desperate panic. Tears dropped non-stop from his eyes, smudging the surma into a dark haze across his temples as he thrashed his head from side to side, trying to escape the stifling heat of Uzair body.

"Aap... aap badal gaye hain..." Hamza choked out, "Aap wahi hain... wahi zalim... wahi kafir jo mere logon ko marte hain! Maar dijiye mujhe bhi! Khatam kar dijiye mujhe!"

Hearing those words—feeling the disgust and hatred radiating from his husband—sent a wave of heat straight to Uzair brain.

"Zalim hoon na? Kafir hoon na?!" Uzair rasped, his hand shifting from Hamza wrists to grip his jawline with an hold, forcing him to stay still. "Toh phir dekhho mera zulm, jaan."

The words left a scorching, Hamza breath hitched, his jaw held hostage in Uzair, trembling hand. For a second, his struggles stopped.

The eyes that had always held a gentle, warmth for Uzair now overflowed with a profound, stinging betrayal.

"Aap... aap mujhse jabardasti karenge...?" Hamza whispered, "Is tarah se... is tarah se apna rounak banayenge aap mujhe?"

The sight of Hamza vulnerability—not the anger, not the screaming defiance, but the quiet, shattered question—hit Uzair like an icy blade straight to his chest.

The heat in Uzair brain instantly evaporated, leaving behind a hollow, aching cold. His eyes widened slightly as the weight of his own words crashed down upon him. He villainized himself in the eyes of the only person he had vowed to protect from the world.

"Jaan..." Uzair rasped, "Nahi... nahi, mera yeh matlab nahi tha. Main... main pagal ho raha hoon, Hamza."

Uzair immediately released Hamza wrists, letting them drop onto the pillows. He shifted his weight off Hamza chest, collapsing onto his knees beside him on the mattress, his head dropping forward into his hands. His shoulders rolled with pained breath. The leader of Lyari, who commanded thousands outside those walls, looked defeated on the bed of his own sanctuary.

"Main tumhein kabhi hath nahi lagaunga... jabardasti nahi karunga," Uzair murmured into his palms, "Lekin main tumhein jaane bhi nahi de sakta, Hamza. Samjho mera baat... agar tum yahan se nikle, toh sab kuch tabah ho jayega. Shirani Saheb... Rehman bhai... hum sab khatam ho jayenge."

Hamza lay still for a long time, his body shaking with silent sobs. He pulled his wrists down, cradling them against his chest where the kurta was wrinkled and torn at the collar.

He didn't scramble to get away this time. The realization had settled deep into his bones: there is no escaping the iron cage of Lyari.

Slowly, Hamza turned his head on the pillow, looking at the, bowed back of his husband. The anger in his heart hadn't left, but its being slowly suffocated by a crushing, permanent sorrow.

"Toh phir mujhe aise hi rakhiye," Hamza whispered, "Zanjeerien mangwa lijiye, Uzair. Apne bandoook o ke sath mere haathon ke liye bhi kuch mangwa lijiye. Kyunki mera dil... mera dil ab is ghar mein kabhi khushi se nahi dhadkega."

slowly Uzair lifting his face from his hands. He turned his head, his gaze locking onto the face of his husband.

"Kyun kar rahe hain yeh, boliye?!" Hamza voice broke through the stillness, a laugh ripping from his chest as he looked at Uzair with despair. "Mera jism koi khilona hai na aapke liye?! Khel lijiye mujhse... kheliye!"

The accusation that his consuming, worshipful love was nothing but a cruel game—sent a blinding jolt straight to Uzair brain. The last remaining thread of his restraint snapped entirely.

With a low growl, Uzair lunged forward, his frame pinning Hamza down into the mattress before Hamza could even register the movement. The weight of the leader of Lyari crashed onto him, driving the air from his lungs as Uzair grabbed both of Hamza shoulders, anchoring him to the bed with a force.

Before Hamza could let out a single cry, Uzair slammed his mouth down onto Hamza trembling lips.

The kiss isn't the slow it's hard, desperate, and punishing, driven by a man completely unhinged by the hatred in his husband eyes. Uzair bit down ruthlessly against Hamza lips, demanding entry, his tongue invading his mouth with dominant strokes that claimed every single inch of him.

Hamza eyes flew wide beneath his tangled lashes, bright with a sudden shock. He thrashed his head violently under Uzair grip, trying to break the connection, but Uzair hand slid up to jawline, pinning his head immovably against the pillow as he continued to consume him.

A whimper tore from the back of Hamza throat, a wet, helpless sound that's instantly swallowed by Uzair open mouth. Driven entirely past the point of reason by the very crimes Hamza was accusing him of, Uzair tore his lips away from Hamza bleeding mouth, leaving him gasping for air as his hot, hurried breaths fanned against his skin.

"Tumhein lagta hai main zalim hoon?! Tumhein lagta hai main tumhara jism istamal kar raha hoon?!" Uzair rasped as his hands flew down to the collar of the cotton kurta. With a tug, the fabric tore open with a sharp rip, exposing Hamza chest to the cool morning air.

Hamza let out a high-pitched, broken sob, his fingers instinctively reaching up to grab Uzair wrists, "Uzair, nahi...... ah! Mat kijiye!"

But Uzair didn't stop. He lowered his frame, his mouth biting and sucking a trail of bruising, wet marks down the column of Hamza neck, He clamped his teeth firmly against Hamza collarbone, making Hamza arch his back off the bed, his knees trembling against Uzair sides as the reality of his husband took over.

Uzair hands slid down to Hamza waist, gripping the soft skin with an iron hold that would surely leave marks by evening. He guided Hamza thighs wide apart, settling his weight between them, his hard, throbbing length pressing flat against Hamza sensitive core through their clothes,

"Ab roko mujhe, Hamza!" Uzair growled against his chest, "Mera zulm dekhna tha na?! Toh ab dekho!"

Hamza hands, which had been digging desperately into the muscle of Uzair wrists, went limp. His fingers uncurled, sliding weakly down his husband arms before falling uselessly onto the white sheets.

He stopped thrashing. He stopped screaming.

The frantic, survival-driven energy that had possessed him for the last ten minutes evaporated, leaving behind a cold, hollow vacuum. Hamza threw his head back into the pillow, his hair scattering blindly around his face. His hazel-green eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling, glassy and wide, the tears freezing at the corners of his lids.

He lay there, undone and exposed beneath the mass of the leader of Lyari, offering no more resistance than a porcelain doll.

Uzair, driven by a chaotic haze of fury, grief, and madness, felt the sudden shift instantly. He had been expecting more fights, more scratches, more accusations to match his own unhinged fervor. But the complete, dead weight of Hamza beneath him hit his senses like a plunge into freezing water.

His mouth, which had been pressing a punishing, mark against the hollow of Hamza throat, slowed down.

Uzair slowly lifted his head, his eyes wild and bloodshot, his jawline glistening with sweat.

Hamza lips were bruised and slightly swollen from the force of the kiss, a tiny bead of blood pooling at the corner. The collar of his cotton kurta lay ruined, torn down the center to reveal the fluttering of his pulse point against his chest. But it's his eyes that made Uzair heart stop entirely.

There is no anger left in them. No defiance. Just a vast, bottomless ocean of numbness.

"Khel lijiye..." Hamza whispered, as he continued to stare at the ceiling. "Aap hi ka toh qaid hai. Jo marzi aaye... woh kijiye."

Uzair let out a gasp, his hands instantly releasing Hamza waist as if he had been burned. He scrambled backward on the mattress, his frame trembling violently as he detached himself from Hamza body,

He stood at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving as he stared down at the wreckage he had just caused. His own hands were shaking. He looked at his palms, responsible for the bruising grip on his husband skin.

"Hamza..." Uzair rasped, shattering into a bleeding sob. "Nahi... khuda ki qasam, nahi... main... main yeh nahi hoon..."

Hamza didn't move. He didn't pull the torn fabric of his kurta together, nor did he look at the man who is falling apart at his bedside. He simply closed his eyes, two tears finally breaking loose and tracking through the surma down to his ears.

Uzair took a step forward, his hand reaching out instinctively to touch him, to beg, to fix the unfixable. "Jaan, mere taraf dekho... mujhe maaf kar do, main pagal ho gaya tha—"

"Aap baahar jaiye," Hamza interrupted softly, "Mujhe... mujhe akela chhor dein, Uzair."

Uzair breath hitched in his throat. He knew that if he stayed, if he pushed further, he would lose the last remaining thread of Hamza soul forever.

With a shattered heart, Uzair turned around. He walked toward the door with slow steps, He opened the door, stepping out into the hallway without looking back, and closed it softly behind him—leaving his beautiful, broken crown alone in the dim golden light of the ruined sanctuary.

The moment Uzair stepped out into the dim corridor, choked breath escaped his chest. He looked down at his trembling hands—the same hands that had just torn the kurta off the only person he worshipped.

The weight of his own actions crashed down on him, He needed help. He couldn’t fix this alone. He had broken his crown, and the terror of losing Hamza soul forever turned his blood to ice.

"Bhabhi..." Uzair’s voice cracked, "Bhabhi! Kahan hain aap?!"

At the end of the corridor, near the kitchen entrance, Ulfat rushed out, her dupatta hurriedly pinned and her eyes still wide with anxiety from the screaming she had heard earlier. Rehman stood right behind her, his face tight and tense, ready for a war. But the moment they saw Uzair, they both froze.

"Uzair? Kya hua, beta?!" Ulfat gasped, running forward instinctively.

Uzair didn't even look at Rehman. He lunged toward his sister-in-law,

"Bhabhi... aao. Abhi humare kamre mein jaiye, please..." Uzair begged, his voice dropping into a broken whisper, his eyes pleading like a child. "Mera... mera qabu nahi raha. Main pagal ho gaya tha. Uska... uska kurta... please, Bhabhi, abhi jaiye use dekhiye!"

Ulfat heart dropped into her stomach. Hearing the words "mera qabu nahi raha" and from a man of Uzair size and temper made her face go entirely pale. She didn't ask a single question. She smacked Uzair hand away from her arm and shoved past his frame, her bare feet flying down the corridor toward the locked bedroom.

Rehman stepped into Uzair path, as he grabbed his younger brother shoulder. "Uzair... haath uthaya tune uspe? Kya kiya andar?!"

Uzair didn't answer. He couldn't. He simply collapsed against the wall, his head dropping into his palms as a low, his entire frame shaking under the weight of his guilt.

Meanwhile, Ulfat didn't even knock. She pushed the bedroom door open, stepping into the dim, golden light of the sanctuary—and the breath completely caught in her throat.

On the center of the bunched-up white sheets, Hamza lay perfectly still. He hadn't moved an inch since Uzair left. His waves of hair were scattered like shattered silk across the pillows, framing a face that's pale, save for the dark, tracks of smudged surma down his cheeks. The cotton kurta lay ruined, torn violently down the center, exposing his wildly fluttering pulse point and the fresh red marks blooming across his collarbone.

He wasn't crying anymore. His hazel-green eyes were wide, glassy, and fixed blankly on the ceiling, empty of life.

" mera bacha...!" Ulfat wailed softly, covering her mouth as tears instantly flooded her eyes.

She slammed the bedroom door shut behind her, locking it from the inside. In a heartbeat, she rushed to the edge of the bed and dropped to her knees, her hands shaking as she pulled her own dupatta off her shoulders.

"Hamza... Hamza, jaan, dekho bhabhi aayi hai," Ulfat wept softly. She gently, carefully draped her dupatta over Hamza trembling chest, covering the fabric and shielding him from the cold morning air.

When her fingers accidentally brushed the sensitive, bruised skin of his shoulder, Hamza didn't flinch. He didn't gasp. He simply closed his eyes slowly, a single tear leaking from his lashes, his voice dropping into a tiny, hollow whisper that broke Ulfat heart into a million pieces.

"Bhabhi... mujhe Mamu ke paas jana hai," Hamza murmured into the empty room, his voice dead entirely stripped of hope. "Mujhe... mujhe is jail mein nahi rehna."

Ulfat breath hitched at the word jail. It felt like a physical slap to her face. She looked at this beautiful, delicate boy from the mountains—the boy who had won over the Lyari elders just a month ago with his gentle smile and the boy who had lovingly held little Faizal on his lap—now reduced to a broken, shivering shell on the very bed that was supposed to be his sanctuary.

"Nahi, meri jaan... aisi baatein nahi karte," Ulfat cried openly, she carefully climbed onto the mattress.

She didn't care about Uzair anger, she didn't care about Rehman business dealings. In this moment, her only instinct is to shield Hamza. She slid her arms under his limp torso, gently lifting his upper body off the pillows and pulling him tightly against her chest. She rocked him back and forth, wrapping her arms around him,

"Tumhara bhabhi marr gayi hai kya jo tum khud ko akela samajhte ho? Shh... rona nahi, mera bacha," she whispered through her own sobs, smoothing down his long, tangled dark waves of hair with her trembling hand.

Hamza didn't hug her back. His arms remained frozen against his chest, his fingers still weakly clutching at the ruined fabric of his collar. But as the familiar, comforting scent of Ulfat rosewater and warmth enveloped him, the unnatural, terrifying numbness in his chest finally cracked.

His shoulders began to shake violently. A long, fractured sob broke from his throat, and he buried his face deep into Ulfat shoulder, finally letting the wall of stone crumble into a desperate weep. He cried for his home in Balochistan, he cried for his Mamu, but most of all, he cried for the beautiful illusion of the man

"Bhabhi... unhone... unhone mujhse..." Hamza choked out,

"Mujhe pata hai, mujhe sab pata hai, jaan. Main hoon na yahan," Ulfat hushed him "Koi tumhein hath nahi lagayega ab. Kisi ki jurrat nahi hai."

Outside the locked door, Uzair hadn't moved an inch from the wall. He remained frozen on his knees, his face buried deep within his palms, Every muffled sob, every broken whimper of Hamza voice that managed to bleed through the door cut straight through Uzair soul like a serrated blade.

He had done this. The leader of Lyari, who prided himself on being Hamza shield against the entire world, had become the very monster his husband needed protection from.

Rehman stood a few paces away, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, The practical, hardened reality of their empire is staring them in the face, but seeing Uzair—

Rehman stepped forward, his hand coming down onto Uzair shoulder, gripping the tense muscle with an iron-like finality.

"Uzair. Hosh mein ao," Rehman commanded, "Jo hona tha, ho gaya. Ulfat sambhal legi use. Lekin hamare paas waqt nahi hai. Major Iqbal ke aadmi shaam tak Balochistan ke border par honge. Shirani Saheb ko handle karna hai ya nahi? Tumhein chalna hoga mere sath."

Uzair slowly peeled his hands away from his face. He looked up at his older brother, his jawline ticking violently as he ripped his shoulder away from Rehman grip.

"Mujhe kisi saude se koi matlab nahi hai, Rehman bhai," Uzair rasped, "Agar mere jaan ko ek khraash bhi aayi... agar usne khana chora, ya uski tabiyat ko kuch hua... toh main bhool jaonga ke aap mere bade bhai hain. Aur main bhool jaonga ke Major Iqbal kaun hai."

Rehman expression hardened into a dangerous mask of authority, "Apne hosh thik karo, Uzair! Woh sirf ek larka—"

"Woh mera shohar hai!" Uzair roared, He turned his gaze back toward the locked door, his voice dropping into a whisper. "Woh mera rounak hai... aur maine... maine khud apne hathon se use tabah kar diya."

The sharp, resounding crack of the slap echoed like a gunshot through the corridor.

Uzair head snapped violently to the side from the sheer force of the blow. The sudden impact left a stark, blooming heat across his cheek, but he didn't raise a hand. He didn't even flinch. For the first time in his life, as he looked at his older brother through bloodshot, hollow eyes.

"Kya hua?!" Rehman boomed, as he stepped right into Uzair space, "Haath hi toh uthaya hai tune! Tera haq hai! Shohar hai tera, is ghar ki malik banakar laya hai toh nakhre sambhalne ke liye nahi, apne neeche rakhne ke liye laya hai!"

Uzair jaw clicked, a raw, suffocating ache tearing through his throat, but before he could even utter a single syllable to defend the boy crying behind the locked door, Rehman grabbed the front of his black kurta, twisting the fabric into an fist.

"Aur tu? Tu yahan khada hoker apne bhai ko dhamki dega?!" Rehman snarled, "Ek larke ke aansoon dekh kar tera khoon paani ho gaya, Uzair? Chup chap chal yahan se! Haath uthaya, achha kiya. Roz utha! Jab tak uska zidd toot nahi jaata, roz utha! Ab chal yahan se!"

With a brutal jerk, Rehman pulled Uzair forward.

Any other day, any other man who dared touch the leader of Lyari would have been buried beneath the dust of the city. But tonight, Uzair’s soul was entirely vacant. The crushing guilt of what he had done to Hamza—the image of that ruined kurta and those empty, glassy eyes—had stripped him of his strength. He let himself be dragged like a ghost, as Rehman hauled him down the staircase, forcing him away from the only room that held his heart.

Behind the locked door, the muffled sound of the slap and Rehman booming, cruel words had cut straight through the thin walls.

Inside the bed, wrapped tightly in Ulfat soft dupatta, Hamza shivering frame went still. His face remained buried deep in his sister-in-law's shoulder, but his tears instantly froze. Hearing Rehman dismiss his entire existence as a mere object to be broken—

Ulfat felt the sudden, terrifying rigidity in the boy spine. Her own eyes flared with a sickening horror and disgust for the men downstairs. She tightened her arms around Hamza, pulling him so close against her chest that there was no space left,

"Kuch nahi hoga... main hoon na," Ulfat whispered, as the front gate of the haveli creaked open and slammed shut below, signaling the departure of the brothers. "Main marr jaongi, Hamza, lekin unhein tumhein haath nahi lagane doongi. Shh... saans lo, mera bacha. Saans lo."

"Mujhe wapas jana hain, bhabhi... bas ab aur nahi," Hamza whispered,

He didn't scream, and he didn't cry frantically anymore. It was the flat, quiet finality in his tone that made Ulfat heart turn to stone. He lifted his head slowly from her chest, his eyes wide, glassy, and hollowed out by the words he had just heard through that door.

"Hamza, meri jaan, meri taraf dekho—" Ulfat pleaded, her hands trembling as she tried to cradle his face, but Hamza gently, weakly pulled his chin back, refusing the comfort.

He looked down at his own hands, which were still clutching the soft dupatta Ulfat had wrapped around his torn kurta. Every inch of his body felt heavy, bruised, and thoroughly violated—not just by Uzair madness, but by the chilling realization that in this house, his bleeding homeland is just 'business' and his body was just a possession to be broken.

"Mera Mamu... unhone mujhe is ghar ki shaan banakar bheja tha, bhabhi," Hamza murmured, "Unhone mujhe Uzair ke hath mein diya tha ke woh mera saya banenge. Lekin yahan... yahan Rehman bhai kehte hain ke mujhe roz maarna chahiye. Ke mera yahi haq hai."

A sob racked his frame, but he quickly bit his trembling lip, forcing the pain back down into his chest. He looked up at the locked bedroom window where the bright Karachi sun is trying to pierce through the curtains.

"Main is mitti ka nahi hoon. Mera dum ghutta hai yahan," Hamza choked out, "Mujhe mere pahadon mein wapas jana hai. Mujhe mere Mamu ke paas jana hai. Agar main ek din bhi aur is kamre mein raha, toh main marr jaonga, bhabhi... sach mein marr jaonga."

Ulfat covered her mouth to stifle a loud, agonizing wail. She looked at the red marks blooming across Hamza collarbone, She knew Rehman ruthless nature, and she knew that when Uzair was pushed into a corner by his brother pressure, the haveli would become a slaughterhouse for this boy’s gentle soul.

"Shh... thik hai, thik hai, meri jaan. Rona nahi," Ulfat wept softly, pulling him back into her arms as she looked toward the locked door. "Main tumhein bhejoongi. Tumhara bhabhi tumhein yahan marne nahi degi, Hamza. Khuda ki qasam, main tumhein is jail se nikalungi."

Ulfat didn’t hesitate. She knew that if she waited until the brothers returned from their armory transaction, Hamza would be trapped forever in a cage of dark orchids and iron wills.

"Tum yahan bilkul safe ho, main abhi sab theek karti hoon," Ulfat whispered fiercely, gently laying Hamza back onto the pillows.

She stood up, walked over to the dressing table where her own phone is hidden. Her hands were shaking, but her focus was lethal. She dialed the number that the entire household usually treated with immense, guarded respect: Shirani Sahab.

The phone rang three times before the deep yet warm voice of the Baloch elder echoed through the receiver. "Ulfat beti? Khairiyat toh hai? Subah subah tumhara phone?"

Hearing that tone—the tone of the man who had unconditionally trusted them with his most precious treasure—made a fresh wave of hot tears spill over Ulfat cheeks.

"Shirani Saheb..." Ulfat choked out, "Aap abhi ke abhi... isi waqt Karachi ke liye niklein. Apne sath apne log lekar aaiye."

There is an silence on the other end of the line. The rustle of papers stopped. Shirani voice dropped into a chilling, razor-sharp frequency. "Hamza? Mere bache ko kuch hua hai? Uzair ne kuch kiya?!"

"Aap bas aaiye!" Ulfat openly wept, "Unhone mere bache ka dum ghot diya hai yahan... uska rounak chheen li hai. Aap aaiye aur use is jail se nikal kar le jaiye, warna mera Hamza nahi bachega!"

Before Shirani could even ask another question, Ulfat disconnected the call, She turned back toward the bed, where Hamza lay with his glassy eyes fixed on her "Aa rahe hain tumhare Mamu," Ulfat whispered, "Woh tumhein lene aa rahe hain, jaan. Tum bas saans lo."

Meanwhile, miles away in the rugged mountains of Balochistan, Shirani stood up from his wooden chair, "Gaadiyan nikaalo!" Shirani roared "Abhi ke abhi Karachi chalo! Agar mere bache ko ek khraash bhi aaya, toh Uzair Jan Baloch ka poora Lyari ko main aag laga doonga!"

The storm was moving toward Karachi, and the haveli is directly in its path.

The gates of the Lyari haveli groaned open, cutting through the stifling afternoon heat as Rehman rugged SUV rolled into the courtyard.

Downstairs, the air is thick with the scent of motor oil, exhaust, and the lingering tension of the armory. Rehman stepped out of the vehicle, his face hardened by a successful transaction with Major Iqbal men. He smoothed down his starched vest, To him, the storm had passed. The weapons were on their way to the border, the empire is secure, and the troublesome Baloch pride of a mountain boy had been successfully contained under his roof.

Uzair stepped out from the passenger side, but he looked like a shell of the man who had left hours prior.

His eyes were vacant, staring lifelessly at the staircase that led up to his private wing. He hadn't spoken a single word during the entire drive back from the docks. His mind was entirely trapped in that locked bedroom,

Rehman walked up beside him, slapping a heavy, callous hand onto Uzair tense shoulder.

"Dekha? Maine kaha tha na, dunya ka koi sauda nahi rukta," Rehman boomed with a low chuckle, "Major Iqbal khush hai. Aur jo andar larka ro raha hai, do din khana nahi khayega, teesre din khud apna nakhra chor kar tere samne khada hoga. Mard ban, Uzair. Tum Lyari ke sardar ho."

Uzair wrenched his shoulder out of Rehman' grip, He didn't look at his brother. He couldn't bear the sight of the man who had validated his behavior.

"Maine kaha tha na, Rehman bhai... mujhe is saude se koi matlab nahi hai," Uzair rasped, He began walking toward the stairs, "Main apna rounak ko dekhne ja raha hoon. Aur agar is baar kisi ne mere aur uske darmiyan aane ki koshish ki... toh qasam khuda ka, main apna hath nahi rokunga."

Rehman smirk vanished, his eyes narrowing at Uzair retreating back, but he let him go. He figured the boy just needed to settle his affairs.

Uzair ascended the stairs, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. The closer he got to the upper wing, the more the suffocating guilt threatened to choke him. He didn't want to be the leader anymore. He wanted to drop to his knees, bury his face in Hamza lap, and beg for a forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve. He wanted to hold those wrists and heal the red marks his own hands had carved into them.

He reached the door of their bedroom.

The corridor was eerily quiet. There was no sound of weeping, no shouting—just a silence that made the hairs on the back of Uzair neck stand up. The soft click echoed in the quiet hallway. He pushed the door open, his voice dropping into a trembling whisper before his eyes even adjusted to the dim golden light.

"Hamza... jaan... main wapas aa gaya..."

But the sight inside the room made his breath lock entirely in his throat.

Hamza wasn't looking at the ceiling anymore. He is sitting on the edge of the mattress, fully dressed in a fresh, simple white pathani outfit that Ulfat had provided, Beside his feet sat his small, packed suitcase—the very same suitcase that held his velvet-bound diary of mountain poems.

Standing right beside him, her arms crossed is Ulfat Bhabhi.

"Yeh... yeh kya hai, Bhabhi?" Uzair choked out, his voice cracking as he took a desperate step forward, his hands reaching out instinctively toward his husband. "Hamza? Yeh kapde... yeh suitcase kyun nikala hai tumne? Maine kaha na, main tumhein kahin nahi jaane doonga!"

Hamza didn't flinch at the booming desperation in Uzair voice. He slowly tilted his head up, He looked at Uzair as if he were looking at a ghost from a past life.

"Aap nahi rok sakte, Uzair," Hamza whispered softly,

Before Uzair could lunge forward to grab him, the sudden, deafening roar of multiple engines tore through the quiet Lyari afternoon. Downstairs, the screech of tires and the violent, metallic crash of the haveli iron gates being forcefully rammed open shook the very foundations of the house.

Rehman’s panicked shouts echoed from the courtyard, followed instantly by the terrifying, rhythmic cocking of dozens of automatic rifles.

The Lion of Balochistan had arrived, and the haveli was officially surrounded.

The chaotic, thunderous racket from the courtyard cascaded up the staircase, shattering the fragile standoff in the bedroom.

Uzair head snapped toward the open balcony window, his primal, territorial instincts as the leader of Lyari instantly overriding his grief for a split second. Down below, the sound of shouting in Balochi and the synchronized, metallic clack-clack of automatic weapons being chambered echoed through the walls.

"Uzair! Baahar nikal!" Rehman voice screamed from the courtyard, "Uzair! Shirani ke log hain! Inhone gate tod diya!"

Hearing his Mamu name, a sudden, blinding flash of life rushed into Hamza glassy eyes. He didn't hesitate. Ignoring the deep, aching soreness radiating from his lower back and inner thighs, he pushed himself off the mattress, His bare feet hit the floorboards as he made a desperate lunge toward his suitcase.

"Hamza, nahi!" Uzair roared,

Driven by a sudden, terrified panic at the thought of his crown walking out of his life, Uzair reached out. His hand locked ruthlessly around Hamza wrist, pulling him backward against his chest. The sudden impact made Hamza let out a sharp, breathless gasp, his long dark waves of hair whipping across Uzair face as he thrashed violently against the iron hold.

"Chodo mujhe! Uzair, chodo! Mere Mamu aa gaye hain!" Hamza shrieked, "Aapne kaha tha na aap zabardasti karenge?! Kijiye! Maarien mujhe mere Mamu ke samne!"

"Tumhein lagta hai main tumhare Mamu se darta hoon?!" Uzair rasped frantically, "Main unka izzat karta hoon, Hamza! Lekin tumhein... tumhein main is ghar se baahar qadam nahi rakhne doonga! Tum mere ho!"

"Yeh tumhara nahi hai, Uzair!" Ulfat suddenly screamed, stepping into his path She forcefully grabbed Uzair arm, " dhamki dekar gaye thay na tum? Ab baahar dekho! Khuda ka azab aaya hai tumhare is gande saude par! Chodo use!"

Before Uzair could even answer his sister-in-law, the door of the bedroom was kicked open from the outside.

Rehman stumbled back into the room, his face pale, sweat pouring down his temples. Behind him, the hallway is already lined with armed, men from the Balochistan mountains, their tactical vests loaded and their rifles pointed straight at Rehman chest.

And then, stepping through the threshold, his silver-topped cane thudding heavily against the floorboards, came Shirani Sahab.

His eyes scanned the wreckage of the room, instantly taking in the packed suitcase, Ulfat tear-stained face, and finally—the sight of Uzair holding a trembling, wildly breathing Hamza captive in his arms. When Shirani gaze dropped to the red, bruised marks clearly visible on Hamza wrists and the hollow, tear-smudged trauma on his face,

"Mamu..." Hamza choked out, a tiny, broken sob ripping from his throat as he looked at his sanctuary.

Shirani Sahab didn't look at Uzair. He didn't look at Rehman. He slowly raised his cane and pointed it directly at Uzair chest, his voice dropping into a low, chilling register that made the entire upper wing of the haveli feel like an icebox.

"Uzair Jan Baloch," Shirani murmured, the name carrying the weight of a death sentence. "Maine is bache ka hath tumhare hath mein diya tha... yeh soch kar ke Lyari ka sardar apna jaan de dega, lekin mere khoon par ek khraash nahi aane dega. Aur tumne... tumne mere bache ko kaidi bana diya?"

Uzair grip on Hamza didn't loosen, but his face turned a violent shade of pale. The guilt collided with his territorial pride. He stood straight, his eyes meeting the elder without flinching.

"Shirani Saheb... yeh mera ghar hai. Aur Hamza mera shohar hai," Uzair rasped, "Main aapka izzat karta hoon. Lekin is ghar ke mamlaat mein... main kisi ki madad ya siyasat bardasht nahi karunga. Hamza kahin nahi jayega."

Shirani Saheb let out a low laugh that echoed off the walls. He finally shifted his gaze to Rehman,

"Tumhare ghar ke mamlaat?" Shirani asked softly. "Ya ISI ke saude, Rehman? Tumhein kya laga tha... ke Balochistan ke parda-nasheen buzurg andhe hain? Ke tum mere hi zariye meri zameen par zeher bhejoge, aur main apne bache ko tumhare is kafir khane mein chor dunga?!"

Shirani Sahab did not lower his cane. Instead, he took a step forward, his polished leather boots crushing a piece of the torn green fabric that had fallen to the floor.

"Baitho," Shirani murmured, "Aaj mujhe kuch sauda karna hai."

Rehman jaw clenched, his hand twitching near his waist, but the three automatic rifles pointed directly at his forehead by Shirani guards kept him rooted to the spot.

Shirani Sahab slowly shifted his gaze down to Hamza, who was looking up at him with wide, tear-flooded eyes, still trembling in Uzair grip. A flicker of aching pain crossed the old man’s face,

"Aur yeh sauda main nahi..." Shirani paused,

"...aaj yeh sauda Hamza karega."

Uzair’s chest heaved, his arms instinctively tightening around Hamza waist, pulling him even closer, as if he could physically shield his husband from the words that were about to tear his world apart. "Shirani Saheb, maine kaha na—"

"Chup raho, Uzair!" Shirani roared, his cane slamming against the floorboards with a crack that made Ulfat flinch. "Tumne apni sardari dikha di is bache par?! Apne mardangi ka nasha iske masoom jism par nikaala na tumne?! Ab suno mera sauda."

Shirani stepped closer, "Aaj se... aur isi waqt se, Hamza mere takht par baithega," Shirani declared, "Balochistan ki har ek gari, har ek hathaeyar, aur har ek mard ab is bache ke ek ishare par chalega. Jo sauda tumne aur tumhare is makkari bhai ne Major Iqbal se kiya tha, woh sauda ab Hamza ki jooti ke neeche hai."

Rehman face turned a violent shade of ash. "Shirani Saheb! Aap hosh mein—"

"Aur dusri baat," Shirani interrupted, completely ignoring Rehman "Aaj se... abhi se... Baloch ke sath Lyari ki dushmani shuru hoti hai. Agar mere bache ki thoki hui thook bhi is deewar par giri, toh Lyari ka bacha bacha zabaan se saaf karega. Yeh dushmani tumne shuru ki hai, Uzair. Apne is bache ka suhaag ujaar kar, tumne poore Lyari ki maut par dastak di hai!"

Hearing those words—the official declaration of war, the absolute shattering of the alliance, and the realization that Hamza is being elevated to a position of lethal power just to destroy him—sent a sickening shockwave through Uzair soul. His hands began to shake violently against Hamza waist.

Hamza lay perfectly still in his arms, He wasn't looking at Uzair anymore. He is looking at his Mamu, the small, fragile spark of the mountain boy officially dying, replaced by the shadow of the Baloch takht.

"Uzair..." Shirani whispered, "Mera bacha choro. Warna pehli goli tumhare is maghroor bhai ke bheje mein utrega, aur doosra tumhare dil mein."

"Aur maine maulana sahab ko bulaya hai," Shirani Saheb added, He slowly tilted his head, "Saath mein abhi... isi waqt, talaq hoga."

The single word ripped through Uzair chest like a hollow-point bullet. His vision blurred, the room spinning violently around him as his hands went entirely rigid against Hamza waist. His heart, which had been hammering with furious pride, seemed to stop beating altogether. To lose Hamza to war is one thing—to have the sacred, permanent vow they had whispered under the quilt completely erased, to have his rounak stripped of his name forever, was a death worse than any bullet Shirani men could fire.

"Nahi..." Uzair choked out, "Nahi... Shirani Saheb, khuda ke liye nahi... kuch bhi mang lijiye. Lyari le lijiye, meri jaan le lijiye... lekin talaq nahi."

For the first time, Hamza reacted. He lifted his head from Uzair chest, He looked at his Mamu,

"Mamu..." Hamza whispered,

"Chup raho, Uzair!" Shirani roared, his silver-topped cane slamming against the floorboards with a violent thud that made Rehman step back instinctively. " Tumne iska nikaah padha tha ya iske jism ko apni jageer samjha tha?! Jo mard apne shohar hone ka nasha mazloom par nikaale, woh mere takht ke waaris ka hamsafar nahi ho sakta!"

Shirani Saheb raised his hand, gesturing sharply to the heavy-set guards at the door. "Maulana sahab ko andar lekar ao!"

Within seconds, the armed guards stepped aside, and an elderly Maulana, a leather-bound register clutched tightly against his chest.

Rehman face had turned completely translucent with fear. He knew that if this divorce went through, the alliance is dead, the ISI deal is destroyed, and Lyari would be painted red by morning. He lunged forward desperately, his hands raised. "Shirani Saheb! Ek baar sochein! Yeh siyasat ka maamla—"

"Ek aur lafz, Rehman, aur tumhara zabaan is farsh par ghirega!" one of Shirani’s commanders growled, shoving the barrel of a Kalashnikov directly under Rehman jaw, forcing his head back against the wall.

Uzair didn't hear them. He is completely blind to his brother panic.

"Jaan... meri taraf dekho, please," Uzair begged, "Mat karo aisa... main marr jaonga, Hamza. Main khud ko khatam kar loonga. Maaf kar do mujhe... ek baar... sirf ek baar..."

Hamza lay flat against his chest, He closed his eyes, The gentle boy from the mountains is gone.

Slowly, Hamza opened his eyes, looking straight at the Maulana who was frantically opening the register on the dressing table.

"Kijiye, Maulana sahab," Hamza whispered, "Likh lijiye... mujhe is kafir ke naam se azad kijiye."

The words left Hamza lips like a final breath, freezing the entire room.

Uzair chest let out a gasp, as if the spine had been ripped straight out of him. His hands, which had held Hamza with an iron-tight, territorial grip for the past month, trembled violently before sliding weakly off his husband waist, falling uselessly onto the bunched-up white sheets.

He didn't scream. He didn't fight. The sheer, crushing finality of hearing Hamza—his gentle, soft-spoken rounak—call him a kafir and beg for freedom broke the leader of Lyari completely. Uzair sank backward onto his knees on the mattress, his head dropping into his scarred palms as a low sob ripped from the depths of his chest.

Hamza didn't look back. The moment the grip left his body, he pushed himself up from the bed,

He stepped toward the dressing table where the Maulana sat, his fingers shaking so badly he could barely hold the pen over the registration book. Shirani Saheb stood right beside the table,

"Yahan, beta," the Maulana whispered, his voice cracking with fear as he pointed a trembling finger at the bottom of the page, where the ink was still wet. "Yahan teen baar... aapko dastakhat karne hain."

Hamza picked up the black pen. For a single, fleeting second, his gaze drifted to the mirror of the dressing table. He saw his own reflection—the pale skin, the eyes surrounded by smudged shadows of surma, and his waves of hair tangled around his shoulders. He looked like a stranger. The boy who had arrived in Karachi with a heart full of nervous, sweet hope is dead.

With a cold, steady hand, Hamza pressed the pen to the paper.

Sign.

The scratching of the nib against the thick parchment felt like a gunshot in the silent room. Behind him, Uzair let out a groan, his shoulders rolling as he buried his face deeper into his hands, unable to bear the sight of his soul being legally stripped away from his name.

Sign.

Rehman watched from the wall, the barrel of the rifle still pressed hard under his jaw, his eyes wide with a sickening realization that their entire empire, the arms deal, and the peace of Lyari had just vanished into thin air.

Sign.

The third signature is finished. Hamza slowly set the pen down, his chest rising and falling in a deep, long-awaited breath.

"Ab..." Shirani Saheb murmured, reached out, his hand coming down onto Hamza shoulder, anchoring him. "Ab tum azad ho, mere bacha. Chalo yahan se."

"Maulana Sahab, register idhar kijiye," Shirani commanded sharply, "Uzair se nikaah-nama par dastakhat karwaiye. Aur agar isne inkar kiya... toh ise bata dena ke baahar khadi huye bees gaariyan is haveli ko mitti mein mila dega."

The Maulana frantically scrambled across the room, carrying the heavy register toward the edge of the bed where Uzair knelt like a defeated ghost. "Sardar... Sardar Saheb... yahan... yahan sign kar dijiye, please..."

Uzair slowly peeled his hands away from his face. He didn't look at the paper. He kept his eyes locked on Hamza, who is already reaching down to grab the handle of his small suitcase, his back completely turned to the bed.

"Hamza..." Uzair rasped, "Ek baar... sirf ek baar meri taraf dekhho, jaan... khuda ke liye ek baar..."

Hamza didn't pause. He picked up his suitcase, his fingers tightening around the handle. He turned to Ulfat Bhabhi, who stood by the closet, weeping silently into her sleeve. Hamza took a step forward and softly touched her arm. "Shukriya, Bhabhi. Mere liye...."

With those final words, Hamza walked out of the bedroom, Shirani Saheb followed right behind,

"Sign karo, Uzair!" Rehman hissed from the wall, his voice cracking with sheer, desperate panic as he saw the guards starting to back out of the room. "Sign kar, Warna yeh log humein zinda maar denge!"

Uzair looked down at the register. A single tear dropped from his lashes, smudging the ink where Hamza hand had just been. With a shaking, defeated hand, Uzair picked up the pen and violently slashed his signature across the page—completely erasing his right over his beautiful crown.

The roar of the engines outside seemed to fade into a distant hum as Hamza suddenly stopped at the threshold of the bedroom door. The line of armed Baloch guards paused with him, their rifles still raised, creating a tense perimeter around the broken space.

Slowly, Hamza turned back around.

The hollow numbness that had masked his face for the last hour suddenly shifted, replaced by a clarity. as he looked directly at the man kneeling on the mattress. He walked back into the room with slow steps,

Uzair lifted his eyes from the leather-bound register, his breath hitching in his throat as he saw his rounak stepping back toward him. A pathetic, desperate spark of hope flared in his chest—a hope that's instantly crushed by the look in Hamza eyes.

Hamza stopped just at the edge of the bed. Slowly, he lifted his right hand and extended it toward Uzair.

There, resting firmly against his skin, is his platinum wedding band—the very ring Uzair had slipped onto his finger on their nikaah night, promising to be his shield against the world. He in't taking it off. He is leaving it right there, a permanent mark of the vow they had just brutally shattered.

"Dushmanii mubarak, Uzair Jan Baloch," Hamza said,

Hearing his own name spoken not with love, but as a declaration of blood-feud, tore the remaining pieces of Uzair heart to shreds. The ultimate realization that they were now on opposite sides of a lethal war crashed down on him.

A choked laugh escaped Uzair throat. He didn't hesitate. He reached out with his hand and wrapped his fingers completely around Hamza hand, sealing the handshake. His grip is steady, yet his entire frame is shaking violently under the weight of his grief.

Tears spilled openly down Uzair cheeks, glistening in the dim golden light of the room, but a smile slowly broke across his clenched jaw. He looked straight into the eyes of the boy he had worshipped, accepting the fate they had carved with their own hands.

"Dushmani mubarak... Hamza Ali Mazari," Uzair rasped,

For a single, second, their hands remained locked—an grip between the Leader of Lyari and the new Heir to the Baloch Takht. The ring pressed hard into Uzair palm, a physical ache to match the bleeding cavern in his chest.

Then, Hamza pulled his hand back, severing the connection completely. He turned on his heel without looking back a second time,

Uzair stayed on his knees, his smiling face dropping back into his hands as the SUV doors slammed downstairs, signaling the official beginning of a war that would paint the streets of Karachi red....

(So here's today chapter I know you guys never expected it from me)

𝓓𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓴-𝓮-𝓓𝓲𝓵 Chapter 5

( 🔞 18+ WARNING 🔞

Dear innocent souls, this is your official evacuation notice. 😇

This story is strictly for 18+ readers. It contains mature themes, bold humor, questionable decisions, and enough chaos to make your Wi-Fi blush.

If you're under 18, this is your cue to close the story, drink some water, and pretend you never saw this. 👀

For everyone else... welcome aboard. Fasten your seatbelts, leave your judgment at the door, and enjoy the ride. What happens in this story, stays in this story. 😏)

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡🪐༘⋆

Through every single day of that first month, Uzair never once placed the weight of expectation on Hamza shoulders. He didn't demand the traditional duties of a husband, nor did he expect Hamza to instantly morph into the flawless, hardened spouse of a Lyari clan leader. Instead, Uzair shielded him, treating Hamza comfort and peace of mind as the priority.

Even at night, when the bedroom door was locked and the rest of the world is shut out, Uzair remained a sanctuary of patience. He never rushed him, never pushed for anything more than what Hamza is ready to give.

On this particular night, after a long, grueling day at the armory, Uzair sat on the edge of the bed, slowly unbuttoning the cuffs of his kurta. His shoulders were tense, the exhaustion of his responsibilities settling deep into his frame.

Hamza stepped into the room, closing the door softly. His hair were neatly brushed, cascading beautifully past his shoulders, and he wore a simple, soft emerald-green cotton kurta

Seeing the tension in his husband back, Hamza didn't hesitate. He walked over Instead of sitting far away, Hamza climbed onto the mattress and moved directly behind Uzair.

Slowly, carefully, Hamza placed his hands onto Uzair shoulders.

Uzair stiffened slightly at the sudden touch, a low, surprised breath escaping his lips. But as Hamza thumbs began to press into the tight muscles of his neck with gentle, rhythmic strokes, Uzair let out a sigh, his head dropping forward as he completely surrendered to the soothing sensation.

"Aap bohot thak gaye hain na...?" Hamza whispered softly,

"Tumhare is haseen hatho ka lams mil jaye, toh thakan ki kya auqat, jaan..." Uzair murmured, He didn't move, just sat there, content to let his husband take care of him.

Hamza smiled, He leaned forward slightly, his chest pressing gently against Uzair back as his hands continued their massage, realizing with a full heart that the man who demanded authority from the entire city required nothing but tenderness from him.

Hamza turned the key in the lock, the soft click echoing in the quiet room like a definitive seal on the world outside. He walked over to the nightstand with deliberate, quiet steps, setting down the glass jar of water before turning around to face his husband.

Uzair is still sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes tracking Hamza movements with his usual calmness. But tonight, there was a subtle shift in the air—a stillness that made Uzair gaze sharpen.

Hamza didn't lower his lashes this time. He looked directly into Uzair eyes, his heart hammering against his ribs, not out of fear, but out of a beautiful certainty. A full month of Uzair unconditional patience, his respect, and his silent protection had brought Hamza to this moment. Uzair had given him everything without demanding a single thing in return. Tonight, Hamza wanted to give him his whole heart, mind, and body.

Slowly, Hamza walked over until he was standing right between Uzair parted knees.

Uzair looked up, his breath hitching slightly in his chest as he noted the unwavering focus in Hamza eyes. "Hamza...?" Uzair murmured,

Instead of answering with words, Hamza reached down. His fingers gently found Uzair hands, lifting them up and placing them securely around his own waist. Hamza then leaned down, letting his waves of hair cascade over Uzair shoulders as he boldly buried his face into the side of Uzair neck,

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered against his skin, his voice trembling slightly "Aapne mera bohot sabar se intezar kiya hai... Aaj... aaj mujhe aapse door mat rakhiyega."

Uzair entire frame went entirely rigid for a fraction of a second as the meaning of Hamza words washed over him. His eyes flared with a sudden, scorching intensity, his large hands instantly tightening around Hamza waist, pulling him flush against his chest.

"Hamza," Uzair groaned out, He tilted his head up, his jawline brushing against Hamza cheek as his gaze locked onto his husband beautifully flushed face. " jaan... tum jaante ho na tum kya keh rahe ho? Mujhse tumhara yeh roop sambhala nahi jayega."

Hamza let out a soft gasp at the sudden, fierce heat radiating from Uzair, but he didn't pull back. Instead, a serene, breathtaking smile curved his lips. He reached up, his fingers tangling securely into the hair at the back of Uzair head, pulling him closer.

"Toh mat sambhaliye," Hamza murmured softly, his eyes heavy with love as he looked down at his husband. "Main sirf aapka hoon, Uzair. Pure dil se."

Uzair chest heaved with a breath. The sheer depth of his love for Hamza is a protective force, and even now, with Hamza standing so beautiful and willing in his arms, Uzair first instinct is to shield him—even from his own overwhelming desires.

He slid his hands up from Hamza waist, gently cupping his cheeks, his thumbs tracing the high line of Hamza cheekbones. Uzair looked up into those eyes, his own gaze filled with a trembling tenderness.

"Jaan, suno..." Uzair tried to say, "Tum aur waqt le lo... Aur thoda din ruk jao, koi jaldi nahi hai. Main yahin hoon, tumhare paas. Mujhpar koi bojh nahi hai, meri jaan."

He is offering a way out, offering more of his patience, because Hamza comfort meant more to him than his own life.

Hamza heart swelled so painfully with love that tears almost pricked the corners of his eyes. He shook his head slowly, a smile breaking across his face. He didn't lean back; instead, he leaned further into Uzair touch, pressing his cheek into Uzair palm.

"Uzair... mera baat suniye," Hamza whispered, "Yeh koi jaldbaazi nahi hai. Ek mahina... ek mahine tak aapne mujhe sirf duniya ki khushiyan aur izzat di hain. Mujhe apna banaya hai."

Hamza placed his hands over Uzair wrists, his fingers wrapping around them gently. He looked down into his husband eyes.

"Ab mera dil koi aur waqt nahi chahta," Hamza murmured, his breath fanning warm against Uzair lips as he lowered his head just a fraction more. "Main poore tarah se tayyar hoon, Uzair. Mujhe aur waqt nahi, sirf aap chahiye."

The last remaining thread of Uzair restraint snapped entirely. Hearing those words from Hamza lips—is more than his soul could bear.

With a low growl that vibrated directly against Hamza chest, Uzair stood up from the edge of the bed. his movements were incredibly fluid as he wrapped his arms securely around Hamza waist and thighs, lifting him off the floor.

Hamza let out a soft, startled gasp, his bare feet dangling as his hands instinctively locked around Uzair shoulders, his waves of hair swirling around them like a silk veil.

Uzair didn't lay him down immediately. He held Hamza pressed against his chest, as he looked up into Hamza face. "Tumne khud kaha hai, Hamza," Uzair rasped out, "Ab agar tum chaho bhi, toh main tumhe khud se door nahi hone doonga."

"Main kabhi door nahi jaonga," Hamza whispered, his eyes locking onto Uzair lips with an open, beautiful hunger that matched his husband.

Uzair stepped forward and gently, lowered Hamza onto the center of the mattress.

Before Hamza could even catch his breath, Uzair followed him down, hovering over him like a shadow, his hands anchoring themselves on either side of Hamza head.

Uzair reached down, his fingers gently tracing the collar of Hamza emerald-green kurta, his touch trembling just a fraction. He leaned down until his jaw brushed against Hamza ear,

"Mera jaan... mera rounak," Uzair murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin of Hamza neck, making Hamza arch his back with a soft, helpless shiver. "Aaj raat ke baad... is jahan mein koi dunya aisi nahi hoga jahan tum aur main alag ho sakein."

Uzair hovered over him, the heat of his body warming the cool sheets beneath Hamza. For a moment, everything in the room stood perfectly still. The distant sounds of Lyari were gone, the ticking of the clock faded, and all that remained is the rhythm of their hearts beating in unison.

Slowly, Uzair lowered his face. His eyes remained locked onto Hamza until the very last second, capturing the beautiful, trembling trust reflecting in those eyes.

When Uzair finally placed his lips on Hamza, it is the first time for both of them.

The touch was feather-light at first, a graze that made Hamza breath hitch sharply in his throat. Uzair lips were warm, slightly firm, and tasted faintly of the sweet cardamom tea they had shared after dinner. Hamza eyes fluttered shut, his lashes brushing against his cheeks as a wave of warmth rushed from his chest straight down to his toes.

As the realization of the moment settled over them, Uzair let out a shaky sigh against Hamza mouth. The initial hesitation melted away. He deepened the kiss, his lips parting slightly to claim Hamza with a slow tenderness that felt like a sacred vow. It isn't rushed; it's a consuming outpouring of a month worth of unspoken devotion, patience, and love.

Hamza fingers, which had been resting nervously on Uzair shoulders, tightened instinctively. He tangled his hands into the fabric of Uzair kurta, pulling himself upward, anchoring himself to his husband as he boldly returned the kiss. He poured all his gratitude, his shyness, and his wholehearted surrender into the touch.

Uzair groaned softly into the kiss, His hand slid up from the mattress, his thumb tracing the soft skin of his cheek to hold him steady under the beautiful intensity of their very first kiss.

The kiss lasted for a long, beautiful eternity, their breaths tangling together until the world outside their bedroom ceased to exist. Slowly, reluctantly, they parted, both of them breathing softly. Uzair lingered for a fraction of a second, his lips brushing against Hamza before he shifted upward, pressing a kiss right onto Hamza forehead.

Uzair hands moved to the front of his own kurta. With slow, movements, he began to undo the buttons,

Hamza heart did a wild flip. As the fabric parted, revealing the Uzair chest and the rugged scars that spoke of his life in Lyari, a sudden wave of intense shyness washed over Hamza. He quickly lowered his lashes, looking down at the white sheets, his cheeks burning a beautiful crimson.

Uzair let out a low chuckle at the sight of his husband sudden modesty. He reached down, his index finger gently hooking under Hamza chin, lifting his face back up so their eyes could lock.

"Mere taraf dekho, jaan," Uzair murmured, "Mujhse apna nazrein mat chhupao. Aaj sab kuch tumhara hai."

Hamza gaze slowly rose, his eyes locked onto Uzair face, He didn't look down again. Instead, he reached out, his fingers shaking just a fraction as they pressed against the skin of Uzair chest, feeling the thudding of his heart.

"Main... main chhupa nahi raha," Hamza whispered breathlessly, "Bas... aap mujhe aise dekhte hain toh mera khud par qabu nahi rehta."

Uzair eyes darkened further, He caught Hamza hands in his own, pressing a kiss into the center of each palm before pinning them gently to the mattress on either side of Hamza head. He leaned down, his frame completely blanketing Hamza,

"Toh mat rakho qabu," Uzair rasped against his lips, his breath hot and uneven. "Maine ek mahina tumhara har jhijhak, tumhara har darr sambhala hai. Aaj mujhe apne paas aane do."

With a slow movement, Uzair slid his hands down to the hem of Hamza emerald-green kurta, gently lifting the fabric. Hamza arched his back slightly, a soft gasp escaping his parted lips as the cool night air hit his skin, followed instantly by the solid heat of Uzair body coming down to meet his.

Uzair gently eased the emerald-green kurta over Hamza shoulders, his hands remarkably tender against Hamza smooth skin. reaching down with one movement, he gripped the soft, lightweight quilt and pulled it up over both of them, instantly trapping their shared warmth and sealing them away from the rest of the world. Under the blanket,

Hovering over his husband, Uzair began to shower Hamza with slow kisses, leaving no part of him unadored.

He started at the very top, pressing a soft kiss to the center of Hamza forehead, before moving down to his closed eyelids. His lips brushed over the dark, surma-lined lashes, making Hamza shiver beneath him. He moved to the bridge of his nose, and then to his cheeks,

When Uzair lips finally found Hamza mouth again, the kiss is deep, slow, and consuming, a silent promise that he belonged entirely to him. Hamza let out a soft, breathless whimper into the kiss, his fingers digging into the muscles of Uzair back.

Slowly parting from his lips, Uzair shifted downward. His jawline brushed against Hamza chin as his lips found the sensitive column of Hamza neck. Hamza tilted his head back into the pillow, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as Uzair hot breaths fanned against his skin.

Uzair pressed a kiss right over the racing pulse point at Hamza throat, before tracing a path of burning kisses down to his collarbone. Every touch is heavy with passion, yet handled with the utmost care, as if Hamza were the most precious treasure in the world.

He moved further down under the blanket, his lips pressing against the center of Hamza chest, right over his wildly beating heart, before continuing down the expanse of his stomach. Hamza abdominal muscles flexed sharply at the sudden sensation, his hands tangling firmly into Uzair hair as he completely surrendered to the overwhelming, beautiful tide of his husband love.

The night deepened under the warmth of the quilt, the quiet room filled only with the soft, sound of their breaths. Uzair shifted back up, his frame tracing a path of burning heat against Hamza skin until he was hovering over him once more, their eyes locking in the dim, golden lamplight.

Hamza eyes were bright, as he looked up at the man who held his entire world in his hands. The shyness is still there, painting his cheeks a deep crimson, but it was entirely overtaken by a beautiful, fearless surrender.

Uzair reached down, his hand gently tangling into Hamza waves of hair, anchoring him. "Tum sirf mera rounak nahi ho, Hamza," Uzair rasped, "Tum mera jaan ho. Mera sukoon ho."

Hamza didn't speak. Instead, he lifted his arms, wrapping them securely around Uzair neck and pulling him down. He met Uzair lips again, this time with a fierce, quiet passion of his own, letting every touch and every shared breath seal the unspoken vows between them.

Uzair restraint burned away completely into a fervor. Hearing Hamza soft breaths and feeling his total surrender under the quilt drove him to claim his husband fully. He buried his face into the crook of Hamza neck, his hot breath fanning against the sensitive skin before his lips pressed down with a hunger.

Slowly, Uzair nipped and sucked at the soft skin along the column of Hamza neck. He bit down gently, just enough to leave an undeniable statement of his devotion. Within moments, deep purple marks began to bloom like dark orchids across Hamza throat and collarbone.

The sensation made Hamza eyes snap wide under his lashes before fluttering tightly shut. His hands instantly gripped the muscles of Uzair back, his fingers digging into the solid warmth of his skin.

"Uzair... ah..." Hamza moaned out softly, a sweet, helpless sound that broke through the quiet of the room and echoed straight into Uzair chest.

That single, melodic sound sent a jolt of raw adrenaline through Uzair veins. He groaned deeply against Hamza skin, his large hands sliding down to grip Hamza waist, anchoring him tightly to the mattress as he continued to cover his neck in slow marks, sealing the leader of Lyari permanent claim on his husband.

Uzair shifted lower under the warmth of the quilt, his massive frame moving down the mattress with a focus. His eyes remained fixed on Hamza flushed face for a fleeting second before he gently but guided Hamza thighs apart, creating an space between them.

Hamza let out a soft, trembling breath, his fingers instantly knotting into the cool white sheets beneath him as the vulnerability of the position hit him. But there was no fear—only a racing anticipation that made his chest heave.

Uzair leaned down, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. He pressed his open mouth against the soft, sensitive skin of Hamza inner thigh, delivering a succession of deep, wet, kisses. The intense heat of his mouth against the smooth skin sent a sharp, intoxicating shockwave straight through Hamza core.

"Uzair... h-haan..." Hamza gasped out, his head throwing back into the plush pillow as his waves of hair scattered around him. He arched his back helplessly, his knees trembling slightly against Uzair torso as his husband claimed every inch of him.

Uzair groaned deeply against his skin, his hands anchoring Hamza hips firmly to the bed, undone state of his husband.

The burning heat of Uzair open-mouthed kisses against his skin drove Hamza completely past the point of reason. His mind is a beautiful fog of pure sensation, and his body acted on instinct to anchor himself to the man dominating his entire world.

Reaching down blindly under the quilt, Hamza hands found the back of Uzair head. His fingers tangled into Uzair hair, gripping the strands tightly.

He didn't pull Uzair away; instead, Hamza held onto him with a desperate grip, pulling his husband even closer against his trembling thighs.

"Uzair... please..." Hamza whimpered breathlessly,

Uzair let out a low, deep growl against Hamza skin, the tight grip on his hair only fueling the fire inside his chest. He gripped Hamza hips with an iron hold, lifting his head slightly to look up the length of Hamza beautifully undone body. Seeing his husband with his head thrown back, his eyes heavy and half-closed, and his fingers knotted tightly in his hair, Uzair knew there was no turning back. They belonged to each other, completely and entirely, in the quiet depth of the Karachi night.

Uzair moved up the length of the bed , his chest pressing flat against Hamza as he captured his lips once more. This time, the kiss wasn't gentle or testing—it was hard, deep, and thick with an hunger that had been building for weeks.

Hamza didn't shrink away. Driven by the fierce heat pooling in his lower belly, he wrapped his arms around Uzair neck and kissed him back with equal fervor, his lips parting willingly to welcome his husband deep strokes. Their breaths mingled in a frantic, desperate rhythm as they consumed each other.

Beneath the quilt, their fingers tangled together tightly, locking securely as if anchoring one another in the middle of a storm.

Breaking the kiss just an inch to breathe, Uzair let out a groan against Hamza lips. Without breaking eye contact, he kept his hand securely woven through Hamza fingers. Slowly Uzair guided Hamza hand down the smooth expanse of their flat stomachs, leading it lower until he placed Hamza palm against his own hard, throbbing length.

Hamza let out a sharp, breathless gasp at the sheer, burning heat of him, his eyes widening slightly in the dim light as his fingers instinctively curled around his husband.

Uzair let out a low, ragged sound from the back of his throat as Hamza fingers closed around him. The touch is soft, slightly hesitant, but completely filled with trust, and it sent a searing wave of heat straight through Uzair entire frame.

He leaned down again, his lips catching Hamza sharp gasp, drinking the sound in as he moved his hips with a slow deliberation against Hamza palm.

"Jaan... mera jaan," Uzair rasped against his mouth, His hand remained over Hamza, guiding the rhythm, teaching him exactly what he needed, while his other hand slid up to cradle the back of Hamza head, anchoring him to the pillow.

Hamza mind completely emptied of everything except the intense, friction and the solid, burning weight of his husband crushing him into the mattress. He arched his back, hiswaves of hair tangling in the sheets as he moved with Uzair, giving in to the rhythm they were creating together under the quilt.

their hurried breaths and the soft rustle of the sheets filling the quiet Lyari night. Uzair kisses grew harder, more desperate, his lips moving from Hamza mouth to bite gently down on his jawline, keeping them both bound tightly together as the tension between them wound up to a breaking point.

Uzair slowly pulled back from the heat of their kiss, as he shifted his massive frame lower under the quilt.

Moving with a slow intensity, Uzair guided Hamza knees wider, creating an space before setting his head securely between Hamza thick, trembling thighs.

The contrast of the cool air and the sudden, intense heat of Uzair mouth against the highly sensitive skin made Hamza entire body go taut. Uzair didn't hesitate; he leaned in closer, his lips parting as he began to kiss and suck the soft skin of Hamza upper inner thighs, leaving a trail of marks that claimed him completely.

"Uzair... ah!" Hamza cried out, his voice cracking with a high sob as his head slammed back into the pillows.

His fingers instantly flew to the headboard, as he gripped the wood for dear life, his hair scattering wildly across the sheets. He arched his hips helplessly into the touch,

Uzair kept a hold on Hamza hips, anchoring him to the mattress as Hamza body arched helplessly from the waves of sensation.

Recognizing that Hamza is completely undone, Uzair knew it was time to prepare his husband for the next step. He leaned over him,

"Dheere se, jaan... khud ko dheela chhoro," Uzair murmured,

With the utmost care, Uzair brought his hand down between them. His fingers were slick and warm as he gently pressed against Hamza core, slowly and carefully sliding a finger inside to begin easing his tight muscles.

Hamza let out a sharp gasp, his eyes flying wide beneath his lashes before tightly shutting. His fingers dug desperately into Uzair shoulders, his knees trembling against Uzair sides as his body instinctively clenched around the sudden fullness.

"Uzair... please..." Hamza whimpered, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye

"Main hoon, mera jaan. Main yahan hoon," Uzair rasped, his own heart hammering wildly against his ribs. He stayed perfectly still for a moment, letting Hamza body adjust to his finger, before he began to move it in a slow, gentle, and rhythmic pattern, ensuring that his husband is completely ready and comfortable before taking anything more.

As Uzair slowly and added a second finger, the sudden, deeper fullness sent an shockwave through Hamza entire body. It became utterly impossible for Hamza to stay still on the mattress.

With a breathless, high-pitched gasp, his body reacted on instinct. Hamza arched his back so violently that his spine curved off the bed, his chest straining upward as every muscle in his frame went taut.

"Uzair—! Uzair, nahi... ah!" Hamza cried out, his voice cracking with a mix of pleasure and sharpness, his eyes flying wide, bright with unshed tears of sensation.

Uzair reacted, his instinct to protect taking over. He shifted his weight forward, coming down to blanket Hamza body with his own. He pressed his chest flat against Hamza to ground him, while his hands locked securely over Hamza hips, holding him firmly to the bed to keep him safe from hurting himself.

"Shh... jaan, jaan, saans lo," Uzair rasped frantically against Hamza cheek, his own voice thick and shaking with restraint. He kept his fingers perfectly still inside him, letting Hamza tight, pulsing muscles adjust to the depth. "Saans lo, mera rounak. Main ruka hua hoon. Mujhe dekho..."

Hamza hands clutched wildly at Uzair broad shoulders, his fingernails digging deep into the solid muscle as he tried to catch his breath, his whole body trembling violently beneath the quilt.

Hamza let out a tiny, broken whimper that vibrated right against Uzair chest. His eyelashes fluttered rapidly, wet with a few stray tears that slipped down into his hair, leaving his surma slightly smudged around his eyes.

"Uzair... bass... bohot zyaada hai," Hamza whispered, his lips trembling as he buried his face into the hollow of his husband neck, seeking shelter from the very storm Uzair is creating.

Hearing that soft whimper completely shattered what was left of Uzair control, He didn't move his fingers deeper; instead, he kept them perfectly still inside Hamza tight warmth, letting him get used to the stretch.

Uzair shifted his upper body, his hand coming up to cradle the back of Hamza head, pressing him closer. He began raining soft, soothing kisses along Hamza damp temple,

"Tum bohot khoobsurat ho, jaan... Main ruka hoon, dekho, main bilkul nahi hil raha," Uzair rasped, "Dheere se saans lo. Apne Uzair par bharosa rakho."

Under the warmth of the quilt, the air is thick and still, filled only with the sounds of their breathing. Sensing that Hamza body had finally relaxed and opened up for him, Uzair slowly withdrew his fingers. He shifted his frame, settling his weight firmly between Hamza trembling thighs.

Uzair leaned down, he pressed his throbbing length against Hamza sensitive core, rubbing against him in a slow tease that made Hamza breath hitch sharply in his throat.

Hamza eyes squeezed shut instantly, A soft, breathless gasp escaped his parted lips as his fingers flew to Uzair shoulders, his nails digging into the muscle. The friction of Uzair bare skin against his is almost too much to bear,

"Uzair..." Hamza whimpered, his head tossing back into the pillow,

"Mujhe dekho, jaan," Uzair rasped against his lips, He caught Hamza chin with his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing him to open his eyes. "Apni nazrein mat band karo. Mujhe dekhne do tum kya mehsoos kar rahe ho."

Hamza eyelashes fluttered open, his eyes wide and dark with a intoxicating haze of pleasure. He looked up into Uzair gaze, bare and beautifully undone beneath him.

Seeing that surrender, Uzair let out a low, rough growl. He didn't make Hamza wait any longer. Positioning his length at Hamza entrance, Uzair gave a slow push forward, carefully entering him.

The sudden, deep stretch made Hamza breath lock entirely in his throat. His eyes widened for a split second before his eyelids squeezed shut again, a sharp cry escaping his lips. His hips instinctively tried to shift away from the fullness, his heels digging into the white sheets as his back arched off the bed.

"Uzair—! Ah, rukiye... Uzair!" Hamza choked out, his fingers clutching desperately at Uzair back, as he clung to him.

Uzair immediately stopped his movement, freezing completely when he is only halfway inside. The restraint ripped through his muscles, causing his broad chest to heave violently against Hamza. He clamped his hands firmly over Hamza hips, pinning him securely to the mattress so he wouldn't move and hurt himself.

"Main ruka hoon... jaan, main ruka hoon," Uzair rasped frantically, his voice shaking with the immense effort it took to stay still. He leaned down, pressing his sweaty forehead against Hamza, breathing the same hot, hurried air. "Saans lo, Hamza. Apne Uzair ke liye saans lo, jaan. Dheere dheere..."

He began kissing Hamza’ trembling lips, his nose, and his tear-stained cheeks, offering his own body as an anchor while Hamza tight, pulsing muscles slowly began to accept the heat of his husband.

The soft, muffled sound of Hamza quiet sobs broke through the silence of the room, cutting straight through Uzair desire and replacing it with a wave of ache. Hamza chest heaved beneath him, tears escaped his tightly shut eyes, smudging the surma.

Seeing his husband overwhelmed and in tears completely paralyzed Uzair. He remained perfectly still inside the tight, pulsing warmth, not moving an inch deeper.

"... shh, jaan..." Uzair murmured,

He slid his hands up from Hamza hips, wrapping his arms around Hamza torso to lift him slightly, burying Hamza face securely into the crook of his neck. Uzair began to rock them in a slow, barely perceptible rhythm beneath the quilt, trying to soothe the tension locked in Hamza spine.

"Bohot dard ho raha hai? Main nikal jaoon?" Uzair rasped, The thought of pulling out tore at him, but seeing Hamza cry was a hundred times worse. He pressed a soft kiss to Hamza burning ear, his hand gently stroking the back of his head. "Batao mujhe, mera rounak. Jo tum kahoge, main wahi karoonga."

Hamza let out another trembling, wet whimper against Uzair throat, his fingers tightening their weak grip on Uzair shoulders. He shook his head slowly against his husband skin, his breath hitching as he tried to find his voice.

"N-Nahi..." Hamza choked out softly, "Nikalna... nikalna mat. Bas... ek mahina... ek mahina intezar kiya hai aapne. Mujhe bas ek pal dein, Uzair..."

The devotion in Hamza broken words made Uzair eyes burn. He tightened his embrace, burying his face in Hamza hair, He stayed frozen, offering nothing but his warmth and safety, waiting patiently for his husband to find his balance in the quiet depth of the night.

Uzair held him close, keeping his body perfectly still as Hamza ragged breathing gradually slowed, the quiet sobs giving way to soft, shaky exhales against Uzair neck.

Sensing the shift, Hamza slowly pulled back his head from Uzair neck. His eyes fluttered open, dark and wet, locking onto Uzair tense, strained expression.

"Uzair..." Hamza whispered, his voice still a little breathless, but steady now. He deliberately uncurled his legs, letting his thighs relax completely around Uzair hips. "Ab... ab theek hai. Main theek hoon."

Uzair eyes darkened, a fire flaring up in them at the invitation. "Yaqeen hai, jaan?" he rasped, his hands sliding back down to grip Hamza waist

Hamza didn't answer with words. Instead, he tilted his hips up slightly, a silent, daring plea that completely shattered what is left of Uzair restraint.

With a low, ragged groan, Uzair pushed forward, driving the rest of his length inside, burying himself in Hamza tight, consuming warmth. Hamza head slammed back into the pillow, a loud, breathless cry escaping his parted lips as his fingers dug fiercely into the sheets.

Uzair didn't give him time to get overwhelmed again. He caught Hamza mouth in a hard, deep kiss, swallowing his gasps as he began to move. He set a slow rhythm, his hips crashing against Hamza with an force that made the old wooden bed creak beneath them.

The punishing friction of Uzair deep strokes began to work an intoxicating alchemy on Hamza body. The initial sharp discomfort dissolved, melting into a wave of pure heat that pooled low in his belly. Every thrust of Uzair massive frame no longer brought a sting, but an rush of pleasure that made his entire mind spin.

Hamza helpless cries shifted, losing their breathless edge and turning into soft, desperate whimpers of need. His eyes flew open, clouded with a haze of desire as he looked up at his husband.

No longer just enduring the weight, Hamza began to seek more.

His fingers slid from the tangled sheets, his arms reaching up to wrap around Uzair sweat-glistened neck. He hooked his legs higher around Uzair waist, anchoring himself completely to the rhythm, and began to tilt his hips upward to meet every plunge. He is chasing the friction now, begging for the pressure that is driving him to the brink.

"Uzair... ah, Uzair..." Hamza gasped out, as he arched his chest flat against his husband "Aur... please... h-aur tez..."

Hearing his name uttered like a prayer amid those shameless, pleading whimpers drove Uzair completely over the edge. A low growl ripped from his throat. He locked his hands under Hamza thighs, lifting his hips higher off the mattress to change the angle, and began driving into him with a faster, brutal,

In one sudden movement, Uzair gripped Hamza securely by the waist and flipped them over. The world spun for a breathtaking second before Hamza found himself sitting astride Uzair chest, his thighs framing his husband torso as he was shifted directly onto the apex of Uzair hard length.

Taking a ragged breath, Hamza settled his weight down, burying Uzair completely inside him. He arched his back, a long, trembling groan escaping his throat as his waves of hair tumbled down behind him, swaying in an mesmerizing rhythm as he began to move.

Hamza started riding him, his movements frantic and driven by the deep, building tension in his core. With downward press of his hips, his hair whipped and swayed beautifully across his back and shoulders, catching the dim light of the room.

Uzair let out a low, rough sound from the back of his throat, his eyes locked onto the sight above him. Seeing his husband in control,

Uzair hands slid down to securely lock around Hamza thighs. He gripped them with an hold, anchoring him as he began to actively help the rhythm, pushing his own hips upward to meet Hamza descent. His palms rubbed firmly against the smooth skin of Hamza inner thighs,

"Uzair... ah!" Hamza cried out, his hands slamming down onto Uzair chest for balance, his fingers digging into the muscle as the deeper angle drove him wild, his hair swaying faster with every stroke.

Hamza threw his head back , completely lost to the rhythm as he rode his husband. His hands left Uzair chest, sliding up his own sweat-glistened torso, his fingers tracing over his ribs and collarbones in a dazed, instinctual search for an anchor against the rising tide of pleasure. The movement pulled his chest taut, his of hair cascading down his back, swaying wildly with every heavy descent.

Looking up at the breath-taking sight of his husband completely undone and worshiping his own body, a smirk pulled at the corner of Uzair lips.

Without breaking the connection between them, Uzair used his immense strength to sit up, his frame shifting into a sitting position on the mattress. The change in angle drove him instantly deeper, making Hamza let out a loud, fractured cry that echoed off the walls. Uzair hands locked onto Hamza waist, stabilizing them both as Hamza remained astride him, trembling violently.

Uzair leaned forward, burying his face against the heated skin of Hamza chest. He began to kiss and suck his way up Hamza body, his mouth leaving dark, bruising marks along his ribs, his chest, and up to the hollow of his throat.

"Uzair—! Ah, ... bohot zyaada... ah!" Hamza sobbed out, his hands flying to tangle into Uzair hair, holding his husband head tightly against his neck as the double sensation of the deep friction below and the biting hunger against his skin pushed him right to the precipice.

Uzair wrapped his arms around Hamza waist, holding him flush against his chest tightly there was no space left between them.

"Uzair... please... main... main marr jaoonga," Hamza whimpered, his voice dropping into a broken sob. His head fell forward onto Uzair shoulder, his wet, surma-smeared face burying into the crook of his husband neck. His fingers were completely knotted into Uzair hair, holding on as if he were drowning.

The tight, frantic pulsing of Hamza body around him signaled that the end is seconds away. Uzair breath hitched, a low growl vibrating deep in his chest. He gripped Hamza hips driving into him one last time with a force that shattered whatever control they had left.

Hamza body went completely rigid. He let out a loud, ringing cry, his eyes flying wide in the dark as a wave of release overcame him, spilling out between their flat stomachs.

The tight, clenching heat of Hamza climax instantly dragged Uzair over the edge. With a deeply fractured groan, Uzair buried his face in Hamza waves of hair and poured himself deep inside his husband, his whole frame trembling violently under the quilt.

For a long time, the only sound in the Lyari night the frantic sound of their racing hearts and the ragged warmth of their breathing as they slowly collapsed against one another bound together.

Slowly, the racing of their hearts began to quiet down, leaving only the sound of their breaths in the dark room.

Uzair didn't let go. As the adrenaline faded into a exhaustion, he kept his arms wrapped securely around Hamza waist, supporting his weight. Slowly, he leaned backward, pulling Hamza down with him until they were both resting against the pillows once more.

Hamza let out a sigh, drained of all energy. He shifted slightly, curling his body into Uzair side, his head resting against his husband chest. His hair were scattered wildly across them both, damp and tangled.

Uzair hand came up, gently smoothing the stray dark strands away from Hamza face. He used his thumb to softly wipe away a smudge of surma and the dried track of a tear from Hamza cheek,

"Theek ho, jaan?" Uzair murmured

Hamza didn't speak; he simply nodded against Uzair chest, tightening his weak grip on his husband shoulder.

Hamza fell asleep within a second, the exhaustion of the moment claiming him the very instant his eyes closed. His body went completely soft and molding perfectly against Uzair side like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

Uzair let out a quiet, rumbling breath, his chest rising and falling beneath Hamza cheek. He stayed still, not wanting to disturb the deep, peaceful slumber that had overtaken his husband so quickly.

Slowly, Uzair pulled the quilt up higher, burying them both beneath its warmth until only the tops of their shoulders and Hamza tangled waves of hair were visible. He rested his chin gently against the crown of Hamza head, his hand resting over Hamza lower back. In the quiet, still depth of the Lyari night, Uzair finally let his own eyes close, holding his world tight against his chest.

The soft, golden light of the early morning crept through the seams of the window curtains, casting a glow across the quiet room.

Hamza eyelashes fluttered open. He blinked slowly against the morning light, his mind hazy as the deep slumber gradually wore off. The first thing he felt was the immense, grounding weight of Uzair arm wrapped securely around his waist, pinning him gently but firmly to his side.

Hamza shifted slightly, a soft ache in his muscles reminding him of everything that had unfolded under the quilt the night before. A quiet, contented smile touched his lips. He turned his head to look at his husband, who is still fast asleep beside him.

Without the gaze that usually defined him, Uzair looked peaceful. His features were relaxed, and his chest rose and fell in a deep rhythm against Hamza shoulder.

Hamza stayed perfectly still for a few moments, simply watching him. Carefully, so as not to wake him, Hamza lifted a hand and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from his own face, his waves tumbling over Uzair shoulder as he savored the quiet, unbroken stillness of the morning.

As Hamza tried to shift a little more, a sharp, dull ache radiated directly from his lower back and inner thighs, making him catch his breath with a soft gasp. His entire body felt beautifully heavy and thoroughly sore, every muscle protesting the slightest movement.

He let out a tiny groan, sinking right back into the mattress.

The slight movement and the soft sound made Uzair stir. The arm around Hamza waist tightened instinctively pulling him closer against his Uzair chest rumbled with a low, sleepy grunt as he buried his face deeper into Hamza tangled waves of hair, still half-lost in sleep but completely aware of his husband presence.

Hamza bit his lip to hold back another whimper, trapped—but entirely content—beneath the warmth of the quilt and the weight of the man who had caused every single ache.

Uzair eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep but sharpening the moment he heard Hamza soft groan. He shifted, lifting his head from the pillow to look down at his husband. Seeing the slight tension in Hamza brow and the deep flush on his cheeks, Uzair understood.

A soft, knowing smile tugged at the corner of Uzair lips,

"Bohot dard ho raha hai?" Uzair murmured,

He slid his palm down to Hamza lower back, beginning to rub the aching muscles in slow, circles. The heat from his hand instantly began to soothe the deep ache, making Hamza let out a sigh of relief as he melted into the mattress.

"Aap bohot... bohot zyaada bhaarhi hain, Uzair," Hamza whispered, hiding his face in the pillow,

Uzair let out a chuckle. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the bare skin of Hamza shoulder,

"Maaf karna, jaan," Uzair rasped, tightening his hold gently and pulling Hamza against his chest. "Lekin tumne hi tez hone ko kaha tha. Yaad hai?"

Hamza face turned a violent shade of crimson at the reminder. He grabbed the edge of the quilt and pulled it straight over his head, hiding himself from Uzair eyes.

"Behaya..." Hamza muffled, "Aap... aap bilkul behaya hain, Uzair. Sharam nahi aata aapko?"

Uzair let out a loud laugh that echoed in the quiet morning air, He didn't let Hamza hide for long. His hand gripped the edge of the quilt and tugged it down, exposing Hamza flushed face and wildly tangled dark waves of hair.

"Apne shohar se sharam?" Uzair rasped, leaning over until his shadow completely blanketed Hamza. He caught Hamza chin with his thumb, as he looked down at his beautiful, undone husband. "Tumhare samne aakar mera saara sharafat khatam ho jaata hai, jaan. Aur ismein mera koi qasoor nahi hai."

He leaned down, catching Hamza pouting, trembling lips in a slow kiss that silenced any further complaints, melting the remaining ache right out of Hamza bones.

Hamza whimpered softly into the kiss, his initial annoyance dissolving under the familiar, intoxicating warmth of Uzair mouth. His fingers instinctively reached up, tangling weakly into Uzair hair as he let himself be pulled back into the tide of his husband affection.

When Uzair broke the kiss, he didn't pull away far. He rested his forehead against Hamza, his breath hot and uneven against Hamza lips.

"Ab batao," Uzair murmured, as his hand continued its slow, soothing circles over Hamza aching lower back. "Kaun behaya hai? Main, ya tum jo abhi bhi mujhe aise pakde hue ho?"

Hamza immediately let go of Uzair hair, his eyes widening in mock outrage as a fresh wave of heat rushed to his cheeks. He tried to turn his face away into the pillow, but Uzair thumb on his chin kept him locked in place, forcing him to meet that gaze.

"Aap hi hain," Hamza whispered, his voice small, sweet, "Humesha aap hi hote hain, Uzair."

Uzair smile softened, He leaned down and pressed one last kiss to Hamza forehead, right between his eyes, before pulling the quilt back over both of their shoulders to shield them from the morning chill.

"Uthna mat," Uzair commanded softly, pulling Hamza flush against his chest and locking him in a embrace. "Jab tak tumhara dard theek nahi hota, hum yahin rahenge."

⋆.ೃ࿔🌸*:･

The morning sun filtered through the courtyard of the house, casting long, peaceful shadows across the floor. One month had passed since that peaceful night, and the rhythm of the household had remained sweet and steady.

Hamza walked quietly down the corridor, his waves of hair brushing against his shoulders. He is heading toward Ulfat room to wake little Faizal up for school,

But as he passed by the door of the study, the smile died on his face.

The door wasn't fully latched. It's cracked open just a sliver, and the voices drifting out from the room were sharp, serious, and unfamiliar—except for the booming, authoritative tone of Rehman. Hamza hadn't meant to listen. He had never been one to pry. But a single name caught his ear, freezing his feet right to the spot.

"Haan, hum guns ko delivery kar denge Balochistan ko, Shirani Saheb se keh ke," Rehman’s voice boomed, clear and chillingly business-like. "Lekin zyada maal lagenge. Aur Shirani Saheb ko nahi jaana chahiye ki yeh ISI ke liye ja raha hai."

Hamza heart stopped. The blood turned to ice in his veins.

Another voice replied— It belonged to the guest who had arrived early that morning under a shroud of secrecy. The man voice carried the unmistakable, cold discipline of the military. Major Iqbal. That is his name.

Hamza stood entirely paralyzed in the dim hallway, his breath catching painfully in his throat. His mind reeled, spinning out of control as the gravity of those words crashed down upon him.

The ISI.

To Hamza, that name wasn't just an acronym; it is a curse. It is the shadow that haunted his very blood. Balochistan his home. It's the land where his mother had raised him, the land where his roots lay deep in the soil. And it's the ISI—those very people—who had brought poison to Balochistan. Because of their brutal, ruthless games, half of the children in his homeland had suffered, starved, and died. The pain of Balochistan was an open, bleeding wound in Hamza heart.

And here, inside the walls of the house he considered his sanctuary, the truth is being laid bare.

His husband family. Rehman. Uzair. The people he broke bread with every single day, the family that had wrapped him in warmth and safety—they were doing business with the very monsters who tore his homeland apart. They were smuggling guns. They were using his Mamu, Shirani, as a pawn in their dangerous game, all while deliberately keeping Shirani in the dark about the fact that the weapons were destined for the ISI.

Hamza hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp, his knees shaking violently he had to press his back against the cold corridor wall just to stay upright. The world around him fractured. The safe, loving home he thought he had built with Uzair suddenly felt like a beautifully constructed lie, built on top of the weapons and blood of his own people.

Hamza somehow found the strength to move his legs, stumbling blindly back down the corridor and slipping into the privacy of their bedroom. He closed the door softly, his hands trembling violently he could barely turn the handle.

He sank onto the edge of the bed, his knees giving out entirely. The silence of the room is deafening, a sharp contrast to the horrific truth echoing in his mind.

And then, the tears came. They dropped non-stop, hot and heavy, spilling over his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of his kurta. His breath hitched in his throat, a silent, suffocating sob racking his chest. Every beautiful memory of the past month—the warmth of the dastar khwan, the safety of Uzair arms, the peaceful evening on the roofs—felt like a cruel, twisted illusion.

In the distance, the footsteps in the hallway signaled the end of the meeting. He heard the front gate creak open and shut as Major Iqbal left. The house fell back into its usual quiet rhythm, unaware of the wreckage inside Hamza heart.

Seconds later, the bedroom door clicked open.

Uzair walked in, He had a relaxed, calm expression on his face, ready to find his husband and pull him into his arms as he always did after a long morning.

But the moment Uzair eyes locked onto the bed, he froze.

The sight of Hamza sitting there, long waves of hair tangled around his face, and those endless tears dropping non-stop onto his lap, hit Uzair

"Hamza?" Uzair voice cracked, the intensity of his protectiveness taking over. He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees right in front of Hamza on the floor, his hands flying up to frame Hamza tear-stained face. "Kya hua? Hamza, mere taraf dekho. Kahan dard ho raha hai? Mujhe batao!"

Hamza voice is barely a whisper, a quiet, fragile sound that seemed to slice right through the tense air of the room. He raised a trembling hand, pulling away slightly as he wiped the fresh tears from his cheeks,

"Aap log andar kya kar rahe thay?" Hamza asked,

Uzair hands remained frozen in the air for a fraction of a second, his thumbs still hovering near Hamza cheekbones. He is a man who rarely felt cornered, but the vulnerability and the weight in Hamza quiet question made his chest tighten.

"Hamza..." Uzair began, He didn't answer immediately, his mind calculating how much Hamza had heard, but his hands moved downward, gently grasping Hamza trembling wrists to keep him anchored close. "Ghar ka kaam tha. Rehman bhai aur ek mehmaan aaye thay. Tum yeh sab chodo, tumhara tabiyat kyun kharab ho rahi hai? Tum ro kyun rahe ho?"

The deflecting words, spoken with such calm authority, only made the ache in Hamza chest twist sharper. To Uzair, it was just 'business'—the cold, transactional reality of weapons and delivery. But to Hamza, it's the blood of Balochistan children, the very poison that had torn his home apart, now sitting right in the hands of the man he loved more than life itself.

"Kiyu chodu main ye saab?" Hamza’s voice broke, a ragged, agonized sound that ripped straight from his throat. "Kis liye?! Aap toh jaante hain na woh log kaun hain?! Woh log Balochistan ke saath kya kar rahe hain?!"

Driven by a sudden, desperate surge of pain, Hamza lunged forward and gripped Uzair collar with both hands. His fingers bunched tightly into the fabric, trembling violently as he pulled himself closer to his husband chest.

"Phir kiyu, Uzair Jan Baloch...!?" Hamza choked out, using the weight of his own identity—the blood of his people—to demand an answer. "Kiyu kar rahe hain aap yeh?! Hamare bache... hamara zameen... unhone poison diya hai hamare ghar ko! Aur aap... aap unke saath...?"

Uzair didn't move. He didn't flinch, nor did he break the grip Hamza had on his collar. His frame remained perfectly still, kneeling on the floor, but a storm flared in his eyes. Hearing his gentle, soft-spoken husband speak with such desperate, agonizing fury—hearing him call out the name of his bleeding homeland—hit Uzair right in the chest.

His hands came up, wrapping securely around Hamza wrists, not to push him away, but to hold him steady as Hamza strength began to fail him.

"Hamza, mera baat suno," Uzair commanded, He pulled Hamza trembling hands down slightly, forcing Hamza to look into his eyes. "Suno mera baat."

"Kuch nahi sunna mujhe! Kya sunayenge aap mujhe... huhhh? Kya sunayenge?!" Hamza screamed, his voice cracking under the weight of an agony. It's a sound completely foreign to the house—Hamza, who is always so gentle, so soft-spoken, was crying out with a pain that shook the very walls of their room.

Below, the frantic, desperate shouts instantly shattered the morning peace. The panicked thud of footsteps raced up the stairs.

The bedroom door flew open, and Rehman stepped in first, his face tight with alarm, with Ulfat close behind him, her eyes wide with fear.

"Uzair! Hamza! Kya hua?!" Rehman booming voice filled the room as he took in the sight of Uzair kneeling on the floor, holding a hysterical, trembling Hamza who is drowning in his own tears.

Ulfat rushed forward instinctively, her heart breaking at the sight of Hamza. "Hamza! Beta, kya baat hai? Uzair, kya kiya tumne?!"

Uzair didn't break his grip on Hamza wrists. He didn't look back at his brother or his sister-in-law. His eyes remained fixed entirely on Hamza, tear-streaked face, "Dekho, yeh sab business ka baat hain. Isme tum kiyu apna dimaag kharab kar rahe ho?" Uzair said, He didn't say it to be with the practical finality of a man who lived in a dangerous world—a world where business is business, no matter how dirty.

His hands tightened around Hamza wrists, trying to ground him, trying to force him to stop spiraling.

Hearing those words—hearing the brutal devastation of his homeland dismissed so easily as just 'business'—made something snap inside Hamza. He looked at Uzair as if he were looking at a stranger. The man who kissed him so tenderly just hours ago was now standing before him as a partner to the monsters who destroyed Balochistan.

"Business...?" Hamza whispered, a laugh escaping his trembling lips. He pulled against Uzair grip with all the strength left in his body. "Hamare Balochistan ke bacchon ka khoon aapke liye business hai, Uzair?! Hamari zameen ka sauda business hai?!"

Rehman stood by the door, his chest rising and falling heavily as he realized exactly what Hamza had overheard. He exchanged a sharp look with Uzair.

Ulfat, however, rushed to the side of the bed, She didn't fully understand the politics, but she knew Hamza pain is tearing him apart. "Uzair! Chodo use! Dekho toh sahi uska haalat kya ho gaya hai!"

"Meri bags kahan hain?! Mujhe jana hai! Main ek pal yahan nahi rahoonga!" Hamza sobbed, He tore himself out of Uzair grip, scrambling off the bed and onto his feet, his balance unsteady as he began tearing through the closet. He is throwing clothes onto the mattress in a blind, desperate hurry, his hands shaking violently he could barely grab a single item.

Uzair stood frozen for a split second, his face pale with a mixture of shock and a simmering rage.

"Hamza, ruk jao!" Uzair barked, his voice vibrating with command.

But Hamza ignored him, his eyes darting wildly around the room. He needed his phone. He needed his Mamu. He needed to be anywhere but here, in the home of the people who were arming the men who murdered his childhood, his people, his home.

"Mamu..." he whispered, his breath hitching, his fingers trembling as he fumbled across the nightstand for his phone. He grabbed it, his thumb hovering over the dial pad to call Shirani.

Rehman stepped forward, his expression hardening. "Uzair, usse roko! Woh kisi ko call kar raha hai!"

Uzair lunged, his frame closing the distance in a single stride. He grabbed Hamza waist from behind, his arms pinning Hamza arms against his sides in a crushing, iron-tight hold. Hamza screamed, thrashing against the sheer power of Uzair grip, his feet kicking out, his entire body convulsing with the need to escape.

"Chodo mujhe! Chodo!" Hamza shrieked, his voice breaking into a sob as he struggled against the man who had become his entire world, only to turn into his nightmare.

"Main tumhein kahin nahi jaane doonga," Uzair growled, his face buried against Hamza neck—the same place where he had hidden his face just hours before—as he effectively paralyzed Hamza in his arms. "Tum mere ho, Hamza. Mere ghar mein ho. Kahin jaane ki zaroorat nahi hai."

"Main kisi ka nahi hoon! Kisi ka nahi-iiii! Samjhe aap?!" Hamza shrieked, his voice splitting with a pain so sharp it sliced through the room. He thrashed violently against Uzair grip,

Through his blinding tears, his wet, furious gaze snapped over to Rehman, who is still standing near the door with a tense expression.

"Kiyu, Rehman bhai?! Darr lag raha hai?!" Hamza choked out, a bitter laugh breaking through his sobs. "Darr lag raha hai ke aapka yeh ganda sauda sabke samne aa jayega?! Main toh is ghar se jaakar rahoonga! Karo yeh business... maro hamare logon ko! Mujhe nahi rehna aise kafiro ke ghar!"

The word 'kafir rang out through the bedroom,

Rehman’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes darkening at the accusation, but he held his ground. Ulfat gasped, covering her mouth as she looked between them, her heart breaking for the sheer agony pouring out of Hamza.

Hearing Hamza call his family kafir—hearing the disgust and hatred in his husband voice—sent a dangerous wave of heat straight to Uzair brain. His grip on Hamza waist tightened until it was nearly bruising,

"Zabaan ko lagaam do, Hamza!" Uzair growled, He lifted Hamza completely off his feet, neutralizing his struggles, and threw a glance at his brother. "Bhai, aap Bhabi ko lekar baahar jaiye. Aur darwaza band kar dein."

Rehman didn't wait to be told twice. He grabbed a weeping, reluctant Ulfat by the arm and pulled her out of the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them. The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the sudden silence of the room.

Uzair slowly set Hamza back down on his feet, but he didn't let go. His hands slid up to grip Hamza shoulders, his thumbs digging in just enough to hold him steady, forcing Hamza to face him.

Hamza didn't flinch. He tilted his head back, he looked straight into Uzair eyes. The tears were still tracking down his pale cheeks, but his gaze was fiercely defiant, stripped of all the shyness and warmth that usually defined him.

"Kya karenge? Jabardasti karenge?" Hamza asked, his voice dropping into a quiet, trembling whisper that cut sharper than any scream.....

So, here's today's chapter! ❤️

You might be wondering why Hamza was so shy—well, it was his first time experiencing something like that. 🥹

And yes, the intimate scene was a bit long because I wanted every reader to feel every emotion, every moment, and every touch between them. I hope I was able to do that, and I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Thank you for reading. 🤍

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