Savage Drama

Both are WIP

Cleats Vs Combat Boots - An alternate universe where a bratty football player Uzair clashes with his ex military bodyguard Hamza

Previous Chapters

Chapter 6 – Jaan Se Guzarate Hain

Aitbaar Badhta Hai Aur Bhi Mohabbat Ka

Aitbaar Badhta Hai Aur Bhi Mohabbat Ka

Jab Wo Ajnabi Bankar Paas Se Guzarate Hain

Dil Pe Zakhm Khate Hain, Jaan Se Guzarate Hain

Jurm Sirf Itna Hai Unko Pyar Karte Hain

Alpha Jaskirat Singh Rangi- a battle-hardened soldier, a ferocious alpha, a man whose track record was both impressive and inspired fear was currently trying to make himself smaller.

He had survived conditions that would have killed lesser men, and right now all of his focus and attention were on one person, keeping him safe. His Omega.

The man who had more than one reason to hate him was currently paying far more attention to the particles beneath his microscope than to the alpha standing just beyond the reinforced laboratory glass. Dressed in full PPE, Uzair barely spared him a glance, while Jaskirat remained outside the lab, guarding him, keeping him safe, trying not to linger too long on the man who had once been his entire world and who still held his heart in an iron grip.

Omega Uzair Baloch was fighting a battle against time.

Finding a cure for the effects of a chemical weapon began with understanding exactly how the compound attacked the human body and, more importantly, how to neutralise it. Uzair knew that whatever they discovered now would only be a temporary solution. Breakthroughs like these took months, if not years.

Work had always been his refuge. But whenever he wasn't buried in reports or glued to his equipment, a certain alpha in military fatigues commanded every inch of his attention.

Jaskirat was the kind of man who drew every eye the moment he walked into a room. And that man....was his alpha. His soul knew him, recognised him, longed for him.

There was nowhere left to hide.

Uzair immersed himself in the research, desperately trying to ignore the man standing outside the reinforced glass. Yet every time he glanced up, he found Jaskirat exactly where he had been moments before, quietly watching him, following his every movement with the vigilance expected of a protector.

The problem with being around Jaskirat was that he was assaulted by a million memories.

From the very first moment they met to the day their lives changed forever. Their love had never been soft or gentle. It had been a raging storm that swept away everything in its path.

And now, with the Alpha's constant presence surrounding him, every part of Uzair felt stretched painfully thin beneath a burden his soul had never asked to carry.

"Could you stay a little farther away from me?" Uzair muttered as Jaskirat escorted him from one section of the laboratory to another.

"I feel like an imbecile being led from one corner of the building to the next. I am a goddamned scientist. Why do I need this much protection? I am pretty sure there's an entire battalion outside."

"The soldiers outside are protecting the facility." Jaskirat paused. "I am here for you."

The words hung heavily between them. He immediately corrected himself.

"My team and I are here to protect your team."

"Unless there's an actual breach," Uzair replied coldly, "you are practically useless. What's the point of you being here anyway?"

Jaskirat clenched his jaw, forcing himself to suppress the overwhelming urge to grab Uzair by the shoulders and shake him.

Because I want to be close to you. Because this is the only way I will ever be allowed near you again.

The words never left his lips. Instead, he answered quietly, "You are the only thing standing between this country and a cure."

His voice softened. "And protecting you is..." He looked away for a brief moment before finishing. "...everything." None of that mattered to Uzair. While he was miserable, the rest of his team was having an entirely different experience.

Boman, who was buried in a stack of reports, had his protection detail, Lieutenant Aman Rathore, sitting beside him asking questions that had absolutely nothing to do with his research.

"Have you seriously not noticed that smell?" Aman asked for what had to be the tenth time. "I am telling you, it's everywhere... and I can't figure out what it is."

Boman sighed without looking up.

"Lieutenant, you are in a laboratory filled with dozens of chemicals powerful enough to set you on fire. Of course, you are going to smell something strange."

"It's not chemicals I am smelling," Aman muttered stubbornly.

Yalina was busy compiling her report while Rizwan sat beside her, doing little more than quietly watching her work.

"What are you looking at?" Yalina asked without taking her eyes off her screen.

"Nothing."

Rizwan's voice squeaked.

Yalina bit back a smile and continued typing, thoroughly enjoying his embarrassment. Inside the laboratory, Nikhil, dressed in full PPE, worked methodically at his station while Kabir stood outside the reinforced glass, watching him with unwavering concentration. Kabir looked like a man who could happily spend hours staring at paint drying if he thought it might reveal classified information. Curiosity, after all, was a powerful thing. And then there was Jaskirat.

He walked silently beside Uzair as the scientist made his way toward another laboratory to continue investigating whether the compound could be aerosolised.

They needed answers. Time was running out. The pressure was relentless, but Uzair refused to let it show.

"You should eat something," Jaskirat said quietly.

"You can take your break if you like," Uzair replied without looking at him. "I have better things to do."

"I will take my break when you take yours."

"Well, I am not hungry."

"You still need to eat."

Uzair stopped walking. He turned slowly to face Jaskirat, irritation flashing across his face.

"Don't tell me what to do."

His voice was quiet but razor-sharp. "If you want to play Alpha, find someone who's willing to listen." Every day that he failed to uncover what made the compound so devastating was another day lost.

Another day, more lives. Although there hadn't been another attack yet, that didn't mean one wasn't coming. Uzair lived with that knowledge every waking moment.

He barely slept. His nights were consumed by theories, formulas, and reports. His days were spent trying to determine whether the compound could be aerosolised. He looked up from his workstation and let out a loud sigh of frustration.

"I don't even know if this will work," he muttered. "What if we are wrong? What if... I am wrong?"

"You are doing everything you can," Jaskirat replied evenly. "You can't blame yourself."

"Who asked you?" Uzair shot back.

Jaskirat's expression remained unreadable. "I am sorry... were you talking to yourself?"

Uzair looked around, the laboratory was empty. "I was talking to Yalina."

"She left two hours ago," Jaskirat said quietly. "She told you before she left."

Uzair huffed in annoyance and turned back to his work.

Jaskirat wasn't just watching Uzair. He was watching everything.

The facility had its own rhythm. The people, the routines, the faces, each served a distinct purpose. His team wasn't simply standing beside scientists with rifles. They were studying the entire environment.

The laboratory was remote. It wasn't officially a secret facility, but very few people even knew it existed. It didn't appear on most maps, and stumbling across it by accident was nearly impossible.

Yet Sanyal's words continued to echo in his mind.

"Hindustaniyon ka sabse bada dushman Hindustani hi hai. Pakistan toh dusre number par aata hai."

India's greatest enemy is often its own people.

Which was precisely why everyone and everything inside the facility warranted attention. His vigilance wasn't misplaced. Because his team found something deeply unsettling.

Vikram approached Jaskirat, who was seated a few tables away from Uzair. The scientist was currently engaged in a losing battle against a rather sad looking sandwich.

"Boss."

"Yes?"

"We have a problem."

Jaskirat immediately straightened.

"Some of the surveillance footage is missing."

"Deleted..."

He paused.

"...or hidden?"

"Deleted and replaced with looped recordings."

Vikram's voice lowered. "Someone is trying to hide something."

Jaskirat's eyes hardened. "What areas do those cameras cover?"

"Dr. Baloch's laboratory, the three primary research labs, and the connecting corridors."

He hesitated.

"The missing footage is from several days last week."

A week. The very week Jaskirat and his unit had arrived, the verey week Uzair and his team had arrived. A week was all it had taken for Sanyal's warning to begin coming true.

Jaskirat exhaled slowly. "Monitor the situation."

"Yes, sir."

"Brief Rizwan. Keep Rathore and Ali informed. Nobody acts until we know exactly what we are dealing with."

"Understood."

Vikram gave a sharp nod before walking away to relieve Rizwan.

Jaskirat's gaze drifted toward Uzair. Should he tell him? No. Not yet. There wasn't enough evidence to justify alarming the scientists. But the incident would be in his report to Delhi.

Uzair had made no meaningful progress all day. He nearly hurled a stack of reports across the laboratory before stopping himself at the last second.

Jaskirat, now inside the lab in full protective gear, watched helplessly. He hated seeing his Omega like this. The frustration, the fear hidden beneath determination. The quiet desperation that lingered beneath Uzair's scent. Every instinct his Alpha possessed demanded that he comfort him.

He knew better. Anything from him would only make things worse. Still, a part of him decided he had to try.

"Uza..." He caught himself. "Dr. Baloch."

Uzair didn't look up.

"Maybe you should take a break, may be that would help."

A bitter laugh escaped Uzair.

 "Oh?" He finally turned around. “Remind me again... where did you earn your PhD, Dr. Rangi? Oh, wait….You don't have one!  I don't remember asking for your opinion."

His voice remained calm, but every word landed like a blade. "Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

Jaskirat lowered his gaze. "I was just concerned—"

"Then concern yourself with security." Uzair cut him off immediately. "Isn't that what you were ordered to do?"

"My wellbeing is none of your goddamned business." He continued ruthlessly.

"But it is..." The words escaped before Jaskirat could stop them.

The instant they did, he regretted them. Uzair's expression changed. His anger didn't explode. It froze.

"Don't." His voice was low enough to make the room feel colder.

"Don't you dare….You have no right and you never will…..Do you hear me?"

Jaskirat didn't answer. There was nothing he could say.

The night ended with Uzair walking as quickly as he could toward his room. Not because he intended to sleep. He simply needed to put as much distance between himself and Jaskirat as possible.

Jaskirat remained outside Uzair's door long after it had closed. He stood there in silence, breathing in the faint traces of peach, vanilla, and honey lingering in the corridor.

He remembered the first time that scent had reached him. The first time it had stopped him in his tracks.

It felt like another lifetime.

Laakh Wo Gurezaan Hon Laakh Dushman-E-Jaan Hon

Dil Ko Kya Karein Saahib Hum Unhi Pe Marte Hain

Dil Pe Zakhm Khaate Hain Jaan Se Guzarte Hain

Jurm Sirf Itna Hai Unko Pyaar Karte Hain ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Uzair refuses to thaw as he rightfully should and Jaskirat refuses to quit because he is that stubborn. Our boys are will continue to fight. Should we take a deep dive into their past and see what happened? Let me know what you guys think in the comments :)

Tags: @sanpiece @darkdemonriddle666 @i-might-be-a-dumbo2 @aan-4-u @immortalconfluxmuse @miraclejin1204 @hamzair-is-my-otp

Sweetie, for someone who says they don't follow me or my stories, you sure have a **lot** of opinions about what I write and who I write about. 🤣

First of all... I am a millennial. One of the people who protested, voted and helped bring down the last government. So no, I am not clutching my pearls over Gen Z demanding accountability, in fact I am actively cheering for them. If a government stops serving the people it's was meant to serve, it deserves a reality check.

Second, Danish Pandor? Not only is he gorgeous, he's also an excellent performer. His work speaks for itself, and so does the fan following he's built. You can prefer Ranveer or Uday...they are both extremely attractive but that doesn't take a single thing away from Danish.

Third, nobody is "kuchipuching terrorists." People are writing about **fictional characters** based on their real life counterpart played by actors they enjoy. That's called fandom, that's called creative freedom. You don't have to ship Hamza × Uzair, but declaring my ship "invalid" doesn't magically make it disappear.

My ship is doing just fine, thanks. It's floating beautifully.

Your argument, on the other hand, had a bigger crash-out than the *Titanic*. At least the iceberg had substance.

basically he had no role just Rehman’s chamcha only present in background

Uzair wasn't one of the most deeply explored characters but that's doesn't make him a background character or a mere chamcha. Also he is not a background character, a supporting character would be the right term. In the first movie you see one version of him and in the second part you see a version where he completely unravels.

In the first movie

He has a defined personality. Uzair is portrayed as methodical, fiercely loyal, and highly competent. He's the operational brain behind much of Rehman's organisation rather than a yes-man who blindly agrees with everything. For e.g. he did not agree with revenge plans AKA killing babu dakait and was not afraid to tell his brother what he thought.

He has agency. He makes decisions, influences events, and is important to how the underworld functions. Several key plot developments depend on him, so he isn't merely standing behind Rehman. He is the one who Rehman relies on for e.g., he was the one who knew and explained how khanani brothers operate.

He isn't given a full emotional arc. The film doesn't spend much time on his personal life, inner conflicts, or backstory. Compared with Hamza or Rehman, his life is less explored, understandably because again he is NOT the main character

Interestingly, one of the more common audience reactions online was almost the opposite of "he was just a chamcha or just a shallow character." Danish's performance was memorable and most people, including me believe that Uzair's charcter deserved even more screen time because he had an understated but compelling presence.

So to sum it up:

Was he underwritten compared to the leads? Yes, somewhat.

Was he one-dimensional? No.

Was he merely Rehman's sycophantic sidekick? No.

He came across more as a trusted lieutenant and capable second-in-command whose loyalty was central to his character, rather than someone who existed only to flatter or follow Rehman. We see him absolutely lose it only after consistent losses AKA Rehman's death.

Chapter 18 - Betrayed, Bloody, Battle bound

The silence stretched between them. The air stilled, and dusk settled over them like a shroud.

Hamza took a slow, deliberate step forward, approaching him with the cautious care one uses for a wounded, unpredictable animal.

Uzair immediately matched it, retreating a pace. He shook his head, his eyes dark. "No. You tell me right now. Was that your son?"

Hamza held his breath for a long beat before letting it out slowly, keeping his posture open, his hands visible. "Yes," he said, his voice quiet, steady, and stripped of defence. "That was my son. Zayan."

Uzair stared at him, the colour draining from his face before a hollow, razor-thin laugh cut through the quiet.

"I should have known," Uzair muttered, the laugh curdling into something venomous as his eyes snapped back to Hamza. "You aren't different at all, are you? The men you sleep with are just bodies that keeps you satisfied while you build a real life behind closed door."

Hamza winced, the words hitting like a physical blow, but he forced his tone to remain low and grounded. "Uzair, please. It’s not like that. Just let me…"

"No stay the hell away from me." Uzair’s voice cracked, raw hurt bleeding through the razor-sharp edge. "I know exactly what I am to you, Hamza. I am the fool who threw myself at you, it is my fault too”.

Uzair took a shaky breath as he spat out the next words “Was I just the quiet convenience you used to keep yourself warm until you go home to play house?

"Uzair, please... it's not like that," Hamza said, his voice quiet, measured, and desperately steady. "I know how this looks, but if you just give me a minute…"

You have a wife Hamza!!! Uzair yelled. “Jaskirat” his voice broke at Hamza’s real name. "I don't need a minute to figure out what I am to you," Uzair spat, every syllable laced with spite. "A dirty secret. A fix. Someone to make you feel alive before you return to your real life, your real family, your dignity."

 Uzair’s voice cracked, a devastating mix of rage and heartbreak. "Allah... I actually trusted you. I let you touch me."

The line hit like a physical blow. Hamza winced, a low, pained breath catching in his chest, but he forced himself to stay grounded.

"Look at me," Hamza implored gently, taking another measured step, his voice tight with suppressed grief. "You know me. You know I wouldn't hurt you. Just let me explain who…"

"Uzair Bhai! Faizal ko kuch ho gaya! Jaldi aaiye!" Donga’s frantic shout tore through the dark, shattering the moment before Hamza could reach him.

Uzair ran the second Donga's panicked voice pierced through his heartbreak. He didn't spare Hamza another look, he simply turned and sprinted inside.

The haveli had descended into absolute chaos. His eyes swept over everyone, his family was paralysed with fear. The guards closest to them looked bewildered yet alert, hands hovering near their weapons.

Ulfat was on the floor, clutching an unconscious Faizal whose small body convulsed weakly as white foam gathered at the corners of his mouth. Naieem stood frozen beside her, his face drained of all colour, terrified in a way Uzair had never seen before.

Rehman was the only one still moving with purpose, but even he looked like a man standing on the edge of panic. It was the expression of a father confronted with an enemy he couldn't negotiate with or shoot.

He barked into his phone even as his hands shook. "Doctor Sharma ko bolo tayyar rahe! We are bringing Faizal. We don't know what's wrong!"

Uzair dropped to his knees beside Ulfat. His own hands shook as he gently cupped Faizal's face.

"Faizu..." he whispered, desperately trying to wake him. "Faizu, look at me." There was no response.

"How did this happen, Bhabhi?" he asked, struggling to steady his voice.

"I... I don't know," she sobbed. "He was watching TV... he had his milk... and then..." Her words dissolved into broken cries.

Uzair wrapped an arm around her trembling shoulders. "Bhabhi, please... we have to stay strong. He's going to be okay."

He wasn’t sure if he believed those words himself. Rehman shoved the phone back into his pocket before crouching beside them.

"Give him to me." Ulfat resisted instinctively, her fingers refusing to loosen around her youngest son.

"Jaan."His voice wasn't loud, it didn't need to be. With heart-breaking reluctance, she released Faizal into his father's arms.

Rehman’s hands were now steady, he was a father carrying his unconscious child.

"We need to leave. Now." Rizwan stepped forward immediately. "Bhai, I will go with you. Bhabhi and Donga can ride with us. The second vehicle with more guards will follow." As everyone hurried towards the door, Rizwan caught Naieem trying to follow.

"Naieem, I think you should stay here."

"No." The answer didn't come from Naieem, it came from Ulfat. "I am not leaving my eldest son behind while my youngest is fighting for his life."

Rizwan looked between Naieem's pale face, Ulfat's tear-filled eyes, and the quiet anxiety written across Rehman's features. Finally, his gaze shifted to Hamza. A silent conversation passed between the two men.

"Fine," Rizwan conceded. "Naieem comes." Then his expression hardened. "But not Uzair."

Uzair looked up sharply. "What?"

"We can't risk the entire family travelling together."

"Absolutely not!" Uzair snapped.

"Uzair... not now." Rehman's voice carried a barely restrained authority born from equal parts fear and desperation.

Before Uzair could argue again, Hamza stepped in. "Bhai, I have got him." His eyes never left Uzair.

"You need to leave. Now."

The convoy pulled away moments later.

Uzair stood rooted to the spot, watching the taillights disappear beyond the haveli gates. He couldn't believe what had just happened.

Faizal. His Faizal. How? What happened? Nothing made sense.

"What did he even eat?" Uzair muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "He was fine... he was perfectly fine."

The haveli suddenly felt unnaturally quiet. His gaze drifted towards Hamza. The other man wasn't listening. He wasn't even looking at Uzair. His attention was fixed on one of the balconies overlooking the veranda. There was no one there.

Something wasn't right…Hamza could feel it settling beneath his skin. He knew this feeling. It was the same suffocating stillness that descended before an operation; when every instinct warned of an incoming attack, but no one knew where it would come from.

The guards...They seemed restless. Hamza himself felt uneasy, something didn't add up. Someone was missing or perhaps... he was missing something

Nearby, Uzair paced the courtyard like a caged animal. In less than an hour, his entire world had been turned upside down.

Hamza knew this wasn't the time to explain about Yalina. It wasn't the time to tell him about Zayan. But every instinct urged him to cross the distance between them and pull Uzair into his arms.

To reassure him to remind him he wasn't alone. Was Uzair still his to comfort?

"Uzair..." Hamza began softly.

"Don't." Uzair didn't even look at him. "I don't want to hear your voice."

Silence swallowed the haveli once more. Minutes stretched into an hour. There were no updates, no phone calls. Nothing. The silence itself began to feel wrong.

Hamza's military instincts were screaming now. This wasn't the silence that followed an emergency. This was the silence before something worse. As if the universe had been waiting for that exact thought...A phone rang…Uzair's phone.

"Bol, Donga. Sab khairiyat hospital mein?" Uzair asked, his voice no longer able to hide the panic creeping into it.

There was a brief silence.

"Bhai... we were attacked " Donga's voice was urgent  "Rehman Bhai…. he was taken."

The words landed like a stone in Uzair's stomach.

"What?" he breathed before exploding. "Bhenchod! Who was it?"

"Bhai, pata nahi...It was either Pappu or Babu’s men... we don’t know where they took him” Donga's breathing was ragged. "Bhai... what do we do now?"

The fear in Donga's voice made Uzair's knees go weak.

Rehman had always kept him away from the dirtier side of his business. The extortion, the gang wars, the bloodshed none of it touched him; Uzair had been protected from all of it. Rehman had wanted a different life for his younger brother.

But he had still taught him how to fight. How to survive and above all... That family came before everything.

"Bhabhi... Naieem... Faizal?" Uzair asked, his voice trembling with fear.

"They are in the hospital, we managed to get them there. Rizwan bhai is with them. We tried out best to fight our way-out Bhai… lekin hum..." Donga's voice broke.

The silence that followed said everything.

"Get back home," Uzair said, forcing steel into his voice despite the panic clawing at his chest. "We need to get Bhai back."

The call ended. For a long moment, Uzair simply stared at the dark screen in his hand. Then he slowly looked at the one man he had been trying to avoid for the last hour.

"They took my brother, Hamza." The words came out barely above a whisper, his voice finally giving in to the fear and pain he had been holding back.

Hamza was beside him in an instant. "Tell me everything."

Uzair repeated every detail Donga had shared. Hamza listened without interrupting, his expression growing darker with every passing second.

"Have they been following us?" Uzair murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "How did they know Rehman Bhai was leaving? How did they know where he was going... and when?"

Something shifted in Hamza's eyes. The warmth disappeared and the soldier took over.

"Since the day you were attacked in the parking lot," he said quietly, "we suspected there was a mole."

Uzair stared at him, disbelief replacing the panic. "What?"

"There is a traitor inside this haveli." Hamza's voice was cold now.

"We just didn't know who." He continued, piecing it together aloud.

"Someone told them where Rehman Bhai was. Someone knew he was leaving today. They knew the route, the timing... everything."

"But.. how?, they could have never predicted Faizal falling ill " Uzair asked, his frustration mounting.

“Someone who can make that happen” Hamza muttered darkly. Hamza's mind raced back through the last hour.

A man standing alone on the balcony. A man who made a hushed and hurried phone call, a man who is a member of the household staff.

A man he had seen every day, a man with unrestricted access to the family, who had served him food… served them food… food that can nourish… food that can harm. Served them for years earning their trust...Only to sell it.

Hamza's jaw clenched. His eyes hardened with murderous certainty.

"Akhlaq!" he roared.

Hamza was guided by nothing but intense, unadulterated fury.

In the few days he had spent at the haveli, he had grown closer to the family. But above everything else was the absolute disgust that an innocent child had been harmed; turned into a pawn in a game of chess he should never have been a part of. His fury knew no bounds.

He found Akhlaq calmly arranging the dining table. Without a second thought, Hamza grabbed the first thing within reach; a heavy glass tumbler and hurled it at him.

Akhlaq ducked with a panicked scream as the tumbler shattered against the wall behind him, sending shards of glass flying across the room.

Hamza was on him before he could recover. The first slap landed with enough force to send Akhlaq crashing to the floor.

Hamza grabbed him by the collar, hauled him back to his feet, and slammed him hard against the wall. Locking eyes with him, he growled,

"What did you mix in Faizal's food?"

Bleeding from a split lip, Akhlaq shouted back indignantly, "How dare you accuse me of such things!"

Another slap landed.

"I have been serving this family for years!" he wailed, blood and tears streaming down his face as he desperately tried to defend himself.

But Hamza didn't stop, he didn't slow down.

Punch after punch rained down not enough to knock Akhlaq unconscious, only enough to make him feel every ounce of pain.

The next blow sent him sprawling onto the floor, screaming. Hamza grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him back up.

"Bol, Akhlaq, or else I will kill you!"

He shoved him hard enough to send him stumbling out of the room before dragging him across the hallway without pause or mercy.

"Who took Rehman Bhai, and where are they taking him?"

"Khuda ke liye mujhe chhod do!" Akhlaq was begging now.

To anyone who had walked in without context, it would have looked like one man mercilessly beating another. As Akhlaq lay on the floor begging for mercy, Hamza kicked him as hard as he could giving purpose to his wrath.

To Hamza, every second mattered. Every passing moment was another second Rehman remained in enemy hands. He felt nothing but hatred and disgust for the man before him.

"I am giving you one last chance, Akhlaq. Speak up, or I will carve out your kidneys and liver and make you eat them yourself."

The threat had no effect.

"I don't know... I really don't know..." Akhlaq wept, shaking uncontrollably as blood dripped onto the marble floor.

"You sure?"

Hamza rose from his crouched position, leaving Akhlaq kneeling on the floor, crying and begging for mercy. Without another word, he walked into the kitchen. By now, the commotion had drawn Uzair to the scene.

Uzair froze. Their trusted servant was on his knees, bruised, bloodied, and crying as he repeatedly pleaded, "I don't know, Bhaijaan... I don't know..."

Uzair looked from Akhlaq to Hamza, disbelief written across his face. "Hamza... what are you doing?"

"Wait!" Hamza yelled back.

He picked up the heavy meat cleaver from the kitchen, grabbed Akhlaq's hand, forcing it flat against a table, and asked one last time,

"Who was behind this?"

"Hamza, are you out of your mind?" Uzair fired back, stunned by what he was witnessing.

"I don't know, Bhaijaan!" Akhlaq kept screaming.

"You don't know?" Hamza repeated the words one final time before raising the cleaver and bringing it down on Akhlaq's hand.

The sickening sound of flesh and bone being cleaved apart echoed through the haveli.

Akhlaq's scream tore through the air. "Arshad Pappu!"

"Who?" Hamza asked, as if he hadn't heard him the first time.

He raised the cleaver again and brought it down across Akhlaq's mangled fingers.

"Arshad Pappu!" Akhlaq screamed again, his voice breaking into a guttural howl.

Hamza wasn't done. The cleaver came down once more, severing another finger.

Akhlaq's agonized screams of "Arshad Pappu!" were the only sounds echoing through the courtyard.

Uzair stood frozen. Donga and the other guards watched in stunned silence.

Hamza finally threw the bloodied cleaver across the room in frustration. It clattered loudly against the far wall as he fought to rein in the ire threatening to consume him.

Uzair was stunned. He had never seen Hamza like this. He had never witnessed just how brutal, violent, and frighteningly efficient he could be.

For the first time, Uzair saw the man Hamza had kept hidden beneath his quiet, stoic demeanour.

It shook him, it terrified him. Yet, at the same time, it told him something else. This was the man who could bring Rehman home.

But above everything else was Akhlaq. The man who had served their family for years. The man they had trusted. The man who had sold his brother to their worst enemy.

Akhlaq rolled on the ground, clutching what remained of his bleeding hand, no longer able to hold onto the lie.

"They... they gave me something to mix in Faizal's milk."

There it was. The second mystery was solved. The crisis had been manufactured to lure the family out of the safety of the haveli. And now they had Rehman. But at that moment, all Uzair could see was betrayal. The ferocity of it blinded him.

"How much did you sell your soul for, Akhlaq?" Uzair's voice held a quiet rage that was building into something far scarier.

Hamza noticed it immediately. Before he could react, Uzair was already crouching in front of Akhlaq, grabbing him by the collar.

"How dare you betray my brother…You dared betray my brother." Every word poured out carrying equal parts rage, grief, and heartbreak.

Hamza's phone began to ring. Rizwan. "Please tell me you have something good for me."

Rizwan took a steadying breath. "We are at the hospital. We have guards. We are safe. Faizal will make a full recovery... but we have a problem."

Hamza's jaw tightened.

"I just heard from our teams. They have him at a location somewhere on the outskirts of the city, but they don't know where... and they don't know how to get there."

"We are basically flying blind."

Hamza rubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "The police are going to be useless. We already know that. This is turning into an extraction."

He knew Rizwan would understand exactly what that meant.

“The mole was Akhlaq and he was also the one who poisoned Faizal. It was him." That was all Hamza needed to say.

"Motherfucker," Rizwan muttered angrily. "How do we proceed?"

"You stay there with the family. Keep the men with you. I need to talk to Uzair."

Meanwhile, Uzair had already dragged Akhlaq into the courtyard.

Hamza stopped cold when he saw Uzair standing there, a gun pointed at Akhlaq's forehead. He was going to shoot him. He had no idea where Uzair got that gun from but that wasn’t the pressing issue.

He knew Uzair wouldn't miss. He knew the anger churning inside him. He knew Uzair had every reason to pull the trigger. But he had to try…he couldn't let Uzair do this.

He approached slowly, careful not to startle him. Instead of standing in front of him, he came up from behind. Gently, he rested one hand on the back of Uzair's neck. The touch was soft, almost grounding, before he leaned in and whispered into his ear,

"Don't do that, this is not the life Rehman bhai wanted for you. He kept you away from this for so long, don't let Arshad Pappu take this away from you, not like he took everything else."

Uzair's hand trembled, just slightly, but his finger remained on the trigger.

Hamza slowly lifted his other hand and laid it over Uzair's gun hand. He didn't force it down. He simply held it, his thumb brushing lightly over Uzair's knuckles as he whispered again,

"Don't do it, please come back to me, to us, your family needs you, and you cannot let his blood wash away the years of life you and Rehman bhai spent so hard building. Don't do it."

Gradually, Hamza felt Uzair's body lose its rigid tension. Almost unconsciously, Uzair leaned back into him. Slowly, Hamza guided the gun downward.

"Please, love," he whispered, in voice only Uzair could hear.  Finally, Uzair's grip loosened.

Hamza gently took the gun from his hand just as Donga and the others stepped forward. At that moment, neither man cared what the guards thought of what they had just witnessed. Adrenaline had a way of making things seem different.

"Donga... take out the trash... yeh kachra bahar fek de." Uzair spoke without turning around.

Without a word, Donga and his men dragged the still-screaming Akhlaq away, leaving a thick trail of blood across the courtyard as his cries gradually faded into the distance.

A few minutes later all they heard was a scream and a sickening thud of a body being thrown down from a height. Then there was silence.

Uzair sank onto the stone floor of the now-empty courtyard. His mind refused to comprehend everything that had happened. The only thing anchoring him was the solid, familiar presence of the man sitting quietly beside him.

After a long silence, Hamza finally spoke. "I need to tell you something."  Uzair didn't look at him.

Hamza took a slow breath. “I am not married."

A beat passed.

"I am divorced."

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Previous Chapters

Chapter 5 –  Tanhayee

Kyun Aisi Umeed Ki Maine Jo Aise Naakaam Hui

Door Banaayi Thi Manzil To Raste Mein Hi Shaam Hui

Ab Kahaan Jaaun Main… Kisko Samjhaaun Main

Kya Maine Chaaha Tha …Aur Kyun Kismat Me Aayi ….Tanhayee.. Tanhayee

It had been 24 hours. Twenty-four hours since Jaskirat had stopped being the heartache that resided in the depths of his misery. Twenty-four hours since Uzair’s body started experiencing twinges that he hadn't felt in the longest time. Twenty-four hours since the bond that was decaying and rotting was painfully flayed open. Twenty-four hours since his alpha was in the same space as him after 15 years. His heart twisted in a way he did not think was possible. He wasn't ready for the ghost of his past to storm back in, looking like a stranger and smelling like everything he had desperately craved. Every breath he took seemed to carry sandalwood, cedar and cinnamon, tormenting an omega who had spent fifteen years teaching himself to forget.

The hollow ache in his chest refused to stop. It felt like a wound, one that stubbornly refused to stop bleeding. “Please, please,” he begged as he willed his mind to focus on the present. After a sleepless night, he dragged himself to work. There were greater, pressing issues; a nation needed him. He would rise to the occasion. There were lives at stake. His own was gone the moment Jaskirat walked in. His sanity, his omega…everything felt raw, stripped bare, every nerve ending exposed... He prayed to the universe to take it all away, but that prayer was never answered.

Jaskirat imagined, he hoped, he dreamt of meeting Uzair. He expected tears. He expected shouting. He even tortured himself with images of Uzair married and bonded to another alpha. Those images nearly made his alpha go feral. His soulmate, his omega, the only person he ever loved was so close. His scent was driving Jaskirat's alpha insane. Everything he had suppressed with cold rage, sheer determination, and brutal force was threatening to break.

He knew Uzair was in pain, but how does one even start putting back together a man whom he had broken so viciously? There was no fixing what he did. He not only rejected his mate, he did it with utter cruelty that his Uzair did not deserve. And now, with him just a few rooms away, Jaskirat felt his heart being ripped apart. His body felt taut with tension. The pain and suffering he put the love of his life through, he killed the beautiful bond they had; he ripped it into pieces, and now he must live with it. The only thing he could do was offer Uzair the one thing he traded his life for.

He would protect Uzair with everything he had. He was a beggar, looking for alms in the form of being close to his omega, and he would soak up these moments, keep him safe. That's all he could do now. He did not even deserve to touch the frayed hem of Uzair’s lab coat.

Jaskirat's team assembled in one of the larger briefing rooms to receive their assignments. The primary objective was clear: Dr. Uzair Baloch and his research team.

Each member of Uzair's core team would have a dedicated close-protection officer. Aman, Vikram, and Kabir would shadow the senior scientists, while Rizwan would oversee the overall security rotation and relieve them as required.

Jaskirat had assigned himself to Dr. Uzair Baloch. His alpha wouldn't have accepted anything else.

"I am telling you," Aman declared, wrinkling his nose dramatically, "the lab smells funny."

Kabir didn't even look up from the assignment sheet. "It's just your brain cells functioning for the first time. Your pea-sized brain is finally recognising intelligence."

A few snorts echoed around the room.

"I may not be a scientist—" Aman began indignantly

"And you never will be one," Rizwan interrupted.

"But I know what I smelled," Aman continued, ignoring him completely. "I am going to get to the bottom of it."

"How about you sit down before I send you to the bottom of this facility?" Jaskirat said dryly.

Aman wisely decided to sit down. Jaskirat waited for the room to settle before opening the assignment file. "Alright. Here are your assignments."

"Aman, you will be shadowing Dr. Boman Daruwala."

"Yes!" Aman pumped a fist into the air.

Jaskirat didn't even glance up. "He is not a bar owner, or a bartender, nor will he be carrying alcohol."

Aman's triumphant grin disappeared, he lowered his fist with a pout. The room chuckled.

"Kabir, you will be assigned to Dr. Nikhil Deshmukh."  Kabir simply nodded.

"Vikram, you will be with Dr. Yalina Jamali." Vikram looked up.

"She is MP Jameel Jamali's daughter," Jaskirat continued. "Treat her like every other scientist, but be aware that she may be a high-value target."

"Understood, sir." Vikram simply replied.

"The rest of you will rotate through the remaining members of the research staff. Rizwan will oversee the rotations and relieve you when required."

Rizwan gave a short nod. Finally, Jaskirat closed the file.

"Dr. Baloch is the project lead. His security takes priority over everyone else’s. “I will be overseeing Dr. Uzair Baloch’s security personally”

No one questioned it. As team leader, it was the obvious choice. “Now before we begin, I want you all to understand why this assignment is important. I want your attention on the screen. I will answer your questions after that” Jaskirat played the footage from the Delhi attack. The room fell silent.

Twenty-six pairs of eyes remained fixed on the screen as the footage unfolded chaos, screams, and civilians collapsing where they stood. Not a single soldier flinched. These were battle-hardened men. They had seen death in more forms than most people could imagine. Yet when the video ended, the silence that followed was deafening.

"What you just witnessed was a terrorist attack," Jaskirat began. "More specifically, a chemical attack."

He let the words settle before continuing.

"The weapon used is a chemical compound currently designated ‘Project Nazf’. This wasn't the first attack, nor will it be the last. We successfully foiled one of their operations during our previous mission, but we cannot eliminate the threat by stopping individual attacks alone."

He looked around the room, meeting every pair of eyes. "We can stop the terrorists." His voice hardened. "But they can always manufacture more of the compound."

He gestured toward the laboratory complex visible through the reinforced glass.

"Which is why the scientists in this facility are our greatest weapon. They are racing against time to develop a treatment, an antidote, a cure, anything that can save lives."

"Our national security now depends as much on those scientists as it does on us not to mention the country's future depends on them."

He paused “But their safety depends on us."

"Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Twenty-six voices answered in perfect unison.

One of the younger soldiers hesitated before raising a hand.

"Sir..."

"Yes?"

"Are... the scientists alright with us shadowing them all the time?"

A pointed silence answered the question before anyone spoke. Several soldiers exchanged amused glances. Jaskirat's expression remained unreadable.

"Well," he said at last, "there's only one way to find out."

He snapped the file shut. "Let's go meet our scientists."

Uzair frowned at the latest set of data as Yalina hurried over, a tablet clutched tightly in her hands. "The results are back," she said. "There's no evidence of human-to-human transmission….not even through direct exposure to bodily fluids. It doesn't spread through touch."

"That's all we know for now," she added with a frustrated sigh. "We still don't know why some victims deteriorate faster than others."

"What about secondary genders?" Boman asked.

 Nikhil didn't even look up from the microscope. "What about them?"

"Do we know whether it affects Alphas, Betas, and Omegas differently? Whether one secondary gender is more susceptible than the others?"

Yalina shook her head. "No. Why?"

Boman rubbed a tired hand over his face. "There weren't any survivors, but... the Omegas survived the longest."

"You mean," Nikhil corrected quietly, "they suffered the longest."

"...Yes."

Silence settled over the lab.

Uzair broke it. "I have a more pressing concern." Everyone looked toward him.

"Do we know whether it can be aerosolised?"

The room froze. "And if it can..." He swallowed."...would it remain just as effective?"

Yalina's face paled. "That would triple the fatality rate…It would be catastrophic."

"Yes," Uzair replied evenly. "Which is exactly why we need to find out."

He immediately slipped back into command mode.

"Nikhil, continue breaking down the compound. I want to know exactly what's causing the internal haemorrhaging. Nikhil nodded.

"Boman, determine whether any demographic shows increased vulnerability."

"Understood."

"Yalina, you are with me. I want to test my hypothesis

Before anyone could move, the laboratory doors slid open. Bhansal stepped inside.

"Dr. Baloch….I need you and your team in the briefing room. It's time to meet your security detail."

Uzair felt his stomach drop. Judging by the excited murmurs spreading through the lab behind him, however, the rest of his team was far more interested in meeting the soldiers than he was.

They were also considerably less enthusiastic about having armed men following them around while they worked.

The briefing room was packed with soldiers in crisp uniforms. Every single one of them looked like they lived in the gym. They looked dangerous, fiercely competent, and sharp-eyed with curiosity. Right at the front stood their leader, Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi.

Sushant Bhansal approached him with a respectful nod. "Major, our research team is here."

Jaskirat addressed the scientists respectfully, offering a brief nod. "Doctors. I would like to introduce you to my men. While most of them aren’t assigned to you individually, they will be stationed in and around your lab for your protection. We will not cause any obstruction or disruption to your activities. We will stay out of your way. You will barely notice our presence, but you will know that you are protected."

He stepped forward, beginning the official roll call. "Dr. Yalina Jamali, Captain Vikram Nair has been assigned to you. Dr. Nikhil Deshmukh, Lieutenant Kabir Ali has been assigned to you. And Dr. Boman Daruwala, Lieutenant Aman Rathore has been assigned to you. Each of these personnel will be relieved from time to time by Captain Rizwan Shah."

Jaskirat paused. His gaze shifted, locking onto Uzair. Uzair was gripping the edge of a nearby table so hard his knuckles were stark white, though his facial expression remained an absolute, unreadable mask.

"And I," Jaskirat continued, his voice dropping slightly, "shall be personally protecting Dr. Uzair Baloch."

He let the heavy silence settle over the room. Around them, the doctors and soldiers were busy sizing each other up. Vikram nodded respectfully at Yalina, who returned the polite gesture, though her eyes subtly lingered on Rizwan who was currently trying very hard not to stare back at her.

Interesting, Jaskirat noted mentally.

Nikhil and Kabir were locked in a silent stare-down, looking at each other as if they were grandmasters preparing for a brutal chess match. But the most intriguing dynamic was Aman. The usually loud, dramatic soldier was suddenly completely quiet, his witty quips vanishing the moment he looked at Boman. For his part, Boman was examining Aman as if he had just discovered a fascinating new lab specimen under his microscope.

That went well, Jaskirat thought dryly. He was doing his absolute best to ignore the internal chaos of his own mind both his heart and his alpha inner instincts were vying for his attention, begging him to look at his mate. In the end, his alpha won; his eyes kept drawing back to Uzair.

"Can I speak to you, Major?" Uzair asked. He mentally congratulated himself on how steady and professional his voice sounded, betraying none of the panic roaring in his chest.

Jaskirat simply nodded and dismissed his men with a sharp hand gesture. Uzair quietly instructed his team to head back to the lab. Bhansal, surprisingly astute, read the thick tension in the room and quickly made his exit, leaving the two of them entirely alone.

Uzair mentally thanked the universe that this specific room was windowless and free of observation glass. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, he turned to face Jaskirat, his scent of peach, vanilla, and honey spiked with panic.

"You are not going to be my protection detail," Uzair said, his voice a harsh, furious whisper. “I am afraid that’s not negotiable,” Jaskirat said, his voice a low, disciplined rumble that fought to remain steady. “As the team lead, it is my duty and my responsibility to ensure your well-being.”

“I don’t want you around me, I don’t want anything from you,” Uzair whispered. He looked at the man before him, the man who held a stronghold over his soul and felt a weariness that settled deep into his bones. “Much less your protection, Major.”

The weight on the title was like a physical blow. It was a stark, freezing reminder of the distance Uzair had built between them over fifteen painful years.

“Uzair…” Jaskirat stepped forward, a desperate plea cracking through his military veneer.

“That’s Doctor Baloch to you, Major,” Uzair interrupted sharply. His voice didn't rise; instead, it held the crushing weight of the grief he had been carrying in silence for over a decade.

Jaskirat swallowed hard, the word cutting deep into his chest. He could feel his inner alpha thrashing, desperate to comfort, desperate to mend the bond he himself had wrecked. The rising hurt in his throat felt like glass.

“Dr. Baloch,” Jaskirat managed, his posture stiffening as he tried to hide the tremor in his hands. “I need to do this. I can’t… my alpha can’t, won’t, let anyone else handle your safety.”

Uzair looked up, his eyes entirely hollow. He clamped down hard on his own breathing, forcing his body to stay completely still. He wouldn't cry, at least not when Jaskirat could see him.

“I don’t care what your alpha wants,” Uzair said softly, the sheer exhaustion in his words breaking the air between them. “I don't care what you need, Major. You took away your right to care the day you walked away. You don’t get to play the protector now, not when you were the one who broke…everything.” Not when you were the one who broke me

“I know,” Jaskirat said, his voice cracking, entirely defenceless. He didn't try to justify the past. He didn't offer excuses for the cruelty he had inflicted. He just stood there, taking the words because he knew he deserved them.

“Anyone but you,” Uzair whispered, the words sounding like a final sentence. “Please. Give the assignment to anyone but you.”

Jaskirat closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening into a hard, stoic line as he forced his military mask back into place.

“I am afraid I can’t do that,” Jaskirat replied, his voice flat, deadened by the effort to keep from shattering completely. “The orders are logged. The protocol is set. It’s me, Doctor Baloch.”

Neither of them budged. The silence between them stretched, thick with unresolved history and a love that had turned into a phantom limb, still aching, though it was long gone.

Realizing the futility of the argument, and unable to breathe the same air saturated with the alpha’s scent for another second, Uzair turned around. He walked out of the room with slow, deliberate steps, keeping his spine rigid, his head held high until the heavy doors slid shut behind him.

Once in the safety of a vacant, dimly lit storage room down the corridor, Uzair finally let go. He slumped against the cold metal shelving, his hands covering his face as the silent, breathless tears he had held back finally spilled over, his body shaking with the delayed aftershock of Jaskirat's presence.

Back in the windowless briefing room, Jaskirat didn’t move. He stood perfectly still in the center of the space, staring at the empty doorway. The stoic facade he had maintained finally fractured.

A single, hot tear escaped his eye, tracing a path down his rugged cheek.

With a sudden, violent burst of silent agony, Jaskirat turned and threw a brutal punch directly into the reinforced wall. The sharp, cracking impact echoed through the empty room, skin splitting over his knuckles. A shallow, physical distraction from the unbearable, bleeding ache in his heart.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jaskirat and Uzair's first conversation after 15 years goes .. well.....poorly. The clashes and heartache is looming ahead. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter .. i love hearing for you guys!

Chapter 17 – Hopeful, Horny and Heartsick

WARNING: Strictly 18+, this chapter contains explicit M\M content.

The next morning, the haveli was still recovering from the whirlwind of the party held in Uzair's honour. The house moved at a slower, quieter pace, everyone bone-tired after the previous night's celebrations.

Breakfast was a sleepy, subdued affair. Most people were content to eat in comfortable silence, too exhausted to make conversation. By the time Uzair finally wandered into the dining room, nearly everyone else had already finished.

After grabbing a quick breakfast, he went looking for Hamza. He needed to make sure the man wouldn't slip back into his cold, relentless routine. Uzair wasn't about to let that happen.

He found Hamza in the common study, reviewing security footage from the factory attack 2 days earlier.

"Hey," Uzair said, glancing around out of habit. The room was empty except for the two of them.

Hamza looked up from the monitor. "Hey," he replied.

"So, are we going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Hamza asked, his expression remaining a mask of indifference.

“Oh really ‘Sir Spanks-a-lot’, are you going you make me say it?” Uzair huffed.

Silence

"Fine then….Can we talk about the time you had your fingers inside my ass and made me come so hard that I can still feel every bit of that exertion every time I move? My knees are still protesting, and these knees belong to a professional football player” Uzair ranted.

Hamza remained unmoved, his gaze steady and unreadable. The silence stretched between them until Uzair’s playful smirk flickered and faded, his face falling.

Hamza closed the distance between them slowly “You know we are both going to regret this," he murmured, his voice low and grave. "Every single bit of this."

"I know..." Uzair faltered, the confidence draining out of him.

"And knowing your brother," Hamza continued, his eyes darkening, "this could get us killed."

"And what a way to go it would be," Uzair replied softly. He meant it.

Hamza leaned in, resting his forehead against Uzair’s. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe in that dangerous fantasy. After everything they had done, the boundaries crossed, the way his heart leapt whenever Uzair looked at him…the truth was undeniable. This man would be his greatest downfall.

As he closed his eyes, Hamza decided that it would be a beautiful way to go.

Hamza knew this was far from a conventional relationship. They could never go public; not in a world as unforgiving as theirs. The homophobia surrounding them was only part of it. Uzair's career, both their families, their reputations….everything would be caught in the fallout. Hamza knew that. Uzair knew it too.

But Hamza was carrying something even heavier, something he needed to tell Uzair before they let themselves go any further.

Pulling back, he gently cupped Uzair's face. "We need to talk," he said quietly. "There are things I need to tell you... things about me."

Before he could continue, they were disrupted by a servant who nearly walked in on both and they scrambled to put distance between themselves.

The next few days blurred into a delicious kind of torture for Uzair. Every stolen glance from Hamza made his cock twitch. Every brush of fingers when no one was looking left him half-hard and aching. They kissed in dark corners, traded quick, desperate touches behind locked doors, but Hamza still hadn’t bent him over and fucked him senseless. One whole week of teasing and nothing more.

Uzair was ready to combust. He had just managed to pull Hamza into a secluded room when a commotion echoed down the hallway

As they stepped out, they saw a police convoy rolling through the haveli gates. Hamza expected uniforms and bureaucrats. Instead, he found himself staring at a man who looked like he belonged in an old crime thriller.

SP Aslam Chaudhary had arrived

SP Aslam Chaudhary was tall, with a body that suggested he worked out just enough to ensure it obeyed his commands and dared not succumb to fat. Silver had begun creeping into his hair and beard. The white kurta and pajama made him look like an ageing Mumbai don, while his eyes, even with bags under them missed absolutely nothing.

He was the sort of man who walked into a room and immediately became the most dangerous person in it. By then, most of the household staff and Rehman's men had gathered in the courtyard, arriving just in time to witness a standoff that wasn't really a standoff at all.

Rehman and SP Aslam locked eyes, neither man willing to be the first to look away. The silence between them was taut with unspoken hostility.

Without breaking eye contact, SP Aslam flicked his cigarette to the ground and deliberately crushed it beneath the heel of his boot, scuffing Ulfat's expensive marble floor. Her expression hardened with unmistakable displeasure, but she held her tongue.

"Baloch," the SP said at last, his voice carrying an unmistakable challenge.

"SP," Rehman replied, the single word dripping with insolence.

Neither man offered a smile, either man offered a handshake. Yet neither looked surprised to see the other.

“Yaha shuru karana hai ki kahi aur chale”

With that, the conversation moved from the courtyard, where everyone was, to Rehman's study, just the two of them.

Ulfat didn't like this. Uzair hated this. Hamza's expression gave nothing away, while the security team was mentally calculating all the ammo they had in stock.

"You still collect enemies," Aslam said.

Rehman snorted. "You still enjoy arresting the wrong people."

Aslam sneered "You used to say that 15 years ago."

The silence that followed was not an awkward silence. It was the sort that suggested an entire history existed beneath the conversation.

Something old passed between them, something neither man intended to explain and something that was best left unsaid and unvisited. Then it was gone.

"Babu Dakait and Arshad Papu."

"What about them?"

"Your father and your sworn enemy have joined hands..."

"He is not my father," Rehman gritted out, almost ready to hit Aslam.

Aslam unfastened his service pistol, placed it on the desk between them, and leaned back in his chair as if discussing the weather and Rehman leaned back in his chair.

"What aren't you telling me, SP?" Rehman spat out

The change in his tone made something shift in the room. Aslam met Rehman's gaze for a long moment before answering.

"I am telling you that I enjoy it when one piece of trash takes out another. And Baloch, when he takes you out, I will simply call it a clean-up drive."

The room fell silent. "So you are going to look away when he comes for me and my family?"

"And? Why should I care for any of you? You are still the criminal I detest. And if you think you can become an MLA and lord over …me" Aslam's hollow, chilling laugh echoed through the chamber.

"How about you stop being the whore who benefits from this fight?" Rehman said with a smile that held pure malice.

SP Aslam knew that tone, knew that look, knew what came after when Rehman got like this.

But ancient history is ancient for a reason. He grabbed his chair, looked one last time at Rehman with nothing but emptiness where something unmentionable used to reside and walked out.

Meanwhile Uzair was losing his ever loving mind. Once he heard what SP had to say he was pacing the room like a restless tiger, snarling his displeasure.

“How dare he? Apne aap ko samajhta kya hai?” he yelled.

“SP samajhta hai apne aap ko, Uzair bhai. Power hai uske paas,” Siyahi replied calmly.

“Toh hum kya hain? Baithe rahein? He is letting them get away with everything. I NEED HIS—”

“You need nothing!” Rehman's voice thundered.

“Tu ismein nahi padega, samjha?” Rehman's voice was laced with absolute authority.

“But, Bhai—”

“I don't want to hear it. We are taking precautions. We will figure things out,” Rehman said with an air of finality.

“Nahi, Bhai... yeh Pappu aur babu ka kuch karna hoga.”

“Tu kuch nahi karega, samjha? Hamza, increase the number of your agents here. We will deal with it.”

“Yes, Bhai,” Hamza said.

“Yes, Bhai,” Uzair mimicked. “Kya 'Yes, Bhai'? You agree with him? Didn't take you for a coward Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi.”

Something in Hamza's eyes told Uzair he was in trouble, but before he could say or do anything, Ulfat walked in.

“That's enough. It's lunchtime, and I won't have any of this before we eat. That goes for all of you.” There was no arguing with Ulfat once she took that tone.

After lunch, Uzair spent the next hour trying to corner Hamza in every hallway and doorway he could find. Each time Hamza simply stepped around him with a calm shake of the head and a quiet “Not now,” the rejection left Uzair restless and aching.

He knew he was in trouble with Hamza, the memory of spanking Hamza had given him the night of the party still fresh in his mind. Every time the memory surfaced, his cheeks burned hot and his cock gave an interested twitch. He could still feel the ghost of Hamza’s palm landing again and again, the way the sting had melted into something hotter.

Uzair finally found him in his private room, seated at the desk with his laptop open. The bodyguard didn’t look up right away, his fingers moving steadily across the keyboard.

“So… are you mad at me?” Uzair asked, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

Hamza closed the laptop slowly. “Should I be?”

“You don’t expect me to just—”

“I expect you to sit down and let us do our jobs,” Hamza said, rising from the chair. “We are trained for this. We are here to keep you safe. For once, you need to listen.”

With every word, Hamza moved closer until Uzair’s back met the wall. The shorter man braced both arms on either side of him, caging him in completely. Uzair had to lower his head back to meet his eyes, but still, the look in Hamza’s eyes stomach flip. Hamza’s presence alone was enough to make him hard. It wasn’t fair.

“It’s hard…” Uzair started, then lost the rest of the sentence when Hamza’s body pressed in, the solid heat of him rubbing right against the front of Uzair’s pants.

“Yes,” Hamza murmured, amusement threading through his voice, “I can feel that.”

Uzair’s breath caught and hamza growled “What was it you said about me being a coward?”

Hamza’s hips rolled forward again, slow and deliberate. The thick line of his cock dragged along Uzair’s own through their clothes, the friction maddeningly perfect. “Tell me what you said.”

Uzair’s thoughts scattered as Hamza kept moving, grinding in steady, unhurried rolls that made Uzair’s knees weaken. “Hamza… I…”

“Say it.”

“Hamza, please,” Uzair begged, voice cracking.

Hamza kissed him then deep, claiming, tongue sliding in like he owned the space. One hand caught both of Uzair’s wrists and pinned them above his head while the other stayed braced on the wall. The pressure, the friction, the low growl against his mouth. It was too much and not enough all at once. Uzair’s hips jerked forward on instinct, chasing the friction, but Hamza held him steady, controlling the pace completely. His cock throbbed painfully against the front of his pants, leaking steadily now, the wet spot growing with every deliberate thrust of Hamza’s hips.

 “Now you listen to me” Hamza murmured against his throat, voice low and rough. “I am not mad at you. And I don’t want to be.. But Uzair, don’t question what I have to do to keep you safe. Am I clear?

Uzair whimpered, hips twitching helplessly. “I am sorry….fuck, Hamza, I am sorry….”

Hamza didn’t stop. He kept the same steady rhythm, grinding harder now, the pressure perfect and overwhelming. His balls drew up tight, orgasm building fast and unstoppable. Hamza’s free hand slid down to grip Uzair’s hip, holding him in place while he continued the slow, filthy grind that was going to ruin him.

Uzair came with a broken moan, spilling hot and wet inside his pants, hips jerking helplessly against Hamza’s thigh as wave after wave pulsed out of him.

He didn’t let go right away. Hamza kissed Uzair’s forehead, then his temple, voice soft. “Now are you going to listen? No reckless shit that puts you in danger.”

Uzair nodded, still trembling. “No. I will listen. I promise.”

Hamza released his wrists and guided him to the bed. He stripped Uzair out of the messy pants and underwear with gentle hands, cleaned him with a warm cloth from the bathroom, then tucked him under the covers. Uzair lay there, boneless and safe, while Hamza climbed in behind him and carded fingers through his hair in slow, soothing strokes.

Uzair drifted off with Hamza’s steady fingers in his hair. When he woke, the room was empty but the sheets smelled like Hamza. A fresh pair of soft joggers folded neatly at the foot of the bed. His own pants and ruined underwear lay neatly in a corner. Uzair smiled to himself as he dressed, cheeks still warm. Hamza really was going to be the death of him and he didn’t mind one bit.

That evening, Hamza and Rizwan met on the veranda for their usual sitrep.

"I don't like SP Aslam," Rizwan said without preamble.

"Careful; you might hurt his feelings," Hamza deadpanned.

"I mean it. I know he wants Pappu, Babu, and Rehman to take each other out, but the way he looked at Rehman..." Rizwan trailed off.

"...is the way some of your exes look at you," Hamza completed.

"You have been hanging around Uzair for far too long," Rizwan complained.

A small smile tugged at Hamza's lips before he could stop himself. He quickly wiped it off his face and turned to Rizwan.

"We need to find someone in the SP's team who will be... happy to share information. Let's contact HQ and see what can be done. Till then..."

"Till then we keep them safe, and you get to kiss your man," Rizwan said with a smirk.

Hamza was about to say something cutting, only to watch Rizwan slip away quickly.

Uzair went looking for Hamza, who had left him asleep in his room. He finally found him on the veranda, standing alone with his phone held up for a video call.

That's rare, Uzair thought.

"Papa, when are you coming home? I miss you," a small voice piped from the phone.

Papa.

The single word sent something cold slithering through Uzair's stomach. His lunch threatened to make a reappearance.

"Soon, puttar," Hamza replied in a voice Uzair had never heard before; soft, warm, almost impossibly gentle.

"Okay, Papa. Love you! Ammi wants to talk to you."

A woman's voice came on the line. She began to say something, then paused.

"Who is that standing behind you?"

Hamza turned. The moment he saw Uzair's pale face, his expression changed. Without taking his eyes off him, he spoke into the phone.

"Yalina, I will call you back." The call ended.

"You have a son?" Uzair whispered.

His voice cracked on the next question. "Was... was that his mother?"

Silence.

"Answer me, Hamza." His breathing had turned ragged, panic creeping into every word. "Are you married?"

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

Chapter 4 -  Lut Gaye Hum Teri Mohabbat Mein

Tadap Tadap Ke Is Dil Se Aah Nikalti Rahi,

Mujhko Saza Di Pyaar Ki,

Aisa Kya Gunah Kiya, Toh Lut Gaye, Haan Lut Gaye,

Toh Lut Gaye Hum Teri Mohabbat Mein The convoy rolled through the final security checkpoint before disappearing beneath reinforced blast doors.

Lieutenant Aman Rathore gave a low whistle. "They have got more security inside the base than outside."

"Because what's inside is worth protecting," Captain Rizwan Shah replied, glancing at the facility map on his tablet. "We are not here to guard the perimeter. The base security battalion has that covered."

"So what exactly are we guarding?" Lieutenant Kabir Ali asked.

Rizwan looked toward the man sitting silently at the front of the vehicle. "The scientists."

Aman blinked. "The scientists? That's it?"

"The research, the laboratories, and most importantly, Dr. Uzair Baloch and his team," Rizwan corrected. "Our detachment has operational command over close protection and rapid response. Everything else stays under the facility commander."

Aman leaned back dramatically. "So the Colonel worries about the base..."

"...and we worry about the people smart enough to accidentally blow up the base," Captain Vikram Nair finished dryly.

"So we are glorified bodyguards?" Aman asked.

"We are Special Forces bodyguards," Rizwan corrected. "There's a difference."

Aman sighed theatrically. "You are telling me I got through selection and survived multiple high-risk operations just so I could escort scientists between laboratories? My good looks are practically wasted here."

Kabir looked him over slowly. "What good looks?"

Vikram snorted. "And on whom?"

Rizwan didn't even bother looking up from his tablet. "Certainly not us." The vehicle erupted into quiet laughter. Everyone except Jaskirat.

He sat motionless, elbows resting on his knees, the classified folder open in his hands. He hadn't turned a page in several minutes.

Rizwan noticed. “Boss?"

Jaskirat looked up almost immediately. "Yes?"

"You have been reading the same paragraph since we left the airstrip."

Aman's grin widened. "I knew it. The Major's finally tired of us. He was hoping to dump us for a quieter team." He whispered in mock conspiratorial tone.

"You would cry if he did," Vikram muttered.

"I absolutely would." Aman replied.

That finally earned them the faintest twitch at the corner of Jaskirat's mouth. “Remind me again why they let me keep you guys around” Jaskirat said flatly.

"Because we are lethal, execute our missions cleanly, and get the job done," Vikram replied without missing a beat. "Fortunately, the government only lets us use that talent on approved targets."

"Our success rate is exemplary, both individually and as a team," Kabir continued. "We are regarded as the best in our field."

"We are also the best-looking soldiers with the most dashing personalities," Aman added.

"I am willing to debate that," Kabir said.

"About your looks? Yeah, I am willing to debate that too," Aman countered.

The others laughed. Even Jaskirat exhaled what could generously be described as the ghost of a laugh; the first since he had been assigned the mission. Then his eyes drifted back to the personnel file lying open in his lap.

Dr. Uzair Baloch.

Project Lead.

His expression settled back into its usual impassive calm. The vehicle slowed to a halt.

Outside, nearly a hundred soldiers in standard combat uniform continued their routines across the compound; manning checkpoints, patrolling the perimeter, monitoring surveillance towers. They barely spared the arriving convoy a glance.

Aman looked out the window before turning back. "So, we really are babysitting scientists."

Jaskirat finally lifted his eyes. "We are protecting national assets." The humour vanished from Aman's face. "There's a difference."

Without another word, Jaskirat stepped out of the vehicle. His team of twenty-two men followed.

The corridor outside Uzair’s lab was unusually busy. Scientists hurried between laboratories. Military personnel unpacked equipment. Orders echoed through the concrete hallways.

Uzair barely noticed any of it. His focus was on the screen as he reviewed blood chemistry reports. No genetic pattern, no environmental link, nothing that could give him the slightest idea about how this compound worked. That’s when his lab doors opened, before anything else could warn him, the scent hit him followed by footsteps, heavy, measured footsteps, that were purposeful and headed straight to him.

His heart stumbled, and before he could look up, the scent enveloped him.

Sandalwood, Cedar and Cinnamon.

Everything inside him stopped. His body recognised the scent long before his mind allowed itself to.

No, his heart pleaded, please no…. but his omega, was screaming inside him

He turned around and Jaskirat stood less than ten feet away. Time folded in on itself as fifteen years disappeared.

Jaskirat looked older. Clean-shaven, short hair. Uzair remembered that look; his post-NDA look, he had mourned the loss of those luscious locks the first time he saw Jaskirat during his academy holiday. But later he hated this look. This was the Jaskirat he didn't want to recognize. This wasn't his Jas. This was the man who broke his heart.

He was broader now, he had muscles Uzair’s hands had never mapped, lines on his face his eyes had never traced. The sharpness of youth had settled into quiet strength. His eyes no longer shone like the green jewels they once were; they had become sharp, predatory, and there was something in them Uzair refused to acknowledge. A thin scar disappeared into his hairline. He recognized that one. Not the others. Those belonged to Jaskirat's new life; a life Uzair had never been part of. He looked jaded, dangerous but mainly he looked... tired.

Jaskirat stared back.

The photograph Sanyal had shown him had lied. The beard was new. It did nothing for the beautiful cheekbones he used to tease endlessly, but that wasn't what made Uzair unrecognizable. Gone was the impulsive, volatile rebel Jaskirat had fallen hopelessly in love with. He looked calm, wise beyond his age, like a distinguished scientist. But the fire in his eyes, it told a different story. Because photographs never told the whole story.

They hadn't shown the exhaustion etched beneath Uzair's eyes or the invisible weight pressing down on his shoulders. They hadn't shown the way he carried himself like someone held together by sheer force of will. He hadn't healed. He had simply learned to survive. His brown eyes now hid behind thin-rimmed glasses, but the stubborn curls in his hair still refused to be tamed.

His Alpha stirred. For the first time in fifteen years, it made a sound that was not a growl of aggression. Just a broken, aching rasp. ‘Mate’

The word reverberated through the hollow remains of the bond that had shattered fifteen years ago. Suppressants dulled instinct, but they could not silence recognition. Nothing remained hidden anymore. The carefully buried grief, the tangled emotions, the remnants of their once-mingled scents; it all rose to the surface at once, threatening the fragile control they both had spent fifteen years building. Neither moved or breathed. Around them, the world continued as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Everything narrowed down to just the two of them; everything else was insignificant. The lab was empty except for Uzair, Bhansal and Jaskirat but he felt trapped, the room felt heavy

"Doctor Baloch." Bhansal's voice shattered the silence. Uzair forced his expression back into place. Once again, it was professional. It was impenetrable. His cold, aloof mask was firmly in place.

"Yes."

"Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi here will oversee your security. I will be briefing him shortly. They just arrived; you should join us."

Bhansal looked between them. He knew their history. He said a silent prayer for all of their sanity.

"Doctor." Jaskirat inclined his head, his jaw clenched. His voice was professional, rough, and carried a rasp only Uzair recognized.

Uzair returned the nod. "Major." Uzair's voice betrayed him, just a little. He tried, but couldn't keep the hollowness out of it.

Their reunion was reduced to two titles spoken by two men who were now nearly strangers. Jaskirat turned to follow Bhansal without another word. Uzair couldn't bear another second in the lab. He left almost immediately, heading straight for his apartment.

They passed each other at the doorway, their shoulders never touched. But for the briefest fraction of a second... Jaskirat caught it.

Amidst Uzair’s scent of peach, vanilla, and honey there was grief, the pain, an omega in distress. His Alpha surged with such violence that he practically had to drag himself in the opposite direction.

Mate is in pain, his Alpha roared. But he couldn't, professionalism took over. It took every year of military discipline to do so.

Uzair didn't remember reaching his apartment. But he remembered the electronic lock, he heard the quiet click as the door sealed.

And his knees gave way before he had taken another step. He slid down the door until he hit the floor. For several long seconds, he simply sat there, staring at nothing. His lungs refused to cooperate. Each breath came shorter than the last.

Please... Please..NO!

He kept chanting it, as if saying the words would somehow make it all go away. His hands shook so violently he couldn't remove his glasses. They slipped from his trembling fingers and clattered across the floor.

The sound finally broke him. A sob escaped before he could stop it, then came the tears.

The sound of his own pain barely registered. Fifteen years of burying memories beneath degrees, research papers, hospital wards, conferences, and impossible workloads were wiped away by a single look.

One look had destroyed all of it. Now all he could see was the freezing rain, smell the mud and feel the blood. He was now reliving the impossible agony of a bond tearing apart.

He doubled over, one hand pressed against his chest as though he could hold together something that had already broken long ago. His hands shook so violently he couldn't undo the buttons of his coat. He tore it off instead, the room felt too small and he couldn't breathe.

Before he could make sense of anything, he was violently throwing up. He barely made it to the bathroom before collapsing onto the floor, the cool tiles the only thing grounding him.

Between ragged gasps, the only coherent thought he had was:

Why now? Why did you have to come back?

On the same floor, Jaskirat stood alone inside his apartment. He knew his omega was nearby.

His Alpha demanded they go to their mate, comfort him, hold him.

But he ignored the pounding and screaming within him. He had already ordered his team to settle in before work began. His beret rested neatly on the desk, his sidearm beside it.

He reached for the top button of his uniform and his hand stopped. Every instinct screamed the same command.

Find mate. Soothe him. Claim him.

Jaskirat gripped the edge of the desk. The hardwood creaked...then cracked.

It snapped beneath his fingers. He stared at the broken piece of wood in his hand. His breathing had become uneven, it wasn't fear, it wasn't even anger, it was grief. He had spent fifteen years convincing his Alpha that Uzair wasn't theirs.

That breaking his heart had been an act of love, that it was never meant to be. Then he had smelled it.

Beneath the suppressants, there it was, not hatred. Pain, unbelievable, unquantifiable, raw, throbbing pain. His Alpha mourned because it finally understood that their mate had been mourning too.

Jaskirat closed his eyes and threw the broken piece of wood aside.

"I am sorry..." The words were barely audible.

There was no one there to hear them and they came fifteen years too late.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Breaking your mate's heart doesn't go well for anyone and Jaskirat will soon learn this the hard way. The Alpha and Omega finally meet and the pain is real, for both of them. I hope you guys this this one. Let me know your thoughts in the comments :)

Chapter 16 – Naked, Needy, and No Boundaries WARNING: Strictly 18+, this chapter contains explicit M\M content

Uzair remained kneeling, looking at Hamza with pure thrill thrumming through his veins. He was entirely consumed by it; his brain had stopped responding to anything that wasn't centered on Hamza. "You wanted to see what it would do to me when you are too close to an ex. Are you going to do that?" Hamza demanded, his voice low. "Let him touch you? Let him lay hands on you... just to spite me?" "No," Uzair whispered. He was trembling, the excitement and arousal battling in his head. Hamza slowly circled him while he was still kneeling. He ran his fingers through Uzair's hair before grabbing a firm fistful. "Do you know what happens to brats, Uzair?" "I decide what happens to them," Hamza continued softly. "So, explain. What were you doing today?" "You were with those girls," Uzair whined, looking up at Hamza with pleading eyes. "Oh..." Hamza realized, a dark smile spreading across his face. "You thought I was going to be sinking myself into one of those soft bodies. Is that what got you so worked up? You wanted a piece of this, so you decided to bait me? Is that it?"

"Yes," Uzair whispered.

"Tell me what you want, Uzair."

"You... I want... please... let me..."

"Let you what?"

"I need to touch you."

"Do you? Have you earned the right?" Hamza challenged. "You were insolent today, so poorly behaved. Maybe I should leave you here. Use you to my purpose, my pleasure, and just leave you."

Uzair couldn't string a coherent thought together anymore. Hamza still held his hair not painfully, but as a brutal reminder of who was in control. And that was exactly what Uzair wanted: to give up the control and let Hamza handle it.

"Have you earned it, Uzair?"

"Please, Hamza... let me..."

"Let you what?"

"Taste you." “Why should I? “ I need you .. I am sorry I was trying to make you jealous .. but Hamza .. please… I need ....."

Hamza stepped away. His hair was wild, his eyes bright as he looked down at Uzair. Uzair was dishevelled and sweating, the evidence of his own arousal clear.

"Take it off," Hamza commanded, his voice thick with intent. "But use your mouth, not your hands."

Uzair crawled forward on his knees toward Hamza. Hamza helpfully lifted his kurta, pulling it off over his head. Uzair was momentarily distracted by his puffed chest, his toned body, and the arms he had been admiring all day.

"Focus, Uzair."

Uzair leaned in, mouthing at the fabric of Hamza's shalwar. Leaving a wet trail, he used his teeth to catch the fabric of the waistband, slowly pulling out the drawstring until the fabric pooled around his ankles. Uzair leaned in close, brushing his face against the black briefs. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the raw, masculine scent of the man he had been so desperately craving.

Uzair leaned in, his teeth catching the elastic waistband of Hamza’s boxer briefs. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulled the fabric down, exposing the heavy, pulsing length beneath. Uzair swallowed hard, his gaze locked on the sight. He was huge, and the mere thought of feeling that thickness inside him made Uzair’s own breath hitch.

"Go on," Hamza commanded, his voice a low, rough rumble.

Uzair didn't need to be told twice. He started with tentative, small kitten licks that teased the sensitive head.

"Mmm... fuck," Hamza groaned, his hips twitching instinctively.

Encouraged by the sound, Uzair grew bolder, his tongue swirling and sucking with more intent. Suddenly, Hamza’s hand shot forward, fingers tangling firmly in Uzair’s hair and pulling back. Uzair let out a muffled gasp, his eyes fluttering. He loved the dominance, the way it forced his head back and left him completely at Hamza's mercy.

In one smooth, daring motion, Uzair opened wide and took him all the way in. He had no gag reflex; deepthroating was a game he had mastered long ago. He slid down until he felt the base hit the back of his throat, then paused, tilting his head up to look Hamza in the eye.

‘How do you like that’ his expression conveying what his mouth couldn’t.

"Oh, you brat..." Hamza hissed, his grip tightening in Uzair's hair. "Keep your eyes on me. You wanted my attention? Look at me. Look what you are doing to me, Uzair."

Hamza stopped waiting and began to drive back in, the pace turning aggressive. Uzair’s world narrowed down to the heat in his mouth and the rhythmic force of Hamza’s thrusts. Tears began to sting the corners of his eyes, a cocktail of pleasure and intensity. Below, he was leaking, his own hardness throbbing so violently he felt he might come right there in his pants.

His knees hurt, but Hamza’s hand stayed locked on his head, steadying him, guiding him through the onslaught. Uzair let go, sinking into a haze of total surrender.

"Uzair..., I am about to come!"

Uzair’s eyes widened, but he didn't pull away. He clamped down harder, sucking with everything he had. Hamza let out a guttural roar, his body shuddering as he spent himself. Uzair didn't stop until the very last drop was gone, determined to finish the job perfectly.

As the sensitivity peaked, Hamza gently eased Uzair’s head away. He looked down, seeing the dazed, glassy look in Uzair's eyes. He was breathless.

"Look at you," Hamza murmured, his voice softening. "What do you want? Tell me."

"I... I want..." Uzair stammered, his voice slurring, the words barely forming. Hamza didn't wait for the sentence to finish. He reached down and lifted Uzair's 6'2" frame off the floor with effortless strength. Uzair’s legs were like jelly, refusing to cooperate as he was carried toward the bed. Hamza tossed him back onto the mattress and quickly stripped off his Sherwani jacket and next to go was his top.

"Hamza..." Uzair whimpered, reaching out. "I want... please..."

"Will you be good for me”

"I will.. yes please i..."

“I know you will be good for me … after I am done with you” Hamza said, with his grip tight on Uzair’s jaw.

Hamza reached down, hooking his fingers into Uzair's pants and pulling them down. He caught sight of the precum-stained fabric of the boxers before ripping them off in one swift, decisive move. He looked at the man laid out in front of him, hard, naked, needy and all his. Uzair’ eyes were heavy lidded, the man looked debauched. “Get on your knees” Uzair groan as he got in the position. He was anticipating a finger, hopefully raw, instead what he got was a swat on his ass. The first slap landed and shocked his system. He wasn’t expecting the shout that left his mouth. Hamza picked a pocket square he had found lying on the bed and shoved it into Uzair’s mouth, muffling the shouts. He pushed Uzair's face back down into the pillow, his hand remaining heavy and possessive on the small of his back.

“Now," Hamza hissed, his voice cold. "Let's talk about your little game. Did you really think playing with Ayaan Mirza was a clever way to get my attention?"

The next slap landed.

"Aah!" Uzair’s groan was muffled, his hips bucking. But Hamza was relentless, a few more smacks to his butt followed.

Uzair’s muffled protests were cut off by yet another sharp blow that left a vivid red stripe across his butt cheek. He was shaking violently now, the heat in his backside blending with the arousal flooding his system.

"You don't play games with me, Uzair" Hamza murmured. He gripped Uzair’s hip, digging his fingers into the flesh to hold him still. "Every time you think about manipulating me, I want you to remember this” With that he delivered the final stinging slap to his butt cheeks.

Hamza whispered “Relax now”, his tone suddenly shifting back to that terrifyingly soft warmth. He began to rub the swollen, crimson skin with a soothing palm, making Uzair moan in a mix of agony and relief. He slowly rearranged Uzair till he was facing him and removed the pocket square from his mouth. He pressed his finger gently under Uzair’s balls, his callused hands moving slowly, pumping him again in slow, deliberate strokes that sent jolts of heat racing through Uzair’s spine. The room smelled of sweat and arousal, the air thick with the wet sounds of skin and labored breathing.

Uzair’s cock twitched against his stomach, leaking steadily, while Hamza’s thumb traced the sensitive underside with maddening patience. Every stroke pulled a broken whimper from Uzair’s throat, his hips jerking helplessly as he chased more friction.

Hamza’s dark eyes never left his face. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Let me see how much you need it.”  He wrapped his free hand around Uzair’s straining length, stroking him in time with the slow press of fingers behind his balls. Uzair’s thighs trembled, his back arching off the bed as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in his gut.

The contrast of Hamza’s powerful frame looming over him broad shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat across his chest only made the surrender sweeter. Uzair reached up, fingers clutching at Hamza’s biceps, grounding himself in the solid warmth of the man above him. “Lube” Hamza asked. Uzair pointed somewhere near the drawer closed to the bed. He barely registers the sound of hamza grabbing it. but what he did feel was Hamza finally slicking his fingers and pressed one inside, Uzair’s breath caught on a moan that sounded almost like a sob. The stretch burned in the best way, Hamza’s finger curling just right to drag over that spot that made stars burst behind Uzair’s eyelids.

“Hamze—please,” he gasped, voice wrecked and begging. Hamza leaned down, capturing his mouth in a deep, possessive kiss while his finger thrust deeper, adding a second with careful patience. Uzair was on the edge, completely lost in the feel of Hamza’s hands and his lips. Hamza could taste himself on Uzair’s tongue, every rational thought had abandoned him in favour of the Uzair laid out before him. Hamza broke the kiss, his breath hot and ragged against Uzair’s skin. He shifted his weight, sliding one hand up from Uzair's hip to his chest. With a slow, deliberate motion, he caught a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the sensitive peak with a firm pressure.

"Haa—!" Uzair’s back arched, a sharp gasp escaping him as a jolt of electricity shot straight to his groin.

"You like that, don't you?" Hamza murmured, his voice a low vibration. He mirrored the action on the other side, pinching and tugging rhythmically. "So responsive. Every little touch has you jumping."

"Mmm... yes... please," Uzair whimpered, his head tossing back against the pillows.

Hamza didn't stop the movement of his fingers inside Uzair; instead, he increased the pace. While his fingers pumped in a steady, driving rhythm, Hamza leaned down, trailing his tongue along the line of Uzair’s collarbone. He flicked his tongue out, teasing the dip of Uzair's throat with wet, swirling licks that made Uzair shiver violently.

"Hamzee... I can't... I am almost—"

"Not yet," Hamza whispered against his skin, his tongue darting out to lick a nipple. He began to pump his fingers faster, curling them upward to hit that precise, aching spot over and over.

"Nnngh! Ah! Right there!" Uzair cried out, his thighs clamping shut instinctively around Hamza’s wrist.

Hamza chuckled, the sound deep in his chest. "Look at you. Just a mess for me." He leaned back up, his tongue tracing a wet line from Uzair's chest up to his ear, whispering filthy promises while his fingers worked relentlessly inside. The friction was becoming unbearable, the pressure building into a mountain of white-hot need.

Uzair’s breathing turned into frantic, shallow pants. "Please... now... I need to—" "Come for me, NOW" Hamza commanded, his voice rough. He accelerated the pumping motion, his fingers sliding in and out with a wet sound.

Uzair’s entire body stiffened, his toes curling and his fingers digging deep into Hamza’s biceps. His groan filled the room. With a final, sharp thrust of Hamza's fingers, Uzair came. His hips bucked violently off the bed as he let out a long, broken moan, his release spraying hot and thick across Hamza’s hand and fingers. He shuddered, the intensity of the orgasm leaving him breathless and quivering, his muscles slowly slackening as he sank back into the mattress.

Hamza stayed there for a moment, looming over him, looking down at his slick, coated fingers with a smirk of pure satisfaction.

"Good boy," he whispered, leaning down to press a tender kiss to Uzair’s sweat-beaded forehead. Uzair was in a space that he just couldn’t define; he was floaty, everything was muted and distant, as if he were drifting in a warm, dark ocean. The sounds of the room, the distant hum of the air conditioner, the ticking of a clock... all of it felt like they were happening in another zip code. He could see Hamza above him, but the edges of his vision were blurred, pulsing softly with the beat of his own slowing heart.

Hamza recognized the look immediately. The glazed eyes, the slack jaw, the way Uzair’s limbs seemed to have lost all their bone structure. He shifted, his movements becoming slow and deliberate.

"You are far away, aren't you?" Hamza whispered.

Uzair tried to answer, but all that came out was a soft, airy hum. "Mmm... hnnn..."

Hamza didn't push for words. He slid out of the bed and disappeared for a moment, returning with a warm, damp cloth. He began to clean Uzair with gentle, sweeping motions, wiping away the sweat and the remnants of their encounter. He was careful around the reddened skin of Uzair's backside, his touch light and mindful.

"Shhh, I have got you," Hamza murmured.

Uzair let out a long, shuddering sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. He felt a strange, profound sense of safety, the anger and the jealousy from earlier completely erased by the overwhelming physical and emotional exhaustion. He felt small, despite his height, safe under Hamza’s care. Hamza pulled the heavy duvet over, cocooning him against the chill of the room. Uzair suddenly grabbed his hand

“Don’t go” he whispered.   “I wasn’t going to” Hamza whispered back

He then climbed back onto the bed, got under the duvet, pulling Uzair’s heavy frame against his chest.

Uzair let out a tiny, contented sound and tucked his face into the crook of Hamza’s neck. He felt the steady thrum of Hamza's heartbeat against his ear, a rhythmic anchor pulling him back to earth.

"You are okay, I have got you" Hamza whispered, kissing the top of his head.

Uzair surrendered to the warmth and the weight of Hamza’s arms, slipping effortlessly from the hazy float of subspace into a deep, dreamless sleep. At 4 a.m., Hamza's alarm went off. He woke instantly, turned to look at the sleeping man beside him, and waited for the regret to come. But it didn't. Instead, something felt right. Something felt complete. Accompanying that however, was fear, the uncertainty of the future, and the knowledge that the world had little room for two men who chose each other against everything it decreed.

He looked at Uzair, leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder before slowly disentangling himself from the man who was part starfish, part octopus in bed; all limbs, and no coordination.

Just as Hamza was slipping on his kurta, Uzair stirred awake.

"You are leaving?" His sleepy voice carried a quiet accusation.

"I have to. If somebody sees us together in the morning..." Hamza let the sentence trail off.

He didn't need to finish it, he knew, Uzair knew.

The warmth that had settled in Uzair's chest the previous night slowly began to fade. With the haze of desire gone, reality settled over him. What had happened between them wasn't something his brother would tolerate under his roof, much less accept.

Instead, he simply nodded.

"Okay." His voice wavered despite his best efforts.

Hamza crossed the room, bent down, and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

"Go back to sleep. I will see you tomorrow."

Somehow, those words were enough. They eased the knot tightening in Uzair's chest, and he let himself drift back into an exhausted sleep that felt strangely incomplete without Hamza beside him.

As Hamza made his way back to his own room, the silence of the haveli seemed to wage war against the quiet peace blooming in his heart. He knew he and Uzair needed to talk. There were things about himself, that Uzair deserved to know the truths Hamza had hidden for far too long.

But that conversation could wait.

For now, Uzair deserved this fragile happiness. He deserved to wake with the memory of tenderness instead of burdens and confessions. And Hamza wanted, just for a little while longer, to hold on to the warmth he had finally found after years of believing it was never meant for him.

Alpha Jaskirat Singh Rangi and Omega Uzair Jan Baloch were once bound by an unbreakable soulmate bond—until love gave way to ambition.

Fifteen years later, fate reunites them as Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi and Dr Uzair Baloch.

Can two men who once lost everything find their way back to each other when life offers them a second chance?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3- Tujhe Bhula Diya

Kaali kaali khaali raaton se hone lagi hai dosti

Khoya khoya in raahon mein Ab mera.. kuchh bhi nahi

Har pal har lamha Main kaise sehta hoon..

Har pal har lamha Main khudh se yeh kehta rehta hoon

Tujhe bhula diya oohh Tujhe bhula diya oohh

The secure research facility looked less like a laboratory and more like a military installation pretending to be one. Uzair honestly had no idea where they were. By they, he meant himself and his team: Dr. Yalina Jamali, Dr. Boman Daruwala, and Dr. Nikhil Deshmukh. They took off from Delhi in a military plane. They were never told where they were headed except that it was a secure facility. They were taken in a van without windows by armed guards.

“Why do I feel we are in a spy movie?” Boman quipped.

“Because, Bomi, facts are right now scarier than fiction,” Uzair replied.

When they arrived, they weren’t ready for what they saw. This was a rather large facility that most of the country wouldn’t know existed. The facility was divided into four secure wings. The Scientific Wing housed laboratories, analysis suites, sample storage vaults, conference rooms, and research offices. The Medical Wing contained isolation units, intensive care wards, patient observation rooms, and a specialized toxicology treatment center. The Military Wing included barracks, an armoury, briefing rooms, and training facilities. A separate Residential Wing provided apartment-style accommodation for senior personnel, along with a cafeteria, recreation areas, and private quarters for key scientific and military staff.

Three layers of fencing surrounded the compound. Armed personnel patrolled the perimeter. Cameras monitored every corridor. Biometric checkpoints divided the facility into increasingly restricted zones.

Once they arrived, they were given a tour of the facility, which was more perfunctory because there were more pressing issues. The residential wing occupied a separate secure section of the facility. Senior personnel were assigned private apartment-style quarters consisting of a bedroom, living area, kitchenette, and workspace. Dr. Uzair Baloch, as Project Lead, occupied one such suite. Nearby apartments housed his team.

Once they were settled in their apartments, they got to work immediately as time was of the essence.

The conference room was already full. There were scientists from DRDO, chemical weapons specialists, military medical officers, intelligence analysts, toxicologists, and pharmacologists.

Everyone looked exhausted. Everyone felt terrified, and their feelings were absolutely justified.

Which Uzair considered excellent; after all, misery should be shared equally.

Dr. Boman Daruwala adjusted his glasses while balancing three files beneath one arm and a cup of tea in the other. Contrary to his last name, the man thrived on tea. Uzair suspected the Boman would somehow survive a nuclear attack by hiding behind a kettle.

Beside him stood Dr. Nikhil Deshmukh, a clinical toxicologist. The only person in the building who routinely ignored Uzair's attempts at intimidation. Then there was Dr Yalina Jamali, one of the brightest minds he ever worked with who also enjoyed making his life difficult.

The conference room doors opened again and Bhansal entered. Almost all conversation died instantly. The display illuminated. The silver canister recovered during Jaskirat's operation appeared on screen.

Bhansal spoke. "The sample recovered in Kashmir completed preliminary analysis at 0400 hours."

The room focused immediately. The first slide appeared. It featured chemical breakdowns, molecular fragments, and toxicological reports.

Uzair took over. "The initial assessment classified Nazf as a potential nerve agent. Current evidence suggests otherwise."

The silence in that room was a testament to the fear they felt of losing the only idea they had of this threat.

Uzair changed the slide and autopsy photographs appeared. Laboratory findings, blood chemistry, and tissue samples filled the screen.

"The victims displayed some neurological symptoms. But those symptoms were secondary. What killed these people was systemic vascular collapse."

" The compound appears to target endothelial tissue," Uzair replied. "We are seeing widespread endothelial injury, disrupting vascular integrity on a systemic level."

A toxicologist spoke from the front row. "That's impossible."

"Normally." Uzair nodded. "Yet here we are."

Then another scientist asks “You are saying that is causing people to bleed…

In simple terms, yes." Uzair changed the slide again. "As the endothelial damage progresses, blood vessels lose their integrity. The result is extensive internal haemorrhage, with external bleeding occurring in many victims as the condition deteriorates."

The next slide appeared, which contained victim timelines, food consumption records, and location data.

"Every confirmed victim consumed food or drink from the same source."

The room immediately became alert.

Bhansal leaned forward. "Contamination?"

"Most likely. The troubling part is timing. The onset intervals varied from 5 to 8 hours."

"That's not normal." One of the pharmacologist said.

Uzair folded his arms. "Whoever developed Nazf wanted delayed presentation."

"Why?" someone asked.

Uzair took a deep breath before continuing. "A delayed toxin complicates source identification."

"In the case of the Delhi attacks, the same contaminated source was consumed by all fifteen people.This wasn’t an attack. This was an experiment."

Uzair's words sent a chill through the room. A few of those present looked sick.

One of the intelligence analysts said, "Dr. Baloch, what are you trying to say?"

"This was a controlled experiment to see and learn the effects of the drug. These people are not the only victims. These are the ones we know of."

"You are suggesting somebody poisoned fifteen civilians deliberately?” Bhansal asked his face giving away nothing.

"I am suggesting somebody poisoned fifteen civilians and considered the outcome acceptable."

A volley of questions came at him which he answered calmly.

"Can it be reproduced?"

"Unknown."

"Can it be mass produced?"s

"Unknown."

"Can we stop it?"

Uzair pauses. "Unknown."

Three hours later he finally escaped. The facility corridors were quieter now. Most teams had returned to their assigned laboratories.

Uzair reviewed data while walking. "No genetic pattern, no dietary pattern, no environmental pattern. These people were chosen at random.

Then he turned a corner and froze. Not because of the data. The tablet slipped from his hand; he barely resisted the crash.

Because of a scent. It was faint, almost imperceptible.

Sandalwood, cedar, and cinnamon.

He knew that scent. It was the scent that haunted his dreams, that teased him cruelly in twisted nightmares.

His pulse stalled; a jagged, terrifying stop before his heart violently kicked back to life, hammering in his chest like a trapped bird. Inside him, his inner omega didn't just react; it convulsed, thrashing against his ribs in a desperate, pathetic mix of terror and instinctual yearning.

Uzair froze, paralyzed by the sheer weight of the air. His throat clamped shut, choking off his breath as a hot, blinding wave of tears flooded his vision. This is not possible. It's been fifteen years.

But his biology didn't care about time. His mind immediately betrayed him, throwing open the floodgates to memories he had spent half his life trying to bury.

The freezing rain. His mud-soaked clothes clinging to his skin. The raw, guttural screams ripping from his own throat….screams that had been completely drowned out by the agonizing, splintering snap of their broken bond.

The phantom searing of that severed connection flared to life all over again, so intense it made him violently nauseous. Every nerve ending rebelled, throbbing with a deep, systemic ache that defied language.

 His stomach roiled, violently threatening to bring up the meagre amount of food he had managed to force down earlier. He was entirely at the mercy of a ghost that had just walked back into his space.

"Sir?"

He heard Yalina's concerned voice. Reality returned, barely, coldly.

Uzair realized he had stopped breathing.

The younger Beta frowned. "Are you alright?"

No, absolutely not. He forced his lungs to work and picked up the broken tablet.

"Did anyone just arrive?"

"Yes, the security detail."

Yalina blinked. She glanced toward the elevators. "The military unit."

Military. The word echoed in the depths of his mind.

Uzair's hand tightened around the broken tablet hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

There were thousands of Alphas in India, millions in the world, but only one smelled like that.

Only one scent had ever lived beneath his skin, the only scent his omega would react to so viscerally. The mindless beast was pulling at every chain Uzair had bound it into.

But that one scent could still make his heart forget fifteen years of discipline.

No.

No.

No.

His rational mind fought desperately. It's the stress, you are tired. You are imagining things.

But his omega already knew. The torn, tattered bond was screaming at him. That cruel instinctive certainty only soul-deep wounds possessed.

Because if special operations personnel had been assigned to protect the facility, Alpha Jaskirat Singh Rangi was no longer impossible. He was probable, he was nearby.

And that realization terrified Uzair far more than Project Nazf ever could.

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Omega Uzair will soon come face to face with Alpha Jaskirat, his heart and mind are a mess and his inner Omega is screaming. How do you think Jaskirat's Alpha is going to react? Let me know what you think about this chapter in the comments :)

Tags- @sanpiece @darkdemonriddle666 @i-might-be-a-dumbo2 @aan-4-u @immortalconfluxmuse @miraclejin1204 @hamzair-is-my-otp

Chapter 15 – On your knees…NOW!

Anyone who knows anything about football in India knows one thing: there are a few states that absolutely lose their minds during the FIFA World Cup—in a ‘Begani Shaadi Mein Abdullah Deewana’ kind of way.

Kerala happens to be one of those states.

A state that can erect forty-foot cut-outs of players from another continent and religiously follow every football match. So when the Kerala Warriors won the Premier League, a spectacular celebration was inevitable. Kochi threw them a parade, and the team lapped it up. For Uzair, it was a moment he would never forget. Streets flooded with fans who were there not just for the team, but for the game itself. It was something he had always advocated for a football culture that lived beyond clubs and trophies.

And today, it had happened. The city had shown up. Fans crowded balconies, climbed rooftops, and packed every inch of the road as the open-top bus carrying the Kerala Warriors crawled through the city. Drums thundered, flags waved, speakers blaring their names. The entire team looked overwhelmed by the reception. Uzair, however, was thriving. He stood at the edge of the bus, grinning so widely his cheeks hurt, waving at everyone he could see. Every few minutes he leaned over the railing to shake hands or grab a flag from an excited supporter.

From a security perspective, Hamza was not a happy man, but understood what this moment meant for Uzair. But that doesn’t mean he was going to let Uzair be his reckless self. When Uzair stretched dangerously far to take a small flag from a child in the crowd, Hamza grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him backward without even looking.

The felicitation ceremony was somehow even more exhausting than the parade. Garlands were draped around their necks. Speeches followed speeches. Politicians seemed to materialize from thin air, each determined to spend ten minutes congratulating the team. Most of it was in Malayalam, which meant Arjun and Sameer spent a lot of time translating.

Uzair smiled dutifully through it all. Beside him, Sameer leaned closer.

"If one more politician calls us 'youth icons,' I am jumping off this stage."

Uzair didn't miss a beat. "Please do. Create a distraction."

The ceremonies, media adulation, and sponsor obligations took another week before the men could finally return home. After heartfelt goodbyes and endless plans for the next season, the team dispersed. Hamza was finally gifted a Kerala Warriors jersey and made to pose in it for the ultimate betrayal of wearing the Punjab jersey. But the stoic man actually managed to crack a smile.

It was a strange feeling. After nearly three months together, something felt off about being away from them. But Uzair was looking forward to going home.

He had no idea what was waiting for him there.

By the time they reached Meerut, Uzair was running on fumes. The celebrations in Kerala had been incredible. The trophy, the parade, the endless cheering crowds, and the felicitations had occupied most of his time. Yet his mind kept returning to Hamza. To the kiss. Hamza had kissed him. Even now, his lips seemed to hold the phantom memory of it.

And since then? Nothing, again! Uzair couldn't make heads or tails of the man's hot-and-cold behaviour. He was as infuriating as he was attractive. It was driving Uzair insane. Every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. Every time Hamza looked at him, hope flared. Every time Hamza retreated behind that infuriating professional mask, it died again. All Uzair wanted was a few days alone to sort through the mess in his head.

Or maybe drag Hamza into a secluded corner and climb him like a tree.

But that would have to wait because once they reached the haveli, it became painfully clear that Rehman Baloch had other plans.

Fireworks at the entrance, while the sound of dhols drowned everything around them. And judging by the number of cars outside, Rehman had invited half of Meerut.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," said Uzair and Hamza at the same time. Uzair said it with delight and Hamza with exasperation.

His nephews spotted him immediately.  "Chachuuuu!" They launched themselves at him. Uzair caught them easily, laughing despite himself. Hamza helped him navigate the throngs of people who suddenly wanted to get far too close.

To people, suddenly he wasn't the impulsive brat anymore. Or the mufat chhota bhai. Or even the Baloch family's resident Casanova. Apparently, now he was a hero. Many of these same relatives had spent years criticizing him, and quite a few of them were quick to look the other way when his 12-year-old orphan self was at the mercy of extended family.

But for once, when he was coming home with a trophy, suddenly he was the mehanti baccha, khandan ki shaan, and the most eligible bachelor. Some of these relatives needed to be launched into the sun, he mused silently with a smile plastered on his face. The hypocrisy was breath-taking.

While he was trying to dodge a shady uncle attempting to force a laddoo into his mouth, a laddoo he very much did not want, he noticed Hamza's posture change instantly. Hamza was looking at Rehman and a group of his men.

The celebration continued around them, but something cold settled in Uzair's stomach.

"What happened?" he asked, making his way toward Rehman.

Rehman lowered the phone slowly. His expression had gone hard. "One of our factories was hit."

The noise of the party suddenly felt very far away. "Babu Dakait," Rehman said grimly. "And Arshad Papu has finally made their move."

The spectre that had been haunting them from afar had finally darkened their doorstep. They had not only made a move, but made it boldly. There was no telling what would happen next.

Uzair, always hot-tempered, pulled the garlands from around his neck. "What are we waiting for? Let's go get them."

"It's over, Uzair. The fire is under control. No loss of life. This was just a message, and the message has been clearly received."

"So we just take it? We don't react?"

"Not now. Not today. Pappu has taken a lot from you, and Babu from me," Rehman said, putting an arm around his cousin, who was still fuming. "They won't take this day from us."

"We can't really react," Donga said. "Not when the world thinks we don’t play those games anymore. Not when the election is this close."

"Let's go. There's a dawat in the making, and I fear your bhabhi more than gang wars. Get all the rest you can. Tomorrow evening, the horde descends."

Uzair groaned. The world of football had temporarily shut down. The clouds seemed darker, and the world suddenly felt more precarious. But then he looked at the man beside him. Hamza stood tall and unshakable. And for some reason, Uzair thought it was going to be okay.

Hamza, on the other hand, did not want this to end in bloodshed. But if it came down to keeping Uzair safe or unleashing hell, Hamza wouldn’t hesitate to burn the world down himself.

By the next afternoon, however, dawat had bulldozed its way over every other crisis in the household. Men were still posted at the gates, security was doubled, and tension ran beneath the surface, but inside the haveli, there were flowers to hang, guests to manage, and no room to breathe.

Calling it a jeet ki dawat had been wildly misleading. Hamza had heard the word and, foolishly, imagined a large but manageable family dinner. What they had actually organized was a full-fledged jashn with enough guests to populate a small town and enough security concerns to keep Hamza and Rizwan working overtime. If Rehman considered someone important, if Ulfat considered them indispensable, or if Uzair had ever so much as fondly mentioned them in passing, they had somehow found their way onto the guest list.

The list alone had Hamza and Rizwan working at double speed since morning, while their teams scrambled to clear as many guests as possible before evening. The problem was that the close family and intimate friends had already started arriving before lunch, which meant the haveli had spent the entire day in a state of escalating chaos. Children tore through the corridors at suicidal speed, aunties occupied every available sofa trading gossip like collectibles, and the kitchen smelled heavenly while sounding like it was preparing for a minor war.

At the center of it all was Ulfat, commanding the household with the efficiency of a decorated field marshal. One sharp instruction from her and the staff scattered, cousins straightened, and even Rehman’s men, hardened criminals, had found themselves meekly carrying extra trays of kebabs because Bhabhi ne kaha hai.

“Those flowers are crooked. And who put the mithai table there?” Ulfat demanded, glaring at a setup that had probably taken six people and two hours. “Do you want people to trip over the rasgullas? Move it. No, not there either. Are you all determined to embarrass me today?”

“Yes, Khaala,” one of the nephews muttered under his breath as he darted past with a coil of fairy lights. “It’s our only hobby.”

Hamza noted with a smile that Rizwan had to fight the urge to snap to attention every time she issued an instruction. Rizwan leaned in beside him, watching Ulfat redirect an entire line of caterers with one imperious flick of her wrist.

 “You know,” he murmured, “if she ever gets bored of running this house, she could overthrow a small government by Friday.”

Hamza didn’t disagree. “By Thursday, and there will be good food.”

Across the courtyard, Rehman stood with a glass in hand and the unmistakable expression of a man watching the love of his life terrorize everyone within a hundred-foot radius and finding it deeply attractive.

Rizwan followed his gaze, then snorted. “Rehman Bhai looks like he’s about to ask his wife to marry him….again.”

Hamza glanced over in time to see Rehman smile faintly to himself as Ulfat ordered three grown men to redo the lighting because it made the entrance look  like a circus.

“Respectfully,” Rizwan added, “I think he’s a little turned on.”

Hamza slowly turned to look at Rizwan, who simply shrugged. “I am not the one staring at my wife like she just conquered Delhi.”

As if summoned by gossip, Rehman wandered over, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Why are you two standing around?” he asked mildly.

Rizwan’s face remained an epitome of innocence. “Admiring the efficiency of the operation, Bhai.”

Rehman hummed, not even pretending to be fooled. His gaze drifted back to Ulfat, who was currently telling a florist that if one more garland drooped, she would make him eat it.

A slow, helpless smile pulled at Rehman’s mouth. “22 years,” he said, with the air of a man sharing state secrets, “and she still makes me nervous.”

Rizwan pressed a hand to his chest. “That’s beautiful, Bhai.”

“It’s survival,” Rehman corrected. “Learn the difference.”

Then Ulfat turned and called, “Rehman! This needs your attention, now.”

Rehman, gangster-turned-businessman, future politician, the man whose name still inspired terror in the district, swaggered over with an easy smile. “Coming Jaan.”

Rizwan watched him go with deep respect. “And that,” he said solemnly, “is what true power looks like.”

On the other side of the haveli, Uzair was in one of the sitting rooms with a handful of old friends, laughing with his whole body and letting them bully him in the way only people who had known him for years could. Watching him like that, loose-limbed, bright-eyed, unguarded; made some of the tension unclench from Hamza’s shoulders before he could stop it.

For one reckless, deeply unhelpful moment, Hamza found himself wondering what it would be like if this was allowed. If he could stand in the middle of this madness not as Uzair’s bodyguard, not as the man assigned to keep him breathing, but as something else entirely. If he could be folded into this life Uzair had built around himself, his loud friends, his impossible family, his nephews who treated every room like a wrestling ring, his victories, his chaos, all of it.

The thought landed with the force of a punch. And just as quickly, Hamza shut it down. The fantasy didn’t survive more than a few seconds before he buried it where it belonged.

Which was exactly when a small pack of women found him and Rizwan.

Hamza noticed them the same way he noticed most things these days; automatically, on instinct, before they had fully crossed the courtyard. Young, expensively dressed, perfectly styled, and looking at the two of them with an interest that had very little to do with security protocols.

Rizwan noticed too and sighed. “I knew wearing this kurta was a mistake. I have made myself too available.”

“I think I need to make a call to your girlfriend,” Hamza said flatly.

“Jealousy is ugly on you.”

Apparently, somewhere between the tailored kurtas, rolled sleeves, concealed weapons, and the general misfortune of being built like men who could bench press a small vehicle, they had been deemed… attractive, if the first round of giggles was anything to go by.

Rizwan pasted on a polite smile as the women approached. “Assalamualaikum.”

One of them smiled back a little too brightly. “Walaikum assalam,” she returned politely, then distractedly looked at Hamza. “Hamza, right? And you are Rizwan?”

Rizwan placed a hand on his chest. “Ji, how can we be of service today… or any day?”

Hamza shot him a look. The woman laughed. “We have heard a lot about you both.”

“All good things, I hope,” Rizwan said.

Another one stepped closer, eyes flicking over Hamza in a way that was subtle only if one had never met a woman determined to flirt under family supervision. “Your hair,” she sighed, “it’s so lovely.”

Hamza nodded once. “Thank you.”

“I wish I had hair like that,” one of the women sighed, openly staring at Hamza’s head with the kind of longing usually reserved for designer handbags outside of their budget range.

“I am genuinely tempted to run my fingers through it. What do you even do to keep it so beautiful?”

That, unfortunately, opened the floodgates.

Did he use oil?

Which shampoo?

Did he blow-dry it?

Was he or is he a model?

A volley of questions landed on Hamza before he could so much as blink.

Rizwan laughed and answered for him. “He does absolutely nothing. His hair just knows better than to disobey him.”

The women burst into laughter.

“Also,” Rizwan added, looking far too pleased with himself, “L’Oréal probably won’t ask him to model anytime soon. But Adivasi hair oil? They might kill for him.”

That got another round of giggles. Rizwan looked deeply proud of himself, like a man who had just delivered a line reserved for stand-up comedies.

Hamza merely smiled because scowling now would probably send half the women fleeing, and he had no desire to become the evening’s accidental villain.

Uzair was half-sprawled over the arm of a sofa while his oldest friends heckled him with the kind of affection only men who had seen his awkward growth stages could manage.

“You still owe me five thousand rupees,” Nadeem informed him.

Uzair looked offended. “That was 2019. Debts expire after three years.”

“That is not how debt works.”

“It is if I am famous enough.”

Another friend, Raj, tossed a cushion at him. “You know what your problem is? Success hasn’t humbled you.”

Uzair was opening his mouth to say something snarky when his attention snagged somewhere over Raj’s shoulder. The grin slipped.

Across the courtyard, near one of the carved pillars, stood Hamza and Rizwan; both in kurtas that looked like they were bursting at the seams, both broad-shouldered and unfairly put together, and both currently trapped in conversation with a cluster of women who looked entirely too pleased with themselves.

One of them was touching Hamza’s shoulder; her hand was dangerously close to the open collar that showed off his chest.

And Hamza, that traitorous, infuriating man! He was being polite about it.

Uzair sat up slowly. Raj followed his line of sight and went still for all of two seconds before a wicked smile spread across his face. “Oh,” he said softly. “That’s interesting.”

Uzair didn’t blink. “What.”

Raj looked between him and the courtyard, then let out a low whistle. “Your bodyguards have game.”

“It’s just wrong-sized clothes.” Uzair grumbled.

And across the courtyard, Hamza, perhaps sensing the force of Uzair’s irritation through sheer atmospheric pressure, looked up. Their eyes met and Hamza could see that one Uzair Jan Baloch wasn’t happy.

That evening, the haveli had transformed into what Uzair privately called a shaadi wala ghar.

Lights draped every balcony, marigold garlands framed the archways, and the entire courtyard glowed gold under strings of fairy lights. Soft ghazals played, elevating the atmosphere. The air smelled of good food and attar while the house buzzed with the kind of festivities only the Baloch family could produce on short notice.

Ulfat bhabhi had outdone herself. In the span of a day, she had turned a homecoming dinner into a full-fledged jashn, and now she moved through the crowd in a silk outfit and diamonds, greeting guests like a queen. Rehman, beside her, looked absurdly pleased with himself.

For once, Uzair didn’t mind it.

He had caused them enough trouble to last several lifetimes. It felt… good, strangely good, to come home with something other than bruises, scandal, or chaos trailing behind him. To give them a night of pride instead of another crisis to manage.

So he behaved or at least, he behaved by Uzair standards. He shook hands with Rehman’s legitimate and not-so-legitimate business associates with equal charm. He posed for photographs with party workers and local politicians who kept calling him qaum ka fakhr as though they always believed in him. He let aunties fuss over him, accepted blessings from uncles he barely tolerated, and smiled sweetly through every backhanded compliment.

And, with great effort and even greater sarcasm, he dodged every rishta attempt launched in his direction.

“Beta, my niece has just finished her MBA”

“Aunty, congratulations to her,” Uzair said warmly, before taking a strategic step sideways. “May she find someone worthy of her degree.”

“Arrey, at least meet her…”

“I am a professional athlete,” he said solemnly. “If I marry her, my fans might get mad.”

The aunty blinked. Donga, overhearing from three feet away, nearly choked on air.

Across the courtyard, Hamza remained very much on duty. Only now he had committed the grave offense of changing into a white festive kurta with gold embroidery and shalwar.

It fit him obscenely well. The olive green one from earlier had already done enough damage, but this was somehow worse: a silk white kurta stretched across broad shoulders, sleeves rolled down, the collar open just enough to reveal the strong line of his throat. His hair had been pulled into a half bun, which should have looked ridiculous on any normal man and instead made him look unfairly attractive in a way Uzair found personally infuriating.

Hamza’s eyes still scanned the crowd with the same relentless sharpness. He was still armed, still alert, still every inch the professional. Which made the fact that at least half a dozen women had spent the evening hovering around him even more offensive.

Uzair had already caught two trying to flirt with him near the mithai table. One had laughed too loudly at something Rizwan said while looking directly at Hamza.

Another had asked Hamza if he was married with the kind of false innocence that should have been illegal .

And Hamza had remained polite through all of it. That was what finally did it.

So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Uzair thought while grinding his teeth. Two can play this game. If Hamza wanted to stand there in white, looking like some deeply repressed fever dream while women practically lined up to admire his hair, then fine. He could have a taste of his own medicine.

The opportunity arrived ten minutes later in the form of Ayaan Mirza.

Uzair spotted him near the drinks table and nearly laughed out loud at the timing. Ayaan was an up-and-coming political golden boy, all sharp suits, old money polish, and carefully managed public respectability. On paper, he was aggressively straight. In reality, Uzair knew exactly how untrue that was.

They had spent some deeply entertaining, thoroughly inadvisable days tangled up together two years ago before mutually agreeing that orgasms were fun and relationships were not on table for either of them.

Ayaan saw him and grinned immediately. “Well,” he drawled, adjusting the cuff of his sherwani, “if it isn’t the hero of the hour.”

Uzair spread his arms. “Please, control yourself. I know I am difficult to resist.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Ayaan said, stepping in for a hug.

Uzair let him, not because he particularly needed the hug, but because, over Ayaan’s shoulder, he could see Hamza. And Hamza could definitely see him.

“Ayaan Mirza in my house,” Uzair said, pulling back just enough to look scandalized. “Should I be worried about my silverware or my reputation?”

“You should be worried about your reputation,” Ayaan replied smoothly. “I have heard things.”

“All lies.”

“Not my experience,” he said with a knowing leer.

To anyone else listening, it sounded harmless. Just old friends teasing. A little too familiar, maybe, but still harmless. To anyone who knew their history, it was something else entirely. And Hamza knew, if Uzair thought he was discreet about his hook-ups, he certainly wasn’t. A good deep search by their Phoenix team had uncovered most of his history, and the rest Hamza could make out from their body language.

Uzair knew he knew because the second he mentioned Ayaan’s name, Hamza’s attention shifted. Not obviously, not enough for anyone else to notice. But Uzair had become very good at reading the man.

Hamza was listening now. Perfect.

“So,” Ayaan said, accepting a drink from a passing server, “I leave town for a few months and come back to find you have won trophies, become respectable, and apparently learned to behave around the media. Who are you and what have you done with our Uzair Baloch?”

Uzair clicked his tongue. “The old me is still here. He just has better PR now.”

“That’s tragic. I preferred you problematic.”

“Oh, I am still problematic,” Uzair said sweetly. “Ask anyone who’s ever had the misfortune of wanting me.”

Ayaan laughed into his glass. “Allah, you are still impossible.”

“And yet you keep coming back.”

Ayaan’s eyes gleamed. “Maybe I enjoy making bad decisions.”

Uzair leaned in just a little, enough to look conspiratorial. “That would be devastating for both our reputations.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Hamza go very still. Not visibly, not dramatically. But still enough that Uzair nearly smiled into his drink.

Over the next half hour, he made sure to stay within Hamza’s orbit. They drifted through the crowd together, talking and laughing with an ease that came from old familiarity and terrible judgment. At one point Ayaan leaned in to murmur something against Uzair’s ear, and Uzair laughed, his hand briefly catching his wrist.

By the end of the night, Hamza had stopped pretending not to notice. He was quieter now. Sharper around the edges. The polite neutrality had disappeared from his face, replaced by something colder, tighter. Every time Uzair glanced at him, he found Hamza already looking, not just watching but tracking.

If Uzair hadn’t been so busy enjoying himself, it might have unnerved him.

By the time the last wave of guests began to leave, the haveli had descended into that strange final stage of a successful party—children asleep on sofas, aunties gathering purses and gossip in equal measure, half-drunk uncles insisting they absolutely did not need drivers, and staff moving through the wreckage with trays of chai.

Uzair was standing near the verandah doors with Ayaan, still talking, when he felt it before he saw it.

Ayaan adjusted the cuff of Uzair’s kurta with intimate precision and said, “So what does your next week look like?”

“I don’t know… what do you want it to look like?”

Before Ayaan could answer, Hamza interrupted. “Ayaan Sahab,” Hamza said, his voice perfectly polite.

Ayaan turned, took one look at Hamza’s face, and said, “Ji,” with practiced politician fake pleasantry.

“Rehman bhai is looking for Mr Baloch.”

Uzair didn’t even glance toward the house. “Then he can call me himself.”

Hamza’s jaw tightened. “I think,” Hamza said after a beat, “you need to come with me.”

Uzair folded his arms. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I will still take you with me.”

Uzair raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

Hamza stepped closer. “No,” Hamza said quietly. “It’s me being polite before I stop being polite.”

Uzair stared at him. There it was. Something darker, hotter and possessive enough to make Uzair’s stomach drop.

Ayaan, who was done with the conversation that yielded nothing for him, took one elegant step backward. “Well,” he said, smoothing the front of his sherwani, “this has been delightful. Uzair, let’s meet soon.”

The moment people were out of sight, Hamza grabbed Uzair’s wrist and dragged him up the stairs all the way to his room. Uzair was pressed back against the heavy mahogany door, the wood cool against his heated skin. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, but as he looked at Hamza, a smug, self-satisfied smirk curled the corners of his lips. The plan had worked perfectly.

Watching Hamza’s jaw clench across the crowded lawn while another guy leaned in entirely too close to Uzair had been intoxicating. The absolute fury in Hamza’s eyes right before he marched across the room, and then practically dragged him up the stairs was the ultimate rush.

Totally worth it, Uzair thought, feeling a thrill of triumph. Hamza didn’t speak right away. He stood less than a foot away, his massive frame completely eclipsing the light from the hallway window. Hamza’s green eyes weren't just angry; they were dark, predatory, and entirely stripped of his usual patient restraint.

"You think you are so clever, don't you?" Hamza’s voice was dangerously low, a deep, gravelly vibration that resonated right in Uzair’s chest. He stepped closer, crowding Uzair into the door until there wasn't a single inch of air between them.

"I just wanted to chat," Uzair lied smoothly, though his breathing was growing shallower. He could feel the intense heat radiating from Hamza’s body, the scent of his expensive cologne mixed with raw, irritated arousal. "And he was a really good conversationalist. Unlike you, sitting in the corner looking like a Sultan of Sulking & Squats "

"Uzair." Just his name, spoken with a quiet, lethal authority, cut Uzair off mid-sentence.

Hamza raised a hand, not to strike, but to cup Uzair’s bearded jaw. His thumb pressed firmly into his jaws, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. The grip wasn't painful, but it was unyielding.

"You spent the last two hours begging for my attention," Hamza murmured, his gaze dropping to Uzair’s mouth before snapping back up. “You wanted to see what it would take to break my patience?"

Uzair swallowed hard, his throat clicking against Hamza’s hand. A heavy, molten heat was pooling low in his stomach. They had only ever kissed, those stolen, frustrating moments, but this was entirely different. The air in the room felt thick, charged with tension that made Uzair’s knees weak. Yet, his stubborn, mouthy nature wouldn't let him back down just yet.

"Maybe I did," Uzair whispered defiantly, his eyes flashing. "What are you going to do about it?"

Hamza let out a slow, dark chuckle that sent a violent shiver straight down Uzair’s spine. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of Uzair’s ear, his hot breath making Uzair gasp.

"I am going to teach you exactly what happens when you play games with me," Hamza promised softly. "You wanted my undivided attention? You wanted me to break rules? You have it. All of it."

Hamza stepped back. Just one single step. The sudden loss of his physical contact made Uzair ache, but before he could move, the atmosphere in the room shifted entirely. Hamza stood at his full height, his shoulders square, his expression carved from stone. He didn't touch Uzair. He didn't reach for him. He simply let the full weight of his presence, his absolute authority, settle over the room like a heavy velvet shroud.

Uzair felt his breath catch in his throat. The primal urge to submit warring with his usual bratty instinct. The heat between his legs was agonizing, his clothes suddenly feeling entirely too tight as his pulse throbbed.

Hamza looked at him, his dark eyes commanding total obedience. When he spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it carried the absolute weight of a king issuing a decree.

"On your knees, NOW."

The words hit Uzair like a physical force. His mouth opened to deliver another sharp, witty comeback, but the sound died in his throat. Looking at Hamza standing there so completely in control, without even needing to lay a finger on him, Uzair’s defiance evaporated, replaced by a desperate, overwhelming wave of arousal.

His mind whirled, entirely short-circuited by the raw power of Hamza’s voice. His body reacted before his brain could even process the surrender.

His knees hit the soft carpet with a muted thud. He sank all the way down, tilting his head back to look up at Hamza, completely undone, hopelessly turned on, and entirely at Hamza's mercy.

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So we are finally here . Uzair will learn a lesson he wont forget and Hamza will break all rules he had for himself... interesting days ahead!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2- Ishq Jalakar Aa Gaya

Na Toh Karvaan Ki Talaash Hai

Na Toh Humsafar Ki Talaash Hai

Mera Shauk Tera Deedaar Hai

Ye Hi Umr Bhar Ki Talaash Hai

Dil Hai Tuta ..Mera… Main Ishq Jala Kar Aa Gaya

Undisclosed Location, June 2026

Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi lowered his binoculars and studied the crumbling stone house nestled against the mountainside. Snow had begun to fall again, coating the pine trees in white and muffling every sound except the steady rush of the river below.

The first kill never belongs to the one who pulls the trigger. It belongs to those who had planned the battlefield. Such battlefields are all Alpha Jaskirat Singh Rangi has known. For the last 15 years, he has walked through fire and waded through blood with nothing but the mission in sight. That’s all there is to his life. After he lost what was meant to be his tether to the world of the living, he chose the company of death, becoming its harbinger.

"Movement," Rizwan whispered beside him.

"I see it," Jaskirat replied.

Three armed men, one sentry, one vehicle with two possible exits. Their objective was clear: eliminate the men, capture the fugitive who had been responsible for more spilled blood than they wanted to think about. Their plan was simple: enter, capture the mark, eliminate him once they got what they wanted, and remove any traces of themselves.

Jaskirat pressed a finger against the earpiece. "Aman."

"Comms jammed," came a swift reply.

"Kabir."

"Target in sight," a calm voice answered.

"Vikram."

"Charges ready." Another smooth voice joined in.

Jaskirat nodded once.

"Go."

The world exploded into motion. Kabir's suppressed rifle cracked once. The sentry collapsed before he even realized he was dead. Vikram breached the rear entrance while Rizwan led the assault from the east flank.

Jaskirat entered through the front, calmly shooting the next two men who reached for a gun. Their mark was now all theirs to play with.

The man they captured was not just a terrorist but also a spy who had been instrumental in funding attacks against India. This was something that awakened a fury in Jaskirat that could have set the world ablaze had he ever allowed it to escape. He was well aware of spy games; his knowledge came at a great cost to him, but everything he did was to keep his nation safe and later avenge the wrongdoings. And here was the man who was responsible for blowing up a children’s hospital!

The Alpha had shed every ounce of clemency within him for enemies. All that was left was cold, dark nothingness. There were no emotions left except loyalty to the nation, to his brothers-in-arms, love for his family, and morals. But mercy? That did not exist, not for scum like the man, the terrorist begging for it.

He calmly raised his gun and shot the man in the neck. Jaskirat sat there watching him bleed out, listening to the gurgling sounds, watching him claw at the air, his eyes growing wide in panic and his face going slack.

The valley was silent once again. Rizwan stepped over the bodies and looked around.

Jaskirat crouched beside the dead man, removing a sealed metal cylinder from the man's jacket. He turned it over in gloved hands. There were no markings, no serial numbers. Just a faded chemical hazard symbol.

Jaskirat handed it to Aman. "Bag it."

Rizwan frowned. "You think this is what Intelligence was after?"

"I think," Jaskirat replied, "someone went to a lot of trouble to move it through the valley."

He stood. "Which means somebody else is waiting to receive it."

The team then walked out as if they had never existed. A mild explosion rocked the area and erased any signs of the attack. Their job here was done.

A day later, their temporary base buzzed with quiet efficiency. The canister they had retrieved had already been sent to the capital, and their part in the operation was over, for now. As a result, the tension that had gripped the camp eased slightly.

Rizwan dropped into the chair opposite Jaskirat. "You know, normal people celebrate successful operations."

Jaskirat continued reading the after-action report. "I wasn't aware we employed normal people."

Rizwan snorted. "When was the last time you took leave?"

"Last year."

"You know, boss, at this rate people are going to forget what you look like."

Before Jaskirat could answer, his secure satellite phone vibrated.

He frowned at the priority code flashing across the screen before answering.

"Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi."

The voice on the other end was crisp, professional, and left no room for argument.

"Major, you and your team are required to report to Delhi immediately. This assignment takes precedence over all current operations."

The line went dead before Jaskirat could ask a single question. That alone was enough to put him on edge. Orders like these were rare, and when they came, they almost never carried good news.

Rizwan watched him closely. "That's your 'I don't like what's happening' face."

Jaskirat slipped the phone into his pocket. "Orders from Delhi."

Rizwan straightened. "New assignment?"

"We are being sent to Delhi."

"When?"

Jaskirat stood and reached for his jacket. "Right now."

South Block, New Delhi.

Every walk through those corridors brought back memories. The polished floors, the silent guards, and the air that breathed secrets. The rooms here were silent spectators that had witnessed decades of decisions ordinary citizens would never know existed.

In one such room, Ajay Sanyal was waiting. He was older than Jaskirat remembered, and apparently age hadn't dulled him. The old Alpha was just as sharp, if not more.

"Sit."

Jaskirat remained standing.

Sanyal sighed. "Still impossible."

"So I am told."

"Intelligence intercepted evidence of a developing chemical weapons programme."

Bhansal, who had been quietly observing, turned on the monitor. The blood-curdling spectacle of people dying filled the screen.

Jaskirat remained stoic and unmoved.

"That canister you retrieved? That was a part of Project Nazf. Jaskirat, they have started, and we have nothing…not even time on our side. The research team is working on it, but right now..."

"We think it might be ISI. We have been responding to their attacks; they know we will no longer stay quiet, so now they are ready to play dirty. This time, we don't know who is and isn't involved."

"You don't trust our people?"

"It's not that I don't trust our people."

He looked up, his Alpha eyes going sharp, his scent of oak and ozone barely registering.

"Hindustaniyon ka sabse bada dushman Hindustani hi hai, Pakistan toh dusre number par aata hai."

"We need enhanced protection for the research team," Bhansal finally contributed to the conversation.

"My unit?"

"Your unit."

"When do we deploy?"

"Tomorrow."

Jaskirat closed the folder. "I will need twenty-four hours to brief my men."

Sanyal didn't answer. Instead, he reached into another file, opened it, and placed it face down on the desk.

Dr. Uzair Jan Baloch.

Project Lead.

For one impossible second, the room disappeared.

All Jaskirat could see was rain, rains that no longer felt the same. All he could smell through the haze of memories was the scent of peach, vanilla, and hints of honey. An Omega's scream that he still heard on most nights. A bond that had never been completed but had still managed to break them both. All he could feel was the pain that ripped him apart.

His legs gave way, and he finally took the chair he had so stubbornly refused.

Then fifteen years of discipline slammed back into place.

Jaskirat's face didn't show any hint of the turmoil his heart had been through. His temporary loss of control, was evident in his scent; sandalwood, cedar, and cinnamon, now rapidly disappearing from the room.

Only the folder beneath his hand bent slightly. "Assign someone else," he gritted out.

Ajay Sanyal looked at him for a long moment. "This wasn't a request, Rangi. It's an order."

"I am requesting reassignment."

"Request denied."

"You have dozens of qualified officers."

"I have one Major Jaskirat Singh Rangi."

"You have no idea what you are asking."

"I know exactly what I am asking."

Silence stretched between them. Finally, Jaskirat spoke with barely suppressed rage and heartache. "That life is gone, he is gone.... You already took fifteen years from me." From us was implied.

Sanyal's expression didn't change, but something softened in his eyes.

"You volunteered."

"I accepted orders."

"You accepted a mission nobody else could have completed."

Jaskirat laughed once. The sound held no amusement. "I accepted because I thought I'd be back... back before..."

He did not bother completing the sentence. How does one explain that he tore his soul in half for his duty?

Sanyal finally broke the silence. "There is no one else I would trust with his security."

Jaskirat stared at the photograph. Uzair looked older, more composed. No longer the audacious rebel, but a dignified scientist.

That meant he had healed, it meant he had forgotten. It meant one of them had survived.

Sanyal pushed the file closer. "It's not just a scientist you are protecting. You are protecting the facility that’s our last hope and the man who would keep the nation safe. You are protecting your ome—"

Jaskirat closed his eyes for exactly one heartbeat. "Don't... don't say it."

When he opened them again, the soldier had returned. He picked up the file and squared his shoulders and saluted.

"Orders acknowledged, sir."

Outside the office, Delhi carried on as though nothing had changed.

Chapter 14 - You Deserve the World

A crowd of yellow and blue waited for the Kerala Warriors as they landed in Kochi. It looked like the whole city had decided that welcoming the team was far more important than anything else. The team was excited, overwhelmed, and tried to navigate through what Hamza had charmingly called a security shit show. Uzair loved every moment of it. While his heart was still on the mend, the part of his soul that lived for football was soaring high. But he wasn't a stranger to this routine. They had been here three times. But this time, something felt different: the new point system, their dream run to the finals, the performance... everything seemed to push them towards the edge of something. How they would fare would be completely on them.

The crowd, however, had different ideas. The number of camera flashes was blinding, and the journalists were not above shoving the mic down any players' throats. The only ones the players paused for were a few autographs; Uzair, in particular, could never deny kids. Hamza, meanwhile, stayed close by, guiding him with the same professional courtesy that Uzair now detested. By the time they were on the bus, he was done. Emotionally, he had checked out. He was overwhelmed, excited, heartbroken, and the churning miasma of everything left him nauseous.

 But he needed to soldier on, for the fans, for this team, for this famil, his friends... most importantly, for the young boy who grew up playing in the streets before his childhood was violently snatched away. He wanted to win for them. He put on the face that the camera loved and decided the next three days belonged to him, not to Hamza. The man may have a chokehold over his heart, but right now, Uzair Baloch belonged to the game, and the game belonged to him.

The team, on their way to the hotel, could see countless fans following the bus. That was common. Uzair was on a call, coordinating with his bhai, who had confirmed that he, Ulfat, and the kids would be flying down for the finals.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team was absolutely wired.

Sameer, who had been scrolling through his phone the entire ride, suddenly piped up.

"Yo! Social media is going nuts, man."

 "Get off the phone, man. There is nothing good there." Vitor said tiredly.

"Just staying informed, dude," Sameer defended himself. "I am looking at the comments."

He cleared his throat dramatically. “Uzair can fix my entire bloodline. I need him to rail me.'"

The entire bus burst into laughter.

"No, wait, I am not done!" Sameer loudly. "Here's another one."

He squinted at the screen. "'Uzair Baloch could snap me like a twig, and I would thank him, respectfully.'"

Uzair looked befuddled. "Is that a new position?"

Sameer scrolled again. "Oh, this one just says, 'Uzair, breed me.'"

The bus nearly exploded.

"It can't just be me," Uzair said, red in the face. "There have to be things about you guys too."

Sameer gasped. "Oh no... There is something juicy about Hamza."

"Ooooh, here's a good one." He grinned.

"'He is a sexy hairy daddy now... but give me a chance, and he will be my baby daddy.'"

The bus was full of players hooting. Uzair didn't look particularly pleased, but he forced out a laugh.

"Your fans are..."

Sameer interrupted him. "No, wait. This is my favourite."

He took a dramatic breath. "'Sexy hairy daddy needs to bend me over—'"

"Finish that sentence, and you will be the one being bent over." Hamza finally spoke, without looking away from his own phone.

For two seconds, there was complete silence. Then the entire bus erupted.

Uzair sat frozen, caught somewhere between laughter and something that he refused to name.

For the briefest moment, amusement softened his expression. Then, just as quickly, he masked his emotions.

The next morning began far too early for a team that had spent the previous evening surviving airports, fans, and social media. Players drifted into breakfast in training gear, some looking half asleep and others already nursing their third coffee. Recovery was hardly any kinder. Half the squad lay on yoga mats groaning through stretches while the physios remained unimpressed.

Uzair struggled through his own routine as Hamza stood watching everyone like a disappointed drill sergeant.  Open training finally rescued everyone's mood. With the media allowed in for fifteen minutes and children filling one side of the stands, the atmosphere turned festive. Uzair signed jerseys, nutmegged Sameer three times in succession, celebrated every training goal like it was the winning strike in a World Cup final, and laughed louder than he had in weeks.

Watching from the touchline, Hamza noticed what everyone else did too: football was the only place where Uzair forgot everything that hurt.

Just as he and Hamza entered the hotel lobby, a flying blur launched itself at him. This time, however, Hamza didn't intervene. The loud, unmistakable "Chachu!" gave the culprit away.

Faizal practically tackled his uncle to the ground, the only reason Uzair stayed upright being his own strength and Hamza's steady hand at his back. Naieem was next, far more composed but somehow hugging even tighter, grumbling as Uzair immediately ruined his carefully styled hair.

His Bhabhi embraced him, and for a moment Uzair didn't want to let go. He had missed her warmth; it felt like home. But it was his brother's tight hug that finally undid him.

Every emotion of the last week threatened to resurface. He barely held himself together. He had missed home, missed his family, and carrying feelings he couldn't speak to anyone about was slowly eating him alive. This... this hug, this was a balm for his soul. It fixed nothing, but at least it reminded him that he still had something to hold on to.

Rehman felt it the moment he wrapped his arms around his cousin. Something was wrong.

He had held this boy since the day Uzair lost his parents. He had hugged him after crushing defeats, after his so-called breakups, after injuries and disappointments and countless moments in between. Something about this embrace screamed pain. Pain that Uzair wasn't letting anyone see.

"Kya hua? Sab theek?"

Uzair quickly wiped the tears from his face. “ Haan bhai, just... missed you... all of you.”

It was a flimsy excuse, but one Rehman accepted, for the moment.

Before the situation could grow any heavier, Donga and Siyahi appeared, each dragging a mountain of luggage that nobody else had bothered to pick up. Their arrival broke the tension instantly, followed by good-natured teasing, complaints about free labour, and Rizwan taking every opportunity to rib Hamza.

Eventually everyone drifted towards their rooms. Everyone except Rehman. As he watched Uzair laugh just a little too loudly and smile just a little too brightly, he made up his mind.

Later that night, he was going to have a conversation with Hamza.

The dinner that night slowly transformed into bedlam and nobody minded.

The Kerala Warriors had barely managed to claim one corner before wives, children and relatives of half the squad began filtering in, turning a five-star hotel dining area into something that resembled a particularly loud family wedding.

Vitor's twins were already chasing Rahul through the room while their mother apologised to absolutely everyone.

"They are on holiday," Rahul declared as one of them attempted to climb him like a tree. "I am legally required to entertain them."

Nearby, Sameer was staring suspiciously at the two men loading what looked like enough food for four people on their plates.

He pointed at Donga. “Wait... don't you work for Uzair's brother?"

Donga bit into a chicken leg with complete seriousness. "Correct. I am the Chief of Security for Rehman bhai."

Sameer nodded slowly while Karan added, "Why does that somehow sound like you are actually the head henchman?"

Donga replied without missing a beat,"...Former henchman actually."

Sameer went completely still; Arjun, who was nearby, looked both impressed and intimidated.

Very quietly, without taking his eyes off Donga, Sameer sidestepped until he was standing next to Uzair.

"Bro."

"Hmm?"

"Why are you always surrounded by people with body counts?" Sameer quietly asked.

Uzair didn't even blink. "They are amazing people, quite skilled too.

Siyahi walked by with his plate. “Killed? Oh yeah, about that…”

Sameer decided he had heard enough. "You are surrounded by dangerous people."

From somewhere behind them, Rizwan called out, "You have no idea."

“Oh, we do,” one of the players said. “The iceman is scary all by himself,” he said, pointing to Hamza.

“He is not Iceman,” Uzair spoke before he could stop himself. “More like Sexy but sasta Wolverine,” he grumbled.

Hamza’s expression changed for a bit, and no one except Rizwan noted.

After dinner, Rehman called Hamza to his room, and once they were alone on the balcony, he closed the glass doors and lit a cigarette. For a long moment, neither man spoke.

Finally, Rehman broke the silence. "Something has happened to him."

Hamza remained still. "I don't know what you mean, bhai."

"Don't insult my intelligence," Rehman sighed. "I have raised that boy since he was twelve. He laughs when he's hurting, smiles when he's scared. Today he hugged me like he was trying not to fall apart."

A muscle in Hamza's jaw tightened. "Even if I knew what was troubling him," he said quietly, "I still wouldn't betray Uzair's trust."

Rehman looked at him for a second before the corners of his mouth lifted into a reluctant smile.

"Loyal to a fault." He leaned against the railing.

"Maybe it's just the final. Maybe it's Arshad Pappu and Babu Dakait. Things have been far too quiet, and that worries me more than gunfire." Rehman tried to rationalize.

Hamza nodded once. " I have accounted for every possibility; no harm will come to him as long as I am standing."

"I know." Rehman placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know you won't let anything happen to him."

Hamza looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "Yes, bhai."

The word scraped against his throat. Because protecting Uzair from bullets and blades was easy. Protecting his heart from the truth had been impossible. And the deepest wound Uzair carried now was one Hamza had inflicted himself.

Rizwan knocked on the door to Hamza’s room and walked in uninvited, shut the door behind him, and leaned against it.

"Alright," he said simply. "Spill."

Hamza simply went back to the report he was typing. "There's nothing to spill; you have been getting my reports, and I have been calling you almost every day."

Rizwan snorted. He folded his arms. "None of that tells me why the two people I left in Delhi look like strangers. What happened?"

"Nothing."

Rizwan waited.

"I said nothing happened."

Still, Rizwan said nothing. The silence stretched until Hamza finally snapped.

"I told you nothing happened!" he barked. "And even if something did happen, it's none of your business"

Rizwan didn't react. He simply watched Hamza pace the room, watched the carefully controlled mask finally begin to crack.

Then, very quietly, he spoke. "Jaskirat."

Hamza closed his eyes. When he finally spoke again, the anger was gone; he told Rizwan everything.

The kiss, Uzair's confession, and the way he had stepped back. The words he wished he could take back. How every day since had felt like a knife being plunged into him, twisting harder. Rizwan listened without interrupting once. When Hamza finished, the room fell silent.

Rizwan sighed. "I know it goes against our company policy and personal rules."

He looked at his oldest friend. "But for once...couldn't you overlook them? Just long enough to be happy?"

A tired laugh escaped Hamza. "Happiness has a very steep price."

His gaze drifted towards the dark window. "And you know the price I have already paid."

Rizwan did know, because some relationships not just leave a mark, they leave a living monument.

"It won't be the same this time," Rizwan said softly.

Hamza smiled without humour. “No, it will be worse. "Because this time, it’s not just someone completely out of my league."

His voice was barely above a whisper. "It's someone whose hand I can't even hold in public."

A long silence settled between them. "How exactly are we supposed to survive that?"

Rizwan searched for an answer and found none. Before he could speak, Hamza inhaled slowly, blinking hard until the shine in his eyes disappeared.

"Right now," he said steadily, "all I can do is keep him safe."

His jaw tightened. "That's all I can give him. And I will do that well."

Rizwan stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. Neither man spoke.

For the first time in years, Hamza allowed himself to lean into the quiet certainty that someone else knew the weight he was carrying.

His eyes closed; he never let the tears fall; he didn't need to. Rizwan had already seen them.

The final match day arrived, and the dressing room was quiet.

The coach looked around once. “Forget the last three years. Forget the losses. Forget the pressure. Forget everything waiting outside. You have done the work. Trust yourselves.

The captain stepped forward, held out his hand and spoke with the conviction and power of a general leading his men to a war. "Remember why you started playing. Play for the boy who chased a ball through dusty streets until the sun went down. Play for the kids in the stands who dream of wearing this jersey or any jersey one day. Play for the thousands already screaming themselves hoarse before we have even kicked a ball." He took a slow breath. "Play for the passion that brought us here."

"Don't chase the trophy. Chase the game. Chase every tackle, every pass, every loose ball, every second."

He pointed towards the tunnel, where the roar of the stadium was growing louder.

"And if we play the way we fell in love with football...the cup will follow us."

One by one, hands stacked together.

"No fear. No regrets."

“No fear, no regrets” the team chanted, getting louder and louder till it was time to go.

Players began filing towards the tunnel. Uzair was about to walk when someone caught his sleeve.

Hamza.

Without a word, he straightened a crease that wasn't there, smoothed the cuff, and checked the wrist tape one last time. Only then did he lean close enough for Uzair alone to hear.

"Go win."

Their eyes met for a heartbeat. Uzair smiled—the first completely unguarded smile Hamza had seen in days.

“Watch me,” Uzair whispered back.

Then he turned and walked into the deafening roar of fifty thousand voices.

Bengal Heritage struck first, their winger curling an unstoppable effort into the top corner to silence Kochi for all of thirty seconds. The Kerala Warriors found their voice again, and answered before halftime when Vitor rose above two defenders to thunder home a header.

The second half became a battle of nerves. Every tackle drew a roar, every save felt like a goal and every misplaced pass earned collective groans from fifty thousand supporters. The yellow wave, as the supporters are infamously called, were a formidable force.

With eight minutes remaining, Sameer intercepted a loose ball and drove forward before slipping a perfectly weighted pass into space.

Uzair was already moving. He cut inside one defender, glided past another and, as the goalkeeper rushed out, buried a low strike into the far corner. For a heartbeat, the stadium fell silent. Then Kochi erupted.

The final minutes lasted a lifetime. Bengal threw bodies forward, Kerala defended with everything they had and the referee's whistle was drowned beneath a wall of noise.

Three years of heartbreak had finally ended.

The entire squad crashed into one another in a laughing, a shouting pile of yellow and blue. There were bone-crushing hugs, backslaps that would eventually bruise, cheers and tears nobody bothered to hide.

Vitor, the captain, dropped to his knees, pressing both palms against the grass as if he needed to feel it beneath him to believe the moment was real. Arjun, usually the calmest man in the squad, was yelling incoherently at the Kochi sky. Even the substitutes and coaching staff had abandoned all dignity, sprinting onto the pitch to join the celebrations. Around them, fifty thousand voices merged into a single deafening roar.

And in the middle of it all, Uzair Baloch laughed like the little boy who had once chased a football through narrow streets with nothing but impossible dreams in his heart. The historic Domestic Double was theirs.

The booming voice of the stadium announcer cut through the deafening roar of fans. "Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the presentation stage for the season’s major individual honors!"

The award ceremony was a blur of adrenaline, lights and sound. The presentation stage soon became a blur of pure emotion as the individual honours were announced. The massive, LED-lit podium in the center circle glowed brilliantly under the stadium floodlights. The ceremony kicked off with the Golden Glove. The moment Kwame’s name echoed over the PA, the squad went wild.

Then, the announcer’s voice shifted, hitting a crescendo that sent a shiver straight down Uzair’s spine. "For breath-taking display of sheer talent... the Golden Ball goes to the Vice-Captain, Uzair Baloch!"

Dani was awarded Emerging Player of the Season while Arjun walked away with The Golden Boot.

Next came the crowning of the squad. One by one, the players lined up as VIPs draped the heavy, gold championship medals around their necks. Then came the ultimate flex. The captain hoisted the gleaming silver Cup, yellow and blue confetti erupted instantly, raining down on the team as the stadium shook beneath their feet.

Once the official photographs ended, the barriers opened and the pitch transformed into something far more intimate than a football stadium.

Faizal and Naieem took turns wearing Uzair's winner's medal with exaggerated seriousness. Ulfat laughed through happy tears as Rehman wrapped an arm around all of them, a photographer capturing the moment before anyone could blink.

Uzair shifted the trophy, the children changed poses for the tenth time, and another chorus of laughter followed. Everywhere he looked, there was joy.

Kwame had his fiancée spun off her feet in a crushing embrace, both of them laughing into each other's shoulders. Vitor had abandoned all dignity, kissing his wife before scooping both his children into his arms, the trophy balanced precariously between them.

Even Arjun, usually allergic to public displays of affection, stood awkwardly beside his girlfriend while Sameer loudly directed them into increasingly embarrassing poses. A few yards away, the coach stood with his wife, her hand resting proudly on the medal hanging around his neck as they smiled for yet another photograph.

While Karan was busy impressing any and every woman who dared to walk nearby, and Rahul was rolling on the pitch with his girlfriend, whom Karan lovingly referred to as his "flavour of the month"; it was impossible not to smile.

Then, almost instinctively, Uzair looked at Hamza, barely five feet away, keeping a respectful distance from the celebrations while maintaining a watchful eye over all of them.

Their eyes met for just a second, Uzair’s with a question he dared not ask.

Did I make you proud?

Hamza nodded back, with eyes that held admiration. 

Every single moment

His gaze drifted back to the families, the embraces, the stolen kisses, the children climbing over their parents, the effortless intimacy that everyone else seemed to wear as naturally as breathing. Everyone had that, their person, everyone except him.

For a moment, he wanted his intrusive thoughts to win, just grab Hamza, kiss him, and consequences be damned. But he knew. He just knew.

The rest of the night dissolved into a haze of media interviews, sponsor bytes, and their victory lap. By the time the team finally reached the dressing room, it was complete pandemonium.

Champagne bottles were popping in every direction, someone drenched him in alcohol before he could escape, music blasted from a portable speaker, and every few seconds another teammate pulled him into a crushing hug. There were chants, dances, laughter that bordered on hysterical, and huddles filled with exhausted men who had finally achieved the impossible.

The celebrations continued at the hotel, where the team owners, the family, and friends had gathered. Every corner buzzed with life. Families mingled, tables overflowed with food, and there was far more alcohol than anyone should have been allowed near a championship trophy. By the time things finally began to wind down, most of the wives and children had retreated to their rooms.

The only ones still working were Hamza, Rizwan, Donga and Siyahi, quietly doing what they always did—keeping everyone safe.

Uzair had refused to drink more than two glasses. He wanted to remember this night. Not lose it to an alcohol-fuelled blur. The walk back to his room felt strangely quiet.

The Golden Ball was still clutched in one hand, his winner's medal resting against his chest. He placed the trophy carefully on the table, almost reverently, before slipping the medal over his head and letting it fall beside it.

Hamza noticed immediately. "Are you alright?"

Uzair looked at him. It was the warmest question Hamza had asked him in days, and somehow, that made everything worse.

"I am on top of the world," he said with a shaky laugh. "I am genuinely happy. We won, we actually won." His voice faltered. "But there was this moment on the pitch..." He looked away. "Everyone had someone. Wives, girlfriends, fiancées... hell, Rahul was practically making out on the grass." A helpless smile escaped him before disappearing just as quickly. "They could hug the person they loved without thinking twice."

His eyes met Hamza's.

"What about me?" The question was barely more than a whisper. "Don't I deserve that too?"

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling shakily. "For one moment, all I could think was, consequences be damned. I just wanted to kiss you in front of our friends, our families, the fans, the god... the whole world."

A choked laugh escaped him before he continued.

"But then I thought about the fans. My team. How long we have all waited for this. I couldn't let that moment become about Uzair Baloch.

For a long moment, Hamza said nothing.

Then, with deliberate, measured steps, he picked up the medal from the table and walked toward Uzair. Tonight, for the first time in years, he allowed himself to step completely outside the invisible lines that had governed his life. Not for himself, for Uzair. For two souls who had carried enough duty, grief, and punishment to last a lifetime. Whatever waited beyond this room could wait a few minutes longer.

He slipped the medal back around Uzair's neck, but his hands didn't drop. Instead, his large, calloused palms slid upward, gently cupping Uzair’s face. The contrast was striking, the fierce, unyielding protector holding Uzair as though he were something infinitely precious, something remarkably fragile.

"I am so sorry, Uzair; you deserve more than I can ever give you; you deserve the world," Hamza said, his deep voice thick with an emotion he had spent years suffocating. "And don't let anyone convince you otherwise."

Things were far from okay. Uzair hadn't forgiven Hamza. Nothing had been fixed, and everything was just as broken as before. But for now, they had this moment.

Uzair’s breath hitched, his eyes dropping to Hamza’s lips just as Hamza closed the distance between them.

The kiss wasn't born of impulse or desperation; it was pure, unadulterated devotion. It was a soft, bruising confession, an apology for every silent mile, a promise Hamza could never speak aloud, and a fierce reclamation of everything they had denied themselves. Hamza’s thumbs brushed against Uzair's cheekbones, anchoring him, while Uzair’s hands instinctively tangled into the fabric of Hamza’s shirt, pulling him closer, desperate to melt the cold space that had kept them apart for so long.

When they finally pulled apart, Uzair kept his eyes closed for a second longer, savoring the lingering warmth on his lips, before opening them to search Hamza's face.

A small, completely unguarded smile touched Uzair's lips. "Hamze," he repeated that name once again as he brushed his lips against Hamza’s

The moment the name left his lips, Uzair understood something with perfect clarity. Jaskirat belonged to another life. Jassi belonged to old memories. Hamza belonged to the world. But Hamze—the soft name that existed only between them—was his alone. Whatever the future held, no one could take that from him.

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Chapter 1 – Sajna Jad Tu Chhadd Ke Gaya Ve

Tere ishq ne yaara aisa naach nachaya

Tere ishq ne yaara aisa naach nachaya

Chitte baddlaan ne sooha rang barsaya

Tere ishq ne yaara aisa naach nachaya

Prologue

The one thing Omega Uzair Baloch would remember the most about that evening was the rain.

It was raining when his heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces. It was raining when his tears disappeared into the downpour, leaving the sky to mourn what he no longer could. The world blurred beneath ropes of silver plowing the earth with a vengeance, yet through the storm he saw everything with unbearable clarity.

He saw his Alpha walk away. Jaskirat Singh Rangi, his soulmate, his fated one, the man who had once promised him forever…kept walking without a second glance, heedless to the soul wrecking scream that tore through their bond. Even the torrential downpour couldn't wash away the phantom trace of Jaskirat's scent…a cruel, lingering ghost that would haunt Uzair for years.

He did not see Uzair crumple to the ground. He did not see him fall to his knees. He was deaf to the howl that ripped itself from Uzair's chest, a sound too ragged and broken to form words. The freezing mud seeped through his clothes, clinging to his skin, but the chill of the storm was nothing compared to the absolute, hollow winter expanding inside his chest.

Uzair knew with terrifying certainty that warmth would never reach him again.

Uzair remembers reaching a trembling hand into the empty air, his fingers catching nothing but cold rain and the suffocating, decay of a dying bond. 

What Uzair remembered most, however, were the cruel words Jaskirat left behind. Those parting syllables echoed endlessly in the dark caverns of his mind, a relentless, looping curse. He polished them until they became the only remnants of a bond that throbbed like a festering wound.

Their relationship was now a disturbing shrine built from abandonment and devotion in equal measure. The heart that had once housed his Alpha was now a graveyard, a cemetery of broken promises and unanswered prayers, every memory another battered headstone.

He wandered those ruins sometimes, tracing the remains of a story that had twisted into something monstrous, no longer a romance but a cautionary tale whispered by his soul, it served well to remind him love was not meant for him.

Relationships were a beautiful lie people told themselves until reality ripped off its mask and revealed the ugly grotesque facts beneath it.  Nothing in this world could thaw the heart he had frozen into oblivion.

15 Years Later – June 2026

Dr. Uzair Jan Baloch stared at the data projected across his monitor, absently marking anomalies while pretending not to hear the increasingly dramatic sighs coming from behind him.

He had been hiding out in his lab trying to ignore his team's persistent efforts to drag him out for a drink.

"Live a little," Dr Yalina Jamali whined.

"I am alive," he deadpanned.

"Not with that attitude."

She leaned against his desk, a mischievous grin on her face.

"So, how did the date with that Alpha go?"

"What Alpha?"

"The one your bhai set you up with."

Uzair racked his brain. "Oh. That guy." He shrugged. "He bored me with cryptocurrency talk so I blocked his number."

Yalina groaned. "You really need to get out more often."

"I need you to get out of my office more often," he snarked.

It had no effect on Yalina, who continued spinning lazily in his office chair.

Yalina Jamali was his research associate and, by far, his favourite protégé. He wasn't ever going to admit that to her.

“You know you would be much less grumpy if you got some alpha di..”

The ringing of his phone provided the escape he desperately needed.

Dr. Uzair Baloch had exactly three rules and this call was violating his rule no 3.

Rule 1- No meetings before nine.

Rule 2 - No paperwork in the laboratory.

Rule 3 - Absolutely no phone calls from Delhi.

The first two rules existed because people were incapable of reading emails. The third existed because every time someone from the capital called, weeks of carefully planned research vanished beneath bureaucratic urgency.

Yalina stopped spinning in the chair "Another rejected Alpha?"

Uzair didn't bother looking up from his monitor. "Dr. Uzair Baloch."

The voice on the other end was calm, controlled. "This is Bhansal."

Uzair straightened instinctively. Everyone working under the Defence Research and Development Organisation knew the name, even if few had ever met the man.

"Sir."

"I need you in Delhi."

Uzair glanced at the clock. "My team is in the middle of validating—"

"You have thirty minutes."

The line went dead with no explanation, or briefing and absolutely no room for argument.

"...Should I be worried?" Yalina looked at him sharply.

Uzair closed his laptop. "Probably."

That evening, hours later he found himself walking through security at South Block.

It was the usual song and dance of identity checks, biometric scans and armed escort.

Even for someone with the highest scientific clearance available to a civilian researcher, the protocol was excessive but he understood the need. The conference room waiting beyond the final door was surprisingly ordinary.

A large table, a wall-sized display and just two men.

One he recognized immediately, Ajay Sanyal the Director of IB .

The other was Sushant Bhansal, Deputy Director of the IB, who looked exactly as he had last seen him expressionless and immaculate.

Ajay Sanyal  gestured to the empty chair. "Dr. Baloch."

Uzair nodded "You wanted to see me."

Bhansal slid a thin classified file across the polished table.

"What do you know about Project Nazf?"

Uzair didn't even open it. "Nothing."

Sanyal leaned back. “Nothing?"

"It doesn't exist." Uzair continued. "It's an academic myth. A theoretical nerve agent occasionally mentioned in old conference papers and chemistry forums. You will find aspiring chemist whispering about it or occasional conspiracy theorists ranting about it in deep bowels of internet.

The scientist in him took over.

"This supposed nerve agent is not real. There is no verified synthesis, no confirmed samples, and no reproducible mechanism. It's a fairy tale toxicologist tell postgraduate students."

Silence settled across the room. Bhansal pressed a button.

The display behind him flickered to life. It showed security footage of a small office. The timestamp read 9:00 a.m. Around fifteen employees occupied their cubicles, walking, talking, working, sipping tea, checking their phones, and answering emails.

The timestamp advanced, hours passed. The time now showed 5:00 p.m.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a young man paused and touched his nose, his fingers slick with blood, his pristine white shirt turning crimson by the second. Across the office, a young woman gagged violently, blood spilling from her mouth onto her desk. A third employee collapsed inside her cubicle, her body convulsing once before going still. The security camera caught only one final image; thin rivulets of blood leaking from the corners of her wide, unblinking eyes.

Within seconds the office dissolved into chaos.

People screamed covered in blood, writhing in pain they couldn’t describe. Some rushed to help, staggering through the office, leaving bloody handprints across white desks and glass partitions. Others simply collapsed where they stood, death claiming them before anyone could understand what was happening.

The footage ended, nobody spoke. Bhansal wordlessly passed the controller to Uzair who replayed the final thirty seconds again. Then once more.

His expression never changed; only his breathing did. Finally, he opened the file.

"...This is impossible. This is supposed to be a deranged chemist's pipe dream."

Ajay Sanyal folded his hands. "So you keep saying. But as you can see, it's no longer a fairy tale. It's reality. Fifteen people are dead, Dr. Baloch. This is not just a dream… but a real goddamned nightmare."

Uzair stared at the frozen image on the screen. "If this is what I think it is..."

He stopped. For the first time in years, uncertainty crossed his face.

Ajay Sanyal quietly asked, "What?"

Uzair looked at him. "...Then the people who collapsed aren't the only victims."

Bhansal slid another folder across the table.

CLASSIFIED

MULTI-AGENCY JOINT TASK FORCE

LEAD SCIENTIFIC CONSULTANT

DR. UZAIR JAN BALOCH

EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY

Sanyal stood.

"Your laboratory has already been relocated to a secure government facility. You will have unrestricted authority over all scientific operations."

"What you need, you get. What you ask for, we find."

Uzair remained seated.

"And if I fail?"

Ajay Sanyal met his eyes. "You won't."

Outside, rain began striking the windows.

For reasons he couldn't explain, the sound made something deep inside his chest ache.

Ignoring it, Dr. Uzair Jan Baloch picked up the classified file and followed the two men out of the room.

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Alright folks here it is! This is the first time i have ever ventured into omegaverse and I am super nervous and excited!

Would love your suggestions and opinion on this story .. Let me know your thoughts in the comments.

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Tags - @sanpiece @darkdemonriddle666 @i-might-be-a-dumbo2 @aan-4-u @immortalconfluxmuse @miraclejin1204 @hamzair-is-my-otp