abey bsdk Imran kaun!?

The smell of gun oil and cold steel used to cling to your father's clothes every evening when he returned from Rehman Baloch's factory. But now, the house only smelled of antiseptic and despair.

When the stroke hit, it took away the right side of his body and, with it, the only income keeping your family afloat. With a paralyzed father, a weeping mother, and two younger siblings to feed, the mantle of breadwinner fell onto your shoulders. You had no choice but to go to the one man who held the keys to your survival: Rehman Baloch.

Rehman Baloch's haveli was as intimidating as the man himself. A formidable figure in the underworld, he sat behind his massive mahogany desk, his sharp eyes studying you as you made your plea.

"Sardar..." you began, your voice trembling but resolute. "Abba ab chal phir nahi sakte. Ghar mein maa, chota bhai aur behen hain bhooke marne ki halat mein. Mujhe factory mein koi bhi kaam de dijiye, main kar lungi."

Rehman took a drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around his hardened features. He remembered your father's loyalty. "Gun factory ka mahaul aurton ke liye theek nahi hai," Rehman replied, his baritone voice echoing in the quiet study. He paused, thinking of his own family. "Mera chota beta hai, Faizal. Uski dekh-bhal ke liye kisi ki zaroorat hai. Haveli mein rahogi, Faizal ki aaya bankar. Tankhwa tumhari umeed se zyada hogi. Manzoor hai?"

You nodded instantly. It was a lifeline.

Life in the Baloch household was unexpectedly warm at first. You became fiercely protective of little Faizal, and in return, Rehman and his wife, Ulfat, treated you with respect. Ulfat Baloch was a striking woman, radiating the fierce pride of a mother who had birthed the heir to the Baloch empire: Naieem.

But in their world, peace was always borrowed time.

The news came on a Tuesday night. Naieem had attended a close friend's wedding. What was supposed to be a night of celebration turned into a massacre when a rival gangster, Babu Dakit, ambushed the venue. When Naieem's blood-soaked body was brought into the courtyard, the Baloch household shattered. The wails that tore from Ulfat's throat didn't sound human.

As weeks turned into months, the fierce matriarch faded into a ghost. One evening, you walked into the living room to find Ulfat sitting in a rocking chair, softly humming a lullaby. Cradled against her chest was a lifeless porcelain doll, wrapped in an old baby blanket.

"Sshh..." Ulfat whispered, glaring at Rehman as he stepped into the room, his eyes red and exhausted. "Mera Naieem so raha hai. Shor mat karo, Rehman. Usse neend aa rahi hai."

Rehman dropped to his knees beside her. "Ulfat, khuda ke liye hosh mein aao. Yeh khilona hai... Naieem jaa chuka hai, meri jaan."

Ulfat clutched the doll tighter, her eyes flashing with a terrifying, hollow anger. "Jhoote ho tum! Yeh raha mera bacha! Babu Dakit kuch nahi kar paya usse!"

Rehman was a man who commanded an army, but in the face of his wife's broken psyche, he was utterly powerless. Doctors were brought in quietly. The psychiatrist suggested that bringing a new life into the house, another baby, might snap Ulfat out of her psychosis and give her maternal instincts a real anchor.

But Ulfat had gone through early menopause. She was completely infertile. There would be no more children for the Baloch family.

Months passed. You did your best to keep Faizal away from the silences that had settled into every room. One afternoon, you were in the courtyard with Faizal. You were chasing him, your laughter mixing with his pure, innocent giggles. You picked him up, spinning him around before pressing a warm kiss to his forehead. For a moment, the heavy shadows over the haveli seemed to lift.

From the second-floor balcony, Ulfat watched you.

She held the porcelain doll to her chest, but something behind her eyes clicked into place , the way it did when she used to give orders. She didn't see a maid playing with her son. She saw a mother. She saw warmth, youth, and life.

Without a word, Ulfat turned and walked straight to Rehman's study. He looked up from his ledgers, startled by her sudden presence. For the first time in months, she wasn't looking at the doll. She was looking right at him.

"Rehman..." she said, her voice eerily calm. "Mujhe mera Naieem wapas chahiye."

Rehman sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "Ulfat, hum is bare mein baat kar chuke hain. Main majboor hoon..."

"Nahi. Ek rasta hai," she interrupted, walking to the window and pointing down at the courtyard where you were holding Faizal's hand. "Dekho usse," Ulfat whispered, her breath fogging the glass. "Faizal uske paas kitna khush hai. Usme jaan hai, Rehman. Uska khoon garam hai. Woh mujhe mera Naieem lauta sakti hai."

Rehman had put men in the ground with his bare hands. He had never flinched. He flinched now.

"Tum janti ho tum kya keh rahi ho, Ulfat? Woh humari mulazim hai."

Ulfat turned to him, tears streaming down her face, but her jaw was set with terrifying determination. She stepped closer, grabbing Rehman's collar with trembling hands.

"Ek aur nikah kar lo, Rehman. Usse apni biwi banao."

Rehman stared at her in stunned silence.

"Mujhe mera bacha chahiye, Rehman," Ulfat sobbed, her voice breaking. "Uski kokh se mera Naieem wapas aayega. Tumhe yeh karna hoga... mere liye. Humare liye."

Outside, you smiled and wiped dirt from Faizal's cheek.

Taglist:— [want to be tagged? just ask 🤍] 👇

@anxiousbeeing @aditititiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii @abolitionistlawpluscoffee @afortoru @avasif @blossomedfloweroflove @batata04 @cvclee @chai-aur-chaand @chocolate-and-trouble @carpediemdps707 @crimsontraditiongolem @dilfconisuer @debsreads21 @falakrazzaq @gloriouspurpose01 @gulaabjamun08 @goldenharrysworld @gehra-hua @harrystyleskiwi9 @hereforfanfictionsfr @itsnotmai @kamalkafool @khlomoneyyyy4 @lavenderwinkle @laal-pari @miaaaow @miraclejin1204 @malekathesimp68 @main-apni-favorite-nahi-hoon @mainyahaankyunhoon @niyadarealart @nahhaaaas @nimrskunk @ooopssssu @philosophical38 @pn28 @precioussophia @peonies7002 @rosiasthings @rehmandakaitswife @sea-breeze-in-my-hair @scornedloverr @sabii5 @st4rmiist @seasonofthenerd @saniisinsane @written-in-ishq @writrsblu

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You thought you’d eventually get sick of the smell of flowers.

As a florist, you worked with flowers daily to the point that you thought you were numb to the sight and smell of them.

But, no.

Even three years into opening your florist, you still looked forward to walking into the sweet and earthy scent of flowers.

While the scent was not a problem, off late, the number of flowers that lay wilting in your shop was.

Over the last six months, you had seen your competitors close shop one by one, and your customers had dwindled.

Even your regulars - the old men that bought jasmines for their begums, and the young men who bought bouquets for theirs - were coming by lesser and lesser.

You had to get to the bottom of this.

You decided to head over to Salim chacha’s florist down the street to ask if he had any news.

—

“Chacha,” you entered his shop, only to see the man with his head in his hands, “Chacha, sab kahiriyat se hai?”

“Y/N,” he looked up. Salim chacha, though technically being your rival in the business, was the one who had shown you the ropes. He celebrated your wins like they were his own, and your failures were both yours to learn from.

To see the usually happy man down in the dumps scared you.

“Chacha, aap bade mayoos lag rahein hain?”

“Woh bas,” he took a deep breath, “mujhe dukaan bandh karni padegi”.

“Kya?”

“Bas aaj subah hisaab kar rahe the. Agar hum do aur mahine khule rahe toh main toh kangaal ho jaunga”.

“Par chacha, woh kyun? Yeh sab kya ho raha hai? Mobeena baji ne bhi pichle mahine dukaan bandh ki thi. Yeh sab kyun?”

You sat next to him, staring off into the distance.

“Yeh sab uss Rehman Dakait ki wajah se hai,” Salim chacha muttered, “Jab se usne apna export business khola hai-”

“Kya? Kaun?”

“Rehman Baloch. Woh, Lyari ka gunda,” he scoffed, “Uss ne kuch aath mahine pehle koi export business khola tha phoolon ka. Hum sab se bahut kam daam mein phool bechta hai. Isiliye hum sab ke gahak wahaan jaa rahe hain”.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking weary, “Chalo achcha hai meri bachchi ka nikaah toh ho gaya. Ab bas mujhe kisi tarah humare din ka dekhna hoga”.

You looked at the lines that seemed to have appeared on his face almost overnight, anger rising through you.

You stood up, “Chacha, aap fikr na karein. Main unse baat karungi”.

“Kya?” he stood up, and held your wrist, “Khabardar jo uske paas gayi. Tum jaanti nahi woh kya karta hai - aghwa karta hai logon ko. Upar se farzi bandook ka kaam, bhatah khuri, aur na jaane kya. Tum bilkul door rehna usse”. He let go of your wrist and looked into your eyes, “Aur ab tumhe bhi kisi aur kaam ke baare me soch lena chahiye. Uske daamon ka hum muqabla bilkul nahi kar sakte”.

After promising Salim chacha you wouldn’t get involved, you walked straight to Lyari to break that promise.

—

Surprisingly, he wasn’t hard to find.

Right near Cheel Chowk, where you had stopped for chai, you noticed a building that looked like it was one breeze away from crumbling into dust.

At the entrance was a green board with golden letters, “Baloch Rose Export House” and a gaudy red rose painted under it.

You finished the last of your chai and wiped your mouth before walking straight to the entrance.

“Mohatarma, kahaan jaana hai?” a bald man asked just as you came closer to the entrance.

“Rehman Dakait se milna hai”.

“Aap kaun?”

“Main Y/N, meri phoolon ki dukaan hai Kalakot ki taraf”.

The man’s furrowed brows eased a little and he smirked, “Bhai se ladne ka iraada toh nahi? Woh itni asaani se-”

“Aap ka naam?” you interrupted his spiel.

“N-naam?”

“Aap ka naam?” you repeated yourself slowly.

The man blinked, before saying, “Donga”.

“Achcha, Donga bhaisaab, mera Rehman Dakait se milna bahut zaroori hai. Unse kuch sawaal karne hain”.

“S-Sawaal”.

“Aap har baat repeat kyun karte hain?”

The man straightened up, looking miffed, “Aap yahin rukein, main check kar kar aata hun”.

He made you wait for seven and a half minutes (you counted), before reappearing and gesturing towards the door, “Chalein”.

—

The warehouse, if it could be called that, smelled of roses.

But not the way you were used to them. This smelled synthetic, like cheap perfume. You scrunched your nose as you walked through the dimly lit wall.

A group of three men side-eyed you as you walked into the main cabin.

Donga stood outside, “Aap jayein. Bhai ki bees minute mein dusri meeting hai, toh-”

“Mujhe sirf paanch minute chahiye,” you cut him off and entered the room without knocking.

The man in front of you didn’t appear intimidating, but when his gaze met yours, a shiver went down your spine.

“Rehman Dakait?”

“Ji,” he stood up, surprisingly polite, and gestured to the seat opposite him, “Donga bata raha tha aap ko mujh se kuch sawaal karne hain?”

You smiled up at him as you sat, “Ji haan”.

He returned to his seat and nodded, “Batayein”.

“Pehla sawaal - aap apne aap ko kya samajhte hain?”

“J-ji? Aap kya-?”

You leaned back into your seat, “Aap jaante hain ki aap ki wajah se pichle chhe mahinon mein paanch dukaane bandh ho chuki hain?”

“Dekhiye, aap zara tameez se-”

“Aur,” you interrupted him, “Aaj ek aur dukaan ko aap ki wajah se bandh hona padega? Aap ko kya khushi milti hai chote dukaanon ke haath se khaana cheenne mein?”

You huffed, “Main samajh nahi pa rahi thi ki aap apne phool itne saste daamon mein kaise bechte hain? Par yahaan aa kar pata chala ki aap toh asli phool bechte bhi nahin hain! Synthetic perfume wale phool bech rahein hai aap!”

“Bas”. His voice was low, but it shut you up immediately, “Aap sab ke business bandh ho rahein hain, iss mein meri koi galti nahi hai. Aap ko business chalan nahi aata hai, toh main kya karun?”

You got red in the face, and were about to retort, when a knock interrupted the tension-filled room.

“Haan?” Rehman called out.

“Bhai,” Donga opened the door, “Shirani saab aa gayein hain”.

Rehman stood up and looked at you, “Agli baar appointment le kar aayein. Waise bhi aap ko mujhse zyaada zaroori koi kaam nahi hoga”.

He left before you could scream.

—

The news of Zarwari’s death reached you just as you were exiting a meeting with a client.

Yalina Jamali was getting married to Hamza, who worked with Rehman. She wanted you to do the flowers for her mehendi - “Mujhe har kone mein gulaab chahiye. Green chhodo, meri mehendi toh ekdum red hot honi chahiye!”

You sat in your office, the news of Zarwari’s death playing in the background as you ran the numbers. With the cost of labour, you wouldn’t be able to afford the roses. Granted, the mehendi was a month away, but you didn’t have enough time to build capital for it. Yalina’s deposit barely covered the transportation cost.

You sighed, staring at your accounting books in front of you, when another thought hit you - would your vendor even be able to get you that large an amount of roses at such short notice? He’d definitely charge you a premium amount.

You wondered if there was a vendor somewhere in the city who could give you a massive amount of roses for a cheaper price.

The name struck you like a bolt of lightning and you groaned, head in your hands.

—

“Bhai, Zarwari saab ke liye ek achcha sa guldasta le kar jaana hoga,” Uzair insisted, “Image hi sab kuch hoti hai”.

“Woh sab toh theek hai, Uzair, par koi gulfarosh toh dikh hi nahi raha,” Rehman muttered, opening the buttons of his jacket.

“Bhai,” Uzair said sheepishly, “Woh toh humari wajah-” he cut himself off when Rehman glared at him.

The door burst open and the brothers looked up, stunned. You stood at the entrance nervously, clutching your bag tight.

“Bhai, main inko bas rok hi raha tha,” Donga entered the room, apologetic.

Rehman waved a hand to dismiss him, before turning to you, “Kaha tha na appointment le kar aana?”

“Aap ko Zarwari saab ke liye guldasta chahiye?” you said, breathlessly. You thanked your lucky stars you had overheard a bit of their conversation, which you were undeniably going to use as leverage.

“Aap ko kaise pata?” Uzair asked, but Rehman replied, “Bahar se sunn rahi thi”.

You nodded shamelessly, and sat on the couch next to Rehman, who moved away.

“Aap ke liye main ekdum behtareen guldasta banaungi. Aisa jisse kabhi kisi ne pure mulq mein nahi dekha hoga”.

“Aur badle mein kya chahiye?” Uzair asked, folding his arms.

“Woh. Woh, mujhe ek bada order mila hai. Uss ke liye gulaab chahiye. Ek mahine mein”.

Rehman let out a boisterous laugh, “Toh tumhein meri madad chahiye, par tum mujhe guldaste de kar mujh par ehsaan kar rahi ho?” He shifted forward, “Can you even afford the roses?”

You clenched your jaw, before smiling sweetly at him, “Yalina Jamali ki mehendi hai. Ab aap apne Hamza ki biwi ko khafa na karein”.

“Main khud us ke paas gulaab bhej dun, tum se kyun?”

“Kyunki aap bhijwa toh denge, unhein arrange kaun karega?”

“Woh hum dekh lenge,” Uzair snarked.

“Waise hi, jaise aap log Zarwari saab ke liye guldasta banayenge?” you asked, faking innocence.

Uzair’s jaw twitched, the beginnings of a smile right at the corner of his mouth, before he turned away.

Rehman shook his head at his brother, before turning to you, “20% discount pe gulaab dunga”.

You laughed, “Isse achcha toh main order hi gawa dun. Aap mujhe gulaab dein, main aap ko guldasta”.

“Yeh barabari ka exchange nahi hai,” he scoffed.

“Aap ke gulaabon ke daam ke hisaab se mera guldasta zyaada expensive hai”.

Uzair snorted into his fist, before leaving the room quickly.

Rehman looked at him leave with exasperation, before turning to you, “Mulq ne nahi dekha ho - aisa guldasta”.

—

The bouquet was incredible, Rehman had to admit. You met him at his warehouse before he had to leave for the janaza, with a massive wreath in your hand. He eyed it, noting that you had used premium flowers - expensive lilies, carnations, and roses - all in white.

“Isse behtareen guldasta wahaan nahi hoga, yeh meri guarantee hai,” you said, handing it over. Your fingers lightly brushed his as he gently took the wreath from you.

He nodded, “Gulaab do hafton mein tumhari dukaan pe aa jayenge”.

You nodded and looked around, “Aisa lag raha hai aap sab koi jung mein jaa rahein hai”.

“Yeh jung hi hai, bibi,” Uzair piped up from behind, “Ab Pakistan ko naya leader chahiye”.

“Zarwari saab ko guzre hue ek pura din bhi nahi hua hai”.

“Aap ko kya lagta hai, baaki sab kya kar rahein hain? Jameel bhai toh raaton raat hi wahaan guldasta le kar pahunch gaye the”.

You shook your head, “Khair, ab hum aam awaam ko kya pata”.

“Pata hona chahiye,” Rehman said, “Pakistan aap ka hai. Aap ki awaaz se hi aap ka neta chuna jata hai”.

You stared at him, before teasing gently, “Ekdum neta jaisi baat ki hai”.

You stood up, “Main nikalti hun. Jung ke liye all the best”. You waved at Uzair, nodded at Rehman and made your way out.

—

Salim chacha was at the venue, helping you create an arch, when Rehman came over. You looked at him, jaw hanging open, “Aap yahaan kyun aaye?”

“Aap ki gulaabon ki delivery ke liye”.

“Haan, par aap kyun aaye?” you emphasised. Salim chacha looked aghast.

“Hamza ki begum ka function hai. Koi kami nahi rehni chahiye,” he said, looking away. You noticed the back of his neck turn pink and looked away, noticing Salim chacha’s expression.

After he finally left, Salim chacha turned to you, “Tum ne gulaab Rehman Dakait se mangwaye?”

“Ji,” you said,eyes lowered slightly, “Aur koi vendor itne kam waqt mein delivery nahi de paa raha tha”.

Salim chacha folded his arms, “Tum jaanti ho, na-”

“Haan,” you interrupted, “Par mere paas aur koi option nahi tha”.

“Tum bas khayal rakhna,” Salim chacha said, “Jo woh dikhta hai, woh hai nahi”.

—

The function went without a hitch, with Yalina finding you in the midst of it, “Thank you! Decoration bahut sundar hai, aur phool kitne tazaa hai!” You smiled and nodded, your mind still stuck on Salim chacha’s words from earlier.

Halfway through the function, Hamza and the boys came in as well, Rehman trailing towards the end. He looked at the guys in fondness, before his eyes met yours. He sauntered over, almost too casually, “Aap ne mehendi lagwai?”

“Ji nahi, main kaam se aayi hun, mehman ki tarah nahi”.

He nodded awkwardly, before sighing, “Salim ne jo kaha tha, woh baat mujh tak aa gayi thi”.

“Aur?”

“Aur woh sahi keh rahein hain. Main jaisa diktha hun, waisa nahi hun”.

You scoffed, “Woh toh mujhe tab hi pata chal gaya tha jab aap ne itne saare gulfaroshon ki dukaanein bandh karwai thi”.

He shook his head, lightly smiling, “Aap sach mein gazab hain”.

“Thank you”.

“Woh compliment nahi tha”.

You huffed, “Aap yahaan function ke liye aayein hain na? Jaiye, mehendi lagwaiye ya naachein. Bas mujh se baat na karein”.

He laughed again, before joining the circle of men that had started to dance.

—

You couldn’t pinpoint how, but Lyari had changed. Suddenly, things were quiet. The streets seemed emptier, and the usual ruckus was nowhere to be found.

While it seemed like the end of times, you had something more important to focus on - your business. Or, well, the lack of it. You looked at the wilted stems in your hands, wondering if it was too late to start a potpourri business.

No one seemed interested in buying flowers anymore. It was almost as if the whole country was observing a mourning period in the wake of Zarwari’s passing. 

You were walking through Cheel Chowk, when you came across a massive poster with two very familiar faces on it. Rehman Dakait and Uzair Baloch on either side of the poster, with some message about a new dawn for Lyari on it.

You scoffed, walking past it, “Yeh sudhaarenge Lyari ko”.

“Bharosa nahi hai hum pe?” you heard Rehman’s voice from behind you. You whirled around, noting he was all alone today - no Uzair, no Donga, no entourage.

“Aap akele?”

“Aap bhi toh akeli hain”.

“Mera picha toh nahi kar rahe?” you asked cheekily.

To your satisfaction, a light dusting of pink covered his cheeks as he vehemently denied it, “Cheel Chowk mein sirf ek aap hi nahi guzarti hain”.

You turned back around, when he started walking next to you, “Waise aap kya keh rahi thi? Hum kyun nahi sudhaarenge Lyari ko?” 

“Lyari ke aam logon ke muh se nivala cheen rahein hain, aur bade aaye Lyari ko sudhaarne wale,” you turned to him, “ Aap jaise logon ki wajah se hi Lyari ki yeh haalat hai”.

“Mujh jaise log?”

“Ji haan,” you pressed on, “Wahi, jo gunda gardi kartein hain. Chote dukaanon se unka business cheen te hain”.

“Maine kahaa tha aap se, unka bandh hone se mera koi lena-dena-”

“Hai! Lena dena hai!” you teared up, “Mobeena baji, Salim chacha, aur ab main! Hum sab apna dhandha kho chuke hain!”

“Aap ka dhandha bandh nahi hone dunga”.

“Aur baaki sab ka? Aap apne aap ko logo ka neta keh bhi kaise sakte hain,” you shook your head in distaste and walked away, leaving him behind.

—

Three weeks had passed, and you were buried in your accounts, wondering how you were going to make ends meet. With no clear answer, you decided to head to Aalam’s Juice Shop for doodh soda, before returning home to stress cry.

You ordered your usual and sat in a corner, your eye catching the twelve o’clock news playing on the old television in the shop. As the newscaster announced the Rehman Dakait’s People Aman Committee was going to enter the elections this year, your eyes widened. How was it so easy for a thug to join politics!

But what made you spit your doodh soda out was the newscaster announcing that Baloch Rose Export House would also close its doors. You didn’t wait for the newscaster to finish his spiel, you grabbed your bag and stalked towards his warehouse.

—

When you reached the crumbling entrance, Donga didn’t stop you, he simply stepped away from the entrance, almost as though he had been waiting to see you.

“Yeh sab kya tamasha hai?” you burst in through the door, ignoring Uzair’s yelp. Rehman flexed his jaw, before looking at Uzair, who stood up and silently walked out.

“Tamasha?”

“Yeh - yeh Baloch Export House bandh karna! Ab jab sab gulfaroshon ko kangaal kar diya toh khud apna business bandh kar rahein hain?”

Rehman sighed, “Main politics join kar raha hun. Aur sach kahun, toh achcha neta ban’na chahta hun… Tum uss din sahi keh rahi thi. Lyari ke aam logon ke muh se nivala cheen’ne wala  Lyari ko kaise sudhaarega? Isiliye main sab sahi karna chahta hun”.

You sat down, dazed, “Aap yeh sab vote ke liye kar rahein hain”.

“Shuruat toh waise hi hui thi,” he confessed, “Par Cheel Chowk mein tumhari baatein sun kar laga ki tum sahi ho. Uzair se yahi baat chal rahi hai ki hum apne sab farzi dhande bandh karenge”.

“Itni aasaani se sab theek nahi hota hai”.

“Sahi keh rahi ho. Par kahin na kahin toh shuruat karni hogi”.

He stood up, “Waise iske baad tumhare paas hi aane wala tha”.

You looked up at him, “Kyun?”

He left the room for a second and returned with a bouquet of fresh red roses. When he handed them over to you, you smelled them, surprised with how fresh they smelled.

“Yeh aap ke phool nahin hai”.

“Nahi,” he admitted, “Salim bhai se mangwaye the. Khaas tumhare liye”.

He sat next to you and took your hand in his. You left it there, not commenting on the way his thumb had started to caress your knuckles.

“Aaj se Lyari ke har gulfarosh ko mera sasta maal nahi, balki meri hifaazat milegi. Jo bhi aap logon ko tang karega, woh mujh se milega”.

“Par un sab ki dukaanein wapis nahi aayengi,” you said quietly.

“Nahi,” his thumb stilled, “Par main wada karta hun ki aisa phir kabhi nahi hoga”.

You looked at the roses in your hands, “Aap yeh mat samajhna ki maine aap ko maaf kar diya hai”.

“Bilkul nahi”. You could hear the smile creep into his voice.

“Netaon ko sabr seekhna padhta hai”.

“Seekh hi raha hun-” 

You smacked his arm lightly, “Mazaak na karein!”

He sat up straight, “Bilkul nahi”.

You stood up, roses clenched in your hands and started to walk out. You stopped at the door and turned slightly, “Election ke baad, agar sab theek ho jaye, aur logon ki zindagi aap sach mein theek karein, toh aap ko Aalam bhai ke yahaan doodh soda pilaungi”.

He laughed lightly, “Main puri jaan lagadunga”.

You left the warehouse, a soft smile on your face, and the smell of fresh roses around you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Tag list cont’d. (If you'd like to be added/removed please let me know!) 

Boss!Rehman who comes back to the haveli from the warehouse at noon to quickly get some files but is received with maid!reader bent over on his table, cleaning it thoroughly when he opened the door to his study. He stops in his track and stares at her very pleasing bottom, gulping as he traces his mind to the last time he got laid. Too long, he realises and wonders why he's never made a move on you.

A pretty thing like you shouldn't have been working for him, but he couldn't refuse you when you came to him three months ago, begging for any job so you can survive. He couldn't offer you anything at the warehouse, no no, a sweet girl like you shouldn't be around all that danger (and men). So he told you that you can help around the haveli, and he even offered to let you stay there if you did well. Clearly, you did, and here you were.

Rehman stared at your figure for a few minutes, before clearing his throat to let you know of his presence. You jumped at the sound, and turned to him with wide eyes, greeting him with a sheepish smile that did nothing to ease the bulge in his pants.

He stood there, evaluating you like you were furniture, and you began to walk towards the door, thinking he might want his privacy. But he blocks your way with his body, and steps close to you until there's barely any space between the two of you.

He raises his hand to cup your chin, rubbing his thumb on your cheek in a way that has you squirming beneath his touch. He gently begins to ask you about yourself, questioning whether you like the job and if you're satisfied with it. You nod eagerly, yapping about how great he is for providing for you and how grateful you are to him for everything.

He simply pouts as a reply, going quiet, and your ever-caring attitude shines through as you ask him what has happened. He smirks inwardly at the concern in your voice, and leads you to sit on the chair in front of his desk as he "confesses" how he hasn't been feeling satisfied with his life lately. Your worry only heightens, and your doe eyes fill with curiosity and determination to help him. He saved you when you had no means of surviving – he put a roof over your head, gave you a job, paying you far more than you actually deserved. You were just showing him gratitude.

So when he unbuckles his belt and pulls out his cock, you're more than glad to help him. A wave of confusion falls over you as you stare at his length, hard and leaking, and he simply pats your cheek with a smile, asking you to suck it for him. You open your mouth, and struggle with how fucking thick he is. Your eyes well up, and choke just a minute in. It's clear that you've never done this before. The thought pleases Rehman more than he liked to admit.

He straightens up, and pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop before gathering your hair in a makeshift ponytail. You look up at him through your lashes with complete faith, and he almost feels bad. Almost. He reminds you to breathe through your nose, and the next thing you know he's thrusting in and out of your mouth at a pace that has you clawing at his pants. He doesn't pay attention to it, too pleased by how warm your mouth is.

He throws his head back, groaning as he praises you for being so good for him. The filthy noises of you struggling to take his cock fills the room, and soon a guttural groan follows as he finishes. He pulls out, and instructs you to swallow every drop, watching as your dazed eyes obey diligently.

He then gently takes your hand to make you stand, and places you atop his desk, spreading your legs to stand between them. His cock was still out, and it was still hard. He needed more.

He kissed the back of your palm, whining about needing to fuck your pussy too. You're too fucked to understand, and he takes that as a yes as he untied your pants.

He pulls you to the edge of the desk, and impatiently tears off your panties before examining your bare cunt with a smirk. Wet, and ready for him. He doesn't have time to prepare you, not when he had to get back to the warehouse soon. He didn't bother closing the door to the study either. It's his house. Who's gonna stop him?

Without wasting any more time, he pushed his cock into your tight cunt in a single thrust, relishing at how you immediately clamped around him with a cry. You looped your arms around his shoulders, and he held you close to his chest as he moved. If it wasn't for the fact that he was pounding you, it would've been a sweet scene.

His thrusts were quick, aiming to finish as soon as possible. He kissed your mouth, swallowing your moans, and his hand wandered down to rub your clit just the right way. His other hand wrapped around your throat, pressing hard enough to make you light headed.

He pushed your shoulders to make you lay down on the table completely, and propped your legs upon his shoulder hitting at a new angle. You screamed at the sensation, and his eyes remained stuck to where you were connected.

He then bent down just enough, and spat on your clit, before continuing to rub it between his fingers.You were seeing stars. His thrusts soon turned sloppy, and your back arched off the table as he spilled himself inside you. You came with him, your mess mixing with his.

After catching his breath, Rehman pulled out of you with a groan, and watched your leaking cunt with a satisfied smile as he tucked himself back into his pathani suit. He bent down to kiss your forehead, and tapped your thigh before calmly instructing you to clean the rest of his office thoroughly before he gets back. He walked out with that, leaving you there to clean yourself and the room that now smelled of sweat and sex.

Oh you were so fucked.

author's thoughts while writing this:

The first thing to go was your breath.

It came in ragged, uneven gasps that burned all the way down to your lungs, each inhale sharper than the last. The freezing mountain air felt less like air and more like shattered glass, scraping against the back of your throat until even swallowing became agony.

You couldn't tell whether the wetness on your face came from melting snow or your own tears. Perhaps both. Your boots plunged deep into the untouched snow with every desperate step, sinking almost to your ankles before you tore them free again. The effort was becoming unbearable. Your legs felt impossibly heavy. Every muscle screamed in protest, begging you to stop. But stopping meant dying.

A branch whipped across your cheek as you stumbled through the darkness of the forest, your shoulder crashing against another tree hard enough to make stars burst across your vision.

You bit down on a cry.

No. You couldn't make a sound. Not when he was still behind you. Your chest rose violently as you fought for another breath. The roof of your mouth had gone frighteningly dry. Every frantic inhale stripped away what little warmth remained until the skin inside your mouth felt raw, almost torn apart by the cold itself.

Your vision blurred. You couldn't feel your fingertips anymore. You weren't even sure you could feel your feet. Still...You ran. Because fear was stronger than pain. A sob escaped before you could stop it. You nearly slipped down a snow-covered embankment, catching yourself against the rough trunk of an old pine. Your palms scraped against frozen bark as you pressed yourself behind it, forcing a trembling hand over your mouth.

'Please...Please...vo na sunne bas.'

Silence settled over the forest. Not true silence. The wind whispered through the trees. Snow drifted lazily between the branches. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cried into the darkness. Then—

Crunch.

You froze.

Crunch.

Another step.

Slow.

Measured.

The sound wasn't frantic. He wasn't chasing you anymore. He was walking. As though he already knew you couldn't get very far. Your heart lurched painfully against your ribs. Tears spilled freely down your cheeks.

Maaf karien... mumma...

The thought arrived without warning. Followed almost immediately by another. They were right.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

The sound came again slow, steady, and unhurried. Not the frantic pounding of someone chasing prey desperate not to lose it.

No.

These footsteps carried something far worse. Patience. You pressed yourself harder against the rough bark, every muscle trembling so violently you were terrified he'd hear your body before he heard your breathing. He wasn't running. He didn't need to. The heavy soles of his boots crushed the fresh snow one measured step at a time, the sound echoing through the silent forest with unbearable clarity.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Your pulse thundered inside your ears until it almost drowned everything else out. Almost. Because then his voice drifted through the trees calm, deep, and unshaken. "Aap bohot door tak nahi jaa payengi." A pause. Another slow footstep. Crunch. "Baraf ek ajeeb cheez hoti hai." His tone almost sounded conversational. As though the two of you were still strolling through the market. "Har qadam ka nishaan sambhal kar rakhti hai."

Another step.

"Aur yeh nishaan..."

A faint chuckle. Not loud. Not mocking. Just quiet enough to make your stomach twist.

"Inhein mitana itna aasaan nahi hota."

Your breathing hitched. 'No...Please...'

"Agar aapko lagta hai ke yeh koi khel hai..."

Silence settled for only a heartbeat. Then— "Toh theek hai."

Crunch.

"Hum khelte hain."

A sob escaped before you could stop it. Your shaking hand clamped harder over your mouth, but it was useless. Hot tears spilled between your fingers, disappearing onto the freezing snow beneath you. He sounded...Normal. That was the worst part. Not angry. Not shouting. Not even irritated. Just... certain. Certain that sooner or later he would find you. Your vision blurred again. You couldn't stay here. If you stayed— He would see you. He would hear you. He would—

No.

No.

Your body screamed at you to stop. Your legs had long since gone numb, each step driving sharp, stabbing pain through your frozen feet. Your lungs burned so fiercely that every breath felt as though it were peeling the inside of your throat raw. You didn't care. Pain meant nothing anymore. Only distance. You forced yourself away from the tree, your knees threatening to buckle beneath your weight as you stumbled back onto the narrow trail.

Then...You ran. Not because your body still could. Because your mind refused to give up. Snow sprayed behind you with every desperate stride as you dragged your exhausted body deeper into the darkness of the forest, branches tearing at your sleeves and hair while your heartbeat pounded louder than the wind itself. Behind you—The footsteps stopped. For one dreadful moment... The silence frightened you even more.

The sound behind you changed. For the briefest moment—Nothing.Then—

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

The measured footsteps dissolved into something faster. He was running. A fresh wave of panic crashed over you.

"Nahi..."

The word escaped as nothing more than a broken whisper. Your exhausted legs stumbled into motion again before your mind had even caught up. Every breath came ragged and uneven as the freezing wind lashed against your face, making your eyes water until the forest became nothing more than a blur of black trunks and white snow. You couldn't think. You couldn't stop. You couldn't let him catch you. Because if he did—

No. No. No.

You pushed the thought away. Just run. Run. Run.

This had never been part of the plan. When you had proposed your sociology thesis to your professors months ago, it had sounded almost idealistic. You wanted to study the everyday lives of people living along one of South Asia's most misunderstood frontiers—not through newspaper headlines or political debates, but through conversations. Through stories. Through the ordinary lives hidden beneath extraordinary circumstances. Your parents hadn't shared your enthusiasm. Your father had refused almost immediately. Your mother had looked at you as though you had suggested walking into a war. Neither of them had cared how carefully you had researched the project. Neither of them cared that your university had approved it. All they had heard was one word.

Kashmir.

And the answer had been no. So...You lied. You promised you would stay around Jammu. You promised you would avoid the border. You promised you would call every evening. Looking back now... That lie felt impossibly small compared to everything that had followed. Because somehow-Despite every warning...Despite every instinct...You had found yourself standing in a small market near the Line of Control, struggling to interview local artisans in a language you couldn't understand.

Koshur.

A language barrier had left you embarrassed, stranded and painfully aware that you didn't belong there. And then...He had appeared. An Indian Army officer.

Or so you had believed.

He had spoken fluent Kashmiri. Helped you speak to the locals. Translated conversations. Shown you the market. Explained traditions you had only ever read about. Slowly...Patiently...He had earned your trust.

By the time the mountains disappeared beneath gathering clouds and a snowstorm threatened to close the roads, following him had seemed like the most sensible decision you could have made.

You hadn't questioned him. Why would you? He wore the uniform. He carried himself like a soldier. Everyone around him treated him with respect. Major Iqbal had seemed like the safest person you could have met. You hadn't realized...That almost everything he had told you was a lie. And by the time you discovered who he really was— It was already too late.

You ran. Or at least, you tried to. Your body had long since stopped cooperating. Every step sank deep into the snow before you fought to wrench your foot free again, only to repeat the same agonizing motion with the other. The freezing cold had crept through your boots hours ago. Now you couldn't even tell where your toes ended and the ice began. They didn't feel like your feet anymore. They felt like dead weight.

Each step sent a dull, aching pain shooting up your calves before disappearing beneath a frightening numbness. You couldn't feel them. You could barely move them. But you forced them forward anyway. Behind you—

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

The footsteps never disappeared. If anything... They sounded closer. You didn't dare look back. You couldn't. Because some part of you already knew what you would see.

He was there.

Right behind you.

The image alone was enough to keep your head facing forward. Another desperate breath caught painfully in your throat. Your lungs burned. Your vision blurred. The freezing air clawed at the inside of your chest until every inhale felt like punishment. You stumbled. Recovered. Stumbled again. Your pace was no longer a run. It had become an uneven, desperate stagger through the waist-deep snow, each step slower than the last. Your legs refused.

'Please...please abhi nahi abhi nahi.'

They shook violently beneath you. You tried to force yourself faster. Nothing happened. The exhaustion had finally caught you. Your body had reached its limit.

"Nahi..."

The whisper barely left your lips. 'Abhi nahi. Please... bas abhi nahi... thoda aur.' Your boot caught beneath the snow. You lurched forward, barely managing to stop yourself from falling.

Then—

A sharp gust of wind roared between the trees. The footsteps behind you vanished.

Silence.

Your heart stopped. Where— The impact came without warning. Something slammed into your back with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. A scream tore from your throat as your feet left the ground. The world spun. White. Black. Snow exploded around you as both of your bodies crashed violently onto the frozen earth. The breath was ripped from your chest. For one horrifying second... You couldn't breathe at all.

The memory struck with brutal clarity.

It hadn't started with shouting. It hadn't started with violence. It had started with warmth.

The cabin sat alone amongst towering pine trees, tucked so deeply into the forest that it almost disappeared beneath the snowfall. Warm amber light glowed through the windows, smoke curled lazily from the stone chimney, and for the first time since arriving in Kashmir, you had finally felt your shoulders relax. It looked... safe. The exact sort of place people imagined when they thought of mountain life. As soon as you stepped inside, warmth rushed over your freezing body. The air smelled faintly of cedarwood, burning firewood and spices. A small fireplace crackled softly in one corner of the room. Heavy woollen blankets had been folded neatly over an old wooden sofa, while shelves lined with books, antique lanterns and hand-carved ornaments covered the walls. Everything looked lived in comfortable, and normal.

Iqbal quietly closed the door behind you before brushing the snow from his shoulders. He glanced towards you. The ends of your fingers had turned pink from the cold. Without saying anything, he walked towards the fireplace and crouched down, adding another log to the flames. The fire crackled louder. He stood again.

"Jacket utaar dijiye."

"Huh?"

A faint smile appeared on his face. "Yahan andar itni thand nahi hai."

Looking around, you realised he was right.

The cabin was surprisingly warm. Almost too warm. You laughed softly before slipping your jacket off, draping it over the back of a nearby chair. Instantly your shoulders felt lighter. Much better. Iqbal watched you for only a second before turning away.

"Aap baithiye." He walked towards the small kitchen tucked beside the living room. "Main aap ke liye kahwa banata hoon."

"Oh, Major sahab, aap zyada dikkat na lein."

Without looking back, he answered calmly, "Mehmaan ke liye yeh koi takleef nahi hoti."

His voice carried the same effortless confidence it always had steady,patient, and controlled.

You smiled to yourself before sitting near the fireplace, rubbing your palms together to chase away the lingering cold. For the first time all day... You genuinely felt lucky. Maybe everyone had exaggerated. Maybe Kashmir wasn't nearly as frightening as people made it out to be. Maybe all those warnings had been nothing more than fear. From the kitchen came the quiet sounds of cupboards opening. Water pouring. The soft scrape of a knife against a wooden chopping board.

You absentmindedly looked around the cabin while waiting. Your eyes wandered across old photographs. Books. An antique hunting rifle mounted high above the fireplace. Several framed landscapes. Then... Something caught your attention. A large map hung on the opposite wall. You frowned. It wasn't the map itself. It was... Something about it looked wrong. Curious, you stood and walked closer. Your eyes traced the borders slowly. Then stopped. Your brows knitted together.

Kashmir...

It wasn't shown the way you had always seen it. The markings. The borders. The colours. They were different. For a second, you genuinely thought you were misunderstanding it.

Maybe it was an old map.

Maybe some local variation.

You weren't exactly an expert on geopolitics. Still... Something felt...Off. Behind you, the chopping continued. You glanced over your shoulder before looking back at the map.

Trying to sound casual, you asked, "Major sahab...?"

"Hm?"

"Yeh map..."

He looked up briefly from where he stood at the kitchen counter. A knife rested comfortably in one hand as he sliced vegetables with slow, precise movements. "Kya hua?"

You pointed towards the wall. "Ismein... Kashmir Pakistan ke saath dikhaya gaya hai?"

He barely glanced at it. As though he'd seen it a thousand times. "Ji."

You laughed awkwardly. "Oh..." You smiled. "Mujhe laga shayad galti se lag gaya hoga."

He continued cutting. The knife struck the board.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Without ever looking at you, he answered quietly. "Nahi."

Another slice.

"Galti nahi hai."

Silence settled between you. You waited for the punchline. For the joke. It never came. Instead...He calmly lifted the chopped vegetables into a pot. Then finally looked at you. His expression hadn't changed. Not even slightly.

"Kashmir kabhi India ka hissa tha hi nahi."

The smile slowly disappeared from your face. For a second... You genuinely thought you had misheard him. A nervous laugh escaped your lips. "Aap mazaak kar rahe hain...?"

He handed you cup of kahwa and simply looked at you. No smile. No amusement. Nothing. Only those dark eyes. Watching. Your laughter faded almost immediately. The room suddenly felt...Different. Smaller. The fire still crackled. Yet somehow...

Everything had become painfully quiet. Trying to brush away the strange feeling settling inside your stomach, you spoke again. "Mujhe laga... matlab..."

You gestured awkwardly towards the map. "Shayad yeh Kashmir ka koi alag hissa hoga?" You gave another uncertain smile. "Sorry... main itna nahi jaanti. Isi liye toh thesis ke liye yahan aayi hoon."

For a moment... Iqbal said nothing. Then he slowly placed the knife down. The soft metallic sound echoed far louder than it should have. He rested both hands on the counter. Still watching you. When he finally spoke... His voice was almost gentle.

"Toh phir likh lijiye."

You stared at him. "Ji?"

His eyes never left yours. "Apni thesis mein." He paused. "Likhiye..." Another pause. Long enough for your heartbeat to become the loudest thing in the room. "Kashmir kabhi India ka hissa nahi tha."

Something inside your stomach dropped. Hard. It wasn't only what he'd said. It was...

The certainty.

The absolute conviction.

The complete absence of humour.

The man standing before you wasn't debating politics. He was stating what he believed to be an unquestionable fact. Without realizing it... You took a tiny step backwards. Your fingers tightened around the warm cup of kahwa. The cabin suddenly felt much quieter than before. Much colder somehow... Despite the fire burning only a few feet away. You forced another smile. Small. Uneasy.

"Main... shayad is baat se ittefaq nahi karti."

He didn't respond. Didn't argue. Didn't even blink. He only continued watching you. That was somehow worse. You swallowed. Your mouth had suddenly gone dry. You looked down at the untouched cup in your hands. Then back towards him.

"Main... um..." You cleared your throat. "Waise bhi shayad ab tak mausam theek ho gaya hoga."

You glanced towards the window. Nothing but dark sky and thick white snow. Still... You continued. "Main soch rahi thi ke main ab chalti hoon."

No answer. You laughed nervously.

"Mummy bhi pareshaan ho rahi hongi." You slowly placed the untouched cup on the wooden table. "Main raste mein unko call bhi kar lungi."

Iqbal finally moved. Only one step. Slow. Measured. "Call?"

You nodded. "Ji."

His voice remained frighteningly calm. "Yahan signal nahi aata."

Your smile faltered. "Oh..." You looked towards your phone instinctively. No service. Of course. "Koi nhi," you said quickly. "Main shehar pahunch kar kar lungi."

You reached for your jacket hanging over the chair. Before your fingers could touch it— His voice came again quiet, controlled, and absolute.

"Aap kahin nahi jaa rahi."

Your hand froze. For a moment... You thought you had misunderstood him. You turned slowly.

"Kya...?"

He was no longer by the kitchen counter. He had already crossed half the room. You hadn't even noticed him moving. His hands rested loosely behind his back. His expression remained calm. Almost patient.

"Maine kaha..." He took another slow step towards you. "...aap kahin nahi jaa rahi."

Something primal tightened inside your chest. Every instinct you possessed suddenly screamed the same thing.

Run. Now.

You forced another smile that barely reached your lips. "Major sahab... mera khayal se koi ghalat fehmi ho rahi hai."

He stopped only a few feet away. Close enough now that you could hear his breathing.

"Nahi." His voice remained almost impossibly soft. "Ghalat fehmi ab tak thi."

Your pulse hammered painfully inside your ears. You took one careful step backwards. He matched it with one forward. Not hurried. Not aggressive. Just... Certain. Like a predator that already knew there was nowhere left for its prey to go.

Your heartbeat slammed so violently against your ribs that it almost hurt.

'Nahi. Nahi, nahi, nahi. Please ye nhi ho sakta.'

The smile disappeared from your face. Your pulse began roaring in your ears. You grabbed the jacket anyway. "Mujhe ghar jana hai."

Another step.

He was close now.

Far too close.

"Mere ghar walo meri fikr kar rahe honge."

No response. Only those impossibly dark eyes fixed on yours. You took another step backwards. Your shoulder bumped into the wall. Nowhere left. Your breathing became shallow.

"Main... main bas ja rahi hoon."

For the first time... He smiled. Not warmly. Not politely. The smile never reached his eyes.

"Aap bohot masoom hain."

A chill crawled violently down your spine. Without thinking, you turned. The front door. Just reach the door. You had barely taken two hurried steps before strong fingers closed around your wrist.

Hard.

You gasped. "Chhoriye!" You jerked violently, trying to wrench yourself free. His grip only tightened. Pain shot through your arm. "Please! Mujhe jaane dijiye!"

He didn't even seem to be using much strength. Yet you couldn't move him an inch. Your panic exploded. You twisted, kicked, clawed at his hand.

Nothing.

It was like struggling against stone.

"Itni ghabrahat kyun?" His voice remained maddeningly calm. "Abhi toh hum baat kar rahe thay."

Your vision blurred with tears. "Nahi!"

You drove your heel down blindly, trying to stomp his foot. He barely reacted. Desperate, you lashed out again. This time your knee connected his crotch sharply.

A muffled grunt escaped him. His grip loosened. Just enough. You ripped your arm free.

Don't think.

Run.

You sprinted down the narrow hallway without even looking where you were going. Behind you—

"Y/N."

His voice echoed through the cabin. Still calm. Still controlled. No shouting. No anger.

That somehow made everything worse. You reached the end of the hallway and threw yourself into the first room you found.

SLAM.

The door crashed shut behind you. Your trembling hands fumbled desperately with the lock.

Click.

Locked.

You stumbled backwards, chest heaving violently. For one impossible second... Silence. Then—

THUD.

The entire door shook. You screamed. Another deafening impact rattled the frame. Wood splintered somewhere near the hinges. Your eyes darted wildly around the room. There had to be another way. There had to be. Another crash slammed into the door. Dust drifted from the ceiling.

"Darwaza kholo."

His voice came from the other side.

Quiet.

Almost conversational.

"Main wada karta hoon..."

Another heavy bang.

"...agar abhi darwaza khol diya..."

The handle twisted slowly.

"...toh main naraz nahi honga."

Your hands flew over your mouth to stop yourself from sobbing.

Nahi.

Nahi.

Nahi.

Your eyes swept frantically around the room.

A bed.

A wardrobe.

A wooden table.

Nothing. Then— The window. Hope surged through your exhausted body. You rushed toward it. Jammed. Of course it was jammed due to cold. Your shaking fingers fought desperately with the latch. It wouldn't move. Another brutal crash hit the door. The wood groaned loudly. He wasn't knocking anymore. He was forcing it open.

Your breathing became hysterical. Your gaze landed on a heavy ceramic vase sitting on the windowsill. Without thinking, you snatched it up.

"Ye use karti hoon," you whispered to absolutely no one. Then swung.

CRASH!

Glass exploded outward into the storm. Freezing wind burst into the room instantly, carrying snowflakes with it. Behind you—Another violent impact.

The doorframe cracked. You didn't hesitate. Throwing your arms over your face, you climbed through the shattered window. Jagged glass tore across your palms and forearms. A sharp sting ripped through your skin. You barely felt it. Your boots hit the snow below awkwardly. You slipped

Fell.

Scrambled back onto your feet.

Run.

Just run.

You didn't even know which direction you were heading. You only knew you had to get away. The freezing wind slammed into your face, stealing your breath almost instantly. Your sweater was nowhere near enough against the mountain cold. You had left your coat inside.

Your scarf.

Your gloves.

Everything.

None of it mattered. Branches whipped across your face as you forced your way into the forest. Snow reached almost to your knees. Every step felt heavier than the last. Behind you— The cabin door burst open. You didn't dare look back. You couldn't. You already knew he would be there.

So you ran.

You ran until your lungs burned. Until your legs screamed. Until every breath felt like shards of ice cutting through your chest. And that...

That was how you found yourself here.

Alone.

Lost somewhere deep inside the frozen forest. Your hands bleeding. Your body trembling uncontrollably. Snow clinging to your clothes. And the man you had trusted...right on top of you crushing you with his weight.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The impact knocked every ounce of air from your lungs. For one blinding second, all you saw was white. Snow exploded around you as your body slammed into the frozen ground. Pain shot through your shoulder and down your spine. A strangled gasp tore from your throat. Before you could even think about getting up— A crushing weight landed on top of you.

Your heart stopped.

No...

No, no—

You tried to push yourself up, but something forced you straight back into the snow. Strong. Unmoving. Your wrists were pinned above your head before you even realized what had happened. Panic surged through every nerve in your body. You thrashed violently beneath him.

"Chhoriye mujhe!" Your voice cracked into a sob. "Please... rabb ke liye... mujhe jaane dijiye!"

He didn't answer. Not immediately. Your frantic movements only sank you deeper into the snow. You bucked against him again, trying to twist free, trying to kick, trying to do anything. It was useless. He barely moved. It was like trying to push away a mountain. Your breathing became hysterical.

"Please... please..."

For the first time since he'd caught you...He spoke. Quietly. Almost disappointed.

"Itni daud lagayi tumne." His breathing wasn't even uneven. Not a trace of exhaustion. Not after chasing you through the forest. A gloved hand tightened around your wrists just enough to stop another desperate struggle. You cried out. He leaned down slightly, his face only inches from yours now. Snowflakes settled silently in his dark hair and along the shoulders of his jacket. His expression remained terrifyingly calm. Only his eyes had changed. Gone was the patient warmth. Gone was the reassuring smile.

What looked back at you now was cold.

Possessive.

"Maine pehle hi kaha tha..." he said softly. "...baraf nishaan chhupaati nahi."

Your chest heaved violently. Tears streamed unchecked down your cheeks, disappearing into the snow beneath your head.

"Main...main kisi ko nahi bataungi." The words tumbled out between broken breaths. "Kasam se... main kisi ko kuch nahi bataungi..."

His gaze never left your face. For a long moment, he simply watched you. Studying you. As though weighing every word you said. Then...

A faint smile appeared. Not kind. Not comforting. The sort of smile that made your blood run cold. He gave a slow shake of his head.

"Ab yeh faisla aapka nahi raha."

The words were barely above a whisper. Yet they echoed through the silent forest louder than any scream. You struggled again with everything you had left. Your muscles burned. Your lungs screamed.

Nothing.

He didn't even seem inconvenienced. One hand kept both of your wrists pinned while the other pressed into the snow beside your head, boxing you in completely.

The towering pine trees swayed overhead. The wind howled through the branches. But out here... Hidden beneath the storm... No one could hear you.

Your chest rose and fell in frantic, uneven breaths. Every inhale burned. Every exhale vanished into the freezing night as trembling clouds of white. You couldn't stop shaking. Whether it was from the cold... Or from him... You didn't know anymore. The forest had gone unnaturally quiet. Only the wind whispered through the pines. Only the snow continued falling. Only your heartbeat thundered so violently that you were certain he could hear it. You squeezed your eyes shut for a brief second, trying to steady your breathing.

Think.

You had to think. There had to be something. Anything. Slowly, you opened your eyes again. Iqbal was still looking at you.

Not speaking.

Not rushing.

His expression remained unreadable, almost detached, as though this wasn't a terrified girl pinned beneath him in the middle of a snow-covered forest. As though this was simply another problem to be solved. His gaze lingered on the shallow cuts scattered across your hands where the shattered window had sliced through your skin.

Tiny beads of crimson stained the snow beneath your fingers. A muscle in his jaw shifted. Then he spoke. "Dekho apna kya haal kar liya tumne."

You stared at him in disbelief. A broken laugh escaped your lips. Half sob. Half disbelief. "Tum... pagal ho..."

For the first time, something flickered across his face. Gone before you could name it. His grip loosened—only enough to pull one hand free from your pinned wrists.

Your pulse lurched.

He looked down at your bleeding palm. He pulled your injured hand closer to his face. Every muscle in your body tensed. When your hand was centimetres from his lips, his tongue darted out licked your blood.

Then back at you. "Khoon beh raha hai."

Your breathing caught. "Kya...?"

As though he hadn't heard you, he sucked on the wound. You flinched violently.

"Nahi mat chhuiye mujhe!"

He didn't care if you tried pulling your hand back he simply kept sucking on your wound, completely ignoring your resistance as you moaned in a sharp pain and sudden pressure.

Iqbal shoved you down hard into the deep snow, the cold biting through your clothes as his heavy body pinned you flat on your back. His gloved hands let go of your hand from his mouth and held both your hands above your head again, the weight of his military frame crushing any chance of escape. Snow crunched under you with every desperate twist you made, but Iqbal only pressed harder, his breath steaming in the freezing night air.

"Zyada hile na," he growled low, voice rough with command. He shifted his hips, grinding his hardening cock against your thigh through layers of fabric. One hand released a wrist long enough to yank pull your sweater off and shove it aside, exposing skin to the icy wind. His palm slid under your shirt, rough fingers squeezing and twisting at your chest without any care for comfort.

You bucked and kicked, legs flailing in the snow, but Iqbal used his knees to spread them wider, forcing your thighs apart. He ripped at your pants next, buttons popping, fabric tearing as he dragged the material down just enough to bare you to the cold and his touch. His fingers found your pussy immediately, shoving two thick digits inside without warning or prep, pumping hard and fast while his thumb pressed cruelly against your clit.

"Yath path zor lagun chhu lagiv," He spoke in fluent kashmiri directly against your ear, his hot breath flaring against your skin in the freezing weather while his teeth lightly grazed your earlobe. Moving slowly, he pressed his wet lips to the side of your forehead, leaving a warm kiss right above your eyes. He pulled his belt from his pants, using it to tie your hands securely. "Kehn farq na payiv myon zun."  [Jitna zor lagana hain laga lo. Koi fark nahi padega meri chand.]

He pulled his fingers free, slick with whatever moisture he had forced out.

Slowly, he reached around to the back of his pants and pulled out his gun that had been tucked securely into his waistband. He slid the gun into your mouth to lubricate it before carefully drawing it back out. Your face was streaked with tears, when Iqbal forcefully shoved the gun on your lips. You couldn't do anything but take it into your mouth, entirely paralyzed by the fear of what he would do to you if you refused. Holding you head in his other hand, he then began to slowly insert the gun inside you, moving with absolute precision to ensure that your walls did not tear.

He moved the gun inside you, sliding it forward until it repeatedly struck your cervix. The mere sight of something so unsettling and strange happening right in front of you completely overwhelmed your senses, causing you to cry out and moan in pure disgust.

"Allah has tuy waryaah aram seth banăwmut, myon wazul." He said as he leaned down to kiss the valley between your breast. [allah has made your body with so much care my love]

He did not stop with his assault until the pressure built up and you squirted, splashing him directly with it. Instead of being disgusted by the spray, he leaned down and kissed your cunt, thrilled that you blessed him with his. He layed open mouth kisses on your cunt. He started moving up still laying kissed on your body until he reached your breast. He took your right nipple in his mouth biting it and sucking on it. This only made you cry out.

And once he was done with his assault on your chest freed his own cock from his uniform pants. It sprang out thick and veined, the head already leaking pre-cum that he smeared against your entrance.

You sobbed, completely paralyzed with fear in the cold snow, knowing exactly what would come next.

With one brutal thrust he buried himself to the hilt inside you, stretching you open around his cock. Snow flew up around you two from the force as he started pounding immediately, hips snapping forward in aggressive, punishing strokes. Each drive pushed you deeper into the snow, your back scraping against the icy ground while Iqbal held their wrists pinned and used his free hand to grip your hip, yanking you up to meet every thrust.

You moaned and cried out, your voice trembling as a volatile mix of sharp pain, paralyzing fear, and unbidden pleasure surged through you all at once. The biting cold of the snow beneath you faded against the intense feeling of his thrusts, leaving you completely overwhelmed as each conflicting sensation amplified the next, making it impossible to silence your heavy, tearful breaths.

He fucked you relentlessly, the wet sounds of his cock slamming into your pussy mixing with the crunch of snow and your ragged breathing. Iqbal leaned down, biting at your neck hard enough to leave marks, sucking and growling as he rutted deeper.

His teeth bit down firmly before he began to suck against one of the fresh wound with an intense, unrelenting hunger. The sudden spark of pain combined with the overpowering heat of his mouth shattered your remaining restraint, forcing a louder, breathless moan from your lips that echoed into the freezing air. Every dark friction of his lips against your neck sent a confusing jolt of warmth straight through your shivering frame, drowning out the cold of the snow and pinning you beneath him as your cries grew heavier.

His balls slapped against you with every violent push, his pace never slowing even as you continued to struggle beneath him.

Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold, dripping onto both of your skin as he changed angles to grind against sensitive spots inside you. He released one wrist only to slap your ass cheek hard, then grabbed your thigh and hooked it over his hip for better leverage. The new position let him drive even harder, his cockhead battering your cervix with each thrust.  The pressure felt too much for you it almost made you feel you will explode.

"be tuhundi mukh peth paad karith bhaagiv," he snarled, voice thick with lust and dominance. [tujh jaisi khubsoorat chez par bas mera haq hain.]

"Beh chahaan tuy seth aulaad, myon wazul."  His thrusts grew erratic, hips jerking as he chased his release. With a final series of deep, grinding pushes he buried himself fully and came hard, flooding your pussy with hot spurts of cum that mixed with the cold snow melting beneath you. [i want to breed you my love]

Iqbal stayed inside you for long moments, breathing heavy, his cock twitching as the last pulses emptied into you.

He was far from done.

Iqbal looked down at you, your body shivering violently in the biting cold. For a split second, he considered hoisting your limp, bruised frame up and dragging you back inside the cabin to escape the freezing wind. But as he looked at your terrified, tear-streaked face, your naked body, and his cum dripping from you, a darker, more urgent hunger surged through him. He didn't want the warmth of the cabin yet.

He stepped back he stroked his semi erect cock, it was still coated in your and his release. He grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking your head back with a violent force that made you gasp, and shoved his cock right against your lips.

"Saaf toh kar dein esse," he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble.

You clamped your jaw shut, your teeth grinding together. Your lower body was screaming in agony, the raw, throbbing pain from his previous assault making every small movement a torture. You shook your head, sobbing, refusing to open your mouth.

Iqbal didn't have patience for resistance. He sneered, his grip tightening in your hair until your scalp burned. He slammed his palm against your cheek, forcing your head to the side before jamming his thumb into your mouth to pry your jaws open. The moment your lips parted, he lunged forward, shoving his cock deep into your throat with a brutal thrust.

You gagged instantly, the thick head of his dick hitting the back of your throat with a sickening thud. You tried to pull away, your body convulsing in a desperate attempt to reject the intrusion, but he held you pinned. He began to fuck your throat with mindless aggression, his hips slamming forward in fast, hard rhythms.

The sound of his pelvis hitting your face echoed in the cold air. He wasn't looking for pleasure he was looking to dominate. He drove himself in deep, over and over, forcing you to swallow his length until you were choking, your eyes bulging and watering.

Your hands, still bound tightly with the leather belt, clawed uselessly at his thighs and waist. You struggled, twisting your torso and kicking your legs in the dirt, but the pain in your bruised pelvis only intensified with every movement. You let out muffled, wet whimpers around his shaft, your throat constricted and raw, while Iqbal only grunted, increasing the pace, fucking your throat harder and faster until you were nothing more than a gagging toy in his grip.

Hiii i hope u all enjoy also i DO NOT support terrorism this is work of fiction anyway guehss who can speak Kashmiri fluently? Not me fs all texts were translated by @goodnightkatherine 💗

Lyari was small. Not in the physical, sprawling way, but the people. A tight knit community where everyone knew everyone.

Six degrees of separation? At the maximum, in Lyari, you'd have two degrees of separation.

Those two degrees were how you knew Uzair.

Uzair, who worked with Siyahi, who was dating your best friend, Shagufta.

Siyahi, who looked at Shagufta like she hung the stars.

Shagufta, your best friend who deserved the world.

—

The first time you met him was at Siyahi’s birthday party. Siyahi had called his friends, Shagufta, and you to his flat in Singo Lane.

Shagufta had gone earlier to help Siyahi set up, calling you within fifteen minutes asking you to come earlier because “yahaan sirf ladke hain”.

You rushed and reached with a bouquet. When you entered, you heard a loud voice go, “Arrey ladkon ke janamdin par guldasta kaun lata hai?”

You turned to the voice and asked, “Aap ka janamdin nahi hai, toh aap apne khayal apne paas rakhein”.

The men parted to reveal Uzair, who had complained about the bouquet. Where you expected him to argue, you noticed his ears turn pink before he turned away from you.

“Idhar aa,” Shagufta broke the spell, pulling you into the kitchen, “Chal tujhe fanta pilaun”.

You went easily, wondering where you'd heard that before.

—-

When Shagufta’s father found out about Siyahi, he had flown into a rage and forbidden her to see him anymore. 

But, of course, Shagufta wasn't one to be deterred. She started telling her father she was staying over at yours, or staying back in college, and would go to meet Siyahi.

To ensure there would be no trouble, she ensured you accompanied her everywhere.

Initially, it was the three of you who met, but when Siyahi realised how bored you were getting, he started being a friend along.

Donga, who argued with you about the best place to get sevaiyyan in Karachi.

Hamza, who loved to discuss Lyari’s politics with you.

And then, Uzair, who would hesitantly and softly ask you questions about your course, your life, and your dreams.

And soon enough, it was only Uzair who accompanied Siyahi on these dates. You didn’t mind, considering your burgeoning attraction to him. 

—

One such night, as Siyahi and Shagufta were canoodling in a corner, Uzair showed you his prized possession - a steel knife that looked like it was regularly polished, with intricate carvings at the handle.

“Yeh kitni sundar hai,” you gasped as you lightly touched the blade, “aur kitni teekhi dhaar hai”.

He smirked, “Sundar toh pehli dara sun raha hun. Par haan, kaafi khatarnaak hai”.

Your finger traced the carvings at the blade, “Aap jaantein hain, maine ek kitaab padhi thi. Usme jo shehzaada hota hai, woh apni mallika ka naam apne chaku par likhta hai. Toh woh jab bhi kahin bhi, kisi bhi jung mein hota tha, toh uski mallika hamesha uske paas rehti thi”. You sighed and looked up at him, stiffening slightly when you noticed how dark his eyes had gotten.

“Woh - sorry, bas us kitaab mein ghum gayi thi”.

“Koi baat nahi,” he said, suddenly noticing how close he had gotten while you were speaking, “Tum jab bhi baat karti ho achcha lagta hai”. His eyes widened, as if suddenly remembering what he said, and looked away.

You looked away, too, but were unable to keep the smile off your face.

—

Over the next few months, you and Uzair got closer. You recently exchanged numbers, and now plans were conveyed over texts.

Uzair: Aaj Siyahi Shagufta ko Kolachi Restaurant le ja raha hai You: Yum, waise bhi mujhe unki nihari try karni thi Uzair: Unki nihari itni bhi achchi nahi hai You: Aap ne try ki hai? Uzair: Haan You: Toh kahaan ki achchi hai? Uzair: New Zahid Uzair: Tum kaho toh Saturday chalein?

You paused. Was he inviting you to lunch - just the two of you?

Uzair: Phir tum decide kar lena kaunsi better hai

You hated how quickly hope had risen in your chest, and hated even more how quickly it shattered.

You: Ok. Ek baje?

—

The lunch went well. By the end of it, you had to admit that New Zahid had the better nihari of the two. And it led to a discussion of who made the best doodh soda - but the two of you agreed it was Aalam’s, of course.

But the question was, who made the best chikoo shakes?

And so, here you were, on another Saturday, across from Uzair, comparing notes on Aalam’s chikoo shake.

“Yeh kaafi mitha hai,” Uzair made a face at his glass.

“Woh kyunki chikoo meethe the,” you slurped the last of yours, before continuing, “Aap kahein toh hum aap ke Sada Bahar ja sakte hain, par isse achchi chikoo shake Karachi chodein, pure Pakistan mein nahi milegi”.

From behind you, Aalam piped up, “Baji, aap ke liye ye shake kya, agle dus milkshake free!”

As you giggled, you noticed Uzair’s hand move slightly closer to yours on the table. You didn’t move it.

—

The meetups for food soon turned into meetings with no such excuse.

He picked you up from college, took you out to the beach or a park, before dropping you off home.

You felt it, in your heart, that slowly, but surely, something was growing between the two of you.

One such day, after college, you insisted he drive you out to Clifton.

“Chalein na, mujhe wahaan chaat khaani hai”.

“Chaat toh Dilpasand Chaat mein behtareen milti hai, hum khamakha Clifton-”

“Chalein na, please”. You wrapped your hand around his bicep and looked up at him, pouting.

You saw in real time as his eyes got softer and he sighed, “Tumhein toh na keh hi nahi sakta”.

You grinned as he started the car, and didn't remove your hand till you reached Clifton.

—

As you ate your third pani puri, he leaned against the side of his car, “Saturday kya kar rahi ho?”

You looked up at him with bulging cheeks, reminding him of a squirrel.

He grinned and kept that particular thought to himself, waiting for you to finish the bite.

“Kuch nahi,” you said, “Kyun? Aap ko kahin jaana hai?”

“Hamza ka janamdin hai. Usne ghar pe party rakhi hai. Mere saath aaogi?”

You paused, letting the question wait in the air between you.

Mere saath. With him.

Your silence flustered him, “Matlab Shagufta bhi aa rahi hai, toh mujhe-”

“Haan. Main aaungi,” you ended his misery, “Aapke saath”.

—

Because of the situation with Shagufta’s father, you were going to pick her up and then meet Uzair directly at the party.

The party was more of a small gathering. As you and Shagufta entered, you were greeted by Yalina, who told you conspiratorially, that she was actually the one who had decorated the whole place.

You looked around and gave her genuine compliments, which she received by turning pink. Hamza joined her shortly, and accepted your greetings with a warm smile, before specifically directing you to Uzair.

As you walked towards him, you saw the way he turned and looked at you. His eyes drifted from your head to toe, before he looked away, and then looked back at you.

“Uzair,” you greeted, “Aap kab aaye?”

“Bas kuch bees minute pehle. Drink logi?” he pointed to the glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Nahi, woh ghar kaise jaungi, na?”

“Main chhod dunga”.

“Aur Shagufta?”

“Shagufta Siyahi ke ghar rahegi,” Shagufta appeared next to you with two glasses of whiskey in her hand, one that she thrust at you, “Abbu ko bataya hai ki tumhare ghar rahungi”. She kissed your cheek, before walking over to drape herself over her boyfriend.

You laughed and shook your head, before turning to Uzair, “Cheers, I guess?”

—

The night turned into a soft blur. There was a lot of love and alcohol that went around, and soon enough, you were on the couch next to Uzair. You sat with your back against the couch, while Uzair’s arm was against the back of the couch, right behind you. Over the course of the night, you were practically stuck to his side, while his arm had come around your shoulders.

“Sunein,” you giggled as he moved closer to hear you better, “Aap sahi the”.

“Main sahi tha?” he slurred slightly. You nodded.

“Kis ke baare mein?”

“Yahi,” you said as if it were obvious, “Ki Sada Bahar ka chikoo shake better hai”.

He sat up, eyes wide, “Toh tum ne jhooth kaha?”

You laughed, before turning towards him and placing your cheek against his arm. You looked at him from under your lashes and watched as his expression softened, “Haan. Aalam bhai se free ke shakes chahiye the”.

He snorted, “Tumhe humari gang join karni chahiye”.

“Ji nahi, aap handle nahi kar payenga”.

“Handle toh-” Uzair was interrupted by a very giggly Yalina and a very pink Shagufta appearing next to you.

“Y/N,” Yalina said, “Chalo. Girl talk”.

You shrugged at Uzair whose eyes followed you all the way out to the kitchen.

—

“Puri raat Uzair par chadh kar rahogi ya apni saheliyon ke saath waqt guzaarne ka iraada hai?”

“Pagal ho kya,” you shushed them, “Main koi un par chadh vadh nahi rahi thi!”

They continued to tease you and you kept getting redder and redder, until Shagufta bluntly asked you. Leaning against Yalina, she quirked a brow, “Tu har roz unse milti hai. Roz tumhari messaging chalti hai. Bata de, tujhe pasand hai na?”

Time stopped. The one thing you avoided naming was here, loud - a question in her mouth, an answer in your heart.

You thought of his hand next to yours, the nihari, the texts, and your side against his, his arm around your shoulder.

You bit your lip as your friends grinned softly, waiting for you to accept it.

But.

The words.

They weren’t theirs.

They were his to hear first.

If there was a confession, it had to be his first.

So you shook your head, “Woh bahut achche dost hain”. When they looked unconvinced, you doubled down, “Woh bhi mujhe uss nazar se nahi dekhte hain! Tum log pagal ho!”

They looked at you, almost pityingly, and you turned away and downed your drink.

When you walked back out into the party, Uzair smiled tightly when you sat next to him. His hand was by his side.

Suddenly, the architecture of the night was different.

He spoke to you in short, clipped tones, and when he dropped you home, he didn't say anything in the car.

You went to sleep wondering if something had gone wrong, but chalked it up to just you being drunk.

—

Something was wrong.

It had been a week and you hadn't seen Uzair. This was unusual considering you met him daily.

Every time you called him it went to voicemail.

Texts got short replies - if any.

You: Uzair aap kahaan hai? Sada Bahar chalein? You: Are you busy?  You: Uzair? Uzair: At work. Baad me baat karte hain.

You asked Shagufta to subtly ask Siyahi what was going on, but Siyahi said work hadn't been harder than usual, and that Uzair had been leaving on time.

You tried your luck one more time.

You: Uzair, if you're mad at me, tell me. You: Uzair? You: UZAIR?!

Last resort, you rang him. It rang for three seconds, before the line went dead.

He had hung up.

—

You were upset and cried for a day.

Then, you got mad.

Big Mad.

So you did what any reasonable friend would do.

You swore Shagufta to secrecy, found out the location of Uzair’s factory, and drove there at midnight - knowing Siyahi had confirmed Uzair was working late tonight.

The rain pelted your windshield and your driving skills were adequate at best, so it took you longer than expected to reach the location. Just as you got out of the car, you realised you didn’t have an umbrella.

“Fuck it,” you muttered, before running towards the entrance. When you were halfway, the door opened and Uzair came out with an umbrella. You paused, almost skidding to a stop. He looked up at you with wide eyes, “Tum?”

“Hana, main! Aap kahaan hain aaj kal? Mere messages aur calls bhi ignore kar rahein hain”.

He muttered something, and you moved closer, getting drenched in the rain, “Kya?”

Uzair moved closer to you, holding the umbrella to cover you as well, “Maine kaha ki ignore kar raha hun toh hint toh lo!”

“Par kyun? Maine kya kiya?”

Even in the dim light, you could see his jaw clench, “Tum ghar jao, thand lag jayegi”.

“Nahi, aap ko batana padega! Maine aisa kya kiya ki aap mujhse itne khafa hain?” Your hands were trembling as you clenched your dupatta in your fists.

He tried to turn away, but you tugged on his wrist and turned him to face you, “Please, Uzair”. Your lip started to wobble, and he took a deep breath.

“Hum dost hain?”

You slowly nodded, confused.

“Dost har din ek dusre se nahi milte. Na har din khaane ya drive pe jaate hain…”

“Aap kya bol rahein hain, meri kuch samajh mein nahi aa raha!”

You could see his chest expand as he took a deep breath in, “Uss raat. Tum jab Shagufta aur Yalina ke saath baat kar rahi thi… Maine sunn liya”.

There was pin drop silence for a moment and your hands came up to cover your mouth, “Aap ne- Kab?”

“Main bas tumhare peeche bas ek drink lene aa raha tha aur…” he looked away, scoffing, before turning back to you, “tum keh rahi thi ‘Woh bahut achche dost hain’”.

You opened your mouth, tearing up, only to be cut off again, “Aur phir tum ne kaha ki main tumhe uss nazar se nahi dekhta”.

“Dekhte hain, kya?” you whispered.

For a short while, you could only hear the patter of the rain as his eyes roved over your face. You bit your lip, while a solitary tear finally made its way down your cheek.

He moved closer, wiping the tear away, “Tumhare liye Clifton tak gaya tha”.

A short laugh bubbled out of you, before you sobered down, “Uzair, aap ko maine hurt kiya, us ke liye sorry. Sach toh yeh hai ki main aap ko pasand karti hun”.

He exhaled loudly, frustration swirling in his eyes. He shook his head, “Par woh Yalina aur Shagufta ko toh tumne kaha-”

“Kyunki yeh baat sabse pehle aap ko batane ki hai, unko nahi,” you huffed. “Maine unhein kaha ki hum dost hain aur aap shayad mujhe nahi pasand karte kyunki main sabse pehle aap ko batana chahti thi, unhein nahi!”

“Par agar aap ko phir bhi lagta hai ki hum ‘dost’ hain. Toh-” you placed your palms flat on his chest and pushed him. He stumbled back, and you whirled around, walking towards your car.

Before you could reach the handle, you felt his warm arm come around you and pull you into his chest.

“Uzair, aap kya kar rahein hain!”

He dropped the umbrella, the rain now falling on both of you. He reached into his pocket with his other hand, and pulled his knife out - the one with the carved blade.

Without saying a word, he unsheathed it. Against the faint light, you could make out a clear set of letters carved into the blade.

Y. N.

Your initials.

You turned around, “Uzair? Aap - woh kitaab ki tarah-”

“Jis din tumne kaha, us hi din likhwa diya. Ab tum har waqt mere saath ho”.

Your eyes welled as you wrapped your arms around his neck, standing on the tip of your toes. He hugged you properly, his face in your neck, “Tumhe bahut pasand karta hun”.

You leaned back slightly and looked at him, “Mujhe bhi aap bahut pasand hain”.

Without wasting a second, you stood back up on your toes and kissed him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Tag list (If you'd like to be added/removed please let me know!)