#jassi

Obsessed

Pairing: Husband!Jaskirat × Wife!Reader

Summary: Jaskirat taking care of his pregnant wife.

Warning: contains smut, dom!Jassi, slight dubcon. MDNI.

read my other fics here

Jaskirat x Heer

Sypnosis: She came early for laughter, stayed for fleeting glances, and left with dread sitting heavy in her chest.

A door opened, and everything broke, while he stood outside, too late to change a thing.

TW: Verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, alcohol, did I mention abuse?

(whole chapter is based on author ke personal experiences pls don't come at me)

Abhi tak mere pass rakhe hai😞

Part 1.5 , Part 2 , Part 2.5(final)

Inspired by @roses-and-iron 's work 'adhoori si'

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, all charecters with exception of Y/N belongs to Aditya Dhar. This is in no way a means to promote or praise real life terrorists and other immoral people.

P.S.: Jaskirat here is a little ooc, I have also taken the creative liberty to tweak the plot lines here and there to fit the story. No flags required I think. No smut or heavy angst.

Also this is my first fic ever. So be kind pls😶‍🌫️

At age 7

“Tu cheating kar raha hai!”

“Main nahi kar raha.”

“Kar raha hai!”

“Tu haar rahi hai, isliye bol rahi hai.”

Y/N stomped her foot, clutching the smooth pebble in her hand like it was proof of injustice.

“Main kabhi nahi haar ti.”

Jaskirat looked at her for a second.

Properly this time.

Then he bent down, picked up a flatter stone, and flicked it across the canal.

One skip. Two. Three. Four.

She froze then narrowed her eyes.

“Phir se kar.”

“Nahi.”

“Phir se kar!”

“Nahi karna.”

She marched up to him, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him closer to the edge.

“Kar.”

He glanced at her hand on his wrist. Then at her face. He then picked up another flat pebble, this one going even far than the last.

Seven skips!!

She let go immediately.

“Thik tha.”

“Thik?” he repeated.

“Bas thik.”

He glared at her childishly.

“Naam kya hai tera?” she asked after a pause.

“Jaskirat.”

“Main Y/N.”

Wind moving past them.

Water flowing below.

“Kal aayega?” she asked casually, like it didn’t matter.

“Haan.”

“Late mat hona. 5 baje aayega.”

“Tu jaldi mat aana.”

“Main jaldi hi aati hoon.”

“Phir wait karegi.”

“Kar lungi.”

That was the first promise.

Unspoken.

But kept.

At age 9,

The canal was louder than usual that day.

The water wasn’t calm and slow like it normally was, it rushed past, hitting the sides with a noisy chap-chap that made the whole bridge feel different.

Y/N stopped at the start of the bridge just to look at it.

“Kitna tez hai…”

She stepped closer, peering down, trying to see how fast the water was moving.

“Gir gayi toh seedha beh jaungi,” she muttered to herself, not entirely scared just curious.

“Phir mat gir.”

She turned startled.

Jaskirat was standing beside her.

Leaning on the railing this time, watching her like he had been there for a while.

“Tu kab aaya?” She asked having not noticed him before.

“Abhi.”

“Jhooth.”

He didn’t argue. Just shrugged a little.

She walked up to him and climbed onto the railing like always, even though the water looked faster today.

He noticed immediately.

“Utar.”

“Nahi.”

“Fisal jayegi.”

“Nahi fislungi.”

“Kal bhi bola tha.”

“Kal nahi fisli.”

“Aaj fislegi.”

She turned to him, annoyed.

“Tu na bas bolta rehta hai.”

He leaned back slightly, still watching her carefully.

“Gir gayi toh?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Tu pakad lega.”

It came out easily. Like it was obvious.

He didn’t reply immediately.

Then—

“Haan.”

That was enough for her.

She looked back down at the water, letting the cool breeze over the canal blow through her hair.

The sound of the canal filled the quiet between them.

For a minute, neither said anything.

Then she leaned forward slightly, trying to see the water hit the side of the bridge.

“Sach mein tez hai,” she said.

“Haan.”

“Kal itna nahi tha.”

“Nahi tha.”

She shifted a little to get a better look.

Her foot slipped.

Just a little.

But enough.

“Y/N—”

His hand grabbed her arm quickly, pulling her back before she could even react.

She gasped, more surprised than scared, her hand clutching onto his form without thinking.

For a second, they just stayed like that.

Too close.

Too still.

The water kept rushing below.

“Chhod…” she said, softer now.

“Haan.”

But he didn’t let go immediately.

Just made sure she was steady first.

Then slowly loosened his grip.

She pulled herself back and sat properly this time.

“I didn’t fall,” she said quickly.

“Main girne nahi deta.”

But he was still looking at her, like he couldn't belive she almost fell...that she is still here, in his arms.

She frowned a little.

“Tu aise kyun dekh raha hai?”

“Aise kaise?”

“Aise.”

He looked away.

“Kuch nahi.”

That annoyed her.

But not fully.

She kicked a small stone off the edge instead.

It disappeared instantly in the fast water.

“Dekha?” she said. “Sab kuch le jaata hai.”

“Haan.”

He picked up a stone too, then stopped.

Didn’t throw it.

Just held it in his hand.

She noticed.

“Phek na.”

“Nahi.”

“Kyuuun?”

“Bas.”

She made a face.

“Tu na ajeeb hai.”

“Haan.”

A small silence came back.

But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Just… quieter now.

She slid off the railing after a while, dusting her hands on her kurta.

“Aaj jaldi jaungi,” she said.

“Haan.”

She picked up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.

Walked a few steps.

Then stopped and turned back.

“Kal aayega?”

“Haan.”

“Late mat hona.”

“Tu jaldi mat aana.”

She thought about that before saying,

“Main phir bhi jaldi aaungi.”

He nodded.

“Pata hai.”

She smiled a little at that.

Didn’t say anything else.

Just turned and left.

Behind her, the canal kept making noise, loud and restless.

Jaskirat stayed on the bridge, still holding that same stone.

After a moment, he finally threw it.

It didn’t skip.

Just disappeared straight into the water.

He watched for a second.

Then sat back down on the railing,

a little closer to where she had been sitting before.

At age 12

Y/N reached the pul first, like she always did, though she had begun to pretend it was accidental. The afternoon stretched quietly over the canal, the water moving in a slow, steady hush beneath, and she walked to the middle of the bridge with that same restless energy, placing her bag down, adjusting it once, then leaving it alone. Today there was a steel tiffin in her hands, her thumb pressing lightly against the lid as if to reassure herself it was still there.

When Jaskirat came, he didn’t call out. He never did. He just appeared beside her, close enough for her to notice without turning.

“Kab aayi?” he asked.

“Abhi,” she replied.

It was their usual answer. It meant nothing and everything at the same time.

His eyes dropped to the tiffin almost immediately. There was no patience in his curiosity.

“Kya hai?” he asked.

“Kuch nahi.”

A pause.

“Dikha na.”

She hesitated, just for a second, then pushed it into his hands like she had already decided earlier that she would.

“Khud dekh le.”

He opened it and his face shifted into a delighted smile.

Laddoos.

Not perfect ones. Slightly uneven, softer than they should have been. The kind that showed effort more than skill.

“Oye… laddoo?” he said, a small grin forming.

“Haan,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “Ek mera hai.”

“Dekhte hain,” he said.

Before she could react, he picked one up and took a big bite.

“Arre, dheere kha!” she said, stepping closer.

He didn’t slow down and Pulled the tiffin closer to him.

“Bohot vadiya hai,” he muttered, already reaching for another.

“Jaskirat… ek toh chhod de,” she said, her voice quieter now, but more insistent.

He glanced at her and then took another big bite anyway.

“Tu na…” she started, reaching for the tiffin.

He turned slightly, just enough to keep it out of her reach.

“Nahi.”

“De na!”

“Nahi.”

“Yaar mummy ne hum dino ke liye diye the!”

“Nahi lene dunga. Aur tu toh laddo khaati bhi nahi!”

There wasn’t real anger in it. Not yet. Just that familiar push and pull, something they had done a hundred times before.

But this time, he didn’t stop.

The second laddoo disappeared.

Then the third.

“Bas, Jaskirat,” she said, more softly now. “Mat kha woh wala.”

He paused for a second, looking at her conspiratorial and then ate it anyway.

That was when she hit him, not hard, not meant to hurt just as a quip.

"Kutta!"

He finished chewing stull grinning, then tilted the empty tiffin toward her.

“Khatam.”

She took it back without a word, closed the lid carefully, and sat down at the edge of the bridge, her gaze fixed on the water below.

“Tu bohot bura hai,” she said after a moment.

“Par laddoo acche the,” he replied.

“Main kal nahi laungi kuch bhi.”

“Tu laayegi.”

“Nahi laungi.”

“Tu pakka laayegi.”

She didn’t answer that. Just held the tiffin in her lap, fingers resting over it, not as tightly as before, but still there.

The silence stretched a little longer this time.

Then he shifted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small paper packet. He held it out toward her.

“Le.”

She didn’t turn. “Nahi chahiye.”

“Imli hai.”

A pause.

She turned her head slightly. “Sach?”

“Haan.”

“Dikha.”

He opened it.

The smell reached her first. Her expression changed despite herself.

“De,” she said, holding out her hand.

He placed it in her palm. Their fingers brushed briefly, but enough for both of them to notice, even if neither reacted.

She took a piece and put it in her mouth, immediately making a face.

“Kitni khatti hai…” but took another piece anyway.

He leaned against the railing beside her, closer now, the distance between them smaller than before.

“Ab theek hai?” he asked.

“Thoda,” she said.

A small pause.

She looked at the imli, then held the packet toward him without meeting his eyes.

“Le.”

He took one. Their fingers touched again, this time neither pulled away too quickly.

“Kal kya laayegi?” he asked.

“Main kuch nahi laungi,” she said.

“Tu laayegi.”

“Tu sab kha lega.”

“Haan.”

That made her smile, just a little.

She didn’t hide it.

Just looked down, chewing the imli slowly, while the pul held them both in that quiet, familiar stillness something shifting between them, soft and unnamed, but no longer unnoticed.

At age 16

Y/N reached the pul first.

That part had never changed. What had changed was everything around it ,the way she stood now without fidgeting, the way her eyes didn’t dart around as much, the way waiting had become quieter, heavier, something she carried instead of something she tried to hide.

The canal moved slowly beneath, dull sunlight catching on its surface. She leaned lightly against the railing, fingers tracing the rough edge of the brick, her mind not really on anything...just… on him, without saying it like that.

When Jaskirat arrived, she didn’t turn immediately.

She felt it. The shift. The familiarity. She always did.

“Kab aayi?” he asked.

“Abhi,” she replied.

The same exchange, every time. Both of them knowing it wasn’t true.

He came to stand beside her, not too close, not too far. There was always that small gap now, thin, noticeable, like both of them were aware of it and unsure who should cross it first.

For a while, they didn’t speak.

That wasn’t new. But the silence had changed. It wasn’t filled with easy comfort anymore, nor with childish restlessness. It held something more careful now, something that made them both slightly aware of themselves of where they stood, how close their arms were, how easily it could shift.

Jaskirat shifted his weight after a minute, his hand slipping into his pocket. It wasn’t casual. It lingered there, fingers curling around something, his gaze dropping briefly before lifting again.

Y/N noticed.

“Kya hai?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said quickly.

She gave him a look. “Jhooth toh tu bol mat”

He exhaled lightly, then pulled his hand out.

A small jhumka rested in his palm.

He didn’t extend it immediately. Just held it there, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with it now that it was out in the open.

Y/N’s eyes dropped to it.

Then back to him.

“Mere liye?” she asked, softer now.

“Haan.”

A pause.

“Kyun?” she asked.

He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Bas… le aaya.”

“Aise hi?” she pressed.

He hesitated, then answered more honestly, “Pinda ne meri behen ko ek kada diya tha. Parso. Woh badi khush lag rahi thi...isliye...”

That explanation sat simply between them.

Too simple.

Y/N looked at the jhumka again, her fingers slowly reaching out, taking it from his hand. It was light. New. Slightly warm from where he’d been holding it.

“Toh tu mere liye jhumke le aaya,” she said, almost to herself.

“Haan.”

She turned it between her fingers, thinking.

Then, without really meaning to, she said, “Par woh dono… they’re dating, na. Isliye gift diya hoga.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she stilled. Realising a little late at what she was indirectly insuniating.

He didn’t respond.

The silence that followed wasn’t loud but it wasn’t easy either.

She looked down, a little flustered. “Main bas… keh rahi thi.”

“Haan,” he said quietly.

Another pause.

Then, softer, “Tu pehenegi?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice immediately. “Haan.”

She tried to fix it herself, pushing her hair back, fingers a little clumsy in a way that hadn’t happened before. It slipped once, then again.

Jaskirat watched for a second.

Then held his hand out. “De.”

She hesitated.

Not because she didn’t want to but because she suddenly knew what that meant.

Still, she placed it in his palm.

He stepped closer.

This time, the gap disappeared.

Her breath caught, faint but there.

He reached up carefully, his fingers brushing against her ear as he moved her hair aside. The touch was light and almost too careful but it lingered longer than it needed to.

“Seedha rakh,” he murmured.

“I am,” she said quietly.

He adjusted it himself, fingers steadying the small hook, his other hand hovering near her shoulder before lightly holding her dupatta away so it wouldn’t get in the way.

Everything slowed.

The air, the sound of water, even the space around them, it all seemed to narrow down to that one small moment.

“There,” he said softly.

But he didn’t step back immediately.

Neither did she.

She looked up.

He was already looking at her.

Closer than ever before.

“Achha lag raha hai?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Haan.”

“Sach?”

“Haan.”

A small smile formed on her lips a little shy, uncertain, completely different from the girl who used to fight him over laddoos.

“Tu ajeeb hai,” she said.

“Tu bhi,” he replied.

No teasing.

Just something softer.

After a second, he stepped back.

The space returned, but it didn’t feel the same anymore.

Her fingers rose to touch the jhumka, adjusting it even though it was perfectly in place.

“Kal aayega?” she asked.

“Haan.”

“Pakka?”

“Haan.”

She nodded before going back home for the day.

At age 18,

It was a beautiful night, the moon was bright and full. Fireflies were flying around the distant fields. A gentle breeze lulled the day's heat to something softer.

Y/N sat on the edge of the pul, legs swinging, eyes fixed on the dark water. She was glaring so hard it could probably create a whirlpool in the water.

Jaskirat was coming back from his friend's house, and saw her sitting there and glaring at the water. He approached her.

“Y/N Ki hoya? Hein? Itni serious kyun lag rahi hai?” Jaskirat’s voice came from behind.

She didn’t look at him.

He leaned on the railing beside her. “Seriously, bata to sahi… kya chal raha hai?”

She turned, eyes blazing. “Woh nayi larki...kya naam hai? Amrita ha gayatri… tum uske saath itne… cozy kyun the?”

Jaskirat blinked. “Cozy? Kya matlab cozy?”

“Arey… you know what I meam! Tum uske saath… waise hi!” She crossed her arms, cheeks red.

“Ohhh… Haa khubsurat toh hai woh haina?" He grinned.

Y/N glared at him.

"Tu jealous hai kya?” His grin was maddening.

“Jealous? Main? Nahi! Bilkul nahi!” She waved her hands, flustered. “Aur tum bas question se bach rahe ho! Answer me. Kya kara raha tha tu uske saath our din??”

He laughed. “Arre yaar, woh nahi hai na. To bas gaon dikha raha tha.”

“Bas gaon dikha raha tha? Kyun? Gaon mein aur koi nahi tha kya?” She pouted, kicking the railing lightly.

He stepped closer, hands in pockets, grin teasing. “tu mujhse pasand karti hai kya?”

“Ew nahi!” she shouted, shoving him lightly, but her whole body was leaning toward him.

He laughed, pulling her into his arms her hands falling right on his chest.

“Chhod na!!” She hit his chest lightly, voice flustered. “Main… main tujhe pasand nahi karti, samjha?”

He tilted his head, grin softening. “Hmm… pasand nahi karti? Phir itna gussa kyun kar rahi hai?” He pulled her even closer by her waist.

Her forehead bumped his chest lightly. “Theek hai… theek hai! Main… main tujhe pasand karti hoon!” she confessed, voice trembling, eyes not meeting his.

His grin softened into something warmer. “Mujhe pata tha,” he murmured, pulling her closer.

Y/N scowled and glared at him,"Tujhe pata tha?! Aur tu phir bhi uss larki ke saath ghum raha tha?"

He grinned cheekily.

"Kutta-" she hissed, and before she could yell out any more endearing profanities, He grabbed her by her neck and he kissed her.

Playful at first, teasing, testing her, then deeper, letting all the jealousy, tension, and unsaid feelings pour out. Her hands rested on his shoulders, heart hammering, body pressed close. The Canal Bridge, the water below, the quiet night, all faded except them.

When they finally pulled apart, she buried her face in his chest. “Idiot…” she murmured.

“Sorry for not asking your permission before the kiss but tu itni cute lag rahi thi...all jealous and angry,” he whispered, brushing her hair back. She hid her face in his chest again.

"Kutta." She snuggled closer in his arms.

At age 21

Y/N came home late, tired from the errands, and spotted the small folded note slipped right under her window sill. She picked it up, and her heart skipped the moment she recognized the handwriting:"ਅੱਜ ਰਾਤ 10 ਵਜੇ ਨਹਿਰ ਦੇ ਪੁਲ 'ਤੇ ਮੈਨੂੰ ਮਿਲੋ।"(Meet me at the pul, today at 10pm)

She stuffed it in her pocket waited for the clock to strike 10pm. And as soon as the clovk struck the same, she ran out of her house, tiptoeing in order to not wake the elders up.

Normally, she was always the first to reach the pul, pacing and waiting, but tonight… tonight was different.

Because he was already there.

Jaskirat leaned against the short brick railing, hands in pockets, staring at the dark water. She froze for a second, just watching him. Her stomach twisted. Her gut feeling was saying something was about to happen that she would like. Is he breaking up with her?

“itni rant ko yaha kyu bulaya?: she asked, breathless.

He just stood there for a while, the night thick around them, water whispering quietly below.

Then he finally spoke, voice low but steady. “Main… kal jaa raha hoon. Army training ke liye.”

Her chest tightened. “Kya? Kal? Tum… tumne mujhe pehle kyu kuch nahi bataya?” Her voice rose, half-shock, half-anger.

“Main batata par tu gussa ho jaati.”

“Gussa? Gussa nahi… main ro deti! Tu jaa raha hai aur main… main kya karungi?” Her voice cracked, tears threatening.

He reached for her, cupping her face gently. “Main wapas aaunga. Tum bas intezaar karna.”

She shook her head, chest heaving. “Aur agar… agar tum wapas na aaye? Waha koi aur pasand aa jaye toh??”

He chuckled, "How can i ever fall for anyone after i have had you as my lover? You have ruined me for anyone else.”

Her lips trembled as he leaned in, kissing her. Slow at first, soft, letting her feel his promise. Then deeper, longer, as if trying to say everything they’d held inside for years. Her hands clutched his shoulders, pressing closer, heart racing.

When they finally pulled back, she pressed her forehead against his chest, voice soft, trembling. “Theek hai… lekin promise kar…har hafte chitthi likhega....”

He smiled, pecking her forehead gently. “Haa baba Haa, tu nahi bhi bolti tab bhi likhta.”

She let out a small laugh, shaky but relieved. “Haan… theek hai.”

He kissed her again, lingering, soft, letting them both breathe in the moment one last time. Then he finally stepped back, giving her one last look before disappearing into the path that would take him to training.

This is the current work in process guys

If u can't see it ANGST is written in all caps on top

Unnecessary tag list as usual:

Ranjheya Ve (1)

The air in Pathankot had a specific weight to it, a blend of diesel fumes from passing military trucks, the sweet scent of ripening mangoes, and the restless energy of a border town. For Jaskirat Singh Rangi, the first day of college wasn't just a transition; it was the prologue to the life he’d mapped out since he was ten. He stood by the gate of the Government College, his hair neatly combed back, wearing a crisp button-down tucked into his trousers. He looked every bit the aspiring army officer: shoulders squared, chest out, and a gaze that was supposed to be scanning for tactical advantages but was currently stuck on a pothole.

"Oye Jassi! Kithe reh gaya? Chal hun, attendance shuru hon wali hai," Gurbaaz shouted, leaning off his bicycle. Gurbaaz was the kind of friend who moved through life with a permanent smirk.

Jaskirat snapped out of his trance. "Aa gaya, ruk te sahi. Badi jaldi hai tenu roll call di."

"Bhai, pehla din hai. Impression jamaana painda hai," Gurbaaz grinned, slapping Jassi on the back as they marched toward the main block.

They navigated the crowded corridors, the walls plastered with faded posters and student union slogans. They settled into the lecture hall for their first common session. The room was a buzz of scraping wooden benches and the rhythmic clicking of the ceiling fans.

Then, she walked in.

She wasn't loud. She didn't need to be. She wore a simple lavender salwar kameez, the dupatta draped neatly, and her hair tied in a long, thick plait that swayed as she moved. To Jaskirat, it felt as if the ambient noise of the classroom had suddenly been put on mute. He didn't gasp or stare with his mouth open; he simply forgot to breathe for a three-second window.

"Oye, Jassi, dekh. Maal hai na?" one of the boys whispered, nudging him.

Jaskirat felt a sudden, sharp spike of irritation. "Zuban sambhaal ke baat kar, Happy. Sab tameez bhool gaya hai kya?"

"Arre, gussa kyun ho raha hai? Main toh bas keh raha thha..." Happy muttered, confused by Jaskirat’s uncharacteristic bite.

Jaskirat didn't answer. He turned his gaze toward the front of the room, though his peripheral vision remained locked on the girl in lavender. She sat three rows ahead, talking softly to a friend, her laughter a low, musical sound that barely reached him.

The professor walked in, a stern man with a thick register. The room fell into a semblance of order as he began the roll call. Jaskirat waited, his heart thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"Prabhjot Kaur?"

"Present, sir."

"Rajinder Singh?"

"Present, sir."

"Reet Ahluwalia?"

"Present, sir," she said, her voice clear and steady.

Reet. The name settled in Jaskirat’s mind like a permanent fixture. He repeated it silently, matching the syllables to the way the sunlight hit the small gold studs in her ears. When his own name was called—"Jaskirat Singh Rangi"—he answered with his usual military crispness, but his eyes never left the back of her head. She didn't turn around. She didn't even flinch. To her, he was just another voice in a room of sixty.

📜 ━━━━━━━ ∙ʚ♡ɞ∙ ━━━━━━━ 📜

One afternoon, while the boys were loitering near the cycle stand, Reet walked past. Gurbaaz, ever the instigator, decided it was time to help his friend, even though Jaskirat had never uttered a word about her.

"Bhaaji, lagta hai mausam badalne wala hai," Gurbaaz said loudly as Reet approached. "Kyun Jassi? Pathankot ki hawa mein aaj kal badi khushboo hai, haina?"

Jaskirat felt his face heat up. He stared intensely at the handlebar of his bicycle. "Gurbaaz, chup kar ja. Bakwaas na kar."

Reet walked right past them, her eyes fixed on the gate, her expression one of mild preoccupation. She hadn't heard them, or if she had, she didn't care.

"Oye, tenu ki ho gaya hai? Tu te jawan munda hai, thoda rob dikha!" Gurbaaz hissed in Punjabi once she was out of earshot. "Tu te ainve darda rehna ae jivein kudi tenu kha jayegi."

Jaskirat finally looked up, his expression serious. "Darr nahi hai, Gurbaaz. Bas... zaroori nahi hai ki har cheez bol ke hi batayi jaye. Waise bhi, woh apni padhai pe dhyan de rahi hai. Mujhe bhi apne physical test ki tayaari karni hai."

"Physical tayaari te thik hai, par dil da ki karoge?" Gurbaaz laughed, shaking his head. "Tu te sach mein pyar mein pagal banta ja raha hai, bas dube-dube lehze mein."

"Main koi pagal-wagal nahi hoon," Jaskirat muttered, though he knew it was a lie.

As they walked away, Jaskirat looked back at the empty spot where she had stood. He knew he was being a fool. He knew that while he was planning his life around her presence, he was nothing more than a background character in hers. But suddenly, he felt a strange sort of resolve.

"Oye Gurbaaz," Jassi said suddenly, as they neared the canteen.

"Haan?"

"Kal thoda jaldi aavange. Library vich seat nahi mildi."

Gurbaaz sighed, knowing exactly which seat Jassi was talking about—the one with the perfect, unobstructed view of the third row in the lecture hall. "Thik hai, majnu sahab. Jo teri marzi."

Jaskirat didn't reply. He just adjusted his collar and walked into the steam and noise of the canteen.

📜 ━━━━━━━ ∙ʚ♡ɞ∙ ━━━━━━━ 📜

The next morning, Pathankot was draped in a thick, low-hanging mist that clung to the eucalyptus trees lining the college road. Jaskirat had spent the previous night staring at his ceiling fan, rehearsing lines that sounded heroic in his head but felt like lead on his tongue. By the time he reached the library, the cool morning air hadn't chilled his nerves; if anything, his palms were sweating.

The college library was a sanctuary of dust and silence, governed by a librarian who viewed whispering as a personal insult. Jaskirat and Gurbaaz found their usual spot, but Jassi’s textbook remained open to the same page for twenty minutes. His eyes kept darting toward the "History & Geography" section.

"Oye, kittha kho gaya? Tu te keh reha si ki aj bohot padhai karni hai," Gurbaaz whispered, leaning across the mahogany table.

Jaskirat straightened his back, looking intensely at a map of the 1971 war. "Kar te reha haan. Tu apna kam kar."

"Acha? Map pucha phadeya hoya hai tu," Gurbaaz smirked, pointing at the upside-down book. Before Jaskirat could snap back, Gurbaaz’s eyes widened. He tilted his head toward the far aisle. Reet had just walked in.

She looked tired, a stray ink stain on her finger and her hair tied in a slightly lopsided braid. She headed straight for the heavy oak shelves at the back. Jaskirat watched her as she stood on her tiptoes, reaching for a thick, leather-bound volume on the highest shelf. She jumped slightly, her fingertips just brushing the spine, but the book didn't budge.

Gurbaaz kicked Jaskirat under the table. Hard.

"Ah! Ki kar reha hai?" Jassi hissed.

"Mauka hai, khote! Ja madad kar," Gurbaaz urged, his voice a frantic, low-frequency vibration. "Ja hunne, varna koi hor chala jayega."

"Nahi yaar, aje nahi," Jaskirat pleaded, his courage evaporating.

"Jassi, je tu fauj vich jana hai te dushman de sahmne vi inj hi darega? Move!" With a final, forceful shove, Gurbaaz practically launched Jaskirat out of his chair.

Jaskirat stumbled, caught his balance, and realized he was already halfway to the aisle. Retreating now would look even more suspicious. He took a breath, smoothed his shirt, and walked forward. Every step felt like he was marching through deep mud.

He reached the shelf just as Reet was about to try one more desperate jump. Because of his height and his athletic build, he didn't even need to stand on his toes. He reached up, his arm passing just inches above her head, and easily hooked the book.

"Eh chahida si?" he asked. His voice cracked slightly on the last syllable, but he hoped the library’s acoustics would hide it.

Reet jumped, startled by the sudden presence. She turned around, looking up at him. Close up, the "unobvious pining" became a lot harder to maintain. Her eyes were a deep, clear brown, and she looked at him with a mix of surprise and relief.

"Haan... thank you," she whispered, her voice a soft contrast to the heavy silence of the room. "Main bohot der ton koshish kar rahi si."

Jaskirat handed her the book,The Geography of the Punjab Plains. He felt like he should say something profound, something that would make her remember Jaskirat Singh Rangi forever. Instead, he said, "Kafi bhari hai. Thalle rakh davan?"

She smiled then. It wasn't a big, dramatic movie smile, but a small, tired one that made Jaskirat’s knees feel like jelly. "Nahi, main fadh lavaangi. Shukriya."

She didn't turn away immediately. She looked at the book, then back at him. "Tu sadi class vich hi hai na? Jaskirat?"

The fact that she knew his name, even just from the roll call felt like winning a gallantry medal. "Haan. Jaskirat Singh Rangi. Te tu Reet."

"Hanjii," she nodded. "Tu hamesha piche baithda hai. Gurbaaz de naal."

"Oh, tenu yaad hai?" Jassi asked, his chest swelling with a tiny bit of genuine confidence.

"Yaad te rehna hi si. Gurbaaz poori class vich gallan karda rehnda hai, te tu hamesha edda baithda hai jive border te pehra de reha hovein," she teased gently.

Jaskirat rubbed the back of his neck, a bashful grin breaking through his stoic exterior. "Fauj mein join karni hai na, te bas... aadat pai gayi hai."

"Sachi? Fauj vich jana hai?" Her eyes lit up with genuine interest. "Kafi mushkil kam hai, par bohot izzat wala."

"Bas koshish hai," Jassi said, his voice finally steadying. "Bachpan ton hi shauk si. Desh layi kujh karna hai."

"Bohot vadiya gal hai," she said warmly. She shifted the heavy book in her arms. "Wese, eh geography bohot boring hai. Je tenu samajh na aaye te puch lavi."

Jaskirat felt like he could fly. "Bilkul. Zaroor puchanga. Wese... tenu baithne layi jagah chahidi hai? Sadi table te space hai."

Reet looked over at Gurbaaz, who was currently pretending to be deeply engrossed in a dictionary while giving them a massive thumbs-up from behind the bookshelf. She giggled. "Nahi, meri friend wait kar rahi hai canteen vich. Par kal milde han class ton pehla?"

"Kal? Haan, bilkul! Main utthe hi hovanga," Jassi promised.

"Thik hai. Bye, Jaskirat."

"Sat Sri Akal, Reet."

He watched her walk away, his heart hammering a rhythm that felt like a victory drum. He stood in the aisle for a long moment, staring at the empty space where she had been, until a sharp "Shhh!" from the librarian snapped him back to reality.

He floated back to the table. Gurbaaz didn't even wait for him to sit down.

"Oye hoye! Jassi te shaa gaya!" Gurbaaz grinned, slapping the table so hard a stack of papers flew off. "Ki keha ohne? Menu lagga tu behosh ho jayenga."

Jaskirat sat down, a slow, dorky smile spreading across his face. He picked up his book, correct side up this time. "Kuch nahi yaar. Bas keha ki geography sikhayegi mainu."

"Geography?" Gurbaaz snorted. "Bhai, tenu poore Punjab da map zubani yaad hai! Tu te geography da topper hai."

Jaskirat shrugged, looking out the library window at the bright Pathankot sun. "Pata hai. Par hun dobara sikhne vich ki buraai hai?"

📜 ━━━━━━━ ∙ʚ♡ɞ∙ ━━━━━━━ 📜

Why is Dhurandhar so emotional?

When Rehman gets the call after naimeen dies and gets told (by zawari saabh?) That he must focus and naimeen won't come back now. That's such a horrible thing to say to a grieving parent omds.

Jaskirt, having to witness his family, quite literally be ripped apart. His dad hung. His sisters being victims of such a disgusting act. That's so scarring. YET, he went on to protect india even tho the system failed him and his family. The worst was is when he has neither family in the end. Imagine spending years and years away and when you're 3 steps away from your mother, longing to put your head in her lap, seeing your sister and longing to tease her again you step back because they had established a routine now. Without you.

Yalina. My innocent babygirl, all she did was fall in love. Imagine how hard it must be for her raising zaayan without hamza. Making assumptions here but what if hamza was her phela pyaar. And now she'll spend the rest of her life yearning for what it could have been.

Special mention:Ulfat. My girl lost her son and husband back to back. When naimeen died she had Rehman for support but when Rehamn himself died who was her support? She had to be strong for Faizal.

AHHHHHHHH IM WAFFLING. Blame the period emotions frfr.

(epilogue)

Hamza ali mazari x Female Oc

Tags: @roses-and-iron @tere-naal-nachna @hum-suffer @mariaaysbusjs @winterqueensworld @desi-brownie @nervouscashrascalflowers @supersonicsauropod @geometric-circle @pleasetagmejaaneman @avasif @avatar-of-procrastination @pn28

Warning: This is a work of fiction that explores difficult themes, including, past trauma, violence and abusive language. MENTION OF PAST TRAUMA AND RAPE. Please approach this story with care.

Credits: All the movie storyline credit is to aditya dhar sir. The exaggeration is my work of fiction.

Phir se naina bhare....

Samjhe the hum gham hai khatam...

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

The office was quite. A steadied silence. the only source of all the buzz and chatter came from outside of the window. There were countless reasons for silence.The woman entered the office with files in her hand, the exhaustion clearly took over her as soon as she sat down on the office chair. She closed her eyes and tried to relax herself by soothing her nerves. She placed the files on her table and leaned back on the chair.

The formal she wore complemented her aura and her hairs tied in a ponytail, her curtain bangs framing her face gently. A man entered the office and the woman quickly got up and patted her clothes neat before greeting him. She moving towards him. She told him how the idea of a vacation, the higher authority suggested didn't please her To which he replied that she needed it. The woman didn’t say anything further and just stared at him.

Bhansal chuckled a bit looking down at he stubborn behaviour and just in midst he remembered the younger her would've fought everyone at this point. He then stared back at her quite pale face with a hint of empathy. She quite disliked it when people showed empathy towards her. she did everything on her own for her own satisfaction.

Bhansal asked her to take this leave and went away. The woman stood there for awhile before leaving the office and entering a room full of trainees. She greeted them all with a tight smile and asked about their training. She began her lecture for that day – she taught them about patience — Nazar aur Sabar.

She moved out after finishing her lecture and met with her bhansal on the way, who told her there is a visitor for her she nodded with curiosity who could it even be. She had no one in this world and even if there was they would never be here.

After all, at the age of 18 she got imprisonment for killing 6 men who sexually assaulted her mother. She was a cricket trainee and the incident ignited something strange in her. Her mother kept denying her want and said 'let's not tell it to anyone' which made her more angry at the situation as growing up without a father had already built her into a tough person who had to protect her mother.this incident made her feel like a failure and she decided she would be the one to bring justice now. And one night when those six men broke in their home unknown of the fact of who was waiting for them.

When suddenly she stopped in front of the main gate. She looked behind her at bhansal and he nodded as she moved forward the person standing outside. The path covered with dried leaves as the trees around them filled with green ones. The man stood at a distance wearing a faded purple tuxedo and pink turban.

Right in that moment everything seemed to come at halt. Her hand shook and her eyes widened with tears in them.

The curtain bangs flowed as the air hit her face; her cheeks flushed from the amount of vulnerability she felt as he moved forward towards her when she stumbled to move first.

The intensity of their feelings were thick in the air. Every breath they took seemed to put a little life in them, reminding of how dead they felt without each other’s presence.

“Jassi”

They both moved closer with a heart heavy with unsaid emotions. The woman cupped his cheeks, tracing every single scar or bruise on his face, her tears now falling freely. On the other hand, the man engulfed her in a longing embrace, they both deprived for it. Jassi’s mind flickered back to the faint memories of them when they first met each other.

She was already a trainee when he joined in. After losing his family, it all felt like suffocation for him, felt like a trap—but he knew he’d find a way out. If he would have said no to this mission, he would’ve died anyway, but if he succeeded he’d be able to find a way to reunite with his family. The system made Jassi feel somehow hollow. The deep desire he had to be a servant for his country somehow had became void. And in midst of that, when he met her, everything seemed to take a 90° turn. The realization hit him hard that how cruel a game destiny was playing. He would be serving his nation with a free hand but at a high price. Six months into the training, Jassi had acknowledged his feelings for the girl. She wasn’t the shy, bubbly and extra expressive type; she expressed her emotions with the depth of her eyes and her aura emitted what ran in her veins-a love for her country. Besides of her being the favourable trainee of the higher authority, Jassi also became a fan of hers. He’d always been seen cheering for her. Though never talked to her or known her name. And once there was a time when she felt somehow the demons of her past trauma troubled her well-built personality. She started self-doubting and that’s when Jassi had showed up in her dormitory, confronting her how everything will be alright. And when she questioned his trust on her, he’d blush just enough for her to notice while her heart fluttered at it. Bhansal saw it - but they could do nothing but feel a bit bad for what they were about to go through. That’s when she was called up to the office of the mastermind himself. With Bhaskar on her side she entered the office of Ajay sanyal. She gave a smile and greeted him. Ajay made her sit and explained to her about the mission of hers. he somehow made an confession of getting everything she needed with patience. He patted her back - she had just turned twenty but her intensity of work would make people say otherwise. Whenever Ajay sir met her he couldn't help but tell her how she is the most bravest young girl he has ever met.

The woman stepped back, whispering how much she missed him and was worried for him.

When Jassi tried to sound angry with her sudden departure that left him wondering if she was alive or not for next few years, in the end when he met Jameel, he got to know she's alive and that seemed to push life into Jassi inside him. After a few emotional conversations, they moved inside.

They both had planned to go to Jassi’s home.

She started to pack their stuff, he came across a uniform of the woman he loves and while she was packing his stuff. He folded a shirt of hers neatly even when she refused for him to work. He looked back at the uniform and read the name with pride - beaming ear to ear.

'Isha talwar'