Kabeela, Ishq, aur Islamabad ( Sarbuland Khan X Laila)
A/N : First chapter of KABEELA, ISHQ AUR ISLAMABAD, LESGOOOO. A FEW OC'S ARE THERE AND A FEW CARACTER DYNAMICS ARE CHANGED CUZ THIS IS MY FIC AND I'M THE ONE TO CONTROL THE CHEMISTRY đ đŠâđŹđ§Şâď¸
Dividers by @diviniyae HAD TO APPRECIATE THIS KWEEN đđ
Based on
Masterlist
Chapter 1 : Dilkashi
The morning breeze in Islamabad was unusually crisp, carrying the soft scent of pine trees and rain-soaked earth. At the bustling campus of Quaid-i-Azam University, students were gathered around the central cafeteria, their laughter and debates echoing through the courtyard.
Among them sat Sarbuland Khan, the towering, brooding heir to one of the most formidable tribal families in the northern valley. To anyone looking at him, he possessed the intimidating presence of his lineageâbroad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and eyes that could make grown men think twice before raising their voice. Yet today, Sarbuland was sitting completely still, staring blankly into his cup of lukewarm chai, a soft, utterly helpless smile playing on his lips.
His best friend, Mudassir, leaned across the wooden table, squinting in deep suspicion. Beside Mudassir sat Rabiya, his sharp-witted girlfriend and Sarbulandâs closest confidante on campus. On the other side were Khaqan, Shahveer, and Hamzaâthe rest of Sarbulandâs tight-knit college circleâall watching him with varying degrees of utter disbelief.
"Are you seeing this?" Khaqan whispered to Shahveer, gesturing vaguely at Sarbulandâs mesmerized face. "He looks like heâs been hypnotized by a jinnee."
Shahveer snorted, tossing a fried peanut at Sarbulandâs forehead. It bounced right off his hair, but Sarbuland didn't even flinch. He just blinked, sighed softly, and took another slow sip of chai.
"Yeh bilkul pagal ho chuka hai," Hamza declared, shaking his head. "Totally gone."
Rabiya rolled her eyes at the boys, leaning forward on her elbows to look directly into Sarbulandâs eyes.
"Sarbuland," Rabiya said, raising her voice slightly. "Assalam-o-Alaikum! Earth to Sarbuland Khan! Are you in Islamabad or have you mentally ascended to your kabeela?"
Sarbuland shook his head, snap-refocusing his dark eyes as a subtle blush flushed across his high cheekbones.
"Walaikum Assalam, Rabiya," Sarbuland muttered, adjusting the collar of his simple kurta. "Kuch nahi hua. Main bas... soch raha tha."
"Soch rahe the?" Mudassir scoffed loudly, slapping the table. "Bhai, tum pichle tees din se sirf ek hi cheez 'soch' rahe ho! Aur jab bhi woh soch chalti hai, tumhare chehre pe yeh ajeeb si, sharmila si muskaan aa jati hai. It is creepy, Sarbuland! You are an heir to a massive warlord dynasty, not a hero in a low-budget romantic drama!"
"Bakwas mat karo, Mudassir," Sarbuland muttered defensively, though the reddish hue on his ears betrayed him completely.
Rabiya leaned in closer, a mischievous smirk spreading across her face. "Laila ke peeche Majnu kyu bane, Sarbuland? Woh hi kyu? Koi aur kyu nahi? Matlab... itni saari ladkiyaan hain university mein. Half the social sciences department spends their day trying to catch your eye, yet you are obsessing over the girl who looks like sheâd break a brick over someoneâs head for breathing wrong."
Sarbulandâs expression softened instantly at the mention of Lailaâs name. A quiet, reverent sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against his chair, looking up at the gray sky above the Margalla Hills.
"Tum nahi samajhogi, Rabiya," Sarbuland said softly, his voice dropping into a rich tone. "Woh aam ladkiyon jaisi nahi hai. Woh ek aag hai."
"Ek aag jo tumhara dimaag jala chuki hai," Mudassir deadpanned.
Sarbuland ignored him, turning to look at Rabiya. "Did you see what happened in Professor Qadri's lecture last month? You weren't there that day."
"Professor Qadri? That old dinosaur from the Sociology department?" Rabiya asked, raising an eyebrow. "What did he do this time?"
"He was giving his usual lecture on traditional family roles," Sarbuland recalled, a proud, fond grin spreading across his face. "He stopped in the middle of his slide, looked directly at the front row, and had the audacity to say, 'Aaj kal ki ladkiyoon ko ghar ke kaam se zyada, bahar ki azaadi ka shauk hai. Lekin mard ka muqam hamesha oochar rehta hai, chahe aurat kitni bhi padh-likh jaye.'"
Mudassir winced. "Oof. He said that out loud?"
"In a hall full of two hundred students," Sarbuland said, his eyes glittering with admiration. "Everyone was quiet. Half the girls were uncomfortable, the boys were smirking or looking away. But then... she stood up."
"Laila?" Rabiya smiled.
"Laila," Sarbuland repeated, his voice filled with wonder. "She stood right up in the middle of the lecture hall, slowly unclipped her pen, and looked Professor Qadri straight in the eye. She didn't raise her voice. She was completely calm, completely deadly."
Sarbuland mimicked her calm demeanor, leaning forward. "She looked at him and said, 'Sir, agar mard ka muqam itna hi oocha, toh aapko apna muqam saabit karne ke liye aurat ko chota dikhane ki zaroorat kyu padti hai? Kya aapki shakhsiyat itni kamzor hai ke ek padhi-likhi aurat ki azaadi se aapka wajood khatre mein aa jata hai?'"
Hamza let out a dramatic gasp. "Bhai! In front of everyone?!"
"In front of two hundred people!" Sarbuland laughed, a rare, bright sound. "Professor Qadri turned redder than a pomegranate. He sputtered and said, 'Yeh badtameezi hai, Miss Laila! Main aapka uprofessor hoon!' And do you know what she replied?"
"What?" Rabiya asked, completely hooked.
"She smiledâthat razor-sharp smile of hersâand said, 'Aap professor hain, Sir, isliye professor ki tarah baat kariye. Jahalat padhana hamaari syllabus ka hissa nahi hai.' Then she packed her bag, picked up her books, and walked out of the hall while half the class was trying not to burst into applause."
Sarbuland rested his chin on his palm, staring off into the distance, thoroughly smitten. "That day, Rabiya... I realized that I didn't just admire her. I was completely, helplessly sold. She has a rebellious spirit. A savage heart. A tight slap on every misogynist who thinks women should sit quietly in the dark."
Mudassir clapped his hands together slowly. "Mashaallah, Mashaallah! Sarbuland Khan, the terrifying prince of the northern mountains, reduced to a poet by a girl who roasted a sixty-year-old professor."
"Main koi poet ya shayar nahi hoon," Sarbuland mumbled, suddenly defensive again.
"Pata hai, pata hai," Shahveer chimed in with a grin. "Tum toh bas 'Gumnam Aashiq' ho! The guy who is too terrified to walk up to her and say hello, so he sneaks around like a ninja dropping handmade parchment notes on her hostel porch every single night!"
"It's romantic!" Rabiya defended, hitting Shahveer's arm. "Although... Sarbuland, seriously. Itâs been a full month. Thirty days of secret letters and Urdu shayris. How long are you going to hide behind the trees?"
Sarbuland looked down at his leather messenger bag, where a neatly folded piece of cream-colored paper lay hidden beneath his textbooks. "Main bas... dar lagta hai. What if she hates me? What if she finds out who I am and walks away? My family name carries blood and legacy, Rabiya. But in front of her... I am just a man who doesn't know how to speak without stuttering."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the campus, inside the courtyard of the Women's Hostel, a completely different storm was brewing.
"LAILA!"
A loud shout echoed down the third-floor corridor. Jasmeet came skidding into Room 304, nearly tripping over a pair of stray sneakers. Behind her walked Shama, looking exasperated, holding two cups of hot chai, while Qais BhatâLailaâs flamboyant, perpetually dramatic friend who spent way too much time hanging out near the hostel gatesâ stood at the door, leaning casually against the frame.
"Aapki chai thandi ho rahi hai, aur aap yahan abhi tak apna rumaal set kar rahi hain!" Jasmeet huffed, dropping onto the unmade bed.
Laila was standing in front of a small, gilded mirror hanging on the wall. She adjusted her stole over her shoulders, her dark eyes flashing with amusement as she turned to face her friends. Laila was strikingânot just in her beauty, but in her unyielding, electric posture. She didn't walk; she paced like a panther. She didn't speak; she declared.
"Sukoon rakho, Jasmeet," Laila said, taking a cup of tea from Shama with a soft smile. "Shukriya, Shama."
"Shukriya ko chodo," Qais Bhat interrupted, stepping into the room with a dramatically tragic sigh. "Laila, mere bhai! Pehle yeh batao... aaj ka paigaam kahan hai? Where is today's masterpiece from your mysterious Romeo?"
Lailaâs eyes softened slightly, a small, knowing smile twitching at the corner of her lips. She slowly walked over to her study desk and pointed at a small wooden tray. Rested on top of it was a series of carefully folded papers, each tied with a simple piece of rustic brown twine.
"Raha aaj ka khat," Laila said calmly.
Jasmeet practically gasped, darting across the room to look at it. "Arey! Pehle kyu nahi bataya?! Read it! Read it out loud!"
"Main kyu parhoon?" Laila chuckled, leaning against the desk and sipping her tea. "Tum log toh waise bhi bina ijazat ke parh hi lete ho."
"Main parhta hoon!" Qais volunteered instantly, striking a poetic pose in the middle of the room. He dramatically picked up the latest letter, untied the string, and unfolded the heavy paper.
"Ahem, ahem," Qais cleared his throat, adopting a deep, theatrical voice:
Suno, Aapki aawaaz mein jo ghooror hai, woh kisi taaj se kam nahi, Aapki khamoshi mein jo aag hai, woh kisi shole se kam nahi. Log kehte hain ke chand ko dekhna ibadat hai, Par humne toh chand ko zameen par chaltay dekha hai...
Shama placed a hand over her heart, letting out a dramatic groan. "Haiii! Kitna pyaara hai! Who writes like this in 2026?! Girls are getting texts like 'u up?' and Laila is receiving pure classical Urdu poetry dropped on her doorstep like a royal decree!"
"Banda jo koi bhi hai, shair zabardast hai," Jasmeet admitted, leaning against Lailaâs shoulder. "Lekin Laila... sach batao. Are you not getting annoyed? Itâs been thirty whole days! A month of these letters appearing every single morning on the hostel porch. Aren't you curious?"
Laila took another slow sip of her tea, her gaze drifting toward the window that overlooked the main campus paths.
"Curious?" Laila mused softly. "Pehle mujhe laga koi mazaak hai. Someone trying to play a silly game. But... look at the handwriting. Look at the respect in every line. He hasn't said a single inappropriate thing in thirty letters. He doesn't ask for my phone number. He doesn't demand anything. He just... admires."
"Toh phir?" Qais asked, leaning in, his sharp eyes glinting with intrigue. "Kya iraada hai tera? Is the great, untouchable Laila actually soft on her Ajnabi Aashiq?"
Laila turned back to them, her eyes sparkling with a dangerous, mischievous glint.
"Soft? Nahi, Qais," Laila smirked, tapping her fingers against her tea cup. "Lekin main kisi ko itni azaadi nahi deti ke woh mujhe door se beth kar sataye. If he has the courage to write such heavy words, he should have the courage to stand in front of me."
"Wait..." Shama stared at her, her eyes widening. "Laila... what did you do?"
Laila calmly pointed her chin toward the edge of the desk. There, lying separate from the stack, was an open bottle of dark blue fountain pen ink and a single sheet of ivory paper.
Jasmeet gasped, rushing to pick it up. "No way! You wrote back?!"
"Read it!" Qais shrieked, totally dropping his nonchalant persona and crowding around Jasmeet. "Read what she wrote!"
Jasmeet cleared her throat, reading Lailaâs crisp, elegant handwriting aloud:
Mere Ajnabi Aashiq, Kab tak is tarah mujhe satate rahoge? Ab toh samne aa jao. Ya meri khoobsurti rubaroo sehen nahi kar paoge? Aapki shayari achhi hai, par mujhe kaagaz ke phool pasand nahi. Agar dum hai, toh parda girao aur samne aao. â Laila
Qais burst into a fit of dramatic applause. "Savage! Absolute peak behavior! 'Ya meri khoobsurti rubaroo sehen nahi kar paoge?' AAH! I am dying! The guy is going to have a heart attack when he reads this!"
"Laila, you didn't!" Shama giggled, covering her face. "Where did you put it?!"
"Last night, before I went to sleep," Laila said, a faint, rare flush creeping onto her cheeks, though her posture remained imperious. "I stepped out onto the porch and left my letter right under the small flower pot where he always leaves his. He usually comes before dawn to drop his notes. So... he must have found it this morning."
Jasmeet grabbed Lailaâs hands, bouncing on her heels. "So he has it! He actually has your letter right now!"
Laila looked out the window again, the soft smile returning to her lips. "Haan. Ab dekhte hain ke mera 'Ajnabi Aashiq' sirf kaagaz ka sher hai... ya waqai koi mard hai."
Back at the boys' hostel room, the chaos was reaching an absolute peak.
Sarbulandâs room was a chaotic mix of heavy wooden furniture, stacks of thick law and history books, and traditional hand-woven tribal rugs sent from his village. Sarbuland was sitting on his bed, laptop open, caught in the middle of a mandatory group video call with his massive, loud family back in the mountain valley.
Gathered around the screen on his end were Mudassir and Shahveer, who had forced their way into the frame just to witness the madness. On the laptop screen, the whole kabeela was present in full force.
At the center of the camera sat Bijaan, the formidable matriarch of the clan, draped in a heavy velvet shawl, sitting grandly on her charpai. Beside her stood Sherdil lala, Sarbulandâs fierce elder brother, alongside his sweet wife, Gul Bhabhi, who was holding their young daughter, Laiba. On the other side was Sohrab lala, Sarbulandâs second brother, looking stern as always, flanked by his wife Noor Bhabhi and their energetic little son, Umar Daraaz. Sitting on the rug near Bijaanâs feet was Bano, Sarbulandâs beloved younger sister, who was currently staring intensely at her brother through the camera.
"Sarbuland!" Bijaanâs booming, authoritative voice echoed through the laptop speakers. "Tumhare chehre ko kya hua hai? Laal kyu ho rahe ho tum? Islamabad mein garmi badh gayi hai kya?!"
Sarbuland choked on his air, quickly coughing into his fist. "N-Nahi, Bijaan! Yahan mausam bilkul theek hai. Main... main bas abhi dhoop se andar aaya hoon."
"Dhoop se aaye ho ya kisi ke khayaalon se?" Bano piped up instantly on the screen, a evil grin spreading across her face. "Bijaan, main aapko bata rahi hoon! Jab bhi Sarbuland lala video call karte hain, yeh ajeeb tarah se muskurate rehte hain. Bilkul aashiq lagte hain!"
"Bano!" Sarbuland warned, narrowing his eyes at his sister. "Aapni padhai pe dhyan do, faltu baatein mat karo."
"Arey, chote ko tang mat karo!" Gul Bhabhi said gently on the call, adjusting little Laiba in her arms. "Sarbuland beta, tum khana waqt pe kha rahe ho na? Yeh Mudassir tumko tang toh nahi karta?"
"Bhabhi!" Mudassir leaned right into the camera frame, waving enthusiastically. "Assalam-o-Alaikum Bhabhi! Main kyun tang karoon? Aapka dewar khud hi din raat khayaalon ki dunya mein rehta hai! Isko khane ka hosh hi nahi hai!"
"Mudassir beta, Walaikum Assalam," Noor Bhabhi smiled from the back. "Iska khayal rakho. Umar Daraaz bhi apne chacha ko bohot yaad karta hai."
On cue, five-year-old Umar Daraaz popped his head directly in front of the camera, holding up a plastic toy sword. "Chacha! Aap kab aayenge?! Humne pahadon pe shikaar pe jana hai!"
Sarbulandâs heart warmed, a real, genuine smile replacing his nervous posture. "Main jald aaoonga, Umar. Tum apna khayal rakho aur Sohrab lala ko tang mat karo."
Sohrab lala crossed his arms, looking down at the camera with a stern, paternal expression. "Padhai kaisi chal rahi hai, Sarbuland? Kabeela ke maamlaat abhi shant hain, par tumhein jald wapas aana hoga. Tum iss ghar ke waaris ho."
Sherdil lala nodded in agreement, his voice deep and resonant. "Haan, Sarbuland. Islamabad ka maahaul tumhe narm na bana de. Hamaare dushman abhi bhi sar uthane ki koshish kar rahe hain. Apni hifazat ka khayal rakhna."
The mention of the blood feud instantly brought a heavy silence over the room. Sarbulandâs jaw tightened slightly. The ancient rivalry between his clan and their bitter enemies in the valley was a shadow that followed him everywhere, even in the bustling streets of Islamabad.
"Mujhe sab yaad hai, Sherdil lala," Sarbuland said, his voice instantly turning firm and serious. "Main apna farz nahi bhoola."
"Acha acha, abhi inn baaton ko chhodo!" Bijaan barked, waving her hand dismissively at her eldest sons. "Mera bacha parhai kar raha hai. Sarbuland, tum bas apna khayal rakho. Aur agar koi pasand aa gayi hai, toh chupane ki zaroorat nahi hai! Main khud rishta le kar aaoongi!"
"BIJAAN!" Sarbuland squeaked, his voice cracking slightly, causing Shahveer and Mudassir to burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter beside him.
"Acha, Allah Hafiz!" Bano giggled, blowing a kiss to the screen before quickly ending the video call, leaving Sarbuland burying his face in his hands while his friends rolled on the floor laughing.
"Bhai, tumhari family toh next level hai!" Shahveer wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Bijaan literally offered to roll up to Islamabad with a whole caravan for your rishta!"
"Tum dono abhi ke abhi yahan se dafa ho jao," Sarbuland groaned, throwing a pillow at them.
Just as Mudassir was about to throw the pillow back, Khaqan came bursting through the door, out of breath and holding a folded piece of paper in his hand.
"Sarbuland!" Khaqan panted, catching his breath against the doorframe. "Bhai... main abhi tumhare hostel waale raste se aa raha tha..."
Sarbuland sat up straight, his entire posture locking up. "Kya hua?"
"I passed by the girls' hostel porch... where you usually leave your notes," Khaqan said, holding up the paper. "There was no note under the pot. Instead... there was this."
The room went dead silent.
Sarbuland stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floorboards. He walked over to Khaqan with slow, disbelieving steps, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He stretched out his hand, taking the ivory paper.
It wasn't his paper. It was fine, smooth stationery, scented faint of jasmine.
"Is that..." Mudassir whispered, his eyes wide. "...a reply?"
Sarbuland didn't hear him. His hands were trembling slightly as he slowly unfolded the sheet. The dark blue fountain pen ink stood out boldly against the ivory background. The handwriting was elegant, sharp, and confidentâjust like her.
He read the words silently at first, his eyes scanning the lines:
Mere Ajnabi Aashiq, Kab tak is tarah mujhe satate rahoge? Ab toh samne aa jao. Ya meri khoobsurti rubaroo sehen nahi kar paoge? Aapki shayari achhi hai, par mujhe kaagaz ke phool pasand nahi. Agar dum hai, toh parda girao aur samne aao. â Laila
Sarbulandâs breath hitched in his throat. He read it once. He read it twice. He read it three times.
A deep, fiery flush spread across his face, creeping up to his ears, down to his neck. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
"Kya likha hai?!" Shahveer demanded, trying to peer over his shoulder. "Bhai, parh ke sunao! Did she call the police?! Did she roast you?!"
Sarbuland slowly collapsed back onto his bed, staring at the paper in absolute awe.
"She... she wrote back," Sarbuland whispered, his voice barely audible.
"PADH KE SUNAO!" Mudassir yelled, snatching the paper out of his hand before Sarbuland could stop him.
Mudassir, Khaqan, and Shahveer crowded together, reading the text out loud in unison:
"KAB TAK IS TARAH MUJHE SATATE RAHOGE?! AB TOH SAMNE AA JAO! YA MERI KHOOBSURTI RUBAROO SEHEN NAHI KAR PAOGE?!"
The room exploded into utter chaos.
"OHHH MY GOD!" Khaqan screamed, falling backward onto the rug. "SHE CHALLENGED HIM! SHE LITERALLY CALLED HIM OUT!"
"YA MERI KHOOBSURTI RUBAROO SEHEN NAHI KAR PAOGE?!" Shahveer mimicked in a high-pitched voice, clapping his hands hysterically. "Bhai, she just called herself breathtaking and told you that you don't have the guts!"
"Agar dum hai, toh parda girao aur samne aao!" Mudassir yelled, shaking Sarbuland by his shoulders. "Sarbuland! Your savage queen just threw down the gauntlet! What are you going to do now?!"
Sarbuland sat motionless, holding his head in his hands, though a massive, unstoppable grin was spreading across his face.
She wasn't angry. She wasn't creeped out. She was intrigued. She was challenging him.
"Main..." Sarbuland swallowed hard, looking up at his friends with dark, determined eyes. "Main usse milunga."
"WHAT?!" all three boys shouted together.
"You're actually going to reveal yourself?!" Khaqan asked, wide-eyed. "The guy who turns into a statue whenever she walks past the library?!"
Sarbuland stood up, snatching the letter back from Mudassir and carefully folding it, placing it right next to his heart in his inner pocket. He walked over to his desk, pulling out his finest sheet of parchment paper and unscrewing his fountain pen.
"She asked if I have the courage," Sarbuland said, his voice dropping into a low, firm register, the pride of his valley rising within him. "Main Sarbuland Khan hoon. Main kisi dawat se peeche nahi hatâta."
Rabiya walked into the open doorway of the hostel room right at that moment, holding a bag of snacks. She took one look at Sarbulandâs intense face, the open parchment on the desk, and the three boys sweating in excitement.
"Okay, what did I miss?" Rabiya asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Laila left a note!" Shahveer grinned wildly. "And now Prince Sarbuland is writing his final response!"
Rabiyaâs jaw dropped. "She replied?! What did she say?!"
"She basically called him a coward and challenged him to show his face!" Mudassir chuckled.
Rabiya turned to Sarbuland, her eyes shining with pride. "So... what are you writing back, Romeo?"
Sarbuland dipped his pen into the dark ink, leaning over the paper. The tip of the pen glided smoothly across the surface, writing with absolute precision and unmatched grace:
Aapki khwahish humaare liye hukam hai, Laila. Agar aapko lagta hai ke hum aapki khoobsurti ka samna nahi kar sakte, toh aaj raat yeh ghalat-fehmi bhi door ho jaye gi. Aaj raat, theek baarah baje, university ki purani imarat ki chath (terrace) par mera intezar kijiyega. Parda girne wala hai. â Aapka Ajnabi Aashiq
Sarbuland blew gently on the wet ink, watching it dry under the desk lamp. He carefully folded the letter, sealing it inside a crisp white envelope.
He turned to look at his friends, his heart pounding a fierce, rhythmic beat against his chest. The playfulness of the past month was about to end. The secret games, the anonymous notes, the blushing from afarâit was all culminating tonight.
Tonight, Laila would finally look into his eyes. And tonight, before the inevitable shadows of their families' ancient blood feud could ever reach them in this mountain valley city, two worlds were about to collide.
"Khaqan," Sarbuland said, handing him the sealed envelope with steady hands. "Deliver this to her porch before she comes back from her evening lecture."
Khaqan took the envelope, saluting dramatically. "Consider it done, boss."
Sarbuland walked over to the balcony of his room, looking out toward the distant Margalla Hills wrapped in the cool evening mist. A quiet, confident smile touched his lips.
"Aaj raat, Laila... tumse mulaqat hogi."
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