#queen behaviour

Part - 1

Rehman × Ulfat

Disclaimer: This is a purely fictional work inspired by the electrifying performances of the actors on screen. It has absolutely nothing to do with real-life terrorists or such individuals.

Suggested by @desigurlie @tannipartner

The kidnapping was supposed to last twenty-four hours. It lasted a lifetime.

After the Tea and Flip-Flop Incident in the basement, Rehman realized two things. One: He had kidnapped a librarian instead of a heiress. Two: He was absolutely, terrifyingly terrified of her and he liked it.

Instead of running away when he opened the door to let her go, Ulfat had simply crossed her arms. "Go? In this rain? With my hair in this condition? You’re going to drive me home, but first, you’re going to explain why your kitchen has no spices other than salt and 'ambition'."

Rehman, the man who was supposed to be a rising shadow in the underworld, spent the next six months being re-educated.

The falling in love part wasn't a bouquet of roses; it was a series of tactical maneuvers.

Every Tuesday, Rehman would accidentally loiter near the library. He’d bring her snacks, which she would critique with the ferocity of a Gordon Ramsay.

"Is this a samosa or a triangle of sadness, Rehman? Why is it leaking oil? Do you want me to have a cholesterol spike before our first proper argument?"

Rehman would just stand there, looking like a large, confused bear in a leather jacket. "I... I thought you liked potatoes."

"I like potatoes that haven't been through a trauma, you bhondu," she’d sigh, then take a bite and save him the corner piece.

He fell for her when she stood up to his boss, Gulzar. The gang leader had come to collect Rehman for a raid, only to find Ulfat teaching Rehman how to alphabetize his "illegal" files.

"He’s busy," Ulfat had said, not even looking up from a spreadsheet. "He’s currently learning that 'Tax Evasion' comes after 'Social Etiquette.' Come back in three to five business years."

Gulzar had looked at Rehman’s gun, then at Ulfat’s reading glasses, and slowly backed out of the room. Rehman knew then: this woman wasn't just a firecracker; she was a nuclear silo.

For three years, Rehman rose through the ranks. He became the Sher-e-Baloch. He was feared from the coast to the mountains. He could sniff out a traitor from a mile away, but he couldn't sniff out a romantic hint if it was doused in jasmine oil and hitting him in the face.

Ulfat tried. Lord, she tried.

Hint #1: "Rehman, my finger feels so light. It’s almost like it’s missing a gold band of a specific diameter."

Rehman’s Response: "You should eat more spinach. Iron deficiency makes you feel light."

Hint #2: "That jewelry shop is having a sale on wedding sets. Isn't that interesting?"

Rehman’s Response: "It’s a scam, Ulfat. The markup on gold during the wedding season is a criminal enterprise. I’ll protect your finances."

Hint #3: "I want to change my last name. It’s too long."

Rehman’s Response: "I’ll talk to my guy at the NADRA office. We can just shorten it to 'Ulfat'."

By the third year, Ulfat’s left eye began to twitch. The Lightning Bolt was ready to strike.

Rehman was at the peak of his power. He was sitting in his high-security fortress, surrounded by armed guards, discussing "territory" (which Ulfat had renamed "The Neighborhood Watch Program").

Suddenly, the lights cut out.

"Intruder!" Rehman yelled, reaching for his holster.

THWACK.

A silk-lined, 800-thread-count Egyptian cotton sack,hand-embroidered with his initials in gold thread was slammed over his head.

"Don't move, you oversized beanbag!" a voice hissed. "If you struggle, I will tell the entire Council of Gangsters that you cried during the finale of Bhabhi Ji Ghar Par Hai ."(Specifically in the last episode of old gori mem)

Rehman froze mid-draw. "Ulfat? Is this a kidnapping? Because my schedule is packed until Tuesday."

"It’s a hostile takeover, you bumbling refrigerator! You’re being relocated to a state of holy matrimony. Guards! Load the cargo!"

To Rehman’s utter betrayal, his elite commandos , the men who had survived urban warfare didn't fire a single shot. They actually helped hoist him into the back of a luxury SUV. One of them even whispered, "Good luck, Boss, she’s got a rolling pin," as they slammed the trunk.

Rehman was tossed into the back. It didn’t smell like damp turmeric this time; it smelled like something like Victory and New Car Scent.

"Ulfat, this is highly irregular!" Rehman’s muffled voice boomed from the sack. "As the Sher-e-Baloch, I demand to be kidnapped in a vehicle with at least one bullet hole for street cred!"

"Oh, shut up, Mister Flip-Flop," Ulfat snapped from the driver’s seat, pulling a sharp U-turn that sent Rehman sliding across the leather. "I waited three years for you to grow a backbone and ask for my hand. My youth is fleeing, my patience is extinct, and I’ve already paid the caterer. You’re getting married tonight, even if I have to duct-tape your 'Qubool Hai' to your face."

"But I was going to ask!" Rehman protested, his pride muffled by the expensive cotton. "I bought a ring! It’s hidden in the flour bin!"

"I found it six months ago, Rehman! I used it to calibrate my jewelry scale! You’re a disaster! Now sit still or I’ll put on the Punjabi Remix of baby shark and I'll tell the whole underworld that the sher-e-baloch sleeps with a stuffed panda at night named Piku . "

Rehman went silent. He knew when he was outgunned.

The SUV screeched to a halt in a hidden garden lit by ten thousand fairy lights. The trunk popped. Ulfat dragged the sack out with the strength of a woman who had been doing spite-pilates for three years.

She ripped the sack off. Rehman blinked, his hair looking like a bird’s nest, his designer black vest replaced by a sequined Sherwani that Ulfat had somehow teleported onto his body during the drive.

"Where... where are we?"

"The point of no return," Ulfat smirked. She was wearing a red bridal veil that looked like it was woven from the blood of her enemies and the dreams of a fashionista.

In the center of the garden sat a Maulana (priest) who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on Earth. Two of Rehman’s lieutenants stood there holding trays of Ladoo, looking terrified.

"Maulana Sahab, begin," Ulfat commanded, pointing a manicured finger at the witness chair. "And keep it snappy. I have a honeymoon flight to catch, and he still needs to learn how to fold a fitted sheet."

The Maulana cleared his throat, looking at the Sher-e-Baloch. "Beta... do you... uh... consent to this... unconventional union?"

Rehman looked at the Maulana. Then he looked at Ulfat. She was currently adjusting a floral garland while holding a heavy brass lamp that looked suspiciously like a blunt-force weapon.

"Do I have a choice?" Rehman whispered.

"You have two choices," Ulfat chimed in, smiling sweetly. "You can say 'Qubool Hai' and get a three-course dinner, or you can say 'No' and spend the night tied to a chair while I read my 400-page dissertation on why you’re a ullu ka pattha."

Rehman looked at the Ladoos. He looked at the woman who was essentially a lightning bolt in a lehenga. A slow, smile spread across his face.

"Qubool hai," he said, his voice booming with the authority of a man who had finally realized he’d been winning this entire time. "Qubool hai. Qubool hai."

"Finally," Ulfat sighed, shoving a piece of mithai into his mouth so hard he nearly choked. "Now, pick up the flower petals. You’re making a mess of the aesthetic."

The Sher-e-Baloch, the terror of the province, immediately bent down to pick up the petals.

The wedding wasn't completed yet Ulfat straightened her spine and looked at Maulana to proceed further.

The Maulana’s hand was shaking so hard the marriage certificate looked like it had been signed during an earthquake. He looked at Ulfat, who was tapping her chin with a heavy brass lamp she probably picked after stuffing Rehman's mouth with sweets , then at Rehman, who was still trying to figure out how he’d been kidnapped in a designer Sherwani.(Someone tell him that he just said qubool hai but bhaisahab is still confused about the sherwani 🫡)

"And you, Beti..." the Maulana squeaked, "do you, Ulfat, daughter of the Minister, take this... uh... large, confused gentleman in the expensive sequins to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Ulfat didn’t just say the words. she leaned in until her nose was inches from Rehman’s. The fairy lights reflected in her eyes like a house fire.

"Qubool hai," she whispered, her voice like velvet-wrapped lightning. "I accept this disaster of a man as my personal project for the rest of time."

"Once more?" the Maulana prompted.

"Qubool hai," she said, louder this time, her smirk growing until it reached predatory levels. "Because someone has to make sure he doesn't join a gang that specializes in knitting."

"And for the third time?"

"QUBOOL HAI!" she roared, and the force of her voice actually blew out three of the nearby candles.

The Maulana scribbled the final signature and practically sprinted toward the exit, leaving the Sher-e-Baloch standing in a garden of jasmine and silence.

Rehman let out a breath he’d been holding since the burlap sack hit his head. "So... we’re actually married? Like, legally? I can’t be arrested for this?"

"Rehman, I’m the Minister’s daughter and you’re the most feared man in the province," Ulfat said, casually straightening his collar. "The only person you should be afraid of is me. Now, pick up my train. We have a schedule."

"A schedule? For what? More kidnapping?"

Ulfat turned on her heel, her red veil swirling around her like a crimson storm. She leaned into his ear, her breath smelling of cardamom and triumph.

"For our honeymoon, you bhondu," she teased, her voice dropping into a sultry, dangerous purr. "Pack your bags. And by pack, I mean I’ve already packed them. We’re going to a private villa in the mountains."

Rehman’s ears turned a bright, festive scarlet. "The mountains? Will there be... activities?"

"Oh, plenty," Ulfat laughed, poking him in the chest. "First, I’m going to teach you how to properly intimidate a waiter without accidentally tipping them fifty percent out of shyness. And after that..."

She paused, her eyes dancing with pure, unadulterated mischief as she looked him up and down.

Rehman looked at his fierce, fire-breathing wife, then down at his feet, and finally at the moon. He realized then that he was the only man in history to be kidnapped into a happily-ever-after.

"Okay," the Lion of Balochistan whispered, following her like a smitten puppy. "But can I bring Piku the bear?"

"Only if he sleeps on the floor, Rehman. Only if he sleeps on the floor."

This was the last part for now , let me know your thoughts.....

“Hello! Thank you to my fellow nominees, whose music got me through this past year. Brat was the best night of my life this year. My hat’s going to fall—it’s going to be OK. Thank you all who listened to get me here today...

I told myself if I ever won a Grammy, and I got to stand up here in front of the most powerful people in music, I would demand that labels and the industry, profiting millions of dollars off of artists, would offer a livable wage and health care, especially to developing artists.

Because I got signed so young—I got signed as a minor—and when I got dropped, I had zero job experience under my belt and, like most people, I had a difficult time finding a job in the pandemic and could not afford health insurance. It was so devastating to feel so committed to my art and feel so betrayed by the system and so dehumanized to not have health [care]. And if my label would have prioritized artists’ health, I could have been provided care by a company I was giving everything to.