#uzair

Uzair blinked, his forehead resting against your shoulder. The golden sunset flickered. He frowned, his brain short-circuiting as the high-pitched synth beat started thumping through the quiet meadow. Why is there pop music in the garden? Why are you singing in a high-pitched Danish accent?

Life in plastic, it's fantastic!

“What the hell…” he muttered, but when he tried to tighten his grip on your waist, his hands sank into something thick and woolly instead of silk.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the dream back into place, trying to find your face again, but the Barbie song was unrelenting. It was vibrating. It was literally vibrating against his skull.

Come on, Barbie, let's go party!

Uzair bolted upright, his heart hammering that same frantic, golden-hour rhythm, but the oak tree was gone. He was sitting in the cold, gray light of his bedroom at 8:00 AM, his fingers tightly gripping a tangled, messy duvet.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” he rasped, his voice thick with sleep.

He sat there for a moment, head in his hands, his thumbs pressing into his eyes. He could still feel the phantom sensation of your jaw in his palm, leaving him restless and frustrated.

He took a deep breath, forced his face into a neutral mask, and grabbed his phone. There was a notification on his screen.

Shorty🐜 [7:58 AM]: I’m standing outside your door. If you don’t open up in thirty seconds, I’m telling bhai you cried during the Lion King re-watch.

Uzair let out a sharp, dry exhale that was halfway between a groan and a laugh. The soft, romantic guy from the dream vanished in an instant, replaced by the Uzair the world actually knew.

“Of course,” he muttered, swinging his long legs out of bed. “A literal menace.”

He threw on a hoodie and stomped down the stairs. He pulled the door open, looking down—way, way down—to find you standing there, shivering in a sweater that looked three sizes too big for you.

“You're late,” you snapped, pointing a finger at his chest.

Uzair didn't move. He just leaned against the doorframe, looking down at you with a bored smirk that hid the fact that his pulse was currently doing laps.

“Sorry,” he drawled, his voice still thick with sleep. “I didn't hear you knocking. Usually, people knock on the door, they don't just tap on the floorboards. Are you sure you didn't just get mistaken for a stray cat?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing past him into the warmth of the house. “Hilarious. Truly. You should be a comedian.”

“And you should be a keychain,” he shot back, closing the door and following you, his eyes fixed on the back of your head. He was already imagining how perfectly it had fit under his chin just five minutes ago in his head.

You, out of instinct, moved to the kitchen to find something to snack on while he gets ready. The kitchen was Uzair’s territory, mostly because he was the only one who could reach the cabinets without a tactical plan. You headed straight for the stool at the island, looking like a stray kitten that had successfully invaded a lion’s den.

Uzair leaned against the counter, his height making the standard-sized appliances look like dollhouse furniture. He watched you out of the corner of his eye. He saw how your feet didn’t even touch the rungs of the stool. They just dangled there, swinging back and forth.

Oh his heart!

“You want tea?” he asked, his voice still carrying that rough, early-morning edge.

You looked up at him, that same upward tilt of the chin that had ruined him in his sleep and nodded. “Yeah, please.”

Uzair gave you a long, flat look before a slow, crooked smirk pulled at his lips.

“Chal bana le fir,” he drawled, pushing off the counter and walking past you. “Meri bhi bana dena.”

“Uzair!” you huffed, spinning around on the stool. “You literally just offered!”

“I asked if you wanted tea, I didn't say I was opening a cafe,” he shot back over his shoulder, though he didn't actually leave the room. He just moved to the far end of the kitchen to mess with his phone, lurking like a giant shadow.

You grumbled under your breath. Something about his ego being taller than his actual frame, hopping off the stool. You moved toward the stove, reaching for the tea canister on the middle shelf. You made it, barely, but then came the mugs. Uzair had ‘‘helpfully’’ pushed the ceramic mugs to the very back of the top shelf the night before.

He watched you from the corner of the room. You went up on your tiptoes, your fingers straining as you reached into the dark depths of the cabinet. Your sweater rode up just a fraction, and your neck was stretched thin as you squinted at the shelf.

Uzair felt his heart do a violent, uncoordinated kick against his ribs.

He waited until you were at your most frustrated, practically jumping to catch the rim of a mug, before he finally moved. He didn't say a word as he stepped up behind you yet the air in the kitchen suddenly felt five degrees hotter. He didn't touch you, but the wall of his chest was inches from your back. He reached up, his long arm extending effortlessly over your head. His hand looked massive against the white wood of the cabinet, his fingers easily curling around two mugs at once.

“Need a ladder, Shorty?” he murmured.

His voice was right by your ear, deep and vibrating. Because of the height gap, his breath fanned the top of your head. He stayed there for a heartbeat too long, effectively pinning you against the counter without ever actually laying a hand on you. From his perspective, you were completely eclipsed by his shadow, looking like something he could just... pick up and put in his pocket.

His heart was screaming at him to just wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your hair, but instead, he set the mugs down on the counter with a loud clack.

“There,” he said, stepping back quickly before he lost his grip on reality. “Try not to break anything. I know it’s hard when everything is built for actual adults.”

“You're such a jerk,” you murmured, though there was no real heat in it. 

He took a jagged breath, his lungs feeling too big for his chest. “And don't burn yourself. I don't have any Band-Aids small enough for those fingers.” 

After sharing a tea, you were halfway to the door when the morning chill finally seeped through the kitchen windows, making you shiver. You looked down at your thin sweater, then at the gray sky outside.

“I forgot my jacket,” you muttered, looking glaring at the door. 

Uzair stopped, his hand on the doorframe. He looked at you, then at the hallway closet, and finally at the hoodie he had draped over the back of the sofa. It was a massive, heavy-knit thing, black, smelling faintly of his cedarwood cologne and the lingering scent of breakfast.

Without a word, he grabbed it and tossed it at you. It hit you with enough force to nearly knock you off balance.

“Wear that,” he grumbled, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I’m not spending the day listening to your teeth chatter. It’s like being followed around by a very small, very cold typewriter.”

You pulled it on, and Uzair’s breath hitched. He had to physically lock his jaw to keep from making a sound.

The hoodie was a disaster on you. The shoulder seams sat halfway down your biceps. Your hands had vanished completely into the sleeves, leaving only the very tips of your fingers peeking out from the cuffs. The hem hit you mid-thigh, making your legs look even shorter, even more delicate.

You looked like you were being consumed by his clothes.

“Uzair, I can’t find my hands,” you said, waving the empty, drooping sleeves at him.

He looked down at you, and he had this sudden, violent urge to just... gather all that extra fabric, with you inside it, and squeeze. He wanted to lift you up until you were eye-level and ask how it was possible for one person to be this small.

“Keep them in there,” he snapped, his voice harsher than intended as he fought the urge to hyperventilate. “Maybe if your hands are covered, you’ll stop touching things you can’t reach. Now move, Shorty. We’re late.”

The local café was loud, smelling of roasted beans and damp umbrellas. Hamza was already there, waving them over from a booth in the corner.

As you walked through the crowd, Uzair felt a familiar, buzzing anxiety. Every time someone walked past you, he felt his arm twitch. To everyone else, they were just people. To him, they were giant obstacles that might accidentally flatten you if they didn't look down.

He stayed half a step behind you, his height allowing him to see over the entire crowd. He felt like a shepherd guarding a very small, very stubborn sheep.

“Look who finally crawled out of bed,” Hamza laughed as you both arrived. He looked at you, then at the hoodie, and let out a snort. “Ya Allah, y/n, are you in there somewhere? Uzair, did you pick this up from the kids' section or did she just shrink in the rain?”

“It was the only thing I had that didn't look like a doll’s outfit on her,” Uzair drawled, sliding into the booth first so he could trap you in the corner.

The booth was tight. When you sat down next to him, your shoulder was pressed firmly against his ribs. Because he was so much broader, you were practically tucked under his arm.

“You guys are ridiculous,” Yalina said across the table, hiding a smirk behind a menu. “Uzair, you’re sitting like you’re afraid someone’s going to steal her. Relax. She’s right there.”

“I’m just trying to make sure nobody sits on her,” Uzair shot back, leaning his head back against the leather seat.

He tried to focus on the conversation, but all he could feel was the warmth of your arm against his side. Every time you laughed, your whole body moved. At one point, you leaned forward to grab a sugar packet, and your hair brushed his chin. Uzair froze. His heart hammered a rhythm so loud he was sure Hamza could hear it over the espresso machine. He looked down, the view he always saw, and saw the way you were looking at the menu, your eyes scanning the items, completely unaware of the war he was fighting within himself.

He reached out, his hand looking like a titan’s as he flicked the oversized sleeve of the hoodie.

“Stop fidgeting,” he whispered, his voice thick. “You’re taking up the whole booth.”

“I’m taking up six inches, Uzair!” you whispered back, looking up at him.

The angle. The eyes. The way you had to strain your neck just to glare at him.

Uzair turned away, his hand gripping his coffee mug so hard his knuckles turned white. Everyone knows, he thought, his chest tight. Everyone in this damn room knows except her.

By the time they left the cafe, the rain had turned into a thick, miserable mist by the time the group dispersed. Hamza and Yalina had headed off in a different direction, leaving Uzair to walk you back.

He was walking with his usual long, effortless strides, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He was halfway down the block before he realized the rhythmic scuff-scuff of your oversized hoodie wasn't right behind him anymore.

He stopped and turned. You were ten yards back, practically power-walking just to keep pace with his casual stroll. In that massive black hoodie, you looked like a very determined, very tiny shadow trying to catch up to its owner.

“Are you serious?” he called out, his voice echoing in the damp air.

“Uzair! Have some mercy!” you shouted back, breathless.

He waited, watching you. His chest felt tight again. As you finally reached him, your face was flushed from the effort, and you had to tilt your head so far back to look at him that your hood fell off. You looked up at him, panting slightly, your eyes wide and shining with the mist.

Uzair’s resolve cracked for a second. He reached out, his large hand moving almost of its own accord. He didn't touch your skin. 

Man he wished he was that brave. 

He grabbed the top of your hood and yanked it back over your head, tugging it down until it partially covered your eyes.

“Walk faster. I’m not standing in the rain while you take toddler steps,” he muttered.

But he didn't turn back around. Instead, he shortened his stride. He walked at a pace that felt unnaturally slow to him, just so your shoulder would stay level with his hip. Every few steps, his hand would brush against your arm, the thick fabric of his own hoodie meeting the sleeves of the one you’d stolen from him.

“You're being quiet,” you said after a few minutes, peering up at him from under the rim of the hood.

“I'm enjoying the peace before you start complaining about being hungry again,” he snapped, but he didn't look down. He couldn't. If he looked down and saw you peering up at him with those eyes in the middle of a quiet street, he would…

I am a mess, he thought.

“I was going to say thank you,” you murmured. “For the hoodie.”

Uzair’s heart did a slow, painful roll in his chest. He wanted to scoop you up right there, tuck you under his arm, and carry you the rest of the way just so he wouldn't have to deal with the sheer adorableness of you trying to be sincere.

“Don't get emotional on me,” he said, his voice coming out lower than he intended. “It’s a loan. I expect it back washed and folded, though God knows how you’ll reach the ironing board.”

“I hate you,” you laughed, leaning your shoulder into his side for a fleeting second.

Uzair stared straight ahead, his jaw locked, trying to remember how to breathe. He could feel the exact spot where you had touched him, a hot brand through layers of cotton.

The rain had finally won, turning the mist into a steady downpour that soaked through the loaned hoodie by the time you reached the porch.

“Great,” you muttered, fumbling with your keys. “I’m freezing, I’m wet, and I’m pretty sure my living room light is dead.”

Uzair groaned, towering behind you like a dark cloud. “Move over. You’re shivering so hard you’re going to snap the key in the lock.”

He reached around you, his arms effectively caging you against the door, and took the keys. It took him all of two seconds to turn the lock. When you stepped inside and flipped the switch, the entryway remained dark. You were right; the bulb had finally given up.

“I have spares in the top of the hall closet,” you said, already heading toward the narrow cupboard. “But I need the step-stool from the kitchen.”

Uzair was already there, his head nearly touching the ceiling of the small hallway. “Don't bother. By the time you find that stool and climb it, it'll be next year.”

He opened the closet. The spare bulbs were on the very top shelf. A height that was ambitious even for him. He reached up, his hoodie riding up to show the lean muscle of his torso, and grabbed a box.

“Give it here,” you said, reaching up.

“Hold on,” he muttered. He didn't hand it to you. Instead, he stepped into the cramped space of the entryway, standing directly under the fixture. “Hold the box while I unscrew the old one.”

The entryway was tiny. With Uzair in it, there was barely enough oxygen left for you. You stood right in front of him, holding the small cardboard box. Because he had to reach straight up, he stepped closer to you to get the right angle.

He was so close you could feel the damp chill of his jacket. You looked up and watched him work. His chest was a broad, solid wall at your eye level. You were looking at his collarbone, at the pulse jumping in his neck.

Uzair looked down for a split second to grab the new bulb, and he froze. You looked like a doll, looking up at him. He wanted to drop the bulb, grab your waist, and lift you until you were pinned against the wall.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he rasped. His voice was deeper, stripped of its usual sarcastic bite.

“Like what?” you whispered, your voice small.

He looked away, screwing the bulb in with a jerky motion. The light flickered on, blindingly bright in the small space. He stepped past you, his shoulder brushing yours with enough force to make you stumble back an inch. He didn't look back as he headed for the door.

“I'm going,” he called out, his voice returning to its defensive drawl. “Try not to get lost in your own apartment.”

As the door clicked shut, Uzair leaned his back against the outside of it, closing his eyes and taking a long, shaky breath. He pulled his phone out, his thumb hovering over the Shorty🐜 contact.

He didn't text. He just stood there, hyperventilating in the rain, wondering how much longer he could keep playing the "best friend" before he finally snapped.

Uzair sat on the edge of his desk, his long legs stretched out so far they nearly reached the center of the rug. He was already in his pathani, the midnight-blue fabric pulled tight across his shoulders. He was looking at you, pretending to be on his phone.

The room was a mess of your things. Your suitcase was open on his floor, a tangle of silk and lace spilling out. He watched you hold up a red dress, then a gold one, your face pinched in that specific look of indecision that usually meant you were about to be late.

“The green one,” he said. His voice was low, cutting through your internal debate.

“You think?” You held the emerald silk up, squinting at your reflection. “Is it too much for a party?”

“It’s fine. Just put it on.”

You disappeared into the bathroom, and Uzair finally let his head drop back, eyes closing as he took a slow breath. The smell of your hairspray was already beginning to replace the scent of his cologne in the air.

When the door clicked open, he straightened up. You were barefoot, the hem of the dress pooling around your toes. You looked like you were standing in a hole.

“I can't get the top,” you said, turning your back to him and gathering your hair over one shoulder.

Uzair stood. He stopped behind you, his shadow falling over your head and shoulders, dousing you in darkness. His hands, usually so steady, felt clumsy as he reached for the tiny gold clasp at the nape of your neck.

He had to hunch his shoulders and tilt his head down, his face hovering just inches from your skin. He could feel the heat radiating off you. His knuckles brushed your spine. A brief, accidental spark. He felt his jaw lock.

“Hold still,” he muttered.

“I am holding still.”

“You're breathing. Stop it.”

He finally got the clasp to click. He didn't pull away immediately. He stayed there, his chest nearly touching your back, his eyes fixed on the way your pulse was jumping in your neck. He looked at your reflection in the mirror. 

You stepped into your heels, the clack-clack of the gold stilettos echoing in the quiet room. Even with the extra height, you were still looking at his collarbone. You reached up, your fingers grazing his collar to brush away a stray thread.

Uzair didn't move. He didn't breathe. He just looked down at you, his eyes dark and frantic, watching your small hands move against the dark fabric of his pathani.

“Ready?” you asked, looking up.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

He walked to the door and held it open. As you passed him, he instinctively placed a hand on the small of your back. His palm felt like it covered half your torso.

He followed you down the stairs, his eyes never leaving the back of your head. Downstairs, the bass of the music was already thumping through the floorboards, and he could hear Hamza’s loud laugh echoing from the kitchen.

Uzair adjusted his cuffs, his fingers feeling numb. He didn't say anything as you both walked into the light of the party, but as the first few guests turned to look at the two of you, matching, side-by-side. He knew exactly what they were seeing.

He didn't care. He just kept his hand near your shoulder, navigating you through the crowd as if he were the only thing keeping you from being stepped on.

The party was a blur of noise that Uzair spent mostly on the periphery, leaning against the wall. He watched as the house filled up, but his focus never shifted.

He saw when that guy, some friend of Hamza’s, started hovering. He saw the way the guy leaned in to hear you over the music, and he saw you laugh, your head tilting back in that way that exposed the line of your throat. He stood there, gripping a glass of neat whiskey, his knuckles white, watching another man stand in the space he felt belonged to him by right of height and history.

By the time the last stragglers stumbled out and the front door was locked, Uzair was well past "tipsy." He was in that sharp state of intoxication where the filter between his brain and his mouth had completely dissolved.

He was back in his room, sitting in the chair with his long legs kicked up on the edge of the table. The door clicked open. You walked in, still glowing from the night, the emerald silk shimmering under his dim bedroom lights. You still had a half-full wine glass in one hand, and you were mid-sentence, the words spilling out of you with an airy, post-party energy.

“Honestly, Uzair, you were being so moody all night,” you said, walking toward the vanity mirror. “Yalina noticed it too. But the party was so fun! And that guy, Naveed? He was actually hilarious, he told me this story about—”

You continued, setting your glass down on the dresser. You reached up, your fingers fumbling with your earrings, tugging the small, sparkling things from your lobes.

Uzair didn't say a word. He just sat there, his heavy boots crossed on the table, watching you in the mirror. His eyes were dark, tracking the movement of your small hands. He looked at you, barefoot again, talking about some other man, and something in him finally snapped.

He dropped his legs to the floor. The thud of his boots was the only warning you got before he stood up.

You were still talking, something about the catering, as you turned back to the mirror to grab a cotton pad. You didn't see him move. You only felt the sudden, massive shift in the air as he appeared behind you.

In the mirror, the contrast was violent. Uzair loomed over you, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. He didn't wait for you to finish your sentence. He reached out, his large hands sinking into the silk at your waist, and physically turned you around to face him.

The movement was so sudden you gasped, your hands flying up to rest instinctively against his chest.

“Uzair, what—”

He didn't let you finish. He stepped into your space, forcing you back until your hips hit the edge of the vanity. He leaned down—down, down, his neck arching at that sharp, familiar angle, and buried his hand in the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Shut up,” he rasped, his voice thick with whiskey and years of repressed longing. “Just shut up.”

Then he kissed you.

It was desperate, and possessive. He groaned into your mouth, his other hand sliding up your side to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. He was so much bigger than you that he had to hunch over just to maintain the contact, his frame completely enveloping yours until you were nothing but a splash of emerald green caught in his dark shadow.

He kissed you like he was trying to reclaim every inch of the night you’d given to someone else, his hands shaking as they held you. You were looking up, your eyes wide for a split second before they fluttered shut, your small hands bunching into the fabric of his kurta, pulling him closer even though there was nowhere left for him to go.

He groaned, a low, vibration that you felt in your own chest, and his hands moved with a sudden, frantic urgency. One hand remained buried in your hair, holding your head tilted back at that sharp, vulnerable angle, while the other slid down to the small of your back. He pulled you flush against him.

“You have no idea,” he broke the kiss for a fraction of a second to press his forehead against yours. His breath was hot, smelling of whiskey and the dark, cedarwood scent of his skin. “No idea how much I’ve wanted to stop you from talking tonight.”

He dived back in, his tongue searching for yours in a way that made your knees go weak. You were on your tiptoes, straining to reach him, your body stretched thin as you tried to bridge the gap he’d lived with for years. Uzair’s hands dropped to your hips, his large palms sinking into the emerald silk, and with one heave, he hoisted you up.

You let out a small gasp as your feet left the floor. He hiked you up until your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hips locked against his.

Now, for the first time all day, you weren't looking up. You were eye-level.

Uzair’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with a frantic, localized worship. He looked at you.

Really looked at you.

He looked at the way your lips were swollen from him and the way his massive hands were holding your thighs as if they were the only things keeping him grounded.

He spun you around, the emerald dress flared out like a bell before he slammed your back against the bedroom door. The thud vibrated through both of you. He just pressed his weight into you, his broad chest pinning you against the wood.

His hands moved from your thighs to your waist, his thumbs nearly meeting over your navel. He started kissing your neck, his teeth grazing the graceful curve he’d been staring at since the morning, his hands sliding up to cup your face.

You pulled his head back up, desperate for his mouth again. Your small hands were buried in his thick hair, pulling him closer, demanding the friction. Uzair obliged, his kiss turning deeper, hotter, losing all the best friend boundaries they’d built over the last decade.

He was hyperventilating now, but it wasn't from anxiety. It was from the sheer, overwhelming reality of having you exactly where he’d wanted you, tucked into his life, swallowed by his shadow, and finally, undeniably, his.

The wedding hall was mostly empty now, the loud music finally dying down to a low hum while the last few aunties packed up leftover sweets near the stage. Uzair had practically dragged you to a quiet corner booth, dropping into a deep leather chair and pulling you right onto his lap before you could even protest.

He tucked you into the space between his chest and the arm of the chair. To anyone walking by, he just looked like a guy sitting alone, staring at the ceiling. But to Uzair, his entire world was the warm, compact weight of you pressed against his ribs.

His big hands were splayed across your back, his fingers tracing the gold embroidery on your fabric. He was breathing shallowly, his chin resting right on top of your head, smelling the jasmine in your hair. Having you this close always made his head spin.

The voice came from the doorway of the lounge. It was Hamza, holding two plates piled high with wedding biryani and looking around like a lost puppy.

“Bhabhi? Where’d she go?” Hamza called out, stepping further into the room. He squinted at the empty balcony, then back at the corridor. “I swear she was just behind me.”

Uzair didn't even move his head. He just looked down at his lap, feeling your shoulders shake with a silent laugh. He looked back up at Hamza, genuinely annoyed that his brother’s internal radar was this broken.

“Why is he yelling for you when you’re right here?” Uzair muttered under his breath.

“Ji, Bhai!” you chirped. You shifted a bit, popping your head out from behind Uzair’s massive shoulder, your jewelry clinking loudly.

Hamza actually jumped, nearly losing a piece of chicken from his plate. “Ya Allah! How did you even manage to hide there? I thought he was sitting by himself!”

Uzair’s grip on your waist tightened instantly, his large fingers sinking into your side.

“She’s just... compact,” Uzair snapped, though the tips of his ears were turning a very obvious shade of red under the hall lights.

“Compact?” Hamza snickered, shaking his head as he backed out to find a table. “Eat some food, you two.”

Once Hamza left, the quiet settled back over the corner. He closed the small distance left between you, his mouth catching yours in a kiss that was heavy, desperate, and full of the weight of a decade’s worth of stupid height jokes that had always just meant I love you.

He groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding down to your hips, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. Even while sitting down, he completely towered over you. As you reached up, straining your arms just to hook them around his thick neck, Uzair decided he never wanted to stand on level ground with anyone else for the rest of his life.

Taglist:

If there is one person in your life whom you loved more than anything, it would be your bhai. The man who raised you, the man who worked day and night at Aalam Bhai's shop to pay for your education, the man who gave up everything so you can lead a good life. Your Hamza bhai.

He was your everything – your father, mother, brother, best friend. He left Aalam Bhai's juice shop and joined the Baloch gang a year ago, much to your dismay, because you were scared of him getting hurt. He has come home bearing cuts numerous times, and he always pushed your worries away with a "you should see the other guy".

You live together in a small apartment near Cheel Chowk, and you are currently getting ready for college.

Hamza stood by the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Meri pyaari behen, you know that you're going to college and not a fashion show, right?" He sassed, narrowing his eyes at how you kept fixing your hair.

"Easy for you to say. Your hair listens to you. Mine doesn't. Besides, the college is full of burger bacchas and I do not want their judgy looks."

Hamza snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Since when do you care what those kids think about you?"

"Since I realised that I hate getting unwanted attention. Their stares are NOT pleasant. Trust me."

Hamza was quiet for a few seconds before he spoke up again.

"You know they're just jealous, right?"

Now it was your turn to snicker. "What??"

"These kids. They're jealous. You got into that college purely with your skills and they most likely paid their way in. You even have a full paid scholarship for God's sake."

You smiled softly, remembering how proud he was when you told him that you got accepted into one of Karachi's most reputable colleges, that too with a scholarship. His one wish for you was to keep you in school, and make you as smart as possible. He didn't want you turning into anything like him. That is also the reason he's never introduced you to Rehman or the others. They knew of you, sure, but they had no idea who you were, or what you looked like.

You picked your bag and walked towards the door, giving Hamza a tight hug.

"Thank you Bhai. For everything."

He hugged back, confused by the sudden embrace, but still pressed a kiss against your forehead.

"Ofcourse, kid. Now go. Don't wanna be late."

You followed Hamza downstairs to where his bike is parked, and sat behind him as he rode to your college. He dropped you off infront of the gate, and you ignored the curious glances from people around, probably wondering who the big man was.

Hamza smirked, purposely stalling to show off and to irritate you. You rolled your eyes and slapped his arm before going inside to your classes.

The day continued as that, and you moved from lectures to lectures, taking notes, almost falling asleep.

At noon, the bell rang, indicating that it was time for lunch. But just as you were about to go to the cafeteria, your phone rang. Hamza bhai.

"Bhai?"

A manly voice spoke up, but it was not Hamza.

"Hey, this is not Hamza. I'm Uzair, his...his friend. Hamza got hurt during a mission and is at the hospital."

You froze, eyes tearing up at the news. You prayed to God that you heard it wrong.

At the lack of response, the voice spoke again.

"You're his sister right?"

You broke out of your trance, and replied.

"Yes it's me. Which hospital is he in?" You asked frantically, voice breaking.

Uzair replied, and you cut the call, running out of the college as fast as you could to get a rickshaw to the hospital.

You cried the whole way, your mind filling with all the worst case scenarios.

As the driver stopped infront of the hospital, you wiped your tears, and quickly walked into the Emergency Room, where a group of big burly men waited.

They turned their heads at the sound of you, and immediately straightened up.

One of them, a bald man who looked like he could throw you across the room, spoke up, his voice surprisingly soft.

"You're Hamza's little sister?"

You nodded, sniffling. "Where is he?"

"He's under observation now. He's okay. The doctor said he'll be shifted to a room any time now."

"Wh-what happened?"

The man paused, scratching the back of his neck, wondering if he should tell you. Just then, another voice spoke up from behind you.

"He was shot."

You turned around to find a tall, lean man, looking just as distressed as you, and you gasped at the blood stains on his sleeves.

You've seen enough posters and flex around Lyari to recognise the man. Uzair Baloch. Rehman Baloch's cousin. You've heard about him through your brother's stories.

Uzair quickly hid his hand behind his back, and greeted you politely.

"I'm Uzair. We spoke on the phone earlier."

You greeted him back, fighting back the urge to ask if that was your brother's blood. You didn't have the guts to hear the answer.

Uzair introduced the rest of the men to you – Donga, Siyahi, and Ismail.

You greeted all of them too, and an awkward silence followed.

Just then, the door burst open, and a doctor walked out.

"He's okay now. We've managed to move him out of danger. He'll need a complete bedrest for two weeks. We've shifted him to a room. One of you can go see him."

You nodded, and quietly walked over to the room.

You pushed the door open, and your heart stopped at the sight of Hamza on the hospital bed, bandaged and unconscious, long tubes connected to his hands.

You wiped the tears that fell from your eyes again, and slowly walked towards him, stopping right next to the bed.

You sat on the chair, and took his hand in yours, pressing your forehead against his palm while you whispered prayers.

You stayed like that for what felt like hours, and suddenly, Hamza's hoarse voice broke out.

"Shouldn't you be in class now?"

You gasped, lifting your head at his sound.

"You're awake!" You cried, immediately standing to hug him carefully.

He patted your head with his free hand, "I'm okay, kid."

You scoffed, pulling back to glare at him. "You got shot, and you have to be on bed rest for two weeks and you're telling me that you're 'okay'?!"

"You should see the other guy." Hamza chucked, but immediately groaned in pain at the movement.

You huffed, taking a glass of water and making him drink it slowly.

"You are not getting out of my sight from now, mister. Do you know how scared I got when Uzair bhai called me?"

Hamza paused, and his eyebrows furrowed.

"He shouldn't have. You missed your classes."

You were sure you had smoke coming out of your ears now.

But before you could scold him, the door to the room opened, and two men stepped inside, but you froze at the sight of the man in front. Rehman Baloch.

Hamza straightened up (as much as he could), and you gripped the railing of the hospital bed.

You've seen the man on the posters and news before, but none of that did justice to what you were seeing right now. He was wearing a simple all-black pathani suit, and yet he looked like he owned the place. He probably did.

Rehman moved to stand on the other side of the bed, and softly placed a hand on Hamza's head.

"You should've been more careful." Rehman spoke his voice low.

Hamza gave him a weak smile, and leaned against his hand, clearly enjoying the affection from the older man.

"Ji bhai, I'll be more careful from now on."

Rehman nods, and lifts his head to fix his gaze on you.

"You're his sister."

You freeze for a second, and nod a yes. Hamza suddenly interrupts, proudly telling him that you're in college and is top of your class. He even mentions the scholarship, and you stand there, embarrassed by your brother's words.

You realise that he's still under the effect of the medicines.

Rehman raises his eyebrow in mild surprise, and gestures to the man standing behind him.

"Ezra did his graduation at the same college a few years back. He works as an accountant at the warehouse for me now."

That's when you take a proper look at the man standing behind, who you now understand is named Ezra.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him – tall, lean, and ridiculously handsome. He looked nothing like boys your age. This man looked like he was personally chiseled by a Greek God, and oh dear Lord he's smiling at you. The handsome man is politely smiling at you. And then you noticed something. Dimples. Your brain stops dead in its tracks.

The sound of the beep of a monitor brings you back to your senses, and you awkwardly realise that you've been staring at the poor guy for a while.

You smile back at him, and immediately look down at your feet. A great way to embarrass yourself, you think.

Rehman inquired about the doctor's instruction, and you meekly told him how he's advised two weeks of bed rest.

"I'll take leave from college and stay home to look after him."

Hamza immediately turns to you, a look of clear disapproval donning his face.

"No no, that's not possible. You cannot miss your classes. Don't you have exams coming up?"

"I'll manage bhai, your health is more important." You politely remind him, not wanting to scold him infront of Rehman and Ezra.

"Nuh uh, I won't allow this. College comes first."

You sigh, getting frustrated by his stubbornness.

"Accha, then who will look after you?"

"I can look after myself just fine."

"Excuse me?? You had a bullet in you just hours ago. How will you look after yourself when you can't even get out of bed? Forget getting out of bed, you can't even raise your arm without being in pain!"

"Oh yeah? Then watch this."

Hamza raises his arm in protest, and immediately lets out a groan. He bites his lip to stop the noise from getting out but it's too late.

Rehman, who was quietly watching the scene with amusement, gently put down Hamza's arm, giving him a stern look before speaking up.

"Calm down, both of you. I have a solution. Hamza, why don't you stay at the haveli with us? Ulfat will gladly assist you. And someone will always be around."

Hamza pondered the idea, but shook his head in refusal.

"Thank you Bhai, that is very kind of you. But I cannot leave her alone in that apartment. It's not safe for her."

Ezra spoke up this time, his voice silky smooth.

"Who said she has to be alone? We have plenty of rooms in the haveli, she can stay there too. We'll look after you and make sure her studies are not disturbed. She can attend college too. Worry not, Hamza bhai."

Your mind reeled at the idea. Living in the same house as this Greek God for two weeks?? A part of you got excited at the thought, while the other remained terrified.

Rehman, looking pleased, didn't even bother asking either of you for approval.

"See? It's solved then. I'll tell Donga and Siyahi to bring the essentials over to the haveli."

With that, Rehman walked out, and Ezra trailed behind, but not before giving you a glance.

"He's Uzair's younger brother." Hamza explained after they both left.

You nodded, pretending to not care much while your heartbeat unnecessarily fastened.

You looked away, pretending to organize the medicines to hide your amusement, and replied. "I see. I don't remember you mentioning him."

"Well he's not directly involved in the work like me or Uzair. He stays behind and handles the logistics."

You hum, and shift the topic to the happenings at college, pushing the thought of the handsome man away.

––––––––––

Two days later, after Hamza is discharged, both of you are taken to the Baloch Haveli by Siyahi in his SUV.

As soon as you reached the gates of the big house, you gasped in awe at the vintage beauty. Rehman Baloch have style, you thought.

The car stopped in front of the main entrance, and you were greeted by a beautiful lady whom you guessed as Ulfat. Rehman Baloch's good taste wasn't limited to just architecture, you giggled at yourself.

She embraced you kindly, and you melted into her arms embarrassingly fast. It's been too long since you got hugged by someone who was not your brother.

Speaking of your brother, he was carefully taken to a room well equipped with the proper bedding, and he immediately drifted off to sleep from the effect of the medicines.

Ulfat, and her youngest son Faizal, showed you to your room, and you were surprised to find all your books and other stuff already organized perfectly. You turned to thank Ulfat, and she shook her head with a soft smile.

"I didn't do this dear. Ezra organised everything."

Oh.

You paused, your face suddenly heating up. He had arranged your stuff in the same manner in which you do.

"I offered to help but Chachu said he wanted to do it by himself." Faizal chimed in, which earned a giggle from his mother.

"Alright that's enough Meri Jaan, let's leave her to rest yeah? She must be tired from the drive"

Faizal nodded, and you thanked them once again before they walked off.

You closed the door of the room behind you, and walked towards the bathroom to freshen up.

After a quick shower, you decided to catch up on your work, and sat down in front of the study table. But you froze as you noticed something. Textbooks. Not just any textbooks, guides. The guides to your courses which you wanted to buy but were too expensive do so.

You could've asked Hamza bhai but you knew he was already struggling and you didn't want to burden him further. So how did Ezra know? Your heart warmed at the gesture, and you wiped away the tears that you didn't notice had fallen. How much more perfect could this man be? You had to put aside your stupid crush and thank this man for going out of his way to do this.

You began to do your work, your mind often drifting off to the thoughts of Ezra. But you shook them away, forcing yourself to focus on the books in front of you.

Hours passed, and you were called for dinner by Faizal knocking at your door.

You walked downstairs to see the rest of the family, and your brother sitting in the midst in a special chair.

You immediately walked towards him, asking him why he was out of bed.

"It got too boring there. I asked Uzair to bring me here at least for dinner so I'll have company." Hamza pouted, and you shook your head with a smile, not arguing with him.

You helped set up dinner despite Ulfat's protest, and soon all of you gathered around the table. Rehman sat at the head of the table, with Ulfat and Naieem on either side of him. Uzair sat between Faizal and Hamza, and you sat opposite to them, noticing a chair empty next to you. Ezra.

The dinner began, and just as you thought he wouldn't be joining, Ezra rushed in, looking fresh out of the shower, still smelling of soap and hair still wet. You forced yourself to look away and focus on your plate as you tore a piece of naan.

Ezra plopped down next to you, his arm brushing yours. The air buzzed with energy, everyone chatting about one thing or the other. But you remained silent, painfully aware of the pretty man's presence next to you.

Just then, Ezra leaned towards you, his voice low, sending shivers across your spine as he spoke.

"I hope the guides were to your liking."

You immediately paused eating, and turned your head to find him looking deep into your eyes. You mentally slapped yourself for not bringing the guides up first.

"It is. They're perfect. Thank you for that. You didn't have to." You voiced out, sounding a lot shyer than you are.

"Oh it's nothing. I saw how much you valued your studies."

"You did?" You asked before you could stop yourself, tilting your head in confusion.

Ezra clenched his fist under the table at how adorable you looked.

"Yeah, when I went to your place with Donga bhai to pick things up."

Your eyes widened, and you cringed at the thought of Ezra seeing your stuff.

"The sticky notes." You mumbled more to yourself than him.

"Yeah, the sticky notes." He chuckled – a sound that had your heart fluttering in ways you didn't know it could.

"I thought it was wall paint at first." He teased.

"It helps me remember the content." You replied, looking down at your plate.

"I used to do the same too when I was in college."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And...just let me know if you need anything."

You smiled, relieved that he wasn't as intimidating as you thought to be.

Unknown to both of you, Rehman had secretly noticed the conversation, and he smiled to himself. This was going to be fun.

––––––––––

The next morning, you woke up early and got dressed, ready to leave for college.

You walked into the kitchen to prepare something small for lunch, but you were surprised to find a tiffin already waiting for you.

Ulfat looked up from her tea to smile at you, reminding you to not forget the parcel.

"You didn't have to..." You murmured, putting the container in your bag.

"It's nothing, dear. The cook makes lunches for Naieem and Faizal. I just asked him to make one more."

You smiled, your heart warming at the gesture. You were going to miss this sweet woman once you go back to your home.

Just then, Rehman walked in with the morning newspaper.

"Oh, you're leaving?"

"Yes bhai, I have classes."

"Alright, Ezra will drop you."

You paused, eyes widening.

"Uhhh- that's not needed bhai, I'll just take the bus–"

"The bus is not safe and you won't reach on time. He'll take you." Rehman interrupted calmly, his tone final.

You nodded, knowing there was no point in fighting with Rehman, and walked out to the front porch to find Ezra dusting his bike.

He looked up just as you came, flashing his charming smile at you.

"Ready?"

You hummed a yes, and watched as he mounted his bike. You sat behind him, trying to sit as far as you could in the small space.

He turned on the bike, and accelerated it just to pull the break immediately, making you crash against his back with a yelp.

Ezra turned his head towards you with a smirk. "I think it's best if you hold on to me."

You blushed, and wrapped your hands around his waist loosely. He then reached his hand down to grab your arm and tighten your hold, before starting the engine again.

The ride to the college was comfortable, save for the times you caught him looking at you through the mirror. You were sure you resembled a tomato at this point from how much you were blushing.

When he stopped in front of the college gates, you got off and stood next to the bike, not wanting to leave his presence immediately. He killed the engine and took off his helmet, ruffling his hair to fix it before looking at you.

"I'll come pick you up at 3." He spoke, his voice too soft to mean just that.

"I'll wait here." You replied, your eyes unintentionally dropping to his lips.

The tension between you was clearly visible, and your heart jumped at how close his face was.

The sound of a horn pulled both of you from the staring contest, and you immediately stepped back with a shy smile. Gosh, what were you doing?

Ezra looked just as embarrassed, and he quickly wore his helmet before bidding you bye.

You watched as he rode away, and turned to walk to your classes with a smile.

The evening came quicker than you thought, and you spotted Ezra outside the gates, looking just as charming as he left, waiting for you.

You walked towards him, and his eyes lit up with a smile.

He wordlessly handed you a helmet, and you got on, this time not hesitating to wrap your arms around his waist. You could see his dimples through the rear mirror when you held him.

Ezra started the bike, and after 5 minutes, you noticed him taking a detour. This was not the way to the haveli. He turned through the lanes, and finally stopped infront of a shop. The Ice Cream parlour.

A giggle left your mouth as you both got off the bike, and you sat on the side benches as he bought two ice creams on a stick.

You sat in comfortable silence, occasionally making eye contact before turning away with a shy smile.

That's when you noticed a drip of mango ice cream on the side of his lips. You chuckled at how adorable he looked, and he turned to you with a confused expression. Without thinking, you raised your hand, and wiped the spot with your thumb.

Ezra was sure he was short circuiting on the spot.

You returned to your ice cream, while he froze for a whole minute.

This woman was going to be the death of me, he thought.

After you both finished, he paid the vendor, and started the bike to go home.

––––––––––

Days passed as that, with Ezra dropping you off at college in the morning and picking you up in the evening. And he always took a detour before going home. Some times it was the ice cream parlor, other times it would be the bookstore, or the market where you would just walk around.

Even at the haveli, both of you were stuck to the hip. He would always hover around you – helping you with your studies, discussing some books you've read, or any other things you had in common.

And it got to a point where the others started to notice. Of course they did.

Rehman and Ulfat were the first, and they giggled at how oblivious both of you were.

Uzair noticed it afterwards, only because Ezra would always be busy with you when Uzair would need him for something.

Faizal and Naieem pretended like they knew it for ages, though they only came to notice it after they saw their Abbu and Ammi whispering about it.

Hamza was the last to know, mainly because he was on bed rest and he couldn't see you all the time. But he figured it out quickly, because you always subconsciously brought up Ezra in your conversations with a shy smile. Once he realises what's happening, he is not too fond of the idea, biting back the urge to confront you whenever you brought Ezra up.

Hamza wanted you to be as far as possible from this life, and Ezra being Rehman Baloch's youngest brother did not help that. Not to mention the age gap. The last thing Hamza wanted was for you to get distracted by a boy and mess up your studies.

He couldn't tell you this directly, knowing it would make you upset. He knew how hard it was for you to make friends, and as much as he hated the idea of a potential romance between you and Ezra, he couldn't deny that you both had a good friendship.

So he decided to bring this up with Rehman bhai. The man somehow had solutions to everything, and he would understand Hamza's protectiveness towards you.

That night, after dinner, he asked Rehman bhai to come see him, and Rehman could understand from his tone that it was something serious.

He walked into Hamza's room where he was resting with his back against the headboard, and closed the door behind him before moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

Hamza paused, second-guessing if this was a good idea. He was about to complain to his boss about his younger brother.

Rehman noticed Hamza's hesitation, and softly patted his knee, urging him to talk.

Feeling a bit less nervous, Hamza spilled everything – you bringing up Ezra in every conversation, the both of you stuck together like magnets ever since you moved into the haveli, and of course, the way Ezra looks at you.

"She's all I have, bhai. My only family. She's my sister but she's also my first child. I raised her to be who she is today. I'm... I'm scared. I don't want her to get distracted. I want her to study and lead a good life, far away from all of this."

Rehman listened, and stayed silent for a few beats before he spoke up, his voice calm.

"I understand, Hamza. I get why you are so protective of her. But how will you keep her away from this?"

Hamza looked down at his fingers, shame and sadness weighing him down.

"After she completes her studies, I'm thinking of sending her to Dubai or somewhere, once and for all."

He sniffled, wiping away a few tears that he didn't realise had fallen. Damn you, medicines.

Rehman sighed, and scooted closer to place a hand on Hamza's shoulder.

"Do you really think that's the best thing to do? To send her far away from you?"

"I haven't told her this yet."

"Then don't even bother. You'll both be living miserably if you send her away. She needs her Bhai, and you know it. The girl still comes to you first whenever something happens. You're her whole world."

"I just want to keep her safe–"

"The safest she will be is when she is with you. No matter how far you send her away, she won't feel as safe as she does here – beside you."

Hamza became quiet, soaking in the words.

Rehman continued, his voice getting significantly softer.

"And it's not like either of you are alone. We're here. We're your family too."

Hamza's head shot up at the last part, the tears that he was holding at bay now flowing freely.

Rehman smiled at him, and addressed his next concern.

"As for Ezra...

Hamza straightened, waiting for Rehman to tell him his thoughts.

"He seems to like your sister. And from what I've understood, he's serious about it. I've known that kid since he was five, Hamza. He's not one to fool around."

Hamza nodded, though he wasn't all that convinced.

"He's a good man. I know he'll treat her well if given the chance. And trust me, if he fucks up, I'll be the first one to throw a punch."

Hamza snickered.

"Besides, it's up to her. If she likes him, then we're no one to stop her."

Rehman observed the younger man's face, watching how he seemed to understand the situation.

Hamza sighed in defeat, "You're right bhai. It's up to her."

Rehman smiled, and got up to leave, but not before giving Hamza a pat on the head.

"Sleep well, son."

––––––––––

The next morning, you're getting ready to leave for college when Hamza calls you into his room.

You walk in, going straight to the medicine cabinet, thinking he called you for giving him his morning doses.

But you're stopped by him saying that Uzair already gave him his medicines.

"Oh, then why did you call me?"

Hamza wordlessly pats the space next to him on the bed, and you sit there, wondering what this is about.

"Are you happy, sweets?"

You smile at the nickname, your mind filling with nostalgia. Sweets was what he used to call you when you were younger, because you always begged him to get you sweet treats, so much so that the sweet shop became your second home.

"Yeah, I'm happy. Why do you ask that?"

"Just wanted to check in."

You knew your brother too well to know this wasn't a random check in.

"Bhai, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!"

"No, you're hiding something, I know it."

Hamza sighed, turning his face towards you.

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask that?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"Ezra."

You paused, facing slowly turning a shade of red. Hamza didn't fail to notice that.

"What about Ezra?" You whispered, looking down at your lap.

"You know what."

"I... I don't know what to tell you."

"Do you like him?" Hamza questioned, getting straight to the point.

Your eyes widened at the directness, and you jumped to defend yourself.

"Don't even think about lying to me." Hamza interrupted, making you shut up.

Realising that you were caught, you nodded.

"Yeah... I like him." You mumbled, expecting him to scold you. But he remained quiet, and gently lifted his hand to pat the top of your head.

"My baby's all grown up."

You turned to face him, surprised to see him so calm about this.

"Bhai...are you pranking me?"

Hamza snorted a laugh, looking at you funny.

"What? Why do you think that?"

You shrugged, "I dunno...are you not..angry?"

"Do you want me to be angry?"

"No, that's not what I meant–"

"Ezra is a good guy. I trust him."

There it was again, the casual calmness. Did Uzair give him the wrong dose?

You shook your head in confusion, and rose from the bed once you noticed the time.

"I should go, or I'll be late." You walked out before he could say something else and confuse you further.

You went out to the porch, where Ezra was waiting on his bike. You were too absorbed in your own thoughts to notice Ezra looking just as blanked out as you.

The ride to the college was silent, and once you reached you simply walked off, scratching the back of your head.

Oh you were going crazy. Why did Bhai say that? Why was he so calm about it? You were ready for a whole soap opera drama, but you received saint Hamza. Which actually was a lot weirder.

Classes passed by in a blur, and before you knew it you were waiting for Ezra to show up at the gates.

After a few minutes, he came into view, and handed you the helmet, looking particularly determined. Now what was he up to?

As usual, he didn't go to the haveli immediately. But he didn't stop at your usual spots either. He drove past the turns, and you sat in confusion as he rode to the outskirts of the city.

After almost half an hour, he stopped at a secluded spot. You got off the bike, and looked around your surroundings. The trees around were a breath of fresh air from the dusty lanes of Lyari, and you were actually grateful for the change of scenery.

Ezra hopped off the bike, and took off his helmet before holding your wrist to grab your attention.

You turned to face him, noticing his nervousness.

"Did Rehman bhai say something to you?"

You tilted your head, "Rehman bhai? No, he didn't. Why?"

"It's nothing. He talked to me this morning and I...I realised something."

He stepped closer, taking both your hands in his large ones, his pretty eyes staring into yours. Your heart fastened in anticipation as he spoke up, his voice softer.

"I can't keep pretending that we're just friends anymore. I like you. A lot. And I have since the day I saw you scolding Hamza bhai at the hospital. Ever since then I've been making up excuses to talk to you, be near you." He paused, his cheeks dusting a shade of red. "You're all I think about."

You drew in a sharp breath, taking in his words.

He likes you.

He likes you.

He likes you.

He likes you.

The speed of your heartbeat reached an unusual amount, and a shy smile donned your face.

Then, you reach your tip toes, and grab his leather jacket to pull him down to press your lips against his.

He lets out a choked noise of surprise, and you giggle at his nervousness. But he quickly recovers, and wraps his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss.

You pull away a few minutes later for breath, and chuckle at the string of saliva connecting you both.

"I like you too." You whisper before diving in to give him another kiss.

Later that evening, the Baloch family (including Hamza), is delighted to see you and Ezra walk in through the main door, hand in hand, with shy smiles on your faces.

"So, does this mean that Aapi and Hamza chacha will stay here forever?" Faizal exclaimed, already jumping from the thought.

Rehman chuckled, patting the kid's head. "Well I have no problem with that. What do you think Hamzey?"

Hamza nods a yes, and they all turn to you next, waiting for your reply.

But before you can say anything, Ezra wraps his hand around your shoulder protectively, and presses a kiss against your forehead.

"She's staying here with us, my dear Faizal. I'm not letting her go." He speaks, his gaze fixed to you in unspoken promises.

I'm sorry I tried–