Wan2bey.n

Hey everyone! I recently got an acceptance for one of my absolute dream universities but it requires me to hit specific grade quotas in my May exams. So up until those exams are over, this account will be deactivated because i cannot be focusing on fan fiction and fandoms while i am supposed to be studying and prepping for my future.

I had so much fun being a part of this fandom and community and i don't know if you all will be here 2 months down the line but i had such enjoyable times and made some amazing friends. I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH AND I'M SO HAPPY FOR THE MEMES, LAUGHS AND TEARS WE ALL SHARED ♥️💕♥️ But this is goodbye for now 👋🏼

This acc will deactivate tonight.

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9 part10

part11 part12 part13 part14

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Warnings- very lowkey smut (almost fade to black)

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 14

“Maine jo kuch bhi kiya, aapne quam, aapne logon ke liye kiya. Humne ne ek dusre ka sahara hone ka wada kiya tha. Aap bhool chuki hogi, lekin main nahi bhool gaya. Meri ho Yalina, aur main tera. Rehman ki badshahi khatam hone wali hain, uske saath ghasetey neeche jaoge kya? Iss…neech aadmi, jisne tumko koi nayab eitiraz ke tarah aapne tijori main rakh diya? Hamare saath Hindustan chalo, khush rakhenge aapko. Jo chahiye, jab chahiye, jese chahiye, sab kuch aapke kadmo main rakhunga. Yahan, in janwaro ke saath mat maarna Yalina. Kuch nahi hain idhar tumhare liye, na uss ghar main, na iss sheher main aur na iss pure mulk main.” 

He kept his voice even, trying and failing to not let his frustration shine through. 

“Yeh Pakistan hain Hamza-”

“Jaskirat.”

“Kya?” She stared at him, their argument interrupted. He paused, eyes shining in the artificial light, almost shocked at his own words before he cleared his throat. 

“Mera naam, pucha tha aapne…Jaskirat hain.”

Yalina stared at him, lips parted slightly as she processed the interlude, the information before reality kicked in, forcing her to shutter her transparency. 

“Main qaedi ban kar reh sakti hu agar waise khush reh sakungi. Rehman humko khush rakhte hain Hamza.” Yalina’s voice cracked as the tears she had held back began to pour down her cheeks.

“Wo aapke dushman nahi hain. Mujhe nahi pata aapke saath kya hua hoga, lekin main eitimad se bol sakti hu, Rehman ka haath uss main nahi tha. Jin logon ke saath aap bistar par soh rahe ho, Major Iqbal, unke atehadi, yeh log hain jinone sab barbaad kiya hoga aapka. Meri zindaagi yahin hain Ham- Jaskirat, agar aap mujhe quaid rakhloge, toh aapke aur aap jin logo ke khilaf ho unme kya aantar reh jayega?” She thought it would work, for a brief moment it seemed like he would let go. The moment passed as fleetingly as it came. 

“Bacchi ho Yalina. Kuch maloum nahi hain. Khud ke liye kya sahi hain aur kya ghalat. Yahin rahenge aap, jahan mehfooz rakh sakta hu.” Her ears rang as she stared disbelievingly at him. He couldn’t just force her to stay here- no he could and he would. Hamza had always valued her agency, up to a certain point. Beyond that, he too defaulted to the male standard of ‘what’s for the best’. The heavy slide of the wooden door, and the click of the external lock echoed in the room, where, in another world, she might have happily stayed of her own free will. 

__________________________________________________________

He didn’t return until late afternoon the next day. The apartment he had left Yalina in was gone. Destroyed. Burnt. The locked windows were shattered, there were gouges in the soft cement that covered the walls and most tellingly, the door had been reduced to ash. The locked, sturdy door that he had trusted to keep this woman-child inside had been burnt down to cinder and embers that swirled around his house with the flowing wind. Her words echoed in his mind. 

“Wo aapke dushman nahi hain.” 

She wasn’t wrong. Rehman Dakait was not truly his enemy. Maybe he had the potential to become an enemy, but the man wasn’t even on his original list. A boy born in the sewers who worked for his own downtrodden people. Had he chosen the wrong target? The wrong allies, even if he wished them all dead by his hands? Was a war between nations enough justification for his enactment of vengeance? Especially when those who would be most affected were innocents? Not his innocents, they were not Indian but did he want to be the man who destroyed lives for a morsel of revenge. At what point did the blood on a man’s hands stop being collateral and instead make him guilty? 

__________________________________________________________

Yalina stepped over the threshold of her home, the reinforced and armoured gate that opened for her pin, finally letting out the breath she hadn’t even noticed she was holding. The sky was a bright blue, unmarred by cloud, smog or smoke. The palest sliver of silver moon shone opposite the shining sun and evergreen trees loomed over her, shading her from the heat. Sparrows flitted between branches, chirping brightly and the empty haveli stood as it had for the last 50 years. She walked inside, the time read 3.30 pm. Tomorrow at 7 am, the news channels would announce the election results. It was a formality really, everyone and their grandmothers knew PAC was going to win a landslide victory. 

Yalina went upstairs and stood under the freezing cold water of the old shower. The water falling through her hair onto her face was near indistinguishable from the salty tears that sat on her lips before flowing away with the spray. She went downstairs through the empty, historic mansion into the kitchen where she set biriyani to cook on the gas. The sounds of tires, jeeps rolling into the house, pulled her away from the chair where she rested, slumped over. Her reflection stared at her from a mirror near the entrance, momentarily halting her steps. Long riotous curls, tamed by a singular pin that pulled them away from her face. A sharara, brown, green and purple blending to evoke an older era of sultans and harems. Heavy oxidised jewellery, the type that she seldom wore these days held up with thread. An equally heavy veil draped over her head and shoulders to cover her immodesty. Soft skin and lips, wide expressive eyes that had lost their once vibrant shine. Faizal ran into her, hands curving around her shoulders to pull her down to his level and her gaze broke from her mirrored self. Rehman came to stand behind them, to press a kiss to her head even as she watched them in the contained world on the wall. 

“Khane main kya hain ammi?” 

“Biryani banayi hain Faizal, bilkul waise jese tujhe pasand hain.” 

“Kya hoshiyar biwi hain hamri, sab kuch pehle se hi soch kar, kar leti hain.” He smiled at her and she let her lips twitch upwards to match his.

Rehman, Uzair, Faizal, they chattered through dinner, so utterly secure in themselves, in those around them that they never paused to think about what might have lurked beneath the surface. Yalina mechanically spooned biryani into her mouth, swallowing as a prisoner about to face the firing squad.  

__________________________________________________________

Unknown Number : The guns and weapons are tampered. Maaf karna.  _________________________________________________

Yalina stared at the missive that had come too late. She kissed Faizal goodnight, pocketing her phone as she walked down the hall to her own room. She wouldn’t let them take her life without trying at least. If it came down to it, she would burn here with those who she belonged to, but she would rather they all live. 

Rehman sat in his study, staring at the glass of amber brandy that he swirled idly. The stacks of paper on his desk had been long abandoned as he stewed in the culmination of his life’s efforts. Yalina floated into the room, soundless feet against carpeted wood while her earrings tinkled. She sank down on the floor next to her husband's seat even as he made to get up and fetch her a chair, guided his hand to her hair until he understood her desire and carded his fingers through the knots. Yalina swirled her fingers, following the old mughlai designs on the plush carpet. 

“Sab ne aapko dhoka diya hain Rehman. Mere abbujaan, aapke Major sahab, SP Aslam…Ha-” She cleared her throat, unwilling or perhaps unable to put words to that particular betrayal. 

“Maar dena chahiye tha, meri jaan. Awam saath main ho lekin awam ke upar jo raj kare, wo saath main na ho. Maaf karna, Faizal ko, tumhe, Uzair ko, mere aapno ko iss sab main laane ke liye.” 

“Saare banduqain…bigad di hain Rehman. Kal subah, wo…” He pulled at her hair lightly, tilting her head upwards and silencing her, lips gentle against hers. She wound her hands around his neck, pulling him down to the floor with her. The full moon shone outside the window, the only witness to their desperation. Yalina pulled away, gently removing painful earrings, necklaces and bangles as he leaned back against the legs of the table to watch her slender, deft fingers unbutton her dress. She crawled to him, nails digging into his back as she clung to him even as they moved lazily. She hoped it wasn’t the last night, yet the distant heavens mocked her from the sky, shining with light they could never reach. He stilled her each time she tried to urge him to go faster, willing to savour what was his, while he still had it. 

Her mind melted as the night deepened, the moon reaching its apex. He trailed his fingers gently down her form, watching them sink into her as she writhed before him, hands reaching out, pleading for closeness even as pleasure overtook her. When he finally entered her, it wasn’t even an intrusion, it was the joining of two broken pieces that had once made a whole. Neither of them knew how long they spent in that suspended state of intermundane. The study, the house, the road that was no doubt now filled with spies and lookouts, Lyari, Karachi, Pakistan, the World, it all ceased to have meaning for those scant few stolen hours. Time however, marched onwards without their consent, eventually heralding the lightening of the sky, the sunrise bringing about the sunset of their lives. 

“Yalina.” He detangled from her, even as she wordlessly begged him to return. He pulled out a remote of some kind from a drawer and handed it to her. It was crudely made, wires haphazardly sticking out, four numbered red buttons lined the surface. 

She stared at it, amorphous dread sinking into her stomach even as she silenced her questions. His eyes reflected her, nude, reclined on the floor, holding a trigger. 

“Guna hain. Khud ka qatal karna. Lekin dushmanon ko Baloch naam ke beizzati karne se toh behtar hoga.” Yalina stared at the trigger in silence, the trigger for her home. She nodded wordlessly, dressed in her crumpled dress and wandered out leaving Rehman to watch the sunrise alone. 

__________________________________________________________

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9 part10

part11 part12 part13

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Warning- Kidnapping, self harm (it appears that way, theres plot reasons- no one is dead)

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 13

No one watched her. Lyari General Hospital was a gloomy, darkened place. Those doctors, nurses and aides who worked there quickly slipped into the monotony of bringing and taking life from this world. It was a world away from the small clinic Yalina had been accustomed to in her days of idealistic sneaking. She had quickly come to hate the blue grey lighting of the corridors, the way everything smelt of sterile cleansers tainted with smog, sweat and rot that festered in Karachi’s humid heat. She slipped across a bustling hallway into a side chamber, keeping her stride deliberate and purposeful. A stout woman guarded the room, filled with refrigerators and metal cabinets. Yalina widened her eyes, wrung her hands and lengthened her strides as she ran up to her.

“Emergency surgery scheduled hain! Aapko bulaya hain ward 3 main, Dr. Amaan ko 125 mg Precedex lekar jana hain.” The woman sprung into action, preparing a small case with metal syringes, cotton, disinfectants and the required drug. Yalina collapsed down onto her vacated chair, the yellowed plastic sticking to her sweat soaked neck and back. She leaned against the wall, breathing sharp and fast. The woman turned back to her, chilled and insulated kit in hand. Yalina felt the eyes rove over her prone form, stopping briefly her green ID. 

“Main ja kar deti hu Amaan sahab ko. Tum yahan peh baithlo, aur kidhar mat jana, bohot queemati dawaiya rakhe hain andar. Ijazat ke bagair kisi ko andar mat chodna.”

“Ji bibi.” Yalina watched through lilted, half shut eyes as the woman walked away and turned a corner. She counted to 10, slowly, timing it with her breathing. She straightened then stood up, checking her phone before glancing around the empty wing around her. 5 minutes to walk to ward 3, at least 5 spent talking with the doctors and 5 to walk back, that gave her 15 minutes in total. Her eyes roved the empty area once again before she turned around sharply and walked inside, clicking open a tab labelled ‘kirana’. 

__________________________________________________________

60 mg Rocuronium  6 mg Morphine 2 mg Midazolam  240 mg Sugammadex  4 mg Naloxone  0.2 mg Flumazenil  X2 trial 

__________________________________________________________

Yalina carefully removed glass ampoules, checked labels and dosages before placing them inside a pre chilled thermos in her purse. Her hands shook slightly and she blinked away tears. She could die…He could die. Yalina knew that it would be far preferable to the treatment that awaited them at Major Iqbal's hands. 

“Kaha gayi?” The annoyed voice startled her and a single vial of Flumazenil dropped from her hands and back into the cardboard box. 

“Yahi hu, dekh rahi thi andar kya kya hain.” The woman chuckled, her footsteps moving leisurely to where Yalina stood hidden behind a rack of boxes. She hurriedly screwed the lid of the thermos back on and dropped it into her purse, wincing at the clink of vials inside. Yalina spoke to the woman, the lengthening of time making her uneasy. She was unsure how long the thermos would keep her stolen drugs cold. If they lost their efficacy…She and Rehman would lose their last way out.

__________________________________________________________

Yalina sat quietly, Shifa placed a small bowl full of biryani in front of her and her stomach turned. It had to be tonight. Rehman and Faizal had both gone to visit Uzair’s parents, they would be gone the entire night and nearly half of the next day. It was now or never. She needed to choose, it was impossible to do this alone and the thought of trusting made her uneasy, gut churning with ignored, unheeded warnings. 

Haniya smiled gently at her across the table, grin widening when Shifa cleared her throat in disapproval. 

“Begum Sahiba khana kha rahi hain, kese batameezi kar rahi ho unke saath baith kar?” 

“Rehne do na Khala, hum maze mana rahe hain.” Shifa nodded, shooting a glare at Haniya who giggled. 

“Haan aur Shifa, aaj raat ke liye ghar gaye toh bhi hame kuch dikaat nahi. Haniya hamare saath rahegi.” Shifa attempted a few weak protests before agreeing. Yalina knew her elderly mother was visiting and she would not be able to turn down a rare opportunity to visit her home. 

Yalina sat with Haniya and explained what she needed. Not everything, never everything but enough. The woman looked at her dubiously before quickly agreeing when Yalina insisted. 

“Hume kuch dikat ho rahi hain sahat ke saath. Doctor sahab ne bol diya yeh dawa lene ko taaki hum behosh ho jaaye aur fir kisi aur se yeh dawa leni uske baad main.” 

Yalina explained how injections were to be administered. She would have preferred someone else for this, someone educated, who she trusted more but Haniya would have to suffice. She would escape and she could not bear to see Rehman suffer, left behind just because she could not take him with her. She injected the first, most risky and vital combination herself. Rocuronium, Morphine and Midazolam. They were exceedingly unstable when combined but they lasted long enough for her to inject. The thick syrup flowed through her veins as she watched it enter, heat spreading outwards before becoming so intense it felt numb. She tried to blink, Haniya’s confused panicked expression embedded in her mind’s eye as her muscles froze in place. She instinctively tried to inhale, to reassure her that this was normal, but her throat constricted, lungs freezing as she collapsed into the abyss. 

__________________________________________________________

The pressure released and she gasped in a breath. It was involuntary, almost painful. Sensation returned too fast, the pricks in her skin from the needle became agonising and shivers wracked her frame. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her tongue as she inhaled. She pulled herself out of the dark haze slowly, registering the bed she lay on, the stuffy air in the room, the calloused hand that gripped hers tight enough for the bones to gnash against each other. It was a familiar hand, though perhaps not the one she craved. 

__________________________________________________________

“Dimaag bigad gaya kya tere? Kya soch se tujhe laga-” Hamza loomed over her curled position on the bed, her head ached from the latent withdrawal of the drugs, the Midazolam was likely still active to some degree. 

“Behenchod! Maar jati tu! Pagla gayi ho kya? Rehman ne itna bigad diya kya tujhe ki tu khud ko maarne nikli? Hindustan bhej dunga Yalina, mehfooz rahoge. Kuch nahi hone duga.” He started out yelling, voice echoing in the deserted mansion before his voice cracked and he deliberately lowered it. 

“Rehman ki kuch galti nahi hain Hamza.” Her voice was gravelly, each word scratching over the sandpaper surface of her throat before emerging. Hamza didn’t respond, handing her a glass of cool water in silence. She emptied it quickly, eyes unseeingly fixed on the slumped over body in the corner. 

“Yeh sab kyu kar rahi ho Yalina? Zindagi bigad li tumhari, khareed liya tumhe, toh fir itni mukhlisi kyu dikhati ho usse?” His eyes shone, she would have said they were tears but in the gas lights, she couldn’t be certain. 

“Mere abbu ne bigadi meri zindagi Hamza, aapne bigadli meri zindagi. Rehman ne jo kiya wo kiya, uske baad jo hua wo meri ijazat se aur meri tahaffuz ke liye kiya. Sahara hain hamare, jo tum kabhi ban nahi paye. Aur tu, namaard saala, jaake mere abbu aur mere dushmano se haath juuda karne ke baad puch raha hain…yeh sab kyu kiya!” He froze at the slur. She never swore, despite her environment, despite the men around her, she had never before spoken like this. It was liberating. 

“Agar humne tujhse sab kuch cheena, zindaagi barbad ki, toh soch ek baar. Usne mere saath kya kiya. Sab suar he Yalina, baki logo se chaain, khushi, zindaagi churate hain. Sab ko maar diya unhone!” She flinched back slightly at his tone, dark and dripping with rage. He had never frightened her exactly but this moment was the closest to that razor thin edge. His eyes were wild, promising vengeance and despite everything, a part of her empathised. She would wish death, pain on those who took hers, who was she to judge him. She swayed slightly and he paused, eyes flowing over her as he lowering his voice 

“Be laus thi tu Yalina, meri masoom jaan thi tu.” It sounded wrong from his lips- jaan was not his endearment for her. 

“Nahi jalne duga tujhko Lyari ke aag main. Tumhara maan maane ya nahi, ab tu meri hain, meri dunya, meri Ishq, meri sab kuch aur tu mere saath chalegi.”

“Hamza! Koi cheeez nahi hu ki tu utha ke le ja saake!” She tried to inject fury into her voice but exhaustion was winning over fury. 

“Kuch nahi hone dunga Yalina. Sojao. Tune mujhe bacchaya, kuch nahi hone dunga.”

A single tear dropped down Yalina’s cheeks before she fell. 

__________________________________________________________

When she truly awoke, she was in a house. It was small, dusty, unused with boarded over windows that wouldn’t allow a single shard of light to pierce the darkness. She tried to escape, futilely, but Hamza had not become a spy through negligence and he watched as her will eroded. She slumped against the wall and wondered how long she had until election day. She wondered if Rehman searched for her. She hoped he didn’t believe that she would run away. She hoped Faizal would escape unscathed by the rain of bullets that was headed their way. 

“Paarso main aapko border pe chod dunga. Agar wapas kabhi mulaquat nahi hoyi toh aapke liye ghar aur paise rakhe hain.”

“Election ke results kal aa rahe hai?”

“Haan.”

“Bhagne ka sochna bhi maat. Rehman ka khel khatam hain Yalina, khudke haatho se tasalli ki hain.”

“Hamza! Kya kiya tune? Mujhse sab kuch lena chahte ho kya? Pehle mere dil ke saath khel khele, fir abbu ko becchne main madat ki aur ab, ab tu mujhse mera shauhar aur baccha lena chahta hain? Kesa be ghairat mard he tu?” The rage that had been simmering caught fire as she stalked towards him. Her words seemed to rattle his unfazed countenance, cracks showing in the slight parting of his lips and the way he leaned away from her. 

“Ek baar puchungi Hamza. Kya. Kiya. Tune?” 

__________________________________________________________

A/N - I just read some amazing smut (@tere-naal-nachna) so next chapter main pakka smut likhungi

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9 part10

part11 part12

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 12

There was too much traffic. Returning before dark would be impossible. That was the text Yalina received from her husband. She reacted with a thumbs up, almost grateful for the momentary respite he was providing her. A cheap cigarette dangled from between her fingers as she leaned against the railings of the balcony. She hated the smell, briefly contemplated going inside and swiping one of her husband's expensive brands before the phantom feel of Hamza’s lips forced her to inhale the acrid smoke. She blew out forcefully, watching it swirl off into the darkness. It was time to come clean. She knew it. Knowing didn’t stop the frantic way her heart tried to escape her chest, the thought of telling Rehman what she knew, how she knew it, what she had done to know it, was untenable. Was it time to end Hamza’s charade? He was an useful asset, one forced by heart and circumstance to dance to her tune, it would be a waste. She tapped the cigarette to push the ashy embers off, watching them float downwards like burning asteroids towards the earth.

A sharp ring shattered the quiet calm. The night always seemed silent, though in this city, the silence sheltered the wails of those unlucky enough to get caught. She swiped open her phone. ‘Papa.’ Yalina stared at the callerID, wishing it would just shut off. She was tired, the chess match of Pakistan designed to crush those pawns who could not become queens. She clicked the answer button, raising the phone to her ears as she tossed the burning cigarette away, a single spark burning her hand. 

“Hello? Yalina? Theek ho na beta?”

“Hello? Haan abbu? Sab khairiyat, aur aap?” Her throat closed even as she choked the words out. She was certain he was working against Rehman, against her. Yalina needed proof. If she could not expose Hamza as a source of dubious information, she would have to supply it herself. Rehman would take action then, he would fix everything. 

“Sab theek, sab theek. Bohot din hue dekh kar, kya ammi, abbu ki yaad nahi aarahi?” He laughed slightly, to Yalina it sounded forced. 

“Bohot kaam tha abbu, Rehman ki begum bana koi asaan kam thodi na hain.” She wondered if she should force a laugh too, in the end, her words came out hollow. 

“Akele ho kya, koi quarib main hain?” 

“Nahi abbu. Balcony main akeli khadi hu.” 

“Kal ghar aao. Ammi bohot yaad kar rahi hain teri. Hum thoda baat kar lete hain agle iqdamat par.”

“Haan, dekhti hu. Faizal ka class hain.” She should go, snoop, gather information for Rehman, for Hamza if he could become amenable towards working with her. 

“Usko bhi le aao fir, baccha toh hain. Sauteli maa ho uski.” He sounded an odd mixture of angry, sad and proud. She pushed her analysis away. Action would save her, not thoughts. 

___________________________________________________________

Her house was garish, overly decorated in comparison to the simple, timeless baloch house she had become accustomed to. Yalina wore a mint pastel salwar kameez. Peacocks danced around her sleeves, neck and the border lining the edge, vibrant blue and orange thread blending seamlessly to shimmer in the artificial white light of her childhood home. A plain, navy blue chiffon dupatta adorned her head, shielding her violent curls from view as was appropriate for a married woman. Faizal hovered behind her as her ammi fussed, clasping her tightly before exclaiming that she had gained weight. 

“Toh, Faizal miyan,” Her father pulled him forward “suna 8th pass hogayi, mubark ho!” Faizal grinned and yanked on Yalina’s hand. 

“Ammi ne sab sikha diya!” Yalina smiled even as her gaze shot towards Faizal. ‘Ammi.’ The only time he had ever called her that… She looked up to catalogue her parents' reactions. Both seemed frozen, even as decades of political training let them brush past the incident without reaction. 

On the surface, the meeting went seamlessly. A simple visit from a newly married daughter who missed her parents. Underneath the surface, tensions simmered. Her ammi offered to show Faizal the gardens and Yalina watched him wander out. Her father relaxed marginally in his chair, turning towards her as she braced for questions, an interrogation, something. 

“Khush ho kya?” He watched her response carefully.

“Haan, khush hu.” Yalina wondered where she factored into his plans. The daughter who had been bartered unwillingly but stayed willfully. He looked saddened by her response, the unvoiced weight of betrayal blanketing the room.

“Sharbat peeoge? Jab tu choti thi toh sirf mere haath ka nimbu sharbat mangti thi. Ammi, ayah, sab ko inkar karti thi tu.” 

“Haan abbu, baraf ke saath?” He nodded and walked away, footsteps echoing against the marble. The dark blue burner phone caught the headache inducing light. Yalina had never been allowed to touch it, the work phone. She sprang up and switched it on, watching with bated breath as the screen loaded to show her and her ammi smiling back at her. Her 7th birthday. She had worn a bright pink dress, invited her whole class for a huge celebration and after everyone had left, with the room in disarray, her ammi had swung her up and twirled her around. The photo showed her frozen in a laugh, head tossed back as her mother smiled fondly at her. The angle was tilted, her legs disappearing out of the frame. Yalina stared at that photo before blinking rapidly. Not the time. The phone opened on the third try - her parents' anniversary. 

______________________________________________________________

Whatsapp 

Election group

ISI Major Iqbal : Election ki raat ko jali qaaim karenge.  Jab sher pinjre main hoga, Lyari ki huqumat shiqario ke haath hogi. (🥳)

You : Meri bacchi ko ahtyat se sambhalna. Usko kuch hua toh mansubah mansokh samaj lo (👍) SP CAK (Jinn) : Mujhse kya chaahiye batado. Chuhey ko ghar se nikalne ka waqht aagaya hain. Fir harami Balocho ko bhi hata denge.  ISI Major Iqbal : Sabr karo. Ek haafte main sab tayaaria bhi mukamal hogi. Sirf tab hum kadam aage rakhenge. Uske pehle kuch kiya toh pura Lyari unke badshah ke liye jaag uthega. Pehle awam ko khilaf hona chahiye, fir mazul karenge. (2👍)

___________________________________________________________

Election night. Faizal stared out of the opposite window as they drove back, lost in the music playing through his headphones. The yellow streetlamps sent rectangular flashes of light careening through the vehicle. It was a week away. Yalina inhaled sharply. She had a week to figure out a plan. If she failed, she didn’t know what consequences could result. She might go back to living her empty, comfortable life as Jameel Jamali’s daughter. She might move abroad, alongside all of those who left the chaos for shelter. Hamza might kill her for her knowledge. He might love her but she was a liability protected by Rehman’s suspicious nature. In all these circumstances, she would be forever haunted by the ghost of what could have been so failure could not be an option. 

___________________________________________________________

Rehman returned late at night. In the time when even starlight was consumed by shadows. Yalina pulled her awareness upwards from where it had been dozing in a semi alert state. 

“Aap aa gaye?” Her voice, roughened by sleep and disuse revealed more than she would have otherwise allowed. He looked at her and she looked at him. His dark pupils reflected the guilt, shame, rage, helplessness and resolve that pounded through her veins and shone in her eyes. 

“Aa gaya.” He kissed her softly, gently, understanding her need for comfort if not the reasons behind it. 

“Rehman, agar mene aapko dhoka diya, agar mene kisi aur ke saath…kuch kiya. Aap kya karoge?” It was the dreamlike state of the moment that let Yalina throw caution to the wind. To confess without revealing any truths. To ask for absolution without admitting guilt. 

“Main puchunga, kya tum khush ho? Kya tumhare maan se jo hua wo hua? Agar jawab haan aya toh kuch nahi hoga. Agar jawab nahi aya toh main wo mard ko raaste main, sab ke samne, iss tarah marunga ki uss din ke baad, koi bina puche hamare bibi ke samne aankhe nahi uthayega, haath toh chod hi do.” He never raised his voice, he didn’t need to. The truth behind his words highlighted them far better than any change in inflection could have. Yalina let out a breath. She hadn’t even realised how tense she had been until the weight was gone. She relaxed and fell backwards onto the pillows, hands reaching for Rehman even as he coiled around her smaller form. Her sleep was undisturbed despite the way her thoughts swirled from wakefulness to unconsciousness, the same ideas, plans and potential strategies looping in a desperate bid to find a way out. 

___________________________________________________________

A/N - Short update because of exams lol

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9 part10 part11

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Warnings- Infidelity (lowkey minor instance)

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 11

“Rehman, hum soch rahe the, aap abhi Karachi ke taj ke liye ladne jaare ho.” He hummed slightly in acknowledgement, lazily flipping another page of his newspaper as Shifa placed steaming cups of chai alongside the paratha they were eating for breakfast. Faizal ran down the corridor, perennially late for school. 

“Hum soch rahe the, kyu na aapki maadat karu.” He finally placed the newspaper down, gaze piercing as he watched Yalina fidget with her dupatta. She didn’t think he would refuse, not really, but Pakistan was somewhat intolerant of wives who stepped outside the mould. 

“Kya bolna chaahti ho Yalina? Agar kuch karna he, kuch chaahiye toh mang lo jaan. Hum toh mana nahi karenge.” 

“Mere entrances main acchi rank ayi hain. General hospital main assistant hone wali ki exams.” He watched her, appraising, and she was suddenly transported back to the room where her father had asked Rehman to take anything but her. Would she have preferred that? To live what would have been a happy, comfortable lie with Hamza. Yalina had no answer so she shook her thoughts away and focused on the present. 

“Sheher election ke mahol main hain Yalina, akele hospital main jana, hamare bibi hote waqht…yeh mehfooz-”

“Wo hi main bol rahi hu. Election chalu hone wale hain. Agar aap aapke bibi ko bahar bhejne lage, agar wo awam ke liye kaam kar rahi hain, toh aapko hi faidah hoga.” She held his gaze as he considered, hand rubbing his chin. She sipped the lukewarm chai as he straightened.

“Saath main koi hoga. Akele nahi jaoge, aur agar humne kaha toh ghar wapas laut kar baithoge, shaarait manzoor hogi toh jaa sakte ho.” Yalina nodded her acquiescence enthusiastically before jumping up and kissing him. He waved her off as Faizal’s voice echoed down the corridors. 

“Aapi! Idhar bhoot hain, jaldi ao na!” Yalina laughed as she ducked out of the dining room. 

___________________________________________________________

 There was a rotating schedule. Rehman only sent her with his most trusted. She would have hated it but they were much easier to convince than if he had sent lackeys. A confident smile, wobbly lip and distraught explanation was all it took for them to accompany her to and from the haveli rather than inside the General Hospital as Rehman had instructed. 

“Uzair bhai, koi mujhe kaam bhi nahi dega agar aap peche aise khade rahoge, ghoorte.”

“Siyahi Bhai, main pregnancy ward main kaam karne wali hu, udhar aap ka aane sahi nahi hoga.” She felt Hamza’s gaze on her each time, assessing at first but later almost proud, amused. 

The work itself was exhausting and a part of her realised that she didn’t want to do this forever. The hospital, despite being newly constructed and overfunded, was understaffed with infrastructure that was outdated and not nearly enough to help those who needed it. It was rewarding, to assist in the delivery of a baby but it was equally soul crushing to watch his mother hold him as he died due to a lack of sanitation. She was respected, sure, that was the default for ‘Sher-e-Baloch ki Begum-sa’, but her power was limited. Rehman noticed, and was concerned by her restlessness, the dark circles under her eyes.

“Agar yeh hospital wala kaam jada bhari hoga toh chod de sakte ho Yalina, usme kuch badi baat nahi hain.” She shook her head, convincing in her arguments of this being her first time working. Rehman let it go with a downward twist of his lips. 

___________________________________________________________

“Yalina.” Hamza was a part of her rotating guard. The secrets between them, the unspoken weight behind their interactions had been left unaddressed, there had been too much going on. No appropriate time for Rehman Dakait’s wife to interact with an ordinary third or fourth in command. The car was parked in a field. Rehman was out of town for the inauguration of a dam. There was nobody to police their actions so long as they got back in time. Yalina rubbed her arms to stave off the chill. 

“Begum Sahiba, Bibi nahi bulaoge kya mujhe Hamza?”

“Yahan kaun hain dekhneko.” There was a weight behind those words that Yalina ignored. She stared off into the distance instead of responding. The countryside was green, a result of the heavy rains that season, though the sky was bright and cloudless at that moment. Winds whipped the tall, thin grass around in shifting, indecipherable patterns. The mountains around them were rocky, covered in gnarled vines and creepers while snow capped peaks hovered in the distant heavens. He didn’t press her to speak. 

“Meri ek patient hain. Eimaan. Major Iqbal ki teesri begum. Akeli hain bichari, baki bibiyaan usko saatati rehti hain. Bohot baat karti hain humse.” He straightened and she sensed the weight of his attention. 

“Iqbal Sahab ka kuch mansubah hain. Usne bhi jyada kuch nahi suna, par ghar main diware sab kuch kabhi nahi chupa pati. Lyari, Karachi, sab ko saaf karna hain unko. Sab kuch fauj ke haatho main chahiye unhe.”

“Aur yeh sab hamko kyu bata rahe ho Yalina?” 

“Esi waqht aayegi jab mujhe aapki zaroorat padegi. Uss waqht main aaoge Hamza?” 

Yalina gave him the courtesy of silence when he didn’t respond. She hadn’t expected him to. 

“Aapko Hindustan bhej sakta hu. Khush rahoge waha. Jo karna hain, Jo kuch bhi bana hain, kar sakoge aur ban sakoge Yalina.”

“Aur Faizal, Rehman, meri ammi, abbu…in sab ka kya karu Hamza? Aap jesi nahi hu ki sabko chod kar bhag ja sakti hu.” She turned around to face him, cataloguing how tiny cracks formed at her words. 

“Faizal ko lekar ja sakte ho.” His response was almost inaudible.

“Aur Rehman ka kya, Hamza! Chod ke bhaag jau? Kuch nahi lagta kya aapko, in sab logo ne tujhe aapnaya aur tu palat ke dhoka dene baitha! Kuch wafadari nahi hain kya tujhme?” Her voice had risen in volume the longer she spoke. She stalked towards him, accusing, while he stood like a statue until her last words. 

“Hain.” His words were empty, carried away on the wind even as she heard them.

“Kya hain? Main jaha se khadi hu, kuch nahi hain. Haar roj tu hasta hain, hamare saath khaata hain, Faizal ke saath khelta hain. Kese jiyega agar khud ke parivaar ko hi maar diya toh?” Her last sentence tapered off, losing steam as tears silently cascaded down her cheeks. She didn’t know if she could save Rehman either. 

She stiffened as he wrapped his arms around her. She had a husband, one who she loved. Her body, however, remembered Hamza like it had been yesterday and against her will, she melted into the comfort. 

“Inhone mere parivaar ko mara. Inhone mere logo ko ghar main ghus kar mara. Toh jo kuch main karunga, jo main kar raha hu- wo sab wafadari se hi hain, meri logo ke liye wafadari.” His voice never rose, nor did his inflection shift but the conviction in his voice would haunt Yalina for a long time. 

“Rehman ko chod do Hamza, jese aap aapke mulq ke liye kuch kar rahe hain, wo bhi idhar ke logo ki zindaagi behtar karne ki koshish kar rahe hain.” 

He didn’t respond and that in and of itself was Yalina’s answer. She made to pull away from him, she wanted to go home. He pulled her closer as she stiffened slightly. 

“Hamz-mmph” He kissed her like the past month had been nothing. As though they were back in her bedroom, when her life was simple and uncomplicated. She wound her arms around his shoulders even as guilt permeated her system, neurons misfiring. 

“Haan bol do Yalina, churakar yeh sab se dur le jaunga.” It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t tempted, just for a moment, to say yes. To go somewhere far away, where no one knew her. To be a blank slate upon which she could choose what was written. It was overridden by the image of her, sitting alone in a flat, online article open - Attack in Lyari kills infamous gang leader Rehman Baloch. Military control instituted. She would be alone. She pulled away harshly from Hamza. 

“ Mujhe ghar le jao Hamza. Der ho rahi hain.” 

___________________________________________________________

“2x²- 3x + 8 = 0.” Faizal looked at her questioningly from where they were perched on his bed. 

“Faizal, do baar bataya hain ab tak, ek baar akhele koshish karo.” She watched him grumble and solve the question through unseeing eyes. She was glad Rehman wasn’t home tonight, there was no way for her to explain the guilt that shrouded her. She had cheated. On the one person who unconditionally stood by her side. There was no way to explain herself, the secrets she carried, if revealed, would risk people who she cared for in some way or another. Worst of all, was Hamza with her or against her- she didn’t know. 

“Hogaya aapi.” Yalina automatically smiled as she pushed her weighted thoughts away, helping him pack up. 

“Faizal…,” He looked at her questioningly “Agar tu yaha nahi rehta, tujhe kidhar rehna accha lagta?” He laughed before answering. 

“Shayad, UK main! Mere bohot dost hain udhar. Par, ghar toh yahan hain toh chod ke jana ajeeb lagega aapi, abbu ka kaam bhi itna aham hain aur sab log yaha hi hain toh…chodne ka waqht toh aa bhi nahi sakta!” Yalina nodded and smiled, trying to blot out the sadness that threatened her grin. Faizal grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room. 

“ Chalo naa, football khelte hain.”

“Raat hui hain Faizal, kaal school nahi jaana?”

“Thode der ke liye aapi.” His eyes pleaded and she conceded without a fight as they silently walked down to the verandah. 

___________________________________________________________

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9 part10

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 10

She swung lightly on the swing in the gardens, humming softly as Faizal shifted from where he was sprawled across the length of the seat, head resting on her lap. Yalina would have much preferred to be out there, plotting, fighting, arguing- just something. She had a feeling Faizal would have preferred the same, yet the cards fate had dealt them decreed that they wait for news in the compound. Poor child. The reality of his fathers work must have hit him recently, the loss of his family making him paranoid about the man who walked into gunfights unfazed. She lightly smoothed away some hair that had fallen into his eyes as the sunrise peeked over the horizon. The dawn chill was edging on uncomfortable and a small part of her twinged for the pettiness of feeling that way. 

Yalina had a complicated relationship with both her parents. Her ammi was distant, superficial even towards her own child. As far back as she could recall, her ayah had been softer, gentler with fewer expectations from her besides happiness. They loved each other, sure, but it was with the stilted weight of duty rather than genuine joy that came from being ‘family’. Her abbu…Yalina sighed as she swung slightly faster. She was his princess but it had been a long time since she’d viewed him as the king. In a city with a thousand kings, a thousand thrones built on bone and flesh, her abbu was a mere man. The fact that, in the very end, when it came down to it, he had sold her didn’t exactly help her affections. Rehman was kind and gentle with her but abbu had no way of knowing that but he'd given her up. He had never apologised. Neither had Hamza but even as her anger against him simmered, she could read the reasons behind his behaviour. No one was important to him so why would she be, whereas her abbu had called her most important thing before handing her off. Yalina pushed the cobwebs of tangled relations aside as the sounds of boots echoed in the mansion. Boots. Not shoes or chappal…

“Faizal, utho beta!” She kept her voice hushed even as undercurrents of urgency drowned her words. He groggily blinked awake, hands reaching towards where she had crouched beside the swing. 

“Aapi?” To her ears, his voice echoed in the relative silence. She hushed him, lifting a finger to her lips. 

“Koi toh andar ghusa hai, hamare kamre main ek almirah hain aur uske piche ek storage room. Shaanti se uth ke mere saath chalo, hum abbujaan ke liye udhar raah dekhenge.” His eyes widened as he nodded, still half asleep although her words had chased any sense of peace off of his face. 

They were lucky to not meet anyone while making their way into Yalina and Rehman’s shared bedchambers. The dull sounds of military issue shoes were now punctuated by vague shouts and the sound of furniture crashing on the other side of the haveli. It was adrenaline that enabled her to push the heavy wardrobe to the side, far enough for her and Faizal to squeeze into the small, blocked off room before the cupboard was painstakingly edged back into place. She stifled the sound of her panicked breathing and tried to smooth her expression as she turned around. Faizal looked shocked, questioning the very idea that someone could breach his secure house just like that. Yalina watched him sit down on the dusty wood floors before turning back around. She had taken a risk, Rehman would have yelled at her if he knew, but he wasn’t home to underestimate her. The small chink between the room and the back of the cupboard let in a tiny gossamer stream of pink-orange dawn light. Rehman’s enemies were coming for him. They were coming for what is his. The power of a nobody had started to threaten the hierarchy of Pakistan and thus needed to be shut down. She was certain of this. The pieces fell too neatly to assume otherwise. 

SP Aslam had turned against her father, kidnapping him and sending threats of torture, of death against Rehman’s father in law. Yalina remembered her father working with him, not against but alliances in the underworld were fickle. 

“Hawa badal ja rahi hai.” She whispered to herself under her breath as she pressed up against the crack to discern the outside. She had been too shocked to stall Rehman, stop him or talk to him. She wished she had. She didn’t know what she would do if he- She cut off that train of thought before it could materialise even briefly within her mind. She needed to focus. On this, the intruders in her house. On her plans and how to change them so she could escape with the people she now loved cared about. Yalina needed to figure out who was aligned with whom. She was stumbling around blind, and cracked streets would sooner see her stumble and fall than take her safely home.

“Phone in logo ne idhar hi chod diya hain, ahtyat se talaash karo. Idhaar hi kidhaar chhupke baithe honge.” The voice nearly sent her stumbling back. Major Iqbal. Had she been mistaken, were all of them- SP, Major and her abbu working together? No, that didn't make any sense. If that had been the case, SP Sahab wouldn't have abducted her father. Yalina stood frozen, glued to the sliver of light. Alliances in this country were always nebulous, subject to change alongside the winds of luck and history but there was a rooted respect for tradition all the same. What was the end goal here? 

___________________________________________________________

Rehman’s preparations had turned out fortuitous. She’d laughed disbelievingly when he had murmured the location of a secret room before leaving but he had seemingly foreseen the possibility of an attack. Faizal was asleep in her bed, snoring lightly as drool steadily dripped onto her pillow. She envied his ability to fall asleep despite the stress of the night and early morning. Yalina furled and unfurled the edges of her stolen letter, staring at it with unseeing eyes as she sat on the other end of the bed. She desperately wanted to call Hamza. Force him to confess all his information, the secrets he knew that could act as her salvation, but he was with Rehman right now and distracting them could be fatal. 

___________________________________________________________

“Meri jaan?” She jolted awake from the uneasy sleep she had fallen into. Faizal had buried himself closer under the pile of blankets, arms tucked near his chest. She disentangled herself to look at Rehman. It was nearly midday, the glaring Karachi sun told her as much. He scrubbed a hand over his face, groaning lightly. There was a fresh knife cut running down the edge of his arm, edges inexpertly stitched together so the blood could coagulate. The rancid smell of old blood made her nauseous even as she suppressed her gag. 

“SP Aslam bole ki jaan ke liye jaan hi dege,” Rehman looked almost nervously at her, the expression out of place on his normally stoic face, “mera jaan, aapke abbu ke liye.” Yalina stared up at him, blankets tangled around her hips, the situation suddenly becoming too real, too fast. 

“Aap kidhar nahi ja sakte! Mera aur Faizal ka kya hoga mujhe-” She faltered as her hasty words caught up with her. Rehman gently tangled a hand in her messy curls, pulling slightly to tilt her face up. 

“Main kidhar nahi jaunga.” The words, although simple, settled her slightly. He dropped heavily onto the bed besides her leaning slightly onto her shoulder. It was a novel feeling to have a man, let alone a man like him, lean on her for comfort. Hamza had always kept her at a slight distance, probably for the ‘mission’, she thought scathingly. 

“Kuch karna padega. Abhi teen din main elections hain, Hame Zarwari Sahab elections main khade karne wale hain. Agar hamari begum ka parivaar hazir na ho toh hamara ezaz nahi rahega. Aur siyasat main ezaz ke bina tabahyi hogi.” He sounded exhausted and Yalina hated it. 

“Abhi ke abhi kuch nahi kar sakte aap, sojaye na. Aap ki yaad ayi mujhe, akele jo mujhe aur Faizal ko raat main chod ke gaye.” He turned to look at her, eyes scanning her expression carefully, with the delicacy of a man who already knew how to read a woman. Yalina held her breath as he cupped her cheeks, unable to look him in the eye like this. 

“Yalina, hamare dildar, chod ke jaana pada. Agar mere fehsla lene ki istehqaq hota toh hum dono, ab tak, bistaar ke upar saath rehte.” Her cheeks flamed immediately as she smacked his shoulder. 

“Faizal idhar hi soya hua hai! Kesi baate kar rahe hai aap!” He fell over onto the bed when she pushed him, despite the fact that she knew it wasn’t her strength that had caused him to fall. She threw herself down next to him, burying her face in his chest until his breathing evened out and she was certain he was asleep. 

___________________________________________________________

“Hamza.” She intercepted him silently in one of the antechambers. She had watched him for nearly an hour until he was alone, isolated enough for her to meet with him. 

“Bibi?”

“Dikhawa chhod do Hamza. Hamza aapka sach main naam bhi hain kya?” Her frustration bled incessantly into her tone. She was out of her depth with him these days, what had felt like a relationship between equals had transformed into a struggle. He stayed silent. 

“Mujhe saaf saaf samjhado iss sheher main kya chal raha hai. Pata hain ki aap jaante hi hoge aur main bewakoof nahi hu aapko esa mauka dene ko jisme aap hame khamosh karde. Toh aapko batane ke siwah aur koi chara bhi nahiye.” He appraised her, eyes boring into hers while she stared back, unwilling to lose with everything at stake. 

He told her what he knew. She was certain he had fudged, omitted and created certain details but she could work with what she had been told. 

___________________________________________________________

They had refused at first, dutiful women that they were, no doubt used to the significantly more demure Ulfat begum, but they had caved once she had explained. 

She was done being a pawn, she was done sitting inside the house relying on crumbs that Hamza fed her and she was going to do something, anything. As it so happened, there was a way. 

The power of the internet combined with the power of three women was seemingly infinite. Shifa had tracked down a Noreen Khan, who happened to be the significantly unprotected wife of SP Chaudhary Aslam Khan . Haniya drove the car, giddily explaining how she knew how to operate a gun, courtesy of her brother. It would’ve felt like a girls trip if they hadn’t been carrying weapons and rope rather than snacks and clothes. 

___________________________________________________________

“SP Sahab, hum Yalina Baloch urf Dakait urf Jamali. Hamare bich main kuch dushmani nahi hain magar aapne hamare abbujaan aur fir hamare shauhar ko dhamki di. Meri shaadi maan ki nahi thi lekin maine meri khushi khud cheen ke banayi. Aapne haatho se! Toh aap jesa koi, jinhone soch samaj ke tadbeer nahi banaya…main aapko meri khushi q cheene du?”

___________________________________________________________

Yalina watched from the side, hand resting on Faizal’s shoulder. 

“Aa ja re aa ja, seene la ja, haaye sajana meenu lutt le gaya haaye..”

She watched as the crowd roared their approval. She watched the disappointment flash on her fathers face, the failure starkly visible. That was fine. She would not, and could not be concerned with everyone’s happiness. She would be concerned about life, death and what happened to cause the two. Rehman caught her eye from the podium as he stepped down, a soft smile playing on his lips before he grinned wider, more enthusiastic for Uzair, Hamza, Donga and Siyahi as they pulled him into the throng. That smile, that one was just for her.

___________________________________________________________

A/N - Plot is going to lowkey heat up from this point (along with 'are we going to die' smut)

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8 part9

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

disclaimer - smut

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 9

It took her an embarrassing amount of time to decide what to do. Everything was complicated by the slow but steady way she settled into the Baloch household. The rational and pragmatic part of her, the tiny sliver of cruel cunning that existed in every woman from underprivileged countries, urged her to run alone. To leave her liabilities behind to face the fate etched with his hands, and there lay the issue. They were her liabilities. She wouldn’t have wanted them to be but she had always been the sort of girl who clung to what was hers, who wouldn’t share her toys. Betrayal would have made her let go but Rehman was not Hamza, and that fact only served to twist her resolve. 

He let her push closer to him, when they lay side by side on the bed in the in-between times. Twilight, dusk, dawn and midnight created an atmosphere where nothing felt real. Not the filth infested world of Lyari’s streets nor the way that the vultures circled above. It was those times, Yalina realised, that had shaken her resolve and her heart. Her plans shifted amorphously to try and accommodate the doomed people that she wanted to save. She lay awake long after Rehman was asleep next to her, unable to toss and turn with his arms around her yet disquieted all the same. 

She didn’t have intel, only whispers and in the streets, whispers were a dime a dozen. No one would believe her intuition nor her word over that of the leader of the ISI. Her own father would discredit her. She was on her own. 

___________________________________________________________

“Hamza.” He paused. He had expected she would keep up her see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil strategy ad nauseam but no, his ears were not deceiving him. 

She wore a simple purple and grey suit with minimal jewellery. Her hair was braided back and covered simply with a purple gossamer veil. Strands of it escaped to frame her tired face and closed off eyes.

“Paanch minute mere saath chalo, kuch zaroori baat karni thi.” The courtyard was empty, cavernous space highlighting her small figure. The wind streamed through her dupatta and veil, gently lifting them upwards towards the heavens before they settled back against her. His eyes trailed over her discreetly as he walked towards her, searching for the girl he had driven around the mountains. The Yalina who had laughed openly, eyes bright and movements carefree. The only trace he could find was the way her body still leaned slightly towards him. The rest of her was controlled. The posture of a married woman, the eyes of a practiced liar and the demeanour of a Begum. 

“Kya hua Bibi?” The form of address felt as wrong as ever on his tongue. Still, regardless of whatever she knew, pretences must be upheld. 

“Seedhe baat karungi aapse.” Her eyes met his, a flicker of something crossing them before they returned to placidity. 

“Aap mujhe maarne ka mauka kho chuke ho. Agar karna tha, khamosh karna tha toh ussi din karna chahiye tha. Ab, agar raazdari rakhni hogi toh aapko mujhse kuch wada karna padega, meri liye kuch kaam karna padega. Mutafaq hain?”

He studied her. This wasn’t unexpected, not exactly. She had always had fire buried inside. Girls who were obedient didn’t sneak out for illegal parties, they didn’t involve themselves with gang members nor did they sneak out of their safe homes. The only question was, what could be done now? Did he kill her? Would that raise suspicion, both of Rehman Baloch’s wives dying within the span of a year. Would it damage alliances or strengthen his position by reinforcing the view that Rehman was evil amongst the populace. Should he go along with her demands? Could he kill her if it came down to it, he had already failed once, will deserting him. Outwardly, he only inclined his head silently asking her to go on. 

___________________________________________________________

Yalina let out a breath as she watched Hamza leave the perimeter of her home. Her plan was in motion. He would begin the process of preparing an exit- Passports, fake names, money. Her and Faizal for now. Rehman… her insides twisted violently. It wasn’t worth the risk. Major Iqbal would ignore a wife and child who ran. He would not ignore the king who went underground waiting for an opportunity. She saw Shifa stride towards her from the corner of her eye and she forced composure back into her face, stiffening her shoulders before the shrewd woman could notice her behaviour. The second task on her list was much harder. She needed to get out of the bubble. Society wives, grocers and shopkeepers and children could not help her gain a better understanding of what the Major was planning. The general hospital clinic was the easiest way, if she could assimilate into Lyari’s neutral zone, she would automatically hear of the developments in the street wars and the political wars. The only question was how to convince her husband of this. 

___________________________________________________________

They had dinner in one of the smaller balconies that day. Diya’s had been lit around the railings, they blended in seamlessly with the dying light of day. Streaks of deep chromatic red and orange cut across a pastel pink and blue sky. Faizal went on about some or the other schoolyard drama as Rehman pretended to listen while throwing Yalina subtle smirks at her evident disinterest. She watched the sunset instead. The way its dying light shone against Rehman’s sharp cheekbones, illuminated his lips and glittered in his eyes. They were warm as he watched her when Faizal turned towards her to show off his 80% score on his latest math test. 

She grinned back at him, genuinely pleased by the way that she had helped him in some small way. 

“Mujhe laga ki yeh integration wala pakka galat kiya hoga aapi par NAHI! Yeh dekho, full 8 mark mile hai mujhe.” 

“Wah shabas! Yalina badi basilahiyat hogi agar tujhe maths sikha payi.” He smiled easily at her as Faizal pouted and exclaimed that he was the one who had put in so much effort. 

Much later, Faizal went to bed and it was just her and Rehman on the dimly illuminated balcony. They stood, side by side in silence sipping on warm elaichi doodh. She steadfastly ignored the way her nausea was increasing, guilt churning her lungs and stomach till she couldn’t truly breathe. 

“Aapko kuch puchna tha.” He shifted slightly, inclining his head towards her to indicate his attention.

“Mujhe doctor bana tha pehle, lekin abhtak mujhe bhi pata hai ghar ka kaam, Faizal ka dekh bhaal, iss sab ke bich main mere pas waqht aur taqat dono nahi hai full doctor banne ki. Lekin mera sapna tha, logo ki madat karna aur jitni padhai ki hain, usse assistant ban sakungi. Aapki ijazat ke sath… exam le kar General Hospital main thoda part time kar lu?” He was silent for long enough that Yalina almost wished that she could take her words back. 

“Le lo exam. Padhi likhi begum hain hamari, agar aapko khushi mil rahi hai kaam kar kar toh hum kaun aaye aapko rokne ko.” He turned to smile slightly at her, expression almost melancholy. 

It felt as though her guilt multiplied. Why hadn’t she asked Hamza to include him? This man who was willing to bend the world to her wish, why was she letting herself be the Hamza in his story. The one who betrayed, ignored and hurt. She was sure her eyes had fractured, emotions swirling openly as the night enveloped them in their little lit island. She watched him watch her break open on the inside, confused. She couldn’t explain, wished she could have but explaining would doom her preparations. 

She wound her hands around his shoulders, letting the fire inside her consume the shattered glass until it melted into pure heat. She felt the way he tensed slightly before she kissed him. He wasn’t drunk, neither was she. No one could mistake this for what it wasn’t. His lips were cold against hers and she pressed herself firmer against him, clinging until he relented and kissed back. She could not beg his forgiveness nor ask for him to absolve her but she tried to convey all those secret unspoken things through her movement, through the way her nails dug into his back through the thin shirt when he made to pull back. She kissed him again, pushing until he took control. 

Rehman pushed her up against the walls of the balcony, pushing her hands up and holding them there as she pushed against his grip, testing, before relaxing when she realised she couldn’t move. He pulled her face down and kissed her once ,soft and gentle, before leaning in again and kissing her harder as she gasped lightly, giving him an opening to twist his tongue with hers. Yalina stood balanced on the tips of her toes before slipping slightly. Rehman pushed one of his thighs between hers and leveraged up, bending his knee till he had her balanced on his thigh, pushed up against the wall with both her hands held above her head with one of his own. The change in position caused her to let out an involuntary whimper as she helplessly ground down against his thigh trying to relieve the heat building up in her core. It wasn’t enough and she squirmed desperately, her face going red as she tried to move one of my hands only to remember that Rehman was holding them up. Yalina looked down at him, trying to plead with her eyes but he only smirked slightly before pushing his thigh further up, providing just enough friction to fall short of providing any real relief. Yalina rocked back and forth slightly hoping that it would be enough. It wasn’t. She pulled harder against the hand that was caging hers, finally succeeding in freeing one that she instantly pushed between her thighs, curving her fingers slightly as she pushed against her own hand harder. The loose nature of her pyjama pants letting her push them off in her haste. Rehman shuddered against her as he let go of Yalina’s other hand which she instantly moved to wrap around his shoulders for support. Yalina pushed a single finger inside, making a mess of the clear lubricant that she had secreted. That was the most that she could bear to put in without cringing, as she rocked harder against her hand, his thigh, building up a rhythm before kissing him hard. Her mind felt blissfully blank, not even a single thought crossing her mind as she was reduced to pure animalistic instinct. The rhythmic rolls of her hips stuttered as she felt him drag a single finger down between her breasts, lower and lower till it ran through a small patch of dark curly hair. She sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling deprived of oxygen. 

“Rehman…” She sounded wrecked, even to herself. Her voice was hoarse and the plea came out whispered. She clenched slightly around her own finger as he continued lower and lower, swirling his fingers slightly in the clear fluid that dripped out of her. His nails grazed her entrance, causing her to startle.

“Jaan? “ He asked with faux innocence as he pressed the tip of her finger in. Yalina moaned lowly, involuntarily as her toes curled at the feeling of having someone else’s fingers inside. He pushed his finger in entirely alongside her own as she choked slightly. It felt so full, with so little. She clenched down at that thought, her mind going blank as he pressed his thumb against the little nub outside. Yalina’s mind went entirely empty as she rocked back and forth faster and faster before falling off the edge with a gasp. 

They fell asleep entwined as they had every night for nearly a month. She’d offered to reciprocate, even an untested girl like herself knew that was the done thing. He’d ignored her, carrying her to the bed before wrapping around her until she drifted off the sleep, guilt kept at bay by a combination of exhaustion and distraction. 

___________________________________________________________

“Bibi Utho!” She awoke to someone shaking her, yelling at her. Haniya, she registered groggily as she pushed herself up before staring at the windows, confused. It was still dark outside. Had she slept a whole day? Where was Rehman? 

“Bibi jaldi Utho, aapke abbujaan! Niche chalo jaldi, Baloch sahab aapke liye hi rukhe hain.” Yalina got ready on autopilot, a cream coloured set forced into her hands. It reminded her of funeral colours. 

He was waiting for her in the entrance hall. The men stood silently, gathered at 3 am. Uzair paced. Donga and Siyahi stood guard as though they were sentinels while Hamza comforted Faizal. He must have awakened due to the chaos. She met Hamza’s eyes first watching as he imperceptibly shook his head. He had nothing to do with this. It could be a lie but her intuition told her he wasn’t lying. 

“Ammi! Abbu ko kahiye na, na jaane ko bolo na.” Faizal rushed towards her, clinging as she automatically gripped back. The word echoed in her mind, everyone else too distracted to register it - Ammi. Rehman met her gaze, moving towards them before wrapping his arms around them silently. It was at that moment that her plan changed. She would see all of them alive, safe and happy regardless of the cost that would need to be paid. 

___________________________________________________________

A/N - forgive me for whatever i might have messed up with the smut (first time lol) Next time - bohot drama and plot...enough fluff ho gaya.

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7 part8

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 8

She woke up to the sound of sparrows chirping, the early morning light streaming in through the white gossamer curtains, throwing a glazed sort of glow over the half-shadowed room. The chill of the night had not dissipated yet and cool morning air streamed in through the open windows. The mattress had moulded to her body, almost as though it was cradling her while the heavy duvet pressed her further down into the warmth of the bed. Her head was resting on Rehman’s shoulder with a leg tossed carelessly over his form while his arm was draped almost thoughtlessly over her waist. He looked almost peaceful when he was asleep. The permanent edge, the way he moved like a leopard stalking prey, waiting to pounce- It was all missing. The man left behind seemed almost human for the first time since she had met him. She shifted slightly, a huff of breath escaping her as he leveraged his grip to unconsciously pull her closer, grip relaxing only once she had accepted her fate and gone limp once again. 

Yalina assumed that she would feel angry, frightened, something but the empty space in her heart refused to fill. At the same time it felt as though her thoughts were an ocean, a cacophony of unintelligible sound. Her ankle throbbed, a reminder of her ill advised escapades. It was grounding, the pain helped settle her thoughts as she tried to figure out her next steps. 

“Itna kya soch rahi ho?” She startled slightly before looking up at her husband. 

“Maaf karna, neend main idhar aake sogaya. Umeed hain aapko jyaada taqleef nahi bardaasht karni padi hamare wajese?”

“Nahi, nahi bilkul…kuch dikaat nahi hui. Aapka hi ghar hain-” She cut herself off at the furrow that formed between his brows. She wanted to smooth it out, everything felt so warm like this, cradled in what was possibly the safest place for her right now. 

“Accha laga aap jo hamare saath waqht bitaane aa gaye, mere liye bhi sab kuch naya naya hai abhi, ese, mehfooz lagta hai.” Yalina ducked her head, breaking the eye contact they had been maintaining. Too honest. The warmth, comfort, it was too easy to be honest. He smiled, brows unknotting. 

“Khushi hui ese aapse sunkar. Jo jaldbaazi main nikaah karwadiya hamare…nahi karna chahiye tha. Galti hui hamse, aapke abbu ki galti ka saza aapse bardaast karnwane ka fehsla hamne galat tareqe se liya.” The last line was whispered too quietly for Yalina to hear yet the meaning drifted across to her all the same. She placed one hand on top of his, unable to come up with some eloquent reply or even untangle her feelings properly. 

___________________________________________________________

She spent her time in the inner rooms of the bungalow. Once the servants were back, her schedule was filled once again with soirees, luncheons and shopping trips. She was always accompanied and what had felt suffocating, now helped settle the frantic beating of her heart at the thought of stepping out without the armed men that Rehman provided her, without Shifa or Haniya who were stiff as ever but made her feel watched. Maybe it was weak of her to want that feeling of being controlled, free and chained at the same time, free to do as she pleased with the knowledge that there was a tether to catch her. 

Faizal thawed, gradually. It started with math homework of all things. Yalina had always been good at both math and teaching and Faizal despised his tuition enough to ask if she would tutor him instead. He didn’t love her, she doubted he even cared for her but he started to enjoy her company, to smile back when she laughed with him. He was good company, smart at some things, utterly dumb when it came to others. They sat in the gardens at night, Yalina’s mild phobia of darkness soothed by the high, electrified walls surrounding them and the light of the moon in the sky above. 

“Wo wala An-najm hain, Angrezi main usko seven sisters bulate hain.”

“Abhi sirf 6 hi dikh rahe hai aapi? Fir 7 sister kyu?” 

“Uss tarah dekh, badal ke picche. Saat main se ek utne gehrai se chamaktah nahi.”

She didn’t quite remember who started it first, her or Rehman. Each night, around an hour or two after the inhabitants of the bungalow had gone to sleep, he would walk into her room or she into his. They never discussed it and beyond one attempt from her at rekindling what they had started on that first night, it never went further than sleeping. She slept easier, muscles relaxing faster when she was held and the relief it gave her from her newly developed insomnia was too tempting to pass up on. 

___________________________________________________________

Hamza didn’t try to meet her. She glimpsed him at times, from the corner of her eyes but she never acknowledged him nor did he speak to her. She didn’t know what to do with him, with the information she now carried like a permanent weight in her stomach. The irony wasn't lost on her as she absentmindedly watched the light catch the gold of her wedding bangles. Hamza had offered her whispers of a life together, a dream of romance that had ultimately led her to a pile of trash under a bridge, that had led her into a vehicle while he debated the value of her life! His love was a liability, a flickering candle that blew out the moment the wind got too rough. A facade that he had probably constructed just for his ‘character’. It had left her shivering in the dark, and entirely alone. Her thoughts didn’t quite manage to smother the leftover embers of her love but it let her push the burnt charcoal aside, to wait till the fire consumed itself. 

Rehman had offered her nothing but a cold command and a signature on a nikaahnama. A self professed mistake. Yet, that signature was what kept the world at bay. He had given her a forced marriage, but he had also given her his name as armor. In Karachi, she realized a cage made of iron was safer than a freedom that left her bleeding in the dirt. The so-called cage wasn’t even making her miserable. Rehman was being good to her and to choose anyone else now would be, stupid, naive and overly privileged.  

Hamza’s love was a luxury and a lie. She couldn't afford it because it came with a price tag she wasn't willing to pay again. Rehman didn't ask for her heart, he just demanded her presence, and in exchange, he made her untouchable. She was the Begum of Lyari now. Being claimed by the lion was better than being used by the Cuckoo.

___________________________________________________________

Her mind settled and she relaxed into her duties and routines. Yalina went to visit her parents. They were in the same city and while it was frowned upon to leave so soon into the ‘honeymoon’ she just wanted to be home for a moment, her home. 

The tea sat untouched, the porcelain rim cold against her fingers as she sat in the heavy silence of her father’s drawing room. From the cracks of the study door, the voices drifted out. Low, clinical, and devoid of any human heat. Major Iqbal was the sort of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be heard.

"Jameel Sahab, jab baagh main dimk lag jaye, toh sirf patte todne se kaam nahi chalta," he murmured, the words cutting through the air like a draft of winter. 

"Puri zameen ko jala kar raakh karna padta hai taaki nayi fasal ug sake. Lyari ab wo bimaari hai jo sheher ke baaki hisson ko khaa rahi hai." Her father’s response was a stutter of hesitation, a weak attempt at a defense that was quickly smothered by the Major’s smooth, terrifying finality. 

"Aap fikar na karein. Hum bas rasta saaf kar rahe hain. Ek baar bheed kam ho jaye, toh naya nizam qayam karna asaan hoga. Sab kuch mitti main mil jayega, aur kisi ko yaad bhi nahi rahega ki yahan pehle kya tha." 

Yalina felt a chill prickle her spine as she tried to piece the fragments together. Her mind, usually so sharp, felt sluggish, weighed down by the fear she couldn't quite name. He-Major Iqbal- meant to cleanse Lyari? Of what? He, her father, they were politicians. Her Husband was a gang leader, Lyari was full of gangs…could they possibly mean? If they did, where would that leave her? Without Rehman, with her father who was powerless and at the mercy of much more dangerous men, what would happen to her?

She was the loose end in a very bloody knot.

The urge to run was a physical ache, a desperate need to find a way out before the fire reached the haveli. Yet, the image of Faizal’s messy handwriting on a math worksheet flashed in her mind, followed by the memory of Rehman’s quiet weight beside her in the early morning light. 

"Ab sirf meri jaan ka sawal hai," she whispered to herself, her heart sinking as she tried to convince herself of her words. She was looking for a door, but she realized she didn't know if she could walk through it if it meant leaving her new, not family to burn in whatever the Major was planning.

___________________________________________________________

A/N - so this is finally fully planned out and there will be approx 20 chapters including an epilogue...

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part6 part7

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Warnings - Bohot jyada angst guysss

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 7

She could destroy him. There were so many people, if she told Rehman, Major Iqbal Sahab, SP sahab…anyone. He would be over and done with and she would probably be awarded a Nishan-e-Pakistan. She would be praised and lauded and then, then what? She would continue her imposter life in a house that was as empty as it was full. That would achieve nothing except getting her accolades and a pat on the back. Blackmail? Reverse spying? It was her Hamza, had been her Hamza. Could she see him dead? At the hands of men who were rumoured to kill in ways that would turn the stomach of all but the most hardened men in the country. She didn't know! If she had spent the last few weeks aboard a ship that was being tossed around in a storm, this, this was like being thrown overboard in the dark, with no one to hear your cries and throw you a buoy. 

“Idhar hi kidhar thi, gir gayi thi shayad se darya main.” The voice shot ice down her spine as she froze. 

“Kaun hai?” Hamza’s voice crashed through the maelstrom of her panicked thoughts, temporarily, instinctively grounding before she realised he would kill her for whatever ‘mission’ was underway. 

“Bhaijaan, hamari behen ghoom gayi hain. Idhar hi gir gayi bichari. Kisi ladki ko dekha hai kya aapne idhar kidhar?” 

“Nahi bhai. Aapki madat kar du talashi main? Kidhar gir gayi thi?” 

Now what?! Yalina wondered if her life could possibly get any worse. She was practically a sitting duck like this, collapsed with a broken ankle under the bridge in a pile of waste that even pigs might refuse to eat. She needed to get up! Move! Now! An uncontrollable shiver wracked her frame, her fate, otherwise, didn’t bear thinking about. Killed at the hands of a man she wasn't even sure she had stopped loving or assaulted and then killed for daring to leave and besmirch the Baloch name. Yalina forced herself up, using the wall as a support. It was grimy, covered in some slimy substance that didn’t bear thinking about. She leaned against it, listening to the rustling sounds of men ambling towards her position. There was a barrel at the opposite end, if she could make it there, hide inside. She grit her teeth, taking the shallowest and quietest breaths possible, they only served to make her feel as though she was suffocating. Yalina halfway stumbled and halfway crawled, adrenaline forcing her body to the barrel and fear forcing her inside. It was filthy but as she closed the lid and heard footsteps patter towards her side of the underpass, it felt like being cradled in safety. 

She zoned out. It was difficult not to. She wished Hamza hadn’t offered to help. The men who might have gotten bored and left by now were instead conducting a thorough search. The edge of panic had dulled somehow leaving a blunted emptiness in its wake. She barely even startled when one of the men opened the barrel lid and shouted. 

“Mil gayi!” Yalina didn’t react when they pulled her out nor did she react to Hamza's argument and subsequent fight with those men. When the man holding her let go, she slid down to sit on the ground, watching Hamza slaughter through bleary eyes. 

___________________________________________________________

“Kya suna usne?! Bol Hamza! Agar ese dil ke baato ko kaam ke bich main laane laga toh hum sab ki maa ki…Arey samaj ja. Konsi bhi threat ko neutralise kiya jaata hai, samje kya?” 

“Hum ko pata bhi nahi hai ki usne kuch suna, nahi suna. Aapne hi kaha tha, Sabr karne ko, esi jaldbaazi se hamare upar shak aa jayega.” 

Yalina listened, trying to maintain her facade of unconsciousness. She was in a truck of some sort, her head was on Hamza’s lap and while she felt the safest she had in a week, the rational side of her cautioned her against her instincts. 

“Uth gayi hai.” She exhaled shakily before sitting up. 

“Hamza, hum kidhar hai? Yeh kya chal raha hai?” She was careful to adopt the innocent, soft voice she had used while dating him. She widened her eyes, pouted her lips ever so slightly as she gazed up at him. The other man, Alam bhai, snorted. 

“Aise hi aadhe spy pakad jaate hai.” He muttered under his breath. She pretended not to hear, that was her mistake. Hamza’s gaze, soft so far, sharpened. 

“Aapko kuch hairat ki baat nahi lagi? Kaise kaise baate kar rahe hai yeh log…kuch sawal nahi puchna chhati?” 

“Ji nahi.” Her voice came out small, mind forcing itself back into action when all she wanted to do was collapse. How could she escape from here? She wasn’t restrained, that was something at least. Or were they so confident that she couldn’t escape that they didn’t need to put in the effort. 

“Ab toh kuch kar, sure shot isko sab samaj aa gaya hai. Aankhe dekh uske, daar gayi hai, paaka pata chal gaya hai ki hum log kaun hai.” Hamza let out a sigh as he turned away ignoring the way she clutched at his arm. 

“Aap hi kuch kar do, mujhse nahi hoga.” He sounded defeated, resigned. 

“HAMZA! Main kisi ko kuch nahi bataungi, promise! Kuch bhi karungi, mujhe chod do na Hamza. Pyaar karti thi tumse, karti hu tumse. Aap meri taraf dekhenge bhi nahi?” It was a natural instinct, to beg, plead and clutch at the man who had stepped out of the van. His shoulders shook but he didn’t turn back to face her. She made a movement to get out and walk to  him before a click and bang made her freeze. 

“Goliyan khatam ho gayi. Hamza jaldi chal. Dukan bohot dur hai par mujhe ek aadmi pata hai, do gully uss side pe. Saare ammunition wo hi provide karta hai, police, military sab ko. Udhar ja ke jaldi se kharedke hum-”

“Baas. Sab boldene ki kuch zaroorat nahi hai chacha. Gaadi chalu kar do.”

The ride was silent. Nothing could kill the mood as fast as attempted murder it seemed, Yalina thought somewhat hysterically. 

___________________________________________________________

Yalina sat slumped over. Hamza stared out the window on the opposite side. She hated waiting. Waiting for death was somehow even worse. That was when she saw her salvation walk out of a black SUV. Major Sahab. Head of the ISI. Notorious for his devotion to Pakistan. She glanced over quickly at Hamza, he was lost in his own world. She coughed, once, then twice. No reaction. She tapped her foot. No reaction. She did it again and clicked the manual lock on the door off. Glanced over quickly to find him watching her. Yalina froze but he turned his head away to resume staring at the dark, empty street outside the window. She let out a breath, Alam bhai was stepping out of the shop, Major Iqbal was walking towards the entrance. Now or never. She opened the door and ran. Hamza reached for her, grabbed her arm before instantaneously letting go, behaving as though he never touched her at all. She ran towards the entrance, weight against her broken ankle bone barely registering. 

“Main galti se raat ko aatak gayi Major Sahab, kuch saman khareedna tha ghar ke liye. Friend ke saath thi, driver busy tha aaj toh…accident ho gaya, chot lag gayi aur saman lene bhi reh gaya.”

It was a split second choice, Hamza had protected her so she would protect him. She looked into the eyes of a man who read lies for a living and lied. Kept her expression earnest and open as he nodded. Let out an inaudible sigh of relief as he waved away Alam bhai’s offer of taking her instead.  

___________________________________________________________

Walking into the Bungalow felt like a relief. Prison turned sanctuary. She snuck upstairs to her room and took a long shower under a burning spray of water. Thanked god for her medical training and first aid kit as she managed to set the bone herself. It was a hairline fracture, it would likely heal before her husband came home. She didn’t have any answers to the questions he would have surely asked. She dressed in her oldest and comfiest pyjamas and collapsed onto the bed. She wanted to cry, her nose felt stuffed but the tears wouldn’t come. She didn’t realise when she drifted off to a restless sleep. 

She woke up to someone in her bed. Her husband. Rehman. The room was dark but the scent of cigarettes, iron and alcohol was unmistakable. The window was open, cold wind swirling the gauzy curtains around so they caught the moonlight. He was asleep, unaware of everything that had happened, blissfully so maybe. The tears that welled up were unexpected, the way her throat caught on a sob, even more so. His arm wrapped around her, shushing her with nonsensical reassurances that were more a product of subconscious behaviour than any real reassurance. Yalina curled into him, letting her fear and leftover adrenaline flow out with the tears no one would hear. She fell asleep like that, having cried herself into exhaustion and then beyond exhaustion, but the sleep that came was calm and undisturbed by nightmares. 

______________________________________________________________

Next time - Fluff pakka promise...(maybe 😈)

As always, let me know if you want to be tagged/untagged because i'm doing this on the fly. Mwah 💋

part1 part2 part3 part4 part5 part 6

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Warnings - Attempted/implied SA (not by any important characters)

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 6

The week passed in a similar manner. Endless duties around the house, dinner parties that required her attendance, both as the daughter of a politician and wife of a would-be politician, and Faizal- the most frustrating task of all. She couldn’t help but feel sympathetic, he’d lost his brother and his mother in the span of a single evening, but god help her if he didn't test her patience. She almost regretted turning down her husband's generous offer of intervention, almost. 

“Kyu chalogi hamare saath PTM ko? Main sirf abbu ko le ke ja sakta hu, nahi toh fir hum skip kar denge, aise bhi koi tareef toh nahi karne wale.” Faizal stormed off as  Haniya trailed after him. Neither Haniya nor Shifa made for good company as Yalina had discovered. They deferred to her every wish, no doubt about that, but at times they made her feel even more lonely than she would have if she had really been alone. She wondered where her husband and his men had disappeared to occasionally, they had practically evaporated into thin air but her own schedule kept her too busy to really question or consider the matter. 

Despite the endless laundry list of tasks, Yalina realised that she had escaped the one fate that had terrified her- marriage to a boring burger baccha. Certainly, no one could accuse Rehman Dakait, a man who had raised himself up from the gutters of Lyari, of being a spoiled rich brat. Her worries about the violent life she was being dragged into had turned out to be unfounded, the violence took place as far away from this haveli as possible it seemed. It was almost monotonous, sheltered, this life that she had stolen. 

___________________________________________________________

“Rehman bh-Rehman kab wapas aayenge? Mere chhatyan khatam hone ko aiyi hai toh puchna tha college ka kya karne hai…” 

“Sahab kuch zaroori kaam ke liye gaye hai, aate hi honge.” This was the third time that Yalina had gotten this exact same response. It was beginning to grate on her nerves. She stifled her first instinct to yell at the assistant who had given her this infuriatingly textbook response before smiling, thanking him and walking away. This whole mess had already cost her nearly two and a half weeks of lectures. If she missed anymore, Yalina shuddered. Rehman wouldn’t even need to force her to drop out at that point, she’d fail and the University would do his work for him. This simply couldn’t continue. Smart women always had a backup plan and hell could freeze over before Yalina became stupid enough to rely on a man who had only married her to spite her father. 

“Haniya, Shifa aap aagle ek hafte ke liye chhati le lelo. Aap ne hamari bohot madat kiyi hai, toh mere taraf se taufa samaj kar aap bhi apne parivar se ja kar mil lijiyega.” She carefully wormed her way past their protests, reassuring them that she had the household well in hand. Without Rehman there, she was the highest authority and as such, she saw a majority of the staff leave to go on vacation. It set up the perfect opportunity to sneak past the household security and make her way to the DOW campus. Her university was newly established, partnered with Lyari general hospital. 

Her hands shook slightly as she pushed herself up onto the small section of the gate that was not spiked. She was hidden from view by a large tree, the gaps in the leaves allowed her to carefully check that the guards were unaware of her movements before she closed her eyes and jumped off, landing hard on the dusty street. She stifled an instinctive yelp of pain as her ankle twisted and she crumpled to sit on the ground. It wasn't broken, luckily for her, just bent out of orientation. There was nothing for it now, Yalina rose up unsteadily, keeping her weight off the twisted ankle as she swung her heavy book bag onto her shoulders. Faizal was off at a friend's house for a sleepover, he would be back in the evening and there was no personal staff watching her. Rehman had been absent for a week and would hopefully stay absent for another. She could do this, the stars had aligned in her favour. 

___________________________________________________________

Her plan went off without a hitch, she took a cab to university whilst wearing a hijab to hide her identity. It was unlikely but she could not afford any reports of her traversing the city alone reaching Rehman through one of the Baloch informants. She attended lectures, apologised to professors who waved her off and congratulated her on her marriage, collected assignments, caught up with her friends and finally felt like she could breathe again. It felt like she was finally a person again, with ideas and a personality beyond who she knew and was related to. After classes were over, her friends invited her to eat street food with them and Yalina was so caught up in the fantasy of normalcy that she followed the group into increasingly sketchy alleys to snack on samosas and golgappe.

She never realised when the sky darkened and it became too late to find a safe cab back to the haveli. Shit. Her friends had left and gone back home a while back but Yalina had seen a particularly inviting stall selling silk and wool scarves and decided to linger. The sky had still seemed bright back then, bright enough for her to think - I still have enough time. Her heart started pounding slightly faster as she stepped out onto the street and realised she could only see men, in all directions, men. Yalina scrambled around in her bag, trying to find her hijab from the morning before remembering that her friend had borrowed it for a few moments and never returned it. Confidence. That was the key, she decided as she strode forward, projecting knowledge of both her surroundings and what she was doing. Her palms felt clammy as she deliberately ignored the stares that peeled her skin off her body. Deep breaths. She needed to get home now. In two hours Faizal would be home with the driver and if she wasn’t there, she could kiss her deceptions goodbye. 

___________________________________________________________

“Bhaijaan, Lyari chaloge?” This man hadn’t been looking at her. He nodded, gesturing for her to get into the auto. She sat uneasily, watching as the scenery changed from the bustling streets and lights of the campus areas to the quieter outer city roads. Her phone was discharged. It didn’t seem like the correct street, she couldn’t be sure. This was her first time travelling anywhere without an escort but this neighbourhood, it wasn’t anywhere near Lyari. 

Yalina could not breathe. Why the hell had she decided to lie, for university? What use was university going to be if this man murdered her, or worse? She clutched her bag closer before tentatively speaking up. 

“Bhaijaan, yeh raasta sahi nahi hain, mujhe Lyari town jana hai.” The driver met her eyes through the rearview mirror and a chill went down her spine at the pleased glint she could see reflected in his darkened pupils. 

“Sahi hi raaste se le kar jaate hain hum bibi, ese pyaari si ladki ko hum konse galat raaste par le jayenge.” He smiled as he spoke, gutka stained teeth and lips widening. 

“Mujhe yahan pe utarna hain, gaadi rok do.” It was a last ditch attempt, Yalina knew it and so did the driver who simply licked his lips before speeding up slightly. 

“Gaadi rok do!” She screamed, instincts finally kicking in and overriding her freeze response. Her hands were trembling and she dug her fingers into the polyester of her bag to ground herself, to focus. 

“Tamasha band kardo tumhara!” The driver glared at her as he took a turn further out of the city. 

“Aapko pata bhi hain main kaun hu, Rehman Dakait ki Begum hu. Mujhe chod do aur main kisi ko kuch nahi bataungi.” Her voice wavered as she played her only remaining card hoping that her husband’s reputation would save her. He laughed.

“Kuch bhi kahoge aur main maan lunga, chutiya dikh raha hu kya? Rehman Dakait ki begum, wah, kya kahani sunai hai. Zaroor begum sahiba, pure Lyari ko batana maine Rehman Dakait ki begum ka rula rula ke kya haal kar diya.” He laughed as he took another turn onto a bridge. Yalina couldn’t think, her mind felt utterly blank as the wind whipped her hair around her face. A singular thought, idea penetrated the haze and before she could talk herself out of it or give her plan away she threw herself out of the auto. 

The rocks cut into her skin as she tumbled down the steep, angled slope that led to the water below. She scrambled for purchase, unable to find any before slamming into a rock that fell into the churning river with a loud splash. She lay there, in the shadows, forcefully keeping her breaths quiet as she listened to the man curse her out before he drove off. A single full exhale was all it took for her crumble, sobs echoing in the silence. They subsided eventually, she couldn’t tell how long it took. Yalina sat there, knowing she should crawl back up to the road but unable to muster up the motivation to actually do so. Her body ached, tiny cuts from the sharp rocks littered her skin and her ankle was actually broken this time, not twisted. She pushed herself upright, harshly wiping tear tracks off her face before slowly pushing herself upwards inch by inch. 

She collapsed once she reached the top, the dirty underside of the bridge where she sat surrounded by mud and decomposing, dirty plastic trash. Maybe, I'll just rest for a while was the thought she had before her eyes slid shut. 

___________________________________________________________

“Hamne khabar pochayi thi, waqht se pehle pochayi thi…fir kese ho gaya yeh sab?”

Yalina thought she was dreaming at first, what other explanation could there be for hearing Hamza’s voice when she was lying abandoned under a dirty bridge. She pushed herself back to being fully conscious, was about to call out for Hamza before she silenced herself. 

“3 october ki pochayi thi…”

Her eyes widened as the conversation continued, her ears straining and her overburdened mind working overtime to make sense of the conversation she was hearing. She wasn’t stupid, although many people thought she was. A stupid girl didn’t get into a medical college.

She was smart enough to piece together the pieces -Hamza was working for the enemy. For India.  

___________________________________________________________

Hi guys, so a bunch of people told me to just randomly tag people and i really don't know tumblr etiquette (someone who knows pls message me 😭😭😭 ) i'm honestly not sure if this is okay or not. Please let me know if it's not or if you want me to untag you. Tysmmm!

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 5 

Her head hurt. The light was too bright, it was boring into her crusted over eyes. She rubbed at them as she flopped over onto her side, pulling the heavy covers over her face to block out the hellishly shiny world outside. The bed was soft, her body sinking into the foam as she shifted. Wait, foam? Her mattress was hard, cotton stuffed not foam. Yalina sat up abruptly as her brain finally joined her in the waking world, before promptly collapsing back onto the bed as her memories returned. What the absolute hell had she been thinking? No, that was the issue. She hadn’t been thinking. She ran her hands over her flaming face. What was worse, the way she had practically thrown herself at the man who basically forced her into this marriage, or the fact that he showed the equivalent of utter disinterest at her advances? She let out a groan as she pushed herself back into a seated position on the plush bed. How was she supposed to face him now? This whole situation was bad enough considering that he was older, had power over her, her family, Karachi and she had just gone and added another variable into the already messy equation.

“Bibi, neeche nashta 30 minute main lagne wala hain, aapko bulaya hain.” Shifa and Haniya were to be her companions. Yalina recalled them shadowing Ulfat chachi and even Faizal and Naieem at times. They moved briskly into the room, opening the curtains and starting the tap in the bathroom to draw her a bath. Yalina stared around at her surroundings, this was not the room she had been drinking in yesterday.

“Aaj aapki sab logo se mulaquat hogi aur agle hafte ke daut ki tayaria karni hain toh uska mansubah aapke haatho main hoga. Uske baad, aapko Donga sahab ko lekar market jana hain aur agle hafte ka saman khareedna hain. Faizal miyan ki parso PTM hain school main toh aapko udhar bhi jaana padega aur aaj tuition teacher se bhi mil lena.” Haniya droned in a practised format.

Yalina’s head was starting to spin with the amount of information, rules, duties that they were shoving at her. 

“Rukho ek minute, saas lene do hamare bibi ko.” Uzair grinned as he strolled into the room, Yalina instinctively pulling the covers up to shield her half undressed state. 

“Abhi ke liye sirf tayaar ho kar niche khane ko aa jao. Bhai subhe hi nikal gaye, unko Major sahab se kuch zaroori baate karni thi. Jada pareshan honi ki kuch zaroorat nahi hai, sab kuch Shifa aur Haniya samjhalenge aapko.” With that, Uzair walked out.

Yalina got ready for the day faster than she’d have thought possible, or liked. Her two companions accompanied her into the bath despite her protests before treating her to the most thorough bath of her life. Imported Moroccan skincare made her skin glow as they lathered and scrubbed. Shifa picked flower petals from her hair before washing it, they must have gotten stuck as she slept. 

They dressed her in a sky blue shalwar kameez made of silk. It was embroidered with flowers in a darker blue near the hem and sleeves. She’d have thought, as the wife of Rehman Baloch, her clothes would become heavy, overly decorated but that didn't seem to be the case. Her wardrobe was filled with a small selection of dresses in plain elegant colours, made of fine cloth, and a stack of fabric in various colours. She assumed those would be taken to the tailor to get dresses stitched to her measurements. A drawer contained simple jewellery, pearls, small diamonds, emeralds and sapphires strung to make timeless necklaces and earrings. 

“Yeh sab sirf aapke liye banaye gaye the Bibi.” 

Yalina chose a simple single sapphire pendant and studs for the day. 

“Bohot acche dikh rahe ho, jachtaa hai aapko.” Yalina turned to look at herself in the mirror. She looked pretty. The clothes weren't her style, she liked bolder patterns, heavier earrings, oxidised silver but these clothes made her look older, more capable somehow. She smiled at herself in the mirror, though it came out as more of a grimace. 

___________________________________________________________

The day passed in a blur of meeting new people, doing new things. Trying to fill shoes that felt a little bit too large for her. The inhabitants of the haveli seemed to accept her presence yet they tailored her meals, schedules and seemingly her life to the preferences of her predecessor. She didn’t know how to ask them to adapt to her. This didn't even really feel like her place, house, position yet. Faizal refused to let her meet with his tuition teacher despite her cajoling and the disapproving frowns that Shifa and Haniya levelled at her made her want to cry. It felt like her life had turned upside down and everyone who had supported her, been with her, they no longer were. She had promised herself she would make the best of her circumstances but it felt like she had been abandoned to float alone at sea. Rationally, Yalina understood. It would take time for her to assimilate, to rebuild her life to a place where she could try to fulfil her goals but emotionally- This hurt. 

___________________________________________________________

Yalina sat on her bed, finally alone after the hustle and bustle of the day. Shifa had helped her dress in a long pale pink nightgown before leaving. The day hadn’t given her a moment of free time so she’d been unable to think, let alone overthink, her actions from the wedding night. 

She had almost fallen asleep when she heard the door click slightly and creak open. Yalina sat up and fumbled for the light switch before turning the dim lights in the room on. Her husband looked momentarily startled. 

“Aapko neend nahi aayi kya?” His voice sounded rough, deepened around the edges by exhaustion. 

“Sone hi wali thi, aap mujhe dhoond rahe the?” Her question didn't receive a response so she asked another. 

“Aapko bhuk lagi hogi toh main kuch khane ke liye kuch jaldi se pesh kar du?” 

This was how they ended up sitting next to each other in the dining room. The lights hadn’t been switched on, it hadn’t occurred to her to do so, so they sipped haldi ka doodh side by side as moonlight streamed in through the windows. Yalina didn’t know what to say and alone, like this, only brought back memories of the night before. She fiddled with the stem of the cup and swung her legs back and forth slightly from her place on the tall kitchen chairs. 

“Aapka din kese tha?” He broke the silence with a simple question and Yalina debated how much she should say. 

“Thek hi tha, bohot kaam tha karne ko. Wo…Faizal ka PTM-”

“Main bolta hu usse, Shifa ne bataya ki wo pareshan kar raha hai aapko.” Yalina paused momentarily, were the servants spying on her?

“Nahi, nahi. Uski zaroorat nahi hai, chota hain na…abhi abhi ammi…thode der dekhte hain. Jaan-pehchan hone ke liye.”

Rehman didn’t respond, instead taking a sip of the milk. 

“Pichli raat-” He started, his voice quieter somehow. Yalina interjected, hoping her voice wasn’t too high. 

“Kuch nahi tha…hum dono ne sharab pe liye the toh…wo…aise hi.” Her words trailed off but he nodded. 

“Galti hui. Doodh ke liye shukriya.” He placed the empty cup down on the table and left. Yalina felt a flash of annoyance. What does he mean “galti hui”. She downed her glass before placing it down on the table with slightly more force than necessary. The thud echoed as she strode off to her rooms. 

____________________________________________________________

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Warnings - Forced marriage, very mild SH, Dub-con for drunkeness

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 4

He stumbled inside, the stench of cigarettes and whisky making Yalina wrinkle her nose slightly. She straightened her back as his unfocused eyes rose to meet hers.

“Tum yaha kya kar rahi ho?” the words were slightly slurred, liquor proving that the question was genuine. Yalina’s brows furrowed. 

“Kya matlab kya kar rahi hu. Apne hi bola tha Uzair Bhai ko kamra dikhwa dene ko.”

He stared at her. Until she started twisting her fingers, nails peeling skin off as a distraction while casting her gaze at the ground. He sighed. 

“Sab nalayako ko pala hai maine…mujhe kehna tha ki khudke kamre main akele ja kar sojayega.” She glanced up as he sank into an armchair, seemingly dismissing her presence altogether as he poured a glass of unidentifiable amber liquid. 

“Baith jao, Uzair ghar gaya hai. Naukaron ko saman mantaql karne main waqht lagega.” 

____________________________________________________________

Yalina sat down, confusion and fatigue starting to dull her thoughts and reaction speed. The cushioned chairs were more comfortable than their stiff upholstered look suggested. Yalina instinctively tucked her legs under herself as she sat, the dim light, smell and even the company reminding her of the occasional meetings that she had been allowed to sit in on when she was young. Her hands were still trembling slightly, she couldn't tell if it was the adrenaline, anticipation or simply the cold. She clenched them tightly before it could be noticed. She watched his hands instead, in the half light of antique gas lights, as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass. 

“Mujhe bhi de do.” She said this steadily, years of practice at underground bars where she lied about her age serving their purpose in making her sound confident. 

“Nahi.” It was a toneless response. 

“De do.” She caught his gaze with her eyes, made them burn with surety until he looked away first. It felt like a victory after a week of suffering only defeat. 

He poured her a glass.  It felt like victory after a week of suffering only defeat. She downed the centimetre of liquid in one go, the burn almost soothing against how cold she felt. Goosebumps that had long since risen on her exposed arms and shoulders subsiding as the heat flushed her system. 

He poured her another glass, a slightly fuller one this time. She sipped in silence, allowing the pleasant haze and buzz of liquor to settle into her skin until the world felt light again. 

____________________________________________________________

She pulled out her phone and played some music, rising to sway to the beat. Her curls fell loose from the braid they had been meticulously tied in, pins tumbling to the floor, as her plain, green cotton underskirts fanned out and her itchy too-tight blouse ripped slightly at its seams. He watched her without averting his gaze and just for a moment, she felt powerful as she brought her foot down to the beat. Pyaar…Ishq… Mohobat… Aiyashi. A woman couldn’t choose her circumstances but she could shape them as she pleased, make them either beautiful or ugly per her whims. 

She twisted her hips, running her hands over the contours and dips of her figure, drunken confidence satiated as his eyes darkened. So what if Hamza discarded her? As the Queen of Lyari, she could discard him. The thought brought a smile to her face, edges sharp and rather than run, Rehman looked like he wanted to cut himself and bleed. She languidly walked to him, trying to parse why her heartbeat thrummed faster than ordinary excitement before the lack of inhibitions swallowed her rational thoughts. 

He let her pluck the glass out of his hands and swallow the dregs of liquid that remained, watching her throat as her head tipped back to swallow. She straddled him, looking so deeply into his eyes, pupils having reduced the iris to a mere ring, that it might have been intimate under different circumstances. He moved his hands to grip her waist as though acting on autopilot as she rolled her hips slightly. She leaned down slightly as though to initiate a kiss before drawing back, a teasing smile on her blood red lips. He growled softly under his breath, grip tightening on her hips. “Satao maat.”

“Toh aap muhje roklijiyega.” She made to smoothly get off his lap but her world tilted. The sudden shift made her nauseous as she breathed in. He caged her onto the wide surface of the coffee table that had sat in between their chairs as she blinked, trying to clear the fog covering her thoughts. He leaned closer, eyes meeting hers for a brief second before he kissed her. She froze, moving her lips on instinct, mouth opening slightly on a gasp as his hands trailed down her body. He pressed his advantage and slipped his tongue into her mouth, entwining it with hers as he sucked on her bottom lip. She arched up off the table, hands coming around his neck under the expectation of support but he stopped abruptly, detangling from her. 

She lay on that table, gasping slightly, dress ruched up around her thighs and lipstick smeared around her mouth. He glanced at her, expression confused-stricken-angry for barely a millisecond before it smoothed out into blankness. Her thoughts felt like they were travelling through molasses. She just stared up at him. 

“Utho Yalina, bistaar par ja kar so jao. Mujhe kuch zaroori kaam hai.”

She could sense that there was something off about the whole situation but was unable to think, let alone articulate it. So she took his proffered hand and let him lead her to the plush bed before he left. She was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. 

____________________________________________________________

*~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Warnings - Forced marriage, Vaguely depressive thoughts

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was exuberant about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 3

The car ride was silent. He drove silently, not making any move to speak with her. Yalina stared out the window, it was an Amaavasya, the night sky revealing only the pinpricks of stars that twinkled at her from the heavens. How peaceful it might be to watch the world from far away, Yalina thought, her adrenaline having long faded into a hollow empty ache filled only with the kind of regrets that haunt silent nights. 

She had considered leaving, once upon a time, when most of her friends had abandoned Pakistan for greener pastures, leveraging their money and connections to travel and live in the US, UK, Europe- just anywhere but here. Her parents would have supported her, She could have been sitting in a quaint parisian cafe rather than this car. No, she had made that choice after giving it thought. She would not be the type of girl who ran away, the type who left thousands of other, less powerful, less monied, less educated girls to suffer so that she could live a life of luxury. She had dreamt of helping the women of Lyari by running a clinic. She had devoted her time to becoming a capable doctor, she had helped in her local clinic, providing her allowance secretly so her abbu wouldn't complain. Now that dream was gone. That didn't have to mean that she had to give up on her original goal though. The title of Sher-e-baloch ki Begum held power, if she could learn how to use it. She would learn how to use it. She returned her mind to the darkened forest they were passing by, heart still beating too fast but mind set. She would tame the Sher and with it Lyari-Karachi-Pakistan. She would make it the sort of place where she would be glad to raise her future daughter. 

______________________________________________________________

She allowed herself to smile the first true smile of that day as the car smoothly pulled into the driveway of the Baloch Bungalow. The door of the car opened smoothly. Hamza and Uzair getting off their bikes to pull the doors of the residence open. Rehman bhai, striding towards them. 

“Isko kamra dikhado” He said shortly before taking a side exit into the depths of the mansion, cutting off Uzair’s question before he could even voice it. 

“Konsa Kamra?” Hamza looked towards Uzair questioningly.

“Bhai ka hi kamra hoga, aur kidhar… Biwi hai unki abhi. Aur aj, pehli raat…” Uzair sounded unsure of his answer, shrugging slightly while looking helplessly at Hamza. 

“Bhabhi, iss tarah.” Hamza glanced at her, their eyes meeting as he relieved her aching hands of the heavy luggage she was carrying. 

“Yalina-” She cut him off before he could speak. She wasn’t some naive little girl who would be comforted by his apologies or platitudes. 

“Bhabhiji.” She said curtly meeting his eyes properly for the first time since she had cried in that hallway. He looked up at her, eyes unreadable as always, but she thought she could see a glimmer of respect, of understanding before it was tucked away. 

“Bhabhiji, Rehman bhai aate hi hoge, aap tayyar ho kar unka intezam kar lijeyega.” He nodded before shutting the door with a click. 

______________________________________________________________

Yalina stood there, alone, properly alone for the first time since everything had started. The room was dark, wooden panelling and amber lighting making everything seem shadowed and dim. The bed in the center of the room had been decorated in yellow and orange marigold flowers strung together to drape over the edges of the canopy. There was a vanity, slightly dusty, in the corner. Yalina tentatively sat down on the chair facing it. She was glowing. The beauty treatments, the makeup all making her shimmer slightly under the shifting light. Her hands trembled slightly as they pulled the heavy silver jhumkas from her ears. Now that Hamza was gone, the audience was gone, who was left to act for? Even as she told herself to be brave, (sehen kar lena) to stiffen her shoulders and keep her dignity, there was a part of her that wanted to curl up and have someone hold her, reassure her that everything would be fine- Ammi, Abbu, Hamza just anyone. She pulled her glimmering emerald necklace off, feeling abruptly exposed as the loss bared her throat. The weight of the emerald dress was becoming tedious so she stood and stripped that off too. Who knew what else Rehman Dakait would take off. 

Dressed in a gauzy green silk under-skirt and top and holding up an armful of ghagra and jewellery she sank back down onto the chair sliding open the drawers to place her jewellery inside. She’d assumed it was empty. It wasn’t. There was a letter inside, yellowed with age, yet seemingly untouched otherwise as though the owner had discarded it. Yalina glanced around the room she already knew was empty before furtively opening it, the first word nearly making her shove it back inside, before curiosity drove her to keep reading. 

“Ulfat,  Meri pyaari bacchi, meri jaan. Mujhe pata hai ki yeh shaadi teri maan ki nahi hai. Ammi hu, andhi nahi. Zayd pasand hai pata hai, lekin iss duniya main pasandi se khushi nahi milti beta. Ammi, Abbu ka sun liya, accha kiya. Mujhe pata tha sun logi, hoshiyar hai meri bacchi. Tu Rehman se pyaar nahi karti, aur wo tujhse nahi. Iss waqht main tum dono ajnabi ho. Lekin har shohar, biwi ki kahani ese hi shuru hoti hai. Ishq ek bagh ke tarah hota hai, ulfat. Pani, suraj, hawa se hi phool khilte hai. Khoobsoorti ko waqht aur koshish lagti hai, deke dekh lo. Haar mard ko uski begum se teen cheze chahiye hoti hai - himayat, hafazat aur mohobat. Wo de do, aur tumhara shohar tumhare liye chaand, taare bhi lekar aajayega.  Khuda khayal rakhe tumhari. Tumhari Ammi "

Yalina sat silently as she reached the end of the letter. The words of advice from a mother, not her mother, but a mother whose daughter had been in the same place as her striking deeper than she would have liked. She ran her fingers over the words, her mind echoing with them. Himayat, hafazat aur Mohobat. That was her job. To be supportive, safe and loving. It seemed daunting when the man was her elder. Ulfat chachi made it seem easy. She tucked the letter away in her small bag sending an apology to her predecessor for stealing the care that hadn’t been written with her in mind. 

______________________________________________________________

She got up shakily to sit on the bed, a few flowers falling off as the mattress dipped, before adopting the silent, veil covered stance expected from new brides. The heart wrenching pressure, fear of what was unknown, what other women had whispered amongst themselves was starting to build up again now that there was nothing to be done, no distractions. The tears that sprung instinctively to her eyes were quickly and carefully brushed away so as to leave her makeup untouched. Yalina realised distantly that her breath was coming out too fast, too short, oxygen not reaching her extremities making them tingle. Himayat, hafazat aur Mohobat. Her mind latched on to the only helpful advice she had gotten. She forced herself to breathe deeper, slow her pulse until she could hear her thoughts again over the rush of water in her brain. 

That was it. Mohobat. She could take the incentive, she could lead this encounter rather than allowing herself to be tossed around by the storm. It would be her choice then. Not something forced. Not by her father, not by society, not by the man who now controlled her life. 

She placed her palms flat against the mattress, focusing on the satiny texture until her hands stopped shaking. The whiplash of the day was starting to give her a headache. She raised her hand to rub at her forehead before the creak of the door made her stiffen. 

______________________________________________________________

Disclaimer : This is a transformative work based on the 2025 movie Dhurandhar, any elements recognizable belong to the creators. The character of Rehman Dakait in this story is a fictionalized version, inspired by the portrayal of Akshaye Khanna in Dhurandhar. This work of fiction is not about the real Rehman Dakait involved in 26/11 and does not glorify or romanticise him. I don’t personally condone any actions depicted in this work. 

Trigger warnings - Canon typical violence and swearing, forced marriage.

______________________________________________________________

Summary - Yalina’s father made a singular oversight, one that changed the course of history. SP Chaudhary Aslam, newly out of retirement, was feeling great about his capture of Rehman Dakait right until Jameel sahab called the plan off yet again. 

“Ai Rehman, ye Jamali Sahab toh keh rahe hai chod do, 5 minute pehle wahi bol rahe the pakdo, ab kya kare tera madarchod?” 

______________________________________________________________

PART 2

Yalina stumbled out of the room leaving the deafening silence behind with the click of the door. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, highlighting the dried tear tracks on her face. There was no choice. Familiar frustration lanced through her at that thought- she knew- women here were chattel, her Ammi being a prime example. Discouraging her from studying, attending medical school just because the city was “wrong.” Maybe Ammi would be happy now, she's getting married! She will no doubt be forced to abandon her dreams of becoming a doctor, of helping all those women who were forbidden from seeing men, just to become a slave to Rehman fucking Dakait. 

Useless, she thought as she scrubbed her eyes. This is my life now. Why did abbu have to try and make some stupid deal with that SP sahab, our life was going so well. 

“Yalina..?” She turned at his voice and ran towards him, sagging once she was sure he could bear her weight. 

“Hamza, aapko pata tha? Ki ese-”

“Bhai ne bataya tha.” He sounded distant and she frowned, brows furrowing with confusion. 

“Hamza, aap Nikaah rokloge na? Rehman Bhai ko bolo, apne hi unko bachaya SP Sahab se, aap mujseh pyaar karte ho- hum dono Nikaah kar sakte hai, same hi hoga. Aap Rehman Bhai ke he gang mai ho, atehad toh ham dono main bhi ho sakta hai-”

“Baas Yalina. Itna asan nahi hai. Main naya hu, ese hi bola aur Bhai ne suna- nahi hoga.”

“Hamza! Mujhe chod kar ese hi jayoge, dhoka doge?” She hated that her voice cracked, her words sounding plaintive where she’d wanted them to sound scorching. He just turned away, discarding her as though she had fulfilled her purpose. 

______________________________________________________________

Hamza flexed his fingers from where they’d been clenched as he walked to the deserted kitchen. For the good of India he repeated in his mind. For my mother, for my sisters. It was for the best that Rehman Dakait was distracted, he had become worryingly perceptive as the haze of grief from the wedding had dispersed. Without a wife, a son, he had too much time to devote to the business. This would kill two birds with one stone- distract Dakait, and reduce his workload. The balancing act of romancing a teenager was too much of a mental detour now that he was in the inner circle. 

Hamza gulped down a glass of water, justifications running through his head, too distracted to notice Uzair walking in. 

“Sab theek Hamza? Tera aur Yalina ka kuch chakar tha na? Ese toh nahi hua ki Rehman Bhai ne tujhse tera pyaar cheen liya?” Uzair sounded joking but Hamza could pick up on the unasked question, the underlying tension. 

“Nahi re, Timepass tha, Aiyashi…aur kuch nahi.” Uzair smiled and clapped him on the back. 

“Chalo fir! Bhai ki shaadi hai, tayaria hai!” 

Hamza grinned back, unable to fully ignore the bad taste in his mouth, forced to act as though it was sugar.

______________________________________________________________

It was strange how easily everyone ignored who she was getting married to, how this marriage had come about. Ammi smiled and told all her friends how her Yalina had grown up. Abbu sent out invitations and gave her extra money for all her shopping. Her friends giggled over dresses and boys and the suhagraat and with every word Yalina felt as though the knot in her chest was being pulled tighter and tighter. 

She tried on a cream coloured dress. Loved how she looked like she was attending her own funeral. She said nothing as it was replaced with an emerald green one. Her Ammi smiled softly, eyes sad for a millisecond before the emotion was replaced.

“Chalo beta, Lyari ki sabsi badi shaadi main dulhan ke gehne chand ke tarah chamakne chahiye.”

Yalina pulled her mind back to the present and resolved to enjoy the festivities if not the reason for them. 

“Yeh wale Ammi, yeh kada aur yeh haar.” The emerald gemstones twinkled at her, reflecting in her eyes. If anyone saw her now, they’d think she was excited.

______________________________________________________________

The mirror had a crack in it. A small chink at the very end that showed the burgundy walls behind it. Her lipstick was the same colour, that of dried blood. The beautician said it stood out against her lehenga. Her nails restlessly pulled at her mehndi covered skin. She felt as though she was floating. This was it. She ran through the mental to-do list, unable or perhaps unwilling to let herself shatter completely. She hitched a smile on her face as her cousins pulled her out towards the partitioned room. If asked later she wouldn't remember any of it. Not her voice, soft and demure, practiced, saying “Qubool Hai" nor the Mahr that was given to “her” before being safely squirreled away by her Ammi. The Khutbah dragged on until Yalina felt as though her ears were bleeding, mind growing fuzzy as she swayed. 

What she did remember with startling clarity was the Arsi Musaf. The mirror twisted so she could see her husband for the first time and he, her. That was the idea at least. What’s so new about a man that I have seen since I was a child and who has seen me quite literally grow up in front of his eyes? She thought cynically before chancing a glance at the mirror expecting him to be looking back at her covetously, or maybe lustfully. He wasn’t even looking at the mirror. Instead he was speaking to Hamza in a low tone, something she couldn't quite catch. A spike of irritation rose followed quickly by the more dominant emotions of relief at his disinterest and annoyance at herself for being irritated. What is wrong with you, she thought to herself, you should be grateful if he ignores you. 

The walima was a blur of men, women, various associates and partners, friends and family. Her new husband seemed content to socialise without her, ducking behind a partition to sit with various connected guests. He was no doubt discussing some or the other unsavoury business. The irony of her, someone who wanted to become a doctor, uplift Lyari and through that Karachi, being married to the man who turned the streets into a mausoleum was not lost on her. She stood with her childhood friends, none of whom she was particularly close with, trying to catch someone's eye but it felt like she had turned invisible to those who she cared about. Hamza avoided her eye, called her bhabhiji if she even tried to address him, she supposed that she was now, but in her mind's eye, that title still belonged to Ulfat chachi. The woman who had stood as an equal next to the sher-e-balcoh instead of fading into the background. Abbu wouldn't meet her eyes, or maybe couldn't. She let herself zone out.

The Rukhsati came too soon in her opinion. Her friends and cousins pulled her outside towards a sleek black BMW. He was waiting for her, dispassionate as he watched the gaggle that surrounded her. She hugged her ammi, her friends and her sisters. Watched them sob through a haze, as though it was occurring to some other girl instead of her. 

“Jada rona maat, yeh mardon ko bohot ghussa ata hai”

“Pehle bohot dukhega Yalee, seh lena, fir okay lagega aur fir, if your lucky, accha bhi lagega.”

“Don’t worry, sab auraton ke zindaagi main yeh waqht ata hai, kuch naya nahi hai”

“Maine suna hai, Dadi bol rahi thi agar aadmi rasto main marta hai toh ghar main maar hi dega tujhko”

The last sentence came from a younger girl, a cousin, 11 years old. She was quickly shushed but Yalina couldn’t stop the tears that sprung to her eyes. It was too much. Why her? She wiped futilely at her tears as her ammi perfunctorily clasped her to her chest. 

“Rona accha hota hai meri chand, rukhsati main, logo ko lagta hai ki ammi aur abbu ka ghar apka khayal rakhta tha, lekin, jada ro liya toh sawal ate he Yalina…asoon poch lo aur himat se jau.”

Those were the only words of comfort that followed her silent descent down the steps to the car, to whatever awaited her that night and more than that, to whatever awaited her in the future. 

______________________________________________________________