ABHIR&KIARA 14.12
Akshaye Khanna totally overshadowed Ranveer on Dhurandhar!
🏏South Africa tour of India 2025: India vs SA - 3rd T20I🏏
Perfect 👫🏻: Are makers trolling themselves or do they believe that?
DHOLI UTHANA 15.12
Am Glad Tulsi mentioned this
CID Episode 104 - 14th December
Green Flag ⛳ Armaan!
Abhiara’s Marriage
Dhurandhar Pt 2 teaser and spoilers thread
Dhurandhar 2nd Saturday expected at 50 cr plus,breaks Pushpa 2 record!
Karan Nandini to join post leap?
In a 2022 interview, Ranveer disagreed with 8 hour shifts
Dhurandhar emerges an All Time Blockbuster
Originally posted by: Neemsundari
Thankyou-- will try and write another OS-- SS and FFs are a bit of a commitment, so I think sticking to writing OS is the best for me right now.
i see u r online neem...dil maange one more hot wala os
plzzz bahut zaroorat hai🤣
doesn't matter which camp u belong to🤣Originally posted by: Neemsundari
Yep, I do check the forum once in a while from my phone...but I haven't seen all the episodes from last week or this one-- whenever I can watch all on YT, and then have time left over to write, I shall.
I think the show is giving you ladies enough drama to discuss.
And predictably for a 4lions production, the forum is divvying up into Sahir and Arzoo camps! As usual, I'm in the Saaz camp 😆
There, he'd done it again. Made her cry.
Kurti Apa had given her the right name, bakri, no a memna, a lamb. All he'd tried to do was say sorry once again after the fiasco this afternoon. Was that all? Was that why he wanted to see her? To apologise yet another time?
He'd seen her walk in to the dining hall early this morning, in soft red, that red which had taken his breath away the first time she'd worn it. He'd sensed her: the quality of air in a room changed when she entered, there was static, a sort of vacuum, that crackled and pulled everything in the room towards her. Including him.
He'd looked up, and there she was, a bag on one arm, and the other hand touching her neck. There. At that very spot he'd bitten into her flesh last night, succulent as a juicy pear, salted with her sweat.
He'd licked the bruised skin, couldn't help it. He'd made the hurt better. He should have kept her there, trapped, shut the door, and peeled off that tease of a black salwar kameez, unwrapped his gift, revealed soft skin, breasts. Would her breasts have weighed down his palms?
She'd looked up and met his eyes, realized where her hand was, and drawn it away with a shudder. He'd wanted to drag her into his arms again, fresh-bathed, her hair damp, fruit-scented.
The way she'd shuddered, she'd felt it, too, yes of course she had: the tug at the his gut, the daze despite the caffeine. She'd wrapped her dupatta about her neck in an effort to hide the bruise he'd given her. But he could see it in his mind's eye, knew exactly where it was, at the soft, perfumed crevice between neck and shoulder.
She had fumbled with his coffee and toast under his gaze, and nodded when he asked her to meet him this afternoon. In the conference room, at lunchtime. And there, surrounded by whiteboards and projectors, he'd made her cry. He hated her tears, they twisted him up inside, wrung his heart and lungs together, suffocated him. Bloody hell.
He slammed the wardrobe door, shrugged on his kurta.
Arif had brought his dinner today. He'd said she'd had gone to the station, to drop her family at the railway station. So he wouldn't see her this evening, nor Asharfi.
Not after how they'd parted. Koi farak nahin padta. What lies. He couldn't sit still. He checked the clock, 10 pm. An hour since Arif had left the food, and he'd left it where it was, untouched.
He fisted his palms, rubbed them against each other. Why couldn't the girl sit down and listen to him the way he wanted her to?
He'd apologised, said all the right things, everything he'd wanted to say. Much more than that, in fact. He shouldn't have blurted out that bit about threatening that creep Sarfaraz. But that's what she did to him. She made him, Sahir Chaudhary, babble.
And then she had to go and ask about his 'past', his 'pain'. A lamb, a lamb who knew nothing of the lone, hurting wolf. All he'd wanted to do then was grab her, and take those lips. Shut them up so they wouldn't drag up... this wouldn't do. He had to see her.
He stalked out of his room. She would return soon, he could ambush her. Why? Hadn't she said, mujhe farak nahin padta? Well, he'd said much the same thing himself, but look at him now. He smiled, a cold, mirthless smile that made his face hurt.
In the corridor outside his room, his steps halted. Voices. Her voice.
Kya baat hai Jahan Ara, kuch udas lag rahin hain aap?
Nahin. Koi baat nahin, wo ammi logon ko station chor aye na, isliye.
Drive pe chalein? Ice-cream? Shayad apaka man halka ho jaye?
That brat. Why wouldn't his brother leave her alone? He grabbed the wall as he waited for her to answer.
No, thanks, Zaki. Allah knows, bare thak gaye hain hum. Office kal jaldi jana hai, bahut kaam hai.
Oh, come on, Jahan Ara. At least two minutes ke lie idhar aiye, I'll show you something.
The voices faded out, he couldn't hear her reply. They had walked on. He tried to imagine them, so young, carefree, smiling at each other. Why, why did Zaki get to do exactly as he pleased, while he, Sahir, had to do the right thing? The right thing for Ammi, for the family, for Saiyara? Why had he met Zeenat? Why him?
He paced, fuming, unable to turn back to his room, not sure where he would find peace. Where had she gone? Were they in Zaki's room? What were they doing? Had Zaki...?
He heard steps behind him, and stopped. It was her. So she hadn't stayed very long with Zaki, after all. Without realizing it, he had stepped out on to the garden, and stood in her way to the outhouse. He turned. Beside him, a dense bush of Raat ki Raani, its perfume potent, making him dizzy, nauseous almost.
She walked towards him, her eyes on the ground, hugging herself. She looked like a lost little lamb, strayed from its herd, all alone. Sahir felt something give inside of him. He wanted to hold her, rain kisses in her hair, keep her warm. Make her smile. That wouldn't do at all.
"Kahan se a rahi ho?"
She stopped, startled. "Ji, sir, woh..."
He liked this about her, that he could throw her into a tizzy, ask her questions he had no business asking, and she would stutter, as if he had all the right, like an irate shauhar, and she the hapless biwi.
"Maine poocha, kahan ja rahi ho?"
"Kuch nahin sir, zara walk ke lie nikle the. Woh, Zaki ne kaha..."
"Tumhe pata hai Zaki ko lekar pehele bhi batein ho chuki hain, lekin phir bhi...uske kamre mein kyun?"
He'd crossed a line there, he knew it. He'd defended her honour the last time, then why did he have to...you're jealous, Sahir. You're jealous of your brother, over this chit of a girl, this little dramebaaz. Accept it. You need to be punished. Later. The Raat ki Raani weighed heavy in the air, its fragrance looming like a shadow in the night, like a shroud of unsatisfied desire.
"Toh kya hua, sir?" She bristled, her large eyes flashing with indignation now. "Woh dost hain hamare. Allah knows, woh bare sharif aur achche hain."
She'd stepped closer to him, her eyes wide. She seemed to shiver a little. The night air, maybe. She didn't wear a shawl, only that goddamned red salwar kurta. Her hair lifted in the light breeze, and spread in a halo around her face, lit up from the back by the garden lights. Her large earring glinted, and he reached out to touch it.
"Aur main?"
"Aa..aap, sir?
He stared at her an endless moment, and then she had stumbled and fallen in his arms, a large moth sailing past them, making her shriek.
In any other girl, this would have been artifice, the fainting girl, but not in her. Her eyes wide in terror, she clung to his shoulders, her body stiff and held away from him. She would have let him go, but he slid his palm around her waist, holding her in place.
"Haan...main."
What would she say? Who was he to her? Did she feel it? Did she feel his heart racing under her palm, the way he struggled to breathe, choked on the wild scent that surrounded them?
"Aap...mere..." She sagged on his arm, so he slid his other arm behind her, too, to hold her up. Her waist, soft yet firm under his palm. He could draw her nearer, and she wouldn't resist, he saw that in her eyes. Tonight, he could feel the softness of her chest against the hard emptiness of him.
"Kya? Main kya? "
She stared, her lips parted, her eyes large, teary. He wanted her to spell them out, give him the words her eyes spoke.
"Am I your friend?"
He had to ask her. He had to know if she would let him be the one to stand by her side, make her smile, if he could be like Zaki, only much better.
She kept looking. The silence, the naive bundle of nerves in his arms that made him feel like gathering her close, all of it gave way to something else. He brought up his left hand to loosen her scarf, and trace the hollow of her neck. He could see the blur of the mark he'd left there, even in the semi dark under the trees.
He stroked her there, using his thumb, and deep in her throat, he heard a low moan. Pain, yet fervor, exactly the way he felt in his groin right now, the fullness, the tautening. He watched her eyelids flutter close, her lips reach up, glistening. His thumb strayed to them, blurring the outlines of her lipstick. He caressed them, the padded lower lip made for pleasure, the upper lip made to drive men mad, and dipped his thumb into her mouth.
She held it in a kiss, and it made him harden, the way her lips closed around the curved digit, making him think of other things he could ask her to do to him.
He wanted to claim those lips with his, but something about the arch of her throat, the utter surrender, the trusting weight of her body on his arm, made him stop.
"I'm sorry I made you cry."
He couldn't recognize the hoarseness of his voice. It sounded like he'd run miles, or climbed a mountain. He probably had.
Her eyes opened, and they looked at him. This was no lamb. They looked at him as if he were fragile, breakable. Dard, that was the word for it, what she had in her eyes. A recognition, an acknowledgment of pain, from a fellow-sufferer.
He removed his thumb from her lips, because she seemed unaware of it now. He took it to his lips, and kissed it, his eyes on hers. He wanted to hide his eyes, not let her read anything in them, but then, he wouldn't have been able to read hers. That gesture, his thumb rising from her lips to his, got her attention. She followed all of it with her eyes. Her eyes changed fast, they looked hungry now, yearning, the way he felt.
"It's ok."
She didn't say, 'sir', and his belly flipped at that, did a seal-whoop of joy. He felt his lips curl in a smile. He would have to let her go, not steal more than he had been freely given this night.
He set her apart from him, letting his palm caress her back and arm in the process. She shivered, again, and he wished he'd carried a shawl. He left her standing beside the Raat ki Raani, a luminous statue in billowing red silk, with too-bright eyes.
"Goodnight, Arzoo."
He left, striding away as fast as he could, before he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his room, his bed. It would be a long night.
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Thanks to everyone who is reading this OS and has commented on it. I'll try and send out PMs but am afraid I'm short on time and might not get to everyone.
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