Why is it that an increasing number of recent Pakistani television dramas seem to be underestimating the intelligence of their viewers? If the viewer struggles to understand the storyline due to lack of factual details and is forced to ask questions that are not being answered in the course of the drama’s narrative then there must be something not quite being delivered by the content of the drama.
The latest television drama to join the list of storylines with implausible informational ‘gaps’ in content is BJ Production’s Humrahi (2026) on Geo TV , written by Zanjabeel Asim Shah, directed (and story penned) by Babar Javaid and starring Danish Taimoor (Sayhaan Ghazi) and Hiba Bukhari (Elif).
Currently being hailed as “the biggest love story of the new year”, the much-anticipated serial has opened on a note of excitement witnessed in the high numbers of its YouTube viewership. Much of the reason for this initial positive reception is Taimoor and Bukhari’s onscreen chemistry in previous hit series such as Deewangi (2020) and Jaan Nisar (2024) as well as Taimoor’s enthusiastic fan following, which allows him to pull off repetitive, at times mediocre, drama scripts.
And certainly, in episode 1, an introductory shot of Sayhaan places focus on Taimoor’s biceps and a later swimming pool scene on his upper torso to tap into the actor’s powerful screen presence and popularity among female viewers.
Yet, in spite of its attractive features: the Taimoor-Bukhari pairing, the burgeoning, ever popular, romantic love story and the promise of being shot on location abroad (the OST reveals wonderfully shot foreign settings indicating both the production’s generous budget and attention paid to cinematography), Humrahi ’s initial storyline makes the narrative a bit unconvincing. The opening episodes present us with gaps in information that do not manage the delicate balance between suspense and incongruity.
As a result, for the viewer, it is not curiosity that manifests but frustration to make sense of what has transpired. Accompanying this sentiment is a feeling of déjà vu: character roles and situations we have seen all too often in Pakistani television dramas. A quick comparison with Taimoor’s recent dramas will suffice to draw parallels. In Sher (2025), the male protagonist Sher’s (Taimoor’s role) love interest is Dr Fajar (Sarah Khan) and so is the case in Humrahi where the male protagonist is cast opposite a female doctor protagonist. The male lead returns home from abroad to face family enmity and business rivalry in Sher , Mann Mast Malang (2025) and Humrahi . A question that arises, then, is that are such repetitive creative choices due to a shortage of ideas for Pakistani television drama scripts? Or are they a manifestation of a well-worked formula?
Eight episodes into Humrahi , the plot seems to be the more or less formulaic rich boy meets the not-so-rich girl who, after a series of coincidental meetings, and sufficient number of obstacles, fall in love, and presumably, live happily ever after. Taimoor as Sayhaan is presented in a role that we have come to identify him: a ‘ sultanat ka jan nisheen ’ who is living a charmed yet emotionally deprived life as ( Humrahi , ep. 1). He is the only son of Ghazi Yusuf (Shahzad Nawaz), the chairman of the GYT group, a character whose portrayal — threatening unsuspecting individuals into selling or giving up their properties, sporting and firing guns while moving around with a small band of weapon-laden guards — takes him closer to a criminal don than a business magnate.
Surrounded by the usual accessories (the palatial home, SUVs, threatening armed guards) that depict the lifestyle of the very wealthy in Pakistani dramas, Sayhaan is also presented as generous and compassionate to individuals who are less privileged — a macho male figure with a sensitive side. Bukhari is the assertive doctor daughter of a lady with links to Turkey who owns and manages a restaurant.
The impetus for later action is an accidental road encounter (with a powerfully depicted moment of impact) between the two protagonists in the drama’s first episode where Sayhaan drives his car into Elif’s, putting them at loggerheads right from the start, and in subsequent meetings where Elif asserts her right to compensation for injuries incurred to her vehicle.
Also witnessed in these early episodes is how the motherless hero with father issues finds solace in two motherly figures, the maid Nishat aka Chanda (Salma Zafar) who brought him up in the absence of a mother and Mariyam (Laila Wasti), the restauranteur friend of his deceased mother who is now his dear friend and with whom he seems to spend an extraordinary amount of time. So far, so good.
But several incongruities of dialogue, action and storyline plunge the viewer into a state of dissatisfaction. Most notable among the jarring elements in the drama’s narrative is the presentation of relationships. In spite of the suggested bond between Mariyam and Sayhaan, viewers are expected to believe that he does not know Mariyam’s daughter Elif, even by sight, and Mariyam has no idea that her former friend’s husband, and Sayhaan’s father, is Ghazi Yusuf, or presumably, anything about Sayhaan’s family background.
Ghazi also does not seem to know that the lady he is sending his henchmen to harass for the forced purchase of her restaurant was once his wife’s friend. It is only in episode 5, when Sayhaan turns up at Elif’s house to find her mourning her mother’s death, that he discovers that Mariyam was her mother. The absence of rationale behind the presentation of relationships means that the viewer has to engage in a certain amount of suspension of disbelief to continue watching comfortably.
In its initial episodes, the show also reminds us that medical scenes are another area that can be improved in Pakistan’s television dramas. Lapses of knowledge related to the medical field and the monotone, at times rushed, and far from empathetic, responses to distressed family members that do not match expectations of the clinical detachment necessary to maintain professionalism, are common in Pakistani television dramas. In the case of Humrahi , however, while Mariyam’s doctor is more compassionate than other medical professionals in Pakistani dramas, the serial errs in the presentation of his professionalism.
During a moment in episode 5, a highly emotional Elif, wanting to save a mother with a deteriorating heart condition, tells the doctor that had her blood group matched her mother’s she would have donated her heart to save her mother’s life. But what are we supposed to make of the doctor’s rather absurd response “ Kash aisa ho sakta beta ”, meaning “if only that were possible”?
Is he suggesting that had the blood groups matched, he would have let Elif die to save the mother? Afterall, the organ in question is a heart not a kidney. The dialogue given to the doctor is surely enough to make any responsible doctor cringe. And in spite of another doctor’s insistence, it remains unconvincing that Chanda needs to be admitted to the hospital for a fractured foot.
Later hospital scenes after Elif is shot with a bullet intended for Sayhaan further demolish doctor depictions in the show. The barging into the ICU by a group of the heroine’s doctor friends and their subsequent inquisitive interrogation of the hero, followed by his reminder that they need to observe hospital protocols, is one such painful moment. Added to the affronts against hospitals and doctors is how the hospital management and security are effectively disabled in the drama: Ghazi is able to stride into hospital premises with his thugs in black; Sayhaan is able to position guards in hospital corridors and bully (with and without the help of a gun) both hospital personnel and doctors into meek compliance. In a drama with clear emphasis on the medical field, and a doctor protagonist, it is disappointing that more careful thought has not been put into its medical moments.
The good news, however, is that the series does offer signs of interesting plot development. It hints at a possible double role for Bukhari with the inclusion of details that suggest a twin sister and Elif’s imminent death. In particular, the emphasis laid on her decision to register her heart for donation upon her death, which also has a philanthropic message. Ghazi’s business rivalry and historic enmity with another mafia don-like figure Lala (Ayub Khoso) is another plot development waiting to unfold.
In addition to this, episode 8 closes with the possibility of further entanglements in the love story with the entry of a new male character, Aurangzeb (Azfar Rehman). The moment Sayhaan is ready to pop the big question to Elif, his hopes are dashed by her exuberant greeting of who now appears to be a potential rival in love.
While there is much to anticipate in the show’s upcoming episodes, we can only hope that plausible reasons for the omission of early factual details will be incorporated into the script and there will be less reliance on hard-to-digest elements simply to further the plot. If so, later episodes will prove less taxing for viewers. In the meantime, viewers will have to fend for themselves, with consolation provided by Taimoor’s magnetic charm.
