#sp aslam

Chapter 16. Ek mahina ya sau saal? 

The morning after the ending of chapter 15 @ 10 am on December 1st

Rehman’s master bedroom, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan 

The sunlight cuts through the ornately carved windows of Rehman’s master bedroom. It slices through the heavy linen curtains. It violently pierces through Rehman's closed eyelids. Last night he collapsed heavily in his bed drunk and angry out of his mind. Not even bothering to undress from his day-worn clothes. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was out like a light.

Now the sunlight violently pierces Rehman's eyes. He groans in pain. His eyes hurt, his head hurts, his body hurts. How much did he have to drink last night? Rehman's hand automatically reached to the other side of the bed. It was second nature to him, like breathing, especially after all these months. 

The ritual was that before he even opened his eyes he always pulled her close. His morning never began without the feeling of her pulled flush against him. He would bury himself in her hair, breathing deeply. She always smelt like the most intoxicating mix of sleep and her perfume long with faint remnants of their love. Rehman's hand reaches to the other side of his bed, expecting her warm sleepy body. But all he is met with is cold forest green silk sheets. 

Rehman's eyes shoot open, it takes a moment for his eyes to focus. The blankets are crumpled. Could she be tangled in them? He pulls at the blankets expecting her body to be revealed. He is met with nothing but air. He wakes up even more, sitting up in his bed. Rehman's head pounds violently as he tries to understand what the hell was going on.

Flashes burst through his hungover mind. Flashes of the argument. Flashes of his anger. Flashes of him yelling. Flashes of her horror. Flashes of her tears. Flashes of her leaving. No no no no thinks Rehman. He breathes hard as he stumbles out of bed. 

His alcohol-addled body sways violently. He feels the world lurch violently to the side. The floor feels unstable below him. He looks around the room, his eyes dart around the half dark room. He looks for anything, something, that will tell him his worst fears aren't true. He is looking for her clothes on the floor, sounds from the bathroom, her soft breathing as she sleeps. 

Nothing. Rehman sees nothing. The world tilts again. Rehman feels like something is crushing his ribs. Breathing feels difficult. He huffs for breath as he looks around the room. Then his eyes spot a puddle of maroon and white cashmere on the floor. The same cashmere shawl he had given to her last night when she felt cold in her saree. 

Yesterday afternoon he had seen that she was wearing a maroon and white cotton saree. Rehman had smiled to himself as he went to his closet and pulled out a cashmere shawl he had ordered on demand from Kashmir. For her. 

Now the next morning he spots the shawl he demanded back from her last night. It was lying crumpled on the floor. Dead. It looked dead. He stumbles to it and falls onto the floor.

His shaky hands fist into the cold embroidered cashmere shawl. He clutches it to his chest. He brings it close because it holds her scent. As he brings it close something tumbles out of it. A dead chan chan sound and a hard thunk. 

He sees her payals, her beautiful emerald diamond and platinum payals he gave her on her birthday, on the floor. The payals she never took off. Ever. The clasps crusted with blood from where she ripped them off her delicate ankles. Then Rehman's eyes went to the pendant on the floor, the diamond crusted platinum letter R and a tiny platinum lion lion, her initials and his symbol. Another thing she never took off, ever. The platinum chain snapped from where she had yanked it. 

No. no no no no. He stumbles out of his room. His head pounding wildly, his hands shaking slightly as they fist tighter in the shawl. The payals and the pendant rest in his other hand. She was probably in her room right? She was just angry at him right? He deserved it. Rehman would beg for forgiveness until the day he dies.

Rehman crosses the hallway between their rooms. He opens the door. Her bedroom is a mess like it had been ransacked and she had left. It was empty. Devoid of any of her. “Meri jaan?” Rehman's hoarse wrecked voice rings through the room. Was she under the covers? He rips them off the bed. Thin air. Was she in her bathroom? He knocks on the door and it swings open on its own accord. 

With each moment he is getting more and more scared. Fear and paranoia claw through him. Where was she? Where was his jaan? She has to be in her office right? 

Maybe she packed up. And then decided she didn't want to leave, then she spent the night in her office to scare him? To make a point. The point, that she could leave if she wanted. Point fucking made my love he thinks as he walks out of her room.

Rehman bursts into her office. Her books are gone from the bookshelves. And that. That was more painful than anything Rehman had seen that morning. Her desk is empty, papers scattered. “Rehanna?” he calls out. “Meri jaan kahan hain aap?”

He looks around. He waits. There is no response. Rehman falls to his knees onto the plush navy blue persian carpet of her office. Breathing hard. The full scale of it hits him. She was gone. 

He kicked her out. He told her he hates her. He made her cry. He made her sad, he made her cry, he broke her heart. He told her to leave….then one more point hits him. He told her to leave when she doesn't have another home to go to. When she moved into the haveli with him months ago when her life was in danger, she had given up her home. Now she had nowhere to go. Rehman took away her security, Rehman had taken away her home. Rehman had thrown out the love of his life. 

What had he done?

—-------------

Meanwhile at the same time 

Rehanna Randhawa’s Apartment, Hindu colony, Lyari, Pakistan

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The wall clock sounds off steadily. There is a faint electrical buzz in the air from the refrigerator in the kitchen. Outside the window lyari is wide awake. You can hear the vegetable vendors roll their carts calling their customers. You can hear the faint yelling of kids playing in the street. 

When Rehanna Randhawa finally wakes up her head is pounding. Her lashes flutter against her cheeks. She groans as she tries to turn deeper into the covers. Hoping that sleep would take her again. Hoping that the fucking pounding would stop. She isn't brave enough to open her eyes. 

The empty whiskey bottle rolls off the bed. It clinks hard onto the tile of her bedroom floor, rolling under the bed. Her eyes are swollen shut. And she knows they are red and blood shot before she even opens them. For a moment. Just a moment. Her mind is kind to her just for a moment, it doesn't let her remember what happened last night. 

Another groan pulls from her throat as her hands reach to the other side of the bed. Expecting to find a warm sleepy body waiting for her. Her legs shift slightly and the lack of sound is deafening. She pauses her movement midway. She can't hear them. She can't hear her payals. All Rehanna can feel is a stinging scrape on her foot, running jagged across her ankle.

And then everything hits hard. All the events of yesterday hit her hard enough in the face to sting like a slap. She can feel the imaginary burn on her cheek. Her eyes flutter open. She half hopes it was a terrible nightmare. The sun in her room is too bright.

The warm sunlight fills her room. This isn't her room, but this is her house. Her old apartment. Not the baloch haveli. She is back in her own bed where she never hoped to be again. But thank god Rehanna had kept her apartment all those months ago.

Rehman had taken her to the haveli sure, but she kept paying the rent for this house, she had the locks changed and the house made more secure. Maybe because somewhere deep inside of her she knew that everything would fall apart. Maybe because she knew she didn't deserve an easy fairytale kind of love. Love. What a funny and juvenile thing. Maybe she kept her apartment, because she knew that the man she wasn't supposed to fall in love with would hurt her one day. 

Rehanna loves being right. Why did she have to be right this time? Her eyes finally adjust to the sunlight. The swimming in her head won't stop. She can smell the whisky fumes in the small room. The throbbing at her temple and above her eyebrows doesn't seem to stop. Then she hears it again. His voice. 

‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ She feels salty tears sting in her sensitive eyes again. It hurts, the salty solution coating her bloodshot eyes. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected hate from lips that only sang love sonnets for her. A bitter huff leaves her body. Rehman hadn't even said the words to her. Ever. He had never told her that he loves her but she could feel it anyway. She could always feel the love in his eyes, in his touch, in his acts of service to her. She could feel it. 

The salty tears pool enough that the surface tension keeping them in her eyes burst. They fell down her tired face in warm salty streaks. She felt them flow down her face and into her hair. Fuck. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him. But somewhere along the way she did. She fell in love with Rehman Dakait.

‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ That's all that she can hear now. The same voice that always sang meri jaan, meri rooh. The same voice and all its memories were now written over by pain. Rehanna uses her palms to wipe the endless tears away. The man she loves told her he hates her and she is crying in bed. Crying in bed like a pathetic loser. 

A -severely mistimed for the situation- laugh pulls out of her body. The sound is not melodious and bright as laughter should be. It's raw, rough, and jagged. “Fuck yaar” she giggles. Her body sways slightly as her hand clutches her now even worse throbbing head. She is now sitting up in her bed. “R&AW ki maa ki….” she trails off as she breaks out into broken tear soaked maniacal laughter. 

‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse……Nikal jao MERI haveli se’

—-------------

Same day- December 1 @ 11 am

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

O bedardya 

Bekhayali

Ik lamha

Rehanna was trying to force normalcy. Kyunki iss dukh me doobke kya hi hone wala hai? Every waking second she felt hot tears pool in her eyes. Every time her body moved a fraction she could hear the cluttering and clanking of the broken pieces of her heart rattling against her ribcage. The keyword attached to the world normalcy here was ‘try’. She was trying. 

Rehanna was trying when the first thing she did after stumbling out of bed was reach for another bottle of whiskey from her liquor cabinet. She was trying when she took it to the bathroom with her. She was trying when she used it as mouthwash after she brushed her teeth. She was trying when she took greedy gulps of it as she shed her clothes. 

She was trying when she stood under the shower. She was trying when she ignored the hot tears mixing with the shower water. She was trying when she had the bottle attached to her lips as she sank down onto the bathroom floor under the warm spray. 

Rehanna was trying when she dressed herself in a plain shirt and some short cotton shorts. She was trying when she stuffed toast in her mouth. She was trying when she spiked her coffee with whiskey. She really was trying. That didn't mean she was going to be successful. 

She hummed to herself lightly as she stumbled to her record player. Half a bottle of whisky down already. The pain felt slightly bearable now that all her senses had been dulled. Her fingers flicked deftly through her record collection as she looked for a particular album. Her hazy eyes search lazily. She can't see it.

She scoffs to herself. Of course she can't find something when she needs it. Typical. She walks to her sofa in the small living room. The tears drip out of her eyes lazily. She doesn't even register it anymore. It's as normal as breathing. She lands onto her sofa with the grace of a newborn giraffe.

Whiskey spiked coffee threatens to spill out of the cup but she balances it. She hums the melody of the song she was looking for in her records. She brings the cup up to her lips. Tears fall into it mixing with the contents of the cup. The song really would have been perfect if she had found it “Sobbing into my cup of coffee……because I fell for another looserrr” she slurs with a chuckle. 

She reaches over to the table and her cup lands on it with a thud, more rough than she had intended. Her fingers fumbled for her pack of cigarettes, she brought one to her lips. As her lips held the cigarette in place, her thumb fiddled with the lighter. She clicked it once. Then twice, then three times. Finally on the fourth attempt the flame finally lit “Haat maadarchod” she scoffed drunkenly as she tossed it across the room. 

She took a deep drag of the Marlboro, the tendrils of smoke caught in the afternoon light. She exhaled as her head hit the headrest. She watched them swirl around her with hazy unfocused eyes. Rehanna’s eyes flicked to the half empty bottle of whiskey on her coffee table.

Its the same thing that got Rehman drunk enough last night to tell her that he hates her. It's also the same thing dulling the pain enough to keep Rehanna sane. She takes lazy drags off of her cigarette as she stares into the abyss. All she could think about is how much she hates herself. How much she hates herself for still loving Rehman even though he hurt her. 

All of a sudden there is a series of rapid and panicked knocks on her door. She has a certain feeling pool deep in her gut. She has an idea of who was outside. No she will not open it. Rehanna ignores the door. She sips her spiked coffee again. 3 more rapid knocks make her door shake on its hinges. Still no. Rehanna will not open the door.

Just as she was about to ignore the door again a feeling crawls up her spine. What if it was someone else? What if it was Hamza? She sighs as she stands up and walks to her door. She hates how fresh tears threaten to fall when she can't hear her payals chan chan chan with each step. Once she reaches her door she looks out the peephole. 

Rehanna’s breathing stops immediately. No. No. No, absolutely not. It's Rehman. She backs away from the door trying to come to terms with what she was seeing outside. He is still wearing the clothes he was wearing yesterday. He looks like a wrecked mess. He looks like he just woke up and rushed out of the house frantically. In his arms rested a massive bouquet of white roses. 

As she backs away her hand hits the doorknob making it rattle slightly. “Fuck!” she curses softly under her breath. Rehman perks up outside her door. She was right there, she was watching him through the peephole. “Rehanna? Meri jaan?” he calls out knocking on the door again. Rehanna freezes at how he calls her. 

How dare he? How can he? How does he dare to call her by her name or by the title of endearment he just used? She can't believe it. She can't believe the way his words wrap around her heart. She can't believe the way her heart thrums out of her ribcage begging to go to him. 

Outside the door Rehman's hand runs through his hair for the nth time. She was right there. She wasn't opening the door. He deserved it, yes, he deserved every jab she would throw at him. But he needed to see her. He needed to beg for her forgiveness. But she isn't opening the door “Meri jaan….mai darkhuast karta hun darwaza kholo.” The desperate rasp in his voice is painfully audible. 

—---------

Desperate is the right word. Rehman was desperate to see her. The moment he had realized what he had done he knew he needed to make it right. He was beginning to hear Ulfat’s voice in the back of his mind again. Rehman remembers how bitter ulfat had become before she had left him. He was beginning to hear the constant chanting of monster, monster, monster once again. Ulfat used to call him a monster.

He didn't want to become that again. That part of him even scared him. He didn't want to go back to the darkness after he had had a taste of the light.

He needed Rehanna, she was the one who stayed with him even after knowing how much of a horrible man he was. She never called him a monster. She understood the darkness. She wasn't afraid of him. She was the one who he truly loved. She was the one who kept the monster in him tamed. Rehman needed Rehanna. 

He had run out of his haveli fumbling with the keys of his maroon corvette. Where had she gone? Was the only question in his mind as he pulled out of the haveli at terrifying speed. Rehman's mind began cycling through every possible option: Hamza's house, the fancy burger bachha hotels in the city, a friend's house. 

While he scrambled in his mind to figure out where she might be, his muscle memory had begun driving to her old house again. Once he realized where his body was going Rehman decided it was worth a chance. He stopped the car at the first flower shop he spotted and picked up the biggest and most expensive bouquet. A bouquet of big brilliant white roses. 

The same kind that he himself had picked from the haveli gardens to thread through her hair yesterday afternoon. His mind keeps going back to yesterday afternoon. Everything was fine yesterday afternoon. Everything was fine until yesterday after dinner too. Then he had gone and fucked it all.  

Rehman pulls his car into the Hindu Colony of Lyari where her old apartment used to be. As soon as he pulls into the street he sees her black mercedes parked outside the quaint standalone building. The sigh of relief that pulls out of him is immense in its own right. Here she was. She hadn't gone too far. 

Rehman launches out of the car with the bouquet. He walks to the staircase of the building and climbs it as fast as his legs will take him. She lived on the second floor. Rehman remembers. The second floor, the last house on the right side of the hallway. The dark brown wooden door, the out of control leafy monstera and the navy blue fabric toran with copper bells attached to it which swayed in the wind. 

Rehman's fist bangs against the door. No poise, no charisma in his knock. Pure raw desperation to see the woman he had hurt so he could beg for her forgiveness. He knocks six times, and he hears nothing. “Rehanna? meri jaan?” And just as he is about to give up he hears a faint rattle behind the door. She was there. “Meri jaan….mai darkhuast karta hun darwaza kholo.”

—-----------

The wooden door swings open and there she is. Rehman stops breathing. Because this isn't his Rehanna. It's a husk of herself. A wave of self-hatred pulls through him, the wave almost powerful enough to make his knees buckle. 

Her beautiful eyes are red and broken. Tear-tracts are etched into her cheeks from how many tears had flown down them. Her eyes are dead. He can smell the pungent cloud of whiskey surrounding her, he can see how she sways ever so slightly as the alcohol deepens its hold on her. And worst of all she isn't speaking. She isnt yelling at him, she isnt killing him. What hurts the most is how she is looking at him. Like he was a stranger. 

Immediately Rehman holds out the bouquet of expensive flowers in front of him. He holds it out to her, expecting her to reach out and take it. Rehanna blinks in shock. At the flowers, at Rehman. Rehman looks like shit. His clothes rumpled and crumpled, his hair a mess, his own eyes red and blood shot. His hands shake slightly as he looks at her with steadily diminishing hope in his eyes. He looks genuinely haunted. The white roses emit their sickeningly beautiful scent in between them.   

Rehman steps forward and gently places the bouquet in her hands before he steps back. The plastic and crumpled tissue of the wrapping crinkles in her arms as she holds the bouquet in the crook of her arm. She leans her head towards the flowers and takes in their scent for a moment. 

Rehman watches. He expects her to say something. He wants to hear her voice. Because he remembers the last thing she said to him. 

—------------

Chapter 15 flashback

“Jo mujhse nafrat karta hai uska kuch nahi chahiye…” her voice cracked violently now. “In payalon aur iss pendant me manlo ki apna ek dil ka tukda bhi chhord ke ja rahi hun.”

—---------

Rehman remembers it so clearly. He remembers the pain in her voice, the restrained anger. Most importantly he remembers the way she looked at him. Every second she looked at him it felt like she was severing each string that connected them together. So now. He expected her to speak.

Rehanna keeps her mouth shut. Because she knows if she will speak right now she will burst into tears. She would break down, and Rehman would take her into his arms. And she is too afraid she will forgive him. She doesn't want to forgive him. The pain slices through her body, she swallows down the words she wants to say and it feels like she is trying to swallow a cactus. 

Rehman takes a deep breath. She isn't speaking. His shaking hand runs through his hair as he takes a shaky breath. “Meri jaan mujhe maaf kardo” that's the first thing he says. And then the words don't stop. “Sachai yeh hai ki mai apne aap se khfa tha….aur aap pe bewajah hi malal aya” the look in his eyes begs her to believe him. 

(Thoda sa mai khafa hogaya apne aap se. Thoda sa tujh pe bhi bewaja hi malal aye)- Bekhayali

Rehannas fingers trace the powdery soft petals of the white roses in her arms. She watches him with wide blank eyes. But she is paying close attention at the same time. Rehman continues speaking “Yeh koi azar nahi hai lekin sach baat yeh hai ki jab hum Khanani ke ghar se wapas aa rahe the aapki ek baat mujhe chubhi” he says as he watches her reaction. 

Her reaction reveals nothing. So he continues speaking “Aapne bola ki mai apka kitna khayal rakhta hun. Haan mai rakhta hun aapka khayal. Kyunki mai aapse be intehaan mohabbat karta hun-” 

He said it. Rehman said it. Rehanna’s fingers against the rose petals freeze. Rehman himself freezes as he realizes what he had just said. Rehanna can't stop the small huff of disbelief that falls out of her body. Yesterday he hated her. Today he loves her? For a moment her eyes soften when she looks at him. Rehman catches it. He hoped she would break her silence and speak. And just as quick as her eyes softened they hardened again. Rehanna hates that her heart soared for a few moments before it crashed and shattered into a million pieces once more. 

“H-Haan mai aapse mohhobat kara hun…be intehaan mohhobat. L-lekin, jab- jab aapne mujhse khayal rakhne wali baat kahi thi” Rehman resumes unsteadily. Unsure if he should address what he just blurted out or continue with the apology. Maybe he should have practiced. Fuck it “Tab mujhe yaad agaya ki maine jo deal Iqbal ke saath banai, use wajeh se mai kisi aur ka khayal bhul raha hun. Balochon ka khayal.”

“Jinhone mujhe yeh sher e baloch ka taj diya unhi se dagabazi kar raha hun mai. Yeh yaad agaya tha mujhe.” He looks at her with genuine apology in his eyes hoping she would speak now. She stays quiet. “Sabko pata hai ki maine kitni pi rakhi thi kal raat. Zaroorat se zyada pi rakhi thi maine.” he admits.

“Phir Hamza ne gaadi se nikalte hi chillaana shuru kardiya. Aap bhi beech me agayi usko bachane ke liye…aur jab maine aapki akhon me whoh…woh jhatka dekha sachai pe. Toh mujhe khud nahi pata kya hua mere andar” Rehman admits the last part rather quietly. Like he was ashamed that the immense control he kept on himself slipped clean out of his hands like the leash of a runaway dog. 

Rehanna’s face betrays nothing. But she can feel the words she wants to scream at him bubble through her throat. He looks up at her with his broken eyes as he speaks again “Meri jaan… Rehanna.. Kya hum andar baith ke baat karsakte hain?” 

Rehanna’s eyes narrow at the pure audacity. His own guilt made him lash out at her and now he thinks a sob story apology would give him access to her again? A cold tear drips down her face, sadness, anger and the words she wants to scream all mixed within it. Her nimble fingers wrap around a brilliant white rose. They rip off the petals violently and throw them at him. 

This isn't how he was supposed to tell her that he loves her. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be a romantic moment full of love. It wasn't supposed to be this. How can he ruin the moment? How could he take the experience she deserves away from her?

Rehman blinks in shock as the petals rain down on him. Another tear. Another rip. Another flower is thrown square at Rehman. Then five more flowers in succession are thrown the same way. Rehman breaks his stunned silence “Meri jaan, yun khamosh na raho” he begs as another flower gets thrown at him. 

“Mujh pe gussa karo, chillao, maaro-peto, gali do. Lekin khamosh mat raho, Rehanna mai darkhwast karta hun.” He begs desperately, his hand on his heart as he looks into her red and dead eyes. Each tear that sheds feels like a gunshot to his heart. He caused those tears. Rehman would never forgive himself. 

Finally she seems to have had enough. Rehman had brought her 30 white roses. She seemed to have decapitated 20 of them. Suddenly she violently throws the expensive bouquet or whatever is left of it to his feet. Rehman looks down and before he can look up again he hears a door slam shut.

He stands there for a moment. He stands there unable to register what had just happened. Then Rehman hears it. He hears muffled sobs coming from behind the door. Like Rehanna had sunk down against the door crying. The volume of the sobs made it seem like she was muffling herself with her hands. She was behind the door. Sobbing. Crying. Because of him. 

And in this moment in time Rehman Baloch Dakait realizes one thing. Even if she finds it in her angelic heart to forgive him, if Allah finds it in his heart to forgive him, even if the devil finds it in his heart to forgive Rehman for every sin he has committed. Rehaman would never forgive himself.  

—---------------

December 5 @ 5 pm

Bada bazar, Lyari, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Duaa 

Koi si

Jaan se guzarte hain

The natural course for pain is to subside gradually day by day. So then maybe what both Rehanna and Rehman were experiencing was not pain. It was not pain in the simple sense. Because it just seemed to grow second by second. Like each atom of their beings realised they were separated from each other. 

Each morning both of them woke up with a smile on their face. Hoping what had happened was just a bad dream. In fact when the both of them finally succumbed to pain induced sleep they dreamt of each other. They dreamt of holding each other, being with each other, loving each other. 

Both of them detested the morning. Because in the morning, reality hit the both of them hard across the face. With Rehman it was waves of guilt and self hatred for ruining his relationship with a woman he loved so much that the magnitude of it scared him. With Rehanna it was a deep aching sadness, bitter anger, and self hatred for herself. She hated how badly she still wanted him after he broke her heart, she hated the way her heart pulled at how he admitted he loved her.

—----------------------

Rehanna had been waking up for the past four days to something new each day. Honestly if Rehman hadnt fucked up as bady as he had, then the gestures would have been sweet. The gestures would have made her smile happily and go back to him. But he had fucked up. He had fucked up badly. 

The same evening after he walked up to her door with flowers, an apology, and a proclamation of love. A package had shown up at her door. She unwrapped it with trembling hands to find one of his blue pashmina shawls that she so loved. She lifted it to her nose. It still smelled like him, a tear she doesn't want to shed drips down her cheek. Rested in the package was a pair of real sterling silver and pearl Jhumke and a note. Another apology, another I love you, another please just talk to me. 

Rehanna walked to her window with a lighter and the gifts in her arms. She threw open the window of the living room. Because she knew someone was standing there. There, across the street. Across the street, near the mandir, Rehman stood leaned back against the maroon corvette. His eyes had been trained to her window all day. He hadn't moved an inch. The moment she appeared in the window his face softened a small smile pulled at his lips seeing the gifts in her arms. He waved to her, hoping she would call him up to her.

She held up the earrings to her ears, she pumped her eyebrows at him, her face still stoic. A subtle ‘How do I look?’ Rehman smiled at her as she gestured to her that she looked perfect. Rehanna shut her eyes as she nodded, her tongue in her cheek. She closed the earrings in her fist and threw them out the window. The silver and pearl Jhumke landed at his feet perfectly on the asphalt. 

She balled up the blue pashmina shawl, his scent wafted in the air around her. She hated how she took a greedy inhale. Then she threw it out the window. It billowed in the wind as it sailed across the street and landed at Rehman's feet once again. Rehman picked up both of them silently and looked at her once again. She lit a cigarette with the lighter, her elbows resting in her windowsill lazily as she watched him. 

Rehman held what she had thrown close to his heart as he watched and waited. Rehanna read the note in her hands once again as she exhaled a puff of smoke. Her heart stumbling over the words ‘mai aapse mohabbat karta hun’ She smiled sadly at the note. Shaking her head fondly at it. Then her face went stoic once more as she took the lighter and lit the edge of the note. She held Rehman's eyes as the note burnt in her hands. 

The ash dripped onto the window sill, the wind carried the ashes to him across the street. He could smell the burnt love in the air. And then as suddenly as she had appeared in her window, Rehanna disappeared. Rehman stood there with the shawl and the jhumke in his hands. First he felt anger, at the blatant disrespect of his gesture. Then he swallowed it down, this wasn't an instigation, this was the response to his blatant disrespect of her last night. He had no right to be angry at how she reacted. In fact he deserved it. 

On day two Rehanna woke up to her doorbell ringing off the hook. She groaned and turned into her pillows again. It must be Rehman again. She wasn't going to open the door for him. Not today at least. Just as she was about to drift off the sleep again. A voice called through the door “Vakeel Sahiba! Vakeel Sahiba please darwaza kholiye!” It was Uzair's voice. 

Rehanna sighed as she let him into the house. She was mad at Rehman, She wasn't mad at the rest of them. “Oh ayie Baloch Sahab” she said as she sniffed back tears that her eyes had begun shedding at the thought of Rehman. A cordial smile plastered on her face, as she let Uzair into the house. 

Uzair walked into Rehanna’s apartment with a deep concern in his face. They both sat down together on her sofa after Rehanna had brought him a glass of water in a tray. He took the glass with a smile “Shukriya” He took a deep breath, with his eyes Uzair asked Rehanna to put her hand in his. She obliged, setting one of her shaky hands in his warm palm. “Kya aap thik hain?” he asked her gently. Rehanna nodded, but both of them know it wasn't true “Mujhe pata hai ki bhai ne aapse bohot bura bhala bola us din lekin….aap itna dil pe mat lagaiye”

Rehanna laughed a hollow laugh “Baloch sahab….ab aapko kaise samjahun.” she sighed wistfully looking out her window. If she had stood up and looked out of it she would have seen Rehman standing by his corvette again staring up at her window, ignoring how his eyes burned for a glimpse of her. “Maan lijiye ki dil pe lagaliya.” she smiled at Uzair sadly. 

Uzair sighed with a nod. “Mai samajhta hun ki jo bhai ne kaha woh bilkul galat tha. Unko Nafrat nahi kehna chahiye tha. Unko aapke hindustani hone pe kuch nahi kehna chahiye tha.” Rehanna swallowed back the words that would have given everything away. Words that would have told Uzair why Rehman's words hurt as much as they did. “Bhai ne aapkeliye kuch bheja hai” He reached beside him and handed Rehanna a huge gift bag. 

Another bouquet this time of colorful carnations, a long letter, a book she once told him she had her eye on. Rehanna swallowed back a painful lump, Rehman really knew her. And that's what made what he had done hurt more. She took a deep sniff of the flowers, she read the letter once and then twice until she had memorized his desperate heartfelt words, once again he told her he loves her. That he will love her until the end of time. She held the book in her hands, she could feel a fresh batch of tears brew in her eyes. She forced them back with sheer will. She wasn’t about to start crying in front of Uzair. 

“Zara ek minute dijiye mujhe” Rehanna excused herself as Uzair nodded. She walked to her bedroom and shut the door behind her. As soon as the door shut she wasn't able to stop the tears that flowed out of her eyes. She bit back her sobs so Uzair wouldn't hear. Her hands took the letter and shred it to bits. She ripped the flowers, decapitating them and desecrating them. She placed both in the bag again. 

Her hands held the book, the one she had been looking for, for so long. Rehanna didn't have the heart to rip or ruin the book. So she held it to her heart for a moment before she placed it back into the bag. Rehanna went to the bathroom wiping away her tears, splashing cold water on her face. Once she looked presentable again she walked out of the room and handed Uzair the bag. “Yeh aap Dakait Sahab ko wapas de dijiye.” and Uzair left without another word. Rehanna went to her window and saw Rehman looking at her window again from across the street. Rehanna knew he would be there. She had then turned away without another word. 

On day three Rehman had sent six more very big and very expensive bouquets. Their sweet scent filled her small apartment. It would have been nice if they weren't forced. Now their scent was sickening. There were also bags and bags of expensive clothes and books that Rehman had gotten for her personally because he remembered she had spent more than 10 seconds looking at these items. 

Rehanna hadn't even looked at the items. She just carried them to her window one by one. Rehman was standing across the narrow street again. Today he was dressed in black. He looked just as haunted as the first day. Rehanna stared into his eyes as she tossed each item towards him on the street. 

Rehman smiled at her softly. Like even getting this small glimpse of her soothed the pain in his soul. And then after she had thrown the flowers and clothes and books at him, she left. Rehman walked around the street collecting them and gently putting them in his car. Then he leaned against the hood of his car watching her window for the rest of the day. 

On day four Rehman had sent Siyahi and Donga to try and speak to her. Before she could greet them, Donga interrupted “Vakeel sahiba aap kya bana rahi hain? bahar tak khushbu aa rahi hai!” Rehanna laughed even though she didn't want to. “Aao aao Cudhi chawal bana rahi hun, pyaaz ke tadke wali cudhi”  The boys rushed in kicking off their shoes in the hallway. Rehanna blinked as they rushed by her. 

Once inside they set their gifts from Rehman on her coffee table and rushed into her kitchen fighting over who would eat first. Only once she had served them both heaping bowls of Cudhi and chawal did they find peace. Donga spoke again, food in his mouth “Vakeel Sahiba, Rehman bhai ne aapke liye yeh bheja hai”  

Rehanna looked at what he had sent her. Cases of jhumkes and cases of matching bangles that went together perfectly. Rehanna assumes that they would also go perfectly with the clothes Rehman had sent her yesterday. The ones she had tossed out the window. Siyahi hands her a note as she shovels food into his mouth. Rehanna opens it and reads it its the usual apologies, proclamations of love, and then something that makes her stop for a moment. 

‘Meri jaan apne kal humare diye hue tofe humpe pheke, hume koi aitraz nahi hai. Lekin aaj inko mat phekiyega. Yeh chuudiyan kaanch ki hai, ye jhumke shudh chandi ke. Inko wapas bhejdijiyega salamat…mai Allah se dua karta hun ki ek din iss pe aapka woh usool lagge ‘jo laye woh hi pehnay’ uss din ke liye inko salamat chhodein.’ 

Rehanna hates how his words pull at her heart. It was a rule she had told him on her birthday when she had moved into the haveli all those months ago. It was her birthday, Rehman had gifted her her payals that day. The platinum, emerald, and diamond payals. Where the diamonds were cut and arranged in the shape of lotuses, where the emeralds were lily pads. She had told him her rule that night ‘jo laye…woh hi pehnaye’. Rehanna swallows down another lump of emotion. 

“Siyahi, Donga” both men look up mid shoveling food in their mouth. “Yeh lejana wapas” she smiles sadly as she stacks the boxes for them to take. They both look at each other with a tentative nod. Rehanna leaves to her kitchen leaving both of them alone in the living room awkwardly. Rehanna returns moments later with a steaming casserole and a filled to the brim thermos that she sets on the table. “Yeh kya hai vakeel sahiba?” asks Siyahi as he wipes his mouth in his handkerchief. 

“Yeh hai Baloch sahab, Faizal, aur Hamza ke liye cudhi aur chawal.” she smiles at them “Humare liye bhi?” asks Donga with a loud burp. “Donga please thodi sharam karlo” Rehanna laughs. Siyahi rolls his eyes at Donga “Vakeel sahiba, Rehman bhai ke liye bhi kaafi hai kya?” asks Siyahi. Rehanna looks away as she responds, Rehman's note crumpling in her hands. “Agar bach jaye toh phir unko bhi khiladena” And with that both Siyahi and Donga took their leave taking Rehman's gifts back and bringing the food Rehanna had just packed them.

—--------------

Today was the fifth day after that fateful night. This morning she had woken up to more gifts at her door from Rehman. Gifts that she didn't even look at before she threw them across the street to where Rehman's car stood waiting. Clockwork. The routine had become clockwork. And like clockwork Rehman had smiled at her as she threw his expensive gifts out the window. 

This moment had become his favorite part of his miserable days. Rehman only had a moment to blow her a kiss before she slammed her window shut. His blown kiss landed on the cold glass instead of her warm cheek or on her soft lips. The moment she was out of view pain coursed through his heart once again. All the joy in his life had gone behind those windows. Rehman sighed as he picked up the gifts strewn on the asphalt and set them in his car. 

Today he didn't linger outside of her window for glimpses of her. It had been five days since the fight and it had been detrimental for his business. Rehanna would kill him when she saw the books again. She would kill him when she saw how in 5 days he had managed to lose 10 lakhs in business. So he set the bags of gifts in his car and drove back to the haveli. 

He walked the gifts into her room and set them with the other bags waiting for her. Her room didn't look like hers anymore. The room had been painted white, furniture was being taken out and some walls were marked for demolition. Rehman had sealed off this entire wing of the haveli. The wing contained his and her room, his and her office, his and her library, nobody was allowed inside the wing. Doors had been shut and drapes had been put up. 

Unbeknownst to everyone else in the haveli, Rehaman had set something in motion, something under top secrecy. Rehman had decided that when she came back everything would be different. He wouldn't spend a moment pretending like they were just boss and employee. The truth would come out.

But it had to be done properly. She deserved it done properly. That's why for the past four nights instead of sleeping a wink he had stayed awake on the phone with an architect. He had messed up how he wanted to tell her he loves her. He would not mess this up.

The loud sound of jackhammers pulls Rehman out of his trance. The sound of construction workers walking by outside discussing blueprints loudly just further solidified what Rehman already knew. Rehman knew she would come back. Or he would die trying to bring her back. 

—---------------

When Rehanna had emerged from her house later that evening after much deliberation. She needed to go to the market to get groceries and things for her house. But she didn't want to risk seeing Rehman. She knew he would corner her and beg to speak to her. She wasn't ready to speak to him, not even after 5 days. Because every thought of him felt like rubbing salt into a fresh wound. 

Warm, happy, domestic, loving memories hit her first. Long walks on the roof after the haveli had gone to sleep where they spoke about everything and nothing at all. Rehman forced her to rest when she was absolutely overdoing herself, unwilling to listen to her pleas of her being almost done. Memories of Rehman hiding something behind his back like a guilty teenager before grabbing her and pulling her into a secluded hallway as he presented to her an intoxicatingly sweet scented gajra for her hair. Memories that made her smile to herself fondly,  and then one cold line. One cold line shattered everything. ‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ 

But she couldn't hide from the possibility of Rehman forever. She took a deep breath as she emerged from her apartment, a scarf wrapped loosely around her head. She walked out onto the street, she didn't take her car, the market was just a few minutes away by walk. Rehanna stopped as soon as she walked out of her gated standalone building. She was surprised to see that Rehman wasn't parked across the street anymore. 

The maroon corvette and the brooding man who was always perched on it for the past five days was gone.On one hand, it felt good that he was gone. On the other hand, not seeing him waiting outside her window hurt more than she wanted to admit. She took a deep breath as she shook herself out of it. 

—--------------

Rehanna had been walking through the market for the past forty five minutes. Her brain had resorted to robotic orders to make sure she wouldn't break down in public. Her brain gave her task by task. Robotic orders and directions to the location of each item on her list. 1 kilo of tomatoes. 1 kilo of potatoes. 1 kilo of onions. 500 grams of bell peppers. 500 grams of beetroot. 5 kilos of rice. 5 kilos of aata. 

The maneuver had worked. She had picked up everything on her list and somehow managed to not think about Rehman once. She counted the cash in her wallet calmly as she juggled bags of produce in her arms. And then she heard it. She heard his dark melodic voice in front of her. She froze to the spot as she looked up to see him. “Meri baat sun Uzair, jaake Wasim khan se payment nikalwa. Chutiya dus lakh dakar ke baitha hai woh sharab ke shipment ke-” Rehman pauses suddenly as he sees Rehanna across from him, the phone he was speaking into almost slips out of his hands. 

Rehanna’s mind goes blank. All it says to her is, don't react, don't react, don't react. Her heart thumps wildly as she sees him this close to her after so many days. He is wearing that baby blue kurta. The one she loves oh so much. The one that makes Rehman look like he belonged to her and not to the streets. 

Rehman watches her like seeing her in public not with him but opposite to him was a sight he had never expected or wanted to see. She wore simple white, she wore a simple white cotton suit without any fuss or design. And yet she still looked like a heaven sent angel who had just happened to wander into a random market. The look in her eyes, the pure look of pain and broken love. It winded Rehman. He cuts the phone call to Uzair and pockets the phone. He opens his mouth to try to speak to her.

Rehanna turns rigid. She looks straight ahead. Ignoring him completely. She places one foot in front of the other. She keeps her eyes focused on a tree in the distance. With significant effort she walks past him. She ignores how her heart slams against her ribcage begging to go to him. She forces herself to take deep breaths through her nose. She forces herself to keep her eyes ahead. She forces herself to forget, at least for the moment, how much she loves him.

All Rehman can think during this moment is where she is walking away from him: Aitbaar badhta hai aur bhi mohabbat ka, jab woh ajnabi ban kar paas se guzarte hain. He can smell her perfume as she walks by him. The amount of love that he looks at her through his eyes is intense enough to make the people nearby sense something in the air. Even as his heart screams at him to fall on his knees in this market and beg for her forgiveness. He looks at her with a simple loving smile that does nothing to hide the pain coursing through him.

—--------------

December 14 @ 7 pm

Major Iqbal Khan’s House, Islamabad, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Je tu akhiyon de samne nahi rehna

Dil pe zakhm khate hain 

The invite had come suddenly and unexpectedly. One morning Rehanna woke up to a knock on her door. She thought that it was one of Rehman's many gifts again. Every single day she had been waking up to more and more of Rehman's gifts. And each and everyday she would take the gifts to her living room window. Like clockwork. Each day she would find Rehman leaning against his maroon corvette, smoking as he looked up at her window. He would see her and smile at her blowing a kiss. Rehanna would barely look at him as she threw the gifts out the window again. 

So when she woke up to a knock on the door she expected it to be more of Rehman's gifts. But much to her surprise it was a letter from Islamabad. In fact it was an invitation from Islamabad. Rehanna ripped open the envelope and read the invitation. The invitation was from Major Iqbal of the ISI. He was inviting Rehanna to a qawali night  at his house tonight. Rehanna blinked in surprise as she read the note again. 

Suddenly her phone rang. Rehanna walked to her phone and lifted it to her ear “Hello? Ji kaun?” She asked as she continued turning over the invitation in her hand. “Asalam walaikum Randhawa madam. Its Iqbal” the dark and brooding voice of Major Iqbal poured through the phone. Before she could speak, Iqbal continued “Aapko abhi abhi mera nyauta mila hoga. Lekin I wanted to call you personally to invite you to the qawali night i am hosting. I do hope you will come” 

—---------

Thats how Rehanna found herself at Major Iqbal's posh Islamabad mansion at seven pm. The large modern mansion with touches of islamic architecture was decorated to the nines. Ornate glass and brass lamps lining the pathway to his house. The driveway was lined with expensive cars belonging to dignitaries, businessmen, rich men, and military officials. Mercedes, bmws, audis galore. All the drivers of those fancy cars coagulated in a corner of the driveway smoking and bitching about their respective bosses.

Rehanna parked her Mercedes in the closest parking spot she could find. She straightened out her embellished velvet salwar kameez set. The deep bruised purple looked almost like midnight black on her until she hit the light. Silver threaded embroidery embellished the cuffs of the 3/4 length sleeves in ornate patterns. The same pattern of embroidery rested around her neck and on the cuffs of her salwar bottoms. The heavily embellished dupatta rested on one shoulder, draping effortlessly across her body. She wore simple silver jutti’s and silver jhumke because with what she was wearing less was more.

Her makeup was minimal, she would have looked heaven sent if she didn't look as dead as she felt on the inside. Her silver juttis sounded softly on the asphalt of the driveway as she walked to Major Iqbal's door. With how dead she felt on the inside she didn't notice the maroon corvette she walked by. 

—--------------

Rehman had received the invite to the event a few days ago. He genuinely hadn't planned to go to the qawali event. He had even called Iqbal personally to express his regrets for not coming to the event. He had a bullshit reason prepared as well, something about a business acquisition deal the same night. Because there was no way Rehman would go to any event without his Rehanna, it would just feel wrong. The gravest sin, second only to making her cry. Rehman had committed one sin, he wasn't going to commit another.  

But when he called Iqbal before he could use his bullshit excuse Iqbal changed his mind. Iqbal mentioned that he hoped to see Both him and Rehanna at the event and he had sent her a personal invitation as well. Rehman RSVP’D yes without a second thought. There was a chance Rehanna would be there. That was a chance he was going to jump on. 

Rehman had arrived at the event an hour ago. As soon as he had arrived and parked he stepped out of his car and began looking for Rehanna's Mercedes. When he didn't see it he reluctantly walked into the event. He had to go in especially now that Iqbal had seen him and called him inside.

Rehman went to the event. He had mingled lightly for half an hour or maybe even forty five minutes. It was clear to everyone speaking to Rehman or even looking at Rehman something was wrong with the man. He looked incomplete and broken. No matter how hard he tried to pretend he was normal. He kept spacing out mid conversation thinking about her, if she was mentioned then his brain stopped violently. It was a mess. Rehman was a mess.

After Rehman had mingled for a polite amount of time he picked up a pour of whiskey from a passing by waiter and walked to the hall where the Qawali artists were sitting and waiting for the event to begin. Rehman found a seat on the cushioned floor along the short side of the rectangular platform the artists were sitting upon. They salamed him out of respect and Rehman returned it. Now it was a waiting game. It was a wait and try not to drown in memories of Rehanna game. 

—------------

Rehman had zoned out staring into the abyss as he nursed his whiskey slowly. People had begun to steadily filter into the room where the artists were set up. The comfortable cushions on the flor were beginning to get occupied. Men and women from different sectors of the world of the rich chatted and laughed amongst themselves as they waited for the qawalli to begin. 

Then suddenly the air changes in the hall. Rehman feels it. Its her. He knows it in every atom of his body. People naturally trail off conversations as they stare at the enchantingly beautiful and broken woman who was walking into the hall. That's all the confirmation Rehman needed. Because thats the effect Rehanna had on a room. That's the effect the love of his life had on the world. 

Rehman watches as she walks into the hall with the grace of a queen. Her sparkle dimmed but her elegance was ever present. The warm lighting of the hall illuminates her salwar kameez in faint flashes of light. On the first flash Rehman catches the strolling silver embroidery on the cuffs of her salwar and along all the borders of her kameez. He sees the way the lamp light elegantly catches her silver jhumke, the light refracting against her neck and jaw. In the second flash of warm lamp light Rehman sees the velvet glow purple against her warmly lit skin.

His breathing stops entirely as he watches her walk into the hall. Beautiful. That's all he could think. In fact he felt like the word beautiful wasn't anywhere close enough to describe her. A litany of adjectives wouldn't be enough to describe the beauty of his darling. Nothing would ever describe how she looked to him. Even in her beauty her sadness was undeniable. It weighed on her like a cloud as she walked to find her seat before the beginning of the show.

Rehanna steps around cushions on the floor as she looks for a seat. She tries incredibly hard to not whip her head around the half dark room. Because she can feel Rehman's heavy presence in the room, watching her. She swallows hard as she pours her focus onto finding a seat. Preferably as close to the musicians as she can get so she can drown herself in the beautiful cacophony of music instead of in her own sadness. 

On the short side of the rectangular stage Rehanna finds a solo seat perfectly isolated from everyone else and it gives her unmatched access to the musicians. Perfect. Rehanna makes her way to the seat and elegantly folds her legs beneath her as she plops down onto the cushioned floor seating. And immediately Rehanna realizes she has made a terrible mistake. She looks up and immediately catches Rehman's eye. He was across the stage from her. The only thing between them was air and the qawali musicians. 

Rehanna looks away immediately like she had just been slapped. She wills the tears to go back into her tear ducts. If not for her sake, at least for the sake of her makeup. For the sake of her kajal which would bleed down her face if she cried. Iqbal comes to her rescue as he addresses the room and begins the program. The lamps dim further so the stage is bathed in an ethereal glow.  She feels Rehman's eyes on her. But she ignores it and him to the best of her abilities.

—---------—----

Same day @ 9:30 pm

The event had been going on for two and a half hours by now. And every moment had been excruciating and exquisite. What was exquisite was the qawali and the skil of the singers. What was exquisite was the atmosphere of Iqbal's mansion and his hospitality. Since the event had began Iqbal had made sure the drink and food never stopped flowing. 

What was excruciating was the feeling of rehman boring his eyes into her soul. What was excruciating was the pure weight of the pain and regret in his eyes that he was loading onto her through his eyes. A constant begging plea of look at me and forgive me. What was excruciating was the burden of her own pain and sadness mixed with the qawali that allowed it to deepen its hold on her and pull it out of whatever box she was trying to pack it away neatly into. 

What certainly wasn't helping was the constant flow of whiskey Rehanna was maintaining in her glass. She had decided if she was going to ruin herself she might as well do it properly. She might as well give herself liver failure. The warm buzz of the whiskey mixed beautifully with her pain and the soulful music. It was the perfect atmosphere to feel your pain in. And my god was she beginning to feel it. 

She drains the whiskey glass once more as the next song begins. Her hand shoots up into the air motioning for one of the waiters to be prompt and come fill her glass with more topshelf whiskey. She sets the glass down beside her, her head leaning back against the cushions as she lets herself sway to the music while she waits for more alcohol. 

“Randhawa madam are you trying to drink my kind hospitality dry?” A dark and gravely voice rumbles by her ear. Rehanna huffs out a laugh as she keeps her eyes closed “Aslamwalikum Major sahab, that is precisely the plan. Aren't you quite smart? You should be named the head of the ISI.” Iqbal sits down next to her with an amused look on his face. A waiter shows up with the bottle of Rehanna’s preferred whiskey once again. Just as the waiter begins to reach down to pour it into her glass Iqbal takes the bottle out of his hands and dismisses him. 

Rehanna watches silently with drink hazed eyes as Iqbal refills her glass for her personally. The amber whiskey poured out of the bottle and into her crystal glass. “Shukriya major sahab” she smiles as she sees Iqbal had automatically poured her a patiala peg instead of the respectable two finger pour. “Randhawa madam isme koi shukriya ki baat nahi hai. Tell me kya aap iss qawali show ko enjoy kar rahi hain?” 

“Ji bilkul. Qawalli mujhe boht pasand hai” she smiles at Iqbal, but even he can see her smile seems to be tainted with sadness. Iqbal nods his head silently as he claps at a brilliant note sung by one of the artists. “Tell me major sahab, did you enjoy your trip to India? Heard you went on some sort of diplomatic mission.” she smiles at him tilting her head. Now it's Iqbal's turn to look at her with slight surprise. “Aap khabar badi achhi rakhti hain Randhawa madam daat toh deni padegi” 

Rehanna chuckles at the backhanded praise. “Friends in high places major sahab…friends in high places” She says as she takes a deep drink of the whisky “You didn't answer me, did you enjoy the trip?” She looks at him with terrible curiosity now. Iqbal runs a hand over his beard as he looks at Rehanna “It was decent. Aapke mulq ki jo diplomatic mission head thi woh kaafi kabil-e-gaur thi I must admit”

Rehanna laughs into her whiskey as she shakes her head knowingly. Iqbal looks at her with more curiosity, he looks at her with a look that practically demands her to explain her amusement. Rehanna turns slightly to look at Iqbal now “Yamini has that effect on people” she grins at Iqbal. If Iqbal feels surprise, which he does, he masks it well enough. “How do you know diplomat Singh?” 

“Diplomat Singh toh woh kaafi wakt ke baad bani thi. I know her in a much different capacity than you do major sahab.” She smiles at Iqbal as memories of her and Yamini play through her mind from their training days. Her in the R&AW offices as a fresher and Yamini in the Indian Foreign Services training offices of the same sector in New Delhi, India. She kept tabs on everyone she cared about back in India. Her closest friends especially. Yamini being one of them and journalist Rashmika Raina being the other who was a journalistic intern at a news office in Delhi at the time. The trio was inseparable. Until they were separated of course. 

Iqbal nods into the distance as he digests the information. “Hmm, this new information puts a lot of things into a new perspective. A lot of things make sense now” He says after a few moments “How so major sahab?” hums Rehanna as she claps along to the music. “You and Yamini are scarily similar in your mannerisms and the way you deal with people...Even that journalist, what was her name? Rashmika Raina.” 

Rehanna grins as she looks at Iqbal, her hands continue clapping to the beat absentmindedly “You really are the well deserved head of the ISI Major Sahab” she says with amusement tinged with slight sarcasm. Iqbal barks a laugh at the slight that she is aiming at him. His golden tooth flashes quickly in the low light of the lamps. Rehanna laughs along with him. Iqbal shakes his head at her, flashing a look at her before he gets up and walks away wordlessly. 

—---------

Same day @ 10:30 pm

Rehanna’s skin had begun to crawl now. She felt him constantly. She felt Rehman's eyes on her constantly. It was getting more and more difficult to not look at him or acknowledge him. It was taking everything in her to not look at Rehman. What certainly didn't aid her case was the constant progression of sadder and sadder songs from the artists. The ones that spoke of heartbreak and longing. 

To both of them each lyric felt like their story. Like the artists were singing about them, for them. Rehman stared at her fom the other side of the stage. Like he was begging her to acknowledge that every heartbroken song was about them. Little did Rehman know there was no need for acknowledgement from Rehanna. She felt it as much as he did. 

The qawali crescendos as the artist sings “Je tu akhiyan de samne nahi rehna te biba sada dil mod de, Mai jaan ke cheez bagani nu kyun apni cheez banah baithi. Dil deke tenu be darda mai umar di chinta la baithi. Je tu akhiyan de samne nahi rehna te biba sada dil mod de”

The air in the room is so intense that even rehanna’s iron will can't fight it anymore. Her eyes flick to Rehman's to find him already watching her. Just like she knew he would be. The lyrics pull at her heartstrings and the tears that she had barely held back the entire night push one tear forward. She can't stop the heartbreaking smile on her face as she looks at rehman. One tear rolls down her cheek. 

Rehman's stomach lurches violently and suddenly he can't seem to bear his own existence. His eyes flick down to his lap. Because it was this very existence of his that was causing her pain. He was the cause of her tears. Rehman swallows the last of his burning whiskey and by the time he looks up again Rehanna is gone. He sees deep purple velvet whisper in the air as she disappears out a door. She was gone. 

—---------------

December 15 @ 1 AM in the morning 

Faizal’s Room, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Kaun tujhe 

Bulleya

Mat ja re

Naina more taras gaye

Rehman kneeled by his son's bed. His brows furrowed as his hands felt the boy’s burning forehead and cheeks. Faizal cooed and writhed in discomfort. His eyes fluttered as he groaned. “Salma bi, thermometer laye jaldi se!” called Rehman gruffly towards the door. Salma bi the old maid rushes into the room with the thermometer in her hands.

Rehman takes it from her hands and gently places his hand under Faizal's chin. “Faizal beta apna muh kholo” Rehman says as gently as he can through his worry. His stomach twisting with the pain only a father can feel when they can't immediately take away their child's anguish. Faizal parts his lips with a ragged breath and Rehman places the thermometer under his tongue.  Within moments the thermometer beeps to let Rehman know it was done with the reading.

Salma bi gasps “Haye Allah! Ek sau teen?” Faizal had a 103 degree fever. Rehman bit back a curse as he saw his son burning with fever. “Abbu” groans Faizal in his feverish delirium. “Haan beta mai yahin hun, abbu yahin pe hain fikar mat karo sab theek hojaega” Rehman kisses his son’s forehead. His lips immediately heated up against the flushed skin. 

“Salma bi! Jaldi se thanda paani aur ek rumal leke ayie!” orders Rehman as he holds Faizal's hand, his other hand gently brushing back the hair from his sweat slicked forehead. Salma nods as she rushes away. The room is now empty except for the boy with a burning fever and his anxious father. Faizal’s eyes open slightly, his head weakly turning to Rehman as he whispers “Mummy kahan hai?” 

Rehman blinks for a second. He didn't think that Faizal would remember Ulfat after so many years. The boy never mentioned her or showed any inclination or interest in wanting to know his mother. But maybe the high degree of the fever was making him seek maternal comfort. From the part in his brain that still remembered his mother. Ulfat. Rehman began speaking slowly “Beta ammi lahore me hai…Naieem bhayia ke sath” He ended by pressing another kiss to his son's forehead. 

“Nahi!” Protests Faizal with what little strength he has left in his fever weakened state. For a moment Rehman thinks that Faizal is still upset about Ulfat. Before he can speak soothing words to him, Faizal shatters Rehman's reality. “Nahi abbu. Ammi nahi…Rehanna mummy” The boys eyes flutter shut with another shaky breath “Mujhe Rehanna mummy chahiye”

Rehman feels a part of him die and decompose in this very moment. A shaky breath leaves Rehman. Faizal thought of Rehanna as his mother. Not just a mother figure. To Faizal, Rehanna was his mother. And he. He had taken that away from him again. The first time wasn't entirely his fault. Ulfat leaving him was more due to circumstances. But Rehanna leaving….Rehanna leaving was entirely his fault. 

His son was writhing with a high fever. Rehman would scour the ends of the earth for anything to bring his son relief. But at this moment Rehman felt helpless. He was afraid he couldn't fulfill his son's request. He was afraid that Rehanna wouldn't even come to the haveli to meet Faizal. Salma bi returned with a bowl of cool water and a cloth. Immediately she soaked the cloth in the water. She rang out the excess water before placing it on Faizal's head. The boy whimpered in discomfort.

Rehman slowly got off his knees. He walked towards the door of the bedroom. His hands went to his cigarette box. He pulled one out and lit it as soon as the door shut behind him. Uzair stood waiting in the hallway, close to nodding off against the wall. The sharp click of the door snapped him awake again. “Bhai Faizal theek ahi kya?” said Uzair in concern while he stifled a yawn. 

Rehman didn't reply exactly. He simply looked at Uzair and said “Uzair, Vakeel Sahiba ko bulake la. Unhe bol ki Faizal unhe iss halat me yaad kar raha hai.” The look in Rehman's eyes told Uzair to either come back with her or to not come back at all.  Uzair swallowed with a nod as he accepted the mission “Ji bhai”

—-------

Rehanna didn't think twice when she saw Uzair at her door. She only needed to hear “Vakeel Sahiba, Faizal!” and she put on her chappal and wrapped a heavy shawl around her shoulders. As she locked her door and rushed out of the apartment building with Uzair. Not even bothering to change out of her short sleep shorts and simple shirt. Within moments she sits on the back of Uzair’s motorcycle. The cold December air was freezing her to the bone but she didn't care. Faizal needed her.

Uzair maps the 20 minute way in 10 minutes flat as he weaves through the dark streets of Lyari. Rehanna held on to him tight as they weaved through the streets. Within moments they reach the Haveli. Rehanna hops off the bike and rushes into the awaiting building. She runs through the memorized halls, Raja and Sultan barking at her heels, tails wagging, She is back. 

Rehman looks up as he hears the dogs bark. It's her. She came. Wrapped in a shawl, her hair messy from the motorcycle ride. Eyes wide in concern, she looks like she ran out of the house. Her beautiful legs were covered in goosebumps from the cold December chill. Rehman ashes the cigarette under his chappal as he walks to her. Her eyes wont look at him and she is the only thing he sees. He takes a shaky breath as he looks at her properly, she was back in his haveli “Meri ja-” 

Rehanna brushes past him ignoring him completely as she sees Salma bi walk out of Faizal's room. “Salma bi!” she calls out. The older woman gasps in happy surprise. She rushes to Rehanna and places a hand to her cheek. “Rehanna beta aap aagayi wapas?” Rehanna swallows as she ignores the question “Salma bi Faizal kahan hai? Faizal theek hai?” 

Salma updates her on the fever and the current condition of the boy. Rehanna nods gravely as she asks Salma bi to go prepare some warm kadha for Faizal. Salma nods as she rushes to the kitchen to start on the medicinal brew. Rehanna rushes into Faizal's room. She throws off her shawl onto the floor as she rushes to his bedside. 

Rehman follows behind her, as if he was pulled by an invisible string. He had veered her voice after all these days and his ears were rejoicing. More. He needed to hear more of her voice. She sits by Faizal's head, her hands checking his forehead. Rehanna gasps. The boy was burning. Faizal seems to sense her; he nuzzles towards her touch. “Faizal beta mai hun…tabaiat kaisi hai aab?” she asks gently as she brushes his hair back soothingly

Faizal groans as he turns his weak body so he was laying in her lap now his arms wrapped around her thighs. “Mummy..” he groans weakly. Rehanna freezes for a moment. He called her mummy. Faizal called her mummy. That's what she meant to the boy that she cared for like her son. Ever since she had met Faizal she had seen him as her son. And now this was just confirmation her ears deeded but her heart already had. A smile pulls on her face which immediately saddens.

Rehman sees this. In fact he had watched the entire interaction carefully from across the room. His heart clenched painfully when her smile saddened. For a moment he begged in his heart. Please look at me. She doesn't look at him. Instead her hands reach for the cold water and cloth. She begins gently soothing Faizal's fever, humming a gentle tune under her breath that immediately soothes the boy noticeably. The furrow he had held in his brow for the past many minutes dissolving completely as her presence made him feel better. 

Faizal nuzzles into her legs more. “Mummy?” he asks softly. “Haan beta?” hums Rehanna as she wrings out the cloth again. She loves the way Faizal calls her mom. “Aap mujhe kyun chhod ke chali gayi thi?” he rasps in his strained voice. Rehanna's hands freeze. A tear drips down her cheek. Rehman freezes too.

For the first time that night Rehanna looks at Rehman. Her eyes hold an immeasurable heartbreak. The kind that stabs Rehman in the heart like a wooden stake. “Beta mai tumhe chhod ke nahi gayi thi” she begins, her voice trembling slightly as she wipes Faizal’s face and neck with the cool cloth. “Mai kisi aur ko chhod ke gayi thi. Usko chhod ke gayi thi jisko mujhse nafrat hai. Mai usko chhod ke hai thi jisne mera dil toda hai.”

She looks at Rehman long enough to cement her point then she looks away. The moment she looks away Rehman closes his eyes painfully and looks to the ground. Rehanna heeds him no attention, focusing her entire energy on Faizal. The little boy curls up further in her lap and she can feel how his body still burns against her bare legs. 

“Mummy ek kahani sunado” Faizal murmurs tiredly. Rehanna presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. She takes away the now heated damp cloth and soaks it in the cold water once again. Rehanna didn't know where to start with a story, many classic stories ran through her mind but none of them felt right for the moment. She feels Rehman's eyes on her. And suddenly she has an idea. She hums with a sigh as she begins the story “Ek baar ek mulq ki shehzaadi ko ek dusre mulq me bheja jaata hai.” 

“Uss naye mulq me shehzaadi ko ek khunkhar khaufnaak shehenshah milta hai, lekin woh sachai nahi hai. Asal me woh shehenshah dil ke bohot achhe hain. Aur jab woh dono sath me hote hain. Aisa lagta hai ki poori qaynaat unko ek hona dekhna chahata hai…” She trails off as she looks at Faizal fondly. She can feel Rehman's eyes on her. She can feel his piercing stare. “Shehzadi ko shehensha se pyaar hogaya tha. mohabbat hogayi thi.” She turns to look at Rehman. 

The look in her eyes roots Rehman to the spot. This was the response to what he had blurted out days ago. Days ago when he had gone to apologize to her the morning after Rehman's monumental cock up, he had accidentally blurted out that he loves her. She hadn't said anything to him then. This was her answer to that. She loves him. She loves him too. His heart soars, joy floods through him. And then the look in her eyes stops him. Then her words slap him across the face. Pyaar hogaya tha. mohabbat hogayi thi. Tha. Thi. She loved him. In the past tense. 

Rehanna watches Rehman's face carefully. He opens his mouth and takes an inhale like he wants to speak but Faizal interrupts. “Mummy aage kya hua phir?” murmured Faizal looking up at Rehanna expectantly. Rehanna placed another cold cloth on his forehead. She sniffed back a tear that threatened to escape as she continued the story that most definitely wasn't based on true events. 

—----------

Same day @ 4 am 

Over the last few hours clouds had rolled into Lyari. The bright winter moon had been covered by them. A deeper darkness had taken hold of the sky. By four o'clock in the morning Faizal's fever had finally broken. Rehanna hadn't left his side for a moment. She was there constantly telling him stories, placing many cold compresses on his forehead, holding him close, and massaging his aching legs.

After three grueling hours his fever had finally broken and Faizal had fallen into a deep sleep. Rehman had stayed in the room the entire time. Along with him the dogs, Sultan and Raja, stayed attached to Rehanna as she sat next to Faizal. Raja rested his head on her feet, Sultan flopped down against her calves. 

Rehanna sighed in relief kissing his sleeping forehead once more as she wrapped her shawl around herself once again “Bye beta” she whispered to Faizal as she stood up gently untangling from where his arms had wrapped around her. The dogs seemed to realize what was going on. They realized she was about to leave. They whimpered as they nudged her with their noses. Rehanna crouched down to their level. Sultan licked her cheek. “Mai ghar jaa rahi hun ab…mujhe jaana padega. Mujhe maaf kardo” she whispered as she kissed both dogs. 

Rehanna stood up once more as she walked towards the door to Faizal’s bedroom. Rehman scrambled to his feet as he followed her out of the room. Uzair had been having a conversation in the hallway with the maids and immediately perked up as he saw her approach. “Areh Vakeel sahiba sab theek hai? Faizal theek hai?”

“Haan haan, Faizal ka bukhar toot gaya hai. Ab woh aramse sogaya hai.” She sighed wearily as she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders tighter. Her bare legs brushed together to fight against the chill of the early winter morning. Uzair nodded, his hands on his hips as he mulled over the information. “Chaliye ab mai chalti hun..kaafi der hogayi” she sighs as she smiles at Uzair. 

Uzair immediately frowns. “Nahi nahi aap kahi nahi jaengi. Bhai kuch boliye!” He turns to Rehman for support. Rehman stands in front of Rehanna, he takes a breath before he starts speaking. Trying to pour all of his love through his eyes and his words. Trying his hardest to not break down into begging. “Vakeel Sahiba. Kaafi der hogayi hai, aap soi bhi nahi. Thoda araam karlijiye phir dekhte hain.” 

Uzair nods in solidarity with his brother. Rehanna shuts her eyes briefly as she swallows hard. Every second in Rehman's vicinity was difficult. She wanted to cry and scream and ask him how he could hate her. She wanted to ask how he could do that to her if he says he loves her. She inhales deeply as she fixes a smile on her face. She pretends nobody spoke as she looks at Uzair  “Toh chaliye mai chalti hun Baloch Sahab, Faizal ke bare me update dete rehna mujhe please.” She pats Uzair's arm as she walks by him. Her shawl brushed by Rehman and he inhales deeply. 

As she disappears down the hallway Uzair turns to Rehman, “Bhai unko rokiye, bohot hogaya hai” Rehman runs a hand through his hair in frustration “Tujhe kya lagta hai ki mai itne dinon se kya karne ki koshish kar raha hun bhenchod?!” Rehman sighs “Tu idhar ruk. Mai jaata hun phirse baat karne ki koshish karta hun” 

—---------------------

Authors note: Please listen to Barse/ Naina by Rumi, Chayan

Rehanna chooses not to walk out through the haveli. She needs air. So she takes the side door out towards the garden. The cold December air whips around her bare legs. A shiver runs up her spine. The dew soaked garden lets out its intoxicating scent. A bird chirps in the distance. She stops for a moment and looks out at the dark garden. A few days ago she was dancing while crying in the rain. And Rehman had picked up the broken pieces of her and put her back together. 

Now she was broken. And this time Rehman wasn't there to pick up the pieces, because he was the one who had held the hammer. Rehanna sighs wearily as she looks out at the garden again. A happy memory invades her. 

It was sunset a few weeks ago, the weather had been lovely so Rehanna had been reading a book in the garden. Laying on a blanket under the shade of the large mango tree. Rehman had walked to her as he smoked. For a moment he just watched her. Then it seemed as if the devil had taken over him and he grabbed her and had her against that very mango tree. Rehanna had enjoyed that moment a lot, because while she looked around frantically hoping that nobody came by. Rehman muttered into her skin like a crazed man saying he hoped someone caught them. 

He fucked her hard enough to make the tree shake. Some leaves falling off the branches. The loving words he muttered in her ear made her cheeks burn and butterflies erupt in her stomach as she held onto him for dear life, ignoring the way her back was getting scratched up by the trunk of the tree. The book fell to the ground as her hands tangled in his hair to kiss him hard enough to take away Rehman's breath.  

She was so happy then. And now each happy moment she remembered was poisoned by certain words. ‘Nafrat karta hun mai tumse’ A shaky exhale leaves her as she forces herself to look away from the mango tree under which she had many happy memories. Clouds roll over head as the cold air hits her cheeks. 

“Rehanna! Meri jaan!” She turns and sees Rehman walking towards her. Rehanna looks at him for just a moment before she turns on her heel and walks away.

Kajal Hai Faila Jaye 

Mann Aiso Kyun Murjhaye 

Kis Se Ye Dukh Hai Main Kahun 

Aanchal Main Bandhi Hai Jo 

Kasmein Tumhari Hai Woh 

Kaise Zehar Yeh Mein Piyun 

Rehman rushes forward, his hand reaching forward to grab her wrist. Rehanna gasps as she feels the warm weight of his hand on her wrist. She turns and finds herself face to face with Rehman. He holds her eyes as he holds her hand and bends his head to kiss the back of her hand. A sound of shock leaves her throat before she can stop it. She can feel the apology on his lips as they brush the skin of her hand.

His lips pull away from her skin reluctantly. He touches his forehead to her hand like he was begging for forgiveness and praying to the highest power in the universe. Rehanna freezes. On one hand she wants to pull away and slap him. On the other hand she isn't able to bring herself to move or speak. Her hand moves slightly in his grip. Thunder rolls in the distance. Lightning flashes in the sky. The scent of petrichor in the distance filling their noses. 

He lifts his head up and brings her hand over his heart. “Meri jaan mujhe maaf kardo” he says in a voice that sounds like it was dragged through hell. Rehanna looks at him. It's clear Rehman hasn't slept properly in days. Faint dark circles bloom under his eyes, his eyes look exhausted and grief stricken. She can feel his beating heart and warm chest below her fingers. She can feel the expensive cotton material of his kurta beneath her palm. He expects her to speak. Each second between them drags like a century. 

Then Rehman shocks her by sinking onto his knees. The marble stone was cold beneath his knees. Her hand still rests in his as he looks up at her like she is his saving grace. He brings his lips to her hand again pressing a reverent kiss on each knuckle. “Kamse kam yun khamosh naa rahiye. Mai darkhuast karta hun ki aap kuch toh bolein meri jaan” Thunder rumbles closer to them now. The wind billows wildly, trees shake, and flower pots fall over. 

Sajna Teri Yaad Ki Maari Main Toh Bhul Baithi Saari Duniya 

Ankhiyan Kahin Chain Na Pave Kaise Guzri Hai Tum Bin Ratiyan 

Sajna Teri Yaad Ki Maari Main Toh Bhul Baithi Saari Duniya 

Ankhiyan Kahin Chain Na Pave Kaise Guzri Hai Tum Bin Ratiyan 

Rehanna watches him carefully. The desperation, the remorse, the grief. All of it written on his being. He wanted to hear her speak? Fine then. She would speak. Her lips part with a shaky exhale. Words she wants to scream bubble through her. She silences them inside of her as she says something cold enough to freeze lava. Rehanna leans forward slightly, her face ever so slightly closer to his. “Aapne bola ki aap humse nafrat karte hain.” she whispers coldly.

This. This was the first thing she had said to him after the fight. Her melodious and beautiful voice slices through Rehman even if she was saying words that shattered him. As soon as her words end the sky breaks open. Torrents of rain fall from the sky. Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes. Wind pushes the rain sideways to spray both of them slightly even under the cover of the Verandha. 

“Mujhe maaf kardo” he whispers hoarsely “Meri zindagi ki sabse aitihasic ghalti thi woh. Unke lafzson ko apne zehen me baithne dena, jin lafzon ko mai ratti bhar bhi nahi maanta, sharab ne mere muh se nikalwadi.” He begs her to believe his words with his eyes. “Mujhe khud yakin nahi ho raha hi maine keh kaise diya woh aapko. Nafrat mai aapse kabhi bhi nahi karsakta kyunki asli nafrat mai apne aapse karta hun”  

Piya Ji Tadpao Na Yun Humko Rulaao Na 

Naina Bheege Jaise Saavan Barse 

Piya Ji Tadpao Na Yun Humko Rulaao Na 

Naina Bheege Jaise Saavan Barse 

She laughs as she wipes away the fresh tears in her eyes. “Ab bol toh diya aapne… aur uske uppar aapne boldiya nikaljao MERI haveli se?” She tilts her head at him “Nafrat ek baat hai… aur kisi ko dafa karna woh alag baat hai” She hisses at him as she fights the lump of tears in her throat. “Aap har baar mujhse bolte the ki ye ab mera bhi ghar hai. Aapne mujhe mere hi ghar se nikal diya? Meri izzat ki, mere aapki vakeel hone ki. DONO ki aapne dhajiya udadi ek hi second me!” She barks out a laugh of disbelief as she snatches her hand away from his grip. Torrential rain pours around them. “Aur mai aapko maaf kardun?” 

Rehman breaths shakily from his knees. He expected this. But hearing her pain, that he caused her, from her own mouth hurt more than he had anticipated. The tears dripping down her face illuminated by sporadic lightning made her look hauntingly beautiful. Even her sadness was beautiful. Rehman held her knees in desperation, he touched his forehead to her knees. Telling her that he was at her mercy now. “Meri rooh, meri jaan, ab aur na tadpao. Wapas aa jayie. Mujhe puri zindagi maafi mangne dijiye” 

Rehanna didn't stop her tears, now they flowed down her face in long rivers. The laugh that ripped through her sounded wrong, it sounded pained and animalistic and soaked with tears. Her hand gently raked through Rehman's hair. He pulled his forehead away from her knees. He looked wrecked, his eyes glossy. He shivered against her hand when he felt her hand in his hair. Her nails dragged along his scalp in the most perfect way. He groaned into her touch, the most comforting thing he has felt in 15 days. “Aap mujhse mohabbat karte the na?”

“KARTA HUN, be-had, be-intehan, aisi mohabbat karta hun mai aapse” his chin trembles slightly as he looks at her like the mere idea of her thinking that he used to love her was painful. He nuzzles his head into her warm palm that now rested against his cheek. She huffs out a laugh from her nose as she rolls her eyes. She bites her tongue to prevent herself from screaming at him that she loves him too. She takes a deep breath “Toh phir, yun humko rulao na” she says coldly as she looks at him with a painfully cold look.

Roka Nahin hai tumhein jao jahan dil kahe 

Jogi Mein Teri Hi Rahun 

Suni Nigaahein Meri Soyi Na Raatein Koi Kaise Intezaari Main Sahun

Piya Ji Tadpao Na Yun Humko Rulaao Na Naina Bheege 

Jaise Saavan Barse

Rehanna pulls her entire body away from him. A ripple of mind numbing pain rips through both of them. A shaky gasp leaves Rehanna, her lip trembling as she can't stop the choked sob that leaves her throat. Her mind barks orders at her. Move. Back away. Don't fall for the look on his face. Don't fall into his arms and sob again. Don't do it. Her feet slowly but surely back her away. Her eyes force her to watch the pained expression on his face before her brain forces her to completely turn away. 

Rain lashes the haveli as she walks down the covered verandah. She steps out into the rain, wrapping her shawl around her head uselessly. She turns to look at the broken husk of Rehman still on his knees, still on the floor, still watching her. Cold December winter rain soaks her within seconds. As the rain soaks her Rehanna feels her hot tears mix with the cold rain water. She forces herself to look away before she runs back to his arms again. She forces herself to walk away again. Even if it ripped her to shreds. 

—----------------

December 25 @ 1 pm

Rehman’s Office, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan

Segment suggested songs: No particular order

Jee Karda- Rock version

Ae dil hai mushkil

Saiyaara- From the movie saiyaara

Rehman is getting desperate now. Everyone can see it and even he knows it. He is consumed by thoughts of her day and night. At night he doesn't sleep because he thinks about her, when he falls asleep he dreams of her, when he wakes up he reaches across the bed to pull her close, then he hates himself for the rest of the day until sleep forces his hand. He can see her now. He can see her infront of his eyes like a fucked up mirage. Twenty five days without her had ruined him.

He sits in his office like the king he is. Cigarettes piled in the ashtray, packs and packs. He was chainsmoking constantly. If Rehanna was here she would chastise and scold him for the terrible habit of chainsmoking. His eyes flick over to the sofa set that she used to sit and work on before he gifted her the office across from his. He can see her there now. Her hair pulled back into a messy bun as she pours over papers. Her eyes narrowed to focus on something. Rehman smiles at the empty air.

Rehman takes a drag off of his cigarette. Down the hall bricks and construction tools clatter. Rehman has learned to ignore it. Every member of the haveli constantly asks him what he had been doing there but Rehman never responded straight. He always told them to wait and watch. The main construction of what he was renovating was done. Now it was time for the decor and aesthetics. Rehman shuts his eyes with a smile. He imagined Rehannas reaction already. She will be so happy when she comes back home to him. His jaan would be home soon. He knew it in his soul. 

“R-Rehman bhai” Stutters out a mousy looking bespectacled man who was seated in front of Rehman. The man clears his throat and returns to his normal voice “Agar aapne faisla kar liya hai toh phir kagazat shuru karein?” Rehman's eyes flick lazily to the man sitting before him. The look is cold and cruel. The looks Rehman Dakait was known to give. The kind that made men freeze. But there was a different anger in it. An anger that only Rehman knew the meaning of. How dare anybody interrupt thoughts of her. 

“Haan. Kagazat banaiye vakeel sahab” He says coldly. Rehman was getting desperate now. This was low even for him. He knew it. And still he is saying yes. Rehanna wasn't responding to any of his attempts and now the sadness and pain was turning into frustration and anger. He had fucked up yes, but this was dragging out. Rehman needed to figure out a way to get her mad enough to fully confront him without shutting down coldly. This is all he could think about.

The lawyer sitting in front of him, Waheed Qatra, nods with a barely concealed grin. This was the moment he was waiting for. His hands fumble slightly as he reaches for his briefcase. From within it he pulls papers for Rehman to sign. One termination notice. One hiring contract. “Mujhe pata tha ki aap haan bolenge bhai. Maine kagaz pehle se kagaz bana diye hain”

He hands the papers to Rehman. Rehman signs them without looking too hard. He doesn't want to take the chance of backing out of his decision. 

Waheed chuckles warmly “Bas bas Rehman bhai, kaam hogaya. Aaj se Rehanna Randhawa aapki vakeel nahi hai. Aapne sahi faisla liya hai” Waheed packs the papers away carefully “Kitni unprofessional ha woh. Mai hamesha se jaanta tha. Kaun apne client ko pacchis din ke liye ignore karta hai? Chee chee chee”

Rehman barely hears it. If he had he would have strangled the man at the disrespect of Rehanna. He just hopes his plan works. Because he had just fired his lawyer and the love of his life. And he had just hired her biggest rival. Hoping she got angry enough to come back to him.

—----------------------------

Same day @ 3 pm

Rehanna Randhawa’s apartment, Hindu colony, Lyari, Pakistan

Today was Christmas but Rehanna knew she was an idiot hoping for some kind of Christmas miracle. She knew that as she went about her day. In fact she had a feeling that something really very shitty was about to happen today. Rehanna scrolls lazily through her phone. Hoping for some random thing or the other would catch her eye and distract her. 

Because she had imagined her first Christmas with Rehman. She would have taught him all about the holiday. She can imagine how he would grumble about the impracticality of the holiday like an old man. Saying that it makes children soft to believe a fat red man brings them presents magically. She would have teased him saying he was just upset because he was most definitely on the naughty list and wasn't getting a present. He would have been grumpy and begrudging but Rehanna knew he would secretly enjoy everything. She also knew Rehman would have taken it upon himself to be Santa for the entire haveli. 

Rehanna groans in pain as she shakes her head trying to pull herself out of thoughts of him. Rehanna had never been hung up on a man. Mostly because now that she thinks about it she never really truly loved anyone she had been in a relationship with. Twenty five days and the mere thought of him still pained her soul. R&AW ate gaalis from her on a daily basis because this was entirely their fault. It was entirely their fault that she had fallen in love.  

Suddenly there is a knock on her door and a terrible feeling brews inside of her. She gets up and goes to open the door. Rehanna blinks in surprise. God she hates it when she is right. 

In front of her stands Waheed Qatra, an absolute bastard who just so happens to be a lawyer. Waheed had been a lawyer at the Karachi high court where Rehanna had worked for a year before meeting Rehman. Waheed was a bastard of the highest order who always stepped over her, blocked her, tried to undercut her and ruin her cases in front of the judges. “Merry Christmas Randhawa” Waheed grins as he hands her a file. 

“You are the opposite of a merry christmas Qatra” she deadpans as she takes the file from his hands. “Save your jabs until after you read that file Randhawa” he leans against her doorway. Rehanna quirks a brow at him as she flips open the file. She can't believe the words she is reading. The world tilts violently; she has to force herself to take a breath. 

Rehman was firing her. Rehman was firing her and had her on a 10 day retainer. Those 10 days honestly felt comedic more than anything. A strange and painful cocktail of emotions brew inside of her. The words on the page make no sense to her as her eyes water and blur. She was being fired for breach of contract. 

Apparently she had ignored her duties for twenty five days with no formal reason. Formal reason? Rehman wanted a formal reason? How could she submit a formal reason when he was the reason? Rehanna has a strong urge to stomp over to the haveli and give him a piece of her mind. That feeling dissolves as she sees his signature at the bottom of the page. 

Rehman had decided. He was going to fire her. Who was she to deny him that? Who was she to deny him the easy way out. Waheed watches her read the document carefully, the shitty smile on his face keeps growing second by second. “Pen chahiye?” he grins, holding it out to her. Rehanna doesn't speak as she takes the pen from Waheed. Betrayal and heartbreak flows through her so hard she doesn't even understand or comprehend it anymore. She holds the page up against her door and signs the page. 

She hands it to Waheed. Who takes it and puts it back into his briefcase. He can see she looks wounded and kicked. Most definitely in shock. “Do you want to know who he hired?” he asks. Rehanna nods as she fights back any display of emotion. Waheed grins “Rehman bhai fired you…And he hired me” Rehanna swallows hard as she slams the door shut on Waheed’s face. She can hear his laughter as he leaves. She can feel the numbness clawing at her again. Christmas is ruined. 

—---------------------------

Same day @ 4 pm

Rehman’s Office, Baloch Haveli, Lyari, Pakistan

Rehman can't believe it. He stares at the papers in his hand with a slacked jaw. He can't believe it. Rehman always loved seeing her signature next to his on all papers. He loved seeing her name next to his name. Her elegant and swirly letters next to his comparatively shit handwriting. It always made him smile internally. How even though they were different, they looked beautiful next to each other.

But seeing her signature on these papers instead of her beautiful angry face in front of him shattered everything Rehman was trying to do. She didn't come to argue with him, she didn't yell at him. Everything he had banked on had just dissolved the floor under his feet. Rehanna had signed the termination contract. She was no longer his lawyer. 

She no longer had any reason to remain in Rehman's life and to make matters worse Rehman had attached a fuck you with the event. Rehman had hired her rival as his new lawyer. It was a fuck you he didnt mean, but it was a fuck you he had sent anyways. He sank into his chair holding a hand over his mouth.

What had he done? And how had he managed to make it worse? 

And most importantly how was he going to bring her back? 

HOW DO WE FEEL EVERYBODY?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[texting]

Uzair: HI! Hamza: Hey! Uzair: HOW ARE YOU? Hamza: i m great! but why r u typing in capitals? Uzair: YOU SAID YOU HATED SMALL TALK SO I MADE IT BIG JUST FOR YOU:) Uzair: HAMZA? Uzair: WHY AREN'T YOU REPLYING? Hamza: bhai, its Rizwan. hamza bhai is currently crying.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Uzair: can i go ride my skateboard outside? Rehman: whatever, I'm not your mother. *uzair runs off* Rehman: NOT IN THE STREET!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ulfat: where's Faizal? Naieem: doing stuff. Ulfat: don't like the sound of that. Where's Rehman? Naieem: stopping Faizal from doing stuff. Ulfat: Uzair? Naieem: stopping baba from stopping Faizal doing the stuff. Ulfat: and you? Naieem: distracting you so Faizal can do the stuff.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Uzair: Hamza, what's your type? Hamza: tall, dumb, looks like a puppy, Pakistani, muscular and plays football a lot. Uzair: wow, that's very specific. Is it someone i know? Hamza: did I mentions dumb? Uzair: yeah. Hamza: alright, just checking.

*later*

Uzair, in the middle of the night: oh my god, hamza has a crush on Siyahi!!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rehman: why are your shoes wet? Uzair: there was a puddle Rehman: why did you step in it? Uzair, pouting: it was a puddle.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rehman: can you at least try and see this from my perspective? Hamza: *crouches down* Uzair: *kneels* Rehman: *takes out his pistol*

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yalina: I'm having problems with a guy. Rehman: 'his dead body won't fit in the back of my car' problem or 'i like him' problem. Yalina: i like him. Rehman: too bad, i could have helped with the other one.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Uzair: you played me like a fiddle! Hamza: no, fiddles are actually quite difficult to play. Hamza: i played you like the cheap kazoo you are.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Uzair: fear me Hamza: breed you? Uzair: no "fear" me Hamza, taking off clothes: yeah, yeah breed you, i got it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Airport security: no liquid on the plane please. Uzair: okay *starts drinking it* Airport security: Airport security: people usually just throw away the shampoo.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rehman: man, sure is dark in here Ulfat: Rehman: I'm not scared or anything. Ulfat: Rehman: I mean who is scared of the dark these days? not me for sure Ulfat: do you want me to hold your hand? Rehman: yes please

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Uzair: [lifting wights] Hamza: wow....he's so intense! Rizwan: i wonder what drives him??? Uzair: [internally] I'm going to be so good at giving hugs.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rehman: kissing burns 6.4 calories per minute, you wanna try it out? Aslam: are you calling me fat?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rehman: *walks into Uzair's room* hey Uzu, do you know- Uzair: *awkwardly lying in bed under the covers, face red, and slightly out of breath* what's up? Rehman: ... Rehman: Hamza's under the bed isn't he? Hamza: *muffled from beneath the bed* no...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faizal: can i have candy? Rehman: what did Ulfat say? Faizal: no. Rehman: then why would i let you? Faizal: she's not the boss of you. Rehman: *internally* its a trap, its a trap.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yalina: i dare you to kiss the next person coming in the room. Hamza: no way i am going to kiss anyone in here- Uzair, walks in the room: hello Hamza: well a dare is a dare, only a coward turns back.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rehman knew he should have just taken the main road back home. But maybe it was fate or one of those infinitely strange ways the universe worked that had him choosing a narrow alley instead which cut across and opened into the street where his modest lodgings or rather, his late uncle’s humble abode resided. 

The night was bearing down on him and the streets were almost empty. Lyari was lumbering in the shadows like a beast waiting for its unsuspecting prey, its rank breath fuming down his neck. 

But Rehman Baloch had lived on these lanes and breathed the odour of destitute crime and forgettable lifespans since he was just a scamp dreaming of crowns and battles. And now he was one of the most dangerous men in these parts. 

Haji Laloo’s right hand and the terror of the pathan gang. 

Just this last week, Lyari had risen to one of the most violent altercations between the Baloch gang and Babu Dakait’s hounds of hell. Rehman had torn through their territory in Agra Taj like a bloodthirsty orca through a pod of hapless dolphins. He knew that though the Pathans had slinked back into their holes, licking at their wounds, sneering and huffing, they were lying in wait for him to make one mistake. 

And they would jump at him immediately. 

Rehman had smirked when Donga had declared very flamboyantly that, “the old fool has set a bounty on your head, Rehman Bhai.”

“Let him set as many as he wants, both of us know that his money would be safe”, he had sneered. 

A sudden scruffing noise brought Rehman’s focus to the darkness collected at the narrow strip of space between two dilapidated houses, barely holding onto its respective foundation. There was a large waste disposal container, opened and brimming with almost a month's worth of filth that the municipality had conveniently forgotten to clear. 

Anyone who hadn’t lived in this decrepit town would have gagged on the unbearable stink that was emanating in the dirty alley. But Rehman didn’t even shrink his nose. 

He could see movement behind the dump. 

Had the Pathans chosen to jump him in Baloch territory?

That would be incredibly foolish. It would start a war that Babu knows he cannot afford right now with the elections above head and the PAP politicians breathing down his neck. Then was it just a mongrel?

No, the breathing pattern was distinctly human. Heavy and a bit breathy. The blood was roaring with adrenaline inside that hidden body. Maybe anticipation of a kill or maybe—

Yes. 

He could smell the burnt scent of fear cutting through the heavy odour of decomposing garbage and waste. 

“Come out”, he barked sharply, gun already poised, finger curled with deadly precision on the trigger. He wouldn’t need a second to fire. 

The scruffing noise stilled for a moment and then the body appeared slowly from the inky blackness. The moon that had been following Rehman from the warehouse, leaping from behind one cloud to another like a mischievous lover skipping in a midnight grove, suddenly peeked out of its hiding place. 

The silver showed his hidden assailant finally and Rehman’s finger uncurled from the trigger out of sheer shock. 

The boy was no older than perhaps four or five, if he was being generous. 

Standing in the middle of the street, on the backdrop of the swirling shadows stretched like the minarets of the Devil’s palace on the cracked pavements, he looked miniscule. 

The clothes barely held onto his shrivelled up frame, the delicate cage of his ribs peeking from the papery skin stretched over his body. His hair was a mop, burnt from the sun and fell dried and lifeless over an oval face, cheekbones carved like that of a skull. He was barefoot. 

But it was something else that had entranced Rehman. 

The pair of pale green eyes trained on him seemed to almost sparkle like twin emeralds on that malnourished dirt streaked face. There was a gaping yawing emptiness behind those verdant gemstone like irises that reminded the older man disturbingly of himself. 

This boy had seen things. 

Things that no child should ever have to see. Or go through. There was a severe lack of survival instinct in that fragile body. He was so listless that a truck might crush him over and he wouldn’t even make a squeak. 

Rehman Baloch wasn’t someone who could be unnerved. He has lived a life, a childhood that most hardened men would have never survived. He has seen unspeakable horrors, some of which he had committed himself, uncaring and untouched— like a high functioning automaton. 

Yet, this little boy, staring at the barrel of his gun, lit by the moon above and shaped by the pitch black of the night behind seemed to hit him with the force of a fully loaded freight train to the gut. He couldn’t think, all of a sudden— all his good reason was left in tatters. 

The boy was not even blinking. 

Was he hallucinating?

“What is your name?”, he lowered the gun and asked, voice even, despite the disconcertion evident inside him,

The boy didn’t answer. 

“Who are you, kid? Where are your parents? Are you lost?”, he asked again, tucking the gun back inside his shoulder holster and walking towards the child. The boy took a step back then, eyes stuttering all of a sudden, the tanned skin turning just a little paler.  

He somehow smelled worse than the dump he was scavenging inside. 

Rehman stopped. 

The boy was breathing hard, his green eyes now wide like saucers on that tiny face. He had raised a hand over his own face like he was shielding himself from some invisible danger, or maybe from Rehman. The scars on his arm, visible from the tattered sleeves, suddenly caught the older man’s eyes. 

Rehman stilled.

And suddenly he knew. 

The way the boy was scavenging inside the trashcans. The unnerved staring. The violent switch between a terrifying numbness and sudden fear. The way the kid flinched hard, stumbling back from him. The fucking scars on his arms—

Wrath was an old friend. And came like a wave of ice, frosting his insides. 

But he couldn’t explode here. The boy could smell his anger the same way he could smell his fear. He would bolt the moment he feels even a hint of temper starting to show. 

How had the boy even reached their territories? Was Haji Laloo also— no! It can’t be. He had overseen the accounts himself. It was impossible that such a huge thing would get overlooked. It has to be in the books. Does that mean there was a separate account? 

Possibilities were swirling in his brain, one much worse than the other. 

Rehman looked at the empty streets, a little helplessly. There was no one around. Not even a single shop was open or a window of a house was ajar? The streetlamps weren’t working too. Winter had started to set and the chilly night breeze had been making gooseflesh rise on his skin, throughout the brisk walk. 

And now that he was close, Rehman could hear the chattering of the kid’s teeth. 

If the boy lived on the street for a day more, the cold would kill him before the lack of food, water and the monsters loitering at the corners did. 

You don’t owe anyone anything—

The boy was staring at him, those green eyes a little curious now. 

As if on cue, a street dog started wailing in the distance and the kid startled badly, almost taking an involuntary step towards him, face scrunching in fear, the hand he had raised to his own face to block an unseeing blow, now half raised towards the man in front. 

Two of his fingers would be enough to snap that bony wrist like a dried twig. 

Goddamnit. 

Rehman sighed. 

“Come with me”, he told the boy and walked in front, clearly expecting the child to follow. 

The boy looked hesitant but started following him after a moment. He had to sprint a little to catch up with Rehman’s longer strides and the latter slowed down a little, involuntarily. The boy was looking down, that unruly mop of hair hiding his face from sight. 

“Tell me your name now. I won’t hurt you”, he asked again, deliberately softening his usually rough tone. 

The boy looked at him, opened his mouth and then closed it and then scrunched his face helplessly. 

“Great, just what I needed. He is mute too”, Rehman whispered to himself. 

Fate was a cruel benevolent mistress. 

________________________________

Uzair looked very sceptical. 

Which was sort of an adorable expression to see on the face of an eight year old. 

“He is very dirty and smells really bad”, his cousin informed, wrinkling his nose as the boy stood at one corner of the living room, looking even smaller somehow under the warm yellow lighting. 

“He was living inside a dustbin, Uzair. Cut him some slack”, Rehman sighed and opened his shoulder holster and carefully kept the gun inside the top most drawer of the cabinet. It was always a danger living with a hyperactive child on a perpetual sugar rush, he didn’t need to add live ammunition to it. 

“So you literally picked him out of the trash?”, Uzair asked, a little meanly. Rehman closed his eyes and then turned to face his little brother and then gave him his most disapproving look ever. He hated it when he had to parent the kid. It was so awkward, transitioning from the cool older brother to the stern disciplinarian. 

“Uzair, I will say this only once, so listen very carefully. If you do not have something nice to say about someone then say nothing at all.”

Uzair rolled his eyes as he always did when Rehman lectured him but did give the boy a slightly sheepish look. 

“But you are right. He needs a bath. Desperately”, Rehman beckoned the kid who slinked towards him warily. Like a skittish wild animal, almost keeping to the wall at all times. 

Rehman took him into the bathroom and started filling the bucket. The kid was barely five. Did he even know how to take a bath? He wouldn’t accidentally drown, would he? Uzair was eight and he knew how to take a bath and had gotten endearingly embarrassed when Rehman had offered to help for the first time. 

It had been just after his parents death and Rehman didn’t want to leave him alone, even in the bathroom for too long. 

But the kid had insisted and Rehman could only stand guard at the closed door, pacing with bated breath trying not to listen in till his cousin had come out, freshly washed and smelling of his sandalwood soap. His eyes had been red rimmed though and Rehman had picked him right off the ground and carried him to the bedroom. 

The boy was staring at the water like it was poison. 

“Kid, you need to wash up. My neighbours will start complaining otherwise”, Rehman joked, which was slightly ridiculous considering he didn’t know whether the boy could cognitively understand what he was saying anyway. 

The boy only stared at him unblinking. 

Rehman sighed again and tied up his hair into a knot at his nape. He had to get a haircut soon. His shaggy locks had reached below his neck and would soon hit his shoulders if he didn’t visit the barber by this week.

He folded up the sleeves of his kurta till his elbows, opened his wristwatch and his red signet ring. The silver kadas around his wrists glinted in the tubelight and seemed to attract the kid’s vision like that of a magpie on seeing something shiny. 

Or it could also be the ink spread all over his exposed forearms escaping into the folded sleeves at his biceps. He knew it was a tad jarring. That much colour on his alabaster complexion. But there had been no other way to hide the ugly scarring on his skin. 

Also he liked his tattoos. They marked his kills. 

The boy shifted back a little as he crouched down in front of him. The curious glint in his eyes was replaced by that nauseating fear immediately. 

“I will not hurt you. I will just help you wash up okay?”, he whispered and tugged at his rags as gently as he could. The boy stilled but didn’t try to move back when he pulled off his clothes. If Rehman was a normal man he would have gagged at what was revealed behind those filthy clothes. 

The scars were half healed. Ugly and knotted at places. Whip marks, cigarette burns, lacerations, teeth indentations and that was all he could observe before his gut recoiled in sheer disgusted horror. The dirt of the streets was stuck like patches of grit and filth on that tiny shivering body. 

Composure was imminently required yet with every inch of skin that was being revealed, Rehman could feel his fury and an unsettling nausea rising. 

The silence was so profound that he almost fell back on his ass when the kid suddenly reacted violently. He bit Rehman’s hand that had been pulling his pants down hard enough to draw blood. 

Rehman yelped and tried to pull his hand back but to no avail, the kid was like a feral dog, sinking his little incisors into the meat of his palm, a vice grip. He could have physically pushed him away easily enough but he knew about trauma enough to realise what would happen next. 

And he refused to hurt the kid anymore. 

“Hey hey..kiddo, it's okay, it's okay…”, he patted the boy’s trembling back with the other hand, ignoring the debilitating pain in his trapped one, “I am not going to do anything, boy. Just help you clean up…okay, can you leave my hand please?”

The kid kept his hold for a few moments more, his bony chest heaving before abruptly dropping his hand. Rehman swallowed a curse and dunked it into the water for a moment. 

“Can you open the rest of your clothes then?”

The boy was strangely obedient now, pulling all his clothes off and then standing stark naked in front of him. The older man had to physically bite his own tongue to stop the gasp from escaping when the boy’s legs were revealed. 

Not now, not now…not like this. 

Rehman pushed the bucket, the mug and the soap towards the kid and waited. 

The kid seemed hesitant and then started pulling water from the bucket with his cupped hands and splashing it on himself. He clearly didn’t know how to use the mug or wasn’t aware what it was used for. 

Rehman took a mug full of water and gently poured it down that tiny body, making sure to keep it away from his face. The boy looked wide and a little wondrous. He handed over the mug and saw him copy the movements now. 

“Kid, I am gonna put the soap on you now, it will make all the bad smell and the dirt go away. Please do not bite me again”, he muttered and came closer. 

The boy kept looking at him warily as he rubbed the soap into a foam in his own hands and very gingerly touched the boy’s shoulders. When the kid didn’t immediately launch at him with those wickedly strong teeth again, he started rubbing the soap in gently, removing days of dust and filth off that painfully soft skin. 

Rehman’s hands were so big on the boy’s tiny frame that he could cover his entire torso, his upper arms and his stomach with both hands comfortably. 

“Can you do it for your legs?”, Rehman motioned towards his lower body and handed the soap to the boy who took it and started copying the rubbing motion like he was shown. 

The kid was smart. 

One couldn’t survive on the streets of Lyari if they weren’t.

It took a total hour and a half before Rehman managed to clean the boy up completely. There had been a little incident when he had tried to wash his hair and the kid had almost bitten his hand off again. But they had negotiated and Rehman had had to pour a mug over his own head to show that it wouldn't drown him. 

The boy adamantly refused to let him put the shampoo in his hair though and Rehman had to concede defeat and rubbed in the soap itself for a cursory clean. 

Then he had wrapped the boy in the softest towel he could find and guided him towards Uzair’s wardrobe because like an idiot, he had no idea what to give to the child to wear. 

Mercifully his aunt, sentimental as she had been, hadn't thrown away Uzair’s old clothes and he found something that fit the boy at least somewhat. 

The kid looked so painfully young now, cleaned pink and still drowning in Uzair’s washed up old clothes, his eyes so big on that cadaverous face that it made something ache fiercely inside Rehman’s chest. 

“Right, food”.

Uzair was still looking at the boy suspiciously as he trailed behind Rehman to the kitchen. The older man gestured for him to sit on the table which his cousin did immediately while the boy kept looking at them a little wide eyed. 

Rehman came closer and the kid shrunk back instinctively. 

“I am just helping you up the chair, kiddo”.

The boy mercifully didn’t bite him when he picked him up from under his arms and dropped him on the table because the chair would have been too low for him, the older man figured. 

“Why does he not speak?”, Uzair asked again as Rehman put the plates in front of them. 

“He can’t. And don't make fun of him because of that”, he said warningly. Uzair looked a little miffed to have gotten scolded without any reason so Rehman ruffled his hair to soften his words a little. 

“Eat, kid. But slowly..ahh..slowly slowly..”, he hovered worriedly over the child as he shovelled the food inside his mouth, terrified that someone might take it away. 

Rehman knew the feeling acutely well. 

He also knew that when starved one shouldn’t eat too fast or too much or else they’ll just let it all up. It was a painful process. He didn’t know how to make the boy understand that he would not take away his food. Or that he will never have to starve again. 

“Here, have water”, he made him drink a little water, if only to pace his eating. 

Uzair was looking a little wide eyed at them now, his own dinner long forgotten. 

Rehman sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night 

____________________________

It was a bad idea. 

Scratch that. 

It was a terrible idea. 

He was a gangster, barely in his mid twenties, already parenting one kid, usually having three separate bounties on his head at a time, trying to survive in the bloodiest part of town with nothing other than a gun to his name and a ridiculous level of arrogance. 

He wasn’t equipped to care for a traumatized child. 

That also, clearly not belonging to his community— not even his religion. If Haji comes to know—

Rehman shuddered. 

“Where will you leave him anyway?”, Donga asked, biting into his cigarette as he watched over Uzair trying to engage the unnervingly quiet five year old into playing football with him. 

“I don’t know. A hospital? In front of a masjid? The orphanage?”, Rehman countered, going over the accounts of the gang for what would be the thirtieth time that day. 

“A hospital. Where they would probably kill him and harvest his organs. The masjid, where if he is lucky they would most probably cart him to an orphanage where he would die of tuberculosis or be sent to one of those endless ISI funded mujahid factories.”

Rehman stared up at his closest henchman and sometimes confidante, incredulously. 

“Now why would you say something like that?”, he groaned and slammed the book down, annoyance spilling out before he could stop it. 

“I am telling the truth and you know it. You are his best option at survival. No one is going to adopt a mute, traumatized, probably..raped—”

Rehman’s piercing glare shut up the bigger man immediately. Donga might be somewhat close to him but he wasn’t suicidal. Also he couldn’t tell him that it was all wishful thinking, he couldn’t leave the boy anywhere. 

He wasn’t circumcised as he had spotted while trying to bathe him yesterday. 

And he refused to force a procedure on such a small kid who probably already has sexual trauma— nope. Not going there. 

A sudden shout made the two men turn with a snap and Rehman ran towards the scuffle that had broken out between the two boys. The kid seemed to have bitten into Uzair’s hand now and the latter was squealing trying to free himself. 

“Goddamnit! Let go”, Rehman pulled them apart and managed to unhook the boy’s teeth off his cousin’s palm. 

“What the hell happened?”

“He bit me!”, Uzair yelled, clutching Rehman like he was five and the latter wrapped him in his arms almost instinctively and patted his head, consoling. 

“Hush hush, it's okay meri jaan, let me see..”, Uzair sniffled a little and put his palm over Rehman’s bigger one. There were teeth indentations there clearly and the area was a bruised a little but thankfully the skin hadn’t been pierced. 

Rehman blew air over the bruise, soothingly. 

“See, nothing. Everything is fine. Now, tell me what happened?”

“I wanted him to play with me. So I kicked the ball towards him and he picked it up so I asked him to put it down so that he could kick it.”

“Did you pull his arm or touch him somewhere accidentally?”

Uzair looked a little lost, like he didn’t know why he was being asked such silly questions. He nodded and gestured that he had just tugged at his arm. It was a normal thing to do. Especially amongst boys. So the eight year old didn’t know why the other boy had behaved so violently. 

Rehman saw the kid was cowering now, shrinking into himself, hair hiding his green eyes from view. 

“Okay, okay…it's alright. Why don’t you go with Donga”, he stroked Uzair’s hair back from his face as the latter squinted at him. 

“But—”

“Heh, come along Uzair miyaan. I will get you ice cream!”, Donga whispered the last part conspiratorily as if Rehman wasn’t right there, next to them. 

“Okay!”, Uzair caught Donga’s hand as the latter led him away, shooting his boss a concerned look. 

Rehman sighed for the five hundredth time and turned to the other boy. He was almost half his height by then and he was already a midget. Like this it seemed like he would melt into the ground. The trembling was clearly visible as well. 

He needs a name, he can’t keep calling him, kid. 

Last night, he had put the boy to sleep in Uzair’s room and bribed his cousin away with the promise of bedtime stories to his own room. He had opened up the blanket over him to take and switched off the lights.

The kid had jumped back up so he had kept it on. 

Rehman had stood at the doorway, watching the small shape breathe for some time before the exhaustion of the night had called to him as well. 

“Hey..”, he crouched in front of the boy again, trying to meet his gaze from beneath his hair.

“It's okay, I am not angry. I won’t hurt you”, he repeated for the hundredth time and saw the boy unclench just a little. 

“Uzair just wanted you to play with him. But you got scared. It's okay”, he saw the kid straighten then, his green eyes a little misted as they peered from beneath those raven curls. 

“I don’t even know your name”, Rehman muttered to himself and then looked at him considering a million things, “see I can’t keep calling you boy. You need a name.”

The boy had that curious glint back in his eyes now. 

“How about…Hamza?”, he tasted the name in his mouth. It somehow befitted the kid. Those verdant irises, that curly mop of hair. That unnerving stare that hid something dark behind and those irritatingly strong teeth. 

Rehman had heard somewhere that a lion’s teeth has one of the strongest grip strength in the animal kingdom. It can tear even an elephant’s throat in two, within minutes.

There was something wondrous in the way the boy…Hamza was looking at him. 

“Hamza…well. Looks like I am not getting rid of you so soon”, the words came out softer than he had intended to. 

Hamza let Rehman run his fingers through his hair, and it almost felt like he had even leant into the touch a little or maybe that had just been his twisted imagination. 

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

 ________________________

Hamza, despite his occasional bouts of biting people, was an eerily quiet child. 

It was almost like the kid had learnt the art of vanishing in plain sight, to remain hidden, unnoticed.

Sometimes he managed to startle Rehman badly, appearing out of nowhere, standing just beside him, staring with those crystal glade eyes. He wished he could tie a bell around the boy’s neck. 

Uzair had managed to come out of his wariness of the five year old and seemed pretty content to keep at a one sided conversation, most of the time. Hamza seemed a little awed by the older kid. But then, Hamza always looked a little awestruck by everything. It felt like someone had pulled him out of a different world and thrown him in a completely separate one. 

If Rehman’s guess was right, it very well might have been quite a dark miserable existence. 

The boy needed to come out of his shell. 

Rehman had another bed installed in Uzair’s room that the boys now shared. He had been a little worried that his cousin might protest but surprisingly, he had seemed almost eager. Maybe it was finally that he got a playmate, mute and little rabid, be it, he was happy to share his living spaces with him. 

It had been quite an uphill struggle trying to teach Hamza to live in polite society again, well— as polite as a gangster’s halfway house in the middle of Karachi’s most dangerous district could be. 

Hamza picked on things pretty fast and was quite nifty. 

But he was also increasingly touch averse and would try to tear off Rehman’s fingers if he tried coming close to him for any reason. 

They had negotiated for the bath times at least. 

The shampoo had been a bit of a struggle and Rehman had come out with battle scars from that war but he had finally managed to tame the kid’s scraggly locks somewhat. 

Hamza had looked goggle eyed at his own reflection after his hair had dried and Rehman had combed it into submission. 

“See, I told you—”, he had retorted while Hamza had poked at his own head for some time in front of the mirror, eyes sparkling. 

It had been…well..cute. 

So yes, bathtime was less of a fight nowadays. 

Rehman wouldn’t have the kid drown while trying to clean himself after going through so much trouble to find him clothes to wear. He just wished his men didn’t babble to anyone that he had been going around buying baby clothes. 

Not everyone was as discreet as his bald headed lieutenant. 

Donga seemed pretty unbothered about him suddenly adopting a street rat out of the blue. 

As long as the news didn’t reach his boss, he was fine. 

“How is he going to go to school if he can’t speak?”

Uzair had asked him one evening, taking his head out of his homework that remained spread on the center table as Rehman sat in his favourite wicker chair and poured through the hidden accounts of Haji Laloo’s businesses that he had managed to threaten, bribe and charm out of Yasir— Arshad Pappu’s idiot brother. 

Hamza, who had been busy playing with the new ball Rehman had got him in the courtyard in front, looked up at him immediately. The older man could practically see his little ears perking up. 

He hadn’t even thought about school. 

Fuck. 

Thus, Rehman found himself inside a private clinic one evening, outside Lyari, one of those hidden fronts that the glitterati of Cliffton street used for their more public averse purposes. The doctor there had once stitched his left shoulder back again when he almost had it severed in one of those endless scrapes he used to get into, back when he had first entered the gang. 

Hamza was almost trying to disappear behind his legs, hands suddenly clutching his balochi salwar so tight Rehman was afraid he would tear it. 

“How many times have I told you to not bring weapons into my clinic?”

Doctor Shaibaaz Ghilani glared at him from behind his half moon glasses. 

Rehman felt like a little child in front of the man somehow and that irked him to no end, but this was the only person he trusted enough to not immediately go and blab about his— the kid to Laloo or worse, Babu Dakait the moment they show him a few bucks. 

Or the barrel of a gun. 

“I apologize Doctor sahab, but you know it isn’t prudent for me to walk around without a little security specially outside my territory…”, he answered while trying to pull Hamza forward, but to no avail. The child was stuck to his leg like a little koala. 

He pulled the gun from his shoulder holster and tucked it behind his kurta as if making it out of sight would resolve the issue. Dr. Ghilani rolled his eyes but there was a tiny quirk at the corner of those severe lips. 

“And what do we have here?”, he peaked at Hamza who stared back, from behind Rehman’s kurta. 

Rehman explained about the muteness and the other physical wounds he had seen on Hamza to the doctor whose mouth seemed to go from stern to severe with every word. 

“Hamza, just go with him, he won’t hurt you. He is just going to do a check up”, Rehman tried to remove the kid’s hold but Hamza only held him tighter, now burying his head inside his waist, shaking his head vigorously. 

Rehman sighed. 

“It's okay, why don’t you come in too, that way he will be comfortable.”

Rehman followed the doctor inside and picked up Hamza and settled him on his lap. The kid, usually recoiling from any sort of physical contact, seemed very happy to try and merge himself inside Rehman today. 

Dr. Ghilani was a very patient man and he didn’t seem irritated even as they sat for half an hour before Hamza was relaxed enough to take his face out of Rehman’s chest. 

“It's okay Hamza, I will just see, can you open your mouth?”

The examination took them another hour before Ghilani shook his head and kept his spectacles on his desk and gave Rehman a helpless look. 

“Everything is fine with him. He is not physically incapable of speaking. I think it has more to do with the trauma. He just doesn’t want to speak. His mind has blocked his vocal chords somewhat. It’s a mental divide.”

“So, he might speak someday?”

“Maybe, maybe not. He may speak a word and then not speak for another ten years. Healing unfortunately is not a linear path. And Hamza has a long way to go.”

Rehman looked down at the curly mop of hair on his lap and felt his chest clench viciously, all of a sudden. He ran his fingers through those wavy locks absentmindedly. 

“How will I communicate with him then?”, he asked the doctor, a little lost. 

“Well, you both can learn sign language.”

Rehman stared at the doctor. 

He looked absolutely serious. 

Hamza’s attention had gone to the shiny dial of his wristwatch by then he was content to poke at it curiously. 

Rehman sighed for the seven hundredth time that week. 

_____________________________

Hamza was six. 

Well, maybe. 

They didn’t know his real age so Rehman figured he would count from the day he found the kid in that narrow street dump. 

He had become quite comfortable living with them for the past year. 

The teacher he had found after much searching and an exorbitant fee had been coming every day to his house for the past eight months to teach Hamza and Uzair and him sign language. She had also taken up the responsibility of homeschooling the kid till at least he could go to school without bolting. 

That had been a struggle on its own. 

The first time Rehman had tried to leave him at the school premises, peeling him off himself, he had made such a mournful sound and those big green eyes had filled up with tears that the older man had panicked and taken him back with himself. 

The next time he had forced himself to turn back and speed walk outside the building and shut himself inside the car and had practically bitten Donga’s head off when he had tried teasing him. But Hamza, the little shit had somehow managed to escape right after the first class and had been sitting at home. 

It had taken one week of struggle with Rehman instructing, commanding and practically begging the child to stay in class when there had been some success at last. But it could also have been because of the few friends Hamza had made with the other kids in class. 

Rehman would never admit it, even under extreme torture that he had been relieved to the point of almost tears when Hamza had come back on time for once and had smiled at him, all crooked teeth and twinkling eyes. 

He had been worried sick that the kid would never make any friends. 

But contrary to everyone’s belief, Hamza somehow was as popular in school as Uzair. 

He was just wordless about it. 

One year of getting food and water and living in relative safety had filled in the kid’s cheeks somewhat and that horrifying malnourished figure had started looking like that of a human child. 

There were still times when Hamza would withdraw from everyone, stop smiling at Uzair’s antics and not want to come out from under the bed. Rehman would try to spend as much time as he could in between his duties and the gang activities with the kid, trying to coax him out of his shell, bribe him with those licorice candies he seemed to devour like crack. 

Hamza’s first birthday with them (and probably his very first one ever) had been a small affair but no less celebratory. 

The kid had been an endearing mix of utterly confused and completely thrilled throughout the day. He probably couldn’t believe that Rehman had allowed him to have sweets for breakfast and then he had gotten so many gifts. Well, it had only been from Rehman, Uzair and Donga and Dr. Ghilani surprisingly. 

And maybe Rehman might have gone a little overboard (and over budget) with the presents, but come on, the kid deserved something nice. 

He had been obsessed with the picture books, the wax crayons and the new football he had got for months after. 

They had managed to find a cake and a few candles. 

“Happy Birthday Hamza!”, Uzair and Donga had sung in a horribly off key tone while the kid had looked entranced at the cake and the burning candle. 

Then after they had eaten the cake, well, most of it had ended up on Uzair and Hamza’s faces rather than their bellies. 

Hamza had looked up at him once, face smeared with cake, looking so impossibly small yet somehow incandescently happy, for once, that emptiness had receded far enough that it had been nearly invisible. 

Rehman had been hard pressed to swallow a lump back inside. He had grinned back at him, wiping the cream off that tiny face tenderly. 

The kid had actually giggled at that. 

And the sugar rush had hit both the boys hard enough that Rehman had had to run after them to get them to bed somehow at a reasonable hour. 

He had dumped a sleepy Uzair and Hamza in their beds and had gone about picking up the toys from the floor before so that they don’t hurt themselves in the morning, half dozing off while going to the bathroom. 

A quiet snuffling had him turning to Hamza’s bed. The boy had been shifting under the blanket. Rehman had tucked him a little too securely and went around to loosen the fabric so that he didn't accidentally strangle himself in his sleep when Hamza had suddenly opened his eyes, bleary and unfocussed. 

“Go to sleep, Hamze”, he had patted his head gently, hoping to make him fall asleep again. 

The boy had blinked at him slowly, cheek smushed against the pillow and—

“Baba..”

Rehman had frozen. His heart had slammed to a screeching halt. But the kid had already fallen asleep. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to gather his composure after. The single word had been churning inside his mind relentlessly and piercingly loud, drowning everything else. 

Morning had come but Hamza hadn’t spoken anymore. 

It seemed like that one night, something miraculous might have graced him for a second and that voice had been seared inside Rehman’s chest like a brand. 

Rehman remembered the first time he had had to leave for a week, after he had taken in Hamza. Haji was getting suspicious of his increased absences and he had to show him that he hadn’t defected, or worse was planning a mutiny or something. So he had taken up a very high profile job that had required him to leave the town for a few days. 

He had appointed Donga and Mansoor, his most trusted men to look after the boys. 

“I will be back soon, be good for Donga and do not eat too much ice cream or candy”, he had instructed the boys. 

Uzair, used to his absences had given him a half hearted glance but had accepted the brief hug he had been given with more grace than he usually did. Hamza had looked very confused at him but hadn’t tried to scratch at him when he had ruffled his hair. 

One week later, Rehman had dragged his battered body up the steps of his house, ready to sleep till the next century. The job had gone exactly how he had expected, that is, nothing had gone according to plan and he had had to improvise on every step of the way and he was sure someone from the gang had outed him to their target. 

The fight had been brutal and for a second, Rehman had been sure he wouldn’t survive it. But the thought of Uzair and Hamza had almost miraculously driven an unforeseen surge of  adrenaline inside him and he had managed to come up at top, at the end. 

He had cut the bastard’s head off after shooting him in the face which had been a tad excessive but then, the fool had tried to kill him so—

“Donga!”

He had called a tad louder than expected. 

The giant man had popped his head out and grinned at him but before he could speak Rehman was attacked by something half his size and almost took a tumble down the stairs. 

Uzair’s head bounced against his bruised lower ribs at the sheer force with which he had hit him. 

“Bhai! You are back!”, the nine year old had practically screamed. 

“Uff! Uzair chod..saans nhi aa rhi”, Rehman had gasped and patted his brother on his back. But the boy didn’t seem to hear or rather ignored him, taking a mile a minute. About school, and the new games he had played and what not. 

Rehman had almost missed Hamza who was almost hiding behind the pillar at the foyer, staring at them. The kid looked miserable for some reason. 

“I think he missed you”, Uzair whispered, seeing him look at the six year old, “he was very quiet. Didn’t even come out to play football with me and Donga bhai” 

“Hey kiddo”, Rehman gave him a half wave, feeling a little foolish, “come here—”, he had barely finished his sentence when Hamza barrelled into him making both him and Uzair stagger back violently. 

“Hey hey..what happened?”, Rehman wrapped an arm around the shaking child and pressed his nose inside his hair. 

The smell of strawberries had hit him then and he had smirked. 

So bath time was over. 

Uzair had stepped back by then letting him focus on the younger kid. His back was hurting from having to bend down for so long so he picked the kid off the ground and surprisingly enough instead of going rigid and scrabbling at Rehman, Hamza curled around him almost instinctively. 

He kissed the side of that wavy haired head feeling his ribs ache a little when he heard a small sniffle from his neck. 

“It's alright sweetheart. I wasn’t going for forever. Just a job…”, he cooed at him, almost unthinkingly. 

Hamza’s gangly arms had just tightened their hold around Rehman’s neck like he was afraid that letting go will make the older man disappear into thin air. 

Well, sleep could wait a little more, he guessed. 

_______________________

It was two years later that Rehman finally decided that Haji Laloo had to be removed. 

Permanently. 

The man had started to get paranoid. And he knew that Rehman’s sudden popularity in the town and the rising influence in the gang was surpassing his own son’s. If it continued this way then Rehman would overthrow Arshad Pappu before he could even get at the throne. 

The competition was cut throat. 

And Rehman Baloch was winning. 

Haji had been sending him off to do jobs that had continuously and sequentially started becoming more dangerous and reckless as days passed. 

Hamza and Uzair had settled into a rhythm. 

School had been treating them both right. 

But the danger surrounding Rehman had started extending its claws towards his boys as well and that was something that had to be nipped at the bud. Immediately. 

And Rehman knew just the person who could help him overthrow his boss. 

The one man who had enough money and influence in Karachi to turn the tables when needed and enough lust for the throne that Rehman could ask of him the most depraved of things in exchange for garnering support when the elections came knocking. 

“Tu chinta mat kar, main hoon na. Arre baccha hain tu mera, jaa di Lyari tujhe!”, Jameel Jamali grinned like a slimy jackal and in a completely unprecedented move, pulled Rehman’s cheek like he was a kid. 

Rehman would have hacked his hand off that very moment if he didn’t need the PAP’s backing for his move against Haji. So he swallowed the humiliated fury and just stared at the overweight politician in a way he knew made him look increasingly scary. 

As expected Jamali’s smile faltered and he shifted in his seat a little. 

Rehman was sprawled on the opposite seat, Donga and Mansoor, standing like sentinels behind him, their Kalashnikovs had been confiscated at the gate but these were men used to turning anything into a life threatening weapon when required. And Jamali and his fancy bodyguards knew it. 

“I’ll ask the police to lay in wait at the hideout. All you need to do is lure them in. The rest, they will take care of. One night—all of them are wiped out leaving the way empty for you.”

“Babu Dakait will also lie in wait for this very moment. I need the police to keep his men busy till I can secure the territory”, Rehman drawled. 

“Ho jaega mere bacche, tu chinta mat kar itna— Chaudhary Aslam mera khaas hain.”

Rehman raised an eyebrow. 

Everyone knew about SP Chaudhary Aslam. They called him the Djin. The man was as mad as the gangsters he religiously cleared off the streets. His all white ensemble and pathological hatred for the Balochs was common news. 

“Wasn’t he tasked with finishing me off?”, Rehman narrowed his eyes, pinning Jamali with a stare that had the latter sweating a little, “why would he help us now?”

“Arre, I helped him out with a scrape last year. He owes me, also he knows that it is beneficial for him to stay in my good books, don’t worry. He will help us.”

Rehman got up fluidly. His work was done. He didn’t trust Jamali any more than he trusted the SP. But he had no choice. He would keep his own backup plans in place should this get spun out of his control but for now, the deal had been made. 

“Arre ye dekho, aa gaya, SP Aslam!”, Jamali laughed in that swine like way again as Rehman almost slammed into the newly appointed SP of Lyari, face first. 

The man was taller than him, definitely beefier and had the stare of a hunting bear. 

Rehman had heard that unlike lions who would just tear their throats out at one go, bears liked to play with their prey before the kill. 

SP Chaudhary Aslam had eyes that could burn through mountains. Like twin embers glowing maniacally in the dark. Right now he was staring at Rehman like he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into his carotid. 

The sheer derision in that vision was a palpable scorching brand against his skin. 

Rehman could feel his own face break into a smirk. 

The kind that has had many a man try to break his jaw for sheer insolence. 

He couldn’t help it. 

The bigger man looked way too constipated and infuriated at his presence than to not have a little fun with. Especially when he knew the former couldn’t kill him. Not when he had struck a deal with Jamali. 

“SP sahab, long time no see”, he enunciated his letters in a way that intentionally made his accent heavier. That typical rough rasp of a thug and the lilting of a Baloch. 

“Be grateful. Your time would significantly lessen whenever it meets me, fucker”, the police chief spat through the cigarette clenched in between his teeth. 

“How rude”, Rehman smiled and flicked an invisible speck of dust from that white kurta and sidestepped the older man before he could try to punch his teeth in. 

“Now children, play nice”, Jamali cooed like they were retarded and he was their caretaker. 

At least from the sneer on Aslam’s face, Rehman could feel that there was one thing both of them agreed upon. 

Jameel Jamali was a pig. 

A useful pig. 

But a pig nonetheless. 

_________________________________

“Our clients from Nicaragua have been complaining about the product”, Rehman said in between the short stick clenched in between his teeth, his long fingers moving in practiced rhythm in between the thick waves of hair. 

“The Nicaraguan government has been threatening Costa Rica over the refugee problem due to their frequent fleeing over the San Juan. I think they are planning for a rebellion and need more guns.”

Hamza’s fingers flew smoothly in the air as he signed his words with perfect pacing.

“Are you suggesting we increase our prices?”, Rehman asked, tugging at a particularly stubborn knot with the slightly spicy smelling hair oil he had taken out from the bottle beside. 

“I think we should increase our prices and then call our clients in America”, Hamza signed rapidly, closing his eyes almost unconsciously as the older man rubbed his fingers from the former’s forehead till his nape expertly. 

Rehman raised an eyebrow but a smirk was dangling from the corner of his lips. The kid was brilliant. At sixteen, Hamza was already deeply involved in the business as far as the decision making went. Rehman would never let him or Uzair for that matter go into the field right now or even meet with his allies— he would keep them separate, hidden behind the haveli walls as long as he could. 

But he was also teaching them the ropes. He had to. The boys were too smart for their own good and too resourceful to be fooled for too long and if they were going to succeed him, they had to know how things worked. 

At thirty six, Rehman had already taken full control of Lyari. His empire had developed deep roots into the Pakistani underworld and their politics as well. Karachi’s throne couldn’t be occupied without the Baloch leader’s blessing and that was an unspoken rule on the streets. 

Uzair had finished school and was slowly getting a hold in the gang and their several businesses. Rehman had tried arguing for college but the kid was too stubborn. Too much fire in him to stay buried in books. 

Hamza though was a different case. 

If Uzair had the heart of a warrior, Hamza had the mind of a scholar. That boy would soak up knowledge like a sponge and knew exactly how to use it with the precision of a surgical scalpel. 

Rehman loved both his boys to death but Hamza scared even him, sometimes. 

But for now, he was impressed and Uzair who had been seated at the dining table cleaning his latest toy, a shiny new makarov, might have gauged that from his expression. He rolled his eyes and gave his brother a half grin. 

“Will I ever get to know what hidden meaning that statement has?”

Hamza who had been drooping, looking boneless where he had been seated cross legged on the floor in front of Rehman as the latter was oiling that unruly mane of his, snapped his eyes open and grinned mischievously at Uzair. 

“If you would have paid more attention to Abeeda bibi’s lessons than daydreaming about Meher Zarvari, you would have known that after the Iran-Contra affair in ‘84, the US and Nicaragua have been sworn enemies and our buyers in the States would definitely have vested interest in knowing that a rebellion is afoot in that country. We can charge the Nicaraguans for the ammunition and the Americans for the information— double profit.”

Uzair’s face turned an interesting shade of red as he glared daggers at his younger brother. 

“Shut up! I was not daydreaming—”, he spluttered, completely embarrassed. 

“You were so daydreaming. You were practically drooling. It was giving me second hand embarrassment. Also, she is so out of your league…”, Hamza signed, chuckling. 

“I will kill you, you little shit!”, Uzair leaped from his chair and lunged at Hamza who slinked away like a slippery eel and took off like a rocket, a burst of laughter breaking out of his usually mute countenance. 

“Arre arre! Aadha hi lagaya tha! Kidhar bhag raha hain? Uzair ye Meher Zarvari kaun hain..wapas aao dono— arre?”

Rehman stood up from his seat, exasperation curtaining his amusement as the boys ran inside the house, completely unbothered, Uzair’s yells and Hamza’s laughter entangling like constrictive yet sweet creepers around his heart. 

The heat was unbearable and he could feel the sweat trickling down his back, making his white tank almost translucent and sticking to his inked skin. 

Jamali had been poking at him for some time now, for getting his tattoos grafted and to get a more respectable hair cut instead of the long shoulder length he usually kept, opting to tie it in a knot. 

“The thing about politics is that it will always be more about projection than honesty. Lyari might see you as their messiah but Islamabad needs to see a more polished version. You have the smarts needed for ascending but you also need to learn the subterfuge”

Jamali had told him once, both their tongues had been a little loose from the alcohol after their latest win in the constituency for the second time in a row. 

“You mean to say, I look more like a mobster than a politician?”, he had drawled, sipping on the whiskey like a snake charmer getting ready for a performance. 

“Well…the tattoos and the hair and the..guns and knives definitely don’t help.”

Rehman had only laughed. 

Hamza growing out his hair had not been in his mind then. At least the boy hadn’t gotten himself inked yet. He knew Rehman would hang him out to dry in the sun if he did that. But that lion’s mane was getting a little difficult to maintain. 

Maybe he should get him a haircut.  

As if on cue, a car came to a screeching halt on the front porch. His guards weren’t at the foyer but he knew that vehicle number and that roaring engine like the back of his hand. 

He spat the stick out and leaned against the pillar, arms crossed against his chest. 

The cacophony of the boys was still a faint distant background score coming from the house. He was sure he heard Akhlaaq scream at them both. So they were wrestling in the kitchen now. 

Chaudhary Aslam stepped out of the car, stretching his impressive set of muscles under that salt white kurta, a cigarette dangling from his lips, as usual. 

“Please tell me Meher Zarvari isn’t Haider Zarvari’s daughter”, Rehman followed the other man’s gait till he walked up the steps to reach just a step below him. Like this they were almost the same height. 

Yet he felt small as he always has, in front of the other man. 

“Good to see you too Laale, I am fine, thanks for asking. Yes, Meher Zarvari is, shipping tycoon and MMP’s biggest benefactor— Haider Zarvari’s daughter and yes, your little cousin is going around sniffing at her tail.”

“Goddamnit. And how do you know that?”, he asked a little skeptical as Aslam climbed the last step to now tower over him. 

“I raided a burger kids party last month and saw Uzair and little Miss Zarvari fleeing the scene together, inside her BMW. I let the scamps escape though, don’t worry.”

Rehman sighed and then straightened from his slouch against the pillar and trailed a finger over a faint scar on the police chief’s cheek, emerging out of that groomed beard. 

“And how are you SP Sahab? Our…friends in Afghanistan treated you well?”, he asked, voice turning syrupy and eyes a little heavy, looking from beneath those eyelashes in a way he knew made him look increasingly suggestive. 

Aslam blew the drag right on his face and dropped the cigarette before wrapping those muscled arms around his waist and pulling him against himself in a smooth move, making Rehman gasp and almost stumble. The other man just grinned maniacally down at him. 

“How can I be, in that sandy dump with only the critters and those murderous freaks to keep me company— without you shahdein?”

“Honey-like?”, Rehman scoffed but turned his face upwards, grabbing those mild wide shoulders in a punishing grip. 

“Mad honey”, Aslam whispered, lowering his lips towards his smirk. 

“Poison that drives people insane before killing them? You say the most romantic things, SP sahab..”, Rehman muttered, angling his head and letting him kiss the rest of the words right out of his mouth. 

He shouldn’t have let the other man maul him openly like that. They were usually more discreet. Only at night and always alone. But it had been way too long and he would be blue in the face before he admitted it but Rehman had missed Aslam too. 

And he was devouring him in that wild fiery way that had him breathless, one of his hands tangling into the hair at his nape and almost pulling out those knotted locks while the other one was a scorching brand of steel around his waist. His own arms had wrapped around his neck, moving from that muscled back. 

Oh yes, he had missed this so very much. 

Being at the top of the food chain was a very lonely place to be sometimes. 

Rehman was so immersed in those smoky flavoured breathless kisses, he had forgotten about his surroundings completely. 

Forgotten that it was broad daylight. 

And that the boys were home. 

A sudden roar had him separating from Aslam almost jarringly and fortunately because the next moment, a blur was in front of him and the police chief was knocked out of his breath by a perfectly aimed punch at his gut. 

Hamza snarled like a wild animal and there was blade in his hand, his half oiled hair hanging in front of his face as he leaped at Aslam like he would slash into his throat. 

Uzair was staring shocked a few feet away and yet he had his makarov trained at the SP, eyes moving like a high powered tennis match between him and Hamza. 

“Fucking hell! Call your kid off Rehman, what the—”

“Hamza! Hamza, leave it.. Let him go! It wasn’t— Hamza!”

Rehman jumped in between the struggling pair, almost got an elbow to the throat and a knife inside his spleen and physically pulled Hamza’s spitting, rabid form off Aslam. 

“Hamza..Hamza idhar dekh..pehle toh chod isse”, he tried tugging the knife out of his hand but to no avail, the boy had a death grip on it. 

Rehman left it and cupped the sixteen year old’s face in his hands and tried shifting his gaze that was still shooting fire at the gasping Aslam to himself. 

“Hamze, meri jaan..main theek hoon. Idhar dekh, main bilkul theek hun. Kuch nhi hua…”

Hamza was heaving now, his eyes finally settling on the older man and he dropped the knife. Then started batting his hands over his face and torso like he was looking for wounds. Rehman caught his shivering hands and tugged him inside his arms and wrapped himself tightly around the trembling teenager. 

He should have known. 

Trauma like that doesn’t leave a person, not even when it has been more than a decade. Despite the medication and the therapy and everything in between. Hamza had seen them like that and had probably immediately assumed the most logical reasoning. 

It wasn’t his fault at all. 

The kid was sniffling against his throat, his arms quaking even as they pressed around him like iron chains. 

Rehman’s heart took an olympic dive to his knees. 

“I’m fine, baby. You are fine too. It's all fine”, he looked apologetically at Aslam but the ferocity in his gaze hadn’t lessened and the police chief knew that he would have let the kid kill him if he hadn’t been able to stop him without hurting him. 

He raised an eyebrow but dusted his clothes and walked back towards his car. 

They would have to pick this up some other day. 

Rehman looked relieved and Uzair still hadn’t moved the barrel from the SP and he kept it trained on the car till it disappeared outside the gates. 

“Lets get you inside”, Rehman kissed Hamza’s head and pulled him inside the house, Uzair following close at his heels. 

“He wasn’t hurting you?”, Hamza signed, still shivering. 

“No. It was consensual”, Rehman answered after a moment of hesitation. 

“Don’t lie to me please. I know..sometimes it feels like you’ve..given permission but..”

Oh Hamza..

“Did anyone try to hurt you..after?”, he asked, stroking his hair back from his forehead. Hamza looked conflicted and fury was starting to bubble in Rehman’s blood like a vat of chemicals on a burner. He would eviscerate the person even if they turn out to be Hamza’s friends. 

Hamza looked down, hiding his eyes behind that unruly mane a little. 

“No..but someone..tried to kiss me. It was a girl and I really liked her and I thought I wanted her to…to.. But then I didn’t like it and she stopped… she is really nice but..”

“Honey, you know that it's okay if you don’t like girls, right?”, Rehman asked him gently.

“No, I know! I don’t like boys..but also..I don’t think I like girls..I—”, he looked so miserable, just like that four year old he had fished out of the trash years ago and it was breaking Rehman’s heart. 

“What if I don’t like anyone like that? I know I am being so weird right now and it isn’t normal and—”, the boy was almost hyperventilating, signing the words so fast now that Rehman was having difficulty following the motion of those fingers but he got the gist of it. 

And oh no, that won’t do at all. 

“Hamza”, he said sharply but also rubbed his back to lessen the impact. The boy stopped and looked at him, slightly wide eyed. 

“Listen to me very carefully. You are not weird. And normal is an illusion created by insecure stupid people who have no desire to see beyond what they think is the right thing”, he lifted the boy’s chin up to meet his eyes and made sure the next words he spoke are branded into him. 

“Whether you like girls, or boys or both or none—whether you want to kiss someone or never want to do it, whether you speak someday or never can— it doesn’t matter a fig and anyone who has half a brain wouldn’t give a flying fuck. And people who cannot understand that are not worth the dirt beneath your feet.”

The only sound in the room was the slowly creaking ceiling fan rotating in that familiar motion unable to cut the heat of the day at all, yet was comforting in its presence. 

Rehman stroked the mane off his eyes gently with his free hands. 

“You are perfect. Do you understand? Just fucking perfect. Get it through your thick skull.”

Hamza made a strangling sort of noise and buried his face inside the older man’s chest and started crying silently. Rehman bundled him closer and rocked him gently through the sweltering midsummer afternoon. 

____________________________________

Jamali had won with a sweeping majority. 

Thanks to Rehman Dakait cleaning off the entire territory of Lyari for him. 

The politician was trying to get the attention of the masses but they had gone crazy the moment Rehman had stepped out of his red vintage chevy. The cheers of the people, the adulation in their voices was sweet venom in Rehman’s ears. 

He had worked till his bone, killed, captured, connived, destroyed, lied, stolen, snatched, robbed, deceived and manipulated his way till this fame. 

This notoriety that had whichever room he entered change immediately to accommodate him. 

These puny imbeciles circled him like moths to a flame, like buzzing bees around a nectar filled flower even if the honey they would suck will drive them to insanity before killing them. 

He was invincible. 

Rehman Dakait. 

The bastard king of Lyari. 

He did nothing, didn’t even speak a word, just lifted his hand and let the masses cry themselves hoarse and surge into the enclosure like a sea of maddened siren struck sailors. He saw Uzair grinning towards him, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Hamza was a silent sentinel, eyes hidden behind black shades yet a small smirk had his lips quirked to a side. 

The boys were enjoying the attention just as much. 

Good. 

They deserved the victory just as much. 

Uzair had methodically cleaned off their competition from the streets, wielding authority over the gang like a born general. Hamza had tripled their funding through sheer business acumen and had almost taken over their entire finances by that razor sharp cunning. The boy was doing some course or the other at the side, all the time, as well. 

Twenty years since he had found the kid on that dark alley and somehow found the missing piece of a heart he had thought he had buried long ago. 

He caught the good SP’s eyes where the latter had been seated under the shade of a tent, his faithful second in command, Omar Haider bending down to say something in his ear— and winked at him salaciously. 

Aslam rolled his eyes but the older man was smirking. 

And then Jamali was wrapping an arm around his waist and pointing at the cameras. Rehman let himself be pulled into the circle of his grateful benefactors and the party members. 

It was after five minutes that he could escape when he saw his cousin talking with two unknown men. 

“Bhai! This is Javed and Altaf Khanani. They are the PAP’s biggest benefactors”, Uzair introduced. The shorter of the two Khanani brothers, caught his hand in a sweaty handshake that almost made Rehman recoil. 

“Arre Rehman sahab, kya jalwa dikhaya aapne. Politics mein kab utarne ka soch rahe hain aap?”, Javed Khanani asked, beady eyes twinkling. 

Rehman raised an eyebrow.

“I am a gangster Khanani sahab. A power broker if you want to be polite. Politics bores me to tears”. 

“Politics is just making your crown official, Sardaar. The people who still dare to touch you would even think of crossing you if the state backed you from the front, in full visibility now. Think about it. I can have you meet someone who will be able to grant you this, with a snap of his fingers.”

The man was a seasoned flatterer and could manipulate anyone into doing his bidding. But Rehman had been the best at this game for years. He could spot the loopholes in their proposal but he also knew that being in power meant keeping people like Khanani close. 

His eyes fell on Hamza again. 

The kid was chuckling as Yalina Jamali seemed to be shouting at him quite vigorously if her pantomiming was anything to go by. The two had become thick as thieves as the years had passed. Yalina was a spitfire of a girl and Rehman liked her well enough. She was one of the only friends Hamza had who could keep up with his rapid mood shifts and his constant brooding persona. 

Rehman would have thought they would fall for each other if he hadn’t already known that Hamza wasn’t into any kind of romantic or sexual love and Yalina was already completely in love with another girl. 

Jamali would flip his shit if he knew what his daughter was getting up to with her best friend in his absence. 

Uzair was staring at him expectantly. Hamza and Yalina were still arguing playfully. 

Rehman had been thinking about the future and his legacy for too long. 

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to hear this mysterious person once, would it?

________________________________

Rehman was drunk. 

Raging drunk. 

So drunk, Uzair had to help him up the stairs. 

He should be ashamed at how disjointed he had made himself but this was the only way he could bear to stay within his own skin after shaking on a deal with the Devil. Major Iqbal— he may have snarked back at the man, but he knew what that tyrant was capable of. 

Hamza’s disappointment had been pricking the back of his neck for the past three hours. The boy’s face was stormy, those lionine eyes, boring into him like twin blades. He has never been able to hide from that vision. 

“You shouldn’t have made that deal—”

“I know what I am doing.”

“You shook hands with a person who has killed Balochs for sport!”

“You think I don’t know that!”

“Do you?”

Rehman felt his irritation spark into a full blown fury. The boy was much too like him to take his bullshit lying down. He was glaring up at him, green eyes burning. The older man turned and loomed over him like he used to do when the latter was six. 

“Hamza, I have been in this game longer than you have been alive. Have some faith in me”, he spat, staggering a little while Uzair caught his arm to steady him only for Rehman to shake him away. 

“It is very difficult to do that when your decisions seem to come from a blind lust for power rather than strategic ambition.”

Oh....oh that hurt. 

Rehman felt like someone had slapped the drunkenness right out of him. 

“Hamza! What the hell—”, Uzair snapped at him finally. 

He stared at the boy…no, the man, he was twenty four now..no longer his sweet baby. 

Hamza was still glaring at him. 

“That wasn’t a deal, kid. That was a shakedown. I would have never entered into the bloody factory had I known that Khanani’s contact was from the ISI and this one especially. He has Dawood’s ear. That wasn’t him asking, even if he had framed it that way.”

“And you gave into the pressure? Why?”, Hamza signed, still enraged in righteous fury. 

Rehman was tired. 

“Because I was afraid.”

The silence seemed to press against all three of them like a dead weight. Uzair was gawking at him. Hamza was stunned. The part of his wavy hair he hadn’t pulled into that ridiculous half updo seemed to almost flow in the night breeze. 

“Since when did the infallible Rehman Baloch start getting afraid?”, he signed finally, disbelief and skepticism ripe in that stony expression. 

Rehman crossed his arms, maybe trying to look authoritative or maybe it was more of a defensive position. He had torn open his ribs and now he was trying to stop his heart from falling out of that bloody hole. 

“Since he realised he is quite fallible. Since I took you and Uzair in.”

The truth was a bitter pill to swallow and the most potent poison to spit. 

Hamza looked like he had slapped him, himself. 

“I have never been afraid for my own life and everyone in Lyari is aware of that. But both of you— the Major knows my weakness. And he won’t hesitate to use it.”

Suddenly Hamza was in front of him, taking him by surprise. His eyes were burning fire, a verdant stream of liquid heat. His expression had turned slightly deranged. He had caught one of Rehman’s slightly shaking hands and started hitting his own chest with the other one, signing almost viciously now. 

“I am not your weakness. I am not. I refuse to be. I am your strength. They can’t use me against you. I will kill them. I will kill them all.”

There was a completely uncharacteristic almost maniacal sort of conviction in the usually even tempered and icy Hamza. It scared Rehman for a split second. Even Uzair, who was the more emotional one of the two looked unsettled. 

“Do not give in to that monster and sacrifice your conscience for the sake of my or Uzair bhai’s safety. You are Rehman Baloch, the Lion of Chakkiwara, the King of Lyari! You have the backing of the nine khalifas of Balochistan. You cannot be scared into submission by anyone. No one!”

Rehman could already feel his resolve cracking. 

But the image of the horror stories he had heard from sources about the Major’s twisted playrooms, the aftermath of his supposed ‘interrogation’ of the BUF members and the state he had left their families in— it danced in front of him like a sadistic kaleidoscope of nightmares.

And Dawood’s cruelty had a particularly vicious brand of theatrical flair. The man liked the movies a bit too much. 

There was a sudden split change in Hamza’s expression and his face twisted into despair. He brought Rehman’s hand to his chest. Almost as if he could sense the dilemma he had sent him into. 

“Please, Baba, please. We can take them on. Trust me.”

Oh the little shit. 

He knew fully well how to manipulate him. 

Rehman brought that hand to Hamza’s face and cradled his cheek. The man…the boy tilted his face into his touch like he was six again and the older man felt himself wavering. He looked at Uzair, wanting his opinion— whether to support or negate, he didn’t care. 

“I am with you, Bhai— whatever you decide. But Hamza is right, if it's fear for us that is making you get into his deal, don’t”, his cousin replied more somberly than he had expected him to. 

Hamza was staring at him beseeching now, all that righteous rage had disappeared. 

Rehman sighed. 

“Fine. Fine you win”, he caressed Hamza’s cheek and marvelled at how much the boy had grown, “I will call Khanani tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you”, Hamza touched his lips with two fingers signing, and then pressed a kiss to Rehman’s palm. 

“Chal aur makkhan lagaane ki zaroorat nhi hain”, Rehman ruffled his hair intentionally messing up his carefully crafted hairdo making the boy…the man squawk and stagger back trying to escape his hand. 

“Let me sleep now, my head will burst.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk so much, Bhai”

“I will end you Uzair, I am not kidding.”

Hamza chuckled. 

The air felt light again. 

______________________________________

Rehman rolled over and dropped bonelessly on the bed and then stared dreamily up at the ceiling. All his muscles were pleasantly sore and the heady fragrance of the hookah seemed to enclose him in a bittersweet and spicy bubble. 

“You shouldn’t have refused the Major.”

Aslam tugged him back in his arms and Rehman squirmed and got a slap on his ass for all the efforts making him squawk and try to push off the bigger man only to get kissed into submission for the next minute. 

“The Major shouldn’t have tried to strong-arm me into the deal”, Rehman sneered and settled back in the newly appointed LTF Chief’s arms. 

“He is Bade Sahab’s favourite, Laale and the boss is already mad at you. What even possessed you to shoot the fucker’s fucking brother in his face at that…how many times did you do it again?”

“Nine”, Rehman muttered into his chest and huffed when Aslam started stroking the naked line of his back. 

“That asshole shouldn’t have tried to snatch that land when he knew I had called dibs on it. And then his brother made me madder by being an absolute shithead.”

“You and that temper of yours.”

“Look who is speaking. Didn’t you have to garner Bade Sahab’s grace because you shot a politician’s son in the face for talking back at you?”

“That fucker had it coming—”

Rehman snorted and picked his face up to place his chin on Aslam’s sternum and considered the other man carefully. Aslam was tangling his thick fingers through his open hair, pulling at the locks at the ends. 

“SP Chaudhary Aslam, where should I expect you to be when all of this comes to head?”

And wasn’t that the question for a million dollars. 

Aslam stared right back at him, those teak eyes dancing with something dangerously close to an emotion neither of them will ever name. 

“On the winning side, meri jaan.”

He rolled them over in a fluid move and Rehman was beneath that hulking body again. Aslam’s heavy hands were twin flames of heat on his inner thighs as he spread him apart and Rehman welcomed him again into himself, this time with a half sigh and half a moan. 

He liked playing with fire a bit too much for his own good. 

Aslam held his hands down on the white sheets and bit into the bloodied mouth of the faded lion on his left pec as he wrapped his legs around those savagely thrusting hips. It was a bit like a kiss and Rehman would have laughed at the poetic allegory of it all if he could stop moaning like a whore. 

Aslam spilled inside him, licked his tears off his cheeks and pressed strangely sweet nothings into his skin and Rehman forgot about pyrrhic victories, ISI agents and doomed destinies for a while. 

_____________________________________

It had been a sunny afternoon when it happened. 

One should think that there would be a premonition for such an event— overcast skies, roaring thunder and chilly winds. But it had been clear above, the sunlight bearing down in strangely mythical golden strings through the verdant canopy overhead. 

The chirping of the thrush was what had broken his doze. 

They were on an empty stretch of a road, lined by the dry forest on either side. 

The first sign of wrongness was when Rehman couldn’t spot the convoy that usually sandwiched his car. He had been coming back from a meeting with the senior PAP leaders. His cousin was supposed to be following his car. 

Hamza had been in a meeting with their overseas clients since the morning and then he had heard from a very close friend who had been admitted in the hospital. 

“Go. Uzair and Donga will be with me”, Rehman had said when the boy looked at him hesitantly. He had been very reluctant but he had left. It would take him two hours to even reach the private clinic. 

“Uzair ki gaadi kahan hain?”, he asked. 

“Woh Uzair bhai ko Meher Bhabi ka call ayaa tha toh woh chale gaye the thodi der pehle”

Rehman could feel the stirrings of that unsettling feeling a prey might get when trapped. For decades he has only followed his own instincts when faced with any situation, and it has never failed him before. 

And the alarm signals were blaring at full force. 

He looked outside. The scenery was passing too fast for his liking. The walls of the car were closing in on him. When Iqbal hadn’t retaliated for months after, Rehman had thought it had all been inside his head— the fear and the paranoia. 

He should have trusted his instincts. 

“Donga! Stop the car”, he barked sharply. 

His oldest, most trusted confidante and lieutenant met his eyes on the rearview mirror and it was with a sudden icy clarity that he realised that he had been betrayed. He pushed the agony down with brutal force and slinked out the short dagger he kept hidden inside his sleeve silently. 

“Kitne paiso mein bika re tu, Donge? Kitni kimat di Major sahab ne meri?”, he snarled. 

“Bhai..”, Donga’s eyes were brimming and shame was clear on his face. 

But all Rehman could see was red. 

“They took Ruksaar, bhai….they took her and I.. I am so sorry I—”

“Rok madarchod!”, Rehman lunged at him from behind, blade poised at that throat. The car swerved, Donga kept driving, Mansoor and Siyahi had woken up and were trying to stop Donga, panicked. 

The car sped like a hurricane and hit a water pump. 

Mansoor was thrown off right from the windshield and got his head severed on the signboard in a macabre gory fashion. Siyahi was knocked unconscious and Rehman felt his head spin. He could hear the distant roar of an engine. 

Bade Sahab’s men. Or the ISI..who knows. 

He couldn’t wait around here to get slaughtered like a tied animal. He kicked the door off its hinges, fell on the ground, dragged himself up and took off into the woods right as the cars came into view. 

All that he could think of at the moment was how glad he was, Hamza and Uzair weren’t with him. 

The branches hit his face indiscriminately as he ran past the trees, blindly, the blood roaring inside his veins, survival pumping each cell into an overdrive. If adrenaline could fly him to the opposite road that the woods end up in, he might get lucky and find a vehicle. 

All of those thoughts came to a screeching halt as he had to come to an abrupt stop in the clearing. 

Major Iqbal stood, leaning against the trunk of a tree, smoking like he had been taking a stroll down the riverside. 

“Ahh, Rehman bhai, fancy seeing you here—”, he drawled. 

“Ahh, Major sahab, did daddy finally kick you out of the home, so here you are in the middle of nowhere trying to prove your dick isn’t pint sized?”, Rehman answered sacchirine, dagger poised and body locked into the age- old fighting stance. 

Iqbal’s eyes flashed bloody murder and Rehman picked out another pocket knife he kept hidden in his ankle. The Major laughed aloud, his booming voice echoing in the forest, a sickening sort of glee lighting his angular features. 

“Oh I will enjoy cutting that tongue out.”

___________________________

Hamza had been arguing with the translator for the past fifteen minutes. 

He had come, panicked into the reception, asking for Farhad’s room number and the receptionist didn’t know sign language and they had to bring an interpreter for the same and that woman was adamant that they did not have Farhad Shiraq listed. 

Hamza rubbed his face and was about to sign a very elaborate ‘fuck off’ when his phone rang. 

He usually had very few people calling him because they knew that he couldn’t speak and there was no way he could sign on the line. So it was weird seeing an unknown number but he picked it up. 

The line crackled immediately and the panic registered in the answering voice would have had Hamza running even if he had not recognized SP Aslam’s particular baritone. 

“It's a trap, Hamza. I can’t reach Rehman on the call. I am stuck in this stupid fucking traffic and I will plough through them in the next five seconds but you need to get there fast—”, he would have added something else but Hamza had already cut the call. 

He didn’t even know how he reached his bike. 

He was tearing through the streets before the engine had even started fully. 

No..no no no… 

It can’t be. It couldn’t be. He had checked the itinerary, the people, the bodyguards himself. Like he always did. It was a mistake. 

It had to be. 

By the time he had reached the place, his anxiety had blown into a full fledged panic attack and the only reason he could breathe was because of the rigorous training he had subjected himself to. His mind was calm even if his heart was racing hard enough to ache as he took in the destroyed car and the broken water pump and the bullet holes and Mansoor’s decapitated head and Siyahi blown into bits and Donga—

Donga was nowhere to be seen. 

Neither was his father. 

He picked off the trail by the familiar sunglasses, broken and discarded at the side of the dirt patch going inside the forest. 

He ran. 

After that he just had to follow the trail of blood. 

Till he reached the clearing. 

Major Iqbal had a nasty cut on his cheek and was bleeding like a stuck pig from the side, his ankle was definitely broken and if the distortion of that hand was anything so were his fingers. There were bleeding slashes all over his body. 

Sajid, Hamza recognized as the Major’s right hand and one of the LeT commanders was holding onto Iqbal, supporting his body. He had injuries all over himself as well and was limping, blinded in one eye in a macabre fashion. 

There was a third man with them who was also injured but less than the other two. 

Hamza couldn’t recognize him. 

“Aww.. here comes the whelp”, Iqbal laughed nastily, rasping through cracked ribs. 

“Should we—?”, the third man pointed his gun at Hamza but Iqbal shook his head. 

“Don’t bother. He is a mute street trash. Couldn’t even find his own ass with a map if given. Also, if we kill him, how do we ensure that the Balochs fall in line now”, the Major gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. 

“Now, baby boy. Go and tell your pathetic kaum to fall in line or else, I will do to you all what I did to your precious leader.”

Hamza couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even hear what the Major was saying. His eyes were stuck on the figure lying on the ground. Like a broken stamped on marionette with their strings cut off. 

Rehman’s chest was still wracking. Like a broken bleeding bird trapped under a stone crushing it. His face was almost disfigured, no doubt from the hits raining on it, one of his legs was twisted at an odd angle, clearly broken. His black ensemble was drenched. 

There was a dark vicious pool of maroon spreading beneath him. 

His own dagger’s hilt was shining in the late afternoon sunshine, plunging out of that spasming chest. 

“Is he still alive? Your father’s like a cockroach..absolutely refuses to die”, Sajid mocked, making Iqbal snigger as the latter kicked Rehman slightly at the side. 

Hamza let out a sound at that finally. 

It was a cracked whimper that could have passed for a whine of air through a wooden splint. 

The men laughed and stepped over Rehman on the ground and limped away, the third man keeping his gun trained on Hamza should the latter try anything. But it was not necessary because he couldn’t look anywhere else. 

“If you feel too sad, join me someday, I know how to make men like you sing”, Iqbal’s voice petered out from behind. 

Hamza staggered and fell to his knees, hitting the ground hard enough for the dirt and pebbles to cut into his skin through the fabric. He crawled the rest of the distance, because he couldn’t lift himself up no matter how hard he tried. 

He was trying to speak, the voice bleeding through the rock inside his throat but all he could make were faint animal sounds. 

Hamza gathered Rehman’s broken body in his arms and whined because he couldn’t scream. He stroked that blood and sweat streaked hair off his face and gagged on his cry again as the true extent of the bruising was visible. He could sense the life slipping off from his father’s chest, could feel the individual struggling breaths those collapsed lungs were trying to push out. 

No please..no no no no please..please..no

There was a faint cough which splattered a few more speckles of blood out of Rehman’s mouth and Hamza wiped them away gingerly, as if being tender would stop him from dying. 

His face was completely wet. Tears sliding down torrentially down his cheeks and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t scream. 

“Baba..Baba…please…please..I am sorry…no..don’t leave me please..Baba..”

He wanted to beg but the stupid words were lost to him. 

Rehman was trying to speak. 

Hamza bent down over him, drawing him closer in his arms, yet being cautious enough to not jostle him too much. His skin was ashen now, most of the blood having drained away yet that one spark of life was left clinging, hanging on through sheer stubborn will. 

Hamza whined again. 

“I..know..baby..I know…I am.. sorry…I love..”

Rehman stilled. The light those volcanic eyes suddenly extinguished. He went dreadfully limp, like dead weight. 

Dead—

Hamza shook him once and then found himself starting to shake. He was trembling so hard he was seconds away from shattering apart at the seams. His chest had caved in and collapsed inwards. 

The pressure inside his vocal chords suddenly gave way and Hamza howled. It ripped through the silent forest like the dying sound of a behemoth at the same time as it was, the foghorn of a war cry. 

He had been keening after that, face buried in that filthy hair and rocking with the body to and fro in his arms, in a continuous heartwrenching rhythm. The blood that had stained his clothes, his cheek, his hands were crusted and cooling. 

That was how SP Aslam had found him later. 

His hand had felt too heavy on his shaking shoulder. 

“Kid..you have to let go. We need to take him”, his voice was oddly heavy too. But Hamza didn’t care. He scratched and kicked and almost broke one of the LTF officer’s hands as he was finally pulled away. He was like a wild creature. 

Aslam was staring at the body for a long minute before he picked it up in his arms. The gesture had felt too tender for the notorious Djin of Lyari. But no one was brave enough to verbalise that observation. 

Even when the police chief kissed Rehman Dakait’s shattered cheek and seemingly muttered a prayer against it. 

Hamza was quiet again. Kneeling on the ground where the officers had left him. The silence felt almost reluctantly reverent. Like even nature was somehow mourning the passing of a titan. 

Suddenly the unnerving quiet of the forest was pierced. 

Uzair Baloch howled like a maniac and would have pounced on the SP had Hamza not intercepted them in a fluid move. He caught Uzair in his arms and physically pressed his screaming figure on the ground, trapping the older man under his weight. 

He let the distraught Baloch sibling rage and scratch at him and even caught a punch undeterred on his cheek but didn’t leave Uzair till the latter’s wrath had dissolved into piercing helpless grief. Then he let him hide his face inside his dusty mane and cry all the tears Hamza couldn’t finish. 

They were still kneeling on the ground when the sun had finally hidden behind the horizon and Uzair was exhausted and wrung out and Hamza was turned to stone. The LTF had taken Rehman, most probably to a morgue, for processing. 

Aslam would perhaps make sure no one did anything to the body. 

“What do we do now..Hamze?”, Uzair rasped, red eyed and completely hopeless. 

Hamza was staring at the spot which was still dark with blood. 

His father’s blood. 

“We will kill.”

Uzair snapped up immediately, shock and disbelief colouring his ashen face at the quiet voice which seemingly came out unhindered through that throat. Hamza’s voice was deep and smooth. Like velvet. 

Like he had been practising it for years instead of practically being mute for this whole life. 

Uzair was afraid that if he pointed it out, his brother would stop speaking again. So he swallowed down his shock with much difficulty and turned towards him. 

“Whom?”, he asked cautiously. 

Hamza’s eyes narrowed like abyssal pits of venomous green. All those poisonous words came to him with sudden clarity. Those laughs and those mocking pitying gazes. It was like all of his senses had been enhanced with an engineered precision. 

“All of them.”

That death stare was looking unnervingly like Rehman to Uzair. Hamza spoke again, voice curling around the words like he was savouring his new found ability. 

“We’ll kill all of them.”

____________________________________________

Chaudhary Aslam took in a massive drag of smoke and let it out slowly.

Jameel Jamali slammed the receiver down on the table frustrated and leaned back, rubbing at his own forehead. 

“You have to do something, SP. That kid has turned stark raving mad.”

Aslam turned to look at the massive chandelier above head and counted the candle holders just so he could tune out Jamali’s prattling. That nasally complaining was getting on his nerves like anything. The TV on the opposite wall was on mute and showed the brutal aftermath of Javed Khanani’s supposed suicide on a loop. 

It was the third time this month.

The LeT leaders were dropping like flies.

No one knew who had been giving the Indian Intelligence information of the ISI but most of their sleeper cell agents were being caught by the NSA one by one. Bade Sahab’s closest allies were fleeing the country in sheer terror. 

Uzair Baloch playing football with Arshad Pappu’s head had made international headlines. But he had seemingly vanished into thin air before the police could get a hint of his whereabouts. Karachi was up in flames and the recent elections had turned in the MMP’s favour almost overnight. 

Farhad Shariq, a prominent businessman in Karachi had also been found drowned inside his own bathtub. Later it was discovered that he had been on the ISI’s payroll for months. 

One of the biggest blowbacks that had both Dawood and Jamali panicking had been when the Army had found Major Iqbal and Sajid Mir dead and rotting inside what looked like a man-made pit in the middle of the forest. They had been beaten so brutally their faces had been disfigured, one of the Major’s legs had been torn off from beneath the knee and there were boot prints practically stamped into his skin. 

The horrifying part about their deaths seemed to be that the men who had attacked them had buried them when they had still been quite alive in that underground pit, leaving them to slowly suffocate to death in that darkness. 

The autopsy results had shown that they would have been driven half mad with terror by the third hour and hallucinated due to the lack of oxygen by the fourth till the loss of air and blood and oncoming infection had killed them within the sixth hour. 

Aslam even with years of brutal encounters in his belt had felt a little nauseous at the sheer cruelty of their end. 

But he had seen Rehman’s body and he could not fault the kid for wanting revenge. He only wished, he had called him too just so he could spit at Iqbal’s smug fucking face and hear their screams as they shovel the mud inside their mouths. 

Jamali was still ranting, more frantic than annoyed. 

“...and how much money can one want. I keep offering him more and that Hamza fucker keeps declining. Did you even know he could speak? I liked him better when he couldn’t. Such greed is—”

Aslam finally had had enough and stared down the greasy politician till he shut his mouth. 

“Have you stopped to consider that he may have found out that you were the one who gave Major Iqbal the location through which Rehman’s convoy was supposed to pass? You betrayed them, Jamali sahab, killed his father and now you want to clog that wound with money.”

Jamali’s face was white by the time he had ended. 

“Aree nhi nhi kaisi baat kar raha hain..main kaise..”

“He found the call records. And your own daughter had filmed the exchange with Iqbal and Mir in this very study. How very greedy of you—”, Aslam smirked at the sweating man, showing all his teeth. 

“You know what was really annoying about Rehman? The man really knew how to charm people into his sway…didn’t he? He also made people feel unimportant in his presence, and people like you develop a complex where that becomes a fucking problem doesn’t it?”

Jamali was slinking away from him, trying to get at the phone. 

But Aslam was faster and he shot out those pudge fingers before he could ring for the security that Hamza’s guys must have already cut down. 

Jamali screamed and fell back, clutching at his bleeding hand. 

“You shouldn’t have gone after a man who knows how to keep his loyalties even after his death”, the next shot was at his knees. 

Jamali rolled off the sofa, howling at the floor. 

“I really liked him, you know. Now I can’t even fuck someone else without that fucker’s face coming in front. He has made me monogamous after his death..fucking little shit”, there was something aggrieved yet oddly fond in his own voice that Aslam really didn’t like so much. 

The next shot took off his other hand. 

Aslam was walking towards him as Jamali tried crawling away. It was pathetic. He wished Rehman was alive just to see this satisfying sight for himself. 

“I told him, I would side with the winning team. Looks like you won’t be making it then—”.

Aslam pointed the barrel between the bleeding man’s eyes and pressed the trigger. He was sure he had felt Rehman leaning against him then and laughing away to glory, dead and still managing to make him grovel at his feet with blood between his teeth. 

That precious little pretty fucker. 

___________________________________

Hamza was looking at the stars through the lens. 

Oslo was freaking cold. 

But the observatory here showed the constellations pretty clearly and that was the only reason Hamza had lifted himself from his nice warm chair by the fire and left his nice cozy book and dragged himself to the shivering cold to stare at the aftermath of the nebulous explosions that had occurred a million light years ago. 

His trusted companion, Sheela, a shiny black great dane was standing beside him, nudging her cold nose at his palm. 

Adeeda bibi had told him once that people believed the tale of their loved ones becoming stars because it was easier for them to think of materialised objects watching over them than an abstract concept of a memory. 

Hamza had scoffed at that then. 

Now he could only laugh at himself. 

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened had he not been brave enough to follow that scary looking man from the alley to that bright warm house and those bright warm smiles and those bright warm arms. 

No, it was unthinkable. 

Even if it was always supposed to end like this. Even if he had to carry this weight, this guilt, this pain for the rest of his life. He would still wish that his story always started with him deciding to trust that one last person, who had looked at him without that disgust and pity in his eyes. 

The only man who had made him feel safe. Loved. 

Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t function like a proper human again and would retreat back into his own mind. Sheela helped out a lot. She was a good girl. His neighbours were nice people, happy to leave him alone yet greet him kindly when they did see him. 

Uzair, Meher and their two year old, were due to come tomorrow afternoon. 

He needed to stock up on his pantry. His brother could eat him out of his home if he put his mind to it. 

Hamza stared at the star he had convinced himself was Rehman for one second more and then bade him a silent goodbye for the night, picked up his telescope and walked back towards his house, Sheela tottering behind him faithfully. 

He thought he felt a caress on his cheek. 

But that could have just been the chilly night air. 

Oslo was fucking cold at this time of the year. 

He hates coming back 🥀

Bonding with our friends is necessary 😔🙏

Oh my....

Yalina baby lets get away from these gays 🥀🥀

Player!hamza 🥀🥀

I think hamza should let me try once, i think i can make it happen.