blueberry?

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"Hamze ek santra mujhe bhi de de." It was an awfully hot day, and the fact that they were driving through a desert was not helping with matters. The car's AC was fighting a losing battle against the sun' rays glaring down at them, the combination of chilled air and burning light making him feel like his brain had melted and re-solidified into a heavy, unusable block of metal. Uzair was Baloch and this was his home, his native land, his natural habitat, yes, but for the life of him he could not understand why people would want to live here. If he ever met his ancestors in the afterlife, all he would ask them was "Kyu????"

Hamza guiltily looked down at the peel in his hands. "Santre to khatam ho gaye..."

Uzair took his eyes off the road for a moment to stare at his friend incredulously. "Chaar kilo santre khatam ho gaye?"

"Donga aur Bhai ne bhi to khaye-"

"Mai soya hua tha," interrupted Rehman in his sharp voice as he sat up, removing the handkerchief he had been using to cover his face. "Mera naam mat le."

"To tum dono ne chaar kilo santre kha liya? Saalo ek to chhod dete mere liye-"

"Abey gaadi chala raha hai to raste pe dhyan de!" Rehman snapped. "Kya santra-santra laga ke rakha hai-"

"Rasta? Kaunsa rasta? Sookha reghistaan hai ye, sirf ret hai. Ghante ka rasta-"

"Le yaar tu paani pi. Dimag garam ho gaya hai tera." Hamza thrust a bottle of water at him. "Bhai, ye sach me aapka bhai hai na? Ya god liya tha? Yahan ka hokar aisa kaise hai ye-"

"To kya sab tere jaise paidaishi oont honge?" Uzair ignored the offered water. In this weather, even the water became warm and felt entirely unsatisfying to drink.

"Oont?"

"Idhar pala-bada jaanwar, khuda jaane kitne aadmiyon ka khana-pani kha leta hai, shakal bhi kuchh-"

"Tu kaun hota hai bolne wala, giraffe ki aulad-"

"Naam Hamza lekin harkate bandar wali, saare phal-"

"Aur tu kauve ki tarah kaan me garmi ke baare me kaav kaav kar raha hai chaar ghante se uska-"

"Abey oye! CHUP!" Rehman threw a pen at Hamza's head. Where did it come from? Uzair didn’t know. Rehman always seemed to have an infinite supply of pens, cigarettes, candies and coins in his pocket for some reason. "Itni garmi hai aur dono me bachpana chadha hai, janwaron ke naam se chidha rahe hain ek doosre ko... Faizal ki bhi umar nahi rahi ye sab karne ki aur tum dono-" he looked up at the heavens as if praying for patience.

"Bilkul sahi bola Bhai," Donga said with a wide grin from beside Rehman. "Ye oont-giraffe ko lekar ladh rahe hain, lekin mere hisaab se to dono bhi gadhe hain-"

"Oye!"

"Abey saale-"

Rehman slumped back into his seat. "Mar jao sab," he muttered as he covered his face with the handkerchief again. "Yahi chhod dunga teeno ko."

Donga laughed, and Hamza joined in. Uzair managed a weak chuckle despite the heat's torment, focusing back on the road. He could see the camps in the distance now, the outline of the tents faintly visible against the blue sky. Hamza switched with him for the last leg of the journey, letting him rest before the chaos of the camp swallowed them.

Uzair was out of the car before they had even stopped properly, desperate to stretch his legs after the long drive. He opened the rear door and Rehman stepped out, the familiar lopsided smile on his face, hands raised in greeting as he went to hug Shirani. Shirani welcomed Uzair next, warmly remarking on how much he had grown since they first met. Uzair couldn't help but smile back. Despite the struggle his whole life had been, the old man remained remarkably cheerful. It must take a special kind of strength, Uzair thought, to lose so much and remain so resilient.

Rehman patted Shirani's grandson on the back, and they set off inside. There were people gathered around the path, waving and cheering, and Rehman grinned as he waved back. Shirani looked on indulgently, watching the spring in Rehman’s step as he saw the crowd gathered for him. Rehman would cut his tongue off before he admitted it, but Uzair knew he enjoyed being loved by the people.

Uzair had to duck under the low doorframe as he entered- another reason he would like to his ancestors why. Why were the doorframes so small when they were all so tall? Inside, he could hear the beats of music and the rhythmic taps of their feet as the men danced. Rehman’s smile grew impossibly broader as he made his way through the formation, breaking out into his own dance, enjoying the flow of the movement. Something settled in Uzair's heart. He hadn't seen Rehman so happy in ages, not since Naeeim had died. His brother had lost the shine in his eyes after that day, but look at him now. Rehman had always loved Balochistan more than Uzair did, saying going there felt like going home in a way, and it showed.

Rehman stopped dancing at the steps leading up to the couch they had set for him. Uzair watched from the side, waiting for him to ascend and for Shirani to join him. Instead, he felt Shirani's hand on his shoulder. "Aage badho, beta."

Uzair turned around to face the older man, confused. "Kya?"

He raised his hand and gestured to the throne. "Baitho."

Uzair stared at him in befuddlement. "Mai? Rehman Bhai baithne gaye hai na-" he tried to point where Rehman had been standing a moment ago, but the spot was empty. Uzair looked around, but he was nowhere to be seen, as if he had disappeared into thin air. "Bhai-"

"Kaun?"

"Arre Rehman! Rehman Bhai!" Shirani looked lost, as if he had never heard the name before. Instead, he started leading Uzair to the front. Uzair tried to resist, but in some strange manner, his feet kept walking forward. No, he thought as he looked around frantically, searching for Rehman. This is wrong. Where's Rehman? Rehman was supposed to dance his way to the front, Uzair following, and climb up the steps with his usual swagger, clapping as he sat down on the couch. Then Shirani would walk up and place the turban on his head-

Why do I know that? A strange, oddly familiar panicky feeling had taken root in his throat. Why do I know what is supposed to happen, why-

He spotted Hamza standing behind the throne. "Hamza! Bhai kaha hai?"

His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but Uzair saw his brows crease as he frowned. "Bhai? Kya keh raha hai?"

Uzair was walking up the steps now, his feet seemingly having decided to completely disobey their master. "Arre Bhai, yaar, Rehman Bhai!" The panic was clawing at his throat now, making it hard for him to breathe. Why wasn't anyone else noticing what was wrong? Even if they all suddenly had collective amnesia, couldn't they see Uzair drowning?

Shirani placed the turban on Uzair's head, and everyone clapped. No, no, this is Rehman's, what on earth is happening.... he tried to take it off, but it was stuck to his head, refusing to let go of him. He used all of his considerable strength to try to remove it, fingers burning from the exertion and scalp aching where he was tearing out clumps of his hair, but it refused to budge.

"Uzair, kya kar raha hai-"

"Ye Bhai ka hai, Bhai kaha hai? Mujhe Bhai chahiye..." His voice suddenly sounded very childlike to his ears.

Shirani was ignoring the commotion, talking to his people. "... Lyari ka Badshah, Uzair, Sher-e-Baloch!"

What? No!

But everyone else cheered at the proclamation, smiling and nodding. Sher-e-Baloch! Sher-e-Baloch! He could hear the chants. It felt like his whole body was aflame, every word proclaiming him as the lion and the king like a stone weighing him down as he dangled over a fire.

"Rehman! Rehman!" Dread pooled in his gut as he futilely looked for his cousin. "Rehman-" his voice cracked. His face felt wet. There was something trickling out of the turban, rivulets of it running down his head. His fingers came away red when he touched one. Blood. The terror reached a crescendo, the cheers of the Baloch mingling with the screams of a woman crying and the sounds of ambulance sirens. He wasn't in the desert with the sand and the sun, he was in some place white with the cloying scent of death and antiseptic surrounding him-

Uzair woke up with a start, something slipping off his chest and falling to the ground with a crash as he shot to his feet. He wasn't in the desert, he realized. He was in the dark, on the couch in the outer room of the haveli, and a syringe had rolled off him and broken as it landed on the floor. He placed a hand on his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. A dream. It was all a dream. He wasn't Sher-e-Baloch, Rehman wasn't missing, Rehman was- Rehman was....

Rehman was dead.

The fact piercing through the fog of panic hit him again like a physical blow, legs nearly buckling under him before he used the couch to steady himself. He had forgotten, for the brief moments that he had found sleep, that his brother was dead. That he was gone, forever.

The wrongness of the statement burned through him. It wasn't possible. Rehman couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. Men like Rehman didn't die. Rehman was unbeatable, invincible, he always had been. An occasional hit might throw him off balance, even make him fall down for some time, but he didn't stay down. He was like one of those annoying Russian dolls that always got up no matter how you knocked them over. He never stayed down.

But he had. This time, he had. Uzair had lowered his brother six feet into the soil with his own hands, and he had not risen up again.

It felt someone had snatched the ground from under his feet. Rehman had always been a constant, a universal truth from the moment he was born. There were seven days in a week, the sun rose in the east, and Rehman was always there two steps ahead of Uzair.

But he was not. Not now.

Uzair pulled out the little plastic packet from his salwar, splitting the seal open to pour out a small amount of the white powder within onto the table. He tapped it into a thin line with a card, before lowering his face to the table. Rehman would be enraged, he would be mad, and he would be so, so disappointed. But you're not here anymore, so fuck you and fuck your concern, he told the ghost of his brother who lived in his mind. He needed this, needed the rush of the chemicals within his bloodstream to feel just half the man he used to be. To feel the strength course through his veins, to feel a fraction as invincible as he used to with Rehman in front of him. He had never learned to live in a world where Rehman didn't exist, and while the high of the drug was nowhere close to the strength of the shield that was Rehman's presence, it had to make do.

He inhaled, the powder getting sucked into his nostrils. The effect was near immediate, that momentary strange, wondrous buzz hitting his brain like a gong hitting metal, all his thoughts going quiet. He grinned as he fell back onto the couch, feeling the blood pulse under his skin. He felt strong, so strong- his hands clenched, aching to fight, to bleed, to kill. The shards of the broken syringe glinted wickedly from the floor. The packet of powder lay on the table, looking almost innocent.

And in the stillness of the night, Uzair's heart beat faster than a rabbit's, in the same haunting rhythm as the chants in his mind.