Uzair Baloch and his Wasted Potential
A/N - In which Uzair Baloch has ADHD and I'm sorry if this is bit non canon but I read all the angst y'all were putting out and got inspired really hard. It is canon divergent. Idk why. I just started writing and here it is.
----- Everyone experiences ADHD differently other than the core struggles. It might vary from person to person and there are a lot of factors which are less spoken about. What I've covered is something I personally dealt with. And I'm sorry if this is triggering for some 😭
I'm sorry to all my neurospicy folks who had to deal with shit in a world that is not made to accomodate us. Trust me it'll get better. Sending you lots of love and hugs.
To all the people who have read my other Jassi X OC fanfic, trust me when I say this. I WANT TO WRITE AND POST IT SO Y'ALL CAN ENJOY IT. But I'm reworking quite a lot so give me some time, my babies! I love y'all!
Uploading Part 2 in an hour or so...
Uzair prided himself on being indispensable to Rehman Baloch. He loved the fact that his was the first hand to touch the door that Rehman Bhai walked through.
He kept note of Rehman’s meetings, events, business deals and other happenings and while he did all this, he also knew that Rehman himself had a great brain and didn't need to be reminded about these scheduled meetings. He could never complain to his brother about how difficult it was for him sometimes to keep it all together.
To remember all the dates and the possibility of not remembering something that was said to him in passing. He never told anyone why he always had his diary with him. Because he forgot.
He knew that his brother knew and there were times when Rehman's irritation about him forgetting something bled through but then it would be wiped away with an understanding and acceptance so profound, Uzair’s shame would either evaporate into nothingness or become a living thing sitting in his chest.
But when he functioned to his full capacity and did everything the way it was meant to be, he was wiped out by day's end. Even if he didn't, the tiredness found him every night and made his brain feel like it was filled with cotton. He would come home and sit in his room with no capacity to do anything else.
He wanted to go and help his Bhabhi in the kitchen, or to go to Naeem and Faizal and ask them if they needed anything to eat that he could go out and get but the tiredness would answer with a big fat NO and make him stay in place. No matter how many times he told himself, “Uth Ja! Uth bhi ja! UTH Uzair! Get up, damn it!” He couldn't bring himself to move.
He remembered the first time it had happened in eighth grade, when he was supposed to submit some assignments. He had sat on Rehman Bhai's expensive soft couch and told himself to get the fuck up. No amount of mental scolding or telling himself that he would fail and have to repeat eighth grade had motivated him to get started on the project. He had eventually failed and Rehman Bhai still hadn't scolded him.
His aptitude in numbers and calculations conquered anything and everything but the shame of being a failure in performing even the basics of tasks made him feel like he wasn't enough. Instead he would spend his days engaging in tasks that would arrest his attention for hours, days and weeks on end.
He had read about a special type of stone that was found in Baltistan and read about them for days. He had heard one of Rehman Bhai’s henchmen talking about knife wounds causing infections so he had spent days visiting the utensil shops and his friend's father's steel factory to understand whether steel would not cause infections. His life was a trail of mini passion projects started for fun but were abandoned when his mind put a road block and said it didn't want to go that way again.
He might be an almost thirty eight year old man but the insecurity still gnawed at him. And when it got to him so much that he couldn't keep track of his failures and his brain kept pointing accusing fingers, he went to the kabootarkhana.
Hamza's kabootarkhana that Uzair didn't realise had become a sanctuary for him. He would walk into the place and get rid of his kurta while face planting himself on Hamza's bed as the long haired man cooked food and set the table without asking Uzair to do anything. He was simply allowed to exist. It's not like the Baloch Haveli demanded that he do anything more but not doing anything and seeing his family members reminded him that he SHOULD be.
Hamza would bring in piping hot Jeera rice and Aloo Gosht and try to shake Uzair to make him sit up. There were times when even that required a whole lot of effort. Hamza would grab Uzair by the nape of his neck, hold his opposite hand and pull him up in a sitting position.
They both shared a secret that they could never tell the world; that Hamza, while eating his own food, would feed tiny morsels to Uzair. He would swipe another hand on his chin if something stuck there and Uzair couldn't understand what he had done to receive this special treatment. Why wasn't Hamza telling him that he's a grown man and should eat on his own?
There was another secret that Uzair had never told Hamza but he had found out despite that. Uzair had trouble getting himself into the bathroom or brushing his teeth at times. The moment he would open his eyes, a hundred things and tasks would come rushing at him. The weight of the upcoming tasks was such that he couldn't do anything else.
He would be ready to enter the bathroom when he would remember the glocks from the factory were getting some negative feedback. He would remember the client who had given it and that he owned an Imphala. Imphalas in the eighties came in a beautiful moss green colour and that moss green colour would remind him of Hamza's eyes. His weakness. He would think of Hamza and his indomitable presence in the gang despite being a new member. He would remember that Hamza had been the one who had pulled Faizal out of the jaws of death and made sure Naeem was safe behind the food counter. Uzair would remember Hamza also had a stall there and they sold his favourite guava juice. Guavas reminded him of that one tree near his school that he spent time sitting underneath because, “Hoge tum Rehman Baloch ke bhai, lekin him gadhon ko humare saath nahi khilaate,” is what his classmate had said. Uzair never told his brother about it but his classmates' bitter words pierced through him like a dagger.
While Uzair would sit being lost in his rapidly forming thoughts, Rehman Bhai would call him out from the below, telling him it was time to go. The only option left would be a strong Nike deodorant that truly did its job and chewing on some saunf to battle bad breath.
One day, Uzair had been sitting in his bedroom on an arm chair, wearing a comfortable white kurta he had slept in with his legs extended on a small stool in front.
Hamza had walked in because Uzair had not responded to everyone calling his name. He was stuck in one of his loops of thoughts that had hijacked his executive function.
“Tu nahaya nahi ab tak?” asked Hamza.
The question had no answer but it successfully injected a healthy dose of shame in Uzair's veins and made his cheeks and hurt burn.
But such was the gentleness with which Hamza asked the question, that the answer spilled out of Uzair.
“Me uth nahi paa raha, Hamza,” he whispered.
“Matlab? Pair me dard hai? Tujhe kal bola tha shoutout ke baad patti karaane,”
“Nahi, Hamza. Mujhe koi chot nahi lagi hai! Mein bas -” he cut himself off when Uzair realised the futility of trying to explain to someone that there was something wrong with him.
“Uzair,” came Hamza's voice and this time it wasn't casual. It was spoken with intention. As if Hamza knew that he would make Uzair focus on him with just a word. “Bata mujhe,”
And so Uzair vomited out everything; every small thing he couldn't do until it absolutely needed to be done. He told him how he only entered the bathroom because Ulfat bhabhi would tell him that she brought two buckets of hot water on the first floor for him, all by herself. That if someone told him about something and he hadn't written it down, it would disappear in the labyrinth of his brain like it never existed. He would always ask Rehman Bhai to decide the dates or ask the workers how long they'll take because he couldn't for the life of him estimate how much time it would take to complete a consignment. That he was a dumbfuck who Rehman Bhai should've kicked out of his house long back.
When he was done talking, Hamza stood and walked out of the room. Uzair wanted to follow him, to bring back Hamza and tell him that he would be fine, that he wasn't broken but even that would take effort and his brain was drawing a massive fuck you to him if he even thought of performing a task as basic as getting up and walking.
He still tried, made a futile attempt to reason with his brain to please make him get up. Not just once but multiple times. So many times that before he knew it, sobs were making his chest wrack.
Why was he like this? He was useless. Rehman Bhai was charitable enough to keep him around only because no one in the world wanted the burden of having a failure around them. An adult who couldn’t even remember simple things. Who couldn't even stand up and walk without having to perform extreme mental gymnastics.
The door opened and Hamza walked in again. He didn't rush ahead or tell Uzair to shut the fuck up the way the kids at school would do long back. He just went and stood in front of the crying man.
Hamza didn't say or ask anything before pulling Uzair's head into the hardness of his belly. Uzair's shoulders shook as held onto Hamza's waist and continued crying as Hamza combed his hair with his fingers.
“Maine sabko jaane ke liye keh diya,” said Hamza when Uzair's sobs had subsided.
“Par kyu? Bhai ki meetings kaun dekhega? Hamza mujhe jaana hoga,” argued Uzair trying to pull himself out of Hamza's hold.
“Donga aur Siyahi sambhaal lenge. Donga jitna gadha dikhta hai, utna hai nahi,” reasoned Hamza.
Hamza stood straighter and pulled Uzair up by his arms. When Uzair was standing upright and towering over him, Hamza pulled him by the arm and took him to his attached bathroom. The warm yellow lights painted Hamza in a hue that made him look majestic. He walked around the place as if he owned it; knew where everything was.
Hamza turned on the tap on the marble counter which had a bowl-like basin in between. All Uzair had to do was bend and splash his face with water. When he was finished and the coolness had woken him up, there was a brush ready with toothpaste on it.
While he brushed his teeth, Hamza walked to the glass partition that formed the bathroom and turned on the geyser. The long haired man walked up and made Uzair gulp when he held the hem of Uzair's kurta and pulled it over his head. Goosebumps erupted across his body in response to the cold. Then he was being pushed into the shower and Hamza was gone.
The tears flowed again as if they were competing with water droplets from the shower. When Uzair stepped out with a towel around his waist, Hamza was standing on the balcony.
As Uzair dressed up, he couldn't keep his eyes off Hamza's back and the hair cascading down it. Uzair wanted to go ahead and touch his hair, to see whether it was as soft as he thought it would be.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when Hamza turned around and walked towards him. Uzair felt his breath pick up the moment Hamza stood close enough to touch. He had to slightly look down to look into his piercing moss green eyes that didn't miss anything.
“Aaj aapki chutti hai, Uzair miyan. Jo karna chahe wo kar sakte hai,” said Hamza.
“Mujhe bas ek jagah par baithna hai. Kabhi kabaar khayal bohot tez ho jaate hai par aaj mujhe unhe sunna hai. Ya phir…”
Uzair moved on pure instinct. One minute, he could feel his hands hanging loose at his sides. The next, he lifted a palm and cupped Hamza's cheek, his beard ticking Uzair's palm. Uzair tried finding the words but nothing came out. It was impossible to put in words, how right this felt, how worth it. The sheer longing he felt threatened to crack his chest open because he wanted… God, he wanted.
“Agar tu kahe toh me ruk jaunga, Hamza,” whispered Uzair.
“Aur agar me naa rukna chahu toh?” asked Hamza, breathing visibly hitched.
“Toh mujhe nahi pata main kya kar baithunga,” said Uzair, touching his forehead to Hamza's. “Please,”
The word was enough for Hamza to grip Uzair's nape and pull him close so their lips were inches apart. It was surreal. Being so close to the man whose company Uzair had longed for ever since he had seen him the first time. He always heard young people talk about butterflies in their stomachs. So this is how it felt.
“Hamza, mein nahi– Mujhse nahi raha Jaa raha, please. Kya karke maanega, yaar. Mein tuj–”
Hamza finally gave in and sealed his lips to Uzair's, feeling tiny sparks shoot inside his chest. He wasn't supposed to. He had a mission to complete. But something inside him had given in to Uzair's helplessness.
The feeling of being needed and helping someone live their life. But it wasn't anyone though. It was Uzair. The stupid lamppost who had made it impossible to ignore him. Uzair, who listened and never questioned anything Hamza said and gave him his undivided attention and utmost trust.
The kiss was lava. Spreading through his system and charring everything inside him, till there was nothing left but Uzair's desperation with which he kissed back and pulled at Hamza's pathani kurta. The tiny moans of contentment sent Hamza's blood pumping to unimaginable degrees. His heart felt too big to stay inside. The way Uzair's skin felt under his fingers and the feeling of Uzair's pulse under his palm made Hamza feel powerful.
He knew that if need be, Uzair would give him his life. He would willingly lay it down for Hamza, that’s how much he trusted the man. Every part of his trained self might tell him to use the opportunity but this was the first time his honed instincts were fighting against their training.
God, you're so good at what you do
Come for me like a savior
And I'd put myself through hell for you
Hear all the rumors lately
And I fell for you like water
Falls from the February sky
But now the current's stronger
No, I couldn't get out if I tried
But you convinced me, baby
Hamza couldn't explain it but maybe there was something about Uzair that brought out Jaskirat. When he was playing football with Uzair at the factory, he thought of Gurbaaz and how the boy used to defeat him at playing kanche. There were times when Jassi let him win and watched as Gurbaaz around in the soil laughing. He had loved the boy like he loved Harleen and Jasleen.
But whatever he was feeling for Uzair right now was a chapter that Jassi had not been fortunate enough to experience. A missed opportunity that any young adult should've gotten to experience. Instead here he was, in a lair of vipers, trying to mould himself into a viper himself so he could rule and command them all.
When Hamza pulled back, they were a pair of swollen lips, heaving chests and breathless lungs. The heat that had started pumping through his veins had now cooled down to serenity. When Uzair leaned his forehead on Hamza's shoulder, Hamza patted his neck and placed a soft kiss on head.
After that, Hamza showed up every morning. He would repeat his everyday routine and Uzair felt Hamza's understanding and acceptance crack open his heart that he had been so scared to expose.
Uzair's blind trust scared Hamza. He knew it was necessary to keep Uzair around but when he looked into those brown eyes that would already be staring at him with longing, lust, yearning and after a point, love, Hamza's guilt would threaten to burn him alive.
And to get rid of it, he would fall into a rabbit of masochism, that involved assaulting his brain with images of a burnt memory. He reminded himself of a lifetime of love and happiness that was broken and ruined way too soon. He would remind himself about why he was here through these memories.
But here were consequences to Hamza's hurtful trip down memory lane. He would be snapping at the boys at football and would ruthlessly negotiate with any dealer who tried to be too smart for his own good. Touch was poison and he would give off such unreachable vibes that Donga, Siyahi and everyone would give him his space.
Uzair did too but the coldness hurt him. Not because Hamza wasn't paying him attention but because he would not let Uzair help him. Until he did.
One such night, Uzair had followed Hamza to his kabootarkhana. Hamza had been sitting on his balcony, smoking like a chimney. When he saw Uzair from above, he had rushed to let the taller man in, his mind filled with worries about potential wounds or him being in one of his zones of major executive dysfunction.
Hamza had roamed his hands on Uzair’s body checking for injuries and blood but had only found his eyes full of curiosity, questions and love.
Love that he did not deserve.
Love that had no business pulling at Hamza's heartstrings as well.
After he had shut the door, Hamza had walked into his kitchen and started cooking. His favourite and most simplest recipe. Dal Gosht.
When he served it to Uzair and watched the man devour the food, Hamza wanted to feed him more and be the reason he was not hungry. It fucked him up that all he wanted to keep Uzair safe and away from the world. After Hamza had cleaned the dishes while Uzair had futilely tried to help, they had ended up sitting down. Hamza on the chair near the table and Uzair lounging on the bed.
While Hamza sat and looked out at Lyari, his mind churned plans on how to conquer the city, but they were soon replaced by whether or not he should try approaching Jamaali's daughter, but where would he find her? Then his thoughts drifted to his training days and Rizwaan, his brother in arms. When his brain slapped him with Harleen and Jasleen's tinkling laughter, Hamza felt a pang in his chest out of sheer longing.
And maybe whoever said this about love was right. It was easy to get attuned to someone. To tell just by looking at their body and posture, what they were thinking. To recognise and feel the undefeatable urge to touch, soothe and help them heal.
Uzair was right by his side when he had drifted out of his thoughts. The man had a habit of caressing the side of Hamza's face as if he was the most precious thing in the world.
Hamza's mind scrambled for semblances of righteousness and duty while his body drew the warmth of his palm and turned his face to kiss it. When Uzair pulled his Kurta over his head, Hamza felt his breath being knocked out of him by the beauty of the Baloch. And when the taller man went down on his knees, offered his vulnerability and gave Hamza the right to properly claim his body, Hamza… no, Jaskirat felt as if he was being emptied out of his very substance only to be put back together by the innocence and openness in Uzair's eyes and the way they seeked him even when Hamza thrust into him and made him squirm due to pleasure
Yalina Jamaali was an interesting character. Ever since he had picked her phone at her father's election party, he had been spending the day going over her contacts and messages. She was pretty simple. A rebellious eighteen year old who was desperate to leave the pressure her parents put on her.
When he had made that raid happen at Qasim Killa and taken her around the city with the cops chasing them down, he realised she loved the thrill of their little cat and mouse game. When Hamza returned her phone, his number was already in it.
Their conversations were enjoyable. Late night calls about Abbu aur unke siyaasati kaayde kanoon, while she told him who visited their house often and how they benefitted her father. Then she would tell him what SHE thought of them. Hamza realised that she might've been protected by her father's privilege all her life but there was a grit to her that would never let anybody knock her down.
The guilt threatened to swallow him thinking about leaving Uzair behind because Yalina Jamaali would benefit him more. His heart crushed itself every time he said no to Uzair for hanging out at the factory or getting drinks. Or when he would leave after getting a call from Yalina while Uzair looked at him like a kicked puppy.
Uzair had started to pick up on Hamza being away for hours on end. Hamza always had a believable lie but Uzair's patience was running thin. So when he caught Hamza sneaking Jamaali’s daughter into the factory, Uzair picked up his favourite desert eagle and went to the dumping ground on the outskirts of Karachi. He shot at piles of trash and expended bullets until the firearm had become hot to touch.
The next morning at the Baloch Haveli, Uzair wanted to scream and shove Hamza out, when the man walked into his room and started his ‘put Uzair together’ routine. But turns out Love doesn't make you resistant but tolerant.
Tolerant to such utter unfairness that you would watch your lover be with someone else but still long and yearn for his arms around you when you went to bed and soaked your pillows with tears.
It was pathetic. He was a thirty eight year old man who had lost his mind at the sight of his lover's deception. One day when his presence became too much and tied Uzair's feelings into knots of questions born out of cruel deception, Uzair threw the toothbrush Hamza had prepared for him. It hit the ground and bounced twice before landing on the ground.
Uzair hated the fact that Hamza looked guilty but clueless about what he should be doing next. Hamza had told him once that, “Tere liye ye sab karke mujhe mukammal mehsoos hota hai. Jaise mera koi aisa maqsad ho jo sirf mere haath me hai. Iss par sirf mera haq hai. Aur mujhse zyada tera. Mujhe behad khushi hogi agar ek din tujhe meri zaroorat na pade. Lekin uss baat ka khalipan mujhe khokla kar dega,”
Today was the day when Uzair had to do it. Leave the man hollow to make sure he didn't topple like a domino at the thought of Hamza creating a beautiful home with Jamaali's daughter.
So he touched his lover's cheek one last time that day. Then he held him by the wrist, dragged him out and made him stand outside the door while Uzair went inside standing opposite to him.
“Mujhe ab teri zaroorat nahi rahi,” said Uzair while his heart crushed itself into fine powder and tears made his voice break.
“Maine socha nahi tha ki ye din kabhi aayega bhi, par Ulfat bhabhi sahi kehti hai, Jo zindagi me aayega wo waapis chale jaane ke liye aayega. Lekin uhone ye nahi bataya ki kisi ko kho dena kaisa hota hai jab wo aapke nazron ke saamne saasein bhar raha ho.”
“Uzair,” Hamza's voice had cracked as his throat hurt from holding his explanations in.
“Hamza,” whispered Uzair. The devastation and despair in Uzair's eyes full of tears threatened to send Hamza crashing down on his knees, right before Uzair shut the door on his face.
Ulfat and Rehman noticed Uzair's moroseness but they signed it off as a friend's tiff that came from a man finding a lover that made his friend irate.
Uzair still spoke to Hamza but only when it was absolutely needed for work. He listened to the man's advice and paid it the same level of attention that Rehman Bhai did because what else was he supposed to do.
Hamza would be stopped by Ulfat and asked whether everything was alright between them, and Hamza told her that they were both handling two different branches of business that didn't let them spend time together often.
Hamza had tried to get Uzair to talk to him but Uzair was an immovable wall not interested in listening to any of Hamza's explanations. All he could do was watch as Uzair fell into his spells of executive dysfunction alone. He knew he WAS in the wrong but his loyalty to his nation would always have to take precedence.
I look so stupid thinking
And I'm the love of your life
'Cause if rain don't pour and sun don't shine
Then changing you is possible
No, love is never logical
I know I'm half responsible
And that makes me feel horrible
I know I could've stopped it all
God, why didn't I stop it all?
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