CHAPTER 1 - JHOOTH
PART 1 - GUNAAH
2004
The air in Lyari always carried the same energy every morning: spices, dust, and that faint sense of terror, and right in the middle of it all stood Anu, behind the counter of a small biryani shop.
To most people, she was easy to miss. Just another girl in a simple salwar, dupatta loosely hung over shoulders, hair tied back in a way that looked careless but never really was.
But only she knew who she really was, Anayat.
An orphan whose roots could be tied back to Balochistan, even unaware of her official legal surname, taking up whatever was presented to her.
She stumbled her way into Lyari a little less than a year ago, though not entirely by accident.
She smiled easily, spoke politely, and remembered faces better than most. Regular customers were fond of her, and even more so were Naseer Abbu and Fatima Ammi.
Two kind childless strangers who opened their doors to her, and Shahmeer their adopted son.
Well, quite literally, less than a year ago, they gave her a small place to stay, food and a means of income.
And well, new customers trusted her without thinking twice.
Which is exactly why a girl, I mean, an agent like her was the apt choice for Lyari, where evenings often turned into a breeding hub for hushed secrets, casual slip-ups, and far too sensitive intel.
"Thoda aur daal do na" a regular whined, holding out his plate.
She tilted her head, pretending to consider it.
"Hmmmm, extra paisa lagenge bhaiya", she replied, lips twitching upwards slightly, trying to hide her growing little smile.
He groaned. "Roz aata hoon yahan"
"Aur aap roz yahi baat karte ho," she shot back lightly, rolling her eyes, but still added a little extra before handing it back.
He left smiling, most people did. That was the thing about Anayat, she made everyone feel at ease.
But only if you weren't paying attention, and were not a highly observant agent like her, the chances for which were a bit unlikely in a place like Lyari,
where her only real companion was her handler, Mohammad Aalam.
The one who instructed her in the intricacies of this foreign land, in the secrets of Lyari, secrets that floated like cigarette smoke, quite literally around here.
Whom to trust, whom to ignore, whom to stay away from, whom to get closer to.
Whom to love, you may ask? Welp, that chapter was inaccessible in this life, in her life, the life that she had chosen for herself.
The life that made her eyes move more than necessary, scanning the street between customers.
The life that made her register every little conversation at the shop, from lighthearted chit-chats to those of dangerous, powerful men who sometimes drank a little too much, unbeknownst to the presence of sweet little threatless, Anayat.
She had been here for almost a year.
No "family" members from the villages of Balochistan close enough alive to claim her as their own, long enough for people to stop asking questions.
Anayat.
That's who she was here, her identity, as the twenty three year old girl who worked at the biryani shop, who laughed easily, talked a little too much sometimes, and always stayed out of trouble.
It was almost funny, because none of it was real.
Home wasn't far from the market, the real one wasn’t at least.
A small apartment, cosily sitting on the second floor, right above the convenience store, of the three-story building, compactly packed with the other various flats, overlooking the usual indifferent Lyari, tucked into the same maze of lanes she had memorised too well.
A year ago, it was just an assignment, a role, a carefully constructed identity, but now, it felt like home, because she already knew every day here brought something new, unpredictable.
And she was ready for it, atleast that’s what she reassured herself.
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