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Bound In Your Bones

In the beginning it had been only them. Cousins, brothers and partners in crime.

Tags : @hum-suffer @natures-marvel @geometric-circle @multifandom-boss-bitch @akshi-the-nirmata @helios1960 @ramayantika @tehmam @daydreams9 @sebbymybaby21 @mainyahaankyunhoon @dc-reign @charmie-pie @rhysaka @rehmandakaitswife @nessa41890 @harrystyleskiwi9 @tojisloft @nooriyat @nerdreader @chaotickittydreamer @meavlin-io8 @sparksfromhell @prahelika @tere-naal-nachna @kidofmisfortune @doresthings @shotsyfeather @strawbxx-blog @tessa-bl @ulfatsrehman @golgappalicious @euphorkive @lessbutliving

A/N:- My Rehman and Uzair heart is aching so I need fluff :)

Masterlist

Chapter Two

Chapter One

I'm my brother's keeper

Disclaimer : This is based on Akshaye Khanna's portrayal of Rehman Dakait specifically in the movie, Dhurandhar and has nothing to do with the real Rehman Dakait who was a terrorist shitstain responsible for the 26/11 Mumbai attacks. If there is an afterlife I sincerely hope he is being roasted on a grill.

Rehman’s first distinct memory of his younger cousin was when he was fifteen and still one of those endless faceless, nameless street runts running around, trying to survive the brutality of Lyari’s bloodied bylanes and dreaming about making it big.

His father, Abdul Baloch was still in favor with the fearsome gangster, Haji Laloo who had just declared war against Babu Dakait.

It had been a tense situation since the past few months with new bodies lining the streets frequently, the rank scent of gunpowder and rotting dead bodies had thickened the air around.

Rehman freshly expelled from school, all thanks to his father’s insistence that education would not give him anything and that he should only focus on the Balochi revolution, which was more a rebellion funded by the BUF and a desperate desire to gain influence in Karachi. Though Rehman knew it well enough that his father could barely scrape up enough to fund his own gambling addiction than spare a few cents on his school fees.

But what can a boy do in a place that has already sucked out half his soul, with a fancy degree and no opportunity or money to escape.

At least he hadn’t allowed himself to get hooked to the cheap opium circling the streets like the other kids. Addiction was bad business especially for a boy who had big dreams.

Rehman Baloch knew he was made for better things. Greater things. And for this ‘rebellion’ his so-called father waxed lyrical about, drunk on cheap alcohol and unrealised dreams, to gain traction of a revolution, one needed a centralised power.

And nothing attracted Rehman more than power.

One day, these very streets would tremble hearing his name— from the filthy lanes of Lyari to the polished hallways of Karachi’s office district to the glamorous farmhouses in Clifton Road, from Sindh to Kalakot— he will be one of the most dangerous men in the country.

But that was still very far in the future.

At this moment, Rehman was too busy trying to lose his tail, slinking through the shadowed alleys under the mauve dusk of the sky.

Suddenly, a child’s sharp cry stopped him in his tracks.

It was coming from the end of the opposite lane.

Rehman wanted to ignore it and be on his way. He had to make a delivery and Mirzan, one of Laloo’s lowly enforcers and his fucking boss was a right pain in the ass about timings. He really does not need another beating. Last week’s trashing for being two minutes late was still a throbbing tattoo inside his bones.

The crying only increased as he tried moving around the walled enclosure of the alley to escape from the other end, losing the guy trailing him like a fucking dog.

Goddamn but babies can be loud as fuck.

Where were their parents? Can’t they tape their mouth?

“Oh what do we have here—”, a faint leering voice stopped Rehman in his tracks.

He knew that voice.

Fucking Hasheer! One of Babu Dakait’s men and notorious for indulging in the pleasures of the flesh. Very young, very fresh flesh.

The child’s crying had lessened a bit.

The trail was still hot on his heels.

Rehman’s heart was pounding.

“Let it be. Maybe their parents would come back. You don't owe anyone anything. Get out get out get out—”, his mind screamed at him.

“Such a pretty thing like you….aww…baby”

Rehman snapped and turned, cursing up a storm under his breath. One of these days, his issues will get him violently murdered and none of his high flying delusions are ever going to turn to reality.

He slinked into the open mouth of the alley, and saw the hulking figure of Hasheer towering over what looked like a toddler not older than five years. The older man had the most disgustingly lusty look in his eyes as he reached for the hand of the sniffling boy who was staring up at him a little slack jawed.

“Hasheer sahab, why are you wasting your time here, I heard there is a raid going to happen in one of Babu’s godowns, you might wanna move your goods before the police come sniffing.”

Rehman’s words had shocked the older man enough that it had given the teenager enough time to neatly position himself in between the five year old and the former.

“You! Aren’t you from Laloo’s gang?’, Hasheer sneered, roving his greedy little eyes, over Rehman’s frame in a way that had the latter reeling away in mild disgust.

“Yes. And your money is going into the pockets of the coppers if you don’t scram right the fuck now!”, he spat more daringly than he felt at the moment.

Hasheer raised an eyebrow even as his tobacco stained teeth snarled in a monstrous laugh.

“And why should I believe you! You baloch bastard! You all are little snakes. Now move from my way or else I’ll tear your throat out”, he loomed over Rehman, flexing his massive six feet frame menacingly.

Rehman stood straighter, planting his feet firmly on the ground. The little boy behind him was now completely silent. As if his little mind had realised the sudden danger that had thickened the air.

“You want me to sweeten the deal?”, Rehman put his hand inside his pocket and showed him the edge of the packet.

Hasheer’s eyes sparkled.

Everyone on these streets knew that Laloo’s gang provided the best crack. Babu Dakait had wanted to choke the Baloch gang’s shipment routes many times but to no avail. The BUF had a very strong connection with the Lyari police and their network was nigh unbreachable.

“You are a fool, little snake. I can take that little piece of heaven and help myself to the boy anyway. You can’t stop me. I will break you in half—”, he came closer and tilted Rehman’s chin up with a gnarled finger, face twisted in sickening hunger, “although, I might take a bite out of you too. You are way too pretty to waste.”

The five year old behind him was squirming now, a little whimper of fear coming out.

Rehman had seen the aftermath of one of Hasheer’s meals once.

A teenager like him. The other men said he had been torn from his ass till right up to his throat. The police, those unimaginative fuckers had noted down, ‘fucked to death’.

Rehman tightened his hold on the packet, Hasheer was right on his face.

And in a split move, he slammed his head as hard as he could on the older man’s nose, threw the torn open packet smack on his face and pulled the toddler up with a strength defying his half starving self, into his arms and ran.

Hasheer’s howl of pain from his broken bleeding nose and the heroine entering his eyes trailed behind him as Rehman ran like a madman, shocking his fucking trail who had been coming from the front, the now screaming child held tight inside his arms.

He didn’t stop.

Not till he had reached the boundary of Laloo’s territory.

The child was still wailing. His fair little face scrunched up in terror, reddened with tears and his tiny hands clutching Rehman’s grey kurta in a vice grip.

“Hush hush… It's okay. He can’t harm you now. Why are you still crying, you little monster?”, Rehman panted, putting the child down on the ground, heaving with the burning lack of air and his muscles spasming with the abuse he had put them through.

Surprisingly instead of pulling away and running like Rehman had expected, the boy kept holding onto his pants and had his face buried inside his thigh, trembling and crying continuously.

Rehman felt his irritation subside into a small pang.

He lifted the kid up in his arms again, wiping his ruddy cheeks, trying to sound soothing.

“Arre arre.. Ho gaya bass. Tu hain kaun chotu? Aur Babu Dakait ka hi ilaaka mila tha ghum hone ko? Ab teri waldein ko dhundun kaise?”

The boy was staring at him wide eyed now.

“What is your name?”, Rehman asked patiently.

The kid kept looking at him and Rehman wondered whether the child could speak. As far as he knew, children at five years could understand basic commands and could string together a few legible words.

“Uzair”, the kid said finally.

Rehman was a little surprised. He remembered having a younger cousin named Uzair. He would also be very small right now. But it couldn’t be? Can it? It would be a one in a million chance that he should happen upon his own cousin.

Maybe it is some other Uzair.

“Rehman! What are you doing here you fucker! You were supposed to deliver the product—”, another man named Ashair came grunting and stopped short, his eyes squinting in recognition, “is that Faiz Muhammad’s kid?”

Rehman looked at Uzair startled, the latter now busy with tugging at his older cousin’s hair.

“Why are you walking around with your cousin right now? And where is the product? Did you deliver it?”

Ashair’s words were clogged in the background. All Rehman could feel was a bone chilling terror. What if he had not listened to his heart and turned away today? Would that monster have raped and killed his little cousin? His…this…sweet looking innocent child?

Rehman’s arms had become too tight around him, it appeared, by the way Uzair squirmed a little discontent.

“Hasheer took it—”, Rehman responded unthinkingly to Ashair and walked away, clutching Uzair tight to his chest, heart galloping away in residual panic, not bothered about his fellow gang member’s indignant shouts from behind.

“Uzair.. You? How did you reach there.. Alone! Where was your father?”, Rehman wondered aloud, feeling the boy babble half broken words and pull at Rehman’s collar buttons, easily distracted as little boys are.

“Oh thank god! Allah be with you, my dear!”

His aunt had practically snatched Uzair from his arms when he had reached their house. Usually she wouldn’t even let his shadow cross their hearth. He was too cursed. Too much like his drunkard, gambling loser of a father than to come in contact with the illustrious Faiz Muhammad Baloch’s family.

But today, his aunt who seemed to be pacing their courtyard, tears streaming down her face, had come running to meet him and her son who had been happily regaling Rehman with his mini adventure like it was nothing and they hadn’t almost died.

“How did he get there, Chachijaan? He was alone, in Babu Dakait’s territory”, Rehman asked suspiciously, eyes refusing to leave Uzair even as the latter got smothered in his mother’s embrace.

Something about that easy love being given had something dark and mean twist inside his own chest. An old pain he buried back down immediately.

His aunt had looked shifty to him, making excuses, “he ran away when we weren’t looking”, and all types of skeptical arguments. How can a five year old reach a place so far in a town such as theirs without any incident or anyone noticing in between?

And where was Faiz?

“Well thank you Rehman, its late so—”

Rehman knew a dismissal when he heard one. It had stopped stinging long back. He turned around, mind going back to the absolute mess that must be waiting for him back home. Haji Laloo doesn’t forgive easily and is not a remotely reasonable man.

A sudden childish screech and high pitched babbling had him turn around slightly.

“Rehm…Remma—”, Uzair was trying to say his name, his chubby hands extending towards the older boy. He was trying desperately to get off his mother’s strangling hold, looking like he would rather like to barrel into the older boy.

Rehman felt something clench inside his chest.

The little rugrat had no idea who he was.

By the look on his aunt’s face, it was clear she didn’t want him to know any more than Rehman did. The boy looked on a little mournful, tears gathering at the corner of those brown eyes as the fifteen year old gave him a little smirk and scrambled away into the night.

In all probability Rehman would be dead long before Uzair would even remember he had an older cousin.

Haji Laloo wasn’t pleased.

“I was trying to defend myself”, Rehman had pleaded his case, voice hollow, knowing fully well it wouldn’t work, lest if by some miracle his boss was in a better mood. He hadn’t said anything about his baby cousin.

“A little tumble in the hay wouldn’t have marred your holy virginity, rascal. You should have protected my product”, Laloo had said, flicking his cigarette ash on Rehman’s face, uncaring.

At least his men had only broken one of his ribs.

It would be as well, Rehman had spat the blood collecting inside his mouth and had limped homewards, the thoughts of his cousin making his bleak life feel just a little brighter.

__________________________

Rehman heard of his uncle and aunt’s murder while he was overseeing the unloading of a recent shipment in the warehouse district.

At twenty, Rehman Baloch was already making waves in the underworld of Karachi. After the death of his father and the murder of his mother, a brief stint in Lyari Central Prison had seen him swiftly rise in Haji Laloo’s gang till he had become one of his top lieutenants and perhaps his most dangerous one.

No one dared to cross Rehman.

He inspired loyalty in his men in a way Laloo’s son, Arshad Pappu can only dream about. His hold on his territories were iron clad and absolute and the rumour of him being Babu Dakait’s illegitimate spawn and having killed his own mother in revenge had only added to his notorious reputation.

Babu Dakait’s hold was slipping.

And Laloo remained unchallenged.

Yet it was Rehman whose name had started entering the backrooms where most of the deals were cracked and whispered on the dinner tables of the Clifton street glitterati under whose patronage the streets of Lyari remained submerged in blood and constant battle.

Haji Laloo had tightened the noose around Rehman’s neck pretty tight, terrified of the latter managing to overthrow him and yet couldn’t kill him with the fear that his own men might rebel given Rehman’s recent influence.

Especially since Shirani, one of the most respected leaders of the BUF, had literally taken the bastard under his wing.

Arshad Pappu’s hold over the gang was weakening with every contact Rehman managed to forge, strengthening his own position and throwing Laloo into more disarray over what to do with him.

He had his so-called boss stuck between a rock and hard place.

No one had ever said Rehman Baloch wasn't a strategic mastermind.

Sometimes Rehman wondered whether he would have done something with his life had he been allowed to complete his education.

Would he have left Pakistan and gone somewhere.

What would he have been?

The stars had always intrigued him.

He could barely see them most days, because of the smog of polluted air and gunpowder in Lyari’s filth leaden sky.

But some nights, standing at the roof of the one bedroom flat that he had managed to scourge up enough money to buy, smoking one of those cheap rank smelling cigarettes he would try and spot the constellations he had once seen on the pages of a second hand English book his school library had kept stashed at the back of a crumbling rack.

He had a near eidetic memory which has served him well all these years, remembering faces, maps and routes in the dingy alleys of the town and now he traced the same constellations on the night sky.

Orion, the Hunter would stare back at him, befuddled at the audacity of this street rat who was trying to catch him.

Yes, he would have rather liked to study the stars.

But delusions aside, the news of his only family perishing hadn’t hit him as hard as the thought of his cousin being orphaned and alone on the opposite side of the town had.

He had never met Uzair face to face after that incident.

He had sniffed around Faiz for a time till Abdul had threatened him to leave his brother alone. Rehman had sneered and acquiesced even if he had wanted anything but. Maybe somewhere inside him, the desire for his father’s approval would always remain.

Even after the man had died, holed up in the bottom of a bottle.

Even after Rehman had come to know he wasn’t his father after all.

He had had a dream once, of a half remembered sight, a wisp floating in his mind, a bright afternoon and a man’s warm laughter and arms around his smaller, softer body, swinging him in the air, his own laughter ringing in childish giggles.

The apricity of the dream had felt like his mind was trying to manipulate him into believing he may have had a moment where someone had wanted him.

He had tried to ask his mother once, after.

“It is a dream, beta. And dreams like that rarely come true for people like us”, her eyes had been dull, voice flat and a little bitter.

There probably would have been crueler ways to say that Rehman had conjured it up for his own benefit.

He hadn’t dreamt again.

Rehman hadn’t shown his face to Uzair after that day.

But he had seen his cousin many times hence.

Always hidden in the shadows. Like a strange stalker guardian. He would catch sight of his blue schoolbag in the bus stop, hear his laughter boom across the football field in the neighbourhood, catch sight of those brown eyes filled with the type of naivete only a child can, move restlessly in community events and birthday parties.

Uzair had grown up, fortunately separated from the gang violence, even after living in a place like Lyari.

At least till now.

Rehman had burst through the hospital corridor, striding towards the morgue, radiating a danger he knew would have everyone stumble away from him. As expected no one had tried to stop him, rather choosing to scramble away from his path— nurses, doctors and the police as well.

Uzair was ten and Rehman had seen him so closely for the first time in five years.

He didn’t care about his uncle or aunt. It was perhaps an insensitive thing to admit but he couldn’t help it. They had never accepted him and he hadn’t bothered to reciprocate a one sided bond.

But Uzair, there was something about his little cousin, maybe the way the five year old had clutched at his kurta that evening, the way his hands had naturally extended towards him, that had something in Rehman singing mine mine mine— in a strangely primordial instinct.

Uzair was seated outside the morgue. More like curled into a ball on the single metal bench. His face was pressed inside his bony knees. His body was shuddering with broken sobs.

Rehman’s heart twisted.

“Uzair—”, he whispered and cursed himself.

How would the boy even recognise him?

He was a complete stranger to him and was currently looming over him in such a vulnerable moment.

But to his utter surprise, when Uzair looked up at him, his wet eyes had widened for a fraction of a second and he had thrown his smaller body right at Rehman, without any reservations and with the easy familiarity of brothers.

“Rehman Bhai!”, he had cried out and sobbed inside his stomach, clutching the back of his kurta in a vice grip.

Rehman had to shake himself into action after a few seconds. He had picked up the crying child into his arms and had sat down on the steel bench, pressing Uzair into his chest as much as he could, curling around him like a protective blanket shielding him from the police and the audience as much as he could.

He hadn’t asked him to stop crying.

The poor boy had exhausted his tears into a fitful slumber while Rehman had only rubbed his back and stroked his hair and had talked quietly with the officers in charge of the investigation.

“It was Pappu. There are witnesses”, one guy had drawled, picking at his teeth.

“Why?”, Rehman had asked.

“News was, Faiz had been giving information to Babu Dakait for months. Haji caught wind of it. And that was that.”

Rehman had closed his eyes. Five years ago. Uzair lost in Dakait’s territory.

Of course.

Faiz had taken him with himself and in all probability, the five year old had wandered off while his father was betraying them, the Balochs, to that godforsaken monster and his hordes.

Money had always been his uncle’s weakness.

At least his failure of a father, had been loyal like a mongrel.

“Not your father, asshat”, his mind snarled ruthlessly.

But now, Uzair would be marked as a betrayer, even if he was only a child.

An innocent child. Caught in a monstrous game.

Rehman could already see the pitying stares the officers were giving his little brother, sleeping, tired and griefstricken, curled against his chest. The twenty year old gathered him up tightly against himself, standing up determined.

He had calculated every possible variable and gone over the risks within these few minutes of silence.

He had been planning on this for a long time now but it was starting to look like he had no more time left to plot more convincingly. It was now or never. He was not going to compromise on his brother’s safety for aligning his own strategies more cautiously.

“Get someone who can make contact with Jameel Jamali”, he had instructed one of his men, while climbing inside the SUV, Uzair still asleep against his chest, warm and strangely soft.

“The PAP politician?”, one of his closest confidantes and most trusted man, had asked, perturbed.

“We are about to ruffle some serious feathers, Donge”, he had declared like it was almost a prophecy.

Uzair had taken just that moment to turn his face more into Rehman’s chest, as if trying to escape the noise in the car and the demons inside his dreams. The twenty year old had covered his brother’s smaller head with a large hand, cupping him away from the conniving whispers filtering inside the SUV for the rest of the ride.

_________________________

Five years have passed since Uzair has been living with Rehman.

The boy was a whirlwind inside a lanky body. And had filled Rehman’s life with a cacophony of noise that had been conspicuously absent for as long as Rehman remembered.

It had been an adjustment issue at first, with Uzair used to easy prosperity and not used to the security risks of being associated with a gangster.

Rehman spent most of his sparingly saved money for his brother’s school fees and books. He himself had never bothered with most lifestyle essentials like..uhmm food and clothes, going without at least two meals most days as he was used to since a child, and wore the same kurtas and trousers and chappals till they would be literally unusable.

Now he had Uzair to look after. And his uncle’s entire property and money had been taken by Laloo as compensation for the betrayal. So he had been essentially left with nothing.

Uzair needed clothes and three square meals a day and new shoes when he outgrew them because he outgrew everything with alarming speed. Rehman had never imagined having a brother could be this expensive. As recompense he would take as many contracts as he could, despite risks and the natural demands of his own body.

One day he had come back late in the night, dead tired and battered and bruised like a sheet drum in a thunderstorm and had seen Uzair wide awake, large eyes like an owl, staring at the door like a demon might crawl out of it.

“Uzair?”, he had asked, worried.

“Abbu said you are a bad man”, Uzair had said simply, like children are often wont to do. Say whatever comes to their mind, without subterfuge, without sugar coating, without any kind of filter.

Rehman’s chest had hollowed out at that.

“I knew you know… sometimes, I would see your shadow in the bus stop, outside my school”, he continued and Rehman had stilled.

“I—”, he had begun not knowing how to defend himself.

“But I was never afraid of you. Bad men are supposed to make you feel upset and scared. But you never made me feel scared.”

Rehman had breathed deeply to avoid choking on it.

A child’s simple logic.

“You saved me, when I was a baby. Ammi told me. I remember the bad man. You were there. And then I saw you save that puppy from falling into the drainwater pipe, yesterday”.

Rehman had forgotten about it.

A small scraggly little thing, it had been, whining continuously as a thunderstorm had wrecked Karachi yesterday. Rehman had awoken in the dead of the night from the thunder and had heard the continuous pitiful crying of the mongrel pup from outside. He had tried ignoring it but it had just been too damned loud.

He hadn’t wanted Uzair to wake up as well.

He had gone out to check and had seen a puppy crying from the other end of the road, stuck between the cracked pavement and an open drain which was flowing with the speed of a running river.

Rehman had cursed and had sprinted in the heavy downpour, nearly blinded and had lifted the poor thing up and had brought him back inside the foyer of their crumbling apartment.

He hadn’t noticed Uzair peering at him from the door of the bedroom.

“It was not— I… I am not a very good man, yes”, Rehman had conceded.

He couldn’t lie to Uzair. For some reason, even if lies fell from his silver tongue as easily, as charmingly, as a snake hiding in the grass on most occasions, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to that small face staring up at him.

Uzair had blinked at him, a little confused.

Then he had leaned on his side, tucking his small body against his larger frame.

“I think you are pretty cool”, he had whispered.

A lump had formed in Rehman’s throat. It had been a fucking stupid reaction.

What would this boy know of the horrors he had committed in the name of power.

Yet somehow, this little thing had felt like an underserved benediction.

Rehman had knocked his arm with his little brother’s with a gentle nudge making the latter giggle.

“I think you are pretty cool, too”, he had whispered back.

Most days Rehman had found himself saving up money to buy useless trinkets for his brother. Only to see the boy grinning with that perennial delight that made his entire face brighten up like the sun. Little gifts that were almost a luxury for them.

Sweetmeats from the local bazaar, copies of smuggled second hand comic books from that one dingy bookstore, a plastic football, cheap wax crayons and brittle colouring pencils, a bubble gun which had made Uzair laugh so much he had been nearly breathless and had filled their entire house with soap water.

It had been worth it, though.

Two years had passed when Rehman had been shot for the first time since he had had Uzair.

It had gone straight through his collar bone, shattering it on impact. He hadn’t remembered much of the details, drifting in and out of consciousness and excruciating agony while Donga and his men had brought him to the hospital.

What he did remember though was waking up to a very familiar sobbing sound.

Uzair had buried his face inside the crook of his neck, careful enough to not touch the nasal cannula being attached to his face for the anaesthesia.

“I thought you would never wake up!”, he had gasped in between tears.

“Hatt! Itna asaan nhi hain Rehman Dakait ko maarnaa”, Rehman had teased, stroking his hair gently.

“I will kill them for hurting you!”, Uzair had said suddenly, an unnerving fire burning in those usually molten brown irises. Rehman had been shocked at the completely unexpected burst of rage from his twelve year old cousin.

“You will do no such thing. I will be fine. I am fine. Now tell me, what did you do in school today?”

Rehman may have distracted his cousin into regaling him about his lunchtime misadventures and the recent history homework he had received but he couldn’t stop thinking about the sheer violence in Uzair’s voice.

Has proximity to him and his world turned his gentle hearted brother into a monster like him?

It had happened after a few months of Rehman getting shot.

Rehman had tried his best to shield him from Laloo’s sight and with Jameel’s political backing, it had become near impossible to touch either of them.

Arshad hadn’t been pleased with the situation at all.

He had thought the revelation of Faiz Muhammad’s betrayal would have pushed Rehman out of favor with the gang but instead it had backfired on the other man, heavily.

He had tried intimidating Uzair once, having loitered outside his school gates for the classes to get over and then he had pulled the boy aside.

“Tell your brother to stop sniffing around what belongs to me. I am the heir to this throne. If he doesn’t understand his place well, I will garland him with your guts”, the man had whispered saccharine, holding the twelve year old’s arm punishingly tight.

Uzair, still haunted from that night, having seen Pappu shoot his parents, had been terrified.

Rehman had come home to Uzair cowering in the corner of their bedroom, still in his school uniform.

“Uzair! What happened?”, he had kneeled in front of him— concern thickening his usually gravelly voice.

“He is mean and he scares me”, Uzair had whimpered, peeking his watery eyes from behind his hands.

“Who?”

“He killed Ammi and Abbu—”

Arshad fucking Pappu.

Rehman had pulled him on his lap, inspecting his entire body almost frantically, searching for hidden wounds.

“Did he hurt you? Where does it hurt? Tell me!”, he had almost snapped in his panic.

Uzair had lifted his arm and pointed at the bluish bruising on his lean bicep. Red hot rage had exploded inside Rehman and his jaw had clenched so hard he was afraid he would chip a tooth

How fucking dare he! That blathering bastard.

Rehman had kissed the spot almost absent mindedly and rubbed his brother’s back soothingly.

“He will not hurt you again. I promise. Now let's eat, I have brought your favourite sheer kurma.”

The promise of a sweet treat had distracted Uzair for the rest of the evening. Even if he had refused to unpeel himself from Rehman’s arms while climbing onto the bed with him. The old nightmares had returned with a vengeance and the older man had had to pat and console the boy to sleep every time he would whimper awake.

Arshad Pappu hadn’t seen it coming.

The punch had knocked him right onto the ground and a sharp crack had the gangster screaming. Rehman had snapped the bone in his arm in one clean and merciless break before any of the men could even react.

“Motherfucker! I will kill you!”, Pappu had howled, rolling on the ground. His men had jumped up, ready to tear into Rehman but one look from him had them freezing.

This was not a man looking at them right now. This was a hungry lion and they were trying to come in front of his prey. Those obsidian pits had burned with hellfire and Rehman had stepped on the split arm with cruel relish having Arshad scream louder in pain.

“If you ever, so much as look at my brother, let alone touch a single hair on his head, I will rip out one of your ribs and disembowel you with it and then strangle you with your own entrails and leave your purpling bloated ugly face hanging on Cheel Chowk as a warning for the others and no one— not your bootlickers, not your supporters and not even your father will be able to protect you from me.”

Rehman hadn’t raised his voice even for a single decibel. The words had flowed like a cooling stream but had frozen everyone’s blood, present in that room.

They had seen Rehman Baloch slaughtering men without a single batting eyelash but somehow a threat delivered in an even restrained tone had their knees shaking with utter terror.

The face of the Devil, once exposed, was a petrifying sight, despite his terrible beauty.

Arshad Pappu hadn’t grazed close to Uzair from that day.

But Rehman knew he had made a permanent enemy.

One that would come to bite him in the ass in the later years of his life.

But for now, Uzair was safe and Haji Laloo knew with complete certainty that the tides had turned against him. No one, not a single gang member had come to his son’s defence even when Rehman had been alone in that room.

It had taken Rehman just another year to completely dismantle Haji’s hold and usurp him in one cunningly smooth move. Laloo’s severed head had been displayed on every crossroad of Lyari with triumph.

Rehman Baloch was the undisputed Leader of the Baloch gang and he had driven Arshad Pappu out of his territories with hilarious ease, the latter slinking away to lick at his wounds and plot in hiding.

Uzair had been thriving by then.

The boy had always been restless and keeping him in school was turning out to be more of a chore than Rehman had expected.

“Why can’t I just work for you?”, the fourteen year old would whine, plopping his head into his textbooks, hoping that the words could enter his brain through osmosis.

“Because I do dangerous stuff and you need to be educated and you are still a baby”, Rehman would respond noncommittally, head buried in his ledgers and the endless business files on the opposite side of the dining table.

“Ughhh… you are such a bore, Bhai! And I am not a baby anymore! I am fourteen! That's practically an adult. You were running a drug racket at this age!”, Uzair would grumble.

Rehman would raise a sharp eyebrow at that, squinting at his rambunctious younger cousin with a challenging glare as if asking him to dig his own grave deeper.

“The fact that you find running a drug racket by the age of fourteen, correct enrichment, is the very reason why you need an education”, he would slap the back of his head earning a yelp, “and you will always be my baby— fourteen or forty, doesn’t matter. Learn to deal with it.”

Uzair would whine endlessly but the pleased little flush on his fair cheeks at the subtle reminder that he belonged to Rehman, would be unmistakable despite his continuous denial to engage in any sort of expressed affection as teenagers are wont to.

Life was running smoother now that Rehman controlled the Baloch territories single handed and with an envious iron control. He was slowly amassing greater power and building up his own network in Karachi’s ever expanding underworld.

Rehman Dakait’s name was synonymous with Lyari’s mafia syndicate.

And as they say, with great power comes greatly desperate enemies ready to cut down at that power, from all probable sides.

And unfortunately for Rehman, most people knew his one true weakness.

_______________________

Uzair was growing, sixteen now and learning all the stubbornness of a restless teenager and Rehman was learning the patience of raising one.

“Why can’t I go to my friend’s birthday party? It's on the other side of the town, not outside the country!”, Uzair shouted, frustrated.

“I will not reiterate the safety issue of attending a farmhouse party with drugs and alcohol and horny burger kids during the election time, Uzair. When I say you can’t go, that means you can’t. I don't need to give you any justification”, Rehman replied coolly.

Apparently not reacting as aggressively as your child was a wrong thing to do while arguing with them.

“You cannot stop me! You are not my father!”, Uzair yelled and Rehman’s temper finally snapped.

“And I wouldn’t want to be! But unfortunately for both of us, I am responsible for you right now. So go back to your room and stay put!”, he roared with a vengeance he knew had the most hardened of men scrambling away like mice.

Uzair was startled into inaction for a while.

He had never been yelled at quite so viciously before. Rehman could see the tears struggling to escape his eyes but humiliated fury was also stark on that young face and Uzair had huffed back and slammed his door as hard as he could behind him.

The older man winced at how the entire haveli seemed to have rattled with that motion.

It had been hours after which, Rehman had braved facing his fuming cousin.

“Uzair! Come out and have dinner”, he had called out from outside the door.

No sound.

“Bahaar aa jaa, meri jaan, kitne der tak muh fulaaye rahega? Dekh main tera manpasand nihari layaan hoon, bass daal nhi khilaunga.”

Not even the temptation of his favourite food had brought his cousin out and Rehman started smelling a rat.

“Uzair?”

He knocked at the door for some seconds before a sudden sharp panic overtook him and he slammed his shoulder against the door till it finally gave way.

The room was empty.

It took Rehman exactly one minute to search the entire bedroom and the attached washroom to realise that his younger brother was nowhere to be found. The open window which led to the balcony was giving him uncomfortable thoughts.

“Donga! Donga get in here right the fuck now and help me find Uzair!”

Donga and Basheer and some of the other men searched for Uzair all over the property and the haveli that Rehman had shifted into, after securing Laloo’s businesses and in turn all his money and his kingdom’s coffers for his own.

Rehman had called Uzair on his phone— a small draconian Nokia 3000 he had given his brother to keep with him for all times to ensure a way to contact him immediately in case of emergencies.

The phone had been lying on the bed.

Rehman’s panic had only increased at that.

The thoughts circling his mind had been exponentially more morbid as the seconds crawled, with one image more gruesome than the other. He had never felt such a frantic worry before. It was choking him, threatening to snap all his ribs under a mountainous pressure.

His baby brother— where had he gone? Who took him? How is it even possible—

“Bhai, I don't want to believe he would do something so utterly reckless but what if Uzair bhai decided to go to his friend’s party on his own, since you forbade him and—”, Donga asked nervously.

Rehman’s mind was churning.

It wasn’t impossible.

But would Uzair do something so utterly stupid? Just to spite him? Or was this just one of his endless rebellions materialising as something dangerous without his knowledge.

“Go to Arzan Shafiq’s farmhouse. His son is hosting his birthday party there. If you see him, don’t engage. Just keep an eye and report back to me immediately. Follow him back if need be.”

His words were tight, unable to mask the hurricane ripping through him even if outwardly his physical reactions were criminally controlled.

The call came thirty minutes later.

Donga had covered an hour and a half’s journey in half an hour.

Good.

“He is here, Bhai.”

Relief had hit him so suddenly and so dizzily that he had almost collapsed on the ground, holding the back of a chair for a steady grip. He was immensely grateful that there had been no one in the house to see him stumble like a fool.

“Okay. Keep an eye and remember, only engage if it is a safety risk. Otherwise stay hidden and Donga—”

“Haan Bhai?”

“Thank you”, he didn’t know why he said that but at that moment, he felt like he had to say it.

Even if he could practically feel Donga’s face burst into flames through the line.

“Kaisi baat kartein hain aap, Bhai. Kuch bhi? Aap zaraa bhi chintaa na karein, iss gadheda ko sahi salamat pahaucha dunga aapke paas. Aap aaram karein abhi, pata hain mujhe BP bad gaya hoga aapka”

“Chup kar madarchod. Meri ammi banne ki zaroorat nhi”, Rehman barked out but it had no bite and he cut the call and dropped his mobile on the sofa before collapsing on it, hands over his face.

Now that the tension and worry choking him was gone, wrath overtook his entire body like a demonic entity ripping through it with careless abandon.

What a completely reckless stupid ungrateful idiotic thing to do!

He hadn’t even taken his bodyguards!

What if Rehman’s enemies had caught him?

What if some idiotic burger kid had fed him something dangerous for the sake of looking cool?

What if he had met with an accident because he was too drunk to drive?

What if Rehman had to go identify his body because some monster lurking in the streets of Lyari had seen an innocent boy stumbling alone in the dark?

Rehman’s chest seized and he had to physically hold it back from shattering out of sheer imaginative terror. The anger subsided into a frozen numbness as the hours passed. He couldn’t eat, neither work, nor sleep.

Not till his boy was safe under his roof again.

Even if he knew Donga would rather die than let a single of Uzair’s hair get out of place. Loyalty was baked into that giant man’s bones.

But a father’s heart rarely follows logic.

Yes he was more of Uzair’s father than his brother and it was high time he started accepting that. Imagine getting a child first and growing grey hairs in your twenties and he wasn’t even married yet.

Not that any self respecting woman would marry a man with a heart problem because the stress of raising a stupid younger cousin who has the self preservation instincts of a gnat has increased his hypertension.

Uzair slinked inside the house, at around three in the night, tiptoeing with his sneakers in one hand and smelling of expensive alcohol and even more expensive perfume, trying his very best to copy a cat.

Rehman felt dramatic and switched on the table lamp inside the living room, throwing the warm yellow light everywhere, highlighting his brother’s criminal pawing around in stark contrast.

The sixteen year old stopped immediately, face turning a little pale and then sheepish at having been caught red handed.

The silence between them stretched till Uzair shifted on his feet, breaking because Rehman had practice and could do this for hours and his cousin was evidently drunk.

“Bhai main woh—”

“Daaru pee hain tumne?”, Rehman cut him short, his own voice devoid of any expression.

“Haan..naa. Mera matlab…thoda sa…”, Uzair fumbled.

“Kuch aur liya? Drugs wagera?”

“Nhi! Nhi pkka! They wanted me to but I didn’t take any drugs”, the desperation gave evidence of the truth but Rehman’s expression didn’t change.

“Jaa ke change karle aur soja. Kal subhah sar dard hoga aur ulti bhi ho sakti hain. Pehli baar asar zyadaa hota hain.”

“Bhai.. main—”

Rehman got up and walked back inside his bedroom, not letting Uzair complete his explanation.

The next morning, saw Uzair Baloch groaning on the breakfast table, head inside his hands.

“Kya hero? Utar gyi?”, Donga, fresh eyed and bushy tailed, nudged Uzair with a foot while helping himself to an apple from the fruit basket Parveen, their manager had kept on the table.

“Hushhh dheere Donga Bhai. Mera sar fatt jaega!”, Uzair grumbled.

“Aur peeyo daaru. Kal jo jalwa dikhaya sabko, bhugatna toh padega—”

“Unghhhh”

“Heh!”

Rehman’s entry had them both straightening.

He had not slept the entire night, tossing and turning on his bed, mind overcrowded with thoughts and nerves still high strung from the near panic attack from yesterday. He knew he might be looking quite the sight today.

“I need the shipment records on my table by the next hour, Donga. Make sure the others are ready for the latest route transfer”, he ordered his trusted second in command and puttered inside the cabinets of the kitchen, dismissing the cook with a flick of his hand.

“Yes Bhai, I’ll get to it”, Donga replied immediately.

Uzair was stealing guilty glances at his brother through his hair.

Rehman hadn’t spoken a word to him still.

Uzair was not used to the silent treatment.

He had expected his brother to break the roof on top of him. Shout till his throat was hoarse, ground him for a year, take away all his video games and maybe even beat him, despite Rehman never raising his hand on him.

But all he has met with is an icy wall.

Rehman hadn’t even spoken to him directly since the last evening.

“Bhai, I just wanted to say that—”, Uzair began, only for Rehman to put a glass down in front of him and turn around swiftly, picking up his coffee and a stack of files from the table.

“Parveen Khala, make sure he drinks that. It will cure the hangover. Don’t let him miss school. I might be late tonight, so no need to keep my dinner out.”

The words sounded normal, even if the delivery suggested a complete lack of his usual warmth and Uzair swallowed a small cry of despair.

Rehman didn’t even look at him while walking out.

Uzair must have looked really miserable because Donga’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder, patting him a little consolingly.

“You scared the shit out of him. All of us basically. But mostly, him. I’ve never seen the boss look so scared and I have seen him face a firing squad without flinching.”

Uzair looked down, guilt churning inside his chest. He had expected Rehman to feel angry that his orders were not heeded to. He hadn’t wanted to scare his brother. He didn’t think it was even possible.

What can even scare the gangster lord of Lyari.

The very thought was ridiculous at best and sacrilegious at worst.

But Donga knew his brother best and he wouldn’t lie to him about this.

“I didn’t want to disrespect him, I just… I just wanted to have fun for once. Feel like a normal kid”, he said feeling small.

“I know kiddo. I do. He does too. It's just that right now the times are pretty dodgy. I can't tell you everything. But trust me. This will get better and don’t you worry about your brother. Give him some time.”

Uzair wished he felt as optimistic about it as Donga.

But something told him, this time, Rehman might not come around as easily as he always does.

Uzair was right.

One week has passed.

Rehman barely spoke to him, outside extreme necessity and even those were monosyllabic instructions, “eat”, “go to sleep”, “close that door” and the like.

Uzair was at his wits end.

And Rehman refused to budge.

Finally the younger Baloch broke.

His cousin was busy puttering around in the kitchen, probably making that god awful coffee that could raise the very dead and put a bear into cardiac arrest through the sheer caffeine concentration in it.

Rehman drank that sludge at least twice a day, almost religiously. Like it was some holy concoction that would help him achieve godhood.

It did only make him more high strung and let him go for days without proper sleep.

Uzair of course wasn’t allowed to drink coffee yet, only tea.

“You have the disposition of a grasshopper in monsoon anyway, you do not need any more caffeine to vibrate out of your skin”, the older Baloch had growled.

Uzair peeked from the door, seeing his brother’s broad back moving with the grace of a panther in the woods, the light from the open door towards the living room the only source of vision inside the otherwise dark kitchen.

He slinked inside, feeling his heart inside his throat.

“Bhai. I wanted to talk”, Uzair said, watching the line of those bony shoulders still and become rigid.

Rehman didn’t answer for a long time, the sounds of him stirring the hot beverage inside a mug, the only noise audible. He had barely stayed in one room with his younger cousin long enough for the latter to talk but this time, Uzair was prepared.

He would make his stubborn brother listen whether he wanted to or not.

Before Rehman could dart away into his study, Uzair had covered the distance between them in two long strides and wrapped his lanky arms around the former’s waist, clinging to his brother’s back like a particularly determined koala.

Uzair had shot up like a weed and now he was almost as tall as his brother and Donga joked he was going to surpass all of them, soon enough.

So in this position, he only had space to bury his face in the middle of Rehman’s upper back. Yet he fell small. Like he was ten again and his brother stood towering in front of him, dark eyes concerned and warm.

The scent of the Marlboro cigs, a new cedar and coal tar soap Rehman had started using recently and the ever familiar nascent flavor of cordite mixed with the heavy aroma of coffee hit the younger Baloch.

For Uzair this mixture of scents has always been safety, personified. Since he had been a baby of five till now, these fragrances have wrapped around him and kept his nightmares at bay, his enemies at the opposite side of the moat and his childhood as happy as one living in this hellhole can have.

“Bhai please. Let me speak at least”, Uzair mumbled inside the navy kurta.

Rehman had stilled at the contact but his seized muscles had loosened a bit as the seconds passed. His hands were still wrapped around that mug on the counter and the spoon. Uzair could feel how Rehman’s chest moved unhesitant and even— almost like a deliberately programmed automaton.

“I am sorry. I know what I did was reckless. I was just…so angry and you hardly let me go with my friends unless they stay within Lyari and I was just— I know its dangerous but I am old enough and I am feeling caged and—”

Words spilled out without restraint and Uzair could barely control them.

Rehman’s chest felt so tight he thought he was having a panic attack. He knew that Uzair’s rebellion mostly came from a place of him feeling his freedom was being compromised and Rehman knew that he could be pretty controlling but having it being laid out like this, hit somewhere exposed.

How could he make the boy understand his fears?

Uzair says he does but he never will. Not till he has a kid of his own. This fear, this paranoia, will never leave him no matter what cold rationale and logic says.

Rehman hasn't been giving him the silent treatment like everyone thought. Okay, yes he was a bit mad but he wasn’t deliberately quiet. He just didn’t know what to say anymore. What logic would he provide if an argument breaks out again?

‘I can’t breathe if I don’t see you within my eye’s sight for more than a few minutes’?

‘I have killed, connived, murdered, plotted, betrayed and finally conquered Lyari so that you don’t have to die in a gutter struck by a stray bullet in a crossfire you should never have been a part of’?

‘I will die if something happens to you’?

But Uzair was right too.

He cannot keep his brother locked away in the mansion for life.

This is no way to live.

Rehman sighed, feeling Uzair’s arms squeeze his middle, his young heart thundering away in nervous anxiety against his back.

“Bhaiyya please…maanf kardo. Aap gussa karlo, cheenk chilla lo, dande se bhi maar do par aisa chup karke toh mat raho. Mera dil baitha jaa raha hain.”

Uzair’s voice had become suspiciously thick.

Rehman removed the hands crossing at his front, turned back and pulled the boy with a hand on his nape to his chest. Uzair went obliging and immediately wrapped his arms around his waist again, his face buried inside Rehman’s ribs in this position.

“You terrified me”, Rehman conceded, squeezing his nape and tangling his fingers at the ends of those messy curls.

“I am sorry”, Uzair said, muffled, clearly ashamed.

“Arshad Pappu hasn’t forgotten or forgiven what I have done to him and he lies in wait for any opportunity to strike and going outside our territories, right during the elections, when we cannot retaliate because of political pressure, is literally asking to be shot.”

“He wouldn’t dare harm me! You would eviscerate him. He knows that.”

Rehman felt his lips twist a little at the conviction in his brother’s voice.

“If Pappu had that much brains, he would have been the leader of the gang, not me.”

“Bhai…I—”

“I know.”

They were quiet for some time, Rehman having caught the back of Uzair’s head, keeping his forehead pressed to his chest.

“If you do have to hang around your stupid rich friends—”, Rehman began and ignored Uzair’s indignant muttering of his friends not being stupid, “you need to start learning how to defend yourself.”

Uzair looked up from his brother’s chest immediately, eyes sparkling madly and delight clear in that boyish expression.

“Does that mean I get a gun of my own?”

Rehman raised an eyebrow, amused at the sheer excitement in his voice.

“Hold your horses, hero. You will learn how to fight street style, dodge bullets and lose tails and knock someone ten times bigger than you unconscious and only then— we can think about guns.”

Uzair groaned so loudly it could be heard from the next street over.

Rehman ruffled his hair, smirking almost sadistically.

________________________

Rehman married Ulfat when Uzair was eighteen.

It had been a political match.

Ulfat Hasin Jahaan came from old money— her father, one of the most powerful feudal lords of Karachi, almost considered Pakistani aristocracy, was a shrewd man who had understood the need to keep powerful allies especially as the winds were changing.

Rehman had been hesitant at first before going over all the supposed pros of the marriage properly and considering every variable that could increase the risk. He had also told his ‘to be’ father in law very clearly that he would not marry the girl if she didn’t want to get married.

Umar Jahaan had laughed at that, “Ulfat is my most precious jewel. She knows how to keep her family honour intact, don’t you worry about that. She will not reject this proposal.”

“There is a difference between choice and duty, Umar sahab. I hope you haven’t forgotten that under the excuse of honour”, Rehman had sneered back. He hated these slimy politicians and yet didn’t know how to keep his kingdom without being in contact with them.

Rock and a hard place.

Ulfat had, of course, shown no objection.

She was a gorgeous woman.

But Rehman had seen the evil lurking behind skin deep beauty for too long and got hurt one time too many, for him to get fooled by it. But Ulfat had a seeming innate goodness in her that felt completely alien to him.

He had expected to share his life with her, make it as much comfortable for her as possible. Maybe they could carve out some sort of settled peace and arrangement in the guise of daily routine and small compromises.

Love had not even been in the equation.

But Ulfat Jahaan was a force of nature.

A wildfire hidden beneath pastel silks and swanlike grace and witty eyes.

She refused to be tamed into submission. Refused to get regulated by traditional societal convention and boundaries. Refused to remain hidden behind the curtains in their haveli and let him go about his work without reproach or worse, questions.

Ulfat had arrived like a hurricane in his life and before Rehman could even know it, he was already ensnared.

“I won’t nag you to stop but you will have to tell me everything, no sugar coating, no lies, no trying to keep my supposed innocence and naivete. I want to know everything you are doing and everywhere that you will be. I want it all. The good, the bad and the ugly.”

She had said, steady with those cool grey eyes pinning him in place, one day, a month after their wedding.

“The ugly can get a whole lot uglier—”, he had tried protesting.

“I don’t care. I may have married you on my father’s command but now that my fate is tied to yours, I refuse to remain at the sidelines. If this is to be my destiny, I will have a hand on the driver’s wheel”, she had responded fearlessly.

His heart had given a loud strange thump.

“Even if the car goes over landmines?”

“Even then. Especially then.”

He had kissed the back of her hand, feeling for the first time, that maybe he didn’t have to be completely alone.

Then one evening he came back with a knife slash on his bicep. A minor wound for him. Would not even need stitches but Ulfat had sat him down and fluttered around him, medical gauze and antiseptics in hand. She had bent down once and blew across the cut like she wanted to soothe him.

Her hands were shaking a little as she put the gauze.

“You don’t have to do this”, he had said.

“I want to”, she replied.

“It's rotten work”, he had tried pushing her away, gravel voice and shifty eyes, instinct more than desire.

“Not to me. Not if it's you”, Ulfat had whispered, caressing the bridge of his cheekbone, a touch which didn’t judge for once, didn’t flinch at the violence, didn’t recoil from the monster.

Rehman had pulled her up, standing with her, bare chested and bandaged arm. She went willingly, moulding her slender hourglass figure nicely inside his sharp wiry one.

“You are a miracle, Ulfat Jahaan”, he whispered against her forehead before pressing his lips on that spot for a second too long.

“Bha— ohh ughh.. Ewww! Gross! Get a room, both of you!”

For the first time Rehman had wanted to kill Uzair.

Ulfat had just laughed in that melodious sweet voice of hers, swatting at her brother in law’s disgusted face half heartedly.

“Uzair…”, Rehman had warned, glaring at his eighteen year old cousin who was busy being a dramatic heroine of a play, hands over his eyes like he had happened upon something morbid and macabre.

“I am traumatized for life. I am about to die with this image in my mind. Arghhh save me someone”, Uzair wailed theatrically.

“Someone will definitely need to save you if you don’t scram from here within the next second”

“Ughhh”, Uzair ran away, blindly hitting the wall and almost toppling over a vase in his desperation to flee.

Ulfat was still chuckling, her face tucked inside Rehman’s neck, cheeks flaming with a shy delight and more than a bit of embarrassment.

“Ignore him. I have given him too much leeway”, Rehman replied darkly, still staring at the path his younger cousin had exited from, a hand wrapped around his giggling wife.

“You are close with him”, Ulfat observed thoughtfully.

Rehman’s eyes softened for a moment.

“He is a baboon. But he is mine”, he had conceded, eyes landing on Uflat’s bright ones. She reached out and brushed that one disobedient strand of his hair, off his eyes and her smile softened.

“Well, I guess, then he is mine too.”

And wasn’t that a miracle in itself.

Ulfat loved Uzair in a way Rehman had never expected her to. And Uzair had taken to his sister in law like a fish to water. They would be found indulging in some mischief or the other, happy to let Rehman tear his hair out in the sheer exasperation of trying to control his gregarious family.

But despite the noise and the cheerful zoo his home had turned into, and rather maybe because of it, Rehman felt a sense of completeness that had always been missing from his life for as long as he remembers.

The arrival of his son, a year later, only brought more warmth and happiness in the Baloch household.

But with Naieem’s birth something had changed in Uzair.

He seemed to be more distant.

Darting away from family gatherings, choosing to spend all his time either with his friends or the gang or excusing himself under the guise of being busy with his studies.

At first the change hadn’t been visible, because he was so tired from managing his expanding empire and his a month old baby who had a very healthy set of lungs and a strange desire to eviscerate their eardrums whenever possible, he could barely see straight on most days.

But as Naieem settled and the routine came back to normal, Rehman started noticing the absences more and more.

It all came to head one rainy afternoon.

To be continued.

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