Chapter Text
When Hamza first arrived in Lyari he began as a man with a mission, blending in with the dull greys of the streets and helping out Aalam bhai with his shop. The smell of blood and gun powder hung in the air mixing with the town's humidity. And Hamza waits patiently, waits in the midst of frustration, in the midst of anger simmering under his skin, and recently homesickness. He exists like the ghosts of Lyari; silent, burning with revenge and couldn't do anything about it. Yet. Patience and vigilance was what he learnt and followed.
And one day his patience paid off, when Aalam bhai told him he has a chance in entering Rehman Dakait's gang. That night he stayed up late watching the steet as he thought over the plan. If only he knew at that time how much his life would change. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Hamza was waiting solemnly in the hospital. The doctors declared that Naieem, the son of Rehman Dakait, the boy who Hamza was supposed save and gain the favour of Rehman and become a part of his gang, is dead. An unexpected twist in his plans that left him in a pandemonium and a white shirt stained red. The other kid, the one who survived - Faizal, was weeping silently against Aalam bhai.
The light blub flickered with a dying light and the doors burst open, giving way to a man whose grief filled gaze could turn people to stone. Rehman Dakait.
Faizal went to hug his father, crying even more and pointed his finger at Hamza. He said something that only his father understood, his voice parched from his time of crying. But Rehman didn't change his expression and passed him with a glance that felt threatening. And only a man dressed in a dark kurta followed Rehman into the ICU. The rest of his men waiting outside.
Seconds ticked by from a faraway clock, the corridor deadly silent with the exception of the boy's crying. The ICU's door burst open and the two came out. The man beside Rehman, whom he now recognized as Uzair Baloch, the cousin of Rehman started to interrogate him. Hamza answered each question with sorrow in his voice, training his eyes to the ground momentarily. It wasn't hard because he really was upset that he couldn't save the boy. Uzair was... well, he was taller than what Hamza expected. This was the first time Hamza saw him, the shadow of Rehman Dakait. His cold, handsome face was laden with grief at his nephew's demise. Hamza was assessing Uzair the same way Uzair was assessing him.
When Ulfat, the wife of Rehman, came in, slapped her husband hard and promptly wailed in his arms, Hamza just registered scene, his eyes never once left Uzair. No one looked at him once Ulfat entered. Uzair looked like most people in Pakistan would; dark hair, dark eyes and skin tanned from the harsh sun. But there was something about him that made Hamza want to continue looking at him. Just looking at him. Not calculating. Not planning. Not thinking of anything or anyone. It made his mind go blank.
Maybe it's the way his eyes show every emotion his heart tries to hide in the depths of its arteries. Endlessly black, not dark brown, but black. Like the night sky. Or maybe like the universe that spans beyond it. And he would've continued his staring if Uzair didn't look back at him to continue the interrogation. Hamza looked down at the ground, the picture of sorrow, obedience and fear mixed in one.
They deemed him worthy so, Hamza successfully became a member of Rehman's gang. And before he left the hospital, Uzair looked back at him one last time that night. His face was still shone with sadness at the death that still lingers in the air but his eyes softened with a warmth that comforted Hamza in a way he couldn't explain. His voice was deep and low as he whispered, "Stay safe", in a tone that sent tingles down Hamza's spine.
And at that moment a piece of Hamza died and Jaskirat breathed life.
• On the other side:
Uzair sat on the edge of the bed that night. Everyone was mourning the death of Naieem and planning the date of the funeral. The Haveli was filled with tears and grief. It was only yesterday the boy who was still just a boy, was excited over his friend's wedding, planning what gift to give and what not. Blabbing it all to Rehman bhai with a smile so bright, untouched by the violence of Lyari.
Uzair smoked because he doesn't want to drown in grief, doesn't want to feel the pain. So he smoked and thought of something else. His mind drifted to the man he saw in the hospital. Hamza. A nice name. Sharp. Just like his grey eyes. It was the first thing he noticed about the other.
He is handsome... That was new. Uzair never particularly saw the attractiveness in others unless it slaps him in the face. Yet, when he saw him the word came naturally to him. Or maybe he never saw a man who looks good with heavy muscles. Or maybe he never saw a man who looked like Hamza. Perhaps he never will.
His mind lays exhausted as he stared at the smoke swirling from the cigarette, glowing like a light in the dark. It reminds him of particular grey eyes and it's beauty, so bright and light, has no right to stay in a place filled with the wretched Ghosts of Lyari.