Walis was a small restaurant located a few blocks away from a nearby university, smack dab in the middle of a cramped street though to be fair most streets in Karachi were cramped.  It was noted for its famous palow or biryani if you’re foreigner and infamous cracked floors, flickering lights and patched together chairs and tables. How it stayed afloat, Abdullah didn’t know but he was paid to be a waiter and clean tables, not to question questionable business decisions, he figured though; it had to do with the nearby uni students looking for a cheap meal.

Abdullah was the same age as those uni students and aside from the rare foreign student it was a fact that was barely acknowledged by those students, in fact, it seemed, most university students tended to ignore him. They were also really bad tippers.

A fact the new waiter soon learned. Salim was a chubby, round man with the face of a boy. Him and Abdullah were around the same age, both working in a shitty restaurant instead of studying at the big university because of circumstances. With his chubby cheeks and mound of hair combed back with coconut oil Abdullah was reminded of the fat, spoiled children he used to play with back when he was a child. It didn’t help that the formal suit their boss Moosa forced them to wear barely fit him and his face was always red from his neck being choked by his tightly buttoned collars.

“You were right about the college students,” Salim said, unbuttoning his collars. “They don’t tip.”

Abdullah eyed them. Two college students dressed in brand new wildly coloured adidas shoes and fresh shirts and pants.  Judging by their grinning faces and fancy two length hairstyles they were not only rich enough to afford to tip but probably only went to university to chat up girls and smoke weed.

They huddled up by the TV in the corner. Another cornerstone of Walis, the loud TV that blared retro video game music loud enough to give everyone a headache. The worst part was that nobody, not even the owner knew how to turn the damn volume down. Connected to the TV were two worn controllers and on the screen was Street Fighter 2 Champion Edition, or at least an emulated edition. The only way to get it to work was to insert a few rupees into a slot on the side of the machine. How Moosa was smart enough to get that to work, Abdullah didn’t know but he did jam a few games with the local kids when Moosa was snoring in his office.

“Look at them,” Salim scoffed. “Not a care in the world. Their parents have all the money to send them to college yet they can’t even tip.”

The college kids booted up the game and started going at each other with Ryu and Balrog.

“These children,” Abdullah said. “They don’t struggle like us.”

Abdullah stared at Moosa’s from the corner of his eye. Through the slit in the door, he could see his legs resting on the table and his fat belly poking out at the corner. Maybe he could get Salim that tip. Abdullah walked towards the college kids. Salim frowned. “Where are you going?”

Abdullah hung back, observing their match. He could barely tell the boys apart with their similar white shirts and black jeans but it looked like the kid with the bright blue adidas shoes was winning while the one in orange lost. Abdullah tapped his back.

“Heard you didn’t tip my friend there,” Abdullah said, pointing at Salim.

“That fatso,” Blue shoes laughed. “Didn’t give a good service.”

“Your butter chicken sucks,” Orange shoes said, faking a gag. Blue shoes took another round and Orange cursed.

“Why do you care so much?” Blue shoes asked. “Are you some kind of superhero?”

Well, Moosa doesn’t pay them enough and we both have families to take care off, something you kids with your ugly shoes couldn’t understand, Abdullah thought but he bit back his words. Instead, he made a deal.

“If I beat you guys you both have to tip my friend over there 1000 rupees each.”

The kids looked at each other and laughed.

“Gambling is haram, bhai,” said orange shoes.

Blue shoes scoffed. “I play this game every day, with pro players, you don’t stand a chance.”

Abdullah crossed his arms and smirked. “Let’s see if you can back up those words. I’ll even pay for the match.”

The boys looked at each other and snickered. “Fine, let’s see if you’re all bark or all bite.”

Abdullah started his match with orange shoes. Guess they were saving the best for last.

Abdullah picked M. Bison and orange shoes picking Balrog. The match started and within a few minutes Abdullah had already won.

“Bullshit,” Orange shoes cursed. “There’s no way this waiter is this good.” He said the waiter as if it were a slur.

Abdullah recalled Blue struggling a tiny bit with Orange. No, Abdullah said. There was no way Blue was so bad especially if he played with pro players.

Abdullah asked Orange to fork up the cash but Blue reminded him that he said only if he beat the both of them. Abdullah inserted the coin into the machine and picked M. Bison again, Blue picked Ryu.

Abdullah won. It wasn’t even a competition. 2000 rupees in hand he was ready to head over to Salim who had a shocked expression on his face when Blue stopped him.

“You only won because you picked M. Bison,” Blue said.

“Yeah, his move-set is broken,” Orange complained.

Abdullah smiled. He gave these two children the answer he always gave back when he was a kid and used to play this game with his friends on outdated hardware. “M. Bison is a villain and in real life, the villains always win.”

Blue frowned. “What a corny waiter.” They left the restaurant in a sour mood and with 2000 rupees less amongst themselves. Abdullah could’ve hustled them for more but he knew they were sore losers and would’ve made a fuss. He was so immersed in the game, however that he lost track of time. It was 3 P.M, his shift at the restaurant was over and that meant he had to go work at the flour mill. That meant waking up Moosa to tell him his shift was over.

“I have to go, Salim,” Abdullah said, shoving the money in his shirt pocket.

“You won the money,” Salim said. “You should keep it.” He took it out but Abdullah refused. He had places to be and Salim’s insistence and his stupid boss’s sleep schedule were going to make him late.

He woke up his boss, ignored his yelling and told him the shift was over. Weaving past Salim’s complaints, he left Walis and prayed that he would be able to catch a bus.

…

He couldn’t catch a bus. He doubted it would’ve made a difference though, the traffic was always bad, both human and vehicle. Walking through the crowds, jacket collar pulled over his mouth the worst thing wasn’t the smell of the cars, the streets or the people but rather the smog.  The ever-pervasive smog thanks to traffic and industry. It made walking even more of a chore, especially with the high temperatures they’d been having. Despite that, throughout the street corners and even within the traffic, Mohammed Bilal’s political campaigners echoed through, their voices loud and clear over the noise of car horns and people talking. You could never escape his false promises, from the torn posters on the walls and bus stops to his cronies in bright green yelling on the streets or on their vans plastered with his face.

“We will end poverty, we will stop traffic, we will make sure everybody is educated!” the cronies yelled while their prime minister was out far away from Pakistan, busy making deals with multibillion companies to keep him in power while those same companies stole whatever meagre resources their country had.

His latest deal got Pakistan an extravagant Independence Day party, mashallah. Meanwhile his sister was sick and he couldn’t afford basic antibiotics because of some deal Mohammed had made with the Americans. The worse part was when he found out just how cheap they were in America.

After a long walk, he finally made it home. His legs were tired from walking through the traffic and the loud political campaigns had given him a headache. When he reached the door, he was glad he didn’t have to open it, his younger brother did the job for him trying to sneak out.

Hasan was the second smartest out of them all, like his sister liked to say. He was the only person in their small little family with any hope of getting out of here. Aliyah was too sick and Abdullah was too busy but Hasan, Hasan had their gifts without the burdens. Him and Abdullah looked alike with the same wavy hair and hooked noses but Hasan lucked out and got their mother’s fairer skin. He also learned a few tricks about taking care of himself on that laptop of his, always using some of the allowance Abdullah gave him to try out some fancy new haircut he saw online. A smart kid who knew how to take advantage of the things he was given. He was also, unfortunately, fifteen and very much acted as such.

“Sneaking out to see Rayhana again,” Abdullah said with crossed arms.

“I did my homework!” Hasan protested. “I’m just going to see my friends.”

“Should’ve started with the lie first,” Abdullah sighed. “You know what I said?”

“Yeah, I know,” Hasan said. “When you’re not around I have to take care of Aliyah but she can take care of herself…”

Abdullah sighed. Maybe he exaggerated just how smart this kid was in his head. “She’s also smarter than you and a better liar. I didn’t even come home yet and you still decided to sneak out.”

“But I’ve been studying the whole day,” Hasan complained. “Don’t I at least deserve some time off.”

Abdullah took a deep breath. When their parents were alive, they put a lot of pressure on Hasan and so did Abdullah. Everyone, including Aliyah wanted a better future for Hasan than they had for themselves. “Fine.” Hasan’s face brightened. “But you better be back on time and next time you wait for me…” Hasan was just about ready to run off but Abdullah gripped his shoulder. “Next time you do this I’m locking both of you in the house until I come back from work.”

Hasan understood the message, with that he ran off. Abdullah entered their block. A small dingy place with three rooms, a bathroom and kitchen. Much like the streets, the hallways of their flat were cramped, the living room was stuffed with their 3 couches and 32-inch TV. At night, you could hear the distant traffic and also the nearby traffic as car horns screeched like a siren, waking them all up. In summer, thanks to the badly designed windows and cheap roof their home was like a heater but in winter it was like a freezer. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a light on their sofas. Looked like Abdullah would need to dust them soon. He squeezed his way through the living room and into the passageway where Aliyah’s room was halfway open. Abdullah dumped his bag in his room and opened Aliyah’s.

Aliyah was only 12 but had more wisdom than either brother. Unfortunately, she couldn’t do anything with it. Ever since birth she had a weak constitution, that and the smog filled streets of Karachi and the fact that they couldn’t afford basic medicine she was wracked with pneumonia that refused to go out even after 3 months. Still, she managed to take care of herself, Abdullah could see the oil in her long black hair and could smell the fragrant strawberry perfume their mother used to use. She was busy reading a book when she saw Abdullah and smiled.

She got out of bed and hugged him. “Abdullah.”

Abdullah didn’t hug her back. “Why’d you want Hasan to go?”

“He was getting very annoying talking about that Fatima girl…”

“Rayhana,” Abdullah corrected.

“I could’ve sworn he said Fatima,” Aliyah said.

Abdullah frowned; Hasan really wasn’t as smart as he thought. “And…”

“I really wanted to read my book.”

Abdullah sat her down on her bed. “Look Aliyah. I know we’ve had this talk before but…”

“Yes, I’m sick and I need someone with me at all times,” Aliyah said. “But I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Abdullah said. “But what if something happens to you and we’re out of the house, then what?”

“Nothing’s happening to me,” Aliyah said. “I’m fine.”

Her body however, disagreed and out came the dry cough that caused all of them agony.  A few minutes after it started, it stopped. “See, it’s not as bad as before.”

Abdullah ran a hand through her forehead. Her fever was going down but…

“I’m just worried, okay,” Abdullah said. “After that time, you collapsed.”

Aliyah shook her head. “It was just a very bad fever. I wasn’t used to it.”

“So, you’ll be fine alone?” Abdullah asked.

Aliyah nodded. “Yes. I’ll keep the doors locked for extra measure. I have a book to keep me company and if I get extra bored, I’ll just watch a movie Hasan downloaded.”

Abdullah had taught Hasan how to torrent movies a long time ago. He just hoped he wasn’t torrenting those types of movies. “Just be careful. I don’t know what Hasan downloads on that laptop of his.”

Aliyah crossed her arms in fake anger. “I know how to read.”

Abdullah smiled. “Alright. If anything happens…”

Aliyah nodded. “Call you. I know.”

Abdullah hugged her back this time. After changing he made his long walk to the mill, hoping his boss would forgive him for being this late. However, a feeling still lingered in his gut. A dark feeling that his sister was hiding something from him he just couldn’t place his finger on what.