Chapter Four – Ayesha, the Journalist
Karachi’s newspapers had a strange habit: when something unexplainable happened, they tucked it away in the back pages, between advertisements for secondhand cars and missing cats.
But Ayesha spotted it.
“Another body, burned from the inside. No signs of fire.” She tapped the article with her pen, frowning. “That makes three this month.”
She sat in the cluttered office of The Karachi Herald, ceiling fan creaking above. Her editor, chewing on a gutka packet, barely looked up.
“Write about dengue. People like dengue stories.”
Ayesha rolled her eyes. “Sir, people are dying in strange ways. It’s not dengue. It’s something bigger.”
The editor waved her off. “Then bigger people will cover it. You’re on wedding season pieces now. Go interview some brides.”
She slammed the file shut, muttering under her breath, “Brides can wait. Karachi’s burning.”
That night, Ayesha followed a lead into Saddar. A fruit seller told her about a man, tall with sharp eyes, who always hung around when something unnatural happened. “Name’s Daniyal,” he said. “But people call him the Broker.”
She found him exactly where the vendor described: leaning on a motorbike outside a chai dhaba, sipping his tea like the world owed him nothing and everything at once.
She approached carefully. “You, Daniyal?”
He looked her up and down, smirked. “Depends. If you’re here to sell me car insurance, then no.”
“I’m a journalist,” she said, pulling out her notepad. “People are dying. Strange deaths. You’re connected.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Journalist? Great. Just what I needed. What’s next, you’ll tell me you’re also an undercover cop? Or maybe Batman?”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m serious. I know you’re involved.”
Daniyal leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Listen, baji… people die every day in this city. Guns, drugs, bad samosas. Why don’t you write about that, haan?”
But before she could snap back, a scream echoed from a nearby alley.
Both of them turned. A man stumbled out, clutching his throat, his shadow twisting unnaturally behind him.
Ayesha’s pen fell from her hand. “What the”
Daniyal cursed under his breath. “Not tonight…” He pushed past her, sprinting into the alley.
Ayesha followed, heart pounding. She watched as Daniyal confronted a hunched, smoky figure that snarled like an animal.
The thing lunged, Daniyal dodged, his hands suddenly glowing with the strange red marks. He slammed them into the creature’s chest. With a flash of burning light, the demon screamed and exploded into a cloud of ash.
Silence.
Ayesha’s mouth hung open. “You… you just, what WAS that?!”
Daniyal dusted off his jacket casually, like nothing happened. “That? Just Karachi nightlife.”
She grabbed his arm. “Don’t joke! That was a demon. I saw it.”
He pulled away, forcing a grin. “You didn’t see anything. Maybe bad chai fumes. Maybe dengue.”
But she wasn’t backing down. “No. You’re hiding something. And I’m going to find out what.”
For the first time, Daniyal’s smile faded. He looked at her, really looked, and realized she wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t afraid. She wanted the truth.
He sighed, muttering: “God save me from stubborn women.”
Ayesha smirked. “Guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me then, Daniyal Khan.”
