3:00 AM
The cold seeped into his bones, relentless.
Rahul stood in the dim bedroom, shoving clothes into an old canvas bag. His shoulder throbbed with each movement, but adrenaline carried him forward. Outside, thick mist slithered through the streets like a living thing, swallowing everything in gray silence.
The door creaked open.
Manish Sir stepped in, carrying a worn leather bag and a small envelope. The weak lamplight caught the sharp lines of his face—no glasses this time, just the rigid authority of a man sending someone into danger.
"Here." He placed the bag on the bed. "Food. Medicine. A little money."
Rahul's throat tightened. "Sir, I—"
"Save it." Manish Sir pulled a folded piece of paper from his kurta pocket, handing it with care, as though it could shatter in his hands. An address, neatly written.
"Go there. You'll be helped."
Rahul studied the paper. The address meant nothing to him—an unfamiliar part of Mumbai, somewhere he'd never walked.
Manish Sir gripped his good shoulder. His voice dropped, firm and fatherly.
"And one more thing. From now on, you are Rajesh. Not Rahul. Understand? Rajesh Mishra. My nephew. Forget everything else."
Rahul nodded, the name heavy on his tongue.
For a fleeting moment, Manish Sir's face softened. "May God bless you, beta."
He guided Rahul through the narrow hallway, past the tiny kitchen, to a door at the back Rahul hadn't noticed before. The hinges groaned in protest as it opened.
Beyond: darkness. A narrow alley, barely visible through the mist.
"If you need help," Manish Sir whispered, "contact me. Or write a letter. No phones—they can trace those."
Gratitude, fear, and guilt churned inside Rahul.
"Thank you, Sir."
Manish Sir simply nodded.
Rahul stepped into the cold. The door clicked shut behind him.
The alley pressed in from all sides. Only the weak beam of the torch in his hand cut through the fog. His footsteps echoed off crumbling brick walls. Dogs barked somewhere close—sharp, hungry sounds that set his pulse racing.
The slums.
Rotting garbage, stagnant water, the sour tang of poverty. Shadows lurked in doorways. Eyes glimmered from broken windows.
Can I trust him?
The thought slithered through his mind, cold and insidious.
What if it's a trap? What if they're waiting?
His hand clenched the torch tighter.
Shut up.
You don't even know where you're going. Blind. Always running.
He forced himself to focus. Squinted at the address:
Shivaji Nagar, Lane 7, House 14-B
No clue where it was—but staying here wasn't an option.
Rahul pocketed the paper and moved faster, weaving through the maze of narrow streets. Every sound made him flinch. Every shadow felt alive, watching, waiting.
Finally, he stumbled onto a wider road. Empty. Silent. Mist thinned slightly.
He had to reach the next town's bus stop—less crowded, less policed. A place where he could vanish.
He started walking.
5:00 AM
By the time he reached the bus stop, his legs trembled like wires straining under current.
The sky shifted—indigo bleeding into pale orange at the edges. Sunrise. The world waking, and with it, danger.
The bus stop was little more than a rusted metal frame and a faded sign. No benches. No people.
What if someone recognizes me? What if the cops—
He pulled his collar higher, tried to disappear in plain sight.
Minutes dragged like hours.
Then—engine sounds.
A battered government bus coughed its way into view, belching black smoke. Headlights cut through the mist.
Rahul climbed aboard.
The interior smelled of sweat and diesel. Seats torn, stuffing spilling like open wounds. Only a handful of passengers—heads lolling, half-asleep.
Rahul sank into the last seat, pressing himself into the corner. His hand brushed his watch.
6:00 AM. One hour.
The bus groaned forward. Rahul exhaled, trying to calm the storm inside him.
5:45 AM
The bus slowed. Rahul snapped awake.
Police checkpoint.
Ice spread through his veins. Two khaki-jeep patrols. Officers waving cars down, checking IDs, rifling through bags.
No. No, no, no.
The bus halted. An officer climbed aboard, baton in hand. His gaze swept over passengers, finally landing on Rahul.
For one heartbeat, their eyes locked.
Rahul looked away. Pretended to stare out the window. Pulse hammering.
Don't move. Don't breathe. Don't exist.
The officer walked the aisle. Boots thudding.
Stopped beside him.
"Where are you going?"
Rahul forced calm. "Shivaji Nagar. Visiting my uncle."
"ID."
Shit.
No fake papers. Nothing.
Think. THINK—
"I… I lost my wallet yesterday," he stammered. "Near the market. Was going to report it when I reached—"
The officer waved him off and returned to the front.
Rahul's chest heaved. Nearly exploded.
The checkpoint disappeared into mist.
Too close.
6:10 AM
Bus rattled to a stop.
"Shivaji Nagar!" the conductor shouted.
Rahul snatched his bag and slipped into a narrow side street, away from the main road.
Cramped, dirty. Stray dogs sniffing through garbage. Few early risers shuffled past, eyes half-closed.
He spotted a rickshaw parked near a tea stall. The driver sipped chai lazily.
"Bhai," Rahul called, "Lane 7, House 14-B. Kitna?"
"Fifty rupees. Far hai."
Rahul's stomach clenched. No choice.
"Okay. Let's go."
The rickshaw sputtered through winding streets, the city slowly waking.
6:30 AM
The rickshaw stopped.
Rahul stared. The building looked ancient. Peeling paint, cracked plaster. Warped wooden door, rusted gate hanging ajar.
This was it.
He paid the driver. Rattled away. Rahul was alone.
The street was quiet. Crows perched on wires. An old woman swept her doorstep. No one cared.
He approached the door. Hand hovered.
Knock. Silence.
Knock again. Louder.
The door creaked open. Unlocked.
Rahul hesitated. Instinct screamed: run.
Where would he go?
He stepped inside.
Dim. Musty. Small room, cluttered with broken furniture and stacks of yellowed newspapers. Dust motes floated in weak morning light.
And then—
An old man. Forty, maybe fifty. Shirt stained, hair unkempt. Whiskey bottle tipped on the floor.
Drunk. Passed out.
Rahul froze.
This is who Manish Sir sent me to?
A cold whisper slithered in his mind:
You've been set up. Dead end. Alone.
His hand drifted to the man's shoulder. Should he wake him? Kill him? Leave?
The silence pressed down, heavy as a tomb.
Far away, the city stirred.
And Rahul… waited in the shadows, every nerve screaming for what came next.