The Arrival

Kasab, 1996

The city of Kasab was built on movement. Ships unloaded their cargo at the docks, men carried heavy sacks through the streets, and the markets never fell silent. The air smelled of salt, sweat, and burning coal. It was a place where some rose to power, and others disappeared without a trace.

One evening, a young man stepped off a bus at the city's southern terminal. He was Malik, an outsider with nothing but a bag slung over his shoulder. He walked through the crowded streets without drawing attention—just another face in a city that had no time to remember names.

He found a room in a lodge near the market, where the walls were damp, and the air smelled of old wood. He spoke little and asked for nothing more than a place to sleep. In the morning, he went looking for work and took whatever came his way. By noon, he was sweeping the floors of a mechanic's shop, oil stains covering his hands.

Kasab had its rulers—men who controlled the docks, the streets, and the blood that spilled on them. But Malik was not one of them. He worked, ate, and spent his evenings kicking a football on an empty ground behind the railway station.

In a city that moved fast, he was just another man trying to keep up.