The Days Pass

Malik's life in Kasab settled into a rhythm. Work at the mechanic's shop during the day, football in the evening, and sleep in his small, rented room at night. The city was a machine, and he was just another cog in it.

The mechanic, Jaggu, was a rough man in his forties with grease-covered hands and a cigarette always hanging from his lips. He didn't ask questions, and Malik didn't give answers. As long as the work was done, no one cared where he had come from or why he was here.

The streets of Kasab had their own rules. Some places were safe, others weren't. The old bazaar was where the merchants gathered, shouting over each other to sell their goods. The docks, however, had a different kind of business—the kind done in whispers, behind closed doors. Malik never went near them.

Nights were quiet. His room was barely more than a bed and a fan that worked when it wanted to. The walls were thin, and the voices from the next room never stopped—men arguing, laughing, making deals. He ignored it all.

He had come to Kasab with nothing, and weeks later, he still had nothing.