The First Crack

Kasab was on edge. The city moved as it always did, but something was different. The air felt heavier, the streets quieter. People were watching their backs.

At the mechanic's shop, Jaggu worked with his head down. His usual cigarette hung from his lips, but he barely smoked it. Raju noticed.

"They're not letting this go, are they?" Raju muttered.

Jaggu didn't answer.

That afternoon, another visitor arrived. This time, he came alone. Slim, neatly dressed, eyes sharp like a blade.

"You're late, Jaggu," he said, voice calm but heavy.

Jaggu wiped his hands and nodded toward the back. "Inside."

Malik kept working. He didn't turn, didn't listen. But when the door closed, the sound of voices followed. Not loud, not angry—just business.

Minutes later, the man walked out. He didn't look at Malik or Raju. He left as if nothing had happened.

Jaggu stood at the doorway for a moment, then spat onto the ground.

"Close up early today," he said.

No one argued.

That night, Malik sat by his window, staring at the street below. A black car passed slowly, its windows tinted. It didn't stop. It didn't need to.

Something was coming. He could feel it.

But it had nothing to do with him.