No Way Back

Jaggu never returned. His shop stayed locked, gathering dust. People stopped asking. In Kasab, when a man disappeared, he stayed gone.

Malik didn't look for answers. He needed work, so he took whatever came—fixing tires, unloading crates at the market, even carrying sacks at the docks. The days blended together, one after another.

But Kasab had a way of pulling people back.

One night, as Malik walked home, two men blocked his path. Not thugs—professionals. Sharp clothes, blank faces.

"The boss wants to see you," one said.

Malik didn't flinch. "Wrong guy."

The man smirked. "Nah. You're the right guy."

They didn't grab him, didn't threaten. Just waited.

Malik glanced around. The street was quiet. Empty. He could run—but where?

Finally, he sighed. "Let's go."

They led him through the alleys, past shuttered shops, deeper into Kasab's underbelly. A door opened, and the smell of expensive smoke filled the air. Inside, men sat at round tables, drinking, whispering, watching.

At the far end of the room, the slim man from the shop leaned back in a chair. A gold chain rested against his shirt.

"Told you Kasab doesn't forget its people," he said, smiling.

Malik didn't sit. Didn't speak.

The man gestured. "Relax. It's just business."

Malik knew better.

In Kasab, nothing was just business.