Calm steps occupied an enormous time to reach the restaurant. A sluggish person stared at everyone running fast in a ‘no halt’ society. Muzammil would have never believed the last thing that happened. It was bringing the nightmare, hiding in the college, fearing seniors.

Engraving his eyes towards the toe, he reached the old place. He was living there merely for some time but the place invited him with nostalgia. Jamal, a 45 years old man who saw him through the specs settled on his nose, approached solemnly. Muzammil swirled in thoughts when Jamal perplexedly interrogated him about his disappearance. Jamal’s care for Muzammil made him impatient about his absence.

Amidst the street, outside the restaurant, Jamal continued asking him where he was sheltering but Muzammil’s silence was telling the story of a gravelled street through which somehow only he had survived. Jamal was unaware of Muzammil’s tiredness after answering dingy questions about the killer.

Jamal had seen enough cruelty in the city and didn’t want Muzammil to witness its besetting cruelty. Cradling fear by the city led him to ask repeatedly, the same four sentences,

“What happen? Muzammil”

“Tell me if someone robbed you?”

“I told you to stay awake and alarm”

“This place is not good at all”

The fifth time, Muzammil halted him,

“I went out of the city for some private work”

“Which work?” Before Jamal headed for the next concerned question, Muzammil left the place and went to the backyard of the restaurant. He closed the only door between the restaurant and the backyard, sat down on his bed and with an outburst cried insanely.

The voice imparts such heavily that one of his only fellow workers left serving food and knocking on the door repeatedly,

“Is everything okay?”

“What happen?”

Meanwhile, Jamal until Asgar’s knocking stood outside the restaurant, came hotfoot. Knocking and concerning call damned crying out a cloud of an outburst inside him. He flushed tears out and soaked them with the untied sleeves of his only shirt washed.

“Everything’s good. I am praying Namaz” Muzammil struggled to pretend an absurd lie. Asgar knew it was a lie. He called him so many times for Namaz earlier but all the time got an excuse.

Muzammil swept tears again and stared at fading colour of the sleeve. Time didn’t allow him to wash two pairs of clothes to shuffle them at least. Most of the time, Jamal laundered his clothes. Muzammil never twisted his mind regarding any of his stuff except that small hair clip, he grabbed while kissing the village girl. It was a nuisance gift at first but sooner he realized her love for him, the non-sense gift shined like the most beautiful one.

A pretending reply to avoid Asgar getting some idea, Muzammil started realizing that Jamal too must be thinking about the previous day and him. He didn’t want to pull any other in the case. Opened the door, went near Jamal and relaxed him. Upheld life began shattering inside the bathroom. Impeding water when hits the waist, a small but deep cut right to the backbone hurt such badly that Muzammil screamed louder without thinking about the consequences of anyone hearing him. Jamal had suspected with something wrong had happened with Muzammil. Regular knocking on the door, crying inside the bathroom and laughing killer standing in front of Muzammil’s eyes on a dark terrorizing night begins the story of reality seems like fiction. A story, which Muzammil was always looking for, was happening with him.

An insight kept telling him,

“You need a story and the killer can bring it to you”

30 minutes of deep thinking, while crying, stood Muzammil, sweeping tears, taking a decision,

“Gravity keeps a person within it. However long, one may go through, neither a person could escape nor does a story”

An innocent character built a negative character in his fiction. It keeps on changing and the story takes him to every possible step. All worst things began with a mistake and Muzammil had already made one. Deep crawling into the mistake, he scratched a story, he was in search for a long time,

“The story of the killer”

Walking out of the bathroom, wearing his dress, he went into the restaurant where Jamal and Asgar were waiting for him. He lied that a sudden hit from tape led to the screaming.

Muzammil approached Jamal with a pretending smile and asked him for any delivery. Jamal, confused about the behaviour,  wanted to know the grief inside,

“Don’t pretend. You cannot. An innocent shadows everything from the eyes. I am asking again, tell me, what happened”

Muzammil faked with a strong smile. It was the first time when he pretends after being caught by someone. He again lied with poise and asked,

“Any place to go?”

Jamal flipped his eyes at Asgar, standing two tables behind them hearing the conversation. Asgar tackled things easily and so he assured Jamal with his eyes and Jamal without looking into Muzammil’s eyes handed him a small piece of paper with an address on it. Muzammil took the paper, read it out, and after confirmation from Jamal in an unusual reply, stepped out of the restaurant for the delivery. An inside victory was cheering him in a way but before he could drive out further, a jeep of Mumbai Police arrived. It surpassed Muzammil and stopped at the restaurant. Muzammil got a nervous breakdown. The brain immediately stopped transporting ideas. Heartbeat aching the left part of the chest. Sweat kept losing the parcel from hand.

Jamal called out to Muzammil to come back. The journey, which Muzammil had started, a few minutes back gets its very first hurdle in a way of salvation from the regret of an unknowing storyless writer.

Jamal introduced Muzammil to the police officer. The inspector while glancing tried to memorize the face. Although Muzammil reckoned him he didn’t begin the conversation. He remembered the inspector as one of his oldest friends of Jamal, who visits on major occasions. The intelligence, he lost a few years back, began to show up generosity in him again.

“Hello! Mr Muzammil” Inspector greeted with a casual handshake.

Inspector loosened a weak hand and smiled,

“How are you?”

Muzammil took a sigh within a microsecond and pretended with his career’s best act of heartening,

“Good Sir, Completely fine, You say. I didn’t see you these days”

The smile on the inspector’s face faded instantly. He turned and look Jamal abstractly as if asking about the fear of Muzammil, which Jamal had informed him on a phone. Jamal’s eyes showed an utter dilemma. Inspector turned again towards Muzammil, picked out a fresh pack of cigarettes and draw off a silver-white finishing cubeb. He drove towards the corner most table of the restaurant, pulled up the chair and sat down on it. Suspense in his eyes gestured Muzammil to come forward. Muzammil looked at Jamal as if telling him that he was nervous although he wasn’t. Jamal relaxed him with eye contact and Muzammil sat down for interrogation.

The inspector was holding the salt sprinkler while lowering his eyes. Spraying salt slowly on the table,

“Do you know who I am?”

Muzammil studied psychology as an additional subject upon his graduation. Avoiding stammering,

“Yes, Sir. I have seen you many times in the restaurant. Jamal sir and you share a lot of talks when you visit here”

The inspector said disjointedly in between as if had no interest in listening to justification,

“Jamal was my senior in high school. He never asked for help all his life but a few days back, he came to me for help. Do you want me to refuse?”

Muzammil shut off for a moment. Figuring out the best sentence from 15 similar sentences, he said,

“No Sir”

The Inspector put down the sprinkler, leaned towards the table,

“Good”

Looking deep into Muzammil’s eyes,

“Now stop pretending more and tell me the truth”

Muzammil was losing the battle but he was forte in hardship and so looked into the inspector’s eyes just as if he was looking, evaluate the situation, leaned towards the Inspector, fixed both the hands-on each other and widening his eyes,

“Please Sir, Don’t tell Jamal Sir anything about it. I only know this person to feed me”

Inspector looking him deeply and judging his tone,

“Go ahead”

Muzammil with a sighing relief,

“I visited my only friend a few days back. He influenced me and I forget realizing that am taking drugs. I took it without awarding its consequence. Drugs turned me mad and I ended up with a fight in his colony”

Muzammil showing one of his wounds at the back of his neck,

“This wound comes from there”.

Stooping closer to the inspector,

“I was marooned but now I am solemn about my life. I promise, I will never do it again and will never meet that friend too but please don’t tell anyone about this incident. I don’t want to lose my last hope”

Inspector deduced it was a true story. Muzammil interlaced a fiction gruffly. Inspector ogled his eyes again while gathering the sprayed salt closer. He concluded,

“Listen, Kid. This is Mumbai. Everyone is an addict here, some for work, some for dignity but many for power and money. No one thinks more of a second time to kill someone if needed. Jamal told me about your innocence and I believe that it will never fade again. Am I right?”

Muzammil looked at him relieving serenely,

“I won’t give you second chance”

He took a pause, deducing Inspector’s abstract expression, specified the sentence,

“To hear any worst of me”

Inspector stood from the chair, took a last drag, pinched it deflating in the ashtray, and strolled away. When he looked Muzammil followed him too, dab on his shoulder to sit. Muzammil sat down imperiously. After all, he had won the battle. Inspector went near Jamal and advised him to let Muzammil rest for a few days. Muzammil didn’t say a word. After watching feared eyes off him, the inspector returned to the table,

“My name is Vasu Khagade. I won’t allow any second mistake. You understand what I am saying”

Thinking more while reading the face of Muzammil closely, Vasu asked,

“What’s your friend’s name?”

Muzammil had already made his character and had given him a perfect name,

“Yakoob”

Inspector sharply advised,

“Stay away from him. Next time don’t let anyone steal your precious 6 days”

Muzammil repeated the last words with utter confusion,

“6 days?”

Vasu smiled,

“The kid has a dingy memory, and doesn’t even know today’s date, I guess”

Muzammil wrigglingly looked at the calendar on the sidewall. It showed 6 days passed on after he had met the killer. The night appeared in his front once again. The sound of laughing clank in-ear would have fainted him unless Vasu won’t dap on his shoulder again,

“Stay away from the city. It is an open graveyard where ocean swallowed all, that comes in it”

Vasu expectorated and went near Jamal, relaxing his stress for Muzammil. After a healthy handshake, he walked out.

Jamal told Muzammil to take leave for a day. Muzammil didn’t refuse. He entered the backyard and lay down on his bed awaken. The rest he needed had already been enough taken in the killer’s house. Tricking Vasu relaxed him further. He started feeling powerful after a successful deceptive trick. He was prepared to engage with the killer. The wisdom went beyond imagination. There was an important thing about which he was unaware. Vasu’s profile and history as a police inspector in Mumbai.

Muzammil began scratching the first draft of a mind-blowing story. Vasu was waiting for him to take a wrong step which he believed Muzammil for sure will take. The real threat in the circle was the killer, who was leading the story to an end before Muzammil’s beginning. The next formidable thing was going to ruin two lives. “Muzammil and Vasu”

Mind reminded something from the past and Muzammil picked out a paper from the pocket.

“The list”

It drew him back to the place where he decided to help the killer. He read out the names one by one in his mind, thought about the worst thing that could have happened to them and felt a bit upset with himself.

He lost his innocence in the graveyard and a betraying personality refused the idea of humanity for self. The person had already changed from inside but didn’t want him to reckon it and that his hunt began for the name in the list.

Mumbai slowly changed Muzammil’s ideology.

The next day shined with extraordinary life and efforts. Muzammil went for delivery to the most crowded place. He alert his mind, believed finding the name from the list like a snap but Mumbai grabbed many like him in it.

It was larger than it looked. Never-ending Streets pave a way for another one. Scarcity was not in any one section but spread until eyes lost their vision. It was not easy to find the killer’s list without paying a big amount. The killer knew the amount to pay and so he didn’t find them by himself.

One beautiful day, Muzammil was asked to deliver food in bulk near the same place where he had seen the killer. He felt nervous to go there and asked Jamal to send Asgar instead. Asgar was the only person in the restaurant to serve and so Jamal refused. Somehow, their fates were coinciding with each other at every possible step. Muzammil realized his story sliding into the pages of the killer’s story.

The evening rose with the sun at its edge. An end for a beginning was going at disclosure. Muzammil was taking every single step with fear trapped inside. The graveyard when came near his heartbeat jumped to a dead end. Unlike the previous night, there was no fog at all and the sky was not completely doomed. A slight red sky trying to deliver its light from the west. Muzammil was thinking about just one person in his mind.  Someone quoted it right that thinking of the devil appeared. Slow but constant footsteps whispered a sound of terror in his ear. He stopped just like the last time but approaching footsteps didn’t. Galloping the remaining droplets of water he drank two hours back from the throat, he wheezed. The moment he could turn back, a muscular push leaned him forward with a shuddery voice,

“Keep walking”

Eyes pulled wider and ears turned hot. Muzammil’s conscious mind was paralyzed suddenly. There was no other option for him but rather following the voice with trembling legs. A constant walking hammered his head for almost 10 minutes but then sleeping dead silence broke,

“Left turn”

Muzammil kept thinking about the mistake he had done coming to a place near the killer. The prisoner looked up at the voice and turned left without sliding his eyes towards the right for a second. He remembered an old view of a bicycle hanging in front of a closed motor repair workshop and realized an upcoming danger. The itineration was not all terrifying. A couple of faces aside from the street, working on their farm relaxed him a little bit. At least, the entire place did not belong only to the killer. Two old persons and a kid healed the terror only until the view of a small room like a house didn’t appear in front. The house became more familiar for him than anything else then. He watched its broken piece of wood from a far distance to verify that it was the same house. The same terror house at the edge of the society of similar houses runs parallel. The red sky was turning into a darker space. Stars didn’t show any mercy yet. The curiosity to enter the door last night changed into fear of never getting out of it again. It was a slight push and the space changed from an endless horizon to an enclosed jail.

Muzammil panicked entering the door that he felt a dark shadow only in his eyes. It was the door’s thrash closing which abruptly opened his eyes and consciousness. He slowly turned back and an imaginative figure confronted him. The sense was different from the last time. The killer had already visualized the scenario. He smelled the negativity cooked in Muzammil with the dish of innocence.

“A negative person thinks himself great only until an innocent character brings negativity in him”

Muzammil read the killer’s mind and answered him before asking,

“I am ready to work for you. I can tell you the address of every single person on the list but I need to know something about you first”

He dared to ask it. He never had thought that the killer would reply,

“What?”

Muzammil didn’t prepare for the reply. He swilled everything intelligent inside him but come up with something irrational,

“You will know it by yourself. Let the time come.”

The killer remembered his 10 years old version standing in front of him. He didn’t agree nor denied but the words he said were enough for Muzammil not to take him lightly,

“Remember one thing I don’t care whichever cloud you are. I just don’t want it to burst”

Muzammil looked at him closely as if the man was some kind of machine and an engineer is checking its fault. The killer took two steps forwards and with no distance apart, clarifying his anger,

“Don’t ever show me your face before the first name”

Muzammil was brought up as a listener but the consequence was enraging a dare of speaking within him,

“I won’t”

Anger flooded the killer’s eyes. An egoistic nature didn’t allow anyone to stand in front of him for so long. He grabbed Muzammil’s throat but before he could act, turned him towards the mirror. No longer, Muzammil had seen him in the mirror thrown out of the house by the killer. Muzammil didn’t get time to react and went out rattling off. He thought of conquering the killer but it never happened before. The killer never saw him ever in the last. He had already won the race. The only race was in between Muzammil and Vasu with one simple question,

“Who will die first?”

The killer earned his first chapter, which Muzammil was writing. All his work for the day was completed. Muzammil, when pushed out, went into the past with insane memories.

The same thing had happened to him many years back on an autumn day when people were making love under the trees remembering Robert Frost poems and he was lying at the edge of the mountain, not much deeper but with the regular slope in it.

A 15-year-old kid didn’t think of the slope as survival and whenever a junk group of kids threw him in, he pushed him in front of them even more.

After a young boy from the group when watched him fainting, asked all his friends to leave. Nose bleeding was not unusual for them, but watching it painting their entire lips and chin in red, they feared and ran away, leaving him alone. Muzammil sat there at the cliff the whole evening, crying daffy, throwing stones dementedly out of the mountain and saying one common thing from the God,

“Kill me”

“Kill me”

“Kill me”

“Why don’t you take me away from them?”

“What is my mistake?”

“Why don’t you say something?”

“Please! Please! Please! Kill me”

An unusual event happened. A man heard feared screaming from the upside edge. He was climbing the place to talk to his beloved wife who died a year before. They shared many good memories at the cliff of the mountain. Listening to a child’s voice, he ran towards it. Muzammil was still then crying. He went near him and looked at him filled with blood all over his shirt and mouth. A person not so old took no time grabbing his arm and taking him to the hospital. He became the same person who later feeds him well, took him out of the orphanage, and settled him in a nice city at the edge of the village. He took his care for a few months but when getting an urgent call for shifting out of town, Muzammil again settled alone. The man paid his fees and rent until he graduated but a severe attack took him long away from Muzammil.

Muzammil lying outside the killer’s house felt himself in the same situation as before with just a single difference. There was no one near to stand him up, look at him with healing eyes, protect him under his arms and tranquillize him not feel worried. There was only one person who didn’t even look for the second time after throwing him out of the house. Muzammil looked here and there to clarify no one has seen him humiliated, stood with the ground support and ambled to the restaurant.