Chapter 3

"This is the boy?" one of them asked, his voice thick with skepticism.

"He wants in," Suresh said.

The man—older, with a scar running from his temple to his jaw—set down his cards. "You know what happens to people who cross the King of Street?"

Raj met his gaze. "I know."

"And you still want this?"

"I don't have a choice."

The scarred man laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Everyone has a choice, boy. You just don't like the ones you have." He stood, walking around Raj, circling him like a predator. "We don't take weaklings. Prove you're not one."

Raj's hands curled into fists. He thought of Sapna, of her father's contempt, of the letter in his pocket. He thought of the promise he had made.

"Tell me what I have to do."

Suresh handed Raj a crowbar. The metal was cold, rough against his palm. "Start with those crates," he said, pointing to a stack against the far wall. "Stack them in the truck outside. Clean work. No damage."

Raj nodded, grateful for something physical to focus on. He wedged the crowbar under the first crate's lid, feeling the wood groan before it splintered. Inside were bundles of foreign liquor, bottles wrapped in newspaper. He lifted the crate onto his shoulder, the weight pressing into his bones, and carried it to the waiting truck.

For two hours, he worked without stopping. Sweat soaked his shirt, his muscles screamed, but he didn't slow down. The other men watched, murmuring among themselves. When the last crate was loaded, Raj stood beside the truck, breathing hard.

Suresh approached, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Not bad for a first day."

"Is there more?"

Suresh studied him, smoke curling between them. "There's always more. But first, you need to understand the rules." He gestured for Raj to follow, leading him to a corner of the godown where a single wooden chair sat under a bare bulb. "Sit."

Raj sat. The bulb buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows.

"The King of Street isn't a person," Suresh said, leaning against a stack of crates. "It's a system. A network. You pay your dues, you follow orders, you keep your mouth shut. You break any of those, you're out. Or worse."

"And if someone tries to break me?"

Suresh's eyes narrowed. "Then you break them first. But not on your own. You come to me. You don't act alone. That's how people get killed."

Raj absorbed the words, filing them away. "When do I start earning?"

"You already are. That truckload pays your entry fee. After tonight, we talk about real money."

At the Krish mansion, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the manicured lawn. Sapna sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection. The engagement was nine days away. Nine days until her life belonged to a stranger.

Her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen—an unknown number. Her heart raced as she opened the message.

"I'm still here. I won't give up. — R"

Tears welled in her eyes. She typed a response, her fingers trembling.

"He's watching everything. Be careful."

She hit send, then immediately deleted the conversation. But as she set the phone down, a shadow fell across her door.

"Sapna."

Her father's voice. She turned to find him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"The tailor is here for your engagement fitting. Come downstairs."

She rose, her legs unsteady. As she passed him, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist.

"I saw the message."

Her blood turned to ice. "What message?"

"Don't play games with me." His voice was low, dangerous. "I have access to every call, every text, every breath you take in this house. You think you can hide things from me?"

He released her wrist, but the threat lingered in the air.

"The boy is already on a path he can't return from. If you care about him at all, you'll let him go. Before it's too late."

Sapna said nothing. She walked past him, down the grand staircase, her mind spinning. The tailor waited in the foyer, holding a garment bag. She stood still as he measured her, his hands impersonal, efficient. The silk felt like chains.

Night fell over the city. Raj sat on the curb outside the godown, a bottle of water in his hand. The street was quiet now, the chaos of the day replaced by the hum of distant traffic. Suresh emerged, tossing him a folded wad of notes.

"For today. Show up tomorrow at dawn."

Raj counted the money—enough to pay his rent for a month. He tucked it into his pocket, feeling its weight. It was dirty money. He knew that. But it was also survival.

As he stood to leave, Suresh called after him. "One more thing. There's a shipment coming in three nights from now. Big one. If you want to prove yourself, that's your chance."

"What kind of shipment?"

"The kind that makes you either a man or a memory." Suresh's smile was hard. "Think about it."

Raj walked home through the dark streets, the money burning in his pocket. He thought about Sapna, about her father's threats, about the life he was leaving behind. The King of Street had rules, but so did the world. And Raj was done playing by anyone's rules but his own.

In her bedroom, Sapna sat by the window, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Her phone was gone—her father had taken it after the fitting. She was cut off, isolated, a prisoner in her own home.

But she had one thing left. A small notebook hidden beneath her mattress, filled with memories of Raj. Sketches of his face, notes about their conversations, a pressed flower from the day they met. She opened it now, tracing the lines of his smile with her finger.

"I won't forget you," she whispered. "No matter what."

A sound downstairs—the front door opening and closing. Her father's voice, low and urgent on the phone. She crept to her door, pressing her ear against the wood.

"...make sure he doesn't survive the shipment. Understood?"

Her blood ran cold. She heard the name "Suresh Patel" and then, clearly, "Raj."

Her father was going to have him killed.

Sapna stumbled back from the door, her hand over her mouth. She had to warn him. But how? No phone. No way out. She looked at the window—three stories down—and then at the old fire escape she had spotted months ago, rusted but intact.

Her decision was made before she fully understood its weight.