Chapter 4: Into the Dark

I floored it, the car roaring up to eighty. The tyres screeched, the engine groaned, but I didn’t care. I just wanted the night to end, to get these people out of my life. The world blurred past, streetlights flashing like ghosts.

Road cameras and lights vanished, and even the sound of crackers and distant dholaks faded. The last traces of Hyderabad disappeared, replaced by endless fields and broken walls. Somewhere, some kids might have been bursting crackers, but here, only my engine and my heart made any noise.

I kept speeding up, ignoring potholes and dashboard warnings. Let the world judge—I was done trying to play hero. All I could think was: what rotten luck tonight. Just drop her off and go home.

I cursed my fate. Maybe I should’ve stayed home, eaten leftover biryani, played with my daughter. But no—greed for a thousand rupees brought me here.

It was New Year’s Eve—my wife and daughter must be waiting, watching TV, my daughter bouncing on her mother’s lap. My wife would glance at the clock, maybe even curse me under her breath. And Chintu, my brother, still jobless, restless energy bottled up, scrolling job portals, frustrated with every rejection. I felt guilty for not helping him more.

Even though my job is okay, last year pay cuts hit, and with the job market so grim, I don’t dare quit. The fear of losing even this bit of stability haunted me. I remembered my boss’s face during the cuts—like he was swallowing poison. No one is safe anymore.

Every month, the same story—salary in, bills out. My wife jokes, 'When will you take me to Goa, mister?' and I just laugh, knowing it’ll never happen. Once-stable life is now just work and worry. But I’m a man—what else to do but grit my teeth and keep going? 'Aadmi kabhi haar nahi maanta, beta,' my father said. I try to believe it.

We have a car at home, so I use off-hours and weekends to drive as many rides as I can. Every rupee counts. Sometimes, a kind passenger tips extra, or an aunty insists on feeding me samosas. Those moments make it bearable.

Later, after ride-hailing apps took their huge cut, I just switched them off and started driving illegally for more cash. At least with cash rides, what you earn is what you keep. Still, one police checkpoint, and it’s all over.

Thinking of my family waiting for me, my heart twisted. Was it worth it, all this risk? Maybe it was. Maybe not. But what choice do I have?

I’d planned to go home, but then this girl flagged me down, desperate for an interview. Her face was so earnest, her voice so hopeful, I couldn’t refuse. Maybe I saw my own sister in her, or maybe I was just too tired to argue.

It was a big order—thirty-two kilometres away. I did the math—fuel, toll, time. Good fare for a slow night. I quoted a high price, expecting her to haggle. She agreed instantly. That should have been my first warning.

A thousand rupees, and she agreed, calling people nonstop the whole way. No hesitation, just a handful of cash. She must have saved for weeks, maybe borrowed from her mother’s jewellery fund. The desperation in her eyes made me uneasy, but I brushed it off. Everyone’s desperate these days.

On this road at night, not even stray dogs. Silence pressed in—no chai stalls, no paan shops, not even a TV flickering. Just darkness, and the occasional shadow of a banyan tree looming like an old ghost.

The last fifteen minutes, I tore through in five. My foot glued to the accelerator, eyes fixed on the faint glow of our destination. The world outside was a blur, headlights bouncing over potholes.

During those five minutes, she saw I’d gone silent and finally hung up, typing something on her phone. Maybe she was messaging her boyfriend, or her mother, or just searching for courage.

Maybe she felt a little guilty, because she finally spoke—voice timid, eyes softer now. 'Sorry, bhaiya. I was just anxious, and since you’re an illegal cab, I got scared.' She twisted her fingers, eyes on the floor mats. 'It’s just, you hear so many stories, na. Sometimes you can’t help it.'

'And my boyfriend has a bad temper and says mean things, don’t take it personally.' She managed a weak smile, as if to erase what had been said. I just nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Her apology felt real, but the sting remained.

I pressed the accelerator, eager to drop her and get my money. Words felt useless now. I focused on the road, the rhythm of the engine, and the faint glow of dawn.

You can’t talk sense into someone dead set on something foolish. My father used to say that. Now I understood. Some lessons must be learned the hard way.

Navigation said we were almost there. The map blinked, blue dot near a dead end. My palms sweaty, heart pounding louder. Even now, a part of me hoped she’d change her mind.

I hesitated, then pulled over. Tyres crunched over gravel. I took a deep breath, gathering courage for what came next.

There wasn’t a single streetlight. As far as my high beams reached, all was barren land. The emptiness stretched, darkness swallowing everything. Only a few crickets chirped, the only sign of life.

Pitch black, endless, like a giant mouth waiting to swallow us. A shiver ran down my spine. I glanced at the girl—her face pale in the dim light. Even she looked nervous now, bravado slipping away.

Only in the distance was a low building with a faint tube light. It looked deserted, a single tube flickering, no signboard, no guard, no cars. Just silence and the hum of the lonely bulb.

Everything was eerily quiet. No wind, no voices, not even a distant horn. The world held its breath, waiting for something to happen. Only the car engine made a low, anxious hum.

I nervously adjusted the rearview mirror, and she clutched her bag tighter. For a moment, I wondered if I should text her family myself, but fear stopped me—what if it made things worse?

I watched her step out, clutching her bag, and for a second, I almost called her back. But the door shut, and she vanished into the darkness, leaving me alone with the engine’s nervous hum.