A man without a Name

I used to think names were just labels, something that defined you in the eyes of the world. But now, I’ve come to understand that a name is everything. It’s the one thing that ties you to your past, your family, your identity. And when that name becomes a death sentence, it’s the first thing you need to throw away.

I had no choice. The police weren’t just looking for Ashique. They were hunting a ghost. A man who had betrayed them, who was now labeled the mastermind behind an assassination. The whole city was on high alert, and no one was taking chances.

The old me was gone. My name—my identity—was worth nothing now.

I needed a new one.

It wasn’t easy. Nothing about this was. I had to go deep underground, far from prying eyes. I ended up in a run-down part of the city, where the buildings looked like they were barely holding together. Hidden in the shadow of a crumbling apartment complex was a man who could give me what I needed: a new name, a fresh start, and stolen documents that would keep me off the radar.

The forger was a quiet man, his eyes darting around constantly like he was expecting someone to come barging through the door. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. He did his job, and I paid him. In return, he handed me a birth certificate, a driver’s license, and a passport—all under the name Arman Azin. The name felt strange in my mouth, foreign, but it wasn’t mine. Not yet. Not until I made it mine.

I took the documents and left without saying a word, knowing better than to linger. But it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot. A new name, a new life—they were just the beginning.

The hardest part came next: surviving.

With the country on high alert, it was impossible to hide in plain sight for long. I couldn’t use my old connections, couldn’t rely on anyone I knew. Every time I stepped out of hiding, it felt like I was gambling with my life.

I had to disappear.

I found an illegal safe house, a place where people like me—the desperate, the hunted, the broken—came to disappear. It was a cramped, filthy apartment, the kind of place you wouldn’t look twice at unless you were specifically looking for something or someone. There were no windows, no doors that led to anything familiar. Only dark corners and whispers of people who had already given up on everything they once knew.

It wasn’t much, but it was shelter. It was safe—at least for now.

In the weeks that followed, I met the others who had found their way to the safe house. Some of them were criminals, people who had made their own deals with the devil. Some were victims of circumstances, their lives shattered by events beyond their control. And then there was me—caught somewhere in between. A man who had made the wrong choice at the wrong time, who had thought he could outrun the world but had instead become part of its dark underbelly.

I spoke to them, listened to their stories. We all had one thing in common: we were running from something. Some of them had been running for years. Others had only just started. But all of us understood one truth—the world is full of shadows, and once you’re in them, there’s no way out.

They told me their tales, each one as twisted and broken as mine. And in the midst of it all, I couldn’t help but wonder: Could I ever outrun my past? Could I ever be free?

I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had to survive.

And I wasn’t sure how long I could keep running.