The Shadow that followed

I thought I had escaped.

Every night, I would lie awake in that dingy room, telling myself the same lie over and over. That my past was behind me. That I was finally free. But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true. The ghosts of Dhaka were never far behind. I could feel them, lurking in the corners of my mind, always ready to drag me back into the nightmare I had narrowly escaped.

But for the longest time, it seemed like those ghosts were nothing more than paranoia. It was easier to believe I was safe in Malaysia, hidden behind a new name, working in a factory where no one cared about who I really was. There were no police to chase me, no one asking questions about a crime that seemed like it happened a lifetime ago.

But that all changed when I saw him.

It was a Wednesday, and I had just finished a long shift at the factory. The heat inside the building had been unbearable, and the stench of sweat and oil clung to my skin. I was exhausted, just like every other day. I didn’t think anything of it when I saw a man in the alley outside my building, his face partially obscured by the hood of his jacket. There were always people in the alley—smugglers, workers, the usual crowd. But something about him stood out. Maybe it was the way his eyes tracked me as I passed, or how he seemed to be waiting for me.

For the first time in months, my heart skipped a beat.

I tried to ignore it, to tell myself it was nothing. But as I made my way past the alley, I heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind me. Not just any footsteps, but the kind that matched my pace, always keeping a few steps behind, just close enough to make me uneasy.

I quickened my pace, my heart pounding harder in my chest. I wasn’t stupid. I knew what this was. I could feel it in my gut—the fear, the anxiety, the warning signs.

When I reached the corner, I turned, hoping to lose him in the crowd. But just as I did, I saw him again. The man. Standing at the end of the street, his eyes locked onto mine.

He wasn’t just any man. He looked familiar. Too familiar. The way his posture was too confident, too deliberate. The way he carried himself. And that’s when it hit me.

His face was one I had seen in Dhaka.

It was one of Kamal’s men.

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Kamal. Of course, it had to be him. Kamal, the one who had set me up. Kamal, who had left me to take the fall. I could feel the blood drain from my face as panic surged through me.

I turned quickly, heading for the back alley to escape, but before I could make it more than a few steps, I heard the unmistakable sound of a phone ringing. Someone was calling him. My breath caught in my throat as he answered, his voice low, but I could hear enough.

“Found him. Just as you said. He’s here.”

I didn’t need to hear any more. I was trapped.

I didn’t know what to do. The streets of Malaysia had never felt more foreign, more hostile. I had been running for so long, trying to outrun everything I had done. But now, I realized, I had never really escaped.

I darted down the alley, my mind racing. I had to get out of here. I had to find a way to disappear. But the city felt like a maze, every street a dead-end, every corner a trap. I kept running, my footsteps echoing in the empty streets, but I couldn’t outrun the feeling that someone was always just behind me.

I rounded a corner, breathless, when I almost collided with a man coming out of a doorway. He was dressed in plain clothes, but there was something about the way he moved, something cold and calculating. My heart stopped. This wasn’t just some random person. This was a man on a mission.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowing.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said, his voice low, almost too calm.

And that’s when I saw it. The badge clipped to his belt.

He was police.

But not just any police officer. His eyes weren’t filled with the determination of someone seeking justice—they were filled with something darker. Something personal.

“You’re wanted for a crime back in Dhaka,” he continued, taking a step forward. "And we know what really happened. Kamal may have lied to you, but we know the truth."

A chill ran down my spine as the weight of his words hit me. Kamal. The lies. The bomb. The betrayal. I hadn’t escaped it at all.

Before I could react, the man reached into his coat and pulled out a small, black envelope. He held it out to me.

“It’s time to come clean, Arman. We have all the evidence. You can’t run anymore.”

I stared at the envelope in his hand, my heart racing. It felt like the ground had shifted beneath me, like everything I had built, every lie I had told, was collapsing in on me. This wasn’t just a man on the street. This was the beginning of the end.

I had a choice to make: face my past head-on, or keep running.

But as I reached for the envelope, a loud noise interrupted the moment—gunshots, coming from somewhere behind me. The police officer’s eyes widened in shock.

I spun around, my instincts kicking in just as a figure in black rushed toward us. The officer didn’t even have time to react before he was knocked to the ground, the envelope slipping from his hand.

I stood frozen for a second, watching in disbelief as the figure in black stood over the officer, holding something in his hand. A gun.

And in that moment, I realized—everything I thought I knew was a lie.

The man who had been following me... he wasn’t from Kamal. He wasn’t from the police.

He was someone much closer to me than I ever thought possible.

The figure in black stood tall over the officer, the gun in his hand glinting under the dim streetlights. For a moment, everything was frozen. My heart was pounding in my chest, my breath shallow, my mind racing. The officer on the ground groaned, clutching his side, but the figure didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He just stared at me, his eyes full of something I couldn’t read.

“Arman...” the man said, his voice low and familiar. It took me a moment to place it.

It was a voice from my past, one I hadn’t heard in years.

And then it hit me.

Kamal.

No, not Kamal—someone else, someone I thought I’d left behind forever. It was Ashraful, my old friend from Dhaka. The one who had promised me safety. The one who had betrayed me.

“Ashraful?” My voice came out in a hoarse whisper, barely a breath. But the moment the name left my lips, I knew it was him.

He gave a small, twisted smile, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile but a recognition of shared history.

“I guess I’ve been watching you for a while, haven’t I, Arman?” His words were sharp, deliberate. “You’ve made quite the mess of things. But then, I knew you would.”

I could barely breathe. My head spun with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Why?” I managed to choke out, the question lodged in my throat. “Why come after me now? What do you want?”

Ashraful’s eyes narrowed, but there was no anger in his gaze, just cold calculation. “You think this is just about you, don’t you?” He chuckled, shaking his head slowly. “You’ve been running, hiding, but you don’t even know the game you’ve been caught in.”

I took a step back, my mind reeling. “What game? What are you talking about?”

He gestured toward the officer lying on the ground, still trying to collect himself. “The police? They’re just pawns. They don’t even know what’s really happening. They’re hunting you because someone’s paying them to. Someone with more power, more money, and more resources than you can imagine.”

The weight of his words pressed down on me. “Who?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ashraful didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his face coming into the shadows, making his features more indistinct. “There’s always a bigger fish, Arman,” he said cryptically. “And you’re just a small piece in a much larger puzzle. But don’t worry. You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before I could respond, the officer groaned again, and Ashraful turned his attention back to him. Without hesitation, he aimed the gun at the officer’s head. “You’ve been a thorn in my side for too long,” he muttered, and with a swift motion, pulled the trigger.

The officer’s body crumpled to the ground with a sickening thud, and the sound echoed in the alley like a gunshot through my very soul.

I stood frozen, my heart racing as Ashraful wiped the gun clean and turned back to face me. His eyes were cold, emotionless.

“Now, Arman,” he said slowly, “you’re going to do something for me. We’re going to get what we need from you, whether you like it or not.”

“What are you talking about?” I hissed, panic rising in my chest. “I’ve done nothing for you. Nothing for anyone.”

Ashraful smiled again, but this time, it wasn’t twisted or cruel. It was knowing, almost satisfied. “Oh, but you have. You’ve been playing the part all along, haven’t you? A good little pawn in a game you don’t even understand.”

I shook my head in confusion, feeling the grip of despair tighten around my throat. “What do you want from me?”

He stepped forward, the gun still in his hand. “You’re going to help me find something. And when we do... well, let’s just say, your little life in Malaysia will be the least of your worries.”

Before I could respond, Ashraful turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the alley. He didn’t look back.

I didn’t move, couldn’t move. My mind was spinning, trying to process what had just happened. The officer was dead. Ashraful—my old friend, my old ally—was working for someone far more dangerous than Kamal. And I was stuck in the middle of a game I didn’t even know existed.

I was about to follow him when I heard a rustling behind me. The envelope. The one the officer had dropped. I reached down, fingers trembling, and picked it up. Inside, there was a single sheet of paper, an address, and a single word written on it:

"Tomorrow."

That was it. No more explanation. No more context.

Just a deadline.

I stood there, staring at the paper, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I didn’t know what Ashraful wanted, or who the person behind all of this was, but I did know one thing.

There was no turning back now.

I had been dragged back into the game, whether I liked it or not.

And the worst part? I had no idea what I was really up against.

The sound of a car approaching from behind made me freeze. My first instinct was to run. But before I could move, the headlights hit me.

A figure stepped out of the car.

It was Kamal.

And this time, he wasn’t alone.