Chapter 1: The Ride Begins

Outside, the December fog rolled off the Musi river, making the seat covers feel damp. The air inside the cab was chilly, but what really stood out was the tension in the backseat—her fingers drumming restlessly on a faded Skybags backpack, the kind you see on every city bus. Her gaze flickered between the glowing phone screen and the darkness outside, the faint scent of jasmine hair oil mixing with the agarbatti I kept burning for good luck. Every so often, she’d tuck a stray strand behind her ear, the fragrance reminding me of my own school days in Secunderabad. Even her breathing was shallow, as if she was bracing for something huge.

From the endless phone calls she made, I pieced together that she only had a polytechnic diploma—no work experience at all. Her voice wavered between hope and anxiety, code-switching between Hindi and a soft Telugu accent. She recited her marks, talked about old teachers, and proudly recalled her best project certificate from her final year—little things that matter so much to a fresher. There was such earnestness in her words, it almost made me believe in her dreams.

But this job she was chasing? They promised her sixty thousand rupees a month, with full PF, ESI, and company accommodation. Every time she repeated the offer to a caller, her voice picked up pride, like she was about to bring home a lottery. Sixty thousand, she kept chanting, like a magic mantra. Her mother’s voice crackled through the phone—'Khaana khaya ki nahi, beta?'—and the girl answered softly, 'Amma, abhi nahi, interview ke baad.' Even I felt a twinge of envy, mixed with disbelief, as her boyfriend whistled in the background.

She kept dropping big names, talking about 'top-secret government contracts' and 'high-level clearance' like she was about to join RAW or ISRO. The more she spoke, the more awe crept into her voice, but underneath, I could sense a kind of blind faith—like she truly believed a miracle was in reach. 'You can only get in if someone puts in a word for you, na. Otherwise, how will they trust?' she boasted. I could tell she was just repeating what someone told her, and she believed it completely.

I was sure she was being scammed. My instincts screamed—this was the classic setup. In my years as a cabbie, I’d seen girls lured with call centre jobs or receptionist posts, only to be left stranded, cheated, or worse. The way she clung to her phone, desperate for reassurance, reminded me of the day my cousin came home, eyes swollen, her gold chain gone, Amma cursing the day she let her go alone. My hands tightened on the steering wheel.

I couldn’t just watch her jaise bakri khud kasai ke ghar jaa rahi ho. A strange responsibility filled me—maybe God had put me in her path tonight. Who else looks out for girls like her, if not people like us? I remembered my mother’s warning: 'If you see someone heading for trouble, at least warn them, beta.'

But the more I listened, the scarier it sounded. The details kept getting murkier—secret projects, no company name, interview in the dead of night. She sounded convinced, but I was getting goosebumps. The world outside the windows looked even darker, the silence pressing in. Even the background hum of fireworks from the city felt distant, as if we’d left the real world behind.