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Ali surveyed the street for the third time now. He had to make sure his plans were safe. He had to make sure he didn’t make a mistake. Coming from the slums, and with the old tattered clothes he had on him, Ali was obviously not a part of this swanky street he now surveyed.

For two months now, Ali was out of a job. His last employer had run him out on suspicions of stealing money. His landlord was making life difficult for him, and so Ali rarely went home; and if he did, he went at unearthly hours and left before dawn broke. He was desperate. He needed the money to pay for his aunt’s treatment. The poor woman raised an orphan Ali and was now in the hospital battling her life against a cancerous growth in her stomach. And it was up to Ali now to do something to save her life. He had pawned their entire belongings one by one, and all that remained was a couple of clothes and an old Quran.

Ali wasn’t a thief, and never had he lied. His aunt had ingrained in him the virtue of being honest. But these were difficult times. He needed the money, and he needed it quick and easy. And so there he was, on plush Arthur Road looking to break into one of the high-rise apartments. He expected to find some jewelry or cash; and if not, he planned to just take away whatever that would fetch him little more money than usual. He didn’t have a plan, and carried only a dull knife. He didn’t know how he was going to break in. He didn’t how he was going to run for it.

For over a week now he had scouted the street, observing the turns and the landmarks, noted the time when the watchmen changed their duties. He scouted for empty homes and those in the front with easier access. And now today, he lay in wait to make his move. Little aware of what was in store for him.

A black Sedan rushed by him, swerving precariously away from the footpath he was on. Behind the wheels Aakash barely could see where he was going. He missed a pole on the road just in time. He was angry, confused,...