Patna: The early morning fog hangs low over the narrow lanes of Patna’s old quarters. The faint smell of damp earth mixes with the clatter of bicycles, bikes and the distant cries of street vendors opening their stalls. Rickshaws groan as they start their rounds and chai (tea) vapour drifts from street-side stalls.

Amidst this, 25-year-old Arvind Kumar (name changed) huddles on the worn steps of a shuttered tea stall, with his hands wrapped tightly around a battered backpack. Every few seconds, he peers down the lane, eyes flicking nervously as if expecting someone to emerge from the mist.

“I can’t be seen… please, no one will know me here,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the waking city.

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