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THE DREAM

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THE DREAM

The Dream chapter 1 :- The Perfect evening

THE DREAM

Chapter 1: The Perfect Evening

written by Kingson Das

It was around 7:30 in the evening, and KK Mall stood glowing under a canopy of warm golden lights.

The massive building pulsed with life. People moved through its wide corridors in a steady rhythm—families shopping, teenagers laughing in groups, and couples walking slowly, lost in their own quiet worlds. The air carried a mix of sounds: distant music from stores, the chatter of conversations, and the cheerful noise of children running toward the gaming zone.

Near the center of the mall, a large crowd had gathered around a glass showroom. Inside, rare vintage cars and bikes were displayed like priceless artifacts. Their polished surfaces reflected the lights above, shining like pieces of history frozen in time. People admired them, clicking photos, pointing out details, and sharing excitement with one another.

For everyone inside, it was just another perfect evening.

Safe. Normal. Unforgettable in the simplest way.

Outside, however, something far from normal was unfolding.

A white van rolled to a slow stop near the entrance of the mall.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the side door slid open.

One by one, ten individuals stepped out. Their faces were calm, almost emotionless, and their movements were precise, as if everything had been planned down to the smallest detail. At the front stood Huzaifa, the leader. His eyes scanned the surroundings with cold focus. Behind him followed Abdullah, Hasan, Adnan, Kareem, Khalil, Saleem, Armaan, Rahim, and Fatima.

Without exchanging a single word, they moved toward the entrance.

The guards standing outside barely had time to react.

Gunshots rang out.

The sound was sharp, sudden, and violent—cutting through the calm evening like a blade. The guards collapsed instantly, their bodies hitting the ground before anyone could even process what had happened.

For a brief second, silence followed.

Then chaos erupted.

Inside the mall, the first gunshot echoed faintly, confusing people more than alarming them. Some turned their heads, trying to understand the source of the noise. A few even laughed it off, thinking it was some kind of sound effect or disturbance.

Then came the second shot.

And the third.

The illusion of safety shattered.

Screams filled the air.

Panic spread rapidly as people began running in every direction. Bags were dropped, children cried out for their parents, and footsteps echoed wildly against the marble floors. The calm, organized space turned into a storm of fear and confusion.

But escape was not easy.

The armed group had already entered.

They moved with terrifying efficiency, controlling every entrance, every corridor, every possible exit. Within minutes, the chaos was forced into order—an order built on fear.

One by one, people were pushed, threatened, and forced toward the main hall.

Some resisted, only to be silenced instantly.

Others obeyed, too terrified to even speak.

Soon, the entire crowd was gathered in one place.

Hundreds of people stood together, trembling, whispering prayers, holding onto each other as if that alone could protect them.

Huzaifa walked slowly among them.

His footsteps were calm, deliberate, almost relaxed—completely opposite to the fear surrounding him. His eyes moved across the crowd, observing, judging, searching.

And then—

They stopped.

On a young woman.

Zara.

She stood close to her grandmother, gripping her hand tightly. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear, but she tried to stay strong.

Her grandmother, however, couldn’t hold back.

The old woman stepped forward, her hands trembling as she folded them in desperation.

“Please…” she said, her voice shaking. “Let her go. She’s just a child. Please, take anything else… just leave her.”

Her words hung in the air.

For a moment, it felt like time had slowed.

Huzaifa looked at her.

There was no anger in his expression.

No sympathy either.

Just emptiness.

Without saying a word, he stepped forward and grabbed Zara by the arm.

She gasped in shock.

“Grandma—!”

The old woman tried to hold onto her, but one of the armed men pushed her back roughly. She stumbled, nearly falling, her cries growing louder, more desperate.

“Please! Someone help her! Please!”

But no one moved.

No one dared.

Zara struggled, her fear turning into panic as she was dragged away. Her eyes searched the crowd, hoping someone—anyone—would step forward.

But all she saw were frightened faces.

People who wanted to help…

But were too afraid to try.

Huzaifa pulled her toward a corridor leading to the back rooms.

Her voice echoed through the hall.

“Grandma!”

The old woman collapsed to her knees, her cries breaking into helpless sobs.

The door to the back room opened.