The Voice in the Dead Phone

Waleed held Ahmed's phone in his fist so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. The phone was dead and cold, yet Waleed felt as if Ahmed's breath were still hidden somewhere inside it. Across the station road, the black car's headlights were on, and in their glare even Waleed's own shadow looked like a stranger's.

Guddu tugged at his arm. Come on, don't stand here. Slip into the crowd. A crowd is the only place to hide.