THE CITY NEVER SLEEP

Untitled Episode

At 5:17 every morning, East Market began to breathe.

Before the sun appeared above the crowded rooftops, the neighborhood was already alive. Generators coughed awake behind shops. Metal shutters rattled upward. Buses groaned down the main road. Vendors arranged fruit beneath umbrellas, while early workers hurried toward the bus stop with tired faces and half-finished cups of tea.

From the small apartment above a phone-accessories shop, Malik listened to all of it.

He was seventeen years old, but sometimes he felt much older.

He had learned early that the city did not care about anyone's age. It did not slow down because you were tired. It did not stop because your family was struggling. It simply kept moving.

Malik opened his eyes.

5:17.

His alarm had not even rung yet.

He reached for his phone and checked the time again.

5:18.

He sighed.

"Five more minutes."

From the next room came his mother's voice.

"Malik!"

He closed his eyes.

"Malik, wake up!"

"I'm awake!"

"You said that yesterday."

Malik smiled.

His younger sister, Amara, appeared in the doorway.

She was twelve and had perfected the art of annoying her brother before breakfast.

"You're going to be late."

"I know."

"You always say that."

"Because it's true."

She folded her arms.

"Mom says you should stop staying up late."

Malik sat up.

"What did you tell her?"

"That you were editing videos."

He looked at her suspiciously.

"And?"

"I told her you're probably going to become famous."

Malik laughed.

"You're my favorite person."

"I know."

She disappeared.

Malik quickly got dressed.

His room was small. One bed. One wooden table. One old laptop. A backpack hanging from a nail in the wall.

On the table sat the thing he cared about most: an old camera.

It wasn't expensive.

The body had scratches.

The battery was weak.

The lens had a tiny mark near the edge.

But to Malik, it was a beginning.

He picked it up and smiled.

One day, he told himself, this camera would be part of something bigger.

Something called StreetFrame.

StreetFrame was an idea he had created with his best friend, Jay.

They wanted to build a small media company.

They would film music videos, documentaries, advertisements, weddings, interviews, anything people were willing to pay for.

They had no office.

No investors.

No expensive equipment.

They had one old camera, Malik's phone, Jay's secondhand laptop, and a ridiculous amount of confidence.

Malik put the camera into his bag.

Then he ran downstairs.

His mother stood beside the stove.

"Sit."

"I'm late."

"Sit."

He sat.

She placed food in front of him.

"Eat."

Malik picked up the spoon.

His mother watched him.

"You were awake late again."

"I was working."

"Working?"

"Editing."

"Malik, I know you love this thing, but school is important."

"I know."

"You keep saying you know."

"Because I do."

She smiled slightly.

"Your father used to say the same thing."

Malik's smile disappeared for a moment.

His father had been gone for years.

Not dead.

Just gone.

He had left when Malik was young, promising to return after finding work in another city.

He never did.

Malik had stopped asking questions.

His mother noticed the change in his face.

"Finish your breakfast."

Malik nodded.

Amara sat across from him.

"You look serious."

"I'm eating."

"You're thinking."

"I can do both."

She smiled.

"About StreetFrame?"

Malik nodded.

"One day."

His mother looked at him.

"I hope it works."

Malik smiled.

"So do I."

He finished his breakfast, grabbed his bag, and headed outside.

The city was already loud.

He stepped into the street.

A bus passed.

A motorcycle swerved around a parked car.

Someone shouted at a driver.

A radio played music from a nearby shop.

Malik smiled.

This was his city.

Messy.

Noisy.

Crowded.

Unpredictable.

But home.

He started walking toward school.

Then someone shouted his name.

"Malik!"

He turned.

Jay came running toward him.

Jay was seventeen too.

He was taller than Malik and always looked as if he had somewhere important to be, even when he didn't.

"You're late," Malik said.

Jay stopped to catch his breath.

"I'm never late."

"You are literally running."

"I was testing my speed."

"Against what?"

"Time."

Malik laughed.

They continued walking.

Jay carried his old laptop bag.

"Did you finish the video?"

"Almost."

"Show me."

"Later."

"Why?"

"Because you'll criticize it."

"I'm a professional."

"You've never been paid for anything."

"That's temporary."

Malik smiled.

StreetFrame was their favorite subject.

They could talk about it for hours.

They had designed a logo on Jay's laptop.

They had created a social media page.

They had posted three videos.

One had received two hundred views.

Another had received thirty.

Their most successful video had reached almost five hundred.

To them, it was a million.

"Imagine," Jay said, "when we have a real studio."

Malik nodded.

"With lights."

"Three cameras."

"A proper computer."

"Air conditioning."

Malik laughed.

"You care about air conditioning?"

"Of course."

"You've never worked in an office."

"Exactly. That's why I know what we need."

They reached the school gate.

Jay became quiet.

Malik noticed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You've been quiet since I met you."

"I'm tired."

"Jay."

"I'm fine."

Malik studied him.

Jay looked away.

The school bell rang.

"We'll talk later," Jay said.

Then he walked inside.

Malik watched him disappear into the crowd.

Something felt different.

He didn't know what.

Not yet.

By lunchtime, Jay had barely spoken.

Malik finally caught him behind the classroom.

"What's going on?"

Jay looked around.

"Nothing."

"Stop saying that."

Jay sighed.

"I need money."

Malik frowned.

"How much?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"I have a problem."

"What problem?"

Jay hesitated.

"I'll explain after school."

Malik wanted to ask more.

But Jay walked away.

The afternoon passed slowly.

When school ended, they went to Mr. Danjuma's repair shop.

Mr. Danjuma had known them since they were children.

His shop was small, with old radios, phones, chargers, cables, batteries, and television parts covering almost every surface.

Behind the shop was a wooden table where Malik and Jay usually worked.

Malik opened the laptop.

Jay sat beside him.

They watched the latest StreetFrame video.

It was a short documentary about a woman who sold food beside the bus station.

Malik had filmed her preparing meals before sunrise.

Jay had edited the footage.

When it ended, Jay smiled.

"That's good."

Malik looked at him.

"Really?"

"Really."

"You're not going to criticize anything?"

Jay shook his head.

"Not today."

Malik closed the laptop.

"What's happening?"

Jay looked toward the street.

"I told you. I need money."

"And?"

"I might have found a way."

"What way?"

Jay didn't answer immediately.

A black SUV appeared at the end of the road.

It moved slowly.

Very slowly.

Jay's eyes followed it.

The vehicle stopped near the corner.

A man stepped out.

He looked around forty.

White shirt.

Dark trousers.

Polished shoes.

Calm expression.

He walked toward the repair shop.

Jay stood.

The man's eyes settled on him.

"Jay."

"Mr. Kola."

Malik looked between them.

Mr. Kola smiled.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Have you made your decision?"

Jay hesitated.

"I've been thinking."

"Thinking doesn't make money."

Malik frowned.

Mr. Kola looked at him.

"And you must be Malik."

Malik stood.

"Yes."

"I've heard about you."

"From who?"

Mr. Kola smiled.

"People talk."

He looked at the camera on the table.

"You're the filmmaker."

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

Malik shrugged.

"We're still starting."

"Good."

Mr. Kola reached into his pocket.

He pulled out a small brown envelope.

He handed it to Jay.

Jay took it.

Malik watched.

Mr. Kola leaned closer.

"That's enough to get you started."

Jay looked at the envelope.

"What's the job?"

Mr. Kola smiled.

"I'll explain when you're ready."

He turned.

"Think carefully."

Then he walked back to the SUV.

The vehicle drove away.

Malik waited.

Then he looked at Jay.

"What was that?"

Jay put the envelope into his bag.

"Nothing."

"That's not nothing."

"I'll explain."

"Who is he?"

"Someone I know."

"How?"

Jay looked away.

"I'll tell you tonight."

"Why tonight?"

"Because I need to handle something first."

Malik frowned.

"Jay."

"I promise."

Then Jay left.

Malik remained behind.

Mr. Danjuma had been watching.

He slowly walked toward Malik.

"Who was that?"

"I don't know."

Mr. Danjuma looked at the road.

"Be careful."

Malik turned.

"Why?"

The old man didn't answer.

He simply returned to his shop.

That evening, Malik went home.

He tried to focus on schoolwork.

He couldn't.

He tried editing.

He couldn't.

His mind kept returning to the envelope.

Who was Mr. Kola?

What was the job?

Why did Jay need money?

At 8:15, Malik called Jay.

No answer.

At 9:00, he called again.

Still nothing.

At 9:45, he sent a message.

Where are you?

No response.

At 10:30, Malik tried again.

The phone rang.

Someone answered.

Malik sat upright.

"Jay?"

Silence.

"Hello?"

A man's voice came through.

"Stop calling this number."

Malik froze.

"Who are you?"

The line went dead.

Malik stared at the phone.

He immediately called again.

Switched off.

He stood.

Something was wrong.

He went downstairs.

His mother was watching television.

"Mom?"

She looked at him.

"What happened?"

"Have you heard from Jay?"

"No."

"When did you last see him?"

"This afternoon."

She frowned.

"Why?"

"He hasn't answered his phone."

His mother stood.

"Maybe his battery is dead."

"Maybe."

But Malik didn't believe it.

He went back upstairs.

He tried to sleep.

He couldn't.

At midnight, he was still awake.

At 1:20, he checked his phone.

Nothing.

At 2:00, he finally slept.

The next morning, Jay wasn't at school.

Malik kept checking the door.

Every time someone entered the classroom, he expected Jay.

He never appeared.

During lunch, Malik called him.

The phone was switched off.

After school, Malik went to Jay's house.

Jay's mother opened the door.

Her face looked worried.

"Malik."

"Good afternoon, ma."

"You're looking for Jay?"

"Yes."

She shook her head.

"He didn't come home."

Malik's stomach tightened.

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"Did he tell you where he was going?"

"No."

"Did he say anything?"

She hesitated.

"He said he had something important to do."

"What?"

"I don't know."

Malik looked down.

The envelope.

Mr. Kola.

The phone call.

Everything connected in his mind.

"I'll help find him."

Jay's mother nodded.

"Please."

Malik left.

He began searching.

He checked the places they usually visited.

The football field.

The bus stop.

The repair shop.

The market.

The old cinema.

Nothing.

He asked people.

Nobody knew.

At sunset, Malik walked back toward the repair shop.

Then he noticed something near a gutter.

A black notebook.

He picked it up.

His heart jumped.

Jay's notebook.

Malik knew it immediately.

He opened it.

Pages of numbers.

Names.

Addresses.

Dates.

Some words had been crossed out.

There were several locations around East Market.

One address appeared three times.

Malik didn't recognize it.

He turned the page.

Nothing.

Another page.

Nothing.

Then the final page.

His breath caught.

Written in large letters:

IF I DISAPPEAR, DON'T TRUST ANYONE WHO SAYS THEY'RE HELPING.

Malik stared at the sentence.

His phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

He opened the message.

STOP LOOKING FOR JAY.

Another message arrived.

YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE GETTING INTO.

Malik looked around.

The street was busy.

People walked past.

A woman carried groceries.

Two boys kicked a ball.

A taxi stopped.

Everything looked normal.

But Malik suddenly felt watched.

He put the phone away.

He went directly to the police station.

His mother came with him.

The officer listened carefully.

"Tell me everything from the beginning."

Malik explained.

The disappearance.

The envelope.

Mr. Kola.

The phone call.

The messages.

The notebook.

The officer examined the page.

"Do you know this Kola?"

"No."

"Where did you meet him?"

"At the repair shop."

"Does he work around here?"

"I don't know."

The officer wrote everything down.

"Did your friend have enemies?"

"Not that I know."

"Was he involved in anything illegal?"

"No."

The officer looked at him.

THE END OF EPISODE 1