"Kashmir" is a gripping tale of redemption, survival, and the struggle between past choices and future aspirations. The protagonist, Mir, grapples with the weight of his turbulent history as he returns to his family's once-thriving café, which is no...
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Kashmir
The weight of my past hung heavy on my shoulders, but the promise of a new beginning was finally within reach. It didn't seem like it belonged to me, but after seven long years of running the streets and surviving the chaos, I finally had it. I hadn't seen the bright sunshine or the stars dance like they did now in all that time. Before my life took a turn, I was a bright-eyed teenager with dreams of expanding my pop's café, a place that brought the community together with laughter and good food and drinks. I spent my childhood learning the value of hard work, helping out in the café, and dreaming of making it a staple in the city.
But as I grew older, the allure of the streets crept in. I started hanging with the wrong crowd, drawn to the thrill of fast money and a lifestyle that promised excitement but came with its own dangers. What began as minor hustles quickly escalated into more serious activities-trafficking, dealing, and navigating a world filled with violence and betrayal. The thrill I once craved turned into a cycle of paranoia and fear, pulling me away from my dreams and into a harsh reality where survival became my only priority. I was just a street runner who stumbled off the deep end into chaos. It was all too much, too fast.
Even back then, I never appreciated this shit. The fast lane caught up with me, leaving me constantly looking over my shoulder, paranoid that my sins would hunt me down or that my luck had run out. I can't say they didn't, but I'd be lying if I said the experience didn't save my life. Unfortunately, I left one hell only to swap it for another. With my hands shoved deep into my pants pockets, I walked through what used to be my family's café spot. This place used to be popping back in the day. He had everybody and their mama up in here. Now, it looked like a bomb had gone off. Technically, it did. A grease fire for insurance purposes and an ego that wouldn't allow him to sell kept this place in his clutches until his final breath.
The only remnants were ashes and a crushing debt.
If I had known this was the reason he was holding on to it, I would have told him to sell this shit years ago. I hated shit hanging above my head, but I understood it. Apparently, the power of laundering money through a business came with a steep price. Now, the collector was glaring me in the face. Although I should be pissed off, surprisingly, I was okay with this shit.
Up until now, I was trying to keep my nose clean and mind the business that fucking paid me. Returning to my old lifestyle wasn't an option, nor was opening this café without the man himself. My options were limited, and thanks to pops, he didn't leave a nigga an option.
Nothing in Houston, Texas, could move, open, close, or even enter without permission. I knew my pops had ties, but I never expected he was in so deep with this nigga Jabari. I mean trafficking, laundering money, and serving dope fiends. Damn.. did I even know my pops? Part of me was ready to get the fuck outta here, but I knew better.
