After Katha and her mother left, the corridor fell silent again—only the distant sound of the elevator doors closing echoed for a while before fading away.
Indrajit stood by the door for a moment.
Inside his chest, an unfamiliar emptiness spread—perhaps a fresh scratch over an old wound.
Slowly, he pulled the door shut.
He placed his hand on the carton, but there was no urgency in him—as if every action was happening by some mechanical rule, without any real interest.
He moved the first box to a corner and tried to open it, but his hands felt numb, his fingers lacking strength.
He took things out one by one, without paying attention to where he was placing them.
The trolley bag was pushed into a corner of the room; he didn't even unzip it.
When he placed the bucket near the kitchen, it made a faint sound. He didn't flinch—just looked at it with empty eyes.
Instead of putting the milk bottle in the fridge, he left it on the table and walked away, as if it wouldn't matter even if it spoiled.
In the name of organizing, he moved a few things around, but the room remained just as messy.
In fact, the objects looked as lifeless as before—only shifted to new places, lying there without purpose—just like him, existing without truly living.
Finally, Indrajit sank onto the sofa. His body felt like a heavy stone.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. His head throbbed.
The room was silent, yet suddenly a voice from earlier echoed in his ears—
"Uncle, are you new to this apartment?"
That innocent voice, followed immediately by the harsh tone of the mother—both merged inside the hollow space within him.
He let out a long, deep sigh and stared blankly at the ceiling.
The tidying never really ended—because his life itself had been in disarray for years.
---
Suddenly, his phone rang.
Indrajit picked it up. On the other end, Deepayan's voice came through, carrying an unusual pull—
"Indra… how are you, man?"
---
A while later.
Indrajit slowly walked toward the bathroom.
As he turned on the tap, hot water poured down over his head. His hair soaked and stuck to his forehead.
The warm stream flowed over his shoulders, chest, and back, but his expression remained unchanged—empty, lifeless.
Once, hot water used to comfort him. Now, he felt nothing.
He closed his eyes and lowered his head as the water ran down from his forehead, over his eyes, cheeks, and neck.
But no matter how much water washed over his body, it could not cleanse the dust inside his mind—the layers of blood, tears, pain, and humiliation that had accumulated over years.
---
After stepping out of the bathroom, Indrajit wore a black T-shirt and jeans, slipped his phone and keys into his pocket, and left the flat.
As he walked down the corridor after exiting the elevator, a few women stood there.
They stopped talking and looked at him.
One whispered, "I heard that guy is a convicted criminal."
Others reacted with exaggerated shudders.
Another woman curled her lips and said, "Yes. A murderer. I've heard he's a rapist too."
"What?!" someone exclaimed.
"Yes, yes."
One woman said loudly, "How did they allow someone like that into our society?"
"Murderer!" "Rapist!" "Should someone like him even be allowed to live here?"
Each word pierced Indrajit like a thorn.
He didn't stop—kept walking with his eyes lowered.
Someone called out from behind, "Where does this dangerous criminal live?"
Another replied, "Oh, right opposite that prostitute's apartment."
"What?!" "The two most disgusting people in our society living side by side!"
"Why does the society even give them shelter?" "The colony head has gone mad."
Then the women began mocking Madhurima—
"That pretty prostitute sells her body for money." "A girl with no father, yet she's being educated?" "No shame at all."
Indrajit kept walking without looking up. From their words, he understood—Madhurima was a sex worker.
---
Indrajit walked down the road—looking nowhere, at no one.
Sunlight, crowds, traffic noise surrounded him, yet everything felt hollow and silent.
There was no interest in his eyes, mind, or body.
Only his legs moved—not to reach a destination, but as if to reach nowhere at all.
Suddenly, at the crossing ahead, an elderly woman stepped onto the road. A car sped toward her from the other side. She didn't notice. Her hands and legs trembled. The driver was reckless.
Without thinking, Indrajit ran forward and pulled her to safety.
Even though he no longer cared about his own life, his instinct to risk it for others hadn't faded.
"Son, if you hadn't been there, I would've reached Lord Jagannath today!" the old woman gasped.
She raised both hands and blessed him earnestly— "May you live long, son. May you find happiness."
Not a muscle moved on Indrajit's face—no smile, no emotion.
He merely bowed his head slightly and walked on.
---
Indrajit stood at Deepayan's door.
As soon as the bell rang, the door opened.
Deepayan froze for a moment, as if struggling to recognize the man before him.
The next instant, he lunged forward and hugged Indrajit tightly, pressing him to his chest as if he had found someone long lost.
"Indra… you… is it really you?"
His eyes were red, his voice trembling, his breath heavy. "How are you, my friend?"
Indrajit's lips didn't move. Only a faint sheen of moisture gathered in the corner of his eyes.
Deepayan released him and looked at him again.
"Come… come inside," he said softly.
But the moment Indrajit stepped in, a sharp voice cut through the air like lightning—
Rimita.
She stormed out of the kitchen, eyes blazing.
"Have you lost your mind? You brought a criminal into our house? A rapist?!"
The words tore through Indrajit's heart. Dark waves of pain rose inside his eyes. He said nothing—only looked down.
Deepayan quickly said, "He's not a rapist! He loved Tandra more than his own life! He tried to save her—"
Rimita shouted over him, "Oh please. He went to jail for no reason, right?"
Indrajit closed his eyes. Someone was cutting into his old wounds again.
"He was framed!" Deepayan said firmly.
Rimita sneered louder, "Yes, yes—twelve years in prison for nothing, right?"
Indrajit's eyes filled with tears. His breathing grew heavy. In a barely audible voice, he said, "I… I should leave."
"No. Why would you go?" Deepayan grabbed his hand. "You're not going anywhere."
Rimita snapped, "If he wants to leave, let him go. It's better that way."
Deepayan suddenly raised his voice, "When your friends come over, do I say anything?"
Rimita retorted, "I've never objected to your other friends! But he's a criminal! Why bring a rapist home?"
With a crushing pain in his chest, Indrajit said again, "It's better if I leave…"
"No," Deepayan said firmly. "You're not going anywhere."
Then he turned to Rimita— "I didn't ask you to cook for him. Why are you so triggered? This is my house, and I can invite my friend. He's already suffering enough—you're hurting him more. Fine. I'll take him to the terrace. You stay in your room."
Placing a hand on Indrajit's shoulder, Deepayan said, "Come."
"Deepayan… let me go," Indrajit pleaded softly.
"Shut up. You're not leaving. After all these years, you came to me—I won't let you walk away."
---
On the terrace.
A light breeze. City lights glowing in the distance.
Deepayan stood there, watching Indrajit—still silent, his face rigid.
"Don't mind her words. Rimita's like that—gets irritated for no reason. We fight often… but deep down, she's a good person."
Indrajit remained quiet.
Deepayan watched him. He looked like a stone statue.
Lighting a cigarette, Deepayan said after a while, "That night… you told the police everything. But they didn't listen. Those beasts bought everyone with their power! People like them won't even get a place in hell!"
Indrajit showed no reaction—his eyes fixed on emptiness.
Deepayan sighed. "Those who hold power can bury anything. They can hide injustice. They can bury truth underground."
Indrajit remained unmoving. No tears—just a dried-up storm inside.
"You suffered a lot in jail, didn't you?"
No response.
"Have you met uncle and aunty?"
Still nothing.
Indrajit knew—his parents had considered him dead long ago.
Seeing him so silent, Deepayan grew scared.
"Hey… say something."
---
To be continued…