---
Madhurima was leaning over a table, serving drinks.
A wealthy businessman walked past the bar manager and suddenly placed his hand on Madhurima's waist. For a brief moment, her body froze—because to her, this was not just harassment. It was the unspoken threat of the night, the price of survival, the source of her daily income.
"Will you spend the night with me?" he whispered, his eyes gleaming with lust.
Madhurima forced a gentle smile and reminded herself silently—I have to endure this. This money pays for my daughter's education.
But then she remembered—someone else had already booked her for tonight. What would she tell him?
"Extra service?" the businessman asked, his fingers drifting lower from her waist.
Inside her mind, Madhurima was cursing him relentlessly, but she struggled to decide what to say out loud.
With a faint smile, she finally spoke, "Sir, I'm very sorry, but I won't be able to give you time tonight."
Her voice was polite, but there was an unyielding firmness on her face.
The man's eyes widened in disbelief. "Why? What's the reason?" he demanded angrily.
Without lifting her head, Madhurima replied calmly, "I already have another commitment tonight."
His anger flared. His lips trembled. "You girl! How dare you refuse me?"
He raised his hand to slap her.
At that exact moment, the bar manager rushed over. "Sir, please maintain decorum."
The man snapped at him, "What kind of staff do you keep here? No manners at all."
The manager lowered his head and apologized repeatedly.
After calming the customer, the manager turned to Madhurima and shouted, "I'll deduct money from your salary."
Madhurima protested, her voice shaking with anger, "But why? What did I do?"
She was subjected to a stream of humiliating words, each one cutting deeper than the last.
After some time, the bar slowly returned to its usual rhythm. Madhurima knew—this was how this profession worked. Still, the pain never lessened.
Her heart felt unbearably heavy. The day had gone terribly. And tonight, she would have to spend the night with an elderly man—for her daughter's education, for the money she desperately needed.
---
Indrajit was eating rice slowly. His hunger was obvious, yet his hands trembled uncontrollably.
Deepayan sat silently beside him, his eyes filled with concern. Seeing Indrajit's shaking hands and frail body broke something inside him.
After a few minutes, when only a little rice remained on the plate, Deepayan spoke— "Indra, let's take you to a doctor. You've lost too much weight. Vomiting blood isn't normal."
Indrajit shook his head immediately, his voice dismissive. "No, it's nothing… probably just gas. It's happened before. I've eaten now—it'll pass. No need to see a doctor."
Deepayan frowned. "Does gas cause vomiting blood? This isn't a joke, Indra! Twelve years in prison destroyed your body. If you keep ignoring this, you might not get another chance."
Indrajit replied weakly, "Stop worrying. I'm fine."
But Deepayan wasn't convinced. "I know you—you never take care of yourself. And now you're even more indifferent to life. But Indra, vomiting blood is serious."
Indrajit snapped, "I said I'm fine! Don't make a big deal out of it!"
This time, Deepayan lost his patience. "I will make a big deal. I'm taking you to the doctor today—whether you agree or not."
Suddenly, a cold voice came from the kitchen doorway. "Deep, you won't take him anywhere. We have our own family. I don't want trouble."
Deepayan turned, disappointment flooding his eyes. "Rimi, he's my friend—like a brother. If something happens to him—"
She cut him off sharply. "We've already done enough by letting a criminal like him eat in our house. Don't drag us into doctors, expenses, and problems."
Indrajit slowly stood up. His face showed pain, but his eyes were strangely calm. "She's right, Deepayan. I'll manage on my own. I won't create trouble for you."
Deepayan clenched his teeth, wanting to argue, but no words came out. He knew pushing further would only make things worse.
With a sigh, he walked Indrajit to the door.
As Indrajit stepped outside, Deepayan pulled out some notes from his wallet. "Take this."
Indrajit immediately pushed his hand away. "No. I don't need money."
"Listen," Deepayan said firmly. "You do need this. You can't survive in this city without money. You haven't eaten properly for two days—I know that. Use this. Buy food. And find a job. Without work, how will you survive?"
Indrajit looked at him uncomfortably, shame flickering in his eyes. "I don't want to be indebted to you."
"This isn't debt," Deepayan said, pressing the money into his hand. "It's responsibility. And if you really consider me a friend, don't refuse."
Indrajit stood silently for a moment, staring at the notes. Then he slipped them into his pocket. His expression made it clear—he hadn't accepted charity, but the unwavering care of a friend.
Before leaving, he looked back once more. Concern in Deepayan's eyes. Irritation in Rimita's. Indrajit decided then—if Deepayan ever called him again, he wouldn't return. He didn't want to become the reason for discord in their marriage.
As he stepped outside, a cold gust of wind pierced his chest. Somewhere in the distance, dogs barked in the night.
---
After the morning assembly, Katha entered her classroom and quietly took her seat, her head lowered.
This was a school attended by children of the wealthy and influential. Madhurima had begged the authorities relentlessly to get Katha admitted here. Despite having no known family background, Katha was allowed to stay because the fees were paid—and she was an exceptionally bright student.
Madhurima believed that if she could give her daughter a good education, she could shape her into something better. She desperately wanted to ensure that not even the shadow of her profession ever touched Katha's life.
But no one in school really liked Katha. She wasn't one of them. And some girls were openly jealous of her beauty.
Still, no one knew about her mother's profession—yet. Madhurima had instructed Katha to tell everyone that her mother was a nurse.
---
To be continued…