The dawn after he learned of the proposal, Devdas finally understood that he could not stay silent any longer.
He rose before the household stirred, washed quickly, and left the house without a word. The sky was still dim, the lanes nearly empty. Every step felt heavy, as if he were walking toward something he could no longer avoid.
When he reached Paro's gate, he paused. The house was still, the lamps in the veranda unlit. For a moment, he felt an urge to turn around—to pretend none of this had happened.
But he forced himself to knock.
After a long wait, her father appeared in the doorway. Nimai Chakraborty looked older than Devdas remembered, his face lined with disappointment and fatigue.
"Devdas," he said neutrally. "So early?"
Devdas bowed his head. "I…need to speak with Paro."
Nimai studied him, expression unreadable. Then he stepped aside. "Sit. I will call her."
Devdas stood in the veranda, his heart hammering. He heard soft footsteps behind the curtain. When Paro emerged, she looked composed—almost serene—but he could see the fine tremor in her hands as she pulled the edge of her sari over her hair.
Neither of them spoke at first. The silence stretched painfully between them.
Finally, Devdas took a step closer. "I heard about the marriage proposal."
Paro's gaze did not waver. "Yes."
"You…you can't say yes," he blurted.
A flicker of something—hurt, anger, perhaps both—crossed her face. "And why not?"
"Because," he said, struggling for words, "because I—"
She lifted her chin. "Because you love me?"
He swallowed. "Yes."
"Then why did you never say so?"
The question landed like a blow. He opened his mouth, but the excuses—pride, hesitation, fear—sounded hollow even to him.
"I thought there was time," he said finally.
Paro's eyes glistened in the grey morning light. "Time for what, Devdas? For me to wait forever? For my family to be shamed because no one knew what you wanted?"
"I'm here now," he said desperately. "I'm telling you now."
She shook her head slowly. "Too late."
"Paro…"
She looked away, blinking rapidly. "My father has already given his word. He will not break it."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But do you want this? Do you want to marry someone else?"
Her lips parted, but she didn't speak. In that moment, he knew she still loved him. But love alone was no longer enough.
Behind them, Nimai stood in the shadows of the doorway, listening to every word.
Devdas turned to him, his voice raw. "Please, Uncle. Give me a little time. I will convince my parents."
Nimai's face was carved from stone. "And if you fail?"
"I won't fail."
The older man looked at Paro, then back at Devdas. He sighed heavily. "You have three days."
Devdas exhaled as if he had been underwater. "Thank you."
Paro didn't move. When he looked at her again, she still wouldn't meet his eyes.
He left the house feeling hollow and frightened.
That afternoon, he stood before his father in their sitting room. The words tumbled out of him in a rush—everything he should have said long before: that he loved her, that he wanted to marry her, that nothing else mattered.
His father listened in silence, his expression growing graver with every sentence.
When Devdas finished, the silence stretched so long he thought he might choke on it.
At last, Narayan Mukherjee spoke.
"I understand," he said. "But you are young. You do not know your own mind."
"I do," Devdas insisted. "I have never been more sure of anything."
His father's gaze sharpened. "And what of their family's status? What of their modest means? A marriage must be equal, Devdas."
Devdas felt anger rising like a fire. "You mean equal in wealth, not in worth."
Narayan's jaw tightened. "Mind your tone."
"I will not," Devdas said, voice breaking. "I will not pretend I care about money more than—"
"Enough."
The word cracked through the air like a whip.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
His father looked away first. "You will return to Calcutta. You will finish your studies. When you come of age, we will discuss this again."
Devdas felt as if the room were collapsing around him. "By then, she will be married."
Narayan said nothing.
That night, Devdas packed a small bag, though no one had told him to leave so soon. He felt something inside him hardening, closing off.
He could not stay in the village to watch her marry another man. But he also could not bring himself to plead again.
Before dawn, he slipped out of the house without saying goodbye.
He did not stop at Paro's gate. He did not look back.
In the quiet before sunrise, he boarded the carriage bound for Calcutta.
And as the wheels turned over t
he rutted road, he told himself this was the only way to survive the thing he had done—by leaving it all behind.