Madhurima waved at her. "Hey, girl—why are you so late?"
At once, she sensed something was wrong.
"What happened? Why are you walking like this?"
As Madhurima stepped closer and reached for Katha's face, Katha flinched slightly, as if the touch hurt.
"No… nothing, Ma," Katha replied softly. Her voice was rough, dry—as though she had cried for a long time.
Madhurima studied her carefully. "Katha, look at me."
Katha slowly lifted her face, but her eyes didn't meet her mother's. The faint reddish mark at the corner of her lips made Madhurima's chest tighten.
"What is this? How did it happen?"
Katha answered quickly, "It's nothing… I fell."
A small thorn of doubt pierced Madhurima's mind.
Her gaze sharpened—worry mixed with anger. "Did you really fall… or did someone hit you?"
Katha froze. She clutched the strap of her bag tightly. Her heart pounded, the humiliation of the entire day lodged in her throat.
"No, Ma," she said slowly.
"No one hit me. I really fell."
Madhurima watched her in silence. "I know you. Something happened."
"No, Ma… I told you, nothing did."
Madhurima's voice hardened. "Whatever it is—if anyone ever lays a hand on my daughter, I won't let them go."
Katha said nothing more.
She just kept walking beside her mother.
Because she knew—if she told the truth, things would only get worse.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, she also knew that nothing could stay hidden from her mother forever.
As they were about to get into the auto, the wind blew Katha's hair aside, revealing the mark again. Madhurima didn't say anything—she simply pulled her daughter close.
The entire ride home, Katha stared out the window. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she held them back.
Madhurima knew—her daughter was hiding something today.
---
Indrajit walked slowly through the narrow lane of his colony.
His body felt weak, an invisible pain pressed against his chest, and Rimita's sharp words echoed endlessly in his mind: "We've already done enough by letting a criminal like him eat in our house."
As soon as he passed the colony gate, whispers began.
"There he is—the one who came back from jail." "Be careful. I heard he killed someone." "Talking to people like him is trouble."
Some turned their faces away.
Some stared with narrowed eyes.
Some threw cruel remarks.
Indrajit said nothing. He kept walking, head lowered. Each step felt heavier, as though even his shadow was trying to avoid him.
At the tea stall nearby, a few men smirked, exhaling cigarette smoke. "Twelve years in jail… why did they even allow someone like that to live here?"
Disgust in some eyes. Mockery in others.
People stepped aside, as if his shadow itself were contagious.
A sharp ache rose in Indrajit's chest—each stare like an invisible thorn piercing his skin. Their eyes screamed the same verdict: You are a criminal.
And yet—he had done nothing.
He walked toward his building, head bowed.
Just a few steps before it, he noticed something on the roadside—a skeletal, dust-covered dog. Its head drooped, eyes half-open, belly sunken inward.
Indrajit stopped.
For a moment, he felt that the dog had no one either—just like him. Surrounded by indifference. Untouched by care.
Quietly, he walked to the shop at the corner. "Uncle, give me some rice and curry scraps… with chicken bones."
He handed over a few notes.
The shopkeeper asked curiously, "Are you going to eat?"
Indrajit gave a faint smile and shook his head. "No… it's for that dog."
He returned with the food.
At first, the dog lifted its head warily. But Indrajit squatted down, gently mixed the food in a plate, and placed it in front of the animal.
The smell of rice made the dog sit up weakly and begin to eat. With the first bite, a flicker of light appeared in its eyes.
Indrajit smiled—barely, but sincerely.
He reached out and gently placed his hand on the dog's head. Without speaking, he thought, At least I won't treat you as worthless.
The dog ate eagerly. Indrajit sat beside it in silence.
He felt that even if people rejected him, caring for another living being still brought a quiet kind of peace. That was who he was—someone who could not live without caring for others. Looking after someone else was how Indrajit justified his own existence.
If humans wouldn't come near him, then let it be animals.
---
The auto stopped at the mouth of the lane.
Madhurima paid the fare. Katha stepped down beside her—silent, eyes lowered.
They walked together quietly. Worry still clouded Madhurima's face, while Katha looked withdrawn, folded inward.
Suddenly, Katha's eyes fell on a man sitting by the roadside.
Indrajit.
He was sitting near the curb, knees drawn up, a plate beside him filled with rice and curry. The frail dog was eating slowly, its face buried in the plate. Indrajit's hand rested gently on its head, stroking it.
Katha's eyes lit up instantly.
For a brief moment, the exhaustion and humiliation of the day vanished from her face—as if this single scene calmed something deep inside her.
She had always loved animals—feeding stray kittens in secret, keeping water for birds.
She felt that this man was kind. He had chosen to stand beside a helpless creature.
But Madhurima did not like the sight at all.
Her expression hardened.
First—she disliked dogs and cats, especially filthy street animals.
Second—this man was Indrajit. The one people whispered about. Criminal. Ex-convict.
And seeing the sudden admiration flicker in her daughter's eyes filled her with irritation.
"Come," Madhurima said coldly, pulling Katha's hand.
"Don't look at him."
Katha looked at her in surprise but said nothing.
Madhurima's grip tightened, as if forcing her gaze away.
At that moment, Indrajit looked up.
He saw a young girl staring at him—there was a faint red mark at the corner of her lips.
Something stirred inside him.
That mark hadn't been there in the morning. What happened to her?
He stroked the dog's head once more and looked back at Katha. That wasn't the mark of a fall. It was an injury.
Madhurima quickly pulled Katha forward, eager to leave the scene behind.
Katha kept walking—but she glanced back again and again. Indrajit was still sitting beside the dog, as though no matter how much the world ignored him, he would stay with this one living being.
Noticing her repeated glances, Indrajit felt a quiet surprise.
Soon, Madhurima and Katha disappeared from sight.
The dog finished eating and gently rested its head against Indrajit's knee.
---
To be continued…