[Rodela's parents have come to take their daughter home.]
Rodela's mother (wearing sunglasses, face stern):
"We've heard there's been some trouble. We hope this doesn't reach the media. My husband holds a government position. If a scandal breaks out, things could get very bad."
Rodela's stepfather:
"We've given her proper upbringing. Maybe she was given a bit too much freedom… but the school should have handled this better. Please, don't inform the media."
Ms. Snigdha (shocked):
"What do you mean? Your daughter was about to take her own life… and all you're worried about is your reputation?"
Rodela's mother (calmly):
"She's always been a bit dramatic, since childhood. Seems like she's overreacting this time too."
(Rodela sat silently. Head down. Not a word on her lips. No tears in her eyes, but her lips trembled. Inside her, a storm was raging. Someone was watching her. Or maybe not. Her chest ached silently—but her mouth stayed shut.)
Mr. Anirban stared for a while, silently.
One question kept circling his mind—how could one's own parents be so selfish, so cruel? If the very people meant to be your shelter in life treat you with such disregard, how can anyone hope for love or comfort from the world?
Suddenly, he seemed to understand—why Rodela had fallen for someone twice her age, unattractive, stern, and already settled like Mr. Bibhash.
It wasn't an impulsive teenage crush.
It was the desperate cry of a deep, unfulfilled need— a search for shelter.
Rodela was in immense pain—this pain, this longing, this craving for affection had forced her to become an object for someone else's desires.
Mr. Anirban, after quietly looking at Rodela, softly said,
"Can she step outside for a while? I—we—would like to speak to her guardians privately."
Ms. Snigdha nodded silently.
Rodela slowly stood up from her chair. No sound came from her throat. Head bowed, dragging her feet, she walked out of the room.
The sound of her departure only made the silence in the room even heavier.
Mr. Anirban now sat up straight. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"Do you realize—a young girl tried to end her life. That's not drama. That's a signal—a cry for help. And you're calling it 'being dramatic'?"
Rodela's mother pressed her lips together. Behind the sunglasses, her discomfort was faintly visible.
The stepfather, with a slightly harsh tone, said:
"Look, if there are mental issues, we'll arrange for counseling. But if this hits the media, it'll be a huge scandal. Surely, you understand how serious this is. Our reputation is at stake here."
Ms. Snigdha couldn't hold herself back any longer.
"Do you even know how she's spent her days here? How lonely and afraid she was? No friends, no warmth at home, no real relationship with you! She only wanted a life… some love, some understanding. And what did you give her?"
Rodela's mother paused before responding,
"She always overreacts to everything. We've been dealing with this since she was a child. No one else sees it, but we know how much of a hassle she is."
Mr. Anirban now spoke with firmness in his voice,
"No, madam, you don't know. As her mother, you have no idea—your daughter is being destroyed from within. If we hadn't saved her today… you wouldn't be dealing with the media, you'd be going to the morgue.
Then you'd understand how a child's silent tears are far more important than your reputation."
(A moment of silence. The kind where you could hear a pin drop.)
Ms. Snigdha then softly said,
"We will arrange counseling for her. We'll build a support system. From the school's side, we will do everything we can to be by her side.
But… what she needs most is love from her family. Will she get that?"
Rodela's mother and stepfather looked at each other. Inside them, there was a quiet denial and a sense of resentment.
Rodela's mother, now irritated, said:
"We know how to take care of our daughter. You don't need to concern yourselves with that.
We'll have her transferred to a new school as soon as possible."
Hearing their words, Mr. Anirban and Ms. Snigdha fell completely silent.
For a moment, neither could utter a word.
Even after everything their daughter had been through, these parents were still more concerned about their social image.
The two teachers stood dumbfounded, shocked by such coldness.
Mr. Anirban, lowering his gaze, slowly began to think—
He had grown up an orphan. The pain of that emptiness still haunted him.
But Rodela? She had parents, yet she was alone. Not an orphan in the literal sense, but in the absence of love, she was perhaps the loneliest girl in the world.
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[Time – 7:45 PM | Anirban Sir and Anurag Sir's Flat]
The air inside the room feels heavy. A gentle breeze from outside sways the curtains, but inside, a mute silence has taken hold. Some unknown restlessness seems to linger in the atmosphere.
(The doorbell rings.)
Anurag Sir quickly opens the door. Anirban Sir walks in quietly. He doesn't say a word—just carries a heavy weariness and some unspoken thoughts etched on his face.
(Anirban Sir closes the door and leans against it, exhaling deeply. His eyes reflect a foggy exhaustion, as if the weight of the day has crushed his spirit.)
Anurag Sir (with concern):
"You're back a little late today. Is everything alright?"
Anirban Sir (taking off his shoes):
"I don't even know what to say... Everything in my head is just a blur, Anurag."
Anurag (in a soft voice):
"What happened? You look really serious today. Was there some problem at school?"
Anirban (unbuttoning his shirt):
"Something terrible… You won't believe it even if I told you."
Anurag Sir (curiously):
"What is it?
Anirban Sir (pauses, voice heavy):
"Rodela… our twelfth-grade student… tried to take her own life today."
Anurag Sir (shocked, trembles slightly):
"What are you saying! Is she okay now?"
Anirban Sir (with a long sigh):
"Yes. She was about to jump off the terrace… I ran and stopped her… just in time. In her eyes, there was only broken trust… I've never seen eyes like that before."
To be continued...