KIRT
It was the most pleasant phase of Kirt's life. His heart had learned to dance to sweet rhythms, finding joy in an otherwise cursed existence.
For the first time, it felt as though his feet had left the earth, as though he were soaring. For the first time, he understood what it meant to love...and to be loved in return.
Lalida's presence filled the emptiness inside him, a void that had always ached for someone to claim him, someone to confide in, someone to truly connect with.
Lalida, too, felt something for Kirt. At fourteen, her body had blossomed into curves that drew every eye, and she knew how to use them. She was far more mature than most girls her age.
Girls her age often sought boyfriends either for thrill or for money. But with Kirt, Lalida forgot all such things....even his empty pockets. She lost herself in him completely.
Yet when he was out of sight, the spell would shatter. Regret would creep in, and she cursed herself for clinging to a relationship that offered her no benefits. Greed often overshadowed her love for Kirt.
She cared for him, yes .... but she also yearned for things he could never give her: rides in expensive cars, nights at lavish hotels, and gifts that glittered.
Unable to suppress her desires, unwilling to lose Kirt, Lalida chose another path...double dating. She didn't break things off with Cavin but instead started a new relationship with Kirt. Cavin, who adored her, was rich and reckless, even stealing from his parents to bring her smiles...unaware that Lalida was only using him.
Meanwhile, Ming, a quiet presence who had always lingered unnoticed at the edges of Kirt's life, For the first time, began to soften his own hard shell, letting a gentler side of himself emerge.
Ming brought him a new pillow and sheet, carefully laying them over the worn-out sofa that Kirt loved so much. He began performing small, thoughtful acts that revealed his devotion as a friend and companion.
Kirt was both surprised and delighted. For once, the world seemed kinder. A place that had once been merciless now offered him sweetness. Yet he was still too young, too blind, to see through people like Lalida, who so easily made two boys dance to her tune.
One night, after his shift at studio, Kirt stood outside, puffing at a cigarette. He had been absent from school for a week, working as a daily wager at Aunty Fern's canteen, just to afford the gym and to indulge Lalida.
Sometimes she stayed with him until his shift ended. They would listen to songs together, laugh at silly memes, and Lalida would show him dresses, shoes, and bags she wanted to buy on her phone. They shared food, and she even helped him with small chores.Lalida admitted it was the best part of her day, while her time with Cavin felt like an unwanted obligation.
Malee knew Lalida was deceiving Kirt, but she kept silent. If the truth came out, Kirt would stop coming....and with him, Malee's only chance to stay close would vanish.
That night, as Kirt blew smoke into the air, someone suddenly snatched the cigarette from his lips. He turned to see Ming toss it to the ground and crush it beneath his heel.
"You're overdosing on this lately. What's going on?" Ming demanded, standing with both hands on his waist, glaring at him like a father scolding his son.
Kirt blinked, startled. It was the first time Ming had asked about him....not about work, but him. And strangely, it felt good. Ming's concern wasn't judgmental, but genuine. His lips curved into a faint, amused smile.
"What now? You want to marry me....or adopt me?" Kirt teased, smirking.
"Trust me!!You're rotten for both," Ming shot back with a grudging glare.
"Tell me, why have you been missing school these days? What have you been up to?"
"Come on, man… get a life. You're suffocating me. You were better in your silent-movie version," Kirt muttered. He liked Ming's concern, but he was overdoing it.
"Bad for you, I've got a tongue now… and it can bite," Ming mocked, then fell pensive again.
"Listen, Kirt," Ming's tone deepened, steady with emotion. "I won't lie to you. I never disliked you....because you always gave me the personal space I needed most. That was enough… back then. But now everything's changed. You changed everything.
That day, if I had lost my mother, I would have ended my life. But you....of all people, the one I least expected....were the one who cared, the one who helped me when everyone else turned their back. From that moment, I devoted myself to you.
You may have lived a lonely life, but now you're not alone. I'm with you. I'll never leave you… never let you destroy yourself. You're right, Kirt. From now on, I'm your guardian."
With quiet determination, Ming plucked the fresh cigarette from Kirt's fingers, crushed it beneath his toe, and gave him one last hard look before walking away.
Kirt stood frozen, unsure whether to feel grateful for the companion he'd found....or suffocated by the strict guardian he had just gained.
WASHMA
"I'm not a lesbian. I've never been interested in girls," Tamana said flatly, her eyes avoiding Washma's.
Those words were enough to halt Washma's steps. She didn't feel shock....surprisingly, that wasn't what stirred her. Instead, curiosity rose inside her, tugging at her heart. Slowly, she turned back, pulled out the chair in front of Tamana, and sat down.
The girl before her wasn't the fierce, intimidating Tamana everyone feared; instead, she looked like a parched soul, desperate for someone to see the depth of her deprivation.
"I know what you're thinking… that this is a trap," Tamana murmured with a sad curve of her lips.
"No," Washma replied softly. "I'm not thinking that. I just want to hear you… one last time. Tell me what you want to tell me."
Tamana lifted her gaze. Her voice came out steady....neither pleading nor defensive.
"Not everyone with scars has a tragic story. Sometimes, ordinary circumstances can do damage no one ever recovers from.
My story is the story of countless families in the East. A house full of necessities, but love and care always in short supply. Parents who bring children into the world and then leave it to God to raise them.
We were eight siblings. I was the seventh. By the time it came to me, the basket of affection was empty. On our parents' faces, there was always more irritation than warmth toward their children.
That's why I always carried this thirst for attention. I wanted...needed...to be treated as special. Over time, it became an obsession. I could do anything for it. And one day, I found it.
A cousin of my mother came to visit. He noticed something in me....a spark, a player....and pushed me toward sports. He was right. I was good. I was selected for inter-school competitions, and for the first time, I was bathed in the attention I had longed for. But by then, my heart was somewhere else. I had fallen for him. I wanted his attention, only his.
But his eyes… they were set on my youngest aunt, my father's unmarried sister.
One day, unable to contain these feelings any longer, I gathered my courage and confessed my love. But he only laughed. He said I was nothing like other girls....no delicacy, no softness. That I was more like a boy, with my strong build and harsh features.
He made me realize I was not the kind of girl any man would want as a partner. His words struck me like a punch, shattering whatever traces of femininity I had left inside.
That hurt more than his rejection. Washma, do you know how it feels… when you don't even belong to your own gender? When you can't even belong to yourself? It shattered me. I wanted to disappear.
Then came a chance...a sports scholarship. I grabbed it and left.
Here, I found attention again, but in a different way. My boy-cut hair, my rebellious choice, made me look even more like a boy. Suddenly, girls wanted me. They fought for me. I fed on it.
"Right or wrong no longer mattered; it simply filled the void inside me...the craving, the yearning to be noticed, to be loved...like parched soil soaking up rainwater after years of drought."
I was never like them. For me, it was business...an exchange. They wanted my attention, and I craved theirs. Whatever the cost.
Until you came.
I don't know why, Washma, but with you… I started feeling. Really feeling. I can't control it. I crave your attention. I've become something I never thought I'd be.
I never felt this way for other girls because I knew I could never be like them. But why you, Washma? I don't understand. I'm not a lesbian...I know it as surely as I know I'm sitting here. But if I'm not that, then what is this feeling? Why am I so restless for you? Why?"
Her voice faltered, raw and trembling. "I don't have an answer to that. I only know I can't let it go."
Tamana's words hung heavy in the air. Her eyes clung to Washma's face, searching....pleading..for a reaction: scorn, despise, anger… anything. But Washma's expression remained calm, unreadable, yet not dismissive.
After a long silence, Washma leaned back.
"Tamana," she said softly, "if our God never closes the doors of forgiveness to anyone, who am I to judge you? I have neither the right nor the reason. But what you're thinking....for me, for yourself...it's wrong. I hope you can understand that." She rose slowly to her feet.
Tamana's eyes shimmered with tears. "Washma… I need your help," she whispered, her voice breaking.
"Tamana, you don't need me. You need a therapist. This isn't only about what you feel for me. The way you beat Saima… maybe even other girls before her… it's not just harming you...it's hurting others too."
Washma's tone carried neither pity nor judgment...only truth. She looked at Tamana one last time.
Tamana was a victim of her family's neglect, a casualty of their silence. But she could still recover....if only she chose to.