---
Deepayan's last words hung in the air—
"Hey… say something?"
Indrajit stood there in silence, offering no answer.
Suddenly, something inside him broke. His throat tightened, his eyes burned with restrained fire, his lips trembled.
"What am I supposed to say, Deepayan?" he finally spoke, his voice breaking.
"What is left for me to say? Tandra is gone… To my parents, I've been dead for years now… There is nothing left in my life. Nothing—except this suffocating emptiness and pain that no one will ever understand! Everyone hates me. Everyone humiliates me, calls me a criminal…"
Trying to calm him, Deepayan said softly, "One day they will understand. They will understand what a good man you really are."
Indrajit shook his head violently, breathing hard. "They won't. No one will ever understand."
His eyes turned red; his breath faltered. "Twelve years, Deepayan. Twelve years in a hell called prison. Every moment was worse than death. Not a single night of peaceful sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Tandra's face—covered in blood, screaming in terror—and I… I couldn't do anything!"
Deepayan slowly held his shoulders, lowering his voice. "Calm down, Indra… please." "You're free now. Forget the past."
Indrajit looked at him sharply—his eyes blazing. "Forget? Forget those beasts? Forget how they—right in front of my eyes—took Tandra from me—"
He shut his eyes. Tears streamed down his face. "They destroyed my life…"
Deepayan tried to console him. "What's happened can't be changed. Forget everything. Start over. Build a new life."
But Indrajit could no longer absorb comfort. Fire flared in his eyes. "I won't spare them! They stole Tandra from me… they took away my family… they burned my life to ashes! I will make them suffer—each and every one of them! I will give them such hell that they will beg for death!"
Deepayan shuddered. He had never seen such fury in his friend's eyes. "Indra… you know who they are. They're powerful. You can't even get close to them—can't even touch them."
Indrajit replied coldly, "Yes. I know. They've protected themselves with mountains of money and walls of influence. But remember this—if I get even one chance before I die, I'll leave this world with my hands soaked in their blood."
"Don't talk like that," Deepayan pleaded. "Start again. Go back to uncle and aunty. They'll forgive you. They'll accept you again."
Indrajit's voice trembled; tears rolled down his cheeks. "No… that's impossible. No one wants me anymore. Everyone hates me. I don't want to return home just to become a burden of pain. I don't want to be the reason for my father's humiliation, the reason my sister's marriage breaks, the reason my brother loses his inheritance. I just want my siblings to live peacefully."
Deepayan finally understood how selfless Indrajit truly was.
Despite everything, he loved his stepbrother and stepsister deeply.
He loved his father.
And once—he had loved Tandra with all his soul.
---
At the beginning of college, Tandra entered Indra's life—an orphan with no lineage, no family, no shadow of protection.
Yet there was something in her eyes that drew Indra toward her again and again.
Whenever he saw her, a desperate longing filled his heart—to pull her into his arms, to stand as a shield before her, to protect her from every blow the world could offer.
The day Tandra first saw Indrajit, she understood—this was a man filled with compassion, someone who protected others even when he gained nothing in return.
And Tandra was not stingy with love.
If someone embraced her with care, she possessed the ability to return it as a vast, divine affection.
So whenever Indra shielded her from the cruelty and injustice of their classmates, Tandra made sure he knew how deeply she loved him.
She used to tell him—whatever Indra asked of her, she would obey. Even death would not make her disobey him.
When Indra first told his father that he loved Tandra, Mr. Bhattacharya's forehead hardened with rage and humiliation.
Accepting an orphan girl as his daughter-in-law was impossible for him.
"Our family has honor. Blood purity. And that girl—no one even knows where she came from! A girl from the streets!"
Indra had heard those words countless times.
His answer never changed. "I love Tandra. I don't care about lineage."
At that time, Indra wasn't yet ready for marriage, but he promised Tandra he would marry her once he got a job.
Even during college, he paid for her rented room and her monthly expenses.
No matter how many obstacles came, no matter how much humiliation followed, Indra protected her with all his heart.
Whenever Tandra rested her head on his shoulder, he whispered gently, "You don't need to be afraid. I will always protect you."
---
But that horrifying night shattered everything.
Some powerful beasts tore Tandra away from him right before his eyes. Her helpless screams echoed in his ears as those inhuman men tortured her brutally and stole her breath.
For Indra, that moment was worse than death—because he lived, but the reason he lived no longer existed.
Fate did not stop there.
To cover their crime, those demons fabricated evidence, bought witnesses, altered police statements.
And the cruelest blow came from his own home.
Indrajit was born into a conservative middle-class family.
When his father received the news— "Your son is a rapist. A murderer."
At that moment, Indrajit died for him.
His father never once felt the need to hear his son's truth. He didn't question the police.
To protect social honor, he declared his living son dead and performed his funeral rites.
Indrajit's stepmother and step-siblings were pleased.
They believed it benefited them.
They had never loved Indrajit—only envied him since childhood.
His stepmother had always poisoned his father's ears with lies, knowing well that social reputation mattered more to him than even his own son.
Indrajit was falsely convicted.
Sentence: twelve years in prison.
---
Prison was a long apocalypse for Indra.
His only companion was Tandra's memory—and the promise that haunted him endlessly: "You don't need to be afraid… I will always protect you."
But Indra knew—he had failed to keep that promise.
Twelve years passed.
Concrete replaced open courtyards.
Rotten meals replaced warm dinners.
Humiliation replaced freedom.
He was beaten by hardened criminals, and he fought back.
He learned how to survive.
He learned how to survive by violence.
---
Present time.
"There's no desire left in me to live," Indrajit said quietly. "No reason. I just want one chance—just once—to kill those beasts."
Deepayan stared at him intensely. "Don't do anything that puts your life at risk. Please. You're my closest friend. I can't lose you again."
At that moment, Indrajit's face twisted in pain. "Ugh—!"
His body curled inward, agony etched across his face.
The next second, blood-mixed vomit spilled from his mouth, splattering across the floor.
"Indra!" Deepayan shouted, rushing toward him.
"Indra! What's happening? You're vomiting blood!"
Indrajit began coughing violently along with the vomiting.
With tears in his eyes, Deepayan asked, "Why is this happening? Why?!"
Indrajit steadied himself on the floor and whispered, "Two days… haven't eaten anything…"
Deepayan's panic deepened. "Are you insane?! Come—now! We're going inside. You need to eat!"
He practically dragged Indrajit downstairs and into the house, ignoring Rimita's furious stare.
Rushing into the kitchen, Deepayan brought hot rice, lentils, and eggs and placed them before him. "Eat, Indra. If you don't eat now, your body won't hold on."
In a weak voice, Indrajit asked, "Won't your wife get angry?"
Deepayan snapped, "To hell with her anger. Eat!"
Indrajit's trembling hand slowly reached for the rice.
Steam rose from the food, stinging his eyes.
Since leaving prison, he hadn't eaten properly.
For four weeks, he lay in a tiny flat with no routine, no care.
Two days ago, he moved into a new apartment—registered in his name by a distant aunt.
She was childless and divorced.
She had loved Indrajit deeply since childhood.
She had died of cancer a year ago.
---
To be continued…