The Next Morning
Anirban Sir stood beyond the iron gate.
His hair was disheveled, his winter jacket only half-worn—lost in worry for Anurag Sir, he had paid no attention to himself.
Exhaustion filled his eyes, his face drawn with anxiety.
His fingers were clammy with sweat, his chest pounding.
An officer approached and said,
"We're releasing Anurag Banerjee. But make sure he doesn't get into this kind of trouble again."
Anirban Sir bowed his head slightly and replied,
"Yes, sir… I'll make sure of it."
At that moment, the iron gate creaked open.
Anurag Sir walked out slowly.
His eyes were bloodshot, his steps heavy with fatigue.
His face carried an overwhelming mix of humiliation, sorrow, and a deep, unspoken pain that seemed to live in every breath.
Anirban approached him gradually.
After a moment of silence, he asked:
"Anurag, are you okay?"
Anirban Sir looked at him for a long while.
Then, softly, he said—
"I never imagined I'd have to come pick you up from jail one day…"
Anurag Sir (in a calm voice):
"Do you want to ask me anything?"
Anirban Sir:
"I know you're not at fault."
Anurag Sir gave a faint, bitter smile.
Anurag Sir:
"That's what friends are for, isn't it?"
Anirban moved a little closer and asked—
"Did they… beat you?"
Anurag's gaze dropped slightly.
He clenched his jaw, said nothing.
It was true—Shubhankar had fed lies to the police and orchestrated Anurag's humiliation.
Not content with getting him arrested, he had used his influence to make sure a particular sub-inspector brutally assaulted Anurag inside the lock-up.
Anurag closed his eyes for a moment without answering.
Anirban placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Anurag flinched slightly.
Anirban Sir:
"Come on, let's go home."
---
One hour later, at Anirban Sir's flat.
Anurag Sir sat silently on the sofa.
Wearing a loose T-shirt, head bowed, eyes still red.
Anirban Sir had returned from the pharmacy.
In his hand was a bag containing painkillers, antiseptic cream, cotton, and bandages.
Anirban said—
"I never thought I'd see someone like you in jail. I don't want the school kids to find out. Don't tell anyone."
Anurag Sir remained completely silent, just sitting there.
Anirban spoke again, gently—
"Anurag… can you lift your shirt for a second? I want to see your back properly so I can apply the ointment where it's needed."
Anurag didn't refuse,
but he didn't speak either.
As Anirban slowly lifted the shirt, he froze.
The back was swollen, mottled red and bluish-black.
Five or six whip-like marks stood out clearly.
In places, the skin had peeled away.
Anirban's eyes filled with tears.
He quickly fetched a towel from his room, soaked it in cold water, and gently pressed it to the wounds.
Then, in a voice trembling on the edge of tears, he said—
"Lie down for a bit… I'll apply the ointment… You're not saying anything, but I can see how much pain you're in."
Anurag silently turned over and lay face-down.
Anirban began carefully applying the cream to his back.
Anurag kept his face turned away. Not a single word escaped his lips.
His mind was flooded with memories of Priya.
She used to be so different. In the beginning, when their relationship started, Priya treated him with such tenderness. Whatever pain he endured from his family, she gave him exactly that much love in return. Back then she was so innocent—and that innocence was what drew him to her. Anurag had never been attracted to wild or reckless women.
But that same innocent Priya had changed. She cheated on him repeatedly.
In the early days, after each betrayal, she would come to him with that same innocent face and beg for forgiveness—and every time, he melted completely. He couldn't hold onto his anger no matter how hard he tried.
There were countless occasions when he saw things clearly yet pretended not to notice—because he didn't want to doubt her. He refused to become like his father.
But in the end, Priya cheated one last time and left him for good.
"Are you in pain?"
Anirban's sudden question pulled Anurag back to the present.
Anurag Sir:
"I'm fine."
Anirban, voice heavy with sadness:
"I knew you were hurting, but I never imagined they had beaten you this badly."
A single tear slipped from the corner of Anirban's eye and fell.
Anurag remained silent.
---
Later that afternoon.
At Anurag Sir's house | Outside, a fierce winter rain poured down, heavy and relentless.
Anirban Sir was not at home—he had gone to visit Shubhradip, who had met with an accident.
Silence blanketed the room. Outside, the rain fell without pause.
Stormy gusts drove water against the windowpanes in steady taps. Lightning flashed intermittently, briefly illuminating the dim interior. Only a single table lamp glowed in the corner.
In one corner of the room, on the sofa, sat Anurag Banerjee—tall, broad-shouldered, strikingly handsome, yet utterly broken.
His body carried both masculine strength and the unbearable marks of torment.
He wore no T-shirt, only loose black cotton trousers. His bare chest, shoulders, and back were covered in countless bruises from the merciless police lathis—dark welts, torn skin, clotted blood, faint reddish stains. A large wound on his left shoulder was lightly bandaged, but every breath sent sharp stabs of pain through it.
Dark circles lay beneath his eyes, his gaze weary—yet within that weariness burned a quiet, intense melancholy, as if despite losing so much, he still clung to something worth living for. Dried blood clung to the hair near his right temple.
Outside, the rain continued—endless, unyielding. Raindrops hammered the glass just as the lathis had hammered his body the day before—indiscriminate, cruel.
The pain in his bare back still burned, the skin taut and angry. Each breath made the wounds tremble, just like the curtains trembling in the wind.
In his right hand he held a half-full glass of whisky. The liquid was pale amber, but today even the alcohol tasted poisoned. Condensation slid down the glass like tears—like the rain itself.
He took a long swallow. The fiery liquid burned its way down his empty stomach, racing into his bloodstream. The intoxication rose quickly. Yet his face showed no reaction. External pain could no longer shake him. The real wound—the one still bleeding—was inside: Priya's betrayal.
Priya—his girlfriend of two years. The woman he had once dreamed a future with. The one through whom he had hoped to forget the pain of his own family. And now that same Priya rested her head on someone else's chest. The image flared in his mind—quiet, yet devastating.
Suddenly the rain grew louder. The curtains shivered. And in that sound, Anurag's silent, long sigh dissolved.
Insult after insult had shredded his heart. His cousins had called him illegitimate for the sake of property. Even his ex-girlfriend's new boyfriend had humiliated him. Now the stigma of having been in jail had been added to the list.
And above it all—the agony of loss. The most heart-shattering of all.
Priya.
How completely a person can change.
Today, after so long, Anurag had drunk heavily. His body was already broken. His mind even more so.
Yes, it hurt terribly. Terribly.
The whole world felt like a vessel of suffering—nothing but pain in every direction.
He felt so alone.
He needed someone—anyone.
The most important women in his life had all left him.
His mother. His girlfriend. His grandmother.
He felt so alone. It hurt so much.
"Why does everyone leave me? Why?"
The question echoed endlessly in his mind.
It hurt so much. So much. He felt unbearably lonely.
Right now, he desperately wanted a woman near him. Someone who would hold him.
Someone who would let him rest his head on her chest…
Someone whose warmth would give him even a moment of shelter…
Maybe then all the pain would vanish. All of it…
His eyelids grew heavy—alcohol, exhaustion, loneliness—his body could bear no more.
As he raised the last glass to his lips, his hand trembled. The glass slipped and fell onto the carpet.
Slowly, Anurag slumped sideways onto the sofa.
Eyes closed, chest rising and falling faintly…
A long sigh seemed to stop midway…
He lay motionless in the corner of the sofa—shadows of despair on his face, a dried tear-track at the corner of his eye…
And all around him, only the ceaseless sound of rain.
To be continued...