Even after the call ended, Mehrin remained standing in the same spot for a long time.
Her phone was still pressed to her ear, even though there was no sound on the other end anymore. The room suddenly felt too small. The walls seemed closer, the air heavier, and inside her chest, her heart was pounding as if some old locked door inside her was being forced open.
Her father.
How many years had it been since she had even spoken that word?
No—not just spoken it.
She had accepted that name as dead in her life.
Her mother had always said,
"Your father is no longer alive."
Relatives would avoid the subject.
No one ever explained anything.
No one ever told the full story.
There had only been a void.
A darkness without answers.
A question she had once wanted to ask so badly, until one day she had stopped asking altogether.
But today—
today, that dead name had returned.
And it had not returned alone—
it had come back tied to Rashed.
Mehrin slowly sat down on the sofa. Her hands were shaking. Her lips had gone dry. Sentence after sentence was crashing through her mind.
"Rashed did not come into your life by accident."
"He was allowed to reach you."
Allowed.
That meant someone had given permission.
Someone had planned this.
Someone had been sitting far away, arranging the pieces of her life.
A chill crawled over her skin.
Had she really been living her own life all this time?
Or had she simply been walking inside a story whose script had already been written by someone else long ago?
Her breathing quickened. She stood up and splashed water on her face. The moment she looked into the mirror, she saw fear in her own eyes.
But beneath that fear, there was something else too.
Anger.
A cold, fierce, silent anger.
If she did not go today, then she would fall silent again.
Again, someone else would hide the truth for her.
Again, other people would make decisions about her life.
No.
Not today.
Today she would go.
Today she would know.
The truth that had been kept away from her for so many years—
today she would stand face to face with it.
3:10 PM.
Mehrin got ready slowly. She wore a simple salwar kameez. She put her phone, charger, notebook, pen, and all her important papers into her bag. For some reason, she wanted to carry everything with her today.
As if she was not just going to a hospital—
she was descending into the graveyard of her own past.
Before leaving, she paused and looked around the room.
This was the room where she had cried.
Waited.
Broken.
And also learned how to stand again.
Today, she was leaving this room as someone else.
Just then, her phone vibrated with a message.
Rashed
"Don't go there alone."
Mehrin stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Then another message came.
"Please. You don't understand what you're walking into."
A slow, hard, silent smile touched her lips.
Once upon a time, the word please would have softened her heart.
Today, it didn't.
Today, it only sounded like fear that had arrived too late.
She sent only one reply—
"Maybe for the first time, I do."
Sent.
Then she switched her phone to silent mode and put it in her bag.
The streets of Dhanmondi felt unusually heavy today.
The sound of rickshaws, car horns, and crowded footsteps—everything around her was normal, yet inside her, nothing was. The moment she stood in front of Harmony Medical Center, a cold pressure settled deep inside her chest.
The building was not very large.
But it was clean.
Quiet.
Orderly.
On the glass entrance doors, in white letters, was written—
Harmony Medical Center
No outsider would ever understand the cruel irony hidden inside that name.
Harmony.
Peace.
Balance.
And yet some of the most unpeaceful memories of her life were buried here.
The moment she stepped inside, the antiseptic smell hit her. White walls. Soft lighting. A few patients seated quietly. A very ordinary atmosphere.
But Mehrin felt—
nothing ordinary was waiting for her here.
At the reception desk, she said,
"Dr. Samiha Rahman asked me to come."
The receptionist looked up, checked something on the computer, then said,
"Third floor. Cabin 307."
Mehrin nodded slowly and walked toward the elevator.
As she caught sight of herself in the mirrored elevator wall, one thought crossed her mind—
today, she was afraid.
But she had not run.
And sometimes—
that alone is enough.
The third-floor corridor was unusually quiet.
Too quiet.
Framed certificates lined the walls. A few motivational quotes. Soft gray-and-white lighting. Somewhere in the distance, the faint hum of a machine could be heard.
Cabin 307.
Mehrin stopped in front of the door.
Her hand hovered over the handle.
Her body was trembling.
Inside her mind, only one word echoed—
Today.
She knocked very gently.
A calm voice came from inside—
"Come in."
Mehrin opened the door and stepped inside.
Dr. Samiha Rahman was seated beside her desk. A few files lay in front of her. A glass of water rested to the side. The curtains over the window were half-drawn. The room was neat. Controlled. Precise.
Just like the woman who occupied it.
The moment Mehrin entered, Dr. Rahman looked up.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Neither of them spoke.
Then Dr. Rahman said—
"You came."
Mehrin replied coldly,
"I want answers."
Dr. Rahman looked at her quietly for a moment, then gestured toward the chair.
"Sit."
"No," Mehrin said. "I'll listen standing."
A very slight, nearly invisible sigh escaped Dr. Rahman.
"You were like this even as a child," she said.
Mehrin's chest tightened instantly.
"You knew me."
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"Longer than you can imagine."
Mehrin's eyes narrowed.
"Then start from the beginning. Is my father alive?"
The question was so direct that even the air in the room seemed to stop for a second.
Dr. Samiha Rahman stayed silent for a few moments.
Then she answered slowly—
"Yes."
Mehrin's whole body went cold.
It felt as if someone had reached inside her and squeezed her ribs together from within.
"No…" her lips trembled. "No, this—"
"That is the truth," Dr. Rahman said quietly.
"Then… then why was I lied to?" Mehrin's voice cracked. "Why was I told he was dead?"
This time, Dr. Rahman leaned back slightly in her chair. A tiredness appeared in her eyes that had not been there before.
"Because it was believed that it would protect you," she said.
A sharp, bitter laugh escaped Mehrin.
There were no tears in that laugh.
Only humiliation.
"How strange," she said. "Everyone in my life destroys me, and then says they were trying to protect me."
Dr. Rahman looked at her and said nothing.
Mehrin stepped closer.
"Where is my father?"
"I cannot tell you that yet."
"Cannot? Or do not want to?"
"Both."
"Are you playing with me?"
"No," Dr. Rahman said sharply for the first time. "Many people have played with your life. I am not one of them."
Mehrin froze.
The room fell into silence for a few seconds.
Then Dr. Rahman slowly pulled an old file toward herself from the desk.
The cover was yellowed with age. The corners were worn. On the front, written in black marker, were the words—
Patient Family Record – Confidential
Dr. Rahman pressed her fingers against the cover.
"This file," she said, "is the door to the part of your life that was sealed away from you."
Mehrin's chest gave a hard thud.
"My mother knew?"
Dr. Rahman's eyes softened slightly.
"Your mother did not know everything," she said. "She was told only part of the truth."
"Part of the truth?"
"Your father did not 'die.' He disappeared."
Mehrin's breath caught.
"What does that mean?"
"It means," Dr. Rahman said slowly, "that after an incident, he vanished. And then some people decided that, for your safety, the simplest story would be to say—'he is no longer alive.'"
Mehrin's lips went dry.
"What incident?"
Dr. Rahman looked at her for a few seconds.
Then she said quietly—
"The incident from that night."
A cold wave ran through Mehrin's body.
"What night?"
"The night you went missing."
Mehrin stepped back.
"I… what?"
"You were missing for five hours."
The room seemed to tilt.
No.
No, that was impossible.
She had never known anything like that!
"No…" she whispered. "No, I—"
"They found you later," Dr. Rahman said. "In a severe state of emotional shock. You were not speaking. You were not crying. You were simply… empty."
Mehrin's hands turned to ice.
Fragments of images flashed violently through her mind.
Darkness.
A door.
A distant male voice.
The sound of something crashing.
And then—
red?
Or was that only her imagination?
She pressed a hand to her forehead.
"Stop…" she whispered. "I can't remember anything…"
"Because you were not allowed to remember," Dr. Rahman said.
Mehrin's eyes widened.
"What?"
Dr. Rahman opened the file slowly.
Inside were old reports. Handwritten notes. Medical observations. And on one page, written in large letters—
Acute Trauma Response / Memory Suppression
Mehrin's vision blurred.
"Memory… suppression?"
Dr. Rahman sat upright now.
"You were very young," she said. "You had witnessed something your mind was not capable of carrying at that age. Your psychological state was collapsing. Panic, dissociation, mutism—everything was present."
Mehrin was listening, but it felt as if she was outside her own body.
"So…" Dr. Rahman's voice grew heavier, "a few influential members of your family, along with… one person from your father's side, decided that to 'save' you, the truth would be kept away from your conscious mind."
"You mean…?"
"Therapeutic suppression. Controlled environment. Limited narrative exposure."
It felt like a slap across her face.
"You played with my memory?"
"I did not make that decision alone."
"But you were there!"
This time, her voice broke.
"You were there! You knew! You saw! And then all these years—you all stayed silent?"
Dr. Rahman said nothing.
And that silence was the biggest confession of all.
Tears burned in Mehrin's eyes. But she did not cry.
Today, her tears felt trapped somewhere too deep.
Today, she was only burning.
"Rashed?" she asked very slowly. "What was his role?"
For the first time, a complicated shadow crossed Dr. Rahman's face.
"Rashed was sent into your life—at first, to keep an eye on you."
It felt like someone had dragged a blade through Mehrin's chest.
"No…"
"Your father had remained in the shadows for many years. He could not come directly to you."
"Why?"
"Because the people he was running from… never stopped."
"Who?"
Dr. Rahman did not answer directly this time.
She only said—
"The night you disappeared was not just a family accident."
Mehrin's breath stopped.
"Then what was it?"
Dr. Rahman lowered her voice.
"That night, a file went missing. And several people believed your father had fled with it."
Mehrin went still.
"What file?"
"The kind of file people would kill for."
The room suddenly felt colder.
Mehrin swallowed hard.
"What did my father do?"
For the first time, Dr. Rahman looked away.
"He was involved in something that looked respectable from the outside," she said, "but was filthy underneath."
"Be clear."
"I still cannot tell you everything."
"You are hiding the truth from me again!"
"Because you are still not in a condition to carry the entire picture!"
"That is not your right to decide!"
The room filled with a crushing silence.
Then Dr. Rahman said very slowly—
"Your father is alive. And he has seen you. Many times."
Mehrin's legs nearly gave way.
"What…?"
"From a distance. In secret. From a safe distance."
"No…" her voice cracked. "No, that's a lie—"
"It's true."
"Then why didn't he come to me?"
Dr. Rahman answered almost in a whisper—
"Because he believed that the day he stood in front of you again would be the day your life would fall into danger once more."
Something inside Mehrin collapsed.
She did not know why—
but hearing that sentence made some abandoned wound inside her tear open.
He had been alive.
He had watched.
And still, he had not come.
Was that protection?
Or another form of abandonment?
Or cowardice?
She did not know.
She only knew one thing—
her life did not feel like her own anymore.
Someone had been turning the pages of her story for years, without her permission.
And right then—
there was the sudden sound of fast footsteps outside the door.
Then—
BANG!
The door to Cabin 307 burst open.
Mehrin turned around.
And standing there—
was Rashed.
Breathing hard.
Fear in his eyes.
His face pale.
"Did you tell her everything?" he almost shouted.
Dr. Rahman stood up at once.
"What are you doing here?"
Rashed looked at Mehrin. And today, alongside guilt, there was a terror in his face she had never seen before.
"You need to get out of here right now," he said. "Right now."
The anger inside Mehrin rose again like fire.
"You will be quiet," she said in a voice as cold as ice. "Today everyone talks. You too."
"Mehrin, listen to me—"
"Were you sent to watch me?" Her voice did not shake this time.
Rashed stopped.
And that single second of silence was enough.
Everything inside Mehrin collapsed.
"So it's true," she whispered.
Rashed closed his eyes for one second.
Then he said—
"…At first, yes."
The words entered her like knives.
Mehrin's throat tightened.
"At first?"
Pain—real pain—flashed through Rashed's eyes now. It did not look like an act.
"At first, I didn't know everything," he said. "I was only told to stay close to you, keep an eye on you, and find out if you were starting to remember anything—"
"And then?" Mehrin's voice trembled, but she did not stop.
"And then…" Rashed's voice cracked, "I fell in love with you."
The room fell silent again.
That confession did not pour water on the fire—
it only made the fire more complicated.
Because when truth is born inside a lie—
it becomes harder to hate.
Mehrin's eyes burned.
"You're calling the dirtiest betrayal of my life 'love'?"
"I made a mistake!" Rashed shouted. "I know that! But we don't have time!"
"Don't have time for what?" Dr. Rahman asked sharply.
Rashed looked at both of them.
Then, in a low, urgent voice, he said—
"They know."
The air in the room changed instantly.
"Who?" Mehrin asked.
Rashed's face turned even paler.
"The people who have been burying all of this for years," he said. "They know Mehrin came here today. And—"
Before he could finish—
the lights on the entire floor flickered once.
Then—
Click.
For one second, everything went dark.
Then the emergency lights came on.
The room was now washed in a red, unsettling glow.
Mehrin's heart slammed against her ribs.
Dr. Rahman immediately said,
"Lock the door."
Rashed rushed to shut it.
And just then—
from the corridor came the sound of slow, heavy footsteps.
Not one person.
Not two.
Several.
Mehrin's whole body froze.
Rashed whispered—
"They're here."
Her heart was hammering now.
She stepped back.
Then Dr. Samiha Rahman quickly opened her desk drawer and took out an old key and a sealed envelope.
She pushed them into Mehrin's hands.
"If I cannot tell you everything today," she said rapidly, "then you will run with this. No matter what happens. Inside this envelope is the first truth your father left behind."
Mehrin's fingers trembled.
"What—?"
But then—
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The footsteps stopped outside the door.
Then, very slowly—
someone placed a hand on the handle.
Inside the room, all three of them stood frozen, holding their breath.
And from the other side of the door, an unfamiliar male voice said—
"Hand over the file, Doctor… or no one leaves this room alive today."