Sweetheart
A couple of days had passed.
The fever that had once burned through Kushal's body like a relentless fire had finally begun to subside. Though his strength hadn't fully returned, the heaviness in his limbs was slowly lifting. Still, Uma had made one thing absolutely clear— he was not to step outside under any circumstances.
"And if you even try," she had warned, her voice firm yet laced with concern, "you'll see a side of me you won't like at all."
So Kushal stayed indoors.
Not because he wanted to—but because he had no choice.
The days felt unusually long. Time seemed to stretch endlessly within the four walls of his room. He didn't even have his phone—it had been taken away after the incident. The silence felt suffocating at times. He thought of asking his mother for it, but the thought alone was enough to stop him. If he insisted, she would question him. If he tried to take his father's phone, he'd have to explain everything.
And right now… he didn't want to explain anything.
So he chose silence.
Leaning back against a soft pillow, Kushal sat on his bed with his guitar resting across his lap. His fingers moved absently across the strings, producing soft, scattered notes—unfinished, searching. He was trying to compose a tune.
A tune for a poem.
"Mon Je Badha Mane Na."
It was one of his favourites.
Written by Antara Banerjee—or at least, that's what he believed. He had never met her, never seen her properly, never even known if she truly existed beyond words. And yet… she lived somewhere deep within him.
He was obsessed.
Whenever someone mentioned Antara's name, Kushal would instinctively move closer, as if drawn by an invisible force. He would listen intently, absorbing every word, every interpretation, every emotion tied to her poetry.
Sometimes he wondered—did he love Antara herself?
Or did he love the way her words made him feel?
He didn't know her age.
He didn't know her face.
He didn't know anything about her life.
And yet, she visited him.
In his dreams.
Again and again.
In those dreams, she would stand before him—reciting new poems. Her loose hair would fall around her face, casting shadows that made her seem both real and unreal at the same time. Her eyes… though never fully visible… seemed to hold an entire world within them.
Her voice would echo softly, wrapping around him like a melody.
And Kushal—helpless, captivated—would follow.
She would walk backward as she recited, step by step, moving into darkness… into some unknown cave, where light struggled to exist. And without thinking, Kushal would follow her deeper and deeper, as if guided by something beyond reason.
At some point, she would stop.
Turn.
Look at him.
One side of her face hidden beneath thick strands of hair.
Kushal would try to see her clearly—to understand who she was, to finally put a face to the voice that haunted him.
But just as he got close—
His sleep would break.
Every time.
Lying awake in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, he would whisper to himself,
"One day… we'll meet."
If not today, then tomorrow.
If not tomorrow… then someday.
And on that day, he would take her poems… and turn them into songs.
Songs meant only for her.
His unknown… unseen… yet deeply felt beloved—
Antara.
A soft sigh escaped his lips as his fingers paused on the guitar strings.
No matter how hard he tried, no tune seemed to come together. The melody slipped away every time he thought he had grasped it. Frustrated, he finally set the guitar aside and ran his fingers through his slightly messy hair.
"This won't work…" he muttered to himself.
He needed help.
And there was only one person who could help him right now— Apu. The thought of her brought a faint smile to his face. But almost immediately, another memory surfaced.
That night.
The girl.
The one who had appeared so suddenly… so unexpectedly… that he had lost control and fallen in fear.
His expression darkened.
He still didn't know who she was. Or why she had been there. Or what had caused her to appear the way she did.
But one thing he remembered clearly— Her eyes.
In that brief flash of lightning, just before everything blurred, he had seen tears in them.
Tears.
And that memory stayed with him.
"I overreacted…" he whispered, guilt creeping into his chest. He hadn't even tried to understand. He had simply been afraid.
And now… he felt ashamed.
He missed his phone too. Not just because it connected him to others—but because it felt like a part of his everyday life had been taken away. Strangely enough, his mother hadn't mentioned it again. Even though Apu had told her everything, Uma had remained silent on that matter.
Perhaps she was choosing her battles carefully.
After all, she had never really liked the idea of Kushal going to Apu's house. But she had lost that argument long ago. His stubbornness had always found a way through her resistance.
Still… she hadn't given up completely.
Kushal closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift back to the night everything had changed.
It was just a few days ago.
He had been returning from a program at Nandan—a place he loved deeply. As a student of Bengali Honours, poetry and music weren't just hobbies for him; they were a part of his identity.
Growing up in Kolkata without absorbing its culture felt almost like a crime to him.
A sling bag hung from his shoulder.
A guitar rested against his back.
And beneath him—his trusted bicycle.
He could have easily owned a motorbike like many others, flaunting speed and style. But that never appealed to him. There was something honest about riding a cycle—something real.
So he rode it like it was his own kind of freedom.
That night, the city roads were unusually empty. The streetlights cast long shadows, and a cool breeze rushed past him as he pedaled faster and faster.
He knew these roads like the back of his hand.
Every turn.
Every shortcut.
Every hidden lane.
And perhaps that confidence made him reckless.
Lost in his own world, softly humming a tune, he didn't notice when a yellow taxi came speeding from behind.
There was no warning.
No time to react.
A sudden impact— And everything shattered.
The world spun violently as he was thrown off his cycle. His body hit the hard road with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs. For a moment, he couldn't even understand what had happened.
His vision blurred.
Sounds became distant.
The city faded.
Through half-open eyes, he saw shapes moving… shadows gathering… voices overlapping.
And then—
A voice.
A woman's voice.
Panicked. Urgent. Real.
"Hey! The boy will die! Please… someone help! Lift him… please!"
That voice cut through the chaos.
Through the darkness.
Through the fading consciousness.
With immense effort, Kushal tried to focus. His eyes struggled to stay open. And in that fleeting moment, he saw a face leaning over him—
A face filled with worry.
A face he would later come to know as—
Jaya.
And then… Everything went black.
To be continued....