The registry office in Tollygunge is unusually crowded today. No, it’s not the last auspicious day for weddings, nor has a mass marriage event been scheduled. The buzz is all because Anik and Trina are getting married. Their friends have gathered in large numbers, turning the otherwise dull office into a place of celebration. And why not? Anik and Trina were the most loved couple back in college.

Mr. Dutta, the marriage registrar with a heart condition, finds the chaos unbearable and requests everyone to calm down. Once the ceremony concludes, he hurriedly ushers the crowd out of his office with a sigh of relief.

Anik has no surviving parents. Trina has only her father. After the ceremony, Anik brings Trina to his flat in Garia. Their friends join them. Ramola, Anik’s next-door neighbor, performs a small ritual to welcome Trina into her new home. Since Anik lives alone, there’s no grand reception. Instead, the couple decides to celebrate with their friends at home.

Those who missed the registry office event arrive by evening. Around fifteen friends gather. Four boxes of beer are brought in, and expensive food is ordered from a restaurant. Jokes, laughter, pranks, and leg-pulling fill the evening.

As the celebration continues, someone asks how Anik and Trina’s love story began. The friends recall that the year Trina joined college was the year Anik graduated. But during the freshman orientation, Anik saw Trina perform a dance and fell for her instantly. Being the college general secretary, Anik still frequented the campus, and their paths crossed often. Eventually, he proposed to her in dramatic, film-style fashion in front of the entire college, presenting her with a red rose. Every girl dreams of such a proposal. Anik was good-looking, popular, and kind-hearted. Trina couldn’t say no.

After completing his Master’s degree, Anik joined a stock market firm. Around that time, Trina graduated, and her father didn’t object to their marriage.

Anik and Trina are set to leave for their honeymoon the next morning. But their friends tease them, saying they can’t sleep together that night. “Save the honeymoon for the hills!” they say. Laughing, the couple gives in. They spend the night singing, dancing, and making memories with their friends.

The next day, everyone heads home. Anik and Trina leave for a hill station and return after four joyful days. Upon return, Ramola tells them that someone named Neelank came by looking for Anik twice. Curious, Trina asks who Neelank is.

Anik explains: Neelank was his school and college friend — shy, quiet, and introverted. He rarely spoke and never protested even when teased. He was brilliant at taking notes, so the group tolerated him. But he never invited anyone to his home, nor did anyone have his contact details, which is why he wasn’t invited to the wedding.

The next day, Neelank comes to visit. When Anik asks why he hadn’t come in earlier, Neelank shyly says he didn’t know Trina and felt awkward. Anik laughs and introduces Trina. She serves him tea, sweets, and snacks. Before leaving, Neelank hands her a gift-wrapped parcel.

Inside is a book — not surprising. But between the pages, Trina finds a handwritten poem about marriage. The poem touches her deeply. Anik scoffs, saying Neelank used to write poetry, but no one paid attention. Anik, immersed in his corporate life, finds no value in literature or art. But Trina, a true lover of the arts, feels reconnected with her old self after reading the poem. She’s frustrated by Anik’s lack of sensitivity.

Later, Anik runs into Neelank at the market and invites him over. Trina is visibly happy to see him. The two begin to talk about poetry, plays, music, and literature. Even the reserved Neelank becomes animated. Anik finds this amusing — suspecting his friend might be falling for his wife. Trina encourages Neelank to keep writing and even sends his poems to magazines. A few get published, and he receives payment. Their friendship blossoms.

One day, Anik proposes a “game.” He wonders aloud whether Neelank has ever loved a woman — whether the quiet, shy man hides deeper desires. He suggests Trina flirt with Neelank to find out. Trina is furious. But Anik pleads, saying he misses their carefree college days. Reluctantly, she agrees.

From then on, Anik begins retreating into their bedroom whenever Neelank visits. Trina engages him in sweet conversation, her body language carefully crafted. Neelank begins to fall for her. Anik watches from a distance, observing every shift in his friend’s expression. Trina, meanwhile, starts feeling conflicted. She wants to stop the game, but Anik insists.

Days pass. The "game" no longer feels like one. The emotional barriers between Trina and Neelank vanish. They become close — not just in conversation, but in heart. Trina forgets it all began as a trick.

One day, Anik falls seriously ill at the office. Trina and Neelank rush to him. He recovers but is advised to rest. After two days at home, he returns to work, just as busy as before.

Soon, both Anik and Trina notice that Neelank hasn’t visited in two days. He doesn’t have a phone, and no one knows his address. Anik only recalls that Neelank lives somewhere in a lane near the market.

That evening, Anik calls Trina, saying he’ll be late and asks her to do the shopping. Trina goes to the market and decides to look for Neelank. She finds him — down with a fever, all alone. She cleans his room, cooks for him, buys him medicine. This becomes a routine. When Anik calls, Trina lies, saying she’s at a friend’s place.

Eventually, the truth comes out. Anik and Trina have a huge fight. She admits she’s been visiting Neelank. Anik accuses her of falling in love with his friend. Trina, unsure of her own feelings, remains silent. Anik demands to know if she’s slept with Neelank. Shocked, Trina asks, “And if I say yes, will you believe me? And if I say no, will you still believe me?” Anik says he’ll believe a medical test report.

Trina asks, “If the report says I haven’t slept with him, will you accept me?” Anik says yes. Then she asks, “But what if I’ve imagined being with him romantically in my mind?” Anik shrugs. “That doesn’t matter.”

Trina responds, “It matters. A woman who lies with her husband while dreaming of another man is neither loyal nor pure. To you, I’m just a body. My mind doesn’t matter to you at all.”

They sleep in separate rooms that night. At dawn, Trina writes a letter, packs her things, and leaves.

Later that morning, Neelank’s doorbell rings. He’s finally recovered. When he opens the door, he’s surprised to see Trina standing with her bags. She tells him everything and says she’s going to her father’s home. She confesses that she’s fallen in love with him — but doesn’t know if he feels the same.

Neelank, who has lived a life of submission and silence, is finally put to the test. Will he rise as a man? Will he dare to claim the woman he loves? As Trina reaches the door to leave, Neelank gently holds her hand and says, “Anik’s suspicions weren’t entirely wrong, Trina. I want you to stay — with me.” She falls into his arms.

Two days later, Trina sends Anik a divorce notice. He signs it without protest.

Trina and Neelank get married. Anik had done everything to win Trina but failed to cherish her once she was his. That’s how love often works. Neelank, on the other hand, cherished her more with every passing day. He leaves his old job to join a literary magazine as a sub-editor. Trina opens a dance school. They build a life together.

Months later, a legal notice arrives addressed to Trina. When they meet the lawyer, they learn that Anik has left all his property to Trina. Shocked, she asks why. The lawyer replies, “You were the only person Anik considered family.” When they ask why he used the phrase in absence, the lawyer quietly informs them — Anik has passed away.

It turns out Anik had a brain tumor — diagnosed the day he collapsed at the office. He had known the end was near. Perhaps the "game" he played wasn’t a game after all. Perhaps he had orchestrated everything — so that after his death, the two people he loved most wouldn't be left alone.

There are many ways to express love. Some scream it aloud. Others stay silent — but love just the same.

"True purity lies not in livelihood, but in conscience—when society turns away in judgment, humanity must step forward with compassion."

This line captures the heart of your story—challenging moral hypocrisy, elevating dignity in labor, and reminding us that empathy can emerge from the most unexpected corners.

Anil Babu lives alone. With no family of his own, he plays every role in his solitary household. At 45, he has never married—and he has no desire to. His faith in love, trust, and companionship has long since eroded.

Each day follows a strict rhythm: wake up, cook, eat, go to the office. On the way home, he stops by College Street, buys used books by the kilo, shops for groceries, cooks dinner, reads, and then drifts into sleep. A quiet life governed by routine.

Then the lockdown strikes, upending everything.

Now confined indoors, he finds solace in the books he had recently bought in bulk. One afternoon, after lunch, he picks up a volume from the stack. As he opens the book, a folded letter tumbles out.

In earlier days, people often hid letters inside books—love notes tucked safely between the pages to avoid a prying eye. This seemed to be one of those. He gently unfolds the paper and begins reading.

The letter is from a girl to her boyfriend. She writes of a misunderstanding—an argument that erupted over her male friend, leading to a falling out. But she doesn’t want the relationship to end. She’s willing to sacrifice the friendship if that’s what it takes to prove her love.

She includes a recently installed landline number at her home and urges him to call if he still feels the same. It’s clear she hadn’t intended to end things—just mend them.

Anil Babu finishes reading and murmurs to himself, “So not all women are like her… not like my girlfriend, Mousumi. This girl truly loved him. They must be reunited.” He assumes she forgot to post the letter—perhaps she thought she had, or someone interrupted her as she was finishing it.

But there’s no name. No address. Neither the girl’s nor the boy’s. It’s as if the letter itself was left incomplete, tucked away in haste. It feels nearly two decades old.

Anil Babu wonders: Is she still waiting? Did they ever reunite? Or did they live their lives apart—two hearts fractured by a moment of doubt?

The questions wedge themselves into the silence of his days. He has to know.

Then he remembers: the letter mentioned her landline number.

With a surge of courage, he dials the number. To his surprise, it still exists. In the age of smartphones, the landline lives on. A child answers.

In a gentle voice, Anil asks, “How many women live in your house, little one?”

She replies, “My mom, me, and my grandma. My aunt Mou used to stay here too, but now she’s married and lives with her in-laws.” Then the call drops.

He tries calling again, but the line won’t connect.

“Mou,” he whispers. “So this was Mou’s letter. But is that her full name… or short for something?” His heart races.

Mousumi.

He freezes.

Could this be her letter? His Mousumi?

Rummaging through an old telephone directory, he searches for the number. And there it is—registered to the same address as Mousumi’s home.

It feels like the sky has collapsed around him.

A misunderstanding, a virus of suspicion, had brought lockdown into his own life twenty years ago. And perhaps, it was he who left a letter unread.

Kuntal Roy, the East Zonal Head of a multinational company, enjoys a life of apparent contentment with his mother, wife, son, and daughter. Blessed with abundance, his home appears picture-perfect. But over the years, power has bred arrogance. Kuntal now moves through life cloaked in high status, his demeanor cold and self-assured. Behind this façade, he hides an illicit affair with his secretary, Nisha—a truth unknown to his family.

One day, using a business trip as cover, Kuntal whisks Nisha away to Mandarmani for two days. As they return, rain lashes the roads. Kuntal, wishing to stay back, is overruled by Nisha—she insists on returning before her husband grows suspicious. Kuntal drives himself; he prefers not to bring the company driver on these secretive trips.

On the way back, a heated argument erupts in the car over Nisha's pending salary increment. Distracted, Kuntal takes a sharp right on the bypass and hits a motorbike. The rider is thrown onto the road, writhing in pain.

Panic floods the car. The rain is fierce, the road deserted, and there's no CCTV in sight. They make a chilling decision—to flee. If they take the boy to the hospital, the police will inevitably probe, and their affair will be exposed. Kuntal presses the accelerator, leaving the injured stranger behind.

He drops Nisha home first, then returns to his own. Shaken, he pours a drink to steady his nerves.

“You’re drinking the moment you walk in?” asks his wife, Pamela.

“Do I need your permission now?” he snaps.

“The work didn’t go well, did it?” she asks gently. Her composure needles him further.

Kuntal reaches for a cigarette. Finding none, he growls, “Ask Krish to get me some.”

Pamela replies softly, “He left before the rain. Said a friend was in trouble. Still hasn’t returned. His phone’s off.”

Annoyed, Kuntal mutters, “Tell him to stop hanging around those middle-class beggars. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Just then, the housemaid appears: the police are at the door.

Fear grips Kuntal. Did someone witness the accident? Have they come for me? He sends Pamela to speak to them, then hastily opens his cupboard to pull out cash—ready to bribe, if necessary.

Suddenly, a commotion breaks in the drawing room. His mother, daughter, and Pamela are sobbing uncontrollably. Kuntal rushes in, stricken.

Pamela, clinging to him through tears, utters the words that shatter his world:

“Our Krish is gone. Hit by a car near the bypass.”

Kuntal turns to the police. “Where... exactly?”

When they answer, his body freezes. His breath catches.

It was there. That very spot. That very boy.

It was his own son he left behind—dying in the rain, mistaken for a stranger. Fearing disgrace, he abandoned not only a life, but his own blood. His silence was not ignorance—it was a choice. What now could possibly absolve him?