Male Lead (ML) Name: Mahrur Ibnat (affectionately called "Mahi" by his ex-wife and "Mahi Bhai" by his neighbors) Current Age: 34 years old (He was twice her age when she was 17)

Female Lead (FL) Name: Chandramallika (affectionately called "Chandra") Current Age: 22 years old (It has been 5 years since her confession at age 17)

The divorce papers lay right before Mahrur Ibnat’s eyes. Sheets of crisp paper etched with ink. There was no need to read through them; he already knew everything they contained. What was the point of analyzing it further? This was the epilogue to a six-year-old marriage. With a heavy sigh, he looked up once more, directing his gaze toward Hira.

Hira remained stoic. She completely ignored Mahrur’s pleading eyes. With a look of sheer annoyance, she said, "There is more to life than just being kept alive with three meals a day and clothes on your back. I had so many dreams. Your mother brought me into this house as a bride with false promises. She said she would keep me like a queen. Where did she keep me instead? In this tiny, old-fashioned attic? Do you know why I haven't had a child to this day? I didn't want my child to suffer like me, to have their little hopes and desires crushed.

Instead of improving day by day, our situation is only getting worse. You tried your absolute best to keep me happy, Mahi, but it's just not working. Please, let me go.

Mahrur blinked a few times. At this moment, both his mind and his brain wanted to shut down from any kind of thought. He felt numb. There was no rage, no pain. He had known since the very first day of their marriage that Hira would leave him one day. The only question lingering in his mind was that, despite going against his own heart, he had tried to give her everything to keep her fulfilled. Did he fail in the end?

How many days are there in six years? How many hours? How many seconds? People keep track of time in years just so it doesn't put too much pressure on the brain. Mahrur sat down, leaning against the wall of the rooftop patio next to the attic. Clattering sounds echoed from inside the room—his companion of six years was packing her things before leaving. He had no power to stop her. He had only wanted a home. If not filled with love, then at least with respect and laughter. Could he not even have that?

With a faint smile, Mahrur stood up and faced Hira. He wouldn't bid her farewell with anger or sorrow; he would send her off with a smile. After all, she was only freeing herself from the shackles of poverty.

Standing from his high vantage point, Mahrur watched the woman walk away under the glow of the lampposts. She was carrying six years of companionship packed inside a black suitcase. As soon as she vanished from sight, he stepped back into the room. It was a tiny, neat little space. Just moments ago, it held the existence of two people. From now on, Mahrur would live here with loneliness as his lifelong companion. He picked up a darkened steel pot

There was some leftover rice and a bit of lentils from lunch. He had no appetite, but wasting food went against his principles. Heating it up on the soot-stained stove, he ate with indifference. Then, he closed his eyes and stretched out on the bed.

On a weary afternoon, Mahrur was walking down the street. His checkered shirt was soaked with sweat and clinging to his body. The black office bag on his shoulder felt unusually heavy today. Was it because his body felt so weak? As he walked, his feet came to a stop near a house named 'Baganbari' (The Garden House). Spotting a little girl by the iron gate, he quickened his pace.

The distracted five-year-old girl looked up. Wearing a green frock, she had been sitting at the main gate with her chin resting on her hand. Seeing Mahrur, she dusted off her clothes and stepped forward. Mahrur knelt down to her level.

At the mention of food, Misti’s face fell. Sorrow had accumulated in her innocent mind—a burden too heavy for a child to carry. With a huff of grievances, she said,

Mahrur let out a deep sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment, then opened them and stood up. Bending slightly, he took Misti’s small hand in his and said,

By then, their feet were already moving. After walking a short distance, he slowed his pace, and as he guided her along, he answered,

The small restaurant, enclosed by four tin walls, was quite popular. It was always bustling with people looking for authentic Bengali food, drawing crowds from all walks of life. Mahrur and Misti sat facing each other at a wooden table. Mahrur called over the waiter and asked,

Two pieces of fish served with steaming hot rice. Thank goodness he had received his salary today, otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to put a smile on this little girl's face. His eyes filled with deep satisfaction watching the sweet girl smile. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he carefully picked out the fish bones for Misti. Seeing her initial excitement, he had thought one piece wouldn't be enough for her. But to Mahrur's amusement, she couldn't even finish that single small piece of fish. The rest ended up on Mahrur's plate

The rest ended up on Mahrur's plate. Wiping Misti’s face with a tissue from his pocket, he lifted her into his arms. After paying the bill, he began walking back toward Baganbari.

A little way before reaching the house, Mahrur froze upon seeing a woman dressed in a saree. Mahrur knew her—he knew her exceptionally well. She rushed toward them frantically. The reason for her haste was easily understood. Managing the loose end of her saree, she snatched Misti into her arms, breathing a sigh of relief as she pressed the girl to her chest

Misti’s mother lowered her head, closing her eyes as her forehead creased with worry. She had been utterly terrified. Her daughter was incredibly sensitive. Having had her feelings hurt by her grandmother, she had gone to sit by the gate. When she suddenly vanished, panic had set in. One day, in a fit of childish anger, Misti had said

Her mother hadn't taken the little girl's words seriously back then, but today, a profound terror had struck the depths of her heart. Mahrur stood silently by, watching the mother and daughter with a gentle smile. Perhaps this is what they call the pull of maternal love—the visible relief on a mother's face as she checks her child over from top to bottom.

Mahrur stepped forward on his own accord and asked Misti’s mother,

She answered him, but her attention remained entirely fixed on her daughter, wiping away a speck of dirt from Misti's cheek. Mahrur had wiped her face earlier too, but perhaps his cleaning had been lacking—something that was glaringly obvious to the watchful eyes of an affectionate mother.

Hearing her grandmother’s harsh words, Misti looked at her mother. Her grandmother was not a good person at all. She only showed anger and caused her mother pain. Her mother never had any time for her because she was busy with work all day long. Did anyone understand that a lonely little girl just wanted her mother? Whenever she lingered around, she would get scolded.

Her mother pulled her close, signaling her not to say anything more. Understanding her mother's gesture, the little girl fell silent. Rehala grated her teeth and demanded,

She could have never imagined in her wildest dreams that her life would come to this. She had entered this house with a mountain of dreams. Who knew it would all shatter into pieces within just one year of marriage? Women are a woman's worst enemy. Whoever coined that phrase must have been well-versed in the realities of this society and this environment. They spoke with great wisdom, and it was true in many aspects. Even in this day and age, why is there so much resentment toward a female child?

Working tirelessly all day just to put two meals in her daughter's belly—what kind of life was this? What kind of human behavior?

The Past

On a chilly winter afternoon, a exhausted Mahrur was resting by the pond. He had been amusing himself by tossing pebbles into the water when a feminine voice made him look back. He had recently returned to his ancestral home after completing his university examinations. This was where his relatives resided.

Mahrur smiled askance. What an innocent and unusual way for such a young girl to define love. Butterflies flying in the heart? The thought made him smile again. He stood up and tucked his hands behind his back. Looking at her blushing face, he asked,

A shadow of darkness fell over her beautiful face. No matter how much she grew up, she would never be able to catch up to Mahrur. The more she advanced, the further away he would go.

It was a humiliating laugh, cutting deep into her teenage heart. At that age, the wound cut quite profoundly. Yet, she kept her expression neutral. She had made a vow to herself—if she couldn't have Mahrur, she would remain single for the rest of her life. Let's see if her wish comes true or Mahrur's words.

The illusion of old memories shattered for Mahrur at the sound of an agitated female voice. She was standing at the doorway, panting heavily, looking incredibly restless. Climbing up five flights of stairs had amplified her agitation.

Shirin didn't answer his question; her own question was far more urgent. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she asked,

Mahrur had sat up when he saw Shirin, thinking she had come for some other emergency. But hearing her words now, it didn't seem like a matter worth getting so worked up about. Resting his hands behind his head, he lay back down. With a cynical laugh, he said,

A sharp, stinging pain gripped his chest. There was no medicine for this pain, no way to find relief. He was burning inside, consumed by his own failures. There was no chance to look back. Would the possibilities he buried with his own hands ever dig through the earth to resurface? It was better to just imagine. The little time he had spent in the company of that naive girl—back when his heart was a stranger to his own feelings—those moments replayed on loop in his mind.

Mahrur had recently got his hands on a smartphone. Not new, but an old one. It was used by a university friend, and he bought it for two and a half thousand taka. Having such a device for the first time, he was busy exploring every nook and cranny of it. He was only halfway through when the young girl appeared. In her hands was a plate of steaming hot bhapa pitha. The aroma drifted straight to Mahrur's nose.

Chondro’s happiness knew no bounds. A charming smile spread across her face. Was the wish she had arrived with fulfilled so quickly? Lifting the plastic lid, she placed two bhapa pithas in front of Mahrur. She sat down across from him, eager to watch the amiable man she had so carefully treasured in a corner of her heart.

Mahrur broke the hot pitha into two pieces and popped them into his mouth. Sitting close by, the girl observed his eating habits intently. Suddenly, anticipation filled the air. She wanted to know how it tasted.

She was caught off guard. The question that had soundlessly formed in her mind just moments ago was answered aloud by Mahrur. Standing frozen for a second, the girl suddenly broke into a smile. She was overjoyed. She bit her lower lip with her teeth. Suddenly, her eyes fell on the phone placed to Mahrur's right. In a curious tone, she asked

By then, Mahrur had already scoffed down the two pithas. He had finished them off while talking. For a first attempt, they were quite good. Intent on teasing her, Mahrur said

How many expressions could a face display at once? The girl’s face changed colors by the second. Her face turned pale again. Looking him straight in the eyes, she said softly,

Mahrur stared at her with his mouth slightly open. Had he blindly eaten them like a glutton without even knowing? He hadn't even bothered to ask. He had eaten Chondro's share of the pitha. A wave of guilt washed over him. What a strange girl. Who told her to give away her own share?

Mahrur had just leaned back on the wooden cot, but something made him sit up in a hurry again. He took his newly bought phone and turned it on. Opening the camera, he said, "

Chondro’s eyes filled with curiosity. She quickly smoothed down her hair with her hands and drew her veil over her head. With a free, innocent smile, she looked at the camera. Clicking a few times, Mahrur took several pictures.

Mahrur handed it over. Touching the screen with her index finger, she looked through the photos. Looking up with a smiling face, she made a request

Finally, a glimpse of sadness appeared on the young girl's face. Yet, she didn't complain. She didn't even make a crying face. Mahrur pulled himself back from the kingdom of imagination. What good would it do to imagine everything in a single day? The rest of his life lay ahead for these illusions—his nourishment for survival. Pulling out his wallet, he took the old, faded photograph into his hands