Passionate Obsession

Silent Streets, Hidden Sorrows

About thirty miles from San Francisco, this small, secluded suburban town had a strange climate. In a whole week you might see the sun once or twice at most; the rest of the time the sky was either pitch-dark with clouds or blurred under fog, and of course there was the bone-chilling cold.

Inside the houses, artificial temperature control meant the icy cold couldn’t touch people’s bodies. Even at minus zero degrees, life here remained unshaken and busy.

But how long can one stay alone inside a room like this? For the past two days Aurora had been doing exactly that—eat, sleep, repeat. Her sister rushed to the hospital every morning. Kritikh’s presence in the house or absence felt the same to her; she had no idea when he came or went. And besides, it was better not to see this bad-tempered man at all—in one word, good luck.

Aurora paced back and forth in the room. Her idle mind wondered what to do, how to pass the time, when suddenly a heavy thought surfaced—Nikhil. For the past two days she had almost forgotten that Nikhil Bhai was in the same country.

But how could I forget you, Nikhil Bhai, after only a few days of distance?

Her subconscious whispered:

If you love, can you ever forget?

Does that mean I don’t love him? she shook her head. No, no, what am I thinking? Pushing away these stray thoughts, she added a new one: No matter what, I will find Nikhil Bhai. But how?

Her eyes then fell on the carelessly abandoned phone on the bedside table, switched off for the past two days. She picked it up but thought charging it was useless—she had no SIM card. Then what?

Aurora sat on the bed swinging her legs, muttering to herself:

I have to go step by step. First find out which university Nikhil Bhai is in. And for that I must call Tithi—only she would know which university he came to for higher studies. Then I’ll get the address and meet him face to face.

Thinking of it she pressed both hands to her face and giggled shyly.

But how to contact Tithi?

Her eyes brightened with a sudden idea. In a house this big there must be a landline. Yes there must. I just have to find it, she reassured herself.

Without delay she tore out the page of her diary where Tithi’s number was written and rushed downstairs in search of a new opportunity.

---

Unaware, Aurora practically danced down the stairs. But as soon as she crossed the last step her energy halted and her smiling face froze into a grim expression.

In the dark hall room, just like yesterday, Kritikh was sitting on the divan with his feet up on the tea table, playing a bike-riding video game.

Aurora grumbled inwardly:

This man plays video games all day even at this age. Doesn’t he have an office? Maybe he’s the only heir of a billionaire family, Mr. Kumbhakarna himself.

She chuckled at her own thought.

Instantly the game paused. Kritikh frowned and stared at her for a few seconds, then said in a deep voice:

“What happened? Why are you laughing like that? Do you know exactly how many years older I am than you?”

Aurora’s laughter died. Around them was dense darkness and silence, only the faint glow from the monitor. Curtains drawn, windows covered. In such an atmosphere his angry voice sounded terrifying. The way he was looking at her now, jaw clenched, went beyond fear. To break the silence Aurora tried, speaking softly:

“Uh… don’t you have an office?”

“What office?”

“Um… your company, JK Group. Wait—JK means it’s your company. And yesterday that man downstairs was calling you. Jayan Kritikh—JK for short.”

Who knows whether Kritikh heard her finger-wagging analysis. Without looking away from the monitor he said,

“Don’t laugh in front of me. Your laughter disgusts me. And that’s not my office, it’s your mother’s. I don’t sit there—but you can if you want.”

Aurora panicked inwardly:

What is he saying? I only just got admitted to college. Is he joking? People can joke with such a serious face? Strange.

She decided not to push him—one never knew what insult might come. She changed the subject:

“I was saying, I wanted to turn on the light, I have some work.”

“No.” The reply came sharply.

“But why?”

“I like the dark. Do what you have to do in this state.”

A sigh escaped Aurora’s chest. Kritikh’s word was final. So she groped in the darkness to the landline and sat on the white-carpeted floor. Carefully dialing the number from the torn page, she called Tithi.

After a few rings Tithi picked up. It was 10 or 11 p.m. in Bangladesh; her sleepy voice came through.

“Tithi, it’s Aurora. How are you?”

Tithi was startled—a foreign number, and Aurora who had cut all contact at home now calling suddenly. Before she could speak Aurora rushed on:

“Tithi, I have so much to tell you, but first give me a little information—at which university is Nikhil Bhai studying in the U.S.?”

What Tithi replied wasn’t heard clearly, but on the monitor the bike that had been racing smoothly crashed headlong: Game Over.

Suddenly Aurora began to sob.

“Tithi, are you drunk? Why are you talking like this? Have you fallen in with bad boys? Tell me?”

From the other side Tithi’s voice staggered:

“You don’t deserve to be my friend. You never valued our friendship, always used me and Nilima for your needs—this info, that info. Am I your servant? Collecting information for you—was that my job? And always acting as if you’re perfect, as if you’re the queen of Kritikh Kunj, and what are we? Lame?”

“What are you saying Tithi, are you okay?”

Tithi laughed bitterly:

“Oh you’re really like water hyacinth. Who are you to ask if I’m okay? I befriended you thinking you were the daughter of a grand real-estate family of Old Dhaka. But you’re just a dependent in that house. Because of you the only son of that family, Jayan Kritikh Chowdhury, doesn’t even step foot there. Think how low you are. And you dare to ask about Nikhil Bhai? Do you know how big a scientist he will become? You’re not even worth his fingernail, Aurora. For your own good stop daydreaming about being his wife. A high-status boy like him will never marry you.”

Aurora closed her eyes and listened. This was the fear she had carried all these years. Even coming this far she couldn’t escape it. Today she faced the bitter truth.

In the silent hall room her sobs rang out. In a tear-choked voice she begged once more:

“Please Tithi, say anything to me, but just tell me Nikhil Bhai’s university name, please. If you don’t tell me I’ll never find him.”

“Ridiculous.”

That was all she heard before the call cut off.

Aurora no longer cared who was around. As soon as the line went dead she broke down crying, unable to digest such rejection from her close friend.

In the dark closed room the sound of her weeping felt painfully raw. Her long silky hair spread across the floor as she leaned on her hands, sobbing violently. Her body jolted with each burst of tears, her ankle bells tinkling faintly. Seeing her black cloud-like hair anyone might think Disney’s Rapunzel in her saddest moment.

But not everyone sees with the same eyes. Some hearts are frozen ice—no small storm of tears can melt them.

Just like Kritikh, sitting on the divan—Aurora’s weeping did not touch his heart. Suddenly he did something strange: he stood, grabbed her arm roughly, forced her to stand, dragged her to the door and shoved her out.

“Out.”

Before she could understand he shut the door hard. Inside he picked up the scrap of paper from the floor, clenched it, pulled out his phone and called someone:

“I’ve forwarded you a number. I want A to Z information, as soon as possible.”

Outside a wild cold wind blew—no, deadly cold. The sky was clouded, rain could start any time. Aurora had no winter clothes on—her life almost slipping away. She paused her sobbing, then started banging on the door with both hands.

Kritikh was older than her, their relationship far from easy, so she had never called him brother. But now shivering she began:

“Bhaiya, Kritikh Bhaiya, please open the door, I’m freezing. Bhaiyaaa…”

No response.

She didn’t know how long she called. Eventually exhausted she slumped by the door, her body turning blue from cold.

---

Along the highway on one side a gas station, on the other a huge McDonald’s cafeteria. This little town was quiet, this state even quieter. The families here were mostly old couples or monotonous types like Kritikh. In short, only those who loved a life of silence and seclusion stayed here; otherwise no one had time to spend days in such isolation far from San Francisco.

At noon the cafeteria had a fair number of people, each at their round tables sipping coffee and chatting.

At a red-and-white logo table sat Pratyay. He had just finished a hot coffee. Now craving nicotine, he placed a cigarette at the corner of his lips, trying to light a match.

Then a brown-skinned girl in a McDonald’s T-shirt appeared, smiling broadly:

“Sorry sir, smoking is not allowed.”

Pratyay looked up and met her eyes, then got lost. She wasn’t pale white but soft-toned, her wide smile brimming with freshness. Her big eyes bore no artificial beauty, even the faint dark circles beneath them added to her charm. In California’s brutal cold when survival was hard, Pratyay discovered an unknown warmth filling every corner of his heart.

Watching, his eyes grew moist in the cold air—it felt like spring, not winter, a thawing breeze, not frozen wind.

The girl waved:

“Hello sir.”

His trance broke; he hurriedly threw the cigarette into the bin.

“Thank you sir,” she said with a sweet smile and moved on to other customers.

Pratyay wanted to say:

Don’t smile at anyone else like that, stranger. I want to be the only one to enjoy that smile. But he couldn’t—because from the other side came the sound of an argument.

He saw men yelling at her—one heavy, thug-like white guy, clearly drunk, furious that she told him not to smoke, cursing her. Soon a crowd gathered. Anu had only joined two days ago and with only Daisy on shift there was no authority figure. She didn’t know how to handle it. The man hurled a hot coffee mug at her. She squeezed her eyes shut—but nothing burned her skin.

She opened them to find the silver-shirted man shielding her in his arms, jaw clenched.

Did the coffee spill on him?

She panicked, about to speak, but he looked at her with tenderness and asked:

“Are you okay?”

---

The sound of drizzling rain and thunder woke Kritikh. Raking his hands through his hair he sat up. The clock read 4 p.m. He realized he had fallen asleep on the couch after leaving Aurora outside.

“Aurora”—the name struck him and he clutched his head.

Oh no, I forgot her. Is she okay?

He didn’t wait. He rushed and opened the door.

There she was, kneeling, face buried, trembling violently, breath ragged, her whole body pale blue from extreme cold. He sighed deeply, then gently lifted her in his arms like a child. Touching her skin startled him—it was like ice. A moment later and who knew what might have happened.