chap ':-17
1144 Words
Night Love
By - Eva Talukder
Chapter 17: The Fallen Star of France
The mansion in Sylhet felt like a graveyard. A relentless storm was battering the windows, mirroring the chaos brewing within the walls. Arura sat in the dimly lit library, her fingers tracing the faded pages of an old cinema magazine. On the cover was Suravi Devi—the woman who had been Arura’s idol since childhood. Arura had always admired her grace, but she never knew the dark shadows that followed the legendary actress. She knew Suravi had been born into a Hindu family but had converted to Islam to marry the man she loved—Zayan’s father. It was a sacrifice of her roots, her family, and her identity for a love that would eventually betray her.
Suddenly, a violent crash echoed from Zayan’s study. It wasn't just the sound of glass breaking; it was the sound of a man’s soul shattering. Arura rushed to the room, her heart pounding against her ribs.
She found Zayan collapsed on the floor. His expensive laptop was open on the desk, the screen glowing with a news headline that felt like a death sentence: "Legendary Actress Suravi Devi Passes Away in France."
Arura’s breath hitched. "Suravi Devi... she’s dead? Oh God, my favorite person is gone!" Tears welled up in Arura’s eyes as she grieved for the actress. But then she looked at Zayan. He was shivering, his face buried in his hands, let out a low, guttural growl of agony.
"Zayan? Why are you reacting like this? I know she was a legend, but..."
Zayan looked up, his eyes bloodshot and filled with a terrifying mix of rage and sorrow. "A legend? You think I’m crying for a movie star, Arura? She wasn't just an actress to me. She was my mother! The woman you’ve worshipped all your life was the mother-in-law your mother kicked out of this very house!"
The revelation hit Arura like a physical blow. Her knees felt weak. "What? Suravi Devi... she was your mother? But she was Hindu... she vanished twelve years ago!"
Zayan didn't answer with words. Instead, he let out a broken sob and, for the first time, he let his guard down completely. He crawled toward Arura and laid his head on her lap, his body shaking with suppressed grief. Arura froze for a heartbeat, then instinctively began to run her fingers through his dark, messy hair.
Arura: (Urging him gently) "Zayan, you have to tell me. I thought she died or left because of my mother. Why do you hate her so much? What happened twelve years ago? Please, I need to know everything."
Zayan took a ragged breath, his voice muffled against her saree. "My mother gave up everything for my father—her religion, her family, her fame. But my father was a traitor. He was a womanizer who used her popularity to build his business empire while cheating on her behind her back. Your mother was his accomplice. She knew about his affairs and used that to blackmail my mother. She told her that if she didn't leave the country and disappear, she would leak photos that would destroy my father's reputation and my future."
Arura: "So my mother used your father’s betrayal against her?"
Zayan: "Yes. And my father... that coward... he didn't protect her. He let her go to save his own image. He kept me here as a hostage so she wouldn't talk. I thought she left me because she didn't love me. I thought she chose her freedom over her son. For twelve years, she called me every month from France, trying to explain. But I never picked up. I hated her for leaving. And now... now she’s dead, and I never got to hear her voice one last time."
Arura’s heart broke for the man on her lap. She realized that Zayan’s cruelty was just a shield for a little boy who felt abandoned. She leaned down, whispering into his ear.
Arura: "Zayan, you have to go. You have to go to France and say goodbye. She didn't leave because she hated you; she left to protect you from the scandal. Don't let this guilt kill you. Go to her."
After a long time, Zayan sat up. He looked at Arura with a gaze that was no longer cold. He appreciated her strength, but he was still the "Obudro Pohori"—the restless guardian.
Zayan: "I will go. But you cannot come with me."
Arura: "Why? I am your wife! I want to stand by you."
Zayan: "No, Arura. Suravi Devi was a global star. The media in France will be like vultures. They are already hunting for her 'mysterious middle son'—the one who hasn't been seen in twelve years. If you appear there, they will find out about our forced marriage and your mother’s past. I won't let them turn my mother’s funeral into a circus. I won't let them destroy you with their cameras."
Zayan explained everything to her calmly, his voice steady but firm. He was leaving her in Bangladesh, protected by heavy security, Ayan, and Nilima. He wanted her safe from the world’s prying eyes while he faced his demons alone.
An hour later, Zayan left for the airport. Arura sat in front of the television, watching the live feed from France. Thousands of people had gathered to say goodbye to the queen of the screen. The reporters were shouting, "Where is the middle son? Will he show up to bury his mother?"
Arura scanned the screen. She saw the two older brothers standing by the coffin, weeping openly. But then, the camera panned to the far back of the crowd, near a row of willow trees. There stood a tall man in a long black coat, wearing a mask and dark sunglasses. He was standing alone, hidden from the press, watching the ceremony through a veil of tears.
It was Zayan.
He didn't want the fame or the attention. He was there as a son, not a celebrity’s child. He was mourning in the shadows, protecting Arura back home while he finally made peace with his mother’s ghost.
Nilima sat beside Arura and held her hand. "He’s protecting your honor even in his darkest hour, Arura. He’s keeping himself hidden so the media can't find a way to reach you."
Arura watched the man in the black coat until the screen went dark. The mystery was over, but a new chapter had begun. Zayan was no longer just her captor; he was a man who had lost everything and was trying to save the only thing he had left—her.
- Writer
