The rain didn't stop that night.
It kept falling long after Sibom returned home, long after he changed his wet clothes, long after the house went silent. He lay on his bed staring at the ceiling, the silver chain resting on his chest.
Her words replayed in his mind.
*"My family is powerful."*
Power.
He had never cared about power before. He cared about marks, friends, late-night talks, and the way her voice softened when she said his name.
Now power was the only thing that mattered.
Because someone was using it against him.
---
The next morning, his father called him into the living room.
Two unfamiliar men were sitting on the sofa.
One of them wore a crisp white shirt and had a leather folder in his hand. The other looked younger, sharp eyes, silent.
"This is Advocate Raman," his father said carefully. "He's here to talk."
Lawyer.
Sibom's stomach tightened.
The older man gave a polite nod. "Sibom, I'll be direct. There is a possibility that a formal complaint may be filed against you."
"For what?" Sibom asked, even though he already knew.
"Assault."
The word hung heavy in the air.
"I didn't assault anyone," Sibom said calmly.
"That may be true," the lawyer replied. "But truth and proof are not always the same."
His father shifted uncomfortably.
"What are you saying?" Sibom asked.
"I'm saying," Raman continued, "that the other family is influential. If they decide to push this legally, you could be in serious trouble."
Sibom's jaw tightened.
"Are they filing it?"
"Not yet. But we received information that they are preparing."
Preparing.
Like it was a war.
---
After the lawyer left, silence filled the room.
His mother looked worried.
His father looked angry.
"You didn't tell us everything," his father said.
"I told you what happened."
"Did you fight him?"
"No."
"Did you push him?"
"No."
"Then why are we in this situation?" his father demanded.
Sibom didn't answer.
Because the real answer was simple.
Love.
And love sounded stupid in a situation like this.
---
Later that afternoon, Sibom stepped outside alone.
He needed air.
He walked without direction until he reached the small tea stall near the main road. A few college boys were standing there, talking loudly.
When they saw him, the volume dropped.
Whispers replaced laughter.
He heard his name.
He heard the word "hospital."
And then he heard something else.
"She trapped him."
Sibom turned.
"What did you say?"
The boy looked uncomfortable but repeated it anyway.
"People are saying she planned it."
Planned?
"For what?" Sibom asked coldly.
"To make it look like self-defense. So her brother doesn't get blamed."
Sibom felt anger rise fast.
"That's not true."
The boy shrugged.
"Maybe. But that's what people are saying."
Rumors spread faster than truth.
And they were already ahead.
---
That evening, Sibom received a message.
Not from her.
From an unknown number again.
*Meet me. Alone. Don't tell anyone.*
No name.
No location.
Then another message followed.
*A video is involved.*
His heartbeat quickened.
Video?
What video?
He typed back: *Where?*
The reply came instantly.
*Old warehouse near the river. 7 PM.*
His mind raced.
It could be a trap.
But if there was a video, that meant proof.
And proof was everything right now.
---
The warehouse stood abandoned for years.
Broken windows.
Rusty gates.
The river flowing quietly behind it.
Sibom arrived five minutes early.
The sky was dark, but there was still faint light left.
He stepped inside carefully.
"Hello?" he called out.
Footsteps echoed.
A figure stepped out from the shadows.
It was Arjun.
Her brother.
Alive.
Bruised.
But standing.
Sibom froze.
"You?" he said.
Arjun's expression was unreadable.
"You look surprised."
"I thought you were in the hospital."
"I was," Arjun replied. "I'm out now."
Silence.
The tension was thick.
"Why did you message me?" Sibom asked.
Arjun held up a phone.
"Because this exists."
He pressed play.
The screen showed shaky footage.
That night.
The bridge.
Voices shouting.
Sibom's heart pounded as he watched.
Arjun approaching him.
Pushing him.
Sibom stepping back.
Then the slip.
The fall.
The blood.
The video ended.
Sibom exhaled slowly.
"That proves I didn't push you."
Arjun looked at him carefully.
"Yes."
"Then why am I being blamed?"
Arjun didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walked closer.
"You really love her?" he asked suddenly.
The question caught Sibom off guard.
"Yes."
Arjun studied his face.
"She hasn't stopped crying."
Sibom's chest tightened.
"She told you that?"
"No," Arjun said. "I can see it."
The river flowed behind them, steady and calm.
"I was angry that night," Arjun admitted. "I thought you were using her."
"I wasn't."
"I know that now."
"Then tell your family the truth."
Arjun's jaw tightened.
"It's not that simple."
"Why?"
"My father doesn't lose face."
There it was again.
Reputation.
Power.
Image.
"So what's the plan?" Sibom asked.
Arjun looked away.
"My father wants to file a complaint. To make it look like you attacked me."
"And you?"
"I haven't agreed."
Sibom's eyes narrowed.
"But you haven't refused either."
Arjun stayed silent.
---
"Why show me the video?" Sibom asked.
"Because if things get worse, I want you to have a copy."
Sibom stared at him.
"Why would you help me?"
Arjun looked conflicted.
"Because I made a mistake. And she's paying for it."
That was the first honest thing Sibom had heard in days.
"Send it to me," Sibom said.
Arjun hesitated.
"If I send it now, and it leaks, my family will know."
"So?"
"So everything will explode."
"Maybe it needs to," Sibom replied.
Arjun looked at him sharply.
"You're not afraid?"
"I am," Sibom said honestly. "But I'm more afraid of living with a lie."
For a long moment, they stood facing each other.
Then Arjun forwarded the video.
Sibom's phone vibrated.
Proof.
Finally.
---
"Don't use it yet," Arjun said quickly.
"Why?"
"Give me two days."
"For what?"
"To try and stop this from becoming public."
Sibom considered it.
Two days.
After everything that had happened.
"Fine," he said. "Two days."
Arjun nodded once.
Then he turned and walked away into the darkness.
---
As Sibom stepped outside, his phone buzzed again.
This time, it was her.
*Did he meet you?*
Sibom stopped walking.
*Yes,* he typed.
A few seconds later:
*Are you okay?*
He looked at the river.
At the night sky.
At the faint city lights in the distance.
*I will be,* he replied.
Then another message from her:
*Please trust him.*
Sibom stared at the screen.
Trust again.
The same word.
The same weight.
*I'm trying,* he wrote.
---
When he reached home, he locked his room door.
He replayed the video three times.
Every detail.
Every movement.
He saved a backup copy.
Sent one to a secure email.
He wasn't taking risks.
For the first time since that night, he felt something new.
Not confusion.
Not fear.
Control.
But control was fragile.
And two days could change everything.
As he lay in bed, phone beside him, one thought kept circling his mind:
If Arjun failed to stop his father…
Then Sibom wouldn't stay silent anymore.
And if the truth came out publicly—
It wouldn't just crack the wall between the families.
It would shatter it completely.