When I was in eighth grade, my parents got divorced. My father left my mother and married a foreign woman, then moved abroad. While there was a dispute in court over the custody of the other children, my case was different—no one was interested in taking me. My father couldn’t take me with him abroad, and my mother was indifferent to me. She didn’t even want to see any trace of my father. In the end, a deal was made—my father would cover all my expenses, and I would stay at my grandmother’s house.
But I had lost my parents long before their separation. They never truly embraced me as their child. I grew up alone. At an age when other children were under their parents’ care, I had already learned to walk alone. No one ever took me to school. My parents never attended any of my school events. When I earned a scholarship in fifth grade, I had no one to share my happiness with. Somehow, even at that young age, I understood that I would have to navigate this world on my own. I was different from everyone else.
Whenever my parents fought intensely, I could hear them shouting from the next room. During those times, my mother would sometimes come into my room. She would sit beside me, staring with a look of despair in her eyes. Then, suddenly, she would hug me tightly—so tightly that my back would ache from the pressure. I would curl up in pain but remain silent. My mother never spoke a word. I understood that there was a deep void inside her heart, and by holding me, she was trying to fill that emptiness. But after a while, she would let go and walk away. I realized I had failed to fill that void. I felt helpless and small. I longed to grow up quickly.
My father went abroad, and I stayed at my grandparents’ house. My grandfather had passed away years ago. My mother would scream whenever she saw me. Sometimes, I overheard my grandmother scolding her, asking, “Why do you treat your own son this way? What is his fault?” My mother would break down in tears and reply, “What can I do, Mother? When I see him, I remember that demon. I can’t bear it! I know what he is going through. He has been floating in a sea of sorrow since birth.” Hearing this, my grandmother would fall silent. Tears would stream down my face. I would go to my room, lie down, and stare at the sky through the window, my cheeks damp with sorrow.
I didn’t have to witness my mother’s suffering for long. One day, she left me behind and followed someone else to a faraway land. I was left in the care of my elderly grandmother. My father kept his promise—he sent money every month. It was enough. My grandmother and I lived well. For the first time in my life, I experienced warmth and happiness. I did exceptionally well in my SSC exams, and my grandmother was overjoyed. My father was pleased too. He called and spoke to me at length, but my mother didn’t. Even after hearing about my results from my grandmother, she never called me.
I got into college, and life seemed to be going well. But happiness never lasted long in my life. Just when I started to feel a little peace, it was taken away. My grandmother passed away. Even then, my mother didn’t return. Once again, I was alone in this vast world.
My father arranged for me to stay in a hostel through one of his friends. By then, I was in college and capable of taking care of myself. But I had learned to be self-reliant long before. While other children couldn’t eat without their mothers, I had been eating alone since childhood. I didn’t know what life had in store for me.
The judge struck the gavel twice on the table. I wasn’t sure if it made a sound. With a gesture of his hand, he stopped Robin, who had been testifying for a long time. The clock on the wall above the judge’s head indicated that it was already past lunchtime. Everyone in the courtroom was captivated by the boy’s words. The hearing would probably continue after lunch.
Meanwhile, I received a call from Sohel Bhai, my senior boss and the head of the crime division at a newspaper.
“Hello, Nabil. What’s the update?”
“The case has good material, Bhai. If I add some spice to today’s testimony, the public will love it.”
“Keep me updated.”
“Okay, Bhai. Bye.”
This case had created a huge stir—a brilliant university student was standing in the defendant’s box. As a junior crime reporter, my senior, Sohel Bhai, assigned me to cover the story. The most intriguing part was that the boy had not hired a lawyer—a self-destructive decision. If convicted, he would lose the chance to appeal in a higher court.
The judge was known for being strict and unyielding. The case was straightforward—there was no debate, just a simple confession backed by clear evidence. The entire courtroom was in eerie silence, weighed down by emotion.
Noman, the accused, was brought in. But there were no handcuffs. He had never resisted the police. He was calm, tall, and had a strikingly gentle face—almost like a movie star. It was hard to believe that such a boy could commit such a terrible crime.
Noman began to speak again:
“I never had many friends. I didn’t know how to socialize. My habit of walking alone kept me separate from everyone. Books became my only companions. My teachers admired me for my thirst for knowledge. I excelled in my HSC exams. My father stayed in touch, but my mother never did. After passing, my father visited for just one day. Then I got into Dhaka University, but I chose to stay despite my father’s wishes for me to go abroad. I don’t know why—I had no dreams, no one waiting for me to succeed.”
“In university, I met Kona. She was the first person who genuinely cared for me. At first, I found it annoying. But slowly, like a dead tree blooming in spring, love began to take root in my heart. For the first time, I felt happiness.”
“But happiness never lasts in my life. One night, Kona called me to meet her at TSC, saying she really wanted to see me. It was unusual—she never did that. When I reached there in twenty minutes, she was gone. Her phone was switched off. I looked everywhere but couldn’t find her.”
“The next morning, I learned that she had been raped. By the time I reached the hospital, she was in the ICU. I watched as the heartbeat on the monitor faded away. She died before my eyes.”
The judge took out a handkerchief and wiped his face. The courtroom was filled with muffled sobs.
Noman continued:
“I didn’t cry. Everyone was shocked by my reaction. That night, I obtained a gun through an acquaintance. The next day, I found the four men responsible and shot them. I killed them with my own hands.”
A shiver ran through the courtroom. People’s hearts raced. Someone whispered, “Bravo, tiger!” And everyone, deep inside, agreed.
Now, all eyes were on the judge. What verdict would he give? The law demanded punishment, but everyone’s heart cried for justice.
For the first time in his career, the judge was torn—between the law and his own heart.
