The Silence Before the Storm

My Cruel Love

The Silence Before the Storm

Arman was lost deep in thought when he suddenly noticed the car slowing down. Snapping back to reality, he frowned as he glanced out the window—

They had stopped in front of a place that was both familiar and, in this moment, shockingly unexpected.

Outside, a crowd of over a hundred people had gathered. Grief-stricken faces, hushed murmurs, tearful eyes, and expressions clouded with sorrow. Some stood silently with bowed heads. The whole scene resembled the final moment before a funeral—the late afternoon stillness hanging in the air, heavy with sorrow and the unspoken sound of mourning prayers.

A chill of foreboding shivered through Arman's chest. He squinted at the crowd—so much sadness, so much stillness…

Why?

What's going on here?

The car had come to a full stop. The driver rolled down the window and asked a passerby something. The man replied in a quiet voice, too soft for Arman to hear. But Arman wasn't even listening—his mind was racing, struggling to make sense of it all.

He turned to Birat beside him, his eyes searching for answers.

Birat, calm and steady, said simply, "This is where Maisha is."

The name struck him like a thunderbolt.

"Maisha? You mean. my sweet Mayaboti?"

He whispered the question more to himself than to anyone else. His voice faltered.

Slowly, Arman opened the door and stepped out. The world around him felt like a blur of shadow and smoke. The air was thick, like breathing sorrow. As he passed through the gate, a strange, familiar scent hit him.

This smell. this wall. this shaded courtyard—

Everything confirmed what his heart already knew.

This was Maisha's home.

Yet, still—his heart resisted the truth. He had come here with hope, to start a new chapter.

So why did this place reek of death?

Arman froze in place, eyes locked on the main entrance of the house.

There, in that silence, he felt the weight of the world pressing down. It wasn't just silence—it was the absence of all sound, all life.

Birat gently placed a hand on Arman's shoulder.

"Come," he said softly. "She's inside. Your Maisha. she's waiting."

Arman stepped forward, each footfall heavier than the last. Emotion surged through him like a rising tide. His vision blurred, his steps slowed.

And then—he saw it.

Inside the house, lying in the middle of the room, was a lifeless body.

Next to it sat a woman—still as stone, silent as the earth. Dried tear streaks marked her cheeks, her eyeliner had smudged down her face. Her hair was unkempt, her complexion pale, her eyes blank, staring into an endless void. She looked beyond grief, beyond exhaustion—like someone who had given up even trying to feel.

Arman stopped dead in his tracks.

Birat stepped forward and pointed gently.

"There. That's Maisha."

Following his finger, Arman's gaze landed on her—and his world tilted.

His heart skipped.

No. No, it couldn't be…

That woman.

That was Maya. Maya Talukdar.

Sitting beside her father's lifeless body.

But the warm smile that once lit her face was gone. There was no light in her eyes, no trace of joy. Only deep, crushing sorrow.

It was as if every sound, every color, every hope had vanished from the world in that single moment.

Arman felt like he was standing in the middle of a cruel nightmare.

No… not even a nightmare—

This was a harsh, unforgiving reality.

One he wasn't ready to face.

Maya. his Maya. his sweet Mayaboti...

How?

How could this be happening?

And her father—what happened to him?

Nothing made sense.

Everything had seemed fine just yesterday.

Then it hit him.

Last night, Maya had left the office party early.

He had been so excited about meeting Maisha that he had completely forgotten about Maya's sudden departure.

It had been a celebration—Arman's company had just closed a major deal. Everyone was dressed in black for the party's theme. The older family members had already left in another car.

Only five remained—Sameera, Maya, Ruby, Abir, and Arman himself.

Ruby hadn't wanted to attend at first, but Arman had insisted.

"This time, it's not your choice. It's my order."

Ruby knew how Arman saw her—as more than a friend. A bond like family, like a sister he deeply cared for.

While standing by his car, Abir grumbled,

"Why do girls always take so long? What's the point of all that makeup if it's just going to melt off later?"

Sameera gave him a playful shove from behind, clearly annoyed.

Abir spun around, eyes wide in mock fear.

"Oh God! A ghost! A witch!"

Sameera and Ruby were both dressed in elegant black gowns, looking absolutely stunning.

Trying to get a rise out of her, Abir smirked,

"Are you Sameera? Or a spirit disguised as her?"

Their playful banter escalated into lighthearted teasing.

Arman, irritated, finally raised his voice.

"Enough. Both of you. Just stop it already."

And then—

A breeze carried a sweet scent toward Arman.

He looked up.

and time stopped.

There she was—Maya—walking toward them slowly in a black embroidered saree, a traditional South Asian dress.

She wasn't overly made-up. She didn't need to be.

Her presence was magnetic, elegant, otherworldly.

Her eyes were lined with kohl, a type of dark eyeliner commonly used in South Asia.

She had soft lips, a small black bindi—a decorative mark—on her forehead, a delicate necklace around her neck, and small black earrings.

And a single red rose was tucked into her hair.

Her hair was loose, flowing softly with the wind.

The way she moved.

The way the moonlight kissed her skin…

It was poetry—silent and sublime.

Arman's breath caught in his throat.

He couldn't look away.

Even as Maya spoke to Sameera, Arman heard nothing. The world faded.

He saw only her lips moving—like the smile of a forgotten memory.

He was snapped out of his trance by a nudge from Abir.

"What?" Arman asked, annoyed.

Abir's face was serious.

His voice low.

"Why were you looking at her like that? Do you think you have that right?"

The girls had already gotten into the car.

Abir's words shook something loose in Arman.

He clenched his jaw.

He loved his Little sweet Mayaboti.

She was his only home.

He couldn't let Maya's beauty distract him.

Maya.

The same woman he had divorced—without fully knowing her truth.

All because of Mayaboti.

How could he dare to look at her like that?

Self-disgust churned in his chest.

He turned away and silently climbed into the driver's seat.

Abir smirked to himself.

As if everything was going exactly as planned.

He got in the passenger seat, and Arman started the car.

The engine purred.

And they drove off, toward what they thought was just another evening.

To be continued...