Chapter 6 / 51 · 2 min
This City Has Fallen Apart
Tanmoy locked the hotel room door behind him.
The girl looked uncomfortable.
Very uncomfortable.
He had heard many stories about women who worked in Banani.
He had expected someone heavily made-up, pretending to be upper-class.
Someone chewing betel leaf.
Someone trying too hard to look seductive.
Instead, he found a simple girl.
A plain white chiffon sari.
No excessive makeup.
No performance.
Just a girl.
She seemed embarrassed.
Which made no sense.
Shouldn’t she have gotten used to this by now?
Or was she new?
Before she could say anything, Tanmoy spoke.
“Please don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t come here for that.”
The girl looked surprised.
“Then why are you here?”
“I want to hear your story.”
She frowned.
“I didn’t come here to tell stories. My profession is providing entertainment. Let’s not go beyond that.”
Tanmoy blinked.
Women in this line of work weren’t usually this articulate.
At least, not according to his assumptions.
“I’ll pay you,” he said.
“I’m making a film about prostitution. I need stories.”
“Really? How much?”
“How much do you want?”
“Whatever you think is fair.”
The shame in her eyes startled him.
He handed her a thousand taka.
“What’s your name?”
“Ipsita.”
“Your real name?”
“No.”
Then she began telling her story.
A village girl.
Moved to Dhaka for education.
Couldn’t survive financially.
Eventually entered this profession.
This wasn’t her first client.
Nor her second.
This was her third.
“The previous two were animals,” she said quietly.
Tanmoy nodded.
She continued.
“I don’t know why, but I liked you the moment I saw you. I was feeling terrible today. I only came because I desperately needed money.”
At first Tanmoy had been fascinated.
Now he wasn’t.
There was no dramatic twist.
No extraordinary tragedy.
Just poverty.
Just survival.
The kind of story nobody writes novels about.
He silently abandoned the idea of making the film.
Then he looked at her again.
Really looked.
She was beautiful.
Not breathtakingly beautiful.
But undeniably attractive.
And he had already spent the money.
Why waste it?
After all, plenty of respectable men had visited places like this.
Even famous writers.
He smiled.
“You’re actually very beautiful.”
Ipsita stared at him.
Confused.
Disappointed.
“You said…”
“Come closer.”
The irritation in his voice cut through her.
For a moment she seemed angry at herself.
Why hadn’t she learned by now?
Why did she still allow herself to be surprised?
For the third time in her life, she began removing her clothes.
As she did, something inside her broke again.
Trust.
Love.
Faith.
All of it fractured piece by piece.
And somewhere in the silence of that room, another piece of the city crumbled with her.
Because in this city…
Ipsita was utterly alone.