Chapter 7: The Proposal
Tanoy couldn't breathe.
The words echoed inside his head—
"I want you to kill her."
It didn't make sense.
It shouldn't make sense.
A father… asking someone to kill his own daughter?
Tanoy stared at the man, searching for anger, madness—anything.
But what he saw instead…
Was pain.
Raw. Silent. Crushing.
"You're not serious," Tanoy said, his voice shaking.
"I am," the man replied calmly.
"No father would ever say something like that."
The man let out a slow breath.
"You're a father, aren't you?"
Tanoy froze.
"Yes."
"Then imagine this," the man continued, his voice steady but heavy. "Imagine watching your child suffer every single day. Imagine hearing her cry in pain… and knowing you can't do anything to stop it."
Tanoy looked away.
"Imagine wishing for her pain to end," the man said softly. "Even if it means losing her."
Silence.
Thick.
Unbearable.
"I'm not asking you to kill her," the man added. "I'm asking you to free her."
Tanoy's fists clenched.
"This isn't freedom," he said. "This is murder."
The man turned to him.
"Is it?" he asked quietly.
Tanoy didn't answer.
Because for a brief moment—
He wasn't sure.
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheque.
He handed it to Tanoy.
"Fifty lakh," he said. "Advance."
Tanoy stared at it.
His fingers trembled.
"After the job is done," the man continued, "you'll get a blank cheque. Write any amount you want."
Any amount.
Tanoy's heart pounded.
That kind of money could change everything.
His parents.
His family.
His life.
"Think about it," the man said.
"Tomorrow."
Tanoy stepped out of the car like a man walking in a dream.
The world felt distant.
Blurry.
Unreal.
Because for the first time in his life—
He was being asked a question with no right answer.