1 || Mysterious Murder

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"প্রহর শেষে আলোয় রাঙা সেদিন চৈত্র মাস _
তোমার চোখে দেখেছিলাম আমার সর্বনাশ।"

NATALIA

The clouds roared ominously, their growls reverberating through the bustling town. People hurried along the streets, desperate to reach their destinations before the sky unleashed its wrath. From my small balcony, adorned with a variety of flower pots, I watched the chaos unfold, soaking in the powerful beauty of nature's fury.

Moments later, the heavens opened up, and rain poured down in torrents, drenching the town in an instant. The cool breeze carried the scent of wet earth and blooming flowers, creating a serene contrast to the storm's ferocity. The evening was a sensory overload-cold air, the rhythmic drumming of rain, and the fresh, intoxicating aroma of nature. I closed my eyes, letting the moment consume me.

The sweet fragrance of roses and lilies wafted from the balcony, and I inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. Darkness enveloped me, with only the streetlights and occasional flashes of lightning piercing through the blackness.

"Talia!" My mother's voice cut through the tranquil moment, pulling me back to reality.

"Coming, Mom!" I called out, reluctantly leaving my spot to head downstairs.

My mother is a complex woman-a strict disciplinarian with a fiery temper, yet deeply loving and protective. I've inherited much from her, not just her temperament but her striking appearance as well-long, dark hair that cascades down to my waist, deep-set dark eyes, and flawless, fair skin. Everyone says I'm the younger version of my mother.

"Your granny finally agreed to visit the doctor," Mom announced, a hint of relief in her voice. "She'll be here tomorrow morning. I've already booked an appointment."

"That's surprising," I said with a laugh.

"Don't let her find anything to complain about," Mom warned, though a tight smile played on her lips.

My grandmother, my mother's mother, is notorious for her stubborn refusal to see doctors. She firmly believes that she can heal without medicine and that doctors do more harm than good. We've had to come up with all sorts of tricks to get her to even consider a visit.

She's also a firm critic of everything we modern folks do. When she visits, I'm expected to wear a scarf outside and rise at dawn, among other old-fashioned practices. Even my parents, who are hardly pushovers, tread carefully around her.

But despite her grumpy demeanor, she loves us fiercely, and oddly enough, I've grown to enjoy her visits, grumblings and all.

"I don't do anything wrong," I said defensively. "She just finds fault in everything."

"Don't talk about her like that," Mom chided gently. "She's your grandmother, and she's set in her ways because she comes from a different time. She loves us, even if she's her own way to show it."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be careful," I assured her.

"Good. But I checked your mathematics test score. And you've got a C. Can you explain me why?" Mom narrowed her eyes at me, piercing her rage through my psyche.

"You again went through my backpack! Aghh!" I sighed in frustration.

"You're dropping down day by day. Instead of studying hard, you stick to your laptop and useless friends. The next time I'm not gonna hear any excuses." She finished with a silent warn.

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