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This is a sample from the book The Return of My Protector by Iqbal Hossain .
This sample is approximately 10% of the full book. To read the rest, please visit the Amazon link at the end of this file.


Story:After nearly ten years, today I set foot in my home again.

At sixteen, I was sent to prison — accused of murdering my own brother-in-law.

As I approached the house, I froze. The entire place sparkled with lights and flowers. The gate was beautifully decorated. Clearly, there was a big event. But what? My sister had visited me just two days ago — why hadn’t she mentioned anything?

I stood hesitating at the gate when suddenly a boy, maybe fourteen or sixteen, brushed past me and shoved lightly.

“What do you want here, mister?” he asked.

Me: “What’s happening here today?”
Boy: “My aunt Niha is getting married.”

I froze.

Boy: “Who are you? What do you want?”
Me: “You wouldn’t know me. Just go tell your aunt… her brother is free today.”
Boy: “What do you mean?”
Me: “Just go tell her.”

The boy ran inside, shouting, “Mom! Grandpa! Grandma!”

Within a minute, the whole family was at the gate — except Niha.
My father, Mr. Raihan, stood at the front, eyes cold.

Father: “What do you want here?”
Me: “I came to see you all, Father.”
Father: “I don’t know you.”
Me: “I’m your son…”
Father: “That son died ten years ago.”

His words struck like a dagger. I fought to hold back my tears.

Me: “You all still carry so much anger toward me…”
Sister Nila: “You can only be angry at someone alive. How can you be angry at a dead man?”

Father: “You need to leave. The groom’s family will be here soon. If they see a murderer like you, the wedding will be ruined.”
Me: “Of course, I’ll go… but first, I want to see my little sister, Niha.”

Mother: “Who?”
Me: “Niha.”
Nila: “She can’t see you now.”

Father: “Will you leave on your own, or should I call someone?”
Me: “No need. I’ll leave.”

Wiping my tears, I turned away.

As I crossed the gate, Niha appeared.

Niha: “Who was here, Mom?”
Mother (quickly wiping her eyes): “I don’t know…”
Niha: “Who was it, sister?”
Nila: “Didn’t you hear Mom? We don’t know.”

Niha turned to her nephew, Onik.

Onik: “From what I heard, whoever it was — he was family.”
Niha: “Did he say anything?”
Onik: “He said… to tell you your brother is free today.”

With glistening eyes and a soft smile, Niha whispered, “Brother…”

Onik: “Mom, Grandpa, and Grandma chased him away. Why?”

Niha: “Which way did he go?”
Onik: “Down that road.”

Without a word, Niha ran toward the gate.

Father (calling out): “Where are you going? The groom’s party will be here soon!”
Niha (voice trembling through her tears): “Why did you drive my brother away?”

Father: “Who? What brother? That brother died ten years ago.”
Niha: “Maybe for you. But for me, my brother is still alive.”

Shocked, Father raised his hand and slapped her.

Father: “You’ve learned to argue! Go to your room and get ready. The groom will be here any moment.”

Niha: “If my brother isn’t standing in front of me when I say ‘I do,’ ten seconds after the vows, I’ll take poison. I don’t care how you bring him back.”

With fierce determination, Niha stormed to her room and locked the door.

Meanwhile, I wandered the streets, lost in thought.
I sat on a bench in the city center.

A few wedding cars pulled up nearby. Strange — why here?
One car had a flat tire. The others moved on, leaving the driver and some passengers behind. About ten or twelve people, mostly women, got out.

Quietly, I stood and tried to slip away. But as I moved through the crowd, my hand accidentally brushed against a woman’s chest.

Me: “Sorry! Sorry!”
Woman: “You shameless pervert!”
Me: “Why the insult?”
Woman: “First you harass me, now you argue? Watch — I’ll teach you a lesson.”

She began screaming, drawing a crowd.

Woman: “Because of scumbags like you, women can’t walk safely!”

Me: “I didn’t mean it! I already apologized…”
Woman: “First you harass me, now you’re sorry because people are watching! What should we do to him, everyone?”

Someone shouted, “Beat him up!”

Without a moment’s pause, the crowd descended.
Punches, kicks — I collapsed to the ground. For ten minutes, they beat me half to death.

Bleeding and broken, I lay on the street. The woman got in her car and drove away.

With my last bit of strength, I saw a huge truck rushing toward me — I had no strength left to move.

It felt like the angel of death was wrapping his arms around me.

For a moment, my mind flooded with memories — the days I spent with my dearest sister.


Flashback_

Mom: “Are you two trying to tear the house down?”
Me: “Where did we tear it down, Mom? Look — it’s still standing!”

Alright, let me introduce my family.
My elder sister’s name is Nila. Then came me, Nihan. And after me, my dearest little sister, Niha.

Nila Apa (which means “big sister” in Bengali) is 8–10 years older than me. But Niha and I are twins — no elder or younger between us. Sometimes she calls me “brother,” sometimes just “Nihan.” I do the same — sometimes “Apa,” sometimes just “Niha.” But during my years in prison, I called her only one thing: my heart.

Our sorrows were known only to those four prison walls.

Anyway, let’s go back to the memories…!


> To continue reading, get the full book on Amazon:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F7GVY8CR