That was all it took! The very danger Surjo had tried to escape by bringing Tara to Osman was now the exact trap Osman was pushing him back into. It was as the old saying goes—'Where the fear of the tiger is greatest, the sun sets there.'
Osman's final words exploded in Surjo's ears like a bomb. He lunged forward, leaning down until his face was right beside Osman's mechanical ear. In a sharp, stifled cry, he wailed, "Osman, what are you saying!" Had Surjo leaned just a fraction closer, he would have felt the touch of Osman's cold, smooth iron body.
Osman kept his head still, only rotating his mechanical eyes to settle on Surjo. He whispered back, "Why? What did I do wrong?"
"What did you do wrong? You didn't say anything wrong," Surjo took a heavy gulp. "Actually, I brought Tara to you for one reason only—so I wouldn't have to take her to my house."
"Oh, you're talking about your house—" Before Osman could finish, Surjo interrupted frantically, "Yes! That's exactly what I'm talking about. You know the state of my place!"
Osman burst into laughter instantly. It began as a soft chuckle and then transformed into a thunderous mechanical roar. Tara could clearly hear the sound and see the vibrations of Osman's metallic frame. Surjo felt somewhat exposed by this sudden noise. At first glance, it might have seemed like a simple laugh, but a closer look revealed that Osman was mocking him—ridiculing the worry swirling in Surjo's head before he could even voice it fully.
"You're laughing at me!?"
Osman waved his hand in the air in a 'no' gesture, forcibly choking back his laughter as if tying it down with a rope. But even after pulling the reins, the laughter tried to escape like a rebellious horse. Osman giggled and said, "Hihi... I'm not laughing at you. Actually, I am laughing at you—at those cheap thoughts of yours."
"What do you mean?"
"I know what you want to say. Your house isn't in good shape, your place is a heap of junk, it smells—this and that, upside down, blah-blah..." Osman continued to mutter whatever came to his mind.
It didn't take a second for Surjo to lose his temper. Not only was Osman not listening, but he had started making fun of him before he could even finish his sentence. In a fit of rage, Surjo landed a punch right on Osman's metal face.
The punch made no sound. But in the next moment, the color of Surjo's fair hand changed to a bright, tomato red.
Surjo clutched his injured hand with the other, blowing on it like a madman. He was on the verge of screaming in pain, but then he remembered—he was the hero of this story! At least in front of the girl, curling up in pain would be an ultimate embarrassment. So, he swallowed the intense agony, clenching his teeth. But despite his efforts, tears rolled down his eyes from the sheer sting.
"It... it didn't hurt at all! Not painful in the least... I'm telling the truth, it didn't hurt a bit..." Surjo kept muttering the same words frantically to hide his unbearable suffering.
"Anyway," Osman said, moving past the moment of mockery to make the atmosphere somewhat grave yet natural. He lowered his head, thought for a moment, and then said, "Tell me Surjo, do you know..." He paused and looked at Tara. "This girl isn't expecting any royal luxury from you." Then, locking eyes with Surjo again, he completed his thought, "Tara is just looking for a 'shelter'."
"Shelter? That sounds like a great word! Is it the name of some food?" Surjo's mind instantly shifted away from the pain in his hand. Subconsciously, his mouth began to water.
"No!!!" Osman would have screamed if he could. But he didn't want to frighten a newly acquainted girl by shouting. Had Surjo been alone, he would have surely yelled at the top of his voice. He composed himself and said, "Shelter is a person you can rely on and stay beside. Perhaps that sounded a bit too poetic or strange..." He paused to think over his own definition. "Yes, to put it in simple terms—she just wants to spend tonight in a place where she can close her eyes and sleep peacefully without fear."
Osman stopped, giving the words some time to sink into Surjo's head. Then he began again, "In this city, there is no place where she can sleep with complete trust. Every moment, every second, will be spent in terror. By asking for shelter from you, it means she trusts you. Do you want to break that trust? I know your house isn't exactly convenient; you were the one who told me."
He glanced at Tara once and turned back to Surjo. "Tara isn't asking for luxury or a grand palace. That little shack of yours is greater to her than the shelter of any palace." Osman felt a hint of doubt—had he explained it well enough? Immediately, his self-confidence returned; Surjo surely understood.
To convince Surjo, he went one step further, "Listen, if you don't want to, then don't give her shelter. The decision is entirely yours. But if this girl gets lost wandering alone in this city, falls into danger, or suffers a great loss..."
He stared fixedly into Surjo's eyes. "Don't be afraid; no responsibility will fall on you. It won't be your fault, you can be sure of that." If Osman had human lips, a crooked smile would have appeared at the corner of them right now. "But you won't find peace of mind. I know you. Even if you aren't at fault, you will consider yourself a criminal for the rest of your life. So now, my question is to you—will you give her shelter, or will you reject her? A rejection for which you aren't legally responsible, but the weight of which your inner self will carry forever."
As he listened to Osman's words, Surjo's blinking stopped. In an instant, the real world blurred, and a horrific imagination seized his brain.
He saw—those seven bullies emerging from the heart of the darkness once again. Like vicious wolves, they surrounded Tara, tormenting her. She was running with all her might to escape them. But her foot got caught in the dark bushes, and she crashed to the ground. Her leg was badly scraped by a stone, blood gushing out. The helpless girl wailed in pain as those hyenas closed in...
"NOOOO!"
Suddenly, a loud scream shattered the surrounding silence. That imaginary scene hit Surjo's consciousness with a violent jolt. Both Tara and Osman started, looking at Surjo in bewilderment. Beads of sweat stood on Surjo's forehead. As his senses returned, he realized he had actually screamed out loud in his trance. Shame and awkwardness enveloped him instantly.
"A-Actually... it's nothing! A mosquito bit me, that's all!" Surjo tried to cover up the scream with a strange laugh. Then, pretending to be grave, he looked at Tara and said, "Alright, I agree. You're coming with me."
Before leaving, Surjo turned back to Osman. His eyes were filled with a restless curiosity. "Will the violin be fixed by tomorrow, Osman? I am desperate to see this thing called 'melody'."
Osman tilted his mechanical head slightly to reassure him. With a kind of certainty in his metallic voice, he said, "I have my certainty."
***
Leaving Osman's sanctuary behind, they were now in the middle of a vast field, with a silent pond sitting still at its heart. Passing through that deathly silence, they reached a crowded market.
There was no sign of electricity anywhere. In the flickering light of candles and lanterns, people were busy buying and selling. In these times, goods seemed more valuable than currency; someone was giving a piece of cloth in exchange for a kilogram of rice, while another took lantern oil for lentils. This primitive system of exchange made the heavy atmosphere even more mysterious.
The market was overflowing with people. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and smoky lanterns. Seeing this chaos, Tara recoiled, clear terror on her face. Surjo sensed her restlessness and reassured her, "Don't be afraid, nothing will happen. Once we cross this market, we'll reach my house."
In the flickering lights and the constant jostling of people, Tara began to feel disoriented. Suddenly, she lost her balance from a heavy shove by a passerby. Surjo caught her with swift hands, shielding her close to his chest. Tara felt suffocated; but she knew that in this hellhole, she had no choice but to hold Surjo's hand tightly.
When Tara had composed herself a bit, Surjo suddenly brought his face close to her ear and whispered in a hot, hurried tone, "Be ready!"
Before Tara could understand anything, she saw Surjo snatch a whole, thick bun from a man's hand like a hawk. Before the man could realize what happened, Surjo gripped Tara's hand firmly and took off running through the crowd.
From behind, the man was shouting, "Thief! Thief!" But those tired, hungry people in the market didn't even bother with his cries. In the market of these times, everyone was busy surviving; no one had the time or the obligation to chase after someone for a stolen bun.
Tara and Surjo ran on, holding each other's hands. They were running very fast, with great speed. Yet, the moment didn't seem to match the pace of their running. This moment felt slow, so slow that it seemed as if time itself had gone to take a rest.