31/03/2025
Objection, My Heart!
By Dhrubajyoti Das
Chapter One: The Courtroom Encounter
The courtroom was packed, the air thick with murmurs and the rhythmic tapping of the judge’s gavel. Kabir, the ever-busy bench clerk, adjusted his glasses and flipped through a stack of papers, suppressing a yawn. It was just another day in the monotonous life of a court employee—until she walked in.
One peon was busy arranging the files for the judge, while another placed a glass of water before him. The police constable, Ratan Lal, stood at the entrance, ready to step out and call the witness’s name. Everyone seemed serious about their work, their expressions molded by the weight of daily official habits, heightened by the judge’s presence in the ejlash.
She stepped inside, her presence quiet yet commanding. She wore a simple salwar kameez, but on her, it felt like elegance itself. Her hair, long and silky, cascaded over her shoulders, its rich brown strands kissed by a hint of mehendi-like highlights. A few rebellious locks fell in front of her eyes, swaying each time she moved. Her face was fair, smooth like freshly churned butter, and her nose, slightly upturned, added to her charm. Small, silver rings adorned her ears, and when she turned, a faint golden glow from the courtroom lights reflected off them. Her lips, naturally tinted, parted slightly as she took a hesitant breath before stepping forward.
The judge glanced at her over his glasses. “What is your case?”
She lifted her gaze, her voice steady but carrying the weight of her situation. “My father left some amount in his bank account. To withdraw it, the bank is asking me for a succession certificate. My mother predeceased my father. I am the sole legal heir and successor of my family.”
The judge nodded, flipping through the documents before him. “Have you submitted the next of kin certificate?”
“Yes, sir,” she replied.
Kabir found himself staring—he had seen thousands walk into this courtroom, but no one quite like her. He quickly turned his attention back to his work, but something about the way she stood, the way she tucked that loose strand behind her ear, made it impossible to ignore her presence.
“Everything seems to be in order. I will pass the order now. You may leave,” the judge declared.
She nodded and turned, her earrings swaying gently, the scent of something faintly floral lingering in the air as she walked away.
But minutes later, she was back. Kabir, who had just taken a sip of his water, nearly choked when he saw her standing before him.
“Excuse me, how many days will it take to obtain the succession certificate?” she asked, her gaze fixed on him.
Kabir quickly composed himself. “If all is in order, the order will be passed today. You may get it by tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she said, exhaling in relief. Then, after a brief hesitation, she added, “Can I get your number?”
Kabir blinked. His colleague, Dhrub, who was listening in, nearly dropped a file.
“I mean,” she quickly clarified, “I need to stay updated. It’s an emergency. Since my father left, I have been struggling a lot. The money he left in the bank is my only source for living and education expenses.”
Kabir swallowed. The sincerity in her voice made his heart clench. He scribbled his number on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “It’s 0708644905.”
She took it with a small smile. The corners of her lips held pieces of a smile, like a drop of dew resting on a leaf in the early morning—delicate, fleeting, yet full of quiet warmth.
“Kabir,” he said, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked slightly.
She giggled. “How do I save your number? Kabir… what?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Kabir… Bench Clerk.”
She burst into laughter, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “That sounds like an official title. Fine, ‘Kabir Bench Clerk’ it is.”
Kabir felt his ears grow warm. He had heard countless names, numbers, and case details in his career, but for the first time, he wanted someone to remember his name not as a clerk, but as something more.
As she walked away, her laughter still lingering in the air, Dhrub leaned in. “Kya hua, kya baat hai bhai? Official title!”
Kabir sighed, watching her disappear down the hall.
Dhrub smirked. “After how many petitioners will you keep giving your number? Try fixing one number and getting married. This girl matches you.”
Kabir turned to protest, but a strange thought flickered in his mind—what if Dhrub was right?
To be continued...............
