Beauty and the Joker

"Go and declare it – the Joker is no more!"

"But..."

"No 'buts,' the Joker is dead."

She nodded and left. There was nothing more to discuss; the decision had already been made – the Joker was dead.

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Their faces remained hidden behind masks, creating the illusion of three shadows in motion.

"The Joker is dead."

"What?" one of them exclaimed.

"Why?" questioned another.

"The decision has already been made."

"Now what? What about us?"

"If there is no Joker, there is no 'us,'" the first one stated. A moment of pause followed. "The Joker left a message for all of us."

"What is it?" The tallest one inquired.

"Find your purpose," the first one said, handing the other two bags. "A gift from the Joker to you. And with this, I take my leave. Take care."

The other two stood holding the bags. Once again, tears welled up in their eyes. Once again, they found themselves without families. However, beneath their masks, they managed a weak smile. The Joker hadn't left them without guidance; they were bestowed with a new mission – to discover their purposes.

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"Why did you abruptly leave everything and come here?" his friend asked as they strolled along the riverside. The blue sky, the slightly cold air, and the greenery created an exceptionally soothing atmosphere.

"Nothing extraordinary."

"There has to be something. Typically, whenever you came, you informed me at least one month in advance. You came so suddenly this time; I couldn't even clean the entire villa."

"It's fine."

"Has something happened?" his friend paused. "You seem surprisingly quiet. And you've changed."

Zahran looked at his friend and smiled.

"Is it a positive change or a negative one?"

"I can't say right now. Give me a few days, and then I can tell you." Raihan smiled back.

The river's gentle flow painted a serene backdrop as they continued their walk. The peaceful ambiance of the blue sky and the rustling leaves seemed to wrap around them like a comforting embrace.

Once again, Zahran fell into silence. Raihan glanced at him and inquired, "How long do you plan to stay here?"

"Can't say," Zahran replied with a nonchalant shrug. His gaze fixed on the rhythmic flow of the water.

"Buddy, now I'm genuinely curious. Have you committed any crime or something?" Raihan asked, but Zahran remained silent and shook his head dismissively.

Probing further, Raihan remarked, "Your recent actions are quite suspicious."

"Just because you're a police officer, are you starting to view everyone as potential criminals?" Zahran teased. "You've become quite cynical since joining the force."

"Your recent behavior has me thinking you might have committed a crime in the UK," Raihan chuckled. "Aren't you framing your friend as a criminal because you can't catch a real one?" Zahran continued the banter, "Haha, just kidding. Now, don't sulk like a jilted lover."

Changing the topic, Raihan casually asked, "By the way, have you heard the news that the Joker has died?"

Zahran's eyes flickered, and his ears perked up. "Which Joker?" he inquired, playing along.

"The international thief – the one pursued by police from fourteen countries," Raihan clarified. "He's dead?"

Zahran expressed surprise. "What?... don't you know? We found out while in Bangladesh. And you, being from the same country as him, have no clue?" Raihan replied with a smirk. Zahran said, "Yes, I don't know."

Raihan continued, "Seriously, how did you not know about the Joker's demise? A notorious criminal's death in your own country, and you're clueless. On every social media platform, this news has been spreading like fire, and look at you. Are you living out of this world?" Raihan exclaimed.

"For the past few months, I have actually cut off myself from everything. I felt like I needed a break. That's why I am unaware of what's happening around me," he reasoned.

"That makes sense then. But I was really sad to know that."

"Why?"

"I wanted to catch him with my own bare hands and become famous internationally. Now that he's dead, my dream remains unfulfilled."

"How are you so sure that he's dead? There's a possibility that the news is fake," Zahran suggested.

"The FBI has confirmed that they have caught the Joker. The media has been showing this over and over again."

"Not everything shown in the media is true. The media is biased. Also, maybe the Joker is smarter than we think. Maybe he's closer than we realize."

Raihan looked at Zahran with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "What are you getting at, Zahran?"

"No one has ever seen the Joker. Then how have they identified him? It can also be that the Joker is faking his death. It can be his way to distract the cops. Who's to say the Joker isn't among us, playing his final card from beyond the grave?"

Raihan stared at him with confused eyes, as if he really started to believe what Zahran said.

"Calm down, I was just joking," Zahran smiled. "Recently, I have started reading a detective novel. That's why I thought of playing the detective."

"For one moment, you had me thinking."

"We still can't say, can we? Who knows? Maybe the Joker is here with you in Bangladesh. It can't be a possibility."

"Yes, very funny. And what will he steal in Bangladesh?"

"Who knows? Maybe something precious that we don't know."

Raihan raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You're quite the storyteller, Zahran. The idea of the Joker hiding out in Bangladesh is far-fetched, but you had me going for a moment."

Zahran grinned, enjoying the playful banter. "Well, what's life without a bit of mystery and intrigue? Keeps things interesting."

Raihan leaned back, crossing his arms. "True, true. But let's get back to reality. Even if the Joker were here, what could he possibly steal?"

Zahran leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Maybe he's after something we're not aware of, something so valuable that it's kept off the public radar."

"If only what you were saying were possible, then I could have caught him and become famous in this world."

Zahran shook his head dismissively, his attention suddenly drawn to something near the riverbank. His brows furrowed. "What's that?" he said, walking over to the spot.

"What?" Raihan followed suit.

"Oh my god, is that a dead body?" Zahran exclaimed.

"Don't tell me. Today is my day off. I don't want to get involved with a corpse today. For God's sake, I wanted to take a break," Raihan grumbled, frustration evident in his voice.

Zahran rolled his eyes and bent down to inspect the body. A wave of surprise washed over his face, widening his eyes. It was a female, and to his relief, she was still breathing. However, it was apparent that she had suffered a head injury. Zahran immediately picked her up and headed towards their car. "Alhamdulillah. Today, I was not in any mood to deal with a corpse."

They rushed her to the hospital, and the doctors promptly sent her to the operating theatre. Raihan brought two cups of coffee and sat next to Zahran, who was engrossed in his phone. He handed one cup to Zahran and took a sip from his own.

"I had thought I would enjoy my day off," he sighed. "By the way, what are you looking at?" Raihan tried to sneak a peek at Zahran's phone, but before he could see anything, Zahran swiftly turned it off.

"Have you checked in at the police station?" Raihan asked, shifting the conversation.

"Yes, I have sent her photo to all the police stations. We will immediately know if anyone files a missing person report about her."

"Good. What do you think might have happened to her?"

Raihan took a thoughtful sip of his coffee and then said, " Anything can happen. We can't say. It's hard to say at this point. Head injury, unconscious near a river – it could be anything from an accident to something more sinister. We'll have to wait for the doctors to give us more information."

"Once she regains consciousness, we will get to know," Zahran said and looked at the closed door.

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The doctor emerged from the operating room; his countenance etched with the seriousness of the situation. Both Raihan and Zahran approached him eagerly, awaiting the news. With a measured tone, he conveyed, "The patient likely sustained injuries from a fall, and though the surgery was successful, the next 24 hours are critical. There's a risk of coma, paralysis, or memory loss. We'll have to monitor her closely."

Raihan nodded somberly.

Zahran looked at the girl lying on the hospital bed – suspended between the delicate threads of life and potential tragedy.

In the subsequent week, a fleeting glimmer of hope fluttered through the room as she briefly regained consciousness. However, these moments were short-lived, slipping away as she descended back into unconsciousness. When she finally awoke, her eyes bore a vacant stare, an unsettling detachment from her immediate surroundings.

Despite concerted efforts to engage her, she remained unresponsive. Basic activities like eating, sitting, and standing required assistance, as if she had lost the ability to perform these tasks independently. Raihan and Zahran exchanged perplexed glances, seeking answers.

"Why isn't she showing any response, doctor?" Raihan asked, his concern palpable. Zahran observed her silently, his worry etched on his face.

"Unresponsive Wake Syndrome," the doctor explained. "A condition where wakefulness coexists with limited responsiveness," he added, gesturing towards the medical reports that told a perplexing story.

"When will she recover from this?" Zahran inquired, his voice serious.

"No idea," the doctor admitted. Raihan's brow furrowed, and folds appeared on Zahran's temple as they grappled with the uncertainty.

The doctor sighed, his gaze lingering on the girl's vacant eyes. "It's quite difficult to say when the patient will recover from this. There's no specific treatment for this condition."

"So, what should we do now?" Zahran asked.

"Home," the doctor suggested, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Familiar surroundings might trigger a spark."

"But we don't know who she is or where she came from. No one has filed a missing complaint for her," Raihan pointed out.

"Provide her with a homely environment. Sometimes, that's the best medicine," the doctor advised.

With no information available about the anonymous girl, Zahran chose to take her to his villa.

Zahran entrusted the girl's care to Bibi, a 60-year-old housemaid whose son served as the caretaker. From the break of dawn till nightfall, Bibi attended to the girl's every need, offering a comforting presence.

And then, one miraculous day, she awoke – fully conscious, her eyes reflecting a return to the world.

The world tilted as she sat up, the sheets falling away like a discarded dream. Her bare feet met the cool floor, sending a jolt of confusion through her limbs. Where was she? Why was she here?

She slightly pushed the door and the door opened.

She emerged from the room with wobbly feet, feeling extremely weak. Her eyes stopped on a man, in the corridor. His features, chiseled and refined. He stood tall and confident, capturing her attention.

"Who are you?" she asked in English.

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