852)(Story_65) The Boundaries Within. _ Written by Junayed Ashrafur Rahman

 852)(Story_65) The Boundaries Within. _ Written by Junayed Ashrafur Rahman https://mywritingsjunayedmn1.blogspot.com/2019/12/about-me-junayed-ashrafur-rahman.html ✒ 

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## Chapter One

### The Equation of Silence

No one could say for certain what the city was called. Official records listed one name, old maps showed another, and ordinary people knew it by a different name altogether. The city was a maze of towering buildings, glass walls, busy streets, government offices, commercial complexes, and shadowy alleyways. From the outside, it looked modern. Yet beneath that modern appearance lay fear, corruption, and the hidden calculations of power.

At the heart of the city stood an old tea shop. Although new coffee shops had opened all around it, the little establishment remained much as it had always been. It had a corrugated metal roof, wooden benches, a few old tables, and a faded calendar hanging on the wall. The owner was a man everyone called Bhadr Bhai. He was in his late forties or early fifties. He rarely asked people questions. If someone came for tea, he served it. If someone wanted to talk, he listened. And if someone sat quietly, he respected their silence.

Jarek was a regular customer.

At first glance, no one could tell what Jarek did for a living. He wore ordinary clothes. He did not drive an expensive car, pose for photographs with prominent politicians, or advertise his life on social media. There was a certain caution in the way he moved, something most people failed to notice. But those who had encountered him up close understood that Jarek never looked at anyone without a reason. And once he noticed something, he rarely forgot it.

He lived by a strict personal rule.

“I don't strike anyone in the face as long as they respect other people's freedom of speech. But if someone tries to take that freedom away, I won't hesitate to stop them. I don't injure anyone's arms or legs as long as they respect other people's personal freedom. But if someone moves to violate that freedom, I'll stand against them.”

Jarek never felt the need to explain this rule to anyone. To him, freedom was not a political slogan. It was a person's right to speak, make their own decisions, and stand up against injustice. Whenever someone tried to take those rights away, Jarek's behavior changed.

Still, he did not consider himself a judge. He understood the dangers of taking the law into his own hands. Even so, there were situations in which his restraint failed. And each time he crossed that line, he had to face the consequences of his decisions.

One afternoon, traffic clogged the street outside the tea shop. Car horns blared, people shouted, pedestrians hurried past, and the glowing advertisements on electronic billboards added to the general restlessness. Jarek sat on a bench, drinking tea.

Then he noticed a young woman across the street.

Her name was Mylin.

They had first met a few days earlier near the city's central park. Mylin had been sitting on a bench, painting. Her drawings showed human figures, but none had faces. Some had no eyes, others no lips, and none had any recognizable identity. Through body shapes, folds in clothing, and the surrounding environment, she tried to convey the circumstances of the people she portrayed.

Jarek had stopped to study her paintings.

“Why don't you paint people's faces?” he had asked.

While cleaning the tip of her brush, Mylin had replied, “A face doesn't necessarily tell you who someone really is. People often hide their true identities behind their faces.”

“Then why paint people without faces?”

“Because everyone experiences the loss of identity at some point. Some people hide who they are by choice. Others are forced to hide. And some are silenced so completely that, in the eyes of everyone else, they practically cease to exist.”

Jarek had asked no further questions that day.

Now, seeing Mylin again, he remembered her words. She stood beside the wall of a large building, holding several sheets of paper. She kept rearranging them, but her mind seemed to be somewhere else.

Jarek crossed the street.

“What brings you here?”

Mylin looked at him. At first, she did not recognize him. Then she smiled faintly.

“You're the man who doesn't ask too many questions about paintings.”

“I won't ask too many today, either.”

“Good. I'm not in the right frame of mind to answer questions today.”

“Did something happen?”

Mylin remained silent for a moment.

“Not everything can be talked about. Sometimes speaking up only puts other people at greater risk.”

“And if you don't speak?”

“It stays inside you.”

Jarek glanced at the papers in her hands. They showed several buildings around the city. People stood at the windows of some of them. One figure held a document, another held a camera, and black lines had been drawn across several faces.

“Are these new paintings?”

“Yes.”

“What are you trying to show?”

“That people live in the same city, but they don't all enjoy the same freedoms. One person expresses an opinion and gets quoted in the newspaper. Someone else says the same thing and loses their job. One person protests against injustice and gets labeled dangerous. And when someone powerful commits a wrongdoing, they try to pass it off as a rule.”

Jarek studied the drawings again.

“Are you painting about someone in particular?”

“I observe events. People can interpret them in their own way.”

“Will everyone understand what you mean?”

“I'm not painting to explain everything to everyone. If even one person understands, that's enough.”

There was exhaustion in Mylin's eyes, but beneath it lay a quiet determination.

Jarek realized that she was more than an artist. She had noticed things in the city that most people overlooked. She might even know something that would not be easy to reveal.

“Be careful,” Jarek said.

Mylin raised an eyebrow.

“Why?”

“Not everyone likes art that reflects their own actions back at them.”

Mylin looked at him for a moment, then asked, “Do you avoid looking at your own face, too?”

The question caught Jarek off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem like someone who doesn't judge others. But you never talk about yourself.”

“If you talk about yourself, your mistakes come to the surface, too.”

“Is it bad to let your mistakes come to the surface?”

Jarek did not answer.

They stood beside each other for a while as people hurried past. A new political advertisement appeared on a digital billboard. Its large letters read: ORDER IS THE FOUNDATION OF PROGRESS.

Jarek stared at the words.

Order was necessary. But when people were silenced in the name of order, it ceased to be order. It became another form of control.

As evening approached, Mylin left. Jarek returned to the tea shop.

Bhadr Bhai handed him another cup of tea.

“Watching people, you'd think everyone was rushing somewhere,” he said. “But no one seems to know where they're going.”

“Some people know,” Jarek replied. “They just don't want to say where.”

“Do you know?”

“I only know that there are lines people shouldn't cross.”

Bhadr Bhai asked no more questions.

That night, Jarek stood beside his window. The city's lights looked beautiful from a distance. But there was no way to know how many people's darkness those lights concealed.

He thought about his rule.

While trying to protect other people's freedom, had he ever crossed the boundaries of someone else's freedom himself?

He did not know the answer. But the question stayed with him.

## Chapter Two

### The Poisonous Veil of Words

The following afternoon, a major political rally was held in the city's central square. Metal barricades surrounded the area, and security personnel stood at the entrances. Behind the elevated stage, a giant screen displayed the emblem of the ruling political group.

The featured speaker was Vremor.

People across the city knew him. His speeches were broadcast on television. Wealthy business owners posed for photographs with him, and senior government officials attended his events. His speeches were filled with talk of development, security, order, and stability. Yet few people dared to speak publicly about what might be hidden behind those words.

Jarek stood outside the rally and listened.

Vremor stepped up to the microphone and raised his hand. Part of the crowd applauded. Cameras turned toward him.

“To keep our city safe,” Vremor began, “every citizen must understand that collective discipline is more important than individual opinions. Statements that create confusion in society must be regulated before they are published. News that creates public suspicion must have its sources examined. And anyone who questions the government's decisions must understand that there are limits to questioning.”

Part of the crowd applauded.

Vremor paused, then continued more forcefully.

“We want a system in which no one can use their words to destabilize our city. If collecting citizens' personal information is necessary for security, there is nothing wrong with it. An innocent person has nothing to fear.”

Jarek's expression hardened.

Powerful people often said that innocent people had nothing to fear. But if the same authorities accused of wrongdoing also had the power to decide who was innocent, how much was that reassurance worth?

Vremor continued.

“We must not allow a handful of irresponsible individuals to endanger others in the name of freedom. If necessary, we will increase surveillance of public speech. If necessary, we will shut down suspicious news outlets. And if necessary, we will take action against those who mislead public opinion.”

A young journalist in the crowd called out a question.

“Who gets to decide which statements are suspicious? Will criticizing the government be treated as a crime?”

Several security officers immediately moved toward him.

From the stage, Vremor smiled.

“Your question is unnecessarily provocative. We have no desire to trouble innocent people. But if someone deliberately spreads misinformation, the law will be enforced.”

“Will there be an independent investigation?” the journalist asked again. “Will people be allowed to appeal an accusation?”

This time, a security officer ordered him to lower his phone. The journalist objected, but instead of answering his question, the officers moved him behind the barricade.

Jarek wanted to step in, but he stopped. Several people had gathered around the journalist, recording the incident. The security officers eventually let him go, but they still demanded to inspect his phone.

Jarek understood that this was more than a disagreement involving one journalist. It was a method. First, a question was labeled suspicious. Then the person asking it was portrayed as the source of the problem. Finally, instead of addressing the question, people began attacking the questioner's character.

Vremor continued speaking from the stage.

“We must remember that freedom can never be another word for chaos. The government must be given the authority necessary to guarantee public safety.”

Jarek thought to himself that the government could be given the authority to protect public safety. But without clear limits on that authority, the name of security could be used to control people.

After the rally ended, the crowd gradually dispersed. Some praised Vremor's speech. Others whispered about what had happened to the journalist.

Jarek stood to one side of the square and watched.

An elderly man passing by said, “These days, you have to think ten times before you speak.”

Another man replied, “It's safer to keep your mouth shut.”

Jarek heard them. When people learned to surrender their voices in exchange for security, the abuse of power became easier.

That evening, Jarek returned to Bhadr Bhai's tea shop. The television was showing selected portions of Vremor's speech. The incident involving the journalist was nowhere to be seen.

“Show half an event, and you can make people believe they know the whole story,” Jarek said.

Bhadr Bhai set down the teapot.

“People often see whatever the person presenting the news wants them to see.”

“Then where does the truth remain?”

“The truth that gets hidden has to be searched for. But searching for it can be dangerous.”

Jarek nodded.

A little later, Mylin arrived with a small notebook.

“Were you at the rally?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you see what happened to the journalist?”

“I did.”

Mylin opened her notebook. She had written down the time, the location, and descriptions of several security officers she recognized.

“I recorded what happened,” she said. “Not just for myself. If someone later claims it never happened, I'll at least have an account of it.”

Jarek looked at her.

“Do you realize that keeping these records could put you in danger?”

“I do.”

“And you're still doing it?”

“When something happens and no record survives, powerful people can rewrite history however they want.”

Jarek studied the notebook.

Mylin was not merely painting. She was observing events, recording the time, and preserving information. She understood that opposing injustice required more than speaking out. It also required preserving evidence.

“Did someone ask you to collect this information?” Jarek asked.

“No. If someone had asked me to do it, I might not have.”

“Why not?”

“Because then it wouldn't have been entirely my own decision.”

Jarek said nothing more.

That night, he thought about Vremor's speech. A man stood on a stage talking about freedom while demanding the power to control other people's words. He exercised his own right to speak while trying to restrict everyone else's.

That was the heart of the contradiction.

Freedom of speech did not mean that every statement had to be true or acceptable. It meant that false statements could be challenged, disproved with evidence, and dealt with under the law when necessary. But silencing people simply because they opposed those in power was incompatible with freedom.

Jarek knew that standing against Vremor would not be easy. Vremor was more than a public speaker. Behind him stood money, security, political connections, and other forces that remained out of sight.

Still, Jarek's decision was becoming clear.

If someone tried to punish another person for expressing an opinion, he would no longer remain a silent observer.

## Chapter Three

### The Calculations Inside the Alley

The afternoon after the rally, Vremor emerged from a meeting at an important building in the city's commercial district. Reporters and members of the public crowded the main entrance, so his security team decided to escort him through a narrow alley behind the building.

High walls bordered both sides of the alley. An abandoned warehouse stood on one side, while the rear entrance of an old government office occupied the other. Although it was daytime, very little sunlight reached the ground.

Jarek was near the mouth of the alley.

He stood in front of a shop, reading a message on his phone, when he heard footsteps approaching. He looked up and saw four security officers. Vremor walked behind them, while two more men waited near a vehicle.

The group was moving quickly.

One of the security officers noticed Jarek and raised a hand.

“Step aside.”

Jarek moved closer to the wall.

But the officer walked up to him and stopped.

“Who are you?”

“Just a passerby.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Is standing here a crime?”

The officer grew irritated.

“Don't get smart. Hand over your phone.”

“Why should I?”

“For security reasons.”

“Are you inspecting it because there's a specific allegation, or are you just showing off your authority?”

The officer grabbed Jarek by the collar.

“Keep talking, and I'll teach you a lesson.”

Jarek first tried to remove the man's hand.

“Let go of me.”

The officer tightened his grip. Another man stepped forward and tried to twist Jarek's arm behind his back.

Jarek turned his body and slipped free. When the first officer reached for him again, Jarek struck his elbow joint in a controlled movement. The man cried out in pain and stepped back.

The second officer shoved Jarek. Jarek sidestepped, avoiding a collision with the wall, and tried to move between the two men.

Vremor stopped.

“What is going on here?”

One of the security officers answered, “He's interfering with us.”

Jarek looked directly at Vremor.

“Your men tried to take my phone without giving me a reason. I objected. Then one of them grabbed me.”

Vremor looked at him coldly.

“Do you know who you're talking to?”

“I know who you are. But your position doesn't give you the right to seize someone's property without a reason.”

Vremor's expression hardened.

“You interfered with a security operation.”

“Security and personal freedom aren't enemies. If you have evidence of a crime, follow the law.”

Vremor stepped closer.

“People like you create disorder in the name of freedom. That's why we need stricter measures.”

Jarek tried to remain calm.

“I'm not talking about my own freedom. I'm asking what gives your men the right to seize someone else's personal property.”

Vremor raised his hand and signaled to the security officers.

“Get him out of here.”

Two men moved toward Jarek at once. One grabbed his shoulder and pulled. The other seized his arm from behind. Jarek struggled to free himself. During the scuffle, one of the men brought his hand up toward Jarek's throat.

The situation changed in an instant.

Jarek had two choices: endure the assault and leave quietly, or use force to defend himself. He chose the second.

He pushed one man's wrist away and threw the other off balance. The first man fell to the ground. When the second lunged at him, Jarek dodged the attack and punched him in the face.

The punch struck Vremor's jaw. He staggered backward and fell beside the wall. His hand flew to his mouth. He tried to speak through clenched teeth, but pain made his words unintelligible.

The security officers froze for a moment.

Jarek stood still, breathing heavily. He understood that he had crossed the boundaries of his own rule. There might have been another way to leave the situation. But the anger he had carried for so long, combined with the tension of the moment, had influenced his decision.

One of the officers reached for a weapon in his pocket but stopped. People were watching from nearby windows, and several were recording the incident on their phones.

Vremor gritted his teeth.

“You'll pay for this.”

Jarek looked at him.

“You can file a complaint against me. You can release the video of what happened. But your men will also have to answer for their actions.”

“You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

“It's not about what you're capable of. It's about what you have the right to do.”

Vremor said nothing more.

Jarek slowly walked toward the mouth of the alley. No one dared to stop him. Still, he knew the incident was far from over.

By the following morning, the video had spread across the city. Some outlets used the headline *Political Leader Attacked*. Others described it as a clash between an unidentified man and security officers. One outlet released a longer version showing the officers trying to take Jarek's phone and grabbing him first.

The controversy continued.

Vremor's supporters called Jarek a dangerous criminal. Others demanded an investigation into the security officers' behavior. Some criticized Jarek's use of violence.

Jarek made no public statement.

At the tea shop, Bhadr Bhai was watching the news. When Jarek arrived, he turned off the television.

“Everyone is talking about what you did,” he said.

“I know.”

“Do you think you did everything right?”

Jarek remained silent for a moment.

“No.”

Bhadr Bhai looked surprised.

“Then what do you think?”

“I defended myself. But when I struck Vremor, self-defense wasn't the only thing driving me. My anger played a part, too. I won't deny that.”

“Will you say that publicly?”

“If necessary.”

Jarek paused before continuing.

“But my mistakes don't erase anyone else's wrongdoing.”

Bhadr Bhai nodded.

“You have to look at each person's actions separately. One person's wrongdoing doesn't make another person's wrongdoing acceptable.”

Jarek picked up his cup of tea.

Charges might be filed against him. Vremor might use his political influence to put Jarek in danger. Still, Jarek understood that the most important thing was to prevent the truth from disappearing.

He did not yet realize that the confrontation had placed him in the path of a criminal network whose reach extended far beyond the city's visible political structure.

## Chapter Four

### A Warning from the Shadow Network

The next morning, Jarek went to the old library.

A modern library with glass walls had opened in the newer part of the city. Visitors needed memberships to enter. The old library was different. Its outer walls were cracked, the paint on its wooden doors had faded, and its rooms were filled with old newspapers, documents, books, and government publications. It had not been renovated in years, but a small number of people still visited regularly.

Jarek had spent an important part of his life there. As a young man, he had learned that history did not exist only in the records written by the winners. Sometimes a short newspaper article, an attachment to a government decision, or a neglected letter could change the meaning of an entire event.

Silva sat in a room at the back of the library.

He had once been Jarek's teacher and mentor. He had worked in government document analysis before leaving his position after questioning missing records, interference in investigations, and the lack of transparency surrounding certain government decisions. He had never made sweeping public accusations, but he was skilled at reading documents, verifying information, and reconstructing the sequence of events.

When Silva saw Jarek, he removed his glasses.

“You're in trouble again.”

Jarek sat down.

“Did you see the video?”

“I did. I also watched several versions. Some leave out the beginning. Others cut out the middle. One longer version clearly shows that someone laid hands on you first.”

“Then at least the truth is on record.”

“Having a video doesn't automatically establish the truth. We still have to verify its source, timestamp, whether it was edited, the witnesses' accounts, and the other evidence.”

Jarek nodded.

Silva took a folder from his desk. It contained newspaper clippings, copies of official letters, and the names of several organizations.

“Vremor isn't the biggest problem you're facing,” Silva said.

“Ormas?”

Silva paused.

“You've heard the name before?”

“I've seen it in some business records, but I haven't found reliable information about him.”

“That isn't surprising. Ormas rarely puts his own name in the spotlight. His operations run through different organizations. One company is registered under another company's name. The beneficiary of one contract is connected to a third organization. The flow of money is divided in such a way that no single document reveals the entire relationship.”

“Does Vremor work for him?”

“It's not that simple. Vremor uses political power. Ormas controls money, connections, and a network of personal loyalties. They work together when their interests align, but each has his own objectives.”

Jarek examined the pages in the folder.

Several organizations appeared repeatedly. Some contracts used the same address. A public building renovation project listed an unusually high budget. Another document showed the purchase of security equipment, but the proof of delivery was incomplete.

“Are these proof of crimes?” Jarek asked.

“No. They're irregularities that deserve questions. An unusual financial entry doesn't automatically prove a crime. We have to compare the contracts, payment records, delivery evidence, witness statements, and the roles of the people involved.”

Jarek closed the folder.

“How long have you been investigating this?”

“For a long time. But I never had all the information at once. Some documents disappeared. Some witnesses refused to speak. Other complaints went nowhere because there wasn't enough evidence.”

“Why are you telling me now?”

Silva looked him directly in the eyes.

“Because you've attracted their attention. If you act purely out of anger, they'll portray you as a violent man. Then they'll use the accusations against you to hide what they've been doing.”

Jarek remained silent.

“If you truly want to stop injustice,” Silva continued, “you can't rely on force alone. You need information, documents, testimony, and proper procedures. If someone has accused you of wrongdoing, that allegation deserves an impartial investigation, too. If you start thinking you're above the law, how will you be any different from them?”

The question made Jarek uncomfortable.

“I don't want to become like them.”

“Then learn to question your own rules, too.”

Outside the room, several visitors were returning books. The sound of an old clock could be heard in the distance.

Silva continued, “Do you know Mylin?”

“Yes.”

“I've heard that someone is keeping an eye on her work.”

Jarek's expression changed.

“Who?”

“I can't say for certain. But someone has tried to remove some of her paintings. An exhibition organizer received a phone call. There has also been talk of labeling her work as political incitement.”

“Does she know anything?”

“She sees a lot, though she may not understand the full picture. Her notes, paintings, and firsthand observations could be important. But before releasing anything, she needs to think about her safety and the reliability of the evidence.”

Jarek stood up.

“I'll talk to her.”

“Talk to her, but don't make decisions on her behalf. Don't take away her freedom in the name of protecting her.”

Jarek stopped at the door.

Silva's words stayed with him.

Protecting another person's freedom was not the same as making every decision for that person. Even if Mylin was in danger, she still had the right to her own opinions, choices, and work.

After leaving the library, Jarek looked at the cars parked across the street. A black car had been sitting in the same spot for some time. As soon as he looked toward it, the car slowly pulled away.

He couldn't be certain that it had been following him.

Still, he became more cautious.

That evening, before calling Mylin, Jarek did not photograph the documents in Silva's folder. Instead, he wrote down a list of the records and began planning how to verify them through appropriate sources.

He was beginning to understand that this was no longer a personal dispute with Vremor. Behind it stood a system that sought to control people's speech, information, and evidence in order to preserve its power.

## Chapter Five

### Wings Bound to the Canvas

Mylin's studio occupied a room on the third floor of an old commercial building. Small shops filled the ground floor. An accounting firm occupied the second floor. On the third floor, artists, photographers, and designers rented rooms to work in.

The studio was not large. Unfinished paintings hung on the walls. Boxes of paint sat on one side of the floor, while stacks of paper occupied the other. An old table stood near the window, covered with notebooks, keepsakes, and photographs of different parts of the city.

When Jarek arrived, Mylin was standing in front of a large canvas.

The painting showed a huge bird with its wings spread wide. Strong ropes tied its wings to the ground. Shadowy figures held the ropes. They had no faces. The bird's eyes were open, but it could not fly.

Jarek studied the painting for a long time.

“Is this your new work?”

“Yes.”

“Does the bird want to fly?”

“It has wings. The sky is there, too. But its wings are tied down.”

“Who is holding the ropes?”

Mylin looked at the shadowy figures.

“Some people stand in the open. Others stay hidden. Some give orders, and others carry them out. Some don't even realize that the ropes in their hands are being used to hold someone else down.”

“What should the bird do?”

“First, it has to understand where the ropes are tied. Then it has to figure out which ropes it can cut to free its wings and which ones might hurt it if it cuts them without understanding why they're there.”

Jarek kept looking at the painting.

“Is this about Ormas?”

Mylin put down her brush.

“How do you know that name?”

“I've seen it in some documents.”

“Then you're beginning to understand that this isn't just about one political leader.”

Mylin opened a folder. It contained exhibition permits, building renovation notices, photographs of different events, and handwritten dates.

“At first, I was simply painting the changes I saw around the city,” she said. “A building would suddenly be demolished. A shop would close. People would be barred from entering certain areas. Then I noticed that some of these events were happening around the same time. The names of a few organizations kept appearing, too.”

“Have you verified the documents?”

“I've compared the information I could find through public sources. But I don't know how to explain every detail. That's why I'm not labeling anyone a criminal in my paintings unless the facts have been verified.”

Jarek felt that Mylin understood the limits of her own work. She wasn't trying to present suspicion as established fact.

“Will you display these paintings?”

“Yes. But I won't present unverified information as proven fact.”

Jarek nodded.

“Be careful.”

Mylin smiled faintly.

“You always say that.”

“Because the danger is real.”

“I know. But if I stop working because I'm afraid of what might happen, they'll win without having to do anything.”

Before Jarek could respond, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Mylin turned toward the door.

Four men were coming up quickly. Although their clothes were ordinary, they moved with the rigid confidence of trained security personnel. The man in front was Rugar, a close associate of Ormas who was responsible for carrying out orders on the ground.

Rugar pushed open the door and entered.

“Which one of you is Mylin?”

Mylin stepped forward.

“I am.”

Rugar looked around the room. His expression darkened when he saw the paintings.

“What are you trying to say with all this?”

“I'm an artist. I create paintings. Viewers are free to interpret them.”

“Don't get clever with me. We've received a lot of complaints about your work.”

“Which painting are you talking about? Who filed the complaint? Can you show me a copy?”

Rugar laughed.

“You think a piece of paper is going to explain everything?”

“If there's a complaint, you can send it to me in writing. I'll respond.”

Rugar stepped closer.

“Those hands of yours are the problem. You use them to paint, write documents, and put questions into people's heads. I've been instructed to make sure those hands can no longer work the way they do.”

Mylin's face turned pale, but she did not retreat.

Jarek stepped between them.

“You can't punish someone without investigating a specific allegation.”

Rugar looked at him.

“You're the man who broke Vremor's jaw.”

“The full incident is on record.”

“Records don't protect everyone.”

“Without records, you can say whatever you want. That's why they matter.”

Rugar motioned to his men.

“Get him out of the way. Take the woman.”

Two men moved toward Jarek. A third tried to grab Mylin's hand. She pulled away and stepped back.

“Don't touch me!”

The man moved toward her again, and Jarek blocked his path.

“Stop.”

“Move,” Rugar ordered.

Jarek did not move.

The first man threw a punch. Jarek dodged and struck his knee. The man lost his balance and fell to the floor. The second tried to grab Jarek from the side. Jarek knocked his hand away and struck his elbow, forcing him to retreat in pain.

The third man picked up an iron rod and charged toward Mylin.

Jarek turned immediately. He pulled Mylin out of the path of the blow. Then he struck the man's knee, causing him to drop the rod.

The fourth man lunged at Jarek from behind. They struggled briefly. Jarek seized the man's arm, turned his body, and shoved him against the wall. The man fell to the floor.

Rugar finally stepped forward himself.

“Who do you think you are?”

Jarek replied, “Right now, I'm someone who won't let you hurt an artist without cause.”

Rugar swung at him. Jarek blocked the blow and struck his elbow. Rugar staggered backward but charged again. During the second struggle, Jarek struck his other elbow, leaving both arms badly injured. Rugar cried out and sank to the floor.

The confrontation lasted only a few minutes.

But the studio was in disarray. A chair had broken. Paint containers lay scattered across the floor. A corner of the canvas was stained.

Mylin stood against the wall, trembling.

Jarek looked around, breathing hard. He realized that even though he had acted to defend himself and Mylin, his blows had caused serious injuries. Once the men were no longer able to attack, he should have stopped. When Rugar fell, there had been an opportunity to end the confrontation. But Jarek's anger had hardened his decisions.

He did not strike anyone again.

“Mylin, are you okay?”

It took her a moment to answer.

“I'm fine. But why did you hurt them like that?”

The question stopped Jarek.

“They were going to hurt you.”

“I know. You protected me. But when Rugar was already on the floor, did you really need to keep attacking him?”

Jarek had no immediate answer.

“I don't know,” he finally admitted. “I was angry, too.”

Mylin continued to look at him.

“I don't want anyone to lose sight of their own limits in the name of protecting me.”

Jarek lowered his head.

“You're right.”

Voices rose outside. Someone in the neighboring room had already called for emergency assistance. Jarek told Mylin, “Don't hide what happened. Write everything down. Preserve the medical records, the damage to the paintings, the witnesses' accounts—everything.”

Mylin replied, “I'll document your injuries, too.”

“Do that. What I did is part of the incident.”

News of the confrontation spread that same day. Ormas's associates began claiming that Jarek had attacked a studio. But security cameras in the building had recorded some of the men's arrival, their threats, and parts of the confrontation. Several witnesses agreed to provide statements.

Mylin recorded the time of the incident in her notebook. She photographed the damaged painting, kept her medical records, and arranged to preserve copies of the camera footage.

Jarek understood that merely witnessing an incident was not enough to establish the truth. The evidence had to be preserved and submitted to the proper authorities.

Looking at the bird tied to the canvas, Mylin said quietly, “The ropes are getting tighter.”

“Then we have to find out where they're tied,” Jarek replied.

## Chapter Six

### Striking Back at Power

Tension spread throughout the city after the attack on Mylin's studio. Vremor's supporters demanded harsh action against Jarek. But after video footage and witness accounts of the attack began circulating, people started asking how men connected to powerful political figures could use accusations as an excuse to punish others.

Ormas made no direct public statement. Instead, several news outlets portrayed Jarek as a dangerous man. Some reports concealed the identities of the men who had entered Mylin's studio. Others omitted the threats that had preceded the confrontation.

Jarek realized that their goal was not simply to stop him. They also wanted to destroy his credibility.

Silva summoned him to the library again.

“Several complaints are being prepared against you,” he said.

“What kind of complaints?”

“Assault, disturbing public order, and interfering with the activities of a political group. Each allegation needs to be examined separately. Some contain elements of real events, while others leave out important information.”

Jarek remained silent.

“If you want to defend your actions, you have to provide a complete account of what happened. You'll need to explain why you used force. And where you used more force than was necessary, you can't deny it.”

“I won't.”

“Then stop trying to handle everything on your own. Consult a lawyer. Obtain copies of the complaints. Preserve the original video files. Let witnesses provide statements voluntarily. Don't pressure anyone into saying what you want.”

Jarek asked, “Do you think there will be a fair investigation?”

“I can't guarantee that. But if you want to demand a fair investigation, you have to present the evidence properly.”

Silva gave him more information. Financial records connected to several organizations controlled by Ormas showed unusual transactions. Some government projects had discrepancies between approved expenses and the work actually completed. A contract for security equipment listed the same supplier through several different companies. The directors of some of those companies had ties to Vremor's political associates.

“Does this prove Ormas committed a crime?” Jarek asked.

“Not yet. But it provides grounds for an independent investigation. The documents have to be obtained lawfully. We need to establish where the original records are, who approved the transactions, and where the money went.”

Jarek understood that injuring Ormas would not be enough. Even if one person were removed, the network of power could remain intact.

But Ormas's men did not stop.

One night, Mylin was leaving her studio when two men blocked her path on the stairs. They did not attack her immediately. One of them said, “Take down your paintings, and this problem will go away.”

“Which paintings are you talking about?” Mylin asked.

“You know exactly which ones.”

“If you have a complaint, send it to me in writing.”

The man laughed.

“You still don't understand. This isn't about paperwork.”

Mylin stepped back into the building. She immediately called Jarek.

By the time Jarek arrived, the men had left. A building security guard recognized one of them. He said the man had visited the building with Rugar several times before.

Jarek felt anger rising inside him. Ormas's men were trying to frighten Mylin into abandoning her work.

The next day, he accompanied her to a lawyer. After hearing the details, the lawyer advised them to document the threats in writing, obtain the building's security footage quickly, and record witnesses' statements with their consent. Any new attack or threat should be reported to the relevant authorities without delay.

Mylin documented everything.

Even then, Ormas's men made one final attempt.

One afternoon, as Jarek waited outside the studio, a car pulled up. Three men stepped out. One carried a metal rod.

“You've been warned enough times,” he said.

Jarek replied, “And you've come to the wrong place again.”

The man looked at Mylin.

“This is your last warning. Stop painting.”

Mylin stepped forward.

“I make my own decisions. Not yours.”

The man raised the metal rod and moved toward her.

Jarek stepped between them.

“Stay away from her.”

The man swung. Jarek dodged and struck his knee, sending him to the ground. The second man grabbed Jarek by the shoulder. Jarek broke free and struck his elbow. The third man approached from behind, but Jarek shoved him away.

During the struggle, one of the men tried to reach Mylin. Jarek blocked his path. When the man attacked again, Jarek knocked his hand aside and struck his elbow.

Within moments, none of the three men was able to continue attacking.

Jarek stood still. This time, he did not strike anyone again. Looking at the injured men, he said, “This ends here. Do not attack anyone else.”

People were approaching from a distance. Someone called for emergency assistance, and a witness recorded the confrontation on a phone.

Mylin came to stand beside Jarek.

“You stopped,” she said.

Jarek looked at her.

“You have to know when to stop.”

“Did you know before?”

Jarek could not answer.

Mylin said, “You want to stop injustice. But if you let your anger make every decision, the meaning of your principles will change.”

Jarek slowly nodded.

“I know.”

“Knowing isn't enough.”

“I know that, too.”

The incident was reported to the police. The injured men received medical care. Video footage, witness accounts, and records of the earlier threats were preserved together.

Questions were raised about Jarek's own conduct as well. He did not run away. On the advice of his lawyer, he prepared to give a statement. He explained that he had used force to repel an attack but insisted that the circumstances of every blow should be examined impartially.

It was not an easy decision. By making all the details public, he could expose himself to legal consequences. Still, he understood that demanding justice did not mean exempting himself from an investigation into his own actions.

Meanwhile, Ormas realized that frightening Mylin and trapping Jarek in accusations of violence would not be enough to control the situation. Records were accumulating. Multiple witnesses were speaking out. Questions were being raised about financial documents.

The knots in a network of power that had remained hidden for years were beginning to show.

## Chapter Seven

### The Final Boundary

Ormas's mansion stood in a gated residential district far from the city center. High walls surrounded it. Security cameras covered the property, guards watched the entrance, and a separate area was reserved for vehicles. From the outside, it looked like a private residence, but several rooms inside resembled offices.

Jarek had spent days gathering information about the property. He had no legal authorization to enter, and he knew that doing so could expose him to serious criminal charges.

Even so, one night he decided to go there.

He believed the threats against Mylin, Rugar's attack, and the irregularities in the financial records made a direct confrontation with Ormas necessary. But he also understood that his decision was dangerous and legally questionable.

He did not enter through the main gate. Instead, he tried to get inside through an old service entrance on the side of the building. After bypassing several security measures, he reached a corridor. But once there, he realized that the security team might already know he was inside.

At the end of the corridor was Ormas's private office.

When Jarek opened the door, he found Ormas sitting at his desk. He was over fifty, neatly dressed, with several files, a closed laptop, and a glass on the desk. Ormas looked as though Jarek's arrival was not entirely unexpected.

“So you've finally come,” Ormas said.

Jarek stood near the door.

“Your men have been threatening Mylin.”

“People say all kinds of things. Am I responsible for every word they speak?”

“Rugar acted on your orders.”

Ormas smiled faintly.

“Do you have proof?”

“Your men entered her studio. There's security footage. There are witnesses. The later threats have also been documented.”

“Then take legal action. Why have you come to me?”

Jarek realized that Ormas was deliberately trying to provoke him.

“You know there are irregularities in the financial records of your organizations. Some government contracts don't add up. People connected to you are using political influence to intimidate your opponents.”

Ormas stood up from his desk.

“Irregularities aren't crimes. An accusation isn't proof. Don't you know that?”

“I do. That's why the records are being examined.”

“Then why are you here?”

Jarek remained silent for a moment.

“I wanted to hear what you would say to my face.”

Ormas laughed.

“You came looking for the truth, or did you come to hurt me?”

The question stopped Jarek.

Ormas stepped closer.

“You struck Vremor. You injured Rugar. You hurt my men. Now you've entered my home without permission. You think you're defending freedom, but every step you take brings you closer to becoming a powerful man like me.”

“I don't want to be like you.”

“Then why are you in my house? If you want to make a complaint, there are lawyers, investigative agencies, and courts. Do you think the ability to hurt people is enough to establish the truth?”

Jarek had no easy answer.

Ormas returned to his desk.

“You, Silva, and Mylin all think you're different. But this city runs on money, permits, connections, and fear. Your principles sound good. In the real world, principles aren't enough to run a system.”

“You can't silence people in the name of running a system,” Jarek replied.

“People aren't silenced. They're taught what it will cost them to speak.”

Jarek felt his anger rising again.

“You've maintained your power by frightening people.”

“And you want to control people with your physical strength. What's the difference?”

Jarek stepped forward.

“I don't want to punish people for expressing their opinions.”

“But you decide who has crossed the line and what punishment they deserve. Can't you be wrong?”

Jarek stopped.

He had asked himself that question before. Hearing it from Ormas intensified the conflict inside him.

Ormas opened a desk drawer. His hand moved toward a revolver inside.

Jarek reacted immediately.

“Take your hand away.”

Ormas tried to grab the weapon.

The next moment, they were struggling. Jarek struck Ormas's wrist, and the revolver fell to the floor. Ormas staggered backward and tried to move toward him again. Jarek struck his elbow. Ormas lost his balance and fell beside the desk.

When Ormas tried to get up, Jarek struck his knee. Ormas fell again and cried out in pain.

Jarek stood in front of him.

“Is this what your power comes down to?” he asked. “You frighten people and use weapons to force them to obey you?”

Ormas writhed in pain but still managed to speak.

“You think you've stopped me?”

“I want to stop you. But I understand now that hurting you won't destroy the system you've built.”

Jarek stepped back.

Several files lay on Ormas's desk. Jarek did not try to take them. If he removed documents without authorization, their source and admissibility could be challenged. He simply noted the layout of the room and looked for a way out.

Then he heard security personnel approaching outside.

Jarek glanced at the weapon on the floor. He left it untouched.

Before reaching the door, he turned back.

“The allegations against you should be investigated. What I've done should be investigated, too. I'm not asking for a separate set of laws for myself.”

Ormas said nothing.

Jarek left the mansion. He knew the incident could not remain secret. His injuries to Ormas, the allegations of trespassing, and the attempt to bypass the security system could all be used against him.

He did not try to disappear. The next day, he contacted his lawyer and reported what had happened. He sought advice about the potential charges against him. He acknowledged that entering Ormas's home had been a mistake and that he should have pursued legal channels before going there, even though the confrontation had eventually involved a threat from an armed man.

At the same time, the records preserved by Silva and Mylin began reaching investigators. Copies of public documents, contract records, and witness accounts were submitted for review.

Several complaints prompted demands for an independent investigation. Investigators requested financial records from the relevant organizations. Complaints about the conduct of security personnel were formally recorded. The attack on Mylin's studio also came under investigation.

Jarek realized that establishing the truth would take longer than he had imagined. Injuring a powerful man might be easy. Identifying every connection in his network, tracing the flow of money, and determining who was responsible for each decision was much harder.

But this time, Jarek was not working alone.

There were documents. There was testimony. There was a sequence of recorded events. And there were people who, despite their fear, were willing to speak about what they had witnessed.

## Chapter Eight

### Beyond the Boundary

Several weeks later, the city began to change in small ways.

First, a government office announced that contracts involving several organizations connected to Ormas would be reviewed. Then an investigative team was formed to examine the financial transactions. Several officials were questioned. Copies of certain records were obtained under court orders.

At the beginning of the investigation, not every allegation was proven. Some financial entries were explained. Other discrepancies remained unresolved. Serious questions were raised about the approval process for several contracts. Statements were taken from the people involved. Allegations that lacked sufficient evidence were set aside, while those supported by preliminary evidence proceeded to formal investigation.

Action was taken against Ormas based on several allegations. Financial records from some of his organizations were seized under court authorization. Several close associates were detained on suspicion of obstructing the investigation. Later, after additional evidence emerged, Ormas himself was arrested.

The news spread rapidly across the city.

Some headlines announced the collapse of a powerful business network. Others focused on the investigation into financial transactions conducted under political influence. Some outlets portrayed Jarek as the hero of the entire affair.

But Jarek knew he did not deserve all the credit.

Mylin's records, Silva's long investigation, the witnesses' statements, copies of government documents, and the work of investigators had all contributed to bringing the matter into the open. Jarek's own violent conduct had not been excluded from scrutiny.

News reports mentioned Ormas's injuries after his arrest, but no reliable information established whether he had suffered permanent disability. Jarek made no such claim. He understood that treating another person's physical injuries as a victory for justice would be wrong.

Questions also began to surround Vremor. People demanded investigations into his speech at the rally, the incident involving the journalist, and the conduct of his security personnel. At first, Vremor denied all the allegations. Later, he claimed that the security officers had made mistakes while trying to manage the situation.

But public pressure continued over his failure to answer the journalist's questions and his proposal to collect citizens' personal information.

The damaged parts of Mylin's studio were repaired. She returned to painting. This time, however, she also established a system for preserving records. She dated every painting. When a work was inspired by a real event, she kept a list of relevant public documents. If there was insufficient evidence against a particular person, she avoided identifying that person as a criminal in her explanations.

Her new exhibition was titled *Invisible Ropes*.

At its center stood the same enormous bird. But this time, no ropes bound its wings. The bird was flying. Beneath it stretched the city's buildings, streets, and rows of windows. People stood in some of the windows. One held a book, another a document, and another a paintbrush. No one was trying to cover anyone else's mouth.

Jarek attended the exhibition's opening.

Mylin stood in front of the painting. When she saw him, she smiled.

“You came.”

“I wanted to see the painting.”

“The bird is flying now.”

“Where did the ropes go?”

“Not all the ropes broke in a single day. Some people untied them themselves. Others were cut. And some ropes are still there—outside the painting.”

Jarek studied the artwork.

“Does that mean this is the end?”

“No. It's only the end of one stage.”

“Do you think the city has changed?”

Mylin considered the question.

“Some people are asking questions now. Some documents have come to light. A few organizations are being forced to answer for their actions. But I wouldn't say the abuse of power has ended. We'll need time to know whether the changes are lasting.”

Jarek nodded.

“You're right.”

Mylin looked at him.

“What happened with the investigation into you?”

“Statements have been taken about several incidents. My lawyer has submitted the necessary information. They're examining the circumstances of self-defense, the amount of force I used, and whether there were points when I could have stopped the confrontation.”

“Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

Mylin looked surprised.

“You get afraid?”

“If a person feels no fear, they may lose sight of their own limits. I have to think about the consequences of the decisions I've made.”

She remained silent for a moment.

“Do you still believe in your old rule?”

Jarek looked at the painting.

“I believe people should have the right to speak for themselves and make their own decisions. Taking away someone else's freedom is wrong. But I've also learned that I can't take every judgment into my own hands while trying to defend that freedom.”

“So your rule has changed?”

“I understand its meaning more clearly now. We have to try to stop injustice, but there must be limits to the methods we use. Self-defense and revenge are not the same thing. An allegation and proof are not the same thing. Power and rights are not the same thing, either.”

Mylin smiled faintly.

“Those ideas are difficult to paint.”

“Maybe that's why you're an artist.”

They both looked at the painting.

After the exhibition, Jarek went to the tea shop. Bhadr Bhai served him tea just as he always had. On the television, the news covered Ormas's arrest and the progress of the investigation.

Bhadr Bhai said, “The names of powerful people are appearing in the news now.”

Jarek picked up his cup.

“A name appearing in the news doesn't mean guilt has been proven.”

“You speak more carefully than you used to.”

“I used to think that whenever I saw injustice, I had to stop it immediately. Now I understand that the way we stop it matters, too.”

Bhadr Bhai smiled.

“People learn by making mistakes. But not everyone can admit when they've made one.”

Jarek looked out the window.

The city was as busy as ever. Cars moved along the streets. Shops opened. People went to work. Advertisements appeared on digital screens, and lights shone from the windows of tall buildings. It seemed as though nothing had changed.

But some things had.

People were asking where the evidence was when allegations were made. When questions arose about an organization's decisions, records were being requested. Some journalists were correcting their reports. Several officials were being forced to provide public explanations. Not every problem had been solved, but silence was no longer being accepted as the only safe option.

Jarek finished his tea and stood up.

“Come back again,” Bhadr Bhai said.

“I will.”

Jarek walked out of the shop and disappeared into the crowd. No one recognized him. No one called out to him. He took no photographs and made no announcements. He did not try to turn his name into a symbol.

Some people in the city called him cruel. Others considered him dangerous. Still others saw him as a man who had stood up for freedom. Jarek knew that none of these descriptions captured his entire identity.

He had made mistakes. He had opposed injustice. Sometimes he had used force in self-defense; at other times, he had crossed his own limits in anger. He was responsible for his own actions. Another person's wrongdoing could not erase his mistakes, just as his mistakes could not make another person's crimes disappear.

His path lay between those two truths.

Night fell. Streetlights came on one by one. The city's reflection appeared in the glass walls of distant buildings. People continued with their lives. No one knew where Jarek was going.

Perhaps he would face another injustice. Perhaps this time he would begin by gathering evidence. Perhaps, when trying to protect someone, he would remember to respect his own limits.

But he had learned one essential lesson: protecting the boundaries of freedom requires more than recognizing where other people must stop. It also requires recognizing the limits of one's own power.

Because someone who believes his power has no limits while defending another person's freedom can eventually become a threat to that very freedom.

Jarek disappeared into the city's crowded streets. Behind him remained the tea shop, the old library, Mylin's canvas, and a collection of records that could no longer be erased so easily.

The boundaries within the city were no longer as invisible as they had once been. At least some people now knew where to look for them. (The End) ©️All Right Reserved by Junayed Ashrafur Rahman

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