"So, you're asking about Runi? The woman you all know as Selina Mehrin-to us, she has always been Runi. I've known her since our school days. We studied at the same high school.
From childhood, she was incredibly mischievous. If there was trouble anywhere, her name would be at the top of the list. But no matter how wild she seemed, she was fiercely loyal to her friends and always the first to stand against injustice.
Once, a teacher failed almost our entire group simply because we didn't take private coaching from him. Even after we pointed out the mistakes in our exam scripts, he refused to admit he was wrong. Runi was furious. She locked the classroom door from the inside and kept the teacher there for four hours. Eventually, the headmaster had to intervene and settle the matter before releasing him."
Ratul raised an eyebrow.
"That was such a huge incident. It didn't make the news?"
Nina gave a faint smile.
"Well... Runi's father was a senior leader of the Domestic Party. Because of that, neither the local media nor even the headmaster dared to pursue the matter further."
The conversation had been going on for nearly an hour. Ratul was interviewing Nina, the close friend of the newly elected youngest Prime Minister, Selina Mehrin, about her school and university years.
Ratul had recently joined Daily Chokher Tara as a junior reporter.

In the last election, Selina Mehrin had taken oath as the youngest Prime Minister in the country's history. What made it even more extraordinary was that her party's victory came amid severe political instability. Almost everyone-veteran politicians and analysts alike-had been certain that Sabbir Raihan of the National Progress Alliance would become Prime Minister.
But in a stunning turn of events, the Domestic Party claimed victory.
So when Ratul was summoned to the editor's office early one morning three days ago, he wasn't surprised.
"Listen, Ratul," the editor had said, leaning back in his chair. "Write an editorial on the new Prime Minister's childhood. Everyone is covering her current policies. I want something different. Cover her early years. You'll find some information in this file. The rest, you'll have to dig up yourself."
Ratul had opened the file only to find almost nothing about her childhood.
"Sir, there's barely anything here. It only says she grew up in Jessore and completed her Honours and Master's in Political Science from Dhaka University."
"That's exactly why I'm giving you the assignment," the editor replied sharply. "Otherwise, even my office assistant could write an article copying from Wikipedia."

"I understand, sir. Don't worry. I'll handle it."
For the past three days, Ratul had been searching everywhere, but he found nothing substantial. Everyone he spoke to praised her achievements and leadership, yet no one provided any meaningful details about her childhood.
Finally, after persistent effort, he tracked down Nina.
"May I ask a few questions about Prime Minister Mehrin's personal life?" he began.
For the first time since the interview began, Nina's composure shifted.
Her fingers, which had been resting calmly on the table, slowly intertwined. She cleared her throat. The confident smile she had maintained throughout the conversation faltered, just slightly.
"Personal life?" she repeated, forcing a light laugh. "I'm not sure how much there is to say about that."
Ratul noticed it immediately. A few moments ago, she had spoken freely-almost proudly-about Runi's rebellious childhood and fearless nature. But now her voice had grown thinner. Careful.
"Yes," Ratul said gently, keeping his tone neutral. "Childhood friendships, relationships... people who were close to her before politics."
Nina looked away. Her gaze shifted toward the window. Outside, the late afternoon light cast long shadows across the floor. She swallowed.
"Runi was always... focused," she said slowly. "Even in university. She didn't have time for distractions."
"Distractions?" Ratul leaned forward slightly. "You mean relationships?"
A pause. Too long of a pause.
Nina's jaw tightened. "I think," she said carefully, "some things belong to the past. And some things are better left there."
Ratul felt it then-the shift in the room. This wasn't simple privacy. This was hesitation.
He kept his expression calm, but inside, his instincts sharpened.
"As a journalist," he said softly, "my job is to understand the full picture. The public is curious about who she was before she became Prime Minister."
Nina met his eyes again, but this time there was something guarded in them.
"You're digging in places," she said quietly, "where powerful people don't like digging."
The words hung between them.
Ratul felt a strange chill.
"Are you suggesting," he asked carefully, "that her personal life is connected to her political rise?"
Nina stood up abruptly. "I think," she said, smoothing the fabric of her dress, "this interview is over for today."
She left the room, her steps quiet but deliberate, leaving behind a tension that seemed to cling to the air.
Ratul leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table. For a moment, he let the silence settle.
This was clearly not the end of the story. He could feel it in the way Nina had avoided his gaze, in the tremor of her voice, in the careful choice of words. There was more beneath the surface-something she wasn't ready to reveal.
He allowed himself a small smile, a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. This was only the beginning.
Questions were forming in his mind faster than he could articulate them. What had shaped Selina Mehrin into the Prime Minister she was today? What secrets from her past had been carefully buried?
Ratul knew one thing for certain: he was going to find out. And somehow, he had a feeling that what he would uncover would change everything he thought he knew about her.
He stood, straightening his jacket, and glanced toward the window. Outside, the city hummed with life, oblivious to the quiet storm brewing inside these walls.
This was just the beginning-and he was ready for the journey.