Suchanda still has that terrible habit of drinking tea at midnight. She could easily break free from it if she wanted to, but she hasn't. Let this habit of one cup of tea remain, after all—it's not such a bad habit to carry through life.
Whenever Suchanda goes to make tea at night, she remembers Kanta and Shobhon. The three of them—Suchanda, Kanta, and Shobhon—used to compete over tea consumption during their university days. Kanta holds the record of drinking 20 to 22 cups of tea in a single day. That same Kanta with whom Suchanda no longer has any contact. Both living in the same city of Dhaka, yet neither approaches the other, as if both remain perpetually cautious, afraid—oh no... what if we run into each other... run... run...
Dhaka is such a ravenous city—hundreds of acquaintances lie hidden, swallowed in its belly, and the city keeps no account of them.
Well, perhaps there had been some misunderstanding between Suchanda and Kanta, but what about Shobhon? Why did he suddenly disappear? What was the reason behind this vanishing? Did Kanta truly love Shobhon? If that were the case, then why didn't she take his hand in the end? Why did Kanta disappear after sending Suchanda a letter with just six words: "You stole Shobhon away from me!?"
And Shobhon? Not once in their four years at university did Suchanda hear him say he loved her! Why didn't he speak? Because of Suchanda's different religion? Why do some people disappear without saying anything at all?
Lost in these old thoughts, Suchanda suddenly noticed the tea had burned black. She threw it away. And somehow she began to feel irritation, disgust, and revulsion toward tea. Suchanda understood clearly—this bad habit of hers seemed to have fled from this very day!
How a single letter with just six words scattered the lives of three people—the city called Dhaka has no sense of this rhythm; it sleeps carelessly on.