A soft breeze brushed through the serene fields of Nandigram as the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the quiet town, a place Arefin had known all his life. He loved this town, everything about it, but now he had to leave. The first time he left Nandigram was to attend college in Dhaka. But this time was different; he was leaving Bangladesh, not only Nandigram. In just a few days, he would be heading to Toronto, having received admission to his dream university. The weight of leaving behind the place where he had spent all his life settled heavily on him, and a sense of melancholy washed over him.
This place, the roads that he knew so well, the way the air smelled, and the familiar rhythm of life—so known, so predictable—would soon be left behind in the past.
He knew he’d miss the small things: the chatter at the tea stalls, the old tree where he and his friends would sit for hours, the soft murmur of familiar voices, everything. And then there was Shrestha.
Shrestha had been his companion through many phases of his life. She lived just a few roads away. Arefin was a quiet kid, and he didn’t have many friends. He shared all his secrets with Shrestha.
Somewhere along the way, his friendship with her had blossomed into something more, something unspoken but deeply felt. He never confessed his love, but both knew there was something between them that went beyond friendship.
Today was just like any other summer day. The town bazaar was buzzing with activity. People moved around, haggling over prices. Arefin walked through the crowd, but his mind was elsewhere. The thought of leaving Shrestha behind tugged at him harder than he expected.
His heart quickened as he looked up. There, across the market, standing among a group of friends, was Shrestha. Her eyes were already on Arefin. Despite the sea of faces between them, her eyes somehow had found him. And just like that, everything else faded away. Their eyes locked, and instantly, her face lit up with a beautiful, lovely smile. It was a smile that spoke volumes. Arefin felt something stir inside him, an ache he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. That smile, that look, her passion-filled eyes—they all whispered what words hadn’t. It told him his presence mattered to her. That moment, so brief yet so potent, made him feel seen, loved, and appreciated in a way he hadn’t realized he craved.
He softly smiled back. His smile expressed the melancholy he was feeling. And for a second, time seemed to stop. The world around them continued its busy hum, but for them, there was only that gaze, that fleeting connection that said more than they ever had.
Later that evening, they sat together at their usual spot by the riverbank. They called the place Fultola. There was a big Krishnachura tree there. They loved sitting beside the tree, facing the river. The soft murmur of the water and the distant chirping of crickets created a peaceful soundtrack. A few Krishnachura flowers washed over the water. Arefin and Shrestha had been there countless times, yet today felt different. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air, and the horizon, painted with the orange hues of dusk, seemed to stretch endlessly, blending nicely with the river.
“I’ll miss this place,” Arefin finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Toronto is so far,” Shrestha replied, her eyes on the water, though her voice trembled slightly. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
Arefin nodded, but the reassurance didn’t quite reach him. There was a tension, a realization that their lives were about to change in ways they couldn’t fully comprehend. The long summer afternoons, the quiet talks by the river, near Fultola, near Rupshagor—those moments would soon become distant memories.
The wind knocked the orna off Shrestha. She quickly pulled her orna tighter around her shoulders. The evening breeze seemed to grow colder. Arefin looked away. He wanted to say more, to confess the feelings he had kept hidden for so long, but fear gripped him. He knew that once the words left his lips, there would be no turning back. What if it changed everything? Would it even matter now? He felt sad, thinking.
Shrestha broke the silence. “Do you ever think about how life will be after you leave?”
He turned to her, searching for the right words. “I’m thinking about it now. I’ll be in a new place, meeting new people, but… I don’t know if anything will feel the same. Not like this.”
She looked at him, her gaze steady but soft, as if trying to read something between the lines. “This?” she asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.
“This,” he repeated, gesturing around them. “You. The way we’ve always been.”
Shrestha smiled, a wistful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Some things don’t change, Arefin. No matter where you are. We’ll keep contact. We’ll see each other again.”
Her words lingered in the air, filling the space between them. He wanted to believe her, but deep down, he knew that time and distance had a way of shifting even the most constant things.
As the sky started to darken and stars began to peek through, Shrestha handed Arefin a small package wrapped in colored paper. “A gift,” she said quietly.
He unwrapped it to find a book, Parineeta.
“I know you don’t like Saratchandra. But he’s my favorite. You’ll understand why,” she added, her voice light but her eyes betraying a deeper sentiment. “To remind you of home. And me.”
Arefin felt a lump rise in his throat. This simple gift meant more to him than any grand gesture. Shrestha could have given him a book she knew he liked, but she chose not to. He realized that her choice would make him think of her over and over. And perhaps, in missing her, he would come to love tragic love stories and Saratchandra, her favorite writer. He used to criticize Saratchandra all the time, just to tease Shrestha—and she knew it. Now, this book became a piece of home, a piece of her, that he could carry with him.
The next morning, Arefin stood at the bus station with his family, his suitcase at his feet. His family was going to Dhaka with him. From there, he’d catch the plane. The bus rumbled in front of him, but his mind was back on the riverbank, on Shrestha’s smile, on the way her eyes had found him so easily in the crowd.
Shrestha arrived just in time, her breath short from running. She stood there for a moment, catching her breath, and then, without a word, she smiled. It was the same smile from yesterday—full of warmth, full of something deeper than friendship, maybe love. It was a smile that said more than they ever had aloud.
Arefin felt a swell of emotion rise in his chest. He wanted to say something, to confess, but before he could, the bus horn blared, breaking the moment. With one last glance at Shrestha, he stepped onto the bus. He turned back to the bus, fighting the urge to look back, to say goodbye in the way he truly wanted.
As the bus pulled away, Arefin watched through the window as Shrestha grew smaller and smaller, standing alone at the station. But her smile, the memory of their shared moments, remained with him, woven into Saratchandra’s tragic love story in his lap. He glanced at the book. Parineeta, such a lovely name. He thought that no matter how far he went, some things wouldn’t change. They couldn’t. Not entirely.
Leave a Reply