Though I was anything but normal, I said, 'I'm fine, you go ahead.' She said, 'Look, our relationship won't be accepted at home.' I said, 'Why?' She said, 'Because we're the same age.' I said, 'But you told me that didn't matter. You said you'd make it work.' She said, 'Yes, I did say that. But everyone in my family who married for love—none of them are happy.' I said, 'So you were happy all this time, and the moment you have to sit for your university exams, suddenly everyone becomes miserable?' That's when she really lost it! She said, 'Yes, is that how you're talking to me? Look, that's not even the main reason. There are so many other reasons.' I said, 'What reasons? Tell me.' She said, 'You won't be able to handle it if I do.' I said, 'After everything we've done these months, after hearing all this and still being composed, I can handle whatever else you have to say. Tell me.' She said, 'Look, you're way too thin. You don't take care of yourself at all. You don't study properly. You don't eat well. You don't mix with anyone. You're a city girl—you won't be able to adjust to village life. You're like a doll made of cream, meant only to be displayed in a showcase, but you can't actually build a life with.' I said, 'I can do everything. Yes, I'm a doll made of cream, but for you, I learned to cook and do everything else. And now you're saying this? All the reasons you just gave—those exact reasons are why you fell in love with me once, why you stood by my side. Why are you saying these things now?' I was speaking calmly, but she got three or four times angrier and said, 'I just don't feel it anymore, okay? What's your problem?' I said, 'No, no, why would I have a problem?' The truth was, I had nothing left to say. She said, 'I'm tall, and you're shorter than me—the proportions just don't match perfectly.' I couldn't believe my own ears. It felt like smoke was pouring out of them. Already sick, and on top of that, this—I couldn't keep my balance. She hung up. I sat there in silence. And I just kept thinking. Thinking how any of this was possible. I cried all day. After that, I didn't call her, even though I wanted to terribly; I didn't even message. Two days later, she called herself. And she said, 'Sorry. I was hot-headed, so I said all those backwards things.' I can't even tell you what joy I felt hearing that. What she said doesn't matter anymore—my mind had room for only one thing, and that was: she was back! I felt like the happiest person in the world! Two days later, I finally took a deep breath, as if my chest had room for it again!
# Translator’s Delivery
And then, just like before, the conversations started again. Our lives filled up with dream after dream. We’d talk about what would happen if she got into university—how would we manage to see each other then? She’d miss my cooking terribly; who would feed her like that at university? Those kinds of things. After she passed, she’d get a job. She used to tell me to get one too. That one thing—it would sweep away all my happiness. Anyway, gradually she started taking entrance exams for university. Then one day, suddenly, I realized something was wrong. When I asked, she didn’t want to tell me. But finally she said the money I’d scraped together for her university entrance exam had run out. There was still the admission test left. So she couldn’t sit for the exam anymore. And she wouldn’t get in. And she didn’t want to study at a national college. That meant losing a whole year. She said all this and a lot of other emotional things, and then she cried. I felt terrible. I tried to comfort her. I said, “Don’t worry. Just keep studying. I’ll figure something out.” She asked, “What will you figure out?” I said, “I’ll help.” She said, “No, no. I’ve already taken so much from you. I won’t take anymore help.” I tried to reason with her. She didn’t say anything more. But maybe, deep down, she was hoping I’d keep insisting and give her the money anyway.
I had some savings. I gave them to her. Then she took the exam. She didn’t get in. After that she sat for another one, and she got in. Then she left for university. I had said we should meet before she left, but she said she had to go. Her uncle had paid for her admission that time. Her uncle wasn’t helping as much as before. What little he was doing wasn’t enough for her. Anyway, around that time she needed formal clothes for a presentation. But by then expenses had piled up so much that she didn’t tell anyone in her family. We had a relationship—the kind where everything gets shared. When I found out, I gave her the money for the formal dress. In the middle of all this, her older sister got married. She used to say their family wouldn’t accept a relationship-based marriage, but her sister went ahead and married someone she was in a relationship with anyway. She came home for it. She was so busy with the wedding that she couldn’t take my calls or text me back. We’d talk for maybe a minute or two a day, that’s all.
# The Call
Then one day someone else picked up when I called. One of her cousins—several of them knew about us, but this one didn’t. I hung up the moment I heard an unfamiliar voice. When she found out, she was furious. For two days she spoke to me in an almost civil tone. Then, out of nowhere, she said, ‘I need to talk to you about something urgent. I’ll call you tonight.’
I waited all day for night to fall so I could hear what it was. When she called, she said, ‘Look, I’m really tired today. I’ll tell you tomorrow.’ I didn’t push. I had no idea what was coming the next day.
The day after, she called and said, ‘Listen, I can’t do this. I can’t keep this kind of relationship going. It’s going to take me longer to get on my feet. Your family won’t keep you unmarried forever because of me.’
I told her, ‘Whether they keep me unmarried or marry me off—that’s for me to figure out, not you.’
She said, ‘I can’t drag you into an uncertain future. And my family situation is terrible. You won’t be able to adjust to it.’
‘I already know all of this,’ I said. ‘Why do you keep saying the same things over and over?’
‘My family will never accept a love marriage,’ she said.
But she didn’t know that I already knew—about her sister’s love marriage. One of her cousins had told me. I said, ‘Your sister is marrying for love, so what’s the problem if you do?’
‘Who told you this?’ she demanded.
‘Whoever told me, it’s true,’ I replied.
The thing was, her family was the type that could love and marry, but if people found out, their honour would be destroyed. She said to me, ‘You’re slandering my sister! Watch yourself!’
‘How is a love marriage slander?’ I asked. ‘It’s a beautiful thing. Two people getting to know each other, understanding each other, and then marrying. What’s wrong with that?’
She said, ‘I don’t know what anyone else is doing. But my sister could never do such a thing.’
So I told her—I named the cousin who’d told me. She went quiet. Then she hung up.
A few minutes later, she called back. ‘Fine. My sister’s marrying for love. But she has the qualifications for it, that’s why it happened.’
‘Qualifications?’ I said. ‘What qualifications does she have? Tell me.’
She fell silent. Then she said, ‘Look, whatever happened to my sister is done—she’s someone else’s daughter-in-law now. But you’re going to be my family’s daughter-in-law. And this is a village, not a city. Being a daughter-in-law here requires certain… qualities.’
She said many things like this. I sat there, speechless, just listening.
Now, when I think about it, this wasn’t arrogance on my part. But such thoughts come to us simply by nature. Here’s the thing: a person with so many problems—someone I’ve done everything in my power to shield from financial hardship—how could they treat me this way? I was preparing myself for someone whose family circumstances were worse than those of our housemaid. And yet, to become his wife, I needed to prove my worth! Why? Just because he got a university seat and I didn’t, because I study at the national college? Oh, this obsession with university! Love has nothing to do with qualifications. I may love someone who doesn’t appeal to your eyes. As for why anyone loves anyone at all—I suspect even those who’ve married for love and lived happily wouldn’t be able to explain it! As for the people around us, all they do is make backwards comments about everything. They gossip about something just so you won’t dare say anything about that very thing concerning them.
Anyway, before love came into the picture, none of this mattered. But after he got his university seat, what would people say—that became everything. Suddenly I had to prove so many qualifications! There I was, blind with love. So I was ready to prove myself in every way possible. I said to him, ‘Tell me, what exactly do I need to qualify? I’m ready to prove it.’ He wasn’t prepared to hear that. I think he expected me to back down. When he heard me say this, he grew even more disappointed. He let out a long sigh and asked, ‘Why are you being so desperate?’ I said, ‘Never mind all that. Just tell me what qualifications you mean.’ Then he came up with some flimsy arguments.
He said, ‘You have to pray. You don’t fast, but you’ll have to fast. You have to follow all religious rules and restrictions. You have to work, do housework. You have to do everything the village mothers and sisters do.’ I just listened. I said nothing. Then he hung up. I sat there thinking, ‘How could he say such things!’ When someone realizes that a person has fallen in love with them, that they cannot live without them—that’s when they say whatever comes to their mouth. Most people, given the chance, don’t hesitate to become petty. Yet I myself used to tell him, ‘You should pray.’ I was praying then too. But only four times a day. He, on the other hand, didn’t pray even once. I doubt he ever even went to Friday prayers! For someone I suspect didn’t even know how to spell religion, I had to hear all this from his mouth! Oh, what a hypocrite! And he compared me to his sister! Not that I wish to speak ill of anyone or diminish them, but that’s when I began to think. His sister was darker than me, shorter, hopeless at studies! The only thing in life she paid attention to was love. Despite being a village girl, she couldn’t do much housework. And as for their financial situation—I needn’t mention it. Do such things fall under the measure of qualifications? Besides, I never measured things by such standards. I looked at a person’s heart.
# From Our College Days
If I ever go back to our college now, the teachers and lecturers still say it—there was this boy in your batch, Jahidi, wasn’t there? He was such a fine student. What’s he up to these days? Anyway, they still talk about him. Yes, I fell in love with him because of his heart. But his sister—she didn’t have one like that. A twisted, arrogant woman. I can’t even fathom where all that pride came from. Though I suppose girls themselves don’t understand what they’re being proud about. And the man she married—he was educated, handsome, wealthy. The kind society and sentiment would call perfect. I don’t know why he chose her. But he’s a genuinely good person. Their marriage caused quite a stir in his family, and he handled it all. And somehow it all became proof of her merit—something I apparently lacked. Really, when you think about it carefully, you have to ask: did she not have merit, or did I? I never got an answer to that question then. I still don’t.
I kept thinking about what she’d said—did she want a wife or a housemaid? How can someone say things like that about a person they claim to love? And who was this person? The one I knew, the one everyone thought well of—who was she really? I cried all day thinking about it. For two or three days I didn’t call, and neither did she. Then after another few days, she called. I had a 2G phone back then. You couldn’t run YouTube on it. She told me to go to YouTube and watch some career talk videos by Sushant Pal Bhaiya. Watch them carefully. Memorize them completely. She’d quiz me on them. I’d have to answer. And I should join one of the organizations on campus tomorrow. Don’t spend all day just in love, love, love. Be a social being for once. You can’t live like this, always mooning over someone. I didn’t even know what YouTube was then. My phone wasn’t that advanced. I said nothing. I just listened in silence. After saying all that, she hung up.
I was in college at the time. We were in the middle of exams. I sat under a tree after one exam, just thinking. What was all this? There was a time when I didn’t mix much with anyone, and she loved that about me. She’d say I’d go astray mixing with boys, that those organizations I wanted to join weren’t good. And now she wanted to make me social. She’d said not to call her until I’d watched the videos, not until I’d learned something. But my phone couldn’t play videos. And YouTube—I’d never even heard of such a thing until then. I didn’t call her again. I focused on my exams. But my heart was heavy. I cried a lot and studied.
I can read something aloud just once and retain it. But when I read aloud, my tonsils swell, my throat gets hoarse. Speaking doesn’t cause nearly the same trouble, though that brings its own problems sometimes—just not as severe as reading does. Because of this, everything takes me longer. Sometimes it feels unbearable. If I didn’t have this problem, I could study much better. But I wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always have it. It happened. You’ll understand why as the story goes on. What hurts even more is thinking back to when I *could* read—and I didn’t. Now I can’t read that way anymore. Allah has taken that ability from me. I have so many problems, some I’m too ashamed to even speak about. I don’t like telling anyone. I keep my suffering to myself. There’s no need to share pain. When you share suffering with just anyone, its weight diminishes. And whoever diminishes the weight of their own suffering in this world—nobody faces greater sorrow than that person.
Say I’m good at math. And I love doing it. But a chapter that used to take me forty-five minutes—now just revising it eats up my entire day. I’m completely exhausted. When I read aloud, things stick immediately, but it destroys my throat. So when I try to retain something silently, I have to read it fifteen, sixteen times over. So much time wasted. And I’m stuck at home all day. It already makes me feel mad, and on top of that, there are so many obstacles around me that even if I wanted to, I can’t do half the things I wish to. Still, I try to give my best. If my throat were fine, I wouldn’t accept any limitation. I have a severe cold problem. Because of it, I have to take two hundred and ten milligrams of medicine daily. I don’t sleep well either. All of this drains me. I feel terrible about it. All this suffering, every single day! But I don’t let anyone see it.
And then I think—maybe I deserve this. During those months when I was in love, the way I treated my parents was unimaginable. Yet they have no complaint against me. But sin is still sin, isn’t it? It’s strange to think about—whenever I sin, I’m punished immediately. But when I do something good, do I ever get rewarded? I don’t even know. Yes, I’ve come to see all this as a test. But those who commit far worse sins—they seem to live just fine! That’s reality!! Yet despite everything, I have to keep trying, pushing myself forward and holding onto happiness.
Anyway, let me get back to the story. After my exams ended, I called him. He hadn’t called in days. When I did call, he’d ask if I’d joined any organization. All the campus organizations had been run by his younger sister. I hadn’t told anyone, but he knew about us—his cousins had mentioned it. That girl was the type who’d make anyone she held a grudge against work like a dog. So I told him, ‘I didn’t go there for these reasons.’ Hearing this, he got even more furious. Then he asked if I’d seen the video on YouTube. I said, ‘My phone doesn’t work well for that.’ He told me to watch it on someone else’s phone. I said, ‘Who’s going to lend me their phone?’ He said, ‘Wow! All this time you couldn’t find a single friend willing to let you borrow their phone to watch YouTube? You’re genuinely an antisocial girl!’ I said, ‘It’s not like that. The thing is, I don’t like bothering people.’
Then he said, ‘Look, we’re the same age. If you won’t listen to me now, what makes you think you will after marriage? And no matter how much I say it, this won’t work. And I still have years to go before I’m established. I can’t keep you waiting all that time.’ He started going on about all the same old things again. I was tired of hearing it. I said, ‘Just tell me straight—what do you want?’ He said, ‘Let’s break up. I mean, it’s over. There’ll be no commitment between us. We’ll just be friends. When a marriage proposal comes for you, take it. If it doesn’t, you wait. Once I’m established, if you still aren’t married, then I’ll think about it.’ I sat there, stunned, listening to him. I said, ‘After being together all these years, can we really just be friends? And a proposal did come, but I turned it down for you. And now you’re saying all this?’ He got angry again. ‘Look, I can’t stand this constant whining every day. If you can accept these conditions, say so. Otherwise, do me a favor—stop calling or messaging me. That would make me happy. Which one do you choose?’
I said, ‘I’m choosing the second one.’ He said, ‘Alhamdulillah! Look, I’m no good. You’ll find someone better than me. And whatever you do, never fall in love. Love isn’t a good thing, you can see that for yourself. Take care.’ He hung up without letting me say anything. I wanted to say something, but he blocked me everywhere.
# My Entire Life Collapsed
My entire life collapsed in that moment. For months I hadn’t looked at myself in a mirror. My hair had been the envy of everyone. Anyone who saw me praised it—so long, so silky, so thick and black. For some time now I’d noticed it falling out more than usual. I wasn’t fair-skinned or dark; my complexion was a luminous dusky brown. My face had never known blemishes or acne. Everyone admired my hair and skin. That day, for the first time in months, I stood before the mirror. Everyone had been saying I was changing, but I hadn’t listened. When I looked, my hair had turned rough and brittle as jute fiber. Eighty percent of it had fallen out. My eyes had darkened so severely it looked as though someone had beaten me. Dark patches stained my face. Countless acne scars had ravaged my entire complexion. What a grotesque sight! These were the visible testimony of months of relentless stress, mental anguish, weeping, sleepless nights, poor eating, and complete neglect of myself. Then I began to wonder. For whom—for whom have I lost everything like this? What had he done? Why did he do it? What was my crime?
I had always been soft-natured. I couldn’t bear even a gentle blow. Suddenly I felt my chest growing heavy. I could barely breathe. I didn’t know then what it was called—breathlessness. How would I know? My entire lineage didn’t experience such things, let alone my neighbors. I thought perhaps Azrael had come for me. My hands and feet began to shake. I fell from where I was sitting. On the floor, I began to thrash like a fish. Foam poured from my mouth. No one usually entered my room. And since I kept the curtains drawn all the time, no one knew what happened inside. Perhaps it was God Himself who sent Mother to my room that moment. She screamed when she saw me. She began to weep. People gathered. After that, I lost consciousness. Though I heard later that it was during a blockade in Cumilla. There had been clashes between two groups. No vehicles on the roads, no doctors in the hospitals. No one would help. What a terrible, terrible situation it was!
Then some interns and senior residents from a hospital came and took me in. I will never forget them. My blood pressure began to drop. It fell to 80/50. Even as consciousness slipped away, my trembling didn’t stop. They did an ECG. My heart rate was far above normal. When they put the oxygen mask on me, things got worse. I began to turn blue. My mother’s wails filled the hospital. The interns were new. This was the first time they’d seen something like this. They thought I was dying. They began to cry too. There was no senior doctor present. They called their senior. They told him everything. The doctor said, Take off the oxygen mask and press plastic against her face instead. The interns didn’t want to take that risk. They thought if they removed the mask, I would die. But then a young intern named Rinki found the courage to step forward. After she pressed the plastic to my face, my condition worsened. I turned completely blue. Even then I had no consciousness.
I learned all this later. An older sister told me. But after clutching that plastic bag as some kind of penance in life, I began to come back to myself. Though it took another hour before everything was truly right again. Once I regained consciousness, they sedated me with an injection and put me to sleep. That whole night, my parents stayed with me—and so did Rafika Apu who was interning there, and Rinki Apu too. I will always be grateful to them. Two days later, I went home.
Then came the CT scan. Then the MRI. Everything was normal. After that, they did my TSH and IgE tests. Both of these had been in the normal range before. The normal range for TSH is 4-6… mine was 4, but now it had shot up to 220! If it had gone any higher, an infection would have set into my brain. The normal range for IgE is 100; mine had been 110, and now it had jumped to 1400!
The doctor took me aside and asked if I was stressed about something. I denied it. Because at that moment, there were so many people around me saying so many things. Some said I’d gotten heartbroken over love, some said a spirit had possessed me, some said I’d become abnormal. All these whispers. My parents were terribly upset about it all. So I didn’t want anyone to know. Then the doctor called my parents in. He told them, She’s stressed about something. Which is why her TSH and IgE levels have shot up so high, and the reaction between the two has caused all of this. The solution isn’t so much medicine as it is her being happy and smiling. Go home and try to find out what’s wrong. But when my parents asked me, I said nothing. They removed the curtains and door to my room too, so I wouldn’t be alone. Yet even with all the medication I was on, despite feeling so low, I felt nothing inside. I became detached from all my friends. I stopped going to college.
Then I’d spend some time on Facebook. Suddenly, I saw someone had sent me a message request. He was a friend of Jahir’s. He was at a different university. But we had the same subject. He’d learned everything from Jahir and would message me to console me. I have this habit—if I don’t like someone, I read their messages and leave them on read. He’d message me every day, trying to motivate me. I wouldn’t respond. I don’t like pushy boys anyway. One day he asked if I could solve a math problem for him. That day, I gave my first reply. I solved it for him. He would start conversations with a greeting. If he sent 50 or 60 texts, I’d reply to 2 or 3. He kept trying to motivate me so much. But when your heart is heavy, even good words taste like poison. That’s how it felt to me too. So one day, angry and irritated, I said, ‘Why do you give me all this advice? What could you possibly understand about my pain?’ He didn’t get angry at all. He just said, ‘Look, I have pain too. I haven’t told anyone. I’m not the way you see me.’
She said she’d been in a relationship too. But the girl had done well in her exams, so she ended it. She said a lot more, but it all came down to that. Her older sister’s relationship had ended, and unable to bear the pain, she died of a heart attack. Then she said, ‘I’m disturbing you so much. Sorry.’ I hadn’t added her to my friends list yet. But that day, I did. Later I saw she had a good standing at her university. And she was always cheerful, always smiling. She tutored students to support herself and her family too. I used to marvel at how someone carrying so much pain could remain so happy. Then I decided—I had to turn my life around too. I had to learn from her.
She would ask me every day, every hour, how I was doing. She wanted to know about my family, how they were. I respected the university students I knew, sure enough, but no matter how many texts she sent me, I never gave back even a fraction. I’d read them and leave them. Though if she brought up studies, I’d reply. We’d discuss entrance exams and academics. She was brilliant at English, and I was good with math. We’d solve each other’s problems. Most of the time, we were just lost in our studies.
Then she wanted to meet. I didn’t want to. But she kept asking. So one day she came to Cumilla. Even when we met, it was all the same—talk of studies and philosophy of life. I listened, mesmerized. And I wondered: how could someone my age be like this? I couldn’t be. Then I’d think, no, I’ve fallen into this before, and no more. Then she left. After that, she’d hint sometimes that she’d grown fond of me. I’d avoid it. I didn’t think about my past all day. But when she said something, it all came back. It felt like everything was fitting together. When I pulled away, she never pushed. Then one day she came again. Without telling me. Called me after arriving. Asked to meet. I saw it was getting out of hand. So I lied and said I was in the village. She left.
For a few more months, she tried harder to make me understand that she cared for me. On one side of the world was her; on the other, me. My name was hard for her, so she gave me a new one—Paru. She’d found it from *Devdas*. She never called me by my real name. After that, she’d tease me, always calling me Sister Paru. Uttam Kumar used to call Suchitra Sen “sister” in some film, to needle her, and she did the same to me. And I called her my Uttam. A friend of hers once told me, ‘She doesn’t even give us time because of you.’ I’d be astonished hearing it. Why did she do all this? I didn’t want any of it anymore. Enough is enough! I didn’t want to hurt anymore. Then suddenly one day she proposed to me. It was an unusual kind of proposal. Instead of being moved, I said no.
# Untitled
Two more months went by and she wouldn’t leave me alone—kept pushing me to let go, move forward, forget it all. I told her, “My past experiences have been terrible, you know that.” She said, “I will never let you complain about anything. Whatever you want will happen. Your opinion is my opinion. I want you at any cost.”
I said, “I can’t do anything, can’t even manage a household. I have so many physical problems.” I said all this hoping she’d back away. But she said, “I’ll do everything. We’ll have people for the work. I’m ready to accept you just as you are.”
I told her, “I need to think about this. I can’t make a decision out of the blue.”
So I began to think about her from every angle. And I noticed something: those words that everyone nowadays calls fashionable—those vulgar things—I’d never heard them come from her mouth. She didn’t just care about me; she cared about my family too. The way she accepted everything about me so easily! I’d barely told her anything about myself. Yet somehow she’d found out my home address. She’d learned all my little details. I was completely impressed. (The truth is, I’m easily impressed—it’s a bad habit of mine.) Then I told her again, “Look, I just can’t accept this. My heart won’t allow it. You’re such a good person. But…”
She said, “Look, you don’t have to like me, but please don’t insult me this way. I love you, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You can’t insult my pure love, can you?”
After thinking it over for a long time, I finally said yes. Everything started going much better. She was so caring. She never stood in the way of anything I did, never forced me to do anything. She encouraged me in everything—said I should do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. If I didn’t feel like it, I wouldn’t do it. That’s when I suddenly got an ulcer. The funny thing was, it seemed to hurt her more than it hurt me! She bought coconuts and had the water bottled and couriered to me. The things she’d send! Always through my friend. And at home, of course, everyone thought my friend was the one giving me all these things. I was furious about it. Why did she do it that way? She’d say, “I felt like doing it, so I did. What’s it to anyone?” We’d dream a lot together. She did most of the dreaming. I enjoyed it. I never wanted some luxurious life. Whatever kind of life I wanted, she’d say yes to that kind. I never told her what I wanted or what I was like. Yet somehow she always knew. I’d ask her, “How do you know?” She’d say, “I understand you so well.” Back then, I thought I was the happiest person in the world!
# And Then One Day!
And then one day! She went home. And changed. Completely, utterly! Without reason, or for reasons I’ll never know. How I felt then! She wouldn’t talk to me anymore, about anything. Then suddenly one day she calls and tells me, ‘Forget about me.’ I was stunned. ‘Why?’ She says, ‘I can’t make you happy. I love you too much. I don’t want to hurt you by tying you to my life. For your own good, I don’t want to stay in touch anymore. Be well.’ It felt like I was watching my own past from years before. For weeks I tried reaching out to her. Then she blocked me everywhere, just like the first one did. I fell ill the same way again. The same kind of illness, the same state. It was the same kind of situation that day in Cumilla too. I’d heard that history repeats itself. But I never dreamed my history would repeat itself this badly, again and again! Everything bad in the world happens to me! But why?
From that day until now, I’ve watched her post emotional status updates about me. She talks about me to her friends constantly. Seeing all this hurts me deeply, but I don’t bother her anymore. I never had so many illnesses before. But trying to love, trying to be loved—it’s given me all these diseases. Three years after my first heartbreak, I saw my first boyfriend at my friend’s wedding. I couldn’t feel excited. It’s not the cold that makes me short of breath—it’s anger, tears, stress, sadness that does. My first boyfriend asked how I was doing. I’m older now, so I don’t have that reckless way about me anymore. If I had back then, I probably wouldn’t have even spoken to him. I answered his question. But I didn’t want to know anything about him. Then he said I’d become beautiful. I’d put on weight too, quite a bit. He knew that once I got to this age, I’d gain weight anyway. Still…
I mean, not obese—just a little fuller than when I was rail-thin. I’m medium build. Then he said that at our age, when everyone else is ballooning up like elephants, here I am keeping myself so beautifully, so well. I didn’t say yes or no. That night there was a gathering. Someone asked him if he was in love. He said, ‘No. I asked someone to wait for me, but she didn’t, so I haven’t loved anyone since.’ I said nothing. After I got home, he messaged me on Facebook. I didn’t reply. I don’t like any of this anymore. A day or two later, a girl messages me. I don’t reply. But suddenly she says, ‘Apu, could you help me with something?’ And I—whenever I hear someone needs help, I jump at it! I said, ‘Yes, tell me.’ Later, through our conversation, I found out she’s Jahid’s girlfriend. The main reason he broke up with me was because he had a new relationship. There was nothing to say to this girl. I just thought, ‘Oh, how many faces one person can have!’
# I Don’t Know
I don’t know if my Uttam is doing something like that or not. And I don’t want to know! Now I’m stone to people, arrogant. Because my CGPA went up after second year. So I put on airs. Don’t talk to boys—apparently because of grades! Everyone says such things about me. I don’t help anyone, because my heart isn’t in it, they say. Of course, nobody actually knows any of this. I just smile and say nothing. What I am, whether I help or don’t—only He up there needs to know that. Let no one else find out.
Back home they want to get me married. But I think, I’ve already been knocked down once. Right now I have my parents, so I get by. But what if it happens again after marriage? I won’t die, that’s true. But I won’t be able to get back up. I’ll just go mad. Girls need to stand on their own two feet. Really need to. If a girl can stand on her own, she can walk through this world’s ugliness without caring. I learned that the day Uttam left my life. But age is catching up. Good words don’t feel good anymore. So many other problems. Yes, I didn’t die. I’m still here. But this isn’t living. I’ll just say—after hearing about his new relationship, my heart withered quite a bit. It feels the way you feel after eating ice cream. This time I hope I can study well. Study in peace. I don’t know if thinking like this is some kind of madness, but what even a little peace means to me—I can’t explain it.
My second love gave me a kind of love I never got from the first one. So I still love him, still can’t forget him. I really didn’t understand why he left. He never told me the reason. Anyway, I still think sometimes that he’ll come back one day. But when I check his profile, I see he’s doing fine. He won’t come back. And he’s already forgotten me! So there’s no chance of his return. Either way, I’m always caught in this doubt. I can’t love him and I can’t hate him either. It’s a strange thing, this sweet anguish! He’s someone I neither love nor hate. What I feel for him now—I don’t even know myself. Is it attachment? Who can say! Anyway, yesterday I was reading an old public post by some Facebook celebrity. I saw that exactly seven months after our breakup, he left an emotional comment on that post. About me.
There, we’re using the nicknames—the one she gave me, the one I gave her. Truth is, I honestly don’t know what she is. Look, I know it’s foolish to think like this at my age. But thinking doesn’t require an age, does it? Ever since I saw that thing yesterday, I can’t breathe properly. I haven’t been able to read a single line since then. All those motivational quotes—they’re just noise now. That one comment keeps spinning in my head. I can’t suppress these stupid, stupid feelings. Part of me knows I need to be strong, but that one comment won’t let me be. Then I think—if she cares so much, why didn’t she try to contact me even once in all these years? I don’t know what to believe anymore. The comment? What she does on Facebook? What she’s told me?
I know nothing today. My head is pounding. I can’t say anymore. I was suffocating. I have no one to share this with, so I told you all these foolish feelings. I know—I shouldn’t think like this. At this age, I shouldn’t be thinking these things at all. But whenever I take on too much mental pressure, this is what happens. A person who knows how to act their way through life, who motivates others—they shouldn’t have feelings. Maybe she has no feelings at all! I believe pain should never be brought to the mind. Once it rises there, it causes headaches. Pain must be kept on the left side of the chest. Only then does it transform into strength. My pain always stays there on the left side of my chest. But when I take on too much pressure, it climbs into my head. I don’t tell anyone, don’t let anyone know. I found you all, so I shared these foolish feelings.
Truth is, sometimes my mind just doesn’t work. And I’m stubborn—terribly stubborn. If I decide I’m going to do something, I’ll do it. And I’m home all day. It’s a miracle I haven’t gone mad! On top of that, I have no one—not a single person to share with! How is one supposed to live like this? So I become overly emotional, that’s all! Sharing all these foolish feelings now, I feel so immature. I’m thinking—how childish you must find me! But I’m not like that at all. She used to call me immature, childish. But I’ve changed so much since then. I can’t use my phone late into the night anymore. And if I do, I can’t sleep. That’s what happened yesterday. And on top of that, my heart was heavy. The whole thing became doubly painful. Sleep didn’t come near me yesterday. Sleep took over and I stayed awake. Watching the sky through the open window until dawn broke. So I don’t want to say much more. My head is still burning hot. I might just start talking nonsense again. But whatever happens, I hope someday my pain will fade, and someday I’ll catch sight of that happiness bird too.