I'm sitting at Zero Point with two newly minted friends—Ibnat and Fauzia. We've just been admitted to university. First year. Three new friends, sitting together. I'm wearing a black top, a blue skirt. My hair braided to one side. Back then I still had long hair. Sometimes my friends would insist on undoing the braids, wanting to see it loose. They'd grab those silky strands and pull, delighting in the length of it all. And I'd give in to their pestering, let them tease my hair into a mess! At Zero Point, on the side of the street where students gathered in clusters, we sat too. Freshly admitted to the university, students went to campus less for classes and more for catching glimpses of new faces—boys and girls. I was no exception. I went to see handsome boys. Zero Point is the kind of place where students from all departments converge, thanks to the train. That's how so many of us meet, talk, get acquainted. Sometimes romance blooms too. The campus is sprawling—so vast that you can't see all of it. It happens: five years at the same university, studying side by side, different departments though, and you never cross paths once. That day, some Sunday in 2014. We're sitting there. Looking here and there, watching others, waiting for the train. A gentle breeze drifts through. Flowers from some unnamed tree scattered across the road. The soft wind teases the hair from my face, sometimes carrying fallen leaves in spirals around us. I pick up a flower now and then, or crumble a dry leaf in my palm, feeling it crackle between my fingers, then open my hand and blow the dust away, watching it scatter. We're waiting for the four o'clock train. A mild, cool spring wind plays with my eyes, making my unruly hair even more disheveled. Every few moments I'm tucking it back, then—I don't know why—letting it fall loose again. It feels good! Picking flowers, scattering them, tucking hair. Then suddenly, across the street, something catches my eye. A young man. Leaf-colored t-shirt, black jeans. Heavy, loosely curled dark hair that falls past his ears, a full dark beard. A round face, luminous as gray cloud-light, slender-built, with an achingly beautiful expression. He walks past me, laughing softly with his friends. I stare. Not for a second do I look away. I want to reach out and stop time itself. In this moment, the world offers me fourteen colors—the colors of a rainbow. That face, those eyes, that chin, that smile—they touch me over and over, in every instant. He keeps walking, keeps laughing with his friends, keeps trying to tame his wayward hair. Laughing, just laughing on, while I drown in enchantment. I stare and stare, unblinking. I feel I've known this young man for ages. Known him across several lifetimes. I've been searching for him—yes, this very young man—for countless millions of years! I turn my eyes away from nothing. I just keep staring, fixed, unmoving. In the falling afternoon light, rows of trees line both sides of the street. The tall ones seem to stand with their heads thrown back, threatening to touch that blue sky in an instant, reaching upward endlessly, endlessly.
The entire street lay draped in a vast, cool shadow—the sprawling branches of trees scattered across the road casting their tender spell over everything. That field, the roof of the train, and… that boy’s chin! I kept watching, couldn’t stop watching.
Through the gaps in the grey shadow splintered by the tree branches, soft, sweet sunlight slipped across the boy’s cheek, caressing it. Every so often, the gentle rays would strike his hair as if with a tender blow, making the strands shimmer and glow. That touch of sunlight on him, that cascade of shadow, that gentle current of air—my jealousy kept growing. In mere moments, they were touching him, and there I sat, exiling my gaze upon him across an entire world! What sense was there in it?
That young man never once looked my way. Not for a single glance! I was transfixed, adrift in some profound depth, and in this unbearable exile of sight, I was touching that boy’s cheek again and again with an intimate longing. I stared at him unblinking, drowning deeper and deeper in enchantment. Never before had my eyes touched anyone with such force, such intoxication, such spell. I felt I could destroy entire cities a hundred times over, wage thousand wars, all for that face. I could declare another world war right now if I couldn’t have him!
Then he laughed suddenly with his friends about something, a bright, tinkling laugh. Using this laughter as an excuse, his friends kept shoving their hands on his shoulders in playful roughness, sometimes punching him affectionately on the belly, sometimes caressing his sides. My jealousy burned hotter. I thought bitterly: your friends touch you so easily, so freely, and yet why is it such a crime, such a transgression, such a wrong, for me to want the same?
Suddenly the whistle shrieked—*cuuuu*—the train about to depart. I came to my senses. Those who hadn’t boarded yet were scrambling, rushing to climb aboard. My friends grabbed my hand, trying to pull me onto the train, but my attention was elsewhere, fixed elsewhere! They dragged me toward the compartment while my heart dragged itself across the road. I was caught in a terrible conflict! My body was being pulled one way by my friends, my mind the other way by that young man standing there. Mind and body, each pulling with equal force—who would win, who would lose?
No. Let the train go. Let it leave. I wouldn’t go back on the four o’clock train. I decided right then: I’d return on the five-thirty. I told my friends to go without me. I’d catch the next one. They stared at me bewildered for a moment, then ran to board. The moment I turned my gaze back to where the boy had been standing, he was gone. Where had he slipped away to in those seconds my eyes had been elsewhere? I grew frantic, searching here and there. Like someone desperately combing through a haystack for a lost needle, I searched for him. Gone. Nowhere to be found. Here, there, everywhere—nowhere. My heart grew heavier than the entire world. Restless with that heaviness, I kept searching. I needed him! Now. This instant. This very moment, this very hour! I needed him with an intensity that consumed me!
In the crowd of so many students, he vanished. My heart sank into a deep gloom. I wanted to stand right there in the middle of the road and wail, to weep openly. Zero Point was nearly empty now. Everyone had boarded the train.
The train disappeared beyond the horizon. And here I sit, in the same spot, melancholic—my gaze and thoughts locked upon that single point. The wind carries on, and in the gentle light of evening, my heart grows dim. Leaves fall, tap-tap, one after another. Some dry leaves drift to my feet. Yet nothing brings joy. Again and again, the thought returns: something is missing. I have lost something. Someone very close to me has vanished.
I sit, heavy with sadness. Every rule of the world crumbles before my desire to take her hand and flee to Hosen Mia’s Meander Island. In this moment, that island feels more intimate to me than anything. God, if only I could go—I would abandon everything, take her hand, and board the boat this very instant! Never before has anyone stirred me like this.
A while later, I notice the young man again, walking past with that laugh. And suddenly, all the joy in the world crashes into my eyes and face. I stare at the path of their departure. They turned toward the boys’ hostel. So he lives on campus. My mind, my soul, my body—all consumed by a single, luminous ache. I could spend lifetimes gazing down the path he took.
By then the five-thirty train has arrived. In good spirits, I settle into a window seat on the nearly empty carriage, gaping toward the freshly traced path of their going. I think: if only I could see him once more. But even as the thought forms, the train pulls away. It rattles and hums. I carry my body home, but I leave my heart in the breast pocket of this stranger.
That entire night I could not sleep. A kind of restlessness, a kind of happiness and longing consumed me. I called my friends and told them everything. I said: somehow, by any means, I must have him. My friends are eager too. Tomorrow begins our “Search for That Stranger” mission. At any cost, I need all the details. If necessary, I’ll waste years of campus life searching. But I will find him. Even if he’s from outside, I have to know who he is.
The next morning I reached campus early. After a class in the department, I could no longer contain myself. I badgered my friends with calls until we reached Zero Point. I sit, searching. Around me, left and right, near and far—I don’t spare a single face. My eyes scan everyone. Even every rickshaw, every CNG passing before us comes under scrutiny. I cannot let him slip through. My friends are excited too. Who is he, what’s he like, where from, an outsider, or a campus resident? No sign of him. It’s as if no one exists for me but him.
The one-thirty train comes and goes. No sign. The two-thirty train comes and goes. Still nothing. The four o’clock train has arrived and stopped. Now we’re discouraged. Heavy with gloom, I board the four o’clock train. I sit by the window, still searching. I imprison the entire campus in my eyes. Yet he does not appear. The train whistles and departs. It glides into motion with a gleam. As the train gathers speed, my gloom doubles, then triples.
How does one glimpse a person and suddenly love them so? Is this love? Is it a crush? Have I truly fallen?
# The Dark Knight
If it were just a crush, why couldn’t I sleep all night? Why this restlessness all day, searching for that one face? Have I fallen in love with him? I’m not someone who falls in love so easily! This isn’t mere liking…not at all. This is pure, unadulterated love…yes, love itself. Otherwise, why is my heart searching for him with such desperate longing? My mood darkens; the train picks up speed. I rest my head against the window and cast my gaze into the distance, farther still, looking at something, nowhere.
Then I see him. Sitting quietly at the roots of a great tree, facing the tracks, staring toward the train with an abstracted gaze—that boy. A terrible surge of energy floods through every fiber of my being. I hurry to show my friends. But by then the train has already begun to move at great speed. There’s no way to jump off and run back.
As the train rushes faster, the boy grows smaller and smaller. The smaller he becomes, the more urgent, the more fierce my need to see him becomes. The train travels far, and soon he disappears from view entirely.
I return home seized by a strange vital force. My friends and I discuss what we can do. No matter what, I must have him. In this life, I must. In this meager existence, I must. Otherwise, what good is this precious life if I let slip even twelve annas of it? We decide: we’ll post about him on a Facebook page called ‘CU Crushes and Confessions.’ We’ll find him.
Back then my friends had Facebook accounts, but I didn’t. I didn’t use it; I didn’t even know how. That very night my friends opened a Facebook account for me and taught me everything. From my ID, they wrote about him on the ‘CU Crushes and Confessions’ page. Since I didn’t know his name, I called him ‘The Dark Knight.’ With every detail from that day before—his appearance, his clothes, the color of his shirt, his demeanor…everything—we sent a message to that page’s inbox, asking that if he saw the post, he should leave a comment. If he commented, we’d find him and reach out.
Words became action. The comment thread flooded with dozens of comments, jokes, gossip, all kinds of speculation. I kept checking, examining each commenter’s profile to see if it was him. No. No sign of him.
After a long time, a comment came from one ID…*Could it be me?* I opened the profile and there he was—that boy! It was 11:26 at night. I jumped up from my bed, shrieking *Eureka, eureka!* The whole world seemed suddenly painted in all seven colors of the rainbow. I called my friends one by one, rushing to tell them I’d found him. This joy—it’s the joy of my entire lifetime! More blissful than holding a piece of heaven itself.
His Facebook name was Anindyo Abhoy. In his About section it said: *I am the most insignificant person at Chittagong University.*
I opened the messenger. From my ID ‘Sudden Rain,’ I sent a message.
“Hello, Mr. Green Himu!”
The reply came instantly: *The one in the teal t-shirt you were looking for—is that me?*
“Yes, you. You’re the one I was searching for! Looking so desperately! If I’d searched for you as meticulously as I did, I could’ve found a hundred and one worlds. But searching for you cost me dearly.”
“Oh! You’ll need a tissue. Here, let me wipe the sweat off your brow!”
You’ve worked yourself ragged searching for me.
— Hello, sir. For the past three days, the effort and exhaustion I’ve put into finding you — Layla and Majnun would’ve found each other by now with that kind of dedication!
— That’s labor even brick-breakers don’t have to endure. Good grief! So which department? Which session?
— Islamic History, 2014-2015 batch, first year. You?
— All that searching for nothing! What was the need? Your department’s just two flights down from mine. I’m Bengali, 2011-2012 batch, officially fourth year but sitting in third year classes.
— Well, well! Same faculty after all! I’m on the fourth floor, you’re just below, neighbor to the History Department—step over it and there you are on the second floor, in Bengali. And yet here I was, searching every inch of that ground floor like it was some archaeological dig. I’d walk down from my department without even seeing the Bengali Department, and I’d have gone off to search for you in the Sahara! And your office is practically next door to mine, and look where all I’ve been searching!
— We haven’t met though our eyes were open wide. From my room, just two steps away—one on a rice stalk’s tip, one on a dewdrop. I was right under the bed, and still you’ve turned the whole neighborhood upside down looking for me!
— How was I to know? Tell me! But why were you sitting like that by the tree yesterday evening, looking so melancholy? Was something weighing on your heart?
— Yes, a bit. I carry around heaps and heaps of sorrow. I love living with sorrow, you see. Never mind the sorrow though! Tell me your name?
— Swagata.
— That’s it? Nothing before, nothing after? Hindu or Muslim?
— Why does it matter whether someone’s Hindu or Muslim? What’s the point of that question?
— Ha ha ha ha. I’m not orthodox at all, you understand. Just curious, that’s all!
— Swagata Rahman. There’s more—Jannatulferdaus. I heard I had another name too. Khadija. After the Prophet’s first wife, they say. But no one’s ever called me that. This is all there is!
— I’ve had just the one name since before and after my birth—Shofiq. In the village everyone calls me Shofiqquukkaa. If you’d like, you can keep that name. …Oh, there’s another name too. The Dark Knight. A girl gave me that one. Ha ha ha ha…
— Hello, The Dark Knight, you can’t humiliate a name I’ve given you like that. I know you by this name, I’ll call you only this.
— Yes, ma’am! Can I see your picture? I feel like I’m talking to a ghost. If I could see you, I’d understand at least who I’m speaking with, who waited for me hour after hour like that.
— Alright. Opening privacy settings, hold on. Five minutes.
— I’ve sent you a friend request. Accept it. Once you do, I can see your pictures without you making them public—if they’re just for friends. It’s better if a woman’s photos have a little privacy.
— Your friend request is most graciously accepted, The Dark Knight. See the picture. Friends-only for five minutes. I barely have a few friends on my list anyway. But I keep even them hidden.
— Wow! You’re quite something. Those front-cut silky locks of yours—shouldn’t you pay VAT to the government for them? Hasn’t the government taxed you yet? Why not? That would be unjust!
— Oh, with hair and beard as lovely as yours driving people to madness, if the government hasn’t levied VAT on you, would it really be so unjust to tax a poor soul like me? First let them recover your unpaid VAT arrears, and then if they want to squeeze a few rupees out of me, so be it!
— No, no, your hair’s far more beautiful. Wow! You look stunning in that sari. What was the desperate need to find me anyway?
# The Kidnapping
“If I’d seen you earlier, I would’ve kidnapped you on the spot and brought you here!”
“Yes, sir, yes indeed, sir. I practically live on campus anyway. I’ll stand right in front of the faculty building, coming down from the fourth floor, and you just take whatever you can find—a rickshaw, a CNG, a Honda—anything will do. Just pick me up and kidnap me wherever you please. I’m making your job easy. There’ll be no screaming, no fuss, no commotion. Just take me and go wherever you wish. Please, kidnap me!”
“Good heavens! This girl—don’t you have any fear? What would I do if I actually took you? Tell me. But since you’re willing, I wouldn’t dream of it. If you weren’t willing, then yes, I’d have snatched you away. But now that you’ve agreed, I can’t kidnap you.”
“Believe me, I’m not willing at all!”
“Ha ha ha ha! Well then, if you’re not willing, so be it. I won’t kidnap you.”
“You’re such a cheat! You rogue! Here I’m giving you such an opportunity, and you won’t even take it. Nobody else will offer you such a chance, you know. Take me while there’s time, or someone else will come along and snatch me away, hmm…”
“Who has the nerve to lay a finger on you? I’ll kill them!”
“Aha! Are you jealous? Burning up, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen in love? Please please, kidnap me! Whatever help I need to get kidnapped, my friends and I will provide everything. You just come up with the plan. Please, kidnap me, the Dark Knight!”
“But I don’t even have a proper place to stay myself. I’m in Bangabandhu Hall. Where would I keep you if I kidnapped you?”
“Keep me anywhere you like. If needed, I can stay at my place and you at yours. Still, you have to kidnap me. Please, kidnap me, the Dark Knight! I wanna get kidnapped by you! Please please please, help me get kidnapped!”
“Alright, girl, I’ll truly kidnap you! Give me your number.”
“No, I won’t, not until you promise you’ll definitely kidnap me. Promise?”
“Okay, I promise, my princess. I’ll kidnap you one day!”
“01912441139. That’s it.”
“I’m calling you now. Last six, nine.”
—
What is the total area of the world? I can’t quite remember at this very moment. To me, the whole world right now feels like a tiny piece of paradise held in the palm of my hand. Such joy, such intoxication, such delight—I’ve never felt this before. All these years, bearing terrible sorrow since childhood, growing up under its weight, and now suddenly it strikes me: there is no sorrow in this world. All my happiness, all the magic of well-being has been captured, imprisoned in the hands of just one person, in a single instant!
—
This is how our phone calls went on. Text messages multiplied. And with them grew the attraction between us, our feelings for each other. I could feel it—love was growing too.
—
He is a man steeped in literary taste. Always smiling, always joking, full of life, tender-hearted. He can sing quite beautifully. Pearls seem to fall from his voice! In that pearl-like voice of his, I would gladly surrender an entire lifetime in a single moment!
—
Every ten minutes or so, we’d call each other for no real reason. After talking for just a few seconds, we’d hang up and get busy texting. There was no messenger then. If we’d been texting for fifteen, twenty minutes, or even half an hour, we’d call again and blame each other. Why didn’t you call? Why did it take so long to hear your voice?
—
I’m happy! That sky, those clouds, the twilight glow, the deep night—I’m happy with all of it. With everything! Whatever I see, I love it! Under the spell of this happiness, I could gladly sacrifice an entire lifetime without hesitation. Such contentment, such love—I’ve never known it before.
I’ve never before touched another soul so completely, with such wholehearted presence. As the days pass, the depth of this love only deepens further. Along with it grows dependency, grows trust, grows the density of affection.
My meditation, my knowing, my very breath—she spreads across all of it. And I circle around every moment of hers. From morning to the depths of night, even into the dawn, our banter continues. Though we’d exchange a few words throughout the day, it was around midnight or half-past that we’d talk for long stretches. From morning until night, meticulous accounts of what happened, what didn’t happen, where, when. And woven through it all—her melodious voice singing those songs of separation and love, songs of devotion. I’d pour the world’s entire attention into that voice on the other end of the line, and drown myself in a strange kind of contentment, of fondness, of love.
We were both terribly shy. Neither of us had the courage to stand before the other. When I’d finish class and sit in that little shed near the Arts building, she’d go sit at a small shop across the way. Even without looking at each other, we both somehow knew—we were close by. Back home, she’d call and describe exactly when, where, what color shirt I’d been wearing, which shop I’d sat in. I’d rattle off the details of when, where, what she’d worn, which shop she’d been in.
And then? Then we’d both laugh until we cried. There was real happiness in that laughter, real love. It felt like the first time in my life I’d ever known such joy. In that ache of not being able to touch, in that longing of distance, there was such a wealth of tender, overflowing love. Love had come! Yes, truly, love had entered this solitary, bookish world of mine!
Once I went to the village. The monsoon season. Deep night. Rain pouring down in sheets. In the village, mobile networks are terribly unreliable. From evening until half-past midnight, I hadn’t been in touch with anyone—no messages, no calls. The monsoons had knocked out the power since afternoon, and with no charge, the phone had been off for hours. At half-past twelve the power returned, and I rushed to plug the phone in.