She still roams through my entirety, plays, speaks, and oh how beautifully she laughs... I'm telling you the truth!
I've kept her ultrasound picture—how can I throw away her first photograph, tell me? In ten days she'll be six months old, I'll wish her again, buy her chocolate, give her lots of kisses, and tell her, your father forbade me from biting you, so I won't bite you.
When I close my eyes I can feel the touch of her soft fingers and tiny body. This feeling of painful joy—perhaps I can never make you understand it, that language has never been born, but I know you feel her sometimes, at least occasionally...
Do you remember? You said at six months we'd cut a birthday cake for our little one, even if you didn't have leave you'd take time off and come to Dhaka?
Pompi, do you know something? When did our baby come from you into my body? You don't know, but I do. When I remember that moment I still shiver intensely, every word that came from your mouth at that time still echoes in my ears.
I haven't been able to forget those moments of joy for even a second, never will. Though my first memory of becoming a mother wasn't sweet, still I had become a mother. You are her father. The world may not know, but you and I know—this is our family. I love my family. The family where you and my little one exist. This family of mine is my entire life.
You know, sometimes I have just one terrible fear... what if God gets angry and doesn't send her to me again in the future, how will I live, tell me?! I won't be able to live normally then! If the one who came and left never returns again, what will happen then?!
Don't be hurt. I know you're not that bad a father.
I wanted desperately to see you one night, remember? We talked on Skype. Remember what the reason was? That very day I had read for the first time in someone's writing, "Abortion means, you are the mother of a dead child." Reading it brought tears bursting from my chest. I wanted to kill myself.
I still believe she exists, she will come again... surely she will come, bringing so much joy. Then I'll show the whole world my little doll... her scent will cling to my entire body... I live with this hope.
Good morning, darling.
If you weren't her good father, could I have loved you this much? I don't think so... I don't even know myself how many times I've read that piece of writing, I had read similar stories on Google before, cried my heart out; yesterday when I was reading your writing, believe me, I felt no anger or resentment toward you, at least you didn't treat me like an animal.
I was hurting, still do, sometimes very intensely! Then I want to talk to you... know what I think? I feel our baby hasn't talked to you in so long, that's why her heart is sad, that's why I'm hurting too. When I'm talking to you I always feel she's listening, talking... she's looking at you and smiling...
I've read the piece again and again because you haven't forgotten many things I told you, which were in the writing. I read, I cried, yet was soaked in love over and over... you've tried to understand so many unspoken feelings yourself... you would, of course... you're her father!
She loves you... I do too... because she lives within me, and so do you. Living side by side in the same place, one can't just sit there angry, can one?
Sometimes I want to run away somewhere far with you... somewhere no one knows us, where no one knows our names.