[Disclaimer: The figures of power and the corridors of influence depicted in this narrative are born entirely of the imagination. While the shadows of the human psyche are real, the characters who inhabit them and the state they command are purely fictional.]
That night, Sneha couldn’t stay in the Aftabnagar flat. The moment she walked in, a terrible emptiness closed in around her. On top of that- the master bed, the pillows, the sofa, the towels, every spot Abir had touched or laid on was holding onto his smell, digging into every single cell in her brain like a parasite. Not some Calvin Klein cologne. Just his raw, natural scent. In that empty apartment, his smell just kept getting louder, completely messing with her head.
The Passport bottle was still standing on top of the wardrobe exactly where she had left it that evening. Half empty. Half alone. Abir had finished half of it. Given the chance, he probably would have downed the whole thing. He had even poured some into a water bottle to sneak with him to the airport. Sneha had bought that bottle two months earlier for his birthday. It was the first time in her life she had actually asked Abir for something after buying him a gift. She had told him that when he came to Dhaka in December, she wanted him to spend some time with her somewhere other than a bar. Somewhere private where they could just talk, where Abir wouldn't have to constantly hide his eyes behind his cap and glasses. Somewhere he wouldn't have to keep looking over his shoulder to see if someone recognized him, took his picture, or secretly recorded a video. But Abir couldn't keep that promise. They met about five or six times in December, and every single time, it was at that exact same bar.
Abir's paranoia had actually gone down a lot compared to before. He wasn't completely free from all that strange overthinking, but his weird behavior had become easier to tolerate by then. He had really changed. In the beginning, Sneha used to call him ChatGPT. He was ridiculously emotionless back then. Stiff. Dry. Like talking to a wall. That same Abir eventually started making jokes. When Sneha got mad, he would actually try to make it up to her, saying all kinds of things, trying all kinds of ways. He started sending emojis with texts, and sometimes he would literally type hahaha in the middle of a conversation. And Abir’s smile... God! How beautiful it was. How fucking, ridiculously beautiful. Oh my, my, my!
Pouring a peg of whiskey from the bottle on the wardrobe, thinking about his smile, she suddenly thought she saw him half-sitting on the bed in front of her. She rubbed her eyes hard once. No, she wasn't drunk. That day, with Abir's fever and headache, she had been so stressed she hadn't even felt like touching alcohol. Then why was she seeing Abir half-reclining on the bed, smiling faintly? The sudden hallucination made the glass slip from her hand. It didn't break- being original crystal and all, but the entire 120 ml extra-double-large peg of whiskey was completely wasted.
On one side, there was the hallucination of Abir half-propped on the bed with a smile; on the other, his strong, familiar smell was all over the furniture. She knew this smell inside out. Two months ago, on December 15th- the day he was heading back to Comilla after his Dhaka vacation, he had literally stripped off his T-shirt at Kingfisher and handed it to her. Sneha had actually requested it once, though not on that specific day. Back when she first asked, they weren't close at all. Both spoke very carefully, maintaining that takalluf. She had sent him a highly sarcastic text: Man, since I'm not getting you in this lifetime, undoubtedly! I mean, as you belong to someone else! My bad! Will you be generous enough to grant a little favor if I ask? Even if I can't have you, what if I ask for a small consolation prize to hold on to your memories for the rest of my life? Don't panic, dude! I won't ask for your kidney or anything too valuable, for sure.
Abir texted back: What? Sure, please ask. If I'm able, I would love to give anything you ask. Pushing past a massive wall of hesitation, Sneha gathered the courage to type: Will you give me one of your used t-shirts or anything like that? I will just wrap it around me and pretend that this is all I was destined to get from you in this life. But if there is a slight chance of another life, I will definitely claim you there. Too bad, in this lifetime, you are already taken. Just my tragic luck! Lol! Abir left the message on read for a long time before replying in his typical, robotic tone from back then: Sneha, be rational, please!
No wonder. Sneha wasn't surprised by that answer. She was a little hurt, though. With her heart already breaking, she pretended to be chill and texted back: Why do you have to be so serious about every single thing, man? Chill! I don’t want anything from you! Happy? Whenever Abir couldn’t think of anything to say, he had this one world-famous line he used to get himself out of the conversation: It’s not like that.
But a few months later, on December 15th, just before leaving for Comilla, he took the T-shirt off himself and gave it to her without being asked. That day, before he left, they had cut a little chocolate brownie and celebrated his birthday in advance. His birthday was two days later, but by then, they would be in two different cities. After cutting the brownie, they held each other tight and cried for a long time. Crying, Abir thumped his own chest and said, You are a peace of my heart.
Returning home that day, Sneha carefully slipped the olive-green T-shirt into a dry cleaner's plastic bag and locked it in a drawer. Rubbing her nose and face against it, breathing in his scent before going to bed every night, became her absolute ritual. Terrified that the scent would fade, she would open the packet very gently, just a tiny bit. Even two years later, that T-shirt is still stored away in the exact same drawer, inside the same packet, like a dragon guarding its gold. The body odor still clings to the fabric inside that packet with the exact same intensity.
But that night, without even touching the locked T-shirt, without rubbing it against her face to breathe it in, the entire room turned into a substitute for it. A substitute so intense that it triggered a terrifying hollow ache. She realized- this is not an ordinary feeling. Is this how a specific smell consumes and chases someone from within? The moment this question popped into her head, she thought of Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, and her entire body went ice-cold. Perfume! The toxic, addictive illusion of Abir’s scent started blasting an emergency level-eleven danger siren inside her brain. That was the exact moment Sneha's complete isolation from the entire world began.
Forget that room, Abir wasn't even in the city anymore, and who knew that better than her? For the last three days, people in Rajshahi thought he was at his house in Dhaka. Meanwhile, his family in Dhaka thought he was at his workstation in Rajshahi. Nobody on this earth except Sneha and Allah above knew where Abir actually was, or what the hell he was doing during those days. Still, every corner she looked at seemed to bring him back. There he was. Then there. Then somewhere else. Always in a different position, somehow wearing that same smile.
That afternoon, just before evening, Sneha had practically forced him to eat some paratha and chicken soup. He had no appetite at all. His body felt slightly warm and he had a terrible headache. For three days straight, he hadn’t eaten a single solid meal. Just whisky. No wonder your head hurts, genius. Who else would? Sneha had been scolding him lightly while trying to get him to eat. That morning, she had ordered chicken soup and paratha from Al Kaderia through Foodpanda and made him an egg omelet herself. Then she kept reminding him to eat, again and again. He kept dodging the food because he had no appetite, but he had absolutely no problem slamming down peg after peg of whisky. So eventually, Sneha gave him a hard ultimatum: No food, no more whisky.
I'll eat in a bit, I'll eat in a bit- he dragged it out until noon. Then she practically forced the food into his mouth. After that, she went downstairs to buy Napa Extra. She rarely gets a fever, so she doesn't keep Napa at home. She doesn't even touch regular meds. Sometimes you'll just find random stuff lying around the flat- Baclofen, Prodep, Oleanz, Rivotril, or Filfresh. She doesn't even take those regularly. But that day, she was dying of regret that she didn't have a basic Napa at home. Right while she was paying for the meds at the pharmacy, Abir's text came: Mademoiselle... where are you? Come soon, I wanna talk.
Abir is only called Sneha Mademoiselle when he was in a really good mood or completely drunk. Other than that, he didn’t have a name for her. No, wait… sometimes he called her Babe too. But that was also only when he was seriously hammered. Sneha called him Amon over text. She never said it to his face because she was too shy for that. Behind a screen, your face isn't visible anyway, so she could type Amon or Amon-pakhi as much as she wanted.
Amon. An ancient Egyptian god. Not just any god- the king of all gods. But that's not why she picked it. She chose it because in ancient Egypt, Amon was the "life-giving god." Interestingly, the name Amon literally means "hidden" or "invisible." Just like Charles Bukowski's bluebird. The one he wrote about:
There's a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out
But I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going to let anybody see you...
One of her favorite poems. She used to think Abir was exactly like that bluebird in her life. Hidden, but deeply loved. She gave him another name too- Amado Aliento. A Spanish name. Amado means beloved; Aliento means breath. Even though the name is beautiful, it carried too much heavy sentiment, so she barely used it in texts. Maybe once or twice. She had spent so much time searching for and picking out these names, treating them with such protective love and care.
Abir texted again: Oi! How much longer? Holding the medicine and two 1.5-liter Mum water bottles in one hand, Sneha typed with the other: Coming, baba, wait. She practically ran all the way back upstairs. Since the lift was stuck on the fifth floor, she just took the stairs. Unlocking the gate, out of breath, she went straight to Abir, popped a Napa Extra into his mouth, and held the water bottle out. In the middle of all this, Abir had actually texted her again: Mademoiselle, that soup was delicious. I wanna have some more. Because her hands were full and she was rushing up the stairs, she missed the text.
Finding chicken soup at a restaurant in the late afternoon is a near impossibility in Dhaka. They usually only make it for breakfast. Still, if she had seen the text while she was outside, she could have at least looked around for it. The poor guy hadn't eaten anything for two days; he finally asked for something, and she couldn't even get it for him. Feeling guilty, she opened Foodpanda to search for chicken soup, but Abir stopped her and made her sit beside him.
Before leaving for the pharmacy, she had put some water on the stove to heat up for Abir's shower. None of the bathrooms in that flat had a geyser. It was February, and the weather was still a bit chilly with a spring breeze outside. Thinking he might catch a cold with normal water, she had used the stove. On top of starving himself for two days, Abir hadn't showered either. “A shower will make you feel so much better,” she said, sitting down on the bed beside him.
Abir was staring straight at her. Sneha could see a mix of affection and pure helplessness in his eyes, and she couldn't hold his gaze for long. Looking away, she asked very casually, Go ahead, sir. What’s your big emergency? You’re going to tell me you’re leaving me, right? I already know. How many more times are you going to say it, Abir? Abir immediately shot back, Sneha... no! Why do you love a guy like me? I can't give you anything. I won't ever be able to give you anything.
He paused for a second before starting up again. Why are you wasting your life? You are intelligent, you are pretty. I... I... I can't give you a single thing, and it kills me! Sneha cut him off and asked, What have I ever asked you for? He shook his head. Nothing. That’s the exact problem. You ask for absolutely nothing. That just makes it hurt more, makes me feel worse. It makes me feel guilty.
The clock was creeping toward a quarter to five. Sneha had set an alarm on her phone to make sure they left for the airport two hours early. But looking at Abir's attitude, it seemed like he was planning to miss his seventh flight, too. If the chief wasn't scheduled to visit Rajshahi the next day, he probably wouldn't even have gotten out of bed. You could tell just by looking at his eyes that he didn't want to go. But he had no choice. He had been postponing his trip to Rajshahi since the night of the 24th, and now it was almost 5:00 PM on the 26th. He muttered a few times, I don't want to go. Then the next second he’d flip, But I have to. The chief is coming. They will kick my ass!
That morning, before trying to get some sleep, Abir wrapped Sneha’s sari around himself. He pulled it toward himself and wrapped it around his body, saying, Hold me from behind. There’s no one here to hold me like that. Sneha didn’t completely believe everything Abir said. But a naive part of her subconscious sometimes wanted to believe it anyway. She never asked about his personal life. Never wanted to know. If he brought it up, she just listened. The only thing that mattered was the exact moment he was next to her. Everything outside that moment- his family, his job, his personal life didn’t interest Sneha back then.
There was no need for it to. They saw each other every month. They talked regularly, too. Though this time, after his posting in Rajshahi, they had met after almost two months. And now it would probably be a long time before they saw each other again, or maybe they would never see each other again. Perhaps that was what Abir had called her back from the pharmacy to tell her. But at that moment, he couldn’t be cruel enough to say it, or maybe he simply didn’t have the courage. Once he reached the airport and got on the plane, he found the courage, or the cruelty. By then, he was already far outside her line of sight. He didn’t have to watch Sneha suffer anymore.