Even after returning to Dhaka from Sylhet, passing through Mymensingh on the night of February 27th, Sneha couldn't bring herself to stay in her Aftabnagar flat. She had gone there first, but the same scenes and that lingering smell made her restless all over again. She had no choice but to head to her Amma’s place in Niketon for the night. Her exhausted and drained body was desperate for a place to lie down quietly, somewhere Abir's memory would offer comfort rather than a sense of loneliness.
That night, Abir video‑called her. For nearly an hour and a half, he kept repeating: “You’re misunderstanding me, Sneha. I’m sorry. I was so drunk. I don’t even remember what I said on the flight that hurt you so much. Can you remind me? What did I say? Seriously, I don’t remember.” After repeated requests, Sneha reminded him only of the part: “We won’t meet again.” The part where Abir had said “I love you” that day and even several times before, she left out deliberately. Countless times, she'd chosen not to bring up the sensitive things drunk Abir had said, simply to spare him the embarrassment when sober. But this constant mixture of behaviors, drunk Abir and sober Abir, tender and then absent kept feeding something restless inside her.
Sneha, who once had asked Abir’s permission to express her love by holding his hand, now found her heart becoming demanding. She'd feel hurt, show possessiveness and Abir would respond with either detachment or just enough care to keep things manageable. As the call went on that night, she grew deeply frustrated. On one hand, Abir's concern for her could be overwhelming. On the other, his indifference in so many things was something she had to swallow. The back and forth wore her down. She started reacting. Getting angry, stubborn, loud. She began to feel like a stranger to herself.
Falling into a black hole, her mind became trapped in a restlessness so wretched she no longer blamed anyone for it. Night after night, she sat on her prayer mat, crying, begging Allah to show her a way, to turn her heart elsewhere. But the more she prayed, the more intense her feelings for Abir grew. At some point, Sneha surrendered but even that brought no relief or didn't help much.
She often felt like someone had tied her with a thin thread and left her hanging in the middle of a black hole, neither letting her rise, nor letting her fall all the way down. Not letting her fall felt like mercy. Not letting her rise…felt like unwillingness. Maybe even helplessness. The one holding the reel of that thread had spent the entire time in doubt. What he did, why he did, what he said, what he meant, why he said, why even he kept coming and why he kept wanting to leave- it took him two full years to become certain about any of it. And by the time he finally decided to cut the thread, Sneha had already lost all the strength she needed to pull herself back up.
After all the arguments, accusations, and tears in the conversation of the 27th of February night, Abir said, "I think we need a break." Sneha didn't understand at first. Then she steadied herself and asked, how long? Abir went quiet for a moment then said, “Two years.” Sneha laughed at the answer. When she asked what would happen after two years, Abir had no reply. He stayed silent. Sneha repeated, I’ll give you two years. I won’t contact you at all. But then what? Abir said simply, “I don’t know.” That made her laugh even louder.
Sneha knew nothing would happen after two years. Abir wanted to end the relationship but lacked the courage to say it outright. So, he asked for a “break.” In reality, in the coming two years he'd be in Rajshahi on an important state assignment, his family would soon be moving there too and after that there'd be little reason or opportunity for him to come to Dhaka. So, slowly, there would be no space left for Sneha in his life. He wanted to close her chapter but couldn't say that to her face. In fact, even the part about his family moving there, that too.
Perhaps Abir thought that with time, Sneha would eventually forget him if he didn't visit Dhaka frequently. He likely imagined she would move on, or grow tired of the distance and find someone else. Rolling the foil from one end to the other, Sneha found the thought almost funny and, she laughed again, then almost instantly, it turned into anger, humiliation, something sharp and bitter rising inside her.
She felt the urge to give him a proper piece of her mind for thinking about it. Stupid! Nonsense! Ruthless! Heartless! Worthless! Brainless and an extreme selfish man! If going distant and acting indifferent is enough for someone to stop loving and walk away, then that was probably what that useless military officer called love in his dictionary. Or perhaps what love actually meant had simply never entered that man's understanding or awareness, not in this lifetime, and not ever- Sneha said it all one breath after another, shaking with rage, entirely alone.
She paused through the smoke and the flame. Wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her right hand and suddenly burst out loud- I regret that I love a stupid like you! I REGRET! But I won't forget anything. Not after two years. Not until my death! Neither will you forget me. Perhaps this is the punishment we're destined to carry for each other. I fucking love you! Yes, I still do and I regret it because you don't deserve it! There was no one to hear it. And she'd come to feel there was no point saying any of that anymore. No space left for it either.
Then Sneha remembered Akram bhai, her ex-boss and mentor, who always told her- “You underestimate your worth. Value it. You have no idea what gem you are. You’re wasting your intelligence and energy on something worthless.” Sneha used to ignore those words. But now she thought, Maybe Abir is outstanding at his job, but as a human being, he’s too illiterate to understand simple human feelings, and that mattered far more than how successful he was professionally. His weakness, she felt, had damaged too many lives, perhaps permanently and beyond repair. And he likely still had no awareness of it. Not that night. Not now.
Abir never spoke clearly, he always afraid of conflict or of her reaction. He withheld truths, avoided necessary words. The harm this caused to himself, to Sneha, even to his family was something he never realized. Sneha closed her eyes. Thinking about it filled her with a heaviness she didn't want. These thoughts hurt her deeply, like breaking ribs. Her whole body curled in pain. She imagined Abir too must sometimes face such torment, and her anger flared again. How stupid does a person have to be to put these many people through this much suffering?
After everything, holding any feeling for him at all wasn't rational. And yet, the anger, the stubbornness, the resentment- those meant love were still somewhere in there. If it weren't, these thoughts wouldn't still be cutting her off from the world. She let out a long breath and thought, and yet, if this story were ever written, She would be the antagonist. Or something worse, some devil figure who destroys everything and then exists the story. But was anything ever really that black or white? No. Every person has to live their life along a grey line. Everything is grey here, even you, my desire too- she called out into the empty flat again, out loud.
The conversation of the 27th of February was starting to irritate her deeply on this magnificent day of solitary celebration. She hated being judgmental about Abir, but his attempts to defend himself on the last day only made things worse, turning it all back on Sneha. Uffff- She pressed her head in her hands and opened her eyes and picked up her phone. Her chest tightened with pressure whenever she recalled those ugly farewell feelings. She shouted- STILL! EVEN NOW! There was probably still a great deal of punishment left to feel before the feelings finally went numb, she reminded herself of that.
The room was dark with smoke. Sneha felt like she was sitting at the highest level of hell, watching a foggy morning. Her head was swimming slightly. She ignored it, opened Spotify and typed- Salma Agha. Perfect! The very first song was exactly what she'd been looking for. Through the smoke, the dark, the haze, the hell of it, in the gloom, she began to sing along-
Shayad unka aakhri ho yeh sitam,
Har sitam soch kar hum seh gaye…
Khud ko bhi humne mita daala magar,
Faasle jo darmiyan the reh gaye…
Hum wafa karke bhi tanha reh gaye,
Dil ke armaan aansuon mein beh gaye…
Sneha hadn’t been able to cry for days. Trying to sing along, she felt it suddenly, the urge. Not because her heart's desires had washed away in tears like Salma Agha's, but because she knew she would never again be able to look Abir in the eyes and say- “hum wafa kar ke bhi tanha reh gaye.” In the end, she hadn't been able to stay faithful to what she'd wanted to be. Any explanation she might offer, every 'if' and 'but', Abir could dismiss as excuse. Maybe he'd never know why, or under what circumstances, Sneha would spend the rest of her life playing the devil in his story, collecting hatred. The tears stuck in her throat and stopped somewhere before arriving. She lit the needle again and kept singing-
Khud ko bhi humne mita daala magar,
Faasle jo darmiyan the reh gaye…