[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.]
For the first time in a long while, Sneha has spent an entire day alone like this, from morning to evening, just with herself. Sometimes something happens in life, and you simply don’t go back to who you were before. Maybe you never even get back to the kind of normal people talk about. She thinks this might be how the rest of her life goes- stuck inside a closed room, playing this endless game of needle and fire. Right now, she doesn’t seem able to do anything else. It’s going to rain again. Suddenly, a strong wind blows in, wild like a Boishakh storm. She is still sitting on the balcony floor exactly where she sat just before sunset. Her legs are folded in front of her. Her arms go down along both sides of her legs, and her hands are clenched in front of her, just below her chin.
Once the rain starts, getting out of Bashundhara will be a whole problem. Not that she really wants to go anywhere right now. After those almost heavenly 46 hours and 42 minutes with Abir, she couldn’t stay alone in a flat for a long time. For quite some time, even being alone in the Aftabnagar flat or in Amma’s room at the Niketan house made her feel suffocated the moment she closed her eyes. Back then, night after night, she would lie or sit around, taking Filfresh and Rivotril and waiting for sleep. Three months later, she was more or less forced to give up the Aftabnagar flat. The rent was 28,000 taka every month, plus 3,000 taka in service charges. And still, she couldn’t stay in her own flat because the memory of one person was that painful. Can you imagine that? Anyone hearing this would call her crazy. Then again, Sneha thinks, she is crazy.
A lot of people have called her “pagli” with love over the years. Abba used to say it all the time, in that long, affectionate way of his- Areyyyy… amar paglita! Ah, how long has it been since she heard that voice? And she never will again. Being called crazy never bothered her when it came from anyone else. But when Abir said it, it hit differently. It always triggered something in her. She closes her eyes once, just to remember him calling her “insane,” and suddenly the image of Abir from that night in Rajshahi comes back. He was completely drunk. But somehow, that man didn’t feel like Abir at all. It felt like she was looking at a stranger. Someone she had never seen before. There was none of Abir’s usual softness in his eyes. Only anger. Maybe hatred too. Sneha couldn’t stand that version of him. She still can’t. She tries to make the image disappear, but it stays right there in front of her. Even when she opens her eyes, she can still see him clearly, sitting in the car and screaming at her- You’re mad! You need medical help! Maybe he only called her crazy because he was angry, but it hurt her like hell. Even now, remembering it still hurts.
Another strong gust hits, and rain starts falling. Sneha never turned on the light in the room that evening. She hasn’t gone inside either. The window is still open, and the curtains start flying wildly in the wind. Then lightning flashes with a huge crack, and the electricity goes out. The room was already dark, so there isn’t much difference. But one by one, the flats in the nearby buildings go dark too. For a little while, Sneha wants to stay like that. She knows, though, that in a few minutes the generators will roar to life and fill everything with light again. Sometimes darkness can feel just as necessary as being alone. Right now, she needs it badly. Even the smallest bit of light feels like a threat. She feels like she will see Abir standing there. Not really Abir. That strange man hiding somewhere inside him. And maybe he will scream at her again, angry as ever- You need medical help!
Strangely, none of the generators in the surrounding buildings have come on yet. The road in I Block feels even more deserted in the darkness. The houses here don’t stand packed together like they do in most places. There’s a pretty good distance between one building and the next. That is one of the main reasons Sneha rented this apartment. It’s not as huge or open as her old flat in Chandrima Model Town, but it’s quiet, neat, and private enough. She liked it so much that she paid the advance the very first day she came to see it.
The Chandrima flat was almost 1,450 square feet. That’s not exactly huge for a family, but for Sneha living alone, it felt almost as big as a football field. She had been pretty happy there. Those were the 2023–2024 days. That flat was where she first met Abir. She first talked to him on the phone there. Their first video call happened there too. She left that flat for their first date. And their first night together happened there as well.
When she finally left Chandrima, she and Abir were not talking at the time. Otherwise, she probably wouldn’t have left the place at all. Too many memories were tied to it. Though now, Enchanted holds even more. She only had to leave Chandrima because the owner decided to sell the flat. And he gave her just fifteen days’ notice. He knew Sneha’s father’s house was in the city, so even if she had to leave on short notice, at least she wouldn’t be completely out on the street.
That gentleman was probably in some kind of trouble and had to sell the flat in a hurry. Since he had asked Sneha to leave with only fifteen days’ notice, he called her several times and politely apologized for it. She had spent some really good times in that flat, and some bad ones too. The seventh-floor apartment got plenty of light and air from every side. She could see the Turag River from the balcony. She often went for walks along the Turag in the evening. On the day she left, after the workers had taken all her things downstairs, she stood alone in the empty room and cried a lot. It felt like she was leaving behind the memories of her early days with Abir and walking away.
The same thing happened when she left the Aftabnagar flat. Abir had only been there once. He slept for a few hours during the day. After he woke up in the afternoon, Sneha gave him something to eat. Then she went to the pharmacy to buy Napa Extra. After coming back, they talked for a while, and in the evening they left for the airport. Those few hours had become so deeply tied to Abir that Sneha couldn’t stay there alone anymore. The memories started making her feel terribly lonely. In the end, she couldn’t take it anymore and left the flat. She cried like a little kid when she was leaving that place too. It took her quite a while to stop crying. It was only a few hours, from morning to evening, but those hours were still part of that heavenly 46 hours and 42 minutes they had together.
She has very few memories of spending time with Abir anywhere other than Kingfisher. So, when she had to leave the Chandrima and Aftabnagar flats, it felt like she was losing places where she could go back and look for those memories. Whenever she misses Abir badly, she goes to Kingfisher. She sits there and imagines Abir sitting beside her, mixing Red Bull and lemon into his glass of whisky. A little later, he will hold his glass toward hers and say cheers. She has spent so many afternoons there that turned into evenings, evenings that turned into nights, sometimes even staying until midnight, just to feel that Abir is still somewhere beside her. That is a kind of madness too. She has always known that she would have to live by collecting memories of Abir. So, she tried to collect as many as she could, in every possible way. What else does she have? Memories are all she has, and maybe all she is ever supposed to have. Before, just thinking that she would never see Abir again used to make her feel like she couldn’t breathe. But now…
Maybe she will never see Abir again. Actually, no... there is no room for "maybe" or "if" anymore. It is a sure thing now. In the narrow lanes of this tiny world, Sneha and Abir will never cross paths again in this lifetime. A few moments ago, she thought she could handle this thought easily. But she could not stay calm for long. The bad feeling started. This specific bad feeling is impossible to explain to anyone. It is strange. A mix of hurt, sadness, pain, melancholy, and a terrifying emptiness. The thought of a separation as cold as death makes something twist deep inside her chest. She feels a horrible pressure. In her chest, in her head, down the entire right side of her body. Then she thinks- at least Abir is doing okay because they are apart. He doesn’t have to spend his life being afraid of Sneha anymore. He doesn’t have to carry her pain, her anger, her stubbornness, her hurt anymore.
That thought should make things easier for her. It should hurt less. But the heart doesn’t care about what should happen. How is she supposed to make it follow rules? She is already stuck inside that one small, stubborn part of herself. Mandakranta Sen called it an “obaddho meye”- a rebellious girl, and said, “take ki shasti debe, dio.” Punish her if you want. Compared to that, Sneha feels almost helpless. Because this is what hurts: she will never see Abir again. Never see that smile. Never hear his voice. Never hear him say her name. He will never be part of her world again. And she will never be part of him.
They will both stay alive somewhere in this world. That’s the worst part. They just won’t exist in each other’s lives anymore. And these thoughts keep coming back, hurting her head and chest over and over again. Every time they do, it feels like someone has dropped a mountain onto her chest. How long will it take for this to feel normal? How many more nights will she have to spend awake? How many times will she have to lose herself in drugs just to stop thinking? How many times will the pain get so bad that she screams? How many times will she have to stop pretending and finally collapse into tears? How long before this becomes something she can live with?
Sneha thinks about how pain works. Maybe if you live with something long enough, you eventually learn to live with it. Even pain becomes bearable. “New normal.” Wasn’t that the term people started using during Covid? She tries to remember. When something that once felt completely abnormal slowly becomes a regular part of life, that becomes the new normal, right? So when will that happen to her? How long will it take? Years? Will she be able to accept it before she dies? It hurts so fucking much. She doesn’t want to hurt like this anymore. She feels sorry for herself. These days, whenever she sees herself this helpless, she wants to hold herself a little, be gentle with herself. Sometimes she wants to go back to being a child. Not just a little younger- really, really small. Small enough that she wouldn’t have to think about anything anymore.
And then, out of nowhere, another question comes to her- does Abir hate her now? Whenever he thinks about Sneha, does he get terribly angry? Her chest tightens at the thought. Is she really going to spend the rest of her life as someone Abir hates? But almost immediately, another thought follows. Hate needs love first, doesn’t it? Love and hate are both such intense feelings. If one was never there, maybe the other can’t exist either. When love runs out, what comes after it is indifference, not hate. Abir had already been indifferent to her for a long time. So, if there was never any love there in the first place, where would the hate come from? She has no answer. Something inside her keeps pulling in two different directions. She feels like not everything Abir said on their last day was completely true. She can’t think about any of it straight anymore. One thought just keeps circling back- was Abir’s hatred really what she deserved in the end? Maybe…
Still, not a single light has come on in any of the flats in the buildings around her. Is everyone secretly craving the darkness as much as Sneha is right now? Tonight, she doesn’t want to see a single light anywhere. Because light means Abir. Not really Abir- the other man hiding inside him. The soft drizzle suddenly turns into heavy rain, pouring down onto the open balcony. Sneha doesn’t move. She stays exactly where she was. Lightning begins flashing across the sky again and again, and even those sudden flashes make her uneasy. Sitting there in the middle of the rain, she loudly recites three times, La ilaha illa anta, subhanaka inni kuntu minaz-zalimin. The fear of seeing that stranger inside Abir eases a little. But the anxiety doesn’t leave completely. There is still something restless inside her, something that won’t let her settle down.
Soaking wet, she finally lies down on the balcony floor. She folds her legs up and holds them tightly with both arms. Trying to slow down her breathing, she suddenly realizes that her whole body is trembling. The face of that strange man inside Abir slowly starts fading from her sight, becoming blurred, moving farther and farther away. And then—there he is again. Abir. Just Abir. Sitting right in front of her in the darkness. The moment that other man disappears, Abir’s face changes. There is so much tenderness in his eyes now, so much warmth, so much care. Sneha keeps looking at him for a while. Then, in her mind, she hears his soft voice- I’m keeping my hand on your head. Sleep. Sleep like a baby. Don’t worry about anything else now. Just sleep. Sleep starts coming to her slowly, but Abir is still there in front of her. And as she keeps looking at him, one thought settles quietly inside her—Abir will never say those words to her again. I’m keeping my hand on your head. Sleep…
Had the Bluetooth speaker inside the room been playing music the whole time? Sneha tries to remember, but there’s nothing. She can’t recall hearing anything. It is playing now, though. Still lying on the balcony floor, soaked in the rain, she listens to Ustad Ghulam Ali sing with that deep, aching emotion-
Chori chori hum se tum aa kar mile the jis jagah,
(The place where you secretly came and met me)
Muddaten guzar gayin, par ab tak woh thikana yaad hai…
(So many years have passed, but I still remember that place)
Hum ko ab tak aashiqui ka woh zamana yaad hai…
(I still remember those days when we were in love…)