Fiction: My Unfulfilled Love

My Unfulfilled Love

I waited for a long day. I thought that maybe he would tell me about his love first, but it didn’t happen. I realized that he likes me. It cannot be said that his approach was predictable. His approaches cannot be understood unless observed very closely. It seems very normal. You can say general activities.

As I like him too, I used to observe his every little activity. My approach was the same. Not everyone will understand, only those who observe closely will understand. As I observe him, he observes me. It’s not my opinion, it’s faith.

He was my younger brother’s tutor. A village boy. His family cannot afford his study far away. He got a chance to be admitted to Dhaka University due to his talent and hard work. Doing some tuition, he maintains his lifestyle and sends some money to the village.

His financial status can be understood from his clothes and lifestyle, and family etiquette by looking at his speech and manners. Seeing his politeness and civility, my parents became a crazy fans of his.


Sometimes it seems my mother loves him as much as she loves my younger brother. Every day when he comes to teaching, my mother inquired about his physical and mental health. Provide him with the best food in our house. I can proudly say that my parents have a sense of moderation. They don’t do or say anything that can make him embarrassed or he can think as he came from a poor family, my parents showed him kindness.

I didn’t talk much with him, but we have seen many times. I often opened the door after he rang the bell. Sometimes my mother sent him tea via me. Sometimes my father asked him to sit down and discussed with him many issues. That time, maybe I was sitting in the drawing room and watching tv or my father called me to join them.

Seen as such and talk! When he meets me, he greets me. I answered the greetings. While I gave him the tea, I always said, “Mom sent.” He took the cup and gave a small thank you.

I can’t explain when or how I am in love with him. Once he went to the village because of his mother’s illness. He left immediately. Later he told my mother over the phone. Without seeing him for two consecutive days, I became restless inside. I felt like something fundamental in my life is missing. I couldn’t breathe properly. It seemed like what was floating in the air is not my oxygen, but my oxygen is his voice. A magical voice.

I secretly took his number from my mother’s phone. I called him. He was very surprised to receive my call. I can’t pretend to talk. When he asked why I called! Shall I say something?

I told him directly, “I miss you. I don’t know the reason, but I miss you badly. I’m suffocating, not hearing your voice.”

 Seemed he smiled a little sweetly! Can’t be seen on the phone, but can be felt. I sensed exactly what he was feeling. He smiled sweetly and said, “You are a very brave girl. No boy can say this directly.”

Seeing his positive approach gave me some courage. “You should thank me now,” I said, plucking up courage.

– Why?

– Because I have made your way much easier.

– Like?

– That you don’t need to tell me you love me.

– Who said that I love you?

– You said it.

– When and how?

– You said it through your heart and many times. I didn’t write down the time.

He then laughed out loud. That was the first time I heard him laugh loudly. I saw his laughter in my imagination. He said his mother’s condition is slightly better. He will return to Dhaka the next day.

I started eagerly waiting for him. I was feeling a bit ashamed. Although I have been talking on the phone with excessive emotion. Now I will be ashamed to go in front of him. No matter how brave I am, at the end of the day, I’m just a girl. All the common characteristics of girls with me.

Watching a movie at night is too late to sleep. Wake up too late as usual. It was almost noon when I woke up. I ask mother to give me a cup of coffee. Mother was going towards the kitchen. At that time there was a call on the mother’s phone. My younger brother’s second-semester result has been given. This is the first time that my younger brother has topped any exam. He is not very good as a student. He was never found before roll 10. Suddenly he makes a huge improvement.

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My mother was ecstatically praising my younger brother’s teacher. His level of praise is so high that it seems the test is given not by the student but by the teacher. What else do I have? Good to hear. It is nice to hear when my own mother praises my loved ones so much.

After some time my father called on the phone. My father called and told us that there was a big storm in the village the night before. The big and small trees are broken. Many people’s houses have been blown away, and many houses have been destroyed. The water of rivers and canals has risen and reached the surrounding land and houses.

Rafiq’s uncle, the headmaster of the village school called my father. My father met him through Rafiq’s uncle. When he came to Dhaka, Rafiq’s uncle said to my father and asked him to arrange some good tuition for him. Hearing Rafiq’s uncle’s praise, my father fixed him earlier for his own son. Then he fixed three more tuitions in our building. Everyone gives him a smart amount. So he didn’t have to look for any tuition elsewhere. He did not face any irony while teaching.

According to Rafiq’s uncle’s commentary; That means Azan; Azan is the man whose story I have told for so long. There was a banyan tree near Azan’s house. The tree is very old. In the strong storm, that tree fell on Azan’s house. No one could leave the house. In the house were Azan, his parents, two sisters, an elder brother, and his wife.

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None of us know who died first. All we know is that the entire family, including Azan, died at the same time.

When my mother finished talking to my father and told me the words, I wasn’t listening to mom, I was looking at mom. Tears were pouring from my flailing eyes. Mother thinks her daughter is a soft-hearted person. Crying after hearing about the suffering.

The mother does not know that her daughter is also a lover. Crying over the loss of a new loved one. Crying for a man I lost before I got him.

Well! Have I lost him? No; it’s not. He is dead, not lost. In my mind, he is and will be.

This short fiction is written by Farjana Akter.

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