During my childhood, I spent countless hours listening to my aunt's stories. She was a crime reporter—her sharp eyes seemed to catch every detail. Each case was a new thrill, and every time she returned home from the office to see me, I'd feel a burst of excitement. She'd hand me a small packet of chips and say, "Here, my little partner."
After freshening up, she'd start her stories. "Once, in a murder case…" She'd tell them so vividly that I could visualize the entire scene before my eyes. The way the police conducted investigations, how they spoke with her, all of it felt incredibly alive. I didn't understand everything at the time, but after listening to her exciting adventures, I decided that one day, I too would walk into the world of mysteries.
But that dream shattered the day she didn't return home. At first, I thought she was caught up in a big case. Days passed, but she still didn't come back. Finally, Dad took me to see her, lying still on a bed. I understood then—she would never come back to tell stories again. The quiet resentment I'd held melted into tears.
After that, my parents warned me about mysteries and crime. "Don't go down that path. There's only pain there," they'd say.
But today, as a woman held a gun to my head, I could only think of my aunt—her courage, her skill. Maybe she had faced this kind of dangerous situation many times, or perhaps even tougher ones. But I realized that back then, my aunt hadn't had someone like Sakib. He handled situations with a calmness and completeness that felt reassuring.
I'd noticed Sakib on our first day of class. Medium height, his hair lightly sweeping his forehead, he always wore earphones, sitting in a corner scrolling through something on his phone. Sometimes, he'd smile to himself, as if lost in a world no one else could see. To my friends, he was the "alien" in class, set apart, locked in his own world.
That day, the way he pulled out money and solved a small mystery reminded me of my aunt. A shiver ran through me, reigniting the thrill of uncovering mysteries. Since then, I found myself glancing at him differently. I felt there was something hidden within him, just like my aunt. Over the next few days, I tried talking to him more, bit by bit. I discovered that mysterious as he was, he was fun too. Behind his silent, self-contained demeanor was a curious mind, which to me, became alluring.
The next day, after class, we all headed to the hangout spot. Sakib looked brighter than usual as if the anticipation of the break had already lifted his spirits. Just then, Tonni and Sourav walked in, and I said excitedly, "Listen, tomorrow our two-day tour finally begins!"
Sakib's eyebrows shot up in surprise, as though he was hearing this for the first time. "What?"
His voice sounded like he'd just been struck by a revelation. Hasan laughed and said, "Come on! You've forgotten the trip to Bandarban?"
Rima chimed in, "What time are we leaving? What's the plan?
Sakib was about to say something, but I interrupted, "We will leave tomorrow morning at ten.
I knew Sakib would try to say something about not going, but the trip just wouldn't be the same without him.
The next morning, I got up early, already buzzing with excitement. I chose a deep red outfit and began packing. Today I have marked my first university trip. Soon, I set off and reached Dhanmondi 27, calling Sakib seven times. The calls went through, but no answer. I stood alone on the street, unfazed, waiting. A few minutes later, he finally called back.
"H-hello?" he stammered.
"Hurry up and get to Dhanmondi 27," I demanded.
"I just woke up. Can I get ready first?"
"No need, just come quickly, no need to bring bags," I added a touch of irritation to my voice.
"Okay!"
I hung up, pacing back and forth. After a while, I sat down by the roadside near Daffodil University. Sakib arrived shortly after and asked, "What's up?"
I responded frankly, "I'm in a bad mood."
He looked at me, wondering why I'd called him out here just to say that. "Why? What happened?"
"Trip's canceled," I answered, watching relief sweep across his face.
He asked, "Why's it canceled?"
Annoyed and disappointed, I explained, "Hasan's gone to Meherpur, Rima has tutoring, Tonni's family won't allow her to go, and I don't know about Sourav. They all informed me while I was getting ready."
He suggested, "Well, maybe you should head home cause the heat's too high and can result in heatstroke."
"No, you will stay and make my mood better."
He froze, asking, "What exactly do you mean?"
"I told you, just help me cool down," I replied, amused at his clueless expression.
After some thought, he said, "Alright, let's head somewhere."
"Where to?"
"We'll see."
Without further questions, I agreed. Walking alongside him, I noticed his face reflecting deep thought. We ended up in front of a restaurant, entering through its glass door. The place wasn't huge, with three tables arranged in two columns and two cushioned sofas around each one. We sat in the far corner, and Sakib ordered an ice cream and a chocolate coffee. Guessing the ice cream was for me, I asked, "Why ice cream?"
He replied, "Our bodies have something called serotonin, the hormone of happiness. When it's low, our mood doesn't cool easily. So, I ordered ice cream to help boost it. While eating it, people often forget negative thoughts and feel a sense of calm."
Listening to his reasoning left me in awe. I expected a different answer, but then again, this person was Sakib, who had an incredible sense of understanding situations. I'd never seen him make a poor decision. Just then, the waiter served the ice cream on a small plate and coffee in a mug. Sakib sipped his coffee, noticing my silence, and asked, "What's up?"
"Nothing."
I took a spoonful of ice cream. He was right; the sweet, cool flavor immediately lifted my mood. Vanilla and chocolate—two flavors that melted away my frustration about the canceled trip. When the ice cream was finished, he asked, "So, are you feeling better now?"
"No."
The truth was, I just wanted to spend a bit more time with him, having some conversation with him. Somehow, I found myself lost in a strange, inexplicable feeling. Then I heard him say, "Come on, let's go to Dhaka University. It'll cheer you up."
I was surprised. I'd expected him to suggest going home, not a random trip with me. Quickly finishing our food, we left the restaurant, heading for Dhaka University.
The campus was bustling with students, just like ours. Walking past TSC, we arrived at the Shaheed Minar and found a spot under a large tree's shade. Though not particularly secluded, it was a pleasant spot. Our conversation drifted to family, and he shared bits about his. I tried to listen, but my mind kept wandering, constantly glancing at him. I knew he probably didn't notice my distracted state. After some time, I suggested, "Let's go to Ahsan Manzil."
"Where's that?"
"It's in Lakshmibazar, Old Dhaka—near Sadarghat."
He hesitated, "Too much traffic there."
After a bit of persuasion, he agreed.
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Setting off for Old Dhaka, we were soon caught in traffic. Buses, cars, and CNG auto-rickshaws filled the road, with only the occasional rickshaw or van squeezing through. A van driver, burdened with towering loads, wiped the sweat from his neck with a towel. Every fifteen minutes, the traffic moved for a minute or two before jamming up again. The faces of people stuck in rickshaws showed their growing frustration. Sakib was fidgeting too, like a bird who came out to roam but ended up caged. By the time we reached Old Dhaka, it was already three in the afternoon. Famished, we wasted no time in ordering lunch. The Old Dhaka is famous for its Kacchi-Biryani, along with a refreshing glass of Borhani that Sakib ordered, which made the meal delightful. After eating, we planned to rest for a bit and then leave, so we headed to Bahadur Shah Park. Formerly known as Victoria Park, this spot got its new name after the Shepahi Revolution of 1857. Surrounded by historical schools and colleges, like Kabi Nazrul Government College, Government Muslim High School, and Jagannath University, the area is always bustling. Inside the park, there's the Hafizullah Memorial, though the area around it was unfortunately quite unkempt. I took a few selfies, including two with Sakib in the frame. After spending some time there, we started heading back home.
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