After that day, I began observing him more closely. My eyes would always follow him whenever I saw him.
One day, I saw him doing something while sitting on a bench near the mosque. From a distance, it looked like he was drawing. I went closer and saw an extraordinary scene.
Arafat was drawing with great concentration. The picture depicted a person standing on a weighing scale, controlled like a puppet by an eye, with corpses all around.
The drawing looked very realistic, and the surprising part was that he had drawn the entire picture using just one pencil.
I had approached from the path behind him, so Arafat didn't notice me. However, one can often sense when someone is standing behind them. He turned around and saw me. I was still mesmerized by the drawing.
Upon seeing me, he quickly closed his drawing and put it in his bag.
I said, "What happened? The drawing was good. Is it a problem because of me?"
Arafat stood up with his bag and left without saying anything.
Arafat's behavior angered me, and my ego was hurt.
After that, even though I saw Arafat many times, I didn't look at him. Whenever I saw him, I thought there couldn't be anyone worse than him, even though Arafat hadn't done anything significant to make me think that way.
On the day of February 21, our college organized some competitions.
I participated in poetry recitation and drawing.
When my name was called to recite the poem, I started. During the recitation, my eyes wandered to the audience, and I spotted Arafat with his curly hair. He was wearing my college's uniform. Until then, I had thought Arafat attended another college since I had never seen him at mine.
Even though I looked at Arafat, he was reading a book in his hand.
Looking in that direction made me mix up the lines of the poem, which sounded terrible. Some students immediately laughed.
As a result, I stopped reciting and stepped down from the stage.
Others continued to recite their poems, and suddenly, a teacher announced,
"Those who wish to participate in drawing, please proceed to room 103 on the first floor of the main building."
I got up, gathered my colors and supplies, and started walking.
The laughter still echoed in my mind.
When I reached room 103, I saw that only two seats were empty.
I sat in one, and everyone was given a page. The time started, and I began drawing. My plan was to draw a scene where a mother is standing in front of the Shaheed Minar, crying with her child's dead body in her arms.
I drew the Shaheed Minar. Just then, the door opened, and I saw Arafat asking for permission to enter. A teacher handed him a paper and asked him to sit next to me, as the seat next to me was empty.
Arafat sat beside me. Without a word, he took out his supplies and started drawing.
I finished my drawing. Looking to my side, I saw Arafat drawing a scene from the language movement, with dead bodies in the picture. I was mesmerized, staring at his drawing skills. Compared to him, my drawing skills seemed childish.
Suddenly, the bell rang.
The sound snapped me back to reality, and I realized I had been staring at Arafat's drawing for the past half hour.
The teacher took my paper.
That afternoon, the teachers announced there would be a cultural event followed by the results.
I knew I wouldn't win anything, but I went that day just to see Arafat receive his prize, as I was sure he would win.
One by one, they announced the winners of each category. When they announced the winners for poetry recitation, I knew I had no chance. When they announced the first place, I was surprised. It wasn't my name-it was Arafat's. I was the first to applaud. I didn't know why I was so happy, but I knew one thing for sure-I was genuinely happy in my heart.
I saw Arafat receive the prize. He also won first place in the drawing competition. Seeing him made me happy again.
I was going home when my father called and asked if he should pick me up by car. I was about to say yes when I saw Arafat walking, clearly heading home.
I told my father, "No, I'll walk home, don't worry."
I hung up and started walking quickly toward Arafat. When I caught up to him, I called out from behind.
I said to Arafat, "Congratulations. I didn't know you could draw so well. I realized it that day when I saw you, and today proved it again. As for the poetry, I didn't hear your recitation, but since you won first place, it's clear how good you are."
Arafat replied, "Oh, thanks," and started walking again.
I began walking with him and said, "I didn't know you studied at Shaheed Rafiq College."
"Oh, I see," Arafat said.
"Are you going home now?" I asked.
"Yes," Arafat replied.
It was clear Arafat didn't want to talk to me, so I said to him, "Please wait a minute. I know that day... that incident made you behave like this towards me. I'm really sorry."
I knew he wasn't acting like this because of that incident. Still, it was enough to stop him. And just as I expected, it worked.
Arafat turned around and said, "What? Which day are you talking about?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to say if I've annoyed you in any way, please forgive me," I said.
"I don't understand. I don't even know what you're talking about. If my behavior makes you feel that way, there's nothing I can do," Arafat said.
"Then why do you avoid me whenever you see me?" I asked.
"I don't specifically act in any way towards anyone. I behave the same with everyone," Arafat said.
"Not even with your friends?" I asked.
"I don't have any friends," Arafat said and started walking again.
I asked why.
Annoyed, Arafat said, "I don't think I need friends to get by."
"Oh, okay," I said.
"And stop following me," Arafat said, looking at me with irritation.
"Alright, but I'm not following you. My home is this way too," I said.
We were walking past a field where some local boys were playing cricket.
Arafat started walking faster. Someone hit the ball hard, and it flew towards us. Arafat was a bit ahead of me. The ball was heading straight for him.
Arafat didn't notice. I tried to warn him, but by then, the ball had already hit the left side of his head. He staggered to the left, where a rickshaw was passing by. Arafat's head hit the rod of the rickshaw's hood. The rickshaw driver stopped quickly.
I rushed to Arafat and saw that his eyes were closed and blood was coming from his head.