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.
The rickshaw driver quickly got down and tightly bandaged Arafat's forehead with a towel.
Arafat was unconscious. The rickshaw driver said, "We need to get him to the hospital quickly" and asked who I was to him.
I said I was his friend.
Thanks to the rickshaw driver, we reached the hospital quickly.
At the hospital, Arafat needed blood. The rickshaw driver agreed to donate since his blood type matched.
I sat for almost an hour. I had Arafat's bag with me.
A nurse asked me for a family member's number. Since I couldn't find a phone on Arafat and didn't have any contact numbers, I couldn't inform his family.
After donating blood, the rickshaw driver was resting. Then the doctor said Arafat had regained consciousness.
I went to see him and found the doctor taking his father's number to call him. I handed Arafat his bag.
Not knowing what to say, I said, "I'll go now. My father will be worried."
Arafat looked at the clock and saw it was 8 PM.
"You've been here all this time?" Arafat asked me.
"Forget about that. I'm leaving," I said and quickly left the hospital.
Outside, I saw my father waiting with the car. I got in. My father smiled and said, "Wow! My daughter has grown up."
If you think my father would be angry with me or something, you're wrong. It takes luck to have a father like mine.
Many days passed, almost 20, without seeing Arafat.
Finally, on March 14, I saw Arafat at coaching after all this time. I felt a bit happy inside.
As usual, Mr. Tuhin asked those who hadn't attended to stand up.
Arafat also stood up.
When the teacher came to Arafat, he asked why he hadn't come for the past 20 days. Arafat simply said he didn't feel like coming.
I got angry hearing this and told the teacher, "Sir, Arafat had an accident."
Even though boys and girls sat separately, and I was sitting quite far away, my words were heard throughout the room.
Sir asked "Really?"
Arafat said "Yes sir".
That day, after coaching, as usual, I was sitting on the tree stump by the college pond reading a book. Across the pond, the mosque could be seen, and beside it, the bench was visible. I was looking in that direction because that's where Arafat was sitting.
Suddenly, the shadow of someone behind me fell on my book. I turned around and saw Arafat.
I was surprised to see Arafat. He looked at me and said,
"Thank you for that day. When my father came to the hospital, he thanked the rickshaw driver profusely for saving me. The rickshaw driver also mentioned you. But you had left the hospital by then. When my father went to pay the medical bills, he found everything had already been paid," Arafat said.
I said, "Oh."
"I know it was you who did all this, so I came to thank you," Arafat said.
I stood up and said, "Oh, that's no big deal. I can do that for a friend, no need to thank me." I paused a bit and then said, "Or are you thanking me because I'm not your friend?"
"No, it's nothing like that," Arafat said.
"So what's the answer then? We're friends, right?" I said.
"If you think so, then yes, we're friends," Arafat said.
Everything went silent for a moment, like the calm before a storm.
Breaking the silence, I said, "Do you like reading books?"
Arafat said, "Sometimes, but yes, I do like reading books."
"Let's go to the library. I saw an amazing book in the science section about timelines," I said.
"But I'm not a science student," Arafat said.
"Yes, I know you're a business student. So what? It has nothing to do with that," I said.
After that day, spending time together after coaching became a habit for us. Sometimes in the library, sometimes by the pond, or sometimes on the bench beside the mosque.
Many days passed this way, and during these days, our friendship deepened. We even changed how we spent our time. We could finish our coaching studies during that time, thanks to the library.
We also participated in various competitions. Gradually, my drawing skills improved a lot.
Interestingly, on May Day, there was a drawing competition, and I couldn't win first place because of Arafat. He scored 0.5 points more than me.
Though we were friends, we were rivals when it came to drawing.
Time passed, and June arrived, bringing our first-year final exams.
We used to go home together every day because our routes were the same. Coaching classes were also closed for exams.
I was standing in front of the college business building waiting for Arafat. When I saw him, I approached and saw he was talking to a girl. Honestly, I felt a pang of sadness inside. It felt like someone was taking Arafat away from me.
I followed them. He escorted the girl to a rickshaw.
Arafat then looked around and got into the rickshaw.
I felt a sense of emptiness inside.
I went home. I spent the whole day in my room feeling sad. Ramadan ( The month of fast in islam) was starting the day after tomorrow. My father came into my room and asked what was wrong.
I told him everything.
I never hide anything from my father, so I told him.
He said, "There's nothing to be sad about. When Arafat came to our house, I didn't feel from talking to him that he's like that."
I had brought Arafat to my house three or four times, including on my 18th birthday, and during those days, everyone in my family had developed a good relationship with him.
"But what if he has someone he loves? What will I do then?" I asked my father.
He said, "Then it's your fault because you never told Arafat that you love him. If you don't tell him, he'll only see you as a friend, right?" My father also said, "I don't know what kind of father I am, giving such advice to my daughter, but I'll say you should tell Arafat your feelings tomorrow. Let whatever happens, happen."
I followed my father's advice that day.
The next day, after our English coaching ended, all the other teachers had given a holiday. Then Arafat and I started walking home.
I asked Arafat to stop and requested to go by the pond. Arafat agreed.
Despite the heat and the anxiety, I mustered up the courage and said, "Arafat, I... I never talked to you just to be friends. I always felt a strange attraction towards you. I didn't know if it was love or not, but now I'm a hundred percent sure that I love you. Arafat, I love you very much."
Arafat didn't say a word, he didn't answer me. There was silence for a while.