The dust- covered alley was noway simply a hallway for Imdad. It was a quiet library of moments, where recollections settled gently, the way dust does after a long, exhausting day. nearly between transitory grins and words left unsaid, the narrow lane had come a silent substantiation to a connection neither of them had ever dared to define. Kali was no longer just a girl from the neighborhood, and Imdad was no longer just a familiar presence. What bound them floated in an uncertain space — undetermined, yet incontrovertibly heavy.
Time moved without notice. Another week dissolved, and the following morning Imdad was set to leave for Dhaka. That night, he tried to pack his bag, but his hands felt reticent, as though they were defying the verity. For two entire weeks, there had been no word from Kali. His body was preparing to leave city, but his heart refused to cooperate. It dallied stubbornly in front of Kali’s house, in that same dust- covered alley where Imdad himself would soon be absent.
He gave up on quilting and sat down on the edge of the bed. That was when his mama , Akhi, walked by and still handed him her phone. The moment she mentioned Kali’s name, everything additional sounded to break. As soon as Imdad heard Kali’s voice, the restraint he'd maintained collapsed. Questions poured out — complaints, allegations, half- formed frustrations — not driven by wrathfulness, but by paining hurt.
Kali heeded without interruption. She spoke vocally, nearly softly, explaining that she had espoused her grandmother’s phone, that sequestration was a luxury she did n't retain. Her silence had noway been a choice; it had been assessed by circumstance. When Imdad told her he was leaving for Dhaka, commodity inside her wavered. He spoke of work, of earning plutocrat, of constructing a future where he could eventually bring her back from a life that had shown her little kindness. He offered no grand pledges — no wealth, no perfection — only care, quality, and a love that would not run dry.
Kali’s eyes filled with gashes — not of anguish, but of unbelief. For the first time, someone spoke of her not as a burden to be permitted, but as a responsibility embraced willingly. Before ending the call, Imdad asked her to take care of herself — not just for her own sake, but for his as well. Kali smiled through her gashes and promised to guard what he'd entrusted to her.
Two months passed.
Their communication grew occasional and rushed — three twinkles formerly, seven another time, and formerly not indeed a full nanosecond before the call suddenly ended. When Imdad returned home for his examinations, he went straight to the old banyan tree beside the field. Standing there with his hands put away into his pockets, he closed his eyes and let recollections face — horselaugh, petty arguments, long exchanges that formerly felt endless. Back also, love had no place between them. Now it did. Yet still, their bond remained unnamed.
The question pursued him relentlessly Who was he to Kali? And who was Kali to him?
Before he could untangle the study, a hand rested on his shoulder. Said — his nonage friend, his one constant — stood behind him. They embraced with the familiarity of people who had endured distance. As they talked, life unfolded between them new metropolises, old commitment, undetermined feelings. ultimately, the discussion drifted toward Kali.
Said heeded far further than he spoke. When he eventually mentioned marriage, Imdad released a long breath. Family prospects, fiscal fragility, professional query — everything stood in opposition. He wanted to establish himself first, to come good of the life he envisaged for Kali.
Said laughed, joking about marriage assignations and plates of biryani, but there was commodity disturbing in his horselaugh. The question Imdad had avoided for so long escaped him.
“ Do you like Kali? ”
Said did n't deny it. His passions were neither violent nor insignificant — being nearly in between. Still, he'd chosen silence. Love, he believed, was n't commodity to be demanded or prayed for. Kali’s peace signified further than his quiet craving.
still, ” Imdad asked vocally, “ would you have told her? ”
“ If I were n’t in the picture.
Said offered a faint smile. “ perhaps. But I chose her peace over my desire. ”
As dusk settled, Imdad understood commodity abecedarian. Love was n't always about possession. occasionally, it was about restraint. About stepping away. About choosing another person’s happiness over your own.
The dust- covered alley remained unchanged but the hearts bound to it had progressed. And maybe, one day, that nameless connection would eventually find its name.
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