'True': Sehri Tales selections, Day 19

I. 

Sometimes, I relive moments from my past. Fleeting, trivial moments. 

Like that one time I got engrossed in the chiaroscuro of light between trees on my way back from school. It wasn't a forest, it wasn't something you would notice while entering Nirjhor. But there it was: a beautiful combination of black and green and light. Yes, light. There is no other way to describe a color so luminous. 

Or, the smell of petrichor and rust and java plums while watched the rain one afternoon. My mouth waters as I think of thinly sliced green mangoes mixed with just the right amount of sugar, green chillies and kashundi. 

Or maybe, the smell of sunshine on my mattress on a winter noon, right after a quick shower and generous helping of boiled olives and red chilli powder. The sound of rustling the pages of an old book, the faint smell that it emanates.

Or, the taste of my first kiss. His lips softly engulfing mine as his musky scent fills up my nostrils. My heart thumps like it's about to burst straight our of my ribcage.

These moments; these tiny, fleeting moments give me joy. They remind me that I'm still alive. Despite being a tiny file on a cloud system, these memories are the only bits I can hold on to my true, human self.

Thanks to Elon Musk IX, humans can now transfer their entire existence into his system. We have truly and fully conquered death.

by Kaniz Ahmed 

II.

I don't think you even remember it but, you never finished the first story you ever wrote. the curious little boy with a big heart, that got smaller and smaller because of the world around him. the world that kept failing him. i wonder if it were true. if it were yourself you were talking about. if you actually could never ask for anything, even from your own parents, without feeling like you earned the right to want it. if you really had to space your wants with a year between it; a computer, a guitar. 

he wanted to try out new things. that's supposed to be good right? why did it turn out pretty bad? did you ever get to write the second part? 

I guess i'll never know. 

I don't have the right to ask for it now. 

I don't know why i'm writing this here. 

by Faiza Ramim 

III.

-Is it true?

-What?

-That you don't love me anymore.

-What made you feel that your very existence doesn't make me want to live a little bit longer than before? What made you wonder that your every breath doesn't purify the air for me to breathe? Which series of events have passed altogether that you connected the pseudo dots and come to the conclusion that I would feel worthy without you?  Are there any actions that have gone unnoticed while I was busy thinking about how to make this world a better place for you? Or is it any of my words that have altered the perception of your reality?

-You don't come to me when your heart gets heavy. I see your tired eyes from a distance. I want to ease you so badly, but it seems like you are far away from me when you bear the load of the world on you. When your shoulders get tired with burdens, I want to put your head on my shoulder and help you relax.

-Yes, it is true. The feeling I behold for you is so much more than love, such a superior form of love that I do not have the perfect word for it. It is also true that I do not come to you with a heavy heart as I believe I will make yours heavier with my loads. It will be tough to convince myself otherwise, my love. But I am trying.

by Rakin Imtiaz Turjo