Dark Shadow in the Clear Sky

"Dark Shadow in the Clear Sky: A Tragedy of the Bermuda Triangle"

Writer: Aranya Chowdhury

The sky was awash in a gentle blue light. Gliding over the Atlantic Ocean was a small cargo plane—“Skyline 742.” At its helm was Captain Imtiaz Rahman, a seasoned pilot who had made the skies his home for over twenty years. Beside him sat his only crew member, Tamanna Afroze, a young and courageous co-pilot.

They were flying from Puerto Rico to Miami, a route that brushed against the edge of the infamous Bermuda Triangle, a name that evokes an unspoken fear in the hearts of many.

Dhaka was where Imtiaz's family lived. Every evening, he would talk to his wife and only daughter, Sayra, through video calls. That day was no different. Sayra had said, “Abbu, please come back today. I’ve made your favorite tea.” Imtiaz had laughed and replied, “Alright, sweetheart. I swear by it. I'll get right to you as soon as this flight is over. As the plane entered the Bermuda Triangle, radio contact was suddenly lost. The control tower tried multiple times to reestablish communication—but there was no response.

At first, authorities assumed it was a minor technical glitch. But as hours passed—afternoon turning to evening, then night, and finally morning—there was still no sign of Skyline 742. No wreckage. No sign. Not even a whisper of life or death.

Back in Dhaka, Rubaiyat, Imtiaz’s wife, stood silently on the veranda. Every time the phone rang, she rushed to it, her heart pounding, thinking, “Maybe it’s Imtiaz.” But it never was. The news channels blared only one headline—

“Another plane lost in the Bermuda Triangle. Survivors unlikely.”

Sayra didn’t understand that her father was never coming back. Every day after school, she would prepare two cups of tea and sit by the window. In one cup, she poured milk tea for herself; in the other, black tea—just the way her father liked it. Each time, the wind would ruffle her hair, blur her eyes with tears, and she would walk away—tea untouched.

Imtiaz’s room became a place of silence. Tamanna Afroze’s family was equally devastated. Her mother recalled, “The day before, she said—‘Amma, I’m flying over Bermuda. Pray for my sake.' I said, ‘May Allah protect you.’ But what good did that do?”

Researchers tried to explain it away—perhaps an electromagnetic storm or sudden weather turbulence had downed the plane. But questions remained:

Where was the aircraft? Why was there no emergency call? The days grew into months. Years passed. Skyline 742 became just another statistic, another line in the Bermuda Triangle’s long list of vanished souls.

But for those who lost loved ones, it wasn’t a statistic—it was an endless void.

Years later, Sayra grew up. Inspired by her father, she dreamed of becoming a pilot. In an interview, she said, “I often wonder where my father went. I don’t know if he’s still alive, but I know he loved us deeply. I fly because the sky is filled with my father’s breath.”

Rubaiyat remains perched by the window. Deep down, she knows Imtiaz will not return, yet in every whisper of the wind, she hears—

“Ma, I’m coming home…”

The Bermuda Triangle stands where it always has—shrouded in mystery.

It takes in, but it never says anything. Imtiaz, Tamanna, and Skyline 742 lie silently in its heart, lost but never forgotten.

The End.

Thank for you!