Letter to the Roof

The alleys of vintage Dhaka, broken roofs, small homes—a familiar image amidst all this. Tree leaves within the gaps among the sun-burnt walls, and the community crow sitting at the roof railing. Every afternoon, a young guy comes as much as the roof of a two-story residence in that antique town. His name is Mehrab.

Mehrab is analyzing English literature. He is 23 years old, and has come to Dhaka from the moufsole to live at his uncle's residence. His love for the roof is old; he reads books here, plays the guitar, drinks tea, and every so often writes—in that antique blue diary.

One anfternoon, as he climbed as high as the roof with a e book in hand, he noticed a new face on the roof of the residence next door. The woman was sitting quietly analyzing an e-book. She changed into wearing mild glasses, a white headband around her neck, and some of her hair was flying in the wind. Mehrab changed into shocked. He didn't recognise who the girl became, where she got here from—but he sensed that the silence on his roof became special these days.

Days were surpassed. That woman—Mehrab had named her "The Fairy Tale of the Roof"—got here to the roof nearly every day. Sometimes with an e book in her hand, from time to time without anything in her hand. She sat quietly and stared at the sky. Mehrab was additionally within the opposite corner. No words had been spoken, however on occasion there was a wink. There became a hidden fascination, a query, and a type of denial in those winks.

Two weeks left. One day, Mehrab bravely added a small letter to a piece of paper. He wrote—

"Do you take a look at the sky, or do you want to be seen in my eyes?"

He left the letter inside the center of the roof, close to the wall, as if it might fly to the lady in the wind. On the second day, he sat quietly and waited.

And it becomes true! The female came, read the paper, smiled lightly, and left a folded piece of paper at the back of her.

Mehrab opened the letter and examined:

"Do you recognize, sitting on your roof is my favorite scene of the afternoon?"

From that day on, the exchange of letters began. There were no names, addresses, or personal questions. Just feelings, silent affection, and a few mild romantic amusing. They called everyone different by means of pseudonyms—Mehrab wrote in his letters "The Cloud Angel of the Roof", and the female wrote "The Shadow Poet".

Mehrab's diary turned into a full of letters.

One day, he wrote— The female replied—

"The one you read and examine me with."

A few extra days left. They never spoke, exchanged telephone numbers, emails, or anything. Yet each of them understood—a silent love changed into being born. And this love, the splendor of an abnormal silence in the hustle and bustle of the metropolis.

One evening, it rained. The roof was empty. The lady became not seen the day after today either. On the 1/3 day, Mehrab saw a chunk of paper at the corner of the wall, soaked in rain. He picked it up and noticed the phrases—

"We are leaving. Father has been transferred to Chittagong. I could not even say it. Leave your letters so you can read them like a story sooner or later. I will consider you, just like the shadow at the roof..."

Mehrab stood within the center of the roof for a long time. Then all of sudden the raindrops regarded to combine with the stains of his tears on the paper.

For the next few days, the roof became very empty. He has now not received any letters. It became as though the female's departure had made the roof destitute.

Almost a year surpassed after that. Mehranb has become attempting to find a activity, every now and then coming to the roof, looking at the antique pages of his diary.

One morning in Baishakh, he determined a piece of paper at the roof railing. Small, folded in a circle.

The phrases—

"Do you continue to come to that roof?"

Mehrab shivered. He closed his eyes and imagined those eyes, those glasses, that smile.

He writes and sends—

"I nonetheless wait each day for the sky to carry you again."

A week later, a person is seen at the door of the neighboring roof. The woman has come once more! In Dhaka for a quick while. They have not spoken yet, however, they smile with their eyes locked. This time, it's far now not a letter, only a mature, silent love flowing between the 2.