The Final Alpana

It was a hot summer day. The scorching sun made it appear as though the city was melting. I had gone to the house of a close friend. The house was overflowing with joy and preparations for his sister's wedding. As if happiness itself were being drew on every wall, there was laughter, music, and the scent of freshly painted walls in the air.

I followed that scent into the courtyard, where a few girls were busy drawing Alpana, a traditional pattern made of rice paste on the ground. I also saw Nazifa for the first time among them.

She was completely absorbed in her work, brush in hand, painting intricate patterns. I was immediately drawn to the purity that shone through her eyes. It was hard to look away from her because of something about her. Her color bowl slipped and fell at that exact moment. I grabbed it quickly.

“Thank you,” she said with a gentle smile. “You must be Rafi’s friend?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m Raihan.”

That small conversation was the beginning.

We started out by greeting each other casually, but over time, our conversations grew more in-depth. But because she was the niece of my best friend, I always kept a respectful distance from her. I was aware of where I shouldn't go. Still, deep down, I could feel something more tender in her eyes.

Days went by. I received the startling news one day that Azifa had been in a terrible accident. Her left hand had been severely burned in the kitchen by a gas explosion. My heart dropped. I rushed to see her without pause.

Even though her face was pale and she was lying in a hospital bed, she was still smiling. She whispered as she saw me,

“You came... I didn’t expect that.”

I grasped her hand. Despite the pain, she did not run away. I felt something deep within me that instant. I believe that's where my love truly began.

She required better treatment abroad, according to the doctors. Her family was arranging things. I couldn't stand the idea that she would be going through this by herself. I insisted that we go with her. Rafi was initially surprised. But when he realized what was really going on, he just grinned and said, "Never let her go if you truly love her."

Between hospital corridors and hotel rooms, the days abroad passed. She never lost her smile despite medications, therapy, and treatments.

“It doesn’t hurt that much when you’re around,” she’d often say.

We would walk by the river, visit parks, and explore new streets together. She held my hand one evening and said,

“You know, you’re the most beautiful picture I’ve ever seen. I want to paint you—just you—on my canvas.”

“If you do, I’d gladly become your canvas,” I replied, laughing.

Those days felt like a dream. We had fallen in love. But not just any love—we had become a part of each other’s souls.

When the treatment was finally over, Nazifa said,

“You go back first. I’ll surprise you when I return.”

I didn’t want to leave, but I respected her wish.

“Come back soon,” I told her, “I’m no good at waiting.”

I returned home, filled with a strange mix of joy and nervous anticipation.

However, I never experienced that surprise. Instead, I received terrible, life-altering information.

Nazifa was involved in a fatal accident while driving to the airport on the morning she was supposed to return. She died instantly.

I thought someone was making a cruel joke when I first heard it. I kept calling her without success. I finally rushed to the hospital, where I discovered her dead body.

My world came to a halt.

A sketchbook that she had always kept close to her body was there. A pencil sketch of me was on the first page. In her handwriting below it:

“You are my final Alpana. No one else will ever be like you.”

I wept like a child as I held that notebook against my chest. I was unimpeded. The group remained silent.

I still look through that sketchbook to this day. I look for Nazifa in each line and shade. Before I was aware that these would be the only things I would have left of her, she had drawn our dreams, our laughter, and our memories.

I still go to Rafi's house from time to time. The courtyard floor's aged Alpanas are still there. I sit silently next to them. Her soft, familiar, and reassuring voice sometimes comes to me from the wind.

Smiles and shared sunsets are not always the end of love. Incomplete but eternal, some love stories are written in silence. My final Alpana, my unfinished poem, Nazifa was such a story.

Closing Line:

There is no color left in my life. Whatever hues I had, Nazifa left them behind.

Her “Final Alpana” will remain etched in my heart—forever.