The Love letter

The letter of many wishes

Eight in the morning. Rimi Mita pushed open the huge wooden door of the central library of Dhaka University. In her hand, along with her class books, she had a notebook in which she wrote down her daily thoughts. The cold winter morning air was on her cheeks, and she was wearing a thin sweater. After greeting the librarian Rahima Apa, she went straight to the English literature section.

What should I read today? Rimi's fingers started running over the spine of the book. Suddenly, her eyes fell on an old book, 'The Alchemist'. The binding of the book was loose, and there were ink stains on the cover. Dust got on her hands as she took the book out. "How long has no one read this book!" she thought.

As she opened the book, her heart beat faster when she saw a folded paper on page 107. She carefully opened the paper and began to read:

February 14, 2016

Dear unknown friend,

While you are reading this, I may not be on this campus. But you know, right now I am sitting on this bench, writing, where you might be sitting and reading this. This bench in the southeast corner of the library is my favorite place. Sitting here, I have written so many stories, so many poems - but I have never shown them to anyone.

If anyone reads this even after seven years, I want you to know - you are not alone. Just as this book has passed through thousands of hands, our hearts are also tied by an invisible thread. If you wish, write to me: [email protected]

Your unknown friend,

Arian-

Rimi's eyes filled with tears. The paper of the letter had a faint scent, perhaps of an old perfume. He pulled the book closer, as if there might be something more hidden in it. Suddenly, his eyes fell on the small pencil notes in the margin of the book - "Page 42, second paragraph, what really... , this character... , here the author really meant... - someone read the book very carefully.

That night, Rimi sat down with her laptop and wrote an email to Aryan:

Dear Aryan,

I received your letter this morning. I don't know if you still check this email or not, but I feel compelled to write. I am Rimi, a final year student of the Bengali department. The bench you wrote about is also my favorite place. I have been writing my novel sitting there for the past three years.

Reading your letter, I felt like you were writing to me through a time tunnel. If you get an answer, can you tell me - why did you write this letter seven years ago?

Lots of love,

Rimi

After sending the email, Rimi couldn't sleep all night. The next morning, she didn't feel like sitting in class. She was checking her phone repeatedly. On the third morning, when her When the reply arrived in the inbox, she shouted in the middle of the class:

Dear Rimi,

You don't know how surprised I was to get your email! I often check these old emails, but I never expected anyone to actually reply. I live in Singapore now, working for a software company. But my first love was writing.

I was in my final year in 2016. I felt very lonely then. All my friends were preparing for jobs, but I just wanted to write. One day I sat down and thought, maybe after seven years someone will get my message. Seven years... it seemed like a magical number.

Do you know, I left that book on purpose? I asked the librarian to reserve the book. Have you seen all those pencil notes of mine? I am really happy that the book has finally gone to the right person.

I have a request - can you send me something you have written? I really want to know how you write...

Yours,

Arian"

Rimi replied by scanning a story from her diary. The story was about a girl who finds letters hidden in books. Arian replied:

Rimi, you write wonderfully! This story brought tears to my eyes. Can I read some parts of your novel?

I would like to make a proposal - let's write a story together. I start, you finish. Like...

Then their creative journey began. Twice a week they would exchange parts of the story. Sometimes Rimi would create the character, Arian would write the plot. Sometimes it was the other way around. Six months passed like this.

One day Arian wrote:

Rimi, I am coming to Bangladesh in December. Can we meet on the bench in front of that library? I want to thank you personally - you brought back my dream of writing.

Rimi's hands were shaking. Was she really going to meet this stranger? Her friend Tania asked her He warned: It could be dangerous! But Rimi's heart was telling a different story.

On the morning of December 25, Rimi put on her most beautiful blue salwar kameez. She picked up the old book 'The Alchemist'. Sitting on the bench in front of the library, she began to read the pages of the book, rereading Aryan's handwritten notes.

Suddenly, a shadow fell on her. As she raised her head, she saw a tall, young man in a blue shirt standing there. He was holding the same book!

Can I take this seat?" the young man asked.

Rimi looked at the young man's glasses, a shy smile on his lips. He nodded and agreed.

The young man sat down and said, "Page 107 of this book is my favorite."

Rimi's chest heaved. Really? Why?

Because there is a special letter there, the young man smiled, that I wrote seven years ago.

Rimi opened the book and took out the letter. This is the first page of our story.

Arian said seriously, "I thought you might not come. From so far away...

Luckily I believed in 'The Alchemist'," Rimi said with a smile, "When you really want something, the entire universe conspires to help you get it."

They went to the cafe and sat down. Aryan told the story of Singapore, Rimi told about her dream of writing. It was afternoon, they didn't even realize it.

Part 2 is coming very soon!