The Love Story of Two Trees.

The Love Story of Two Trees.

Two aged trees, one a shimul and the other a koroi, can be found along a peaceful little field at the village's northern edge. From afar, it looks as if they lean toward each other, whispering secrets only they know. These, according to the villagers, are not just trees; rather, they are the mute witnesses of a timeless love story about a couple frozen in time. The story began many years ago, when rice was still grown in the fields. Arfan, a young boy from the village, used to go there in the afternoons. He was quiet and devoted to the outdoors. He would sit for hours under the sky, draw birds, and watch the clouds. Laila, a girl from the same village, was his complete opposite—playful, full of life. However, they developed a quiet connection that went beyond words.

Arfan and Laila would meet near the field every afternoon. They planted two saplings, one shimul and one koroi, side by side one day. "Even if we’re not here one day, these trees will speak for us," they had said with a grin. Their sentiment was mocked by some, but those two tiny saplings grew together, side by side, over time.

It had passed. The family of Laila moved to the city. The distance rose. They went their separate ways in life. But the trees remained—rooted, silent, faithful. As the years went by, they matured into tall, proud trees. The shimul blooms red in the spring. The yellow koroi leaves told stories to the wind in the winter. As if in love, they were leaning toward one another as they stood there. "They protect each other during storms" was a common saying among the villagers. The trees slightly sway when it rains a lot, like two hands reaching back in time. People thought that their connection wasn't just a coincidence. It was love at its most natural and simplest.

A young city photographer visited the village one day to capture rural life. She was struck by the trees' posture, which was so close and harmonious. She inquired of a village elder as to how two distinct species of trees could coexist so beautifully. The elderly lady replied with a grin, "They're not just trees, dear." Arfan and Laila are the two.

The photographer was captivated as she listened to the story and felt moved. She took a number of photographs and gave her collection the title "Two Trees Like a Couple." At an exhibition in the city, the story and photos touched many hearts. People saw devotion, separation, and the power of silent love in addition to trees.

A man with white hair showed up at the field years later, on a quiet afternoon. He wore a tattered shirt and carried an old shoulder bag. He remained silent for quite some time in front of the two trees. He was approached by a young villager who inquired, "Uncle, do you know these trees?"

The man gave a soft smile. "She planted the other," I planted one.

The boy marveled as he watched.

Arfan was the elderly man, yes. He had returned to the place where his heart still resided after decades. He had heard that Laila had left for the city and never returned. However, he had returned to the spot where they had first planted love.

He touched the koroi tree as if it were Laila's hand, shaking his hands. After that, he closed his eyes and sat at the base of the shimul with his head pressed against its trunk. “You’re still here,” he whispered.

The trees were bathed in the setting sun's golden rays. Koroi leaves were ruffled by the wind as the shimul flowers gently floated down. The two trees spoke in a language that only love can comprehend as they remained silent.

Epilogue

This tale of two trees is more than just a love story. It is a representation of eternal truth—pure love transcends space, time, and silence. Nature demonstrates this kind of love by gently holding it through the seasons, storms, and decades.

And so, those two trees still stand, more than roots and branches. They are hearts, memories, and a promise: that true love never really fades.