First Kiss, First Love

Kabir had always thought that love only occurred in the melodramatic moments of old movies, in the whispered whispers of poetry, or in novels. Before he met Halima, he never imagined that he would go through it himself.

Their paths initially intersected in the summer of 2005. Due to his father's job transfer, Kabir had recently moved to a tiny town outside of Dhaka. Compared to the busy city he had spent his entire life in, the town was more tranquil. Its old, colonial-era buildings reverberated with the scent of history, luscious mangoes peddled on street corners, and fresh earth after a rainstorm.

Kabir's new residence was only three homes away from Halima's. He had never encountered anyone like her before. She was like a storm—beautiful, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore—with her wild locks that she never bothered to tame, the playful twinkle in her eyes, and the quiet confidence she carried.

Their initial encounter was far from romantic. Kabir had been battling an uncooperative bicycle when Halima smirked and came up to him.

"Are you unable to mend a chain?" With her hands on her hips, she inquired.

Kabir shook his head in embarrassment. Halima laughed, then knelt next to him, putting the chain back in place quickly with grease-stained hands. She stared hopefully at him after carelessly wiping them off her dress.

"Everything is fixed there. She spoke the words, "You owe me one," and left without waiting for his answer, her laughter echoing like sunlight.

Something changed after that day. Kabir found himself searching the streets, the marketplace, and the hallways of the school for Halima. She was constantly with pals, joking, disputing, and arguing. She was feisty, passionate, and unabashedly herself, unlike other females who giggled quietly behind their books.

An unusual friendship developed gradually. After school, they would gather beneath the ancient banyan tree to spend snatched minutes together, in between the pages of books they had borrowed. Dreams, worries, favorite tunes, and the purpose of life were all topics of conversation. Kabir aspired to be an architect, and Halima a writer.

She once grinned and remarked, "I construct with words, you build with bricks."

Halima turned into a tune that Kabir could hear in his head even when he was silent. When she was reading a poem she had written one quiet autumn afternoon, he knew he was in love. In that instant, she appeared to be a painting—something ethereal and inaccessible—while the wind tousled her hair and the golden sunlight illuminated her complexion.

What could he do, though? His best friend was her. He was afraid he may lose her if he spoke. Thus, he concealed his love in the recesses of his heart, unsaid and unacknowledged.

Everything did not change until the day of the town fair. Bright lights, the aroma of cotton candy, and the sound of laughing blending with the upbeat rhythms of folk music made the fair a magnificent event. Kabir and Halima had been together all evening, riding the Ferris wheel, eating sweets, and playing games.

The night was peaceful and the streets were deserted as they made their way home. The river was flowing languidly in the moonlight when they arrived at the little bridge close to their area. Halima paused and looked at Kabir, her expression strangely solemn.

"What has been causing you to avoid me recently?" She enquired.

Kabir paused. He had been avoiding her without realizing it. Perhaps, however, he had—trying to repress his emotions out of concern that they would destroy everything.

"I haven't," he said falsely.

Halima let out a sigh. "You have. I also dislike it. Tell me if something is amiss.

Kabir gave her a serious look at that moment. Her eyes were filled with concern, curiosity, and something more that quickened his heartbeat.

"I suppose I am in love with you," he muttered, taking a big breath.

Halima's eyes grew wide, and quiet fell for a while. Kabir had the impression that everything had stopped moving and that he had simply flung himself into the unknown.

Halima then broke into a smile. It was a lovely, soft smile instead of her typical naughty sneer.

She said, "I was waiting for you to say it."

Halima moved closer before Kabir could reply. Something inexplicable crackled in the air between them. She then leaned in and gave him a tentative, gentle kiss while the river's soothing hum and the stars' sparkling lights served as their witnesses.

The hint of a kiss was brief. However, it promised everything: youth, love, and eternity.

They were both grinning when they withdrew. Kabir, who had before believed that love was exclusively found in novels, was now aware of this. Love existed. It stood in front of him, its fingers soiled with ink and its eyes blazing. It was the contact of lips beneath a starry sky, the warmth of a summer wind, and the laughter of moments stolen.

Halima was the one.

He realized then that his first kiss had also been his first love. And it might be his last, just possibly.