THE LAST LETEER

The Final Letter Tahmina and Arian—two people from entirely different worlds, yet united by love. Tahmina was a student of Bengali literature at Dhaka University, while Arian studied engineering. They met during a campus literary evening, where Arian had come with a friend just to escape the monotony of his routine. He had no idea that evening would change his life forever.

As Tahmina took the stage to recite her poetry, Arian's eyes were drawn to her, captivated by her presence and her voice. Arian came up to her after she finished and stood up, and he said, "Your poem... it felt like you were speaking straight from my heart." Tahmina smiled gently and replied, “Remember, poetry is not just about words—it’s about what you feel between them.”

From that moment, a friendship blossomed between them. Slowly, it turned into an unnamed bond—without labels, yet filled with unspoken love. They would walk across campus, sit in quiet library corners reading each other’s favorite books, and sometimes quarrel—only to whisper "sorry" over Messenger late at night.

But life doesn’t always take the simplest route.

Arian received a job offer from a major tech company in Singapore. Before leaving, he had always wanted to tell Tahmina, "Let's begin a new life together." But when the time came, Tahmina remained silent. All she said was, “Go. One should never hold back a dream.”

Arian stood stunned. “Aren’t you part of my dream?” he asked.

With trembling words, Tahmina replied, “Not all dreams are meant to come true, Arian.”

And with that, she walked away.

Days turned to weeks, weeks into months. In Singapore, Arian worked through long nights, but always found a moment to smile at Tahmina’s photo. He emailed her occasionally, messaged her sometimes—but never received a reply.

Then one day, Arian received a letter in the mail. A letter written on old paper, in familiar handwriting—Tahmina’s.

The letter read:

Arian,

The day you left for Singapore, I knew you wouldn't return to the life we once had. But I wanted you to move forward. I never tried to stop you, because love means letting go. I knew our dreams were never meant to align.

I have cancer, Arian. And I may not have much time left. That’s why I wanted this last letter to come from me. Please, live well. Also, don't weep for me. I’ll be there—in every line of code you write, every sunrise you see, and every poem you read.

— With eternal love,

Tahmina

Arian sat frozen with the letter in his hand, silent tears streaming down his face. That very night, he booked his return flight.

Three days later, he was back in Dhaka. He went straight to the campus and sat on the same old bench they used to share. No one else was there. Only a scattered bundle of papers remained—Tahmina’s poems.

One of them ended with the line:

“If love ever comes back looking for an address,Tahmina and Arian—two people from different worlds, walking different paths with different dreams, yet once, they were entangled in the same feeling.

Tahmina was a student of Bengali literature at Dhaka University. In her words, her writing, and the language of her eyes, she was like a moonlit night—silent, yet glowing with light. Arian, on the other hand, was a brilliant student at BUET—his life consumed by equations, logic, and the whirlwind of technology.

They first met at a literary evening on campus, where Tahmina was on stage reciting poetry. Her voice carried rhythm, her eyes a quiet courage.

That evening, Arian felt for the first time—not everything in this world can be explained by logic; some things are only meant to be felt.

From that night on, a friendship blossomed between them. At first, they would casually meet on campus; later, their bond deepened. They talked about life, argued about dreams, and often searched for each other in silence. Tahmina would write poems and send them to Arian, who would skip his coding classes just to read them.

But Tahmina always kept a certain distance. It was as though she was hiding something, some unspoken pain. Arian sensed it, but never pressed her.

One evening, under a crimson sky, sitting on a bench, Arian looked at her and said,

— “You know, if I ever go abroad, I want to take you with me.”

Tahmina smiled faintly and replied,

— “Everyone says things like that. But when it’s time to go, they all leave alone.”

A year later, Arian got a job in Singapore. The day before his departure, he called Tahmina to the campus and said,

— “Tahmi, tell me the truth this time—let’s make our story real.”

Tahmina paused for a moment before saying,

— “Arian, I won’t stop you. Go chase your dreams. I’ll be fine.”

— “Aren’t you a part of my dream?”

— “Not all dreams come true together.”

Then, without meeting his eyes, she walked away.

Days turned into months. Arian was busy in Singapore, but he could never forget Tahmina. He would email her, message her on WhatsApp, but never got a reply.

One evening, he unexpectedly received a letter—handwritten, in Tahmina’s familiar script.

"Dear Arian,

How are you? I know you probably don’t have time to answer that. But if you can, spare me just a moment.

You know I love you. But I’ve been fighting my own battle for a long time. I’ve had cancer for almost a year. Treatment is ongoing, but it’s not working.

I wanted you to stay free. If I had told you, you might’ve left everything and come back. I didn’t want you to lose your dreams for me.

Today, knowing my time is running out, I’ve gathered the courage to write you this letter. Don’t cry for me. Every poem I wrote—was for you.

Your example of love has given me the greatest gift. Yours,

Tahmina”

With the letter in his hand, Arian sat still. It was night, and outside the window, rain whispered against the glass. But inside him, a storm raged.

Three days later, he returned to Dhaka. He went straight to the campus and sat on the old bench where he had once told Tahmina, “You’re the most perfect line I’ve ever written in my code.”

But he knew—no one would come now.

Suddenly, he noticed a small envelope left on the bench. One final poem, written by Tahmina, was contained within: “If you ever come back,

Don’t look for me among the living—

I now dwell within the white clouds,

Alone, but still in love.”

Tell it—I now live at the address of the sky.”