Something
A***a, My Love
by Hasib Al Hasan — a story of unspoken feelings, school buses, and a heart that quietly held on It all began on a cool January morning in 2024. The first day of school after winter break. There was a certain sharpness in the air that morning, the kind that makes your fingers cold and your thoughts sharper. I remember sitting by the bus window, lost in my own quiet world, thinking about nothing in particular—maybe a math puzzle, maybe a dream. Just another day. And then she stepped on the bus. She didn’t make a grand entrance. She didn’t need to. She walked in quietly, softly, almost like a whisper. Her eyes scanned the bus once—brief, careful. I think she was looking for a seat. But for me, in that fleeting moment, something changed. It was as if the air had shifted. Everything slowed just a bit. It wasn’t love at first sight—not quite. But it was something. A ripple. A light somewhere inside me turning on. She sat behind me. I didn’t look back. I wasn’t brave enough. At the time, I didn’t even know her name. All I knew was that she was new, a year younger, and probably in the class just below mine. Her presence felt like a story beginning slowly. I started to notice things—how she tucked her hair behind her ear while talking, how her voice rose gently in laughter, how she was always polite with the conductor, how she carried her books tightly against her chest like they meant something to her. Maybe they did. I wished I could ask. But I never did. Every day, she sat behind me. Just one row. One row that felt like both the smallest and the greatest distance in the world. I could hear her voice, feel her presence, sense her shifting in her seat. And yet, we never exchanged a single word. Some people fall in love after long conversations. I fell in love through silences. Through bus rides. Through moments so small they wouldn’t matter to anyone else, but they built something inside me—a quiet, stubborn kind of love. I thought maybe, one day, I’d speak to her. Ask her name, say something silly just to hear her laugh. But I kept waiting for the “right moment.” One that never came. Time passed. Seasons changed. School became busy. I kept loving her silently. I memorized her footsteps, her laughter, the way her bag had a small keychain of a cat that swung every time she walked. I waited for the next bus ride like someone waits for a favorite chapter of a book. Just to be near her. Just to feel like she was somehow... part of my day. And then this year began. 2025. I got on the bus like always. The same cold window. The same morning fog. But her seat— Empty. She had changed buses. And suddenly, the silence I had once chosen became louder than anything. It hurt in a way I didn’t expect. I didn’t even know how much she had become a part of my world until she wasn’t there anymore. There was no farewell, no goodbye, not even a shared glance. Just absence. But the strange thing is—my feelings didn’t fade. Distance didn’t erase her from my thoughts. If anything, it carved her more deeply into them. I still look out the window and wonder which bus she’s in now. I still imagine her sitting behind someone else, chatting with new people, living her own life. And I hope she’s happy. Even if it’s without knowing me. I never told her. I still haven’t. Maybe I never will. But this feeling? It’s mine. Real, whole, and honest. A***a, my love— You were the quietest chapter of my story, and yet, the one that mattered most. I loved you when you didn’t even know I existed. I loved you through bus rides and silences. And even now—when you’re gone from that seat behind me— I still do.
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