Nishi’s teenage days passed in just this way. In between her studies, coaching classes, and singing practice, her heart kept wandering toward Wahid. She had never compromised with her studies, nor ever had a conflict with it. Studying was her favorite part of the day, always had been. So, getting a 99 out of 100 in math during her secondary and higher secondary exams was incredibly upsetting for her—because she knew there couldn’t be any mistake in her math paper! What kind of system is this in Bangladesh? Even if no mistake is found, sometimes examiners keep a mark back in subjects like math! Nishi could never understand—what joy do examiners get from denying a student that one mark?
Anyway, while studying, Nishi would often take breaks to listen to music. She used to mostly listen to songs she would perform in her next show. But these days, she listened only to the songs Wahid sang. James and Ayub Bachchu’s songs played on her stereo. Her heart might be naïve, but her parents were gradually starting to see things more clearly. Doubts began forming in their minds.
One evening, her door was slightly ajar. She was solving math problems, and music was playing in the background. Her father suddenly entered the room.
Father: “Are you planning to sing this ‘Sundaritoma amar…’ in your next show?”
Nishi: “No! And even if I do, what’s the harm?”
Father: “You need to be careful with your time. If you waste time like this, it’ll be hard to manage singing, programs, and studies all together!”
Nishi: “Abbu, I am doing math! I just like some music playing in the background. As long as something is playing, it helps. What’s the problem?”
Father: “I know, dear. But I just want you to be a bit more mindful about your time. If you play your show songs in the background, those tunes will get into your head, it’ll help you! Your ears will get trained.”
Nishi: “Abbu, please let me think and act my own way! You don’t need to worry about everything.”
Father: “Alright, fine. I think you’re smart enough.”
Nishi: “That’s true, Abbu. Now will you go?”
Her father left. Nishi looked at the clock, a bit annoyed. She had one more chapter to practice before going to bed. On the other hand, if she didn’t sit at the table to eat with everyone, her father would raise a whole storm—as he always does. She quickly finished her math problems, flipped through her biology book, and reviewed a bit. Tomorrow’s topic was the life cycle of a frog—yes, she remembered it well, nothing to worry about. Her mind drifted to Wahid’s guitar tunes. The way he played was beautiful, but even more charming was his sweet smile while playing.
At the dinner table, Nishi—as usual—took a little bit of vegetables, chicken curry, and a small handful of rice in her small steel plate, and ate quickly without paying attention to what else was around.
Mother: “I made something fun for you today, try a bit!”
But Nishi was already full and barely managed to finish what she had taken before getting up.
While washing her hands, she could hear her parents whispering and her younger siblings talking among themselves. She didn’t like it. If having dinner together was so important, then why the whispering at that time?
Anyway, carrying that annoyance, she went to bed.
In the morning, she took a little extra time getting ready. Because, once again, after coaching, she would be going to Wahid’s house. That magical face and mischievous smile had cast some kind of spell on her. And besides, in her seventeen years of life, no one had ever given her this kind of attention before. Of course, there were other reasons too. She herself had never really looked beyond her studies, and with her parents always hovering like shadows, she had never even had a chance to look elsewhere.
For the first time, Nishi couldn’t focus during her coaching class lecture and got caught—noticed by the teacher. But she was so confident with the material that she quickly merged back with the class and even gave the correct answer. Still, she was battling with herself. Should she go to Wahid’s place today or not? She couldn’t find an answer. One moment her heart said yes, the next it warned her against it.
She decided to grab a snack after coaching and then head to her university prep class. So she stood at the corner shop eating a singara and sipping tea, when Wahid came running toward her, laughing.
Wahid: “Why are you standing here eating? The café upstairs is pretty good. Come on, let’s grab a coffee.”
Though she hesitated a bit, eventually she agreed—or rather, Wahid wouldn’t leave her alone until she did.
Upstairs, the dim light and cozy atmosphere didn’t allow her to notice much. Instead, she was entranced by Wahid’s smile, his white kurta, his tied-back hair, and the captivating smell of his perfume. It all felt like a dream. When the coffee ended and she tried to leave in a rush, Wahid pleaded with her to stay a bit longer.
But downstairs, something else had been happening. Wahid had used Nishi as a shield to escape a situation—something Nishi had no idea about. Wahid had many artistic qualities that had impressed Nishi, and yes, he was very handsome. But he had a terrifying side that Nishi knew nothing about. Under the influence of phensedyl and marijuana, Wahid would get dangerously angry—and in those moments, he could even kill someone.
Today was one of those days. Wahid had beaten a rickshaw puller nearly to death. As a crowd gathered and people called the police, Wahid saw Nishi drinking tea nearby and used the opportunity to pull her upstairs as cover. Nishi, of course, knew none of this.
Some friends from her coaching class came into the same café. They had already heard about what had happened downstairs, and when they saw Nishi with Wahid, they were stunned. They tried to signal her, tried to warn her. But since Nishi rarely talked about anything other than studies, they felt uneasy. Her friend Ahad finally couldn’t hold back. He asked his girlfriend Simi to go pull Nishi aside.
Nishi, annoyed, followed Simi reluctantly.
Ahad: “Do you know what that guy just did?”
Nishi: “What did he do?”
Ahad: “He just beat a rickshaw-puller half to death. Look closely—there’s still blood on his white kurta. The police are looking for him, and you’re sitting here with him? You’ll get into trouble!”
Nishi: “What nonsense! Wahid bhai would never do that! Is that even possible?”
Ahad: “You don’t have to believe me. Look for yourself. It’s horrifying!”
Nishi returned with disbelief in her eyes. And sure enough—near his chest, there was blood. She had been too shy and had kept her head down the whole time, so she hadn’t looked at his chest. She couldn’t believe her eyes. What should she do? What she’d heard—was it true? Should she ask him? Would he be offended if she did?
Unable to calm her mind, she finally asked,
Nishi: “Why is there blood on your kurta?”
Wahid: “Blood? Oh no, that’s just a stain.”
He walked toward the washroom.
Nishi waited. As Wahid walked to the washroom, he glared at Ahad with fiery eyes. He looked like a different person. Nishi didn’t recognize him at all.
When Wahid came back from the washroom, he looked at Nishi with a calm expression.
Wahid: “Let’s go?”
Nishi: “Won’t you tell me where the blood came from?”
Wahid: “Come, I’ll tell you on the way home.”
Nishi: “No, I have to go to coaching.”
Wahid: “Do you really have to? I had an accident. Won’t you see what happened?”
Nishi: “You had an accident? What happened? Where are you hurt? Show me!”
Wahid: “Not here. I’ll show you at home. Let’s go.”
That day, Wahid needed Nishi only as a shield—to dodge the police and get back to his house. Poor Nishi. Naïve and unaware, she had no clue.
Scarborough, Canada
