When Nikhil Walked Away
1333 Words
The spring morning was tender, a soft Basant breeze swaying everywhere. It was barely ten or eleven o’clock, yet the sun above was already dancing its furious tandav. Winter had not quite departed, but the sun had begun to scorch the earth with its early heat.
Sliding the slanting sunrays off her back, Tithi almost ran to the banyan shade. Aru and Neelima were already there.
“Why did you rush like that? What happened?” Neelima asked sharply.
Aru only stared, questioning with her eyes. Since joining the university’s Bengali department, Aru had made only these two friends. Neelima, the introvert, stayed mostly quiet; Tithi, on the other hand, was the department’s newsfeed — gossip or important notices alike flowed through her to Aru. Beyond these two, Aru barely knew anyone at all. Her university life was shaky; even attendance was hard because of Anu, and she came only once or twice a month under her elder sister’s strictness. And even then it wasn’t for studies but for a glimpse of the dusky man she liked, scanning his face in secret like a treasured image to carry in her heart.
Panting, Tithi said,
“Give me water first, then I’ll tell you everything.”
Neelima handed over her bottle. Tithi gulped it down, sighed in relief,
“Ah… finally cooled down.”
“So what happened?” Aru asked again.
Tithi grabbed Aru’s hand.
“Oh right, I came straight to you! Why weren’t you at university yesterday? You’d have known everything!”
“I couldn’t come, you know why. Now tell me what happened.”
“Yesterday was Nikhil bhai’s convocation. He won the Best Student award.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Neelima exhaled calmly.
“And there was another announcement. I heard it later from the seniors.”
“What?” Aru’s heart jumped.
“Nikhil bhai won’t do his Master’s here. He got a scholarship for higher studies and will soon go to the USA.”
Aru did not flinch. No outward reaction. Her face showed no tremor. But inside, a violent storm. It felt as if someone had gripped her heart hard. Her throat had turned to dry wood. Still, she forced out a single word:
“Oh.”
Even saying that felt like spitting sparks from a burning mouth. Yet she kept a faint smile. Aru was not one to weep publicly over a one-sided love or a modern-day “crush” just to gather sympathy.
People already pitied her over her mother’s illness — pity she hated with a fiery intensity. Her self-respect was fierce; what was hers was hers alone. And Nikhil bhai? He was never hers. He had always seen her as a younger sister, like every junior girl.
“Look, Nikhil bhai is coming from the campus,” Tithi whispered.
Aru’s daydream broke. She saw him coming toward the gate, dark denim, blue kurta, laptop bag slung over his shoulder, headphones in his ears.
“What does he listen to all the time?” Tithi murmured, staring.
His dusky face glistened under the cruel sun. That innocent smile — Aru could close her eyes and still know it. Falling for him was a snap of the fingers.
Nikhil came closer. The girls greeted him respectfully. He paused, stepped toward them. Seeing him, Aru shrank behind Neelima, her body drooping like a cut flower.
“Aurora, isn’t it?”
Caught off guard, Aru looked up like a thief discovered. She nodded quickly,
“Y-yes, bhaiya.”
“You’re well? Not afraid to cross roads anymore?” His voice was so warm that Aru stumbled inside.
“Answer him, Aru,” Tithi nudged.
Aru nodded again and again, unable to decide what to do. Neelima and Tithi stared in disbelief — the girl who always had a retort was suddenly a wet kitten.
Seeing their awkwardness, Nikhil didn’t linger. He bid them goodbye and left.
“Stupid!” Neelima hissed. “This was your last chance. He came himself, and you… you just nodded like a compass needle!”
Aru said nothing. Her head spun. Her throat tasted bitter. She whispered,
“I don’t feel well. I’m going home. Tithi, please get me a rickshaw.”
“At least stay for attendance,” Neelima protested.
“I said I’m going home,” Aru snapped.
---
Dragging her body and soul of aches, Aru arrived at Kritic Kunj. The huge front door creaked. Inside, her irritation deepened.
Her uncle, aunt, and only cousin Reza — the trouble trio — had arrived. In Aru and Anu’s already tangled life, their family was an uninvited storm. Every visit meant a new mess.
When Azmeri Sheikh had been healthy, these people came endlessly, eating free meals, lounging for days. But since Azmeri lay bedridden, their real faces showed. They never even came to the hospital. Instead they came to sow tension at home, pushing Anu to marry Reza — the local thug — so the house wouldn’t “drift away” once their mother passed.
Aru loathed them. So did Anu, whose temper was already frayed. Yet the aunt’s burning remarks never ceased.
Scanning the hall, Aru noticed Anu wasn’t home.
“Good,” she thought. “She’s at the hospital.”
Her aunt was eating grapes in the dining room, Reza sprawled on the couch watching TV. No uncle in sight. Aru tried to slip upstairs, but her aunt’s voice stopped her.
“Going upstairs without greeting us? And where’s my future daughter-in-law?”
Aru shut her eyes tight. She’d feared this. She turned and said flatly,
“Headache, auntie. Going to rest. Sister is at the hospital.”
“Go on, enjoy while you can,” the aunt sneered. “Tomorrow or the day after, the young master will return, and then you’ll be thrown out. We’ve told Anu so many times — marry Reza and secure your future — but she’s become insolent.”
Aru’s temper flared. Her words shot out sharp as pins:
“That soft chair you’re sitting on, eating grapes? Bought with the young master’s money. And in his absence, my mother is chairperson of the governing board.”
Her aunt’s lips curled.
“Maybe your mother has rights. But you two? You’re just weeds. And your mother… six months at most.”
“Enough! Nothing will happen to our mother. We’ll take her abroad,” Aru retorted.
The aunt laughed again,
“You think Jayan Kritic Chowdhury or his company is waiting for you? Didn’t he leave because of you?”
Aru’s brain throbbed. Hands shaking, she fled upstairs to her room and slammed the door.
---
Inside, everything tore open. The aunt’s venom turned Nikhil bhai’s departure into a salt-wound. Why couldn’t life be as simple as Neelima’s or Tithi’s? Why so many burdens? Why couldn’t she confess her feelings? Was it introversion or just responsibility?
Thinking of Nikhil leaving, Aru remembered their first meeting just months ago.
It was winter. She had come with papers to submit for admission. Because of her mother’s illness she couldn’t join Dhaka University, but she had secured a place in a cluster college. She stood on the opposite side of the road, unable to cross through the stream of cars.
“Scared?”
A deep male voice startled her. She turned and saw a man with dimples smiling gently.
He called someone from behind,
“Hey Antu, help her cross.”
And just like that it began — the quiet fondness, the hidden watching, the shy smiles. She learned everything about him; he barely knew her name. And now he was leaving, thousands of kilometers away, into science labs and experiments, probably forgetting her name altogether.
Tears burned down Aru’s cheeks.
“If you cannot be mine, then may the disease of happiness burn you down to ashes…”
Little did Aru know someone else, somewhere nearby, was waiting with a love far more poisonous than hers — counting the days for her.
- Writer
