Mayabee

The mistake

After that day, an unspoken relationship began between us. Our understanding was very good. Almost always, we started hanging out together. However, I don’t wish to discuss that part now. Instead, I will tell you about a day when our relationship was sort of officially announced, and at the same time, the worst time of my life began!

It was almost six months later, at the beginning of 2019. The problem didn’t come to us. Rather, we got to the problem. We, or more precisely, Nabila, went to it.

At the end of 2018, a very unexpected event occurred on our campus. Five or six students suddenly disappeared. It took us quite a while to realize what had happened. The students who disappeared were all orphans—living alone in Dhaka—without any relatives.

So, their sudden disappearance didn't catch our attention at first. However, when we did realize, Nabila, along with Akash, the head of the campus student union, was the first to bring up the issue to the authorities.

But nothing came of it. The college authorities refused to believe they had disappeared or been kidn*pped. Their argument was that these young men must have gone down the wrong path due to some addiction or left campus for some other place because they couldn’t afford the fees.

I had taken it that way too, but Nabila tried to convince me several times that this was a planned k********g case.

On January 18th, I woke up to the sound of the doorbell. I had been on a three-day leave from campus due to illness. I had barely rested, but there was no time for more.

Nabila immediately went to my room in the west corner of the house. There was a whiteboard there. She asked me to sit while she picked up a marker and started drawing something to explain to me how this was a k********g case.

I am a man of stories and poetry, so such complex equations didn’t quite enter my mind. I just quietly listened, although I didn’t understand much. But I was fully attentive.

After she finished explaining, she asked me,

“Did you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who’s behind this?”

“No, have you figured it out? The case solved?”

“I only know the name. Nothing more.”

“Who is the mastermind?”

When she said the name, I froze. My eyes almost popped out! This name was so unexpected that no one in this world would want to believe it. But I had to, because Nabila never lies. The tone in her voice and the firm look in her eyes told me she was telling the truth.

I let her sit and went to freshen up before we left. According to her, this person needed four to five more people. And I could be one of their guinea pigs. At that moment, I wasn’t as worried about myself as I was about this person’s identity.

After breakfast at a hotel by the road, I asked Nabila if she had any plans for what we would do next.

She told me that, according to her, I was not only the kidnapper's target, but also one of her guinea pigs.

But the thing that started to take hold of me was fear. I tried to avoid the situation in various ways, but it was of no use. Maybe this is why people say— the woman who is the most loving is also the most dangerous!

She trusted herself more than anything, but I had to trust her even more.

Though I was on leave, the next day I went to campus. I kept myself very closed off, as if I existed only to exist in this world. I had no purpose, no friends, no goals, and no address.

Everything was going according to Nabila’s plan. But trouble started because of me. In her well-organized life, I got exhausted in just two days and, without telling her, went to a club I used to frequent before. I had a few drinks and stayed there, trying to escape.

When I got up, I found myself in a very dark room. I sat quietly for a while, still not realizing that I too had been kidn*pped!

It dawned on me about an hour later when the craving for a cigarette kicked in.

When I tried to leave, I noticed that this wasn’t a place I recognized. Normally, I am used to the darkness, so I hadn’t noticed anything before.

That day, in the unnatural calm of my mind, I did something that still drives me crazy to this day.

I never believed in fate. But that day, I left my whole life in the hands of fate. I sat down, trying to find a rhythm. If anyone had been around, they would certainly have thought I was crazy.

I don’t know how long I had been in the dark. But suddenly, someone came and turned on the light. Before anything else, I asked,

"Do you have a pen?"

The agony of writing! When a story or poem enters the mind, unless it is written down, one feels like a madman—anxiety sets in. I began to experience a terrible headache.

Everyone laughed at my words. The laughter was natural, but I think there was also a touch of pity. They gave me a piece of paper and a pen. They told me to keep them in my pocket and go along with them.

I walked. Along the way, a few more people joined me. I recognized them as students from our campus.

Someone from the left gently bumped into me. I looked, and once again, I was stunned. Nabila was there, a prisoner too. Her hands were tied. But none of us had our hands tied. She was probably struggling a lot, which was understandable. She’s such a restless girl.

We were taken to a large truck. It seemed like we were going to be transported from there. I entered and sat in a corner, took out the paper and pen, and began to write. I looked at Nabila. But I didn’t see her. In this situation, I was angry at her. It was because of her that I was in this state.

I kept writing. Nabila came and sat beside me. She began briefing me,

"The vehicle will start soon. As far as I know, it will stop halfway. Then, the bastard will come. At that point, only the driver and the bastard will be left. Of course, the guy will have a g*n with him. Anyway, we have to do whatever we can while we still can."

I stared at her with immense anger. What’s wrong with this girl? She said the guy would come with a g*n, which means if things go wrong, he will start shooting someone to intimidate us. And she says we have to act then?

Seeing the look in my eyes, she went silent. I continued writing the poem. I really enjoyed it. I had never written such a beautiful poem before.

After about an hour, someone entered. It was a face I knew very well. Just seeing it made me angry. I focused back on my writing. The man began speaking. His message was simple—today would be our last day in Bangladesh. We would be sent to different countries with different groups. The girls would be taken out to become slaves, and the boys would be free laborers.

Some of it was sinking in, but some of it wasn’t. However, Nabila and another girl were protesting, at least verbally.

Nabila asked why our campus had been chosen. The man didn’t answer. He just smiled and then continued,

"The boys and girls from this country are the most suitable for s*****y. They’ve always lived in a dominant culture. However, the risk is that you are all students. But that’s not my problem. My job is to take you out of this country. The rest will be handled by them. From here, your hands, legs, and mouths will be tied, and you’ll be taken away."

After saying that, the man was about to leave. At that moment, a boy ran towards him. The man shot, and the boy fell to one side. Then Nabila ran, and the man shot her too. The whole thing ended suddenly, and I stood there stunned for a while. I realized my eyes had turned red. I stood up, and the man looked at me and laughed, saying,

"Hey! Poet, don't come again. I’ve heard that you were the calmest. I don’t feel like shooting you. And listen, you will understand. I have a weapon in my hand, and you have a pen. Reality. Do you understand?"

"A pen in my hand is mightier than your sword."

Saying that, I don’t know what happened, but I ran at him and forcefully shoved the pen into his eye. Confused, he shot, but the bullet didn’t hit anyone. I then started stabbing his whole face, one after another, like a madman. It felt as if some fierce power had taken over me. My body was soaked in blood.

Everyone inside screamed. I heard Nabila’s voice, "Stop, Shakib, don’t kill him."

But nothing could stop me. I kept stabbing, and after a while, I collapsed, exhausted, next to him.

I think the driver must have moved away. Everyone had left, except Nabila and the girl who had been shot. We stayed there for a while, waiting for the police to arrive.

Naturally, the police took me away. Before they took me, Nabila came over and wiped the blood off my face with her scarf. Then she pressed our lips together and said,

"This was the first and last time! You ruined everything! If he had been caught alive, it would have been a huge human trafficking case. But you ruined everything!"

I didn’t understand what my fault was. Saving her, or not save the man?