1. Mom's marriage
The field was a sea of dandelions stretching as far as the eye could see. Soft yellow flowers swayed in the breeze, painting the landscape with delicate beauty. Two children played among them a boy of eight and a girl of ten. Their laughter carried through the air as they ran, the world around them forgotten.
The boy’s small chest rose and fell with excitement as he bent down and plucked a dandelion. He held it carefully, the stem fragile between his fingers. Running up to the girl, he extended it toward her, his lips parting as if to speak. But before he could, another boy appeared. Older and taller. The girl’s face lit up at the sight of him, her joy spilling over as she ran to meet him, her back turned to the younger boy.
The boy stood frozen, the dandelion drooping in his hand. For a moment, his heart ached in a way he couldn’t yet name. Then he looked down at the flower and smiled softly. He raised it toward the girl and blew gently, sending its seeds floating into the air. They swirled and danced on the wind, carried toward her as if delivering a message he couldn’t say aloud.
This isn’t just a dandelion,he thought.
This is my love, carried to you on the wings of its seeds.
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“What is it now? I have so much work to do at home.” The young girl’s tone was sharp but lacked real anger. Fatigue weighed on her words; the past few days had sapped her patience.
“I want to show you something,” the young boy said, his voice brimming with excitement. The corners of his mouth curved into a boyish grin, his eyes bright with anticipation.
She sighed, barely glancing at him. “Couldn’t you have shown me at home? You know I have things to finish.”
“Not this,” he replied, confidence unshaken. Before she could protest, he stepped behind her and placed his hands gently over her eyes.
Her shoulders stiffened. “What are you doing?” she snapped, irritation flaring.
“Just trust me,” he whispered, his voice soft, almost pleading. His hands lingered lightly against her temples, careful and unintrusive. “A few more steps.”
She sighed again, louder this time, reluctance etched into every movement as he guided her forward. She felt cool grass beneath her feet and the night breeze brushing her arms, but her mind stayed tethered to unfinished tasks waiting at home. When he finally removed his hands, she opened her mouth, ready to unleash a well-practiced string of complaints.
The words never came.
Before her stretched a vision so stunning it stole the breath from her lungs. The dark night shimmered with life. Thousands of fireflies flickered like fallen stars among the sea of yellow dandelions. The flowers glowed faintly under pale moonlight, their heads bowing in unison with the gentle breeze. The air buzzed softly, electric, as though the entire field had exhaled a sigh of magic.
She blinked, breath catching in her throat. For a moment, she stood still, her earlier frustration dissolving like mist under sunlight. The sheer beauty wrapped around her.
Wind tugged at her hair, carrying the faint scent of grass and earth. Loose strands fell across her face, tickling her cheeks. He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, then reached up to tuck the stray strands behind her ear with tenderness that caught her off guard. She turned slightly, startled, and met his gaze. His expression was unguarded—a mix of quiet pride and hope, as if he’d conjured this moment just for her.
“I told you it was worth it,” he murmured, his voice low but warm.
She glanced back at the field, lips parting slightly, words tangled in her throat. The dandelions swayed, their pale crowns barely distinguishable from the fireflies’ glow. Everything felt alive yet impossibly still, as though time had slowed just for them.
For the first time in days, the weight pressing down on her lifted. The sharp edges of frustration softened, replaced by something unfamiliar. A warmth that started in her chest and spread outward, like a single spark blooming into flame.
The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t empty. They stood together, bathed in the soft glow of fireflies and moonlight, the rest of the world fading away.
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Mithila blinked, startled by the sharp tug of memory. In her garden now, the night air felt almost the same as it had then...
She stood there, gaze fixed on a single dandelion at her feet. Its seeds were scattering in the breeze, caught up in an invisible current. She bent down, cradling the flower delicately between her fingers. Slowly, almost instinctively, she brought it to her lips and blew. The seeds drifted away, vanishing into the air.
For a moment, she stared after them, her mind lost in the rhythm of the past. She thought of a younger version of herself, running through fields—chasing dreams, only to lose them. And yet, even now, those dreams lingered, carried by the wind, refusing to die.
She exhaled, brushing stray seeds from her skirt, watching them vanish into the breeze. A small smile tugged faintly at her lips, almost reluctant.
Inside, the hum of the TV reached her ears. The voices of her children .Bright, young, and alive—pulled her back from the edges of memory.
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Reza sat on the couch, eyes glued to the TV. The cricket match—Bangladesh versus India—was so intense he was practically perched on the edge of his seat. Fiza dropped down beside him, a wide grin on her face.
“Something funny happened today!” she said, excitement bubbling over.
Reza waved her off without looking. “Not now. The match is too close. Look—Bangladesh needs just twelve runs to win!”
Fiza rolled her eyes but waited for the commercial break. When it came, she pounced. “Okay, now you have no excuse. Listen.”
Reza sighed and turned to her. “Fine, go ahead.”
She shifted, tucking her legs under her. “You know Runa’s uncle, right? The one who isn’t married yet?”
“Yeah. Did he finally find someone?”
Fiza glared, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Stop interrupting! Do you want to hear the story or not?”
Reza grinned. “Alright, fine. My lips are sealed.”
“So, I mentioned our cousin Dola Apu to Runa’s family once—just casually, you know? Then today, Mom and I went over for lunch, and they were convinced I brought Dola Apu with me. They got so excited. Grandma and Runa’s mom were practically planning the wedding right there.”
Reza raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you didn’t bring her?”
“No, idiot! I brought Mom. And when they saw her, they thought Mom was Dola Apu.”
Reza burst out laughing, the image immediately taking hold. “They thought Mom was the bride? Really?”
Fiza giggled. “They kept saying how young and beautiful she looked, and when we told them she was our mom, they were so disappointed. I swear, I’ve never seen anyone’s face fall so fast.”
Their laughter filled the room, but as it subsided, Fiza’s smile faded. She pulled her knees closer. “You know, sometimes I feel bad for Mom.”
Reza frowned. “What do you mean?”
“She’s given up so much for us,” Fiza said softly. “What did she even get out of marrying Dad? He’s off living his best life in the U.S., and she’s here, alone. It’s like she’s been stuck all these years.”
Reza’s jaw tightened. He looked back at the TV, but the game no longer held his attention. “I’ve thought about that too. It’s not fair. She deserves better.”
Fiza’s voice dropped, trembling slightly. “How do we convince her to move on, Reza? She still defends him. Every time we bring it up, she just... shuts down.”
Reza’s gaze darkened. “Then we stop asking. We make her see reason. She can’t live like this forever.”
This time he was determined not to let their mother suffer anymore.
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Mithila sat at the dining table, staring at Reza in disbelief. For days, she had been trying to convince her children to visit their father in the U.S., hoping it might mend the silent, growing rift between them. Every effort had failed. Each suggestion was met with stubborn refusals. And now, out of nowhere, Reza had spoken words that took her completely off guard.
“Ma, we’re ready to go to the U.S. and stay with Dad,” Reza said suddenly, his voice calm but carrying an undertone that made her heart skip.
Mithila’s chest tightened. Hope flickered like a fragile flame. She leaned forward, searching his face, her lips almost trembling as they formed the beginnings of a smile. “Really?” she asked, her voice tinged with tentative joy. “You’re willing to go?”
But before her hope could take root, Reza added, “But we have one condition.”
Her joy faltered. She blinked, the flicker in her chest dimming. “What condition?” she asked, cautious now.
“You need to divorce Dad.”
The room froze. Time seemed to stand still. The words landed like a stone in still water.
“What... did you just say?” Mithila whispered, her voice barely audible, her mind struggling to piece together the reality of what her son had just told her.
“Ma,” Reza said, leaning forward, his tone insistent but steady. “You need to divorce Dad. Move on. Marry someone else if you want. How much longer will you live like this?” His voice was calm, but beneath the surface, it bristled with frustration. “Dad has already settled in the U.S. with his new family. He’s moved on, Ma. But you’re stuck here. Alone. Clinging to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”
Mithila’s fingers gripped the table’s edge, pressure biting into her palms. Her throat tightened, but it wasn’t enough to stop the wave of anger and disbelief rising within her.
“Stop it,” she said, her voice low but trembling, warning him.
But Reza wouldn’t stop. “Why, Ma?” he demanded, his voice rising. “Why can’t you move on? That man abandoned you seventeen years ago! He never even looked back! And yet you...” Reza paused, his lips tightening, chest heaving as emotions surged. “You’re still here... wasting your life for someone who doesn’t deserve it!”
Before he could finish, Mithila’s hand lashed out, connecting with his cheek in a resounding slap. The sound ricocheted across the room, leaving the air thick and heavy.
Shock hit Reza like a wave. He blinked, his head snapping to the side, hand instinctively touching his cheek where the sting lingered. Across the room, Fiza gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, expression frozen in disbelief. Their mother had never hit them before—not once, not even in anger.
For a moment, Mithila stood still, her hand shaking, breath coming in shallow bursts. Her chest heaved as she tried to calm herself, but her voice was hard and sharp. “You will not go to the U.S. And this—this conversation... we will never have it again.”
She turned abruptly, feet moving with purpose toward her room. But before she could leave the dining area, Reza’s voice stopped her.
“Ma,” he said, his voice trembling with anger and disbelief, “you hit me for him? That man abandoned you seventeen years ago. He has a family there now. And you... you’re still here, waiting.”
Mithila froze mid-step, her body rigid. Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes met his, and for the first time, Reza noticed the glistening tears in her gaze. Her lips quivered, and when she spoke, her voice was soft but heavy, as though carrying the weight of seventeen years of silence.
“Who told you that your father left me?” she asked quietly, her words trembling as they filled the room.
Reza frowned, his frustration deepening. “Dadi told us everything. And don’t try to deny it. You think we don’t know the truth? That he only married you because Dadi forced him to? That he listened to her, married you, and then left the first chance he got?”
Mithila took a step closer, her gaze steady now.
“Your father didn’t leave me, Reza.” She paused, her lips trembling. “I told him to go.”
