Once in a lifetime

“Tell me… what does a ‘once-in-a-lifetime moment’ mean to you?”

Noireeta crushed the last bit of her cigarette into the ashtray. The city had been drowning in monsoon rain for days, though early summer still hadn’t fully surrendered. My restless, embarrassingly sentimental mind stared at her anyway.

“I never thought about it,” I said, lying with my head on her lap. “But I’m sure the moment I first saw you was one of those. I remember every second.”

She smiled. She always brushed off my compliments like they were childish. Once it annoyed me; now it just felt like part of her rhythm.

It was almost four. On some afternoons, I slipped out of work and hid in her large apartment in the northern part of the city, the one her family had given her.

“I think about those moments a lot,” she said. “Sometimes you meet someone and your mind whispers: this is it… and then you lose them. They disappear.”

She lit another cigarette. Her dark lipstick had long lost softness to years of smoking. She’d picked up the habit in high school. Whenever I looked at her lips, Sting’s “Desert Rose” played in my mind.

“Remember that storm in Cox’s Bazar? We couldn’t hear anything in that rain. It felt like the world shrank to just us,” I said. Her chin brushed my lips. New off-white curtains glowed softly against her warm brown skin. Still, something about her felt different.

“When I try to think of moments I want back, nothing comes,” she said. “Maybe my memory’s terrible.”

I should’ve felt hurt. But she isn’t someone who pretends. She shows exactly who she is.

A black choker hugged her neck, holding a V-shaped pendant I always noticed. She loved wearing small gold nose rings. I’d gifted her one last year; seeing it on her face still did something to me.

Not long ago we’d been tangled on this same couch. Now she was in a loose T-shirt and trousers.

“Make another coffee? I need to leave soon. Meeting.” I found my shirt on the floor, straightened it and checked myself in the mirror. Thirty-eight, still holding up.

From the mirror, I watched her at the coffee machine. I’d bought it for her as a surprise. She looked distant.

“You’re thinking about something? Still stuck on that once-in-a-lifetime thing?” I asked.

“Adnan didn’t get the scholarship. He really needed it.”

“He’s brilliant. He’ll do fine even if he stays,” I said, taking the cup.

Adnan lived in her neighborhood. Seven years younger, with a soft corner for her. I never bothered figuring out how deep.

“You’re upset because of him?” I asked.

“Fahad… I need to tell you something. I just don’t know how.”

She rubbed the faint scars on her wrist—marks from a difficult time back in high school.

I checked the time. Not much left, but she needed space to speak.

“Tell me. What about Adnan?”

“I’m not thinking about Adnan. I’m thinking about me and Adnan.”

Questions crowded my mind, but I stayed silent. Outside, daylight dimmed as rain burst down. The curtains swayed in the cold breeze.

“Adnan depends on me. You know that,” she said.

“What does he want? And what do you want?”

“After I helped him with his first art exhibition, something changed. He trusts me… maybe too much. And here’s the strange part—he’s actually relieved he didn’t get the scholarship. Because now he doesn’t have to leave me.”

“He told you that?”

“No. His roommate did. Said he even treated everyone after the rejection. Didn’t say what he’d confess or to whom, but I know.”

I stayed still.

“Something’s happening to me, Fahad. I can’t ignore this strange weakness I feel for him. When he lost the scholarship, my first thought was… good. Now he can come on our next trip.”

Her voice trembled; the tears stayed trapped. These thoughts had been living inside her far longer than today.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know. Come tomorrow. I need tonight.”

I stood up. I had to leave.

“Is Adnan becoming your once-in-a-lifetime?” I asked, steady as always.

She gave a small, helpless smile.

“I’ll come tomorrow. Take care.”

At the door, I finally saw what was different.

“What haircut did you get?”

“Rachel cut. Like Jennifer Aniston. A bit shorter. Does it look nice?”

She touched her hair, unsure.

I smiled and left. She was already everything I liked.

Driving out of the parking lot, I glanced up at her balcony. She leaned on the railing, smoking, staring into the sky.

I watched her for a moment, not knowing these were the last times they’d ever feel this close.

That these quiet, ordinary hours would become my own once-in-a-lifetime.

If I had known…

Would I have held her closer?

Would I have stopped her scent from slipping away so quietly?

( translated from Bangla)