By Nusrat Jahan Esa

In the quiet corners of my mind, there is always a fragmented conversation going on. I often talk about how I am trapped. Within myself. The words are of thoughts, memories, and emotions. But it is too intricate to be fully grasped. I think it is an eternal tug-of-war. As I try to reflect on the right usage of words, I suddenly stop. I hear a sharp sound halting my thoughts. When I try to remember how I ended up like this, I travel through my childhood days. And, Rashed, in particular, comes to mind. I remember reading Amar Bondhu Rashed on a winter night in 2011. I had never been drawn to patriotic or motivational books before. Which really amazes me that my interests always leaned towards fantasies, romances, and science fiction. Yet I felt there was a sudden change in me as I read, and I found myself lying in bed, crying silently. I still wonder how an eleven-year-old could feel the depth of Rashed’s suffering without having lived through it. But just like the title, I couldn’t help but feel that he had become my friend. I was too young. 

In the summer of 2024, the month of July arrived. There was a cacophony of student chants and the ominous crack of gunfire filling the air everywhere. Elephant Road particularly was roaring with ferocity. 

At 5 o’clock. The afternoon was a juxtaposition of serenity and unsettledness. Yet I was composed, as the turmoil beyond my walls was not my concern at all. After a shower, I tidied up my bed and laid down for a moment. Lying down has always been my favorite part of the day. I was nearly asleep when a gentle breeze wafted through the yellow curtains, and softly brushed against my hair. I took a deep breath. I smiled. Turning to the other side, I gazed out the large window. The sky was a shade of blue. Blue always evokes an untold sadness within me. I was wondering if today’s blue will carry the same sadness or it will be different. Some birds were soaring in the sky, but as I looked closer, I realized they were not birds at all.

A helicopter, with armed RAB officers, loomed dangerously close. I was thinking how funny it is that I would get to see a helicopter so close to my window. In an instant, the helicopter appeared near my own window, making their faces disturbingly clear, as if they were looking straight into my eyes. Their weapons trained on every window they passed. Before I could make sense of anything, a sharp crack of a gunshot pierced the air. My ears went numb and a deafening buzz took my senses away. Before I could believe this was not a dream, redness overtook me. It seemed as if the sky was bleeding or an artist poured a tube of crimson red across it. 

Someone had died that day in another flat. Perhaps they had been gazing at the sky too. Maybe they were in the same state as me, laying down and relaxing a bit. A fleeting thought struck me. What if it had been me instead of them?. Since then, I’ve been telling Rashed that I never truly cared about others until it happened to me. Since then, I’ve been trapped within myself, where words and thoughts are in particles. It is unable to form a whole. But I want to fight this despite it being a small fight to Rashed. He listens and smiles. I asked him how he gathered the courage, how he fought, but he did not respond. He never responds to anything I share. I kept asking. I often pondered why he never answered me. The silence took a profound realization to the root. It’s, when individuals expect and their expectations falter, they inevitably turn inward,  they seek the origin of their discontent. I, too, found myself doing that. And then, suddenly, I remembered my eleven-year-old self from where it really started. Yes I remember picking up the book and reading the title. But I never turned the page. Beyond that moment, my memory fades into a fog. What did I do afterward? Now, whenever I try to recall, the buzzing grows louder. I let my mind unravel. I was desperate to piece together the fragments of my memory. The sound, the ever-growing buzz, became slowly deafening. It felt as though I was on the brink of losing my senses entirely, and my body started trembling under the weight of it all. I couldn’t sense or think of anything. And then, with a sudden jolt, I opened my eyes. It was the alarm clock. I was sweating, my heart was racing, as I fearfully glanced out the window. The sky was blue, calm and unbothered. 

A sound suddenly coming from a far and growing as it draws nearer to me. My mind once again begins to numb.

“I’ve brewed some tea, come to the living room.” my mother calls out. 

I remained quiet while laying down on my bed, not moving one inch. Perhaps, the buzzing is still lingering in me. It’s a constant hum in the background. It’s like a disturbing rhythm I can never dance to, no matter how hard I try.