The Boy Who Collected Sunsets
In the quiet coastal city of Chattogram, where the sea whispered secrets to the shore every evening, lived a boy named Ayan.
Ayan had a strange habit.
He collected sunsets.
Not with a camera. Not with a phone.
But with his heart.
Every afternoon after college, he would walk to the same lonely beach. He would sit on an old wooden boat turned upside down by fishermen years ago. And he would wait.
The sky in Chattogram was different every day.
Some days it burned in shades of orange and gold.
Some days it turned soft pink, like a shy confession.
And some days, it looked lonely — grey with a fading sun.
Ayan believed sunsets carried emotions.
If the sky was bright, someone somewhere was falling in love.
If it was pale and quiet, someone was missing someone.
He didn't know why he felt that way.
But he always felt something.
One evening, as the sun was melting into the sea, he noticed a girl standing not far from him.
She wore a simple white dress. Her hair danced in the wind. She wasn't looking at the sea.
She was looking at the sky.
And she looked… lost.
For three days, she came.
For three days, they didn't speak.
On the fourth day, she sat on the sand closer to him.
"Do you come here every day?" she asked softly.
"Yes," Ayan replied. "I collect sunsets."
She smiled faintly. "Can I borrow one?"
He didn't understand at first.
She looked at the horizon. "I'm leaving this city next week. I don't want to forget how this sky feels."
That was the first time Ayan felt a sunset inside his chest.
Her name was Meher.
They started talking every evening.
About dreams.
About fears.
About leaving and staying.
Meher wanted to go abroad, to build a new life.
Ayan wanted to stay, to build something where his roots were.
They were different.
But sunsets made them the same.
On her last day in Chattogram, the sky was unusually beautiful — deep purple melting into crimson.
"I wish time paused like this," Meher whispered.
Ayan looked at her, then at the sky.
"Maybe it does," he said. "Maybe sunsets exist to remind us that endings can be beautiful too."
She turned to him.
"And what will you do after I leave?"
He smiled gently.
"I'll keep collecting sunsets. And maybe one day, one of them will bring you back."
She didn't cry.
She just handed him a small notebook.
"Write them down," she said. "So I never forget."
Years passed.
Ayan never left the city.
But he wrote every sunset.
One day, a letter arrived from another country.
Inside was a photo of a familiar sky.
And a message:
"The sunsets here are beautiful… but they don't feel like ours.
Are you still collecting them?"
Ayan walked to the beach that evening.
The sky was golden.
He smiled.
"Yes," he whispered to the sea.
"I never stopped."thnx