Morning in the City and the Rush of Eighteen
The city never sleeps.
Morning here meant—
the honking buses,
the clatter of teapots,
and the anxiety of being late.
Meghla Chowdhury ran with all that anxiety bundled on her shoulders.
"Mom! Where's my ID card?"
Nasrin Chowdhury called from the kitchen,
"It's where you left it yesterday!"
Meghla laughed,
"I leave myself in a new place every day!"
Standing in front of the mirror, tying her hair, she thought—
Being late to college isn't the problem,
but missing a story, that can't happen.
As she slung her bag over her shoulder and opened the door,
the door of the flat next to hers also openedDr. Roddur Rahman stepped out at the exact same moment.
Eyes on his watch,
face expressionless.
Serious people check the time this way,
as if time itself obeys their rules.
Meghla froze for a second.
She had seen him many times—
in the elevator, on the stairs, on the terrace.
But they had never spoken.
She smiled,
"Good morning!"
Roddur paused slightly.
Then nodded,
"Morning."
Just with these two words,
he walked on.
Meghla widened her eyes.
How can someone speak so little in this noisy city?