Ch 3: Love Letter.

Writing a love letter in today's world feels outdated—something straight out of a bygone era. But back in the early 2000s, it was still a thing.

At that time, GTA games were just starting to gain popularity among youngsters. My friends would constantly talk about cheat codes, missions, and whatever other nonsense they were obsessed with. I, however, had little interest in gaming. While they spent their time glued to their screens, I preferred playing cricket or just enjoying time alone.

Then she came.

She arrived out of nowhere, a new student in our class. Her father was a businessman who had recently moved to Dhaka for work. From the moment she stepped into the classroom, she stood out—almost like she didn't belong in our ordinary world.

She was different from all the other girls.

Her emerald-green eyes had a hypnotic depth, the kind that could pull you in if you stared too long. Her reddish-brown hair cascaded over her shoulders like silk, and her tall frame, combined with her foreign accent, made her presence impossible to ignore. She was effortlessly beautiful, almost like a character from a fantasy novel.

And it wasn't just me—every single person in the classroom, boys and girls alike, was captivated. It was as if none of us had ever seen someone like her before.

But then, reality hit.

She was, without a doubt, the dumbest girl I had ever met.

She lacked the most basic reasoning skills and seemed to have no interest in learning anything. Even our teachers, who initially tried to guide her, eventually gave up in sheer frustration. Stubbornness was her defining trait—though not in a good way. But I wasn't concerned about her academics. My focus was elsewhere.

I was utterly mesmerized by her beauty.

And so, I decided to write her a love letter.

At that age, I had no clue how to craft the perfect love letter. I wasn't a poet, nor did I have the experience to articulate grand romantic expressions. But none of that mattered. I simply took a sheet of paper from my notebook, carefully tore it out, and designed a rough heart shape along the edges—my own little attempt at creativity.

Then, with all the sincerity my young heart could muster, I poured my emotions onto the page. Every word was a reflection of my admiration, a raw and unfiltered confession of my feelings. My hands trembled as I folded the letter into a neat square. It wasn't just a piece of paper—it was my heart, sealed within it.

But now came the hard part.

How was I supposed to give it to her?

What if she got angry? What if she laughed at me? What if she threw it away in front of everyone?

These thoughts tormented me the entire day. Through six long periods, I held onto that letter, unsure whether I had the courage to go through with it.

Then, finally, the last school bell rang, signaling the end of the day.

It was now or never.

Summoning every ounce of courage I had, I took a deep breath and began walking toward her. My heart pounded violently in my chest, my palms grew sweaty, and my legs felt weak—as if I were a gladiator marching into battle.

She looked up just as I reached her bench.

Her emerald eyes met mine, and for a moment, everything else faded.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, I stretched out my hand.

"This is for you," I said, my voice shaking, betraying every ounce of nervousness I tried to hide.

She glanced down at the folded paper in my hand. And then, to my utter surprise, she smiled.

A soft, genuine smile.

Without hesitation, she took the letter.

For a moment, she held it in her delicate fingers, then gently tucked it into her bag—securing my heart within her possession.

And that was it.

Before she could say anything, I turned and rushed out of the classroom as fast as I could. I walked away as if I had just handed over a ticking bomb, half-expecting her to throw the letter back at me like an incoming missile.

But she didn't.

I spent the next several days wondering what she thought, waiting for a response, hoping for something.

But life had its own sense of humor.

That was the last class before a 20-day summer vacation. By the time school resumed, she was gone—her family had moved abroad.

I never got a reply.

She did return the following year, but by then, everything had changed.

She wasn't the same girl who had once mesmerized me. The kindness in her eyes had been replaced by arrogance. She had developed a rough, entitled attitude—one that made me realize something important.

She was never the one for me.

And just like that, my first love letter became nothing more than a forgotten piece of paper, lost in time.