When Tears Meet Rain

The hospital's corridor was eerily quiet, the muted hum of fluorescent lights barely audible over the rain that lashed against the windows. Inside Nafisa's cabin, the atmosphere was a stark contrast. Her parents had arrived, their presence bringing a sense of calm to an otherwise tumultuous night.

Nafisa was awake now, her pale face resting against the soft pillow. Her mother sat beside her, gently stroking her hair with a mother's tender care.

"Drink some water," her mother said softly, holding out a glass.

Nafisa nodded weakly, her trembling hands accepting the glass. She took a small sip, her gaze unfocused, her mind still processing the horrors of the evening.

Her father stood near the window, his broad shoulders hunched as he stared into the storm outside. The rain was relentless, streaking the glass like tears from the heavens.

But outside the cabin, someone else was drowning in his own storm.

Hasib sat on the cold, hard bench in the hospital corridor, his elbows resting on his knees as his hands covered his face. His shoulders trembled with silent sobs, the weight of the past few hours pressing down on him like an iron chain.

Tears streamed through his fingers, and he let them fall. He didn't care who saw. It wasn't just sorrow that gripped him—it was guilt, helplessness, and a profound sense of loss that threatened to consume him.

His mind drifted, pulling him back to the past, to a simpler time when the world had felt full of promise.

He was ten years old again, standing on the muddy soccer field in front of their apartment complex. It was a warm summer evening, and the air was electric with the excitement of the seniors vs. juniors' soccer match.

Hasib had been the goalkeeper for the juniors, his small frame dwarfed by the imposing seniors. Newton had been their defender, his fierce determination and quick reflexes making him the heart of their team.

The game was intense, with the seniors pushing hard to score. Hasib had dived to block a powerful kick, and the next thing he knew, pain exploded in his nose. Blood gushed out as he fell to the ground, clutching his face.

For a moment, everything froze. The players stopped, unsure of what to do. But it was Newton who sprang into action. He rushed to Hasib's side, lifting him to his feet with surprising strength.

"You're bleeding!" Newton exclaimed, his voice a mix of worry and urgency. "Come on, we're going to the hospital."

Despite Hasib's protests, Newton practically dragged him off the field and flagged down a taxicab. He sat beside Hasib the entire time, holding a crumpled handkerchief to his friend's nose, murmuring reassurances.

Hasib's tears fell harder as the memory faded, replaced by another.

He was older now, standing nervously outside Nafisa's house. His hands were clammy, his heart racing.

"Relax," Newton had said, clapping him on the shoulder. "She's going to love it."

Hasib looked at the folded piece of paper in his hand—the poem Newton had written for Nafisa. It was beautiful, and heartfelt, every word a perfect reflection of Hasib's feelings. But Newton had refused to take credit.

"This is your heart, Hasib," Newton had said with a grin. "I just helped you find the words."

When Nafisa read the poem later that evening, her eyes lit up with something Hasib had never seen before. "You wrote this?" she asked, her voice soft, filled with wonder.

Hasib had nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. And that was the moment Nafisa had fallen for him.

The memories hit Hasib like waves, each one more painful than the last. He wiped his face with trembling hands, but the tears kept coming.

"Newton…" he whispered, his voice breaking.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulled Hasib from his thoughts. He looked up to see Newton's parents approaching the cabin.

His mother, Mrs. Samantha, was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Mr. Jack had his arm around her, trying to steady her as they reached the doorway.

When Mrs. Samantha saw Newton's lifeless body on the bed, she froze. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound came out. She staggered forward, her hands trembling as she reached for her son.

"No… no, no, no…" she whispered, her voice rising with each word until it became a heart-wrenching wail.

Her knees gave out, and she crumpled to the floor. Mr. Jack caught her, his face etched with silent grief as he held his wife close.

Hasib stood frozen, his pain mirrored in their anguish. He wanted to say something, to comfort them, but no words came.

The next day, the rain continued unabated, as if the heavens themselves were mourning Newton's loss. The air was heavy, the storm clouds hanging low in the sky.

Hasib stood by the coffin, his hands gripping the edge as he and two classmates, along with his father, carried it through the cemetery. The wooden box felt heavier than it should have, as if it carried not just Newton's body but the weight of all their memories, all their shared laughter and dreams.

The rain soaked through Hasib's clothes, mingling with the tears streaming down his face. The sound of the pastor's voice was drowned out by the storm, but Hasib barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere, replaying Newton's voice in his head.

"Come on, Hasib! You can't let them score!"

"Don't worry, I've got your back."

"She's going to love you, man. Trust me."

The coffin was lowered into the ground, and Hasib felt something inside him break.

As the final rites were performed, the storm showed no signs of letting up. The rain washed over everything, the grave, the mourners, the flowers laid at Newton's resting place.

The crowd dispersed slowly, but Hasib stayed behind. He stood in front of the freshly dug grave, his head bowed, the rain running down his face like a second set of tears.

The world felt empty, hollow. Newton was gone, and nothing would ever be the same.

"Why did it have to be you?" Hasib whispered, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Suddenly, he felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. He turned, startled, to see Nafisa. Her face was streaked with rain and tears, her eyes filled with the same pain that weighed on him.

Without a word, he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as the storm raged around them.

"It's not fair," Hasib said, his voice cracking. "He didn't deserve this."

"I know," Nafisa whispered, her head resting against his chest. "I know."

They stood there together, their grief binding them in a way words never could. Hasib buried his face in Nafisa's hair, his tears mingling with the rain as he cried for the friend he had lost.

For a moment, it felt as if the storm might never end.

To be continued...