Moyurakhkhi's Cigarettes

45| Daal er Halua

author's note

My lovelings, as Moyurakhkhi's story comes to an end, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. The ways I felt when I was 17 will be preserved forever in this book. Moyurakhkhi is a part of me. I got to live wonderful, invincible moments through her, and I will miss reliving with her joys and sorrows from my own life. I wish her all the luck in the world with her journey ahead.

A special thanks to my beautiful best friend Ayman Ahmed, who stayed up many many long nights with me, helping me edit this book. Her valuable feedback (blatant mockery of my writing, mostly) improved the book immensely and stopped me from getting cancelled. Having her put up with my nagging and pestering, about my book and everything else, was pretty validating. I love you Aymanu.

I am deeply grateful for all of you who read the whole book! Let me know in the comments what you thought of it. If you liked it, share with your friends and follow me for more works to come!

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3 months later

In between Sahal's kisses, I had taken out the last cigarette from the pocket of my jeans and torn it apart. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper in there. Two words were written in pristine cursive.

brave child

I think MS wrote that because it takes a lot of bravery to love someone, and even more to keep loving them. Whether you stay together for two weeks or grow old together, love can only end in pain. Heartbreak is the only constant in love, whether you break up or die. To know that and still dive in, you have to be brave.

Now, I sat with the chit in my palms on the edge of my bed. Fizz was going through my luggage to ensure that every last thing was packed for my flight tomorrow. Kabbo, Tubu, Jackie and I were playing an intense game of ludo that was towards its end.

I rolled my dice. A six and a one. I could move forward with my paka guti which was dangerously close to its destination, but I'd have to start over if Kabbo also scored the same and 'ate' my guti. Or I could stay safe inside the square box. Until another opportunity came around.

"Hurry up cunt," Kabbo nudged. "Make a decision."

I took the red plastic token from its prison and placed it out in the open. "There. I'm not going to miss this chance. Catch me if you can," I said.

I was just trying to be metaphoric, but Kabbo did score a six and a one. Tubu and Jackie laughed in evil delight as she knocked my token out of the board. I groaned. I'll have to start over.

But no regrets.

After the game, my family and Fizz's family had lunch together. Abbu had cooked biriyani for us. While I delved into the steaming heap of savoury rice, beef and potatoes, Abbu recounted how a sailor on his ship had taught him how to cook it to perfection. It was a boring story that we all had heard about a hundred times, but nobody stopped him.

Then he went sombre. Tubu asked him if anything was wrong, and I saw it- a shimmering drop of tear sliding down his sunburnt cheek until it reached the greying beard, then another, then another. Soon, he was weeping into his arm. Ma clutched onto him, wiping tears and snot off her reddened cheeks and nose.

I was so stunned that I asked them why they were crying, even though everybody knew, and before I knew it I was crying too. Nobody said anything - words were never of much use in our relationship, anyway.

Around 4 in the evening, I arrived in front of Mihran Sir's red-brick villa. The thought of inheriting it made my stomach queasy. Even though I was practically his child at this point and he was happily paying for my degree. I was indebted to MS, the way you are to your parents for raising you - this gratitude resided deep inside me, too overwhelming to talk about. All I knew was that I would give my left leg and lung for him if I had to.

"How are you?"

"Quite well, I should say. My beloved nephew is being a bit of a- how do you kids say it- a pain in the ass."

"He's not really gonna sue us, right?" I asked, walking inside. That loser.

"Well, I did just get off the phone with the lawyer and he may actually go through with it. However, that would be a grave mistake."

"His whole life is a grave mistake," I said, and snorted.

"True. Never mind him, I will take care of everything. Tell me how you are doing, darling? All done with the preparations, I hope," he said, taking a book from my hand and placing them on the ceiling-high bookshelf of his living room.

"I...am terrified," I half-laughed. "I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something or another."

"It is natural and important to be nervous. It keeps you cautious. Although, passion can get in the way of reasoning," he said, looking at me funnily over the red rim of his glasses.

"What?"

He cleared his throat. "As your mentor, benefactor and self-appointed father figure, I find it rather necessary to remind you to exercise caution in London." He cleared his throat again. My eyes widened as I caught on to what he was hinting at. "You are, after all, going to be in close proximity with your gentleman friend without parental supervision-"

"Oh my god, stop," I blurted out, feeling blood rushing to my cheeks. "Just stop. You're embarrassing me!"

He let out a theatrical sigh, just like his old self. "Very well. But do tell me, how is young love?"

"It's..." I shook my head. "I don't know what to tell you, but it's simply friendship."

Trusting them, caring for them, adoring them. And the best part, the unbelievably amazing part is that they do the same. It was terrifying, but all too worth facing the fear.

"So I take it that this was a fruitful adventure? Your perception of love seems to have changed."

I bit my cheek. "Mm...Love is a killing thing, like your cigarettes. But you choose it for yourself anyway, and I think that's an incredibly human thing we do. It's nuts. It's beautiful."

"Ah, such lovely words. Write them down, and let's get on with our last lesson then, shall we?"

"Does it really have to be our last lesson? We could always continue online," I pleaded, desperation thrashing around in my chest. 

"I have prepared you well enough, my dear. It is now time for you to brave the sea by yourself. Its waves shall teach you the rest."

"But I still need you, MS," I cried.

He smiled wrily. "In our years of acquaintance, I have always needed you more than you needed me."

He put a hand on my head, gently stroking the hair that no longer had a pink tint.

"You have given me so much joy, Moyurakhkhi. You have fulfilled me. I will always be grateful to you for that." I gripped his hand with both of mine. It was bony under the pale, ageing skin. I averted my gaze so that he wouldn't see the tears. "Letting you go is the hardest thing I've ever had to do, but I must find more meaning to life for myself."

"Thank you," I choked out. "For everything you've done for me. And I am so, so glad you're not waiting for death anymore. What're you gonna do? Write a new book?"

"Yes, and, well. I want to ask Sadia Khan to dinner."

Amazed, I stared at him.

Then something lapped at my nose. A damp, sweet scent. Of a particular Bangladeshi dessert.  

"Is that..." I sniffed at the air.

"Daal er halua," he said.

MS smiled. I smiled back.

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