The morning had a sharpness to it. Dry wind against worn brick, dust flicking under tired sneakers, and the distant thud of a car backfiring outside the college gate. Inside the classroom building, fluorescent lights flickered lazily above.
Then came the chaos.
It started with Raju Chumma waking up late. He wasn't late for class — no one cared about that anymore. He was late for something far more dangerous: the group's "Rent Evasion Master Plan."
He dashed through the front corridor with one shoe on, yogurt in hand, and toothpaste foam still trailing from his chin. Behind him, Montu Biri slipped on a spilled Pepsi bottle and knocked over the janitor's mop bucket. The whole wing went wet.
Shekhor Ghaura peeked through a classroom window and muttered, "We're so dead."
They had heard of this scheme from a cousin's friend's cousin. A plan involving forged documents, a strategically placed dead rat, and a fake eviction letter. It sounded clever when they discussed it under the old neem tree with half-eaten shingara in hand. But at 10:05 AM, standing in the principal's office covered in muddy footprints and mouse droppings, it lost some of its charm.
"Sir, we think there might be a biohazard," Biri offered, trying to look serious.
The principal stared. Then slowly turned toward the CCTV monitor. Playback. Rewind. Pause. There it was: Shekhor entering the dormitory laundry room with a large box labeled 'PetSmart.'
"Gentlemen," the principal said, leaning forward. "Explain this... documentary."
No one spoke.
Outside the office, Jony stood by the stairwell, books hugged to his chest, face neutral. Watching. Not judging. Just watching.
It made Prottoy Giringi's throat dry.
Later that day, Naznin passed by Prottoy near the canteen. She didn't speak. Didn't glance his way. But something about her walk was different. Tighter. Measured. Like she was trying hard not to feel anything.
He remembered the slap. Remembered the look on her face when he'd shoved Jony last week. She hadn't cried. Just turned, raised her hand, and walked away.
He hadn't apologized.
Evening settled in with a burnt-orange sky. Birds chirped nervously. It was that hour of the day when jokes stop being funny.
The four boys sat on the wall behind the cafeteria. Chumma lit a cigarette. Biri was fidgeting with a pen cap. Shekhor looked unusually quiet.
"I saw Jony alone again today," Shekhor said.
Chumma scoffed. "When's he not alone?"
"That's the point."
Silence.
Biri muttered, "Maybe we overdid it."
Prottoy didn't say anything. He was staring at the half-eaten alur chop on the ledge.
"You think he hates us?" he asked quietly.
"Shouldn't he?" Shekhor replied.
The next day, a new face appeared. Imran Sir. Clean haircut. Denim kurta. The kind of teacher who doesn't smile much but never raises his voice either. He asked smart questions. Questions that made students feel uncomfortable — but seen.
He took one look at Jony and said, "You write like someone who reads in silence."
Nobody had ever said anything like that to Jony before.
That afternoon, during break, something strange happened. Prottoy walked over to Jony's bench. Just walked up and stood there. Biri and Chumma pretended to look at the wall.
"I'm sorry," Prottoy said.
No drama. No buildup. Just the words.
"I was an idiot. I didn't understand stuff. Not about you. Not even about myself."
Jony looked up slowly. His face didn't shift.
Then Biri came forward. "We're all sorry, bhai. Genuinely."
Shekhor added, "It's on us. You didn't deserve any of it."
Even Chumma mumbled, "We're dumb sometimes. Most times."
For a moment, no one breathed.
Then Jony stood. Adjusted his bag.
"Alright," he said. "Now you owe me tea."
News travels fast on a small campus. Within the hour, Naznin heard. She waited by the old auditorium, the one near the banyan tree. Prottoy found her there, hands crossed, face unreadable.
"I heard you apologized."
"I did."
"You mean it?"
"Every word."
Pause.
She walked two steps closer. "Alright. Let's make a deal."
Prottoy blinked. "Deal?"
"If you pass this exam session — really pass, not just scrape by — I'll be yours."
He stared. "For real?"
She nodded.
He smiled. "What if I top?"
She smirked. "Then I might actually consider dating you seriously."
He grinned, wide and boyish. "Then prepare yourself. I'm about to become Dhaka's Einstein."
The study sessions began. Jony tutored him quietly in the back benches. Chumma surprisingly helped with English. Biri quizzed him on MCQs. Shekhor set alarms for him to wake up.
No one made fun of him anymore.
Prottoy didn't suddenly become brilliant. But he became consistent. And stubborn. And more than anything — curious.
Exams came and went. Students spilled out of halls with laughter and curses. Then came the waiting.
Three days later, the results went up on a torn white sheet outside the admin block.
Prottoy stood in the crowd. His eyes skimmed.
There.
First name. His name.
Top of the list.
He didn't scream. Didn't dance.
He just stood there. Smiling. Slightly.
Behind him, Naznin whispered, "Told you."
They met again by the lake.
The water was still. Dragonflies buzzed nearby.
"I'm yours now," she said.
He chuckled. "So that means I get to flirt without getting slapped?"
"Try me."
He leaned closer. "You know, Naznin... if I were a textbook, you'd be the only chapter I wouldn't skip."
She laughed. "Too nerdy."
"Okay... if you were a grade, you'd be an A-plus in my heart."
"Worse."
He paused, smirked. "If kisses were grades, would you let me earn extra credit?"
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Don't push it."
He reached out, gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"I won't. But I'll keep earning you. Every exam. Every day."
Behind them, the college bustled. Students joked. Teachers shouted.
But for Prottoy, this moment — this lake, this girl, this quiet apology — felt louder than all of it.
Because the real twist wasn't that he had changed.
It was that he finally wanted to.
Naznin's Story: A Journey Through Doubt, Forgiveness, and Love
When I think back to the day Prottoy Giringi became my boyfriend, it still feels surreal. For so long, he was just... that loud, reckless boy who somehow always landed in trouble. Honestly, he annoyed me most of the time — especially when he and his group bullied Jony. I couldn't understand why anyone would treat someone like that, especially a kid who already seemed so alone in the world. And yet, somehow, life threw us together in a way that neither of us could have planned.
That slap. I remember it vividly. It wasn't just an impulsive hit; it was a mixture of anger, helplessness, and disappointment. Prottoy had hit Jony again, and I couldn't stand it anymore. But what I didn't expect was what came after. Prottoy didn't fight back or lash out. Instead, he was quiet. Almost broken. I think that moment was the turning point — not just for him, but for me too.
A week later, he surprised me. Not with grand gestures or promises, but with an apology — sincere and humble, not only to Jony but to his entire group, including Shekhor Ghaura, Raju Chumma, and Montu Biri. I watched from a distance, feeling something shift inside me. Was this the same boy I'd wanted to push away? It was hard to reconcile.
We weren't even close yet when I made a deal with him — half-joking, half-serious. If he passed his exams, I'd be his girl. It felt like a way to challenge him, to see if he really could change. Prottoy had never been the academic type. Everyone knew that. He was the dumbest in class, always joking around, never taking things seriously. I honestly thought he'd fail. But he didn't.
He studied. He stayed up late, asking questions, trying hard. I saw him in the library, head buried in books, scribbling notes. It wasn't easy for him, and I could see the struggle in his eyes. Yet, he never gave up. It was the first time I really noticed how much he cared—not just about passing an exam but about proving himself, proving me wrong in the best way possible.
The day results came back, my heart was pounding. I was sure he'd mess up. But when I saw his name at the top of the list — the highest score in class — I was stunned. My breath caught. All those doubts, the teasing, the past mistakes — none of that mattered in that moment. Prottoy had worked so hard, and he'd succeeded.
Meeting him at the lake afterward felt like stepping into a dream. The water reflected the sunset, and everything was quiet except for our footsteps on the soft grass. Prottoy looked different—calmer, more confident but still that same mischievous glint in his eyes.
"I guess I'm yours now, huh?" he teased, with that half-smile that always made me weak.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, you are. You really are."
He got closer, lowering his voice. "You know, I might have been the dumbest before... but now, I'm smart enough to know what I want. And what I want is you, Naznin."
His words were bold, but there was something real behind them. I felt warmth spread through me—not just because he said it, but because I believed him.
Before that day, love felt complicated and distant. But with Prottoy, it felt like something simple, something I could hold onto. He didn't have to say much; his actions spoke louder. Every late night studying, every apology, every awkward but genuine smile was proof that he cared. He was trying, not just for himself but for us.
I think what touched me the most was that he never asked for forgiveness out loud. He earned it quietly, with sweat and effort. And that made me want to give him more than just my forgiveness — I wanted to give him my heart.
Now, when I see Prottoy, I don't see the boy who bullied Jony or acted carelessly. I see a boy who's growing up, who's learning what it means to be responsible, to care deeply, and to love with all his imperfections.
We don't live together, and we don't talk all the time. Our world is still messy and complicated. But every time we meet, even for a moment, I feel safe. I feel seen. And that, I think, is what love is supposed to be.
Sometimes, I catch myself smiling without reason. It's crazy how a single person can sneak into your thoughts so quietly that you don't even realize it's happening until suddenly, they're everywhere—in your head, your heart, your plans.
Prottoy is that person for me now.
Before all this, he was just noise—loud, reckless, the guy who always got into trouble and never cared about the consequences. But seeing him work so hard to change, especially for me, it stirred something inside I wasn't ready to admit: maybe he deserved a second chance. Maybe he deserved more than the harsh judgments we all threw at him.
I remember the nights when I'd catch him studying under the dim light of his desk lamp, his face scrunched up in concentration. The boy who used to laugh at every lecture was now scribbling notes with a stubborn seriousness that broke my heart a little. I wanted to reach out, to tell him it was okay to be scared or confused, but I knew this was his journey. And I admired that.
What surprised me the most wasn't just the hard work — it was the little things he did. Like how he'd send me a message in the middle of the day just to ask if I'd eaten, or how he remembered my favorite chai spot and brought me a cup one afternoon after class. Small gestures, but they meant the world.
And then there were moments when he let his guard down — when the tough guy façade slipped and I saw the vulnerable kid underneath. One evening, after a bad day, he confessed he was scared. Scared of failing, scared of disappointing me, scared of never being good enough. It was the first time he admitted weakness, and I held his hand, telling him he was more than enough already.
We don't live together, and that's been tough sometimes. Distance makes you question everything. But we make time — calls that stretch for hours, messages that keep us connected when the world feels heavy. Every conversation, every laugh, every shared silence is a thread weaving us closer.
I feel protected with Prottoy—not just physically, but emotionally. He listens, really listens, to what I say and what I don't. He's become my safe place.
Sometimes, I wonder if he realizes how much he's changed me, how much hope and light he's brought into my life. Loving him isn't easy — it's messy and complicated, full of doubts and fears. But it's real. And that's what matters.
Our meeting by the lake afterward — that was magical. The sun was setting, casting golden light on the water, and Prottoy was nervous, fumbling over words but smiling like it was the best moment of his life. When he finally said he wanted me to be his girl, my heart raced. I teased him, played along with his awkward flirting and dirty jokes, but inside I was overwhelmed with happiness.
I didn't expect love to feel like this. Like a slow-burning fire that grows brighter with each day, fueled by trust, care, and respect. Prottoy works so hard—not just for me, but for himself. And I see it. I see the boy who once hurt others now trying to protect, to build, to be better.
We don't live together. Our lives are still messy, full of chaos and uncertainty. But the distance hasn't dimmed what we share. Every call, every message, every stolen moment feels precious. Because now, it's not about who we were — it's about who we're becoming.
I feel loved. I feel cared for. And I feel hopeful.
Prottoy Giringi's Soliloquy: The King and His Queen
Here I am, standing by the lake, looking out at the water like I own the damn world. Because honestly? I do. Not because some random luck fell on me, but because I earned every inch of this throne I'm sitting on right now.
Prottoy Giringi — remember the name. Once the dumbest kid in class, the one everyone laughed at, the guy who couldn't string two sentences together without tripping over his own tongue. Yeah, that was me. But I flipped the script. Hard. I turned myself into the smartest, sharpest guy this place has ever seen. And now? Now, I'm not just surviving; I'm thriving. I'm king.
And it's not just about brains. It's about knowing who you are — every flaw, every edge — and owning it with pride. Some call me narcissistic. Fine. Maybe I am. But how can I not be? When you look this good, think this fast, and work this hard, a little self-love isn't just healthy — it's necessary.
Naznin… my queen, my spark. She's the reason I'm standing here with this giant grin on my face. She saw something in me that no one else did. She slapped me — literally slapped me — and that moment changed everything. It wasn't just a slap; it was a challenge. A dare. And you know me — I don't back down from challenges.
She made me a deal: Pass the exams, and she'd be mine. Easy for some, but for me, it was a mountain. I was the dumbest kid. Everyone thought I'd fail, just like before. But I worked my ass off. Late nights, early mornings, every second spent cracking those books, learning, fighting to prove I was more than a joke.
Then the results came in. Guess what? I got the highest marks. Yeah, me. The underdog became the top dog overnight. When Naznin congratulated me, that moment — it was pure magic. She looked at me differently, like I wasn't some kid anymore but someone who deserved her.
Meeting her at the lake afterward? That was my moment. The quiet between us was loud with meaning. When she said, "Okay, Prottoy, you're my guy now," I nearly lost it. But I kept my cool. I flirted with her, because that's who I am — confident, a little cocky, but always real. I told her, "Naznin, you're stuck with me now. Better get used to all this greatness."
She rolled her eyes, but that smile — the one she tried to hide — said it all. I had won. Not just the deal, but her heart.
People don't get it. Love isn't just sweet texts and romantic walks. It's messy, it's complicated, it's fighting and making up and knowing you're stronger together. Naznin makes me want to be better — not just for me, but for us. And yeah, sometimes I still act like a narcissist, but isn't that what makes me... me?
I'm also smart — not just book-smart, but street-smart. I've learned to read people, to play the game, to be two steps ahead. That's how I got through the mess with Jony and the gang. I was a bully once, sure, but I realized that strength isn't hurting others — it's owning your mistakes and making things right.
Apologizing to Jony wasn't easy. He's an orphan, bullied and scared, and I was the worst of them all. But Naznin's faith in me pushed me to be better. When he forgave me, I felt something real — not just pride, but respect. For him and for myself.
And now? Now, I'm not just a guy with a crush. I'm a man with a mission. To keep Naznin safe, to make her proud, to be the best version of myself. We don't live together yet, but every day I feel her love from a distance, and it fuels me.
So yeah, call me narcissistic, call me cocky. But I'm Prottoy Giringi, and I'm proud of who I am. I'm smart, I'm confident, and I'm deeply in love. And nothing, nothing is going to stop me from keeping my queen by my side.
Look, I get it. Everyone loves a story about the underdog who suddenly becomes a star. The dumb kid who becomes the smartest guy in class. The bully who turns into a hero. That's me. Prottoy Giringi, the legend in the making.
I wasn't always this confident, this sharp. Back then, I was the clown, the guy people laughed at behind his back, the one nobody took seriously. School was a battlefield, and I was losing every fight. Books? Forget it. Teachers? Just another obstacle to survive. The only thing I thought I was good at was making people laugh — or scared.
But something inside me shifted. It wasn't overnight — no magic transformation. It was slow, grinding, a silent promise I made to myself: "You're going to prove them all wrong."
I started small — paying attention in class, actually reading my notes, asking questions (quietly, so no one noticed). It was hard. Every step forward felt like climbing a mountain. But I wasn't about to let my old self win.
There's a certain kind of genius in knowing your weaknesses and weaponizing your strengths. I learned to watch people, to study them. That's where my real power lies — not just in memorizing facts but in understanding people, situations, and using that knowledge to my advantage.
Yeah, I'm smart — and no, I don't mind saying it loud. Because if you don't believe in yourself first, who will?
(Part 2 — The Complex Dance of Love with Naznin)
Now, let's talk about Naznin. My crush, my motivation, my queen. She's not just a pretty face or a trophy to show off. She's fire and calm all at once — the kind of girl who makes you want to be better but also makes you question everything you thought you knew about love.
Remember when she slapped me? Yeah, that was a defining moment. It wasn't just about me hitting Jony — it was about respect. She stood up not just for Jony but for what was right. That slap stung, but it woke me up. Made me realize love isn't possession — it's respect, trust, and fighting for each other.
When she gave me that deal — pass your exams, and I'll be your girl — I thought it was impossible. Me? The dumbest kid? But I accepted because I'm not a quitter. I wanted to prove her wrong, but not in a way that's just about grades. I wanted to prove myself to me.
And when I got those results — the highest marks — it wasn't just luck. It was blood, sweat, and endless nights of work. And when she congratulated me, her smile was the sweetest victory I've ever tasted.
Meeting her at the lake, the way she agreed to be mine — that moment felt like the world paused. I flirted, teased, because that's me — bold, a little cocky, but always real. "You're stuck with me now," I said. And she smiled, because she knew I meant it.
(Part 3 — The Dark Shadows: Jony, Guilt, and Redemption)
The story isn't all glory. I wasn't always the hero. Remember Jony? The orphan kid who took all the bullying — mostly from me and my gang. Ghaura, Chumma, Biri — yeah, we were a mess. Bullies don't wake up one day and decide to be mean for no reason. We're messed up, fighting our own battles.
When Jony finally snapped, it shook me. Getting slapped by Naznin? That was the lowest point. I had to face what I'd become — not just a tough guy, but a cruel one. Apologizing wasn't easy. Saying sorry to Jony felt like swallowing my pride.
But I did it — not just me, but the whole gang. We apologized because sometimes, the strongest thing you can do is admit you were wrong. And when Jony forgave us? It wasn't just a pardon. It was a new beginning. For him, for me, for all of us.
That moment made me think about who I want to be. Not just the smartest or the coolest guy, but someone who can hold his head high, knowing he did the right thing when it mattered.
(Part 4 — Narcissism and Self-Awareness)
People say I'm narcissistic. Maybe I am. But let's be clear — there's a difference between confidence and arrogance.
I'm confident because I know my worth. I work hard, I think fast, and I take pride in who I am. I'm the guy who walks into a room and owns it — not because I'm cocky, but because I should own it. I earned it.
But I'm also self-aware. I know when my ego gets the best of me. I know when I push too hard or act like I'm better than others. That's part of being human — flawed, complicated, but growing.
I use my narcissism like a tool. It drives me. It pushes me to be better, to outsmart everyone, to win — in school, in life, with Naznin.
(Part 5 — Daily Life and Reflections)
Every day is a mix of chaos and focus. I wake up thinking about my future, about what I want to build. I think about Naznin — how lucky I am to have her, even if we don't live together yet. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right? Every call, every message, every stolen moment counts.
I think about the gang, about our plans, our fights, and our friendships. We're a mess, but we're family. I'm trying to be a better leader, a better friend. The guy who can balance fun and responsibility.
I think about school — the late-night study sessions, the pressure, the doubts. Sometimes I still feel like that scared kid, but then I remember how far I've come.
(Part 6 — Dreams and Future)
I'm not stopping here. I want more. More success, more respect, more love.
I want to make Naznin proud — not just by being her boyfriend, but by being the man she deserves. Someone who works hard, who cares deeply, who never gives up.
I want to build something real. A future where we can be together, without distance or doubts. Where we laugh, fight, love, and grow.
And I want to keep proving to everyone — and to myself — that Prottoy Giringi is more than just a name. He's a force. A king in his own right.
Diary of a Heart Unspoken: A Love Poem for Naznin by Prottoy
I will not tell you I love you, Naznin, no, not today,For words like that are cheap to throw, like leaves that drift away.I won't confess the storms inside, the nights I lose to pain,The way your name's a whispered hope beneath my windowpane.
You see, love's too fragile—better left unseen, unheard,Than shouted from the rooftops like some foolish, trembling bird.So I won't say I need you—no, I'll keep that silent ache,Pretend my heart's a fortress where no longing dares to break.
I won't admit your smile is the sunlight on my rain,How your laughter echoes softly and drives away my pain.I'll act like you don't matter, like you're just a passing breeze,Though every breath betrays me, every moment's disease.
I won't tell you how your eyes, like stars, make darkness bright,Or how your silence speaks to me in the lonely dead of night.I'll hide behind these rhymes and walls, these verses cold and dry,Because to say "I love you" would be my sweetest, cruelest lie.
You're better off without me, better far away, you see,I'm just a broken story that no one wants to read.So I'll pretend I don't care, that your heart's not worth my time,But inside, I'm drowning slowly in this silent pantomime.
I won't beg for your affection, won't ask you to stay near,Because fear disguises love in shades of bitter, whispered fear.And if I tell you all this, you might run the other way,So I guard my fragile heart with walls of steel each day.
But still, my mind betrays me with memories so clear,Your voice a melody I chase when no one else is near.I won't tell you I am lost without your gentle light,Because that would be weakness, and I must keep up the fight.
So, Naznin, if you read these lines and wonder if they're true,Just know I love you fiercely—even if I never tell you.And if you turn away now, it's only 'cause I'm scared,That loving you out loud would leave me stripped and bare.
I'm writing this, not to win you, nor to make you stay,But to tell the truth I hide beneath the things I don't say.For love is not just spoken words or hearts that loudly beat,It's the quiet in the silence, the ache beneath defeat.
So here's my secret, Naznin, wrapped in words I never speak,That loving you in silence makes my soul feel less weak.I'll hide behind this diary, behind these rhymes so cruel,But know my love's a tempest, breaking every rule.
I remember the first time I saw you—Not in some grand, movie-worthy scene,But between the cracks of a dull day,Like a soft note in a forgotten dream.
You were laughing, unaware,And the world seemed less heavy, less gray.I told myself, "Don't look too long,Don't get caught in her sway."
But eyes betray what words cannot,And my gaze stayed, longer than planned.I saw how your hair caught the light,Like golden threads spun by gentle hands.
I told myself, "She's just a girl,One more face in a crowd's endless tide."But in my chest, a war was waging,Between pride and the need to confide.
Naznin, if you ever hear my heart,Hear the whispers it never dares speak,You'd find a trembling, scared boyWho's desperate but tries to seem weak.
I won't say I'm afraid—No, that would be a foolish thing to do.But loving you from afarFeels like walking a wire in a stormy blue.
What if my love is not enough?What if you never feel the same?So I fold my heart into shadows,Wrap my dreams in silent shame.
I pretend I'm fine without you,Smile and joke, play the fool.But in those moments when no one watches,I'm drowning deep in love's cruel pool.
I think of all the things I won't say—How your laugh could light my darkest nights,How your glance sends a jolt to my soul,Filling my days with impossible heights.
But I hold back, I hide, I wait—For fear is a prison that holds me tight.Better to be silent, unseen, unheard,Than lose you in the wrong fight.
Yet, sometimes, when the world sleeps,I write your name on every page.Not to confess, but to remember,To keep you safe, beyond this cage.
Because loving you is a secret art,A quiet ache, a whispered prayer.It's not the loud, bold stories told,But a fragile truth, raw and bare.
You are the song I'll never sing,The poem I won't read aloud.But in my soul, you dance and live—My secret, soft, and proud.
And here's the cruel twist, the irony of love, the reverse I hide:
I tell myself you'd be better offIf you never knew my heart's unrest.If I never stepped into your world,Or put my feelings to the test.
Because love that's loud can burn too bright,And scare away what it desires most.So I bury this fire deep inside,Fearing the loss if you ghost.
But if by chance, you feel this too—This silent storm, this aching pain—Maybe, just maybe, there's a way,For two broken souls to heal again.
Until then, I'll keep this diary,My voice in shadows, soft and low.Loving you without a word,Is the hardest truth I'll ever know.
I never meant to fall like this—Not in broad daylight, not with the world watching,But somewhere between the whispered laughsAnd the stolen glances across a crowded room.
You didn't notice me then,Not the way I noticed you—How your smile cut through the gray,Like the first warm breath of spring.
I told myself to look away,To hide behind my jokes and bravado.But my eyes betrayed me every time,Lingered longer than they should have.
And I don't say this to brag—No, pride is the last thing I need—But loving you is like carrying a secret fire,One that burns without smoke or sound.
Some days, I think it's safer this way,To keep my feelings locked in shadows.Because what if you don't feel the same?What if this silent love is just my foolishness?
I build walls around my heart—Concrete, thick, unyielding.But even the strongest walls have cracks,And through them, you slip inside.
I see you in the smallest moments—The way you tuck your hair behind your ear,The way your laughter spills,Bright and reckless, like a summer storm.
I wonder if you know—How much you fill my thoughts,How your name is the last thing I whisper at night,And the first hope I cling to at dawn.
But I can't tell you—Not with words, not yet.Because love that's spoken too soonCan shatter fragile things.
So I watch from the sidelines,Pretending I'm indifferent,But inside, I'm a storm—A battle between hope and fear.
You think I'm strong?Maybe.But beneath this mask is a boyTerrified of losing what he hasn't even won.
And here's the twist I hide—the cruel irony of loving in silence:
I tell myself you'd be better offNever knowing how much I care,That I'm better off keeping my distance,For love can be a dangerous dare.
Because what if I told you all this,And you walked away?What if the only thing I gotWas the echo of my own dismay?
Better, I think, to be the ghost,To love you quietly from afar,Than risk the heartbreak of your rejection—A wound deeper than any scar.
Yet, sometimes, I dream—Of moments where words flow freely,Where laughter and love intertwine,Where you and I are unafraid.
But those dreams are fragile,Like glass balanced on a knife's edge.One wrong word, one misstep,And they vanish into nothingness.
So I keep this diary close,A secret vault for my heart,Where every unsaid wordIs carved in ink and whispered art.
Some days, I watch you like a ghost—Not from afar, but from places where shadows cling,Where my breath catches just before you turn,And my heart stutters, breaking the silence.
You move with a careless grace—Like the wind that teases leaves,Unaware of how deeply you stir storms inside me.
I try to tell myself it's nothing,Just a passing fancy, a flicker in the dark,But every smile you give anotherIs a knife that twists deeper.
And it's not jealousy that burns—It's the quiet ache of knowingYou might never see me beyond the edges,Never hear the unsung words I write for you.
Khangari laughs, brash and bold,Playing the part of the one who's caught your eye,While I, Prottoy, stand frozen—A statue of what could have been.
I want to scream at the sky,Tell the universe how unfair this is,That I'm the one who's here,Breathing for two, hoping in silence.
But instead, I smile—A practiced curve of lips that hides the cracks,A mask forged from years of hiding.
I write your name in my mind like a prayer,Whisper it in the dead of night,Hoping somehow the stars will carry it to you.
And sometimes, I fool myself—Thinking maybe you feel the same,That beneath your laughter and teasing liesA secret place where I exist.
But then you look at him—The other—and the dream shatters.
Naznin, if you ever read these words,Know that my silence is not apathy.It is love wrapped in fear,Love that trembles before it speaks.
I'm scared—Of losing you before I have you,Of breaking what we never built,Of words that fall flat,Leaving only echoes.
So I stay quiet,A shadow beside your light,Loving you in the spaces between moments,In the pauses and the silences.
Maybe one day, I'll find the courage—To lay these words at your feet,To risk the fall for the chance to rise.
But until then,I'll keep loving you like this—Quietly, painfully, beautifully—A secret poem no one else can hear.
There's a certain cruelty in watching someone you care forSlip through your fingers like sand,Falling farther away with every step they take—And you stand frozen,Rooted to the spot like an old tree beaten by storms,Your branches stretched out,Reaching, hoping, but never quite touching.
Naznin, you don't see it—The way my chest tightens when you laugh at Khangari's jokes,The way my smile is a fragile shield,Cracking just beneath the surface,Fragile as glass about to shatter.
I remember the first time I realized I loved you—Not with a thunderous shout,But a soft, almost whispered ache in my chest,A quiet dawn breaking in a sky once dark and empty.
It was in the way you tucked a stray hair behind your ear,So unconsciously, so beautifully,Like you belonged to a world I was only allowed to watch.
I wanted to tell you then—To break down the walls I'd built so carefully,But fear held me prisoner.
Fear of rejection.Fear of losing the little I had.Fear of the silence that would follow.
So I kept my love locked inside,A caged bird beating its wings against invisible bars.
Sometimes, late at night, I write your name in the air—Tracing invisible letters with trembling fingers,Hoping the universe will read my secret script,And send back a sign, a whisper, a spark.
But days pass, and the silence grows louder—Echoing in the hollow spaces where my hope once lived.
Khangari…He's loud, confident, and fearless—The storm to my quiet breeze.And you laugh at him,And maybe you see something I never will.
Still, I watch.Because love isn't about possession or grand gestures,It's about simply being there—Even if you never notice.
I want you to know that if I ever say goodbye,It's not because I stopped loving you,But because sometimes, love is too heavy to carry alone.
I carry this love like a secret flame—Burning softly in the darkest nights,Guiding me, haunting me,Until the day I find the courage to speak.
Or until you find me,Somewhere between silence and confession,And see the love I've been too afraid to show.