Jay, Akash, and I walked to college that morning. I had a bike, but I'd called them earlier to say, "Let's walk today." So, Akash and Jay didn't bring theirs either.
My country, Bangladesh—where every morning feels like the start of a new love story. If you've ever stood by a river here at dawn, you'll see mist dancing over the water, the air rich with the scent of earth, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of a flute—calling you into an unfamiliar story.
Here, rice fields don't just yield harvests—they paint the land in gold. At Cox's Bazar, the blue waves stretch so far that you might think the world's edge lies there.
The people of Bangladesh are remarkable—you could be a stranger, yet they'll welcome you with a smile as warm as if they've known you forever. Every tea stall, every village path, every sunset leaves behind something you won't find on any map—only in your heart. Traveling through Bangladesh isn't just about seeing places—it's about carrying a piece of love with you.
We're a small country, not particularly famous abroad. Yet, in population, we surpass quite a few nations. The internet says 200 million, but in truth, we're closer to 300–400 million. Bangladesh has 64 districts.
My city is Sylhet—famous for its natural beauty and tea gardens. Hills, waterfalls, and shrines draw countless visitors. But there are also forests here, mysterious and untamed. Few people ever enter them. Some say that at midnight, you can hear someone screaming from deep within. Whether it's rumor or truth, I don't know—but many swear it's real. Anyway, enough of that.
In class, the lecturer was speaking, but I was on the verge of dozing off. My mind wouldn't focus on the lesson. Just as my eyes were about to close—
"Neel! Stand up and tell me what I just said."
Oh, great. Now what? I glanced at Jay and Akash, but they stayed silent. I just stood there quietly.
"So, everything I've been saying has been a waste? You're always skipping out on your studies, aren't you?"
"Sir, it won't happen again. This is my last chance."
"You've had enough chances. As punishment, leave the class right now. Come back for the next one."
Following my punishment, I sat under the big tree in the college yard. In my mind, I was already planning—after college, the three of us would head to Moonveil Forest. It's ten hours away, a 200-year-old jungle that's been recently restored by the government. Many people have been visiting to see it, and I was eager to witness it myself.
After class, we made our picnic plans and I went home. I told them what things to bring for our two-day trip.
At home, I told my mother about the picnic. She didn't object—being the only child has its perks. My father was at work, so I called him, and he agreed too.
"Come back soon," my mother said. "But where exactly are you going?
"To Jaflong," I replied. "We'll book a hotel there. Just two days with friends, don't worry.
(Jaflong: a breathtaking corner of nature in Sylhet, where green hills ripple across the horizon, colorful rivers wind through the land, and tea gardens stretch endlessly. The Piyain River flows between beds of stone, its bluish water like the sky's reflection. Jaflong isn't just beauty—it's a place where time seems to stop, wrapped in the sounds of mountains and rivers.)
In truth, we were going to Moonveil Forest. But I couldn't tell anyone at home—otherwise, they'd never let me go, especially for two days. Sometimes, a little lie is necessary.
"Alright, go freshen up and get ready," my mother said.
"Okay."
I got ready, my mind already fixed on the road to Moonveil Forest.
To be continued…