{"id":28,"date":"2026-07-28T10:05:34","date_gmt":"2026-07-28T10:05:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/?p=28"},"modified":"2026-07-28T13:36:58","modified_gmt":"2026-07-28T13:36:58","slug":"the-death-of-a-lover","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/?p=28","title":{"rendered":"The Death of a Lover"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Love doesn\u2019t always end with a goodbye.
Sometimes it dies quietly\u2026 inside us, long before we realise it<\/mark>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A Broken Love Story Told in 8 Parts<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014By A. B. M. Khorsheduzzaman<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Author\u2019s Note<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

1994<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was in Class Ten.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was when I first read a poem by Jibanananda Das\u2014”Twenty Years Later.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

After reading it, a quiet question took shape within me \u2014
Does love remain the same after twenty years?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back then, I had no answer.
There was only imagination \u2014
and an invisible waiting, slowly gathering over time.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then life moved on in its own way.
Relationships changed, feelings shifted,
and the person within me changed, little by little.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Exactly twenty years later, in 2014 \u2014
I suddenly felt
That old question was still there inside me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not just as a question \u2014
but as an unfinished feeling.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Death of a Lover\u201d<\/em><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

It is an attempt to answer that question.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And now, in 2026 \u2014
It feels as though that search has finally reached its end.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In this novel, I did not look for a romantic reunion \u2014
Instead, I tried to see
What happens to love as time passes?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I have seen \u2014
people continue to live, relationships continue to exist, responsibilities go on \u2014
but at some point, very quietly,
The \u201clover\u201d within a person begins to change.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This story is about that change.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not a loud breaking \u2014
but a silent realisation.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps \u2014
Not all love comes to an end.
Some love changes its form.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And some \u2014
fade away without making a sound.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe Death of a Lover\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is the story of that silent transformation.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, let us start \u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Death of a Lover<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 A. B. M. Khorsheduzzaman<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

***Life has passed\u2014twenty, twenty years between us \u2014
What if we meet again, after all this time?\u201d***<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 Jibanananda Das<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chapter 1<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe never really broke \u2014
She only arranged herself in such a way
that no one could hear the sound of her breaking.\u201d**<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

# *Twenty Years Later*<\/em><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The evening light feels a little different today.
The sun is slowly setting \u2014
Its last rays fall on the grey concrete of the metro station.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am standing at Farmgate station.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

At this hour,
The station feels like a moving sea of people.
People coming, going \u2014
some with tired eyes, some in a rush,
Some carry nothing but the weight of living.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The platform is already full \u2014
crowded with waiting bodies.
The chance of getting a seat is almost none.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Still, everyone waits.
To reach somewhere.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am standing here,
but it feels like I am not going anywhere.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then \u2014
a familiar face.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept looking for a moment.
Known\u2026
Yet covered in the dust of time.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I steadied myself and slowly walked towards him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 \u201cHey\u2026 you here?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He paused. Looked at me.
Surprise in his eyes.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 \u201cSumona\u2026 you?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One second.
Two seconds.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Time stood still.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 \u201cHow are you?\u201d I asked.
He smiled faintly.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 \u201cGood\u2026 you?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2014 \u201cGood\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Simple words.
But \u2014
Inside them lay twenty years of silence.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We both knew \u2014 this was not just a meeting.
This was facing time itself.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And just like that \u2014
after twenty years \u2014
I met Rahat again.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I remember clearly \u2014
just before my marriage,
Rahat\u2019s family had left our neighbourhood.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

After that\u2026
Time moved on.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marriage, responsibilities,
days and nights blending into each other.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And just last month \u2014
I celebrated my twentieth wedding anniversary.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

So the calculation cannot be wrong.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

After exactly twenty years \u2014
I am standing in front of Rahat again.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He loved me since high school \u2014
I knew it.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

In his eyes, in his behaviour,
in his sincerity \u2014
It was always there.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But he never said it. Not once.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And me?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I did not love him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was simple \u2014
one-sided love.
Where one drowns,
and the other only watches.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t dislike him \u2014
He was a good student, a good person.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As a friend \u2014 yes.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But love?
No \u2014
That feeling never grew in me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was made differently.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

More practical. Focused.
And most importantly \u2014
I believed in financial independence.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Among friends,
Love felt like a distraction to me.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

While they dreamed \u2014
I calculated.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

How to move forward,
How to reach something better, more stable.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not emotion \u2014
I believed in reality.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not love \u2014
I looked for security.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Love\u2026
That would come eventually, I thought.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was a reason behind this thinking.
A personal one.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My parents \u2014
They had married for love.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But that love
was not strong enough.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My father struggled financially.
And I saw my mother \u2014
silently giving up her wishes, one by one.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her desires, her happiness \u2014
slowly fading under the weight of life.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As time passed \u2014
Their differences grew.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Arguments, silence,
unspoken distance \u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Somewhere along the way,
Their love got lost.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe that is why \u2014
I never wanted to trap myself
inside that familiar cage of love.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The metro arrived with a loud rush.
A restless wave spread through the crowd.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

People pushed forward \u2014
And we were no different.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Through the chaos,
We somehow got inside a carriage.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was crowded.
Almost no space to breathe.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And in that crowd \u2014
We stood.
Face to face. Close. Very close.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But \u2014
no words.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Only occasional jolts
bringing us physically closer \u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yet the distance of twenty years
remained untouched.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

At Mirpur, some people got off.
The crowd eased slightly.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Rahat took the chance \u2014
and managed to get me a seat.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat down.
He stood beside me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

No excess effort,
no unnecessary closeness \u2014
Just a quiet care.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We learned in bits \u2014
He too was heading towards Uttara.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Same path \u2014
different lives.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

His car was parked near North Station.
A white Hyundai Creta.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He said softly \u2014
\u201cWhere are you going? I can drop you.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I didn\u2019t refuse.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat beside him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The metro line ran above us \u2014
pillars standing silently
in the middle of the city\u2019s noise.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside the car \u2014
a calm, controlled space.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at him \u2014
He was driving quietly.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And suddenly,
A memory returned.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Back in college \u2014
I used to get marriage proposals often.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One of them \u2014
An aeronautical engineer
based in the USA. And his family lives in Dhaka.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I had no objection.
I was ready.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One day, I told my mother \u2014
\u201cAfter my marriage,
When we live in Dhaka,
Rahat will visit us with his family.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He was sitting right there.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe I said it
to tease him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My mother laughed \u2014
\u201cOf course he will.
And one day, he\u2019ll have a car too.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That day \u2014
I said it casually.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Without belief.
Without depth.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just a hint of arrogance.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Because \u2014
I knew I would marry someone else.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that truth
was not easy for him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw it in his face.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But today?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I am sitting beside him.
In his car.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Perhaps \u2014
This is what silent revenge of fate feels like.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Does he remember that day?
Should I feel embarrassed?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Or has time erased even that?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I found no answer.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked outside.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The city moved endlessly.
Traffic, noise \u2014
everything alive.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But inside \u2014
I felt distant.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He spoke \u2014
bringing me back.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

-\u201cShopping from Bashundhara City?
For your son?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was surprised.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow did you guess?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiled.
\u201cYoung boys prefer shopping there.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then added \u2014
\u201cWhere is he now? USA? Germany?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stared.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow do you know about Arnab?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t. Just guessed.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stayed silent.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then he explained \u2014
\u201cNaval architecture students usually go there.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I nodded slowly.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes\u2026 He\u2019s in Germany.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But my mind was elsewhere.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

How could he still
connect the scattered details of my life
So accurately?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I changed the topic.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat do you do now?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiled.
\u201cI\u2019m a country head of a China-based company.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cImpressive.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDenim fabrics. Factory in Guangzhou.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

His voice was steady. Confident.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something about it \u2014
created a quiet irritation inside me.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe envy.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He dropped me in front of my house.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCome upstairs?\u201d I asked.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He smiled.
\u201cNot today.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Simple words.
But with distance.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I asked for his number.
Saved it.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

He left.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The car moved away.
slowly disappearing.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stood there.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

As if something
was left behind.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or something
was lost.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The city continued.
Only I stood still.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later, I realised \u2014
I didn\u2019t even ask about his family.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

We talked \u2014
Yet, said nothing.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The most familiar person \u2014
now a stranger.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Evening settled.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The lights came on.
The city breathed again.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I closed my eyes.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And remembered \u2014<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat if we meet again after twenty years?\u201d<\/em><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Yes \u2014
We did meet.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But \u2014
Was that the same person?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Or \u2014
Were we just standing silently
beside the shadows of our past<\/em><\/strong>?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe \u2014
some stories
Never begin.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so \u2014
We never became
part of each other\u2019s story.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026\u2026..<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To be continued\u2026<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Chapter 2<\/strong>
The Beginning of Discomfort<\/em>
is coming soon\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n

\u201cLove is silent, but it speaks the loudest.\u201d
\u2014 Khorsed Zaman<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Do you agree with me?
I\u2019d love to hear your opinion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"\/<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

📌 Chapter Review Series<\/em><\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Dear Readers,<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

From now on, after finishing each chapter of the novel, I will share a short review and reflection on it from a reader\u2019s perspective.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This is not another part of the story itself.
It is a closer look at the writing \u2014 the emotions, structure, characters, and the thoughts behind the chapter.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

My daughter Tahiya, who is always the first reader of my work, also shared her honest opinions and suggestions. I have also listened to different outside perspectives, including detailed literary observations from my online critic professor.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some agreed with the writing, some questioned parts of it, and some explored deeper meanings I had not even noticed myself.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I felt these discussions were worth sharing.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

This series is for readers, writers, and anyone interested in the journey of storytelling and creative writing. You are warmly welcome to share your own opinions as well \u2014 whether you agree with the review or see the chapter differently.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Writing becomes more meaningful when readers join the conversation.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes we do not truly examine our own writing until we step back and look at it from a distance.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And perhaps that is where real learning begins.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Love doesn\u2019t always end with a goodbye.Sometimes it dies quietly\u2026 inside us, long before we realise it. A Broken Love Story Told in 8 Parts \u2014By A. B. M. Khorsheduzzaman Author\u2019s Note 1994 I was in Class Ten. That was when I first read a poem by Jibanananda Das\u2014”Twenty Years Later.\u201d After reading it, a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":67,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-28","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/28","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=28"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/28\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":29,"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/28\/revisions\/29"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/67"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=28"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=28"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepauseinlife.stqf.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=28"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}