Jani Prithibi Amake Chirokal Bhalobasbe, Part–2
The morning sun slowly slipped through the thin curtains of Arin's small room, touching his tired face with a gentle warmth. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, as if holding on to a dream that felt more real than his waking life. Yesterday had changed something inside him—something he couldn't fully explain, but could deeply feel.
After the strange encounter near the old banyan tree, Arin's heart was no longer filled with the same emptiness. That mysterious girl, whose eyes held a quiet ocean of understanding, had said something that echoed in his mind again and again—
"Prithibi tomake bhalobashe… sudhu tumi bujhona."
(The world loves you… you just don't realize it.)
Arin slowly got up, washed his face, and stepped outside. The air felt different today. The same dusty road, the same small houses, the same people—but everything seemed softer, kinder.
As he walked toward the tea stall, the old man who owned it smiled at him.
"Baba, eto din pore hashi dekhchi tomar mukhe," he said warmly.
Arin paused. He had never noticed how this man always greeted him, even on days when Arin ignored him. Today, he smiled back. It felt small, but it felt real.
He took a cup of tea and sat quietly. His mind wandered back to the banyan tree. Who was that girl? Why did she feel so familiar? And why did her words feel like truth rather than comfort?
Without realizing, his feet started moving again—back to that same place.
The banyan tree stood still, as ancient and silent as ever. Its roots hung like stories waiting to be told. Arin looked around, his heart beating a little faster.
"Tumake khujte esechi," he whispered under his breath.
"Amake?" a soft voice replied.
Arin turned quickly. She was there.
Standing just a few steps away, wearing the same simple white dress, her hair moving gently with the wind. Her presence didn't surprise him this time—it felt expected.
"Ke tumi?" Arin asked quietly.
The girl smiled, but didn't answer directly.
"Ami tomar proshner uttor noi… ami tomar uttor khujte help korte esechi."
Arin frowned slightly. "Ami bujhte parchi na."
She walked closer and pointed toward the open sky.
"Oi akash ta dekho. Oi megh, oi roddur… ora ki kokhono tomake jiggesh kore je tumi joggo kina?"
Arin shook his head.
"Tabu ora tomake chhaya dey, alo dey. Prithibi o tai kore. Tumi sudhu nijeke eto chhoto kore dekho je sheta bujhte paro na."
Her words felt like a mirror—one that showed him not who he thought he was, but who he could be.
Arin sat down under the tree. "Ami chesta korechi… kintu shob shomoy harie jai. Manush amake bujhena."
The girl sat beside him. "Tumi nijeke bujhcho?"
That question hit deeper than anything else.
Arin stayed silent.
She continued, "Jokhon tumi nijeke bhalobashte shikhbe, tokhon dekhbe prithibi tomar biruddhe noi. Shey sudhu opekkha korche tumi take dekhar jonno."
A sudden breeze passed through, and the leaves rustled softly, as if agreeing with her.
Days started passing, but something had changed in Arin's life. Every day, he would visit the banyan tree. Sometimes the girl would be there, sometimes not—but her presence was always felt.
Arin began noticing things he had ignored before—the laughter of children playing, the kindness in small gestures, the beauty of simple moments.
He started writing again—poems, thoughts, feelings he had buried for so long. Each word felt like a step closer to himself.
One evening, as the sky turned orange and purple, he found the girl again.
"Aaj ami ekta kotha bujhte perechi," Arin said, his voice calm but filled with emotion.
She looked at him with soft curiosity. "Ki bujhle?"
"Je prithibi amake bhalobashe kina sheta proshno na… proshno holo ami ki shei bhalobasha grohon korte pari kina."
The girl smiled—this time, a little more brightly.
"Ebar tumi bujhte shuru korecho."
Arin hesitated for a moment before asking, "Tumi ke? Tumi ki shotti?"
The girl stood up slowly. The fading sunlight wrapped around her like a quiet glow.
"Ami shotti, jodi tumi amake bishash koro. Aar jodi na koro… tahole ami sudhu tomar moner ekta protichhobi."
Arin stood up as well, confused yet calm. "Tahole tumi chole jabe?"
She looked at him one last time.
"Jokhon tumi nijeke purota khuje pabe, tokhon amar dorkar porbe na."
A gentle wind passed again, and in that moment—she was gone.
Arin stood there alone, but for the first time, he didn't feel lonely.
He looked around—the tree, the sky, the earth beneath his feet. Everything felt alive, connected, and somehow… loving.
He closed his eyes and whispered,
"Jani… prithibi amake chirokal bhalobasbe."
And this time, he truly believed it.
Author Thought (Parikshit Halder)
Sometimes, the love we seek outside already exists within us and around us. We just fail to notice it. When we learn to accept ourselves, the world feels warmer, kinder, and more meaningful than ever before.