Novel - Whispers in the Rain | Part -6 | 08-Aug- 2025

Touch of Love

Hello friends,

How are you all? I hope everyone is well. I am also well by the infinite mercy of Allah. Like every day, today I have come before you with a new post. Almost all kinds of incidents happen around us. The incidents are often instructive, painful, tragic, and inspiring. That is why today I have come with a story again. I hope you will enjoy reading my writing.

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Part- 6: "Love in the Language of Poetry"

Nila wakes up one lonely morning under the gray sky of London. Outside is fog and cold wind. Sitting by the window, she looks into the distance with a cup of tea in her hand, where there is no familiar smell of Dhaka. But she remembers only one person, Aryan. She knows that Aryan writes poetry every day. Nila still sits by the window and says to herself, maybe he is sitting in the corner of the library right now and writing... for me, for us.

Days pass, one day Nila finds an envelope in the mailbox. There is no paper letter inside. There is only a small blue notebook, where it is written: Poems for you "Aryan"

On the first page it is written,
Wherever you are, these words are like the wind that moves around you.

Nila starts reading:

Poem 1: "Imagine with my eyes closed"

I go to imagination with my eyes closed,
Drenched in the rain of your city.
I breathe you in the cool air
You are not there, yet you are very close.

Poem 2: "Time's oath"

I promise time
I will wait.
If you also give a little quiet assurance
We will start again.

Poem 3: "The day begins in your name"

I take your name at dawn,
I think of your habits at noon.
I look for your letters at night
As if you were my every day.

Neela closes her eyes. Who told her that reading poetry doesn't make her cry? She says, you touched me with these words.

Meanwhile in Dhaka… Aryan quietly takes the poems to the publisher. He names the book,

"Touch of Love: Letters Written Abroad"

He doesn't advertise, he just ties the first copy of the book in his hand. It says:

"Only for you, Neela."

They don't talk on the phone anymore. Their connection is now only poetry. Neela sometimes answers in the guise of a small poem…

Neela's poem: "I love you secretly"

When you write poems in my name,
I love you secretly.
I seek your warmth in the cold air of London
Maybe one day, we will walk side by side again.

A year passes. They don't see each other's faces, but once a month, an envelope of poetry travels from one city to another.

This is like the new language of love
"The Call of Poetry".

Thank you all for taking the time to read the post. Thank You all for Your. Love to Everyone.

[My identity:]

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