He Can Do anytime For His Love
In a quiet village in Bangladesh, where the rivers sang at dusk and the fields blushed green after rain, lived two young men—Rafiq and Imran.
Rafiq was the schoolteacher’s son, quiet and observant. He loved poetry, especially the verses of Jibanananda Das, and often sat under the large mango tree at the edge of the village, scribbling in his notebook.
Imran was the carpenter’s apprentice—strong, sun-kissed, always smiling. He loved birds, especially the way they flew without asking permission from the world.
They had known each other since childhood but never spoken much. That changed one summer evening when Imran found Rafiq under the mango tree, notebook in hand, lost in thought.
“You always write here?” Imran asked, sitting beside him.
“Yes,” Rafiq replied, shyly. “It’s quiet.”
Imran grinned. “May I read something?”
Rafiq hesitated, then handed him a page. Imran read it silently—a poem about loneliness, about waiting for someone to see the real you.
“It’s beautiful,” he said softly. “Are you lonely, Rafiq?”
Rafiq didn’t answer right away. But he met Imran’s gaze, and in that moment, the air between them shifted.
From then on, they met often under that tree. Sometimes they spoke, sometimes they sat in silence. Over time, their bond deepened. Rafiq showed Imran his poetry; Imran taught Rafiq how to carve birds from wood.
One monsoon evening, as rain drizzled like music, Imran looked at Rafiq and whispered, “You make me feel... free.”
Rafiq reached out and took his hand. “Me too.”
They didn’t speak of labels, or fear, or what the village would say. They simply existed in each other’s presence—two souls who had found home in the other.
Years later, when the world had changed a little and they could be themselves more openly, they still returned to that mango tree. Older now, but with the same look in their eyes.
It was where they first fell in love. Quietly. Deeply.
Reviewed by Men's Love
on
July 17, 2025
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