The color of the sun-set gives a 'mon kharap kora' ( lamentable) feel. As if there will never be a tomorrow. My mobile blinks. Ah! here comes the Casanova's text. I read and take a long puff of the smoke stick. I still don't clearly remember, when/how this careless lover-boy became a part of my life. He talks about heart-aches, his pent-up 'obhimaan' (anger - though not the right term), the thoughts that scare him, the songs that make his eyes moist. At times I wonder, what makes me to connect to this 'probashi' who never stays at one place anymore.
It's evening now. The nearby bench in no time will be filled with these free young 'lovers', who with their trembling shy hands shall discover each others' bodies followed by a sudden kiss. The naive girl shall no longer be the same anymore. Nor be the boy who shall taste the first saliva of passion. Few texts exchanged and I can see the Casanova as a young adolescent who still smells of his first afternoon of turn on. I smile as I light my last smoke of the evening.
While returning home, I read his another text. " Eei amay chinecho?" ( Don't you know me). I sigh and look at the drizzling sky . I feel like asking him, " Chinbo bollei ki chena jay?" ( Can we really know a person so easily). Another sigh and there I go, to get an auto.