Story; The Fate of Love

Story: The Fate of Love — Said & Laboni

Said used to ride his bicycle down the dusty village path to school every day. He was a quiet boy, kind-hearted, and excellent in his studies. The only child of his parents, he grew up with care and discipline.

But everyone in the village knew—Said’s eyes were always searching for someone. That someone was Laboni.

Laboni was a primary school teacher in the village. Her gentle smile and soft demeanor made her beloved by all. She was two years older than Said, but emotionally, they were equals.

Often, on his way home, Said would run into her.
Laboni would laugh and tease, “Hey scholar, carrying all those books—won’t your shoulders break?”
Said would blush and reply, “If they do, I’m sure you’ll fix them, Miss.”

In these small exchanges, an unspoken connection blossomed between them. No love letters, no confessions—but the glances, the silences, said everything.

**

One rainy afternoon, by the pond, Said gathered his courage.
“I really like you, Laboni Apa,” he said, heart racing.
Laboni looked surprised but smiled gently.
“You’re still just a boy, Said.”
“I may be younger by age,” he replied, “but my feelings are no less real.”

That was the day their quiet love began.

**

A few months later, Said’s father decided to send him to Dhaka for higher studies. On the day of his departure, Said handed Laboni a letter.
“If you truly care for me,” he said, “keep this letter safe. I’ll come back for you.”

Laboni said nothing, only nodded and took the envelope.

**

Life in Dhaka was busy and demanding, but Said never forgot her. He studied hard, but every night before bed, he would remember Laboni’s smile and the promise he had left behind.

Two years later, with exams behind him, Said returned to the village.

His first question was about Laboni—and the answer crushed him.
Her marriage had been arranged. The date was set.

Heartbroken, he rushed to the school. Laboni was still there, teaching in her quiet way.

Their eyes met. Neither needed to speak. The pain said it all.

“You didn’t wait,” Said whispered.
Laboni wiped a tear and said,
“I loved you, Said. But love isn’t always enough. Society, family, age—these things held me back. I couldn’t escape them.”
“So love means nothing then?” he asked, voice trembling.
“No,” she replied softly, “Love is not weak. We are.”

**

After her marriage, Laboni left the village. Said returned to Dhaka, finished his degree, got a job—but never loved again.

Every night, he read the letter she gave him.
On the envelope were the words: “If love is true, time will honor it.”

**

Years passed. One day, Said was posted to a rural school as a government teacher. Coincidentally, it was the same school where Laboni once taught.

The familiar benches, the dusty blackboard—they all whispered memories of her.

Then he heard a voice behind him.
“Said?”

He turned. It was Laboni. Time had touched her face, but her eyes still held the same warmth.

“You still have the letter?” she asked.
Said nodded.
“I read it every night,” he said. “You told me time would honor love.”
“And did it?” she asked.
He smiled sadly.
“Yes. By keeping you alive in my heart.”

“I made a mistake,” she said. “I betrayed myself by letting you go.”

Said looked at her gently.
“Love