The Sky Between Us

On the first day of spring, when the cherry blossoms had just begun to paint the town in shades of pink and white, Ayaan saw her. She was standing by the old library steps, holding a worn-out notebook, the kind that looked like it carried secrets too heavy for anyone else to know. Her name, he would later learn, was Elara—a name as rare as the way she smiled, like sunlight filtering through rain.

Ayaan had never believed in moments that changed lives, but when her eyes met his, something shifted. It wasn’t the kind of lightning strike love that stories exaggerated, but a quiet pull, like gravity, certain and impossible to ignore.

They became friends first, walking home together after school, sharing music through tangled earbuds, and talking about things too big for their age—dreams of leaving the small town, the fear of becoming ordinary, the ache of wanting to be understood. Elara wrote poems in her notebook, words that were fragile yet sharp enough to cut into the silence of their evenings. Ayaan, who loved to sketch, often drew the world as he saw it—messy, raw, unfinished—but whenever Elara was around, his drawings carried light he hadn’t known he was capable of capturing.

Slowly, the line between friendship and something deeper began to blur. He found himself memorizing the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous, the way her laugh always started small before spilling out like a song. She noticed the way his voice softened when he spoke only to her, the way his hands shook slightly whenever he passed her his sketches.

It wasn’t a confession carved out in bold declarations. Instead, their love grew like vines, winding between their words, their silences, their laughter, until one evening beneath the blooming cherry trees, Elara whispered, “Do you ever feel like we’re just two halves waiting to be whole?”

Ayaan didn’t answer with words. He simply took her hand, the kind of touch that said everything language couldn’t. And in that moment, with petals drifting around them like falling stars, they understood—they belonged to each other, even in their fragility.

But love, especially young love, isn’t without storms. Elara’s family was moving away at the end of summer, her father’s job pulling her to a city far beyond their town. The news hit them like a winter wind, sharp and merciless. They tried to make the most of the days left—midnight bike rides, long talks on rooftops, promises whispered into the wind as if the night itself could keep them safe.

On her last evening in town, they returned to the library steps where it all began. She handed him her notebook, pages filled with poems she never showed anyone else. “So you don’t forget me,” she said, her voice trembling.

Ayaan pressed his sketchbook into her hands, every page filled with her—her smile, her eyes, the way she seemed to carry the world in her heart. “As if I ever could,” he whispered.

The train took her away the next morning, the distance stretching between them like an endless sky. Yet neither of them felt it was the end. Their love wasn’t bound by place or time—it lived in ink and paper, in memory and promise, in every sunset they both looked at from different corners of the world.

Years later, when they would meet again under the cherry blossoms, grown but still carrying the same quiet pull between them, they would realize the truth that had always lingered: love isn’t about holding on tightly, but about growing together, even when apart.

And so, their story lived on—not as a fleeting teenage romance, but as a love that started in youth and bloomed into forever, as timeless and breathtaking as the sky between them.

Whispers of a Fading Sunset

The world always seemed brighter when Ayaan saw her. The way her hair caught the sunlight when she laughed, the way her eyes carried both innocence and secrets — it was enough to make him believe that even ordinary streets could feel like poetry. She was Aria, the girl who sketched dreams in her notebooks and believed that love could survive the weight of silence.

They met when they were sixteen, at a crowded school corridor where papers scattered across the floor and hands touched for the very first time while picking them up. It was the smallest beginning, but from that day on, every moment seemed to carry an invisible thread pulling them closer. They became each other’s safe place, sneaking away from classes to sit beneath the old banyan tree at the edge of the field. There, they spoke about futures that felt so certain—he wanted to travel across oceans, she wanted to paint skies no one else had seen. And always, they swore that no matter where life led them, they would never let go.

But time is cruel in ways young hearts never see coming. Ayaan’s family prepared to leave for another city, his father’s job demanding a transfer. The news arrived on a late evening, carried in the weary voice of his mother. Ayaan’s world cracked silently, but he didn’t tell Aria right away. He didn’t know how. For a week, he watched her draw sunsets in her sketchbook, the kind she always said reminded her of hope. He wanted to tell her that she was his only hope.

When he finally gathered the courage, it was under the same banyan tree where their story had unfolded. Aria listened quietly, her fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of her notebook. Her smile was soft, but her eyes carried storms. “Maybe love is about learning to carry each other, even from far away,” she whispered. Ayaan tried to believe her, but inside he felt something slipping, like sand escaping through fingers.

The day of his departure was soaked in the golden hues of sunset. At the train station, Aria stood in the crowd, her sketchbook pressed to her chest. She gave it to him before he left, filled with drawings of all the places they had dreamed of seeing together. Her last words to him were not a promise, but a plea: “Don’t let my colors fade.”

Months passed. Distance turned into silence, silence into empty nights. Messages grew fewer, calls grew shorter, and soon, only memories filled the spaces where their voices used to live. Ayaan would often open her sketchbook, tracing the lines of her drawings as if his touch could keep them alive. Aria, on the other hand, painted sunsets that grew darker each day, her colors slowly bleeding into shadows.

Years later, when Ayaan returned to the city, he went back to the banyan tree. The trunk carried their carved initials, weathered but still standing. He searched for her, but she was gone — her family had moved away without a trace. The only thing left of her was a mural on a wall near the school: a vast sky painted with shades of crimson and gold, with small words hidden in the corner.

It said, “Some loves are sunsets — beautiful, unforgettable, but destined to fade.”

And beneath those words, a small signature: Aria.

Ayaan stood there for hours, staring at the sky she had painted. Tears blurred his vision, but in his chest, her laughter still echoed, her warmth still lived. He realized then that some love stories never truly end — they linger in unfinished drawings, in fading sunsets, and in hearts that never stop whispering the names they once called home.

Whispers Beneath the Redwoods

Autumn mist coiled through the ancient trunks of Northern California’s redwood forest, soft and silver, like breath held too long. The canopy soared overhead, blotting out all but slivers of gray sky. Down among the roots, the earth was soft, damp, and alive with secrets. It was here, on the edge of Fern Hollow, where June first saw him.

She hadn’t meant to come to the forest. Her road trip was meant to be coastal—sun-drenched highways, boardwalks, and golden beaches. But a wrong turn near Mendocino and a flickering check engine light had pulled her inland, toward a sleepy logging town carved into the trees. “Stay the night,” the mechanic said. “Car’ll be ready by morning.”

So she stayed.

The inn was called The Hollow Hearth, warm with cedar walls and quilts hand-stitched by forgotten hands. There was a guest book in the lobby with names faded into the page, none newer than a year old. June liked that. She liked silence.

She walked the woods at dusk to clear her head, to outrun the ache in her heart left by a fiancé who hadn’t understood her hunger for solitude, her love for things most people called lonely. She carried a camera, but took no photos. The forest didn’t want to be captured. It wanted to be felt.

She found the trail by accident—hidden behind a tangle of ferns, leading deeper into a part of the forest the locals never mentioned. She followed it. She always followed things she wasn’t supposed to.

And there he was.

He stood at the edge of a clearing, tall, still, almost part of the woods themselves. A man—or something like one. His coat looked hand-stitched from deer hide, his eyes impossibly green, his hair long and tangled like moss. He looked at her not like a stranger, but like someone waking from a dream where she had always been.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said. His voice was low, barely louder than the wind.

“I never am,” she replied.

He smiled.

His name was Silas, and he told her strange things. That the forest had rules. That once you stepped off the path, you weren’t the same again. That some places didn’t forget who entered them. That the Hollow was alive.

She thought he was mad. But she kept returning.

Each night, she walked deeper with him. He showed her ancient stones covered in lichen-script, whispered names of birds no one had spoken in centuries, and touched trees that trembled when he passed. He told her the forest had once been a sanctuary for old things—forgotten gods, wandering spirits, and dreamers too wild for the world.

And slowly, impossibly, she fell in love.

It wasn’t the kind of love she’d known before. It wasn’t flowers or promises. It was wild, wordless, and rooted. When she touched his skin, she felt the heartbeat of the forest beneath her feet. When he kissed her, the wind stopped to listen.

But love has rules, and forests have their price.

She began to change. Her reflection blurred in mirrors. Her voice echoed when she spoke. Dreams bled into waking. She asked Silas what was happening. He looked away.

“You’re staying too long.”

“Then come with me,” she said. “Leave the woods.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m part of it. I was made here. I’m what’s left behind when stories fade.”

June ran.

Back to the inn. Back to her car. It started now, without protest. She could leave. She should leave.

But the forest was in her blood. And the forest does not forget.

That night, she dreamed of Silas standing beneath the redwoods, waiting. In the dream, she saw what he really was—neither ghost nor man, but memory made flesh. A guardian of stories buried in roots and leaves. He was everything lost in time.

She woke with tears drying on her cheeks.

She wrote a letter to no one. Then she went back.

No one in the town saw her again. Some say she moved on. Others say the woods took her. A few whisper that sometimes, when the fog rolls in just right, you can see two shadows walking among the trees. One wild, one kind.

And if you listen closely, you’ll hear laughter like leaves rustling and footsteps that never quite touch the ground.

Love, after all, is the oldest kind of magic.

And some stories—if they're true enough—never end.

তোমার চোখে দিগন্তের স্বপ্ন

গ্রীষ্মের সেই বিকেলটা ছিল একেবারেই ভিন্ন। বাতাসে লবণাক্ত গন্ধ, দূরে সমুদ্রের গর্জন আর আকাশজোড়া সোনালি আলো যেন আগাম ইঙ্গিত দিচ্ছিল যে কিছু অলৌকিক ঘটতে চলেছে। ঠিক তখনই আরিয়ান আর মীরা প্রথম একে অপরকে দেখল। দু’জনেই ছিল তরুণ, স্বপ্নে ভরা, আর সীমাবদ্ধ জীবন থেকে অনেক দূরে ছুটে যাওয়ার আকাঙ্ক্ষায় পাগল।

আরিয়ান ছিল অস্থির স্বভাবের ছেলে। পাহাড়-নদী, অচেনা পথ, অজানা শহর—সবকিছুই তাকে ডাকত। সে মনে করত জীবন মানেই খুঁজে চলা, থেমে না থাকা। অন্যদিকে মীরা ছিল চুপচাপ, স্বপ্নবাজ এক মেয়ে। সে আঁকতে ভালোবাসত, প্রতিটি সূর্যাস্তকে নিজের ক্যানভাসে ধরে রাখতে চাইত। কিন্তু মনের গভীরে তারও ইচ্ছে ছিল, শুধু রঙে নয়, জীবনের বাস্তব মুহূর্তগুলোতেও পৃথিবীর সৌন্দর্য ছুঁয়ে দেখার।

তাদের দেখা হয় সমুদ্রের ধারে এক স্থানীয় উৎসবে। চারদিকে রঙিন আলো, মানুষের কোলাহল, আর ছোট ছোট কাগজের ফানুস ভেসে উঠছিল আকাশে। সেখানেই হঠাৎ কথা হয় তাদের। আরিয়ান মীরাকে জিজ্ঞেস করেছিল, “তুমি কি মনে করো দিগন্তের ওপারে সত্যিই নতুন কোনো পৃথিবী আছে?” মীরা প্রথমে অবাক হলেও হেসে বলেছিল, “হয়তো আছে, তবে হয়তো সেটা আমাদের জন্য অপেক্ষা করছে।” এভাবেই শুরু হয়েছিল এক যাত্রার গল্প—দুই তরুণ হৃদয়ের সাহসী অঙ্গীকার।

পরের দিনগুলোতে তারা প্রায় প্রতিদিনই দেখা করত। কথা হতো ভবিষ্যৎ নিয়ে, ভ্রমণ নিয়ে, ভালোবাসা নিয়ে। একদিন তারা হঠাৎ সিদ্ধান্ত নিল—সবকিছু পিছনে ফেলে তারা বেরিয়ে পড়বে। কোনো নির্দিষ্ট গন্তব্য নেই, শুধু পথ আর পথের ভেতরে লুকানো গল্প।

তাদের যাত্রা শুরু হয়েছিল ভাঙাচোরা ট্রেনে চেপে, যেখানে জানালার ধারে বসে তারা সবুজ মাঠ আর ছোট ছোট নদীকে দেখেছিল একেবারে নতুন চোখে। পথে পথে অচেনা মানুষের হাসি, গ্রামীণ খাবারের স্বাদ, পাহাড়ি ঝর্ণার ঠান্ডা জল—সবই হয়ে উঠেছিল তাদের ভালোবাসার সাক্ষী। অনেক কষ্টও ছিল। কখনো রাত্রি কাটাতে হয়েছে খোলা আকাশের নিচে, কখনো ক্ষুধা মেটাতে হয়েছে শুধু শুকনো রুটি খেয়ে। তবুও প্রতিটি কষ্টই তাদের একে অপরের আরও কাছাকাছি এনেছিল।

একদিন তারা শুনল এক কিংবদন্তির কথা—“ফিসফিসে পাহাড়ের”। বলা হয়, যে প্রেমিক-প্রেমিকা একসাথে সেই পাহাড়ের চূড়ায় পৌঁছতে পারবে, তারা বাতাসের ফিসফিসে তাদের ভবিষ্যৎ শুনতে পাবে। এই গল্প তাদের মনে আগুন ধরাল। তারা যাত্রা শুরু করল পাহাড়ের দিকে।

চড়াইটা ছিল ভয়ঙ্কর কঠিন। কাঁটা, পাথর, আর ঠান্ডা বাতাস তাদের প্রতিটি পদক্ষেপকে ভারী করে তুলছিল। কিন্তু মীরা যখন ক্লান্ত হয়ে পড়ছিল, আরিয়ান তার হাত ধরে বলেছিল, “আমরা পারব, শুধু আমার দিকে তাকিয়ে থেকো।” আবার যখন আরিয়ানের নিঃশ্বাস ভারী হয়ে উঠছিল, মীরা ফিসফিস করে বলেছিল, “তুমি একা নও, আমি আছি।” তাদের ভালোবাসা সেই চড়াইপথেই আরও দৃঢ় হয়ে উঠল।

শেষমেশ তারা পৌঁছল চূড়ায়। সামনে ছিল মেঘে ঢাকা অসীম দিগন্ত, আর সূর্যাস্তের আলো যেন স্বর্গ নামিয়ে এনেছিল পৃথিবীতে। হঠাৎ বাতাস বয়ে গেল, আর মীরার মনে হলো সে একটি ফিসফিস শুনতে পাচ্ছে—“যে ভালোবাসা দিগন্ত ছুঁতে চায়, তা কখনো নিভে না।” চোখে জল চলে এলো তার। আরিয়ানও শুনেছিল সেই আওয়াজ। সে মীরার চোখের দিকে তাকিয়ে ধীরে বলল, “মীরা, আমি ভেবেছিলাম আমি পৃথিবী খুঁজছি। কিন্তু আসলে আমি তোমাকেই খুঁজছিলাম।”

মীরা কেঁদে হেসে বলল, “আমি ভেবেছিলাম আমি রঙ খুঁজছি। কিন্তু সব রঙ তো তোমার ভেতরেই আছে।” তারপর তারা একে অপরকে চুম্বন করল, আর সেই মুহূর্তটা পাহাড়, বাতাস, আর আকাশকে সাক্ষী করে অমর হয়ে গেল।

এরপরও তারা যাত্রা চালিয়ে গেল। তারা মরুভূমিতে নেচেছিল, সমুদ্রের ঢেউয়ের সাথে লড়াই করেছিল, অচেনা শহরে ছাদে দাঁড়িয়ে হাজারো আলো দেখেছিল। ভালোবাসা মানে শুধু রোমাঞ্চ নয়, এটা তারা শিখেছিল কষ্টের মুহূর্তে। যখন আরিয়ান অসুস্থ হয়ে পড়েছিল এক দূর শহরে, মীরা সারারাত তার পাশে বসেছিল। আরিয়ান চোখ খুলে যখন বলেছিল, “তুমি না থাকলে আমি পারতাম না,” তখন মীরা বুঝেছিল সত্যিকারের ভালোবাসা মানেই একসাথে বেঁচে থাকার সাহস।

এক সন্ধ্যায়, সমুদ্রতীরের বাতিঘরের চূড়ায় দাঁড়িয়ে আরিয়ান মীরার হাতে একটি ছোট আংটি দিল। তার কণ্ঠ কেঁপে উঠছিল, “আমরা দিগন্ত পেরিয়েছি, পাহাড় জয় করেছি, ঝড় সামলেছি। কিন্তু সবচেয়ে বড় অভিযান এখনো বাকি। মীরা, তুমি কি সারাজীবন আমার সাথে থাকবে?”

মীরার চোখ ভিজে উঠল। সে কাঁপা কণ্ঠে বলল, “হ্যাঁ, হাজারবার হ্যাঁ।” তাদের আলিঙ্গনে তখন সমুদ্রের ঢেউ আর তারাভরা আকাশও যেন গাইতে শুরু করেছিল।

তাদের ভালোবাসার গল্প শেষ হয়নি, আর হয়ও না। পৃথিবীর পথে পথে যে ভ্রমণকারীরা তাদের সঙ্গে দেখা করেছিল, তারা প্রায়ই গল্প করত—দুই তরুণ হৃদয়ের কথা, যারা সীমাহীন দিগন্তে পা রেখেছিল এবং খুঁজে পেয়েছিল এমন এক ভালোবাসা, যা সময়কেও হার মানায়।

কারণ আসল ভালোবাসা শুধু গন্তব্যে নয়, প্রতিটি পদক্ষেপে, প্রতিটি সাহসে, প্রতিটি প্রতিশ্রুতিতে। আর আরিয়ান আর মীরার গল্প চিরকাল বেঁচে থাকবে আকাশের তারাদের মতো, যারা প্রতিটি তরুণ হৃদয়কে ফিসফিস করে বলবে—“দিগন্তের ওপারে যেও, ভালোবাসা তোমার পথ দেখাবে।”

Eternal Horizon of Our Hearts

The wind swept softly across the cliffs overlooking the sea, carrying with it the scent of salt and wildflowers. A golden sun dipped low into the horizon, painting the world in hues of amber and rose. It was here, in this meeting of sky and water, where destiny decided to weave the story of two souls—Aiden and Lyra—young, unafraid, and ready to chase something greater than themselves.

Aiden had always been restless, a boy who found comfort not in walls but in skies. He loved maps, the kind drawn by explorers whose ink carried centuries of daring. Lyra, on the other hand, was the artist of her own small world, painting sunsets in a quiet coastal town, dreaming of love that would lift her beyond the borders of the ordinary. When their paths crossed on a summer evening festival, it felt less like chance and more like something the stars had long plotted.

They spoke first over lantern light, voices tentative yet charged with an unspoken pull. Aiden confessed he was leaving the town soon, setting out with nothing but a backpack, a compass, and a promise to discover places where roads dissolve into rivers and dreams have no end. Lyra laughed, her eyes sparkling like fireflies, and told him she wanted to see the world too—not just through brushstrokes, but through living it. In that shared longing, they found a promise neither needed to say aloud: they would walk into the horizon together.

Their journey began with footsteps on unfamiliar soil. They rode rickety trains that passed through green fields, where children waved from small windows of crumbling houses. They hiked forest trails where sunlight pierced through tall trees, scattering golden mosaics on the ground. They shared cheap meals under starry skies, laughing when rain drenched them and drying their clothes by borrowed fires. The adventure was not always easy, but every hardship became a memory woven with love.

One night, in a mountain village, they were told of an ancient path leading to the "Whispering Falls," a hidden waterfall said to reveal the truth of a heart’s desire. Locals said that only those who truly loved could hear the falls speak. With curiosity burning brighter than fear, Aiden and Lyra set out before dawn. The climb was steep, the air thin, but their laughter echoed off cliffs as if the world itself was cheering them on.

As they reached the final rise, the sight took their breath away. Water tumbled from the cliffs above, shimmering like silver threads under the sun. The roar was fierce, yet within it, there was music—gentle, ancient, eternal. Lyra closed her eyes, and she swore she heard a whisper, not in her ears but deep within her soul: Love that dares the unknown will never fade.

Aiden, too, felt it. He turned to her, his chest rising and falling with more than just exhaustion. “Lyra,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “I thought I was chasing the world, but all this time, I’ve been chasing you.”

She smiled through tears, stepping closer until their foreheads touched. “And I thought I was searching for beauty,” she replied softly, “but I’ve found it in your heart.”

Their lips met then, a kiss not of fleeting desire but of something vast, like rivers finding the sea. The world seemed to pause—the wind held its breath, the waterfall softened, the earth itself leaned closer—as two souls bound themselves under the witness of ancient waters.

Their love grew bolder with every horizon they conquered. They crossed deserts where the nights shimmered with constellations, each star like a vow written in light. They sailed across turquoise seas on worn boats, their laughter mingling with the cries of gulls. They stood hand in hand at city rooftops, watching millions of lights flicker like earthly galaxies. Every step was both an adventure and a love letter, written not in ink but in the footprints of their shared journey.

But like all great stories, theirs too faced storms. In a faraway town, Aiden fell ill, his body weakened by the endless travel. Lyra stayed by his side, sleepless nights spent holding his hand, whispering to him the stories they had lived and the ones they had yet to chase. When he opened his eyes one dawn, fragile but alive, she realized that adventure was not only in wild landscapes but also in the fierce devotion of staying.

Their bond was tested, but instead of breaking, it became unshakable. They learned that love is not only in sunsets and waterfalls but also in silence, in patience, in the courage to endure. Together, they recovered, stronger than before, for they knew that no distance, no trial, could eclipse what had taken root between them.

Years passed, but their hearts never grew weary of seeking. One evening, standing on another cliff overlooking another vast horizon, Aiden pulled from his pocket a small, weathered compass—the same one he had carried since the beginning. He placed it in Lyra’s palm, his voice steady yet filled with emotion. “This compass has always pointed me forward,” he said. “But now I know… it’s always been leading me to you. Marry me, Lyra, and let’s make the world our home forever.”

Her eyes glistened as she nodded, her answer carried not just in words but in the way she threw her arms around him, her laughter mingling with the cries of the sea below. They kissed once more, sealing not just a promise but an eternity.

And so, Aiden and Lyra’s story became a legend whispered among travelers who crossed paths with them—a story of two young souls who dared to chase horizons and found, in each other, the greatest adventure of all. Their love became like the tides: timeless, restless, always moving, yet always returning to the same shore.

For in the end, the best stories are not written in books or carved in stone. They are lived in moments—moments when love becomes the courage to step into the unknown, hand in hand, and to never let go. And in that truth, Aiden and Lyra’s love shone brighter than the sun setting into the sea, eternal as the horizon itself.

Sunny the Squirrel and the Mystery of the Lost Acorns

In the heart of Whispering Woods, where the trees swayed like dancers in the breeze, lived a curious little squirrel named Sunny. Sunny wasn’t like the other squirrels who spent all day gathering acorns and storing them for winter. Sunny loved asking questions. Why do leaves change color? How do birds know where to fly? And most importantly, what made the forest so alive with buzzing bees, chirping birds, and croaking frogs?

One bright morning, Sunny woke up to find something unusual. “Oh no!” she squeaked, her bushy tail flicking nervously. “All my acorns are gone!”

Sunny’s acorn stash had vanished, and a chill ran down her tiny squirrel spine. But instead of panicking, Sunny decided to turn this disaster into a learning adventure. She put on her little red backpack, grabbed her magnifying glass, and set out to solve the Mystery of the Lost Acorns.

Her first stop was Benny the Bluebird’s nest. Benny was wise and loved sharing facts about the forest.

“Good morning, Benny! Have you seen any squirrels sneaking around my acorns?” Sunny asked.

Benny tilted his head and chirped, “Hmm, not squirrels, Sunny. But I did notice some tracks near the oak tree by the river. They looked… unusual.”

Sunny’s eyes sparkled. “Tracks! I’ll check them out!” She scurried off, following the tiny footprints etched into the soft earth. Along the way, she met Lulu the Ladybug, who loved counting and numbers.

“Lulu! Can you help me figure out how many tracks there are?” Sunny asked.

Lulu crawled along the trail, counting with her tiny antennae. “One, two, three… seventeen! Seventeen little tracks, Sunny!”

Sunny nodded, impressed. “That’s perfect, Lulu! Numbers are important in solving mysteries.”

Following the trail deeper into the forest, Sunny noticed something shimmering under a pile of leaves. It was sticky and golden. “Hmm, honey?” Sunny guessed. Just then, Hoot the Owl swooped down from a nearby branch.

“Ah, Sunny! You’ve found the honeycomb! But remember, animals like you must be careful. Bees work hard to make honey, and we should never take it without permission.”

Sunny nodded seriously. “I understand, Hoot. But maybe the honey has a clue about my missing acorns?”

She examined the honeycomb closely and noticed tiny, round seeds stuck in the golden goo. “These aren’t acorns… they’re seeds from the oak tree!” Sunny exclaimed. “Could they belong to the thief?”

Determined, Sunny followed the trail to the riverbank, where she saw a small beaver family working diligently. The beavers were stacking sticks and mud to build a dam. Among the piles, Sunny spotted her acorns!

“Excuse me!” Sunny called politely. “Are these my acorns?”

The youngest beaver, Benny Jr., looked guilty. “Oh… we found them near our construction site. We didn’t know they belonged to anyone. We just wanted to see if we could use them to make our dam stronger.”

Sunny smiled gently. “It’s okay! I’m glad they were safe. But now I understand something important. We all share the forest, and we need to ask before taking something that isn’t ours.”

The beavers nodded. “We’re sorry, Sunny. Next time we’ll ask!”

Sunny carefully gathered her acorns and thanked the beaver family. On her way home, she thought about all the lessons she had learned that day. She learned to observe clues, ask questions, count carefully, and always consider other animals’ work. Most importantly, she learned about kindness, sharing, and respect for others.

Back in her cozy nest, Sunny arranged her acorns neatly. She felt proud—not just because she had found her acorns, but because she had learned so much along the way. She realized that learning could happen anywhere, even in a forest full of mysteries.

That evening, as the sun dipped behind the tall trees and the stars began to twinkle, Sunny shared her adventure with her friends. Benny the Bluebird, Lulu the Ladybug, and even the beaver family gathered to listen.

“And remember,” Sunny said, waving a tiny paw, “learning is everywhere! Whether you’re counting tracks, noticing leaves, or just asking questions, you can discover amazing things about the world around you. And always be kind, because everyone in the forest has something important to do.”

Her friends cheered, and Benny chirped, “Sunny, you’re the smartest squirrel in Whispering Woods!”

Sunny giggled, her tail flicking with happiness. “I think we’re all smart if we pay attention and work together.”

As night settled over the forest, the animals went to their homes, feeling a little wiser and a little braver. Sunny curled up in her nest, thinking about the next adventure, because in Whispering Woods, there was always something new to explore, always another question to ask, and always a chance to learn something magical.

And with that, the little squirrel drifted off to sleep, dreaming of counting clouds, chasing butterflies, and discovering the next big mystery that the forest had in store.

Whispers in the Fog

 

The fog rolled in thicker than ever that night, curling around the streets of Black Hollow like an uninvited guest. It was the kind of fog that seemed alive, hiding secrets in its gray folds. Maren shivered as she stepped off the train, clutching her coat tighter. She had arrived in the small, isolated town to care for her grandmother’s old Victorian house, a place she hadn’t seen since childhood. But something about Black Hollow felt different—darker, as if the town itself were holding its breath.

The first night in the house, Maren couldn’t sleep. Shadows danced across the walls, and the creaking floorboards whispered beneath her feet. At first, she told herself it was just the house settling, but then she heard it—a soft, mournful hum drifting through the hallways. It was a song she didn’t recognize, yet it tugged at a strange, unexplainable part of her.

Curiosity overpowered fear, and she followed the sound to the parlor, where the fog seemed to seep through the cracked windows. That’s when she saw him.

He stood there, pale and ethereal, like a man carved from moonlight, with eyes that glimmered in the dim candlelight. He didn’t speak, yet Maren understood him. His gaze carried centuries of loneliness and longing.

“Who… who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I am what waits,” he said softly, each word curling like smoke into the room. “And I have been waiting for you.”

Her heart pounded. There was something magnetic about him, something that felt both terrifying and inevitable. She had read stories of ghosts, spirits bound to houses, but she had never believed. Now, standing before her, the impossible felt real.

Over the next days, the man appeared at odd hours, sometimes in the mirrors, sometimes at the end of her bed. He never spoke of his past, yet Maren felt herself drawn to him. She found herself sharing thoughts she had never told anyone—dreams, regrets, and unspoken desires. And in return, he revealed fragments of his world: glimpses of a life cut short, a love that had been stolen by time, and a sorrow that refused to rest.

Maren’s fear slowly twisted into something else: fascination, then desire. She would wake to find his silhouette leaning over her, his touch a whisper against her skin, fleeting yet burning. The town’s people avoided the house, their eyes dark with warning, but Maren no longer cared. All that mattered was him.

One night, under a silver sliver of moon, he led her into the garden. The fog hung heavy, yet there was a strange warmth between them.

“You belong here,” he said, his voice trembling with a longing that matched her own. “With me.”

Maren’s heart leapt, but a chill ran down her spine. “With you? But… you’re not alive. How can I—”

“I am alive in the ways that matter,” he interrupted gently. “The world beyond these walls cannot hold me, but I am yours as long as you choose me.”

It was a choice she didn’t hesitate to make. She felt it, the undeniable pull of a love that defied reason, a love that promised eternity, even if it was shrouded in shadow.

But love in Black Hollow came with a price. The fog thickened, carrying whispers of warnings Maren could not ignore. The house groaned, and the air grew icy. And then she saw them—faces in the fog, pale and gaunt, eyes hollow, reaching out from the mist. They were not alive, yet they were aware. Jealous. Angry.

“Leave… or join us,” they whispered, their voices a chorus of desperation.

Her lover’s hand found hers, warm in the cold. “They cannot have you. Not if you don’t want them to.”

As the night deepened, the spirits pressed closer, their cold fingers brushing against her skin. Maren clutched him tightly, feeling his heartbeat—or whatever it was—against hers. He leaned down, lips brushing her ear.

“Trust me,” he murmured. “There is only one way.”

The fog seemed to pulse, and the garden twisted around them, reality bending. Shadows reached for her, and she felt herself slipping, fear clawing at her. Then, with a single, whispered word, he drew the darkness into himself. It wasn’t a battle, not in the conventional sense—it was a merging, a surrender. The spirits shrieked, dissolving into the night, leaving only the two of them standing in a silence so profound it was almost painful.

Maren collapsed into his arms, trembling. “I… I thought I would lose you,” she whispered.

“You will not lose me,” he said. “Not while you choose this.”

The days turned into weeks, and the townspeople continued to whisper about the house, though none dared enter. Maren learned to move between worlds with him, stepping through shadows and fog as easily as one crosses a room. Her love had transformed into something darker, more intense—an intimacy not bound by time or flesh, but by the very essence of being.

Yet there were nights when she felt the chill of mortality, when she wondered if her body could withstand the union of life and death. Each time, he was there, pressing a kiss to her forehead, whispering promises that sounded like lullabies to the damned.

Eventually, Maren understood that Black Hollow had chosen her as much as she had chosen it. The fog was no longer frightening—it was a veil of love and warning, a reminder that passion often walks hand in hand with peril. And in that union of fear and desire, of longing and eternity, she found a love that was terrifyingly beautiful.

The man—her lover, her shadow, her eternity—pulled her close one last time beneath the crescent moon. His touch was cold yet comforting, and she finally understood the truth: in Black Hollow, love is never safe, but it is unforgettable.

And in the mist that swallowed the world beyond the garden, Maren let herself be claimed, her heart beating in time with his, in a world where the living and the dead could finally be one.

The Shadows of Tenaze

Tenaze was a town that seemed ordinary on the surface, with its winding roads, quiet alleys, and rows of houses built close enough for neighbors to whisper secrets across their balconies. Yet, everyone who lived there carried a strange heaviness, as if the very air pressed down on their chests. The elders would never say it out loud, but the people of Tenaze had long known that their home was not entirely theirs. Shadows lingered longer than they should, and whispers carried in the night even when no one was speaking.

It began one autumn night when the wind howled like a wounded beast and the electricity flickered in the houses on the northern edge of town. A young man named Elias had returned home late from the factory, his boots echoing against the narrow stone paths. He noticed something peculiar: every streetlight he passed seemed to die the moment he moved beyond it, leaving him with only the next circle of dim light. The darkness between each lamp felt thick, like it was alive, crawling closer with each step. Elias muttered curses to himself, quickening his pace.

When he reached his home, an old two-storied structure with peeling paint, he paused. From the window on the second floor, he swore he saw someone staring down at him. A pale face, too gaunt, too still, its eyes sunken black holes. But Elias lived alone. He bolted inside, heart hammering, but when he climbed the stairs and flung open the bedroom door, there was nothing. The air, however, was colder than it should have been. He told himself it was exhaustion. He didn’t notice the dark smear of something like ash clinging to the window frame.

The following days, people whispered of strange happenings. Livestock found drained of blood but without a single wound. Children claimed they heard voices calling their names from empty alleys. An old woman was found dead in her home, her face twisted in terror, and every mirror in her house shattered inward as though something had tried to crawl out. The authorities dismissed these as coincidences, accidents, or the foolish tales of overactive minds. But the people of Tenaze knew better.

Elias could not shake what he had seen. He began waking in the middle of the night to scratching sounds on his walls, as though claws raked against the plaster. The shadows in his room no longer matched the furniture; they seemed to bend and stretch unnaturally, sometimes standing upright as though mocking his shape. He tried to ignore it until one night, half-asleep, he heard a voice right next to his ear whisper, “You brought us back.”

Terrified, he sought the advice of the oldest resident of Tenaze, a recluse named Amara who lived on the hill by the graveyard. She was known for her strange rituals and for keeping her windows covered in symbols no one else understood. When Elias described what he had seen, her withered face grew pale. “The seals,” she whispered, “they are breaking.”

Long ago, she explained, Tenaze was built upon the site of an ancient tragedy. Before the town, there had been a settlement of outcasts who practiced forbidden rites, trying to open a door to something beyond. The villagers of that time had turned on them, burning their bodies and burying the ashes beneath stone markers at the edges of the land. To seal the place, they carved protective wards into the stones, keeping the restless dead from returning. But over the centuries, those stones had been forgotten, some destroyed, some built over, their symbols erased. Without them, the dead were stirring again.

Elias wanted to believe it was superstition, yet as Amara spoke, he remembered the ash on his window, the shadows that seemed to move on their own, the words whispered in his sleep. “What do we do?” he asked desperately.

Amara’s hollow eyes fixed on him. “The seals must be restored. But they will not allow it.”

That night, Elias tried to rally others, but fear had already gripped Tenaze. Few dared to act. Families huddled together inside their homes, burning candles through the night, praying in trembling voices. The streets became silent after dusk, though sometimes a scream would cut through the darkness, sharp and short, followed by silence that weighed heavier than before.

Determined, Elias went alone to the northern woods where one of the old stone markers still stood, cracked in two. He carried chalk and salt, tools Amara had given him, along with words to recite. The woods were suffocatingly silent, no crickets, no rustle of leaves, only the sound of his own breath. He found the marker, half-buried in moss, its carvings almost gone. As he bent to redraw the symbol, he felt a hand grip his shoulder.

It was not human.

The fingers were long and cold, pressing into his flesh like iron. He turned slowly, and his breath caught in his throat. A figure loomed behind him, taller than any man, its body made of smoke and bone, its face shifting like melting wax. Eyes hollow, mouth gaping, it leaned close, whispering with a hundred voices at once, “You cannot bind us.”

Elias fled, the chalk scattering, the salt spilling uselessly into the dirt. The thing did not chase him with speed but followed, its form flickering in and out of existence, always closer when he glanced back. By the time he reached the edge of town, his body was trembling, his vision blurred. He collapsed on the steps of his home, hearing the thing’s laughter echoing in his skull.

In the days that followed, Tenaze fell deeper into darkness. People disappeared without trace. Doors were found open in the mornings though bolted the night before. Smoke-like figures drifted through the alleys, vanishing when approached. And always, always, the shadows grew longer, stretching toward the living as if hungry.

Elias tried again and again to repair the seals, but each attempt failed. The entities grew bolder, whispering his name in every corner, leaving marks on his walls, clawing at his windows. He realized, with a horror that hollowed his soul, that they were bound to him. That night when he saw the face in his window, when he felt the whisper on his neck, something had chosen him. Not as prey. As a bridge.

The people of Tenaze began to avoid him, their eyes filled with both pity and terror. Rumors spread that Elias had invited the darkness himself, that his blood carried the sins of the old settlement. Alone, abandoned, and haunted, he sought Amara one final time.

She looked at him with sorrow. “You are the vessel now. They will not stop until they walk fully in this world, and they will do it through you.”

“Then what do I do?” Elias begged.

Her answer was soft but merciless. “End yourself before they fully open the door.”

That night, Elias lit a single candle in his darkened room. The walls writhed with shadows, dozens of faces forming in the black, all whispering, coaxing, pleading. He held a knife in his trembling hands, knowing that with his death, perhaps the town might survive. But as he pressed the blade to his chest, the voices changed. They were no longer cruel, but gentle, familiar. His mother’s voice. His father’s. Friends long gone. They begged him not to leave them, not to abandon them again. His tears fell hot onto the blade.

The candle sputtered out.

In the morning, his house stood silent. No body was ever found. Only shadows pooled unnaturally in the corners, never lifting, even in daylight.

From that day, Tenaze was never the same. The people still live there, carrying on with their lives, but the weight in the air is heavier than ever. They know Elias walks among them, though his face is hidden in the shadows. And when night falls, no one dares whisper his name, for fear the shadows will answer back.

The curse of Tenaze is alive, and the darkness is only growing hungrier.

Eternal Kiss of the Forgotten City

 

The sun dipped low over the desert horizon, casting long shadows across the dunes as Rafiq tightened the strap of his pack. He had come far already, chasing the whispered stories of an ancient city buried beneath the sands, a place where treasure and secrets lay hidden. But more than treasure, he wanted something he couldn’t quite name—perhaps meaning, perhaps escape from the monotony of his old life. Adventure had always been a dream, and here he was, standing on the edge of it.

He hadn’t expected anyone else to be out there, especially not a woman. Yet, as he crested the next dune, he saw her: a figure draped in flowing cloth the color of twilight, her face half-shielded from the wind. She was adjusting the reins of a camel that seemed restless under the golden sky. When she noticed him, her eyes narrowed, sharp and guarded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice low but firm, carried by the desert wind.

Rafiq stopped, surprised. “And yet, here we both are.”

Her lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile, though her stance didn’t soften. “The desert doesn’t forgive foolish travelers. You’ll lose more than your way.”

He was about to reply when a sudden gust swept between them, revealing in the distance the faint outline of stone half-buried in the sand. The ruins. His pulse quickened. She followed his gaze and shook her head. “That city is cursed. The desert swallowed it for a reason.”

Cursed or not, he couldn’t resist. But something about her presence stirred him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. She was no mirage—her every movement was alive, precise, commanding. Curiosity outweighed caution, and he stepped closer. “Then why are you here if not for the same city?”

Her eyes softened briefly. “Because I belong to it.”

That answer only deepened the mystery. She turned, leading her camel toward the ruins, and without another word, he followed.

They reached the broken gates by nightfall, the moonlight casting the stones in silver. The air was heavy, thick with silence, as though the city itself still breathed in the shadows of its walls. Inside, carvings lined the crumbling arches, telling stories of kings, battles, and lovers lost to time. Rafiq felt the thrill of discovery pulse through him, but it wasn’t just the ruins—it was her, this stranger walking beside him with an elegance that defied the desolation around them.

At a crumbled courtyard, she finally sat, removing her veil. Her face glowed in the pale moonlight, her eyes deep and luminous, like wells of secrets. “My name is Amira,” she said softly, almost as if offering him a gift.

“Rafiq,” he answered, his voice caught somewhere between awe and relief.

Amira studied him, her gaze piercing. “Why did you come here? Truly?”

He hesitated, then told her the truth. He was tired of living half-asleep, tired of a world where every day repeated the last. He wanted something real, even if it meant danger.

Her expression softened. “Then maybe the desert chose you.”

Over the next days, they explored the ruins together. The city was vast, its alleys swallowed by dunes, its towers broken like ribs jutting from the sand. Each discovery they made seemed to bring them closer, not just in distance but in something deeper. She knew the city intimately, guiding him through hidden chambers, telling him stories of its forgotten glory.

One evening, as the desert winds howled outside, they sheltered in a half-collapsed temple. Rafiq lit a small fire, and Amira sat close, the shadows dancing across her face. She told him then of the curse: the city had once been ruled by a king who defied the gods for love. In his defiance, he bound his beloved’s soul to the city, refusing to let her go even in death. The gods punished him, burying the city in sand, binding all who loved within its walls to the same fate.

Rafiq stared at her, realization dawning. “You’re… part of that curse.”

Her silence was enough of an answer.

His chest tightened, a storm of emotions whirling inside him. He wanted to deny it, to pretend she was just a woman like any other, but the way the ruins seemed to bend around her, the way the desert winds fell silent when she spoke—he knew.

“Then why let me follow you?” he asked quietly.

Her eyes shimmered with sorrow. “Because perhaps you’re the one who can free me.”

That night, sleep escaped him. He lay awake beside the dying fire, watching her, torn between desire and dread. Freedom meant ending the curse, but what if it also meant losing her?

At dawn, they reached the heart of the ruins, where a great stone altar stood. Symbols carved into its surface pulsed faintly in the morning light, alive despite centuries buried. Amira stood before it, her cloak whipping in the wind.

“This is where it ends,” she whispered. “Or begins.”

Rafiq stepped closer. “Tell me what to do.”

She turned to him, tears tracing her cheeks. “Love me enough to let me go.”

His throat tightened. He wanted to hold her, to fight fate itself to keep her with him. But he saw in her eyes the truth: she had been bound for centuries, trapped in sorrow, waiting for someone who would choose her freedom over their own heart.

Slowly, he cupped her face, his thumb brushing away her tears. “I love you,” he said, every word heavy with devotion. Then he kissed her, pouring into it everything he had, every longing, every dream.

The ground trembled, light bursting from the altar, engulfing them both. He felt her body grow weightless in his arms, her warmth fading, her form dissolving like mist in sunlight. She smiled through her tears, her voice barely audible: “Thank you.”

And then she was gone.

The ruins stilled, the wind easing into silence. The curse had broken. But Rafiq stood alone, his heart torn open, aching with loss yet burning with something greater. He had freed her, and in doing so, found the very meaning he had sought.

When he finally left the desert, the sands behind him whispered her name with every step of the wind. He carried her memory not as a wound, but as proof that love could be stronger than fate, stronger even than time. His adventure had ended, but his story had only just begun.

Whispers of the Cursed Island

 

The rain had just stopped when Arman stepped off the small ferry onto the rugged island. His shoes sank slightly into the damp earth, the scent of salt and pine filling his lungs. The island, barely marked on any map, seemed like another world altogether—untamed cliffs, forests so dense they looked almost black, and a mysterious ruin that he had come to see for himself. It was meant to be an adventure, nothing more. He wanted to escape the monotony of his routine life back in the city, where everything was predictable, including his own heart.

What he did not expect was to find someone waiting on the island.

Leila appeared like a whisper from the trees, her long black hair wet with rain, eyes sharp and questioning as they met his. She wore a cloak made of rough wool, too archaic for someone his age. She looked as if she belonged to another century, as though the island itself had carved her from its rocks and shadows.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice firm yet strangely musical.

“I could say the same about you,” Arman replied with a nervous smile, clutching the map in his hand.

She studied him for a long time, then turned away, walking into the forest without another word. Something about her silence pulled him forward, his footsteps echoing hers until they were moving together through the damp undergrowth. The adventure he had imagined suddenly shifted—no longer about ruins or exploration, but about the girl who seemed part mystery, part danger.

As they climbed toward the cliffs, she finally spoke. “The ruin you’re looking for—it isn’t a place for tourists. It has a story, a curse even. Many who come here never leave the same.”

Arman chuckled lightly. “I’m not afraid of old legends.”

“You should be,” she whispered.

The ruin stood at the edge of the cliff, its stones blackened with age, walls half-collapsed but still radiating something ancient, something heavy. The wind howled around them as if warning them to turn back. Arman stepped closer, running his fingers across the cold stone carvings, when suddenly Leila caught his wrist.

Her touch was both warm and electric, sending a current through his body he couldn’t explain. He looked at her, really looked at her this time, and something in her eyes made his heart stumble. They were not just the eyes of a stranger—they carried loneliness, longing, and a strange glimmer of hope.

“Why are you here, really?” she asked.

“I wanted an adventure,” he admitted. “Something real. Something that makes me feel alive again.”

She dropped his wrist slowly, her fingers lingering as though reluctant to let go. “And if what you find is more than you can handle?”

“Then maybe that’s the risk worth taking,” he replied.

That night, they stayed by a fire in a cave near the cliff. Leila told him the story of the ruin: a tale of two lovers separated by a curse. One had been bound to the island, unable to leave, while the other perished at sea trying to return. Ever since, the island had been marked by their sorrow, trapping souls who dared to love too deeply here.

Arman laughed softly. “That sounds tragic.”

“It’s more than a story,” she said, her gaze fixed on the flames. “It’s why I can’t leave this place.”

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning he couldn’t quite grasp. But as the firelight flickered across her face, he realized he didn’t care about curses or legends anymore. All he saw was her—this mysterious, impossible girl who made the silence of the island feel alive.

Days passed in a blur. They wandered the forests together, shared food and laughter, and slowly, carefully, their hearts began to orbit one another. Arman found himself telling her things he had never told anyone: about his loneliness in the city, his yearning for something extraordinary, his fear that he had been sleepwalking through life. She listened without judgment, her eyes softening with every word.

One evening, on the cliff where the ruin stood, he finally asked, “Leila, if you could leave, would you?”

She didn’t answer at first. The sea crashed below them, the horizon burning orange with the sunset. Then, almost too softly to hear, she said, “Only if I wasn’t alone.”

Arman reached for her hand, their fingers intertwining. It was as if the island itself exhaled at that moment, the wind falling still, the air heavy with their closeness. He wanted to kiss her, to break through the distance she kept like a shield. But before he could, she pulled away, her eyes glistening.

“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice trembling. “I am part of the curse. If you love me, you will never leave this place either.”

He stepped closer, his voice steady. “Then maybe that’s exactly where I’m meant to be.”

She shook her head, tears streaking down her cheeks. “No, Arman. You have a life waiting for you. Dreams beyond this island. I can’t steal that from you.”

But Arman refused to turn back. The following night, when the moon bathed the ruin in silver light, he found her there, standing among the broken stones as though caught between worlds. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and kissed her. It was desperate, aching, and filled with all the things he couldn’t say. For a moment, the world seemed to collapse around them, the stones groaning, the air crackling with an unseen force.

When the wind settled, she was still there in his arms—real, trembling, alive.

The curse had not taken him. Instead, something had shifted. Leila’s face was bathed in moonlight, and for the first time, she looked free.

“You broke it,” she whispered.

Arman didn’t understand, but she explained with tears in her eyes: the curse had bound her to the island until someone chose her not out of pity, not out of accident, but out of love so fierce it would defy even fate. He had done what no one else could—believe in her more than in his own freedom.

The next morning, the island felt different. The shadows were lighter, the sea calmer, the air less burdened. Together, they boarded the small ferry back to the mainland. She gripped his hand tightly as if afraid she might vanish with every passing wave, but she didn’t. She was free.

When they reached the shore, Arman looked at her and smiled. “Adventure, right?”

She laughed through her tears. “No, Arman. This isn’t an adventure anymore. This is love.”

And as they walked away from the sea, their steps in rhythm, hearts still racing from everything they had endured, Arman realized that he had found more than an escape, more than a story. He had found the one thing he hadn’t even known he was looking for—someone who turned his world into an endless journey, a love strong enough to feel like both destiny and freedom.

ভুয়া পরিচয়ে কোটি টাকার প্রতারণা: খালেদা জিয়ার কর্মকর্তার ছদ্মবেশে গ্রেপ্তার ব্যক্তি

 সাবেক প্রধানমন্ত্রী ও বিএনপি চেয়ারপারসন খালেদা জিয়ার লিয়াজোঁ অফিসার বলে পরিচয় দিয়ে কোটি কোটি টাকা হাতিয়ে নেওয়ার অভিযোগে এক ব্যক্তির বিরুদ্ধে মামলা করেছে পুলিশের অপরাধ তদন্ত বিভাগ (সিআইডি)।

মানি লন্ডারিং প্রতিরোধ আইনে মোতাল্লেছ হোসেন নামে ওই ব্যক্তির বিরুদ্ধে মামলা হয়েছে।

আজ সোমবার সিআইডির পাঠানো এক সংবাদ বিজ্ঞপ্তিতে জানানো হয়, মোতাল্লেছ হোসেনের নামে খোলা ব্যাংক হিসাবে প্রায় ২০ কোটি টাকার লেনদেনের প্রমাণ পাওয়া গেছে।

সিআইডি বলছে, মোতাল্লেছ হোসেনের এম এল ট্রেডিং নামে একটি প্রতিষ্ঠান বাস্তবে অস্তিত্বহীন। প্রতিষ্ঠানটির ট্রেড লাইসেন্স থাকলেও কোনো ব্যবসায়িক কার্যক্রম পাওয়া যায়নি। কখনো নিজেকে পোশাক কারখানার মালিক, কখনো চা-বাগান উদ্যোক্তা কিংবা ঠিকাদার পরিচয় দিয়ে প্রভাবশালী মহলের সঙ্গে সম্পর্ক গড়ে তুলতেন তিনি।

পরে খালেদা জিয়ার অসুস্থতার কথা বলে বিএনপি–সংশ্লিষ্ট ব্যক্তিদের কাছ থেকে নিজের ব্যাংক হিসাবে প্রায় ১৫ কোটি টাকা সংগ্রহ করে আত্মসাৎ করেন তিনি।

মোতাল্লেছ হোসেনের বিভিন্ন হিসাবে থাকা পাঁচ কোটি টাকার বেশি অর্থ আদালতের আদেশে জব্দ করা হয়েছে। এ ঘটনায় গতকাল রোববার বিকেলে মানি লন্ডারিং প্রতিরোধ আইন, ২০১২-এর ধারায় রাজধানীর পল্লবী থানায় মামলা (নম্বর-১৯) করা হয়েছে। মামলায় মোতাল্লেছ হোসেনসহ অজ্ঞাতনামা আরও দু-তিনজনকে আসামি করা হয়েছে।

সাবেক সচিব আবু আলম শহীদ খান গ্রেপ্তার

 

রাজধানীর শাহবাগ থানার একটি মামলায় সাবেক সচিব আবু আলম মোহাম্মদ শহীদ খানকে গ্রেপ্তার করেছে ঢাকা মহানগর পুলিশের (ডিএমপি) গোয়েন্দা বিভাগ (ডিবি)।

আজ সোমবার ডিএমপির গণমাধ্যম ও জনসংযোগ বিভাগের এক খুদে বার্তায় এ তথ্য জানানো হয়। সম্প্রতি বিভিন্ন টেলিভিশন টক শোতে অংশ নিয়ে আলোচনায় আসেন শহীদ খান।

ডিএমপির গণমাধ্যম ও জনসংযোগ বিভাগের খুদে বার্তায় বলা হয়, শহীদ খান ও ঝটিকা মিছিলে অংশ নেওয়া পাঁচজনসহ মোট ছয়জনকে গ্রেপ্তার করেছে ডিবি।

তবে এই ব্যক্তিদের কখন, কোন এলাকা থেকে গ্রেপ্তার করা হয়েছে, তা খুদে বার্তায় জানানো হয়নি।

তবে ডিবির রমনা বিভাগের উপকমিশনার (ভারপ্রাপ্ত) ইলিয়াস কবির প্রথম আলোকে বলেন, গতকাল রোববার রাতে রাজধানীর বোরাক টাওয়ার থেকে শহীদ খানকে গ্রেপ্তার করা হয়।

ডিএমপি বলছে, রাজধানীতে ঝটিকা মিছিল করে নাশকতার চেষ্টা ও জনশৃঙ্খলা ভঙ্গের অভিযোগে এই অভিযান চালানো হয়। এ সময় সাবেক সচিব শহীদ খান ছাড়াও আরও পাঁচজনকে ঘটনাস্থল থেকে আটক করা হয়। পরে তাঁদের বিরুদ্ধে আইনগত ব্যবস্থা নেওয়া হয়েছে।

The Color of Quiet

 

It was a quiet rain that afternoon—the kind that makes everything seem like a memory even as it's happening. The streets shimmered with puddles reflecting grey clouds, and in the soft hum of the café on the corner, two people sat across from each other for the very first time.

Mira had always been one of those people who felt everything too deeply. A song could unravel her. A simple look could stay in her heart for days. She carried her emotions not like a burden, but like a second soul—gentle, open, and often too raw for the world. She wasn’t searching for love. She was trying to protect herself from it. But the universe, in its strange way, doesn’t care much for timing.

Elias was quiet in a different way. He didn’t speak in poetry, but he felt in volumes. He was the kind of person who could walk into a storm and listen to the wind like it was telling him a story. On the surface, he was composed, even distant. But underneath was a heart that had never stopped hoping, despite the years, despite the losses, despite the fear of never being truly seen.

Their meeting wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t fate crashing down like thunder. It was simple. He dropped his book. She picked it up. Their hands touched for half a second too long, and in that small pause, something ancient stirred—like two old souls whispering to each other across time.

They started talking. About books. Music. The things they missed. The places they had imagined but never seen. There was no flirtation, no practiced charm. Just honesty. Just presence. The world around them faded. Time, for once, didn’t rush them.

Days turned into weeks. They met again. And again. Always in the quiet places. They talked about fears—the kind you only admit to someone who feels like home. She told him about her loneliness, the way it used to wrap around her at night like a second skin. He told her about his mother’s death and how he hadn’t cried until a year later, during a piano concert, when a single note undid him.

They never pretended to be okay when they weren’t. And that’s what made it love—not the grand gestures, but the small, truthful ones. Like how he always walked on the outside of the sidewalk. Or how she’d place her hand gently on his chest when he got too lost in thought, grounding him without needing words.

The first time they kissed, it wasn’t under a firework sky or in the middle of a sweeping declaration. It was in the silence between two breaths, during a moment that didn’t ask for permission—it just was. It felt less like a beginning and more like a return.

They healed each other, not because they were broken, but because they knew how to hold what hurt. They didn’t try to change one another. They loved each other with the kind of tenderness that comes from seeing the whole person, even the parts that tremble in the dark.

And maybe that’s all love really is—for those who feel everything too much. It’s not about never hurting. It’s about having someone who doesn’t turn away when you do.

Even years later, when the world changed around them, they still met in the quiet. Still reached for each other in the night, not because they were afraid of being alone, but because they had found something rare. Something real.

বাংলাদেশের রাজনীতি ও বাংলাদেশের নির্বাচনের ভবিষ্যৎ

 

ভূমিকা

বাংলাদেশ একটি স্বাধীন ও সার্বভৌম রাষ্ট্র, যার রাজনৈতিক যাত্রা শুরু হয় ১৯৭১ সালের মুক্তিযুদ্ধের মাধ্যমে। মুক্তিযুদ্ধের মূল লক্ষ্য ছিল একটি গণতান্ত্রিক, সমঅধিকারভিত্তিক ও জনগণের সার্বভৌমত্বে প্রতিষ্ঠিত রাষ্ট্র গঠন। বাংলাদেশের সংবিধান জনগণকে রাষ্ট্রের মালিকানার স্বীকৃতি দিলেও, স্বাধীনতার পর থেকে এ দেশের রাজনৈতিক সংস্কৃতি বিভিন্ন উত্থান-পতনের মুখোমুখি হয়েছে। রাজনীতি হয়ে উঠেছে সংঘাতমুখর, দলীয়করণ প্রবণ এবং ব্যক্তিকেন্দ্রিক। এই রাজনৈতিক সংস্কৃতি নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থাকেও ব্যাপকভাবে প্রভাবিত করেছে।

গণতান্ত্রিক ব্যবস্থার মূল ভিত্তি হলো সুষ্ঠু, নিরপেক্ষ ও প্রতিযোগিতামূলক নির্বাচন। জনগণের ভোটাধিকার প্রয়োগের মাধ্যমেই ক্ষমতার শান্তিপূর্ণ হস্তান্তর ঘটে এবং রাষ্ট্রব্যবস্থা স্থিতিশীল হয়। কিন্তু বাংলাদেশের ক্ষেত্রে নির্বাচনকে ঘিরে প্রশ্ন, বিতর্ক ও সংঘাত দীর্ঘদিন ধরেই বিদ্যমান। ফলে দেশের রাজনীতি এবং নির্বাচন ব্যবস্থা নিয়ে উদ্বেগ-উৎকণ্ঠা প্রায়শই আলোচনার কেন্দ্রবিন্দুতে থাকে।

এই প্রবন্ধে বাংলাদেশের রাজনীতির বৈশিষ্ট্য, নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থার বিবর্তন, বর্তমান চ্যালেঞ্জ, ভবিষ্যৎ সম্ভাবনা এবং আন্তর্জাতিক প্রভাব নিয়ে বিস্তারিত বিশ্লেষণ করা হবে।

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বাংলাদেশের রাজনৈতিক প্রেক্ষাপট

বাংলাদেশের রাজনীতিকে বিশ্লেষণ করলে কয়েকটি সুস্পষ্ট বৈশিষ্ট্য লক্ষ্য করা যায়।

১. দ্বিমেরুতা বা দুই মেরুর রাজনীতি

বাংলাদেশের রাজনীতি মূলত দুটি প্রধান রাজনৈতিক দল—আওয়ামী লীগ ও বিএনপি—কেন্দ্র করে আবর্তিত হয়ে থাকে। স্বাধীনতার পর প্রথমে আওয়ামী লীগ, পরে সামরিক শাসনের মাধ্যমে ক্ষমতায় আসা দলসমূহ, বিশেষ করে বিএনপি—রাজনৈতিক অঙ্গনে আধিপত্য বিস্তার করে। বর্তমানে দেশের রাজনীতির প্রধান বৈশিষ্ট্য হলো ক্ষমতায় থাকা দল ও বিরোধী দলের মধ্যে তীব্র দ্বন্দ্ব।

২. সংঘাতমুখর রাজনৈতিক সংস্কৃতি

রাজনৈতিক দলগুলোর মধ্যে মতভেদ ও সংঘাত অস্বাভাবিক মাত্রায় প্রবল। সংসদ বর্জন, অবরোধ, হরতাল, সহিংসতা ইত্যাদি বাংলাদেশের রাজনৈতিক সংস্কৃতির অংশ হয়ে গেছে। ক্ষমতায় থাকা দল প্রশাসনকে নিজেদের নিয়ন্ত্রণে রাখার চেষ্টা করে, আর বিরোধী দল ক্ষমতাসীনদের বিরুদ্ধে আন্দোলন গড়ে তোলে।

৩. ব্যক্তিকেন্দ্রিক নেতৃত্ব

রাজনীতিতে আদর্শের পরিবর্তে ব্যক্তিকেন্দ্রিক নেতৃত্ব বেশি প্রাধান্য পাচ্ছে। আওয়ামী লীগ বঙ্গবন্ধু পরিবারকেন্দ্রিক, বিএনপি জিয়া পরিবারকেন্দ্রিক রাজনীতির প্রতীক। এর ফলে রাজনৈতিক দলগুলোতে গণতান্ত্রিক চর্চা দুর্বল হয়েছে।

৪. উন্নয়ন বনাম গণতন্ত্র বিতর্ক

সাম্প্রতিক সময়ে বাংলাদেশে উল্লেখযোগ্য অর্থনৈতিক উন্নয়ন, অবকাঠামো নির্মাণ ও ডিজিটাল অগ্রগতি হয়েছে। তবে একইসাথে গণতন্ত্রের পরিধি সংকুচিত হওয়া, মতপ্রকাশের স্বাধীনতার সীমাবদ্ধতা এবং মানবাধিকার লঙ্ঘন নিয়ে সমালোচনা রয়েছে।

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বাংলাদেশের নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থার ইতিহাস ও বিবর্তন

১. স্বাধীনতার পর প্রাথমিক পর্যায় (১৯৭১–১৯৯০)

স্বাধীনতার পর প্রথম সংসদ নির্বাচন হয় ১৯৭৩ সালে। তবে এর পর রাজনৈতিক অস্থিরতা, সেনাশাসন ও স্বৈরাচারী শাসনের কারণে নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থার ওপর জনগণের আস্থা দুর্বল হয়। ১৯৭৫ সালে একদলীয় বাকশাল ব্যবস্থা, পরবর্তী সময়ে সামরিক শাসন এবং বিতর্কিত নির্বাচন গণতান্ত্রিক ধারাকে ব্যাহত করে।

২. গণতন্ত্র পুনঃপ্রতিষ্ঠা ও তত্ত্বাবধায়ক সরকার ব্যবস্থা (১৯৯১–২০০৮)

১৯৯০ সালের গণআন্দোলনের মাধ্যমে স্বৈরাচার পতনের পর গণতান্ত্রিক সরকারব্যবস্থা পুনঃপ্রতিষ্ঠিত হয়। জনগণের দাবির প্রেক্ষিতে ১৯৯৬ সালে সংবিধান সংশোধন করে তত্ত্বাবধায়ক সরকার ব্যবস্থা চালু করা হয়। এ ব্যবস্থার অধীনে কয়েকটি জাতীয় নির্বাচন তুলনামূলকভাবে অবাধ ও গ্রহণযোগ্য হয়। ফলে জনগণের আস্থা কিছুটা পুনরুদ্ধার হয়।

৩. তত্ত্বাবধায়ক ব্যবস্থার বিলুপ্তি ও বর্তমান ব্যবস্থা (২০০৮–বর্তমান)

২০০৮ সালের নির্বাচনে আওয়ামী লীগ নিরঙ্কুশ সংখ্যাগরিষ্ঠতা অর্জনের পর ক্ষমতায় আসে। ২০১১ সালে সংবিধান সংশোধনের মাধ্যমে তত্ত্বাবধায়ক ব্যবস্থা বাতিল করা হয়। এর ফলে ২০১৪ সালের নির্বাচন প্রধান বিরোধী দলগুলোর বর্জনের কারণে ব্যাপকভাবে প্রশ্নবিদ্ধ হয়। ২০১৮ সালের নির্বাচনও অনিয়ম, কারচুপি ও বিরোধী দলের সীমিত অংশগ্রহণের কারণে সমালোচিত হয়েছে।

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বর্তমান চ্যালেঞ্জসমূহ

বাংলাদেশের নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থার সামনে কয়েকটি মৌলিক চ্যালেঞ্জ রয়েছে।

1. নির্বাচন কমিশনের নিরপেক্ষতা: কমিশনকে ক্ষমতাসীনদের প্রভাবমুক্ত রাখা একটি বড় চ্যালেঞ্জ।

2. প্রশাসন ও আইনশৃঙ্খলা বাহিনীর রাজনৈতিক ব্যবহার: নির্বাচনের সময় এসব সংস্থা অনেক সময় ক্ষমতাসীন দলের স্বার্থ রক্ষায় অভিযুক্ত হয়।

3. অসহিষ্ণু রাজনৈতিক সংস্কৃতি: সরকার ও বিরোধী দলের মধ্যে সংলাপের সংস্কৃতি দুর্বল।

4. ভোটারদের আস্থাহীনতা: পুনঃপুন বিতর্কিত নির্বাচনের কারণে ভোটাররা ধীরে ধীরে আস্থা হারাচ্ছে।

5. প্রযুক্তির প্রতি অনাস্থা: ইভিএম ব্যবহারের ক্ষেত্রে জনগণের মধ্যে সন্দেহ রয়েছে।

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নির্বাচনের ভবিষ্যৎ সম্ভাবনা

১. স্বচ্ছতা ও বিশ্বাসযোগ্যতা পুনর্গঠন

গণতন্ত্র টিকিয়ে রাখতে হলে নির্বাচনের স্বচ্ছতা নিশ্চিত করা জরুরি। একটি স্বাধীন ও শক্তিশালী নির্বাচন কমিশন গঠন ছাড়া এটি সম্ভব নয়।

২. প্রযুক্তির সঠিক ব্যবহার

ইভিএম বা অন্যান্য প্রযুক্তি নির্বাচনে ব্যবহৃত হলে আস্থা তৈরি করা অপরিহার্য। সঠিক প্রয়োগ হলে ভোটগ্রহণ দ্রুত ও স্বচ্ছ হতে পারে।

৩. তরুণ প্রজন্মের ভূমিকা

বাংলাদেশের জনসংখ্যার একটি বড় অংশ তরুণ। তাদের রাজনৈতিক সচেতনতা, সামাজিক যোগাযোগমাধ্যমের সক্রিয়তা এবং পরিবর্তনের দাবি ভবিষ্যতের রাজনীতিকে প্রভাবিত করবে।

৪. রাজনৈতিক সংস্কৃতির পরিবর্তন

সংলাপ, আপস এবং সহযোগিতার সংস্কৃতি প্রতিষ্ঠা না হলে নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থার প্রতি জনগণের আস্থা ফিরে আসবে না। ভবিষ্যতে দলগুলোর মধ্যে সমঝোতার ভিত্তিতে নির্বাচন পরিচালনা অপরিহার্য।

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আন্তর্জাতিক প্রভাব

বাংলাদেশের নির্বাচনের ভবিষ্যতে আন্তর্জাতিক মহলের ভূমিকা গুরুত্বপূর্ণ।

• আঞ্চলিক স্থিতিশীলতা: দক্ষিণ এশিয়ার ভূরাজনৈতিক অবস্থানের কারণে ভারত, চীন ও যুক্তরাষ্ট্র বাংলাদেশের নির্বাচনের ওপর গভীর নজর রাখে।

• মানবাধিকার ও গণতন্ত্রের প্রশ্ন: জাতিসংঘ, ইউরোপীয় ইউনিয়নসহ বিভিন্ন আন্তর্জাতিক সংস্থা বাংলাদেশের নির্বাচনের স্বচ্ছতা ও গ্রহণযোগ্যতা নিয়ে নিয়মিত উদ্বেগ প্রকাশ করে।

• অর্থনৈতিক সম্পর্ক: বিদেশি বিনিয়োগ ও উন্নয়ন সহযোগিতা রাজনৈতিক স্থিতিশীলতার ওপর নির্ভরশীল। ফলে আন্তর্জাতিক চাপ নির্বাচনকে প্রভাবিত করতে পারে।

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সমালোচনামূলক বিশ্লেষণ

বাংলাদেশের রাজনীতি ও নির্বাচন ব্যবস্থা একদিকে উন্নয়ন ও অগ্রগতির দাবি করছে, অন্যদিকে গণতান্ত্রিক মানদণ্ড পূরণে ব্যর্থ হচ্ছে। উন্নয়ন প্রকল্প ও অবকাঠামো বৃদ্ধি দৃশ্যমান হলেও রাজনৈতিক অঙ্গনে মতপ্রকাশের স্বাধীনতা ও প্রতিদ্বন্দ্বিতামূলক নির্বাচন অনুপস্থিত। ফলে একদিকে রাষ্ট্র অর্থনৈতিকভাবে এগোচ্ছে, অন্যদিকে গণতন্ত্রের ভিত দুর্বল হচ্ছে।

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উপসংহার

বাংলাদেশের রাজনীতি বর্তমানে সংঘাতমুখর এবং নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থার ওপর জনগণের আস্থা নড়বড়ে। তবে ভবিষ্যৎ একেবারেই অন্ধকার নয়। তরুণ প্রজন্মের রাজনৈতিক অংশগ্রহণ, প্রযুক্তির সঠিক ব্যবহার, নির্বাচন কমিশনের স্বাধীনতা, রাজনৈতিক দলগুলোর সমঝোতা এবং আন্তর্জাতিক চাপ—সব মিলিয়ে নির্বাচনী ব্যবস্থাকে স্বচ্ছ ও গ্রহণযোগ্য করার সম্ভাবনা রয়েছে।

গণতন্ত্র কেবল অর্থনৈতিক উন্নয়ন দিয়ে পরিমাপ করা যায় না; এটি জনগণের অংশগ্রহণ, স্বচ্ছতা ও জবাবদিহিতার ওপর নির্ভরশীল। তাই বাংলাদেশের রাজনীতি ও নির্বাচনের ভবিষ্যৎ নির্ভর করছে রাজনৈতিক সদিচ্ছা, গণতান্ত্রিক সংস্কৃতির বিকাশ এবং জনগণের আস্থার পুনঃপ্রতিষ্ঠার ওপর।

এশিয়া কাপ খেলতে যাওয়ার আগে জাকের, ‘কাউকে জবাব দেওয়ার কিছু নেই’

 

এশিয়া কাপ খেলতে আজ দুই ধাপে দেশ ছাড়ছেন বাংলাদেশ দলের ক্রিকেটাররা। প্রথম ধাপে সকাল ১০টা ১৫ মিনিটের ফ্লাইটে অধিনায়ক লিটন দাস, জাকের আলী, সাইফ হাসান, পারভেজ হোসেন, তানজিদ হাসান, শামীম হোসেন সংযুক্ত আরব আমিরাতের উদ্দেশে দেশ ছেড়েছেন। দেশ ছাড়ার আগে বিমানবন্দরে উইকেটকিপার ব্যাটসম্যান জাকের জানিয়েছেন, চ্যাম্পিয়ন হওয়ার লক্ষ্য নিয়েই এশিয়া কাপে খেলবেন তাঁরা।

এশিয়া কাপে বাংলাদেশের সম্ভাবনা নিয়ে অনেকেই ভবিষ্যদ্বাণী করছেন। অন্য দেশের সাবেক ক্রিকেটারদের বেশির ভাগই বাংলাদেশের খুব একটা সম্ভাবনা দেখছেন না। সম্প্রতি ভারতের সাবেক ক্রিকেটার ও ক্রিকেট বিশ্লেষক আকাশ চোপড়া নিজের ইউটিউব চ্যানেলে বলেছেন, ছন্দ বাংলাদেশের পক্ষে থাকলেও এশিয়া কাপে বাংলাদেশ গ্রুপ পর্ব থেকেই ছিটকে যেতে পারে।

জাকের অবশ্য এসব কথাকে গুরুত্ব দিচ্ছেন না। তিনি বলেছেন, ‘কাউকে জবাব দেওয়ার কিছু নেই। আমরা আমাদের সেরা ক্রিকেটটা খেলব। আমরা সবাই বিশ্বাস করি, ও রকম (চ্যাম্পিয়ন) মাইন্ডসেট নিয়েই যাচ্ছি।’

সন্ধ্যা সাড়ে সাতটায় পরের ধাপের ক্রিকেটাররা উড়াল দেবেন আমিরাতের উদ্দেশে। কাল থেকে আবুধাবিতে তাঁদের অনুশীলনও শুরু হয়ে যাবে। এর আগেও আগস্টের শুরু থেকে দেশে ফিটনেস ও স্কিল অনুশীলন করেন বাংলাদেশের ক্রিকেটাররা। পরে নেদারল্যান্ডসের বিপক্ষে তিন ম্যাচ টি-টোয়েন্টি সিরিজেও তাঁরা জয় পান ২-০ ব্যবধানে।

সব মিলিয়ে এশিয়া কাপের আগে নিজেদের প্রস্তুতি নিয়ে সন্তুষ্টির কথা জানালেন জাকেরও, ‘আমাদের প্রস্তুতি খুবই ভালো হয়েছে। ফিটনেস থেকে শুরু করে নেদারল্যান্ডস সিরিজ, ভালো প্রস্তুতি হয়েছে। ড্রেসিংরুমের অবস্থাও সব সময়ের মতো ভালো।’

বাংলাদেশের এশিয়া কাপ প্রস্তুতি ক্যাম্পে আনা হয়েছিল পাওয়ার হিটিংয়ের বিশেষজ্ঞ কোচ জুলিয়ান উডকে। তাঁর শেখানো কৌশল কাজে আসবে, বিশ্বাস জাকেরের। আক্রমণাত্মক ক্রিকেট বড় মঞ্চেও খেলার চ্যালেঞ্জ নিচ্ছেন জাকের। তাঁর চাওয়া এশিয়া কাপে ধাপে ধাপে এগিয়ে যাওয়া।

জাকের বলেছেন, ‘ঠিক এ রকমভাবেই (আক্রমণাত্মক) খেলতে হবে। বড় মঞ্চ, সিরিজ—সবকিছুতেই একই মানসিকতায় খেলতে হবে। শুধু বেসিকসে ফোকাস রেখেই আমরা আক্রমণাত্মক ক্রিকেট খেলছি।’

এশিয়া কাপে বাংলাদেশ খেলবে ‘বি’ গ্রুপে। একই গ্রুপে আছে আফগানিস্তান, শ্রীলঙ্কা ও হংকং। গ্রুপে চার দল থেকে সেরা দুই দল যাবে সুপার ফোরে। বাংলাদেশের প্রথম ম্যাচ ১১ সেপ্টেম্বর, হংকংয়ের বিপক্ষে।