Blues for Allah

Shormi woke up from a long nap by the sound of a cat screeching. The rain had just stopped and the curtains were tightly pulled. Bright sunlight that fell on the mirror gave her face a raffish charm. There was a small photo-frame on the bedside table. She looked much younger in black and white, helping a toddler walk. The boy was holding a toy gun and was staring at the camera with a menacing look. Both of them looked forlorn, like the ice creams they consumed years ago on a holiday-trip to Cox's Bazaar – long lost and forgotten.