📝 āύিঃāĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻāϏূāϤ্āϰ | The Silent Thread

 


📝 āύিঃāĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻāϏূāϤ্āϰ | The Silent Thread

āĻŦাংāϞাEnglish
āϞāύ্āĻĄāύেāϰ āωāĻĒāĻ•āĻŖ্āĻ ে āĻāĻ• āĻŦৃāĻĻ্āϧা, āĻāϞিāϏ, āĻāĻ•া āĻĨাāĻ•āϤেāύ।An old woman named Alice lived alone on the outskirts of London.
āϤাāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāĻĻিāύেāϰ āϏāĻ™্āĻ—ী āĻ›িāϞ āĻāĻ•āϟা āϚিāĻ িāϰ āĻ–াāĻŽ—āϝেāϟা āϏে āĻ•āĻ–āύোāχ āĻ–োāϞেāύি।Her daily companion was an envelope she had never opened.
āĻ–াāĻŽেāϰ āωāĻĒāϰ āϞেāĻ–া āĻ›িāϞ: “āϝāĻ–āύ āϤুāĻŽি āĻ•্āώāĻŽা āĻ•āϰāϤে āĻĒাāϰāĻŦে, āϤāĻ–āύāχ āĻĒ⧜ো।”On the envelope, it was written: “Read this only when you can forgive.”
āϚিāĻ িāϟা āĻ›িāϞ āϤাāϰ āĻ›েāϞেāϰ। āϝিāύি ⧍ā§Ļ āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āφāĻ—ে, āĻāĻ• āĻāĻ—ā§œাāϰ āĻĒāϰ, āĻŦা⧜ি āĻ›ে⧜ে āϚāϞে āϝাāύ।The letter was from her son, who had left home 20 years ago after a quarrel.
āĻāϞিāϏ āĻ•াāωāĻ•ে āĻŦāϞেāύāύি, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϚিāĻ িāϟা āĻĒ্āϰāϤিāĻĻিāύ āϏāĻ•াāϞে āĻšাāϤে āύি⧟ে āϚুāĻĒāϚাāĻĒ āĻŦাāϰাāύ্āĻĻা⧟ āĻŦāϏāϤেāύ।Alice never told anyone, but each morning she held the envelope and silently sat on the porch.

āϏāĻŽā§Ÿ āĻ—ā§œাāϤে āĻĨাāĻ•ে। āĻļāϰীāϰāϟা āĻĻুāϰ্āĻŦāϞ āĻšāϤে āĻĨাāĻ•ে, āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϚিāĻ ি āĻ–োāϞেāύ āύা। | Time passed. Her body grew weaker, but she never opened the letter.
āĻāĻ•āĻĻিāύ āĻšāĻ াā§Ž āĻŦৃāώ্āϟিāϰ āĻŽāϧ্āϝে, āĻāϞিāϏ āĻĒ⧜ে āϝাāύ। | One day, in the rain, Alice slipped and fell.
āĻšাāϏāĻĒাāϤাāϞে āύেāĻ“ā§Ÿা āĻšāϞে, āύাāϰ্āϏāϰা āϤাāϰ āĻšাāϤāĻŦ্āϝাāĻ—ে āĻ–াāĻŽāϟা āĻĒা⧟। | At the hospital, the nurses found the envelope in her handbag.
āĻĄাāĻ•্āϤাāϰ āĻĒ্āϰāĻļ্āύ āĻ•āϰেāύ, “āĻāϟা āĻ•ি āĻ–ুāϞে āĻĻেāĻ–āϤে āϚাāύ?” | A doctor asked, “Would you like to open this?”
āĻāϞিāϏ āϧীāϰে āĻŽাāĻĨা āύা⧜েāύ। āϚোāĻ–ে āϜāϞ। | Alice slowly nodded, eyes filled with tears.

āϚিāĻ িāϤে āϞেāĻ–া āĻ›িāϞ:
"āĻŽা, āφāĻŽি āĻ­ুāϞ āĻ•āϰেāĻ›িāϞাāĻŽ। āĻ•িāύ্āϤু āϤুāĻŽি āφāĻŽাāϰ āĻĒৃāĻĨিāĻŦী। āϝāĻĻি āĻāχ āϚিāĻ ি āĻĒ⧜āĻ›ো, āφāĻŽি āϜাāύি āϤুāĻŽি āĻ•্āώāĻŽা āĻ•āϰেāĻ›ো। āφāĻŽি āĻĢিāϰে āφāϏāϤে āϚাāχ... āĻļুāϧু āĻāĻ•āĻŦাāϰ āϤোāĻŽাāϰ āĻĒাāĻļে āĻŦāϏে āύীāϰāĻŦ āĻĨাāĻ•āϤে āϚাāχ।" | The letter read:
"Mom, I was wrong. But you are my whole world. If you're reading this, I know you've forgiven me. I want to come back... just once, to sit in silence beside you."

āϏেāχ āϰাāϤে, āĻšাāϏāĻĒাāϤাāϞেāϰ āĻ•āϰিāĻĄোāϰে āĻāĻ• āϝুāĻŦāĻ• āĻĻাঁ⧜ি⧟ে āĻ›িāϞ—āϚোāĻ–ে āφāϤāĻ™্āĻ•, āĻšাāϤে āϞিāϞি āĻĢুāϞ। | That night, a young man stood in the hospital corridor—nervous, holding lilies.
āĻāĻŦং āĻāϞিāϏ, āϝিāύি āĻ•োāύো āĻļāĻŦ্āĻĻ āύা āĻ•āϰে, āĻļুāϧু āύিāϜেāϰ āĻ›েāϞেāϰ āĻšাāϤ āϧāϰেāĻ›িāϞেāύ—āĻ…āύেāĻ• āĻŦāĻ›āϰ āĻĒāϰ। | And Alice, without a word, simply held her son’s hand—for the first time in many years.

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