Green paddy fields, muddy village paths, birdsong, and the melody of the evening azaan—together they formed the small village of Shalbon. In that village lived Rahat, a quiet young man who worked in the fields with his father. He dreamed of becoming a successful agricultural entrepreneur one day, yet he never wanted to leave the scent of his village soil behind.
In the same village lived Meghla. True to her name, she was soft and gentle. She studied at a college in the city, but whenever she came home during vacations, she could be found sitting beneath the shiuli tree, reading a book.
Rahat first noticed Meghla on an autumn morning. She had come to gather shiuli flowers, and her scarf was filling up with the delicate white blossoms. A soft breeze played with her hair. Watching her, Rahat felt an unfamiliar stirring in his heart.
But the village had strict customs. It was not looked upon kindly if boys and girls talked too freely. So their meetings were limited to the language of their eyes—at the pond's edge, along the market road, or in the paddy fields.
One afternoon, a sudden nor'wester storm swept through. Meghla was returning home by the fields when she lost her way in the wind and dust. Rahat found her and covered her head with his own gamcha, guiding her safely home. That day, they spoke for the first time.
"Are you always this quiet?" Meghla asked with a gentle smile.
Blushing, Rahat replied, "I never found someone worth talking to."
Meghla laughed softly. "Then you have now."
From then on, their conversations grew—through letters. When Meghla returned to the city, Rahat wrote to her about the scent of ripening paddy, the village evenings, and his longing for her.
But one day, Meghla's family arranged her marriage to a businessman from the city. Hearing the news, Rahat was heartbroken. Though he wanted to speak up, he lacked the courage.
The day before the wedding, Meghla called Rahat to meet her under the shiuli tree. With tearful eyes, she said,
"If you had said it just once, I would have waited."
For the first time, Rahat found his voice.
"I love you, Meghla—deep and true, like this soil."
A few village elders, who had witnessed Rahat's honesty and hard work, stepped forward. They spoke to Meghla's father on his behalf. In the end, the wedding was called off, and their love prevailed.
Autumn returned once more. Beneath the shiuli tree, Meghla's scarf held not only flowers but dreams. And holding Rahat's hand, she realized that her true happiness lay in the soil of her village.