This short story by Mehrul Bari S. Chowdhury is all about memories and moments.
The day was cracking past dawn. Shafin’s eyes flickered with a strange, restless gleam, but Nima Nazari’s looked much the same. Hers were still set, and they hardly moved on the journey here. The car had stopped by the curb and had just now ceased its shaking. The drive there was unpleasant and had taken them quite a while, the last ten minutes of which spent circling the same block.
“Let’s call it a day,” conceded the woman.
“You sure?” asked Shafin, twisting the keys already.
“I’ll do it myself,” said Nima, ungluing herself from the car seat and stepping out. The car pulled slowly away behind her.