“She should have landed by now; let me check the flight status,” said Arif. 

Arif watched the screen as Flight BS211 vanished from the radar. His heart sank. It was supposed to land in Kathmandu at 2:15pm. Instead, headlines flooded his phone. 

“US-BANGLA flight crashes upon landing.”

“51 feared death.”

“Biggest disaster in the aviation industry—US-BANGLA flight BS211 crashes at Kathmandu.”

The headlines were a knife to Arif’s heart. He calls Maya only to find her mobile phone unreachable. Tears rolled down his eyes, his body felt numb, his heart pinched. He was clearly terrified—fearing the worst. Without any further thoughts, he decides to visit Kathmandu himself. 

‘Please try to understand, my wife’s life is in danger—she is a part of the US-BANGLA crash,’ Arif begged in front of the Ticket Counter officer the next day.

Maya had called before takeoff. Her voice was soft and calm as usual—“I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget to bring my favourite chocolates and be on time at the airport. And don’t worry I will bring your favourite Himalayan tea.” Arif sobs as he holds onto a packet of Maya’s favourite chocolates, Snickers, while boarding his flight after a hassle. 

Witnesses said the plane wobbled in the air, circling twice. The control tower gave clearance, but the aircraft veered off course – low and unsteady followed by a massive explosion. Flames. Screams. Cries. A campus nearly shook from the blast. Out of 71 onboard, only a few made it out but seat 17A didn’t. 

After landing, Arif had just one goal – to find Maya. From ICUs to morgues, he only had one sentence – “Have you seen my wife – Maya Rahman? Please…my wife.”

A nurse shook her head slowly. “It’s difficult. Some were burned beyond..” she stopped. 

Arif collapsed outside Tribhuvan Hospital. The air smelled of ash. 

Two weeks later –
He meets a survivor – a student, the forehead wrapped with a gauze and bruises all around. Both sob as the student Arhan reminisces about the moment when Maya said, “Breathe. You will be alright. ‘Just breathe,’ as Maya held his hands tight to support him. 

“She pushed me out.”

“Maya didn’t follow you?”

“No, she just went for another passenger.”

Arif did not speak. Just wept inconsolably. 

7 years later.

Every 12 March, Arif still reads the letter that Maya wrote for him to gift him with his Himalayan tea – Arhan said she was preparing for his gift before she even landed, and before she pushed Arhan to safety, she said, “Please give this to my husband and tell him I love him a lot.”

Today Arif writes a letter as a reply and puts it in the box named “17A,” thinking someday he will send these letters. He visits the crash site often; what once turned into a grey land of cries is now just scorched grass and quiet air. 

The final words echo in his ears—she was brave and selfless. “I’m proud of you, Maya!”