Is human life like a circle? A circle has no beginning, no end. Is human life the same? Caught in a mysterious cycle—endless, beginningless—life keeps spinning around. The wheel turns.

And within this turning cycle, some wait. Perhaps everyone waits. But for what?

—If you take Apeksha (The Wait) by Humayun Ahmed in your hands, these words are perhaps what you will first notice, written in fine letters inside the cover. Usually, this place contains a short introduction about the book—what awaits inside, what you are about to read. But Humayun Ahmed did not want to write such a thing here. Instead, he wrapped the readers in mystery, planting questions in their minds. Just a few pages ahead, a brief four-line poem appears:

I open the door and step outside
to catch the moonlight.
My hands fill with silver beams—
but when I try to hold them, they are gone.

With these lines, the legendary author sustained the mystery. Now, you have no choice but to read on.

The book begins with joy. A pure, unstained joy, where no regret resides. But life is not like that. In life, happiness and sorrow exist like twin brothers. Humayun Ahmed’s Apeksha tells the truth—sometimes without reason, sometimes with reason. It caresses the head with affection, then points a finger at your mistakes. It tempts with happiness just beyond the edge of pain—yet never quite gives it.

To this Apeksha—a birthday wish. May countless more twenty-fifths pass just like this.