The letter.

She sat on her big veranda and slowly opened the cover. A letter inside. Aamaya was always fond of letters. For her, a letter is not just a piece of paper filled with letters but rather emotions. As she unfolds it, her heart wrenches. There is hope, a part of her is curious and, another devastated. As she starts reading it, she smiles through her tears. She can hear that voice reading it for her. It's not she who is reading it, but them narrating. Those stories, moments, words brought all those memories and all of a sudden everything hits back. Nostalgic? No, much more than that. And that moment, that very moment she wished for the universe to pause. The smell of old paper and blue ink. And that handwriting, she could never forget. As she touched it, she felt their presence, those emotions; raw and just. As words became sentences and sentences to paragraphs; she wished for this letter to never end. Vigorously she reads but not wanting it to end. How selfish we become, sometimes. Isn't it? But once begun, should end. And there, that last full stop. Prayers, heard. Questions, answered. Wish, granted. She sat there, still. For long enough. She folds back the letter. Kept it inside her diary.
And then she smiled, for she knew that now it's her turn. To write, to bleed, to reply.
And then, to wait.

Comments

  1. ThiruSeptember 5, 2024 at 8:51 AM

    This story of yours made me write a letter and post it to the persons we love. So Brilliant. You got the pulse of portraying emotions through your stories.

    ReplyDelete

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