It was a cold winter evening. There was a certain kind of eeriness to everything. The sun had set unusually early. May be it was going to rain. She stepped out to the balcony to look at the surroundings. She was filled with a weird sense of sadness; pain. Doorbell. It was a courier marked to her. ‘Who writes a letter in this age of email/internet!’ She held the letter. It was from him.
She hadn’t heard from him in ages. But there she was. Holding a letter. A swift sentiment of longing engulfed her. Her hands couldn’t find the strength to open the letter. Her eyes couldn’t find the courage to read. But how could she not. Her husband would be coming shortly. She had to quickly read the letter and purge it.
She opened the letter and headed to the restroom. She immediately recognized the handwriting. It hadn’t changed. The letter talked about his interminable love for her. She didn’t even whisper any word for the fear that all this might become real. Except for at one place. “By the time you read this…I would be very far away.”
The next line bore his signature. There was some detailing at the end. The pen must have slipped from his hand. Leaving a stain near his name.
She flushed the letter. She went to the balcony again. It rained. She held herself tightly.