Between the books peeked a little corner of something white. As Arit decided to start cleaning his father’s belongings, he had started with the books. Books were his father’s(baba’s) world. He remembered lazy Sundays when his bookworm baba snuggled in his cosy chair early morning with a big fat novel, and finished it the same night, reluctantly occasionally getting up for necessary chores. As he grew up he got interested in the topics of the books his baba read and found out they were all somehow related to unfound love or lost love. Whenever he enquired baba about what made that his favourite topic he gave different answers everytime, none of which convinced Arit. “I have had friends with broken hearts”, “I have wondered what if my love was 10000 miles away from me”, “Tragedies are the gems of literature” were his excuses.

The pitter-patter of rain outside brought Arit back to reality. He pulled the little white triangle sticking out, it was an envelop, with an address of Shantiniketan written on it, but no addressee. The handwriting was that of Baba’s. Who did he write it to? He did not know of any acquaintances living in Shantiniketan. Why did he not send it. The envelope looks worn down with time. Curiosity brimming in him, he stashed it between the books and tried to divert his mind by shuffling the books in the cupboard.

After half an hour, he abandoned his self restraint, quietly asked for forgiveness from Baba and tore open the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper, slightly yellow being imprisoned in the envelope for some time. The words said:

“Dear Mithu,

I know this is too late as you will goodbye today and leave to a far away fairyland with the luckiest man on earth. And maybe when this letter reaches you, if it does, you will not remember the author of these words. Because we never spoke, I had fallen in love the first time I saw you carrying a heavy suitcase to your new home, just beside ours, your face red and glowing from the heat and excitement. I had ignored storm and rain to have a glance of your serene face everyday. But courage has always slipped past me and I never have talked to you.

And today when you will look most beautiful, I will not be able to confront you, as it will be a harsh reminder of my cowardice.

Maybe in our next life. Good luck and best wishes.

Always loving you

Subir

P.s I got your husband’s address from the wedding invite.”

Arit read the letter again, and again till his heart broke into pieces. His dear Baba had submerged himself into fictional tragedies, never finding the courage to send the letter to the love of his life. But luck has landed the letter in Arit’s hand, and he decided to be the messenger. He put the letter in a fresh envelope, wrote the address again and booked a train ticket to Shantiniketan. With a letter, an address and the first name of its receiver, he would fulfill his father’s deepest secret wish.

As soon as he reached Shantiniketan, he took a riskshaw straight to the address on the envelope. He was dropped off in front of a quaint little cottage, wrapped around with flower beds and guarded by a little gate. His heart pounding and hands shaking he rang the calling bell. Neither vibrant flowers of the garden nor the birdsong in the quietness calmed him down. The door was opened by a middle aged lady, with an enquiring look.

“Does someone called Mithu live here”, Arit blurted.

“May I know who you are?”, asked the lady.

“I am from Kolkata, and I had a letter for this address”, Arit knew how stupid that sounded, but the lady said “Mithu was my mother, she passed away few months back. Did you say you had a letter for her?”

Sheepishly Arit handed over the letter, fully aware there was no real proof of its genuineness. The lady did not introduce herself, tore off the envelope and read the letter. They stood in silence as she read on, her brows curving.

“Are you from Kolkata did you say? From Maniktala by any chance?” She said as she finished reading.

“Yes, how do you know?” Arit was confused.

“Can you please wait here? I am Moitreyi by the way.”

Moitreyi came back after a couple of minutes holding an envelope and handed it over to Arit. He could not read her expressions, she seemed amused yet sad.

“I found it along her belongings, addressed to a Manicktala address”.

Arit tore it and they read it together:

“Dear Subir,

Feels strange writing to someone whom I have never spoken a single word, but have longed to till my last days. I dont even remember how I came to know your name, only I remember your big bright eyes looking at mine, turning your gaze away as soon as I looked. I wanted to know you more but I never found the courage, always hoping you would come forward someday. But you never did.

I dont know why I am writing this, maybe because I have never told this to anyone. I have always imagined what it would be like to love and marry the boy with those big bright eyes. Maybe with this letter I can get to know you during my last few days.

Mithu”