31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡv2NtjP9lFu
Anil Babu lives alone. With no family of his own, he plays every role in his solitary household. At 45, he has never married—and he has no desire to. His faith in love, trust, and companionship has long since eroded.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2IPZgRmp7h
Each day follows a strict rhythm: wake up, cook, eat, go to the office. On the way home, he stops by College Street, buys used books by the kilo, shops for groceries, cooks dinner, reads, and then drifts into sleep. A quiet life governed by routine.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPbAxhvJZAr
Then the lockdown strikes, upending everything.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7I9ke0NjDq
Now confined indoors, he finds solace in the books he had recently bought in bulk. One afternoon, after lunch, he picks up a volume from the stack. As he opens the book, a folded letter tumbles out.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEuGeneAc6N
In earlier days, people often hid letters inside books—love notes tucked safely between the pages to avoid a prying eye. This seemed to be one of those. He gently unfolds the paper and begins reading.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAmtAjDnjUp
The letter is from a girl to her boyfriend. She writes of a misunderstanding—an argument that erupted over her male friend, leading to a falling out. But she doesn’t want the relationship to end. She’s willing to sacrifice the friendship if that’s what it takes to prove her love.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡttL26xmMvG
She includes a recently installed landline number at her home and urges him to call if he still feels the same. It’s clear she hadn’t intended to end things—just mend them.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡL78da5cHqg
Anil Babu finishes reading and murmurs to himself, “So not all women are like her… not like my girlfriend, Mousumi. This girl truly loved him. They must be reunited.” He assumes she forgot to post the letter—perhaps she thought she had, or someone interrupted her as she was finishing it.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡayL2pQlcHq
But there’s no name. No address. Neither the girl’s nor the boy’s. It’s as if the letter itself was left incomplete, tucked away in haste. It feels nearly two decades old.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOl1U5WPznF
Anil Babu wonders: Is she still waiting? Did they ever reunite? Or did they live their lives apart—two hearts fractured by a moment of doubt?
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6wnFBBJvWk
The questions wedge themselves into the silence of his days. He has to know.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRMHHD0ufDC
Then he remembers: the letter mentioned her landline number.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaRIWW0DxuQ
With a surge of courage, he dials the number. To his surprise, it still exists. In the age of smartphones, the landline lives on. A child answers.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8TQ1w3EkGA
In a gentle voice, Anil asks, “How many women live in your house, little one?”
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡO4EELKx9Tv
She replies, “My mom, me, and my grandma. My aunt Mou used to stay here too, but now she’s married and lives with her in-laws.” Then the call drops.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZA50VSkOIr
He tries calling again, but the line won’t connect.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFmSSqNEOBd
“Mou,” he whispers. “So this was Mou’s letter. But is that her full name… or short for something?” His heart races.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLqJrh0OE4w
Mousumi.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkAlLvVEeQr
He freezes.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlFTGaoO4Z6
Could this be her letter? His Mousumi?
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyeUvmNKwBZ
Rummaging through an old telephone directory, he searches for the number. And there it is—registered to the same address as Mousumi’s home.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhevIOpLxcV
It feels like the sky has collapsed around him.
31Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoyuLj5RhxR
A misunderstanding, a virus of suspicion, had brought lockdown into his own life twenty years ago. And perhaps, it was he who left a letter unread.
