The Last Love Letter

The clock struck 12. And a buzzer reminded me that it was the time to complete my commitment. I kept the book, I was reading, on the side table and got ready for my task I was doing for last 35 years and would be doing till I was alive.

A flash of lightening illuminated the window pane followed by a supersonic thundering sound. I tried to look through the window pane but it was all black; it just reflected my own self, an old worn out face of a sixty-year-old person. In the black backdrop of glass I could count the age-carved wrinkles on my face, could see a couple of bald patches surrounded by scarce grey hair and could sense the loneliness in my dull brown eyes.

‘Promise me you will write me a love letter on my every birthday, even when I’ll not be with you,’ a cheerful chirp of a charming 24-year-old girl, who had just accepted to be my wife, echoed in my memory box. 

‘Of course my dear and don’t talk about leaving me, Ok,’ we didn’t speak anything for next few seconds but some uninvited drops of water on our cheeks had said everything.

Lightning flashed the window pane again followed by another thundering sound bringing me back to the present. I picked the pink letter pad and a pen from the drawer and started doing what I was doing every year on the same day and same time for last 35 years though it’s the first time she’s not here to acknowledge but I’m sure she must be eagerly waiting for it somewhere from the heavens.

It had started to rain outside. An uninvited tear rolled down my aged cheeks and soon the downpour began. It would be going to rain heavily tonight.

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