It's 11 am in the morning. I checked my phone and mailed that I need a sick

leave. I got freshened up and ate breakfast. After many days, I felt I needed

much more time to figure out things. I had no guts to continue with those

letters again. Keeping these things aside, I messaged him, Arjun. We're about

to get married in a week, yet I still chose to abandon him. I had no guts to

quit, but none to make him feel loved. He is perfect, just like a full moon day,

but I'm scared of light. He loved me so hard that I existed today. We met in a

temple, which is actually funny. Why do people go to temples, actually? To fill

their incompleteness, they said. But what if it isn't worthy to feel complete?

That day, maybe I wanted something different, and I found that. I realised

God is existence, the love that exists in any form. Do you know what's beautiful in this? People admire him, love him, even though he belongs to everyone.

I experienced the same feeling on the same day with two different people: the one I went for, and the one I got in return. Arjun did nothing that day except being kind. He felt like one when he's with children. I saw him laughing out of his heart where here I am, who forgot that I can smile, until I smiled back at him when he looked at me. I've known him since my 8th grade. They shifted next to us. They've been helpful to me after my big loss. He usually talks to me, but I wish he could do more, and he did. I used to go to temples on my birthday because my mother forced me to. So here's that day again, but this time he forced me to. It actually helped.

April 18, 2017

We decided to leave, and then he said something. This time he did more than talk. He asked if we could marry. What did I say? The most stupid thing I've ever done, and I said No. No to the one who's this perfect?

Maybe that's what made me do that. I felt I'm never worthy to marry him, but he failed to make me believe that. A year later, after many considerations, we are together. That one year has been a miracle. Everyday felt more beautiful than the previous. We made love, and maybe that's the only thing I can give him. We went to the most beautiful places. He made me believe about my existence. What can someone do for the one they love? I thought. He answered me with everything. The eyes that once searched for answers don't even think about questions now. And once again, I believed life is beautiful.

Love may not change your entire life, but it heals the past that you're afraid

of.And after all that down, here I am, experiencing high. We decided to take some time to get married, and it's been 3 years now.

"Hey, I finally… Good morning"

His message popped up. I texted him back:

"We need to talk."

"In 5 min at your place?" he texted back.

"No, I'll come over," I said.

Maybe he'll worry if he sees me like this.

After an hour, we went to the Beach, maybe that's like my second home. After

a loud silence, I broke it by asking about how I looked.

"As always, just like the beach," he said.

We talked a lot, we ate everything I wanted, and finally I told him about the

letters — not about my suicide, but about these anonymous ones. He exclaimed.

He wondered who writes these days without even an address and stamps. We tried to figure it out, but we couldn't. He asked if he could see those and take some pictures so that he could enquire. We went to my place, had coffee, and

broke that silence as hard as we could. I finally showed him those letters. I

said I can't figure out anything, and this has been my headache. He said

something I never expected. He said the letters I showed aren't even one. He

said I'm referring to the newspapers.

I'm confused. What the heck? I can see those freaking letters with those bold

letters ruining my brain. What the heck is he talking about? I shouted. I

screamed, but all I hear is the same thing again — him saying there are no

letters and I'm only referring to news papers.

"What happened? I'm screwed."

I immediately checked today's date. It's July 15, and then I realised.

July 15, 2015.

"Ma, is breakfast ready? I need to hurry, it's my graduation day, come on!"

"Arey beta! Aa rahi hoon—"

I looked at my mom and wondered how she manages to look so great every time.

"I also need to fix this saree, Mom, please."

"Arre yaar, just a second — she's graduating and I still need to help her with everything. Kab seekhega ye?" she muttered.

I took both of their blessings, and my dad dropped me to college. Everyone was looking stunning, and I felt a little insecure about myself. I was searching for her, and then she appeared — Geeta, my only reason to survive this whole mess. She looked adorable, like always. We were about to go to the canteen when he came — Satya, who's a year elder to us, our senior. Geeta and he like each other, but both of them choose to stay silent, and I'm here watching each other's drama. The three of us met in a seminar volunteered by him, and from then on we've been hanging out regularly. Satya's a nice guy, but not stubborn enough to propose to her. They both look great together, actually.

After a lot of time listening to their silly talk, I realised — if someone's already announcing about the degree holders, and here, it's our turn. Then we took some photos, went to lunch, and Geeta and I were about to leave the place — that's when Satya proposed to her, finally! I loved watching them; they're so cute. Geeta's so happy, and after all that happiness, we decided to leave for our own places. We hugged and made a promise to see each other every year. Geeta was leaving for Bangalore in 3 hours — Satya had already been working there. I chose to stay here with my parents. We took a last selfie and then I realised my phone was actually dead.

I left first. I took an auto, and started thinking about how angry my mum would be — she would literally hit me with her chappals.

I reached home and paid him the fare and walked fast. The door's locked. I reminded myself that they'd be leaving for the town. I opened the door with my other key and switched on the lights. I took a quick shower and charged my phone — that's when I saw the time; it's past 9. They said they'd be home by 7, I remembered. Making an attempt to dial them, I received one instead. Wondering who it would be, I answered.

It's a call from the police station.

To summarise, this is my first breakdown. I lost them. I lost them in an accident. They said they'd be home by 7, isn't it? And they'll never be. So today is the day before 7 years. People expected me to cry. But I didn't even shed a tear. Well, I couldn't, till now.

This is strange, isn't it? I decided to quit on the same day they did. Well, this letter reminded me of that. I've been thinking about this for 6 hours without even noticing. The letter got wet. I cried. For the first time in the past 7 years, I cried. I cried till I let go of it. I cried till I found happiness that I'm crying.

Turning off the radio, I went to the bedroom to change my dress. After removing my makeup, I took a quick shower and saw myself in the old night clothes again in my mirror. Realizing I didn't even have a sip of my coffee since morning, I grabbed my coffee mug and poured some of the coffee into it and started writing.

Hi, I am Archana. I am 29 years old, a corporate girl, and also may be a strong, independent woman, which is what they call me outside. I am unmarried and living on my own in a rented flat. For the people who think this is a journal, let me clear this for you — this is a suicide note. Before writing this, I have followed my routine one last time. Wondering why am I doing this? I have got you. After figuring out many considerations, here I am explaining why I needed to do this, where you all don't even have a part in it, but may be a part of it. I realized it may not take a great reason to do this, but may be a bad reason enough.

Hearing a loud noise from outside, I went out to check, wondering what it was, but despite my fear, it was just thunder, as it was raining terribly. Before I stepped inside, the power cut had been done and I started searching for the candle with my mobile torch to feel myself warm and good, but could find none. My whole apartment was silent now. I continued with my search — my cupboards, tables, drawers — all I found was nothing.

After a lot of time, I stepped into the bedroom and, for my bad luck, I slipped onto something. Helping myself up, I sat on the bed and shifted my torch beside me, looking for my spectacles. Ah! I finally found them. I immediately adjusted them and picked up whatever that thing was. Huh! There are letters? What could they be for? Checking for a return address, but I didn't find any. I started thinking about the arrival date and why did I leave like this, and wondering who even writes letters in this era. There is no arrival date, no cover for these letters. What am I supposed to do with this? Thinking lately, I decided to read. Starting the first page, it's a salutation as usual.

— The Letter —

Hey Archana, how have you been doing? Well, to come straight to the point. I know what you are going to do in an hour.

Eh? May be they are talking about the dinner.

No, not about the dinner. About the decision you are taking. Suicide.

Eh? How do they even know about this? Am I being followed? Watched? Stalked? What's this actually about?

What do you mean, I’m not that oh-so-cute girl wearing her favorite little gown and roaming all around the house, who is now hesitant to even buy one?

I wonder since when the evolution of adulthood made me realize every certain thing has a price and the cost of my adulthood is the pain of losing her.

I hated when the appreciation of making little steps turned into a curse of questioning standing on her own.

I have no idea how, but that admiration for loud laughs has turned into a sin now.

I miss when they turned from pampering me for not getting me a chocolate to becoming a myth when I needed them most.

I loved how it went from "you're the best thing that happened in our lives" to "you're not the one I wished for."

I wonder since when it became that a person's whole life is just someone's expectation.

I even loved it when I didn’t know Doraemon is just a show.

I wonder how fast it went from "someone's" to "someone," and the worst part is that we strive for that acknowledgment to be one.

The question that hurt me the most: "Is the love I have for someone just an opinion for another?"

All these 20 years, I realized I’ve been building my own wall to hide every emotion of mine, just to be recognized as a normal adult.

I even loved how "normal" is defined.

Since when did it become that being ordinary is normal and being unique isn’t?

Each and every standard they’ve been keeping all these years hasn't made them realize that they’ve been killing the child they once loved the most.

How come they made me believe that everything I did then was a piece of art once and is a piece of shit now?

Since when did interest and talent get an age?

"Hobbies do change," they said, but the interest I had in them never faded away.

I tear up when I realize some of my dreams are still just dreams.

The change I’ve been through is the one I never asked for.

But the best part is that I remind her when I feel, "Am I ever enough?"

Because she was happy when she never questioned that, so why should I?