Page 103 of Mrs. Rathore

Now that I could walk again, I took on all the responsibilities I could. I took my mother for chemotherapy and went to my brother's parent-teacher meetings. Yesterday, I visited them both, and to my surprise, Dad and Aarav talked about Aryan.

They missed him.

Not me. Not the daughter who could finally walk again, not the sister who brought groceries and medicine. They missed him. Aryan had somehow become more important to them than I ever could. I didn't know what hurt more: that they missed him, or that I wasn't surprised.

My mother was doing "okay." Not good, not healthy, not getting better. Just "okay." And somehow, that was even harder to accept than hearing she was getting worse. "Okay" meant a slow, difficult process. It meant hope without any real promises. And that was the most exhausting kind of waiting.

That evening, Mrs. Rathore and Rhea went to an officers' party. They invited me, even insisted, but I said no. I just couldn't. The thought of being around all those fancy people, with their fake smiles and expensive perfumes, made me feel like I didn't belong. More than that, I didn't want to make Mrs. Rathore uncomfortable. I didn't want her to introduce me and explain who I was. Sometimes, staying away is the only way to keep your pride.

I had just settled down with my laptop, half-heartedly watching a recorded lecture, when the doorbell rang. I jumped, surprised. Looking at the clock, I frowned. Rhea and Mrs. Rathore had only left an hour ago. Did they forget something?

The bell rang again, louder this time. I got up and walked to the door.

When I opened it, a postal worker stood there, holding a familiar envelope. "Ma'am, this letter is from Miss Ira Solanki."

I gasped. My eyes went straight to the envelope.

It was Aryan's letter.

A sudden thrill went through me. My hands moved without thinking. I snatched the envelope quickly, as if someone might take it away.

"Thank you," I mumbled, closing the door behind me. I stood there for a moment, just staring at it.

Had Ira found out that I had replied in her place?

Maybe she was wondering why Aryan wrote back when she hadn't. Or maybe, hopefully, she thought Aryan just wanted to tell her he was fine, even without expecting a reply. The envelope was sealed, so she hadn't read it yet. So, there was a 50/50 chance she hadn't realized anything was wrong.

I was pretending to be her. A replacement for someone Aryan truly cared about. And the scariest part? I had started to need these letters more than I admitted to myself.

I pushed the guilt away, like I always did, and walked into my room. My fingers trembled as I held the envelope. I took a deep breath before tearing it open.

Dear Ira,

Your letter arrived at just the right time.

We had just returned from patrol. My boots were soaked, my hands were freezing, and I was feeling pretty down. Then someone called my name and handed me your letter. I recognized your handwriting. Some things you just never forget.

I sat on my bunk, still in my gear, and read it. Once, then again, slowly, as if the words might disappear if I rushed.

Thank you for writing back. I honestly didn't expect it. I wasn't even sure if I should have written in the first place. But your words... they grounded me. Like holding onto something familiar in a world where everything keeps changing.

You remembered how picky I used to be about dal, huh? I laughed reading that. Some things never change! The food herethat I once would have hated, I now eat like a five-star meal. I guess that's what you call growth.

And that broken bench near your house... I remember it clearly. The one with the wobbly leg. We tried so hard to fix it with a flat stone, but I always ended up sliding off. We must have looked ridiculous, but we kept going back anyway. Maybe it wasn't the bench we liked so much after all.

I'm really glad to hear you're doing well, Ira. It's comforting to know that someone you once cared for is okay. Reading your letter felt like looking through an old diary – familiar, gentle, a little sad, but not heavy.

We've both changed, and that's okay. But I'll always be grateful for the time in my life that included you. And if we continue to write now and then, share a few memories, I think that's more than enough.

Take care. And if you ever come across another broken bench, I hope this time, it stays balanced.

Warm regards,

Aryan

I smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was the kind that made your chest ache and left an empty feeling inside. A sad little curve of the lips that said more than words ever could.

Aryan cared about Ira. Deeply. That was clear. And I... I had interfered. I had stepped into something I didn't belong in, even if I told myself it was harmless. I was only supposed to writea few letters. Just until she returned. But every time his words arrived, I felt something I couldn't name.