A Short Story...
A Short Story...
My hands were shaking as I read the first line. By just looking at the letter, I knew from whom it was. I recognized the familiar letters in cursive and those untidy ink blotches. “Papa”, I said under my breath, warm tears rolled down my cheeks. I could feel him. I could feel his presence in each word of the letter. The door creaked open and the nurse popped in. “Everything fine?” She asked with a look of concern on her face. She sat on the stool next to my bed and took my hands in hers. When she saw my tears, “Whose is it?”, she asked. “It’s him Meera. It’s papa.”, I replied with a fresh surge of tears. She took the letter from me and wiped away my tears. “You remember I had told you Amaya? Remember I had told you that all you have to do is listen to your heart and believe in what it says”, Even she couldn’t hold her tears back. She took me in her arms. Once again, she reminded me of mummy. Mummy had left papa and me when I was just four. Papa had told me then, that she had gone to meet God. I was too young at that time and believed him easily. Now I know how her disease had eaten her up. Her pain can be understood by her only. Then, when I was seven, papa disappeared. No one could find him.
I had never lost hope. I knew he would come back someday. My only supp
ort was Meera, a nurse at the local hospital. A year after papa's disappearance, I had gone into a severe depression. They sent me to the hospital when I fainted due to the overdose of anti-depressants. Since then, Meera has always been there for me. He was back now. Papa was back. In his letter he had said that he was coming to me as soon as he could. He had not mentioned where he was or what had happened to him. All he wrote was that he really loved me and missed me. He also wrote about all the gifts he was getting for me. I didn’t want any gifts. I just wanted my papa back. This is one of the happiest moments of my life. I couldn’t wait to see him.
...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................
There are so many short stories like these. Stories for us. Live for them. You know why I called it short? There was a bomb blast in the market area where Amaya was buying a gift for her papa. The plane by which her papa was coming back to her had crashed. Her mummy had been missing them both even when she was at God's house. She called them to her and the family united at last.