Arjun poured out the deepest secrets of his heart before Sudhanshu,"Sometimes a single moment reveals exactly how deeply someone belongs to us."
Sudhanshu placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.
Arjun drew a deep, weary breath. His voice was heavy with exhaustion and a quiet, aching sorrow."Those who are closest to our hearts… I don't know why, but they are the ones who slip away the farthest. It feels as if time and fate conspire together in some unknown game, snatching them from our grasp. They remain within reach of our arms, yet somehow stay just beyond our hold…"
He looked at Sudhanshu with pained eyes. "Why does this happen, dear friend?
Why is it that the ones we love the most are the ones who slip through our fingers the quickest?"
Sudhanshu replied with a trace of irritation, "I don't understand why you can't leave the past behind?
The more tightly you cling to her memories, the more likely it is that she has forgotten everything and moved on with her life. If you ever met her again, she might even ask, 'Who is Arjun?
She probably doesn't even remember your name."
Arjun's face clouded with sadness. "Mother told me she is no longer alive. The old lady from Lalkothi mentioned it to her at the ghat."
Sudhanshu scratched the back of his neck in mild regret and leaned forward in his chair. "Arjun, today I ran into that same Lalkothi grandmother near the medical store. She must have come to buy medicine. She was clad in her customary white saree as usual, clutching that old blue cloth bag in her hand.
She smiled faintly when she saw me, then said, "Son, you're going to meet Arjun, aren't you? Here, give him this envelope."
It seemed as if she was already on her way to your lane when she spotted me."Sudhanshu paused for a moment, then took a deep breath as if the memory of the envelope had just returned to him. "But strangely," he said, frowning slightly, "the sender had written Grandmother's address in place of yours. Perhaps it was a mistake… or perhaps it had been done deliberately."
He smiled sheepishly. "By the way, in the middle of all this talk, I completely forgot to give you the envelope! It just came back to me now. Otherwise, you would have again called me absent-minded."There was an odd restlessness hidden beneath his words, as though he sensed another story lurking behind this forgetfulness, yet could not quite voice it.
Arjun looked up at him, startled. A sudden spark ignited in his eyes, as if a long-awaited thread had begun to sway before him once more.In a low, eager voice, he whispered, "It must be the reply to my RTI application."
His words carried both hope and a faint tremor of anxiety, as though the approaching truth had shaken him to his core. He leaned forward in his chair, clenching his hands together tightly. "Perhaps they didn't send it to the mailbox but used the postal address instead, and the postman mistakenly handed it to Dadi (Grandma). Old people often don't understand whose letter it is; they simply give it to someone they recognise.
"Arjun repeated with growing excitement, "Yes, it must be the response to the RTI. The file can't stay closed much longer now. It is beginning to stir; it wants to come out into the open."
A strange tension, woven from hope, fear, and intense curiosity, appeared on his face.
For a moment, the room fell into complete silence. Both friends sat as though listening to the faint heartbeat of the truth sealed within that envelope.
Sudhanshu shook his head with a gentle smile, as if trying to steady his friend's fragile hope."No, friend," he said calmly. "If it were an RTI reply, it would have come directly to your address. It wouldn't arrive in someone else's name, and certainly not as a confidential letter. Government documents have their own language, their own formality. Even the postman knows what must be delivered to whom."
"I think," Sudhanshu continued thoughtfully, "it must have been sent by someone who knows you. Perhaps an old acquaintance. Maybe some unfinished story has resurfaced… or some truth that they wish to share only with you."
Arjun nodded absently, yet there was a strange warmth in Sudhanshu's words that gently pulled his attention away from the mysterious envelope and back to his friend.
And so, time itself became a part of their conversation. The two sat talking for hours—revisiting childhood mischief, college tales, their first jobs, their first failures, their first victories, and the bittersweet memories of first love—until they arrived at the chaos of the present.
Just then, Arjun's mother called from the kitchen, "Come, boys, have your dinner. You can talk later. The whole night is still ahead of you."
Only then did they realise how swiftly the hours had flown. Yet perhaps these conversations, these few stolen hours, were the very anchors that would give them the strength to face the storms waiting in the days ahead.
Late into the night, Arjun remained immersed in lively conversation with Sudhanshu. By the time they finished talking, he could not bring himself to read the letter. The anxieties that had weighed upon him throughout the day had dissolved in the warmth of his friend's company. Exhaustion, however, had quietly claimed him; he slipped into the embrace of sleep without even realizing it.
He had stayed awake so late, so he failed once again to rise during the Brahma Muhurta(Amrit Kaal). This was the second time it had happened. When he finally woke, Sudhanshu had already left for duty. His mother and Bitti were waiting for him to join them for tea.
"Human nature is such that man is irresistibly drawn towards mysterious things," Arjun mused. With trembling hands, he picked up the envelope and opened it with great care, slowly and deliberately. The handwriting on it was beautiful—each letter round and lustrous like pearls, clear, neat, and meticulously arranged. Yet there was no sender's name.
The postmark was too faint to reveal the city of origin with certainty. The postage stamp in the corner had faded, as though the name of the city had been deliberately blurred. Still, by studying the faint remnants of the last few letters, Arjun guessed that the letter might have come from Bardhaman (Burdwan).
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