“How many more days or months, Beck?” my sister rests her arm on my left shoulder.
“I think the postman got changed or maybe he just lost the letter…” I blow on the cup of tea, which is freezing cold by now.
“Really? I hope that’s how it is.”
3 months later
I go running through the entrance gate to the postman. “Any letter or any news?”
“No, little miss. Nothing.”
He again gets back on his way and I walk away.
“If anything comes, I’ll make sure that you get it,” the postman shouts.
2 years later
“What is in this shoe box, Becky?” Ren asks. I turn around to find the box of letters, which I once named ‘The Box of Dreams’, but now I think all those dreams faded away before I even knew.
“It’s the letter box. Can you hide it in the storeroom for me?” I assume her to taunt me now or give me some words of wisdom. But instead she just smiles and says, “Sure, but it’d have been better if you were to throw it out.”
I don’t move my feet from the balcony, my eyes on the entrance door. I see the postman on his way, who once used to call me a little miss.
8 years later
“Honey,” Vincent calls me from the sun room. “I invited some of my colleagues to tomorrow’s party. Is that alright?”
“Why wouldn’t that be okay?” I sit next to him, handing him his cup of tea.
“Well, I was thinking, how about you invite your family too? It’s a great opportunity for us to announce the good news.”
He pulls me closer. It makes me realize that everything has changed. I am not a little girl anymore, no one would ever call me ‘little miss’ now. I am going to be a mother. Things will change too.
Vincent looks me in the eye and asks, “Are you happy, Beck?” I feel my eyes getting teary and my nostrils flare. “I don’t know, Vin, I don’t know.”
I break into tears and he just pulls me to his chest.
The Very Next Day
“What is it, Ren? I want you to meet some people.”
Ren takes both my hands and stares at them and finally says. “He sent you a letter last month.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused.
“I am sorry, Becky, this is the worst time for me to tell you this, but I really had to.” She looks at me now and says, “Charlie sent you a letter.”
My eyes go big. I wanna say,’ Tell me you’re lying. He couldn’t write me back and he won’t. He mustn’t.’ I wanna shout and scream. I want to cry.
But I say,” It surely took him a long time. Let’s go back to the party.”
Her face starts to show pity for me. She says, “I wish it wasn’t too late. I rooted for you. For both of you. I wished to see fairy tales come true.”
I laugh and hold on to my glass of drink and say, “Silly, fairy tales aren’t real. Do you still believe in them?”
As I turn, the smile on my face fades and I mutter out the truth, “I wished the same.”
Wordsmith: Mahzabin Mahi