October 1972, Jalan Aman Jaya
The rain refused to stop.
For three continuous days, the sky had been pouring without mercy. Streets disappeared under muddy water, rooftops trembled under the weight of the storm, and silence replaced the usual rhythm of life. The government advised everyone to stay indoors. So, for the first time in a long while, I postponed my duties.
My thoughts drifted back to my hometown.165Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6nPNOOQgdD
Are they safe?165Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlLz76MfVlE
The last time I spoke to my family, they planned to visit me. I had begged them to wait. Rain like this was unforgiving.
With time on my hands, I decided to clean the house. The sound of rain hitting the zinc roof followed me from room to room, like a constant reminder of how fragile life could be.
That was when I heard it.
A knock.
Firm. Determined. Almost urgent.
When I opened the door, my breath caught.
Tamarai stood there.
Her saree was soaked, rainwater dripping from her hair, her eyes tired but burning with purpose. Without thinking, I pulled her inside.
“Why did you come alone in this weather?” I asked, alarmed.
I handed her a towel and asked her to sit. She wiped her face slowly, then looked at me — eyes trembling, voice barely steady.
“Is there… any letter from my husband?”
That was all.
Just one question.
But in it lived months of longing, patience, and faith.
She told me he had promised — once every two months, without fail. Love measured not in presence, but in words written across oceans.
I checked my bag.
And there it was.
A letter.
Her eyes lit up the moment she saw the envelope. She didn’t open it. Instead, she looked at me softly.
“Please… read it for me.”
August 1972, South Kensington
Dear love,
How are you, my love? I hope you are well. I am doing fine here.
It has been 57 days. With every passing day, I miss you more than before. I truly hope that next month I can return and see you. Anderson’s wife sends her regards — she is excited to meet you soon.
I have met many government officials here. They treat me with great respect and honour. Some are amazed by my findings and ideas. I cannot explain fully about the project yet, but Anderson and I are working on an ancient device believed to grant immortality.
I know it sounds impossible, but you know what I always say — nothing is impossible in science.
This device is believed to be created by the great Indian Siddhar, Agathiyar. I truly believe it can save countless lives from suffering and disease.
There is also a general here. He sometimes behaves strangely, as if he can see the past and the future. Yet, he is a kind man. He was the first to discover this device.
That is all for now, my love. Soon, I will return home.
Tell Abdul to contact me. And remember this — I miss you every single day. When the loneliness becomes too heavy, I hold the saree you gave me. It gives me strength.
Lots of love,165Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡALbh1yHgha
Your husband,165Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzHHr1zVLOo
Maaran
When I finished reading, silence filled the room.
I was stunned — not just by the discovery, but by the depth of the man behind the science. A scientist chasing immortality, yet surviving only because of love.
Tamarai folded her hands and thanked me. Her voice trembled, heavy with emotion. I wished, with all my heart, that she would meet her husband soon.
My thoughts wandered to my own past.165Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡW3oJ2ZGNYy
When my father had gone to Thailand for two years, my mother fell ill. Doctors said many things — but I knew the truth.
Love can heal.165Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡi9ptflkILe
And love can destroy.
I prayed Tamarai would never suffer the same fate.
As she prepared to leave, I noticed another parcel addressed to her. Inside was a dress — a gift from her husband. Her face lit up like the rain clouds had finally parted.
She left with a smile, eyes wet but hopeful.
And just like that…
The rain stopped.
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With a full heart and quiet happiness, I returned to my cleaning — grateful for the simple joy of being part of someone else’s love story
165Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUHqq6hjlCU
and then Add to home screen.