99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡig2VCB6dZI
Anil Babu lives alone. With no family of his own, he plays every role in his solitary household. At 45, he has never married—and he has no desire to. His faith in love, trust, and companionship has long since eroded.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP9pQmY9YUL
Each day follows a strict rhythm: wake up, cook, eat, go to the office. On the way home, he stops by College Street, buys used books by the kilo, shops for groceries, cooks dinner, reads, and then drifts into sleep. A quiet life governed by routine.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2fwjb2yz1i
Then the lockdown strikes, upending everything.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI9eGMlspMQ
Now confined indoors, he finds solace in the books he had recently bought in bulk. One afternoon, after lunch, he picks up a volume from the stack. As he opens the book, a folded letter tumbles out.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQiZY4jWXUv
In earlier days, people often hid letters inside books—love notes tucked safely between the pages to avoid a prying eye. This seemed to be one of those. He gently unfolds the paper and begins reading.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbcHJfcI1NQ
The letter is from a girl to her boyfriend. She writes of a misunderstanding—an argument that erupted over her male friend, leading to a falling out. But she doesn’t want the relationship to end. She’s willing to sacrifice the friendship if that’s what it takes to prove her love.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXdultujCoR
She includes a recently installed landline number at her home and urges him to call if he still feels the same. It’s clear she hadn’t intended to end things—just mend them.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVJugqBYVz7
Anil Babu finishes reading and murmurs to himself, “So not all women are like her… not like my girlfriend, Mousumi. This girl truly loved him. They must be reunited.” He assumes she forgot to post the letter—perhaps she thought she had, or someone interrupted her as she was finishing it.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFi3P1hXDiV
But there’s no name. No address. Neither the girl’s nor the boy’s. It’s as if the letter itself was left incomplete, tucked away in haste. It feels nearly two decades old.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡE3uUT2Z1Ge
Anil Babu wonders: Is she still waiting? Did they ever reunite? Or did they live their lives apart—two hearts fractured by a moment of doubt?
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5dEAxITe4t
The questions wedge themselves into the silence of his days. He has to know.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYHQJ1UlWDm
Then he remembers: the letter mentioned her landline number.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ25cGLgpZuJ
With a surge of courage, he dials the number. To his surprise, it still exists. In the age of smartphones, the landline lives on. A child answers.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLNB8qYY1PY
In a gentle voice, Anil asks, “How many women live in your house, little one?”
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7h1FKNVcuo
She replies, “My mom, me, and my grandma. My aunt Mou used to stay here too, but now she’s married and lives with her in-laws.” Then the call drops.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡy6Q3tU4QFc
He tries calling again, but the line won’t connect.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrNeZpZlxHy
“Mou,” he whispers. “So this was Mou’s letter. But is that her full name… or short for something?” His heart races.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmQntoDVxt7
Mousumi.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡC72DhhstwF
He freezes.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJJmqBgq4SL
Could this be her letter? His Mousumi?
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI26GGjTdze
Rummaging through an old telephone directory, he searches for the number. And there it is—registered to the same address as Mousumi’s home.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhSseumZJp3
It feels like the sky has collapsed around him.
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDpxOYH0a6d
A misunderstanding, a virus of suspicion, had brought lockdown into his own life twenty years ago. And perhaps, it was he who left a letter unread.
然後按「加至主畫面」