The Unexpected Guest

It was mid-May, and Bangalore's fitful weather chose to cast an unexpected shower. These sporadic mood swings were a hindrance to the ordinary tasks of a common man. Yet, for me, the deafening storms or scorching sunrays mattered little as I found solace within the confines of my 2BHK flat.

The sky donned fifty shades of grey, and my neighbor's creaky storeroom door decided to make a dramatic exit, lying ten meters away from its hinges after the storm. Hurriedly, I ran to the terrace, fearing my clothes might join the wind's escapade. I gazed at the aftermath, there was a broken shack roof, a toppled electric post, and a stray dog sheltering her puppies. "Ah, the havoc that rain can wreak," I mulled over.

With a steaming cup of tea and an air-filled packet of chips, I observed the rain dance through my window. A swaying palm tree, kids crafting paper boats in puddles, the caress of the breeze on my skin, and an elderly couple under a wooden umbrella—all reminders that a rainy day wasn't entirely gloomy. It possessed a unique beauty; what could possibly go wrong?

My gaze drifted to the window across the lane. Behind the curtains, a woman's face, her captivating eyes fixated on the sky. Was she anticipating someone, and what did those eyes convey? I, a self-professed introvert immersed in books and music, rarely interacted with neighbors. I concluded that this woman was a recent tenant, judging by the pristine doormat and shoe rack near her door, even the wind chimes were spotless.

As the entire street plunged into darkness, a sudden knock echoed on my door. It was past 5 PM, and the night had stealthily crept in. Hesitant to welcome unexpected guests, I hesitated to open the door until a voice shouted, "Post."

A letter sealed with an "APO 0697" postage stamp was handed to me. I promptly informed the postman that the letter belonged to a neighbor, as I recognized "APO" as an Army Post Office abbreviation. To my surprise, the postman corrected me, indicating that the letter was, indeed, addressed to me.

Perplexed, I settled onto my bean bag to unravel the mysterious letter. Little did I know that this single piece of paper would stir tears, pride, and vulnerability within me.

The message, conveyed in the voice of a solitary man, spoke this way:

Dear Aura,

Your writings have always been a wellspring of inspiration, each word a vast ocean, and your life quotes, are true milestones. I'm uncertain if people can fall in love with someone they've never met, spoken to, or seen, but I wholeheartedly believe in admiration. This isn't a mere letter of appreciation or, as you might doubt, a proposal. This is a plea from someone who has found sustenance in your writings for a considerable time. Your writings breathed life into me and instilled the courage to stand up for my country while enduring the solitude of army life, far from home.

Destiny, it seems, brought me to live right next door to you. The peach-colored house you glimpse from your window? That's my home :) My wife is carrying our child; she is my entire world. Writing this is a struggle, but I have no one else to confide in.

I'm penning this letter with two outcomes in mind. Either I will tear it myself with tears of joy upon my return, or it will find its way to you if I never make it back.

Now that you hold this letter, you know where I am. I have found peace. All I ask is for you to convey my love to my wife and provide her the strength your words bestowed upon me. Whether this ends up in your diary or not, I want you to know that I trusted your words, and they kept me alive every time I wavered in hope.

Thank you, a thousand times over.