It was posted to my address. The postcard was written with a shaky hand, quite recognisable. “Why did she write to me out of the blue?”, I thought.
As I hesitated to open the letter for some time, flood of thoughts suddenly gushed my mind. Had she forgiven me? Would our unbreakable bond stand high again? As thoughts became hard to even to enter my mind, i suddenly tore the card open and opened the folded sheet addressed to me and me alone.
” Everyday will be a Sunday now”
Read the single line on the otherwise blank sheet. “Had she retired from the post? ” was the first thought that I had. The highly functional, obnoxiously closed mind had finally decided to give the mind a vacation.
With a bit relaxed mind, I began to sip my hot chai tea in my extremely protected China cup. As I opened the newspaper, a very familiar face flashed in front of my eyes. It was the first time I was staring wide at the obituary section. Her face looked back at me smiling. Everyday will be a Sunday now. She reminded me again.