Two Windows Apart.

Dear Armaan,

That was the only time I saw it rain in the Wadi Araba. And this day, I saw it again. I am sixty seven years old, and mother to one still born. I never gave birth again. It had been a turbulent journey trying to accommodate everything in this little place you left me. But I have no complaints. I still wait for the day you shall be back from the States. It’s home here. Come soon.

Waiting,

Emily.

She stood up and looked outside the window. The expanse of the Jordan Valley lay right in front of her eyes. She never posted the letter.

Dear Emily,

I think I’ve found home, at last. This is where I shall stay for the rest of the few years of my life. I am seventy three and a father to three sons. Thank you for showing me your side of home, honey. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have been here. Ever! My wife is an American and we’re happy. I can’t thank you enough for taking me from Jordan and showing me the real world. I don’t miss Wadi Araba anymore. Though I remember that rain we saw together. The day you kept quiet and how your American eyes hid so much. You American girls are so unpredictable. Only you must not be a girl anymore. I hope you’re good in L.A. I haven’t received any replies from you. Are you alright?

Grateful,

Armaan.

He went outside to play with his grandchild and asked his son to mail the letter to Emily in L.A.

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Word Count: 266

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~ Shruti.