Mr …?

Mr ..?

George was spring cleaning and it wasn’t long before he began to find weird and wonderful things in every corner of the house. Snehas long lost crayons, Kukis gym trainers, his own gardening scissors he’d been looking for well days now then a small little cardboard box tucked away on-top of a cupboard. 

A little dusty and neglected George opened it up to  find what looked like hand written letters, all still sealed gathering dust. Seen as he’d found them in the master bedroom he assumed they belonged to Mrs Bajaj. 

“Oh they’re nothing please throw those away” said Prerna as she looked suprised to see the old box in George’s hand. She was sat at the kitchen table with her paper work . 

“They don’t look like nothing ma’am there’s a lot of them and they’re look well looked after.” Spoke George wisely.

He was correct they were looked after. Prerna had kept them safe for years and they’d traveled all this way in her mothers suitcase and sat with in her room for over to 2 years. They deserved a explanation. 

George got the feeling Mrs Bajaj was sharing something that was quiet personal to her and he felt honoured every rule she did share something close to her heart

“When I was a teenager I wrote letters to my future spouse, silly I know.” She added quickly sounding a little embarrassed.

“I don’t think so”, replied George who had a way to put everyone at ease. “ That is how we all used to communicate it was very fashionable back in my day”. He smiled looking down at the box in his hands.

“Your handwriting is still as Impeccable as it was then I must say”he  complimented making Prerna smile. “Please throw them away” 

Sometime later as Rishabh walks out from under a mid afternoon shower and puts on his dressing gown he hears a knock at the door of his room. “Come in” he calls and a few moments later George enters. In his hands that very box.

…

“She wanted me to throw them away but I believe they’re intended for you sir.” 

“Thank you George”, said Rishabh as he watched George put the box down at the table and sat back in his chair at the porch. 

Once  George had taken his leave  Rishabh put light to his cigar, sat further back in his chair to inhale and then inhale exhale in some relief and then looked on  the small box in front of him. 

Prerna had never mentioned these but he always imagined his wife to be someone who would keep a memoir. Her eyes frequently carried the unspoken and that unspoken had to be held somewhere other then in those eyes of hers. 

Addressed to -  “Mr … ?“ 

He read on the cover of the first letter he picked up.

“Bajaj my love, Bajaj” he whispered  smiling at the thought of a college going Prerna having written these.

Turning the envelope over he used the letter opener George had left behind. Taking  what seemed like a very old and fragile piece  of paper, unfolding it he leaned back in his chair to read. 

To Mr…

….

Moment to be continued soon - apologies for being on the quiet but hope you like this little moment