By the time this letter reaches your hands, my train will probably have already left the platform. A train where I am the only passenger. Every time I left home, it was my habit to tell you. If I was late returning, I would let you know that I still had some distance left to cover. But this time, I didn’t get the chance to tell you. I don’t know if, at that moment, you will be sitting beside me.
The last few years have been a silent torment, more painful than chemotherapy. In the last few months, I stopped looking in the mirror.
Tell me, the woman whose face mesmerized you for hours, the one for whom you would bring jasmine garlands to adorn her hair when you returned home—did it hurt you to see that same woman with only a handful of hair left on her head?
In these final months, looking at you filled me with regret, seeing you tirelessly, sleeplessly taking care of me. When walking to the washroom became difficult, you did everything for me.
Every time I looked at you, I thought—it’s time for me to place someone else’s hand in yours. It’s time for me to let go of my place in your life.
Whenever I spoke of your remarriage, you would glare at me with fiery eyes. But then, seeing my tears, you would hold me close.
Perhaps, by some virtue of mine or someone’s blessing, I was fortunate enough to have you in my short life.
The 28 years I spent with you were complete and fulfilling. Isn’t it strange that we never had any serious arguments? There were playful quarrels, and that made life colorful.
That day, I was feeling a little better. I locked the door and wore the lavender Jamdani saree you gifted me on our 15th anniversary. I placed a bindi on my forehead, painted my lips red, and, with trembling hands, adorned my eyes. But when I tried to comb my hair, handfuls of it came away in pieces.
What a horror I saw! I was unrecognizable, a stranger even to myself. Who was this person? This was not me. You should have cast this version of me out of your life. But instead, you held me even closer. You never let me look in the mirror. You would say, “Look into my eyes—you are still the sixteen-year-old girl I fell in love with. Don’t look in that mirror; it makes me jealous. See yourself through my eyes.”
I changed out of the saree and stood under the shower. Seeing me bathe at an odd hour, you were so angry when you returned home. But I couldn’t tell you—I was giving that sixteen-year-old girl’s reflection its final bath. I had already decided—I could not leave you alone. That’s why I searched for someone for you, secretly.
When Jamil Bhai told you something about it, you were furious. I remained silent.
The day the doctor confirmed that my time was running out, you sat beneath the frangipani tree, sobbing in the middle of the night, thinking I was asleep. But I saw everything from the window.
Had I not met you, I would never have known how much a person could love someone. You gave me everything.
Now that I am gone, please fulfill my final wish. Will you?
I have raised Tithi and Nodi in a way that I know they will protect you. I have no doubt about that. But at the end of the day, you need someone who will listen to the words you don’t say, someone who will admire you with the same wonder I did.
I want to see you smile, even from the other side.
Don’t hesitate. We will be together again in Jannah. But for this brief time, allow yourself to belong to someone who will love and care for you.
I love you, my dearest—my companion of two lifetimes.
Promise me you won’t be alone. That you won’t sleep in an empty bed. That you won’t let your heartache for me.
Erase the memory of these last few years, where I was a shadow of myself.
How fortunate I am to have left on my final journey with my eyes closing in your hands.
Just know, my entire life was indebted to you.
“Forever yours, Priyonti.”
