I woke up to the harsh ringing of my alarm next to me, shattering the quietness of my room. I stretched to turn off my phone and turned it off. The display indicated: 8:30 AM. Just in time, I thought. That left me with just enough time to prepare without hurrying. I sat up, stretched slightly, then swung my legs off the bed and headed to the bathroom.
My routine in the mornings started on autopilot mode—rushed teeth brushing, cold water splashed against my face. But the moment I was in the shower, my mind shifted to the letter. The one I discovered yesterday. The one that completely altered everything.
Although I never actually had the opportunity to get to know my sister on an intimate level—since she died on the same day that I was born—there has always been this quiet and unassuming presence of hers filtering into my life here and there. It was not in the typical way that siblings are woven into one another's lives, sharing memories and growing up together, but through the stories that my parents told her of. They spoke of her in hushed tones, with their voices full of soft tones, and there were those moments of silence too that conveyed feelings and meanings far beyond those that were ever spoken. As I grew up, I had this image of her—a woman I imagined as being beautiful, naturally kind, and unusually mature. It was as if she was like a perfect memory, seized and frozen in time, untouched by the hand of passing years. In one way or another, she was like a ghost, a woman whom I never did meet, yet somehow I still felt such a deep sense of yearning for her to be in my life.
But the letter that I read yesterday had a profound impact on my impression. It completely tore down the old image that I had and constructed something entirely different in its stead. This was not a negative change; it was simply more real and realistic. It added depth and complexity to my perception of her. The letter made her into a whole and complex person in my eyes, rather than some shadowy figure or character in a novel. Since the day that I read those words, I have been unable to rid myself of her in my mind—not the version of her that I heard about from other people, but the real article of the person who wrote that poignant letter.
I found myself standing under the hot, streaming water of the shower for longer, longer than I normally would. The water was beating against my skin, producing a soothing sensation, yet simultaneously my mind was racing with thoughts and questions. What other pieces or sections of information didn't I know about her that were perhaps hidden from me? What other sections of her complicated life story were hidden, lying in wait quietly to be found and revealed? Why did I feel such a profound and inexplicable connection to someone I had never actually met in person?
Having stood there for what felt like an eternity in the warm coolness of the shower, I eventually came out and enveloped myself in a towel, feeling its softness against my skin. I moved with urgency into my bedroom, intent on dressing as quickly as possible. But the thoughts in my mind wouldn't leave; they clung to me and danced around in my brain like an old bit of background music, quiet but persistent all the same. I struggled as I got dressed, trying to concentrate solely on the job at hand, but the effect of the letter that I had been sent had carved a deep and indelible space in my brain that I simply couldn't fill with anything else, however hard I tried.
The moment I reached downstairs, I took it upon myself to prepare breakfast. It wasn't going to be some large, elaborate thing—just something simple and quick that would serve to keep me going and ready for the day ahead. Having prepared my breakfast, I sat down at the table and went on to eat in a rather casual fashion, hardly pausing to truly savor the flavor of the food placed before me. My eyes kept drifting towards the clock on the wall, but I never quite paid attention to the flow of time until the moment I glanced up and noticed that it was displaying 9:45 AM in bold numerals.
"Shit," I swore under my breath, rising so quickly that my chair made a loud, screeching sound as it scraped against the floor.
I quickly stuffed the last mouthful of my meal into my mouth, then quickly pushed all the plates into the sink without much consideration, and grabbed my bag since I was leaving. Vikram's porch was only five minutes away from where I was, and I knew that if I hurried along, I would still be able to make it there on time without any issues.
I ran out of the door, my steps light and fast as I ran down familiar streets. The air in the morning was crisp, and the sun climbed higher, but yesterday lingered in my mind. Regardless of how quickly I went, they pursued me.
Just as I was nearing Vikram's porch, the large door of his garage creaked open. I decided to slow a bit, pausing to catch my breath as I observed him driving out in the very same vehicle that he had driven to drop me off the previous day. The recognition of this vehicle somehow seemed comforting in a peculiar way and provided me with a sense of comfort in an unusual way.
He brought the car up to the porch, and he rolled down the window slowly. His face was as calm as ever—firm and unshakeable—but there was an unmistakable softness in his eyes that hinted at a greater emotion.
Come on in, please," he said abruptly.
I didn't waste even a second. Without any hesitation at all, I swung the door open and slid into the passenger seat with elegant ease, allowing the door to close softly and satisfyingly behind me. My heart still pounded a bit too hard, and at that point, I knew that I wasn't quite sure if the faster pace was from the adrenaline high—or if it was from the heavy emotional weight that I'd been carrying around since last night.
We drove away in silence, with nothing to fill the space between us. And for this moment, I was glad that he didn't feel compelled to ask me anything at all. I just wasn't ready to talk about the letter in my head. Not yet, at least. I rested my head against the chill of the glass of the window, watching as the world outside glided by in a blur.
I didn't know my sister. Not really. But after yesterday… I wished I had.
And in a strange and quiet way that was remarkable to try and put into words, I felt a sense of connection to her that was deeper and more intimate than any moment I had ever shared with her before.