14 August 1977
Dearest Sia,
The mountains are silent tonight. The air is thin and bites at my skin. I’m writing this by the flickering light of a single kerosene lamp, tucked into a corner of our bunker. Every time I close my eyes, I don’t see the snow or the rugged peaks of the border. I see the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh at my terrible jokes.
Sia, there is so much I haven’t said. I’ve always hidden behind my uniform and my duty. I was afraid that if I spoke my heart, I wouldn’t have the strength to leave you each time my leave ended. But tonight, the distance feels too vast.
I love you. I have loved you since we were children playing in the mustard fields, and I will love you until my last breath. I promise that as soon as this deployment is over, I’m coming home to stay. No more letters, Sia. Only us.
Yours forever,
Ved
As Sia read the final line, the golden sun of 1974 seemed to dance across the page. In her mind, she was back in the mustard fields of their village, the world a sea of vibrant yellow. A younger Ved, free of the lines of war, chased her through the tall stalks. His laughter was loud and rhythmic, a sound that felt like it could last forever.
"You can't catch me, Ved!" she had shouted, her dupatta trailing behind her like a bright streak of silk. He finally caught her by the waist, spinning her around until the world became a blur of blue sky and golden earth. As they collapsed into the soft soil, breathless and grinning, he took her hand. "I’ll never let go," he whispered, a promise that felt unbreakable in the summer heat.
Slowly, the golden light of the fields began to fade into the grey, muted morning of the present. The warmth of the sun turned into a biting chill. The vibrant yellow of the mustard flowers changed into the stiff, orange marigold garlands laid atop a heavy wooden box.
Sia’s eyes remained closed as she desperately clung to the memory of the spinning sky. But as her fingers slipped from the edge of the smooth parchment to the rough, coarse fabric of the Indian flag, the laughter of the past was replaced by the haunting, rhythmic beat of a funeral drum.
She pressed her forehead against the cold wood of the coffin, her body trembling. In her mind, they were still in the fields. In reality, she was holding the only part of him that had returned. She embraced the casket one last time, whispering into the tricolor the words he would never hear: "You're home, Ved. You finally came home."
