I didn’t poke the dragon today also. 

Wake up. Freshen up. Eat. Complete Homework. Swallow silence. Eat. Repeat. 

Well. I just woke up into the same movie playing on loop. Low-budget drama with emotionally unavailable cast.

Night. My new habit—checking the postbox. Today’s letter? Nope. Not grandma. it's her daughter again. Plot twist? She wrote Surya. Pause. Re-read. Yup. Surya. In her letter.

I internally combusted.

And just when I hadn’t even finished recovering from the trauma of her last letter—she hands me this.

Letter Number Two.

Not a follow-up. A nuclear bomb.

The kind that kills you before your body senses danger. Like the warning never came. Just impact. One second you’re nursing leftover heartbreak… Next second—you’re ash. Emotional ash.

Disguised as her handwriting.

She wrote:

"Sorry… I didn’t mean to invade your space. But when I asked your grandma where you had gone on the day I arrived, she casually said you were out buying school essentials with your friend—Surya.

And I just… I don’t know if this is appropriate to ask, but… did something happen between you two? A fight maybe? Or… forgive me if I’m completely off, but—Your grandma mentioned he’s your only close friend. And the way she said it—you seemed really happy whenever you talked about him.

Did he say something? Did he… ? Or is it just a normal fight?

I know boys and girls can be friends—just friends—but even then, fights between friends can hurt in strange ways.

I know bringing this up won’t magically fix anything. But… I don’t know.

I just had this quiet feeling that… . 

See Actually-Sorry, I also saw your notebook. I was just cleaning the suff and saw a notebook there and just went through it and then I Saw the name ‘Surya’ scribbled too many times in the last page. 

I know i might be wrong but Do you like him?"

Wow.

Just… wow.

This woman. Who forgot she had a daughter before I even turned one.

Nine months old. That’s all I was. 

Left for “earning.”

Earned money, lost respect from her child. Neat trade.

Now she’s Sherlock Holmes with a side of Oprah.

“Do you like him?” Seriously? You’re asking me about what I like?

Where were you when I didn’t even know how to spell the word 'like'? When I didn't know how to explain why I hated Mother’s Day?

I mean, look at her now - A philosopher in a postbox, throwing life lessons like confetti.

and what this '...' in the middle of the letter if she wants to say something she could have written it like how she wrote do you like him, why is she playing games by writing -'...', whatever,

Yes. It’s Surya.

Yes, I like him. So what? No, I’m not going to do some drama. No "you can’t stop me" shouting match. No "this is my life" moment. Too tired for that.

I like him.

I don’t like him.

Maybe both.

Maybe neither.

But it’s my feeling.

Mine.

What has she got to do with it?

And yet… she writes again:

"There’s nothing wrong in liking someone.

The trouble is when you skip that phase.

Teenage is a war zone.

You need someone to guide you. I didn’t have that someone.

My body felt like an alien. My brain felt borrowed.

No one told me what was happening.

I’m not wise, but I can share what I know.

Actually, I also liked a boy once.

In Class 8. And if it helps you, even a little, I’ll tell you everything. Next letter, okay? Good night."

I stared at the letter for… who knows how long.

My face: unreadable. My mind: slightly… curious?

She liked someone too. In school. Class 8. 

Huh, Looks genetic.

Whatever.

I stayed up. Mind on ping-pong mode.

Wait, where did my angry go from before, looks like curiosity replaced it

Did she actually look into my notebook? Does she even know how precious that last page is? That's where I store names I can't say aloud. Surya. Over and over. Not because I'm obsessed. But because writing him down feels safer than saying his name.

How does she even know the difference between casual mention and secret crush? Maybe moms do. Maybe they don't.

But why now? Why not when I stood at my school gate, waiting for someone who never came? Why not when I got full score in my first science test and no one noticed?

Oh wait. Maybe she was busy collecting experience points in the game called Life Abroad.

I wanted to scream. Not at her, or maybe at her. At everything. At time. At silence. At letters.

I liked it better when she was a myth. Like those gods who don’t appear unless you chant properly.

Now she’s suddenly real. Suddenly vulnerable. Suddenly here.

And suddenly asking about him.

Surya.

The boy I don’t even talk to anymore. The boy who still shows up in my dreams only to ruin that dream.

The boy I made eye contact with once and felt my soul glitch.

Why does she talk about him of all people? Why do I feel more exposed by a letter than by a school PT uniform?

And if she knows I like him, and still asks—then what does she want from me?

Redemption? Closure? A girl talk from a girl she never raised?

I folded the letter back. Slowly.

And now additional to my problems, I was stuck with a curiosity I didn’t ask for:

Who was that Class 8 boy?

And why does a part of me—the part that keeps rereading her letter at 3:17 AM - want to know?