“Meena,
I miss you. Every single day.
America is… different. Big cars, big houses, big everything. But it’s not home. Not like our small gali, not like our rooftop where we watched kites fly.
I thought of writing to you sooner, but it was really difficult settling in and I felt lost in a new land.
Are you?
Please write back.
Tell me about Kassy.
Tell me you still remember me.”
Meena clutched the letter to her chest, tears slipping down her cheeks.
Meena took out a blank paper but stared at it for what felt like hours, her pen hovering above the paper. How do you fit all your emotions—months of silence, longing, and questions—into a few lines? But once she started, the words poured out.
“Kasturi,
How could I forget you?
I named the teddy Kassy, after you.
You left, but a part of you stayed with me.
So, no. I’m not angry. But I miss you too.
And I will write. Again and again.
Because some friendships don’t fade. They just find new ways to exist.”
She folded the letter neatly, tucked it inside an envelope, and wrote Kasturi’s new address—somewhere in a place called Houston, Texas. It sounded so far away, like a different world.
She had remembered Kasturi’s departure like a wound that refused to heal. But reading these words, she realized—Kasturi had been hurting too.
That night, she stayed up writing back again.
“Kasturi,
You won’t believe how quiet school is without you. The gali feels empty too. Even the rooftop doesn’t feel the same.
Do you remember how we once promised to mix our own song? Singing ‘Amar Sonar Bangla’ and ‘Mu Odia Pu Bhari’ until we found a melody that fit? I tried humming it alone, but it sounded all wrong.
Maybe we’ll finish it someday.
Write soon. And tell me everything.”
And so, the letters became their lifeline.
Kasturi wrote about her new school, how it was so big and the children spoke too fast. About how her teacher struggled with her name, pronouncing it ‘Kas-toor-ee’
“It’s strange, Meena. I sit in a class full of students, but I feel invisible. Like I don’t belong. I try to talk, but my words feel too slow, too different.”
Meena’s reply came swiftly.
“You belong. You always have. Maybe it just takes time for them to see what I already know.”
Kasturi wrote about how, during lunch, the smell of her mother’s aloo paratha would spread in the cafeteria, drawing curious looks.
“A girl asked if I was eating a taco. I told her it wasn’t, and she made a face. I didn’t know what to say. That food can be different and still be good na?”
Meena wrote back with determination.
“Next time, tell her that your food is special. That your mother made it with love. And if she doesn’t understand, that’s her loss.”
But not all letters were about struggles.
Kasturi wrote about the first time she saw snow—how it covered everything in white, soft and cold, so different from the monsoon rains they used to dance in.
“It’s like someone dusted the world in talcum powder, Meena. It’s beautiful, but I miss the smell of wet earth back home.”
“I talk to Kassy sometimes,” Meena admitted in one letter. “I tell her things I can’t tell anyone else. Is that silly?”
*”No,” Kasturi wrote back. “It’s not silly at all.”
One evening, as the sky turned a deep shade of orange, Meena sat on the rooftop with a blank sheet of paper in front of her. This letter was different. She had been avoiding writing about the riots, not wanting to burden Kasturi with worry. But could she really keep it from her? Wouldn’t Kasturi want to know?
Taking a deep breath, she began.
“Kasturi,
Things have changed here. The gali doesn’t feel the same. It’s quieter now. Some of the shops haven’t reopened. Basu kaka’s shop no longer stands here. The uncle who used to sell jalebis outside school has left. People whisper more than they talk. And… for a while, we weren’t even home. We stayed somewhere else—safe, but not home. It was scary, but we were together. That’s what mattered.
I don’t want you to worry. Everything is better now. But sometimes, I still feel like I hear the echoes of those days.”
She paused, staring at the words. Too much? Too little?
She sighed and continued.
“But don’t think about all that. Tell me more about America. Have you made any new friends? Do you still hum our song?”
She folded the letter, sealing her thoughts inside, and hoped that across the ocean, Kasturi would read between the lines and understand.
Months passed. Seasons changed. But the letters kept coming, weaving their friendship across oceans, across time zones.
They weren’t together like before.
But in these letters, in these words, they still found each other.
.PS: I’m participating in #BlogchatterA2Z
Cerebration 
This part of the story took me back to the 90s, when letters and postcards were our main way of communicating. Friends, lovers, students and teachers, relatives—all connected through handwritten notes. Oh my, how much our lives have changed since then!
//I sit in a class full of students, but I feel invisible//
You captured this emotion beautifully. Feeling lost and left out are often the first difficult emotions kids face when they relocate.
//Tell me you still remember me//
Kasturi is also struggling without Meena. Great minds think alike! I hope Kasturi finds a new friend and introduces her to Meena through letters—that’s how you settle into a new place.
/“They weren’t together like before.
But in these letters, in these words, they still found each other.”/
This chapter ends with a poetry. I read these lines once again, this summarized the whole chapter. Lovely.
Well done! All the best.
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The yellow postcards, England letters, those were the beautiful days when we had to patiently wait. Nothing was instant. Glad these elements gained your liking and attention. Thank you so much for sharing what clicked with you. This really helps, always!
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The days of the letters! and their sensitivity. It’s somehow a tale of two worlds rather than tow people. You have turned this out so well, their little concerns, the care, the joy of knowing each other, the rifts….
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Thank you so much. I’m glad that the elements from a bygone era clicked so well!
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This is another chapter that made me teary eyed. I couldn’t but fall in tears because of the purest of emotions oozing out through the words of a little child. “How do you fit all your emotions—months of silence, longing, and questions—into a few lines? But once she started, the words poured out.” Isn’t it true for all of us when we deeply miss someone, then meet them or get in touch with them after a long and then we run short of words to express our emotions. Pinki, this is probably the most heart-touchinhg chapter of your story. Through the words of a little girl, her inner turmoil, happiness of getting in touch with her friend, her hesitation, then sharing her thoughts that express her deep emotions about the riots, and everything in between she tried to write yet couldn’t – you have woven a masterpiece! Kudos and congrats dear friend. Am so proud of you! Lots of love and best wishes.
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Thank you so much Swarnali! Your comment really made my day, it also removes any doubt I have about my writing and gives me the assurance that I am on the right track. This is a story close to my heart so I want to do complete justice to it and your comment is definitely very reassuring! Thank you so much for the continued support!
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Meena and Kasturi’s bond transcends distance, reminding me of the power of words to bridge worlds. Their shared memories, like the rooftop kite-flying and their mixed song, are so vivid that I could almost hear their laughter. Kasturi’s experiences in America—the cultural shocks, the loneliness, and the warmth of familiar foods—resonated deeply. Meena’s letters, filled with empathy and encouragement, reflect a maturity beyond her years. The subtle mention of the riots added a layer of realism, grounding their personal story in the larger context of societal changes. I was particularly moved by the way they both navigated their new realities while holding onto their shared past. This post beautifully captures the essence of long-distance friendships and the enduring power of connection. It left me nostalgic for my own pen pals and the heartfelt letters we exchanged.
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I wonder what it would be like to send letters via snail mail in the present era. By the time a response to a letter arrives, we might completely forget the context, simply because we have already exited the original emotion or transitioned to a different set of feelings or new circumstances. The pace of life was sooo different in the 90s, no?
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Hahaha it seems difficult now specially in the era of instant messaging. But yes you are right, feelings emotions would change by the time we receive the correspondence. It was difficult era but they did good, nay be cz they were more patient!
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I love how the girls are defending and protecting each other across continents too. I wonder how Kasturi will take the news of the riots.
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Good point actually. Even though Kasturi was far from the riot but it affects her in some way, we will see that towards the end of the series.
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I am so glad the girls have connected again! This friendship is solid, that is for sure! Meena is as wise as her mother – is what her end of the conversations tell me.
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Thank you so much!
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How I wish, we had no phones but letters to connect with each other! Bonds were better then, not anymore. The story is building up nicely.
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