A rusty metal trunk box was flung open. Adjusting his eye glasses, Linga kept digging into his treasure box scattering some old and half torn books, a cracked pocket watch, decayed family portraits all around the room.
“Grandpa, did you find the slingshot that you promised to gift me? ” Gopi came running.
“Yes, I almost found it,” he said without lifting up his head. Plucking it from the interior of the box, he handed over an old slingshot to his grandson.
“Yay!” he shouted out of joy and disappeared.
Amongst the timeworn collection, he found a black old- fashioned bag peeking out. He slipped his hand in and took out a fragile piece of paper from it. Unfolding it multiple times, it revealed string of words in cursive.
“Dear Shabnam Hussain,
Every night I dream of you, of those angelic eyes that stares at me, speaks to me, smiles at me.
I don’t know what your face looks like nor do I desire. But one thing I know for sure is, you are beautiful. That concealed face and those unveiled radiant eyes are sufficient for a lifetime. Tomorrow, being the last day at college, I wish to see those eyes for one last time because I know our paths won’t cross again.
And I don’t have the courage to give this letter to you.
He then folded the undelivered letter with a sigh of love. Not just a letter was failed to be delivered but his love too.
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Event details: https://artoonsinn.com/failed-to-deliver-one-day-writing-event/
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