Sheena was busy arranging Mrs.Pinto’s clothes.When no one answered the Pinto’s doorbell in the morning, the overzealous maid urged Sheena, Mr. Sharma’s daughter , and neighbour, to assist her.

The frail widow lay, non responsive, on her bed. The mortuary had requested a set of clothes for Mrs Pinto. Her only child Mario, was pursuing his PhD in Canada. He would be reaching Mumbai only the following night. While rummaging for an outfit, a letter fell out of an old jacket. Sheena’s curiosity piqued when she noticed her sister Veena’s name on the letter. Veena was Sheena’s older sister, a nurse at a private hospital, and a divorcee.

‘To my darling Veena ‘ it read.’ I am writing this letter as I felt I had to vent out. I have loved you ever since we were school mates. I saw you light up whenever you were near me . Your parents would never let you be united with me, because of our religions. I never proposed to you. I was well aware how much you loved your family. Now that you are married I wish you well. Loving you forever, Mario.’

Sheena quickly ripped up the letter. She was aware Veena had been crazy about Mario. Indeed, Veena had been married off to a businessman, two years ago, but the marriage turned sour. Her brother in law had been a drinker and a womaniser. One day he left Veena on her parents doorstep, and disappeared. He and the Sharmas belonged to the same religion.

Sheena was aware that Mario had never married. He would be arriving the next day. Her parents had learnt their lesson. Caste and class doesn’t matter. And possibly, this time love would happen, naturally, the way it ought to.

She was right.

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