"What?" I stared at the letter, dumbfounded.
"What did I expect?" I muttered, scoffing.
"Well, at least not this. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't add a spark to my dull routine."
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For a moment, I almost laughed. A rich kid looking for a bit of entertainment during his holidays. Typical.
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It intrigued me but at the same time it made me angry as well. I'd have laughed if a deadly war wasn't going on. But under present conditions, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
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I was out here struggling to help my family get something as basic as food, and he was writing letters because he was 'bored'. I rolled my eyes at the thought.
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No way in hell was I going to humor him by writing back. He should be bored. While we were working ourselves to the bone Just to make ends meet, he couldn't even sit still without demanding to be entertained?
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"I'm not writing you back, you jerk!" I said it out loud. And of course, my timing was terrible. My mom chose that exact moment to walk into my room, a confused look spreading across her face.
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I didn't want to tell her what happened. Especially not the part where I picked up a letter sealed with that typical high-class crest without thinking twice.
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"What is it now?" Mom asked. Her expression shifted from confused to slightly amused, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. I liked seeing her smile. She didn't do it often these days, and even when she did, it never quite reached her eyes like it used to.
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"Nothing important," I brushed it off, bending to pick up the scrunched letter before shoving it into my pocket again.
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She watched me pick up a ball of paper and stuff it into my pocket but didn't question it. Earlier... Before the war started, I'm damn sure she would've asked me a million times until I finally gave in. God, I used to hate that so much. But now that she didn't do it., I hated this even more.
I wanted her to ask me about the mysterious ball of paper.
Please...just ask. Please, God.
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She hung some wet clothes on the terrace and left after giving me that same tired smile- the kind that said she was too exhausted to dig any deeper.
She didn't ask.
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And now, suddenly, I hated this letter even more than before. I hated that it didn't draw enough attention to make my mom question it.
I hated that while we were suffering, there were people out there- some spoiled, rich ones who still get to live their normal lives like there's no war.
It's unfair.
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Tears welled up in my eyes at the thought, but I quickly blinked them back, refusing to cry over this.
I had way harder things to deal with than a stupid letter.
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I pushed the ache in my chest aside and went downstairs to help my mother prepare dinner.
The letter still rested in my pocket, though I almost forgot about it while working beside her.
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We couldn't get kerosene or charcoal anymore because of the shortages and restrictions, so we had to burn wood for cooking.
It took much longer and required more effort since the wood didn't burn easily.
And the shortage of rations only made everything worse.
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I ate dinner with my family. None of us had eaten to our stomach's content for months now. We tried to save as much ration as possible, surviving on whatever little we were given. The only good thing about dinner was that the whole family ate together.
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The biggest portion always went to my father since he worked outside all day. My mother, my brother, and I ate whatever was left. Food was scarce, and we were always on edge, but at least we ate together at night. Somehow, that small moment of togetherness brought me comfort, it reminded me that we still had each other.
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It's strange how life changes. Before the war broke out, I preferred eating alone. But now, I found myself looking forward to these quiet moments... these rare times when all of us could simply be together, even if just for a while.
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After dinner, I went back to my room. Usually, my brother and I shared it, but tonight he left for our aunt's house. After my uncle's death in the war, she was left alone with her little kids and no one to rely on. My brother often visited to help her gather supplies and take care of things. Sometimes, he stayed there for weeks.
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I was getting bored, and the room felt lonelier than ever. I curled up on my side when I felt something poke against my thigh. Oh-the letter. I'd almost forgotten about it. Almost.
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I pulled the crumpled ball of paper from my pocket and smoothed it out. For a moment, I just looked at it, admiring his handwriting, his words, and the strange idea behind it all. Then, before I knew it, I was sitting up, thinking about writing back.
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I cursed myself internally for having such terrible self-control. I had been so determined not to entertain some random brat, but now boredom and loneliness were chipping away at my resolve. Maybe he was feeling the same way. After all, he'd wasted an expensive crest on a letter to a stranger. Maybe he had been hoping someone would reply. And maybe, just maybe, we could write to each other...if only to feel a little less lonely.
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I read his letter once more before folding it neatly this time and tucking it into my clutch. Then I picked up my pencil and a sheet of paper. After all, even I had no one to talk to. Maybe... even I needed a friend as much as he did.
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______________________________________________________________________________________
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Hey,
It was raining, and I was standing under that shade with nothing to do. So yeah, I went ahead and opened the lid. So what? You must've expected someone to find your letter when you left it there, right? Well, I did.
You actually exceeded my expectations. And for your kind information, not everyone has the luxury to sit around during holidays and get bored. You casually wasted a copper gold rose crest on a letter you weren't even sure if someone would pick. Unlike you, some of us have to work hard just to make it through the day. I help my mother with cooking and cleaning, and my father with his work-sorting, fixing, whatever he needs. I also bring rations home. So yeah, I'm not exactly free.
I found your letter on my way back from collecting rations. Honestly, I didn't know what to feel at first. A part of me was angry, angry that you have the time to be bored while I can't even stop to think without worrying about the next meal. But another part of me... felt something else. Maybe hope. Maybe relief. It's strange, but the idea of having someone to talk to, someone to write to, feels comforting. I don't want to sit alone and worry all the time. I want to read your letters. I want to write back. Maybe this could be that little bit of peace in the middle of all this chaos.
But hey, you never wrote your name. What should I even call you? Tell me something about yourself-how old are you, where are you from, how's life treating you? Things haven't been the same lately, and I'm sure you've had your share of trouble too. How has it changed things for you?
I've already told you quite a lot about myself. It's only fair that you answer my questions too, since you wanted to be friends. And you know, now that I think about it, if this letter thing actually works out, if we really become friends, then maybe I'll be glad I found your letter after all.
By the way, my name is... well, I'll tell you after you tell me yours.
Write me back. I'll be waiting for your letter.
Bye.
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______________________________________________________________________________________
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The next day, I went to put my letter back into the wooden box where I'd found his. I slipped out early in the morning. My mother looked at me warily but didn't say anything. She used to stop me from leaving the house in the mornings, but now she barely questioned anything I did. Maybe she just wanted me to have something to keep my mind off everything-the war, the fear, the hunger.
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We didn't have breakfast again. We couldn't afford to anymore. It had already been a week since we last did. No one complained; we just sat quietly and acted as if it was normal. But I was hungry, and I knew everyone else was too. We could all feel it, even without saying a word.
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So, we stopped questioning each other. Maybe that was our way of coping... letting silence fill the space where words used to be, each of us pre
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tending not to notice the other searching for scraps of food or fragments of hope.
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and then Add to home screen.