I held a piece of paper
 In my palms
 And felt the texture of it
 Rough and vulnerable
Then I straightened it out
There was a mosaic of words in blue
Forming labyrinths all over the paper
And I felt it with my other hand
My forefinger, I let it roll on each labyrinth
 And by some miracle it made sense
 The further I went in my attempt to comprehend
 I felt my heart feeling fireflies
 So I sat down on the chair nearby
To support my physical being
It was a letter!
 Which my sister sent me every month
 A lifeless piece of paper
Which held her love and my happiness
Disguised as words and phrases
They were labyrinths
As I went deep into them
 It started to unfold
 I saw stories coming to life
I saw my sister fighting for her hijab
And voicing women's rights about the will
To conceal and reveal one’s body.
 I saw her crying with her head bowed
Because of fewer test scores
And the fear of failing NEET once more
She was laughing with her friends
On a tea stall, repeating my jokes
she was complaining about the food
About dal and repetitive sabzi
The unclean washrooms
And her roommate who leaves the razor unclean
On a few nights, she lit the lamp
And studied till the sun came up
And during the days
She was hustling to meet the clock’s pace
But one thing was constant,
She wrote ‘I love you’
One in the beginning
The other is at the end.
And when I was done reading
Until I memorized it
I would sit down with a pen and a paper
A clean desk to begin with
Water to sip in between
And colourful pens
To draw hearts and stars
And flowers which she likes
Sunflowers and roses
Lilies are hard to draw
I would add in a bracket with a smiley.
Pen and paper are lovers verily
And when you draw them close
Magic happens for sure.
And in my letter
I rant about my studies
Getting harder every day
And how I don't like mathematics
Without her, it is a commotion
Harry Potter’s fourth part was the best
And then I defend my point in long paragraphs
She would have laughed at this
I thought while writing
Then, I described my growing discomfort
With my body and the boys around me in school.
I was blushing when I wrote that.
One thing was constant.
I wrote ‘I miss you’ in each of my letters
One in the beginning
And the other in the end
With each letter that I completed
I felt as proud as Josephine March was
After her first book
 I would hold my letter close to my chest
To hear its heartbeat
Salty tears wet my eyes
Then cheeks and touching my lips at last
 It makes my heart tremble with the realization
 Of how I put my heavy heart on these papers
And they bear it all without a complaint.
I wonder,
Why can't I type it in emails?
I seal the letter which she must be waiting for
Like I do for hers
And walk towards the post office
With questions in my head
What will she say about my handwriting?
Will she scold me again for grammar mistakes?
How much time will she take to reply?
What if the letter gets lost?
What if Maryam had read Jalil’s letter?
What if my letters get published after my death?
Are my letters worthy enough?
Why do people not write letters anymore?
A tangible piece of memory
With end-to-end encryption
And a postal stamp dressing
More endearing?
More personal?
And more promising?

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