13th August 2026
Dear precious angel,
No wound cuts deep unless there is friction—unless something strikes hard against something else. That is the law of the physical world. But there is another kind of wound, one that leaves no mark on the skin, yet bleeds endlessly within. It can only be felt by a heart that has loved without armor. If a wound is severe, there must be a reason. And if that wound was inflicted by a person, then there must have been a connection—deep, rare, and irreplaceable. Shallow wounds heal quickly. They fade in days or weeks. But the wound you gave me? It has refused to heal for over a year now. You know this well, my dear precious pearl. My heart still aches as though it happened only yesterday. I have tried everything to silence the pain—to turn away, to distract, to forget. But my heart is tied to you in ways I cannot undo. And every time I try to ignore the wound, its voice grows louder, more insistent, more haunting.
It is not only my heart that was woven into yours—it was my entire soul. And still, not a single thread of that soul is willing to believe that the same person who once brought light into my darkest hours—who held me when I was drowning in the grief of losing my nana—has now become the source of this endless ache.
The depth of your pain is greatly proportionate to the depth of your love. The more purely you admired someone, the more completely they can break you. For a heart to bond so deeply, there must have been conversations that aligned perfectly—in the right place, at the right time, under the right sky. I will not recount those conversations here. But I know you remember them. I know they still live somewhere inside you.
Every moment of my life—from joy to sorrow—was made richer because I shared it with you. I remember that journey to Karnal, to my maasi’s home, with my brothers, my other maasi, and my nani. The car hummed with laughter, and I kept you updated at every turn. I sent you photos of us together, videos of my maasi’s daughter thanking you for liking her picture, and my little sister Riya swinging and calling out your name. You remember, don’t you? It was winter, but I felt no cold. I walked on the terrace at night, sending you voice notes, and warmth bloomed in my chest—not from the weather, but from the quiet fire of being connected to you, my dear precious pearl.
And then there was that moment—unexpected, miraculous—when I found the call recording of my nana and me. His voice, rising from the grave, reaching across time to speak to me again. It felt like a phone call from heaven itself. And the first thing I did was record a voice note for you—to thank you, from the deepest chamber of my heart, because you were the reason I found it. That night, I made a silent vow: I would never stop considering you the most precious person in my life. And even now, after all the storms, after all the silence—I still do.
I will close this letter with the words I began with: Deeper the connection, deeper the wound. I carry this wound inside me every single day. And it remains as fresh as a fruit just plucked from the tree—still tender, still bleeding, still yours.
Your deeply wounded & gem,
Vivek Prasad
