A Truth That Never Breathed

By Roshan Tara

He was dying. Everyone knew. She still hoped. The letter, soft with folds and years, burned in her coat pocket. Words she’d never dared speak. “I’ll tell him today,” she whispered, hands trembling. She gripped the wheel, heart racing. A curve too sharp. A truck too fast. They buried her with the letter, its truth unread. He died hours later, whispering her name, as if she lingered near. She loved him more than life. He never knew. Some promises scream. Hers stayed silent, buried alive in her coat’s quiet folds. That’s the worst kind— truths that never breathe.

By Roshan Tara