Unread

By Roshan Tara

“You’ve never written me a love letter,” she teased, eyes bright.

“Like in old movies. Handwritten. Just once—for my birthday.”

He promised.

But fate was faster than his pen.

She never reached twenty.

So he wrote it anyway—poured his heart into paper, tears staining ink—and left it at her grave.

Each year, another letter. Another flame inside him.

He tells her how the world moves without her, how he doesn’t.

Ink keeps flowing.

Embers keep glowing.

The grave never replies.

But he writes still.

Because love, once lit, doesn’t die.

It just waits in ashes, whispering her name.

By Roshan Tara