Rajesh was so struck by the fever of love that he made up his mind—today he would finally write a love letter. He carefully chose pink paper, sprayed it with fragrant perfume, and poured every feeling of his heart onto the page.
He wrote, “Dear Priya, your smile is the moon of my heart, your eyes are the sky of my dreams, and your silence is the sweetest melody of my life.”
Proud of his poetic masterpiece, he went to the post office and dropped the letter into the mailbox. All the way home he imagined, “Now the train of love will finally run on track.”
Five days later, a reply arrived. With trembling hands, Rajesh opened the envelope. Inside were only two lines:
“Thank you. Your letter has been received. Please do not waste time and paper by sending such letters in the future.”
Rajesh’s face fell as if someone had shown him chocolate and handed him salt instead. He reread the letter, hoping to find a hidden message—but the reply was as clear and cold as ice.
He called his friend and said, “Buddy, I got a point-blank reply to my love letter.”
His friend laughed, “These days, love works like a government file—slow and strictly official.”
Determined not to give up, Rajesh gathered his courage and wrote another letter. This time he added, “If you cannot accept my love, at least send a smiley.”
A week later, another response came: “Sending a smile is not possible. Please do not send another letter.”
Rajesh felt disappointed, but he still believed true love could melt even a heart of stone. So he wrote a third letter, ending it with, “If you do not wish to reply, please at least tell me whether I should stop writing.”
A few days later, a small postcard arrived. It read: “Yes, please stop.”
Rajesh looked up at the sky and smiled faintly. “Whether love succeeds or not, at least I received an honest answer.” And with that, he closed his diary of love letters—though somewhere deep in his heart, a tiny spark of hope still quietly glowed.
RAJEEV VERMA 