letters to you | completed.

Letter 1

Dedicated to Ashi35893 coz there are some people without which this book is incomplete. You are one of them:)

#Introduction

"Sometimes silence speaks more than words ever could."--Pinterest.

Dear reader,

The night of Christmas. Outside, a picturesque town wrapped up in white snow, glistening with the silver moonlight drawing up a perfect imagination of mine that the snow looked like a thousand diamonds sparkling under the moonlit sky.

The night wasn't only dark but calm, the air  crisp, cold and awakening. The trees stood stiff and frozen like, as if being the only one flawed to the nature's perfection. The stars for miles in the pure, perfectly landscaped sky. The snow now was a sight from a picture, so perfectly laid by nature, no imperfections except for my footsteps trodden on the snow a while before with my father when he took me up in his arms and we were catching snowflakes.

It was a Sunday evening when we were huddled in front of the warm fireplace, my arms engulfed in between my dads as we were joyfully singing the Christmas carols. My dad tapped his foot at terribly wrong timings making me forget the words but I could hear my mum's humming from the kitchen which had been my cue to catch every time. The smell of hot chocolate wafted in the air making me forget my words all the more and when I couldn't resist the urge anymore I called out to her and made her promise that my cup would contain the same amount of marshmallows as dad's.

As we finished with our song, Dad began narrating the story of how he met mum on the night of Christmas for the first time at a carnival in our town. We called it "The Christmas Story" and I had heard it too many times for me to memorise it by heart. I still listened nevertheless as the spark from my dad's eyes never faded away as he told the story. My mum would occasionally scold him for telling me some unnecessary details and we both could tell, she blushed hard even after seven years of marriage. I started wondering about  how the feeling of love worked and every time my dad explained that it made butterflies flutter in your stomach and the rest of the world fade, well it pretty much didn't make any sense.

I enjoyed my time with them though. I wasn't much of a people person from the beginning and always liked to open up to people who meant something to me. I didn't have much friends at kindergarten except for Jamie not because I didn't make enough friends but because I thought everyone was weird. My parents somehow have been more than my parents in the course of time I have been able to live with them. And thinking about it now, I know, it wasn't long enough.

I always had this idea in my mind that God had given the best of the parents from the parents sections. They were one of a kind. My dad was cute, chubby and funny and I could always fall asleep in his arms and my mum was my superhero. And I was very grateful to God for them. I thanked Him sincerely, first thing every morning after I woke up.

Sounds like some perfect girl's life right?

Well, perfection is a mere perception.

A loud blasting noise woke us up from our revelry followed by a shrill cry of who seemed to be my mother. Panic struck us and I found my chin wobbling out of fear as I yearned to run to her and help her out. Blow air over her injuries and tell her "its going to be okay.",  just like she told me when I scraped my knee or cut my finger accidentally while playing. But before I could do any of that, I was forged out of the house. My dad dragged me out of the place which seemed like a furnace, unbearably hot and claustrophobic. Black smokes clouded everything and we stumbled upon the furniture many a times. I was left out of the house with a few neighbors, all curious and nosy to find out what had happened. A few of them went after my father, his face sweaty and pale from the incident. Who could say now that a few moments before, he actually believed when he said "I'm happy!"