If only...

The envelope stared me in the face, brown and curled at its scalloped edges. I stared disbelievingly at the faded address scrawled across the surface in smeared blue ink. I recognised the handwriting. The hastily scribbled letters that were unmistakably hers.

It couldn't be...

I took a deep breath as I ripped open the weather-beaten envelope, not sure what to expect. A few photographs slipped out from within the folded sheets. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it…not yet. I picked the letter instead and unfolded the sheets.

Tuesday, 5th Jan, 2003, it read. Two months before she died. I felt an overpowering feeling of guilt take over as I braced myself for what lay ahead. Swallowing hard, I began reading her five-page letter.

The memories rushed back, bringing with it the heart-wrenching pain of losing someone you love. Her letters were always long, filled with details, complete with illustrations and doodles. Underlined sentences and different-coloured ink that reflected her mood.

There was no escaping the pain.

She spoke about her dreams, her plans to take a break from studies and go abroad for work. She wanted to travel, "experience what the world had to offer her".

She was only 22...

She asked me about my plans and chided me for not keeping in touch.

Girl, you should start connecting with the world again, she said.
Would you have called me if I had not written to you? she asked.
Why don’t you keep in touch?
Right now, I just want to talk someone, she had scribbled.

She sounded disturbed, like she was looking for some direction and had turned to me for help.

Could I have helped her out?

A horrible sense of guilt gripped me as I read on, unable to hold back the tears.

Have you changed? she asked.
I don’t know why, but I feel you’ve gone far away, she said. Her letters were shaky.

Had she been crying?

I couldn't go on. I picked up the photographs, its yellowing edges reminding me of how long we had been friends. Seven, long years….She had sent pictures of us in boarding school, sneaking in noodles for our midnight feasts, posing in our favourite David Duchovny T-shirts…memories that had been captured forever.

I was pulled back into an ocean of memories - knocked down, kept underwater - until I felt as though I could barely breathe; and then picked up again by a random wave and thrown back onto the shore, even more sad and lonely than I was before.

Give me a second chance, let me make it up to you…

She had called me just before that fateful day…

Do you have a minute? she whispered, her voice nervous and shaky.

I was busy, I said and promised to call her back….I never did find the time.

She died four days later.

If only I had called her back…