She has a superstition. Whenever the pain of missing you is unbearable, she lights a candle in front of the small sandalwood idol of Krishna that she keeps hidden in her bedroom. She knows Krishna will understand. When the candle burns the room fills with your scent, and for a brief moment she feels your arms clasped around her shoulders in a lingering embrace, your hair brushing lightly against her face….

Then it fades.

She was sure one day she would light the candle and you would be guided back to her.

She lit the candle, and the flame quickly flickered out. The doorbell rang. Her heart stood still and heavy; she was sure you would be there. But it was not you. It was a letter from your life-partner, asking her to stay away from your funeral.


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