The Silver Falcon

Part 9

My dearest Abeer,

It seems so long ago that we were children, racing the trains, laughing and making promises. It's only now that I'm beginning to realize that some of those promises were the truest I've ever made.

I wish this letter contained yet another funny story that would make you laugh and remember, but today my heart is heavy. Today I have no laughter inside.

I'm too be married. He's not like Prem, who was always kind to me. Prem never blamed me for the lack of children in our marriage. But this new man is different. I don't like the way he looks at me, like he's just made an especially good business deal. I don't think you would like him. He doesn't like dreaming, he says it's foolish and young of me, that I need to grow up. Prem never said things like that to me. Neither did you. I go to his grave sometimes, and leave flowers there and try to talk to him, but always I end up on the riverside instead writing to you.

Maybe he and my father are right. Maybe it's time I grow up. I am not the child that you once knew, Abeer. But maybe that is why I love you. Because you remember me that way. Because you promised me we would always be friends. Because you showed me that purple heron and you told me that I could be whatever I wanted to be.

I still remember that night you kissed me in the moonlight. I will never forget it and I hope that you will never forget me.

That's why I have to say good-bye Abeer. I can't be whatever I want to be. I've realized that now. This is the last letter I will ever write you. If the page smears with my tears, forgive me for my weakness. I always tried to be strong. Remember me. Remember the girl that wanted to be a bird.

Forever yours,

Niam

The train rumbled on, impervious to my tears, and to the tiny feather of hope inside me, as light as the letter clutched in my hands, as fragile as glass.