THE HIDDEN LETTER

                                                                           Source:Pixabay

Suraj was a quiet boy from the village of Kheda. He walked to school every morning with his friends, barefoot along the dusty road. Some classmates arrived on bicycles, sitting behind their fathers, their colorful school bags swinging from their shoulders. Suraj had a plain cloth bag and a steel tiffin box. But he dreamed of having a plastic tiffin—two layers, bright colors, and a spoon tucked inside. His mother promised to buy it for him at the Diwali fair.

But before the fair came, Suraj’s father fell ill. He lay curled on the charpai, groaning in pain. Suraj and his mother took him to the government hospital. The tests were cheap—ten rupees for the form—but the infection in his stomach was serious.

Every day after school, Suraj sat beside his father and talked to him about school, about Santosh Sir, his teacher. He just wanted to keep him company, to feel like things were normal.

One evening, he saw his mother quietly counting coins. The rice sack was nearly empty. That night, Suraj told her he would work at a shop nearby. He woke early, helped at the shop for an hour, then rushed to school. Sometimes he was late. Santosh Sir scolded him. The other students laughed. He said nothing.

What Suraj never said to anyone was written in a letter. Folded, crumpled, hidden inside the back of his notebook.

He wrote to his father:

“Baba, I will pass the exam. I will be a doctor. I will buy you medicine. I will tell you everything after the exam—about the shop, about the hard days. I want you to be proud.”

One day, as Santosh Sir flipped through Suraj’s notebook, a commotion broke outside. A boy burst into the classroom, breathless. “Suraj! Come home quickly!”

Suraj ran. Tears blurred his eyes. When he reached, his cousin told him, “Your buffalo’s been stolen.”

The family’s only source of milk—gone.

Back in school, Santosh Sir read Suraj’s hidden letter. The words made his hands tremble. He had scolded Suraj, judged him, but never once tried to understand the boy behind the late arrivals.

The next day, Santosh Sir called Suraj aside. “Would you… like to help me at home in the evenings? I’ll teach you too. No need for money.”

Suraj looked at him, surprised.

And for the first time, Suraj smiled—not because life had become easier, but because someone had finally seen him.