Tender Love, Unsent

A mellow, warm aroma covered the whole house, and Mr. Dmitri rested on his easy chair with a feeling of deep contentment. He wore a thin, loose white cotton shirt and brown bermuda shorts. Who could be happier than Dmitri, now that his dearest daughter Ivannah was home after a long while? The house seemed alive again. She was also busy preparing delicious idlis! The cheerful crackle of mustard seeds and curry leaves spluttering for coconut chutney added a homely melody to the atmosphere. In no time, breakfast was ready, and Ivannah set the table with practiced ease. Dmitri, ever the doting father, appreciated his daughter, "Dear, you bake the best idlis, just like your mom! Very soft and delicious," he said, raising his hands in the air. Ivannah laughed wholeheartedly, her laughter bright and free, "Papa, idlis are steamed, not baked. Our scientist knows nothing about cooking." The warm banter wrapped itself around the house, and they ended the breakfast with a good cup of tea.

Ivannah was the most beautiful girl, or at least that’s how Tushar would describe her. She was humble, intelligent, bold yet polite, a true paradox of strength and gentleness. And unapologetically a nerd. She wore small gold buttons on her ears, had no tattoos, and her knuckles, fingers, and toes were as tender and graceful as those of a painter or a musician. Ivannah embodied grace itself; her short, wavy hair seemed to dance in harmony with the rhythm of her soft-spoken words, and her gold-button earrings whispered elegance with every subtle move. Her personality was simple yet magnetic; like a quiet lighthouse guiding everyone around her. Nobody who met her could bring themselves to dislike her. And Tushar! Well, Dmitri Mikhailov could have introduced him far better than anyone else, for there was something yet to be told about this young man.

At sharp 9 a.m., Dmitri left for his work, driving 12 kilometers to his office. He worked at Kaiga Power Station as a Senior Scientist, his expertise deeply respected by everyone who knew him. Dmitri was a native of Russia, and his story stretched back to 1990 when a 26-year-old nuclear engineer named Dmitri Ivanovich Mikhailov arrived in Kaiga, Karnataka, as part of a Soviet delegation supporting India’s nuclear power projects. Assigned as a reactor specialist, Dmitri played a vital role in the early construction phases of the Kaiga Atomic Power Station. But then, history took a turn. When the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991, Dmitri made a choice that surprised many, he chose to stay in India, driven by both his commitment to the project and his growing connection to the local community. Over the years, his passion and dedication earned him the position of Senior Scientist, and he became renowned not only for his expertise but also for the mentorship he offered to those who followed in his footsteps.

Now, Dmitri saw his young self in Tushar, a promising Junior Engineer at the Power Station. Tushar’s passion for his job was undeniable, his eyes often gleaming with the curiosity and determination of someone eager to make a difference. That evening, Dmitri invited Tushar home for some nice tea that Ivannah usually made. However, when they reached home, they were surprised to find the door locked. Instantly, Tushar noticed Mr. Dmitri's face turning pale. He wasn’t a man who would be bothered by minor matters.

Dmitri was known for his calm, mindful mindset at Kaiga Power Station. Tushar had heard about him, about how he had faced unavoidable circumstances at work and made impeccable contributions during difficult times. But now, Tushar saw a different Mikhailov, though he didn’t choose to say anything at the moment. Dmitri's eyes scanned the surroundings, and suddenly they heard the gate creak open.

Ivannah hurried toward them, her backpack slung casually over one shoulder. “Sorry, Papa, I didn’t tell you I was heading out. I thought I’d be back before you got home,” she said apologetically. Her appearance spoke of a productive day, her other hand balanced a clipboard and a thick research notebook, its edges curling from heavy use, filled with meticulous observations. Tightly gripped in her other hand was an insulated container, likely housing soil samples for microbial analysis. A stainless-steel water bottle dangled from her wrist, clinking softly with every movement. Her cotton shirt, tucked neatly into earthy-toned trousers, bore faint mud stains, and the hems were slightly damp. A thin sheen of sweat on her brow gleamed in the golden evening light. For just a second, as she shifted the container to her other hand, Tushar thought he saw her fingers tremble, almost imperceptibly.. but dismissed it as fatigue.

Dmitri was relieved. “Oh honey, I’d almost forgotten you’re here as part of your research. All the way home, I imagined you sitting by the window with a book,” he said, pointing to the seat beside them. Ivannah smiled, nodding, her shoulders hanging slightly. Before either Tushar or Ivannah could ask, Dmitri introduced them to each other. They greeted each other with a “Hi” and, of course, hearty smiles! Neither Ivannah nor Tushar behaved like they were meeting for the first time. Ivannah was like water, taking any shape or color that she was poured into. A universal solvent! Tushar, too, had a radiating personality, and he now liked Dmitri's family. A family of two!

As they sat down for tea, Dmitri beamed with pride as he introduced Tushar more thoroughly to Ivannah. “Dear, this intelligent young man is my favorite,” he began, his voice warm with admiration. “He can repeat the same task hundreds of times with meticulous attention to detail. He has the patience of Mother Earth herself. Kind, prompt, and respectful - qualities like these will take him to great heights someday.” Ivannah, always quick with her wit, winked and said, “Oh, now I understand why I see this bright, divine radiance around Tushar!” Her teasing tone made Tushar chuckle, but he was of course blushing inside. He easily gelled in Dmitri's family. 

Out of nerdy curiosity, Tushar’s eyes drifted toward the box-like container Ivannah had brought back with her. “What’s inside the container?” he asked, unable to contain himself. The question revealed how little he knew about Ivannah’s research or her institute. Yet his tone held a genuine interest, one that promised more conversations to come.

“I’m in the first year of my PhD at Samprati Institute of Life Sciences and Research,” Ivannah replied, her tone carrying both pride and modesty. “I’m studying extremophiles (microorganisms that thrive in extreme conditions) here in the Western Ghats. This region, being a biodiversity hotspot, offers incredible opportunities for such research. So, for a few days, I’m investigating extremophiles in the soil and hot springs around Kaiga.” She gestured to the container in her hand. “This box has soil samples I collected today.” Tushar listened attentively, clearly impressed. “Interesting!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. He found both her work and her personality deeply compelling, an unusual blend of passion and sensibility.

Days passed swiftly like a daydream, and Ivannah was ready to head back to Tamil Nadu, where her institute was based. She wore a maroon full-sleeves T-shirt that said Curious by Nature in big bold letters. As ever, Dmitri's eyes were wet when his daughter was leaving. She too was a bit nervous, but over the years, she had aced emotions and could face anything with courage. Tushar had joined them too to bid her goodbye. While Ivannah caught her train, Dmitri and Tushar drove back home. On the way, Tushar, who usually spoke less, asked about Dmitri's wife. Dmitri took a deep breath, smiled faintly, and said, “Dear lad, can you stay back at mine this night? Mr. Mikhailov is requesting you.” Tushar did not disagree and stayed at Dmitri's respectfully.

Tushar was not curious about Ivannah's mother anymore, so he didn’t ask again. However, Dmitri decided to share his story. He hadn’t shared his personal life with anyone to date. After dinner that night, Dmitri rested on his easy chair. Tushar sat comfortably on a banquette in front of him. He wore a grey Roadster T-shirt that said Grounded in white letters.

Staring at the ceiling, Dmitri started with a calm voice, “I married Ananya Desai in 1996. She was a very good woman, native to this place, Karwar. She knew Konkani and Kannada. I then knew only Russian and English. We spoke through signs in the beginning. Very different from me, but we made it work. She taught me the language of this land, and I taught her a little about my own. We had our little struggles, but we got through them, together”. Both of them laughed softly as the filament light bulb flickered slightly. Dmitri continued, “Ananya was a local educator. She always stood with me, and I was always with her no matter what. I didn’t know much about her health. She always seemed so strong. But in her thirties, something changed. A kind of weariness came over her… emotionally. And then one day... it all broke. She couldn’t move. Ivannah was only six. I came home, and there she was, sitting there... unable to get up. And Ivannah… she was holding her legs, scared, not understanding what had happened to her mother.”

Dmitri wiped his eyes. “I’ll never forget that moment. It still makes me sick to my stomach. My little girl crying, helpless, not understanding why her mom couldn’t get up. I don’t know how to describe it... but it was the beginning of a nightmare.”

"Ananya couldn't move from the chair she was sitting on. Her typewriter stayed still, and my dear Ananya silently shed tears. This was painful and still is. A six-year-old Ivannah was frightened, looking at her mother in such a condition. She clung to her mom's legs, her head tilted up to Ananya's face. I feel sick even today.” Dmitri teared up.

Tushar was beside him. “Sir, you can tell this some other day if you wish,” he said gently.

“No, lad, I’m fine. I want to share this with you. I haven’t opened my heart to anybody. You deserve a special place in my life, and I’ll feel a little relieved if I share this.” Dmitri continued, his voice heavy with emotion. “I had to seek medical help, and in the later years, I got a chance to serve her. She was bedridden. She would whimper sometimes, and I could see helplessness in her eyes. I had never seen my Ananya like that before.” Dmitri’s voice was terribly shaky.

Tushar handed him a glass of water and held his hands gently. Dmitri gave him a faint smile and didn’t stop. He looked at Tushar lovingly, as if drawing strength from him, and continued. Dmitri’s voice was barely a whisper now, his eyes lost in the memories. “You see, lad, Ivannah... she was my strength. She never once complained. Even when Ananya... could hardly speak, Ivannah was the one who took charge. She was only twelve, but she was so... so grown-up. She’d sit with her mother every evening, telling her about her day. Ananya, though, she could barely speak. She would just caress Ivannah’s hair, nodding. It was like... like she was trying to tell her everything was okay, even when it wasn’t.”

“Meanwhile, God had other plans. Ivannah was a twelve-year-old, beautiful, blooming young girl, and I was still a husband and father ‘in the making.’ Ananya left for another world at the age of 39, leaving us both behind.” Dmitri closed his eyes for a moment, and a single tear fell from his left eye.

Tushar found it very difficult to listen to all this and wanted to change the topic for a moment. He gently put his arm around Mr. Dmitri, giving him a protective feel, like a son would. Searching for something to redirect Dmitri’s thoughts, Tushar asked, “Sir, did Ivannah join a boarding school later to change the atmosphere for herself?”

Dmitri replied with a smile. “No, young man. She had no such thought, and, moreover, I wanted her to stay with me. Young minds, especially those who’ve been through extreme pain and struggles shouldn’t be left without care. They must be watched every second. It’s a human tendency to be carried away by weakness, to fall prey to the darkest and most destructive forces. I didn’t want to lose my daughter at any cost. She is very precious". 

Love glowed in Dmitri’s eyes as he spoke. Suddenly, he stood up and asked Tushar to follow him.

They went upstairs to Ivannah's room. Beside her room, there was another bedroom meant for guests, though no guests ever visited the family of two! Dmitri started, “Ivannah finished her schooling at the Hindu High School here in Karwar. She was always ahead in studies, singing, and quizzes.”

The proud father opened an old cupboard tucked under the iron single cot. As the cupboard creaked open, it revealed a treasure trove - trophies, certificates, and colorful medals of all sizes, neatly organized in transparent plastic coverings. Dmitri, who had been shedding tears a while ago, now looked happy, enthusiastically sharing old 'Ivannah tales' with Tushar. He admired her teenage years, her silent struggles, and her smart decisions in life, his voice brimming with pride.

By now, Tushar had almost formed a clear picture of Ivannah. Unknowingly, he had started liking her, a little extra. There was something captivating about how she balanced both strength and vulnerability. She wasn’t like the others he knew, she had a certain softness, something raw, something real. Tushar couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be in her presence again. His heart gave a slight jolt. It was not the admiration of a colleague. It was something more, something deeper.

As they decided to leave Ivannah’s room and head to bed, Tushar stopped Dmitri when his eyes caught a medium-sized jute bag hanging cutely at the back of the door, half-filled with something. Curious, Tushar asked about it. Dmitri smiled warmly and explained, “Ahh! My child is such an innocent baby. When Ivannah was just five years old, Ananya and I told her she could write as many letters to Santa as she wanted. We said he would come on Christmas Eve, pick them all up, read every single one, and try to grant her wishes. She was so excited! I guess that’s how her writing skills developed.”

Tushar smiled at the sweet memory.

Dmitri continued, “As time passed, she figured out Santa never really came to our home. But you know what? She never stopped writing those letters. I believe she still does.” He pointed to the bag. “Ananya and I have never opened a single letter in there. It’s all hers.” Dmitri chuckled and lifted his hands in the air, a gesture of both pride and surrender to his daughter’s innocence.

The two exchanged a warm “Good night” before parting ways. Dmitri, feeling lighter than he had in years, was sure to have a good night’s sleep. Tushar was given the guest room.

Lying on his left side, Tushar stared at the window. A gentle breeze flowed in through the mesh, and the sky-blue curtains swayed ever so slightly in rhythm with the air. Not surprisingly, sleep eluded him. Who could drift into a peaceful slumber with butterflies playing in their stomach? He turned onto his right side. Still no luck. His eyes remained wide open. He flipped onto his stomach, pulled the blanket over himself entirely, and even switched his pillow to the other end of the bed. But sleep, it seemed, had developed anger issues with Tushar that night.

His mind whispered mischievously, suggesting he should sneak into Ivannah’s room and read her letters. He shook his head firmly while still lying in bed. “Not even her dad or mom opened them. I won’t either.” But then his inner voice chimed in again, slyly reasoning, “They never opened them. But Ivannah never said no one could read her letters.”

Tushar was staring at the table with wide eyes as the sheer number of letters on the table left him stunned. Without a second thought, he had poured the entire contents of the jute bag onto Ivannah’s study table. More than six hundred letters spilled out, a mosaic of beige and white. The very old ones had yellowed with time; some were written on pink fancy paper, others on torn notebook pages or inland letters. Ink still bled faintly through paper that had grown almost transparent with age. A dusty, faintly sweet smell rose from the heap. Tushar knew instantly that he wouldn’t read more than twenty of them that night.

The letters reflected Ivannah’s lifelong neatness. On each envelope’s outer fold, she had written, “To: -The person-.” Tushar couldn’t help but smile when he found some letters from her early school days, written in cute, childish handwriting. Most of them began with “To: Amma,” and he could almost hear her young voice in his mind.

As he sifted through the pile, the names on the letters tugged at his heart. There were many to her mom, of course, but also to Red Robinhood, to her dad, to Oswald—the cartoon character—and even to Sushila Miss, her teacher. There were heartfelt notes to Santa, each brimming with wishes and wonder. She had written to Bob the Builder, to God, to her professor, to cartoon friends like Doraemon and Heidi, to Shraavani—her childhood friend—and to Suresh Heblikar, the passionate environmentalist. Names both familiar and mysterious spilled from the stack, filling Tushar with a strange mix of affection and curiosity. In his mind, he could almost see her—little Ivannah—perched at her desk, her small legs swinging above the floor, tongue between her teeth as she wrote, pouring her heart into each letter with an innocence that time could never steal.

Tushar carefully gathered all the letters back into the jute bag. He tied the strings neatly and hung it exactly where it had been, as though he had never touched it. That night, he barely slept. Somewhere between reading Ivannah’s letters and hearing Dmitri’s voice narrating her life, something in him had shifted.

Tushar Hegde was raised in an excellent, well-behaved orphanage in coastal Karnataka. From a young age, he had been taught discipline, respect, and self-reliance. He was kind by nature, intelligent in studies, and diligent in work. Yet he had very few friends, never letting anyone too close. His only real bond was with Shikhar, a boy from the same orphanage—someone he considered a brother. They had stayed in touch even after leaving the home. Tushar’s life was simple: work at the Power Station, occasional cricket on weekends, and evening walks by the sea. Family, for him, had always been a quiet, empty word. Until now.

After meeting Ivannah, something inside Tushar began to stir. She was everything he admired. Warm, thoughtful, deeply curious about the world. Her voice stayed in his mind, her laughter repeated itself in memory, and her maroon T-shirt with “Curious by Nature” seemed etched into his vision. He never spoke of it to anyone, not even Shikhar. He just let it live quietly inside his mind.

He began to write letters to her. Never to send. Never to show. Just to keep. In his small handwriting, he poured thoughts he could never speak aloud.

Dear Ivannah,
There are people in this world who walk into your life like they’ve been there forever. I think you’re one of them. I don’t know if this is friendship or something else, but I feel a strange peace when you’re around. You make conversations feel like they’ve been waiting for years to happen.
Love,
Tushar

Dear Ivannah,
Today was a long day at the plant, but it’s strange... I thought of you when I saw a patch of maroon flowers near the fence. They reminded me of your T-shirt that day. It’s silly, I know. But I think when someone starts appearing in the smallest corners of your mind, it means something.
Love,
Tushar

He folded each letter, placed it in a small metal box, and locked it away. Over months, the box grew heavier. And so did the unsaid words in his heart.

Life was steady. Dmitri was healthy, Ivannah was progressing in her research, and the Power Station was running smoothly. Then, one winter morning, the phone rang. Dmitri’s voice, usually firm, was trembling when he called Tushar to his cabin. There, with eyes red and shoulders slumped, he spoke words that felt unreal.

"Ivannah is gone, lad."

The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy and impossible. Dmitri’s voice broke as he continued. “It was Huntington’s disease… a cruel, hereditary disorder. It slowly destroys nerve cells in the brain, stealing movement, speech, memory… even the smallest joys. There is no cure. She inherited it from her mother. I always feared this day, but I kept hoping life would prove me wrong. I could never have imagined even in my worst nightmares, that Ivannah would be taken so suddenly.” He was sobbing.

He explained how Ananya’s illness had followed the same path years ago, subtle at first, a slight stiffness in her hands, a hesitation in her walk, then gradually the loss of control over her own body. “When Ivannah was little, I used to pray that the disease would skip her… that she’d be spared,” Dmitri whispered. “But God had other plans. She was only twenty-six when it began to show… and it took her away before she could live even half her dreams.”

Tushar’s chest felt hollow. His throat was tight, but no tears came. He only nodded and walked out silently.

Dmitri was shattered. Life after Ivannah’s passing became a blur for Dmitri. The man who once arrived at the Power Station before anyone else now moved mechanically through his days. His desk, once lined with neatly stacked files and sharpened pencils, sat cluttered with half-finished reports and cold tea cups. Colleagues spoke to him gently, as if afraid he might shatter at the wrong word.

Tushar, for days, avoided speaking more than a few words. Then, without warning, he boarded a bus to Mumbai and went straight to Shikhar’s one-room apartment. Shikhar didn’t ask many questions, he didn’t need to. Tushar sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the letters he had written but never sent. His shoulders shook, his breaths came uneven, and when the tears finally started, he broke. He cried with his head in his friend’s lap—the kind of cry that shakes the whole body, the kind that leaves you empty afterward. Shikhar didn’t ask questions; he just sat with him, quiet as a prayer. The city outside roared as usual, but inside the small room, grief was the only sound. After two days, Tushar returned to Karwar.

From then on, he stayed close to Dmitri. They spoke little, but their silences became a language. Dmitri began to see Tushar not as just a junior engineer, but as the son life had given him late. And for Tushar, Dmitri became the only father he had ever truly known.

The Power Station kept running, the tides kept coming in, and the days passed. But somewhere, in a small metal box in Tushar’s room, the letters to Ivannah remained. Unread by anyone but him, a quiet echo of a love that had lived entirely in silence.