My Dearest Sheru,

The flip phone you gifted me when you bought your new Apple phone rests safely in the inner pocket of my old sleeveless jacket; the one hanging second or third from the right in the wardrobe. That jacket, now retired from outdoor use, has found a new purpose: it faithfully holds my wallet whenever I return home. Over time, reaching for or returning the wallet has become almost a conditioned reflex – a habit performed effortlessly, even in the dark of night.

You had planned to activate the flip phone yourself, but your pre-marriage days were a whirlwind of preparations and responsibilities. Meanwhile, the little gadget — meant to be just a simple phone for a man in his seventh decade, has somehow turned magical, beyond the reach of any artificial intelligence or machine

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