To whoever finds this (or maybe just to the sea)

From: S.T., somewhere in Kerala
Scribbled on the back of a bus ticket, waves crashing outside

To whoever finds this (or maybe just to the sea),

The 11 p.m. bus from Kochi smelled like salt and diesel. I watched palm trees blur past, thinking of you—remember that monsoon when we raced rickshaws down Marine Drive? Your hair stuck to your face, and you laughed like it was the best defeat ever.

Now I'm far, chasing some job that feels like chasing shadows. The radio played that old Malayalam song you loved, the one about fishermen and forgotten promises. I closed my eyes, and for a minute, I was back there, salt on our skin, no distance between us.

Write back if you can. Or don't. Just know the ocean reminds me: some things pull you back, no matter how far you go.

Drifting,
S.T.