From the day I came into existence, I waited — to be touched, to be written upon, to be a bearer of unspoken love. I’m just a postcard, but once, I was someone’s precious memory.My journey began in an old stationery shop near College Street, Kolkata. There, amidst dust and forgotten things, I lay next to fountain pens, ink bottles, and greeting cards. I waited — wondering who would choose me, who would write upon me their secret words or tales of longing.I watched people come and go, some stoppi