The Unread Letter in the Drawer

Dear Delyara, There is an old, hand-written letter in Farsi sitting at the bottom of my desk drawer, sent by an old friend from Tehran three months ago, which I haven't even finished reading yet. Every time I open the drawer to get my ledger, the elegant blue ink looks back at me like a physical accusation. I tell myself I don't have the emotional energy to translate the emotional weight of his words right now, but the truth is simpler—I am terrified of being reminded of the life I left behind and the person I used to be before London turned me into a machine. My silence is a choice, and the guilt of it is eating a hole in my chest.