Amrita,

In this game of blame — you hurt me, I hurt you, you made me do it, I made you do it — you make me the reason for all your pain, and I keep hurting that you don't see mine.

The game is rigged. The price was paid already.

There was a time when one hour was all it needed for our conflicts to lose to our care. Then one day care became control.

I blame myself for not being there for you that year. My acceptance isn't waiting for your forgiveness. It's pending mine.

It will keep hurting until it stops for you. It's not that I can't let go. To let go would be to stop feeling. But is that acceptance?

Amrita,

You asked for the laptop's admin password. I can't tell you the password, not yet, and you can't guess it. You will have to find it.

Because this password is everything — it's why I called your parents, it's why you got hurt, it's why I got hurt. It's the problem and the solution to all our main concerns and conflicts.

You can format the laptop if you want. But like that password, some truths remain — hidden in plain sight, waiting to be understood rather than changed.

Because in the end, the answer to all our conflict is right there — in eight simple characters that hold the weight of seventeen years.

It always has been. It still is.

— Me