Of course I would I told him.?That?s my friend!? he said, patting my shoulder. ?Now come on, let?s share a cup of coffee before you leave.?

We sat together in the garden, quietly sipping our coffee. The butterflies flitted and danced among the colourful array of flowers. Then one butterfly swooped down and perched itself daintily on old Mr Franks? knee. He watched it quietly as it opened and closed its wings. Then it flew off and resumed its dance among the flowers.

?You know,? said Mr Franks, ?Agatha, my wife, had a very charming belief. She would say that if ever a butterfly came and sat on you, a friend far away had remembered you and sent you his love!?

The sun was beginning to set. I got up to go for I had to reach school before dark. We walked down quietly together to the big iron gate of the Home.

?Well, dear,? said Mr Franks, as we reached the end of the path, ?Do write to me soon and tell me all about your new school!? I held Mr Franks? hands for a moment. My eyes filled with tears again. I said goodbye and walked away hurriedly. Then for a moment I stopped and looked back. Old Mr Franks was still waving to me through the gate.

I came away to Delhi. Everything seemed strange and new. New friends. New teachers. I missed my school back in Lucknow, and everybody there. But most of all, I missed Mr Franks. Both Susie and Mr Franks wrote to me often. Mr Franks? letters were amusing and always contained some news of his garden and his plants. I would write to him regularly. My school in Delhi had beautifully kept gardens and whenever I sat near the flowers I remembered Mr Franks.

Then one day Mr Franks stopped writing. I did not receive any letter from him for a long time. Almost two months later, I got a letter from Susie. ?My dear Aditi,? she had written, ?I feel terribly sad telling you that old Frankie passed away last Saturday. He had been quite ill for the past three weeks. He was remembering you a lot and he has left you two of his favourite ferns. I shall bring them with me when I come to Delhi next.?

I read the rest of the letter through a blur of tears.

For the next few days, I could think only about Mr Franks and the Wednesday afternoons we had spent together.

Almost a week had passed since I had got Susie?s letter. It was Friday and I had a Geography test that afternoon. I sat revising my lesson under the gulmohar tree. The chrysanthemums and dahlias were in full bloom, and butterflies darted and pirouetted among them. Then suddenly, a little yellow butterfly hovered around me and finally perched lightly on my leg stretched out in front of me. I became absolutely still. It moved its wings daintily for a moment and then flew off to join its friends once again. My heart was filled with joy. As I watched the butterflies dancing among the flowers, I knew that somewhere far away, old Mr Franks had remembered me and sent me his love.

(Illustrations by Suman Choudhury)

New story next week

Vandana Bist?s short story, Dear Mr Franks first appeared in the children?s magazine Target edited by Rosalind Wilson. It was later published in the short story collection, The Carpenter?s Apprentice, by Katha, a Delhi-based non-profit organisation and publishing house.