“So you moved to a brand-new place, with no family, and you just stayed there until you got married?”

“It’s ironic, isn’t it, that a letter I thought no one would ever read could end up causing trouble years later,” Ima says, giving a soft laugh.

I don’t say anything. I’m not really interested in analyzing the situation. I just want to know what that letter was all about. Why it exists in the first place.

“It must have been strange for you to read it,” Ima says into the silence. Her voice is so warm, I want to cry.

“Yes,” I say simply. It doesn’t encapsulate a quarter of what I’ve been feeling the past few days, but it doesn’t matter; Ima understands.

“I don’t remember exactly what’s written there,” Ima says slowly. “But I know the gist… and I’m sure it left you with some questions.” She takes her time choosing the words. I grip the phone tighter and realize I’m holding my breath.

“I know it sounds strange now,” Ima says slowly. “But as you saw in the letter… I didn’t do so well in high school.”

“Didn’t do well?” I parrot. I can’t imagine her failing school. “But you’re — you’re so smart!”

“Oh Ashira, you’re so sweet," Ima says, giving a small laugh. “The truth is that… I was smart, but not — not the kind of smart that got good grades. In those days, I mean,” she clarified, somewhat hurriedly.

“In those days?” I sound like an echo. But I just want to hear more.

Ima hesitates. “Well, yes. I mean… look, in school, I’m sure you learn by listening to the teacher, and also writing things down, seeing pictures, maybe videos or slides,” she says. “But back then, we mostly had teachers who gave lectures, and we took notes. We didn’t really have much variety, no color picture textbooks, no activities or learning in different sensory ways, and I… well, you know me, Ashira, I just love getting my hands dirty.”

This time, I laugh along with Ima. She’s so real, I love her.

But I still don’t understand.

“But why did that mean you failed school?”