Leena Kapor Part 1 – The Postcard The postcard arrived on a wet Thursday morning, slipped through the letterbox of her narrow London flat like any other piece of mail, but it felt heavier than its paper weight suggested. Meera bent to pick it up, brushing raindrops from its surface. The picture side showed a winter street lined with red lanterns, snow settling like ash on tiled rooftops, a kanji script curling down the right edge that she couldn’t read. She turned it over, pulse tightening, because on the back was handwriting she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Her father’s.…