The 29th monsoon had finally dried when a distant buzzing sent Nude scrambling for cover. A tiny plane dipped and swerved, filled the air with swirling white and disappeared.He cautiously approached one of the scattered pices of paper:We’ve been writing letters each dayhoping that you’ll come home.And we’re wondering if you’re okay.As you’re not on the phone.Face the facts nowTake a chance.Come on back now.Fast.Please come home,Please come home.Everyone cares for you.Please come home,Please come home.Everyone cares for you,Everyone.We’ve been writing letters each day.Hoping,that you’ll…come home.