"A Letter to the World"

A Letter to the World

One City, One Bike, and a Heart Full of Wonder

The rain had stopped just moments ago, leaving the streets glossy like glass, each puddle a mirror of the sky. Rosa stood on the corner, her coat buttoned up and her notebook tucked under one arm. It was her favorite kind of morning—one that smelled of fresh bread, wet asphalt, and possibility.

She had moved to this city six months ago with nothing but a backpack and a single promise to herself: “Let the world write back.” She’d been chasing quiet corners, food carts, park benches—anywhere life spoke softly. She wasn’t looking for noise; she was listening for meaning.

Today, it spoke to her from a wall.

At the end of Vine Street, a mural blazed across the side of a red brick building. It was impossible to miss: an enormous envelope, sealed with a red wax heart, surrounded by petals, bicycles, and street scenes from far-off lands. Across the envelope’s curve were the words:

“Travel is a love letter to the world.”

Rosa smiled. She didn’t need to write in her notebook just yet—someone else already had.

She sat on a bench across the street, next to her blue bicycle, watching the mural as though it were a living thing. From here, she could see everything: a vendor cart selling warm pastries, a couple holding hands beneath a blooming tree, two kids jumping over puddles, laughing without restraint.

Everything felt like a sentence in that letter.

Just then, the man behind the pastry cart waved at her. He was older, with kind eyes and flour on his sleeves. She waved back, stood, and crossed over.

“You look like someone who needs something sweet,” he said.

“Maybe just a warm corner,” she replied with a grin.

He handed her a flaky pastry and pointed to the mural. “That wall,” he said, “has made a lot of people stop and think.”

“Think about what?”

“About where they’re going. Who they’ve loved. What they've left behind.”

Rosa nodded, chewing slowly. “It feels like someone sent a letter and forgot to sign it.”

He chuckled. “Maybe the world is the author.”

They shared a comfortable silence before she thanked him and walked her bike to the next block. But something held her gaze—one detail she hadn’t noticed before. Just below the envelope’s corner, almost hidden among painted leaves, was a phrase in small, faded handwriting:

“Leave a little love wherever you land.”

That was it. That was the answer to why she had come, why she had stayed, why she wandered from mural to market to memory.

Rosa pulled out her notebook and scribbled the line at the top of the page. Then, she began writing—not a poem, not a journal entry. A letter. To the city. To herself. To anyone who might someday feel lost and find a mural that reminded them of who they were.

Dear World,

I’m learning to love your chaos.

I’m not looking for answers anymore—just meaning.

Thanks for the strangers who smile,

The walls that speak,

And the streets that echo with kindness.

Wherever I go next,

Know that I’ll leave behind a little piece of my heart—

Tucked between bricks,

Scattered in rain puddles,

Or painted in a message only the quiet ones will see.

With love,

rosa

By the time she finished, the sky had begun to turn gold. The city pulsed softly, like a heartbeat. Rosa smiled, tucked the letter between the pages of her notebook, and pedaled away—leaving a little love behind.my name is ihsan danis

Just as promised.