The house that was waiting for him

The letter without a stamp

Lena received that letter one Tuesday afternoon.

She hadn't been in the attic for many years. Maybe not since her father's death. But that day, there was an invisible pull—toward a forgotten plank, where dust silently gathered, and emptiness breathed.

Her fingers trembled as she touched the corner of a box. Inside the box, folded, was a letter—like a lying thought.

No sender's name, no stamp, no address. Only a name was written: Lena's, in trembling handwriting, as if someone had whispered her name in her mind.

As she opened the letter and read it, she felt as if someone had opened the door to her childhood mind.

"Come back to that house, the house you dreamed of. I am here."

The surroundings trembled somehow. The light did not go out, but the memories began to change.

Lena knew which house she was talking about. As a child, she had dreamed of that house over and over again—with twisted walls, green vines entwined around the windows, and a single window that looked like an eye.

Was that house real? Or was it part of a dream?

The Roadmap Hidden in the Mirror

That night, when Lena looked in her grandmother's old mirror, she couldn't see her face.

She saw a forest.

A dense forest, full of pine trees, shrouded in fog. The very forest that surrounded the dream house.

She didn't take her bag, nor her phone. She just put on her father's old coat, carrying the letter to her chest.

The forest seemed to know her way. The ground was soft, the air smelled of shadows.

And then, suddenly, the house—not like a dream, but real. Alive. Breathing. The windows seemed to open their eyes and look at her.

The room that spoke in memory

The house sighed as he opened the door and entered.

A breeze blew through the corridor—though no windows were open. The chimney was warm even without a fire.

The chairs swayed, as if someone had just gotten up. A teacup was smoking, though no one had touched it. The paintings on the walls changed as he looked at them once and looked again.

And just then, another letter was found on the table.

"You were not meant to be forgotten. This house is not a dream. It is part of the life you left behind."

The last thing that began

Lena stayed.

Because she had to come back. She was never really gone.

The world outside the forest forgot her.

But the house—it always remembered her.

At the end of the night, as Lena stood by the window looking at the moon, the house whispered softly—

"Welcome, you've never lost."