The Last Line of the Letter

Rafi had always believed in quiet love—the kind that didn’t require grand gestures or loud confessions. He was an ordinary university student, someone who blended into the background. His days consisted of morning lectures, inexpensive canteen tea, and peaceful afternoons in the library. Nothing remarkable ever occurred. Until the day he noticed Tanha.

She was unlike anyone else. Tanha moved with grace, spoke with a calmness that drew people in, and had a smile that lingered in Rafi’s mind long after she had passed by. She was from the English Literature department, always carrying a book and often lost in thought. Rafi had seen her many times in the library, but he had never spoken to her. That changed one quiet Thursday afternoon. Tanha was leaving the library when a book slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Rafi, who was just a few steps behind her, picked it up and handed it to her. “Your book,” he said softly. She smiled, and that smile altered everything. “Thank you,” she replied, and walked away.

That brief interaction lingered in his mind for days. Gradually, through mutual friends and library encounters, they began to talk. What started with shared thoughts on books evolved into deeper conversations—about dreams, fears, music, and memories. They began spending more time together, sometimes in a café and sometimes strolling through the campus gardens. However, Rafi kept one thing concealed—his feelings.

He realized he was falling in love with her. But how could he express that? What if she didn’t feel the same way? He valued her presence in his life too much to risk losing it. So he remained silent. Weeks turned into months, and his feelings only intensified. Every smile from Tanha, every shared joke, every moment of silence—all of it meant something to Rafi. He could no longer keep it in. So he wrote a letter. On a tranquil evening, under the gentle glow of his desk lamp, he poured his heart onto paper:

“Tanha,

You may not realize this, but your laughter has become my favorite sound. Your presence brings a calm I’ve never experienced before. I’ve never been good with words when I speak, but I hope this letter conveys what my heart feels. I’ve fallen for you. Not in a sudden, dramatic way, but slowly and beautifully. With every conversation and every moment spent together. I don’t know what the future holds, or even what you feel. But I wanted you to know—this heart, quietly beating inside me, beats for you.

Love,

Rafi.”

The following day, he went to the library and found her favorite book—one she always borrowed. He placed the letter inside, closed the book, and returned it to the shelf. He walked away, his heart racing. The waiting was agonizing. Days went by, and Tanha didn’t say anything. She didn’t call. Rafi began to think he had made a mistake. Perhaps she hadn’t found the letter. Or worse—maybe she had and didn’t feel the same way. Three days later, as he was leaving a class, he saw her standing by the stairs.

“Tanha?”

She approached him with that same quiet smile and held up a piece of paper—his letter. “I found this,” she said.

Rafi’s heart sank. He couldn’t decipher her expression. Was she upset? Confused? “I read it,” she continued, “and then I read it again. And again. Especially the last line.” He remained silent, too afraid to reply.

She looked him in the eyes and whispered, “I don’t know what the future holds either. But right now, I know one thing—I feel the same.” And just like that, everything changed. They didn’t hug, didn’t cry, didn’t say much. But in that moment, in that look, everything was communicated.

Their love story didn’t begin with fireworks—it began with a letter. A simple, heartfelt confession tucked between pages. And the last line of that letter? It wasn’t just words. It was a beginning.