A love story.

The sun had started its drop, projecting a brilliant shine across the roads of the unassuming community. Elena sat by her window, the delicate breeze playing with her hair as she gazed at the skyline. She moaned, getting a little box from the side table. It was old, its edges worn from long stretches of taking care of. Inside, the container held letters — many them, all unsent, addressed to one individual: James.

A decade had passed since she'd last seen him, yet it seemed like yesterday. They'd met in school, both wide-peered toward and loaded with dreams. He was concentrating on craftsmanship, his heart set on painting the world in colors no one but he could see, while she sought after writing, charmed by the wizardry of words. Their kinship had bloomed normally, easily, and before either acknowledged it, they had fallen profoundly infatuated.

However, life, as it frequently does, steered them this way and that.

Elena flipped through the letters, every one a memory, an idea, an inclination she had once needed to share. She took out the absolute initial one, dated seven days after they graduated.

Dear James,

I miss you. I realize we vowed to keep in contact, yet all at once it's not something very similar. I miss our late-night talks, your crazy jokes, the manner in which you'd watch me as I attempted to energetically make sense of something. I miss the manner in which you caused me to feel — like I was the main individual in the room who made a difference. I trust you're doing great in New York, living your fantasy, however there's a piece of me that desires you hadn't left.

Elena grinned delicately at the memory. She composed that letter. James had moved to New York for a workmanship residency, while she had remained behind in their school town, functioning as a supervisor at a nearby distributing house. They had vowed to compose, to visit, to call. What's more, they did — for some time.

Yet, over the long haul, the calls turned out to be less regular, the letters less and farther between. Life disrupted the general flow, as it generally does. Elena had remained occupied with work, and James had been consumed by the craftsmanship world. The distance between them developed, in miles as well as in heart.

She took out another letter, this one from a couple of months after the fact.

Dear James,

I got your postcard. Paris? That is astonishing! I'm so glad for you. I generally realized you'd do fantastic things. However, I need to concede, finding out about your experiences causes me to feel somewhat lost. I'm still here, in a similar town, doing likewise things. I realize I should be glad for you, and I am, however there's a piece of me that feels… abandoned. Perhaps I shouldn't say that. Perhaps I ought to simply grin and let you know how energized I'm for you. In any case, I can't. I miss you, James. More than I naturally suspected I would.

She had never sent that letter by the same token. Each time she kept in touch with him, there was a piece of her that faltered. She would have rather not troubled him with her sentiments. He was out there, living his fantasy, while she remained established in the recognizable, reluctant to face challenges, hesitant to leave.

Elena moaned, putting the letter back in the crate. She stood up and strolled to the window, watching out at the now obscuring sky. She had consistently thought about what could have been assuming she had sent those letters, on the off chance that she had let him know how she genuinely felt. However, she hadn't. Also, presently, it was past the point of no return.

Or then again was it?

The telephone on her table hummed, pulling her from her viewpoints. It was a text from her companion, Anna.

Hello, would you say you are coming to the display opening this evening?

Elena had practically neglected. There was another craftsmanship display around, something little however invigorating. She had guaranteed Anna she'd come. Briefly, she considered not going, however something inside her encouraged her to venture out, to move on to bigger and better things, if by some stroke of good luck for an evening.

She showed up at the exhibition similarly as the occasion was beginning. The room was loaded up with individuals, all respecting the craftsmanship on the walls. Elena meandered through the space, getting a handle on a tad bit of spot. Craftsmanship had never been her obsession — words were. Be that as it may, she valued the magnificence in the pieces around her.

As she turned a corner, her heart almost halted.

There, in the focal point of the room, stood James.

He was more established now, somewhat more tough, yet his eyes actually held that equivalent flash of inventiveness she recollected. He hadn't seen her yet, and briefly, she considered getting ceaselessly, imagining she hadn't seen him. However at that point their eyes met, and all the other things in the room disappeared.

"Elena," he murmured, as though he couldn't exactly accept she was there.

"James," she answered, her voice scarcely perceptible.

They remained there briefly, simply taking a gander at one another, the long stretches of quiet hanging between them like a weighty shade. Then, he grinned, that recognizable, screwy grin that had consistently made her heart skirt a thump.

"I didn't think I'd at any point see you once more," he said delicately.

"I thought not possibly," she conceded. "In any case, we are right here."

He motioned toward the canvases on the wall. "I've been voyaging, painting… attempting to find myself, I presume."

"Also, did you?" she asked, her eyes looking through his face.

He chuckled, a sound that was both recognizable and new. "I don't know. Be that as it may, seeing you here makes me think perhaps I've been searching in some unacceptable spots."

They talked for hours, the years between them liquefying away with each word. As the night became late, Elena acknowledged something — she didn't have to think about what could have been any longer. The letters she had never sent didn't make any difference. What made a difference was the second they had now, the opportunity to begin once more.

Thus they did.