Echoes of the Unsent

Echoes of the Unsent

“Every message you delete still gets delivered—just not to the person you think.”

Layla stared at the message on her screen.

“I hate how you made me feel invisible. I hope you never find peace.”

Her fingers trembled over the "Send" button. But no... she couldn’t. She hit Delete instead. The screen went blank.

“Good,” she whispered. “It’s gone.”

She turned off her phone and went to bed, the weight of her unsaid words hanging in the dark.

Across the city, miles away, Kai sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. His phone buzzed beside him.

No new notifications.

But the message echoed in his head like it had been whispered directly into his ear:

“I hope you never find peace.”

It was the fifth night in a row he’d had dreams like this—fragments of conversations, feelings that weren’t his, names he didn’t know.

And always… a voice. The same girl. Angry. Sad. Beautifully broken.

He didn’t know her. But somehow, she knew him.

The next day, Layla couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched—not in a creepy way, but like someone had heard her. Like someone was listening to her thoughts.

Later, during class, her phone buzzed.

A text. From an unknown number.

“Please stop sending them. I can’t sleep. Who are you?”

She froze.

“I’m sorry… what?” she typed back.

“You sent me a message last night. I didn’t want to read it, but I dreamt it. You said you hated me. You don’t even know me.”

Layla’s blood turned cold. “What… the hell?”

“You’re Layla, right?”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she stared at the wall in silence.

How did he know her name?

They met virtually that night, video calling in shared confusion.

“Okay, let’s just get this straight,” Kai said. “You never sent me anything? Not a DM, not a text?”

“I deleted it. It never left my phone.”

He paused. “But it still got to me. In my sleep.”

Layla bit her lip. “You’re telling me… deleted messages are being delivered? In dreams?”

Kai nodded. “Only yours.”

They fell silent.

“I think you’re connected to me,” he said finally. “And whatever this is… it’s not random.”

They began testing it.

Every night, Layla would write a message—raw, real, honest—and delete it before hitting send. And every night, Kai received it in his dreams.

Her words became a lifeline. Each unsent message peeling back her pain, revealing wounds she’d hidden from the world—her father’s abandonment, her anxiety, her heartbreak.

And through it all, Kai listened.

Then, one night, her message was different.

“If I vanish, I want you to know: it’s not your fault. You helped me more than you know.”

Kai jolted awake, heart pounding.

“No,” he whispered.

He tried calling. No answer.

Texted. No reply.

The next day, Layla didn’t show up to school.

Desperate, Kai followed the digital trail. The dreams had always contained clues—backgrounds, places, signs.

He pieced them together, tracking her down to a small bridge on the city’s east side, surrounded by trees and silence.

There, he found her.

Standing at the edge.

Tears streaming down her face.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered.

“I read your message,” he said. “You can’t delete yourself, Layla. I hear you. You’re not invisible.”

She turned, shocked.

“You were never supposed to receive them.”

“I think I was,” he said. “Maybe that’s the point. Maybe those unsent messages go where they’re needed most.”

Silence.

Then: “I didn’t want to be saved.”

“I didn’t either,” Kai said. “Until you started writing.”

They stood in the wind.

And for the first time, neither of them felt alone.