The Last letter

The Last Letter

The old postbox at the corner of Willow Street hadn’t seen much use in years. Emails had stolen its purpose, and only dust and rust kept it company. Yet, every evening, a woman named Meera would walk to it, carefully slip in an envelope, and leave without looking back.

Nobody knew why.

The letters had no stamps, no addresses—just words scribbled inside. Sometimes they were folded neatly, sometimes they were crumpled, as if written in tears.

One rainy evening, a young boy named Aarav, curious and restless, pulled one out before the mailman came. His hands trembled as he opened it.

"Dear Raghav,

It’s been three years since you left, but I still wait for your laughter in the kitchen, your humming in the mornings, your way of making even silence feel alive. People tell me to move on, but how do I move on from the only world I knew?

If heaven has a mailbox, I hope you’re reading this.

—Meera"

Aarav folded it back carefully, guilt pressing heavy on his chest. That night, he couldn’t sleep. The next day, he returned the letter and stood hidden as Meera slipped in another one.

Days turned to weeks. Aarav never spoke to her, but he read every letter after she left, then placed it back gently. Each one was a conversation with a ghost, a love story that refused to die.

Then one day, the letters stopped.

For weeks, the postbox stood empty, its rust more visible than ever. Aarav felt the silence too deeply. He finally knocked on the small house at the end of Willow Street. A kind neighbor opened the door.

“Meera?” Aarav asked.

The neighbor sighed. “She passed away last week. Peacefully, in her sleep. She left behind a box of letters… said they should be burned, so her love could finally find him.”

That night, Aarav lit a fire in his backyard. One by one, he let the letters rise into the sky as ashes, carrying Meera’s words to wherever Raghav might be.

And for the first time, the postbox at Willow Street seemed… empty in the right way.

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✨ Moral/Closing Reflection (good for Vocal readers):

Love doesn’t end with goodbyes. Sometimes, it lingers in letters, in memories, in the quiet corners of our lives. Maybe the people we lose never really leave—they’re just waiting for us to send one last letter.