The Letter Beneath the Bridge
Two years of silence. One letter. One night that changed everything.
The city lights shimmered on the surface of the river, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of rain that had just stopped. Milica stood beneath the old bridge, holding in her hand an envelope she had read for the tenth time. It said:
“If you still think of me, meet me here tonight at midnight.”
She was certain it was Luka — the man she hadn’t seen in almost two years, not since he had moved to another city without much explanation. Her heart was beating just as it had the first time she saw his smile.
She heard the quiet sound of footsteps behind her. When she turned, he saw her before he said a word. Luka stood there, hair damp from the rain, holding a small umbrella he hadn’t even opened.
“You came,” he said softly.
“You didn’t give me a reason not to,” she replied, trying to hide her smile.
He stepped closer, his gaze a little uncertain. “For two years I’ve walked through this city searching for you in every shadow, in every smile of a stranger. And I realized — if I don’t see you tonight, I’ve lost everything.”
Her eyes sparkled. “And if you do see me?”
“Then I’ll know I have a second beginning.”
Milica moved closer, and above them a train passed, the noise drowning out all words. But there was no need to speak — his arms around her and her familiar scent were enough to promise a future.
The rain began again, but this time they both stood under his small umbrella. They walked along the riverbank, step by step, until the city lights faded far behind them, and the night became their most beautiful beginning.
About the Creator
Logic and reason are not always explanation enough.
Logic and reason are not always explanation enough. Understanding is elusive He sat looking at the half empty glass but not seeing it, he was cold but not feeling it, he was in pain but not hurting from it. His mind was numb, his memory a jumble of conflicting events, as if from a nightmare but were in fact real. The phone rang for a long time before it gained his attention and then he tried to turn it off, an automatic reaction against coming back to reality. His mind preferred the numbness to anything else that was available. In this distracted state he accidentally accepted the call and put it onto speaker, the voice from the speaker jolted him into giving it his full attention. This was a call from the dead. The voice was full of concern, “where are you John, why haven’t you called, what is going on?” Even to his own ears his tone sounded subdued, defeated, “I am in the cabin, in the woods but I am OK will call you later” and he turned the phone off both ending this call and not accepting any other.
By Peter Rose5 days ago in Fiction
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