The Return of the Mysterious Letter

On that chilly, foggy evening, Maya discovered the missive left on her door. She wasn't prepared for mail, and especially not one in the form of a battered, yellowed envelope with no return address. The exquisite cursive writing of her name glistened on the torn paper. With a nagging curiosity, she knelt down and took it up.

She stood motionless for a few period, gazing at the enigmatic letter she was holding. Who on earth possibly have sent this? Sundays were a no-go day for the village post, and her cottage had been deserted all day. She pulled the envelope open with uneasy fingers, exposing one sheet of parchment.

Written in the same exquisite handwriting, the sentences within were brief and straightforward: "I'm coming back."

Maya felt her heart skip a beat. Returning? Who was going to return? She looked around her cozy house as the early evening shadows grew longer. Outside, the wind rustled the trees, and an owl's faint call could be heard far away. However, there was no one there, no movement, no clue that someone had been in the vicinity of her cottage. A chilly chill scuttled her back.

She closed the door behind her and hurried inside, turning the key hastily to lock it. With the letter still firmly grasped in her palm, she paced the little living room, her mind racing.

Was it a practical joke? Or—was there a further detail? The phrases felt uncannily familiar to Maya, even though she couldn't recognize the handwriting—as if they were intended just for her.

She made an effort to ignore the bad feeling that was beginning to cross her mind. After all, she had been away from the city for years, choosing this village's tranquility above the recollections of her former life. However, for some reason, the letter roused a long-buried feeling within of her.

Maya kept thinking about the message for hours on end. Even though the hearth fire was crackling softly, the tension in the air was still rising. The old home creaked harder, and the gusts of wind outside seemed even more terrible.

Then, just as midnight drew near, she heard someone knock on the door. First soft, then a tad louder. Let someone knock.

Her throat congealed with breath. At this hour, who might possibly be paying a visit? She got up, the letter suddenly feeling heavier in her fingers. She moved slowly toward the door, leaving a trail of footsteps in the pitch-black darkness. Her fingers shaking, she released the clasp and allowed it to open slightly.

No one was there.

With the mist growing thicker, it swirled in the porch lantern's faint light. With her pulse pounding, Maya gazed into the mist. She said, hardly raising her voice above a whisper, "Hello?" But all that was left was the strange silence of the night.

She was about to close the door when she saw it—a figure, barely visible through the fog, standing at the edge of her garden. Tall, motionless, and somehow... familiar.

“Maya...” The voice was faint, but unmistakable. Her blood turned to ice. She hadn’t heard that voice in years. It couldn’t be...

She had thought she would never see the man again, but as the figure moved forward, the mist seemed to separate and reveal him. Disbelief and panic mixed together in her head as her heart hammered in her chest.

Her voice faltered as she questioned, "Why are you here?"

The man grinned, a knowing, sad smile. "You know I'm coming back," I said.

Maya staggered back, her thoughts racing. She hadn't seen him in a long five years, following the tragic catastrophe that claimed his life. And yet there he was, standing as solid as the darkness, gazing at her through those recognizable, haunting eyes.

“You can’t be here,” she whispered, her hands shaking. “You’re... you’re dead.”

The man advanced more, or whatever he had become. Maya, you never said goodbye. I was left there by myself by you.

Her eyes filled with tears as the memories flashed before her eyes, the remorse, the shame, and the unsaid words that had been weighing on her heart for years. He had come back, looking for the closure they never experienced, and she had never had the chance to say goodbye.

She gulped out, her voice scarcely audible, "I'm sorry." "I didn't intend to part from you."

The figure reached out, but instead of the cold touch she expected, his hand was warm, comforting. “Now you know,” he whispered, his voice soft as the mist began to swallow him once more. “Now we can both rest.”

And just like that, he was gone—fading into the night, leaving only the letter and the lingering echo of his voice behind.

Maya stood there for a long time, her heart heavy but finally at peace. The mysterious letter had brought back more than just memories... it had brought back the chance for closure.