The Letter I Never Sent

The attic smelled of old paper and forgotten memories. Dust floated in the golden light slipping through the wooden slats, and the air held the quiet hum of things left unsaid.

I had been searching for an old notebook when my fingers brushed against something unfamiliar—a crumpled envelope, wedged between the pages of a book I hadn’t touched in years.

Curious, I pulled it out. My name was written in delicate, familiar handwriting.

Aanya.

My heart stilled.

I knew exactly what this was.

The letter.

The one I had written for her five years ago—the night before she left. The letter that held everything I had never been able to say.

But I had never given it to her. I had let her walk away without knowing the truth.

My hands trembled as I unfolded the paper, the ink slightly faded but the words still painfully clear.

"Aanya,

I don’t know if I’ll ever have the courage to give this to you. But if by some miracle, you’re reading this, I need you to know—

I love you. I have for years.

I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid. Afraid of ruining what we had, afraid that you wouldn’t feel the same.

But now you’re leaving, and the thought of you going away without knowing how much you mean to me is unbearable.

If you ever look back, if you ever wonder—know that I was always yours. Even when I didn’t say it. Even when I let you go.

— Aarav."**

I exhaled sharply, the weight of my own words pressing down on me.

Five years.

Five years of wondering what could have been. Of watching the world move on while a part of me stayed frozen in that moment when I had watched her walk away.

Had she known, would she have stayed?

I closed my eyes, memories crashing over me. The way she had smiled that last evening, the way she had hesitated at the door, as if waiting for me to stop her.

But I hadn’t.

And now, maybe it was too late.

Or maybe… it wasn’t.

Before I could think, I grabbed my phone and searched her name. It had been years since we last spoke, but there she was—still the same, yet different. A little older, a little softer. And still, she made my heart race.

I hesitated before typing a message.

"Aanya… I found something that belongs to you."

A few minutes passed, and then—

"Aarav? What is it?"

My breath hitched. She replied.

I hesitated, then sent a picture of the letter.

The typing bubble appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then reappeared.

Then—

"Can we meet?"

I didn’t hesitate.

"Tell me where."

The café was just as I remembered it, the same small place where we used to spend hours talking about everything and nothing.

And then—there she was.

Aanya.

She walked in, her eyes scanning the room until they found me. She smiled softly, but there was something else there—something unspoken.

I stood as she reached the table.

"You kept it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I never meant to," I admitted. "But somehow… I did."

She exhaled, sitting down. "Aarav, I—" She hesitated. "I don’t know what to say."

I swallowed. "Then let me say it."

She nodded, her eyes searching mine.

"I should have given you this letter years ago," I said. "I should have told you how I felt. But I was a coward. And I let you leave, thinking you were just my friend when you were everything."

Silence. Then—

"I would have stayed," she whispered.

My heart clenched. "What?"

She smiled sadly. "If you had given me that letter back then… I would have stayed, Aarav."

A wave of regret and longing crashed over me. "And now?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

She looked at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name.

"Now, I’m here," she said simply.

A spark of hope flickered in my chest.

Maybe some love stories don’t end.

Maybe they just wait for the right moment to begin again.