Letters Across the Sea

It was a cold evening in December. The wind howled outside the small apartment window as Daniel sat down at his desk with a cup of coffee. The room was quiet, except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. He stared at the blank page in front of him, unsure of how to begin. But he knew he had to write. He had promised Emily that he would send her a letter—one from the heart.

Emily was thousands of miles away, living in a small village in Italy, while Daniel remained in New York for work. They had met a year ago during a summer trip to Paris. She was a painter. He was just a tourist, wandering through the art district with no real plan. Their paths crossed in a cozy art café where she was painting by the window. One smile turned into a conversation, and that conversation turned into days of laughter, shared meals, and late-night walks along the Seine.

They had only ten days together, but they felt like a lifetime. When it was time to say goodbye, neither wanted to let go. So they didn’t. Instead, they made a promise: to stay in touch, to keep writing, and to visit each other when they could. And now, one year later, they were still writing letters—long, handwritten ones that traveled across oceans and carried all the words their hearts could not speak in person.

Daniel picked up his pen and began to write.

Dear Emily,

It’s been raining all day here. I know you love the sound of rain, so I left the window open just a little, hoping the sound might reach you somehow through these words.

I miss you.

I miss the way you laugh when something isn’t even that funny. I miss your voice, your stories, the way you always look at the sky before answering a hard question—as if the stars might help you.

I wish you were here. Or I wish I was there. Either way, I just wish we were in the same place again.

Sometimes I wonder if people understand what it’s like—loving someone who isn’t physically close. It’s hard. It’s lonely. But it also teaches you something. It teaches you how to love with your soul, not just your hands. And that’s what I’m trying to do every day. Love you with my whole soul, even from this distance.

He stopped writing for a moment. The memories of Paris flooded his mind. The smell of fresh croissants in the morning. Her paint-stained hands as she held his face. The way she danced in the street to music from a nearby violinist, barefoot and smiling like nothing else mattered.

He smiled and continued.

Do you remember our last night in Paris? You asked me if I believed in soulmates. I said I didn’t know. You laughed and said, “That’s okay. I’ll believe enough for both of us.”

Well, I think I believe now.

Every time I read your letters, it feels like you’re right here. Sitting next to me. Laughing at my bad jokes. Reminding me to eat something other than cereal. I read them over and over when I miss you the most—like tonight.

The truth is, you’ve changed me, Emily. Before I met you, I didn’t know how big love could feel. I didn’t know it could reach across time zones and make someone feel warm just by reading a page.

Sometimes, when I walk home from work, I take a longer path through the park. There’s a bench there where I like to sit and imagine you beside me. I talk to you in my head. I tell you about my day, about the man who plays saxophone by the fountain, or the little girl who feeds the ducks every afternoon.

I know it’s not the same. But it helps.

Outside, the snow had started to fall. The city lights glowed softly through the curtain, and Daniel wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He looked at the letter again and kept going.

I think what amazes me the most is how strong you are. You’ve built a life over there, one filled with colors and people and dreams. And even though we’re far apart, you never let me feel forgotten. You always write. You always send little pieces of your world—photos of your art, pressed flowers, little notes in Italian that I have to translate with a dictionary.

I treasure every single one.

I’ve been counting down the days until spring. That’s when I’ll finally come to visit. I bought the ticket last week, but I wanted to surprise you. I guess the surprise is ruined now—but at least you’ll smile when you read this.

I can’t wait to see you again. To hold your hand. To walk those cobbled streets of your village. To eat that lemon gelato you always talk about.

But most of all, I can’t wait to be near you again.

Daniel paused, his eyes soft and full of love. He reread what he had written, and then signed the letter with the same words he had written in every letter since the day they met.

Forever yours,

Daniel

The next morning, Daniel slipped the letter into an envelope, sealed it with care, and walked to the post office in the quiet morning light. The streets were still, and the snow crunched softly under his boots.

He sent the letter, knowing it would take at least a week to reach her. But he also knew something else: that Emily would read it with her heart wide open, just as he had written it.

And somewhere in a sunlit studio in Italy, Emily would smile, press the letter to her chest, and whisper the words she always whispered after reading his letters.

“I love you too.”

The End