The Letter from Yesterday

The letter arrived on a Thursday morning, slipped quietly through the slot with the rest of the bills and junk mail.

It was different.

Yellowed. Fragile. Postmarked a decade ago.

“Return to sender. No forwarding address.”

But somehow, it had found its way to Zayan.

His name was written in neat, familiar handwriting.

He stared at it for a long time, his heart thudding like it hadn’t in years.

He already knew who it was from.

Aira.

The girl who vanished ten years ago without explanation, without goodbye—without even a trace.

The girl he had once loved like breathing.

**

They had met at university—two dreamers with opposite lives. She painted sunsets on hostel walls. He solved equations like riddles. She was chaos in a scarf. He was calm in glasses.

But somehow, they worked.

They talked about futures, read poetry at midnight, danced in empty courtyards.

And then one day… she was gone.

No call. No message.

Just an empty room and silence that stretched into years.

Zayan had tried everything—calls, emails, even her family. But they only said: “She had to leave. That’s all.”

It broke him in a quiet way.

He stopped writing poetry. Stopped trusting his heart.

He moved on. Or tried to.

But some wounds don’t bleed. They echo.

**

And now, ten years later, she had spoken.

Through a letter that had taken too long to arrive.

He opened it slowly, his fingers trembling. The paper crackled, as if the words themselves were holding their breath.

"Dear Zayan,"

"If you're reading this, it means the letter finally reached you. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe it got lost like I did. But I had to try."

"I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you. I left because I loved you too much."

Zayan sat down, eyes fixed on the page as if it would disappear.

"I was diagnosed with a rare heart condition the week before I left. The doctors weren’t sure how long I had—months, maybe a year. I didn’t want you to watch me fade."

"You always talked about fixing broken things. But I didn’t want to be your project. I wanted to be your sunrise. And I couldn’t bear the thought of becoming your goodbye."

Tears welled up in his eyes.

She hadn’t abandoned him.

She had tried to protect him.

"I left because I knew you’d follow me into the storm. And I couldn’t let that happen. I wanted you to live. To love. Even if it wasn’t with me."

"I planned to send this letter a few weeks after I left. But by then, I was in a hospital far from everything. I gave it to a nurse to mail. I guess it got lost."

"But if by some miracle you’re reading this now—know that I survived. The surgery worked. I stayed quiet for years, afraid to reach out."

"But I never stopped thinking of you. Never stopped wondering what could’ve been."

"And if there’s still a place for me in your story… I’m living in Lahore. Teaching art. Waiting, I suppose. Just in case."

"With all my once and always,

Aira"

**

Zayan stared at the letter until the words blurred.

Ten years.

Ten years of believing he’d been left behind—when in truth, she had been fighting for her life.

And somehow, against all odds, the letter had come.

Late. But not too late.

**

That evening, Zayan packed a small bag.

He hadn’t been to Lahore in years. He didn’t know if she was still there. Didn’t know if she’d still want him after all this time.

But hope is stubborn.

He boarded the night bus with the letter in his coat pocket.

As the city lights blurred past, he whispered a quiet promise to the girl who once left him to save him:

“I’m coming. Even if it’s ten years late. I’m still yours, quietly.”