"The Letter I Never Sent"

M Mehran

I never believed in love at first sight—until I saw her.
It wasn’t anything dramatic, no slow-motion hair flip, no sparkling soundtrack. It was a rainy Tuesday, and she was sitting on a wooden bench outside a café, reading a book with pages curling under the drizzle. Her umbrella was broken, lying hopelessly by her feet, but she didn’t seem to care.

Something about the way she smiled at the words made the world around her disappear. People rushed past, cars honked, but she was lost in her own universe. I wanted to live there too.

I should have walked on. But I didn’t.


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The First Conversation

“Need an umbrella?” I asked, holding mine out like a peace offering.

She looked up, and for the first time, I saw her eyes—dark, steady, and full of questions. “What if I like the rain?” she replied.

I laughed, unsure if she was joking. “Then I’ll just sit with you and like it too.”

She tilted her head, considering, then smiled. That smile—the kind that could burn through storms. And just like that, the rain didn’t feel cold anymore.

Her name was Lena. We talked until the café closed, about books, music, and why people fear endings. When we finally said goodbye, the city lights seemed a little softer, and for the first time in years, I felt alive.


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The Unwritten Rule

We never defined what we were. We didn’t need to. Every Thursday, we met at the same café. She ordered chamomile tea; I always brought a new story to make her laugh. We watched strangers fall in love, and in between shared silences, something wordless grew between us.

But Lena had a secret.

One evening, as the autumn leaves burned gold, she told me, “Don’t fall too hard for me.”

“Too late,” I said with a grin, thinking it was a joke.

Her eyes flickered with sadness I didn’t understand then.


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The Goodbye

The last time I saw her, the world felt wrong. She wasn’t smiling. Her hands shook as she held her cup.

“I’m leaving,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“For how long?” I asked, my chest tightening.

“Forever.”

I searched for words, anything to keep her there, but my throat was a desert. Finally, I managed, “Why?”

She looked away. “Because loving me will only hurt you.”

And then she was gone—like smoke, like a song ending too soon.


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The Letter

That night, I wrote her a letter.
A confession of every moment I wished I’d told her I loved her. Every time I wanted to hold her hand and didn’t. Every dream I saw her in.

I wrote until dawn, pages soaked with tears and rain from the open window. But I never sent it. Maybe because I was afraid. Maybe because some words aren’t meant to be heard—they’re meant to be felt.


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Years Later

It’s been five years. I’ve loved and lost again since, but no one has ever made me want to share an umbrella in the rain.

Today, I passed the old café. It’s a bookstore now, full of stories that never end. I thought of Lena and wondered if she ever reads them, wherever she is.

Sometimes I take the letter out, still sealed in its envelope. I never throw it away. Because it reminds me that love, even unfinished, can be the most beautiful story you’ll ever live.


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Final Line:

Not every love story is meant to last forever. Some are meant to change you—for good.