The Letter That Arrived Too Late

Ayaan never expected to find anything when he opened the old wooden chest in the attic.

It was just supposed to be a storage box, filled with forgotten memories from his childhood home. Dusty books, old photographs, and faded trinkets—things left untouched for years.

But then he saw it.

A small, yellowed envelope, hidden beneath a stack of old journals.

His name was written in delicate handwriting across the front.

His breath caught in his throat. Aisha’s handwriting.

His fingers trembled as he picked it up. Aisha—his best friend, the one person who had known him better than anyone.

The one he had lost five years ago.

His chest tightened as memories flooded back. Her laughter, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way she used to scold him when he forgot important dates.

The way she had disappeared from his life without an explanation.

Slowly, he opened the letter.

Dear Ayaan,

By the time you read this, I might not have the courage to say these words out loud. Or maybe, I’ll never have the chance.

I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.

Ayaan’s breath hitched.

I don’t know when it started—maybe when we were kids, and you held my hand on my first day of school. Maybe when we were teenagers, and you promised to always protect me. Maybe it was always there, quietly growing in the spaces between our conversations, in the silences we never questioned.

I wanted to tell you. I really did. But I was afraid. Afraid that I’d ruin what we had. Afraid that you’d never see me the same way. So, I stayed quiet, hoping the feelings would fade.

But they never did.

And now… now I don’t know if I’ll ever have the chance to tell you in person. So I’m writing this letter. Just in case.

Just in case I’m too late.

Aisha

Ayaan clenched the paper in his hands, his vision blurring with unshed tears.

Too late.

The words echoed in his mind like a cruel joke.

She had loved him. She had loved him all along. And he had never known.

He had spent years wondering why she had suddenly disappeared, why she had stopped answering his calls, why she had left without a word.

And now, he finally had his answer.

But she was gone.

The weight of regret settled in his chest. If he had known—if she had told him—would things have been different? Would she still be here?

A shaky breath escaped him as he wiped his eyes. He looked down at the letter again, running his fingers over her name.

Maybe he couldn’t change the past. Maybe he would never get the chance to tell her that he had loved her too.

But he could make sure her words weren’t forgotten.

With a heavy heart, he folded the letter and held it close.

Because some words, even if they arrive too late, still deserve to be heard.