It’s brisk outside. My coffee remains at half. Sitting in the corner of the restaurant, I’m freezing — feeling cozy yet so gloomy.
I look back at the tiny paper and every row of utterances I wrote — another love letter.
June 17th, 2023
To:
From: a girl who’s fond of poems
I could’ve told you.
I could’ve never spoiled our sights.
I could’ve slipped a love letter inside your book.
Maybe we could’ve had months,
years,
decades.
There’s always hope I bear
The hundredth unsent letter — “Ugh! This is going to be so begging,” my inner voice says. Neither the address nor the receiver is something I have settled — for years.
I sip my coffee — no more sweet. “I don’t wanna sound so hopeless. Gosh, I am still so young.” another voice inside my throat. I continue…
Even if it’s dim, even if nothing can be seen through it,
I never really give up on you.
I take a breath. The side story is I’ve discontinued filling the receiver section for the past several years. Don’t worry, I’ve moved on — but I can’t stop cursing myself for never mailing him. My letters have ended up lying inside a box in which no one has ever read them.
The air gets colder as the door behind me opens. Someone gets inside, and the scent smells like mint. I refuse to look back.
“Here’s my four bucks, Josh. It’s so windy outside, by the way. I recall the weather forecast telling me it’s gonna be warmer than yesterday. It’s still even 3.”
As this guy has his closure, I quickly grab my phone. My cutie dog appears on my wallpaper, but it’s not essential. It’s 3 pm! My watch is busted! I act like Flash, grabbing my backpack on the table and putting all of my belongings in it.
I do not look back, running through the back door and vanishing.
Darla’s smile disappears as I close her math book. I tutored her older brother since I was in college, now it’s her. This family loves studying, and I adore the ambiance, the warmth, the kindness — like I am home.
“Just call me once you need help, Darla,” I say while catching my bag.
Mrs. Ander stands by the door. Her sight is kinda different — like teasing. “You never told me you have a plus one, huh?”
“Sorry?” I reply, feeling my eyebrows frown.
“Your handsome guy is waiting for you outside. You better hurry,”
I kiss Darla’s forehead and walk out. Honestly, I am a little muddled. But as I reach the open front door, something familiar grasps me — something fresh, something I earlier detoured.
That mint guy.
He seems hearing my footsteps because right before I greet him, he turns his body to face me.
“Your handsome guy is waiting for you outside…” Damn. She was so sure what she was saying.
“Hi! Uhm — “, he starts talking while stroking his brown hair. “I am really sorry. I knew I wasn’t supposed to read it — but it’s just a paper, I could easily read through your hand-written.” he continues then handing me a paper I previously put on the restaurant’s table. Very embarrassing. I take it — still with complete confusion (and not looking away from his eyes). I feel like lightning striking me. God.
“Oh — “ Wait. “How do you know that I am here?”
“Josh — the barista. He says you’re his regular customer.” Of course. 50% of my job schedule is known by Josh.
“For a crush, huh?” he asks — waking me up from my brief daydream. Weird.
“No one. I just like writing such things.” I reply and start walking away from Mrs. Ander’s home — he follows. “It’s such a hopeful wish, by the way,” he looks at me and gives me that gorgeous light smile. I laugh while watching our feet go hand in hand.
“I think that’s the cringe one, I — “
All of a sudden, an odd sensation creeps me in. It knocks my brain way too hard. I lose my breath for a while. I stop walking and watch his back from my current point of stance. No way.
He realizes I am not by his side and moves backward. “Did I do something wrong?” he asks.
My sight moves from nowhere to his eyes — they’re also brown, matching with his hair.
I take a long breath before saying, “You’re the very first guy who reads my letter.”
He tries to dive into my eyes. “You said it isn’t such a letter,”
“It is.”
“Tell me more, then.”
“That rescued love letter — the one and only letter someone else has read.” After years and years have lapsed, my love letter holds the status of being read — after finally being delivered.
I smile.
