Chapter 11 THE THIRD LETTER
Alex
The letter came on Thursday.
Alex knew because he’d been counting. Wednesday at 4 PM, mail delivery. Nothing. Wednesday night, lying awake, staring at his phone. Thursday morning, checking his box before class even though he knew it was pointless.
Thursday at 4:03 PM, Sana texted.
Sana: There’s another one in your box.
Alex was in the middle of his American Literature lecture. Professor Hartley was talking about epistolary novels. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
His hands shook so badly he had to sit on them.
The next forty-two minutes were torture. Professor Hartley’s words became noise. The student next to him took notes. Alex stared at his blank notebook and thought about white envelopes and careful typing and the word yes.
Class ended. Alex grabbed his bag and ran.
The mailroom was crowded. Thursday afternoon rush. Alex had to wait while someone struggled with their combination, while another person collected a package, while the world moved in slow motion around him.
Finally. Finally,
1-8-4-7.
The envelope was there. White. His writer's number in that same neat typed words.
Alex’s vision blurred at the edges. He grabbed the letter and pushed back out through the crowd. Found the same bench. The same spot where he’d read the first response.
His fingers left dents in the paper as he opened it.
Dear Someone Who Sees Me,
The greeting made his chest tight. No more “unexpected correspondent.” Something softer now. More personal.
I’ve read your letter six times since this afternoon. I’ll probably read it six more times before I sleep. I keep getting stuck on one thing: you want to know if I’d want to find things with someone like you.
The answer is yes.
Alex stopped breathing.
Yes, I want to know more about you. Yes, I want to keep writing. Yes, I want to know what makes you feel real and what makes you want to hide. Yes, I want to figure out how to be present the way you think I am when I read.
The words swam. Alex blinked hard. Kept reading.
You said you’ve been watching since November. Can I tell you something? I think I’ve felt you watching. Not in a scary way. In a way that made the library feel less lonely. Like someone out there cared about the words I was underlining.
Elias had felt him. Had known, somehow, that someone was paying attention. The thought made Alex’s heart race and his stomach drop at the same time.
I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t know where this goes. But I know that when I write to you, I feel less like I’m performing and more like I’m just existing. And that’s worth something. That’s worth everything.
E
Alex read it three more times. Then pulled out his phone with shaking hands.
Alex: He said yes.
Des: WHAT
Alex: He wants to keep writing. He said yes to everything.
Des: holy shit
Des: HOLY SHIT
Des: Where are you
Alex: The bench by the library
Des: Stay there. I’m coming.
But Alex couldn’t stay still. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. The letter crinkled in his grip. He smoothed it out carefully, as it might tear.
The answer is yes.
Elias wanted to know him. Wanted to know what made him hide. Wanted to figure things out together.
Des appeared ten minutes later, slightly out of breath.
“Show me.”
Alex handed over the letter. Watched Des’s face change as he read.
“Alex,” Des said quietly. “He’s falling for you.”
“We don’t even know each other.”
“You know each other better than most people who’ve been dating for months.” Des gave the letter back. “What are you going to write?”
“I don’t know.” Alex folded the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Something true.”
“You’re always true. That’s your whole thing.”
“Not in person.”
Des grabbed his shoulders. Made Alex look at him. “Eventually, you’re going to have to tell him who you are. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.” Alex pulled away. “Not yet. I’m not ready yet.”
“Okay.” Des’s voice was gentle. “But Alex? The longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”
Alex knew that too. Knew that every letter made the distance between anonymous and real shorter. Knew that eventually he’d run out of paper to hide behind.
But not yet.
Not today.
They walked back to the dorm together. The sky was getting dark already. February sunsets came early. Alex’s breath made clouds in the cold air.
Inside, Des made hot chocolate while Alex pulled out his notebook. The good one. The one he used for writing that mattered.
He sat at his desk and stared at the blank page.
What did you say to someone who’d just said yes to everything? How did you match that kind of openness?
His pen touched paper.
E,
Simple. Familiar now.
I read your letter on a bench outside the library. The same bench where I read your first response. I think it might be becoming our bench, even though you’ve never sat on it.
You said the answer is yes. I’ve been carrying that word around all evening. Yes. It feels like a door opening. Like possibility.
He paused. Chewed on his pen cap. Kept writing.
You asked what makes me feel real. Honest answer? Writing to you. Watching you read, even though I know I should stop. Early morning before the campus wakes up. The smell of old books. My roommate’s terrible singing. Small things that feel huge when I’m paying attention.
You asked what makes me want to hide. Also honest? Everything else. Crowds. Eye contact. The feeling that everyone else got an instruction manual for being human and I missed it somehow. The gap between who I am on paper and who I am in person.
His hand cramped. He shook it out and continued.
You said you felt me watching. I didn’t know that was possible. I tried to be invisible. But maybe invisible isn’t the same as not being there. Maybe you can feel attention even when you can’t see it.
I want to tell you more. I want to tell you everything. But I’m scared that if I tell you too much, you’ll put pieces together and know who I am, and then this ends. And I’m not ready for it to end.
Is that selfish? Probably. But you make me feel brave and terrified at the same time, and I don’t know what to do with that except keep writing.
Alex set down his pen. Read what he’d written. It was too much again. Too vulnerable. Too honest about the fear.
He added one more line.
Thank you for saying yes. Thank you for existing. Thank you for making the world feel less impossible.
Someone who sees you
He folded it before he could change his mind. Found an envelope. Addressed it in handwriting that was steadier now, like he was getting used to this. Used to bear his heart on paper.
The letter sat on his desk, ready to be mailed tomorrow.
Des looked over from his bed. “Done?”
“Yeah.”
“What did you say?”
“That I’m scared. That I’m not ready to tell him who I am. That he makes me feel brave and terrified.” Alex touched the envelope. “That I want to keep doing this.”
“Good,” Des said. “That’s good.”
But his voice sounded worried.
And Alex knew why.
Because eventually, the letters wouldn’t be enough.
Eventually, he’d have to be brave in person.
Just not yet.