Chapter 7: Driftwood Letters
831 Words
The letter sat folded on Sereia’s nightstand like it was daring her to read it again. She didn’t. She’d memorized every word anyway.
Morning light spilled into the bedroom, pale and clean. Outside, the waves murmured their steady rhythm, and gulls cried overhead. The world had no idea that something in her had shifted overnight.
She hadn't slept much. Instead, she’d lain awake, staring at the ceiling, tracing every memory that now felt different. Kaelen had loved her. Maybe not anymore—but once. Enough to write it down. Enough to hide it away like something precious and too dangerous to speak aloud.
Sereia slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen, the floor cold beneath her feet. Her coffee brewed slowly, hissing and sputtering like it was as unsure as she was. She wrapped her hands around the mug and stared out the window.
What now?
The thought echoed louder than the tide.
She could ask. She could walk into Kaelen’s office at the conservation center and say, Hey, do you remember that letter you never gave me ten years ago? But what if Kaelen didn’t remember? Or worse—what if she regretted it?
Sereia didn’t want to chase a ghost, especially not one she'd only just begun to believe in.
Still, the words burned inside her. She couldn’t carry them alone.
Later that afternoon, Lira arrived, a box of donuts in one hand and a mischievous grin on her face.
“You look like you haven’t slept in days,” she said, toeing off her shoes.
“I haven’t,” Sereia muttered.
“Let me guess: ghost of summer love haunting your dreams?”
Sereia stared.
Lira laughed. “Come on, you think I didn’t notice how weird you got yesterday when Kaelen came up? I’m not blind, Ria.”
Sereia opened her mouth to protest—then gave up. “It’s not just a crush. It never was.”
“I know.” Lira set the donuts on the counter and poured herself a glass of water. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I found a letter,” Sereia said, voice low. “She wrote it a long time ago. Said she loved me. That she never told me because she thought I’d leave.”
Lira blinked, processing. “Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
“And now?”
“She doesn’t know I found it.”
Lira took a long sip of water. “That’s a lot.”
“I know.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I don’t know what she feels anymore,” Sereia added. “She’s changed. So have I. What if I bring this up and ruin everything?”
Lira tilted her head. “You don’t have anything to ruin. You’re barely talking. You’ve both been walking around pretending the past didn’t happen.”
Sereia winced. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious. What’s the worst that could happen? She says she doesn’t feel the same? You’ll survive. But what if she does? What if she’s just as scared as you are?”
Sereia didn’t answer. She just picked up her camera and fiddled with the lens cap.
Lira sighed. “Okay, look. If you’re not going to talk to her, then at least do something. Let her know you're still here. Give her the space to meet you halfway.”
After Lira left, Sereia wandered back upstairs. She pulled the letter from her nightstand again, heart a little steadier now. Then she packed her camera, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed down to the beach.
It was low tide, and the wind had shifted inland. She walked past the dunes where they’d first spoken days ago, past the rocky outcrop where they'd once carved their initials in a driftwood plank as teenagers. The ocean shimmered, pale green and endless.
She followed the trail toward the sea turtle nesting site, hoping Kaelen might be there.
But the beach was empty.
Still, Sereia walked to the perimeter fence and crouched near a cluster of markers, camera in hand. She didn’t take photos of the nests. Instead, she turned the lens inland—toward the dune grass, the shadows, the horizon where Kaelen might eventually appear.
She didn’t. Not today.
Sereia sat there until the sky turned to lavender, thinking about the version of herself who had once stood right here and wished for more than friendship. A girl with sand in her shoes and silence in her throat.
This time, she whispered into the wind, “I loved you, too.”
It wasn’t a grand declaration. But it felt real.
And maybe tomorrow, she’d find the courage to say it where Kaelen could hear.
As the light faded, she left a small piece of sea glass—one of the reds—on the marker near the trailhead. It glittered like a secret in the sand.
A breadcrumb. A signal.
Not quite a confession.
But close.
- Writer
