Chapter 1: The Space Between
501 Words
Eloise Santiago believed in routine.
Every morning, she woke up at exactly 6:30 AM, stretched half-heartedly, and brewed a cup of coffee she never finished.
She lived in a tiny apartment in the city—too small to entertain guests, too big for just one person—and by 7:15, she was out the door, earbuds in, drowning the world out with music.
She took the subway to work—just like usual, sitting in the same seat when it was available, avoiding eye contact with strangers. By 8:00 AM, she was behind her desk at Horizon Publishing Corp., editing manuscripts from authors who could never quite meet their deadlines.
It wasn’t the life she had dreamed of—not quite.
As a child, she had imagined herself as a writer, staying up late at a cluttered desk, lost in stories of her own making. But writing was different when it became a job. Somewhere along the way, the words stopped coming so easily, and she learned it was easier to fix other people’s stories than to write her own.
She wasn’t unhappy. But she wasn’t happy, either.
Life was predictable, and she had convinced herself that was enough.
Until the letter arrived.
It was a Thursday evening when she found it, buried beneath bills and advertisements she usually ignored. She almost tossed the envelope aside with the others, but something about it caught her eye.
The paper was thick, old-fashioned, unlike the flimsy white envelopes of modern mail. There was no return address, just her name—Eloise Santiago—written in elegant cursive.
“What a strange one,” she muttered in her breath, quite amused about what she saw.
She flipped it over, and her breath hitched.
The postmark read March 14, 2075.
She stared at the numbers, her mind struggling to make sense of them.
Fifty years in the future?
That was impossible. A printing error, maybe. Or some elaborate prank.
She sighed
And yet, something deep inside her whispered otherwise.
She tore open the envelope, heart pounding.
My Dearest Eloise,
If you're reading this, then it means the first letter has found you. I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but this letter is from the future—your future. Fifty years from now, the world is different, and so are you.
But before I say anything more, you need to know this:
You once loved me. And I once loved you.
You don’t know me yet, but you will. And when you do, promise me you won’t walk away.
With love,
L.C.
Eloise read the letter twice, then a third time.
Her hands were trembling, but she wasn’t sure why.
She didn’t believe in fate. She barely believed in love.
But this letter—this impossible, ridiculous, terrifying letter—felt like the beginning of something she couldn’t quite name.
And she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it.
“What a great prank,” were the only words that left her mouth.
- Writer
