The Man From Apartment 13B

The Letter

Kim didn't sleep that night.

Not because of the kiss but because of the way Dave had looked afterward.

Like he had crossed a line he wasn't sure he was allowed to cross.

The next morning, he avoided her.

No coffee at the door.

No elevator conversation.

No music through the walls.

Just silence.

But it felt heavier than distance.

By evening, Kim couldn't take it anymore. She knocked on his door.

No answer.

She knocked again.

Still nothing.

Her hand rested on the handle unlocked.

She hesitated, then pushed the door open slowly.

"Dave?"

The apartment was dim.

Then she saw him.

Sitting on the floor.

A letter in his hands.

Unopened envelopes scattered around him.

He didn't look up.

"I shouldn't have kissed you," he said.

Kim stepped inside carefully.

"But you didn't force me."

His jaw tightened.

"That's not the point."

She noticed the handwriting on the letter.

"Is that from your wife?" she asked.

Dave didn't answer immediately.

Then he nodded.

"I never opened the last one she wrote before the accident," he said. "I told myself I wasn't ready."

Kim's heart sank.

He finally looked at her.

"And now I'm doing the same thing to you. Becoming someone who moves on too fast."

"That's not true," Kim said.

But he shook his head.

"I don't want to be the reason you forget what real love is supposed to feel like."

Silence filled the room.

Then Kim did something she didn't expect from herself.

She sat down beside him.

"You think loving again means forgetting her?" she asked softly.

Dave didn't respond.

So she continued.

"Maybe it just means you survived her."

That word hit him differently.

Survived.

Not replaced.

Not erased.

Just... survived.

For the first time, his breathing slowed.