The Letters I Wrote
968 Words
Elijah walked into the house with his lunch napkin tucked into his back pocket like a trophy.
"Are we going to cook now?"
“Got somethin’ to show you first,” he said, almost like he’d been waiting for the right moment.
Clara hesitated, then followed.
He led her back into the bedroom to the small table near the window. It was nothing special at first glance, just another piece of worn wood in a house full of them.
Then he opened the lid.
Inside sat a carved box.
Not bought.
Made.
The wood was smooth, but for a little carved detail; the edges were carefully shaped, and the lid fitted just tight enough to sit right. It wasn’t perfect, not polished like something from a*****e, but there was care in every line of it.
Clara stepped closer.
“You made this?” she asked.
Elijah nodded once.
“Seems to me a lady needs a place to put things in and not leavin' 'em about,” he said.
“Figured you’d want a place for things.”
Something about that settled quietly in her chest.
“For me,” she said.
“For you,” he agreed.
He stepped back slightly, giving her space.
Clara lifted the lid.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them, tied in small bundles, worn at the edges from being handled more than once.
Her fingers stilled over them.
“Elijah…” she started, unsure.
“The' you wrote,” he said simply.
Clara looked up at him.
“I… what?”
“To me,” he said. “For months.”
Her gaze dropped back to the letters.
Slowly, she picked up the one on top.
The paper was real. Thick. Not printed. Not something that could be faked easily.
Her name wasn’t on it.
But she knew.
Before she even opened it… she knew.
She unfolded it carefully.
The handwriting hit her first.
Her breath caught.
It was hers.
Not similar.
Not close.
Hers.
The same uneven slant, the same way her letters curved when she wrote too quickly, the same small habits she had never thought about before.
Her fingers tightened on the page.
She began to read.
I don’t know if this will reach you the way I hope it does…
But if it does, I need you to trust me.
There are things I can’t say. Not because I don’t want to, but because I think if I do, I might break something that hasn’t happened yet.
Clara’s breath slowed.
The words didn’t feel like something she had written on a whim.
They felt… careful.
Measured.
Like every sentence had been chosen with something else in mind.
You’re going to think I’m strange.
You’re probably right.
But I need you to be patient with me. Even if I don’t remember you the way I should.
Her stomach dropped.
Clara’s eyes flicked up to Elijah.
He was watching her.
Quiet.
Not pushing.
Just… waiting.
She looked back down.
I’m already yours, in a way I don’t understand.
And I’m scared of that.
But I don’t want to lose you either.
Remember, I love you with all my heart.
Clara swallowed hard.
Something in her chest tightened, sharp and unexpected.
She didn’t remember writing this.
But she could feel it.
The hesitation.
The pull.
The way the words leaned toward something she hadn’t been ready to admit yet.
If I ever act like I don’t know you…
Please don’t let me walk away.
Her hand trembled slightly.
She lowered the letter.
“You… read all of these?” she asked quietly.
Elijah nodded.
“More than once.”
There was something in his voice now.
Not hurt.
But close.
“You don’t have mine?” he said after a moment.
Clara’s head lifted.
“What?”
“The letters I sent back,” he said. “You said you’d keep ’em.”
Her stomach twisted.
“I don’t… I don’t have anything,” she said.
He held her gaze for a second longer.
Then nodded.
“Alright.”
Simple, acceptance.
But something in him had gone quieter.
Clara felt it.
And for the first time, the weight of what she didn’t know felt heavier than what she did.
She looked back down at the letter in her hand.
At the words she had written.
At the version of herself that had known him… chosen him… before she ever understood why.
She looked up at him, knowing the version of her in these letters loved Elijah deeply.
It was hard not to see him through her eyes after reading the words.
Later, she stood at the basin, sleeves pushed back, working at the simple task of cleaning what little mess she had made.
The water was cold.
The soap rough.
But it was something she could do.
Something she could control.
Her fingers moved automatically, her mind somewhere else entirely.
On the letters.
On Elijah.
On the way, he had looked at her… even after she admitted she didn’t remember him.
She would make it up to him somehow.
The ring caught her attention as it slipped down her finger, her flesh reacting to the cold.
She paused.
Stared at it.
Then, slowly, she slid it from her finger.
Just for a moment.
Not wanting to lose it.
She held it in her palm.
The metal felt warm.
Heavier than it should have.
The world shifted.
Clara gasped.
The cold was gone.
The smell of smoke gone.
The quiet replaced by something else entirely.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
Her apartment.
Her bedroom.
Bright.
Modern.
Wrong.
She stood frozen, her breath coming fast now, her heart racing as everything tried to snap back into place.
Her hand was still open.
Still holding something.
Clara looked down.
The ring sat in her palm.
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