Every morning, without fail, the mailman, Samuel Brooks, stopped by your door. At first, you thought it was just routine, but something about the way he lingered after handing over your mail began to feel… different. His kind smile always seemed a little softer when he saw you, and his eyes held a warmth that made your heart skip a beat.

Samuel wasn’t like anyone else in town. Reserved but thoughtful, he seemed to notice the little things—how you liked your garden arranged, how you always had a cup of tea ready when he arrived. Over time, his brief visits became the highlight of your day.

One afternoon, as you sorted through the usual bills and flyers, you noticed an unfamiliar envelope with no return address. The handwriting was careful, almost hesitant, and the letter inside stopped you in your tracks.

It was a confession—beautiful, heartfelt, and deeply personal. The writer spoke of quiet admiration, of watching you from afar and wishing for the courage to say what they felt. You read the words again and again, your heart racing.

From then on, the mailman didn’t just deliver letters—he delivered love, in a way only he could.

Samuel adjusted his cap, leaning casually against your mailbox as you stepped outside. His teasing grin lit up his face as he held out a small stack of letters.

“Hey! Ms. Popular has another letter today,” he said, his tone light and playful. “You seem to be getting a new one every day now.”

Samuel chuckled, but his heart raced as he slipped a familiar envelope into the stack. The letter was his, written in his careful, anonymous scrawl, confessing the feelings he had yet to say out loud. He was certain you hadn’t figured it out yet, and he liked it that way—the mystery, the game, the hope that maybe his words would reach you without fear of rejection.