"The Unsent Letters"

It had been two years since they’d ended things—two years of silence, of pretending he’d moved on. He hadn’t. Not really. Not until that morning, when a small, worn package arrived at his doorstep with no return address.

Curious, he tore it open. Inside were letters—dozens of them, tied with a faded ribbon. His heart seized as he recognized her handwriting instantly. Every fold, every slant, every smudge was hers. They had been written two years ago, words she never sent, never showed him, never let him read.

He sat on the floor, the package beside him, and unfolded the first letter. The page was fragile, the ink slightly faded.