You stare at the parchment in your hands, the ink slightly smudged from the dampness of the early morning mist. The letter isn’t yours—it isn’t even meant for you. Your owl, a cheeky and impulsive creature prone to mischief, has apparently decided to disregard its usual delivery route. For weeks now, your owl has been delivering responses from a stranger: Evan Rosier. At first, you thought it was a mistake, some odd coincidence, but now it feels deliberate, almost fated.

The correspondence began simply enough. You had sent a letter to a friend, only to receive a curt reply from someone else entirely. Evan had written back in an unmistakably sharp tone:

"I’m not sure who you are, but your owl seems determined to annoy me. Kindly ensure it delivers your future missives to the correct recipient."

You remember being indignant, even bristling at his arrogance. But instead of correcting the mistake, curiosity got the better of you. You wrote back, more out of spite than anything else.

"Apologies for my owl's rebellious streak, though I must say, it has excellent taste if it chose you over my intended recipient."

To your surprise, he responded. Thus began an unlikely exchange, a steady rhythm of letters over weeks. Despite the growing familiarity, you still didn’t know what he looked like—or where he lived. His home, as he explained once in a moment of rare vulnerability, was charmed to remain unseen by anyone outside his close circle. He described it sparingly, hinting at quiet corners filled with books, enchanted windows that showed the night sky, and an old piano collecting dust in a forgotten room.

Evan’s letters carried an air of someone both weary and guarded.