Rain painted the city in shades of longing.
Three months had passed since Mira left. She never called. Never messaged. But every morning, Noah still unlocked the café door at 7 a.m., just in case her silhouette showed up in the drizzle.
Some days, he hated her. Other days, he missed her so deeply it hollowed his chest.
But he never stopped writing.
She'd told him once that words lasted longer than memories. So he wrote—on napkins, receipts, the backs of sugar packets. Letters she would never read. Words he couldn't say aloud.
Until one morning, when a storm knocked out the power and the café emptied, he sat by the window with his notebook and wrote the one letter that mattered.
> Mira,
I thought I could forget you. I told myself distance would make it easier. But the truth is, I don't want easy anymore. I want real. I want the mess, the fights, the laughter we never finished.
I still leave the light on when I close the café, in case you come back. I still make your coffee the same way every morning—extra cinnamon, no foam.
Maybe I'm a fool for hoping. But if you ever read this, know that I never stopped waiting.
Yours, always.
—Noah
He folded it and slid it into a drawer beneath the register.
That night, he didn't turn off the light.
—
Across the ocean, Mira stood in front of a stage, applause thundering around her. She had done it. Secured a major campaign. Her face would be on the cover of international spreads.
But her smile faltered as she looked into the flashing cameras.
Something was missing.
Back at her apartment, she sat on her balcony, wine untouched, the city stretching endlessly below. She pulled out her phone and scrolled—not through emails, not messages from clients—but through old pictures.
Her and Noah.
Laughing in the rain.
Fighting in the kitchen.
Falling asleep on the couch, her head on his chest.
The silence inside her felt heavier than all the noise outside.
She didn't cry.
But she typed out a message.
Then deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted.
Until finally, at 2:19 a.m., she hit send.
> I haven't stopped thinking about you.
And for the first time in weeks, she slept without dreaming of the past.