The envelope wasn't supposed to be mine.
Aarav noticed it lying on his study table when he returned to his hostel room that evening. It looked different from the usual pile of bills and notices—slightly crumpled, off-white, with a faint smell of something… floral.
He frowned.
"Who even sends letters anymore?" he muttered under his breath.
Picking it up, he turned it over. His name wasn't on it. In fact, there was no proper name at all—just a messy scribble:
"To the one who understands…"
Aarav let out a dry laugh. "Definitely not for me."
He was about to toss it aside when curiosity got the better of him. Maybe it was a prank. Or maybe one of his friends trying to be funny again.
He sat down, leaned back in his chair, and carefully opened the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, neatly folded.
As his eyes began to scan the words, something in his expression changed.
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"I don't know who I'm writing this to… or why. Maybe I just needed to say it somewhere, to someone who doesn't know me."
Aarav blinked.
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"Have you ever felt like you're surrounded by people, yet completely alone? Like no one really hears what you're trying to say?"
He shifted slightly in his chair.
The room suddenly felt quieter.
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"I used to believe in love. In forever. In promises. But now, all of that feels like a joke I wasn't smart enough to understand."
Aarav's grip on the paper tightened.
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"If you're reading this, you're probably a stranger. And maybe that's better. Strangers don't judge. They don't expect. They don't leave you broken."
---
For a moment, Aarav just stared at the page.
Something about the words didn't feel fake. It wasn't dramatic or overdone—it felt real. Raw. Like someone had poured their heart out without thinking twice.
He wasn't sure why… but it reminded him of himself.
Aarav had always been the kind of person who kept things locked inside. Jokes, sarcasm, distractions—that's how he survived. Talking about feelings? That wasn't his thing.
But this letter…
It felt like someone had said everything he never could.
He exhaled slowly and leaned his head back.
"Who even writes like this…" he whispered.
There was no name at the end. No address. Nothing.
Just one final line:
"Maybe this letter will never reach the right person. But if it does… I hope they understand."
---
Aarav folded the paper carefully, almost instinctively.
For a few minutes, he sat there in silence, staring at the ceiling. His mind was unusually… loud.
He could ignore it. Toss it away. Forget it ever existed.
That would be the normal thing to do.
But something inside him resisted.
Before he could overthink it, Aarav grabbed a blank sheet of paper from his notebook. He stared at it for a long moment, tapping the pen against the desk.
"This is stupid," he muttered.
Still… he began to write.
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"I don't know who you are. And honestly, I wasn't supposed to read your letter."
He paused, then smirked slightly.
"But since I did… I guess I should reply."
---
Outside, the evening breeze slipped through the half-open window, rustling the pages on his desk.
Inside, for the first time in a long while, Aarav wasn't just thinking.
He was… feeling.
And somewhere, unknown to him, a story had just begun
not with a meeting,
not with a glance,
but with a letter
that was never meant to be his.
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To be continued…