Mystery Well-wisher

Something had changed in Amara’s life. The weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter, and for the first time in years, she experienced fleeting moments of peace. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Happiness was a foreign thing—something she had learned not to trust. Whenever life gave her something good, it always found a way to take it back.

Yet, despite her fears, she couldn’t deny that something was different. At one night she was sleeping when her phone start vibrating. The first message had come a week ago. Short. Unexpected. “You are stronger than you think.”

Amara had stared at it for a long time, debating whether to reply, but something held her back. No name, no number she recognized. Just a simple, encouraging statement from an unknown sender.

She had ignored it, chalking it up to a mistake or someone playing a cruel joke. But the messages kept coming, each day bringing a new line of quiet encouragement:

“Even the darkest nights end in dawn.”

“Your pain does not define you.”

“You are not alone.”

They came in the morning when she woke up or in the evening as she walked back from university, tired and drained. There was never a demand, never a question—just words that felt like a whisper in the dark, reaching out to her when no one else did.

And then came the pictures. Breath-taking landscapes, misty mountains, vast open fields bathed in golden light. The kind of places she had never been but longed to see. They made her pause, made her inhale deeply as if she could absorb their peace through the screen.

At first, she had thought it was strange. No one had ever sent her something so...pure. There was no mockery, no hidden cruelty. Just an unspoken presence watching over her.

For days, she resisted replying. Her life had taught her that kindness always had a cost, that nothing was ever given freely. But as more messages arrived, a strange warmth bloomed in her chest. It was as if someone, somewhere, had decided that she mattered enough to remind her to keep going.

And so, on the tenth day, with a hesitant heart and trembling fingers, she finally replied.

“Who are you?”

She regretted it the second she pressed send. Her breath hitched as she stared at the screen, half-expecting silence or, worse, mockery in return. But the reply came almost instantly.

“A well-wisher.”

A well-wisher? It wasn’t much of an answer. It wasn’t an answer at all.

“Why are you messaging me?” she typed, her pulse quickening.

A pause. Then another reply:

“Because you need to know that the world hasn’t given up on you. Even if you’ve given up on it.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the phone. It was unnerving how easily this person saw through her. How they knew exactly what to say.

“I don’t need saving.” Her reply was sharp, defensive.

“I never said you did.”

Silence stretched between them. Amara stared at the screen, at the three blinking dots that indicated they were typing again.

“But even warriors get tired.”

A lump formed in her throat. She didn’t know this person. Didn’t know what they wanted. And yet, for the first time in years, she felt like someone had truly seen her.

The next morning, another message arrived.

“Did you sleep well?”

She hadn’t. The nightmares had come again—her mother’s screams, her father’s still body, the echo of her own helplessness. But she didn’t want to say that.

“I managed.”

“Liar.”

Her breath caught. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure how to respond. No one ever called her out like that. No one cared enough to.

She hesitated before replying. “And if I am?”

“Then I’ll keep asking until you do.”

It was reckless. Dangerous, even, allowing a stranger into her life. But the loneliness she carried was a heavy thing, and for the first time in forever, she felt like she had someone to share the weight.

As the days passed, their conversations grew longer. The messages arrived without fail, sometimes filled with soft encouragement, sometimes carrying a quiet humour that made her smile in ways she had forgotten she could.

She found herself waiting for them, checking her phone more often than she’d like to admit. It wasn’t just the words—it was the fact that someone cared enough to send them. To remind her that she wasn’t invisible.

One evening, as she sat in her tiny apartment, a new message popped up.

“Step outside.”

Her brows furrowed.

“Why?” she typed back.

“Trust me.”

Trust. A foreign word in her vocabulary. And yet, against all logic, she stood and made her way to the door. When she opened it, her breath hitched.

A bouquet of roses lay at her doorstep. Deep red, fresh, their petals still wet from the fading rain.

Her fingers trembled as she picked them up, the scent washing over her, something warm and foreign curling inside her chest. No one had ever given her flowers before.

Her phone vibrated.

“Do you like them?”

She hesitated, staring down at the roses.

“Yes. But... why?”

“Because you deserve something beautiful, Amara.”

She sucked in a breath, her throat tightening.

It was too much. Too kind. Too foreign.

Her hands clenched around the bouquet as she stepped back inside, shutting the door behind her. The small apartment felt warmer now, the scent of roses filling the air.

For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t hungry. For the first time in years, she fell asleep without nightmares.

And for the first time in forever, she woke up with a smile. The bookstore had always been a sanctuary for Amara, a quiet retreat where she could momentarily forget the world outside. The scent of books, the rustling of pages, and the occasional customer asking for recommendations made her feel more at ease than she ever had in the university halls. But she never expected to find friendship within its walls.

It started on a rainy afternoon when she was organizing a shelf near the front counter. The bell above the entrance jingled, and a girl walked in, shaking off her umbrella. She had dark curls, a bright smile, and a carefree energy that immediately stood out in the muted bookstore atmosphere.

“Oh, thank god,” the girl sighed, approaching the counter. “I thought I was going to be late for my first day.”

Amara glanced up, slightly surprised. “First day?”

“Yeah, I’m the new hire.” The girl extended her hand. “Leah.”

For a moment, Amara hesitated before shaking her hand. “Amara.”

Leah grinned. “Nice to meet you, Amara. Looks like we’ll be working together.”

Amara nodded, watching as Leah took off her coat and settled behind the counter. There was something effortless about her presence, as if she belonged there from the start.

“So, what’s the best part about working here?” Leah asked as she began flipping through the pages of a book on the desk.

Amara thought for a moment. “The quiet.”

Leah raised an eyebrow. “Huh. I was hoping you’d say ‘free books.’”

A small chuckle escaped Amara’s lips before she could stop it. Leah noticed and gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, did I just make you laugh? Is that a rare occurrence? Should I mark this moment down in history?”

Amara shook her head, a bit amused. “It’s... not that rare.”

“I don’t know. You seem like the brooding type,” Leah teased. “Which is fine! Every bookstore needs one. Adds to the mysterious aura.”

Amara rolled her eyes but found herself smiling—a real, genuine smile she hadn’t worn in a while.

The afternoon passed quickly as Amara showed Leah around, explaining how things worked. Leah was quick to pick things up, and she filled the silence with light-hearted chatter, making the hours feel shorter.

“You know,” Leah said as she stacked a pile of books, “I was really nervous about starting here. But I think it’s gonna be fun.”

Amara glanced at her. “Why nervous?”

Leah shrugged. “I’ve moved around a lot. Making new friends, starting over—it gets exhausting.”

Something in her words struck a chord in Amara. She knew what it was like to feel displaced, like you were constantly starting from scratch.

“Well,” Amara said after a pause, “this place is steady. Not much changes here.”

Leah smiled. “Maybe that’s exactly what I need.”

Amara wasn’t sure why, but she felt the same way. As days passed, their friendship grew naturally. Leah’s energy balanced Amara’s quiet nature, and the bookstore became more than just a workplace—it became a place where she felt seen. They shared coffee on slow afternoons, whispered about odd customers, and even swapped books they thought the other would like.

One evening, as they were closing the shop together, Leah nudged Amara with her elbow. “You know, I think I’ve officially decided—you’re my first real friend here.”

Amara looked at her, something warm settling in her chest. “Same.”

Leah grinned. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me now.”

For the first time in a long while, Amara felt like she wasn’t alone. And that, in itself, was something worth holding onto.