Love Letter From The Future Novels & Stories

She picked one up, the handwriting small and loopy. "Read it?" I asked gently. She hesitated, then nodded. "Dear Future Me," she read aloud. "I hope you’re not too busy to notice the sky. I hope you still believe in love. I hope you don’t let them tell you who you are." Her voice cracked. I reached over and touched her hand. "This... this is the girl I used to be," she whispered. "I forgot how much she dreamed." "She’s still here," I said. "I see her every day."

I squeezed his hand gently, pulling him back to the present. “Noah,” I began, my voice soft, “do you ever think about the future?” He turned to me, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “All the time, Lily. And every time I do, you're always there.” His words sent a warm rush through me, a mixture of joy and contentment. “You know,” I said, leaning my head on his shoulder. “I never really understood what it meant to be loved until I met you.” He wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer. “And I never knew what it meant to truly love someone until I met you.”

"Either you make the Jenner family pay me back, or you get married to get some money! The Zachman family of Jakersville wouldn't have chosen you if their son weren't a cripple! But you sent yourself onto the other man's bed! I already told you that men are ingrates!" Several times when my dad called for money, Jack was right beside me. I thought he could not hear, but I now realized that he had just been pretending. Just then, a new update popped up on Facebook. Jack posted a photo of the sky full of fireworks, and Lina's silhouette looked especially happy. Jack: [If I can't get you a star, I'll give you a starry sky. Welcome home, my princess.] There was a comment below it. [What a stunning

"Hubby, don’t bring that up. It’s really embarrassing. That night I insisted on carrying the old woman across the road…" She briefly described what happened. It matched what had occurred that night almost exactly. At that point, I was certain that the person messaging me really was Veronica from the future. That realization was absurd beyond belief. "Hubby, this is our secret. You’re not allowed to tell anyone else." Just as I was about to reply, Veronica’s voice suddenly rang out right beside my ear. "Andrew, come up here now and tell everyone what your plan for next quarter looks like."

"I don't need you to do anything." "Bruno, you still don't get it," I said slowly. "I stopped loving you a long time ago." "I'm in love with Lorenzo. I love him." His pupils constricted, his face turning deathly pale. "You..." "Impossible. You can't fall in love with someone else that fast," he said, frantic. "You loved me for ten years." "So what?" I sneered. "You trampled on me for ten years." Hearing this, Bruno completely lost control and lunged, trying to drag me away by force.

The next morning, I went back to the small apartment I'd lived in before we got engaged. Eight years ago, this was where he'd told me he loved me for the first time. I took the wedding ring off and set it on the windowsill. Next to it I put my phone. The screen showed my final message to future Ethan. [Thank you for telling me everything.] I turned the kitchen gas on full. Then I lit the scented candle he'd given me, the one on the table. I walked out of that building and didn't look back. That evening, Ethan got a call from the fire department.

Now why would I feel so…good? “She’s the past,” I hear my lover say, clasping my hand in his. “And I’m your future, Dolly. Welcome to your future. It’s a lot more fun than anything you’ve experienced.”

I stood there watching them bounce and wobble down the dark road, speeding toward the girl they actually cared about. Twenty years with them—gone, riding off on that tricycle. "Goodbye, Nico. Arlo. Rhett." Headlights suddenly swept across the driveway. A car pulled up and stopped. The door opened and a man got out—just flown in, straight here. I smiled and ran into his arms. Zane Jordan. Heir to the Jordan family. My fiancé.

“I don’t know.” Zara turned the page. The handwriting was familiar. She had seen it before. On the note in the hidden chamber. On the back of the photograph. On the message Amelia had received. Her mother’s handwriting. Isabella stepped closer. “No.” Zara looked at her. “Mother?” Isabella’s eyes widened. “I never wrote that.” Zara turned the page. The next line appeared. I am writing this from the future you have not reached yet. Nobody spoke. Adrian stared at the page.

As I stepped out of the theater, the night air in Calitree was cool and crisp. Ed stood by the car, a light trench coat in his hands. He draped it gently over my shoulders and pulled me into his arms. "Cold, Mrs. Fisher?" He kissed my forehead softly. "Not at all." I leaned into his warm chest and smiled—wide, free, unburdened. Just then, my phone screen flickered. That "Unknown Number"—silent for seven whole years—had sent one short message: [Congratulations. You rewrote your fate. I wish you peace, happiness, and a future without limits.]