Open When You Miss Me Letter Novels & Stories

"Is it?" That didn't come out the way intended but I nod. My eyes return to the sheet of paper in my hand, settle on the font in black ink. I would have loved it handwritten but the line at the top right corner shows he printed it from his email. The date on top tells me it is about a month old. I clear my throat to continue reading out loud and my voice breaks. "I miss you. Everyday." There is a fluttering in my chest like butterflies are rousing from their nap, I don't look to him when I murmur, "Then why didn't you call or text me?"

“ Falling in love with you is the most beautiful thing I have ever done because everyday has been colorful ever since. I miss you. ” I shut the letter and bent my head over. My heart raced and I felt my face heat up. To think he'd write something like this is just crazy but maybe… just maybe I like this crazy…

I smile, proud of his achievement, sad I'll miss him during my next visit home. I've wanted to get in touch with you nearly every other minute. I feel like we left so many things unsaid. I don't have computer access, so I can e-mail you in peace. I don't know your e-mail address, anyway. To top it off, my phone fell off a cliff — long story. So, an old-fashioned letter is all I've got. Putting pen to paper is tougher than you might think. They say it's romantic and all that, but yeah, this is a little strange.

Every time, I wake up shattered. I miss her so much it’s like I’ve lost part of my soul. That ache in my chest? It’s not going away. It’s growing. And then I see it. A small white envelope. Plain. Unassuming. The flap facing up. I know exactly what it is. And exactly who it’s from. I reach for it, slowly turning it over. My name. In her handwriting. I never opened it. Never needed to. I knew what it said. Her resignation. Her goodbye.

i know it is from thorold and I miss him so much. I unsealed the parchment slowly, the scent of cedarwood still clinging to the paper. My eyes scanned his handwriting—sharp, strong strokes that always tilted slightly to the right, like he couldn’t wait to finish saying what he felt. Calyra, I don’t know how to start this, except to say I miss you. I miss you so much, i miss the way you forget to braid your hair when you’re focused. I miss the way you hum off-key when you think no one’s listening.

The flight attendant checks seat belts and overhead compartments. Everything feels painfully normal except the hurt in my chest. Finally, I can't wait any longer and I pulled out the letter. My hands shake as I open the envelope. Mi Estrella, By the time you read this, you'll be in the air, taking my heart with you. I've written this letter a dozen times, trying to find the right words. How do I tell you that sending you away is killing me? That every instinct in my body is screaming to keep you close, to never let you go?*

The ache came sharpest then, as if the silence wanted me to admit how much I missed him. His first letter arrived within a week. The envelope was plain, his handwriting steady, but inside the words were careful, almost hesitant. He described the city where he was staying, the noise of the streets below his apartment, the long hours with his new team. He wrote that he missed me most at night when the work was done, and that he kept a photograph of us on the desk by his bed. I read the letter three times before I could fold it back into its envelope, each word settling somewhere deep in me.

[Annie, sorry to bug you again! I bought a box of cherries. Can I leave it with you for a bit?] [Annie, my mom sent some Milano cookies. They're super fragile. Can you set them aside for me? Thanks!] My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Every message in the pickup station group chat was asking me to hold somebody's package. I logged the new deliveries while replying with quick "Got it" messages. Then Mrs. Warner from Unit 401 sent a voice message, sounding genuinely grateful.

He opened the door and leaves. I looked around Cayden's room. Literally everything was gone. Like his room was just another guest room. I ran my hands across his drawer, his table and his bed. I sat on this bed and laughed at all the memories we made. I miss him. I miss him so, so much. I opened the small drawer in his nightstand and widened my eyes when I saw two letters with my name on it. I frowned and opened the first letter. Audrey,

I pulled it out and opened it. It contained letters. Dozens of them. All sealed in neat, cream-colored envelopes. Some tied with a red ribbon, most opened and placed back as if someone had read them in secret and then tried to forget they ever existed. I picked up the first letter, carefully unfolding it. “To the woman who doesn’t know I exist, Each day, I see you. Not just your smile, but the way you pause when no one’s watching. The way you hide behind that perfect mask. I don’t know what burdens you carry, but I wish I could ease them. Even from afar.