Thinking About You Letter Novels & Stories

Leonard sat at the end of the table and he thought about the letter he had sent three days ago, the communication that had produced the response of three investigators rather than one, that had been carefully worded in the register of a person who understood what they were holding and wanted the institution to understand it before they walked into the room. He thought about the particular care of that letter, what it had required, how it had been revised four times before it said the true thing in the form most likely to produce the right quality of response.

"What did you think that meant?" "That I was capable of being distracted," I said. "I thought it was a weakness." "And now?" "Now I think it was the first time I was actually thinking clearly." I picked up my glass. "Your turn. Tell me something." He turned his glass slowly on the table. "I wrote you a letter," he said. "The year after you left. Not for the notebook — before the notebook. I was still telling myself I didn't know what I'd done wrong, and I sat down to write a formal statement of grievances because I thought that was what the situation called for." He paused. "It turned into twelve pages and I burned it."

And yet, reading Liam's explanation made something warm settle quietly inside my chest. I typed back. No worries. Finish what you're doing first. Almost immediately, the words at the top of the screen changed into typing... A long message appeared. No one is too busy to let someone they care about know they're thinking of them. It only takes a few seconds to say, "I'll be tied up for a while." Or, "I'll call you later." The people who matter deserve that much. I hope one day, You'll let me be that person for you.

A letter. Her breath caught on immediately as her eyes focused on the first sentence, and her body remained motionless. ". Her familiar voice was raw and intimate, beginning with the words that she had never been told directly. While Amina muttered, she realized what she was paying attention to, and then the system verified it by stating that all the letters were present. The same correspondences that had aided her, perplexed me, and somehow guided her through everything.' With her chest tightening in pain, she approached the object and firmly believed that the letters were from Ethan. However, the voice gently corrected her, stating that they were not entirely his, even though he had given

I told him. “You and I are thinking the same. I just wonder how devastated she’d be to receive a personal letter from the General about her beloved son’s behaviour,” he said in thought. “You should totally do that,” I nodded. I was still pissed off. “I will,” he decided as we reached his office.

Letter by letter. "I SEE YOU"

I refocused on the letter, reading each line with care. “…I wanted to reach out before anything else, just to say that I’ve been thinking about you and… everything that’s happened. I don’t mean to intrude, but I feel I owe you the truth about how I feel and what I’ve realized while you’ve been away. I understand if this comes as a surprise or if you don’t want to respond immediately, but please know that…” I felt my grip tighten slightly around the paper, though Damien’s steady presence kept me calm.

In a scrawling script written in green ink, the letter read: Nyla, I’ve struggled with whether or not to write this letter at all. I had decided against it for your own safety; I didn’t want to put you in more danger than you already are. But things have changed; there have been whispers and rumors. Stories. It has become imperative that I write to you.

Taking one shivering letter, I opened it and read, Mon reve, My thoughts drifted off to you as soon as I opened my eyes. Your face grows blurry as I start this letter and I regret not risking the chance to draw you first. It is my thoughts that matters more at this moment. I saw you again last night, you were smiling and that’s a wonder since it’s my first time seeing you so happy. I wonder why you are smiling –“

Delivered by an actual postal carrier who had no idea he was handing me something I would stand in my doorway holding for a full minute before I remembered I had functional legs. I didn't know whose idea the letters were. Mine technically. In the third email exchange after the first letter, when things were getting faster and more reactive and I said without fully thinking it through that maybe we should slow the format down. Give each other time to actually think before responding. Stop performing immediacy. He had said: *How.* I had said: *Write me a letter. An actual one. I'll write back.* There had been a pause of about six hours and then: *Okay.*