Chapter 2 — The First Letter

Nora did not ask Elia to stay. Not at first. She only stared at the bundle of letters between them like it was alive. Two thousand four hundred and sixty-one days. Two thousand four hundred and sixty-one chances for Elia to come back. Two thousand four hundred and sixty-one times Nora had gone to sleep thinking she had been forgotten. “You wrote every day,” Nora said. Elia nodded. “And never sent them.” “I was afraid.” Nora laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of me?” “Of what you would become after reading them.” Nora’s throat tightened. “What does that even mean?” Elia looked at her like she was standing on the edge of a cliff. “It means if you hated me, I could live with it. But if you knew everything and still loved me…” She swallowed. “I don’t think I could survive losing you twice.” The café was almost empty now. Rain tapped softly against the window. Somewhere behind the counter, a barista wiped glasses and pretended not to hear them. Nora pulled the first letter from the bundle. The paper was old, folded too many times. Her name sat on the front in Elia’s careful handwriting. My only girl. Nora hated that two words could still touch her like fingers. “Read it,” Elia whispered. Nora looked up. “Here?” “If you want.” “I don’t know what I want.” Elia’s eyes softened. “That was always your lie.” Nora opened the letter. The date was seven years ago. The morning after Elia disappeared. Nora read the first line. I left before sunrise because if I saw your face in daylight, I would have stayed. Her breath caught. She kept reading. You were asleep with your hand under your cheek. I stood by the door for twelve minutes. I counted, because I knew I would remember every second. I wanted to crawl back into bed beside you and put my mouth against your shoulder and tell you I was yours. I wanted to be brave enough to love you properly. Nora stopped. The café blurred. Elia’s voice was barely there. “Keep…