The Fourth Letter

Dear A,

    It’s three in the morning, and the world is still, quiet in a way that feels almost sacred. Outside, the distant hum of an airplane cuts through the silence, a lonely echo in the dark. I should be asleep by now; I was almost there nearly half an hour ago. But sleep doesn’t come easily these days, not when my thoughts rage like a storm and your absence hums just beneath my skin. Part of me wants to surrender to the sadness, to let it soak through me, unspoken and unchecked, until I forget what it feels like to carry this weight. Yet there’s another part, quieter and more desperate, that needs to write. It needs to give voice to the ache in my chest and make sense of the longing that refuses to let me rest.

    I used to wake with the sunrise, letting light spill across my sheets and calm settle in with the morning stillness. There was breakfast, the lab, a rhythm I knew, a life I could manage. But now my mornings are heavy and my nights restless. My mind, once focused and disciplined, drifts only to you. You in the quiet, you in the dark, you in the spaces where I once found peace. Maybe it’s the silence that does it, how it wraps around me like a reminder. When I lie down, I’m forced to face it - the hollow beside me, the absence I never prepared for. I used to be comfortable alone; solitude was familiar, even sacred. But now it feels like a punishment, a slow unravelling. I keep thinking, just once, I want to lie beside you, to feel the warmth of your body anchoring me to the earth, to finally know what it means to feel safe in someone's presence.

    We once talked about going on a picnic, reading books in the park, something simple, something ours. We never followed through, but I clung to that plan like a promise. Not because the outing mattered, but because it meant time with you. Time where I could exist freely, unhidden, with nothing between us but the sky. You made the world feel wide and gentle. And you made me want more. Not greedily, but in that soft, aching way of someone who has tasted something beautiful and suddenly realizes what they’ve been missing. Before you, I never needed to share my life. But now, I crave it. I crave you.

    It’s strange how naturally my heart moved toward you. I’ve cared for others before, soft affections that faded when left unreturned. I never confessed, I never needed to. I stayed the friend, cried quietly, and moved on. It was a pattern I understood. But then there was you. When we first met, my heart was still tangled in someone else. I never imagined it would be you. Not until we shared space, not until our eyes met and the air between us shifted. Then it all became startlingly clear. The person who once filled my thoughts faded, and there you stood, gentle and grounded, luminous in your own quiet way. Who else, in this noisy world, would choose calm? Who else would choose long walks in the park, pages of books passed between hands, stillness over spectacle? Who else would sit beside me, not needing to speak or impress, only needing to be? Of course it was you. Of course it would always be you.

    With you, for once, I allowed myself to believe in something more. I imagined a future where our paths didn’t just cross but walked side by side, a chapter that didn’t end before it began. But life had other plans. And now, as I move through moments - through cities, laughter and empty conversations - I find myself wishing you were here. Wishing you were walking beside me, seeing what I see, living what I live.

    Still, I can’t help but wish things were different. I wish I had met you later, when my career was steady and my hands could hold more than hope. I wish I came from wealth or comfort, so I wouldn’t feel so small beside your grace. I know you don’t judge; you’re not that kind of person. But still, I wanted to be your equal. I wish I were more mature so I could meet every challenge with steady calm and understand what you need without asking. I wish I were smarter so I could bring clarity when doubt clouds your path and help guide us through the darkest moments. I wish I were stronger so I could catch the fading light for you and carry the weight of the world gently on my shoulders. I wish I were taller so I could stand above the storms and shelter you from the harshest winds. I wish I were kinder so I could offer quiet warmth in your coldest moments and a gentle presence when everything feels too heavy. I wish I were gentler still, able to soothe the rough edges of your days and hold your heart with tender care. I wish I had more to give, not for show, but simply because you deserve everything good.

    And maybe that’s why, even now, I can’t bring myself to tell you how I feel. Because despite everything, despite the way I find fragments of myself reflected in you, despite the quiet confidence you gave me, I stayed silent. With you, I found a kind of courage I never had before. I’ve never confessed to anyone. I always kept my feelings quiet, tucked away like something fragile. But with you, I believed I might be understood. I believed that if I ever told you, you would know exactly where I was coming from. Because you would feel it too. Maybe that’s what scared me most. Maybe I didn’t stay silent out of fear of rejection, but because I knew. And I knew you knew. And still, I couldn’t speak. I can’t. Because you’re with someone else now.

    And maybe I’m just too late. Too late to truly know you. Too late to be part of your life in the way I wanted to. And yet, even in that, I wish I had met you later. When I had grown into more of the person I wanted to be. When I could have stood beside you not just in longing, but in readiness.

    And like all the quiet heartbreaks that came before, I’m left with tears. But this time, the sorrow runs deeper. It feels like mourning someone I never truly had, but who still left behind a gaping absence. You’re alive, yet you feel like a ghost. Still breathing in a world I no longer share with you. My grief is silent. I don’t scream; I barely make a sound. I sit still and cry in a way that feels heavier than noise. I carry this loss like a secret. I tell no one. Because how do you explain missing someone you never called yours? How do you speak of a love that bloomed only inside your chest?

    And yet, when I close my eyes, you’re the first thing I see. Your smile, bright and fleeting like sunlight slipping through clouds, lives in me. But more than beauty, it’s your imperfections I hold close. The way your voice breaks, the quiet way you enter a room, the soft gravity of your presence. These are the things that stayed. These are the things I love. With you, I love more deeply, more patiently. I want to understand you. I want to see you completely, flaws and all. Because it’s your realness, your quiet honesty, that draws me closer. You are not polished or packaged. You are simply you. And I’ve come to love you in the gentlest, most stubborn way.

    I know I should focus on loving myself. That’s what they all say, isn’t it? That we must be whole before we offer our hearts. But how do I do that when you’ve become the mirror I see myself through? You’ve taken up space in every corner of me. I don’t know how to unwrite your name from my story. People think I’m tired from academic pressure. They see the dark circles under my eyes and think it’s just stress. But it’s not the thesis that keeps me up at night. It’s you. It’s the ache of a love never returned. It’s the fear that you’ll never know what you mean to me. That I’ll never be seen the way I see you. Maybe you’ll never think of me beyond the margins of your life. Maybe I was only ever a gentle presence passing through. But my heart chose you anyway. And it keeps choosing you still.

    At first, I wanted to send this letter. I wanted you to know, even if anonymously, even if it meant nothing. But how could I deliver something so full of feeling to someone preparing to marry someone else? Even in silence, I would betray the peace you’ve found. Maybe you received the last letter I sent. Maybe not. I wrote the wrong address, I checked it again and again and I still got it wrong. A fitting symbol, perhaps. My love misdirected. My truth always one step behind where it should be.

    So I won’t send this one. I’ll keep it to myself instead. I’ll let the grief take its quiet shape, gentle and unspoken. I’ll carry this affection like a folded note tucked deep inside my chest, a secret only the silence understands. I’ll let the tears come when they must, then bury them softly where no one will see. But before I do, before I lock it all away for good, I need to say this just once, even if only to the stillness around me: I miss you. I love you. And no matter how much I try, no matter how many days stretch between then and now, I cannot unlove you. Not now. Not ever.

    Still, I hope life is gentle with you. I hope the path you’re walking unfolds with quiet grace. That your days feel steady. That your mornings are warm and your evenings full of peace. I hope the love you’ve chosen holds you the way I once dreamed of holding you - without condition, without fear, with the kind of tenderness that asks nothing but gives everything. You deserve a life that feels safe and soft, filled with moments that make you feel seen. And even if my love never reaches you, never touches your world in any visible way, I want you to know it was real. It is real. And from this quiet distance, I’m wishing you nothing but goodness, in every form it finds you. Take care, always.

Yours,
H