Letter From The Unfinished

I left you when I was lost, standing in the dim light of my room, the shadows clinging to the walls like my doubts. The air felt heavy, thick with uncertainty, as if each breath I took was weighed down by the weight of my decisions. It hurt to cling on, each tug like a jolt of pain, as if the shards of glass were not only cutting into my palm but also slicing through my heart. I bled out, the warmth of my blood contrasting sharply with the cold reality of my situation. How could I offer you the home you deserved when mine was in ruins?

I snap out of my trance and drop the folder into my recycle bin. I was letting go. Little did I know, this was the start of my downfall. Like the first domino in a line, everything would follow. Beside my laptop lies a letter I haven’t opened. The name on the envelope sends a chill down my spine. As terrified as I am, I’m also curious—curious to know what she has to say after I so ruthlessly broke her heart and tried to erase her from my memory. Taking a deep breath, I open the letter.

Dear Vinnie,

You broke your promise. You offered me a gift—my greatest temptation and desire. You promised me a voice. You sat me down and urged me to tell my story, saying you wanted to share it with the world. You would write it for me and see it through to the final draft. But where are we now? Just when I thought this was my chance to be heard, you shut me out! It feels like you duct-taped my mouth and pretended not to hear my muffled cries. You pushed me to the back of your laptop, locking me in the darkest corner, as if I never existed. How are you now?

She has every right to be mad at me. I’m surprised she didn’t just throw this envelope in my face and walk away. She had plenty of options—like holding me hostage in silence. Tit for tat, right? She’s the kind of friend who would spray-paint an ex-boyfriend’s car after he got caught cheating. If she’s feeling particularly bold, she might even show up at his place with a baseball bat, threatening him like a badass enforcer. Maybe I should be grateful she chose to send a letter instead.

Back then, insecurity flared in my mind, a tight knot forming in my stomach as I replayed every moment in my head. The quiet of my surroundings echoed my turmoil, amplifying the whispers of doubt that clawed at my self-worth. What if the story wasn’t good enough? What if it wasn’t worth telling? I shouldn’t have made those decisions for her; it was her story to tell. If I had stuck to my role—helping her share that story—maybe she would be by my side now. I continue reading with a heavy heart, bracing myself for what’s to come next. 

I tried to understand you. I reasoned for you. I waited for you to return, knowing you were struggling with college. At first, I thought you were just experiencing a creative block and that you’d soon get over it. I hoped. But when you didn’t show up for so long, I knew something was wrong. You stopped writing for your blog and said you felt like you weren’t learning anything, that you felt stupid. Who would want to hear you preach about kindness, acceptance, and tolerance? Why would anyone want to read this?

Believe me, Vinnie, that feeling—that steady ache in your chest—is completely valid. You just wanted to grow. I understand that. You must have felt like you were drowning, frantically moving your arms and legs to survive, but finding nothing to hold onto. You were a dolphin wandering in a river, completely out of place. Your emotions resonate deeply with me. Yet, I held on to the hope that you wouldn’t give up on us. I believed with every fiber of my being that you would come back. This is where your heart belongs—here, with me.

The last line hit me like a stab in the gut. She knew me better than I knew myself. I had assumed I was the one with all the information about her life—every detail, from her favourite colour to her deepest, darkest secret. I had spent enough time with her that bits of myself slipped out while I listened to her story. She noticed. She was aware. So she probably also knows that I was a coward who didn’t fight for us. I still wonder about all the what-ifs, the endless possibilities that play on repeat in my mind. What would my life look like now if I had changed my mind? Who would I be? A better person who is capable of keeping promises?

We are star-crossed lovers, destined to navigate a world that seems intent on pulling us apart, like celestial bodies caught in an inevitable orbit. The notion of star-crossed lovers has always been romantic to me—two souls destined to be together, yet forever hindered by the cruel hands of fate. Each moment spent apart felt like an echo of our inevitable collision, the kind that fills the vastness of the universe with both wonder and despair. Every time I believed we were aligned, life’s unpredictability shifted our paths, leaving me questioning if we were ever meant to share the same constellation. Yet, amidst this cosmic dance of fate, I cling to the hope that love can transcend the obstacles before us. Perhaps one day, our paths will cross again under a sky where the stars finally align. 

The thought that I was once your muse feels like a fever dream. You raved about how beautiful my name was. Was it easy for you to convince yourself that I never existed? Did you think I wasn’t worthy of being a part of your life? Just someone in digital space, easily erased with a single click? Is that what I meant to you, Vinnie? A mere fragment of your imagination?

Her words twisted the knife in my gut before pulling it out with mighty force. Athena—how I marvelled at her.  Her brown eyes sparkled in the sun, catching the light like warm honey, radiating warmth and kindness. Her smile created little craters on her cheeks, enchanting everyone around her, as if she commanded the room with a mere glance. It wasn’t just her beauty; it was the way she carried herself, leaving a trail of admiration in her wake. 

“Hope” feels like a dangerous word to say now that I’ve let it all go. She wasn’t someone I could forget; she was etched in my mind, a dangerous obsession before she captured my heart. I came home to her. The replay of what-ifs paused the moment she was around. She wasn’t just somebody—she was my escape, the one with whom I found a home. 

I know you loved me, and I deserved at least a goodbye—something more than the silence that hung in the air like a thick fog, stifling my breath and wrapping around me like a heavy shroud. It felt like the world had paused, every heartbeat echoing the finality of what was left unsaid. 

If I could reach you, I would scream at the top of my lungs that you are amazing. You just need to hold on until you find the end of your tunnel. Giving up isn’t an option—now or ever. You know that too. It would be a shame to turn your back on your dreams. I’ve watched you grow, standing by as you crawled your way out. If there’s anyone in this world who has faith that you will make it—someone who truly understands you and has your back—it’s me.

You were kind enough to leave me with a map—an outline. I figured my way out to make the best of the life I have. Thanks to you, I realised that I am important too. Like the author, I am Dr. Athena, a genius poised to bring about change.

I still feel unworthy of the love she gives me. But I can promise her one thing: she has made me a better person. She’s helped me become someone brave enough to tell stories, someone who pushes through no matter the obstacles. You taught me to do my job better, Athena. You showed me that being a writer means riding through fire while being on fire, and ultimately, it’s my responsibility to help tell the story. Every story deserves to be heard, and I will make sure they echo. I continue to read the letter wishing in the depths of my heart, that she were here to have a conversation with me.

I believe you won’t turn your back this time. Because if you do, I am definitely taking you away as you sleep. I can be your worst nightmare but for now, I’m choosing to be your ally. I feel the warmth of the fire in your heart. Little Miss Author, this is your time. Go conquer the world and never put that damn pen down. 

I love you. 

Your first love, 

Athena. 

Ah, there she is, with all her fierce threats. I close the letter, the paper still warm from my fingers, and I feel its presence wrap around me like a comforting embrace, a soft whisper of encouragement against the chill of doubt. As I look around my cluttered space—papers stacked precariously, the faint smell of stale coffee lingering in the air—I realize it’s time to take action. No more waiting, no more uncertainty. I’m ready to embrace the journey ahead, to honor her faith in me by sharing stories that matter.

With renewed determination, I reach for my pen, its cool weight familiar in my hand, and I can almost hear the crisp sound of ink gliding across the page. Every word I write will be a tribute to her courage and strength, the soft rustle of the pages around me mingling with the quiet hum of inspiration filling the air.

“Little Miss Author,” I whisper to myself, “this is your moment. Go out there and conquer the world.”

As I begin to write, I feel her presence beside me, as if her warm laughter lingers in the air, urging me forward with each stroke of the pen.

I love you, Athena.