July 7, 2025 — Late Evening
There's a moment just before you send a message… where your thumb hovers. Where your heart pulses a little faster. Where your mind says — "Is this too much?" And something softer whispers — "Or maybe it's just enough."
Tara paused there tonight. The day had been ordinary. But something about his last letter — the way he mentioned control, music, the rhythm of silence — stayed with her longer than expected. He was still a stranger. But also… not. So she wrote, not quickly. But carefully. The kind of letter that doesn't just fill a page — It reveals one.
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✉️ Letter 10 — From Tara
Sent: July 7, 2025 — 11:38 PM
Hey Rey,
I don't know what it is about your letters, but they feel like sitting across from someone in a café — the kind of quiet where no one needs to fill the space with noise.
You asked if music says things I never told anyone. Yes. Too often. There's a song by Arijit — "Main phir bhi tumko chahunga" — I don't even know why I cry when I hear it. Maybe because it reminds me that love doesn't always ask for permission before it stays in your chest, long after it's gone from your life.
I think… we've all had people who left without explaining the goodbye. And sometimes, it turns us into better listeners. Or more careful hearts.
You said games help you restart. I get that. But in real life, we carry every level, don't we? Even the ones we failed.
Here's something I never really tell people: I smile a lot. But some of those smiles have bandages underneath. Still, I believe in softness. In kindness. In strangers who somehow understand you more in five letters than some friends do in five years.
So — thank you. For writing like you're not trying to be perfect. For saying things people usually skip.
Before I go… Can I ask something? Have you ever wanted to tell someone something… but didn't? And still think about it?
Just wondering.
Goodnight, stranger. But not really a stranger now.
— Tara 🌙
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Narrator Voice (closing)
He read the letter twice. Then again. That last line? It stayed with him like a question still echoing in an empty hallway.
> "Have you ever wanted to tell someone something… but didn't?"
Yes. Too many times. But he didn't answer that. Not yet. Because this story — whatever it was — wasn't finished. In fact… It was just about to begin.