The next morning, Sky woke to soft light pressing through the blinds like a hesitant guest. Her dreams had been fractured—blurred images of Ayana's apartment, of jazz humming in the background, of ginger in the air and hands not fully held. She lay there for a long time, unmoving, wrapped in her blanket as if the world outside didn't exist. But it did. And it was waiting.
She eventually rose and went through the motions—shower, clothes, toast she didn't eat. Her body moved on autopilot, but her mind was still standing at Ayana's door, still feeling the warmth of her hand.
That quiet moment had said more than a thousand confessions.
Sky didn't go to class. She wasn't sure she could sit in the same room where Ayana stood in front of everyone, voice steady and clear, as if she wasn't holding fragile things in her chest. Instead, she wandered.
The campus was alive in a way that made her feel out of place—couples under trees, laughter echoing from open dorm windows, music bleeding from someone's Bluetooth speaker near the cafeteria. Sky drifted through it like a ghost.
Eventually, she found herself on a hill overlooking the old sculpture garden. Few people came here—it was too far from the main buildings and the Wi-Fi sucked. But Sky liked it. There was something oddly comforting about the rusting iron statues and cracked concrete pedestals. Like even the forgotten things had a place.
She sat on the grass and pulled out her journal.
This time, she didn't hesitate.
"I feel like I'm unraveling. But not in a scary way. More like... peeling off a skin I didn't know I had.
She makes me want to speak.
And that's the most dangerous thing of all."
Ayana stood in the faculty lounge, staring into a cup of black coffee that had long gone cold. She hadn't seen Sky all morning. No message. No quiet knock on her door. Nothing.
It shouldn't have made her stomach twist. But it did.
"Everything okay?" a voice asked beside her.
Ayana glanced sideways. Dr. Helena Mbae, the psychology professor, gave her a knowing look over the rim of her coffee mug.
"You look like someone trying to convince herself she's fine."
Ayana forced a smile. "That obvious?"
Helena raised a brow. "Only to those who've done the same."
They stood in silence for a moment before Ayana spoke again. "Do you ever get too close to a student?"
Helena didn't flinch. "Define 'too close.'"
Ayana looked down. "Not inappropriate. Just... emotionally close. Like something in their story echoes something in yours."
Helena nodded slowly. "Yes. Once."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't run from it," she said. "But I didn't rush into it either. Some connections are meant to reshape us. Doesn't mean they're all meant to last. But they can still be honest."
Ayana stared at the coffee. "I don't want to hurt her. I don't even know if I'm helping."
Helena placed a hand on Ayana's shoulder. "Sometimes, just being there is enough."
That afternoon, Sky found herself at the campus print shop, staring at the student noticeboard covered in job ads, club events, poetry nights, and odd doodles. She wasn't sure what she was looking for.
Then she saw it.
Call for Submissions: "Letters Never Sent" – A student anthology project.
Theme: Honesty. Vulnerability. Unspoken truths.
Submit a letter you never sent. To anyone. No names needed. Just heart.
Sky stared at it for a long time.
Then she walked away.
But the idea stuck.
That night, back in her dorm, she sat at her desk and opened her laptop. The screen glowed softly in the dim room. She opened a blank document. Titled it:
Letter #1 – To Her
And then, slowly, she began to type.
I don't know what this is. I don't know what to call it.
Maybe it's just a warm room in a cold world.
But when I'm with you, I feel like I'm not drowning anymore.
And I don't want that to end.
She hit save and closed the laptop without submitting. Not yet.
On Friday, Ayana finally saw her.
Sky was sitting under the tree near the arts building, a sketchbook on her knees, earbuds in, head down. Ayana hadn't meant to walk that way. But her feet had betrayed her again.
She stopped a few feet away.
Sky looked up, removing one earbud. "Hey."
"Hey," Ayana said gently. "You disappeared."
Sky shrugged. "I needed air."
Ayana sat down slowly beside her, careful not to get too close. "I thought maybe I overstepped."
"You didn't," Sky said quickly. "I just… didn't know how to exist after that."
They sat in silence, students walking past them, the wind picking up. A leaf landed in Ayana's lap, and she held it between her fingers like it was a delicate secret.
Sky looked at her sketchbook. "I drew you."
Ayana's brow lifted.
Sky hesitated, then flipped to a page near the back. A rough charcoal sketch of Ayana—profile, soft lines, a gentle strength in her eyes. It wasn't perfect. But it was honest.
Ayana stared at it for a long time. "You see me."
Sky looked down. "Maybe that's the problem."
"No," Ayana said. "That's the beginning."
Later that night, Kairo found Sky in the dorm hallway, barefoot, refilling her water bottle. He leaned against the wall, eyes tired.
"You okay?"
Sky nodded. "Getting there."
"I read your piece," he said.
Sky blinked. "What?"
"The letter. The anthology. I'm one of the editors."
Sky's stomach dropped. "I didn't submit it—"
"You saved it on the shared draft folder by accident."
"Oh god," she muttered, face burning.
"Relax," he said quickly. "I didn't tell anyone. I just… wanted to say it was beautiful."
She didn't know what to say.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "She'd be proud, you know."
Sky stared at him. "You think?"
"I know."
Ayana received an email that night from the anthology committee.
They were asking professors to write a foreword.
As she read through the sample submissions they'd attached, she froze.
There it was.
Sky's letter.
Anonymous, of course. But Ayana knew her voice like she knew her own heartbeat now.
She read it again.
And again.
And something inside her broke. Not in pain. In surrender.
On Sunday morning, Sky found an envelope under her door.
No name.
Just her name in careful handwriting.
Inside was a letter.
"You are more than the silence you carry.
You are not a weight, Sky.
You are gravity.
You hold things together without even trying.
Come by tomorrow. If you want. If you're ready.
I'll be there."
No signature.
But Sky didn't need one.
She pressed the paper to her chest and let herself smile.