I don't remember when I started writing the letters.
Maybe it was after Dad passed. Maybe it was when the apartment got quieter than I could handle. Or maybe it was just easier to say things to a page than to a person.
But I write them anyway.
All of them.
To people I've lost.
To people I've loved.
To people I never had the courage to love out loud.
And now… to her.
---
It was late after school. The hallway was clearing out. I was in the library, pretending to study — but the pages of my book blurred in front of me.
All I could think about was Ava.
Her laugh earlier when she dropped her pen and we both reached for it.
The way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she's nervous.
The slight crease between her brows when she's thinking.
And the way Damien looks at her.
I'm not blind.
There's something between them.
But I can't stop how I feel.
So I took out my notebook.
The black leather one with creases down the spine and frayed corners.
No one's ever seen it. Not even my old friends back in Brooklyn.
And I wrote.
> Dear Ava,
Today you looked at me like I mattered.
Even though you didn't say much, your eyes stayed. That's rare.
I think I'll remember that look longer than I should.
> You're kind. Gentle in a way that makes the world quieter.
And I don't know why I want to protect that so badly.
But I do.
> – Rylan
I shut the notebook fast.
Not because I was embarrassed — but because it felt real. Too real.
And real things hurt when they go wrong.
---
The next day, I saw her at her locker. She smiled. She was wearing a soft blue hoodie, and I swear my brain short-circuited for a second.
I walked up, heart calm on the outside, mess on the inside.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey, Rylan," she smiled again.
I wanted to ask if she was free this weekend.
I wanted to say, "I wrote about you last night and you don't even know it."
But instead, I just leaned against the locker beside her and said,
"You know… if this school gave awards for most distracting person in class, you'd win. Hands down."
She laughed. "Distracting how?"
"Like... academically devastating." I grinned.
And just like that, her cheeks turned pink.
I didn't even mean to flirt.
But maybe I always do around her.
---
Later that evening, I stared at the notebook again.
Flipping to a blank page, I wrote a second letter.
> Dear Ava,
I think I'm in trouble.
The kind where someone smiles and the world shifts a little.
And now I'm sitting here wondering if I'll ever be able to go back.
> You've already made a home in my head. Rent free.
And I haven't decided if that's terrifying or beautiful.