The rain had just stopped when Elena stepped out of The Coastal Brew, with the smell of wet earth and sea salt mingling in the air. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, allowing only a few light rays of sunlight to peek through. She wrapped her cardigan tighter around her, holding the small paper bag of leftover pastries she had saved for Amira, her best friend since college.
Amira lived a few blocks from the cafe in a small apartment filled with plants and the soft sound of an old record player. It was the kind of place that always smelled like vanilla and rain, a refuge for lost thoughts and late-night confessions. Elena had been there many times before, but tonight, the walk felt heavier, as if the quiet world around her sensed her unspoken worries.
She hadn't spoken to Adrian in weeks. The distance between them had grown from small silences to wide, unbridgeable gaps. Each time she saw the sky change color at dusk, she wondered where he was and if he still thought of her, or if everything they once shared had faded away.
When she reached Amira's door, she hesitated before she decided to knock. The sound of footsteps and the soft creak of the door welcomed her inside.
"Elena!" Amira's eyes lit up. "You look like a ghost caught in the rain. Come in, quick."
Elena smiled faintly as she stepped inside. "I brought some pastries. They're still warm."
"Then you're forgiven for showing up unannounced," Amira teased, guiding her to the couch. She poured two cups of chamomile tea, the steam rising between them like a calming curtain. "So... talk to me. You've been quiet lately. What's going on?"
Elena looked down at her tea, tracing the rim of the cup with her fingers. "It's Adrian."
Amira's expression softened. "I thought so. What happened this time?"
"I don't know," Elena whispered. "Maybe... nothing. Maybe everything." She took a deep breath. "It's like we both stopped trying at the same time. We used to talk about everything. What the stars looked like from his base, what I was painting that day, and funny stories about customers at the cafe. But now, it's just complete silence."
Amira leaned back, her eyes focused on Elena. "Did something happen before the silence began?"
Elena paused, her voice shaking slightly. "There were letters he never sent. Words he wanted to say but couldn't. And I accidentally find out about it. He sounded distant in his letters, like he was fading out of our world and into his duty. I tried to understand, but I guess I pulled away too."
Amira nodded, sipping her tea. "It sounds like both of you are carrying more than you're saying."
"I know," Elena murmured. "But what if saying it only makes it worse? What if he's tired of me holding him back?"
Amira gave her a look that only a true friend could provide. "Elena, love isn't meant to hold you back. It's meant to carry you through the weight."
Elena remained silent, the words sinking deep into her chest. She looked at the small succulent by the window, the one she had given Amira years ago, and thought about how it had thrived in even the smallest amount of sunlight.
"Sometimes," Amira continued, "we stay quiet because we're afraid of the answer. But silence is an answer too, you know? A painful one."
Elena smiled faintly, her eyes shining. "You always know what to say."
"That's because I've been where you are," Amira said gently. "I know how it feels to wait for someone who doesn't write back. But I also know that sometimes, they're fighting their own battles in silence. The question is, how long are you willing to wait before you fight for your own peace?"
Elena let out a shaky breath. "I don't want to give up on him."
"I'm not saying you should," Amira replied softly. "But maybe stop waiting for a sign from him. Make one yourself. Send him a letter . Even if he never reads it, at least you'll know you said what your heart needed to say."
The clock ticked quietly between them. The rain started again, tapping lightly against the window like fingers keeping time with their hearts.
After a long silence, Elena whispered, "What if he doesn't feel the same way anymore?"
"Then at least you'll know," Amira said. "And you'll stop torturing yourself with the 'what ifs.' Love deserves honesty, even when it hurts."
Elena looked down at her cup. The tea had gone cold, but she didn't mind. "You're right," she finally said. "I think I'll finish the letter tonight."
Amira smiled. "Good. And when you're done, you'll come back here, and we'll burn the fear together."
Elena laughed softly, the kind of laugh that sounded like something inside her was beginning to breathe again.
As she left Amira's apartment, the world outside smelled of rain and promise. The streets shimmered in the soft glow of streetlights, and the sea whispered faintly in the distance. For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel completely lost.
She walked home with her thoughts tangled yet steady, her hand clutching the paper bag that now held only crumbs. In her mind, she could see her sketchbook waiting on the table, the one where she had drawn the stars they once watched together, the same stars that seemed to listen when words failed.
When she entered her small apartment, she lit a candle by the window and opened her sketchbook. On the first empty page, she wrote:
Adrian,
I don't know if you'll ever read this. But I've been waiting not for your answer, but for your courage to speak. I still see you in every sunset, in every cup I serve, in every quiet moment when the world feels half-empty. I miss you. Not just the person you were, but the peace you brought. Maybe you've moved on. Perhaps you're still fighting. But I needed you to know that I never stopped caring.
Her handwriting shook, but the words felt real. She set the pen down, letting out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.
Outside, the rain slowed, the sea grew calm, and the stars began to peek through the clouds.
Somewhere far away, maybe under the same sky, a man in uniform looked up too, his chest heavy with memories of a girl by the sea who once told him that love could outlast distance.
Though neither spoke, something quiet and true passed between them, not in words but in the stillness of hearts that remembered.