Jay-Jay's POV
The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the soft tick of the wall clock. I sank into the armchair by the window, legs curled beneath me, and stared at the small stack of envelopes on the coffee table. My fingers traced the edges of the bundle, hesitating as if the letters themselves could sense my hesitation.
They had been given to me on my eighteenth birthday, months ago, by Keifer. I had tucked them away, unthinking, buried under other keepsakes, and forgotten them entirely — until tonight. Something had pulled me toward them, some quiet insistence I could no longer ignore.
With a deep breath, I picked up the top envelope. My name, written in Keifer's neat, familiar handwriting, made my heart tighten. I slit it open, careful not to tear the paper.
Dear Jay-Jay,
If you're reading this, it means you've found it. I suppose I never had the courage to send it before, and maybe that's okay. There are things one cannot say in words that will ever be enough. But I want you to know this — every moment we've shared, every laugh, every look, every time you let me tease you or call you stubborn, it stayed with me. I noticed everything.
I paused, the words swimming before my eyes. I could hear his voice as I read, low and teasing: "You always act like the world revolves around you, but secretly, you notice everything too." My lips twitched into a smile, faint, unguarded.
A memory flashed: seventeen-year-old me, standing in the garden of Section E, the late afternoon sun brushing our faces as he nudged me toward the front of the group for the birthday photo. He had laughed, that familiar effortless laugh, and I had felt warm, ridiculous, and entirely known.
I'll always wish the best for you, Jay-Jay. Even when we are apart, I hope you feel the same care, the same faith in yourself I always have. You are stronger than you realize, braver than you think. And if ever you forget, just know I'll be here, quietly, silently rooting for you.
I traced the words with my fingertip, fighting the lump in my throat. Quietly, silently rooting for me. That was Keifer, always steady, always observing, never asking, never demanding.
A second envelope, smaller, bore the playful handwriting of Ci-N. I unfolded it, and laughter bubbled up unexpectedly.
Hey Jay-Jay, he had written, don't think I won't remember that time you made me do a double take in math class because of your "prank." You're impossible. But thanks for being the loud, meddling, sometimes crazy part of Section E. You made school… not boring. Keep being you.
The words were simple, unpolished, but they carried the warmth of an entire childhood. I could almost hear his young voice, fourteen and mischievous, teasing me from across the classroom. I smiled, feeling that rush of nostalgia that only old friends could evoke.
Keifer POV (Flashback)
I had folded the letters meticulously that night, making sure each crease was perfect. I had chosen which envelope would go first, which one would linger beneath the others. Watching her unwrap them in my mind's eye, imagining her reading my words, filled me with a quiet ache — pride, longing, regret, all tangled together.
Jay-Jay POV
The third envelope was from Keifer again. This one was thicker, heavier with the weight of his thoughts.
Jay-Jay, it began, I remember your eighteenth birthday like it was yesterday. The way you smiled at everyone, the way your eyes caught the light just so, how you tried to hide the bracelet I gave you because you didn't want anyone to know it was from me. You've always carried things quietly, but I notice.
I held the letter closer, feeling my pulse quicken. The memory of the gold bracelet, still on my wrist, shimmered faintly in the lamplight. It was small, subtle, but its meaning was immense.
I never sent this because I was afraid it would change things. Afraid it would make me too vulnerable, or make you uncomfortable. But I needed you to know, Jay-Jay… you've mattered more than anyone can know, more than I ever said out loud.
I pressed the letter to my chest, letting the warmth of it seep through. His words weren't declarations or promises; they were reminders. Soft, persistent, quietly undeniable.
Another memory struck — the last day of Section E before we parted for college. Keifer had stood beside me, steady and calm, his hand brushing mine briefly as he said softly: "We'll see each other every day. You don't need to worry. This is for your studies, Jay-Jay. You're going to do amazing things."
I remembered the ache of leaving, the way my heart had twisted at the thought of distance, and yet how his words had anchored me. Even then, he had been my anchor.
Keifer POV (Flashback)
I had written that letter in silence, under the dim lamp of my room, after everyone else had gone to bed. I remembered pressing the pen to the paper, thinking about her smile, her stubbornness, her laugh. I had hoped she would understand, that one day she would read it, and the words would reach her in the way I couldn't say aloud.
Jay-Jay POV
Finally, the last envelope. I hesitated, fingers trembling. The handwriting was unmistakably his — more careful, more deliberate.
Jay-Jay, it read, if I am ever too late, if the world moves faster than we can keep up, I want you to know this: I have always cared. Every moment we shared, every laugh, every small gesture, has stayed with me. I may not have the right words, and maybe they will never be enough. But I hope, someday, you can read this and know, truly know, that you mattered.
My breath caught. I could feel the weight of the years, the unsent words, the quiet patience he had carried. Every time I had felt alone, every moment I had questioned myself, he had been there — even when I didn't know it.
The letters fell from my hands onto my lap. Tears pricked at my eyes, and I didn't fight them. The apartment was silent, but my heart was roaring.
A few days later, I sat at the corner table of the same café where I often came to think. The letters rested beside my coffee cup, slightly crumpled now from overuse, but I didn't mind. I traced the handwriting absentmindedly, a small, private smile curling my lips.
Keifer POV
Far away, in my own quiet space, I thought of her. I didn't know she had read them. I didn't know the letters had reached her heart, hadn't even guessed that she had held each word close. Yet, a part of me felt lighter, as if something unseen had settled between them. I imagined her smile, the one that had haunted me for years, and I allowed myself to hope — quietly, gently — that perhaps the distance wasn't as wide as it seemed.
Jay-Jay's POV
The letters, the memories, the laughter and teasing from the past — it all felt like a bridge now, connecting what was lost with what could still be reclaimed. For the first time in months, I felt something I hadn't allowed myself in a long time: a sense of peace. And beneath it, a quiet longing, a recognition that some parts of the past, and some people, were simply too important to leave behind.
I sipped my coffee, letters beside me, and let the weight of all the unsaid words sink in. For now, they were mine — memories, promises, and reminders of the love and care that had never truly faded