Jaden hadn't meant to go outside that morning.
The sky was overcast, the kind of grey that pressed down on your chest and made the world feel heavier than it should. But something—restlessness, maybe—had pulled him from his desk and out into the woods behind his cabin. He hadn't written a single page in six months. Not since the accident. Not since the silence in his life had grown louder than any sentence he could form.
He walked without direction, hands buried in the pockets of his coat, boots crunching over fallen leaves. The forest was still, save for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. That's when he saw it—something pale and fluttering, caught in the low branches of a pine.
At first, he thought it was trash. A scrap of paper tangled in the needles. But as he drew closer, he saw the delicate handwriting, the careful folds, the faint smudge of what looked like a tear.
He hesitated.
Then, gently, he untangled the letter and unfolded it.
"I don't know if you can hear me, Daniel…"
He read the words once. Then again. And again.
Each line felt like it had been written from a place he knew too well. The ache of absence. The weight of words left unsaid. The desperate need to speak into the void, even when you're sure no one is listening.
He sat on a fallen log, the letter trembling in his hands. He didn't know who Ariella was. But her pain was familiar. Her voice, though written, felt alive—like someone whispering in the dark, hoping for an echo.
For the first time in months, Jaden felt something stir beneath the numbness. Not quite inspiration. Not quite peace. But something.
He took the letter home.
That night, he sat at his desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. The same desk where he'd once written entire novels, now covered in dust and unopened mail. He picked up a pen, his fingers stiff from disuse, and began to write—not a story, not a chapter, but a letter.
"I found your words today. I don't know if you meant for them to be found. But they found me anyway. And I think… I needed them."
He didn't sign his name. He didn't know what he was doing. But he folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, and addressed it simply:
To the girl who writes to the sky.