"People come here looking for stories. But most of them leave behind their own."— Aarya's library log
It started with a shoebox.
A plain, cardboard box with the words "Unsent" written in faded ink on the lid.
I placed Veer's letter in it, right beside a typed note from a woman who couldn't tell her sister she was sorry, and a crumpled napkin someone had used to write, "I still wear the watch you gave me."
The box had been getting heavier lately.
Not in weight.
In truth.
The next time Veer came in, he didn't go to the piano.He went to the desk.
To me.
He looked nervous. Not in the way boys usually get around girls. But the way someone looks when they're afraid of being seen too clearly.
He held out a paper.
It wasn't a letter this time.
"I want to help."
I tilted my head.
He noticed.
"With the… letters," he said softly. "The ones people don't send."
I hesitated.
No one had ever asked to help before.This was my quiet ritual, my silent rebellion against everything unsaid.
But then I remembered his letter.
And how it made me feel less alone.
I nodded.
And that was the day we began building it — together.
📚 The Library of Lost Things
We cleared out an unused storage room behind the poetry aisle.
A metal cabinet became our "Vault of Unsent."Old notebooks were stacked into a "Wall of Regrets."A drawer labeled "If Only" began filling with slips of sorrow.
We started organizing them.
Not by name.
But by emotion.
Love that never reached the right person.
Goodbyes whispered too late.
Forgiveness never asked for.
Truths that would've broken someone.
Some people collect stamps.Others collect keys.
We collected ghosts.
And somehow, it made both of us feel more alive.
"You're not what I expected," Veer said once, while filing letters under "Almost."
I raised an eyebrow.
"You listen. Even without sound."
I signed back: You speak. Even without words.
He smiled.
And this time, it reached his eyes.
The Library of Lost Things was born.
And neither of us knew it yet…
…but it would outlive one of us.