Tommy
I sat cross-legged on the blanket, the letter from Emma echoing in my head. My pen hovered over a fresh sheet of paper, but the words refused to come. Every sentence I tried felt small, inadequate. How could I explain what she meant to me? How could a few lines on paper capture the way my chest tightened when she smiled, the way I felt her absence before I even left the woods?
I took a deep breath and read her letter again, letting the words sink in.
"…I feel like part of me is still in the woods with you…"
My heart ached with the truth in that sentence. Part of me— my whole self, really — would always be with her too. I rested my forehead against the edge of the notebook, closed my eyes, and let the wind rustle the leaves above, the same way it had the day I first saw her waiting.
Finally, I started writing.
"Emma, I don't know how to explain this properly, but you make everything brighter… the woods, the sunlight, even the worst days feel lighter with you in them. I keep thinking about you, about us, and it feels like I've found the part of me I didn't know was missing. You're the reason I'd wait through anything, the reason I'd fight for something I never would have before. You're… everything I didn't know I needed. I wish I could be there right now, just to see you laugh, just to hold your hand…"
I paused, my pen frozen again. Words were failing me. I wanted to tell her everything — how I was terrified of losing her, how her moving away hurt more than anything I'd felt in my life — but the words felt too heavy, too permanent. I tried to write something lighter, something that might make her smile.
"…Also, I found some new jokes, but none of them are as great as your laugh. I hope this letter makes you smile, even a little, because it's all I want right now."
The pen felt warm in my hand, almost like it was carrying my heartbeat onto the page. I wrote and rewrote, folding and refolding the paper, until finally I was satisfied. It wasn't perfect, but it was true. It was us, in ink and paper, fragile and impossible and somehow real.
I carefully slid the letter into an envelope, sealing it with a kiss as I thought of her — the way her eyes sparkled, the soft curve of her smile, the way the world seemed to pause whenever she was near.
I walked toward the town afterward, every step heavy with hope and fear. The streets were busy, the town stirring with the morning bustle. I imagined her opening the letter, imagined my words reaching her as if I were whispering them across the miles.
Emma
The new house felt so strange after the homely feel of our old one. No clattering dishes, no shouts from the twins, no Zoey tugging at my sleeve as I tried to focus on chores. It wasn't ours, and it made me ache for the familiarity of home — the woods, the lake, Tommy.
I unpacked a box of cups and plates as I stood in the kitchen, the weight of my father's decision pressing on me. Hull was far away, too far from everything I knew. I didn't want to leave, didn't want to say goodbye to the woods or to Tommy, and yet, my father's quiet insistence that we embrace a fresh start left me with no choice.
I lingered by the window for a long time, watching the street and wishing it could be the lake, wishing I could see Tommy sitting there, waiting for me with that shy smile, blanket laid out, hands busy with sandwiches or fruit.
The first few days after moving were the hardest. School was strange and unfamiliar, my classmates' laughter grating against the memory of our private moments in the woods. I tried to focus, tried to lose myself in books and chores and homework, but my thoughts kept drifting back to him. Did he miss me as much as I missed him? Did he worry that I might disappear completely, lost in the new life my family had to start?
Every afternoon, after getting back from school, I checked for new letters in the post, my stomach twisting with anticipation. I imagined the envelope with his neat handwriting, the paper slightly folded, the smell of the ink mingling with the memory of him.
When the letter finally arrived, I didn't rush to tear it open. I held it against my chest, feeling its weight, feeling his presence through the paper. My fingers trembled as I slid it open, the familiar scrawl making my heart pound.
Even though I could only read it in fragments between tears that blurred the words, I felt him there — Tommy, brave and vulnerable all at once. Every sentence, every little joke, every careful confession reminded me that we belonged to each other, even across the distance. Even separated by miles, by our families, by the realities of our worlds, he was still mine.
I tucked the letter into my pocket after I ran my fingers over the paper, wishing I could reply immediately, wishing I could be back in the woods, where our time felt infinite and safe. But for now, I had to wait, I had to adjust to the new house, the new routine, the looming uncertainty.
Yet, with every breath, I carried a quiet hope — that our letters would keep us connected, that the words would bridge the distance, and that the North Star I wore close to my heart would always guide him back to me.