Tommy
Most nights I didn't sleep much after Emma's family moved away.
I kept replaying her words in my mind — the way she confessed her longing, her little jokes, her quiet hope. I wanted to respond immediately, but I needed it to be perfect, needed it to carry every ounce of what I felt without spilling too much too soon.
Come morning, I had a fresh sheet of paper, pen in hand. The sunlight fell through the window, dust mites drifting lazily, and I imagined her reading every word, her fingers tracing the lines as if they were my hands.
"Emma, your letter… I can't stop thinking about it. Every sentence made me feel closer to you, even though we're miles apart. I can't stop thinking about it. I keep imagining your smile, the way the sunlight catches your hair, the quiet strength in your voice. I wish I could be with you now, just to sit beside you, to share that silence that feels more alive than anything else. I want to hear about your day, even the smallest things, because they matter to me more than I can explain…"
I paused, letting my mind wander to our afternoons in the woods. The shared sandwiches, the gentle touches, the silent understanding. The North Star necklace I'd given her came to mind — how it had caught the light when I fastened it around her neck. I wanted her to feel that same sense of being guided back to me, no matter where she was.
"…And though we're apart, I want you to know I am always here. Every day, every letter, every thought of you binds me closer to you. You're my North Star, Emma. And I will follow you wherever I can, through letters, through memories, through every moment I can steal from this world to be near you."
I added a few corny jokes at the end, because I knew she'd laugh, even if it was quietly to herself. I folded the letter carefully, sealing it with a tremor in my fingers. Every step I took to the post office felt heavy, loaded with anticipation. I pictured her in her new home, opening it with a mixture of hope and uncertainty, and I hoped my words would reach her heart, bridging the distance that felt impossibly wide.
---
Emma
The new house was still strange, every corner unfamiliar, every sound sharper than it should be. I kept myself busy with settling in, but the letters from Tommy became my lifeline. I read each one slowly, savouring every word, every joke, every confession, letting it anchor me in a world that often felt like it had shifted beneath my feet.
When I received his latest letter, I barely waited to rip open the envelope. I pressed it to my chest first, feeling his presence through the ink, feeling the way he had imagined me reading, imagined me laughing, imagined me longing for him as I did.
I laughed softly at his jokes, the corners of my eyes prickling with tears. Then I read the parts that made my stomach twist and my chest ache — the confessions of longing, the way he called me his North Star. A lump rose in my throat, and I hugged the letter tightly, letting the paper warm my face, wishing I could be in the woods again, wishing I could see him, touch him, tell him everything I felt without the miles between us.
I wrote back that evening, letting my words spill freely.
"Tommy, your letter made me smile and ache at the same time. I wish I could sit with you in the woods again, even for just a moment. I keep imagining the sunlight through the trees, your hand holding mine, and I can't help it — I want to be there with you. I miss you terribly. Please keep writing, because your letters make the distance just a bit more bearable. You're my compass and the only direction I want to follow."
I hid the letter in my bag, waiting for the next morning to post it, imagining him reading it with the same longing I felt. Every word I wrote was a promise, a tether between us, a lifeline in a summer that was slipping away faster than I could hold onto it.
---
Tommy
The days crawled by. Each morning I awoke hoping for tthea letter to arrive . When Emma's letters came, they felt like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. I read them over and over, memorising every phrase, every tiny joke, every sigh hidden between the lines.
I carried them with me everywhere: in the woods, tucked into my pocket; on the path home, folded carefully in my hands; even to the library, pressed inside a book, pretending I was studying. Each time I held one, it was as if she were right there beside me, the summer heat brushing my arm, her voice whispering against my ear.
But the weight of my father's plans for me and my future never left me.
Father had grown impatient, irate even, as Aunt Stephanie's campaign gained traction. He snapped at everyone, slammed phones down in fury, and scowled at the endless stream of letters from council members, businesses, and townsfolk rallying against him.
I could see it in my father's eyes during breakfast one morning. He was boiling under the surface, yet trying to maintain a veneer of control.
"I won't let them push me around," he said to me casually, as if he weren't shaking with irritation. "These people are shortsighted. They don't understand what progress means."
I clenched my fists under the table, pretending to sip my coffee. I wanted to shout, to tell him what his actions meant for Emma and her family, what they meant for Emma and I, to demand that he stop. But I swallowed the words and instead focused on the letter in my pocket, the one I'd just written, hoping it wouldbe enough to keep her in my life.
---
Emma
Adjusting to the new house was harder than I imagined. Every corner was unfamiliar, every street foreign. The school was bustling and bright, the teachers welcoming but busy, and the other students were already in their own groups, their laughter echoing in a way that reminded me how alone I felt.
Tommy's letters became my sanctuary. I would read them before bed, clutching them to my chest, imagining his face, the tilt of his smile, the warmth of his presence. I wrote back late at night, whispering to the paper, pouring everything into words that my heart could not speak aloud.
"…I miss you too,"
I scribbled one evening, tears blurring the ink.
"…I feel like the memory of the woods, the lake, even the trees all include you. Keep writing, Tommy. Every letter is a lifeline. Every word reminds me that we're not losing each other entirely, even if everything else is changing."