Mondays had a reputation for being dull, and this one seemed determined to prove it.
The alarm had gone off twice, the sunlight outside was half-hearted, and Aria's tea had already gone cold while she scrolled through messages she didn't really care about. The world felt stuck between yawns — quiet, predictable, and lifeless.
That's why the envelope felt so wrong.
It lay on the doormat, perfectly centered as if someone had measured its position. No name, no stamp, no address — just her handwriting, looping gently across the front. Her handwriting.
Aria frowned. She hadn't written this.
She turned it over in her hands, tracing the edges, half-expecting to find a joke or some friend's ridiculous prank. But something in her chest whispered no. Something about it felt… older, as if it had waited too long to be opened.
Her fingers hesitated on the seal before she tore it open.
The paper inside was thick, scented faintly of lavender — her favorite. The ink shimmered faintly, the letters slightly uneven, like they'd been written in a rush. And at the top, dated neatly in the corner, was the impossible.
June 14, 2026.
(Six months from now.)
Her heartbeat stumbled.
"Don't ignore this one, Aria. You'll thank me — or maybe, you'll hate me — when you meet him."
That was all it said. No signature, no clue. Just that single line — as if whoever wrote it knew her, knew what was coming.
She laughed nervously and shook her head. "Yeah, right. Nice try, future me," she muttered.
Still, she slipped the letter into her journal, the one she never let anyone read.
But that night, as she tried to sleep, her thoughts wouldn't quiet down. When you meet him.
Who was "him"?
Her sister's boyfriend? A new classmate? Some random stranger?
The next morning, she convinced herself it didn't matter. It was just a weird coincidence, a prank she'd someday laugh about.
Until third period.
That was when he walked into her classroom — Levi Hale.
The new transfer student.
Her sister's boyfriend's brother.
Everyone turned to stare, whispering about how good-looking he was — tall, calm, eyes the color of midnight. Aria didn't join them. She just frowned, her lips curling automatically into that face she didn't even realize she was making — her infamous disgusted look.
Levi noticed. He raised one brow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.
"Nice to meet you too," he said quietly as he passed her desk.
Aria blinked, caught off guard by the sound of his voice — smooth, steady, the kind of tone that could irritate her instantly just for existing.
And yet, as he walked away, something inside her chest buzzed. Familiar. Wrong. Fateful.
Later that day, when she pulled the letter from her journal again, the words looked different in the light.
Almost as if the ink had darkened — or maybe it was just her realization that destiny had a terrible sense of humor.
Because whether she liked it or not, the day destiny knocked… Levi Hale answered.