Letters from Afar

The days after Russell left for camp passed slowly for Aria. The mornings felt too quiet, the evenings stretched out longer than she liked, and she often found herself glancing at her phone or checking the mailbox, though she'd never admit to herself exactly why. 

She kept busy with her writing and university work, but there was a lingering sense of something missing—something she couldn't quite place.

Then, one humid afternoon, a small envelope arrived in the mail. It was plain and unassuming, but when she flipped it over, she recognized Russell's distinctive handwriting on the back. 

Her heart gave a little flutter of surprise, and she stared at the envelope for a moment before carefully opening it. Inside was a letter written on plain white paper, the words slightly smudged as if he'd been in a hurry while writing it.

Hey Aria,

Camp is... interesting. Different from what I expected. The training is tough, but it's a good kind of challenge, you know? I think you'd like it here, by the lake with all the trees around. You'd probably find some inspiration for your next chapter or something.

I miss our late-night talks. I know, that sounds kind of cheesy, but it's true. It's weird not having you around to give me a hard time about eating too many snacks or to just talk about random things.

Hope you're not working yourself too hard. Don't forget to take a break every now and then.

—Russell

Aria read the letter twice, then a third time, a small smile playing on her lips despite the tightness in her chest. She hadn't realized just how much she missed his presence until she saw his words in front of her, the familiar way he teased her even from miles away. 

She folded the letter neatly and placed it in the small drawer of her desk, where she kept a few other mementos—old ticket stubs, postcards, and now, this letter from Russell.

A week later, another letter arrived, this time a little longer, with small sketches in the margins—doodles of basketballs and trees, and even a quick drawing of the lake he'd mentioned in the first letter.

Hey Aria,

Today was tough—hard drills and my coach seems to think we're made of steel or something. But I'm getting better, I think. There's a guy here who's just as obsessed with basketball as I am, so I've got a pretty good rival. It's nice, though. Makes me push myself more.

There's this little diner near the camp that reminds me of the one we went to that one time, with the best fries ever. The coffee's not as good, though. I thought about ordering hot chocolate, but I figured it wouldn't be the same without you there to make fun of me for drinking it instead of coffee.

I hope your writing's going well. Have you made any progress on that chapter you told me about?

—Russ

Aria couldn't help but laugh softly at the hot chocolate comment, the memory of their diner trips bubbling up in her mind. She hadn't realized how much those little moments meant to her until she found herself without them. 

She replied to his letter with a short note of her own, updating him on her progress with her novel and teasing him about his rival at camp, telling him he'd better not let anyone show him up.

And so, the letters became a regular exchange between them, a connection that bridged the distance. With each one, Aria found herself looking forward to the small, intimate glimpses into Russell's life at camp. 

He wrote about his new friends, the challenges he faced during training, the peacefulness of the lake at sunset, and even little jokes about how he almost missed her nagging reminders about eating more vegetables.

One night, after a particularly long day, Aria sat at her desk with his latest letter in hand. It was longer than the others, the handwriting a little messier than usual, but it had a warmth that made her chest tighten.

Aria,

Today was one of those days where everything just felt... off, you know? I couldn't focus during practice, and I kept messing up my shots. I think I'm just tired, but it's more than that. I keep thinking about things—about home, about you. 

It's weird, how much I miss our talks and just... being around you. I don't really know how to say this, but I feel like I left something behind when I came here. Like there's a part of me that's still back in that town with you.

Sorry, I know that's probably too heavy. Maybe it's just the camp getting to my head, or maybe it's because I can't sleep with all the guys snoring in this cabin. Anyway, I hope you're doing okay. Write me back soon.

—Russ

Aria read the letter three times, her heart racing a little faster with each read. There was something in his words, something she couldn't quite ignore—something deeper than just friendship, lurking beneath the surface. 

She tried to tell herself that he was just tired, that he was lonely being away from home, but a part of her couldn't help wondering if he was trying to tell her something more.

She set the letter down, staring at it for a long moment before finally pulling out her own paper to respond. Her mind whirled with thoughts of what she could say—if she should even acknowledge the feelings she thought she saw in his words. 

But in the end, she kept her response light, thanking him for being so open and reminding him that he was stronger than he realized.

Days turned into weeks, and each new letter that arrived from Russell brought with it a mix of emotions for Aria. She savored every word, tucked each letter away in her desk, but she couldn't ignore the growing ache in her chest, full of longing and uncertainty. 

She realized that she missed him more than she'd thought possible, missed the way he would show up at her door unannounced, missed his easy smile and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.

One evening, as she sat in her room rereading his latest letter, Aria found herself wondering what it would be like to see him again, to talk face-to-face instead of through the careful distance of ink and paper. 

She realized that she had grown to depend on those letters, on the steady presence of his thoughts in her life.

Yet there was a fear, too—an unspoken worry that when he came back, things might be different between them, that the distance might have changed them in ways they couldn't undo. 

She thought about all the times she had avoided addressing her own feelings, the way she'd pushed down the stirrings of something deeper because she was afraid of what it might mean.

As she wrote her next letter, she hesitated before signing her name, her pen hovering over the paper. She wanted to say something, to hint at the questions that had begun to form in her mind, but the words didn't come. 

Instead, she folded the letter neatly, sealed it in an envelope, and added it to the growing stack she'd sent to him over the past weeks.

But even as she dropped it into the mailbox, a quiet voice in the back of her mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop hiding from the truth. 

She couldn't deny the way her heart seemed to leap at the sight of his handwriting, the way she'd caught herself smiling at the little jokes he made, the way she felt a warmth settle in her chest when she thought of his return.

And so, as she walked back to her house, the summer evening stretching out around her in a golden haze, Aria found herself holding on to a small, fragile hope—that perhaps, when Russell came back, they might finally be able to say the things that had remained unspoken for so long.

Yet, until then, she would wait, with his letters as her only comfort, hoping that they were enough to keep them connected until the moment they could meet again.