Chapter 4 – Lightning and Letters

The porch became their place.

Almost every evening, Maya found herself sitting on the creaky swing, legs curled beneath her, watching the sky shift from blue to gold while Liam leaned against the railing beside her. Sometimes they talked about big things—his dad, her fear of failure, the weight of expectations. Other times, they just listened to the crickets and shared a comfortable silence that said more than words ever could.

It was slow, whatever they were doing. Tentative. Like two people relearning how to exist in each other's world again.

One night, after a light summer rain, Maya brought out a worn shoebox filled with old letters.

Liam raised an eyebrow. "Secret admirer stash?"

She snorted. "Hardly. These are ours."

He blinked. "Ours?"

She pulled one out and handed it to him.

Liam, scrawled in uneven handwriting: If I die of boredom in science class today, please tell my mom I loved her and also hide my comic books under the bed. Sincerely, your favorite neighbor.

Liam laughed, low and warm. "I remember this."

"You wrote it during Mrs. Swanson's lecture on soil erosion. You tried to pass it to me and dropped it under Jamie Warner's desk."

"He gave it back with a drawing of a dead worm on it. I thought I was going to get detention."

They sifted through the letters, reading aloud the ridiculous ones—inside jokes, plans to escape town, dreams about road trips and music festivals. But then the tone changed.

Maya pulled out one she'd never meant to read again.

She hesitated before unfolding it.

"Liam, this is the last one I'll write," she said softly, voice tight. "I don't know where you went. Or why. But I hope you're okay. I just wish you had said goodbye. I'm not mad. I'm just… tired of waiting."

She looked up.

Liam was staring at the letter, his face unreadable.

"I wrote it a few months after you left," she said. "I kept writing at first. Like you'd come back and ask me what I'd been up to. Like we could just pick up where we left off."

His voice was rough when he spoke. "I should've written back. I should've done a lot of things."

Maya folded the letter and tucked it back in the box. "You didn't owe me anything, Liam. I just didn't know how to let go."

He looked at her then, really looked.

"I did owe you," he said. "I owed you honesty. And I didn't even give you that."

She didn't answer. She wasn't ready to say it didn't matter, because it still kind of did.

Instead, she changed the subject.

"Remember the summer we tried to make a lemonade stand?"

He grinned. "And accidentally poisoned the whole neighborhood with that weird stevia powder?"

"I still think Mrs. Bishop exaggerated. No one actually threw up."

"Pretty sure the Johnson twins still flinch when they see a lemon."

They laughed, and the tension eased again.

Lightning flickered in the distance, soft and silent. The air smelled like ozone and damp pavement.

"I'm going to take the box back in before it rains again," she said, rising.

Liam followed her to the door.

As she turned to say goodnight, he touched her wrist gently. "Maya."

She looked up.

"I'm not going anywhere this time."

The words were simple. But they wrapped around her like a promise.

And for the first time in four years, she believed him.