Chapter Six – The Letter I Shouldn’t Remember Writing

The letter was gone.

Aaralyn stared at the empty drawer where she had tucked it away last night — sealed, addressed, and written in a moment she could barely recall.

She pressed her fingers to her temples.

What is happening to me?

The scent of old paper and dust clung to her skin — she hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep at the little desk by the window. Her pen still lay beside a second page, unfinished.

"I don't know you yet," she whispered aloud, reading the one sentence she did remember writing. "But I think I already miss you."

Who was Aaden?

The name had come to her in a dream. Or maybe a memory. Or maybe something older than either. When she had woken, her hand was already moving across the page, as if possessed by something quiet and ancient and aching.

She had mailed the letter the same morning.

No return address. No second thought.

And now — the drawer was empty.

"I'm losing it," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

But she wasn't, not really. That was the scariest part.

Aaralyn wrapped her cardigan tighter around her. The air in the apartment had a strange chill today, despite the sunshine outside.

She padded barefoot to the kitchen and poured a mug of coffee, gripping the warmth like a lifeline.

Then the whisper came again.

Not a sound.

Not a voice.

But a pull — like gravity shifting.

She walked to the mirror, slowly. Her reflection stared back, slightly blurred at the edges, as if the glass was older than the building itself.

Then—

A flicker.

Not her face.

Not fully.

For half a second, she saw a girl who looked like her… but wasn't her. Long hair tangled with leaves. A mark on her collarbone. Eyes the color of mourning.

Aaralyn stumbled back, breath caught in her throat.

The image was gone.

But her skin burned where the mark had been.

She didn't tell anyone.

She couldn't.

Instead, she returned to the bookstore that evening, needing the comfort of stories and silence. The bell above the door chimed softly, and the warm glow of fairy lights wrapped around her like a hug.

And there he was.

Aaden.

His back was to her, shelving a book. But she knew. Every cell in her body reacted.

She froze.

Why does he feel like a promise I forgot to keep?