The Letter Arrives
It showed up in a stack of lab results.
Tucked between a manila folder labeled "Cardio Research Week 6" and a memo from the residency coordinator. The envelope was plain. No name. No return address. The handwriting on the front was familiar—curved, sharp in places, like the person writing wasn't sure how much pressure to apply.
Ezra stared at it for a moment, lips parted in confusion. He checked the back. Still nothing.
But he knew.
Even before he unfolded the paper, before his fingers touched the delicate creases—he knew who it was from.
Talia.
His hands trembled slightly as he opened it.
Ezra,
I wasn't planning to send this. I wrote it late one night after watching an old video of us dancing in your kitchen. I spilled coffee on it. You might see the stain near the top—it kind of looks like a lopsided heart. Fitting, right?
I don't know why I've been so afraid to say what I feel when I've never had trouble speaking my mind. But loving you never came with the usual rules. It scared me in ways I didn't understand. Still does.
You made space for me when I didn't even know I needed it.
And when you left, I realized something I'd tried so hard not to admit:
I don't feel whole when you're not near me. And not in a tragic, romantic movie kind of way. Just in the quiet ways. The subtle ones. Like how coffee tastes flatter. Or how no one corrects my flashcard mistakes. Or how five minutes now feels like a whole hour of missing you.
I don't want to live a life where I have to pretend five minutes is enough.
I want the whole thing.
I want you.
-Talia
Ezra folded the letter slowly, holding it against his chest like it was something sacred.
Outside, the sounds of New York City pressed in—the constant rush, the honking, the chatter—but none of it mattered. Not right now.
Right now, he was holding her.
Her words. Her vulnerability. Her heart.
He'd never been the reckless type.
But something shifted inside him.
And for the first time in his life, he knew exactly what he wanted more than a perfect score, a flawless record, or a prestigious internship.
He wanted to go home.
Ezra booked a flight for Friday.
Two days from now.
When the research director asked him why, he simply said, "There's something more important than data right now."
No one questioned him. They'd seen the letter in his hand when he came out of the mailroom—how tightly he clutched it, like it was his lifeline.
And maybe it was.
Talia, meanwhile, hadn't heard from him in two days.
She hadn't even been sure the letter arrived. She imagined it lost in a shuffle of documents or carelessly tossed aside in a pile of lab reports.
She tried not to hope.
Hope was dangerous.
Hope made her ache.
But on Friday afternoon, while she sat under a tree near the library rereading her pharmacology notes for the fourth time, her phone buzzed with a message.
"Turn around."
She froze.
Her pulse kicked up.
Slowly, she turned her head—and there he was.
Ezra. Backpack over one shoulder. Hair a mess. Exhausted. Hands in his pockets. Looking like he hadn't slept in 36 hours and like he'd run across the entire city just to be here.
Her notebook dropped to the ground.
"Ezra?" she whispered.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just walked toward her, closed the space like it had never existed.
When he reached her, he pulled her into his arms.
Hard. Fast. Like he was scared she'd vanish.
"You came back," she murmured into his chest.
"I never really left," he said softly. "Not from you."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes wide. "What about the internship?"
"It'll wait. You won't."
"But—"
"No buts. I read your letter. I read it about seventeen times. And every time, the answer was the same."
He leaned in, pressed his forehead to hers.
"I want you too. Not in pieces. Not in minutes. All of you."
Talia's breath caught.
Then she kissed him.
Not tentative. Not unsure.
It was the kind of kiss that rewrote every unanswered letter, erased every lonely night, and promised something permanent.
And this time, they both believed it.