Letters to a Special Someone.

My Dearest,

I know that you might not know who I am, but you should know how much you mean to me. I was too scared to confess my feelings to you when I saw you last, but that’s alright because I can just do it here, in the safety of my own room. In the warmth of my own bed. 

I just want you to know that I admire you and everything you stand for. 

And that I love you.

The girl sighed as she finished her letter. Her letter for the kindest most caring boy in her school. She had fallen head over heels for him the first time she’d seen him. The day he’d taken a punch for a kid he didn't even know. 

Of course, the girl, Asra, knew that she would never send the letter. Her finding the guts to do something like that would only happen when finding needles in haystacks became effortless child’s play. But just pouring out her heart on paper was enough for now. 

“Oh if only he knew.” she breathed. “If only.”

---

My Dearest,

You are my inspiration

And my happiness.

If you were to disappear from this world, nothing would ever be light again. It would only be dark. 

Dark and worthless

I love you, my special someone.

The words came straight out of her heart and onto the paper. She only wished she could work up enough courage to give it to him. Even though it was anonymous, she still couldn't fathom him reading it. It was too personal, too heartfelt. Even if it was meant for him.

As she started to put the letter in the usual hiding spot, she realized that her collection of letters was growing too big for the place she kept them in her drawer. She made a resolve to find a new hiding place for them as soon as possible. 

As soon as she found a suitable place to keep all her secrets.

---

My Dearest,

This rope, this fear, that keeps me from you is too much for even I. 

Yes, I know it’s my fear.

A fear that I could face, but yet cannot.

I’m sorry, my love, I'm dreadfully sorry that we just can not be so.

That I cannot profess my feelings to you.

And tell you once and for all, 

“I love you my dearest.”

Here, in the attic. It was the perfect place for her letters. Nobody ever came up here but her and there were many different places for her to hide the papers. (including countless drawers and cabinets.)

One dresser, in particular, caught her eye as she gazed at the dusty furniture. It was a turquoise blue, painted with small decorative hearts. The drawer in the top looked like it had plenty of room to hide letters in. And there was another thing, an old couch was placed right in front of the thing with a lamp right beside it. 

It was the perfect place for her writing.

She ran back to her room to grab the stack of ink-filled papers.

---

My Dearest,

I saw you today at school.

I saw you talking to your new friend.

The boy you saved the first day I met you. The first day I noticed you.

You were so kind as to be his companion when he had none.

So very kind. 

I only hope that someday I will know that kindness personally.

That someday you will notice me.

The drawer she thought would be a special place for her letters was apparently already occupied.

With other letters.

This spiked Asra’s curiosity since the only other person living in this house was her mother. (she’d never known who her father was)

Could these be hers?

After enough time contemplating whether these belonged to her mother or not, curiosity won and she slowly extracted the letter on top, unfolded it, and began to read. 

My love,

Knowing you as the type of person you are, it is evident that our meeting would never happen and that you will most likely never notice me.

But, that won’t stop me from loving you.

Nothing could ever stop me from loving you.

I just have to figure out if you even love me.

---

Asra just couldn't stop reading. Could it be that her own mother loved another? If she had written these, had it been recently? 

With each letter she read, a new part of her mother she had never known of was revealed. She began to connect to her mother in ways that she would have never thought possible. 

In some of the letters, the woman with the pen admitted to talking to him, “finally!” and they became great friends. However, she didn't believe the man loved her back as much as she did him. It brought her great sorrow.

And made Asra feel sadness for her. 

“Oh, mom…” she whispered under her breath. “Oh, you poor, poor soul.”

It was like reading a book. The story just kept going, one letter after the next. From what Asra could tell, it turned out that the man in the letters didn't love the woman. He had recently started a relationship with the woman's best friend. Yet, the woman still loved him with all her heart.

Asra cried as she read the sad words scribbled on these single sheets of paper. All the feelings the woman felt as she watched her best friend in love with this man and him with her poured out on these small papers in the drawer.

Asra could tell how miserable this made the woman.

Her mother. 

“Asra are you up here?” 

A voice interrupted Asra’s thoughts.

“Asra?” It was her mother.

“Mom?”

As her mother came into view, Asra thought of all the letters of her mother’s that she had read. All of the feelings that her mother has had to keep hidden from the word. The emotions that she had nobody to share with but paper.

“Mom!”

Asra ran up to her mother and embraced her. Her mother gasped, confused, and pushed her daughter back.

“Are you alright honey?”

Asra started to say yes but realized that she could not. She decided that wasn't okay.

Just like her mother. She needed somebody to share her bottled up thoughts and feelings with somebody going through the same thing. 

“No,” Asra said plainly, trying to keep herself from sobbing. 

It didn't work. 

One look at her mother's soft, kind eyes, and she just couldn't hold the tears back.

Her mother glanced around the room for the reason behind her daughters crying, and when she saw the letters scrawled across the attic she gasped.

“Oh, Asra… you read my letters,” she said softly.

Asra sniffed and walked over to the couch by the dresser. She grabbed her stack of letters and handed them to her mom. 

“And I want you to read mine,” she said.