Chapter 4 Letters In Between

Chapter 3: Letters in Between

The following morning rain poured softly.Claire opened the windows of her studio which was full of mist ,to allow fresh air into the room.It had become a place of confession-where brushes spoke truths she didn't yet have the courage to say aloud.

A new note appeared tucked beneath her teacup that morning, written in familiar handwriting:

"If you found the sketchbook, then you know. I never stopped drawing you because I never stopped loving you. -E"

Claire didn't cry, but her chest ached with the weight of a thousand unspoken memories.

---

A Hidden Box

After hours had passed that day, she organized the back room of the studio. There was a small box made of wood sealed with blue ribbon ,she found it.This kind of box her grandmother used to store old letters. Inside were decade of envelopes, old and fragile, all addressed in Eli's handwriting. Letters she had never received.

One dated nearly five years ago read:

"The day I was leaving ,I watched you from the ferry , expecting you to run after me,but you were never brothered. I thought you moved on. I thought I had to let go."

Another, from just a year ago:

"I came back for a day and saw you laughing with someone at the bakery. I couldn't breathe. I thought I'd lost my place in your world."

Her hands shaked as she read each one of the letters.It seems like her past had been waiting for this moment .

She stayed up that night, curled on the window seat with the box open in her lap, reading and rereading the letters until the candle beside her melted into a pool of wax. Every word etched itself deeper into her heart.

---

Letters of Her Own

Inspired by his confessions, Claire began to write letters of her own. Late into the night, she sat by the fireplace, her pen whispering across thick paper. She didn't know if she would ever send them. Maybe they were only meant for her.

"I waited for you, too. Every summer I looked for your face in the crowd. I told myself I was over you, but I never truly let go."

"Your absence filled the studio like silence. Even the colors stopped speaking to me."

"I hated you for leaving. And I hated myself for not stopping you."

She kept them in a tin box under her bed, each sealed with care. It was the only way she knew how to speak to him now-through ink and the trembling of her hand.

---

The Town Whispers

Word of Claire's return and the mysterious anonymous artist began to ripple across Evermere like wind through the old oak trees. The small town, with its lace-curtained windows and porch-side conversations, didn't need much to start talking.

At Mabel's Café, the morning regulars had turned speculation into a sport. Mabel would raise an eyebrow every time someone leaned in and whispered, "Did you see the new painting in the gallery window?" or "Wasn't that Claire helping Sophie rearrange the exhibit again?"

"She's not just visiting," whispered Edith Talbot to her sister-in-law, barely touching her tea. "You can tell she's here to stay. People only repaint a studio if they're nesting."

Others weren't so kind. Old flames remembered jealousy, friends remembered fights. Some said Claire had run away from Evermere when things got too complicated. Now they wondered why she'd returned-whether for redemption, or to reopen wounds best left untouched.

At the florist's, ivy-green eyes narrowed as whispers tangled like vines around Eli's name. "You remember him, don't you?" a woman said to the young girl sweeping the floor. "The quiet boy with all those paintings. The one who left without a word."

"He was always painting her," the girl replied, "like he was trying to remember her forever."

Back at the library, Mrs. Dalton had taken a gentler view. She called Claire in for tea one afternoon, her voice warm and careful.

"This town can be loud in the quietest ways," she said as she poured chamomile into floral china. "But don't mistake noise for truth. You came back for something. Or someone. And perhaps that's exactly what this town needs-a bit of unfinished business to remind us that stories don't always end when we expect."

Claire sat in silence, the weight of Evermere's watching eyes pressing against her shoulders. Yet even in the scrutiny, there was a strange sort of hope.

Somewhere beneath the gossip and second glances, she felt it: people wanted to believe in love again.

Even if they didn't say it aloud.

---

The Invitation

A week later, a formal envelope arrived at the gallery, sealed with the wax insignia of Evermere's Arts Council-a swan nested in an open book. Sophie found it first and handed it to Claire with a knowing look.

Inside was a heavy cream card with elegant lettering:

You are cordially invited to the Private Opening of "Letters of the Heart" - a collection of intimate works inspired by the quiet truths we dare not speak. Join us Friday evening at the Evermere Lighthouse Gallery. Formal Attire. Confidential Guestlist.

At the bottom, in smaller script:

Featuring new works by: E.

Claire read it three times. Her hands trembled slightly.

"Are you going?" Sophie asked gently.

"I can't understand why am feeling like everything have been waiting for my return ,the every things I have been running away from."Claire murmured.

Sophie sat beside her. "Maybe it's not about avoiding anymore. Maybe it's about choosing to be seen."

That night, she lights a candle sat staring at the invitation placed on the desk in front of her until the candle was low.Her heart pounded with questions-What if he was there? What if he wasn't? What if seeing him undid everything she'd begun to rebuild?

She fell dizzy and slept on the armchair holding the envelope on her chest.

With clarity ,the next morning she woke up.Went to her wardrobe and picked a navy blue dress her grandmother had given her,silky with small embroidery,she placed it on the door.

"I'll go," she whispered aloud.

Then she walked to her desk and began to write the letter she would hand him-not leave in a box, not hide behind a painting.

No more letters in between.

Just the truth.

Face to face.