Chapter 3 The One Who Knows

"I wonder if you'd still smile at me if you knew my name. Or would the magic fall apart once I became real?"

Three letters.

Three nights.

Each one softer, sweeter, more intimate than the last. And yet - no name, no clue, no mistake.

Whoever was leaving them knew exactly where she lived. And somehow, they were placing the letters inside her locked room.

Aria stood in front of the window again that morning, her hair damp from sleep, the last note still clutched in her hand.

She had read it ten times already.

I wonder if you'd still smile at me if you knew my name...

What did that mean? Was it someone she already knew?

She sat on the edge of her bed and stared out toward the sea. Mist curled low along the rooftops. The wind whistled through the trees like someone humming in secret.

Then, something shifted.

She wasn't alone.

She spun around - just in time to see her bedroom door quietly click shut.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Someone had just been there.

Someone who didn't want her to know.

She didn't mention it at breakfast.

Her aunt was already suspicious. The night before, Mrs. Whitlock had found Aria daydreaming in the pantry, staring at nothing with flour on her nose.

"What's got your head in the clouds lately?" she had asked.

Aria had just smiled and said, "The stars are brighter these days."

This morning, her aunt narrowed her eyes as Aria stirred her tea too long.

"You're not in love, are you?" she teased.

Aria almost dropped the spoon.

"W-what? No!"

Mrs. Whitlock leaned in. "You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one I had before I ruined my life at seventeen."

Aria laughed nervously. "That's... comforting."

By the time Aria reached Bloom & Vine, she couldn't stop thinking about the door.

She was sure of it. Someone had opened it. Not a creak or groan - just the subtle shift of air and the unmistakable click of the latch. And the letter... had appeared right after.

There were three people with spare keys to the cottage: Mrs. Whitlock, the handyman, and the landlord's daughter. None of them seemed like letter-leaving romantics.

Her heart twisted.

Could it really be Rowan?

Or... was that too obvious?

She glanced at the bouquet order sheet. No deliveries for the afternoon.

She scribbled a quick note, grabbed a cluster of dried violets, and left the shop.

Windmere's public library sat at the far end of town, next to the old stone well and the bridge draped in ivy. Aria rarely went there unless she was looking for quiet corners or hidden answers.

Today, it was both.

The library was nearly empty - just one elderly man reading a newspaper and a few scattered students. But tucked away behind a maze of tall bookshelves was a wooden study table with a view of the clocktower.

And seated there, hunched over a thick leather notebook, was Kai Mercer.

Aria paused.

She hadn't spoken to Kai in months. Not since their fight last summer. He had always been intense - stubborn, sharp-tongued, and secretly brilliant. They'd grown up as neighbors, even friends. Until something shifted.

She didn't even remember what started the distance.

But now, looking at him in the sunlight filtering through the glass, a part of her whispered: What if it's him?

He always watched from a distance. He always wrote. He always knew how to slip in and out of places without being seen.

She stepped forward quietly.

Kai looked up before she even made a sound.

His expression didn't change.

"Need something?" he asked, voice low.

"I was... just surprised to see you here," she said.

"You always say that."

"I do?"

He didn't answer.

She sat down across from him.

Kai blinked, then closed his notebook.

"I'm not spying," she said quickly.

"Could've fooled me."

Aria took a breath. "Do you still write poetry?"

That surprised him. His brow lifted slightly.

"Why?"

"Just wondering."

A pause.

"I write when I can't sleep," he said. "Which is often."

She looked down at his notebook. "You still write in leather journals?"

"Always."

Her pulse quickened. One of the letters had a crease pattern that matched old leather journals.

She didn't say anything. Just sat there quietly, watching the way his hands tapped the table in a rhythmic pattern. He always did that when he was nervous.

"Is there something you want to ask me, Aria?" he said finally.

She hesitated.

Then shook her head. "No. Just... missing old friends, I guess."

He looked at her for a long time.

"You're not really here for me, are you?" he asked. "You're looking for something else."

"I don't know what I'm looking for," she whispered.

Kai leaned back, arms crossed.

"If someone's writing you letters," he said calmly, "be careful. Not all words mean well."

Her eyes widened. "How did you-"

He stood up, grabbed his journal, and looked down at her.

"I didn't say I knew," he said. "But I know you. You're always looking for magic."

Then he left.

Aria sat there, her head spinning.

She hadn't told anyone about the letters.

Not a soul.

And yet, Kai knew.

That night, she didn't sleep.

She watched the moon rise through her window, her blanket pulled around her shoulders.

No footsteps. No sound.

Until just after midnight, when a new envelope appeared on the sill - not with a knock or whisper - just sitting there, as if it had always been.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

"I saw you with him today. I tried not to mind. But I do. I wish I didn't. I don't want you to stop talking to others. I just want you to think of me when you do."

- Yours, silently

She stared at the words.

This one felt different.

No longer sweet.

Now, it felt... possessive.

And her heart couldn't tell if it should flutter, or freeze.