Chapter 5 The One Who Stayed Behind

"I watched you grow up from a window two houses down. I never knew how to say hello. So instead, I wrote you goodnight."

The look in Kai's eyes was sharp - not with anger, but with a kind of quiet dread. The kind that builds when you've learned something you wish you hadn't.

Aria opened the window wider, her pulse fluttering like wings inside her chest.

"Kai," she whispered, "just say it."

He glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. "I think it's someone close."

"How close?"

"Same street. Same world."

Her stomach turned.

"Who?" she asked again.

Kai hesitated, and when he finally answered, the name landed like a soft knock against her ribs.

"Elian Thomley."

Aria blinked.

"Elian?" she repeated. "But... he moved away years ago."

Kai nodded. "He came back last month. Quietly. He's living with his uncle two houses down."

She staggered back from the window. "That doesn't make sense. I haven't seen him. Not once."

"He hasn't seen you either," Kai said. "Not really. But he's been watching."

Aria sank onto her bed, the letter still open in her hand. "Someone you once forgot..."

She had forgotten Elian.

They were childhood friends. He used to build paper boats with her in the rain. He used to sit with her behind the school, whispering stories that never ended.

Then one day - he was gone.

No goodbye.

No reason.

She never even asked why. She had just folded his absence into her life like dust under the rug.

Now, years later... letters?

"What does he want?" she whispered.

Kai shrugged. "You."

Her eyes lifted. "Why are you helping me?"

He didn't answer right away. His expression softened, the way it only ever did when no one else was looking.

"Because," he said, "I don't want you to read a hundred letters from someone else and still feel unseen."

Aria stared at him, startled.

"You think he's dangerous?" she asked.

"I think he's confused," Kai said. "He doesn't know how to be real with you. So he writes. Hides. Maybe that's harmless. Or maybe it's not."

The night wind swept through the trees.

Kai looked at her like he had more to say - something deeper - but he turned away.

"I'll walk the block one more time," he said. "Just to be sure."

Then he disappeared into the darkness.

The next day, Aria found a new letter.

This one was different.

Not on the windowsill.

But inside her journal.

Tucked between pages she hadn't touched in days.

Her hands shook as she unfolded it.

"I used to think the world was quiet because you stopped talking to me. But I realize now... I stopped listening."

"The day I left, I wanted to say goodbye. But my father's car was already running. I kept the paper boat we made. It's still in my drawer."

"I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I let silence become your memory of me."

"I just wanted to be close to you again. Even if it meant being invisible."

Aria pressed the letter to her chest.

She remembered the boat.

The way Elian's hands had folded the paper. The way he'd whispered, "If this floats all the way to the lake, we'll stay friends forever."

It never made it to the lake.

But maybe Elian did.

That afternoon, she left the shop early and walked to the edge of the forest trail - the place she and Elian used to go during summer storms.

She didn't expect him to be there.

But he was.

Sitting under the willow tree, legs crossed, a small notebook in his lap.

He looked older. His hair was longer. His eyes were a little sadder. But the curve of his smile... that was the same.

He saw her and stood quickly.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said.

She stared at him, unsure what to feel.

"I got your letters," she said.

He nodded.

"They weren't fair," he added. "I should've come to your door. I just... didn't know if you'd still care."

She looked away. "I didn't know I still did. Until I did."

Silence passed between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy with history.

"I don't expect you to forgive me," he said. "Or to feel anything. I just wanted you to know I never stopped remembering you."

Aria sat down on the bench, heart pounding.

"I don't know what I feel," she admitted. "But I know I want to figure it out."

Elian's eyes lit up - the kind of light that comes from hope, not certainty.

He offered her the notebook.

She opened it slowly.

Inside were all the letters.

Every single one.

Copied by hand.

Except at the very end, there was a new one.

Not a poem. Not a riddle.

Just four words, written in simple ink:

"This time, I'll stay."