ragile pages carried the weight of years, a bittersweet reminder of what had been and what could never be again. He turn

t so much of his life burying the past, believing that moving forward required leaving things

warm glow, he placed them on the desk beside the manuscript. The sight of the two together-the unf

den light over the fields, the bare trees swaying gently in the breeze. It was beautiful, this quiet cou

?" he whispered, his voi

vague recollections of a life filled with obligations and dis

st letter again, readi

r El

letter finds

rds. He paused, his breath

about our summer u

ughing at some shared joke. Thomas's smile had been so infectious, his laughter so full of lif

t also a deep, gnawing guilt. Thomas had reached out, time and time again, and Elias had remained silent.

his hands were trembling. Tears blurred

d. Wherever you are,

had Thomas been able to let go so gracefully, while Elia

, he allowed himself to grieve-not just for Thomas, but for the version of himself he had lost al

against the cold ache in his chest. Elias reached for a sheet of

an, the words flowing

of the summers they had shared, the letters he had failed to answer, and the regret that now filled his days. B

st felt lighter now, though the ache remained. He glanced at the manuscript, still open on h

mply the beginning of forgiveness