Letters I never sent | Englot AU

XVI

Euna

Flashback...

Euna perched on the rooftop, the city lights twinkling like scattered jewels beneath a sky painted with the brushstrokes of twilight. The wind whispered through her hair, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the faint echo of laughter. But all Euna heard was the deafening silence of Cicely's absence.

She cradled a pen in her trembling hand, its tip hovering above a sheet of blank paper. The words, like trapped birds, refused to take flight. How could she capture the storm of emotions swirling within her, the suffocating guilt, the desperate hope, the overwhelming love that threatened to consume her whole?

With trembling fingers, she began to write. each word a tear on paper, a confession dragged from the depths of her despair.

As she poured her heart onto the page, the cityscape seemed to blur. The harsh lights softened, the noise of the city fading into a gentle hum. In the flow of words, Euna found solace, a catharsis washing away the guilt and fear that had choked her.

By the time the first rays of dawn painted the sky with streaks of rose and gold, Euna was spent, but strangely lighter. The letter, a testament to her love and regret, lay open on the table, a beacon of vulnerability in the city's cold embrace.

She folded the letter carefully, tucking it into a lavender-scented envelope, the scent a silent echo of their stolen kiss on that same rooftop. A wave of longing washed over her, the memory of Cicely's touch a burning ember in her palm.

But what good was an unsent letter? She needed a messenger, a silent witness to her plea. Her gaze fell on the waiter, Marco, a young man with kind eyes and a knowing smile. He'd witnessed their stolen kisses, their whispered dreams, the unspoken poetry of their love.

Euna called him over, her voice raw but determined. "Marco," she said, placing the letter in his hand, "If she comes," Euna whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "if Cicely comes, please give her this. Tell her it's meant for the woman who owns the city's heart. She knows what that means."

The waiter nodded, his gaze softer than she expected. "I'll make sure it gets to her, Ms. Euna," he murmured, his voice a promise carried on the wind.

"Thank you."

Euna stood alone on the rooftop, the letter entrusted to the night, a fragile beacon of hope in the vastness of the city. She knew she might never see Cicely again, that their love might never be rewritten again, But was it truly dead? A tiny spark, defiant and fragile, flickered within her. Cicely's name, whispered on the wind, fanned the embers of hope. She had to try, to reach out, to beg forgiveness, to show her the depths of her love, even if it meant laying bare her soul to the world.

As dawn painted the sky with the promise of a new day, Euna knew she had done all she could. Now, her fate, and the fate of their love, lay in the hands of the only woman who could mend the shattered pieces – Cicely