The Unread Letters For John (Revised Version)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Love is Too Hard to Believe When You’ve Never Felt It

I used to run away from love—not because I was afraid of it, but because I simply had no time for it.

I was twelve, not even a teenager yet. What did the world expect me to do?

At that age, I was too young, too immature, and too early to understand something as complicated as “love.”

“Is love even romantic—like the ones we read about in books?” I once asked a friend who was hopelessly in love with someone who couldn’t even spare her a glance.

“Love is magical. It comes when you least expect it,” she answered, eyes dreamy and heart full.

But I didn’t listen to her. We were just kids—high school students who were supposed to be focusing on our studies, living in the present, enjoying our youth… not wasting time chasing something as reckless as love. I believed that love was temporary, fleeting, and, worst of all, capable of breaking you beyond repair.

Still, deep inside, I often wondered—what does it really feel like to love someone?

Sure, I had crushes. There was this one boy I found attractive, but that didn’t mean I was in love with him. I didn’t fantasize about him being mine or us going on silly high school dates. Seeing him was just part of my routine—a normal part of my day. But my friends? They made it a big deal.

They teased me endlessly, convinced I was head over heels for him. It was annoying, honestly. Borderline disgusting.

I watched my friend cry so many times. Over a boy who didn’t love her back. A boy who hurt her, who made her question her worth every single day. And that—that right there—was my greatest fear. To offer someone my worth, only to have them throw it away like it meant nothing.

All I’ve ever seen in love was the pain. It wasn’t because I was bitter. It was just the truth.

Love, in my eyes, was the sharp edge of a knife. It could cut deep, and no one—not even the person you love—could protect you from it.

In the end, you’d be the one holding the pieces of your shattered heart, wondering why you ever trusted someone in the first place. I never wanted that. Not for myself.

Love is chaotic. Love is terrifying.

I said what I said. Love doesn’t heal—it wounds. It doesn’t lift—it brings you down. Why would I walk straight into something that could break me? I’d rather be alone than willingly play a game where losing means losing yourself.

But fate, as always, loves to play its tricks.

It was an ordinary morning, and I was already late for my first subject. I sprinted toward my classroom, desperate to beat the bell. Out of desperation, I took a shortcut—a path I usually avoided. It led past the classroom of the boy my friends used to tease me about, and I never wanted to give them more reasons to talk. But that day, I had no choice. I'm already late in my first class...

That’s when I saw him.

He walked past me with eyes as dark as midnight, glancing at me with a gaze I couldn’t forget.

My heart skipped—no, raced—in a way it never had before. I didn’t know him. I had never seen him before. And yet, something about that moment made me feel nervous. Unsettled. Alive.

I tried not to look at him again. I didn’t want to seem like some obsessed girl with a silly crush. But the more I saw him, the more curious I became. I wanted to know who he was. What he liked. What made him laugh.

And slowly, I began to understand what it really feels like to like someone who doesn’t even know you exist. The unrequited love..

That's where my story started...

To the man who doesn’t even know me,

I don’t even know who you are, but I’ve always wanted to.

I often wonder why I felt so genuinely happy the first time our paths crossed, even though I didn’t know your name, your voice, or your story. I’m not sure what it was about that moment—but something about it lingered. Still lingers.

I don’t want to scare you, so I’ll remain a stranger—and so will you. I’ve already accepted the quiet truth that we can’t belong to each other. We live in two different worlds: yours, where there are countless women—more beautiful, more graceful, more brilliant than I could ever be. And mine, where I simply watch you from afar, quietly carrying this silent affection.

I keep hoping my feelings will fade with time, but I can’t lie to myself anymore. I already like you.

You don’t need to reciprocate. We don’t even share any memories. We’re strangers with no history—just a passing moment. But despite that, I’m truly glad I met you.

Even if it was only once.

Sincerely,
Someone who once looked at you with quiet hope

-kzraem