The Unread Letters For John (Revised Version)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Leave Me with Some Kind of Proof It's Not a Dream

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Love is playful.
Love is patient.
Love is worth the wait.

I stayed in the shadows, hidden from his sight, not because I didn’t want to be seen—but because I wasn’t ready to be seen. I lacked the confidence to show up in front of him with a smile that felt genuine. I wasn’t sure if I could carry myself with the kind of grace that wouldn’t disappoint him.

And then came the concert.

By some twist of fate, one of my colleagues—who knew I had a quiet affection for someone in the next section—deliberately assigned me to work near him. I hadn’t expected that. To make matters worse, my phone broke that day. I had no way of tracking him, no way of avoiding him without seeming obvious. So I followed orders, not realizing destiny had something else planned.

I tried everything to hide. I even told myself that maybe, if I just kept moving, I could leave without him noticing. But as I scanned the crowd in search of him, I didn’t realize he had already found me—with a steady gaze and a straight face.

My heart dropped. Panic settled in.
Did he think I was unattractive?
Did I look too plain, too awkward?

I wanted to run. But my feet stayed frozen. There was something in his presence that made me want to stay, even in my fear. It was the most awkward moment I’d ever had around him—and yet, it was the first time I truly faced him.

Only… I wasn’t ready.

So, like a frightened bird, I ran—far enough to feel safe but close enough to feel his lingering gaze behind me.

The music played on. I stood at the edge of the venue, pretending to be a part of it all, but already preparing to leave. Not because I was embarrassed, but because I didn’t want to disappoint him with who I was in real life. So I hid. Again.

What I didn’t know then was that it would be the last time I’d see him in person for a long while. The pandemic happened. Classes were suspended. And just like that, everything was put on pause. I had hoped that by the next school year, I’d be confident enough to face him properly.

Surprisingly, the isolation brought us closer.

We started to talk more. I didn’t just learn his name—I got to know the story behind it. I discovered his thoughts, his struggles, his dreams. And it didn’t stop me from loving him; if anything, I loved him more.

That time apart gave me the courage I never thought I’d have.
I found myself eagerly waiting for the day we could finally meet again—not just because I missed him, but because I had started to believe I could be enough for him.

We shared so much. The same interests, the same humor, even similar dreams for the future. We’d talk for hours—about anything and everything. I’d send him my stories, stories that secretly hinted at him. And he’d play the piano for me, sending recordings like quiet love letters in melody.

We grieved together. We laughed together.
In that anxious, lonely season, we found solace in each other. We even created nicknames for each other.

Then came the question I’d feared—and waited for.

“Who’s the person behind your stories?” he asked. He even told me how lucky he was (the guy I pertaining tho) even though I know it was him in the first place.

“The one who inspires your poems and love scenes?”

I didn't know where to start because I am afraid of his answer. But...

He had every right to ask. We were best friends. We trusted each other. And he deserved to know the truth.

So I told him. I confessed. Every story I had written—the ones he always read—had been about him.

I didn’t expect a response. I was already prepared to be rejected. I had rejected myself long before he could. But then, he asked something that shattered my walls:

"Would you get mad at me if I said I liked you?"

That sentence burned into my memory like a flame in the dark.

The man I had loved in silence was now confessing his feelings to me—right when I felt I had nothing to offer.

We became something that lived between labels: more than friends, but not quite lovers.
It was beautiful. It was confusing. It was real.

And I was the happiest woman in the world—yet also the most conflicted. I didn’t know where or how to begin. I kept remembering my past relationship—the mistakes I made, the people I hurt. I didn’t want history to repeat itself, especially not with the man I truly loved.

Because relationships aren’t just made of laughter and romance.
They come with silence, with boredom, with pain.
And I wasn’t sure I was ready to carry all of that.

So I asked him to wait. Not forever, just until I was sure—sure that I wouldn’t hurt him, sure that I was ready to love him the way he deserved.

Until then, we created memories.
Precious, silly, quiet, unforgettable memories.
And I held on to the hope that someday, we’d meet again—this time with no shadows, no fears. Just two hearts finally brave enough to beat beside each other.

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John,

I'm sorry for being dishonest with you—for hiding my feelings all these years. I never meant to deceive you; I was just afraid. Afraid that if I confessed, it might ruin the friendship we've built. To me, friendships feel more permanent, while love sometimes doesn't.

There were times I convinced myself that I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved someone better, someone more certain. I never imagined that you felt the same way about me. When you told me, I was the happiest I had ever been.

Now, I feel ready—ready to face you in person, to look into your eyes without hiding. And if fate allows us to meet again, I hope we can create even better memories together—beyond this time of isolation, beyond the laughs and goofiness we've shared online.

I truly hope this pandemic ends soon… because more than anything, I want to be with you again.

With all my heart,

-kzraem