It had been four days since she dropped Letter 37 at the front desk.
Four days since she stood in the middle of the lobby, waiting... foolishly hoping that maybe-just maybe-he might step out. A passing glance. A nod. A word. Anything.
But instead, all she got was silence.
Silence that bloomed and echoed, slowly creeping into the cracks of her heart like thick ivy. And yet, she wasn't ready to give up.
So on the fifth day, Aimee returned.
She wore the same blue blouse she had on the day she first met him. Maybe it was superstition, maybe it was desperation-but she needed something to anchor her courage. Something to convince herself that the man who had once reached into the storm and rescued her hadn't completely disappeared into the clouds.
The same receptionist greeted her again, expression unreadable.
"I'd like to see Mr. Carter," Aimee said, trying not to sound too eager.
The woman gave her a practiced smile. "I'm sorry, miss. He's currently in back-to-back meetings today. Would you like to leave another note?"
"No," she whispered. "No, thank you."
She left without making a scene, but she didn't cry until she reached the other side of the street.
On the sixth day, she sat in a café two blocks away, watching the tall grey tower from the window. The office building felt cold from this distance, like a fortress wrapped in glass and secrets.
Aimee traced the rim of her coffee cup with trembling fingers. Her laptop sat open in front of her, but she hadn't typed a word.
He hadn't responded to her last letter.
Or any of them.
She reread some of her previous messages to him —warm, funny, filled with gratitude and sometimes shy vulnerability.
Had she overwhelmed him? Had her letters become too much?
Did he see her as a burden?
The thought made her stomach twist.
She waited until late evening this time, then approached the desk again, politely asking if he might have any openings.
Again, the receptionist told her he was unavailable.
"He's out of town today," she added, though Aimee could feel the lie dangling in her tone.
Still, she nodded. "Okay. Thanks."
She didn't argue. Didn't beg.
Instead, she left a letter— Letter 38.
It was shorter than the rest.
"I don't know why I keep trying. Maybe because I've never been this grateful before. Maybe because I don't know what else to do. I wish I could show you the way you changed my life, but I fear you don't want to see it. If I'm wrong, tell me.
If I'm not... I'll try to understand."
-A.
She tucked it gently into the clerk's hand. The woman hesitated before taking it.
On the seventh day, Aimee didn't go.
She stayed home, curling into her duvet with Netflix on autoplay and her phone pressed to her chest like it might vibrate with some sort of miracle.
But nothing came.
Not a text. Not a call. Not an email.
Her friend Macy, checked on her, concerned by the long silences and constant staring. "You're drifting again," she said quietly. "Come back to us."
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RomanceTwo strangers. One impossible moment. A love that started in silence. He saved her without knowing it. She loved him before she even knew his name. She fell but he fell harder Check it out!
