The rain taps against the window like fingers trying to get my attention. I freeze when I see you—standing under the broken streetlamp across the street, soaked, holding an envelope. My handwriting. The letter I wrote after our last fight. The one I never mailed. \n\nYou look up, and our eyes lock through the glass. You don’t smile. You don’t move. Just raise the letter slightly, as if it explains everything. My chest tightens. Every instinct says to close the blinds, to pretend I didn’t see you. But my feet carry me to the door before I can stop them. \n\nWhen I step outside, you whisper, ‘I’ve spent three years wondering if this would reach you.’ \n\nThe weight of those words hangs between us. I can ask why now. I can turn away. Or I can take the letter and finally hear what you’ve come to say.