When Callista stepped into the classroom, there were only a few students inside. The room was still quiet—muted conversations, the soft hum of electric fans, and the distant sound of a broom dragging against the floor from the hallway.
But the moment she walked in, she felt it.
The stares. The teasing glances that quickly turned away. A few smiles that weren't really friendly, and whispers that didn't try hard to hide.
She didn't need to ask what was going on.
She already knew. Her eyes shifted toward her seat. And there it was again.
A small bouquet of fresh flowers—delicate pinks and soft whites wrapped neatly with a ribbon—resting on her desk. Beside it, a bar of Toblerone, and a slice of cheesecake sealed in a clear plastic container. Her favorite flavor.
And a folded piece of light blue paper. A letter. Callista sighed softly, her shoulders dropping. This was the third time.
The first time was last Thursday. Then again on Friday. And now—Monday morning.
She had asked her classmates about it before, trying to laugh it off or at least find out who it was from. But every time, she got the same answers: "I didn't see anything." "No one left it while I was here." "We don't know."
Whoever it was always came early. Always left quietly. And always knew the little things that made her feel seen.
She sat down slowly, placed her bag on the floor, and stared at the small, thoughtful gifts on her desk.
She didn't know what to feel.
A part of her wanted to be invisible again, to avoid the unwanted attention and the judgmental stares. But another part of her… the quieter, lonelier part… felt a flicker of something warm.
She picked up the letter and unfolded it gently.
The handwriting was neat, careful, a little slanted—like someone who wrote slowly, intentionally, as if each word mattered.
There was no name. No clue. Just a short message.
Good morning, beautiful. I wrote this letter to remind you that..Monday is not the enemy. It's a beginning, and beginnings can be beautiful if you let them. You're stronger than you think, and you don't have to fake your smile all the time—it's okay to feel tired, but don't forget this: you're meant to be here—in this world. Even on the hardest mornings. Here's a small reminder
that someone believes in you. Even if you don't know who.
Sincerely,
Your Monday Whisper
Callista read it once. Then again. And then a third time—more slowly.
A tightness formed in her throat, and she blinked hard to stop the sting in her eyes.
She didn't know who was behind it.
But for the first time in what felt like forever, someone—somehow—was choosing to see her, to send her light in the middle of all her shadows.
She carefully folded the letter again and slipped it into her notebook, then looked at the cheesecake and unwrapped it slowly. A tiny smile touched the corner of her lips.
It wasn't a full smile. But it was real.
Whoever they were… they didn't try to fix her.
They just showed up. With kindness. With silence. And that, somehow, was enough.
As she took a bite of the cheesecake—sweet and soft, exactly the way she liked—Callista exhaled quietly, like letting go of something heavy.
The first bite was always the best.
Soft. Sweet. A bit cool on the tongue, like a quiet comfort that asked nothing from her in return. For a moment, everything around her paused.
The noise of the classroom. The glances. Even the ache sitting quietly in her chest.
Callista closed her eyes, letting the flavors rest on her tongue. She told herself to just enjoy it. Whoever left this for her—a kind soul, a silent stranger, or a friend in disguise—they didn't owe her anything. And she didn't owe them her overthinking either.
Just enjoy it.
She chewed slowly, swallowed, and opened her eyes again.
But as soon as her gaze dropped back to the cheesecake, untouched except for the tiny corner she had taken, her hands stilled.
Her heart thudded a little harder.
Because for some reason… this kind of kindness, this thoughtful detail—her favorite dessert, her favorite flower, her favorite chocolate—it made her feel something she hadn't felt in a while:
Warmth.
That same warmth she didn't know she'd been missing until she tasted it again. A warmth that made the world feel a little less cruel, a little less sharp around the edges. A warmth that wasn't loud or boastful, but quiet and sure.
And that was when his name crept into her mind like a gentle breeze slipping through a cracked window.
Dos.
She shouldn't be thinking about him. Not now. Not again.
But it was impossible not to.
Because that warmth?
It reminded her of him.
Of how he had given her that handkerchief without asking anything. How he had talked to her like he already understood her, even though they had just met. How his eyes didn't look at her like she was a problem to be solved or a pity to be felt—but like she was a person. Whole. Worthy.
Seen.
And now here she was again, years later, receiving things that made her feel that same way.
And maybe—just maybe—that's what scared her the most.
Because she wasn't used to being seen.
Not in that way.
She had gotten used to walking through halls unnoticed, unless someone needed someone to whisper about. She had mastered the art of silence, of shrinking herself so she wouldn't be too much or too loud or too visible. It was safer that way.
People who noticed her always left. People who cared, or pretended to, always changed their minds.
Even Dos.
Even he didn't stay.
And yet, even now, even after all this time, a part of her still held onto the echo of the boy who made her believe—if only for a moment—that she was worth knowing.
So now, with this cheesecake in her hand, with this carefully folded note beside her tray and the quiet buzz of classmates filling the air, she couldn't help but ask herself:
What if it's him?
What if Dos came back? What if he never really left—only kept his distance, watching from afar? What if he was the one who gave her favorite dessert? What if he was the one writing those letters—knowing exactly what to say on the days she barely made it out of bed?
It was ridiculous. She knew it was. Her brain told her it didn't make sense. Dos was a memory. A fleeting one at that. He had passed through her life like a soft rain on a summer night—gentle, healing, but gone before you could tell whether it was real or just imagined.
Still…
She wanted it to be him.
And that want made her angry.
Angry at herself for hoping again. For wishing. For daring to believe that maybe, just maybe, someone out there still cared for her like he once did. She shouldn't allow herself that kind of softness. It only hurt when reality returned.
Because what if it wasn't him?
What if it was someone else entirely—a classmate playing a prank, or a pitying soul who just thought she looked sad?
Would the warmth still feel the same?
Would she still smile like this, quietly, heart quietly hoping that it was more than just kindness—it was recognition?
She looked at the handkerchief in her bag, the one Dos gave her long ago. Still folded neatly. Still untouched. She kept it not because she needed it—but because it was proof.
Proof that once, someone had seen her tears and hadn't walked away.
And now, this cheesecake, this flower, this handwritten note… it felt like another kind of proof. That someone saw her again.
Not just the version she pretended to be.
But the broken pieces she tried so hard to hide.
And that thought—simple and terrifying—brought tears to the corners of her eyes.
Not from sadness.
Not even from happiness.
But from longing.
That deep, aching longing that comes when you realize how desperately you've wanted to be loved in the quiet ways. Not grand, not loud—just seen. Just remembered.
She wiped her eyes quickly before anyone could notice and took another bite of the cake.
The sweetness lingered on her tongue. But the ache lingered longer.
She exhaled slowly and whispered to herself,
"Please... please let it be you."
But if it wasn't… If it turned out to be just a kind stranger, or someone else entirely—
She'd still be thankful.
Because whether it was Dos or not, someone had found a way to reach the part of her heart she thought no one could ever touch again.
Maybe Mondays weren't so bad after all.
Maybe, just maybe… this week would be a little softer. I hope so..