July 5, 2025 – Morning
Some letters don't feel like answers. They feel like echoes. Like someone wrote down the version of your thoughts you were too afraid to say out loud. That's what Tara's reply felt like.
It arrived just past 9:00 AM, while the world outside was slowly waking up — but Reyansh had been awake for hours, mind buzzing. He hadn't expected a reply this soon. He definitely hadn't expected it to feel this natural. But there it was. Simple. Soft. And real.
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✉️ Letter 4 — From Tara
Sent: July 5, 2025 – 9:12 AM
Hey Reyansh 🤍
Your letter honestly made me smile. The bookstore-café dream? That's something I've always wanted too. You painted it so well — I could literally see it. Rain against the glass, books everywhere, maybe a cat curled in the corner?
Also… that line you wrote:
> "I just want peace. Not the silence kind, but the kind where your thoughts stop fighting each other."
I felt that. Deeply. It's rare when someone says something and you feel seen in it. Thank you for that.
And haha — yes, teach me gaming sometime! I'm completely clueless — like I once tried a racing game and kept crashing into the same wall 17 times 😂
But music? That's where I live. Arijit? Always. Sunidhi? For those loud, dramatic moods where you pretend you're in a music video. And when I'm sad, I listen to those songs that hurt — but in a healing way. You know?
Also, you said you're a good listener… And I think you're right. Because even your writing listens. That's rare. Really rare. You feel like someone I could write to without overthinking every sentence.
And maybe… that's what I've needed. I don't know where this letter-friendship is going, but I'm looking forward to it. It's new. But doesn't feel strange. It feels a little like… coming home to someone I haven't met yet.
Until next time,
— Tara 🌻
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Narrator Voice (continued)
Reyansh didn't realize he was holding his breath until he finished reading. That last line? > "Coming home to someone I haven't met yet." He re-read it three times.
There was a softness to her that didn't feel put-on. It wasn't small talk. It wasn't fake-deep. It was real — like she was letting him sit beside her thoughts, not just peek at them.
And that kind of openness? It's a gift. He didn't have the words yet. But something about this exchange had started to make sense in a way most things in life didn't. She didn't feel like a stranger anymore. She felt… familiar. Like a déjà vu of the heart.