By the second month of the new term, Devon had settled into his rhythm at Leeds Academy.
His timetable was packed back-to-back PE sessions, fitness assessments, and mentoring a few of the sixth form lads who were aiming for scholarships. He'd swapped the laid-back student life for early mornings, packed lunches, and lesson plans.
But the strangest part wasn't the workload.
It was the letters.
It started small. A single white envelope slipped under his office door one Monday morning, no name on the front, only the words For Sir Devon scrawled in looping handwriting.
Inside was a short note.
"You were our favourite. We hope you're smashing it. The school isn't the same without you."
No signature. No clue. Just warmth.
Devon had chuckled, placing it on the corner of his desk, assuming it was a one-off. But by Friday, two more had arrived. By the following week, there were five.
Some came with small gifts chocolate bars, doodles of him in his whistle and tracksuit, a mug that read "Best Teacher Ever" with the handle cracked.
The letters were different, though. Some were heartfelt; others were teasing.
"You were too fit to be a teacher, sir."
"If you ever come back, bring that smile with you."
"Bet you don't miss chasing us round the gym, do you?"
Devon would shake his head, grin, and tuck them away in a drawer he never locked. He wasn't vain not really but there was something endearing about the thought that he'd made that kind of impression.
What he didn't know was that the letters weren't all from the same place.
Some came from students at his old college. Some from the academy where he'd volunteered before university. Word had just… spread.
And then came one that stopped him for a moment.
"You changed how we saw ourselves, sir. You made it okay to fail and try again. Thank you for that."
He read that one twice, then set it down carefully on his desk. That one felt different deeper, almost like someone had seen through all his old layers.
He didn't recognise the handwriting, but for some reason, he thought of Kylie.
A few towns away, at the old campus, life had moved on though not without its echoes.
Kylie was in the art studio, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a sketchpad balanced on her knees. Iver was beside her, working through his presentation notes for his media project. The two of them had grown into a quiet, easy rhythm friendship threaded with something unspoken, tender but steady.
"You seen the school group chat?" Iver asked, glancing up with a grin.
Kylie didn't look up from her sketch. "If it's about the cafeteria menu again, I'm ignoring it."
"Nah," he laughed. "It's about Devon."
That got her attention. She raised her head slowly. "What about him?"
"He's basically a celebrity now. Apparently he's getting fan mail at his new job."
Kylie blinked. "Fan mail?"
"Yeah." Iver scrolled through his phone, smirking. "Someone posted a picture of a mug that said 'To the fittest teacher alive'."
Kylie snorted, covering her mouth. "Oh my days, that's ridiculous."
"Bet he's loving it though."
She shook her head, laughing softly. "You don't know him. He'll act all embarrassed, but he'll keep every single one of those letters in a neat little pile."
Iver leaned back, amused. "Sounds like you do know him, still."
"Used to," she said, more quietly this time. "Not anymore."
The pause hung there for a moment not heavy, but honest.
"You think he's happy?" Iver asked eventually.
Kylie nodded. "I think he's at peace. That's more than I can say for most people."
Back at Leeds, Devon was anything but peaceful that afternoon.
He'd just finished a grueling session with the year elevens a lot of shouting, laughter, and near-misses with flying footballs when one of the admin staff stopped him in the corridor.
"Mr. Jones? More post for you."
She handed him a stack of colourful envelopes tied with a bit of red string.
He laughed. "You're joking. What's this, Valentine's Day come early?"
"Wouldn't surprise me," she said, smiling knowingly. "You've become quite popular around here."
Devon rolled his eyes, thanked her, and carried the pile back to his office.
He sat there for a while, opening each letter carefully.
"You made PE bearable. That's saying a lot."
"Miss your energy in the mornings, sir."
"You were more than a teacher you were sound."
He grinned at that one. Sound. It reminded him of the way his old mates used to talk back in college.
But one envelope stood out. Plain brown, no doodles, no fancy pen. Just his name "Devon" written neatly.
He opened it and found only a single line inside.
"Thank you for everything you taught us even when it wasn't part of the lesson."
He sat still for a moment. It wasn't signed, but he recognised the handwriting instantly. He'd seen it on dozens of notes, lab reports, and that one letter she'd left on the dorm corkboard when she'd moved out.
Kylie.
He exhaled slowly, smiling despite himself.
It wasn't a declaration. It wasn't an apology.
It was closure quiet, gentle closure.
He folded the paper neatly and tucked it inside the pocket of his planner.
The next weekend, he drove down to visit his old mates from the academy Elijah, Malik, and a few others. They'd planned a barbecue near the park, the first in ages.
"You've gone proper teacher mode now, eh?" Malik teased, passing him a drink. "Look at you, with your polo shirt and whistle on the dash."
"Shut up," Devon laughed. "Man's just trying to look responsible."
Elijah nudged him. "Heard you've got a whole fan club now."
Devon groaned. "Bruv, don't start."
"Nah, we're serious. The group chat's full of pictures of girls writing you letters and all that."
"They're just students," Devon said quickly. "It's just a bit of fun."
Elijah grinned. "Yeah, sure. You've got more admirers than half the team ever did."
They all laughed, but behind the teasing, Devon could feel something else — the realisation that for the first time in years, he wasn't defined by his mistakes or his relationships.
He was simply… himself.
And that felt good.
Back at the old campus, the art studio had turned into chaos. End-of-term stress had everyone on edge, but somehow, Kylie and Iver were calm amid it all.
He was editing a short documentary about the student protests from last year the one that had nearly cost them their reputations.
"I still can't believe we survived that," Iver said, shaking his head.
Kylie smiled. "We didn't just survive it. We changed something."
"True."
He looked at her across the desk. "You've changed too, you know."
"How so?"
"You smile more now. Like, properly smile."
She blushed faintly. "That's because you're around, idiot."
He laughed. "Oi, I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is."
For a while, they sat in companionable silence the kind that comes only from knowing you've both walked through storms and come out the other side.
Iver's phone buzzed. He picked it up, scanned the screen, and chuckled. "Another post about Devon. Someone just wrote a thread saying he's the 'fit mentor of Leeds.'"
Kylie rolled her eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Poor guy. He's never going to live that down."
"Reckon he deserves a bit of good attention for once."
"Yeah," she said softly. "He really does."
A few days later, Devon was sitting in his car in the staff car park, the last rays of evening light spilling across the bonnet. He'd had one of those long days the kind that started with early training and ended with chasing year sevens who thought fire drills were a game.
He leaned back, sighed, and reached for his bag. Inside, the drawer's worth of letters was now tucked neatly into a folder marked Term Memories.
He wasn't planning to keep them forever. But for now, they reminded him of something he hadn't realised he'd needed proof that he'd mattered, even after leaving.
He pulled out one note the brown envelope. Read it again.
"Thank you for everything you taught us even when it wasn't part of the lesson."
Devon smiled. "You're welcome, Ky," he murmured.
Meanwhile, back in the art room, Kylie sealed her sketchbook and glanced at the clock. It was late, and the room was empty except for Iver tidying up the equipment.
"Heading out?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just finishing up."
He nodded. "Want me to walk you?"
She hesitated, then smiled. "Sure."
They stepped into the cool evening air, their footsteps echoing softly across the courtyard.
"Funny, innit," Iver said. "Feels like everyone's finally finding their peace."
"Maybe that's what growing up is," she said. "Making peace with what didn't work out."
He looked at her, the faint glow of the lamppost catching her profile. "You still think about him?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. "But not the way I used to."
"How then?"
"Like a chapter I've finished reading one that still matters, but doesn't define the rest of the story."
Iver smiled faintly. "That's deep, that."
Kylie laughed. "Shut up."
As they reached the dorm steps, she looked up at the sky dusky blue, fading into stars.
"Do you think he's happy?" she asked quietly.
Iver nodded. "I think you both are, in your own ways."
She exhaled, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Good."
Back in Leeds, Devon switched off his office light and glanced one last time at the letters on his desk.
He didn't reply to any of them. He didn't need to.
Some things didn't need answers.
They just needed to be remembered.
He slipped the brown envelope into his bag, locked the door, and stepped out into the cool night.
For the first time in a long time, he felt ready for whatever came next.
He never wrote back. But the silence between them was enough not heavy, not empty just full of everything they'd both outgrown.
And somewhere between old memories and new beginnings, they both found peace in the letters he never answered.