Once I finished Last Call and Silent Repairs, my attention turned to the final genre for the year, a Romance. Without a clear story in mind, I turned to ChatGPT for a starting point, which offered a simple idea about an unsent letter resurfacing years later. Sometimes an idea that’s too broad can be just as challenging as one weighed down by detail. One leaves you nowhere to begin, the other nowhere to move. That was where I sat for a couple of days, until stepping back from the prompt allowed the heart of the story to emerge and wrap around me like a comforting blanket.
Some stories arrive loudly, demanding attention from the first line. Others wait patiently, tucked out of sight for years. They only ask for attention when you slow down long enough to notice them. Letters Unsent is one such story. It’s a soft, intimate piece about memory, proximity, and the things we carry with us long after we think we’ve moved on.
This is a romance built on restraint rather than grand gestures. It lives in everyday spaces, familiar routines, and the unspoken weight of a shared history. There are no dramatic confessions or sweeping declarations here, just the steady pull of connection, the warmth of familiarity, and the question of what happens when the past gently taps you on the shoulder instead of knocking down the door.
If you enjoy character-driven stories, quiet emotional tension, and romances that trust implication over spectacle, this one is for you. Letters Unsent, in it’s entirety, is available exclusively for patrons, along with my growing back catalog of short fiction. For as little as $2 a month, you’ll gain access to stories like this, and the moments that linger long after the final line.
As Emily dusted the bookshelf, she removed each book from the shelf to reach every corner. When she reached the last paperback with a spine cracked from use, it fell open, revealing an envelope tarnished with age. She withdrew it before snapping the book shut and returning it to its place. A slight chuckle tumbled from her lips as she laid her duster down between the books.
She lifted the flap of the unsealed envelope before flipping it over. She couldn’t find a single address or a stamp on it. The only thing gracing the front was a name crossed out and rewritten several times.
Evan
Her gaze flicked from the discovered letter toward her kitchen. “I’d forgotten about writing this, or that I even kept you.”
Emily removed the paper from the envelope before laying it on the other books.
“Let’s see what my thoughts were when we met.” Clutching the message to her chest, Emily sucked her lower lip as she slipped into her armchair. Her eyes flicked between the kitchen and the words as she unfolded it and read the old handwritten note.
.
.
.
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