We survived through weekend drives to each other and letters.
We believed love would be enough.
But then, just like that, she disappeared.
There was no argument, no goodbye — just silence. One week, she was writing me long, inky letters, and the next, nothing.
I sent more. I wrote again anyway. This one was different.
In it, I told her I loved her, that I could wait. That none of it changed how I felt.
That was the last letter I ever sent. I even called her parents’ house, nervously asking if they’d pass along my letter.
Her father was polite but distant.
He promised he’d make sure she got it. I believed him.
Weeks passed. Then months.
