The wind moaned against the windowpane, rattling the old frames of Nina's third-story apartment. She sat curled on her sofa, wrapped in a chunky knit blanket, a steaming mug of chamomile tea in her hands. Another Friday night alone. Another Friday night she pretended not to notice.
Just as she sank deeper into the cushions, a soft tap echoed through the quiet.
She froze.
Another tap — softer, almost shy. It came from the front door.
Setting the mug down, she padded toward it, heart thumping strangely.
Through the peephole, nothing.
Only the hallway lamp flickering overhead like a dying star.
Cautiously, she cracked open the door — and there it was.
A single envelope. Thick. Cream-colored. Her name — Nina — written in looping, old-fashioned cursive.
She looked left, right. Empty.
With trembling fingers, she opened it.
Inside: a letter. Handwritten. No signature. No clue.
> "When you smile, the world hushes to listen. I've loved you from afar — but someday, I'll be brave enough to say it aloud. Until then, trust your heart."
Nina clutched the letter to her chest, her skin prickling.
Somehow... it felt more thrilling than terrifying.
Somehow... it felt right.
---
Over the next few weeks, the letters came like clockwork.
Tucked under her windshield wiper. Slipped through her mail slot. Even hidden inside a book she picked up at the local café.
Each message was tender, almost sacred in its careful words.
The admirer saw her — really saw her — in a way no one else had.
Ethan noticed too.
Her best friend since college, Ethan watched from the sidelines as Nina bloomed with each secret note. He hated how the mystery man was pulling smiles from her — smiles Ethan had spent years trying to earn.
One evening at their favorite bar, Ethan finally asked, "You sure this guy's good for you?"
Nina laughed, tipsy from a margarita. "You sound jealous."
"Maybe I am," Ethan muttered under his breath, too soft for her to hear.
---
It wasn't all sweet letters, though.
Strange things started happening.
Once, she found her bedroom window open — she could've sworn she locked it.
Another night, footsteps creaked outside her door at 2 a.m., but when she called out, nobody answered.
The police brushed it off as pranks or paranoia. But Nina's instincts screamed otherwise.
And somewhere deep inside her, a terrifying thought bloomed:
What if the admirer wasn't the one she thought he was?
---
The breaking point came on a rain-soaked Wednesday.
Nina stumbled home, drenched and shivering.
Pinned to her door was another envelope — but this one was different.
The handwriting was frantic. Jagged.
> "You belong with me. Not him. I see you with him. I won't let you go."
Her stomach twisted.
Behind her, footsteps splashed in the puddles.
Fast. Closing in.
"Nina!" a voice shouted.
She whirled around — and found herself face to face with Ethan, soaked to the bone.
"You're following me?!" she gasped, stepping back.
He shook his head desperately. "No! Listen — it's not what you think. I'm not the one sending those creepy notes. But I am your admirer. I'm the one who sent you the first letters. The real ones."
She stared at him, breathless.
"You...?"
"I've been in love with you for years," Ethan said hoarsely. "But I was scared. So I wrote. I didn't think someone else would—"
A figure darted from the alley across the street.
Ethan shoved Nina behind him. "Get inside!" he barked.
They slammed the door just as someone pounded against it, hard.
---
Barricaded inside, they called the police.
Hours later, after flashing lights and endless questioning, the truth came out.
The second set of letters — the scary ones — were from a coworker of Nina's she barely remembered.
Someone who noticed her talking about her "secret admirer" and got... possessive.
When the police took him away, Nina finally crumpled into Ethan's arms.
"You saved me," she whispered.
He shook his head. "I should've told you everything sooner."
"You did," she said softly, looking up at him. "Tonight."
The walls between them cracked, shattered — and in their place grew something fierce and beautiful.
Ethan leaned down, brushing his lips over hers, trembling with the years of words he never spoke.
---
Weeks passed.
Nina moved into a new apartment — one with better locks, brighter windows, and Ethan.
They spent lazy Sundays reading. Tuesdays cooking disastrous meals. Friday nights kissing under fairy lights strung across the balcony.
And every morning, she woke up with a real letter on her pillow — handwritten by Ethan, filled with promises and poetry and bad jokes only she would laugh at.
It wasn't perfect.
It was better.
It was real.
---
"In the end, love isn't about finding the perfect match — it's about discovering the courage to be vulnerable, all in the name of love."