It was nearly midnight when Aurélie found herself in Elio's study back in Paris. He had gone out to meet someone from the foundation, and she had wandered through the apartment, half-looking for something, half-letting her thoughts run wild.
The room was quiet. Warm. It smelled faintly of cedarwood and books.
She had never really explored this space—Elio had always kept it private, though not secretive. Stacks of journals were neatly lined up on the shelves, and folders marked with the names of various nonprofit projects sat beside them. She smiled.
Then her eyes fell on a box under the desk. It wasn't locked. Just taped shut, and labeled in blocky handwriting:
"DO NOT OPEN UNLESS YOU'RE READY TO REMEMBER."
Aurélie hesitated.
But something in her chest stirred. Not curiosity. Not suspicion. Just... care. A desire to understand him. Fully.
With careful hands, she peeled the tape back and lifted the lid.
Inside were dozens of envelopes—some crumpled, some clean. All addressed the same way:
To: Aurélie Moreau.
From: E. C.
Her heart stuttered.
They were all dated from months ago. Some even from before their marriage.
Hands trembling, she pulled out one at random and unfolded it.
---
> Dear Aurélie,
I know I'm not brave enough to say this to your face. Maybe I never will be. But I need to say it somewhere.
I used to think love was a weakness. That needing someone meant losing control. But then you showed up with your stubborn idealism and your messy kindness and your ridiculous coffee rituals... and I hated how much I needed it.
I hated how much I needed you.
I think I started falling the day you laughed at me for trying to cook pasta without boiling water.
And I haven't stopped since.
But I can't ruin this. We have a contract. A plan. If I say the wrong thing, if I cross that line... I'll lose you.
So I keep quiet. I act normal. And I write letters I'll never send.
---
Aurélie's vision blurred. She put the letter down carefully. Then picked up another. And another.
Each one was a snapshot of Elio's thoughts—raw, vulnerable, unpolished. Pages filled with doubts, confessions, and quiet longing.
> "You wore that green dress again today. I swear it's the same one from that gala night. You didn't see me staring, but I couldn't look away."
"I dreamt you left. Woke up in a panic. Couldn't breathe for five minutes."
"I wanted to ask you to stay tonight. Not because of the contract. Because I feel safest when you're near."
It was like discovering an entirely different man beneath the surface—the one who had been hiding in plain sight.
Aurélie wiped her eyes and whispered, "You idiot."
The door clicked.
She spun around.
Elio stood at the entrance, frozen. His gaze moved from her face to the letters spread across the floor. His jaw tightened.
Elio: "You weren't supposed to see those."
Aurélie: "Why?"
Elio: "Because they were never finished. Never good enough. Never safe."
She stood slowly, holding one of the letters in her hand.
Aurélie: "You wrote all of this... and never told me?"
Elio stepped into the room, a deep breath hitching in his chest.
Elio: "I didn't think I had the right. We had a deal. We agreed it was temporary."
Aurélie: "But your heart didn't treat it like a deal."
He laughed bitterly, eyes glinting.
Elio: "No. It betrayed me. Just like it always does."
Aurélie took a step closer.
Aurélie: "Do you regret it?"
Elio: "Falling for you?"
His voice cracked.
Elio: "Never. Not for a second."
A long silence.
Then he added quietly,
Elio: "But I regret hiding it. I regret not saying it out loud. Every. Single. Day."
---
She didn't need a grand gesture. Not now. The letters said more than flowers or rings ever could.
Aurélie reached for his hand.
Aurélie: "You don't have to write letters anymore, Elio. I'm right here."
He looked at her, really looked at her—like he had finally allowed himself to believe she was real, and not some beautiful illusion he'd one day lose.
And then he did something he hadn't done since the day they signed the contract.
He whispered, "I love you."
Three simple words. And yet, they shattered every wall between them.
Aurélie smiled through her tears.
Aurélie: "I love you, too."
---
That night, they sat on the floor of his study, reading the letters together. Laughing. Crying. Teasing.
He let her read even the ones he thought were "too embarrassing."
She read them all with reverence, like they were poetry.
Elio: "I can't believe you're still here after reading the one where I described your 'angelic sneeze.'"
Aurélie: "It was angelic. And you compared it to a baby harp seal. I'm keeping that one."
Elio: "God, take me now."
---
Later, when they moved to the bedroom, it wasn't rushed or heated. It was soft. Careful. Deep.
Like they had been making love with words all along, and only now their bodies were catching up.
They lay tangled in each other's arms, the city quiet around them.
Aurélie traced a finger along Elio's chest.
Aurélie: "So... what happens next?"
Elio: "We write new letters. Together. Every day. But this time, I'll actually give them to you."
Aurélie: "And no more contracts?"
Elio: "Only promises."
He kissed her hair.
Elio: "And one of those promises... is that I'll never stop choosing you. Even when it's hard. Even when you wear that terrifying face mask to bed."
She giggled.
Aurélie: "It's called skincare, Elio. Google it."
---
In another room, the box of letters remained open. The ink on the pages still fresh, still breathing.
But the silence in the apartment had changed.
No longer heavy with unspoken words.
Now, it hummed with a truth finally shared.