July 4, 2025 — 2:00 PM
Narrator Voice
(calm, slightly buzzing with anticipation — summer warmth in the tone)
It had only been a couple of hours since he sent the letter.
But for Reyansh, those 38 minutes… then 1 hour… then nearly two… felt like waiting for rain in the middle of a hot afternoon — the kind where the clouds tease, but never commit.
He wasn't anxious. Not really.
But every few minutes, he'd open Slowly again — scroll, refresh, then pretend he hadn't. Classic hopeful denial.
Then, sometime around 2:00 PM — a small red notification appeared in the top right corner of the screen. A new letter. From her. From Tara.
He stared at it for five seconds before opening it. Because that's what we do with things we've been waiting for — we hesitate, just for a heartbeat.
And then he tapped.
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✉️ Letter 2 – From Tara
Received: July 4, 2025 – around 2:00 PM
Hiii :)
I read your letter on Slowly — and thank you so much for your appreciation.
Just like you said, some days are slow & some are heavy... That line really stayed with me. It impressed me more than I expected. I truly believe healing isn't linear. Some days you're okay, and some days… you just pretend to be. But your words felt honest. And honestly, that's rare these days.
Also… We have so much in common! Music? Big yes. Movies? Absolutely. I love watching Bollywood — I'm a total SRK girl. I listen to Arijit Singh almost daily. And Sunidhi Chauhan? Her voice makes everything feel alive.
The only thing I don't know is gaming 😅 Maybe you can teach me someday, stranger?
And I do want to know more about you — your dreams, your strength, your flaws… even your random thoughts. Hope to hear from you soon.
— Tara
(the girl who smiled while reading your letter)
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Narrator Voice (continued)
It was short. Simple. But it didn't feel small. It felt like a doorway had been opened.
And Reyansh, who had written his heart out without knowing what would come back, found himself smiling — genuinely, the way you smile when someone surprises you in a good way.
She liked Arijit. She liked SRK. She believed healing wasn't linear. And she wanted to know more.
A reply like that wasn't just a reply.
> It was permission.
Permission to be vulnerable. Permission to write again. Permission to believe that this — whatever this became — was going to be something worth writing about.
He leaned back in his chair and thought for a long while. Not about what to say next. But about how rare this moment was.
Because not every letter changes your day. But this one did. And he knew it wasn't the end of a message chain.
> It was the beginning of a conversation. One written not in texts, but in chapters.