The rain finally began. Not heavy. Not a storm. Just that quiet Seattle rain that always seems to be waiting for an excuse to fall. Emily stood beneath the edge of the building, the letter still inside her bag. It felt heavier now. Strange how a single sheet of paper could weigh so much.
"Don't." Just one sentence. It hadn't said who. It hadn't said why. It had only warned her.
She told herself to think logically. Maybe it was a joke. Maybe a mistake. Maybe one of her coworkers. But the handwriting... The handwriting looked like hers. Not exactly like how she wrote now. More like how she used to write years ago—before life became rushed. Back when she still believed love was simple.
That night, Emily couldn't sleep. She pulled an old journal from the bottom drawer of her dresser. It was one she had written in years ago—before life turned into deadlines, bills, and quiet evenings. She flipped through the pages. And then—her heart paused. On one of the pages, a sentence was written: "If I had another chance, I wouldn't make this choice."
The handwriting was the same. Exactly the same. But she didn't remember ever writing that. She didn't remember feeling that way. She didn't remember confessing something like that. Her hand trembled slightly. Could it be…? No. Time doesn't travel. People don't send letters to the past. This was just anxiety. Just imagination.
But another question formed in her mind. If this letter came from the future… Then who was "him"? And why shouldn't she marry him?
The next day, when she went to the office, Daniel was there again. This time, it was to talk about edits for the first chapter of his book. Emily tried to stay natural. Professional. Logical. But every time Daniel smiled, the sentence echoed in her mind. "Don't marry him." She hadn't even had coffee with him yet. And still, she felt something strange. Not fear. Not full attraction. But familiarity. Like seeing someone you once knew, but couldn't remember from where.
In the middle of their conversation, Daniel suddenly said: "Emily, can I ask you something personal?"
She paused. "Go ahead."
"Have you ever felt like you've met someone before—even when you're sure you haven't?"
Her heart beat harder. "Why are you asking?"
Daniel gave a faint smile. "Because I feel that way about you."
A brief silence settled between them. Emily slipped her hand into her bag, her fingers touching the folded paper. Maybe the letter was about this feeling. Maybe it was about a mistake that hadn't happened yet. And maybe—the worst part was that a part of her didn't want to believe the warning.
That night, when she opened the letter again, she noticed something new. Beneath the original sentence, faint and almost faded, another word had appeared. A name.
"Daniel."
Emily's breath caught. The letter was older than today. But the name… had just been added.