The house was too quiet.
Jin sat in the same chair where Lia used to rest, staring at the empty space where she should have been. The air was heavy, the warmth of her presence now a distant memory. Time had lost its meaning. Days blurred together, indistinguishable from one another. The world moved on, but he remained frozen in place.
Her belongings were untouched. The scent of her perfume still lingered in the sheets. The dresses she loved still hung in the closet, waiting for a moment that would never come. The coffee cup she had last used remained on the table, as if she might come back to drink from it.
Jin refused to leave the house. Every corner held a piece of her, a whisper of laughter, a fragment of a conversation. He barely spoke. He barely ate. He spent nights on the couch, holding the last blanket she had used, hoping to feel even a trace of her warmth. But it was fading. Everything was fading.
One night, he found himself in front of the mirror. His reflection was unrecognizable—hollow eyes, a face drained of life. He reached out and touched the glass, as if searching for the man he used to be. "What am I supposed to do now…?" he whispered, but the mirror had no answer.
The city outside his window was alive, full of people laughing, living, loving—oblivious to the fact that his world had crumbled. He wondered how they could move on so easily while he remained stuck in this endless, suffocating grief.
Then, one evening, as the sun cast its dying light through the window, he noticed something on the desk. A small envelope, aged and delicate, as if waiting for the right moment to be found.
Jin's hands trembled as he picked it up. His breath caught in his throat. The handwriting was unmistakable—Lia's.
Jin sat in the dimly lit room, the envelope trembling in his hands. His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat a painful reminder that Lia was gone.
He traced his fingers over her handwriting—soft, elegant, full of life. A cruel contrast to the silence that now filled his world.
For a moment, he hesitated. If he opened it, it would be real. The finality of it all would crash down on him, crushing what little strength he had left.
But he needed to hear her voice. Even if it was only through ink and paper.
Slowly, he tore the envelope open, unfolding the letter inside. The scent of her perfume still lingered on the pages.
Then, he read.
"My love, if you're reading this… it means I'm gone. I'm sorry. I wanted to stay. More than anything, I wanted to stay. But some wishes never come true, no matter how much we pray."
Jin's vision blurred. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to continue.
"I know you, Jin. You're going to blame yourself. You're going to sink into darkness, shutting the world out, thinking that if only you had been stronger, if only you had done more, I would still be here. But please, my love… don't do that. Don't let my death take you away from life."
His hands clenched around the paper. His whole body trembled.
"Remember the nights we spent under the stars? You told me once that you wanted to take me to every corner of the world. You wanted to show me the beauty of life, of adventure, of love. Don't stop, Jin. Even if I can't be there, I want you to keep going. I want you to live."
Jin let out a shaky breath, his throat tightening.
"And when you miss me… close your eyes. I'll be there. In the wind that brushes against your cheek, in the songs we used to sing, in the dreams we never finished. I'll always be there, Jin."
Tears slipped down his face. He wiped them away, but they kept coming.
"I love you. I always will. But don't let my absence destroy you. Let it remind you of the love we shared. Let it push you forward. Live, Jin. For me. For us."
The last words on the page broke him completely.
"And when your time comes, when the years have passed, and the pain has faded into a quiet ache… I'll be waiting. Just beyond the horizon. Until then, my love."
Jin let the letter fall from his fingers. His whole body shook as he gasped for air, his sobs breaking through the silence.
He clutched the paper to his chest, curling into himself, as if trying to hold onto the last piece of her.
She was gone. But her words remained.
And for the first time since she left, Jin didn't feel completely alone.