The Letter

She stepped inside her little apartment and kicked off her heels, nearly tripping over when she saw the distinctive red and blue tabs of an aeropostale envelope by her feet. He had been here. Who else would go through all the trouble of pushing an envelope under her front door? It always surprised her, how he managed to find his way up to the seventh floor of a private apartment building. No doubt he had his ways of charming unsuspecting residents into letting him use the elevator.

He was the sort of guy who’d do something like that. The sort of guy who’d deliver a letter himself, instead of mailing it like a normal person. And yes, she thought, as she tenderly picked up the envelope, the sort of guy who’d even bother to put on a stamp, just for the style of the thing.

This wasn’t the first time she’d received a letter from him. But it always came as such a surprise. She held out the envelope out at arm’s length, smiling broadly as she regarded it. Yes, even after all this time, it was still as lovely and as special as ever.

He knew her rather too well. He knew exactly what would capture her attention and tickle her fancy.

With a burst of laughter, she waltzed through her apartment, twirling the envelope around like it was the most light footed of dancing partners. She came to a breathless halt by her kitchen counter, giddy with delight. She could feel all the stress and tension just washing away. It hadn’t been the best of days in the office, and she was not looking forward to going in tomorrow. There was so much that needed sorting out, so much to worry about, so much that had gone wrong and just didn’t want to work again, and that was before all the nastiness flying around…

But none of that mattered anymore.

A letter from him had arrived!

She gently placed the envelope atop the pile of bills, ads, and junk mail slowly accumulating on her kitchen counter. The red and blue tabs beckoned to her, standing out like a beacon of hope and joy amidst the crushing weight of the world and all it wanted from her. It was so tempting, to just tear into it with her bare hands right there and then. She needed this.

But no. She must resist. This was a happiness to save for later. Something like this was made to be savoured. She had to set the mood. Take all the necessary steps to prepare her heart. Make sure that everything was perfect. Things like this, they had to be done right. He had gone through all the effort. She had to respect that, and hold up her end of it.

She tore herself away from the kitchen counter. There was so much to be done. First she would have to get out of her work clothes, and into something more appropriate. Then a shower to scrub away every last trace of her nine to five self, followed by a hearty dinner to fortify herself for what was to come. Everything needed to be done with care. No sloppiness. Not for what she had in mind. These things took effort.

So, she put in the effort, going through each little task with anticipation bubbling away in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t tired anymore. Who could be? Not with something so lovely to look forward to.

And now, she was ready.

She lounged luxuriantly in her favourite spot on the couch, outfitted in an elegant blue cocktail dress with matching heels to adorn her feet. A glass of wine sat within easy reach. An entire playlist of mellow lo-fi beats was set to waft from her speakers.

The aeropostale envelope lay resting on the glass coffee table before her, those distinctive red and blue tabs beckoning.

A vintage letter opener lay next to it. A curious thing, so out of place in her otherwise simple and modern apartment. It had been a present from him, back in the early days. She’d thought it silly, then. She’d laughed outright when she’d seen what it was. What, was she going to use it to cut open her internet bills? But then, the first aeropostale envelope had appeared, and suddenly, an old fashioned letter opener made perfect sense. On nights like this, it made perfect sense. It was doing things right that mattered. There was a certain style to it, which had to be followed. He appreciated that, and she appreciated that he did.

Well. This was it.

She reached out for the letter opener and inserted the blade beneath the flap of the envelope, cutting very slowly and being very careful not to tear it. After all, the aeropostale envelope itself was such a beautiful… thing. Definitely worth holding on to. Gently, reverently, tenderly, she slid out the letter nestled within, and unfolded it.

Just like the envelope, the letter was such a lovely thing. Handwritten, in cursive, with purple ink no less, on a very rustic cream paper. And three, no… four pages. That must’ve taken him ages. Who did that these days? It was more than enough just to hold it in her hands, basking in the warm glow radiating from every word.

She ran her eyes over the first few lines. Everything was there. Most definitely done right, with all the style required and then some. She smoothed out the creases in the paper, and laid the pages and the envelope back on the coffee table.

A slow smile crept across her lips.

There wasn’t any need to read further. She hardly ever read his letters anymore. She used to, back in the early days, every single word, over and over and over again. But… once you’ve read one love letter, you’ve read them all. What was the line again? All happiness was alike?

Honestly, his letters had become so generic that if it wasn’t for the fact that they were addressed to her, she’d have had no idea who they were supposed to be about. Certainly, the details weren’t any help. She fondly recalled a withering conversation they’d had not too long ago, when she’d had to not so gently remind him that her eyes were at best a light hazel, and not ‘the cyan of distant skies’ as he so poetically insisted.

But, what did that matter? It was enough that he had written. Enough that someone had gone through the time and effort and expense to give physical form to their love for her. She could easily imagine him, sitting there at his desk with that silly fountain pen of his, scribbling away. Cursing and weeping and dreaming and enjoying the act of loving.

And she could easily imagine him imagining her as he wrote, sitting here, the very picture of poise and sophistication, doing everything the way it should be done, smiling sultrily from ear to ear and enjoying the fact of being loved.

She was fairly certain that he knew she didn’t read his letters. Most likely, he didn’t care either way. It had never come up, in so many words, in any of the conversations they’d had together. But she knew him, and what he wanted. What he needed more than anything else was some way to give shape to his love. It just made things easier that she was there, the ideal focus for his affections, his goddess made real in mortal flesh.

Really… it could’ve been anyone. But it wasn’t anyone. It was her.

And that was fine. Wasn’t it?

He needed someone to love, and she would provide. Maybe it was all a bit silly, but, there they were. He got to play the hopeless romantic, and she… well…

Maybe it was all just a game, but… they were happy playing it. And they were going to play it well. He played it very well indeed. She absolutely adored him for it.

She took slow sips of her wine, enjoying the love radiating from the letter sitting in in front of her. This was how it should be.

Her glass was empty now. She set it down on the table. Carefully, she gathered up the pages of the letter and refolded them, before sliding everything back inside the aeropostale envelope. It would soon take its place among a steadily growing bundle of letters, tied together with red ribbon and tucked away at the very bottom of her lingerie drawer. A concentrated little parcel of love.

That was something for later. But a very nice something.

More pressingly, she would have to think of how to respond to him. That was always the hard part. Obviously, she couldn’t just write him a letter in reply. She didn’t have it in her. And besides, it wasn’t the done thing. That wasn’t how the game was played. He’d be absolutely mortified, being on the receiving end of something like that. It would ruin the entire game, and then where would they be?

She couldn’t do that to him. Not after all the effort he’d put in. And she couldn’t do that to herself, either. No, she would have to come up with something more appropriate. Something to tease him, to pull him along, to keep him at just the right distance to entice him. Something that would let him know his goddess was pleased, but wouldn’t be showering him with favours just yet. Even if she really, really wanted to.

A real conundrum, this.

No matter. The next move was hers. And like him, she would play it well. She would come up with something.

She stood from the couch, the dress rustling as it swirled around her. She smoothed out the creases that had formed. It was getting late. Time, it seemed, to be calling it a night. Everything else was something for tomorrow’s her to work out.

For now, today’s her could dream happy dreams, and wake up ready to take on the world, safe in the easy confidence of knowing that she was loved.