Letters to Aiah

Chapter 2: Cogito?

It was dusk on a Wednesday, a peculiar time when the sun set on one side and the moon prepared to rise on the other. The world had started to wind down from the mid-week rush. As evening cast her dusky gown, the air became fresh and restful. In that welcome amber glow, the streets came alive with the red glow of tail lights and city lamps. Aiah arrived home after doing her research for her final project in literature. Her eyes hurt from the number of books she had read. All she needed to do was condense everything and put the story that came to mind on paper.

The night grew deeper, the wind blew quietly and the unseen stars twinkle through her window. Aiah sat hunched over her cluttered desk, the soft glow of the laptop screen casting a pool of light on her textbooks and notes. The rest of the room was covered in shadow, emphasizing the small island of focus she had created for herself. Her fingers hovered over the keys, but her mind was miles away. She had spent countless hours immersed in her research, delving into the lives and loves of Shakespeare's most famous characters. But it wasn't just the play that had captured her imagination—it was something more. Something she had stumbled upon by chance.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed her thoughts. She sighed, rubbing her temples. The pressure of her dual life weighed heavily on her, but she tried to push it aside for the moment.

"Okay, let's do this," she muttered with her laptop open to a blank document, the cursor blinking expectantly.Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she typed her thoughts. She sighed, rubbing her temples. The pressure of her dual life weighed heavily on her, but she tried to push it aside for the moment.

She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. She glanced at the stack of notes and books scattered across her desk, the pages filled with annotations and highlights. Among them was a small, dog-eared article she had found tucked away in a dusty corner of the library. "Juliet's enduring legend draws millions of visitors to Verona every year. But that's only part of the story. Since the 1930s, Juliet has received an untold number of letters from writers all over the world." The article read. She paused, letting the words sink in. The idea seemed almost surreal, but the more she thought about it, the more it captivated her.

Aiah leaned back in her chair, her eyes drifting to the window. The city lights of BGC sparkled in the night, far from the romantic, ancient streets of Verona. "Most of the letters talk of love, of love found and lost, sought and remembered. They may be written by teenagers experiencing a first crush or struggling with parental censure. They may be from adults celebrating a hard-won love or wrestling with commitment." She thought to herself.

She could almost see the letters in her mind's eye: ornate stationery, loose-leaf pages, and scraps of paper, each one a testament to the human heart's capacity for love and longing. "They come by the truckload, in almost every imaginable language—composed on ornate stationery, scrawled on loose-leaf, or scribbled on whatever scraps were handy. Frequently addressed simply, 'Juliet, Verona,' all of these letters reach their destination and, amazingly enough, all of them receive an answer."

The thought of someone, somewhere, taking the time to read and respond to each letter was both heartwarming and inspiring. "Maybe," Aiah mused, "maybe there's something there. Maybe I can use this as the base for my story."

She sat up straighter, feeling a spark of excitement like a sudden jolt of electricity. "What if I wrote about a modern-day Juliet, someone who receives these letters and finds herself drawn into the lives of the people who write them? It could be a story about love, yes, but also about understanding, about bridging the gaps between people and their experiences."

Her fingers began to move sharper, the words flowing more easily now. "The protagonist could be someone like me, struggling with her own challenges and finding solace in the stories of others. She could start answering the letters, offering advice and support, and in doing so, she might find the strength to face her own struggles." she thought.