People often assume the quiet ones don't have stories worth telling. They pass by, barely noticing, content to leave them in peace, to let them be unseen. I had always been one of those people-one of the quiet ones. I preferred it that way, really. It meant I didn't have to explain myself, didn't have to be vulnerable, didn't have to risk the inevitable sting of disappointment that comes when you let someone close.
My life was simple, routine, and carefully crafted to avoid complications. Each morning, I'd leave my small, unremarkable apartment in 3B, sliding my keys into my pocket with a kind of practiced precision. I'd walk the six blocks to the coffee shop where I worked part-time, grabbing a coffee on my way in-black, just the way I liked it. Mornings were quiet, with a few regulars who nodded hello, a smile exchanged here and there, but no real conversations.I'd return home by early afternoon, a book tucked under my arm from my quick stop at the campus library, and spend the rest of the day nestled in the comfort of my apartment, my own small world. Sometimes I wondered if anyone even noticed me-if my absence would even register if one day I just didn't show up. But that was the beauty of being invisible: I could leave when I wanted and return when I was ready, without leaving much of an impact on the world around me.
I liked the quiet of it all. It felt safe. Solitude wasn't something I feared, it was something I welcomed. After growing up in a chaotic household where silence was rare and moments of peace even rarer, being alone felt like breathing. My parents' voices echoed faintly in my memory, always tense, always just one small mistake away from igniting another argument. And I'd grown up on the sidelines of their bitterness, learning to fade into the background, to become part of the wallpaper.
So now, at twenty, with a life all my own, I had crafted a solitude I could call home.Until that night, when I came home from work and saw it-the envelope waiting on the floor just inside my apartment door.
It was late, sometime after midnight, and the familiar hum of city lights filtered through my small window as I kicked off my shoes, dropped my bag, and reached for the envelope. At first, I thought it was a bill, but the envelope was soft ivory, worn and a bit creased, with my address written in neat, sloping letters.
"To the Girl in 3B."I almost laughed. It sounded like the title of one of the novels I loved reading so much. But it wasn't a title, nor a bill. It was something else entirely, and for a moment, I just stared at it, unsure of what to make of it. My heart beat faster.Someone in this building knew me-or thought they knew me. And for some reason, they had decided to leave this letter, waiting here as though it had been delivered for me all along.I held my breath as I opened the envelope, my fingers trembling slightly, the stillness of my apartment seeming to lean in, waiting. Inside was a single sheet of paper, the same careful handwriting filling the page.
"Dear Girl in 3B," it began. "I know this might be odd, or even intrusive. But I've watched you-no, that sounds wrong. I've noticed you, seen you around the building, and I felt drawn to write this. You seem quiet, like you carry things that are too heavy to share. I wonder if anyone has ever told you that you look like someone with stories worth telling."I read the line twice, a strange, tight feeling growing in my chest. I could almost hear the words being spoken, soft, earnest, like someone speaking just for me.The letter continued, "I don't expect you to write back. Maybe you'll toss this in the trash, laugh at the silly stranger who thought you'd care. But if, by chance, these words reach you, know that there's someone who sees you. And if you'll let me, I'd like to write again. Yours, A Neighbor."I stared at the letter, every word seeming to settle into me, filling spaces that had once felt empty, unremarkable. I folded the letter carefully, tucking it back into the envelope as I sat down, my mind racing, wondering.
YOU ARE READING
WHISPERS OF A NEIGHBOR
Mystery / ThrillerSana has always felt like love stories are only meant for other people. She's convinced she'll never find the kind of connection she reads about-until one day, a handwritten letter slips out from under her apartment door. It's addressed to "The Girl...
