“It’s creepy, I’m telling you. Once a day, since the beginning of this month, I have received letters from some anonymous person. The letters are always titled ‘To You’ and this stranger knows everything about me. Except for my name.” Harry is pacing the middle of the living room with his best friend staring at him with raised eyebrows. “I even get the letters here, Zayn! She, or he, knows where I live.”
“Write a letter back.”
Harry stops in his tracks, turning around to give Zayn and inquisitive look. “You know,” he scratched the back of his neck, “that isn’t such a bad idea. Thank you!” And he races back to his bedroom, frantically searching around for some lined paper. When it seems all hope is lost, he goes into his closet to see an old high school binder. It’s stocked full of unused paper, and Harry breathes out in relief.
Taking a seat at his desk, he taps a fine-tip pen on the paper, staring down at it as if words would magically appear. He writes, simple enough, and then goes out in search of an envelope.
“Who are you? How do you know so much about me?”
He puts it into an envelope and and tapes it to the front door, titling it ‘To You’.
**
He waits.
Harry waits until the gloomy skies have disappeared and stars have appeared. He sits in the living room and watches crap television on mute and waves to Zayn when he says that he’s going out.
He waits.
**
It’s almost one in the morning when Harry hears something outside of the front door, and he wastes no time jumping from the couch and rushing towards the door. He unlocks it, pulling it open to reveal a stumbling Zayn who is about to knock. “Haz!” He slurs, patting his cheek in gratitude as he slips inside, crashing into the couch and apologizing to it before stumbling back to his room.
Harry checks the front door.
His letter is no longer there.
He steps outside of the apartment and looks around, eyes finally landing on an envelope that is laying on the ground. It’s titled ‘To You’ and at first, Harry thinks that his fell off, until he picks it up and sees that it isn’t his hand writing.
Standing in the doorway, Harry rips it open and pulls out the letter.
“I want to meet you, Harry.”
Harry doesn’t know whether to cry or scream. This stranger won’t answer his questions. This stranger made no noise when taking his letter and replacing it. This stranger knows his name.
He drinks until he doesn’t remember why he started drinking.
YOU ARE READING
To You || l.s.
Romance"The letters are always titled 'To You' and this stranger knows everything about me. Except for my name." **COMPLETEED**
