The Letter I Never Sent

I never thought I’d find that letter again. It was tucked between the pages of my old diary — the one I kept back in middle school when everything felt too big and confusing to say out loud. The paper was yellowed, the ink a little faded, but the words were still there, raw and honest, written in my shaky handwriting: Dear Lucas, I don’t know if I’ll ever have the courage to say this, but I think I like you. Like, more than a friend. And if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I just needed to tell you. I paused, my fingers trembling as I held the fragile paper. Lucas was my best friend then — the one who always made me laugh, who shared his lunch when mine was gone, and who left for another state just months later without a goodbye. I never sent the letter. I never even showed it to him. Now, sitting in my tiny apartment five years later, I thought about what might have been. Could things have been different? Did he ever wonder? Impulsively, I dug out an old address book from a drawer. To my surprise, there was an entry under “L” — “Lucas Bennett.” I hesitated, then dialed the number. The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered. “Hello?” “Lucas, it’s me. Stacy.” There was a pause, then a laugh, warm and surprised. “Stacy? Wow. It’s been forever.” We talked for hours that night — about school, dreams, mistakes, and everything left unsaid. Eventually, I told him about the letter. “I had it all wrong,” he said. “I always thought you knew how I felt.” I smiled, feeling a flutter in my chest. Maybe some things are worth waiting for.