It was the 1st of January when I received the letter. The first real piece of paper in my mailbox that wasn't an overdue notice or an angry, threatening demand from a debt collector. The envelope was creased at the edges, slightly damp with a few scattered water stains. Likely from the rain, I thought absentmindedly as I held it in my trembling hands.
My hands trembling from both excitement and nervousness, I carefully peeled open the paper. Peeled, not torn.
Taihan,
I don't know how to begin this letter. Every time I try to put words to what I feel, my hands tremble, and my mind turns to mist. But I have to say it. I have to tell you before it's too late.
I'm leaving.
I wish I could write that more softly, ease the pain of it, but there's no way to make this anything less than what it is. I can't stay here, Taihan. I don't belong in this place, not the way you do. You have roots here, a life carved from years of struggle, and I have nothing but borrowed time.
Come with me. Please.
I can get us out. I have the means. I can take you to America, to a place where we could start over, where the past doesn't have to define us, where poverty and obligation don't dictate who we are allowed to be. You wouldn't have to struggle like this anymore. You wouldn't have to scrape by, fighting for dignity in a world that refuses to give it to you.
I never meant to hurt you. Perhaps that's the cruelest part of it all. I cared for you, in my own way. But caring isn't love, and deception isn't devotion. We both wanted something from each other, and in the end, we both lost. You deserve better than a ghost, Taihan.
I know what I'm asking of you. I know that staying means duty, means the life you've already built. And I know that leaving means stepping into the unknown with only me to hold onto. But I promise you, Taihan, if you take this step with me, I will hold on as tightly as I can.
Meet me at the station tomorrow night. If you come, we leave together. If you don't... I'll understand.
I let the letter slip from my hands, watching as it fluttered to the floor. The silence in the room was deafening.
Tomorrow night. There was no date on the envelope, and I rarely checked my mailbox, save for the first of every month. I had no idea how long it had been sitting in there. It had been a week since I had last seen Bella. One week. A 30% chance she had delivered it yesterday or today. But knowing my luck, it was much, much, lower.
She was giving me a choice, but it didn't feel like one. If I went, I would be stepping into the unknown, leaving everything behind for someone I'd barely met.
And Qianqian.
She had no job. No means of supporting herself. Though there was no longer any love between us, I felt the sting of guilt settle deep in my chest at the thought of abandoning her to struggle alone. We were bound by necessity, by duty, by circumstance. Could I truly leave her behind?
But if I stayed, if I let this moment pass, I would always wonder. I would always be haunted by the shadow of what could have been. The road not taken. The life unlived.
I ran a hand through my hair, my pulse quickening. The walls of my tiny apartment seemed to close in around me, suffocating, oppressive. A decision had to be made, and quickly.
With shaking hands, I grabbed the envelope paper I had carefully peeled off and scrawled a note to Qianqian. Something short. Something final.
Then, without giving myself time to reconsider, I ran out the door.
The rain hit me like a sheet of ice, soaking through my coat in seconds, but I barely felt it. The world around me blurred as I sprinted through the streets, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. My legs burned, my chest ached, but I pushed forward, driven by something beyond reason.
Hope. Fear. A reckless kind of desperation.
I barely understood what the note meant. Barely understood what she was trying to say. But my fear only added to a sense of exhilaration, one I hadn't felt since I was young. Here I was, running for the mere chance that I read the letter on time. It was foolish, and it was wonderful.
The station was nearly empty when I arrived, the scent of rain still lingering in the air. The lamps cast a sickly glow over the platform, illuminating the worn edges of my coat and the dampness clinging to my sleeves. My chest tightened as I scanned the area, searching.
And then I saw her.
Bella stood at the far end of the platform, her arms wrapped around herself, a delicate figure against the misty glow of the station lights. Her hair, dark as the depths of the night, shimmered with golden highlights where the lamps caught the damp strands, as if woven with threads of sunlight that refused to fade even in the rain. Droplets clung to the loose waves, catching the light like scattered stars. Her dress, a pale, flowing thing, was slightly wrinkled, its fabric clinging to her form in the faint breeze, rippling like gossamer spun from moonlight. She looked as though she belonged not to this platform, not to this horrid, disgusting town, but to some dreamscape where time stilled and beauty remained untouched. Yet there was something fragile in the way she held herself, something achingly human in the way her fingers pressed into the fabric at her sides. She was just as beautiful as I remembered – otherworldly.
The moment her eyes met mine, something in her expression broke.
"You came," she whispered.
I swallowed hard, stepping closer. "Did you think I wouldn't?"
She let out a breathless laugh. "I didn't know. I kept thinking maybe you read it too late, maybe you decided it wasn't worth it, maybe... maybe I was asking for too much."
I hesitated before reaching for her, my fingers brushing against her wrist. "You'd always be worth it, Bella. I…" I nearly confessed my love for her there, but I stopped myself.
"Yes?" She asked, looking up at me, her eyes gleaming.
I ignored her question, and instead swept her up into a hug. "I missed you," I whispered.
She gently pulled away and smiled. "Thank you."
For a moment, neither of us moved. The train whistled in the distance, the sound low and mournful.
I studied her, taking in the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled and uncurled at her sides. She had always been poised, always so sure of herself. But something was different.
"Bella," I murmured. "Why America? Why now? You never talked about leaving before."
Her smile faltered. For the first time that night, she looked away, her gaze dropping to the damp concrete beneath us. The distant glow of the streetlamps cast long shadows around us, stretching and distorting with the shifting mist of the station.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she exhaled softly, her breath visible in the cold air. "It's complicated," she finally said.
"I can handle complicated things," I replied. "We have plenty of time." I quirked a smile, hoping it would be enough for her to open up. Of course, it was in vain. She barely looked at me.
Instead, she let out a quiet laugh, but there was no joy in it. Just exhaustion. "I used to think so too," she said. She hesitated, then looked up at me again, her expression stripped of its usual confidence. "I had an older brother once."
I nodded encouragingly, hoping she wouldn't stop.
"He was everything to me," she continued. "He used to say he'd take me away from here one day. That he'd get us out, no matter what it took. But life… life doesn't always care about promises."
A lump formed in my throat. I stayed silent, letting her speak.
"He got into trouble. Owed money to the wrong people," she whispered. "Tried to pay it back, but it was never enough. And then, one day, he just… disappeared." Her breath hitched slightly. "I searched for him. Asked everyone. But no one would tell me anything. It was like he had never existed."
The way she said it, so hollow, so resigned – I felt something sharp twist in my chest.
"I waited for years, hoping he'd come back. That one day, he'd walk through the door like nothing had happened. But hope is just another kind of foolishness, isn't it?" She let out another laugh, but it cracked at the edges. "I can't keep waiting, X. I don't want to end up like him."
The weight of her words settled heavily between us.
I swallowed. "Bella…"
"I have to go," she said softly. "Before it's too late."
I reached for her hand without thinking, gripping it tightly. She didn't pull away.
She met my gaze, searching my face as if trying to memorize it, as if there was still some part of her that doubted I would stay.
And then, she nodded.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The question hung between us.
Bella didn't answer right away. Instead, she closed the distance between us, pressing her forehead against my chest. I felt her exhale, her breath warm even in the chill of the night. "No," she murmured. "But for the first time in my life, I want to be."
Her words settled deep inside me, threading through my ribs like something delicate yet unbreakable. I exhaled, wrapping my arms around her. She was warm against the cold, her body fragile and trembling, and I held her tighter, as if I could anchor us both, as if I could quiet the storm raging in our minds.
"I didn't bring anything," I admitted. My voice felt small, insignificant against the vastness of the night. "I left in such a rush."
Bella lifted her head, her eyes searching mine. Then, with a small, sad smile, she shook her head. "It'll be okay."
We were two people with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the fragile hope that what lay ahead was better than what we left behind.
The train rumbled into the station, its arrival marked by a hiss of steam that curled around our feet like ghostly tendrils, wrapping us in its quiet embrace. The scent of iron and rain filled the air. For a second, I was reminded of the factory smell from the textile factory I had worked at just a few weeks ago.
Oh, how things have changed.
Bella tilted her head up, meeting my gaze expectantly, with eyes that glimmered in the dim station lights.
"That's our train," she said. "It'll lead us to the ferry."
I swallowed, my grip tightening around her fingers. There was no hesitation left in me now. Or perhaps there was, but I was too tired to care. "Let's go."
She nodded, a silent understanding passing between us. And then, together, hand in hand, we stepped onto the train.
The doors slid shut behind us with a finality that sent a shiver down my spine. Outside, the world we were leaving behind stood frozen in time, while ahead, the unknown stretched out before us like an open road. The train jolted forward, and as it carried us away, neither of us turned back.