A Letter Unsent

The rain came down in soft, persistent sheets against the window of Elena’s small room, blurring the world outside into a wash of gray and green. She sat at the wooden desk that had belonged to her grandmother, her knees pressed together beneath her wool skirt, a single sheet of paper before her. The inkwell was open, the pen trembling in her fingers. She had tried to write this letter three times already, and each attempt had ended in crumpled frustration.

Now, with the fourth sheet smooth and white under the lamplight, she took a breath that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her lungs. The rain drummed a steady rhythm against the glass, as if urging her on, and she pressed the nib to the paper.

*Dear Jonas,*