The morning air carried a stillness Koyi hadn't felt in weeks. Not even the chirping birds dared disturb the silence outside her window. She lay on her back, eyes wide open, thinking of the last sentence from the sixth letter:
"Tomorrow, you will hear the voice of someone who was never meant to be part of your story."
Koyi sat up, brushing strands of hair out of her face. The letter had arrived just before sunrise—again, no footprints, no sign of anyone. It was placed exactly where the others had been: on the windowsill, sealed in soft lavender wax. But this one was different. It didn't offer comfort. It warned.
By the time she got to school, every conversation around her sounded suspicious. Was it Joseph's teasing laugh by the lockers? Or Ria's strange hesitation before greeting her?
But her instinct told her it wasn't them. She would know. The voice—the voice—would feel like a ripple through time. Her heart would know.
---
At lunch, she sat beneath the eucalyptus tree behind the cafeteria. It was far from the noise and gossip. The sky was grey, low clouds threatening rain. She picked at her food with no real appetite, ears twitching at every unfamiliar tone.
Then, she heard it.
A deep, smooth voice drifted from behind the tree, slow and deliberate. "You're sitting in my spot."
Koyi looked up, startled.
A boy stood there. Tall. Dark curly hair fell across his forehead like he hadn't bothered to fix it. His eyes were a sharp shade of grey-blue that didn't quite belong in their school—striking, almost cold. He had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, a faded black hoodie hanging loosely on him.
She blinked. "What?"
He took a step forward, the corner of his mouth twitching into a near-smirk. "I'm kidding. You can stay."
"You're new," she said flatly, already reaching for her things.
He didn't move. "That obvious?"
"Nobody comes here."
"I guess I just like quiet." His eyes didn't leave hers. "Do you always talk to your letters?"
Her heart stopped.
"What did you just say?"
He sat down, a few feet away. "Nothing. Just… saw you the other day. You had a piece of paper, whispering like it was going to whisper back."
Koyi's breath caught. "You were watching me?"
"I wasn't spying," he said quickly. "I just noticed. And today, I noticed again. You keep looking over your shoulder."
The air tightened. Was this the voice the letter warned her about? There was no mistaking it—it stirred something in her. Not recognition. Not familiarity. But a weight. Like déjà vu dressed as danger.
"What's your name?" she asked cautiously.
He hesitated. "Aren."
Aren. She rolled the name in her mind. No one she knew had ever mentioned him. No one in the past, or the future—at least, from what the letters had told her.
"You're not from here," she said.
"I'm from everywhere," he replied vaguely. "Military kid. We move a lot. This time, it's Newbridge High."
"You're lying."
He raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"You're not a military kid," Koyi said, staring at him. "You said that too easily. Like it was a rehearsed excuse."
Aren blinked, caught off guard. Then, slowly, he grinned. "Well, aren't you interesting."
She didn't return the smile.
---
That evening, Koyi paced her room. She hadn't received another letter. That was unusual. The silence felt louder than the warnings.
She thought about Aren's eyes—too knowing, too old for someone claiming to be seventeen. Something about his voice had triggered a tightness in her chest, like she had heard him before, in a place she couldn't name.
She opened her journal and scribbled everything she could remember about him.
Name: Aren (possibly false)
Accent: American, neutral
Eyes: Steel grey-blue
Watch on left wrist (kept checking it)
Mentioned my letters
Knew where I sat—observing me?
Something in her told her to be cautious. But another part of her—deep, buried—was curious. She didn't want to admit it, but she wanted to hear him speak again.
---
The next day, she returned to the eucalyptus tree. Aren was already there, tossing a coin in the air and catching it.
"I was hoping you'd come," he said.
"Why?"
"I thought we could talk."
"You thought wrong."
He tilted his head. "You're afraid of me."
Koyi crossed her arms. "Why would I be afraid of someone like you?"
He smirked, leaning forward. "Because deep down, you know I'm not supposed to be here."
That sentence froze her.
"Why did you say that?" she asked sharply.
"Because I dreamt of you before I arrived," he said quietly. "Every night for a month. Same tree. Same dress. Same eyes filled with storms. It was always the same until yesterday—when you turned and saw me."
Koyi stumbled backward.
"You're insane."
"Am I?"
"You expect me to believe you dreamed about me? That this is all… fate?"
He stood up slowly. "No. I expect you to believe what you already feel."
The world felt like it shifted beneath her feet.
---
That night, the seventh letter came.
But it wasn't sealed in lavender wax. It was scorched around the edges.
"Aren was never meant to cross paths with you. His presence bends the rules of time. Do not trust him, Koyi. The closer he gets, the farther you'll stray from the future you deserve."
She read it three times, each time her chest tightening further.
So it was true. The voice belonged to someone outside her story. A disturbance. A danger.
And yet, when she closed her eyes, it was his voice she heard in her head.
---
For days, Koyi tried to avoid him. She took different routes, skipped the tree, buried herself in books and avoided every shadow that looked like him.
But Aren was persistent.
He didn't push. He just appeared—always at a distance. Watching. Waiting. Like he knew the moment she would break.
It happened during literature class. Mr. Mallory asked them to pair up for a Shakespeare project. Koyi turned to ask her seatmate, but Aren slid in before she could.
"I already signed us up," he said coolly, waving the form.
"You what?"
He leaned in, his voice low. "You don't have to like me. But don't you want answers?"
She stared at him, torn between fury and fascination.
---
That afternoon, they sat together in the library's back corner. Between pages of Romeo and Juliet, Aren asked her the question she feared most.
"Why do you read letters that no one sends?"
Koyi swallowed hard. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me."
She closed her eyes. "Because they know things. About me. My future. My fears. The things no one else sees."
"And they help you?"
"They used to," she whispered. "But now... I think they're warning me."
He reached across the table, placing his hand over hers gently.
"I don't want to hurt you, Koyi. I don't even know why I'm here. But I can feel it in my bones—we were supposed to meet. Even if the world says otherwise."
She looked down at their hands—his warm, hers shaking.
"What if being with you ruins everything?" she whispered.
"Then we'll ruin it together."
---
That night, two letters came.
One was sealed in lavender wax.
"The lines between time are thinning. His presence is disrupting the path. You must choose: follow your letters, or follow your heart."
The second was sealed in black wax—unlike anything before. She opened it with trembling fingers.
"I write to you not from tomorrow—but from after. I am Aren. Not the boy you know—but the man who made the worst decision of his life. And you were the cost. Don't let this version of me make the same mistake."
Koyi dropped the paper. Her chest burned with disbelief. The voice she heard wasn't just Aren. It was a future that had already shattered.