Chapter Five Hundred Three: The Letter That Arrived Too Late
Samira returned to the garden a week later.
She looked different—lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Her eyes were less tired. Her hands were less shaky. She carried something in her pocket—a small envelope, worn at the edges.
"I found something," Samira said. "After I went home. After I added Joanna's stone."
Luna led her to the porch swing.
"What did you find?" Luna asked.
Samira pulled out the envelope.
It was addressed to her. In Joanna's handwriting.
Samira
"I went through Joanna's things," Samira said. "Her sister gave me a box. She said Joanna would have wanted me to have it."
She opened the envelope.
The letter inside was dated 1995—the year Joanna got married.
Dear Samira,
I'm getting married tomorrow. I should be happy. He's a good man. He'll take care of me. He'll give me the life I'm supposed to want.
But I'm not happy. I'm thinking about you. I'm thinking about the way you looked at me in the dark. I'm thinking about the way you held my hand.
I love you, Samira. I've loved you since college. I've loved you every day since then.
But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what my family will say. I'm afraid of what the world will think. I'm afraid of losing everything I've built.
So I'm marrying him instead. And I'm writing this letter. And I'm hiding it in this box. And maybe someday, you'll find it. And maybe someday, you'll know.
I love you, Samira. I've always loved you. I will always love you.
Yours,
Joanna
---
Samira read the letter aloud.
Her voice cracked. Her tears fell onto the paper.
"She loved me," Samira said. "All those years. She loved me too."
Luna took her hands.
"She loved you," Luna said. "And she wrote it down. And now you know."
Samira pressed the letter to her chest.
"I never knew," Samira said. "I thought I was alone. I thought I was the only one."
Luna shook her head.
"You were never alone," Luna said. "She was watching. She was waiting. She was hoping you would cross."
Samira looked at the garden—at the stones, at the roses, at Joanna's stone still fresh in the earth.
"I should have crossed," Samira said. "I should have told her."
Luna squeezed her hands.
"You're telling her now," Luna said. "She can hear you."
---
Samira knelt in front of Joanna's stone.
She placed the letter on the earth.
"I love you," Samira said. "I've always loved you. I was afraid. I'm not afraid anymore."
She pressed her palm against the stone.
"I'm sorry it took me so long."
The wind blew through the maple trees.
The roses swayed.
And somewhere—in a garden beyond gardens—Joanna sat on a bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, holding the letter in her hands.
I know, Joanna whispered. I've always known.
---
Luna added Joanna's letter to the glass case.
She placed it next to Samira's letters—side by side, the way Samira and Joanna should have been on earth.
"Now they're together," Luna said. "Finally."
Claire stood beside her.
"The constellation is full of letters that arrived too late," Claire said.
Luna nodded.
"But they arrived," Luna said. "That's what matters."
---
That night, Samira sat in the garden alone.
The stars were out. The roses were blooming. Joanna's stone glowed in the moonlight.
She pulled out her notebook—the one Luna had given her, the one she was filling with her own stories—and opened it to a blank page.
She wrote:
My name is Samira. I loved a woman named Joanna. I was afraid to tell her. I wrote letters I never sent. She wrote a letter I never received.
We never crossed the street. Not on earth.
But now our letters are in a glass case. Now our stones are in a garden. Now our story is in the notebook.
She knows. I know. We are both free.
The constellation kept us.
The constellation never forgets.
---
Samira closed the notebook.
She looked up at the stars.
"I'll be there soon," Samira said. "Not yet. But soon. Save me a seat on the bench."
The stars twinkled.
The roses swayed.
And somewhere—in a garden beyond gardens—Joanna smiled.
I'll be waiting, Joanna whispered. I've always been waiting.
---
End of Chapter Five Hundred Three