Letters Between Strangers

The first letter arrived on a Monday.

Sophie found it tucked inside her mailbox, the envelope a soft cream color, her name written in careful handwriting. There was no return address.

Curious, she opened it.

“Dear Sophie,
You don’t know me, but I see you every morning sitting by the window at Clementine’s Café, lost in your thoughts. You look peaceful there, like the world quiets around you. I don’t know why I’m writing, only that something about you makes me want to put words on paper. If this is strange, I understand. But if you write back, you’ll find me at P.O. Box 214.
—A Stranger.”

Sophie read the letter three times. It was ridiculous—who even wrote letters anymore? But something about it made her heart beat faster.

The next day, she found herself writing back.

“Dear Stranger,
You’re right—it is a little strange. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued. Who are you? And why do you notice me?
—Sophie.”

She mailed it the following morning, half-expecting nothing to come of it. But three days later, another letter arrived.

“Dear Sophie,
I notice you because you seem to belong to another time, like you stepped out of a story. I guess that makes me curious. I won’t tell you who I am yet—mystery makes things interesting, don’t you think? But I’ll answer anything else.”

The letters continued. Weeks passed, then months.

Through ink and paper, they shared secrets. He told her about the old books he collected, the way he always ordered hot chocolate instead of coffee. She told him about the novel she wanted to write but never started.

One day, she wrote:

“I think I know you better than people I’ve met in person. And yet, I don’t know your name.”

His reply came faster than usual.

“Maybe it’s time we change that.
Meet me at Clementine’s Café this Saturday at 3 PM. I’ll be the one with a book and a letter.”

Sophie stared at the note for what felt like forever.

That Saturday, her hands trembled as she stepped into the café. She scanned the tables, and then—

There he was.

Dark-haired, glasses perched on his nose, a novel resting beside an envelope. He looked up, met her gaze, and smiled.

She walked over, heart pounding. “So… you’re my Stranger.”

He laughed. “Not a stranger anymore.”

Sophie took the seat across from him, a grin spreading across her face. “No,” she agreed. “Not anymore.”